#i make poor life choices for my fictional husband what can I say

[allsketchesnononsense]

When the brain rot hits too hard and you decide to struggle w blender

[andreabandrea]

HELLO, just wanted to let you know that me and a friend of mine liked your critique essay on UTY so much that we spent the good part of an hour quoting it and discussing it back and forth. it was that special kind of catharsis you only get seeing someone point out the same flaws you saw. sorry for the long ask, but i wanted to share a few of our observations on the character writing.

hard agree about the original characters not leaving a huge impression. as a fellow enjoyer of morally grey women i especially share your disappointment with ceroba. and while her (and chijin's) portrayal in the story brushing past their horrible actions is problematic like you said, i think the underlying issue is more structural.

you know that trope of the Male Hero with Dead Wife Backstory? the only way i can describe my impression of the ketsukane storyline is if they'd swapped the roles of who died in that trope, and STILL managed to give the male character more agency in the story than his alive wife. i mean what... is Ceroba's role in the story aside from acting as a postmortem extension of Chujin's. Who IS Ceroba by herself when she isn't being defined by her role as Wife and Mother. The main sign that this was overlooked, imo, is how it's taken for granted that Ceroba even takes up Chujin's will at all. I mean, she's a housewife who grew up as a farmer. Why on earth would she have the necessary expertise to even attempt something like that? Either 1) Chujin already did everything for her (which, once again, sure doesn't give her own actions much of any bearing on the plot) or it's just taken for granted that she would. Because Ceroba's character is Good Wife, and a good wife would fulfill her husband's last will. No need to question that.

In addition, it's like the writing didn't want to commit to her delusions and little character development. She feels that her daughter is alive and thinks she can save her—wait no that was a lie—wait it wasn't. The moment she's defeated she goes "Agh, what was I thinking!" out loud (which is already a questionable writing choice imo but i digress), and recognizes that sacrificing Clover for her plans is horrible... and then 5 seconds later Clover chooses to sacrifice themself to break the barrier and whoops nevermind she's suddenly the one getting the others onboard with the idea... wait. didn't she say she was making the serum because the humans would've only slaughtered them again if they broke the barrier? oh wait wasn't that also chujin again? whoops.

It's not a matter of things being contradictory—grief can be just that, which I'm assuming is what the story wanted to drive at—it's a about it being inconsistent. And the result is that she just rings hollow to me.

(post being referenced)

this is such a good analysis of why the Ceroba plotline doesn't quite work, and I'm so glad you shared it! you're right. it is super disappointing that her entire role is just to be an extension of her husband's character, and we don't know who she is outside of "the good wife" and mother.

regarding grief and inconsistency-- I think that stories ultimately need to be held to a higher standard than real life. Real life, obviously, doesn't follow a three-act plot structure and things can and do happen for no reason, and sometimes there is no closure, and so on. But everything in fiction is expected to be there for a reason-- this is why "Chekov's gun" exists. Ceroba's inconsistent feelings about sacrificing Clover or Kanako's current status could be seen as indicative of grief, but it also makes for a poor story.

I feel like the "Kanako is alive still maybe in Alphys's lab" plotline may have been dropped because this can't really be answered in a meaningful way and still line up with canon Undertale. Kanako can't be alive and fallen down because we don't see her in the True Lab in Undertale, but she also can't be an amalgamate because we don't see her in any of the amalgamates (because, you know, she doesn't exist in canon Undertale). I guess you could say she's in a Memoryhead or something? It's an interesting idea to show the grief of one of the families who sent a loved one to Alphys's determination experiment, but the way Ceroba flip flops back and forth and then ultimately stops talking about it feels unfulfilling.

I would have liked to have seen any sort of resolution that doesn't require a direct answer about Kanako-- maybe Ceroba feeling unworthy of facing Kanako again after what she did, at least not yet. Or Ceroba accepting that Kanako is likely dead and she was clinging to the belief that Kanako could be alive out of her own grief, and putting ultimately faith in Alphys rather than charging further into science that she doesn't- and doesn't want to- understand.

I think Ceroba's lack of agency is especially reflected in her alleged friendship with Martlet. Sure, Martlet worked with Chujin, so we can reasonably believe that Martlet came to know his wife. But to my memory, we don't see them talk (outside of the true pacifist route finale, I suppose. We know that Ceroba releases Martlet from prison finally, but do you think she did that because they're friends or because someone had to reasonably let Martlet go eventually?). What's their relationship based on besides Chujin? Do you think they would have a bond going forward after the end of UTY? What are Ceroba's interests besides being a wife and a mom-- do you think Martlet would introduce her to making puzzles? Do you think they ever explored each others b

I think it could be argued that she has agency because she chose to experiment on Kanako when Chujin asked her not to, but I would argue in return that it's barely her own decision-- he left her no other way to really complete his work except to involve Kanako. How many other boss monsters are there? If we believe that this random guy could be a boss monster, then I suppose there could be more just out there, but that idea isn't explored-- and if there were more out there, then her decision to involve Kanako in the experiments only feels more foolhardy.

The inconsistency aspect is a great point, and I wish I had included that in my original post, haha. The problem isn't just that we don't get time to process Ceroba's plot and character development (supposedly-- I also think the "oh, what have I done?" aspect feels sudden and unsatisfying) after her boss fight, it's that she immediately changes her stance afterward. So, why did we have this fight to begin with? I remember when Clover was sacrificing their soul, I had this reaction like, "wait, they're really just going to hand it to her specifically after all that?" Lmao.

This is minor and very subjective, but another reason I like the "Asgore lost his wife and son" plot but don't like the "Ceroba lost her husband and daughter" plot as much (besides the whole Asriel & Chara storyline being much more impactful and related to Undertale's main plot than the Chujin & Kanako storyline) is that divorce is inherently just a million times funnier than a dead spouse. Toriel didn't die, she straight up left Asgore for a 3'4" short king she met through knock-knock jokes and then tells Asgore to go fuck himself in the pacifist ending. She's allowed to have agency and be someone outside of the (ex-)wife and the mom. It's awesome, and Ceroba's characterization (or lack thereof) feels like a step backwards in comparison.

Thank you again for sending this ask!

[alreadyblondenow]

Melt with you | Lee Taeyong

✦ Lee Taeyong x reader ✦ Fluff, Smut, Smut, Smut, Angst, Jack Frost AU ✦ 2/5 for HOLIDAY SERIES: Once Upon A December

Summary: After being the guardian of winter, Taeyong finds himself falling in love with you while he takes care of your daughter secretly. “I’ll see you in your next life,” he says, and so he did. He waited for your next life and make you fall in love with him, until Taeyong can’t cheat on fate anymore and decided to give you to your real soulmate.

Word count: 8,550k

Warnings: A lot of smut, unprotected sex and protected sex, mentions of sex, mentions of oral sex, and oral sex (female receiving), swearing, mentions of other idols, fingering, accidental period sex, trying to have a baby but can’t, virginity loss, virgin taeyong, experienced reader, poor taeyog (no money), mentions of dying, almost dying Taeyong, pregnancy test and getting a negative result always, mentions of rough sex, mature themes, established relationship, divorce.

A/N: PURE FICTION. Inspired by the movie Jack Frost, Rise of the Guardians, Marriage Story, 500 days of summer.... Personally I wanted this to be my own version of Jack Frost and focused a lot with Taeyong and so much about the reader sorry :( but I think I did a pretty bad job about that. Jaehyun is a cupid here, and Doyoung is the easter bunny. Dont forget that hehehe. hope you enjoy.

The snow was pretty thick today and according to the news, there will be a snowstorm that will hit the town by late afternoon. Running like the wind and flying fast, the spirit of winter that makes the town cold and ready for the Holiday season came out to enjoy the said storm. As the spirit of winter, Taeyong did not just go out today so he could have a great time, but he has to make sure that the town will be safe once the storm arrives.

“Can we go out and skate? I promise I’ll be back before the storm arrives” your nine year old daughter whines to you and your husband, Taeil. You look at Taeil while he chews his pancakes, and shook his head. “No. It’s too dangerous” he says.

“But-“

“No buts, baby. You can play indoors and you can skate all you want after the storm” he reasons out. She pouts and crossed her arms, giving her father a look, and did not finish her breakfast. Even though Taeil said no, his daughter is so stubborn that she sneaked out to meet her friend from behind their house to go skating.

The storm is fast approaching and the wind is getting stronger and it is slowly becoming a blizzard. When the little girl soon realizes that she made the wrong decision because she sees that it’s obviously dangerous, it was too late because they seem to have lost their way back home. “I can’t see a thing! Don’t let go of my hand!” she shouts at her friend, squeezing her hand so tight so she won’t lose her. The wind was so strong that they can’t move their bodies, not to mention it was so cold and it’s getting really hard to try and move.

“Didn’t your parents told you not to go out! There’s a storm coming- here give me your hand” Taeyong came out of nowhere and helped the girls through the storm and guide their way back home like the guardian that he is. He made sure that the girls will go home safely so he turned into his human form and brought them home safely. Your daughter hugged you so tight and quickly apologized for being stubborn and promised she won’t do it again.

While Taeyong on the other hand, watches you and your daughter reunite, he felt the world slow down and feel every snowflake fall oh so slowly when he saw your face. You’re so beautiful he thought. It took one look for him to completely fall in love with you, his heart melts at how you hold your daughter with such care and full of love. Being a mother suits you. But then he saw your husband Taeil coming towards you and your daughter to hug her tightly. Of course, you’re married already, Taeyong murmurs. “Thank you for saving our daughter and her friend” Taeil thanks Taeyong sincerely for what he has done.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll get going” Taeyong smiled and looked at your beauty one last time before he leaves, I’ll see you in your next life.

From there on, Taeyong became your daughter’s secret guardian until the winter season is finally over just so he can see you. But whenever you’re with your husband, he stops himself to respect your marriage and remind himself that it’s not yet his time to love you. He figured his time will come and he will have the chance to grow old with you too, all he has to do is wait so there's no need to get jealous. It was a long wait for Taeyong, but he endured it while fulfilling his duty as the spirit of winter.

Every winter season, Taeyong comes back to your house and see how you’ve been while he was gone. Too bad he can’t be with you every second because he couldn't come over during the summer. But every winter, the spirit followed you like a shadow and admire your beauty with every chance he got.

After years and years of waiting, Taeyong’s suffering is finally over now that you’re gone and ready to be born again. Although he has to wait for a couple of years before he can approach you, introduce himself and make you fall in love with him, Taeyong was really excited and happy.

The spirit of winter waited for you during the spring, summer, fall, and winter for years and years. Watching you grow up, watching you go to school until you finish college, even watch you have your first heartbreak. Love is patient and Taeyong can and will stretch his patience for you until the right time comes.

“So she’s the one? Is this really worth it?” Jaehyun the cupid whines. Some of the guardians are with him and here to watch him leave and pursue love. They were all against it because Taeyong could lose his powers and die eventually, but he will not change his mind now.

“Being a human is hard, you know that right?” the easter bunny reminds his best friend, trying so hard to stop him.

“In five minutes, her car will break down in that street” Taeyong breathes in deeply, feeling excited but somehow sad because his friends aren’t supporting him and have been trying to change his mind until the last minute. “I’ve been taking care of kids that I don’t know, I’ve been doing my duty… now let me take care of her”

Soon his friends gave up and gave him a tight hug before he transforms and become a human. They will miss him of course, not to mention they don’t know how long will Taeyong be away. Just as he predicted, your car broke down on the side of the street and he has never been so excited. As we walk towards where your car broke down, his hair is slowly turning brown from silver white, the halo in his eyes is gone, and now that he’s human he can feel cold now.

“Here goes nothing” he murmurs and walked under the snowstorm, cold and freezing. He walked past your car, which got stranded in the middle of the road because of the storm, you see him and bought his acting and did not have second thoughts to call him out.

“Hey!” you got out of the car, struggling to go call him but Taeyong heard you well. He slowly turned towards you and walked weakly, Doyoung is right being a human is hard. “You must be freezing. Come inside my car we can wait for this storm to pass, please” you begged. Of course, he accepted your offer and went back inside your car with you. The moment you two were settled inside safely, he felt bad for making you come after him under the storm but he didn’t have a choice.

He wanted to look at your face like how he normally does but now is different because you can see him already. “I’m Taeyong. Thank you for helping me” he started, putting his hands towards the heater. It was a sweet moment for him and you have no idea. You have no idea how long he has waited for this moment to happen, you have no idea how many times he imagined this scenario in his head.  

“I’m Y/n. Why are you walking under this storm? Did your car broke down and you went out to get some help?”

Taeyong was once again turned into stone because he can’t believe that you can talk to him now, he shook his head and answered your question. “Y-yes. My car broke down and my heater stopped working” lies. Taeyong stopped talking so he could stop lying to you. He admired your face while you enjoy the limited heat, you looked much younger than the first time he met you but you’re still beautiful. Even more beautiful actually.

Your cursing brought him back to reality again and started getting worried because you’re frowning. “Oh- shit, this isn’t happening” you whine and looked at him, “gosh I’m sorry. The heater stopped, it must be because of my car’s battery. Shit we are going to freeze here,” you said your sorry so many times to the guy sitting beside you because you’re the one who offered helped but now that your heater stopped working you feel ashamed for dragging him.

“No no. Don’t be” you watch him remove his jack and let him wrapped it around you. “There, I’m returning the favor. Were even now. Seriously, I’m fine and I’m thankful for you” His smile warms your heart and suddenly your worries banished the moment he said he’s thankful to you.

Hours have already passed and Taeyong wanted to go out and look for help now because you’re freezing and soon you’ll be sick. He has an idea but he’s scared you won’t like it and you’ll think of him as a pervert, but he nicely explained his plan and cleared his intentions so he won’t scare you. “If we don’t share body heat… you can end up getting sick and that’s the last thing we want right now. We can… c-cuddle until help finds us” he was getting shy too but you think that he’s sweet for thinking about your health even though you just met a few hours ago.

You accepted his offer and soon you and Taeyong cuddle at the back of your car, sharing body heat to survive this cold. Even though Taeyong is the spirit of winter, he can be warm whenever he’s in his human form. “You know that sharing body heat is effective when two parties are naked, right?” you tease him and make him blush. He smiled handsomely and let out an awkward laugh. “Tell me something about yourself,” you asked and try to turn this awkward moment around.

“I don’t know. There’s nothing much about me and nothing interested, how about you?” his voice was enough to make you melt while you hug him and enjoy his warmth. You like how he didn’t try to impress you but instead, he gave you an honest answer about himself.

“Well, since you’re honest, I’ll be honest too. I’m on my way to meet a guy, I have a date tonight but…” you breathe in and out before you continue and contemplate whether it’s right to say this to him or not.

“But?” he tightens his embrace to you as he waits for you to continue your sentence.

“But I’m glad I got stranded and met you”

You feel his heart beat so fast because your bodies are incredibly close, you watch him blush and smile so big making your body warm again. After a few more hours of talking, help finally came and brought you to a safe place where it’s warm. Taeyong did not foresee this, he felt like he’s losing you already and he didn’t know what to do. Clearly, he didn’t plan everything out smoothly before he chose to be human for you, he’s not sure when he’s going to meet you again. He remembers his suffering from your first life and he didn’t want to let you go now and meet Taeil before he could even have his chance.

“Listen” he calls you before you get inside the cab and go home, “I’m poor. I have nothing to offer, I don’t have a car and I purposely walked past your car to grab your attention. But, see me again. Give me a few months to earn some money so I can buy you a decent dinner. I promise I will never lie to you again”

His eyes tell you everything. Obviously, he’s sincere with his words and he spoke nothing but the truth because there were no other broken cars found other than yours. It was Taeyong’s honesty that moved you and made you say yes to the dinner date that he offered. Before you two go on separate ways, you gave him a piece of paper that has your number in it and you can only hope that he will not lose it so you can meet soon.

Taeyong was more than happy for accepting his honesty in exchange for your trust. He doesn’t have any clue to what he’s doing but he’s sure about one thing, if he’s going to make you fall in love with him he wanted to do it right and will all honesty. That’s what you deserve. It might take him a while to find a job, and earn some money but everything will be worth it in time. With that motivation, Taeyong looked for a job that he likes, earn enough money to buy a small place for him to stay, and save up for the date that he promised you.

After a few months, you received a call from an anonymous number and did not hesitate to answer because it could be Taeyong. When you finally heard his voice again, you smiled so big because not only that this man is honest but he knew how to keep his promise.

“I’m still not rich but I have enough money to make us dinner. Uhm… If you still want to have dinner with me, I’ll text you the address and we can have dinner tonight” he bit his lower lip, hoping that his offer is enough to allow him to see you again.

“I don’t need a rich man Taeyong. Send me the address then, I’ll see you tonight” The fact that he will make dinner for the two of you is enough reason for you to say yes.

When the time for the most awaited dinner date has arrived, you two had a great time in his small apartment with a dinner table full of good and delicious food that he made. The date went well, he talked all night telling you how he’s holding up with his new life, he told you he loved working on the daycare that accepted him because he loves taking care of the children and every story that comes out from his mouth is too good to be true but you believe every word he says because you know that he’s honest. Taeyong felt happy seeing you smile because of him and not another man. The waiting he did for you is worth it even though being an independent human is not easy, as always, he’s ready to endure everything for you.

“How about you? What’s your work?” he asks after he overshared his experience from the daycare.

“I work for my parents. At their company” you looked sad the moment you mentioned it and he wondered why. “Let’s just say that, because I’m their daughter they expect too much from me. But I end up disappointing them- I was having a bad day Taeyong, but you called and now everything is fine” you gave him a small smile and continue eating. Knowing that he can make you happy even with the smallest things makes him really happy. It looks like he started on the right foot and hope that this can continue.  

“Will I see you again?” he asks before you get a cab.

“Let’s see each other every day, do you like that?” you bit your lower lip and hope that your flirting will work. It was a bold move but Taeyong is a kind man that made your beat. Little did you know that what you just said made Taeyong really happy that he could cry in front of you but he would rather not. He kissed you on your forehead to answer your question, smiled so sweetly at you, and told you, “Text me the address of your work, I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Get home safe, okay?”

After a few dinner dates, and countless phone calls, and texting, you and Taeyong made everything official between the two of you and sealed it with a kiss under the first snow in the middle of an empty street. But that’s only the start of your relationship. As you continue to see each other day by day or every other day, Taeyong is becoming like the nice warm feeling when the morning sun hits your skin the moment you step out of the house. This happens all the time when he picks you up at work and meets you outside the building and there he is, standing and waiting for you. Not a single word from him but he already, turned your day around.

“Had a rough day?” he asks, swinging his arms around you keeping you close as you two walk with the sea of people.

“Yeah. I did a lot today” you let out a sigh to further express your exhaustion.

“Don’t worry. I’m here now” one smile from him and everything is okay.

Taeyong is not perfect. But you don’t need someone perfect, you need someone who tries. You don’t know where he came from and he may seem ignorant sometimes but he’s not afraid to ask you about something like that one time he wanted to go to the movies with you but he doesn’t know how so he asked you and ruined the surprise. And whenever you ask him about his family background he simply says the truth.

“I don’t have any or maybe I don’t remember much but I do have friends, you can meet them someday. I’m sorry I lack about a lot of things,” you saw the worry in his eyes and disappointment in himself.

“No baby, it’s fine. I just asked. No need to worry about it” from there on you never asked anything about him so he won’t overthink, what you see is what you get and you let yourself accept what he can only give to you.

It’s been almost half a year since you and Taeyong started dating. He may be very different from the guys you dated before him, but it’s okay because that makes him more special. Almost a year together and you and Taeyong haven’t moved your relationship to the next level and by the next level you meant he hasn’t touched you yet, haven’t shared a lustful kiss, and haven’t had sex. It’s like high school all over again.

“Did you know that you’re my first kiss?” he whispered beside your ear. It’s a weekend so you’re staying over in his cozy apartment, enjoying his cold body against you as you sit comfortably in between his legs on his very small couch.

“I’m your first love, Tae that’s given already” you giggle and intertwine your fingers with his. “If I’m your first kiss then you must be a virgin,” you added.

“I am” he giggles and tightens his embrace, “any plans about that?”

“Woah there. Is that an invitation?” you turned your head to meet his eyes and he gave you a wink. Your heart jumped out of excitement when you saw him getting shy, smiling oh so handsomely. So it’s a yes then.

“My knowledge about sex is very limited don’t get too excited,” he says while watching you sit on his lap, legs on both sides. This is new, Taeyong thought. “you’re going to tease me from now on, I get it. But you do look sexy now on top of me” he giggles and pulls you closer for a heated kiss. He never kissed you like this, his hands on your waist gripping it tightly and his tongue… oh his tongue. You never thought he’s capable of such skill.

“Okay let’s not rush and not jump right into having sex,” you said in between kissing. You don’t stop, he doesn’t stop either but he’s listening. “Put your hands inside my shirt” you instruct him and he shyly followed you. You felt his cold hands against your skin, slowly going up to knead your clothed boobs, you feel him harden beneath you and for the first time, you see your boyfriend became horny. You unclasp your bra while you continue kissing each other with want, tongue sucking, lip biting while you enjoy the way he touches you for the first time.

He stopped for a second when you removed your bra in front of him, letting your hard nipples ghost on your thin shirt. He remembered how he used to look away whenever you and Taeil get too intimate, but now you’re his. Slowly he played with the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head to see his girlfriend’s body for the first time. He smiled and kissed you again, touching your boobs gently, brushing his thumb on your nipples, and making you moan softly.  

After that night, Taeyong became confident when it comes to touching you and kissing you with full of lust that sometimes it’s all too much because he’s doing a great job. His kisses alone can make you moan and weak, while the way he fingers you slowly can make you moan his name that his landlord sometimes shush you two. The first time you introduced him to oral sex, was a wild moment for the two of you because he loved it so much and he did a pretty good job for a first timer.

When the time finally comes and you’re both ready to have sex, he didn’t even know how to put on a condom, so you taught him how and you think he’s cute. He told you he wanted to make you happy even in bed, so you let him. “I’ll do my best,” he says, kissing your neck and making you smile before he proceeds to foreplay. His lips travel down from your lips, all the way down to your neck and the valley between your boobs, giving your nipples a soft pinch before he proceeds and licks you for a few seconds. He kisses your lower abdomen, caressing your thighs as he blows cold air on your wet folds, and proceeds to lick your cunt. You feel his cold tongue glide oh so smoothly like there's a piece of ice rubbing on your cunt right now, but it’s Taeyong’s tongue. “Enough teasing Tae. We’ve had enough of that” you moan and pulled him up to face you. It’s true though, you and Taeyong have been giving each other oral for the past few weeks because he’s not yet ready to have sex with you.

“Okay okay. I understand” he says and attacked lips with hungry kisses and starts grinding on top of your body while you surround his small room with sounds of wet kisses. Kissing Taeyong always feels because his lips are always cold and it feels good against your skin. As you admire his lips and the way he kisses you, you feel the tip of his cock on your entrance and feel him push in slowly catching every sharp gasp you let out with his mouth. You cup his face with both of your hands and close your eyes as you enjoy being fucked by the man you love. “You said you don’t know what you’re doing- Taeyong you feel good!” you were basically moaning the whole time you were telling him what you feel. He asks you to spread your legs even more so he can thrust deeper and so you followed gladly, and after a few thrusts, he hits your good spot perfectly.

“And I told you I’ll do my best right?” he smirks and continues to fuck you good, keeping your legs apart and sucking your boobs as he thrusts. He feels your walls warm walls around his cock then you asked him to put his thumb on your clit and the moment his cold fingers made contact on your clit, you tried to push him away because it made you sensitive and moan his name louder than before. You breathed heavily and accept every deep thrust Taeyong give you, every cold kiss, every sweet word that makes your heart swell. It was all overwhelming and all you can do is let go and cum.

Soon he released his cum in the condom and removed it immediately before he lay beside you in his small bed. You feel him kiss your forehead while he covers your sweaty and shivering bodies with his blanket and helped you come down from your high.

The next day, the sunlight from Taeyong’s window wakes him up and quickly blocked the sun with his hand so it won't hit your eyes too. You were sleeping soundly beside him, embracing his tiny waist unconsciously. “Good morning “ he whispered to you, covering your naked body with his blanket. “You have work” he reminded you sweetly and pulled you in a tight embrace.

“Let’s stay in bed, Taeyongie. Let’s skip work and make love the whole day” you kissed him good morning and closed your eyes again. You hear him giggle and feel his strong arms cage you and cradle you.

“As much as I want to do that, we can’t. Come on, I’ll cook breakfast, let’s start our day together”

“Are you getting rid of me?”  

“No, quite opposite actually. Let’s start this day early, so we could go to work and meet afterward. I’m excited to see you again” You smile a gave him a tight embrace, allowing yourself to be thankful just for a minute for this beautiful morning, and for the naked man beneath you who loves you so much.

Beautiful nights that involved making love with Taeyong or having rough sex, eventually, happened again and again and again until he’s confident in bed just as much as you are. You go to work sore and tired but your heart is happy all because of Taeyong. He may not be as innocent as before but the humble and loving Taeyong that you fell in love with is still here. It was a relationship that involved a lot of sexual activities but you and Taeyong loved each other dearly and prove it to each other every day.

“I hate going home” you whined and gave him a glass of water. Tonight is one of those nights where you and Taeyong enjoy the meal he cooks after a long day at work and you have dinner together in his small apartment.

“Then don’t, stay here with me it’s late,” he says as he drinks the water that you gave.

“Hmm. That’s not what I meant, ask me to live with you already”

“I cant my place is too small, I’ll marry you and I’ll buy us a nice home”

“Were not getting young” you teased him, “I’m perfectly fine with this place. You know I love it here, I sleep well whenever I stay over”

“That’s because of me not because of this place” he was talking about the sex and smirked.

“Okay fine- But seriously you don’t have to buy me a big house you’re enough” he pulled you closer to him and looked at your eyes. He remembers the big house that you and Taeil owned in your past life and he was planning to give you something like that and not this shoebox. But he sees that you’re happy so he finally lets you win.

“Okay. If this place makes you happy, fine. Welcome home” he kissed your knuckles softly but you attacked him with sweet kisses and ended up making out with your boyfriend on his cold floor with a happy heart.  

Living with Taeyong was a huge transition in your life but it was all for the better. You used to eat fast food every night but now you have Taeyong to cook you good food every day. Living together also made you know him more and know some things for yourself, like his love for sweet potatoes and that he can sing. He is incredibly affectionate when it comes to animals, may it be a stray cat or a dog it doesn’t matter he will take care of it. Living with Taeyong made your life easier and beautiful even though it’s all about the simplest things with him.

After you moved in with Taeyong, he found a job as a grade school art teacher which he loved doing so much and also pays good money. With that money, he saved a lot and bought you a house that’s big enough for the two of you. You let him shower you with love because that’s what he wants, in return you love him unconditionally. Soon, you introduced him to your family during the holidays, and Taeyong cooked for everyone which made him win their hearts especially your mom.

Seasons changed and so are the years, now you’re swaying under the soft music from the background on your sister’s wedding. Your arms are wrapped around his neck while his arms are wrapped around your waist as he whispers how beautiful you are tonight for the nth time but you never get tired of it. It’s not your wedding but you feel like it is because Taeyong can easily turn a second into a special moment.

Your sister’s wedding is a series of mixed emotions, one minute you’re crying because she’s not a baby anymore and by the next few hours you’re happy because she dropped the news that she’s pregnant already. “I saw your eyes when your sister told everyone she’s pregnant, how many kids do you want in the future?” he asks, continuously swaying your bodies while he waits for your answer.

“Ask me to marry you first” you boop his sharp nose and rest your head on his chest, “but let's have two kids,” you sighed and smiled at your wish and you hear your boyfriend hum in approval.  

The night ended beautifully and you’re happy to see that your sister is happily married now. You kissed and waved goodbye to your family and Taeyong did the same too. Oh, how you wish you and Taeyong will have a happy ending soon too.

But you know what they say, be careful what you wish for.

A week after your sister’s wedding Taeyong proposed to you and made you the happiest girl in the world. It was nothing glamorous like the ones you see in movies, no big crowds, and no big signs that says ‘Marry Me?’. No. It was just the two of you. In your car, where you two first met. It was snowing too which made it even more special and romantic. When he was putting the ring on your finger, he was shaking so bad like he was cold but he’s not he’s just nervous. It was a simple ring and it represents your relationship with him, the diamond was small but the ring itself is a promise of never ending happiness because you get to spend the rest of your life with this handsome man.

Suddenly life is full of dreams and promises to keep for your marriage, no morning or night has passed that you didn’t admire your engagement ring. Just like now while Taeyong is in the shower and you’re waiting for him to come to bed. “You smell good” you didn’t notice him slide under the covers and felt him sniff your exposed shoulders. You turned your head to him and see him shirtless while he leans on the bed frame. You rolled on your side and rest your head on his abs, while you admire his handsome features.

“I want kids with your nose, my eyes, and your good heart,” you said, looking directly in his eyes. “You can teach them how to draw or cook pancakes, we can read stories to them, sing a song, and dance around our living room?”

He felt his body warm in instant. With just your words he felt like he’s melting. “Your love melts me you know,” he reaches for your lips and kissed you good night. “We can do all that and more, I promise” he whispers.

Time passed by so fast after getting married to Taeyong. Life is even sweeter and worth living for. Even though married life is never easy, you and Taeyong managed to be happy every day. More seasons change and you and Taeyong have become busier with work that you only spend time with each other during mornings and before you go to bed. But of course, the baby making is a never ending try until that damn pregnancy test will come out positive. Trying to have a baby was harder than you thought. There are times that you’re losing hope but your husband makes everything better.

“Good morning Mrs. Lee”

After being married for two beautiful years now, some things have never changed like how Taeyong wakes you up early in the morning for work with his cold lips and handsome face. You stretch your body looked at your handsome husband, who’s shirtless and only wearing a pajama underneath this thick blanket. You couldn’t stop yourself to kiss him and position him on top of you. “I have kids to teach” he giggled but he kisses your chest just the way you like it.

“Want to try to make our own kid? We haven’t tried ever since the last result. This isn’t us” you teased him but you both know it’s because of your jobs and you understand each other.

