#would have so much significance to the death of a high lord

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

A missed opportunity I wish SJM took up is that when a high lord fae dies, they slowly break apart into pieces that represent their court.

So when Rhysand died his body slowly breaks away into shadowy pieces with glimmers of starlight.

If Tamlin died (god forbid) his body would disintegrate into flowers that drift on the breeze.

It would make for such a fascinating representation of how a High Lord is connected to their court. Their entire being is the land they were assigned to rule over. Like they sacrificed to give to the world now their bodies return to it as part of the final rest. Still aiding the land but not being in vain.

Each is unique to the high lord because they were chosen for that purpose. But that kind of passing doesn’t pass to their significant other unless they are chosen to rule if a heir is unavailable. They have a death similar to their people, which is the same way it happens to humans where the soul leaves and the body remains.

[myfictionaldreams]

Light in the Darkness // Feyre/Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: It wasn't just Rhys who had been caught in Amrantha's damnatation. For nearly 50 years, you'd suffered with him, in her bed. After years of enduring agony, it becomes almost impossible to resist seeking refuge in the platonic refuge of your High Lord and High Lady. However, after one night of drunken indulgence, you're left wondering if everything you've built to protect yourself is now shattered.

Requested by: ~ ☺ -- thank you so so much for all your support and the request! I absolutely loved writing more acotar/sjm!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, past rape/non-con elements, trauma, PTSD, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, flirting, kissing, drinking, threesome (f/f/m), sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, anxiety, happy ending

Words: 9.4k (lol oops)

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Some aspects of life can be predicted. Happiness, sadness, heartbreak, grief. Death. Every ounce of blessings that had graced your life had repercussions and hardships, something that was always centred around the balance of the world. With good comes the bad.

Years upon years had been filled with joy, laughter, and safety with your friends and family. Naturally, being drawn into the inner circle of the Night Court would bring its hardships, but it would be nothing that your friends or your family could get you out of. From outsiders, you were ranked low within the group, not even having a title to the job you provided; however, you often liked to refer to yourself as Rhysand's conscience.

Where Amren would help make significant decisions for the Night Court as the second in command, you'd be there to offer further guidance daily. Every meeting, every decision, every single day, you would be at Rhysand's side, making sure he didn't make brash decisions and, furthermore, protecting his sanity when, on some days, the weight of the world pressed down on him.

Not only did you save Rhys with your words, but as a high fae, you were blessed by the Cauldron with healing and body manipulation powers. The healing was self-explanatory as to why it could help; there were times you'd been able to bring a soul back, even from the point of death. However, such as life, with life comes pain. A power you used so infrequently due to the distress that you'd often forgotten that it was something you could do. Only on a handful of occasions have you needed to use it against an enemy they begged for death in seconds. It was a strain on your mental health to use this, and with Rhys having his own powers, along with his shadowsinger, there weren't many reasons for you to even be needed for this.

Rhysand would never expect or ask you to use this power, increasing your adoration for him tenfold. To say the two of you were close was a complete understatement. When you both live and breathe the same day-to-day life, the form of friendship is bound to shift into something more. Rhys made you feel safe; the scent of night and Jasmine that accompanied him always wrapped around you like a warm hug.

There was no one you trusted more than him, and when the two of you stumbled into bed years ago, it only helped you discover more of yourself, especially with your powers. Pleasure. You could bestow pleasure onto a person with a single thought. Have their knees wobbling, eyes glazing over and back arching as they orgasmed in a single second. It made your nights with the High Lord all the more entertaining.

Even with the closeness the two of you shared, there was still the label of friendship. You loved Rhysand, and he loved you, but the two of you were still keeping back, aware of the possibilities of mates, and until any bond arrived, the friendship would continue with the thrill of pleasure.

As your role to be by his side continued, this was the unfortunate or devastating mistake of how you were in attendance at the ball that Amarantha had created. All it took was a gathering of high lords and a drink of the magically spiked wine, and the world of Pyrthian would be forever changed. The magic within the High Lords was leashed, and no one was safe from the wrath of the Red-Haired Devil.

You could have driven yourself mad with hindsight, regretting not listening to your gut feeling of not trusting Amarantha. Only the knowledge of being able to keep the rest of your family and friends safe in Velaris was the only blessing, even if it meant a life of agony for 50 years.

Amarantha, in all of her cruel ways, personally picked the High Lord of the Night Court with her need for revenge for Rhys' father, killing her closest ally - Tamlin's father. Rhys had always had a formal villainous reputation amongst the other courts, but now, this is further shadowed by the different courts as Amarantha uses him. To hurt others, break them in a split second, and furthermore, keep him leashed to her bed. He was simply her whore and nothing more to the others throughout Pyrthian. This mighty High  Lord, probably the most powerful High Lord there had ever been, had been degraded and dehumanised to nothing.

Nevertheless, where Rhysand stayed, you were by his side.

Rhysand had protected Velaris, the rest of his friends and family that remained at home, keeping them locked away from Amarantha using his Daemati skills, but could not save them.

The first few weeks of the new reign of the Red Devil, you'd been chained in a cell with only darkness and the drip of the waters running down the walls to keep you company. You'd even convinced yourself she had forgotten about you, willing to let you rot away. However, you were forced to kneel before her, and Rhys stood by her side.

There was never a second where you'd blame Rhys for what happened. In fact, over the 50 years, he had saved you in more ways than you could ever repay him for.

You were forced by Amarantha to admit why Rhys kept you so close by. The healing, the pain, the pleasure. Everything spilt from your lips with a single snap of her fingers. Rhysand was her whore, and you were downgraded to being her Harlot, except there was no exchange between sex and money, only sex and not being killed.

Rhy was forced to control minds and occasionally cause pain before death. You were just there to deal unimaginable pain until death, and then both crawl into Amaranthas bed and pleasure her until she promptly sleeps, wakes and starts the process again.

As the years trailed by, the only sight that would keep you going was the flickerings of stars that would light in the depths of Rhysand's eyes when the two of you were briefly alone for mere seconds.

Amarantha kept a tight leash on the two of you. When in her bedroom, you and Rhys were never allowed to touch, and most frequently, you were forced to kneel next to the bed and watch or tie to the bed with the Red Devil straddling your waist with Rhys pleasuring her from behind. You would watch and watch, and then her fingers would snap, and you were forced to make her orgasm, over and over, even with Rhys having spent hours pleasuring her.

These moments were where Rhys would provide support. Even though your eyes had to remain on Amarantha, Rhys would slip through your mental shiels and make you feel numb whilst remaining mentally close so that you didn't feel alone. Often, you would wake without any recollection of the previous night's antics, all thanks to your High Lord, and you wished and begged to the Cauldron that one day you could repay him for keeping you from slipping into the depressive pit that you would never be able to return from.

Then, at the risk of his life, Rhys admitted to having dreams. 47 years, the two of you had been trapped, and he'd been lost to the Red Devil, but hope came to him with glimpses of a woman's life. Hope. It had to be hope, and even though you could only see foggy images that Rhys would share of this person, the two of you would hope that this was a sign of someone who was bringing salvation.

Nearly 50 years had passed, and Rhysand finally admitted to meeting her whilst visiting the Spring Court, falling for the callings coming his way to draw him closer to her. Nothing came as easy as an overnight saviour, but at least you had a name. Feyre. Sweet Feyre. A human girl who had nearly stolen Tamlin's heart arrived under the mountain to declare her love for him and stand up to the Red Devil.

So young and yet defiant. Despite the pain, the torture and helplessness, she never back down. Something in your heart called to her. Maybe it wasn't right to put so much pressure on her to save Pyrthian, but even if it meant you had to take your last breath, you would try anything within your power to save this woman.

Superficial wounds you couldn't heal, but the pain you were quick to vanish as she was kept in her cell between the trials. Moreover, you were more than aware that Rhys was doing just as much to keep her from losing her sanity by having her close to his side, forgetting the world as she drank faerie wine.

The fateful day came, and so many events spiralled into utter chaos. After the final trial, Feyre figures out the riddle but still dies in Amaranthas's hand. Tamlin finally finds courage and slaughters the Red Devil and the High Lords, gathering to bring Feyre back to life as High Fae.

Freedom was unforgettable, and leaving the depths of Under the Mountain was something you'd only dreamed of, but there was now the weight of Rhys' mating bond snapping into place that had the next chapter in your lives beginning.

There was no time to be happy for your High Lord as the King of Hybern began his war whilst simultaneously trying to prove to Feyre that she was safe within the Night Court and away from Tamlin and that you were thanking Rhys and Mor for stealing her from the dreadful place.

Years continue to fly by. Wars, fights, numerous deaths, including Rhys for a moment and finally, FINALLY, the Night court could be at rest and for once indeed be happy with their High Lord and Lady protecting the lands with the inner circle close by.

Having been in turmoil for so long, adjusting to returning home, being surrounded by friends, and trying to remember what it was like to be genuinely safe was more difficult than anticipated.

It was almost like having to try and learn how to live again. What hobbies would truly distract you? What job could you do from day to day as it wasn't necessarily for you to be on Rhysands' side now with Feyre there to aid in the decision-making? There was also the destruction of having survivor guilt and horrific nightmares that had you afraid of the sun slipping behind the mountains every day and night, replacing the light. No amount of talking, counselling or breathing exercises could remind you that Amarantha was truly dead and that everything was fine.

This was how you began to depend on your High Lord and Lady.  Both of whom were closer to you than it seemed to be anyone else. Most days would be spent around either of them, whether to help with court business or simply sitting next to them as they continued their lives.

You had realised long ago that you were mostly in love with Rhys and Feyre and depended on them more than others. They never made you feel guilty for this. Neither seemed to mind and often would seek you out if you were starting to feel guilty and keep them safe; they needed comfort and support just as much as you did.

The damage and trauma from Under the Mountain also fleeted from just your mind. You couldn't train with any of the others; even the slightest touch against your skin would trigger red nightmares. You were unsure if it was the saviour complex you'd built around Feyre or Rhys, but you'd only allow them through your hard outer shell.

"Come back to me. Come back to Velaris. You're safe; I'm here; take a deep breath with me" Feyre's soothing voice drifted through your tense consciousness as she blew out a long breath so you could hear the steadiness of her slow breaths. The sweetness of her scent, lilac and pear, then licked through the wind across the skin of your cheek as she knelt in front of you, grasping your hand firmly and helping to ground you.

Your eyelids fluttered first, testing the movements as your mind and body began to return from the horrors within. The rich blueness of Feyre's concerned eyes is what you forced on first, then the rise and fall of her chest as you attempted to copy the movements. It was the first draw of breath that you realised just how long you'd been holding your breath as your lungs burned and your head spun.

The air of Velaris tasted sweet, or maybe it was the lingering taste of Feyre in the air as the ache in the centre of your chest eased and you became more present. The trembling throughout your body continued, no matter how many times Fey's thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

"You're always safe here, with me. It's just us together. Look outside; the sun is still shining, and there's no darkness here". Feyre continued to gently soothe you with her elegant voice.

You'd always found it so ironic that a place called the Night Court, the power to bring forth shadows and darkness from its High Lady and Lord, was actually the brightest and most beautiful home. Free. Unlike how it was Under the Mountain.

Tension struck your spine as your thoughts drifted back to the nightmarish place. Feyre's grip on your hand loosened as she shifted closer to cup both hands around your face, forcing your eyes on her again.

"Don't go back there, stay with me. Talk to me, I want to hear your pretty voice, Honey". It was both the use of her nickname for you and the warmth of her fingers on your face that brought you back from the dizzying nightmares.

Opening your mouth to follow your instructions, you were unsure what to say at first, worried that all that would dribble out would be frightened whimpers, but then a little fleck of something at the corner of Feyre's eyelid caught your eye as your fingers hovered above the area.

"You have a freckle right here that I've never noticed before", you say in a whisper before clearing your voice and smiling at your High Lady.

Feyre matches your grin, showing her teeth whilst doing so and tilting her face so that you're not cupping her face just as she was yours. "Do I? I've never noticed before. Guess I'll have to add it to my portraits".

Your index finger stroked over the freckle as your thoughts spoke before you could probably think as you admitted, "It's beautiful". Usually, only her mate caused the pinkness to blush across her cheeks as she tried to duck and hide her face, the golden hair half drawn into a ponytail now curtaining her away.

Instinctively, you brushed the offending pieces behind her pointed ears, giving you a clearer view of the beauty of Feyre Archeron-Moonbeam. As her sky-stained eyes flicked back up to yours, she coyly softened her smile. And you're a big old flirt; she uses her daemati skills as her lips remain still so that only you can hear.

Only for you, my High Lady, you respond similarly. However, the flirtatious talk was then interrupted by a third, more silky, deep voice joined as the scent of Jasmine and the crispness of night wrapped around you in a warm hug.

I object. I, too, think you're a big old flirt to me, too. It could be my handsome good looks and effortless charm. The intense eye contact with Feyre snapped as you both turned toward the doorway where Rhys now casually leaned against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his black trousers and not a single hair out of place. The hypnotic violet eyes wandered over Feyre's form first before doing the same with you before the tension eased in his shoulders.

Scoffing as you and Feyre stood, releasing each other's faces and turning towards him entirely, you spoke the following words aloud. "Excuse me, Almighty High Lord. I think you'll find that you're older than me and a much bigger flirt".

Feyre laughs as she naturally falls into his side, their arms wrapping around each other's waists and his lips dipping to kiss her tenderly across the forehead before focusing his attention on you with a wicked grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Love. I only flirt with my darling Feyre". His mate gently slaps a hand against his chest. As you all know, that was one of the biggest lies to slip from his lips. Rhys simply grabs her tattoo-covered hand and kisses the knuckles before venturing further into the room, only stopping when toe-to-toe with you.

Your neck ached as you stared up at him, admiring the twinkle of stars in his eyes as he asked, Do you want to talk about it?

You knew he was referring to your momentary lapse in consciousness moments ago. Losing the courage to maintain eye contact, you look across Velaris, noticing how the sun reflected and sparkled against the water flowing in the Sidra.

Suddenly having no energy, your shoulder shrugs nonchalantly, even though you knew the man before you could read you better than any other. "Not really".

Warm, calloused fingers grip your chin, turning your face back towards Rhys as you find that Feyre is now by your side, her fingers interlocking with yours, both touching you, the only two to have done so since being Under the Mountain, even if they were innocent touches.

"You can always come to us, day or night. You know that, right? Just call out for us, and we will come", Rhys reassures carefully, his eyebrows drawn together with concern.

Glancing between the mated pair, you try to ignore the burning behind your eyes from the threatening tears as you squeeze the hand holding yours and smile up at Rhys. "What would I ever do without my favourite High Lady and Lord".

Rhys grins down at you, keeping his hold on your chin as he leans down to kiss your cheek, remaining there for a second longer than socially acceptable as you suck in a quick breath as Feyre copies the kiss on the opposite cheek. The two of them move away at the same time as you struggle to control your pounding heart and ignore the desperate throb that warmed your core from being between them both.

It was always like this with the three of you. The longing touches by both of them. The ones that would fuel the dreams would leave you feeling regret for thinking of your friends in such a way, even if it distracted you from your dark thoughts. 

To everyone else, it seemed that you were all close. Still, when the three of you were alone, something constantly shifted, and as much as you tried to remember they were mates and nothing further would ever happen, the lasting effects of the increased pulse and arousal remained. Even though you would never act on these feelings, they made you feel alive and safe.

You noticed it then, the shadows that creep into their eyes as their nostrils flare, smelling your dampening arousal. Like always, you take a step back and try to regain control over your actions, masking your emotions with humour.

"You two are naughty. Do you often kiss your friends like that".

Feyre's giggle only adds to your body's reaction as she links her arm through yours and shrugs her shoulder, "I don't know what you're referring to. We were just being supportive", her tone was laced with sarcasm.

Rolling your eyes, your arm taps the arm holding yours, "Of course you were". Leaning into her side, the two of you glance up at Rhysand, who is silently watching the interactions. Eventually, his eyes flicked to Feyres, who tilted her head with a knowing smile. Looking between the two, you sigh dramatically, "I hate when you both talk like that. It's like you're showing off that you can speak mind to mind. Some would call it rude to talk like that without including your company".

Rhys finally smirks as you notice the sweet and seedy tang that now invaded your scents, mixing with the smell of your arousal quickly; you take a step back from them, assuming they're both flirting mind to mind as you can now smell how horny they both were.

"Alright, well, now I know what you're both thinking. I'm going to take that as my opportunity to leave, " you explain whilst walking towards the exit like you usually did when the mated pair became obsessed with the other in similar situations. However, a shadow wraps around your wrist and halts your movements, so you must turn back and watch as Rhys' arm secures Feyre's shoulder.

"How do you know what we are thinking about?" Rhys asks casually.

Once more, you roll your eyes in exasperation, "because I can smell it, and you are both anything but subtle".

"Hmm", he contemplates for a second. "And what exactly do you think we're dreaming about?"

Your tongue suddenly lay heavy in your mouth as you look confused between them both, noting that Feyre's cheeks are once more flushed with embarrassment, or was it arousal?

"Is this a fun game for you both? I'm not sure I'm interested in guessing what you two do behind closed doors". A lie, but they don't need to know this as those thoughts had been fueling your quiet nights between your sheets.

The High Lord and Lady's eyes both lower to watch as your thighs squeeze together to ease the worsening ache there, not realising how noticeable your movements had been as you cough to recapture their attention back to your face.

"Maybe I should have phrased my question differently", Rhys begins to say as he licks his lips. "Who exactly do you think we are dreaming about?"

Your frown deepens with the confusion that only seems to worsen with each word Rhys says. Feyre takes control of the conversation as she steps forward and out of Rhys' hold until she is in front of you, looking like the beautiful High Lady that she is. Her shoulders rolled back, her head held high, and the confidence only added to the pulsing and fire between your legs.

Carefully, you watch every single flicker of emotion and movement from Feyre. From the way her lips part to take in a deep breath, the subtle hardening of her nipples beneath the thin blue shirt she wore, to the way her pupils expand to match the sweet scent in the air. "I, for one, was not and am not thinking of Rhysand", she speaks in a lower undertone than usual, not flinching from your unending stare.

It was your turn to open your mouth, licking the dryness while attempting to think of some kind of response, but it seemed that your mind was void of all conventional thoughts. So much so that the arrival of Morrigan as she winnowed into the room had the three of you flinching and jumping to face the new arrival.

The tall blonde's nose wrinkled as she glanced between her cousin and his mate, "By the Cauldron, will you two leave the poor girl alone with your nasty thoughts? It smells like a Pleasure house in here", Mor claims as she flicks her luscious hair over her shoulder.

You take a step back, thankful that Mor only thought the thick smell was from Feyre and Rhys and not you as well.

"Morrigan, a pleasure as always, dear cousin", Rhys drawls as he casually picks off some invisible lint from his shoulder. This sight has you smiling, knowing he was covering his discomfort with the movement.

Mor flicked her gaze over Rhys before dressing each of you with enthusiasm, clasping her hands together, "So tonight I've convinced the others to come to Ritas, and I need you three to also join to have the complete team there".

"I'll be there, " you say quickly, deciding you need something more substantial to drink after this conversation.

"Us too", Feyre answered as she glanced over her shoulder towards you with a not-so-subtle wink.

Hours later, after the sun had set and your anxiety had risen for a moment, you were now encompassed in the inhibitions of the alcohol humming through your veins. Ritas was as busy as always, and being surrounded by friends, good music and even better drinks, you were very much in your element of happiness.

Despite your friends being gathered around the table you always resided at or in the centre of the dancefloor, you were happy in your little corner of heaven in Ritas, where you could sway on the spot without worrying about feeling strangers' bodies knocking into yours.

The conversation continued to play over in your mind as you felt the coolness of the sweat dripping down the middle of your spine. As much as you love Mor, you could have cursed her to prison for interrupting before discovering who Feyre and Rhys were referring to because even though your heart screamed that it was about you, your mind tried to convince you otherwise. There was no way that your mated friends were turned on by you.

You're drawn away from your thoughts as a slender arm slides around your neck, and the sweet smell of Feyre wraps around you, replacing the salty sweat from the room. Her grin matches yours as she tips her head back, swaying her hips in time with yours as your fingers clasp to the thin material of her peach dress around her waist, pulling her closer.

From the way she laughed, you knew she was just as drunk as you but nevertheless still as beautiful as ever, even with the way her golden hair stuck to her face with the sweat and the glassy sheen over her eyes. You were happy to see her letting go and fully relaxing; she deserved it more than most.

You weren't sure which of you tightened your hold of the other, but now your faces are pressed together, her lips hovering next to your ear so that you could hear her say, "We didn't finish the conversation earlier".

Your feet somehow become tangled with hers as you both lose your footing, but a steady hand from behind keeps you both upright as Rhys' chest presses against your back. One of his hands remains on your waist, his thumb brushing in a circle, and the other reaches around your side to grip Feyre, pulling her even closer against your chest until your breasts are squished against hers.

"Wh-What conversation?" you pretend to forget, the rest of Ritas drowning away in the background.

"Don't play coy with us; I can smell your arousal already", Rhys growls into your other ear. You forget to breathe momentarily, so Rhys's tone calms, "Easy, breathe for us, it's ok. This will always remain a safe space". You appreciated his comfort, but for a moment, all you could think about was the way his lips caressed the shell of your ear.

I think you're beautiful, Honey. Feyre speaks dreamily mind to mind as she pulls away to look deep into your mind mesmerisingly. Her delicate fingers stroke down your cheek as her eyes flick between yours and the lips you're biting. I want you. She states this with such confidence and not an ounce of alcohol slurring her words that your knees wobble.

"I want you too", you finally whisper to her, unsure if the alcohol was giving you courage or making silly decisions on your behalf.

"And you know that Rhys wants you too; nothing about that has changed", Feyre continues as you glance over your shoulder to look up at Rhys as he kisses the side of your head. You nod, understanding that she was referring to your past with him.

"I think we should find somewhere more private, don't you?" Feyre continues as you agree with her.

One second, you're in Ritas, and the next, you're in the comforting bedroom in the townhouse of Feyre and Rhys. The instant calmness of the loud music faded, and the delicate touch of the wind as it floated through the open archway to the balcony. Sighing at the coolness as it kissed against the exposed skin of your arms, you let it distract you from the chaos erupting in your heart and mind.

