#river pitcher

[conniesmlb]

~ Alliterative August ~

River Ryan

[girliism]

like father, like son - patrick zweig

-

patrick having the same strained relationship with his son that he had with his own father was not on the bucket list. he tried to do the whole family man thing, but after a rough yet necessary divorce he threw himself into his work putting a lot of the more important stuff on the back burner. his efforts of trying so hard not to be his father ultimately lead him down the same road.

-

you stood outside the door of your sons room toying with the knob before twisting it open.

river, your son, sat on his bed looking like a spitting image of his father at that age. it gave you whiplash at times. “hey.” the new presence in his room caused him to pull a headphone out his ear. “just wanted to give you a heads up that dads coming to your game, and wants to take you out after.”

“why.”

it was blunt and uninterested.

“because it’s your last game of the season, he wanted to be there.” there was an eye roll before an answer. “it’s not like he’s cared before.” he muttered. as much as he liked to pretend you could see that patrick’s absence had an effect on river. you saw it in the fights he picked at school.

the last thing you wanted to do was make excuses for patrick.

“he does care he’s just-” “busy.” the teen interrupted you, moving off of the bed. “yeah, he’s always fucking busy.” before you could scold him for his language he was on his way out the door. “rides here. i’ll see you at the game.”

-

“can’t believe my son plays fucking baseball.”patrick’s seated on the uncomfortable metal bench next to art, who’s seated next to tashi.

when your whole world was about tennis, when it seemed to the most important thing in his father’s life. pushed onto you since birth, you get desperate for separation. so the tennis poster up in river’s room get replaced with baseball stars. tennis shoes and rackets were traded for cleats, bats, helmets and gloves. six years of hard work and he was his teams best pitcher.

“well, he’s good at it. got a crazy strong arm.” art defended.

“oh, you actually came.” your voice pulled patrick’s attention away from art and on to you. “said i would.” he answered. you placed yourself far away from him, next to tashi.

the thick tension was cut through when your sons team took the field, and the stands erupted with claps.

river stood in the middle of the field, scanning the crowd like he always does. he’s eyes stopping on yours, art’s, and tashi’s figures throwing a small wave at the three of you, then his eyes caught sight of patrick. standing there in his navy blue half zip polo, and jeans. his hand fell but he kept the eye contact, only breaking it when the other teams batter stepped up to the plate.

river’s team won. coming as no surprise to anyone.

“you did so good, bud.”

“you’re best game of the season.”

“you were great.”

the pitcher accepted all the complements with a bashful smile.

you pulled your son off to the side messing with his sweated out helmet hair so you had something to do with your hands. “are you sure you wanna go? tell me now and you can go get pizza with your friends.” you were trying to give the boy an out. river looked back behind himself at his dad. “it’s fine. i’ll go.”

patrick, having felt the eyes of his son on him looked over, scratched his neck and straightened his posture. “you ready to go kid?”

no. is what river wanted to say, but instead he turned to look back at you.

“have fun you…?” you offered.

with a sigh full of teen angst. river picked up his bag slinging it over his shoulder, and made his way towards patrick’s car. walking right past him.

“have him home before dinner, please.” you called. patrick threw you a thumbs up and slid into the front seat of his car.

-

the car ride to their unknown destination was painfully quiet. the radio played low pop songs, and the nervous tapping of patrick’s fingers on the steering wheel echoed.

“so.” patrick spoke first. “you- you played amazing. got a crazy strong arm.” he inwardly cringe, stealing art’s previous words. river had to hold back the scoff bubbling in his throat. “thanks.” the car ride continued on his silence.

the pinched expression on the younger man’s face soften when the car parked in the parking lot of an ice cream shop that was present in memories that now seemed so far away.

the interior of the ice cream shop was exactly how river remember it. the tables all sat in the same place along the windows and the menu hadn’t changed. for a second he wasn’t sixteen coming from a baseball game, but six coming from a tennis meet he just totally bombed and his dad was spoiling his dinner with sweets to cheer him up.

“i ordered for you, hope you still mint chocolate chip.” the medium cup with three scoops of teal green and black speckles came into his view bringing him out of his thoughts.

the two of them sat across from each other like uncomfortable mirrors.

patrick gulped down spoonfuls of his rocky rode watching as river picked through his treat, taking small bites every now and then. “you always had the weirdest taste buds.” he tried to lighten the mood. “constantly had the kitchen a mess trying to make whatever concoction you dreamt up.”

that got a smile to crack.

“well, when you have a weird ass name you tend to do weird ass things.” patrick didn’t flinch at the curse word, just frowned a bit. his son always having been insecure about his name. “river is not a weird name.” he mumbled. river huffed a laugh.

then it got quite again. only the sounds of the worker behind them cleaning the counter was present.

god, patrick was so fucking bad at this. he’s smooth talked his way through every conversation he’s ever had without a thought about it, but he could barley say more than three sentences to his own son. what did that say about him?

“how’s, um, how’s school been?”

river wanted to laugh in his dad’s face. how’s school been, really? “it’s been good. was second in a good chunk of my classes.” patrick nodded. “you get that from your mom, the brain. i wasn’t big on school.” he shares “what else have you been up to-”

“dad, stop.” river cut him off. “what are we doing, why are we here? the awkward phone calls and dry text messages were doing just fine. what is this?” the baseball player wasn’t interested in playing pretend anymore.

patrick froze before clearing his throat. “i went to bury my dad this weekend.” he revealed. “and i realized, seeing him there on that hospital bed then in his coffin that i didn’t know the man well enough to cry. my own father.” he took a deep breath. “ i really don’t want us be like that river.” he sound as if he were gonna cry. patrick reached his hand over to rest it on rivers cheek, but he jerked away and stood abundantly exiting the ice cream shop.

patrick quickly threw out the bowls, before rushing after him.

“river!”

“no, fuck you!” river yelled, stopping in front of the car tuning to face patrick. “it took you seeing you dad dying to realize that you had son you’ve been neglecting for the past six years?” patrick winched. “you know, all you had to do was show up. i looked for you in the crowd of every one of my games. even when i knew you weren’t coming.” he wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make it any less harder for patrick to hear. river let out a sigh, throwing his head back trying to stop the tears. “sometimes when i played really shitty all i wanted was for you to be there, but tennis and work were always so much more important than me.”

he couldn’t stop the liquid in his eyes from falling or the sound of pain echoing through his words.

patrick cautiously stepped closer to the boy with outstretched arms. “riv…” river pushed his hands away with a force that felt good. so good he pushed him again, both hands pressed against the older man’s chest. he pushed and pushed, every hit saying what he couldn’t put into words. he pushed and hit until his arms got weak and his energy drained. patrick took the advantage to wrap his arms around his son who was nearly as tall as him.

“god, i’m sorry river. i know it doesn’t fix anything, but i’m fucking sorry. i’m a shit person, always have been. was shitty boyfriend then a shitty husband, and i knew i’d be a shitty dad.” patrick held river’s head up with two hands on his cheeks. watery green eyes so similar to his looked up at him. “i was so scared when they said you were a boy, all the ways i could fuck you up flashed through my head.” patrick squeezed his eyes shut stopping the tears in his eyes.“guess i did just that anyway, huh.”

river sniffled, yet still said nothing.

“listen, i know i’m a little late, but i wanna start over. i can’t make up for the lost time, but i stop anymore from happening. i don’t want you ending up like me.” and i don’t want to end up even more like my father.

“how do i know you want let me down again.” river whispered. he wanted his dad in his life, of course he did, but he also couldn’t trust him blind.

patrick sighed and shrugged. “i don’t know, buddy. by trusting me? i know i don’t deserve it, but i promise. i’ll be there.” he held out his pinky finger waiting another one to hook around his.

instead patrick suddenly felt arms around his middle, and a tight squeeze.

“okay.” river spoke.

“okay.” patrick answered.

-

the car ride back home was still quiet like before, but now comfortable.

“can you not mention to mom that i cried.” river said, once the car stopped outside his childhood home. patrick nodded. “no problem, kid.” before river could fully exit the car patrick stopped him. “hey. uh, saturday i’m free if you want to hang out.” he offered. river paused a moment. “yeah, sure why not. i’ll see you saturday. bye, dad.” he got his bag from the backseat and ran towards the front door.

patrick watched from the driver seat of his car as you embraced river, ruffling his hair and sending him into the house. he was about to drive off but stopped when he saw you approaching.

“i see you two made it back in one piece.”

“yep.” patrick hummed.

“thanks for this, patrick. seriously.” patrick nodded in response. an unspoken understanding hanging between you two.

you gave your ex husband a small smile and wave. “bye, pat.”

you watched patrick back out and drive off.

-

[hero-shrine]

🐑Ganymede worship guide/suggestions🐑

Domain: Youth, beauty, homosexuality, cupbearing, service, Abduction, Grace, Divine encounters, Nectar.

Epithets: Cupbearer of the Gods, Prince of Troy, Most beautiful, the loveliest born of the race of mortals, Golden-haired, wine-bearer, lovely, Blessed one, Skillful.

Imagery/symbolism: Pitcher, hoop, the Nile river, lyre, Aquarius constellation, dice/Knucklebones, Phrygian cap.

Colors: Gold, white, pink, yellow, blue.

Animal: Eagle, sheep, Cockerel, horse.

Offerings: Flowers, Candles, incense, art, poetry, lamps, fruits, tea, wine, pitchers, eagle feathers, wool, sheep imagery, honey, milk, silk, water, sweets, perfume, oils, bread, jewelry, Aquarius imagery, trinkets, dice.

Devotional acts: Sky gazing, taking care of sheeps, cup-bearing, acts of service, beauty rites, star gazing, playing board games, doing something that makes you feel youthful.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Steadfast 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I’ve wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we’re all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however… I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“A tavern ahead,” the king declares as he slows the horse’s canter. “We should rest lest the bandits be upon us.” 

You shift and bow your head. You hold back from giving his title. “Yes, poppet,” you agree. 

He hums and approaches the low stone wall around the wood and wattle inn. As he does, you catch sight of a young boy sat upon a rootless stump. He looks up as he tucks away the sling in his hands. He approaches the gate as the horse stops at the post. 

“Board for the night. For the beast too,” the king puts on a gruff affectation. 

“No rooms, good sir. Only the loft above the chattel,” the boy replies. 

“You should bring clean hay,” the king stirs beneath his cloak and presents a silver coin. “Feed the beast sweet oats and you will have another.” 

He hands the reins to the stable boy and nudges your hip. He keeps hold of you as he helps you unhook your legs from over the mare and eases you to the ground. He slides off after you. The chestnut horse is led away as your muscles snag and tug. 

The king stretches with a groan then offers his bent arm. You loop yours through in quick acquiescence to his act. You recall the duke’s words. You must keep the king’s true self unfounded, thus you must pretend as he does. 

Inside, the space is dingy with the smell of unwashed bodies and yeasty ale. You follow your escort to the corner and sit with him on the wooden bench behind a table. He crosses his arms over the splintered surface as you wring your cold hands in your lap. 

“Pip,” he sits back, sensing your fidgeting, “are you very cold?” 

Before you can answer him, his large hand is over both of yours. He does not wear his embroidered velvet gloves, rather a leather pair he must have acquired from the stabler. You still and let him warm your brittle knuckles. 

“...it isn’t so bad,” you assure him. You are addled at not addressing him properly. In a castle, that would be an oversight worthy of a switch’s bite. 

He removes his glove and once more clamps down on your hands, “like ice. We must have you a better cloak for the road. Once we dock upon Gander River, the winds will not die.” 

You nod and your brows furrow with a question you dare not ask. It floats away from you as a servant in apron and cap approaches. She offers two flagons and a pitcher. The king demands bread and some hearty stew in exchange for another coin. She goes and he rubs his bearded cheek as he peers around. 

“I will not say much and more about our path, but I do hope you are not prone to seasickness,” he girds. 

You follow his gaze around the lantern-lit chamber. The hearth burns at the other end. You look down at his other hand still upon yours. 

“Come, wife, be close to me,” he says suddenly and you steel yourself as he leans closer. He whispers as he tilts his chin down. “Those who watch must believe we are not who we are. Be not shy with me.” 

He nuzzles your temple and draws away. A fluttery warmth rolls through you. You dip your chin. 

“As you wish,” you abide. 

He reluctantly draws his hand from yours. He pours a cup for each of you, offering the dark ale to you first. You sip and nearly choke upon its wheaty pungency. He drinks without pause and two bowls of soup are set down with heels of thick rye. 

You wait the king to eat first. He takes the bread from before you and splits it, offering you a piece. You accept it and lean forward. You dip the crust into the lumpy stew and stir it. You look at him. He watches you calmly. It will be a long road to be so unsettled. 

You take a bite. He mimics you, stirring the rye through his soup before he indulges. It is blander than the castle fare. You assume the king is not used to such plain sustenance. Merely the scent of the spices they baste upon the noble’s meals is enough to make you salivate. 

“Be mindful, little one,” he warns as he squints over his bowl. 

You follow his gaze. A man stares back but not at the king. At you. You shrink down as he sidles closer. 

“You will not leave my side,” he commands. 

You hum and nod, ‘your highness’ teetering on your tongue. You clear your throat, “yes, poppet.” 

“Good pip,” he praises. 

You eat until the bowl is empty. Food is food, you do not mind the staleness of the barley as you gulp from the brim. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and the king slaps his middle. 

He doesn’t speak as he stands. He takes your hand and draws you after him. The shadows flicker on the wall as you hide from the glances in your direction. Road-weary men are the villains of many whispered tales. 

The king brings you into the night and the boy sits on his stump, hunched beneath a wool cloak.  

“Is the loft ready?” The king asks. 

“Horse fed,” the boy assures and receives another coin. 

The king guides you to the stable. The stink would be repulsive to many unused to it. The droppings and horse-sweat do not bother you much. He slides shut the door and leads you to the ladder’s feet. He urges you up first, hands on your hips until you mount the first rung. 

He climbs up after you and pulls the ladder with him. Only the moonlight lights the space through the slats of wood. You crawl around in the fluffed hay as he bends beneath the slant of the roof. He unhooks his cloak and comes close. He surprises you as he sits next to you. 

He turns and lowers himself upon his side. He drags you close to him and fans his cloak over both of you. You shiver against his warmth. He nestles into you and rests his chin on your crown. 

“We will be off before the sun is here,” he bids as he holds you snug. “Sleep, my pip.” 

[cremeful]

𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞 ノ when two entirely different lives become entangled together, a strange girl with a difficult past and present and a man with his ledger dripping red of killings, robbery and guilt.

this series contains heavy themes of religious/cult like trauma, abuse, death, grief, the over use of alcohol consumption and sexual content. As well as an age gap between !reader (22) and olderman!stack (30s). if you aren't 20+ please be cautious while reading this story. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫. ノ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝.

you sat at the kitchen table, the house was silent. your face swollen, lip busted and bloodied. your hands shook as you reached for the pitcher filled with water. your father stared at you hard, unmoving. "you will learn one day girl, that i am the only man you should ever lay your eyes upon." you gulped, a small "yes, sir"

you should've known the night your father questioned your where abouts he already had it figured out. your small town talks, no matter if you think no one sees. Someone already told your father who you spoke to that day at the river. That same night when you finished your bath and your fathers company was gone, he came up into your room and dragged you out of bed.

it was the harshest beating your father gave you. you felt his rage through every hit that came upon your back, his words booming over the sound of rich leather meeting contact with your back. " I fucking told you, I told you, you won't be whorin around under my roof!" another strike on your raw back "especially not with no moore boy! he lands one last hit on your back before dropping the belt and yanking you up by your hair. YOU ARE MY DAUGHTER. YOU WILL ONLY ANSWER TO ME AND THE LORD!"

"okay, okay! m' sorry daddy, i swear he only asked about the book i was reading, please!" your sobs are broken, you reach your hands up to pry his hands away from your scalp. Once his grip was free, you try to push up onto your feet but your father leans down, grabbing you by your ankles and pulling you back towards him. "you're a disrespectful little girl and you will learn the hard way."

