#she takes fen with her everywhere now

[helaelaemond]

Lost Absolution Pt1 - Osferth x reader

Pairing: Osferth x reader

Word count: 862

Fic summary: Osferth desires you greatly, but he is a man of God. He cannot lust after you, let alone touch you. But lust he does. And in the place of you, he finds his hand.

Content warning(s): masturbation, religious guilt

Rating: Mature

Tag list: @sylasthegrim / @myfandomprompts / @arcielee / @@babyblue711

Masterlist

It was on his knees that Osferth had always sought absolution. In cathedrals, in parish churches, in forests, fens, valleys and vales, wherever. His God was everywhere, and his God listened when he spoke. Osferth asked very little of his God, save for absolution. He begged for it now.

“Forgive me, please,” he whispered. He knelt by his bed, hands clasped in front of him, eyes closed. The floorboards were hard under his knees. “I know it’s wrong.”

He had seen you earlier that day, taking lunch with his sister's servants. You had smiled as you broke bread with them, as you had raised your cup to one of them. He watched you across the hall with fondness in his heart. And then you had glanced over at him, and your face had lit up. Because of that, his thoughts had strayed. They brought him to his knees.

“I should think of her in a sisterly way but I… I can’t. She’s so… she makes me feel…”

Osferth was a great believer in speaking sins aloud, so that the confessor could hear them, could make them tangible. He had to hear his own grotesque thoughts out loud. God would hear them, and if he was truly sorry, He would be granted forgiveness.

There had been a tightness between his thighs for a while, and it was difficult to ignore. “I desire her. I love her so much, and for a while that love was pure. She was… she was an angel, a beautiful creature to admire and protect. But the more I know her, the more real she becomes. I don’t put her on that pedestal now. But I want her more and more every day.”

His imagination was running. He was praying, but the thought of you would not leave him be. In crystal clarity, his mind showed him your face, coming close to his and kissing him. He bit his lip and it felt like your teeth tugging at him. He sighed and you caught it on your tongue.

“Even now,” he continued, voice cracking, “I can’t rid myself of these thoughts. I can hardly stand myself.”

The picture of you in his mind kissed his neck and it almost felt real. He leaned forwards and pressed himself against his bedframe. The friction made his thighs tense. His breathing was quicker, and his heartbeat raced.

“I want her,” he whispered. The imagined version of you smiled. You took his hands and pulled them around you, and you whispered his name. I want you, you echoed.

“God,” he sighed. It took great effort to wrench his hands apart but his body sang when he pressed his hand against his breeches and rubbed the heel of his hand against himself. It was too easy to imagine it was your hand. When his mouth opened in a moan, you whispered his name in encouragement. You were without clothes then, and you asked him to touch you. Your fingers gently pinched your nipple as you coaxed him closer, and when his mouth rested there on your breast it almost felt real.

Yes, you whispered, oh Osferth. I love you.

He fumbled with the laces on his trousers and grasped himself. Without thinking, he climbed onto the bed and lay on his back and stroked himself. His hips moved up and down in a rhythm to match, and then you in his imagination was atop him, taking him inside you. Osferth wrenched up his shift and then it wasn’t him stroking his stomach, his chest, his nipples, it was you, and then it wasn’t his fingers he sucked, it was yours. It was like you were there.

“My love,” he groaned, tension building and building. He whimpered your name

With as much desperation as he felt, you leaned down and kissed him hard, and you pressed your tongue against his. His hand matched the pace that you rode him, your hair sweeping his face.

It was the noises that you made when you came that had him spiralling, and the look of pure ecstasy on your face. He drowned out your loud cries with his own, noises rumbling from deep in his chest. His whole body convulsed when he came hard, ribbons spilling from him across his stomach and chest. Stroking himself quickly, he moaned and panted as the tension slowly ebbed away, and he came down from the high.

After a while, his senses returned to him.

That had not been you, not really. It had just been himself. A loathsome creature hunched over perverted thoughts of a woman over whom he would never have a claim. A violation of your dignity, and a sin under the word of God. He didn’t have the energy left in him to get up just yet. The shame crushed him like steel. He rolled onto his side and pulled a pillow to his stomach to cover the mess he had made. Osferth's cheeks grew wet with tears.

What a foul beast he had become. But for those moments of bliss with you in his mind, it was worth it. It was all he would ever be allowed.

#osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth x y/n #osferth x oc #tlk fanfic #mine #osferth #ewan mitchell #here have some solo osferth >:) #pining osferth

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 27

First / Previous / Next

Almost as soon as the door shut, Northern ran up to the Command Deck. As they ran, the lights automatically illuminated their way, one section of hallway ahead of them.

Northern hurried into the command room and looked around. She turned, her eyes wild. "Fen, where is everyone? Where is the rest of your crew?"

Fen pointedly slid into the command chair and started pushing buttons. She was trying to find something like an on switch. "Uh, you and Zhe are my crew so far. I... wasn't able to get anyone else."

"You don't have a crew? Who is the ship? Do you at least have an AI in charge then?" Northern's voice raised with each question as she held off panic. She sat in the chair next to Fen and started tapping a pad built into the seat. "Fen, this ship isn't configured. This ship doesn't have a name! Some subsystems have never been activated." She looked at Fen with a combination of amazement and worry. "What's going on?" She asked, in nearly a whisper. Zhe followed quietly behind them and sat in the chair on the other side of Fen.

Fen slumped in her seat. "I know Northern, I know. Dreams gave it to me, programmed the trip to Minaren and then destroyed themselves. I haven't even been in every room yet."

Northern swore in the same ancient language as Gord. "Okay. Okay. She ran both of her hands through her hair in frustration. "Okay." She stood. "This is an Imperial frigate, I can tell from the design, though parts of it feel almost... K'laxi? This ship new, right? I can smell it."

Fen nodded. "Brand new. Dreams mentioned that it was some kind of collaboration between the Empire and the K'laxi."

"Collaboration" Northern chuckled darkly. "Fine. Imperial ships crib off old designs, sometimes wholesale. Ones this small are designed to be run without an AI, but that doesn't mean it can't run with an AI." Northern's hand balled into fists as she talked. "Ugh. Fen, you have no idea how much you owe me for this. Come on." She walked out of the command deck.

Fen looked at Zhe who looked completely lost. "Uh, try and figure things out. I'll be back... soon?" She jumped out of her seat and ran after Northern.

Northern stalked the ship, her eyes darting to every door and corridor. The frigate wasn't too large; it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. She stood in a hall under the command deck and pressed her hands against the wall. A hidden door opened, and an AI core was behind it.

"Northern! What are you doing?" Fen burst into the room as Northern peered at the racks of equipment in the room illuminated by dim red light.

"I'm saving our asses, that's what. You have no crew, the Discoverers are after us and you don't even know how to work your ship. I'll be your ship for now." Northern found what she was looking for. She pressed a button in the rack, and a lever folded out. Pulling on the lever caused part of the racks to unfold into almost a chair like shape. Northern sat and leaned her head back, moving her hair out of the way.

Fen watched as ten thin clear wires snaked out of the top of the chair and writhed as they sought out Northern. Finding her skin, they worked their way up until they found ports hidden at the nape of her neck and they slid into place, as Northern winced.

The effect was immediate. The ship subtly changed. The tone of background noises changed and even the lighting was adjusted. There was a vibration in the soles of Fen's feet. The frigate felt... alive. "Northern?"

"I am the independent frigate Northern Lights and you owe me, Captain Fenchurch Whitehorse." Northern's smooth voice came from everywhere all at once. She was the ship. "I hate being a ship, but I hate being killed or captured more. I will do this for you only until we have assembled a large enough crew to operate this ship, or until we hire another AI who actually wants the job. Go back to the command deck, and I'll run things from here." she said bitterly.

Fen made her way back to the command deck and sat in the Captain's chair. Zhe looked over and her ears flicked. "Where's Northern?"

"I'm right here Zhe. You are both inside me for now and believe me when I say it's not where I wish you were either. I'll be the ship while we escape and work out a plan of action. I've requested permission to depart from Minaren and we're getting asked to hold for inspection." There was a pause. "I assume we don't want to let them in?"

"Oh! Right." Fen blushed and sat straighter in her seat. "Yes, that's right Northern. I'd like to leave, please. Can you do that?"

Fen could hear the smile in Northern's voice. "Of course I can Fen. Do you want it loud or soft?"

"Uh... Ships choice I guess. You know more about it than me."

"Loud it is then. Please brace for shock."

At that, belts came out of the seats and wrapped securely around Zhe and Fen, tightening until they were uncomfortable and backing off slightly. They could breathe and move their arms, but Fen and Zhe were not moving otherwise. There was a series of loud bangs and Fen's inner ear complained as the orientation of the ship swinged wildly until the internal gravity was able to compensate. Northern helpfully brought up a visualization on their screens to they could see what was going on.

Northern had forcibly disconnected the docking clamps that held her to the deck in the docking bay and she was flying free on thrusters. K'laxi scattered as she hovered towards the door, dust, debris and exhaust gasses flying wildly around.

Fen heard the clatter and sharp sound of small arms ricocheting off the hull. "Uh, Northern, do we need to worry about that?"

"No Fen, not unless they bring out much larger weapons. And if they do, I'm ready."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Fen, that Dreams gave you a fully kitted out warship and we can make war if needed. Slug throwers, laser batteries, matter printers, racks of missiles, We can go up against a Super Dreadnought and hold our own - at least for a little while. A few security guards with rifles won't stop us." Northern sounded a little testy as she was flying.

Almost as soon as Northern took off, the door to the docking bay was being swung shut. Normally the only thing keeping the atmosphere in is a pressure curtain that's maintained by some clever manipulation of the gravity near the door, but there is a physical cover that can be brought out when they need to service the gravity generators... or when a ship is trying to escape when they don't want it to leave. Northern had anticipated that and had already brought the massive forward slug throwers to bear.

Inside the air of the docking bay, the guns were deafening. They had a low buzzing roar, like bees the size of K'laxi. Northern was not stingy with the ammunition either. She'd run long buzzing shots across the door, which sent the guards and workers scattering. The impacts of the gigantic shells against the door were slowing it down, even if they couldn't quote penetrate. Northern tisked. "We're going to have to bump the door. Hold tight."

"Hold tight for wha-" Fen couldn't even finish her question when Northern stuck the door. The metal clanged against the hull, and the whole ship rang like a bell. There was an increate in vibration and rumbling coming from the rear as Northern ramped up the thrusters and she forced her way out.

As soon as she was clear she fired the main drive, and they thrusted away from Minaren. Fen turned on the radio and the open channel was filled with people yelling about their escape as well as Minaren Traffic Control begging for people to assist in stopping them.

A few ships maneuvered such that they looked like they were going to try and intercept Northern. One was a Gren warfinder, a massive ship nearly as large as a Super Dreadnought. It had turned towards Northern and had signaled that they would assist in the "capture or destruction" of Fen's ship "in a gesture of collaboration between the Gren and others." As soon as that signal had been sent, they fired missiles.

Fen watched on the display, feeling helpless as the missiles streaked towards Northern accelerating at hundreds of gees. As they grew in the viewfinder, Fen heard and felt a sharp double thump. Northern had fired the juke charges.

A human invention, the juke charges were small explosives that were released at different points around the ship's hull, inside small depressions. The charge would be launched and then detonate, allowing the ship to use the directed momentum to slide or juke out of the way of incoming missiles. If you had nerves of steel and trusted the system, you could juke at the last moment, and the missiles would streak by harmlessly.

After the thump, the inertial compensators kicked in, and Fen only felt a little vertigo as Northern ducked under the missiles. "Fen? Where are we going? I don't want to duck and dodge everyone forever."

"Uh, right right." Fen started frantically scrolling on her pad even though the answer wasn't there. "I was going to try and pick up a crew on Minaren, but that was cut short, so if either of you have any recommendations about where to go to pick up a crew, I'm all ears."

"Ancestors Preserve Us Fen! Do you not make plans? Did you think things were just going to work out? What did I sign on for?" Northern wailed as they dodged more incoming fire.

"Uh, I might know a place." Zhe said, timidly.

Fen gasped in joy and her smile illuminated Zhe. It was only slightly feral. "That's wonderful Zhe, what do you have in mind?"

Zhe's ears flicked and her fur rippled. "I have a Gate address saved for a place that my familial line knows. It's a station that's off the main transit lines and tends to attract mercenaries and... other people like that."

"A Gate address?" Northern paused for a moment. "Okay, we do have an addressing module here. And since it's a Gate address I can't just link there, we'll have to traverse the gates. Zhe, can you enter the address into your pad? I'll head towards the Gate."

Zhe set to work on her pad while Northern turned and made a burn towards the gate. Northern had turned the drive output high and noisy, and the leakage from the burn made it more difficult for the others to get a lock on them to fire missiles.

Northern had continued to accelerate as they approached the Gate, and Fen watched the signatures of the ships waiting their turn grow larger and larger. She waited for the change in orientation that came with braking. "Uh Northern, are we going... to stop?"

Northern's voice was bright but brittle. "Nah. We're going to cut the line. It's not nice, I know but needs must. Zhe you got that address entered in?"

"Yes Miss Northern, I've added it to the addressing module and it has accepted the address."

"Ah, I see. Thank you so much Zhe. Now hold on please."

The blood in Fen's veins ran cold. "Northern, how are you going to send the address to the Gate? You're going too fast."

Northern chuckled. "Oh, I did that already Fen. I overrode the gate and rejected the addresses of well, everyone, and put my address in. We're next, officially!"

"How did you-"

"Tell you later, I have to concentrate."

Northern Lights sped towards the gate. The ships in line had no time to move out of the way, but that didn't matter as Northern had angled herself to come in a little higher than the plane the ships were on. The Gate began to glow a painful, fuzzy blue, almost like Cherenkov Radiation. The ship that was next in line to enter the Gate began their coast towards the gate when Northern dove in front of them, moving too quickly for anyone else to react.

They traversed the Gate.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

[tumblertown-headcanons]

Beach episode things

Sage made a huge sandcastle after getting into a contest with Ivan and Misra over who could build a cooler one without using any powers. Somehow there’s proper parapets. Then they had a contest with powers and the siblings won because you could go inside of it.

Vapor kept staring pensively out into the ocean, she’s not really sure why (Swap universe things hehe) Sylve made her a sand mermaid and she felt better after that.

Bennett made one of those drip castles with Auryn and Aruna, it was very nice :)

Chad fell asleep so Sir put seashells on his chest and he tanned with two little seashell marks on his chest lol.

Melatonin forgor to put on sunscreen and got a little crispy before Fen found out Mel forgot and took them inside for some aloe vera. Fen isn’t a huge fan of the beach anyway, the sand is course and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.

Memiri surfed, she’s surprisingly good at it!

Alex and Ross mostly collected seashells together but they did find a bunch of crabs and decided to capture them so they could all have crab legs for dinner. They achieved success with some help from Goonie.

Cathy didn’t go out to the beach herself but had cold drinks for everyone ready when they came back

Deed found an octopus stuck on a rock somewhere (not a venomous or poisonous one, thank Sage for that). His name is Gerald now and she’s taking care of him.

BRO YOU COOOOOOOKED!!!!

Hear me out: Assistant later is banned from the beach by accidentally getting sand all over the house because a ton got stuck in their fur and hair

Sage, Fen, and Auryn: @sagehyperfixates

Vapor, Memiri, and Aruna: @vaporeon2010317

Bennett, Ivan, and Misra: @the-belle-siblings

Chad: @deadless-corpse

Melatonin: @chaotic-neutral-melatonin

Alex and Ross/Assistant: @evilassistantbutnotmean

Cathy: @dr-catherine-sherman-owens

Deed: @that-knife-lady

[reluctant-mandalore]

Bantha Reunion (Gen Fic)

Boba Fett reunites with his dear Bantha, and discovers she has a surprise waiting for him. Fennec is dragged along. That's it. That's the fic.

Warnings: Fluff, no romantic pairings, boba and fen are best pals and he drags her everywhere, including bantha searching. not beta read

Word Count: 1718

Pairing: No romantic pairing(s).

a/n: I don't know how many of you remember me mentioning this idea after watching tbobf all that time ago. But here it finally is! The Bantha reunion fic. :3 It's been a long while since I posted a fic. I'm very proud of myself and happy! The fic isn't beta read though so if you see a mistake no you don't ❤️

For many hours they had traveled the harsh and unforgiving dunes of Tatooine. The desolate desert proving itself to be rather ruthless, as the Slave I had been their only protection from the heat of the twin suns. Their task of finding his bantha had been a difficult one from the start. Boba had known that quite well, and Fennec had made sure to remind him of it any chance she got.

“Don’t you think it’s time we head back?��� Her question had been followed by a long and drawn out yawn, as she had stretched herself out, before slumping back comfortably into her seat. “We’ve checked out every Bantha herd for miles now.”

“She’ll be at the next one coming up.” He had shifted in his seat as he spoke. “It won’t take much longer.”

“You know you said that about the last three herds?” Fennec’s arms had crossed over her chest, and Boba could feel his fingers twitch at the controls at her words.

“This ones different-”

“-And you said that about the last two we found.” She had cut him off without missing a beat, and he looked over just in time to see the small smirk playing on her lips, before it had disappeared again. “I’m serious though Boba. It’ll be night soon, and you’ve been away from the palace far too long. We really should consider heading back.”

Deep down, Boba knew that Fennec had been right. She usually was about these things. Traveling the dune sea had never been easy, but trying to find a bantha—his bantha—among the sandy waves was proving to be much harder. It would be best for them to turn back now, and in reality they should have done so a time long ago. But he had always been stubborn, and when he put his mind to something he would see it through.

“Just a little longer.” He said while avoiding her gaze.

“Boba.” Her voice had been a little more firm, though still rather kind as she spoke. “I know how much you want to find her, but it’s time to turn back. She’s not out here, at least not for us to find.”

“She is.” He had insisted. The grip he held on the controls only tightening, as he found himself looking out to the sandy landscape before them. “She’s out there. I know she is.”

Fennec stared at him for another long moment before letting out a sigh. She didn’t say more on the subject, and Boba had quickly found himself grateful for the silence that followed. When stealing a glance her way he saw how her eyes had closed. He knew better than to bother her when she took a nap, so he let her be, and he focused back to searching the great dunes.

Another hour would pass before they would come across a new Bantha herd. Fennec had been fast asleep by now. Her gentle snores and laxed form evidence of that fact. Boba had chosen to not wake her yet though, as he hovered carefully around the herd. She never woke from a nap well, and she especially did not take well to someone else disturbing her from one. He had learned that the hard way once, and he nearly lost his head for it in the process.

So he left her to continue sleeping, as he had hovered the ship carefully around the herd. He didn’t want to disturb them either, or worse, scare them away. He looked from every Bantha to the next. His desperation growing with each one. He was just about to consider leaving when he found himself pausing at the sight of a bantha that had caught his eye.

Boba had brought the ship a little closer to get a better look at the bantha. To anyone else, the creature before him would have looked just like any other Bantha in the Galaxy. There were physically no differences between this Bantha and the others. It had the same fluffy brown fur and small beady eyes—it probably smelled just as bad too. But all it took was one look for him to be certain.

Boba would recognize his Bantha anywhere after all.

“It's her!” He had shouted out—the sudden booming of his voice jerking his companion out from her slumber. “Fennec it’s her!”

Fennec had shot up in her seat. Her tired eyes trying to blink away her sleep, as she leaned forward to peer out. She had squinted slightly as she looked over the Bantha herd to the creature in question. The frown she sent his way afterwards long and filled with concern. “Are you sure? It looks like just any other Bantha to me.”

He only smiled brightly back to her. “Trust me Fen, I’d know my old girl anywhere.”

Boba had landed the ship faster than he should have—the Slave I jostling as he parked it just far enough away to not scare off the banthas. He had nearly leapt from his seat, barely paying any mind to the glare Fennec had thrown his way, as he quickly went down the ramp and out to the banthas. Not even bothering to grab his helmet or blaster in his hurry.

Boba had weaved through the herd with Fennec trailing close behind. He moved from bantha to bantha until he got to the one that had made him stop in the first place. He and the Bantha had paused to stare at each other for another long moment, before finally a big grin had spread on his lips.

“Hey old girl.”

The Bantha had let out a noise of excitement in return, and Boba had moved to hug her in close. His face burying into her fur as he embraced his old friend. He had patted her, smoothing out some of the matts he found, and cooing softly as she made noises back. Clearly she had been just as happy to see him again as he was to see her.