“You know I can’t say no to that” he smirked and lifts your sleepwear, exposing your boobs to your husband. Sucking your nipples immediately and felt his cold tongue swirl around it while his hands were quick to remove your pajamas and underwear. He kneels in between your legs and lowered his sweatpants before he releases his hard cock from his boxer briefs. With his middle finger, he checked if your slit is wet and ready, “you’re always wet for me” he says and kissed you deeply as he thrusts inside you with one quick move that dragged your body on the mattress. It hurt a little because you weren’t prepped enough, but once Taeyong rolls his hips and starts kissing your neck you lose your mind and all you can do is focus on the pleasure that he’s giving.

His thrusts were quick, you figured he was horny and his grip on your waist will sure leave marks. “Ah-fuck” you moan out when his thumb started drawing circles on your clit to make sure you will cum because there’s no way you will leave your house without cumming this morning. “I’m cumming-“ he says and sucks your nipples while he thrust harshly and putting pressure on your clit.

Your husband gave you a piercing thrust as he shoots his cum inside you, making you yelp and almost hit the headboard but you don’t care because you’re in the middle of your own orgasm.

“Wow- our baby making is getting intense,” you said with heavy breaths and sharp gaps. You put your shoulder above your forehead and catch your breath for a minute before you go on and take a shower.

You don’t know but your husband wanted to tell you something but he doesn’t want to ruin the morning. He helps you wear your panties again and kiss your sensitive body while listening to your giggles that’s music to his ear. He loves you so much that he wanted so bad to give you a baby soon because he’s tired of seeing you disappointed whenever the pregnancy test is negative.

Every day you and Taeyong spend your mornings peaceful and quiet. You wrap your arms around him while he prepares you breakfast, enjoy the quietness of your house and the peaceful life that he has given to you. “Have I told you that I love you Tae? So much?” you smelled his still wet hair and tighten your embrace.

“Yes. Every day, I think I don’t say it as much as you do but, I love you too” He kissed your forehead and gave your lips a peck. And mornings like this happens every day and no one is complaining because you never get sick of it.

“What if we adopt instead of trying to make one?”

It’s not that he didn’t like the idea of adopting, but it hurt him because you must really want a baby by this time and he can’t give you one for unexplainable reasons. “Don’t you want to see your nose in our little one? Or my eyes?” he stopped doing what he’s doing for a second and turned around to meet your gaze. He swings his arms around your waist, leaned on the kitchen counter, and pressed you against his body. “Where did that idea come from- I’m not against it but-,”

“But you don’t want to do it either?”

“I wish I could answer all of our questions on why you can’t get pregnant. Let’s try a few more times, then if nothing happens let’s do it. I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re not doing anything wrong. I think I’m just stressed with work,” you were just about to kiss your husband and end the conversation when the doorbell rang and you both wonder who might that be. Neither of you is expecting any visitor this early, that’s why it is a complete shock for Taeyong that Jaehyun visited him.

This must be important.

Since Taeyong needed to talk to his friend, you had to drive alone to work and drown with the things that you told your husband. I shouldn’t have said that, I completely hurt his feelings. Stupid. You said those things to yourself as you drive and arrive at your office safely. Then…

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry” a stranger bumped you so hard while you were walking towards your office. Completely bringing you back from reality. He was quick to apologize and his beautiful smile was hard to not notice. “I’m very sorry Miss. I’m Moon Taeil. I was reading some guidelines, I’m very new here and I can’t seem to find Mrs. Y/n Lee” he read it from the paper he was holding.

“You found me” you smiled and invited him to your office to talk about the work he has to finish.

While you were busy orienting Moon Taeil in your office Taeyong and Jaehyun had a serious conversation in your living room which made Taeyong very angry and frustrated. Turns ourtJaehyun is here to tell him that you and your soulmate will finally cross paths.

“That’s the thing when it comes to this soulmate thing hyung, we can’t stop it. Even me. It’s beyond what I’m capable of. I’m sorry, you just have to work harder and keep her away from him. Try and stop destiny” Jaehyun says, frustrated like his hyung too. Taeyong was quiet but he was thankful to Jaehyun for telling him.

“I’m starting to melt” Taeyong admitted to his friend. "I think I could last two more years"

“Make up your mind. Would you rather be selfish or let her be happy for the rest of her life?” Taeyong watched his friend leave after dropping a very hard question to answer. He can indeed feel his heart is slowly melting and the only way to save himself is to go back to being a spirit again.  

It was a very disturbing day for both of you. He was worried about you and Taeil meeting, you were worried about the things you said to him this morning. To make it up with your husband, you decided to surprise him and pick him up from the school he's teaching. You see parents hugging their children and hear them asking about their day and you can’t help but tear up a little because you want the same things too.

You wipe your tears when you see your handsome husband walking towards you and greet you with a kiss. “Adults go here to fetch their kids, but here you are fetching me” you both let out a giggle before going inside your car. Before you start apologizing, you gulped the lump on your throat and keep your eyes on the road.

“I’m sorry about this morning. I know I hurt you” you finally said.

“Hurt me a thousand more times, I’m still going to love you deeply. Everything is fine, I understand you’re desperate because I’m desperate too. But we both have different solutions to this problem that's why. Let’s talk about it at home,” he says, reaching your free hand and kissed your wedding ring. You love how he’s always right when it comes to things like this. He always knew what to do.

As usual, you and Taeyong fixed this baby situation and decided to try and try until you get pregnant. You have nothing against it but you don’t know how long you can hold on anymore. Nonetheless, you try and understand Taeyong’s feelings too and you don’t want to hurt him again. After having that conversation with your husband, he tried so hard to get you pregnant and initiate having sex almost every day. Exhausting but at the same time fun, you just let love and lust drive you and your husband to bed over and over again.

Like right now, you were so weak and you can’t feel your legs anymore, you don’t even have the energy to roll on your side and reach for your husband but he does it for you. “You okay?” he kisses your neck and caress your sensitive body softly, naked and still sweaty from sex.

“Can we go back to the time where you don’t know anything about sex?” it was a joke which both of you find funny. You return his embrace and let out a shiver when you felt his skin so cold like ice and he was sweating so hard… like he was melting, “are you sick? baby you’re so cold like ice” you were worried but your husband is smiling weakly at you with lustful eyes, clearly, he wanted another round. But little did you know Taeyong is not feeling well.

“Come here so you could keep me warm then,” he kissed you deeply on the lips and felt him spreading your legs again. Oh boy, you thought. You tried to push him but you’re too late, he made you horny too, and just like that you gave in already.

You and Taeyong continue to try to have a baby and have sex whenever you can. Until one day when you were busy cleaning the house, and you saw your pads on the drawers and realized that you’re late. Your period is finally late.  

“I’m home. Y/n?” Taeyong shouts as he enters your house, putting his shoes on the side. You greet him with a warm hug and a smile so big, inviting him to bed this instance. What better way to celebrate your pregnancy right?

You kiss him until you reach your shared bed and remove your clothes in front of him, intertwining your fingers with his and guiding him to touch your body. He doesn’t know what’s happening but he was enjoying it even though he doesn’t feel good. Taeyong quickly switched positions and removed his clothes from work before he goes in between your legs and kisses your body.

First, he licked your pussy good. Making your head turn and make you moan his name a little louder. You hear wet sounds as Taeyong licks you up and down and kiss your pussy like it’s your mouth. You were so wet that it turns you on even more and can’t wait for Taeyong to finally fuck you. When he felt your excitement, he quickly pumped his cock and slide it on your very wet folds just to watch you lose your mind beneath him.

He came in slowly, fucking you deep and careful because he was too weak right now but he can’t show you. After a few moments of heavy breathes and taking Taeyong's deep thrust, Taeyong fed his lust and looked how your cunt take all of him slowly and got excited to see blood coating his cock because loves period sex so much.  

“I love fucking you when you’re on your period-ah” he was moaning so good and fucking you at a quick pace now, nipping your earlobes and kneading your boobs. After a few dirty talks, he heard you sob and felt tears falling on your cheeks. He thought you were crying because of overstimulation so he smirked and gave your ass a light slap. When he pulls away from your neck to kiss you on the lips, he sees you crying while covering your mouth with your own hand.

Your husband stopped.

“Am I hurting you, what’s wrong?” you didn’t answer him.

He quickly pulled out and went to the bathroom to get a damped towel to clean the blood on your thighs and put a tampon inside you while you were crying. He kissed your shoulders and begged you to talk to him because he is clueless.

“I was excited because I thought my period is late just a few minutes before you get home. Then it fucking came” it was a very harsh move for fate to give you false hope and hurt your feelings like that. Taeyong didn’t know what to do when you asked him to leave you alone for tonight.

He needed you too because he’s sick right now but he can’t tell you.

And that is where your marriage failed.

Taeyong was desperate to keep you while you were desperate to have a child. You two started to fight, and you can see that things are slowly changing now. You were cold towards him because you don’t know what else to do to have a kid. You have sex, take a test, negative, have sex again, take the test again, and have the same results over and over again.  

You hope that it’s easier than ‘you don’t love him anymore’ but it’s not, you love each other so much but this baby problem is ruining your marriage and you can’t fix it because you don’t know what’s wrong, even the doctors said you’re both fine and you just have to try and try but its getting tiring already.

“I don’t know what else to do” Taeyong admits after you take another test just a few minutes ago and he sees you crying. He can’t take it. He never saw you cry when you were married to Taeil.

“Do you want to give up? Because I’m getting tired, baby” you hug him so tight and cried on his shoulders, “we fight, we don’t sleep peacefully now, and we're not happy. This is not us” you cry out and tighten your embrace to your husband. You forgot how his presence comforts a lot.

“Okay, let's stop. I’m sorry. I really am”

“I’m sorry too”

Taeyong realized what he was doing all this time. If he didn’t steal you from Taeil you wouldn’t suffer like this because he is not the right man for you. Love is cruel, Taeyong thought. No matter how much you love each other, no matter how much he loves you, fate won’t consider it and will find a way to ruin your chance of being happy.

He puts you to sleep and went out to meet his friends and tell them that he’s slowly dying. You were so focused on yourself and didn’t notice that Taeyong is getting thin and his hair is slowly turning white. You thought it’s just him being stressed with everything that’s happening right now but it’s more than that.

“Well, you can’t die. It’s simple as that. You’re more than Taeyong, you have an obligation in this world as the spirit of winter” Doyoung was beyond pissed upon hearing the news. "We told you from the very start that this is not a good idea" he added.

“We have no choice but to let her and Taeil have their happy ending. But how she loves you so much” Jaehyun says with worried eyes because they know that Taeyong is going through so much.

“I’ll Divorce her, with all the strength I have left ” Taeyong says weakly, tears in his eyes started to ball.

“All for the better hyung, you can save your life and she can be happy” Doyoung pat his back and told him to do it immediately because he doesn’t have much time.

After a week, Jaehyun helped Taeyong with the process of divorce and will make everything official once you sign the papers.

And just as you thought that life couldn’t get any more brutal, your husband is handing you the divorce papers before you start your car and drive you both home. You never thought that this damn car will witness everything. How you and Taeyong met for the first time, the night he asked you to marry him, and now that he’s completely giving up on your marriage. Taeyong watched you cry while you’re driving quietly and wonder what’s on your mind. Do you hate me? He remained silent the whole time until you reach home.

You look at the envelope in front of you while Taeyong is on the other side of the kitchen with you, waiting for your thoughts. “If this is about me wanting to have a baby- Taeyong I don’t want it anymore just please” you were begging him in the middle of your kitchen, tears started falling and you can’t believe that this is happening. He came closer to you, cupped your cheeks, and kissed your forehead because he can’t see you like this, “We’ve been through so much Tae, you can’t do this to me”

“But I can’t make you happy anymore, someone will fill in my shoes” he kept you close and savor the feeling of your hug that will last for a lifetime.

“To hell with happiness- I’m sorry I was selfish, I was only thinking of myself” you cry some more and stain his dress shirt with your tears.

“I was the one who became selfish in the first place, not you,” you don’t know what he was saying but you don’t care anymore, all you want to do is never let him go.

But he was the one who let you go and you couldn’t get a hold of him no matter how much you beg. It was more than heartbreaking. When Taeyong left you, the house he bought you was never home without him, he didn’t even take anything with him, not even his clothes. The only thing he got for himself is his wedding ring which he will wear forever.

“Welcome back,” Doyoung says but neither of them is happy about the divorce. Taeyong felt strong and healthy now that he’s a spirit again but his heart is dead, he doesn’t feel alive anymore. It’s been weeks since he left you, and since it’s not winter, he’s not allowed to be around. Perfect, he thought. He needed the time to move on and heal alone.

Who knows? Maybe he'll try again in your next life.  

To whoever read this, i hope you live a happy life a simple life and you’re happy genuinely. 

[evandearest]

The Garden of Eden | Part I: Cycles

Pairing: James March x reader (you) |  ~Part: (1/4)~

Summary (Part One): Life with James March involved has had many cycles. In a time long ago, you once flourished. But things don’t always stay the same forever, do they? Will James find his way back to you?

Warnings (in this part): physical / mental / verbal abuse (child and adult), violence, graphic descriptions of murder / blood, dark themes, heartbreak, extreme emotional grief, just overall dark. avoid if any of the aforementioned is triggering.

Word count: 2,223

IMPORTANT Notes: Hello! I’m so excited to start this series that @etoile-writings​ requested that I can hardly type fast enough! lol. I really hope that I can do this justice!

The request was: juxtaposition - (noun) the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect. AND true love over a forced marriage + lots of fun ideas, such as flowers. Read on my blog for more if you want. I also suck at summaries but I thought I’d give it a try.

Speaking of flowers, I just wanted to say specifically to the requester: I didn’t just pick white roses because they are my personal favorite, but also because of their symbolism to the reader character. White roses symbolize purity, innocence, and youthfulness, associating with young love and eternal loyalty, and can also symbolize a new beginning and everlasting love. Just wanted to say that because I found it very interesting and symbolic!

SO... I have a few notes before we begin. 1) This is set before James died, approximately the year 1926. Since this is a fan-fictional story, the events are slightly warped from the show. The main plot of the show still flows, but this is kind of worked in, in a way. So the plot of the show doesn’t really change all that much. The second thing 2) a lot of things in this story will become clear as I post more parts. There will be more flashbacks and the plot will expand drastically. This is pretty much just an introduction. Just wanted to put that out there. And 3) I plan to do four parts, but that may be subject to change.

Some things never change.

That you had found to be true. The cycle of life was incredible. The lessons in life you were meant to learn were imprinted into your being by repetitious events that were sometimes out of your control. You knew that too well.

People had always told you, “God works in mysterious ways.” It hadn’t been so apparent to you until you had experienced that mystery yourself. It seemed that your life had entered its second cycle. It seemed that you had lived this exact moment once before.

Your head was pounding, a moan sounding when his fist collided into your side again. You kept your arms up in defense, as it was the only thing stopping him from hitting your face. That hurt much worse, and it was harder to hide. Explaining to your neighbors why there are bruises on your face was the last thing you would need. You’d already done it last time this had happened. Of course, you hadn’t expected this to happen again. You’d put too much faith into your husband. A wretched sob left your burning throat, your face soaking wet with tears.

“Please stop,” you pleaded, whimpering, while your husband Robert laughed.

“Maybe next time you should just keep your mouth shut,” he spat, sighing as he rubbed his knuckles. A fleeting memory flashed before your eyes.

“Maybe next time you should just keep your mouth shut!”

“I-I’m sorry!” you cried, clutching your jaw as you scrambled across the floor.

“Yeah, of course you are now,” the old man said maliciously, towering over your small frame. He laughed, shaking his head. “You think in vain of yourself. You can’t believe that a man would ever want a woman who talked to him like that. You believe that because you’re so innocent people will treat you as such.” He squatted down in front of you, his face getting closer to yours. “Well, I have something you need to know, young girl. Most of us humans don’t really care about others.” He chuckled again, standing up. “We’re all in it for ourselves.” He shook his head. His fist pulled back again, and you gasped, throwing your arms over your head.

“Leave her alone!”

James came racing into the room, his hands pushing his father’s fist away before it hit you. He shoved him back, and you watched in amazement. You couldn’t believe that he stood up to his father. Just moments before, as he had told you of the abuse, he had been shaking at even the thought of his father hitting him.

That’s what had led you into the conversation in the first place. When James had told you of how his father had been treating him since he was seven years old to now, at almost eighteen, you couldn’t help yourself. You’d thought that confrontation would stop him, or maybe he would realize how wrong it was if you had showed him. You were wrong, and now here you were, your favorite floral blouse torn, your jaw aching from the impact of his father’s hit.

You were wrong, and now James was in another bad situation. You stared at James, wondering why he would ever step in. Why he would ever step in when he knew what his father would do.

“You stupid boy!” The old man yelled, his fist striking James’ face. “Do you just like being beat? Don’t tell me it’s because you love this naïve girl!” James’ glare burned holes into his father’s face, his jaw set firmly.

It clicked behind your eyes. He loved you. He stepped in because he was protecting you, because he didn’t want you to experience what he had.

His father chuckled as he looked between the two of you; James now standing beside your form on the floor. He shook his head, and left the room without another word, although he slammed the door. You jumped at the loud impact, scurrying to stand beside James. There was a moment of silence before you spoke.

“James,” you whispered, studying his face. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was listening. “Do you believe him? Are all people really that selfish?”

James still remained silent, but that was enough of an answer for you. You simply couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t accept that all people only cared about themselves. Not when you had seen it for yourself, firsthand with James and your family, or even the kindness of strangers.

But you were wrong again. Your own father had proved that to you when he had you married off to Robert Williams for money. It opened your eyes, and only then had you seen everything that people did just to get what they wanted. And now you know that the only person who ever cared about you was James. And you were ripped away from him just before you were able to begin a life with him, all because your father didn’t believe he would be able to take care of you. You’d never even known he cared so much about James’ wealth, or lack thereof.

For a while, that hadn’t been the end of it. You’d still think about James in your every waking moments. Sure, you’d settled into your new life with your new husband. At first, you had even gotten along with one another. You learned how to accept what you had, keep your spirit, and be as grateful as you could for simple things such as safety. But that changed too. The problem arose at the topic of children. To you, the thought of having a child with Robert made you sick to your stomach. You just didn’t want to fake it with him, but you didn’t know how to tell him that. You couldn’t give and raise a child with a man you didn’t love. You supposed it was because you still had hope that you’d see James again. For many years, he had believed your excuses, until he had grew tired of you pushing it off. That’s where the anger and violence had begun. So you ran.

At the very moment that you read about James in the newspaper, you ran. You ran straight to his luxurious brand new hotel. You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that poor boy you’d left behind all those years ago had turned into such a successful man. You’d just hoped that he still loved you like you loved him; that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

But once again, as life repeats, you were wrong. James’ life was nothing you ever could have imagined. He’d built his hotel from scratch, and that was after he had clawed his way up the chain of command. He was filthy rich, living life in the most prosperous way imaginable, his power undeniable. You were in awe. If only your father could see him now. If only he’d seen what you had in James all those years ago when he had first began his journey to being a self-made man.

But wealth wasn’t the only thing that had changed. James obviously didn’t love you anymore. How could he, when he had a new wife? Elizabeth was her name. She seemed lovely, and it was wrong of you to assume he would never move on from you. Even if you’d never moved on from him.

So you stayed. You had no choice but to at this point. You had no where else to turn, no where else to go, no real life of your own. Just memories of a life long ago to hold onto.

You wept as you curled in on yourself. Your husband stood there, his breathing heavy as he glared at you with the anger of a thousand hurricanes in his eyes.

“You were the biggest mistake of my life,” he snarled, an expression of disappointment settling on his face. “A wife that won’t even give me children.” He scoffed and chuckled dryly. “What a pathetic joke.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You cupped your hands over your face, sniffling.

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly boomed, his fist raising once again. You shouted out in protest at the incoming attack, bracing yourself for the pain.

At what seemed to be the most perfect timing, a knock sounded at the front door.

Robert froze in his place, his fist hovering in mid-air. You sighed in relief, pushing yourself further into the wall, balled up in a fetal position on the floor. He turned, shooting a hesitant look back at you, before slowly making his way to answer the door.

The door handle jiggled as he opened it, and although you couldn’t see, you listened intently from your position in the living room.

“Hello,” Robert greeted whomever was on the other side of the door. “May I help you?”

“Greetings, sir,” replied the voice of a man. You froze. You could’ve sworn you knew that voice. But it couldn’t be.

“Yeah?” said your husband.

“Would it happen that a woman by the name of ‘Y/F/N Y/L/N’ resides here?” said the man. You let out a breath. It was him. It was James.

Robert paused, and you began contemplating revealing yourself.

“She’s busy,” Robert rushed out nervously.

There was another pause, this time from James.

“I’m not sure you’re telling the truth, sir,” said James. “You seem to be quite flustered.”

“She- she can’t come right now,” Robert demanded, “she’s busy. Come another time.”

You panicked. He was going to make him leave! This was your only chance!

“Help!” you shouted, before even having time to think about it.

Before you knew it, the man you had dreamed of for so many years was standing before you. You gasped as your eyes met his, the same dark brown framed by his sharp masculine features. It was as if you had seen the sun after years in the dark. Your eyes took in his features before shifting to look at the object in his hands. A bouquet of white roses lay clasped between his hands; your flowers. He had remembered. He really had come back for you. Finally, you had your James again.

“What is the meaning of this?” Robert shouted as he followed quickly behind James. James’ head turned slowly to look at the man, his jaw locking firmly as his eyes settled on him.

“How about,” James clicked his tongue, pausing for a mere second, “you explain the meaning of this.” He gestured toward you, his head turning to briefly look at you again. Robert crossed his arms.

“I don’t think I’m inclined to tell you anything,” he said, a look of resentment taking over his expression. “In fact, I think you should see your way out.” James stared at the man for a moment before his lips upturned into a small smirk.

“Of course,” he grinned, his accent drawing the words out. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly began walking towards the hallway to the front door. No, you thought. He couldn’t leave. You thought he had come back for you. He couldn’t leave you, not when you needed him the most. Not when you’d waited this long. 

Just as your hopes had almost been crushed, James spun around. What happened next was hard to process immediately. Blood suddenly covered James’ face and chest, spurting out from Robert’s throat as James’ knife slid smoothly across, the skin slicing like butter. James stood, a look of satisfaction on his face, his eyes settling upon yours. A flicker of what seemed like doubt rushed across his face as you grew silent, your eyes wide and innocent as you stared at him, digesting what had just happened.

“James?” you whispered.

“Yes, dear?” he said smoothly, his jaw moving back and forth slowly as he worked it nervously. You climbed to your feet, padding over to him softly. Your hand slowly came up to rest upon his cheek, thumb softly gliding over the bone there, the blood on his face smearing with the movement. Your other hand gently grabbed the roses from his hands, glancing down at them adoringly, your lips curling into a smile.

“Darling,” James said hesitantly, eyebrows furrowing, “I apologize if I’ve frightened you.” You smiled up at him.

“No,” you said reassuringly. “No, quite the opposite.” You paused, studying James’ handsome features. You leaned in slowly, your breaths mingling. “You’ve freed me.” It was a whisper, barely audible, but at your close proximity, you knew he could hear. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours as you moved closer and closer. Your lips met in a passionate kiss, James arms enveloping you, the world seeming to align once more.

It seemed as if you had no worries, no hardships; that all of your anxieties had magically disappeared with his kiss. He’d reset your life. He’d given you everything you wanted just by being in yours. All those years that you had waited for him seemed worth it. All of your blind devotion seemed worth it. James had finally, finally come back to you.

All those people had been right: God did work in mysterious ways. And in that moment, you decided James was your meant to be; your heaven on Earth; your purpose of being. Or further... he was your God.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

[elenajohansenreads]

Books I Read in 2021

#84 - The Glittering Court, by Richelle Mead

Mount TBR: 70/100

Rating: 1/5 stars

What did I like about this? It was digestible. Having just come off a heavy, plodding, disappointing fantasy read, the easy YA tell-don't-show narrative style went down smooth like a slushie on a hot day.

And that's the best thing I can say about the whole book--it read fast and easy.

What didn't I like?

1. The fact that this touts itself as fantasy when it's not in the least bit fantastical. I don't require my fantasy to have magic or creatures or zombies or anything, but if you're going to call something "fantasy" it should at least be about fictional cultures that the author has invented. This is just England colonizing the Americas with the names changed. The only thing that could be said to be "fantasy" is that the population they're displacing in the process isn't an indigenous one, it was established by previous outcasts from their own country--though that wasn't clear to me until the first time we met them and they were white, blond, and used woad as decoration. So they're not supposed to be Native American analogues, they're supposed to be displaced Picts?

2. Either way, it's still racist and pro-colonization, because even if the Icori aren't meant to represent an indigenous people, they're still clearly Other, and constantly labeled as "savages" in order to justify taking their land, which all of our protagonists are participating in, in some form. Does it matter what color this fictional group of people is, if the narrative is parroting real history and real racism?

3. The second half of the plot feels, at best, tenuously related to the first half. The change in fortune for our protagonists that happens at the midpoint struck me as so flimsy and unbelievable that it was hard to take the rest of the book seriously, and that made it more obvious to me who the real villain was, despite whatever weak red herrings were planted along the way. Seriously--the first half of the story is The Bridgertons but the second turns into Little House on the Prairie. It's too big a genre shift to make the transition seem natural.

4. There were times when I was approaching a reasonable level of sympathy for our heroine, despite her many flaws, but every time the story had a chance to explore those flaws and perhaps let the character do some work on them...well, she just kept being headstrong and selfish and whiny, right up until the LHotP section where after a single pep talk from the hero, she's completely changed, resolved to her new station in life with a determination that seemed half-delusional and certainly out of character. She didn't work for it, so it didn't seem real.

5. I did not know, having picked up this book in isolation, that the rest of the "series" is actually the same time period from the perspective of one of the other girls, specifically the two best friends of the heroine. Now that I do know that, the giant blank spaces in this story where Mira and Tamsin constantly fall out of it without explanation--or with the pointedly obvious lampshade "it's not my business so I'm not going to ask"--make sense structurally. However, that doesn't mean I don't think it's a terrible flaw, because these holes are constant and irritating. For a while in the middle of the book, it felt like every time I turned two pages, the heroine was asking out loud, "Where's Mira?" And pretty quickly I knew that question wouldn't be answered in this book, so why keep asking?

6. I never found Cedric compelling enough a hero to justify the constant sacrifices that Adelaide made for him. I don't think he's a terrible character, and I enjoyed some of their banter and their occasional fights, but I'm also not about to add him to my book-boyfriend list, so it was hard to imagine myself, or anyone for that matter, doing as much for him as Adelaide did.

7. Religion. Woooo boy. I guess this part is the "fantasy" I was lamenting the lack of earlier, because if the accepted and heretic forms of this fictional religion are supposed to correspond to real-world counterparts, I didn't pick up on it with enough certainty to tell. But my problem is that it's suddenly a Very Big Deal that one character is a heretic, when religion had played such a small part in the story leading up to that revelation that I was mostly operating on the assumption that the main religion was socially performative, and that no one in the story was especially devout. Adelaide certainly doesn't seem to be. But since this heresy becomes central to the conflict later on, I wish it had been better established in the beginning, because (again) the second half of the book seems wildly different than the first, and this was another aspect that made it hard to take seriously.

8. Heteronormative AF. There's one token queer person who has a minor role, showing up just long enough for Adelaide to realize other women/cultures don't abide by her society's rigid norms and to feel briefly uncomfortable about it. But there's no follow-up, no depth, no opportunity for Adelaide to grow beyond what she's been taught. To some extent, I'm okay with that--not every story has room for fighting LGBT+ battles, and even more simply put, stories are allowed to be about other things. But parading just that one wlw character out for a moment, and making her a foreigner to reinforce her otherness, strikes me as a really poor choice if the story didn't actually want to fight that battle. Why bring it up at all? Especially as this is supposed to be fantasy, why couldn't the Glittering Court be an institution that provides marriage candidates to both men and women? If the candidate pool was both male and female, and so was the clientele, then many forms of queerness would be covered by it without having to dig into specifics about each character. (It doesn't directly address ace/aro people, but presumably they'd be less interested in a marriage mart anyway, on either side, and self-select out of it.) I mean, I know why, because that would mean that in the New World there would have to be women in positions of power who needed husbands (or wives, yes, but this wrinkle is about men.) And there's no shortage of men in the colonies, so that doesn't track logically the same way the actual setup does. But again, if this is supposed to be fantasy....

[kiragecko]

Reviews of Christian Allegorical FANTASY

Note: Christianity is a broad, varied thing. I can only write from my perspective, and it’s hard to describe that perspective to an international audience. Words have different meanings in different countries. But this is what I think about the various Christian allegorical fiction I’ve read, measured by writing quality, allegorical quality, and ability to make me happy. Your perspective may vary.

 Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Y’all know this guy is good.

Allegory: Shockingly strong for something with such mass appeal. And deeper than you thought as a kid. Never sidelines the story, because he’s integrated the two so well.

Problems: So, you don’t notice the colonialism, racism, classism, sexism, and mild ableism as a kid. Dude was a white British man during the early and mid 1900s. He does not entirely rise above his culture. Some of the dehumanization of species/cultures that are obvious stand-ins for real world cultures horrified me during my latest reread. And it’s subtle enough that it’s hard to point out to kids.

Story: The story is great. I’ve read ‘The Horse And His Boy’ so many times that my papa’s copy is held together with tape. He wouldn’t let me take them when I moved out. Had to buy my own. It was tragic.

 The Archives of Anthropos, by John White –

Writing: Reminds me of Terry Brooks, a little. In that the writing is servicable, and some of the fantasy is pretty derivative, but it’s definitely not bad. The roots are strong, but he didn’t have enough experience to cut all the weaker bits and ruthlessly rewrite.

Allegory: Solid. Not tacked on, not super deep. Really good for a Narnia imitation.

Problems: Not sure, haven’t reread in a while. Pika didn’t like a battle near the beginning, so we had to stop.

Story: It’s set in Winnipeg!!! Unashamed about being heavily inspired by Narnia, this series is a delight. Not as good as it’s inspiration, of course, but it feels like a heartfelt fan letter. Some of the ideas are REALLY cool. This series is worth reading, you guys! Especially the first 2 books.

 The Circle (Black, Red, and White), by Ted Dekker –

Writing: Readable. Slick. Masculine.

Allegory: Lacked both the desired subtly and the necessary depth. Felt like it was written for fantasy fans that felt guilty about reading secular books, rather than to say something important.

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults. Allegories shouldn’t be trying to be cool. Not a fan. (But please note that these opinions were formed 15-20 years ago. I may have been missing something.)

