#Advisor spending all his time and energy looking after his King and even when he has delusions of granduer the Advisor will still follow

[lmk-6earm4c-au-blog]

Poet says the most angsty lines in the world, like you think someone murdered his family, and it turns out it's for the most minor inconveniences in the world. He wants so badly to belong in a tragic opera, but he's in a comedy

🥔 hakuna_patatas

the irony of being called the Braincell by the fandom and yet being the opposite of genre savvy. it's the only thing Fool can hold over him

💋 toshiswife follow

ASJSKASD PLEASE 💀 YEAH HE'S NOT GENRE SAVVY AT ALL

#HE SAYS THE MOST BOMBASS LINES AND YET HE;S IN LOONY TOON LAND 😂😂😂 #love those lines #they do something to me #scratch the brain #ispp #thatp

🤷🏻‍♀️ umamajesty follow

i just had.....a terrible idea >:)

💌 theadvisor-isthe-kingsconsort follow

WHAT IS IT 👀

🤷🏻‍♀️ umamajesty follow

.................jttw!swk/ispp!advisor

[mswyrr]

the Sept scene was fully in character for Rhaenyra & Alicent

I've seen fans--even Rhaenicent fans!--saying it was ooc or "fanfic." It wasn't. The original scene was much shorter: Emma and Olivia, two very talented actors who know their characters well, expanded it. They weren't just wasting time or suddenly lacking in talent and insight. They knew what they were doing and it connects all the way back.

So let's go all the way back! Where do we begin? Episode 1x01, King Viserys wants a son and male heir; he has wanted a son for so long that Rhaenyra, his 14-year-old daughter says (ep 1x01) "For as long as I can recall, it’s all he’s wanted." What has this done to her? Well, for one thing, it has made her mother, who has difficult pregnancies, in ill health for most of her life. This ill health means that Aemma did a lot of lecturing (and trying to keep Rhaenyra from flying and doing other risky things while she was sick) and not a lot of getting to spend quality time with her daughter. A distracted father, ruling the realm, and a mother sick with trying to give him the male heir he prioritizes above his wife and daughter.

Who has been there for Rhaenyra? Alicent. Alicent was hers. When Rhaenyra flies on her dragon, experiencing freedom from all her worries and power and joy, she wants ALICENT to be there with her, high above the sea, looking out over the city:

[source: 1x01 script]

When Rhaenyra had to have a difficult conversation with her mother, it was Alicent she looked to for comfort and emotional support -- in an act a cut scene from the script *explicitly calls "flirting"*. Rhaenyra relies on and longs for that "disarming kindness" she says Alicent has.

And it was Alicent's lap that Rhaenyra flirts about loving to lie upon. Alicent is so much to Rhaenyra that she dreams of running away together, just the two of them and Rhaenyra's bonded dragon Syrax.

Alicent was her cherished girl, her comfort and her chief supporter and advisor. She was Rhaenyra's heart's rest. And, yes - it was a friendship blossoming into flirtation and desire as the two matured. They were on the cusp of something. They were the world to each other.

[source]

Emma and Olivia get it and have always gotten it. Rhaenyra has this gorgeous yang or solar energy that finds balance with Alicent's yin or lunar energy. They're a sun and moon couple, balancing each other's strengths and weaknesses. With Alicent, the sword of Rhaenyra's intense energy has a sheath. A resting place. Her fire has a hearth. And Alicent isn't drained by people (like Viserys would later do...) who just take and take and take -- hurting her and draining that "disarming kindness" of hers until she's broken and ruined inside. Rhaenyra gives and cherishes in a way that made Alicent feel whole and appreciated.

Rhaenyra goes from being angry (angry the way a jilted lover would be - calling Alicent a "whore" for what she felt emotionally imo as Alicent cheating on Rhaenyra with her father) to instantly deeply protective and possessive once she learns more. See the cut scene after Viserys reveals his engagement to Alicent:

[script pages source] [photo source]

Rhaenyra is ready to take on the whole Seven Kingdoms to protect her girl!

Rhaenyra liked being the focus of Alicent playing the "lady beloved" role - reading soothingly to her, supporting and encouraging and admiring her, teasing her for being naughty, advising her about her political situation. She found rest and comfort there - and then Viserys took her mother, cutting her open to get his precious son out. And then, in his remorse and grief, he took comfort in Rhaenyra's girl (who was forced to give him that precious kindness of hers by her father) and her father *stole her girl too*. Not only did he steal her girl, he put her own status as heir into question by having a firstborn son with her - after wounding Rhaenyra deeply by chasing a son as far back as she could remember!

All the "she should be over it" stuff about Alicent... if Rhaenyra were a male character people would recognize the wound of having his crush stolen out from under him by his old man at the same time his old man refuses to fully back his status as heir - it's archetypal! It's gd Greek. Your old man trying to keep you from the girl you want, from your desires and destiny as an adult.

Rhaenyra makes total sense in the Sept scene - she has the primal wound of a girl who is an HEIR - who wanted to have things and act and possess and stand tall and be the lover to a girl's beloved in a way only boys are allowed in this society... and whose father took her girl away from her as well as making her feel uncertain of her status in a deeply wounding way. Rhaenyra correctly locates, emotionally, her rupture from Alicent as where it all went wrong. The Sept scene is about all of that emotionally and it makes total sense. It is also about Rhaenyra's sheer desperation and comprehension of the horror coming... and the most heartbreaking longing to return to a time when Alicent's heart was her home.

Alicent's heart was Rhaenyra's home. And her father stole the girl she loved. He took her and savaged and used and broke her and made her give birth to children she didn't want (at least not with him) from decades of sex she did. not. want. because even men who think they're nice in this society are allowed that - to cut a wife open for a son, to use a girl young enough to be his daughter. He vacillated between wounding and affirming Rhaenyra, never fully able to honor her as his heir because she was not a boy. And he couldn't even conceive of her feelings for Alicent because this is a deeply homophobic society - but he was also, even seeing it in a platonic light, selfish and inconsiderate of her feelings for her best friend.

He kept putting his feelings and needs first, over his wife, over his daughter, over her best friend.

I don't care if nobody else gets it - the way Emma plays it? They get it. They're an extremely talented actor who wasn't going "ooc" in the Sept - they were playing *that*. My father inflicted these primal wounds on me because my coming of age was more like a boy's--like things that should be allowed girls but are denied them-- and he thwarted me and yet I love him. And I love Alicent and I long for her heart, though it's full of poison and broken things now. Why does it all have to be like this? Why does it have to hurt so much?

The Sept scene is entirely in character for both of them. It is not "fanfic." It is not OOC. It is the broken heart of this tragedy bleeding before our eyes.

[triptuckers]

Not too late - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: yes “maybe a Nikolai x reader fic where the reader almost moves out from their house because Nikolai is always working and they have a fight but make up in the end? please?” Pairing:  Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary:  you decide to leave the palace, and nikolai rushes to catch up with you to change your mind Warnings: mild angst I think? Word count:  1.6K A/N: I'd sell my soul to have the scene in which alina punches nikolai in the show I loved it so much when I first read it. thanks for requesting, enjoy reading! :)

You wake up and the first thing you notice is Nikolai's absence. Again. He’s never there when you wake up. You know he’s busy. After all, he’s a king. You knew what you signed up for, and you thought you could handle it.

But it’s hard. 

It’s hard because he’s always away, visiting ministers or checking up on the progress of whatever project he was currently working on. And if he was at the palace, you barely see him. 

His schedule is packed with meeting after meeting, as well as dinner parties with important people you were never invited to.

You felt like you were slowly drifting away from him. And not just Nikolai, but also your friends. Whenever you wanted to hang out with Genya, Tamar or any of the others, they were busy as well.

You never thought a life in a palace surrounded by people could make you feel so lonely.

Of course, you tried to talk to Nikolai about it, but he merely waved his hand in the air, telling you he’s busy but that he does try to schedule some free time every now and then. You doubted it. Nikolai’s first love had always been Ravka. 

You didn’t intend to, but you just stopped being as excited as you used to be whenever you see Nikolai. Maybe you were naive to think a life with him would be something like a fairytale. It had been in the beginning, but it seemed like all the magic that once was there, had faded away.

You simply couldn’t accept you’d always be second place. Ravka first, then you. Nikolai is spending all of his time and energy on his beloved country, and you felt forgotten. 

Life at the palace could be amazing. You had everything you could have ever wished for, except that one thing you so desperately needed: Nikolai.

Which is why you had decided to head back to Os Kervo. it was where you had first met Nikolai, but also your hometown. You longed for the sea, and the Saturday market, you missed your friends.

It broke your heart, but you had decided for yourself that no life with Nikolai was better than a life in which he was constantly absent. 

It would be best if you left in the evening, you’d be able to slip out and start your journey to Os Kervo. Tt would be a three day journey, but by the time Nikolai would find the letter you had written for him, you’d be long gone.

You take one last walk around the palace, taking everything in. This would probably be the last time you’d ever see it. 

Luckily, you only see one or two servants as you make your way to the stables. You take your favourite horse, and after one last look at the palace, you’re on your way.

Once you’re out of the city and in the open fields, you let the tears fall. No one would be around to see you cry. You could already imagine the storm of gossip that would hit all of Ravka if anyone saw you leaving the palace with tears on your cheeks. 

You ride for hours until you take a break. The tears had stopped rolling down your cheeks a long time ago. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, calming yourself. 

You keep thinking back to Nikolai, and if he would have found your letter by now. You shake your head, drowning the thoughts out. Instead, you start to think about your family and friends in Os Kervo. 

They were happy for you when you left for Os Alta, even though they’d miss you terribly. You could already imagine the looks on their faces when you came home. You couldn’t wait to eat a home cooked meal, and help out on the docks.

Meanwhile at the palace, Nikolai has found your letter.

He saw it immediately when he entered your shared room. You’d placed it on your side of the bed. It was late, and he was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.

Because you aren’t there. Instead, there was a folded piece of paper on your pillow. It looked like you had never laid down that night.

Frowning, Nikolai picks up the piece of paper, folding it open. He recognises your handwriting and starts reading the letter.

My dearest Nikolai,

I'm sorry, I can’t take it anymore. Ravka is your first love, it always will be. You’ve got a country to run and I don’t want to wait around for you anymore. 

It pains me to say this, but I'm leaving. I've tried to hold on, to stay longer, but I just can’t do it anymore. I'm leaving for Os Kervo once I've finished this letter. 

Our paths may never cross again, but know that I will always love you,

Y/N

Nikolai reads the letter over and over again, letting the words sink in. You left. And you weren’t coming back. Time and time again he had promised you he’d spend more time with you, but there was always another meeting coming along.

It seems like he had waited too long. 

After tucking the letter in his pocket, he grabs his coat and rushes out the door. As he’s sprinting through the halls on his way to the stables, he runs into Tolya.

‘What’s got you in a rush?’ he says.

‘Move everything that’s planned for the rest of the week to next week.’ says Nikolai, not stopping as he keeps on running.

‘For what?’ yells Tolya after him.

‘Emergency!’ yells Nikolai over his shoulder as he throws open the doors. 

A servant approaches him. ‘Are you going out for a ride, sir?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’ says Nikolai. ‘Get me the fastest horse we’ve got.’

The servant gestures for a horse behind Nikolai. ‘That’s the fastest one we got, sir.’ he says. ‘Would you like me to wake General Nazyalensky and the twins so they can accompany you?’

‘No.’ says Nikolai. ‘I’m going alone.’

If the servant had his doubts, he hides it well. ‘Very well then, sir. We’ll wait for your return.’

With one last nod, Nikolai mounts his horse and takes off. 

Along the way, he keeps ushering his horse to go faster, not caring about how tired it might get. He has to get to you as fast as possible. 

When it’s almost dawn, Nikolai spots a horse in the distance. 

He could recognise your silhouette anywhere. Nikolai sighs softly and catches up with you.

You hear someone approaching you from behind and keep one hand on your revolver. Just as they catch up with you, and you’re ready to shoot them, you hear a voice.

‘Careful not to shoot me, darling.’ 

You whip your head around so fast you could have snapped your neck.

Nikolai is riding next to you, his eyes tired but somehow still gorgeous. He’s still in the clothes he wore when you last saw him, and his golden hair is messy. Still, he smiles at you.

‘Nikolai?’ you say. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Very romantically chasing after you, of course.’ he says. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

‘I read your letter.’ he says. ‘And I realise I've been an idiot.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘Nikolai Lantsov admitting he can be an idiot? What kind of reversed world did we fall into?’ you say.

‘The one in which I speak the truth.’ he says. ‘I promised you I would make more time for you, and then I didn’t. I hadn’t realised how bad it had gotten, until I read your letter. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N, ever.’

‘We both know Ravka needs you, Nikolai. I was young and naive to think you could spend as much time with me as you did with your advisors and ministers.’

‘I still can.’ he says. ‘I told Tolya to move everything I have scheduled this week to next week.’

You look at him. ‘You did?’ you say.

He nods. ‘Yes, so I could spend time with you.’ he says.

‘That’s nice.’ you say, smiling at him.

‘It’s a start.’ he says. ‘How about this: we pick a few days, and I never schedule any meeting on those days. I spend them with you, and don’t let anything or anyone interrupt them.’

‘But Ravka-’ ‘Can handle a day or three in a week without me.’

‘Alright.’ you say. ‘I could live with that.’

‘Thank goodness.’ says Nikolai, looking relieved. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you.’

You smile and stop your horse. You tug on the reigns to turn around. 

‘Where are you going?’ asks Nikolai.

‘Back to the palace?’ you say, a bit confused.

‘I was thinking we could go to Os Kervo for a day or two.’ he says. ‘After all, I did ask Tolya to schedule the rest of the week free. We’ve got plenty of time. Besides, I met your family like two times before, it’d be nice to see them again.’

‘Alright then.’ you say. ‘After you, your majesty.’

Nikolai rolls his eyes at the nickname. ‘I hate it when you do that.’ he says, making his horse resume walking again.

‘No you don’t.’ you say with a wink, turning your horse around so you can ride beside him.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

12. All About Bilbo from the POV of...Thorin

And FINALLY I’m done. Thank you guys so much for all the notes/comments/reblogs/etc. I appreciate each and every one of you. If you haven’t been keeping up and want to see all 12 POVs, you can click on the masterlist here or I may just go ahead and post them to AO3. Please enjoy the long awaited Bagginshield conclusion.  😉

***

Thorin knew after the battle, after laying in that healing camp, after finally being free to have thoughts not consumed by his treasury, there was only one edict he could make as his first one as king: the hobbit had to stay in Erebor. An advisor, a cook, a gardener, he did not care what occupation he took. He would invent a position if he needed to! He just needed Bilbo by his side if he were to be of any use to the mountain. Of course, convincing the hobbit of this was easier said than done.

 In all fairness, Thorin could have gone about it a lot better than all but demanding he stay. The hobbit ranted and raved, he seemed on the verge of lashing out physically (which Thorin would reluctantly admit he would have deserved), and he spent several long agonizing nights in Dale. Finally, Bilbo came back to inform Thorin that he would be returning to the Shire, he would be allowed six months to make his choice, and Thorin would respect it. Balin had to remind Thorin it would be within his best interest to accept. Thorin couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he needed Bilbo to know just how much he appreciated him before he left.

It was their first real conversation since the Battle. Thorin made his apologies and explained just how much the hobbit’s unconventional wisdom was needed both in his kingdom and to the king personally. In return, Bilbo expressed his fears during Thorin’s goldsickness and why exactly he turned over the Arkenstone. It was far from fixed, but it did go a long way towards regaining their former friendship. The hobbit would cite it as what finally convinced him to come back just under two years later. It should have been the happy ending Thorin had been waiting for. He never would have guessed just how wrong he was.

“I’m going to kill him.” Thorin growled.

“You’ve said that before.” Balin reminded patiently.

“This time, I’m really going to kill him. Whose idea was it to make him ambassador to the elves anyways?”

“I believe that would be...yours, Your Majesty.”

Thorin had no energy to deal with Balin’s misplaced amusement as he marched towards the hobbit’s room. He pounded on the door making sure this time that the sneaky burglar couldn’t claim not to hear him.

“I’m not answering if you’re going to be in a mood, Thorin Oakenshield.” Came the muffled response.

“You approved further negotiations after I told you I would not go to that despairing Mirkwood if my life depended on it!”

“Yes, I remember the conversation vividly.” Bilbo sighed.

“Then why…!”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Balin interrupted. “Perhaps the hall is not the appropriate setting for this discussion.”

Thorin glared at his friend and advisor before turning that look onto the door before him.

“Let me in.” He ordered.

“Only on your word that you will quit raising your voice to me.” The hobbit conditioned.

“I will raise my voice if I please! I AM KING!”

“And with that winning attitude, who could forget?!”

“By Mahal.” Balin swore softly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Thorin silently fumed as he glared at the stone before him. Any that claimed dwarves were the most stubborn creatures on Arda clearly have not met Bilbo Baggins. Thorin took a deep breath to center himself before trying again.

“Master Baggins, will you please let me in so we can discuss this in private?” He all but hissed.

It was silent for a moment before the door swung open to reveal the curly haired hobbit who was currently sitting as the bane of Thorin’s very existence.

“There, was that so hard?” Bilbo answered snidely.

Thorin’s fists clenched at his side, and Balin rolled his eyes before turning to go the other way.

“I’m done with the two of you. Fetch me when you’ve figured it out or someone’s dead.”

Thorin gladly slammed the door on the traitor, leaving him and Bilbo alone. However, now that he had the hobbit before him, he found himself unfortunately speechless. He loathed that. As if his mere presence could steal all Thorin’s words away. His rather impromptu first words upon their meeting came to mind. Clearly, he was wrong about this burglar of senses.

“I’m not apologizing.” Bilbo began, crossing his arms. “They asked for a show of good faith from Erebor, and frankly I couldn’t see a reason to fault them.”

“You couldn’t?” Thorin raised a mocking eyebrow. “Clearly you remember our last stay in their wooded halls differently from me.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed with a scowl. “See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. If you want this alliance to work, you’re going to have to bury past slights. Goodness, I couldn’t even imagine what the Shire would be if we held onto grudges the way dwarves do.”

“And I can’t imagine the state of my kingdom if I allow flippant hobbits to not hold people accountable for their actions!”

Bilbo pointed a finger at him. “You’re shouting.”

“A'lâju Mahal (Shame of Mahal)! You are...irritating!” Thorin bit back.

“So you’re saying people shouldn’t be forgiven?”

Just like that, the fire that had been steadily building in his breast was snuffed out. Still, Thorin Oakenshield did not bend completely.

“I believe there is a difference when that forgiveness is desired.”

“And I think Thranduil fits the bill...in his own way.” Bilbo shrugged under Thorin’s disbelieving look. “He’s let his son go, he’s lost Tauriel to Dale due to his actions, he’s gotten back the gems he’s been denied. I think he’s ready to make amends. I’m not saying we have to pretend he’s not hurt us. I’m just saying, it would be a good show of...neighborly airs to meet with him and see what he has to offer.”

There was logic in the hobbit’s words, even if Thorin did not want to hear them. And that simple thought probably was the single summary of all their hard feelings as of late. He turned to leave before he had to accept any more difficult truths.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He spat. 

The long disappointed sigh that followed him cut quicker than any blade.

***

The journey to Esgaroth where they would spend the night before continuing into the dreaded woods the next day was...tense to say the least. Even Dwalin was uncomfortable, and that was saying something. The inn was a welcome sight if only to get an ale and free Thorin of the abrasive atmosphere surrounding the hobbit. The man who owned the inn was tripping over himself to welcome the King of Erebor, and when Thorin was finally allowed peace in his own room, he was reluctant to leave. However, that ale was calling his name, and he waited long enough that surely the hobbit’s final meal was complete to avoid any awkwardness.

That was too little credit to the brilliant burglar. He waited until Thorin was sat down at the bar halfway through his ale before he appeared at Thorin’s elbow as if out of thin air.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Bilbo demanded. “In fact, what possible excuse could you have to be angry at me if you are in fact angry?”

Thorin was choking on the amber liquid that had rushed down the wrong pipe. 

“Well, you see…” He edged around his persistent cough.

“Need I remind you, I’m only doing the job you gave me. Going back further than that, I’m only here in Erebor because you insisted I be.”

“If you would just let me…” Thorin growled only to be interrupted again.

“Is this some sort of punishment for taking the Arkenstone? You lure me back with words of forgiveness and then argue with every single decision I make when I’m only trying to help…”

“IT’S BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! You confounded creature!”

Thorin nearly sighed in relief to finally see the hobbit’s mouth had stopped moving. It was as he took in the widened eyes and nervous stance that his words were able to catch up to him. His hands shook as his eyes darted around the significantly quieter room.

“You love me?” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin didn’t want to have to deal with this in front of all these men and dwarves, especially Dwalin’s irritating smirk. Grabbing the hobbit’s hand, he led him into the hallway where it was a little more private.

“You love me?” Bilbo repeated once they were alone.

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was one secret he had hoped to hold onto for a little while longer. Not that he was never going to act on his feelings, just he was waiting for a little more time to pass. For the chasm between them to be bridged stably once more. But they hadn’t been able to stop arguing! He certainly didn’t expect Bilbo to accept him right now, but he also would not lie to him.

“Yes.” He answered, holding steady for the ire that was sure to erupt.

Instead, the hobbit all but flung himself at the dwarf king, his mouth immediately meeting Thorin’s. It was abrupt, it was warm, it was wet, and it was wonderful. When Bilbo pulled away it was to utter a phrase he never even allowed himself to hope to hear.

