Here's a crack ship. Gareth and Selene XD chaos loading
Now, this one was something... xD
How it happened:
Selene and Gareth always had somewhat of a healthy respect from the distance for each other. Both are unwilling to bend to rules the deem silly (which are most), and enjoy causing chaos and wreaking havoc on their surroundings (some intentional, some not so much, but hey)
They eventually were introduced after Selene had adopted Henry Lovecraft as her non-mutual best friend and invited herself to book club meetings, which became a lot more lively after her joining. Gareth enjoyed the commotion more than he would both admit or let on.
The of them began to bond when Selene's family tried tightening their reigns on their increasingly hard to control daughter, and Gareth sensed a similar kind of pressure on her shoulders to his own, their mutual understanding of each other extending beyond their graduation.
With Selene travelling the world and Gareth going rogue, she distanced herself from him. She was frequently invited to social events after he claimed his dukedom, but having a particular disliking for high society, Selene declined each and every invitation sent her way.
When she settled at Fraser Hall and took over the family company, contact between the two was renewed. Gareth had his dukedom and his son to care for, Selene was running her business and trying to raise Caitlin far from society's mutterings and rumours to the best of her abilities. Having to raise their children by themselves was the point of rekindling - and deepening - their former friendship, with Fraser Hall and his whisky cellars always a refuge for Gareth when his duties became too much for him to bear.
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Snippet - Regrets - Mal de Mer
Not his first choice.
Certainly not hers.
Mal de Mer on AO3
Snippet:
"Bastard," she hisses under her breath.
He doesn't flinch. "So many have said."
"I will never forgive you."
"Many have said that, too." A beat. "I wonder how many times I'll have to listen to you say it."
"Not much longer, the rate you're going." Her rage has calcified into a core of gold: reactive to nothing, and solid to the worst blow. The Medarda rage, Ambessa used to say. It's why our women are the fiercest. "I'm beginning to see why Sevika warned me to steer clear."
A crease—instantly flattened—passes beneath his forehead.
"Sevika?"
"Before the engagement was publicized. She pulled me aside. Told me I was taking a huge gamble. That she didn't think you and I would suit." Mel, sensing the chink, presses her attack. "She never told you, did she?"
Silco, motionless, says nothing.
"Now I see why. Truth has no appeal to you. Only games." A glance at the guests, a straggling cluster in the rear cart. The poor things are terrified: the women shaking, the men pale. Only Garlen, the bullheaded brute, looks ready for a fight. "She warned me of that, too. She said, if this was a passing fancy, I should keep an escape route open. But if it was a permanent fixation, you'd make my life a living hell."
The crease appears again. And holds.
"What," he says, "did you tell her?"
"I advised her to save her breath. I said I wasn't afraid. I was a Medarda. And Medardas, come hell or high water, always get what they want."
"A bloodline of unparalleled ambition."
"I believe the word Sevika used was 'blind hubris.' I could tell she didn't think much of my pedigree—or my choice. When she left, I thought she was simply bitter. All her years of loyal service, and her beloved leader had bypassed her. Worse, he'd chosen a Topsider." Mel smiles without humor. "Blind hubris is right. I didn't understand at all. Her warning was less about me, and more about you."
There is no change in Silco's expression. Yet the opacity is deceptive: more a veil than wall.
"Sevika," he says, low, "has only ever had Zaun's interests at heart."
"Does she know the full extent of your plans?"
"Yes. She is loyal to the cause."
"Then perhaps it's her you should've chosen."
She'd meant to hit below the belt. But his answer, flat in its simplicity, leaves her reeling.
"I nearly did."
The cart's wheels shriek. Sparks leap. They round a corner, and the corridor narrows. The walls, composed of industrial metal, are streaked with rust.
Or blood.
Mel's throat closes. "You two—"
"She was my comrade. When necessary, my sounding board." The timbre is even. "Sometimes more."
The veil is drawn. Behind, Silco is unknowable. But no longer, Mel thinks, untouchable.
"Did you—" she begins.
"Did I what? Trust her? A damn sight more than I do you. Did I fuck her? Yes, and often. Love her?" He doesn't bother hiding the derision. "Sevika never angled for my love. She knew where she stood. In my bed, and at my side. That's what made her a good lieutenant. She understood loyalty." A shrug, careless, but weighted with intent. "Unlike some."
