#so if anyone wants to take a crack at it be my guest (and tag me :3)

[dancing-with-the-madmen]

The Massive Aggression of Calico Jack, redux

Several kind souls have complained brought it to my attention that my failure to use cut tags is, in fact, not optimal. I don't have any good reason that I don't use cuts - mostly I'm just throwing these thoughts out here so they don't endlessly rattle around my brain. Frankly, I'm endlessly astonished anyone but me can be arsed to bother wading through them at all. So, after a truly epic tantrum thoughtful consideration, I've decided to edit my longer posts to add cuts. If you've already read them, (may endless blessings rain down upon you) there's no new content (vile lies and calumny. I'm going to take this opportunity to fix errors and add a line here or there, but nothing major). Just making it more scroll-friendly. You'll know it when you see the word "redux" in the title. So without further ado...

I’ve been trying for a while to put my finger on exactly what it is about Our Flag Means Death's Calico Jack that makes me want to crawl out of my skin and smother him to death with my own abandoned ecdysis.

I mean, I normally love me a spurned admirer/cock-blocking ex. Romantic comedies have their beats, and there’s obviously no serious danger the love interest will end up with anyone other than their intended, so I may as well sit back and enjoy the machinations. After all, the course of true love never did run smooth, and these bitches are here to rough some shit up for sure. I also love Will Arnett. Hands down favorite recurring character on 30 Rock. The second best Batman after TAS (fight me). I can even cheerfully bear his Reese’s commercials if I must bear commercials at all.

Real-life Calico Jack? One of my v. favorite pirates. He wore floral-printed cotton from India as a fuck you to the British tax man. He had an affair with Anne Bonny and offered to purchase her divorce when her husband found out. The two ran away together into piracy when Bonny’s husband refused to quit her and had her whipped for her infidelity. Mary Read was part of Jack and Anne’s crew, and possibly their lover. We love a hopeless romantic, possibly polyamorous king. 

So what is it about OFMD Calico Jack that makes him so acutely punchable?

I’ve rewatched the episode several times (oh my v. dears, I really hope this write-up is worth it. I am SO BRAVE to subject myself to this), and I think I’ve finally got it. It’s not just that he’s a loud, vulgar, hectoring, drunken jackass of a bird-murderer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have as little patience for his brand of mindless destruction and violence-for-violence-sake as Stede does, but that’s not all.  It’s that he’s also a master of passive aggression.

Jack does the little whisper-y “Sorry! Sorry!” when Stede wants to know what’s with all the cannon fire, but immediately starts grinning like an unrepentant varlet as soon as he drops his hands.

And then accepts Stede’s introductory handshake with clear derision.

When Stede says he wasn’t expecting guests and there’s only two settings at brekkie, Jack doesn’t wait for Stede to sort things out, and he’s already lowering himself into Stede’s chair by the time Stede invites him to take his spot. He then purposefully keeps steering the conversation to topics that exclude Stede from participating, and cuts Stede short when he tries to reign the conversation back.

He insinuates Stede is less of a pirate for being “store bought”

He refuses to get Stede’s name right, even when corrected. Twice.

And is just SO insincere when calling him back.

And, just, the whole pissing contest scene.

But so what? We’ve had other passive aggressive assholes on the show; Badminton with his cracks about Stede’s tiny dick ship, the French captain’s slurs, Gabriel simpering about Jeff the Accountant’s dining manners. I’m not shedding any tears for their respective fates, but none of them made me want to crawl through the screen and sew all their face holes shut. Because Jack isn’t just passive-aggressive (and aggressive-aggressive), he might just be the most savvy reader-of-rooms we see on the show, and purposefully and systematically leverages his passive aggression to manipulate the actions of those around him for the purpose of making Ed and Stede betray their better selves and make them do the work of driving a wedge between themselves.   That was a lot in one sentence.  Let me break it down.

Jack uses passive aggression to achieve one of four goals: to nettle, to undermine, (seemingly paradoxically) to reinforce connections, or to coerce. And, if he can manage to achieve different goals for more than one target with the same attack? So much the better. And he’s frankly just astonishingly good at doing so. Like, I’d admire him for it if it didn’t also make me want to make him swallow all of his own teeth.

The basic gameplan goes thusly (this is not a strictly chronological list, a lot of these tactics take place concurrently and recurrently): Stede is the primary target, so Jack nettles him with passive aggressive comments, which puts him on the back foot and undermines his self-confidence. He reinforces his relationship with Ed in ways that excludes Stede and undermines Stede’s relationship with Ed and Ed’s relationship with Stede. Jack uses coercive tactics with Ed and the crew, which undermines Stede’s relationships with them, isolating and othering Stede, which further tanks his mood, which leads him to self-isolate. When Stede eventually lashes out at Ed for falling for Jack’s bullshit, Ed has no idea what’s got Stede so out-of-sorts; Jack has so carefully lead Ed to making the choices that have alienated Stede that they seem like they were Ed’s ideas in the first place. And if Ed has made the choices to do these things, then they are clearly just a reflection of who he is, which, if Stede is lashing out against them, then Stede is rejecting him. Wedge set and match.

So let’s look at the specifics.

Jack’s interactions with Ed are like a masterclass in neurolinguistic programming for evil. First, he plys Ed with booze from the very start. Just look at the bottle in this shot from right after they blow up the dresser drawer.

That bottle or rum is over half gone, and the sky in the background is the peachy-pink of sunrise. This isn’t the bottle Jack had with him in his dinghy; that one he drained and then threw in the air and tried to shoot before coming aboard the Revenge. Which means that they’ve consumed over half the bottle between just the two of them in a very short amount of time.   Alcohol, of course, is a social lubricant - the physical warmth it produces mimicking the “warm, fuzzy” feeling of true comradery, and, more importantly, decoupling the decision-making process from inhibition (that is to say, Ed isn’t necessarily doing anything he absolutely wouldn’t otherwise do, but he might otherwise think twice).

But it’s more insidious than just having a few drinks with an old friend. Jack specifically gamifies the consumption of alcohol to reinforce the coupling of the feeling of inebriation with the comradery engendered by teamwork and excitement of success in order to encourage Ed to drink more than he necessarily otherwise would. Ed confirms to Stede during his apology that the idea to use the drawers of the armoire for target practice came from Jack, and we saw that a bullseye meant that Jack had to take a drink, but Ed didn’t. Presumably, there would have been some consequence for a “miss”, and it seems likely that it would be Ed has to take a drink and not Jack. In this way, Jack is able to exert a measure of control over how much Ed is drinking (by missing on purpose) while making it look like the responsibility lies with Ed and his skill as a thrower. This pattern of sneakily controlling Ed’s actions while making it seem like Ed is the one who made or is responsible for the decision will pop up again and again during their interactions.

After the apologies for waking Stede, Jack steps into the space where Ed is gesticulating to make himself readily available to be touched, reenforcing the bond between them, but letting Ed be the one to instigate the touching.

At brekkie, he pours rum into Ed’s teacup without asking or being asked while Ed’s attention is diverted by getting food.

Jack’s collaring of the conversation does not just function as a means of making Stede feel excluded, he’s also refreshing and reinforcing the bonds he and Ed forged under adversity. Talking over Stede also demonstrates that what he has to say is more important than anything Stede might contribute.

Note that just before Jack cut him off, Stede had referred to Ed as Blackbeard (“Blackbeard and I met on a ship”). This may be innocently explained away; if you meet a person from a facet of a close friend’s life with which you do not intersect, you might refer to said friend by their given name instead of a nickname that the other person might not know, for the sake of common frame of reference. But this is the opposite of that - referring to a friend by a nickname instead of the given name that you both presumably know. That suggests to me that the seed of the Ed/Blackbeard dichotomy has already been planted in Stede’s mind by the morning’s shenanigans. And when Jack invites Stede back into participating in the conversation by talking about something he knows Stede would find upsetting (the wanton cruelty of Ed purposefully trapping people to be burned alive, couched in what sounds like sincere admiration for his friend’s piratical prowess), Jack has picked up on that distinction and is leaning into it HARD. He WANTS Stede to see Ed as a collection of behaviors he finds palatable, and Blackbeard as a collection of behaviors he finds repulsive, and then coerce Ed into performing those “Blackbeard behaviors” in order to coerce Stede to drive the wedge by rejecting him. Fucking diabolical.

When Jack is calling Stede a “big girl,” or “store-bought,” or purposefully getting his name wrong, he’s not just throwing barbs that play on Stede’s insecurities (and with such harrowing precision, too; calling on the effeminacy for which he was tormented as a child, his body image issues that we’ve also seen him struggle with under the tender mercies of Badminton - both brain-ghost and original flavor - and the authenticity of his claim to piracy, which we’ve seen him confess that he fears he’s ill-qualified to claim to Jim, Oluande, and Ed. I mean,triple bullseye for this fucking guy). He’s also using these public declarations to undermine Stede’s authority in front of his crew, and establish himself as the real authority on things like piracy and masculinity. He further reinforces this idea by withholding the story of how he saved Ed’s life under the guise of false modesty; people never want something more than when they’re told they can’t have it. And what they’re being told they can’t have is the story of how Jack was so amazing that he even managed to save the life of the coolest, most legendary pirate they know. This withholding primes the crew to think even more highly of Jack and hang on his every word.

This puts Jack into a position where he can pressure the crew into things that sound fun at first blush (like diving off the yardarm or having a snowball fight, but with coconuts), but end up hurting more than anything. Of course, within this dynamic, no one wants to admit they aren’t having a good time, or don’t want to do it; to do so would be tantamount to admitting you are less of a man or not a real pirate. So when Stede refuses to participate, or admits his discomfort or disgust with the proceedings, he’s doing Jack’s work for him, and further alienating himself, and solidifying the roles Jack had put into place where Jack is the fun, cool guy, and Stede is the killjoy that no one should listen to.

Stede unwittingly plays right into Jack’s design when he tries to stand up for himself and wrest back a modicum of respect before things get too far out of hand. He’s well-versed in the world of passive aggression, and sees what Jack is doing. He also knows that you can’t call it out because passive aggression comes with a built in cover of plausible deniability gaslighting. So instead, he tries to push back with a little passive aggression of his own, suggesting that a real pirate has a ship and a crew. Sadly, Stede is not nearly so adroit at wielding passive aggression as Jack is. Jack uses the story (and we know that Izzy sent him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole mutiny thing is just a story; I could even easily read that slight hesitation after Stede asks his question as Jack deciding on what would be the most effective cover story, instead of hesitancy to admit to something shameful) of his crew’s mutiny to casually re-sow the idea of mutiny on the Revenge. It’s played for comedy when the crew starts talking about how they almost mutinied on Stede and probably will again, but you can’t tell me this hasn’t been a major concern for Stede ever since the first episode. So Jack’s not only got the crew trying to buoy his spirits by assuring him that his crew mutinying on his doesn’t mean he’s a bad person; it’s just something that happens! He’s also got them low-key committing to a future mutiny WITHIN EARSHOT OF STEDE.

Additionally, while Stede is well-steeped in the ways of passive aggression, his crew and Ed are not. They are not particularly sophisticated at identifying passive aggression on its own merits as opposed to the reaction it provokes, which can make it look like they don’t care when it’s being leveraged against Stede, undermining his ability to trust they will look out for him. Stede stoically putting up with Jack’s jibes makes them even more difficult to identify as hurtful. Jack’s (fake) emotional reaction to Stede’s sally might make him look momentarily weak, but allows Ed and the crew to unequivocally identify who is in the wrong and react accordingly. By positioning himself as a victim, he villainizes Stede, further undermining Stede’s authority, and placing him in a position where he owes Jack recompense. Thus, Jack is able to manipulate Stede into the trap of Dead Man’s Cove and make it look like it was Stede’s own idea. I mean, the Xanatos Speed Chess of it all.

What’s heartbreaking to me is how Jack’s wedge-driving and othering of Stede is working so well that at this point we start to hear it from other sources. As they approach the island and Stede suggests going for a swim or taking a nature walk, Ed is the one who tells him, “I think with this crowd, I think they want something a little more…” Not Jack would want something more exciting, this crowd. Jack’s exclusionary rhetoric out of Ed’s mouth.

Which is exactly the time Jack decides to up the ante.

I want to take a minute to look at the immediate lead up to yardies, because I think it’s an excellent illustration of how Jack looks like a lumbering boor, but his actions are actually so carefully considered and nuanced. He runs up from behind Stede and Ed and throws his arms around them shouting “Yardies!” literally insinuating himself between them, which interrupts anything that was going on between them, puts them off balance, and focuses the attention on him. Then, when he says “Who’s up for yardies?” he makes eye-contact with Ed - the implicit social expectation being “You, Ed, are up for yardies.” When he turns to Stede, it is to literally laugh in his face. I mean, the absolute cheek.

Until this point, the crew of the Revenge have been passive participants in Jack’s hooliganry. They watched him perform whippies, and got whipped at without encouraging him to do so. They listened to his and Ed’s stories. But now Jack is cashing in on his established expertise of what real pirates do to coerce the crew into taking part in a dangerous stunt. It’s more of the “Blackbeard behavior” dichotomy he started sowing in Stede’s mind at brekkie, but now he’s extending it beyond Ed to the whole crew. He wants Stede to feel like he’s all alone in a sea of idiocy, but he wants him to come to the conclusion on his own by making it seem like Ed and the crew are doing things of which he would disapprove of their own accord.

Once we get to the island, we see the activities take a turn from the careless Jackass-ery of whippies and yardies to the abject cruelty of turtle vs. crab. There’s no saying that Jack organized the fight, but we do see the crew handing him various trinkets to be used in gambling on a winner, which certainly suggests he was the central figure in how the game was established. We also see that, though he has been presenting himself as a drunkard, there’s no bottle in his hand or around him in the sand. There is, however, one in Ed’s hand, who is directly to his side. I can easily see him handing it off so he could handle the gambling stakes, the real intention being to keep Ed readily supplied with booze.

And then we have the pissing contest. Jack’s got Stede literally and metaphorically isolated, and now it’s time to really drive it all home. Every moment of their interaction is designed to drive Stede to distraction; the amount of derision he lays on the phrase “Your good, close buddy,” the insinuation that he and Ed are just alike, and then being as rude and crass as possible. And because he’s read the room - the intimate breakfast for two, Ed’s little touches and the way Stede smiles at them, the way they keep going off together for little chats - of course Jack’s just got to twist the knife and allude to his and Ed’s former sexual history. So now that he’s got Stede primed, it’s time to name the fear: “Maybe you don’t know him at all.”

At this point, Stede is left to wonder: does he? Blackbeard’s reputation preceded him, after all. And he’s been acting so differently since the appearance of one of his oldest friends. It’s not the violence qua violence, per se; Stede is by turns delighted and impressed by the violence he’s seen Ed and his crew employ in the heat of battle in the pursuit of piracy. It’s the cruel and senseless violence that Stede objects to, and that’s exactly the brand that Jack has been peddling, and which Ed has gone along with so enthusiastically. And it’s not JUST the violence; Ed apologizes for Jack when he recognizes Jack has crossed a line in a typically agro way (destroying Stede’s belongings, and insulting Stede to his face), but it never occurs to Stede that his insistence on persevering with quietly aggrieved dignity in the face of Jack’s slights would make it nigh impossible for Ed to identify that Jack has crossed all sorts of other lines, and Stede is hurting because of it. For Stede, it must be frustrating and mystifying why Ed keeps letting his friend get away with his passive aggressive bullshit. Doesn’t he care? 

Is it any wonder that one more failure to notice how Jack has riled him, and one more act of coconut-flavored Jackass-ary is enough to break the dam, and for Stede to spill all that built-up hurt on Ed?  Is it any wonder that Ed is bewildered at where all this is coming from? I’ve talked before about Ed’s tendency to fawn on people, and how, as an emotional chameleon, he would have difficulty identifying when the motivation for his actions is self-directed or externally dictated. Jack has further confounded this distinction by manipulating scenarios to make it seem like participation in all the Jackass-ary he has instigated was voluntary instead of coerced. When Stede says “I don’t like who you are around  this guy” what he means is “I don’t like how this guy is able to manipulate you into acting on your very worst impulses”, but what Ed hears is “I don’t like you”. For who is he, if not the collection of behaviors he chooses to exhibit? And were those choices not entirely his to make? With the rift clearly established, if in its infancy, of course Jack is going to do everything he can to foster its growth. So again, he interrupts Stede, again implicitly signaling that Ed should pay attention to what he says and not Stede. By lobbing the coconut at Ed at that moment, he forestalls any possible clearing of the air between Ed and Stede, and causes Ed to literally turn his back on Stede, in the way Ed feels Stede has emotionally turned his back on him just moments earlier. Jack reinforces this idea of turning his back on Stede again moments later when he says “Don’t go!” and immediately turns Ed around by the shoulders.

I know that I’ve been laying it on a bit thick and prolly sound like the written embodiment of the red string conspiracy meme, but I’m about to get a whole lot worse, and I’m going to ask you to stick with me, oh my v. dears. I think Jack killed Karl on purpose.

I know, I know. It was an accident! He was flailing drunkenly! But was he?

Have we seen him take so much as a single drink since the cannon fire at the beginning of the episode? Even though he’d been drinking earlier, did he not have devastating precision and accuracy when he first demonstrated Whippies - shattering every glass, snapping the cards from the Swede’s fingers, and ball-tapping Ed without permanently maiming him or even splitting the leather of his pants? In fact, while nearly every other crew member on the deck has a bottle in hand, just like on the beach, Jack does not.

Jack knows he has to get Ed off the ship before the British show up, but he can’t just say “Let’s ditch these losers” and expect Ed to agree, especially since he’s spent most of the day roping the crew into his schemes. The most effective way to get Ed to follow is if Jack is rejected for just being himself and doing what he does, just like Ed feels he was earlier by Stede. I think the original plan was to goad Olu into seriously hurting the Swede, the fallout of which would be recriminations that Jack made them do it, and Jack getting aggrieved that he was just trying to show this ungrateful lot how to have a good time, skulking off and leading Ed to follow him and reassure him that he’s really a good guy - how could he have known it would turn out like that? But when Buttons calls a halt to the proceedings and it looks like everyone is going to pack it in, Jack has to think fast. If HE maims a crew mate, that would be a bridge too far, painting him as the bad guy. But Karl? He’s just a bird. And if Jack can get a little revenge on the weird bird guy who made him change his plan, so much the better. AND, as people with far fewer auditory processing issues than I have pointed out, Jack mutters that he expected there to be more feathers. Could the evidence be any more damning?

Of course the whole ship turns on him, and then here’s Stede to order him off, explicitly rejecting him the way he metaphorically rejected Ed. But when even that isn’t enough to get Ed to follow him, Jack pulls out one last, desperate manipulation - the debt of life.

Jack’s tragic flaw is that he can’t turn it off. Once he and Ed are alone, he turns his passive aggressive assault on Ed, pressuring him into drinking the morning away by sarcastically saying he didn’t know he had an audience with the pope when Ed expresses disinterest, and, ultimately, giving up the game when he mentions with casual derision how he’d heard of Ed shaking up with Stede, and then deriding Ed for his failure to spot Jack’s machinations.

Too bad Jack didn’t know that the punishment for passive-aggressive fuckery on this show is death…

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #calico jack

[the-broken-truth]

Missing Piece - Yandere Leona Kingscholar [Part 2]

Summary: Leona closed the business partnership deal with the new company and learned a few new things in the process. Now, he can focus on more important matters.

Broken (Pulling the shirt collar while blushing under her mask): There might be some language in this one that is not something I would usually write, but it fits the theme, so I will wear the Hat of Shame later. Now, let the words weave together.

Tag-List: @vee-love

Leona stood in the middle of the COO's Office with his hands in his pockets while he wanted for her to arrive; the receptionist told him that he was a few minutes early and the COO was currently taking a call with her mother - The CEO of United Industries. United Industries used to be a simple start-up company a few years ago but their message and motto, coupled with their drive to get things done with swiftness and certainty made them liked by everyone and businesses started signing up with them left and right; Leona hated to admit it, but this company radiated an aura that was more peaceful than his Father's Company.

He passed by the break room while being led to the COO's Office and caught a glimpse of it; it was fully furnished with everything a break room needed and even more. There was even a flat-screen television and 2 of the workers - a Wolf Beastman & a Human Woman - were playing some kind of video game while two others were talking between the vending machines, one containing snacks while the other contained drinks, however, they didn't charge money; a simple swipe of an Employee or Guest ID Card allowed anyone to get their treats.

He just stood there looking at the ground, calm upon his face but a storm of emotions dancing in his emerald green eyes. After seven years, he found her again; the one who had consumed his very thoughts since the moment he met her at the festival. Yuu was his world - the only person who understood him and his desires without judging him about them; he wanted her forever but he had to go and mess everything up by telling her to get rid of the symbol of their unity; the child that would grow into the Young Leonis. Leona cracked a smile when a thought crossed his mind.

'Leonis... She wanted to give him my name but made it unique; just like he is. He looks just like me with his mother's eyes and kind nature. My boy...' His hand reached up and grabbed the side of his head gently as he envisioned himself holding Leonis in his arms with Yuu by his side as the 3 of them took a family photo that would be converted into a grand painting to hang in the Kingscholar Estate. That's when the thoughts came back and started to taint his fantasy.

He remembered when Yuu texted him all those years ago and told him that her child would have no knowledge of Leona or his ties to the illustrious Kingscholar Family; which meant that Leonis had no idea that he was a rightful heir to the Kingscholar Family. The anger within Leona kicked up again when he realized that his son - his one and only son - had been robbed of the life he was meant to have as a member of the Kingscholar Bloodline.

He was meant to be draped in silks and sleep under blankets with thousand thread counts.

He should be dining on the finest meats and drinking the purest of juices for breakfast.

He should have been driven around and defended by the best guard while he attended the best possible schools!

He should have been decorated with the finest gems - a crown fit for a prince. He was a Prince!

Leona exhaled as the thoughts slowed down, he lowed his hand when he realized a very critical point, 'I was one the who robbed him of the life he was meant to have.'. He closed his eyes and hung his head in shame before inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, he opened his eyes and started looking around the office when his green eyes landed on something on the wall behind the COO's Desk.

5 Large Images were hanging on the wall by 4 large embedded nails, and 4 smaller squares were surrounded by a larger square in the center. Leona walked closer to the image without crossing the desk and his eyes widened: He saw Leonis & Yuu in the images taken at different times.

In the upper left corner, there are two people - Leonis and Yuu. The picture seems to have been taken at a party location, as the room is decorated for some kind of celebration. They are holding a large Vanilla Sheet Cake with rainbow sprinkles scattered all over it. Some words are written in blue icing, but it's not clear what they say from the angle of the photo. However, the large candle in the shape of the number 5 placed in the center of the cake suggests that it's Leonis' 5th birthday party. As Leona looks at his son's face in the picture, he is saddened by the fact that he couldn't be there for any of his birthday parties. Leonis looks happy with a wide smile on his face, which breaks his heart.

In the lower left was a single image of Leonis in some kind of Dojo, dressed in a white karate gi with his long hair tied in a back ponytail, his blue eyes narrowed in focus, his lion ears narrowed back, and a fist thrust out as he stood in perfect form. From what Leona could gather, this image was of Leonis' First Ever Karate Class judging by the white belt tied around his waist. Leona smiled at the sight and thought of his son taking up fighting styles as a hobby; the Kingscholar Male smiled at his son's visage in the photo.

The picture in the lower right was of Leonis and Yuu in the kitchen of some house; their house, Leona hoped. They were wearing aprons and their faces were covered in flour along with smiles on their faces as they were rolling out fresh dough with rolling pins; were they making pizza or cookies? What season was this taken in? Could they be making Christmas Cookies?

'Yuu still makes cookies? I love cookies. Now I want cookies. There's a store down the street, maybe I can get some.' Leona was thinking for a while before he shook his head, 'No, it won't taste the same. I want Yuu's Cookies.'.

In the upper right corner, there was a man carrying Leonis on his shoulders. This man had black hair with silver on the sides and blue eyes like Yuu's, but his skin was slightly darker. He appeared to be strong and muscular, with two silver dog tags around his neck shining in the sunlight. The tight black shirt he was wearing showed off his muscles, indicating that he was a man of action. Leona remembered Yuu telling him about her father's military background. Leona looked at the man holding his grandson with a look of pride on his face and felt irritated. That was the look that should only be reserved for him as Leonis was his son, his pride and joy. Despite Leonis being that man's grandson, Leona was eager to have his own son soon.

It was the picture in the center that really broke Leona's Heart. It was the day Leonis was born. Yuu sat in the middle of a hospital bed with a small bundle in her arms; that bundle was the newborn Leonis with his eyes closed, very little hair that poked from under the blue blanket he was wrapped up with and his small ears resting on the top of his head as he slept peacefully. Around the newborn and new mother were surrounded by people - people that Leona didn't know; complete strangers in Leona's eyes but he understood that these people were important to Yuu and he was not there at the moment. He lowered his gaze to the nameplate under the central image and his fist balled up as his eyes narrowed.

Leonis Sato - Lion Strength of the Sato Family

Sato?

Sato?!

He is a Kingscholar Heir!

Leona's teeth locked in a snarl as he looked at the nameplate; he wanted to reach and scratch out the surname before engraving his name over the ruin. Leonis was his son, his flesh and blood; his only heir. Just like Yuu, she was destined to be his from the first moment; he would dream about her taking his last name and becoming one with him entirely. Leona was drifting off into his fantasy world when the door opened and he looked over his shoulder, coming face-to-face with the COO of United Industries.

"Hello, Mr. Kingscholar. Thank you for arriving for our meeting." She held her hand out to him, "I am Marianna Walker - The COO of United Industries."

"Leona Kingscholar - President of Kingscholar Incorparated. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Walker." Leona said before shaking her hand with a firm hand.

"Indeed. I noticed you looking at the pictures I have on my wall; nine pictures, don't you think?" Marianna asked as she looked over at the images with a smile on her face.

"I was actually more interested in the picture frame - I never saw a shape like that, however, the pictures are nice as well. Relatives of yours?" Leona asked; he had to play his cards right to find out just how the COO knew his son and future wife but he couldn't risk her knowing that he was Leonis' Biological Family; there were too many Madols riding on this deal.

"I suppose you can say that! The boy is my God-Nephew: Leonis! The woman with him is his mother and my God-Sister: Yuu. That little boy is the light of all of our lives and I love watching him grow up." Marianna explained; Leona wanted to glare at her, but he kept a smile on his face. "Oh, dear! We are getting side-tracked! I'm sure you are very busy on this day; let us get on with our meeting! Do you have the contract?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Leona said as he reached into the satchel and withdrew the folder that contained the contact; while Marianna was reading the contract, Leona kept looking at the images behind her head. He needed to get his hands on some pictures; he did have some empty frames he never got around to using.

[After The Meeting (I'm Too Lazy To Write The Meeting)]

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Walker; thank you for agreeing to do business with us. We look forward to future projects." Leona said as he started walking to the door.

"To you as well, Mr. Kingscholar! Have a pleasant day!" Marianna waved him goodbye as he walked out of the office and left the business building. Marianna smiled at her job before her personal phone started ringing, she pulled it out and smiled at the contact before answering her phone before putting it to her ear.

"Hey! What's going on?" Marianna asked.

[...]

"Yeah, I just got done with the meeting! We signed another deal with a major corporation! Things are really looking up for us! I'm so glad the meeting is over, that guy was really intimidating even though he was so kind." Marianna smiled.

[...]

"Yeah! When you are sitting across from a Freaking Lion Beastman from a powerful family like the Kingscholars with nothing but a desk between the two of you, you tend to get the shivers." Marianna said.

[...]

"His name? I believe it was Leona Kingscholar - He's the President of his father's company. Why do you ask? Do you happen to know him?" Marianna said.

[...]

"You went to school with him? Wait, why do you sound so pissed off right now?" Marianna asked.

[...]

"He what?!" Marianna yells before exhaling, "I need the whole story. NOW!"

[With Leona]

"Here is your order, Sir." The barista said as she handed the coffee to Leona.

"Thank you." Leona pulled out his wallet and placed a generous amount of madols into the tip jar before taking his coffee and going to go sit in a booth in a quick corner of the cafe. He looked at the coffee before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, he dialed a number and placed the phone to his ear. The call was connected on the 3rd ring.

[Hello?]

"It's me." Leona said.

[Kingscholar? It's been a long time since I've heard your voice.]

"I usually wouldn't, however, I require your services. I need someone discreet and accurate to do a delicate task and you were the first person I thought about." Leona said.

[At least you know greatness when you see it. What's the job, Kingscholar?]

"I found her. After all this time, I finally found her, and I need to collect as much information as I possibly can about her." Leona said.

[Her? Wait, are you talking about Yuu? You found her after all these years?!"]

"Yes, and she wasn't alone." Leona said.

[What? Did she get married?]

"No, she's currently unwed but that is going to change in the future. When I said that she wasn't alone, I was talking about her son. My son. Our son." Leona said.

[What?! She had the kid?! She had a son?! Whoa, I guess that means Cheka has a cousin now! Have you told your family yet?"]

"No, I need to make sure I have what belongs to be back before I even think about bringing them around the rest of the pride." Leona growled.

[Oh... So, what do you need from me?]

"Information. Everything you can find. I want to know where they live, where Leonis goes to school, where Yuu works, who she hangs out with, who my son's friends and teachers are, any possible events or activities he participates in, the location of the Sato Family house, as well as the location of Marianna Walker - she's Yuu's God-Sister and Leonis' God-Aunt. I need everything you can find and I need it as soon as possible." Leona stated his demands.

[You're asking for a lot, Kingscholar.]

"This means a lot to me. I'll pay whatever you want, just do all that you can to get me the information you can get your hands on." Leona said.

[Alright, fine. Give me some time and I will call when have everything for the presentation. Talk to you later, Kingscholar.]

[Call Disconects]

Leona pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the background of his phone - a picture of himself and Yuu when they first started dating. A smile crept along his face.

"We'll be together again. All 3 of us. I let you both go once before... I will not make that same mistake again." Leona swore as he looked at the photo before sipping his coffee and leaning back in his chair, "Yuu makes it better."

[END]

#twisted wonderland #yandere leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x yuu #leona kingscholar x mc #morden like au #yandere #romantic yandere #platonic yandere

[creamsickle-writes]

Zoro x F!Reader (featuring Nami): Day 19

tags: nsfw, voyeurism, accidental exhibitionism, penetrative sex, and dirty talk

Nami’s eyes widened as she peeped through the door to her room. She expected you to be there; after all, it was your room too, but Zoro? His appearance had caught her by surprise.

But what surprised her even more, was the fact that you were bent over, Zoro’s nude body eclipsing yours.

Nami’s eyes widened, and her face grew warm as she listened to your unrestrained moans. You were shameless, begging for Zoro’s cock. The navigator had never heard those words come out of your mouth. Hell, you always seemed reserved and polite, vulgar words or jokes barely escaping your lips. But you the way you are now? It was like night and day.

“Zoro!” You gasped, “Give me more! Fuck me, fuck me!”

He chuckles, and Nami barely makes out his statement to you, “Keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?”

You bite your lip and whine, “Can’t help it. Feels so good! Love your cock more than anything, Zoro!”

“I know you do, filthy whore. You love it when I stuff you full, don’t you?”

“Hah,” you moan, arching your back, “Yes-!”

Nami swallowed thickly as she watched Zoro roughly fuck you, pulling your hair and gripping your breast. Her core began to light up with arousal as she watched. She knew you two had great sex, you would sometimes allude to fantastic nights, and your hickies and scratches would do the talking on days when you wouldn’t—but seeing it in person like this? It made Nami’s head spin.

Her hand slowly moved between her thighs, finally resting on her mound from underneath her skirt. She began rubbing at her slit from the outside of her panties, her body almost possessed by her sudden lust. Her chest rose and fell as she looked down the hallway, ensuring no one else was coming. She turned her attention back to you and Zoro, his hips snapping against your backside even faster now.

And then she let out a soft moan.

And Zoro’s head turned to look at the source of the noise.

“Looks like we have a guest.” Zoro chuckled as he pulled himself away from you. Nami’s heart stopped as he looked her dead in the eyes through the crack in the door. She instinctively covered her mouth and stepped back as if to conceal herself from the swordsman who had already spotted her.

You lifted your head and looked towards the door, your body freezing as you spotted the redhead.

“C’mon, Nami.” Zoro smirked, “Get in here.”

Her body moved on its own, one foot moving in front of the other as she made her way into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Zoro chuckled in your ear, “If Nami wants a show, let's give her one.”

