#i want that entire chapter tattooed on my forehead tbh

[quietlysatan]

An Invincible Summer - ShanaStoryteller, AO3

Link: Here!!

Rating: T for read the warnings, but don’t worry too much because of them

Favorite Quote(s): I legit wanna tattoo this next quote on me somewhere

"Oh, the things that can be accomplished through ignorance of their impossibility," 

And this Straight Up Fact

“There’s no such thing as cheating as long as you win,” Natsu says, and the brat’s not wrong.

This one’s just funny

“Chouza,” Inoichi forces himself to say evenly, “Your teachings produced Ebisu and goddamned Gai.”

“Genma’s pretty normal though,” Chouza sighs, “I never could get through to that boy.”

Gently Gai casually caring about Kakashi’s well-being is my entire reason for living, speaking of which if someone wants to come be my Gai that’d be really fucking nice because us Kakashi’s don’t do too well on our own

He hesitates, but says, "Not that I do not find your newfound mentorship to be a most youthful endeavor, but -"

"I don't know," Kakashi interrupts his friend, "I met her while she was taking her genin exam and she, I don't know, adopted me or something. She just keeps showing up."

Gai nods thoughtfully, "Stubbornness is a useful skill to have when trying to cultivate a friendship with you." Kakashi elbows the other man, but doesn't protest besides that. "She's a good cook."

And this one because I love it when people Get It, ya’know?

That's really why he won't say anything, why he won't reveal that the Kyuubi's container and the fourth Hokage's child is still alive: they already killed him once. Naruto and Shikamaru are the same age, they would have been in the same class, and the idea that anyone could want to harm his innocent, precious son makes his blood boil 

And this one, for accuracy

"This sounds like a most youthful endeavor. I will bring Anko! She will fan the flames of youth in our young Konoha blossom!"

Both Itachi and Kakashi look at Gai, horrified. "Please don't," Itachi says weakly, like he knows it'll fall on deaf ears but he has to try anyway.

"Don't worry," Gai attempts to assure them, going into his Good Guy pose, "They will produce youthful flames of feminine excellence!"

"They're going to burn down Konoha," Kakashi says flatly.

Gai's hair and teeth sparkle in the sunlight, and he doesn't attempt to deny it.

Another important one

"The world is a terrible place," she says, and she has to swallow before she speaks again, "and it's full of terrible people. But I don't have to be one of them." 

I love that Natsu-chan has great balance, this is my number one favorite character trope, and I wish more people would write it

She bends down to look at him upside down, and Itachi can feel that she's not using chakra to stick onto him, and sometimes her balance just isn't logical. 

I just love the idea of tiny genius Naruto, and I love that Natsu-chan is a seal master at like, fucking seven and a half lol

Itachi knows it's actually far more complicated than that, but just as he does not tell her minutia of the past shinobi wars in their history lessons, she does not overcomplicate her explanations of sealing. Usually he's grateful for that, but when she appears to break every known law to sealing and chakra, he's not.

"That's," he blinks and he's not going to tell her it's impossible because it clearly isn't, "new," he settles on.

A mood honestly

Inoichi now feels the urge to bang his head against the table top, because 'a huge pain' to Natsu is 'literally impossible' to everyone else.

Another mood honestly

Inoichi watches his former genin dig in with resignation. “When are you guys going to start picking up the tab? Feeding you all isn’t cheap you know.”

Hana swallows her mouthful, “Sensei, I am but a lone healer’s apprentice –“

“I have been a chunin less than a month,” Kabuto pouts, wounded, “and already you seek to profit-“

“Do you have any idea how much sealing paper and ink costs?” Natsu demands.

“Okay, okay,” Inoichi grumbles, but it’s not very effective considering he’s smiling, “I take it back, jeez.”

Okay so, since this is a 100k+ word fic, I’ve been doing this thing lately literally just now on this fic review where I only feature quotes from the first chapter (Depending on length.) but, I’m making an exception because I’ve never seen these three characters and my thoughts on them summed up so well by someone I don’t know which is to say anyone, no one I know cares about my interests really lol

"Maybe a little," he admits grudgingly, "Sakura's really smart, but she acts dumb for some reason. And her endurance is really bad. She probably would have been failed on that alone if she didn't have such good aim with shuriken. And Sasuke's good at like, everything, I still don't get why he didn't graduate earlier. He's just so-" Kiba rubs his hand over his face.