The gravel crunched against stack's pristine shoes, the train station was bustling with people reuniting with family members coming home from war. Stack pushed past those who crowed the middle of platform making his way towards delta slim whom was playing the harmonica for a group of younger black folk, until he sees you, standing in a white cotton flower pattern dress, hair puffed out shaping your face perfectly. His eyes catches yours, their sad.

you quickly look away, eyes wide. you still feel his eyes on yours until you heard heavy foot steps behind you, your heart beat picks up. the foot steps come to a halt a few inches behind you, "don't turn around." his voice steady. you don't say anything, you let out a shaky breath. He removes the tooth pick from his mouth, throwing it on the ground before looking to his left then right "people been talkin bout' how ya daddy tryna kill me, that true?"

your breath hitches in your throat, you whip your head around facing him, your eyes dance around his face, his brows are pitched together. "m' not even supposed to be talkin too you." you had no idea about your father and his plan for stack. Stack kissed his teeth, "I know. word travels. ya daddy got a real tight leash on you." stack stares down at you, this time he sees your busted lip, and the purplish bruise forming right under your eye. he steps back, before telling you to meet at the river behind the saw mill. you squint your eyes, trying to read his intentions. "why should i? you might try to kill me." stack lets out a chuckle, "i rather we speak in private." his voice serious, you blink at him a few times before agreeing.

as you sit on your blanket you hear a car pulling into the cut, headlight lighting up the river and shining on you. "geez, did he have to pull in like that." you grumbled. He gets out the car, shutting the door and walking over before dropping a thick book down next to you, picking it up you read the cover "How to Kill a Mockingbird "

you look up at him, brows pushed together in confusion. he bends down, taping on the book with his pointer finger, "you will read this and in two weeks you will tell me everything that happens. study this book. you'll need to use it someday." His eyes darken with something sinister behind them. "you sure do know how to suck the mood outta somethin" you jokingly state, stack doesn't say anything.

He just stands back up, staring out at the slow flowing water "I know ya daddy hits you." you shift uncomfortably, before speaking "i-it's not like that, he just wants me to do right by him 's all" your voice soft, almost like a child speaking after being scolded. Stack runs his tongue against his cheek, before closing his eyes letting out a breath, "what happened last night, ♡?"

you shake your head, trying to push away the horrors of last night. "stack, you have to understand that if he finds out that i am out here with you, alone then .. " you close your eyes, voice choking up at what your fate has in store. "please, don't make me say it out loud." now you stand, coming to his side staring out at the river. stack turns his head staring at the side of your face, old and new scars lay upon your skin. "I need to know." ; he needs his suspicions confirmed. you know stack wouldn't let this go, although with your very short time knowing him, you know stack is hardheaded. you ignore his question, picking up a small pebble before throwing it and watching it jump onto the water. you sigh before starting. "that night we first met, i came home. i washed up longer than i was supposed to i guess, he was angry." you clear your throat before continuing "he questioned me, i guess he knew i was lying because when i went to bed, he dragged me out of my bed and beat me harder than he did before." your eyes become blurry, tears filling them. stacks eye's are on you, watching you. you see it in his face something distant but close, evil yet comforting. "he told me that i will learn the hard way" you mocking laugh "next thing i know, he's slamming my head into the floor and made me promise that if i ever saw you again to tell him because he will quote " kill the devil that is taking his babygirl away from him." You turn around, your cheeks are stained. "would you give me up?" stacks voice on edge, he doesn't know your intentions and he can't read what your thinking. you look at him than at the book he brought you then back at him. "why would it matter to you? we barley know each other." your voice sore yet harsh. stack licks his drying lips before speaking, " because, you want something and I'm the only one that can offer what you're seeking."

[joy-haver]

Life is getting harder, and so, we must get better at it.

Climate change and species extinction and ecosystem collapse are happening quickly. They are spiraling out of control. Even many Ecosystems that are supposed to be the most stable in their regions are facing decline. There are runaway effects, each thing that gets worse makes the next thing get worse faster, more disastrously. Each of these systems becomes less resilient the more of its redundancies are stripped away.

And yet, we can also have cascading effects. I am seeing controlled burns turn the plantation pines into savannas again, for the first time in 200 years, they are burning now, right now, where they would never have imagined to burn a year ago. I am seeing people talk about planting native plants. The nurseries here are selling out of them faster than they can restock. If you ask, they will say “This did not happen last year”. The foundations that have been being built by ecologists over the past half century, and maintained against brutal colonialism by indigenous peoples, are seeping out into the community. I see people talking about river cane, and pitcher plant, and planting paw paw and persimmon and sassafras and spice bush. These things are returning. Even now, in the worst drought in known history of my area, I see more butterflies than last year, because we have put in more of their host plants, their overwinters. We are learning. We are beginning. We are being born into a world of ecology; we are breaking the green wall of blur that defines our settler nonrelationship with nature. The irises are returning to Louisiana, the black bear too. The oysters are returning to Mobile Bay. I hear talk of gopher apples and river oats from the mouths of children. I see the return of the chinquapin, and her larger sister chestnut. It is slow but it is also so fast. It is growing at new trajectories, new rises. Each of these becomes it’s own advocate when planted in space and put in relationship.

We are not doomed. We must claw back from the brink. We must find each other and we must exchange seeds. We must learn to pull invasive species. We must win others over through earnestness and full bellies, through kindling the spark of ecological joy, and then we must show them the way. We must be learning the way ourselves in the meantime. We must teach the children the names we were not told, that were forgotten; how to recognize these friends.

When things are spiraling towards despair and death we must be that spiral towards life and utter utopia. We must build ourselves into full participants in our ecological systems.

As life gets harder, we must get better at it.

[kiachiako]

september nct recs

my library of favorites from SEPTEMBER <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

[m] HAECHAN | settle down pt. 1 | pt. 2 | @hyuckmov — rockstar!hyuck, genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff

oneshots

[m] MARK | sweet cream, cold brew | @lucyandthepen 26.4k — something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

[m] MARK | my little doll | @haechansdoll 20k — Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

HAECHAN | one, two, three | @cherryeoniis 19k — In which you devise three different ways to get your best friend to fall in love with you, but things never really go quite as planned.

[m] JENO | summer hair = forever young | @setsugekka 18.1k — Only three weeks after being broken up with by your long time partner, you’re dragged along for your friends summer vacation plans despite your best attempts at staying home to do little more than feel sorry for yourself. Day one? Dinner and a movie. Day two? The bar down the street that smells like old socks. Day three? Well, that’s the waterpark, and the cute, blonde lifeguard that seems to make the lazy river his mainstay is a bit of a sight for sore eyes.

JAEMIN | written in ink | @cherryeoniis 15.3k — professor!jaemin, historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

[m] MARK | watch me | @sluttyten 14.6k — you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

TAEIL | in earnest | @neonun-au 12k — a letter written in haste when you were fifteen and in love with your best friend gets sent out in the dawn of your engagement. when a reply is sent, revealing feelings you had long thought forgotten, you are left with a choice to make amidst a rather awkward visit. 

[m] JENO | fight club | @tyonfs 11.9k — after park jisung introduces you to his shady after-school activity, you realize it’s far too dangerous to be involved with the underground fight club in any way. their members are rough around the edges—except for lee jeno, who keeps you coming back for more.

MARK | a series of white lies | @tyonfs 10.5k — in which it takes you six years to accept that you’re in love with mark lee. (it takes him one.)

HAECHAN | wicked games | @cherryeoniis 10.1k — angst, fluff, suggestive, university! au, friends with benefits, fuckboy! haechan

MARK | baseball (& other disasters) | @tqmies 10k — Everyone admired Mark Lee, starting pitcher of your school’s baseball team and famed ladies man. You, on the other hand, only know him as the boy who broke your dorm lobbies microwave the first time you met.

[m] JAEHYUN | dive | @yougotthatbilly 9.2k — frat boy!Jaehyun: Jaehyun calls shotgun.

[m] RENJUN | high-waisted shorts | @tyonfs 7.8k — huang renjun might be the least committed to all this “bitch hunting” bullshit, and he doesn’t want to stoop to the level of stupidity his friends are at. that’s why he’s pissed when you’re strutting around in those high waisted shorts wherever you go, making renjun lose all sense of reason.

[m] JAEMIN | blur | @jaeminvore 7.5k — Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing. Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell.

[m] JAEHYUN | racer | @smileysuh 6.7k — street racer!Jaehyun, star-crossed lovers, secret relationship, step-brother!Johnny

[m] HAECHAN | tattoos together | @cherryeoniis 5.4k — rockstar!haechan x reader

[m] DOYOUNG | hungry for you | @sluttyten 4.9k — doyoung is your best friend’s older brother, and you hate each other until one evening you’re alone together and the tension finally breaks

HAECHAN | dance to this | @cherryeoniis 3.8k — dancer! haechan x dancer! reader, university au, slight enemies to lovers

. . .

drowning in college rn :((

xoxo <3

[angrelysimpping]

DoL x Outlast Trials

Reader (you, your); Avery, Kylar, Whitney, Wren, Remy, Robin, Bailey, Sydney, Harper, Doren, Winter, Sirris, Mason, River, Ivory Wraith, Leighton, Briar, Eden, Alex, Jordan, Landry, Niki, Darryl, Anxious Guard, Relaxed Guard, Methodical Guard, Veteran Guard (they/them)

No real structure, just ramblin

Thaaaaank yooooou 🩷 @letstalktea 🩷 for yappin with me abt this :3

Contents: implied dub and noncon but nothing explicit; canon typical violence for outlast? Nothing real explicit

Words: ~2.1k

Avery

Prime asset Avery who doesn't have a weapon, not like the others. Just their own two hands. A mother/father "figure." You just have to submit to their every whim. It could be so enjoyable for you if you learned how to just grin and bear it. Balancing getting caught by Avery, risking their wrath, with the stamps and coins you sometimes find stuffed in your pockets after encounters.

God, berserker Avery? Raging constantly. (As they all do but it somehow feels extra with Avery.) Reaching and grabbing and pulling. Manages to get you under them, breathing ragged as they grip you by the calves. Maybe, maybe, maybe, if you relax in their hold, let them spread your legs uncomfortably wide and slot themself between your thighs, they'll let you leave when they're done with you. Or, well, toss you to the side and let you drag yourself into a corner to recover? At least this way you'll survive.

Kylar

Kylar is just another regent, small and easily overlooked. So quiet, all the time. You don't expect them to corner you during a trial, thought it unfathomable that someone like them could overpower you. Yet now here you are, trying to hold back any sounds that try to escape you because it's better to let Kylar do what they want, small hands tucked between your thighs and stuttered breaths in your ear, then get caught. Helps (“helps”) that they use the barricade rig, keeping you somewhat trapped/protected. Kylar is also scarry good at knowing when someone is an imposter, but only for you. That fact seemed odd before they cornered you.

Whitney

Whitney as a regent. Fucking cunt who won't come to your rescue during a trial even though they have the stun rig maxed out. Unless, of course, you'll give them head in when in the common areas. Jokes about striking up a deal with "That freak, baby boots" and there is a non zero chance that cocaine has actually gone missing during Barbi's trials. Has done lewd poses with the mannequins, especially on Gooseberry levels. Has died the most to Coyle. Takes way too many dumb risks trying to taunt the officer. You have strong arm Whitney, your bricks break after one hit idiot.

Whitney as a berserker, though. Hmmmm.

Wren

Wreeeeen. Appearing in odd trials. How did they get here? Oh, they have their ways. Cool smiles and sharp eyes. Trades you for this and that. Technically a regent but you hardly ever see them in the sleep quarters, you've never run a trial with them, and the ex-pop don't seem to mind them that much. You've never seen them with a Prime Asset, tho. They seem to swap between having a jammer rig and a blinding rig, a good tell for when they're hanging around a trial is if you spot a green mine and you know you and none of the other regents in the trial have placed one yet. They also like to hang around bonus rooms. Pure vibes: feel like the Pitcher would either never enter the trial while you're near Wren or seems to always come into the trial when you decide to meet Wren. No in between.

Remy

Prime asset Remy, whip in hand as they stalk after disobedient cattle. Il Bambino is a top client of theirs, trials decorated similarly yet Remy's cattle seem more...cared for. Donated on, even. You could be like them, much better off than some of the other fates that could await you, hm? Oddly enough, it seems Wren is more likely to show up in Remy's trials…

Robin

Screamer Robin. They just, they need to sleep. Please let them sleep. They really, really don't mean to lash out at you when they're startled awake. But it....it feels so good to have you against them. Please, just let them keep you here, just for a bit. And if...if you feel them pressing against you, their hips rocking, don't pay it any mind.

Regent Robin switches between healing rig and jammer. Always tries to be helpful regardless of their relations with other regents but their spirit slowly gets whittled away. You gotta check in on them.

Bailey

Hehe, Bailey. Prime asset Bailey who claims you owe them a long overdue debt and they'll take it out of your hide. I know it's canon that Bailey has a gun but God, brass knuckles? More limited in their reach but extra dangerous up close. Might just let you slip away if you offer up an item they like. Might not. Doesn't hurt to find out though, does it? (It does) Shares the orphanage living space with Gooseberry.

Or regent Bailey. Shakes you down in the sleep quarters. They have an "in" with the guards, make sure your sweet ass doesn't get put into too many trials. Or, so they say.

Sydney

Sydney. Sweet, sweet regent Sydney. Shaking as they run up to you, squirming in a prime asset's grip, to slam their healing rig. Sprints with you to cover so you can get the most out of their rig, slipping into a double locker with you, their hands shaking as they find yours in the dark. They almost give your position away when you bring their hand up to your mouth, lips brushing over their slender fingers, and they involuntarily take in a sharp breath. They seem extra nervous in trials where they know Leighton is around and will stick closer to you during them.

Harper

Harper as the gasser, of course. Excuse me, Pusher, or whatever. (I don't believe your medical degree is valid and you can't convince me otherwise.) But, well, the gas is a last option for them. They'd rather pin you down, force you to watch their pen sway back and forth. Look into their eyes, listen to their voice. You're doing so, so well in the trials. You'll continue to do well, won't you? But first be a dear for them and open your mouth on three...two...one, there we go.

Ooooor regent Harper. They hypnotise fellow regents but they seem to take a particular fondness for you. They usually use their skills in hypnotism to protect themself, make other regents more likely to protect them. But you? They like making you wonder away from others during the trial, seek out a safe place where you greet Harper with dazed smiles and spread legs. The researchers keep a close eye on them, seeing how Harper's hypnotism interacts with their programming. Harper would favor the blinding rig, I thinks.

Ivory Wraith

Ivory as the Skinner Man when you do get gassed by Harper. Rip

Teachers

Idk WHERE the teachers are, maybe part of the Murkoff staff?

Doren

I know in my heart of hearts Doren gets a good laugh if they hear someone call Franco Barbi “baby shoes, never worn.” i think they'd be keeping track of regents with big “personalities.” Maybe also provide “literature” for regents to consume in the sleeping quarters.

Winter

Winter helps set up the traps. Has some more “unusual” that they'd like to try. Some regents can volunteer with their traps testing for a few extra stamps and maybe a few less trials for a couple of days.

Mason

Mason, Mason, Mason. A young researcher? Makes the physical hazards (toxic shock, winter kills)?

River

River is so calm and collected when they're working but jumps when a regent throws themself at the gate toward them. Can fight off regents but they can't look them in the eyes after witnessing some of the things the regents go through in the trials.

Sirris

Mmmm, Sirris watching their own child go through the trials? No, I doubt it. If Sirris is a researcher then Sydney is like, an intern or something. Sirris makes the gas. Sydney as an intern seems to be a bit too….interested in the regents and Sirris tries to keep them from the areas where there's only simple fencing keeping the regents separated from the researchers.

If Sydney was somehow a regent while Sirris was a researcher, they'd keep an extra close eye on them. Especially when Sydney seems to take a liking to you. They almost think it a bit of a shame how regents are sterilized on intake but, hm, well, there are probably was to reverse it if the need arose somehow.

The teachers attitudes toward you change depending on your actions. Volunteer for Winter's tests; do well in Mason's environments; read Doren's propaganda books; don't throw yourself at River or maybe yank back a regent who tries; get used to Sirri's drug (and hope they never see you trying to interact with Sydney)

Leighton

Yeah they're decoupled from the teachers, sorry?

Fuck me, Leighton as a prime asset. The Headteacher, here to set you on a path of morals or however Murkoff wants to spin it. I think they'd share the orphanage’s school area with Gooseberry. Weapon is a paddle ><

Or, fuck me, Leighton as a night hunter? Singing “do you see what I see” as they pull you over a knee.

Head researcher Leighton. Keeping all the other teacher/researchers in check. Enough power to pull out regents from Gen pop for their own “tests"

Briar

Goddddd Briar. Yeah, they're still running a brothel. Fork over some stamps, some tokens, whatever you've got, and they'll tell you what you can afford. They…still seem to have their wine. They've gotta know someone, have some connections (Leighton). And they'll use those connections against you if they think you're cheating them. Their brothel gig isn't…technically sanctioned, but it's pointedly ignored. Besides, easier for the doctors to keep tabs on who is fucking who if there's a brothel like set up going. Though, really, they don't want there to be any sex among the regents at all. The brothel also helps keep tabs on who's still seeking out sex with fellow regents.