They stayed like this for a moment. Fennec watching over the two reunite with disbelief. Before the bantha had made a noise that had him pulling back. It was at that point he realized something was off with her. Something was different. He was no force user, but he could tell she had wanted to share something, but didn’t quite literally have the words to do so.

“What’s wrong?” He had asked. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

The Bantha had continued to stare at him for another moment, and he wondered if maybe she was sick, before she had moved more to the side. A happy noise leaving the Bantha as Boba found himself frozen at what she had just shown to them. He couldn’t believe what he had been seeing. Two Bantha calves had stood by her feet. Small, fluffy—and the spitting image of their mother.

The little ones had stared back at him. Their eyes wide and fearful of the man before them. That had changed quickly though with how their mother had nudged them gently. Their fright eased by her encouragement, as soon they had broken out into a full out run in his direction.

Boba had knelt down to greet them with open arms and a hearty laugh. Hugging them close, as he cooed and awed at the baby banthas his old girl had presented to him. Giving them both pets here and there.

“Look at you!” He exclaimed checking over the little banthas before looking over to fennec with the brightest grin she had probably ever seen him wear. “Look at them Fennec!”

“I see them. Congrats on your grandchildren Boba.” Fennec had let out a chuckle to herself at her joke as she watched them from the sidelines.

Before Boba could reply, one of the calves had nuzzled in close, and gave him a lick to the face. Fennec had wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight, though the man himself could only let out a joyful laugh. Turning back to give the little one an affectionate pat. “Just like your mom.”

Boba had spent some time petting and playing with the two bantha calves. Fennec on the other hand had remained off to the side only watching. Seeing this he had looked over to her. His brows raised, though no words spoken from him. The sharpshooter had grimaced seeing this, already knowing what he wanted her to do.

“No.” She frowned.

“Don’t be like that.” He had chided and motioned for her to come join him. “Come say hello! It’s not like they bite.”

Fennec shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Fennec.”

The sharpshooter had let out a bitter sigh then. She knew there would be no winning this fight. Boba could be so stubborn, sometimes it was better to just go along with plans. So, much to his delight and her annoyance, she set aside her rifle and moved over to join them.

The calves had run over to Fennec, and quickly she found herself standing there awkwardly with two little banthas at her feet. They had nudged and pulled at her excitedly. Pleading and begging for her affection, before she had eventually given them a few stiff pets.

“I think they like you.” He had chuckled at the sight of the baby bantha’s bombarding her with affection. “Don’t you think so? Aunty Fennec?”

Fennec had sent a glare his way at the nickname, though he could only chuckle more at seeing it. Her fierce glare had less of an impact with two little bantha calves surrounding her like she was their greatest friend. It was quite a sight to behold, and if he didn’t think she’d kill him, he would have taken a picture to remember the moment.

Choosing life today though, he had turned to pay attention to his old girl once more. Smiling as he gave her another pat when she had nudged him gently. He had hummed. His words quiet, as he smoothed his fingers over her fur again. “You did good old gal. You did good.”

Now reunited, the only thing left for Boba to do was to convince Fennec to let him take the Bantha family home with them.

Hopefully the little banthas could convince her to his side.

#star wars fanfic #the book of boba fett #star wars #boba fett #gen fic #fennec shand #bantha #my fics

[tomtenadia]

Thicker than Blood - 27

So, this chapter is a lot but I am sure that the gore will be worth it because in all the darkness there is a bit of vengeance. I hope you will cheer with me at the end and maybe give Fen a medal.

CW: mention of drugs, death (will give you joy), Fen playing surgeon and leading to a gory scene. language

Orynth woke up under a heavy blanket of snow.

Rowan went to the balcony and stared at the mountains covered in the white stuff. He had the night from hell. His bond with Aelin had become alive once more and all he felt was pure undiluted terror. After the first flow of emotions he had not been able to close his eyes. He wanted to believe that by staying awake he was keeping the connection with Aelin open and send her some sort of comfort. Rhoe had been working hard on finding the location of where she was held, but so far the man had not been successful and Rowan was getting worried by the minute. She had been taken a week already. 

Slowly he walked back in his room and picked up his phone abandoned on the nightstand. Gavriel had texted him with the details of the raid and he was very grateful to his friend.

He had a few texts from Lorcan too, but he was still too mad to actually care.

Rowan went to make some coffee and while he waited he opened the browser on his phone and read the news. The raid was everywhere and connected with it, Hamel’s name on every page. The rebels had passed Gavriel’s finding to the authorities and now another investigation had been launched on the mayor. 

Rowan’s smile was wicked. He was looking forward to see the monster pay. On his part, he had contacted a reporter and leaked what was happening in the deviation centres and had also given copies of the autopsy Aelin had done on Connall as a proof. If they could take Perrington down too he surely would not complain. 

He was busy reading when a text from Ansel distracted him All inmates have been executed. We are storming the mayor’s building tomorrow and I have a second group shutting down that hellsite. Can I count you in?

Text me details for the mayor’s riot. I am in. 

In a matter of weeks Rowan had gone from by the book agent to rebel. He could not keep serving a government that was harming vampires and humans alike. He was not allowing Orynth to suffer another great fire.

He texted Fen and the man confirmed he was going too. The mayor had killed his brother, for him it was personal. 

In silence he drank his coffee and went back on the balcony.

I will find you. I am working on it, fireheart. 

*

Rhoe Galathynius was pacing his studio, with a newspaper in his hands. His wife sitting in an armchair stared at her husband with concern.

Of the twenty five humans they had saved, six had died at the hospital. The drugs had damaged their organs behind repair. Five more were in critical conditions and in the ICU where doctors were racing against time to slow down the damage caused by the drugs. The ones who were in stable conditions were under strict observation by a team of therapists. His heart ached. Twenty five young humans between eighteen and twenty five. Their lives destroyed. 

The manager of the club had been arrested and after a while he had started confessing that the victims were chosen ad hoc. Vampires would pay and ask for humans with certain characteristics. Others would take anything. The bartenders had the job of spiking the drinks of the selected victims who were then dragged in the special room and hooked up on the machines to keep them heavily drugged. Rhoe kept reading out loud to his wife. The bodies were discarded after their organs started to fail and the blood was becoming tainted by the looming death. 

“What is Hamel saying?”

“He is denying any connection, but documents have surfaced that make him the owner of the club. On the premises they had found papers with his signature on drug requests.”

“Those poor victims…”

Rhoe looked at his wife and knew that she was also grieving for Aelin. He had pretended to be strong for her, but Evalin was taking it hard.

“Is your plan with Darrow still on?”

Rhoe nodded “now more than ever. As soon as the situation settles we will announce that I am running for mayor for the vampires and he for the humans.”

Evalin sobbed “Aelin…”

“I have not forgotten about her. The first two locations were a bust. Maeve has gone into hiding and we haven’t been bale to capture a single man in her inner circle.”

“It’s been over a week.”

“I know.”

“Have you spoken to Rowan?”

The man nodded “yes. He is busy at work.” He lied. He knew that Rowan had been suspended, and that he had joined the rebels trying to help in an alternative way. His son in law had been updating him regularly and Rhoe had grown to like the man very much. His daughter had chosen very well and he was looking forward to tell Aelin that.

“What about Aedion and Lys?”

“Aedion is busy with a project and Lys is safe at the hospital.”

Evalin nodded and went back to her tea “Rhoe, you need to be careful, please.”

He walked to his wife and kneeled in front of her, his hand brushed her cheek “I will, I promise.”

Evalin closed her eyes and basked in the closeness with her husband and wanted to believe him.

*

Arobynn Hamel was having a bad day. He had spent the night in his office and a call late in the evening had alerted him of what was going down at his club. The police was raiding it. They had rescued all the victims trapped and then arrested the manager and some of his wealthiest patrons. The manager had started singing too and soon enough news began spreading that it was his club and that’s when the calls from reporters had become non stop. The newspapers were covered with the scandal in the front page. He had set his PR team in action to try and cover up the story by saying that he had no idea of what was happening and passed the blame on the club manager. Surely no one believed that he had been acting against the humans. All of his career he had protected them, his citizen will see that he had been a good mayor. 

He stood and started pacing when he looked outside and noticed a crowd gathering in front of the main building. He opened the window and heard shouts. 

The people, his people, were calling for his resignation. 

He called for Cairn. The man was one of the humans he had released from prison early and posted in a deviation centre and the man had turned out to be an asset. He hated vampires just as much as him.

“What’s happening?” He snarled.

“Protesters.”

“Go out and stop them.”

The man snarled and left the room and Hamel went back pacing. Ungrateful bastards, he thought.

From outside the shouts intensified and that’s when he started thinking about a way to safety.

*

Rowan and Fen were in the middle of the crowd of people formed by both humans and vampires all protesting against Hamel. Ansel’s people had organised the event pretty quickly and the turnout had been impressive. Apparently a lot of people had enough of Hamel.

A man appeared outside the building and the protests grew louder.

“That is Cairn, he works in the deviation centre. Ansel tells me he is a monster.”

Rowan remembered the man from the news Aelin had showed him.

Cairn started shouting but the crowd but the more he did, the more restless the crowd became.

“Come, you want to be at the front for this.” Fen grabbed his wrist and they walked towards the front. They were almost there when the sound of a gun stopped them. Rowan looked up and saw Cairn’s shirt with a red stain at the front. Someone had shot him. Not that he felt any sadness but he was just afraid that things might get out of hand.

A man raced to where Cairn was dying and with a sword he cut the man’s head and lifted high to the crowd “Now it’s time to take down the monster inside this building.”

He was holding the head by the hair when he pulled back and then threw it against Hamel’s window.

“Murderer,” they all shouted and slowly proceeded to advance to the building. 

*

A loud thud startled Hamel and he almost screamed when he saw a severed head bounce against his window leaving a trail of blood on the glass. They were the real monsters. He tried to call his guard but had no luck. He ran to the heavy doors and bolted them shut in a frantic and desperate way to put a barrier between them. He heard commotion outside and hoped they walked past his door, but vampires had a keen hearing and he knew he would struggle to hide. They could probably track his erratic heartbeat. How could humans compete with such beings? 

The shouts grew closer and he grabbed a chair and pushed it under the handle to try and block the door as much as he could.

“He is in here.” He heard someone shout. Hamel took a step back in terror. The door rattled and shook under the heavy thuds coming from outside. The mob was close and he had no escape route.

When the door eventually burst open he faced a group of people led by a blonde man, a red-haired woman and a man with silver hair. He recognised the two men as agents and ran to them in a plea of help.

*

Fen watched Hamel ran to him, fall at his feet and beg for help “Please agent, I am in danger.”

Fenrys laughter was evil. He grabbed the mayor by the collar and lifted him “You gave the order to kill my brother and then to kill hundreds of us in one night. You are a murderer,” he snarled “you ran a club where humans were used as blood bags while you profited.” His hand went to his neck and started to squeeze “you are a monster and tonight you will pay.”

Fenrys smelled his fear rise and grinned, showing off his canines “the more you are afraid, the more your blood tastes delicious to us.” In an attempt to scare the man even more, he licked his lips as if he was already tasting the delicious meal.

“You will all pay for this.”

“No, you will be the only one tonight who will pay for all the pain you have caused, for almost throwing Orynth in a civil war.” This time the words had come from Rowan “Humans and vampires are tired. There are people who want to live in peace and you almost destroyed that.”

“Kill him,” came from a few of the people gathered outside, then the chant grew stronger and Rowan stared at Fen, smiled and then nodded to a man behind him and the vampire moved, followed by three other men. They grabbed the mayor and tied him to a chair.

Fen flicked his knife in his hand and then popped the button of the shirt “maybe we can start with making you feel like a blood bag, just like all those humans.” He opened the shirt and started cutting his skin, watching blood seep from the wounds “The only difference is, you will be awake.” He then cut his trousers and exposed the legs and cut those too, then continued on the arms and slowly on the neck. All the while Hamel screamed in pain and whined, begging for his life. 

Once satisfied he stepped back with Rowan and let the vampires take their revenge. He knew them all and their stories. They all knew someone who had been killed by Hamel in the deviation centres.

Hamel screamed while they all fed on him and the more he did the more the crowd took pleasure in his suffering. 

“I need your wife, I am wondering how I can rip his heart out and she is the medic.”

Rowan found the strength to smile. Yes, Aelin would definitely give him an anatomy lesson.

“Hmm, maybe if I cut just under the ribcage and then grab it? Do you think is medically possible?”

Rowan shrugged “be my guest.” 

Fen moved a step closer and flicked his knife again “how does it feel to be helpless?”

Hamel moaned in pain.

“You probably have almost no blood left, so I guess that you will soon not need a heart anymore.” His knife pierced the skin right under the ribcage and started cutting deeply, while Hamel used the last of his energies to scream. Fenrys’ hand plunged in the deep cut and touched his barely beating heart “it’s still too quick a death for you. We should have hooked you like all your victims and kept you alive while we fed day in and day out,” he squeezed the organ and the man gasped “But I don’t care, as long as you are food for worms that’s what matters. Rot in hell, you piece of shit.” And at those words he ripped the heart out and Hamel died with one last scream.

tags:

@rowaelinismyotp​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @whimsicallyreading​ @elentiyawhitethorn​ @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj​ @sailorsassley​ @leiawritesstories​ @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire​ @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn​ @backtobl4ck​ @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #angst #vampires au

[seekerquest]

I assume that now, Pax creations are going to be allowed to leave the world and enter the hallway, so I was wondering, who of Pax creations (except for Seeker of course) would be the first, to be curious about stepping outside of Pax world, and maybe entering one of the other worlds?

Also i was wondering, with Seeker being back, do you think Fen is going to show his world to her?

I can see Stargazer being the first to explore, which would bring Architect out to make sure he doesn't get hurt, which precedes everyone else (agree or disagree, after all of this, they'll follow Architect anywhere). Teller would only go out if Pax asked him to come with him - not out of shyness, but out of dedication to his role as an assistant. Seeker, of course, is going everywhere regardless of how long it takes everyone else to.

As for Fen's world...don't you worry. She's going to explore it whether or not he wants her to. Which he will, sooner or later, but she won't wait long.

#afterparty #characters #bowlerhatwearer

[miracleweaponhunt]

Miracle Weapon Hunt Chapter 36: Our New Ruler

Luminita looked out from her window. She and anyone else with major involvement with the Lux was quickly put inside here for her own coronation. She was in the top floor with all the other rulers, instead of one floor below where the children of rulers stayed. The people her own age, like Willow and Javier. She wondered what they were even up to. Willow was probably worrying about her and panicking openly on her behalf. Javier was…probably the same, only more subtle about it. She gave herself one more look in the mirror. She looked paler than usual, she couldn't bring herself to stop with everything that was happening. Her hair was brushed and cleaned, but not styled yet. She glanced over her dress one more time. Black in the bust area but pure white everywhere else, with pure dainty gloves squeezing her hands.

She stepped out of her room into the glass area attached to each bedroom on the first floor. Glass floors and walls, with a white roof to prevent the sunlight making it too hot. The view of Sangaria was perfect. The castle stood as a tiny speck on the centre of the airship, with the grand surrounded by a wall stopping anyone from falling off it's edge. The humble streets and shops, entirely out of view. She glanced at the two ships to each side. Gurut to the left, and ShiShi to the right. Sylvestro and Fen Hou would hopefully be good at guiding her on what being a ruler actually meant. Because she was hopelessly out of her depth here. Marcel already had his detractors, and all of them would be looking for her to change, but his supporters would be thinking about how someone as young as her could live up to his legacy. She was already pacing around the room, trying not to buckle at the pressure before she even stepped on that stupid stage.

There was a knock on the door. She looked at the clock in her room, and the coronation was half an hour away. She opened it, and Zach was in front of her, holding a small box in his hands.

"I interrupting anything?" He asked, glancing around the room.

"You aren't." She assured. "What's in the box?"

"Now, don't hate me, but I got some of your staff to help me get something you might want."

Zach handed her the cardboard box. Luminita removed the single layer of tape, and inside was a crimson cape with fur along the ends. She recognised it from somewhere, but she couldn't tell where. Suddenly, all the pieces sprang together in her mind.

"My…mother." She said quietly, trying not to let the tears burst out of her.

"Figured she'd give it to you if she could." Zach nodded slowly to himself. "Look, if you have any issues, anything at all, just let me know, okay?"

There was another knock at the door, followed by Mia casually letting herself in.

"Zach." She announced flatly. "Mind explaining what you're doing in here?"

"Just dropping something in for the queen." He replied, smiling to himself as he finished the sentence. "I'll let you get to what you're here for."

Zach closed the door behind him, and Mia locked eyes with Luminita. Mia's green eyes weren't stern as she was so accustomed to seeing them. They were more relaxed, sympathetic.

"Your hair's a mess." She said. "Sit down and I'll take care of it."

Luminita sat down in front of her mirror, and Luminita began styling her hair. She was styling with near surgical precision, quickly giving her hair a wavy quality near the end.

"You're really good at this."

"Good to know I still have it." Mia nodded, quickly letting the illusion of a smile leave her lips before her mouth returned to it's neutral expression.

"You used to do this?"

"Went to school for styling. Actually managed to work with a couple celebrities before I was called to lead the Lux."

"Celebrities?"

"Did you know I was the first stylist for Miles Parker on some soap advertisement?"

"No way."

"Indeed. But, my parents both succumb to illness at the same time, and suddenly I was called to rule."

"Well, you seemed to handle it, at least."

"Oh please, they'd all rather follow that brute than me."

"Zach?"

"That one, yes. I'm assuming he said you could confide in him."

"He did, yes."

"Well, the same applies for me."

Mia let Luminita's hair down, and she felt it for a few seconds. She almost instantly turned her hair into something more full of life. She had more confidence now. She almost felt ready to take the charge towards her country.

"You're on in ten minutes." Mia said softly as she passed through the door. "Good luck."

Willow was putting a band-aid over a bloody pinky finger on her left hand, while Javier looked over at her in mild confusion.

"Did you fall on something?" He asked, looking around for anything dangerous in the area.

"Look, I was biting my nails and ripped a hangnail off. I'm fine." Willow said nervously, moving on to biting what was left of the nails on her right hand.

"Hey, you guys."

Javier and Willow looked up at who was beside them. A man taller then them with shaggy brown hair and a white polo shirt and jeans, wearing two leather gloves. Zach's son, Arden. Four years older.

"Been a while, how you guys doing?"

"We're doing alright." Javier replied, glancing at the wall in the hopes Arden would as well. He would, giving Willow the time to patch her finger up. "Just a little nervous."

"Makes sense, considering it's Luminita. Remember when I had to babysit the fo…bunch of you during meetings?"

"Yeah, I do." Javier chuckled slightly.

"You know, Willow? People think the scar on my hand is from some horrific incident with a criminal and not a nine year old's hero game involving a comical amount of knives." He said, removing the glove on his left hand, showing the bright red scar going horizontally across it.

"I said I was sorry." Willow sighed.

"After you called me a weakling several times." Arden said. "No hard feelings, obviously. Actually, Nuria wants to know if you guys were okay with spending some time in Mar-Luminita's castle for a while to help her adjust.

"Yeah, I could do that." Javier nodded.

"Well, I have plans to help your dad back in Fightston, but I'm down once that's done."

"Cool, cool." Arden nodded. "She doesn't want to seem weak right now, but she could really use the support from close friends."

"Close friends? I mean…I guess?" Javier said while looking at the floor.

"What, did you guys have a fight or something?"

"No, it's just…we never really hang out anymore. Don't even think I have her number. Not that I hate her, we just grew kind of distant."

"Distant? What, since…"

Javier put his hand over Arden's mouth.

"Look, things are already stressful enough, we do not need to be reminded of that."

Arden took a step back and looked at Javier with a blank expression, then a quick nod.

"Yeah, actually. Makes sense. Well, I'll see you at the ceremony."

Javier couldn't help but let out an agitated sigh when Arden left. He never even thought about things like news coverage until now, but that was probably going to be everywhere after the ceremony. A decade ago, him alongside the three others were the 'future four pillars' Javier, Willow, Luminita, and Levin, next in line for Lux itself. But Levin died. Suicide after a series of Legion attacks left him feel helpless under the pressure. Luckily, the news media left the three of them alone and never really went back to them. Whether out of respect for grieving pre-teens or parental pressure, he never found out. But the whole incident was bound to come up again. He knew Luminita wouldn't like it, but having to hear about it would destroy Willow. She reacted the worst out of it, and he wouldn't be suprised if he never fully recovered.

