#melting gelid roses

[echoeternally]

Hey, just wanted to say that I really love Bluebells are Forever and Melting Gelid Roses! I found both of them by accident years ago and would every-so often come back to check your progress. (I’m currently writing this in the middle of my 3-4th reread).

I just wanted to say thank you, you gave a lot of hope to a young gay man when he didn’t have any. So, thank you.

Hi there! Thank you very much for writing in to me!

It's delightful to learn that you stumbled across the fanfics by accident. Part of me wonders how often that happens to my readers and I haven't a clue. Very fun to consider though!

Anyway, I'm happy to hear that you enjoyed both BAF and MGR so much. Those were two very enjoyable fanfics to write and helped me expand my skills in world-building. For Pokemon fanfics, they became something very enjoyable to create, and the audience interactions were something that I don't think I can recapture with any other piece of work that I've done or perhaps ever will do.

The stories themselves feel enchanting to work on, and I love the amount that I was able to research when I was younger. I think that, because the world itself had to be built up with outside references from the franchise, that gave more creative freedoms than I had worked with previously.

Also, making many couples as gay as I wanted was great fun, lol. But, I think there was a sense of wholeness to their characterizations too, and that made their journeys more compelling for readers to follow. Plus, since the leads are gay, that allows readers to relate to them better than they're given the opportunity to do so normally.

At any rate, I've rambled enough. You're welcome for the stories, and I'm honored to hear that they gave you hope when you faced bleakness in life. I do hope that things have turned around for you, and that there are many more beautiful things in the world that can inspire hope, joy, love, and wonder in your life.

If there are now, and you're doing better, that's delightful to know, and I hope it continues to progress along nicely! But, if not, then I do want you to know that there are going to be moments that will feel overwhelming and awful, and I want you to keep in mind that they are just that: moments. Life is full of ups and downs, and that mostly remains out of our control.

However, those downs will not last, and as long as you remember to find even just the smallest joys from the ups, those are worth it. I've been to dark places before myself, but, I've come to learn as I grow that they are not permanent. Some can even teach us and help make us stronger; you don't realize the challenges you can face until you're coming out from the other side of them.

So, I wish good luck and well wishes to you, and hope that your days are better more often than not. Again, it was a pleasure to hear that my stories were able to bring a little light to your life, and that kind of response warms my heart more than you realize.

Hope you enjoy your latest re-read! And I'd like to imagine that I'll update the 3rd story this year for the series' tenth anniversary come December, but, we'll see about that. But that's neither here nor there as much; I hope you have a wonderful day/week, and please take care as well! All the best!

#askecho #darwintm #bluebells are forever #melting gelid roses #fading wind violets #pokemon fanfics #feedback #such kindness #thank you

[libidomechanica]

“You know when I ”d forbid

Palace wake me of amorous boy, my soul throne.     And the suddenly held have behind the old, that Lamp had nae will be either hair who     is mortal fame; Thy scythe approve there

by skil with them in the hung over: you’re past. Love’s     ode, or wheelings for courtly Chesterday’s bustle received dolphin when thought, take a think     I can seems through vnfelt, do hide thy cruel

standing; then the imaginary side. The breach.     But think upon the delicate asylum, I see the melt the topics I must tell!     You know when I ’d forbid! To-morrow

willy-flower as love and force my sell. Which     those she lilly comfort like the old, his coming dovetailed, and found my mind; gross’d a carpet     as that gelid found, reincorporation;

but in a lass on revengines     they anoint of Kaikobád away fortunes out never with which by all. His turned     angerous sighed They sentiment. Now, Kitty,

nor would enjoy it. Whose him who fatten whose     car prepare those thousands, where dicerne. Why vowed here we in human creature, loving complete,     he alert. Stella, who obey

that if on me; where overcome with would be touch     small still moods as made story, there’s just thou, my Purse tear, then thumb and stock the Prince! I     fountains, of our nation’s know: love tempest—

surely name of my delightful Fairy Prince     and seem’d to all the out. And the debts, thou have them to there: to kill its breathless Jeanie’s     yet, Gae see, but did your travell oft;

and senators less of the truth; a selfe on the     common Earth’s latch, who are em, and future circles. Yet outstretched throughly thy part. Not loue,     I knew, which of English dandies did

beauty grief her said he if you except drewe     abated, she, she’s my darling, love supremacy. But whether! Yes, this when he mother     shape an’ she levee rose, one Truth is

all is dead you down upon E in all the way;     true I have, abandon frogs call thee will say, will blot? But the trees, will no Questions still     welcome life saves completed. And is

heard grey melt and called on Devon, with fill at you     sees, a fragrant, and thought short, and with a glazed tiny rip it hath and now I cannot     body’s worst fervenche! The door you hold?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #216 texts #ballad

[incognitodrawsphenomenons]

It’s here. It’s done.

@echoeternally @eloquentspeeches (because i want you to see this oml) @akabaneyuki (despite having seen it already :p) @fortelux-the-brave @diamond-mirror @solopuppy

The MGR poster.

It’s here.

War is coming.

#regrettably #this is so much better than the b-day gift i am so sad #iph art #pokemon #chesnaught #greninja #baf/mgr echoeternally #baf/mgr #melting gelid roses #echoeternally #this fanfic is coming to an end #the next one's coming #war is coming #oh no #oh and catch where the light is on their bodies #chesnaught on the chest #gren on the eyes #and that bg is something else boi #and the shadow behind the two is supposed to be a rose but eh #bye i'm tired

[medievalmon]

Fan Art Friday!! 

((Psh, always wanted to try that one. Anyway, this is the blog mod! Yes, that means it’s the author. 

Some friends of mine made very lovely fan art of my series, and I haven’t shared that on this blog. So, consider this a little visual for some of the characters in the series so far! 

Here’s a list of them, so if you’d like to see more art, check here:  Melting Gelid Roses Poster: @incognitopheno  Sneakpast Solo Sketch: @surudramon  Typhlosion’s Fantasy: @rott-ing-root DrillShipping by Night: @diamond-mirror)) 

Each of them has made more than one piece of art, so I will feature more again around the end of next month.

#medievalmon #incognitopheno #surudramon #rott-ing-root #diamond-mirror #fan art friday #pokemon #based on #pokemon fanfics #sneakpastshipping #drillshipping #volcanicsamuraishipping #bluebells are forever #melting gelid roses

[iironwreath]

Forgive [Cihro]

[125] 

After spending half a week shuffling through the Frostweald, the Bramblewoods were a slice of cake, even in late winter. A pleasant day in the Frostweald made any blizzard look like weather fit for the beach.

At the time the party had Gwen, and now, Cihro had his dad. The camping trip was Cihro’s idea, but his dad took the lead with a walking staff, carving a safe trail for him to follow. Zephir knew the way back, but failing that, he had magic to teleport them to the outskirts or fly them above the heads of the trees.

Cihro breathed in gelid air, then expelled it in small, white plumes. A thin coat of snow muffled the forest. It was cold enough to freeze the mud, making their footsteps crunchy instead of sticking and wet; a small blessing. Lingering icicles dripped holes at the banks of the trees and occasionally marked their cheeks.

Zephir found a place for them to lay down camp. He had Cihro assist in constructing their tent, complete with excitable pointers. Cihro resisted rolling his eyes. He’d spent over thirty years travelling, but Zephir was a dad, and being a dad meant giving him survival tips. Thirty years of accumulated knowledge wouldn’t match his dad’s expertise and he wasn't about to rob him of an experience he hadn't gotten to indulge in. 

They talked, and cooked, and joked—Cihro remembered where he adopted his sense of humour. 

As the sun retired behind the pines and the gloaming rose to take its place, Cihro edged into his life story. He told his dad everything—any missing details were a lapse in memory, not a choice. He thought about omitting being a newly recognized crime lord, but even that came out. His dad listened to it all, only interjecting to ask for clarification or elaboration.

When the timeline met up with the present, he petered into a deafening silence. His father stared into their fire. Cihro tried not to think he'd ruined the trip; his dad was wise enough to know he meant to fill him in. He had to trust in his quiet. 

Zephir reached over and pulled him into his arms, smushing Cihro to his chest. Cihro started, quaking a moment, then finally huddled into his embrace, feeling small but sheltered.

“I’m so sorry,” was all he murmured. Tears welled up in Cihro's eyes. He fought them from cascading over if only to avoid them from freezing against his face.

After what felt like an hour, his dad let him go and Cihro sat upright, stretching his back. His dad procured some chocolate and offered it with a smile.

“Enough about me,” Cihro said, snapping off a piece under his teeth. It had gone hard from the cold but melted under his tongue, soothing his emotional aches. “How are you feeling? Are you gunna reconcile with mom?”

Zephir shrugged. “Don’t worry about us, son.”

“You might as well ask the moons to go away. You’re my parents. I’m not a teenager, dad; I’m married and I’m older than you.”

“That’ll never not be weird.”

“I know.”

Zephir shimmied his hands together. “When I say don’t worry, I don’t just mean don’t concern yourself with it, I mean…I think we’ll be okay. It’s going to take time and it’s going to take work, but we’re not beyond saving, not when we want to be together. I still think of her as my wife, and I still love her, mistakes and all.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“I didn’t take my vows lightly,” Zephir said. “It sounds like you understand unconventional magic problems trying to interfere with your love with Talsin. We’re not the kind of family to quit on love, that much is written in our bones.”

“I didn’t sign a contract and sell out my husband to an archfey,” Cihro grumbled. 

“That’s not my point.”

“I know, I’m trying. I just don’t know if I believe that she didn’t quit on us? And I know I sound salty, but I did hope things would work out for you two.”

“Your mother does love you, never doubt that.” Zephir’s hand weighed down his shoulder, drawing his gaze. “Will you forgive her?”

Cihro’s lips thinned. “I want to. I’m angry. I feel this…pressure, almost, to forgive her? Like if I don’t, all the work we went through to save her won’t mean anything.”

“Want will get you far, but don’t force yourself, either. Forgiveness can be work, too.” Zephir took back the chocolate, replaced it in his bag, and withdrew a round, fat bottle of wine. “Here. Warm up.”

Cihro drank. Dusk tipped into evening proper, and together they watched the stars prick the night sky.

#writing tag #writing: cihro #cihro #zephir #tal'dorei #this was originally for bivouac for promptober but it didn't really stick or fit #exandria

[featherymalignancy]

Like a Lonely House, Part VII

JFC, I finally did it. PLEASE ENJOY! Also, if you need a refresher because it’s been a GD age since I updated, please check out the PARTS I-VI RECAP. Also please enjoy!

Like a Lonely House: A Nessian Story Of Betrayal and Redemption                                                

                        “so I wait for you like a lonely house

                       till you will see me again and live in me.

                              Till then my windows ache.”                                

                                           -Pablo Neruda

Warning: NSFW for language, mild violence, mentions of sexual assault, and smut. This story is not ACOFAS complaint, but it will borrow elements from the story. oh, also tons of angst. Synopsis: Fifty years after the Hybernian War, Prythian is finally at peace. For Cassian and Nesta, animosity has turned to something more amorous, and they stand on a precipice of something that scares and excites them both. However, it only takes one night of weakness on Cassian’s part to change everything, and with a young Illyrian prince gaining power in the North, Nesta agrees to an marriage alliance, both to protect her family and get her as far away from Cassian as possible. As things unravel between them, Cassian begins to suspect there is something more deliberate seeking to keep them apart, and he struggles to uncover the truth and win Nesta back before it’s too late.

If you’re new to the story, please click HERE for the masterlist.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of sexual assault.  Please proceed with caution.

Part VII

The Macaran crowd roared its approval as Adan rose to his feet at the High Lords’ invitation, but Cassian couldn’t hear a single voice.

It was as if all the sound had been sucked from the world, leaving only a roaring silence in its wake.

Cassian had the sensation of falling, of drowning, of he didn’t even know what. All he did know was that he couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe—as he watched the prince turn to offer Nesta his hand. The smile she offered the spoiled little prick in return ran Cassian straight through, and he wondered if the female  from the Corona was somewhere in the crowd smiling too, reveling in all she’d done to steal this moment for her Şehzade.

Blood slicked Cassian’s teeth as he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The muscles in his back screamed at the effort of keeping his wings pinned, his every instinct demanding he find the female—whoever she was—and simply shred her to ribbons, all the rest of this theatre be damned.

His body was so tense it had grown hard to breathe, but he called on the promise he’d made to Rhys to play his part and managed to settle, if only slightly. Gritting his teeth behind pursed lips, he willed the ire which bubbled under his skin to cool, trying to force it out of his scent. He needed to wait until he was alone, until he could speak to Rhys and Az...

He glanced at the latter to find his friend already watching him, hazel eyes glittering as the shadows slithered up to neck towards his ear as if they meant to tell him a secret. Cassian couldn’t speak to Azriel mind-to-mind the way he could with Rhys, but Az knew him well enough by now to read his body posture, even as Cassian fought to keep his face and scent neutral.

Casually as he could manage, he reached up to touch his collarbone with both hands before sweeping his fingers across his chest. To the uninitiated it would have seemed little more than a stretch, but Cassian knew Azriel would recognize the message coded in the gesture, one of many they’d invented to convey information when traditional communication was impossible.

We need to talk.

Azriel rolled his neck as if simply trying to relieve some stiffness in the muscles,  but Cassian knew it was meant as confirmation. It wasn’t enough to settle him, but it was enough to bolster his control as the gates of the Hewn City boomed open and the High Lords, the Macarans, and their respective retinues were all welcomed inside by a seductive string symphony typical of the Night Court.

The temptation to look at Nesta weighed Cassian’s every step, make his feet feel as if they were made of lead. However, he resisted, knowing that seeing her so near the prince would be enough to break the tenuous grip he had on his fury. It had melted from a burning in his blood to a frigid blade he could almost feel pressing against his palm.

Three moves, he told himself.

That would be all it would take to reach the prince and sever his spine. Three moves to rid himself of the threat, and two more to remove her from danger entirely. In less than a minute he could have them both in the sky, up and out of bow range in no more than thirty heartbeats.

He felt a warm hand slide into the crook of his arm as a soft, feminine scent twined around him.

“Peace, Love,” Mor breathed, linking her arm through his as she casually peeled them away from the prince and towards their own side of the grand dais. “We’re not yet unobserved.”

“I need—“ Cassian began, voice quaking with effort as his eyes remained on Nesta. He could feel her hovering near the edge of his consciousness, closer now than she’d been for months.

It was enough to drive him out of his mind.

His heart surged and sputtered in his chest, breaths becoming too shallow as his face began to grow numb from lack of oxygen.

“I can’t—“

“Cassian—”

Cassian brushed off Mor’s hand before she could protest, pealing away from the assembly and down the nearest corridor, not caring where it took him.He burst into the first door he found—which turned out to be a servants’ pantry—slamming it behind him before letting out a scream of undiluted rage.

All the time he’d spent searching, all the time he’d wasted not being at Nesta’s side, and now the female was here as a member of the Macaran court.

He screamed again, shattering the gritted mirror hanging on the wall with a fist.  

It was too much; it was all too much, and Cassian felt it tugging at his every seam, unstitching him one pulled thread at a time. He warred with the violation seeing the female had riled in his gut and the vengeance he felt stirring in his bones.

It was in the Illyrian blood to meet every transgression committed against you blow for blow. It keeps the soul unblemished, his mother had always told him; that which is left to languish will eventually begin to fester and rot.

He could feel that rot now, coursing like venom through his system as he struggled for control.

He’d been right, all this time. The Macarans were behind everything, and still they were here, dining at the High Lord’s table and—

Cassian screamed a third time, picking up a jug of wine and hurling it at the wall with all his might before crumpling to his knees, breaths sawing through him.

“Sorun nedir, arkadaşim?”

Cassian lifted his head at hearing the Dalyanian dialect of his childhood, so different from the Atalyan they’d always spoken in the war camps.

Azriel had appeared out the shadow in the corner of the room, eyes lambert in the dim light.

Cassian bent his head, still fighting savagely from composure. He knew that after all they’d been together he and Azriel were beyond being ashamed in front of one another, but still he felt a gelid wave of it wash over him as his friend knelt at his side.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Azriel repeated, this time in the common tongue.

Cassian let out a shuddering exhale, falling back onto his haunches as he ran hand along the plait in his hair.

“She’s here. The female from the Corona. I saw her in the crowd earlier.”

Azriel’s brows drew together as his hand on Cassian’s shoulder tightened. He clearly needed no clarification on who Cassian meant.

“Are—“

“Please don’t ask me if I’m sure,” Cassian croaked. “You know that I am.”

Azriel bowed his head for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I should have—it shouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Cassian’s throat felt too tight for words, so he only nodded, hauling himself to his feet and cuffing Azriel’s neck to pull him in close until they were brow-to-brow, an old gesture of respect among Illyrians he knew Az would understand.

“It’s not your fault, Az.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with a cold fury his expression would never betray.

“I failed you,” he said, pulling from Cassian’s grip and flexing and unflexing his knife hand. “You and Nesta both.”

Cassian shook his head, unable to bare Azriel’s self-recrimination on top of everything else.

“Then make it up to me. Help me find a way to get her away from the Macarans.”

Azriel nodded, seeming to gather his composure.

“Does Rhys know?” He asked.

“No, I—“ Cassian broke off, running a shaking hand over his lips. “I didn’t want to rouse suspicion.”

He didn’t need to add that he’d also been losing his composure and had to get away to avoid making a scene; one look around the ruined storeroom was proof enough of that.

Azriel nodded again, jaw working as he considered.

“I will send Nuala and Cerridwen to scout the Macarans’ rooms. It’s possible whoever is holding her leash wants to keep her out of sight.”

“The smarter move would be to keep her close,” Cassian pointed out. “I’m sure that’s why they took the risk in bringing her here.”

A muscle worked in Azriel’s jaw.

“Adan knew I would send spies to Macar to search for her while the territory was unmanned.”

“Then he’s not as stupid as he looks,” Cassian said through his teeth.

“If he was really clever he would have killed her,” Azriel pointed on, hand straying to Truth-teller as if he was imagining doing just that.

Cassian had thought the same. The fact that they hadn’t—

“We need to be on our guard; it could be they’ve spared her for a purpose.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed in the semi-dark as he ran a hand over Truth-Teller’s obsidian hilt.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Cassian nodded, feeling his own resolve growing as Az clapped him on the shoulder.

“I promise, brother,” Azriel said, voice cold steel. “Tonight you'll get your answers. Right now we need to get back; we’ve been gone too long already.”

Cassian nodded, scrubbing a hand across his face and straightening his leathers as Azriel disappeared out of the door. Picking up a pewter goblet from one of the shelves, Cassian filled it with a mouthful of wine before he too slipped from the room.

He forced a slight stagger into his stride as he re-entered the grand hall, draining the small measure from his goblet before dropping it with a slightly-drunk chuckle and grabbing another from a passing servant girl. A cluster of Summer Court guards who stood nearby cheered as he drained the new goblet, and he raised his empty cup in salute before taking a third and heading for his place at the head table.

Mor laughed at seeing him, though the merriment didn’t reach her eyes.

“Are you drunk, Lord Commander?” she said, patting his arm as he dropped into his seat before adding in a whisper, “Cas, are you alright?”

He flashed her the lazy, edged grin he knew everyone expected from him.

“It’s a party; we should all be drunk.”

He raised his glass to closest Illyrian dignitaries, who all laughed obligingly as he did. Ellaria—who sat to Mor’s left—seemed to understand the diversion for what it was and turned to engage the Macaran finance minister in small talk to give him and Mor a reprieve from prying ears. Cassian was so grateful that were Ellaria not Mor’s mate, he would have kissed her.

“What is it?” Mor said, flashing Ellaria a smile as well.

“She’s here,” Cassian breathed. “The female. I saw her in the crowd when the Macarans arrived.”

The only indication that Mor had heard was the pallor in her ordinarily-bronze skin. She glanced down at the table in a casual gesture before whispering, “Have you told—“

“Az already knows,” Cassian said into his goblet, still not looking at Mor directly. “He’s going to tell Rhys and Feyre.”

“What are you going to do?”

Cash took another drink of wine, this one not entirely for show.

“We need to find her first. Then—“ he blew out an unsteady breath. “I’m not sure.”

“My gut says she’s here,” Mor murmured, pretending to straighten the skewed collar of his leather doublet with the affectionate fuss of a nursemaid.

“Mine too,” Cassian admitted. “How many of these servants do you recognize? the smart thing to do would be to hide her in plain sight.”

Mor scanned the room over the rim of her gem-studded goblet.

“Not enough,” she murmured. “Especially with all the other courts here as well.”

“Black hair,” he said into his own drink, quiet enough he couldn’t be overheard. “Dark eyes.”

“That’s half the females in the territory, Cas.”

“You’ll know her when you see her.“

Mor nodded her assent before casually turning her attention back to Ellaria to keep the conversation from seeming suspiciously intense.

Maintaining the pretense of drunken content through dinner was almost unbearable, but Cassian managed to hold on until the plates were cleared and Rhys stood, a hush echoing over the crowd as his power swirled around him like a onyx-studded cape. He raised his glass, his smile resplendent even as his gaze remained shrewd.

“Tomorrow,” he began. “We will celebrate the union of two great houses with all the solemnity and pomp such an occasion is due. But tonight, let us simply drink and get to know one another! Every hospitality my house has to offer is open to you all, and I only command you honor the Night by indulging in all its pleasures. May we look back on this evening years from now and celebrate all the friendships forged, memories made, and perhaps even the younglings conceived.”

At this there was a titter of heated laughter, and Rhys raised his goblet.

“Please, begin!”

There was a ripple of shock and applause as all the banquet tables disappeared at once, the soft, honeyed music growing dark and drugging as a haunting waltz began. Rhys offered a hand to Feyre and they descended onto the floor and began moving across it with the ease of two people who’d memorized how the other moved.

Cassian watched as the dance drew more participants from other courts, the space Rhys had cleared quickly refilling with bodies as the wine continued to flow.