“Thorin, take me to bed. Now.”

The dwarf’s jaw dropped at the invitation and the open lust dilating the hobbit’s pupils.

“Wait. Now?” Thorin repeated, his mind whirling but not connecting.

“Now.” Bilbo asserted as he wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck to kiss him again.

“Shouldn’t we...discuss...this?” Thorin persisted through their kissing, rather stupidly in his opinion.

One that seemed to be shared by the hobbit if his sigh and impatient glare were anything to go off.

“Discuss what?” Bilbo demanded. “I love you. You love me. I’ve bloody been waiting for you to do something about it for months. Now are we going upstairs...or would you rather we postpone until after our meeting with the elves?”

Thorin all but slung the hobbit in his arms making his way as quickly as he could to his bedroom. The sly, conniving, extremely frustrating hobbit. And finally, finally he would be his.

[roseworth]

Shadows of the Moon

word count: 4.6k

summary: Prince Eugene of the Dark Kingdom never had anyone there for him growing up. When one of the knights has a child, he takes it upon himself to always be there for him. The two of them grow up like brothers, and they find a connection to a "normal" life through each other.

note: for Eugene Appreciation Week 🥰

AO3

When Prince Eugene first heard that one of the Brotherhood Knights was going to be a father, he was far from excited. Having a baby in the castle didn’t seem ideal to him. All it meant was that there was going to be some snotty little blob crying and making messes all the time.

But when Quirin introduced baby Varian to him, Eugene immediately felt a connection to the child. As crazy as the kingdom was sometimes, he felt calm knowing that there was someone he could connect with. They weren’t technically related, but the Prince immediately saw the child as a little brother, and silently swore he would do everything in his power to make him feel safe.

Of course, there wasn’t much a ten-year-old could do to help an infant. Eugene decided he would leave the protection to Varian’s parents, and he and Varian could just be each other’s connection to normalcy.

When Eugene was bored, he liked to go into Varian’s nursery and read him Flynnigan Rider stories. He was pretty sure the baby didn’t understand a word he was saying, but he still liked the audience. Besides, Varian would babble along when Eugene got to an exciting part of the story, so maybe he was entertained by it.

“The monster tried to sniff out Rider’s scent among the forest, hunting for his next catch. The rogue was unphased, of course, and ducked into a cave to hide from the beast,” Eugene read, adding in dramatic movements as he read. Varian gurgled from his crib, and Eugene smiled.

“That’s not even the best part!” he said. “Once the terrifying monster left, Rider ventured deeper into the cave to find more gold than he had ever seen!”

Varian gasped and flailed his arms. Eugene grinned. He stood up and leaned in closer to the crib. “And of course, there was the time Flynn ran from the ferocious mob! He launched himself up and onto a dragon... . ” He lifted Varian up and onto his shoulders. He made sure to hold the kid tightly so he wouldn’t fall, then ran around the room as he squealed in delight. “And he rode the dragon for miles until he was back home!” Varian babbled and stuck his arms up from his place on Eugene’s shoulders. Eugene spun around, then lifted him off his shoulders and back into the crib. Varian was bouncing excitedly, babbling nonsense with a smile on his face.

Eugene beamed down at him. Even though Varian was only 6 months old, spending time with him was the best part of the day. The kid was a bright light in the middle of the Dark Kingdom.

~

By the time Varian turned 1, everyone in the castle had all but accepted that he and Eugene had a connection. Eugene had spent years growing up with no other kids in the castle, but now he finally felt like he had a little brother. The two were inseparable, much to the annoyance of some.

“Your Highness,” Hector grumbled. “You can’t continue to do things like this. You’re royalty, you can’t constantly be up to these… things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the young prince said. Hector pointed at the child on Eugene’s shoulders, who was tugging on his hair and causing it to skew in every direction. “Oh him? He’s just my new advisor, he has to be with me at all times.”

Hector ran his hand down his face. “He’s a one-year-old, he’s not your advisor.’

“Oh yeah? Let’s see what my advisor has to say about that. Varian?”

Varian yelped and kicked his legs, making noises for a few seconds while Eugene listened intently, nodding along as if he was reciting important proverbs. “Go!” Varian said, reaching his arms forward.

“Well, you heard my advisor,” Eugene shrugged. “Maybe next time, Hector.” He grabbed onto Varian’s legs and dashed down the hallway, leaving Hector to regret his career choice. He heard the knight mutter something under his breath about how he couldn’t wait until the prince grew tired of spending all his time with a child, but Eugene ignored him.

~

Once Varian learned to walk and talk in full sentences, Eugene thought it was even more fun to spend time with him. He was full of energy, unlike everyone else he had to interact with in the kingdom. Everyone always acted like life was a burden they were forced to bear, but Eugene wanted to stay young and full of life forever.

The only problem was that once Eugene was 14, there were even more expectations put on him as the prince. He was told to conduct himself properly at all times, and he couldn’t get away with the excuse of being a kid anymore. He was called into his father’s office one day and was met with his usual cold gaze.

“The King and Queen of Corona will be visiting today, so I expect you to be on your best behavior,” Edmund said. He was sitting at his desk, his back straightened and his chin held high. Eugene stood on the other side of the desk, feeling uncomfortably still.

Eugene nodded. “Got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to embarrass us in front of our visitors?”

“No.”

Edmund looked his son up and down. “Good. They’ll be here in two hours, make sure you’re ready.”

Eugene nodded again, then turned around and left his father’s office. He sighed quietly after shutting the door, glancing back at the room. Ever since Eugene’s mom died, Edmund was never sure how to talk to his son, and every conversation made that clear. He felt like he had been raised by knights and maids, and every interaction with his father was like a formal business transaction.

He had barely taken 2 steps away from the room before Varian, ever the bundle of energy, ran up to him with a huge grin on his face. “Eugene!” he called out. “Wanna play Flynnigan Rider?”

The prince frowned. “I can’t, we have guests coming in a couple of hours and I just told my father I would be on my best behavior.”

Varian blinked. “Well, the guests aren’t here yet.” Eugene hesitated, and Varian stepped closer and gave his best “kicked puppy” eyes. “ Pleeeeease?”

“Fine,” he said with a grin. “But only for a bit, okay?”

“Okay!” the boy said brightly, then dashed away, gesturing for Eugene to follow him.

They grabbed wooden swords and started reenacting their favorite scenes from the Flynn Rider books. Time started to get away from them; it could have been 10 minutes or 10 hours and they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“I’ve got you surrounded, Rider!” Eugene bellowed, pointing his sword at Varian as they chased each other down the halls of the castle.

“Ah, I see your point ,” Varian said. "But you'll have to try harder than that!" He ducked under the sword and slid under Eugene’s legs, making his escape.

“You’re not getting away that easily!” he yelled. He chased after the kid, and Varian screeched happily as he ran away.

“Get back, foul beast!” he yelled. Eugene grabbed him by the torso and lifted him up as both of them dissolved into giggles.

“I’ve got you now, Flynnigan!” Eugene said.

“That’s what you think!” Varian replied, trying to squirm out of the older boy’s grasp and knocking them both onto the floor. They wrestled on the ground between giggles until Varian managed to slip out and dash away.

Eugene lifted himself to his feet and tried to chase after the boy before almost colliding with someone else. His entire body tensed as he met eyes with the Queen of Corona, who had been there and had seen him playing with a 5-year-old.

“Your Majesty, hi, um, sorry,” he mumbled, dusting himself off. He was pretty sure his father would have a heart attack if he had seen the way Eugene was conducting himself. “Uh, welcome to the kingdom?”

Much to Eugene’s surprise, the Queen just smiled warmly at him. “Your hair got a little messed up,” she said simply, reaching out to fix it.

“Uh…”

“No need to make your father think there’s a problem here, right?” she added with a wink. Eugene chuckled nervously.

If he had learned one thing from his father, it was how to read someone from their eyes. The Queen had an amused look on her face, but her eyes looked sad. “Are you alright?” he asked carefully.

She smiled again and looked down, waving her arms dismissively. “I’m fine, I just… I’ve always wanted a kid. And seeing you two made me think...” she trailed off, then cleared her throat uncomfortably.

His heart sunk. He remembered hearing about what happened to the Princess of Corona years ago. The Queen had lost a daughter, he couldn’t blame her for being sad. “I-I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know how you feel, my mom…”

The Queen shook her head and put her hand on his shoulders. “It’s okay, there’s no need for all that.”

He looked up and smiled at her. The sound of quick footsteps broke their moment, and Varian appeared beside them seconds later. “Eugene- oh. Hi,” he said, looking up at the Queen with wide eyes.

“Varian, this is Queen Arianna of Corona,” Eugene said. The Queen waved down at him, and Varian waved back.

“Hi, Varian, you’re Quirin’s son, right?” she said. Eugene was a little surprised that she knew the names of the knights of the Dark Kingdom, but it made sense that she would be kind and attentive enough to know everyone. “I’m about to go see him, would you like to come with me?”

Varian nodded, and the Queen bent down to pick him up. Varian welcomed it, wrapping his arms around her neck as she rested him against her hip. “Bye, Eugene!” Varian waved. Eugene waved back.

The Queen met Eugene’s eye and smiled softly. “I��m supposed to be seeing the royal family of the Dark Kingdom for the first time today in five minutes, I will see you then,” she said with a short nod. Eugene smiled back at her, and she turned to walk away.

~

Eugene knew that not everyone would be as understanding of his and Varian’s games as Queen Arianna was. Over the next few years, the two of them would make sure to only pull their dumb shenanigans when no one important was around.

Besides, everyone was saying Eugene was too old to be doing that kind of thing. What they didn’t understand was that he was doing his best to give Varian a normal childhood. Neither of them got to experience true “normal,” but the least Eugene could do was make sure the kid was happy despite everything.

As Eugene grew up, he was expected to learn more about the kingdom. By the time he was 18 years old, he had gotten sick of hearing about the history of kingdom tragedies, mostly regarding the Moonstone.

“One of these days, you’re going to be king. You have to be prepared for whatever the Moonstone will do,” Edmund told him. Eugene glanced at the perpetually-closed door of the chamber holding the Moonstone.

“Why don’t we just destroy it?” he asked. His father narrowed his eyes, and he swore he could hear the Moonstone buzzing louder than it was before.

“Generations of your ancestors have tried and failed to destroy it. Now we simply leave it alone and smooth over the disasters as best we can. That’s all we can do, end of discussion.”

Eugene watched Edmund walk away, holding his head high like a king. Once he was out of earshot, he groaned to himself and kicked the door. Stupid Moonstone, causing problems all over the kingdom. And his father wouldn’t even think about finding a solution to the problem. Why did he insist on ignoring it?

“Eugene!” Varian yelled as he scurried toward him, snapping Eugene out of his thoughts. “Check this out!”

The boy had gotten a chemistry kit for his ninth birthday and was spending all his time with it. He had a new fascination with everything about science, and Eugene couldn’t believe he was having trouble keeping up with a nine-year-old.

Varian poured one chemical into another, and it fizzled then turned blue. Eugene watched it carefully, waiting for something to happen, but nothing else came. He looked up at Varian, who had a huge grin on his face and was looking expectantly at Eugene. “Oh, uh, cool! Your experiments are really coming along, Var.”

He beamed, practically bouncing up and down with excitement over his chemicals. “Adding one compound into another completely changes the components of the element! Isn’t that cool?”

“Sure!”

Varian rambled about his chemicals for a bit longer as Eugene tried his best to listen, then the kid suddenly stopped himself. “What’s that buzzing sound?”

“I think it’s the Moonstone,” Eugene shrugged. “It just got louder while I was talking to my dad.”

Varian’s eyes widened excitedly. “Let’s check it out!” He strutted towards the door and put his hand on the handle, almost opening it before Eugene grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

“Hold it, kiddo. We can’t go in there, it’s dangerous, remember?”

“All the Moonstone ever does is sit there, why is it so dangerous to go in?”

Eugene paused, then shrugged. “It just is, I don’t know. Either way, there’s probably nothing interesting in there.”

Varian scrunched up his face at the door. Eugene could tell he wanted to go in, and honestly, he wanted to too. But he knew that it wasn’t worth the trouble they would get in if they went in. “Hey, how about we check out some more of your chemicals? I’m sure there’s plenty of things you haven’t combined yet, right?” he suggested.

Varian brightened back up and nodded. “Yeah! You’re right, there’s a lot more science to discover!” he said, taking Eugene’s arm and dragging him towards the door, the Moonstone completely forgotten about.

If the Moonstone was as dangerous as his father suggested, there was no way Eugene was letting Varian anywhere near it. It was not worth the risk of him getting hurt. He had sworn to himself years ago that he would protect the kid with everything he had, and no magic rock was going to change that.

~

Eugene was 24 when the rocks started appearing everywhere. Black rocks had been common his whole life, but it was getting much worse. Homes were being destroyed left and right, and no one could stop them.

He didn’t know if he could sit through another meeting where everyone’s only solution was to relocate civilians. He wanted to scream that these were all temporary solutions, and they needed to find a way to stop the rocks instead of relocating people every other day.

“You’re relocating people again ?” Eugene yelled as he threw open the door of his father’s office.

Edmund’s hardened gaze fell on him. “I know you want to find another way, but I’ve told you there is no other way. These are the kind of decisions you’ll have to make when you’re king,” he said simply.

“But there has to be something else to do! Why aren’t we finding the root of the problem?”

“We already know that the root of the problem is the Moonstone, but there’s just nothing to do about it.”

“‘Nothing to do about it’?” he shouted, slamming his hand on the desk in front of him. “You won’t even try to do anything about it!”

“There’s nothing to be done!” Edmund shouted back, standing up to meet his son’s eye level. “I’ve told you time and time again that the Moonstone cannot be destroyed!”

“How could you possibly know that? You won’t even let me get close to it!”

“Because I won’t lose you the same way I lost your mother!”

Eugene’s mouth immediately snapped shut. He stared into his father’s eyes. He looked… lost. But that didn’t stop Eugene’s heart from racing as thoughts ran back and forth in his head. His face felt numb, and he couldn’t form the words that were on the tip of his tongue. Edmund sighed to break the silence and sat back down. “I just want to protect us, son.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly when he found his voice. “You said she died of a sickness.”

Edmund shook his head. “She didn’t. She tried to destroy the Moonstone, and… the Moonstone had other ideas.”

“The Moonstone killed her,” Eugene whispered. His hands tightened into fists and his eyes were trained on the floor. His nails were digging into the palm of his hand, but he didn’t even notice.

“Yes,” Edmund said weakly.

“And you never told me? You didn’t think I would want to know how my mother died?” he spat, his voice slowly rising.

“I couldn’t tell you the truth about the Moonstone, I just needed you to know it’s dangerous . ”

“You couldn’t tell me the truth. You let me believe a lie for years because you ‘couldn’t tell me the truth.’”

“Son, I’m not the bad guy in this story, you know that.”

“Don’t call me son,” Eugene said coldly. “What have you ever done to be able to call me your son?”

He didn’t bother letting him answer. He practically ran out of the room and stormed as far away as he could from the king. He didn’t know where his feet were taking him, he just knew he had to get as far from that office as possible.

He slowly came up with an idea as he marched down the hallways of the castle. He threw open the door to the room he had gone to countless times and walked in. Varian jumped as the door to his lab was slammed open. “Hey, Eugene. You look… unhappy.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “You want to go see the Moonstone?”

Varian blinked in surprise. “Really? What about your dad?”

“I don’t care what he thinks. Are you in or not?”

Varian bit his lip, waiting for some kind of explanation. Eugene was breathing heavily, and he had anger etched into every corner of his face. Varian wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew from his expression that Eugene was about to do something dumb, and Varian took it upon himself to make sure he didn’t. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Good.” Eugene grabbed the boy’s arm and practically dragged him away from the lab. Varian tripped over his feet to try to keep up with the determined prince, but Eugene paid no attention to him. His only focus was getting to the Moonstone.

“So, uh, why the change of heart?” Varian asked.

“He’s been lying to me about everything. Now I don’t care what he wants for me, I’m seeing this Stone even if it kills me.”

Varian frowned. “...is it going to kill you?”

“Maybe. Probably not, though.”

Varian was about to object when they arrived at the door of the Moonstone Chamber. Eugene looked at the door with a sense of determination he had never felt before. Without another word, he threw open the doors and came face to face with the Moonstone. He stepped in, not checking to see if Varian was still behind him.

He was still behind, of course. He didn’t want Eugene to go in alone. Not to mention, he had wanted to see the Moonstone for years, too. It had always been forbidden for them to go into the Moonstone Chamber alone, so neither of them ever got the chance to get a good look at it. He looked at the rock in question, glowing softly from its black cage.

Now that they were in the Chamber, they had no idea what they were doing anymore. They had heard the horror stories about the Moonstone, but it didn’t look that scary. It was just floating there. Varian had half-expected it to be a giant murder machine, but it was just a tiny gem.

Eugene took a step closer, and the light it was emitting got subtly brighter. He stopped in his tracks, looking at the Stone.

This was the last thing his mom ever saw. He wondered if the Moonstone was glowing as softly and quietly as it was now, or if it was more… dramatic . It just seemed sad now. He stood still for a moment and watched the Moonstone floating alone in the cage.

“Eugene?” Varian said softly. Eugene turned around and looked back at Varian.

“That’s all I needed,” he said, walking back to the door. He pushed it open and walked out of the Moonstone Chamber.

Varian trailed behind him, his eyebrows knit together as he watched the prince. “Are you okay?”

Eugene paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get back to your lab, you said you’re working on something cool, right? Flynnoleum?”

“Yeah,” Varian said slowly, not wanting to change the subject so quickly. But clearly, his friend didn’t want to talk about this now. “Yeah, if it works right, I can get hot running water to the whole kingdom.”

“Cool,” Eugene responded, his voice barely steady. “Let’s go check it out.”

~

Ever since that day, everything was the same, but nothing was the same.

They both went back to their lives like usual. Eugene continued to go to meetings to learn about the problems in the kingdom, and Varian continued to work on his experiments. Eugene still spent all his free time in Varian’s lab, watching the kid performing experiments that Eugene didn’t entirely understand. All he did to make himself useful was pass beakers when he was told to. Just like before.

But there was still a weight on both of their shoulders as if something had changed. They learned more about the tragedies of the Moonstone, and they finally understood the burdens their kingdom had borne for centuries. They were each other’s lifeboats in the chaos of what Eugene not-so-lovingly called “The Disaster Kingdom.”

It had been 2 years since they had first visited the Moonstone together, and things had only gotten worse in the kingdom. More rocks were devastating the citizens’ lives every day and no one could stop it. Eugene stopped trying to find solutions, and instead went out and helped as many people as he could in the relocations.

He stayed distant from his father. They talked when they had to, but never more than that. He didn’t mind, though. He had never had a close relationship with Edmund before, at least now they both finally had an excuse.

But one day, everything changed.

Varian knew something was wrong when Eugene didn’t come to visit his lab at the end of the day. He searched through the castle to look for some sign of where the prince went.

His heart dropped when he saw the door of the Moonstone Chamber was standing ajar. He poked his head in to see Eugene standing on the walkway. He was staring at the stone with Adira’s Shadowblade gripped tightly in his right hand.

“Eugene?”

He didn’t turn around to face Varian. He didn’t move at all. “Someone died today.”

“What?”

“Someone died today,” he said again. “A rock shot up into their home and killed her.”

“Oh,” Varian said quietly. “Was it someone you knew?”

“No, but it was someone with a home and a family. And now she’s gone, and her family doesn’t have her anymore. All because of the Moonstone.”

Varian fell silent and looked at the Moonstone. He could have sworn it was glowing brighter than it was last time he saw it.

“I’m going to destroy it.”

Varian’s eyes widened. “You can’t! It’ll kill you!”

Eugene made a noise that sounded like a half-laugh, half-scoff. “It’ll kill me? Just like it’s done to everyone else for the entire history of the kingdom?” he said bitterly. The Moonstone began to hum louder at his words. “It’s already killing people. I’m done just sitting back and hoping it’ll stop.”

“Eugene, there’s got to be a better way to help everyone than walking into death!”

“If you know a better way, I’m all ears! But as far as I can tell, no one can do anything. And apparently, I’m the only one that cares.”

“I care too! I just don’t want to lose you like this.”

Eugene’s shoulders tensed for a moment then fell back down. “That’s not my problem.” He took a step closer to the Moonstone, and it started to shine even brighter.

“Isn’t this the exact same thing that killed your mom?” Varian shouted.

That made him stop. Eugene finally turned around, his eyes narrowed and his hands shaking. He raised the sword at his side and pointed it directly at Varian. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother,” he hissed. Behind him, the Moonstone shot out a burst of light. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“I know enough to know that this could kill you!”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as I can destroy this stupid rock.”

He turned back around and continued his walk towards the Moonstone. It glowed harsher with every step he took, the light almost blinding by the time he was right next to it. Varian’s lip quivered as he watched the closest thing he ever had to a brother drawing his sword and holding it above his head.

“Eugene, wait!” he cried out. Eugene snapped his head to glare at Varian. The kid cleared his throat and took a hesitant step forward. “I… I love you. You’ve always been like family to me, and I- I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Eugene’s face softened, and so did the light emitting from the Moonstone. He slowly lowered the sword to give his full attention to Varian. “Kid, I’m-”

Before he could finish the thought, the Moonstone shot up from the cage like an arrow and floated in midair for a split second. The next thing he knew, it flew to Eugene’s chest, causing him to gasp and fall backward.

“Eugene!”

“Stay back!”