"Uh, Javier?" Willow asked, shaking him out of his worries. "Ceremonies ready."

The two of them entered the circular room, with three rows of circular wooden pews laying before a set of white marble steps leading to the platform Luminita was supposed to step out of. The first row was made up of the rulers, and the next two were the partners and children. Despite this, Javier and Willow took a free space next to Rory in the front row, who didn't say anything. Freyja looked from the other end, but Rory leaned forward to cough a little until her gaze was back towards the platform.

Mia stepped out of the two doors at the back. She didn't make a sound as she approached the small podium.

"Thank you all for coming." She announced as she approached the podium. "I know this is on very short notice due to the tragic events that Sangaria has experienced. But, she, Willow, and Javier were always considered the future three pillars, and I have nothing but good faith that she will lead Sangaria into newfound prosperity. And without further ado, the newest ruler in the Lux Congregation."

There was an intense applause as Luminita stepped out. Luminita herself was trying her best to look confident and ready as she approached the podium.

"Esteemed members of the Lux Congregation." She started. "I thank you for having me join your noble cause. My only hope is that I can be of service not only to you, but of all members of the Skyspace."

The speech was short. She clearly wasn't prepared, but nobody cared as the crowd leapt into applause. Willow was the most enthusiastic about it, screaming at the top of her lungs for her. Luminita did her best attempt to look proud on that stage until the others died down. She then bowed before them and retreated back.

"Javier, go follow her." Nuria whispered.

Javier gave a thumbs up and went into the door, with Willow following.

Inside the white room, Luminita was shaking slightly as she filled a cup with orange juice and brought it to her lips.

"Hey there, queen Luminita." Willow said quietly as she closed the door, bowing to her afterwards, which Javier copied.

"You…you guys." Luminita looked towards them, her voice starting to waver. She ran up towards them, embracing them just a few seconds before she started crying behind them. The sobbing lasted a while, but it didn't really matter to either of them. They began to embrace her back, and she eventually pried herself off her friends.

"Hey, so my parents got the idea to help you run your place for the first few days. They say it'll be a good idea to teach us all how to rule eventually. You down?" Javier asked.

Luminita nodded silently, trying to bring herself to speak.

"I'll be there too, but Zach needs me in Fightston for a couple days. But hey, save a place for me!"

The three of them walked out of the room together, talking about plans for the future. Once Willow passed her room, she waved them goodbye and ducked into it. Once inside, she checked underneath her bed for her suitcase and opened it. The spear was still inside, and nobody was called. And if anything was found out, she left a helpful note that the Legion had nothing to do with the weapon borrowing process. She took out her phone and called Zach.

"Okay, when are we leaving?"

#my writing #writeblr #writing #creative writing #fantasy #webnovel #writers on tumblr #spilled ink

[maggicktouched]

 ♡ + any or all of the following... from x because it was getting too long

fenris:

Responsibility: Fen was born with the world on his shoulders. Before he could even grasp his favorite rattle, he was handed more responsibility than anyone should ever have to hold. In Dvalinn's defense, he tried to protect his son from some of it. Where Fenris' mother was harsh, his father was gentle. Where his grandfather demanded more of him, his father gave him grace. He did this in hopes that if he could show his son gentleness and understanding, one day, when the world gave him more than he could chew and no one was there to help him, Fen could provide himself with those things and cope with the crushing responsibility placed on him.

Dvalinn never asked Fenris to look out for his sister. That was a responsibility he took up on his own. If anything, Fenris, in all his four-year-old wisdom, would almost get onto his father for letting her be too independent. When their father would sit back and allow her to work through a problem or pick herself up after tumbling out of a tree or falling off a horse, Fen would always butt in to say "help her daddy!" or "we ain't sposed to go up there" or "Mummi says we's too little!" He followed his sister around everywhere, sometimes to keep her out of trouble, and sometimes because he wanted to be roped into it.

I think if anything Dvalinn would have told Fen it wasn't his job to take care of his sister, but he couldn't bring himself to. He knew what it was likely going to be like for them after he was gone, and didn't think he had much of a right to tell them anything.

His father's death placed the first crown upon his head. He was a boy king, tasked with the wellbeing of an entire population of witches, and accountable for their success and their failures. In most verses he wasn't even ten when this was put upon him. What could he do? He was a child, isolated, abused, and frightened. His mother, though he often disagreed with her, had all the answers, and she wanted the control. He let her use him.

But inside of him something ugly was brewing---a consequence for being asked too much of at too young an age---a gnawing anxiety was becoming a desperate need for control. A fear of loss, as he had lost his father, was mutating in a vicious need to keep from losing anyone or anything ever again. His mother, oblivious, taught him to be ruthless thinking it would serve her purpose, and for a while it did, but eventually she forced him to make an impossible choice.

She tried to kill his sister. Misguided, difficult, stubborn, but his sister, and the person he loved most in the world. He watched as she refused food and water. He watched her lay in a bed without speaking or bathing, slowly rotting from the inside out, and he had to protect her. It was his job. His responsibility in life---to take care of his people. His pack.

He had his mother executed, and in doing so, he took control of the Fox Clan as well as the Wolves. Now even more people depended on him. He couldn't let them down. He couldn't let anyone down.

It didn't matter the cost. It was always his burden to pay it.

Socializing: Fenris is very good as socializing on the face of things. He's a charming guy, if a little quiet, but he's certainly not shy. He's been painstakingly taught the art of small talk and pleasantries. But beyond that he has very little in the way of social skills. He doesn't make friends easily, and he doesn't really want to. He loves the people he loves incredibly deeply, and he knows how much it hurts to lose them. He's lost both mother and father, no matter how fucked their relationship or how young he was when they died, it left a deep scar on his psyche. He doesn't really want to care about anyone other than his family. So he keeps people at a distance.

This is a tangent and you didn't ask it, but I'm gonna say it anyway because it sort of goes with socializing.

Fenris cannot stand bullying. He's not a good guy. He's a massive prick who is not opposed to using fear to get what he wants... where he believes it matters. But childish teasing? Looking down on someone for their clothes or talking shit about their personal appearance? He fucking hates that shit. In our Harry Potter verse, he spends a lot of time avoiding the other Slytherins because he thinks they're immature. They're beneath him. They've not got proper manners. They don't know how to act.

And Fen will step in sometimes if he thinks people are going too far. Normally he steps in with his sister. That's probably where people see it first. Fenris is violent. He goes from the quiet, soft spoken guy in the back of the class content to observe, to a vicious fighter. And he's good at fighting. He's been taking sparring lessons since his father died. He's good at fighting with magic, and he's good at using his fists. After the first couple of instances where someone makes the very foolish mistake of fucking with his sister, he has a reputation among the students as someone to avoid, so when he steps between other students, they tend to lower their hackles, shut their mouths, and go about their way.

He "studies from home" several times during fifth year because I think if he didn't, he might actually have tried to attack Umbridge for what she did to those kids. They allow it because they think it has something to do with his position and responsibilities as the leader of two clans.

Visual: Fen has splendid eyesight. Unlike Beck, he can do just random spells from books he reads because he can read, but he also does specialize in magic. He focuses on three things: protection spells, healing spells, and enhancement spells. That combination of things makes him deadly as an opponent. The enhancement spells work by making him stronger, faster, and more impervious to physical damage. By the time he's a teenager, his wolf form is as big as an SUV and it takes a pretty serious gun to wound him. These only get stronger as he gets older and more skilled and uses more blood sacrifice to fuel them. But they can effect other parts of him too. His sense of smell, his hearing, and his eyes.

In his wolf form it is much more automatic, because he does it more, but he can do this in his human form as well. He can see farther than a human, he can choose to see a broader spectrum of color, and with enough focus he can see spirits and magic itself move through the air.

Ancestors: I don't know if he has any feelings on his ancestors that are his own. He has feelings about his mother and father because he knew them personally, and he doesn't feel like his grandparents count as "ancestors" because they're still alive.

In general, witches are taught to think very highly of their ancestors, especially their female ancestors. They descended from women who became witches through very painful and drawn out sacrifice that ended up saving their home. They call these first witches The Great Grandmothers of the Forest and if anyone wants to read more about them or The Cold Sowing that information can be found here. He is a direct descendant of two of those first witches, and that ancestral line is why he has his position---why his family leads their respective clans.

He respects them, but he doesn't really think about them or any of his ancestors. He's too concerned with the present to pay attention to those who are dead and gone.

But sort of a fun fact: He has the ancestral wand that has been passed down for thousands of years from those first witches. It is a tradition for a mother's wand to go to their firstborn son, and a father's to their daughter. So technically, both Beck and Fen have very old, very powerful wands that have been connected to their bloodline for thousands of years.

Delight: Can he even feel delight at this point? Lol. But he is a pretty hard person to even crack a smile out of, better yet to delight. The closest he probably comes to this kind of a feeling is when he and Beck just get a second to actually spend time together that isn't weighed down by so much other bullshit. They do, quite genuinely get along like two peas in a pod, and they do love each other. There's just so much shit in the way of it. But on the odd chance they get a rare day when Fen doesn't have ten million extremely stressful things to get done and Beck isn't trying to get away for whatever reason, and they sit and talk to each other, it feels like they're kids again. They laugh and needle each other and tell inside jokes and gossip. Fen also has a deep love for the outdoors and cool leaves and random rocks and if he can just breathe for a second than he can almost feel like a person again---like a real brother again---and he can be happy. Maybe even delighted.

#I hate that so much of Fen is wrapped up in Beck #but like it really just is that way #he's very isolated #hcs;; fenris

[ichiro-artosaki]

sivir adopts fen into the shurima fam after finding him whilst tomb raiding

#sivir #league of legends #legends of runeterra #sivir is like 'i keep this one this one is good' #she takes fen with her everywhere now #that's her baby

[cielrouge]

YA SFF Books by Black Authors 

A Song Below Water by Bethany C. Morrow: About the strength of black sisterhood set in Portland, OR, best friends Tavi and Effie discover their true supernatural identity when Effie starts being haunted by demons from her past, and Tavia accidentally lets out her magical siren voice during a police stop.

A Chorus Rises (A Song Below Water #2) by Bethany C. Morrow: Teen influencer Naema Bradshaw is an Eloko, a person who’s gifted with a song that woos anyone who hears it. Everyone loves her — well, until she's cast as the awful person who exposed Tavia’s secret siren powers. When a new, flourishing segment of Naema’s online supporters start targeting black girls, however, Naema must discover the true purpose of her magical voice.

A Song of Wraiths and Ruin by Roseanne A. Brown: Inspired by West African folklore in which a grieving crown princess, Karina, and a desperate refugee, Malik, find themselves on a collision course to murder each other, despite their growing attraction.

Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor: Sunny Nwazue, an American-born albino child of Nigerian parents, moves with her family back to Nigeria, where she learns that she has latent magical powers which she and three similarly gifted friends use to catch a serial killer.

Akata Warrior (Akata Witch #2) by Nnedi Okorafor: Now stronger, feistier, and a bit older, Sunny Nwazue, along with her friends from the the Leopard Society, travel through worlds, both visible and invisible, to the mysterious town of Osisi, where they fight in a climactic battle to save humanity.

Bad Witch Burning by Jessica Lewis: For fans of Us and The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina comes a witchy story full of black girl magic as one girl’s dark ability to summon the dead offers her a chance at a new life, while revealing to her an even darker future.

Beasts Made of Night by Tochi Onyebuchi: After he eats the sin of a royal, Taj, a talented aki, or sin-eater who consumes the guilt of others whose transgressions are exorcised from them by powerful but corrupt Mages, is drawn into a plot to destroy the city, and he must fight to save the princess he loves and his own life.

Beasts of Prey by Ayana Gray: Two Black teenagers, talented Beastkeeper Koffi and warrior-in-training Ekon, must trek into a magical jungle to take down an ancient creature menacing the city of Lkossa, before they become the hunted.

The Belles by Dhonielle Clayton: In the opulent world of Orléans, where Beauty is a commodity only a few control, Belle Camellia Beauregard will learn the dark secrets behind her powers, and rise up to change the world. 

A Blade So Black by L.L. McKinney: A whimsical and butt-kicking Alice in Wonderland retelling featuring a black teen heroine who battles Nightmares in the dark and terrifying dream realm known as Wonderland. 

Bleeding Violet by Dia Reeves: 16-year-old Hanna reunites with her estranged mother in an East Texas town that is haunted with doors to dimensions of the dead and protected by demon hunters called Mortmaine.

Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sambury: Set in near-future Toronto in which, after failing to come into her powers, 16-year-old Black witch Voya Thomas must choose between losing her family’s magic forever or murdering her first love.

The Bones of Ruin by Sarah Raughley: Set in Victorian England, African tightrope walker Iris cannot die; but soon gets drafted in the fight-to-the-death tournament of freaks where she learns the terrible truth of who and what she really is.

The Cost of Knowing by Brittney Morris: A gripping, evocative novel about Black teen Alex Rufus, who has the power to see into the future, and whose life turns upside down when he foresees his younger brother’s imminent death.

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi: 17-year-old Zélie and companions journey to a mythic island seeking a chance to bring back magic to the land of Orïsha, in a fantasy world infused with the textures of West Africa.

Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2) by Tomi Adeyemi: After battling the impossible, Zélie and Amari have finally succeeded in bringing magic back to the land of Orïsha. But with civil war looming on the horizon, Zélie finds herself at a breaking point: she must discover a way to bring the kingdom together or watch as Orïsha tears itself apart.

Cinderella Is Dead by Kalynn Bayron: 16-year-old Sophia would much rather marry Erin, her childhood best friend, than parade in front of suitors. At the ball, Sophia flees, hiding in Cinderella’s mausoleum. There, she meets Constance, the last known descendant of Cinderella and her step sisters. Together they vow to bring down the king once and for all.

The Cost of Knowing by Brittney Morris: A gripping, evocative novel about Black teen Alex Rufus, who has the power to see into the future, and whose life turns upside down when he foresees his younger brother’s imminent death.

Crown of Thunder (Beasts Made of Night #2) by Tochi Onyebuchi: Taj has escaped Kos, but Queen Karima will go to any means necessary--including using the most deadly magic--to track him down. 

A Crown So Cursed (Nightmare Verse #3) by L.L. McKinney: Alice is ready to jump into battle when she learns that someone is building an army of Nightmares to attack the mortal world, before she learns of a personal connection to Wonderland.

Daughters of Jubilation by Kara Lee Corthron: In Jim Crow South, black teen Evalene Deschamps finds her place among a family of women gifted with magical abilities, known as jubilation - a gift passed down from generations of black women since the time of slavery.

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland: The Civil War is over, but mostly because the dead rose at Gettysburg—and then started rising everywhere else. Fighting the undead is a breeze for Jane McKenne, an Attendant, trained in both weaponry and etiquette to protect the well-to-do. But the fight for freedom? That’s a different story.

Deathless Divide (Dread Nation #2) by Justina Ireland: After the fall of Summerland, Jane McKeene hoped her life would get simpler. But nothing is easy when you’re a girl trained in putting down the restless dead, and a devastating loss on the road to Nicodermus has Jane questioning everything she thought she knew about surviving in 1880’s America.

A Dream So Dark (Nightmare Verse #2) by L.L. McKinney: Still reeling from her recent battle (and grounded until she graduates) Alice must cross the Veil to rescue her friends and stop the Black Knight once and for all in Wonderland.

Early Departures by Justin A. Reynolds: Jamal’s best friend Q is brought back to life after a freak accident … but they only have a short time together before he will die again.  How can Jamal fix his friendship without the truth?

Fate of Flames by Sarah Raughley:  Before they can save the world from the monstrous phantoms, four girls who have the power to control the classical elements: earth, air, fire, and water must first try to figure out how to work together. 

For All Time by Shanna Miles: Tamar and Fayard, two Black teens, are fated to repeat their love story across hundreds of lifetimes, from 14th-century Mali to the distant future, as they struggle to break the cycle.

The Gilded Ones by Namina Forna: Inspired by the culture of West Africa, a feminist fantasy debut traces the experiences of 16-year-old Deka, who is invited to leave her discriminatory village to join the emperor’s army of near-immortal women warriors.

The Good Luck Girls by Charlotte Nicole Davis: The country of Arketta calls them Good Luck Girls--they know their luck is anything but. Sold to a "welcome house" as children and branded with cursed markings. When Clementine accidentally kills a man, the girls risk a dangerous escape to find freedom, justice, and revenge.

Kingdom of Souls by Rena Barron: Set in a West African-inspired fantasy kingdom, Arrah comes from a long line of powerful witchdoctors, yet fails at magic. When Arrah trade years off her life for magic to stop the Demon King from destroying the world—that is if it doesn’t kill her first.

Legacy of Light (The Effgies #3) by Sarah Raughley: After Saul’s strike on Oslo—one seemingly led by Maia herself—the Effigies’ reputation is in shambles. Belle has gone rogue, Chae Rin and Lake have disappeared, and the Sect is being dismantled and replaced by a terrifying new world order helmed by Blackwell. If the Effigies can’t put the pieces together soon, there may not be much left of the world they’ve fought so desperately to save.

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn: In this King Arthur retelling, Black teen Bree Matthews infiltrates a secret society of powerful magic wielders to find out the truth behind her mother’s untimely death.

Mem by Bethany C. Morrow: In alternate reality Montreal (1925), a young woman’s personality is the result of a startling experimental procedure, leaving her to struggle with the question of who she really is.

Miles Morales, Spider-Man by Jason Reynolds: But Miles Morales accidentally discovers a villainous teacher's plan to turn good kids bad, he will need to come to terms with his own destiny as the new Spider-man. 

Oh My Gods by Alexandra Sheppard: Half-mortal teenager Helen Thomas goes to live with her father—who is Zeus, masquerading as a university professor—and must do her best to keep the family secret intact.

The Opposite of Always by Justin A. Reynolds: After falling for Kate, her unexpected death sends Jack back in time to the moment they first met, but he soon learns that his actions have consequences when someone else close to him dies.

Orleans by Sherri L. Smith: Set in a futuristic, hostile Orleans landscape, Fen de la Guerre must deliver her tribe leader's baby over the Wall into the Outer States before her blood becomes tainted with Delta Fever. 

Nubia: Real One by L.L. McKinney & Robyn Smith: When Nubia’s best friend, Quisha, is threatened by a boy who thinks he owns the town, Nubia will risk it all—her safety, her home, and her crush on that cute kid in English class—to become the hero society tells her she isn’t.

A Phoenix First Must Burn: 16 Stories of Black Girl Magic, Resistance, and Hope edited by Patrice Caldwell: Filled with stories of love and betrayal, strength and resistance, this collection contains an array of complex and true-to-life characters in which you cannot help but see yourself reflected. Witches and scientists, sisters and lovers, priestesses and rebels.

This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron: In this contemporary fantasy inspired by The Secret Garden, Black teen Briseis has a gift: she can grow plants with a single touch. Up against a centuries-old curse and the deadliest plant on earth, Bri must harness her gift to protect herself and her family, when a nefarious group comes after her in search of a rare and dangerous immortality elixir.

A Psalm of Storm and Silence (A Song of Wraiths and Ruin #2) by Roseanne A. Brown: As the fabric holding Sonande together begins to tear, Malik and Karina once again find themselves torn between their duties and their desires.

A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) by Amanda Joy: After learning the truth of her heritage, Eva is on the run with her sister Isa as her captive, but with the Queendom of Myre on the brink of revolution, Eva and Isa must make peace with each other to save their kingdom.

Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko: In a West African-inspired empire, Tarisai is raised by The Lady and sent to kill the Crown Prince once she gains his trust. Tarisai won’t stand by and become someone’s pawn—but is she strong enough to choose a different path for herself?

Redemptor (Raybearer #2) by Jordan Ifueko: For the first time, an Empress Redemptor sits on Aritsar's throne. To appease the sinister spirits of the dead, Tarisai must now anoint a council of her own, coming into her full power as a Raybearer.

The Ravens by Danielle Page & Kass Morgan: The sisters of Kappu Rho Nu share a secret: they’re a coven of witches. For Vivi Deveraux, being one of Kappa Rho Nu’s Ravens means getting a chance to redefine herself. For Scarlett Winters, a bonafide Raven and daughter of a legacy Raven. When Vivi and Scarlett are paired as big and little for initiation, they find themselves sinking into the sinister world of blood oaths and betrayals.

Rebel Sisters (War Girls #2) by Tochi Onyebuchi: Though they are working toward common goals of helping those who suffered, Ify and Uzo are worlds apart. But when a mysterious virus breaks out among the children in the Space Colonies, their paths collide.