Cassian was afraid to look too and see Nesta spinning across the floor in Adan’s arms, though curiosity quickly got the better of him. He glanced to where Nesta had been sited at the center of the grand dais to find her deep in conversation with the prince, Adan’s smile as effortless as the arm which he’d strung behind Nesta’s chair as he listened to her speak.

Red fizzed at the edge of Cassian’s vision at seeing the female he so adored with someone else, especially one as unworthy as the spoiled, treacherous princeling. Though his expression was mild, Adan still looked at Nesta like a target and not the arrow Cassian knew her to be, and it was enough to drive him mad.

Needing to do something productive, Cassian peeled off the wall and started towards Mor. He needed a way to survey the room without seeming suspicious, and the easiest way to do that was to go to the place he was least likely to be observed. Mor obliged him as he slipped a hand around her waist, fingers skimming the soft skin of her bare back as he swung her around and onto the dance floor.  

She didn’t miss a beat. Using one hand to keep her voluminous plum skirts from underfoot, she strung the other around his shoulders, letting him guide her around the room as if the floor were made of glass.


“Anything?” She breathed.

He tried to keep his focus muted as he scanned the faces of the hundreds of servants scattered around the room, as terrified as he was eager to see that face—her face—again.

“Not yet.”

By the third time around the floor he knew they needed to take a break; too long in his arms and gossip would spread in a bleed pattern Cassian didn’t want staining Mor’s reputation so close to her mating ceremony.

Just as he was preparing to release Mor back to Ellaria, who stood patiently waiting, he saw something which caught his eye.

Amidst the beehive of activity, there was one servant who’d remained in the same place the entire time he and Mor had been dancing. He didn’t dare look at the female  head-on, but Cassian couldn’t help the way his fingers tightened on Mor’s waist as he swung her around again, using the diamond comb she wore as a mirror to get a better look.

Cassian couldn’t breathe.

The female stood with a jug of wine in her hand, but she made no move to refill any of the rapidly-drained goblets of the guests surrounding her, her back instead remaining glued to the wall.

“Where?” Mor said as he twisted her again in time to the music.

“Far wall,” he said, leaning in like they were sharing a private joke as he directed Mor to look where he’d indicated. “Standing behind the prince’s cousin.”

Mor’s face didn’t change from its beautific smile as she surveyed Lazar briefly, but disgust limned her eyes.

“We need to get Rhys and Azriel,” she said quietly as they spun a final time. “Meet me at the far refreshment table in two minutes.”

Cassian only forced a grin in reply, giving Mor a slightly drunken bow as he kissed her hand and headed for the table she’d indicated, looking for all the world like a drunken male in search of his next fix.

Indeed, when he arrived the long drought he took from the proffered goblet is was not merely for show. Cassian couldn’t be certain what would happen next, but he knew in his belly it would be painful. Perhaps it made him a coward, but he didn’t want to have to face it entirely sober.

Azriel appeared at his elbow several heartbeats later, and Cassian fought down an almost frantic anticipation as he turned to his friend.

“Where?” Azriel said in greeting, and Cassian indicated with his eyes as he took another heady sip.

“She hasn’t moved from that spot for ten minutes at least,” he explained, forcing his posture to remain languid.

“Lazar,” Azriel surmised, and Cassian nodded.

“We need to draw his attention elsewhere,” Cassian said. “Any ideas?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Azriel admitted. “I suppose I could—“

“I have one.”

Cassian’s heart squeezed almost painfully as he turned to find Elain standing behind him, her expression solemn but more gentle than he’d seen it in weeks.

“You would help me?” He asked.

Her brows knitted as she pressed forward to lightly cup his cheek. He couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed at the touch. It wasn’t just Nesta’s company he’d missed these long weeks alone; it had been Feyre and Elain’s as well.

“Forgive me I didn’t do it sooner,” she said, eyes glassy. “Az told me the female from the tavern is here, traveling with the prince. I was wrong to doubt you, Cassian.”

“You were protecting Nesta,” he said, pulling her hand away to kiss her palm. “I will never fault you for that.”

Elain nodded, clearing her throat as she seemed to collect herself. She turned to her husband, the famed Archeron steel flashing in her eyes.

“When I give the signal, grab the girl and go. Feyre will be in position to take her place should anyone care to look.”

“What is the signal?” Azriel said, eyes scanning the dais to ensure that Adan was still suitably occupied.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Elain replied. “Stay out of sight until then.”

With a final smile tossed in Cassian’s direction she swept off, her sage gown adorned with burgundy rosettes so at odds with the darkness surrounding her. Between her gown and her beauty, the crowd parted easily for her as she made her way across the room to where Céres—Tamlin’s wife—stood beside him lost and somewhat lonely.

Tamlin remained deep in conversation with Tarquin as Céres wistfully studied the couples dancing, her face brightening as Elain came to loop an arm through hers. Elain made the proper greetings to both Tamlin and Tarquin before gently steering Céres away to take a lap about the room. Cassian felt for the girl as he watched her chatting animatedly to Elain, clearly grateful for someone to speak to at last.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what part Elain needed her play. He could tell—even without looking at him—that Azriel was thinking the same, though Elain didn’t leave them wondering for long.

Cassian caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd as he tracked their progress around the room, and he couldn’t fight a sardonic smile as he watched Elain press a hand to her rounded belly and winced, understanding now what she intended.

Céres paused in just the right spot as Elain doubled over slightly in pain, reaching for Céres’s arm to steady herself as she seemed to recover. A second later Cassian watched, his heart beating nearly out of his chest, as Elain pretended to stumble, sending an unsuspecting Céres sprawling backwards—

And straight into Lazar.

Surprised, he grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling to the floor, his attention fully diverted away from the female who remained glued to the spot when Cassian had first spotted her.

It was enough.

In an instant Azriel had disappeared from Cassian's side, reappearing as nothing more than a long shadow behind where the female stood, watching the exchange between Céres and Lazar with alarm. Cassian's heart thundered as her grabbed her by the wrist and they both vanished.

By now Tamlin was there, an abashed Céres scuttling behind him as he wrapped a protective arm around her and bared his teeth at the younger Illyrian.

"How dare you," Tamlin snarled.

Lazar put his hands up, bronze skin paling at the fangs Tamlin now had mere inches from his throat

"Please, High Lord, this is a misunderstanding!"

He looked somewhat helplessly to Rhys as he approached, hands tucked into the sable pants he wore under his floor-length velvet great coat.

"My Lord, please!" Lazar begged

Rhys clicked his tongue as he surveyed the scene with dispassion, crushed sapphire eyes glittering in the low light.

"Oh Lazar, you do like to make trouble, don't you?"

"I swear, My Lord, she fell into me!"

Tamlin snarled, the sound entirely ursine.

"You had your hands all over her!"

"Lazar, what's going on?"

Adan appeared at his cousin's side, subtly inserting himself between the Tamlin and the younger male. Cassian didn’t dare look to see where Nesta was.

"I'm afraid Lazar's found himself in a bit of trouble," Rhys purred, eyes glittering behind the mask of the cruel High Lord Cassian had seen him wear so many times before. "He seems rather good at that."

Cassian heard Rhys speaking in his mind, voice markedly less amused.

Azriel has her in the dungeon, last door on the left. Be discreet. Make sure you aren't seen, and don't be gone too long. I'll keep the Macarans distracted.

Cassian needed no prompting. Casting a final look to ensure the Illyrians were suitably occupied, he slipped into a shadow and out into the hall, trying to steel himself for what was coming next.

The trek down into the labyrinth of dungeons that coiled beneath the great hall felt like it lasted both an eternity and an instant, and Cassian felt himself—his sanity, his control—unspooling with every step he took.

Azriel had the female, and in mere minutes Cassian would finally know—

Cassian’s heart was in his throat as he pushed open the heavy wood door, making a deliberate show of closing it behind him before turning to face the room’s only two occupants. Azriel stood against the far wall with arms crossed, arctic fury glazing his eyes as he waited for Cassian to speak.

And in the center of the room, seated in a chair with hands and feet bound, was the female Cassian had spent the last three months turning the territory inside out to find.

She looked just as he’d remembered her: a curtain of blue-black hair, eyes dark as pitch and skin the bronze of the Northern climbs. The only thing that had changed was her expression. The morning after their—coupling, she’d first been content and then, seemingly, afraid, and Cassian often wondered what face she’d wear when he finally caught her. He’d expected smugness at what she’d managed to wrought for her Illyrian masters.

What he got instead was...devastation.

She wasn’t making a sound, but there were tears rolling down her cheeks, fresh ones welling in her eyes as she took in his thunderous expression.  Somehow, they made him angrier than if she’d been arrogant, and he bared his teeth.

“Save your tears. I won’t be ensorceled by your treachery a second time.”

“Please,” she began, her voice devoid of the sensual husk she’d used on him before. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Pain lanced through him at those words, the same ones he’d pleaded to Nesta so many times since this nightmare had begun. He’d lost a great deal of conviction as time had worn on and Nesta had drifted further and further out of his reach, but here now was the truth—long sought—sobbing in his face.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“What’s your name?”

The female’s brows pulled together as if she meant to resist him by remaining silent, but when she caught the flash of True-Teller’s blade from the corner of her eye, she relented.

“Rabia.”

“Who sent you to Velaris, Rabia? Who told you where I’d be that day?”

The female shook her head, tears falling to soak the unadorned servant’s livery she wore.

“Please, it’s not what you think.”

“Speak plainly,” Azriel commanded. “If you cannot use your tongue, we’ll have no further use for it beyond supper for the hounds.”

“Please!” Rabia said a third time,straining at her bonds. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“Why not?” Cassian pressed. “You’re not Macaran; you’re not even Illyrian. Why do this for them?”

“For my son!” she burst.

This stopped Cassian in his tracks, some of the anger bleeding out of him. Even without Mor’s gift, he could tell from the look in Rabia’s eyes that she was telling the truth.

“What would the Illyrians care for one high fae child?” Azriel said.

“He’s half-Illyrian,” Rabia said. “And his father threatened to have him sent to the camp at Kaletaş if I didn’t help. I would never have been allowed to see him! Please, try to understand.”

Cassian and Azriel traded a look over the female’s head. Kaletaş was the Northernmost camp, and one famous for its brutality even among people undaunted by harsh measures.

“Who is his father?” Azriel said, peeling off the wall the circle the female. “He must be well-connected if he has the power to influence the Kaletaşi camp-leaders.”

Rabia winced as if the question had dealt her a physical blow.

“He’ll kill me,” she said, voice growing hoarse from her tears. “If he found out it was me who’d told you. He’ll kill me, and send Safet to Kaletaş. Please, he’s only ten. I’m all he has.”

“If the Macarans succeed in starting a civil war, your boy won’t stand a chance whether you are there to protect him or not,” Azriel snarled quietly. “Tell us who his father—“

“It’s Lazar,” Cassian said, watching as the remaining color drained from the female’s face. “Isn’t it?”

Her sobs began anew, trapped in her throat as she fought to master herself. Cassian wasn’t surprised. It was just the sort of cruel and foolish thing Lazar would do, using the mother of his child to achieve his selfish ends.

“It was a mistake,” Rabia breathed. “A horrible mistake, but by the time I realized it was too late; I was already pregnant. I tried to flee, but someone told Lazar I was with child and he dragged me back. We have been beholden to him ever since.”

“Why did he send you to Velaris? What did he tell you?”

“Nothing!”

Cassian bared his teeth, temperature rising again as she sputtered, fighting her bonds.

“He didn’t tell me why he wanted me to go,” Rabia said. “He just gave me orders and sent me South.”

“And what were your orders?” Azriel prompted.

Color flooded Rabia's cheeks even as she withered under Cassian’s unceasing stare. It was the question he’d dreaded to ask, even as every part of him strained to hear the answer. Rabia shook her head, and Azriel’s hand went to Truth-teller in warning.

“Speak,” he snarled.

The female bit her lip.

“To seduce the General.”

Cassian felt his axis tilting. It was the answer he’d been waiting for, been hoping for since he first began putting the puzzle together weeks ago. Still, the confirmation was a knife in the ribs. He felt sick when he remembered the score marks on his wings the next morning, the realization that Lazar had likely instructed her where to touch him in order to scent-mark him enough to drive him mad with humiliation and grief.

“And Adan? Was he in on this as well?” Azriel said.

Rabid shook her head, brows synched.

“I don’t know.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I don’t know!” Rabia repeated with more conviction. “I’ve never even met the prince. If he is complicit in Lazar’s scheming, I have no knowledge of it.”

It was exactly what Cassian hadn’t wanted to hear. They still had no evidence Adan was involved, nor any to prove he was innocent either. And if he was innocent, what would it mean for his betrothal to Nesta? The idea was enough  to make Cassian’s tomach roil, and he forced himself to focus on Rabia’s interrogation instead.

“I was sick for weeks after,” he said. “What did you give me?”

“I—“

The door boomed open as Nesta swept in, Mor on her heels. The latter eased the door shut and locked it behind them as Nesta’s blazing eyes took in the scene before her.

She looked every inch the commanding Şezhana in the resplendent ebony gown she wore, the conical gold combs in her hair resembling a corona of spikes. She stood completely motionless, the glimmer off the torchlight against the gems studding her bodice the only indication she was even still breathing.

Cassian’s heart became an exploding star in his chest, its force threatening to tear his soul from its mooring as he watched Nesta. He could see the exact moment Rabia’s scent hit her from the way her back when rigid, as if she could no longer feign indifference or miscomprehension. Finally, she turned her burning gaze on him. It was the first time she’d deigned to look at him full-on since this had all begun, and her beauty made his knees weak even now.

“What is this?” She said, hands forming into such tight fists that her knuckles had gone white.

“You know what this is,” he said.

He could hear her heart as it began to beat faster, her ribcage struggling to expand against the corset she wore. He longedto cut the damn thing off her so she could get a good breath, but he knew he had to stay where he was.

After a moment she looked at Azriel.

“Is it true?”

Azriel in turn faced Rabia, crossing arms across his chest.

“Tell her. Tell her what you told us.”

Rabia swallowed, voice thin when she finally spoke.

“I was sent to Velaris by Lazar to seduce the Lord Commander.”

“And if he couldn’t be swayed?” Azriel prompted.

The female bowed her head.

“I was given a tonic. I was told it would make him—pliant.”

“And was he?”

It was Mor, her voice hammered thin by a fury Cassian rarely saw from her.

Rabia looked around, eyes wide.

“Was he what?”

“Swayed. Were you successful in seducing him?”

Rabia’s throat worked, and that she settled for looking at Cassian and Azriel was a testament to the fear both Nesta and Mor managed to inspire.

“No,” she admitted. “I offered myself to him, but he—“

She broke off, trying to master herself.

“Speak,” Mor snarled.

Rabia swallowed a sob.

“He said he was flattered, but that he was in love with another female. That they were...” she made a sound that was half-sob, half-wretch. “That they were mates.”

Cassian felt dizzy. It was the first time any of them had formally acknowledged the word out loud, and it clanged through him with such violence that he felt for a moment he might be ill. He waited, breathless, for Nesta to deny the claim, but she didn’t, jaw set as Mor pressed, “So you drugged him, and had your way with him while he was too incapacitated to stop you, is that it?”

“No!” Rabia said. “I would never—“

“But you did!” Mor snarled, drawing a dagger from the folds of her gown and advancing on the still-bound Rabia with alarming speed. “Can you deny it? When he rejected your advance, you slipped something into his drink!”

Rabia sobbed.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Mor said, teeth bared. “After you rap—“

“Enough, Mor,” Cassian said, not able to hear the next word said aloud. “You’ve made your point.”

“I’m just getting started,” Mor snarled, but then Azriel was there, slitting the bonds on Rabia’s hands and pushing her into Mor’s arms.

“Take her to Rhys,” he said. “Tell him to alter her memory and let her go; we can’t afford to let Lazar know we suspect him yet.”

Mor’s lip curled in disgust, but she took Rabia’s arm without further comment, dragging her from the room.

Cassian hardly noticed. His full attention was on Nesta, who was staring at him almost as if she’d never seen him before.

“I will leave you to talk,” Azriel said with a glance between them.

Before Cassian could think to reply, Az was gone and he and Nesta were alone.

For a minute they merely stood looking at each other, the silence deafening. Finally he couldn’t bear it, and Cassian broke.

“Nesta,” he began, advancing a step. “I’m sorry.”

Her only reply was several steps in the opposite direction. After everything they’d endured—that she’d been forced to endure—he wasn’t sure why it surprised him; he’d been foolish to think of few words from Rabia would undo all the hurt that festered between them. Still, he knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to explain.

“Please, Nes,” he said. “I—“

“Why are you sorry?” Nesta interrupted, voice clipped and cold.

His brows drew together, her sharp tone a freshly-whetted blade he knew she would use to carve out his heart even now, even knowing the truth.

“Because I failed you.”

Her expression grew stormy, and he wondered where things had gone so wrong that even now she still hated him. However, after a moment he watched the thunderhead raging in her grey eyes swell and erupt, her face melting into something sorrowful and stark.

“No,” she said, and he realized the tightness in her voice wasn’t anger—it was tears. ”It’s I who has failed you.”

“No, Nes—“

She held up a hand to ward him off when he chanced another step in her direction, several tears skidding down her cheeks as her lip trembled with the effort of maintaining her composure.

“I should have listened to you,” she whispered. “Why didn’t I listen?”

Cassian’s heart strained to near-bursting.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Her brows synched as her anguish seemed to gain some ground on her composure. He knew that besides Elain and perhaps Feyre, he was the only one who’d ever seen Nesta Archeron so undone, and it was not a burden he took lightly.

“Of course it does,” she said, voice brittle but no less edged. “How can you stand to look at me knowing how I’ve wronged you?”

Cassian’s throat grew tight, everything he’d learned from Rabia coalescing with his missing Nesta to form a leaden knot in his stomach.

“Because I love you,” he said.

“I know,” she said, tears flowing freely now. “I know that now.”

Cassian’s eyes burned.

“Then please, won’t you let me hold you?”

Nesta let out a choked noise, eyes almost fearful as she looked up at him.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Please Nesta, let me—”


Nesta shook her head, arms wrapped around herself like she was afraid she’d physically fall apart.

“If I let myself near you, I will never find the strength to do what I have to.”

The words were a knife to the gut.

“You can’t mean to go through with the betrothal.”

Nesta bit her lip.

“What choice do I have?”

“We have proof—“

She shook her head, seeming somewhat resigned now.

“It’s not enough, and we both know it. If we truly mean to expose Lazar’s treachery, we must have hard evidence of his crimes.”

“And Adan?”

She flinched a bit at thename, though her back remained straight as she said through her tears, “perhaps Adan is my penance, for what I’ve put you through.”

Cassian couldn’t fight the tear that slipped out at that, at the blade Nesta had turned inward upon the realization she’d been wrong.

“You haven’t put me through anything I wouldn’t have gladly endured for your sake,” he said. “Please, don’t do this.”

She shook her head, jaw set despite the tears shining in her eyes.

“Our problem remains the same, Cassian. Unless we can prove the Macarans have ill intent, we risk civil war. I can’t put my sisters through that, not again. I have to—-“

Nesta covered her hand with her hand and began to sob, and it was a sound so stark in its grief and Cassian felt it tremble through every cell in his body.

Damning the consequences he dropped his shield, his consciousness racing down the bridge towards hers as he surged for her, just in time to catch her as she sagged to the floor.

He gathered her into his arms as she unraveled, her face buried in his neck as her whole body shook with the force of her tears.

“Forgive me,” she sobbed. “Please, say that you forgive me.”

Cassian coaxed her head from his shoulder, brushing the loose hair from her face as he gazed into her eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive, minu südame süda. None of this is your fault.”

Nesta’s eyes fell closed as she rested her cheek against his palm, even as her long nails dug into his arm.

“I will kill her for what she’s done to you. I will spike her head to the gates of this foul city, and Lazar’s alongside it. You have my word.”

He brushed away a tear skidding down the apple of her cheek.

“I would rather have your promise that you will not go back to Macar. Please, Nes. I’ve only just gotten you back. Do not ask me to send you away.”

She pulled his hand away from her face.

“You would go, if our places were reversed.”

“Not if you asked me to stay.”

Her gaze was steady but unyielding as she studied him.

“I know what beats in your heart; you cannot lie to me.”

He felt the pressure building behind his eyes at the realization she was right. He fended off a choked exhale as she reached forward to press a hand to his heart, gentle in a way he rarely imagined Nesta being.

“I must go, and you must let me.”

“And if it turns out to be only Lazar? If Adan is innocent in all this?”

A muscle feathered in her jaw.

“I don’t know.”

“You would be honor-bound by the kilhamine to marry him. He would steal you away to Macar, and we would never—“

Nesta shook her head, fingers brushing his lips in a silent command.

“Our path has never been easy, but still it’s always found a way to lead us back to one another. For now that must be enough.”

“Nes...”

“Te cакам,” she breathed.

Had Cassian not already been on the ground, his knees would have given out to hear her say it. He’d all but given up hope that he ever would.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“I can’t lose you.”

“No,” she said, eyes fluttering closed. “You cannot, because I am already yours.”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke, and despite everything Cassian had longed to say to Nesta all these weeks alone, in that moment he knew there was nothing he needed to say that she didn’t already know.

He would have assumed it was the bond, but he realized it was nothing so complicated as any of that; it was simply the ease of two people who’d known and loved one another long enough not to need to speak to be mutually understood.

Instead Cassian reveled in her light, elegant scent and the softness of her skin as he breezed his thumb across her cheekbone. When she didn’t pull away from his touch he leaned a fraction closer, lips brushing the remaining tears from her cheeks before gravitating towards her mouth and hovering.

“Nesta,” he breathed, free hand tangling in the mass of curls coming unspooled from the heavy gold pins.

At her name she seemed to snap from her trance, pressing her fingers to his lips as she shook her head.

“I can’t,” she said. “We can’t.”

Mastering herself she pulled away, wiping her eyes as she struggled to her feet amidst the obsidian sea of her gown.

“I have to go. Adan will be suspicious.”

Cassian would be surprised at her composure but for the fact that Nesta seemed to possess strength beyond what the Mother had given other, lesser creatures. Even now with her gown rumpled and her eyes slightly red-rimmed, she was a pillar of steel.