Zoro effortlessly lifted you, pressing your back to his broad chest. He spread your legs apart, exposing your pink pussy to Nami’s eyes. The navigator turned red as you were spread out before her. You panted openly, your eyes never able to meet her own as she was looking elsewhere.

You bit your lip as Zoro pressed in again, his cock sliding in even deeper in this revealing position. Your eyes met Nami’s as you were thrust into, and your mouth hung wide open, just like the navigator’s. A moan escaped you as Zoro began bouncing you on his cock.

“Tell her how good it is.” Zoro chuckled, his fingers digging into your thighs.

You continued to look at Nami, your eyes set on her. The navigator’s mouth began to water as she watched you take Zoro in deep, your moans causing her core to light up with excitement.

“He’s so good, Nami!” You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut, “He’s so big and deep inside! He hits me- fuck- in all the right places! He’s gonna make me cum!”

Zoro laughed behind you, and you felt the rumbling come from his chest. Nami, meanwhile, stared at you both dumbfounded, her mouth slack and her eyes wide. You reached between your legs to rub at your clit, attempting to bring yourself over the edge. Sliding your fingers up and down, your clit throbs excitedly.

“Maybe I’ll let you suck my cock after I’m done fucking her on it.” Zoro laughed, and Nami’s face turned red, “You’d probably like that, pervert. Or do you only get off on watching other people?”

“Don’t worry, Nami,” You panted out, “I’ll show you just how Zoro likes it.” You laughed breathlessly, and Nami was still astonished at your brazen behavior.

Nami watched on, her eyes glued to where you and Zoro repeatedly met. She couldn’t deny that the concept of licking your juices off of Zoro’s cock was tempting, but she couldn’t openly express that. So she watched on, her thighs rubbing together to alleviate some pressure.

“I always thought that cook was the dirtiest person on this ship. But even he doesn’t spy on us when we’re fucking.” Zoro smirked, his hips still moving fast inside of you.

Nami was silent; her bottom lip pulled under her teeth as Zoro chastised her. Before he could continue the onslaught, your voice cut through the air.

“Zoro!”

“I know-” He grunted, burying his face in your shoulder, biting harshly at your skin. “Go ahead and cum.”

As if your body was wired to obey him, you immediately gush all over his cock. He grunted as he was close behind, his sticky seed filling you up. You two were left panting, and Nami watched on, her hand covering her mouth.

Zoro put you down on the bed and turned his attention towards Nami, “Next time, you should ask to watch instead of spying.”

#roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #nami #one piece #one piece smut #anime #fanfiction #x reader #cream's fics

[finduilasclln]

Welcome to my Buddie Fic Rec List!

Since I read so many Buddie fics, and some of them are so good, I thought I’d share them in some handy lists. I’ll be posting them in different categories, and you will be able to find all the posts HERE.

Disclaimer: Always read the tags and warnings! Also, tastes differ. These are my personal favorites, which doesn’t mean they’ll automatically be yours of course.

If you want to reblog and add some of your own favorites that fit the category, please be my guest! I always love discovering new fics. I will also add new recs of my own whenever I stumble upon them.

One last thing: Please like and comment when you’ve had a nice read. It means so much to authors to hear your thoughts! And don’t hesitate to share this post and spread the love for these fics around!

Buddie Fic Rec: "Lightning Strike / Buck's Coma".

Fics that are dealing with episodes 6.10 and 6.11 aka Buck getting hit by lightning and his subsequent coma. (Speculation as well as canon compliant)

It only falls into place when you're falling to pieces, by justhockey || 4759 words ||

“You don’t deserve him,” Eddie says. “You never have, and you never will.”

And then he hangs up the phone and lets out a ragged breath - one it sounds like he’s been holding for much longer than the length of that conversation.

It makes Buck’s fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch him. He’s reached through fire and over cliff sides, across blood-soaked asphalt and between a decades worth of trauma, all for Eddie. This - this is nothing.

one more tomorrow, by fallingthorns (@fallingthorns) || 4438 words ||

He presses Buck’s hand into his forehead and breathes in the scent of antiseptic that lingers on Buck’s skin. He doesn't understand how he missed so many clues, doesn't know how he's been so clueless. But he thinks that some part of him did know that he was in love with Buck, because he put him in his will and made him Christopher’s guardian. Some part of him, deep down, knew what Eddie himself didn’t even realize.

He exhales and squeezes Buck’s hand again. It’s not supposed to be like this – the will doesn’t cover this. It was never supposed to be Buck that goes first.

“Bobby,” he whispers, voice cracking as he closes his eyes against the dorsum of Buck’s hand again. “What am I going to do?” -- Or, in the hospital, Eddie waits, and thinks, and dreams.

coming back as we are, by markofalover (@markofalover) || 4178 words ||

“Hey, Buck,” Maddie cuts in, soft. “Evan. Look at me.”

Buck looks at her. His heart rate is up, he can hear it on the monitor, and the nurse is looking between them with a raised brow. He’ll have to remember to apologize later, after he gets to his—

“They’re in the waiting room.”

...or, wherever he was, Buck comes back.

the tide comes (and goes and goes), by renecdote (@renecdote) || 3402 words ||

It’s almost funny that Eddie brought him to the beach today. To the ocean. He doesn’t know—can’t know, Buck hasn’t told anyone—but Buck feels unbearably seen by it anyway. He almost wishes Bobby was here too, so he could let his captain wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “See? It didn’t take either of us.”

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck, Eddie, the beach, and conversations about okay.

For BTHB: hyperventilating

like the peel clings to the pomegranate, by fallingthorns (@fallingthorns) || 3482 words ||

Buck startles awake to Chris prying his eye open. Chris’s concerned expression swims into his vision as both eyes adjust, squinting at the morning sun streaming in through the window.

“You’ve been sleeping for fourteen hours,” Chris deadpans. Buck is still half asleep, but he catches the slight waver in his voice, can see his eyebrows furrowed as he watches Buck carefully. “You went to bed at seven last night, and now it’s nine in the morning.”

“Nine in the morning, huh?” Buck’s own voice resembles more of a croak as he sits up, muscles aching and head still throbbing. It’s all a result of being struck by lightning and in a coma for a few days, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

But what he does like is the smell of Eddie’s sheets, the pictures of him and Eddie and Chris on Eddie’s bedroom walls. He likes the feeling of Eddie’s arms around him in the middle of the night, making sure that he’s okay and breathing.

“Christopher.” Eddie’s voice hisses through the crack in the bedroom door. “I told you not to bother him.” -- Or, Buck recovers and doesn't quite realize what he means to others.

Raise my hand before I can speak my mind, by Mellaithwen (@mellaithwen) || 1696 words ||

“My name’s Eddie, by the way. Eddie Diaz.”

“Buck,” Evan says in response, before frowning. He’s never introduced himself as Buck in his entire life. “Uh—I mean—my name is Evan but…"

“But your friends call you Buck?”

Evan wants to say no, actually, because they don't. The youngest Buckley sibling has always gone by his first name, or his full surname. Never anything in between. The closest he’s ever come to having a nickname is when kids like to call him Mr Bee! And he buzzes back in response, but….Buck? No, that’s...that's new..

Eddie meets his son's favorite teacher, although it's not technically their first meeting at all... aka a coma!dream meet-cute.

let me know you (bedhead and morning breath), by burnthatbridge (@burnthatbridge) || 6157 words ||

When Eddie wakes, it’s to Buck’s arm slung across his chest, Buck’s ankle hooked over his, and Buck’s erection pressing into his hip.

Two out of three of those aren’t unusual.

It’s six weeks since the lightning. Five weeks and two days since Buck woke up. Four weeks and three days since he was released from hospital. Four weeks exactly since he came home, came to stay at the Diaz house while he recuperates, like he should have from the start.

It’s been three weeks and four days since they started sharing the bed.

or: Buck hasn't gotten off since the lightning strike. Eddie watches him do something about it.

Fragile lines (and wasted time), by Mellaithwen (@mellaithwen) || 7457 words ||

“Hey Buck,” Christopher says a little shyly, before reaching out to grab Buck’s foot through the hospital blankets—shaking it in the same way he’s woken his father up on many a bleary-eyed morning. The familiarity of the gesture makes Eddie’s head spin.

But of course, there’s no response from the comatose man on the bed.

“I thought you said he was sleeping,” Chris mumbles, angrily swiping at his cheeks, and Eddie’s already broken heart shatters all over again for whatever hope his son had just lost when his expectations were so cruelly dashed..

While Buck sleeps, and dreams in the aftermath of the lightning strike, Eddie tries desperately to hold himself together.

***

I will be adding my own fics that fit the category, in case you want to read those too:

lights will guide you home, by Finduilas || 916 words ||

Buck and Eddie have a talk after Buck gets back from the hospital.

#Buddie #Buddie fic rec #911 #Buddie fic #Fin's fic rec list #NEW CATEGORY! #Because this one needs a new page :)

[rehfan]

And now the party continues… Chapter 5

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph X Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: meet-cute, eventual smut, slow build, angst with a happy ending, class differences, fantasizing, implied/referenced drug use, non-consensual touching, sexual inexperience, first kiss, kissing, first French kiss, neck kissing, sexual education, angst, emotional hurt, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal sex, first time, blow jobs, cream pie, fluff and smut

Warnings: 18+ and over only please. Eventual smutty smut - NOT for children! Non-consensual touching, implied/referenced drug use.

PLEASE DO NOT POST MY WORK TO ANY OTHER SITE. MY WORK IS MINE. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

If you want to read it all and my other stuff, find this work on AO3

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10

************************

CHAPTER 5: Spoiled Sardines

You were two more flutes of champagne in and had been spun around the dance floor so many times with Ralph, you thought you were trapped on a merry-go-round. The alcohol had warmed your senses and loosened your limbs, but you knew if you stopped dancing, you might fall down and go to sleep.

Ralph, for his part, had seen the tail end of two more champagne toasts himself as well as a gin and tonic and was halfway through a horse’s neck when Victoria mounted a table and shouted: “Who’s up for a game?”

A roar went up and Ralph cried: “Hurrah! Game! Game!”

Victoria gestured to her brother: “How about…my brother, the absolute sardine wizard! Who can find Ralphie? Who’s willing to try? He’s outsmarted us for ages! Is anyone up for the challenge?”

A few hands were raised drunkenly and a general air of laughter went up all over the room.

You asked him, “Are you really so good at sardines that it takes people ages to find you?”

Someone in the crowd shouted: “Ralph’s here? I thought he was still hiding from last time!” Another roar went up from everyone present, including Victoria who thought it so funny, she almost lost her footing on her pedestal.

“He’s here and he’s willing!” shouted Victoria. “Who wants to play against him?”

“We all do!” shouted another voice and everyone clapped and laughed again.

It warmed your heart to see these folks rally around Ralph in a game, the smile that was on his face nearly cracked it in two. “I want to play too. May I?”

The look of surprise that painted Ralph’s face bordered on caricature. “Of course you may! Of course!” Turning to his sister he said: “All can play, Victoria! I will take on all challengers!”

A collective hurrah went up and soon the thing was organized. Ralph would hide and all the rest of the party would count to twenty to give him ample time to weave his magic. Ralph, giddy with the challenge, left the room immediately. The whole company of guests counted slowly under Victoria’s conducting.

“Let’s give him plenty of time, everyone. Ready? One…. Two…. Three….” and so on until after at least half a minute, everyone reached twenty and shouted hooray. Victoria signaled to the band to start up again and the party went on as normal.

You made your way to the door, expecting for quite a few people to be on your heels. You turned to see and didn’t notice anyone. There were people dancing and talking and everyone was drinking, but no one was playing the game. In fact, it seemed no one intended to find Ralph Penbury at all except you.

Then it hit you: it was a trick.

It was a nasty, horrid, terrible trick.

You went to Victoria. Enough was enough.

“Victoria,” you said. “Shouldn’t you call Ralph back? He’s missing the party.”

“Oh, don’t do that! You’ll ruin all our fun!” said Victoria. The coterie surrounding her smiled over their drinks and behind their hands, seemingly bemused at the shop girl with the big heart. “Last time - what was it? - the party was over and everyone had gone home in the wee hours. A char found him in a cupboard fast asleep still waiting for us to find him.”

“It was around seven thirty, as I recall,” said one woman in the group.

“Andrew won the bet that year. Got time of day and the right member of staff. Lucky bastard,” mumbled one of the men.

“This time, I’ve got ten in the morning by the upstairs maid,” laughed another woman.

“No chance! It’ll be the butler by six,” said the first man.

“Oh, is that your bet this year, Ambrose?” said the first woman again, “Good luck!”

Another roar of laughter went up. The difference now was that you were in on the cruelty of it all.

“How could you be so heartless to your own brother? Your twin!” You were outraged and your heart broke for Ralph.

“Yes, I’d expect you would be sympathetic to him, the way you’re acting like the proverbial clinging vine, my dear. But heartless?” said Victoria, “He thinks he’s sardines champion. Three years running! He’s proud of it. Let him have the trophy, I say.”

“Three year- THREE YEARS?” you asked. Only it wasn’t a question. You sought out anyone around that table who could show you the tiniest shred of shame for the trick they had played on him over and over. He was the kindest person and was treated so carelessly by these people, it made you physically ill.

“Listen, shop girl,” said one other man in the group, his face florid and sweating from intoxicants, “if you feel so strongly for our Ralph then go seek him out. If you find him, we’ll lay a bet where and when the both of you will be discovered.”

“And in what position!” laughed another girl and they all joined in.

“I resent that remark!” you said, your temper at its limit.

They all laughed again, one of them mocking you and repeating, “I resent that remark!” Another stating, “Poor thing’s gone off her head about Ralph Penbury. Oh shoot me if that ever happens to me!”

“No chance, dearie,” said another, “you’ve got taste!”

“And standards!” cried Ambrose.

You had to find him. You had to fix this injustice. As you left that pack of laughing hyenas behind, you heard one of the men remark: “I always thought Ralph played for my team…”

The noise from the party died down quickly once you went beyond the anteroom and toward the main hall and the staircase that dominated the space. A maid stood ready to hand people their coats or hats. You recognized her from your self-tour before and you greeted her warmly. “Can you tell me which way Lord Penbury has gone?”

She pointed you up the stairs and made mention of a disused room with an over-large armoire. “He rotates his hiding places, miss,” she added shyly. “He should be there.”

Thanking her, you poked your head into the room indicated and moved as quietly as you could. The room was lit with moonlight streaming through a bank of massive windows on the far wall arranged along a curve in the wall. There were no window treatments in this room. It was much more grand than your room in size, but from what you could tell, the wall color was much more neutral. There was no furniture here except for one tall and wide object covered with a sheet. This must be the armoire the maid referred to, but it was so large that it could have fit a small army inside its wooden walls. You quickly picked up the edge of the dust cover, slipping underneath it, and pulled the door open. Ralph screamed and then laughed. You jumped in spite of yourself.

“My you’re good! I was expecting to win again, but you’ve put an end to my streak! Clever girl! Good for you. Now come in before we’re spotted!”

“But Ralph, I-“

“Never mind! Come on!” and with that, he took you by the elbow and deposited you beside him, shutting the doors quickly.

“This is so strange! I’m not used to having company,” he whispered eagerly in the semi-darkness. Where the doors met there was a crack of moonlight streaming in. It was muted by the dust cover that was replaced behind you once you entered it, but strong enough to illuminate a sliver of Ralph’s face. The crack of light fell over one of his eyes, chocolate and umber glowing, beaming at you. “My you are a clever clever woman. I’m very proud of you.”

He really had no idea. He deserved such kindness. And yet he was the butt of a massive joke and had no clue. You wanted to tell him, but would that be the kind thing to do? After all, if you told him, you would essentially be telling him that not only for the past few years had everyone at every party had not been playing the game on purpose, that they had also been taking bets to see how long it took Ralph to finally be found and by which person on staff. Moreover, it was also true that none of them bet that Ralph would figure it out on his own and come back to the party angry enough to chew nails. That they hadn’t credited him with enough brains to suss it all out.

Could you suppress the joy in his eyes forever? Ruin what appeared to be his favorite game? He probably didn’t have a lot of true triumphs in his life. Did you want to take this one away permanently? And, by extension, were you really prepared to help him come to the realization that all those people, his sister included, for all these years of parties, had not been his actual friends?

Your silence lingered in the air too long. What you could see of Ralph’s face was painted with concern. “Are you afraid of the dark? I could sneak out and get a maid to get us a torch,” he offered. He reached out to you and brushed your arm, finally catching your elbow in his grasp. He held it gently, just his fingertips touching, but the skin to skin contact was setting a fire in your belly. You stepped closer to him.

“I’m not afraid, Ralph,” you said. Your hands came up and flattened against his chest. He was just the most innocent of men. A wave of protective love came up from nowhere and settled in your chest. “I’m not afraid. Because it’s you here with me.” You settled your head against him and felt his arms wrap around you with a tenderness that made you want to cry.

He spoke your name into the darkness like a prayer.

“Yes?” you whispered back.

“I-is this-?” He cleared his throat. “Um, should we be-? I mean- Shouldn’t we-?”

“Ralph?”

“Yes?”

“Come here,” you said, guiding his jaw downward with your fingertips. You could feel his spine straighten when your skin made contact. His breath was hot against your cheek, but barely there. He was trying to hold his breath and failing. Your mouth found his; just a brush of lips, but you guessed it was Ralph’s first - either that, or his first in a long while - because he found fire in it and chased the flame. In an instant, he pressed into you deeper, his arms bracing you from behind. Pressing so far, in fact, that your back found the side of the armoire with a thud.

The kiss broke at once. “Oh my God I- Oh my! Um… I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? I don’t uh-” he said, his voice an urgent whisper in the dark.

“It’s alright,” you laughed, thinking of all the times you and Charlie fumbled around and knocked heads and teeth and leaned on hair or when muscles cramped and joints didn’t want to bend in that direction. Love wasn’t easy, nor was it pain-free, but if it was love? It was worth everything.

You raised both hands to his face, thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. You couldn’t see him anymore, but it didn’t matter. You held him gently and leaned up and into his kiss again. He was much more careful now, the pressure from his lips much more measured. You savored the touch of faint stubble and the feel of him close around you. His palms were warm against your back. Slowly you let yourself relax in his arms, not even realizing how nervous you had been. As the kiss lingered, your fingertips traced along his jawline, down along his throat to his collar, his bow tie.

You were tempted to tug on it, loosening the knot and letting it fall open, working the buttons until, inch by inch, his skin became more and more exposed… your heart raced at the thought. The scent of his cologne would fill your senses, that same surprising spice and cedar, blooming in the air mixed with the clean scent of French soap.

But you didn’t. He wasn’t Charlie. He wasn’t yours.

His hands had fallen to your hips as you had predicted. But his mouth was on a mission of exploration and experimentation without any of his over-eagerness; he was all gentle tenderness and care as his lips touched yours, slotting with your mouth as you dared to open it to his, a small kitten lick of your tongue causing him to jolt slightly before melting into the sensation.

You broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “You can do it to me too, you know.”

“Y-you mean, I can-?”

“Please, Ralph,” you said. “I want you to.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His mouth found yours again and his tongue dipped inside. You pressed yours against his and moaned into his mouth when he echoed your movement. The taste of him was sweet and rich. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him firmly, willing him to touch you everywhere. The sounds of your snogging were close in the dark, each little keen, each rustle of fabric, were loud in your ears, heightening the thrill of touching him, kissing him. Your desire grew, making you wonder what the breaking point would be for both of you.

You moaned his name in between kisses and heard him whimper. One of his hands raised up to your ribs but stopped short of your breasts.

“We should be- We should-“ he panted. It was clear he didn’t know what he wanted.

You kissed his stuttering mouth and smiled. “We should really get out of this armoire or we will definitely hurt ourselves. Come on, Ralph,” you whispered, your voice husky, caught up in the feel and the taste of him, you blurted, “take me to bed.”

Blushing with embarrassment, but not retracting your words, you opened the doors and walked out into the moonlit room. You meant those words. You wanted him. And you wanted to protect him and teach him and learn about him. Turning, you caught sight of Ralph, bent slightly and staring at you out of the opening with a wondering face.

“B-bed?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we be married first?”

You blinked at him, pulling up the edge of the dust cover. “Ralph, you throw cocaine parties with insane amounts of alcohol at them but draw the line at sexual intercourse outside of marriage?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s that I thought that you, well…” It wasn’t easy in the dark of the armoire, but you could tell he was blushing. “You certainly don’t need the reputation.”

“I’m a widow, Ralph,” you said. “No need to be concerned about my maidenhood or anything. I just want you.” Your body ached for him to hold you again. The space between you seemed like a million miles away, the air surrounding you too cool for comfort. “Come to me, sweet boy.” You held a hand out to him.

“But the game?” he said weakly.

“You are still sardines champion, Ralph,” you said. “They’ve not found us yet, they won’t find us later.” You stepped to him. “Is everything alright? You look so strange. I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”

“I never dreamed that you- I mean- You’re just so wonderful. I met you in a hat shop,” he said.

You kissed him softly. “You’re wonderful too.”

“So soft. So lovely. And you smell divine,” he said.

“I like your scent too,” you said, brushing your lips against his cheek.

“It’s just- I’ve never done… things with girls. Except the once. And all that brief experience taught me is that I’m terrible with them, actually,” he confessed. “And I’m not certain that I could touch you and remain wholly sane. You are entirely gorgeous. I saw that from the first.” He coughed nervously. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I should have said that.”

His dark eyes pleaded for forgiveness from you, but there was no need. There was no sin here, no crime. He had simply told you how he felt. His words left you breathless. His eyes drifted down to your mouth and slowly back up to your eyes as if memorizing your face for the last time. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I can be a bit…much. At least, that’s what Victoria says.”

At the mention of his sister’s name, your heart clenched and you took his face in your hands. Punctuating each of your sentences with a kiss, you told him softly, “You are not too much, Ralph Penbury. You are just enough. And you are wonderful. You are everything that is good and genuine. You feel things so thoroughly and completely that sometimes your emotions get too big for your body. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with you. Why your sister says such things is beyond me. You’re sunshine and joy and everything that’s right with the world. Can’t you see that, pretty boy?

“And all those people at that party? All those hateful selfish people? They don’t see that in you. They can’t see past their own needs. They’re empty and thoughtless and they don’t deserve you,” you said, easing him at last out of the armoire and into the open, beyond even the dust cover and into the moonlight. You held his hands and watched his face as dozens of emotions flitted behind his eyes.

He took a ragged breath and his eyes welled with tears. “I used to think that the worst thing in the world would be to die alone and lonely. Lately, I think the worst thing is to live alone and lonely. I can be in a room full of people and no one sees me. No one but you. Why do you see me?”

“How can I not?” you asked him, the emotion of the moment making you tear up. Mitigating the situation you smiled and added: “After all, you’re the mutt’s nuts.”

Ralph let out a laugh that would have woken the house had anyone been asleep. You joined him, your shoulders shaking, eyes welling with tears. It was a relieved laugh, a happy cry. Slowly you clung to one another, holding his body close as his giggles faded. It only took him a second before he recovered himself enough to press his lips to yours.

You opened yours to his and let him explore. His hands found your hips again, but he slid one down your backside and squeezed. Humming against his mouth, you broke away and kissed along his jaw, down his throat, and tugged at his bow tie with your teeth, unraveling the material. The shocked look on Ralph’s face was totally worth it. “Take me to bed, lovely man. Please, Ralph.

“Um, well, it’s still pre-marital sex, isn’t it?” he said, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper at the shameful words. “I can run and get my grandmother’s ring! It’s in the family safe right now. It’s no trouble. I would be honored to-“

“Ralph!” you placed your fingers on his lips. “It’s not pre-marital sex if you have no intention of getting married.”

“What?” he said. “OH!” He was startled at the thought, then he saw your devilish grin. “Oh.” He smiled too. A wicked grin lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle.

*****************************

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Tagged readers: @h-ness1944 / @eddie-is-a-god / emma77645 / @hahahafucku / @paranoidmunson / @honey-eyed-munson / @mystars123 / @bl4ckt00thgr1n / @live-love-be-unique / @ becca-alexa / @aysheashea / @bohemianrhapsody86 / @luvrsbian / @etherealglimmer / @ladybug0095

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#fanfic #writing #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters #ralph x reader #ao3 #ao3 writer #the hat shop girl #THSG

[kavaeroexe]

Can we get another yand!Anakin and yand!Padmé(sith/Emperor and Empress) Trying to find ex-lover/jedi reader who’s hiding from them. But from their pov, like talking about the reader and like talking about their plan that they have to bring the reader back home.

Please if your not busy😊

Okaayyy!! FINALLYY <333

Home where you belong

summary : your hiding place has been found out by them, where to go now..?

warning : typos, bad grammar  

attention! please do not try to repost my works, i only post my works on tumblr, if anyone see someone stole my works please inform me through the comments, tag me in the works, or message me!    

.

.

.

.

.

Its so weird.

What’s with the noises from your house..? i thought you don’t have any guest..?

You sneak through the tree first, waiting until someone get out from there, although you could have just finished a thief that probably come to your house for credits or food, but you scared that there is possibility that the one that try to ruin you house is...

“Anakin, i don’t see them anywhere at all, perhaps they go out somewhere?”

“Well then, i think we should split, you wait here for their arrival, while i walk around to search for their appearance, no way they would be far, i could feel their presence is not far..”

“I understand, well i suppose you need to hurry up before its too late, what if someone might kidnap them?”

“No way, i could feel them not so far from here, Padme, relax.”

Its them. 

You grab your lightsaber tightly, try to run and get into you ship on the back of your house

“Quick! you must not be late on these situation, you must be quiet! calm down.. calm down! karking hell! i can’t think properly now!!”

Slowly but surely, you try to reach your ship, but you stop when you hear a cracking sound in the back, to find Anakin standing right behind you and grab your arms and smiles out of relieve. 

“Where are you going, my lovely Jedi? hm?”

“Listen, i have nothing to do with you and Padme, you don’t give me another choice, Sith lord.”

You push him using the force, and while he’s away enough, you pull and turning your lightsaber on, you took a preparing position, ready to put a defense whenever he try to let an attack towards you. 

“Why being so rude, little one? we just want to take you home, your home.”

“My home is here. nowhere else.”

You look at Anakin, not much happened to his appearance, seems master Obi-wan does failed to take him down. you could see his hands slowly reach his lightsaber, red lightsaber that has changed his own perspective of the force, his life, and his love towards you. 

It took quite a long time until you able to take his lightsaber from his hand, you have to move from another space to another space, the anger and possessive behaviour fills his every move and swing, but your training all this years will never fails you, once you got the lightsaber, with no hesitation, you end the fight, just to see him laughing pretty laugh, you could remember his funny laugh, same sound, but different feelings that you got this time.

For the second time, you push him with the force, and you tried to ride your ship, but find the the whole machinery is broken..

“Suprisee~ do you miss me (Y/N)?”

Padme appears behind the ship, showing a sweet smile just like how she used to do, but it never feels the same again for you, you saw Padme, holding a blasters, and then walk towards you, instantly makes you walks away from her, and then Anakin catch you body that hit his chest

“If you want to go home with us, no need to use that ship, you could go with us in one ship together instead, right Anakin?”

“That’s right”

You grab Anakin clothes harshly and gives a deep glare towards him.

“I have no intention on going ‘home’ with you, not in a single bit.”

“But see? right now you’re in my arms, and you didn’t even resisting~”

“You overused your force, Skywalker.” you replied.

Padme brushing your hair, and then lets out a chuckle, she push a button and your ship blow up. you let out a gasp and glare through Padme now. “Now come on, there is a far better ship in the empire, maybe we could take a look there to spend our time? you like to look at ship right?”

“Don’t you promised me that we are going to have a sleepover? looking at ship must be tiring for them, we could do that tomorrow”

“Great idea! we should do that tomorrow instead, for now lets rest your fragile body for tomorrow, we got a lot to do”

Anakin and Padme holding your both hands tightly, not wanting to let you go, they crave for your warmth on the cold ship, through the way to their place, you didn’t say anything, even though you cry, everything could go worse, so its no use.

#star wars x reader #yandere star wars #star wars #star wars writing #star wars fanfic #star wars hc #anakin skywalker #anakin x y/n #anakin x reader #yandere anakin x reader #padme x reader #star wars padme #yandere padme

[emwritesfootball]

Conversations With My Future Self | John Stones

Description: John Stones sits down at a dinner table to eat with an unexpected guest

A/N: This is a bit different than anything I think I’ve written recently, but credit to @knockmeforsixkmeforsix for her lovely idea.

Warnings: none. This isn’t really a pairing piece, but there is a magical element to this so suspend some belief please xo

Tags: @bluemoonstonesy @stonesyy

- - -

“You look familiar.” John can’t help the words that come out of his mouth, but the man in front of him warrants the statement. John doesn’t know where he knows him from, but he’s sure it’ll come to him later.

“So do you.” No clues from the man’s response as he gives John a once-over and pushes his glasses back up his nose. There’s a hint of salt and pepper in his hair and some crows’ feet around the eyes, but John has no idea how old the man actually is. “John Stones?”

John can’t help the pride that swells in his chest at being recognized, but this feeling is a little bit different - kind of like running into an old friend. “That’s me. Would you like an autograph?”

“Nah. Got plenty at home.” The man shakes his head and waves the comment away with his hand, which is when John notices the watch. It’s the same watch he’s wearing on his own left hand, but the man’s suit makes the watch look vintage. There’s no way it’s the same exact watch, though, because John had his custom-made after City won the league in 2021, engraved specifically for him. 

The two men stare at each other awkwardly until the familiar man cracks. “John. May I call you John?” John nods and the man continues. “Sit, please. I haven’t had the pleasure of eating with anyone in a while.”

John takes a seat across from the man, his curiosity peaked. “Any reason why?” He grimaces, realizing his error. “Sorry, that’s a bit personal.”

“Don’t worry about it - talking to you feels a bit like talking to a younger version of myself.”

The comment makes John feel off-kilter, but luckily the waiter shows up. John orders a pint of his favourite beer, and the man does too.

“Hope that’s not too awkward, us ordering the same thing. I was going to order that before you said it - it’s my favourite.”

“Mine, too.”

The beer arrives, and the two men take sips of their respective pints before picking up the conversation where they left off. “So, about your question. I haven’t had the pleasure of eating with anyone in a while - not since my wife and I split up.”

It’s then that John notices the tan line where a ring used to be on the man’s finger. “When was that?”

“A few years ago. We just…grew apart. She was there for the majority of my career and after my retirement but then it got complicated. You married?”

John shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve got a girl, though. She and I are a bit off at the moment, though, but I’m sure we’ll be back on again soon.”

“I see.” The man mutters something that John doesn’t quite catch, but it sounds like something along the lines of Oh yes, that wouldn’t happen yet anyway - still got a few more years.

“What was that?”

The man takes a sip of his beer. “Nothing. Just reminiscing.”

“Any advice for me for the future?”

“Mm, that’s a tough one. What are you struggling with the most right now?”

John thinks for a moment, his brain scrambling for an answer. “Probably the UCL this year. The pressure is really on, and I want to be the best and help the team win the Champions League at the end of the season.”

“This will sound cliche, but you just have to believe in yourself. You’re only twenty-eight; there’s still a lot more time left in your career and you’ve worked hard to redeem yourself since the 2020-2021 season. You’re a different man now, John, and something tells me you’re going to retire with Manchester City, so there’s many more years left to become who you’re destined to be.”

“I’m twenty-nine, actually,” John grumbles, aware of how petulant he sounds, but the ‘advice’ he was just given sounds like a load of utter shite. “What do you know about the man I’m destined to be?”

The man shrugs, smirks, and takes another sip of beer. “You’re on your own with that one, kid.”

“Whatever.”

The waiter comes back around and once again, the man orders the same thing as John for an entree. 

“Let me guess: also your favourite?”

“Yes. My ex-wife and I would go here every Tuesday for date night and order the same thing every time. Got so frequent that our food was practically on the table the moment we sat down.” The man chuckles fondly at the memory, and John makes a mental note to start bringing his girl here when they’re back together. He wonders why he hasn’t already; it’s right up her alley in terms of food and atmosphere. 

“What was your ex like?” John has long-since abandoned any form of nuance when asking this man questions. John feels like he knows the man, and just wants to know as much about his life as he possibly can. Something tells him that this man holds significance to John.

“Gorgeous. Older woman. Gave me my second and third children. We got married when I was thirty-two; divorced when I was forty.”

“How old are you now?”

“Fifty.”

“Have you retired already?”

The man nods. “Retired at thirty-five.”

“Why?”

“Injury took me out. Never fully recovered after that and my wife and I decided it was time for me to retire. I’d made enough money to where I could take care of us without having to find another job, but I was truly lost after walking away from my career. The five years leading up to our divorce were hard and it was ultimately why we ended things.”