Reaper of Souls (Kingdom of Souls #2) by Rena Barron: After so many years yearning for the gift of magic, Arrah has the one thing she’s always wanted—at a terrible price. But the Demon King’s shadow looms closer than she thinks. And as Arrah struggles to unravel her connection to him, defeating him begins to seem more and more impossible.

A River of Royal Blood by Amanda Joy: A North African-inspired feminist fantasy in which two sisters, Eva and Isa must compete in a magical duel to the death for the right to inherit the queendom of Myre.  

Slice of Cherry by Dia Reeves: In Portero, Texas, teens Kit and Fancy Cordelle, daughters of the infamous Bonesaw Killer, bring two boys with similar tendencies to a world of endless possibilities they have discovered behind a mysterious door.

Siege of Shadows (The Effigies #2) by Sarah Raughley:  After Saul reappears with an army of soldiers with Effigy-like abilities, threatening to unleash the monstrous Phantoms, e-year-old Maia and the other Effigies hope to defeat him by discovering the source of their power over the four classical elements, but they are betrayed by the Sect and bogged down by questions about the previous Fire Effigy's murder.

The Sisters of Reckoning (The Good Luck Girls #2) by Charlotte Nicole Davis: The blockbuster sequel to an alternate Old West-set commercial fantasy adventure.

The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow: Set in the near-future, in which a captive teen human and a young alien leader—bonded by their love of forbidden books and music—embark on a desperate road trip as they attempt to overturn alien rule and save humankind. 

War Girls by Tochi Onyebuchi: Set in a futuristic, Black Panther-inspired Nigeria, sisters Onyii and Ify, separated by a devastating civil war, must fight their way back to each other against all odds.

Vessel by Sarah Beth Durst: When the goddess Bayla fails to take over Liyana's body, Liyana's people abandon her in the desert to find a more worthy vessel, but she soon meets Korbyn, who says the souls of seven deities have been stolen and he needs Liyana's help to find them.

The Weight of Stars by K. Ancrum: After a horrific accident brings loners Ryann and Alexandria together, Ryann learns that Alexandria's mother is an astronaut who volunteered for a one-way trip to the edge of the solar system.

White Smoke by Tiffany D. Jackson: Black teen Marigold and her blended family move into a newly renovated, picture-perfect home in a dilapidated Midwestern city, and are haunted by what she thinks are ghosts, but might be far worse.

Wings of Ebony by J. Elle: Black teen Rue, from a poor neighborhood who, after learning she is half-human, half-goddess, must embrace both sides of her heritage to unlock her magic and destroy the racist gods poisoning her neighborhood with violence, drugs, and crime.

Witches Steeped in Gold by Ciannon Thomas: In this Jamaican-inspired fantasy debut, two witches from enemy castes—one seeking power, and one seeking revenge—will stop at nothing to overthrow the witch queen, even if it means forming an alliance with each other and unleashing chaos on their island nation.

Within These Wicked Walls by Lauren Blackwood: An Ethiopian-inspired Jane Eyre retelling in which an unlicensed debtera, or exorcist, Andromeda, is hired to rid a castle of its dangerous curses, only to fall in love with Magnus Rochester, a boy whose life hangs in the balance.

Yesterday Is History by Kosoko Jackson: Black teen Andre Cobb undergoes a liver transplant and as a side effect winds up slipping through time from present-day Boston to 1969 NYC on the eve of the Stonewall riots, delivering a story that is part romance, part gay history, and part time-travel drama, exploring how far we have and haven't come. 

#yalit #black authors #ya sff #black ya sff #booklr #book recs #book recommendations

[raymondebidochonlifechoices]

To summarise:

It’s that time of the year when the writers need to fill their woke quota. Feminism is the theme of tonight’s episode, which means it’s all about sapphic Cheryl through the ages.

The year is 2022. Or at least, that’s what 1957 (Poppy’s timeline) plus 65 adds to but who cares!

Nana Roseanne Blossom (Nana Rosanna?) is nearing her end. Cheryl attempts to move things along by boring her to death reading to her the family memoirs. Britta is also present to ask pertinent exegetical questions.

The first story is that of Abigail Blossom and Thomasina Topaz schoolmistresses extraordinaires. Don’t be fooled by their juvenile hairstyles: they are indeed adults.

Thomagail’s romance starts after a tumultuous fight over curriculum issues in front of their young wards. Is it appropriate for young girls to gaze up at comets? No, that was not a euphemism. Now, that might seem a topic better discussed before the start of the lessons, but who am I to talk scheduling to the Riverdale writers?

It turns out mistress Thomasina killed her abusive husband in self-defense. Constable Keller turns up to arrest her. If only she had changed her name when fleeing to the town nearest to her own …  

A faked case of pox succeeds in keeping the constable away but not soldier, warlock and amateur photographer Fen Fogarty. He informs Cheryl of her brother’s death in battle. I am absolutely gobsmacked by the fact that a war did actually take place in 1892! What?!

Fen has forged a letter from Jason in order to obtain Cheryl’s hand and fortune in marriage. Thomagail uncover his dastardly plan but he blackmails them with an axe.

He must have left said axe lying around as he got undressed, because on the night of Bailey’s comet passing Earth, Abigail uses it to chop him up. There’s so much blood spurting everywhere, that some must have inevitably gone into her eyes messing with her aim. That’s the only reasonable explanation for Fen surviving his axing, getting up, cleaning up his bloody hands, and calmly cursing Abigail before actually dying. Oh well.

Next up is Poppyseed Blossom’s story from the ‘50s. She’s holding salons that act as a front to reading banned books (Lady Chatterley’s Lover) and providing Rivervale’s female population with root remedies.

These f.e. include herbs that will give TamTam’s husband a stomach bug so that she can take his place working at their family Diner, for what I can only surmise will be no payment.

Apparently, there is no girl code in the ‘50s, ‘cause the Rivervale women tattle to their husbands. The husbands are not pleased.

One would think that sex marathons would be welcomed but Velma’s husband seems quite irate by his wife feeding him an aphrodisiac. Is he embarrassed for liking the pegging?

Jack, who doesn’t know how Vale!Betty rolls, pressures Bitsy into finally agreeing to having a second baby. Mark my words, his days, much like Archie’s in 6x01, are numbered.

Ep4Vale!Blossom, unlike Ep1Vale!Blossom, is against group think.

Kirk the FBI agent questions Poppy.  “Confess you are a communist or I’ll put you in jail to rot” says Kirk, who would have to put Poppy in jail to rot if she did confess she were a communist, 1954 Act and all.

Bitsy visits her in jail for no evident narrative reason.

Poppy remains in her cell for 9 months. She is not allowed to see anyone except her hairdresser and her manicurist.

She finally leaves her cell to help Bitsy deliver her baby in the hospital, as all the doctors and nurses have gone away to observe Bailey’s comet.

Back in nowadays Thornhill, Sabrina the twenty-something witch, makes an appearance to help with a spell and also to explain to Britta -the only person still invested in these stories- what happened. Exposition, thy name is Riverdale Rivervale.

It was a classic body swap, Freaky Friday style, Sabrina says. Cheryl is now Nana Rose and dead Nana Rose is Abigail/Poppyseed/Cheryl, who were all but the same person cursed to eternal life by Fen. Which is to say this episode was a colossal waste of my time.

Happy sad endings are the best, conclude the same writers who gave us 19 episodes of misery in s5.

Toffee has been busy smuggling various Blossom heirlooms from Thornhill. Period pieces sell like hot cakes on e-bay! She’s getting ready to hitch a ride with Jughead through Riverdale’s Cinematic Multiverse.

#Riverdale season 6 #Riverdale season 6 spoilers #Rivervale #s6 recaps

[bowtied-pasta]

Please I need depraved fen smut-

Hm…. Granted~

✨Reminding minors that they aren’t welcome here and if you read this and are younger than 18 I hope your insides rot until they become your outsides. This is not for you, never has been and never will be, so keep your disgusting, childish selves away. Respect my rules, the law and yourselves.✨

Sensory deprivation, bondage, consensual non-con, orgasm denial.

The following is a scene that was talked about before it happened and is consensual in every aspect, and that is made apparent with the use of safe words. But if you don’t do non-con in any way shape or form, then do not read this.

Tensing her body, she huffed as she woke up. Mind groggy and thoughts swimming in the thick fog of sleep. She didn’t relax though, finding it hard to do so when she realized she couldn’t bring her arms down. A blindfold over her eyes keeping her from seeing, but the cold air in the room made her realize she was naked.

She could feel her wrists bound with some kind of fabric, stretched above her with a little slack, just enough to tug. Her panic increased when she tried to move her legs, finding them bound as well, but she could tell it was a spreader bar.

Shifting around and pulling on the bondage above her, she didn’t know whether to be comforted or not by the fact she could tell she was on a bed. At least it was soft.

She froze stiff when she felt the bed by her head dip under someone joining her. And then on the other side. She shrunk into herself, feeling their gaze burn over her body. Their presence above her freezing her in both fear and curiosity.

“Look at you. So lovely. Trapped here, waiting for me.” She startled when he spoke, seeming to growl right in her ear. She fought to contain her whimpers when she felt him play with her hair, brushing it out of her face. “Now now, no need to be afraid, little mouse. You do remember your word, right? What’s your word, baby girl?”

She let out a sigh she didn’t know she had been holding. Her word. Thats right. She has a word. Its okay. “Red.”

He hummed in affirmation, his finger tips brushing over her breasts, nails leaving near ticklish trails over her flesh. Stopping to gently squeeze, playing with her while she couldn’t see. “You were so easy to bring here. So small. So weak. You didn’t even think about the possibility of being drugged in your own home. None of that matters anymore, beautiful. You’re all mine, and nothing is going to be able to take you away from me.”

She shivered, his words slipping her back into her space, shying away from his touch. Whines rising in her throat, but she clamped down on them. Not giving him the satisfaction.

Breathing uneven as he explored her. Touching anywhere and everywhere he could get his hands on, which wasn’t much of a challenge. Making her moan and whine and arch, kissing and sucking and pinching at parts of her body that made her weak. Shaky. Wet. And he knew it too, taking his time finding every single one of them. Taking advantage of her bound form.

His hand trailed down her body, her muscles contracting and releasing under his touch as she fought off the ticklish feeling. She squirmed viciously when his hand dipped between her thighs, finger tips brushing lightly over her lower lips. She desperately attempted to close her legs to no avail, the bar keeping them far apart and wide open for his amusement.

“Now, theres no need for that. I’ll make you feel so good, all you have to do is stay still. Be a good girl and stay still, little mouse.” He gripped her thigh, nails digging in and making her still herself quickly as pain shot through her leg, whimpering and shaking her head in understanding.

He chuckled at her easy submission, easing up and gently rubbing the irritated area to try and soothe it. “Such a good girl. I’ll make you feel so good. You’re perfect. You’re meant to be mine. I’ll make you mine. You’ll never want anyone else ever again.”

She shrunk in on herself even more, worried about what that meant for her, but not getting much time to think about it. His fingers trailing over her slick once more before slowly sliding two inside of her. She tensed at the slight stretch, trying to relax so it wouldn’t hurt her more than it was probably already going to.

He pumped in and out a few times, slicking up his fingers before gently scissoring her open. Tutting as she squirmed, her brows furrowing in discomfort and attempting to close her legs once again. “What did I say, it’ll feel good. You’re okay. Tell you what, how does this feel?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice, not getting any time to react though, his fingers curling up against her g-spot and grinding mercilessly against it. Arching her back and pulling on the restraints above her, warbled moans escaping her as she tried to fight her bodies responses.

“Thats it, you like that, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and he obviously didn’t expect a response. She tensed and began shaking when he used his thumb to gently circle her clit in tight circles. “Tell me how good it feels, baby girl.”

She turned her head away from where she could hear his voice, growling right in her ear. His tongue and lips on her neck busy making hickeys and bruises, stopping only to speak in her ear. Hot air puffing gently against the side if her face making him impossible to ignore.

She bit down on her moaning, holding her breath so that she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her noises. His deep chuckle seemed to resonate through her body, the heat and pressure getting to be too much. She was so close. Tears gathered in her eyes under the blindfold as her body shook, his fingers scissoring her open one last time before.... he stopped.

His fingers slid out of her and he pushed her hips back down to the bed. Hand smoothing over her stomach and leaving a trail of her slick along her body as he returned to toying with her breast. “So beautiful, so small, so breakable. Its a shame you want to play dirty.”

She made a small noise of protest before he lifted his hand and she suddenly felt his finger tips prodding at her lips. She opened on reflex, tensing and protesting more when she realized that he was making her clean his fingers. He was forcing her to taste herself.

Her cheeks burned red hot, not liking how her mouth seemed to water at the action. His fingers massaging into her wet muscle, making her lick herself off of him. He peppered kisses down her chest, humming and telling her how cute she is in between kisses. So cute, licking him clean like that.

She turned her head away again when he finally took his fingers out of her mouth, not getting any chance to tell him off for it before his fingers were back at her entrance once more. This time three fingers slid in, slowly, as she was wet but the stretch made her writhe under him.

“There you go. Thats it. So good for me. It’ll feel better soon, I promise. You’ll feel so good.” She knew she could say the word at any time, but she relaxed. Shivering with the promise of more to come. She didn’t need to day the word. She didn’t want to say the word. Red was a color so far removed from her mind, she didn’t consider saying it.

She wanted more.

He was more than happy to give it to her.

#offenderman #this is my verson #not one message about it #not one #look through his tag on my blog or get out #kinda lemonaid #lemonaid

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Dorothea

I can’t believe I’m back! It’s been a little rough these past couple of months but I’m happy to be writing again and hopefully will bring it back to my daily routine! Taylor released a new album so of course I had to write something! I hope you guys enjoy, it’s just a little silly thing.

“We are a failure.”

“We have five Grammys.”

“We are a failure with five Grammys.”

Gavriel snorted at the same time Lorcan threw a piece of paper at Fenrys’s head. Rowan simply sighed, resting his head against the table and letting out a deep groan.

“Why can’t we release the album with twelve songs?” He raised his head, looking at his bandmates. “Every single song we tried to write this past week was absolute shit. I don’t want to shove some lame ass song on our album because my aunt feels like we should have thirteen songs like the last two albums.”

“Yeah, sure.” Fenrys snorted. “Why don’t you go tell Maeve that?”

Vaughan chuckled, putting the drumsticks down and walking to the table where Fenrys, Rowan, and Connall were sitting. Lorcan and Gavriel both sat on the ground nearby, ripping out bad half-finished lyrics from some notebooks.

“We need a vocalist, that’s why he won’t do it.” Vaughan singsonged, sitting by Connall’s side. “We have been trying to write the songs together, why don’t we try something each one of us wrote separately?”

There was a beat of silence. For the five years the band had been together, every single song had been written by all the members. Sometimes two or three of them would do most of the work, but out of their thirty eight songs, there wasn’t one that didn’t have a contribution from all the members. Yeah, they would write their own songs, but it was never really serious or even meant to be used in an album.

And because they weren’t serious or meant to be used in an album, they were either absolute shit or fucking personal.

Rowan held in another groan.

Lorcan shrugged, getting up and sitting by Rowan’s side. Gavriel did the same, sitting on the table head opposite to where Fenrys was.

“Ok, who’s gonna go first?” Gavriel clapped his hands. “Fenrys.”

“Why me?” He squeaked.

“Why not you?” Connall butted in.

“Yeah, why not you?” Vaughan backed his boyfriend.

“Rowan, this is a mutiny against me.” Fenrys turned his head to Rowan, pouting like a child.

Both Rowan and Lorcan smiled sarcastically, and the latter said, “you are not the one in charge. If it was a mutiny, it would be against Rowan.”

“Who asked for the vulture to speak?” Fenrys asked, eyes narrowing at Lorcan.

“Just show us a goddamn song, Fen.” Rowan sighed, rubbing his temples. A few years ago, he had insisted for Gavriel to be the leader of the band. The older man had refused profusely, and Rowan only found out why when he started being the leader.

He was surrounded by adults who had the money and influence of gods but acted like children.

It was like being a mother but without the Mother’s day gifts. No advantages, really.

As instructed, Fenrys presented three songs for the group. And then Vaughan did. And then Connall, Gavriel, and Lorcan.

“I don’t know how to say this politely…” Connall started.

“They are absolute shit.” Lorcan finished.

“Shit is a compliment.” Rowan nodded, letting out a straggled laugh. He scratched the stubble on his cheeks, a small sense of panic rising inside of him. It wasn’t that Rowan was shy— he had let go of his shyness a long time ago—, but that didn’t mean he liked to go around advertising his personal ideas to the world. Some lyrics drafts should remain just that— drafts. Not everything was meant to be heard by everyone. Gathering some of his courage along with the knowledge that an acceptable song was an absolute necessity, he sighed. “I might have something.”

“What is it?” Gavriel said calmly at the same time Lorcan grunted. “You have something and you let us go through the torture of listening to Fenrys’s ideas?”

“You hurt my feelings like that, man.”

Rowan ignored both Lorcan and Fenrys, turning to Gavriel. “It’s about a girl.”

The room was dead silent.

Rowan knew he wasn’t really the dating type, much less the type to write songs about love, but the absolute silence was a little offensive.

“Ok…” Vaughan said, a scary smile on his face. “That came out of nowhere.”

“You can love someone?” Connall asked.

“You can feel emotions?” Fenrys deadpanned after his twin finished his sentence.

Lorcan snorted and Rowan saw Gavriel biting the inside of his cheeks. Absolute regret washed over his body immediately, but it was too late to back down.

Rowan tried to play it cool, keeping any emotions out of his face. He shrugged, opening a notebook and tapping a pen against it. “Not anyone I’ve seen in years. I don’t even remember her real name.”

The Cadre exchanged looks.

“When I was a kid my parents used to send me to this summer camp. From ages six to thirteen there was this girl who also went every single summer. She was a year younger, but we were friends. Barely talked during the rest of the year, maybe exchanged a letter or two.” He continued, eyes skimming through the lyrics in front of him. “Childhood crush and all. I know her name started with an A… Maybe an E? The counselors used to call her Dorothy, and I thought it was Dorothea. Called her that for two months until she corrected me. The nickname stuck between us, so yeah, Dorothea is all I have. I was thirteen when I stopped going, so she was twelve. Probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Oh, that’s cute… Tragic young love and all.” Fenrys was smiling like an idiot, and Rowan rolled his eyes. He had never talked to anyone about Dorothea, not even his parents, not even when he was a kid. Life at home was shit during the whole year, but the summers? They were for late nights, swimming in the lake, running in the forest. They were sunny, and easy, and the few good memories he had from childhood. And she was in all of those memories— the girl and that fucking dog. Dorothea was the purest thing about his childhood, and he never wanted to have her memory stained by telling about her to his parents or school friends.

“Let me see this.” Vaughan said, taking Rowan’s notebook before Rowan could react. His friend’s pitch black eyes skimmed rapidly through the page, mouth opening slowly. “Holy shit.”

“It’s shit?” Lorcan asked.

“No, I mean holy shit as in this is amazing.” Vaughan looked up, brows raised. He passed the notebook to Gavriel, making both Lorcan and Connall move closer to read it too.  “You had this song for two years now according to the date on the edge of the page. Why didn’t you share?”

Rowan cleared his throat, regret just growing more and more. “We write every song together.”

“If every song you write is like this, then we should probably let you take care of this task from now on.” Lorcan said, taking the notebook and throwing it to Fenrys.

Fenrys’s was probably Rowan’s best friend. They knew each other for the longest, and even though Rowan would never admit it out loud, Fenrys was the closest thing he had to a family and his approval was important.

Fen raised his head from the notebook, dark eyes shinning as a huge smile broke his face in half. “We’re recording this. Today.”

Connall and Vaughan laughed, and Lorcan clapped Rowan’s back. “Good job, birdie.”

Rowan didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but somewhere between absolute fright and excitement could probably describe it.

—————

“Rowan Whitethorn!” A female voice rang through the room, and every member of the Cadre winced.

“Your aunt is gonna kill you.” Connall said, face washed with fear.

Maeve Whitethorn was the scariest woman to ever walk this earth, and so Rowan didn’t think Connall was completely wrong about that.

And yet, when Maeve entered the room she was…

“What the fuck.” Fenrys blurted out.

Smiling?

“She smiles.” Fenrys loudly whispered to Lorcan, receiving a punch to his arm.

“You, my nephew, are a fucking genius.”

“Yeah, ok, what the fuck.” Vaughan asked from the drums.

