#&desires/Lysandra

[etdraconis]

Tag Dump: Secondary Muses 5

[starlcved]

another  one  i  forgot  shhhh

*    ⟢    LYSANDRA  BARBAS     ❮   visage   ❯

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*    ⟢    LYSANDRA  BARBAS     ❮   edits   ❯

[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.3 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terassen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

Warnings: Traumatic flashback, brief description of SA, abuse.

See masterlist

A/n: Hey guys! Just a heads up, I gave a brief description of y/n here but nothing too specific as in the end, I want you to imagine yourselves in y/n's place. Hope you enjoy this :)))

Following the Illyrian traditions was very important. Submitting to the males wishes, their desires and orders, being a proper house maid was the future of almost every female unfortunate enough to be born in Illyria. This point was confirmed once more as she stood near the stove in the kitchen, silently humming to herself with the hopes of drowning out the ugly laughters of him and his male friends in the dining room, drinking and burying themselves in all the fat and gluttony.

"Y/n, sweetheart, come here!" There it was, that deceptively caring voice that only came out when he was so drunk that he could not even tell the difference between a goblet and a chamber pot, drinking ale from the latter and declaring it the finest vintage in all the realm.

She knew better than to argue or even think of putting up a fight.

When she entered the room, there were 3 other males with him, all smirking at her while greedily looking up and down her body with eyes that held hunger within them. At that moment, as he got up and went to lock the door behind her, y/n realized her fate. She wanted nothing more than to die right then and there.

"Sweetness, why don't you give us a show first?" one of them said, giving her a disgusting cruel smile that displayed his rotting, yellow teeth.

And so, as her 16 year old body was forcefully defiled all night long by these vile monsters, as her pleas fell on deaf ears, as they slapped and cut her up for their pleasure, y/n knew that hell would be kinder to her than Illyria and its males.

Y/n's eyes shot open as she immediately jumped up to a sitting position on the bed with a racing heart and a sweat covered body. It had been a while since these nightmares last happened to her. Visions of those horrible, dark times. They started coming back right when Azriel stopped sleeping with her. Now it seems that they have just gotten worse.

"Shhh, oh you poor child, you are safe now."

Y/n turned her head around to see an older female, with graying hair rubbing her back in comforting circles.

She did not have the energy to use her voice, so y/n whispered, "Who are you? Where am I?"

The woman smiled as she calmly explained, "My name is Isolde and I am one of the head royal healers. You are in the healing hut where I have been taking care of you for the past one day."

"I have been in this state for a whole day?"

"Yes. After you passed out, Aedion was meant to come find me but it seemed like Fenrys had a different plan. Oh, you should have seen him when he winnowed here. He was frantic! I never saw him so worried before. He laid you down here on the hut and only said 'Help her, please.' Then he winnowed again and left you here in my care. In the past day, her majesty queen Aelin and the lady Lysandra came down here twice to check up on you, but you were still unconscious."

Fenrys was worried about her? Of course he was worried. They were all worried because y/n is their captive and they could not have her dead before they got the information they needed out of her.

With a scoff, she turned her head around to inspect the room. There were two rows of beds here on each side of the wall and two circular windows at each end of the room. Multiple shelves and tables around the place contained all sorts of books, medications, and some kinds of herbs. The light coming from the afternoon sun cast a comforting glow around the room.

The healer got up and began to gently inspect y/n as she said, "Her majesty said to bring you to her once you were better again. There is a washroom just outside this door on the left and inside you will also find some clothes. Although it was quite challenging to find a shirt that would somehow go through your wings which is why I washed your old shirt and put it back there."

That is when y/n looked down and realized that she was wearing some sort of chest binds and underpants. Oh Cauldron boil her...they had to strip her naked? At her worried face the female replied with a knowing smile, "Yes, I saw your scars and burns but do not worry, I was the only one who changed your clothes so your secret shall go with me to my grave. I swear it."

Slightly embarassed, but grateful nonetheless, she nodded her head and wordlessly padded to the washroom. After washing up and changing into a fresh and comfortable set of brown pants, her old, long sleeved shirt, and new, knee high light brown boots, y/n left the washroom and followed the healer out towards wherever this queen wanted them to be at.

When Fenrys got word from Aelin that y/n was finally awake and that Isolde would bring her to the formal sitting room soon, he immediately raced through the woods in his wolf form to reach the palace in time. He did not know why or how but Fenrys was definetly feeling something unusual and foreign whenever he was around her.

He remembers how, two days ago when Rowan felt y/n's presence within Terassen's teritorry and sent him to investigate, Fenrys did not expect to be dumbfounded by this winged female lying unconscious on the ground. She was ethereal. Her gorgeous, soft hair that he suddenly felt like running his fingers through, her plump, full lips, gentle yet defined features that made her look like a work of art. But most importantly, her unique and breathtaking black wings that seemed to glitter under the sunlight.

And then, when he winnowed them to the formal meeting room, he felt her nervousness and wanted nothing more than to make her feel safe. It did not help that being right behind her meant that he could smell her delicious scent of jasmine and peach. He remembers how, when Rowan took y/n's air out, Fenrys had this sudden and animalistic urge to kill him. Rowan, his closest companion for so many centuries, suddenly became his number one enemy.

Lastly, when y/n fell unconscious again because of shock...Fenrys could not even understand his own actions. He was supposed to wait just like everyone else until Aedion called someone but...he could not stand there and watch her lie unmoving, so he immediately winnowed her to Isolde. Even though he did not visit y/n after that, he would unsuspiciously ask everyone for updates on her. He knew he should not care but, whatever this silly thing inside him was made him care for some foolish reason.

"So what if she fell unconscious? We still need to keep our eyes on her every move. If our assumptions are true, she is a stranger from a completely different world."

Lorcans voice brought Fenrys back from his thoughts as he watched his family argue over y/n and her fate. Lorcan and Elide arrived just this morning from Perranth after Aelin sent word to them.

"I agree. But she also did not seem like a big threat either. She looked quite shocked when she realized what was happening." Lysandra said while glaring at Lorcan.

"And? it all may have just been a part of her innocent act to reach whatever her goal is."

"Lorcan please calm down, we will se-" Elide was cut off by Lysandras voice.

"You really are a soulles creature then aren't you? Gods...She fell unconscious!! How do you act that out?" Lysandra was staring daggers at him.

"Lorcan is right. Unconscious or not, she is a threat to us for as long as she is in here."

"Really Rowan? I ca-"

"Alright that has been sufficient enough, you three." Aelin said as she gave a pointed look to her mate, Lysandra and Lorcan before continuing, "We won't know anything until we speak to her and that means, we also can not come to any conclusions until we get her side of the story. So either you act like rational beings and we interrogate her properly, or you can just leave the room right at this moment because I do not wish to deal with any additional headaches right now." Her queen side truly came out as those turquoise eyes looked harshly at everyone, including Fenrys, and especially at Lorcan.

But no one could say anything else because the doors opened and in walked Isolde with y/n behind her and Fenrys once again had this urge to be near her and protect her from the unavoidable interrogation that was about to happen. She had an indifferent facial expression on that could fool anyone else but not him. Because for some reason, Fenrys could scent her discomfort and curiosity as her eyes looked around the room.

Y/n noted that his room was different from the previous one. Because while the previous one had different colors, this one was covered in various shades of green starting with pale and ending with forest dark. The floor was covered in a beige and green floral patterned rug, in the center there was a small, circular, golden brown table and on each side of it there was a green couch with hints of silver in their patterns. There also was a white marble fireplace that was currently empty. Finally, on each side of the fireplace, there were two floor to ceiling windows that displayed the gardens outside.

The strangers from the other day were all here, some sitting on the couches while others were standing in the center, but there were also two new strangers that she did not recognize. The extremely tall, tan, muscled man with brown hair that reached his shoulders was not the type that could be overlooked. It was as if his presence always demanded attention. Not to mention the fact that those threatening dark eyes were currently staring at her. If looks could kill, y/n would already be dead. Next to him, was a very small, pale woman with dark black hair and the most adorable face. She was also staring at y/n, but unlike the intimidating beast next to her, she was smiling with genuine kindness.

And then there was Fenrys who was leaning against the wall near the window, staring at her. His arms were crossed which made the impressively large muscles under his white tunic bulge and that made her feel hot all over her body. But, she managed to reign in her feelings and stood stoic faced looking straight at the blond, blue eyed female who was now walking closer to y/n.

"Well, I hope you are feeling better now." The female said, standing face to face with her and assesing y/n with her eyes.

"I am, thanks to Isolde." Y/n turned her head sideways and gave the healer, who was standing next to the door, a small yet genuine smile which Isolde returned.

"Yes. Well, she is our head healer for a reason after all. Thank you Isolde, you may leave now."

Isolde did a small bow and then turned to leave. Once the door closed, Y/n's cold facial expression came back on while looking at the female before her and already mapping out her potential exits from the room. She managed find a small but sharp needle in the washroom so, that was her only weapon as her knife was taken from her when she was unconscious. It is not like y/n was sad about it anyways because that knife was gifted to her by Azriel for their 50th anniversary.

"Y/n, come sit. Don't worry no one is going to hurt you...yet." The blond said with a small smirk as if expecting her to be afraid.

But y/n had seen and been through worse situations when she was working for Rhysand and had to go on missions with Cassian or Azriel. Her name though, how did they kn- Oh, yes, well of course Fenrys told them. Y/n cursed herself for ever revealing her name to him and went to sit on the empty couch without showing an ounce of fear. They could interrogate her all they like but they could never break her.

When she saw the tatooed male opening his mouth to say something, she crossed her arms and said with an indifferent tone, "Shouldn't I know your names? I mean, I could refer to each of you by your hair colors like 'silver hair' or 'ugly brown hair'..." at that she gave a look at the tall brooding man and continued, "but I would really rather call you by your names."

The blond female fully smirked before saying, "My name is Aelin and I am the queen of this teritorry. The 'silver hair' is prince consort Rowan and my mate."

"My name is Elide and I am the lady of Perranth" the small woman said while smiling sweetly at y/n before pointing to the still angry-looking giant beside her and saying, "he is my husband, Lorcan. Please do not be afraid of him he is just-"

"Acting like a baby? Do not worry Elide I am not afraid of men that seem threatened by my presence. It adds to my ego and confidence." Y/n said with a smirk as Lorcan got visibly angrier at her while someone on the other side of the room let out a small chuckle.

Aelin was full on smiling when y/n heard another voice, "Finally! Someone who can put Lorcan in his place. My name is Lysandra by the way" the brown eyed female said with a wink. Lastly, leaning against the couch was Aelin's look a like who, with cold eyes that were assesing her said, "Aedion." It seems like all the males here hate her. Well, how fantastic!

"And that is Fenrys, whom I believe you are already acquinted with." Aelin said, gesturing to him. Fenrys, still stuck to his place by the wall, only gave her a quick and wordless nod before looking away.

Rowan sat on the couch facing her and said, "Now, since we cleared that up, y/n, tell us where you are from."

Y/n sighed before telling them about her world, but still keeping some information hidden from them. She told them about the different courts, the type of fae, of Illyria and her wings, the mortal lands and the wars.

When she was finished, they each had different facial expressions while processing what y/n just said. Aedion, seemingly the only one to quickly gather his thoughts asked, "Then, in your world...Prythian? there are many who like you, have wings."

She nodded before saying, "Yes, these wings are specific to Illyria. Those who are from there have these black, bat-like wings. But there also are those with white, feathery wings. For instance, in the Dawn court. Those are called Peregryn."

Rowan asked her next, "And the Night court is where you work?"

"Worked. I was there for 52 years serving its High lord. But then...let's just say I was betrayed. In fact, I was packing my things and getting ready to leave right before I ended up here."

"So you just suddenly ended up here?" Elide asked curiously from her place on the couch right next to Lorcan who had one hand within reach of his knife and the other on Elide's waist. Y/n smirked, he thinks he is so slick but she has already memorized the ways of those like him. Always ready to attack. Which, if he does dare to attempt, the long and sharp needle in her pocket will find its way quicker to his throat than the knife in his hand will reach her.

"No, while I was getting ready to leave, I heard a voice calling me. I did not understand what it was saying and then, I got this deep urge within me to go find its source. So I flew to where it was and found that it was the Book of Breathings that was calling me all along."

At their puzzled faces, y/n asked, "You do know about the Book of Breathings, yes?"

Lysandra and Aelin exchanged a confused yet slightly alarmed look before the former asked, "Should we be aware of it?"

Oh, they definetly had no idea. With no other choices left, y/n explained all about the 3 objects of the Trove, how they managed to gather them, or rather how Nesta managed to gather them, and finally about the Book of Breathings.

Aelin, still seemingly deep in thought said, "That is how you won your war then."

"Well, we also had the upper hand because there were 3 of the most ancient beings, Gods of a sort, fighting on our side. My at the time high lady and high lord made deals with them in order to make them fight for us."

At that, Aelin scoffed, "How fortunate that the Gods in your world atleast agreed to aid you in your wars."

At y/n's puzzled look, Aedion smirked as he said, "My cousin killed the Gods of our world. One of her many titles is Godskiller."

To say y/n was shocked would be an understatement "How? I mean...how do you just manage to kill the Gods? How is that possible?"

Everyone in the room apart for y/n shared a look before Rowan said, "You told us about your world, it is only fair that we tell you about ours."

And so, they all,except Lorcan because he is still a brooding child, took part in explaining her all about their world. They told her about Wyrdgates, Valgs, the king of Adarlan, the Wyrdkeys, the Iron Witches and their matrons, their Wyverns, Maeve, Erawan, the war at Orynth, how Aelin managed to close the gates with her powers, and lastly, about the sacrifice of the Blackbeak witches that gave the upper hand for them to win the final battle. This all happened 3 years ago. It was clear that they left out quite a few things and by the stern looks Aelin was sometimes giving to them, it was about her but y/n did not blame them. After all, she also left out information about how the Night court or any other court in Prythian works, what is Velaris and what was her position at court, how skilled she is at war or just fighting in general, her age, Amarantha's 50 year reign and most definetly, her past.

Y/n had never heard so many shocking revelations at once. What on earth did they go through? So many innocents were being forced to wear chockers or rings with whatever those demons were? The fae of Erilea were definetly different from those in Prythian. But what spiked her curiosity the most, was the information she got on the Ironteeth, Blackbeak witches. Apparently, her wings were similar to those of their Wyverns and from what they told her, y/n felt like she would get along well with them.

She turned her head towards Aelin and asked, "So, now you have no powers left?"

Aelin sighed and came down to sit next to her, which made Rowan immediately come to stand right behind her at the edge of the sofa, watching y/n with a gaze that dared her to even try doing something to his mate and queen. Y/n genuinely smiled, how impressive (and romantic) that he loves and protects her so much.

"Well, I gave most of it away but, there is still a little bit left in me. Not large enough to burn down a forest or create a fire wall but, enough to still remind me of my roots."

Nodding, y/n turned her head to everyone else, landing her gaze on Fenrys, while asking no one in particular, "What powers do the rest of you have? I know silver hair over there has some air power that can take the breath out of your body but...what about the rest of you?"

Lorcan scoffed, "Who do you think you are-"

"Shapeshifting. I can shift into any form of living being." Lysandra cut in after giving Lorcan a death stare. Y/n smirked, she liked this female very much.

After everyone, except for well...of course Lorcan and Elide said what their powers were, y/n noticed how Fenrys never once opened his mouth during this entire process, preferring to stare at her from his spot near the window.

So, she asked him, "Fenry-"

But he cut her off, "Lorcan is right. You are in no position to ask us of anything. Better you shut up than ask things that are of no concern to you. My powers are known to those that need to know of it." and with that, he stalked towards the doors and left the room.

Lorcan was smirking until Elide jabbed him with her elbow, Rowan, surprisingly, did not seem happy and Aedion had an unreadable expression. Y/n thought that maybe just maybe Fenrys would not be against her but...it truly seems like she is the number one enemy of all the males here.

Aelin let out a small cough that drew y/n's attention from the door and told her with an uncertain smile, "You...could stay in the palace, I will have a guest bedroom arranged for you if you wish. And while you're here, we could look into this whole matter of gates and help you find a way on how to get you home."

"Oh no I really should start looking for a way to leave, and besides, your males do not seem to want me he-"

"Finally, something we can agr-"

"No." Elide said, cutting of her husband and then looking at y/n, "The males can go and brood for as long as they like but you are a stranger to our world which means out there you won't find anything. Your best chance is here, within the palace walls."

"Bu-"

"I command it as the queen."

"You are not my queen."

"But you are standing on my grounds and that means, whatever I say is law."

Aelin and y/n stared at one another, unflinching, holding each others gaze before y/n finally said, "Alright!"

Aelin smiled, before saying, "Ladies, shall we escort our guest to her bed chambers?"

Lysandra and Elide both stood which caused their husbands to immediately hug them as if they are newborn babies who could not stand being away from their mother. Y/n's heart ached because that was how Azriel was with her once. What was he doing now? Was he worried for her? She doubted it.

Aelin placed her hand on y/n's shoulder to bring her back to reality, as she softly said, "Come"

When the queen and her two ladies led her to her room, y/n's shock was written all over her face but she did not care. She has lived in and seen luxury for quite a large span of her life now, but not even her bedchambers at Velaris or the ones at Dawn court could ever come close to this.

The room was medium sized which added to its comfort. On the right side of the wall, was a large bed with a golden headboard, pale pink or almost white covers and white, see through curtains hanging above. Next to it, was a small, beige nightstand that had a small vase full of daisies, lilacs and a candle that stood on a small golden holder. Opposite to the bed, on the left side of the wall, was a white table with golden designs around the corners that held a large mirror, various beauty products and a singular vase full of white roses. Right next to it, was a white door which Aelin said leads to the washroom and beyond that, the large wardrobe. In front of it was a small, soft, white chair with golden stag figures over it. In the middle of the room, was a small, low, cream colored rectangular table and next to it, were two light gold lounge chairs. Behind the table and the chairs, was one large floor to ceiling window that was covered by, again, white see through curtains and beyond that, it seemed that there was a balcony that overlooked the vast expanse of this territory. The floor was covered in a large, white rug with pale pink and gold designs all over it. The room smelled of roses, vanilla, and other lovely citrusy scents.

"Aelin, I am so glad you listened to me when I said that we needed to have a feminine guest room for our female visitors." Elide said, gazing lovingly into the room.

"One of the best rooms in the West wing." Lysandra said before winking at y/n.

"Get some rest, I shall have food delivered to you and we can begin tomorrow."

Y/n gave a small thankful nod, but before she could say anything else, a messenger with black hair and gray eyes came into the room, bowed to Aelin and said with a small smirk, "Your message was received. King Dorian can't come now which is why Chaol and Yrene are on their way."

Aelin smiled and said, "Thank you Nox, what about Manon?"

"The queen of witches has not replied yet but it seems she has a lot to do in her kingdom. After all, she has to share it. My guess is that she and Dorian will come together."

"Ah those two, I am counting down the days till I hear of their union." Lysandra said while shaking her head.

When Nox saw y/n, he swept his gaze all over her, smirked even bigger than before, before bowing to Aelin and exiting the room.

Aelin, who saw the whole thing, just smiled shaking her head and said, "Nox Owens. He is...we have been friends ever since I was 18 and now he is my main messenger."

Elide took Aelin and Lysandra's hand and led them towards the door but not before saying, "Good night y/n! See you tomorrow."

And as y/n got ready for bed and ate her food, all alone in this foreign place, she wondered what her future held for her and how she would get home.

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A/n: 4.4k words! Wow... but it was so much fun to write and also why not give you guys some more juicy stuff? Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed reading this and see you in the next chapter <3

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ladespedidas @mis-lil-red @going-through-shit @kaitttttttt @bunnyredgirl @crazylokonugget @blackgirlmagicforever

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Thank you!!!!! So I was thinking of something like the reader is a childhood friend of Aelin and she meets Fenrys on Rolfe's ship and she realized they are mates but she was to scared to tell him and then Maeve came and she went with Rowan, Lorcan and Elide to rescue Fen and Aelin. More fluff after.

You're amazing!! ❤️ ❤️

This is a mix of these two requests and the some more insanity that I just threw in here. So just enjoy a little enemies to lovers goodness. 🤍✨

Anchor

You know when you meet a person and straight away you just know that it won't work? You can practically feel the aura around you clashing. The tension lingering. The heaviness. The calculated looks. That's how it was with Fenrys. The ongoing battle to not give into the desire to slash his throat when he babbled his cocky nonsense. As a male he wasn't too bad for the eye but boy oh boy when he opened his mouth.

"I still think you two should just...", Aelin stated but you only clanked your cup on the table. "Don't bother finishing that sentence", you pointed a finger her way earning a low growl from Rowan who was set across the room, "Oh don't you start, you territorial hawk". The male narrowed his eyes at you but you thew him just as much of a sharp glare.

"Okay, you two that's enough. I don't need you two fighting", Aelin reached for your hand, squeezing it gently in the hope of getting you to turn your attention back to her. She knew how you viewed all males. Life hasn't been kind in that sense. Same as with Lysandra there were boundaries. A deeply buried fear of being used again. Of being dominated. Repressed. Pushed around and used.

Hence why Aelin was willing to leave you behind if sailing in a closed-off ship with a handful of fea soldiers seemed way too much for you. But of course, you went. You brushed it off as if you weren't phased by it even when your body screamed at you from the moment Rowan had reached out for your hand to help you onto the ship.