Mmmmm, or prime asset Briar? Trying to drag an ungrateful whore back to where they belong? Probably has bits and pieces of connections to the other Prime Assets in one way or another. It'd be so so fucking funny if their weapon was a pimp cane oh my god.

Eden

Eden as a night hunter :3 fucking kicks down doors every single time. Doesn't matter if it's locked or not. Extra rough when they grab you, tending to haul you over their shoulder and take you further into their sanctuary of shadows. They want you disoriented.

Alex

Alex as another regent. Also a stun rig user but more likely they'll come help you out even if you're not on the best of terms. Seems to have a harder time in Remy's trials.

Jordan

Jordan, Jordan, Jordan. Hm. Prime asset. Bringing you into the right religious path. Their weapon is a flog that seems just as much for self flagellation. Shares the Gooseberry's chapple at the orphanage. The worst part is Jordan seems so…nice. They're truly sincere in their want to “help you.” Violently jerks away from you if you grab at your chest or slot a leg between their thighs. Seems to stun them as bad as a full power stun rig. Though, They turn extra violent for a duration.

Guards

Oh, the Prison Guards work as Murkoff guards.

Anxious

Cooing at Anxious to come a bit closer to the fence, you won't bite.

Relaxed

Relaxed almost right against the fence, smiling wide.

Methodical

Methodical seemingly watching you without interest. You can read them easier over time.

Veteran

Veteran sneering as the push you away from trying to reach through the fence.

Darryl

Darryl 🥺 Regent? Kind, but their freeze response is so strong you often have to help them out of trouble. Switches between rigs but favors blinding and x-ray. More likely to use the x-ray rig if Leighton is a night hunter.

Or, a grabber (puncer? Is that theor offical name?). Reaching out from under desks, jumping from barrels, lurching from lockers and closets. Stay with them. Don't leave them. Please, please. No, no, don't scream, don't cry. Don't bring someone else here. Just, stay with them?

Landry

Landry could work similarly to Dorris. Though, I think it'd be interesting if they had you looking for certain things in trials, lil side objectives (Do your dailies fokes) for them to either pay you or maybe slip you a few exclusive amps. Maybe even a prescription. Or straight up lore files too, I'd take that.

Niki

You spot Niki around, on the other side of the glass. They always have a camera around their neck, expression blank as they move around the facilities. They're rarely seen in trials, but they pop in from time to time. Sometimes photographs are needed, and Niki has to be close by. That doesn't fully explain why sometimes you think you see them pointing their camera at you while you're in the sleep quarters and common areas…

[dunmeshistash]

are there any mentions in dungeon meshi of indoor plumbing and/or electricity? i know there's neither in the dungeons, but what about in cities like kakha brud?

There kinda is plumbing in the dungeon since there's fountains around (those are plumbing right?) but I don't think there's mentions of it outside. Laios has a little dish with a pitcher where he shaves

And the bathhouses use river water

So if there is plumbing like the fountains is probably limited? I'm not very knowledgeable about history so idk how that would work in older times, I imagine in richer cities they do have it

Edit: I don't remember anything about eletricity

Edit 2: There's also public baths that use boilers to fill a pool so that one might use plumbing.

Adding heattth's comment from the replies

heattth That diagram is for the "bathhouses", the more fancy "public baths" are a different sort of establishment. Public baths uses a boiler, a big pool and get cleaned often, I think that would be impossible without plumbing. Yeah, my guess is that plumbing exist but it is not widespread. Richer people/establishments have it, but poorer ones don't.

[sarahs-library]

hi! i hope your having a good day 😊 you said you were taking requests so i have one if you dont mind! could you do something were az and reader are interrupted after they accept the bond by someone, maybe elain and she's upset and it causes issues? thanks!

Hey,

This is my first request so please be gentle with me if it isn't exactly what you were looking for. Also I'm sorry this sat in my inbox for so long, I wasn't sure exactly how to go about writing this one; I eventually decided on making it as dramatic as possible. 😅 So in true form, this is written mostly from our drama king Rhys' POV but there is some Reader POV fluff at the end. I wasn't sure where you stood with smut, so I've kept it relatively open to interpretation at the end.

Get Out!

Maybe being so secretive about your relationship with Azriel wasn't the best idea after all.

Word count: 5,090

Rhys POV

Rhys adjusted his grip on the blade in his hand as it clashed with Cassian's, the keen of metal against metal filled the training room. Sweat burned his eyes as he heaved air into his lungs. Cassian's grin bordered on feral as they separated, circling each other. Rhys hadn't realised how long it had been since he'd trained properly, but he could feel it in the ache of his muscles.

"Fatherhood making you soft, Rhys?"

Rhys rolled his eyes, hoping that Cassian didn't notice he couldn't muster more of a response between gasped breaths and fending off his attacks. They'd been at it for hours. Cassian was right, in between High Lord duties and trying to spend every possible moment with his son, resolute on not missing a single milestone, Rhys had certainly neglected his training regime. And now his brother was making him pay for it.

A blade whistled dangerously close to his face. Rhys managed to bring his own up in time to stop the blow as the force of it reverberated down his arm. He ducked out of Cassian's reach, staying firmly on the defensive while his brother eyed him with mirth. Cassian made a show of surveying Rhys slowly as he began to advance again, eyes trailing down his body and settling for a moment on the tight muscles of his abdomen. He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

"Just because Feyre loves you, doesn't mean you can let yourself go so much." Rhys dodged as Cassian swung towards his side, levelling him with a strike of his own which was blocked with ease. Cassian smirked at him as their blades locked, Rhys bared his teeth in a snarl as he forced Cassian's blade back.

A gentle caress against the fortress of his mental shields stole his attention away from his brother for a moment. Cassian smacked the flat face of his sword against Rhys' thigh, a strike that would likely leave a nasty bruise. Rhys opened the antechamber in his mind, built like a house of worship over the foundations of his mating bond with Feyre. He managed to send a small, gentle caress in return before he was drawn back to avoiding Cassian's blade.

Rhys, where are you? There was an undercurrent of worry flowing down the bond to him. It took his attention immediately. He signalled to Cassian, lowering his blade and taking a deep breath.

Training with Cass at the House. What's wrong? He was already moving as he answered, racking the blunted practice sword and retrieving his shirt from where it had been tossed earlier in the session. Cassian mimicked his movements before heading to the pitcher of water to pour two glasses.

It's Elain, something's happened.

What?

She's inconsolable. She says...that Y/N attacked her.  Surprise sparked in Rhys.

Are you sure? It didn't make any sense. You were so gentle. A junior healer under Madja's tutelage, brought in to assist with Feyre's pregnancy. You'd been visiting the River House regularly to do milestone checks on Nyx. During that time, both he and Feyre had struck up a friendship with you. He'd never seen you so much as raise your voice.

It's all she's said to us, Nesta is furious. Rhys' eyes drifted to where Cassian stood, gulping down his glass of water.

"We're needed at the River House."

Cassian raised a brow at the seriousness of the tone as he moved across the training room towards his brother.

"What happened?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. But we should get back before Nesta goes on the warpath." Cassian considered for a moment before taking to the skies, seemingly spurred by whatever he felt down his mating bond. Rhys launched himself after his brother before sending a reassuring message to his own mate.

We're on our way.

Elain sat nestled next to Feyre on the sofa. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as her sister rubbed soothing circles on her back. Nesta was pacing in front of the fireplace, the swish of her dress and hard clack of her heels against the hardwood felt too loud in the otherwise silent room. Rhys stood for a moment in the doorway, assessing the scene in front of him as Cassian passed him to join Nesta. She ignored him, continuing to pace.

Rhys approached his mate and Elain, settling himself on the arm of the sofa at Feyre's side. He casts an assessing gaze over the middle Archeron sister. Her other arm, the one not wiping at her face, was laid in her lap as Feyre held a compress of ice over the wrist.

Rhys let out a low sigh, running his hands through his hair as he worked through possible avenues of action. He reopened his mental connection with Feyre.

Has she said anything else? Feyre turned away from her sister where she sat staring into space.

No, Madja's on her way though. It's strange, she said she hasn't seen Y/N in days, she was supposed to be visiting her family in the Day Court. None of this makes any sense, why would Y/N do this?

Unease sat heavily in Rhys' stomach. Could something have happened to you on your travels? He thought of Braillyn and the manipulation the crown had afforded her over the minds of others. The Dread Trove was safe, was this a different horror Koschei was responsible for? Was he trying to target his family through you? It would make sense, you visited the River House regularly and both he and Feyre had left Nyx unattended in your care on more than one occasion.

He felt Madja's approach as she let herself in, inclining her head towards himself and Feyre where they sat. She settled herself on Elain's other side, reaching for her arm. Feyre moved her hand and the compress away, revealing a slight bruising and swelling on the skin underneath.

"We need to find her, she can't just attack Elain like this." Nesta's voice cut sharp as a blade across the room, Elain's tears starting fresh at her words. Madja lifted her gaze from where she was assessing Elain's wrist, tilting her hand in gentle exercises to assess the range of movement.

"Perhaps you can continue this discussion outside?" Rhys caught the pointed look the healer gave him. He nodded, standing and placing his hand on the small of Feyre's back as she did the same. Nesta watched them for a moment before stomping towards the door; disappearing into the foyer.

Feyre shot him a look, grey-blue eyes filled with worry as they moved to follow her out. Nesta continued to pace outside the room as they shut the door, the low sound of Madja's soothing voice travelling through the wood.

"We have to do something."

"Nesta, we shouldn't do anything rash." Feyre's voice was firm as she addressed her, switching smoothly from comforting sister to High Lady of the Night Court. "Not until we have more information."

"Well she," Nesta gestured towards the closed door and her distressed sister, "isn't saying anything. So I say we find Y/N and get her to tell us what happened."

Rhys was inclined to agree, but held some reservations as to what exactly Nesta deemed an appropriate method of finding out information when it pertained to the middle Archeron sister.

"Feyre's right, we shouldn't be hasty about this." He met Nesta's eyes, filled with burning silver fire. "You're too close to this," he continued. "Why don't you go back to the House, blow off some steam and we'll discuss this later when we know the full story." Cassian moved closer to Nesta's side, a comforting hand on her arm as she stared Rhys down. He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another. Rhys recognised the mind-stilling technique she favoured to keep her grounded.

Her eyes were still bright with anger when she opened them again, but she seemed calmer than she had been before. She gave a small nod. Cassian tucked her under an arm as they made their way to the front door.

"We'll send for you when we know something." Cassian nodded to Rhys over his shoulder but Nesta didn't turn back to look at either of them. The door closed with a thud behind them.

Feyre looked at where her sister and brother-in-law stood a moment before. She turned, making her way down the hall Rhys study.

"What do you think we should do?"

"I'll search the city for her, we could send a note? Ask her to meet us both?" Feyre nodded in agreement.

"We should make contact with Az." Rhys considered, reluctant to disturb his brother when he'd asked for a rare week off to visit his mother in Illyria. The request had been sudden and abrupt. Az had sent word close to midnight a few days prior. He hadn't written much, other than he needed some time away from his duties and that he'd reach out to Rhys later on in the week. He had been concerned at the out of character behaviour, apprehensive that something serious must have happened. Azriel had evaded requests for more information; saying that he'd brief Rhys on his return.

"When we know more," he paused with Feyre on the threshold of the study. "I don't want to call him back when it may turn out to be nothing serious."

Feyre hummed in agreement.

"I just...I don't understand, why would she do something like this? We gave her access to our son, Rhys. She didn't seem..." Feyre trailed off. Before she could continue the sound of a throat clearing came from the kitchen door. They turned in tandem, both sets of eyes fixed on the twins that appeared out of the shadows there.

"We...We think this may be our fault." Nuala's voice was quiet as she spoke for both of them, hands clasped together tightly as they stood before their High Lord and Lady.

"How could this possibly be your fault?" Feyre didn't hide the surprise in her tone. Their dark eyes were unreadable but Rhys didn't miss the glance they both gave towards the closed door where Elain still sat with Madja.

He opened the door to the office, gesturing in invitation to the twins to follow Feyre and him in.

Rhys sat in the high-backed chair behind the desk, Feyre perched on his lap as they listened to Nuala and Cerridwen's tale.

"Azriel instructed us not to tell anyone where he was when he sent word. She saw us putting together a basket, asked us who it was for. We didn't see any harm in telling her we were making it for him," Cerridwen's face was grave as she spoke. "Elain wanted to help, so we baked the bread together. She went to the garden after that, and Nuala left to deliver it."

"I know she didn't follow," Nuala cut in, her voice shaking. "I would have noticed if she had."

"Perhaps she saw where you went in one of her visions?" Feyre supplied. She bestowed her a small comforting smile, Rhys could feel her sympathy for the twins through the bond. They cared about Elain; even without his daemati powers you could read the guilt they shared.

"But it was here? In Velaris?" Rhys asked. Nuala looked at her twin, a silent conversation happening between them, before she nodded her head. Rhys' stomach turned to lead. Azriel had lied to him about where he was. Rhys knew that Azriel had his secrets, maybe more than anyone else in the Inner Circle. But he'd never known him to be overtly dishonest, not with his family.

"What happened after that?" Feyre's voice was gentle as she pushed for more information.

None of this makes any sense.

I know. Feyre squeezed his hand, the one that she had clasped between both of her own beneath the desk, as she sent reassuring waves down the bond.

"We were both preparing lunch after that. We didn't see her again, until you did." Feyre had shown him the memory as he'd flown towards the house. Elain bursting through the front door, arm clutched to her chest and tears streaming down her face. She hadn't said anything as Nesta had taken her into her arms, demanding to know what had happened.

"Would it be possible that Elain met Y/N on the way to...where Azriel is?" Feyre addressed the question to the room but it was Cerridwen that answered her.

"I don't think so, my lady. It's...out of the way, you wouldn't stumble upon it by accident." Rhys didn't miss the look Nuala sent her, dark eyes on fire. Cerridwen sunk back into her chair, realising that perhaps she'd said too much. Rhys pressed though, he couldn't leave it.

"So that would mean that either Y/N followed Elain from the house on purpose or she was there? With Azriel?"He suspected it was the latter, and the twins certainly knew more about it than they were willing to share. They both looked down, pointedly avoiding Rhys' gaze.

"We promised, my lord."

"We could do it together if you want?" Feyre's hand toyed at his neck, tracing the Illyrian tattoos etched into the skin. They'd dismissed Nuala and Cerridwen back to their duties while they discussed the next step to take. They had both agreed that reaching out to Azriel was the best course of action, to follow the lead of his potential involvement before they took any further steps concerning you.

Rhys was torn. He wanted Feyre to be involved, but it felt too personal. Azriel hadn't lied to her. But he had to him, his brother, his High Lord. Azriel, whom he had always trusted. Feyre would moderate his temper, if the need arose, but a dark volatile part of him didn't want that.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. Feyre called out for Madja to enter, already sensing her standing on the other side. Her smile was reassuring as she moved to stand in front of them at the desk.

"A nasty sprain, but no broken bones." Some of the tension seemed to leave Feyre's shoulders as she let out a relieved sigh. "I've recommended she rest it, keep it elevated," Madja continued, "it should be back to normal within a few days."

"Thank you Madja, we appreciate you coming out of you way." Feyre's tone was warm as she spoke to the elderly fae.

"It's my pleasure, my lady."

"Did Elain say anything to you? About what happened?"

Madja frowned, before shaking her head. "Nothing that made much sense. She mentioned a door and being pushed, she didn't say any more than that." Madja took a step closer to the desk, worrying the fabric of the apron she wore between her fingers.

"If I may..." She paused, waiting for further invitation to speak. Rhys gestured with a hand for her to continue.

"I've known Y/N since she was a girl," Madja's voice wavered as she spoke, in all the years Rhys had known her he'd never seen her close to tears before. "She wouldn't do something like this it's not in her nature," Madja paused before quickly adding, "not to discredit your sister, High Lady." Rhys watched Feyre as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she listened to the healer.

"This situation is highly unusual, Madja. We need to speak to the parties involved, gather more information." Rhys speech was clinical, playing High Lord rather than concerned brother-in-law.

"I'll take my leave then."

I should see to Elain. Feyre slipped off his lap with a parting brush of her lips against his cheek before following Madja out of the room. Rhys rested his elbows on the desk in front of him and lowered his head into his hands.

After taking a few minutes to collect himself Rhys began using his power to comb through the city, brushing past the minds of his citizens as they went about their daily lives. It took longer than he thought, identifying the distinct signature of his brother, as recognisable to him as his own after 500 years. Cloistered on the outskirts of the city, the surrounding land reserved for farming crops with very few residences. He felt another presence there, one less familiar to him, yours.