Rhys moved away first, and before you turned to see what he was doing, Feyre stepped back and grabbed your hand. The two of you laughed wholeheartedly while stumbling over to their gigantic bed.

You both collapse into the centre, laughing at nothing as the springs cause you both to bounce before settling and wrapping your arms around each other.

Rhys leans against the bedpost at the base of the bed, smiling down at the two of you, especially as Feyre lifts her feet and wiggles them in his direction. "Come on, High Lord. Look busy", she giggles as Rhys smirks, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and dragging her feet into his lap. Carefully, he unbuckled the straps of her heels, dropped the shoes onto the floor and carefully kissed the top of her knee as the dress she wore now pooled midthigh no that she was lying down, and then his sights were set on you.

With long strides, he's around the other side of the bed, now closest to you, and begins to remove your shoes as well, but then your feet remain over his thighs, and the reality of the situation finally dawns on you. Like he had with Feyre, his eyes never leave yours as you forget to breathe altogether, and he kisses your knee delicately.

Feyre raised to lean on her fist so that she could look down at you as your gaze turned from one to the other.

"You'll tell us if it's too much, I mean", she asks, appearing more sober as you, too, notice the liquid courage seems to have disappeared from your system as you nod in agreement at her. She smiles as Rhys' fingers caress from your ankle up to your calf. "I've never kissed a female before", she admits as the hand she isn't leaning on reaches across to run her fingers down the side of your face.

"I think you'd enjoy it", you say, sounding breathless, becoming lost in the desire that darkens her usually bright eyes. You're encouraged to continue as her fingers continue to explore your face and linger on your lips. "Kissing a man is nice and dominant, rough. But with females, they're soft, sweet, gentle but demanding if needed."

Feyre bites her lower lip as she glances at Rhys for a split second before turning her attention back down to you. "I want to kiss you", admits eternally.

"I don't think your mate would appreciate me touching what's he", you say, trying to remain as level-headed as possible, knowing that the mind between mates should not be interfered with.

Feyre's eyes gleam with mischief as she looks down at her mate, who has remained silent so far. "My mate wants to kiss you too", she confirms.

"More than you could know", Rhys then speaks, his tone taunt and deep, like he is trying to hold back, but it is all the confirmation you need.

Reaching up to your High lady, you cup her jaw and pull her close, meeting her halfway as your lips connect. The two of you forget to breathe momentarily, simply remaining in place and allowing each of your emotions to escalate before your movements finally catch up to your pounding heart.

Your lips press more firmly, moving against hers until they relax and open, giving you the perfect position to tease your tongue between her lips. You both moan, especially now that you can taste her, feel her loosening and falling more into the kiss, finding the courage to push your head back onto the bed and become more demanding.

Your fingers slip through her hair as you greedily try to taste the other. She was sweet, oh so fucking sweet you could have drowned in her and thanked the Cauldron for giving you the opportunity. Her full lips are cushioned against yours until you're both starving of oxygen and needing to pull back to breathe.

A second, this lasted before her face wasn't above yours anymore, and your High Lord was leaning over your body, his hand now cupping the entire side of your face as he kissed you with greed. The sensation of nostalgia hit, the taste that you'd grown fond of over the years of intimacy before Feyre crashed through your senses. Yet, there was something new and exciting with this kiss, even as you continued to stroke through his mate's hair and hold her to your side as Rhysand bruised your lips, his tongue entering your mouth for a brief second as you moaned.

Then he's pulling back, and you're welcomed to the beautiful sight of Feyre and Rhys desperately kissing. You'd seen them kiss more times than you could count, but being this close, having each of them still clutching onto your body in some way.

Feyre was the first to ease away, tilting her head slightly so that Rhysands lips could move to the slop of her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses until reaching the strap of her dress on her shoulder and easing it down. Coping his movement, you, too, moved the strap off of her other shoulder and the material pooled below her ribs, exposing her breasts to you. There wasn't a second wasted before you moved to lick one of her perked nipples as Rhys nibbled on the other.

The soft moan from Feyre lit a fire in your belly as you continued to taste the sweetness of her skin, but then your head was moved back as Feyre demanded your mouth with hers once more.

With your back pressed against the bed, Feyre attempts to move over you but then halts herself, "I don't know what I'm doing" Feyre giggles.

Grinning up at her innocence, you admire the way that her eyes are half-lidded and swollen lips are pulled between her teeth as Rhys continues to caress her nipples and breasts with his mouth and hands.

Tucking a stray curl of golden hair behind her ear, you explain, "Touch me like you'd touch yourself. Do you touch yourself?" you ask, clarifying. The apples of her cheeks had already risen from the alcohol and kissing, but now they deepened in the shade as she said yes. Rhys growls against her chest at the thought of her touching herself and then begins to remove her dress further down her body until she's naked. You see, seeing that she'd gone without underwear and reached to touch her now slightly sensitive nipples.

Once more, you admire how she hitches a breath at the touch. She still seems hesitant as her fingers draw your dress's edge against your collarbones. Rhys, also sensing her nerves, lies on the other side of you, resting his head on his fist as he wraps his large hand around Feyre's small one.

"Here, let ms show you, Darling", he explains lowly, and you notice that he's now topless, the muscles flexing with his movements and bat wings flared out behind him, hovering in the air.

You and Feyre watch as Rhys moves her hand over your chest, cupping your breast over your dress and squeezing firmly. You can't help but rub your thighs together as the low pleasure builds in your already aroused body, the air thick with seedy scents from all three of you.

Rhys then catches your eye, winking cheekily with a handsome smirk. Within a blink of an eye, all clothes that remained on his or your body disappeared, and now Feyre's hand was pressed directly against your skin.

Your back arches slightly into the touch, pushing your breast into her hand, and then it's your turn to gasp as Rhys moves her fingers to pinch your nipple fiery, tugging it away from your body and then pressing a thumb against the aching area.

It was a sight you adored watching as Feyre tentatively began to learn how to touch your body. There was so much you wanted to do to both of them, and as much as you wanted to give Feyre a chance to move lower, you didn't like the attention just on you. It was challenging to decide whether to touch him or her, but as it was Feyre's first time with a girl, you wanted to see if she enjoyed your face between her legs.

"Feyre, can I be on top of you?" you ask her with a surprisingly pitched voice.

She grins as her eyes glow ever brighter as she rolls onto her back, "You don't have to ask".

Returning her smile, you slip around Rhys and straddle Feyre's waist, leaning down to kiss her hungrily for a few seconds before moving backwards, lower down her body. "I want to taste you". Your words pressed against her skin as your mouth journeyed south, kissing the peaks of her breasts down her sternum and toned stomach. Her breaths were coming out in quick huffs as she squirmed on the bed, legs spreading as your body fit between them, your face pressing against the softness of her thighs.

Feyre's arousal was evidenced by the wetness that now caressed your cheek as you nuzzled yourself closer, resting your weight on your chest and arse perked in the air as you felt the High Lord move behind you. Blowing cool air over Feyre's beautiful cunt, you loved how responsive she already was as she shivered and gripped tightly to the sheet beneath her, looking down her body at you.

Whilst holding her eye contact, you finally lowered your mouth to her, tongue sweeping over her labia and tasting her salty but uniquely beautiful juices. The High Lady's gasp was like music to your ears, especially as you pressed more firmly, dipping beneath and stroking over her clit and feeling it throb against your tongue. "You taste so fucking good".

Rhys, who was licking his lips at the sight, began to hover over both of you, kissing down your spine, causing goosebumps to rush to the surface of your skin. He, too, began to use his tongue to pleasure as he knelt behind you, flicking his tongue into your cunt and pushing in. You groan, and in turn, Feyre does, too.

"I've missed this", Rhys admits from behind as he circles your hole with his fingers, carefully easing a single digit within. This was the first time you'd been penetrated by anything in over 50 years. Amarantha had often tortured you with your arousal, making sure you were never given anything to ease the ache, but then after her demise, even when you touched yourself, you were so sensitive it would only take clitoris to play for you to orgasm.

Your back arches, pressing your breasts further into the bed and arse harder into Rhys' face as he rocks his finger in and out before adding another and beginning to curl his fingers until your whimpering into his mate's cunt. Warmth flushed over your face as you realised just how quickly you were close to orgasm, so you moved with more enthusiasm as you sucked on her clit and then pressed your tongue firmly against it. Then, for the first time in 50 years, you used your powers because you wanted to, not because you were being forced to.

Rhys and Feyre both moan loudly enough that the bed trembles. You'd caused the sensation for him that his cock was now being wrapped tightly down someone's throat and Feyre to fill full internally, with someone caressing the sensitive nerves within her cunt, both nipples being sucked on by an invisible force.

"What was that?" she cries out as she closes her eyes, her hips now rotating on their own accord as she chases her high. You could have made her orgasm with your powers but didn't want to overwhelm her immediately, so you settled in softly as you continue to circle her clit.

Not stopping to answer her question, you match the sensations you're going through and then as Rhys' thumb pressed against your clit and the hurricane of an orgasm pulsed through your cunt and abdomen, you made sure that both mates also came at the same time.

Rhys grunted, one hand coming to rest on your hip and squeezing the flesh as he humped against the bed, staining the sheets with his seed, and Feyre coated your mouth with her arousal, her thighs almost crushing you in the process, but you would have died happy right there.

While still trying to catch her breath, Feyre suddenly announces loudly, "Sit on my face". You and Rhys' face snap up to look at her, laughing at the crudeness of her words that aren't usually that forward. She appears sheepish for once, asking, "What? Did I say it wrong?"

"Not at all", you begin whilst crawling up her body until you're face to face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

With Rhys' steady hands on your hips, you moved to kneel on either side of your High Lady's face, looking down your body at her excited expression. Still reluctant, it takes Feyre's tattoed fingers to wrap around your thighs and pull your body down before her mouth is on your intimate area. You weren't sure who moaned louder, you or Feyre, as she started by licking and tasting between your folds before building more enthusiasm and dipping the tip of her tongue into your pussy.

"You're doing so good", you praise whilst holding one hand on the headboard of the bed and the other slipping into Feyre's hair. Glancing over your shoulder, you admire Rhys, who was on his knees watching the two of you, his hand wrapped around his surprisingly already hard cock. He looked almost godly in this position, the tattoos of the mountains on his knees gleaming at you for more than one reason, his wings spread wide behind him. "Look busy, High Lord; I think our beautiful High Lady's cunt is looking lonely down there".

"It would be my honour, Love", Rhys agrees, moving closer and easing his mates legs over his thighs as he lowers the tip of his cock over her clit, teasing her for a second before entering her. You could feel the rush of air against your pussy as she gasps, rotating her hips as she rocks against Rhys.

You match the movements, rolling your hips against her face as her nose knocks against your bundle of nerves and her tongue moves ever deeper. Everything felt so good; your body was alive with emotions and buzzing nerves. You could have died happy right there, especially as your face is then tilted back and Rhys' mouth is on yours, kissing whilst fucking his mate.

Even with his tongue down your throat, you wish you could praise Feyre; she makes you feel so good, even though it is her first time doing this. And Rhys, he always knew how to leave you breathless and begging for more.

You weren't even prepared as your orgasm rocked you very well. Rhys had to half hold you up as your body trembled, cunt squeezing and pulling around Feyre's tongue until the sensations lessons at you collapsed next to the pair, trying to catch your breath.

Then you watched, with awe and amazement, as Rhys fucked Feyre, their fingers all over each other, grasping and holding as both of them eased closer to their peak. But even then, when both were breathless and arching their backs, you were still being grabbed and included with kisses and touches until all three were motionless in the middle of the bed.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement, having not had two orgasms in quick successions in so long, and the thrill of emotions was enough to have you falling asleep almost immediately. Not before you're checked in by both of them, Rhys wraps an arm around your waist, and Feyre's head rests against your chest.

"Are you ok? I mean - was that alright for you?" she whispers, sounding just as exhausted as you.

"It was perfect", you respond before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

Waking up was not the blissful peace you'd hoped it would be. The thrill of the alcohol had completely gone from your body, and all that remained was a heavy sickness of guilt in your stomach. Last night was beyond perfect. Everything you could have wanted and more, but reality was your worst enemy.

Feyre and Rhys were mates, not only this but your High Lord and Lady. A fun night of relieving tensions for them meant so much more for you; emotions that had attempted to lay dormant were now screaming in your mind that you'd made one of the worst mistakes yet. They wouldn't want you. They couldn't have you anyway. No matter how deep the feelings ran, there was no such thing as a mates pair having a third join.

When the pair would wake, you knew it would be full of awkwardness and 'let's never do this again'. So, with great difficulty, you began to untangle yourself from the duo, careful not to wake either of them as you climbed out of bed.

It wouldn't happen again, and the sooner you realised this and came to terms with it, the easier the pain in your heart could ease. Grabbing your dress that was folded on a nearby chair, you slipped it on and, with your shoes in hand, left without glancing back at the sleeping couple.

You had a room in their house, much like the rest of the inner circle, but there was no way you could remain in the same room as them for a day, at least so, after changing into more comfortable clothes and hiding under a coat, you left to go to your own home.

It was on the other side of Velaris, and on the walk there, with the sun slowly beginning to rise and wake up the other occupants of your home town, you had time to overthink every single touch and moan from last night. Eventually, you arrived at your abandoned apartment, having hardly slept here since your nightmares were so crippling that you needed to stay near Rhys and Feyre at all times.

You attempted to distract yourself by scrubbing your skin raw, trying to remove the scents of both of them away, but when that didn't work, you moved to deep cleaning your home, which now had a thick layer of dust and cobwebs across the surfaces. This was until you could collapse with exhaustion into your cold bed.

The nightmares were there, so violently, in fact, that you were startled awake because you couldn't breathe. Your mouth opened to scream for Rhys to save you but stopped, biting on your tongue until blood coated your mouth. Scrubbing a heavy hand down your face as you caught your breath and eased the ache in your chest, you glanced out of the window, seeing the sun high in the sky, meaning it hadn't been that long since you'd fallen asleep.

Your stomach gave a hungry growl as you sighed, collapsing back onto your pillow, staring aimlessly towards your ceiling.

I was going to give you one more hour of rest before coming to find you, but it seems you've beaten me to it. Rhys' voice echoed in your mind in a deep drawl that had a fluttering of pain seep into your chest as you remembered last night. Deciding to do something you've never done before, you tried to ignore him, turning over and pulling your bed sheet over your head and shutting down your mental shields, but he simply pushed them aside with his talons.

Why are you there and not at home?

Without thinking, you snapped back sassily, This is my home.

He didn't comment on your tone as he continued to ask. Why did you leave?

I needed to shower. You answered simply, knowing it was a useless excuse.

We could have showered together. Rhys purred back, and even his tone was your core warming. Unsure of what to reply with, you decide remaining silent was your best option, so he filled the silence with more questions. I don't want to intrude on your personal space but don't block us out. Last night was-.

I know.  You cut off his sentence, not wanting to hear his rejections. It's fine. I'll just speak to you later, Rhysand.

Rhysand? When do you ever call me that? He sounded more urgent with his questions, so you try even harder with your mental shields until a thick wall separates the two of you, and his words are finally silenced. Your emotions finally snap as you sob until you can't breathe.

You remained in this position for the rest of the day. Your hunger is now dormant with the sickness in your chest. The tears would dry and then start again as you feel the ghost of their lips against your skin with the memories that continued to spiral through your mind over and over again. Eventually, the sunset, and you were left with the shadows from the fae lights to keep you company.

Deciding the bedroom only made you feel worse; you move into the living room, sit on the couch, and stare at the wall.

At one point, you could feel the stroke of gentle fingers against your mental shields, but you kept them in place, deciding it was best to ignore Feyre as well. However, a firm knock came on your door late into the night. You wanted nothing more than to ignore it, to leave whoever was there to think you were asleep, but as the knock came again, you decided to just get it over and done with, already knowing who was there.

Opening the door, you're greeted by Feyre and Rhys, holding a plate of your favourite food and both smiling gently towards you, their eyes searching over your body to check you're well but noticing how red and bloodshot the whites of your eyes were.

"A peace offering":  Feyre offers the place towards you, but you don't take it; you step out of the way and allow them to enter your home. Moving further into the room, you returned to the corner of the couch, avoiding their eye contact as you tucked your knees beneath you and hugged a pillow to your chest.

Feyre places the plate on the small table before you and sits to your right, while Rhys sits opposite in the armchair.

"I've never actually been here before. It's cute." Feyre continues trying to cheer you up somehow, but you ignore her.

"I'm sorry", you finally painfully say, wanting to get it over and done with.

"Sorry?" Rhys asks in confusion, leaning forward until he rests his elbows on his knees. "For what?"

You couldn't help but flinch, turning your shoulders in to appear smaller. "For last night. For overstepping in your relationship. I shouldn't have let my emotions dictate my actions. I've- I've just been so lonely, and I trust you both more than anyone, but you're mates, and I know what's happened is unforgivable and-".

A delicate hand covers your mouth, stopping your flow of words as Feyre leans forward with fire lighting her eyes, eyebrows set furrowed. "Would you stop trying to say how me and Rhys feel, please? Because I think you'll find you're incredibly wrong with every single thing that you say". Her hand begins to lower, and you open your mouth to battle what she has said, so she quickly keeps her hand over your mouth. "Nope! No talking, just listen. We don't regret anything about last night".

Without using your mouth, you roll your eyes, but that only earns you a squeeze against your cheeks. Rhys then begins to talk, "She's not lying. There isn't an ounce of regret in my body" his eyes remain steady as he stares at you.

"Yes, Rhys and I are mates, and the thought of someone touching what's mine fills me with murderous rage, but when I watched the two of you touch and kiss, I felt anything but negativity. You've not just been anyone to me; you're special to both of us. More than you could ever know."

"You saved my life under the mountain. Without you, I wouldn't have survived her", Rhys admitted, referring to the one person you hated more than the King of Hybern. At seeing your relaxed state, Feyre finally loses her hand from your face as you stare at the deep, raw emotions on Rhys' face, the sharpness as his jaw tensed.

"You saved me too", Feyre continues as you look towards her now. "In those dark dungeons when you would visit to keep me company or healy my body and mind, there's no way I would have survived it all".

She takes your hand, squeezing your fingers as she talks. "You haven't just been a friend to us. Even now that I and Rhy are mates, I feel this longing to be near you. I often thought maybe we are meant to have more than one mate because the way I feel for you isn't just lust".

Your breath was out heavily, not realising you'd been holding your breath as they both spoke, a lightness filling your heart and mind. "I thought you both would come to regret what we did. That my emotions were just one way because you saved me more times than I could ever begin to list. You're my closest friends; save me from the dark each night, but after what we did, I thought I'd overstepped the boundary, and you wouldn't want to see me again".

"Well then, you don't know me then, do you? Because I don't back down from what I want, and I meant what I said when I said I wanted you," Feyre responds passionately as your gaze flicks from her eyes to her lips before Rhys inches forward until kneeling beside you both, his hand resting over yours and Feyres joined hands.

"This may be difficult to understand. Yes, we are mates, but you have always meant something close to me, and I've known for a long time that Feyre feels similarly. I want you, Love, like I want Feyre. The thought of not being able to have you or someone else's hands on you makes me want to strike everyone down" he pauses to take a deep, steadying breath as he rolls his neck to ease the tension and anger that burst from him as his jealous emotions overtake him. "If you don't want to be with us, we'd understand and return to how we have always been. But we can't lose you, even as a friend".

You scoff, unable to hold back your reaction, as you sit up with a burst of energy, looking between them. "Of course, I want you both! I thought it was obvious. There's no way I'm letting either of you go" Your fingers tighten in their hold as you finally smile. Rhys and Feyre sigh in relief. "I don't understand how this is going to work, though, between the three of us. How do we even explain this to the others?"

Rhys shrugs his shoulders, "It's not for them to get. This will be understood with time, but let's concentrate on each other, being together and learning this new dynamic. It's not anything to rush, just that we each understand that we have each other".

Life came with its highs and lows. Even at its lowest, the smudging of hope could draw you out and lead you on a whole new path. All those years ago, never would you have thought you could be with two of the most remarkable people of all of Pyrthian, but by the Cauldron, you were going to hold onto them so tight and never let them go.

[suuuupernovaaa]

The Book Seller - Azriel x f!OC (Part 3/3)

Summary: Azriel’s mate decides whether she wants to accept the mating bond, or if it’s all too much.

Content Warning: Adult, 18+, mentions of death and trauma, sexual content

Part 1, Part 2

The next day, Azriel came and fixed the door to my apartment. While he was there, he noticed a few cabinets askew, and fixed those as well.

Afterwards, we made our way down to sit outside the storefront and enjoy lunch by the river, and he noticed a wiggling floorboard, and a crooked bookshelf.

He fixed those, as well.

My heart swelled to watch him pouring energy into the small bookshop that had been my life for so long. It felt quite right, to see him wipe sweat from his brow as he aligned the book shelf just so, and the satisfied smile that crossed his face was enough to make my heart stop when he turned to me.

I laid awake all the previous night, thinking of the bits of information he’d shared with me. His childhood and the pain he’d endured. The way he found his brothers, Cassian and Rhysand. All the wars and trials they’d been through since then. The killing and the torture. The way the peaceful times we were living in now felt like a dream to him.

It had been hard to part ways with just a chaste kiss to his cheek, but I wasn’t sure how fast or slow we were going to move. Some mates took their time, and some took no time at all. I knew at least that he’d be back the next day, to fix the door and so much more.

I set a tray of food in front of us as we sat down to enjoy one of the last warm days we’d see for a while. The food was ordered from a cafe around the corner, as I knew the significance of preparing a meal for the man before me. Preparing and offering a meal was a sign of accepting the bond.

“Thank you for fixing all of that. My brother, I’ve asked him so many times, but he has a little one at home and not much time to help.”

He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded. “You can ask me now,” he said, and a fist squeezed around my heart.

“It’s a little funny that…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Go on,” he said, setting his food down.

“We don’t really know each other, do we? We met last night but it feels, almost, like I could rely on you. If I decided to.”

The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile, and that was his only response.

—

Azriel stopped by every day over the next week. Sometimes when the store was open, just to quickly say hi, and twice after to take a walk along the chilly river and talk, hands or arms clasped together. His company was becoming easy, comforting, and I was growing accustomed to him so quickly.

I wondered, was it because we were mates, or would we have found ourselves drawn to each other otherwise?