"So what?" Hana prompts, even though she's heard this particular complaint before.

"Sad," the genin sighs, "He's miserable all the time, and he works hard and if you yell at him for long enough he'll work with you, but - crap, I don't know. He's got this really great poker face so you think he's just a big jerk, but I can smell his emotions, the big idiot, and he's just this sad lonely kid who won't listen to anyone."

Hana hums, because if she opens her mouth she'll probably start cursing the Hokage and his dumb rules and his dumb ideas, and that is not the type of thing that leads to a long life.

Just one last quote because dudes, guys, pals, friends of mine it’s important and you should all stop and read it.

 “Thanks for being cool with – everything. I’m really happy you’re not mad at me for not being honest with you.”

“You are my friend,” Gaara says warmly, “and you have always been honest about that.”

Words & Chapter(s): 136,306 words of greatness, and 6 full chapters of nicely done completion

Summary: When Naruto is five, he's gutted by a drunken civilian and presumed dead.

Six months later a girl with ash pale hair and dark blue eyes enters the Academy. 

(Guys I swear on my cool as fuck username, and all around internet personality as practically satan and probably Lucifer and whatnot that nobody we like stays dead or severely injured)

Score: 13, this is one of my favorites for a reason, this is actually my second technically third time rereading this in as many weeks

Pairing(s): Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, background Haku/Zabuza, but don’t worry anything you’re thinking of is addressed quite nicely in the fic ultra background but still there’s a lot of relationships and I’m not going to tag them all

Warning(s): Naruto technically dies more than once because this is Naruto we’re talking about but they also technically don’t??? You gotta read it, but basically temporary character death, only the bad guys stay dead in this one.

Nobody knows that Naru-chan lived so there’s that angst for you, however, to be fair it’s not like this whole story is just characters mourning and crying and whatnot, at this point it’s mostly just passing thoughts and memories which, again, to be fair, does almost feel worse at times... Huh, regardless it’s not overly angsty

Kakashi is adopted whether he likes it or not by Natsu-chan, we love both of our emotionally fucked over fair-haired ninja in this house so you won’t have to worry about that sorta fic coming outta nowhere from me BTW... but anyways, Kakashi freaks out a bit, much like the abused dog he always reminds me of, but Natsu is the sweetest and most gentle, yet forceful person he could’ve possibly caught the attention of. (This is canon)

The Akatsuki are still bad, BUT ITACHI ISN’T technically SO WHO FUCKING CARES!!!! (The Massacre still happens tho...)

Mentions of The Flower District and what that implies, and also things a Kunoichi might definitely do

Oh my fucking god the Hyuga... Who would willingly do something so horrible as that? Of all the things... Warning for... The Hyuga branch family situation, it’s dealt with nearly as soon as we are informed but, gods, my blood ran cold, and my face whited out, my sister thought someone had died when she saw my face haha,,, who the fuck does this? And do they die? In canon I mean? I think I only watched up to the chunin exams or Pein’s attack, I can’t remember which tho...

Natsu cries because people are nice to her sometimes. And honestly that’s fair, I burst into to tears once because I imagined someone kissing my forehead softly so, Natsu is completely valid... Sidenote, I’m touch-starved and have no cure for this beyond younger siblings and my cat because I don’t have the ability to ask my mom for a hug without literally gross sobbing and I have A Thing about embarrassment sooooo... yeah if anyone has some therapy justu for me that’d be nice

Mentions of Gross Men that apparently want to have Natsu’s increasingly growing collection of the absolute most dangerous people she can befriend pay them a visit. And by that, I mean an old fuckwit has the gall to leer at a TEN-YEAR-OLD and a FUCKING THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD!!!!!! Ugh, I hate those kinds of pathetic worms.

On that note, there is technically underaged things going on, but they are also Ninja soooo???? They’ve killed people and are technically in their version of an army, and by the laws of their lands they’re all adults, actually I’m pretty sure by shinobi life expectancy Kakashi is middle-aged, Inoichi is a senior citizen, and Hiruzen is a walking corpse tbh

Alcoholism??? I don’t really think it is but I’m not sure, but some characters do drink often, and usually when stressed courtesy of Natsu and co. but still... I don’t actually know if it is because it doesn’t actually happen much, more like every few weeks/months

Mentions of past sexual assault, and attempted past sexual assault, neither happen in fic or to any of our main characters, the experiences are not graphic though they do talk about it in chapter five, it’s not to graphically described.