Rhys brushed a talon against Azriel's mental shields, a teeming cluster of darkness not unlike the shadows he wielded, and waited. The tick of the clock as the seconds passed by had Rhys on edge, he was considering pushing again, this time more firmly, when the shadows created a small opening just big enough for him to slip through.

Rhys didn't bother with a greeting. His mental voice was harsh, more than he meant it to be, as it reverberated around the dark antechamber.

You have ten seconds to explain why you are not in Illyria, and why my mate is consoling her injured sister before I come and find you, and we have this conversation in person. Conversation was a very polite term to use for what would inevitably become a battle of wills, and potentially blades, between the High Lord and his Spymaster.

Don't you fucking dare, Rhys. Azriel's voice was ice. The hostile rage that bubbled underneath shook Rhys out of his own for a moment. It was like its own living thing, driven by base instincts to defend against a threat at all costs. The force of it almost pushed him out. Rhys bridled his own surprise and rage down.

Okay, Rhys' voice was soothing, carried on a night-kissed wind. I won't do that Az, but you need to talk to me.

The storm of Azriel's emotions seemed to calm a little, Rhys could feel the effort he was putting in, wrestling for control that was usually so militant. He waited for his brother to speak for a few moments before continuing.

Why don't you start with where you are, and why Nuala and Cerridwen are involved?

He thought that Azriel was going to hold fast in his reticence. Instead his voice, missing some of the frigid quality it had before, answered after a few beats.

I own a property on the outskirts of the city, I've been here since I sent word asking for leave. Azriel paused before continuing, Nuala and Cerridwen were just doing what I asked, they don't need to be a part of this. Rhys should have expected this. Azriel always knew how to toe the line between answering what was asked without giving any substantial information.

And what is it that you asked them to do for you? Because they wouldn't tell us, because of some promise they made to you.

They delivered some supplies to me.

Supplies?

Food and other basic necessities.

And is there a reason you couldn't retrieve these for yourself? Why you're sequestered away in some property we're unaware of with one of our healers? Rhys tried to press against the walls of Azriel's mind to see what else he could feel or sense but it yielded nothing. Are you injured Az? Worry bloomed. As out of character as it was for Azriel to lie to his family, if it was because he was injured and didn't want any of them to know, to worry, Rhys could rationalise that.

No. Rhys could feel Azriel's attention, drawn away to whatever was going in outside his mind, still only half maintaining their communication. Is Elain okay?

Are you talking to Y/N? I know she's there with you.

Azriel hesitated before answering. Yes.

Elain is saying that Y/N attacked her, is that true? Did you see what happened?

I did, but it was an accident Rhys. She didn't mean to.

She says she was pushed. I'm not sure how that can be considered an accident, Azriel. Rhys tried to keep a handle on his agitation, but this conversation was going nowhere quickly. Why don't you show me what happened, then we can put this whole thing to bed.

A tidal wave rose, angry and biting as it chased Rhys towards the gap in the barrier he entered from. Rhys retreated back from it, shocked by it's sudden appearance.

No. Azriel's snarled response rebounded around his head.

Fine, I'll take it up with Y/N if this is how you're going to act.

Wait, don't. The emotion receded as quickly as it came, leaving Rhys toeing the edge of the empty chamber. Leave her out of this Rhys, it's my fault.

Oh? She's assaulted a member of our Court, Azriel.

She's my mate, Rhys. Rhys thought for a moment that he hadn't heard him correctly. But it made sense, the instinctual frenzy of emotion that seemed eager to slip his brother's control. We didn't tell you in the beginning, we wanted to get to know each other without any added...pressure.

Az, this is wonderful news...unexpected but wonderful. But we wouldn't have pressured you, either of you, into anything.

I know, I just...I was being selfish, Rhys. And we were so caught up in each other. I said I'd talk to you when I got back, I was going to tell you then. Rhys didn't hide the happiness he felt, letting his brother feel it freely, It was a bit spur of the moment, deciding to accept the bond. That's why I asked Nuala and Cerridwen for help, they knew where we were.

I'm happy for you, Az. Rhys allowed himself to bask for a moment in the joy that he could feel from his brother as he spoke about you. A part of him wanted to leave then, to retreat from his brother's mind and leave him to enjoy this special, if volatile time, as a newly mated male. But there was still a piece of this puzzle missing. What happened with Elain?

It is my fault Rhys, I should have sensed her coming. But we were preoccupied. Azriel's discomfort put Rhys own teeth on edge as he continued. We were in the living room and Elain opened the door, Y/N panicked and slammed it with gust of wind.

Panicked?

We were...indisposed.

You're joking, Rhys barely managed to choke the words out as he tried to contain his laughter.

Its not funny, Rhysand. He could almost see his brother grinding his teeth in agitation. By the time we made ourselves decent, Elain had already left. I was going to come to the house to see if she was okay, but Y/N is really upset that she may have hurt her. Rhys understood what he didn't say, that he couldn't leave his mate like that.

Tell her it's just a sprain, nothing serious.

That's a relief. If we're done here- Rhy's didn't allow Azriel to finish, already taking his leave.

Rhys watched the sun set set over the Sidra as he ruminated on the strange events the day had taken, and how he was going to defuse the tension from this morning before Azriel returned, likely with Y/N in tow.

Your POV

Steam curled into the air from the water of the bath. The heat soothed the ache in your muscles, ones that you didn't even know you had were making their displeasure known, as you adjusted your position to lean back against Azriel. His arm slipped around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest as scarred fingers traced circles over your midriff. You sighed in contentment as Azriel continued his ministrations, feeling his smile against the skin of you neck. He brushed the sensitive skin with a delicate kiss. Neither of you spoke as you sat there, enjoying the comfortable silence and basking in the feeling of the new golden thread that tied you together.

Azriel reached to the edge of the tub where the basket of toiletries lay, filled with your favourite scents curtesy of the shadow wraith twins, and grabbed a soft cloth and a bar of sweet smelling soap. You groaned as he began to gently massage the lather on the cloth into the skin of arms and shoulders, adjusting slightly to give him better access. You turned your head, resting it in the cradle of Azriel's shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes.

Over the few months that you'd known him, you'd come to admire his stoic beauty. Rich hazel eyes framed by thick lashes and dark brows. His sharp features and full lips that erupted butterflies in your stomach every time he gifted you with an alluring smile or tantalising smirk. As your relationship had progressed he'd become more open is displaying his emotions with you, less prone to cloaking himself in his shadows. But you'd never in that time seen such open contentment displayed on his features.

You watched as his eyes tracked the path his hand drew with the cloth against your body. You brought a hand out of the warm cocoon of the water to trace the map of markings across his shoulders, following the trail up his neck with tender kisses. Azriel's chest rumbled his approval. The flare of his wings sent ripples across the surface of the bath as you let a soft breath out against the delicate shell of his ear.

"It appears my little mate is rather insatiable." Azriel sighed, feigning exasperation as he moved the cloth lower, down off your shoulders to brush the top of your breasts.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." The hand on his shoulder reached to brush a single fingertip against the sensitive membrane of a wing as you smirked into his neck.

"Careful." Azriel growled, taking the circles he was tracing on your midriff dangerously lower. Even though the past few days had been filled with nothing but Azriel, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of him on your tongue, there was a burning pit of desire that demanded more. You felt as though you could live a thousand more years and never tire of the feeling of him holding you in his arms. The thought of leaving the little bubble of bliss you'd created here was like a cold water shock. Thinking of the potential repercussions you'd face of what happened earlier left the sting of bile in the back of your mouth.

Azriel's hands stilled as he sensed the shift in your mood. You buried your face into his neck, closing your eyes and letting his scent calm your racing heart. Azriel abandoned the cloth to place his hand on the back of you head, carting his fingers through your hair. He made a low soothing noise.

"It's okay," he continued to massage his fingers against your scalp as he spoke. "It was an accident, no one is going to blame you."

"Elain will, she probably hates me." Your voice broke as you tried to hold back the guilt that had been plaguing you, such a start contrast to the joy and ravenous hunger.

"She'll understand. The others will too, Rhys actually found it very amusing."

"Oh cauldron boil me." You could imagine it now, the smirking good natured jibes from the high-lord and the likely even less subtle innuendos his general would deal out to you.

"Come on," the fingers dancing through your hair stopped. "Look at me." Part of you wanted to continue to hide as the anxiety and embarrassment coiled inside of you, but as Azriel moved to cup your cheek you lifted your face away to look at him. His eyes were soft as he took in your face, so close that you could see flecks of green and gold constellating around the iris. His thumb rubbed gently against you cheek.

"I just want to stay here for the rest of our lives." Azriel smiled gently and hummed his agreement, leaning forward to press his lips against the skin of your forehead.

"Unfortunately, I think we'll be missed." He considered for a moment before adding. "And I wouldn't put it past Cassian to break down the door and drag me back to civilised society." You loosed a small smile at his attempt to make light of the situation, but it still did nothing to quell the apprehension and doubts.

You'd so desperately wanted to make a good impression. It had all been planned out. After the week was done; once you and Azriel had returned to your normal lives, he would have announced the mating bond to his family. You'd planned to host a dinner, let them get to know you outside your capacity as a healer. Hoped to create the foundations for meaningful relationships. Instead, you'd ruined it before you'd even started, injuring the High Lady's sister and forcing Azriel to do damage control on your behalf.

"I'm just...I'm sorry Az, I know how important your family is to you. I can't believe I've screwed this up."

"They are important to me." He agreed, thumb stroking gently against your face. "But so are you. I've waited centuries to find you, and you're so much more than I dreamed you'd be." Tears welled in your eyes at his declaration. "I love you, and I know my family will love you too." You reached up to capture his lips in a delicate kiss, despite the gravity of the situation feeling his lips quirk into a smile against your own made your heart sing. You parted, and he began to trail kisses across your cheek.

"Rhys and Feyre already like you, they trust you with Nyx. Everyone else will fall victim to your charming smile and witty sense of humour, I'm sure." He murmured in your ear as he traced his nose against the soft skin of your neck.

"We'll face them together when the time comes." He whispered the promise into your skin as he paved a line of tender kisses to a particularly sensitive spot he'd discovered in the last few days, taking extra care to pay it the most attention.

You sighed and arched your back, allowing him greater access to your neck and chest. Azriel's affirmations had quelled the storm within you, leaving heat and hunger in the wake of his lips.

"But, we've got a few days before anyone is expecting us back. And I have plans for you." Azriel's voice turned husky at the end, the heady promise made your toes curl as you pressed yourself closer against him.

"Oh?" You breathed as his lips began to chart a course across your chest, skimming across the tops of your breasts. You felt more than heard as he hummed an affirmation against the delicate skin. "And what would those plans be?"

Azriel's wings flared as your hand found his hair, winding the strands between your fingers. He stopped lathing delicate kisses against your skin to look up at you through dark lashes, eyes light and mischievous. His grin was positively wicked, canines flashing in the light.

"Why don't I show you."

[desikanya]

Kumbh Mela 🏵️

The Mahakumbh is one of the world's most solemn and largest religious meetings, held with great dedication and spiritual passion. This once-in-twelve-year event is more than just a festival; it is a convergence of culture, faith, and spirituality that attracts millions of followers from all over the world.

During the Kumbh Mela, several ceremonies take place, including the traditional procession of Akharas known as ‘Peshwai’ on elephant backs, horses, and chariots, the shining swords and rituals of Naga Sadhus during ‘Shahi Snaan’, and many other cultural activities that attract millions of pilgrims to the event.

Origin of Kumbh Mela from the scriptures:

The story of Mahakumbh begins with the Devas (gods) and Asuras (demons) churning the ocean (Samudra Manthan) in search of the nectar of immortality (Amrit). The significance of Kumbh is centered on the account of the Samudra Manthan, which was performed by the gods and demons to gain the priceless Ratnas, or jewels, and amrita, or nectar of immortality. The mountain Mandrachala served as a churning stick, with Nagraja Vasuki acting as the rope. Lord Vishnu himself took the form of Kasava, or tortoise, and gave the foundation for the mountain Mandrachala, fearing that it would slip and sink into the ocean. The first to emerge from this churning was poison, which was consumed by Lord Shiva, who later became known as the Nilkantha.

After churning the ocean, Dhanvantri emerged carrying a pitcher of amrita, or the elixir of immortality. To make sure the Asuras don’t get it, Lord Vishnu asked Garuda Dev, to fly away from there with the pot of nectar. When Garuda Dev was carrying the pot, four drops of nectar fell at four places, Haridwar, Ujjain, Nashik, and Prayagraj. Since then, these four places have become great pilgrimage sites.

In other texts, it is said that Indra’s son, Jayant, ran off with the pot. The Sun, his son Shani, Brihaspati (the planet Jupiter), and the Moon went along to protect him and the pot. As Jayant ran, the amrita spilled at four spots: Haridwar, Prayagraj, Ujjain, and Nashik-Trimbakeshwar. He ran for 12 days, and as one day of the Devas equals one year of humans, Kumbh Mela is celebrated at these locations every 12 years, based on the relative positions of the Sun, the Moon, and Jupiter. 

All four places are located on the banks of rivers — Haridwar has the Ganga, Prayagraj is the sangam or meeting point of Ganga, Yamuna and the Saraswati, Ujjain has the Kshipra, and Nashik-Trimbakeshwar the Godavari.

It is believed that taking a dip in these rivers during Kumbh, amid the specific alignment of the heavenly bodies, washes away one’s sins and accrues punya (spiritual merit).

The traditional Kumbh Mela is celebrated every three years, the Ardh (half) Kumbh Mela every six years in Haridwar and Allahabad (Prayag), and the Purna (full) Kumbh Mela every twelve years at four locations: Prayag (Allahabad), Haridwar, Ujjain, and Nashik, dependent on planetary motions. The Maha Kumbh Mela is held at Prayag after 144 years (after 12 ‘Purna Kumbh Melas’).

If we want to understand the historical reference, then you can find the mention of a big gathering like Kumbh Mela in the 19th century, but even before that, if we look at the basis of this gathering, then there used to be the festival of Magh Snan in which people used to bathe in holy rivers so that they could wash away their sins and attain salvation. In ancient texts like Rigveda, stories of Samudra Manthan and Amrit have been given, which help us to understand the basic basis of this festival. Then if we move ahead, in the time of the Gupta period and Mauryan period also, there were many such festivals.

We find the mention of Kumbh Mela. With time, Kumbh Mela became a symbol of unity and spiritual knowledge. At this conference, many saints, ascetics, and devotees started to meet. Kumbh Mela is held at four holy places. The first place is Prayagraj. Prayagraj is known for Triveni Sangam, where three holy rivers meet – Ganga, Yamun, and the hidden Saraswati River. The second place where Kumbh is held is Haridwar. Here, the holy river Ganga comes down from the mountains. Where people take a bath in the Ganga to purify their mind and soul.

Apart from the Ganga River, Haridwar is also known for its peace and spiritual energy. Then comes the third place which is Nashik. Nashik is located on the banks of the Godavari River. There are many religious beliefs and stories from the Puranas here too. The fourth Kumbh place is Ujjain. Ujjain is a city located on the banks of the Shipra River which has a religious and spiritual history. Bathing here also becomes a part of the spiritual journey of the people. It is decided at which of these four places the Kumbh Mela will be held, based on the astronomically aligned places.

Astrological alignments for the occurrence of Kumbh Mela:

As it occurs in 12 years, the time depends on the position of satellite bodies, especially Jupiter. Jupiter takes about 12 years to complete one orbit around the Sun and the places are decided according to those 12 years. Kumbh Mela is held at every place once in 12 years. Kumbh Mela is held when Jupiter enters a specific zodiac sign and any kind of religious work is considered auspicious during this time.

When Jupiter is in Aquarius or Kumbh Rashi, and the Sun and Moon in Aries and Sagittarius respectively, Kumbh is held at Haridwar.

When Jupiter is in Tauras, and the Sun and Moon are in Capricorn or Makar (thus, Makar Sankranti is also in this period) the Kumbh is held at Prayag.

When Jupiter is in Leo or Simha, and the Sun and Moon are in Cancer, the Kumbh is held at Nashik and Trimbakeshwar, which is why they are also called the Simhastha Kumbh.

Significance and employment generation due to Kumbh Mela:

Saints and sages from the monasteries and religious personalities come, there are also events of Katha and Kirtan, many people from different states come who showcase different cultures here, you will also get to see the performance of their folk songs, dances and arts in this Kumbh Mela.

UNESCO has recognized the Kumbh Mela as the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity and this shows the cultural significance of Kumbh Mela for India.