“Do you still love her?” John realizes he has to know the answer to this, and the man obliges.

“In a way, yes. She’s the mother of two of my children, and I harbor no ill will towards her. Our children are past eighteen now and I know they’re well-adjusted because of her.”

“Does she still love you?”

“Yes, but it’s different now, too. We co-parented well, and we’re still good friends, but I don’t know if I would say she’s the love of my life - nor I hers. I want the best for her and I know she wants the best for me, and we just know now that we aren’t best for each other, even though we thought so at the time.”

The food comes and there’s silence as the two men dig into their entrees, enjoying each other’s company without words until they’re done. John mulls over the other questions he wants to ask, but waits until they’ve put in an order for dessert before doing so.

“Do you have any love in your life now?”

“Nothing serious. I can still sweet-talk a lady, but I don’t have anyone I want to marry again. Not sure I will.”

“Do you still keep in touch with the people you worked with before you retired?”

“Some of them, yes. I’m sure you probably already know who from City you’ll be keeping in touch with once they leave, and I know you already keep in touch with a few.”

“I do. And there’s a few on Three Lions as well.”

“Ah, yes. How is Harry Maguire?”

John doesn’t even want to know how the man knows he texts Maguire occasionally. “Still got his head up his arse playing for United. But good, as far as I know.”

“Sounds about right.”

Dessert comes and there’s more silence until the plates are empty. 

“Got any more questions for me, John?”

The bill comes and the man pays for the both of them, ignoring John’s offer to pay his share. 

“No, I think that’s it. Will we see each other again?”

The man stands and John does, too. They shake hands, and John gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“No matter what I’ll always be thinking of you.”

John is stunned into silence, watching the man walk out of the restaurant and disappear into the night. He runs a hand over the fabric covering the tattoo bearing those exact words, wondering if he just met a future version of himself.

He quickly dismisses the thought, though. 

After all, that’s impossible.

#john stones imagine #john stones imagines #john stones oneshot #john stones one shot

[groovyghostie]

The Seer: Part 1

Hey, guys! This is my Storytime Big Bang 2023 (@tss-storytime) submission! It was a lot of hard work and fun to get this done, and I'm really super proud of it! Mind the tags, stay safe, and enjoy! I was partnered with @creative-lampd-liberties, an amazing artist, for this event. You can find the art they made here. They also made the cover below!!! I'm putting this fic on Tumblr (even though I hate posting fics here -_-) because I have it set to registered users only on AO3 to help avoid bot AI scraping. That said, here's the AO3 link for those who are registered users on AO3:

[AO3 Link]

Summary: After spending most of his teenage years pretending to be something he’s not (a girl), then spending his adult life so far pretending to be something else he’s not (a clairvoyant), Janus is caught off-guard when he is granted real powers. He is the seer that predicts the downfall of the kingdom, as well as the potential salvation. The problem? The kingdom’s hero is Roman, Janus’s best friend’s brother, who… dislikes Janus. A lot. Now Janus is stuck going on a quest to destroy the source of The Dragon Witch’s power with a ragtag band of adventurers, and he has the unfortunate task of making sure they all survive. The forest is dangerous. So is their enemy. Janus hopes his friends are even more formidable.

Rating: T

Word Count: 26,268

Ships: Janus/Roman, Remus/Patton, Logan/Virgil, Thomas/Remy, Prince/Anxiety (shorts), Dad/Teacher (shorts)

Content Warnings: fire, description of burnt bodies, description of corpses, minor character death, animal death, parent death, sibling death, blood, assault, description of being burned, main character disowned by parents, mortal peril, kidnapping, injuries, transphobia, alcohol use, deadnaming, swearing

[Fic under readmore]

Prologue

Logan took his job very seriously. Being the prince’s manservant on top of being co-leader of the servants was a monumental task, but it was also a monumental honor. Of course, it was hard to feel honored when he was in the middle of taking the prince’s now-dry laundry back to his room so he could hang it up in the wardrobe. One basket on his head and the other on his hip with a hand on each one, Logan balanced the large burden carefully. He was passing one of the guest bedrooms, of which the door was cracked open, when he heard voices. He wasn’t sure who was in that room. Guests were more Remy’s department, because Remy could be charming when he wanted to be. That wasn’t Logan’s department either. 

He slowed, drifting closer to the door to listen. 

“...illing him won’t be easy,” said a male voice.

“Please, with me on your side, we’ll have no issues. It’s the chaos after that we must worry about.” This voice was female. It was smooth and sweet, the definition of comforting.

“Still, we must be careful that no one guesses what we’re up to. We’d have to act fast to prevent anyone from stopping us.” Logan recognized that voice. It was Prince Eschive, the king’s brother. That couldn’t be right, though. He wouldn’t be conspiring like this, surely.

“You’re right, of course, Dear One. Caution is of the utmost importance,” said the female voice. 

Logan peeked through the crack in the door. He could see the woman, now, and was fairly certain that it was Duchess Adalinda Draco. She was visiting the palace because she was a childhood playmate of the queen. This didn’t make any sense.

“I’m glad we’re agreed, Darling,” said Eschive. “And when we kill my brother and his family, you shall make a lovely queen.”

Logan’s eyes widened. They wanted to kill King Marceau, along with his entire family. But that couldn’t be right.

Adalinda grinned and leaned in toward Eschive. “And you shall be a powerful, respected king.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. Logan’s eyes were drawn to her shadow. It shifted against the wall, forming unfamiliar shapes. It took Logan a few beats to figure out what he was seeing. Then the shape came together in his head. Horns. A tail. Wings. Very draconic, indeed. He gasped.

Adalinda pulled away from Eschive. “Did you hear something?”

Eschive nodded, face darkening, and Logan took that as his cue to leave. He rushed the rest of the way to the corner and turned it quickly, then ducked into a servants’ kitchenette. He waited there, his heart pounding in his ears.

After a few minutes, when he realized they weren’t going to come after him, he left the small room and headed towards Prince Virgil’s room again. No one would believe him with his word against Prince Eschive’s. He’d have to take this into his own hands.

1: The Conman

Janus leaned forward, placing his chin on his folded hands with his elbows on the table. “Tell me, Ms. Fortuna, what can I do to help you?” He looked her over. Salt crusted her hair at the tips, her lips were dry, and she had a spyglass tucked into a loop in her belt. A sailor, then. Judging by the spyglass, probably a captain. Her clothes were fine, too, so probably a merchant, especially when considered with the lack of scars. A pirate would have more scars, and any other kind of ship’s captain would have plainer clothes. “Business, or personal?” he asked.

“Business,” the woman across from him answered in a deep, sonorous voice. “A friend recommended I come here, because I’m worried if I call my fleet back from Hertland they’ll be lost to the storms. Can you tell me whether to wait or to call them back?”

Janus was surprised. If she was, herself, a sailor, she should know that there was a fleet of pirates going up the coast of Hertland, probably toward her ships. He hummed and made his usual show of looking into his crystal ball. His brow furrowed. Then he looked up suddenly. “If you don’t call them back now, they will be taken by pirates. Do they have a mirror you can use to speak to them?” 

Ms. Fortuna nodded quickly. “I must go tell them. Thank you so much, Janus.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bag about the size of a cantaloupe. When she set it down onto the table, the action was accompanied by the sound of clinking coins. “You’ve done me an invaluable service.”

“Of course, Ms. Fortuna. I wish you good fortune,” he said, smiling at her. 

As soon as the front door closed behind her, his smile grew into a grin and he chuckled. He snatched up the bag she’d left him in one hand, his cane in the other, and made his way back to his bedroom.

The room was small, with a comfortable bed, a bookshelf, a wardrobe, and a locked chest all crammed into what little space there was. He went to the chest and knelt to unlock it with the key on a leather strap around his neck. He carefully set his cane on the ground next to him. He grabbed his coin purse, emptied a bit of the bag of coins into it, then locked the bag in the chest. The coin purse got attached to his belt. He left his shop-and-home, locking the door behind himself.

-

“To suckers!” Remus exclaimed, raising his glass. It was the third of the night, half empty, and Remus’s cheeks were red.

Janus laughed and tapped his glass, still his first, against Remus’s. “To suckers,” he responded, though his smile was fading a bit. 

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, sourface?”

Janus shook his head. “It’s nothing. Everything’s perfect.”

“Liar,” Remus accused, pointing at Janus. “Something’s bothering you.”

Janus huffed. “I didn’t lie. Everything is perfect, and that’s what’s bothering me.”

Remus tilted his head, considering that statement for a moment. “What, are you bored?”

“Yes, Remus,” Janus said, voice full of frustration. “Everything’s too easy. It’s both unsettling and incredibly boring.”

“Excuse me,” said someone behind them. 

Janus jumped, and they both turned in their seats. The person standing behind them was mostly obscured by a deep midnight blue hooded cloak. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re bored. What do you do for work?” the person asked.

Janus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but nonetheless answered, “I’m a fortune teller.”

The person sounded like they were grinning, but it was hard to see in the shadows obscuring their face, as they said, “I think I can give you a challenge.” They pulled a hand mirror from their cloak, revealing that their skin was extremely pale. After placing the hand mirror, set against a simple bronze back with a handle, on the bar, leaning between Janus and Remus, they turned on their heel, then they were gone.

“Well, that was weird and creepy,” Remus said, turning back to Janus.

Janus was staring at the mirror. “Yeah.” He shook his head and looked up at Remus. “Well, nothing left to do but keep drinking,” he said with a smile.

-

Janus awoke with a groan. His head was pounding. He dragged himself from his bed, still wearing his clothes from the night from before. He needed to splash water on his face before anything else. At least he’d gone to the well twice the day before. As he padded towards his basin, leaning more heavily on his cane in the sleepiness of the morning, he suddenly froze. 

He stood in the street outside his shop, looking up at the palace. It was on fire, burning bright and hot. People were screaming and crying. There was a sound, the loudest cracking that Janus had ever heard, then the tallest tower of the palace began to fall, right towards Janus. He covered his head.

He was back in his room, the brightness and heat gone. He breathed heavily, looking around in confusion. His hands shook. He looked back toward the bed. There on the blanket lay the mirror, in all its plainness. He’d been looking into it before he fell asleep, noting the odd feeling it gave him. Like a sense of impending doom. 

With nothing else to do, he dismissed what he’d seen, felt, and heard as a waking dream and continued his morning routine. 

His hands shook for hours. 

2: The Duke's Sons

Janus didn’t know why he’d agreed to go to the palace. He hadn’t been back since everything changed. But Remus had requested he accompany them. When the group stopped at his shop, he greeted Duke Erex politely, then Roman Erex, this time his voice dripping with sarcasm. Roman glared at him. He made his way to the back of the group to stand next to Remus and Patton.

“Hi, Jan!” Patton greeted him excitedly. 

Janus couldn’t help but smile back at Patton. Patton could almost always improve his mood. “Hello, Patton. Remus, how are you?” 

Remus glared at him in a way that was quite reminiscent of his brother. “It’s not fair, you always recover from drinking quicker than me,” he grumbled.

Patton cupped a hand around his mouth and stage-whispered, “He’s been grumpy all morning.” 

Janus grinned. “Well, that can only be expected from someone who’s hungover as fuck.”

“Fuck you,” Remus grumbled.

By the time they were near to the palace, Remus was feeling much better. The fresh air had revitalized him. Still he was complaining, just more energetically. “I hate going to the palace,” he groaned. “It’s so stuffy.” 

“Can you shut up?” Roman hissed from just in front of them.

“Can you?” Janus shot back.

Roman shot him a glare. “At least I’m not going to the palace in commoner’s clothing,” he sniffed.

Janus grit his teeth. “At least I’m not a stuck-up bitch,” he replied. 

Roman whirled around, stopping Janus, Patton, and Remus in their tracks.

“Guys, pl-” Patton tried.

“No, you’re not. But you know what you are, Janus?” Roman asked. 

“What?” Janus challenged.

“Dumbasses!” Remus exclaimed, trying to pull their attention to him.

“You’re a fraud. You pretend to be so confident, but you know that, deep down, you’re just faking it. You pretend all the time,” Roman accused. He turned and began to jog to catch up with his father and the bodyguard.

Janus stood, frozen, mouth slightly open.

“Jan…?” Patton asked gently. 

Janus snapped from his stupor, set his jaw, and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go.” He began to walk quickly, trying to catch up. His short legs did not help. Patton was in the same boat, but Remus kept up with the two of them effortlessly. Damn his height and long legs.

Still, they did catch up, right as the group arrived at the palace gates. Janus glared angrily at the back of Roman’s head, imagining that his eyes were burning holes into him. Roman ignored him. 

The palace corridors were cold, and they echoed. Janus had always disliked that. It drew attention to him when the sound of his cane against the floor was amplified so loudly.

Patton grabbed Remus’s hand, then held his other hand out to Janus. Janus took it gratefully. His heart flooded with gratitude for his friends. He genuinely didn’t know what he’d do without them. 

They had to let go of each other, though, when they reached the parlor where they were to meet Prince Eschive. Janus had always disliked Eschive. He reminded him of a weasel. A servant, tall and graceful, with spectacles perched upon his round nose, opened the door for them, and Duke Erex led the way into the room.

The duke and his sons, as well as Patton, sat down in the chairs provided for them when the servant gestured to them. Janus stood against the wall behind Remus and Patton, and the bodyguard stood against the wall on the other side of the door. The servant glanced at Janus’s cane and gave him an apologetic look, presumably for not having a chair for him. Janus shrugged one shoulder and smiled at him.

The tall servant poured them all tea, including Janus and the bodyguard, and even offered them all sugar. Janus always took his tea black, unless it was herbal, then he would add honey.

They waited for a few minutes, sipping their tea before Eschive finally entered the room. The duke, his sons, and Patton stood to greet him, bowing and then shaking hands with him. The prince seemed to revel in the attention and respect. 

“I apologize for my lateness,” Eschive said. “I was caught up in another matter.”

Janus noticed the tall servant making a concerned… or worried face at that.

“Of course, Your Highness, we do not mind,” said Duke Erex. He turned and gestured to Patton. “I do not believe you have met my son Remus’s husband, Patton.” His expression dripped with disdain, and Janus’s blood boiled. He saw Remus clench his teeth.

“I have not,” said Eschive. 

“A pleasure,” said Patton.

“The pleasure is mine,” said Eschive with a crooked smile. A shiver went down Janus’s spine, and Patton looked like he felt much the same.

They all sat, Eschive across from the duke, and began to discuss as the servant poured Eschive some tea as well.

“Tell me, Achille, the state of your land. How is the crop this year?” Eschive asked.

The duke nodded and began his spiel on how well the crop was coming in, and how the cows were producing well, and the weavers were working hard on the wool he’d imported from Hertland. 

Roman interjected occasionally, as he had been put in charge of managing the numbers for the sales of their textiles.

Remus, for once, sat silently.

There was a knock at the door. Eschive looked up, then motioned for the tall servant to open the door. Outside the door stood a beautiful woman and a servant. The woman was of average height, with pale skin and a perfect figure. Her curly hair, which went down to her waist and had two braids in the front tied together at the back of her head, was a striking fiery red. The servant was short and skinny, with perfect, swooping dark hair, and tinted glasses covering his eyes.

Eschive grinned, his eyes almost glazed over. “Duchess Draco! Come, join us.” He stood, so Duke Erex, his sons, and Patton stood as well. The duchess walked over to Eschive, and Eschive took her hand, then leaned down to kiss it. He let go in a way that seemed almost reluctant, then turned to Duke Erex. “Achille, this is Duchess Adalinda Draco. She is visiting from the province of Noerel.” He turned to the duchess. “Adalinda, this is Duke Achille Erex and his sons, Roman and Remus.” He gestured to each man as he spoke. The short servant slipped out.

The duke also took Adalinda’s hand and kissed it. “Wonderful to meet you, Your Grace.”

“Likewise, Your Grace,” said Adalinda. She turned, and her eyes caught Janus’s.

Janus dropped his cup, freezing up. It shattered. On her head were curling black horns. Behind her back, blood-red wings and a matching tail.

He was in the street outside his shop again. The heat and light were so intense. Smoke burned his lungs. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up. A dragon flew overhead, towards the palace, and began to breathe fire to add to the flames. Again, the tower cracked and began to fall toward him. 

Then he was back, the cool air of the palace washing over his skin. He leaned heavily on his cane, his legs feeling weak. Patton and Remus hovered by him worriedly, and the servant was knelt by his feet to clean up the glass. Thankfully, the teacup had been empty. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. 

Adalinda was looking at him with concern. Roman was looking at him with disdain.

“Let’s go outside,” Patton murmured. “Excuse us, Your Highness,” he said louder. 

“Of course,” said Eschive, waving them away.

Patton escorted Janus out of the room, Remus following behind them. 

“What happened?” Remus asked worriedly. 

“I… just felt faint,” Janus answered. “I’m fine now, really.”

Patton didn’t look convinced, nor did Remus, but he knew Janus well enough to take that as a cue to drop it. 

“I have to go back inside,” Remus said. “Are either of you coming?” Janus shook his head. He couldn’t go back in there with that woman. 

“I’ll stay with Janus,” Patton said. 

“No,” said Janus, shaking his head, “Go keep Remus out of trouble. I just need to gather myself.” 

Patton frowned, “But-”

“Go on, keep your husband from saying something regrettable,” Janus repeated.

“Hey!” Remus exclaimed.

“Oh, I’m right and you know it,” Janus replied. “Now go.”

Reluctantly, Remus and Patton went back into the parlor.

Janus sighed and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He had a headache.

“Pssst,” he heard. “C’mere.”

Janus opened his eyes, looking around in confusion. There, across the hall from him, there was the shorter servant, peeking out from behind a plain wooden door. He raised an eyebrow. The man motioned for him to come closer. He hesitated for only a few moments before carefully standing upright. The cane, like always, echoed. 

The servant opened the door for Janus to come in. Inside were both the taller servant and the shorter servant. When he was in, the shorter servant closed the door behind him. He looked around. They were in a little kitchenette that was probably primarily for preparing tea if Janus had to guess.

“So…” Janus said. “What did you want, exactly?”

The taller servant cleared his throat. “My name is Logan. I think we have some things to talk about regarding Duchess Draco.”

“Oh?” Janus asked, carefully keeping the nerves from his voice.

“I’m Remy, by the way,” interjected the shorter servant.

“Janus,” replied Janus politely.

Logan cleared his throat. “How about I recount to you what I’ve seen, then you can return the favor?”

“That sounds agreeable,” Janus answered, eyes sparkling with interest. “You've noticed something odd about her, then.”

Remy gave a small laugh. “You could call it odd, I guess. I’d just call it freaky.”

Logan shot him a glare, then continued, “I’ve definitely noticed something odd. You’ll hear my story, then?”

Janus gestured for him to go ahead.

“I was passing by Duchess Draco’s quarters, and I heard her and Prince Eschive conspiring to… get rid of the king,” Logan said.

Janus’s eyes widened.

“That’s not all,” Remy added.

“Indeed,” Logan agreed. “They kissed, and when they did Duchess Draco’s shadow morphed.”

“She had horns and wings,” Janus guessed.

Logan blinked. “And a tail.”

Janus nodded. “I saw that, too. And more.”

“More?” Logan inquired.

“I had a vision this morning… This sounds insane.”

“You’re the seer whose shop is down the main street, are you not?” Logan asked.

Janus hummed. “I suppose I must confide in you. I… am a fraud. Before this morning, I had never seen the future in my life.”

Remy snorted. Again, Logan glared at him. “That is a very unethical way to make a living.”

Janus took a deep breath. “I’ve done what I needed to do. I have a clear conscience. But that isn’t what this conversation is about. I had a vision this morning. The palace was burning. It felt so real… And…”

“And?” Logan prompted.

“I saw it again, just now. But this time there was a dragon, adding to the flames,” Janus said.

Logan and Remy were silent for a few moments, seeming to communicate with their eye contact. Finally they turned back to Janus.

“The course of action I propose is to keep this to ourselves for now,” Logan said. “Our word against the prince and duchess’s is not worth much.”

Janus nodded in agreement. “We should find more information. I can… speak with some of the mystics and magic shop proprietors. Hopefully one of them will have something useful to say.” He was hesitant. He’d avoided the other professionals in the capital to keep from being exposed as a fraud. This situation called for it, though.

Remy grinned. “We get to spy on the duchess and the prince, then?”

Logan gave a long-suffering sigh. “It’s not spying. It’s gathering information.”

“By watching them,” said Remy. “So, spying?”

Logan groaned.

“Janus?” called Remus’s voice, followed quickly by Patton repeating the call.

“I have to go,” Janus said. “It was nice to meet you both. Stay safe.”

“You as well,” Logan answered.

“Yeah, don’t get yourself killed or anything,” Remy said.

Janus huffed out a small laugh, then went to join his friends.

“Where were you?” asked Patton when Janus emerged from the small room.

Janus gave his most convincing smile. “Just gossiping. The servants always have the most interesting things to say.”

Remus giggled. “You’re always looking for things to use against people, aren’t you?” he said as they followed behind the rest of the group.

Janus gave a scandalized gasp. “I would never! I’m just a harmless busybody.”

Patton laughed a little. “Right. He’s just curious and nosy, Remus,” he said playfully.

“Right. Patton knows I’m telling the truth,” Janus said, barely holding in laughter.

Remus shook his head. “Riiiight. Well, I suppose I just have to believe you, seeing as you’re my best friend.”

“Good,” Janus replied.

About that time, they reached the palace gates. “We’ll see you soon, right, Janus?” Patton asked.

“Of course,” Janus answered. “Feel free to drop by any time.” He smiled. When Patton hugged him, he hugged back. And when Remus punched him in the arm, he punched Remus in the chest. They all laughed.

Patton and Remus followed Duke Erex, and Janus walked back toward his shop with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

-

The wooden training swords clashed in a way that sent the vibrations all the way up Pryce’s arm, making him wince. His opponent saw an opportunity, and she forced him back until his back collided with the stone wall around the training area. She grinned, and he laughed breathlessly.

“Good match, Val,” he said.

“Wish I could say the same,” Valerie teased, then immediately continued, “and I can. Thanks for the pointers, Pryce.”

“Val!” called a voice from the west viewing platform.

“Virgil!” Valerie called back. She gave Pryce a little wave, then jogged off to her brother.

Pryce watched, then his eyes slowly moved to the right of where the prince and princess were now talking, and he saw the very person he always looked forward to seeing at the end of his practice. His face split into a wide grin, and he waved.

Andy waved back. He looked a bit less self-assured than usual, which worried Pryce. He ran to meet him a little quicker than he usually would, scrambling up the ladder to the platform. “There’s my least favorite sarcastic asshole,” he greeted jokingly.

Andy gave a half-hearted smile and pulled a cookie from the basket he carried. He held it out, and when Pryce reached for it, he snatched it away. “I need help,” he said, the smile falling away. He looked as if he might cry.

Pryce stepped closer and guided him over to a more secluded corner, his blood running cold. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Andy so upset. Annoyed, sure. Grumpy, sure. But never anything like this. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Andy took a deep breath, and it came back out much shakier. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. He wouldn’t make eye contact when he opened them again. “My father still hasn’t come back,” he said, voice breaking slightly.

“He left three weeks ago, didn’t he?” Pryce asked, his heart breaking at the expression on Andy’s face as he nodded. “I’ll go look for him then, okay? It’ll be okay,” he assured him.

Andy sniffled softly. “By yourself?” He sounded terrified. Pryce had never seen him so vulnerable.

Pryce gave him a reassuring smile. “How about I take Thomas? Sound good?”

Andy nodded again. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright,” he said, opening his arms.

Andy surged forward and buried his face in Pryce’s chest, dropping his basket to the floor. Pryce rubbed his back as he cried silently. Over and over again, he reassured him that it was alright. He wished he knew that were true.

3: The Prince

Virgil’s arms were folded in front of him. “You didn’t show up to our history lessons today,” he accused.

“Ugh, I forgot it was Monday,” Valerie groaned. “I’m so sorry, did you cover for me?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Of course I did, I’m the best brother ever, remember?”

Valerie nodded, smiling. “Ah, yes, how could I forget?”

“That’s right,” Virgil sniffed. “And I deserve compensation.”

She shook her head fondly. “What do you want, Virge?”

Virgil pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Give this to Logan for me?”

Valerie sighed. “When are you going to tell him you’re his secret admirer.”

“Never. Ever. That would be the most embarrassing and mortifying thing ever. Why would I do that?” Virgil asked, his face starting to turn red.

Valerie patted her little brother’s head. “Because if you don’t, you never get to find out if he feels the same, you never get to properly court him, you never get to marry him… I could go on.”

Virgil glared at her. “How dare you make sense at me?”

She finally took the note and placed it in her own pocket. “I need to go get changed into my dress for dinner. I’ll give it to him as soon as I see him.”

Virgil smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Val.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a very good sister if I didn’t enable you in your quest to never talk to your crush about how you feel,” Valerie snarked, starting to walk back toward the armory.

“A lot of sass for someone who’s gonna need me to cover for her again in the future,” Virgil responded.

Valerie waved him off and walked away quickly.

Virgil shook his head fondly and headed back for the palace. He slipped in the door at the east end of the palace, near the kitchen. The halls were empty, which he was glad for, given he was technically supposed to be in his room studying.

He turned a corner, and there was Logan, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “What are you doing, Your Highness?” His intonation did not make it sound like a question.

Virgil felt very small with Logan towering over him. “I went to see Valerie.” His intonation made it sound like a question.

“Right. It’s not as if you need to practice your spells, is it?” Again, it did not sound like a question.

“I, um… I’m on my way back to my room now.” Again, it sounded like a question.

“Hm. I suppose that’s acceptable.” Logan cracked a small smile.

Virgil took a deep breath. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Virgil,” Logan assured him. “I’d prefer that you stick to your schedule, but I’m not angry.”

Virgil smiled a little, relieved.

“I’ll accompany you back to your room. I have some work to do nearby.”

“Okay. Sounds good,” Virgil said, as casually as he could manage.

“Good,” Logan answered.

“Good.”

-

The next day, Remus and Patton joined Janus in his garden.

“That one looks like a duck,” Patton said, pointing up at a cloud.

Remus nodded. “A duck who’s up to something,” he added.

“Noooo!” Patton whined. “He’s a nice duck. Very polite. He’s doing some cooking, see?” he said, pointing again.

Janus pointed at Remus. “That one looks like a husband who’s sleeping on the couch tonight,” he joked.

“Only if that’s where we fall asleep after-”

“Remus!” Patton exclaimed, his face cherry-red.

Remus chuckled, reaching up from where he rested with his head on Patton’s lap and booping Patton on the nose, even as Janus made a disgusted face.

“Remus, Father wants you,” Roman’s voice interrupted.

Remus groaned, lifting his head up from Patton’s lap. “What does he need?”

“How should I know?” Roman asked.

Remus rolled his eyes and began to stand up. He licked Patton on the cheek as he did, causing him to break out in giggles and wipe at his cheek with his sleeve. “I’ll see you soon, Darling,” Remus said, getting to his feet fully. “Bye, Jan-ass.”

“Bye, dickhead,” Janus responded as Remus opened the gate of Janus’s back garden to leave.

Roman was about to follow him when Patton called out, “Roman, are you busy?”

Janus shot Patton a glare.

“No, I suppose not,” Roman said, pausing by the gate. “Why?”

“Come join us!” said Patton. “We’re cloud-watching.”

“Oh. Fun,” Roman said, sounding slightly conflicted. His gaze wandered over to Janus, and they both narrowed their eyes.

Janus gave in first, letting out a frustrated sigh. He poured Roman some watered wine into the extra cup he’d brought out with him (Remus had a habit of managing to break the wooden cups, but he always bought a new one when he did, so Janus didn’t mind much). He held out the cup, a peace offering of sorts.

Roman opened the gate and stepped into the garden. His red coat looked out of place in the green of the small fenced-in area.

Patton grinned. “Yay!”

Roman reached for the cup. As his hand closed around it, his fingers brushed Janus’s. Janus found himself dropping yet another cup as he sprung upright. He stood in a grand ballroom, smoke and screams filling the air. Roman stood a few feet away, and, past him, a great shadow in the shape of a dragon with glowing red eyes. It began to move toward Roman, and Janus cried out.

Janus was back in the garden again, breathing heavily. Roman was in front of him, their faces just inches apart. Wine dripped down Janus’s shins, staining his dark pants even darker. “Watch it!” he hissed, unable to think of what else to say or do.

Roman’s stunned expression turned offended. “You’re the one who dropped it!” They were even closer now.

Patton snickered, and Roman and Janus jumped apart like they’d been burned.

“I have to go,” Janus said quickly.

“Janus!” Patton called, but Janus was already out the gate and rushing toward the palace.

-

Logan set the tray down on the table more loudly than he usually did things, especially in the library. As a result, Virgil jumped.

“Holy shit, Logan! Don’t do that to me!” Virgil exclaimed.

Logan gave him a disapproving look. “You are going to get in trouble with your father one of these days using that sort of language.” He began to take items off the tray and set them near the tomes that Virgil had laid out on the table. “Time for lunch. Take a break.”

Virgil looked at the food, then back to his books again, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Fine. Thanks, Logan.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Virgil opened his mouth to say something, but then the door burst open and footsteps, along with the tapping of a cane, hurried toward them.

“Logan? I need to talk to-“ Janus stopped as he rounded one of the shelves and spotted Virgil. He bowed quickly, wincing at the spasm in his back. He hoped they couldn’t see his expression. “I apologize, Your Highness.”

Virgil huffed. “No need for that. Please.” He paused as Janus righted himself. “Hey, aren’t you—“

“Janus,” Janus interrupted quickly. He realized his mistake quickly, but he decided to double down, clenching his jaw. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s Janus now.”

“Oh!” Virgil said. “Cool.”

“You needed to talk to me, Janus?” Logan asked.

“Yes. It’s urgent.”

Logan looked to Virgil, and Virgil waved him off. He and Janus began to leave, and as they were rounding the shelf, Logan looked back to see that Virgil had gone back to his books, the food untouched. He sighed softly but continued on his way.

He led Janus to an empty sitting room, then closed and locked the door behind him. He turned back to Janus, who had begun to pace nervously. “What do you have?”

Janus bit his lip. “I had another vision.”

Logan stepped closer. “That sounds ominous.”

“Yeah, it’s…” Janus sighed. “You remember Roman Erex, yes?”

Logan wrinkled his nose slightly. “Yes. Yes I do.”

“Well, his brother and brother-in-law are my friends, and we were spending time together in my garden when Roman came to tell Remus to go see their father. Then Patton said that Roman should join us, and I didn’t want him to, but Patton was giving me those puppy-dog eyes, and… I went to hand him a drink, and when our hands touched, I saw… him, fighting a dragon in a grand ballroom. Maybe the one in this palace.” As Janus finished, he felt the tension drain out of him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

Logan looked off into space, considering it for a while. “There seems to be no other reasonable conclusion. Roman is the one who must save the kingdom.”

Janus winced again. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want you to say.”

“Well, on my end, I’ve seen Eschive and Adalinda entering and exiting the same rooms furtively around the same time. They are certainly in it together. But, Eschive… He’s different around her,” Logan said.

“I noticed that yesterday,” Janus confirmed.

“What are our next steps?”

“You keep an eye on them. I’m going to spend the rest of the day talking to the other mystics. I was putting it off, but it’s becoming more and more urgent,” Janus said. “And you can clue in Remy, too.”

Logan nodded. “Shouldn’t we talk to Roman?”

Janus clenched his jaw and his free hand. “More information first.”

“Got it. Stay safe, Janus.”

“You too,” Janus said with a strained smile. He exited wordlessly, leaving Logan behind with only a sinking feeling.

When Logan returned to the library, it was to find Virgil having actually eaten a little bit. Not as much as Logan would like, but he would take the small victory.

“Why are you studying so hard?” he asked as he approached. “You hate studying.”

“I found something that interests me,” Virgil replied, leaning away from his books and stretching with a wince. “Healing magic is actually really interesting. Kinda complicated, though.”

“Good. But I would encourage you not to neglect your physical wellbeing, Your Highness,” Logan chided.

Virgil rolled his eyes and took another bite of his food to placate him. “You don’t have to call me that,” Virgil protested with his mouth full. “In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

Logan stiffened slightly. “I’d prefer to follow the rules, Prince Virgil.”

Huffing, Virgil took another bite, but this time swallowed before speaking again. “So, what’s going on with Janus?”

Logan looked unsure of what to say. “Just some palace business he is helping with.”

Logan, Virgil thought for the millionth time, was a horrible liar. “Right,” he said skeptically.