He clutched his chest and tried to claw it away to no avail. It dug deeper in his chest, and he folded in on himself. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly to distract from the burning the Stone was causing as it embedded itself into his skin. He felt Varian’s hand on his shoulder, but he pushed him away. He held his hand out to force the kid to keep a distance. He had no idea what was about to happen, and he didn’t know what he would do if Varian got hurt.

He felt extremely dizzy and his ears were rushing. His eyes were still shut and he couldn’t hear a thing, all he knew was that the Moonstone was searing his chest. He had no idea what was going on around him or to him. It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been much longer than a minute.

Is this what his mom felt like right before she died?

A rock shot up right next to him, and he reached out to lean on it, desperately trying to catch his breath. The pain was starting to subside and he opened his eyes slowly. He blinked a few times as Varian came into focus in front of him. The kid’s face looked horror-stricken, but thankfully he seemed unscathed. “Kid?”

“You- your- you look-” Varian stuttered.

Eugene looked down and saw that the clothes he had been wearing had been replaced with pitch-black armor made from the rocks, with spikes protruding from the shoulders. The Moonstone had settled into place on his chest. His hair was pitch black, too, the same color as the black rocks across the kingdom.

“Well, that’s… new.”

[memeadonna]

The Kingdom of Roses

You are the princess of Rusika, a kingdom neighbouring Novoselic. When one of your government’s high ranking officials is taken as a political prisoner, your kingdom retaliates by taking some of your own -- and they just might be more than you bargained for. 

Hello Everybody! My name is Jess and I’ve been a longtime fan of Danganronpa, from around 2012 or 2013 when I first played the games. I wanted to try my hand at writing a reader insert for one of my favourite characters (and my first ever husbando), one Kazuichi Souda. This beautiful art really inspired me (I scoured high and low for an artist credit, but I couldn’t find one. If you know who drew it please let me know and I will give them the appropriate credit), and I wrote an x reader. I hope you all enjoy!  Warnings: This work contains NSFW not suitable for readers under 18. Please do not interact with this post if you are under 18. 

Monarchies were a dying form of government. Most countries had established parliaments by now, but the Kingdom of Rusika, where you were born, and a few neighbouring kingdoms held onto their royal families until the very end. Novoselic was one such kingdom, one that until a few days ago had been your ally. Your father – beloved king of Rusika – had sent one of his most trusted advisors to negotiate a trade deal with the Nevermind family, rulers of Novoselic.

That advisor had been captured and held at ransom for some unknown reason. The Novoselic Kingdom really had no idea what they were doing, did they?

Sonia Nevermind was someone you had grown up with. The two of you had never been friends, per se, but you understood one another. You were Princesses tasked with leading your kingdoms towards prosperity. Your countries were similar enough – they had once been one, but after a civil war in 926, the country had been divided in half. While Novoselic’s exports consisted of luxury goods – wine, chocolate, and cheese – Rusika’s were more practical. Your main exports were related to geothermal energy and associated technologies, or mining precious gems. Your country – the kingdom of roses – was building the future. Hers was stuck in the past, weighed down by stupid traditions.

Your father trusted you more than Sonia’s father trusted her, and so you had grown up with more responsibilities. You had learned early on the burdens of leadership, and eventually began to find her boring. You made sure she never caught on, always giving her your full attention whenever she rambled about her silly life and silly problems.

Both of your countries had hit economic booms, so what need was there to worry? Gah, her philosophy was so stupid.

Today you woke up to find that your father had arranged the kidnapping of two of Sonia’s closest friends. She had just graduated from the prestigious Hope’s Peak Academy, and had apparently invited her entire class to Novoselic to spend their last vacation celebrating.

It was strange of him to make such a decision without consulting you first. You were supposed to be queen of Rusika one day, and he always made sure you had a say in decisions. Today you were instructed to dress the part of a princess and come greet your guests. You were to show them hospitality and make them feel welcome. You might have kidnapped them, but you weren’t monsters. They would literally receive the royal treatment, and you were to be put in charge of them.

As your handmaidens helped you dress (corseting you, doing your hair and makeup, and fixing your jewelry could be a six-person job), you went over what you wanted to say to your prisoners. How the hell were you supposed to make them feel welcome?

You had never seen a person with two different coloured eyes before. You had also never seen a person with pink hair. Based on the way they looked at you, dripping in jewels and looking your part, you doubted they had seen Sonia in all of her glory yet. You smiled as you introduced yourself, trying your hardest not to look like you were studying them. You explained the situation to them, told them they were valuable political prisoners and would not be harmed or imprisoned as long as they behaved, and did not try to leave.

The man with two different coloured eyes called you a fiend, as well as many other dark names as he promised his Princess would come for him. The man with pink hair affirmed “Miss. Sonia will rescue me!” and shook his fist at you, trying his best not to look starstruck.

Eventually, you got their names out of them.

“How long will we be here?” Gundham asked you over dinner that night. “I wish to return home as soon as possible. I have responsibilities.”

Realistically, you knew it wouldn’t be a quick endeavour. You and Sonia had spent three months as prisoners in a neighbouring kingdom as Rusika and Novoselic had laid siege to the capitol. That was when you had learned she was boring. She kept to herself in her room, and almost seemed upset with you whenever you would negotiate with your captors, or walked the palace grounds like a free woman.

“As long as it takes” you answered coolly, glad that Japanese was one of the languages your family had forced you to learn. Members of the royal family having to speak thiry languages was one tradition that Rusika had kept from its time joined with Novoselic. It came in handy when negotiating with foreigners. “I cannot provide a clearer answer than that.”

“Don’t worry, Gundham,” Souda spoke up. “Sonia will come for us!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gundham spent most of his time observing the animals on your palace grounds. Your late mother had loved peacocks, so your father had taken up breeding them. She had loved many different animals when she had been alive, so the grounds weren’t exactly wanting. He enjoyed speaking with the vain birds, whistling and cooing until they would fan their elegant tails. His hamsters seemed to enjoy their accommodations too, with more seeds than they could have ever hoped to have eaten.

Souda, however, wanted to remain as unaffected as possible. He did his best to refuse any luxuries you offered him. It was only after you found out he had taken apart every electronic device in his room did you ask Gundham. The Ultimate Breeder had warmed up to you quickly, especially since you were the reason his hamsters were so well taken care of.

After Gundham cryptically told you about Souda, you gifted the Mechanic with a set of tools and new appliances to play with. Boredom could be so cruel, and the last thing you wanted was undue suffering.

Seeing him slip shyly into your study made your gift worth it. He was so awkward as he stumbled out a thanks, looking everywhere except your face. He was blushing and fiddling with a screwdriver as he spoke. “I still don’t trust you. You’re Miss. Sonia’s enemy,” he pointed his finger at you. “And any enemy of Miss. Sonia is an enemy of mine.”

“Would you like a workshop?” you asked him calmly. “I’m sure your room is a bit cluttered with all of those appliances. I just want to make your stay comfortable, I bear no ill will towards you, Mr. Souda.”

His cheeks flamed up and he stammered out a non-answer, shuffling out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Souda and Gundham had been with you a little over two weeks when the former finally cracked. He once more barged into your study, and looked you up and down. “I want somewhere to work,” he declared. He placed a crumpled piece of paper on your desk. “Here’s the list of everything I need.”

You saved the speech you were writing and logged off of your computer. “Come with me, Mr. Souda,” you stood gracefully, glad you no longer had to wear your ballgowns around him. It had always made you feel overdressed and obnoxious, especially considering he preferred to wear his jumpsuit rather than the clothes your country had provided him with. It had taken a lot to even convince him to let the servants wash the suit, let alone wear another while he waited.

In the end, you had commissioned seven identical jumpsuits for him, to match the one he already wore. At least he no longer reeked.

You paused at the door to the workshop you had set up for him. There was a guard stationed outside, but a nod from you dismissed him. Kazuichi’s eyes lit up as he observed all of the new-age tech he had to play with. He stammered out a bright-eyed thanks, and you gave him your brightest smile. You had done lots of research into what he would enjoy; he was your guest, not your prisoner. Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a month, Novoselic struck up a deal with Rusika. A hostage for hostage trade: Gundham Tanaka for your father’s cherished advisor. Kazuichi had not been mentioned in the negotiations at all, something that did not sit right with you.

He tried to pretend that he wasn’t upset he had been forgotten, but it was obvious to anybody with half of a brain he was torn up. You made efforts to spend more time with him. You had him accompany you on walks around the castle’s garden, and even took him out of the palace for a few walks around town for a change of scenery. Nothing you said lifted his spirits. He barely even looked at you now.

You watched him tinkering with his toys, but even that seemed to have lost its shine for him. He looked so sad, so bored that it made you anxious.

“May I ask you something?” you questioned on one such walk. The two of you had been caught in the rain and had sought shelter underneath a quaint gazebo. He looked back at you with a curt nod. “How is your hair pink?”

He blinked at you for a moment before he burst out laughing. It was the first time since he had come to Rusika that he had laughed, and it made your cheeks flame up as he smiled at you.

“I dye it,” he told you after he calmed down. “I first bleach my hair to take the colour out, and then I use a dye to turn it pink.”

“Colour?” You blinked up at him. “What colour is your hair supposed to be?”

Instead of answering, he removed his beanie to reveal about an inch of jet-black hair growing in at his roots. Your eyes widened in wonder. “So, it must be bleached again on the new hair?” you asked.

“Yes,” he smiled at you dopily. “It has to be done every few months or the hair will grow in its natural colour.”

“Does it feel different?” you asked. “The pink and the black?” Instead of replying, he took your hand and placed it onto his hair. Your blush only deepened as you felt how soft it was, and noticed his cheeks were bright red too as you pulled away. “Do you wish to turn your hair pink again? I will send for my stylist.”

He smiled at you, soft but genuine. “I’d really like that. Then I’ll feel a bit more like me,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Souda peeked over your shoulder. You smiled tiredly up at him and you stretched as subtly as you could. You had been taking daily walks with him for several weeks now, and he would always drop by every few hours to see how you were doing, or to show off his latest invention.

“I’m looking at the schematics for a new geothermal energy plant,” you answered. “I’m trying to sort out how we can make our energy extraction more efficient.”

Kazuichi looked over the blueprints on your laptop screen. “I’d have to do the calculations, but if you merged these two pipes here-” he pointed. “-you would cut down significantly on the energy wasted.”

“Pull up a chair,” you told him. “Let’s take a look together, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kazuichi had been in your care for three months now, and he hardly acted like a prisoner. He called you “Miss” (probably because you called him Mr. Souda), and tended to barge in on you whenever he wanted. He had repaired the castle’s heating system, boosted your internet connection, and even helped you overhaul the design of your new energy plants. These plants would be 46% more efficient than the last schematic, something that amazed you. You told him repeatedly how marvellous he was, if only to see his face light up.

Lately, he had started wearing the jumpsuits your family had initially provided him with – similar to his old one but stamped with your country’s crest on the back – and had been a bit more… touchy than before. He would put a hand on the small of your back while you walked, or gently brush a lock of hair from your face as the two of you had tea.

You were not experienced in the slightest with intimacy or wanting to be in a relationship – you were certain you would learn that after you became queen – but now he was all you could think about. You knew the basics, knew what to expect from a man, but your heart was uncharted territory. You had never loved someone before, and some deep-seated fear in your heart was worried he would think you were taking advantage of him.

“I was in love with her, you know,” he told you one day while you were out for a walk. The two of you were once more caught in the rain and taking shelter in the same gazebo. “I loved Sonia.” Sonia. Not Miss. Sonia.

“Did it hurt?” you asked back, and immediately felt stupid for asking. It was none of your business, why did you want to know?

“I guess?” he shrugged. “I don’t – she never treated me like I mattered. She made me feel like I was nothing. Just a pest. Like I was disposable.”

“Sonia is a fool,” you told him. You meant it, of course you did, but at that moment you just wanted him to smile. “Your contributions will certainly leave their marks on this world. You are a remarkable person with a remarkable talent. Anybody who would overlook you is an utter fool.”

Kazuichi reached into his pocket and pulled out a small speaker. He set it on the railing, and it began to play a soft, slow song. “Will you dance with me?” he asked shyly.

“Of course,” you smiled at him, holding out your hand for him to take.

His steps were sloppy and uncoordinated, but the feeling of his warm body in your arms made you feel safe. You wanted him to love you. Love you the way he loved Sonia, and then even more. A legendary love that would eclipse all others.

When he leaned down to kiss you, you automatically tilted you head to the side. It felt like the first time and the thousandth time all at once – something new and exciting, yet undeniably right. He grinned at you like an idiot and kept swaying with you while the song ended.

“It all feels perfect with I’m with you,” he told you. “Like it all makes sense.”

“I understand,” you smiled up at him. “I feel the same way too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He barely left your side now. He would let you work, of course, but wanted to spend his every waking hour with you. He held your hand on your walks, kissed your knuckles like a gentleman whenever he greeted you, and kissed you passionately when you were alone with him. You loved watching him light up at your presence – it was like his world began and ended with you.

His greatest joy was when he got to work with you. To see you listening carefully to his advice, offering insights of your own based on your knowledge. You worked to improve both your geothermal energy plants and plan for new mines. The number of precious stones mined this year was astronomical, and it wasn’t over yet.

Your father was impressed with the improvements he had made to the schematics he had been provided with, so he was gradually given more and more responsibility (along with his freedom, of course). Eventually, he began to receive an “allowance” as payment for the work he was doing. He spent most of it on new gadgets to tinker with or gifts for you. You would often retire to your room to find a vase full of flowers or a box of chocolates, and every time you saw them you would break out into a grin you could not stop.  

The two of you would text one another (he made himself a cellphone because he was “bored and wanted to try it”) until you fell asleep, and within those words he bared his soul. He told you about his horrific home life – about the man who had dared to harm him – and about the friends who had betrayed him. He told you how much you mattered to him, all of the things he would do for you. Give up for you.

When he told you about his father hitting him one too many times, you left your room and went to his. You just needed to hold him, make him feel safe the same way he made you feel safe.

You were glad you went when you did, because there was a woman dressed in black trying to drag him out of the window. You raised the security alarm, and she was apprehended. Mukuro Ikusaba – the Ultimate Soldier – was thrown into your actual prison, and you once more had trouble with Novoselic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You answered the door with bleary eyes, but seeing Souda’s tired smile as he mumbled about not sleeping was worth it. You used your new nickname for him – the word in your mother tongue that meant little pink rose – and he melted into your arms. You didn’t care that you were wearing your nightgown, or that it was early in the morning, you had your prince charming and he was safe, and he was yours. Yours.

“I had a nightmare,” he was curled up among your pillows, snuggled up under your blankets. “You forgot about me like she did.”

“I’m not her,” you reminded him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before resting your own against it. You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips, and as you let your eyes slip shut your hands found his. “I will never think of you as less than extraordinary, my darling.” You promised.

He kissed your cheek, slowly painting his way over your cheekbones and down to your lips. You responded wonderfully, one hand cupping his cheek as you kissed him slowly. You opened your eyes to see him staring at you with pure adoration. He wasn’t wearing his contacts, and his eyes were a light, rosy brown colour. Stunning.

“I love you,” the words slipped out of your mouth unbidden. You were speaking in your mother tongue now, but based on the smile he gave you and the whisper of “Ai shiteru” you got in return, he had understood. More than understood.

Your lips met his again, a strange kind of hunger filling you. He must have felt the change too, the atmosphere crackling with energy as you traced your fingers over his body. As he traced his fingers over yours.

You both stripped completely and held one another, clumsy and laughing and so in love. “Tell me if it hurts,” he had whispered to you as he stretched you open with his fingers. You had kissed him in response, a smiling sort of kiss that you hope conveyed more than a simple “I love you”.

Your lovemaking didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to to be perfect. It felt like it was right out of a fairy tale, and your prince charming was here to save you from everything bad in the world. You were here to save him, in reality, but you were more than happy to indulge him in his fantasies, so long as you could play a part in them.

When you were done, he wrapped you in his arms and placed a kiss to your temple. He hummed softly and played with your hair, whispering his love over and over again. You smiled up at him, tired but satisfied, and when you fell asleep your smile did not falter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since that night you had shared, Kazuichi had been coming to your bed every night. You would fall asleep together and wake up together and talk until you couldn’t anymore. When you weren’t talking, you were either cuddling or doing something less… innocent. Your mouth had mapped out every inch of his body, and you knew what to do to make him open like a flower. He liked letting you do what you wanted to him – liked giving over the power and control and letting you make him feel good.

He loved it when you spoke to him in your mother tongue – no matter what you said he would squirm and turn bright red.

“Do you like it when I play with your pretty cock?” you asked him lowly, and he let out a sweet moan as his legs fell open. He could tell from the sound of your voice if you were being sweet to him or not, and you could tell based on the noises he made if he wanted you to be sweet or not.

You wondered what fantasies swept him away as you mounted him. When you pinned his wrists and mouthed at his neck, you wondered why he was mewling so much. Did he even know what he was begging you for anymore, or did his mind just go blank every time you began to kiss his scars?

You learned every embarrassing detail about his body, and he learned every detail of yours. He loved to have you on him – worshipping him, taking pleasure from his body – but what he loved most were the quiet moments after.

The moments when you would roll off of him and kiss him slowly and tell him how good he was. When you would worship every scar again, tell him he was beautiful. When he’d lay his head in your lap so you could weave your fingers into his hair and hum him lullabies. He always fell asleep in your bed after you made love. It was one of the most perfect moments you ever shared, and you felt so, so lucky to have shared so many of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today you woke up alone. Novoselic had finally sent an envoy to negotiate Kazuichi’s release. Today was the day.

Last night, he had helped you pick out your gown. He had chosen a white one with ruffles designed to look like flowers – Rusika was the kingdom of roses, after all – and as your handmaidens helped you get ready, you felt powerful.

You went all out – you wore your crown jewels and covered yourself in diamonds. You did not want there to be any doubt that they were dealing with a princess and would negotiate on her terms. Your father had been surprised when you had asked for this responsibility but granted you the negotiation opportunity.

Mukuro Ikusaba was wearing several chains, including a rather nasty-looking pair of handcuffs. She was positioned in a chair facing towards your throne, and she glared at you as you took your seat.

Kazuichi arrived only a few minutes after you, and his jaw just about hit the floor as he took you in. You gave him a smile befitting a queen as your eyes roamed his body – he was wearing a finely tailored suit and a ring with your family’s crest on it. You realized then you wanted to cover him in jewels. He would look so good sparkling.

He bowed deeply before taking his place at your side, breaking you from your train of thought. It was an old Novoselic tradition for the ruler’s consort to kneel on a special stool while the monarch conducted business, but while Kazuichi did kneel on the plush cushion, he tugged it towards you so he could lie across your lap. The action startled you at first, but as he snuggled deeper into your skirts and looked up at you with a smile, your fingers came up to weave into his hair in the way he found comforting, and he closed his eyes.

That lasted for a blissful minute before the throne room’s doors burst open and Princess Sonia Nevermind was announced. Her entourage filed in with her, and Souda tilted his head to get a better view of them. You recognized Gundham, and vaguely recalled hearing about a few of the others from Kazuichi. Classmates, if you remembered correctly.

Sonia had brought the Yakuza boy and the Ultimate Swordswoman as backup. She had also brought a hulking man with matching scars over both of his eyes. This man was someone you had never heard of, yet he was flanked by the usual Novoselic military honour guard. You greeted her in your shared tongue before switching to Japanese. “Welcome. What brings you all to Rusika?” you asked.

The princess of Novoselic cleared her throat and began once more in your mother tongue. “Apologies for interrupting, Princess Nevermind, but not everybody here speaks our language. I would like to include our guests in the matters we will be discussing,” Souda shifted in your lap, and you continued playing with his hair, sitting with the elegance of a queen.

Sonia began again, in Japanese this time. “I demand you release your prisoners at once,” she pointed at you. “Keeping a soldier hired by my country to retrieve a prisoner does not reflect well on the alliance between our peoples. I would hate for a war to break out.”

You sighed. “As a show of good faith, I will release the prisoner Mukuro Ikusaba to you,” you made a gesture and a pair of guards removed her shackles. You could feel Souda playing with your ruffles. “Was that all?”

“We are here for the prisoner Kazuichi Souda,” she answered. “I demand you release him.”

“Kazuichi is not a prisoner,” you corrected. “He has full autonomy and can choose to leave anytime he would like.”

“You kidnapped him as a political prisoner!” Sonia snapped, eyes locked on him. “Do not tell me that he is doing… that of his own free will!”

You gave his shoulder a pat with the hand that had been in his hair and he blinked over at Sonia. “I have done nothing malicious towards him,” you answered. “I have not-”

“Liar!” Sonia cut in. “You must have brainwashed him with Stockholm. You truly are a woman with flexible legs!”

Kazuichi raised his head a bit. “Don’t talk to my Princess like that!” there was a certain bite to his words. You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair as he glared at Sonia. “Gundham knows as well as I do that we were never mistreated here. We were given free reign, and I just so happened to be appreciated. I’m not a second choice here. I’m not forgotten.”

Sonia looked visibly upset at his words. “We did not forget you!” she assured him.

“You rescued Gundham after a month? A few weeks?” Kazuichi was bristling. “I’ve been here for eight. Eight months and you didn’t even bother to see if I was okay.” Sonia watched Kazuichi lie back down. “Excuse me for being happy. I forgot you don’t like it when I’m too overbearing with my affection.” He shifted around for comfort, burying his face in the crook of his elbow before tilting it out to the crowd.

“Is he truly able to leave anytime he wants?” Gundham asked.

“I am,” Kazuichi bristled once again. “I’ve got a job and everything.”