Also, a bunch of off-screen lemon

A Thing (That I copy-pasted from the author so that all of you will see it and not say a single word against it.): If you thought Natsu was too mature for her age - she has seen and been through some really horrible shit. But also: my cousin has, since he was like 4, hung out with kids that were about 4 years older than him because those were the kids that were in his neighborhood or whatever. Point being, even after he started school, his main group of friends was consistently older than him. He very quickly adapted to that, and to this day (he's 12) hangs out with that same group, and considers children his own age 'kids' because he adapted to the behavior of the group he was surrounded with. I hardly believe Natsu would be any different.

And also

4. Quick little note because some people mentioned liking my portrayal of the Sandaime. I base his decisions/motivations (and Itachi and Danzo's to a certain extent) around this quote by Clementine von Radics: "It is so hard to live half monster, to hurt everything you love by trying to protect it wrong."

Pros: Watching Natsu just casually disregard the idea of gender with little to no thought is the greatest thing anyone will ever experience beyond, I dunno, the party we’re all gonna collectively throw when soggy Cheeto dies (I still haven’t decided which song we should make chart number one when that happens)

Given that I’ve technically read this three times you should already know the writing is fucking amazing, like, whoa, mind blown type of amazing, like, wow, so good, I usually hate rereading something I’ve read before, and especially so soon after the fact but geez Louis is this fic amazing

Natsu is just as easy to fall in love with as Naruto, and they are still the same people with slightly different personalities as is to be realistically expected with a situation like Naru’s was.

Also, GENDERFLUID REPRESENTATION DONE FUCKING AMAZINGLY IS ALWAYS A PLUS!!!!!!! 

The author manages to convey a very realistic genderfluid character in an incredibly believable manner, while also still keeping Natsu/Naruto themself. They’re still the Naruto that we knew and loved, but they’re different too, as is to be expected. when Natsu is a girl no-one stumbles, she is a girl without a doubt, even the author doesn’t trip up on societal expectations, and when Naruto is a boy there is next to immediate acceptance of this fact with absolutely zero (0) Zero bullshit from transphobes, which, as a genderfluid person myself, is always fucking nice to see. You’ll have to read it to know more though.

Natsu running around creating seals is honestly the greatest thing ever, and the end scene with the village made me cry a lil bit, and dammit this fic is so fucking good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, there’s a scene, where Natsu heals Kakashi, and the way the author handled explaining the intimate not sexual relationship between two of my favorite characters ever is just, so subtly beautiful, the sibling-bond these two have is beautiful, and a part of me wants to cry sometimes when I read it, and usually do cry a little when I get to this scene, and only partially because of what happened directly before it.

I love the way everybody just gets up and moves past their trauma and just decides to politely ignore it, oh they still have it, they still deal with it, but they care, and they are careful about it, and even though it hurts them like a knife-wound to the kidney in slow-motion they still get back up and keep fucking going. That’s hella admirable and I can respect that, I can respect even more that they slowly but surely let themselves heal as time moves on. This fic is beautiful on so many different levels but it is this one perhaps, that is the most magnificent. Perhaps.

Sasuke is adorable and depressing and adorable and I love it. And Ino is still a bad bitch but she’s a kid so we only see it like a handful of times in the first two chapters. The Akimichi/Yamanaka/Nara are all great, and I occasionally pity Inionchicause like, he’s putting up with a well-informed seal genius that’s still hyper, a slightly frightening medic-kunoichi with giant dogs, another slightly more frightening medic-nin who isn’t the greatest fighter but damn can he be intimidating and also really good at pointing out “Certain Things” while judging you about them which, honestly, is my greatest pastime. Itachi is so sweet and then so tragic oh my gods, and Natsu never even considers giving up on him. Kakashi is so sweet, and he slowly becomes less of a beaten dog as time goes on and I just love all of these characters.

Except for Hiruzen. Well, no, I still love this particular incarnation of Hiruzen, for all that he’s got one hell of a pathetically small backbone, I get why he does shit. But that doesn’t make me happy. Still, he’s better than dumbledouchebag. Granted that’s not difficult, and you might have to actively put an effort in to be as bad as that guy, but still. Plus, his hearts in the right place, and he’s less about the greater good then... certain disgraces to teaching and being in charge of a large group of people... Hiruzen is actually kinda sweet and admits he has issues and actually has an excuse that’s understandable for the shit that he pulls which is great, if sadly uncommon.