 The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Again, this is C.S. Lewis. He’s good at writing.

Allegory: A little weird, for me. But I struggle with allegory for adults. One of the books is Adam and Eve on Venus, with original sin working slightly differently? I don’t get it.

Problems: My problem is that I don’t like it! Sometimes it reads like Douglas Adams, but not funny. That makes no sense!

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults, even if they’re written by the authour of Narnia. This is Sci-Fi. There is romance. Really not for me.

 The Story of the Other Wise Man, by Henry Van Dyke –

Writing: Good, if I remember correctly. Feels dated and classic, like it should be from Victorian times. (I just checked, it’s from 1895.)

Allegory: Like most morality from more than a century ago, it reads a bit weird. Just, life was a lot harsher then. Nice clear simple message, just taught from a mindset I don’t totally understand.

Story: As a kid, this one made me SAD! He loses everything and feels like a failure! Does have a good message, teaching is sound, good storytelling, but it wasn’t fun enough to make the lesson stick.

 Left Behind, by Tim Lahaye and Jerry B. Jenkins -

Writing: I remember the writing being fine. They read like thrillers, which isn’t a bad thing. I’ve enjoyed some thrillers.

Allegory: Revelations is ALREADY an allegory. This is just an uninspired expansion.

Problems: Everything.

Story: I hate apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic stories. This series wasn’t written by someone who was bothered by the suffering of everyone who made ‘wrong’ choices, and that makes it hollow and awful. ‘We’re so good and smart and better than other people!’ NO. That is not Christianity.

 A Wrinkle In Time, by Madeleine L’Engle –

I still don’t get how this series is Christian?? Really freaked me out as a kid. Had quite a few nightmares.

After a little research, it turns out that she has a very different understanding of Christianity then me. You’ll have to get a review from someone who can see from that perspective.

 Duncton Wood, by William Horwood –

Writing: Extremely good. Heavy and beautiful. Kept me reading as I got more and more weirded out.

Allegory: Not a Christian allegory. And yet Christian enough, in a weird Anglican(??) way, to make it difficult to interpret as non-Christian. There’s a Jesus figure who gets martyred. There are schisms. It’s weird.

Problems: Almost certainly shouldn’t be on this list, yet I spent half an hour searching for it because I was so sure it was supposed to be on this list.

Story: Moles and their experiences with religion. There are similarities to Watership Down and Redwall, Narnia and Lord of the Rings. (The last mostly in language/writing style). If it wasn’t so close to Christian allegory as to be in the uncanny valley, I would have loved it! As it is, I would have prefered LESS Christ.

 Christian ALLEGORICAL Fantasy

The Pilgrim’s Progress, by Paul Bunyan –

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read versions rewritten for kids. At least one was heavily abridged.) This was written in 1678. That is a LONG time ago. The worldview is really different from ours. Also, the versions I read were not inspired updates.

Allegory: This was written only 100 years after the Protestant Reformation. Punishments are incredibly disproportionate. Rich people have completely different rules than the poor, and this is seen as Godly. It’s been over 20 years since I read this book, and I don’t remember much, but it’s a weird read if you’re expecting modern concepts of right and wrong.

Story: Fascinating! Did not enjoy. Might as an adult. Reading an allegory that you can’t relate to at all is a weird experience.

 Hind’s Feet On High Places, by Hannah Hunnard -

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read the version rewritten for kids.) Writing is really good.

Allegory: Names that are just English words have always annoyed me. Other than that pet peeve, this is extremely good. Straight-forward enough to be read to a 7 year old, complex enough for me to reference when I’m trying to describe my experiences to my husband. Solid Christianity, with enough hard stuff to challenge you, while still managing to be fun.

Problems: We’ve got some nasty ableism baked into the setting (disability as metaphor for sin and bondage), and the images are painfully white.

Story: I love this book! This is a Pilgrim’s Progress that actually matches with Christianity as I understand it. If you’re looking for a fun fantasy with a good message, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a distillation of Christianity, told as a story because that makes it more accessible – this is a good one.

 The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri –

Haven’t read it.

 Tales of the Kingdom, by David and Karen Mains -

Writing: The first collection of stories is really strong. The next 2 get weaker. Short stories read differently than novels, and the writing style works well for that format.

Allegory: TOO strong. Some of the stories still make me mad to think about, because the messages are HARD. (Also, names that are just English words still annoy me, no matter now much I love the series.)

Problems: Ableism – true selves don’t have disabilities and are always beautiful. Art is not 100% white, but all the most beautiful people seem to be. And I love lizards far too much to handle the dragon story.

Story: These stories mean a lot to me. They are very much not something a non-believer is going to enjoy. They tend to focus on the parts of Christianity that are hard, uncomfortable, and/or different from mainstream culture. They also stick with you for decades. Narnia is my favourite series on this list to read, but Tales of the Kingdom might be the best for exploring your faith. Highly, highly recommend.

[thelioncourts]

title: into the trees with empty hands fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: not rated words: 22k tags: Witch!Laurent, Witchcraft, Minor Damen/Jokaste, Discussion of Abortion, Don't go into this expecting spoopy, Kingdom Politics, Minor Violence, Kastor/Jokaste

Summary: Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos' betrothed has gone missing. The Northern Steppes call to him with promise. The Witch of Vere calls to him with answers.

_____________________________________________________________

As far as Damianos was aware, everyone across the continent knew of the Witch of Vere. But not everyone agreed on what was truth and what was fiction regarding his existence.

Some would say that the Witch is a kind soul, a wielder of magic who uses his potions to heal and his enchantments to bring luck. Some would say that the Witch was colder than a Kemptian winter, a sorcerer who casts curses with a wicked tongue and communicates with the dead through the act of the seance.

A Veretian woman living in the now-Akielon, and rightfully Akielon, province of Delpha had once told a story of the Witch helping mothers and children after the loss of a husband or father in battle. A Patran warrior relayed a tale of the Witch not only stitching up and preventing infection to a wound, but also teaching how one could further patch themselves up should they not have the time or means to travel to him. An Akielon man from the north told of the Witch charming the lands of poor farmers, leading their farms to provide produce enough to feed their families and other people of the land whilst also making plenty a profit for themselves to guarantee their future.

There were other stories of the Witch of Vere, however. There were stories of the Witch eviscerating men with more than just his spells. There were tales of him cursing entire families, damning their line for all of eternity. There were tales of him creating poisons with his books and knowledge, poisons that killed people, animals, that may have killed an entire village. There were tales of young boys coming into his home and never coming back out.

There were even darker, more whispered tales that the Witch had murdered his own father, mother, brother, and uncle, the only family he had ever had.

The Crown Prince of Akielos found many of these stories, these rumors, to be outlandish. Even if it were all true, no one, not even a witch, would be allowed to continue living undisturbed, unhunted, if they had committed such heinous acts. If anything, Damianos had often found the stories to be a great form of entertainment around a fire. But even he was aware how the stories impacted most, how each story, however small, was enough to incite fear in the hearts of those who listened.

Only two things ever spoken of the Witch remained consistent in every story told. The first was of his beauty, which according to all, was such a sight to behold that he could bring any and all to their knees with a blink of his eyes underneath the fan of his lashes. Some rumors went as far to say that he was so beautiful that his own blood was used to make the most effective love potions the world had ever seen.

Some rumors said that he was so beautiful that it was dangerous to be in his presence as he could tempt one to do anything he wished.

But the second thing, the thing that made Damianos wish to believe that this enigmatic being was as real as people said, was that he was powerful. Damianos could desperately use that right now.

***

Never in his life had Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos intended on pursuing a witch. The hunting of evil and magical creatures had been a fun game to play as a child, subjecting one poor friend to chase all the others in order to turn them all into fellow witches. But it was just that: a child’s game. No one would willingly put themselves at the mercy of a true witch.

But, as fate would have it, Damianos found himself with no other choice.

It had been difficult, at first, finding someone who had supposedly met the Witch of Vere. Good or bad, people were often reluctant to admit to having been in contact with a witch. It was even harder in Akielos as the Witch of Vere was an outsider, already considered evil by many due to his proximity to Vere, let alone his deeds. Eventually people talked, they always did, and after asking in the rural lands of Sicyon and Thrace, Damianos had a place to begin.

As the Crown Prince, sneaking out of the palace took some navigating, but once out, his getting around and across the border proved easier than he could have imagined. As a lone traveler, all he had needed was passageway in a merchant’s cart — something provided with gratitude because of the half pound of gold Damianos put in the man’s hand — and he was in Alier where the mountains gave way to jagged land not two days later.

Briefly he worried of Vaskian mountain raiders, but even they would not see much purpose in attacking a man covered in a ragged cloak and owning nothing but a large bag filled with traveling essentials and the sandals on his feet.

His entire journey along the mountain border was rough. For days and for nights he walked, occasionally stealing away in unsuspecting carts at night, roaming a land that was unforgiving. But he had gone this way for a reason, the reason being that unforgiving meant uninhabited.

Even with the sloped and rocky ground that gave way into frigid and frozen soil, Damianos walked quickly and before he knew it, he was in Lys, then Toutaine, and lastly Varenne. And at long last, a five days’ hike to be exact, the Northern Steppes were laid out before him.

With only minor trepidation, he entered the Great Northern Forest.

[Continue on AO3]

Unlike his arrival in Alier days earlier, Damianos did not immediately begin walking. First he sat his bag on the ground and retrieved a multitude of things he had packed along for the fear of the bitter cold. Not familiar with winter personally, but knowing of it, Damianos had packed a second cloak that had a hood to cover his head and that fell down to the middle of his calves. It was lined with fur, the same kind of fur that made up the inside of his packed gloves and boots. A quick test showed Damen that he had underestimated the winter for this wasn’t enough. But it would have to do. He was so close.

There were creatures in the Steppes that Damianos had never seen before. During the day, as he trekked along, he came across tiny, thick-furred animals. Some of them were so small that they created shelter in packed snow banks or underground in tiny burrows. All the small ones were white, a camouflage to protect them from the bigger, more dangerous beasts. On Damianos’ first night, he felt lucky to not see one of those beasts. Not knowing them, he had no inkling as to how they would appear, but once, when the moon was highest, he heard them, howling and growling in the distance.

The next morning, after ten days total of travel, he at long last came across the cabin.

The first thing he noticed was the fire roaring inside. It was a proof of life, of someone’s existence, but it also brought forth to Damianos a great rush of envy. What he would give to feel his hands and feet again. There were other things he noticed about it afterward, things like how normal it looked on the outside, like the branches with live blooms hanging by the door, the plants magically living in the snow, or like the well-worn pathway leading up to it, or like the lack of movement inside.

For a moment, Damianos contemplated what would be his best move; he could leave now, set up his own camp in a nearby clearing and rest in order to regain some of his strength, or he could attempt to make contact with the Witch now. His eagerness to see if the stories were true in any capacity took over him though, and he shucked his bag to the ground and took a deep breath.

A village woman in Thrace had told Damianos of what to do once he reached the cabin, should he find it. He felt a bit foolish, but he went about it with as much confidence as he could muster, which, in truth, was quite a lot. Determined steps brought him to the door where he knocked four times before immediately retreating back to the stones that marked the path like a gateway. Once there, he waited a beat before announcing loudly into the air, “My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide.” From there he bent down to fish through his forgotten bag in order to pull out handfuls of gold. “I have brought gold.”

Damianos waited, fully expecting the door of the cabin to open wide, fully expecting to be face-to-face with the Witch of Vere. But nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.

For an entire hour, Damianos waited patiently for the Witch to come and greet him. For another hour, Damianos waited less patiently.

Unsure of what was going on, Damianos repeated his earlier actions and walked up to the door to knock four times.

“My name is Damianos,” he said once more after retreating back to the stones. “I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought gold.”

Nothing.

“I have brought much gold,” Damianos continued. “Enough gold to satisfy any Kyros in Akielos and certainly any council member in Vere.”

Still, nothing.

For one more hour, Damianos waited between the stones. He was half-tempted to go and try to open the door anyway, but instinct told him nothing good would come from that. But three hours of standing in the cold was too much and Damianos was weary from his travels. With one last look at the cabin windows which had shown no movement in the time Damianos had stood, he finally left, finding the clearing he had spotted earlier and beginning to set up a makeshift camp.

His own fire started surprisingly easy, and the tent he had manufactured wasn’t pretty but it did its job, and when night came and went, he awoke without answers and a noticeably dwindled food supply from his nearly two weeks of travel.

So he tried again.

“My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought gold, and much of it.”

For three more days he repeated this ritual, knocking and retreating and announcing and waiting. By the fifth day of standing outside the Witch’s cabin, Damianos’ patience was nearing its end and he was beginning to think he was quite idiotic for believing in such a fairytale.

“My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought gold, and much of it.”

This time, he said it with clear frustration in his tone, frustration that had him half-heartedly kicking at the stones.

“I have heard your announcement many a time,” a voice sounded out suddenly from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Damianos jumped back from the gate, eyes searching the cabin and the skies, and the voice continued. “Though I find it all quite redundant, I do admire your relentlessness.”

Fumbling, Damianos tossed his bag to the ground and fell to his knees beside it, scrambling inside of it for his gold that he had days earlier quit bringing out. His bare knees were bitten numb by the snow. With his arms outstretched and his eyes still searching, he repeated, “I have brought gold in my request for your assistance.”

“So you have said,” the voice drolled. “I fear, Damianos of Akielos, that you lack understanding of my demands.”

It was easy to get lost listening to the Witch’s voice, honing intently on the clear tone of it, honing intently to its pitch and control.

“You have not made any demands of me,” Damianos said. His arms fell to his sides.

“Do not play a fool. All who find me know of my demands. They are very simple, too: approach, knock four times, return to the gateway, and make an offering of value.”

“I have done all that,” Damianos said after a beat, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I have done all that repeatedly.”

“I know who you are, Damianos. You are no mere Akielon citizen. You are the Prince. Of what value is gold to you?” the voice asked him. It sounded genuinely curious.

“Gold is of value to all.”

“If you can casually give to me as much as you are offering, gold is of little importance to your life. Bring to me something of value.”

Every part of Damianos wanted to argue, but with patience he had demonstrated thus far, he waited to see if the Witch would speak again. When there was no noise beyond the rustling of dead leaves in the trees to accompany Damianos’ loud heartbeat, he made the familiar journey back to his camp to think.

After a restless night of deep contemplation, he had a solution.

It took almost two full days to fashion together his offering. Gold didn’t melt easily and finding something to shape it around proved near impossible. By the time it was completed and cooled with the abundance of snow, Damianos slipped it on.

It wasn’t beautiful, not in any way, but its purpose would be evident.

His seventh day in the forest, Damianos once again approached the unchanged Witch’s cabin. Inside he could see that the very same fire was going strong and it burned within him a necessary conviction. Repeating the ritual for what was hopefully the last time, Damianos walked to the door, knocked four times, went back to the stones, and announced, “My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought, in offering, my freedom.”

Outstretching his arms from the warm cocoon of his cloak, Damianos bared the cuff shackled to his right wrist.

He had not been certain in the last two days if the Witch was familiar with slave practices across the continent, but with his reputation for knowledge Damianos assumed the message would be clear.

The voice laughed, an unkind laugh that felt mocking. “You liken to extremes, do you not, Prince Damianos?”

“I am desperate,” Damianos answered.

When nothing happened, Damianos felt his patience lose its last hold all the way in his fingertips. “Do you accept or not?”

The door to the cabin opened wide.

***

Inside, the cabin was unnervingly dark.

It was the first thing Damianos noticed, though secondly was the stifling heat. The fire, which had been roaring high the entire time Damianos had stood outside was suddenly nothing but smoldering embers, yet the remaining heat was almost painful in its relief on Damianos’ skin, stinging like a burn that seeped all the way into his bones.

Damianos had never given thought to what a witch’s cabin should look like, but if he ever would have he definitely would not have imagined this. The entire room smelt of lavender and cinnamon, and fresh herbs were gathered in clay pots that sat on the sills of the windows, drowning the blue hue of the streaming moonlight in greenery. Rugs lined the rough wooden floors and books of all kinds littered the tables and shelves, the only clutter in an area otherwise so organized.

But the cabin’s almost welcoming appearance didn’t take away that there was something to be fearful of in here. Damianos startled when the cabin door slammed shut from somewhere behind him, done so with no force from another physical person. Then came the unmistakable click of the lock.

“How desperate are you?” the voice of the Witch asked, and it sounded as though it was only inches behind Damianos. Damianos whipped around, eyes searching even though they hadn’t quite adjusted to the dark, but all he found was the blank slate of wood that made the door from which he had entered. “You have offered me yourself. Is the significance of that lost on you? It is near the equivalent of offering the devil your soul.”

“Near the equivalent, but not exact in its likeness,” Damianos said. The voice hummed thoughtfully.

“If it is not exact, then you must have only heard the good things about me.”

“I have heard many things about you,” said Damianos, “but I am to be King one day. To rush into a decision based upon only the words of others could be detrimental. I would much rather make decisions upon my own observances.”

“But if you are here then you must believe the words of someone, yes? After all, my ego is not so large to assume that knowledge of my being has crossed into the barbaric lands of Akielos unscathed.”

Movement caught Damianos’ eye, but it was an animal of some sort, one that scurried underneath a table by the far wall.

“For how long are we to speak in circles?” Damianos asked instead. His finger was tapping incessantly at his thigh.

“However long I wish. You offered me your freedom.”

There was silence, and Damianos took it as opportunity to continue to observe. The animal that he had spotted emerged its head from underneath the table it had disappeared under. It was a white darling cat with brown marbled in its fur. It had large blue eyes.

“Tell me what you have heard of me. Then tell me what you believe. Should your answers be adequate, we will continue on to the answers you seek.”

Damianos turned from where the cat was still sitting, watching him, and faced instead the emptiness of the room.

“I have heard many things about you, Witch of Vere. I have heard praises sung of your good deeds and your kindness. I have also heard awful things. I have heard stories of young boys walking into this very cabin and never leaving it again. I have heard of girls cut open on your dining table, their children taken violently from their wombs. I have heard you were cold enough to murder your own family without regret. I have heard many things about you.”

The words were honest as they tore themselves from Damianos’ throat. When the voice did not speak after a moment though, he continued.

“Only two things have remained consistent in all the accounts I have heard, and those are the two things I choose to believe. The first is that you are beautiful. There are stories, implications, that have followed that, however. Stories that you bathe in the blood of virgins to maintain your youthfulness. But it is the second as to why I am here, for I have heard from all that you are the most powerful witch to have walked the continent since Agnesot of the Artisan Empire nearly four hundred years ago.”

For the first time since entering the cabin, Damianos heard a noise that was not the voice speaking nor the crackling of the embers burning hot in the hearth. He heard the creak of wood from a singular staircase that ascended near the very hearth and he watched with bated breath as a figure approached.

Immaculate boots caught the moonlight with their shine and it was something that took Damianos aback for it was not what he expected from a witch, or anyone this secluded from the rest of society. Up, Damianos took in the fine material of the pants, the intricate laces, winding their way up and down the lean body’s torso and arms, and the collar of the shirt and the length of the sleeves, both of which covered nearly all skin in a shield to protect it from onlookers’ eyes. Finally, facing forward, Damianos set sight on the Witch’s face.

Tales of the Witch’s beauty were true. Damianos felt horribly aware of his own shaky intake of breath, of the slackness of his own mouth, but he was impossible to stop it. The Witch’s skin was a near match to the unblemished porcelain of the snow surrounding them outside. It was accompanied by ice colored eyes that were unreadable in expression, yet framed with curled lashes that brushed the tops of cold-flushed cheeks whenever the Witch blinked. The flush matched the color of the pink fullness of his mouth, and both things were the only contrast to his otherwise cool-toned, sharp features. In fact, those two things softened him into something almost precious. Or perhaps it was the halo of gold surrounding his head, his hair shining like the sun on the waters near Isthima.

Damianos took an involuntary step forward before catching himself.

“Well?” the Witch mused, blue eyes never leaving the Prince’s face.

“You must bathe in the blood of virgins,” Damianos managed to mutter. He swore the Witch’s eyes gleamed at that.

“I am not concerned with one’s number of sexual encounters,” said the Witch. “My concerns lie in other matters, such as the Prince of Akielos’ presence so very far from home.”

“Yes, it has been a long journey,” Damianos agreed, still searching that beautiful face.

“How are you taking to the cold?” the Witch asked. He was speaking as though they were friends, as though there was not a strangeness to this all so present it was palpable in the air surrounding them both.

“The snow is beautiful. I am not sure I enjoy the freezing of my limbs, however.”

The Witch made a noise and he walked toward the cat. “I do suppose the snow is beautiful. I am quite accustomed to it. But it brings with it a peace, does it not? I do not know what I would do if I were to be surrounded by the warmth of sunshine instead.”

“Akielos will be void of sunshine if I do not receive answers soon,” said Damianos. The feeling shifted as the conversation returned to its proper track.

The Witch circled him and Damianos stood very still. Briefly, he thought the Witch was akin to the nameless beasts he heard growling in the forest at night, and Damianos was one of those small white creatures in the vulnerability of an open clearing.

“Void of sunshine? My, what cynicism. Do tell me why. Do tell me how. Such a thing cannot happen in as short a time as the turning of the moon.”

“But it can and it shall,” Damianos started. “My betrothed has gone missing. If she is not found, if she is not returned, I fear Akielos will face terrible hardship. I fear, worst of all, its entire structure could fall apart beneath us.”

“You put quite a value of importance on one woman.”

Damianos interrupted the conversation he had started. “Please allow me to call you something. I cannot address you as the Witch, but it is all I know. What is your name?” He was dizzy with the conversation already, dizzy with the weight of his own tongue in his mouth.

“Unlike you, Prince, I know the power of gifting things away. I am not so quick to make a deal with a devil,” the Witch chastised, but he was smiling. It was a cold smile. It was cruel. “Continue.”

“The wedding has been scheduled since the week of her birth. As it was written and as it was signed, our wedding was to be on the day of Midsummer, when the sun spent longest in the sky, and in the year in which the five planets aligned. That day is in two months. But she is not in Akielos. She is not anywhere. She vanished in the daylight three months ago and her father is ready to begin a war for her.”

“A war against Akielos?” asked the Witch.

“Not as of now. The man is a great noble from Aegina. It is one of our farming provinces. But should he wish to go to war, my father will support him. He has been raging about Vere and the Vaskian tribes for weeks.” Damianos started to pace. The Witch was watching him. He allowed Damianos to continue on. “There are many things that could have happened, but I need to know the truth. I cannot, will not, engage my armies in a war over one woman unless I have absolute proof she has been taken, as some of the nefarious rumors have implied. But should I refuse, I fear something even worse than a war with Vere or Vask; I fear civil war. Her father is popular in the north and if there was ever such an area to begin unrest with the capital...” Damianos looked pointedly at the Witch. “I must figure out the truth or I will have no kingdom to rule.”

“You sound far more invested in the welfare of your kingdom than in your betrothed,” the Witch said. “Is she such a hideous prospect?”

“She is beautiful. But her beauty does not matter. Our betrothal was political and she is political. I once thought…” Damianos trailed again, but he shook himself out of going down that path.

“She is political,” the Witch started curiously, “and you are more a romantic. You wanted to love her, and her love you in turn, when you got married.”

“Yes.”

“Why would you think I have answers about your betrothed?” the Witch then asked with a different kind of curiosity.

“Initially I believed such a thing for there were rumors she came to you. Each was different in its reasoning for why she would come here, but it was something I heard from several of my people,” Damianos admitted. “But upon questioning those people further, and finding more people to question along my journey here, I no longer believe that. There are many that confirm she traveled by the Ellosean Sea. She could not have gotten here traveling in such a way.”

“That’s not true, Prince,” the Witch said. “If she took the sea, she could have landed in the province of Marches in Vere before traveling innocuously along Vere’s border, by the palace in Arles, and into the Great Northern Forest. She very much could have been one of the many virgins I bathed in the blood of.”

“She is no virgin.”

“You said she was political, however. By what do you mean?” the Witch asked.

“She seeks power. It is the only reason I believe she would not abandon our betrothal willingly. To be wed to me, to be the Queen of Akielos, would be too much for her to pass up on. And yet…” Damianos trailed one last time, “I am uncertain of everything.”

“Prince Damianos of Akielos,” the Witch said, his tone indicating to Damianos’ ears that this conversation was coming to a close. “We will begin the process of trying to answer your questions at another time. But until then, I suppose I shall give you menial tasks to complete.”

“Tasks?”

“You are mine, are you not”

***

Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos had worked hard for many years on all things related to battle. But never in his life had he had to do basic chores for a household. The next morning, upon awakening in his campsite in the forest, Damianos had stood outside the Witch’s cabin for some time contemplating if he was to still knock. The Witch answered that query for him, opening the cabin door as he had yesterday to bid Damianos inside. From there he had given the Prince a list to complete; tend to the plants, gather and chop firewood from the forest, feed the cat (which Damianos had deemed to be the devil the Witch kept bringing up in conversation).

While Damianos completed such tasks, the Witch was nowhere in sight. In fact, Damianos was certain the Witch was not in the cabin at all. Still, Damianos worked and when evening came about, the Witch reappeared with two gifts for Damianos.

“You may sleep here,” the Witch told him as he began preparing a hot meal for the two of them. “I know this is not your normal standard of accommodation, but I truly cannot have a future king dying of starvation or frostbite whilst owned by me. It would be dreadful for that to get about.”

Damianos could not tell if he was joking or not, but he was grateful nonetheless.

The sofa near the hearth was surprisingly comfortable, though Damianos wondered if that was due to his weeks of sleeping on the cold forest floor, but when he awoke he was startled by two things. The first was the feeling of waking and not knowing where one was, and it rocketed his heartrate until memory returned. The second was the feeling of weight on his chest, just above his ribcage, that made it difficult to take a deep breath. That was resolved quickly, however, as Damianos opened his eyes and found the cat sitting on him and staring unblinkingly at the subtle expansion of his breaths leaving his open mouth. Damianos jolted awake and the cat meowed as it was forced to move, to jump away and onto the ground.

Damianos stumbled as he tried to stand to full attention with dignity, and that’s when he saw something that threw him into a near panic. In the hearth was a pot and in the pot was a ladle that was stirring the pot’s contents all on its own. Damianos turned his head like a dog trying to make sense of a human’s incomprehensible jabbering.

“This trick was not intended to evoke fear,” the Witch said from the table near the window. Damianos turned to give the Witch his attention and found him with a book whose writing was gibberish to Damianos’ eyes and a steaming cup with a spoon doing the same trick as the pot with the ladle.

“I am not afraid,” said Damianos. His voice was gruff.

The Witch gestured to the empty seat across from and it was only with minor hesitancy that Damianos accepted. Then nothing happened.

“Do you suppose your drink will simply appear before you?” the Witch asked, his eyes never leaving his book.

“I thought,” Damianos fumbled, “I thought that —”

“That I would get it for you as you have never had to do such a thing on your own? Oh, my dear brute, you are forgetting your position here already. You may fetch it yourself.”

So Damianos did. And when the Witch tasked him with getting more wood, Damianos did that as well. After another day of doing work, the sun set and the Witch began supper. It was then that Damianos asked, “What of my betrothed?”

“In time,” said the Witch.

The next morning, Damianos’ third day since entering the cabin, began much as the day before. He made it to noon before the lack of communication wore thin each of his fried nerves. He couldn’t stop thinking of Akielos.

“I do not understand you,” Damianos said loudly after having ground up spices for nearly an hour. “I have done all you have asked with no complaint. I have offered you my very self and yet all you have done is require me to clean and fetch us both hot tea. I am beginning to believe your magic does not extend beyond stirring stews and reading in languages others cannot understand.”

The Witch looked at him steadily from where he was rifling through a stack of unrecognizable papers.

Then it started.

It started slowly, crept in like a storm front. He felt it first in the center of his chest. It was the same feeling he had felt when the cat had sat on him that first morning, like a weight preventing a deep breath. Then he felt it in his head, an ache behind his eyeballs. The feeling in his chest swelled, moving until it took over his entire body. Blackness blurred the edges of his vision and it was without fault that he fell to his knees, hands grasping at his throat as if he could pull the blockage from himself, as if he could push air back into his lungs.

He was going to die.

Horrible noises were leaving him, wounded sounds, and he could barely make sense of the Witch’s figure looming over him, his blond hair hanging like the invisible rope tight around Damianos’ neck as he lost his ability to breathe.

Then, like nothing ever happened, the feeling stopped and Damianos fell forward even more, gasping in broken sounds as air returned to his body.

“You would do best not to insult me, Prince,” the Witch spat. The last word left his mouth as though the action was venomous. “Now finish with your tasks.”

The Witch disappeared, exiting the cabin, the electricity of his power still lingering in the air, and it took Damianos several minutes to pull himself up to his feet. When he did, he saw that while proving his power the Witch destroyed several items in his own home. Books and papers were strewn haphazardly, all far from where they had been sitting, and several pots that the plants sat in were shattered, the soil all over the floor and other surfaces on which they rested.

Hours later, when the Witch returned, Damianos’ head was still somewhat fuzzy.

While the Witch had been gone, Damianos had done his best to restore everything back to its place as well as begin on his tasks should the Witch wish to direct his rage once again. But when the Witch came back he barely glanced at the room or at Damianos. He went straight for the table by the window instead and, with a sweep of his hand, pushed everything to the edge where the table met the wall.

“Sit,” he demanded.

Though each part of him screamed to keep distance between himself and the Witch, Damianos listened and sat himself across from the Witch at the table. He reminded himself silently and none-too-gently to hold his tongue. He watched raptly as the Witch gently untied the strings of a black velvet bag. From it he drew out a deck of cards. The cards were blue, the kind of blue Damianos had only ever seen in the meadows of Karthas, or perhaps the very blue of the Witch’s eyes. On the cards’ backs was a symbol, but of what Damianos could not tell. He could only see golden spikes.

With an elegance, the Witch placed the deck of cards on the far left end of the table. Then, with his magic, he spread them out in an arch until the cards were just overlapping at the edges.

The symbol became clear to Damianos in that moment: a starburst.

“What are these?” he asked.

“These are cards,” the Witch answered simply.

Damianos had to bite down on his tongue so as to not reply to that. He left himself with an achingly familiar twitch of annoyance at the Witch’s evasive nonanswers instead. “Yes, I can see that. But what is their significance?”

“These are cards about you.”