“What did I do?” Rowan asked cautiously, afraid that his aunt had actually gone insane.

“Dorothea, that’s what you did!”

“People liked the song then?” Gavriel asked from the couch. “It was a filler song, but good to know that’s not forgotten.”

“Oh, you’re not understanding.” Maeve laughed. All the boys’ jaws went slack. “People are eating that song up. And I mean trending everywhere, top in every single chart… Everyone loves Dorothea.”

“But how?” Lorcan frowned. “We didn’t advertise it.”

“Because people love a real life story of love.”

With that comment, Rowan’s body went taunt.

What the fuck.

No one in the band had told anyone what the song was about, nor that it was a real thing. For all the world knew, it was just another song that the band wrote together. And that’s how it should have stayed. Rowan hated being the center of attentions, and hated even more when his personal life was the topic at matter.

Dorothea had been his secret for so long, and he really thought that the song would be a secretive way to tell the story to the world.

If people knew it was real, if people knew anything about it, it was obviously not as secretive as he thought it was gonna be.

Shit, Dorothea wasn’t even her real fucking name. There’s no way anyone could know that.

Unless…

“Wait, she heard the song?” Rowan blurted out, a mix of emotions making his stomach drop. That also wasn’t on his plans.

Fenrys’s eyes widened. “Dorothea came forward?”

“Holy shit.” Vaughan let out a nervous laugh. Connall put a hand over his mouth, and both Lorcan and Gavriel looked at Rowan.

The boys knew how Rowan wanted this song to go. Knew he didn’t want the real story to go around like this. Because when stories went around like this, people would start making theories, and harassing the girl, and just shoving themselves in situations that did not concern them. Rowan loved his fans, loved the world he was in, but he was also the first to admit how brutal it could be. It would only take one slip up, one fact about this girl that the media didn’t like, for the whole world to attack her.

Rowan tried to protect her from his fucked up life during childhood just to throw her to the sharks later on.

And yet, another part of his panic had nothing to do with the media and the fans. It had to do with her. What if she hated the song? What of she didn’t want that story to be told? What if she wished for a calm life where her presence would never be noticed by the media? Rowan couldn’t stop thinking about her reaction, if she had remembered him the first time she listened to it or if it took a while.

He felt like his own body was trying to suffocate itself.

Fuck, he was gonna vomit. Or maybe pass out. Shit maybe even pass out on a pool of his vomit.

Ok, that was disgusting.

“It wasn’t the girl who came forward, it was her roommate. Posted a video online and then boom! Global success.” Maeve said, not even noticing her nephew’s growing panic. “Wait, I’ll show you the video!”

Fenrys grabbed Rowan’s shoulder, sitting by his side on the couch as Maeve plugged her phone to the projector. Lorcan sat between Rowan and Gavriel on the couch, and Connall and Vaughan sat on the ground. All of them looked expectantly at the screen, waiting for the bomb to drop.

He was gonna see her again.

After sixteen years.

Shit, it was getting hot inside that fucking room.

The screen popped up, and a beautiful woman with green eyes and long dark brown hair showed up.

“That’s not her.” Rowan blurted out. She could have dyed her hair, facial expression changed over the years but… That wasn’t the girl he met during the summer. No, he would recognize her eyes anywhere, and they sure as hell weren’t green like his.

Maeve rolled her eyes. “I told you it was her roommate who came forward. Now watch.”

The video started playing, and the strong and excited voice of the smiling woman on the screen started sounding through the speakers. “Ok, so I was driving home the other day, listening to the new album of the Cadre when the song Dorothea came up, right? And I thought that it was a little strange for the Cadre to put a rerecording of a song on the album since they had never done it before.”

The girl started to walk around her apartment, excitement lacing every single word.

“But then I found out that Dorothea is not a rerecording. But that doesn’t make sense, because I was a hundred percent sure I already knew this story. I don’t know any Dorothea, and I sure as hell don’t know Rowan Whitethorn, so it made no sense that I already knew the story being told in the song.” The girl let out a laugh, entering a room inside her apartment. “For days I would listen to that fucking song and keep asking myself why I feel like I know it. It’s not from a book, a movie…”

She started pulling out a box from under the bed, smile widening.

“And so yesterday my roommate asked me to grab an old box of VHS under her bed when I saw this box.” She filmed a huge box in front of her, the lid barely containing all the photos inside. “And that’s when I remembered where I know Dorothea from.”

The girl laughed again, opening the lid and running her hand through the pictures. “I knew the story because she had told me years ago. Dorothea wasn’t her fucking name, it was her nickname.”

As if in slow motion, the brunette took out an old picture from inside the box. Rowan felt all the air leaving his lungs as he stared at it. The picture was a little blurry, but there was no mistaking it. It was eight year old him in swim trunks, his arm over the shoulder of a shorter seven year old blond girl. Her biking was pink and full of frills, her wet blond hair sticking to her shoulders. She was holding a small black puppy, the dog obviously trying to wiggle himself out of the picture. The both stood before the lake, smiling brightly, a bunch of teeth missing. The girl in the video turned the picture, and right there, written in a fading blue pen was what made the song so famous.

Dorothea and Roro and Toto. Summer of 2000.

The girl in the video turned the camera back to her, smile not leaving her lips. “She told me that the nickname was Dorothea because the counselors used to call her Dorothy. As in the Wizard of Oz. The dog’s name was Toto, and so she was Dorothy. But then, he understood it wrong and just called her Dorothea. And…”

“What are you doing in my room?” A sweet, soft, and low voice interrupted whatever the brunette was going to say. She let out a yelp, letting the phone fall.

And the screen went black.

The room was silent for a few minutes after the video was over.

“Well shit.” Fenrys broke the silence. “What are the chances of her being as beautiful as her roommate?”

Lorcan reached behind Rowan to hit Fenrys on the back of his head.

“We should put a gag in his mouth.” Gavriel sighed.

“Oh, kinky.” Fenrys smiled seductively and winked at Gavriel. If it weren’t for the absolute shock raging inside of him, Rowan would have laughed.

“Is there a video of her?” Rowan quietly asked his aunt.

She looked at him for a second too long before nodding. “Just a second, there might be one. She isn’t really one for the cameras, but I do think she showed up in a Halloween video.”

She wasn’t one for the cameras.

Shit, shit, shit.

She wasn’t one for the cameras and Rowan had made her existence global knowledge.

Maeve took a few seconds to try to find the video, smiling again once she found it.

“This is still fucking weird. Your aunt can smile.” Fenrys said, and Rowan was glad for the words. Everything was happening too fast and too slow at the same time, and Fenrys’s stupid comments were a good way of centering himself. Looking at his friend, Rowan realized that Fenrys knew exactly what he was doing. “I thought she had lost the ability when she was, like, five or something.”

“That would imply that Maeve was ever a child.” Vaughan whispered from the ground.

Connall snorted, and Lorcan tried to contain a smirk.

“Here it is!” Maeve announced.

As if the screen was a magnet, all the eyes in the room snapped back to it. They all watched the screen expectantly, and Rowan thought Fenrys was even bouncing on his seat.

A petite woman appeared, clad in a black dress that matched her pitch black hair and eyes. If Rowan wasn’t so distracted, maybe he would have noticed Lorcan’s low, and yet sharp, intake of breath.

The pale girl was in the middle of two taller guys, one with inky black hair with a crown on top of it, sapphire eyes contrasting with the blood red of his cloak, and the other one with golden blond hair under a pirate hat. The three of them stared at a tall woman dressed in what Rowan supposed was a reaper costume. The white blond hair and golden eyes made her perfect for the part.

“He’s a cunt.” The reaper girl said, picking her nails with a scythe Rowan wasn’t absolutely sure was fake. The girl behind the camera— the brunette that recorded the video that exposed the real meaning of the song, Rowan supposed— chuckled as the two other guys exchanged a humorous look.

The petite woman smiled, obviously in agreement with her friend. “He is, but that’s ok. Did Tam end our three year relationship, six hours before Halloween, through the phone? Yes. Were we planning on a couple’s costume and I was left like an idiot wearing an Evie O’Connell costume with no Rick? Yes. But that’s ok because I have…”

“Me.” That same low and soft voice filled the room again, and as if she was always the center of attentions, all heads in the video snapped to her. Even though she wasn’t on camera yet, Rowan could hear the smile in her voice.

The blond guy rolled his eyes. “You have a thing for dramatic entrances, Aelin.”

Aelin.

Her name was Aelin.

“Reason why I live, actually. But come on. Don’t I deserve a dramatic entrance when I look like this? I look rather fucking dashing as Rick O’Connell, don’t I?”

“She does.” The guy with inky black hair nodded towards the blond guy.

“Don’t encourage her.” The other grunted, shaking his head but obviously smiling. “If my cousin’s head grows a little bit more she won’t be able to pass through the door.”

And then, as if time itself had stopped that second, the camera turned to Aelin and all oxygen left the room.

“Fucking shit.” Connall breathed, and Rowan saw Fenrys’s jaw going slack from the corner of his eye.

In his defense, so did Rowan’s.

The woman— Aelin— was exactly what she had just called herself. Fucking dashing.

Golden strawberry hair pulled back into one of those high, terribly made buns, slightly tan skin, and bright blue eyes, Aelin was every inch dashing she claimed to be. The costume was exactly what Brendan Fraser had wore the majority of the movie, and hell if it didn’t fit her perfectly. Aelin had grown to be the most beautiful woman Rowan had ever seen, and he felt his heart doing laps inside his chest just like when he was younger.

Well, fuck.

“If she was Rick O’Connell in the movies I would have probably paid more attention.” Fenrys muttered, dodging another hit from Lorcan. “What?! Look at her. The girl looks like the offspring of an angel and a supermodel.”

Aelin grinned, straight white teeth biting her lower lip. “Thank you, Dorian. And, I don’t need encouragement, Aedion. I am quite capable of being narcissistic on my own.”

The girl with blond white hair chuckled. “You were supposed to be a reaper with me.”

Aelin fake pouted. “Elide, my dearest cousin,” Aelin said pointedly, eyes narrowing at Aedion. Elide, the petite girl dressed as Evie, bit her cheeks to keep a smile in. “Needed me. Put a crown on top of your pretty head and do a couple’s costume with your boyfriend, Manon.”

Dorian sighed. “I tried convincing her.”

Manon simply crossed her arms. “I don’t do couple’s costume.”

Aelin shrugged nonchalantly. “Pity.”

And then, much to Rowan’s absolute panic and fascination, Aelin turned directly to the camera. She was obviously going to talk to the girl recording, but Rowan could barely hear the words as her full face came into view. Aelin was beautiful, but Aelin staring straight at you? Breathtaking.

“Don’t you think it’s a pity, Lys?” Aelin asked innocently, but a smirk graced her lips.

The smile in Lys’s voice was obvious. “Oh, yes. A pity.”

Aelin smiled, turning to Elide with a raised brow. Her cousin gave a less vicious version of Aelin’s smile. “Such a pity.”

It was obviously some inside joke, because Manon grunted, rolling her eyes. “Are we going or not?”

Aelin rich laugh drowned the room before the video ended.

“Well.” Vaughan said after a few beats of silence.

“Well.” Gavriel agreed.

“Well.” Another voice came from the door, and Rowan had to keep a displeased grunt in as Erawan walked into the room. The man was smiling sarcastically, eyeing the frozen image on the screen hungrily. Aelin had thrown her head back, mouth half open as she laughed. “Would you be pissed if I asked her hand in marriage, Rowan? Quite a beautiful girl, your Dorothea.”

Rowan would have gotten up and punched Erawan if Fenrys hadn’t literally sat on his lap before he could do anything. His friend turned to Erawan with a smile on his lips. “Unfortunately, Ewew, I believe the lady in question must prefer to stick to humans. She doesn’t really look like the I-do-demons type.”

Despite the obvious tension in the room, Connall took out his phone and took a picture of Fenrys sitting on Rowan’s lap. Lorcan had his arm behind both Gavriel and Rowan, and Vaughan was sitting in between Rowan and Lorcan’s leg. “You guys look like a strange ass family. This is gonna be this year’s Christmas card. I’ll photoshop myself in.”

Lorcan snorted, shaking his head before looking at Erawan. “Let’s leave the girl out of this, alright? If any of us wanted to use her for advertisement, we would have contacted her ourselves.”

“I’m your PR.” Erawan smiled. He was, a fact that the whole Cadre regretted. All pf them waited excitedly for the day Erawan’s contract expired.

Maeve was hard and cold, Erawan was a straight up asshole. Not even his aunt could put up with him for long.

“A very unfortunate fact you never let us forget, Earwax.” Fenrys said, nodding diplomatically. “Very, very unfortunate.”

“I don’t want her involved in any of this shit.” Rowan finally said something, voice low and threatening. Just the thought of throwing his childhood friends to the wolves that surrounded his life made his stomach turn. “You are my PR, so do your job. Create a distraction, release some rerecording, book us some interviews… I don’t care, but I want the focus away from her. I don’t want her involved in anything, Erawan. I mean it.”

The room was silent, tension threatening to suffocate anyone who breathed deep enough.

To Rowan’s surprise, and some gratefulness, Maeve took a step forward. She unplugged her phone from the projector, and Aelin’s image disappeared. “I believe it’s better if we keep the girl out of this. She’s very low profile, private accounts on both Twitter and Instagram. Dragging her into spotlight might not be a good option, specially since we don’t know how she behaves, what it would do to the image of the band. We have a love story, let the fans speculate, do some theories. Everything will die down in a month and she’ll be able to continue with her life.”

For all her harshness, all her coldness, Maeve wasn’t a bad aunt. She started taking care of Rowan when he was fifteen, and although they never had a close relationship, Maeve knew how to help him whenever he really needed it. It was the reason why he asked her to be the band manager, despite her obvious dislike of the human race. She was smart, cunning, and, at that moment, was using both qualities to keep Aelin out of what would become a huge mess.

“If we bring her in, there is nothing to terrorize. Her personality will be real, not something fans can stipulate and mold to their liking. She’s young and private, throwing her to the media would be a carnage. Leave Aelin out of this.” Gavriel tried to resonate with Erawan, voice low and calm as always.

Erawan sat on a table, a fake hurt expression overtaking his features as he sighed. “If only you had told me that before.”

The pit inside Rowan’s stomach grew.

“Before what.” Vaughan grunted.

“Before I contacted the girl.” Erawan smiled, as Rowan felt all the oxygen leave the room. He stared straight into Rowan’s eyes, a cruel smile overtaking his lips. “Would you like to see your childhood friend again, Whitethorn?”

.

.

.

.

.

Tags

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @woollycat22 @julemmaes @claralady @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @heirofthenightcourt @booksbqueen @heirofthrnightcourt004 @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin headcanon #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin #rowanaelin #rowaelin!ts #ts!rowaelin #dorothea #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #aelin #rowan #aelin ashryver galathynius #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #aedion ashryver #lysandra ennar #lysandra #elide #elide lochan #dorian havilliard #manon blackbeak #fenrys moonbeam #connall moonbeam #vaughan #lorcan salvaterre

[rowanwhitethornisbae]

Arrest Me

Prompt: “I proposed to you last night and now I'm arresting you.” 

Warnings: Language, mentions of sexual assault. 

Rowan Whitethorn was exhausted. After breaking up a drug deal and arresting several stupid teens for disorderly conduct, all he wanted to do was go home to his beautiful girlfriend. 

Fiancée. He corrected himself with no small amount of happiness. He’d proposed last night actually. Dinner on the roof on their apartment, which he’d decorated with lights hanging off of every surface. Aelin had said yes before he even really managed to ask. He was still smiling to himself as his partner climbed back into the passenger seat. 

“Got you some coffee.” Fenrys said, grinning like always. Normally that constant smile would bug Rowan, but not today. Nothing could dampen his mood. 

“Thanks Fen.” He replied, handing his friend a five dollar bill. 

Just then, a voice chimed through the police radio they had on constantly. “Closest unit please report to a bar fight at Gavriel’s over on twelfth street.”

Rowan and Fenrys both groaned as they realized they were by far the closest to the bar. Putting his coffee in the cup holder, Rowan picked up his mic. “This is unit 78. We’re on our way.” 

Ignoring Fenrys’ muttered complaints, he pressed down on the gas. There were no need for sirens and it took them barely two minutes to pull up in front of the bar. Gavriel’s wasn't exactly unfamiliar to Rowan. With the owner being Aelin’s uncle of sorts, they often frequented it. Truthfully, he wasn't sure there was a single spot in the small bathroom that he hadn't taken Aelin against. He laughed to himself as they burst through the doors and into the bar. 

What he saw almost made his heart stop dead in his chest. A dark haired muscular man was lying unconscious on the floor with two other people standing over him. Across the room from them, a burly bearded man whom Rowan didn't recognize was being restrained by two others. He was screaming at a young woman, who was yelling endless profanities right back at him. 

Aelin Galanthynius. His Fiancée. The love of his fucking life was currently being restrained by her cousin as she thrashed and screamed. There was blood all over her face and he couldn't tell if it was coming from her nose or lip. 

“Holy fuck.” He said loudly and both parties went silent and turned towards him. 

His eyes were only on Aelin though. Her face lit up when she recognized him, and then fell again when she realized the situation. 

“Hi Ro.” She said sheepishly, a quiet smiling tugging on her lips. 

For a brief moment, his resolved faltered. She’d always had that affect on him. Since the second Aelin had ran into Rowan, literally, and spilled her coffee all over him, he’d been entranced. Her cheeks had been rosy from the winter chill and a few snowflakes were perched on her long eyelashes. Her blonde hair was in a loose bun and a few strands escaped from under her red beanie. If love at first sight existed, that had to be it. 

“Hi love.” He said, shooting her a mocking smile. Rowan honestly had no idea how to feel. Currently; worry, anger, and amusement were winning. 

He turned behind him slowly, reluctant to take his eyes off Aelin. “Fen, you call for an ambulance for the unconscious one. Take the rest of these guys in and get their perspective. I need to talk to Aelin.” 

Fenrys, luckily, knew better than to argue against this time. Within seconds he had called for the paramedics and cuffed two of them men who seemed most involved. The others slunk away into the background after making false promises about bailing their friends out. 

Finally, Rowan turned back to his soon to be wife. She was attempting to clean some of the blood off her face and was only succeeding in smearing it everywhere. Shoulder’s slumping, he took her hand and pulled her over to a barstool. He grabbed her hips and lifted her up. She was looking at him oddly in her attempt to read his mood. Rowan’s hands roamed from her hips and stilled on her lower stomach. The tank top she was wearing had ridden up and he tugged it down slightly. She shot him a wicked grin. 

“I’m shocked Rowan. Normally when you pick me up it’s because my clothes are coming off not on.” 

He didn't laugh and her smile quickly disappeared. Stepping away from her, he walked behind the bar and ran a cloth under warm water. 

“What happened Ace?” He asked, back facing her. 

He could almost feel her take a breath in. “Nothing I just got upset.” 

Rowan snorted as he turned back around. He stalked towards her slowly, cloth dripping water onto the wooden floor. 

“I know when you’re lying.” He began dabbing at the blood on her face. “Tell me the truth.” 

She tried to turn her face away from him. Gently, he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. 

“He started out just hitting on me. Who can blame him I am really hot.” She laughed weakly and he motioned with his eyes for her to continue. “Then I told him I was engaged but he wouldn't let up. I tried to push him off but he grabbed my...” Aelin gestured at her breasts and Rowan turned livid. He could barely breathe, let alone think. Noting his reaction she placed a soft hand on his shaking wrists. 

“It’s fine Rowan. I kicked him in the balls and punched him out. Unfortunately for me though, his friend got upset and slammed my face into the bar. My nose broke and my lip split. I started screaming at him but before I could actually knock him out stupid Aedion pulled me back.” 

Rowan took a deep breath in, attempting to calm the raging quiet in his head. All he wanted to do was go after those two guys and beat them to a pulp. Instead, he was here, wiping the remaining blood off his fiancée’s beautiful face. 

When he had finished, he kissed her on the cheek, then the corner of her mouth. She grinned against him as he captured her lips with his own. He tugged lightly on her bottom lip with his teeth and she pushed her hips against him. Groaning softly, he pulled away. 

“I need to take you in to the station” He told her. 

Her grin was nothing short of wicked. “Cuff me officer.” She winked at him. 

He spun her around and gently placed the cuffs around her wrist. “I proposed to you last night and now I'm arresting you.” Her shoulders shook with laughter. 

“I keep you on your toes. It’s why you love me.” She turned around to kiss him. 