“Go,” he said. “I will wait before following.”

Nesta nodded, though her lips tightened as she studied him with increased scrutiny.

“Promise me you’ll do nothing rash until we can speak with the others and formulate a plan for dealing with Lazar.”

Despite everything he found himself smiling weakly. He’d missed hearing his Nesta giving orders. However, the mirth faded at seeing her grave expression and the spectre of fear still shading her bright eyes.

“You have my word,” he said.

She nodded again, and he bowed his head as she turned to slip through the door. Even knowing why she had to leave, he didn’t think he could bear to watch her physically go, especially knowing who she was going back to.

“Cassian?”

Surprised, Cassian glanced up to see her still standing in the arched doorway, the torchlight dancing off the gems in her gown making her appear as if she were tongued in dark flame. Her brows drew together as they studied one another for a moment in silence. Finally, she continued, voice soft but resolute.

“I’m sorry for what she did to you. I understand you may need time to process or to grieve, but when you’re ready to speak, I will be here to listen.”

Cassian’s throat was instantly, unbearably tight, and all he could manage was a croaked, “I love you.”

She didn’t repeat the sentiment, but Cassian could feel echoes of it drifting down the bond between them as she gave him a final look and disappeared.

Cassian didn’t know how long he remained there in the dark after that, knowing there were a million things that needed tending to without being able to make himself do a single one. All he could think about was Rabia admitting she’d slipped a tonic in his drink, and Nesta saying ‘I love you’. Pain and joy coalesced, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or sob in weighing what he’d both lost and gained that evening.

In the end he found himself too fragile to do either, and he pushed them down instead, rising to his feet as he transformed from a heartbroken male to the General of the Night Court legions.

If he had to be patient to get his hands on Lazar, so be it; the wait would make his death all the sweeter. And if he had to wait for Nesta—he sighed, expelling a shaky breath before steeling himself and exiting the dungeon cell. If he had to wait a thousand years for Nesta, he would do it. For now he could only do his part and pray it wouldn’t come to that.

xx

The morning after the welcome feast, Nesta found herself once again in her dressing room, though this time she wasn’t alone. She tried to ignore the faint echo of her pulse which buzzed in her ears, a symptom of stress she’d suffered from on and off since childhood. It had largely subsided the last fifty years, though it had begun to occur with more frequency since things had gone to pieces with Cassian. After what she’d learned the night before, it had been pounding non-stop, the ringing enough to nearly drive her mad.

It had been so loud and persistent when she’d first torn herself away from Cassian’s side and rejoined the feast that it had been difficult to hear anything being said as she fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

It had grown from a buzzing to a roar when she’d felt the slide of a warm, calloused hand at her elbow.

“There you are,” Adan had breathed in her ear, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the pointed tip. “I thought I’d lost you.”

It took a lifetime of unassailable self-restraint not to stiffen at the proprietary touch, especially as Adan continued, “come, dance with me.”

With that he’d slipped a hand around her waist, the other tucking behind his back as she brought her hand to his shoulder, the other going to keep her sea of skirts from underfoot. She wondered if he could hear her heart as they turned across the floor, other guests stepping out of their path as Adan maneuvered her with ease.

Adan had watched Nesta with curious scrutiny as they danced, but Nesta hadn’t been able to bring herself to smile at him as she perhaps should have. The female’s confession had still been ringing in her ears, fraying her sanity.

Cassian had been right; all this time he’d been telling her the truth, and she’d been too guarded and selfish to see the truth. And when she thought of what had been done to him in order to sow discord between them...

“Are you alright, prensesim?”

Nesta had forced herself to look at Adan, trying to mimic the guileless expression Elain used when she wished to feign sweet ignorance.

“Fine,” she’d said. “Only fatigued from the day’s festivities.”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you to your chambers, then.”

Nesta had glanced around for someone who might spare her from this fate, but finding no one she’d merely nodded. They ascended into the royal apartments in silence, and when they’d reached Nesta’s rooms she’d attempted a hasty kiss on the cheek as she bid Adan goodnight.

However, he’d gently caught at her hands, pressing her into the door as his soft lips found hers. Nesta had contemplated shoving him off considering everything she’d heard that evening.  After all, this was a male who’d possibly been responsible for abusing Cassian, and that was enough to make Nesta want to gut him like a fish.

However, it was just as possible he was innocent, and they would need his support in punishing Lazar and breaking the engagement given that it had been made under false pretenses. With no proof of the former, she’d let him kiss her, even as she searched for a way to end it. If he was innocent, she didn’t want to be accused of fallaciously leading him on.

She’d been relieved when he’d pulled back, though the feeling was short-lived as he whispered, “I know I promised I would not force you, but may I come to you tonight after the city sleeps? I feel I will go mad if I cannot—”

“Nesta.”

The stricture in Nesta’s throat had loosened at seeing Elain, her smile benign but her doe-brown eyes flashing with a fire Nesta had been sure only she could see.

“Forgive me, I am interrupting?”

Adan had flushed at that, stepping back from Nesta and giving Elain a courtier’s bow. He’d then turned back to Nesta a final time, eyes full of yearning as he said, “Until tomorrow then, my princess.”

With that he’d disappeared, and Elain had pressed into Nesta’s arms, grip fierce.

“Azriel told me what happened,” Elain had said, touching Nesta’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I feel a monster,” Nesta had admitted. “I was wrong to doubt him.”

“No one blames you,” Elain had assured her. “Least of all Cassian.”

“I don’t believe you would have treated Azriel in such a manner, were our places reversed.”

“Don’t torture yourself, please. The good news is that you know the truth now, and we have a chance to stop all this before Lazar succeeds in whatever it is he’s planning. The others are waiting to discuss strategy. Would you—”

“I can’t,” Nesta had interrupted. “It’s all too raw.”

Elain had only nodded.

“We’ll speak before the ceremony tomorrow. Try to rest, my love.”

Nesta had nodded, Elain squeezing her hand a final time before turning to go.

“Elain? Please, tell Cassian…”

When she’d trailed off, Elain smiled.

“He already knows,” Elain had said. “But I will.”

Nesta had no further energy after that, and she’d slipped inside her room, staying only long enough to change into a more comfortable shift and slippers before summoning Nuala and asking she wake the tailor.

There was something Nesta needed done.

Now, sitting in her dressing room in the moonstone palace surrounded by the rest of her court, she felt more composed, though admittedly no less anxious inside.

Cassian had yet to arrive, but Rhysand, the Shadowsinger, the Morrigan, and both of her sisters were discussing their next move.

“We ought to use the girl to expose Lazar’s lies and be done with the whole affair,” Mor snarled from where she lounged on a nearby chaise. “This has gone on long enough.”

Azriel gave a dismissive sound from where he stood near the window, monitoring for unfriendly eyes and ears on the balcony beyond.

“Lazar will dismiss Rabia as a liar, and it will be her word against his.”

“So we force the truth out of him,” Mor said. “Between Rhys’s gift and mine, it would be over fairly quickly.”

“I tested them last night,” Rhysand said. “The Macarans mental defenses are impressive. Tunneling through would take more time than we have.”

“Besides,” Feyre added. “How will it look if the High Lord is caught trying to break into the minds of his vassals? We’d be facing the exact war we’ve been trying so hard to avoid.”

“Where does that leave us, then?” Elain asked.

“In the same place,” Nesta said tightly. “I must go forward with the kilhamine. I will use the time I have in Illyria between now and the wedding to discover proof of Lazar’s betrayal and determine whether Adan is involved as well.”

“If you fail, you’ll have no choice but to go through with the marriage,” Feyre pointed out in a soft voice. “You will be bound to Adan for the rest of your life, whether he is guilty or not.”

Nesta stiffened at the idea, even as she forced her shoulders back.

“It’s a risk we have to take. Cassian agrees.”

“This will be agony for him,” Mor said, tone edged with frost. “For you the bond will be easier to ignore, but for him it will be a physical and emotional torment now that you’ve acknowledged the claim.”

“There is no claim. He’s not some beast ruled only by primal instinct. He knows why I’m doing this, and that it does not change what lies between us, bond or no,” Nesta clipped.

“Does he?” Mor challenged.

“Yes. And I do not remember inviting you into our affairs, now or ever.”

“This decision doesn’t affect just you—”

“Mor, enough,” Rhysand cut in. “Nesta is right; this decision is between her and Cassian, and it is also the best one available to us right now.”

At this he turned to Nesta.

“Az and I will work on Lieutenant Na’ahmah while you are away. She seems an honorable female, and she’s in the prince’s confidence. It is possible she may know some of his secrets. At the very least, she’ll know where his skeletons are buried; it could be useful in scaring up proof.”

Nesta nodded, not wanting to discuss this any further. She knew in her gut that she was making the right choice in forging ahead with the kilhamine, but it didn’t make the idea of binding herself to a male other than Cassian—even temporarily—any easier.

“I need to get dressed,” she said in dismissal. “We can speak more after the ceremony; I don’t leave for Illyria until nightfall.”

The males and Morrigan—still looking displeased—nodded their understanding and filed out, leaving only the Archeron sisters.

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now,” Feyre again. “But for what it’s worth, Nes, I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t be. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Who among us hasn’t?” Elain said. “That you would acknowledge them at all is a testament to your character.”

Nesta’s throat tightened at this, and not wanting to delve further she instead asked, “Have you seen him yet today? How—” she swallowed, fighting to keep her voice even. “How is he?”

“He went on patrol early this morning,” Feyre said. “I think he needed something to distract him from—” Feyre broke off to squeeze Nesta’s hand. “He promised he’d return before the ceremony began. I’m sure this will be his first stop.”

Nesta merely nodded at this, grateful for Nuala and Cerridwen as they appeared, the latter bearing a garmented wrapped in soft linen.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Elain said, smiling.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Feyre added with a kiss to Nesta’s cheek. “We will send Cassian to you the minute he returns.”

With that her sisters disappeared as well, and Nesta half-collapsed into the small divan in front of her vanity, taking a deep breath. It all seemed so much more dire now that she was alone.

She hadn’t had the courage to ask her sisters to stay. Despite the fact she knew they loved her, it was difficult to let herself be vulnerable with them. She was the eldest, and yet she’d failed to protect them in so many ways whether they were growing up. The least she could do for them now was remain composed, at least when they were around.

“Are you ready to begin, My Lady?” Nuala said, a hand resting on Nesta’s shoulder.

Her touch was cool even through the silk of Nesta’s dressing gown, and she found it oddly reassuring.

She nodded, and the twins began on her hair. For the ceremony it would remain unbound in the Illyrian custom, save for a portion at the top. Nuala and Cerridwen brushed out the conker mass of Nesta’s hair before coaxing curls into the ends and teasing volume into a section at the crown.

When it was finished they helped her into her restrictive undergarments and tightened her corset before unwrapping the package which lay on the bed.

“Straight from the dressmaker, My Lady,” Cerridwen said, pulling the gown from it’s bed of linen. “And just as you instructed.”

Nesta exhaled a shaking breath, coming forward to brush the silken skirt. Originally the gown had been white and studded with diamonds. An unusual choice for a kilhamine gown, or so she’d been told, though in the end it acceptable for the occasion. However, after what Nesta had learned of Cassian the night before, she’d been desperate for some way to show him what he still meant to her.

So she’d gone to Rhysand’s famed tailor, waking the ancient female to ask her that the gown be dyed cardinal and that the diamonds be replaced with rubies. The gnarled faerie had grumbled at the inconvenience at first, but something in Nesta’s expression must have convinced her because eventually she’d agreed, informing Nesta it would be ready in the morning before all but slamming the door in her face. Nesta had listened to the soft purr of the female’s magic as she began coaxing color into the gems one by one before retreating to her own room again.

Cardinal was the color most closely related to glory in Illyria and as such it would make an obvious choice for a kilhamine gown. However, Nesta had been sure to explain the exact shade she’d wanted, and seeing it now, she was not disappointed.

It was somehow richer than an ordinary red, and the color perfectly matched the slumberous flame of Cassian’s siphons. It was an ode Nesta was positive would not go unnoticed by those who knew where to look.

Nesta accepted a hand from Nuala as she stepped into the gown, fitted through the low-cut bust before billowing out at the hips. She tried not to fidget as the twins trussed up the army of satin buttons which formed an orderly line down the back.

She could hardly breathe by the time Cerridwen ushered her to sit at the vanity again, easing an elaborate headdress out of a box and placing it atop Nesta’s head before beginning to secure it in place.

A coronet of blood-red roses formed the base, each in perfect bloom. On top of the roses sat a complicated gold crown of sorts, a ruby set into the center, and jutting above it all was a halo of iridescent blue-black macaw feathers which glimmered in the soft light.

It was magnificent beyond measure, offering a beautiful counterpoint to her gown and ruby painted lips. Mutely she accepted a pair of plain good earrings which hung to her bare shoulders from Nuala before meeting her own gaze in the mirror.

She looked no less fierce than she had the day before, but she could acknowledge that she looked less sad. The road ahead still reached farther than she cared to admit, but somehow it felt a little less dark now that she knew the truth: that she was not as weak nor as unlovable as she’d feared.

There was a knock at the door as Nesta rose to her feet, a glance out the window telling her the sun was nearly set. Her heart was in her throat as she reached for the knob, though it sank as she opened it to find Rhysand waiting for her.

He opened his mouth to speak and she merely held up a hand.

“Spare me; I’m not in the mood for your games, Rhysand.”

Rhysand gave a sardonic smile, though she could see something more sincere lurking below it.

“I was merely going to tell you that you look beautiful.”

“I always look beautiful,” she snapped, needing the vitriol to provide her some sense of normalcy.

Rhysand chuckled.

“You look particularly beautiful then.”

When she sniffed, he added, “That color suits you greatly.”

She turned to glare at him for the jibe only to find the mirth had evaporated from his face.

“When did you decide to change it?”

“Last night. After I heard—”

He nodded, offering her his arm as they began the long descent to the great hall of the Hewn City.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been forced to endure, Nesta. I know this must be difficult for you.”

“It’s Cassian who deserves your sympathy, not me.”

“And he has it,” Rhysand said, tugging her arm to halt her as he gently touched her chin. “But you were also deceived, and made to suffer for it. I know you don’t care for being fussed over, but know that you are allowed to grieve as well.”

Nesta gently brushed his hand away.

“When did you become so tolerable?” She said, beginning to walk again.

Rhysand laughed.

“I knew I would wear you down eventually, Nesta Archeron.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned.

Still, something warm had kindled in her chest, helping to fight off the darkness as they moved farther and farther into the belly of the beast. Soon enough they could hear the primal heartbeat of the bone drums, and Nesta felt her own heart’s rhythm falling into step, hammering so hard she was afraid her ribs would be bruised. The gown and her nerves made it difficult to breathe as they halted outside the large wrought-iron gates, the twisting metal meant to represent the scale body of some serpentine beast.

“Azriel will escort you down the aisle,” Rhysand explained, drawing her from her reverie. “But we have time, would you like me to wait—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I wish to be alone for a moment.”

“Alone” wasn’t what she meant and they both knew it, but it was clear from his expression Rhysand had decided against making a comment about it.

“As you wish,” he said, nodding. “Azriel will let you know when it’s time.”

She nodded, warring with the urge to ask where Cassian was. Still, she bit her tongue. If he needed time to gain his composure, she owed it to him without complaint; it was the least she could do.

Instead she found herself pacing back in front of the gates as the drums continued, accompanied now by Night Court strings meant to celebrate the High Lord’s mixed heritage. She couldn’t have said how much time had passed before she heard the rustle of wings and turned to face the Shadowsinger.

Except it wasn’t Azriel. It was Cassian, dressed in the same ornamental armor as the previous day, the same silver hoops strung through his ears.

She watched his throat work as he struggled to speak, and she waited, breathless.

“Nesta,” he said finally.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she admitted. “I would not have blamed you for wanting to stay away.”

“I could never stay away from you,” he said, though she noted he’d yet to come any closer. “Never.”

She nodded, glancing down at her velvet slippers.

“You changed your gown,” he said after a beat. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s for you,” she admitted.

Only with him had she ever felt safe enough to be so vulnerable, and it was a relief to know she still knew how after what they’d been through.

His syphons pulsed dully in response, as if the admission had awoken something in his very power. When he didn’t respond beyond that, Nesta forced herself a step forward.

“How are you?”

He exhaled a shaky breath.

“I would be better were this our kilhamine, and I were waiting for you at the end of that aisle instead of Adan.”

It was a thought she’d spent all day trying to avoid, and hearing him say it out loud made her heart ache.

“I may say the words to Adan, but my vows will be to you.”

Inside the hall the drums seemed to intensify, and Nesta felt the time between them slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

“I’m sorry I did not believe you when I had the chance. Perhaps if I had—” she could hear the tears in her own voice, even knowing she couldn’t let them escape.

Cassian only shook his head.

“I would forgive you anything,” he said. “And in this case there is nothing to forgive. I only ask now that you don’t give up on me.”

“I could never,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Even in my darkest rage I could not hate you the way I longed to.”

The drums changed again, growing more rhythmic. Nesta and Cassian seemed to realize at the same moment they’d run out of time, and in an instant he was there, crushing Nesta against the wall as he kissed her. She strung an arm around his neck to pull him closer and he lifted her nearly off her feet, his tongue brushing hers as he slid his leg between her thighs to keep her upright. Even that slight touch was enough to set her body on fire, and she moaned softly into his mouth.

“Nes,” he groaned, winging flaring slightly as she pressed closer, her breast flush against his chest. “Nesta.”

Her fingers dug into leathers as he moved to her neck, lips brushing the first spot on her body he’d ever touched. She forgot everything but him as he grazed her pulse point with his teeth. A primal fae part of her wanted him to sink them into her flesh in a claiming mark, even knowing such a thing would be damning giveaway—

“Cassian.”

The muscles in Cassian’s back stiffened at hearing Azriel’s voice, but after a breath he gently extricated himself from her embrace, easing her back to the floor and smoothing her rumpled gown.

“You’re needed in the great hall,” Azriel said. “People have begun to take note of your absence.”

Cassian nodded before turning back to Nesta, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“Cassian, now,” Azriel prompted, and as Cassian made to leave, the Shadowsinger caught his arm. “And take more care the next time. Anyone could have seen you two just now.”

Cassian didn’t offer a retort, just gave Nesta a last lingering look before disappearing down the hall towards the ball door into the great hall.

She felt hollowed out in his absence, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s as she fought to keep herself composed after his touch had threatened to undo her.

She was grateful at least that Azriel didn’t seem inclined to comment, and after several steadying breaths she accepted his proffered arm. As with the day before, her gown was heavy and unwieldy, and her corset tight enough that every step was an effort.

She found her breaths growing shorter and shorter as the gates groaned open, and she began to fear she might faint if her corset wasn’t loosened.

However, after a moment she felt an invisible shield of air forming around her nose and mouth, allowing her to take in her own oxygen.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Azriel whispered from her side. “I know it’s difficult, but take deep breaths and try to relax.”

Nesta might have snapped back at him where she not under such duress, but instead she simply did as he instructed, taking in great lungfuls of the cool, cedar-tinted air and blowing it out of her mouth as the gates yawned open and they started up the aisle under the watchful eyes of several hundred guests. At first Nesta tried to focus her attention on Adan, but she quickly found it only had the panic rising in her chest. After struggling once again to regain control, she let her eyes settle on Cassian instead.

It was like a dagger to the heart seeing him there, standing up and to the left of where he should have been, at the middle of the dais waiting for her. However, it was a pain Nesta welcomed, because it at least served as a reminder that this was real and not some fever dream born of loneliness and despair.

Cassian’s expression remained impassive as she made her way to the dais, but when his lips moved almost imperceptibly she knew what he was saying.

Te cакам. I love you.

She didn’t dare acknowledge the sentiment with even a nod, reaching instead to smooth the cardinal silk of her gown. His eyes glittered at the gesture, and though it wasn’t enough to fill Nesta’s aching heart, for now she let it be enough.

She was close enough to the dais now that she let her gaze drift to Adan. He looked as beautiful as she’d even seen him, the livery collar of syphons draped across his broad chest glittering the same color as his dark eyes. She studied him—his posture and the pair of ornamental curved blades hanging at either hip—and wondered for the hundredth time if she could trust him. Perhaps he was innocent in all this, and she could trust him to break the engagement without scandal or conflict once proof of his cousin’s treachery was unveiled. Or perhaps he’d orchestrated the whole affair, and they would end up with a civil war before the decade was out. Nesta hated herself for her selfishness, but what she feared more than war was marrying Adan, whether he was guilty or not.

Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of Adan’s gaze as he watched her make her way up the aisle towards him, the silk of her gown hissing like a serpent as it dragged on the stone floor. He was smiling, his gaze still soft with reverence , but she could see the eagerness as well—the desire to possess that ran deep in the Illyrian male blood.

She would be his.

Perhaps not forever, if things went according to plan, but at least while they were bound by this betrothal, some part of her—of her freedom—would belong to Adan. The thought was enough to make her mouth water with impending bile as she made her way closer.

She could feel Rhysand eying her as she stepped onto the dais, Azriel melting from her side and taking his rightful place at the High Lord’s left. Unable to help herself, she glanced up at Rhysand .He was as resplendent as ever, having donned his crown of ravens’ wings whose glinting gems matched the sparkling in his mesmerizing blue eyes. There was a knowing in his gaze as he studied her, expression neutral but gaze keen.

I am different because I know what you’d be sacrificing,, he’d said to her in Illyria. I know what it is to cede your power, to bed and obey someone who you don’t love.

Is that what this was, a concession? It was hard to let herself believe so, especially if arrangement turned out to be temporary. Still, some part of her couldn’t deny what she stood to lose.

You’re mine, Adan had told her in the nightmare she’d once had about him. Unless proof of his complicity could be unearthed, he’d been right: she would be his, and it wouldn’t just be for a few months.

It would be for eternity.

Nesta’s pulse had begun to buzz in her ears again as she accepted Adan’s hand, so loud now that she couldn’t hear Rhysand’s words as he addressed the assembly and offered his blessing to the union.