Despite the ease and excitement, something loomed over me. Azriel was not a normal fae, not a carpenter or a tradesman, not someone I met down the street or at a bar. He was the Shadowsinger, at the hand of our High Lord, and there were parts of his life I was not sure I would ever be privy to. Would that be a true partnership, if part of himself was kept hidden away?

If our era of peace ended, he’d have to put himself in danger. What did being a Shadowsinger truly entail? Would his duties take him away from time to time?We never talked about it, because I didn’t ask.

I was too afraid to. What if he told me he couldn’t share that? What if he told me something I didn’t want to hear? What if he thought it was too soon for me to ask?

When he stopped in the following Saturday, early in the morning with a tea in hand for me, my father was in the shop.

My family joined for dinner together every Wednesday night at my parents house, and my eldest sister had been quick to announce I’d met my mate this past family dinner.

Though they had all insisted on meeting him, I’d not yet broached the topic with Azriel. My family was loud, boisterous, always in each other’s business, and fiercely loving but sometimes overwhelming. Azriel was quiet, and I was nervous that he wouldn’t appreciate them.

My father, a tall man but still a dwarf compared to the Shadowsinger, did not balk when Azriel entered and strode to my desk, handing me the tea.

“Good morning. I came to tell you -“

“Is this him?” father interrupted, and I chided him with a tisk.

“Father!” I hissed, and Azriel straightened. It occurred to me then that truly, Azriel was older than my parents, but fatherhood had made my father mature in a way that only being a parent can, and he looked at Azriel through those eyes.

The tension grew in the air quickly as the two men stared at each other until my father, who had never been described as intimidating a day in his life, grabbed Azriel’s hand in his and shook it violently up and down.

“Great to meet you, son,” my father said to Azriel, the High Lord’s Shadowsinger, his elder by 100 years, as if he was any other man on the street.

To his credit, Azriel returned the shake with enthusiasm, and tipped his head as a sign of respect. “You as well, sir,” he replied.

Father waved his hand to dismiss the title. “No formalities in family. Will you join us for dinner this week?”

Azriel looked to me, and I tried to communicate my apologies with my expression.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to tell you, Holly, I leave tonight and will be gone about a week.”

I gripped my tea in my hands as my father wisely made some mumbled excuse to leave us alone at my desk. I stood from my chair and came around to meet Azriel, perching on the edge of my desk.

“Oh. Um, work?”

He nodded.

“I wanted to ask… how much I might be allowed to know. In the future.”

His face grew dark and serious. “I would tell you anything you want to know, though some of it you may not want to hear. It is not always pleasant, extracting secrets.”

I nodded gravely. “Oh. Right.”

“Which brings me to another point… being my mate, it could land you in trouble. One day. Soon or in the distant future. I’d feel better if you could defend yourself.”

“Fight?” I asked, glancing around at the book store to make sure no one was listening.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you never have to, but I would feel more at ease if I knew you could defend yourself. If need be.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of - the danger that came with the man in front of me. It only took a week to bubble to the surface.

“Cassian and Nesta have offered to train you.”

“Why not you?”

A small smile crossed his lips. “Just this week, while I’m gone. I’ll join once I return. I thought you’d be more comfortable, with Nesta there.”

Nervous, I reached out and grabbed his hand. He held mine fiercely.

“Will you be safe? Are you going somewhere dangerous?”

He shook his head, stepping closer to me. “No, no one will even know I’m there,” he replied quietly, and pressed his forehead to mind. I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent.

“Do you promise?” I whispered.

To my shock, Azriel’s lips found mine then. For the first time. Soft, warm, and all enveloping, I pressed my body flush to his and opened my mouth to allow him entry, a soft sigh escaping.

I had been waiting, every moment since we’d met, for him to kiss me. Stealing glances at his lips, kissing his cheek with every departure, it wasn’t enough.

He snaked his arms around my waist, and I held his beautifully sculpted face in my hands as his tongue explored.

Every single part of me was on fire in a way I had never imagined possible. I could feel sparks shooting from my toes and the ends of my hair. Azriel groaned quietly as he pressed me tighter to him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to hold him in place.

He tasted like mint tea and I wove my hands through his silky, dark hair, desperate for more.

Too fast, too suddenly, Azriel pulled away and smiled down at me. Only a moment later, I heard my father approaching.

He must have heard him first.

I removed my hands from his hair and smoothed it, removing any traces that I had been there, as we continued to smile at each other.

“Cassian will fetch you at 6am tomorrow, and have you back in time to open at 10,” he said, and my face fell.

“Azriel, 6am? You cannot be serious.”

He was laughing as he walked out the door.

—

The next week was grueling. Every morning, I met Cassian outside at 6am so he could prove to me how weak I truly was. I had no strength, no skill, no balance.

Nesta assured me she had been the same before Cassian had forced her to train, but it was hard to believe, watching her move with such grace and strength now.

Not only was the training draining me, but I missed Azriel. It felt strange to admit it. Two weeks ago, I had only known him by reputation. Now, a day without him was painful.

Near the end of the week, I’d asked the girls to run the shop for me for the day so I could rest, and Nesta invited me to join her for breakfast after training, just the two of us.

Sweaty and tired, I slumped at the table and asked the house for some water and tea. It appeared magically, delighting me as it had every time this past week.

“Can I ask you something a little personal?” I asked once I’d drank the entire glass of water, and Nesta nodded warily.

Though I did consider us friends, Nesta was still guarded, and I wanted to tread carefully.

“Is it hard, to be Cassian’s mate?”

She surprised me by laughing. “In what sense? He is very annoying.”

“I mean, him being who he is. The position he holds.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “I don’t know if I can say. I was human before, and all I’ve known of being fae is these people, this life,” she gestured to the grand home around us, and I understood.

Her ushering into this life had been straight into grandeur. She had not lived life as a normal high fae, only royalty.

“I asked you to come here last week because I wanted you to meet Azriel. Something felt right, when I thought of you two together. I can’t explain it. I almost knew. Once the idea occurred to me, of you two together, I couldn’t shake it. It nagged at me until I brought you here.”

Though I had suspected, she hadn’t confirmed it before.

I pursed my lips and looked down at the full plated breakfast before me.

“He seems worth it, to me. Worth whatever… trouble, it could bring. To be his,” I said finally, picking up my fork. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of him.”

Nesta reached over and grabbed my arm. “You are. I would not trouble with you, if you weren’t.” She spoke plainly, stating a fact with no emotion behind it, and nodded in return.

—

I returned home early in the afternoon, greeted my employees, and headed up for a long bath and possibly a nap.

After soaking for a very long time to remove all the sweat and grime, I dressed in a simple tan dress, and pulled a book from my night stand. The bath had rejuvenated me enough to no longer need to sleep, so I sat next to the window to read.

Only ten minutes later, I closed the book, unable to focus on the words on the page. They danced around, always spelling Azriel in my mind.

A scary but not entirely unwelcome thought greeted me then: I was in love with the shadowsinger. With his soft smiles and tight expressions. His attention to detail and need to care and fix. His past and present and hopefully, his future.

I wasn’t just falling in love with him because the living bond between us brought us together, but for who he was. I would have loved him without this bond. Would have been struck by his beauty and grace. The quiet assuredness with which he moved through the world.

As I got lost deeper and deeper into my own thoughts, a knock came at the door. Probably Aurelia or Jessiminda, needing something for the store. I placed my book on the shelf before crossing my small apartment to pull open the door.

Neither girl stood there, but instead, Azriel barreled in, sweeping me into his arms in a warm embrace that I eagerly returned.

“You’re back!” I exclaimed, breathing him in. How fully I missed him really hit me then, as I held him safely in my arms. It was as if something had been wrong the last week, something missing from me, a part of my soul, and here it was, returned.

“I came back as soon as I could,” he said, his face in my hair. The unspoken part of that sentence seemed to be, to get back to you.

“How was training?” he asked as he pulled away, just a few inches to look at me, and I could not stop myself from rolling my eyes.

“I’m sore everywhere. I could not kick anyone’s ass.”

He laughed, a low chuckle. “Give it time.”

“I have been thinking… Jessaminda wants more hours, and the store is doing well. I could have her open every morning for me, so I only work afternoons.”

His smile grew. “You don’t want to train at six am.”

“Of course not. But also, it would mean more time for me.”

For us.

Through the bond, I felt a ripple of joy. Only once or twice before had I felt what I thought were Azriel’s emotions - we wouldn’t truly be able to feel each other until I accepted the bond, and we hadn’t discussed that yet.

“Good idea,” was his full reply, and I beamed at him.

“Are you hungry? I could make a stew.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Are you offering to cook for me? Now?”

I sauntered away from him into the kitchen, gathering the supplies I needed and lighting the stove.

“Sit, and tell me about your trip,” I instructed as I began chopping. He sat at my small dining table, looking as nervous as he was capable of after centuries of skillfully hiding his emotions, and told me of his trip. Simple fact finding and information gathering in the autumn court, where he’d also met up with some old friends. I asked questions, and he readily answered, giving me any information I wanted to know, which brought comfort to my heart.

When the stew was done, I filled two bowls, and turned to him.

“Before I give this to you, I want you to know… I think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. If you weren’t my mate, I would still find you as handsome, as impressive, as captivating, as awe-inspiring as I do now. I don’t care that we’ve only just met or there’s so much we have to learn about each other. I’m greatly looking forward to that.”

I sat down across from him, and wondered if my family would be upset that we’d done this in private. Many fae made a ceremony of this moment, but I couldn’t imagine that was something Azriel would want, and I didn’t really either.

There was a look in his eyes that I thought might be wonder, or awe, I set the bowl and spoon down in front of Azriel, and waited.

He lifted the spoon and stared at me with such intensity that it made my stomach churn with nerves.

“I have waited 500 years for you. Had I known what I was waiting for, I would have agreed to wait 500 more.” His voice trembled with emotion, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

We were silent as he took his first bite, and finished the bowl in mere minutes. I hadn’t even touched mine, I realized, and took my first bite as he took his last.

We stared at each other then, the air charged, and I felt it. The bond strengthening, solidifying between us, and I closed my eyes and listened.

I could feel him so clearly. His pain, his joy, and drowning everything else out, how badly Azriel wanted me in that moment. How desperate he was to touch me, and the thread he was using to hold himself back until he got a signal from me.

When I opened my dark eyes, his golden eyes bore into mine, passion sparking behind them.

“Yes,” was all I said, and all he needed, to sweep the table aside and pull me into his sturdy, waiting arms.

His mouth found mine eagerly, and his hands roamed my body. I found myself beyond glad I’d had time to bathe before he arrived.

He lifted me up by the shelf of my rear, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He walked the few steps over to my bed and without breaking the kiss, lay me on my soft green bedding, kneeling between my spread legs.

“Azriel,” I moaned, and I felt how badly he wanted me as he pressed himself into me. I arched my back, searching for more friction.

He reached down, pulling at the hem of my dress slowly, pushing it up over my thighs, his fingers trailing over my stomach, and I sat up so he could pull it over my head.

I made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, revealing his broad golden chest and firm abs.

“Gods,” I hissed as he tossed the shirt across the room. This sculpted angel before me was enough to send me into a spiral. He pushed me back onto the bed, and looked down at me as something to devour.

“I need to taste you,” he said, his voice all breath and gravel, and I nodded eagerly.

He started at my neck with lazy, languid kisses, running his warm tongue over my skin, and then down. Over my chest, he stopped to take my nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking gently. I arched my back, pressing myself into his mouth, and we groaned together.

Down, further down he went, trailing his tongue over my naval until he reached the apex of my thighs, and did not waste any time teasing me.

He pulled my sensitive bud between his lips and sucked. I was so swollen, so sensitive, and so desperate for him. I moaned his name and put my hands into his hair, guiding him as he truly devoured me. He slowed and sped, and stuck his tongue deep inside me, causing another loud moan to escape my chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and I nearly came at the sound of it.

“I need you,” I replied.

“Need me where, baby?”

“Inside me. Please. Now,” I panted.

He stood up slowly, torturing me, and removed the buckle from his pants, and slid them down over taught, muscular thighs.

The bulge in his underwear was obscenely large, and I wondered how on earth it was going to fit. He removed his underwear and sprang free, and my mouth watered.

He was on top of me once more, his fingers dragging through my wet folds, circling my clit, as I moaned into his mouth.

I spread my legs as wide as they would go, and reached down to grip his considerable length, and place it at my entrance.

“Please,” I breathed, and my mate’s eyes met mine. I felt him, his love and his admiration and his lust, surging through the bond. “Azriel.”

“Holly,” he whispered, reverently, worshipping my name as he worshipped my body, and slid slowly inside me.

“Gods!” I exclaimed, and dug my nails into his back.

He groaned, stopping to allow me to adjust to his size. “Good girl. You can take it all. Be a good girl for me,” he whispered in my ear.

When he was finally fully seated in me, to the hilt, he stilled again. I felt impossibly full but gods, so good, and I wiggled, encouraging him to move.

He chuckled and placed a rough kiss on my mouth before beginning to move. Slowly, carefully at first.

“More. I won’t break.”

He moaned again then, a sweet sound in my ears, and picked up the pace, sliding in and out of me faster and faster until he reached a punishing pace, and I was making noises in his ear I’d never made before.

“Come for me, mate,” he demanded in my ear, and I came apart around him with a blinding scream, clamping my legs around his waist and scratching my nails down his bag.

He groaned a moment later, finding his release, and collapsed on top of me.

I was thoroughly devoured.

—

We stayed in my apartment for four days together, learning and exploring each other, and I had never felt so blissfully happy.

Or so sore.

The frenzy. I’d heard of it before. It was a dangerous time for newly fated males, but Azriel and I stayed locked up together for the worst of it.

When we were not actively learning each other, we talked, or ate, or slept, or read together. I thought life like this forever might be okay, but of course, it couldn’t last.

On the fifth day, Azriel recommended we might emerge and let our friends and family know we had affirmed the bond, as if they didn’t know. I had sent word to my employees to run the store without me, to my family that I’d miss dinner, and I knew he’d sent word to his family too.

I had not known they’d planned a party, or else I would have insisted we stay locked away for much longer.

As we left through my apartment window, I already wished we were back inside, Azriel inside me and all around me, where nothing and no one else existed.

Sadly, we had responsibilities outside, and decisions to make.

Like where we would live. The thought of Azriel residing with me in my small apartment was cozy, but laughable. He spent most of his time at the House of Wind, but also had a room in the High Lord’s newest home, and his townhome central to the city.

I had suggested it might be nice to have a place all our own. Near the water, and my store, somewhere just for us.

Azriel had liked the idea so well, he’d taken me against the window as we looked out at the city, planning.

We arrived at the House of Wind as the sun was setting, entering through a door in the courtyard that I’d not yet seen. Azriel led me to his room, dark and quiet and without decoration, and I wondered what our new home would look like.

He opened his closet and from within, drew out a golden gown, the color of his eyes. It was beautiful, floor length with a plunging neck line, long adorned sleeves, and intricate bead work throughout.

“For you,” he said, bringing it over to me. “From Feyre.”

I reached out to touch the most lovely dress I’d ever seen. “I can’t accept this.”

He shrugged. “You can,” he replied simply. Money had not yet crossed my mind - what kind of salary did a Shadowsinger draw? Surely more than a book peddler.

I turned and allowed him to remove my dress, and once I stood nearly naked before him, I leaned over the black dresser in front of me, bearing myself to him as I stepped out of my shoes.

His breath hissed between his teeth, and I smiled. I turned and placed my hands on his shoulders, stepping into the dress. He drug it up my body, and stepped around me to zip it up. It fit perfectly, making curves where I’d thought I had none. I turned to look in the mirror, pushing my hair from my face, and decided on a simple, long braid, so as not to distract from the dress.

When I finished, Azriel grabbed my hand. “I also have this for you,” he said, holding out a ring. A thin gold band adorned with one shining purple jewel. Simple, and lovely, and I wordlessly spread my fingers so he could slide it on.

Two weeks ago, I was alone. I was lonely. Time is a funny thing.

—

I expected at most, a handful of people when we entered the dining room, but as we grew closer, the chatter of a crowd was hard to miss.

I gasped when we entered. The hall was decorated beautifully, in purple and gold everywhere, flowers and tapestries and other finery as far as the eye could see.

Everyone in my family was there. My parents, all three siblings and their spouses, and their children as well, five in total.

All mixed in with Azriel’s family, Rhysand and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, Amren and Mor standing with a beautiful woman who had to be Feyre’s third sister, hanging on the arm of a stunning man with red hair.

“Oh gods!” I shouted.

“Surprise!” Cassian hollered, igniting a laugh through the small crowd.

“Aunt Holly!” my youngest nephew ran to me as I entered and continued taking in the scene, and I bent down to scoop him into my arms. Nearing five, I would soon be unable to pick him up and throw him around, and I relished in holding him when I could.

I turned to Azriel, who smiled at me with mischief in his eyes. “Did you know?”

He shrugged, confirming it. “It was Feyre’s idea.”

Well, my mate was nothing if not clever. He knew I could not be mad if it was my High Lady’s idea. She approached then, arms open to wrap me and my nephew wiggling in my arms in a tight hug.

“I don’t know how you feel about surprises, but it didn’t feel right not to celebrate a new family member.”

I tried hard, but couldn’t resist a small bow. “Thank you, My Lady.”

She tisked. “Enough of that today. Just Feyre.”

Aiken jumped from my arms and ran back to my family, and we spent the rest of the night laughing and drinking as our two families blended. The atmosphere in the room was light, joyful, and calm.

I knew it would not always be this way. There would be very hard times ahead, and times of even greater joy and celebration.

Azriel and I were just getting started. It was all so new and fresh, but I was so sure of it too. So sure of him. The mating bond flowed between us, steady and strong, and we felt when the other was ready to end the night. I saw my family off before Rhysand and Mor helped them all home, promising we’d be at every Wednesday dinner we could, and we bid Feyre and her sisters farewell.

We returned to Azriel’s room quietly, hands clasped together, and I wondered if someone could be too happy.

If it was dangerous, to be too content, so quickly. To have so much change come into your life and to be so incandescently happy with it.

Was I asking for something terrible? Was I inviting in chaos and danger, simply by being overjoyed?

If so, I would not have changed a thing. Would not have chosen another mate, another family, another life for all the coin on the continent.

Azriel wrapped me in his arms as we fell asleep a while later, and I listened to his heartbeat in his chest, counting them.

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

A beautiful sound. The sound of my mate, alive and well.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked, sensing my overwhelming emotions down the bond.

“That I love you,” I replied quietly, eyes still closed, heart beating wildly.

I heard his speed up, too.

A confusing mix of emotions came through the bond. Pain, longing, fear, lust, but there under all of that, there was love.

“I don’t deserve you. You are good and pure. You are kind. Faultless.” His gravely voice was strained, and I propped myself up to see his golden eyes shining.

“You deserve every happiness in the world, and I will see to it that you have them, my mate.”

He leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.

“I love you, too,” he said, and shouted it down the bond as well.

We fell asleep intertwined in his dark sheets, only love enveloping us.

The book seller and the shadowsinger.

@rcarbo1

[chairofchaos]

Letters of Love: Part I

Pairing: Azriel x Eris

Summary: “The love story of Eris and Azriel Vanserra is a tale for the ages. Their story is best told through their letters to one another and their family in the first year of their mated union. In this new newest edition, their letters are joined by excerpts of Eris Vanserra’s journal entries, as newly released by the Vanserra family.” - from the summary, “Letters of Love”

A work in which Eris and Azriel’s slightly tumultuous love story is explored through interviews, letters, and journal entries.

Rating: Explicit (not in this chapter so much, but in later parts definitely)

Word Count: 8.5k (roughly)

A/N: Got an idea, had a breakdown, bon appetit! We’ll call this my contribution to @azrisweek for Contact Day. If formatting is messy, it’s because I wrote and edited this entire thing on mobile in the span of 24 hours.

A HUGE thank you must be extended to @ninthcircleofprythian, to whom I dedicate this part of Letters of Love. This is entirely owed to her ideas. Thank you especially for accepting my all-caps freak outs that have spawned 8,500-odd words in the last 24 hours. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for your ideas, and your support of my insanity. Enjoy, have a gold star, and enjoy the extra thousand words of Eris’ journal at the end!

Letter from the Editor

Eris and Azriel Vanserra, the famed High Lords of Autumn, were not always the lockstep, solid foundations we now think them to be. This new edition of Letters of Love is the story of two great tacticians, strategists, and politicians from two previously antagonistic courts, and their journey from enmity to long-lasting marriage. The new inclusion of journal entries recently released by the Vanserra family adds a new dimension of personal thoughts by the Heir of Autumn.

The compilation of letters and anecdotes contained herein were requested by Eris Vanserra toward the end of his life. He wished to have something to pass on to his children as a reminder of the great love that he and Azriel had shared, and all that had transpired in the first year of their life together. It is no doubt that the volume was also of some comfort to him at the end of his life. The loss of his mate some hundred years earlier had significantly weakened the Vanserra heir. Their three children acknowledged after Eris’ passing that the loss of Azriel had been one from which their father never truly recovered.

Other volumes will contain details of the years following their mating ceremony and the immediate challenges they faced upon being mated, but it is this one that their eldest son Carmine assembled at his father’s request. The letters, generously provided by the courts of Autumn, Night, and Day, continue to paint a vivid picture of the High Lords in the tumultuous years following the war with Hybern, the birth of the Cauldron-born Archeron High Ladies and their own mates, and the defeat of Koschei. It was in that final conflict with Koschei that Eris Vanserra became High Lord of Autumn. Whether it was a blow dealt by the heir or by the death god himself, we will leave to you to decide, as its relevance to the subject matter contained within is only passing.

It is our hope that this new edition of Letters of Love is as enthralling as the ones which have come before. May your fires be warm, and your shadows a comfort.

***

Introduction from the First Edition

By Carmine Vanserra

Dear Reader,

Within the pages you hold are the proof of my fathers’ love for each other. Their life together was a happy one, though it was frequently troubled. It is no secret that for a great many centuries they were no more friendly than two bucks fighting over some perceived slight in the forest. The love that grew between them with maturity and age gave significant weight to that excellent phrase of Ms. Sellyn Drake: “The line between hated and love is a fine one, indeed.”