Mel lowers her head. There is a tiny taste of blood where she's bitten her underlip. It fades fast beneath the sourness of rage.
She thinks of Sevika: all hard lines, and cold dark eyes. Of her body—scarred, sinewy and so unlike her own—that Silco must've taken pleasure in. The thought of them together is an ugly blemish on her mind's eye. And yet, she thinks of the rapport between them: a seamless coordination of word and deed. The implicit understanding of each other's motivations. The tacit safekeeping of the other's secrets. The fierce devotion, born from a shared purpose.
He says Sevika, and his surface stays deceptively slick. But if she dives deeper, the waters are bloodstained.
"You," she says, "loved her."
"That's not what I—"
The rebuff is too sharp. Like the crease in his brow. His facade: cracked.
And Mel, a lifetime's study of her mother, sees her opening.
"You loved her," she says, "but you had to let her go."
She has him. She knows, by the flicker of his eyes.
"Yes," he admits, finally. "I did."
"Why?"
"Because, in Sevika's words, I'd already committed myself. Because the crisis between you and I was too fraught to sidestep. Because if I'd kept her around, I'd have done something... rash. Selfish." Another shrug. "She told me, in simple terms, to get on with it. Even if, by the end, my cold feet had morphed into fins." He offers a thin smile. "Mal de Matrimonium. It takes a certain woman to inspire it."
"Like me."
"Yes." The smile fades. "I'm sure of many odds, Mel. Sure of Zaun. Sure of Sevika. Even Jinx, my wildcard, works in ways I can predict. But you? You're the one variable I cannot account for. And that makes matters... complicated."
"You regret our marriage.
"I never said that." A long, awful silence. “I detest the waste."
Mel, stunned, stares.
"I've lived long enough to know, when the dice are cast, the result is a tossup. It's the nature of the beast. With you, it was always a question of whether it was desire—or a desire to make a difference. Whether I could live with the first. And whether I could afford the second." His stare, unerring, holds hers. "With Sevika, the scales were simpler. She understood my means. She understood my ends. Our desires didn't hold us hostage. They were simply a natural consequence. I've no doubt, had I chosen her, she'd have my bollocks on a platter. But, at the end of the day, Zaun would be the stronger for it." A beat. "And my life, safer."
Safer.
The word slashes through Mel's fugue. In her mind, she sees a pair of warm tawny eyes. A smile, pure and true. Arms enfolding her, and soft lips kissing her forehead, her nose, her mouth. A different man, a better man—his embrace a refuge rather than a tightrope. To the last, he'd cradled her close, and whispered, with all his heart:
Don't go.
I'll take care of us. We'll be okay.
If she could've chosen her Happy Ending, it would've been Jayce.
But there is no such thing as Happy Endings. Or, if there are, her mother made sure she'd lost hers the moment she was born.
A Medarda, Ambessa always said, languishes in safety.
It is in danger that she shines.
The cart shudders, its speed decelerating. Mel's anger—that golden core—has gone brittle. His confession is an axe. Each sentence, a blow.
But her spine does not bend.
"It's too late," she says flatly. "You’ve chosen me."
"I have."
"I'll oblige you, if you wish. Your bollocks on a platter." Her smile barely wavers. "Your heart, I've yet to find."
Now the crease deepens. Barely perceptible: a cut of shadow.
“Mel,” he says, warningly. "Let's be grown-ups about this."
"Oh, indeed!"
"We entered this union with our eyes open. Our motives were never altruistic, much less romantic. You sought to stabilize your Council seat. I, a means to leverage my city's independence. It was a bargain struck with a single clause. To both our benefit." He shakes his head. "The rest is noise."
"I've seen how well you deal with noise."
"And I've seen how you manage the same. But this is not noise." A grim chuckle. "This is our future."
"Don't presume to speak for me."
"I'm not presuming. I'm stating facts." He leans forward. "If you had no intention of seeing this through, you would've cut your losses. Hell, you had the perfect chance. Back on the ship, you could've sided against me. Could've claimed ignorance, or trickery, or betrayal. Instead, you chose to stand by me. Why?"
"Because—"
Because I've failed one relationship already.
Because I’m tired of losing what’s mine.
Because, gods help me, I—
The words stick in her throat. The truth, too deep, refuses to dislodge without bleeding.
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