The significance of Kumbh Mela is not limited only to the religious perspective, if we look at it from the economic perspective, during the Kumbh Mela, lakhs of people travel from one place to another, which gives a boost to the travel industry and provides huge support to the economy. If we try to understand it in terms of data, the government spent Rs 4200 crore to organize the Kumbh Mela 2019, but the economic value generated in this Kumbh Mela was Rs 1,20,000 crore, and at the same time, 6 lakh people got jobs in a single Kumbh Mela. If we talk only about the hospitality industry, then 1 lakh jobs were generated in these.

This year, the government spent around Rs 7000 crore and the economic value predicted to be generated is around Rs 2,00,000 crore.

[the-monkeies-girl]

for the love of all that is HOLY part two to that caesar fic maybe a continuation where you left off. Reader cleaning his body? *Wiggles eyebrows suggestively*

I said I wasn't posting today well guess who Lied LOL. We love one stoic hot ape here and his name is CAESAR,, Reblogs and likes always appreciated, enjoy reading.

Title: Side By Side. Fandom: Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Caesar x Human! Reader. Rating: T. ( Teeny tiny bit of aggression. ) Words: 2.1K+ Summary: ** Part One: War Paint** Putting the paint on was the easy part of your job.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻

Your hands were shaking. You didn't have an excuse this time like before. You weren’t cold, even Caesar had to have noticed that you were in fact sweating, a small fire in front of you being more than enough to pound you into a lucid sense of heat. Tucking your long sleeves up on your biceps to keep them out of the way, you dipped a cloth into water gathered from the river nearby. Notice, he surely did. He didn't need to see, he could simply smell it. Almost every move you made in front of him caused a sweet fragrance to waft his way. It was so very familiar to Caesar, it almost felt like he’d drown in it. Nervous? He tilted his head minutely. Yes, Caesar had seen you nervous and he knew how it looked on your face. Reserved? Yes, Caesar repeated and watched as you wrangled the old cloth, enjoying the sound of the droplets falling back into the bigger pitcher of water.

Like rain against a roof, it reminded the Ape King of a meager memory and he found himself sliding his eyes shut. He could recall many times in San Fransisco… Many rainy nights where he sat in the home he proudly shared with Will, Caroline and Charles… Listening to the rain, looking out the window, wondering what it would feel like on his fur, what it would feel like cupped in his hand. Little did Caesar know in those moments of self-reflections, that many years later, they would be gone from him and all he was left with was the sensation now of water dripping from his fur onto the floor below, giving the impression that it was bridging the gap between himself and you. Taking advantage of his closed eyes, you made your move and swiped the cloth against the bridge of his brows and down the right side of his face. You were more comfortable working around his expressions if his eyes were not dragging you down into a room full of thoughts that were only about Caesar.

The white paint smeared against his wrinkled skin, giving a small twitch as you dragged the cloth across the space next to his muzzle. He seemed to have aged overnight from years upon years of unbridled stress and loss. Your heart churned uncomfortably at that, at how rugged he looked, at how he held himself as opposed to earlier. He seemed so tired now, so willing to accept and roll over. All you wanted to do was throw the cloth over your shoulder and embrace his face in both your hands. Take in each pleasure of feeling how it traced under your fingers, your bare fingers. Caesar tried to keep it light and positive when you had talked about loss before, but it was so apparent that it had a detrimental effect on him despite his ability to put on a mask for his Colony, for the greater good of the Apes. Where there was loss, he had explained in a rather rudimentary way, typical of Caesar when he knew what he wanted to express but lacked the dictionary knowledge of how to put it in a way that you would understand. With loss, there was much to be gained was how he put it. Said like a true leader, you dropped the conversation after that and it was never brought up again.

That’s how it worked with the Ape King. You questioned, he answered and you left it alone; Caesar was not a creature to come back to dwindling thoughts when he was so adversely confident in his abilities, practices and words. That’s what made him so enticing, magnetic by force and you fell right into the sphere of his gravity. Shaking that thought out of your head, you drew your bottom lip to urge yourself to focus on the task at hand and lightly placed the cloth against his cheek idly. You were looking at him now; the furrow of his brow, his mouth slightly agape as if in anticipation of your next movements, eyes shut, not squeezing but flutteringly that if he wanted to look right back at you, it wouldn’t take much effort on his part. A thin set of eyelashes trickled with action as you came upwards and swept the paint from under his eyes. Droplets fell onto his cheeks, giving the faux nature of tears. It was symbolic, in some sick and twisted way and your eyes trailed the drop down, down… It got lost in the fur of his chin.

Oblivious to your own nature now as you were so transfixed on the Chimp in front of you, your mouth had fallen open, bottom teeth now evident in Caesar’s eyes as he finally opened them in question of what you were doing, what was taking so long. Lake was fast to clean, you were slow, biding your time for an unknown reason, at least to Caesar. Green irises burned a hole in you, through your skull and it felt like he was able to read your thoughts. It felt like your skin was crawling, like he was inside of you and puppeteering as you unwaveringly looked right back at him.

Big mistake.

“Uh---” You hummed under your breath, the huff hitting his face due to the close proximity before you turned your body away from him, knees now pointing to an empty corner of Caesar's private sanctuary instead of directly at the King. A shot of what felt like electricity lingered in your entire self, radiating uncomfortable from your fingertips, your thighs, your head and oddly enough, your toes even felt a bit funny. “T-…” Clearing your throat as you dipped the cloth back in to get more dampened, you were screaming to keep your heart from jumping out of your chest. There was absolutely no way that he didn't know that, telling you often that he was able to get a good view of your internal self from his ability to smell, his ability to hear your heartbeat.

“The paint came off a little bit.” A mindless topic of conversation, and you weren’t sure if Caesar would comply. He wasn’t big into small talk and really only pleasured you with it when he felt it served a purpose.

He hummed in response, knowing you had to figure that words weren’t necessarily worth any other acknowledgement. It was such a deep sound coming from his chest, Caesar’s eyeline suddenly flushed with your chest as you stood. “It…” He nodded silently as you advised him just as quietly that you needed him to shift. With intentful action, Caesar’s jaw clenched as he let his head tilt backwards mildly, only accentuated when you had pressed an urging finger under his chin to aid. “Rained…” He bargained with you, “Thought it would.” That was said with what could only be described as smugness.

You paused in front of him as his words spilled, giving you the wanted attention that was leaking out of all of your pores. The way his voice came out in the position he found himself in was rougher than usual, vocal cords straining against his jugular. Pleadingly, you looked at said body part and felt a flush of something familiar now lingering in your tailbone. You could just reach up and grab it, though you knew Caesar would grab yours in return, probably ripping the vein right out of your neck. You began applying a bit more pressure to the red that trailed between his brows and down his nose the only part of his face paint that lingered. The white was easily gone, already faded deeply from being exposed to the weather. He was tentative in nature, staring at the ceiling before his eyes were flooded again, this time with your face as you moved above him to look, observing he assumed, where you needed to apply more pressure to clean the now crusting paint off his perpetually grouchy appearance.

Statically, he grasped your wrist when the realization came to light that with his face clean, all that was left was his body. He had enough with the paint placement on his chest hours ago,thankful to get that out of his mind for the hunting trip he went on with his closest council. That hard beating of his heart, that vile feeling in the very pit of his stomach at the idea of you just cleaning him… No no, Caesar’s eyes narrowed in thought. Grooming him made him uneasy with conflicted desires. Just mere seconds away from the cloth touching his chest, from letting you draw it along the lines you had placed on him, erasing them from his chest and following suit downwards… Down, down… Caesar's teeth clattered together in his mouth, the sound so loud in his ears. So close to the burdens, introspective thoughts and animalistic urges he had about this entire situation. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he allowed you to continue; allowed your hands anywhere near him anymore. If he just… let you… You twitch your wrist in his grasp. Ultimately now, you were one bad flick of the hand away from Caesar absolutely crushing your radius and ulna. He wouldn’t; but the gravitas of the thought rocketed a primal fear in your mind.

You stared at the mere contact of his hand entirely encasing your wrist, usually not a point of contention. Caesar had grasped at you in the past when you were flurrying off the rails just to keep you momentarily grounded enough, never enough to make intimate contact but enough to draw your senses back in. Most often, it happened when you were talking about something in a passionate fashion. Your mouth parted in wonderment before trailing your gaze up his forearm, not doubting that if you chose to reach out and touch, it would ripple with taunt muscles. His bicep, the sheer size was enough to cause a lump to form in your throat. The width alone left enough to your imagination, the knowledge that he could very easily pick things up, heavier than his body weight, with just one arm. The glow of the fire in front of you illuminated his features further, giving play to shadows along the bridge of his nose, flirting and teasing at the line of fur that started right above his brows. He was undoubtedly handsome, you tried to come up with an excuse for your thoughts but nothing came to fruition.

There had to be a question lingering on his lips. They were pursed in such a position that it appeared he was going to say something. A hot flash hit the back of your throat as you wistfully admired him from such a juxtaposed position, knowing factually that you had to have looked so stupidly star-struck.

What was he thinking? You slid only an inch or two closer, body almost leaving the rock you were sitting on, knees swerving to give him your utmost attention. What was he…? Caesar stared right at you, gaze refusing to leave your own even if you chose to break the bond then and there. Whatever grasp you had on the cloth you were using to clean faltered and it fell flat onto the ground in front of you with a soft ‘sploosh’ sound. What was he thinking? Linearly, you looked into his eyes and found yourself wrapped in how they looked. Eclipsed irises coupled with dilated pupils, most likely due to the fire and dim lighting that encased your bodies, at least, that’s what you were telling your racing mind. Delicately, the flames flickered against your face… Too delicately and Caesar felt something prickly inside of his mind as he wanted to take that delicate nature and crush it between his hands, giving him pure dominance over the most subtle and entangling form of submission.

Gasping as his clutch on your ceased, your other hand rose instinctually and held your wrist tenderly. You were going to bruise there. He was almost aggressive in nature, giving the appearance of shaking you off of him like a bug. “You… Don’t… need to finish.”

You blinked, figuring out when he beckoned you after his arrival that he was only allowing you to clean him due to the human element of it. You knew he didn't care if it came off or how it came off; the opportunity for you to clean him was just another in the long list of Caesar accommodations he made for you. You wanted to ask why. Why you didn't need to finish, why he wouldn’t let you but all he muttered to you as his back was suddenly in your line of vision was, “Paint will… come off with rain.”

Opening your mouth to protest, you found yourself deflected as Caesar rose, all so powerful, his stance telling you that he was more than capable of taking care of himself here. His eyes, those eyes that had been so intently lingering in yours, were now hardened and so very distant. “You… should... go.”

[christopherisfoive]

Hi, Jules! I hope you have a great day, whenever you read this 💖

I was wondering if you could write something with the prompts 14, 7 and 4 for Han, please.

Love your work and I'm sending you lots of kudos and appreciation 🫶

Game served, Emy ☕

Your Han one‑shot is on the table—rival‑shift chaos, jealousy sparks, hoodie swaps, and that “you’re the only one I want” moment. Dive in and let me know if the flavor hits just right! Sorry I've been delayed!

TableTop Turbulence

Pairing: Han Jisung × Reader (Y/N)

Genre: Fluff • Enemies‑to‑Lovers • Board‑Game Café AU

Prompts: Wearing each other’s clothes • “You can’t flirt your way out of this one.” • Enemies‑to‑lovers tension • Jealousy that turns into something more

Six‑oh‑three, rain streaking the front glass. You stabbed the attendance tablet as Jisung tumbled through the staff door.

“Clock’s already hot,” he chirped, shaking water from his hair.

“Clock is punctual,” you retorted. “Learn from it.”

Chris, wiping dice trays nearby, chuckled. “Y/N, if you bottle that sass I’ll sell it by the shot.”

Jisung’s grin slipped a millimeter at Chris’s easy praise. You noted the flicker, satisfaction warm.

Ella slid past carrying syrup pumps. “Hi, Jisung. Hoodie swap today?”

He winked. “Maybe if management stops glaring.”

“You can’t flirt your way out of late slips,” you shot back, snatching his apron from the hook and smacking it against his chest.

“Bet I can flirt my way into a break,” he murmured, only for you to hear.

Trivia rush hit. Ella stationed herself beside Jisung at the espresso bar, asking about grind size every four minutes. Each shoulder bump tightened the coil in your stomach.

At the register Chris praised your upsell tally. “You’re a machine tonight.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, milk pitcher sputtering. “I made a swan in foam and nobody clapped.”

“Swans don’t fix inventory,” you muttered.

He flashed teeth. “Swans keep customers coming back, clipboard.”

The nickname made Ella giggle. You answered by refilling tokens with military precision and zero eye contact.

Near closing, Ella “accidentally” knocked a hazelnut bottle. Syrup river. Jisung swooped in with towels, Ella clinging to his sleeve.

“You are impossible,” you hissed, grabbing a mop.

Ella pouted. “He’s just helpful.”

Jisung flashed that grin. “Someone appreciates me.”

Chris re‑entered, raising a brow at the sticky chaos. “Y/N, handle register. Jisung, clean‑up crew. Ella, inventory syrup—carefully.”

He handed you his own oversized brown hoodie as makeshift spill‑guard. “Wear this, keep your shirt syrup‑free.”

You tugged it on; fabric hung past your thighs. Jisung’s eyes narrowed, jaw ticking at how easily Chris dressed you.

Enemy point scored.

Storm intensified. Chris emerged again, phone pressed to ear. “Driver bailed. Five hot chocolates to Cedar Hall, asap.”

Ella opened her mouth, but you beat her. “I’ll go.” You were still wearing Chris’s hoodie—perfect ammunition.

Jisung scowled. “I’m faster.”

“Clipboard has legs,” you said, snagging the carrier tray. Rain swallowed the door behind you.

Thirty minutes later you dripped through the doorway, hair plastered. Ella leaned over Jisung’s shoulder watching a meme on his phone. Her laugh too close, his smile too wide. Jealousy hit like espresso straight.

You peeled off Chris’s hoodie and draped it over a chair to dry, pointedly ignoring them.

Jisung’s glance tracked every movement.

Chris reappeared carrying a box of new card sleeves. “Y/N, these need alphabetizing tonight. I trust you more than these two clowns.” He ruffled your damp hair on the way upstairs.

Jisung’s latte spoon clanged against the counter. Ella raised both brows at the tension humming.

He waited until Chris vanished. “Golden employee, huh? Even got a personal hair tousle.”

You stacked sleeves calmly. “Earned respect is sweeter than pity flirts.”

Ella blinked at the brewing storm, mumbled an excuse, and retreated to the dish pit.

Chairs flipped. Lights dimmed for close. Only rain and rivalry remained.

Jisung cornered you by the dice shelf. “That hoodie looked huge on you.”

“It served its purpose.”

“What purpose? Making me crazy?”

“You seemed busy.” Jealous bite snuck into your tone.

His eyes flashed. “You first. Watching Chris fuss over you—” He cut himself off, breath sharp. “Are we keeping score or actually playing?”

“You started the game.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping, “Then I’m ending it.”

“I already told you about flirting.”

“Not flirting.” He slipped his own black hoodie off, draped it over your shoulders, fingers lingering at the collar. “Declaring.”

Vanilla and roasted beans surrounded you. Heart hammered.

“I push because you push back,” he murmured. “But I am done pretending competition is all this is. Y/N, I want you.”

The dice shelf dug into your spine but the confession softened every edge. You fisted hoodie fabric, tugging him until foreheads touched.

No kiss—tension sweetness enough.

Upstairs a door creaked. Chris’s voice floated down, amused. “Lock up when the leaderboard settles, lovebirds.”

Jisung laughed against your hair. “Game over?”

“Game changed,” you corrected.

“Winner plans our first date,” he whispered.

Challenge accepted in your grin. Fingers laced, you stepped into the rain’s hush, TableTopia neon painting gold on the wet street. The scoreboard would never be the same.

a week later.

A fresh trivia board went up and customers buzzed louder than the espresso machine. Ella twirled to the register, eyes bright when Jisung emerged from the back room in his usual black hoodie.

“You still owe me that Carcassonne lesson,” she said, leaning across the counter.

Without missing a beat Jisung reached behind her, lifted the spare apron with your name stitched on the pocket, and slipped it over your head. His knuckles brushed your collar while every guest at the bar watched.

““Lesson’s booked,” he told Ella, tightening the apron ties at your back, “but she and I already have plans.”

Your cheeks heated; Ella’s smile faltered. She straightened, nodding once before turning to the milk fridge.

Chris called from the pastry case, “Teamwork looks good on you two.”

Jisung winked at you, then tapped the edge of the tip jar with a quiet grin before heading back to the machine.

Ella returned with trays, humming along to the café playlist, yet she kept a respectful distance the rest of the night. When closing time finally arrived Jisung hung his hoodie over your shoulders without being asked.

“One more step forward for us,” he whispered.

You nudged him with your elbow. “Plenty more nights like this ahead.”