"Just... if you worked together", but you shook your head. You knew where this was going and sure you wanted to help but the answer was going to stay the same. What she was asking of you was too much. It required too much. It was too personal. Too intimate. And you hated the male. Even if you agreed it would never work. "I love you and I want to help but if we can't do it without him getting involved, I'm not doing it", your words were cold. Colder than you would have liked but you just weren't ready to step over that line.

Rowan shook his head and Aelin's eyes softened. Without a doubt, they were doing that weird mind-to-mind communication that mates did. You just stood there waiting to be dismissed. Even if you knew that you could have easily walked out yourself. With a sigh, Aelin turned your way, "Alright, get some sleep. We have time to figure this out". You wanted to say that there was nothing to figure out but you kept your mouth closed.

The cold midnight breeze hit your skin as you stepped onto the deck. It wasn't all that surprising that none was out, all cooped up in their little cabins. You braised yourself on the side of the ship, looking ahead of yourself. Letting your mind get as clouded as the sky in front of you.

"Here to poison the ocean with your venom?", the voice startled you, making you grip the wooden brim but you didn't turn around. "Go inside pup, before your fur gets damp and you'll complain about it for the rest of the trip", you snarl back, hoping that the lack of attention would keep him away. Yet instead you bear a light chuckle and the footsteps that get louder and louder.

"Don't worry the undercoat will keep me warm", Fenrys purr as he nudges your shoulder slightly, making you glare at him even more, "Cheer up, we only have another handful of days together". You flash him the most ingenuous smile you could can, "Not unless I jump off the ship and drown myself". Fenrys cackles some more, "I'm sure the fishes would return you in a short while".

The bickering when on and on. Spitting insults where they fit. Having people separating you from one another at times but mostly it was the silent brooding. The death glares and the bitterness that for the most part did more damage than words.

Until this morning. You woke up with a jolt even before the sun had risen. Hand on your chest as you looked around your cabin. It was empty. The door with your makeshift lock was still closed. Yet something felt wrong.

Throwing your legs over the edge you moved to sit up but the pain that pierced through your chest made you frown, a light gasp slipping past your lips. You stilled for a moment, letting your body find itself steady once more. But the nudging didn't ease. It urged you. As if beckoning you to move, to do something.

Some fresh air, you thought to yourself. Some fresh air would help, you were sure. Leaning onto the walls on your way up to the deck you could swear the walk there was never as long. The coldness hit you like a brick, almost making you stagger back, yet you stepped forward. The pain only grew, making you almost want to claw at your chest.

"What's up with you and your night walks? Don't you know some of us want privacy?", you threw your glance to the side where Fenrys was sitting on the upper part of the deck. Somehow seeing him here made you feel slightly better, yet you still muttered, "Get lost", before your eyes darted to the shadows dancing across the ship. Each of them makes you turn around over and over again.

"I don't want what kind of funny stunt you're pulling but you can give up the act", Fenrys grumbled at the sight of you frantically turning around the deck. Only when you started clawing at your skin almost drawing blood did he smell the fear that was practically dripping off you. "Y/N", he called out a lot more softly, rushing down the set of steps.

"I won't do it, leave me alone, I won't do it", you muttered, breathing picking up. Fenrys stepped closer. He knew that approaching someone while they were in fight or flight mode was dangerous. You needed to be extremely particular with your actions. He'd seen many soldiers dying because they had chosen the wrong path of approaching an army friend after a particularly traumatic fight. Many had lost their lives to a fear blackout.

So when Fenrys reached for you, his movements were as slow as they could be. Gently sliding down your forearms, moving down to your palms, before he carefully laced his fingers with yours, making you stop the frantic attempt to look out for whatever you were afraid of. "I'm not insane", you crocked out and Fenrys instantly nodded, "Of course, you're not. I would never think that". Your eyes met his for a brief moment and Fenrys could swear the depth of them could drown him. But then the most painful cry slipped past your lips as you fell to the floor.

The door to the desk opened with a thud and Aelin followed by Rowan and the rest spilled out. Aelin called out your name, stepping forward but hitting a wall that you must have summoned. Her hands braced the surface as she tried to find a crack so she could get in. "Fenrys", Aelin called out in fear, catching the male's glance.

Your cries only grew louder as you fought whatever that was torturing you from within. "You need to help her", she practically cried out at the sight in front of her, Fenrys shook his head in confusion. "She is a psychic, she needs to let the vision flow through her but she hasn't... Fenrys", Aelin crocked out watching as you moved your hands over your temples, scratching the skin. Fenrys quickly pulled at your wrists, pulling your hands away from your skin.

You tried to break out of his grip but Fenrys didn't budge. Pulling your hands closer he moved them towards his lips, kissing both of your palms before, before placing them onto his shoulder. "You're a stubborn, stubborn girl", he muttered, gently cupping your face. Your body twitched, he could see you fighting it. He could tell that you were afraid. He just wasn't aware of what exactly. Of the process of seeing or what that meant for the future.

"Let go", Fenrys muttered softly, making you let out a low growl as you sink your nails into the male's shoulder. "Let go, before it destroys you from within", yet you shook your head, gritting your teeth as hard as you can. Already seeing the flashes of your consciousness slipping. Fenrys mouth thinned into a tight line, "Let go. I promise I'll pull you from down under. I won't let go", his words made your heart skip a beat. The world around you stopped. It felt like you couldn't hear anything. You couldn't make out anything. Yet in that nothingness, you could still feel it. Feel him. Feel Fenrys who stood there right beside you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mind finally slipped. Fenrys was quick to catch you in his arms. Wrapping you up in his strong embrace, while you muttered words under your breath in the language that he couldn't understand. Lowering you carefully, Fenrys nestled you in his arms. Watching every expression on your face. Every frown, every movement of the muscle made him wonder how long he would have to endure this.

A sharp pain pierced his heart right as the stream of blood trickled down your lip. A fear like Fenrys had never felt before. It shifted something within him, as he reached for your face, "Ei, no, no, you don't linger in there. Come back", he called out frantically, tapping your cheek slightly. But it's like you didn't hear him or didn't want to. All of a sudden all Fenrys come to hear and feel was you.

The sound of your painful breath. The way your heartbeat becomes less powerful. The way your smell suddenly started to shift. The wolf with him howled. His blood ran cold and then he felt it. A thread of light that suddenly pulled from within his chest and toward you.

And even if it frightened him, Fenrys clasped onto that thread with all that he had, pulling you towards him. Filling the painful wounds on your side with nothing but love and care. It felt like a cruel joke in the given moment but he couldn't give you up. Every part of his body was screaming at him to keep fighting.

And then it all went static. It all stilled. Fenrys was surrounded by emptiness. For a second it felt as if he had died and then a hash inhale of breath set your heart beating again. Fenrys pressed you even closer to him. Fighting the tears that were burning his eyes.

"I would like some air", you mumbled and Fenrys instantly pulled back, allowing you more breathing room. Your face looked tired, sweat covering your skin. Yet you gave him a weak smile. "I take it back. I don't want to give you to the fishes", he muttered under his breath. You reached for his cheek, brushing some of the damp hair away from his face, "Good because I don't want to jump".

[pearlfleurs-blog]

ㅤㅤ౨ৎ 𝔏𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 ౨ৎ

pairings ౨ৎ: Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader, Zeke Jeager x Fem!Reader

rating + contents ౨ৎ: Explicit - Sexual Content, Detailed Violence, Sexism, Slow Burn, Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Love Triangle, Unrequited Love -- 4.6k wc

The kingdom of Vymdarr is on the brink of war, and you, its queen, have no clue how to prevent it. The weight of the crown bears down on you, made heavier still by the scrutinising gaze of the stern Captain Ackerman. Yet, beneath his steely exterior, a softer sentiment begins to stir. Will you dare to succumb to the unexpected warmth of desire that begins to kindle within you? The fate of a kingdom and the course of your heart hang in the balance. What will you choose?

ao3 v | CHAPTER 1 | NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST ☾

As a child, you often found it difficult to fall asleep. You’d thrash and whine and make a scene until your mother, with perpetual patience, swept you into her arms and cradled you to her bosom. 

“What troubles you, my child, that you resist the call of slumber?” she’d ask. But all you’d manage was a soft whimper, for the source of your restlessness was as much a mystery to you as it was to her. “Shall I sing to you once more, then? Soothe your troubled heart?”

At the mention of a song, your eyes would light up and you’d nod eagerly, causing a tender smile to bloom across her face.

“In the moon’s silver loom, Lysandra weaves,

Her threads spun from starlight, her fingers deft,” she’d croon, and your body would melt into hers, as though that were its natural state all along.

“She dances on the edge of eternity,

Where love and sacrifice entwine, bereft.

Her eyes hold the weight of forgotten realms,

Their silver pools reflecting ancient skies.

She whispers secrets to the night,

Her breath a comet’s trail as it flies.”

As the lullaby unfolded, sleep would begin to claim you, your eyelids growing heavy as her words grew fainter and fainter. She’d carefully untangle her limbs from your own and lay you unto your bed, tucking you in with a tenderness that only a mother could possess before a soft kiss was bestowed upon your forehead, and you’d drift into a deep sleep. 

Now, more than ever, as you lie awake in your far too large bed, staring up at the satin drapes above, you yearn for your mother. For the soothing balm of her voice, sweet as honey in the quiet night. For her to embrace you once again. To lull you to sleep.

You’ve always loved her, of course. Always. But it was only in her absence that you finally understood the depth of that love. It was a hunger, an ache, that could not be sated.

You turn away from the snores of your husband, who somehow managed to fall asleep, and stare out the window, watching as the moon dips below the horizon and the sky bleeds orange. 

  When your handmaidens come at dawn, you don’t complain. In fact, you say nothing. You allow them to strip you of your nightgown, to release your hair from its messy braid, to lead you into a tub of warm water. All without saying a thing.

They scrub your skin with a gentleness that can only be learned, their hands moving in rhythmic circles, washing away the remnants of the night. Fingers knead into your back, your scalp, your shoulders, until your muscles relax and your head falls back with a heavy sigh. 

Their touch is both intimate and impersonal, as if they know you better than you know yourself. They cleanse your back, your arms, your thighs—the places where longing hides. They continue until the smell of lavender seeps from your every pore.

When finally satisfied, and when the water goes cold, they wrap you in towels warmed by a fire, cocooning you like a fragile moth, and gently wring your hair so droplets fall by your feet. They lead you to your bedroom, your husband nowhere to be found, and clothe you with a sudden urgency that belies their earlier tenderness.

One handmaid swiftly fastens the strings of a corset, cinching it snugly around your waist, while another deftly slides a pair of silk stockings up your legs.

Meanwhile, a third maid unfolds the layers of a heavy purple gown, its fabric catching the soft light that seeps through the window panes. She holds it out for you, waiting patiently as you step into it, guiding it up over your hips and shoulders until it falls around you like a waterfall of satin and lace.

As they move to your hair, there’s a knock on your door, but you know it’s just for courtesy. You say nothing, and your Head Maid enters, a book in her hand. She sweeps her long brown hair to the side as she stops just short of you, dipping into a curtsey. 

“Queen Elara.”

You try to nod, but your hair is suddenly pulled as a maid begins to wrap it into a bun. “Delia,” you say instead.

“The counsel urgently requests your presence in the war room,” she announces, her words tumbling forth in haste.

“The war room?” you echo, furrowing your brows. The maids pause in their ministrations, and you can feel their eyes upon you.

“Yes, your majesty,” Delia confirms, her gaze steady. “They did not specify the reason, but they insisted it was urgent.”

“And am I the last to be summoned?”

She negates with a shake of her head, “The Commander and Captain are yet to arrive, as is the King.”

You tilt your head, slightly so, that your handmaids needn’t pull your hair again. “They’ve returned from their scouting trip already?” 

“Just this morning,” Delia confirms, thumbing through the worn pages of her book, “A few hours before dawn. Everyone returned unharmed.”

You catch the flicker of relief in Delia's eyes, hidden beneath the practised calm. It’s a subtle shift, like the rustle of leaves before a storm, but it’s there. 

“They came bearing news,” she adds.

News? Your heart stutters in your chest. The last time they’d returned with ‘news’, it had been of an impending attack. “What news?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Delia hesitates, her lips parting and closing, before she says, “I’m not privy to the details, your majesty. But I heard whispers… whispers of a discovery.”

You only offer the melody of a hum in response. 

When your handmaidens pin the last strands of your hair, you step from their touch, the cool air kissing your exposed neck. “Very well,” you say, your fingers gently smoothing over your hair. “Lead the way, Delia.”

With a nod, Delia turns on her heel, her skirt swishing against the marble floor, and leads you out into the main hall, where the sun, a shy maiden, peeks through the large, grand windows that dot the seemingly never-ending corridor. She shines on your face, bathes you in a warm glow, and your eyes close in a daze. 

The echo of Delia’s footsteps ceases, and your eyes flutter open to find her gaze resting on you, expectant. As you draw level with her, she resumes her pace. 

You both walk side-by-side for some time before she whispers, “I know little, but I know tensions are high due to this matter.”

“Within our kingdom?”

Her smile comes faintly, “Within the confines of the war room.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage as you fight the embarrassment flooding through you.

“All I’m saying is be careful, your majesty.”

  The war room is exactly that. A room ravaged by war. 

The drapes are drawn tight, leaving the room dark (save for the candles that illuminate it). Maps and scrolls litter the ground, chairs are scattered, as if pushed away in a sudden desire for distance. For chaos. Voices cascade over one another as each fights for their piece to be heard. Insults spewed quicker than apologies. 

Yet, when you step into the candlelit room, head held high despite the tremor in your hands, all chaos seems to cease. Your council, never the wiser, bows in unison, as if they’ve practised the art of coming-to.

“My queen,” they all say, and for a moment, you nearly forget the earlier bedlam. 

Nearly.

“What is with all the commotion?” You ask, annoyance slipping into your voice. You stride to the head of the large table, where everyone should’ve been, and approach the two grand chairs swathed in velvet. You take a seat in the smaller one, but not without noticing your husband’s own seat is empty.

At once, the riotous chatter resumes as everyone attempts to explain themselves. Over the others, you hear Anatolios, Royal Fool of the court and your cousin. His hair, a dark cascade of waves resting on his shoulders, glistens with perspiration. Perhaps from the strenuous task of causing strife.

“Tell her,” he bellows, finger pointed towards the end of the table. "Tell her what you’ve unearthed. What you’ve seen!” You follow his finger to the far-end of the table, where the Commander and Captain sit, their chairs the only ones in order. 

“Anatolios,” you interject.

“We are running out of time to ready the militia.”

“Anatolios,” you say a second time. By now, the room has fallen silent, but your cousin acknowledges no such cue. 

“Elara, we must enlist the commonfolk’s eldest sons and train them as quickly as possible. I-”

“Anatolios!” comes loud, and aggressive. But the voice is not your own. You crane your head towards the war room’s door to see your husband - King Zeke, swathed in the richest purple, entering the room. “I’d wager they could hear your whimpering from the Emerald Cliffs,” he growls, and you nearly shudder. “Halt your whining so we may converse like grown men. Or can you not manage that at all?”

Anatolios’ eyes narrow and his mouth twists to the side, as though he ate something utterly sour. You know him well, he’s your cousin after all. His blood is your blood, and his temper is your temper. And his expression - his expression tells you he’s biting back a scathing retort, but he knows better than to voice it.

 At least he has that much sense.

“No, my king,” he spits. “I can manage it.”

“I should hope so,” Zeke responds, and by the smile on his face, he knows he’s won. 

Your husband, with little urgency, moves to claim the seat beside you as the council rises to bow once more. You watch him with a slight frown, partially annoyed that of course he was the one to get your cousin to quiet. The one to properly wield his authority.

As he settles into the seat beside you, he offers you a broad smile, and you return it with a small one of your own.

“Now,” he says, and chairs scrape along the floor to be put back into place. “Let us begin our council meeting.” He motions to the men at the opposite end at the table. “Commander Smith, Captain Ackerman. Tell us, just what did you see?”

The commander rises from his chair, thick brows roughly furrowed, “It wasn’t much, your majesty. Just something that we thought needed to be relayed. Along the border of Avaloria, Galirin soldiers were seen congregating, and a few even wielded dark magic.”

“At Avaloria?” Zeke queries.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“See!” Anatolios interjects, “Vymdarr must ready itself for war.”

You hear a scoff, and your eyes slide to Captain Ackerman, whose tongue prods at the corner of his mouth. “We cannot simply instigate a war with the basis of ‘They were at our border.’”

Anatolios raises his hands in mock praise. “Behold, a philosopher is amongst us!” 

His remark elicits a few chuckles, but Zeke raises his hand, the gold of his signet ring catching the candlelight, and the room quickly falls silent. “The captain speaks the truth. We cannot initiate a war based on a mere suspicion. If anything, they must strike first.”

“And they will,” Anatolios snarls. “They’ve attempted to for nearly a millennium.”

The captain leans forward, his brow creasing like a well-worn map. “It seems as though you are more eager for war than peace.”

“Peace does not exist when your enemies lurk in the shadows, captain.”

The captain eyes your cousin, his expression blank before giving way to a frown. “Or when a fool sits on the council.”

Red quickly blooms in Anatolios’ cheeks, but he says nothing, knowing that his response would be ownership of such a title. He clenches his jaw, his knuckles white as he grips the armrests of his chair.

Zeke sighs, running a hand through his slicked blonde hair. It stays pushed back, save for one, rebellious strand that falls loose.

You eye it carefully.

Your husband, oblivious to your gaze, speaks, his voice strong and unwavering, as always. He folds his fingers together, tapping them against his chin. “How many soldiers stood at the border, commander?”

“Three dozen. Perhaps more.”

The commander slowly lowers himself back into his chair. “What puzzles us is why they would target our capital’s borders. Avaloria, the most bustling city in the realm?” He clasps his hands together. “Why not launch an attack from the Whispering Pines? Stage an ambush from there to strike at the farmlands. Such a move would surely draw less attention.”

“Perhaps they want to make a statement,” you suggest, your voice faint but firm. “A show of power, right at our doorstep.”

Zeke turns to look at you, his eyes reflecting the candlelight. “A show of power,” he repeats, mulling over your words. “That could very well be it.”

“But it is a gamble,” Captain Ackerman interjects. “If they’re seen, their plans would be exposed.”

“Unless that’s what they want,” Anatolios counters. “To be seen. To stir fear and chaos.”

“Well then they’re doing a mighty job of doing so,” the captain mutters.

The room soon falls into a tense silence. You watch as Anatolio flares his nostrils and rolls his eyes, as the two military men share a knowing glance, as others look to one another in confusion. You can only wonder, if there were to be a war, could we handle it? Could we emerge victorious?

Zeke is the one to break the silence. “Regardless of their intentions,” he says, “we must be prepared. Increase the patrols along the border and keep a close watch on their movements.”

No one argues.

“Let us pray to Lysandra that we do not meet under these circumstances again, dear council.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Commander Smith responds, rising from his chair to bow. 

As the commander rises, the rest of the council follows suit, and in unison, they all bow to you and Zeke. Or more accurately, to Zeke. One by one, they filter out of the war room, whispering frantically amongst themselves. 

Beside you, Zeke stands from his chair and turns to face you. “Farewell, my Queen.” He reaches for your hand and raises it to his dry lips, his beard scratching your skin as he plants a brief kiss upon it.

You watch with wary eyes as he leaves before standing from your own chair. It’s just you and the two military men in the room, now. You stalk towards them with purpose, your heels clicking against the tile of the dim room, before stopping before them. They stand rigidly in their armour, the colour of twilight skies, with their helmets tucked under their arms.

They bow. “Queen Elara.”

“Gentlemen,” you reply. 

The taller of the two, Commander Smith - Erwin, places a hand upon your shoulder. “I apologise for the nature of this meeting. I believe everything was blown out of proportion, it was simply to-”

You cover his hand with your own and squeeze it. “It is alright, Erwin. My only concern is for your well-being. I’m grateful that you and your soldiers returned safely and in full number.”

He grins, “Was there ever any doubt?”  

But before your words can take form, before the ‘yes’ can leave your mouth, a throat clears from your right.

You turn to face the rugged captain, the corners of his lips pulled down in a stern frown. 

A similar frown threatens to mar your own features. 

Despite your years of familiarity with him, a sense of unease always settles in you in his presence. How many years has it been? Fourteen, since your parents first introduced you to him, the youngest soldier but the most promising, from the poorest region of Vymdarr. 

Your parents had harboured hopes of friendship between you two. After all, you’d just celebrated your thirteenth, on the cusp of a new world, and he, at nineteen, was considered no better age from those who had long left their own childhood behind. What could go awry?

But he refused to talk, to smile, to blink. You tried; you really did. But at some point, you gave up and spared yourself further humiliation.

At the time, it was simple.

But now, you cannot easily rid of him, like a thorn lodged deep within the flesh. You look at him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time in a long time, and for once, he meets your gaze.

He was every bit intimidating then as he is now, with his dark hair and dark eyes and rosy lips that still refuse to smile. The only difference being the large scar that runs from his scalp, through his right eye, and past his mouth. It’s a fresh wound, you remember, a souvenir from a recent battle against a kingdom that now only exists in tales of ruin.