Sonia said your name. No title, just your name. “I would like to speak with you in private, future monarch to future monarch,” she was clenching her hands into fists.

“I’ll allow it,” you gave Kazuichi a gentle pat on the shoulder and he reluctantly pulled away. You stood, and he stood with you. He followed you down from your throne, and as you escorted Sonia towards your study you noticed Kazuichi was making a beeline for Gundham.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you were alone again, the first thing Kazuichi did was help you out of your dress. He was careful as he unlaced your corset, and as he helped you step out of it. He even hung it up properly so it wouldn’t get damaged. Then he was kissing you like he was about to lose you, pulling your body close and pulling you into his arms. He carried you over to the bed and tossed you into it, discarding his own clothes haphazardly as he followed.

“I love you,” he told you assuredly. “And nothing is ever going to change that. Not a single thing they say will convince me otherwise.”

You smiled at his words. “And I love you too, my little pink rose,” you gave him a deep, longing kiss.

It didn’t matter what the others thought or said. It didn’t matter what they did. All that mattered was what you and Souda thought. Souda was here with you. Souda loved you.

And no matter who decided to challenge that, they couldn’t take him away from you.

[pokedash55]

Raincloud HC and Mini Fic

BENTHOMAAR/VANIA HC DUMP.

 CAN BE READ PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC BUT THESE TWO WOULD BE PERFECT FOR EACHOTHER EITHER WAY

Inspired By @parachutingkitten

- They saw each other at the nya tribute but didn't get to actually meet

-Bentho became king of merlopians but struggles with citizens seeing him as a real king, as many still are distrustful of the surface world

-He has gluttonous there as the royal scientist and Gripe helps him out, but the citizens still don’t view him has a true king after what happened with Kalmaar

-Bentho and Vania have a cordial meeting for royal business

-Vania is struggling less with her people and more with her city economically recovering.

-Bentho wants to bind the kingdoms somehow, since her kingdom is so inland that if they had good relations with a mountainous region it's one step closer to accepting him.

-They are skeptical of SURFACE DWELLERS not humans so it's a good try. 

-establishes trade and economic relations with each other. Maybe trade or sell deepstone and bioluminescent stones for jewelry and architecture in return for some shintaro product unavailable under the sea. Maybe a metal or type of cuisine? Not sure. Flowers perhaps since they have so many in the garden. 

-Both relate to having less than respectable family members and share experiences with defeating them

-share new ruler problems they face and can relate to each other very well

-benthomaar can keep up with the bubbly energy of Vania and they both have a backbone to keep their bond from being too unhealthy, fluffy and overly optimistic.

-bentho has trauma from kalmaar's abuse and goes overboard to try and impress vania and thinks he has to be the best damn guy and best royal ally possible to keep her current friendship

-Vania is pretty easily impressed and is very vocal with her admiration so he'll be overwhelmingly happy and confused when she latches on so quickly.

-she'll show him around the sky city, bentho never been so high up, and can introduce him to her allies down below.

-Bentho loves the caves much more than the city in the sense that it's more comforting and all the underwater streams and lakes remind him of home.

-all streams lead to the ocean so I'm not surprised if they find out the water is connected to merlopian seas some how

- this can also work to compliment the kingdoms

- Like Merlopia can reach out and achieve diplomacy with another kingdom instead of being so islationist, and shintaro struggles with moving on from a unsustainable and horrific economic system so they could help eachother alot. 

-Both very isolated so coming together may be a good step for both countries’

-Merlopians could be accepting of geckles and munce since they live below the surface, and the shintarins live high above it (so they couldn’t flood it even if they wanted to). It’s baby steps towards liking the rest of NINJAGO as a continent. 

-When they become closer friends she Opts for calling him Ben or Benny, since she is so outgoing and bubbly like that, but immediately backtracks and asks if it was ok and apologizes, saying she went over the line

- He would stand up for himself and deny BENNY but I think Ben would be a cute name between the two uwu

-Benthomaar is naturally formal in his ruling and has to push himself to relax while Vania is very lax and friendly with her ruling but needs to push herself to be demanding and formal (She took awhile to use the “Princess” card against Halmaar, opting instead for mutual understanding)

-ok quasi-fic time

___________________________________________________________

FIC SKELETON (might finish writing someday but here’s the basics with some interaction)

 summary: : They spend the day learning about each other kingdoms, and in turn eachother. 

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 1: Shintaro

Vania goes about giving Bentho a tour of her city and he is overly courteous of her. She finds it cute at first but then she starts worrying if Benthomaar thinks she can’t handle herself.

Introduces Bentho to Chompy. He finds the dragon very cute and that gets a big smile out of him, really showing off his very sharp teeth. Chompy loves him immediately and starts to climb over him and sit on his head and stuff. Bentho reciprocates pretty much immediately, no stranger to the values of an animal's unconditional love. (The only love that ever seems unconditional in his experience.)

 He has trust issues from Kalmaar and tries extra hard to earn love so he goes overboard sometimes, he’ll be the sort to open doors literally all the time, agree with her ideas more aggressively than is really needed, go out of his way to try and physically protect her from perceived threats, etc. Not knowing this fact, and being insecure about her own leadership skills, she thinks he is babying her, or worse, pitying her. She eventually tells him that she can indeed handle herself. 

“I can handle myself Benthomaar, you don’t have to do all these things for me.”

“I… Know that”

“You’re very sweet and I appreciate your generosity but… this”, gestures to all the things he bought or given or made for her, and gestures to the situation they were in where he immediately went to protect her from, “simply is too much”

The walk back is a tad awkward after that. Bentho remarks he’s never been so high up before and he does seem very dry from the heavy winds and cold air. 

Good thing it’s about time to show him the lower parts of the Kingdom anyway. 

“Halmar, I am escorting Benthomaar down through the mountain. Can you be in charge while I’m gone.”

“As you wish my queen”

Benthomaar looked the armored man up and down. “Halmaar? Are you of royal blood too?” he asked.

“What?” Halmar bluntly questioned aloud to the merlopean king before sputtering out in a bow, “I mean, Pardon?... Your majesty” 

“Benthomaar this is Halmar. My right hand advisor and head of our defensive force.”

“Oh. In my people, -Maar is given to that of royalty. ‘Halmaar’ means Brave Sea. ”

“Well I can assure you he’s very brave.” Vania beamed as Halmar recovered from his bow. “And will protect the city while I'm gone” she reminded him playfully, as she moved benthomaar out of the temple. 

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 2: The Dungeons

Going through the dungeons vania remarks on her father’s previous ruling over it. They share stories and struggles. 

Talks about her father and how the ninja came to help. Goes into the topic of her ruling struggles. 

“Now that I have helped bring King Vangelis, my father I mean, to justice, people expect me to fix everything. They come to me asking for plans to retain Shintaro's glory, or with pleas for more funds. The people put so much faith in my father and, although his actions were Terrible… it made the city so wonderful for everyone living here. I don’t think I’ll be able to make Shintaro prosper the way he did. I love my people but they expect so much of me all at once. I admit It is very difficult to keep track of it all.”

“That sounds rough, but at least your subjects care for you. The people of Merlopia don’t see me as their king...and they have every right to. I helped the surface dwellers and my actions led to Kalmaar’s death. In their eyes I am a traitor…. Many don’t follow my commands unless they are directed through Gripe. It’s understandable they won’t respect me… I was adopted after all...”

“Well I respect you. Why, from the past--” counts on her fingers with a tongue sticking out “-- three hours I’ve officially known you, I’d say you’re a wonderful ruler! I hereby royally dub you a great king! You can tell your people that!”

*Small air laugh recovering from his Sadness* “Thank you, Vania. I don’t know how much they’ll regard a compliment from the mouth of a ‘surface dweller’, though”  

*Smol vania /hj sad pout to one side*

“But I appreciate it, really!!” He corrected arms waving at his front, trying to recover from his previous, in his eyes, disrespectful remark (also in his eyes failing horribly at doing so. He needs to queen to like him. This isn’t going well and-)

“I know you do.” she beamed, “ Now Come on, I see the cart tracks we’re getting closer!!” she happily stated, almost skipping past the new King.  

Bentho looked onward at the long haired blond who was trying to walk and balance on the rim of the track, and smiled with relief that she is so easy going at him. He essentially disregarded her royal decree to her face and she brushed it off like nothing. Trimaar had always honored heavy respect towards other royals but it seems this Queen runs things very differently. Even the day had been tame. It felt more like some playdate than an official royal gathering,but with how stressful becoming King had been it was a pleasant change of pace. 

“Hey Bentho! We’re HEeeereee!” Vania waved excitedly as the other royal caught up to her standing near a steep ledge leading down to an opening with a large passageway. 

Have to go down a large mountainous trench first to reach the dungeons. Benthomaar prepares to scale down the cliff but Vania brings out her wings and tells bentho to hold on. She flies him down the cave--

(Flying is vaguely exciting, but also vaguely terrifying. He’s never really had to deal with the possibility of falling before. Buildings in Merlopia aren’t that tall and you literally can’t fall underwater, there’s always something supporting you.) 

The two meet up with the chancellor of the geckles first. He welcomes Queen Gania and her friend Genthomaar and he asks first for trial by mino, but Vania orders him off. Scoffing at her majesty’s boring overriding of their usual procedures he opts for a simple vote for bringing the new unfamiliar face to the munce queen. Bentho gets rocks thrown at him and the geckles cheer as they escort the two to where murtessa is. Vania giggles at him.

 Next up is the muntz. 

So she'd challenge him to a quick duel to see if he is a fitting ally. Naturally Benthomaar rocks with a spear, so he's good, but he'll be really confused at first and probably not want to fight her.

He doesn’t win, but Murtessa sees through his fighting that he has a good heart, and a brave one. She declares him an ally of the Munce. King Menthomaar. And then gives him a hearty slap on the back and invites them all to dinner. They politely decline (Vania, to preserve her stomach. Munce food is, ah, something else.) 

Murtessa thinks Bentho is a good kid and a good fighter. She thinks it's funny how polite he is, though. Gives him some royal advice that he’d be a little better off if he would carry himself like a king. “Confidence! Important in every Munce ruler!” 

Bentho finds her and Munce a bit...much, but they also kind of remind him of the Maaray back home so he also finds it kind of familiar. (Also he doesn’t know it, but shark Merlopians are kind of rough and tumble, too. Like Munce, but without tight knit families or a set kingdom.) 

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 3: Merlopia

Goes back to the temple to discuss whats next. 

“If we are going to be partners in this royal engagement, I think you should see My homeland. Merlopia”

Vania just laughs at his wording

“What did I say?” Genuine confused babi just trying to be overly courteous cause he feels like he must be a GOOD KING. ULTRA KING.

Brings her to the beach. He signals her to wait there and he dives into the water to ask nya for some help in bringing Vania down the depths. She knew the bare basics of what happened but seeing nya in such a state made her a tad saddened. 

“Nya. Can you help bring my friend to Merlopia?”

Nya nods all slow and goddess like. “You helped me defeat Wojira, correct? For that I’ll grant you this.”

“Thank you, nya”

“That’s NYA??” 

“Do I… know you.”

She just frowns at that question. She knew she and nya were not super close but to be forgotten like that. Ouch. “I guess not”

Nya makes a large air bubble and descends quickly down the depths. And like cool camera pans and junk and bentho is riding the wave nya is making outta the bubble and vania sticks her head outta the bubble for a sec to meet his gaze and feel the current go by. Fluff insues

“Don’t worry there is air in the palace”

Vania just loudly exclaims in relief cause honestly she was prepared to be living in a bubble forever. 

Nya just...disintegrates. Which is a bit strange to see, even for Vania who usually likes weird stuff. But she doesn’t linger on it long because ooooohhh Merlopia is so pretty! I mean Shintaro is pretty too but this is a whole different kind of pretty. It’s like the gardens of Shintaro, but that’s the whole city. It’s so colorful compared to the flawless Ivory City. 

They tour around a little bit, with Vania looking at everything in interest. She even likes the Royal Ripper Sharks (who are being treated a bit nicer now that Kalmaar is gone, and are sicced on people far less frequently than before.) Benthomaar gets a bit nervous when Gripe runs up to him with a bunch of kingly concerns and kind of tells him a lot of noncommittal responses. 

Since they declined dinner with the Munce, Vania’s stomach starts rumbling, and she embarrassedly admits that she was pretty hungry. 

Benthomaar invites her to dinner in Merlopia. 

They eat  while discussing trade stuff and diplomacy? (And also their day and the G&M and such.) 

Also a fun chance to make up some Merlopian culture and food, and for him to share it with her. Unsurprisingly, it’s a lot of fish. But that’s honestly great because they don’t have a lot of that in Shintaro. There are a few streams a hike away that she's had every now and again, but for the most part fish isn’t something eaten often in Shintaro. 

Benthomaar is pretty happy with this set-up because he had been eating dinner all by himself which was very lonely and wistful.  It's much nicer with her company, and he needs her to know that, and really wants her to stay around and to like him so that they can do this again. So his super-manners-having-to-prove-himself-worthy-of-friendship kick in again and he starts getting super formal and passing her stuff and offering dishes a little overzealously and such and she's like "this again what the huh?"

“My lord, you're...doing it again.” 

“Sorry, I’ll do better.” 

“Better? You’re doing just fine. Really. The meal is great, the presentation is beautiful, and you’re being so kind. I just...don’t need this much attention at once, that’s all.” 

No I’m not it’s not good enough. I’m not good enough. * frowns silently * *internal screaming * 

They decide to meet again later to discuss trade and commerce deals and both bow goodbye after dinner, but soon as she leaves the dining room and gets lost roaming the temple (this palace is constructed like the caves how do they find anything) eventually ends back up at the dining room, where benthomaar is cleaning up the table and stacking the used dishes and they both realize that she can't get back up on her own. They share a laugh and Bentho promises to escort her back up.

Vania wonders why he is cleaning and not the palace servents so she decides to help him clean up, since it seems his people weren’t going to. 

The end

(Also Nya is busy being a goddess somewhere else, so they’ll have to get her transportation back at a later date. With any luck there’s an air-breather-friendly manta saddle that they can use for her.)

________________________________________________________________

They are too precious for this world someone please do more of thisssss

[buoyantsaturn]

there’s something precious about this (something so wretched about this) (3/?)

summary: the truth about Nico’s fiance comes to light

word count: 3,306

read on ao3 | read chapter one

Nico had been given a few novels’ worth of documents to read before the next meeting with his advisors. Proposals created by his advisors, treaties and trade deals with neighboring kingdoms. 

It was all horribly boring, but when Nico had gone to Will for a distraction, Will had grabbed his own book - some medical text he’d been studying - and dragged Nico outside. Will sat down against the trunk of a tree in the castle’s courtyard and pulled Nico down with him, laying Nico’s head against his chest. Will kept Nico in place with an arm across his chest, his hand keeping his book propped up on his lap. 

The proposals were still mind-numbing, but being bored out of his mind was a little bit more bearable with Will beside him. Still, he found himself starting to fall asleep not even a quarter of the way through his assigned readings. He only shook himself awake when he heard someone approaching them until there was a shadow covering the page his eyes were skimming over. 

Nico glanced up, shading his eyes from the sun as he recognized Reyna, one of the highest ranking members of the royal guard, standing above him. 

“The council would like a word with you,” she told him plainly.

Nico held up his still unfinished readings. “I haven’t finished with this yet. I told them I’d arrange a meeting once I was ready.” 

“That’s not what they intend to talk about,” Reyna informed him. “Would you quit being such a pain and follow me?” 

Nico pouted. “You can’t speak to the king like that.”

“What are you going to do,” Reyna asked blandly, “behead me?”

Nico huffed, and tipped his head back to say to Will, “I’ll find you again later. Let me up, would you?” 

Will pulled his arm away, giving Nico’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before Reyna pulled Nico to his feet. 

She led him into the castle, into the private meeting room where Nico’s council of advisors were waiting for him. Nico was sure to make his annoyance clear as he crossed the room and dropped into his usual seat at the head of the table, dropping his unread stack of papers on the table in front of him. “Could this not have waited until I had finished my readings?” 

“This matter is more important at the moment,” Lord Thanatos informed him.

Lord Minos cleared his throat. “You still have yet to introduce us to your fiance.” 

Nico choked. “Do I have to?”

“Obviously we will need to meet with your fiance in order to plan the wedding and send out the invitations--”

“Fine,” Nico cut in quickly. “Arrange a dinner for tonight, and I’ll make the introductions there.” He pushed his chair back, planting his hands on the table as he rose to his feet. “May I return to my work now?”

“One more thing,” Minos added, raising a single finger in Nico’s direction in a way that made Nico want to cut his hand off with a sword. “We can only assume that you have been spending time with your fiance unchaperoned. You must know that there is a certain image of the kingdom that we must maintain, and in order to keep that image intact, it would be best that you not be caught doing anything...unsavory with your fiance.” 

Nico felt himself flush, at the fact that his advisor would say such a thing aloud, and at the sudden, unapproved thought that passed through his mind of doing unsavory things with Will. “Are you going to tell me that, once the introductions are made, I won’t be allowed to spend any time with my own fiance?” 

“Of course not,” Lord Thanatos assured him. “You won’t be allowed to spend any time alone with her. Reyna has already agreed to acting as your chaperone until further notice - she is to keep you from behind like anything other than a royal, and prevent you from soiling your fiance before the wedding.” 

If Nico wasn’t bright red before, he surely resembled a ripe tomato now. “If that’s everything?” he said through gritted teeth. 

The advisors exchanged looks, as if double checking that they’d covered every topic, and then nodded. “You are dismissed,” Thanatos told him, and Nico didn’t hesitate to swipe his papers off the table and bolt from the room. 

Reyna kept up with him, always remaining a few steps behind, as though she was his shadow. As Nico threw open the exterior doors, attempting to return to the courtyard, Reyna stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Don’t you think you should inform your fiance of tonight’s dinner before you return to your work?”

“Let me worry about my own affairs,” Nico snapped, and pushed open the doors. 

Will was sitting exactly where Nico had left him. Nico didn’t hesitate to sit down beside him once again, leaning into his side as if he’d never left. 

“That was quick,” Will commented, lifting an arm to wrap around Nico’s chest once more, allowing him to fully settle in.

“It would have been easier for them to have had Reyna pass a message along,” Nico grumbled, turning his focus back to the papers in his hands, shuffling them as he tried to remember where he left off. “Oh, by the way. There’s going to be a dinner in the grand dining room this evening. You’re invited.” 

“I am?” Will asked, finally lifting his gaze from his medical texts. He spotted Reyna standing a short distance away, at attention, as if guarding the area - though her eyes tended to stick to Nico more often than their surroundings. “Um. Why is Reyna still here?” 

Nico groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been given a chaperone. She’s supposed to keep me from doing anything unsavory with my fiance.”

Will pressed his lips together, though that wasn’t enough to rein in his laughter. “Unsavory, really? What sorts of things do they think you’re doing with this mysterious fiance of yours, in your very limited free time?”

Nico hummed. “They probably wouldn’t be happy about this position we’re laying in, first of all. Second, they likely wouldn’t approve of the murder scene they’ll find if you don’t stop laughing at me.” 

Will nodded. “You’re right. Murder is just as unsavory as whatever the council thought we were getting up to.”

Nico had gone to change before dinner, knowing the council as a whole would scold him as a parent would a child if he showed up with grass stains on his clothes. He had made Will promise to change into something a bit dressier as well, though Nico had no intentions of breaking out his most formal clothes for a simple business dinner. 

Because that’s all this was, really. Nico’s life had become a tool for the council to use in order to make better deals with neighboring kingdoms. Deep down, he’d always known that would happen, but he’d also assumed that being king would give him at least a bit of power.

Whatever. At least he would feel some control once he had the chance to introduce Will as his fiance. He smiled to himself in the mirror after he’d finished being dressed for dinner, thinking about the looks on each of his advisor’s faces as he brought a man with him to dinner. He suddenly found that he was more excited than anything else. 

Reyna cleared her throat from the doorway, and Nico turned to look at her. “His Majesty seems to be forgetting something,” she commented. 

Nico glanced down at himself - he was fully dressed, decently accessorized. He was wearing the skull-shaped ring that had been pried off his father’s cold finger after his death and had been passed on to Nico as a symbol of the shift in power. His hair had even been pulled back and out of his face, so Nico couldn’t imagine what he could possibly be forgetting.

“Have you forgotten your fiance so quickly?” Reyna asked when Nico only looked at her in confusion. “How will she know to attend tonight’s dinner if you never bothered to tell her?” 

Nico grinned, which seemed to throw Reyna off slightly, which only brightened his smile. He added another face to his list of ones to watch when he made the introductions that evening. “My fiance will be there,” he assured her, and moved past her to leave the room.

He took his time walking to the dining room, knowing he was a bit ahead of schedule, though as he paused outside the doors, servants and lesser nobles alike kept trying to usher him inside.

“No, thank you,” Nico told them each and every time, “I’ll wait here for my fiance.” 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before he saw Will rushing into the castle, tripping over his own feet and struggling to button the last few buttons on his shirt as he moved. He had changed from the clothes he’d been wearing earlier in the day, though what he was wearing now was barely a step up in formality. Still, at least his shirt was collared and his pants were without rips or snags. 

Nico grinned the second he laid eyes on him, and as soon as Will looked back, he smiled as well. “Hi,” Will said, sounding out of breath as he approached, still fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “Sorry, I got caught up in reading, and I lost track of time, and-- This stupid button--” 

Nico stepped closer, swatting Will’s hands away as he did, and carefully slipped the button into place. “You’re here now,” Nico told him, straightening the collar of Will’s shirt after he finished with the button, “and that’s what’s important.” Will beamed, and Nico felt warm all the way down to his toes. He suddenly felt himself thrumming with the urge to do something stupid, so he channeled that energy into doing something not quite as stupid as he could have, and he reached up to fix Will’s hair.