I would be remiss not to acknowledge the origins of this book. It was my father, Eris Vanserra, who requested its compilation just three years before his death. Greatly weakened by the loss of his mate some years before, he found himself more prone to reminiscing about the events of life. The love he had for my father Azriel was, to him, the greatest of all the happenings in a centuries-long life. It was their story which was told to my siblings and I at bedtime; their tales of misadventures and romance which in turn encouraged our own hearts to love.

Despite these joys, the truth must out. Their life was not always a happy one. This small volume tells but one fragment of their story. Perhaps other writers and historians will have opportunities to explore the full history of their life. It will not be me. This assignment, which my father set me to centuries ago, inspired a great many works and my own life’s work of the exploration of the true romances of history. It was this initial work which inspired the birth of my own publishing house, Leaf Bridge, and to write my many books. I would find it the greatest personal failing if, as I now depart from the ink scented office of my printing house, I did not publish the work which inspired this building and the work we do in it.

With the full consent and understanding of my siblings and other relevant parties, I am thankful to offer you at last the full story of my fathers’ love.

I must extend my gratitude to Lord Nyx Moonbeam, whose initial hesitation easily gave way to understanding and even joy upon hearing what we sought to do with this published edition. Nyx, my most beloved friend and confidant: as these letters and this story have graced our personal libraries and lives for centuries, I hope it will so grace the homes and hearths of your court. May it bring them the same joy and richness of life that it brought us.

I must thank also my cousin, Lady Flora, whose permission of access to the libraries and records of Day Court has been indispensable. I am especially sorry that your mother did not live to see the volume in its published format, as she was instrumental in the early research and saving of the letters contained within. It is very likely she saw me write this letter some time ago. Only she could know, so thank you, Aunt Elain.

One last thank you to the living must be extended to my eldest sister. Lady Arbora, without your arduous notes, Symphonia recordings, and truly obsessive nature for details of the smallest order, we would have no record of many of Papa’s thoughts and feelings of these early years. The transcripts of your thorough interrogations of both Father and Papa made it possible for this volume to tell a complete story using their words. Annoying as I may have found your obsession when we were young, I now realize that we all owe you the deepest debt of gratitude, and none more than I.

To the deceased: Aunt Feyre, Uncle Rhysand, Uncle Lucien, Aunt Elain, Aunt Nesta, Uncle Cassian, my brother, Ash, and to all of those whose names have been forgotten to time and ignorance, we the living offer you our heartfelt gratitude for all you made possible for Eris and Azriel.

Eris and Azriel, my fathers. To you, we offer the greatest debt of thanks. May this collection bring you honor and peace.

***

LETTERS OF LOVE

Day One

Letters:

Dear Lord Eris,

You are cordially invited to visit Rhysand and I at our home in Velaris this week-end. There will be a small tour of the city, if you wish it. Dinner will be provided. Please arrive at 4.

Sincerely yours,

Lady Feyre

***

Dear Lady Feyre,

I look forward to attending. What further details can you provide? And please, stop calling me Lord.

Sincerely,

Eris Vanserra

***

Transcript from Interview:

Arbora: What did Aunt Feyre say when you asked her that?

Eris (amused): Arbora, I have told this story before.

Arbora: It’s not funny, Father.

Azriel: It’s a little funny, sweetheart. Go on, Ere.

Eris: Well, she told me that dinner would be at 6 in the River House. It would be my first visit where I was allowed to see where your aunt, uncle, and cousin actually lived.

Arbora: That would be Uncle Rhysand, Aunt Feyre, and Nyx.

Eris: Yes.

Arbora: Anything else?

Eris: Yes. She let me know that Cassian and Nesta would be out of town, though Azriel would likely be in attendance along with their immediate family. She also provided some details about where exactly to winnow, though I can’t say I really remember those.

Azriel: You were to winnow to the outskirts of Velaris near the base of the House of Wind stairs. Rhys was supposed to bring you the rest of the way. I changed it to see how you would react.

Eris: I’m sure you’re right.

Together, Azriel (normally) & Arbora (mockingly): I usually am.

[all laugh]

Azriel [with affection]: Smartass.

Arbora: Sorry, Papa.

Eris: We love you. Though that’s all the time we have for tonight, I’m afraid.

[End Interview]

Day Two

Letters:

Dear Azriel,

I’m sorry for writing, though I will admit I was hesitant to wake you. My powers are drained, as are Rhys’. We’re fine here, but we’re going to need to do some more work in Windhaven before returning and I doubt we will be home in time for dinner. It’s unfortunate, since Eris is expected, but Rhys and I don’t want to share with him exactly what’s going on.

Will you take over the dinner? Nuala and Cerridwen have the meal fully in hand. He’s to winnow to the base of the House of Wind, though you could write to him with other arrangements. I also offered him a tour of the city, which I planned to do myself. Perhaps the Rainbow would be a safe bet?

I don’t want to put you under any stress. Delegate your other things, please. We’d like this relationship to continue between Night and Autumn, so consider this your top priority until the end of the night.

Thank you, Az.

Love,

Feyre

***

Dear Feyre,

Not to sound too much like your son, but, do I absolutely have to? Will it be just the two of us for dinner? You do remember the first time you saw Eris and I go at each other’s throats, yes?

Love (though I’m not happy about this),

Az

***

Dear Azriel,

You do sound remarkably like Nyx when you ask things like that. Though it could be said he sounds a bit like his father, though don’t tell Rhys I said that.

Yes, it will just be the two of you. Nesta and Cassian are still on the continent. Amren’s visit with Varian began today, and since they haven’t seen each other in a month, I would suggest avoiding the apartment at all costs. I’m not sure why you would care for her backup with Eris, but just in case you were desperate? Don’t go to her. Everyone else is here, as you know, and very needed. If it wasn’t for Eris coming, I’d have you here, too. As I said, Nuala and Cerridwen are taking care of the meal, so you’ll just need to handle the tour and making sure you’re back in time for dinner.

I remember that meeting well, thank you. Do me a favor and let’s try not to have a repeat. I promise you a huge favor when we get back. Name the price. I’ll even see if I can get Rhys to leave Nyx in your care for a day without interruption. Exercises in trust, and all. Speaking of, let’s attempt to not repeat history. Please keep in mind the importance of this visit for the relations between our court and Autumn.

With love, even when you aren’t happy with me,

Feyre

P.S. - Brother, I owe you. Though I can’t say I’ll hand over my son for a whole day, no matter how much I love and trust you. I love him more. I’d miss him. Be civil. Send us a report once it’s over. And whatever you do, don’t hit him first. - Rhys

***

Dear High Lord and High Lady,

It is with great pleasure- fuck it I’m not writing this formally. You both know I don’t like writing these. If you hate it, give the writing job to someone else. I’ll train them if it means I don’t have to do this anymore.

I changed the location of pickup to see how he would react. It didn’t seem to bother him one bit. Probably because he knew I was just trying to annoy him a bit. I picked him up at the border of Night instead, and teleported him to the River House. I figured we could start a tour from there.

From the River, we walked through all four palaces. I gave explanations of why they were called what they were, and their wares. He called the bridges “unique” and “beautiful,” and couldn’t seem to stop staring at the cliffs. He seemed almost enamored with them.

He had very little to say about Velaris otherwise, though he asked any shopkeeper we came across questions about their wares or other things to engage them in conversation. He almost seemed like he was genuinely curious. He bought one or two little things in the Rainbow.

Dinner was uncomfortable. With just the two of us, the River House dining room felt opulent, but we persisted. We kept conversation to a minimum. Nuala and Cerridwen excelled, as usual, and he spoke to them briefly following the meal, in which he sang their praises.

When dinner had finished, I offered him a look at the portraits in the main hall or the gardens outside. He chose portraits, so I let him wander the entryway. He stared at them. For some reason, mine seemed to be of particular interest. Feyre, it occurred to me that he may actually make a good subject for a portrait if relations are ever good enough and you could convince him to sit for you. My shadows had nothing to say in his favor or to his detriment, though they did seem to like swirling around his chair during dinner.

I took him outside the city again, and he winnowed home. Nothing notable. He seemed peaceful. He didn’t mention your absence- thank you for not leaving that explanation to me.

I’ll see you soon.

Azriel

***

Dear Azriel,

Thank you for the visit today. It was delightful to see the city in the evening, and to be able to walk its streets for the first time. Please extend my thanks to Rhysand and Feyre. Their home is lovely, fitting for a city like Velaris. It truly is, as my brother said, a Court of Dreams. I am grateful to have been able to experience all of its beauty in the evening light.

Thank you also for your courtesy in sharing the history of the the city and the previously secret history of the Night Court. It was a privilege to hear, especially since you clearly have extensive knowledge on the matter.

Sincerely,

Eris Vanserra

***

Lucien,

I have a matter of urgency to discuss with you. Please come tomorrow morning.

Eris

***

Eris,

My mate is days away from giving birth. Forgive me this frankness, but I’m not leaving her for a minute and I don’t want you here until this is all over. Write to me instead. Whatever it is can’t be that bad or you would have just showed up.

Lucien

***

Lucien,

I had a visit to Velaris yesterday. It went perfectly, from a diplomatic standpoint, though the only one present was Azriel. Everyone else had been called away to an emergency in Windhaven. I received no explanation for the extent, or the nature of the issue, but I believe it to be extensive. I was invited to explore the city. Azriel was beside me, or close behind, through the whole city. To his credit, he spoke well of the city and its history.

At one point, I was in awe of the cliffs and mountains- you’ve been there, so you know how impressive they are. The way the city is built into the hills is truly incredible. I was looking up while walking, and I tripped on a cobblestone. (I wouldn’t tell you that unless it was incredibly important, and trust that given the circumstances, you will never mention it again.) Azriel caught me by the wrist and the upper arm and hoisted me straight again.

I cannot believe what I am about to say, but I believe Azriel is my mate. The second his hand was on mine, I felt a tug in my sternum pulling me towards him. He gave no indication he felt it.

Luc, my hand burned when I pulled away from him. It was like his hand had lit me on fire- and not the kind that can be controlled, not even by us. I had to flex it to get the feeling to go away even a little. It grew in awkwardness from there. I had the good fortune to be able to hold my tongue, unlike you, so if I hid it well, he won’t know.

I do not know what to do. Please, I have never asked you for anything more valuable to me than this.

Eris

***

Eris,

Elain says to come over. We have tea. Apparently babies like drama too. Helion is aware you’re coming, but not why. Pack a bag so you can stay the night. And Elain says to be nice to me or she’ll tell you something horrible that may or may not be true.

Lucien

***

Luc,

I’ll be there in ten minutes. Please ask your mate to never do that again. The last horror was enough to keep me awake for two days.

Eris

Transcript from Interview:

Azriel: The shadows brought me the letter. At the time, the standard was for one or two of them to place letters on the counter for me to deal with them. But this one, not marked as urgent or hasty, arrived in the morning the day after Fath - I mean, Eris, had visited Night.

The shadows had brought me his letter from the night before as well. I chalked it up to it being a professional correspondence and after reading it, sent it to Rhys and Feyre to pass on his gratitude at their hospitality and the loveliness of their home. The shadows did seem uncharacteristically eager.

[End Interview]

Day Three

Letters, Part I:

Dear Azriel,

You are invited to join me in Autumn this afternoon at 3 for a tour of my orchard, with dinner to follow. The orchard is the source of the fruits for the cider you enjoyed on your last visit. I thought you may enjoy seeing it, and wanted to return the hospitality you offered me in Velaris.

Please let me know if you are able to come.

Sincerely,

Eris Vanserra

***

Dear Eris,

Thank you for the invitation. I will come.

Sincerely,

Azriel

***

Rhys,

I’ve been invited to Autumn for a tour of Eris’ orchard. I accepted because I knew you would tell me to. I’ll be gone this evening.

Azriel

***

Azriel,

Good. Keep us updated. And please wear something nicer than leathers.

Rhys

***

Rhys,

I have just returned from Autumn. You’ll be pleased to know I wore sensible boots with a nicer pair of pants and a crisp white shirt. Not that it really matters.

I have no words for what happened. Please understand this is only being sent to you because I may have royally fucked up and wanted you to know in case it affects court relations.

I went to join Eris for the tour of the orchard. It was exceptional. Beautiful. Well organized. We were walking side by side down the rows. Eris was explaining the trees, the cultivation of their apples, and the importance of keeping the varieties separated. We moved into a neighboring field with smaller trees, and the rows were closer together. It got so narrow I moved to let Eris walk in front and his hand brushed mine. Well, really his signet ring brushed my hand, and I jolted and almost fell into one of the trees.

Rhys. I don’t even know what to say but… it felt good. It felt like warmth wrapped around my heart and PULLED. I don’t know how else to explain it. I didn’t know what to do. I balked and immediately shot into the air then let my shadows carry me back here. I don’t think I know what to do. Fuck, I said I wanted a mating bond. This feels like a cruel joke.

But what if there’s a reason? What if it’s good? What if I just ran and fucked things up so badly that he never wants to speak to me again? I don’t even know if he noticed what made me run- he didn’t look surprised. He just looked stoic, even as he watched me fly away.

What the fuck do I do? Why HIM? I don’t know where to go from here. I’m sorry if this creates problems for you.

Azriel

***

Azriel,

Unfortunately, you have to go fix this. I don’t know what he felt, whether he felt it or not. I care, but as High Lord, you know I can’t put this over the court relations. You abruptly leaving a diplomatic exchange is something I can’t explain away or excuse. Go fix it. Tomorrow at the latest. We’ve spent years working with Eris in order to improve our relations. I’m sorry, Azriel, but I cannot allow this, no matter how personal, to interfere with that tenuous bond.

Rhys

***

Azriel,

Rhys shared your letter with me. I helped him write his letter, but wanted to add a few things. Do what he said though. I agree we need this connection of courts. You will need to address this.

To the personal aspect: I won’t say congratulations, though I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. Nesta is always commenting on how the line between love and hate is razor thin or something of that nature. I think it’s a quote from one of her books. It’s proved to be true a few times, I think.

Azriel, you have to try. If the Cauldron thinks Eris is the best one for you, you owe it to yourself to try. You’ve frequently noted to Rhys and I how happy we all are. Offer yourself that same chance. If you don’t try, you will likely come to regret it. I hope you will go to him, not just to fix things for us, but to see for yourself if there is the chance of affection and love.

All my love,

Feyre

***

Feyre,

Tell Rhys I’ll go. After all the things I’ve said to Eris, how could he love me? How could he forgive me that? I cannot see how it would be possible. I will fix what I can. I also won’t pretend to have any hope here.

Azriel

***

Azriel,

You do remember how my courtship with Rhys started? I despised him. I hit him over the head with a shoe. He had done things with and to me under the mountain that he regretted deeply. We got over it. If we could, so can you two. I also notice that you are concerned only with what you have done, not what Eris has done to you. From my understanding, your relationship to this point has been equally antagonistic. I wonder if he may be having the same self-deprecating thoughts?

Feyre

***

Feyre,

Yes, I remember. But throwing a shoe at someone is a little different than telling someone you have proof of his efforts to kill his father and you won’t hesitate to use it if it means Beron removes Eris from the equation. Not to mention the knowledge that I threatened him with exposing his mother’s affair with Helion if he stepped out of line not long after that.There’s no coming back from something like that.

Azriel

***

Az,

All you can do is try. Go. Fix it. You can do this.

Feyre

***

Lucien,

He found out. We were walking to the dinner table- I hadn’t mentioned the bond yet, or that we’d eat dinner in the orchard. Our hands brushed and it must have snapped for him. He nearly took out one of the trees. I think if he hadn’t stabilized himself with his wings he would have.

He flew away. I’ve never seen such a look of panic on his face. One or two of his shadows lingered reluctantly- I wonder what they know, if their will is separate from their master’s or if there was some part of him that wanted to stay and that will kept them there a moment or two longer. He glanced over his shoulder as he left. I couldn’t even see his face.

Regardless, he is gone. I don’t expect him back. I can’t push him to return. I can’t imagine after these years of enmity that he would bother. I can’t even blame him for it. We’ve said despicable things to one another. I’ve threatened his family more times than I can count. I’ve dressed his brothers down publicly, decade after decade, sometimes to their faces, sometimes behind their backs. It’s a tenuous starting point for even court relations, let alone a mating bond.

I cannot imagine that this would work.

Eris

***

Eris,

Elain says you deserve to try. I am inclined to agree. You meant to talk to him, so invite him, clearly this time. Clear intentions. You do still have dinner on the table, don’t you? You never ate well when you were nervous.

Lucien

***

Lucien (and Elain, apparently),

I suppose it can’t hurt. He’ll probably show up at some point anyways. Might as well try to temper the reaction however I can.

Eris

***

Dear Azriel,

I am writing to inform you that I was aware of the revelation you have just experienced. The bond snapped for me yesterday when you kept me from falling in Velaris. I wasn’t sure how you would react, or if there was any possibility of affection. I also knew it would be easier for you to leave from here, as you just did, than it would be for me to walk out of Night without you.

If you would like to discuss this, I will be in the orchard. I had planned to share what I knew with you at dinner, and had dinner waiting on the table here in the orchard. It is just a few rows away from where we were. If you would like to join me to discuss this, I will be here until midnight. If you decide to join me some other day, please write first. I’d prefer to have this conversation in private, to allow us to speak freely without concern of courts or politic.

If I may be so bold, I hope you will come.

Yours,

Eris

Entry from the Journal of Eris Vanserra:

He left. I hadn’t realized how hopeful I was until he was flying away. I couldn’t see his face except in that one last glance over his shoulder- not granting me even one last look at the beauty contained within. It was too much to hope for. I suppose 24 hours of hope is all I could have hoped for. I’m sitting at the table now, wishing he was across from me. Lucien was right. I haven’t touched a bite. I feel too sick to even try.

It was foolish of me to dream of him last night. I stood on the balcony before I even retired, thinking of the way he had looked at me before he realized. Did he notice the unguarded open stares I couldn’t help but look at him with?

I can’t say it hadn’t occurred to me before: the way he might look leaning in to kiss me, the way he would have held me. It is not a possibility I had even considered until last night.

Last night, walking in Velaris, it was all I could do to focus on the people around us, the city noises. He was beside me, calm and less menacing than usual. He was a good guide. He knew the answers to every question I had. But the bond snapped and I found that I wasn’t surprised at all. I hadn’t realized how much affection had grown on my part in these last years, how much I admired the way he is.

If walking around Velaris was hard, dinner was agony. I could look across the table and see him, see his shadows swirling around him. I could feel them watching me, feel them darting around my chair as if they were nervous to get too close. But Azriel seemed calm, unaffected. He hadn’t seemed to notice any change in me.

Lucien convinced me to invite him today. I agreed. I’m going to kill my brother for that. What an idiotic idea. Here I am, alone.

The shadows lingered as Azriel left. They curled in my hair and around my wrists and ankles, and brushed against my cheek. They had never been so brazen with me. They were cool, like little brushes of a breeze against my skin. I can’t bear it. I couldn’t bear it when they disappeared with him. It was a loss I didn’t expect. It hurt more than I have the words for, losing that lingering fragment of him.

I was going to tell him. I didn’t know what else to do. So I’m sitting here at the table where I had hoped to confess. If I had held it in I could imagine the rage he would fly into when he found out. It would not have helped for there to be secrets. Not about this. This table, this entire meal is pointless without him here. It’s no use pretending I’m not breaking at this loss of a chance. The bond is eerily still. I do not dare touch it in case it shatters to pieces.

I will wait. Just like I said. Likely for longer than I said. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to let this go. I just hope he will forgive me for loving-

Transcript from Interview:

Azriel: The note he sent me made it easier to go back. I felt better knowing he knew. Somehow that made it easier than if I had had to break the news to him myself. I didn’t hesitate long after getting it. It was probably half an hour before I got the courage to show up. It was nearing sundown and I didn’t want him to give up.

Arbora: How did you feel?

Azriel: Anxious. Mostly because it could go so sideways for so many reasons. I didn’t know what to expect.

Arbora: Walk me through the evening.

Azriel: I teleported to where I had left from. Since I was right back where I was before, I just had to follow Eris’ footprints through the trees to find where he was. He was sitting with his back to me, scribbling furiously in his journal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course. But I noticed he was writing like it would kill him if he didn’t.

It wasn’t easy to walk up to him. The second he heard me he slammed the journal shut and stood. I don’t think I had ever seen him this disheveled. His hair was unbound, and he looked shocked I had even come.

Arbora: Who spoke first?

Azriel: He did. I didn’t know what to say. He seemed to regain some control and he asked me to sit. I think of the two of us, he was more worried about the personal. I had come with the intention to repair court bonds. He didn’t seem to care about that as much as the personal.

Arbora: How did the conversation go?

Azriel: I think he started. He told me how he had realized. I interjected to talk about-

Arbora: [interjecting] Papa. Details, please.

Azriel: Right. Sorry, sweetheart. [sighs] He explained the way the bond had snapped when I had grabbed him to keep him from falling. He told me he knew it was a surprise, but that he didn’t mind. He started to let me know he didn’t expect anything from me but that he wanted to be clear he was open to exploring it and I just… exploded a little. He seemed too calm, too steady. It was as though he was suppressing everything just to control what he could. It unsettled me.

I couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem interested in talking about what this might mean for his court, and I told him so. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look he gave me. He hadn’t met my eyes since he started talking, and in hindsight, I think he was probably fidgeting with his jacket cuffs under the table. You know how he does that in meetings when he’s anxious.

But he looked at me, really looked at me. He paused, and just said, “You cannot expect me to put my court first in this conversation. Not when you’re sitting in front of me. Not when I haven’t breathed easily since yesterday.”

It… [lengthy pause] It broke me, a little bit. He had never been so open, so directive in such a vulnerable way. It shook me. I don’t think the night would have gone the way it did if we hadn’t had that moment.

Arbora (quietly): Keep going.

Azriel: He waited while I gathered some thoughts and pieced together a sentence or two, telling him I was sorry I had left the way I did. That I was surprised, and alarmed. I told him what Rhys had said, that I had to come back to mend things between the courts, to repair anything that had been broken. And when I saw how it seemed to hurt him, this implication that I was only there to fix things, I admitted that I had wanted Rhys to force me back.

It was true. I did. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but if Rhys hadn’t have forced me back I would have run and kept running. But I admitted it to Eris. Somehow it was easier to admit to him than to myself, and to tell him how it scared me because I recognized what a monumental thing this was. It must have been the right thing to say, because he looked more relieved than hurt after that.