“Your Highness,” he says harshly.

You blink, startled, and Erwin’s hand drops from your shoulder. “Yes?”

“I believe it would be unwise to proceed with the Moon Festival next week,” Captain Ackerman mutters, his tongue briefly darting out to moisten his lips—a harbinger of unease. “We would be vulnerable.”

“And why do you lay this concern at my feet rather than the King's?”

“Because this is your kingdom.”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “Yet I do not govern it. My title is but a decoration.” Erwin parts his mouth to interject, but the shorter man outpaces him.

“How pitiful,” the captain retorts, his good eye searing into you, and the commander grips his inferior’s shoulder - as if in an attempt to ground him. Were he any other man, you would surely have his tongue. “He may sit on the throne, your Highness, but he is a foreigner in these lands. Does that not shift the balance in your favour?”

“Captain,” you snap, and his eyes only narrow. “You speak as if I have power at all, yet you know well that the King’s word is law. Before royal blood… before a woman.”

He gives a heavy exhale, his rage fading away to exasperation. Somehow, that is worse.

“Then you must convince him. Frame it so that it is his decision. The fate of Vymdarr lies in your hands.”.

“And what a weight it is.” You tilt your head and stare at him through your eyelashes. “What I fail to understand is why it is my weight alone to bear. Why did you not mention this to the council?”

“The very council that teems with vainglorious fools? To cast my words into their pit of mockery would be to squander them. Here, at least, I stand unscorned, my counsel given its due weight.”

And you know he is right. The council is a pitiful thing. A farce. Your cousin at the head of it all. 

A weary breath escapes you.

Commander Erwin strides forward, cutting through the tension before another word can be spoken. His presence demands obedience. "Enough,” he says firmly, his gaze shifting between you and Captain Ackerman. “We are not here to debate the legitimacy of the throne or to question the Queen’s authority within her own land.”

He turns to you, his expression softening. “But, your Highness, the captain’s concerns are not without merit, though his delivery may be lacking in diplomacy. It is a major risk to hold the Moon Festival next week.”

“Commander, you are aware it cannot simply be undone.”

“We never asked for erasure.” His eyes quickly move across your face. “Merely a delay, for the safety of all Vymdarr.”

“Commander-”

“All we request, or rather, all Levi endeavoured to request, was that you relay this concern to the King…at the very least.”

You look from Erwin, whose eyes are now pleading with you, to the captain, who fumes in the corner, his hawk-like gaze fixed on you. You are reluctant to do it, and you know he knows of your reluctance to do it. But to deny their plea would be to disrespect the army, and to disrespect the army would tarnish your reputation. 

The subtle lift of the captain’s eyebrows tells you he’s well aware of that too.

“...Very well, I shall speak with the King.” You eye Captain Ackerman. “But I do not guarantee that you’ll get what you wish for.”

He scoffs, a twitch at the corner of his mouth suggesting a retort that he decides against. Erwin murmurs his gratitude before retreating, allowing you to finally surrender to the frown that has been threatening to etch itself across your face. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss, Captain?”

He straightens, his chin lifted and his shoulders square, but his eyes remain the same. Hard, stormy, and unwilling to bend. He gives a curt shake of his head.

Oh, he wants to say so much, you can sense it.

But his lips seal into a tight line.  “No… that is all.” 

The silence that follows is taut, punctuated only by the retreating sound of two sets of boots against the marble.

Dinner tonight is silent, save for the clink of spoons against ceramic plates. Zeke, per usual, sits at the head of the grand table, with you and Anatolios at his sides, bathed in the warm orange light of the fireplace that crackles on the other side of the dining room. 

Zeke has always preferred the intimacy of candlelit dinners over the cold brightness of chandeliers. You think he must love the dancing shadows and the way they drape across his features, or the way the warmth from the fire lulls his mind into a stationary state.

Yet, the ever-present stoicism on his face belies a mind that is not in motion.

Right now, that mind seems to be preoccupied with something, and you have a feeling it is more than a strategy for the festival next week. But his lips remain sealed, as if they are pressed under a weight he dares not let up.

You glance at your cousin, and the way he absent-mindedly swirls the wine in his goblet makes you think he, too, is in a place you cannot reach.

You clear your throat. Of course, no one looks up.

“Zeke,” you murmur, your voice a gentle ripple in the stillness, and he responds with a hum - a potato poised on his spoon. At the mention of the King’s name, Anatolios snaps out of his stupor and takes a small sip of his wine. “What is it that you think of?”

Zeke pauses, his spoon halfway to his mouth, and his gaze slowly rises to meet yours. The firelight flickers in his eyes, and for a second, they look inviting. “It is the quiet,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. “It is louder than usual tonight.”

Anatolios rolls his eyes, as if such a declaration has exhausted him. He slumps in his chair, signalling his disinterest in the conversation.

You purse your lips. “The quiet?”

Zeke slowly nods and shovels his food into his mouth. “Yes, the quiet.” You grasp your knife and begin to carve through the flesh of the meat on your plate. It is rough. “As we wait for a plausible war, I find the silence unsettling. I crane my ear for the sound of weaponry, for the cry of soldiers, the screams of civilians. But I hear nothing. Nothing. Nothing but the sound of my heavy breaths as I wonder how I’ll govern this kingdom through turmoil.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster at the sight of your fraught husband. You and Zeke have been wed for nine years. 108 moons. Yet, there are times when you feel you do not know him at all.

He smiles at you sadly, his eyes lidded behind his thick-rimmed glasses. “It makes me feel mad,” he admits. “To wish for the cacophony of chaos. For something to fill that gap.”

“It isn’t unusual. I share the same sentiment, as does the rest of the council, I am sure.” You aren’t.

“From that unsatisfactory meeting earlier, I doubt it,” Anatolios mutters, but his words fall on deaf ears. 

Zeke sighs and pushes away his plate, his appetite waning. You watch as he runs his finger along the rim of his golden goblet, a familiar gesture he often employs during meetings. It calms him, he once told you.

You suppose tonight is no different.

Zeke peers down at his full cup, swirling its contents and watching as the crimson liquid rises to the brim. It almost spills over the edge, and you are certain that he will let it.

But then, he sets it down, allowing the wine to settle back into its centre.

Zeke then turns to you, his eyes probing your face as if searching for solace. “Tell me, my queen. How do you think this all shall end?”

Your fingers tighten around your utensils, and you cannot help but think he asks you because he already knows the answer. He just wants to hear you refute it. To comfort him.

To bring him peace.

Yet, you cannot find it within yourself to lie. Not tonight. Not with the festival so near.

So, you set your cutlery down and lean towards him. You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and grazing your thumb over his knuckles. His skin is rough, and dry, and everything a king’s hand shouldn’t be.

But it is his.

You kiss his palm and look him in the eye. Zeke appears to be holding his breath, waiting for your response. Waiting for the truth that he knows is coming, that he knows he’ll hate.

The harshness of it. The intrusion of it. The transparency of it.

Yet, he craves it all - like a madman. And so, you tell him the truth he knew all along:

“War.”

Zeke closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, as if he had been holding it in for ages. Your cousin, on the other hand, groans loud enough to raise the dead.

Zeke rises from his seat, releases your hand, and saunters towards the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. His body casts a long shadow across the floor, a darkness that sweeps over you and Anatolios.

“If a war is what you fear - if death is what you fear…cancel the festival, your majesty. Cancel it,” you plead.

He scoffs. “A centuries old tradition? To cancel it would be a disrespect to Lysandra. To our people. Anarchists would thrive.”

“And would they not thrive amidst the news of a massacre?” Your voice shoots up an octave. You clear your throat.

Zeke whirls around and levels you with a glare. Yet, it does not frighten you. You know he isn't angry. Rather, he is hurt.

Because you're right. And he hates that you are.

He holds your gaze as the light from the fire bathes half of his face, leaving the other in the dark. The flames wobble, mocking your distress.

Then, with a long, weary sigh, he looks away and shuts his eyes that have seen far too much. His hand finds its way through the golden tangles of his hair before coming to rest at the bridge of his nose. He pinches it, a desperate attempt to relieve the tension that riddles his body, the tautness of his face. 

It does not work.

Zeke then glances at Anatolios, who regards him with an empty stare. 

And then he looks down, ashamed. “It is not that simple.”

It never is, you think. It’s not supposed to be.

You grip your goblet and down the wine, emptying the glass until there is nothing left but the bitter taste of defeat.

[shadowqueenjude]

Thankfully, Lorcan looked as uncomfortable as he did, clad in black. If you wore anything else, Aelin had tutted to Lorcan, the world would turn on its head. So burial-black it is.

Lorcan had rolled his eyes. But Rowan had glimpsed Elide’s face when he’d spotted her and Lysandra in the hall off the throne room moments before. Had seen the love and desire when she beheld Lorcan in his new clothes. And wondered how soon this hall would be hosting a wedding.

[thewickedspinster]

requests are open!

hi there! i've been around for a while, but i'm just now starting to engage and post here for myself. i'm a writer, mostly of fanfic but also of some other wips, and i want to extend my services to the tumblr side of the internet! i write for a slew of characters that are all wildly different, which i'll list below. send a message to my inbox with your ideas! i'll hear anything out and let ya know if i'm cool with it.

also, here's a link to my acotar fic on ao3 should you desire proof that i can, in fact, write:

the lineup:

sjm universe

azriel

cassian

nesta archeron

elain archeron

eris vanserra

lucien vanserra

aedion ashryver

chaol westfall

rowan whitethorn

fenrys moonbeam

lysandra

ruhn danaan

tharion ketos (sue me)

harry potter

james potter

remus lupin

harry potter

ron weasley

fred weasley

hermione granger

cedric diggory

lotr

aragorn

legolas

thranduil

maedhros

thorin oakenshield

misc

carmy berzatto (the bear)

tristan caine (the atlas six)

callum nova (the atlas six)

parisa kamali (the atlas six)

matthias helvar (six of crows)

nikolai lanstov (king of scars)

honestly ask me and i'll probably be happy to write abt them!

[starsreminisce]

I'm not the least bit concerned about the fate of Elucien.

In SJM's body of work, relationships tied to the fated mate trope rarely have a smooth start. Whether it's Rowan and Aelin, Rhysand and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, Aedion and Lysandra, Chaol and Yrene, or Hunt and Bryce, they all face significant challenges.

Bryce's story, in particular, is relevant here. Given her resistance to her fae heritage and the concept of mates, it's understandable to question how she would navigate such a connection. Elain, too, finds herself in a unique situation with a mating bond, engaged to someone plotting against their kind and suddenly mated to someone she's only heard of through Feyre.

Lucien had long believed that the person he wanted to marry, murdered by Beron, was his mate. This belief shifted when he locked eyes with Elain.

My confidence in their eventual union stems from both the bond they share and SJM's own words. The quote about whether it was designed a long time ago, and they just need to realize it, suggests a narrative waiting to unfold. This is the story I'm eager to explore — how they will come to this realization.

SJM excels in creating well-rounded characters whose relationships work based on personalities, desires, and needs, with or without a bond. Even without the bond, Elucien stands as an evenly matched couple, a pattern consistent throughout SJM's works.

Elucien's destiny doesn't deviate from this formula, especially after the events of ACOSF.

[shyvioletcat]

AELIN WEEK: DAY ONE

~ Beltane ~

Happy Aelin week everyone! I know it’s late but that’s kinda my thing. I hope you enjoy this and don’t forget to check out @rowaelinscourt​ for more.

~~~~~

Aelin sat in front of her mirror, finishing up the minor touches to her hair and face. Lysandra had been helping her prepare for tonight—weaving braids through her golden hair, setting the crown atop them, applying cosmetics to her face. It had been months since Aelin had made a public appearance outside of council meetings and smaller responsibilities she could manage around the castle. The early months of pregnancy had taken its toll, and that was all too clear from the paleness of her face and the slight pinch to her features. Tonight she needed to look the part of a regal, resplendent Queen, and examining herself in the mirror she agreed that she looked the part. 

The near constant nausea and exhaustion had forced Aelin to slow down, become less involved, much to the delight of her fussing mate. He had always claimed that she did too much and she had needed to take a step back. But tonight… This was her night. Always had been. 

Beltane belonged to Aelin of the Wildfire. 

Satisfied with her appearance Aelin gave her reflection a smile and stood, smoothing out the swathes of fabric of the dress she had chosen for tonight. With light layers of reds and oranges, and gold thread woven throughout, she looked like a living flame herself. There were thin drapes of fabric that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. The neckline might have been more modest than she would have liked, but it was still elegant and was shown off by the hairstyle that kept all her hair off her neck to combat the early summer heat. At that moment Rowan stepped back into the bedroom, he had been doing gods knew what while she had readied herself. He was dressed in his finest too, his colours less ostentatious though, favouring greys and dark greens like he always did. It didn’t make him any less handsome. 

Rowan had been fiddling with his cuff as he walked into the room, that button or loose thread keeping his attention while Aelin waited for him to notice her. She knew he would appreciate the effort she had gone into her presentation tonight, it was all she could think about while Lysandra had fluttered around her. Once the excitement and joy over the pregnancy had somewhat faded, and the strain on her body had set in, Aelin had struggled to feel like herself. It had been weeks of feeling less than of who she desired to be and like a stranger in her own body. But in this moment she was an image of herself she could at least somewhat recognise. The part of her that delighted in teasing him had certainly reawakened and was waiting for the opportunity to see his reaction. Her impatience almost had her clearing her throat to get him to shift his attention.

“Fireheart, I—”

Aelin had rendered him speechless, after ten years she could still steal the air from his lungs without the need of the wind magic he favoured. Rowan’s assessing eyes ran over her, from head to toe, and Aelin watched as they softened. She had indeed caught his attention, noting how his gaze lingered on her middle.

“You and I both know that there is next to nothing there,” Aelin said, her hands running over her stomach.

She wasn’t showing, not yet. Besides a tightness on her stomach that Rowan had been the one to point out, Aelin didn’t visibly look pregnant. The dress however had been cut to accentuate what might be there. With the waistline set just under her bust and a split of darker fabric over the lighter with a small gathering in the centre, it made it look like there was more of swell than there was.  

“Aelin,” her name was said with a reverence. “You look beautiful.”

The smile that appeared on her face only ever came to her when she was with Rowan. There was an uncharacteristic shyness to it, something only he managed to bring out in her. 

“You would say that, our child had bewitched you,” Aelin said, a hand fiddling the dress at her shoulder. 

Rowan stalked towards her, not denying her words. When he reached her, he ran his hands all the way up her bare arms to cup her face. It was hard to miss the look of pure adoration he was giving her. 

“Can I kiss you, or do I have to wait until after your big moment?”

As much as she wanted it, Aelin knew that a kiss from her husband would ruin all Lysandra’s hard work. This kiss would have to be cautious—an attribute neither of them were known for. 

“You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid,” Aelin conceded. 

“I can wait,” Rowan assured her. He stepped back, but his touch lingered, now resting on her stomach. “I do love this dress.”

Aelin rested her hand over his, pushing it flatter against her. “I thought you might.”

There was sharp and precise knocking on their bedroom door, an announcement and a warning. It was a brave person who approached the royal bedroom without invitation. There were only a few daring enough to do so.

“It’s time,” Aedion called, and then he stepped through the door. “Oh good, you’re still dressed.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, picking up her skirts. “Your lady wife would be most upset if I ruined all her hard work.”

“She immediately had to wrangle Rue into a tense compliance, so you would be right,” Aedion explained, holding the door like he was ushering them out. Like if he did not they would stay in that room and find something else to do. It wouldn’t be the first time they would need a chaperone to keep them on task.

But not tonight, Aelin was more than committed to performing her queenly duty and didn’t need encouragement. She took Rowan’s hand and led the way through the castle. 

The Beltane festivities would take place in the courtyard at the base of the castle steps. The gates would be open and the people of the city could celebrate around the fires and alters that had been prepared. Aelin would address them and commence the festivities, using her magic to do so. They would also officially announce the pregnancy to her people, her country—to the world. The prospect was both exciting and mildly terrifying. Rumours had spread, of course, but without an official declaration they had been able to enjoy these early months or relative privacy. Aelin was not ignorant of possibilities the revelation of an heir might bring. Maeve’s words still often rang in her ears. 

More than that, the death of her parents still left scars. It had shown Aelin in the cruellest way that in their world no one was untouchable. And announcing their vulnerabilities might invite unwanted attention from the wrong people. What gave her comfort was not only her own powers, but the force and dedication of her inner court who would give anything to protect what was dear to them, as this child would be. Aelin shook her head to clear such thoughts, a night of celebration was no such time to dwell on something like this. 

“Aelin,” Rowan said softly, no doubt noticing the shift in her demeanour due to her dark thoughts. “Are you all right?” 

“Yes, Buzzard. I’m fine,” Aelin assured him, holding onto his arm to bring them closer together. “My mind just ran away from me, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? Because we can—”

Aelin’s laughter cut him off. “You would like nothing more that to hole ourselves up in our bedroom and ignore the world outside

Rowan gave her the barest hint of a smile. “You say that like it’s a bad idea.” 

“Not bad, just mistimed,” Aelin said. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

Aelin didn’t allow herself to see his reaction, because whether it was a smirk or a soft growl, it might just convince her to go back upstairs and follow through with his idea. And they were nearly at the front gates. Seeing her court gathered there brought a smile to Aelin’s face. Lysandra and Aedion were indeed trying to contain the whirlwind that was their son, and the Lochan family were in their own little huddle. Lorcan held their son, Korbin’s hand weaving through his father’s hair. Fenrys was there as well conversing with Evangeline, making her smile. This was Aelin’s family—they had been through all the hells imaginable and made it through to meet each other on the other side. By next Beltane there would be another member to join in the celebrations. 

That thought did have her turning to her mate as scenes of their tiny child playing around the firelight filled her mind. Rowan would hold their child safe in his arms, their faces aglow as he smiled at her. It was so clear, so attainable, it made Aelin giddy. Her hand rested on her stomach and the promise that lay there.

“Are we ready?” Aelin announced to the group.

“Are you?” Elide asked. “We only have to stand there and look pretty.”

“I was under the impression that our appealing features were the only reason you accepted us into this court, your Majesty,” Fenrys quipped. “Lorcan the exception of course.”

“We keep him around for his sense of humour, don’t we?” Aelin taunted. That was met it’s a single scowl and plenty of laughter. 

Aelin went to step through the doors, her court behind her, her mate by her side. It took one look at Rowan for him to know what she needed just a little and he lent down and pressed a careful kiss to her cheek. That was all the bolstering she needed as she pushed on the heavy wooden doors. 

Outside it was loud, voices of what might have been hundreds of people milling around the courtyard. Aelin would stand above them at the top of the stairs, a small pile of wood beside her to mimic the larger ones in the courtyard. When stepped forward into the view of everyone a cheer went through the crowd and she knew what they saw. The way her hands cradled her stomach accentuated it. 

“Good people of Orynth,” Aelin projected her voice as much as she could, to reach as many people as he could. “Tonight we celebrate Beltane, to bring blessing and luck to our harvests, to start the seasons anew. These fires will purify and bring life to our fair country. I invite you to place your offerings, seek the blessing you wish for in your heart, and I hope like mine, they come to fruition.” For Aelin this time in her life represented a conciliation of the old and the new, a new beginning. A fitting symbol for Beltane, especially how close fertility was associated with these festivities. Aelin glanced down at her stomach and Rowan took his place by her side. When she looked out to her people she was smiling. “And I am delighted to announce a bright light for our future. I am with child, Terrasen will have an heir and I promise to raise them to love, honour and respect according to what our fair country deserves. I hope that you will join me in celebrating this joyous announcement tonight.”

They’d take her fire back to their homes.

Rowan's hand tightened on her waist as the cheering got louder. Aelin’s own hand became wreathed in flame and it took half a thought to light the half a dozen bonfires. Shouts of excitement went up and warmth bloomed in her chest. These people would take her fire back to their homes, to warm their hearths and sustain them. It served as a promise that Aelin would provide for them as long as that was within her power. It felt so natural to turn into Rowan’s embrace and for him to pull her closer. And even though the city of Orynth looked on, he kissed her. The world fell away in that moment as the hopes for their future burned as bright as the flames below. 

~~~~~

They had retreated to an inner, more secluded courtyard for a private celebration. A large fire burned in the centre of it and there was a smaller one for jumping. After lighting both, Aelin had taken time to sit, eat and drink before she joined in the festivities. Rowan made sure she had everything she needed, his fussiness kicking in after she had confessed that she was hungry. She was full now and ready to join in the dancing. Searching for her chosen partner, she found that Rowan had the small boys over by the food table, one hanging from each arm. It was an endearing sight, and she’d let them play. 

Aelin left her seat and had barely made it three steps when Fenrys appeared in front of her, hand extended as he gave her a courtly bow. “Would you like to dance?”

Aelin returned the gesture with a short curtsy. “Indeed I would.”

Taking the fae male’s hand and the invitation, Aelin smiled. Fenrys spun her into the firelight, leading her through the steps of the dance. Almost immediately the dress became a nuisance and Aelin paused to regrettably and carefully singe off the last few inches of it so that the length wouldn’t hinder her movements. She had no desire to cut her evening short by tripping over or twisting her ankle. 