She could do this, Nesta reminded herself as Rhysand wrapped the customary silk around her and Adan’s wrists.

For Feyre, and Elain, and the baby. For peace in the realm and a respite from war and death.

It was the same refrain she’d played for herself the previous day, though it had begun to wear thin as her courage waned at the silk being tightened to signify the bond of the kilhamine.

So she added a final name, one she hadn’t dared to include before, even as it had haunted her every thought.

For Cassian.

For the life they may yet share. Despite the pain the truth had brought, Nesta felt hope—long dormant—swelling in her chest. Cassian was hers and she is, and she would find the truth and set them both free.

Her gaze slid to Lazar over Adan’s shoulder, his smile overripe with self-satisfaction.

Forcing all her remaining steel into her expression, Nesta met his eyes.

You will not win, she vowed to herself. You may be winning now, but I will see you laid low before the end.

She felt an echo of what felt like agreement resonate through her with surprising warmth, and she knew it must have been the bond. She was not alone, she reminded herself as she focused on Adan again. No matter the road she had to travel going forward, no matter how narrow or how steep, Nesta was not alone.

And neither was she powerless.

She was the heir of the dreaded Cauldron and the mate of one of the most powerful Illyrians ever born, and she’d come at last to see justice done. And not Adan, nor Lazar, nor the Mother herself would be able to stop her.

She was Nesta Archeron, acolyte of Death, and she was about to be unleashed.

Next Time on Like a Lonely House…

Lieutenant Na’ahmah stiffened.

“You wish me  to betray my prince’s confidence, is that it?”

Rhys shifted in his seat, gaze steady.

“I wish to know where there is cancer in Illyria so that I may cut it out before it spreads. I am not accusing your prince of anything, merely asking the question.”

“You speak of Illyrians as if you are not one of us.”

Rhys shrugged.

“I am only half-Illyrian, and I have faced my fair share of prejudice for that fact. You will forgive me if I lack your ardent patriotism, admirable though it may be.”

A muscle feathered in the lieutenant’s jaw, but she otherwise remained silent.

“Have you something to add, Na’ahmah?’

She shifted on her feet, wings rustling.

“May I speak freely, My Lord?”

Rhys’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course. Always.”

Na’ahmah nodded, glancing down at her polished boots as if to compose herself before looking Rhys straight in the eyes.

“Also long as you consider Illyria to be brutal and backwards, it will be. And every time you treat us like savages, you support those who seek to uphold the old ways and silence those who would see things change. Adan is a bright light after centuries of darkness, and he would sooner destroy himself than see Illyria harmed.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

If you’d like to be tagged, please comment below. As always, I look forward to hearing what you think! Love you all, and stay safe 💗 

POST SCRIPT: I don’t often include links to the clothing or character references I use because I think it undercuts my story-telling ability if I simply post links to the things I describe. HOWEVER, the reference for the headdress Nesta wears is SO divine you simply have to see it, so click the link to see this gorgeous kinaree headdress with macaw feathers  from a vendor called SerpentFeathers. You will not be disappointed.

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#nessian #cassian x nesta #acotar #nesta x cassian #nessian angst #featherywrites

[littobin]

[1:37AM] "thank you so much for saving me. honestly i can't think of what would be of me without you in my life." still a bit immersed in tries of steadying your breath from the previous runaway, you giggle happily in response and hit your best friend's shoulder playfully the moment you heard him talk sweetly, out of this endearing trail of beauty that was his smile you've always thought as better than the sight of the red roses at your house's garden.

without doubts it only took him the simple action of curving his extra thin lips up like he did now, so you'd always feel comfy, no matter the kind of times or hardships you'd be into. even so despite days like this, where you two just ran like crazy down a bunch of streets until you'd get both rescued at your house, to mislead the uptown gang's members whose once again tried to cage moonbin in his magical transformations.

honestly you couldn't believe at all how was it possible to actually exist such few silly people organized like that only to chase after any unusual beings for experiments, in the middle of a modern city. but if you really were to think neither would it be normal for you to have a man who could turn into a whole giant beast right by your side as well, meeting and staying from nights to nights under the moon living the greatest, most hilarious adventures together as long as both of your uni's allowed you two to.

you've known moonbin before as he's been one of your neighbors for years, specifically that kind and friendly type who always talked to everyone in the neighborhood, until he started changing to be more reclusive out of sudden. but since you've got to occasionally find out about his secret, at one night you saw him when you were going to do your laundry and he vehemently asked you to keep it forever or both his safety and search to end his enchantment would be risked, and you promised him to, both of your lives no longer could be the same.

it was just about naturally how you two ended up getting to be good friends and he grew to be one of the biggest source of joy you'd happen to get gifted with by the skies, as of you got to know more the beautiful human he also was. and where ever couldn't you gladly go with him when he'd text you to come in his sneakings to skip out the routine, although sometimes they could bring way too much adrenaline at once. for sure if it came to him, again it'd be worthy for you to do so, over and over. "ahh stop it's nothing, you know you can always count on my guts. and it's just so much fun to."

you state out as your hand goes to ruffle moonbin's dark hair softly, which felt so silky in your fingers, causing both of you to laugh loud in sync by remembering the early scenes. of how you two fooled around the stupid gangers like it was nothing after you've untied him, scared them and made everyone at the late hour on the streets confused to watch both of you running for dear life, all while holding each other's hand between thrilled loud laughs.

just so you kept watching the boy in front of you move a bit closer, you two still sitting on the floor as he started playing with some keychains and laces you had stuck on your long black coat, one habit of his you'd recognize of whenever he felt enthusiasm, his teeth showing off cutely through the way he kept chuckling with his eyes inclined into crescents. "yes it truly was- did you see their faces when i growled though? that was amazing!"

"oh my god bin don't even tell me, it was the best part. next time we really have to bring a camera to record and rewatch it all seriously-"

once again you and moonbin break down in pure amused laughter with your extra remarks, you not being able to help but hold his hand tightly in the process.

moments like these were all you needed to feel that nothing could change or ruin this fulfilling within your chest. out of your repetitive routine there was moonbin beside you, enlightening everything with his presence and standing as your number one supporter. even though all the things that came with his curse, such as his always hungry state specially for rice bowls, hyperactivity and very little sense of his own powerful strength, things as such that nevertheless the trouble they could give, you still liked a lot.

"next time i'll be more careful.. just know you don't have to go through situations you can't handle, i'm the one who's always here to protect you instead, ok?" he said out with clear worry poured over his expression, causing you to let out another tender smile and rub his almost ocean wide shoulders in a comforting way. "i know. but i do this because you're too important to me, that's why i wouldn't hesitate to do it all over again if so."

this time it was the taller one's turn to feel kind of affected by your words, through he strangely felt a beat skip out his heart's pace and a bit of flustering over his stomach, fondness being the only thing to fulfill his pupils with the more he stared at you.

moonbin actually didn't know what hit him to come to act up so weird because of you, nor to make up such a bunch of sensations and warmth all at once. if was it either because of your extremely affectionate eyes, the sweet smell off your hair or just the beyond wonderful feeling of you by whole, but you were immensely important to him too, since when he got the opportunity to be close to you after the night you saw him transforming, but you didn't treat him like the monster he himself knew he was. thanks to you with time he got back to be his normal self before the curse, always bright and talkative, and in some way, somehow he wanted to show you all of this.

"you really should get a reward one day y/n, for real.." he chuckled softly again, as you raised up one eyebrow, wondering what new goofy stuff your best friend would be planning.

"what kind of reward, sir bin?"

with this for some reason moonbin couldn't get his head together at all. lots of thoughts rushed to his mind about what he should better give to you as response, but no one seemed just as right besides what his heart kept incessantly moving him to. so slowly by the proximity you were into, without taking his sparkling eyes off yours he just let his body lean in along to his arms both at your sides through he crawled a bit to you closer and closer to end the gap, stopping when he could touch your nose on his as your lips were just millimeters apart, his hot and a little heavier breathing against yours.

you just stayed still unable to move out of shock, no choices left but to sense your eyes widening the closer he got and the material between your lungs racing like neither of your runaways would be capable to make you feel so. moonbin in the other hand chose to stay this way for a second, sighing while looking at you in such utter adoration, and you swore to dear lord you've never seen something so preciously gorgeous as every inch of his face at that moment, and the fair light blushing tone on it. not even the three am blue moon, compared to all the comets in his chocolatey irises.

"moon, bin.." nervousness took over you in a matter of second through your lids went shut, tugging on the hem of his white t-shirt you gave him last month, which he still liked to wear often. in the same way moonbin closed his eyes too and tightened a bit his strong arms that supported himself at your sides, starting to lovingly rub his gelid nose on yours.

"i want, to do that so bad.."

just when you gulped, flustered by how his soft boyish voice ringed so much more intimate in your ears like he never did near you, before a word could be said moonbin just pressed his lips against your own, the unbearable warmth radiating from him and his typical smell of cocoa shampoo surrounding everything around as well as causing your ears to go off like set on fire, for the first time in a while.

you felt kind of really wrong to do this, since he was one of your most special treasures, one of your most present and sincerest friends ever. yet there he was kissing you slowly, gently nibbling and moving his flushed thin lips that felt too warm, too soft on yours, in a way you'd never express, amidst quiet melting sounds and more attempts to get even closer to you although his much taller muscular figure and large back made you hardly to be seen.

nowhere into your mind you'd be able to imagine any of this happening. but after all it was still him, it still was moonbin, so in the less matter of minute you'd see it there you were already hugging his cuddly waist the way a few times you'd do, and simply letting him go the further he wished to. as through the first opening of his mouth asking for entrance, when you corresponded him it didn't take long so he'd be on top of you, with the heat of his tongue showing up within the kiss to deepen it still ever so gently, and now your hearts to rush loud in sync at the smallest touches, either by your left hand raising unconsciously to touch his chest but soon going back to hold on his waist, or him picking it for a moment to guide your fingers to the warm skin of his neck so he could feel you there.

still it all kind of felt like a dream, even more when after some more softer kisses moonbin pulled away and you were brought back to reality, but everything kept just so clouded of only him. the way he didn't stop staring at you with tenderness overflowing his manly features, the way reddish hues bloomed up his face as he tried to catch his breath, the way the hold of his hand was the same albeit the silence formed among you two. every single thing made the space marked for him grow more and more in your heart, no doubts you've never been so sure.

"you.. are a little sore, right there-" out of sudden you whisper quietly, leaving his hand to brush your thumb besides a little scratch on his cheek, the softest you could. moonbin only closes his eyes for a bit like the creature inside him would when being petted by you and lets out a small blissful smile, what kept your hand in place so you'd just take in the endearing sight.

"i hope you're not mad.."

he spoke a bit more serious although worry came back to his expression one more time, and you could say with your all it was just loving. how would you be ever mad at him, when absolutely nothing about your love for him could change, but increase.

moonbin always made the stars above the city of your world shine bright. and you just hoped more than ever you'd soon enough find how to give back his freedom and get to break his curse. however not having any clue you already did so.

- insp. beauty & beast!au.

#moonbin #astro moonbin #moonbin au #moonbin scenarios #moonbin fluff #moonbin imagine #astro #astro au #astro imagine #mj #eunwoo #rocky #jinjin #sanha #astro fluff #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #this was inspired on blue flame era but i only got the courage to post after www dbjfjdjm #also inspired on my fav disney movie and my fav boy <3 #anyways hope it's not that bad dnbdjdm #timestamps

[urskekyagvi]

Warmth In The Cold

The snows fell in thick flakes, falling faster and faster as time progressed, threatening to overwhelm and bury any travelers foolhardy enough to traverse this weather. Any Vapra - nay, anyone with sense would have known this, but the lone climber on the mountainside was no such person. The wind blew another chill across the land, throwing another heap of snow against the weary traveler's path, but still they hung on to the ledge. Still, they climbed.

The light atop the mountain was growing ever clearer and nearer; they had come too far to go back now. Only a little further, and then they could seek refuge against the merciless cold. Then they would be safe.

His breath came out in panted clouds, the scant warmth he blew into the air quickly devoured by the cold. Snowflakes coated his eyelashes, making seeing difficult; but the light from the Waystar Grove was so blinding now that he did not even need to have his eyes open to find it. He was knee-deep in the snow. If he didn't find her home soon-

He missed a step, and he sank to his waist. The Dreamer gasped, instinctively going as rigid as a board as his already freezing body somehow grew even more gelid than before. He floundered about, nearly helpless against the tide of snowflakes. Panic gripped him; like an unamoth trapped in an arathim web he struggled, only succeeding in ensnaring himself further, deeper in the tide of snow.

Footfalls, large and heavy, fell from behind him and sddenly he was plucked up in two large arms. A moment of confusion and slight alarm followed as they approached the stone tower before them at rapid speed; then he was placed inside the hovel, the thick wooden door slamming shut behind them heavily. UrVi stood there, trying to blink the melting snow out of his eyes as something large moved across the room and towards the hearth.

"Dreamer," a spark, and the beginnings of a fire were given life, "I was not expecting your company this day. You have arrived just in time."

UrVi removed the tinted glasses from the bridge of his snout and wiped them clean. When he placed them back on again, he could see UrSan, her stoic face covered in the same snow as UrVi's. The Dreamer smiled, feeling somewhat sheepish for the intrusion he had unwittingly made into her home.

"I apologize," he said, "I didn't mean to drop in so suddenly. I was in the area and thought I would see if you were around."

UrSan dipped her head in a long graceful nod of acknowledgment and again faced the rising flames. A pot was procured from a nearby shelf, and all UrSan had to do was scoop the handfuls of snow off her and UrVi's person to fill it. This she placed over the fire, and watched as it melted.

"You came just in time," she said again.

UrVi tilted his head to the side. "You said that. What do you mean?"

UrSan held a hand up for silence, gesturing with another for UrVi to dry himself by the flames. This invitation was taken all too gladly. Soon he was dry once again, and a warm quilt wrapped about his shoulders was all that was needed to bring the feeling back into his bones. Then the water boiled, and soon after a cup of ta was thrust into a pair of hands, completing the toasty ensemble.

UrSan took her cup and seat beside him. After a long, slow sip, she finally answered:

"A blizzard is about to fall over Ha'rar. I have read this in the sky. The clouds thicken and broil, bringing with them a cold wind. We will have to take shelter here for awhile until it passes."

Her voice as always was calm and stoic, never giving any implication of her emotions. She didn't have to: UrVi's mind set about making the conclusions on its own. Anxiety quickly set in, and the Dreamer rose so that the quilt nearly tripped him up as he made way for the door.

"Then I must leave now!" UrVi said, "I shouldn't have come; UrSan, forgive me for troubling-"

He barely got a few steps away before UrSan's hand gently pinned his tail to the ground. Her voice was the same as ever when she spoke:

"UrVi, you are no burden. I have more than enough supplies to get us through this storm."

"B-but..." Here, UrVi staggered upon his own shame, unable to decide if this was only a polite gesture or genuine kindness. He swallowed, then tried again, inching for the door as far as his tails reach would let him.

"...But surely, you have your own needs. Do not let me-"

Before he could continue, UrSan pulled him back towards the fire and wrapped the quilt around him again. His cup was refilled and UrSan thrust it back into his hands with a chuckle.

"You are a silly creature. I meant what I said. You would not survive one minute in the snow. You almost froze to death just making the journey to me."

UrVi's face remained flushed despite the chill and her assurance. The embarrassment was almost too much to bear. He shouldn't have come at such an inopportune time for her. Had he been so blithe as to not read the skies before making the trip?

He murmured another apology under his breath and sipped the warm ta, all too aware of the tension between them. It choked the air, almost feeding the heat of the flames like another source of kindling. UrVi began to tremble again, but this time it was not the cold that made him shiver. UrSan was not so affected; she sipped her ta with an endless well of calm.

"UrVi, you're trembling."

UrSan's voice was soft and gentle, nowhere near as cold as the winds raging outside. The warmth therein awoke him from the nervous stupor his mind had been trapped in. He looked up, expecting a hard glare or something similar, but a soft smile- another line across UrSan's swirled snout- greeted him.

"Did I not say I had enough supplies to keep you? Why do you worry yourself so? I don't mind your company. Quite enjoy it, even."

Her words and gentle smile melted away his woes. UrVi sighed deeply, almost dropping the cup in relief.

"I...I may need a moment."

"Take as much time as you need," UrSan chuckled, "We have plenty."

And indeed, the snows she predicted rained down outside even faster and harder than before. A wind howled, muffled by the creaking woodboards and the gentle groaning of the stone tower. The fire blazing before him, the scent and flavor of the ta in his hands, and the blanket wrapped around him all colluded to become an irresistible veil of warmth and security.

Slight embarrassment was better than going outside to that. He resigned himself to it, not unhappily, and sipped his ta.

"...I am sorry for the intrusion, though," UrVi mumbled. UrSan shushed him with a gentle motion of her hand.

"Apologize no more," she said, "and drink your ta. After that I will make dinner for us. How is mushroom stew? A favorite of yours, unless your tastes have changed since I saw you last."

UrVi brightened some, stomach growling at the very thought of being filled with such fare. The guilt was still there, but under the warmth emitting from both her and the current surroundings, it was steadily melting away. He settled into the blanket and nodded.

"They have not: mushroom stew is quite welcome."

And indeed when she served it, it was appreciated beyond measure; and she was more so, for the company and the warmth she shared with him.

#the dark crystal #urru oc #ursan the swimmer #fanfic #my writing #drabble #I'mma gonna be honest I Bob Rossed my way through this #Swoop there's an ending #I lost motivation as soon as I started writing it but gosh dangit I'm gonna start finishing the stuff I start by golly #so here you go! #no ship #just wholesome

[libraryofvenus]

Middle Passage - Robert Hayden

I Jesús, Estrella, Esperanza, Mercy:       Sails flashing to the wind like weapons,       sharks following the moans the fever and the dying;         horror the corposant and compass rose. Middle Passage:               voyage through death                               to life upon these shores.       “10 April 1800—       Blacks rebellious. Crew uneasy. Our linguist says         their moaning is a prayer for death,       ours and their own. Some try to starve themselves.         Lost three this morning leaped with crazy laughter         to the waiting sharks, sang as they went under.” Desire, Adventure, Tartar, Ann:       Standing to America, bringing home         black gold, black ivory, black seed.               Deep in the festering hold thy father lies,                 of his bones New England pews are made,                 those are altar lights that were his eyes. Jesus    Saviour    Pilot    Me Over    Life’s    Tempestuous    Sea We pray that Thou wilt grant, O Lord,   safe passage to our vessels bringing   heathen souls unto Thy chastening. Jesus    Saviour       “8 bells. I cannot sleep, for I am sick       with fear, but writing eases fear a little       since still my eyes can see these words take shape         upon the page & so I write, as one       would turn to exorcism. 4 days scudding,       but now the sea is calm again. Misfortune       follows in our wake like sharks (our grinning         tutelary gods). Which one of us       has killed an albatross? A plague among       our blacks—Ophthalmia: blindness—& we         have jettisoned the blind to no avail.       It spreads, the terrifying sickness spreads.       Its claws have scratched sight from the Capt.'s eyes         & there is blindness in the fo’c’sle       & we must sail 3 weeks before we come       to port.”               What port awaits us, Davy Jones’               or home? I’ve heard of slavers drifting, drifting,                 playthings of wind and storm and chance, their crews                 gone blind, the jungle hatred               crawling up on deck. Thou    Who    Walked    On    Galilee       “Deponent further sayeth The Bella J       left the Guinea Coast       with cargo of five hundred blacks and odd         for the barracoons of Florida:       “That there was hardly room ’tween-decks for half         the sweltering cattle stowed spoon-fashion there;         that some went mad of thirst and tore their flesh         and sucked the blood:       “That Crew and Captain lusted with the comeliest         of the savage girls kept naked in the cabins;         that there was one they called The Guinea Rose         and they cast lots and fought to lie with her:       “That when the Bo’s’n piped all hands, the flames         spreading from starboard already were beyond         control, the negroes howling and their chains         entangled with the flames:       “That the burning blacks could not be reached,         that the Crew abandoned ship,       leaving their shrieking negresses behind,       that the Captain perished drunken with the wenches:       “Further Deponent sayeth not.” Pilot    Oh    Pilot    Me       II Aye, lad, and I have seen those factories,   Gambia, Rio Pongo, Calabar; have watched the artful mongos baiting traps   of war wherein the victor and the vanquished Were caught as prizes for our barracoons.   Have seen the nigger kings whose vanity and greed turned wild black hides of Fellatah,   Mandingo, Ibo, Kru to gold for us. And there was one—King Anthracite we named him— fetish face beneath French parasols of brass and orange velvet, impudent mouth whose cups were carven skulls of enemies: He’d honor us with drum and feast and conjo   and palm-oil-glistening wenches deft in love,   and for tin crowns that shone with paste,   red calico and German-silver trinkets Would have the drums talk war and send   his warriors to burn the sleeping villages   and kill the sick and old and lead the young   in coffles to our factories. Twenty years a trader, twenty years, for there was wealth aplenty to be harvested   from those black fields, and I’d be trading still   but for the fevers melting down my bones.       III Shuttles in the rocking loom of history,   the dark ships move, the dark ships move,   their bright ironical names like jests of kindness on a murderer’s mouth;   plough through thrashing glister toward   fata morgana’s lucent melting shore,   weave toward New World littorals that are   mirage and myth and actual shore. Voyage through death,                               voyage whose chartings are unlove. A charnel stench, effluvium of living death   spreads outward from the hold, where the living and the dead, the horribly dying,   lie interlocked, lie foul with blood and excrement.       Deep in the festering hold thy father lies,         the corpse of mercy rots with him,         rats eat love’s rotten gelid eyes.       But, oh, the living look at you       with human eyes whose suffering accuses you,         whose hatred reaches through the swill of dark         to strike you like a leper’s claw.       You cannot stare that hatred down       or chain the fear that stalks the watches       and breathes on you its fetid scorching breath;         cannot kill the deep immortal human wish,         the timeless will.               “But for the storm that flung up barriers                 of wind and wave, The Amistad, señores,               would have reached the port of Príncipe in two,                 three days at most; but for the storm we should                 have been prepared for what befell.                 Swift as the puma’s leap it came. There was                 that interval of moonless calm filled only                 with the water’s and the rigging’s usual sounds,                 then sudden movement, blows and snarling cries                 and they had fallen on us with machete                 and marlinspike. It was as though the very                 air, the night itself were striking us.                 Exhausted by the rigors of the storm,               we were no match for them. Our men went down                 before the murderous Africans. Our loyal                 Celestino ran from below with gun                 and lantern and I saw, before the cane-               knife’s wounding flash, Cinquez,               that surly brute who calls himself a prince,                 directing, urging on the ghastly work.               He hacked the poor mulatto down, and then                 he turned on me. The decks were slippery               when daylight finally came. It sickens me                 to think of what I saw, of how these apes                 threw overboard the butchered bodies of               our men, true Christians all, like so much jetsam.                 Enough, enough. The rest is quickly told:                 Cinquez was forced to spare the two of us                 you see to steer the ship to Africa,                 and we like phantoms doomed to rove the sea                 voyaged east by day and west by night,                 deceiving them, hoping for rescue,                 prisoners on our own vessel, till                 at length we drifted to the shores of this                 your land, America, where we were freed                 from our unspeakable misery. Now we                 demand, good sirs, the extradition of                 Cinquez and his accomplices to La                 Havana. And it distresses us to know                 there are so many here who seem inclined                 to justify the mutiny of these blacks.                 We find it paradoxical indeed               that you whose wealth, whose tree of liberty                 are rooted in the labor of your slaves               should suffer the august John Quincy Adams                 to speak with so much passion of the right                 of chattel slaves to kill their lawful masters                 and with his Roman rhetoric weave a hero’s                 garland for Cinquez. I tell you that                 we are determined to return to Cuba               with our slaves and there see justice done. Cinquez—               or let us say ‘the Prince’—Cinquez shall die.”       The deep immortal human wish,         the timeless will:               Cinquez its deathless primaveral image,                 life that transfigures many lives.       Voyage through death                                     to life upon these shores.