He asked me frankly if I wanted the bond. I told him honestly that I thought I did, but also that I was nervous about what it may mean. I asked him if he wanted it, and he just pursed his lips and looked away. I waited him out. I thought it was the only way he would answer me. But he didn’t, verbally.

Instead, he shoved about a million emotions down the bond- relief, anger, pain, desperation, sadness. So much sadness. It wasn’t mournful, it was more… desperate. He’ll hate that I said it that way, but that’s what it felt like to me. It was agonizing, to sit there, feeling what he was feeling. I was taken aback by the strength of his emotions, and found my own deepening in kind.

“I want this. I want you,” he finally said. His voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear him.

“Are you certain?” I asked him. He said he did, and I think I nodded in response. Your father hardly told me anything after that. He asked me if I was willing to try, to give it a shot. Then he offered me dinner.

I didn’t think about it before accepting. I didn’t even consider that this meal could be acceptance of the bond. I’ve wondered since if he knew what he was doing. He insists he didn’t, but I am not entirely sure I believe him.

Arbora: Would that be something he would have done?

Azriel: It’s not out of the question. I’m sure you’ve noticed your father is a tricky male, Arbora. It’s one of the things I continue to be surprised by- and amused. Make no mistake, I love his trickery. It’s endearing. It always has been, if I am truthful. Something about the way he schemed to make his court a better place…

Anyway, his argument is usually that since he didn’t make the food and he didn’t intend it at the beginning that this would be food to offer as an offer to accept the mating bond that he didn’t even consider what might happen, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have at least hoped.

Arbora: How did you feel when you realized?

Azriel: I felt peaceful. I think that’s what made me realize most of all, that he seemed pleased but surprised, and nervous about what I would say. I just felt peace. It was as though I knew it was right, even in the face of all the challenges it might present.

There’s no denying I’d considered what he would be like before. You’re an adult, I’m going to say this even though it’s a bit… risqué. But I’d considered what it would be like to bed him. And there was always more to that than just fantasy.

Arbora (sarcastically): Thanks for that.

Azriel: No problem. I’ll spare you the details. The realization was like making a breakthrough in training- the way you’ve fought to gain a skill, and then all at once, it clicks and you realize you can do it. It was like that. I didn’t see my feelings until all at once, they were there, big and powerful.

Arbora: Following that realization, what did you do?

Azriel: Arbora, after you just thanked me for holding details you may wish to rephrase that question.

Arbora: Ah- Okay. Um.

Azriel: Don’t worry. I’m teasing. We went to Eris’ private residence. He winnowed us. We took a couple of minutes to just let the people we needed to talk to know that we would be unavailable for the next few days. And we talked. A lot. Admittedly, probably more than most newly mated couples. Though I assume most of them would have had head conversations before hand.

Arbora: What did you talk about?

Azriel: The past. We discussed the things we had said to one another. The insults we had traded and threats we made. We also did typical newly-mated things. Again, I won’t lie to you. You asked for unabridged honesty. So we rotated between bed and living room, dining room for brief meals before sitting on the couch and talking, then moving back to the bedroom. It was six days of torture, because we had so much to talk about but it wasn’t what we really wanted to be talking about or doing, but it was things we had to get out of the way first. We wanted to enjoy it.

Arbora: Can you expand on that?

Azriel: Well, the things we talked about were unpleasant. They were emotional. Highly charged. Occasionally, Eris would step out for an hour, though he swore it was the last thing he wanted to do. With Lucien unavailable to help, he wanted to keep things under control in the court and since he hadn’t given the full reason for his absence, he didn’t want to draw too much attention, so there were a few meetings he said he absolutely couldn’t miss. It was a bit brutal.

Arbora: What was the reasoning behind keeping it quiet?

Azriel: I was spymaster of Night Court. He was High Lord of Autumn, and in the grand scheme of things, relatively recently crowned. Night and Autumn historically did not have a good relationship, and our immediate families had been the poster child for that dysfunction. It could have been a disaster if we had publicly stepped out in those first few months.

Arbora: How did your families take it?

[End Interview]

Letters, Part II:

Feyre,

I’m going to ask you to share this with Rhys. I can’t do it myself. I don’t know how to explain the events of the last 4 hours.

I’m mated to Eris. It was quick, and sudden. I’m happy about it. I need a few days. I won’t disclose anything that could put Night in danger- I hope you both know I would never do that. I’m sure he’ll be equally careful with Autumn. And we’ll need to talk about all of this. I know it complicates things. I’m sorry about that. But I can’t say I’m sorry we’re mated. It wouldn’t be true.

Thank you, and Rhys, for pushing me to come. I’m very grateful that you did.

Love,

Azriel

***

Azriel,

Well. I suppose now I can say: Congratulations! I’m glad you’re happy. I’ll let Rhys write you himself once I tell him. He’s with Cassian now. I’m assuming you’ll want to tell Cassian yourself, so I won’t trouble you with that.

Enjoy your time. I’ll make sure no one bothers you. And say hello to Eris for me.

Love,

Feyre

***

Cassian,

I wanted you to hear it from me. I’d appreciate it if this could stay between us- Rhys and Feyre know, and you can tell Nesta once she promises not to tell the other Valkyries.

I’m mated. It was almost as much a surprise to me as I’m sure it will be to you. My mate is Eris. Yes, that Eris. Yes, I am aware that he is High Lord of Autumn, and that we have had several very public fights. Yes, I do remember what Helion said about “being his new fantasy” and I also remember you teasing me about it afterwards.

I am sure you have about as many questions as I do right now, so let’s just leave it at that for now. I’ll be gone for the next few days. When I come home, I’ll answer as many questions as you want.

Azriel

***

Lucien,

Thank you for your advice these last few days. I’m going to take a few days off. Write if Elain has the baby. I’ll be otherwise occupied, but I’ll come when I can. Azriel and I will be at the Acorn in case of emergencies, but if anyone asks, you have no idea where I am.

Details to follow.

Eris

***

Dear Eris,

You forgot to include me in the salutation again. Don’t forget, I see things you don’t. It’s your duty as my brother-in-law to keep me informed, especially while I’m on bed rest. It doesn’t matter how much I see, I still want to hear every detail from you when you two are done with your little getaway. How you ended up going from pining agony (don’t bother pretending otherwise) to very near mated bliss in three days will be a tale for the ages. And a vespertine confession of feelings? Very romantic.

Lucien says congratulations. I’m sure he’ll write later. Feel free to ignore him. It can be his turn to be ignored, for once. He’s running himself to the ground trying to keep me comfortable when all I really want is to have him next to me until I have this baby. Anyways, tell Azriel we say hello. You’ll have to come for dinner soon and introduce him to the baby. I’m sure he or she will be here by the time you two can make it to us.

Affectionately,

Elain

***

Dear Elain,

I’m assuming you’ll have heard from Lucien, but if you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t worry. It’s nothing serious.

Love,

Feyre

***

Dear Feyre,

Oh I know very well what you’re talking about. Not to mention, I knew before they did. Pesky stubborn males. I told you to keep Cassian and Nesta away. Aren’t you glad you did?

Elain

***

My tricky sister,

You’re just as bad as them when it comes to being pesky and stubborn. Don’t forget the promises you made me in order to convince me to keep C & N away. Thought I can’t say I’m disappointed with the result. Azriel wrote me- he seems glad.

Love,

Feyre

***

My equally tricky sister,

I won’t forget my promise. You were always going to be a godmother, though, I don’t know why you didn’t consider that I would make you one in the first place. Of course, with Azriel now mated to Eris, the godfather is now up for debate…it might please Lucien for his brother to be involved. (Kidding. That was already decided, too. It’ll just be one more way to keep Eris close and involve him in the family. Be happy. And don’t tell Rhys yet.)

Azriel is more grateful than he has likely let on. Don’t bug him too much if you can help it, and once your powers are recovered, don’t let Rhys egg him on.

Love you more,

Elain

Entry from the Journal of Eris Vanserra:

My god, he is a good lover.

***

Day three since we were mated. I love him. I love him so much. It’s been agonizing, and beautiful. I wish I had known how much I would feel from him down the bond. The bond is alive. It’s spinning, twining us closer at every moment. I told him I had a meeting, which is true. I just am taking ten extra minutes to write, to remember this feeling.

Azriel is everything I hoped my mate would be. Male, for one. But he’s gentle. He’s kind. He’s passionate about his family, and his court. He’s protective of them, too, and already that protectiveness has extended to me.

I went to get a new glass of water last night after he had fallen asleep, and when I turned from the sink, he was standing in the doorway looking concerned as he scanned the room.

“Are you alright?” He asked. His brows were furrowed, and I found myself admiring the wrinkle that made between them. When I nodded, he relaxed, but huffed grumpily. “I was worried when you were gone,” he admitted. He crossed to hold me, pulling me against his bare chest. Azriel apparently likes to be naked. A lot. I don’t mind. Not at all.

I told him I was fine and that I was sorry to have worried him. He just tangled his hands in my hair and pulled my head from his shoulder to kiss me. And what a kiss it was: firm, gentle. Teasing, then sweet. This male is addictive. He should be illegal. And he’s mine. My mate. My love.

I told him yesterday that I had been in love with him for longer than I could say. He admitted he hadn’t acknowledged it until the bond snapped, but part of the reason he ran was because it was forcing him to confront things he already knew. He apologized extensively for the threats, but seemed even more apologetic about the antagonism he had displayed. He blamed it on an abundance of feelings he didn’t know what to do with. I would say that it was a bad excuse, but since it’s the only one I can think of to excuse my own behavior, I said nothing. We always did rile each other more than anyone else.

Still, each conversation, each apology, each remembrance of ways we had wronged each other brought up things we weren’t proud of, and with it, floods of emotions we had to handle. I don’t think either of us were expecting to burst into tears when Azriel confessed how a few months ago, he had started having nightmares about the way he threatened me at that High Lords’ meeting and the look I had in my eyes- “as though you expected it. As if you thought you deserved it,” he said.

We’re falling apart a little bit. But we’re also putting each other back together. That’s not to say I don’t feel awkward half the time. I don’t know him, not really. Every kiss, every whisper of affection comes with the knowledge that I don’t know what his favorite color is (it’s yellow) or that I didn’t even know until this morning that his mother was alive and a part of his life. He wrote her a letter, telling her he would come visit in a couple of weeks. He didn’t mention whether he wanted me to come with him, or if Rhys would even allow me into Night. Frankly, I wouldn’t know if Azriel even knows if he wants me there.

Still, every kiss… When I winnowed us here two days ago, I winnowed us to the outskirts of the Acorn house lawn. He looked at it and understanding rang in his eyes: this was a place I kept quiet. His wings tucked tight into his back as he looked at me, waiting for me to lead. So I did, walking across the lawn as leaves crunched beneath our feet, disturbing the serene silence of our stowaway.

We reached the door, and I found him hovering over my shoulder as I opened the door.

He choked my name, and I spun, worried someone was there, that we would be disturbed before we had even had the chance to know each other. Azriel was looking at me, heat in his eyes. His jaw twitched, and he opened his mouth to say something before slamming it shut again. He looked so beautiful- the darkness of night falling around him, the last hints of light peeking through the leaves and the membranes of his wings.

How had I never noticed how beautiful his wings were? I stared at him openly, admiring him, and found myself thankful for the fact that this male stood with me, on the doorstep of my home. I almost said so, but he moved first.

His hands cradled my head so gently I wondered if he was scared of breaking me, and then he kissed me. His hands didn’t stray as he tilted my head to deepen our kiss, guiding me backwards with little pushes of his chest against my hands (I couldn’t help but let them wander- how he kept it together I have no idea) until we were inside. He pulled back, wild hazel eyes darting between mine as he reached back to close the door without even looking.

I don’t know if it’s the wings that make him so aware of his surroundings. Regardless, his eyes didn’t even leave mine. “May I?” He asked softly. It took me a solid ten seconds to realize his hand had come to settle over the buttons of my shirt. I nodded silently, and he lost no time in removing it, kissing me with renewed vigor.

I could hardly breathe, finding myself completely at a loss for words. Simply kissing him is addictive, but this complete contact, the sounds he made, the slow stroke of his hands down my sides was taking all I had to not collapse completely into him. The loss of his lips from mine was like losing air, like drowning in need. All the while, his desire, his love, poured down the bond. When he pulled my shirt all the way off I nearly died at the way his eyes roamed over me. He reached for my hands, stilling their wandering over his shoulders and back.

His groan and the way he pulled me back into him made me nearly feral, and I didn’t wait for him to protest before I made easy work of removing his shirt. I am sure I was less than gentle. He didn’t seem to care.

And he is a good kisser, but like I said yesterday… he’s a damn good lover.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

I'm still thinking about banner bearers as I continue working on my Obscure Blorbo Guthláf story, and I do find it impressive how much context about the banner bearer role Tolkien shoved into LOTR in barely half a dozen sentences' worth of small references.

For starters, there are (by my count) 3 acknowledged banner bearers in Lord of the Rings: Halbarad of the rangers of the North, Guthláf of Rohan (♥️), and an unnamed Haradrim standard bearer. I reject the distinction Tolkien made between so-called high, middle and low Men, but it is notable nonetheless that he created a banner bearer character from each of these 3 groups. That shows how universally important the function was, at least to communities of Men, just as it was extremely common in the real world for many hundreds of years of human history. All kinds of Middle Earth's Men have them, no matter how different the Men are from one another.

In addition, all 3 of the banner bearer characters die at the Pelennor Fields, which effectively illustrates how incredibly dangerous a job it was, both in Middle Earth and real life. Given how intentional Tolkien is about everything, I think it's fair to assume that he purposefully killed all of them in recognition of the realities of ancient warfare. (The only banner bearer I can think of in any Tolkien book that survives their war is Eönwë in the Silmarillion, but he's an immortal Maia so...TOTALLY different circumstances.)

And finally, Tolkien shows us how significant the loss of a banner bearer was to both sides in a battle. When Théoden kills the unnamed Haradrim standard bearer (just before the Witch King rolls up), that's the moment when the forces of Harad founder and start to flee because they've lost their rallying point and their source of morale. They can't function without their banner bearer. On the opposite side, Théoden cites his felling of the black serpent flag to Merry as one of the singular achievements that will allow him to sit proudly alongside his ancestors in the afterlife, so he clearly also understands taking out a banner bearer to be a massive battle achievement.

We don't witness Halbarad or Guthláf’s final moments, but their deaths are just as significant. Out of the untold numbers of dead at the Pelennor Fields, they are both in the small handful of names to be recorded in the story because they were important and their deaths meant something to the broader battle. And we see in the immediate aftermath of Guthláf’s death what a huge deal it is to the Rohirrim—they stop to address his death and retrieve his banner so that it can be borne by another before they even take the time to tend to their mortally wounded king. Those are the actions of people who understand how strategically important a banner bearer is above almost all other battlefield functions.

I'm not trying to say Guthláf is more important than Théoden* but I am saying that Tolkien really demonstrated, through a handful of very economical little actions and asides and unremarked-upon events, how critical people like Guthláf were, as well as how ridiculously brave and selfless. And more than anything else, I guess I’m saying that now, as I approach 27,000 words about Guthláf in my Google docs, he’s…on my mind a lot.

*At this point, I would absolutely say this for myself. In my heart, there's no contest and it's Guthláf forever. But I know that’s because he’s my special li’l guy and I don’t expect that of anyone else!

[tadpolesonalgae]

To Old Gods

Tamlin x reader

synopsis: you spend a clear, spring night under the pale moon with the High Lord of Spring, only you had not understood the intimacy he was inviting you to join him in, under a night where the veil thins, and things become slightly other

a/n: I realised as a writer, I am technically able to put my own spin on each character. I hope you enjoy this peaceful night journey, and would recommend reading this somewhere you can see the moon :)

Day 1 for @tamlinweek : Heir of Spring

music: Tamlin, by Faun

word count: 1k~

This is the High Lord of Spring you respect and worship—the one who leads the rituals and pays his dues to the old magic.

How he walks silently through the grassy fields, the blades allowed to grow tall and wild so they whisper against his legs as he walks bare-footed along the trail. With small twigs and wild berries woven throughout his regal hair, swaying free in the fresh spring breeze, he resembles a disciple of the old priestesses. Clothed in a thin pale robe, the dark marking are stark against his skin—soot-like dust clouding the rims of his eyes, streaking in three lines outward like scars, and as sharply drawn as talons. One set up over his brows, streaking back into the pale gold of his hair; the second set dripping a tear’s path over the sharp high of his cheekbones disappearing just above the point of his ears around his temples; the third pair cutting straight down from his dark emerald eyes, flowing down over the harsh cut of his jaw, over the strength of his neck, down to the tangle of swirls and symbols that branch across his partially bare chest.

Beneath the moonlight, solemn and stern, you can’t help the comparison that springs to mind—with how the gods were drawn long ago, etched on parchment, or carved into stone. Those same marking that are so frequently forgotten, a tradition sacred to the Spring Court, that the rest of Prythian, even fae-kind as a whole, seem to have either forgotten or discarded. But not here. Here, those carvings are remembered and preserved, worshipped and awed over.

It’s precious, an experience you treasure, being allowed the honour of watching over such a private ceremony. To be permitted near him on this night when he honours his past fathers, the bloodline that stretches and twines like a new stream that has yet to forge its own straight lines through the earth, so meanders and ambles.

How the moonlight spills across his robes, shining over the pale gold of his hair—sacred and holy. Beneath the silver light, you can make out the triskelion that’s been marked on his chest, partially concealed beneath the robes that have been arranged over his broad shoulders. The interlocking spirals stand out clearly, the familiar marking easy to recognise. Earth, water, and sky. Birth, life, and death. The patient cycle of life as it repeats quietly, relentlessly. Repeating persistently yet ever-evolving.

A star falls across the sky, and his green-gold eyes follow its path, attention unfaltering despite the will-o-wisps that glow and bumble about in the field, casting pale blue light about the place as they bob and swirl with the breeze. There are few clouds in the sky this night, meaning their distinct, calming glow is enhanced by the moonlight, practically shimmering beneath its cool-toned light.

He turns in the field, a slow shift of his torso as his gaze finds you effortlessly, features patient and somber, and you move as softly as you can manage, unaccustomed to being barefoot. Aware of the earth beneath your feet, how surprisingly bouncy it feels, like freshly tilled soil that sinks as you step upon it. You wade through the grass, pausing at his side as to not overstep—it is a privilege to even be witnessing this moment, let alone to be invited so close.

Initially you hadn’t understood the importance of the night. Had understood its significance, the value of paying respect to those who had come before, recognising he owed much to his fathers—but had failed to consider the personal ramifications of undergoing the ceremony. What it means, for him—he, who should never have become High Lord in the first place. To stand in the open fields and welcome the past spirits closer, the veil thinning between here and elsewhere. What that could mean for a person who has lost his family, to have this one night where they might once more be together, united on one plane.

Tamlin’s gold flecked eyes are quiet but clear, sharp and as aware as ever, refusing to cower from the night, insisting on being fully present to honour his line.

His gaze locks with yours, and in this brief moment they seem almost ancient, carrying a weight he’s never allowed you to see before. Perhaps one even he’s unaware of carrying, simply having taken over from his father without examining what was being passed onto him. The kind of burden he would be forced to hold upon his back. It’s gone as swiftly as it appeared, his expression patient but solemn as he watches you with an acute understanding that has the hairs on your forearms rising. Feeling bare in a way no amount of clothing could aid with, like he’s somehow able to look directly within you, to scoop up pure starlight from the pool of your soul.

He makes no effort to speak, and you have no inclination to disrupt the peace, so join him in his silence, sharing the whisper of the breeze between you, the swish of grass and the far off snap of twigs as they break beneath soft paws. Tamlin’s gaze returns back to the sky, and the will-o-wisps dance closer, near enough to cast light upon your own robes. Quiet and together, the two of you stand, side by side as you share in the sacred moment. Looking up into the bright, night sky, lit by shimmering starlight, swirling and wonderfully complex. Even in the darkest hours, it’s surprising how bright the world is.

Your heart falters a little when his broad palm extends toward you, and you find deep emerald eyes once again peering down at you, far older than the male before you. There’s a sincerity in the gold flecks of his gaze that has your mind quietening, understanding the request for company on a night as long and as tiring as this. Not tiring in the sense of physical exertion, but in the kind that sleeping poorly despite having rested for so long brings. In the kind of restless strain that grief offers, heavy and mournful, yet enlivened by the rebirth of Spring. A relentless awareness that persists tirelessly, but that has been put into a creature that requires sleep and recuperation to recover and continue.

Your fingers slide over the surprisingly rough skin of his hands, settling in his palm as you’re brought closer, stood directly beside him, beneath this long night.

A night of mourning, and longing. A night for wishes to be made, and relations to be resolved.

A night for past worries to be released, and new beginnings to take root.

A night for rebirth, the kind only Spring can offer.

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

[wonder-worker]

what did cicely neville do in edward iv's reign?

Hi! Cecily’s entire role during Edward IV’s reign is too long and complex to fully get into right now, so this is just going to be a very brief overview. It’s also not going to touch on her relationship with her daughter-in-law Elizabeth, even though that's somewhat relevant here in some aspects, because that’s also too complex and speculatory.

Ironically, despite the Duke of York’s claims to kingship, it was only after his death and during her widowhood that Cecily Neville truly emerged as a “quasi-queen”. After her son Edward IV had been acclaimed as King in London, and before he left for Towton with the other lords, he summoned the mayor and “all the notables of London” to gather and “recommended them to the duchess his mother”. During his absence, Cecily would preside over his household in Baynard Castle and was probably meant to act as his representative of sorts in the city. After his kingship was more firmly established, Cecily primarily resided at Westminster with him from 1461-64 and regularly accompanied him on several ceremonial and political occasions, such as their visit to Canterbury where she was magnificently welcomed. She also appears to have had a great deal of personal and political influence with her son: Nicholas O’Flanagan, the contemporary Bishop of Elpin, observed in the first few years of Edward IV's reign, his mother could “rule the king as she pleases.” This may have relied on popular topos of mothers and their young sons, it may have reflected reality, or it may have been exaggerated - we don't really know - but it does indicate Cecily's prominent position.