“One of the many reasons.” He spoke onto her lips. 

As he escorted his fiancée out to his police cruiser, Rowan couldn't help but smile. This fiery woman before him was his future, his entire world. He wondered if he’d ever stop being so damn happy about it. 

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin au #aelin galythinius #throne of glass

[camelliacats]

Less Than Dirt

Something a smidge different from my usual Death Eater fanfare. XD

Fic: "Less Than Dirt" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: eventual?pre?Stan Shunpike/Scabior, with OCs & cameos from Fenrir Greyback & Sally-Anne Perks

Rating: light T

Words: ~7,000

Additional info: romance, slash, cross gen, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: When you're the dregs of society, it becomes paramount to band together.

       He'd mouthed off one time—just once—and now he was on the run. Or, that's what Stan thought, given that he was prone to black, empty spots in his memory these days.

      "Lapses," people called them. But didn't people eventually fill in the blanks with something that made sense? For him, Clapham or the Knight Bus…those would make sense. But not this.

      He only read about the crazies dressed all in black; he never expected to wake from one of his dazes to find himself surrounded by them.

      Stanley Shunpike, former employee of the Knight Bus (and who was sorely missing it right about now), froze and kept his mouth shut for once as a nearby witch picked up her head. She turned from where she stood chatting with a compatriot by the carriage house set aside on a swath of land in the shadow of an overbearing stone manor and looked Stan's way.

      Well, fuck, he thought. He didn't meet her eyes, instead staring straight past her at a random wooden slat on the side of the carriage house.

      After a few seconds, the witch shrugged and resumed her interest in her cohort. The two of them even walked away, leaving Stan to his own devices.

      He had no memory of coming here. He didn't even know where here was! But, given the wide-open space and the weathered look of the grounds, Stan had no doubts in his mind that this was absolutely not London nor anywhere near it.

      If only he weren't so terrified, he'd ask someone where the hell they were.

      Stan turned around, slowly, in a wobbly circle, to get his bearings. Once he spotted the large path leading from the carriage house up the hill, he began meandering up it, but he kept to a lazy stroll so as not to spook the countless others nearby. They all wore black and blended into shadows, but shadows didn't move the way Death Eaters did.

      That thought sobered him up some. The two strongest things he recalled best were bragging to his mates half a block from home about knowing things about these nutters' plans and subsequently getting dropped into Azkaban for saying exactly that. Azkaban. Azkaban! No bloke could tell a little white lie to catch a witch's attention or to impress his mates without raising hell with the bloody Ministry anymore.

      But how, pray tell, if he'd been in Azkaban, had he landed himself here?

      The sky was terribly dark, nearly pitch in color with the faintest traces of blue and sickly green. Any light this far removed, surrounded by Death Eaters, wasn't Muggle-made. It had to be all magical.

      Stan blinked a few times to adjust his eyesight. His nose, meanwhile, picked up on the damp earthiness. Were they stationed close to the coast? There was a tinge of saltiness, but there was something more, something fetid…

      Something squelched off to his right. A wizard growled a curse as others burst into laughter. "Fucking Fenlands!" A streak of orange lit up the darkness, sending marshy mud everywhere. The laughter ceased or morphed into groans.

      The Fens. Good Merlin, he was far from home. They had moved him after taking him from Azkaban for whatever reason, but he couldn't be on the run in one of his rare moments of clarity, not this far away. And hailing the bus—he patted himself down, finding his wand tucked into his waistband—yes, he had the means to hail the bus, but he didn't want to risk it. Ernie Prang had been one of the few people good to Stan in the lad's fruitless adulthood. Stan didn't want to imagine what the Death Eaters could or would do to the old man if the bus swung out here to collect its stranded conductor.

      Stan swallowed the lump of fear and longing clogging his throat. He needed to breathe. He needed to think. He needed to do anything but talk right now. His parents, his mother in particular, had warned him that his running mouth was full of nothing but tall tales that would get him in trouble eventually. His parents had stopped their pestering for a hot minute when Stan had landed his conducting job, but he'd seen it in their eyes since. Parents knew their children best. They knew that that part of Stan wouldn't change.

      But he thought about changing it now. He picked up his pace, just a hitch, as the slope from the carriage house increased and led up to one of the Fens' rare hills, atop which sat the stone manor. Yes, the manor. He would go there, pack his pockets with a few items, mostly food, and then he, too, would melt into the shadows. He wasn't like them, not a Death Eater, but if they'd kept him around this long, then surely he must've picked up a trick or two that would enable his escape.

      Lost in his thoughts now that he'd come to his senses, Stan didn't realize he had a tail. That, and it was hard to hear footsteps out here. The earth wasn't packed. It was soft and cushioned each step, muffling the sound. He was almost to the manor's front gate when the person behind him caught up and grabbed his right arm from behind.

      Again, Stan froze. He wouldn't let himself think the worst (Imperius), but he wasn't as stupid as his friends, family, everyone thought him to be. Stan had made it twenty-one years (or was it twenty-two now? how unnerving, losing so much time) knowing how to save his own neck. One needed some brains for that.

      His companion circled around to Stan's front. It was a man with unkempt hair longer than Stan's and a piercing gaze that stood out in the scarce light thrown off the manor. He didn't wear the Death Eaters' pristine all-black ensemble but instead had chosen a ragged, on-the-go look. He, himself, looked ragged, with scruff on his jaw and dark rings around his eyes that might be from lack of sleep, might be on purpose. But Stan's attention didn't stray long. A red streak of hair always drew his attention back to the man's eyes, which appeared to read Stan now.

      Stan fought the urge to lick his lips, to say something. Did they let him speak when under control? They must, to an extent. He imagined the Dark deeds they might've had him do, and for that he'd need his voice. The Shunpikes had never been very good with nonverbal magic.

      "Shunpike," the man said.

      Stan stared at an iron bar in the manor's gate behind him. But he nodded, sluggishly, dumbly.

      "I saw you comin' this way. Wondered why. You're not meant to be 'ere."

      He panicked. "Loo. Sir," he added as an afterthought.

      The man with the red streak narrowed his eyes at Stan. He was shorter than him by a few inches, but his presence loomed large. His hand darted up, snatching Stan's face between grimy fingers. He turned Stan's head this way and that, which forced Stan to meet his eyes.

      Did he know? Did he see? Would he cast the Imperius Curse anew?

      The man tilted his own head back, slightly. His right eyebrow quirked, but then he released Stan. He exhaled and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the house. "Do it in the woods, Shunpike. Just as the Snatchers 'ave to rough it, so do you low-level Death Eaters. It might be one of the Selwyn estates, but it don't mean we're welcome."

      Stan risked a single nod. Then he turned back around and meandered down the path he'd come, exercising his newfound restraint by not running straight into the scant woods.

      For several days, Stan faked his way through life at the Selwyn Fen Manor grounds. It was not difficult, staying out of others' way, and keeping his focus on inanimate objects was a simpler task than risking making eye contact again. He couldn't chance that others would be like the man with the red streak and be unable to see that the spell had worn off on Stan.

      Besides, his mind truly was elsewhere. The pub, then Azkaban—but he knew, he just knew he'd lost far more time than that. It was rather hot and very humid, and the sun blazed overhead, piercing the stark gray and white clouds that threatened to cover the sky during the daytime. All signs pointed to summer. Stan had been jailed in September.

      How long had he been locked away? When had he been freed?

      His memory felt like his face: scarred by pockmarks, unlikely to heal handsomely. But Stan ran his hand over his face, comforted by its familiarity. The only downside to drawing his hand close was letting his eyes wander down his wrist, where he'd see the cuff of a black sleeve…

      He wasn't one of them, but he dressed like them.

      Stan fought back a shudder. A broken piece of memory floated to the surface, something that felt recent, of flying high (had he been flying? but Stan wasn't a fan of flying, he rather liked the bus) and colorful, deadly streaks of light flashing across the stormy sky. There had been groups…seven groups…and seven of one to attack…

      It made no sense, but the idea of attacking anyone made Stan's stomach lurch. He covered his mouth with his hand, and—

      The last thing he heard was a woman whisper, "Imperio."

      His days ran together that way. Stan collected bits and pieces of his dazes, his daydreams, but he also collected more blackouts. The blank spots warred with his memories, but Stan fought to cling to whatever he could.

      It didn't matter that the scenery would change without warning (Selwyn Fen Manor, Cair Carrow, Malfoy Manor—so close to home but still not worth the risk). It didn't matter that that witch from before appeared to be keeping an eye on him (what had her compatriot called her? "Faraday"?). It didn't matter that Stan would wake with that terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, which he concluded as the side-effect of casting whatever Dark magic they demanded of him at the moment (he wanted to wretch but never did—that was a surefire sign to someone that the magic was wearing off).

      Stan mentally snatched up any fragments he could and put together the puzzle-that-wasn't-a-puzzle that he called life for now. Desperate not to let their magic take complete hold of him, he tried to quell his panic, understanding he'd been taken as a sort of hostage. …but could he really call himself that?

      This struck him as Faraday and others seemed enthusiastic to walk the infamous gardens behind Malfoy Manor in late August. Their group had arrived here the day before yesterday and been told to stay outside, as if Malfoy Manor didn't have enough space. These old pureblood dwellings always had enough space. The families just didn't want to share with them.

      …"them." Stan brushed the thought off. He knew he wasn't actually one of them. That was why he was so concerned, for Merlin's sake: Clearly he hadn't been under the curse the entire time, otherwise he wouldn't have any of these memories. And if someone, anyone learned he had these memories, he could be killed.

      He didn't miss the irony. He'd known nothing of their plans before and landed himself in Azkaban; now he knew a thing or two, and he'd rather go back to Azkaban than wait and see what the Death Eaters had in store for him.

      Stan tucked himself into a corner way back in the gardens, away from the manor and in the shade of a wisteria someone's ancestor had planted. Thinking himself alone, he gave in to the need to shudder at his inevitable fate.

      "Shunpike."

      He stilled. He knew that voice. It only cropped up occasionally in his fragmented memories; Stan had overheard Faraday remark about him to the wizard who appeared glued to her hip. The man with the red streak was no Death Eater but someone perhaps equally unhinged: the Snatcher, Scabior.

      Scabior stood a few feet away, on the other side of the wisteria and in the light. His fellow Snatchers—colleagues, if one presumed that ragged appearance a common theme amongst Snatchers—either went on ahead without him or intermingled with a few in Faraday's group. Scabior was unperturbed to be left alone. He placed one hand on his hip and jerked his chin at Stan. "Were you ordered to the corner like a child?"

      Stan bit back a smart remark. He nodded his head.

      That hand left Scabior's hip. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowed like before, as though scrutinizing Stan even from this great distance. Then he snickered. "You'll 'ave to tell me what the 'ell you did sometime, then," he said. He grinned, amused.

      Stan nodded again.

      Scabior chuckled and shook his head, at what, Stan didn't know. "Well, brilliant Petrification impression. Good luck with the fakin' things, Shunpike," Scabior said. He sauntered inside afterwards.

      Stan nodded once more. A second later, Scabior's words sank in, and Stan felt Petrified for real.

      Scabior knew. So…he must've known before, too.

      There were eyes everywhere. Stan would never be safe, nor would he ever be free of the Imperius Curse.

      Fear paralyzed him as Stan awaited the next blackout, the next whisper of Faraday's spell. But…it didn't come.

      Not that afternoon.

      Not that night.

      Nor the following day, or the day after.

      Had Scabior been playing him? Or did Scabior know and simply not care to inform the Death Eaters that the magical leash on one of their captives was loose?

      Stan's confusion over the Snatcher didn't make him any less scared to be at Malfoy Manor still, but it did give him something else to occupy his mind. He also, for the first time since pushing through the enchantment and becoming properly aware of his surroundings, gave consideration to something outside of his own predicament.

      The low-level Death Eater groups moved from place to place as needed and without any pattern, plus they stayed for as short or as long as needed. In contrast, the Snatchers came and went often, a far more active group who seemed to be of a higher rank or some sort. Was their work rounding up Muggle-borns that important? Or did it have weight, the Snatchers being led by notorious, bloodthirsty werewolf Fenrir Greyback?

      He doesn't seem all that interested in leading, though, Stan thought nearly a week after his second exchange with Scabior. He watched the Snatchers leave via the back door, and Greyback alternated laughing and snarling at his Snatchers and nearby Death Eaters and allies. Scabior, meanwhile, kept his distance and motioned the Snatchers along. They began to Disapparate, Greyback among the first, when Scabior changed course and headed for where Faraday sat on one of Narcissa Malfoy's favorite stone benches.

      "I 'ave some news," he said, glancing at Faraday before pulling his eyes up to meet Stan's "blank" look behind the seated witch. "I just got permission to borrow some of your newbie Death Eaters."

      Faraday exhaled loudly; it didn't take much imagination to picture the redheaded witch flaring her nostrils. "To borrow?" she spat.

      "Yep. We're a little low on Snatchin' power lately, need some fresh blood—"

      "Death Eaters are not as disposable as you low-li—"

      Scabior cocked his head to one side and held a single finger up to his lips. Then he opened up his palm, as if saying, "That's that, luv." "Be that as it may, I get to take a few with me. Stand down, Faraday."

      Faraday ground her fists into her lap and aimed her gaze upward. From Stan's vantage point, he surmised she glared at Scabior. "Return them intact, Scabior."

      "Eh, I'll try my best."

      "Your best is subpar."

      He snickered. "You wound me." But then he dropped his air of niceties. "I'll be takin' Moyer, Rumford, and Shunpike 'ere. You'll only be down three men, luv."

      But that pulled Faraday to her feet regardless. She flung her arm behind her, nearly smacking Stan in the face. "This one—! This one stays here, Scabior. You know why."

      Scabior produced his wand from his sleeve and waved it in front of her nose. "I've got that covered, crazy wench."

      Faraday swallowed a frustrated scream. She glared at Stan as though he had had a hand in arranging this. But then she wisely changed her mind and stomped into the house.

      The two wizards watched her go. After, Scabior returned his attention to Stan. "I take it you'll behave?" he asked Stan.

      He felt this fell within the curse's purview, so Stan nodded.

      But so did Scabior. It was a short, jerky motion, perhaps a reaction or of appraisal. "Good. We set out tonight, as soon as I 'ave Moyer and Rumford in tow… Come along, Shunpike."

      Stan gratefully complied. He feared Scabior's knowing eye on him, but the taste of even the tiniest breath of freedom was too good to pass up.

      The group of Snatchers was smaller than Faraday's group of Death Eaters. Where she ordered around nearly twenty individuals, Scabior and Greyback rounded up…almost a dozen? That was with the addition of Stan, Moyer, and Rumford, though. Scabior hadn't lied to her. The Snatchers' numbers were running low.

      "First things first—out of those bloody robes," Scabior groused when he arrived at the Snatcher campsite with the Death Eaters in tow. "Barkin, give 'em something from the stash."

      The willowy Barkin stopped stuffing his face and put his plate down in front of the fire. Scabior took his spot to eat while Barkin went to a small pile of bags and rummaged through them, pulling a potpourri of clothing out. With a selection gathered in his arms, he jogged up to Stan and the other two and handed out items of clothing.

      "I prefer my robes," Moyer griped, shoving the offerings back into Barkin's arms.

      "You won't while you're with us," Scabior quipped. He slurped from a bowl and dragged the back of his hand across his face. "We move faster and out in the open. Sometimes close to Muggles. Black robes get remembered, and they're too easily tangled."

      Rumford eyed the exchange between the Snatcher and Moyer and made no move to change. Stan didn't think twice and dressed, seeing Scabior's point but also glad for the excuse of the "curse" right now.

      Scabior huffed when he realized the Death Eater challenged him. "I'm not sendin' you back safe and sound, Moyer."

      Rumford gawked at him. "But—! Faraday would want—"

      "You can't follow a simple order like this, and you think she'll 'ave you back?" Scabior scoffed. "Ditch the stupid robes or I'll signal Greyback. 'E's out 'untin' right now, boys."

      With that, Moyer lost his bravado. He was the last to undress, but still he was ready before Rumford, who bumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

      Scabior sighed and tossed his empty bowl to one of the Snatchers behind him. He opened his jacket and pulled a shabby list from the inside pocket. The list he waved in front of the Death Eaters' faces. "I carry names, you know. Those pure, those 'alf. And even a few prominent suspected Mudbloods."

      The last part confused Stan. But Rumford spoke up. "Uh…if they're well-known, then—?"

      "Not everything's given to us directly from the Ministry, Rumford," Scabior groaned, as though Rumford were the dimmest-witted of the bunch. "Some things come only from those who know a thing or two, especially within 'Ogwarts." Scabior tucked the list back in his pocket for safekeeping. "So eat and rest up. We 'ave an early mornin' awaitin' us, boys."

      Moyer and Rumford eagerly joined the campfire, but Stan dragged his feet, now unsure about this "freedom" Scabior had offered. He knew he couldn't dawdle long, otherwise Scabior would make good on his promise to Faraday and refresh the spell.

      As though he were a Legilimens, Scabior walked up to Stan with wand in hand. His expression was impassive. He said nothing, but that was no comfort given the existence of nonverbal magic. But, after a moment, Scabior spoke—directly to Stan. "Snatchin's pretty good work," he said, as though thinking aloud quietly to himself. He snickered, toying with the lapel of the short cloak Barkin had passed to Stan, flipping the fabric with the tip of his wand.

      Stan internally frowned. A snicker, really? It wasn't the height of fashion like his Knight Bus uniform, but it was a league better than those burdensome black robes.

      "Look, just—think of roundin' up Mudbloods like they don't 'ave a ticket for the bus," Scabior insisted, revealing his thoughts had wandered in vaguely the same direction.

      The mention of the bus tripped Stan up. He couldn't help it: He stopped staring at the tree beyond the campfire, blinked, and met Scabior's eyes. Though backlit by the fire, Scabior was highlighted by moonlight. Huh. His eyes were blue, too.

      Scabior grinned. "There we are, Shunpike. Thought you were still in there somewhere."

      Stan opened his mouth, but he had no words to save his skin, not this time.

      Regardless, Scabior subtly shook his head. "You confirmed before we left that you'd behave. Keep this between us, or I'll see to it that you will behave."

      Just like that, Stan shut his mouth. He didn't have it in him to glare at Scabior. It wasn't just that he lacked the fight.

      Something told him that Scabior wasn't all that interested in delivering on that promise anyhow.

      Morning came. The Snatchers left without Greyback—Scabior's whim or another reason, it was anyone's guess—and Apparated to Northamptonshire, into a shiny, rich neighborhood where every building looked as though it wanted to compete with Gringotts in terms of opulence.

      "I thought Snatchers chased after Mudbloods and let us handle first things first," Moyer grumbled when they arrived at a three-story home that was three times as wide as any bus Stan had ever seen.

      "We're catchin' the scent first, you numbskull," Scabior groaned with a roll of his eyes. He waved to that willowy man from before, who stood taller than the rest of them. "Barkin, take Moyer and keep 'im in the back with you. I can't stand 'im."

      Barkin did as told, earning Scabior an irate look from Moyer. Rumford fell towards the back, as well, but Stan stayed towards the front, closest to Scabior. Scabior knew his secret, but he didn't use it. It made him the most dangerous and yet safest option for Stan.

      The lavish home stood with its black door seemingly closed. But Scabior gestured to one of the other Snatchers, who pushed on it. It creaked open.

      They stepped inside and carefully fanned out. A few went upstairs while most cleared the ground floor. Scabior had Stan collect the old post that had fallen on the floor through the door's slot. There were assorted names in the pile, but most things came for an S. Finch–Fletchley and a Justin Finch–Fletchley. Stan passed the pile to Scabior.

      Scabior smiled. This wasn't his grin from before but something darker. He pulled the list from his jacket and checked something at the bottom. "…this is 'im. One of those upstarts givin' the Death Eaters trouble the last few years with that 'Dumbledore's Army' nonsense." He dropped the post, letting it scatter anew as the Snatchers reconvened by the front door. "Well?" Scabior prompted.

      "Clear," a short man with dreads stated. "Gone on vacation, according to the mum's notes."

      Scabior snorted. "Their son's in the same year as Potter. He may be a Mudblood, but Potter's gang is a wily sort. They're not on vacation. They're in 'idin'."

      "That's why we checked the enchantments left up here," Moyer piped up. He ducked his head when Scabior huffed at him. "And…that's the thing. There's nothing left in place."

      Scabior clapped his hands together, once. "Gentlemen! You know what that means."