Fast as lightning, Damianos’ eyes went to the Witch’s face. For his part, however, the Witch was not paying him any mind. His blue eyes were focused solely on the display of cards, on the closeness of their edges to Damianos’ own fingertips.

“How could you have cards about me?”

“I have cards about all peoples,” the Witch said. “Even myself.”

“And what do your cards say?” Damianos could not resist asking.

“Telling you would mean nothing. Not yet. You do not even know which cards are yours.”

“Then pick them out or let me pick them so you can tell me.” His fingertips that were only inches away from the cards went to snatch at them, but the Witch physically slapped them away. It did not hurt, but it brought on a kind of shock. It was the first time they had touched and Damianos wasn’t surprised the Witch’s hands were cold.

“You cannot just pick the cards,” the Witch said. “They pick you, Prince.”

The two of them stared at once another. Again, Damianos’ chest began to feel tight and he almost began to yell out at the Witch, to ask what he did to warrant a repeat performance, but he realized quickly it was a nervousness and not the Witch at all.

“Now,” the Witch began again, “there are three cards lying here about you and your betrothed. One card is about your past, one about your present, and one about your future. You need to think hard about your betrothed. Think about everything you know about her, think of everything she has done, think of every feeling she has ever evoked from you. Think about everything about her and hold your hands above the cards. Yes, like that. Listen to them. There are three and they will find you.”

At first Damianos felt absurd, both hands floating aimlessly over the blue and gold of the cards, but, suddenly, a sense of calm overtook him, washed over him and unwound the tightness of his chest. Through his palms he could feel something radiating, calling for his touch. With as gentle a hand as he could find, he extracted one card, then another, then one more.

“Listen to them before you hand them to me,” the Witch said, whispered as to not break the magic in the air. “The order matters. The direction matters. The cards will tell you.”

When Damianos finally handed the cards over, the calm rushed away from him in the same way his air had earlier left his lungs, and Damianos held his breath as the Witch flipped the three cards over so that the starbursts were tableside.

Of the three cards, one was upside down, its figure facing the Witch and not Damianos. It was on Damianos’ right and it showed a man on a throne. The graying beard on his face reminded Damianos of his own father and the scepter in his hand gleamed gold in the light. Its text said ‘The Emperor’ in shimmering letters. Next to it, in the middle, was a card with an Ektoryn. In myth, Ektoryns were said to be the speakers of the gods. In the case of this card, the Ektoryn appeared to be Gilead, the one that announced fate with the declaration of a trumpet. The card said ‘Judgement.’ It was the final card, or the first card, though that made Damianos suck in a breath. Typhon, the Devil, could never be a good sign. With horns and fire decorating the intimidating figure, Damianos could not see how.

“Do not fret so heavily over the Devil,” the Witch told him with such ease that Damianos’ shoulders relaxed without his acknowledgement. “He is not what concerns me here.”

“What do they all mean?”

It felt as if these cards suddenly held the entire future of his kingdom and Damianos felt such a horrid feeling that he desperately needed alleviated with the Witch’s words.

“We shall start with the Devil to ease your mind, Prince,” the Witch said, delicate hands pushing the card and its figure closer to Damianos. “The Devil, when facing you, is often there to signify entrapment. You two were betrothed at birth, were you not?” Damianos nodded. “This betrothal, paired with her political motivation and your more romantic inclination, have led the two of you to feel in such a way. The Devil, here to your left, is the past, showing you how the two of you came to be.”

With the same delicate hand, the Witch pulled the Devil back toward himself and pushed forward instead the Ektoryn, Gilead.

“Facing you, the card of Judgement is the signifier of self-reflection. Similarly to the Devil, Judgement shows a changing point you both had at a very recent time in your lives. You trailed off once about how you perhaps thought a romantic attraction was possible with the two of you, but something changed that, didn’t it?” Damianos nodded again. “Something of the same significance must have occurred within her as well.” Then, almost as a warning, the Witch continued. “Make no mistake of the implication of this card. While self-reflection sounds like a good thing, it does not always have to be about bettering oneself. In some cases, it could be a way of finding how to get ahead with what one has.”

Damianos took in the open and simple face of the Ektoryn, and he took in its outstretched hands that were searching for answers. He saw himself in that image and thought, yes, he could see what the Witch meant.

“But this card,” the Witch interrupted his thoughts, pushing the last card to Damianos, “this card brings me great trepidation, Prince.”

Looking at the Witch with concern, Damianos asked, “Why? What does it mean?”

“Upside down like this, the Emperor is tyrannical. With a position in royalty such as your own, Damianos, you can understand the fear of tyranny.”

The two of them fell quiet. Damianos waited for the Witch to continue to explain the Emperor as he had explained the Devil and the Ektoryn, but the Witch was only staring at the cards. His blond brows were furrowed together, his blue eyes scanning, when suddenly he sat up straight with rigid shoulders and shuffled the cards together as though that could hide what he had just realized or seen.

“What is it? What did you find?” Damianos asked quickly. His hands were gripping the edge of the table.

“You will know,” the Witch mumbled. “You will know in time. Probably faster than you’d like.”

Fury filled Damianos’ veins then. In time, in time, he thought bitterly to himself, wanting desperately to lash out, to sweep all the cards onto the floor, but he didn’t. When he finally felt as though he wouldn’t throw a punch in his anger, Damianos looked up only to find the Witch watching him, looking amused.

“You do quite well at reeling in your most volatile of emotions,” the Witch said, and Damianos wanted to hit him all over again. “But there is one more card for you. Think of yourself as this one finds you. Think of yourself and no other creature.”

There was an ache in Damianos’ jaw from clenching it so tight. The muscle was twitching, a striking feeling, and it was then Damianos realized his fingernails were biting half-moons into his palms. He watched with dark eyes as the Witch finished shuffling the deck of cards and once again placed them in a gentle arch for Damianos’ eyes.

“There is one for you,” the Witch repeated, “and only one.”

Concentrating on what lay before him, Damianos focused on his breathing, focused on settling it, focused on the rhythmic boom ba-boom boom of his heart in his ears. Then, like before, he lifted his hands and waited for the card to call to him.

When it found him, he handed the Witch his card and the Witch flipped it over. Damianos laughed acridly and almost expectantly at the image it beheld.

“What does this mean for me? Beyond the obvious, that is.”

“What is the obvious?” the Witch asked him. Damianos had expected the Witch to laugh, had expected that cruel smile he had seen more than once to appear, but the Witch looked at him with a kind of curiosity instead, something entirely new on his face. It made Damianos’ stomach flip.

“The Fool,” Damianos said, gesturing somewhat wildly at it. “What else could it mean but I am unfit for my position? That my journey here was useless and unnecessary?”

“So that is what you believe it to mean? That is not what it means at all.” The Witch held the card between two long fingers an examined it with a light behind his eyes. “People so often become obsessed with the names of these cards that they do not take into consideration the meaning at all. The Devil, as example, emits such a fear that it sends people into a panic before they come to the realization that it is not an inherently evil card. The Fool, facing you as he is now, is a lovely card to draw.”

“What does it mean?” Damianos asked, softer this time.

“The Fool means innocence. It means you are to start on a new journey. Whatever that may be.”

***

After the reading of the cards, the Witch went about making more tea and hot broth for dinner. It was silent in the cabin, at least between Damianos and the Witch, and as the Witch busied himself Damianos petted absently at the cat that liked to nestle into the crook of his elbow.

As he ate, Damianos couldn’t get the images of the cards out of his mind. Like a nightmare, the Devil, the Ektoryn, the Emperor, and the Fool all flashed behind his eyelids like some unstoppable force couldn’t help but replay them over and over again

“You’re aware I realized something whilst looking at your card of the Emperor, yes?” the Witch asked after hours of quiet. The question brought Damianos out of his own head and, just like earlier, he nodded. “I have a confession, Prince.”

Expectantly, Damianos waited, wanting to know what had the Witch so visibly uncomfortable after having read the Emperor. What he said brought on the most conflicting set of feelings Damianos had ever experienced at one time.

“Your initial assumptions of your betrothed’s disappearance were correct for she was here but just over a month ago.”

The confession startled Damianos so much that he almost fell forward, words tearing themselves out of his mouth before he could stop them. But the Witch only talked over him, beckoning him for silence.

“I did not realize it was her, not until I was looking at your cards. She did not offer her place of origin and I did not ask, only assuming by her coloring and conduct that she was Veretian. It appears now, however, that she was Akielon.”

“Start from the beginning,” Damianos said. “Please.”

“Yes, yes. But you need to sit down. I fear you are not prepared for what I am about to say.”

They both sat on the sofa in front of the hearth and momentarily Damianos got lost in how the warm glow of the fire changed the Witch’s appearance so.

“Your betrothed, Jokaste, arrived outside of my cabin early in the day. She was quiet, offering me no extra information and asking none of me. It appeared at first as though this was going to be like any other exchange of services and goods, but it was when the pain settled in that she began to ramble. She damned herself, she said she was not careful enough. After several minutes of going on in such a fashion, she began to shake as she said she was afraid she would lose everything with such a mistake.”

“When the pain settled in?” Damianos repeated, wide-eyed. “Why was she in pain?”

“Some of the stories you have heard of me are true, Prince. When asked, I do rid women of children they cannot bring into this world, whatever their reason. That is why your betrothed was here.”

The ground crumbled underneath Damianos’ feet.

It didn’t literally, of course, but his entire being felt like it was impossibly falling into an abyss of uncertainty. Words escaped him in his fall.

“I came to the understanding that her soon-to-be was powerful, but I never would have jumped to the conclusion that they were a prince. Was the child yours?”

Damianos looked into the fire. “No. My father ordered her out of my bed a year ago, for propriety’s sake. He did not want us siring a bastard, even with the intention of wedding. Best to avoid any kind of scandal.”

“I fear she did not seem to have the same kind of preservation in mind,” the Witch said.

The room grew quiet, Damianos processing and the Witch allowing him to do so. It wasn’t a hurt Damianos was feeling, he concluded quite quickly. Jokaste was beautiful, was intelligent, but the draw of it all was that she was to be his Queen. They had melded together, carnally, in those earliest of days, seeing each other only when the moon was high, and by morning she’d be gone and Damianos would think nothing of it. Yet, this was a betrayal. It wasn’t as though this was the situation of his father and mother, where they were loyal to one another for a decade before it became evident Egeria would not be able to bring to life an heir. Only then did his father begin his relationship with his mistress, resulting in the birth of Kastor. No, this wasn’t that; Jokaste didn’t even give their marriage a chance.

“Do you know where she is now?” Damianos asked after minutes of that quiet.

“I offered for her stay here as she needed to recover. She declined, citing a place she knew she could seek refuge as she rested. I know not where that place is.”

“Can you find out?” Damianos asked.

The Witch sighed. “I can. It will take but an hour. However, I must advise against it.”

“Why?”

“Nothing good ever rises from emotions such as your current own,” the Witch said, sounding almost as though speaking from experience.

“Finding her is not about me. It is about preventing war. If I can bring her back to Akielos, show to her father that her leaving was of her own doing and not of Patras, Vask, Vere, and most definitely anyone in Akielos, he will have no reason to continue his push for violence. I will not have to lose any of my men.”

The Witch stared at Damianos’ face. Up close like this, Damianos could see the reflection of the fire in the Witch’s blue eyes. Damianos could see that the Witch had recently wetted his lips for they shined.

“What will come of her in her return to Akielos?”

“She will probably be exiled. My father will not take her conceiving with another man, not after the signing of our betrothal since birth, lightly.”

The Witch stared a minute more. “Come. This will take some time.”

It was fascinating, watching the Witch prepare to use his power. The first thing he did was gather ingredients. He plucked leaves off of a rowan tree twig and crushed them, the mortor and pestle granites meticulously rasping against one another. From the leaves green leaked and it was only when the leaves were but a mush of wetness that the Witch added a red powder from a jar on the desk. Together the two created a paste, a muck of sorts that the Witch scraped off to one pile in the mortor.

Then, with expert fingers, the Witch snipped off a line of twine from a roll and began a new preparation of leaves and herbs. Damianos didn’t recognize most of them. Some were long, predominantly stems with tiny buds or leaves decorating their length, while others were shorter, fuller plants with large leaves and even some flowers. One flower was gold. If slipped behind an ear, or if tucked into a plait of braids, the flower would blend perfectly with the Witch’s hair.

When the twine was tied, the plants secured, the Witch stood and opened a cabinet above the desk. Inside, Damianos spotted a large stack of papers, so large it nearly touched the top of the cabinet, and stuffed in beside it was a book. Damianos assumed the Witch would reach for the book, but he didn’t; instead he pulled at one of the papers lowest in the pile.

It was a map of the continent.

It was written in Veretian, its Achelos almost startling on the page. The Witch spread it out flat on the table in front of both himself and Damianos. Raptly, Damianos watched as the Witch scooped the paste from the mortor into his hand and began to spread it all around the border of the map. The Witch then grabbed the bundle he had created and stood.

“Descendre.”

The bundle burst into flames. Damianos jumped back, the chair he was sitting in raking loudly on the rough wooden floors. He went to look at the Witch, to ask what was happening, what this would do, but when he looked the Witch’s beautiful blue eyes were entirely black from the pupils to the once-whites. Damianos stayed silent.

Gently and unhurriedly, the Witch placed the fiery bundle at one of the corners of the map. When he did so, the map also began to burn, but it did not burn as paper often does, the flame climbing to consume from the point of first touch. No, instead the map began to burn solely along the border where the paste was smeared.

Lowly, the Witch began to speak in a language both familiar and not. Damianos recognized some of the words and in turn recognized the language. It was the language of the Artisan Empire, a language dead for three hundred years. Yet here, in this cabin, the language was alive, and it brought magic with it. The flames that were controlled to dance the path of the border began to move across the map’s entire surface. But it wasn’t burning it all into ash. It was simply moving toward something.

When the Witch was done speaking and the flames were done crawling, all that was left of the map was a tiny section of the northern part of the province of Ver-Vassel in Vask.

“She is here.”

It made sense. The Vaskian tribes were predominantly women, warriors that would welcome a woman into their midst without much apprehension. It also was one of the most difficult places for Damianos to go to. Still, the certainty, the knowledge of it all had Damianos immediately eager. He wanted to deliver peace to his kingdom and that meant delivering Jokaste to both of their fathers.

“You truly must be descended from the gods,” Damianos said to the Witch. “I do not know how to repay you.”

“You have done all that was asked of you,” the Witch said.

“It does not feel like enough. This solves everything. This prevents war. Will you take coin or gold? Do you need coin or gold?”

“I will not and do not. You offered me your freedom and I took it. Now it is restored to you alongside this knowledge. All I ask of you now is to be wise. Should this take a turn, I fear for the entire continent.”

Damianos’ eagerness faded some at those words, his face taking on an open display of confusion. “Should this take a turn? What do you mean?”

“I mean that I believe you are looking at this too simply. The Emperor. I think there is more to this than what you’re seeing,” the Witch said.

“What else could it be?”

“That, Prince, not even a spell could tell me.”

There wasn’t much to say or do after that. The Witch seemed content to speak in circles and riddles and Damianos was more than ready to trudge out into the snow to begin his second journey, this time across the mountains before going back to Akielos. Though it was dark out, the sun would be rising in a few hours and Damianos didn’t have time to wait. He packed together his bag, donned his warm cloak and boots, and went to the cabin door. Before opening it to the snowy exterior he turned to the Witch and found him watching with a look of contemplation.

“I ask one last thing of you,” Damianos said. The Witch raised one delicate brow.

“It may cost you.”

Damianos couldn’t help but smile. “Since you won’t allow me to thank you with anything tangible, let me thank you personally.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What is your name?” Damianos asked back in response. “If I know it I can then thank you personally.”

The Witch smiled too, not a cruel smile this time, but a smile that did something wonderful to his mouth. But even with that smile, Damianos thought for a moment that the Witch wouldn’t give away that secret still. He was wrong though.

“Laurent.”

***

War had been prevented upon Damianos’ return to Akielos with Jokaste in tow, yet the kingdom had still fallen into shambles.

Theomedes, Damianos’ father, had been furious and his furiousness caused a domino effect of fury across every province of Akielos. As Damianos had expected with a civil war, the south was filled with rage at Jokaste’s infidelity and the north believed the south to be unjust in that rage. That feeling from the north only intensified when Theomedes immediately cancelled the wedding and ordered Jokaste into the cells of the palace of Ios to await trial for her exile.

“There’s not even going to be a trial!” Jokaste’s father had screamed. “Her fate was sealed the moment your son forcibly dragged her to you, crying over his broken heart.”

“Her fate was sealed the moment she spread her legs for another man,” Theomedes said calmly. His hands had clenched the arm rests of the throne.

Tension only had gotten worse when the southern provinces of Kesus and Mellos brought forth the daughters of nobles, vying for a new betrothal contract.

There were other problems beyond the obvious, however, problems Damianos hadn’t anticipated in any regard. The first was his father’s repeated fury aimed at him upon confessing he did not want a betrothed at all. Though the betrothal to Jokaste had been planned, it had never been a topic of conversation among the household of the palace. Damianos had always assumed his father arranged the betrothal because it was what he was expected to do. Yet Damianos’ innocuous profession of “I would like to wait to marry until my time to be king draws nearer,” had been met with near-contempt. The second thing was his father’s illness which had began in the weeks Damianos had been away from home. The King was weak, fatigued and coughing and unable to keep more than bone broth and tea in his stomach for an extended period of time.

“Now is not the time I need your strong head rammed down to defy me,” Theomedes had told him on the second day since his return, just after Damianos had said what he needed to about another betrothal. “Your time as king may be but around the corner, my son. We must prepare for the future now.”

“Let us focus on you, and the you in the present instead of the maybes of the future,” Damianos had pleaded. “You will recover.”

“You are now speaking of maybes.”

As of today, Damianos had now been back in Akielos for over a week and the chaos continued around him at a more settled pace. He decided he was finally ready to face Jokaste.

Their duel journey back to Akielos had been silent. Jokaste hadn’t appeared surprised when he turned up at the outskirts of the Vaskian tribe she had taken refuge with, and she came willingly, hands bound and everything, and not bothering to even ask how he had found her. On the evening of their return, Theomedes had her taken to the cells and she had been there since, left alone except for the guards at the cell’s entrance.

As he descended the steps, Damianos was struck by how little time he had spent in the cells of his own palace. All in all, he guessed that was probably a good thing, but it meant he couldn’t take his eyes off of the damp stone walls and floors, of the slivers of light peering in at odd places, for it was all new. The guards at the entrance bowed deeply at Damianos’ approach before moving out of the way in a soldier’s march.

There, alone on a bench in a cell, was Jokaste.

Her hair was tied up out of her face and her dress was wet at the hem. Still, she looked effortless and she smiled warmly at Damianos’ presence. Then, with an appreciative gaze, she looked him up and down.

“I am quite the damned fool, aren’t I?” she asked.

Instead of bringing to the surface a kind of regret, her words only brought with them a memory of what the Witch — what Laurent — had said: “It appeared at first as though this was going to be like any other exchange of services and goods, but it was when the pain settled in that she began to ramble. She damned herself, she said she was not careful enough. After several minutes of going on in such a fashion, she began to shake as she said she was afraid she would lose everything with such a mistake.”

“Why did you do it?” Damianos asked her. “It’s not like you to be so careless, and especially but months away from the wedding.”

Jokaste kept her smile as she leaned back on the bench, palms flat behind her, legs extended in front of her, and breasts purposefully lifted, making her figure all the more alluring. “You not in my bed made me restless.”

Damianos ran his tongue across his teeth. “I don’t quite believe that. You’ve never had any difficulty entertaining yourself through other pursuits in the past.”

“I don’t think entertainment, or a lack thereof, was the problem, Damianos. Only perhaps that my entertainment got away from me. For what it’s worth, none of this was ever my intent.”

Neither of them had much more to say.

That night, Damianos dreamed of Jokaste’s hands reaching beyond the bars of the cell and grabbing him. He was certain the dream would have continued, would have grown into a nightmare no matter the direction the struggle took, but he was awakened by the feeling of a presence in his room. His eyes opened, immediately looking to find his sword, its blade sheathed and its handle shining, but a voice spoke out, “Don’t think about,” and Damianos turned over in a hurry to peer at the figure.

“Laurent,” he breathed, heart beating fast in his chest. He willed it to slow down. “What are you doing here?”

In a way with which Damianos was somewhat familiar, Laurent stayed silent. He was bathed in the moon from Damianos’ open balcony that overlooked the sea, and its light from behind him shadowed his face. Unlike how the fire of the hearth had made his hair golden, the light from the moon made it appear white, looking much like the enigmatic figure the stories of him made him to be. He was still dressed in the same tight-laced clothes he had worn in the cabin and the salty wind from the ocean made his hair and the ends of his laces dance. For the smallest of moments Damianos wondered if he was still dreaming.

He was going to ask, in the silence, how Laurent had gotten by his guards, but, las though Laurent was reading his mind, he beat him to it. “Your guards are useless.”

Damianos pushed himself to sit up. “What are you doing here?”

“The entire continent has caught news of Akielos’ current predicament. They’re all looking for the weak spot to strike.”

His words and his presence still confused Damianos. “What of it? Akielos is plenty strong to take on the armies of Vere, Vask, or Patras. A war is not ideal, it is why I came to you in the first place, but if it happens, Akielos can handle it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. But it’s not just Vere, Vask, and Patras looking. I hadn’t been lying when I said that I believed there was more to this than what you were seeing. Things are not alright in your kingdom, Damianos. Bringing Jokaste back may have only brought the war on faster.”

Laurent turned and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the sea and when nothing else happened Damianos knew he was intended to follow. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and held the sheet tight around his waist as he walked out onto the balcony as well. The night air felt refreshing on his skin, cooling it from its sleep-warmed state. Laurent was waiting for him, sitting on the stone railing. Now Damianos could see his face and he swore the Witch’s cheeks were flushed red. He wondered if it was from the Akielon heat.

“Do as you did the first time and find three cards about you and Jokaste,” Laurent said, getting out a familiar blue and gold starburst deck of cards.

“Would it be any different than it had been weeks ago?”

“It can change always. Now that your past is known, it is time for what’s next. Three cards.”

After a deep breath, Damianos did just as he had last time and, like then, he felt his three cards call out to him, their energy tangible, their powerful intention clear. He plucked them from the pile and handed them to Laurent slowly. The Witch kept his eyes trained on the reflective gold and he himself took in a deep breath before flipping over the first card.

To Damianos’ left he began and the card was achingly familiar for no one could forget the face of Gilead. The second card, the one in the middle, was also achingly familiar. The Emperor kept his tyrannical position on the throne strong. But it was the last card that brought great fear into Damianos’ heart for when the Witch flipped it over he gasped, a quiet and pained sound. The Tower, climbing high into the sky.

“It is as I feared,” Laurent breathed.

“The Tower? Why the Tower?” Damianos asked, impatiently.

With a sweep of magic that made the hairs on Damianos’ arms stand up, Laurent vanished the cards away and turned to face the wine dark waters of the sea.

“What do you know about your brother?” the Witch asked instead of answering Damianos’ question.

It definitely had not been what Damianos had been expecting to be asked.

As far as he knew, the Witch — Laurent — had no reason to truly know anything about Damianos’ brother, Kastor. He may have known Kastor existed, but Kastor hadn’t been brought up once in the days Damianos was at the cabin.

“He’s my brother,” he said simply instead of trying to fake anything else. “What is it you wish to know about him?”

“Has your brother paid visit to Jokaste in her cell since your return?”

“What? No. Of course not. Why would he?” Damianos asked, taken aback. Every question of the Witch’s brought forth more questions on Damianos’ end.

“Ask your guards,” Laurent told him, turning away from the sea. “Ask them how many times he has traveled down the staircase to the cells in the week since Jokaste was sent to be held there.”

“Why?” Damianos asked. He felt like a child constantly repeating the question of ‘Why?’.

“Do you not find it odd that your father’s health is worsening each day?”

Like at the cabin, Damianos was angry and frustrated at Laurent’s speaking in riddles. He voiced those feelings yet again. “Speak plainly, Laurent. I cannot make sense of anything when you answer each of my questions with a question of your own or in an indirect, unspecified way.”

“You wish for me to speak plainly? Fine,” Laurent said, sounding as depleted as Damianos felt and standing up off of the stone balcony to dust off his pants. “Jokaste was pregnant with your brother’s child and the two of them are planning on murdering both you and your father. They have almost succeeded in the latter.”

A physical strike to Damianos’ body would have hurt far less, would have been less jarring in every way.

“Leave.”

Laurent didn’t move.

“Go back to your forest, to your seclusion, to where people can seek you out if they want your opinion. Leave me and my kingdom be, we have more than plenty to deal with right now. No one in Akielos needs your guesses.”

“Are you truly ready to be king so soon? Your father only has weeks to live, Damianos,” Laurent responded.

“Leave,” Damianos repeated, voice hard.

Laurent looked like he wanted to say so much more. His expression almost looked like pity and it angered Damianos even more. They stood, at a stalemate, for moments, but Laurent finally turned toward the room and walked. Just at the threshold of where the moonlight turned into darkness, Laurent turned back and said, “Talk to the guards,” before he vanished, the act of it sending a rush of electricity through Damianos’ being.

Damianos spent the entire rest of the evening tossing and turning in his bed. He didn’t want to dwell on all Laurent had said, but it was impossible not to. Jokaste and Kastor? Murdering his — their — father? No. Jokaste would have been a bit more understandable as an outsider, but even then it seemed impossible; why would she risk execution? But Kastor...no, that couldn’t be true. Kastor wouldn’t betray him, them, in such a way; Kastor wouldn’t kill their father.

And yet…

When the sun was finally over the horizon, Damianos got out of bed. Tiredness had escaped him for he had so much to think on, but he had only gotten three or four hours of sleep.

At this early of an hour, the only people awake in the palace were slaves, guards, and cooks, all preparing for the day in different ways. It was unusual for a prince to be awake at such a time and so many fell to their knees in surprise as Damianos walked by. He paid them no mind. Instead he walked until he was at the staircase that winded down to the cells. The guards there moved with respect, but Damianos stayed put, not yet descending.

“Has my brother been down to these cells to visit the prisoner Jokaste?” Damianos asked, addressing both guards.

“On the first day of her being brought here Prince Kastor did go to the cells, but he was only there for a handful of minutes at most,” the guard on the left said, eyes never looking directly at Damianos.

“And the rest of the week?”

“No, Crown Prince, he did not come back to the cells during the rest of the week.”

The words brought such relief with them that Damianos almost fell over in his sudden exhaustion. The Witch had been wrong. Kastor and Jokaste knew each other as they always had, in passing through interactions related to Damianos and Jokaste’s arranged marriage, and Kastor would never hurt their father, wouldn’t --

The guards were not inconspicuous as they shared worried glances back and forth.

“What is it?” Damianos asked them.

The guard that hadn’t spoken yet swallowed, the act of it audible in his nervousness.

“Well?”

“Prince Kastor came down the first day for only a handful of minutes and was not here the rest of the week,” the second guard said, repeating knowledge already known. “Until yesterday, that is. Yesterday he came down as soon as you had left, Crown Prince, and he was down there for almost an hour. Then he came back. He came back five more times, the last time being just this morning after midnight.”

Impulsivity drove him immediately to Kastor’s chambers.

He should have waited, waited to collect his thoughts, but Kastor’s chambers were nearby and Damianos’ head had been spinning for hours.

He didn’t bother to knock because he was Damianos and Kastor was his brother, and inside Kastor was being dressed by slaves. One was tying and pinning his crisp chiton around both his waist and his shoulders and the other was knelt on the ground, buckling his sandals with precision.

“When you are finished, leave us,” Damianos demanded of the slaves promptly. Their movements hurried and they both prostrated themselves on the ground in front of him before scurrying away.

“Commanding my slaves, brother?” Kastor asked, looking questioningly at him.

“Why have you been paying Jokaste visits in the cells?”

If Kastor was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. Instead he adjusted his chiton where it draped across his chest and said with utmost sincerity in his voice, “I’m trying to understand why she would betray you in such a way. Any good brother would wish to make sense of why their own blood must suffer as she has made you suffer.”

It would have been easy, in that moment, to take Kastor’s words as truth, to walk forward and slap him on the shoulder for an embrace, to go back to his own chambers and get actual rest. But Laurent’s words were ever present in his mind and, like before, he heard in clarity, “I hadn’t been lying when I said that I believed there was more to this than what you were seeing. Things are not alright in your kingdom, Damianos. Bringing Jokaste back may have only brought the war on faster.”

“The guards say you went down once the very first day she was brought there, and that you went down six times not but yesterday. That seems like an excessive amount of times to visit a person for that reason alone.”

Kastor laughed. His laugh was booming like their father’s. “I’m afraid you’ve become paranoid, brother. It’s understandable, of course, given the current situation, but you need not be afraid of me. We are blood, Damianos. Now, I’m off to get breakfast. Would you care to join me?”

“I cannot,” Damianos told him, his stomach still turned despite Kastor’s attempt at comfort. “I did not sleep well last night and —”

“Then go rest. I will see you at dinner.”

There was no time to rest, not when things were getting stranger and stranger and there was something Damianos wasn’t seeing. Kastor was no help, none at all, and that left Damianos with one person. Like she had been for the last seven days, Jokaste was in her cell, smiling warmly once more at Damianos’ entrance

“Again? Do you miss me that much?”

“I know everything,” Damianos said, not sure of anything at all.

“Oh?”

“I know you rid yourself of child. I know that’s why you were gone. We didn’t talk about it, we never have talked much about anything, but I know this to be true.”

“It was not his information to tell you,” Jokaste said, her features changing for the first time in all the days Damianos had seen her.

“The Witch is not obligated to keep your secrets, especially from me.”

“The Witch?” Jokasted asked, blonde hair tumbling forward as she leaned toward him from the bench.

“The Witch told me everything I needed to know when I first found him, but so much is still unclear. You must tell me why my brother has been to see you. I don’t believe the words out of his mouth,” Damianos said.

“Who said your brother has been to visit me? The Witch?” Jokaste asked, almost mocking. Damianos’ jaw clenched.

“Yes.”

“Witch’s can lie, Damianos,” Jokaste said. “How do you know he is not?”

“Because he has been right in every way thus far.”

“Well, if he is telling you truth then my word means nothing. Your decision is already made, after all.”

“So you won’t speak?”

“I won’t.”