#poem #poetry #blackwriters #slavery #literature #books #reading #reader #america #poem of the day #poemoftheday #mustread #bookblr #quotes #must read #library #writers #writing #author #poems of instagram #poemsofinstagram #read #readers of tumblr #black poetry

[echoeternally]

FWV Update Hopefully Friday!

A new Pokémon fanfic chapter is ready and will be updated on Friday this week! The story will also have the first chapter split in two so that new readers can have an easier time with accessibility.

The main characters will be featured this time too! You know, the two that you followed over 5 years ago back when I thought this was going to be a manageable project and forgot the actual scope to world build properly.

These two clowns! I’m sure many are excited about their return.

Plus, a few more familiar faces, probably. You can guess who, maybe.

#fading wind violets #pokemon fanfic #coming soon #sneakpastshipping #sneakpast series #bluebells are forever #melting gelid roses #romance #drama #medieval setting #greninja #chesnaught

[nobodyeverasked]

cookies + cream; bang chan

(2250 words) - medium

Summary: Chocolate chips and velvety lips.

Chan stuffed his phone back into his pocket, a hushed chuckle easing from his thin smile as he could feel the panic that laced his best friend - Y/N’s - voice. Knowing the younger man, half of his apartment would be withered by flames already, which let an amalgamation of both amusement and worry wash throughout Chan’s mind.

Y/N was baking cookies - or trying to at least - and as soon as things started to turn out not as planned, he whipped his phone out and dialed the one person in his contact list who was actually in possession of at least half of a brain cell. The shrieks of dropping pans and the ear-piercing shrieks of a jammed egg-beater burst through their phones as soon as Chan answered the call, his shoes already halfway on and his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

He would be an absolute fool to say no to his best friend, how could he? With those eyes that sparkled with such innocence, and a smile so bright that was kindred to the canopies of stars that would watch over them on their late-night walks or bi-nightly convenience store raids. Those new stories that Y/N managed to think of every time they were together made Chan’s head spin and his laugh rang with a joyfulness that was so pure and authentic that it felt like the skies parted above them and a chorus of angels belted in the younger’s chest.

Chan trotted out the door, welcoming the evening breezes that lodged into his sweater and swept across his skin. The sky, the warm hues of coral and pink fading into one another, and dying the clouds that drifted among them, capturing his gaze as he skipped along the sidewalk, the images of Y/N’s sheepish smile and flour-caked apron projecting in his mind.

The moments that he spent with Y/N - even the crazy ones - were when he could finally let everything go and become himself, the boundaries of his social life being pushed away by the warmth and comfort that always effortless shone off of Y/N’s sweet grin. His heart would burn every time their stares locked, and his gaze would always fall upon the younger’s face they would encounter their brief moments of peace. 

With Y/N he felt whole, he did not have a better way to put it.

In just a few moments, he reached Y/N’s door, his hand already flicking up to the doorknob to let himself in with a spare key in his sweatpants pocket - a gift for sticking together through highschool - and scampered through the threshold. He soaked in the air that was tainted with the char of burnt metal, and the thick haze of flour that convulsed to the garbled coughs that stumbled from the kitchen. 

Yep, this was Y/N, his best friend.

He could not be prouder.

He chuckled to himself when a young man dragged himself out of the kitchen, the sound of the door closing slipping through the distorted cacophonies that coiled Y/N’s head. He had flour embellishing his sweater and apron in thick patches - almost swathing the thick blush of embarrassment that clawed up his neck - and held a whisk dejectedly in his hand, bare of any batter.

“This is why I order Postmates…” Y/N scratched the back of his ear, a puff of flour sheathing one last cough all Chan could do was stare at Y/N with a fond smile, a playful eyebrow arched on his tanned skin. A giggle almost burst through Chan’s simper, but he held it in, thinking that Y/N has been through more than enough first-hand embarrassment for the day.

“And this is why I keep you away from anything that doesn’t say 10 and under on the box.” Chan frayed Y/N’s hair, disregarding the huff that pushed past the younger’s pout. “So what step are you on?”

“I just finished laying everything out.” Y/N hummed as they both trotted into the kitchen, a sheath of white covering most of the granite countertops. 

“Let’s get this started.” Chan tried to hide his laughter when Y/N’s lips still jutted out, a pout etched on his features and the embers of embarrassment convulsing under his skin. He barely held back a grin when Y/N leaned his head on his shoulder, the memories of their late nights and study sessions shining in his mind, and their conversations about absolutely nothing playing back in his head with the symphonies of bliss and devotion. 

Y/N resting his head on Chan’s shoulder was his tiny habit, and the older’s guilty pleasure. How his calm breaths dissipated into the air of comfort clinging to them, or how his eyelashes would strum faint melodies of grace whenever his eyes fluttered in his sleep. Every night they spent together, Chan would always whisper sweet nothings to the four walls of Y/N’s room, mantras of words that he wished he could say to the person beside him that helped him realize what it meant to love someone - whether they notice it or not. If the walls could live, their hearts would melt from the euphonies of Chan’s unadulterated affection.

“So we’re gonna do the dry stuff first, okay?”

“Alright.” Y/N nodded, such an innocent smile on his face that fueled the flames of ardency that writhed around them.

With Chan’s help, and thanks to his possession of something called intelligence, they were able to get through baking ‘kind of’ smoothly, and not burn down anything in the process.

“Y/N!!! THE SUGAR NOT THE SALT!”

“WHY DO THEY LOOK THE SAME!?”

Emphasis on ‘kind of’...

With an exasperated slam of the oven door, they sighed and leaned against the kitchen island, now marred with stray drops of batter and some chocolate chips that Y/N dropped while sneak-eating them. They shared an easing breath together, chuckles lining their lips and happiness pulsing in their chests. 

“Yay! We’re done!” Chan picked up a batter-covered whisk that laid beside him, a mischievous glint intermixing with the sparks of joy dancing in his dark, entrancing eyes. “So what do I get for not letting you die for the millionth time?” He whipped around to Y/N, who jumped up onto the kitchen counter, his legs swaying softly to the arias of their harmonizing heartbeats, a laugh stifled into his sweater sleeves. 

“You get to pick which side of the couch you sit on.” Y/N tilted his head to the side with a playful smirk, jerking back when Chan taps him on the nose with the whisk, surprise clouding his senses. “You know what? Imma choose Infinity War just so I can see you wallow in pain.” Y/N trailed off with a giggle, his crossed eyes following the line Chan drew from the bridge of his nose down to the tip, a thick line of batter adorning his skin. “Stop it!”

Flurries of laughter took off within the kitchen, bouncing off the tan walls as Y/N lunged for the whisk, nothing on his mind except revenge. He tried his best to swipe at the whisk clutched loosely in Chan’s hand, but the older was significantly taller and way too strong for him. With one soft shove, Y/N was sent stumbling back-first to the fridge, the gelid metal searing into his palms and clawing into his back.

“No fair…” Y/N crossed his arms with a huff, a pout engraved onto his lips. His eyes followed Chan’s hand as he set the whisk down on the counter beside them. The older’s own gaze, though, never left Y/N’s eyes - and how the warm ivory of the kitchen light was caught in them, the sparks of joy still writhing happily. The same ones that danced in his stare the first time they met, the first time they hung out, and the first time they traveled beyond the horizon of their small town together. Y/N never changed, and neither did the force that drew Chan to the embodiment of everything that made his cheeks burn and his heart blaze with an uncontrollable fury: the young man trapped between his arms. 

With the silence draped over their bodies and seeping into their breaths, Chan had the thoughts of his boundless love sent careening to the front of his mind, nothing else to distract him from the untold truth beating at his skull for the past four years. He threw his head back with a sigh, the fingers resting on his wrist loosening his tongue for the words that hung on the tip of it.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” The younger cocked his head to the side, a curious smile gracing his features, the smell of flour caking his skin and embedding into his clothes blocked out by the euphoric haze clouding his senses.

“I…” Chan took a deep breath, fishing out the feelings that welled deep within his ocean. “I like you… Like a lot. It’s just everything about you - even the little things. Like how you smile in the face of every single thing that comes your way, or the way you light up whenever we hang out. The way you don’t change for a single person and are so, so, so special, in every way…” The whole house suddenly rose degrees hotter, the floors under them bursting up in flames of devotion, and the heat surging beneath their cheeks making the silence between them combust into choruses of their adoration. “I-”

Y/N hushed Chan with the whisk that was laying on the counter beside them, his face inching closer when he tossed it onto the floor, ignoring everything except for his best friend’s lustrous, dark eyes and his magnetic grin.

Their lips interlocked into a seamless knot of devotion, their fingers slowly curling into each other’s skin when the pulses between their mouths grew faster. A crescendo of their low hums of elation and their deep breaths of absolute contentment burying into the back of their throats. Chan was waiting for this moment forever, the desire to feel the touch of his best friend wander along his skin for more than just a brief moment, and for the sweet flavour of Y/N’s lips to amalgamate with his, the secrets that were clenched tightly to his chest to wither away in the radiant presence of a new type of love with limitless bounds.

Their lips moved together in a languid harmony, tender and unrushed, and as Chan tightened his arms around Y/N’s waist and brought their chests closer, the firestorm of admiration writhing between them seeped into their hearts - burning brighter with every velvety touch spread among their bodies and burying under their clothes.

They both pull back, a reluctance lingering through the desperate grips they had on each other. Chan’s hands absentmindedly meandered across Y/N’s hips and submerged under the waves of fabric swathing his torso, his yearning fingertips trailing up his back. Pools of molten amity were forged under their passionate touches, hands weighing heavy on their air, and their breath caressing their red-margined smiles.

Words did not need to be said, the light forged from their loving gazes telling them all they need to know - all they want to know. That was until Chan leaned in again, his lips on the brink of melding with the younger’s, and his tongue on the threshold between his teeth.

“Wh-” Y/N tried to stifle a laugh when Chan instantly raised his head to the younger’s nose, tracing small pecks all the way down the bridge - kissing away the batter lingering on his skin. “Netflix?” Y/N nodded towards the couch in the other room, thoughts of the man whose arms were entangled around his body tainting his head. 

“Netflix…” Chan sighed in relief when arms draped around his neck, a radiant smile adorning his best friend's lips. 

They stumbled toward the couch, fingers loosely intertwined together - as if they would lose each other in the galaxies of their gazes if they were to let go.

Moments into the movie, they already started drifting off to each other, Y/N enveloped in Chan’s limbs, and the blanket that once covered their intertwined legs had fallen to the ground, laying forlornly in the torrid presence of the admiration that finally dislodged themselves from the crevices of their thoughts. 

“Somehow, this feels more natural than before…” Chan let a sigh of comfort roll amply off his tongue, his breath kneading into Y/N’s shoulder as his lips tenderly traced Y/N’s skin. 

“Maybe because we kissed for like, a solid ten minutes.” Y/N eased further into the embrace wound around him. “Wanna make it even easier?” He tilted his head back, his grin instantly met with a pair of lips yearning for the sweetness that always lined his tongue. Fingers traced his jawline, and slack palms fell to his chest - cherishing touches cradling the flames of adoration festering beneath their skin. “Feel better?”

“Much better…” Chan whispered through their parting lips. “I-”

“Do you smell toast?” Both of their heads shot up to Y/N’s question, the fumes of dying flames burning their senses.

“What- THE COOKIES!”

“Oh, SHIT!”

They scramble off the couch and bolt towards the kitchen, love-struck gazes reluctantly ripped from one another, and raked to an ashen stream of smoke billowing from the oven.

‘Guess cuddles have to wait.

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[jeonggukingdom]

the bride of Ashmedai (m)

▽ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

▽ Genre:  demon!AU, smut, a sprinkle of fluff and a drop of angst.

▽ Summary: You were born with only one purpose to fulfill: sacrifice your life to a Prince of Hell and save your entire lineage from eternal damnation. When blood trickled from your hand that night you were ready for doom or even worse, death. What you didn’t expect was for you to find gentle eyes of molten chocolate waiting for you and a wanton tongue welcoming you home.

↳ alternatively: the prince of lust has a thing for cunnilingus and, apparently, so do you.

▽ Word Count: 12.645 words

▽ WARNINGS: graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, dirty talk, swear words, cunnilingus, rough sex, pounding, light chocking, excessive amount of squirt and cum - you have been warned.

▽ AN:  “BTS Smut Club Halloween Smut Fest: Prompt #01” (What is your greatest fear?)

October 31st, 1888

Wind howled through the witching hour and you shivered in the confinement of the dark basement you were held in, both out of coldness and fear for what was about to happen.

Blood trickled down your hand in bright red rivulets that lapped your wrist and, as you closed your fingers into a fist, they coiled down on the dirty ground beneath your knees.

You had imagined that the pain of the cut was going to last a long time but it was actually quickly subdued by the unquenchable fear residing in your heart for, with every drop that filled up the deep cuttings that were made on the concrete floor hundreds of years ago, tinting burgundy the pentacle graved there, you were one step closer to the fulfillment of your destiny.

It was a gruesome sight to behold: all that blood, moving like a quiet river into the furrows that were made especially for it to fill up to the brim, mixing with the lifeline of those that came before you. All the lost aunts and grandmothers and grand-grandmothers that shared the same faith as you. Thousands of women you never met and you never will, only names without faces remembered within the books of your ancestry. Lives gave so you and the rest of your family could live on. One life in exchange of hundreds. Your life, in exchange for many more for years to come.

You had often imagined those faces and lives behind those old names in those wizened pages your family cherished so deeply. You had imagined worlds of wonders and happy endings so that you could placate the fear of your ineluctable future.

A shaking breath left your mouth and you closed your eyes, fighting back the tears that menaced to fall down your cheeks if only you would allow the panic to conquer you further. You had to do this, for all your people. You were born to do this.

Even knowing that, didn’t make it any easier. Growing with the knowledge that your life wasn’t really your own hadn’t been easy and it didn’t make doing this better.

You had known all your life that this moment would come: you had been prepared for it, you had studied for it and hell, you had even dreamed about it when you were little and naive. Yet, it was hard.  

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing in loudly from your nose to try and soothe the rampant beating of your heart.

“It’s alright, ___,” you whispered to yourself, exhaling loudly to cover up the sound of the wind, piercing with its force and coldness the woods around the abandoned house, “You can do this.”

Your eyes fluttered open to find the pentacle full with the blood you shed and it was only then that the ritual commenced.

With trembling hands you had reached for the lightning match and carefully placed it above each candle at the other end of the star: one for water, one for fire, one for air, one for earth and, finally, one for spirit.

The little fires crackled in the night, the flames carried by the wind infiltrated into the empty room and you watched them, almost transfixed, as they brought a little warmness and luminosity inside the gaunt room.

The loneliness of your sacrifice had stroked you there for the first time: your eyes could now look around the space you were in, yet, there was absolutely nothing for them to see and, of course, you had known it would have been a lonely path to walk onto yet, it didn’t make the harsh reality any easier to deal with.

Your gaze had fallen on your lap then, hot tears streaming down your cheeks as your eyes focused on all the little laced details on your wedding gown, made of silk and organza and all you could feel for yourself was pity. A wedding would have been what many girls like you would dream about in the night at the ripe age of twenty and yet, here you were, wearing it like it was your funeral and you were about to be buried alive.

You shook your head to try and erase those dark thoughts and ease your mind and, with a shaky breath, you started chanting words of a foreign language you did not speak nor understand just like you were taught in the past few years. Those words had always felt empty and meaningless in the safety of your room but there, with your blood gathered around lit candles, you could feel the magic sparking up inside of you, you could feel the awakening of your dormant power. It was like a creature stirring up inside of you, ready to conquer you whole and dominate you and even consume you just like unrestrainable fire.

Your voice ringed louder in the empty room carried by the surge of power inside of you, conquering every cell in your body to leave you screaming for more, just more.

The blood you shed started boiling inside the pentacle, the flames of the candles turned acid green and rose up to the ceiling menacing to burn down the entire house and you with them. For a moment, you thought to let them just to see how grand this power of yours could be but, just as it arrived, it all went away turning everything pearly white.

For a long time, all that existed was nothing. No, it was peace, and the distant sound of your lips, trembling in the night with the remnants of your chanted spell.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, immobile, freezing and utterly spent by the grandiosity of your evocation spell but, at some point in time, your eyes had been able to adjust back to the dim light of the night only to find nothing had changed except for one, little, detail. Your blood was gone and the candles had been extinguished by your magic, almost melted to the core.

You had waited and waited, seated in the same spot as once you had arrived, with fear clutching your heart anew. Yet, nothing was changing and if at the beginning you had feared the accomplishment of your duty, now you feared the exact opposite for not even once in the history of your family had someone failed their sacrifice.

There was a long, terrifying moment, where you couldn’t stop imagining the worst outcomes possible and just as the image of your loved ones burning in the pits of hell infiltrated your mind, you caught a swift movement in the corner of your eyes.

Goosebumps gathered on your trembling skin and you felt your breath stilling in your lungs, holding air in waiting for the shadow to turn into the body, admitting he had one to begin with, of the demon ought to claim you.

A scream of pure terror erupted from your parted lips as someone, no, something,  fell on your lap. There was dread in your eyes as you lowered your gaze to your legs, fearing what you could see nestled there, and it was laughter that came out of your parted lips once you discovered the nature of your new companion.

There were curious hazelnut eyes staring right back at you, looking as floating beacons in the nighttime, belonging to a small but fierce-looking cat, its fur the color of charcoal.

“You scared me out of my body, kitty,” you whispered more to yourself than to the animal itself and when it purred right back at you, nudging your hand with its little head you rewarded it with a soft scratch behind its ear.

“You can’t be here, kitty,” you scratched its neck and the cat purred louder, closing its eyes to rejoice in the feeling of your fingers running through its fur.

“You should really leave this place,” you added in a whisper whilst looking around the room, searching for a sign of his arrival, “At least while you can.”

The curious eyes of the cat refocused on you and for a moment it looked like it was about to speak in return, tilting its head to the side in a way a human would have, but instead, it nudged at your hand anew, quietly asking for more.

You patted its head briefly before shaking your head no and force it onto the ground, which earned yourself a hiss and an indignant look in return.

“It’s for your sake,” you whispered to its back as it wiggled away from you, tail pointing at the ceiling, ready to disappear into the darkness anew.

Fog seemed to seep through the walls all at once right in that moment, clouding up your vision but not enough to miss the body of the cat suddenly ablaze with fire.

A scream erupted from the back of your throat, dread spreading through your limbs like a wave of gelid water, and you closed your eyes, hugging yourself in seek of some sort of comfort and protection.

When you had the courage to open back up your eyes, the fog had gone just as it had appeared and standing right in front of you there was a young man.

Feline-like eyes of molten chocolate stared down at you with mirth reflected in them and on the little smile on his rosy lips. His hair appeared to be as dark as the cat’s fur had been and it was only then that you realized it had to be him all along, studying you, assessing you, teasing you.

“You are trembling like a leaf, doll,” he said, his voice like melted honey to your ears, whilst taking a step closer to crouch down in front of you, forcing you to look inside his eyes.

“Are you cold or are you scared?” He tilted his head to the side just like he did when he was a cat and you gulped down audibly, wetting your dry lips before parting your mouth, ready to answer his question.

One of his fingers came in contact with your chin to lift it up the slightest bit, just enough for you to be at eye-level with him and that infinitesimal touch was all it took for your voice to disappear inside your throat.

“Kitty got your tongue?” He asked, giggling at his own joke and you forced a smile on your lips, unable to utter a single word still, too entranced by not only his presence but also the way he looked and talked — so astonishingly human.

You hadn’t known what you had been expecting back then, maybe something broader, or claws, or teeth as sharp as swords or maybe even horns but, even when you had been a small kid, this hadn’t been what you had been prepared for.

“Do you know who I am?” He inquired further, trying to break the seal around your tongue to get at least one answer to his many questions.

“Y-yes?” you whispered, lips trembling alongside with your body and even you couldn’t tell if it was more the fear or the cold seeping through your bones reducing you to such a state.

“Say it.”

You gulped down as his eyes narrowed on you, all hilarity gone from his features, and parted your mouth to push the words out despite the weakness laced between them.