Fenrys was an excellent partner, and she was almost sorry to leave him when the dance changed and Aelin spun on. Aedion was a little less enthusiastic but she wouldn’t hold that against him. He was more warrior than courtier—always had been. So Aelin circled around the fire, her magic unwittingly reaching out to the flames and making them dance as well. It wasn’t until her feet started to hurt and she felt a little breathless that her mate appeared, intercepting her spin before she could meet whichever partner was next. He immediately slowed the tempo of her movements, bringing her in closer to support some of her weight.

“Rowan,” she chastised. 

“Fireheart, you’re going to trip going that fast,” he said softly, even though Aelin could feel the concern pounding through him.

Aelin held in her snort of laughter. “No one was going to let that happen. I even shortened my dress as a preventative measure.”

Rowan actually stepped back to inspect her work, satisfied it was enough he pulled her back into his space. “You’ll tire yourself out.”

“I deserve to. I’ve been cooped up too long,” Aelin bemoaned—still not admitting that the pace he’d set was exactly what she needed. “You fuss too much.”

“I know,” he added with sincere honesty and utterly shameless. 

“Dance with me, please,” Aelin asked.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “I am dancing with you.”

“Really dance with me,” Aelin was nearly pleading. “And then I’ll sit down and rest for a while. I promise.”

“I’m powerless to deny you,” was his answer. 

The fiddles and the drums played a steady beat, guiding them through step by step. This time Aelin kept her partner, Rowan’s hand was on her waist and the other clasped her’s. Memories of their first Beltane together rose and Aelin wondered what might have happened if the burnout had not consumed her. Would Rowan have stayed or flown back to his room? Could she have convinced him to jump the fires with her? Or would he have left her to celebrate on her own? Aelin laughed to herself when she realised that might be the likeliest answer. He would have brooded the night away in the shadows while she spent her night by the warmth of the fire, then returned to her cold room. 

“What is so funny, love?” Rowan asked. 

“Just remembering how grumpy you were when we first met,” Aelin said, teasing her mate. “More than ten years and it still astounds me.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed playfully, any ire lost when his lips twisted upwards. “Was I to blame?”

“I suppose not,” Aelin agreed. 

“What else were you thinking about?” Rowan urged brushing his lips over her temple.

Aelin melted just that little more into him. “Hmm, just the past.”

“And?” He pressed. “Tell me?”

“I was thinking back to our first, and very eventful, Beltane,” Aelin confessed. “And I was wondering what might have happened if the burnout did not happen.”

“Oh, I see.” 

This time it was Aelin who slowed them down. “What would you have done?”

“I would have stayed,” Rowan said. 

Aelin started grinning. “Would you have danced with me?”

With all the utter seriousness only a three hundred year old immortal fae could muster Rowan said, “Absolutely not.”

Aelin’s laughter rang throughout the courtyard as Rowan spun her, the song ending just as she was enveloped in his arms again. They stood there even as another song started and Rowan cupped her face, kissing her sweetly. 

“Is that enough dancing for now?” Rowan asked. 

Aelin caught the underlying meaning of his words. I think it’s time to rest. And this time he may have been right.

“Yes, I think so.” She ignored the small look of triumph on Rowan’s face. 

Rowan led the way to the chairs on the edges of the gathering and then promptly left to get her a drink. In the meantime Ruben and Korbin ran up to her, their faces delighted and covered in soot. 

“And what can I do for you, little lords?” Aelin asked.

“We want to jump the fire!” Ruben said. “Can we? Can you?”

“Of course I can,” Aelin replied, resting a hand on each of their heads. “Are you ready?”

The two boys nodded, thrumming with excitement. Not too far away Aelin willed a fire to appear, small with heatless flames to keep the children safe. Korbin was first, taking a run up that did almost nothing to increase his height over the fire. Ruben wasn’t too far behind, whooping for joy as the flames tickled his feet. Over and over the two boys jumped, Aelin making the embers dance around them. 

Her power thrived, her joy and her magic becoming one in the same. The thing Aelin had once most feared was now celebrated and accepted. What she had fought for and dreamed of had come to be. The babe growing within her was part of that, and her greatest joy of all. 

“Aelin,” the sighing chastisement came from beside her and she knew she would see the long suffering face of her mate. 

She gave him a look of innocence. “Yes, dearest husband.”

“You said you would rest,” he told her.

“This little fire is nothing,” Aelin said with a twist of her hand that had the flame moving the same way. “How could I say no to them?”

Just then the two boys jumped at the same time, hand in hand. Rowan didn’t say anything more as he handed a drink over, his eyes lingering on the children. He was no doubt imagining what she did, a small silver-headed child between them, laughing as they too made the jump for good luck. 

“Just a little while longer, I promise,” Aelin said as she tugged on Rowan’s hand to bring him down into the seat beside her.

“Of course, Fireheart.” Rowan sat, the two of them happy to just observe for a while. 

In the end, it took the children being collected by their parents before Aelin let the flames go. Lady and Lord Lochan retired to their rooms for the evening. Aedion led his family back to the fire for another dance. For a while longer Aelin was content to stay where she was and just watch. The heat of the day was gone and the flames provided a comfortable warmth to her bared skin. Aelin’s hand dragged comfortingly over her stomach. The motion was soothing and was guiding her exhaustion to the surface. But she didn’t want to retire for the night, not just yet.

“One more dance?” Rowan had all but read her thoughts. 

Aelin just nodded, letting Rowan pull her from her seat. The music had slowed now, it was no longer the frenzied melodies that urged quick steps and reckless movements. Rowan spun her in a slow circle, but quick enough that the skirts of her dress fluttered about her feet. Aelin draped her arms around his neck, and his hands found a place low on her hips. 