      Murmurs of excitement and intimidating smiles caught on with the others.

      "It's time to get Snatchin'."

      The Snatchers exited the Finch–Fletchley home, though not without a few letting their fingers sift through some of the finer things the family owned first. Outside, they left the home much as they'd found it, since this was too close to Muggles, and started their search on foot.

      It would be pointless, Stan thought. Some neighborhoods were full of magical blood while others were not. If this Finch–Fletchley kid had hidden his family or taken them on the run with him, they weren't going to be nearby. At least, that was what Stan would've done. But he was a half-blood and never had to worry about Muggles, which was why he thought it contradictory that the Snatchers cared at all about not raising hell around the non-magical folk.

      They didn't stay long in the neighborhood, though. They went to Shrewsbury in Shropshire next, scoping out another vacant home. Stan saw over Scabior's shoulder as the latter pointed to another suspect name towards the bottom of the list: Perks.

      But, unlike with the Finch–Fletchleys, the Perks home stood on the outskirts of town. Close to the woods. Away from the Muggles and their curious, not-too-bright-but-can't-keep-to-themselves noses.

      Scabior entered the tiny home first this time. He touched the kettle in the kitchen and marched back out. "Kettle's barely warm," he said.

      It were as though he'd Blasted the group apart. The Snatchers dispersed, running loose like hounds after prey. Moyer followed after Barkin, and Rumford followed Moyer for lack of better direction.

      That left Scabior with Stan outside the Perkses' house. He shook his head at the young conductor. "That's right. Can't 'ave you goin' into action without a bloody specific order, can I?"

      Stan bit his lower lip to keep quiet.

      "All right, Shunpike. You're in the clear. Everyone's on the chase, and you can mosey with me." Scabior took a step towards the town limits.

      But Stan remained rooted to his spot.

      Scabior turned around, that hand back on his hip. "Shunpike. I meant it. I know Faraday's curse wore off. Now, get to Snatchin' with me already, you nitwit."

      He waited a moment longer, until Stan finally caved and furrowed his brow. "…'ow do I know this innit a trick?" he dared to ask.

      "Because I've seen it wear off before and never told 'er," Scabior answered.

      Stan doubted that. Scabior could've chosen to inform Faraday a few days later, much the same as Faraday figuring things out for herself. "I been finkin'—"

      Scabior snorted.

      Stan glared at the ground. "I been finkin'," he repeated. "Wonderin' why you've done and left me alone. Don' make sense, dunnit? You could get in loads of trouble, much as me for fakin' it, as you say." Stan darted his eyes to the man. Even freely permitted to be himself, he was distracted first by the red streak of hair. He had to drag his attention back to the pensive expression on Scabior's face.

      "You could say that," Scabior said. "Or…you could say that I've learned a thing or two, kowtowin' to those in charge these days."

      "They're right scary creatures, Death Eaters," Stan mumbled.

      Scabior nodded. "But are they the worst thing out there, Shunpike?"

      Stan opened his mouth, "yes" on the tip of his tongue—but he stopped. He…couldn't get the word out.

      Scabior eyed him but didn't take any amusement from Stan's discomfort. "Think about why that is," he said.

      Stan nodded.

      They didn't have time for more conversation as Barkin caught sight of two witches near the river's edge. Someone in the group howled (no, not Greyback, as he'd been recalled to the manor), and the sound invigorated the others. Suddenly, they poured on speed. Scabior jerked his head at Stan, who resumed his previous "cursed" behavior, and they pulled up the back of the pack.

      It was an older woman, dark-haired, and a younger witch, younger than Stan by a few years—she still wore her red hair in plaited pigtails. The woman shoved the girl away from her, screaming, "Sally-Anne, run!"

      The crying girl froze for half a second. But then she Disapparated before Rumford had her within arm's reach. He cursed when he grabbed nothing but empty air.

      The witch stood her ground as the Snatchers circled her, her dark eyes flicking to each and every face. The only time her defiance flickered was when she landed on Stan. Perhaps she was unwilling to hurt someone supposedly moving against their will.

      Scabior approached her. "You just let a suspected Mudblood get away."

      "No blood of any kind should be spilled," she stated, her back ramrod straight, her wand aimed at the Snatcher leader.

      "Name," he said.

      "Roper, Sophie," she said proudly.

      Scabior pulled his list out and looked it over lazily twice. "Mm… Definitely not pure…and not 'alf, either."

      Her posture slackened. "That's wrong. I'm Sophie Roper. I went to Hogwarts. Gryffindor House—and my daughter, she's in Gryffindor now—"

      Scabior shrugged and put his list away. "I don't know of any Ropers."

      "No, you've got to check! I was in Gryffindor back in—my daughter, Fay Dunbar, she is half—we are safe, by your standards—"

      He shrugged again. "Sounds like a nice lie that Mudblood 'elped you spin.

      Her face crumpled. "She didn't! It's not a lie! I raised my daughter after her father passed—and Sally-Anne has nothing to do with any of this!"

      Scabior smirked. "Lie or not, 'Roper,' you still let the Mudblood get away." He gestured to the other Snatchers. "Time to bring 'er in."

      "Sophie Roper" screamed and fought, but there were too many of them. They subdued her after she got off two hexes. Barkin and Moyer Disapparated with her, leaving the rest of them to hunt Sally-Anne Perks.

      The Perks girl gave them a run for their Galleons. In the burgeoning autumn foliage, a redheaded girl dressed in yellows, reds, and light browns practically blended in. The Snatchers were nearly at the Welsh border and had caught a family of three in the process, but still Perks evaded them. And there was no sign that that Finch–Fletchley kid had come this way whatsoever.

      At first, capturing people brought back bad sensations and fleeting memories for Stan. He had yet to participate in the Snatching, really, but it likely would only be a matter of time, and he wondered if he could do it, given what had been done to him. Knowing that he had no future no matter what, he took a risk and voiced this thought to Scabior after the Snatcher with the dreads and Rumford took the family of three away and the Snatchers resumed their pursuit.

      "It's not the same as what was done to you," Scabior declared. His voice had a hard edge to it, his volume loud enough that Moyer picked up his head and looked behind him at the two of them. Scabior flipped him off and Moyer scowled.

      "Innit, though?" Stan countered. "Where they goin', when we Snatch 'em and 'and 'em over to others?"

      Scabior hesitated. Then he looked up at Stan. "Shunpike, I'm goin' to do a little trick."

      "Like what? A Zonko's gag?" Stan didn't want the childhood memory of Zonko's to be darkened into something…well, Dark.

      Scabior pulled a face. "No. Now shut up and answer only when I ask you a question."

      Stan shrugged.

      "You grew up, Stanley Shunpike, the only son to middlin' parents. I'm guessin' those same middlin' parents expected a son with much more talent and ambition than they 'ad, and they got you."

      Stan frowned.

      "Maybe you got into the right 'Ouse, maybe you didn't."

      Stan mumbled under his breath.

      "Come again?"

      He ran his tongue over his teeth, as though the word tasted filmy and unpleasant. "'Ufflepuff," he repeated. "A badger born to two eagles. 'Not the brightest candle in the set,' me dad used to say."

      Scabior was quiet for a moment. A beat later, he resumed his hypothetical story. "And I s'pose you dawdled in some of that self-fulfillin' prophecy once you got to school, never known as an outstandin' student, but known for some things, nevertheless."

      Stan bit back a remark about his bragging. No one bragged like him. …but he knew now, that wasn't a fantastic skill.

      "And then, of course, school spat you out, and people did their best to be rid of you."

      Now he scoffed. Stan raised his eyebrows and shook his head at Scabior. "Well, no, not exactly. They almost kicked me out, but I proved 'em wrong, I did. Ern 'ired me, and I 'aven't looked back since." Not really, he added to himself.

      Or perhaps he'd said the last part aloud. Scabior's dry look when he peered up at the younger wizard was piercing, knowing like before. But it held no ill will for Stan at all this time. There was something there, like…a touch of melancholy?

      "Your point?" Stan asked, tearing his eyes away. Fear was one thing. Pity or whatever that was—it unnerved him just the same.

      "That story's not unique. It don't belong only to you."

      "And that condones the Snatchin' now?" Stan shook his head, unconvinced.

      "To an extent, it does, Shunpike," Scabior retorted. He came to a stop, and Stan halted with him as though commanded by the absent spell. The other Snatchers were far off ahead now, and Scabior faced him like two days ago. "It's the system, Shunpike. The whole system. One that accepts any drop of magical blood, any drop at all. One that embraces Muggles like kin even though we're not on equal ground. The system breeds distaste for our own kind, the true magical ones, because there 'could be' countless others out there…if we accept them as our own."

      Stan furrowed his brow. Some of Scabior's point was lost on him. But much of it was not. He'd known what it was like to be discarded, and he'd never thought Muggles to be very bright things. But still… "…I don' like bein' under someone else's control," he weakly argued.

      Scabior grinned. "Who does?"

      "…but…"

      The man with the red streak cocked his head to one side. The red streak fell into his eyes. It took a second for Stan to gather his thoughts again.

      "…but I fink I can see your…side."

      Scabior clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man." They resumed walking, but Scabior didn't hurry them along.

      Stan felt emboldened by the absence of others, the more he mulled over Scabior's mini speech. "And that woman from the other day—Roper—anyone can lie." He laughed. "I'm guilty myself!" His laughter faded. "But she mentioned 'er daughter, and it makes me wonder—is it true, or is that another lie? And if she 'as a daughter, what's to say that girl don' get the same treatment I did? 'Ow many other Stan Shunpikes are there out in the world?"

      Scabior nodded in agreement.

      "'Sides, the other side—they tossed me in Azkaban what for nothin' but a tiny 'xaggeration… They not so innocent themselves, y'know?"

      At that, Scabior chuckled. It was reminiscent of that day weeks ago when Scabior let on that he knew the curse didn't have hold of Stan. There was genuine mirth in the tone of his voice. "Yes, Shunpike… My sentiments exactly."

      The longer Scabior kept this current band of Snatchers together, that volatile mix of Snatchers and new Death Eaters, the more Stan wondered how long this would last. Faraday had implied she wanted her Death Eaters back.

      At night, when he was supposed to be sleeping, Stan would check the inside of his left arm. But no, no Dark Mark. As he'd previously thought, he was one of them, but he actually wasn't. He was only one of them so long as Faraday or another made it so.

      He didn't want to be a Death Eater. He knew that much. Despite him and his big mouth, Stan Shunpike was no Death Eater.

      …but his chats with Scabior kept coming to mind. The Snatcher's words often kept him awake, mostly for how good a point they made, that the side of the "light" was tainted itself, too…and partly because Scabior didn't look right through him. Imperiused or not, the others paid Stan no mind. But Scabior didn't treat him as someone to be ignored.

      As someone less.

      But similar thoughts about prolonging their roles here occurred to Moyer and Rumford, as well. Burly Moyer grew quite vocal with his sighs and frustrations at still being attached to the Snatchers, even after the full moon halfway through September passed and Greyback joined them on the next leg of their hunt. Greyback struck fear into Stan and Rumford (and most of the other Snatchers, if one paid close attention), but Moyer would have none of it.

      "Haven't we 'helped' enough already?" he whined as the month drew to a close and they camped in the north, north of and not far from Liverpool. "I'm sure Faraday wants us back by now."

      Greyback gnashed his teeth, baring them at Moyer in threat, but the effort was futile to someone as stubborn as Moyer. Scabior held up a placating hand to the werewolf and scowled at the Death Eater. "You think you're done? The mission's over when you say it is?"

      Moyer paused. He looked away before retorting, "Not my mission to begin with."

      Scabior clenched his jaw and palmed his wand. Stan could understand retaliation—he'd never liked Moyer much, either.

      "Wait. Stop," Greyback said.

      Everyone turned to him. "What is it?" Scabior asked.

      Greyback lifted his head. He sniffed the air, his actions so fluid and wolf-like that it was hard to see any man left in him. He narrowed his eyes and looked to Scabior. "Tonks and Cresswell. They don't realize it, but they're heading our way." He sneered, baring his teeth again.

      Scabior nodded. He waved to the rest of them. "Remember, they slipped away last time. Let's not 'ave a repeat, boys."

      Greyback bounded away on all fours, a massive blur that disappeared in the blink of an eye from their occupied abandoned pier.

      Moyer groaned, and Scabior let him. "Barkin, Rumford, Shunpike…well, gentlemen, sometimes there are things you just 'ave to do yourself. Shall we?"

      "Shunpike can't even agree! He's under the Imperius Curse!" Moyer growled after them.

      "And yet 'e's still more useful than your irritating arse," Scabior argued. Then they left Moyer by himself at the campsite.

      They Disapparated and Apparated to cover some of the distance Greyback made. But Scabior grabbed Stan's arm before they continued on with the other Snatchers, and the two of them walked back out of sight behind an empty warehouse inland from the pier.

      "Is Moyer goin' to be a problem?" Scabior asked him.

      Stan blinked in surprise. He shook his head. "No! No, I don' fink so. Moyer's just one of those sorts, y'know, the one who wants to wear the Mark and wear it proudly. At worst, 'e'll go runnin' back to Faraday, but 'e won't come back and interfere."

      Scabior didn't release Stan's arm but shook it instead. They locked eyes and Scabior asked, quite slowly, "Are you goin' to be a problem?"

      If it had been ages ago, Stan would've shaken Scabior off and pretended this had nothing to do with him.

      But that was before Scabior read him like a book, revealing something else in the process.

      Stan went slack in the Snatcher's grip. "I don' plan to be," he confessed. "But unless someone who's not Faraday demotes me to Snatcher, you won't 'ave your 'ands full for much longer."

      "Who the bloody 'ell says Snatcher is a demotion?"

      Stan winced. All right, so he had yet to learn his lesson fully. His mouth still wanted to run a mile ahead of him, even at this worst of times.

      Scabior loosened his grip but didn't let go. "Shunpike… I could always keep the curse going."

      Stan met his eyes again. It wasn't a threat this time, to be under the Imperius, but an odd promise.

      "But I see a kindred spirit."

      Stan snorted and leaned against the warehouse as he slipped from Scabior's grip. "Then that story really wasn't mine alone." He raised his eyebrows at Scabior. The melancholy had returned in the other man's stare, but there was a kind of satisfaction, too, at having his story known to at least one other.

      "Shunpike, do you want to be under the curse, doing things unknowingly? Or would you fight alongside us willingly?"

      The options gave Stan pause. Again, with Scabior, he detected no threat here, only a promise for the best possible outcome. Stan stroked his chin. "Well, you Snatchers do need extra 'elp these days…"

      It was Scabior's turn to snort, though his amusement came through more. "Your kind's 'ere, after all," he quipped. But the lilt in his voice implied that he didn't mean the Death Eaters or the Snatchers. He offered Stan an appraising smile, as well, something else unspoken (amused curiosity? no, Stan didn't want to guess—he wanted to find out) behind it.

      Suddenly, Stan didn't feel like crap meant to be scraped off the bottom of someone's boot. He pushed off the warehouse wall and stood tall in front of Scabior. He met his eyes, blue locked on blue, and he was glad he was free of the spell, which would've kept him from this sight. "…so long as I've got someone in my corner," Stan acquiesced.

      Scabior's eyes crinkled but didn't pull away. "And that's the very best place to start."

Well! There are two things in the HariPo universe that don't sit well with me, for the same reason: the Imperius Curse and love potions…because of a lack of consent in both cases. Now, clearly one's a curse and is meant to be used nefariously, while the other's sort of downplayed?? Anywho, knowing what canonically happened to Stan in HBP/DH, I knew that any ship during his time away from the Knight Bus would face an issue of consent, hence exploring how/why he might've stayed with the Death Eaters so long. The result is this oneshot. There are aspects of his personality/life that would lend well to turning Dark, hence letting Scab play devil's advocate here and being lazy/not bothering to keep up the Imperius Curse. (And, I confess, I'm a huge Scabior fangirl—I've written him nearly a dozen times by now, *lol*; he's just a lot of fun to write.) There's a nod to canon, the Seven Potters scene, btw. I also included some hcs here even tho this isn't a Maydayverse (MDV; my overall headcanon) fic, such as Sally-Anne and Justin (the "S. Finch–Fletchley" is an Easter egg for anyone who's read "Trial By Fire") being on the run, and Sophie Roper (hc as Fay Dunbar's mum) finally makes her debut in one of my fics. Another hc is that this is smthg of an age-gap ship, since I picture Scab in Regulus' yr, but alas that's not as impt to the meat of this story…but you know what is? THEIR THICK ACCENTS! Which are hard (but fun) to write. So! Here's to generating some interest in the Stanior ship, bc I know I have it…who's with me?

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#hp #harry potter #stanior #stan shunpike #scabior #<7500 #romance #slash #cross gen #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #dark magic #rated: PG13 #trio era #3rd POV

[platypan]

A Strategic Proposal (Pt. 2)

Part 1 That night, Billy came in their rooms quietly, and didn’t immediately drape himself over the back of Steve’s chair. “I’ve been given a quest,” he said, and Steve turned to face him, fondness welling up like a geyser at Billy’s startled frown, and his clumsy, exhausted hands trying to unfasten his armor. Steve trotted closer to lift Billy’s chin for a soft kiss, and then helped him unsheathe himself from his carapace.

“What is the quest?” he asked.

“The Serpent of the Fens,” Billy said, his cheeks bunching under Steve’s hands as he smiled wide at Steve stopping to kiss his stubble.

“Oh,” Steve breathed, pressing their foreheads together. “I would come best it for you, but I’m to ride with the entourage north—”

“As if I need you,” Billy grumbled against his mouth, and Steve pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you, next to me,” Steve realized aloud. “Be safe.”

“Will I be rewarded for my safe return?” Billy asked, laughing, and Steve lifted him off the ground with the force of his embrace.

“Fit for a king,” Steve promised, and Billy curled around him that night in bed, with Steve pulling him in closer.

When Steve returned two weeks later, hungering to get his arms around his husband, Billy had already ridden out again.

“He performed well,” Her Majesty said. She sounded a bit crisp, Steve would realize later, but in the moment he felt only pride. When Billy crawled into bed behind him two mornings later, before it was light, Steve pulled him close, kissing along his ear and jaw, and feeling him shake with exhaustion.

Billy was quiet the next morning, falling back willingly as Steve pushed him down against the bed to touch him everywhere—but strangely still, for Billy Hargrove. He hung back all day, until Steve blocked his path and reeled him in, and Billy finally relaxed in his arms, laughing.

The next morning he was gone again, and Steve stomped in to guard duty only to have his queen and his fellow knight look at his face, and burst out laughing.

“Somebody’s a storm cloud,” said Robin, and Steve sighed.

“I should thank Your Majesty for the long honeymoon,” he said, “—but I’ve gotten used to him. Here.”

“Now I’m not busy abroad,” Robin told him, “—you’ll see more of me.”

Steve nodded, honestly pleased, but his hand itched to reach over and brush Billy’s. “He was exhausted, last night,” he sighed. “If I’d known he was leaving again, I’d have got leave to join him.”

“You’re needed here,” said his queen.

Billy didn’t return for a week, and then two. Steve tried to wheedle the details of his location out of Robin, and then his queen, but both pretended ignorance until he demanded to know.

“It’s diplomacy,” Nancy said, her jaw set. “Help with a monster on the borders of Hagenton. If you go charging in, they’ll think we don’t trust them.”

“And you sent Billy?!” Steve yelled back, but Robin pushed him back out of the door.

“You do not yell at the queen,” she said, and Steve groaned, running his fingers through his hair until it was wild. Robin sighed. “I will find out where he is, and send it to your room.”

“Thanks,” he said, the fury in him still drawn up to strike, but now met with the need for gratitude. He nodded awkwardly, and stalked back to his—and Billy’s—rooms.

There was a small shape slumped against their door, which resolved itself into a squire, then, into Billy’s sister. “Max,” Steve called.

She sniffled, and threw the heavy book she was holding to thump on his foot, which let him know more than anything else that she was distraught—she had fantastic aim, as a rule. “You bastard,” she whispered.

She was also as polite as her brother. “What?” Steve asked, dropping to a crouch. “What’s happened?”

“You sent him out again,” she said thickly. “He-he nearly died, what do you—what do you want from him?! You…” Steve tried to help her up, and she smacked his hand away. “You told him you loved him,” she hissed. “He was gloating for days, why would you—”

“That was...wrong,” he admitted, sitting cross legged to face her. “I—I didn’t expect—it was—” he felt his face reddening, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t have predicted Billy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What, you...you’re saying…”

Steve waited, blinking at her.