Cecily’s role demonstrably changed after Edward’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville in 1464. She remained the second-highest ranked woman in the country, but she took a significant step back from high politics (a la Joan of Kent after her son’s marriage to Anne of Bohemia). That does not mean that either of them suddenly became apolitical or uninvolved: quite the opposite*. Cecily remained the head of a large household, her administration supported her son’s, she continued to support a few religious institutions, she engaged in trade, she launched court cases, and she clearly inspired loyalty among her affinity. All of this was fairly standard for a medieval noblewoman, but was naturally enhanced by Cecily’s own prominent royal status. Cecily was godmother to at least three of the royal children: Elizabeth of York, her namesake Cecily, and the youngest child, Bridget. She also played a role in reconciling her son George to the Yorkist cause in 1471, though she did not have the spearheading role which has often been erroneously credited to her by historians (ie: “engineering peace between her warring sons”); instead, it was her daughters Anne and Margaret who took the leading role in achieving the reconciliation, while Cecily probably aided them. She was also clearly perceived to be influential with Edward IV, best evidenced by how the mayors of Norwich petitioned her to aid them against the Duke of Suffolk in 1480, though we don’t actually know the result of Cecily’s intervention to judge whether it succeeded or how effective it was**. Regardless, though, she evidently had a much lower national profile during these years.

(On a more personal level, we also have a very sweet anecdote from Elizabeth Stonor who spoke of a meeting between Cecily and Edward in October 1476 at Greenwich: 'and ther I  sawe the metyng betwyne the Kynge and my ladye his Modyr. And trewly me thowght it was a very good syght’.)

Cecily’s numerous titles are also interesting. Immediately after Edward IV’s ascension, she called herself “the Kyngs Moder, Duchess of York”. Variations of the title included references to her late husband, but she primarily defined herself in relation to her son, through whom her current position and power derived. As Laynesmith says: "narrative accounts, particularly chronicles, had naturally used the phrase ‘the king’s mother’ to describe women in the past, especially Joan of Kent. However, it was Cecily who turned this into a specific title in her letters and on her seals." A few months after Edward's marriage was announced, Cecily adopted a new title, now styling herself as: “By the ryghtful enheritors Wyffe late of the Regne off Englande & of Fraunce & off ye lordschyppe off yrlonde, the kynges mowder ye Duchesse of Yorke.” This referenced the Yorkist perception of her husband, Richard Duke of York, who was called the "true and indubitable heir" of England. In 1477, a herald for the wedding of her grandson Richard of Shrewsbury styled Cecily as “the right high and excellent Princesse and Queene of right, Cicelie, Mother to the Kinge”. This was once again linked to her husband’s status: Cecily described him in her letters as “in right King of England and of France and lord of Ireland”. All in all, Cecily’s various designations appear to have been designed to signify her own importance within the regime, to uphold the claim of her late husband, and to strengthen Edward IV’s position by promoting him as the son of the (supposedly) rightful heir. It’s also very possible, as Laynesmith has suggested, that “it was as her queenly power diminished [after the early 1460s] that her claims to queenship were more elaborately emphasized in wax and on parchment”.

Cecily’s role and prominence, and how it changed overtime, is best demonstrated by the number of times English subjects offered prayers for her soul in return for grants. Between June 1461 and September 1464, there are twelve instances of grants made to people who offered prayers for her. (To compare, during the first three years of Elizabeth Woodville's queenship, there were sixteen grants of the same type. So, Cecily didn't quite reach the level of the queen, but she came close; it was quintessential "quasi-queenship"). However, mentions of Cecily dramatically deceased following Edward IV's marriage: over the next 19 years till 1483, she is only mentioned five times, and in all cases Elizabeth Woodville was also listed before she was. Three of these mentions are in 1465, likely reflecting contemporary unease with her son's controversial marriage and the perceived unsuitable origins of the new queen. After that, however, Cecily is mentioned only twice: once in 1476 and once in 1481, with the latter being a grant to her own son-in-law Thomas St. Leger***. This fits well with what I mentioned above about her quasi-queenship in the early 1460s, followed by a much more reduced role and lower national profile in the future years.

Hope this helps!

*Oddly, Cecily is not mentioned at all in contemporary reports for her daughter Margaret’s wedding. Laynesmith believes that she was unwell, and that may as well be true, but Margaret's celebrations went on for a great period of time and it does seem conspicuous that Cecily was entirely absent from them all. It's also worth noting that a letter from the Milanese ambassador Giovanni Pietro Panicharolla on the marriage wrote that "the king, the queen, her father, and the king's brothers are all disposed to it" (sidenote: it's VERY interesting that the queen's father is mentioned before the king's own brothers and male heirs) but made no mention of Cecily. Nor, iirc, was she mentioned in the tournament held to celebrate Anglo-Burgundian relations. It does clearly seem as though Cecily did not play a notable role in the marriage, and relevant diplomacy, at all. (Laynesmith's claim that its Cecily had "helped lay the ground for" the marriage because she *checks notes* dispatched both her sons to Burgundy in middle of a civil war 7 years earlier, with many fluctuations in Anglo-Burgundian relations in between, is, I'm sorry to say, nonsense). ** Laynesmith believes that "Cecily’s intervention to control Suffolk perhaps marked a turning point in the duke’s violent career because when he resorted to force again the following summer his victim successfully reclaimed the manor from which he had personally ejected her." I think that Laynesmith is being far too assumptive and that we don’t even know the result of Cecily’s intervention in 1480 to somehow credit her with entirely different case one year later that literally did not even involve her, lol. ***Even more oddly, Cecily’s own son Richard didn’t include her among the list for who to offer prayers for in his college in Middleham in 1478. This was despite the fact that he had included Edward IV, Elizabeth Woodville, his wife Anne Neville, his sisters, his dead brothers and his dead father. It’s incredibly striking, and I wonder what could have happened to cause her exclusion, especially since she was included in religious foundations by both Edward and her son-in-law Thomas St. Leger? Laynesmith claims that "this rather suggests that Richard's own piety was not consciously influenced by hers", and sure, that seems obvious, but it certainly can't have been the only reason. Was she merely overlooked, or did they have a quarrel at the time, or was it for another now-unknown reason? Whatever the case, it's a small but intriguing detail to me.

Sources:

"Cecily, Duchess of York" by J.L. Laynesmith

"A Paper Crown: The Titles and Seals of Cecily, Duchess of York" by J.L. Laynesmith (The Ricardian)

"Cecily Neville: Mother of Kings" by Amy License

[starsreminisce]

When Rhys said in ACOMAF:

And then—then I learned your name. Hearing you say it … it was like an answer to a question I’d been asking for five hundred years. I decided, then and there, that I was going to fight. And I would fight dirty, and kill and torture and manipulate, but I was going to fight.

It makes me wonder about this:

I told them my story. In as much detail as I could endure, I told them of Under the Mountain. Of my trials. And Amarantha. I told them about death. And rebirth. Explaining the last few months, however, was harder. So I kept it brief. But I explained what needed to happen here—the threat Hybern posed. I explained what this house needed to be, what we needed to be, and what I needed from them. And when I finished, they remained wide-eyed. Silent. It was Elain who at last said, “You—you want other High Fae to come … here. And … and the Queens of the Realm.”

and this:

“And what of us? When the people around here learn we’re Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than the Children of the Blessed, then? Any standing, any influence we have—gone. And Elain’s wedding—” “Wedding,” I blurted. I hadn’t noticed the pearl-and-diamond ring on her finger, the dark metal band glinting in the firelight. Elain’s face was pale, though, as she looked at it.

Considering that when Elain met Lucien at the library, this is what she said when he told her his name:

For a long moment, Elain’s face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. “Lucien,” she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. “From my sister’s stories. Her friend.” “Yes.” But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say.

and the second time she said it

Graysen swallowed. “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this … lie?” “No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—” “And you are bound to some … Fae male. A High Lord’s son.” A different High Lord’s heir, likely, I wanted to say. “His name is Lucien.” I wasn’t certain if I’d ever heard his name from her lips.

Lucien played a significant role in Feyre's experiences in the Spring Court, particularly during the trials. She would have to recount his involvement in her second trial specifically. I wonder if hearing Lucien's name was one of the motivators for Elain to help Feyre. Upon learning his name when he introduced himself in the library, she recognized him despite how long ago she first heard it. No one mentioned Lucien's name throughout the entire encounter, so she could finally put a face to the name. It reminds me of TOG, where hearing Manon's name spurred Dorian to fight against the Valg prince inside him.

After all, Rhys started seeing Feyre long before Feyre crossed over to Prythian.

[tsukisnapey]

Be My Lady Chapter 11

In a scandal that has rocked the wizarding world, The Oracle has obtained shocking new evidence that Draco Malfoy, once considered a reformed pure-blood elitist, has been carrying on a sordid affair with none other than Pansy Parkinson – and the scandal doesn't stop there. We can confirm that Parkinson is seven months pregnant, despite Malfoy's "amicable" divorce from his wife Hermione Granger being finalized only three months ago.

What was once believed to be a respectful, mutual separation between Malfoy and Granger, now appears to be nothing more than a charade hiding a betrayal of the worst kind. Sources close to the Malfoy family tell us that tensions have been running high for months, but nothing prepared us for the truth that would soon come to light.

The high-society couple, often regarded as a symbol of unity between former rivals in the post-War era, announced their separation earlier this year. Both Malfoy and Granger issued statements suggesting the split was mutual and civil, wishing each other "the best in future endeavors." However, behind the well-manicured facades, it appears Draco had other "future endeavors" in mind much earlier than the public knew.

In an explosive revelation, The Oracle has uncovered Ministry records confirming that Pansy Parkinson is in her third trimester, with her due date rapidly approaching. This timeline directly conflicts with the official divorce documents, which were signed just three months ago. Simple math raises unsettling questions – was Draco Malfoy entangled with his former Slytherin flame while still married to Hermione? The answer, it seems, is a resounding yes.

The Malfoy family, long known for its wealth, influence, and supposed rehabilitation, has now found itself drowning in disgrace. Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, is said to be livid behind the closed doors of Malfoy Manor, and was said to support his former daughter-in-law by giving a massive settlement from Draco's inheritance.

Sources close to the family allege that Hermione Granger, who has remained silent in the face of the growing controversy, was blindsided by the affair. Insiders suggest that while Hermione had agreed to an amicable separation, it was Pansy Parkinson's pregnancy that ultimately forced her hand, leaving no room for reconciliation.

But what of Pansy Parkinson? The once-vicious, pure-blood supremacist who bullied Hermione during their Hogwarts years has wormed her way into Draco's life, reestablishing old connections, and now carrying his child. Her reappearance has cast a shadow of suspicion over her motives, with many wondering if this pregnancy was a calculated move to secure a place in the Malfoy fortune.

For Draco Malfoy, this scandal threatens to dismantle the carefully crafted image he has worked so hard to build post-Hogwarts. Once aligned with Voldemort's Death Eaters, Draco attempted to turn over a new leaf after the Dark Lord's defeat. Marrying Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born and war hero, was a significant part of that redemption arc. But it appears old habits die hard, as Malfoy has returned to the company of pure-blood supremacists like Parkinson.

"The Malfoys have always been concerned about legacy, but now all they're leaving behind is disgrace," said one insider. "This isn't just a family drama; this is a full-blown catastrophe for the Malfoy name."

"Whatever public face they're putting on this divorce, it's a war behind the scenes," said a legal insider. "Hermione's done playing nice."

As for Pansy Parkinson, she has not yet made any public statement regarding her pregnancy or her role in the affair. However, it's undeniable that her silence speaks volumes. Is she biding her time, preparing to make her move once the Malfoy divorce is finalized? With Draco by her side and a baby on the way, Parkinson's reentry into high society appears to be imminent.

The revelation of Parkinson's pregnancy only adds fuel to the speculation that this affair has been going on far longer than anyone realized, possibly since before the cracks in Malfoy and Granger's marriage became public knowledge.

One thing is for certain – the Malfoy name may never recover from this scandal.

[agentrouka-blog]

Is it definite that Sansa herself kills Shadrich? I saw the outline, but I don’t want her to have to kill anyone. I always wanted him to be there to help her since Shadrach and Daniel (who escaped the lion’s den = Lannisters) had been friends/countrymen/etc. I keep thinking that the hive mind of the Faceless Men KNOW that Sansa is ESSENTIAL to the peaceful transfer of power at the end of the long night and that they are training Arya to take care of her and will do it themselves until her sister/other siblings are ready. I also like the idea of Littlefinger being bested by someone he has hired and underestimated… maybe turning the tables on Littlefinger with the triangle between him, Brandon, and Catelyn… but Shadrich has taken his original place but is actually trained and is truly devoted to Sansa and is willing to free her of both of them… I don’t know.

Hi there!

I don't think the outline makes it clear how the Mouse (presumably) Shadrich, is killed. Only that his death seems to be significant. It simply says "KILL THE MOUSE" written next to his three bullet points.

As of now, we can't be certain of anything pertaining to Shadrich's character, apart from how he's hiding his true intentions in the Vale.

The fact that he shows up with two companions at the Gates of the Moon may indeed be a reference to Shadrach from the book of Daniel, who (gleaning entirely from wikipedia here, sorry) is one of three companions who take on Babylonian names to blend in, but are found out to be faithful Jews and thrown into a furnace, where they miraculously remain unharmed until they are released and rewarded with high offices.

Going by the gist of the story, which visually touches on Dany, but thematically on the Starks, I don't think it's about Shadrich himself, so much as a hint about Sansa's future, triumph after trials.

That would also explain the reference to Lord Byron in the second companion. (Ahem.)

Possibly, the third companion Ser Morgarth may be a Tolkien reference to Morgoth, but I'm not familiar enough with Tolkien anything to make any guesses there.

I am not sure that GRRM would waste a parallel to Littlefinger's formative and traumatic duel on a recently introduced minor character like Shadrich. That duel turned him into the villain he is today. Shadrich has no connection to it, a wholly different motivation, obvious advantages that a young Petyr lacked... the parallel would be very contrived and lack meaning in this way. Why would there even be a duel?

Regarding the Faceless Men, I think we probably view them very differently. I see no evidence of a hivemind, nor of any investment in the future of humanity. To me, they are a hypocritical magical death cult making a tidy profit under the guise of religion, and Arya needs to escape them ASAP.

[enddaysengine]

Shinigami (Paths Beyond)

When the cycle of life and death is disrupted, relentless and towering outsiders seek out the cause and drag offenders back to their proper fates. Old Planescape hands can be forgiven for thinking I’m talking about the marut, but today’s topic is shinigami.

There is a point to that intro, too. While the 2e marut stats still exist, they will be casualties of the OGL/ORC transition from here on out. While losing such a classic monster is a bummer, shinigami can admirably fill their niche. Maruts were beloved for being implacable and terrifying. While their aesthetic is very different, shinigami check off both boxes. Next time the PCs try to become immortal, they may be pursued by a small death god instead of a ruthless onyx statue. 

It is worth noting that while shinigami don’t have much in the way of elemental resistances in 2e, their fast healing 40 is high enough that they can tank the damage from moderate environmental hazards. The majority of the Plane of Fire deals moderate environmental damage. Sure, it probably will hurt like hell (literally), and it is worth protecting themselves if they know they are headed for the inner sphere. If push comes to shove, a shinigami can stride through the most hostile planes and be fine.

Who needs frightful presence when that’s scary enough as it is? (Although shinigami have a frightful presence as well, so they are bloody terrifying in every sense. Good luck. Fighting that.)

The party wakes one day to find a shinigami sitting cross-legged in the town center, watching people go about their lives. If questioned, Togusa the Judicator responds simply that he is gathering evidence and refuses to elaborate further. Over the next few days, the party gets the distinct impression he is watching them specifically. Worse, the shinigami somehow lurks at the edge of their dreams, keeping them under 24/7 surveillance. Following the monitor into its nocturnal mindscape reveals each party member is the reincarnation of an infamous historical figure who wasn’t supposed to be reincarnated. 

Æown Coppereye has terrorized the Five Kings Mountains for thirteen generations with his ruthless brand of justice. While not as renowned as the Whispering Tyrant or Arazni, the dwarven lich is still dangerous and frequently used as a bogeyman in children’s tales. While the psychopomps would love to see him join Purgatory’s ranks, he is clad in a robe of shinigami bones he stole from the Boneyard. It allows him to flit between dimensions and hides him from all of death’s agents, regardless of which god they serve. Mortal heroes must chase him across the planes if he is to be stopped.

Corruption in the Boneyard is a strange thing. Pharasma does not condone priests who spread cruelty and malice, but Eshi Ōko delights in such acts. The shinigami arranges for powerful artifacts to wind up in mortal hands, then watches the fallout as power goes to their heads. While Lord Eshi’s antics often lead to significant pain and suffering, he is careful not to disrupt the River of Souls or the cycle of life and death. Eshi has a network of adventures and criminals willing to assist his schemes or compromise their morals in exchange for access to the afterlife. Still, he is merciless to those who violate the cycle of souls or deal with oni and nindoru. 

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

How would being transgender work with a Time Lord? Obviously regeneration is an option, but that's not entirely the best solution. Could you use biodata alteration? (Getting into the social ramifications of this would also be pretty cool9

How would gender transitioning work with Gallifreyans?

Time Lords have a few options when it comes to potential transitioning. Here’s how these processes might work, covering advanced tech, biological abilities, and societal implications.

🔄 Regeneration

Regeneration is obviously the most notable feature of Time Lord biology that can provide a quick and easy gender change.

🎚️ Controlled Regeneration: Newblood Gallifreyans have very good control over their regenerations. They can influence their new form directly, choosing more masculine or feminine traits according to their preferences. This ability generally doesn't stretch to Oldbloods, however. Sorry, Doc.

⏳ Post-Regeneration Adaptation: After regenerating, Time Lords have a brief period during which they can still influence some features of their new body. This is useful for fine-tuning physical characteristics to better match their identity, though a complete gender switch when your new body's on the other side of the spectrum is probably a step too far.

💥 Trauma Switches: Some sources suggest a particularly traumatic death can trigger a gender switch on regeneration.

🤷 Random Regeneration: Sometimes, it just happens.

🔧 Technological Interventions

For those who don't have a controlled regeneration as an option, Gallifreyan technology probably offers sophisticated alternatives:

🫥 Chameleon Arch Technology: Based on the technology used in the Chameleon Arch, which can rewrite a Time Lord's biology down to the genetic level, this method could theoretically be adapted to align a Time Lord's biological sex with their gender identity. However, given the Chameleon Arch's primary design is for identity concealment, this probably isn't going to end well.

🛠️ Lindos Machine: A hypothetical device - lindos is the hormone involved in regeneration. If a lovely spacey-wacey machine could provide a Time Lord with some excess lindos, this could allow a sort of partial regeneration that can make adjustments more targeted than those typically allowed in the post-regeneration phase.

⚖️ Biodata Alteration

Although theoretically possible, altering a Time Lord's biodata to change gender characteristics is a minefield.

⚠️ Risks of Biodata Editing: Biodata isn't just genetic information; it encapsulates a Time Lord's identity across all their regenerations. Altering biodata can have unintended consequences, potentially affecting a Time Lord's future regenerations and their fundamental existence.

🚫 Social and Legal Ramifications: Gallifrey probably views biodata alterations with scepticism or outright banning due to the high-level risks involved. Biodata changes are often used in the Gallifreyan legal system to punish lawbreakers, so changing your own biodata probably has a huge stigma attached to it because people will just assume you're a convict.

🌍 Social Ramifications and Acceptance

The social aspect of being transgender in Gallifreyan society would depend significantly on the socio-political climate:

📜 Pre-Time War Societal Norms: Traditional Gallifreyan society, particularly during periods dominated by the High Council's conservative stances, might have restricted or frowned upon gender transitions, favouring stability. They'd also have a few things to say regarding how much they favoured masculine traits over feminine traits.

⚧️ Post-Time War/Post-Curse Changes: Following these key developments, societal norms are still shifting. With many traditional structures being broken down, there might be greater acceptance and support for individual identity explorations, including gender transition.

🏫 So ...

While regeneration is a pretty simple gimmick for gender transition among Time Lords, technology broadens these options, though with significant considerations. The acceptance of transgender Time Lords would vary based on the era and the prevailing attitudes of Gallifreyan society.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[eternal-echoes]

"The truth is that the imbalances under which the modern world labors are linked with that more basic imbalance which is rooted in the heart of man. For in man himself many elements wrestle with one another. Thus, on the one hand, as a creature he experiences his limitations in a multitude of ways; on the other he feels himself to be boundless in his desires and summoned to a higher life. Pulled by manifold attractions he is constantly forced to choose among them and renounce some. Indeed, as a weak and sinful being, he often does what he would not, and fails to do what he would. Hence he suffers from internal divisions, and from these flow so many and such great discords in society. No doubt many whose lives are infected with a practical materialism are blinded against any sharp insight into this kind of dramatic situation; or else, weighed down by unhappiness they are prevented from giving the matter any thought. Thinking they have found serenity in an interpretation of reality everywhere proposed these days, many look forward to a genuine and total emancipation of humanity wrought solely by human effort; they are convinced that the future rule of man over the earth will satisfy every desire of his heart. Nor are there lacking men who despair of any meaning to life and praise the boldness of those who think that human existence is devoid of any inherent significance and strive to confer a total meaning on it by their own ingenuity alone.

Nevertheless, in the face of the modern development of the world, the number constantly swells of the people who raise the most basic questions or recognize them with a new sharpness: what is man? What is this sense of sorrow, of evil, of death, which continues to exist despite so much progress? What purpose have these victories purchased at so high a cost? What can man offer to society, what can he expect from it? What follows this earthly life?

The Church firmly believes that Christ, who died and was raised up for all, can through His Spirit offer man the light and the strength to measure up to his supreme destiny. Nor has any other name under the heaven been given to man by which it is fitting for him to be saved. She likewise holds that in her most benign Lord and Master can be found the key, the focal point and the goal of man, as well as of all human history. The Church also maintains that beneath all changes there are many realities which do not change and which have their ultimate foundation in Christ, Who is the same yesterday and today, yes and forever. Hence under the light of Christ, the image of the unseen God, the firstborn of every creature, the council wishes to speak to all men in order to shed light on the mystery of man and to cooperate in finding the solution to the outstanding problems of our time."

-Gaudium et Spes, PASTORAL CONSTITUTION ON THE CHURCH IN THE MODERN WORLD

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

Two questions: 1) Considering how he wanted a super high match for his only son, yet is the lord paramount of the kingdom with such fickle loyalty. Do you think it would’ve been wise for Lord Hoster Tully to marry a riverlander girl to give him a second son and tighter connection? Especially after marrying a whent the first time. 2) why didn’t he remarry? If cateyln had to do the lady job at around 10, who did it after she and lysa left. It seems important.