Anyways, Sakura is terrifying, and I remembered why I had a crush on her. She’s so badass, also, she ends up Princess Mononoke basically which, honestly, is fucking great, and the best thing we could’ve asked for, I love all of these characters so much!!!

Aesthetic: It reminds me off beefy stew (We don’t eat beef, so we used vegan soy beef stuff instead, and it was just as good.) it reminds me of the warmth, and friendship, and home that I felt after my mom and I make dinner together with nothing but a little music on and jokes passing back and forth between us. It reminds me of scraping my knee and having my friends help me to their mom, it reminds me of loyalty and compassion. It reminds me of dancing outside at night, alone in the forest with nothing but the moon for company and wind for music. It reminds me of the first time I realized that I could love someone despite their gender and that I should despite mine. It reminds me of finely spun handmade lace, and all it’s delicate while also reminding me of the sturdiest of steels, it reminds me of so much. It reminds me of acceptance, and understanding, and so much more. If I were to say what food and drink it reminds me of, I’d say chicken noodle soup, and sweet lavender-lemon tea.

Music Aesthetic: So, I made a playlist while I was reading this the first time around, and instead of a gif or twenty like I would usually prefer to do I’m going to add that playlist. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbhXmTSBbAyjk0m1b4BZUp3t0RHL83LDK

But if I were to add a gif or two it’d be these

Because something about this fic reminds me of rainy days with tea and baggy clothes.

Every time Natsu/Naruto decided to fight ever, to be honest.

[zoyastormwitch]

when the world goes dark ; one-shot

author’s note ; so I got this anon months ago, and it inspired a lot of angst in me. the ask went as follows: “what if Rowan was still blood sworn to Maeve, and Maeve ordered him to hurt (whip) Aelin? Would their mate bond overpower Maeve’s blood oath? Or would the blood oath win? What do you think?” now, naturally, we can all presume that the mating bond would overpower in the sense that Rowan’s preservation of his mate would make his gd head explode if he had to bring harm to her. I don’t think this is how it would’ve gone. So, I skewed some technicalities and this is purely AU for some unadulterated, upsetting ANGST. You’re welcome. (TBH, I think this is some of my best writing.) So, I figured I’d publish this before KOA, because -- well, yeah. I think we’ll get plenty of canon angst in KOA. ENJOY, LOVELIES.

word count ; 3119

ao3 link ; here 

ship ; Rowaelin / ft Maeve

chapter rating ; M for violence

tags ; angst, angst, angst, AU, whipping, violence, angst, maeve being a raging bitch

tag list; guys i lost my general tagging list halp

“Begin.”

The word harbored such an unnatural sharpness, clanging throughout every cavern of his body. Maeve’s voice boomed past the thundering in his ears, amplified by the very bond that had him standing in that exact spot. It sent needles through his veins, eliciting a profound pain that continued to surpass itself with each second more. The single syllable was served not as a suggestion, but a command, and his blood itched with it.

Rowan Whitethorn thought he knew torment, but all other suffering quickly paled in comparison.

He felt feral to the furthest degree, his heart racing in a panic while his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt short of breath, couldn’t recall the dizziness that accompanied such a thing. Senses that were usually hyper-focused, alert with predatory instinct, were now dulled as if his immortality was nonexistent. He felt as if he had been submerged underwater, everything in him fogged and diluted. Magic still existed and he was powerful as ever, but this feeling was akin to —

He swallowed against the memory, his throat dry like ash and it made him strangle a cough. Was it raw emotion or the warring of his body’s will that caused such disruption in the most basic instincts?

The last time he’d felt this lost in his senses he had just reunited with Aelin. Aelin, who was then only his queen, his carranam, his friend. It was a pleasant loophole to being sent, through Maeve’s blood oath, to track down Lorcan. Finding her. Holding her. Loving her. Gods.

Aelin.

His queen. His carranam. His friend. His lover. His wife. His mate.

Mate.

Not Lyria, the female he loved centuries long. Lyria, who died pregnant with his child. She wasn’t his mate. His head reeled every which way, Rowan had suspected as much, knew in the darkest, most intimate corners of his heart, about Aelin. What she was — what they were to one another. He had pushed away the glimmer of possibility, shoving it deep away and refusing to acknowledge it. Even as his relationship with Aelin began to take physical and romantic turns, the prince did his damned best to convince himself it couldn’t be real. Two mates in one lifetime was more a myth than a reality, but that wasn’t even the case, was it? His entire past felt like a lie.