“If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I have some chores to take care of,” Logan said, looking uncomfortable.

“Of course,” Virgil answered defeatedly.

“Will you finish your food?” Logan asked.

Virgil softened. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll eat. You’re good at taking care of me.”

Logan allowed himself a small smile at the praise. “It is my job.”

He turned and left, and Virgil wished he would stay.

4: The Mystic

“ Mirror’s Shop of Curiosities ,” the sign hanging from a post above the door read. Underneath the words was painted a crystal ball with an eye inside. The building was sort of squat, the walls bowed outward, but somehow not suggesting a lack of structural integrity. In fact, the building itself seemed to exude comfort and safety. The walls were a ruddy brown color, the windows dirty with shutters that were likely once a deep blue but now a cracked and faded cerulean. The door was the most well-taken-care-of part of the exterior. It was a deep brown, almost black, leaving passers-by wondering what kind of wood it was.

Janus steeled himself, took a deep breath, and knocked twice before entering. A bell rang above him as he walked in. At first glance, the shopfront was emptier than expected. Scattered potion bottles and dried herbs sat on shelves, along with jars of things that looked suspiciously like pieces of once-living animals. A layer of dust coated almost every surface except for the products themselves, the counter, and the table and crystal ball toward the back of the shop. The table looked a lot like Janus’s own setup back at home.

“Hello?” Janus called.

A head, mostly a mop of gray hair and the lower part of a face (which looked awfully young compared to that color of hair), popped up from behind the counter. “Hello!” the person said in a smooth voice that somehow seemed discordant with their appearance. It was a familiar voice, though Janus wasn’t sure where he had heard it before. “Oh! You’re Janus, right?”

Janus winced. He had hoped not to be recognized at any of these places. “And you must be Mirror?”

“Correct!” Mirror replied, standing up to their full height. They were a little taller than Janus, pale and wearing rather simple clothing. “What can I do for you?”

“I, um… I’ve had a vision that I would like to get a second opinion on,” Janus answered.

“Well, I’d be happy to provide one!” Mirror said. “Go ahead.”

Janus took a deep breath. “I saw… the palace. On fire.”

Mirror’s mouth fell halfway open for a moment, but they regained their composure fairly quickly. They shook their head. “We should discuss this in private.” They hurried around from behind the counter to lock the shop door. Janus noticed that they were barefoot. They rushed back around the counter and gestured for Janus to follow.

Janus walked into the back room and sat when Mirror gestured to a chair. He watched as Mirror began to light candles and close curtains. The back room was full of drying herbs, empty jars and bottles, and potion-making apparatuses. It smelled strongly of rosemary and thyme.

When Mirror was done rushing around, they sat in the only other chair, which faced Janus, and looked at him intently. “Tell me everything.”

As Janus recounted his visions, Mirror looked more and more troubled. When Janus was finished, Mirror began to mumble to themselves, rubbing their temples (which allowed Janus a glimpse of one of their eyes, which was the color of their hair with no pupils or whites. Very unsettling.) and occasionally chewing on their bottom lip.

Mirror finally turned back to him, their eyes hidden by their hair again. “This is very disturbing.”

Janus huffed out a nervous laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Mirror chewed on their lip again for a few moments. “The first two visions seem to be somewhat metaphorical. Disaster at the palace, something to do with a draconic creature.”

Janus nodded. “Okay. But the third?”

“Literal. Roman Erex will have to face off with the Dragon Witch,” Mirror said gravely.

“The Dragon Witch?”

“She seems to have taken on the name Adalinda Draco. The fact that she has already infiltrated the palace is very worrying…” Mirror mused.

“Okay, but who is she? What do you know about her?” Janus asked.

“Not much, I’m afraid. I know only that she has a reputation for destruction, and that they say she can influence people,” Mirror informed him. “You should keep asking around to find out more. I fear that Roman may be our only hope, and that he needs your help.”

“ My help?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Mirror answered. “You’re the one who had the vision for a reason.” They paused, then stood and began to rummage around in the deep drawers of their workbench. They pulled out a rectangle-shaped parcel triumphantly, then turned to hand it to Janus. “Keep track of all of your visions, gut feelings, and even just notable thoughts in here. It will help.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “How will journaling help?”

Mirror smirked. “It’s the journal more than the journaling. It’ll help you piece things together, trust me.”

“Right,” Janus said, pushing himself up. “Well, thank you.”

He was almost out the door when Mirror called, “Remember to keep your mirror nearby!”

Janus turned quickly to ask Mirror what they meant, but there was no sign of them. His stomach roiling with dread, Janus left the shop.

-

Janus knocked at the door hesitantly. He hated coming to visit Remus. Not because of Remus or Patton, but most of the others in the house. Roman and the duke shared a strong distaste for him, though for different reasons, as did most of the servants. Duchess Erex, though, was different. Carine Erex was really the only positive maternal figure Janus had ever had. And he was relieved beyond belief that she was the one to open the door.

“Hello, Your Grace,” Janus greeted with a smile.

Carine scoffed. “I’ve told you many times, dear one, you may call me Carine.” Her hair was up in a practical bun, and she wore a riding outfit. She must have been about to go out. He wondered how Duke Erex felt about her wearing pants instead of a skirt.

Janus grinned. “Your husband might murder me if I tried.”

Carine’s expression turned sour. “Yes, I suppose so.” She shook her head and smiled again. “Are you here to see Remus?”

“And Patton, if they’re both home,” Janus responded.

“I believe they’re in the greenhouse. Patton wanted to do some gardening today,” Carine said. “Go ahead, dear. And tell anyone I invited you in if they ask.”

Janus let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you, Carine,” he said.

She winked. “Don’t mention it.”

They traded places, Janus going into the house as she went out, and she closed the door between them. The greenhouse, which was attached to the house, was not far from the front door, thankfully. Janus arrived there without seeing another person.

Patton was wearing his gardening outfit, the too-big shirt and patched pants reminding Janus of a child gardening with their mother. The whole ensemble was muddy, from wide-brimmed hat to gigantic boots.

Remus lounged nearby, sideways and upside down on a fainting couch with his torso and head hanging off. Janus wondered if the blood was rushing to his head. His tie, jacket, and waistcoat were discarded and his shirt unbuttoned. He held a book in front of his face, probably another horror novel.

Janus cleared his throat, and two sets of eyes turned to him before Patton let out an ear-piercing squeal.

“Janus!” he cried. “There you are! We were worried!”

Janus grimaced. “Yeah. Something came up.” He looked down at his wine-stained pants and realized he’d been in the presence of the prince like this. He wanted to hit himself. Then his eyes fell on Remus again. Remus’s expression was tired, angry, and sorrowful. He looked absolutely miserable.

Janus walked over and perched himself on the arm of the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

Remus shook his head. “Not right now.”

Janus gave a half-smile. “Okay. Then we’ll talk about something else.”

Patton brushed himself off as well as he could with muddy gloves on, then took the gloves off. “What do you want to talk about, Janus?” he asked softly.

Janus took a deep breath. “I have something fairly serious I wish to discuss, actually. I need you both to listen with an open mind.”

Remus quickly swung himself upright, his impeccable balance unnerving as always. “What’s up, Janny?” His eyes still looked sad despite the rest of his face having taken on an expression of curiosity.

Janus looked away. “I had a vision. A few, actually.”

Silence fell over them for a few moments. Patton was the first to break it. “I thought you didn’t really have those.” He sounded scared, his voice small.

“Yeah,” Janus said. “It’s a new development.”

“Okay…” Remus began. “What kind of visions?”

Janus took a deep breath and recounted not only his visions but everything he’d learned at the palace and Mirror’s Shop of Curiosities. He didn’t look at them until he was finished. When he finally did look, Remus looked… Dismayed? Angry? Shocked? No, certainly not, because now he just looked worried, like Patton.

“Well,” said Patton. He didn’t seem to know what to say after that. He was trying to look brave, Janus noted. He didn’t want Patton to be afraid of him.

Remus apparently did know what to say. “This is bullshit. But! I think I speak for both of us when I say that we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

Patton nodded quickly. “Tell us what you need, Kiddo. I could talk to Roman for you…”

Janus shook his head. “First of all, I am two months younger than you.”

“Baby,” Patton said, nodding decisively.

Janus scowled. “Secondly, I’m going to keep Roman in the dark as long as possible. I don’t think he’ll believe me without more information.”

“We can do that, then,” Remus offered. “I’m good at that.”

“You are,” Janus agreed. “I think that would actually be pretty helpful.”

“You should go check in with Lo again,” Patton suggested. “He needs to know what you learned from Mirror.”

Janus nodded. “That’s good, yes, I can do that.”

Patton tilted his head. “Take a breath, Kiddo.”

“ Two. Months ,” Janus hissed before following Patton’s instructions.

“You got this,” Patton encouraged. “How’s your leg?”

Janus frowned. “Fine. I can rest later, I know that’s what you were going to say.”

Patton frowned back. “You’d better rest later, Mister.”

“Two months,” Janus repeated. “And you’re not my fa-” He paused. “I’m going to go to the palace. Thank you for your help.” He walked out as quickly as he could, trying to get his heart rate under control.

5: The Worshipper

Janus crouched at the top of the stairs, listening. Listening to his parents argue. About him. His mother was of the opinion that they could, “make [him] better,” while his father just wanted to, “get rid of [him].” Janus didn’t want to know what that meant.

He was about to go to his room and get ready to leave, for good, when his father called that name. The name that wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him. Nonetheless, he was expected to respond to it.

He straightened, brushed his jacket off, smoothed his short hair down, and began to walk down the stairs. “Father, that isn’t my name,” he said stubbornly.

His father’s face was turning purple. “Yes, it is,” he ground out. He pulled a chair up next to the fire—far too close—and said, “Sit.”

Janus did.

His father was pacing as his mother knelt in front of him. His mother pleaded, “We know this isn’t you. Tell me what’s wrong, what has happened. How do we make you want to be our little girl again?”

Janus frowned. “I’ve told you, Mother,” he said softly, “you can’t. I’m not your little girl.”

“Ridiculous!” his father roared. “You stubborn little brat! Just tell us what you want so this can go back to normal!”

“This is normal! This is who I am!” Janus yelled back.

Janus’s father pushed his mother out of the way and grabbed Janus by his collar, pulling him up.

The rest was a blur. Janus remembered being beaten and thrown around, but only vaguely. What was vivid was the left side of his face being pressed to the grate in front of the fire, then slammed against it again and again. He could never forget the feeling of his flesh searing against hot metal.

That was the day Janus was estranged from the Marquis and Marquess de Allerie.

-

The streets were crowded. It slowed Janus’s progress in getting to the palace, but it provided the noise he needed to overrule his racing thoughts. It only left room for one thing. He had to get to the palace and talk to Logan and Remy.

He was lucky in that walking around the streets with a cane meant the people that noticed tried not to bump into him. Unfortunately, someone didn’t notice him.

Janus nearly went tumbling to the ground, barely managing to steady himself. The person who ran into him, though, did fall to the ground. Janus went to help him up. He recognized him vaguely, someone he saw frequently in visiting the palace when he was younger. The baker’s son, he realized. Avery? Alfred? Allen? Something like that.

The man pushed Janus’s hand away and stood on his own. As their hands touched, Janus froze.

He stood in the forest. The air was cool and crisp and smelled like iron, and there was only the moonlight to illuminate the gruesome sight before him. The palace baker lay prone in the dirt, his horse lying nearby and his cart overturned. A pool of dark liquid spread around him, wetting the dirt.

“Are you okay?” asked the baker’s son, and Janus returned abruptly to the busy street.

“Yeah, I’m fine, bu-” Janus began.

“Good,” said the man, and he rushed away before Janus could ask or tell him anything.

Janus swallowed heavily, watching after him. He could still taste the iron smell. Then he turned and continued on his way to the palace.

-

Thomas felt the damp seeping through the seat of his pants as he sat on the log, but he didn’t particularly care. It was cold, sure, but he was more focused on his conversation.

“I dunno, Emi, it’s like he just wants to play with me. Like it’s some kind of game,” he said.

The child sitting in front of him was drawing lines in the dirt, but he looked up to answer. “Maybe that’s his way of showing he likes you. Like when Kyle used to push you over.”

Thomas winced at the memory. “Yeah. Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Emile sighed. “I think he likes you, Tommy. He even made you that sketch of you. The one you hung up on your wall.”

Thomas smiled. “I know the one. It’s so pretty.”

Emile nodded decisively. “There you go. He likes you.”

“But what if it’s just as friends?” Thomas asked.

Emile shrugged. “You know I always say you should talk about it instead of overthinking.”

Thomas shook his head fondly. “Maybe you’re right, Emi. As always.”

Emile grinned. “Why, thank you!”

“Thomas!” Pryce’s voice called. It sounded like something rather urgent needed his attention. When Thomas looked back to where Emile had been, he was gone. Thomas sighed and stood before jogging in the direction of Pryce’s voice.

Upon reaching the clearing just off the road, Thomas froze. Andy’s father lay in the dirt, dried blood caking the dirt around him. His throat had been slit, and he was so, so pale. Thomas looked to Pryce who knelt next to a pool of vomit. It looked like he was having trouble breathing.

Thomas went and knelt next to him, in between him and the upsetting scene. “Can I touch you?”

Pryce nodded. Thomas placed a hand on Pryce’s back and rubbed it.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Thomas assured him softly. “We’ll take him back for a proper burial and do whatever Andy needs. I know it’s terrifying, and that it hurts, so badly right now. It hurts more than anything. But it will be okay, eventually.”

Pryce nodded again. “Okay.” He paused. “He was like a father to me.”

“I know,” Thomas said softly. “You go back to camp, and I’ll carry him back there. Ready the horses and put out the fire. Can you do that?”

Pryce nodded yet again. Thomas helped him to stand, then he turned and walked back towards their camp.

Thomas sighed and turned back to the baker. He crouched next to him and offered a small prayer to the Death Goddess, then hefted the body into his arms.

-

Thomas screamed as he fell to his knees in the remnants of his home. The scorched bodies of his fathers were contorted in fear, and he wanted to scrub the sight from his eyes.

His brother lay in a makeshift grave in the forest. Thomas had built it from stones and mud. He hoped it was enough for Emile to rest peacefully.

“ Thomas,” said a small voice.

Thomas looked up. Emile stood over him and offered him a hand, pulling Thomas to his feet when he took it.

“ Emile?” Thomas asked, dumbfounded.

“ Yeah. The Death Goddess and the Magic Goddess took me in. I’m sort of a god now? Or, I will be,” Emile said. “It’s hard to explain.”

“ Oh,” Thomas said softly.

“ You have to get up,” Emile told him. “You have to walk to the nearest town and ask for help. Please, Thomas. You have to live.”

Thomas had never been able to say no to that face.

-

Patton grabbed Remus’s hand as they entered the shop. A bell attached to the door rang out. There was a bored-looking teenager at the counter, leaning their elbows on the counter with their chin in their hands. They had bright red hair that fell over one eye in the front and ended at their neck in the back. Their clothes were largely black and red, very expensive colors to dye fabric in, though the clothes themselves looked fairly plain.

Remus squeezed Patton’s hand. Patton had always been uncomfortable around anything to do with magic.

“Hey there, Kiddo!” he greeted the teenager nonetheless.

They finally looked up, having been unfazed by the bell. “Hi, welcome to Pierre’s Powerful Particulars, home of many useful magical items. How may I help you today?” they droned.

“We want to trade for information,” Remus said. “Are you the proprietor of this shop?”

The teenager huffed out a small breath. “Hell no. I’ll go get Pierre.”

“Thank you very much,” Patton said with a friendly smile. He was sure he looked nervous.

The teenager waved their hand and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Patton cast his eyes around nervously. Remus squeezed his hand again. Patton smiled at him.

A tall man, probably in his late twenties, walked out of the back of the shop. He looked tired. He clearly hadn’t shaved in a while, but not long enough to grow much of a beard. His long blond hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck. His dark eyes looked glazed over.

Poor guy must be really tired , Patton thought.

“Pierre, at your service,” the man said.

“We need some information,” Remus said. “We are prepared to pay handsomely.”

The man smiled. Something about it unsettled Patton. “Well, I hope I can provide what you need.”

“What do you know about the Dragon Witch?” Remus asked. Patton decided he also didn’t like that Remus had gone into all-business mode.

“Oh,” Pierre said, “I can tell you about her.”

6: The Nanny

By the time Janus got back to the palace, he was in a very sour mood. From the crowds, the exchange with Patton that almost ended in him saying something regrettable, the vision from Andy, and the pain in his back and leg. Nonetheless, he continued to walk, making his way into the palace and beginning the search for Logan.

It didn’t take long to find him, returning some clean blankets to one of the linen closets.

Janus cleared his throat. “We need to talk,” he said when Logan turned his head to look at him.

“Come in,” Logan said.

Janus walked into the linen closet and closed the door behind him. It wasn’t as cramped as it seemed when looking into it from outside. He took a deep breath. “I have troubling news. I’ve talked with the proprietor of one of the shops, and it seems we’re dealing with someone called the Dragon Witch, who has taken the name Adalinda Draco and gotten herself a noble title.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “That sounds unpleasant.”

Janus nodded. “Her powers supposedly include mind control. And Roman must defeat her. Apparently my having the vision means I’m supposed to help.”

Logan began to pace in the small space. “What do we do, then?”

“Remus and Patton have been filled in, and they’re looking into that now,” Janus replied.

Logan nodded. “As soon as they find that information, we should take action. Time is certainly of the essence.”

“Definitely. I just have to convince Roman when the information becomes available to us,” Janus said, his tone and expression both defeated and nervous.

“I have to talk to Remy,” Logan said as he opened the closet. “But first, let me walk you to the gate. You look exhausted.” They began to walk together.

Janus grimaced. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

Logan pressed his lips into a tight line and let the silence hang for a moment. Then he said, “There’s nothing wrong with needing to rest. Taking care of yourself is important.”

Janus laughed sharply. “I give that advice all the time. I suppose I haven’t applied it to myself.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe you should give that a try.”

“Thanks, Logan.”

Logan nodded.

As they rounded a corner, they passed Virgil. He gave a little wave. “Hi, Janus. Hi, Lo.”

Virgil rounded the corner, and Logan turned his head slightly, looking wistfully at where Virgil had been.

“You should talk to him,” Janus said after looking around to make sure no one was nearby.

Logan bristled. “I talk to him all the time.”

Janus scoffed. “About feelings, Logan.”

Logan shook his head. “There’s nothing to do about it. He’s… out of my reach.”

Sighing, Janus looked away. “Just a little advice.”

They reached the door to the palace, and they walked down the path to the gate in silence.

“Get home safe,” Logan said.

“I’ll certainly try,” replied Janus.

They both turned and began to walk in opposite directions. The streets were less crowded now, and Janus made it home in far less time than it would have taken earlier. He thought about Logan’s advice to take a rest, and Patton’s demand that he rest. He put out his “Open” sign and went to clean up a little. He’d do some readings and then rest. Putting it off surely wouldn’t hurt… too badly.

-

Janus was in the middle of listening to a customer’s question about their future when he heard a knock on the door. Specifically, Remus’s knock pattern. He paused, then interrupted the customer, “I need to check on this, I’ll be right back.”

When he opened the door, Remus was there, looking worried and somewhat upset. Patton stood slightly behind him with the same expression on his face. “What’s wrong?” Janus asked.

“Um, we have something kind of important to tell you,” Patton said, then began to chew on his lip. He paused for a moment, then wrinkled his brow. “You’re not resting.”

Janus cast a glance over his shoulder. “Can it wait a little? I’m with a customer.”

“I guess,” said Remus. But Janus had never seen him so on-edge.

Sighing, Janus gestured for them to come in. “You guys go to my room, I’ll be right there.”

They both walked past the customer and into the back room.

Janus walked over to the customer. “I’m very sorry, but something has come up. If you’ll come back later, I’ll do your reading for half price.”

They looked a little miffed, but the customer did leave. Janus sighed and went to join Remus and Patton. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

Patton and Remus looked at each other.

“The Dragon Witch,” said Patton. “She’s a real nasty character.”

“What do you mean?” Janus asked, his heart jumping in his chest.

Remus tried to perk up, but it didn’t quite work. “Well, it’s mostly just rumors, but, supposedly, she started the war in Louria, killed the prince of Hertland, and has razed quite a few villages.”

Janus’s eyes gradually widened. “That’s… not good.”

Patton quickly added, “But we think there’s a way to defeat her. We were told that the source of her power is an enchanted mirror.”

“So we destroy that,” Janus said.

“It’s not that simple,” Remus replied. “The mirror is hidden away in a cave in the Droiler Mountains. She connects with it through other mirrors.”

Janus hissed out a sigh. “Well… Do we know where the cave is exactly?”

Patton nodded and pulled out a map from his messenger bag.

Janus hummed. “That’s about a three days’ walk, six round trip,” he said. “And… Unfortunately, according to my visions, Roman has to come with me. You two can stay here if you like, though.”

Remus and Patton locked eyes again. Patton nodded.

“Fuck that, let’s go on a quest!” Remus said. “Besides, you may need help kidnapping my brother.”

Janus sighed.

-

For the third time that day, Janus walked to the palace, this time with companions. The sun was moving lower and lower in the sky. He was distracted, trying to come up with what to say to Roman. Patton flitted around him worriedly as they walked. He kept asking if Janus was alright, if he needed to stop. He said that they could go tomorrow, that Janus needed rest. Janus just hummed and mumbled basic responses. “I’m fines,” and “It’s okays.”

Janus felt like it took very little time to arrive at the palace. Nonetheless, he brought himself back to the present just as Remus told the guards that they had business with Logan. It was a good excuse to be there so late, and it was true as well. The guards let them in.

Janus let Remus take the lead on asking around about where Logan was. Eventually, they caught up with him. “Logan,” Janus called.

Logan turned to see them, and he quickly bowed his head to Remus. “I assume you have something to talk about?”

Janus nodded. “I’ll let Remus explain… I need to talk to Roman. I walked here to stall,” he admitted.

Patton furrowed his brow. “Janus, your leg…”

Janus set his jaw. “I’m fine , Patton. You three discuss what needs to be done. It’ll help when I drag Roman back here.”

Logan sighed, and Remus gave him a concerned look as well. “I’ll be okay, I promise,” Janus said. He turned abruptly and left before he could be lectured on the importance of taking breaks.

When he finally got back to Duke Erex’s estate, it was dark, and he was limping pretty heavily. One of the servants opened the door. Thankfully, it was Grey, who was sympathetic to Janus. “Young Master Remus isn’t here, Janus,” they said.

“I know,” Janus answered. “I’m here to see Roman.”

Grey raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “He’s in the study. The Duke isn’t there, don’t worry.”

Smiling in relief, Janus stepped inside when Grey gave him space to. “Thank you, Grey.” He walked away quickly, trying to avoid anyone else. Another servant brushed past him in the hall outside the study, knocking into the arm holding his cane and nearly kicking the cane out from under him. Janus nearly fell. He righted himself and took a deep breath before knocking on the study door.

“Come in!” Roman’s voice called. Janus did his best not to hobble as he entered. He closed the door behind him.

Roman looked up, then his eyes widened in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Janus took another breath. “I have something to talk to you about.”

Roman furrowed his brow, but then gestured for Janus to continue.

Janus told his story in great detail, trying to make sure Roman would believe him. To his surprise, Roman listened quietly.

When Janus was finished, Roman stood from behind the desk, then walked toward Janus. Janus straightened as much as he could, but Roman still towered over him. He swallowed with difficulty.

“You really think I would believe all that? That I’m so gullible I’d just listen to you?” Roman asked.

“Roman, it’s true,” Janus said as earnestly as he could, fighting against the annoyance that wanted to creep into his voice.

Roman grit his teeth. “I can’t believe you! Why do you want to make a fool of me?”

Janus shrank back a little. “I know I wasn’t always nice to you when we were growing up, but this isn’t about you and me! This is more important than us!”

“Why do you always feel the need to antagonize me?!”

“Oh, please! You do the same!”

“You little-”

The door swung open. In swept Galena, Roman and Remus’s nanny, carrying a basket of clean dishes. She took in the scene before her. “Hm. What are you two fighting about now?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Roman frowned, almost a pout, like a child who knew they were about to be in trouble. “He’s trying to convince me that I need to go off with him to save the kingdom.”

“It’s true!” Janus insisted. “I saw you fighting the Dragon Witch! I saw it, Roman!”

Roman turned back to him. “You’re really doubling down?”

Galena raised a hand, then pinched her fingers together. “Quiet.” She stepped closer to the two of them, taking in Janus’s expression. “Roman, he’s clearly telling the truth.”

“What?!” Roman asked.

“Look at his eyes,” Galena requested.

Roman peered into Janus’s face, and Janus clenched his free hand into a fist at his side, his knuckles going white as he tried not to flush from having the attention on him. Whatever Roman saw with his deep green eyes seemed to surprise him. He stepped back. “What do we do now?” he asked Janus.

Janus breathed a sigh of relief. “We go to see Remus and Patton at the palace. They’re discussing it with a servant who knows about it. They’ll have an idea of what our next steps should be.”

Roman nodded, surprisingly agreeable. “Great. Let me finish on this last report, then we’ll go.”

7: The Baker

Logan led Patton and Remus toward the scullery, where Remy was supposed to be helping out that day. “So, Patton,” Logan said, “It’s been a while since we got to talk.” His voice felt stilted and awkward.

Patton nodded, giving him a smile, even though he didn’t turn to see it. “Yeah. I’ve missed you and Prince Virgil.”

Remus tilted his head. “You should visit them sometimes, Pat.”

Patton’s smile fell. “I guess, but right now we have serious things to talk about.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed. He opened the door to the scullery and held up a finger in a gesture for Patton and Remus to stay in the corridor. He returned shortly with Remy at his side.

“Hello,” Patton said with another smile. “I’m Patton, nice to meet you.”

“Remy, at your service,” Remy answered.

Remus waved a hand. “Remus, it’s a pleasure.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Let’s go somewhere less… open.”

Patton’s eyes widened. “Right! Lead the way!”

Remy grabbed Logan’s arm, much to Logan’s apparent annoyance, and began to walk. A short walk later, they found themselves in the servants’ quarters. Remy opened a door and gestured for the rest to go inside, then followed when they did. He checked no one was around and closed the door. “You have information?” he asked when he turned to face them, lowering his tinted glasses slightly, an excited look in his eyes.

“Yes!” Patton said. “It’s… There’s this mirror we have to go destroy to take away the Dragon Witch’s powers, but it’s in a cave in the mountains, and it’s going to be a long journey, and Remus and I are going with Janus and Roman to do that,” he said far too quickly.

Logan and Remy seemed to catch all of it, though. Remy hummed. “Well, I have to go with you guys. I’m not missing this.”

Logan hummed. “I suppose I should stay here, then.”

“I want to go too,” a voice said from the doorway.

They all jumped and turned to face the door, where Prince Virgil stood leaned against the door frame.

There was silence for a few moments, then Logan frowned. “No.”

“No?” Virgil asked, frowning back.

“It’s too dangerous, Your Highness,” Logan answered.

“I’m a grown adult,” Virgil shot back.

“A grown adult who’s never been in any real danger. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan said, sounding slightly agitated.

“And you’re just overprotective! I’m a healer! I can help!” Virgil cried.

“Prince Virgil-”

“Actually,” Remus interrupted, “a healer might be helpful.”

Logan shot him a glare.

“See?” Virgil said. “They want me to come!”

“Kiddo, Lo’s right. It’s really dangerous,” Patton said.

“Virgil,” Logan said, successfully catching Virgil’s attention. “I just want you to be safe.”

Virgil tilted his head. “I will be, Logan.”

Logan sighed softly. “Then I’m coming too. The other servants can fend for themselves for a while.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow and flushed slightly, then a triumphant smile split his face. “Cool.”

“Won’t people look for you?” Patton asked.

“Hm,” Virgil paused for a moment, “I think I have an idea.”

-

“Where are we going?” Patton asked as he, Logan, and Remus followed Virgil down the road. 

Virgil was focusing very hard on not tripping over the boots he’d borrowed from Logan, which were about two sizes too large. “Mh,” he hummed, “you’ll see.” He pulled the hood of his cloak down further. He was clearly trying not to be recognized. Patton wasn’t sure if Logan tagging along would help with that.

They finally slowed outside a bakery. The bakery that served the palace more often than not. Virgil opened the door, and the group made their way inside. 

The baker’s son–Andy, Patton’s brain supplied–popped up from behind the counter, surveying them with a raised eyebrow. “How may I help you?”

Virgil looked around, then lowered his hood. “I need a favor.”

Andy rushed to bow, but Virgil quickly waved for him to straighten up. 

“It’s fine, um…” Virgil cleared his throat. “I have somewhere I need to go, but no one can know I’m gone. You look so much like me…”

“Ooooh, no,” Andy said. “Nope. I can’t. That’s not going to work.”

“Andy, please,” Virgil said. He looked around furtively again. “It’s very important. The Dragon Witch has infiltrated the castle, and I need to go destroy her power at its source. We need your help.”

Andy’s shoulders fell. “The Dragon Witch? I… Who’s going to run the bakery?”

“I think I know a couple people who owe me a favor,” Patton said. “I’m sure I’ll find someone.”

A small sigh escaped Andy’s lips. “You’re sure about this?” 

Virgil nodded. “It’ll be absolutely fine. Just lay low, and I’ll be back before you know it. A week, tops.”

Andy nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said. “You're doing the kingdom a great service.”

With a sigh, Andy walked around from behind the counter. “I’m glad to help, I guess.”

-

Patton held up a lock of Andy’s hair and carefully took the scissors to it. “You know, Logan, I don’t think anyone would have noticed that Andy’s hair is longer than Virgil’s. It’s not that much longer.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Logan said with the smug tone of someone who had just gotten their way. 

Patton brushed the hair off of Andy’s shoulders. “Look in the mirror and tell me what ya think,” he instructed Andy, who did as told.

Virgil approached to look Andy over. “...Well, this is uncanny.”

Andy turned to look back at Virgil. “Tell me about it.”

“Makeup time!” Remus announced with perhaps a bit too much excitement. 

Andy sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to apply it myself after you leave…”

“We’ll keep it simple,” Virgil promised. “Come on.” 

Andy followed Virgil to the vanity table and sat facing the mirror. “And what do I do if someone notices I’m not you?” he asked. 

“No one will notice,” Logan assured him, “because you will lay low and pretend to be ill. Ask not to be bothered, and no one will bother you.”

Andy took a deep breath, grimacing slightly as Remus and Virgil simultaneously began to apply makeup to his face. 

“Eyes open,” Virgil instructed. “You need to see what we’re doing.”

Patton leaned against the wall, watching as Remus and Virgil lectured Andy on what to do with the makeup, Virgil very seriously and Remus with the occasional off-color remark.

Remy emerged from the walk-in closet with an armful of clothes and began laying them out on the bed.

There was a knock at the door.

“Got it,” Patton said, pushing himself away from the wall.

When he opened the door, there stood Pryce and Thomas. “Oh,” said Pryce, “hello, Patton. Do you happen to know where Andy is? Or Logan, he might know.” 

“Ah, um…” Patton began.

Pryce looked past Patton, and his facial expression fell when he spotted Andy. He raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Why is he here?” He took in more of the scene. “What’s going on?”

“Pryce?” Andy asked. 

Logan and Patton locked eyes. It took less than a second for them to come to an agreement. 

Patton stepped aside for Pryce and Thomas to enter. “Hi, Thomas,” he said

“Hi, Patton,” Thomas answered with a tense smile. 

Logan walked over to them as Patton closed the door. “Andy is doing us a huge favor. Prince Virgil has somewhere he needs to go without anyone knowing he’s leaving.” He looked over at Andy. “I think it’s safe to say you’re nervous? Will having Pryce around to help you ease your mind?”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “That would help.”

Pryce still looked somewhat confused, but he nodded at Andy’s answer. “I’ll help however I can. But…” He shifted his gaze to Andy. “Andy, I need to talk to you for a moment.” 

Virgil and Remus moved away from Andy so that he could get up. 

“What is it?” Andy asked, tone full of trepidation.

Pryce jerked his head toward the closet. “I think it would be best to have this conversation in private.”

Andy looked back at Virgil, and Virgil waved for them to go. He followed Pryce, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side. 

The door closed heavily when Andy pushed it. It left Pryce and him in complete silence. “What is it?” he asked carefully.

“We, ah… Your dad,” Pryce said. “We think he was attacked by bandits. It was far too late by the time we got there.” Pryce’s voice was breaking, but he made it through giving Andy the news. 

Andy shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No…”

“Andy, I’m sorry,” Pryce said. “I’m so sorry.”