This is a question I remember asking myself when I was planning out and writing The Death of Kings, since Hoster's choice to remarry had such a significant impact not just on Catelyn (who became de facto lady of Riverrun) but on Lysa, who was still very young when her mother died and lost a potential source of support and intervention.

Why didn't Hoster remarry? In ACOK, Catelyn speculates that, after her mother died in childbirth, specifically trying to have a second son after Edmure,

the life had gone out of Father. She was always so calm, Catelyn thought, remembeing her mother's soft hands, her warm smile. If she had lived, hos ddifferent our lives might have been. She wondered what Lady Minisa would make of her eldest daughter, kneeling here before her. (ACOK, Catelyn IV)

We are never given a concrete, in-universe explanation for why Hoster did not remarry. The implication is that he loved his first wife, Minisa Whent, and, since he already had one heir (and, depending on the timing, Brynden as well), he chose not to remarry. For a man with the political reputation that Hoster has in canon, that is definitely an odd choice. It's possible that, at the time of Minisa's death, there just weren't any potential candidates, but Hoster remained unmarried for the rest of his life, and we see plenty of examples of older men marrying much younger women to secure their successions (e.g. Jon marrying Lysa).

Now, if we take a step back, we can see a pattern in that generation: Rickard Stark, Tywin Lannister, and Jon Arryn are all widowers who chose not to remarry--or, in Jon's case, chose not to remarry until exigent circumstances forced him into it. Now, Rickard had three sons and a daughter, and we don't get any indication of when or how Lyarra Stark died. Joanna Lannister was the love of Tywin's life and we get plenty of information from his children about why he never remarried. But we don't get that for Hoster, and given how intuitive and perceptive Catelyn usually is, this does reveal that when it comes to her own family, she isn't the impartial observer. She can't be. There are questions other narrators might ask that she does not--about Hoster, about Lysa, about Edmure--because she has a very particular image of her family and never quite shakes that off.

The out-of-universe reason is, well, the Dead Ladies Club. GRRM has made the choice--for reasons of his own--to omit the mothers of many of the main players in Robert's Rebellion for a variety of reasons. Without Joanna, the Lannister family dynamics turn inward and become even more toxic. Without Lyarra, Ned is forced into the sole leadership role at Winterfell after Robert's Rebellion. And without Minisa, Hoster, perhaps unwittingly, smothers two out of his three children with unfair expectations, while the third only escapes because of how much she resembles her dead mother.

[beyonddarkness]

Hi. There's mixed information for and against the Witch King being a black Numenorian but who knows, Tolkien kept changing his mind. There's some strong evidence, however in the Silmarillian, chapter Akallabeth, "Sauron was ever guileful, and it is said that among those whom he ensnared with the 9 rings, 3 were great lords of Numenorean race." So I guess we will never know 100%. Some believe since the Witch King is least afraid of water that he is Numenorean. Interesting.

If nothing is random, and everything has a purpose, then we can also look at: 1. Theo's and Galadriel's encounter with each other. Does it move him in a positive direction? It must mean something. 2. These characters settle by future Gondor. Isildur is also in Middle Earth now. So we can look at it through that lens. 3. The Faithful will also settle in this location. On this show if every little thing means something, the door is open to many possibilities. Theo Witch King, possible. Or not.

Also, Sauron death glare at Elendil in episode 3, so blatantly obvious, even when I didn't know he was Sauron. Sauron death glare at Arondir, the jury's out on that one. I rewatched all scenes several times and did not specifically see it. I am trying to, believe me. I love your observations but for show only characters there are too many possibilities available using the Easter eggs we are given. It can go in several directions and Easter eggs don't clear the way for 1 specific result.😀

Yes, isn't it great? There are so many possibilities!

Even though the phrase "it is said" could be viewed as ambiguous, I think there is an extremely high chance that we will see three Númenóreans receive some rings. I am really interested in spotting foreshadowing, and the shot below looks like a subtle piece of foreshadowing in the direction of what you quoted from the Akallabêth:

"Yet Sauron was ever guileful, and it is said that among those whom he ensnared with the Nine rings, three were great lords of Númenórean race."

"Take it."

(Not saying Tamar and his buddies are those Númenóreans; they're just guys. But the below exchange between Valandil and Sauron is pretty scary. Just saying! Not definitively suggesting that Valandil is going to get a ring. I haven't thought that much about it. But you know. Talk about foreshadowing. haha)

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

You're right about the dynamic between Galadriel and Theo being loaded with significance. I don't know if the association itself guarantees a happy ending for Theo, although there certainly is a chance that her advice will get him out of pesky situations; he may go back and forth. Being around Galadriel, Isildur, the Faithful, and even Bronwyn and Arondir, is nothing to sniff at.

But I mentioned before how Theo says a bunch of things that show that his gaze isn't in the right direction. I think the most obvious example is in his conversation with Galadriel, when he says, "What light?" Meanwhile, Bronwyn told him before to "find the light," and he's apparently failing to do so.

He certainly ended on a high note in Season 1, but he is very vulnerable to Sauron's deceit in the future. I'm jumping headfirst into the shallow end by saying that he is going to be the Witch King, because I know how far-fetched it sounds. But 1) he's a main character, 2) he's vulnerable, 3) he's gazing downward into the vast and irresistible darkness of the water, and 4) I thought that Halbrand being Sauron was far-fetched, and look where that got me. Nothing is out of the realm of possibilities anymore (although there may be many said possibilities).

Food for thought: at Comic Con, before the show came out, Lindsey Weber said that Galadriel's armor was "a gift from someone else." That's a strong indication that Sauron (the Lord of Gifts) made her armor, but in addition to making her armor, he would have made that sword.

That might be one reason why Galadriel had to stop and think before giving it to Theo; at that point, she thought Halbrand had died on her account... making that sword a gift from a fallen friend.

In any case, we know that Sauron touching things (let alone crafting things) is not a good thing. The following quotations are just two indications:

"Sauron was become now a sorcerer of dreadful strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled [...]" (Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin).

Galadriel: "The powers we forge today must be for the Elves alone, untouched by other hands" (1x08)

The fact that Sauron made that sword, which is now Theo's, seems pretty suspect to me. Theo already had a 'sword [hilt]' made by Sauron, and it had made him feel powerful. Once he no longer had possession of the hilt, he didn't just feel guilt, but loss. And now he has ANOTHER sword made by Sauron.

The kid can't catch a break!

Not to mention, Sauron steadily watched Theo walk by, right after Galadriel said to keep the sword.

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

Speaking of death glares, you're right about the death glare Sauron gave when he hugged Elendil (assuming that's the one you're referring to; if you mean another one, let me know)...

...then yes, it's blatantly obvious. His death glare at Arondir is a little less obvious, sure, but it's pretty conspicuous if you consider the context. I can't put my finger on it, but something about Arondir's explanation of how Sauron was found (and the way he says it) is odd.

Is it vague? Too specific? Does it sound like something that someone might say if they made a deal to leave certain information undisclosed?

I don't know.

But it's off.

Arondir: "Southlanders found him on the road like this yestereve." Sauron: [glares at Arondir before lifting his gaze up to Galadriel]

We won't know what happened for sure until Season 2, so you can decide what it means (or does not mean).

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

I admit, I'm a bit confused about the "Easter eggs" thing.

I've always considered Easter eggs to be fun elements hidden here and there, with no purpose or significance in the story, just nods to fans or the general audience. By that definition, I didn't think I was paying attention to that at all, since Patrick said:

"We’re not really coming from a place of wanting to add Easter eggs, although that’s there too. We’re coming from a place of wanting to create something that is as visually sumptuous and rich as those books are, literarily. If you like the show, hopefully, maybe you’ll watch it again and you’ll notice all kinds of new things, whether it’s something in the dialogue, or something in the set design, or something in the costuming, that is hopefully communicating a whole other layer of meaning. And if you’re a fan, there’s no end to the deep dive you could be doing. We wanted the show to be something that rewarded reviewing. We wanted the show to be rich and layered and overwhelming. The way you do that is to just keep adding ideas. And when you’re dealing with Middle-earth, there’s no end to how far you could go."

In my observations, if there is something from the book that ties into something in the show, I always frame my thought process with the presumption that it is not a mere nod to the fans, but carries real weight in the story. And sometimes, a character might be aware of something in the book (particularly The Silmarillion), as if it's written history, depending on when it takes place.

I don't know if that's the kind of Easter egg you're referring to, so I may be totally missing something here.

[eastcoastelliott]

The story of my 18th Summer with just me and my Brother at the lake. I hope you enjoy.

Me and my BIG Brother CHAPTER One

When I remember my childhood, I fondly remember my family's lakehouse. That old house holds so many memories. My brother and I spent Summer after Summer in the crystal clear waters, diving off the pier, riding jet skis, and lounging away on the hot days. It was a terrific childhood, but the year I turned 18 stands out as the most significant year for me, my brother, and that old house.

I am getting ahead of myself. Let me give you a bit of history about the two brothers named Kyle and Kameron. Our parents were married one year after I was born. My biological father was a jerk and left when Mom got pregnant. She married my Dad when I was about 18 months old. Mom and Dad were in their 30s, so they only dated briefly. Dad's first wife (Kyles's Mom) had died shortly after Kyle was born. Dad wrote my Mom an insurance policy 10 months after her death, and they've been in love since.

Mom has always said, "When you know, you know, and we knew." Technically, Kyle and I were stepbrothers, but we only knew each other as 100% brothers. Even Grandmama said, "The Lord sent your Mama to your Daddy; they needed each other."

We grew up in the 90s. That was when you still played outside until dark, and video games were great, but not our lives. It was also a time when being an "out and proud" gay kid was not very popular, especially in the South. "Will and Grace" was popular, but they hadn't changed the whole country yet. It was far from the acceptance we enjoy today.

 

Kyle and I were two years apart but always close and unusually best friends. He was the oldest, but growing up, we both had matching swimmer builds, greenish/blue eyes, and natural blond/brown hair. Mine was a bit more naturally curly, and Kyles flowed with waves. In our younger years, we were often mistaken as twins. The High School years removed our similarities. Teenage years tend to separate the masses between the jocks, nerds, preps, and plain awkward. Kyle and I Felt that natural selection firsthand.

 

Kyle was the typical straight-A, Gorgeous Jock. Football quarterback, straight out of an 80s teen movie. He was the poster boy for that "type." His athletics and daily workouts led him to a much larger build than mine. I went through a heavy stage in High School. I no longer had a swimmer's build; my only 6 pack was Coca-Cola. I wasn't into sports but excelled in chorus and drama. (Are you shocked?)

I was always a bit "fem" acting. I didn't set out to be that way. It's simply how I was. (It's how I am today.)  I often got a lot of grief because of my natural mannerisms. And anytime Kyle knew about it, he was right there to set the bullies straight. Although we would never have been friends in the 80s teen movie script, we remained as close as any two friends could be. He was my hero. I looked up to him, and although I forced myself to deny it, on a subconscious level, I looked AT HIM.

I never allowed myself to explore any of those thoughts. It was not often, not even daily. But during the intense heat of a JO session, my mind would occasionally journey across the clear boundaries and into the taboo that was my attraction to his physical form. It was impossible for anyone to ignore the raw maleness that dripped from every part of his frame. Hell, I imagine his buddies looked at him with the same natural attraction. Well, maybe not exactly the same? Regardless, NO. He is my brother. And with that, the images and thoughts were buried and ignored.

Our childhood was a good one. We took vacations as a family and spent our summers at the lake. Holidays and annual events were pictures from a Norman Rockwell collection. Today, we are called Generation X, but at that time, we were kids and teenagers, enjoying our youth and living our best lives as the world of social media and technology grew up around us. We always thought of ourselves as fortunate. We were siblings and best pals.

When Kyle left for college, I was devastated. I felt like my world was gone. My days were no longer filled with the warm-hearted big brother, and the first year without him, I got very depressed. I stopped eating, but that depression turned out to be a great weight loss plan. We stayed in touch for the first year. I coveted those holidays.

Things changed in his second year. It was my senior year. It was the first year that I started to "come into my own," if you will. I got in shape, lost weight, and gained a bit of much-needed independence. Kyle didn't come home much that year. He was studying to be in the sports medical field and devoted all his time to school. That was the first year we drifted apart. Although it was only one year, for the first time, we both developed two separate lives. Each one without the other. I remember being so busy and excited about the future that I almost forgot to miss my big brother.

Class of 1998! My Senior year was coming to an end, and the Summer was beginning. Being a bit older than the norm, our parents had both retired by the time I finished High School: Dad from establishing and selling a multimillion-dollar insurance firm and Mom from 30+ years in pharmaceuticals. Their dream and plan was to travel.

They had both worked hard and raised two responsible boys and deserved every moment of retirement. Kyle and I really had two wonderful parents.

 

Summer of '98

 

EVERYTHING changed, and I found out what BIG Brother really means.

June 5th, 1998, I walked across the stage and accepted my High School diploma. (Kyle was too busy to make the event, but I had become used to his absence.)

On June 6th, my parents hugged me, said goodbye, and pulled out of the driveway in a new 42-foot motor home. They were headed on a three-month trip across the country.

On June 7th, I threw my bags in the car, locked the house, and began the trip to our family's lakehouse. I always told my parents I wanted to spend the Summer before college at the lakehouse. I reflected on the past year as I drove the two hours to the lake. It had been a great year, but I was still dealing with my sexuality. I hadn't told anyone, but now I realize that everyone knew but me.

 

I'm a procrastinator, so it was dark when I got to the house. But I was on my own. No parents, no rules, and a whole summer to explore any other "possibly gay, but not really" guys who were at the lake that year? There may be another guy like me looking for a summer romance. My mind was reeling with thoughts.

 

I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS HEADED MY WAY!

 

I pulled up the drive and under the cart port. I walked up the stairs to the familiar front porch. Motion sensor lights came on every step of the way, illuminating the familiar path I had run so many times as a child. I turned the key and pushed the old wooden door open. The wonderful musky smell of old house and pine walls took me directly back to the years with my family. I pictured the hundreds of times that Kyle and I raced to cross the threshold first. It had been a few years since I had been there. Mom and Dad came a few times each year, and other family members used the house for events. But then I felt tears fall from my eyes as the moment's nostalgia swept me away.

 

I went to the master bedroom and unpacked. The last time I was here was two summers ago when we had our grandparent's 50th anniversary dinner. For years, my family would spend that same week at this house because my Birthday is also in June. This year I would turn 18. However, I insisted on having a quiet celebration alone. That's what I had always planned.

 

Like a movie montage, I wanted to spend my 18th Birthday alone at the lakehouse, preparing myself for the rest of my life. I had pictured symbolic days of self-reflection during which I would gain inner strength and my future would fall into place because of my newfound independence. Drama, remember??

 

I was exhausted from the trip and from the events of the past few days. I finished unpacking and lay across the old, familiar queen-size sleighbed. I soon fell asleep to the wonderful sounds and Arctic cold air produced by the huge old AC unit in the corner window. I dreamt of many things that night. One particular dream was of Kyle. I guess the old smells triggered some memories. I slept as comfortably and securely as I always had within those walls. At some point during the night, I managed to move myself between the cool sheets and found complete rest under one of Grandmama's heavy quilts.

 

The sun began to shine through mini blinds and it crept its way slowly towards my face. I revolted against its intrusion and shoved myself beneath the covers for the wonder of slumber sleep. I had just started to drift back into dreamland when I heard something from the kitchen side of the house. I Shook it off as some groceries I had brought falling. Back to dreamland.

 

PLANK!! OK, that's not groceries. My slumber 100% now over as my fear became completely real. Mouse? No, It's gotta be Jason from Friday the 13th. I'm at a lakehouse, alone. It was definitely the lakeside stranger. He had come to kill his first in-the-closet gay victim like some kind of Dahmer copycat. I knew immediately that my fate was to end up in a freezer. I slowly pulled myself to the edge of the bed. It was cold. The trusty AC had done its job, bringing the room to a meat-hanging temp.

 

BAM-CLACK!!! Yep, it's a killer, and he's not even trying to be discrete. I waited until the AC compressor started again so the killer couldn't hear my steps. Maybe I could run out the front door. I was only wearing a pair of well-worn Calvin Klein boxer briefs, but the neighbors would just have to see the goods. This was life and death. I stepped to the door and peeked through the space between the Frame and the door. All I could see was a baseball cap and a large frame. He appeared to be going back out the back door. That led to the rear porch, where he was obviously getting an axe to kill me. (Again, dramatic me.)

I quickly opened the door halfway and bolted to the front door. DAMNIT!! It was locked and we had installed a Key lock deadbolt in years past to prevent someone from breaking the glass and opening the lock. It was planned for safety. Now it would be the thing that caused my death.

 

The rear door shut, he was coming back in. I ran back to the bedroom, my heart beating through my chest. Oh OK GOD, help me, I thought as his footsteps started towards the bedroom. I didn't know what to do. I hid behind the door. He slowly walked into the bedroom where I had left the door halfway open. It was dark In the room, only the few rays of light to help guide me in this situation. He slowly came in and walked over to the bed. He seemed to be planning to just start slashing me right there without waking me.

 

I held my breath and watched as he got closer and closer to the bed. I had to do something before he realized no one was there. As any level-headed, still in-the-closet, 175-pound gay drama club president would do… I SCREAMED and ran out of the bedroom to the back door, pushing the Intruder over the nightstand and onto the bed. I continued down the back stairs, around the house, and towards the pier. Yes, I ran to the pier. (I now respect people in horror movies. They are not thinking logically.) I ran onto the pier. Not to the street. Not to the neighbors. Not even to my unlocked car. I ran to the pier.

 

 I suppose I was subconsciously planning to swim away from him?  I got to the end of the pier and looked back towards the house. The killer was standing on the porch. My contacts were not in, and my glasses were somewhere on the now-toppled nightstand. I couldn't see any details, but I could see him on the front porch. He had a big frame that looked dark and menacing. He started walking down the steps towards me.

 

PANICK!!!! He was deranged. He was coming to kill me. In broad daylight. He started yelling, My name. "Kameron!! Oh dear God in heaven, blessed mother of Dorothy Zbornack, he knows my name. I Bet he hid under my car like the killer in "Cape Fear." He's been stalking me for years. Waiting for me to be alone. He's gonna make a coat outta my skin. "KAMERON, come on!! "he yelled as he walked closer.

 

Not today, Satan! I jumped off the pier and started swimming to the neighbor's dock. I was a good swimmer and was halfway there when I turned around. I saw my killer at the end of our pier, holding his stomach, laughing. I wiped my eyes and squinted. "Bro, Kameron, it's me, it's Kyle!!!"

 

WHAT??? KYLE??

 

I suddenly felt like a complete idiot. Our lake was not terribly deep and always crystal clear. I was wading water when I dropped my legs and realized I could stand. The water level reached my shoulders as the cool sand crept between my toes. The rush of chilled water helped me gain my composure as the reality of all this came into my mind. I slowly started walking and treading water back towards our pier and my hysterical big brother.

 

"Oh My God, you almost tore the back door off." Ha ha ha Bahaaa!! He was rolling, literally pee-in-pants, “I can’t breathe” laughter, fell from his face. My embarrassing actions now turned to anger. I climbed up the steps onto the pier and lunged at Kyle. "What the Hell BRO. What the fuck are you doing here? You scared the shit outta me." "damn you man this aint funny." I shouted.

 

Still laughing Kyle raised his hands to defend my shoves, "Hey hey, I'm sorry, I was gonna surprise you for your birthday." He stated.

"well, you managed that, asshole," I yelled and gave him one final shove as I stormed off towards the house.

 

"Kameron, hey bro, I'm sorry, don't be mad. I didn't mean to scare you." Kyle retorted as he started coming after me, still laughing under his breath. In my greatest dramatic performance to date, I marched back up onto the front porch and turned towards him. "I seriously could have had a heart attack, did you even think about anything? Mr Doctor?" Realizing how super silly that statement was, I couldn't help but crack a smile when I turned and looked at him.

 

I hadn't seen Kyle in almost a year. If he had been studying, it must have been in a gym with tanning bulbs in the ceiling. He stood there in ripped jeans, brilliant white sneakers, and a black tank top that clung to each muscle as if it were holding on for its very existence. A thread-bare white shirt draped perfectly over his full shape, and a college cap fit tight on his head with that expertly curved bill.

 

I looked into his bright green eyes and saw true regret, as if his county fair balloon had just popped. I melted a bit, but I still held onto my self-presumed sibling rivalry and smiled.

I don't know much about "Mary," but there is something about Kyle that makes my world better. I smiled bigger.

 

"Well. I guess it was a little funny." I said as I issued a brief parole from his previous sentence. "He beamed those million-dollar teeth back at me and said, "Damn right it was. Funny-as hell. But you almost made me stab myself with the nightstand and lamp. Dumb-ass…” He said as he ran up onto the porch to give me a hug.

 

His arms engulfed me. I melted into his embrace, his friendship, and his general love for me. The connection that had always been so natural returned immediately. We jostled and tossed each other's hair as we shared a heartfelt greeting. Keeping our masculine bravado, we both knew that all was well within our world.

 

He pushed me back and said, "Lil bro, you look great. Damn, do I need to barricade the door to block all the high school hotties from getting in here? Mom and Dad said you'd lost weight but damn bro. You look incredible."

 

I blushed and literally soaked in the compliments like a dry sponge. I had, in fact, changed. My braces were off, and my chest was defined. I had an early tan, which made my teeth even brighter than they actually were. I'd also let my curly hair grow a bit, giving me a surfer kid kind of look. I hadn't started to realize all the changes until that moment. I think about that even today.

 

The next few comments left me with a permanent blush and more than a few questions.

"Bro, I can't get over the change. We are Definitely gonna have to board up the doors when they find out the two gorgeous Kirkland boys are in this house." Kyle continued as he made his way past me to the front door. We had always been close and he had always been kind. But we had never shared compliments on looks or physique. You know, we kept it “All Bro.”

 

"Man, shut up. I'm still pissed at you, so I'm not buying the flattery and Kyle charm." I shot back. Then he looked down and spoke. "Theres no flattering needed lil bro,  and from the looks of whats slipping out of those wet shorts, it appears that you've grown a delicious bit of gorgeousness of your own." He stated with a wink and walked into the house.