Certainly, his hesitation wasn’t simply because he harbored such certainty over Lyria’s place in his universe. No, it wasn’t that at all. It would have felt easy if it were. Sworn to Maeve, Rowan would never be able to stray far from the woman. Ultimately, she held a control over him that ran, it seemed, just as deep as the mating one he and Aelin had danced around. Maeve’s power and vindictiveness were a dangerous combination.

His mind was in overdrive, a splitting headache driving down his skull and through his spine. He gasped for air against it, shuddering with the sudden intake of breath.

Like an echo, Maeve’s voice pulsed in his brain: begin. She pushed against the oath with new fervor, his body feeling foreign. Like it wasn’t entirely his anymore. And it wasn’t.

It couldn’t be his.

Rowan’s fingers tightened around the object in his hand. He didn’t remember grabbing it. He wouldn’t. Of course not. It wasn’t him, not really. The blood oath, the fucking blood oath. He couldn’t resist the command any longer, everything in him shattering to pieces.

Begin, she commanded through their blood, and the word shot through his veins like poison, settling right down to the very fingertips that had curled around that whip and he couldn’t look at her, his Fireheart, golden and broken, when the leather cut through wind and air on its way to skin, the weapon whistling threateningly. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t find her figure against chaos, couldn’t bring himself to take in the sight of blood rising across her back, heavy ruby pearls marking the line of the whip, his whip, in his hand, before pooling and spreading and his whole body was numb and he was going to be ill, felt the sick rise in his throat, and a woman’s voice, his mistress’s voice, chilled the air with words he didn’t hear so much as felt as his fingers tightened of their own accord —

“What number was that, Aelin?”

Rowan vomited into the marked silence.

The entire, empty contents of his stomach came up in one quick instant, acidic bile scraping like needles against his throat. His skin burned and prickled as he continued dry heaving. He bent at the waist then lower as his knees buckled and all he could do was prop himself up with a hand and elbow to keep from collapsing entirely. When he finally straightened, the action foreign and feeling rather against his will, it was on shaky legs and with trembling hands.

All pieces of himself — body, mind, and soul — warred inwardly. The mating bond fought against Maeve’s blood oath. It was a strong string branching from his heart and stretching deeper yet. The intricate make-up of his very being ached as his mate endured a pain that ran beyond the physical as it managed also to reopen wounds and scars within her mind. His soul threatened to break to know he was the one causing it all. And he’d rather that, to break down. To cease to exist.

But Rowan couldn’t.

His vision was hazy but not enough so that he missed the penetrating stare of his mate as she twisted within her limited range of motion to see him; golden-rimmed eyes of turquoise were unblinking as she willed him to look at her. And when he did, what he saw nearly broke him completely.

x

Aelin took deep, slow breaths. She was no stranger to the sensation of braided leather whipping flesh. Certainly, the pain couldn’t be forgotten — no matter how much time had passed. It was a wound that struck her deep, marring her for the rest of her days. Still, nothing could have prepared her for this. The ache went beyond the slices across her bare back and struck heavy in the very heart that thumped a wild tattoo against her ribcage.

Still, the only sound she elicited were her breaths. Deep, decided breaths that she used to try and ground herself against the dizzying pain and sorrow. Even as Maeve’s voice cut through the ringing in her ears and the throbbing in her skull, she refused to speak. Refused, even, to look at the woman with death dark hair.

Instead, Aelin leveled her gaze at Rowan the best she could as she twined her neck to catch sight of him. Her King, her husband, her carranam and lover and friend and — gods.

The Fae warrior was far from it as he shook and dry heaved and fought within himself. His pains were palpable through the mating bond. Still new, the strength of it was yet to be fully uncovered. Perhaps, though, it was for the best that the bond was so new, a fawn wobbling on legs brand new to earth; for if this were what she could feel so soon after its birth, what would it have been like if the bond had been accepted and locked earlier?

One look at Rowan and Aelin knew she didn’t want to know the answer to her thought.