He cleared his throat and took a step back, eyeing Will from head to toe, nodding in satisfaction before he said, “You didn’t have any other shoes?” 

Will tilted his head in confusion, frowning down at his shoes. “What’s wrong with my shoes?” 

“Nothing,” Nico answered quickly. “Shall we go in?” 

Will took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then offered Nico his arm. As Nico set his hand in the crook of Will’s arm, he said, “Remind me sometime to contact the royal tailor.” 

“Huh?” Will asked, and then nodded when the words seemed to process. “Yeah, alright.” He led Nico toward the doors, and they paused as a pair of servants pulled the doors open for them.

“Maybe the cobbler, too,” Nico added quickly, and Will started to nod before Nico’s meaning caught up to him, and he made an indignant sound before Nico elbowed him in the side. 

A servant announced their presence as they entered, and Nico felt all eyes turn toward him - half of the nobles in the room had heard that Nico was waiting to enter with his fiance, and he had no doubt that word had spread to the rest of them. 

“His Majesty, King Nico of Angelos,” the servant announced, rather unnecessarily, in Nico’s opinion, “and William, the court physician’s assistant.” 

Nico felt Will tense under his hand, and he seemed to shrink under the attention - or maybe he felt ashamed by his lack of proper title. After all, Nico was one of the only people in the kingdom that knew Will’s true parentage.

“William of Solace,” Nico corrected, remembering the way that Will had introduced himself when they were children, and he saw Will perk up again beside him. It wasn’t his true title, though Nico hadn’t learned until a few years down the line that Will was actually the runaway son of Duke Apollo of Delos. Will had always preferred his mother’s home of Solace over his father’s Delos, anyway.

Nico led Will across the room to the head of the table, where a seat had been left empty for Nico’s fiance, at his request. Nico pulled the chair out for Will to sit, and push it in for him as well to help him get settled. In a moment of boldness, Nico reached down and lifted Will’s hand off the arm of the chair and pressed a kiss to his knuckles before giving the hand a comforting squeeze.

He stepped away to his own chair, though before he sat down, Nico said, “I’d like to introduce you all to my fiance, William of Solace.”

There was silence throughout the room as Nico took his seat, only breaking when Nico reached for his cup to find it empty and said over his shoulder to the nearest servant, “May we have some wine, please?”

The room around them erupted in loud complaints from Nico’s advisors, though Nico focused on making sure his own cup was filled before he passed it on to Will, then reached for Will’s cup for it to be filled as well before he took a sip from it. A quick glance around the room allowed Nico to see that his advisors were even more appalled that Nico was drinking from a regular tin cup, rather than the golden one he’d passed off to Will - it only made Nico all the more excited about the reveal.

He set down the cup and began listening to the words his advisors were spitting at him.

“You can’t marry a man,” one exclaimed. “Who will carry on the bloodline?”

“We simply cannot approve of this, Your Majesty,” another insisted. “How do you think the other kingdoms will respond?” 

Nico leaned back in his seat as a plate of food was placed before him, and he watched Will do the same, though across the table, Nico’s advisors appeared too furious to allow the servants to set their plates on the table. Nico glanced back at Will, studying his face to see that he looked somewhere between terrified for his life and like he might burst out laughing at any second. Nico wanted to reach out to him, take his hand and give it another comforting squeeze, but their chairs were just too far apart. Nico reached for his wine again, instead.

“A king can’t marry someone like him,” Nico heard one of the nobles say, “he’s just a healer!” 

Nico slammed his cup down on the table, dark liquid sloshing over the edges and dripping like blood onto the table. He raised his other hand sharply, and the room fell to silence once more. 

Nico leveled each of them with a cold glare, his voice firm and impressively collected as he told them, “He’s not just anything. He’s the love of my life, and I expect you all to treat him as you would any royal consort. My father had already given his approval for our marriage before his passing, as has Will’s. If any of you have any issues with our engagement, you are welcome to take a trip down to the Underworld yourself to question the former king’s decision.”

Nico watched as a few members of the council shifted uneasily, and then turned his gaze to Will, suddenly nervous as to how Will would take his outburst. Clearly, he needn’t worry, because Will was watching him with a soft smile and eyes that glittered brighter than the golden cup he drank out of.

He didn’t remember Will ever looking at him like that. What did it mean?

Nico took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, and took another sip of wine. If he kept up this kind of drinking without eating anything, he wouldn’t remember this night come morning.

After a few moments, Lord Thanatos cleared his throat, and Nico almost reached for his dinner knife just in case he needed to make his threat clearer somehow. “There is still the matter of William’s parentage to discuss,” he said calmly, and Nico felt himself relax even as Will tensed beside him. “Solace is home to no one of note - it is but a small farming community. Surely His Majesty understands that he cannot marry a humble farmer.”

“He is no farmer--” Nico argued, though he cut himself off when he saw Will setting down his utensils on either side of his plate.

Will cleared his throat before speaking. “My mother was from Solace,” Will told them, “but my father is Duke Apollo of Delos.”

“Then you are not of Solace,” Minos pointed out, “but William of Delos.” 

Will flinched. “No, I--”

“Meaning you’ve been living in this kingdom under a false identity,” Minos continued. “Should we assume, then, that you have lied and cheated your way into your position as the physician’s assistant? And that you gained your engagement to the king under false pretenses?” 

“No,” Will argued. “I earned my job here, and I--” He looked to Nico for help.

“I’ve known his true identity since we were children,” Nico assured them, “as did my father. Will has never lied or cheated his way into anything, especially not my heart.” 

Minos opened his mouth to speak again, but Nico was quick to grab his knife. “Minos, if you attempt to intimidate my fiance into a false confession, so help me, you will be advising my father again very soon.” 

Minos leaned back in his seat and began to eat.

“William,” Thanatos began, and glanced at Nico who was still brandishing his knife, “...if I may call you as such?”

Will nodded briefly, and Nico lowered his knife as he started to eat. “You may,” Will said before taking a bite off his own plate.

“How do you intend to fill your place in the court now that you’re engaged to the king?” Thanatos asked, keeping his tone measured. “You have been studying under the court physician for most of your life - how could we possibly find someone to replace you on such short notice?”

Will blinked in confusion. “Replace me?” he repeated. “I don’t intend to find a replacement.” 

One of the advisors scoffed, and if Nico’s knife hadn’t been lodged in his steak, he might have thrown it across the table. “Surely you don’t intend to continue practicing medicine throughout your marriage.” 

Will frowned. “Of course I do.” He looked to Nico for support, his eyes full of concern as if saying, you wouldn’t make me give up medicine, would you?

“Would you have told the queen what she could and couldn’t do?” Nico asked the council plainly, though there was a threatening edge to his voice. 

Minos scowled. “Would you expect us to call him Queen?” 

“Of course not, you idiot,” Nico snapped, “but I do expect you to pack your things and find a new king to advise, because you are no longer welcome here.”

Minos gasped. “Excuse me--”

“You have been given more than enough chances to correct your way of thinking,” Nico informed him. “Be grateful I am allowing you to leave the kingdom rather than locking you away in the dungeons. You are excused.” 

Minos rose from his seat with a huff, throwing his napkin down on the table before storming out of the room. Nico waited until the doors had shut behind him before he continued. 

“As for the rest of you,” he said, his eyes scanning the table to make sure no one else would try to argue. “Once we are married, you will refer to my husband as king, and nothing less.” He turned to Will, resting his chin on his hand as he asked, “Which do you prefer, King William of Solace, or King William of Angelos?”

thanks for reading!!

buy me a coffee | more auctober stuff

[mochiable]

— wine drops. | chpt. 1

summary: you and Jimin meet each other for the first time.

pairing: viscount!jimin x workingclass!reader

wc: 1.7k

wd.masterlist

> next

The elegance of the baroque was present in the initiation dance. Some dances you had been told about since you were a child. They told you they were sensational, but that you would never get to see them with your own eyes.

Yet there you were, in the dress that your maid, Agnès, had embroidered especially for you. A dress with a square-necked bodice, allowing the precious gold chain hanging from your neck, which carried a ruby in the center, to stand out noticeably. It also consisted of a triangular, v-shaped bib that slightly covered your chest and stomach, adhering to the corset. The jacket was as long as a housecoat, which opened at the front as the dress came to an end, showing a skirt of the same fabric as this one. A skirt that fell freely from your waist, which was adorned with ruffles and ribbons, exaggerating the sophisticated image of the dress. It was all covered with small flowers and abstract navy blue rhinestones that contrasted with the pale beige at the base of the dress.

Something too lush and ostentatious for your taste, but what could you do. The baroque had taken over people’s minds more than a hundred years ago, turning them into pawns of a demanding and selfish lifestyle that rewarded the rich and condemned the poor.

Trust me, you knew it well. You were born into a humble family, with parents who taught you to survive rather than to spend. They always told you to use that intelligent mind that God had given you, so that no one would take advantage of you, obviously referring to them. The aristocracy.

A real poison that had settled in the rich areas of Lyon, where the workers used to live in small wooden shacks with nails. But those nobles threw them out and caused real massacres, and then enslaved other labourers on their land.

The king, together with his secret advisors, believed that, in order to maximize the economy and the most important sources of energy, they had to get rid of a large part of the population. But they didn’t take the nobles, they decided that those who stood in their way were the harmless laborers, who didn’t even have a few crumbs of bread.

That's how you were separated from your parents. You were only eight, but that didn't stop them. They pushed and shoved and spat on them, while they held you by the arms, and then threw them into filthy floats. Finally disappearing from your sight.

You were never going to forget the fear and pain that was reflected in your parents' eyes. All that suffering, that emptiness they left you haunted you even in your dreams, preventing you from sleeping peacefully at night.

That's why you decided to rise in the aristocratic ranks so that you could find those scoundrels who preferred to leave thousands of children orphaned rather than oppose the orders of the king and his presumptuous advisors.

Yes, you were aware that if they did, they would die. But when you found them they would have the same end as if they had avoided all the chaos the aristocracy caused. You were going to avenge the death of your parents and all the children who died because they had no one to shelter them.

That's why you were here today at the inaugural ball of the young women. The debutante ball, a somewhat elitist way of introducing girls to society on their coming of age.

You found yourself talking relatively boringly to the Baron of Honfleur, who had come all the way from the north of France to meet the Gangoiti's daughter. For a long time, he had been telling you about l'église Sainte-Catherine, which he was so passionate about.

“It's a real wonder, Mademoiselle Leduc. The structure resembles a large ship placed upside down, its inconceivable appearance is thanks to the local shipbuilders.”

“It must be undeniably splendid, Baronnie de Honfleur,” you laughed a little at his animated tone of voice.

“Au fait. Who are your parents, fillette? I don't know any Leduc here in Lyon. Are you related to Viscount Leduc there in Bourges?”

You had to admit that the air was stuck in your throat, preventing oxygen from reaching your lungs for a few seconds. You had to try to conceal and articulate one of your much practiced lies so that the baronnie would not discover you.

“Oh no, pas du tout,” you replied, trying to give him your best smile. “Mon parents are on a trip, they went to Austria a few weeks ago. It would be impossible for you to have crossed paths with them, maybe that's why you don't know them.”

“A verre de vin, Mademoiselle?” a tray where four glasses rested on the silver surface appeared in front of your eyes, being held by a bartender who watched you with a beautiful smile drawn on his face.

“Merci beaucoup,” you smiled back at him and took the glass of red wine in my left hand.

“I must go now, Demoiselle,” the Baron said, holding your hand and placing a soft kiss. “It has been a pleasure talking to you”

“Likewise.”

It was at that moment that one of the majordomes called you to the dance floor, where dozens of young people ran to dance with their partners. You slightly furrowed your brow, shaking your head, all they cared about was the dancing and the parties, something that really frustrated you when you thought that there were millions of families without a roof over their heads.

Music, laughter, and dresses flying by. That was all you could see and hear in that huge hall. As the people around it chatted and drank from their wine glasses.

You decided to stop paying attention to the new dance, the passepied. You peeled off the wall and set off to find the person you were looking for, the Countess of Poitiers.

You were walking around absently while you asked the other guests if they had seen the woman you were trying to locate with eagerness. When you turned around after consulting an Ècuyer, you tripped over someone, causing some of the wine that was left in your glass to fall on top of the stranger's clothes and slip out of your hands.

“Oh, mon Dieu!” you exclaimed, reaching for your handkerchief and rubbing it over his shirt. “Forgive me, Monsieur.”

“Don't worry,” he said, taking your hands off his figure. “But I would appreciate it if you would call me Viscount, Mademoiselle. Of course, as I am the son of the Duke and Duchess of Lyon.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” you mumbled a little ashamed. “Viscount!”, you corrected yourself, feeling your cheeks turn red quickly.

“Now, if you don't mind, you may accompany me to the cooking room,” he suggested, trying to get rid of the red stains that had smeared his suit.

“Do you mean la cuisine?”, you asked, wrinkling your nose slightly.

The Viscount looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as he inspected every feature of your body, as well as your virtues and defects. You felt his brown, intense gaze pass through every pore of yours, perceiving how his eyebrows rose and he licked those pink lips he possessed as he examined you.

“Allez,” he muttered, holding your hand.

“What are you doing?”, you hesitated, nailing your feet to the ground to prevent him from dragging you further.

“I said we would go to the kitchen”, he answered.

“You used a conditional”, you said, letting go of his hand. “Forgive my boldness, Viscount, but that didn't sound like an order to me.”

He laughed, looking at you again with those brown eyes, making you tremble, inevitably. “You are right,” he agreed as he brushed his rings against his lips. “Come with me to the kitchen, it’s an order.”

Leaving you speechless and with a dry mouth, he again held your hand, leading you into the kitchen, passing among all the guests and elbowing them, provoking withering glances from them. He made you move quickly as he squeezed your hands tightly. You cursed yourself mentally for not being careful and bumping into him. Right now you would be talking to the Countess de Poiters and not being dragged into a kitchen for no reason by a man you knew nothing about.

“Well,” he muttered as he reached the kitchen and handed you back your stained handkerchief. “Dip it in that bucket”

Without saying anything, to avoid further discussion, you went over to the bucket and wet the tip of the handkerchief as you listened to the sound of clothes being removed. When you’d finished, you turned cautiously with your eyes slightly closed, waiting for the undressed body of a man.

“What are you doing?”, at that moment you opened your eyes wide, finding yourself with a funny but confused smile. Your gaze shifted from his face to his body, and you frowned as you saw him in clothes, still with his shirt on, but without his blazer. Why wasn't he naked? Your cheeks quickly warmed as you realized what you had been thinking. You wanted to laugh at myself, but I held back.

“I...”, you hesitated and looked away. “I've finished wetting my handkerchief.”

“I thought so,” he said, leaning his lower back against the counter which was full of dishes and moldy food. “Approche, approche.”, he insisted gesturing with his right hand.

You decided to obey to him and approached him, clearing your throat almost inaudibly, bringing the handkerchief close to his shirt.

“Désolé, for having soiled your suit.”

“I apologize to you too,” he whispered a few inches from your face.

He was quite tall. He was about four inches taller than you, maybe. But as he had his head a little lowered so that he could watch you delicately clean his spots. Little locks of hair fell down his forehead, tickling your temples.

“I was looking for someone.”

“Moi aussi,” you smiled, although it looked more like a grimace.

“Who are you?”, he asked in a soft voice.

“Je m'appelle y/n,” you replied, finishing rubbing the stains, which were now almost invisible. “I am the daughter of the Leduc. Perhaps you don't know them, they are on a trip,” you explained, leaving the handkerchief on the counter. “How about you?”

“My name is Jimin, Park Jimin.”

copyright © 2021 @/mochiable. all rights reserved.

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a/n: english is not my first language, so if you see any grammatical or spelling mistakes don't hesitate to tell me. any constructive criticism will be always welcome.

[thecrownrp]

THE KINGDOM OF CLOVERS PRESENTS . . .

one of the SECOND TIER PRINCE candidates, HAN HYUNSU: a 25 YEAR OLD born on AUGUST 20TH, 1996. some may know them as THE COLD BLOODED but with a face like that, it’s hard not to admit they look a little like KIM TAEHYUNG ( V ). curious to know more? apparently, these are words they live by: “i don’t think i could stand to be where you don’t see me.” intriguing, aren’t they? only time will tell if they’re suited for the crown or not.

LOOK A LITTLE CLOSER . . .

tw: mentions of death, murder

 i. sixteen

 “hyunsu, sit up straight. if you want to be a prince then you shouldn’t slouch.”

 hyunsu sighed, fixing his posture before continuing to eat his meal. he knew this entire process was difficult, but he never thought that he’d be under such intense scrutiny. after all, this was dinner time, and was it really a crime to lean over during a meal? hyunsu wanted to talk to whoever decided dinner came with rules because this- to him- was a crime.

 the room was so silent, however, he couldn’t help but hear his friend choking on a laugh. yeah, real funny. sue hyunsu for wanting to prevent stains on his apparel. heaven forbid he eats his meal at a 70 degree angle.

 “is there something you’d like to share, seonwoo?”

 “no ma’am.”

 now hyunsu was the one cracking up-- on the inside of course. he couldn’t risk ruining his chances of becoming a prince because of some karma. although, for the record, if they were not in such an intense competition hyunsu definitely would have been on the floor by now.

 “something you’d like to share, seonwoo?” hyunsu whispered, mimicking the tone of the advisor’s voice.

 “shut up.” seonwoo kicked his leg.

 “make me.”

 ii. eighteen

 throughout hyunsu’s life he always felt like he was fairly grounded. it was easy for him to adapt to becoming a royal because it was all he knew how to do. yet right now he felt like his head was drifting into the space, much like the clouds he watched float amongst the night sky.

 he laid on the dewy grass, side by side with seonwoo. neither of them saying a word and instead enjoying the soft sounds of the breeze entangling itself into the branches of trees. the silence was comfortable, though there were many words the two needed to exchange.

 why were they denying each other of their feelings? just two friends, nothing more- at least that’s what they settled on. yet, most nights they spent sneaking away to be in each other’s arms. hyunsu’s heart ached. he was being denied his feelings not only by seonwoo, but himself. losing the title of prince was dishonorable, but losing a friendship this strong was something hyunsu couldn’t fathom.

 still, almost as if hyunsu could read the mind of his friend, his hand wrapped around seonwoo’s. part of him wished that he could stop time and never escape this moment. although, the fairytale-like feeling of this encounter was the whole reason the two could not express their true feelings. it was a fairytale, nothing more.

 “do you love me?”

 hyunsu’s heart sank at the question. of course he loved seonwoo, but how could he confess when the two were still meant to be rivals? he could ruin both of their lives with just one word.

 “yes.”

 iii. twenty

 it had been two years since they started sneaking around to flirt with each other, and where were they now? separated by ranks and by hearts. ever since seonwoo became a second tier prince he started to act different- like hyunsu never existed. with his new rank, it was almost like hyunsu was completely out of the picture. he had new friends, ones that spent every hour by his side. the new princes and princesses he met had caught his attention too, and hyunsu could tell.

 every moment spent with seonwoo was painful. yes, he loved seonwoo, but he couldn’t help but feel like seonwoo cut him out of the picture- his picture. was he not good enough? was being seen with a third tier prince too humiliating for him? no matter how much seonwoo assured him in private, hyunsu couldn’t believe that seonwoo truly loved him. he felt played. the two spent their private moments with continuous arguments.

 “i’m just saying you’ve changed ever since... well-”

 “are you not happy that for once i’m happy? does everything revolve around you, hyun? are you that self-centered?”

 what made matters worse was the new prince who caught seonwoo’s attention. and despite being reassured that he was just a friend, hyunsu felt like he was tossed aside for the next best thing. whatever, hyunsu knew his worth and that’s all that mattered, right? he was just in disbelief, watching his loved one morph into someone he couldn’t even recognize. and when hyunsu’s discomfort was brought up, he was instantly matched with more negative energy.

 “can i not be honest? come on, baby. you’re practically wrapped around his finger!”

 “i told you it wasn’t like that.”

 “then what is it like, seonwoo? tell me what it’s like then? or better yet- tell me what we are because i’m starting to think--”

 “nothing. we’re nothing, hyunsu.”

 iv. twenty-two ( tw: mentions of murder and death )

 since then, hyunsu’s own demeanor changed. seonwoo wanted to play dirty? fine, anything for the throne, right? screw him. hyunsu didn’t need seonwoo, no matter how perfect and in love with seonwoo he was.

 he started talking to other princes and princesses, gaining his own friends instead of constantly waiting for seonwoo to give him the time of day. his focus was placed on his competition for the throne. sure, he was still a third tier prince, but in a system like this anything could happen.

 “i really think hyunsu might be catching the queen’s attention. have you noticed how she’s been asking for his presence more recently?”

 “the queen is generous. she’s just giving the underdog a chance to redeem himself.”