They did little more than sway to the music, foreheads pressed together. For just a little while longer Aelin wanted to bask in the warmth of the firelight and the perfection that this moment held.

~~~~

[writtenonreceipts]

Am I slightly evil? Yes. But that’s besides the point. I would love a what if Aelin was actually pregnant in Empire of Storms. DRAMA! ANGST! OH NO MAEVE! 🫣 do ur worst. Literally.

Thanks for sending this in!! <3 It's been a while since I read the book, lol. My reread came to a screeching halt a little while ago. SO! Some points will not occur as they did in the book because i have no memory. Anyways...canon au/divergence. Partial EOS/KOA rewrite. 

find my other works here

READ ME--Warnings: torture, brief allusion to sexual assault, pain, violence, discussion of miscarriage and death. ANGST. you've been warned. Maybe happy ending???

~6.4k words

.*.*.*.*.

Until the Bitter End of Eternity

First, there was darkness. Thick and heavy and enough to make the entire world disappear.  It was a darkness that slipped not just across her eyes but into her mind.  Even when she tried, she couldn’t remember what day break looked like.  She couldn’t remember the way the sun scraped over the Staghorns or gleamed across the sea. She couldn’t remember the shade of green that soothed her soul.

Second, there was pain. Hot as it burned on skin and bore through flesh and into bone.  And she knew her pain.  Her life was a continuous cycle of torture, of broken bones and skin.  She had endured it all over and over.  But this…this was a fresh hell.

Third, there was terror. Sharp in the way it drilled one thought repeatedly over and over into her head.  Dry in the way that it leeched everything else from her.

Aelin had no choice but to feel each of these things. She had no choice but to let each thought and each feeling and each idea encompass her. Because it meant that she was alive. And to be alive was to be one step closer to returning to her mate (her mate, was that even possible?) and to be alive meant that the little flutter deep in her belly was real.

Perhaps she should regret not telling him. Instead, she'd told Lysandra. Begged Lysandra for help, for support, for confirmation. And her friend had assured her it would be fine. Assured her she was strong enough. Assured her that she would support Aelin if a certain choice needed to be made.

She should regret not having one more moment with Rowan, one last taste of hope that they could be together. A family.

"Well, well," a lilting voice permeated the darkness. And even when Aelin opened her eyes, even when she tried to seek out the light, there was nothing. "Niece, I thought you were stronger than this. But your fear.  My, my. How did you ever gain a following? You're so close to falling apart, aren't you?"

Aelin dragged in a breath, the tang of iron and mold coating her tongue and burrowing in her lungs.  A chill ran across her limbs, licking up any remnant of sweat.  It took far too long to remember the coffin. She was trapped.  Entombed.  Locked away to be be saved for death.  Maybe she’d pushed it too far back in her mind.  Maybe she’d tried to give herself some sort of protection.

But it came racing back now in the desire to reach out and throttle that cruel little voice that echoed through the silence.

"No witty words? Fireheart?"

Bile rose in Aelin’s throat as the moniker crossed Maeve's lips. The cruel fae queen was trying to rile her up, trying to make Aelin betray herself.  She swallowed the acid down.

Breathe, she thought. Just breathe.

"Don't worry,” Maeve continued, "I'll be gentle. For now."

And that cruel fae queen began the torture she’d always promised.

...

The coffin was cold. Impenetrable. And Aelin was acutely aware of the empty recesses to her magic.

It made her feel lost, distant, utterly remote from everything and anything. As a child and into her young adult years, she'd repressed her magic so much that she'd convinced herself she'd never had it.  She’d convinced herself that it was a mere fantasy made up by a poor little girl struggling with reality. But after learning what it was and how to control it, she'd truly understood what it meant to be that wildfire she was so often called.

For a wildfire was more than just a force to be reckoned with.

And now, encased in iron and darkness, her skin burned in desperation. She needed to burn. She needed to feel again.

She didn't know how long she remained in that coffin. It could have been hours; it could have been days. It could have been millennia.

And the one thing that should have been a comfort, that small flutter of life in her womb, was only another cruel thing to use against her.  Because just by existing, that life was the cruelest torture the gods had given her.

Aelin managed to brush her hand over her belly. Given the limited space of the coffin, it was a bit awkward, but it comforted her. It gave her just a little bit of hope, even for just the bare moment she gave herself.  She had to be careful.  She couldn’t let Maeve know.  She couldn’t let her guards know.

As soon as they did, they would use it against her.  And she couldn't bear what that would entail.

After what felt like years locked away with her own mind, there was finally the sound of rattling chains and grating stone.  And then a strike of light fell across her face making her flinch. It had been so long since she'd been touched by light. So long since she'd felt it so freely on her skin. She didn't like it. She didn't trust it.

The coffin opened with a heavy groan and cool air rushed over Aelin, brushing her limbs, her face.

It tasted like salt and wood and death.

She didn't have time to adjust to it when large, calloused hands took hold and yanked her from the coffin. Aelin couldn’t keep her feet as she was set on the ground. She tried. She tried to hold onto that pride that had once so securely owned her. She tried to find that fire that once burned within her. She tried. But it wasn't enough.

Her feet slid on cold marble and her body fell against the outside of the iron coffin. She didn't have time to relax against it though. The cruel hands were back, digging into the flesh of her arms and forcing her to her feet.

Aelin bit back a moan of pain at being forced to move, to walk. She hadn’t been able to stretch within the coffin and her body had grown so used to not moving that even this motion nearly sent her to her knees.

But the male beside her wouldn't let her fall. He was quiet with his harsh eyes and beautiful face turned forward. The only acknowledgment she had that he was aware of her was the way his fingers clung to her skin.

She looked there, his tanned skin a contrast to her own. She could already see the bruises that would come from this. She could already taste the blood that would coat her tongue when Maeve would inevitably have him beat her.

Once she might have tried to tease him. Endovier hadn't broken her, Arobynn hadn’t either.  Would she really allow Maeve the dishonor? The little flutter of life in her belly was all the answer she needed.

No. Aelin wouldn't be broken not for the possibility of hope and the image of a boy with his father's pine green eyes.  Or maybe a girl with long silver hair that would dance among the forest with flowers in her hands.

What little strength she had went to shielding her stomach and protecting the innocent life. There was no guarantee that this would work for long, no promise that she’d carry to term, not with what she'd already been through and would continue to suffer.

It would take a miracle.  And Aelin was sure she’d used all hers up.

Maeve would drag her within an inch of her life. And this little soul would face it too. Bile rose in Aelin’s throat as she thought about that.

The male beside her yanked Aelin to a stop just before the great doors that would lead to Maeve's throne room.

"The queen desires an audience," the male said, his curling blonde hair falling into his eyes. Aelin thought she recognized him as one of Rowan's Cadre.

She met his gaze and lifted her chin, ready to accept her fate.

...

The blood on her lips never stayed dry for long.

Even in her dreams, when she managed to sleep, Aelin was covered in red. It dibbled between her teeth, stained her gums, tainted her lips. Iron and salt were her only companion.

Her dreams never varied.

They were filled with images of forests wide and free. They sang of vast skies and warm burning suns. They hummed with magic that kissed her skin. But most importantly there was Rowan.

Rowan with his commanding presence. Rowan with his cold eyes and hard demeanor. Rowan who was her salvation and hope. Rowan who she could never quite keep close enough. No matter how she tried to chase after, to reach him, it was never enough. He would remain just out of her grasp and Aelin would be alone until her mind spiraled to the edge of an abyss of black.

Alone.

And then she would wake. And Maeve would beat and abuse her again. Again. Again.

Each time she would tell Aelin to give up, to release her magic, to allow Maeve access to her mind. Maeve sought to destroy her and Aelins will was chipped away.

Everyday Aelin would hold on though. She would think about that life within her, that perfect innocent life that she would hold onto. That life that would be a perfect mix of her and Rowan. That life that would live to know peace and hope.

So when the whips came out and the chains rattled on the stone floor, Aelin let her mind return to the darkest shadows of her subconscious that had given birth to Celaena. And as Cairn whispered threats into her ear and his hand were rough and cruel upon her skin, Aelin remembered where she had been and how far she had come.

Even as leather bit into her back and ruined the tattoos that marked her life—Aelin’s mind stayed locked.

Even when she would let out the inevitable scream—Aelin’s heart stayed strong.

Even when her nails tore and tears streamed—Aelin’s will stayed firm.

And when her body was torn and bruised and she returned to the coffin that wouldn't let her die, Aelin found herself staring at that male who led her to her daily torture.  He was harsh and cruel and vile.  The only thing she could think was that she would delight to see his blood on her hands.  

When he didn’t whip her, Cairn would take a knife to her skin and carve into her flesh.  Often it was useless strikes and cuts.  Other times there were words.  Aelin would watch the blood drip down her skin and pool on the marble of the throne room.  It was strange seeing such things etched into her skin.  Strange to have them burned into her eyes.  Stranger still to feel the way the blood oozed in tracks along her arms.  Her legs.  Her back.

It was wicked and cruel and the male delighted in it.

Every time he drew blood his lips were at her ear. Do you like that, little princess? When her breath would stutter in her lungs he would draw a finger along her jaw. Let me hear you beg, bitch.

Maeve would always heal her though.  She took away the marks at the end of a week.  What fun was it when the subject of your ire was too cut up to feel anything?

Still. Aelin didn’t beg.  She didn’t plead. She only stared forward at the male across the hall who brought her here on his queen’s order.

Fenrys never did speak to her. Only blink. Only blink and offer the barest hints of pressure as his fingers left her skin and delivered her to her prison once again.

...

She remembered the first time she wanted to die.

It was when she was in Arobynn's care. He had shown her how to slit a man's throat from a myriad of positions.  This being when she was trapped beneath him. His hands would wander and he’d carefully arrange her just the way he wanted.

He taught her the best way to hold the knife. The best angle to cut. He called her his good girl and praised the chaos she would cause.  And then he threw her to the wolves.

As she stared into Maeve’s eyes one day she imagined she could see Arobynn there. The cold delight, the deadly precision, the lack of empathy and care.

Aelin was in a mask of iron. A headpiece that covered her face so only her eyes could see slits of light and color. There was a mouthpiece she was forced to clamp down on with spikes that tore her tongue and the soft flesh of her cheeks and gums. Iron and faebane forged together that caused tears and blood to roll down her face.

Aelin didn't know how long she'd been held. She didn't know how long she'd been directing her magic to protect her baby. From what she could tell there'd been no growth. She was sick often enough that maybe, maybe, maybe it was okay. But she could have lost it and would never know what had finally done it. Only that she hadn't been strong enough.

She was strung up in chains and the iron mask deep in the recesses of Maeve’s palace.  Had been for long enough that she stank of piss and vomit.  She hadn’t been able to help either occurrence.  

As her mind wandered from consciousness to dreams, she fought to focus on something other than the darkness, the pain, the terror.  She tried to find something to hold onto.  When she tried to think of the babe—it nearly sent her into hysterics.  After all, she likely killed the child by submitting to this torture.  She wasn’t strong enough to hold off the true pain and agony.  She couldn’t protect herself so how, how could she protect that innocent life?

She came to herself as the door of her cell eased open.  Aelin snapped to attention, ignoring the pain that tore through her body.

In the dull light from behind the door she could make out the shape of a male.  Aelin pulled away even as the brackets around her wrists dug into the worn and tender flesh. 

It had to be Cairn.  She knew it did.  He’d told her many times over that one of these days he’d come to her.  He’d break her.  He’d see her on her back as he—

“Aelin.”

A soft voice.  Far kinder than what she’d expected.

Aelin blinked through tears and the fog surrounding her mind.  Through the slits of the mask she could make out the face of Fenrys Moonbeam.

“We don’t have time,” he murmured.  

His hands went to the chains at her wrists, making quick work of the locks.  As the chains fell away, Aelin collapsed forward.  Fenrys caught her easily, his strong arms supporting her as he took care of the chains at her ankles.

“I can’t get the mask,” he said, “not strong enough.  Aelin.  Look at me.”

A shudder of pain rippled through her.  Her tongue cut on one of the spikes in her mouth and blood trickled down her throat.  She gagged.

“Aelin,” Fenrys said again. “You have to run.  I can get you to the woods but from there you’re on your own.  Do you hear me?  There is only so long she will be distracted.”

His words slowly pieced together in her mind.  Run.  Escape.  Freedom.

A hand dropped to her abdomen.  She couldn’t help it.  She wouldn’t apologize for it.  And maybe, maybe there was something there.

“Run.” she managed to spit through the iron gag in her mouth the rutted mask around her.

Fenrys wasted no time in leading her through the dungeons.

He supported most of her weight even when she came to herself.  They were practically flying down different pathways and channels.  Soon, the dank stench of excrement and blood dissipated and was replaced by something sweeter, fresher.

“Almost there,” Fenrys murmured into her ear.

Aelin barely managed a hum in response.  She was too busy trying to find one more ounce of strength somewhere in her bones.

A light appeared at the end of the corridor they were moving down.  So small, Aelin almost missed it.  But the faster Fenrys moved the closer the light came.  It was real.  So real that in a few hundred yards they came to a grate that led out into freedom.

Fenrys ushed Aelin through the bars but didn’t follow.  His fae eyes gleamed in the shadows and she could feel a preternatural power roll off of him.

“Run straight to the trees,” Fenrys told her. “Don’t stop.  You cannot stop.  You cannot give up.  Not yet.  He’ll find you; do you understand?  He will find you.”

Rowan. She thought.  She could only blink her response before Fenrys was shoving her out into the daylight.

It was so different from what she remembered.  It wasn’t silent or still.  Rather, there was a wind rustling in the trees, a bird in the distance.  She could feel cold moss beneath her toes and a dampness in the air of a coming rain.

It was clean and pure and—

Run.

Her knees buckled at the first step.  Her legs forgot that they knew this motion.  She tried again with another step.  Another.  Another.  Step upon step upon step that would take her directly into the trees.

Her bare feet dug into the detritus of the forest floor.  Leave and sticks and dirt kicked up beneath her frantic scrambles.  It didn’t help that her vision was so limited with the mask.  She could hardly see one step in front of her, let alone two.

It was taking her too long to move.  She knew it.  She could feel a shift in the air. 

What had Fenrys done to provide a distraction?  Had anyone else helped him?  She had no idea what would have been enough to drag Maeve away from the castle, away from Aelin when she was so close to breaking.

Somewhere behind her, she heard a scream.  A roar, really.  Something loud and violent that send a shudder through the forest.

Cairn.  It had to be.  She, his little play thing, was gone.  He would come find her, she knew he would.

Aelin pushed herself forward.  A tree nearly tossed her off balance but she kept moving. Quicker now. One step in front of the other as her knees picked up.  There were far too many brambles and roots to keep her trajectory straight, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.  Not with one hand cradling her stomach that she swore was rounded just a bit.  She hadn’t completely lost her mind, had she?

She couldn’t stop as her senses filled with clean air and fresh upturned earth.  All around her, the forest was coming alive with fluttering wings and scampering paws.  This was where she belonged, wasn’t it?  Wild and free.

She ran.  

She ran until her body was begging for relief.  Until she could feel the wounds along her body burst and new blood rolled down her frame.  Maeve hadn’t healed her for this week yet.

The blood would make it easier for Cairn to track.  It would be easier for him to hunt her down and finish what he’d started.

Each of her nerve endings lit up as though they were on fire.  All across her body, she felt as though she were disintegrating back into that pathetic ball of utter shame.  She couldn’t even run properly let alone get herself to freedom without help.  She was—

There was a shift in the air.

It was sudden and stark on her skin.  She felt as though she’d stepped into a wall of ice as a chill wrapped around her, curling into every curve and angle of her body.  She knew that feeling.  She had felt it on many occasions before.  Back when she’d been a flickering flame on the verge of burnout and he’d been there to ground her.  

Aelin gasped for air desperate for a taste of the world around her.

Rowan. Pine and snow and sweet sweet relief. Rowan. Rowan. Rowan. Aelin stumbled in her frantic run. She could smell him. He was so close she could feel him and his strength and as desperation rolled through her, Aelin found her magic slowly unfurling. It quivered within her as it slowly rolled forth.

Rowan.

Rowan

Rowan.

She kept running. Running until she heard something in the trees around her. Running until she could smell magic in the air. Running until she burst into a clearing, stumbling to her knees. All the strength she’d put forth was eaten up.  Her body so tired, her mind so numb.  She didn’t know if she could go any further.  But she could feel him, so immersive and familiar.

Aelin.

Her name whispered through the trees, light and cool.

Aelin,

Her name rang with desperation as it shuddered among the surrounding trees.

“Aelin!”

Her name was fierce and strong coming from the one person she'd thought about most in the last few months.  Aelin managed to look up as Rowan fell to the ground in front of her.  Even on his knees, he was massive.  His broad frame blocked out anything from view as his magic pulsed between them.

“Aelin,” he whispered.  Strong arms came around her as though they could offer security or protection.

Aelin shuddered in Rowan’s grasp as she tried to pull away.

“Off. Off. Take it off.” She demanded. Her fingers scrabbled at the metal mask over her face. Blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth and pain landed through her, but she didn't care.  All she cared about was getting that damned mask off.

“It’s alright, Fireheart,” Rowan murmured.  “Look at me.  Look at me, love.”

In her frantic scrambling she’d twisted in his grasp and was now facing him.  His green eyes found hers and for the first time in so many months, Aelin could breathe.

“Rowan,” she gasped.  The metal mouthpiece scraped against her tender skin. All she cared about was Rowan before her.

His hands were gentle as they ran along the seam of the mask and Aelin’s neck.  He kept talking to her in a mix of the old language and common tongue.  She didn’t know what he was saying—couldn’t focus on anything but his hands—but it was the soothing lilt of his voice that kept her grounded.

She didn't know how long it took but soon the metal fell free and she could feel cool air on her face and tears tracked down her face.

A sob escaped her as she slumped against Rowan. His arms tightened around her as he murmured sweet assurances in her ear.

The relief didn’t last long.

Not as a new figure emerged from the trees.  Aelin didn’t have to see his face to know who it was.  She could smell her own blood on the long blade in his grasp.

Aelin dug her fingers into Rowan’s arm, the hard muscle unyielding as he slowly shifted her away from Cairn.

“Two little lambs,” Cairn crooned, “all ready for the slaughter.”

…

Rowan Whitethorn was a warrior.  Three hundred years of life on this earth had turned him from a simple boy in his father’s land to a fae that yearned for the hunt.

He was not afraid of it.  Nor was he averse to it.  He respected the way of war and the blood that would be shed.

At least until this very moment.

Aelin shuddered in his grasp as she flinched away from the sight of Cairn.  Aelin who was strong and capable and the most powerful creature he’d known shuddered.  Rowan felt his body tense as he stood, gently leaving Aelin kneeling on the ground.

This male had touched her, had hurt her.  And he was going to regret it.

“Cairn,” Rowan growled.  

Magic thrummed in his bones and sang through his blood until it was all around him.  He could feel power rising up from the deepest wells of his being, the very places he swore he would never touch.  

Cain on cocked his head to the side as a predatory smile stretched across his mouth. “I think I’ll enjoy killing you, Whitethorn.  And when my hands are covered in your blood I’ll take your little bitch and fu—”

Rowan attacked.

He drew the sword strapped to his back and a smaller knife strapped to his side and burned.  His ice magic felt hot at it wrapped around him, urging him on.  In a scant few steps, he was lunging for Cairn.

The other male hadn’t been expecting this.  He fell back one step but it was all Rowan needed.  He went for the exposed belly, swiping with his dagger.  Cairn barely dodged and retaliated by drawing a knee up. Rowan threw him back with an icy snap of wind.  The force of it threw Ciarn against a tree.  

A resounding crack echoed through the forest as Rowan stalked forward.

Cairn struggled against the magic that held him.  Surprise was written clear on his face.  The fool either hadn’t remembered what Rowan was capable of or thought his pathetic alliance with Maeve would somehow save him.

Rowan would relish in the scent of blood that day.

…

Aelin didn't know how long it took or how it actually happened, but soon she was gathered in Rowans arms and he was running with her through the forest.  

She could still smell the stench of fire and burning flesh on the air.  She could still see the way Rowan moved towards Cairn with his weapons raised.  She could still hear the last of Cairn’s screams on the wind.

Rowan had held nothing back in his attack.  He’d taken his time to carve into Cairn’s flesh, to draw out as much pain and misery as he could.  

Aelin could only watch.  Watch and thank the gods for what Rowan was capable of.

Now, they eventually came to where Aelin’s growing army was camped, but she could hardly notice or care about the numbers that were gathering. All she could do was fall against Rowans chest and let him watch over her.

Even when Lysandra and Elide came to help bath and dress and treat the wounds that marred her skin. It was hard to do while stool as sentinel growling when anyone moved too close or too quick.

But Aelin couldn't bring herself to really notice or care. Not when Elide’s gentle fingers wove her damp hair into a braid and Lysandra rubbed oils and lotion into Aelin’s raw skin.

She couldn't hold back the flinch when Lysandra brushed her belly as she pulled a tunic over Aelin’s head.  Lysandra froze remembering that night on the ship when Aelin told her she was with child.

"Aelin," Lysandra whispered.  She hovered close, eyes darting to where Rowan glowered.

"What?" He demanded. "Is something wrong? Do we need Yrene?"

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut.  Maybe it was better if Yrene came to tell her that her worst fears had been realized.  But she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Even as Rowan's magic enveloped her, Aelin couldn't look at him.

"Sleep," she rasped.  "I just want to sleep."

Maybe she'd be able to disappear into the darkness that had been her only companion. Maybe she'd be able to forget for one moment—

In an instant both Lysandra and Elide were gone and she was back in Rowan's arms. His nose was buried in her neck, arms tight around her.

"You're safe, Fireheart, " he told her. "I promise. You can rest now. Put down your magic, love. It's been flaring for too long now."

Aelin buried her fingers in his tunic until she found his bare flesh and she could feel him beneath her. Was she still flaring her magic? She'd grown so accustomed to holding that shield up around herself that it was second nature even in her exhausted state.

“Rowan,” she whispered, his name a balm against her lips. “I’m sorry.”

He held her tighter against his chest. “For what?”

But she was already asleep.

…

There were hands digging into her skin.  Determined hands that picked and prodded as they tore her apart.  They ripped at the thin nightgown she wore even as she tried to pull and tug away.  But no matter what she did, there was no escape.  

One hand went to her throat, fingers tightening until she was struggling for breath.  The other hand flexed across her stomach, the touch rough and cold.

“I’ll make you scream,” a voice said.  It didn’t take long for her to place that cold, cruel voice. “And then you’ll kneel before me and beg for mercy.”

Aelin’s own scream finally pulled her from the nightmare.  She thrashed wildly, desperate to get away from Cairn’s horrific torture.

“Aelin, Aelin.”  Another voice, different.  A new set of hands came over her, these careful in the way they held her. “Fireheart, you’re safe.”

A snarl tore from her lips, she couldn’t help it.  All she could hear was Cairn’s laugh and feel the way his knife cut her skin.  She needed to get away.  She could focus on nothing other than the how small this tent space and how best she could escape it.

“She needs to calm down, Prince,” a soft voice said from her left, “for her own safety.”

Aelin whirled toward the voice just as a pair of hands went to her waist, firm as they tried to hold her still.  They were too close to her belly that Aelin couldn’t help the defensive flare that rose within her.  Her instincts took over as she grabbed one of the hands and twisted it away.  A flicker of fire raced from her fingers to singe her captor.

They grunted but held on tighter.  Ice met her fire and in a low hiss, the small flames burned out.

Blinking rapidly, Aelin looked up to meet the pine green eyes of Rowan.

“Rowan,” she whispered.  Her flames disappeared as she took him in.

Yes.  This was right.  He had come for her.  He had held her.  He had decimated Cairn as though it were his right.

“Aelin.” Rowan stared at her unblinking.  There was caution in his eyes as he regarded her, as though he were expecting her to lash out and burn him again.

The planes of his face were hard as stone as she took him in.  He was ragged with bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin.  But it was still Rowan.  Her Rowan.

“You found me,” she croaked, her voice broken from the screams.  You found us. 

She released him, nearly pushing him away as everything came back to her.  

Oh to fade back into that darkness that was always so welcoming and good to her.  That darkness that she could sink into and let take over.  If she could disappear, she could forget.  She could forget the pain and the fear.  She could forget the whips and the whispers.  She could forget that she had certainly destroyed the one bit of happiness that was left for her in this world.

Rowan didn’t move as he watched her.  But she did note the way his eyes did finally dip from her face down to her stomach.

No. No. No.

Aelin shrunk away from him.  She couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t bear to tell him—

She remembered the other body in the tent with them.  Aelin turned to see Yrene standing near the closed tent flaps.  She had her hair pulled back with a scrap of cloth, her warm brown skin was flushed and the hazel of her eyes was dimmed from the last time Aelin had seen her.

Of course the healer was here.  Why wouldn’t she be if Aelin was so broken and torn apart?  And if Aelin had killed—

“Aelin,” Yrene said softly.  She held out a hand in supplication. “Aelin, it’s alright.  You’re still healing.  I did the best I could for now.”

Bile rose in Aelin’s throat at the words.  Still healing. The best she could.  Her fingers wound into the front of her tunic.  The walls she’d been trying to keep up were frail and weak.  She knew she was hemorrhaging emotions and information directly for Rowan to pick up on but she was so tired.

“Tell me,” Aelin managed to say.  She couldn’t finish the thought but when Yrene’s features softened, she knew she’d been understood.

At her back, Aelin could feel Rowan.  He didn’t touch her, not yet, but he was there.  His strong presence buoyed Aelin up as she waited for Yrene’s answer.

The healer nodded once before managing a smile. “Five months, your majesty.  You’re malnourished and need to gain weight, but—as far as I can tell right now—the baby is fine.  Small but fine.”

Aelin could only stare as Yrene took her leave and left the tent.

Small but fine.  Small but fine.  Small but—

“Rowan.”  Aelin reached a hand back until she found him.  He took her hand in his and pulled her back against his chest, his other arm tentatively wrapping around her. “I thought…I thought I lost it.  I thought I wasn’t, that I didn’t—”

Her words were cut off as a sob rose in her throat.  When her legs gave out from the exertion of the past five minutes, Rowan was there to catch her.  He held her against him as they both sank to the ground, wrapped up in each other as Aelin cried.

Rowan only held her.  His face was once against buried in her neck; his lips soft against her skin as he whispered something in the Old Language.  She had longed for a moment like this for so long that she didn’t dare move.  Instead, she held on to Rowan as her cries continued and eventually her body stopped shaking.

It was then that Rowan lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the small cot she’d been sleeping in earlier.  He laid her down gently before curling around her.  One of his large hands hovered near her stomach but he didn’t dare touch her.

“You knew,” he said, his voice was rough and worn. “You knew before Maeve took you.”

Aelin closed her eyes to the sight of Rowan’s own mournful gaze.  He’d been crying same as her.

With a long breath, she took her hand in his and rested it on that too small swell.  As soon as he touched her, Rowan’s body went stiff then slack, then a shudder nearly broke him apart.  His hold on her tightened just barely before stopping.  Aelin could feel the trembles taking him as he waited.  She pressed his hand more firmly against her, holding him there even when he tried to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she bowed her head forward until she rested against his chin. “I’m so sorry, Rowan.”

“I could have lost you,” he said, breath fanning over her hair.

“I didn’t think it was real,” she said.  “I told myself it couldn’t be.  And then I was in that coffin and I knew.  I knew what I had done.  And it would be my fault if—if—”

She felt another wave of tears come over her and she stopped talking.  Rowan gently cradled her chin in his hand, tilting her face up.  She kept her eyes closed, unable to look at him.

“And when C-c, when he started to hurt me,” she continued, forcing the words through trembling lips, “I put all my energy into trying to keep it real, to keep the—the baby safe.  But every day I thought that would be it, that would be the time I failed.  I’d already failed you, so why not that life?”

Rowan’s hand flexed against her stomach and his lips grazed her forehead, her eyes, her lips.

“You’d never fail me,” he assured her.

Was he not hearing her or was she not speaking clear enough? “I didn’t tell you.”

“You said it yourself; you didn’t think you were,” he said. “And when was the time?  Everything happened so fast.”

His voice trailed off and Aelin finally opened her eyes.  He was watching her with an unreadable expression.  Aelin felt her heart tug.  She had imagined him so many times in her captivity.  He’d often been a dim voice in the back of her mind, but he’d been there nonetheless.  Sometimes it had been him and only him that got her through a day.

“Rowan.”  She kept her hand firmly over his where it rested on her belly. “I’m scared.  When I close my eyes, I swear I’m back there.  And when I sleep?  I already nearly burned you.  How can I do this?  How can I do anything of this?  Not just a child, but a war?  How can I be strong enough when I’ve fallen apart so many times already?”

"You're not alone, Fireheart," he said. His voice was so soft Alein almost thought she'd imagined it. She watched that hard, carefully crafted expression of his soften. "Not anymore. But if this is too much, if you don't want— "

Aelin squeezed his hand knowing what he was suggesting. He broke off and only watched her.

"I choose this," she said. "And I choose you, Rowan Whitethorn. "

He nodded once at her words before leaning in to kiss her. 

His lips were soft against hers. Soft and gentle as he explored her again. And Aelin, desperate for that feeling and taste of home, kissed him back. Rowan rested his hands on her hips as she rolled on top of him.  

From there, she quickly took control, her mouth moving urgently against his until she was pulling his lower lip, sucking gently but needful. Her hands were roving his body tugging at Rowans tunic, the buttons of his pants. She needed him. Needed every bit of him that she could get.

And when they came together with careful kisses and whispered promises Aelin found for the first time, she was able to banish that terrible darkness away.

They still had so far to go and so much to learn—but they would get there together. 

 .*.*.*.*.*.

tags

@morganofthewildfire // @aelinchocolatelover // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow //  @ireallyshouldsleeprn //  @courtofjurdan //  @sassys-world  //  @sleeping-and-books  //  @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard //   @firestarsandseneschals //  @rapunzel1523  //  @booksofthemoon  // @fangirlprincess09  // @highladysith  // @tillyrubes10  // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @rowaelinismyotp // @sheharahu // @1islessthan3books // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @vanzetanze // @foughtconquered  // @acciowests // @cassianscool // @thegreyj // @acourtofsjmtrash // @story-scribbler  // @jesstargaryenqueen  // @amoretheiwa // @jorjy-jo // @danibutterr @live-the-fangirl-life // @foreverfallingforthestars //  @pastasiren // @whimsicallyreading // @infernoqueen19  // @mis-lil-red  // @lemonade-coolattas  // @scribbled-semantics // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @rainbowcheetah512 // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @swankii-art-teacher //  @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee // @bananaanna23 // @goddess-aelin // @liars-lmao // @emily-gsh // @rowaelinrambling // @bookcide // @sideralwriting // @nerdperson524 // @thegloweringcastle //

[goddess-aelin]

Little Did I Know

Chapter 11: The Party

Masterlist | LDIK Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Innuendo, language.

Aelin woke up feeling so incredibly warm. Warmer and safer than she had felt in months. In fact, she felt better than she had maybe ever. As she rose to consciousness, Aelin noticed a few things. One, there was a weight banded around her middle that was making her feel as if she was wrapped in a cocoon. Two, there were tiny puffs of air hitting the back of her neck. And three, if the hardness that pressed against her backside was any indication, there was currently a man spooning her. 

As she became more aware, the night before came rushing back to her. Going down to the kitchens for some ice cream. Rowan begging her to listen to him and her, for once, actually acquiescing. Finding out about her parents. Rowan comforting her and making her feel better about the whole thing. Which all lead to this situation where Rowan was currently spooning her.

She couldn’t say she minded one bit.