She’d never seen him like this. It wasn’t even a weakness so much as a complete breakdown of his systems. His beautiful, sharp face was contorted in despair as his body cringed in physical pain. She saw the sweat beading across his skin, creating a dull sheen across planes of muscle and causing his tunic to stick to his body, damp with moisture. His face was pallid and his hair was plastered across his forehead, pinned to the nape of his neck. He looked ill.

Aelin willed him to look at her.

He did.

“Start over, Rowan,” Maeve said.

His eyes didn’t have time to leave hers before the oath viciously snapped his body into motion and his arm wound back releasing the crack and the pain and Aelin arched against the sensation, head snapping to face front again. Her jerking motion was enough that the two males bracing her on either side tightened their grips on her arms. She considered how much it would bruise, their hands, and immediately chastised herself at how stupid a thought that was to be having as her back bled beads of crimson. But it was easier to think about the brutish men and their heavy hands than her beautiful male shaking and heaving behind her; she’d grant herself that permission, that weakness.

A waiting silence fell between them, but Aelin couldn’t bring herself to count the marks.

She focused instead on sounds, tried to pick them out as best she could from the ringing in her ears. She heard wind and waves but they felt distant, not of this world; there was the rustling of fabric as bodies shifted and was that a clanking of metal, of chains? Aelin heard her own heartbeat pounding loudly, perhaps the clearest sound of all. It was so loud she thought for certain everyone surrounding her could feel it in their own chests. It overpowered everything, and Aelin blinked to try and clear her mind. To ground herself. She was stronger than this. She could pace herself from the pain but it cut deeper than the physical and she thought her heart would break and she tried, she tried, she tried to focus. Still, she could hardly hear Elide’s sobs from somewhere in the distance, a mumbled cry of “oh gods” over, and over, and over again and she couldn’t hear Maeve’s command to start over and she couldn’t pick up Rowan’s strangled choke because all she could hear was the rampant thump - thump - thump of her heart, over and over and over and —

A crack. A scream — no, two. Overlapping cries of pain, tugging her quickly back into the reality set before her. Aelin’s knees buckled beneath her and she hung limp from the hands of the males holding her. She couldn’t tell where her cries ended and Rowan’s began as he wailed with a ferocity that served to remind how feral creatures the Fae could be. Her throat was hoarse and she tasted the metallic iron of her blood in her mouth from where she clamped down on her cheek in a brief and futile effort to remain silent.

She heard the dull thump of the whip hitting earth followed then by a louder sound that could only be Rowan falling to his knees.

“I knew you were holding back, Rowan. Much better.”

Aelin didn’t need to view her face to imagine the sickly sweet smile on the woman’s face, but when Maeve stepped in front of her, her suspicions were confirmed. Her vision was blurry, but she lifted her chin defiantly and raised her eyes.

“And you, niece,” Maeve began in a sugary coo. “Are you still so sure you don’t want to tell me what number that was?”

Aelin spat at her feet in response.

“Not very polite, are you? Good thing we’ll have plenty of time, you and I, to learn manners befitting a princess.”

“Queen.”

His voice was rasped, broken. Aelin could hear the struggle in the short syllable. She couldn’t be sure how the mating bond and blood oath warred within Rowan’s body and soul, but the effect they had was wrecking him. That much was certain.

“What was that, Rowan?” Maeve sneered.

“A — queen,” he panted, slightly stronger this time. Aelin twisted her head as much as she could and managed to just barely take in his figure as he knelt. It was a decided action, no longer slumped forward in anguish. No, he knelt before her now in an act of defiance against Maeve. It worried Aelin that she allowed it of her commanded, wondering what retaliation would be served.

x

“My Queen,” Rowan said, stronger still.

His eyes were on Aelin, only Aelin, her form regaining some tiny semblance of strength in lieu of the whipping. His own chest began to ease moderately, though it worried him to feel a slackening of Maeve’s otherwise tight leash on his will. His breath began to steady again and he took the opportunity to rise, slowly. He found himself briefly thankful for his controller’s tendency to play with her food, to toy with and enjoy the things before breaking them for no reason other than she could. It was a thin line, he knew, but if it could just grant him time to think …

“Isn’t that just precious,” Maeve tittered. “Have you forgotten your loyalties so easily, my dear?” Rowan said nothing. “Come closer and speak, Rowan.”

“No,” he shuddered once his legs brought him forward. He stood in Aelin’s line of sight. It was the truth regarding his loyalties, of course. Maeve certainly had demonstrated where his loyalties were locked. Throughout it all, he was unable to forget them.