 “i don’t know. besides, hasn’t seonwoo been slipping up recently? there’s always a chance a second tier spot opens up.”

 usually hyunsu blocked out the gossip in the halls, but this time he couldn’t stop eavesdropping. the queen? taking a liking towards him? perhaps it was finally the day he got to prove himself worthy of being called a second tier prince. finally he could bring honor to his family, and more importantly show seonwoo how much he was missing out on.

 it was unfortunate, however, that the one person standing in his way was the one he loved- well- loved previously. now seonwoo was just some stuck up second tier prince. and hyunsu wasn’t perfect, but he knew that seonwoo wasn’t worthy of the throne.

 they called him kind and generous; the kind of prince to bring a surplus of fortunes to a king when asking to court their prince/ss. sure, hyunsu agreed that seonwoo, despite having a terrible personality, was incredibly hot. kind and generous? not so much, at least not anymore.

 and at this point hyunsu couldn’t be within close proximity of seonwoo without feeling a rush of emotions. he was angry for the way seonwoo completely pushed him away without reason. sadness overcame him when he realized that this whole time seonwoo probably was using him the whole time. most of all? hyunsu felt jealous because he knew that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have been able to get away with it.

 something had to be done; hyunsu couldn’t keep spending everyday trying to ignore the fact that seonwoo was truly better off without him. furthermore, it sucked that hyunsu was stuck in his past lover’s shadow.

 so he begged seonwoo to meet him one last time. hyunsu knew seonwoo didn’t care for him anymore, but he didn’t care. his heart was broken, his ego shattered. one last meeting, just the two of them, to get closure of his own.

 somehow hyunsu was able to get seonwoo to fall right into his trap, and the two shared drinks under the moonlit windows. if it wasn’t for the years of anger and hurt, maybe hyunsu would have begged seonwoo to love him once more, but it was too late. there was no turning back. if seonwoo wanted to play dirty then hyunsu was determined to become the king of playing dirty. no matter how charming seonwoo looked, with flushed cheeks and a smile that could kill, it was too late to forgive seonwoo for fucking hyunsu over.

 fuck you, seonwoo. fuck you.

 “let’s raise a toast.” hyunsu raised his glass. he began to smile, almost as if he knew he was soon to be free of seonwoo’s firm grasp, “i think i’m finally starting to see eye-to-eye with you again, seonwoo. let’s raise a toast, to us.” their glasses clinked. hyunsu took a sip of his wine, keeping an eye on seonwoo, who was clearly enjoying the wine himself.

 a few hours later hyunsu found himself carrying the prince to his bed. it was a bittersweet moment for him to say goodnight to seonwoo one last time.

 “i don’t feel good, hyun. help.”

 “shh, i know. close your eyes for me, love. you could use some sleep.”

 farewell, sweet prince.

the next morning seonwoo was pronounced dead.

[glassworkspiderlilies]

the earth shudders at the tower asunder (1/4)

Genshin Impact | Lumine & Aether | AO3 Summary: Not all gods have long memories.  (Primordial!Travelers AU, in which Lumine and Aether are not just gods, but amongst the oldest ones.) Notes: oops, forgot to post this here yesterday, so voila. approx 4.5k words. not a holiday fic, but happy holidays!

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Their first memories are these: the expanse of bright blue sky, the glow of gentle light. Their true names. Each other—recognition of you, me, brother, sister. We, us, together. 

And a voice, a soft, kind echo of stay together, now. 

It is a long time before they settle on names in the human tongue, but when they do, they cycle through many, though Aether and Lumine they tend to favor. In the early days, it is only the two of them. They learn to walk and run and fly together; they learn to speak, though in a language only the two of them understand, and more than half of it nonverbal regardless. Not long after, they learn to traverse through worlds too, though at first they did not realize they were doing so, having only crossed into open plains and isolated forests for some time. It is only until they are found by humans one day and taken in as spirits to be worshipped that they grow to be a little more like them through observation.

Two shimmering, golden twins who, somewhat inadvertently, brought fortune to the small village...it wasn't long before they were hailed as gods. 

The then-nameless twins decide to stay out of curiosity, and as they watch generations come and go, they learn about the blessings and trappings of mortality. There is still a barrier; they cannot feel wholly what it is their human friends feel, but they continue to learn, and recognize that perhaps, some things are not so different between them after all. Love, loyalty, joy…the villagers are eager to please their gods, and feel relief to see that pleasure reflected on the twins' faces. All this too is a language, and the twins are ever evolving. 

Life around them flourishes. The twins bend their surroundings to ways that please them: clear skies, warm sunlight, light breezes. An abundance of flowers and other flora. Bountiful harvests for the seeds sown. They read the earth and temper the ley lines, and the lives that they have come to lead, which in turn is that of the village's, is mild and peaceful. In the beginning there was only two of them, but since then they have gained much, and they are grateful for it. 

It does not last. 

The village grows into a town, and then a city. The times change, the people change, and the values change. The twins, now sequestered in their aging temple, watch and feel the energies shift. The earth groans, the ley lines diminishing slowly. The so-called god-twins haven't been forgotten, no, but the eyes that are turned upon them are hungrier, more calculating, and sometimes, even malicious. The priests that tend to them range in the service, too; in the past, they did not have priests, just friends who helped them of their own free will. Now, those who tend to the twins are either careless or fanatic. 

It is tiring. The world is no longer as they know it, and it is no longer comfortable to stay. But they have seen this city grow from the cluster of huts it used to be, and so, is it not what humans call “home”? But time continues to pass, and the energy continues to bubble and burst in unpleasant ways. What the twins can do for the people is no longer enough; their own values are too outdated, and what they are and aren't willing to do is not understood by humans who lead such different existences.

The twins have grown too mortal-seeming for the people to be intimidated by any aspect of them anymore. And so the day comes when an organized group breaks into the temple and shackles them, with the intentions of forcing them to do their bidding, for the good of the city, or so they say.

It is a new pain, the cold iron chafing their ankles and wrists, the spite turned towards them, the abandonment by many of those whose ancestors they could easily trace back to someone they liked. There is pain on their mortal flesh, too; if the men no longer believe in the gods, they do not think twice of striking them. That they bruise and bleed seems only to reinforce that they are not so special; there are others with abilities now, and the twins have not shown all their hands—and even less of them, with the times.

Lumine licks the blood from her lip and looks to her brother, who spits his own blood from his mouth.

They were born of the sky and light; they do not want to be contained like this.

They cannot, and will not be contained like this.

“This is no longer home,” the sister says, her eyes melancholy.

“Let’s go,” the brother says, his eyes angry, and the twins join hands.  

“Goodbye,” they say together, their voices—one wistful, one disgusted—echoing across the city, and in a shimmer of light and a puff of wind, the twin gods are gone.

The shackles hit the ground with a damning clatter.

They do not return, though many, moved by the farewell and feeling their abandonment, pray and hope for years after.

The changes in the city are not so explicit, but noticeable. There is a certain life missing in the city, a certain protection, and a certain watchful tenderness.

The people lament and regret their hubris, but it is too late.

By the time the civilization falls, the twins are past looking back.

Stay together, now.

The first lesson is the hardest. In the end, they only have each other.

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They are more careful, the next time they stay longer in a place. They traverse through several worlds before they decide to again, and it is because of a young boy who saved their life—or is under the impression he did, anyway—from animal traps in the woods.

It starts, as always, with a curiosity; the boy, Idris, excited by their foreign clothes and manners, wants so badly to hear their stories.

The other townspeople are warier of them, but as the twins get to know the boy by entertaining his requests, it is slowly revealed by his aborted sentences and the scars on his arm that his home life is…not good. He sneaks out to escape his family, and his talks with the travelers from places he’s never heard of before are the highlight of his life.  

They cannot take him with them. But they can, at least, stay.

Unfortunately, there is not much they can do for him besides tend to his wounds and keep his spirits up, but that is enough for Idris.

He grows from a boy to a teen, and then a young adult, and runs away from home. Aether and Lumine aid his escape, and the joy on Idris’ face as they shoot through the woods brings them joy that they had not felt so keenly in a long time.

Idris eventually grows to lead a simple, comfortable life at the edge of a faraway town. Aether is amused that Idris never tires of listening to his and Lumine’s stories, and that he even asks for some to be repeated. They spar with him and teach him better ways to defend himself so he is not subjugated again, the twins themselves having been taught by both peasants and masters alike as they traveled through worlds.

In turn, Idris teaches them to cook—properly, with pots and pans and assorted seasonings. He teaches them other recipes over the fire too, but the fascination the twins show with what he considers regular home cooking makes him laugh.

The three spend their days living as simple huntsmen, though Idris performs more of the day-to-day business transactions. Though the bond between the twins is—something sacred, Idris grows to be something of a brother, too. They note how easily he smiles and laughs now, compared to his reservation as a boy, as well as his growing strength and his eternal kindness, and are glad.

And then—he becomes King.

Soldiers come to their little house in peace, with a representative to explain Idris’ history. A child was lost in a storm and presumed dead, but the body was never found, though his mother the Queen’s was. The information was hidden by the first prince’s faction, who was quite a few years older, and already quite prepared to be heir. But a few months ago, the first prince had been assassinated, and the news that the second prince might still live was revealed due to the sudden lack of succession.

And so, a hunt was mounted, and now, finally succeeded.

His return to the King’s side is not a mere request to be denied, and so, pleading that Aether and Lumine go with him, they are all escorted to the royal castle posthaste.

As it turns out, the King does not have much time to live, hence the increased desperation to find his lost heir. Idris is, of course, baffled and confused, but there is an instant—and real—fondness between father and son, who have such little time between them, and surprisingly more in common than the first prince had with his father.

The King’s last days are filled with conversations with Idris, both personal and official. Idris is unprepared, but he has his father’s last minute lessons and his most trusted advisors, and—though in his heart, he thinks this position is not for him—he cannot back down from the expectations placed upon his shoulders.

No one knows what to do with the strange twins that come with him, but Idris’ first command is that they not be bothered. Aether and Lumine are free to do as they please—he is adamant about this, because he always, and continues, to know them as travelers, even if they have been with him for so long and grown near and dear to his heart.

The twins sense the distress at his position under the brave façade he puts on, however, and continue to stay, much to his relief. In their travels they have seen kings and queens and various types of rulers; though this is the first time they have truly spent their time in the company of one, they can, at the very least, share stories that may help, as they always have.

In time, they become King Idris’ closest and most trusted advisors. He becomes a wise and benevolent ruler with their assistance, the kingdom flourishes—and the air feels once more like home.

Yet—as years go on, the twins, no matter how venerable they are, begin to be regarded with wariness and suspicion.

They do not age.

For a long time, Idris had simply accorded it to good genes; there have been others who look younger than they are. His own Queen is one of them. But as he grows into a proper man while Aether and Lumine still look like adolescents…he would be a fool to continue making excuses.

Still, no one asks. The twins have served well, and have done nothing to give doubt to their character. If they are spirits or fae or gods, then it is in their better interest not to offend them by probing unnecessarily. This uneasiness and curiosity sinks into the background anyway when the Queen finally gives birth to her first child after many difficulties, and there is joy all around at the arrival of a new prince.

And then—war begins to brew.

Small skirmishes around the border begin to grow into larger battles. Villages on the outskirts are razed to the ground; hostages are taken. Full-scale invasion looms, and quickly the kingdom prepares to go to battle with their neighbor.

The King dons his armor, prepared to lead his armies, and yet…and yet—

He looks at his firstborn child with desperation. His Queen cries on his shoulder; the King is a good man and an able fighter, but he is no skilled warrior, and the tides of the battle are not optimistic. The few sorties he’s led are nothing compared to what is to come. Idris looks at his wife and child and wonders if he is a weak man for not wanting to die in battle, no matter how glorious the cause.

At night, after his son has been settled and his wife has fallen into a tearful, exhausted sleep, he prays.

He prays, and as he does, has a thought.

There is a tower that the twins favor, as it is the highest point in the castle. Oftentimes they have been seen perched precariously on the topmost point of its roof—and it is a mystery how they get there, every time. Some swear that they must have flown, but the twins have never been caught in the action, and so it had become something of a joke.

But…perhaps…it is not a jest, after all.

They are not on the roof when he finds them but on the balcony proper, and their eyes are somberly luminous in the moonlight. That they say nothing, their faces blank as they wait for him to speak, makes him nervous. Suddenly there is a gulf between them; they’d been so close for so much of his life, but as he became more comfortable in his role as king and confident in his own decisions, he had sought them out less and less. And now…now, he is about to ask the impossible, his heart beating so loudly surely they must hear it.

Idris licks his lips and steels himself, squaring his shoulders.

“Aether. Lumine. Will you go to war with me?”

A pause, and Lumine’s lips twist into a sardonic smile. It is a severe expression on her young face, but her eyes are much older than her appearance belies.

“That is not,” she begins quietly, “The true question you are asking, is it?”

Idris flinches as if slapped, and Aether leans against the balustrades with deceptive nonchalance.

“Well?” he prompts, his faint smile matching his sister’s, and Idris covers his face with his hands, the accumulating stress from the past few months crashing down upon him all at once.

“Forgive me,” he rasps out, his voice raw, “Will you fight this war for me? It’s true, what they say, isn’t it? You aren’t…aren’t human. Gods, perhaps. If it is you two, surely you could turn the tides. I have…I have my people to think about. And my wife and child. Call me selfish if you must, but I cannot…we cannot win this battle alone. I am desperate to keep the peace and prosperity we have built. We have come too far to lose it all now…and if this is my only option…I will beg for it if I have to. So please…”

His voice cracks, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“I beg of you…save me and my kingdom from our fate.”

He lowers his head and waits, squeezing his eyes shut, the tears falling without reserve, afraid of what will come next.

“We will fight your war,” Lumine whispers.

Idris’ head snaps back up, gratitude on his tongue, but freezes when he catches her expression.

Sorrow.

“But it will be the last thing we do,” Aether adds, holding his gaze.

His face is grave, though there is no accusation.

Idris’ throat is tight.

“I understand,” he says, “Thank you.”

The twins walk past him without looking at him again, and the King feels his heart break. But the choice is made. He will not regret it.

He cannot.

(On the battlefield, too few moons later, the twins walk ahead of Idris’ main army and cross their swords with each other’s at the first wave of enemy soldiers.

“Turn back,” they call, voice echoing across the terrain, and of course it is met with crude jeers and hollers before the opposing army charges.

None think to question just why it is the twins’ voices carry so far, with the wind whistling sharply and the dark, cloudy sky rumbling with thunder.

Wings of shimmering light burst out of the twins’ backs; both the King, his soldiers, and the enemy gasp at the otherworldly sight, the charge slowing just for a moment.

“We gave our warning,” the twins say sadly, and the field erupts into light.

It is over quickly, all things considered. By the time the light fades completely, many of their opponents are dead, and the remaining stragglers who do not flee are taken care of swiftly with plain swordsmanship.

They grant mercy where they can.

Rain turns the ground to mud as the battle comes to an end, and the twins return to Idris’ side streaked in blood afterward.

“Goodbye,” they say, their voices flat.

Idris means to say—something. I’m sorry, or thank you, or I hope to see you again. But the words stick in his throat, and the twins walk past him once more. This time, when he turns, they are nowhere to be seen.

Gods, or a kingdom? Idris is only mortal, and so must make a mortal choice.

Love for his land, love for his people, love for his family…there are things he wants to protect.

The twins cannot fault him. After all, they would have chosen each other, too.

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But they sleep, for some years after that.

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(“You forgive them, don’t you?”

“Ah, Lumi…it’s not about forgiveness. It’s about letting it go. We just…aren’t mortal, right? What good will it do to carry it with us?”

A pause. She presses her lips together, then sighs.

“I can’t help if it hurts,” she admits, turning her face away, and Aether chuckles.

“Well,” he says, ruffling her hair, and she immediately reaches over to ruffle his in revenge, “If it displeases you so much, then just forget, little sister.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, but her tone is merely mildly annoyed. The creation of his physical form a few scant questionable seconds before hers has been an age-old argument between them.  “Fine. I suppose you are meant to just…accept.”

“And it’s both of our so-called jobs to just be. Isn’t it? But if you can’t let go, then just let it be, and let time take care of it. We are made of time.”

A silence.

“Why are we here, Aether?”

He smiles. This, too, is a question his sister asks often.

“Why worry about it, when we already are? Come. The sun, the flowers, the air. Isn’t that enough to live for?”

Lumine doesn’t have an argument. She sighs again.

“So be it,” she says, with a faint smile. )

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When they wake, the landscapes are different, both earthly and spiritual. There are more spirits and gods and other celestial beings, and—

They don’t know if this is less lonely.

For a while it is, at least; the lesser spirits greet them mostly with fear or awe, and some brave ones with curiosity. (There is a small wind spirit that is unequivocally bold, circling around them for some months with brazen interest, and the twins miss its company as soon as it is gone. Wind is a free, fickle thing, after all; the twins had not expected it to stay, and the few months it was with them was already considered long.) The more powerful gods are wary, and greet them with respect and obedience, though not all are happy about it. The twins know not what it is they sense, that they think the two more powerful than them, but nor do they know enough to contest it. They travel, and roam, and bend the world in what they consider minor ways; surely these other newer gods can do more than that—and do what they hope is better by the humans who have grown more numerous. Many of these new gods have a people to watch over and guide with care—more than the twins can say for themselves.

Time passes, and the challengers begin to come.

The different gods of battle and weaponry and other such related things request duels. The twins win every time, for many years, treating these fights with polite amusement. Some take those losses with respect, others take it with anger, feeling belittled. But Aether and Lumine are not aggressive beings, so why should they respond with aggression?

Nonetheless, their behavior draws ire as year after year as they accept these duels and continue to win. Lumine’s style is clean and efficient, Aether’s is flashy and acrobatic. Those who are foolish enough to challenge them together see only a flash of light before they are flat on their backs, swords crossed at their necks.

“Must they persist?” Lumine asks her brother one day, as they start hiding from challengers.

Aether laughs.

“They must enjoy the challenge,” he says, spinning his blade, “It gives them something to live for, when life is so long.”

“And us?” Lumine asks, “What is there to challenge us?”

Aether pauses.

“Each other?” he says, grinning slyly. “Why, sister, if you wanted to lose, you need only ask.”

She throws her sword at him for that. He dodges as she summons her weapon back, and lunges forward just as her fingers close around the hilt.

They spar.

A mountain is flattened for their trouble, and the Lord of Mountains expresses his displeasure at them loudly, later. They take his scolding with good graces.

Making friends amongst gods is easier, truth be told; especially with the lesser ones. The Lady of Flowers and the Lord of Birds are among those they are closest to, the both of them having more placid natures, and also rulers of things the twins love best.

Among the stronger ones, they have a polite relationship with the God of Blizzards, and a slightly warmer one with The God of the Woods. The God of Storms they avoid, for he and the twins always seem to clash when they meet. They care not for the flavor of energy he cultivates, and he dislikes many things that are stronger than himself.

Somewhat surprisingly, they get along well with the newly minted God of Commerce, who is already starting to go by many names—including the God of War. He may be young, but his power grows at a rapid pace…and perhaps too quickly. Still, he is level-headed if sometimes rash, and the twins feel at ease watching someone be so sure of their place in the world.

Among the gods, even despite—or simply including—the annoyances, life is fuller. They share the same—or at the very least, similar—time; lasting friendships are formed, abilities are challenged and grow, and the twins laugh more easily in the skies.

And then, the gods start dying at the hands of one another.

Lesser gods go first, and it is a dark day when the twins see the Lady of Flowers wither away.

The God of Crags dies by their hand.

It accomplishes little, but nor can they bear to let such a thing go.

The cycle continues to turn, and grow more vicious; some spirits rise to power in these gruesome times, their potential unlocked by adversity. Some gods grow more powerful as they slay their friends and brethren.

As the Archons rise, the twins finally feel something new: their own abilities draining.

It is a disconcerting feeling. They retain the core of their abilities—their flight, their weapon-summoning, their attacks drawn from light. But something in their existence wavers, like a hazy mirage, and they know something within them is quickly being lost.

In their confusion, they retreat as far as they can from the continuing war between gods, and for a long time, are forgotten.

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Among their last memories of each other is this: their hands, grasping each other as they feel the pull of spiritual essence leaving them, whispering to each other don’t leave me, do not go without me.

We must stay together.

The nausea passes, and as they start traveling through worlds once again, they feel like they are running from something, instead.

It finds them anyway.

Teyvat is on the cusp of being consumed by war, and almost immediately after they touch down, they make the decision to leave. No, no more; enough of this. It sickens them, and they are already gathering the energy to shift elsewhere. However—

“Outlanders, your journey ends here.”

They do not know this god, but they can feel her power, and briefly, they think, perhaps, this is how others felt about them so long ago.

The twins summon their swords and their wings as the Unknown God attacks, weaving in and out of her red streaks coiling through the sky.

They are still very skilled, but they are aware: over the millennia, they have grown so weak.

And so, as decreed, their journey ends.

Lumine watches as Aether is swallowed up, and she screams for her brother when he meets her eyes in horror.

Stay together, now.

She doesn’t remember moving, already behind the white-haired god; lightning crackles in her hand, and she yells as she lunges with her blade, the sky exploding into fire upon impact.

She almost, almost grabs her brother’s small prison out of the Unknown God’s hand.

But she fails, and as Lumine too is swallowed up by black and red, she screams for her brother’s return as the red god watches on, mercilessly.

(After all, the gods do not listen to the ones who do not belong.)

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Lumine wakes, cold and alone—without her brother, without her wings, without her powers.

In the end, we only have each other.

But that’s not quite true, is it?

“Aether,” she whispers, trembling, her voice cracking.

How is it that there is more to the end, and without him? They were never meant to be separated. They were never meant to exist alone.

“Why are we here, Aether?”

“Why worry about it, when we already are? Come. The sun, the flowers, the air. Isn’t that enough to live for?”

The sun, the flowers, the air. The world tilts around her, and all she can see is utter darkness, despite the blazing sunlight.

She has lived long, and much of it among mortals. She has felt sorrow, and joy, and anger.