Damianos nodded. “Then I will make sure your exile is further away from all civilization than you could ever imagine.”

***

The next two mornings went by uneventfully. Kastor was anywhere but the places Damianos found himself, Jokaste was remaining silent in her cell, Theomedes was bedridden and beginning to cough up blood (the physicians feared consumption but said nothing to the poor stressed princes, not yet), and Damianos was restless. He spent the previous two evenings staring blankly at the high ceiling or out at the balcony, wishing he could summon Laurent back. He had been rash in sending the Witch away, allowing his emotions to consume him in that moment and not thinking rationally. Now he was left with more questions than ever before and no one to answer them.

By the third evening, sleep deprivation won in the battle and, though it was not a peaceful sleep Damianos fell into, he slept. He was terribly groggy when he awoke to the feeling of a presence in his room and as he did all he could to pry open his eyes. He expected Laurent at the balcony once more, silver and blue in the moonlight. But there was no one at the balcony. The presence was at his bedchamber door.

There stood Kastor, his features strong in the torchlight that the group of guards around him were carrying. Damianos pushed himself up onto one elbow, rubbed at his eyes too hard, and asked, “Kastor? What’s going on?”

“Seize him,” Kastor commanded of the guards and they all rushed forward.

Adrenaline spiked in Damianos’ blood immediately at the action and he sprang up as to not get overwhelmed in such vulnerability. The first guard to reach him lunged too early and Damianos dodged the grab before lashing out with a fist in the guard’s left side, no doubt breaking a rib or three. The fall of the guard’s body gave Damianos enough time to reach his sword and unsheath it. The second guard never even saw the blade before it plunged into the open expanse of the inside of his thigh, cutting through an artery that would bleed out in mere minutes. The third guard came from behind and Damianos was skilled enough to twist his sword in his grip and stab it backwards underneath his own arm and into the guard’s chest. But then the fourth and fifth guard were on him at the same time, followed without delay by the seventh, eighth, and ninth guards that eventually all took Damianos down onto his knees and lashed his arms tightly behind his back.

Above him, Kastor stood, intimidating at such an angle.

“Kastor,” Damianos struggled out, a guard’s arm wound around his neck, “what is the meaning of this Kastor?”

“You have committed treason, Damianos,” Kastor began, sounding almost sad. “You have committed treason through your conspiring with the evil Witch of Vere to kill our father and take his crown.”

“What?” Damianos asked. “You know that’s not true.”

“It pains me to do this to you. You are my brother. Yet,” Kastor paused to sigh, “we may lose our father because of your selfishness and greed. Such an act cannot be overlooked. The Akielon people will not be able to stomach it.”

“Kastor, you’re lying,” Damianos yelled.

“Take him to the cells,” Kastor said, ignoring Damianos on his knees. The guards began to drag the Crown Prince away, his skin scraping unkindly on the floor.

“Kastor! Kastor!”

Hours went by in darkness. The fragments of light within the cells seemed even less today, tonight. Damianos had forgone the bench, opting to sit on the dirty floor right by the cell’s entrance. His head rested between his bent knees and his hands were bloodied from his fights. His mind was blank for the first time in days. That’s when he heard footsteps.

There was first the unmistakable click of loose sandals, the kind women wore when they did not have to be working. Damianos looked up to find Jokaste staring at him in a strange turn of events. She had recently bathed for her shampoos and oils that smelled like jasmine blossoms wafted through the cell bars.

“I must thank you for my freedom,” Jokaste said.

“I didn’t free you,” Damianos said back. His voice was hoarse.

“You did though,” she said, beginning to walk the length of the cell door and back. “Without your own indiscretion against your kingdom, I may have never stepped foot outside of these cells again.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You conspired with a witch,” Jokaste said. “You discovered I was pregnant and forced me there with threats. When I didn’t return out of fear for my life, you went to the Witch and bought his assistance with promise of a position of power here in Akielos. You returned with me in tow, guaranteed exile where I couldn’t speak of your heinous acts and your father slowly began to die.”

“None of that is true. And none of it would make sense even if it were true. Why would I force you to the Witch?” Damianos asked, baffled.

“Why, because it was Kastor’s child. He took me in when you began your descent toward all things evil and depraved.”

“My father demanded you out of my bed lest we did end up with you pregnant before the wedding and caused a scandal.”

“Your father will be dead soon. No one will know the truth.”

“You have no proof about any of it,” Damianos said, pushing himself to stand. Jokaste didn’t budge from her close proximity to the cell.

“I don’t need proof.”

***

The trial against Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos was rushed.

The very night of his detention, riders were sent out to all the provinces of Akielos, sending for each Kyros to venture to the kingdom’s capital of Ios to be judges. Quickly the Kyroi began to file into the palace, all at a loss as what to think, all except for Nikandros, the Kyros of Delpha and Damianos’ best childhood friend. Nikandros was vocal from the moment he entered the gate of the city as to what he thought of such a farce, but all the others looked at the palace with its almost-dead King, its Crown Prince in chains, and its other Prince somber and broad shouldered, comforting the visibly upset woman that had once been the crown prince’s betrothed and wondered if this was just as it appeared to be.

Formally, the first day of the trial was spent with each Kyros taking an oath to uphold their kingdom’s wellbeing before all other things, followed by an introduction of those testifying and then the reading of the charges against Crown Prince Damianos.

Damianos felt like a gladiator being told to fight to the death, only he was given no weapons and his hands were tied behind his back; the Kyroi were all seated in the spectator seats of the throne room, their seats elevated so their wide-eyed stares were turned downward to face where Damianos was dragged center on the floor, his shackles clanging behind him with each step. Like a blur the days went by. Jokaste testified first on the second day of the trial, weaving together a weeping tale of Damianos telling her he had grown bored with her, a tale of Damianos threatening her should she run to her father about that. She then told of Kastor listening to her when she felt alone, building safeness for her in a palace so unwelcoming. She talked of falling pregnant with his child, knowing it was wrong due to her betrothal, but how it felt right, and of Damianos finding out and forcing her to the infamous Witch of Vere who could rip from her the would-be grandchild of the King. Kastor testified the next day, Damianos sitting there through it all in shock, as Kastor talked of Jokaste’s fear and of their excitement to be parents. Kastor talked of the terror he had experienced as Jokaste vanished and how that terror worsened as Damianos went after her, but not before their father came down with a sickness. Kastor remained steady, but the emotion was there as he talked of losing his child and of almost losing his love and his father.

It was hard to figure out which was worse, the idea that Damianos’ own brother could lie about him so easily or the fact that the Kyroi seemed to be buying it all. Their belief in these lies only intensified as, on the fourth day, witnesses were brought forth to continue to destroy Damianos’ name and reputation.

“Never have I witnessed such a cruelty,” Adrastus, the Keeper of Slaves, spoke, “as the cruelty that lies within the heart of Prince Damianos.”

“The things Prince Damianos has said about his own brother and his betrothed haunt my sleep each night,” Mykara, one of the royal cooks, said with a hand over her heaving bosom.

“His behavior has had Exalted concerned over the last several months,” Timon, one of his father’s advisors, began. “In fact, Exalted has been so concerned he had been working out a date to meet with the Kyroi about removing Prince Damianos as the next in line purely for the kingdom’s wellbeing.”

“This slave has been at a loss,” said one of the slave attendants that often served at dinners, tears shining in his eyes. “Prince Damianos handed this slave the vial of deadly poison and said to put it in Exalted’s wine over the next few evenings or he would have this slave beaten beyond recognition.”

In that moment, Damianos realized he was hanging by his fingernails to the ledge of the daunting tower.

On the seventh day of the trial, Damianos was to be sentenced. He wasn’t quite certain why they had dragged it out as long as they had, for by day three over half of the Kyroi believed what they were hearing, and by day five all of the rest, all but Nikandros, believed too. Perhaps it was for the humiliation of it all, perhaps it was to make it seem more legitimate when they inevitably had him, the crown prince, executed for treason.

Damianos had no defense. All he could say was the truth which he had no proof of, and even if he had it was his word against the synchronised fabrications of a dozen others.

“Today is a sad day in Akielos,” began the Kyros from Thrace, Ignion. “Never had anyone suspected such evil could live behind these palace walls. To do to your family what Prince Damianos has been accused of is unthinkable. Do you have any words for yourself?” he then asked, turning to where Damianos was still chained in the center of the room.

“None that would change the opinions of this senate,” Damianos said, voice unused for days.

Ignion looked at him sadly. “Then it is time to take a vote. We, the Kyroi of Akielos, stand in this room to —”

“Stop!”

The voice was not a pleading voice, but a commanding one instead. Almost as though they had seen a ghost, everyone in the room stopped, stood completely still as they watched their king, Theomedes, walk into the throne room.

It seemed like an eternity, though it was truly only a minute, before the whispers started and all fell to their knees, all except for Damianos, Kastor, and Jokaste, who each looked as though such a revelation could have them keel over in an instant.

“Father,” Damianos breathed, the sound so quiet he almost didn’t hear it over the beat of his own heart, over the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

Tall, King Theomedes walked toward the front of the room where his still-empty throne sat. He walked head high and eyes straight ahead as though the piercing stares of all in the room didn’t bother him. Watching him, it was hard to think that this was the man that had fallen into coughing fits but three weeks ago, who had gotten worse each passing day, paler and thinner and frailer, all until the blood began to seep into his handkerchiefs, for now he was full of color and life. Yes, he was still a little thinner than he had been in the months past, but that could be amended. He looked like the King he had always been.

Once at his throne, Theomedes turned to address his people. “I am here to speak on my own behalf, for none know the truth. I am here to say that you have shackled to these great floors the wrong son. Damianos is innocent in all that he is accused. It has been Kastor who has tainted the land. It is him who began to poison me.”

All those on their knees began to rise, gasps and wide-eyes taking over their expressions. Across the room, Kastor had long visibly whitened and he stared unblinkingly at their father in fear.

“I will provide proof, something that has been greatly lacking in this mockery of a trial, but I must iterate to you all first, my people, that Kastor did not act alone. The idea was planted into his head by true evil and he believed it because of his own greed. Kastor and the Lady Jokaste are responsible for my near death and the planned death of my son, Damianos.” Theomedes turned his body from facing toward the very ‘all’ he had been speaking directly to so as to now face Kastor, Jokaste, and their flock of witnesses that hadn’t witnessed anything at all. “Kastor, my oldest son, I cannot begin to atone for the deeds you have committed. Such a thing is unthinkable and yet it has happened. Lady Jokaste, why you could not be content with the guaranteed position as future queen is truly a mystery. I regret in all ways the day I signed the betrothal agreement with your father. And the rest of you, I know you did what you did because of threats or promises, and I shall deal accordingly with each of you dependent on such things soon. But other matters are more imperative now.”

“Father, you don’t understand,” Kastor said, trying to move forward but Jokaste’s hand was holding him back by the arm.

“I don’t have anything to hear from you,” Theomedes said coldly. “Now unshackle the Crown Prince of Akielos.”

“Exalted” began the Kyros of Ios, an old man named Stavos, “my heart leaps at your recovery and it aches at your words. I very much want to hear it all, for your wisdom and leadership were beyond missed in this troubled time, but I believe we all have to know, before anything else, how you have recovered in such a manner if Kastor has been poisoning you.”

“The Witch of Vere has healed me.”

If the gasps of surprise had seemed loud when Theomedes had walked in, it was nothing compared to the gasps heard now.

“The Witch of Vere!”

“Exalted!”

“The Witch is real?”

“The Witch is here?”

This time it was Jokaste that visibly whitened.

Damianos, for his part, found himself almost weak at the words, weak as what they truly meant washed over him.

“How did this happen?” asked a Kyros from somewhere in the massed throng of people now on their feet.

“The Witch came to me in disguise,” began Theomedes. “He disguised himself as a slave and began tending to me. It was only when left alone, when he had been tasked with feeding me the broth, that he whispered his truth. At first I was disbelieving for I had no reason to assume different, but when he revealed to me his true form and his power I could not deny. I expected death then, but it never came, and as I went to yell for help, the Witch stopped me and said he only wished to help. He said my kingdom was in great danger and it would only be my survival and my word that could save it. As the days went by, he began to heal me and tell me of the horrible things that had happened.”

“The Witch of Vere has cursed the king!” cried out one of the other Kyros, voice enraged.

“The Witch will control the entirety of Akielos!” cried out yet another.

Uproar.

None of them had truly listened to what the King had to say. They took it as a confession of the Witch’s meddling only. Damianos watched, helpless, as fear overtook the throne room. Like animals sent for slaughter, the Kyroi began to venture forward in a wretched herd of panic, eyes scouring every inch of the palace walls and floors as though waiting for a hellish witch to appear from the cracks in the stone. Then Damianos’ own panic settled when he felt hands on his shackled wrists.

“Hold on,” said Nikandros directly into his ear so he could hear him and Damianos could have cried with relief. He didn’t, of course, and instead kept his eyes on the chaos ensuing. It took a moment and there was a scraping of metal on metal, but Damianos quickly realized Nikandros was using the dagger Damianos had gifted him with in congratulations for being honored the title of Kyros of Delpha to unpick the locks.

Just as Nikandros was helping Damianos step out of the shackles around his feet did Theomedes’ yell reverberate off of the walls, bringing the crowd to yet again another halt.

“Enough! Do you dare call me liar? Do you dare defy my order? I am your King. Has that changed in the weeks since I had fallen ill?” Fire filled Theomedes’ eyes and his voice. Damianos rubbed at his raw wrists.

“You were so quick,” Theomedes started once more, “to believe a story brought to life through endless lies, a story made extraordinary with tears and tales of heroics. But I told you, I have proof.”

“Then bring it forward.”

With a steady hand, Theomedes motioned for someone in the crowd. It was a slave boy, his brown eyes big and dark hair cropped short, but he walked unlike any slave and did not look down out of Theomedes’ stare. Once the boy was at the king’s side, the room fell into a dead kind of silence, the kind so quiet the sound of a pin dropping could be heard like a shout. Then, like magic, the boy transformed.

It was a fast transformation, so fluid in its movement that the intricacies of it could not be kept straight with the human eye. But all anyone in the crowd knew was that at one moment the boy had been a young Akielon slave and now he was tall, blond, and staring at them all with unreadable blue eyes.

“Laurent.”

Damianos had earlier whispered “Father” and it had gone unnoticed for there was so much happening in the room. But now he had whispered a single name and it was heard by all.

The Witch of Vere was standing next to the King of Akielos in the throne room of the palace in Ios and wearing still a traditional slave chiton, one stark white that fell mid-thigh in youthful fashion. Damianos could look nowhere else.

“The Witch has all the proof you will need to see what has happened, to see the injustice that was almost sentenced.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jokaste said, her first words since Theomedes’ unexpected entrance.

“You will be silent or you will spend an eternity in the cells, left to rot into nothing. No death, just permanent incarceration,” Theomedes told her. He didn’t even spare her a glance. “Witch, tell us everything you know.”

***

Hours later, Damianos fell face first into his cushioned bed, wearing still the chiton he had been captured in. The exhaustion he felt was not just physical from the standing he had done during the weeklong trial nor even the result of sleeping restlessly on the cold, damp floor of the cell. No, the exhaustion he felt was bone deep, the conclusion of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion.

Damianos slept for nearly an entire day. In his long sleep he dreamed, flashes of what had occurred but yesterday. He dreamed of his father walking into the throne room, strong and steady as Damianos had always known him. He dreamed of his father’s commanding voice ordering him unshackled. He dreamed of Nikandros’ never-wavering loyalty in him, in Nikandros’ quick work of the locks on his wrists and ankles. He dreamed of Laurent adorned in white, of his skin dropped against a background of white pillars, of his blue eyes that looked once, twice, three times at Damianos with what he would almost call concern or relief or both.

He dreamed of Laurent’s surety as he provided his proof to the Kyroi. He dreamed of the deathly silence that fell over after Jokaste’s father tried to interject, screaming that the Witch hadn’t taken any child, and Laurent said calmly he could show the man the bloody clump of cells if he wished. He dreamed of Laurent’s explanation of Jokaste’s visit that inevitably led to Damianos’ own, of the way in which he realized the doom Akielos would face in the days to come. He dreamed of Laurent bringing forth letters written in both Kastor and Jokaste’s hands, letters that, once put together, told of their plan to rule together. He dreamed of Laurent’s telling of how he had to heal the King slowly for the amount of potion needed to heal him would have put him in a week long sleep of recovery if given at one time. He dreamed mostly of Laurent, the Witch of Vere, standing in the land of Akielos where he was hated and defending it still.

It wasn’t a surprise when he then first woke up to see Laurent sitting on his bed for he thought he was still dreaming. When he realized he wasn’t though, he scrambled up, breathing once again, “Laurent,” and halting altogether at Laurent’s gentle touch to his shoulder.

“Stay still,” Laurent said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Laurent,” Damianos breathed again. “You’re still here.”

“I am.”

Damianos couldn’t take his eyes off of the Witch, even as he went to settle back into the pillows and blankets. “I have so many questions.”

“Then ask. I’m afraid, however, your cards cannot assist this time,” Laurent said. Damianos smiled, a small and sleepy upturn of his mouth.

“Why did you help me?” he began. “You did all I asked in first helping me locate Jokaste. You didn’t have to come to Akielos and stop this, yet you did.”

The Witch trailed a finger down one of the prominent lines of stitching in the blanket as he contemplated his answer. “You remember my cat, yes?” he asked. Damianos nodded. “For witches, animals are not merely animals. They are part of our magic in a way, in tune with the elements. Often they are called familiars. When you were in the cabin, my familiar took quite kindly to you. He slept on your chest, he allowed you to provide him with food, he sought out your pets. When your once-betrothed was paying her visit, my familiar was horribly on edge. He hissed when she walked too close and his hair was always up in defense. It might sound silly, but I trust that judgement greatly. It made me nervous once I realized who she was to you, once I realized the connection between the two of you. I couldn’t not let that go unchecked. You were — you are — good.”

“Why did you stay after I told you to go?”

“Because your father was dying and only he could clear your name. I had to help you, even if you wouldn’t help yourself.”

“But what did this do to benefit you at all? Akielos must be far from your mind.”

“The four kingdoms are currently surviving in harmony. Yes, Vaskian mountain raiders cause problems here and there, and yes, Vere and Akielos continue their feud over the land of Delfeur —”

“Delpha.”

“But there is no war. No war is good for all, even witches living in the Northern Steppes,” Laurent told him. “Believe me when I say this wasn’t purely out of any goodness, but out of necessity.”

“I believe some of it must have been out of goodness though,” Damianos said. “What you did was good, Laurent. You saved not just me and my father, but our entire kingdom.”

If the Witch heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. His blue eyes were focused elsewhere, looking anywhere but at Damianos, and the two of them eventually fell into silence. It was a comfortable silence. The air outside was warm and the breeze was strong, bringing with it the salt of the ocean and a cooling air. Quietly, as not to disrupt the peace more than necessary, Damianos began to speak again.

“I still don’t know why Jokaste went to the lengths she did,” he confessed. “It wasn’t love between us, no, but we got along I believed. We could have made being wed such an easy thing, especially when compared to other arranged marriages I have known of in the past.”

“Jokaste is a kingmaker,” Laurent said as though that explained everything.

“I am to be King,” Damianos said, confused. “I don’t —”

“In her time away from you, following your father’s orders, it began to become evident to her that she may be Queen married to you, but she would never rule. You were proving with each passing day that you would not be controlled and she couldn’t stand by that. Your brother, on the other hand, was easy. All she had to do was whisper praises into his ear, telling him he was better than you, then she would tempt him into her bed, in action which he followed with eagerness. She could marry you, kill you, and be established as Queen and face no opposition when she proposed your brother as her new husband for, though he is a bastard, he would be the last surviving son of the King.”

“Oh. How do you know that?”

“Kastor told all. It was after you left. He was begging for his life.” Laurent paused to let Damianos take that in. “She did make a mistake in falling pregnant with his child though. It was the thing that ruined them both.”

The breeze picked up in strength. Not by much, but enough that it began to play with the golden ends of Laurent’s hair. It moved some of the strands out of his face and bared to Damianos the clearness of the Witch’s eyes, bared to him his flushed cheeks from Akielon heat.

“Akielos has some recovering to do, but we can come out of this stronger than before. I can’t thank you enough,” Damianos said, catching his breath. “You have done more for me than I could ever repay. What can I give you? I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“You do enjoy playing dangerous games,” Laurent told him, looking amused like he often did when Damianos made offerings. “Offering witches your freedom and offering to grant them anything they desire could truly be your downfall.”

“Not with you.”

“You didn’t know that when you offered to me your freedom.”

“No, but I know that now. What can I give you?”

Introspection overtook Laurent’s expression and his mouth opened once and quickly closed again, as though he had thought of something then thought better of it. “Give me one more opportunity to read to you a card,” he said finally. Magically, the cards were sweeping and present and Damianos almost rolled his eyes.

“But —”

“Find your one. Just one. Think of anything you wish and find your card,” the Witch told him. Damianos sighed.

The card came to him quickly. Before it was flipped over, he couldn’t resist saying, “I don’t seem to have great luck with these. What if the card says I am to die tomorrow?”

“Then you die tomorrow,” Laurent said, taking the card from him. “But I doubt that’s the case.”

Gently, Laurent turned the card over in the same direction Damianos had handed it to him. There, in gold and blue, was a pair of people, their hands clasped together, a heart floating above them like a beacon. The Lovers.

“You truly are a romantic.” Laurent started. “It appears, Damianos, your betrothal was not necessary at all. Love is near, a love of balance and unity. Hopefully this time it is with someone who does not try to kill you.”

Damianos couldn’t quit staring at the card. When he finally did manage to tear his gaze away, it immediately found Laurent who was looking back at him with something akin to curiosity.

“Would you like to keep the card?” Laurent asked him after a moment.

“But then your set will be incomplete.”

“Believe me when I say I have plenty of cards at my cabin. Often they are lost or appear in the strangest of places. The Lovers exist elsewhere. Keep it.”

Like Laurent, Damianos grabbed the card with a gentle touch. Then he watched with a feeling like despair as Laurent stood up from his bed. “Finding a card for myself surely can’t be equal repayment for all you’ve done,” Damianos said, moving closer to the side of the bed the Witch had just stood from. “What else can I give you?”

“Let’s not change the tone; one kiss and we’ll call it even,” Laurent said, laughing almost as though he thought he was quite funny, pointedly casting a glance at the card still in Damianos’ hand.

It hadn’t been said seriously because it couldn’t be, which is why Laurent was turned away when Damianos’ hand not holding the card enclosed tenderly around his fine-boned wrist and tugged the Witch back towards him. Immediately Laurent’s knees hit the edge of the bed and his hands found Damianos’ shoulders for balance. Though the breeze was still sifting through from the balcony and the air was cool, the atmosphere around them changed, got heavy with heat.

Laurent’s lips were parted ever so, out of surprise or anticipation or with the death of something to say, and Damianos couldn’t not flick his gaze toward them, couldn’t not lean in until his own lips were but a breath away. “Tell me no,” he whispered, the words warm against Laurent’s mouth, and the longest of seconds passed with nothing said, with not a breath taken. Damianos closed the distance.

Laurent’s lips were warm and his fingers, still resting on Damianos’ shoulders, clenched almost painfully on the skin there as though afraid he would fall. Damianos made no sudden movement, relished in the weight of Laurent now half atop his thighs, relished in the heat of him surrounding all of Damianos’ senses. After a minute, the fingers on his shoulders lessened their grip and, in turn, the rigidness of Laurent’s spine eased away until he was putting all of his weight on Damianos, until one of his hands moved into the curls at the nape of Damianos’ neck.

Only then did Damianos move, his own hands instinctively finding Laurent’s hips, steadying him there until the Witch was straddling his lap, his bare legs on either side of Damianos’ own. Softly Damianos went to deepen the kiss, bringing forth an involuntary gasp from Laurent who tensed ever briefly before melting into it, his mouth opening, his hips shifting.

At the cabin, all those weeks ago now, Laurent had, quite literally, taken the air out of Damianos’ lungs. Now he was doing so again, only this time Damianos would willingly lose it all if it meant Laurent would stay right here forever.

Damianos moved in a miniscule way, just enough away to worry Laurent’s bottom lip between his teeth before soothing it with the gentlest of touch. Laurent shuddered against him, full body movements that ended with them pressed so tightly together it was impossible to tell who began where. A sound escaped Laurent then, so quietly, and Damianos wanted to hear it over and over and over again.

But things end. They always do.

Laurent pulled away, chest heaving against Damianos’. He could feel their individual heartbeats through their skin. Damianos almost didn’t open his eyes, afraid of breaking the magic of the room, but he was grateful when he did for he got to see Laurent’s heavily lidded eyes, he got to see the redness of his mouth, he got to see the haze of his expression as though unable to pull himself out of a spell.

“Goodbye, Prince Damianos,” Laurent said, still breathless. His voice was lower than Damianos had ever heard it before.

“Goodbye, Laurent.”

In an instant, Damianos almost staggered forward off the bed for Laurent disappeared. Somehow, in the fervor of it all, the Lovers had fallen onto the floor in the same direction they had found Damianos.

***

The executions of both Kastor and Jokaste were done quickly in the days following the trial. Their official sentencing had found them guilty of attempted murder of King Theomedes and conspiracy to murder Crown Prince Damianos.

Though it had been hell, the false accusations Damianos had faced from his brother and betrothed, there was still mourning that he had to wade through. All of Akielos was quiet with it, actually, a feeling of disbelief long given way to an unnamable kind of grief.

Weeks went by like this, Damianos wary of almost all that came near him or his father, and his vivid dreams had him sometimes thinking of Kastor’s hand shooting out of the ground to pull him down.

Eventually his father couldn’t keep silent on it all. “I think you need to get out of Ios,” Theomedes told him one day after breakfast. “Go clear your head someplace else.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone again,” Damianos had said back.

Theomedes had smiled indulgently and placed a hand on top of Damianos’ head like his son was a young child once more. “I think we are safe once again in our palace walls. Visit Nikandros in Delpha for a week, for two weeks. Train with the men, strategize, drink. It will do you good.”

After a little more convincing, Damianos finally gave in to his father’s request and prepared for travel to the land of Delpha. He wrote ahead a letter as to not surprise Nikandros too suddenly before he ventured off with a single guard. They rode at a leisurely pace, taking in as much of the fresh air as Damianos wished, and after several days they finally found themselves but another day’s ride away from Delpha’s gate.

It was only when they were strolling through said gate that Damianos realized that this was not at all where he wanted to be. He told Nikandros such a thing that night over a cup of General Makedon’s griva.

“It is not that I am not thrilled to see you, friend,” he said, making a slight face as he swallowed yet another mouthful of the drink. “But I believe I need to get out of Akielos entirely. For only a while.”

Nikandros looked concerned. “Where will you go? Patras would maybe be agreeable, but neither Vask or Vere would be safe for you as the man you are.”

The answer was so simple that Damianos almost laughed at himself, wondering how he was unaware where his body wanted to take him the entire time. He looked at Nikandros, still almost laughing. “You wouldn’t happen to own a cloak and boots meant for snow, would you?”

He left in the dead of night to avoid his guard escort who was still long asleep. Damianos made sure to leave a letter for when his father inevitably panicked and sent people after him in Delpha. No one needed to get in trouble for Damianos’ exigency to get away.

It was easy to take almost the exact same path he had taken the first time. He stowed away in multiple merchants’ carts, sometimes with permission and a gift of gold, and sometimes sneakily whilst the merchants slept in inns. He made it to the Northern Steppes a little faster this time because of it, and when his boots first touched snow he felt invigorated; two more days of travel.

Those two days went by quickly and uneventfully. Then the cabin was in front of him.

There was a fire roaring inside, its flames visible through the window. Nothing had changed in the weeks, months now, since Damianos had first paid visit. He didn’t know why anything would have changed, but there was something comforting at the unchanged appearance. The stones marking the spot for a gateway almost seemed to glitter with Damianos’ arrival.

Damianos walked forward, knocked on the cabin door four times, retreated back to stand between the two stone markers and said, “My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I offer to him my undying loyalty.”

The door opened wide.

In the threshold stood Laurent, arms crossed over his chest. He was back to wearing his laced up clothing that covered him neck to foot and Damianos hadn’t ever seen someone look so beautiful and annoyed all at once. A smile fought its way onto his face as he began to walk the pathway again, toward the Witch giving him a stormy look.

“You can’t just show up here each time you have a question you need me to answer,” Laurent said.

“I have no questions that need answered,” Damianos said. He was now inches in front of Laurent, the two of them nearly toe to toe.

“Then why are you here? Need a love potion to pair with your card?” Laurent asked looking up at him.

“I only wish to talk to you,” Damianos said.

“And you just casually offered undying loyalty?” It was impossible to miss Laurent’s delicately raised brow.

“I suppose that wasn’t a good enough offering,” Damianos said after pretending to think about it for a moment. “After all, I can’t offer you something you already had.”

Laurent looked at him. “Are you going to come inside?”

“If you’ll allow me.”

It was blazing hot inside the cabin, just as it had been when Damianos had entered here the first time. The cat, the very same white darling, immediately found Damianos’ feet and curled around his legs, purring and warm where it pressed. Laurent looked down at it helpless.

“What do you want, Damianos?” Laurent asked of him again.

“I told you. I wish to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About you.” Damianos invited himself to sit down at the familiar table and the cat followed, jumping up on the table’s flat surface. “I realized in the days since you left that you left knowing so much about us, about my family and myself, and yet I left knowing only the same things I arrived here knowing.”

“And what were those things?”

“That you are powerful and heartstoppingly beautiful,” Damianos said truthfully. Laurent flushed under his steady gaze. “But I want to know about you.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Laurent said after a beat.

“Oh, was I supposed to send a letter? With what carrier?” Laurent’s flush turned into a glare. Damianos smiled again. “Tell me about you. Tell me anything, tell me everything.”

Laurent’s gaze turned to the ceiling as though it would give him answers. “Why?”

“Because everything you have done has been more than I thought possible in this world. Is it so strange that I would wish to know better the man that did all you have done?”

“It will probably take time,” Laurent said.

“That’s fine,” Damianos said, getting comfortable in the chair. “That is my true offer to you then: time. Take all my time if you like.”

“You’re so —” Laurent began, looking at Damianos as though he had never seen anyone quite like him before. “Fine.”