Andy choked back a sob, placing his hand over his mouth. “No,” he repeated. He was unsuccessful in holding back his next sob. The dam broke, and he couldn’t stop himself from crying out in distress as the sobs overwhelmed him. 

Pryce opened his arms, and Andy dove into them again, clinging to him with all his might. He shook like a leaf as he cried into Pryce’s shoulder. Pryce rubbed his back, muttering empty words that meant nothing to either of them.

8: The Childhood Friends

By the time Janus and Roman arrived, Andy had calmed down a fair bit. Remus was showing him the different makeups and brushes, and Logan was filling in Thomas and Pryce on the situation, as well as clarifying some things for Andy. Remy had just returned from making preparations for his and Logan’s absence, and Patton and Virgil were packing Virgil’s things.

Roman looked around at the activity of the room. “How many people know about this?” he asked.

“Only the people in this room,” Logan answered. Janus nodded in confirmation.

Roman counted quickly. “I feel like this is too many people.”

“We’ll need as much help as possible, won’t we?” Janus pointed out. 

“I… suppose so,” Roman said. 

Janus sat down in the nearest chair, trying not to look too tired. “So, to recap,” he said, “Duchess Adalinda Draco is really the Dragon Witch, and she’s conspiring with Prince Eschive to kill the King. Her power comes from a mirror that she keeps in a cave in the Droiler Mountain Range. We need to destroy it. Virgil is coming, so Andy is taking his place and pretending to be him until we return. The journey should be six days, round trip. Three days to the cave, three days back. Everyone clear?”

There was a general murmur of consensus that rumbled through the room. 

Janus looked up at Roman. “From now on, I suppose I’ll defer to you.”

Roman looked around the room again. “Do we know exactly where we’re going?”

“I’ve got a map,” Remus answered without looking up from the makeup laid out on the vanity table. “Ooh, this one would be perfect for hiding that scar.”

“Remus, focus,” Roman groaned.

“I am! This is important, too, you know,” Remus chided. “I got the guy at the magic shop Patton and I visited to show me where on the map the cave should be.”

Roman nodded briskly. “And who is going on the journey?”

“You and me,” Janus answered.

“And myself,” Logan said.

“Patton and me too,” added Remus.

“And me,” said Remy. 

“And me,” echoed Virgil.

“I’ll go too,” Thomas chimed in.

Roman nodded. “That makes eight.”

“We should leave as soon as possible,” Janus reminded them. 

Again, Roman nodded. “We’ll meet just after midnight tonight. Everyone needs to pack for the journey. We can meet outside the north gate of the capital, in the treeline so the guards don’t see us and bother us.”

Logan frowned. “Are you sure we shouldn’t plan more?”

“Do you think we have time?” Roman shot back. 

Logan pursed his lips. “I suppose not.”

“Get ready,” Roman said. “We leave tonight.”

-

Andy sat staring at himself in the mirror. Everyone else had left the room, many of them to their own homes to pack, Pryce with Thomas to the temple, and Virgil to his closet for the moment. His face didn’t look quite like him. Definitely more like the prince than himself. He touched his cheek lightly over his now-invisible scar and looked down at his hand. Only the faintest hint of powder dusted his fingertips.

Virgil reentered the room with an armful of traveling clothes and an empty knapsack hanging from the other hand. He set it all down on the bed and looked to where Andy was still sitting next to the vanity.

Andy looked up only when Virgil sat down in a chair he pulled up next to him, then bowed his head slightly. “Your Highness.”

Virgil coughed and cast his gaze to the side. “You don’t need to… Um, you really don’t have to tell me, but I was wondering if you’d like to talk about whatever Pryce said to make you so upset…”

Andy sniffed, blinking at the stinging in his eyes. “My father went on a trip for some seasonal ingredients. When he didn’t return, I got Pryce and Thomas to go look for him. He was attacked.” His words were stilted, ground out past the lump in his throat. He grit his teeth and clenched his fist.

A look of understanding spread across Virgil’s face, and his shoulders fell. “My condolences,” he said. “You probably don’t want to hear any platitudes right now. But I can sit with you for a while, if you like.”

Andy shook his head. “You need to pack. I’ll be okay.” He sniffed again.

Virgil sighed. “We haven’t been that close in a long time, but you’re still my friend, Andy. I want to help.” He smiled a little. “Besides, we both know that Logan will be packed in no time and back to either help or nag me. I can at least sit right here until he gets back.”

Andy managed a tense smile. “Thanks, Virge.”

Virgil grinned and ruffled Andy’s newly-cut hair. “Least I can do for a childhood friend.”

He hesitated for a moment before holding his arm out. Andy leaned into him, and he wrapped that arm around him.

“I wish I could do more,” Virgil murmured. “I wish I could stay.”

“They need a mage,” Andy said, muffled by Virgil’s shoulder. “They’ll probably get themselves killed without you.”

Virgil huffed out a small laugh. “Knowing Duke Erex’s sons, that might not be an exaggeration.”

They fell quiet, the tension of Virgil’s nerves and Andy’s sadness hanging in the air. The silence remained until Logan arrived to scold Virgil for not having packed yet, which sent the two into a fit of laughter.

9: The Mage

Janus stood against a tree, waiting for the others to arrive. The moon was high overhead, waxing, and it bathed the forest canopy in silvery light that soaked through the leaves to dapple the ground beneath. His eyes focused in on movement off to his left, and he tensed, reaching for the dagger he’d strapped to his belt.

“Calm down, it’s me,” someone grumbled, and Janus relaxed when he recognized the voice.

“I expected you to get here first, or maybe Logan,” Janus commented as Roman came to stand a few feet away from him.

Roman yawned and grumbled.

“Not a morning person, huh?” Janus asked with an amused smile.

“Shut up. It’s not even morning yet,” Roman snapped.

Janus held his hands up and stifled a small laugh. “Cut your nap short to get your hair perfect, did you?”

Roman glared at him, and he had to stifle another laugh. A surprisingly comfortable silence fell.

Virgil and Logan arrived next, Remy trailing behind them.

Thomas came next, then Remus and Patton.

At this point, Roman had recovered his attitude and superior airs, and he was questioning everyone on whether or not they had packed everything they might need. Logan quickly joined, and the rest realized that those two in combination might be an actual living nightmare.

“Hey, Dipshit,” Remus said finally, reaching into his bag. He produced a rolled-up map and held it out toward Roman.

Roman reached for it, then hesitated.

Remus jabbed the paper toward his brother. “You’re our intrepid leader.”

Roman took the map.

Remus grinned. “Don’t fuck it up.”

-

The group had traveled mostly in silence for several hours until the sun rose. As the morning sun began to shine, Patton began talking.

“You know, I think we ought to get to know each other better, you know, as a group.”

Logan gave him a withering look. “Must we?”

“Yes,” Patton answered matter-of-fact-ly. “We should take turns saying fun facts about ourselves.” He was met with silence. “Okay, I’ll go first. I’m Patton, and I can say the alphabet backwards.”

“You can?” Logan asked before Janus could warn him.

“Yep!” Patton said with a grin. “Listen,” he paused for effect. “’The alphabet backwards.’”

Logan blinked, and Virgil, Roman, Thomas, and Remy all snickered. Then realization dawned on him, followed by a devastated thousand-yard stare.

Patton burst into giggles. “Okay, okay,” he said through his laughter. “Remus next!”

Remus smiled. “I’m Remus, and I tricked Patton into marrying me.”

“Remus!” Patton chided. “You did not trick me!”

“Nope,” Remus answered. “You fell desperately in love with me all on your own because I’m irresistible.”

“Ew!” Roman and Janus exclaimed simultaneously. They locked eyes for a second, then silently agreed never to mention it again.

Patton sighed, a smile still on his face. “Okay, Jan, your turn.”

Janus’s eyes widened. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re the first one I looked at!” Patton replied.

Janus sighed. “Well… I’m Janus, and I guess I see the future now.”

“We all knew that already,” Patton protested.

“Okay, fine, then… Um, I guess… Oh, I once helped Remus fill Roman’s room with feral cats,” Janus said. “That’s a pretty fun fact.”

“You what?!” Roman screeched.

Janus rubbed at his ear. “Ow.”

“I thought you had ‘nothing to do with that’!”

Janus huffed. “I lie, Roman, we’ve established this.”

“Ooookay!” Patton intervened. “Next…. Um, Logan!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Well, I am Logan, and I work as head of servants at the palace, a role which I share with Remy. I am also Prince Virgil’s personal manservant.”

“Lolo, we already knew that, too,” Patton said.

“I really do not know what you want from me, Patton,” Logan said.

“Well…” Patton began. “Oh! How about your favorite sweet!”

Logan blinked. “I suppose that would be the jam the palace cook makes.”

Virgil grinned. “I once saw him eat a whole jar in one sitting, three days in a row,” he said.

Logan’s face went still. “Falsehood. You’ve fabricated this.”

“Mmmh, I don’t think I have, Lo,” Virgil answered.

“How about you, Prince Virgil?” Patton prompted.

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Well, first of all, I’d prefer if all of you just call me Virgil. At least for this journey. Um… What’s a good fact about me? Ah, um, I can do this,” he said, and summoned a small ball of light in the palm of his hand. They all watched as it morphed through several animal shapes before settling on a cat that stretched, arched its back, then curled up in Virgil’s hand before slowly fading.

“Woah,” Patton said. “You’ve gotten so much better at that!”

“Very impressive,” Thomas agreed with a smile.

“And you, Thomas?” Patton asked.

“Oh, well, I’m Thomas, and I like to sing,” Thomas answered. He hummed a scale in demonstration.

“Wow!” Patton exclaimed. “I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t know everything about everyone, Pat,” Virgil pointed out.

“If I did, I’d be Janus,” Patton joked.

“I don’t know everything about everyone,” Janus informed them. “Just the things I can use in my favor.”

Roman mumbled something, and Janus pretended not to have noticed.

“I’ll go next,” Remy volunteered. “I’m Remy, and I make the best coffee and tea in the world.”

“You know I make better Earl Grey than you,” Logan interjected.

“In your dreams, Girl,” Remy responded.

“His coffee is pretty good,” Virgil admitted.

“Your turn, Roman,” Patton said.

“I hear a river,” Roman said in lieu of an answer.

“Perfect,” Logan said. “That should be a good place to rest briefly and gather some water if it’s clean. If not, we should probably gather it anyway and build a fire to heat it.”

The group headed toward the sound. Janus slowed, getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then Patton called his name, and he hurried to catch up.

The river was wide and flowed briskly, though not quick enough to pose any danger should they need to cross it. Virgil looked around at the edge of the trees by the river, and his stomach flipped as he heard a snatch of song.

“Guys, wait!” he exclaimed. “I think I know where we are!”

The music got louder. Virgil quickly slapped his hands over his ears and spat out a quick incantation, causing the rest of the group to do the same and freeze that way. Someone was still moving, though.

Logan was walking toward the river’s edge at a leisurely pace, a blank smile on his face.

Virgil’s eyes widened, and he murmured another incantation to muffle all sound for himself. He ran to Logan and looked toward the river.

Logan looked toward the river too. He didn’t notice Virgil next to him. Instead, he saw Virgil sitting on the rocky bank, singing. He held a flower in his hand, which he looked up from only to bat his thick lashes at Logan.

Virgil saw the creature for what it was. Its face was covered in a mix of scales and feathers, the skin between gray and withered. Its hunched shoulders drew close to its thin neck as it sang. A slimy, pointed tongue darted out over chapped lips.

Virgil planted himself in between the thing and Logan, hands on Logan’s shoulders. But Logan was physically stronger than him, especially under the creature’s influence. Logan forced him to take a step back, then another. “Logan, please,” Virgil said. “Logan, it’s not real,” he begged. “Whatever you see, it’s not real. It’s going to kill you, Logan, please!”

Logan kept pushing forward towards the river.

“Logan!” Virgil exclaimed, glancing back to see they were only a few meters away from the bank now. “Logan, I need you to be safe! I need you, Logan! Please!” he cried, throwing his arms around Logan’s shoulders.

Logan stopped, the melody shortly after. “Virgil?” he asked, looking down at the prince in confusion.

Virgil nearly sobbed with relief, sagging against Logan’s chest.

The rest of the group removed their hands from their ears, staggering slightly.

A screech rang through the air, and Virgil felt a hand close around his ankle, sharp claws digging in. He was yanked back and nearly fell.

Logan closed his arms around Virgil quickly, eyes widening. “Virgil!”

The others were pretty quick to realize what was happening and rushed over. Janus, Remus, Patton, and Remy all grabbed onto Virgil tightly and began to pull with Logan, while Roman and Thomas each drew their swords. They rushed the creature and began taking swipes at it, though they couldn’t seem to penetrate its steel-like scales.

Janus kicked at the creature’s face, and it used its free hand to swipe at him, tearing his pants and leaving long gashes across his upper thigh. In his surprise, he let go of Virgil and staggered back, and the creature managed to pull Virgil a little closer to the water. Remus let go, too, as soon as he noticed Janus’s injury.

Roman scanned his eyes over the revolting creature, and he finally brought his blade down hard on its wrist, cleanly severing its hand.

It screeched again and reeled back, and Remy, Patton, Logan, and Virgil toppled over into a pile. The creature disappeared into the water with a splash, leaving a trail of viscous brown blood.

Virgil looked down to see the hand still clutching his ankle and cried out. Thomas leaned down to hold his leg still and pried the hand off with the tip of his sword.

Roman rushed over to Janus, who was leaning against a nearby boulder. “Are you okay?” he asked urgently.

Janus nodded. “Fine… I’m fine, just a scratch.”

Roman leaned down to look. “That’s not just a scratch, Janus,” he said, giving him a look. “Take better care of yourself. Hopefully Prince Virgil can heal that in a minute.”

He stood straight and turned to help everyone regroup.

Logan held Virgil close to his chest for a few moments longer as the group began getting ready to move to a safer area. Finally, he helped him stand. “Thank you, Virgil,” he said very seriously.

Virgil managed a weak smile. “No big deal.”

10: The Confidants

The campfire crackled, comforting Patton a great deal. He leaned back, watching the water from the river begin to boil, the additions of the vegetables Virgil had foraged for and whatever type of meat Thomas had managed to acquire when he left for twenty minutes beginning to turn it into more of a broth. He reclined against a particularly old tree and let Janus take over the stirring for a minute. Thomas sat next to him, cleaning a blade. Despite the dire circumstances, he was quite comfortable with this group of people.

Across the fire, Roman sat down in between Janus and Virgil. Logan was on Virgil’s other side, then Remy, but Logan was entirely focused on the map, which Roman had given him to look over while they rested. Thus, Roman seemed to be the only one who caught Virgil poking at his ankle, pants pulled up slightly to reveal a bruise and the beginnings of some swelling. “Are you alright?” Roman asked.

“Mmh,” Virgil answered noncommittally. “I’ll be fine.”

“Can’t you heal it?” Roman pressed.

Virgil frowned. “I haven’t really mastered healing myself yet. Drawing from my own energy just to pour it back into myself… It’s harder than you’d think.”

Roman nodded and reached for his bag. He dug around in it for only a moment before pulling out a small bundle, wrapped in a strip of fabric. He unwound the fabric to reveal another, lighter fabric beneath holding together a poultice. Roman held out the poultice and the strip of fabric. “My nanny, and Remus’s, she made this. Caught me packing and made me bring it.”

Virgil hesitated. “I can’t accept that.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to disturb Logan from his intensive thinking?”

Virgil grimaced. “Okay, okay.” He took the offered poultice and fabric, then pressed the poultice against the worst of the bruising. After securing it with the cloth, he looked up at Roman. “Thanks.”

Roman smiled. “You’re quite welcome, Your Highness.”

Virgil flushed. “Stop that,” he groaned. “I’m nobody’s superior right now. Or in general really-”

“Do I hear self-deprecation over there?” Patton’s voice called.

Sighing, Virgil shook his head. “I am your equal in this journey. How’s that, Pat?”

“Perfect, Virge. Keep it up,” Patton encouraged.

Remy snickered.

“What?!” Virgil snapped. 

Remy shrugged, still smiling to himself.

Virgil grumbled to himself for a moment or two. “Either way, I don’t particularly enjoy the royal titles and all that…”

Roman gasped. “I never would have guessed!” he cried, feigning surprise.

Virgil elbowed him. “Shut up, dummy.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Roman asked.

“Oh, no, but if I swear, Logan’s sure to look up, no matter how preoccupied he is.”

“He’s definitely listening,” Remy added. “The boy can multitask.”

Janus looked up from the pot of what could now probably be called soup. “Remus has been gone for a while.”

Patton sat up. “You’re right. Should finding more firewood take this long?”

Roman scoffed. “Please, he’s Remus, he’ll be fine.”

Janus nodded slightly. “He’s right, Patton. It’s Remus. He probably found something gross that interests him, so he’s watching that.”

Patton didn’t look convinced, but he nodded back anyway. “Yeah, you’re probably right, Roman.”

“Of course I am,” Roman said, puffing out his chest.

Virgil, slouching, snorted. “Oh, you’re more of an obnoxious royal than I’ll ever be.”

One of Roman’s hands flew to his chest, and he gasped. “’Obnoxious’?!”

Virgil nodded definitively, though he couldn’t hold back a smile. He giggled.

Roman shook his head. “You wound me, Virgil,” he lamented.

Virgil snorted. Logan looked up briefly, but then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it and looked back down to the map. Virgil had to hold his hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter at the look Logan had given him.

“Dinner’s ready,” Janus said. “Smells great, thanks Thomas, thanks Virgil.”

Janus began serving the soup into the wooden bowls Logan had been sure to tell everyone to bring. There was just enough for everyone present at the fire and about two more servings.

As they ate, Virgil eyed Patton, who ate far more quickly than Virgil thought he used to, then began glancing at the pot. He caught Janus’s gaze and nodded toward Patton.

Janus watched Patton for a minute, then took Patton’s bowl. He scooped out a smaller serving into the bowl, then dumped the rest of his own into it. When Patton opened his mouth to protest, Janus held up a hand. “We have some leftover things from Virgil’s foraging that I can eat, and you know Remus will only eat one portion.”

Patton couldn’t exactly argue with that. He tried anyway. “But wouldn’t you like the soup better?”

“Nope,” Janus answered. “Doesn’t agree with me.”

Patton frowned.

“You know I’m not going to let up until you eat,” Janus pointed out.

Patton sighed, then smiled a little. “Thanks, Janus.”

Janus waved a hand. “Whatever.” After a moment, he pulled out his journal and a fancy pen he’d kept from his younger years from his bag. He opened it and began to jot down some of the day’s events as well as the visions he hadn’t had time to write about yet. There was a pleasant silence that fell over them for a while. Janus’s pen against papers, the crackle of the fire, and the waking crickets and owls were the only sounds that rang out in the twilight.

Then there were the sounds of footsteps and twigs breaking. Remus loudly made his way to the fire and dumped an armful of firewood near it. He grinned over at Janus and Patton. Patton smiled back, while Janus gave him an unimpressed look.

“We saved you some dinner,” Patton announced.

As soon as Remus held out his bowl, Janus dumped the rest of the soup into it.

“We should rest soon,” Logan said, finally looking up from the map.

Roman yawned as if to punctuate Logan’s statement, causing Virgil to yawn.

Remus swallowed a mouthful of soup. “I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, everyone.”

“I’ll take the next watch,” Logan said. “Wake me in two hours.”

“Then me,” Janus volunteered.

“I’ll go last,” Roman said.

Virgil and Patton looked up from where they’d been yawning, half asleep.

“Hey, wait,” said Virgil.

“Yeah,” Patton said.

Logan and Roman met gazes. “I suppose we could use one more shift, so everyone gets adequate sleep,” Logan said.

Roman nodded. “Aren’t you going to volunteer, Remy?” he asked.

“Nah,” Remy answered. “I’ll let one of them take it.”

“Me!” said Virgil before Patton could.

Patton pouted at him.

“Okay, Your Highness,” Logan said.

“Lo-” Virgil tried to protest.

Logan smiled tightly. “I am still your subordinate.”

Virgil huffed.

“Lay out your bedrolls,” Roman said. “Get some rest.”

-

Virgil sat on a tree stump with his chin in his hand. He supposed it was good that nothing had happened during his watch, but still, he was very bored. Sunrise was on its way, the sky beginning to lighten ever-so-slightly.

When he heard movement behind him, in their campsite, he turned around quickly. He saw Patton quickly getting out of his bedroll and stumbling off into the forest around the campsite.

Virgil debated in his head for a few moments. If he followed Patton, the campsite would be undefended. But, currently, Patton was undefended. He decided to follow.

He moved as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the others. He heard Patton begin to retch, and he moved a little more quickly. When he found Patton, he announced his presence softly, “Patton, are you alright?”

Patton managed to nod, though he began emptying the contents of his stomach shortly afterwards.

Virgil moved next to him and gently rubbed his back. “It’s okay, just get it out,” he said as comfortingly as possible.

After a few minutes, Patton straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m okay,” he rasped.

Virgil reached out and placed his hand on Patton’s forehead, murmuring a quiet incantation. He meant to check what was wrong with him. He instead found something entirely different. “Patton,” he said slowly, “are you…?”

Patton nodded a little. “Um, yeah.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I, ah, I don’t know what to do! I haven’t told Remus yet, I can’t. What if he’s not ready, or he doesn’t want to- What if I’m not ready?!”

Virgil placed his hands on Patton’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Pat. You will be the best father ever. I know you will. And I’ll be here, no matter what. Whatever happens with Remus, whatever you need. I’m here.”

Patton sniffled and threw his arms around Virgil. He sobbed into Virgil’s shoulder, and Virgil held him tightly, one hand on his back and the other on the back of his head.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil said gently. “I’ve got you.”

-

Patton sat next to Virgil on his bed. “Hi. What’s wrong?”

Virgil huffed out a small laugh. “How do you do that?”

Patton grinned. “I can read minds. Now, tell me.”

Virgil bit his lip, chewing on the dry skin there. “I don’t want you to hate me,” he finally said.

Patton scoffed. “You’re my best friend. Why would I ever hate you?”

Virgil’s frown deepened. “You really want me to tell you something that might make you hate me?”

Patton smiled gently at him. “I could never hate you. You can tell me anything.”

Virgil took a deep breath, then blurted out, “I’m not a girl, I’m a boy, and my name is Virgil!”

Patton took a moment to parse out what Virgil had said, then realization flashed across his face. “Oh, thank the gods,” he breathed out. “Me too.”

Virgil tilted his head, processing.

Patton laughed loudly. “Call me Patton,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Virgil.” He smoothed out his skirt and grinned again at Virgil.

Virgil smiled hesitantly back. “Okay.”

“ Okay,” Patton said. “I’m so glad I got to tell you that.”

“ Me too,” Virgil said, grabbing Patton’s hand.

“ And I’m here for you no matter what,” Patton added.

“ Me too. I’ll always be there for you, Patton.”

Six months later, they both told Virgil’s parents.

A year later, Patton met Remus. They got engaged not long after, and Logan replaced Patton as Virgil’s personal servant. Parting was hard for them. But life moved on. Being on a journey together was nice, though. It felt like no time had passed.

11: The Child God

Janus walked next to Roman as they made their way along the path. Behind them were Patton and Remus, then Logan and Remy. Roman was looking at the map, where Logan had laid out a new, “more efficient” path for them.

“You know you’re holding it sideways, right?” Janus asked.

Roman scoffed. “It’s called looking at something from a different angle. Try it sometime.”

Janus scowled. “You don’t have to get angry every time someone tries to help.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” Roman snipped.

“Fine,” answered Janus, Having schooled his expression into calm indifference. “Let’s see how well you do without me.”

“Fine,” said Roman, turning the map completely upside-down.

“Will you two shut up?” Remus groaned.

“No,” Janus and Roman answered at the same time.

“Seriously, shut up,” Remy interjected, “I hear something.”

Everyone paused, listening carefully. There was yelling in the distance.

They all looked at each other, then began to run in the direction of the yelling. Janus lagged behind a bit, so Patton stayed with him.

It didn’t take more than two minutes for the group to come to the clearing in which was nestled a small cottage. In the garden in the front, which was larger than the area of the house, a man and a child were running about with large nets. The man was also holding a shovel.

“Hello?” Roman called. Janus tried to shush him, but it was too late.

The man paused, though the boy continued in his pursuit of… something. The man waved, and Remus waved back.

Remy crossed his arms and looked rather unimpressed.

“What?” Patton asked.

“I don’t do kids.”

“What?” Janus repeated.

“I just don’t like ‘em, hun.”

Janus rolled his eyes and looked to where the twins were already headed toward the house.

“Whether you enjoy the presence of children is not relevant to this situation,” Logan, clearly exasperated, told Remy. “Now… Get over it.” He turned to Patton. “Did I say that right?”

Patton gave him two thumbs up.

They started to walk toward the cottage, Patton and Logan practically dragging Remy. Roman had already reached the front gate.

“And you are?” Roman asked, having already introduced himself and his brother.

“I’m Emile!” the kid cried.

Roman smiled. “Lovely to meet you, Emile.”

The man looked at the group, seeming like he was thinking very hard about something. Finally he said, “I’m Teal. What are you doing here?”

“We,” Roman said, trying to sound important, “are on a quest!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “We heard you yelling, so we came to see if something is wrong.”

“Something is wrong!” Emile exclaimed.

“What is it?” Roman asked.

“Garden gnomes,” the man replied. “We have an infestation.”

“I thought most gnomes lived in the mountains,” Roman said.

“Oh, those are true gnomes,” the man explained. “Garden gnomes are pests that dig up gardens and eat any plant they can find.”

“They get into my garden pretty often,” Janus said.

“And you’d know that if you hung out with the cool group, Ro-Ro,” Remus said with a grin.

Patton elbowed him and muttered, “Be nice.”

“Well, can we help?” Roman asked.

Remy groaned, so Patton elbowed him too.

The man hesitated. “Some extra hands might be useful.” He smiled at Emile, and Emile smiled back.

Roman smiled too. “Perfect.”

Janus held out his hand over the gate to shake the man’s hand, shoving Roman slightly out of the way. “I’m Janus,” he introduced himself. Roman glared at him.

“I’m Patton!” Patton added. “And this is Logan, and Remy!”

Teal nodded. “Okay, so here’s our strategy for trapping the garden gnomes.”

The group filed through the gate as Teal explained that they were trying to drive the pests into the center of the garden on the path, then catch them in one of the nets. Teal was going to dig out any holes that looked like they still had gnomes in them.

Unfortunately, this plan just resulted in all of them running around for a long while like they were being chased by an ogre, except for Emile and Janus, who were keeping the garden gnomes in the center. They had five of them.

By the time they were finished, it was a bit past noon. Teal put the garden gnomes in a burlap sack and asked Roman if he could take them as far out into the forest as possible and release them, so Roman went. Then Teal invited the rest of them inside.

“Dear, we’re all done,” he called, removing his jacket and leaving it on a chair by the door.

They walked through the den and into a kitchen, where a man stood by the oven. He looked over with a fond smile when Teal and Emile entered. His eyebrows shot up when more people followed. Then he smiled again. “I don’t think we have enough chairs, but we’ll make it work! Who are all of you?”

“We’re.. passing through and heard Teal and Emile in the garden,” Janus explained.

“Their friend said they’re on a quest!” Emile added.

Janus sighed. “Roman is prone to dramatics.”

“You can say that again,” Remus said.

“Well,” said the man at the oven. “I just got the stove hot enough. Can I make you lunch in thanks? We can introduce ourselves while I work on that.”

“You don’t have to-” Patton rushed to say.

“I am pretty hungry,” Remus admitted before Patton could quite finish. Patton pouted at him.

Janus couldn’t help but agree.

Teal had already begun dragging in every chair that he could find.

Patton made Janus sit down at the table, then sat next to him.

“So,” said the man as he got ingredients from cabinets. “My name is Dyad. I’m the dad around here,” he said with a small laugh.

“That’s because he’s Papa,” said Emile, pointing to Teal.

Dyad paused for a moment to ruffle Emile’s hair affectionately.

The group introduced themselves again as Dyad cooked. Patton kept offering help and getting refused. After a while, Dyad served food.

They talked pleasantly as they ate, Janus and Teal sharing gardening tips. Once everyone was finished with their lunch, there was a knock on the door.

“Emile, could you get that, honey?” asked Dyad.

Emile hopped up and practically ran to the door. When he opened it, Roman, Virgil, and Thomas stood at the door. “Hi, Roman,” he said happily. He peered around Roman to see the two others. He locked eyes with Thomas. “Thomas!” he cried and practically pushed past Roman to hug Thomas around the waist.

Thomas froze for a moment, then hugged Emile back, his eyes filling with tears. “You can touch me…” he mumbled.

“Only here,” Emile said back. He pulled away, then looked at Virgil. “Hi! I’m Emile!”

Virgil smiled a little, though he looked between Emile and Thomas curiously. “Virgil. Nice to meet you.”

Emile smiled back, then went back inside, gesturing for them to follow him into the house.

They followed, though Thomas walked stiffly and looked around carefully. It was the same, but… different. Very different. It still felt like home.

When they got to the kitchen, tears began to flow down Thomas’s face.

Virgil was the first to notice. He nudged him gently and asked softly, “Are you okay?”

Thomas didn’t respond to him. Instead, he hesitantly asked, “Dad? Papa?”

Both Teal and Dyad turned to look at him, then rushed, almost tripping over themselves, to hug him. Thomas held on to them tightly, trying his hardest not to sob.

Emile hugged Thomas again, too.

“How is this possible?” Thomas choked out.

“Um…” Roman said.

Janus elbowed him in the side, but he continued nonetheless.

“What’s going on?” Roman asked.

Thomas sniffled and wiped at his face.

“I brought Dad and Papa here so I could be with them,” Emile explained, though Roman didn’t find that very helpful to him. Emile continued, looking up at Thomas earnestly. “This is my little corner of the world, where I can live again. You can come here too, someday. But you still have a lot to do.”

“Emile-” Thomas began, but very suddenly, the house was gone. Teal, Dyad, and Emile were gone, too. It left all of them dizzy and disoriented. They sat in weathered chairs around a rotting table, except for Thomas and Virgil, who still stood. Tears flowed freely down Thomas’s face.

-

Thomas didn’t speak again until they were sat around a campfire again. Everyone else was quiet, trying not to disturb him too much as he appeared to be deep in thought. Finally, he looked up, meeting eyes with Remy over his tinted glasses. Thomas’s eyes were bloodshot, and Remy’s eyes had bags under them.

“Emile was my brother,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Was?” Patton asked gently.

Thomas nodded. “He was seven, and I was six, and our village was raided.”

There was silence for several moments. Then Remy spoke up, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Thomas coughed. “But I should.”

Janus frowned. “You shouldn’t do anything that will cause you pain,” he said.

“I need to,” Thomas insisted.

Remy nodded slightly, face deathly serious for once. He reached over and grabbed Thomas’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

Thomas shot Remy a sad smile, then looked around at the rest of the group. “Teal and Dyad, Papa and Dad, they adopted us before I can remember. They took care of us and made sure we were happy. The other people in our village were amazing, too. We all took care of each other. It was full of good people.” He paused, taking a shaky breath in and letting it out in a heavy sigh. “I’m the only survivor.”

Patton gasped softly, and Remus put an arm around him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Virgil said.

Thomas shook his head. “It was a long time ago.” He smiled a wobbly smile. “Emile died protecting me. He hid me, and took an arrow to the chest before he could hide himself.”

Remy squeezed his hand again.

“He didn’t die, though, not all the way,” said Thomas. “Some of the goddesses took him in. He’s…”

“The Child God of Magic,” Janus finished in a soft voice.

“How’d you know?” Thomas asked.

Janus frowned. “I just… did.”

“The church was an accident,” Thomas said. “I went to look for help, and I told the people in the next village over that I was saved by my dead brother, and they just kind of… picked it up. We built a temple to him, and they took care of me. The temple helped him gain power, and…”

“How’d you become a knight?” Roman asked.

Thomas shrugged. “I wanted to help people. It made sense.”

Logan, who had been looking down pensively this whole time, looked up. “You gave Emile new life. You should be proud of that.”

Thomas smiled again. “Thanks.”

“We should go to sleep,” Roman said after a bit of silence. “Long day tomorrow.”

Continued in Part 2...

#tssstorytimesubmission2023 #sanders sides #roceit #analogical #intruality #analogicality #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas #remy sleep #remy sanders #dr emile picani #the dragon witch #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #ghostie writes #mind the cws

[sydsrichie]

'til queendom come, ch. 8

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,870 😮‍💨

ch. 8, fire and blood: “Prince Aemond and I are to march on Harrenhal, take it back from your father.”