He grinned. “Good. That should keep things interesting.”

Outside, rain threatened but never fell, leaving the pavement clear beneath TableTopia’s gold neon glow. You and Jisung stepped into the soft night, hands intertwined, rivals turned partners under the sign that first lit your feud.

[lucygxybaird]

What about Billy doting over an injured reader? Or the other way around?

i'm not sure this is 100% what you asked for but i tried lol

It happens in a moment.

You’re riding home during a storm, the dirt roads churned into a river of mud by the deluge. It’s almost impossible to see, between the driving rain and your hair whipping in your face, strands plastered against your cheeks and your forehead. As lightning cracks the sky like a broken eggshell, you urge your horse faster, hoping to get home before the storm gets even worse. 

Your horse snorts in exertion, and you see her hoof plunge deep into a pocket of muck, her headlong forward rush arrested so suddenly that you both cry out, her whinny of alarm blending with your scream. You pitch forward, flying over your horse’s neck. The last thing you remember is the slate gray sky wheeling above you, spitting needles of rain, and then everything goes black. 

You don’t know how long it’s been when awareness creeps back in, heralded first and foremost by pain.  Aches thread themselves into your bones and your head throbs in time to the beat of your heart, which feels sluggish, as if it’s trapped in honey. Your arm feels strangely heavy, bent at an odd angle, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t find the strength to open your eyes. 

You feel a cool pressure against your forehead, trickling over your temples, and it takes you a moment to understand. There’s someone pressing a wet washcloth to your brow, and as your eyelids flutter, attempting once again to pry themselves apart, you hear a soft, low voice urging you to be still. 

The thing is, you’re fairly certain you would know that voice anywhere, and only its velvet-edged smoke could draw you out of the darkness weighing heavily on your mind. 

“Billy?” you croak, and this time, you finally manage to open your eyes. 

His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, with dark circles sitting underneath them like crows haunting a tree branch. Billy tries to smile, but his eyes are glassy, and he has to swallow hard before he says, “Hey, baby.” 

You swallow, too, wincing as it feels like barbed wire has wound itself around the column of your throat. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you’re so very, very thirsty. Instead, you manage to say: “W-water?”

Immediately, Billy reaches for you, helping you to sit up enough so you can drink from the cup he presses to your lips. There’s a tin pitcher on your bedside table, and the water is blessedly cold. You wonder how often Billy has freshened it, waiting for you to need it. “Here,” he’s saying, his arm around your shoulders. “Is that better?”

You nod, and then you tug on the collar of his shirt with your good hand, wanting him to lay down with you. It’s only then you notice that you only have one good hand. The other, along with your right arm, is wrapped up in bandages, a splint forcing the arm into an L-shape that’s bound to your chest with a sling.  Billy understands what you want before you can ask again, and he carefully shifts his weight onto the mattress beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

Your body aches anew from the simple movement just required to sit up, and you sag against Billy’s chest, a little whimper catching in your teeth even as you try to prevent its escape by clenching your jaw. Billy’s forehead creases. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m—” You shake your head. “I’m okay. I’m just…sore.” 

It’s putting it mildly, but you don’t want to stress him out any worse than you clearly already have. He sighs, burying his face against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “The doctor will be back in the morning,” he says. “I’ll ask him if there’s anything stronger for your pain, okay?”

You nod, though now that you’ve settled in his arms, you feel better. Part of it is the warmth of his body, soothing away the ache, but more than that is the comfort of Billy himself: the familiar scent of his skin — the strength of his embrace, even as you can tell he’s holding you gently, carefully — the gentle carding of his fingers through your hair, an instinctive bid to comfort you. 

The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, and you know (or, at least, you hope) that it’s doing Billy as much good as it is you, to be nestled in bed together after what happened. Which — you frown a little as your memory falters, and you realize you can’t quite recall what actually did happen. 

“Billy?”

You feel him jerk underneath your cheek, and you realize with a start that he’d probably dozed off in the cradle of silence. “What?” he says, and your guilt deepens at how groggy he sounds, and at once, how worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you say, reaching up with your good arm to touch his cheek. “I just…I don’t really remember what happened.”

Billy softens at your touch, closing his eyes for a second. Your heart sinks. 

“Billy, when was the last time you slept?” 

He shakes his head. “I dunno, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’ve been takin’ care of you. You broke your arm, y’know, when you…when you fell. That’s what happened, you fell off your horse. I…”

You wait, pressing your lips together. You start rubbing the heel of your hand in soothing circles over his chest, where his heartbeat is pressing a rapid drumbeat against the thin cotton of his shirt. 

“I was wonderin’ where you were, and I was gettin’ worried, especially with the rain bein’ so bad, so I…I went out and tried to follow the path I thought you might have used. I heard your horse first, makin’ the most godawful racket…I followed the noise, and she was panickin’, stuck in the mud, and then I saw…” 

He takes a deep breath. “I saw you, layin’ there, and you looked so…you looked like a broken doll, and you weren’t movin’, and I thought…”

You wait again. 

“Anyway, I—” He clears his throat. “I got you on my horse, and I was able to get your horse out of the muck, and I brought…I brought you home. Your arm is broken, and you’ve got bumps and bruises just about everywhere.”

“Yeah, I know,” you mutter, despite yourself, but you’re rewarded with Billy’s dry little chuckle. 

“They were…they were most worried about your head,” he says. “The doctors say you were lucky the rain softened up the ground so much, but still…”

“How long have I been asleep?”

He pushes a ragged sigh out of the depths of his chest. “A few days.”

You can feel every bit of his worry in the tension radiating through the sinews of his body, and you nestle closer to him, despite the jostle of discomfort. “Well, now you’ll just have to wait on me hand and foot until I’m all better,” you tease. “Pretty soon you’ll get sick of me.”

He chuckles again, and this time it sounds more like him. “I can’t imagine gettin’ sick of takin’ care’a you, honey.”

Not that you really doubted otherwise, but he’s true to his word. 

The doctor has decreed that you need to stay in bed for the next two weeks, and Billy is determined that you won’t set so much as a toe on the floorboards in that time. Every meal is brought to you in bed, he  drags the big metal bathtub into your room, and when you beg him for some sunshine, he carries you out to the porch and sets you in a rocking chair, nestled in blankets. 

“Mmm,” you sigh, your eyes drifting shut as Billy pulls a brush through your hair, using long, languid strokes from your scalp to the ends of your hair. “That feels so good.” 

Billy gives a low, soft laugh. “Yeah?” he says, and you hear a smile in his voice. “I’m glad, baby. You want it done up in a braid?”

You laugh, too. “Billy, you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he insists. “I know you like to sleep with your hair plaited up. Let me.” 

With your arm still bound up, it’s not like you can really do it yourself, and in any case, you don’t have the heart to refuse Billy — especially not when you turn your head to look at him, and he’s giving you that patented pleading look. “Yes, please,” you relent, and at once his pout melts into another smile.

You close your eyes at the pleasant tugging sensation to your scalp, a soft sigh leaving your lips. “Thank you,” you say, and you can almost sense him shaking his head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, honey,” he says. “I love takin’ care of you. And I’m just…I’m glad you’re okay.” 

He ties off your braid with a length of ribbon, giving the knot a gentle tug to make sure it’s in place. You turn in his arms, the only unwieldy thing now being your broken arm. Thanks to Billy’s dedicated care, your aches and pains have all faded away, including the pain in your head. “I am okay,” you remind him. “You’ve been taking such good care of me, Billy. It means so much to me.”

Billy kisses your forehead. “You mean so much to me,” he says. “You’re my girl. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” 

You purse your lips thoughtfully, and he raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks. 

Looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, you wheedle, “Do you think you could let me make dinner tonight? I wanna take care of you for once.”

You can tell he’s actually thinking about it, wondering if you’ve regained enough of your strength. But it’s equally clear he’s going to relent when his shoulders soften. 

“Alright,” he says finally, and you beam. 

“Thank you.” 

Although you do manage to make dinner for the two of you, Billy insists on setting the table — which actually ends up being a blanket outside, under a phalanx of stars. “So I have a deal for you,” he says, after you’ve eaten. He has your head in his lap, and your good hand is combing gently through his hair. 

“What is it?”

He smiles, looking up at you. “I take care of you,” he says. “And you take care of me. Alright?”

You lean down toward him, giggling when he props himself up on an elbow to meet your lips.

“Alright.” 

[bumblesimagines]