Laurent’s life hadn’t been what Damianos expected. He hadn’t expected a story of a witch from the northernmost part of Kempt journeying south to the Veretian province of Belloy to retrieve ingredients for a healing spell and whilst there falling for a noble named Aleron who proposed to her, knowing her truth and all within a week. He hadn’t expected a story of the two of them, Aleron and the witch Hennike, to have had two children, the oldest child having no magic in him at all and the youngest being full of it. He hadn’t expected Aleron’s brother to have been a predator that waited impatiently to be left alone with Laurent, who was but the mere age of eleven, and he hadn’t expected Laurent to tell how his magic had protected him, lashing out to hurt his uncle quite severely. He hadn’t expected the tragedy that began to befall then, of Laurent’s brother, Auguste, asking about their uncle’s injury, of Laurent clumsily explaining what their uncle had tried to do. He hadn’t expected Auguste to go after their uncle with intent to kill, hadn’t expected their uncle to come out alive instead, Auguste murdered by his hand. He hadn’t expected Laurent’s powers to flounder out of control with his grief, killing their uncle in turn, and he hadn’t expected the townspeople to go after Hennike and Laurent with such rage that Aleron and Hennike both died trying to protect their son who was run out, forced to survive orphaned in the Northern Steppes, relying on magic to keep him alive those first months.

“Don’t look at me with pity,” Laurent told him after he finished. “I don’t need it.”

“I’m not,” Damianos lied. “But, Laurent —”

“Yes, it was all quite traumatizing. But it is long in the past now.”

“It can’t be that long in the past,” Damianos said. “You have to only be but twenty-one years of age.”

Laurent smiled. “I’m turning twenty come spring.”

“Twenty? Laurent,” Damianos said with a sigh this time.

“Is that all you wanted? I’ve told you about myself. It wasn’t fun so I very much assume you regret your long journey out here just to hear such sadness, but it is my life.”

The wind was howling outside, blowing snow off of the cabin roof, blowing it off of the trees to join the piles already on the ground.

“You must be lonely,” Damianos said, his eyes trained outside.

“I’ve managed.”

“Laurent,” Damianos repeated for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he learned the Witch’s name. “Laurent, why do you stay here?”

“Magic has a bad name everywhere. I know what they say about me, about those like me, across the continent. What should I do? Try to fit in with society only to eventually be outed and ran out once more or, worse, killed?”

“People say what they think they know to be true. If you show them otherwise by —”

“By healing? By performing good deeds? What is it you think I’ve been doing the last odd something years? I’m still hated. I’m still feared.”

“Then come back with me,” Damianos said, leaning forward in the chair. “Come with me to Ios. Be part of Akielos. Live in the palace, I can ensure nothing bad comes of you.”

“Your people will not take kindly to a witch living alongside the King and Prince,” Laurent rebuffed.

“My people will listen to my father and I, the two people you saved. We are indebted to you. Let us, let me, do this for you.”

“Other kingdoms may look at me as a weapon of war,” Laurent said. “That war you’ve worked so desperately to avoid may occur anyway.”

“You will never see a battlefield. We may ask you to heal if you could should we ever go to war, but I would never ask of you to use your power to benefit us unfairly. We Akielons are not like that.”

“What about —”

“Laurent! Please. Selfishly I ask this of you. Come back to Ios. Live in Ios. Live surrounded by people and life and experience once again what it is like to be with those that adore you, not fear you.”

“Damianos,” Laurent said, standing. “This makes no sense. None at all.”

“Why not?”

“I am a witch, a being of misunderstood magic. You are a prince, set on path to be King. Please look at the picture we make. This is silly. This is the unchecked notion of jubilation for I have assisted you and your kingdom. I understand you’re appreciative and I don’t regret what I’ve done. But you must see this doesn’t make sense.”

Damianos stood too, walked to stand behind Laurent who had turned to stare at the dancing flames in the hearth.

“None of your cards have been wrong before. Not for me, and I doubt for anyone else. It was not a coincidence the card of the Lovers was meant to fall into my hands as I found myself falling for you.” He put a hand on the subtle curve of Laurent’s hip, felt him melt a little. “Allow me this. Allow yourself this if you want it. If you don’t, that’s a different story, and tell me now and I’ll —”

Laurent turned into the circle of his arms.

The fire was behind him now and Damianos knew its flames were reflected in his own brown eyes. It was too much and not enough at once, having Laurent so close again, and he found himself in familiar fashion waiting for the right time to breathe.

“If you mean this, I ask one thing of you.” Laurent’s hands were fisted in Damianos’ cloak as though fearful the Prince would disappear at any moment.

“Anything.”

“Actually, two things.”

“Anything.”

“They’re two things you have already given me before.”

“Of course.”

“I need time. Time to figure out what to do with my cabin, time to create a schedule for I will have to return here at times, and time to come up with a plan to escape Ios, Akielos, and the continent if I need to ever.” Damianos opened his mouth, but Laurent cut him off. “I must do this, and you must not know of it. It is the only way I will be comfortable in guaranteeing my own survival. Perhaps one day…” he trailed. “But not now.”

“And the second thing?

“One kiss,” Laurent answered with his own smile.

“Oh,” Damianos said, voice low, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that for you.”

Laurent immediately went to pull back, confusion evident on his face. Damianos held on a little tighter.

“I can’t just give you one kiss. Perhaps a million instead.”

***

Over a year had gone by since the end of the infamous trial in Ios.

Akielos was in the crux of summer, its temperatures high and the sun always blazing. Crown Prince Damianos was dripping in sweat. He’d been out in the always-blazing sun since the early hours of the morning, training with his men. It felt good, truly, the bone deep exhaustion of many days of hard work, and the men were in better shape than ever, their lines steady and their form impeccable.

It was good for the soldiers to have their Prince train with them. It made them feel as though their hard work was not for the sole protection of the royals, but for the kingdom, a place that they all wished to keep safe. Damianos knew this, and had made it a point to train with the men more in the last years. But it wasn’t the main reason he was training today; actually, it wasn’t the main reason he was training at all this week.

Selfishly, the Crown Prince was training to keep his mind from wandering to Laurent who was currently back in the Northern Steppes, collecting ingredients, retrieving more of his books, and escaping the summer heat if only for a while.

Yes, the Witch had become part of Akielos in such a way that it still seemed surreal. The citizens were nervous at first as word that the Witch would be living in the palace got out to them all, but the people of Akielos were not near as hard-set as the Vaskians nor as twisted as the Veretians; when King Theomedes stood before the city of Ios to explain in detail how Laurent had saved them all, they welcomed him into their kingdom with the most open of arms.

Laurent could not walknow around Ios without being stopped by a hundred people. Children ran to him, begging to see magic tricks and delighting as coins vanished and reappeared, as apples turned to butterflies, as his blue eyes changed hue to green to purple to brown and to yellow. Those working booths at the markets asked about potion ingredients, asked if they had anything he would ever need, and made certain he knew to come to him should he ever find himself searching for a particular plant or herb. Some of the older women, who had came quickly to the conclusion Laurent was here alone for he had no family, had taken to mothering the Witch who didn’t quite know what to do with such an outpouring of affection.

Several — and several meant far more than several — men had taken to Laurent as well, trying their best to woo over the striking being now walking their sandy streets. One man, a merchant, had proposed with a cart full of silks and gold-printed fabrics only to be left quite disappointed when Laurent magicked his own silks and gold-printed fabrics of much richer color. Another man, a blacksmith, had made an impressive sapphire-stoned scepter to hone tangible magic through. The man’s gift was welcome and Laurent was polite as he declined, but offered to buy the gift still for it was very beautiful. Yet another man, a drunk, had been less polite in his soliciting and found himself instead dangling over the palace cliffs that overlooked the ocean.

Luckily for the Prince and the Witch, the two of them only had eyes for one another. Since Laurent’s arrival in Ios, they had been near inseparable, taking time apart only for duties the other simply could not attend, such as some of Damianos’ court meetings and Laurent’s witchly activities of incantations, readings, and other still unknown things to Damianos.

Despite their inseparability, the romance did not begin right away. Attraction had clearly been present, had been something Damianos couldn’t help but think about as he thought of the blond but a hallway away at night, but Laurent had initially had a hard enough time accepting that his presence in Akielos wasn’t just a trick to put him in chains or kill him, let alone accepting that he was wanted in ways that extended far beyond that. Damianos was patient, did all he could to show Laurent how much both he and his people wanted him there, to show Laurent how much he wanted him, and Laurent, when finally ready to believe that, crawled into Damianos’ bed and pressed against him to sleep.

Now though, Damianos was impatient in his want. He wanted Laurent in his — it was theirs now, but Laurent hadn’t quite gotten around to calling it that — bed right now, wanted to lie there with the breeze rolling over them, wanted to talk about nothing and everything, wanted to watch Laurent create light from his fingertips and trace the patterns of the constellations right above their heads. But Laurent wasn’t here, wouldn’t be back until sometime late next week, and —

Damianos stopped at the entrance of the palace.

Laurent was leaning on one of the stone pillars, back in a crisp white chiton, all of which lately seemed to be shorter and shorter, and smiling at him with a flushed face.

“It’s getting harder to leave and even harder to stay from here,” Laurent said.

“You weren’t supposed to be back until next week.”

“Am I disrupting your plans?” Laurent asked, eyebrow raised. Damianos grinned, wiped at the sweat spilling down his temple.

“You’re quite lucky I’m a considerate person,” he started, “for in any other moment I would pull you to me in a horribly embarrassing public display. But I need to bathe, so you’re free from such a thing. For now.”

“Bathe? I’ll join you.”

At the baths, Laurent sent away the servants who listened truly with the nod of Damianos’ head. In the summer, the water was kept cool, with a warmer spring off to the side, and Damianos watched, enraptured as Laurent unpinned his chiton before pulling at the string on the side. The white fell to the floor in a puddle, leaving the Witch in nothing. When he felt Damianos’ stare, he walked toward the Prince almost predatorily.

“Do you require assistance?” he asked. His fingers were already toying with the pin at Damianos’ shoulder.

“I was mostly admiring the view.”

Laurent never broke eye contact as he undid Damianos’ chiton in the same fashion he had undone his own. Only when both were on the ground, second thoughts to anything else anymore, did Laurent link their fingers and walk into the water. Immediately Damianos felt some of the heat trapped in his body from the sun’s rays disappear. He wouldn’t be surprised if the water had absorbed it and warmed a degree.

“How was your journey? How was the cabin?” Damianos asked after they had settled.

“It was good. It was all good. Gus loved being back in the snow,” Laurent said, referring to his cat that had, of course, taken over the palace since arriving. Even Theomedes bowed to the cat as he passed it in the halls doing whatever it pleased. “But. It’s lonely there. It is only nice for but a day or so. After that --”

“You miss me?” Damianos teased.

“Yes.”

The confession was so serious and vulnerable that Damianos couldn’t not look down at Laurent’s face, only to find him already looking up.

“I still find it unbelievable to be in this place. To not fear the person that knocks on my door. To feel wanted. In a multitude of ways too.” The flush on his face was still there, but now it was from speaking and not from the heat. “I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for your invitation to bring me here. I also don’t tell you enough how stupid that was because you definitely should not make a habit of inviting witches into your home. But I am grateful. I wake up everyday feeling as though this could vanish at any moment for it’s so perfect, like a dream.”

“Laurent.”

Damianos couldn’t not put both hands on Laurent’s face, couldn’t not brush his blond hair from in front of his eyes, couldn’t not sweep his thumbs underneath the spot where eyelashes fell, couldn’t not press a kiss to his forehead, his nose, ever so gently on his mouth. Laurent’s hands came up to cover Damianos’ own, turning his head to press his own ever so gentle kiss on Damianos’ palm.

“I promise you I came out with the better deal when I met you than the other way around,” Damianos said. Laurent laughed, leaned further into Damianos’ warm touch.

“You’re quite wrong. You have offered to me priceless things since the day we met.”

“Laurent.”

“Damianos.”

“You are the most priceless thing.”

“That’s so mawkish. Beyond mawkish actually.”

“I can top that.”

“Oh, can you?”

“Yeah. Are you ready?”

“Most definitely.”

“I offer to you one last thing in hopes to entice you to stay here forever.”

“If you say your heart, I’m leaving. Going back to the cabin and burying myself in the snow.”

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

“Laurent. The Witch of Vere. I offer you everything.”

“Damianos.”

“Yes.”

“Quit talking and finish bathing so you can take me to bed.”

That night, Laurent drew constellations above their heads, his right leg thrown over Damianos’ waist.

Everyone across the continent knew of the Witch of Vere. But not everyone agreed on what was truth and what was fiction regarding his existence. Now though, Damianos didn’t care any longer what was agreed upon for now he knew the truth. He tightened his hold around Laurent just a little more and Laurent, almost as if sensing what Damianos was thinking about, intertwined their fingers.

With his free hand, Laurent, with magic kissing his fingertips, drew above them a heart.

[harryspet]

A Wife’s Duty [1] h.s.

[Warning] this is inspired by the handmaid’s tale (i know thats f’d up but this is fiction deal with it), dubcon (borderline noncon), commander x wife, harry styles x named reader, sexy stuff

In which she is bound to harry for life and tasked with the honor of being the wife of a commander and bearing his children.

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

She didn’t see her husband’s face until the day of their wedding and, even then, it wasn’t a special ceremony of love and devotion. 

She was standing in a line of girls, twelve on either side of her, and they were all to be wed together. All of them were lucky. They were young, beautiful and fertile which meant they could be saved from the fate of becoming Handmaiden’s. However, they were still married off and expected to bear many children for their commander husbands. 

Loyal and subservient. Quiet and modest. At least, that's the way they interpreted God’s scripture. 

As her new husband lifted her veil, she felt as if she may vomit. She had heard stories, horrible stories, of commander’s abusing their wives. She even heard one girl was beaten to death after suffering from a miscarriage. The commander was reprimanded, of course, but the chance of her husband being a cruel man was frightening. 

He wasn’t what she expected. Her lips pressed into a small, nervous smile as she looked him over. His green eyes were piercing, maybe due to the blinding lights of the large stadium they were in, and his lips soft looking and pink. He was young, much older than her, but younger than she expected. 

She looked down quickly, feeling his gaze pierce into her. He dressed in a black, like the rest of the commanders, but it seemed he had a lot of awards and honors decorating his chest. It seemed he was accomplished, to say the least, but, as her eyes roamed a bit lower, she noticed the tattoos on his hands. 

She had always been taught that marking your body in that way was sinful yet here he stood, small tattoos decorating his hands, and yet he was a high ranking commander. 

The priest went on and it was only then that she realized she had tuned out the readings. “God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them, saying: "Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth." She only looked up again when her husband reached out to slide a ring onto her finger. It was relatively simple but the diamond perched in the middle screamed wealthy.

She thought for a moment that she was lucky but that faded quickly. 

His hands were rough and calloused and he coughed awkwardly when his hands lingered a little too long on hers. 

“For commanders and wives ., who begin their married life together this day. May they experience the love of God, the support of family and friends, and the blessings of children. We pray to the Lord.”

“Amen,” All the couples said in unison and it was first she heard his first. It was deep and certain. Like he knew this was inevitable just like she had. Like he had no choice but accepting things made it easier than fighting. And then it was done and her life was in his hands. The extent of her freedom would start and end with him.

They interlaced their arms, clapping roared through the stadium, and then she was being escorted away. A lot of the girls waved to their families, tears of joy dripping from their eyes. Their lives finally had a purpose. Her real family was gone, she was ripped away from them because they were poor and couldn’t afford to fight the government. 

He was her family. And she didn’t even know his name. 

+

He sat across from her in the black car they rode in. His hands sat awkwardly in his lap, as if he normally didn’t like being chauffeured around, and wished he was in control of the car. She nervously played with the folds of her white dress as she waited for him to say something - anything. 

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a ringing phone. He eyed her carefully as he reached into his black jacket to take the call. A phone? To have one he must be very important. 

“Commander Styles,” He answered, his voice gruff, “I’ll be in Redwick-” he checked his watch, “in an hour. But I won’t be able to meet with you tonight.”

Tonight. She swallowed. He probably wanted to consummate their marriage. Of course, he did. That was the whole point of this and she’d be stupid to think otherwise. 

“I can meet with you sometime tomorrow. I’m eager to discuss those plans as well. I wasn’t expecting so much disagreement on the issue. If you give Thomas a call, he can fit you into my schedule….Yes, of course . . . May the lord be with you. Goodnight,” He sighed deeply as he hung up and then caught me staring. 

“Commander Styles?” She asked timidly. At the sound of her voice, his lips seemed to push into a thin line of frustration. She worried for a moment that she had already broken a rule. 

“Harry, my name is Harry, Ember.”

She stared, blinking, “Y-You know my name?”

“I dislike surprises,” He answered simply, only leaving it to my imagination to decide what exactly he meant by that. He leaned back, letting one of his hands rest behind the headrest of the other seat, as he stared out the window. 

Redwick was a decently far from the capital, that much she knew, and part of her was worried. She had never left the capital before and was warned that there were large lands of waste between cities, where captured rebels were forced into labor camps. She got the courage to look out the window about thirty minutes into the drive and, although she saw no rebels, she saw wasteland. It was like a red desert where the grass no longer grew and the rusting building seemed to fall into the dust. 

Something about it felt peaceful and she felt a bit sick for thinking that way. She looked back down at her lap for the rest of the drive. 

When they finally entered the city of Redwick, she was itching to get out of the suffocating car. Harry seemed to suck up all of the air with his commanding presence. It was a suburban town, a contrast to the Capital, and each of the houses they passed had at least a hundred acres to their own. Harry’s home was no different, the road leading to his estate was a three minute drive on it’s own. It was a spectacular home but she was surprised how quaint it was. It was ivory and foliage crawled up all sides of it which she thought gave it an interesting character. 

She stared as he opened the door for her and offered her a hand so she crawled out without tripping over her dress. His focus wasn’t on her long before he met the driver on the other side of the car, and she assumed he handed him his payment. 

“Shall we?” He finally asked, holding a hand out for me to step forward. 

She looked around one more time at the rolling grass hills, “There’s so much . . . space,” She commented, stepping towards the front door, “It’s beautiful here, Commander Styles.”

He opened the black door, “A family heirloom,” He said curtly.

A small gasp left her lips as she admired the giant chandelier that hung in the foyer, “It’s lovely, Harry.”

“You haven’t even seen the rest of the house, Ember,” He spoke, closing the door and wrapping his hands behind his back. He began showing her around, letting her ooh and awe at everything she thought was cool. She really hasn’t gotten out much, he thought, watching her hold an elephant figurine sitting on the fireplace. 

“You grew up here?” She asked and he only nodded. He didn’t seem to want to discuss it further. 

Okay, she thought, it didn’t seem like he was one for small talk.

Then another call interrupted them. He quickly told her to go into the kitchen so Imogene could make her some dinner.

+

After eating dinner, she didn’t think she’d see Commander Styles for the rest of the night. It was already approaching midnight, Imogene had shown her to a room and gave her clothes to sleep in. She was laying in bed, a white long sleeved nightgown covering her body, not able to sleep. 

She listened to the sound of cicadas outside of her window and closed her eyes every few minutes, trying to find sleep. 

Her door slowly opened and she perked up, sitting up on her elbows. Harry appeared, not meeting her eyes immediately, “Were you sleeping?” He asked in a quiet and cold voice. He leaned over to turn on the lamp light on the bedside table. 

She shook her head immediately and he took a breath before asking, “Are you a virgin?”

“Of course,” she said, as if she was offended as the implication that she might not be, “Of course, Harry. I assure you that I-”

He interrupted before she could ramble, “Lay back down,” He ordered her and her heart stopped. She was trying to read the emotion in his eyes but couldn’t. Her heart pounded. 

She did as he said, unsure of where to put her hands or where exactly to look. She kept her hands to her side and stared up at the ceiling. From the corner of her eyes, she could tell he was undressing. 

Harry rounded the bed to the other side before climbing into the large bed. “You look like a corpse,” He commented. He moved to her side and she noticed he was now only wearing a pair of briefs. His tattoos were on display, a butterfly decorating his chest.

“I-I’m sorry,” She spoke, her bottom lip shaking, confronting her fear and finally looking him in the eyes. He snorted at that. 

“Relax,” He told her, “You want to please your husband, don’t you?”

She nodded before he continued, “Then relax, Ember,” He leaned in to kiss her and she was frozen for a moment, his stubble scratching her skin. He moved from her lips to the side of her chin and down to her neck. That’s when a yelp escaped her mouth as he kissed the sensitive parts of her neck. She didn’t know that area was even touched during sex. 

“God first and then me, do you understand?”

She nodded, whimpering, as the kisses traced her collarbones. His tattooed hand traced the length of her silk gown until it reached between her legs. She felt his fingers slip between the fabric of her panties. His finger touched the small bulb between her lips and a jolt went through her.

“Harry-” He shushed her. He stopped with his kisses and started to use his own legs to spread hers. She felt open, completely exposed. Her eyes were wide. It was nothing like what she had expected. He rubbed her there, in fast and then slow circles and she moaned into his mouth. 

She kissed him back now, though she wasn’t sure what she was doing, she fell into his rhythm. As his lips left hers, he moved in between her legs, fully spreading her and she expected for the pain to begin but Harry’s lips traveled further. He lifted her gown, kissing between her breast and then her naval until he got much lower. 

As his own mouth pressed against her sex, she yelped, pushing herself away from him until her back hit the headboard, “Harry, I don’t think-” He gave her a frustrated look, “You shouldn’t, I-I mean, we shouldn’t do that. That’s not the way-”

He rested on his knees, grabbing her waist and lifting her until her head fell roughly back where it was. “I will show you the way, little one. You don’t get to decide what I should and shouldn’t do, understand?”

She nodded eagerly, fear in her eyes, and she answered, “Y-Yes.”

“Yes, Commander,” He corrected and then she repeated the words back to him. He smirked, he liked when she called him Commander. 

Ember gripped the sheets so tightly that she thought she might rip them. With only thirty seconds of his mouth on her sex, her first orgasm was ripping through her body. He hadn’t even planned to keep going but, knowing she was so sensitive, he couldn’t help but try to get another one out of her. And then another. “Please, Harry- Commander, please! I can’t-” She was begging, her body shaking, as she tried to escape him. 

Perhaps he was being greedy. He relented after the third one, kissing up her body again and he didn’t give her much time to rest before he began to sheathe himself inside of her. She gripped his back, surely leaving scratch marks as he carefully entered her. 

“Say you want my children, Ember.” 

“I-I want your children, Commander.”

“Say you’re mine.”

She looked into his eyes, into the unknown, and knew things would never be the same again. She belonged to him now and only death could change that, 

“I’m yours, Commander.”

And his head tilted back in ecstasy.

+

part two of A Wife’s Duty is posted! check out my #masterlist for more of my works

[erminiapalma]

Refection on a year of reaing India Literature.

Reflections on a Year of Reading Indian Literature

Titles read; Midnight's children By Salman Rushdie (page 4-650) The last song of Dusk (page 1- 300)by Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi.

 This year, my English four honor  teacher gave us a challenge at the beginning of the year in the form of assignments for the year. The challenge or assignment was to read 1000 pages of books of a country of our choice that we were interested in or we are cosius about. He also said that because our school is a very biver one and there are a lot of people from different parts of the world, this would help us get more diverse knowledge and for this same reason we could choose our own country or  one that we already have knowledge of.  Taking into account the purpose of this assignment/ challenge and the conditions, I choose to read about India and its culture. After you had choice the country, you then have to search for images of the country, book of the coin try, nobels, biography, suspense, fiction, non fiction, all kind of stuff of books to then choice one or three if you prefer to get to the 1000 pages and learn more about the country through  reading. I chose to read Midnight's children By Salman Rushdie  that had 650 pages and also The last song of Dusk that only had 300 pages. I  chose this book because, when I readed the back part of the book, they both talked about love, war, close minded people, and fighting for what you believe. I love drama and romance and so these books were perfect for me. And so through these books I learn a lot that I did not know before about this country and its people's culture. I learn that in this poor country, the rich have all the power and that they can do what they want with the people who are powerless and helpless. I learned that some white people ( american, United Kingdom) went to those countries for business and to take advantage of the powerless ones as well. I also learned that we as a new generation look at what our unsester did to get independence and freedom. I also learned that wear, new, change, and revolution were all back in the world back then and that people  who were different or had different beliefs were punished for it.  They got sent away to concentration camps, they were taking away for their families, and the world as a whole. They also gat turture and insulted  just for being different.  However, in all of this turture and hopelessness, the light of love and kindness shine in people and makes them stronger to fight even harder for what is so “wrong” in the eyes of those in power. Love doesn’t look at status, color, or race. Love is a beautiful feeling that comes when we most need it and witht the person that is right at the right moment for you. 

From Midnight’s children by Salman Rushdie, I learned that independence is writing in blood in almost if not all countries, that been different or having special abilities can be treat by other people, that you can’t trust all people, to never give up even though your whole word has been taking from you just because you are different and have and opinion of your own. In addition to love always whining all batters and honesty with the kidney would take your far and make you happy even though it hurts sometimes in the prose. 

From the book the last song of Dusk by Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi. I learned that  Two completely different people with two completely different lifes can build a relationship and be strong together. I learn that marriage is not a game but something to be taken seriously. I learn the old tradition that the Indians had about marriage which is implicated for them to have their children's beend engaged as young as two years old and maintain their brother purely by her chosen husband by her parents.  I learn that been a women in a so close minded country has it denefits like all tradition never change and room for improvement nut it also has it boughtfull like don’t want to follow all traditions and wanted to have a opinion of your own. 

About myself, I learn to be more confident, more strong, more open minded and alway take into consideration other people's opinions as well as my own. To not whole a grach of salt at the end it can come to bite me too. To reacher about other people culture and tradition before saying something offensive that can hurt their feelings, and to comprehend were the person is carmen from and what is the “normal” there.

word count = 807

[ziracona]

The tendency in fandom to take every white girl with short hair, regardless of the status of their canonical interest or lack of interest in women and explicit interest and/or sexual history with everything but, proclaim them a lesbian queen, and then ignore or absolve them of every single horrific act they take in fiction because of this. Is not doing feminism. Women. Lesbians. Or anyone. Any favors. It’s just bad.

Somehow. Some people really do apparently need to hear that...being any specific sexuality...is not a personality trait.

And also. Women aren’t inherantly less vile than men (or anyone non-binary, agender, fluid, etc, else), and whatever bad deeds they do should be judged based on just that—on the deeds, and their context. Not their sexuality, imagined sexuality, or their gender. Becuase none of those things effect whether committing murder is bad. At all. Not even a little. And none of them. Is even a personality trait. Affecting the character’s value as a person.

It’s cool, and good, to see characters with minority identities. And it’s real nice. When it’s whatever you are. But them being whatever. Is not a personality trait. Just a fact. And sometimes. People of any type. Are not good. Pretending any minority status—gender, sexuality, race, disability, neurotype, etc—is a get out of jail free card? Is not. Doing them. Or anyone. Any favors. Personality disorder. Doesn’t make you bad. Also doesn’t make you good. Your actions do. Acting like Amy from Gone Girl did nothing wrong when she date rapes her boyfriend & then frames him for doing that to her & ruins his life, then blackmails her husband who is terrified of being murdered by her into staying with her for the sake of the child she made at a fertility clinic with his sperm without his consent, bc she’s a woman. Isn’t good. Men aren’t more deserving of violence than women. Neither is anyone else. Jane. Left an infant child in an unheated car in subzero weather in a snow storm with zombies around that easily would hear it cry and go eat it. So she could lie and say she already let zombies eat it to bait a man with easily triggerable PTSD who had just lost his family to zombies for the second time into starting a fight. Because he was injured, unarmed, weak, down an eye, and 50, while she was fit, mid 20s, healthy, and armed with a hunting knife. Because she wanted an excuse to kill him without looking bad, because she wanted the 11 year old girl she was co-parenting with him, all to herself. And her immediately responding to the dude throwing a punch by stabbing him in the stomach to escalate the fight from brawl to life or death, then losing her knife, and instead of telling him the baby was alive & she’d made it up to start a fight which could have at any point ended the fight, begging the 11 year old child to gun down her oldest surviving friend with her own hands in cold blood so that she’d get what she wanted? Is evil. As is crying on the 11 year old and using pity as a weapon to get her to stay with her if she gets mad and wants to leave when she realizes Jane staged the whole thing for an excuse to murder, and so is after realizing like a month later that she is pregnant, committing suicide, and leaving the 11 year old that she just manipulated into killing her oldest surviving friend/completely isolated on purpose so she could have her to herself, totally alone in the apocalypse to care for an infant. Jennifer’s Body? Is a fantastic film. And Jennifer didn’t deserve any of what happened to her. But not one single boy she kills during the course of that film deserved it—and explicitly so. Even the guy who could easily have been a meathead jock bully is outside alone crying becuase his best friend just died and he loved him before she decides to lure him off and eat him alive. And acting like it’s totally fine & Needy should have just let her keep eating boys instead of killing her? Is fucked up. None of them deserved to die. And no one deserves death innately more because they are or are not something that is just a factual designator of their makeup as a human. The exchange student was scared and alone and nice, the catholic kid was sweet and Needy’s friend, Chip is a bad boyfriend but he meant well and being stupid doesn’t mean you deserve to die. And this girl ate them alive. That’s not funny. Or cool. Or fine becuase they were dudes. Gertrude Robinson? Chose again and again to betray people who loved her, or trusted her—sold out victims of awful trauma to their worst nightmares. Killed friends in the worst possible ways, like it was nothing. Michael loved her, and trusted her, and tried to care for her, and she without faltering fed him to his worst nightmare and forced him to become it. There is nothing excusable about that action.