But for the first time, as she stares up at the sky, bereft of everything that has ever mattered to her, she feels crushing, consuming despair.

[rouiyan]

𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘓𝘠 𝘋𝘌𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the third volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: “prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.”

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst ✧ word count : 5.0k ✧ disclaimers : childhood trauma, mental/emotional parental abuse, depictions of drowning, violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, blood, gory scenes

✧ author’s note — i had this finished and drafted on sunday. i proofread it, fucking hated it, and deleted it. here's the much better version that was finished at 3:27 a.m.

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

prince jeno is seated at the head of the dining hall among an array of immediate family, distant family, advisors and any other official that is deemed trustworthy enough to attend the second prince's fifth birthday. his seat is raised so that he's able to reach the table but even then, his short stature makes it seem as if his parents and sibling are still towering over him, still. instead of smiling over the platters of food that are all catered towards his taste, he's glowering and persistent, if anything, to return the gaze of anyone but his own reflection in the porcelain plate.

he looks up, for the briefest of seconds, and his mother is relieved, also for the briefest of seconds in the belief that he was to say something of importance, perhaps a 'thank you for coming,' would be the most appropriate for his age. she's disappointed to note that jeno's eyes are held in distaste on the boy seven seats down from him, smiling and talking to himself, or rather the food he's chasing around the plate with his fork. his mother is disappointed, to say the least, that jeno cannot get past that thick little head of his and be prince-like in any way. 

she wouldn't be surprised if it was in relation to the events that occurred a little over a fortnight ago.

jeno peaked his head into the throne room and, noting that it was empty, turned back to look at his friend since birth, na jaemin. "what do we do now?" jeno's shy his friend's height by a quarter of an inch, not that height matters all that much when you're only four years of age. jaemin looked into the prince's eyes, "we go in," he said with a mischievous glint. 

the kids were tiptoeing, for the dramatics, there really wasn't anyone who could notice them with the rest of both their families caught up in the schematics of a new trade war. the two of them excluded for obvious reasons, their age. prince jaemin at the age of four was already used to dominating in all aspects of royalty. jeno supposed that being the sole heir of the throne had its fair share of benefits, maybe not fair, definitely unfair. the two were friends because of family ties and if not for family ties, jeno wasn't sure he'd ever like to talk to the likes of jaemin, the royalty of royalty.

jeno's nose scrunches each time some adult would comment that he was 'cute' and jaemin 'handsome.' he wonders why his status as second prince would make him look different in any way. even now, looking over at jaemin's side profile, he doesn't think of him as any more 'handsome' than 'cute.' resolutely, his eyebrows knit as the two boys round up on the two elevated thrones at the back end of the extensive room. jeno peers at jaemin behind him for affirmation to do the deed. he only nods encouragingly.

taking a deep breath, jeno takes a step upwards, two, and looks back at jaemin again. he's a step below him now. three steps later and they’re at the platform on which the two royal seats are built into. jeno pads carefully to the more elaborate of the two effigies on the left. his steps were silent on the woven rug and he's reminded of his bare feet, he'd learned a great deal long ago in his etiquette of royalty lessons how hefty of an offense bare feet on the royal rug is, much less the trouble he was to make not a minute after. 

jeno checks but notes that jaemin's face was drawn in much more michievy than playfulness. he nods with the same look on his face and jeno doesn't think twice when he sits atop the throne, his father's throne. the room, from this angle, is spectacular. the vast carvings in the ceilings all seem to point to this exact spot, the way the murals trace up stories from the door and ending at the spot before him. the skylight that pours down light on this seat and this seat only. jeno wonders what it would be like to be sitting here on a daily, to have the room filled from front to back with advisors advising him and congressmen addressing to him and all his royal subjects addressing him as your majesty instead of just your highness.

the second prince is so caught up in the way the light cascades down, the way it reflects, the way it bends around the gold leaf pillars, that he doesn't notice jaemin mouthing at him, then whispering urgently to him, then screaming silently into his face. before he can even register the past seconds he's lost to the vastness of the throne room, his father, the king himself, is advancing towards him. he's advancing fast, angry, furious, at why his son would dare commit such heinous act, such disrespect towards his power. 

the king's throne is not a simple chair, not in any kingdom, nor is it just a symbol of the highest achievable royal. the throne represents the generations that built the most formidable lands in all the world, the ancestry that raised the most capable of rulers, the most honest of men and women. the throne, passed down from heir to heir, is the one thing that defines the history of the kingdom, the one thing that serves as the source of vitality for the one individual with enough power to sentence death, the king. and lee jeno, second prince of the southern kingdom, was certainly not the king. 

the true king now stood before his son, a yearning passion in his eyes to slit his throat right then and there. "now," the king's voice reverberates and ricochets off the walls in ways that jeno's four-year-old squeak toy of a voice could not. his tone increases in mockery as he speaks, "do you suppose i bow to you now? is that right, son?" jeno can't will himself to move his head for a nod, he simply cannot. his father's hands are behind his back, pleasant in stature, but his demeanor emanates a daunting power. when his son is silent, he reiterates, "are you my king?" 

jeno can't will himself to speak, he simply cannot. the king’s hands are drawn from behind his back, they unsheath dagger from his hip. it's brought to the prince's right ear. "must i remind you," the point of the knife is pressing into the lower tip of his lobe. "a man, unfit for the title of king, but found on the king's throne, is punishable by death." jeno winces now, the only thing he can offer in response as the knife threatens to cut deeper. as his father threatens to cut deeper. "but the death is a gift, is it not?" the king talks leisurely, as if his words were not directed in threat to his son, but to a class of schoolchildren.

but the king does not take disrespect lightly, and in his eyes you will find the rich amber color of muddy hatred. a textbook definition is rehearsed, "for a man, one who has beheld the sight of this very room from that very spot, assuming the rightful place of the most relevant man, he ought to have achieved everything to think he deserves the honor. everything except death, of course." a textbook definition, yet, the king's son is quivering before him, blood running down a cheek, the side of his neck, the ruffles of his pressed white shirt. jeno cannot speak, he cannot move, he believes he's losing his sight as well, maybe even his ability to think.

his father place two hands on the armrests on either side of his throne and leans so his face is mere millimeters away from his son's. the king lowers his voice for only him to hear, "now, son, is that not what you were taught?" 

he is met with silence.

 "IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU WERE TAUGHT?"

the prince might as well be dead. 

it is the first, but not the last, time that prince jeno is thrown into the dungeons. not to die, but to barely live on the remnants of the pig trough and horse feed. the prince sleeps most the time, on the stone cold floor, in the middle of the winter, but when he wakes, he is a fitful of coughs and vomit. and when he has enough energy to sit up and stare through the barred window, to the left of his cell, he thinks of jaemin. jaemin playing in the fields, jaemin dining in the long halls, jaemin bathing in a rosewater bath, jaemin sleeping in his four-poster canopied bed.

prince jeno is four, almost five, when he conjures his belief that friends lie, they manipulate, they will never stand up for you if it means getting into trouble as well. friends are not companions, there is no such thing as a companion. there is no one to trust. at least, that's what the bleak ceilings of his cage tell him. they whisper it into his ear, his cut ear that's now crusted with dried blood. they whisper it when he sleeps, when he wakes, when he isn't aware of who he is anymore. and they chant it, lowly, and hauntingly, when he's willing to listen. it's all he hears for the sixteen days he spends in his lone company. the sixteen days before he is snatched up by a royal guard to get cleaned and dressed for his fifth birthday celebration.  

"the coal we mine. our lives on the line." the crowd chants. the crowd, the townspeople, the poor and the wealthy alike, they all chant. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." prince jeno wants to cover his ears though he knows that's not princely of him. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." he sees his father's arm, waving to the people, a little ways ahead on the grand horse-drawn carriage. the wood is painted a deep black, the embellishments are leafed in gold, and the upholstered seats draped in dark velvet. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." jeno himself sits atop a black friesian horse, the mane glints in the piercing sunlight. his brother is beside him yet, as the concession draws away from the hundreds that line the streets on a dreary sunday morning and into the grounds of the palace, doyoung yanks his own friesian ahead of him.

the thundering choruses of the people wane in the departure of the royalty and the prince and his family are slowly trickling into the crowd that rests under umbrellaed lawns. they're dressed to their best, and their eyes pleasantly flick between the members of the royal family before them, in best efforts to conceal whatever judgements they have. the king dismounts first, and moves to greet his visitors, guests, from all over the region and of royal ancestry. the queen is next and doyoung and jeno himself are intended to follow suit. 

but it's the moment prince jeno's eyes rake upon the boy, the retched boy whose title ranks crown prince na jaemin, that he wrenches the reigns of his horse in such an unrestrained, unbridled way that the horse rises instinctively onto its hind legs. prince jeno's fall through air is neither graceful nor a sight for sore eyes. his delicate, six-year-old spine is thrust into an arch. his neck, his upright neck, is flung into a curve. his arms, lean though feeble, can only thrash in protest and a learned helplessness ensues immediately afterwards. his small hands grasp the thin twines of nothing. his eyes, the deep brown that shines honey in the sunlight at the exact angle at which he his forced from the earth, they meet his mother's. 

he had figured his death was imminent, and he had figured it'd be at the hand of his parents.

a shoulder, then an arm, the back, the legs, the heels, and finally, his head clunks onto the trodden turf. a horse crosses over his fallen body. there are people hovering about him in an instant. words that are no longer up for his comprehension are tossed his way. a hand is felt on his shoulder, the one he landed on, the one he can no longer feel. black spots begin to cloud his vision, his hold on reality is starting to become grainier as the seconds tick. 

the last image he is able to put together is the face of his mother. stone cold, void of sympathy, void of warmth, void of motherly affection, but congested, not with blood, but with apathy. when he wakes, and thinks of the scene, he can only hope it was a vicarious conjurance of the bleeding gape in his skull.

when he wakes, he is three weeks ahead of when he'd fallen. the memories of this period all blur together for the jeno in adulthood, he swears he can never remember much of it. but if he did, he would recall a girl by his side, of similar age. if he did, he would recall the girl's fingers carefully renewing his soiled bandages every six hours. he'd remember the way she smiled, called his name, kept him company. he'd remember the sympathy, warmth, affection that emanated from your every word, action, mannerism. if he remembered the happenings after his fall from grace, he'd remember the one who healed him, resurrected him. 

he would remember y/n, his first friend, companion, love. 

the air of the sea bites with salt, and offers little refreshment during the hours of daylight. it's in the evening when the skies clear, when the stars begin to show, aligning themselves like golden eyelets on a black satin fabric. prince jeno isn't nearly as tall as the grasses that spurt from the ground, in every direction and covering every viable piece of land. the stares up at the stalks as he walks, the ends flitting with the wind, bending down to tickle his forehead and over its back, motions repeating like one of a giant mass or swaying crowd.

he doesn't dare enter the fields, the prospect of becoming lost all too prominent even before stepping in, but the prince stands right in front of the first rows of tall grass, imagining what was beyond, what he would see when they crossed. at the simple age of seven, he'd already become accustomed to letting his thoughts rampage in his mind over voicing them aloud. voicing them aloud would do him now good, perhaps it was because a child's thought were nearly never as gentlemanly as his mother hoped him to voice, as his father expected of him.

prince jeno is seized by the back of his collar with his father's iron-tight fist. he's dragged, little feet barely reaching the floor as his neck is caught up within the confines of his cotton shirt. he's coughing and having a hard time breathing when he's thrown back into the carriage with a shove and a thud for a landing. his brother sits in front of him, posture straight, the bends of his pant knees clean, and a stern look adorning his face. jeno thinks of clawing the older's face with his finger, the inside of his nails laden with dirt, just to smother his perfect side profile he adores so much. jeno can only think.

the horses are set on a run again and as the family rattles along the unused path, further up the mid-sized hill they were crossing, the view just beyond those grasses come into view. a clean-cut, seaside cottage with shutters of cream and siding of beiges. the roofing, by the looks of it, was made by a thick thatch, though the chimney that stands tall upon it is tiled in white brick. the cottage is set on the shore in such a way that the sands of the beach it opens up to ride as high as the parkway permits and the ocean itself, the glittering ocean, emits the most lovely sea breeze. it's mint green with touches of turquoise and as you draw near, the sandy grounds gradually dissolve into bottomless depths. 

jeno thinks what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. he wonders what it would feel like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts of the water and the beating of the sun's rays. jeno would like to know if it was better than being surrounded by his family. he hates the way his brother's face is still a pristine clean surface and the way his mother's legs are crossed pretentiously, for absolutely no one to see, and how his father can never see past his set furrowed brows.

the carriage stops before the cottage and it's enough to see it from afar but up close, the prince doubts anything could compare. it's small and quaint in the way he supposes most people's homes are and the air of the inside holds the bordered between musty and a tang of sea salt. jeno's four-year-old mind has yet to wrap its head around the concepts of familiarity and succor in tangible objects but the way that dusts settles on the kitchen counter, the edge of the bathtub, the posts of his bed frame, are oddly comforting in a way he could never describe. perhaps it's the simple fact that the dust will sit for awhile before being swept away, they get the chance to. jeno's four-year-old mind fails to notice that he finds solace in the four walls of his designated bedroom that he can see with one sight, the end of the hall visible from one end to another, the kitchen adjacent to the dining room. he fails to notice how he feels most at home in a home and not in a godforsaken palace. 

midnight strikes on the unaware prince as he ventures out the back end of the cottage, towards the lining of the beach. the screened storm door is left unhinged in his wake, flapping open and shut in correspondence with each gust of nightly wind. prince jeno's bare feet leave the shallowest of rifts in the soft sands, the sand itself blowing over and evening out the rupture in mere seconds. the midsummer humidity allows the boy to don only a pair of swimming trunks as he wades in the cool water, jumping as the tides roll in and kicking up at the pebbles that dig into the soles of his feet. gingerly, he braves himself for the chill that is inevitable when he lays himself gently on his back. the little prince shivers.

jeno names the stars in his head, he draws constellations, drones on about the zodiac signs he's learned of and makes up ones of his own. he conjures images of mythical creatures in his mind as he feels the water, now lukewarm and adjusted, lap over his bare torso. prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.

the moon draws its waters with force when the clock strikes one. it pushes them to shore, in the direction of the cottage, in the direction of the adrift prince. the first of the waves, slosh gently into him, sending him in unison with the fluctuation. the second only hits as high as the sides of his cheekbones but the third is strong, it submerges him. 

prince jeno no longer has to wonder what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts and the little moonlight that dwindles between the undulating water above him. it flits and when in darkness, the boy finds difficulty to decide which way is up, he's afraid he can only fall further downwards. that is the only thing he is afraid of. even when briny droplets begin to line the inner surfaces of his windpipes, even when the thrashes still, no longer supported by his weakened limbs, even when his vision spots, his eyelids shut, his ears clogged. prince jeno is afraid he can only fall further downwards. 

the sun is the next thing jeno sees, quite off-putting after having been under the sheets for the previous day and a half. it seems that though he's fully awaken at this point in time, his legs are not, his arms are not, and sure enough, every other part of his body reverberates in the only way the numbness of paralysis would give. prince jeno is not paralyzed but he hasn't been washed, fed, not even a sip of water has passed his lips since he was washed ashore and collected by a royal guard. 

he lays still for another minute or so, which may as well have been fifteen, forty, and hour, he isn't sure and he has no way to be sure but once he feels the slightest twitch of a toe, he's up and moving. moving to the kitchen, the source of all sounds he hears, of laughter, banter, spoons clinking in ceramic bowls. jeno's moving until he is not, but rather than the kitchen, he's in a fairly inaccessible hallway and at a foot of set of steps that spiral beneath the earth. prince jeno is seven and he is curious.

the biting brass of the stairwell against his sock-clad feet is silent but frigid to the touch, the rails, equally as brass, are ornate in detail with excess knobs and spindles for effect. it only comes in full picture when prince jeno reaches the bottom where a brass door is set, completing the sight. pupils shaking, he places a hand on the handle, then two, and pushes it open. 

the dust that rests in the room is certainly not something he finds comfort in. the thickness of it becomes suffocating the more he treads within and it isn't until he reaches the back end of the room, where a little barred window is perched, does he understand the purpose of the room. there's an underlying rumor that passes within the confines of the room, by the way of an apparition, a lost soul, a deceased soul. 

the prince shivers, he is standing in a cage, and he runs before it can encapsulate him once more.

panting, he is on the landing, in the obscure hallway, to the door to the right, the one straight ahead, until he's in the kitchen, voice quavering, "there is a dungeon, brother! there is a dungeon beneath us!" the kitschy tiling is starting to marble before his eyes as they brim with tears. they turn to look at the helpless boy of seven years, in pajamas, the scar on his left ankle showing, his hair upturned, eyes blown wide. 

bemused, it's rather his father who turns to look at him and speaks with a voice that could only denote belittlement, "ahh, yes, the one for the unruly children."

prince doyoung laughs because he is not an unruly child. prince jeno does not laugh because although he is not an unruly child, he is also not the crown prince. 

✧ PRESENT

second prince, lee jeno, draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the southern castle is fortified in pitch black; black footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the moonlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of smog. the castle itself, though, serves as a looming presence that rests above a barren forest which is then, set behind a pathed field of low blown and weeded grass. there’s a noticeable wind that courses through the hallowed glade, gurgling the water of the well he’d just passed and ruffling the dried leaves off their branches. jeno’s spirits dissipate as the stems of browned flowers uproot themselves, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a fetid scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of white in contrast. there is no one to guide him home. 

it’s awfully difficult for jeno to forget the reason he is here in the first place, as much as he'd like.

he stands there, that night, his features casting lengthened shadows on the wall behind him, basked in the flickering light of a single candle. crown prince doyoung sits across from him. 

"i suppose the time has come for me to congratulate my younger brother." jeno wonders why he cannot take him with an ounce of sincerity.

"i hope that you have not called me, on such short notice, to give your feigned-hearted felicitations." jeno supposes it's because of the excessive mockery with which his brother speaks that he cannot bring himself to feel particularly fond for. the older clears his throat in an attempt to hide his incoming smile, "and why might you think my heart be feigned?"

scoffing, it's the second prince's turn to push forth mockery, "do you believe us brothers to be close? to be compassionate with each other?" his brother remains silent at that but his face is still drawn in amusement. jeno continues, "i do not believe i am in need of your congratulations on my marriage."

the smirk on his face only seems to grow, jeno could say his anger grows with it. sneering and in full anticipation of the younger's response, prince doyoung quips, "then i suppose i am to offer congratulations on the grounds that you have claimed a throne," jeno's face returns taut, "albeit not from your own will, or even your own silver blood, but congratulations on the throne, nonetheless."

it's years later and jeno can only think of grappling the stiff neck of his brother within the hold of his hands and juicing his blood in such a way that his veins run dry. jeno can only think of throwing him in the cell of their vacation villa, he can only think of slitting his ears. he can only think.

the room is gathered in silence. jeno pushes forth with his speech, "and i would like to thank the whole of this room on the basis of my livelihood, i could not have gone so far, done so much, grown to such lengths, without the support of my kingdom. now, it seems it is in my hands to recover the losses of the northern kingdom, their deceased king in reference-" he is cut off by the king.

"an unfortunate circumstance, might i add." jeno's father laughs, he laughs. his mother begins to hide a chuckle behind her hand, and the advisors and officials in the room all seem to share the same enjoyment. 

his brother. his brother is laughing as well. the room is sprung in gaiety and jeno can only allow his body to run autopilot as he processes the revelations, a sick feud between kings. one that, if not for your loving presence, he would be partaking in, willingly. but instead the world has the gall to mock him, rightfully so, for years of his life have been spent with the same thoughts plaguing his mind. 

"but, oh! our dear jeno, whom we'd never have thought more of, charming the wits out of a lass with golden blood!" his mother has removed her hand, no longer feeling the need of propriety, and exclaiming her heartfelt sins with pronounced fervor. by then, jeno's blood is already set to boiling, flames flickering and erupting in his irises but he has enough composure to soothe himself with thoughts of you. as it so happens, that is the extent of his composure.

"you never know, next perhaps, will be the princess herself." he gives it five seconds.

jeno launches himself at his father across the table, knife in hand, lodging the apparatus into the old man's abdomen with sleazy aim. jeno pulls his posture upright, now atop the table, gravy smothering the satin lining of his slacks. his eyes are in pursuit of his father's but the others in the room have eyes only for him. he attempts a kick to the damned git, when he's thrust back forcefully by a swarm of arms and trepidatious glowers. he responds in a fit of anger, as if his previous outburst had only served as a preamble, hand gripping the head of a bottle of wine as he crouches. with practiced stealth, he pummels the glass in such a way that sharp edges are formed and he storms again, the intent of death in his eyes. 

as the swish of a tranquilizing dart slits open air, lee jeno can see his father, the crimson substance leaking inside out. he can see the spray of wine red liquor as it sails without direction. he can see the scarlet veins in his brother's eyes, the scarlet rims of his mother's. and, when his eyes fall shut and he feels his knees hit the rufescent tablecloth, all he can see is you, drenched in red.

read volume four: and when i fall.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — not much happens in this one, admittedly, but jeno's childhood and upbringing is something i really needed to touch on and this version really fleshes it out nicely. the original one that i scrapped felt super rushed, and though i developed more into the forefront storyline, i started to hate the use of a linear plotline for this piece because the main ideas on which it was built upon sounded so feeble when put in context of only the 'present.' but enough of me rambling, i love you, good day. <3

[hmgfanfic]

Talk about all the Fillory worldbuilding in LQoF, please :)

THIS IS INEXCUSABLY LATE. I’m so sorry!