Deftly, she tried to roll over so she was facing him. Surprisingly, Rowan did not wake from her maneuvering. She took the opportunity to just observe him. She already knew he was quite handsome but it was taken to a whole new level when his features were relaxed. The worry lines that usually appeared on his forehead were gone, his eyes gently closed so she could see the long, light eyelashes that adorned his face. Gently, she traced a finger down his straight nose, over his silvery eyebrows, across the apples of his cheeks. She brought her fingers over his pillowy lips, wondering what it would be like to actually kiss him. And she wasn’t thinking about the cheek kisses or the hand kisses he’d given her a hundred times now, but rather what it would be like to actually kiss him. 

She supposed she’d find out next week. 

The touch to his lips caused Rowan to awaken, sharply inhaling and tightening his arms to press her closer to him. She’d have to tease him about this later. Because Rowan Whitethorn, her stoic prince of Doranelle, was a cuddler. And if she was being honest, she loved it. Though his defined muscles should’ve indicated otherwise, the body wrapped around hers was soft and comforting. She guessed that this probably had more to do with the person rather than the body itself. Because somewhere over the last few months, Rowan Whitethorn had become her safe space. Her person. She had started coming to that realization before but to actually be able to acknowledge it felt completely different. It felt…wonderful.

“Mornin’, Fireheart.” Gods. His rough, sleepy voice was something else entirely. 

“Mmm, good morning, Buzzard.” She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face as he let out a halfhearted scoff at the nickname. 

Rowan pressed a kiss to her forehead, bringing her in tighter. Here she was, thinking that once he woke up, he’d push her away or stop holding her. She’d never been happier to be wrong. 

“Did you sleep well?” Rowan asked as he started stroking her wild nest of hair out of her face.

“Mmhm.” That was an understatement. “Did you?” 

“That was probably the best sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” 

Aelin gave a sound of agreement. “We should probably get up soon.”

“Hmm, just a few more minutes. You’re warm and frankly, I have no desire to leave this bed.”

“Wait wait wait. Are you telling me that you, Rowan Whitethorn, are suggesting that we shirk our duties to lounge in bed?”

“I guess so. Why are you so surprised by that?”

“Because normally I’m the one who has to be pulled out of bed and held at swordpoint to get up. Lysandra hates me in the morning.” 

Rowan just laughed, his beautiful voice music to her ears. Once the melodious sound died down, a comfortable silence settled between them. 

“Are you really surprised that I don’t want to leave this bed?” A small look of nervousness took over Rowan’s face. “After everything that happened the past few days, I’d be happy to lay here with you for a few weeks. Plus, you’re an excellent cuddle partner.” As if demonstrating that fact, Rowan’s arms banded tightly around her middle.

“Wow. Now that I know you’re just using me for my cuddling capabilities, I’m not sure I can go through with the wedding next week.”

Rowan pinched her side. “Don’t even joke about that.” Though, as he said it, there was mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“I would never.” Seriousness overtook Aelin’s features. “On a serious note, thank you, Rowan. For being here. For being my friend. For marrying me. I know it’s not the most ideal situation but I’m– I’m glad that it’s you who I’m marrying.” 

Rowan’s eyes softened. “Anything for you, Fireheart. For what it’s worth, I’m happy that I’m marrying you, too. We’re in this together.”

The seriousness in Rowan’s eyes should’ve made her nervous. Should’ve caused her to run away at breakneck speed. But instead, it drew her closer to him, made her want to bare every inch of her soul and her body to him. Rowan inched his head closer to hers and Aelin thought he was about to kiss her. Finally. But before they could go any farther, a loud knock on the door broke them out of their reverie. Aelin jerked back, rolling onto her back and letting out a frustrated groan. 

“Aelin, are you decent?” Lysandra. She should’ve known her friend would come to check on her as soon as she woke up. 

Knowing that her friend had a penchant for barging in, Aelin shouted back, “Don’t come in!” Shit, well now Lysandra was going to think something was up. And if she found a half naked Rowan in bed with her…well… “I’ll just meet you in the dining room in a few minutes!” 

Aelin swore as she heard her friend’s footsteps walking away. She turned to Rowan but he was already rolling out of bed. She sat up slightly, resting on her elbows.

“I guess lounging in bed all day isn’t an option anymore. Sorry.”

 He turned to look at her, smiling slightly. “It’s alright. I’m pretty hungry anyway. I think we slept later than usual.” He pulled his shirt over his head, making his way around to her side of the bed. “I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?” Aelin nodded back. 

Rowan bent down over her head again, his nose almost touching hers. Maybe now she’d get that kiss. But at the last second, he swerved his head to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. As he pulled away, a smirk made its way over his face, indicating that he knew exactly what he was doing. But instead of giving her what she wanted, he walked to the door and gave her one last, lingering look before walking out of her room. 

Aelin flopped back onto her bed with a frustrated yell. Her ears might’ve been deceiving her but she could’ve sworn she heard Rowan’s familiar chuckle as he made his way down the hallway.

- - - - -

“So, are you going to tell me what that was?”

“What what was?” Aelin played dumb to her best friend’s questions. 

“Oh, you know, just the rampant sexual tension between you and the Prince. Not to mention the eye-fucking you two were doing across the table.”

“We were not eye-fucking.” Lysandra came a non-committal hum. “We talked last night. Things are good between us now. That’s all.”

“Right. So you’re saying that your quick denial for me to come into your room this morning wasn’t because you spent the night with your fiance?” 

Aelin sputtered, the tea that she was drinking splattering down her shirt. “Damnit.”

A feline smile crossed her friend’s face. “That’s what I thought. So how was it? Did he live up to your fantasy romance books?”

“It wasn’t…We didn’t…I–” Aelin blew out a puff of air. “It wasn’t like that, okay? We talked in the kitchens last night and he walked me to my room and he stayed. That’s it.” Aelin remembered back to her friend’s untimely interruption this morning. “It could have been more but someone had to knock loudly on the door and break us up.” 

“Ha! I knew it! Aedion owes me fifty dollars.”

“Since when are you and my cousin friendly?”

“Oh my dear, dear Aelin. You’ve been so wrapped up with your loverboy that you haven’t even noticed that I haven’t been sleeping in my own room for the past week now?”

It wasn’t often that people surprised Aelin. But her best friend just did. “What?!”

Lysandra just laughed. “It’s still new. But yeah, I made a move since he obviously wasn’t going to and here we are. We’re seeing where things go but…It’s fun, it’s exciting. Your cousin is  putting me in such good moods in the morning.”

“Ok, eww. First of all, please don’t tell me anything else about my cousin, thanks. And second of all, I have been sort of out of commission the past week.” 

“Oh yeah.” Lysandra managed to look a little sheepish. “Well, I at least won’t tell you how many times he made me–” Aelin quickly slapped a hand over her friend’s mouth. 

“Not. Another. Word.” Lysandra just licked her hand in retaliation. Aelin was about to pounce on the woman but was interrupted by a familiar male voice.

“Ladies…” Rowan was standing in the doorway, smirking. And of course, her cousin was standing right next to him, looking a bit pale. The sight made Aelin smile with a vindictive glee. 

Aelin quickly dropped her hand away from Lysandra’s face and put on her most innocent face. “What can I do for you boys?” Rowan gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying her nice girl act. But she sent back her sweetest smile and a few bats of her eyelashes. 

With an exasperated sigh, Rowan sat down next to her. “We have some news from Doranelle.” That made Aelin drop all pretenses of humor. She was waiting for what Rowan would say next with bated breath. “Lorcan did it. He gave the evidence to my uncle and Sellene.” The pause after Rowan finished talking was way too long for Aelin’s liking. 

“AND?!”

A small smile graced Rowan’s lips. “And Maeve was ousted. The parliament themselves took her off the throne but there was no question on what would happen once the story broke to the news. The people were basically rioting in the streets, calling for Sellene to take the throne.” By the end of his statements, Rowan, though serious, was beaming at her.  Not caring who else was in the room, Aelin grabbed his hand. 

“She’s gone?” She whispered.

“She’s gone, Fireheart. You don’t have to worry about her anymore. In fact, Lorcan made sure that she wouldn’t be getting out of prison for a very long, long time.”

Aelin felt as though she could cry. Though they had no evidence against her for Aelin’s accident, she knew in her heart that Maeve had something to do with it. Just like she had a lot to do with her parents’ accident. A strange sort of peace settled over Aelin, enveloping her in an air of calm. It was a relief to know that there was one fewer person out there that could harm her. 

“Lorcan is on his way back here now. He wants to deliver the news to you and the lords personally. Lorcan isn’t a sentimental guy but he is big on duty. And he wants to be the one to break the news, to give you some semblance of closure.”

“You know what I think?” Lysandra asked as she met eyes with Aelin. A slow, feline smile spread over her features. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

Aelin returned the smile. 

“Once the hulking brute gets back, we can even invite him since Elide can’t seem to keep her eyes off of him when he’s around.” Rowan seemed to pale at that. “Think of it like a celebration of the witch being locked up forever and also a pseudo bachelor and bachelorette party for you both since we never got to do anything normal before your wedding. Just the six of us.”

Knowing that her friend always had some entertaining tricks up her sleeve, Aelin agreed enthusiastically. This was going to be fun.

- - - - -

A few nights later, Aelin was free from her duties. Just like Rowan said, Lorcan came to meet with the lords and herself and delivered the news personally. She took too much glee in inviting the man to a pool party on palace grounds, his stoic features never wavering yet it was as if he was irritated to be invited. She wasn’t sure what Elide saw in the man but a brief mention of him had Elide’s cheeks staining pink. 

And that’s how she found herself in her closet with Lysandra, trying to choose a swimsuit to wear. She always threw on whatever she felt like wearing. But this night was different. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted the most spectacular suit possible. 

Ok, maybe she did know why but she sure as hell wasn’t going to voice that reason in front of her friend. 

Lysandra waved yet another suit in front of her face, making her try it on for her.  Lysandra insisted she was just looking out for Aelin but Aelin also knew that “looking out for her” also meant finding a suit that made Rowan want to drop dead. 

Which was how she found herself in a skimpy gold bikini. It definitely was not her normal choice for swimwear but she couldn’t deny that it made her boobs look fantastic. And she wasn’t usually one for cheeky bottoms but… yeah….this would work. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to seduce Rowan but since his little tease the other morning, she had to get back at him somehow. 

Lysandra whistled as Aelin exited the bathroom, spinning in her suit and see-through coverup she was wearing. 

“Oh, loverboy is going to have a very…hard night.” Aelin’s eyes widened as she smacked her friend's arm. 

“Stop it!”

“I’m just trying to get you two to stop beating around the bush and fuck already, okay? I think it would make things easier for all of us.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Let’s just go.” The girls made their way down to the pool, where everyone was already settled into seats or floating around the warm water. That was the benefit of having a heated pool: even though it was still chilly April in Terrasen, swimming was an option. And thus, Lysandra planned a pool party just to make Aelin squirm.

“Finally! It’s about time you two showed up.” Her cousin threw an arm around her shoulders, his breath smelling like whiskey already.

“How much have you had to drink already, cousin?”

“Oh, just a few. Would’ve been less if you had gotten here sooner. We were taking shots for every minute you two were late.”

“Gods. You’re lucky you don’t have alcohol poisoning. You know I’m always fashionably late.”

“Don’t worry, Dad was watching over all of us.” 

“Dad?” Aelin raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, Lorcy, Ellie and I have started calling Rowan dad since he’s a killjoy that doesn’t want to make bad decisions with us.” Aelin snorted. 

“Ok we’ll circle back to the dad thing later but…Lorcy?” Aelin burst out laughing at the look on the man’s face. Lorcan looked as if he would rather be called anything other than Lorcy. Though there was a softness to his features when he looked to the woman sitting on his left, giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Aelin had a theory that there would be one person he would let call him Lorcy. But she kept her mouth shut for Elide’s sake.

“Ok, now that the life of the party is here, what’s first? Body shots? Spin the bottle?” She would’ve kept going but she had come to the realization that Rowan was nowhere to be found. “Hey, where’s Rowan?”

“Right here.” The man in question came walking around the hedge lining the pool, two more bottles of alcohol in his hands. Without even looking her way, he said matter-of-factly, “These are only for–” Rowan stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes slowly made their way up her body. She could see his adam’s apple bob tightly, his breathing becoming sharper as his eyes landed on her golden bikini. She thought she heard Aedion mutter a few curses and a short ‘that’s my cousin bro,’ but she couldn’t be sure. Because if she was being quite honest, her eyes were on him, as well. 

It was as if it took all of his willpower to snap himself out of his reverie because with a few fast blinks and a shake of his head, he was continuing his sentence. Or trying to, at least. “I.” Another head shake. “This is for you. Not them. They had too much. Just you. And Lysandra. And. I’ll shut up.” Aelin bit her lip as a smirk crossed her face. Gods damn her but he was just so cute when flustered. And she was proud that her little plan worked.

She grabbed the bottles from him, giving him a smirk. “Thanks Dad.” Rowan groaned in response.

Lysandra chimed in from behind her, “I think you mean Daddy.” 

With a gasp, Aelin spun around to push her friend into the pool but Lysandra was too fast. Aelin stumbled and fell forward, waiting for the impact of the warm water to take her but it never came. Strong arms were banded around her waist, already hauling her back to the hard body behind her.  

“Careful there.” 

Aelin’s breathing hitched. Sure, she spent the night with the guy but she was never this close to him with so few clothes on. Through her thin coverup, she could feel the hard planes of his abs. She swallowed hard as she looked up to him. Breathlessly, she muttered, “thanks.” 

He just gave her a smirk in return, letting go of her though keeping her hand in his and making his way over to the drink station. 

“Here,” he handed her a drink. “I think you should probably have one if you’re ever going to tolerate Aedion tonight. He’s a bit of an…interesting drunk, isn’t he?” 

Aelin gratefully accepted the drink, a whiskey sour, and huffed a laugh. “That’s an understatement. Between you and me, Aedion’s a lightweight. He gets giggly, then loud, and finally he just gets unintelligible.” 

“He’s been calling me Dad since drink number two so there’s that.” 

On cue, Aedion shouted from the pool, “Papá! Aelin, wrestle us!” Indeed, Lysandra was perched on his shoulders, waiting for an opponent. 

Aelin burst out laughing. Aedion….he called Rowan Papá. Oh, she was never going to let him live this down. Judging by Rowan’s irritated face, he was not looking forward to her remarks, either. Though there was a lightness dancing in his eyes that she had only begun to see. 

Rowan offered her his hand. “Well? What do you say? You and I make a formidable team. Think we can take them?”

Aelin took his offered hand. “Oh, I know we can.” 

A few minutes or hours later, Aelin couldn’t tell, she was gloriously buzzed. Not completely drunk, but enough to feel light and giggly. After the wrestling came the truth or dare, which turned into a game of just dare since Aelin stayed away from any truthful questions. While she felt great, her ribs were starting to ache. She thought she was doing a fairly good job of hiding it until she caught Rowan frowning at her. 

Damnit. The man could read her like a book. 

As he made his way over, she tried to school her features into a placid, neutral look. To her surprise, he didn’t say anything about her ribs or mother-hen her. Instead, he offered his hand once again, inviting her to the hot tub that was set apart from the pool where their friends still floated. 

“Fireheart, will you join me?” 

She hoped she didn’t look too eager as she took his hand but she couldn’t deny she’d been trying to get a moment alone with him all night. They hadn’t really even gotten to talk without their friends inputting an opinion or two. So this little venture to the nice, private, secluded hot tub felt like a dream. 

They both eased their way into the scalding water, the ache in her ribs soothing instantly. Aelin let out a sigh of relief and rested her head on the side. Distantly, she heard Rowan chuckle. 

“What’s so funny, Buzzard?”

He gave a small eye roll, though it held no animosity. “I knew you didn’t feel quite right. You got quiet all of a sudden. Is it your ribs?”

Aelin just gave a grunt of affirmation. 

“You should’ve told someone. You can take a break every once in a while, you know?” 

“I know. This is just the only night that we all get to be ourselves. We’re not royalty, we don’t have a kingdom to run, no wedding to plan. Just a fun night with our friends. And I didn’t want to ruin that.” 

“I don’t think anyone would’ve thought that. They’re just happy you’re okay and able to be with them.” Rowan paused. “I am happy that you’re okay and with me.”

Aelin opened her eyes and met Rowan’s sparkling green ones. They both gave each other a soft smile and when Rowan reached his hand out to touch her arm, she allowed him to pull her closer to him. Rowan gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders, her head taking its place on his shoulder. She couldn’t help but feel that this was where she was meant to be. This spot was made for her and her alone. She just wondered if he felt the same. 

“Did you have fun tonight, Fireheart?” Rowan’s voice was achingly gentle, his lips brushing her hair with loving ease. 

She smiled at the gesture. “I did. Did you?”

“I mean, apart from Aedion calling me Dad every five minutes, yes. Yes I did.” 

The moment was so serene, Aelin could’ve fallen asleep. “What was your favorite part?”

Rowan didn’t answer for a while. “If I’m being honest. Right now. Right here is the best moment.”

The sincerity in his voice made Aelin turn her head to look up at him. The want that she felt so strongly was reflected in his eyes, sparkling with every undulation of the water around them. Aelin turned her body more fully to him and she felt his hand trail down her arm to her waist. She was practically on his lap at this point. 

In her buzzed and comfortable state, her sense of self preservation was clearly not working. Which is what she told herself as she threw her leg over his, straddling him. His other hand came up to her waist, just gently holding her there but the intensity in his gaze was something else entirely. 

As they drifted closer, Aelin couldn’t help but think that every moment they’d been through led to this. She didn’t just want to kiss Rowan, she needed it like she needed air to breathe. Aelin concentration was zeroed in on every place they were touching. The roughness of his swim trunks against the insides of her bare legs. The circles his thumbs were making on her sides, the way that they dug in slightly to the fleshy part of her stomach. His nose, which was ever so slightly touching her own, the coldness startling against the rising steam of the hot tub. 

Aelin never wanted this moment to end. They were sitting on the precipice of something new. Something beautiful. And all she had to do to jump over that ledge was lean forward an inch, bringing her lips to his and sealing her fate. 

Just as she was about to do that, lips already brushing a featherlight pressure against his, a commotion broke through the hedges. Startled, Aelin pushed herself off of him, drifting quickly to the other side of the hot tub. 

And it was just in time for Aedion to burst through, slipping loudly into the hot tub with them, seemingly oblivious to what he just walked into. Aelin rested her head back against the lip of the tub again, trying to calm her racing heart. She assumed Rowan was doing the same if the awkward quietness was anything to go by. 

And Aedion sat there, unaware that he broke up what could’ve been the best moment of her life. She knew it wasn’t fair to be angry at her cousin but she couldn’t help but feel a little resentment toward him. And of course, he hadn’t stopped talking since he entered the tub with them, having already reached the unintelligible stage of drunkenness. Usually, Aelin would find it funny. But not tonight.

“Aedion, please, please be quiet. I’m begging you.” Aelin rubbed her eyebrow, a headache forming already.

When she couldn’t even understand a word of his reply, she knew it was time to get him to bed. Shouldn’t this have been Lysandra’s job? The woman in question was nowhere to be seen, however, so for now it would be left to Aelin. 

“Alright, buddy,” Aelin slapped Aedion’s shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Rowan graciously helped her to get him out of the hot tub, tugging Aedion’s arm around his shoulder. “I got him, Fireheart.” He gave her a soft smile. “Go and get some rest.” 

“Are you sure?” 

It was that moment that Aedion chose to say something more, the only clear word being “Dad.”

With an exasperated eye roll, Rowan nodded. “Yeah, rest up. I’ll see you tomorrow at the rehearsal?” 

Aelin nodded. She did nothing more than give him a soft smile as he turned away. “Good night, Rowan.”

“Good night, Fireheart. Sweet Dreams.” 

As she made her way up to her room, there were two questions on her mind. First and foremost, would she ever be able to actually get that kiss from Rowan? And how was she going to sleep when her heart was alight with a fire she thought burned out long ago?

A/N: Oh, Aedion. You and Lysandra are two peas in a pod. Sorry for the long wait. For some reason I just could not get into writing this chapter. Next one is the big one and there's only two left and then the epilogue!

Tagging: @cretaceous-therapod @morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @live-the-fangirl-life @charlizeed @violet-mermaid7 @euphoric-melancholyy @kritical24 @rubyriveraqueen @dealfea @wellofnothing @ayaashryver @moonknight-spector @leiawritesstories @whoever-you-choose-to-love @holdthefrickup @heirofflowers @thecrispypotatochip @shanias-world @rowanaelinn @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @hanging-from-a-cliff @fantacysoup @swankii-art-teacher @thegreyj @fromthelibraryofemilyj @westofmoon @lovely-dove-zee @books4eva04 @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @backtobl4ck @dreamer-133 @elentiyawhitethorn @writtenonreceipts @shyvioletcat @aelinchocolatelover @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @athena127

[witchthewriter]

𝑆𝘩𝑖𝑝 𝑓𝑜𝑟 @perseephoneee.

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐼 𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑆𝑐𝑜𝑡𝑡 𝑀𝑐𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑙! You two would click so much!!! Honestly, he would feel so comfortable around you. He would support you 100%, and you would DEFINITELY feel comfortable enough around him to let your goofy side out - he would love seeing that side of you.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

You are his everything, girlie, he absolutely ADORES YOU. He thinks you're wonderful, you bring so much joy into his life!

Scott took ages to start calling you pet names, because he didn't want you to think of him as cringey. But when you started getting closer, he felt comfortable enough to call you names like, "sweetheart," "beautiful," "gorgeous."

You're the heart of the group, everyone seems to come to you whenever they have a problem or issue with ... anything. You're like the mother of the group while Scott is the father :')

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Take A Chance On Me by ABBA

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Aggressively Supportive & Protective Of One Another

Sun (You) x Moon (Scott)

You Confessed Your Love When Thinking He Was Unconscious

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

He loves how courageous you are - he knows that even when Beacon Hills is infested with dangerous creatures, you don't cower and hide. You face it head on, even if your knees are shaking, you won't back down.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅  

Lydia! But I also feel like Stiles when you get to know him more while hanging out at Scott's place. Lydia and you had grown up together, and while there was a period where you were distant, she eventually came to her senses, and asked to hang out again.

𝐓𝐎𝐆

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐼 𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝐷𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛! (I'm sorry I didn't know which gif to use and I kinda like this actor for the role of Dorian anyway-) I was going to ship you with Chaol but I feel like he wouldn't ... get your goofy side. To me Chaol is too stoic. Dorian is flirtacious and mischevious and fun to be around. But he knows responsibility and has that stability you'd need.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

With his magic, he can do amazing things! He likes to show off whenever you're around, even when you've been together for a while, he still likes seeing that astonishment in your eyes

Will listen to you and support you no matter what. Dorian would always make time for you!

Shows you his love through gift giving, physical touch and words of affirmation. He loves holding you, peppering kisses over your face. And you have so many shiny jewels and necklaces and earrings and rings that you have endless choices of what you can wear.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Burning Desire by Lana Del Rey

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

They probably hate me (You) x Deeply, passionately in love … is terrible at showing it (Dorian)

Bashful (You) x Shameless (Dorian)

Home Is Wherever You Are

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Dorian loves that he can be himself around you and not be judged. He hasn't had that with many people - and those that he has ... well they no longer live. When he realised that you're a safe person, he promised that he would protect you no matter what. Nothing was going to harm you.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅  

Lysandra! She would be the best girl best friend ever! She loves sleep overs and brings all your favourite snacks. Even though she lives in Terrasen, she still comes for visits and brings Evangeline and you have a girls' night. It's so sweet!

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐼 𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑃𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟! His personality is a lot like Scott - they both have this need to protect people, to help others and put themselves on the line so others will be okay. They sacrifice. And I think Peter would absolutely love you! I'm serious - he would feel so light around you, like nothing bad could happen to him.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Most definitely takes you ... swinging? Flying? Oh you know! - the thing with the webs and you cling to him like there's no tomorrow. Yeah, he does that.

Strokes your hair whenever you fall asleep on him (he absolutely LOVES when you fall asleep on him). Even if you snore, or talk in your sleep, he wouldn't care one bit

Whenever he's nervous, you make him dance. Either with you, like hand in hand, or just standing beside each other and doing the most random movements. It really helps him get out of his head.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

We're A Team by James Newton Howard

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

You Fell First, But They Fall Harder

Malewife (Peter) x Girlboss (You)

Forever In Their Honeymoon Stage

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

He loves your silly side! Peter hates having to think about everything he does, and how he must seem to everyone. He may not seem like the type who cares what people think - but he can't help it. And then you come along and show him that other's opinions don't matter. You teach him things, and that's what he loves about you too.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅  

Kate Bishop! You guys are quite similar, but I think you have a more solid way of existing - even though you don't have an earth sign in your big 3! You'd get into shenanigans with Kate, but help keep her head out of the clouds too much.

[sarahjswift]

Chapter 2 of my New Fanfic!

STILL working on a title...hopefully a song lyric from Taylor though! If you have any ideas, tell me in the comments!

I have about 4 chapter already written, so you should get them maybe every other day before uploads become farther apart :) as always, huge thanks to my Tumblr bestie @backtobl4ck

Warnings: Language, Light Smut 👀, Slight Mention of Self-Harm Word Count: 1.2k

This room was a piece of shit.

Aelin dumped her bag onto the floor and glanced around the room. It was so tiny that only a small hospital single bed fit in it. The floor had the same ugly carpet as that other room, and a tiny - barred - window sat above the bed frame. A tiny cactus rested on the windowsill in a desperate attempt to bring cheer to the room. 

She collapsed on the bed, exhaustion clouding her vision. It had been a busy week, and she tried to recount it. Monday, the intervention. Aedion had been there, and that was it. That was everyone who cared about her, one fucking person, who happened to be her family member. Then Tuesday, Aedion sleeping over to “check on her” and researching help for her. Wednesday telling her about this place and packing. And now Thursday, here. 

Aelin stared up at the ugly popcorn ceiling, thinking of her new home - the “Whitethorn Rehab Center”. It was a nice enough place, and its patrons seemed like good people. But they had all mixed together and Aelin didn’t remember any of them. Well, that wasn’t true. Her new therapist - she remembered him. 

She hoped none of her surprise had shown on her face when she first saw him. He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen, with soft brown skin and beautiful silver hair. Aelin thought of his jaw dropping eyes. They were green and seemed to be probing her entire being.

Once, she would have found him tempting. Once, she would have blushed to be in his presence. Once, she would have gotten his number and slowly seduced him until they were dating and obsessed with each other. 

But all the desire and love had drained out of her 12 months and 4.5 days ago. 

____

Aelin did nothing but nap until one of the nurses took her to eat dinner in a large cafeteria. Although the room was crowded with people, it was mostly silent except for some murmuring. 

“You are going to sit with your therapy group,” the nurse said. She looked like a sweet woman, with dark brown skin and black curls. Her eyes were blue and soft, understanding. Her name tag read Eillia. “Go grab some food, hon. I’ll just be over in the corner.” She walked away to where a group of other nurses were standing. 

Aelin watched her go before turning and sitting down at the table she had been shown. She wasn’t hungry - in fact, the smell of the food in the cafeteria made her nauseous. She hadn’t had an appetite in twelve months. 

A woman she recognized from therapy - Lysandra - sized her up, her emerald-colored eyes darting up and down Aelin’s body. “Can I help you?” Aelin snapped, annoyed with the woman’s obvious distaste. 

“I don’t know, can you?” Lysandra purred, her voice lilting and seductive. Aelin raised an eyebrow and snorted, shaking her head. “Okay then. Don’t pick fights you can’t win.”

A dart of fury went through Aelin, and she opened her mouth to protest before a man with carrot-colored hair cut in. “Ladies, let’s just eat. No need to make enemies on your first day!” He chuckled nervously, taking a bite of his macaroni and cheese. 

“So Lucas, how long have you been here?” another woman asked him. She was soft-spoken, pretty and demure. Elide. 

Aelin tuned them all out as they all began chatting. She didn’t have the time for mindless small talk. She wanted to scream, she wanted to flip the table over and shatter the windows. How could these people talk and laugh when the love of her life was gone forever, and she would never see him again?

Her breath was coming faster and faster, her chest heaving. She spotted Lucas’s knife on the table. Glancing around, Aelin swiped it, quickly stuffing it into her pocket. 

For later. She’d need it for later.

______ 

The club was loud, and crowded, and way too hot. Rowan shoved through the mass of bodies, trying to make his way to the bar. He was already regretting coming with Lorcan, who had disappeared and was likely flirting with some woman somewhere. The haze of drunkenness swept through Rowan’s mind, blurring his senses. He wasn’t wasted, but he definitely wasn’t tipsy. 

Finally, he reached the bar. The barmaid was a pretty woman with pale skin and red curling hair. She looked at Rowan, giving him a once-over, and her red lips curved into a smile. “How can I help you?” Her voice was raspy. 

“A tequila shot, please,” Rowan answered. She turned and bent down a little too far, making sure Rowan saw the view. As she prepared his drink, she peered at him through her lashes. “What’s got you drinking alone? Where’s your girlfriend?” 

“No girlfriend,” Rowan said roughly. “You?” 

The barmaid shrugged. “Situationship.” Rowan nodded and took the shot. “I’m Remelle,” she said, leaning across the bar. 

“Rowan.”

___

Thirty minutes later, they were making out against the club building. Remelle tasted like whiskey and cinnamon, and she smelled like a bar in the best way possible. Rowan was drunk and horny, and she was a perfect fix. 

They stumbled toward the parking lot, Remelle laughing huskily as Rowan tripped on a rock. They reached Rowan’s car and locked themselves inside. Rowan pulled the backseat down and when he turned back to look at Remelle, she was only in her underthings. She grabbed Rowan’s shirt and tugged him to her, bringing her mouth to meet his. 

          He ran a possessive down her leg, which she curled around his waist. Remelle pulled his shirt off and let out breathless giggles at the sight of his top half. “What?” Rowan growled, kissing down her collarbone. 

       “So muscular, shit,” Remelle snorted. She let him lay her on the extended car seat and watched lazily as he kissed his way down, down….

After they were done, Remelle propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at Rowan. Her hair tickled his face, and he closed his eyes. She leaned down and kissed him roughly, biting his lip for good measure, before turning and beginning to pull her clothes back on. 

“Sorry if I didn’t make it clear before, but I’m not looking for a relationship,” she informed him, buttoning up her black work shirt. “Just wanted some release. Stressed out from school and all.”

“I don’t want anything either. Just some quick bangs sometimes,” he replied, full of relief she felt that way too. 

Remelle laughed and looked at him fondly. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. You’re hot.” Rowan snorted and rolled his eyes. Remelle took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. “My number is on the condom packet,” she breathed before walking out the car. 

Rowan watched her go, the quick satisfaction of their actions leaving quickly, self-loathing sinking in. He was a therapist, for fuck’s sake. He was using the coping mechanisms of his patients, habits he’d said himself were toxic. Yet here he was, using other’s bodies for a quick distraction before his memories came back.

He got dressed, sent Lorcan a quick explanation text, and drove home, the alcohol wearing off. He got home at 1:23 am and didn’t even shower before sinking into his mattress, his unhappiness surrounding him like a cloud. 

But one image stayed in his mind as he sank into sleep - a picture of beautiful blue eyes.

[sassyhobbits]

Misery Business, 7

masterlist