Under The Moonlight

Part 20/End

Summary: Reunited with family members, (Y/N) makes a choice in regards to his future and happiness.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Valhalla warnings, homophobia, no hate quite like christian love, harald being harald at this point bro

~~~

Novgorod remained unchanged, for the most part. The towering gray walls still encircled the glorious, rich city, but without winter, the chill wasn't as notable as the last time they'd been there. Light snow blanketed the ground, mushy and soft but not as thick. Merchants and sellers still shouted their services and prices into the windy air, and the building where opium could be taken remained, with buyers stumbling in and out. There were no ships on sleds tied to horses; there was no need for them with the river melted and flowing through the forest. 

(Y/N) felt more at peace than he had in Constaniople. He was around his people, around Vikings who shared his culture and traditions. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to wear heavy furcoats or braid parts of his hair or proudly wear his necklace without receiving wide-eyed stares from people so heavily sheltered from violence. He could communicate in an unspoken language and be completely understood by the vendors or others passing by. It made the longing for home even greater. 

Slipping the coat from his shoulders and setting it aside, he walked toward the window and peered into the city. The tent for fighting and bets was still up and operating, and his heart involuntarily clenched at the thought of Batu and Kaysan. They'd been two young men searching for a way to make a living, sticking together to survive without anyone else to rely on but each other. He couldn't help but wonder if they would've perhaps been happier had they been left alone... if they would've been alive and breathing.

When he closed his eyes, he could still hear Kaysan's rumbling laugh, the sort of laugh that could make anyone smile along until their cheeks hurt. He could still see Batu and peer into his dark eyes full of kindness, still see his beaming smile and the affection that melted into it whenever he was around friends. He could still feel Dorn's gentle touch, the weight of her hand on his shoulder, or the playful way she'd bump her shoulder into his. 

"Greenlander," A cheery voice greeted him from behind, and he turned to face them. Yaroslav smiled welcomingly at him. "Ah, it is good seeing you again, Greenlander! I hear your brother left to journey on his own. It is a shame I could not say goodbye to him." 

Yaroslav, unsurprisingly, looked the same, if not with a pudiger belly full of wine and ale. He approached him, his hands raising to slap affectionately over (Y/N)'s shoulders. "Harald is gathering an army as we speak. I recall he told me, many years ago, that you did not wish to... join him when he became King of Norway."

(Y/N) bit his tongue. "Mm, it.. it is his destiny. He believes it to be, at least."

"Mhm," Yaroslav slowly nodded, his green eyes squinting slightly at him. "I am no fool, (Y/N). I am aware there are.. things going on between you and my nephew. It is none of my business what either of you choose to indulge in, but I would be lying if I said I have not grown fond of you and your brother over the years."

"We've always been grateful for it." 

"Yes, though, I cannot help but wonder... what it is that you want?" Yaroslav's hands dropped, his feet guiding him toward one of the tables with a pitcher of wine and a goblet waiting to be filled. He wrapped a ringed hand around the goblet and poured the dark wine into it before raising it to take a drink. "You must desire something. Men, women, gold, lands, power, marriage, children."

He thought of Greenland immediately. He thought of the long expanse of treeless fields that reached out in every direction. He thought of the small harbor his father ruled over and the cliffs that resided on either side. He thought of the rocky beach he'd sit at as a boy and watch the horizon for signs of the fishing boats. He'd desired a chance to return home since the moment he set foot on Kattegat all those years ago, a chance to see his mother again, to see how the families of his fallen friends were doing.

"Harald may not realize it yet, but he and I desire the same thing." 

Yaroslav's bushy brows rose in surprise and curiosity. "Oh?"

"He wishes to return home, as do I. He simply longs for a chance to rule over his home, whereas I am content simply being home. It is a pity, I suppose, that we are not from the same places. I belong in Greenland with my family. He belongs in Norway." (Y/N) approached the table, his head tilting toward the crackling fireplace nearby. He watched the flames lick up the stone walls circling it, keeping it from spreading to the rest of the room. 

"Do you believe in destiny, Greenlander?"

"Yes.. and I believe Harald and I were destined to meet, to cross paths and then diverge. I think he has.. finally come to accept this. I hope he has, at least." (Y/N) took the second goblet in his hand and tilted it toward Yaroslav so he'd pour wine into it. He brought the goblet to his lips and sipped on the sweet wine, an easily addictive thing. "Harald will make for a... fair king."

"But not a good one?" 

(Y/N) let out a soft huff of amusement. "Kings are never good, Yaroslav. They can only be fair."

Yaroslav hummed quietly but made no move to protest or deny his words. Instead, he drank from his goblet until it was empty and set his cup down to be fetched later by a servant. He licked his lips and placed his hand over (Y/N)'s shoulder again, his fingers lightly squeezing it before he turned and began making his way toward the door. (Y/N) turned away from the fire.

"Yaroslav," He called out to him, waiting for him to crane his head over his shoulder. "Would it be too much to ask for Harald to sleep in a separate room?"

A sympathetic smile passed over his lips. "That can be arranged. Good luck on your travels."

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

With the riches Harald obtained through his seven years of serving in Constantinople, he managed to gather an army of Vikings that would have put Jarl Kåre and Jarl Olaf's combined armies to shame. There were warriors from all around, some who knew of Harald and others who simply cared for the gold and food he provided them with. Many were Christian, like him, followers of the new faith who prayed before they ate and wore crosses around their necks. (Y/N) preferred the few who followed the old gods. Their stares weren't as heavy.

They travelled from Novgorod to Norway for many days, occasionally enticing more men and women to join them in the opportunity of following a future king. (Y/N) felt relief when they began camping and sleeping in nature more frequently. He'd always preferred towering trees over the stone walls of Constantinople, the sounds of birds and bugs over loud, busy chatter.

He'd never been meant for Constaniople, it would have driven him insane eventually. He was meant for hunting with bows and spears, for tracking prints in the dirt or snow, for carving his own meat and watching it cook over a fire.

Life at court, too, would drive him insane. 

That sentiment became clearer the deeper into Norway they went. He knew it weighed heavily on Harald's shoulders, but he'd changed since the fight with Maniakes. He'd become... colder, more withdrawn, less of the man he fell for during the war and more of a stranger. Despite that, he could feel the familiar stare burn into his temple as he carefully sharpened his dagger. He contemplated stepping outside, but before he could decide, there was a familiar voice shouting and a loud commotion. 

(Y/N) whipped his head around in time to catch Harald throwing Leif over his shoulder to dodge an attack. He hurried onto his feet, tucking his dagger away and swiftly crossing the distance to grab a handful of Leif's cloak. "What are you doing, Leif?!" 

"(Y/N)?" Leif exhaled, blinking wildly at his younger brother. He raised a cautious hand to (Y/N)'s face, his fingertips brushing over his cheek as if to check if he were really real before he wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. (Y/N) chuckled breathily, a warm relief spreading through his body as he tucked his face in his brother's neck. "Harald..." Leif sighed when he pulled away, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "I mistook you for another. My apologies."

"I'm glad to see you are still the same," Harald responded, a faint attempt at humor, but his tone remained heavy and stoic. "Come, have a seat. We must catch up."

Albeit reluctantly, (Y/N) took a seat across from Harald and settled down beside his brother, unable to tear his eyes away from Leif for long in fear it was all an illusion. His heartstrings tugged with homesickness, but he felt lighter than he had in days. He could breathe easier with Leif at his side, alive and well. Leif set his axes aside, his hands lingering over them. 

"(Y/N)..." He began softly, his voice barely audible over the chatter. Leif raised his head to look at him, his collasoused hand resting on the side of (Y/N)'s neck and gently massaging the muscle there. "I... Freydis is... Freydis was murdered in Jomsburg by Magnus Olafsson. It was revenge for killing Jarl Olaf. She-" Leif's voice trembled slightly, his grip tightening as he tried collecting himself long enough to get more words out.

(Y/N) stared at him blankly, the words ringing in his ears. "What? No, no, that- that- Leif, she-" He swallowed harshly and shook his head, his heartbeat quickening until it was beating in his ears. "Freydis, she- how could-"

"I promise-" Leif grabbed him by his shoulders, his brows lifting. "-I will kill him for what he has done."

(Y/N) could feel tears well in the corners of his eyes, tears he rapidly blinked away. She wouldn't want him weeping over her death, no, she'd want him seeking vengeance for her, her people, and-

"Have you ever been in love, Freydis?" (Y/N) asked, placing his hand over hers and wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Freydis hummed and looked up at the clear sky, taking his words into consideration. She thought about it carefully before pursing her lips.

"There was a man back in Kattegat. His name was Koll Hjortsson. He was a believer in the Old Gods, just like us. I believe I was falling in love with him. He was very kind and intelligent. But he is in Valhalla now. And I may be carrying his child." Her words made (Y/N) freeze, head snapping in her direction and eyes widening. Freydis bit down on her bottom lip, nibbling at the skin and staring at the ground, foot lightly digging into the dirt. He immediately looked her over. Her slim figure hadn't changed, and he couldn't spot anything new about her. 

"How do you know?"

"I've been feeling ill lately. At first, I thought it might've been a normal illness. But I remembered what the women say about pregnancy, and it makes sense. I believe the Gods have given us gifts for our bravery and faith. Harald has been getting better, and I have been blessed with a child. Perhaps... we were meant to be here, living in that cabin. When Harald grows healthy again, we can make it a proper home, and in due time, we'll be dealing with a babe." Freydis smiled widely, affectionately rubbing her belly. (Y/N) stared at her as the information settled in. His sister was with child, their brother was missing, Harald was still sick, and the chances of going home grew slimmer with each passing day. 

"Gods, Freydis..." (Y/N) breathed and stepped around, arms wrapping around her waist. She laughed softly and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his and closing her eyes. (Y/N) squeezed her lightly and leaned back with a smile. "Come on, then. We've got to make sure your child comes strong and healthy."

"What of her child? Our nephew?" (Y/N) asked breathlessly, but Leif's lips only drew into a pained line, and he shook his head slowly. He took in a shaking breath and propped his arm on the table, resting his forehead over his palm. His nephew, a child of only seven... "The Gods wouldn't be so cruel."

"How did you find out?" Harald questioned, his voice softer than before, but his brows remained fixated in a deep furrow. His eyes flickered to (Y/N), lingering on his features as sympathy sparked in his gaze.

"A bishop traveling with Magnus told me that he poisoned Jomsborg. Some of her people escaped, and she was not among them. I found a shrine they built for her. Nothing else."

"It was her destiny to go there," Harald muttered, taking a sip of his ale and swiping his tongue over his lips. "I hope she found what she was searching for."

(Y/N) couldn't help the quiet scoff that left him, but his eyes fluttered shut instead of meeting Harald's pointed stare. There was a call for Harald, a faintly familiar voice, but (Y/N) couldn't put a name to it until Harald stood to greet the Viking. "Jarl Nori!" He shook his arm, their chain link armor clinging together. (Y/N) opened his eyes and glanced up at the man. 

Ah, he remembered him now. He looked fairly the same, apart from his beard, which had grown to reach the top of his chest. Jarl Nori had been the Christian who'd refused to fight alongside 'Pagans' and clashed with Jarl Gorm in what would've been a brutal fight had Harald not intervened that night. He hadn't seen much of the man since the day they claimed victory against England and named King Canute as king of both Denmark and England. The man beside him was a stranger by the name of Vestian, young and likely a family member of Jarl Nori.

Jarl Nori greeted them with a small smile, his hands coming to pat them both on the back. "Greenlanders, good to see you again." He nodded to them before sitting down at the table with Vestian and grinning widely at Harald. "I knew you would return."

"I brought forces to back me and riches for my allies." Jarl Nori quirked a brow, nodding for him to continue. Harald leaned forward, his fingers interlacing. "I am ready to be king."

"May not be as simple as you have planned," Vestian revealed grimly, sparing a glance in Jarl Nor's direction. "Magnus has agreements with many of the Jarls to back him on Svein's death."

"He has the power of the Church. The Pope has threatened excommunication for anyone who goes against him." Jarl Nori grimanced, steadily watching Harald, studying his reaction intently. "Including you."

Harald's jaw visibly clenched, his chest rising with a sharp inhale. "And where do you stand?"

"Olaf was like a brother to me. But his son is a Viking in name only." A slow smile spread on Jarl Nori's face. "Our allegiance is with you."

"And where is Magnus?" (Y/N) asked, his finger running along the thread of his necklace. Magnus. A man who seemed to be just like his filth of a father despite his young age. He hoped Freydis had made Olaf's death as long and painful as it had always meant to be.

"He has summoned Jarls to Kattegat."

Harald hummed and raised his cup, that familiar grin spreading across his lips. "Then that is where we're going."

With a destination finally set, the army packed up the camp they'd made and began preparing for the trek to Kattegat. (Y/N) climbed up onto his horse and carefully pressed down on its sides with his legs to get it moving toward the trail. There was an odd emptiness inside his chest as if the news of Freydis's death hadn't fully set in.

It was hard to believe, especially after everything they'd gone through, that poison would be the thing that killed his sister. He expected her to die in battle by the blade or arrow of another warrior, not by poison sent by a coward.

"(Y/N)." Leif trotted up to him on his horse, his frown heavy with grief. "I'm sorry you found out like this... at a time like this, too. I notice you and Harald have not spoken to each other once since I arrived. What has he done this time?"

(Y/N) chuckled humorlessly, his fingers tightening around the reins of his horse. "I made a choice. He is not the man I chose to follow all those years ago, not anymore. Maniakes... broke him. Hardened him. Kaysan, Batu, and Dorn... they were killed for their unwavering loyalty to him. It is why they are not here with us." 

Leif's eyes squeezed shut, a shuttering breath leaving him. "I- I see. I'm sorry I was not there."

"I know," (Y/N) murmured. "Which reminds me, you wished to go to Corfu, yet you are here. Why is that?"

"There was a man there, a mapmaker. He created part of the map I found in the Book of the Unknown." Leif trotted closer, his hand releasing the reins to reach over. His fingers squeezed (Y/N)'s shoulder, the grimness in his features dulling when he smiled. He looked... almost excited. "I spoke to him, dined with his family. He has a map containing every land he has heard of from visitors and travelers. We put the last piece on the map, and I saw it, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) thumbed at his reins. "The Golden Land?"

"The Golden Land," Leif confirmed, his voice tittering with emotion. "If we sail from Greenland, just as Father and I had on that fishing trip, we will surely find it. Who knows what we may yet discover there."

"We?" (Y/N) repeated softly, the corners of his mouth rising into a suppressed smile. "We will find it?"

Leif's smile widened, his eyes crinkling with affection. "We will find it. For Freydis, for our people, for those who did not believe in it. We will find it."

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

Kattegat felt colder when they arrived, almost duller. Jarl Haakon had run a tight ship during her rule of Kattegat, but the people had seemed happy, then. Safe and free to worship whoever they pleased. Christianity seemed to be the religion now, and even then, the people looked mournful, as if they were grieving. (Y/N) could only assume that meant their would-be rulers, the young Svein and his mother, Queen Ælfgifu, were dead.. more innocents slaughtered by Magnus.

Nobody dared stop them as they climbed off their horses and marched straight for the Great Hall; even the men who glowered and stared harshly remained in their stops at the sight of the army that loyally followed Harald. The Great Hall was full, many Jarls standing toward the front before a man who appeared much younger than them. He hardly looked like Olaf, but (Y/N) knew it was Magnus. They were both men filled with hate, a hate that was easily spotted just by looking at them.

As Jarl Nori claimed, Magnus Olafsson looked less like a Viking and more like the people of Constaniople. He wore the clothes of Vikings, spoke like and to Vikings, but he did not look Viking. His skin was smooth, free from the lines of work and scars of battle. His hair was long and dirty blonde but was not woven back. He carried himself with the air of someone who'd never truly been to battle nor been beaten down before. 

"King Svein is dead." He announced to the Jarls, not a lick of grief or sympathy in his voice for the man he spoke of. "King Forkbeard swore an oath that on his death, I would be named King of Norway. And now, all that remains is a vote by you."

Harald strode further into the Great Hall, his lips curling up into a smirk. "An excellent idea, nepehw." His voice naturally carried through the room, confident and even slightly amused. Heads whipped around to look at him, smiles appearing on faces and voices excitedly calling out to him. "But first, I must remind the Jarls of a promise they made long before yours, to crown me as King upon your father's death."

(Y/N) slipped away from the crowd to stand along the wall with his brother, his eyes drifting over the crowd of Jarls. They exchanged glances and low murmurs as they parted to allow Harald to step through and stand before his nephew. Magnus had been a boy, just a child, when there'd been rumors of Forkbeard's rule over Kattegat eight, nearly nine years before they travelled to Novgorod. They were strangers now and no longer simply uncle-nephew.

"We did not know you had returned, Prince Harald." One of the older Jarls spoke.

Harald turned toward him, his face devoid of most emotion and eyes slightly narrowed. "You do now."

"Prince Harald speaks the truth." Jarl Nori piped up. "He is the rightful King of Norway."

Magnus remained silent for a long moment, the hands he had clasped over his stomach clenching around each other until he raised his head. "Unfortunately, the Pope will not accept a king with Pagan sympathies." He stated, eyeing Harald when he sat back on one of the thrones. His lips twitched into a brief smirk before he turned his body and motioned for someone. 

(Y/N) couldn't see through the crowd, not at first, but his heart began hammering at the exclamations tossed into the air. There was a mention of a woman, then a cry about a witch, and before he knew it, his sister appeared through the crowd, being led by two men. Freydis was alive. His breath caught in his throat, a strangled noise almost leaving him. She was alive and healthy, not the sight of a woman who'd been close to death. Freydis pressed her feet firmly on the ground, her lips drawn in a line at the sight of Harald, but when she turned to look toward them, she let a smile slip. 

"Not only her," Magnus abruptly added, his hand turning and finger extending toward (Y/N). "Him as well."

"(Y/N)-"

One man clapped his hand tightly over Leif's shoulder to keep him in place while another twisted his hand around (Y/N)'s bicep and forced him forward until he stood beside his sister. Freydis's chest quickened its breathing, her eyes widening and snapping back toward Harald. Harald went rigid in the throne, his fingers curling until they were fists, but he steeled himself enough to only appear faintly surprised.

Magnus grinned, his eyes darting between the three with twisted eagerness before they settled on the siblings. "Well, are you a Christian?" He asked, his hand grasping the sword offered to him, the sword Freydis held near and dear to her heart.

"You know the answer to that." Freydis scowled at him.

"I'll take that as a 'no' from both of you." Laughter spread around the Jarls. Magnus ran his finger along the blade. "And, Freydis, are you the one the heathens call the Last Daughter of Uppsala? The Keeper of the Faith, the leader of the Pagans." 

Freydis glanced at (Y/N), then at Leif. Her jaw clenched, and her nostrils flared slightly before she squared her shoulders and looked back at Magnus. "I am." She affirmed confidently. 

"Hm." Magnus's eyes trailed away from her to settle on (Y/N). "You are the one they call (Y/N), no? The second son of Erik the Red? Are you aware there are.. rumors that the relations between you and Harald go deeper than brotherhood? That you are his secret lover?" (Y/N)'s lips pressed together, his teeth digging into his bottom lip anxiously. Magnus arched a brow. "I am aware that you are a Pagan, but I assume you know that laying with another man is a sin before the eyes of God?"

(Y/N) took a desperate glance in Leif's direction, suddenly feeling like a boy again in need of saving from their father's rage. Leif stared back at him helplessly, his shoulders rising and falling with each quick breath he took. (Y/N) looked toward Harald instead, pleadingly looking into eyes he knew so well. Harald's adam's apple bobbed with a harsh swallow, and he tilted his head up. (Y/N) felt a simmer of relief. Maybe he was still the man (Y/N) believed him to be. Maybe he'd misjudged him too qui-

"Lies," Harald stated clearly, his voice tight. (Y/N) would've staggered if it not had been for the tight hold of the man grasping his arm. "These rumors are false. (Y/N) and I have been to war together, travelled through many lands together, but to claim we are lovers is laughable. We are nothing to each other."

(Y/N) felt Magnus's stare burn into his temple, searching, waiting for him to crack. He dropped his eyes onto the floorboards beneath his feet, trailing the cracks as he took slow breaths to steady himself. His eyes stung, his heart felt as if someone had taken hold of it and squeezed as tightly as possible, and his head was beginning to ache. He was certain he was trembling. He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs.

He was no mere fool. He was (Y/N) Eriksson. He was a devoted follower of the All-Father and All-Mother, who provided him strength in every battle he went into. He'd rather be slain than allow any of them to see him falter. 