She shook her head. She felt so numb. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything that wasn’t agony. “What authority does Prince Aemond have to make such a decision? Where is Aegon?”

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: tags have changed for probably the last time in the story, so double check and stay safe <3 asks, reblogs, likes, replies are like crack to me. I am the mouse hitting the pleasure button until I die. *drops this and runs the fuck away*

The days seemed to blur together as Sena was held in the Tower of the Hand. Once for guests, her room had been converted to a cell with the door barred from the outside and everything that could be fashioned as a weapon ripped out. She knew she should be grateful that they had not just thrown her in a Black Cell and left her to rot. Still, it was somehow equally aggravating to be a dragonrider who bested the King himself but somehow be too gentile to be kept in the cells with the rest of the prisoners of war. She paced the floor and tugged at the ill-fitting cotton gown they’d given her. She had no idea where Rhaenys was, only knew she’d been pulled from the carnage around Meleys’s body, blessedly still living and in good health, and taken back to King’s Landing in chains. Aegon had not been so lucky. Sena had winced when she’d seen her older cousin dragged from the battlefield, burnt and twisted. She’d done that, she had realised, with a sickening twist in her stomach. Groaning and moaning, King Aegon II had been spirited away into a wheelhouse for the ride back to King’s Landing, tended to day and night by maesters.

Sena’s only indication that he still lived was that she hadn’t had her own head struck off.

Months. That was how long she paced that floor, took her meals alone and yelled out through the door to anyone who would listen. The only people who ever came into the room were the servants and Ser Criston. Not Alicent. Not Helaena. Not Aemond.

Sena had laughed when she’d heard Aegon had sacked his grandfather as Hand and replaced him with Cole. Cole was clever and filled with enough spite to carry this war, that she knew, but Ser Otto had engineered all of this from day one, lurking in council meetings and pouring poison into his daughter’s ear. If Aegon wanted to truly win that throne he sat on, Sena would have counselled him to hold faith with his grandfather. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“You’re going to drive me to insanity,” she snapped at Ser Criston one day. He stood before her with the simple missive he had drafted to keep her up to date on the war, although she suspected it was a heavily edited version as it only ever seemed to bear bad news for her side of things, as though trying to convince her resistance was futile. For example, this newest one stressed that whilst Jace was currently combing Dragonstone for wayward seed of their house who would be capable of mounting dragons, he had been incapable of finding a rider for Silverwing. Sena did not point out that being incapable of finding a rider for one dragon did mean he had successfully found riders for two. Two more to their already vastly more impressive score of riders than that of the Greens. “The maid who brings my meals and draws my baths does not even look at me. How am I supposed to keep a grip on my wits if my own family won’t even speak to me? All I have is you, and you despise me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. He looked handsome, out of his heavy plate armour and dressed in more simple garb, the pin of his office gleaming on his chest. But his was the sort of treacherous beauty that Sena instinctually mistrusted on sight. It was like one of those carnivorous plants from Sothoryos that Helaena liked to read about, the sort that drew in insects with their pretty colours and then snapped shut around them. Her father had that sort of beauty. She’d seen it in Aemond too, that day on the battlefield, his hair pulled back from his sharp features, his armour gleaming. 

“I don’t despise you, my lady,” Cole told her, and the sympathy in his voice made her shudder. “Keeping faith with your father was just about the only honourable thing you could do in your situation.”

Sena could not help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she thought of how Daemon’s blood had looked on the front of her dress. I did not even do that, she thought grimly.

“I’m sure you understand that the Queen Mother, the Queen and Prince Aemond are all kept busy by their duties,” he said. 

“Then why are you here?” She snapped. “That is a clear lie, my Lord Hand. If anyone has no time in the day, it ought to be you. At least tell me how they are.”

“The Prince-“

“I didn’t mean Aemond,” she cut him off. There was no part of her, no piece of her being that was ready to confront the mess the two of them had made for themselves. “Tell me how Helaena is, how Queen Alicent is.”

Cole sighed and looked at her.

“Please, Ser Criston. From one soul who loves them to another. Please tell me.”

“There’s not much to say, my Lady,” he said with a shrug. “The Queen Mother is throwing herself into every small council meeting, every letter coming and going to keep her mind busy. And Queen Helaena- she is not well.”

Sena’s heart was pounding in her ears. “Then let me see her,” she breathed, drawing closer to Cole and taking one of his hands in hers. She would beg if she had to. “Let me do what I can to ease her suffering, Ser Criston. Let me at least hold her.”

To his credit, Ser Criston looked to be genuinely struggling. His throat bobbed, and his brow was furrowed deep. “You know I cannot do that,” he said.

“Why not?”

“The King, the Prince-“

“Fuck them,” she rasped, her throat burning at the thought of Helaena all alone, lost in her grief. “This is about Helaena, Ser Criston. Not Queen Helaena, or Princess Helaena but our Helaena. The girl we have both known and loved since she was a child.”

He sighed, blinking back tears, went to say something then thought better of it. He stiffly pulled his hand from her grasp. “I’m sorry, my Lady. I’ll bring you a book next time I visit, to assuage the boredom.”

Sena threw up her hands in frustration, tears of anger spilling from her eyes as he turned to leave. Well, thank the Gods, a book was bound to solve all her problems, she thought bitterly. But she would not lose her temper at him, would not lose the only human contact she had in the entire keep.

She would have been as well throwing her dinner plate at him, though, as the next visit was so dreadful she wished it had never come. Ser Criston laid a copy of the Seven Pointed Star on her dressing table, then turned to face her. The missive in his hand was crumpled, as though he’d been stressing on how much he ought to tell her, and instead of reading it to her he simply handed this one over.

With one son dead and one daughter in chains, it seemed Daemon and Rhaenyra had finally decided to send the rest of their children to safety. As Prince of Dragonstone, Jace was to stay with the black council and Sena could all but hear Baela refusing to go anywhere without him, but Joffrey and Rhaena had been sent to the Vale of Arryn, ostensibly to lend protection with Joffrey’s Tyraxes. As for her youngest brothers, Aegon and Viserys had been sent East on a ship. 

However, the ship had not made it clear of the Gullet before it had been attacked by the Triarchy of Free Cities that Ser Otto had enlisted to the Green cause. Jacaerys had immediately rushed to his brothers’s aid, along with his new dragonriders, Addam of Hull - now Addam Velaryon by royal decree, supposed bastard son of Laenor - and the peasant girl, Nettles. But a third of the Velaryon fleet had been dashed on the Gullet, young Viserys had been taken prisoner and Jace-

Jace.

Sena stopped reading.

She looked up at Ser Criston sharply, her throat going tight. “Ser-“

“I take no pleasure in telling you this,” he said grimly.

“Like fuck you take no pleasure in this,” she spat and knocked the copy of the holy book he had left on her dressing table to the floor. He flinched but did not move to pick it up. What did he- what did any of them know of holiness, piety, virtue?

Jace was dead. Sweet, handsome Jace who should have been a King. His gentle smile, his strength with a sword that always caught her off guard, his piss poor High Valyrian, all gone in the blink of an eye. “Oh Jace,” she breathed, tugging at the neck of her dress in an attempt to get some air. The room seemed stiflingly hot all of a sudden. “Jace.”

With him went Viserys, for all they knew. With him went Vermax and Stormcloud, her brother Aegon’s dragon. With him went a little more of her light and love.

“There’s more,” Ser Criston said.

She clutched at her stomach, feeling nauseous. “More?” She hissed. Her cheeks were damp. “I don’t have many brothers left, Ser,” she moaned.

He shook his head. “Not your brothers,” he said. “Prince Aemond and I are to march on Harrenhal, take it back from your father.”

She shook her head. It was all too much, far too much. She felt so numb. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything that wasn’t agony. “What authority does Prince Aemond have to make such a decision? Where is Aegon?”

“Incapacitated,” he told her grimly. And now she knew why he had not told her that earlier, because the small thrill it sent through her was shameful but emboldening. She had done that. Then the guilt twisted inside of her. He was still her cousin, how could she be so cruel? This war was turning her into a shadow of her former self. With every child lost, every great destiny wiped out, she felt herself becoming a crueler, harder person. But why was Ser Criston telling her now? “Aemond wears the crown, serves as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Sena’s heart lurched. Aemond, crowned in Valyrian steel and rubies. Would he truly wear it better than his brother, as he thought he would? Or would his head bow under the weight of it also? “What does it matter to me?” She hissed. “My father is a seasoned battle commander, rides the Blood Wyrm, defends one of the strongest keeps in the realm. What could you hope to accomplish?”

“You will be accompanying the Prince and I to Harrenhal as ransom,” he told her, “so your father might give it up without a fight.”

Oh Gods. Oh no. Hysterical laughter climbed her throat. She was torn between telling him Prince Daemon would not trade a hot meal for her, let alone Harrenhal, and the creeping fear that he would, just so he could have her back at his mercy. And that scared her more than anything else. “I’m not sure I am the ace you think I am, Ser Criston,” she sniffed. Her nose was running and she swiped at her cheeks with her sleeve angrily. “My father and I are not exactly the image of familial harmony.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps not, but it would be shameful,” he said, “not to pay the ransom, not to take that deal. His eldest daughter, hale and healthy, still a maiden, in exchange for a burnt out shell of a castle.”

She could not help the little smirk that teased at the corner of her mouth at the thought. “Come now, Ser Criston,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “When has my father ever known shame?”

That was how she got out of that tower cell, though. Shackled at hand and foot and immediately bundled into a wheelhouse in the courtyard before she could catch a glimpse of the Prince Regent, yes, but at least she was past the four walls of that room.

The wheelhouse hit every bump in the Kingsroad and her tailbone suffered for it. Still, no one spoke to her. Not for days, not for the weeks it took to venture North with an entire army trailing behind them. She was left to her thoughts. Her ruminations, her tears, her dark spirals of dread. Jace, Luke, Jaehaerys. The only people she saw all day were the guard who took her to relieve herself in the woods and the cook who served her meals. When she was led away from the column of the army during a rest break to piss, King Aegon’s men leered at her. “Oi! Dragonrider! I’ll give you something to ride,” one man hollered at her, and Sena yanked at the chains around her wrists, desperate to go choke the life from him with the cold steel. But her guard had a firm hold of her and led her on at a shuffle. The men’s laughter echoed in her ears. 

Her head whipped around, this way and that, searching for Vhagar in the sky.

The guard - Jarrad, she’d heard his commanding officer call him - dutifully stood with his back to her as she relieved herself. She looked down at her chains, wondered how far she would get if she choked him out now and ran. Not so far in a thin cotton gown, shackled at hand and foot, with few places to run and hide in the scorched Riverlands. Aemond would hunt her down by sunset. “Where is the Hand of the King? Where is the Prince Regent?” She grumbled at the guard. “Shouldn’t one of them be making sure their high-value hostage is being held securely?” She was a Targaryen, she had been a dragonrider and she was the entire conceit of their plan to get Prince Daemon to give up Harrenhal without a fight. It was almost insulting that they were ignoring her like this.

The guard shrugged a little uncomfortably, not looking back at her. “We got told, ma’am, before we marched. The man who lets you escape will watch his wife and children hung, drawn and quartered. The man who molests you will be fed his own cock. The Prince Regent was quite clear, m’lady.”

She shuddered. “That’s one way to inspire loyalty,” she muttered with a grimace as she righted her skirts and bent to wash her hands in a nearby stream. Jarrad turned around and offered her a hand up. She took it gratefully. “You can relax, Ser Jarrad. I won’t run away.” Moons ago, back on Dragonstone, she had thought of it. She should have then. But she had too much unfinished business to run from all of this now.

“‘M not a knight, it’s just Jarrad,” he mumbled. “But thank you.”

She nodded. “Please excuse Prince Aemond. He is a good man underneath it all, I promise,” she said with a grimace.

Jarrad raised an eyebrow in confusion. “We heard you were trying to slice him in half at Rook’s Rest, m’lady,” he said, eyeing her shackles.

Sena pulled a face. “Yes, well… he upset me,” she said. “How far to Harrenhal?” She looked around, trying to spot anything to be used as a landmark. Between Aemond’s army and her father’s, they had made short work of this scarred land. Every field her wheelhouse rolled past was scorched, every town pillaged. It made her sick.

“Head of the column says not far now,” he told her. “Three days, mayhaps.”

Three days. Three days to come up with a plan before there was a bloody battle for Harrenhal. But what plan could she come up with, held prisoner as she was? She looked to the guard. “Do you have a wife, Jarrad? Children?” She asked as he followed her back to the column. She was dragging her feet, she knew, but finally someone was speaking to her and she was desperate not to be left alone again so soon.

“A wife, m’lady. Her name’s Marigold. We live in Fleabottom for now, but we’re saving to get somewhere nicer before we try for a babe,” he told her.

She gave him a soft smile. “Well, see, now I know Marigold’s name, so I definitely won’t run from you,” she said. He returned her smile uncertainly. “I’m going to do my best to get us home safe and end all of this, Jarrad. Then you and Marigold can move out of Fleabottom.”

He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t quite believe her. “Are you married to some Lord, m’lady?” He asked out of politeness.

Something in her gut twisted and she glanced overhead for Vhagar once more. “No,” she said with a sigh. “That wasn’t on the cards for me, Jarrad.”

His nod was stiff but he did show some sympathy at the sadness in her voice. “Don’t despair, m’lady. The Gods have a plan for us all.”

Sena agreed with him now more than she ever would have before. She just wasn’t sure if she wished to know what the Gods had in store for her.

She only grew more uncertain when the monstrous Harrenhal loomed into view and its drawbridge simply fell open at the sight of the approaching army. The men at the head of the column faltered at that and if Sena squinted out of the window, she could see Ser Criston directing his horse this way and that in the confusion, white cloak snapping in the wind behind him.

Then, the sound of Vhagar’s wings in the skies above echoed like a thunderclap, and Prince Aemond at last descended to the scorched fields before Harrenhal. He was so far away she could only tell him apart from the others by his hair.

If Vhagar had happily set herself down on the fields before Harrenhal, open on all sides to attack, slow and sluggish as she was, it could only mean that Caraxes wasn’t here. And neither was her father.

What in the Seven Hells was going on?

After much confusion and distant arguments, the column jolted back into motion and the head of King Aegon’s army trooped into Harrenhal’s walls. The larger part of the army began to set up camp around the keep, but Sena’s wheelhouse was drawn right into the courtyard.

When Jarrad finally freed her from the carriage, she shuffled out in her shackles into the yard. Harrenhal was even larger than she imagined, even more dizzying than when it was viewed from a distance. Her head spun as she looked up to try and see the heights of the twisted towers. The stones had melted when Aegon the Conqueror had descended from the sky on Balerion and burned Harren the Black and his sons in their beds. The ruined towers still smoked, a century and then some later. 

When she looked back down to the assembled men before her, she was greeted with the sight of a harried Ser Criston sharply questioning a man in the heraldry of House Strong. “-we had no choice, my Lord Hand. When Caraxes came down from above- it was either surrender or die.” 

“Is he truly not here?” Sena asked. They all turned to look at her - except for Aemond, who was resolutely looking anywhere but at her. When the Strong castellan could only shake his head weakly, Sena could not help the mad burst of laughter that bubbled out of her throat. “So you’re all saddled with me for no good reason?”

Prince Aemond’s jaw twitched. “You,” he said sharply to her guard. “See that the prisoner is found a suitable cell and guard the door with your life.”

“His name is Jarrad, Aemond,” she said even as Jarrad started to lead her away by her shackles. “And mine is Sena, if you don’t remember.”

He still did not so much as look at her, only gritted his teeth.

Jarrad only got her halfway across the courtyard before they stopped at the sight of a harried Maester. The middle aged man in a heavy robe and thick chain came rushing down the steps from the keep with a crumpled scroll in hand. “My lord!” He called in a distressed tone. The Maester went to give it to the castellan, but Aemond swept forward and snatched it from his hand before he could.

The Prince’s eye scanned the text, and they all watched with bated breath. What could have possibly happened in the time since they had left King’s Landing? No sooner was Aemond done reading the scroll than he was drawing his sword from his belt and placing the point against the Strong castellan’s thick neck. Gasps and shouts rose around them. “Fucking traitor,” he growled. “You had a choice when Caraxes descended, you just chose wrongly.”

“My Prince!” Ser Criston warned, and strode forward to grab the scroll from Aemond’s hand. He read as quick as he could whilst he attempted to keep Aemond at bay. “Gods be good… King’s Landing has fallen.”

“What?” Sena breathed as outcries broke out around her and Jarrad stiffened.

“The Black Queen’s dragonriders have taken King’s Landing, and Ser Otto Hightower has been executed…” Ser Criston said in disbelief. “Did you know about this, Ser Simon?”

Something hysterical was mounting inside of her. It was a trick, letting Aemond and Ser Criston lead their army back north to Harrenhal and taking King’s Landing out from behind them. Sena pulled at her shackles, still held by Jarrad. Over the din of the questions and exclamations from the assembled lords and knights, Sena spoke loudly. “Is there any mention of Helaena? The children?” She asked with panic in her voice.

“No,” Prince Aemond said, and at last turned his gaze to meet hers. He looked so tired and frustrated, the underside of his eye bruised a deep purple.

Ser Simon Strong used the Prince’s momentary distraction to draw his own sword and knock the Prince’s blade aside. Silence once again fell on the courtyard as the Prince turned his icy gaze back on the old knight.

“Can we calm down, please? And try to ascertain the truth of what has happened, like the honourable men we are?” Ser Criston insisted coolly, but Prince Aemond and Ser Simon were still eyeing each other, swords at the ready. 

“We know what has happened. Ser Simon has turned his cloak to my lovely sister and thought we would not notice,” Aemond said, dangerously quiet, and Ser Simon glared at him, holding his blade steady. It would not be a true match of skill - Ser Simon had grown stout and weary with age, whereas even exhausted, Aemond held himself like a viper ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Sena insisted, willing him to calm himself, pulling at her shackles in Jarrad’s grip. 

“Jarrad, I believe I gave you an order,” Aemond snapped, never looking away from Ser Simon. “See to it that it is done and she is out of my sight, now.”

“Right away, my Prince,” Jarrad said hurriedly and gave Sena an apologetic look before pulling her along with him.

“No,” Sena hissed, throwing glances back over her shoulder and tugging against her chains even as she was led away by the much larger and stronger man. Gods, Aemond, stop! Before you are truly lost, she longed to beg him, but he was not hearing her, lost in his own grief and anger.

No sooner was she out of the courtyard than she heard raised voices - Ser Simon, Aemond, Ser Criston - and the clash of steel.

At least it was over quickly.

Once Jarrad found her a tower cell, she did not see him again. Aemond seemed dead set on taking every friendly face away from her, and all she had were the maids who came in and out with food, water and fresh clothing. From what she could glean from the whispers of the maids and the guards on her door, Aemond put the rest of House Strong to the sword over the following days in his rage at losing King’s Landing and as punishment for the stain of bastardy their kin had left on the royal House Targaryen. Vhagar ate well.

The fear within Sena that there was no way to stop what was already in motion was starting to rise like a tide. 

She stopped eating, finding the food they sent her tasted like ash on her tongue and rolled around like putrid sludge in her uneasy stomach. She had one small window in the room, and confined herself to sitting in the sill throughout the day, her forehead resting against the cool glass, ignoring everyone who came and went. All she could see out the window was a small corner of the courtyard, the comings and goings of servants and soldiers. The occasional crow. Her breath misted on the window pane when she sighed.

“Again?” A woman’s voice - the one who had come to take her empty plate - sounded. Sena had not touched the supper she had been brought - it smelled like rot to her. The woman sighed. “That’s the second night in a row. You’ll get me in trouble, y’know.”

Sena huffed out a small laugh. “Can’t find it in me to care, if I’m honest,” she mumbled, never looked away from the rapidly darkening yard.

“Of course not,” the woman said coolly. “People like you never care when you tread on people like me.”

That got Sena’s attention.

She whipped her head around and caught the gaze of a tall, willowy woman. Beautiful, with long black hair and earthy brown eyes. She wore an uncommonly fine dress for a servant and a shimmering pendant about her throat. Who on earth did Aemond have serving her, that would speak to her in such an unguarded manor, even if it was deserved? “I do not know who you are to tread on,” she said shortly.

“No reason you would, I suppose,” the woman said. She dipped into a curtsey, fanning out the skirts of her dress with impressive grace. “Alys Rivers, m’lady.”

Sena swung her legs off of the windowsill and regarded the woman - Alys - curiously. “Rivers?” She asked. Some highborn bastard, then? Even the mere thought made her throat close up, her mind drifting to Jace and Luke. Dead and gone.

“Yes,” the woman said and gestured around. “This is my family’s keep. Or it was, before your Prince put them to the sword.”

Sena’s stomach twisted uneasily. Every enemy he was making was another person she could not protect him from while she was locked in a cell. “Not my Prince,” she protested weakly. She was locked up, after all.

Alys Rivers raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me. He speaks of you, day and night.”

Something lurched in Sena and her temper flared. “And why are you spending your nights with the Prince?” She gritted out, icy and monstrously jealous.

Alys laughed with satisfaction. “Not your Prince, eh? Don’t bother lying to me, girl, I’ve been walking this miserable realm a lot longer than you have,” she said, and Sena flushed with embarrassment at having been tricked so easily. “Don’t worry, I haven’t laid a hand on your Prince, as pretty as he is. I just report back to him about you and see his wine doesn’t run dry. It’s quite the task, right now, with you being insolent and him being rather depressed.”

Sena swallowed hard. “Why would you care if the Prince is depressed? You said it yourself, he put your family to the sword.”

She shrugged and gave Sena a little smirk. “Never said I liked my family, did I? You of all people should understand that, Visenya Targaryen.”

“I love my family,” Sena gritted out, “and I go by Sena.”

Alys Rivers gave her a smile that was all teeth. “You can love someone and not like them, Sena. Though you know that already, don’t you?” Sena chewed her tongue, did not like being read like she was an open book. Alys picked up her cold dinner plate with a sigh. “Be sure and eat everything tomorrow, for the both of us. Wouldn’t want that pretty figure of yours wasting away, would we?” Alys looked her up and down, and the feeling she sent through Sena was strange. Just like she was. Like there was something not quite normal about her, but Sena could not put her finger on it.

It was only when Alys Rivers had left and Sena readied herself for bed that it came to her. How old had she been? She had looked maybe old enough to be Sena’s mother, if a young mother at that, with fine creases around her large eyes and full lips. But she spoke as though she were an old crone and every time Sena had tried to look at an imperfection - a frown line or grey hair - her gaze had slipped off of it like water off a duck’s feathers. An exceedingly bizarre woman who confounded Sena long after she ought to have been asleep.

The next day brought the same dull parade of officers and washer women in the courtyard, but today, Sena’s mind was occupied by the strange woman. It was a serving girl who brought her her breakfast, but Sena forced it down on the off chance that Alys would return and keeping her happy would allow Sena to ask more questions. The fact that she was growing ravenous also helped her choke down the thick porridge.

After she had eaten, her eye caught on a familiar figure standing guard outside her door, through the small barred opening. “Jarrad!” Sena said with a smile in her voice, and the tall man’s head whipped around to meet her gaze.

He nodded uncertainly. “Mornin’, m’lady,” he said. There was an awkward beat of silence. “Are you… alright?”

“Yes!” Sena said, a little too quickly. “I just- I’m glad to see you, is all. I haven’t seen you since our first day here, I was hoping you were alright.”

Jarrad gave her a small smile at that. “I’m alright, m’lady. Just… worried, is all, about this King’s Landing business,” he said, but the shadows under his eyes and the crease between his brows betrayed the fact that worried was perhaps not sufficient.

Sena nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “Have you heard anything? From Marigold?” She asked.

Jarrad shook his head. “Sounds as though it wasn’t too violent, most of the casualties were soldiers and city watchmen,” he said. “There wasn’t much of a fight since King Aegon and his heirs have disappeared on the wind.”

It was the most she’d heard about Jaehaera and Maelor in months. She let out a small sigh of relief. “My closest friend is there, too, Jarrad. If your wife is anything like her, they’ll both be wise enough to keep out of trouble,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

Jarrad nodded with a sad look on his face. “I’m keeping Marigold in my prayers, m’lady. I just hope the Gods hear me,” he said and gave an exhausted sigh. “I can pray for your friend too, if you wish?”

Sena smiled at him and reached her hand through the bars to lay a gentle touch on his shoulder. “That would be most appreciated, Jarrad,” she said.

“Are you getting paid to talk or stand guard?” Came an icy voice, and Sena stepped back from the door as Jarrad jumped to attention, turning back to his guard post. There was a rattle of keys in the door and Alys Rivers was pushing it open.

“Leave him be,” Sena warned. “It was my fault. His wife is in King’s Landing, I only wished to know if he had heard from her.”

Alys gave her a strange look, like she did not quite know what to make of that, and kicked the door shut behind her. “You do know he does not have the keys to your cell? I’m the only one with them. It’s me you need to sweet talk, if you want to escape.”

Sena glared at her, not caring at all for the implication. “That might be what would go through your head, my lady, but we are not all the same.”

Alys laughed and gave her that same strange look. “You are an odd one, aren’t you?” She said, shaking her head in disbelief. Sena did not know what to say to that, only watched as Alys crossed the room and checked her breakfast plate. “You’ve eaten. Good girl,” she said and quirked an eyebrow at Sena. Sena did not like how Alys looked at her, like she could swallow her whole. “Have you bathed?”

Sena’s eye flitted to the door of the adjoining chamber, where the bathtub was. “No,” she admitted. “The maids filled it last night, but I was-“ What? Busy?

Alys just rolled her pretty brown eyes. “Right then, get in,” she said and pushed open the washroom door.

Sena followed her through to the next room and winced. The water was from last night. Even with the fire the maid had lit in the washroom, it would be stone cold by now. “I do not mean to be a priss but I would rather not get into a bath of cold water,” she muttered as Alys closed the door behind them.

Alys arched an eyebrow. “Blood of Old Valyria, are you? The toughest, most fearsome lot of dragonriding sister-fuckers in the known world? You’re all rather disappointing in person,” She said with a little laugh. “Worry not, Princess.”

“Lady,” Sena corrected, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“And yet you act so like a Princess,” Alys said with a deriding grin. “Take off your clothes, let me worry about the temperature of your bath.”

Sena frowned but awkwardly went to pull at her dress. She was used to getting undressed before servants, of course, but Alys was no servant and had a way of looking at her like she was a meal. Her nerves - and everything else - evaporated from her mind as she watched Alys raise a hand to her pendant necklace and mutter to herself, eyes flitting shut.

The fire before the bath guttered out in an instant, and so did the pillar candles lighting the recesses of the room. Sena’s eyes went wide and she was so shocked it took her an instant to realise there was steam rising from the bath water. “How-“ her words caught in her throat, her nostrils flared.

Alys gave her an easy grin and moved for the fragranced oils on a shelf. “Do not tell me you ride dragons but you don’t believe in a little magic?” She quipped and Sena’s eyes somehow went wider.

“Magic?” She breathed. She had seen strange things in her life, things that no logician or maester could explain. Dragons bending to the will of mere humans and great beasts that stalked the Kingswood, making the very air around them shimmer. She had heard tales of things that lurked beyond the Wall, of Old Valyria, of Asshai-by-the-Shadow. But she had never seen-

“It will go cold again if you keep standing there gawping like that,” Alys said.

“Right,” Sena said dumbly, and shrugged off her shift.

Alys was swirling lavender oil into the water by the time Sena was disrobed and stepping in. The water was so hot it would have made someone else hiss, but it was soothing to Sena’s dragon’s blood. She leaned back in the water and let her curls go damp.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Alys remarked, and Sena wasn’t sure whether she should be embarrassed or proud. “The swordplay has made you strong and a little mannish, yes, but you still have lovely breasts, full hips. And your face… yes, I can quite understand why the Prince is so taken with you.”

Sena reached up to cover her breasts and her bottom half, feeling heat rise in her face. “Can we not talk of him, please?” She asked stiffly. “And let us not talk of my breasts either.”

She could practically hear the smirk in Alys’s voice behind her as she started to work a lather into Sena’s hair. Long fingers worked her scalp firmly and Sena could not help the little sound that escaped her. “He’s a sore subject, then? You must be truly angry with him, to be so sensitive to the very mention of him. Either that or… he’s left you a maiden. Is that why you’re so bashful and demure?”

Sena flushed a deeper red, if that was even possible and Alys let out a low laugh. “Or both? Oh, my lady. That is sad,” she said with a malicious humour in her voice.

Sena twisted around to face her, the hot water sloshing against the sides of the metal tub. “Who are you to judge me? It’s not the same for me as it is for you, you know. I carry my family’s name. If I am not a maiden, I am ruined, I bring shame upon my House.”

Alys smirked at her. “Oh yes, things must have been truly difficult for you, Princess. Being raised in a fine castle and doted on by your royal father. Dancing at balls in silk dresses and falling asleep on satin sheets. I’m positively weeping for you.”

“You do not know the first thing about me,” Sena snapped and turned back to face the other way. “I’m not a Princess and my father never doted on me. Quite the opposite, he despises my very existence.” She ground her teeth as Alys resumed washing her hair. “I have spent the last year watching my family slaughter each other in cold blood. Two brothers. My best friend’s son. Countless men-at-arms and smallfolk and we carry on and step over their bodies as if they were nothing, as if they did not have families and hopes and prayers. And there has been nothing I could do to stop any of it - believe me, I tried. I will not pretend I have faced the same trials as you, my lady, but I have faced my own. They have been agony.”

That won her some silence from Alys as the elder woman washed the suds from her hair. The quiet was oppressive and Sena’s words bounced off of the walls around her, echoing in her ears. The heat of the water now felt uncomfortable more than soothing, like the temperature was slowly creeping up and she was being cooked from the inside out. “So… it is true, then?” Alys said, breaking the silence once more to Sena’s distaste. “What Jarrad has been saying about you? You’re the talk of the castle, you know, in the kitchens and the barracks.”

“I do not know what they say,” Sena gritted out. “That’s rather the point of saying it behind my back, is it not?”

“They call you a peacemaker,” Alys said, getting up from her position at the back of the tub and coming around to sit on the side, holding Sena’s eye. Under Alys’s strange, unreadable gaze, it did not even occur to Sena to cover herself. “A conciliator. They’re saying you want an end to the death and destruction as much as any servant or soldier.”

Sena gave her an odd look. It was true, but why did Alys care? “What does that matter to you?”

“Your Prince put my family to the sword,” Alys said. “And whilst I did not care for them, it took away any protection there was for every cook and serving girl and stablehand that has loyally served House Strong. Now, we all serve at the pleasure of the infamously merciful Targaryen Dynasty, whose dragons melted the towers of the very castle we’re standing in. And I’m sure it did not escape you on your journey up here from the capital that there is very little of the Riverlands left to lay claim to. Like I said, people like you never care when you tread on people like me.”

Sena rose from the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed over the side. She stepped out of the water and stood before Alys Rivers, naked as her name day. “It is not a responsibility my kin takes lightly, being sworn to protect and serve the people of this realm. Though we have been doing a piss poor job of it recently, I’ll give you that. I have fought my whole life for peace in my family. Now, I know I do not care who sits on that abominable throne so long as nobody else has to die for it. Not a dragonrider, not a soldier, not a peasant. I want this done, as much as you, and then I want to live out what days remain to me in peace.”

Alys considered her critically, but there was a small smile on her face. “You will not end this war without another drop of blood, Visenya. ‘Tis a beautiful dream, but it is just that, a dream.”

“But if we keep going the way we are, dragon fighting dragon, sister fighting brother, uncle fighting nephew, we will leave nothing but scorched earth and corpses,” Sena bit out. She finally saw this for the opportunity it was. The opportunity to escape this cell and maybe finally put an end to it all.

Alys stood and rounded the bath, passing her a clean sheet to wrap herself in. Sena took it gratefully, a small shiver running up her spine as she covered her skin. “You truly mean it? You wish to end this bloodshed more than you care about black or green, Queen or King? More than you care about your siblings and cousins, even your Prince?”

“I want to end this because I care about them. I do not care for their titles or their power or even whether they can stand the sight of me, so long as they all live. That would be enough,” she breathed, stepping forward to pull one of Alys’s supple hands into hers. “Just… tell me how.”

Alys gripped her hand tightly at that, so tightly it almost hurt, and Sena gave her a confounded look. “Listen carefully, girl, for I will only tell you this once,” she said, and her voice cut as sharp as Valyrian steel. “If you truly want to end this, no more asking others to tell you what to do. Can you honestly say you have done anything in this war besides reel and react? If you wish to lead, if you wish to bring peace, you must act. Show some initiative, girl. Wrestle back some control now or you will be left with no one and nothing to direct you.”