 

I looked down and somewhere in all th struggles my well worn Calvins had ripped. One previous rip had now been torn much further, and a new rip at the "easy access" pouch had also ripped. These two strategic tears had left the large mushroom head of my cut cock, and the midsection of my hefty shaft exposed to the morning sun. I quickly covered myself and went inside. Red as a beet!!

 

What did Kyle say? Did I hear him right? Did he say delicious? gorgeousness?

I'm sure he didn't say delicious? No. Right‽ I was filled with emotions I had never felt. Something stirred within me. Something erotic, yet taboo. I questioned every word spoken on that porch. Today I know what he said, and I know that he meant to enlist those exact emotions. But in that moment, I had no idea what was happening. I certainly didn't know what life changes that Summer would bring.

 

Chapter Two

The morning had begun with fear and embarrassment. My mind was still reeling from the roller coaster of emotions I had just experienced.

I walked to the house towards the master bath. As I stepped into the room, I found the lamp on the floor, the shade bent, and the light bulb broken. It had met its fate when I made my daring escape from my serial killer, Big Brother. I straightened up the nightstand and lazily shoved the broken glass under the corner to deal with later. Typically, I would have cleaned that up immediately. But at this moment, my mind was focused on much more. My head was spinning, and my heart was still beating with excitement. Had I just heard things, right? Had my brother called my dick delicious? Was he staring at it? Was he staring at me? No way. But he definitely said “delicious.” It must be some new college term that I was not hip to? Surely, I'd misread that. Misread or not. My cock jumped with excitement at the thought of Kyle looking at me.

As I carefully moved the final piece of broken glass, I couldn't help but chuckle with laughter. Thinking about my actions and picturing me running and jumping into the lake. That was funny, I had to admit it. I was on one knee with my left side to the door when Kyle stepped into the doorway.

He leaned in, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. They wrapped themselves around the doorframe, holding the weight of his body. His abrupt halt had caused beautiful natural blonde streaks to sway towards his cheekbones. They came to rest at the edge of his cheeks as if to cradle the sculpted perfection. His large physique filled the entrance as if he were perfectly chiseled out of a piece of flawless tanned ivory. I was suddenly looking at the cover of a teen romance novel as the daylight illuminated the room behind him. As he leaned in, his biceps flexed and stretched the paper-thin fabric of the white fabric clinging to his body.

Thankfully my cock was exposed on the opposite side of my body because it jumped again and started its ascent to the sky.

 

The combination of morning, ripped Calvins, and Kyle was too much for my 18-year-old hormones to handle. "Oh Shit, did you break it?" He questioned. "Hell no, you broke it." I retorted with a peal of continuous laughter, careful to hide my growing member. He gave me the trademarked million-dollar smile, rolled his beautiful green eyes, and muttered, "Whatever, Lil bro…" as he bounced to the kitchen.

I waited until I could clearly hear him in the kitchen, then I stood up and quickly stepped to the bathroom. Closing and locking the door, I took a deep breath.

I then took a brief moment to deal with something I hadn't given much thought to in a while. Kyle had been away for so long. I had not had to deal with these feelings in some time. It had been a year since I sat in my bedroom, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Kyle getting out of the shower. Even longer since I had watched him play ball in the backyard or help dad around the house in running shorts. The guilt and combined shame of this hidden lust had not been an issue for some time. I had hoped and prayed it was a teenage phase or hormonal puberty thing. The gay thoughts were dealt with, but the taboo of this??? No, No, I couldn't go back to pining over Kyle again. Those thoughts were buried long ago, never to resurface. RIGHT?  But what the hell had just happened? Had my Bog Brother just flirted with me?

 

WHAT in literal HELL???

 

My mind was more confused than a peach tree blooming in December. My mind was reeling with incredibly inappropriate thoughts of Kyle. The layers of denial were stripped away, and the reality of that “desire” came back to the surface with a fury.

 

I grabbed a towel and started to dry my wet hair. As I looked up and started to ruffle the other side of my head, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. There stood a smaller version of Kyle. The similarities that we had as kids had returned. Of course there were differences, but I was looking at a smaller version of my brother. Kyle with ripped Calvins, a toned, tanned build, and freshly shaved heavy balls presenting a hefty semi-hard-on. I had jerked off to the mirror many times before. Picturing it was another guy. But I had not done so since my body had blossomed into my brother's smaller framed double. I dropped the towel to the floor and guided my right hand to my dick. I grasped the shaft, and, with two strokes, I was rock hard. I didn’t try to bury anything. I allowed my mind to run free. Fresh and raw visions of my brother flooded my mind. I stepped closer to the mirror. My hand was now starting to work with a pleasurable rhythm. I allowed my left hand to touch my chest and slid it down to the waistband of the partially destroyed boxer briefs. The HOTNESS of being partially nude was too tempting as I played with the waistband and pulled it down touching the base of my shaft.

 

I focused my attention on my body and cock as I held its rigid straightness tightly in my hand. Up and down the pole, I stroked, imagining my brother's cock in my hand. I halted briefly and allowed saliva to fall from my mouth and land on the head of my cock. I kept the rhythm as I simply allowed the natural lubricant to engulf my rod, intensifying the desire. My left hand now stretching the waistband of my underwear further down, allowing its elasticity to rub against my hard dick. I released the waistband and propped myself against the wall with my left hand as I started to feel that beautiful release building up inside me. I thought of my tongue reaching forward to touch the tip of Kyles Dick.

 

Sweat started to bead on my forehead as my mind raced to Kyle. I imagined his hands pulling me up for a deep, passionate kiss right before leading me gently back down to his crotch. I could almost feel his two hands caress the back of my head as he guided my lips towards his thick, throbbing manhood. I thought of him saying: "Its all yours lil brother, Ive wanted you for so long." With that thought I exploded onto the mirror.

 

Stream after stream of hot cum hit the mirror with a force that seemed enough to crack its surface. The strength of my youthful cum shot was evident as  I watched the creamy substance splatter on the surface. As each pulse of cum hit the reflective surface, I wished it was my face being rewarded with Kyle's seed. I shook with pleasure as the orgasm rippled through me. The last stream hit the floor as the fluid started to drip from my mushroom head and spilled on my thumb. I brought the cum to my lip and applied it like gloss, then allowed my tongue to taste its sweet saltiness. I trembled with final waves of orgasm as I pictured myself tasting my Big Brother.

 

Breathing heavily, I closed my eyes and allowed reality to once again invade my fantasy. I turned towards the shower and started the water. The smell of bacon began to fill the air as I heard Kyle shout. "Jerk it quick, dipshit, Im cooking breakfast." We had always teased one another about this. If he had only knew how many times he had yelled that same thing while I was doing just that, secretly thinking about him. This time had been different. He had given me more to work with than just passing glimpses and tight clothing. He had actually talked about ME, and commented on ME. Not just me, but he called my cock delicious.

 

I cleaned the mirror and stepped into the shower all the while trying to figure out those comments. I realized something as I soaped up and allowed the warm water to refocus my attention. The guilt and shame that normally followed a "Kyle centered orgasm," was no longer there. I had to remind myself that it was not normal. I actually had to tell myself, "It’s your BROTHER, Kameron…” I guess my Baptist upbringing allowed some shred of guilt to creep back in, but there was still some kind of acceptance going on. There was definitely less guilt, and for the first time, my thoughts didn’t bring the disgrace it had always bestowed.

 

Again, What in Baptist HELL???

 

Breakfast was the same as hundreds of times before. The two Kirkland brothers sitting at the round oak table teasing one another, talking and laughing, having breakfast at the lake. The past year had been the longest we had been apart. I had often wondered if our reunion would be awkward. You know how things are when you’re not around someone. Sometimes, it takes a while to regain that level of oneness. It took us about three seconds. Since the terror of the morning had passed, when I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, I was greeted by Kyle. My Brother. My Best Friend. My Kyle.

 

It turns out that He had been working and studying so that he could spend part of the Summer at the lake as well. It had been a surprise that Mom and Dad helped coordinate. Up until that day, I had truly wanted to be here alone, but Kyle being with me felt safe, normal, and truly meant to be. We had a terrific day being lazy, just enjoying one another. Laughing and catching up. We spent most of the day at the end of the pier in the sun or swimming. We had some lunch out there, and it was like our childhood. Ham sandwiches and chips with cans of SunDrop. The day was filled with Great Big inner tubes, floating chairs, and the smell of tanning oil.

 

It was a terrific day for me. I got to keep my eyes planted on my gorgeous brother all day long. He wasn’t wearing a Speedo or anything revealing. Instead, he chose a pair of board shorts. Trust me, in my imagination, they got removed each time he came out of the water.

There was some odd spirit in the air all day. I couldn’t place it, but I remember there being a calm, almost freedom between us that we had never experienced. I believed it was the fact that we had both grown older and more mature. Looking back, I can clearly see what was happening that day. That entire day, Kyle kept telling me that he had a surprise planned. Something major planned for later.

 

After lunch we even went back to the house for a nap because he said: “We will need our rest for later.” He kept saying that he wanted my 18th Birthday to be the best of my life, and he was here to make sure that happened. I had no idea what he meant. At the time. Today, I believe he had the night planned out all along. That Birthday remains My Favorite Birthday Celebration of all time!! That day was a precursor for our entire Summer. It shaped my entire life and Kyles.

We look back sometimes, and…  Well, I'm getting ahead of myself again.

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Me and My BIG Brother pt 3

 

The sun began to set on my 18th birthday as I woke from an afternoon nap. Kyle had insisted that we take a nap. Although it wasn't my typical routine, the sun had drained me. The thought of curling up in one of Gran's heavy blankets with that big ole window unit blowing arctic air into the dark lakehouse bedroom sounded like heaven. It was. (Many times over the years, I have found myself full of tears thinking of that wonderful old room, and Gran.) 

When I opened my eyes, I saw twilight colors peeking through the window. The air was filled with that lazy summer, Saturday afternoon feeling. The days when you had no specific plans, and no obligations to fulfill. God had painted the sky with shades of pink, orange, and red. The hues melted together as they spilled through the blinds and onto the pinewood planks. I slipped out of bed and headed to witness the full spectrum of the sunset. One of the most spectacular things about the Lake was its sunsets. They could easily take your breath away. This one was no disappointment.

 

With hair pressed to one side of my head, I swayed towards the living room. Kyle was nowhere to be found. The house was expansive; he could have been anywhere. I assumed he had taken refuge in our childhood bedroom, and I was correct. I opened the door to find him asleep on the bottom of our old bunk bed. The nostalgia was immense, but the picture was quite different. Where there had once been a skinny kid curled under a blanket, now lay a broad-shouldered man. He now encompassed the entire space with one leg off the side. A twin-sized mattress, no longer able to hold his full form. I watched him breathe and let my mind wander.

 

I thought of my life after this summer. I thought of Kyle's life at school and the current paths of all my family. The four of us were always a close bunch, but now it seemed we had separate journeys. Our parents were now determined to spend their retirement exploring the world, as well as they should; they certainly deserved it. They had made their intentions clear for years with phrases like, "Boys, when your Mom and I retire, you'll have to send a messenger pigeon to find us." Mom would say, "Yall, make sure you get a job that supports you because we don't plan to leave you a dime. You can have the house and the RV. Unless we need to sell the house to keep up our expensive on-the-road lifestyle." Dad would chime in, "By that time, y'all should be doing well on your own. You can send us money and support us until we drive over the same cliff as Thelma and Louise did." This was always followed by laughter, yet we knew that a portion was completely true. I chuckled at the thoughts.

 

I started thinking about what our lives would be like in the next few years. I'm sure Kyle would find a girl and get married. What would I do? I had known I was gay for some time now. I knew Mom and Dad knew as well. We simply hadn't talked about it. That's how things were as Southern Baptists in the 90s. You threw things under the rug and left them alone, like normal people. There were very few deep talks about feelings. Both Mom and Dad were supportive and loving, but we let things go without words. Wait until I tell you how I "came out." So typical for my family.

 

Back to the Lakehouse… As my mind pondered the many unknowns, I stood in the doorway and just listened to Kyle sleep. It was an adorable sight. He had a slight snore. Nothing obnoxious, only enough to let you know he was asleep. His tanned leg caught the same sunset that I had just seen. The rays of color leaped from one side of the room to the other as they struck his perfect jawline, casting a flawless shadow onto his chest. I thought; “that sunset ain't the only thing God did well.” About then, I glanced at the small dresser mirror and saw even more of that resemblance. I looked back at Kyle just in time to watch the afternoon's amber rays meet the emerald green in Kyle's half opened eyes. I heard, "Are you just standing there looking at yourself in the mirror? Get out, get your own mirror; this one is for my face." He muttered and laughed as he stretched himself awake.

 

I was a bit embarrassed that he had caught me watching him, but I played it off and started walking towards the dresser to dig through the drawer. "So, what's the plan? What's this amazing memory we're going to create? Wait, are you taking me on some kind of hunting thing with one of your high school buddies? Cause if I have to dress in camouflage, I didn't bring a thing." I stated with my usual quick wit and shallow comic timing. "And I ain't shooting nothin'," I added with the same demeanor. Kyle rolled his eyes and leaned up in the tiny bed. He rested on his elbows and said, "I guess you could say it's a bit of hunting. But you're going to have to help me out this time. I'm taking you to the hunting grounds." He winked and shot me a shy and devious smile. I stood there and pondered on what he could have meant as he hopped up and headed towards the hallway bathroom. He punched my arm as he passed by and said, Come on, Get ready. We have a whole night ahead of us." He was in the bathroom before I could protest or question any further.

I left the bedroom doorway and started walking back to the master bedroom. That was not typically my room, but I claimed it for this summer. Since Kyle was in the shower, I unpacked the remainder of my things. The last 36 hours had been filled with too much excitement to worry about unpacking. I gently placed one summer's worth of items into the cedar-scented dresser drawers. My mind was racing; Hunting Grounds? What did that mean? I didn't give it much more thought as my mind began to focus on spending the evening with my Big Brother.

The closest major city was a port town called Wilmington, NC. There was a mid-size town of approximately 150 thousand people. The great thing about it was the mixture of cultures. It hugged the coast of North Carolina, so one part of town carried a definite laid-back beach surfer vibe. However, traveling about 20 miles across town, the downtown area boasted an Urban Bohemian feeling. The lakehouse was in a tiny community surrounding the Lake. There was a general store, a gas station, a small Walmart and a handful of mom-and-pop restaurants. Over the years, we have traveled to this city many times for supplies and items that are unavailable locally. I assumed that Kyle had something planned there. The lazy lakeside community was not big on nightlife. My mind continued to race as I heard the bathroom door open.

"Hey, Bro, I'm out. Get Ready; I know how long it takes you." He yelled as I heard the wet bare feet hitting the hardwood floor as they traveled across the hallway.

"Shut Up," I demanded as I closed the dresser drawers and turned to make my way towards Kyle's room. "What am I supposed to wear? I seriously don't have camouflage. I didn't bring much." I spoke as I walked towards his room to hear him better. In complete honesty, I could hear him fine. I was walking closer to see him fresh out of the shower. The sight of My Brother with a towel around his waist was a vision I had not drooled over in some time. I figured, lets add to the photobook. I continued mumbling as I got closer to the entrance, "I was not planning to go to a prom; all I brought were clothes to hang ar… round, in…" My words slowed to a dead stop and stumbled into a blubber as I arrived at Kyles wide open door and looked up. Kyle was standing at the side of the bed with a pair of wide waistband blue briefs in one hand and red CK boxer briefs in the other. Other than these articles of clothing, nothing else was touching his body. He was completely naked. He held both pairs of underwear up, gave each one an inquisitive look, and said, "Ok, tell me, blue or red."

My heart may have briefly stopped. My eyes immediately started to work overtime as I surveyed the vision and stored snapshots for later memory. I had seen Kyle before, but those had been sneaked peeks. They were small glimpses and occasional bathroom moments. I had never been given such a bold, deliberately unobstructed view. I also quickly scanned the changes that had manifested over the past year. Today had obviously been the only time he had tanned while wearing shorts. His minimal tan lines drew a reddish-pink line across his waistline and above his knees. He was smooth almost everywhere. A dusting of blonde leg hair covered his beautiful stems. The evening twilight had since given way to a dark purple sky, and the lights inside the house gave off an enchanting Amber glow. The shadows seemed to highlight Kyle's Heavenly features. A perfect group of muscles gathered to form a deeply defined Adonis Belt V that seemed to point to the Grand Prize.

It was definitely worth the attention, and my soul gave a standing ovation as my eyes drank in this marvelous view. Kyle's package was neatly shaven but not completely. Two heavy balls hung lazily on either side of an equally weighted, perfectly formed Cock. His balls were smooth and served as the superb backdrop for such an incredible piece of God's artistry.

His dick was just like mine, but longer and thicker. It looked semi-hard as its weight hung low and commanded the attention of all the air around it. Y’all, I swear I think the damn thing glowed with a golden aura.  I was stunned, and I stared directly at it. It was male perfection. There was no hiding or glancing. I did not look away and say, "I'm sorry." Once my two eyes met this sight, I was in a trance.

Kyle stood before me with the confidence of a New York runway model. He was holding two pairs of underwear in his hands like puppets. He looked as innocent as a lamb as he intentionally allowed me to remain in this dumbfounded stooper. I finally circled the wagons in my mind and landed back on the Prairie. I stumbled through the words, "Umm, Red, ah, but I like the blue too…" I'm honestly shocked I said that much.

"Let me try them on…" He started as he tossed the red pair in the bed and turned to put in the blue. “…cause they both look good, but I think one makes the goods look better." He faced me full frontal again. "I got these from a friend in school. He sells them and asked me to model them for a promo thing. I got to keep all the undies." He continued as he strutted across the room to see himself in the mirror. His left side was towards me as he looked back at the mirror behind him, saying, "They are comfortable as Fuck, and I never thought I'd give a damn about underwear, but I may be spoiled."

The entire time Kyle walked around the room, I just watched and tried to think of what to say. I wanted to be cool, calm, and collected, but the only thing being collected was blood as it raced to harden my dick. There was no way to hide it. I was in boxer briefs myself. I pushed myself to the doorframe and said. "I like those, but let's see the red ones." I was pretty damn bold now. I wanted another view of that massive cock.

"Yeah, they're comfortable too, and I think these show off the package better. I'll let you decide." Kyle stated as his tanned thumbs slipped into the waistband of the blue pair. I was almost confident he was getting harder, and that was confirmed as the head of his cock slid from the bondage of the blue fabric. It flopped out and presented its (definite) semi-hard self to the world as Kyle tossed one garment on the bed and leaned over for the other. When he came back up with the red pair in his hand, he opened his arms and said. "Well, I'm sorry, Lil bro, I'm guessing he approves of the audience. He sure seems to be pointing towards you. Maybe he missed you watching him?" He confessed with a grip as he slipped one leg and then the other into the red boxer briefs.

Stunned, I finally looked up and muttered, "What? Watching … him? what?" My face flushed with the same deluge of blood that had rushed to my dick. My heart was pumping in tandem, trying to fill my cock and my face with blood at the same time. I was beet red and starting to sweat as I searched for the next words to say. "Hey, hey, no, no, I didn't mean it like that." He started as he approached me and placed his right hand on my shoulder. "I'm not angry or giving you a hard time." His voice was slower now, like a gentle whisper. His face was so close to mine that his breath caressed my cheek. “Kameron, It's ok; honestly, I've always enjoyed you watching me." He continued as his hand slid off my shoulder and tightened around my bicep. "Hey bro, I've always known you were watching me in the shower. I tried to make sure you saw what you wanted to see." He whispered.

I stared at the floor with enough concentration to look directly through the wood planks to the ground below. My heart was beating in my ears, my cock was throbbing, and my body was trembling. Kyle took his left hand and brought it to my cheek. He slowly cradled my chin and brought my eyes up to meet his. "Was I right or wrong?" Kyle asked with a louder, sultry, matter-of-fact expression. He tilted his head to the right, smiled ever so slightly, and came closer. His hips guided his still semi-hard cock to mine. The fabric containing his stiff manhood softly brushed the stretched cotton holding in my hard dick. He then slid his hand to my hand and started to draw imaginary lines from my middle knuckle to the bend in my wrist.

"It Seems like I was right all these years. This is what you wanted to see." When he said the word "THIS" he pressed himself harder into my hard-on. I thought I might faint as I stood there without saying a word. Kyle's breath passed my face; his eyes remained deadlocked on mine. My brain took a moment to register the situation, and my hormones took over as I leaned forward. Kyle's tongue stretched forth to wet his full lips. The moist heat felt like warm oil dripping over my body as our lips gently touched. It was a light and soft kiss, then another. Our lips were teasing one another. Together then apart, then back together again to find themselves within centimeters of one another.

Kyle's cock was now rock hard, and it found its rightful place as it was pressed directly next to my rigid cock. The two pieces of male flesh raged together as if they were part of the same body, perfectly fit to live together. The only thing preventing their touch was two layers of translucent material. This barrier was now the only thing preventing the complete disclosure of the contents hidden deep within our own Pandora's box. Years of fantasy and desire were now a reality. I had scripted millions of scenes between Kyle and me in my mind, yet none contained the passion and ecstasy of this moment. This wasn't a script, and this wasn't a daydream. I finally broke my silence and said, "Kyle, I want to." He stopped me with another kiss, then pulled himself away far enough to take my hand and guide it to his dick. His breath shuttered when my hand made contact. I wrapped my fingers around Kyles perfect cock and gently rubbed it up and down as if following an animal instinct. We both took a breath as if it were the first one after being submerged and deprived of oxygen.

We exhaled, and Kyle said, "I hope that is what you want because I've wanted to feel your hands on my cock for a long time." I leaned in to kiss him, and we both started to move back into the room. My right hand reached for his waistline, and I allowed my fingers to pull back the elastic fibers. I was about to actually feel my brother's erect cock for the first time. The palm of my hand was hot with anticipation. The years of thirst were about to be quenched as I inched further towards Kyles concrete rod. My body was still halfway in the dimly lit hallway. Suddenly the motion sensor light beamed light onto the porch, and the solid glass door allowed it to flood the hallway with light. At that exact moment, we heard a shrill voice, "YooHoo, Kameron!!! It's Aunt Patty!! Knock Knock!!"

DAMNIT!!!!