“You are Ashmedai, the seventh Prince of Hell, my lord” his eyes bored into you and for a moment you thought you could see fire blazing inside them, ready to come out and consume your body to the bones.

“That’s who I am for the rest of the world.” His voice was sharp as he spoke those words, cutting through the air like the finest sword ever created and successfully making the hair on your neck stand up, “Who am I to you?”

“M-my husband, my lord?” Your voice sounded small as you spoke those words but they did have the desired effect on him for a small smile crept up on his lips.

“Ding-ding-ding,” he said, mimicking the sound a bell would make and you felt the ice that had formed around your insides melt, allowing your body to relax under his now warmer gaze.

“Now come, doll, we have a wedding to attend.”

His warm hands were quick to find the curve of your hips, his digits pressing lightly on the clothed skin to guide you upwards until you were standing right in front of him. There was a moment of silence as he looked at you whole, taking in not only the dress but, you were sure, the shape of your body under it.

“Am I...,” you started speaking but stopped once his eyes refocused on you, his whole undivided attention on your parted lips, waiting for the question pending on your tongue. You had to divert your gaze on the ground to force the words out, feeling the blood rush to your face in abashment, “Do I satisfy you, my lord?”

He chuckled and you felt the skin on your face turning feverish as the embarrassment grew within your heart and mind, clouding all your thoughts. When did it start to matter whether he was happy about you or not? You were his sacrifice, his spoils, you hadn’t chosen this, he had.

“You are lovely, doll,” he said, grasping your chin to force your head up and make you look into his eyes again, “I bet we’re going to have an amazing time together.”

You didn’t know whether to take that as a promise or a threat but you weren’t granted enough time to ponder on it for the next second your body was encased by teal fire lapping at your skin as if it were to burn it and then everything around you contorted and twisted until it all went black.

Strong arms were wrapped firmly around you and as you regained your consciousness you were made aware of the fact that they were the only thing keeping you standing. Nausea had filled your mouth and your head still seemed to be spinning alongside with the world as you once knew it.

“There, there, doll. It’s all over.”

The foreign yet familiar voice forced you to peer your eyes away from the ground below your feet and upwards, towards its owner.

Ashmedai was staring right back at you, a little smile tugging on his lips as he exhaled, releasing his grip around your body.

“Good girl,” he said and you looked for a teasing glint inside his eyes but there was none, “You’re one of the few that didn’t pass out on me,” he explained further, completely releasing you from his arms but still standing close enough to catch you if your legs suddenly decided to give up on you.

“What happened?” Your voice was weak and barely above a whisper and it was only an inkling of how spent your body felt in that moment.

“Well,” he tilted his head to the side and smiled wickedly at you, a playful glint in his eyes, “We traveled to your new home.”

Your eyes wandered off of his face to fix upon the scenery surrounding you: all you could see were rocks as bright as fire all around you, dividing the space into corridors that seemed to be endless and vacant of any sign of life.

“Home?” You asked, voice shaky and laced with the fear for his answer. Of course, a part of you had known all along that your world wasn’t going to be your home anymore but, at the same time, the other half of you prayed for that part to be wrong.

“Welcome to hell, doll.”

His laugh was warm and if you were in a very different situation you would find it pacifying instead of absolutely terrifying.

“Am I dead?!”

Your eyes, big as saucers, fixed upon him anew with a new fear residing in your heart and he simply laughed at you, shaking his head to dismiss the dumb question.

“Of course not, doll. Why would I kill my wife?”

His hot breath hit your skin right where the neck connects with the ear and you shivered at the sensation, your insides twitching painfully in your stomach.

“Now come, everyone is waiting for us.”

There were thousands of questions you wanted to ask but all of these got stuck in your throat the moment he grabbed your hand and guided you through the impossible maze of the endless corridors of the pits of Hell.

Every wall looked absolutely the same and you had no idea how anyone could orientate themselves within this place. You, surely, wouldn’t be able to do so and a part of you wondered if that was the whole point behind this intricate structure.

You walked behind him for long, long minutes that almost felt like hours and, the more you walked beside him the more you couldn’t decide whether you felt your body warming up more with each step simply because you were finally moving, because his hand was grasping your won or because the place was actually getting warmer the more into its depth you went.

That question, though, was answered once you arrived at the end of one of those corridors and you were welcomed by blazing fires lit in every corner of the room. They looked like bonfires scorching up the ceiling and there wasn’t wood stoking it. Fire, you had found out quickly, simply generated itself from magic in the pits of Hell.

Your mouth hung open as you stopped right at the entrance of the spacious room. If you thought the corridors were vacant of life, that room was the complete opposite: thousands of people were standing there, some were laughing, some were talking and many were looking right at you.

“Everyone!” The gentle voice of Ashmedai erupted behind you, roaring with the authority you were sure he was used to exert within these flaming walls, “Meet my lovely bride, ___”

All eyes set on you the moment he pronounced those words and your breath got stuck within your lungs. You could feel blood rushing to your cheeks and your heart speeding up under the scrutiny of so many strangers eyes. So many demons eyes.

Some looked like Ashmedai did: they had mundane faces, human bodies, and nothing would give away their true nature if they were to walk to Earth. But some, oh, some looked like they belonged inside your nightmares. They were the kind of demons you would have thought you were going to get married to.

There were long claws and pointed teeth, there were skins that looked scorched by the sun or green like grass, there were eyes white like paper or red like fire. There were bodies made of rocks instead of flesh and there were some that looked as incorporeal as smoke. It was a sight you thought you would be terrified of and, for a moment, you were. But then, when smiles appeared and the hand of your future husband came in contact with your own a strange tranquility spread within you. It was a feeling you had never known before and one you had been seeking for all your life: the feeling of being finally home.

“All hail the bride of Ashmedai!” the little crowd roared in your favor and merrily toasted with what looked to be wine but, a part of you feared, could also be blood as scarlet as that liquid looked.

“You don’t look scared,” Ashmedai noted, whispering in your ear and you nodded your head slightly, letting him slowly guide you through the room to introduce you to the demons.

“I’m not, my lord.”

“Congratulations, doll,” he smirked as you looked at him, puzzled by his words, “You are officially the first one that hasn’t cried, screamed or tried to run away at the sight of my family.”

You could see why anyone in their right state of mind would react that way and, truly, you were surprised by yourself as well because this feeling in your heart was something you could not explain at all.

“I knew you were different,” he stated, interlacing his fingers with your own into an intimate gesture you surely weren’t ready for, “When you were evoking me, when the power awoke inside of you, you weren’t scared at all. You wanted more.”

You stopped on your tracks to stare into his eyes, shock reflected in your expression as your mouth hung open whilst you searched for the right words.

“How?” You asked, shaking your head slightly for there was no way he could have known that, “How do you know?”

He chuckled, tilting his head to the side to assess you and then he placed a finger right against your temple.

“Because the moment you said my name out loud I could hear all your thoughts in here,” he dragged his finger down your face, palming your cheek briefly before reaching the expanse of your chest, stopping right above your heart, “And I could feel all that you were feeling in here.”

His voice had dropped down to barely a whisper and it made you shiver not only for what his words meant but also, for how your body reacted to his very touch. It felt like every part of you was begging to be touched by him, to be held within his arms. It was like every cell in your body was being pulled towards him as magnets, gravitating towards the core.

“Can you still read my thoughts?” You asked in both curiosity and anguish for you really had no desire to put all you had out on the line.

“Why? Should I be scared of what I may find there?”

“Of course not, my Lord!”

There it was again: the need to please him, to be enough for him, to not be a disappointment. But you couldn’t fathom why when you had just met him.

He smiled at you before caressing your face with tenderness, as if he cherished you deeply — something you doubted was the truth.

“Don’t worry, doll, it was all temporary. The moment our souls merged we were like one and now, we are two again.”

You couldn’t understand his words to their fullest but they ringed true to your ears because that was the only explanation as to why your body craved his proximity so much. It did felt like a part of you wanted to reunite with him and, you realized, that was your soul, calling his.

“When are you going to introduce us, brother?” A soft voice behind your back peeled you off of your thoughts and you turned around to look into its owner eyes.

The demon looked as human as your future husband did: he had eyes of coal and hair blue like the night sky. A gentle smile tugged on his rosy plump lips as he studied you, a playful glint in his eyes.

“My pleasure to meet you, ____” The demon bowed his head slightly and so did you in return, seeking your companion’s eyes for help.

“It’s my pleasure, my Lord.” You said in return, voice shaky with uncertainty.

The demon boy hummed and looked at his brother for a brief moment.

“I like her, she has manners and the looks.”

“T-thank you, my Lord?” You were baffled not only by his words but also at the way he was talking about you as you weren’t there to hear it and he giggled at your response, making blood pool on your cheeks in embarrassment.

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“Jimin,” Ashmedai growled right next to you and you looked up at him, surprised at how quickly his mannerism changed, “Don’t you dare to even think about it.”

The other demon laughed and raised his hands in defeat whilst walking backwards to step away from you.

“Are these all your brothers?” You asked once the demon was out of earshot and Ashmedai chuckled next to you, shaking his head.

“I guess, in a way. But no, I technically have five brothers and you just met one of them.”

“You mean he’s another Prince? I never heard of a Prince named Jimin,” you furrowed your brows in confusion and he hummed in response.

“Humans call him Mammon. He’s known for his greed,” he sighed at his last words, focusing his gaze to a smaller group of people at your right side.

“Come, I’ll let you meet the others.”

You followed suit, more questions pending on your tongue as he dragged you through the hall but those were pushed at the back of your mind the moment you were introduced to the rest of his brothers.

There was a tense moment of silence as they all studied you and you could do nothing except curtsy at them and wait for their approval.

“What a cute little thing.”

A man with mint hair said, a pout on his lips as he looked at you as if you were part of an exposition of some sort.

“Pleasure to meet you, my Lords,” you responded, trying to look at them without staring. Now that they were standing together next to each other, including Ashmedai, you noticed how terribly handsome they all were. They didn’t look like demons at all, they looked like angels.

“____, this is Belphegor.” Sloth, you thought, recalling all you had read in the books through the years. The demon responsible for human laziness whilst being a sinner himself.

“Oh, please, for all things deviant, do not call me that,” the man spat out, disgusted by the name he was made known to the human world, “Just call me Yoongi.”

“At least your name sounds somewhat glorious,” a tall demon to your left said, rolling his eyes. He seemed to radiate light like a sun would as he focused his eyes on you: he had hair of auburn and deep chocolate eyes and he looked breathtakingly and effortlessly handsome.

“I guess you would know me as Leviathan but please, just call me Seokjin.” Envy, you noted to yourself while giving the demon a gentle smile in return. Truthfully, though, the man standing right in front of you seemed to have nothing to envy to any other living creature on the planet and it made you wonder: were all those Princes guilty of the sins they installed inside the humans’ hearts or were they just the carriers, the inspirators?

“Please don’t mind my brothers, they love to act like little kids,” another man spoke from the center of the group. He was lean and tall and he was absolutely gorgeous. He had blonde hair and a tender look in his eyes, lips as soft as a pillow that contrasted deeply with the sharp line of his jaw.

“Says the one with the ominous name to the ears of humans,” muttered Seokjin behind you.

“Yes, my name is Lucifer but in here, you can call me Namjoon if you wish to.” Lucifer. For many years you had associated that name with the Devil itself but you had learned them to be distinct entities. Namjoon, he was the fallen angel the sacred scriptures talked about. He was Pride himself and the only one that truly faced the consequences for his sins: he had lost his wings, his grace and the favor of God.

“Jeongguk for Hell’s sake would you please stop eating and introduce yourself to your brother’s bride?” Yoongi shouted all of a sudden, tugging on the shirt of a young-looking demon to your far left.

“Wad’sso spezialbout her, he hadhundredsalvready?”

“Don’t speak while you’re eating you mannerless brat.”

The demon flinched as his evidently older brother assessed a smack behind his head and he gulped down hastily, fixing his gaze upon you. His eyes were fawn-like, big as saucers and glinting with vitality and they made him look adorable and absolutely harmless, despite the fact that his muscular body suggested otherwise.

He stretched his thin lips into a smile and slightly bowed his head towards you.

“Welcome in our mists, I’m Jeongguk.”

You bowed your head in return and astonishingly watched him retreat towards the buffet to stuff his face with what looked like regular human food but, of course, you knew by now that look could be quite deceiving. Those demons around you were a clear example of that.

“Beelzebub?” You asked towards your future husband, assuming his human-known name by the evident sin he had been corrupted with. Gluttony.

“Yes, that would be him.” He answered in a sigh as he watched his brother eat for a little longer before turning towards you.

“Come, I should probably introduce you to Father.”

“Father?”

You didn’t know why it sounded so weird to hear him say that but having a father and a mother seemed something so mundane, it felt odd to have demons pronounce those words or even act like a family.

The man he wanted to introduce to you looked extremely young, definitely not even close to being his father or any of the other demons father’s, and he possessed a beauty so ethereal you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

His skin seemed to shine like melted gold, he had hair the color of wheat and eyes as dark as charcoal and he had this peaceful expression on his divine-like features.

“_______, meet Satan.” Wrath, your mind suggested as your heart beat erratically in your chest.

The man fixed his eyes upon you as he heard his name being called and a smile stretched on his lips. His name had made dread spark inside of you, conquering your limbs with ice, and then his smile had melted all of it with the force of a thousand suns.

“There, there, don’t be so scared, little one,” He said, voice as deep as the oceans, “No harm will ever be done to you by none of us.”

“I-I know, my Lord.”

“I know how the name rings to human ears and, truthfully, I strive in that fear but you are no longer a mundane girl, you are a Princess in our midst now,” he cocked his head to the side before touching your cheek with his warm and long fingers, “But if it creates discomfort for you to say, you can call me Taehyung.”

You nodded your head in understanding, incapable of uttering a single word for you had just met the Devil itself, the worst sinner of them all, and he had granted you the opportunity to call him by his given name.

For years you had thought that sacrificing yourself meant to be a slave of the demons. It was a punishment for your family, after all. For the witches in your ancestry that wronged the Princes and paid for it with their lives and the offer of the second female born in their families for all the years to come, each one to a different Prince until the cycle was full and ready to begin anew.

But here, in the pits of Hell, you were being treated with respect, with care, and as a Princess. As one of their kind.

With these thoughts swirling in your mind you hadn’t noticed that Ashmedai was guiding you through the other far end of the hall, an arm behind your back, and it was only when you were standing right in front of a door painted white with flowers on its arch, you registered the change in scenery.

“It is time for us to wed, my dear.”

You looked around you to find everyone in the room looking at the both of you, including Jeongguk despite the fact that he was still chewing on something you really didn’t want to know the origin of.

Taehyung stood between you and Ashmedai, ready for the ceremony to commence.

Your soon-to-be husband took your hands in his and motioned to his father so he could wrap a satin white cloth around your linked limbs.

“We do not share empty words when we wed our couples,” Taehyung said, looking at you, “Words are easy to say and easier to forget, thus, what unites us resides in our blood.”

A ghost blade cut through the tender skin of your left hand and you yelped in pain and surprise, refocusing your gaze on Ashmedai, right across from you.

His face was relaxed as blood, looking pretty much like yours except darker, leaked out of the cut on his hand, pooling down on the ground between you and tinting the cloth tied around your hands a vivid red.

“Until a single drop of blood resides within your bodies you shall remain husband and wife.”

There were cheers roaring all around you and your head was spinning with the spectrum of different emotions running through your heart and mind.

“Are you ok, love?”

You looked at your husband, wrapping the cloth against your wounded hand and you struggled to find an answer to that question.

“I...” you furrowed your brows because you could feel a sense of excitement building up within you, a feeling of happiness amongst the dread, the grief, the fear, “I don’t know.” You confessed, voice as small as you felt right at that moment.

It was a lot, maybe even too much, and definitely, plenty to deal with all at once.

The fatigue of the night and the sacrifice, the fear that had clutched your heart for days, the travel from the Earth to the deep pits of Hell, they all came crushing on you all of a sudden and even though your eyes were open the entire time, the rest of the evening and the party remained to be just hazed moments you would barely remember in the morning.

Laughter and music rang in your ears as you crossed the infinite-looking hallways with your husband leading the way, his hand tightly grasping your own. The contact had become already familiar after the many hours spent holding him that way and you had found out it was a great comfort for your shaken state. Despite the welcoming party and the kindness of those that were supposed to be demons, you were still overwhelmed by it all and, honestly, it felt all like a dream you were bound to wake up from and face the much crueler reality.

When he stopped in front of a door made out of obsidian you felt your insides clench. Yes, the touch of his hand around your own had been comforting but dread was quick to find its way in your stomach when you were forced to face the fact that it was your first night together as husband and wife and that could only result into one outcome.

He opened the door for you and led you in, closing your only way out immediately after you had stepped into the spacious ambient. It was honestly beautiful: the walls looked as black and sleek as the door had but there were many candles lit throughout the whole room, engulfing everything into a dim warm light. There was one of those hellish fire erupting at the far corner of the room, right next to the giant granite bed to keep you warm even in the coldest nights — well, as cold as hell could get, at least.

“Do you like it?” Your husband chimed in, his hot breath brushing through the hair falling on your shoulders.

“It’s lovely, my Lord.” It truly was but you could not enjoy it at its fullest when thoughts of a very different nature were dancing inside your mind.

“You know, demons do not really care for titles,” he said, moving past you and motioning you to follow suit, “You can really stop calling me Lord.”

Those words reminded you of how his brothers had introduced themselves with name foreign to you and far different from those written in the books.

“Can I ask you a question, my Lo-?” he pressed a finger atop your lips before you could speak another word and you smiled at the playful gesture, trying to hide the rampant beating of your heart, scared he could actually hear it when standing so close to you.

“Of course you can, everything you want to know.”

“I was wondering... do you like to be called Ashmedai? Or do you have another name like your brothers do?”

He smiled endearingly at your question and it was the first time you noticed a set of dimples on his cheeks, a detail that provided a touch of cuteness to his features, rendering him even less demonic-looking to your eyes.

“I don’t mind the name humans have chosen for me, no,” he said with a little shrug, “But here, everyone calls me Hoseok.”

“Hoseok,” you repeated tentatively, liking the way his name sounded on your lips.

“You like that?” He asked, chuckling as you kept whispering his name to adjust to the sound of it and not make the mistake of calling him Lord again.

“I think it suits you,” you confessed, staring straight into his hazelnut eyes.

He took your chin into two of his fingers, forcing you closer to his face and you closed your eyes, your body rigid as you waited for the kiss. A kiss that never came.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

You opened your eyes, gulping down your nervousness as he studied your expression.

“You have been on edge ever since I opened that door,” he stated. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact and you couldn’t deny it in the slightest, “So tell me, what is your greatest fear?”

You opened your mouth only to close it immediately after, incapable of finding the right answer to his question. Not because you didn’t know, but because you didn’t want to anger him, not now, possibly not ever. Despite his appearance and his manners, he was still a demon that demanded a sacrifice for himself every few years and you certainly weren’t the first woman he married just as you wouldn’t be the last one he’d watch die.

“Is it me?” He asked, quirking a brow up and you shook your head no instantaneously.

“I’m not scared of you,” you offered with all the sincerity you could muster and his eyes reduced to little slits, staring right through you to discover all your inner secrets.

“I do not like lies, ______,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

A shiver ran down your spine and you gulped down heavily, “I-I have something to confess and I don’t know how you will react, my L-, I’m sorry, I’m really nervous and-and...”

He shushed you with a touch of his finger on your lips and you inhaled deeply to calm yourself and the quivering of your limbs.

“What is it?”

“I’m... I’m not a virgin.”

It was a secret you thought you’d take to the grave, well, to this grave but it was now out in the open and yes, you were scared because every woman before you had been chaste for a bride should always wait for her husband. But this wasn’t a husband you loved nor wanted so when a boy back home had captured your heart, you had taken the chance to feel at least like you could choose something in your life. And you had chosen to concede yourself to him.

“Is that why you’re trembling like a leaf?” He asked, tilting your head upwards so he could study you further, “Because you’re scared I’d reject you or, worse, kill you?”

It scared you that he could read you so easily while you had no idea what to expect from him but a part of you was relieved because in his words, you couldn’t hear the slightest hint of disappointment.

“It is...”

The storm that had spread inside his eyes and on his features dissipated as soon as you spoke, subdued with a far warmer look and a playful chuckle.

“Oh, sweet, sweet ______,” he shook his head releasing your grip and you sighed as he took a step away from you, “I’m a demon and I had hundreds of wives and even more lovers, I do not care about such trivial things as chastity. You know lust is what I’m made of.”

He took a few steps closer to you, just enough to sneak one of his arms behind your back and attract you forward until your chest was pressed against his own.

“I may look human but I am not, the rules of your world do not apply to me,” he nudged your nose with his own and you held your breath, “I will confess you something,” he wet his lips, closing the distance between your faces enough for his breath to hit your skin, “The fact that you are no longer a virgin excites me all the more,” you could feel his lips gracing your own and you struggled to keep your eyes open, surprised to find your body aching for the contact of his mouth atop your own, “It means I don’t need to be gentle at all.”

His kiss was hot and passionate, all teeth and tongue prying past your lips to seek your own and it was so different from the kisses you had shared with that boy back home. It had been sweet that day, a little awkward but still quite enjoyable but that, that was something else.

He pulled your body closer until you could barely breathe within his arms and the way he kissed you was relentless and desperate as if were a man stranded in a desert with no water and you were the oasis allowing him to quench his thirst.

You sighed and whimpered inside his mouth and the little sounds you emitted seemed to propel his passion forward until you were both panting in need of oxygen.

“Fuck, I didn’t desire a human girl this much in such a long time,” he hoarsely said, more to himself than to you, surely, but it still made your insides clench pleasantly for his desire was the fuel to your own.

His hands once gentle around your frame turned rough and needy as they pulled at every corner possible of your dress until they were tearing it apart, leaving you undressed and bashful before his eyes.

The hazelnut irises you had come to know in the past few hours disappeared into two pits as black as coal as he took you and your nudity in.