Jude Perry? Has 0 redeeming features. Didn’t even stay faithful to her poor gf & was creepy obsessed w Agnes. Literally murdered her co-worker friend just because he was happy, and she wanted to destroy things: that’s it. She didn’t even dislike him. Murdered him because he had a wife and kid and house and it seemed fun, then burned down his house, took his wife’s money, and now checks in on his kid every so often in case he ever recovers from the trauma she inflicted enough to be fun to kill. There is literally nothing good about this woman. Yes. I mean that. Because being a lesbian? Is just a thing. There is no g/b tag, there is no tag at all. Amanda Young? Got kidnapped and tortured and forced to choose between killing a man who couldn’t resist but was conscious to watch her, and letting herself die, and she killed him. Then, instead of responding to that trauma with guilt or responsibility or anger at her captor, joined up with him and started helping him kidnap people just like her. She was not forced, she was not lied to. It does not matter if John was manipulative; she is a grown ass woman and like all grown ass adults, responsible for her own actions and choices. She did not get manipulated pitifully into this—she did not go unwillingly. She volunteered, with a happy vengeance, became obsessed with John and in love with him, despite his complete lack of interest. And she did not even just do what he did. She decided on her own that no one deserved redemption, & she killed them for fun in traps that wouldn’t let them go even if they did whatever awful thing the trap demanded as a price for life, just for the fun and power trip of watching them die helpless & in agony. That was all her, & her alone. She sat in a house full of people slowly dying from organ decomposition over the course of a few hours, for no crime worse than drug addiction—the thing she of all people should have been most sympathetic to—knowing full well at any time she could have saved them and stopped the game, and did nothing. She held a woman in her arms and stroked her head lovingly while she let her die in one of the most inhumane ways possible for the crime of having not been able to break an addition. She got saved by a 16 year old child multiple times, who had done nothing more than shoplift, and stood by while he had to watch a man get his brains blown out, another burn to death in an oven. As his organs slowly dissolved too. Watched the kid kill another human being & massively traumatize himself to save her life. And responded to that by attacking & knocking him out, tying him up, locking him up for days in a tiny safe bound and gagged with an oxygen supply to keep him alive, to be a piece in another game. Left his father, who had shown up to try & save him, to starve to death in chains in a horrible abandoned rotting room, & never even told him his son was alive. Let every other addict die horribly, let that kid sustain permanent damage to his organs that will kill him young, antidote taken or not, took his dad from him, & went back to torturing without a second thought. Kidnapped a woman whose worst crime was being a doctor & dating someone while maybe separated instead of divorced from her husband, put her in a trap that would take her head off with shotgun blasts, threatened her for fun, & then killed her even after she did everything she was asked, because it was more important to her that the old man she was obsessed with think she was special and great, than for the other woman to get to stay alive another day & go home to her daughter. There is nothing sympathetic about Amanda. She’s just not only evil, but too spineless to take responsibility for her own choices & actions, & tries to hide behind a “UwU I am sad & lonely & damaged & having trauma means I can literally torture people to death to feel special & it’s really tragic and sympathetic about me, not evil. Uhm. Some people??? Commit torture-murders?? To cope??” And acting like she’s somehow a victim in this becuase she is a pretty white girl with short hair? Is fucked. Up.

But every. God damn. Time. I see this. Please. It needs. To stop. People go: “UwU pretty girl short hair want” & I go “Ok. I see where u. Come from. Indeed.” But then. They go. “Girl pretty I like. So she was blameless. For this atrocity.” Those words...

Every day. I wake up. Thinking of Janic saying. Iconically. “At least me and Regina George know we’re mean,” and I weep inside. Because I cannot fathom. Or stomach. The lack of responsibility. I will kill. Characters who cannot admit they are bad. Myself. But somehow. They become. Flames. To moths. Of the “UwU pretty white girl short hair. We stan. Victim. Queen. Love her. Never done wrong.” Boy. We all done wrong. Even all my faves. At least once. I think. ...not if we count dogs probably, but people, yes. Ok. Anyway. All this is to say. Characters. Should be judged. Based on what they did. And why. And the aftermath. Not a grouping tag. I don’t mean any of these. Make bad characters. At all. Amy is a great character. So is Jennifer. So are most of them. I have quite affection even. For Jeneffer specifically. But you can like. Character. Without proclaiming. Them perfect humans. Who never did a thing wrong. Or their acts somehow. Justifiable. And ok. And you better stop saying. Ok. Because done. To men. Men do not. Deserve violence. Any more. Than anyone else. No one deserves violence defacto for factors. Outside their control. Wtf. Really people. It’s ok too. For character. To do much bad stuff. And still like character. Villains. And often just complex characters. Sometimes just characters. Do stuff. That is bad. It’s not supposed to be not their fault. Or ok. Also. Women are not a sisterhood. Of flawless beings. Who never hurt anyone or do any bad stuff. They can. And are. Often purpotrators. Of awful acts. And when they are. It is still. Very bad. Still. An awful act. Same level. Even. Of awful. Wild.

In conclusion.

Having short hair. While a girl. Doesn’t make her a butch queen. Who is absolved of all responsibility for that murder she committed. It just makes her a girl with short hair. That did a murder. I’m gonna. Kill someone. Too. And if I chop my hair off. I guess I can get away with it.

[eddisfargo]

CoMC Chatper 106

CHAPTER 106 

Dividing the Proceeds

37 minutes

This is a longer chapter, and it really seems like it should be two chapters, but I guess he wanted to make the parallels between two very distinct situations, both of which could be labeled as “dividing the proceeds.” 

First, Mme. Danglars has been abandoned by her entire family, and the hits keep right on coming. Because she turns to her lover, Lucien Debetray, expecting… something. Anything. To be… “official” or something, maybe, now that she’s got no husband? Or even just “damn that sucks, I’m sorry sweetie. C’mere.” She gets nothing but brutal coldness and her half of the money they’ve been hoarding. She manages to hold it together, but she’s hurtin. 

And Debetray’s like “shame Valentine’s dead. She’d have made a convenient wife.” He was considering Eugenie before she peaced out, but she doesn’t exactly have the desired wifely temperament. 

Other highlights include Danglars addressing his farewell letter “to his most faithful wife,” and her and Lucien just looking at each other. 

But anyway, poor Hermine is left with no one, and barely a millionaire at all. She manages not to cry or plead, and keeps her pride, even when Debetray says he is willing to share anything he has--on loan. Brrrrr! 

And now the more interesting part! In the same house sit Mercedes and Albert. And I have fantastic news: She’s miserable. No, I’m not being sarcastic, I’m actually thrilled. But why, Eddis, when you’ve expressed so much sympathy for her in the past?? Well, I’ll tell you: If she’d gone off to the convent to make a life for herself, the picture of pride and determination, like a woman headed for a new frontier, that might have been the actual ending for her character. But instead, she’s totally depressed with her new lot in life. And like me, Dumas is quite sympathetic toward her character--as is MC. WHICH MEANS (if you’re following my logic) that something good’s going to happen to her still. I think we all know what I’m hoping that is, but I’ll settle for whatever I can get. In fact, the chapter closes with--but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

So, in the Ruination of Danglars chapter, it was revealed that the former Morcerfs gave their entire fortune to charity, for realz. In a previous chapter, just before Fernand’s death, we saw Albert leaving all his stuff except the portrait of his mom (aww). 

It’s a bit of a surprise to me how poorly she takes to poverty, tbh. Considering that that’s where she’s from, and that it’s usually seen as a mark of character in fiction to keep your head high despite your financial situation and not value riches that much. Not so much here, for a few reasons. One is that poverty sucks--she’s not “poor” like when she was young, when she always had a source of food. She’s hungry and cold, and she has her son to worry about. And she’s lived for years in extreme comfort, she’s allowed to be a little used to it. And there’s plenty of “noble” here from the fact that she could still easily be living in her mansion. She chose to give it all up. 

Now cute little Albert starts to budget. He’s pencil and papering out a whole little trip to Marseilles, financed with money from selling his watch and some ornament or something--but also, while we’re here, he sold himself into the army service for $2000. Mercedes is… not thrilled. She’s going to be all alone, and her son’s going to be in danger. And they love each other so adorably. He calls her the most beautiful and most noble woman he knows (ok btw romantic little Albert still needs an actual wife, and I still think Haydee’s a fantastic choice), and Mercedes says her love for her son has turned to admiration. And Albert is joining a ship called like, the Spighee or Spy-y or something that’s almost certainly not spelled like that (been a while since I was reduced to that) that I’m pretty sure we’ve heard of before, but can’t think where. He also says he chose his regiment based on how good he’ll look in the uniform, haha. Peak Albert.

So he’s going to Algeria, hoping to talk to the governor, where he thinks in 6 months he’ll be either an officer or dead. If he dies, he says Mercedes can die too and that’ll be that. He’s only living for her anyway. 

He sees Debray on the way, his former friend, as Albert calls him, because he can’t and shouldn’t have friends anymore. Debray offers to help with all the emotion he’s capable of feeling or something, cuz he a cold cold dude but respeccs Albert. And he’s the one who makes the contrast between Mme. Danglars, “justly dishonored” and poor with a 7 figures, and Mercedes, “unjustly stricken” and rich with like a three digit money amount. Also btw, calling Hermine’s dishonor “just” is PRETTY RICH coming from her accomplice in every sin she may have committed. I mean, except Benedetto, obviously, but he doesn’t know about that. But of course he gets to walk away from the affair scot free because man. He flees the interaction with the Morcerfs and buys hisself a new house. 

ANYWAY, the chapter closes with MC (skulking) asking god for help with restoring happiness to poor innocent Albert and Mercedes. Can I just say. That I have some ideas. 

[writings-of-bored-gal]

Protection 9

Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Part 9/?

Summary: Jaime and his wife finally arrive in Dorne but things become intense as a dire situation arises.

Warnings: swearing, childbirth

Author’s Note: It’s been another while guys. I’m working on some original stuff but I finall got around to finishing this! Love you all and I’ll be writing more as soon as I can .As always, requests, asks and tag lists are open! Thanks for reading- Abby x

Protection Tags: @mikariell95, @evyiione, @sleepylunarwolf, @wnygirl2012, @purpose4fan-fiction,@mmmcchan, @lxdyred, @duvetsandpillows, d34d-0n-th3-1ns1d3

Permanent Tags: @vikingsandetc, @julliiaaq

Masterlist | Part 10 

_____________

The ship rocked from side to side making her nausea worse once again. Jaime’s arm was wrapped around her tightly, refusing to let her go whilst whispering reassurances into her ears. She wanted to appreciate it, she truly did, but being 8 months pregnant and on a rocking ship just made her want to throw him overboard.

It had been 2 and a half weeks on this gods-forsaken boat and everyday was the same. The heat and the smell didn’t help either, and the further they went South the worse it got. They were meant to be in Dorne three days ago, but something had stopped them. Someone had told her why, she didn’t care.

Light came through as Bronn opened up the door and came below deck. He looked how she felt, disheveled after so many days of travelling with not enough food and water. He somehow still had a lopsided grin on his face though, watching the daring Lannister look after his poor wolf-cub wife was something he wished those who feared him could see.

“You’ll be glad to hear that we’ll be on the shores of Dorne before dusk, my lady.” He said, joining the pair on the floor.

“It’s not as though I’m allowed off of the boat.” She snapped back, making  Bronn wince.

“You don’t truly believe we’re going to make you stay on this thing do you?” Jaime said. She looked up at him in surprise.

“Well yes, that was Cersei’s condition.” Jaime shook his head at her and tenderly kissed her.

“I don’t give a toss what Cersei says, I’m not leaving you now or ever.” She thought of him in the tunnels, ready to defend her. If she’d had an doubts, then that night threw them away. She kissed him again and turned to Bronn. Jaime nodded at him once, a determined nod.

There was a lurch in the ship as the anchors went down, causing it to stop. Bronn moved up the stairs to go and prepare the rowing boat. Jaime stood, leaning down and helping his wife up. She moved heavily, feeling the waves of the ship rocking the boat from side to side. Jaime watched the colour drain from her and head her closely.

“We had better get you into the fresh air.” He murmured. She pulled her hood up to hide her face and nodded, stepping out into the sun light.

The heat outside was a different kind of heat to that in the boat. In the boat it was stuffy, with sweat clinging onto you and everything stank. This heat was different. The wind was hot as it whipped the fabric around her face, it burned her fingers that rested in Jaime’s arms. The air tasted like salt and as she stared down into the sea towards the rowing boat, tiny droplets of water hit her cheeks like tiny shards of hot glass.

She recoiled into Jaime. Bronn gave him a look that said Is she going to be able to do this? Jaime simply took her further into his arms, protecting her from the sun and nodding in Bronn’s direction.

She climbed down into the boat with Jaime’s assistance, and even once they were inside he would not let her go.

“Aren’t you going to help me row?” Bronn complained. The shore was in sight but there was still a long way to go.

“I have one hand and she is heavily pregnant, I highly doubt we’d be of much help even if we tried.” Jaime quipped. She smiled a small smile. The sea wasn’t too choppy and there was a slight breeze so she felt much better. Bronn wasn’t particularly happy about the rowing situation but she felt at ease besides her husband and away from the capital for the first time in years.

As the boat got close to the shore, Brown made his way out and began to drag the boat, again complaining about Jaime’s lack of aid under his breath. She climbed out, tripping on the sand. She was heavy on her feet with the added weight from her pregnancy and the sand felt foreign for the girl who had grown up in the northern snow. Jaime was watching her, lending her the support of his arm when he could hold himself up.

The sand seeped into their shoes and the heat began to get to their heads. She was already almost out of water and her head was becoming fuzzy. This wasn’t helped by the appearance of Dornish soldiers.

“Go behind the dune.” Jaime murmured to her when they spotted them on the horizon. She nodded and ran for safety, hoping she hadn’t been spotted. She watched from the distance, but her head was still throbbing. Everything seemed to be turning to hell. She suddenly felt herself gasp in pain. The baby.

She looked down and there was a small pool of water damping the sand beneath her. She turned to see Jaime and Bronn still fighting. She had to keep quiet to avoid giving herself away, but another wave of pain washed over her again. She gritted her teeth, waiting for it to pass. She was shaking now, scared and alone and desperate.

There was more swords clanging. More fighting. More pain. It was only when there was silence and she was able to see Jaime still standing. The pain worsened and she let herself groan.

“Y/N,” Jaime breathed, exhausted and covered in blood but running to her side with Bronn closely behind. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” He ran to find her. She sat panting and feverish, clutching her stomach and her eyes closed in paid. Jaime had seen that look before in Cersei. He knew what was happening and judging by Bronn’s look of disgust, so did he.

There was no one around and everything seemed to be happening so quickly. There was nothing to do but sit and wait and try to be helpful. Bronn found more water hidden underneath a bench in the boat and bought all the blankets up that he could find. She was then loaded onto the horse. clinging on until she couldn’t anymore. Bronn raced into the palace, begging for someone to come help until a master finally agreed.

“It’s going to be fine.” Jaime kept on saying, holding her hand, wincing whenever it was squeezed with force. She was progressing too quickly, too quickly for Bronn to come back with a maester.

Sweat ran down her brow. “I have to get this baby out now. I have to push.” She grunted, using Jaime to haul herself into a sitting position.

“You can’t.”

“I don’t have much fucking choice Jaime so if you’re going to help, help. If you’re going to hinder then you can bugger off.” She pushed him out of the way, letting the will of her body take over.

As Bronn came over, master sat behind him on his horse, he found Jaime with a babe in his arms, crying and wriggling in the heat. She lay next to him, passed out from exhaustion and heat. Jaime looked more helpless than Bronn had ever seen him, truly terrified for the life of his wife.

[ocsxinxpurgatory]

Path Chosen (Introductory Drabble)

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: Dirk and Sampson are mine along with the plot and everything else is borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Setting: Season 1 Compliant

Pairing: Dirk Shepherd/Sampson Shepherd

Rating: PG for elements

Sometimes one had to decide if love was worth dying for. It wasn’t even a question to Dirk Shepherd when he chooses Sampson first and foremost and frees the slave. This was the man who had rescued him when he’d gotten lost so many years ago. This was the man he would die beside of...

*~*~*~*~*

Path Chosen

He knew the way by heart as many times as he’d made this trip. It wasn’t anything new these paths but the intent on this starry night was quite a bit unusual. He walks as quietly as possible to a safe spot and ties the two horses he was walking there before stroking one and then the other. “Hang tight fer me,” comes the low murmur, “Gonna be right back and we’ll be outta here.”

That done, he continues the rest of the way being as quiet as he could knowing that if anyone found him here at this time of night everything he’d been working so hard towards would be for naught. It seems to take forever before Dirk is slipping around the familiar barn and inside where he knew the other would be.

It’s easy to pick the lock on the manacles and he finds himself tugged close and allows a kiss before murmuring, “Let’s get outta here.”

And like that, he’d be out with the other at his side as it should be though he doesn’t feel anything in him loosen until they arrive at the horses. He makes sure his companion mounts before he does as well and they both take off using the cover of darkness to keep them safe enough. No one would be rising any time soon and by then Dirk is hoping to be almost out of reach.

There are no words spoken between them until they set up camp almost a full eight hours later. Dismounting, he finds himself pulled flush against his partner and kissed hungrily a low moan rumbling in his chest. “Let’s get everythin’ set and then we can do this properly, Sampson,” he murmurs huskily. The male gives him a look that promises everything before he works on helping to set them up for a bit. Tucked out of the way, they were almost in a completely different state’s borders by now and could relax a little bit. The horses needed water and rest and so did they.

Though sleeping is not on either of their minds when Sampson pushes him down on the bedroll and captures his mouth again. He groans against the other’s mouth pulling him closer relishing in the contact. This, this was the man he was going to spend his life with no matter what that looked like.

Sampson had been enslaved by the family Dirk had taken him from for almost ten years. They’d met five years prior when Dirk himself had wandered into the cornfield and actually got lost in the stalks. He’d been pretty amused by the male’s poor sense of direction. Dirk had been embarrassed but grateful for the rescue and the two had struck up an odd friendship that no one knew about.

At twenty Dirk had needed a friend, someone to confide in and Sampson was willing to listen and in turn had someone who taught him to read and write; things slaves were not allowed to learn. Now five years in and they had decided enough was enough and it was time to stake their own fortunes elsewhere together. While they weren’t sure of a concrete plan; they both knew they could figure it out best together.

*~*~*~*~*

Everything hurt. Everything. Coughing and choking, he can’t seem to make heads or tails of anything through the burning pain that is slow to recede and leaves him more confused and disoriented instead of less. Hell. He’d been in hell thanks to the damned man who’d shot him and Sampson.

Sampson.

He swallows as bits and pieces come back and it hurts. Everything hurts. He brings a hand up to his face and tries to focus on just breathing and getting himself calm. He had to focus. That he was here meant that the next Heir was coming into his “inheritance”. And Dirk has no intention of being a victim again. So he needed to find somewhere safe and then he needed to find his husband.

It turns out to be easier than he expects; both of the important things on his list as an abandoned homestead turns out to not be so abandoned. The figure curled up seemingly still trying to put himself back together is a familiar one. He carefully closes and locks the door before making his way over and kneeling down. Reaching and lightly putting his hand on his shoulder earns him a low, inhuman snarl and he murmurs, “Easy, ‘s just me, Sampson.” This of course has the other slowly shifting, eyes opening to first reveal demonic eyes before they slowly resume the familiar deep brown.

“D-Dirk?”

“Hiya, sweetheart’,” he greets with a smile, “Still such a troublemaker.”

Sampson shifts before reaching and tugging him down to him and Dirk lets him making himself comfortable against his body. “I’ve missed you,” comes the low tone.

“And I, you,” he returns as he nuzzles into his shoulder, “Gonna need to be very careful what with that Earp Heir out there somewhere.”

“We will,” comes the quiet promise, “No one is sendin’ either of us back to hell. Not without going first.”

“Well, here’s to hoping that won’t be necessary,” he murmurs feeling tired from what had to be an unpleasant shove upwards from down in hell’s depths. Fingers slide into his locks and he sighs softly in pleasure having missed the familiar gentle touch.

*~*~*~*~*

“Bobo Del Rey.” This was a Revenant to fear and Dirk could sense that immediately. Blue-grey eyes showing a brewing storm take in the small group he’d come upon with his own men. “I can be a very good ally or a very dangerous enemy. The choice is yours. I doubt you want to end up back in hell and I don’t, either. So do yourselves a favor and help me keep that from happening.”

He gazes at Sampson who is watching him intently, and hasn't taken his eyes off the male since he’d approached. Dirk trusts his husband’s ability to read people even now and waits. “We should go with him,” comes the low murmur, “He’ll be the best chance we have of figuring this out.”

“Sounds good to me then,” he responds. None of the others seem willing to go on faith with the scruffy male but Dirk knew that Sampson sensed something about him as he did; something promising in all of this. Both approach and he gifts them with his intense gaze. “Dirk Shepherd,” he says by way of introduction, “This is my husband, Sampson. We’d be happy to assist in any way we can.”

The male doesn’t even hesitate with an extended hand and warm smile. “Welcome then, gentlemen. Let’s try and get this settled without pissing off the Earps.”

Four Earp heirs would come and there would still be no easy answer for their curse. However, Dirk and Sampson know Bobo Del Rey is as actively looking for an answer that isn’t needless violence and death as anyone. Most are starting to get restless but not him and Sampson. They still believe his way is the best way; the only way to avoid a return trip to hell was to not antagonize the Earp heir.

Shaven sides, short up top, and a red beard, Dirk has taken up a motorcycle club with Sampson at his side to pass the time. His husband finds it quite amusing to watch him bark orders and regularly reign a bit of hell on unwary Revenants and their familiars when they get out of line. “I’m surprised they think you’re the scary one,” he rumbles one afternoon as he’s working on one of the bikes. Dirk cannot help laughing softly as he stares at the other.

“Jealous, sweetheart?” he teases, “I mean I suppose they should be lucky they don’t have to deal with you. That wouldn’t end well.” He watches the male’s lip curve into a wicked smirk.

“I suppose it’s best that they don’t then.”

Dirk chuckles softly. “Shouldn’t look so evil, darlin’. That’s just not fair.”

“Demon, remember? I’m not supposed to be anything close to fair.” His tone is low, playful knowing what those sort of expressions did to Dirk and doing it deliberately.

Dirk lets out a low, huffy laugh. “Killin’ me over here, darlin’. Just killin’ me.”

“I’ll fix that, too, when we’re done for the day.”

This makes Dirk laugh. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know.”

[heyyyharry]

In Another Life Series: Chapter 11 - The End

Series description: Y/N and Harry are soulmates and destined to meet in every lifetime, but no matter how many times they reincarnate and find each other again, they never seem to get it right.

AU: reincarnation, soulmate!harry, prince!harry, assistant!y/n, witch!y/n.

Chapter 10 - The Sidekicks: The protagonists aren’t always the only heroes.

wattpad link ❤︎  Before you read the chapter, I have "a few" words to say *clear throat and open my Oscar winning speech* (or you can just start reading and skip this altogether, it's fine).

When I was reaching the end of Flatmate with no intention of writing the sequel, I wanted to write something new that would be just as good. My mind was empty, and I came up with many bullshit ideas and almost settled down with some of them (glad i DIDN'T!). Then as I was listening to 1000 Times by Sarah Bareilles, from the lyrics, I pictured two strangers meeting each other for the first time, feeling like they've known each other forever, but having no clue that they used to be lovers in a different lifetime. It's just so romantic in my head and I knew I could do this idea justice. So thank you Sarah Bareilles, if you read this fic lemme know lmao. The painting idea was originally from Marc Levy's novel with the same name (Idk what it's title in French, but in my translated language it's) In Another Life, so just to be clear I didn't really come up with that, credit to the genius who did. Thank you "The Tudors" for all this knowledge I have about the English dynasties in the 16th century, and I'm genuinely sorry if I offend anyone with all the historical inaccuracies, please forgive me. Thank you everyone who's read and waited and commented on every chapter to help me make this as good as possible. I know it's only fiction but to read about how my writing makes some of you happy and feel better really does make me happy and feel better and motivated to write more.

I've had a couple alternative endings to this series, and I think this one is the best (among the others), but if you want to know what the other endings are, feel free to drop me an ask! Or simply tell me what you expected from this chapter before knowing the actual ending here!

Okay, bye, thank you for putting up with my extra ass! Kissy, Allie.❤︎

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Harry ended up spending the rest of his afternoon chatting with his assigned nurse. He'd told the old woman about what had been going on in his life, how he'd met Y/N, the dreams he'd had ever since his trip to the museum, the faces in those dreams that looked just like her. And even though it did feel nice to finally get all this burden off his chest, he still found it strange that she barely opened up about herself. All he knew about her was that her name was Margaret, or Maggie as she preferred to be called, and she lived alone, no husband, no children, and had been working as a nurse for as long as she could remember.

"I have a feeling that we've met before," he told her at last because it had been bothering him since they first met. 

But the woman just looked at him in surprise as she said she didn't think so. "Although, you do remind me of someone I used to know." She studied the look on his face, pondering for a little while.

"Oh, who is it?" He asked.

"I had a niece, she fell madly in love with a young man whom you remind me of."

"Had?"

"She...passed away years ago, unfortunately."

Harry could see the clear change in her facial expression when she said those words, so he didn't want to dig too deep into that hurtful memory of hers, even though he was curious to know about the man who resembled him. However, it was Maggie who continued with this topic he thought she wanted to avoid.

"That young man was very passionate about my dear Annalise as you are for the girl you love."

"Her name was Annalise?"

"Yes, it means Grace of God. I helped her mother pick that name."

"Very beautiful, ma'am." Harry pressed his lips into a smile when he saw how hers was beaming as she talked about her beloved niece. "I'm sure Annalise and her man were very happy together?"

"No. They never got together." Maggie shook her head slowly. "His family didn't want him to be with her and he didn't have a choice."

"So after she...uhm..."

"Passed away?"

"Yes, after she passed away, what happened to him?"

There was a long pause as the old lady's eyes shifted to her feet, and Harry felt like he never should've asked that question. He took a wild guess that the young man must've had the same tragic ending as the girl, if that was true, then this was definitely the most heartbreaking story he'd heard in a long time.

"He moved on, married the girl his family wanted him to marry, but he never stopped loving her. He died of a heart attack, and his last word was her name."

Harry felt a lump in his throat and he had no idea why. He was really hurting over a story of two strangers whom he knew nothing about. His faith in true love had always been faint, after hearing this he had completely lost hope.

"Had the timing been different, they could've ended up together," he said, breaking the melancholy silence that had taken over the atmosphere surrounding them.

Maggie released a long heavyhearted sigh as she crossed her legs and leaned back against the chair. She stopped to think for a moment, then she told him, "but I like to think they'll meet each other and start again in another life. Because true love never dies. Do you agree?"

No. Harry didn't.

He thought people had had enough chances in one lifetime already and God wouldn't be so merciful to offer endless trials for them to try and fix their mistakes again and again, lifetime after lifetime. Despite so, he still told Maggie he agreed with her and added, "I'll have my fingers crossed for the two of them."

As he was about to move on to another, more cheerful topic to discuss, the old lady spoke up again, "she wrote him a letter every single day they'd spent together."

"Oh, did he get a chance to read them?"

"He did. I gave them to him myself. He was very emotional, he burst into tears."

"Wow..."

"Before he passed away he gave them back to me." Maggie rose from the chair by his hospital bed and went to grab her purse, which sat on the table by the window. "I have them with me here, do you want to read them?"

"You bring them with you to work?"

The perplexity on his face made her smile as she pulled out a pile of papers which seemed pretty old, they'd turned to a yellowish brown and were all a bit torn at the edges. "I was moving to a new home today so I brought them with me, I don't want to put them with the rest of the other stuff in my flat, they're very fragile."

"I don't think I should read them, they're very personal, ma'am." Harry shook his head when she gave the letters to him.

"You're an artist, aren't you? Maybe these love letters will inspire you in your songwriting. And I know my darling Ann would love to share them with people who have the same heart as the man she loved."

Did she just say Ann? That was the name Harry had heard many times in his dreams about Y/N. But he could be wrong.

"I'm gonna leave them here for you to read. You have nothing fun to do around here anyway," Maggie chuckled then walked away from his bed, not expecting a reply from her confused patient.

.

.

Madam Maggie told Edward she'd come to him because of Ann. She's asked her to. Before the fire incident, Ann had a bad feeling, which she just assumed had something to do with Edward marrying someone else. Little did she know, that bad feeling she'd thought was insignificant ended up costing her her own life.

In her despair, the poor girl had snuck outside of the castle to see Madam Maggie and asked for two little favors. Thanked to Ann's favors, Madam Maggie showed up just in time to find an unconscious Edward lying on the floor of his chamber.

"Her powers allowed her to detect sickness, she knew you had a weak heart, which was also why you fainted earlier. She didn't have the heart to tell you, so she came to see me."

"Ann asked you to cure me?" Edward inquired, placing a hand on the left side of his chest, only to get disappointed by the answer he received from this woman.

"I can make you feel less pain, but I don't think I can cure you completely. Witches can fix broken bones and mend wounds, but we cannot magic away something so permanent like the heart disease you've carried since the day you were born."

Edward nodded understandingly. He seemed so unbothered for someone who had just found out his heart had been unwell since his birth. That was when you know he was, in entirety, wrecked. Ann's death had caused him such pain that nothing else, not even a stab in the gut by the sharpest blade would be able to hurt him that much.

"On the night we met, she fixed the wound on my leg," he said with a fractured grin and tears in his emerald eyes. "And I was supposed to be afraid of her, that was the first time in my life I'd ever seen witchcraft." He chuckled but there was no humor in the sound of it, just utter desolation. "But the look in her eyes made me feel safe...and suddenly I wasn't afraid anymore. I knew she was a good person."

"She said the same thing about you. She really loved you."

"And I let her down...Maybe...Maybe this sickness should just kill me so I can finally be with her." He took a long pause and shifted his eyes to the window by his bed, sucking in a long breath while contemplating whether or not he should say this out loud. He thought he should. "Before you got here, I nearly jumped out of that window."

"Why didn't you?" Madam Maggie calmly asked as if she'd already known, both what he'd tried to do, and the reason he'd chosen not to do it.

"I made a promise to Ann that I would be a good King. I have to live to fulfill that promise."

"It's good that you're still thinking straight." The woman flashed a smile, reaching out to hold his hand which laid lifelessly by his unresponsive body. "I haven't told you the real reason I'm here. Ann also asked me another favor."

"What is it?" He asked.

Madam Maggie thought that this was the most alive he'd looked since she first saw him. She confided, "did you know she'd been writing you letters?"

"N-No..."

"She had. Everyday, from the first day she set foot in this castle, to the night before they locked her away. She felt something bad was gonna happen so she brought them to me and asked me to keep them for a while. She told me she'd come back for them, hopefully with you by her side. She was very sure that you two would end up running away together." When she finished that sentence, Madam Maggie couldn't control her emotions anymore. Tears started to shed from her eyes, running down the crinkles at the corners of her chapped lips to land onto her worn out dress. Edward squeezed her hand a bit tighter, as he could deeply sympathize with her loss.