~~~

Celaena Sardothien, notorious assassin, spent most of the next day doing her best to appear nothing more than a care-free young woman trying to take cute photos for her social media.

The young woman part wasn’t hard. She was young. She was a woman.

The carefree part was where it got tricky. Celaena had more cares than she could count, a number that only seemed to grow with each passing day. Especially after everything that had gone down with Maeve. The entire interaction had hung over Celaena unpleasantly since then.

Though, she did have a good time when Fenrys came over last night. He was quick-witted and a wonderful story-teller. And, not to mention, seemed to find as much joy in tormenting Rowan as she did.

She could practically feel the anger roiling off of her husband all evening. He hated that he hadn’t been able to get the information out of her that he desired and made his displeasure more than clear. The salmon served with risotto certainly hadn’t been made with love that night. It had been made with spite.

Regardless, it was delicious.

Fenrys, on top of being excellent company and having a wonderful taste in wine, provided a good buffer. Rowan didn’t get an opportunity to corner her, to interrogate her.

But, it couldn’t last forever.

Eventually, Fenrys left with several promises by Celaena for them to do this again soon.

Which unfortunately meant she was left alone once more with Rowan.

At first, the silence was positively smothering. She knew Rowan was pointedly not speaking to her, maybe with the intentions that she would eventually feel bad and admit something to him. That, of course, would never happen. Instead, she embraced the quiet, coming to Rowan’s side as he tidied up and helping him clean the dishes.

For a while, there was only the sound of the running water and their sponges scrubbing. Again, a sweet facade of domesticity.

Celaena hadn’t known what came over her. It wasn’t guilt, she had nothing to be guilty for. Instead, she realized she owed Rowan something. Not the full truth, not excuses, not a true explanation, but something.

“There are things I’m not ready to speak of, yet,” Celaena said, finally breaking the silence with her soft words. She met Rowan’s eye as he finished drying a plate. “Things I cannot speak of yet. And I hope you can understand and respect that.”

Rowan didn’t respond immediately, holding her gaze with a steady strength as he took in her words. Eventually, though, he nodded. “I understand.”

She didn’t have the stomach to work up a smile. Instead, Celaena dipped her chin and placed a thankful hand on Rowan’s arm.

With that, they went to sleep in their separate rooms on far more amicable terms than she would have guessed.

She woke early the next morning, a plan for the day already formulated in her head. She left a quickly scrawled note in the kitchen explaining that she was going to spend the day gathering intel on the Blackbeaks and for Rowan to not show his grumpy face as he would be immediately recognized and positively ruin everything.

So, she dressed in her trendiest clothes, put on light, blushy make-up, and could only hope it did enough to make her seem like an innocent, young woman out for the day.

To help her finish off the ruse, she recruited a friend.

Celaena didn’t know if she could use the word friend to describe Lysandra. As with her relationship with Elide, she liked both women greatly and trusted them. But the time they spent with each other was very often intertwined with her work. They never got the chance to do things that most friends did. They didn’t go out for drinks or have dinners together. Though, now that Celaena was out from under the constant watch of Arobynn, perhaps she could actually have them over.

The idea was partially strange. Celaena wasn’t sure if she knew how to spend time with people purely for the pleasure of their company anymore.

Still, that didn’t stop Lysandra from making the day more enjoyable.

Lysandra was easily one of the most beautiful women that Celaena had ever seen. She had the most amazing figure, long, luscious hair, and stunning emerald eyes. She was the kind of woman that made everyone do a double-take when she strolled by.

Lysandra was technically employed as a "dancer" at Arobynn’s strip club, though she often found herself having to do more when the right person waved the right amount of money. It wasn’t the life she had envisioned herself, but a few strings of bad luck put her in debt with one of Arobynn’s business partners, Clarisse and now…

They didn’t speak about it often, but Celaena knew Lysandra was waiting for the day she could escape.

Though, despite the jobs that they found themselves trapped in, today they were almost normal.

The Blackbeak compound was on the edge of the trendiest part of the downtown area. The idea of two young women amongst the red-bricked buildings trying to take aesthetic photos for their social media was very plausible.

Lysandra fluffed up her raven hair as she stood across the street from the Blackbeak compound, flashing a winning smile. Celaena held the phone up, pretending to take photos of her friend, but instead capturing the layout of the building behind her. She noted the position of cameras, the entrances and exits, possible blind spots.

“So,” Lysandra began, striking another pose. “How is married life treating you?”

Celaena rolled her eyes. “Oh, it’s been an absolute dream, obviously.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. I’ve seen Rowan Whitethorn. He’s very handsome.”

“Handsome, maybe. A bastard? Absolutely.”

“You say that as if you’re the picture of kindness and level-headedness.”

Celaena snorted and shrugged. “Fair point.”

Lysandra moved to a different position, allowing Celaena to take photos of the compound from another angle. “Have you slept with him yet?”

“Gods, no.”

“Why the hell not?” Lysandra planted her hands on her hips stubbornly, raising a demanding brow. “You're already married! And, if I remember correctly, you ended up killing the last guy you fucked. And now you have a handsome husband who could probably use a good lay too. I just don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

Because sleeping with him is exactly what Arobynn wanted and I love to spite him where I can, Celaena thought. Because Rowan’s a better man than I would have guessed and seducing him is one more step in the direction that would likely end up with Arobynn destroying him.

It wasn’t easy to admit, but Celaena now realized that she actually almost liked Rowan. Or, at least, she didn’t care to see him dead. And her friend was right, he was very handsome. Despite her better wishes, she found herself eyeing his broad shoulders from time to time, enjoying the sight of his thick arms beneath his shirts.

And, some nights, her dreams would be plagued with hazy images of her and Rowan naked. They never delved into too much detail, but they often left her waking coated in a sheen of sweat and aching between her legs.

But she didn’t tell Lysandra any of that. Instead she just shrugged and said, “Well, if you want to sleep with my husband so badly, I’m not going to stop you.”

That, at least, made Lysandra laugh. It was a nice sound.

…

The next few days went by quickly.

Celaena and Rowan kept themselves busy prepping for the Blackbeak strike. They spent most of the day and evenings plotting out the minute details, using the photos that Celaena had taken as well as blueprints that Elide had found for them to devise the best possible plan.

She found that they worked surprisingly well together. Ideas and expertise wove together seamlessly, they could challenge without clashing, bring up different ideas without offending. Where Celaena figured they would be brawling without end in sight, it was easy.

They would plan in the mornings, through the afternoons, before finally giving themselves a break in the evening. Usually, they would end up ordering take-out and cracking open a bottle of wine to wind down. Whoever reached the remote first got control over the television that played while they ate and drank. Rowan would put on sports, the news, or a documentary. Celaena preferred trashy reality or a steamy historical drama.

Either way, they learned how to deal with the other.

It had been… easier in the apartment lately. They had been getting along much better, talking without arguing, and Celaena swore she had been able to make him laugh a few times though Rowan seemed hell-bent on hiding it from her.

But, eventually, the day that all their planning and plotting and scheming had been leading to arrived.

Maeve and Arobynn hadn’t bothered asking many questions about what they would do, only offering extra hands if needed. But Rowan and Celaena both agreed that more people would be more of a nuisance than an assistance. Besides, they had everything under control.

Celaena had used the days leading up to the strike to find strategic places to hide some of their bulkier equipment. This mostly included the gasoline they were planning on splashing over every available surface of the inside of the building, being sure to cover weapons and drugs and other valuables. By the time everything was finished, the Blackbeaks would be left with just about nothing.

The morning and afternoon were nothing special. They ate their breakfast, Rowan went to the headquarters for a bit to work with his aunt, arriving back home to find Celaena, much to his bewilderment, painting her nails. (“Why would you do that before tonight? Aren’t you afraid of ruining them?” “If everything goes well tonight, my manicure will remain perfect.”)

They went over their plans a few more times, ate dinner, and soon the city was settled under the thick blanket of night.

It was time.

…

The night air held a nipping bit of chill on it that wasn’t eased by the winds that blew off the snow-capped mountains. Rowan had lived in Terrasen for years now and he still had yet to get used to how cold it could get in the north.

Luckily, he wore a jacket with a hood, a dark piece of cloth covering the bottom half of his face. His attire kept him warm enough. It also made him look like nothing more than a shadow perched on a rooftop across from the Blackbeak compound.

Celaena was dressed similarly. Her hood and mask made it nearly impossible for Rowan to see anything of her face, though occasionally he would catch a flash of her turquoise eyes when the dim yellow light of a streetlamp hit her just right. From those quick glimpses, he could tell that she was honed in on this plan. Focused on the mission and the mission only.

It made him understand how she became as infamous as she was. Living with Celaena was one thing. He saw her vanity, her love for romance novels, her joy at forcing terrible reality television on her. None of that painted a picture of a bloody assassin.

But now…

Her dark clothing made her menacing. He knew that she had guns on her that he could not currently see, likely a few knives as well. Celaena paced across the roof like a big cat, eyes pinned on the doors across from them.

“Are we sure she’s in there?” Rowan asked, voice muffled by the fabric over his mouth.

“I’m sure.” Celaena stopped her pacing, crossing her arms over her chest. “Manon has gone in every night so far and has left before one in the morning.”

“Do we have to wait for her to leave?”

“It’s for the best. Manon is vicious. If anyone has a chance at fucking this up for us, it would be her. Besides, if something goes sideways, I’d sleep better knowing I did everything to minimize the casualties.”

Rowan snorted. “Says the assassin.”

The light illuminated under her hood just enough for Rowan to see her glaring daggers at him. “And as an assassin, if I’m going to kill anyone, it’s going to be for a fat check. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t do this for fun.”

For a moment, something akin to regret flushed through Rowan. In the time he had gotten to know Celaena, she had proven herself to be nothing like the woman he had concocted in his head before they had met. She wasn’t the bloody, vicious boogeyman he had imagined. She didn’t kill for pleasure and bathe in the blood of her victims. She was just a woman. A woman who was likely living a life she had never imagined for herself.

"When you were a kid, what did you picture yourself doing as an adult?” Rowan found himself asking before he could think better of it.

Celaena dragged her eyes away from the warehouse, a hint of confusion gleaming in her eyes. He could practically see her trying to glean why he had asked her such a thing. But, eventually, she seemed to decide there wasn’t any malicious intent behind it.

“You’ll laugh,” she said.

“Is it embarrassing?”

“No. Just ironic.” Her fingers flexed, hesitating. “I wanted to be a nurse.”

Ironic, indeed.

Though it was not the time nor the place to have this kind of conversation, Rowan still asked, “What happened?”

The question gave her pause and, as if she could no longer look at him, turned her gaze towards the city skyline.

Her voice was no more than a whisper of a rasp as she said, “I wish I knew.”

She sounded sad. Lost. Hopeless. It was almost enough to make Rowan want to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder.

But before he could even seriously consider the option, something below caught her eye. Quickly, she strode towards him, leading them towards a darker bit of shadow. It was easy to fade into it, to follow her attention down towards the white-haired woman who exited the warehouse.

“There,” Celaena whispered, mouth close to his ear. “She’s leaving.”

Four other women flanked Manon Blackbeak, some of her cabal. All as smart and dangerous as her. It was a boon to Rowan and Celaena that they were exiting too. It made their jobs ever so slightly easier.

A dark, nondescript car pulled up and the women all filed in. Within moments, they were nothing more than red tail lights fading in the distance.

Celaena caught his eye, raising a challenging brow as if to say, You ready?

Neither of them had any other choice but to be.

…

When it came down to it, the plan was simple.

Though the Blackbeaks’ heaviest hitters had left, there were still others lingering about the building. Some were packaging drugs, some were printing money, and others were cleaning weapons. Which, coincidentally, were all of the things that Rowan and Celaena had been told to target.

They each had a role: distraction and executioner.

Celaena would flit around the perimeter, tripping alarms that she had so painstakingly mapped out, drawing more and more of the operatives away from their money and drugs and guns. While they were gone, Rowan would come in, dousing gasoline on all of the valuables and planting small explosives to take out the supporting structures of the building.

It would all come down in flames.

It was almost laughably easy to go through and trigger the alarms. With all of the studying she had done, Celaena was able to avoid the cameras getting too good of a look at her, instead only allowing them to catch the briefest glimpses of her shadowy figure.

The strike would truly be an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see Rowan working, could only hope that he was doing what needed to be done.

Though, she found that she didn’t worry about Rowan’s work. She knew he would be successful.

Perhaps that meant she trusted him, but that was a bit too much to delve into now.

She could hear footsteps following the path she had been creating, hear the women hissing and snipping at one another when they couldn’t find the person who had been setting off their alarms. It wouldn’t be long until they had called out the others for assistance.

Celaena managed to slink off to the side, finding a spot that gave her cover as well as a good vantage point to see the handful of figures skimming the perimeter, searching for her. It almost made her laugh to see them so hopeless.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist. It had been nearly ten minutes since she had tripped the first alarm, which meant Rowan should be getting close to finishing what he needed to.

She raised a hand, pressing a button on the earpiece she wore, the one Rowan wore the twin of.

“Update?”

Rowan’s voice crackled to life in her ear. “Almost done. Keep them out of the building a bit longer.”

“Got it.”

Celaena slipped out of her hiding spot, stalking after the group nearest to her. She had planned on taking out one, just knocking them out. Creating panic, ensuring everyone would be out of the building and chasing after her.

She only made it a few steps before a hand grabbed her shoulder roughly, all but throwing her against the nearest wall. Celaena's head bounced against the brick, stunning her briefly. But as she blinked away the stars that clouded her vision, she was confronted with the one thing she had hoped not to see.

“Well, well,” crooned Manon Blackbeak, white teeth flashing in a sharp grin, knife pressed against her throat. “What do we have here?”

…

Rowan felt as though he had done all that he needed to. The smell of gasoline was almost making him dizzy, the explosive devices were planted in the best,  most vulnerable spots. All he needed to do was press a button and everything would go up in flames.

It had almost been too easy.

He tossed an empty bucket of gasoline off to the side, admiring his work.

Rowan raised a hand towards his earpiece, striding towards the exit. “I’m done, Sardothien. Let me know where you’re cleared of the area.”

Nothing came back to him as he swept out of the building, relieved by the fresher night air. He pressed into his earpiece again. “Sardothien? Are you there?”

Still, nothing.

A pang of fear went through him. “Celaena? Are you alright?”

When nothing but silence greeted him once more, he knew that something was very wrong.

Rowan sprung into action, searching the edges and shadows for his wife while trying to avoid all the others she had pulled from the building. None of them seemed to have her, nor did they seem to have any direction, meaning they still didn’t know who had been tripping those alarms.

Where was she? If she wasn’t answering, it meant something had gone very wrong.

Rowan skidded around the corner and quickly discovered what, exactly, had gone wrong.

Two figures fought swiftly and viciously, almost too fast for Rowan to make out what was happening in the dark. But, beneath the orange glow of a streetlamp, he was able to recognize the white gleam of hair, and the figure of the woman who had been living in his apartment the past few months.

Manon had come, and was giving Celaena a run for her money.

He didn’t know what had brought the Blackbeak woman back, but at this point, it didn’t matter. She had found them out, and was keen to make it Celaena’s problem.

It was the first time that Rowan had actually seen her fight, and gods, was it glorious. She was lithe and fluid, snarling as she struck and taking Manon’s hit like a champ. If the situation had been different, Rowan would have liked to stop and observe. The way they moved was glorious, a masterclass in violence.

But time was of the essence, and it was only so long before Manon’s backups would come upon them.

Rowan pulled the pistol from the harness around his shoulder, firing one shot. It wasn’t aimed at anyone, they were moving too quickly for him to make a clear shot. But the sound was enough to make them spring apart.

He used the distraction to his advantage. Rowan lunged forward, grabbing Celaena, dragging her into the closest, most protective alcove he could find, and pressing the detonation button.

Rowan shielded her body with his as gently as he could, unsure of how much damage Manon had dealt. He took the brunt of whatever rocks and pieces made it towards where they hid. Luckily, it wasn’t too much. The worst he felt was the heat of the explosion, the rumble as the building came tumbling down.

Celaena’s head was ducked into his chest, her fingers bunching his shirt, holding on for dear life as the world went up in flames around them.

But, eventually, the thunder quieted, and only the simmering of burning flames remained.

Both he and Celaena were panting as they pulled back to look at one another. Rowan, perhaps foolishly, expected to find gratitude in those turquoise eyes of hers. Instead, there was only ire.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Celaena seethed, shoving his chest hard enough he had to take a step back to maintain his footing. She brushed past him, out of the relatively safe alcove he had found into the burning tundra on the outside.