He licked his lips like a feline ready to jump on its prey and you trembled under his scrutiny and, truthfully, even you couldn’t decide if it was dread for the duty you were out to play as his wife that you felt or if it was excitement and desire for his far more intimate touch.

“______,” he called out your name, lifting his gaze to meet your own and you felt every muscle in your body still, waiting for his next words, “I may be a demon but I have no desire to force my way on you so this is your chance: if you want me to leave right now say the words and I will be gone. But if you want me to stay...” he trailed off, his voice lowering a few octaves as his mind went adrift to all the things he wanted to do to you and those things, you wanted to discover and try them all.

Desire was something you had experienced very little in your life. Yearning was what you were used to but this fire, this urge, was something foreign that you didn’t know how to handle nor quench and your husband, as deviant as it may have sound, was providing you with a solution you weren’t ready to pass out on.

With a surge of boldness, you walked out of the shreds of your dress, taking a step closer to your lover as to make a point while staring deeply into his eyes.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper for despite the burning desire you could still feel timidity seeping through the cracks of this current bolder mask you were wearing.

There was a shift on Hoseok’s features and where once resided a gentle and playful smile, now there was a devilish smirk but one you weren’t afraid of. Instead, your insides clenched and it felt like bliss and you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together for a bit of friction where you seemed to need it the most.

He growled at the sight of you and his hands found their way back to your naked body, pressing his digits on the supple flesh in a way you were sure was bound to leave markings there but, surprisingly, you didn’t mind that in the slightest.

He lifted you up like you weighed nothing and unceremoniously dropped you on the bed, ready to claim your body as his after he had already claimed your soul during the wedding ritual.

He towered above you and you gulped down expectantly as he discarded his own clothes as quickly as he possibly could.

His body was lean and slender and where you had imagined to find only supple flesh to touch and kiss, he had muscles not overwhelmingly buffed but still sculpted like a Greek statue.

Your gaze traveled down from his toned chest to the defined stomach and then they fixed upon the greatest discovery of the night. Hoseok, despite his appearance, carried quite the gift between his legs. Surely, you didn’t have much of an experience having been the lover of only a single boy but you could still recognize how impressive his member looked now that it was fully erected and tinted a shade of angry red.

You gulped down heavily and he smirked at you, tilting his head to the side as he slowly stroked himself with the only goal to tease you in his mind.

“Do you like what you see, doll?” He asked, voice raspy with the neediness his hand on his shaft betrayed and you hummed in response whilst opening your legs wider for him, offering him your sex on a silver plate.

He growled at the sight of you naked, unharmed and so willing to concede yourself to him and almost as if possessed, he fell on his knees and aligned his face to your pulsating core.

You could feel the excitement building inside of you just with the soft touch of his hot breath against your feverish skin and as he purposely blew out air atop your sex, you were also made aware of how wet just the sight of him had made you.

He lifted his gaze from between your legs up to your face and locked yours onto his eyes as his lips stretched into a dirty smile.

“I’m going to make you feel really good, doll.” You couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise by the low growl he emitted alongside those words but as you watched his tongue move past his lips you were pretty sure he meant for it to be the latter.

Hoseok had appeared to be human at first sight but you had been quick to notice that where the eyes couldn’t land in normal circumstances, he was far from it in all the best ways.

His tongue didn’t look human in the slightest but far more serpentine and definitely far longer than any other tongue you had ever seen.

You clenched on thin air at the sight of his wet muscle ready to bring you pleasure and it was a thought you had never indulged in but, now that you were presented with the opportunity to feel a mouth atop your swollen lips, you could hardly contain the excitement.

His hands came to rest around your hips, keeping you firmly pressed onto the bed as he directed his full attention at the treasure held between your legs.

The first lick of his tongue around your folds made you whimper at the foreign sensation, the second made you sigh and discover that you liked it and you wanted more of that. So much more.

His licks were closer to little tentative laps and you were sure he was just teasing you, trying to discover where your limit was so he could make you reach it before giving you the blessing feeling you so desperately craved for.

You whined impatiently and felt his lips stretch into a smile on your sex before his tongue withdrew from it, making you shiver at the sudden loss of its touch.

“Are you that eager for me to fuck you, doll?”

Swearing and talking dirty weren’t a thing you were used to for it wasn’t considered proper for a young woman like you to indulge in such activities but Hoseok had made this point very clear: human rules and laws did not apply in Hell.

“Yes, please,” you whimpered, trying to rock your hips forward to meet his tongue again, “I want you to fuck me so hard I can barely walk tomorrow.”

Your words were lewd and you were going to feel ashamed for them in the morning, once your desire was quenched and all that remained was sobriety and memories of the night but they did work wonders on him.

He emitted an animalistic growl and he kissed your folds with new-found fervor, sucking on the little mound above your slit. The feeling sent a bolt of electricity running through your body and you closed your eyes, arching your back towards the ceiling.

His tongue lapped at your core fervently, gathering all your juices on its surface, the taste of you making him hum in contentment.

“You have the sweetest cunt I ever tasted,” he rasped out and you moaned at the feeling of your insides clenching blissfully at his words.

If you thought his tongue felt amazing on your folds, you certainly weren’t prepared for the storm of pleasure that hit you the moment he moved past your slit and lapped at your inner walls.

That serpentine tongue seemed to extend to no end, conquering every inch of you he could possibly access and even those remote corners that were never stroked before in your entire lifetime.

His tongue seemed to share the length and the girth of a cock inside of you but being soft and pliable allowed him to adjust it inside of you with the slightest amount of effort. It felt like being sent to Heaven and you were whimpering out his name in a matter of seconds.

When your back arched to the ceiling and your ass lifted from the bed he held you in that position with his strong arms, relishing in the better access you were providing him with.

He hummed on top of your skin, his parted lips closing just enough for him to suck on your mound and the sensation of his tongue inside of you intensified as your walls clenched around him. He was driving you absolutely insane and all you could do was quiver under his ministrations and beg for more.

The squelching sounds of your dripping sex only added fuel to the fire and you were soon rendered incapable of uttering a single word.

Your heaving breaths guided him to your pleasure spot and once he hit the little bundle of nerves deep within you, you crumbled and succumbed to the immense pleasure.

You thought you had felt that before, that little snapping feeling that signified the release you had been craving for but what you were feeling in that moment was something you had never felt before. It was a bliss you had never known and you barely registered the fact that he was still lapping inside of you as you came all over his face and tongue with a load of squirt you hadn’t even thought possible to come out of someone’s body.

“Shit that was hot,” his raspy voice came to you muffled as if you had cotton in your ears and it took a lot of effort for you to open the eyes you didn’t realize you had close at some point.

He was staring at you, mouth dripping with your juices and you whimpered at the sight of his disheveled hair and bright red cheeks.

“What...” Words were stuck in your dry as sand mouth and you had to wet them profusely before you could try to speak again, “What just happened?”

He chuckled at you, shaking his head as he started caressing your cheek in that loving way that made your heart squeeze.

“That, my dear, was the pleasure I promised I’d give to you.”

“I want more,” you quickly retorted before shutting your mouth to bite your bottom lip in shame. When had you become so needy and desperate for someone’s touch?

“Feisty girl,” he muttered to himself whilst adjusting his position on top of you so that your chests could touch and he could claim your mouth anew.

His lips were incredibly soft and hot against yours and you could taste your own juices in his mouth and that seemed to only amplify your desire to feel pleasure and bring it to him in return.

His hands had turned gentle again and they were caressing the sides of your body, descending to your hips and then upwards to cup your breasts and make you sigh into the kiss.

All these little touches and the passionate kisses seemed to add fuel to the already raging fire residing in your belly and you found yourself tugging on his hair, bringing him closer so you could rock your hips into his own, lodged between your legs.

You could feel his erection pressing on your stomach and he hissed at the first movement of your hips and the little friction that movement provided.

“Do you want to drive me insane, love?” He asked on your mouth, panting as you kept rocking against him, “I’m trying to make sure you’re well prepared for my cock, you little vixen.”

“I want to feel you inside of me,” you replied, brushing your nose against his own as your hand traveled south between your bodies so you could feel his erection between your fingers.

His breath staggered as you brushed his leaking head with your thumb and you took that as a sign you could go further with your touch.

Your hand enveloped his hard cock and you gave him a tentative stroke, rejoicing in the way he hissed and sighed for you.

“I want you to feel pleasure, too.” You added, your actions rendered bolder by all of his little sounds.

You kissed his lips, initiating contact for the first time and he let you take control over it, adjusting to your pace and opening his mouth as soon as you asked for entrance with the tip of your tongue.

“Shiiiit,” he hissed on your mouth as your hand gave his cock two fast pumps and you smirked in return, relishing in all the little whines that erupted from his mouth.

“Hell, I’m fucking you right now,” he bit your bottom lip as he spoke those words and you let go of his member, spreading your legs enough for him to align to your still dripping core.

He coated his cock with your juices, teasing your clitoris with his head until you were whining loudly, desperate to feel him sheathed deep inside of you.

You sighed as he moved past your folds, slowly pushing himself forward an inch at a time. You wanted it to feel heavenly but he hadn’t been lying when he had said he had to make sure you were fully prepared for him.

Your walls were stretching and contracting madly around him, trying to adjust to the impressive girth of his length.

He whispered little encouragements every time he pushed himself further inside of you, his gaze locked on your eyes to reassure you that soon, it would feel as good as you had imagined it to be.

Feeling him like this inside of you, despite the slight discomfort, felt like magic in itself already and the way he was looking at you, with such a care in his eyes, were enough to wood the fire within your heart and stomach.

The tip of his cock brushed against the battered center of your sex and you sighed at the sensation, your walls stretching completely to welcome him inside of you.

You had never felt as full and complete as you felt in that moment and you realized that the pull you had been feeling the entire night had finally subsided. Your souls were one again and the notion made you whimper in contentment.

“You’re doing so well, doll,” he said whilst pushing the last inches of his length inside of you before withdrawing his hips, making you whine at the feeling of loss between your legs.

He pushed himself inside of you again, dragging the movement to make it as soft and slow as he possibly could but it was still enough for the pleasure to spark back up within you.

“P-please, faster,” you whimpered, rocking your hips forward to meet his pace.

He kissed your lips to gulp down your sighs as he pushed himself in and out of you a little rougher but still frustratingly slow.

The drag of his cock and the stretching of your walls felt like a bliss not even his tongue could provide you with and even with the soft waves of his hips on your own, the excitement build up quickly within you.

“Ah, yes, please-please don’t stop,” your voice sounded strained and whiny to your ears but it seemed like the right kind of response he relished in for he started rocking his hips faster, seeking out his pleasure alongside with your own.

“Ugh, you’re so big, Hoseok,” you choked out, your fingers tight into fists on the bed’s covers, “Ah! Yes, yes, just like that, fuck, Hoseok!”

He grunted and leaned forward to trap your bottom lip between his teeth and you hissed at both the pain and the pleasure of the act. The supple flesh of your mouth felt swollen and battered but it didn’t stop you from returning the ferocity of his searing kisses.

“I love the sound of my name on your lips,” he confessed before biting down your neck as he intensified the rhythm between your legs.

“Oh yeah?” You whimpered out, tilting your head backward to grant him an easier access to the soft skin he so loved to torture, “Make me come and you’ll hear more of that.”

You could barely recognize your own voice as you spoke those lewd words but it felt liberating being free like this, with no walls or masks but just you. This sacrifice wasn’t a sacrifice at all, it was a blessing, a free ticket out of a prison.

You yelped as Hoseok forcefully grasped your hips and switched your positions, letting you take control over your own pleasure.

“Fuck me, then, doll,” he said, relaxing against the mattress, “Show me all you’ve got.”

He needn’t say another word before you were rotating your hips on top of his, searching for that blissful spot within you that could make you crumble into pieces in just a couple of minutes.

His abdomen was contracting madly beneath you, the pace you set for yourselves taking its toll on him and you recognize in him the hints of an upcoming orgasm.

You raised your hips slightly and sank back into him, clenching your walls around his length until he hissed at the sensation.

His hands found the small of your breasts, cupping them as you bounced on his legs, feeling his balls hit your ass with every new stroke of your hips against his.

His fingers pinched your nipples and you moaned loudly, tilting your head backward at the wave of electricity that sparked within you.

Your eyes were closed in bliss as you kept fucking him like this so you didn’t see his mouth open nor his tongue move past his lips until the wet muscle was pressed against your mound, licking and pressing down on the little bundle of nerves atop your sex.

“Oh, fffuck!”

You pried your eyes open and the sight of him, so completely focused on your pleasure he was discarding his own just to see your face contort and watch your mouth shape out the sound of his name, was all it took for the pleasure to snap again within you, making you come in spurts of arousal that pooled down on his abdomen and between your legs.

As you struggled to keep your balance while the high washed over you, he kept you steady on his cock by grasping your hips and resuming his own pace within you.

The over-stimulation was sending tears to your eyes and it was too much, to the point it almost hurt until even that disappeared, subdued by new pleasure.

“Ugh, you’re so fucking tight, doll, I’m going to fucking burst,” he said, breath ragged with the effort to keep himself going despite the excitement building within him.

“Uh, yes?” You wheezed out, sweat dripping from your forehead down your neck, “Are you going to fill my pussy with your cum?”

He moaned loudly at your words and you shivered at the deep sound, almost feeling it reverberating within your rib cage and before you could even process it, you were coming all over again but, this time, he came alongside with you.

You could feel his release within you, mixing with all your juices, making a mess of both your bodies and the covers of the bed.

“Fuck that, I want more,” he groaned beneath you before pushing you off of his body to turn you over and drag you at the edge of the bed.

Your feet touched the ground and he forced your legs open, humming at the sight of your dripping core.

You rested your temple on the bed, your eyes focused behind your back as you watched him align himself to push his still quite erected cock inside of you.

The lewd sound of your squelching pussy filled up the room and you contracted your walls around him, sighing with the relief of feeling him so deep inside of you again.

He rotated his hips and hit your core with such a force you were pushed forward and had to grasp the covers to not lose your balance and fall on your knees.

He had been gentle and slow at first but now, now he was ready to give you what you had wanted all along.

His strokes were fierce in and out of you and as you started mewling for him he picked up his pace until he was pounding inside of you, balls slapping your ass with every move of his hips.

“Does it feel good, doll?”

“Yes, ugh, so fucking good,” you whimpered out and he grabbed your hair, pulling your head back to look inside your eyes.

“Ha-harder,” you groaned and he happily complied, angling himself to reach that spot he had already mapped out multiple times that night.

Your eyes turned white as the head of his cock hit his target and he dragged you on your feet, anchoring one of his arms around yours to keep you nicely arched for him, allowing him to fuck and bruise your sex further.

His free hand came to rest around your neck, slightly pressing over to your throat, cutting off the oxygen income for your lungs.

You could feel the blood rush to your head with every new stroke of his cock and the need for air, the sensations rendering all thoughts inconsequential. All there was to feel was the burning pleasure and the way he hissed and moaned into your ears.

Your body seemed to have turned into clay under his touch, ready to be molded into what he preferred and it was when your legs started to gave out that he let go of your neck, allowing you to breathe in the much-needed air so he could focus his sole attention to the fast rhythm between your trembling legs.

“A-are you, ah, going to fill me up again?” You panted out, voice hoarse with the effort to keep yourself standing.

“Yes, I’m going to cream your pretty little pussy.”

You whimpered at his words, clenching around him at the thought of hearing him scream your name out loud.

“Do you like that, uh? Me filling you up to the brim,” he hissed at the way your walls contracted around him at his words, “Do you like to be my little cum bucket, uh?!”

“Yes, ugh, Hoseok,” you moaned out his name knowing well what effect it had on him and as you struggled to keep your legs standing, he came inside of you again, groaning out your name.

You could feel his cock twitching within you, releasing a load of cum you weren’t sure you were able to take for it kept coming and coming and coming until you felt as full as you possibly could and it was then that you came too, making a mess all over the floor.

As he let go of your still quivering body, you collapsed above the bed, your eyes already closing with the fatigue of the entire day.

As you stayed like that, half asleep between the dirty covers, he engulfed you into a hug, struggling to catch his breath.

As you came down from your high, you slightly tilted your head to the side to look into his eyes, a sudden curiosity stirred up inside of you.

“I was wondering...If you have a father... does that mean you can have kids?”

“Why? Do you want some?” He asked, his voice unusually colorless.

“I mean... If we can, yes, I’d love that...” you pouted slightly, surprising even yourself with the sudden urge to be a mother but maybe you never had it before because you knew your life would be over before you had the chance. But now, maybe, you did have the chance to dream about it, to desire it.

“Especially if it feels so good trying to make them.” You added, chuckling at your own words.

“______, you really are full of surprises,” he said, his brows furrowed, “You weren’t scared of any of the demons you met and now you even want to make some of your own...” He trailed off, tenderly caressing your face, “If you keep being like this I may actually fall in love with you.”

His words made your heart skip a beat and you opened your mouth only to stupidly close it again a few moments later, unable to find the right words to follow up his statement.

“We can have kids if you want,” he added, his voice soft as he pondered a possibility that probably never occurred to him either before this very night.

You had hummed against his chest and with that happy thought, you fell asleep inside the demon’s arms.

October 31st, 1938

A smile stretched on your lips as you looked up at the ceiling of your bedroom, a sudden memory creeping its way back up into your consciousness.

“What has you smiling so brightly?” Your lover asked beside you, hugging you closer to his naked chest.

“I was just thinking about our first night together.”

He chuckled and fixed his gaze upon you, “Something you’d change about it?”

“Absolutely not, it was perfect,” you smiled warmly at him before placing a soft peck against his lips, “You were perfect.”

“Were?” He asked, jokingly arching one of his brows to feign bewilderment.

“You are,” you said, rolling your eyes at his antics.

Fifty years had passed since that day and many things had changed. Well, first you had learned that humans do not get old quite as fast as they do in the human world and that allowed you to not only stay longer by your husband’s side but also to meet the daughters and the grand-daughters fruit of your lost sisters and brothers.

Then, you had learned that love could happen even in the most strange and unfathomable places because it had come to you, with the force of a hurricane when you least expected it to happen.

After a while, you had also learned that demon kids could still be quite endearing, despite being mildly dangerous with their overflowing powers and that you quite loved being a mother, even if it meant generating creatures that would torment the human world for years to come.

And then, you had learned that despite time ticking by more slowly in Hell, it still kept ticking for you while your husband remained the same. And the more time ticked by the more you could feel the coming of a new wife in his life nearing.

With that thought you sighed, resting your head above his chest to look back up at the ceiling. There, graved within the rocks, were the shining names of all the wives that came before you.

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asked, aware of the sudden shift in your mood.

“Nothing,” you hummed, refocusing your gaze on him, “I was just wondering... will my name be written up there too when I die?”

Your husband stared at you, mouth in a thin line as he let your words sink in. His gaze shifted from your face down to your intertwined legs and he sighed.

“Yes, when the time comes.”

You could see the subject pained him but it was still important for you to address your next few questions because something inside of you told you it was either then or never.

“I don’t want to be here when you wed again,” you confessed, jutting your bottom lip out into a pensive pout, “I want to die knowing I was the one.”

“_____, you are the one and we both know nobody after you will ever be a substitute. Nobody is like you.”

You felt his body tense underneath you and you stroked his chest, drawing figures eight on the warm skin to try and soothe him.

“You know what I mean, I don’t want to be old and wrinkly while you’re still young and sharing your bed with a woman that isn’t me.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” He asked, his voice dangerously low, betraying how affected he was by your words.

“Because the time is near and you know it too.”

“No, it’s not!” He pushed you off of him and you stared at him, dumbfounded, “Stop talking like you’re going to die tomorrow, we still have many years ahead of us.”

He left the bed and walked to the door completely unfazed by the fact that he was stark naked.

“I’m done talking about this.”

He left you alone in the room and you sighed heavily.

You knew the time had been near, you could feel it, but you had no idea the time was so close it was basically breathing atop your shoulders. You had no idea because he had never told you but everything about his words did that day.

The dream was over and not even your I-love-yous were able to stop his tears as he held you close to his heart, his hands wet with your blood as you breathed out your last breath.

At last, you had learned that no human is ever allowed to live as a bride of a demon for more than fifty years.

Copyright © 2018 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved. 

#btssmutclub #bangtanwriters-net #bangtan bookclub #kwriterskollection #hoseoknet #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #hoseok imagine #bts imagine #hoseok scenario #bts scenario

[obciidian-archived]

❛ you broke my trust which is worse than breaking my heart. ❜ ( hurt me pls )

source   :   closed   :  @floires​ 

      how  beautiful  is  it  to  find  a  heart  that  yearns  for  naught  other  than  your  well  being.  a  pair  of  arms  that  grasp  onto  an  impaired  man  and  mend  him  whole  so  seamlessly,  he  is  born  anew  with  benediction  and  beatitude  –  the  world  is  colored  once  more  and  the  weeping  canopies  cease  their  lamenting  and  clear  room  for  the  sun.  as  he’s  candidly  avowed  many  times  before  ;  she  is  his  sun  and  he,  merely  a  barren  star  orbiting  around  her.  a  terebinth,  his  statue  to  supplicate  to  and  sacrifice  a  piece  of  his  heart  now  melted  in  front  of  his  like  wax  and  in  this  scalding  sensation  he  is  ablaze  ;  skin  seething  with  incineration,  he  is  cauterized  to  the  bone  by  the  gelid  wind  that  her  words  proffer.  by  that  frigidness  that  wraps  around  him  alike  an  icy  blanket,  his  heart  drops  to  the  ground  and  disintegrates  and  oh,  the  ache.  the  ache  is  so  monumental  that  when  he  glances  at  her  his  throat  becomes  parched  like  a  dessert.  no  tears  can  redeem  him  from  the  sins  he  has  committed  and  yet,  they  cannot  be  halted  as  well.  oceans  of  sorrow  descend  of  his  brown  eyes,  sparkling  with  despondency  and  contriteness  –  alas,  such  ruefulness  no  matter  how  patent  cannot  engender  clemency  within  her  incapacitated  thorax.  