"I do lay with men." (Y/N) nodded, murmurs immediately spreading through the crowd. He held Harald's eye, taking some pleasure in the way he stiffened. "But I would never lay with a Christian."

Magnus's jaw clenched. He turned toward the Jarls. "Harald is a Pagan sympathizer, nonetheless. If you vote for Harald Sigurdsson, you are inviting the anger of the Holy Father, and he will punish you for this decision."

His words roused the crowd, some calling out for Magnus to be crowned whilst others for Harald. Jarl Nori's voice was clearer amongst the rest, questioning those around them who they were voting for and prodding them for answers when they took too long. All (Y/N) could focus on was Harald. The curious, easy-going young man he'd fallen for over time was gone, buried in Constaniople. The Harald before him was a cold, greedy man who was nothing more than a stranger.

He expected an overwhelming sadness to consume him, but he felt.. numb. Harald stared back at him, his furrowed brow look softening in the slightest. (Y/N) couldn't bring himself to do anything other than blankly stare back at him. Eight, nearly nine years spent on a man who could not even be bothered taking a risk for him. It only infuriated him.

"So," With Jarl Nori's voice, the overlapping voices quieted. "We have reached a decision. It is decided that you, Harald Siggurdsson, are entitled to the Throne of Norway."

"But that you, Magnus Olafsson, also have a claim." Another Jarl, one much older than the rest, added. "It is our decision, therefore, that you will rule together.

His whole life spent pining over the throne, nearly begging for it and tossing everything else aside... only to be forced to share the crown with another. (Y/N) nearly laughed.

"What say you both?" Jarl Nori asked, glancing between them.

"I understand." Harald cleared his throat, despite his knuckles being a pronounced white. "And I accept your decision.

"I, too, accept your decision," Magnus announced, his fingers tapping lightly along the sword. "But on one condition: that tomorrow, when my father's shrine is to be consecrated, Harald promises to all that Norway will never go back to its old ways and agrees to burn the Pagan witch-" He raised the sword, pointing it at Freydis before he pointed it at (Y/N) next. "-and her Pagan brother to prove his loyalties are not with them and their gods."

(Y/N)'s eyes snapped toward Magnus, widening the slightest. The murmuring of the crowd grew distant, muted to his ears, the hairs on his body standing erect with alert and the thrumming of dread. It clawed at his throat, making it hard to breathe.

His hands clenched tightly to ease the trembling that'd begun, blunt fingernails digging into his palms to distract himself from the storm that broke in his chest. He grinded his teeth together and desperately tried suppressing the trembles attempting to traverse through his body.

"Harald Sigurdsson, what say you?" 

Harald's fists rubbed into the armrests of the throne as he shifted uncomfortably in the seat, his eyes bouncing around the room, unable to settle on just one person. He turned his head toward Magnus, meeting his cynical expression before turning back to the siblings. "I say..." He began, strained. His lips drew into a line. "Burn them."

"Hey-" Harald's arm shot forward when (Y/N) made a beeline toward the door, catching him by the forearm and tugging him close. His arms firmly slipped around his waist, and his lips formed a small pout. "Where in God's name are you going in such a hurry?"

"I'm going to find my brother, Harald. I need to help him pack and check on Liv." (Y/N) answered, feeling Harald's muscle flex against his clothed body.

"They can wait, (Y/N)," Harald murmured and pressed his lips against the back of his neck. (Y/N) reached up, pressing the bottom of his palm against Harald's forehead and effectively shoving his head back. Harald huffed childishly, keeping one hand planted firmly on (Y/N)'s hip while the other rubbed his forehead. "Why are you so eager to leave?"

"Why do you want me to stay?"

"Why do you constantly answer a question with another question?" Harald tilted his head, small crinkles forming near his eyes as a wide smile spread across his face. Dropping his hand from his forehead, he turned (Y/N) around and pulled him closer.

"Because it is in my nature." (Y/N) shrugged, hands coming up to rest on Harald's shoulders. He didn't mind being in Harald's arms, he realized. Being held by strong yet gentle arms felt... nice. Comforting even.

"I like that about you."

"You like everything about Greenlanders." (Y/N) felt his lips quirk. "Even their sisters."

"Ah, this is about Freydis, aye?"

"I want to see my brother, Harald." (Y/N)'s eyes briefly shut, forcing the image of Freydis and Harald out of his mind.

"And I want to see you again," Harald admitted softly. (Y/N) felt his body stiffen at Harald's words and he opened his eyes to look into Harald's soft chocolate-colored one. Harald leaned in, kissing him once more before pulling away to speak. "Please, let me see you again." He pleaded gently.

"Why? You can have anyone you want, Harald. You're a prince."

"And I want you."

There was a ringing in his ears as Magnus's men dragged them out of the Great Hall and toward the holding cells, where they were shoved inside the very cell they'd once spent the night in years prior when they first arrived in Kattegat. Sparse hay still covered the ground, and particles of dust were only seen from the light pouring in from the single window. (Y/N) took a few steps into the cell and leaned back against one of the wooden support beams holding up the slanted ceiling, his hands bracing on his knees. 

Death wasn't a stranger. He'd lost many friends, grieved many lives, and nearly lost his own numerous times. He couldn't shake the dread from his shoulders, though.

"You look different," Freydis whispered, her fingers brushing over the marks on her wrist from where she'd been shackled. "Older, more mature.." She somberly smiled and ran her palm down to his arm where his tattoo was, her fingertips dancing over it. "I miss when we were children."

(Y/N) pushed himself back and straightened up, gazing over the freckles scattered across her cheeks before he tossed his arms around her. "We thought you were dead." He revealed shakily, inhaling the smell of herbs and rain that clung to her long wavy locks. "I-I thought you were dead. And your boy-"

"His name is Koll." Freydis chuckled breathily, resting her hands against his chest and leaning back. Tears slipped down her cheeks and dripped off her jawline. "He's beautiful. He- He reminds me of you and Leif. He's strong and- and brave and so caring. He's in Greenland.

(Y/N)'s brows furrowed. "Greenland? You went back?"

"Yes, but... You know how Father is. He's... He's desperate. As controlling as always." Freydis brushed her hair back and released the tension in her shoulders through a deep exhale. "He hid Koll away somewhere to force my hand, but my lover is searching for him. He'll be safe with him... I..."

Freydis's lips began quivering, and she leaned in again, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. (Y/N) held her in his arms, her soft sniffles filling the quiet air until someone twisted the lock on the door. It creaked open, and they quickly parted, turning to face the person entering. Leif stepped into the light, pushing back the hood of his cloak.

"Leif.." Freydis whispered in relief. 

Leif smiled at her before his eyes moved to (Y/N), and he jerked his head to motion behind him. "Look who found me."

(Y/N) half-expected Harald to step into the light next, but instead, it was a face that nearly made his knees buckle. Her hair had streaks of silver in it, and there were new lines in her face from age, but the confident posture and piercing eyes told him she was still the same woman he'd parted with on that dock in their village all those years ago. (Y/N) staggered forward, and her face crumbled, her arms opening invitingly to him.

"Mother."

Yri let out a half-laugh half-sob when he all but collapsed in her arms. She wrapped them around him tightly and stroked the back of his head as she'd done time and time again when he'd been a boy. She smelled like home, like salt water and smoke. She felt like home, like everything he'd been missing in the past years, like the part of him that he couldn't fill no matter what he tried. The tears fell with ease, seeping from his eyes and tumbling down his cheeks. 

"If we want to escape," Leif piped up, pulling away from his own embrace with Freydis. He wiped at his eyes and turned to face them. "You all must listen to me very carefully."

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

There was the thunder of drums playing. They filled the air for a moment before ceasing, a distant voice speaking, but his words lost to the wind. He assumed it was whoever was crowning Magnus and Harald as the new Kings of Norway. There was cheering, confirming his assumption, and then the men began pulling him and Freydis forward toward the expecting crowd. Insults were shouted into the air, and they passed the newly crowned kings. 

(Y/N) stared forward, avoiding the eyes of the smug Magnus and avoiding looking in Harald's way entirely. His eyes only flickered away from the man leading him to scan the crowd, almost finding himself surprised when he caught the guilty frown on Jarl Nori's face. Years before, the Jarl would have been the one leading the charge against them. It seemed time mellowed out his extremities. 

They were led up to a wooden podium in the middle of Kattegat itself, their bodies positioned to face away from each other as they were secured to the wooden pole. There was a man, an archbishop he presumed, who approached them clad in white and gold. He tugged his cloak closer to his body before clasping his hands together and tilting his head up to look at them.

"(Y/N) Eriksson, you have admitted to sodomy and to the sin of laying with other men." The archbishop waited, his shoulder subtly twitching in a barely restrained flinch when (Y/N) glared down at him. He cleared his throat. "Freydis Eriksdotter, you have admitted to the murder of the beatified Olaf Haraldsson." 

"I have done nothing but defend the old beliefs." Freydis spat, her head raising to the gathered crowd. "Beliefs you all once held sacred! I demand to fight my accusers and let the gods decide who should live and die."

The archbishop frowned. "Only the one true God can determine guilt or innocence." 

"Our fates have been destined and woven by our Viking gods," (Y/N) added, his head craning to peer down at the archbishop before lifting to finally eye the kings watching them from their seats. "They choose who lives or dies. They choose our destinies."

"We are not moved by your pleas to myths and false idols." Magnus dismissed with a soft scoff, his attention dropping to the men at the base of the podium. "Begin this." He ordered.

The wind picked up the slightest and (Y/N) searched the skies for ravens or hawks. Freydis swallowed. "I call the gods to this meeting!" She declared, muttering softly under her breath in their old language. Those in the crowd exchanged nervous glances. "Hear me now. Rise up and protect us from this heresy!"

On cue, one of the outer walls facing the forest erupted in flames that hungrily moved down the rest of the wall. There were shrieks and shouts, the crowd beginning to buzz with fright. Freydis continued, "Strike down your anger and redden these walls with blood!" Another eruption of flames, more frightened shrieks as people began to contemplate fleeing. "This world will fall sooner than our old gods yield!" One of the longhouses caught on fire, the flames spreading rapidly through the roof. "Magnus, the gods have come for you!" One boat erupted in flames.

"Do not fear the witch!" Magnus stood up from his seat, his hands raising to quell the crowd's anxiety. "It is a trick. She commands no power here!"

Some barrels caught fire, and the crowd began moving, rapidly fleeing between the buildings to escape the flames with frightened screams and panicked shouts. Magnus flinched when a roof near them erupted in flames, and he staggered back, his chest moving in deep heaves. He glared down at Harald when the second king spoke before looking back to the podium. 

"What are you waiting for?! Light it!"

Before the archbishop could step close to the podium with his torch, one of the many arrows Leif and Yri were shooting pierced the wood around the podium. The stench of sulfur filled his nose, followed by thick, black smoke that clouded his vision. His ears strained through the panic until he heard the clang of metal breaking and his cuffs loosened. Immediately, he leapt off the podium in the direction facing away from Magnus and Harald. Before Freydis could rush toward Magnus, some of Harald's men tossed a bag over her head and carried her off toward safety. 

"Leif-"

"It is too dangerous." Leif gave his shoulder a push. "Go!"

(Y/N) cursed under his breath and followed the men, ducking and weaving between buildings until they reached the treeline where they marched through the thick, green brush of the forest up the mountain. Freydis squirmed and shouted, her words muffled by the bag, until she was carefully set down. She huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from her face and sending (Y/N) an irritated glance as her cuffs were properly broken from her wrists.

"I did not know." He told her and raised his arms to get the cuffs off his wrists. "Argue with Leif."

"Oh, I will." 

Freydis stormed past him, crushing leaves and twigs beneath her boots on her path toward Leif as he climbed down from his horse. (Y/N) snorted softly and rubbed his sore wrists. His mother approached, her hand coming to rest on his hand and tongue clicking when she noticed the redness along his inner wrists. (Y/N) allowed her to inspect them, knowing she'd force him to regardless, and watched Freydis snap at Leif. The amused grin promptly fell from his lips when Harald appeared on horseback through the trees.

Freydis and Harald quickly fell into an argument, and Leif simply walked past with minor indifference, one hand clutching Freydis's sheathed sword. (Y/N) stepped away from his mother to push through the bushes and foliage toward them, his pace quickening the closer he got. Harald huffed loudly at something Freydis said and turned away from her, his eyes spotting (Y/N) at the last minute before (Y/N)'s knuckles connected with his jawline. Freydis clamped her mouth shut mid-sentence, brows lifting in surprise before smug satisfaction settled on her face.

Harald stumbled back, his foot catching on a small log sticking out that made him fall on one knee. He brushed his fingers over his reddening skin, his lips parting to let out another huff, this time more irritated than the last. "Is this what I get for saving you?" (Y/N) pulled his foot back and swung it forward, hitting squarely where he knew the cut from Maniakes was still healing. Harald cried out, the force forcing him to fall off his knee. 

He raised a hand to stop the few soldiers around, quick pants leaving him as he clutched at his side with a wince. "I made an oath." He spoke through gritted teeth. "It was not to lose something important to me." 

(Y/N) blinked at him, effectively clearing his blurring vision. Freydis's hand brushed over his back as she turned and walked away to give them some space. His mouth parted slightly before closing again, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lips before (Y/N) giggled. He giggled again and again, and then he lurged into full-blown laughter that left him clutching his stomach and doubling over. "Important?" He repeated breathlessly, his fingertips collecting the tears in the corners of his eyes. "Important?"

"Yes." Harald hissed, grunting when he got back up onto his feet.

(Y/N) took in a deep breath, the shock wearing from his bones and allowing the fury to settle in. "I put up with you for nearly nine years, I take care of every injury, I deal with everything you send my way, I follow you without a single complaint- and I'm not important? I risked my life for you over and over again, Harald! Nine years together, seven with you begging for another chance, and the one time you have a chance to uphold the promise you made me, you agree to kill me?!" 

"(Y/N)-"

"No, Harald!" (Y/N) snapped, his voice echoing in the forest and sending a flurry of birds darting into the air. Harald reeled back, his eyes widening briefly. The buzz of anger began fading, exhaustion quickly following to replace it. His head shook, boots digging into the dirt as he stepped backward. "I don't wish to hear it. You will hold your tongue. I hope whatever it is... it eats you alive... because you know that if I had been in your place, I would have done things differently."

(Y/N) swiftly turned and stomped through the green bushes toward the distant sound of shouting. He could hear the rustle of Harald following, but he paid it little mind, more focused on following the footprints in the dirt until he stepped out of the treeline and onto one of the cliffs overlooking the harbor.

He stopped, feeling the rocks and gravel beneath his boots and the refreshing, chilly air whipping past him. His eyes tracked Harald, watching him briefly stop to speak with Freydis and then with Leif. The two of them, along with Yri, continued further down the mountain toward the boat Leif had received from King Canute.

Swallowing, (Y/N) moved, his footsteps slow until he stopped by Harald's side. He stared out at the dark ocean, watching the faraway waves roll and the seabirds dive for fish. He was free, but the feeling wasn't as relieving as he'd hoped for. A hand tentatively touched his hip, lingering to see if he'd swat it away before it tugged him closer. Harald pressed a kiss into his temple, his head tilted to rest his head against his. 

"I know I have not always been easy," Harald began softly. "But you must know that I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew you'd be someone special, and I do not regret a single moment we've had these past years. I love you, and I will until the day I die. You will be on my mind every night when I fall asleep and every morning when I wake."

(Y/N) exhaled shakily and leaned his head against Harald's for a moment. "You are.. the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me, Harald Sigurdsson." He muttered heavily and lifted his head, raising his hand to touch Harald's cheek one last time. "I hope the crown was worth it... because I am never returning. I love you too... but I don't ever want to see you again."

With a small sigh, he leaned forward, pressing his lips over Harald's. He pulled away, his trembling lips pulling into a small smile at the tears that slipped from Harald's eyes. He stroked his cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone and the small scar there before he dropped his hand and turned to follow his family down the mountain. He wiped his eyes and let his shoulders sag, a more blissful smile spreading on his face at the sight of everyone waiting.

Leif grinned. "Ready for our next adventure?"

"Definitely."

[natgoodmans]

books read in 2025 🤍

books read so far: 89 reading goal: 100

as always, askbox + dms are open if have any questions or would like to chat about books! you can find me on goodreads here, and on bookstagram here. 🤍

♡ indicates any new favorites; ⊹ indicates a reread.

january ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. writers & lovers by lily king 2. the art of memory collecting: 15 scrapbook, collage, trinket and zine projects for crafting treasured moments by martina calvi 3. tom lake by ann patchett (audiobook) ♡ 4. our town by thornton wilder ⊹ 5. beloved by toni morrisson 6. promise me sunshine by cara bastone (arc) ♡ 7. days at the morisaki bookshop by satoshi yagisawa & translated by eric ozawa ♡ 8. small things like these by claire keegan (audiobook) 9. beartown by fredrik backman ♡

february ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. the fellowship of the ring by j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook) 2. i'll pretend you're mine by tashie bhuiyan (arc) 3. sense and sensibility by jane austen ⊹ (audiobook) 4. the lonely city: adventures in the art of being alone by olivia laing (audiobook) 5. everything i learned, i learned in a chinese restaurant by curtis chin (audiobook) 6. tiny moons: a year of eating in shanghai by nina mingya powles 7. sorcery of thorns by margaret rogerson (audiobook) ♡ 8. more days at the morisaki bookshop by satoshi yagisawa ♡ 9. mysteries of thorn manor by margaret rogerson

march ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. an enchantment of ravens by margaret rogerson (audiobook) 2. white ice: race and the making of atlanta hockey by thomas aiello 3. lost and lassoed by lyla sage 4. holy terrors by margaret owen (arc) 5. swift and saddled by lyla sage 6. circe by madeline miller (audiobook) 7. a dark and drowning tide by allison saft (audiobook) 8. intermezzo by sally rooney (audiobook) ⊹ 9. my side of the river by elizabeth camarillo gutierrez (audiobook) 10. four weekends and a funeral by ellie palmer ♡ 11. the bell jar by sylvia plath (audiobook) 12. the break-up pact by emma lord 13. love lettering by kate clayborn 14. the partner plot by kristina forest 15. the rom-commers by katherine center 16. emily wilde's compendium of lost tales by heather fawcett (audiobook) 17. dolls of our lives: why we can't quit american girl by mary mahoney & allison horrocks (audiobook)

april ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. you between the lines by katie naymon 2. my not so perfect life by sophie kinsella 3. a quantum love story by mike chen (audiobook) 4. the siren of sussex by mimi matthews 5. the love wager by lynn painter (audiobook) 6. you belong with me by mhairi mcfarlane (audiobook) 7. puck and prejudice by lia riley 8. swept away by beth o'leary 9. great big beautiful life by emily henry (arc) 10. second first impressions by sally thorne (audiobook) 11. i who have never known men by jacqueline harpman ♡ 12. the belle of belgrave square by mimi matthews 13. the kiss countdown by etta easton 14. lovelight farms by b.k. borison 15. the wedding people by alison espach (audiobook) 16. the ex vows by jessica joyce 17. deep cuts by holly brickley 18. remember me? by sophie kinsella 19. here we go again by alison cochrun (audiobook) 20. the most wonderful crime of the year by ally carter (audiobook) 21. mistakes we never made by hannah brown 22. when you least expect it by haley cass (audiobook) 23. pitcher perfect by tessa bailey (arc) 24. the next chapters: an on the same page novella by haley cass (audiobook) 25. on the same page by haley cass 26. it happened one fight by maureen lee lenker 27. hello stranger by katherine center 28. ps: i hate you by lauren connolly 29. the rose bargain by sasha peyton smith (audiobook) 30. out on a limb by hannah bonam-young 31. make the season bright by ashley herring blake (audiobook) 32. flirting with disaster by naina kumar 33. first-time caller by b.k. borison 34. welcome to the hyunam-dong bookshop by hwang bo-reum, shanna tan (translator) 35. funny story by emily henry ⊹ 36. the guest cat by takashi hiraide, eric selland (translator)

may ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

1. evenings and weekends by oisín mckenna (audiobook) 2. the dragon's promise by elizabeth lim (audiobook) 3. the examiner by janice hallett 4. i want to die but i want to eat tteokbokki by baek se-hee, anton hur (translator) 5. the manor of dreams by christina li (arc) 6. lonely castle in the mirror by mizuki tsujimura (audiobook) ♡ 7. john proctor is the villain by kimberly belflower ♡ 8. the crucible by arthur miller, christopher w.e. bigsby (audiobook) ⊹ 9. in a not so perfect world by neely tubati alexander (audiobook) 10. the vanished birds by simon jimenez 11. time is a mother by ocean vuong 12. promise me sunshine by cara bastone ⊹ 13. straight white men / untitled feminist show by young jean lee 14. before we forget kindness by toshikazu kawaguchi, geoffrey trousselot 15. passion project by london sperry 16. the killer question by janice hallett (arc) 17. the cat who saved books by sōsuke natsukawa, louise heal kawai 18. bibliophobia: a memoir by sarah chihaya (audiobook)