Sena looked down at their joined hands, her scarred and calloused skin in Alys’s smooth, flawless grip. She looked up at the vibrant pendant at Alys’s throat, then met her eyes. 

She nodded. “Okay.”

Alys nodded with her and released her grip on Sena’s hands. “Okay,” she said. “What is your first act?”

Realisation hit Sena with the force of an anvil. She knew exactly what she had to do. “I need to speak to Aemond. Alone.”

-----

It wasn’t until Alys pointed it out to her that Sena realised they actually looked quite alike. Dark hair, large eyes, similar height. All it would take was a simple spell - a glamour, Alys called it - and Sena would be indistinguishable from the true Alys Rivers for a short time. Unless she did something to expose herself to an observer.

That was how, some hours later, Sena found herself able to slip out of her cell, past Jarrad who knew her face and walk the corridors of Harrenhal. She and Alys had swapped clothes  and Alys would stay in her room and pose as her until Sena returned. Unassailed by all who saw her, she followed Alys’s directions down to the kitchens and without even a second glance at her, a cook was pressing a silver tray into her hands and hissing at her to get it to the Prince before it cooled. 

It wasn’t until she was at the door of Aemond’s chambers that she faltered, the tray wobbling dangerously in her hands. It was not a hypothetical anymore. If she could do this, if she could actually talk some sense into him, this could be the beginning of the end. If she could meet his eye, if he had the patience to look at her anymore. She drew a ragged breath. This was like to be one of the most important moments of her life, she realised. The moment where she would be made or unmade. But first, she would need to do her best to glean what information she could from his papers - Alys could only tell her so much. That Prince Daeron was at the head of the Hightower army and Ser Criston Cole was straining to leave Harrenhal and join their forces together. The rest of it she would have to figure out for herself, and decide how she was going to break the pretence and reveal herself.

She held her head high and pushed the door in.

The rooms were cavernous, like the rest of the keep. Aemond had a fire roaring in the hearth, but it did little to assuage the pronounced chill on the air. At the far end was a sitting area with soft cushions that looked untouched, and to one side was an arch that led to a bedchamber. In the centre of the room was his own war table, with maps and markers, a pitcher of wine, pillar candles that dripped wax. Aemond was sat at the table and did not even look up to acknowledge her entrance, so buried was he in a mass of scrolls and letters. He always had been an avid reader, but this was not the sort of reading he enjoyed - his brow was furrowed and he was chewing at his lip. His left hand was rolling something along the length of the table - no, not something, the crown of the Conqueror. Aemond toyed with his brother’s ruby crown as he read, twisting it on its edge, sending crimson glimmers arching over the ceiling, over his face. 

How does it rest on your head? She longed to ask him. But she could not break character, not yet. Although, it suddenly occurred to her that she had not the slightest clue how Alys acted around Prince Aemond. Was she as flirtatious as she was with Sena, as wickedly unknowable and sharp? Was she deferent?

He looked up from his letters and gave her an odd look. “Are you going to stand there all night or am I to eat at some point?”

She shook her head free of her stupor, her blood thundering in her ears. “Of course, my Prince,” she said hurriedly and moved to the table to set the tray down.

He watched her with his sharp eye and for a second, she could have sworn he saw right through her. Then he raised a hand and waved it. “Lay the table, then,” he said coolly, his brow furrowing further. “If you have not completely misplaced your wits.”

That made her jaw tick. “You’d do well to be polite to the person who could spit in your food,” she bit back, and she flushed at the obviousness of her mistake. There was no way, no way Alys would speak to him that way-

But Aemond only smirked. “There you are, Alys,” he said and went back to his papers. Relief swept through her. “Fill my goblet as well.”

Did he say please? Had he always been such a brat? She had never noticed it before now. She did as she was told, grabbing the pitcher to fill up his goblet from the other side of the table with wine of the deepest claret. Then, she took her chance to round the table and shuffle some of his papers out of the way so she could lay his meal. She slowed her hand as she scanned the seals - the flaming Hightower of Oldtown, the three-headed dragon of her own family. A peak and sunburst that made something tick deep in her memory of boring morning lessons in Queen Alicent’s solar. It was a Westerman, she knew that much, but why was a vassal lord writing directly to the Prince Regent instead of the Lannisters?

Oh, that was why, she thought as she scanned the letter quickly, setting it aside as slow as she dared. The Westerman - a Reyne, mayhaps, or a Lefford - had taken control of the Lannister forces after the death of Lord Jason Lannister, and they had been… slain on the shores of the God’s Eye by men calling themselves the Winter Wolves. Good Gods. Aemond caught her looking. “Careful, Alys, anyone would think you were scouring for information to sell to the enemy,” he snipped, and he would have seen the way her face drained of colour if he had not immediately bowed his head to his hand and pinched at the bridge of his nose, as if staving off a headache. “Untold loss of life. The smallfolk are calling it the Fishfeed.” He laughed bitterly and reached for his goblet. “It was the God’s Eye that Lady Visenya’s dragon retreated to, after our victory at Rook’s Rest. At least he will eat well out of our losses.”

Sena did not know what to say. She shuffled aside more papers to make room. “She is well… the Lady Visenya, that is,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “Eating again.”

Aemond nodded stiffly. “Some good news, at least,” he said.

It was enough to raise a lump in her throat. She took his dinner plate and leaned across him to put it before her. She caught him giving her an odd look. “What?” She asked, her pulse thrumming.

He narrowed his eye, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Carry on.”

Her heart was in her throat as she leaned in to put down his fork and knife. His head turned to her once more, confused by something.

The knife was in his hand and back off the table as soon as she’d laid it down. He brought it down so swiftly and sharply she did not even have time to react, and he skewered the sleeve of her dress to the table. A scream jumped from her throat. “My Prince!” She cried.

He was up and had his hand under her jaw, tugging her face sharply to meet his. The melting of the glamour felt like a trickle of cool water. A cruel smirk spread across his lips as brown eyes gave way to violet. Sena swallowed hard.

“Nice try,” he said, almost a little admiring. “But remember for next time, most bastards cannot afford lavender oil for their baths.”

“You could smell me?” She balked.

He raised an eyebrow and schooled his expression. “You love lavender,” he said, as if it was obvious. “Are you going to tell me why you are here before I have you taken back to your rooms? Maybe clapped in chains for good measure."

She met his good eye defiantly. “What did you expect me to do?” She asked, belligerent, pinned to the table and caught in his grasp. “You won’t speak to me, you won’t even come and make sure I’m still alive, you just send some woman-“ 

“Whom I trust to know it is in her best interests to be loyal to me and protect you,” he snapped. He shook his head at her in disbelief, thumb trailing along the underside of her jaw. She tried to jerk out of his grasp. “Although it seems I trusted her a little too much, and once again seem to have underestimated your refusal to stay down when you’re beaten.”

She blustered out a laugh, sounding more confident than she felt. “From what I can tell, Aemond, you’re the one who is losing. Not me,” she picked up the letter telling him his casualties from the God’s Eye and held it up. 

He did not look at it, holding her gaze with frightening intensity, then ripped the knife free of the table. 

She stumbled back. Watched him as he carefully composed himself, an irrepressible undercurrent of rage running just beneath the surface. He sat back down again and fixed his steady glare on the crown on the table. “I have won all my own battles yet I am losing this war,” he admitted. “We lost King’s Landing- I lost King’s Landing. My grandfather is dead and gone. Aegon has vanished. I cannot even speak to my mother. All I have is Cole and we cannot even see eye to eye.”

Something in Sena gave a pang. How she hated seeing him lonely. They were supposed to be there for each other, supposed to stop each other feeling alone in the world. They had promised. Five-and-ten years ago, now, they had made that promise, holding hands in the dark. “You have me,” she breathed and his head whipped around to face her.

“What?”

She drew a steadying breath and leaned on the table next to where he sat, surveying the map. “Tell me what the situation is. Maybe I can help.”

He looked up at her from his seat and his throat bobbed. He dropped his head into his hands and began kneading at his brow. He was so tired there was an uncharacteristic slump in his shoulders. “Why would you help?” He asked bleakly. “It is your family I am trying to destroy.”

She huffed and shook her head. “It is our family, Aemond,” she said sharply. “You - all of you, Aegon, Rhaenyra, my father - are trying to destroy our family. We are one house, the last dragonriders, fire and blood. Do not forget it.” She did not wait for his response before she turned and looked at the map that showed all the realms below the Neck. He had it spread on the table and weighed down with crowned dragons representing his own forces, a cobbled-together mix of Arryn falcons and Velaryon seahorses representing Queen Rhaenyra’s. It made her ache to see it - nobody had ever chiselled two sets of dragon markers. Nobody had anticipated their house turning on itself. “What do we know of what is happening in King’s Landing?”

Aemond let out a long breath. “There is some good news there at least. When all this started, my brother’s council was prudent enough to split the treasury into four and send off three parts for safekeeping. Rhaenyra will be spending the last of what we left to her, by now.”

Sena grimaced at the thought. That would be putting pressure on her indeed. “The smallfolk will be suffering for it. Trade is already disrupted in the Narrow Sea, the Goldroad and the Roseroad cut off, so no trade from the Westerlands or the Reach.”

Aemond nodded. “They’ll be hungry, and what they can get will be taxed viciously by my sister to pay for the war.”

She drew a breath and looked at him. Did her best to steady herself. This was her chance. “This has gone on long enough, Aemond. This family has lost too much. This realm has lost too much.” 

He leaned back in his chair, considering her. “And what do you wish me to do about it, Sena?” He sounded more tired than anything else, shrugging his shoulders. “Crawl on my knees to King’s Landing and beg for forgiveness? Pray your father doesn’t have me strung up by my entrails? It’s not going to work, we’re too far gone to turn back now.” 

She shook her head. “It is never too late,” she said, and his eye flitted to hers.

He managed to give her a wry smile but shook his head. “You have heart, of that there is no doubt, but I will not see her on the throne, Sena. Nor will I see her bastard go after her. She has taken too much - from me, from all of us. My mother has given up her life, her whole life in service of the crown, the people. She gave the King, my father four heirs. Four pregnancies, four births and that is not even considering how she shouldered the running of the realm or the countless times she endured his rutting. And never once has she been thanked or loved or honoured for it. Only disrespected, treated like a brood mare, brushed aside and forgotten.”

Sena frowned, wrapping her arms around herself. “I do not expect you to forget that, Aemond. I do not expect you to forget any of it. I only wish for you to admit this has gone too far. That no throne or crown or title is worth this.”

He suddenly looked as though he was far away from her, in some deep dark place, and he swallowed hard. “Do you know what happened to Maelor?” He asked.

Maelor? A cold fear gripped her. All she knew was what Jarrad had told her - that the King and his heirs had vanished from King’s Landing the night of the Queen’s invasion. She knew not what had befallen Helaena’s infant son. She did not wish to know, if Aemond’s expression was any indication. 

“He was spirited away by a member of the Kingsguard, the night King’s Landing fell, to be taken to Oldtown and my brother. They only got as far as Bitterbridge before the smallfolk caught on, realised they were not who they said they were. They found Maelor’s egg in Ser Rickard’s pack, realised they had a dragon prince on their hands that was worth more than all their pitiful fortunes combined. The fight that broke out, they-“ His words caught in his throat and he cleared it harshly. Sena felt sick. “Some say they tore him limb from limb, Sena. So they might each claim a part of the Black Queen’s price on his head.” 

“Gods,” she said. A wave of nausea rolled through her. He had just been a little baby. This vile, vile war, the fact that their own shortsightedness and vengefulness had done this to them, led them to do this to each other. “Helaena,” she breathed, and Aemond swallowed hard, brushing angrily at the tears on his cheek. “Does she know?”

Aemond shrugged weakly, looking defeated. “I do not know. I fear my half-sister would delight in telling her.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, felt a twinge of pain where it had healed a little crooked. Closed her eyes as she willed the roiling in her stomach, the thudding of her heart to calm. There was a clammy sweat on her skin and she just wanted to cry. “We need to get to her, Aemond. If we can do nothing else, we need to get her back. We need to take care of her.”

“How?” He asked, sounding defeated. “Helaena, my mother, they’re being held in chains. I do not know what to do.” He sounded so small, so beaten down, and it was breaking Sena’s heart.

Sena stood and rounded the table, planting her hands and surveying the map in an attempt to occupy her mind, stop the dark, yawning pit in her heart from consuming her. “We need to force Rhaenyra’s hand,” she said quietly. “We need to make her come to the table, talk peace. Right now, she has King’s Landing, but that is all she has in the South. You still control nearly everything North of the Dornish Marches and South of the Eyrie and the Neck. If we can make her position untenable…“ 

Aemond was watching her with his reddened eye and drew a deep, ragged breath. He pushed himself up from his seat and came to the edge of the table. He picked up a crowned dragon marker from the Westerlands and rolled it in his hands. “You truly believe there is a way for us? We can end this, stop the bloodshed?”

She looked up and met his gaze steadily. How could he simultaneously look so young and so weathered? So terrified and so exhausted? “I will end this war,” she told him, with every shred of certainty she could muster. “We will save this family, save this kingdom or die in the attempt. That is the only acceptable path left to us, Aemond.”

He studied her for a moment, then looked back down to the figure of the dragon wearing a crown in his hand. He nodded once, then reached up with his other hand and snapped the crown off in one clean motion. Sena was taken aback for a moment, then watched him reach for the next marker, doing the same. Then the next, then the next. She took one up from in front of her and bent it with her hands, feeling the wood splintering under her grip.

The dragon markers went back to their previous places, now without their crowns, and Aemond nodded to himself. Convinced he was doing the right thing, at long last. “No more sides,” she said to him. “No more colours, no more division. Just us. One family. One realm.”

“Show me,” he said, watching her with his piercing, clever eye. “Show me how we end this.”

Sena took a deep breath then looked down at the map before her, a sudden surge of something unnameable in her stomach. Courage? Fear? Love? 

Whatever it was, it was time to get to work.

She had been thinking about this for weeks but now was the time to finally put it into motion. “We need to lay siege to King’s Landing. Block every road in and out, cut them off at sea. Choke Rhaenyra until she has no choice but to meet us under a peace banner.”

His eye flitted between the map and her, and he reached across the table to take her hand, pointing out to her the positions of two of his armies. Lightning sparked through her where their skin met, but she did not let it show on her face. “We have the roads, for now. If I direct Ser Criston Cole and my brother Daeron to march and siege the city…” he looked to the sea and grimaced. “There must be a way to broker another deal with the Triarchy, cut off the Velaryon fleet at sea. But we are low on funds, low on anything they would want. It will not be a pleasant negotiation-” 

“No. Not the Triarchy,” Sena said, shaking her head vehemently. “Your alliance with them is at an end. It will be hard enough to get Rhaenyra to treat with us as it is. We cannot sue for peace with a foreign power backing us and being seen to have a say in the outcome. They shot down Jace and Gods only know what has become of Viserys. Your sister will not listen to a word we have to say with them at our backs. We need another fleet.” 

He considered her words and conceded with a nod. “You have a point,” he said. “But that does not solve the problem. What fleet do we block off Blackwater Bay with if not the Triarchy’s? It will take months to sail ships from Oldtown or the Arbor, and I doubt Dorne would take too kindly to seeing a fleet of war galleys in their waters.” 

The question was making Sena’s head ache. What other options did they have besides the Hightowers and Redwynes? But he was right - it would take time they simply did not have to muster a fleet from the Reach that could rival the Velaryons and even then, they would be putting blind faith in the Gods that their southern neighbours would let them pass by unmolested. She scanned the map. Her eyes fell on the eastern coast. “The Arryns.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her. “They are sworn to Rhaenyra, Sena. Her lady mother was an Arryn-“

“I know, I advised Jace on brokering the deal,” Sena ground out. How wrong it felt, to be undoing her lost brother’s good work. Some part of her said that Jace would understand, though, if he was still here. “But if there is one thing our ancestors have shown us about the Vale of Arryn, it is that the impregnable Eyrie is vulnerable to dragons.”

Aemond looked a little bewildered. “We cannot just land a dragon on the Eyrie and demand they switch banners, Sena.”

She sighed. “No, we cannot, but my sister is ward to Lady Jeyne Arryn. Rhaena is a good girl, a gentle girl, she has always loved me like I was her true sister. She will hear what I have to say. And if a deal had the support of House Arryn’s most powerful bannermen-“

Aemond shot her a look. “You mean-“

“Yes,” she said with a nod and the certainty she felt in her was as strong as castle-forged steel. This was how they would accomplish this. She ran her hand over the place on the map where Runestone was nestled. “It is high time I raised my claim to what is mine by rights.” When she looked up, Aemond was smirking at her, brimming with pride. Her cheeks coloured and looked back to the map, desperate to move things along. “A city the size of King’s Landing could withhold siege for untold time, Aemond. They need to fall from the inside, too.” 

Aemond nodded and considered her words, trailing his fingers over the soft blue colouring of Blackwater Bay. In real life, it was a far moodier navy-grey. “My mother,” he said finally. “She’s a pious woman, she has friends in the faith that I reckon she would still be able to reach, even in chains, if they are letting her see a Septon. And if anyone could turn the smallfolk into a mob, it would be the Faith. If we can somehow sneak in a message to her…”

“What about Vhagar’s cavern?” She suggested. “It opens onto the cliffs. If we can get a man in that is familiar with the city and the Red Keep, we could reach her that way.”

He nodded vigorously. “Good. Good thinking.”

They both looked down at the map, moving their markers into place, surrounding King’s Landing fully from all sides. A lump was forming in Sena’s throat. The city was already tense, the smallfolk already being taxed to starvation. “This plan would be like throwing a torch in a hayloft,” she said, fear flooding through her.

Aemond considered the map, considered the armies that spilled out in every direction. Every orphan and widow they would make if they did not end this quickly. “What choice do we have?” He asked.

“Their dragons still outnumber yours,” she pointed out. “If this comes to a battle, you are outnumbered, two to one.” 

“Daeron’s Tessarion has grown into a fine beast, and Vhagar is worth half their dragons put together,” he insisted. “And you forget about your own dragon. We have Vermithor now, once we travel to the God’s Eye. I have received reports that Silverwing has been brought to the capital for Princess Rhaenys to claim, but the she-dragon will not fly against Vermithor. They are mated for life.” 

Sena repressed a grimace at the thought of the unruly dragon who had no love for her. She missed Grey Ghost everyday. But she had no choice and he was right, Vermithor would go a long way to evening the score, even if it was just to lay more pressure on Rhaenyra to negotiate.

Then, she thought of a person she had vehemently not been thinking about up until now. “What about my father?” She breathed, cold dread trickling through her. “Rhaenyra can be reasoned with. She loves her sons above all else. But my father… he will be unreasonable to the end.” 

Aemond gritted his teeth at the thought. “Let me deal with your father,” he said, looking for all the world like he longed to reach out across the table and touch her. “We just have to get them to the table, first of all.”

“And then, all we have to do is get the most unreasonable and obstinate family in the known world to agree with each other?” She asked, taking up the dragon marker and running her finger over the broken crown with a humourless laugh.

He reached across the table and grabbed it out of her hand, their skin grazing for the barest of seconds. “Be careful, you’ll give yourself a splinter.”

Sena could not help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. Aemond looked up at her sharply as if he’d been slapped. “Sorry, I just-“ she shook her head. Laughed some more. “After all that’s happened… Luke, Grey Ghost, Rook’s Rest, you’re concerned about me getting a splinter?” She held his eye steadily.

He looked away from her, his shoulders bunching up around his ears. “If I could take it back-“

Sena shook her head, morose. “That’s not how anything works,” she said and reached for the pitcher of wine on the side of the table, the one Alys said she was working overtime keeping filled for him right now. Right enough, it was half empty. He was struggling and she was making him feel worse right now. 

No, he would not get her sympathy. So much of what had happened, of what was still happening, he could partly blame on his own pride, his inability to mind his temper or bite his tongue. And maybe that was a luxury of his station in life, maybe that was just one of the privileges of being a man, being a prince. But if he wanted to be at her side and help her end this, he had to learn control, learn remorse. She poured herself a generous glass and drank heavily, rolling the full-bodied wine over her tongue and savouring the bitter taste. “Are you going to apologise to me?”

“How do I apologise for something I did not mean to happen?” He asked quietly.

Was he determined to get on her very last nerve right now? “By saying you’re fucking sorry,” she snapped, slamming her goblet down on the table. A spatter of wine coloured the map and he looked up at her, shocked. Had she ever been the one to lose her temper first between them? She could not recall. “Now, Aemond. I will have your apology. My honour demands it. Either that or your head.”

He watched her with a flicker of something dangerous in his remaining eye. “Done playing the good girl, are you?” His voice was controlled - pure, cold control - and it only made the fiery rage inside her burn hotter.

“It wasn’t an act,” she bit out. She took another heavy swig of wine and wiped at her mouth. “It wasn’t an act. I love you. I love all of you. And you’re all ruining me. You’re making me into an angry, vengeful woman.”

The Prince only smirked at her and it stoked her rage. “Let the fire burn, love,” he said, something dark in his voice, a heat in his eye. “Part of me always wanted to drag you down to my level.”

“Say you’re sorry,” she demanded. “Say you’re sorry for shackling me hand and foot. Say you’re sorry for every bruise and broken bone. Say you’re sorry for Grey Ghost, for Luke.”

“Say you’re sorry for Jaehaerys,” he countered coolly, “for Maelor.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Aemond, I put a knife through my father’s neck when I learned about Jaehaerys,” she growled. “Do not play this game with me.”

That revelation made him come alive. His chest swelled, his eye went dark. He smirked. “Of course you did,” he breathed. “You are Visenya. My Sena.”

“Your Sena?” She said and her insides were on fire. What right did he have to claim her when all he had ever done was hurt her, cast her aside and place her dead last in his priorities? “Fucking make me yours, you coward.”

She did not know where the words came from. She did not even have time to draw breath before he was round the table and at her side, taking her hips in his hands and pushing her up onto the polished oak. Her blood roared in her ears and a guttural moan broke free of her throat as he fell upon her lips. Biting, licking, bruising. It was hot and wet and desperate, and his hands tangled into her curls, pulling her head back for him. Her hair strained at the roots. The pain was sweet. The pain was like fire.

Her hands flew up to tangle in his hair but he caught her before she could even lay hands on him. He pulled her arms sharply behind her back, held them there with one hand, and used his other to tug her head back by the hair at a sharp angle. “Say it again,” he hissed. His eye was malevolent. “I’m warning you. You have tested my honour too many times. Say it again and I’ll do it.”

The very air in her lungs was molten. She gasped in a breath, her lungs struggling for room as he bore down on her, her arms screaming in protest behind her back. She could break his hold on her if she really wanted to - he was wiry for a man and she was strong for a woman - but there was a current of heat running through her at the way he bowed her to his will. They were already agreeing to betray both their families, the people who had raised them, making a pact writ blood. Everything they had done in the last months - they were without honour, without virtue. That ship had long set sail. What was one final sin to add to her list? The very sin she had burned for, for years. And instead of hatred and despair, it would be committed with heat and desire. With love. It was only right that this final betrayal should be sealed with the blood of her maidenhead. “I won’t beg,” she bit out, her voice trembling. They were nose to nose, brow to brow. He had a beautiful nose. Strong, large, sharp.

He barked a malevolent laugh. “I’ll make you beg.”

Even with her throat bared, her head pulled back, she met his eye steadily. “Would you just shut up and fuck me?”

He gritted his teeth. His iris was swallowed up by the black of his pupil and she could feel a growing hardness pressed against her belly. “As my lady wishes.”

His hand still held hers tightly behind her back, the callouses where he gripped his sword dragging on her skin exquisitely. His other hand left their grip on the roots of her hair to tangle into the laces at the back of Alys’s dress. It was not as fine a dress as her own back on Dragonstone, though, and the eyelets caught on their laces. Aemond’s expression twisted with annoyance and he wrenched the lacing loose.

Sena felt the sharp tug, heard the ripping and pushed back against him. “Aemond,” she snapped, “this isn’t mine.”

He grinned maliciously and pressed his nose into the hollow under her jaw, pressing against her pulse, kissing against the place where she had struck her father with the letter opener. “Only allowed to rip your dresses, am I?” He asked with dry, dry humour in his voice.

She drew in a ragged breath. “Yes,” she gritted out, burning with shame at how needy she sounded. “Only mine. I’ll cut you open from your throat to your balls if I ever hear of you touching another.”

He grinned against her neck and bit her skin sharply, making her hiss. “Only you, my lady,” he hissed, and yanked her dress down, baring her breasts. He licked his lips and sighed shakily, raising a rough, calloused hand to pinch at one nipple, then the other. Sena whined low in her throat, and he dipped his head to latch on. She watched him suckling at her with desperation, watched him switch to her other breast and tweak at the tender, wet nipple with his teeth and tongue. She threw her head back in a moan.

Bent at an awkward angle, Aemond raised his eye to her and watched her sigh in pleasure at his ministrations. He came off of her breast with a wet pop and brought his spare hand up against one flushed, tender nipple in a hard slap. It stung and Sena moaned. “Aemond,” she hissed. “Fuck, please.”

His smirk was so infuriating it set a fire beneath her skin. He drew closer, pressed them together, her thighs parted for him. Chest to chest. He pulled her hips to the edge of the table and ground himself into her, and Gods, she could feel every last inch of him, straining through his breeches. Her bare, sensitive nipples grazed on the silver fastenings of his doublet and it sent a flood of heat through her. “Such a good lady, so obedient and demure for twenty-one long years, just to turn into a wanton whore at the end of it all. All for me.”

“I’m everything for you,” she breathed, hot against his lips. They were eye to eye, her throat bared to him at the most vulnerable of angles. Her shoulders were aching from the way he strained her arms behind her and his other hand was thrust up the skirts of her dress, shoving aside her undergarments and grazing a callous against the height of her pubic bone. “For you, I’m a lady, a whore, preacher, warrior. Fighting for forgiveness you do not even desire. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I was made for you, Aemond.”

That sealed the deal.

He let go of his grip on her so he could grapple with the front of his breeches and Sena brought her aching arms up to help him. Laces, laces, why so many fucking laces? There was a growing wet spot on the front of his breeches and it was making her mouth water. At long last, together they parted the fabric covering his manhood, and Sena winced, biting her lip. She took his thick length in hand, thumb grazing the weeping head. “Gods be good,” she breathed, trying to calm the small surge of fear at the sight of it.

Aemond smirked, proud, and watched her hand on his cock with avid interest. When she brushed a spot just under the flushed head, his eyelid flickered. “You do know how to flatter a man, don’t you, sweet girl?” He brushed her hair from her neck as she palmed at his cock, her cheeks burning. “It might hurt a little. Just for your first time.”

She drew a bracing breath. Wondered what it said about her that the idea of the pain was even more thrilling. She withdrew her hand from his cock, savouring the low grunt of protest in his throat. She spat into her palm and brought her hand back to him, grazing her fingers over that spot just as she reached the head. Just to watch his eyelid flutter. “Mightn’t be so sore,” she murmured. He slipped a hand between their bodies and used two fingers to stroke her entrance, spread her wetness. He gave her a pleased smile when he found her practically dripping. “I’ve spent so many nights fucking myself with my fingers, thinking of you, imagining it was you,” she sighed as his fingers caught on the rim of her hole. He groaned, his eye fluttering shut. With her spare, trembling hand, she reached up and unbound his hair, pulling his eyepatch from his beautiful face. The sapphire in his left socket glimmered at her and she brushed along the underside of his eye, the jagged line of his scar. “I want the real thing now, Aemond. Do not hold back,” she breathed.

“Fuck,” he choked. Even when his eyes slipped closed in pleasure, his damaged left eyelid let out a sliver of deep blue. He was bent so close to her that his beautiful hair fell like a curtain around them, and for a second, Sena could believe that the world only went as far as them. The table unrelenting against her arse, her own throbbing cunt, Aemond’s weeping cock. That was as far as it went. That was all there was.

Suddenly, he was in motion, pushing up her skirts, pulling down her undergarments and grabbing at her fleshy thighs. He pulled her forward so she was positioned at the edge of the table, at the head of his manhood. He took her hands in his, positioned them on his shoulders. Then he took hold of his cock and stopped for a second, eyeing her for any sign of hesitancy. “Last chance,” he warned her. “We can stop if that is what you desire.”

She pulled him down to her and kissed him. “Do not stop. Please, Aemond. Please.”

She let out a sharp cry when his cock pierced her core.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, gripping her jaw firmly in his large hands. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, held her gaze unshakeably, held her body steady. She knew he wasn’t just apologising for the pain of piercing her. Knew he was apologising for all of it, every last bit of pain he had caused her. Knew this was the best he could do. “I’m sorry.”

Every inch of her was alive, hot and white and bursting with agony. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Aemond,” she whimpered. “It’s- it’s too much-“

“You can take it,” he whispered. He was seated in her fully now. She could feel his balls brushing against the lips of her cunt. His own pale hair at the base of his cock against her black, coarse curls. The drag of their skin together burned with sweet friction. “You can, Sena. You can do it. You can do fucking anything, my girl.”

They were trembling together as they looked down at where their bodies joined. He groaned when he saw her skirts were in the way and pulled the ruined dress up over her head, leaving her as bare as the day she entered into the world. Now he could see, could see where he had parted and entered her. Her maiden’s blood mingled with her slick and his precum on the base of his cock. He dragged her hands up to his neck and held her trembling form steady. “Beautiful,” he groaned. “Look at us. I told you we’d be beautiful, didn’t I? As one? You impaled on me- Gods, Sena-“

“I’m ready,” she whined. She grabbed his hands in hers, caught them up, twined their fingers together. With a measured breath, she leaned back a little. The new angle set her on fire. She could feel the swollen head of his cock dragging on some dark and secret place inside of her. “Make me yours.”

His hands left hers so he could swipe away the wooden markers in her way, holding her lower back and easing her down to the table. Her shoulders and arse rested against the polished wood, but her lower back and hips curved upwards and met his in an unholy arc. Unholy, good Gods, if only his mother could see them now- “You were always mine, Sena. I was always yours,” he mumbled and she could see the thinnest of threads his restraint was dangling by.

She was in disbelief that it had taken them so long to realise it, such a simple, unassailable truth. She shifted back onto him, wanting to take every part of him and even the minute movement had pleasure spasming through her lower belly. “Well, seal the deal then, beautiful boy. My Prince."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hips snapped into hers with a lurch that made every muscle in Sena’s core seize, and there was a deep stabbing sensation in her as the head of his cock seemed to push against the very limit of her insides. He groaned and leaned down onto her, covering every inch of her with himself. One hand found her left nipple, tugging and tweaking. The other found the base of her skull, forcing her up into a savage kiss that had her lips singing and swollen. His hips pumped into hers, setting up a punishing pace. Sena brought her hands up to his scalp, knotted them into his hair and pulled. Her body jolted, her breasts bounced, the table creaked in protest. Every inch of her sung.

“Aemond,” she moaned, legs wrapped like a vice around his waist, her wetness running down her arse and the front of his breeches, urging him deeper and harder. He brought his hands down under her arse and pulled her up to meet him, changing the angle in a way that had sharp cries spilling from her lips. He was watching her moan and cry, a malicious, hungry look in his eye, hips slapping into hers, squeezing and kneading at her arse cheeks. He leaned back from her so he could bring one hand between them and a calloused thumb started rubbing relentlessly at her pleasure. The thickened, scarred skin that wielded swords and commanded dragons was building a wave of pressure in her as easily as he might finger out a note on a lyre. He was playing her like an instrument. 

The snap of his hips was growing more frenzied, more urgent, and it was driving her wild. “Yes, yes,” he moaned, “take it, Sena. Take me."

“Gods-“ she gasped, as the wave built.

“Name them,” he hissed. The relentless force of his hips was pushing her up the table, but he grabbed her by her hip creases and pulled her flush back against him, drawing a low moan from her. He was trembling. They would not last long. His hand flew up to fasten around her throat, choking, burning. It was too much, her every sense was screaming, it was way too much and it felt fucking divine. “Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Syrax… Maiden, Mother, Stranger-“

“You,” she moaned. She gripped the hand that covered her throat, holding it tighter around the airway that fed her very life. “Aemond.” 

Her body threw her into fits of pleasure. 

Spasms, tides, relentless waves.

He moaned, let out a sharp grunt as her cunt tightened around him. He was shaking, his eyelids fluttering, and all of a sudden his hips stilled against hers. “Sena,” he groaned and his balls went tight against her cunt, her arse. His cock pulsed deep inside of her.