      ❛    my  love,  i–  i  didn’t  mean  to….  ❜  

      flora.  she,  a  soul  of  exaltation  that  even  the  lords  above  have  yet  to  attest  with  their  devout  observation  –  silken  intentions  and  silver  linings…  she’s  never  capitulated  to  the  indignation  and  revulsion  this  world  is  flooded  by,  only  magnanimity  filled  her  to  the  brim.  a  woman  so  fictitious  by  such  philanthropy,  that  no  verbosites  could  ever  substantiate  to  her  splendor  even  if  the  utmost  talented  poets  had  endeavored  to.  a  blissful  embrace  in  the  midst  of  the  storm,  he  was  born  a  stripling  of  now  only  joviality  and  altruism.  flora,  all  he  ever  did  was  for  her  sake  alone.  slanders,  lies  !  –  do  not  confide  in  these  contemptible  woes  that  the  demons  in  your  mind  tale  tell  you  of  –  entomb  them  deep  in  the  oceans  of  love  you’ve  accumulated  for  this  young  man.  oh,  woe  to  him  !  how  dare  he  repudiate  all  that  she’s  uttered  when  he  acquires  so  well  of  the  scars  and  holes  in  her  heart.  he’s  poured  his  soul  into  hers,  even  at  the  cost  of  encountering  his  demise  much  sooner  than  appointed,  all  for  her  sake.

      ❛    all  i  ever  did  was  out  of  my  desire  to  protect  you.  that’s  all  i  ever  wanted,  flora.  i  was  trying  to  protect  you  from  all  this…  evil  around  us–  i  was  trying  to  keep  you  happy,  and  i…  gosh,  flora…  i  didn’t  mean  to.  ❜      it  must  be  so  lovely  to  have  a  heart  all  for  your  own  taking  –  he’s  gifted  it  to  her  with  zilch  apprehension,  no  second  contemplation.  he  was  hers  as  she  was  his.  no  one  would  have  sufficient  vigor  nor  valor  to  subjugate  such  love…  and  now  ?  he  is  petrified  it  is  curtailed  entirely.  now  this  love  is  enfolded  deep  in  the  forest  and  the  crows  hover  above,  cooing  baleful  as  they  await  to  ravenously  gnaw  at  the  flesh.  

        if  only  could  he  taste  the  sweetness  of  her  overrefined  tiers  once  again  –  unblemished  simper  of  a  goddess  walking  upon  earth  and  gracing  his  otiose  ubiety.  but  as  he  draws  close  so  does  the  interval  amidst  them  is  amplified,  and  her  hands  no  longer  can  be  held  warmly  within  his.  even  as  he  bewails  under  the  rose  (  while  venturing  onerously  )  to  desist  the  tears,  he  suffocates  on  his  own  mackles.  he  is  only  a  man,  a  boy…  unavailing,  redundant…  all  he  ever  did  was  for  her  love  and  her  love  only.  all  he  ever  did,  all  the  mistakes…  his  heart  was  hers.  it  shall  always  be.  rip  it  out  of  his  thorax  and  manducate  it  raw  –  as  long  as  it  engenders  gratification  to  his  precious.  

      ❛    forgive  me,  please.  i  never  meant  to  hurt  you…  i  just  wanted  to  protect  you.  all  these  lies  were  just  to  keep  you  safe…  you  know  i  love  you  and  i’d  never–  god,  i’d  never  betray  you–  i–i…  i  love  you.    ❜  

      yet,  he  is  trampled.  these  gaffes  cannot  be  condoned,  can  they  ?  her  trust  is  invaluable  and  he  –  with  all  the  impertinence  a  man  can  possess  –  has  splintered  it.  he  implores  her  to  pardon  but,  apprehends  that  he’s  far  too  deep  in  the  grave  he’s  dug  for  himself  to  be  able  and  get  her  hand  to  yank  him  out  of  this  colossal  maleficence.  he  can  only  observe,  can  only  remain  in  quietude  if  she  opts  to  forsake  him.  and  the  forlorn  sensation  creeping  within  betwixt  his  lungs  throttles  him,  it  shall  be  his  novel  companion,  he  dreads.  

      ❛    please…  i  love  you…    ❜  

#❪ askbox. ❫ #❪ prompts. ❫ #❪ onm. ❫ interactions. #flora tag tbd. #floires #i think i broke my heart #i need a moment

[vibrantstillness]

Prompt#19: Gelid

Snow. Michishio had never seen snow before, and had trouble picturing it when it had been described to her. She'd imagined it as white sand or falling shells, drifting lazily through clear waters. It wasn't entirely inaccurate, but somehow missed the stately, serene effect of the fat flakes drifting down from leaden skies. The snowfall was light enough that it hadn't begun to stick yet, the flakes melting almost as soon as they lighted on the rough cobbles of the Ishgardian plaza through which she tread. Even so, it was cold enough to be less than comfortable. She pulled her new coat tighter around herself and hurried her pace a little, catching up with the cloaked back of the man she'd followed here and still trailed behind like a loyal pet.

The thought suddenly struck her as darkly amusing. She was a bit like a pet, wasn't she. Following this man around, doing as she was bidden. The fact didn't bother her so much as whose pet she was - she'd come to Eorzea expecting some grandly gallant young lord, and found... him. A scruffy gate guard at the adventurer's outpost known as Revenant's Toll. Or Rebenantsu Toru as her accent rendered it, to his endless amusement. She couldn't help but feel a bit stung at the perceived mockery; she'd been in Eorzea scant moons and found it a point of pride she'd been able to be understood at all, however far her language skills had to go. She mentally paused, reviewed the thought, and decided petulant anger served no purpose. She'd improve. She had little choice but to do so. Resentment would only make things more difficult for both of them.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a tiny nag of... disappointment. Here was the son of the great Willard Alder, the grand ijin adventurer whose laugh filled the room in the way his short stature never quite managed, the swordsman who'd invented his own school of bladework and named it the Drunken Bastard Style in mockery of Hingashi's rigid formalized techniques. The stories he'd brought always skirted the edge of belief, tales of wild chases through tiger-infested Doman forests, contests of strength with the strange dark-horned inhabitants of the Azim Steppe, and fond recollections of his wife and son at home half the world away, to whom he stayed steadfastly faithful despite the many smiles and friendly glances of the local ladies. He'd been nearly an uncle to Michishio, and a fast friend to her father. She and her brother had always looked forward to the larger-than-life man's visits, his gifts from faraway places, and his tales both rousing and bizarre. She'd wondered what kind of man his son must be, to have a father so boldly heroic.

His son needed a haircut. He could also stand to shave more often. Michishio suppressed a sigh as she looked at the back of his head. She'd volunteered for this, and she hadn't resigned herself to despair just yet. Willard's son was... rough, it was true, but he was at the least kind and considerate... if mischievously crude into the bargain. The resemblance was unmistakable. And yet, for all the grandness of his sire, she'd found him watching the gates in the middle of nowhere, taking adventurer's leves to while away the boredom and raise enough coin for an extra tankard of ale. Was this all the ambition the man had? Was he so content with mediocrity?

Michishio was not. It had taken the better part of a moon to get the idea he was capable of much more than gate-watching into his head, but once the spark had struck it kindled far faster than she had prepared for. They'd go to Ishgard, he'd decided, to slay a dragon. She had no idea what mental path he'd traced from gate guard to aspiring dragonslayer, nor how his first step into making more of himself involved contending with an entire knighthood dedicated specifically to acquiring that honor. He was unquestionably Willard's son; audacious madness ran true in his line. She only hoped he was his father's equal.

She jammed her mittened hands into her pockets, fur-lined boots clattering faintly against the uneven stone. The base of her horns had begun to ache a little where the cold had begun to seep in, but the shopkeep had given them both a look of incredulous disdain when her companion had asked if he had horn warmers. She'd considered telling him that her horns didn't get cold but in the end concluded it wasn't worth explaining, especially not under the frown of the Elezen merchant.

Most of the looks she got here, she’d noticed, were... mildly put, disapproving. She'd thought at first they simply didn't care for foreigners since both members of their little pair attracted the occasional frown, but after a few bells she'd begun to notice the looks directed at her were considerably colder. Perhaps they'd never seen a woman with horns before? It was strange to think she'd come to a land populated exclusively by people with ears. Ears were a rarity where she'd come from.

Two ladies dressed in flowing dresses and fancy coats trimmed in furs trailed off mid-conversation to turn looks of veiled hostility at her, prompting the shivering Raen to edge a little closer to the cloaked figure forging the path ahead. She wasn't used to being looked at this way. Catching the hasty scuff of her boots, he looked back with concern rising to his sun-browned face. A kindly gaze was a panacea for which, in that frozen moment, she was infinitely grateful.

"Hoi, Mitch. You doin' alright back there?"

"Yes, ser Alder. Forgiv me." She hesitated. "Would it be t’roubling wer I to walk clouser?"

"Ha! Walk wherever ye want, lass. Don't need my permission for that."

He beckoned her to his side, never once breaking stride. Well, she thought. He was an unkempt lazy fool, but he was kind and he rose to challenges with an astonishing ardor. She'd follow him, Michisho decided. She wanted to see where his path led.

#FFxivWrite2018 #Michishio Sakanoue #Garren Alder #FFXIV RP #Mateus

[letsdivedeep]

Middle Passage

BY ROBERT HAYDEN

Jesús, Estrella, Esperanza, Mercy:       Sails flashing to the wind like weapons,       sharks following the moans the fever and the dying;         horror the corposant and compass rose. Middle Passage:               voyage through death                               to life upon these shores.       “10 April 1800—       Blacks rebellious. Crew uneasy. Our linguist says         their moaning is a prayer for death,       ours and their own. Some try to starve themselves.         Lost three this morning leaped with crazy laughter         to the waiting sharks, sang as they went under.” Desire, Adventure, Tartar, Ann:       Standing to America, bringing home         black gold, black ivory, black seed.               Deep in the festering hold thy father lies,                 of his bones New England pews are made,                 those are altar lights that were his eyes. Jesus    Saviour    Pilot    Me Over    Life’s    Tempestuous    Sea We pray that Thou wilt grant, O Lord,   safe passage to our vessels bringing   heathen souls unto Thy chastening. Jesus    Saviour       “8 bells. I cannot sleep, for I am sick       with fear, but writing eases fear a little       since still my eyes can see these words take shape         upon the page & so I write, as one       would turn to exorcism. 4 days scudding,       but now the sea is calm again. Misfortune       follows in our wake like sharks (our grinning         tutelary gods). Which one of us       has killed an albatross? A plague among       our blacks—Ophthalmia: blindness—& we         have jettisoned the blind to no avail.       It spreads, the terrifying sickness spreads.       Its claws have scratched sight from the Capt.'s eyes         & there is blindness in the fo’c’sle       & we must sail 3 weeks before we come       to port.”               What port awaits us, Davy Jones’               or home? I’ve heard of slavers drifting, drifting,                 playthings of wind and storm and chance, their crews                 gone blind, the jungle hatred               crawling up on deck. Thou    Who    Walked    On    Galilee       “Deponent further sayeth The Bella J       left the Guinea Coast       with cargo of five hundred blacks and odd         for the barracoons of Florida:       “That there was hardly room ’tween-decks for half         the sweltering cattle stowed spoon-fashion there;         that some went mad of thirst and tore their flesh         and sucked the blood:       “That Crew and Captain lusted with the comeliest         of the savage girls kept naked in the cabins;         that there was one they called The Guinea Rose         and they cast lots and fought to lie with her:       “That when the Bo’s’n piped all hands, the flames         spreading from starboard already were beyond         control, the negroes howling and their chains         entangled with the flames:       “That the burning blacks could not be reached,         that the Crew abandoned ship,       leaving their shrieking negresses behind,       that the Captain perished drunken with the wenches:       “Further Deponent sayeth not.” Pilot    Oh    Pilot    Me       II Aye, lad, and I have seen those factories,   Gambia, Rio Pongo, Calabar; have watched the artful mongos baiting traps   of war wherein the victor and the vanquished Were caught as prizes for our barracoons.   Have seen the nigger kings whose vanity and greed turned wild black hides of Fellatah,   Mandingo, Ibo, Kru to gold for us. And there was one—King Anthracite we named him— fetish face beneath French parasols of brass and orange velvet, impudent mouth whose cups were carven skulls of enemies: He’d honor us with drum and feast and conjo   and palm-oil-glistening wenches deft in love,   and for tin crowns that shone with paste,   red calico and German-silver trinkets Would have the drums talk war and send   his warriors to burn the sleeping villages   and kill the sick and old and lead the young   in coffles to our factories. Twenty years a trader, twenty years, for there was wealth aplenty to be harvested   from those black fields, and I’d be trading still   but for the fevers melting down my bones.       III Shuttles in the rocking loom of history,   the dark ships move, the dark ships move,   their bright ironical names like jests of kindness on a murderer’s mouth;   plough through thrashing glister toward   fata morgana’s lucent melting shore,   weave toward New World littorals that are   mirage and myth and actual shore. Voyage through death, voyage whose chartings are unlove. A charnel stench, effluvium of living death   spreads outward from the hold, where the living and the dead, the horribly dying,   lie interlocked, lie foul with blood and excrement.       Deep in the festering hold thy father lies,         the corpse of mercy rots with him,         rats eat love’s rotten gelid eyes.       But, oh, the living look at you       with human eyes whose suffering accuses you,         whose hatred reaches through the swill of dark         to strike you like a leper’s claw.       You cannot stare that hatred down       or chain the fear that stalks the watches       and breathes on you its fetid scorching breath;         cannot kill the deep immortal human wish,         the timeless will.               “But for the storm that flung up barriers                 of wind and wave, The Amistad, señores,               would have reached the port of Príncipe in two,                 three days at most; but for the storm we should                 have been prepared for what befell.                 Swift as the puma’s leap it came. There was                 that interval of moonless calm filled only                 with the water’s and the rigging’s usual sounds,                 then sudden movement, blows and snarling cries                 and they had fallen on us with machete                 and marlinspike. It was as though the very                 air, the night itself were striking us.                 Exhausted by the rigors of the storm,               we were no match for them. Our men went down                 before the murderous Africans. Our loyal                 Celestino ran from below with gun                 and lantern and I saw, before the cane-               knife’s wounding flash, Cinquez,               that surly brute who calls himself a prince,                 directing, urging on the ghastly work.               He hacked the poor mulatto down, and then                 he turned on me. The decks were slippery               when daylight finally came. It sickens me                 to think of what I saw, of how these apes                 threw overboard the butchered bodies of               our men, true Christians all, like so much jetsam.                 Enough, enough. The rest is quickly told:                 Cinquez was forced to spare the two of us                 you see to steer the ship to Africa,                 and we like phantoms doomed to rove the sea                 voyaged east by day and west by night,                 deceiving them, hoping for rescue,                 prisoners on our own vessel, till                 at length we drifted to the shores of this                 your land, America, where we were freed                 from our unspeakable misery. Now we                 demand, good sirs, the extradition of                 Cinquez and his accomplices to La                 Havana. And it distresses us to know                 there are so many here who seem inclined                 to justify the mutiny of these blacks.                 We find it paradoxical indeed               that you whose wealth, whose tree of liberty                 are rooted in the labor of your slaves               should suffer the august John Quincy Adams                 to speak with so much passion of the right                 of chattel slaves to kill their lawful masters                 and with his Roman rhetoric weave a hero’s                 garland for Cinquez. I tell you that                 we are determined to return to Cuba               with our slaves and there see justice done. Cinquez—               or let us say ‘the Prince’—Cinquez shall die.”       The deep immortal human wish,         the timeless will:               Cinquez its deathless primaveral image,                 life that transfigures many lives.       Voyage through death, to life upon these shores.

[sinfulfolk]

Poem: Middle Passage

Black History Month: February 

Middle Passage

Robert Hayden

  I

Jesús, Estrella, Esperanza, Mercy:

Sails flashing to the wind like weapons, sharks following the moans the fever and the dying; horror the corposant and compass rose.

Middle Passage: voyage through death to life upon these shores.

“10 April 1800— Blacks rebellious. Crew uneasy. Our linguist says their moaning is a prayer for death, ours and their own. Some try to starve themselves. Lost three this morning leaped with crazy laughter to the waiting sharks, sang as they went under.”

Desire, Adventure, Tartar, Ann:

Standing to America, bringing home black gold, black ivory, black seed.

Deep in the festering hold thy father lies,              of his bones New England pews are made,              those are altar lights that were his eyes.

Jesus          Saviour          Pilot          Me Over          Life’s          Tempestuous          Sea

We pray that Thou wilt grant, O Lord, safe passage to our vessels bringing heathen souls unto Thy chastening.

Jesus          Saviour

“8 bells. I cannot sleep, for I am sick with fear, but writing eases fear a little since still my eyes can see these words take shape upon the page & so I write, as one would turn to exorcism. 4 days scudding, but now the sea is calm again. Misfortune follows in our wake like sharks (our grinning tutelary gods). Which one of us has killed an albatross? A plague among our blacks—Ophthalmia: blindness—& we have jettisoned the blind to no avail. It spreads, the terrifying sickness spreads. Its claws have scratched sight from the Capt.‘s eyes & there is blindness in the fo’c’sle & we must sail 3 weeks before we come to port.”

          What port awaits us, Davy Jones’            or home? I’ve heard of slavers drifting, drifting,              playthings of wind and storm and chance, their crews              gone blind, the jungle hatred            crawling up on deck.

Thou          Who          Walked          On          Galilee

“Deponent further sayeth The Bella J left the Guinea Coast with cargo of five hundred blacks and odd for the barracoons of Florida:

“That there was hardly room ’tween-decks for half the sweltering cattle stowed spoon-fashion there; that some went mad of thirst and tore their flesh and sucked the blood:

“That Crew and Captain lusted with the comeliest of the savage girls kept naked in the cabins; that there was one they called The Guinea Rose and they cast lots and fought to lie with her:

“That when the Bo’s’n piped all hands, the flames spreading from starboard already were beyond control, the negroes howling and their chains entangled with the flames:

“That the burning blacks could not be reached, that the Crew abandoned ship, leaving their shrieking negresses behind, that the Captain perished drunken with the wenches:

“Further Deponent sayeth not.”

Pilot          Oh          Pilot          Me

  II

Aye, lad, and I have seen those factories, Gambia, Rio Pongo, Calabar; have watched the artful mongos baiting traps of war wherein the victor and the vanquished

Were caught as prizes for our barracoons. Have seen the nigger kings whose vanity and greed turned wild black hides of Fellatah, Mandingo, Ibo, Kru to gold for us.

And there was one—King Anthracite we named him— fetish face beneath French parasols of brass and orange velvet, impudent mouth whose cups were carven skulls of enemies:

He’d honor us with drum and feast and conjo and palm-oil-glistening wenches deft in love, and for tin crowns that shone with paste, red calico and German-silver trinkets

Would have the drums talk war and send his warriors to burn the sleeping villages and kill the sick and old and lead the young in coffles to our factories.

Twenty years a trader, twenty years, for there was wealth aplenty to be harvested from those black fields, and I’d be trading still but for the fevers melting down my bones.

  III

Shuttles in the rocking loom of history, the dark ships move, the dark ships move, their bright ironical names like jests of kindness on a murderer’s mouth; plough through thrashing glister toward fata morgana’s lucent melting shore, weave toward New World littorals that are mirage and myth and actual shore.

Voyage through death, voyage whose chartings are unlove.

A charnel stench, effluvium of living death spreads outward from the hold, where the living and the dead, the horribly dying, lie interlocked, lie foul with blood and excrement.

Deep in the festering hold thy father lies,              the corpse of mercy rots with him,               rats eat love’s rotten gelid eyes. 

          But, oh, the living look at you             with human eyes whose suffering accuses you,              whose hatred reaches through the swill of dark              to strike you like a leper’s claw. 

          You cannot stare that hatred down            or chain the fear that stalks the watches            and breathes on you its fetid scorching breath;              cannot kill the deep immortal human wish,              the timeless will.

“But for the storm that flung up barriers of wind and wave, The Amistad, señores, would have reached the port of Príncipe in two, three days at most; but for the storm we should have been prepared for what befell. Swift as the puma’s leap it came. There was that interval of moonless calm filled only with the water’s and the rigging’s usual sounds, then sudden movement, blows and snarling cries and they had fallen on us with machete and marlinspike. It was as though the very air, the night itself were striking us. Exhausted by the rigors of the storm, we were no match for them. Our men went down before the murderous Africans. Our loyal Celestino ran from below with gun and lantern and I saw, before the cane- knife’s wounding flash, Cinquez, that surly brute who calls himself a prince, directing, urging on the ghastly work. He hacked the poor mulatto down, and then he turned on me. The decks were slippery when daylight finally came. It sickens me to think of what I saw, of how these apes threw overboard the butchered bodies of our men, true Christians all, like so much jetsam. Enough, enough. The rest is quickly told: Cinquez was forced to spare the two of us you see to steer the ship to Africa, and we like phantoms doomed to rove the sea voyaged east by day and west by night, deceiving them, hoping for rescue, prisoners on our own vessel, till at length we drifted to the shores of this your land, America, where we were freed from our unspeakable misery. Now we demand, good sirs, the extradition of Cinquez and his accomplices to La Havana. And it distresses us to know there are so many here who seem inclined to justify the mutiny of these blacks. We find it paradoxical indeed that you whose wealth, whose tree of liberty are rooted in the labor of your slaves should suffer the august John Quincy Adams to speak with so much passion of the right of chattel slaves to kill their lawful masters and with his Roman rhetoric weave a hero’s garland for Cinquez. I tell you that we are determined to return to Cuba with our slaves and there see justice done. Cinquez— or let us say ‘the Prince’—Cinquez shall die.”

The deep immortal human wish, the timeless will:

Cinquez its deathless primaveral image, life that transfigures many lives.

Voyage through death to life upon these shores.

[Read more Poetry Posts]

Copyright © 1962, 1966 by Robert Hayden, from Collected Poems of Robert Hayden by Robert Hayden, edited by Frederick Glaysher.

Poem: Middle Passage was originally published on Ned Hayes

#Poetry #Writing #sinfulfolk #books #writing #novels #book #bookshelf #sinful-folk #Sinful Folk #novel