Where there had once stood a warehouse, filled with drugs and weapons and money, there was now nothing more than a smoldering heap of rubble. Red bricks were scattered in piles, flames still burning bright within the destruction. Arobynn and Maeve certainly wouldn’t have any gripes with their job.

Rowan followed Celaena into the apocalypse-type scene, watching as she stepped over brick and twisted iron rods, searching the ground for something. He seemed to spot the gleam of white just as his wife did. Celaena quickly started hauling rubble away, working against time as the flames started to spread.

“Don’t just stand there you brute,” she hissed at him. “Help me!”

There was a sort of authority to her tone that had him springing to action, coming to her side and clearing away bricks and rubble to find the person hidden beneath.

Manon Blackbeak’s face was covered in soot, turning her moon-white hair almost gray. Something had struck her forehead hard enough to cut, blood dribbling down her brow, starkly red against her pale, dirty skin.

For a moment, Rowan thought she was dead. But then her gold eyes cracked open, already burning with distaste, even through the haze of nearly being blown to hell.

“Give me your arm,” Celaena said, crouching low to the ground.

Manon looked like she wanted nothing more than to continue the brawl Rowan had interrupted, but lacked the strength. Still, she managed a weak snarl. “Why?”

“Because, I’m not getting paid to kill you tonight,” said Celaena. “And if I let you burn to a crisp now, then I miss out on a potential chance to kill you for money in the future.”

She didn’t wait for Manon to give her arm, instead grabbing it and hauling her up whether she liked it or not. Rowan could only stare.

“You’re going to get us killed,” he said.

Celaena glared, pulling her mask down her sweat-glazed face. “Help me carry her, then.”

He didn’t have much of a choice but to do so if they were both going to make it out of there before either getting shot by Manon’s men or burned by the fires quickly spreading. Rowan tucked himself under Manon’s other arm, moving as quickly and efficiently as he could over the smoldering rubble that surrounded him.

“I would have thought you were the infamous Celaena Sardothien,” jabbed Manon weakly. “But you can’t be her, because she would never do something so stupid."

“If I were you, I probably wouldn’t be insulting the woman saving you from being roasted alive,” spat Celaena.

“I would have killed you if I had the chance.”

“You would need me already nearly dead if you had a hope of killing me, so I can’t blame you.”

It sounded like Manon tried to laugh, but could only huff out a gravely cough.

They managed to drag Manon across the street, far enough away that she was no longer at risk of the flames that continued to grow in size and heat. Neither Rowan nor Celaena were particularly gentle as they placed her down, slumped against a wall.

“If I didn’t have what is likely three broken ribs,” panted Manon, watching her warehouse burn to ash, “then I would throttle you. Both of you.”

“That’s a weird way to say thank you for saving my life, don’t you agree?” Celaena asked, looking towards Rowan.

He was in no mood to joke around with her.

Before he could tell her as such, there were shouts in the near-distance, rapid footfalls quickly approaching.

Manon grinned at the sound, looking up towards her tormentors and her saviors. “Consider my thank you telling you to run now. Because although I cannot kill you two myself, my sisters might be able to.”

Rowan cursed and looked towards his wife. She seemed to understand the severity of the situation just as well as he did. Without exchanging words, they both took off in into the night, leaving the burning building and a cackling Manon behind.

…

“You’re an idiot!” Celaena snapped again as they sprinted through the deserted streets of the slums.

“I’m the idiot?”

“You almost fucking blew me up!”

“I saved your ass from getting torn to shred by Manon.”

“I had that under complete control,” she snarled. “I would have been fine.”

“And what about risking our necks to save her? We could have been halfway across the city right now if we didn’t waste our time.”

“I told you,” Celaena growled as they took a sharp corner. “I wanted to minimize casualties.”

They slowed to a stop down a quiet street. There hadn’t been the sound of people following them for a few blocks, meaning that they had lost their unwelcome guests. Rowan turned towards Celaena, taking in her dirty face and deep scowl.

“You almost blew me up!” she ground out again, poking at the center of his chest hard enough that he felt the sting of her manicured nail through his layers.

He grabbed the offending hand tightly. “I saved you from being blown up.”

“By an explosion you caused!”

“It wouldn’t have had to come to that if you hadn’t gotten caught by Manon.”

Celaena bared her teeth, looking like she wanted nothing more than to bury them in his throat and tear it out. But, before she had the chance to do that or continue their spat, shouts echoed from the distance.

“They went this way!”

Celaena hissed out a sharp curse, jerking her hand out of Rowan’s grip and motioning to the distance. “Follow me.”

Rowan didn’t have much of a choice but to follow his wife’s lead, hot on her heels as they flew down the dark, desolate streets, trying to evade what would only end up as a shootout.

He trailed Celaena’s twists and turns down the streets, not voicing his confusion as she led them from the quiet slums towards the more fashionable part of town. It was risky. There would be people there, and it wasn’t as though they were dressed like regular folks enjoying the nightlife of downtown Orynth. It was nearly 1:30 in the morning, but the social scene would still be busy.

She was a few paces ahead of him before she made a sharp left, disappearing down an alley. Rowan was quick to follow, but before he could take more than a few steps into the shadows, a hand shot out, grabbed his collar, and dragged him through a door.

Instantly, his senses were assaulted. He was wrenched from a quiet, dark night to a loud, hot room flushed with hard fluorescent lighting. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust vision as the scents of savory cooking began to waft to his noise, shouts of chefs and busboys echoing in the air around him.

A kitchen. They were in a kitchen.

A busy one, at that. The white-clad workers barely cast a glimpse at him and Celaena save for a few angry looks for being in their way.

Before him, Celaena yanked back her hood, revealing her frizzy, braided hair and dirty cheeks. Wherever they were, she was clearly comfortable enough to show her face, which meant Rowan could too.

He was thankful to be rid of the hood and mask, face sweaty after their mad dash through the slums. He briefly wondered if he looked as messy as Celaena did right now.

“You don’t think you could have at least tried to get us away from the blast zone before you blew the building to hell?” Celaena demanded, jumping right back into their interrupted argument.

“I would have if I could. It was only a matter of time before Manon’s people found us and we would be too outnumbered to do anything.”

“Are you fucking-?”

“What are the two of you doing?”

In unison, they both whipped towards the source of the voice, finding an older man in a crisp, white uniform before them, face cloudy.

“Standing here in my kitchen, unannounced!” he continued in an irritable grumble. “And positively filthy, at that! You're a walking health code violation, Miss Sardothien.”

“Sorry, Emrys,” Celaena said, almost sounding sincere. "We ran into some trouble. Need a place to lay low for a bit.”

The man, Emrys, planted his fists on his narrow hips. “Well, you can’t do it in my kitchen. Mr. Hamel’s ptivate room is empty. Come with me and we’ll get you two something to eat and drink.”

He didn’t wait for a response before shuffling towards a pair of double doors. Celaena was quick to follow him. Rowan would have been too if he had any idea where the fuck they were.

He asked his wife as such when he came to her side, following the old man through a dimly lit but well-decorated hall.

“This is Arobynn’s steakhouse. The Vaults,” Celaena explained. “It’s safe. And the head chef, Emrys, can be trusted.”

Rowan had heard of it. It was nothing more than a vanity project for Hamel, somewhere he could meet with clients and enjoy good food and wine, all while getting a cut of the profits. From what Rowan understood, it was a massively popular spot. He assumed no one really understood who, exactly, owned it.

Emrys led them into a small, private dining room. Everything about the decoration simply screamed Arobynn. It was filled with old-world charm: deep crimsons, gold accents, classic art hanging on the walls. And, at the center of the room, was an already set table draped in a white table cloth. Emrys lit the candlestick on the center of it, pulling out the chair of Celaena.

“I’ll have Luca bring a bottle of wine and some glasses for you and your… friend,” Emrys said, casting a curious glance towards Rowan. Clearly, he had no idea who he was.

“He’s my husband, actually,” said Celaena breathily as she sat down.

“Oh!” Emrys blinked towards Rowan, studying him in a new light.

“It wasn’t either of our choices.”

“Oh,” said Emrys again, more understanding this time. He watched Rowan warily as he took his seat before clapping his hands together. “Do you still want the wine?”

“Gods, yes. And a whiskey for my dearest husband, if you could. Neat.”

“Of course, Miss Sardothien.” Emrys bowed his head before exiting, leaving the two of them in silence.

From across the single, flickering flame, they held one another’s gazes.

“You know what I like to drink,” said Rowan.

Celaena gave a casual shrug, tugging the ties from her braids and freeing her short hair. “We’ve lived together long enough. I was able to put it together.”

“Not a lot to put together for a whisky, neat.”

She snorted softly. “No, I suppose there isn’t.”

They fell into silence, the adrenaline from before slowly seeping away, leaving them with unfortunately clear heads to think about everything they had spewed at one another since everything had gone to shit.

But, before either of them could break the smothering silence, the door opened and a young boy swept in, drinks balanced perfectly on his serving tray.

“Good evening, Miss Sardothien,” the boy said, flashing a large grin that told Rowan that, against all odds, he was somewhat besotted with the assassin.

“Hello, Luca. How have you been?”

“Better, now that you’re here,” he said in what Rowan thought was an abysmal form of flirting. He was too young, too soft. Celaena would eat him alive.

The boy, Luca, placed two glasses before them both, filling them with generous servings of a red wine. From the appearance of the bottle, it looked rather expensive. Not that Rowan would gripe about it. Celaena would likely charge it all to Arobynn anyway.

“And here is your whisky, sir,” Luca said, placing a low glass of amber liquid before him. He tucked the serving tray under his arm before looking back towards Celaena. “Would you like your regular?”

She swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Please.”

Luca then looked towards Rowan, a hint of nerves in his dark eyes. The people who ran this place for Arobynn probably were aware he wasn’t a man to fucked with, and likely knew vaguely what Celaena did. But there was no way this boy was deep enough into their world to have any idea who was sitting across from Celaena. He was at least wary. Smart kid.

“And for your… companion?”

“Husband,” corrected both he and Celeana in unison. They looked at one another sharply, his wife seeming to say, Don’t talk over me.

Rowan shook his head in exasperation. You’re impossible.

Her jaw clenched tightly before she ground out, “He’ll have the bone-in ribeye. Medium rare. And can we get some oysters while we wait?”

“Of course,” Luca said. “We’ll have everything right out.”

With that, the boy quickly scurried out of the private dining room, leaving them alone. It was then that Rowan tried his first sip of whisky. The second it touched his tongue, he knew it was quality.

“Do you like it?” asked Celaena, leaning back in her seat and swirling the wine around her glass.

“I do. Expensive?”

A slow smile spread on her lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on Arobynn.”

“You don’t think he’ll be upset to see the charge?”

“Please. Whatever this dinner would cost is just pocket chage for him.”

The doors to the room opened, a server bearing a tray of iced oysters. It was remarkably fast, but they probably didn’t want to get on Arobynn or Celaena’s bad sides. The spread was placed down, his wife offering her thanks before they were left alone once again.

She didn’t waste much time before digging in, spritzing some lemon juice into the shell before slurping it down in the most dignified manner a person could. Rowan did the same, savoring the briny flavor.

“Did Arobynn teach you to have such lavish tastes?”

She snorted, grabbing another oyster. “I was born with these tastes.”

“Luckily you ended up in such a lucrative profession.”

A haze of sorrowful nostalgia passed over her face. “I was… well-off when I was younger. Or, at least, my family was. In another world, I would have been just fine without my current profession.”

Something about her words, her tone, told Rowan she wasn’t in the mood to venture any further down this topic. So, he ate another oyster and took a new direction.

“Why do you think Manon came back?”

“Does it even matter? We got the job done.”

“Yes, but she knows who did it.”

“She would have figured it out anyway. Not many people could have done what we did.”

True. Rowan decided to try the wine, finding it just as good as everything else had been so far. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out to a nice restaurant like this one. He was never really one to indulge. Unlike his wife.

“Do you think Arobynn and Maeve might be pissed about how things played out?”

Celaena scowled. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they were… even though we completed what we were tasked with.”

Rowan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I suppose that will be a problem for tomorrow.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Celaena, raising her glass.

They finished their oysters in near silence, both of them famished after the long, troublesome night. Almost as soon as the last empty shell was discarded, a couple for waitstaff filed in. One was quick to clear the table of the used plates and empty shells while the other bore two steaming plates.

They placed Rowan’s steak before him and even he could appreciate the aroma that wafted off of it. It looked to be perfectly cooked, topped with a spring of rosemary and a few seasonal vegetables on the side.

But, before he picked up his cutlery, he studied what Celaena had got. On her plate was a filet and a lobster tail, a small side of melted butter beside it.

“Would you like your regular desert after this, miss?” one of them asked Celaena.

“Absolutely.”

They both thanked the staff once more, not even looking at one another before tearing into their food. Rowan hadn’t realized how truly hungry he was until the steak had been placed before him. Now, he was glad that they were in their own private room because he only had to worry about Celaena watching him tear into his food like a wild animal.

Not that she was much better. She sliced off a generous chunk of filet before shoving it in her mouth, groaning indecently at the taste.

It was a good steak. Probably one of the best he had ever had in his life.

“How is it?” asked Celaena around a mouthful of food.

“Good.”

She quirked a brow, moving on to her lobster. “Just good?”

“Very good.”

“High praise coming from you.”

Rowan only huffed a laugh and kept on eating.

Without being stifled by the rules of decorum, both of them wolfed down their food in what must have been record time. Celaena was even generous enough to offer him a bite of her lobster. It was perfect.

Eventually, though, their plates were empty save for the shell of her lobster and the bone from Rowan’s steak. He had finished his whisky at some point during the meal, moving on to the wine that had been provided and sipping it slowly.

“I can’t wait to shower,” remarked Celaena, picking rubble out of her hair. “I smell like smoke.”

“Your face is filthy.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Before they could get into it once more, more staff came in and cleared away their plates and dirty silverware before placing something before Celaena. The desert she had asked for, then.

On the platter sat four plump, chocolate-covered strawberries, a cigar, and a lighter.

She went for one of the strawberries first, the chocolate layer crumbling between her lips. She didn’t even wait until she had finished swallowing before she had gone for the cigar, lighting with an ease that told him she had done this plenty of times.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

She drew the smoke into her mouth, holding it for a few moments, before releasing, filling the room with the thick, sweet scent.

“Only socially.”

“Is this a social event, then?” asked Rowan, leaning forward and snatching the cigar out of her hand and taking it for himself.

Celaena protested less than he thought she would, choosing instead to eat another strawberry. “This is the closest to a social event that I’ve experienced in a while so… I suppose so.”

The cigar, like everything else had been tonight, was good. And likely expensive.

“You know,” she said, sucking a bit of melted chocolate off her thumb in a manner that caught Rowan’s attention indecently. “Despite what went wrong, I think with a bit of practice, we’ll make pretty good partners.”

Rowan couldn’t help but smile around the cigar as his wife raised her glass, this time angling it towards him. He clinked his glass against hers before sprawling back in his seat.

“Here’s to a prosperous partnership, then.”

And, as Celaena reached across the table to snatch her cigar back, Rowan felt something powerful solidify between them.

Trust.

~~~

a/n: sorry for the wait for this chap, but it was super long to make up for it! i hope everyone liked. I personally enjoy this chapter a lot, but the next one might be even better!!

tags: @val-gon @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks​ @lattristantketchup @poisonous00​ @sleeping-and-books​ @booklover242​ @elentiyawhitethorn​ @shyvioletcat​ @charlizeed​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @nalgenewhore​ @morganofthewildfire​ @emily-gsh​ @fireheart-violet​ @fangirling-4-ever​ @leiawritesstories​ @stardelia​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @fromthelibraryofemilyj​ @gwynethhberdara​ @rowaelinrambling​ @justreadertings​ @thegreyj​ @rubyriveraqueen​ @rowanaelinn​ 

[arleniansdoodles]

Im rereading the last chapter as i wait for the next chapter update email and now im thinking abt calliope saying she hates kratos

Like the fact that she said that to atreus means she trists him enough to the point where she can let things like that slip. Like ok yes kids arentsnknown for having tight lips but if she thought atreus would react badly she would never have let them slip

Just appreciating their relationship really, i font have anything substantial to say just. Them 💕

First off, thank you so much for reminding me about the update today!! I had the draft ready but got distracted this morning 😭 Now it's posted! XD

Speaking of Calliope, you hit the nail on the head, anon! That's definitely what I had in mind when I wrote that scene, or any scene where she has an outburst in front of Atreus; she trusts him and feels safe enough around him to do so. And when she feels bad about her words, I imagine it's due to how Kratos reacted to "bad news" in the past, like when he argued with Lysandra about his desire for war 😢

I'm really happy to hear you're enjoying their relationship as it develops! Writing them together was such a blast 💕💕

[dark-devotee]

THE BASICS

“She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honour, for love.”

Full Name: Bellatrix Lysandra Lestrange nee Black Nickname: Bella (only to those close to her) Age/Date of Birth: 30, October 25th Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman, she/her Blood Status: Pureblood Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Affiliation in the War: Death Eaters Residence: Lestrange Manor Languages: English, French, Latin Occupation: Socialite (resentfully so); through her connections, however, she scouts and recruits new Death Eaters for the Dark Lord.

FAMILY INFORMATION

Father: Cygnus Black Mother: Druella Black nee Rosier Siblings: Narcissa Black, Andromeda Black, Rabastan Lestrange (brother-in-law) Husband: Rodolphus Lestrange Other Family Members: Sirius Black (cousin), Regulus Black (cousin), Evan Rosier (cousin), Orion Black (uncle), Walburga Black (aunt), Alphard Black (uncle)

WIZARDING WORLD INFORMATION

Former House: Slytherin Extracurriculars at school: Slytherin head of the Dueling Club, Slug Club, Beater for the Slytherin quidditch team Wand type: 12¾" long, walnut, dragon heartstring core, unyielding Patronus: Vulture Boggart: Narcissa and Rodolphus, dead, her wand snapped alongside them, useless.

PERSONALITY

(+) devoted, resolute, intelligent, protective, ambitious, fearless

(-) cruel, vindictive, unforgiving, arrogant, short-tempered, bigoted

FACTS

TW: Physical abuse, animal abuse

Idolized her father, hated her mother. Cygnus’ affection for his eldest daughter was sparse; he withheld praise and shows of love as a means of control. Bellatrix was the eldest and after Narcissa’s birth, he could see no sons in his immediate future. He had no heir; his sister’s sons would be first in line to inherit. This did not mean, however, that he would shirk his responsibilities and duty to upholding the family name – if he could not have a son, he would mold Bellatrix into one, and she would bear the brunt of these expectations for years to come. From Cygnus she learned what it meant to be a Black; how to wield the power that had been handed down to them through centuries of bloodshed and sacrifices; and how to discern the worthy from the unworthy.

Druella, on the other hand, desired nothing more than to have a daughter created in her own image; the perfect pureblood lady. Try as she might, though, she was never able to coax any semblance of submissiveness from her unruly daughter. Bellatrix was a whirlwind from the start, caking her dresses in mud, curls tangled in knots of leaves and dirt, as she ran through their estate grounds, her mother’s shrill screams in her wake. She would skive off etiquette lessons, climb down two story balconies to escape social events, and would habitually turn up to dinner with scraped knees and a fresh array of bruises. Druella would take to beating her eldest daughter in fits of rage, hoping to exert control over her with fear. But Bellatrix wouldn’t give; she refused to conform. If there was one thing she still had control over in this predetermined life of hers, it was how much pain she could tolerate.

During one particular instance, her mother lost her grip on the hairbrush she’d been beating her with; Bellatrix lunged for it and smacked it straight across Druella’s jaw. She doesn’t remember much of subsequent events – not the punishment that ensued, nor what her mother yelled at her, nor what her father did when he learned of his daughter’s transgressions. All she remembers is the look of terror on her mother’s face as blood streamed down her mouth – and her own visceral sense of satisfaction and glee. This felt good. This felt real.

Her sisters and cousins were a different story altogether. Bellatrix loved them ferociously. Their upbringing was a relatively solitary one and all they had for the longest time was each other. Bossy and arrogant though she was, she would defend them all without the slightest hesitation. Family was everything. The Black family name was everything. And so long as they were her family, they owned every inch of her darkling heart.

Bellatrix loved Hogwarts. It was a refuge of sorts from the expectations back home and a place to explore her talents and baser instincts. She made it onto the Slytherin quidditch team her second year as a beater and joined the dueling club her third year, later to become the club’s Slytherin head. She kept a close group of friends she deemed impressive enough to share in her presence and was a relentless bully to all others. Few dared to rise against her, as she’d curated a fearsome reputation early on, and had little qualms doling out hexes and jinxes.

Around her fourth year she became more and more engrossed with the dark arts after being gifted a copy of Magick Moste Evile by her father. Grew closer to Rodolphus Lestrange around this time as well. Was introduced to Voldemort and his ideals.Would torture and kill small animals to practice her craft.

Sirius and Andromeda’s disownings were vicious stabs to the heart; she grew colder and crueler in the wake of their betrayals and more fixated than ever on ridding the wizarding world of the filth she blamed for breaking up her family.

Married Rodolphus Lestrange a few years out of Hogwarts; joined the Death Eaters shortly thereafter.