She pulled him down on top of her and took every inch, every part of him. Thick, hot liquid coated her insides in ropes of syrup, ropes of nectar. Her throat burned to taste it. Soon, soon, she would taste him, taste his seed. “Fuck-“ she moaned, “Aemond.”

His grip squeezed around her throat as his hips continued to spasm, and she choked. The sounds of her gasping for breath alarmed him and he drew back. His head dipped to her collar bone. He licked at the sweat pooling there. “My lady,” he whispered into the hollow of her throat, his hair falling around him. “Are you okay?”

She gasped in a breath and drew his gaze up to meet hers with a finger under his chin. “I’m better than okay,” she said in a whisper. “I’m in bliss.” 

He moaned against her throat and the vibrations went straight to her swollen, abused pleasure. “My beautiful, beautiful lady-“ his cock was softening inside of her, but she never wished him to leave her. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs and held him against her. She could feel the coarse hair coating his thighs and his crotch against the most private parts of her body. The rub and the burn was exquisite.

With a grunt, he leaned back and pulled her up from the table. Wooden markers scattered on the floor, maps torn and creased, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of her. She squeezed her thighs around his slender waist and moaned wantonly as his swollen head dragged inside her. Balancing her on his hips, he carried her through to his bed, and laid her down on the softer surface. She winced at the loss of him, but he kneeled down at the edge of the bed and brushed aside the curls that were stuck to her forehead with sweat. She could feel his seed spilling out of her between her thighs, mourned the fact that she could not hold on to every last drop.

An hour ago, she might have felt horror at the idea of going to Alys or the maester and asking for moon tea. An hour ago, that might have made her so ashamed she could combust. But every last second of Aemond inside her, losing himself in her had been so worth it, she’d let the whole fucking castle watch if he’d just do it again.

Now she knew. Now she knew why married lords and ladies guarded that act with their honour, their lives. Why they had to make it so dirty and wrong and shameful. Because if unmarried maidens knew such pleasure… they would be unstoppable. They would know their true power, know what they could give, know what they could take. Know they could turn lords and princes and kings into desperate, wild animals.

Aemond got up from the side of the bed, his legs shaking a little, she noticed with satisfaction. He grabbed a clean cloth, dunking it in the basin of fresh water and came back to the bed. “Open your legs for me,” he said softly, knuckles of his spare hand brushing the underside of her jaw.

She parted her legs and felt the ache in her hips, the stretch of her hole, and she winced.

“Shhh,” he soothed her and gently wiped at the stickiness between her legs. “You took me so well, sweet girl. Let me take care of you, now.” The washcloth was soft against her intimate skin and he pressed a kiss to her hair. “It won’t hurt so bad the next time, I promise.”

The next time. Her entire body was exhausted but the thought managed to raise a small flush inside her. “What if I liked how it hurt?”

His eye flickered to hers, his gaze catching on where he had gripped her neck. She reached her hand up to feel the ghost of his hand on her. “I lost control,” he said quietly. “I- You spend your whole life wanting something, and when you finally get it- I should have been gentler with you.”

“No,” she hissed, sitting up and pulling him down to sit next to her. “I made you grab me harder. I liked it, Aemond.”

“I should have asked.”

“I will tell you if you do something I do not like, my sweet boy. Do not fear,” she said and pressed a kiss to his brow. He bowed his head against hers and sighed. “And I want to know what you like.”

“I like-“ he stopped, struggling for words, and there was an enchanting blush rising in his cheeks. Was he… embarrassed? “I think I would normally be gentle, tender. It’s a form of worship, isn’t it, really? Honouring something so perfect?” She flushed a deep red at the flattery as he brushed his thumb along the underside of her breast. He looked so genuinely admiring of her body it made her blood sing. “But if I’m frustrated or angry or jealous, I’m going to want to… manhandle you.”

“I’m not fragile,” she said, skimming her thumb over his lower lip. He dipped his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And that was exhilarating. I can see myself enjoying slow and tender, or sitting on top of you and taking my own pleasure. But I loved that. The pain and the pleasure, it was exquisite. You did so well, my sweet boy. You made me feel so good.”

His breath stuttered at that, and his eye was dark. She looked down at the open front of his breeches, the fabric stained with the evidence of their exploits and watched in wonder as his soft cock gave a valiant twitch. She smiled. She would have to remember that for next time, that praising him got such a reaction from him.

He looked down at his own cock and laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back to clean himself with the cloth and then fasten his breeches again. “How come you are naked as your name day and I am still in full court dress?” He grinned, pushing himself up off of the bed and pulling back the sheet from under her so she could get comfy.

“I quite liked that too,” she said with a cheeky smile. “But next time, I want to see all of you.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “As you wish, my lady,” he said. “I’ll come to bed soon and we’ll get you moon tea in the morning. I’m just going to stoke the fire and write to Daeron. We’ve got a war to end, after all.”

She gave a shocked little laugh. “Don’t tell me that was what you were thinking about when you were inside me? Writing to your brother?”

His answering grin was beautiful and boyish, his sapphire eye twinkling at her mischievously. “No, sweetheart, I was thinking about how I could die quite happily right now with you on my cock.”

She knew it was only a jest, but her heart seized in her chest and her hand flew out and grabbed him, stopping him from walking away. “Don’t ever leave me,” she breathed. “Don’t ever, ever make me carry on without you.“

“Oh Sena,” he breathed and sat back down beside her. He pulled her close and dipped his head so he could kiss her tender throat. “You are mine,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against her vocal cords. “I am yours.”

“Mine,” she sighed happily, pressing her nose into silver blonde hair. They reeked of sweat and sex, and Aemond gently lowered her to the pillow. “Yours.”

He pressed one last kiss to her lips, then the bed shifted as he rose to go back to his writing desk.

Sena only lasted a few deep breaths before she dipped out of consciousness, so utterly blissed.

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[anaxandria-writes]

Snippet Sunday

Okay so I was tagged by @beaconfeels (hi lovely!) and it’s been so long since I’ve participated in one of these, so here’s some of the overdue next chapter from What Large You Hands You Have (my Steter WIP) in which Peter manipulates a hotel worker to find Stiles:

"Good afternoon. Are you here to check in?" she asked, her tone professional with no hitch of breath or hesitation.

"Hi, Kelly. I'm actually here to visit someone, but unfortunately, I can't seem to reach him and forgot his room number.  His name is Stiles Stilinski, but he might be using his given name of Mieczyslaw.”

"I'm sorry to hear that." No, she wasn't. That was an apathetic tone, if he'd ever heard one.  He decided to kick up the pitifulness a notch.  It wasn't like she'd ever see him again, his pride could take the hit.

He looked straight up into the lights above the desk as he swallowed, wishing that his body was more sensitive to the brightness. He glanced at her face then away then back again.  

"Sir, I'm sorry but it's our policy not to give out information of any of our guests."

Another swallow. He bit his tongue. Hard.

Come on.

Finally, he felt the prick of water in his eyes. He couldn't remember much of torts from his law school days, but he 100% remembered coaching defendants as witnesses. All it took was one tenderhearted juror to eat up a sob story.

Blink once, blink twice so the tear really starts to get going.

"He's my," voice crack for a pause, and another blink, "boyfriend." A deep breath, shake of the head to simulate pulling himself together, but really to flesh out the improv which would have to spill out with feigned emotion. "Stiles is my boyfriend. And we got into a stupid fight, and now I haven't been able to get in contact with him all day. You know how long distance can be, right? It's been killing us and he insisted on the hotel because you know how family can be and I've been so out of my mind that I can't remember which room it is.  I think it's the fifth, but honestly, it could be any of them."

Peter had to stop to breathe a bit and let his acting marinate before he went for the kill -- "I know you have your policies, but look," he shoved his phone with the chat to Stiles open on his phone, "he sent me a one letter text this morning and nothing since!  He has a heart condition, and I just... fear for the worst.  Is there anything you can do?"

Her colleague had returned to watch his display and looked far more moved than Kelly, but he had seen the flicker of uncertainty as soon as he pulled out the health card.  No hotel worker wanted to risk finding a dying guest.

Her eyes scanned the messages to Stiles again and he had to keep himself from pulling his phone back.

"Look, I understand you're upset. May I ask your name?"

"Peter. Peter Hale."

Her colleague pulled a bottle of water from under the desk and slid it toward Peter along with a box of tissues. And Peter was not one to say no to a prop, so he grabbed one and dabbed at his eyes before giving a small close-lipped smile to them both.

"Look, I'm not supposed to be doing this, but I can call his room and see if he'll agree to see you. David, if you tell anyone, you're dead to me.  What was his last name again?"  Her colleague (David, apparently) nodded, before turning sad eyes on Peter again.

#This chapter is currently 4.4K so this chapter is just long and that’s why it hasn’t been posted #no idea if this makes sense without the other 14k #but oh well #Steter

[rosella-writes]

WIP Wednesday

I’ve been tagged a couple times in the last few weeks, and I’ve been happy to see y’all’s stuff!! Thank you @mxkelsifer @anneapocalypse @cleverblackcat @plisuu @kittynomsdeplume 💚 I’ve been stuck on my own until last night, when something finally clicked. Here’s some Morrigan x Warden Loghain reunion at Skyhold, feat. in-game dialogue usage lol.

I’m tagging forward to @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @neonteeth @blarrghe @sulky-valkyrie @melisusthewee @n7viper and anyone else who wants to share. 💚

~~~

Skyhold was no small fortress, but it was difficult to avoid anyone within its walls. Loghain faced down more sneers and dismissals than he cared count, but it was no matter. He was a guest of the Inquisitor. He could bear all the rest.

Morrigan, however, still found him.

It was not that he was afraid of the Witch. He was merely at a loss. The last time he had seen the woman had been a disastrous combination of ritual and war — she had disappeared before he had even come to terms with his survival. And now… he was not sure where to begin.

When she began, she did so simply. She grasped his attention with a small hand upon his sleeve, within the dim light of one of Skyhold’s hallways.

“You are a difficult man to pin down,” were her first words, chuckled from within the velvety darkness. His heart thudded in his ears — fear, perhaps, or anticipation — as he laid his eyes upon all that was visible of her in this space. Her pallor allowed him to make out her eyes and mouth, the latter of which was curved in a smile. “One would almost suspect avoidance.”

“Or respect,” he grumbled dumbly. “I wish to give you the space you asked me for last we saw one another.”

Morrigan laughed, and her hand fell away. “I take it then that you have no wish to speak to me? Not that I desire it, but I wished to offer.”

“I would not say that.”

Her smile spread, and she reached past him to push at the door beyond. It cracked open, revealing light beyond and letting the scent of flowers rush over both of them. The happy shriek of a playing child filled the silence.

“The gardens, perhaps?”

His only answer was to follow her.

She looked much as she had in the few months he had been at Rhiannon’s side. As she took her seat on a garden bench, away from the courtesans and gardeners and chantry sisters, he took in the slim lines of her bare back. His eyes lingered on the thin ties of her bodice and scarf, the gold clasp of her necklace, the fine black strands of the hair she’d swept up off the back of her graceful neck. And when he sat wordlessly beside her, she gestured with a brief flick of her finger towards the boy who had screamed — he ran now, chased between shrubs and beneath the cloister pillars by an older boy wearing a too-large hat.

“My son,” she said. “His name is Kieran.”

Loghain looked upon him with eyes that felt as if they grew hot. He nearly choked upon the lump in his throat, and his heartbeat still pounded in his ears.

Kieran, this close, had an unmistakable resemblance to Loghain himself. It was in the curve of the boy’s jaw, which was only beginning to lose its childlike softness, and the arch of his nose. But the bright eyes, which squinted shut in laughter, were entirely his mother’s.

“He is a handsome boy,” Loghain grumbled.

He could feel Morrigan’s eyes upon him. He could not meet them. “He asks of you.”

“Oh?”

She hummed an affirmation. “He knows nothing. Of you, of any of it.”

He finally looked at her, and could feel sharpness in his gaze. He did not soften it. “When will you tell him?”

She blinked up at him, and he was struck by the fulness of her face for the first time. Seeing her within the dim light of Skyhold could not have prepared him for it — she was vibrant, glorious, a vision of unmarred alabaster skin and golden eyes. Her expression, which he had known only to be wry and chiding in the past, was now unexpectedly tender. Perhaps it was still hard when considering the softness a mother usually had while speaking of her child, but for Morrigan, the difference was stark.

“He is an innocent,” she told him.

Loghain had to look away. At her words, the remembrance of their meeting came fresh to his mind — a young woman, barely out of her girlhood, putting on an air of confidence in order to mask her fear.

“As we all were,” he murmured, “once.”

#dragon age #wip wednesday #loghain mac tir #morrigan #warden loghain #morrigan x loghain #dragon age inquisition #my writing

[pomegranate]

I was tagged by @amrv-5 to share some of my WIP and I’m actually going to do it for once! I’m determined to make progress on my Beejhawk postwar fic and maybe sharing some of it will help motivate me to do that.

Tagging @harpernovakaine @marley-manson @etriva @autistichare @sequencefairy @crabsandlobsters @ostensiblynone @egg2k16 @variousqueerthings @lettadalokislayter @quolant @fieryphrazes and anyone else who wants to do it!

-

If it had only happened that one time, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

But about three weeks after BJ first shuts himself in the office and scrawls secrets onto sheets of paper that end up as kindling, he and Peg are hosting a dinner party for some of their old friends.

The party is just three other couples - Doug and Betty, Paul and Martha, and Gene and Francine. Peg is friends with Betty and Francine and Paul is a friend of BJ’s from college, before he went off to Stanford for medicine. Erin is upstairs, the babysitter keeping her occupied with puppets and bedtime stories.

Initially, BJ is genuinely glad to see Paul and Martha, and he knows Peg has missed having him with her for these kinds of social events.

She squeezes his hand when they’re all standing around in the front hall, exchanging hugs and greetings. He squeezes back.

The first moment it seems to be going downhill is when BJ says he’s going to check on dinner in the kitchen, and Doug cracks a joke about Peg being ‘the real man of the house’.

Betty swats her husband’s arm while Gene and Paul laugh, and BJ feels his face grow hot and his vision blur.

He bares his teeth in a sarcastic smile and says, “At least there is a man in my house, Doug. Not sure we can say the same for yours.” And he turns around and moves swiftly into the kitchen, heading for the stove.

He hears Gene and Paul laugh even louder at that, and hears Peg make some kind of excuse for him, but redirects his focus on checking on the roast in the oven and violently mashing the potatoes.

The mood draws even darker over dinner, and even an innocuous question from Paul about whether he’s thought about going back to work prompts BJ to shut down that avenue of conversation immediately.

It’s … not a pleasant night, all in all. BJ knows Peg is seething and he’s going to hear about it as soon as everyone is gone, but he doesn’t care. He stabs his slice of roast with his fork and thinks about what Hawkeye would be saying to all of these people if he were here.

BJ knows Hawkeye wouldn’t be putting up with their snide comments and idle gossip. He'd be drawing BJ into a sharp takedown of every single one of them and the two of them would exchange grins while Doug and all the others were shocked into silence. He’d put them in their places like he’d put every arrogant colonel and every blustery general in their places during their two years together. And when everyone left, Hawkeye and BJ would sit on the front porch with their drinks, cackling at their verbal dressing down of his guests and musing on how silly it all seemed - dinner parties, barbeques, cookie cutter houses, flashy automobiles, sickening smiles, hateful blathering - all of it totally meaningless.

He excuses himself from the conversation to wash and dry the dishes on his own, waving away Betty and Martha’s insistence that he let them take care of it.

It’s not long before Peg has seen everyone off, thanking them for coming in what BJ knows is a falsely cheery voice. He’s putting away the last few glasses when she stalks into the kitchen.

“And just what was all that about, BJ Hunnicutt?” she snaps, keeping her voice low so the babysitter won’t overhear anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, mister. Why were you so horrible with them? They’re our friends - my friends and yours, if you’ll recall.”

BJ snorts. “Some friends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

He whirls around to face her and snaps back, “You didn’t hear that ‘man of the house’ crack? Or did you and you thought, ‘Hmm, actually, maybe he has a point’.”

“Keep your voice down,” Peg warns, stepping toward him. “Erin is - “

“Erin is what, asleep? You think she’s been able to sleep with Doug barking like a goddamn circus seal down here all night? Give me a fucking break, Peg.”

“BJ!”

He slams the cupboard door shut and brushes past her, headed for the office. He slams that door too.

The bottle is out and BJ’s pen is scribbling on a sheet of paper in no time. He distantly hears Peg thank the babysitter and send her out before climbing the stairs and heading to check on Erin before bed.

And so once again, BJ writes. And drinks. And indulges in fantasies that will never see the light of day, wringing them out of himself while choking back tears.

And once again, he finds himself lighting a fire in the fireplace, staring down at the flames curling paper into ash.

#my writing #fic #writing #i tagged mutuals i recognize have been writing and/or talking about writing so apologies if i missed someone who wants to do it

[l-lend]

Another entry for Moto!Batch AU. Hunter, Crosshair, and Omega check out one of T-Bird's stunt shows.

Warning(s): mentions of past addiction,

Tagging: @kelpiesummer @ghostlythunderbird

The smell of burning rubber and the grease of questionable clawed its way to into the nostrils of anyone within a five mile radius of the fair grounds. A gathering crowd mixed with locals from the suburban sprawl looking for a bit of high octane excitement. They crammed in like sardines as they eagerly awaited the event.

“Can we sit up front?” A blonde haired teen asked her chaperones earning a dismissive sneer from the taller of the two.

“We’ll see what we can do.” Hunter replied offering a wave to a familiar face in the crowd. The woman who caught his glance returned the wave and began weaving her way through the onlookers. Her dark hair meticulously gathered into a messy bun.

“Glad you could make it,” Siren greeted, her gaze was drawn to the child at Hunter’s side, “and who’re you?”

“This is Omega. She-”

“I’m their sister.” Omega spoke up, causing Siren’s smile to grow.

“Ah, well I guess you’re used to getting primo access when your brothers race huh.”

Omega offered a shrug, “I guess. Mostly it’s the trailer on race day while Tech runs through homework with me.”

“Hmm, well if Hunter doesn’t mind, I can show you around a bit. My stunt rider will be on in a bit.”

Hunter gave a half hearted roll of his eyes. Omega’s eyes were glued to him. His sensitive hearing could already pick up the beginnings of a high pitched drawn out please.

Hunter sighed through his nose, “Alright,” He relented, earning a giddy grin from the girl, “but I’ll be coming along too. Might as well meet the rest of your crew while I’m able.”

“Excellent, most of them should still be by the trailer.” Siren replied before leveling her gaze to the surly rider, “Will you be joining us?”

Crosshair’s stony gaze gave Siren all the answer she needed.

“Oookay, so I can take you guys back now if you want.”

“These are awesome!”

T-Bird cracked a grin as she looked up from her bike. The sound of tools pinging together drew both of their attention.

T-Bird huffed a ghost of a laugh at seeing the flutter of the maintenance curtain.

“I wouldn’t take it personal. Nessie doesn’t do new people too much.”

“We’re…still working with her on that.” Siren chimed in.

“T-Bird, everything all ready to go?”

“Yep, but I always got time for a fan.”

“This is Omega, and you remember Hunter.”

T-Bird gave him a nod before focusing her attention on Omega, “So do you ride too?”

“Not professionally, no, but Hunter says once I’m done with school I could race on weekends when I’m in college.”

“If you keep your grades up.” Hunter butted in, “I’m interested to see you in action, T-Bird.”

“I’ll be sure to put on a good show.”

The curtain rustled again from the corner of T-Bird’s eye. However, another member of the crew popped an earbud out of her ear.

“Kelpie. Just the person I wanted to see.” T-Bird greeted, “You get the merch table set up?”

“Even got the new designs I printed this morning.”

T-Bird’s smile widened, “You know, it’d be a shame if someone wasn’t testing out our stuff.” She turned her gaze back to Omega and then back to Siren, “If it’s cool with you, I’m buying whatever the kid wants at our merch table.”

“Really?!”

“That’s kind of you.”

T-Bird offered a shrug, “Consider it an apology for me acting out during the meeting.”

Crosshair had chosen a seat near the end of the stands to keep his distance from the locals who were biding their time by inhaling some deep fried something. One of his brothers would feel right at home among them. The sharp tang of cigarette smoke wafted into his nose, and he inhaled deeply.

How long had it been? Omega was about 10 now, and she became of permanent house guest after her 7th birthday. His hand ferreted around in his pocket before producing a substitute that helped whenever a craving hit. The whisper of the pack sliding open was drowned out by the crowd chatter as he plucked up the slender piece of wood to perch between his teeth. He slouched in his seat as he waited for the show to begin.

The announcement system buzzed to life and began to welcome everyone to the stunt show. Hunter and Omega eventually made their way back to their seats. However, upon his sister's return Crosshair nearly dropped his toothpick.

“What. Are you wearing?”

“T-Bird let me have some merch, pretty cool right?”

The girl was completely decked out: shirt, hat, a lanyard around her neck. All with the stunt biker's logo plastered all over. Crosshair's lips formed a hard line.

“Spectacular.” He replied with a roll of his eyes.

#moto!batch au #tbb crosshair #crosshair x oc #crosshair #hunter #omega

[writernopal]

Find The Word Tag

Tagged by @elshells, see her post here!

Tagging (gently): @talesfromaurea @gummybugg @verba-writing and anyone else who'd like to join in!

My words to find are: attention, snuggle, swim, realize, and meadow

Your words will be: launch, horn, candle, faint and cinder

attention (AASOAF 2, Axtapor's POV) Welcome special guest star, his shell twin, Egra!

“Do ye see a rin’ in my nose? I nay be married, ye fool.” I responded shakily. “Don’t play coy with me. You and I both know that you wouldn’t display something like that so plainly. Who is she?” She probed more forcefully now. “I nay have a wife.” I spit angrily. “Maybe not, but you have someone, don’t you?” “Belay yer yammerin’.” I replied, turning the wheel in my hand to adjust our course and focusing my attention on sailing once more.  “No, no, you don’t just get to dismiss me like that!” She complained as she came around to stand in front of the wheel, “Tell me about her!” “Nay.” “So she’s real then?” She insisted with a bright look. “Avast, Egra—” “Mariel.” I snapped my head away from the sea to land my eyes on her and felt my heart quicken. I hadn’t heard her name out loud in so long.  “She’s not a lizard woman, is she?” She asked quietly. “How do ye know that name?” I asked in a harsh whisper.  Truly, where had she heard it? It could not merely be a guess. “You’re constantly mumbling it in your sleep. It would be a wonder if any of us didn’t know it by now…” She replied, looking beside herself, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

snuggle (AASOAF 2, Axtapor's POV)

I slipped out of our tent as quietly as possible to avoid waking her, only to freeze after a few steps and tossed a cautious glance behind me as I was sure I’d just heard her stir. Indeed she had, but she didn’t wake; instead, she snuggled further into the pillows I’d left behind to make her think I was still there, then settled amongst them peacefully.

swim (AASOAF 2, Mariel's POV)

“We’re just glad you opened your eyes, lassie. We nearly pumped the whole of the sea from your lungs and belly.” Balhur said with a grimace. “I-I don’t know how to swim...” “Gathered that.” He said with a friendly chuckle and an earnest look on his face. “Where am I?” I asked, nervous to hear his response. “A wee isle called Manta in the Farnian Sea.” He explained.

realize (AASOAF 2, Axtapor's POV) Grandma gets a boyfriend and predictably, Axtapor gets weirdly defensive lol.

I sighed and decided to change the subject. “Been meanin’ to ask, why did ye defect?” He cracked a wry smile. “Young man’s folly. Fisla always spoke with such wonder in her eyes of the world, and I cannot deny that being with her makes me feel like I am a man of your years again. So, when she came to me, distraught about how Seer Rojundrog had targeted you, the choice to defect was a simple one.” He admitted such a thing so readily, but I could tell his words were heavy with something more.  “Do ye love her?” I asked before I realized what I was saying. Why had I asked that? And did I really want to hear the answer? “Since I first laid eyes on her.” He said with a nostalgic look on his face, “She and I were hatchlings then, younger than you, my lord, when we first met. It was a pity that the late Lord Rehteus was just that much more charming than I and not already burdened with two wives. Fisla never wanted to play second fiddle to anyone. That is why Clan Oxlo is so small; she never allowed him to take any other wives besides her.” “Then it be right luck I been born at all.” I said with a small scoff. “Indeed. The time passed, and with it came his souring and my eventual softening. And now here we find ourselves.” He explained, handing me my pipe back.

meadow

I don't have this word, which is kind of surprising!

#tag game #writeblr tag games #aasoaf #mariel #axtapor #lady fisla #egra #my writing #aasoaf 2

[biggsodorcitystories]

TUGS FANKIDS!!!

As well as crack ships, I love fanbabies too, even for ships I do not support (not the babys fault who its parents are, after all)

So, here are some designs I scribbled for my fankids. Bit of a Tumblr "exclusive" as I've never shared this drawing on Deviantart. I hope you like them, and if you do, please give a like or comment. 🙏

With all my OCs, I am happy for anyone to use them, provided you credit and, where possible, tag me.

Onto the kiddies:

Maia Starr:

+ Daughter of Lillie and Hercules.

+ Eldest of the Starr Siblings' children.

+ Born nine months after the "revelation," which was the cause of her conception. Fortunately, Lillie and Hercules were engaged and married before they discovered their extra guest!

+ Absolutely Daddy's Little Girl, unless Uncle Warrior is around.

+ Strong-willed and independent. Likes to gently test the rules to see what she can get away with...and with whom.

Poppy Reynolds-Starr:

+ Daughter of Zip and Ten Cents.

+ Born six months after Maia.

+ ¾ British, ¼ Canadian.

+ The reason her parents had to get married.

+ Not actually canon to the main AU, Poppy and her siblings exist in an offshoot branch of it. In the main AU, Zip is straight.

+ Daddy's girl, but looks up to her Auntie Aurora and adores her paternal grandparents' St. Bernard, Titan.

+ A good girl, but not above getting up to mischief.

Orion Starr:

+ Son of Hercules and Lillie.

+ Three years younger than Maia.

+ His birth was something of a relief to Hercules, who wanted his children to be born closer together than he and his siblings (He is eight years older than Warrior, twelve older than Ten Cents, and thirteen older than the twins).

+ Takes after his father in that he always looks out for his younger siblings and cousins, but usually lets Maia do the talking and make decisions.

+ Lillie suspects he lets his sister try new things first to make sure it's safe!

Cassandra Starr:

+ Daughter of Warrior and Susannah (oc daughter of Zebedee and Edward)

+ Eldest grandchild of Zebedee and Edward, and practically worshipped by them both!

+ Joked to be Big Mac and Top Hat's 'practice grandchild,' as Warrior was briefly fostered by them.

+ Not a spoiled brat, which is something of a miracle!

+ Through her mother is ¼ steam engine, which does make her slightly faster than her cousins.

+ Two years younger than Orion.

+ Daddy's girl, also Grandad's girl. Literally likes everyone though and doesn't play favourites.

+ Looks up to her uncles, Bill and Ben, much to everyone's horror, and has made them her role models!

#this is tugs #tugs hercules #tugs humanized #tugs human au #tugs au #tugs warrior #tugs zip #tugs ten cents #tugs lillie #tugs zebedee #ttte edward #ttte bill and ben #crossover #fanbaby #fankid #next generation #tugs big mac #tugs top hat

[gabriel-shutterson]

I posted 3,506 times in 2022

That's 3,506 more posts than 2021!

519 posts created (15%)

2,987 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@klqrambles

@bingosomen

@suspiciouslyglowingmoss

@aftout

@aliens-took-my-iwa-chan

I tagged 1,827 of my posts in 2022

Only 48% of my posts had no tags

#nonlaconic rambles - 390 posts

#gothic lit - 155 posts

#frankenstein - 94 posts

#jekyll and hyde - 68 posts

#ask - 51 posts

#victor frankenstein - 41 posts

#the invisible man - 40 posts

#gabriel utterson - 36 posts

#henriel - 32 posts

#the picture of dorian gray - 32 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#other than the punch scene the funniest part of the book imo was when charles entered france and was surprised when he got arrested

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

hi hello what’s your favorite quote from The Invisible Man

i’ll start, this is mine:

121 notes - Posted August 13, 2022

#4

I was thinking. As an oldest child myself, I suffer from oldest child syndrome.

Now, anyone who has been following my blog lately knows that I’ve been kinning Victor lately. This got me thinking.

Frankenstein Spoilers in the following explanation

Victor has two younger siblings biologically, plus Elizabeth— a sister figure. Out of these four, he is the oldest.

When thinking about Victor, his defining personality traits (other than sopping wet and pathetic) are anxious, perfectionistic, solitary, obsessive, a little egotistical, etc etc.

Funny thing is, all of these traits are associated with eldest child syndrome. Typically, these are brought on by high parental expectations. Now, as a C*roline and Al*ones hater, it’s pretty obvious that their expectations for Victor were a little much. I mean, Caroline’s dying wish was to control Victor’s love life. Alphonse preserved this wish, even reminding Victor of this said wish while he is recovering from his arrest and death of his closest friend. Alphonse and Caroline are also probably homophobic, I will not be taking criticism at this time.

That being said, there’s almost no question as to why Victor hardly talks to his family in Ingolstadt. Why he obsesses over his work, freaks out when it’s not up to his standards, abandons the paternal role he’s been forced into all his life. Also explains why he’s only miserable when it comes to marrying Elizabeth, and doesn’t argue about it at all. And why he’s so close to Clerval, someone who genuinely seems to care for his opinions and wishes.

I dunno. It’s definitely a theory that should be thought into.

137 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#3

Shoutout to this line from J&H specifically, in which Mr Guest asked if Jekyll was sending Utterson love letters

164 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

#2

Lo and behold, the promised headcanons.

Crack Headcanons for many lit characters (Mod Au):

~Lanyon still sleeps with a teddy bear, but denies it.

~in order to pay off college, Kemp worked at Dairy Queen for two (2) days. He was fired when the blizzard fell out of the cup ;-;

~Dorian watches RuPaul’s Drag Race

~Jekyll actually pours the milk before the cereal 

~Lord Henry uses Reddit

~Clerval cries whenever Gordon Ramsay yells on MasterChef

~Victor almost killed a Girl Scout over thin mints once 

~Jekyll was this close to drinking gasoline �� and by that I mean none he’s drank gasoline before it was very unhealthy

~despite being well spoken, Utterson cannot pronounce ‘synonym’

~griffin owns 8-10 cats and they are all fluffy and white and named after dictators (Apawf Kitler is a sphinx cat tho, Grif felt bad for him) 

~other than cats, Griffin also loves geese, because they go “HONK” and yell and bite and is funny and relatable

~Elizabeth can beat Victor up if she wants to

~in college, Basil sometimes drew the vibe check emojis in Lord Henry’s notebooks 

~Lanyon enjoys the feeling of wet socks

~Dorian is a crystal and astrology bitch

he once claimed he liked astronomy not astrology and all the scientists got excited and then he started talking about being a Scorpio and Jekyll cried, Victor swore, and Griffin kicked the wall

~Basil actually enjoys being called a simp. He doesn’t see the harm in it .

~Griffin would dress as a cat maid, unironically

~Utterson used a joke pickup line (because pun) on Jekyll once, causing Jek to pass out

 ~if asked “boxers or briefs,” Griffin would reply “thong” (it’s actually boxers)

~Basil can and will get angsty if the first chord of ‘All Too Well’ comes on

~Clerval believed in Santa until he was like 14

~Jekyll cannot ride a bike and refuses to learn

~Jekyll uses Hyde to talk to customer service people because he gets scared

~sometimes Hyde just. Carries around a kazoo. And blows it at people.

172 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

So I saw a post that kind of made me want to post this.

I feel like there’s a lot of gatekeeping in the J&H fandom. I’ve see a lot of posts like “you’re wrong if you like TGS” “you’re not valid in the fandom if you interpret the duality differently” “we don’t stan if you think Jekyll is cis.”

It feels really toxic, imo. I interpret the story differently than others, and that’s fine. A lot of the story is really open ended and up for interpretation. Specifically with the second point with the duality, I’ve seen hate on the “Jekyll has OCD” interpretation on here in the past, and like? Why?

While that’s personally the interpretation I choose to agree with, that’s not what I’m talking about in this post. There’s really no need to hate on seeing the book differently. As with most other fandoms, you’re not looking at the big picture. There’s a group of people who enjoy the same media as you, and you’re really just going to trash their opinions?

I dunno. I don’t really have a solid point I’m getting at. It just pisses me off. I have a lot of opinions about the book that I’m afraid to share, and I’m sure tons of others do too.

Please be nice y’all. It’s not like Stevenson is coming back from the grave to confirm any interpretation is right.

178 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Yay #:)