"Before she left she gave me a kiss on the cheek...Like she always did whenever we said goodbye...I didn't think—" That sentence was never finished for the old woman couldn't speak anymore. She began sobbing into the palm of her other hand. And Edward did as well. It was the first time he'd really cried ever since he last saw her, and he thought the agony he was feeling then would be his life sentence.

.

.

.

Harry woke up, gasping for air, again.

He was back in his hospital room, the only sound other than his own ragged breathing and riotous heartbeats was the beeping of one of the machines placed beside his bed. This time, he had a dream about Y/N stuck in a burning house, he risked his own life to run inside to save her but she couldn't come with him. So he held her close and let the flame swallow them whole. The dreams he'd been having had become more real recently, and he guessed his mild fear of the hospital had something to do with it. Fortunately, Harry wouldn't have to stay there much longer. The doctors had said, for some reasons they could not explain, his heart's condition had been slowly going back to normal, as if it'd healed on its own. By this time tomorrow, he could finally be home.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows then reached out to grab the glass of water his nurse had left on the bedside table. That was when he saw the pile of letters she'd put right under it. He slowly sat up, finishing his water, putting the empty glass back on the table, then with a little bit of hesitation, he took the letters and brought them to his lap.

When Harry scanned his eyes through the first line, which was the date, he almost thought his eyes were mistaken. The year was 1509, which was 510 years ago! Was this supposed to be a joke? Or was it just a thing this girl Annalise always did with her lover? Maybe it was a secret message only they knew. Now, Harry couldn't put the letters down without finishing every single one of them.

So Harry began to read, every single word. It took him only halfway through the first letter to realize this wasn't from just 'a few years ago' like Maggie had said. This was a letter from a peasant girl named Ann written to a Prince, Edward Rammour, no other than the man in the portrait, in the museum where the series of strange events and bizarre dreams of Harry's started.

The girl, Ann, wrote about their first met, about their little moments together, about the look in his eyes when he looked at her, about the things he said that he didn't pay attention to but she remembered every single word. And Harry knew every single detail in here, he'd seen them countless of times in his dreams, in which the girl who was supposed to be Ann, looked like Y/N. But the last few letters were all from her point of view so he didn't know what was gonna happen. She talked about not being able to see him as much, about doubting his love for her, about believing in his love for her again when he snuck out to visit her one night, about the things people in the castle said about her even in her presence, about a princess named Emilié who was betrothed to the Prince and hated her deeply, about receiving his letter one night asking her to meet him in the library. And in the last paragraph of the very last letter, she wrote about how happy she was because she believed they were gonna run away together. Harry's heart wrenched in anguish for he knew that wasn't what had happened.

In a millisecond, all the lost memories flooded back to him. Harry now remembered. Everything.

He remembered her screaming and shouting and begging him to save her and not let them take her away, and he didn't save her, he watched them take her away. He remembered saying goodbye to her one last time. He remembered the look on her face before the door shut between them, He remembered telling her he loved her, forever, and so he did. He loved her forever.

He remembered everything.

And on the hospital bed, he burst into tears, and those tears fell down and blurred out the handwriting of the girl who'd been dead for hundreds of years, yet kept alive inside his heart.

"Little Annalise had always preferred to be called Ann."

He lifted his head quickly and saw Maggie at the door. He didn't ask her to explain, he already knew what was going on. "Is Y/N...is she..."

"Yes, she is." The woman gave him a nod. "Did you feel strange when you looked into her eyes?" He did. "The eyes are the windows to a person's soul. That was why when you looked into hers, as well as...your own...in that painting in the museum, you felt a sense of familiarity that you couldn't explain. Same souls, trapped in two different bodies"

"How is this even possible?" Harry grimaced, trying to put two and two together on his own, but it wasn't that simple. "Why are there only two of us? Do the other...Does this happen to them too? How are you still alive?!"

"I'm the head witch, I'm immortal. Not even fire could kill me," she said, smiling as she approached his bed and sat down on the chair where she'd sat earlier.

Taking in a deep breath, she began, “when a person dies, his or her soul breaks into tiny pieces, each creates a new life. They start again as different people with no memories of the lives they used to have. But Ann already casted a spell on you, on both of you actually. That spell keeps your souls from unraveling and also connected to each other. So you’ve met in every single lifetime, and had many chances to start over. But this is the closest you’ve ever got to the ending she wanted for you two.”

"Why did it take me until today, this lifetime, to remember?"

"Because it took me that many centuries to have found you." Maggie sighed. "I usually found Ann first, but as there are more and more people on the Earth nowadays, it's really difficult to track her down. Every time I arrived in the past, it was already too late. But this time, I guess God does show some mercy after all. He brought me to you instead."

"So you working here is all a coincidence."

"A magical coincidence. I almost didn't believe it when I saw you here." She showed him a smile. And even though Harry had calmed down by now, he was still in shock. "Edward asked me to give you these letters, he thought only them would help you remember."

"W-Why should I remember if...if every time we got together one of us died?"

"Because only when you remember, would this story be over."

.

.

.

"Are you sure you want me to have them?"

Edward nodded, pushing the letters into Madam Maggie's hand as he insisted, "you're the only hope for me to find her."

She really was. Madam Maggie said once Ann had reincarnated into a new body, she would be able to feel her, and even if it might take a lot of effort to find her and convince her to believe she was Ann, it was possible.

Honestly, Edward didn't really believe in life after death. But he hadn't believed in witches until he met Ann, and she was real. Sometimes he still wished she hadn't been real. Maybe if she'd been a dream, a beautiful dream, then he would just sleep forever and never wake up.

"But how did you know it was the only way to break the spell?" He asked Madam Maggie, eyes on the letters. She could sense the sound of fear and doubt in his trembling voice.

"I just knew when you first told me, dear." She put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. "She said it herself, only when you've found her in another life, could you two finally be together."

Edward exhaled though his mouth as recalled his lover's last words. She did say so, after she'd kissed him. The kiss. He realized it now! That kiss was when she put a spell on them both!

"Destiny is a funny thing, it's like a chess game, if you can't win, you lose." Madam Maggie took a deep breath and slowly let it all out. "Destiny wants to keep you two apart, so it will make sure you two are forever kept apart no matter what. Ann tried to break the rules, so by finding her she meant, you, finding Ann, not whoever she'd be in the next lifetime, or many after that. If you fail to recognize her but still try to break the rules by being with her, then destiny does what it has to, history repeats itself. One of you will pay the price."

Edward opened his mouth to ask another question, yet Madam Maggie shushed him right before he could release a single sound. "You should get some rest, your coronation is tomorrow."

Then she walked away, disappeared into the darkness of the long corridor. And that was also the last time he ever saw her.

"Edward! Wait, darling!" The voice caught Edward's attention, and he turned around, wishing he hadn't. His mother ran up to him, sounding so desperate as she pleaded, "darling, we need to talk!"

"No, we don't," he said coldly and started walking away. But she chased after him and managed to grab him by the arm.

"I understand that you don't want to speak to your wife but I am—"

"She's not my wife!" He shouted, but the frightened look on her face made him weak again. "It's only a title. Tomorrow she might be the Queen of England, but she will never be my wife."

"You cannot say that! You have to give her a chance! You need a son to rule after you!"

"I don't want a son so he would grow up with a mother like that. I don't want him to suffer the same way I am." Edward hoped those words did hurt the Queen, he hoped the pain shown on her face was genuine. However, he didn't know anymore, he didn't believe in it. Was there anything, or anyone in this castle, 'genuine'? "Emilié had told me everything, mother. You sent Ann in there...knowing father could hurt her. You were willing to destroy a young girl's life just to make sure I'd stay for the throne. Now I am King, are you happy now?"

"I did it because I love you!"

"You, same as Emilié, same as father, love no one but yourself!" Each and every one of those word was a knife pierced right through his chest. "The only one who's ever loved me for me, and not who I am, or going to be, was Ann, and now she's dead."

"I am still your mother..."

"You are not." He shook his head slowly, trying not to cry because she wasn't worth anymore of his tears. He'd suffered enough. "I loved you, I really loved you."

Loved. The sound of it crushed the Queen's dark heart into dust, and she thought she might collapse onto the floor had she been able to feel any of her muscle. She was frozen right where she stood, eyes wide, jaw dropped, heartbroken, staring at the son she'd let down. They could've just continued to stand there until sunrise, had the conversation been interrupted by the arrival of the Chief Minister.

"There you are, Your Highness!" Exclaimed the man, who sounded so thrilled since he didn't know what was happening here. "I already had everything you asked prepared for the coronation tomorrow morning. Also Piersilvio, the famous Italian painter, he wanted to paint your portrait as a gift. He would arrive at court soon after the ceremony."

"Good." Edward nodded as he exhaled sharply. "Anything else?"

"No, Your Highness."

"It's 'Your Majesty' to you now."

"Yes...My apologies...Your Majesty..." The Chief Minister hung his head to show respect to the new young King as he was startled by the change in Edward's attitude. He was afraid he might been in trouble for addressing the monarch in the wrong way, but Edward didn't pay much attention to it.

"Have a good evening, His Excellency. Could you please escort the Queen Mother back to her bed chamber?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

When Edward absented himself, he heard his mother desperately screaming out his name, begging him to forgive her. However, he turned a deaf ear to all the things she said. He was no different from a dead man walking.

.

.

.

There were indeed plenty of museums in London, more than 170 of them. Countless of visitors came and went every single day. What were the chances of two person returning to the same museum, every single day, to sit in front of the same painting? Surely very little.

For the first few days the pair were there, nobody really noticed. For almost two weeks, they began to. Everyday before the museum was closed, a young man and a young woman would arrive and stare at the portrait of Edward Rammour, and then they left when everyone else did. Some people thought they were lovers who shared the same passion with art, some said they were sad, depressed, and lonely, some said they were crazy. However, nobody actually came and asked them what their story was. Maybe if someone had, they would've told them.

"How long are you gonna keep tormenting yourself?" Asked Jason as he sat down by his best friend's side on the bench in front of the painting and handed her a donut, which she refused.

"Until I get my memories back..."

"That's impossible."

"Why?" She snorted. "I think I just need a bit more time with this painting, and it'll all come back to me. She wanted me to remember. That was why she cursed me as well."

"We don't really know what she wanted." Jason heaved a sigh. "Maybe she wanted the King to pay for his mistake by cursing him, but she didn't think about how it would also affect her in her new lives."

That theory seemed justifying, but Y/N knew it wasn't the truth. People wouldn't want themselves to be bound together for eternity with someone they loathed. She knew the woman she used to be still loved the King despite it all. If only she could remember what had really happened.

"He's back in London you know," Jason broke the silence between the two of them, hand reaching out to hold hers. He thought she might pull away like many times before, but this time she didn't. She stayed still where she was, emotionless, unbothered. "Have you listened to his new song? It's about you."

"I have. I love it. I wish I could tell him."

"You should reach out to him...if you want to."

"I can't, you know I can't." The lump in her throat when she thought about him made it hard for her to breathe. "Not until I know how to break the curse. If we tried to be together, there would be consequences."

"So you're gonna spend your entire life, sitting in front of this painting, trying to remember a life you had...five centuries ago?"

A simple "yes" was her answer. And Jason knew nothing else to say. He wanted what was best for her, and he thought separating her from Harry would fix everything. But everything became worse. She'd been losing sleep, her nightmares got more real and hard to wake up from. Still her memories of her past life were still dust in a desert.

Jason asked her if she was thirsty, she said no, but he said he would go buy her something to drink anyway. He then laid a kiss on her cheek and stood up to go. She was once again left alone. Actually, she wasn't alone.

She could feel him near. She didn't even need to turn around to know he was there. She just did. And she was afraid to look because her feelings could be wrong, and if he wasn't standing right behind her she would be so disappointed. That was when his voice rang right through her ear. The first thing he said wasn't 'hi' or 'hello' or 'how have you been?' Or even her name.

It was, "I've found you."

Y/N rose from the bench to turn around, facing Harry at last. He was wearing an expensive trench coat, hands in its pockets, his grey flat cap made sure half of his face was covered, but there was no way she could mistaken him with anyone else. Time seemed to stop when they locked eyes, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt something she'd never felt before. She parted her lips, wanting to speak, yet no word escaped for she had no idea what to say. He said he'd found her, but she knew he didn't mean finding her, here, in this museum, it was something else, almost like—

"Of course you don't remember...I...uhm—" he mumbled, as if he was talking to himself. Then a dimpled smile crept up on his face only to vanish as soon as Jason returned with a bottle of water for Y/N.

She didn't know what was going on in Harry's mind at that point, and Harry didn't say a word either. He turned his heels just as Jason recognized him, and quickly made tracks to the nearest exit.

Her eyes quickly followed his familiar figure to that door over there, then all the sounds around her became muted at once. She didn't even hear Jason asking her what had just happened, instead she heard Harry's footsteps echoing inside the walls of her brain as they were fading away. He spun his head and sent her one last look before the door was closed between the two of them. Time stopped. It wasn't Harry that she saw.

She saw Edward.

She saw him being dragged away from her by the men in amours. She heard her own deafening screams as well as his. She saw the flames on the torches on the brick walls mirroring in his green eyes. She saw him mouthing the words 'I love you' to her. The door shut between them two, and she snapped back to reality. Everything vanished. The room, the guards, the flames, the torches, him.

She remembered it now, everything.

"Y/N! Y/N! Where are you going?!" Jason shouted after her as she started running fast, pushing her way through a crowd of tourists, who screamed at her for being so rude. Then she burst through that door and she screamed out his name, causing many heads to turn around. There was only one face among them that mattered.

When she saw him she didn't hesitate. Hell, she'd been waiting for this moment for too long, 500 years! Now, she could finally fall into his embrace. Her head against his chest, and she was finally home.

Shocked as he was, Harry didn't resist the hug. He chose to ignore all the judging stares they were receiving and clung onto her, eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed to her forehead.

"Why did you walk away?" She pulled back to look up at him with a pucker between her brows, all out of breath, yet laughing uncontrollably.

"You were...with someone else..." He sounded hurt and confused, it only made her laugh harder.

"That's my best friend Jason, you've met him before, remember?" she cried out, voice trembling because she'd never been so happy that she choked on her own words. "I was waiting for you. I've been waiting for you for so long."

"Wait, so you..."

"I remember." She nodded fast, arms tightened around his waist. "I remember exactly what was going through my head in that tower. I remember feeling so scared when I was on the stake. I remember the last image in my head was you. I remember...telling you to find me in another life so we could finally be together...And you did, Harry you found me."

When she touched his face, Harry felt as if there was magic on her fingertips. He dug his nose into her palm, sniffing away his own tears as he wiped away the ones that were rolling down her cheeks. He heard the sound of the camera shutter somewhere behind her, behind him, on his left, and his right, knowing their reunion could've already made the news already, yet he couldn't care less.

"How did you know I was here?" She asked, still cupping his cheeks with no intention of letting him go.

"I came to your house and Lisa told me." He paused. "I'm sorry it took me so long. I needed over a week to think of what to say to you before coming here so I wouldn't sound insane...I even brought your letters—"

"How do you have the letters?" Her eyes grew wide, mouth slightly opened. "Wait, have you...have you met her?" Y/N felt like her heart could burst from joy when he nodded his head, telling her yes. "Where is she?! Is she here?!"

"No, but I'll take you to her, love. She really misses you," he told her while looking around and spotting a couple sneaky paparazzi. So he locked his fingers around her wrist and urged her to come with him and get out of here so they could finally tell each other everything that had happened.

"Harry, wait!" Y/N tugged on his arm when he was about to pull her with him. "I...I need you to kiss me now so I can be sure neither of us is gonna die."

Her pretentious fear made Harry burst into laughter. With no hesitation, he cupped her cheeks with both hands, bringing his face down to hers so the tips of their noses brushed against each other, then with their lips only one breath apart, he whispered to her, "queen of my heart."

He kissed her exactly how she wanted to be kissed, like it was their first, last, everything they had left to lose. This passionate and timeless moment put an official end to the series of misery that had lasted for five centuries long. And people who walked past King Edward's portrait that day could swear when they told the story, of how they saw the man in the painting, smile.

[mrsmess]

Faves and fails of SPN (season 10)

Favorite episodes (in chronological order):

10:2 Reichenbach - Of course I like the Cole-storyline, it’s been a long time coming, but he’s so short Sam’s taller than him sitting down! Not that I’m complaining. I’m not hating this. I feel like this rewatch became Sam’s about midway through season 8 and that still holds. Samstel in distress fends pretty well for himself. Also loving Cass, and even Hannah. And Dean is an asshole but at least he kills Lester.

10:5 Fan fiction - Well, obviously this goes on the list. Love this crap. The boys are a lot of fun. And all the girls are awesome.

10:6 Ask Jeeves - anything Bobby related, y’know? And now we know the show’s back to normal, when Sam insists ”being a monster is a choice” and Dean comes blasting through the door with the categorical excessive violence. Ah. Supernatural.

10:7 Girls, girls, girls - sexworkers hustling for souls - brilliant. And Rowena! Is she modelled after Morticia? Anyway she gets quite an introduction, instantly into her. And Crowley dislikes getting tangled w the prostitution ring. Dean’s closing speech to Cole - pretty frickin’ strong.

10:8 Hibbing 911 - Jody and Donna and Alex on the phone. That is all I care about.

10:9 The things we left behind - And now another Wayward daughter! Claire! And Cass being cute. Sam’s hairography. ”Tell me it was them or you!” Well... kind of? And they certainly had it coming.

10:12 About a boy - Dean is appropriately haunted by what happened w Charlie and it’s bleeding into his performance. He gets transformed into his tween self. I like this actor. Omg! Tween!Dean ranting and adult!Sam listening - adorable.

10:14 The executioner’s song - now that’s an intro. Dean bashing Sam’s true crime fad. I’m with ya, Dean! Why would someone w their lives be into serial killers? Cain is looking goooood. And Sam acting like everything’s gonna be okay but knowing differently.

10:15 The things they carried - kudos to the show for not abandoning the Cole storyline. Also fresh monster time, albeit not my favorite monster (it’s a little silly) but still. The possibility of failure catching up w Sam.

10:16 Paint it black - omg! Sydney from Legion! Love her. And Dean relating to her. Love that. Finally some more info on Rowena. Dean in confession. My heart!

10:17 Inside man - Bobby! Barefoot Sam! ”How’d you sleep?” ”Like a drunk baby.” A mime that is secretly a cockroach. That is the story, goshdarnit! But I hate that Sam’s not being frank w Dean about what he’s doing. That’s usually Dean’s mo. Boooh. But I like him and Cass working together. But I hate lonely, self-destructive Dean. But Bobby! But poor Dean! I’m in pain. Okay ultimately it goes on the fave list because things start moving w Crowley and because of Bobby’s jailbreak. ”Dean doesn’t know we’re doing this.” ”Well, that’s a page ripped right outta the Winchester hand book, ain’t it?” I miss him so much. And Dean and Crowley talking. And Bobby’s reaction to Metatron. Lol.

10:18 Book of the damned - ”Can I kill him now?” Oh Cass. I get it. Metatron is like that person who rubs everyone the wrong way, and for no apparent reason, but all powerful. Nightmare. Dean coming clean! Charlie! Mysterious artefact! Thin Lizzy! The brothers dreaming about the beach. Diciplined, deliberate, contained and soft-spoken Dean is adorable. ”What is your mission now, Castiel?” The Winchesters obviously. Charlie and Sam talking about the life <3 Cass finding his grace! Cass and Charlie meeting! Behind Blue Eyes!What time is it? It’s time to spin the intrigue wheel! Deal with darkness it is!

10:20 Angel heart - Claire is back. Oh Cass. Never change. Dean and Claire playing miniature golf. I’m rly annoyed thinking about the Novak-family priorities: Jimmy went like: sure I’ll be a vessel, it’s not like my family needs me. And Amelia went like: I’ll go look for my vessel-husband, Claire will be fine on her own. And then they’re together in dumbass-heaven. And Dean, Sam and Cass leaving Claire to fend for her half Dead mother. They can’t do anything quite right, huh? Still, it gets to stay on the fave list because of Claire. Poor baby.

Worst episodes (in chronological order):

10:4 Paper Moon - Gosh, I’m instantly seeing the upside of Demon!Dean: They’re gonna make this shallow guilt-tripping last the entire season, aren’t they? Watching the Lester-storyline put into a flashback-collage like that; The Winchesters? More like the two Stooges. And ”You killed your boyfriend’s best friend!” Are you being dumb on purpose? Were you asleep during the movie she left for you?

10:10 The hunter games - Kind of a fix-it episode. I’m a tad tired of these constant lines on human morality taking up time when they are kinda beyond it.

10:13 Halt and catch fire - This is pretty terrible. The ghost is in the wifi! Technology is evil!

10:21 Dark dynasty - As fascinating as the Styne family is, they’re wasted this late. Plus, y’know, the obvious, horrible ending.

10:23 Brother’s keeper - Calling a dead girl ”dressed like a whore” under demonic influence or not, is the quickest way to end up on my nope list. Honestly I felt the tide turning in Dean’s favor but nah. Yeah, Yeah, i get it, he’s losing it, but I’m back on team Sam. My god, these final speeches between the brothers are starting to feel as engaging as ping pong, as well as resemble it. ”Let’s try the same dialogue as we did last season but change places.” And it’s kind of stupid because the subject matter is continually engaging. Also I’m not clear on why Dean had to kill Sam and that’s just, not good.

Honorable mentions:

The relationship between Cass and Hannah has me weak at the knees at times. I rly like it.

Dean and Sam going by Collins and Gabriel in there’s no place like home.

Dean inadvertantly describing himself accurately in the Werther project: ”You’re looking at me like i’m some diseased, killer-puppy.” Lol.

Crowley torturing a guy w darts, and talking to the hamster.

Dishonorable mentions:

I dig Rowena but not her motivations. Or maybe it’s more along the lines of me not liking it. The only power worth having is the power to be free. Everything else just seems like a hassle.

The fact that they don’t try dismembering all monsters and burying the parts seperately- which seems to at least slow down anything- instead of playing along w silly ancient self-fulfilling prophecies ”Cain must be killed w the first blade” Have they learned nothing from Buffy?

Piero the 16th century italian artist preferring bottle blondes.

Things that makes you go hmm:

Soul survivor - Okay. So. If Sam used his own blood to cure Dean - would that count as a trial? He certainly didn’t care about blood types or sanctified blood, or maybe I missed something. Either way, it irks me. Actually, could we skip this whole guilt-trippy demon-cure schtick? What Sam did is n.o.t.h.i.n.g compared to what they’ve done before. And heaven and hell is increasingly unepic- not that I mind. And ”He says he doesn’t want to.” Who cares?? The shit you’ve put each other through for ten seasons; you’re so beyond asking each other for permission.

Summing up:

This is definitely Dean’s season, he gets to be a badass demon as well as show great restraint, my two favorite things. Unfortunately Sam’s behavior is a bit ooc again, he not only shouldn’t have but wouldn’t have kept his work a secret from Dean, he’s more of the earnest, nagging type. Plus, the execution of the season is chaotic and confusing. Probably the lowest ranking season so far.

[hamliet]

Three Queens: Dany, Sansa, & Cersei

The moment three of your top four characters are pitted against each other in a fandom war or a canon war. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sansa’s been my favorite since season 1, and then we have Jon, Dany, and Cersei. Dany’s arc is pretty much exactly hitting the same beats as Jon’s arc, but in a yin/yang type way so that they are likely intended to meet in the middle. But I’ve talked about Jonerys before and now I want to discuss Sansa and Dany’s foiling, as well as Cersei’s and Dany’s, and what it may mean for Dany’s endgame in particular (Sansa will be fine, Cersei will die, that seems pretty narratively certain to me).

Sansa and Dany are both raised with stories and dreams: Sansa for love and being a queen, Dany for being a queen in another sense. She and Viserys were on the run her entire childhood from assassins, facing the scorn from people who would have loved them a few years ago (which is exactly where Sansa’s arc will take her after her father is executed). The same person is involved in both of these: Jaime Lannister, as the show showed us in the confrontation in episode 2.

Sansa always wanted marriage to a handsome man; however, when she’s granted a betrothal and then a marriage, it turns into hell--but through that hell, she learns to be a good ruler. Everyone comments on how well respected Lady Sansa is--wise and brave. She’s foiled with Tyrion in this aspect, in that she’s called the “smartest person I ever met” by Arya, and she tells her former husband in name, Tyrion, in the same episode, “you used to be the cleverest person I ever met.” Tyrion used to be a good hand of the king; now, he’s making pretty poor judgment advising Dany because he’s facing the same issue as Dany: power or love, but more on that another time.

But Sansa has made her choices. She chose her dream (not power, but a romantic fantasy) in the first season and went to Cersei after Ned told her they would be leaving, thereby leading to her father getting caught. Now she’s chosen her family and has come into her own. She has grown up, in other words, and she didn’t grow up when she married Ramsay Bolton or escaped, but when she decided to write that letter to the Knights of the Vale, when she stood up for herself, when she decided to do what she could for the good of her family (Jon & co) instead of just what she wanted (to kick Littlefinger to the curb).

Sansa is an adult right now, having crossed that hurdle of coming of age in the story. Dany (and Jon and Arya) are still trying to find out what growing up means for them, despite Dany (and Jon) being technically older than Sansa.  

For Dany, as she says, Viserys always told her about a throne, and she’s been fixated on that through all she’s been through each and every season. Therefore it’s worth asking whether this was what Dany wanted, or whether it’s a coping mechanism to cope with exactly what she tells Jon she’s been through in season 7: 

I have been sold like a broodmare. I’ve been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods, not in myths and legends, in myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.

It’s easier to survive these horrors if you keep a dream waiting for you, irl and in the show. Dany hoping for a future in which she has everything that was stripped from her before her birth is completely understandable and normal. But, it’s not much different than Sansa’s romantic fantasies: it’s a child’s dream.

The story is asking Dany if she wants to grow up, if what she wants is the love that made her happy, or the power fantasies her brother imbued her with when he couldn’t even handle it himself. I’ve talked about the dead literally rising and coming for them all and it’s symbolism before, and it’s asking Dany if she wants to be controlled by the dreams and wheels of the dead, or if she wants to make her own life. Because Dany’s caught between the desire to rule--control--and the desire to set people free (freeing slaves). Does she want to continue the Targaryen dynasty, or does she want to break the wheel, because she can’t do both. Is she making her own fate, or does her blood control her fate? She doesn’t want to be a cruel man like her father, as she tells Yara in season 6, but if she rules, then she has to take responsibility for the good and the bad in the Targaryen dynasty. Which she tried to do in regards to Rhaegar last episode, but... well.

The show is setting up a choice for Dany, as Sam outlined in the first episode to Jon: the throne, or Jon (love). Her dream has just been rocked; her faith in herself, her belief that there was a greater destiny guiding her because of her bloodline. Because it wasn’t even true. She is not the rightful heir to the throne; Jon is. But Jon doesn’t even want the throne, though he would probably support her if she is pregnant and won the throne, so the issue with the reveal, for Dany, is not that Jon is now a rival: it’s that everything she fought for and believed in is not true.

Not only that, but she’s seen that the North desperately wants its freedom after being horribly treated by the Lannisters, the Starks abused and murdered cruelly. Dany, who has always supported freedom for people, is going to have to ask herself what that means for a kingdom.

And it’s telling Dany was there for Sansa and Theon’s reunion. Like with Dany and Jorah, Sansa forgave Theon a terrible crime. Dany listens to Jorah now as her unofficial advisor, but I’ll be shocked if Jorah survives the battle next episode (’I’ll see you later’ is basically fiction’s most obvious death flag) and find it likely she’s going to lose that too. After Jorah, the only one she really has is Jon (she and Tyrion don’t seem close on a personal level), and her dragons (for now...) 

Like with Sansa, Dany’s entire life has been losing people she loves. Is the throne really worth it, if it means giving up the one person who matters most to her, who chose her not because of her crown but knelt to her crown because he loves her? With her faith in herself likely rocked and with the death flags for Jorah, she can either sink into grasping the throne at the cost of Jon, or she can grasp Jon and they can try to figure out how to swim together--without a throne weighing them down.

The reason I don’t see the Mad Queen option as likely is for a few reasons, but let’s discuss one: we already have a mad queen. Two would be... a bit much.

Cersei in the books and in the show perpetually fears being usurped by a younger, more beautiful queen. She at first thinks it’s Sansa, and then Margery, and now I’d say it’s clearly Daenerys. As such, Cersei has always been positioned as a foil not just for Sansa, but for Dany. She’s what Dany could become, if she chooses the throne and power over her loved ones. Because Cersei has always done precisely that. She couldn’t conceive of a life without power, and when Ned literally gave her the chance to escape with her life and her children, she refused, because she wanted power too.

Cersei’s desire for power really comes down to a matter of control; we even see it in how she loves her children. As Tyrion said, that’s her one redeeming quality, and yet, she desperately tries to maintain her power over her children.

Its root is, like Sansa and like Dany, Cersei had no choices growing up. As she tells Sansa during the Battle of Blackwater, she was raised to be sold to the highest bidder for her father’s power, whereas Jaime was given a sword.

When we were young, Jaime and I, we looked so much alike even our father couldn’t tell us apart. l could never understand why they treated us differently. Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace, and l was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, and l was sold to some stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired

Because she has no control, now she compensates by being smothering. The conflict with Margery never had to happen but for the fact that Cersei hated that she would not be in control of her son’s choices anymore, and she’d given up on Tommen before he killed himself after she killed the woman he loved.

Cersei lost three children. Dany has three “children” in her dragons; honestly I’d be surprised if she doesn’t lose all of them by the end/if they aren’t the cost for love. Because Dany lost one of her children--Viserion--already not out of trying to keep dragons small and chained up (though she made that mistake at the same time Cersei did, but for far less petty reasons) --but by using them to do what dragons do: fly, and save the man she loves. As Tyrion warned her, going to save Jon north of the wall was a foolish decision especially if she wants the throne; Dany went anyways because when push comes to shove, she chooses love over power. There’s a pattern of just this in Dany’s arc whereas there is not in Cersei’s; I have no reason to think it would change.

For Dany and Jon... Jon clung to his principles and lost Ygritte last time, and Dany recently echoed Ygritte’s line about just staying out there forever, away from everyone. If they want to break the cycles that the wheel of power establishes in Westeros, and the cycles in their own lives, they need to choose to ditch that throne. That’s the ending I’m seeing built up for her now, especially given the foreshadowing about a human child between her and Jon last season, but we shall see.