“You didn’t know?” she breathed. “About—that he—how could you not know—”

Steve clenched his fingers in the coarse fibers of the carpet, groaning. “Do you know where he is?”

“...not exactly,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

“You know he isn’t safe,” he said, nodding, and tried to keep his jaw from clenching. He frowned over his shoulder, back down the hall. “I will ride out as soon as I know, and bring him back.”

She studied his face. “But you’re a liar,” she said hoarsely.

“I lied,” he nodded, grimacing, “—for—” he opened his mouth to say good reasons, but couldn’t make it stick. Imagining Billy’s startled smile as he opened Steve’s love letters now brought up a burning shame. “I have a lot to make up for,” he said instead, “—and I’ll bring him home.”

Max swallowed, her shoulders relaxing a little as her hands came unclenched from her trousers. “Good,” she said huskily, reaching a foot over to kick his knee.

Once she’d tromped away, her footsteps louder than knights three times her size, he dug through his wardrobe for Billy’s letters.

They were fat with layers of cheap, folded paper, and there were, he’d thought at the time, far too many—four and five a week right up until the day the contract was signed. Steve sighed, braced himself, and opened one at random.

He was treated to a bemused but detailed set of answers to questions he vaguely remembered asking. “In regards to your inquiries after my horse,” it began, and continued on with its height in hands, name (Bellerophon, Steve thought, after studying the letters in bewilderment), and favorite treat, which Steve now learned (months later) to be carrots.

Billy was funny in his letters, Steve found, his eyes stinging as he laughed at a description of Max as a toddler, climbing across the beams in the Great Hall of Hargrove House, and Billy running around underneath her, holding a large basket and yelling insults out of sheer terror.

He made reference to Steve’s life as though he knew it well, offering chicken for trade at dinners, and Steve was whirled away in his mind to the long tables at Harrow, and his dismay over kidney pie.

The next letter was less sure—Billy began with “If you find time to read this,” and continued with phrases like “I know it’s of no importance,” and “I won’t expect you to remember, but—” and Steve groaned as it dawned on him how obvious it must have been that he wasn’t reading Billy’s replies. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling it tuft up like scrubgrass, then crossed his arms, took a deep breath, and dug further into the pile.

Eventually he found the first missives from Hargrove House, where Sir Neil Hargrove, Billy’s father, said Billy would do whatever they asked if only they’d overlook that it was Billy, and Billy had scribbled in a postscript wondering what part of him Steve had so sadly missed.

All of him, Steve thought, crumpling the letter. I missed all of him, though I didn’t know it, quite, yet. He glared at the door, paced in a circle, and then dumped an armload of letters on the bed, and collected his quill, ink, and paper. He began penning replies.

When a knock came to the door hours later, he sprang to his feet, then fell into the wardrobe as the foot he’d been sitting on gave way. His yells brought Robin in, and she snickered at his uneven walk, and showed him where Billy was on a map. Her face was solemn. “He was meeting the Hagenton guard there, to help fell a chimera. It’s killed every knight that’s fought it, so now they’re sending an army. He should be helping plan.”

“He won’t stay in the tent and plan,” Steve whispered, grabbing her hands. “I need the unicorn horn, chimeras are poisonous—”

“Hold on there,” she said, squeezing his hands.

“And the vial of phoenix tears,” he told her. “I need to go—”

She grimaced. “I will see about the horn.”

“He’s fighting a chimera,” Steve told her, his voice shaking.

“I thought your fever for him had...cooled, watching you,” she said carefully, and Steve shoved away to start pulling on his underarmor.

“It’s burning ever hotter,” he muttered. “And I hate it that I’m telling you first, I need to tell him—”

“Probably should,” she nodded, eyebrows raised.

“He’s exhausted,” Steve told his trousers, “—he has doubts about whether I...even want him to return. I need to find him before he’s…” he trailed off, pulling chainmail over his head, and Robin ran to help. “Why is there a chimera,” Steve asked her, when she pulled it down so he could see again. His voice had gone high and shaky, and she clapped his shoulder, smiling tightly.

“Go get horsed, and find him. I will meet you in the armory.”

“I’ll find him,” he nodded, feeling steadier. “I—I’ll tell him. I’ll make sure he—knows.”

She nodded, her eyes narrowed at his expression. “You’ll find him. I’ll bring the unicorn horn.”

Robin did not, in fact, return with the unicorn horn. Steve looked up from trying to saddle his anxious horse—she had caught his anxiety, and kept side-stepping just as he tried to slide straps through buckles with shaking hands—and instead of the glint of armor, there stood his queen, shivering in a tatty robe and knitted blanket. She held the unicorn horn over the stall door, and he grabbed it, taking a shuddering breath of relief.

“You shouldn’t need it,” she said, reaching in to pat his horse’s nose and hold her still. “He wasn’t to engage the chimera—”

“Why would you send him,” Steve hissed, yanking the cinch around his horse’s belly. “Why send him at all, if he—if he isn’t—” He took a deep breath instead of yelling at his queen, and tried to swallow down thoughts that Billy wasn’t a strategist, there was no reason to send him, unless. Steve took another deep breath, swallowing hard. “Why—why would…”

“It was an excuse!” she hissed back, flailing an arm so her blanket fell, and cursing as she gathered it back up. “It was near—” She cut off, and Steve waited.

“Near what,” he asked hoarsely, trying to remember the map Robin had shown him. “...it’s near his home,” he realized, feeling the tightness in his shoulders ease. “Is he—why not say he—”

“He is late,” she said, opening the stall door. “He may have encountered the chimera unintentionally, he—he may very well be in danger. I have been trying to find out—Sir Hagen is not responding—” She took a slow breath as well, rubbing the skin between her eyebrows, and he felt bouyed up to know she and Robin were helping. Steve swung up onto his horse, and she grabbed his stirrup. “Wait! Robin is assembling more knights—if he’s fighting, you’ll be little use alone—”

“She can catch up with me,” Steve said, smiling down at his queen, still regal in her favorite soft robe with the holes in the elbows. “I need to find my husband.”

He rode through the night, expecting to reach the hunting ground of the chimera just after dawn. As the sun rose in a reddish, smoky haze, it wasn’t difficult to find where the chimera had been—where the intact armor wasn’t filled with ashes alone, charred bones in melted armor lay under still-glowing craters in boulders. Steve’s eyes stung and watered from lack of sleep, the fumes, and the realization that the fallen knights were scattered, some fleeing, and armed with swords, not the spears and crossbows they’d have taken to fight a beast with fire breath. Travellers.

He resisted the urge to yell Billy’s name, tying his horse in a copse of trees and grass near the road, and trying to keep his steel boots quiet as he walked, watching for the chimera. He found claw marks, once or twice, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of a knight skewered on the jagged stump of a burned tree, though when he ran closer, he could see the armor was too small, and the curls hanging from her crushed helmet were too gold to be Billy’s.

Steve bent to lean his hands on his knees, breathing shakily, and stuffed his handkerchief inside his helmet to wipe his eyes.

He walked by a pile of half-eaten horses and two knights, and took another few deep breaths before he stepped in close to crouch, his sight blurring, to see whether it was the armor Billy had brought with him. Steve wondered, abruptly, rubbing his eyes, whether Billy’s armor was good enough, good as the Queen’s Guard, and his lungs shuddered in his chest at the thought that Billy’s family might have pinched pennies and Steve’s husband had fought a chimera armed with some sort of—gilt tin. He leaned his face in his hands, remembering it lying around the room, and wondering why he’d never thought to take it to the castle armorer, and made sure it was the best. Steve groaned, trying to remember buckling it on, and whether it had felt oddly heavy or light, but all he could remember was buckling it wrong because Billy was smiling, and had to be kissed.

“If he’s alive, I’ll commission a figure for your chapel,” he muttered, touching the St. George inscribed on his hilt. “I’ll have Billy model. You couldn’t ask for a better model—you—he’s beautiful, he’s strong—he’s brave, he—he’ll—just keep him alive ‘til I find him, I’ll buy candles, I’ll—” he cut off as his throat closed, and he coughed. “Protect his body from harm,” Steve whispered. “Def-defend the happiness of my home from all those who may conspire to destroy it. Give me the strength of your faith and fill me with hope and with the love of God—”

He brushed the ashes and blood away, and didn’t recognize the armor. “...amen.” His whole body trembled, a bit, with relief, and he stood slowly, letting himself mumble the prayer again and again, since St. George himself seemed to be listening. His sword started to glow.

The road seemed as good a place to look as any, and Steve wished Robin would hurry and help him search, wondering how many miles of wreckage he’d have to kick through, and how long Billy had, even with the intercession of Steve’s patron saint. “I will never ask for anything again,” he whispered at the sky, as loudly as he dared.

As he crept along the road, he heard a soft cry, and found one of the Hagenton knights, her leg charred off at the thigh. “Help is coming,” Steve told her, helping her drink a few swallows of water. She nodded, weakly punching the air, and he tied his handkerchief to the tree she huddled under, in view of the road. “Have you seen...anyone else,” he asked, swallowing, and she squinted, her eyes not quite tracking his face.

“Routed,” she rasped. “We were routed.”

“Thank you,” he told her politely, his voice thick, and she squeezed his hand, trying to sit up.

“Some...ran,” she said, her breath rattling as she tried to focus on his face. “May-maybe they survived.”

Billy would not have fled, leaving the others behind to die, he wanted to say, but she was pressing his hands, the white of a rib sticking out of her crushed armor as she tried to touch his face, so he just nodded, helping her ease back against the tree. “Thank you,” he said again, and again, “Help is coming.” He hoped for her sake and his own that they made it in time.

He kept up a series of pleas to St. George, as well as some gentle chiding—it would be much easier, after all, for Billy to stay alive if Steve’s saint was any help at all in finding him, but praying with his eyes closed didn’t give Steve the urge to walk in any particular direction, and he opened them again, rather than fail everything entirely by breaking his ankle by falling into a ditch. “Protect his body from harm,” he whispered. “Defend the happiness of my home from all who may conspire to destroy it.”

His heart thudded in his chest when he saw the curled gilt of Billy’s showy armor on a shape lying crumpled in the underbrush. “Billy,” he muttered, scrambling over the crumbling stone wall at the edge of the road, and running to his husband’s limp form. He yanked the helm up, crouching to see Billy’s wide eyes, hazy and flicking around under the pale, sweaty skin of his forehead. Steam wafted from under his armor, and out of his mouth, and Steve yanked at the wrapping on the unicorn horn, hissing, “Billy.”

“Harrington,” Billy whispered.

“William Hargrove,” Steve said back, wiping his eyes, as he tried to unknot the ceremonial bindings. “Thank you, St. George,” he mumbled, hoping the sincerity made up for the lack of formality. “I’ll get you those candles—”

“I’m dying,” Billy said, oddly forthright.

“No,” Steve hissed, yanking the knots free. “No, you’re alive, I’m here to save you.”

“You can marry someone else now,” Billy laughed unsteadily, and Steve yanked at his husband’s gauntlets, trying to find somewhere he could press the horn against greyish, steaming skin. His veins were black.

“I don’t want to marry someone else,” Steve hissed, “—I want to be married to you,” he said, fighting with the buckles on Billy’s left gauntlet, and squeezing Billy’s unnaturally hot fingers around the gleaming unicorn horn. “Hold this,” he whispered, taking a shaky breath as it glowed and pulsed against Billy’s skin, and his palm turned pinkish again. “Protect him from harm,” Steve whispered again, squeezing the horn so hard against Billy’s skin that his knuckles went white.

“I’m about to turn to ash,” Billy laughed again, tears evaporating into bursts of steam as they slid from the corners of his eyes. “May I touch you?” He pushed the horn away, trying to reach for Steve’s face, and Steve scrabbled for the rolling iridescent spiral and clapped it back in Billy’s hand, sniffling, laughing and grabbing his surcoat to wipe his eyes and nose.

“You’re touching me, you are,” Steve yelped. He held Billy’s hand around the horn, reaching his other arm around to try and unbuckle his husband’s helmet. “You won’t turn to ash,” he hissed. “I won’t let you—Billy, is the chimera dead?”

Billy’s eyes widened, and he tried to push himself up. “Wounded it,” he gasped, as Steve pushed him back down.

“Do you know which way it went, m-my love?” Steve asked, feeling awkward, but Billy went still.

“Oh,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on Steve’s face.

“I love you,” Steve said again, leaning close to see Billy’s expression through the slit where his helm lifted. “Where is the chimera?”

“I died,” Billy whispered, frowning.

“Knight of my heart,” Steve hissed, “You’re not dead. I followed you—where is the beast that felled you?”

“I thought there would be more pain,” Billy mumbled, “—turning to ash,” and Steve groaned, grabbing his husband’s helmet and pressing a kiss to it.

“Shut your mouth, idiot,” he told Billy, pushing himself up to a crouch so he could still hold Billy’s hand around the horn, and watch for the chimera. “You’re alive, and I love you—of course I would love you, you—”

“I can feel your hand,” Billy mumbled some more, sounding aggrieved.

“Yes,” Steve told him, sighing and biting back a smile, “—because I’m saving you, idiot. You can’t die, I replied to all your letters.”

“...my letters?”

“I missed you sliding your hand around my cock all night,” Steve rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush, “—so I read all your letters.”

“Burn them,” Billy whispered.

“They were very interesting,” Steve told him, grinning, and taking a shaky breath at the sight of the pinkish glow showing through the join at Billy’s neck. He squeezed his husband’s hand. “I brought your horse carrots. Now I know her favorite treat.”

“I hope she’s alive,” Billy sighed. “Do you think if we’re both dead, I’ll see her again?”

“You aren’t dead,” Steve growled, banging his free hand on Billy’s armor.

“I don’t mind,” Billy said. “It’s good here.”

Steve thought, biting his lips together. “...I don’t love you.”

“Ah,” Billy sighed. “And I hurt. I am alive, then.”

“Ha!” Steve grinned, leaning in to try and kiss him, again, and having to kiss his helmet. “But I do love you!”

Billy opened his mouth, and closed it again, looking both bewildered and annoyed.

“I would have told you before you rode out,” Steve told him, raising the hand he was pressing the unicorn horn to and kissing it, “—but you rode out while I slept.”

“...you love your queen,” Billy mumbled.

“I love my husband more,” Steve told him, feeling a little awkward at the thought his saint was listening, but sure a saint would understand that Billy needed to hear it. He sent up a silent apology as he reached into Billy’s helmet and pressed a finger over his mouth. “I—it isn’t only—” he bit his lips, thinking, with Billy’s eyes fixed on his face. “You aren’t only my best friend, and—and the person I—I want to show things. Tell things to, talk about—I—I miss you,” he whispered, “—I miss you when you—when you’re on the other side of the room, I…”

Steve trailed off, staring in horror at the tears trailing down Billy’s cheeks. “I love you,” he tried, and Billy made a choking noise. “I’m sorry,” Steve said, watching his husband cry, and yanking at his armor to try and see whether the unicorn horn was working, or whether he was talking like an idiot while his husband died.

“Don’t stop,” Billy told him, laughing as Steve shoved his fingers in every cranny in his husband’s armor, feeling for unnatural heat.

“Protect his body from harm,” Steve hissed around the lump in his throat, wondering whether St. George had stopped paying attention. “Defend the happiness of my home from those—”

“I am well,” Billy told him, grabbing both Steve’s hands away from their frantic prodding. “I am safe, I am well—”

“You are crying—” Steve informed him, feeling his own eyes welling up at the thought that it hadn’t worked, he’d been too late, he’d failed. He’d arrived just in time to tell the truth, and maybe that was all his saint could do, he realized, and he cleared his throat. “I love you,” he said hoarsely, “I—I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner, I—would have told you—”

“Stop,” Billy said, too loud, yanking at the ties on his helmet, and pulling Steve down against him in a clash of denting armor. “I am well, I am saved. Why are you here,” he whispered between kisses, and Steve tried to remember the living chimera wandering about somewhere.

“Had to tell you I loved you,” he panted, still trying not to bawl himself. He rubbed his thumb up and down Billy’s cheek, salt-smeared from his tears, and the sweat from the heat of the chimera’s poison. It felt warm, but nothing like the heat of before, and Steve took a shuddering breath.

“An urgent missive from the queen,” Billy whispered, smiling down at where their hands were still locked around the unicorn horn. “...is...is this a national treasure?”

“Yes you are,” said Steve, hoarsely, feeling clever, and Billy started laughing until he choked, then groaned as he rested his head against Steve’s chestplate. “You need to drink some water, I think,” Steve whispered into his husband’s curls, and Billy hummed, squirming closer. “You taste like you lived on nothing but whiskey for the last fortnight,” Steve coaxed, and Billy started laughing again, shaking in Steve’s arms. “Can you stand?” Steve asked, wiping his eyes and nose, and kissing his husband’s hair. Thank you, St. George, he prayed silently. Please help me get him home.

In the distance came the shriek of the beast.

They both listened, and Billy flushed, smiling down as Steve’s hand tightened on his wrist.

Billy sighed. “It drug people away. They might…”

Steve frowned, sliding his hand up the back of Billy’s head and pulling him into another kiss. “They might be someone’s Billy Hargrove,” he said, nodding, and Billy’s eyes widened as he turned inexplicably red. Steve checked that the unicorn horn was against his husband’s skin again, worried about the heat, but Billy smacked his hands away like Steve was being unreasonable, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“...it worked,” he whispered in Steve’s ear. “I was gray as ashes, remember? I am tired, and...” he swallowed, trailing off as Steve frowned into his face.

“Keep the horn against your skin,” Steve told him, with the narrowed eyes of one expecting to be obeyed.

“I will,” Billy said, smiling. “Only because my husband is worried.”

“Of course I’m worried,” Steve hissed. “I have to get you back to our bed. I have to—I have to commission you better armor—”

“Armor,” Billy blinked. “My armor is—”

“You were poisoned—”

“Its breath is—”

“Maybe I can convince Her Majesty I’ll fall ill if she sends you away again,” Steve mumbled over him. “It happens in ballads, lovers pining—”

Billy started laughing again and crying, and Steve grabbed his shoulders, wondering whether his actions had driven his husband mad. “...let us search,” Billy wheezed, wiping his eyes. “So you may carry me back to our bed.”

“Yes,” Steve nodded, ignoring Billy snickering again. Sorry, St. George, he thought, for talking about beds. Then it occured to him that St. George might have had a Billy as well, and he just prayed,—and thank you. Again. As they walked, he continued to update the saint with as we’re still looking for the chimera, we could use some more help, and could you look for Billy’s horse, and you probably know what we’re doing, from up there, do I need to tell you?

“Do you believe me yet?” Steve asked, and then as Billy grinned at him and stumbled over a charred tree limb, and Steve grabbed his arm, “—not about the bed. Of course I want you in bed, anyone would want you in bed—stop laughing.”

“This is a very strange day,” Billy told him, sighing, and leaning into his side. “I think I...will believe you, but…” he shrugged his shoulders, and Steve nodded, thinking.

“I woke yesterday morning, and I was glad,” Steve said, clearing his throat as they walked north, following the trail of smoking, empty armor and the ever-heavier ash filling their throats and lungs. “I don’t like waking up,” he continued.

“No one does,” Billy put in.

“But I did,” Steve told him. “I smiled before I opened my eyes. I thought I would roll over, and you’d be there, and when I put my arm around you, you’d lean against me, and I’d smell your hair.”

Billy burst out laughing so loudly Steve shushed him, feeling wrong-footed, and wishing he could speak properly and be clear, but Billy dropped into a crouch, hiding his face, and Steve forgot his frustration leaning over him.

“I’m sorry I’m doing this wrong,” Steve whispered. “I thought—I thought you should...know.”

“I love you so much,” Billy whispered back. “So much, I can’t—I can’t even—I can’t—”

“You can’t...believe me?” Steve asked, crouching to try and lean to see Billy’s face.

“I—I’ll try,” Billy said huskily, and Steve nodded, leaning to kiss his husband’s exposed ear.

“I will keep telling you,” Steve told him, “—until you’re sick of it. I told St. George it was important you knew, and if you were alive, I’d never stop telling you—”

“You don’t even go to church—” Billy sniffled, and Steve shrugged, pulling him around for a kiss.

“I think St. George would rather I kept fighting monsters and telling you I love you,” he said, licking his lips, and Billy cried in earnest while Steve kissed him for hopefully not the last time, and busied himself putting both their helmets back on.

#harringrove #knights in love #fake marriage au #Silliness for troubling times