“Consider this my wedding gift to you,” she said after a pause, once more adopting that sickly sweet tone, “and don’t move.”

He didn’t, though his brows furrowed in slight confusion and he saw Aelin shift from the holds of the two large Fae males keeping her in place.

“Lorcan,” Maeve beckoned, the male moving forward from his space nearby. “Continue where we left off.”

And the male did. Again, and again, and again. Still, Aelin refused to count. Rowan found himself faced with a new kind of torture, the nightmares rolling into real life each as bad or worse than the one before. Where the blood oath previously kept him causing hurt to his mate, it now held him rooted to the spot and utterly helpless. He didn’t need to watch her to feel the pain, its transference shooting down the bond they shared. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and back in a mocking mimicry of Aelin’s blood drip-dripping into the earth.

Please, he begged silently willing his wife to hear. But what he begged for he couldn’t be sure. For her to do as Maeve wished? For her to forgive him of both his action and inaction? For it all to end, then and there, the torture too much to handle? Pleasepleaseplease —

“Majesty, it might be prudent to postpone until later.” The words came from the smaller of the males holding Aelin, and Maeve’s attention turned from a panting Rowan (oh, how she enjoyed watching his pain) to the source of the voice. “Others are approaching,” he explained.

Maeve considered, and Rowan felt his heart speeding up. If he could just buy them time —

“Very well. Get her ready.”

Aelin’s eyes, bloodshot and silvered with tears and pain, reached Rowan’s in a panic. Neither had time to feel thankful as Lorcan dropped the whip, because soon it became clear what new torture was being set forward.

“I love you,” she breathed.

An iron box and chains.

“To whatever end,” she finished.

A mask.

Rowan struggled against the blood oath but it was fruitless. Maeve’s hold was too much, ran too deep — even as her attention was divided. Because soon the elaborate iron mask was in his commander’s hands and she was strapping it to Aelin’s face and whispering something not even his Fae hearing could pick up.

Maeve allowed the finishing touches to be accomplished by the other males, giving her the chance to return to Rowan’s side. She didn’t release him, kept him glued to the spot and silent. The iron chains clamping around his mate’s wrists and ankles clanged through his own body and for the second time that hour he felt the strong urge to empty his stomach. Bile itched up his throat and he swallowed it down. Silver lined his eyes, vision blurred from tears and pain alike.

“You could have had so much honor, Rowan.”

Her words were said aloud but he felt them in his body, too, as she seemed to amplify her thoughts and whims through their blood oath. It created a sickly sensation throughout his entire body, down to the very fibers of his nerves which prickled, torn, dizzying, between blood and soul. He was shaking in place, his heart throbbing wildly in his chest as he stood powerless, spent of any ability or free will and able only to watch his wife and his carranam, his mate and his queen be locked, now, into an iron box. His throat was on fire.

“Take her away,” she ordered briefly, a lilt to her tongue, the command said as casually as the weather. The males snapped into action. “Speak, Rowan,” she said, now, to him, twisting to look at him. Her face was alight with pleasure and amusement.

“Please,” he rasped, and then his body fell forward with the release of her command to keep him still. He vomited into the sand, limbs shaking as he tried to move forward, to run forward, but his body was stuck in a fit of betrayal. “Please,” he choked again.

“The thing is, you could have had so much honor. Oh, but you severed that ages ago with a fickle sense of loyalty. This was nothing more than a little bit of discipline, Prince,” she said with a cool calm that one might use to a child crying over a lost toy. His knees threatened to buckle but his body resisted, pulled up and taut by Maeve’s control. His brain reached in earnest for the thread that tied him to Aelin, trying anything. Anything. But their tether was fragile, as if the iron dulled her to him. His stomach retched in a dry heave again

Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius watched, helpless, as Maeve retreated with a smile that made him want to rip her face off bit by bit, starting with those cruel and sadistic lips. Her back never turned on him as she approached her henchmen and Lorcan. Her pace never sped up, unlike his heart which threatened to stop from sheer force.

And while she was well outside his reach by the time her words floated to him, they were loud in clear through his mind.

“I strip you of the blood oath, released with dishonor, shame, and pity,” but there was amusement in her voice and one last echo in his ear before he fell to his knees of his own free will: “Let the games begin.”

And Rowan released a scream that might have shattered kingdoms before his world went dark.