And I wish I could say it was just my scatterbrainedness, which is definitely a constant factor, but it was also that when you sent this, I was deeeeeeeep into writing the final few chapters of Little Quirks of Fate and I was kind of... in my head about it. It took a lot longer to finish than I had planned (a cardinal sin to my particular combo of severe ADHD and Type-A personality) and I was spending excessive amounts of time making sure I figured out a satisfying ending by my own exacting standards, so I just didn’t have the headspace to think through my early process yet. Very sorry about that :( But now that I’m finally done, I’m excited to look back! So if you’ll indulge me a very late answer, I’d be tickled. 💗

Long ramblings and major fic spoilers under the cut.

The truth is a lot the world building came down to character stuff foremost, followed closely by my preferences as a writer. I adapted the world to the story I wanted to tell, while using the little bits of information we’re given in canon as a baseline, rather than building the story around the world. And that was a lot more fulfilling for me, since I only really love worldbuilding through the lens of character, rather than as an exercise unto itself (though it’s super fun once you get rolling.)

To explain what I mean by that, you need to know that Little Quirks of Fate was originally going to be a oneshot. My plan was about 25-30k (lol) of a pure S2 retelling, only with Quentin in the role of Fen. It was also going to take a much more traditional enemies-to-lovers’ path—with Quentin as an active member of the FU Fighters—and the whole thing was going to be in his POV. Also, they weren’t even going to kiss until after the bank heist (which, yes, was going to be a thing here), but that got abandoned the fastest in favor of trying my hand at smut. But two things made me realize I needed to significantly shift course:

1) I was struggling to make Quentin actually feel like Quentin. I wrote this very atmospheric early scene at the FU Fighters encampment, with lots of description of the bonfires and the way their shirts dyed in Fillorian red looked like blood (you get it.) It took place in the black of night, shrouded in secrecy, and when Bayler questioned Quentin about his new husband, Quentin said something like, “He’s a drunk idiot, we have the advantage.” It was all very lush and dramatic, but it really, really, really didn’t feel like Q in any recognizable way to me. Now, I’m not someone who thinks Q needs to be a precious sweetheart all the time, but what I was writing didn’t have his idiosyncrasies or a motivation that felt true to who I feel he is.

2) The draft was DEFINITELY missing Eliot’s story and his perspective. I certainly don’t think Eliot’s POV is always necessary (sometimes not having his direct thoughts heightens tension in romance especially), but it felt really necessary here, to fill in the gaps of what Quentin was assuming and also—more importantly—because the events were just as impactful on him, but in a very different way. So I knew I was missing half the narrative, but that meant I would need to deal more explicitly with the Beast (i.e., Mike, the most devastating storyline to me, personally) and I really, really didn’t want to do that.

My first step in making a more recognizable Quentin was figuring out a way he could more or less use the same syntax that he does on the show. Voice is the first way I connect with a character, so while many writers in this fandom thrive at modifying speech patterns and keeping the heart of a character alive, keeping close to Quentin’s canon speech was an easy fix for me in a story I was excited to get rolling. Sort of like the old adage of uplifting your strengths before putting outsize energy into things you struggle with.

The easiest way I could think to give him the same syntax was to figure out a way Quentin spent some significant time on Earth during his formative years. And once I rewatched 2x06 and was reminded that Ess went to Phillips Exeter Academy for high school, I lost my damn mind. I started sketching out ways that Quentin could get there too and that’s how I built out the idea of Umber brokering a marriage deal with the actual landmass of Coldwater Cove, which included an education opportunity for the boys (in a nod to Fillory’s patriarchal nature), and also the reason why Umber did that, which was to take advantage of his brother’s orgy mistake with the first Children of Earth to usher in a more productive and orderly Fillory. So that created a whole new set of rules and essentially a whole new world for me to play with... all for the sake of Quentin getting to say “fuck.” It was that important to me. :p

And as I worked through all that, I realized I also wanted to give Q magic, since Quentin’s relationship with magic is something I’m interested in. But I had read on ye olde Tumblr that the reason Illario uses a wand in 2x06 is a nod to the books, where Fillorians specifically aren’t Magicians and that’s the rationale for the Children of Earth royalty. And while I generally see the books as interesting supplemental material with zero bearing on the television show canon, I still said to myself, “Self, wouldn’t it be kind of funny if Quentin was the only native born Fillorian who had magic and so the FU Fighters believe he’s the chosen true High King, but instead of it being because he’s ~special~, it’s because Umber made a clerical error? Lol! Hilarious!”

So while all my questions for how to explain all THAT spun out into more and more detail, at the same time...

I caved to the idea that this story was going to be a No Beast AU, just like my last two stories, mostly because I really couldn’t bring myself to deal with the Mike of it all, even tangentially. I could have just changed that single element, but I’m not a half-measure gal! But I still wanted to stick with the vague background theme of Fillory = adulthood from a questing perspective and I wanted Julia leading the charge this time, but without the sexual assault that occurs in canon. So obviously, the answer was avenging all of the murdered and cannibalized “grown-ups,” i.e., master Magicians, by seeking out help from the gods in a balanced Fillory free from the devastation of the Beast. Duh! ;)

So then, like anyone would do, I rewatched every episode up to 4x11 that makes a mention of Fillory and took about twenty pages of notes on the canon worldbuilding, along with an analysis of how much a particular piece of information would be impacted or not by balance in the realm. For instance, the existence of geraniums (per The Fillorian Candidate and Tick’s misunderstanding of “power plants”) and the lack of diamonds as a precious stone (per the River Watcher not knowing the value of Margo’s earrings in Knight of Crowns) struck me as static facts unaffected by Ember’s reign of chaos. But I shifted the overall feel of Fillory to one that’s more functional and a lot more bureaucratic, leaning on things like the existence of socialized health/vision/dental insurance (the idea of which is canonical, per a petition from the beavers requesting dental coverage from acting High King Josh in Ramifications), strict taxation plans, and an overall sense of thriving Ceremony to show Umber’s influence.

Basically, I wanted Eliot to inherit a much, much easier Fillory to rule—especially with the highly educated Quentin as a built-in and passionate advisor—mostly so it wouldn’t completely strain credulity when a lot of his energy goes toward his love life rather than the intricacies of ruling (though Margo would say he still favored his personal life more than he should have, and she wasn’t... wrong. He wants to be a husband more than a king!) But I specifically made it so most of the chaotic elements were played as whimsical (sorry) quirky shit or smaller hints of greater injustice (see: Ember getting rid of STDs, but still letting magic-poor citizens die of sepsis because that’s too boring to deal with), all while a cataclysmic danger lurked under the surface.

After that, I just filled in details as they worked with character stuff and plot stuff, and I tried to make sure they didn’t contradict each other in a way that couldn’t be chalked up to “chaos.” I basically lived with the Fillory map open all the time and also took screenshots of Benedict’s map of Loria, which gave me alternate ideas for the overall feel of the landmass rather than just the kingdom. And pretty much that’s the basic process I used to create the world! It was extremely fun, and I learned a lot, though I’m *definitely* focusing on some pure relationship kind of stuff for a while because... oof, sometimes it was a lot.

Annnnnnnd if you’re still with me, here’s some stray observations, for funsies:

I wanted Quentin and Eliot’s starting points to be more mature than in the show. Quentin when we’re introduced to him as an adult in LQoF is a lot more jaded and cautious than S1 Q, which is because in this world, his S1 mentality happened while he was on Earth and came to a head during the throes of his fucked up relationship with Bayler. Similarly, Eliot had already gone through a lot of shit too, and was much more self-actualized by the time he agreed to be High King here than in the show. It was still out of desperation for purpose, but not coming out of a direct trauma spiral. I think if they had been younger, both in age and mentality, the story wouldn’t have worked because they would’ve blown it up day two. They’re both still disasters, as we like to say, which is why the... everything happens, but they’re not disasters in the exact same way as in early canon. I thought of them as closer to their S3 selves, pre-Mosaic.

While I mostly kept Quentin’s syntax the same as on the show, I did change it up in some ways to reflect his Fillorian upbringing. The most obvious was replacing “goddamn” with “godsdamned” and “Jesus” with “Hades,” but I also made him slow on the Earth idiomatic uptake and slightly more likely to use passive voice and less likely to use contractions, especially early on and especially when speaking with Fen. He also said slightly out of date things even for someone who last remembered 1999, since Earth was still overwhelming despite his immersion. E.g.: In the epilogue, he asks Eliot if he can spend some time “Googling the World Wide Web” instead of watching Gossip Girl together, even though by 1999 most people were saying “on-line” or “the internet” by a pretty wide margin. But in my mind, the first term he learned was World Wide Web and he stuck to it like glue.

I originally had a full-blown coronation scene, where Quentin helped Eliot with the answers to the 90s questions via subtle charades, such as flapping his hands at his sides to give him the answer “Wings” (and Eliot was eventually going to Eliot-Logically use that moment to argue to Quentin that maybe Q really is the true High King since he was the one who actually answered the Knight’s questions, etc.), but I cut it and only showed bits and pieces in flashbacks because it didn’t really matter. They had to treat it seriously because it was An Event in this version of balanced/un-Beasted Fillory, with a full audience bearing witness, but the whole thrust of the external plot was about dismantling that moment and the concept of monarchy in general, so giving it too much weight outside of the Eliot and Julia friendship felt disingenuous to the story I was telling.

This is also why it was important to me that Margo hated the title High King Eliot the Kind, even though I only brought it up textually once or twice. But in my view, she fucking hated it and never came around to it. Which isn’t because she doesn’t think Eliot is kind, it’s that it felt like a simplification of all that he is, and the coronation ceremony in general felt similarly shallow. It wasn’t just the four of them working out their shit on the beach; it was true ceremony after a year of questing toil and a lot lingering uncertainty/resentments (especially regarding Julia), so it was too Big Shiny Happy Bow to her.

Yet on the same theme, my greatest regret was not being able to work in the fact that Margo’s title for Penny (King Penny the Persistent) was supposed to be half-sincere and half-sex joke. She did genuinely admire that he stuck it out even through his initial heartbreak because he gives a shit about his people underneath it all, but—and this is a very important headcanon to me—she admired his dedication to the art of the female orgasm even more.

I was originally also going to include the One Day More sequence with way more details—such as Umber taking the Javert lines, Ember taking the Thenardier lines, Bayler taking the Enjolras lines, and Penny taking the Marius lines, but... uh... writing a musical number is apparently not in my skill set. Also, honestly, the weirdness of the original is its whole charm and so I didn’t want to improve upon perfection. See also, in a more serious way: Eliot bowing to High King Margo on the Muntjac, the events of Plan B, and Quentin & Penny in the Flying Forest. Would not touch it!

My favorite Fillorian detail was either the guy who sent a citizen petition requesting a “smidgen” of Eliot’s earwax for an undisclosed purpose, or the use of the verb “to peg” to describe a Pegasus flock greeting an outsider with honor. They encapsulate the obscene yet pristine feel I always tried to give Fillory.

My favorite subtle(-ish?) ironic moment is Ess, the heir to a hereditary monarchy, taking Quentin to task for not honoring the anarchy patch on his high school backpack. In general, I don’t like everything being neatly resolved, including on an overarching world level. And I very strongly felt they had ZERO business meddling in Loria, so it left some fun-to-me unanswered questions. Will Ess usher in democracy for Loria based on his experiences on Earth? Maybe! Maybe not, since tradition’s a hell of a drug and Loria has its own history and complexities. Who knows?

I misread the town name Sutton as Sultan on the map the first time I referenced Bayler’s hometown (Sultan’s Ridge), but instead of going back to fix it, I just made it a sister town. Whatever!

I do not know how Quentin got a full bookshelf of Earth literature back to Fillory with him. Magic, I guess. (That’s the answer to anything I didn’t totally think through.)

I occasionally get asked whether Quentin and Fen were physically related. The answer is no, though it doesn’t totally matter. But I intended heart-cousins to be more like close family friends. (Though I actually originally had a joke where Eliot still wasn’t sure by the epilogue, but it didn’t land/feel realistic so I cut it.)

The details of the magic frequency poisoning were DEFINITELY what I thought through the least. My main goal was to have something catastrophic happen to Fillory based in part from the historical actions of the Children of Earth and Ember, patently ridiculously but with lasting consequences. Hence, god orgy that took away Fillorian human magic and sent out a slow poisoning of the overall magic “frequency.” It sounds all well and good, but it’s definitely something that would fall apart with even the lightest bit of prodding. It serves it’s purpose though, so I figured the gaps could be filled in or politely ignored. ;)

This question was way too much fun and a helpful retrospective for me! Thank you so much for indulging me, many moons ago. 💗

[pastthevaulteddoors]

MDZS/The Untamed AU thoughts!

Awhile ago, I headcannoned an AU but I can’t find the post. I wanted to babble on it while I’m waking up.

A/B/O AU where if you decide to cultivate a golden core, you’ll present as one of A/B/O, therefore when you present it’s biological, but magic based so you can choose to present, but you can’t choose what it is.

Long post. Mentions of the R word.

Normal people don’t present and are just normal.

WWX was an alpha. As was Lan Wangji so while they might angry-flirt, they’re never going to be mates. But then the Wens win at Nightless City during the Sunshot Campaign and Wei Wuxian is publicly executed.

13 years later, WWX is reincarnated into the omega body of Mo Xuanyu.

The world is quite different from when he died.

The Wens have the run of the place. Wen Ruohan has been crowned King while all other cultivation sects are now considered supervisory offices. More or less labor camps that are tightly overseen by Wens.

Before WWX can come to grips with this new world and what he’s supposed to do, he’s swept out of Mo Manor by yet-presented and beta cultivators lead by a young man named Wen Sizhui. His troupe are all Lans with threadbare grey-not-white robes and forehead ribbons that look like they were ripped off of white clothing, or the ribbons are so frayed they look tattered and second hand.

While Wen Sizhui appears kind, with a sweet face and gentle tones, he’s ruthless. They take out the Mo family curse that’s closer to a death sentence than a saving, then they drag all omegas out of the manor for The Games.

They were there to pick up the omegas originally, and just happened to save/kill the Mo family while they’re there. Confused, WWX goes along with it, barely registering that he is in fact an omega now.

WWX is taken on a carriage that looks like it could be closed up like a jail cell. He’s squished in with a handful of others that look crossed between terrified and depressed, resigned to a horrible fate.

Along the way they are met with another group. These are Jins with another handful of villagers. This one is headed by a Jin Ling. There’s an offhanded conversation, where it seems that Wen Sizhui and Jin Ling know each other, maybe even friends.

Turns out, the Jins sided with the Wens and are thriving under the heavy hand of Wen, while the other sects are dwindling in homes that closely resemble labor camps.

The Lans had rebelled again, so The Games are going to be held on the mountains of Gusu. They head up to Cloud Recesses which was never properly rebuilt. There’s huts, not homes. Attempts were made to make this suppressed sect back into its tranquil past, but it’s clearly lacking.

Throughout a semi-imprisonment while people are gathered to Gusu, WWX learns that the Lans have been the biggest rebellion to subjugation even over a decade after losing. He sees LXC a few times. He looks as beautiful and regal as ever, but his clothing is old, his ribbon is cut short, and the once brightness in his eyes for hope has darkened to a façade. He has yet to see LWJ.

Lotus Pier is gone. Wen Xu was killed by LWJ, and Wen Ruohan has adopted Wen Sizhui as his heir when Wen Chao had proven unable to perform after he ‘lost his mind’ during the Sunshot campaign.

When Wen Ruohan arrives WWX is shocked to see that he’s flanked by Meng Yao (top advisor) and Jiang Cheng (his body guard). Turns out, Meng Yao was a pivotal point in getting the Jins to turn on the other sects that won the Wens the war. Jiang Cheng was said to be a loyal dog to the Wens when he had no where else to go. Others say that JC was blackmailed into the position when his sister was threatened.

Jin Guangshan cowers before Wen Ruohan, but he smiles and has his head held high. He knows he’s in a position of power but only at the behest of the Wens. Then a crowd gathers and a ceremony is being presented for The Games.

WWX and other omegas are ushered to a side stage like cattle. Across from a crowd he sees alphas on a similar platform. On the main stage Wen Ruohan has a handful of minor and major sect leaders.

WWX is THRILLED that his sister is in the omegas with him so he tries to communicate with her who he is. Like everyone in the group, she looks frightened but resigned to what is going to happen. She doesn’t give WWX much room to talk, as they must be quiet while a presentation happens. Jiang Yanli does hold WWX close, as if comforting the other omega. He notices that there are others clinging together, and this is not uncommon.

WWX also sees LWJ across to the other stage at where the alphas are lined up. This group is different. The alphas are stoic in general, but there is a good number of Wen alphas in front of them, clearly rowdy and excited.

WWX notices that Nie Mingjue is not there, and Nie Huaisang is a cowering beta on stage. Sadly, NMJ was killed a few years ago protecting LXC in The Games. It’s rumored that it was closer to a murder than self defense, an orchestrated attack. Jin Zixuan looks disappointed and is instructed by his father to stand with the Wen alphas.

A gruesome display happens. A Lan omega has been induced into a heat and is on display as they writhe, out of control, on stage. LXC finally breaks ranks and covers the omega before a rowdy Wen can get too close. He covers them with his coat and they’re both beaten.

“At least he’s not raped this year,” someone says in the omega’s stage, a whispered, scared thing. WWX is surprised but as it turns out, LXC is an omega. He always said he was beta, but being an omega as a sect leader is near impossible when it comes to respect among peers.

The Games, as it turns out, is like Hunger Games. Higher ranking omegas and alphas are forced into heats and ruts then let loose in a designated area for sport. Wens hunt the omegas. The alphas that are not Wens are let loose for the sake of humiliation.

The forced heats will usually last three days, in which there is no shelter on the mountainside, but magical barriers to keep them in one area. Birds with eye-talisman fly overhead so that those not in the arena can watch the chaos from a screen-like object.

After the ‘ceremony,’ the alphas and omegas are ushered into a tight space and a magic hormone scent is pumped into the area. They are being forced into head/ruts.

First into the arena, the omegas are released. They’re separated so they cannot hide together. The first alphas WWX encounters is JC and Jin Zixuan. He’s afraid of JC immediately when he’s rushed upon, thinking that he’s about to be raped by his former brother-turned Wen, when JC rushes past him to knock out a Wen that was coming up behind him.

Jin Zixuan looks on at WWX in disgust. Apparently, Mo Xuanyu had no shame and would try to mate with his blood relatives. But WWX’s fears of JC being let loose on him begins to fade when JC notes that he doesn’t like WWX’s scent and they surround him as they walk to find other non-Wens. They’re playing guard.

WWX is confused. Aren’t they Wen allies now? But as it turns out, in The Games, people form pacts. JZX obviously would only want to mate with his wife, and JC says he has a pact with another omega so he can’t spend his energy on WWX’s nasty smell.

The scents they give off is magic based with their golden core. Despite giving up his core, then dying, the scents of MXY is mixed with that of his own brand of magic. JC notices something is.. off on the scent. Familiar. Like the past and like his own but different. He can’t put his finger on it so he puts Mo Xuangyu into a familiar category in his brain/hormones which is a no-mate zone.

They find Jiang Yanli. She’s apparently the alpha of omegas and is known for taking omegas under his wing. She has a trail of them behind her and they all look relieved when JC and JZX come into view. They know they’re here to protect them... until their own hormones overwhelm them and they have to mate.

The next day they run across a group of roaming Wens that induced themselves to give them vigor and a stronger sex drive. JC and JZX have to play a careful political game to outwit and beat off the Wens without compromising their positions in the Wen hierarchy.

So JC isn’t a Wen loyalist after all. He was, indeed, blackmailed, and it appears that JZX had spoken out against the Wens and that is why he’s forced into The Games along with his wife. Despite protecting each other, it isn’t unheard of omegas getting raped despite being mated in these games. They are built to humiliate and tear down heroic sprites, but if one becomes pregnant with a Wen, then they are forced into a sort of Wen concubine’s life, forced to live under the Wen that is the parent of the child.

They eventually come by a small pact of Lans. WWX learns that the Lans have long since kept to themselves after they were overthrown and have little trust with other clans. However, WWX does note that LWJ and JC have a sort of alliance, possibly even friendship going for them. Or as friendly as the two of them can get. JC is low key always helping where he can, and WWX suspects that JC led Wen Xu into LWJ’s sword.

Among the Lans are a few others with masks on. WWX quickly recognizes the scent of Wen Sizhui. He holds respect for Lan Wangji because he saved his small village of Wens, including Wen Ning and Wen Qing.

Seems LWJ is all over the place making allies!

The few pacts run together for a bit until a few get too rowdy to help out. A few mated couples have to part way, unable to keep hormones in check.

During The Games, there is little shame among them. They cannot control themselves, so announcing to the group that one has to part because they’re going to lose control, and need to have a good dicking with their mate, is not frowned on. If one has to turn away in the corner of a cave to take care of things, it’s respectfully ignored and understood.

WWX has struggled quite a bit. This body is in his prime and he is not used to the responses of an omega.

When the pacts begin to shrink due to the need to part ways to mate, they start to converge. Eventually, the Lans run with JC’s group when JZX and Jiang Yanli had to leave.

Finally, JC admits that he cannot stay in control, and Lan Xichan leaves with him... that is when JC’s familiar scent leaves and WWX is overcome with LWJ’s dominate hormones.

That’s also when LWJ is not simmered from his brother’s scent and is overwhelmed with WWX. Not MXY, but he knows, he cannot mistake the scent of the former alpha he used to love.

It has been rumored that LWJ hasn’t touched anyone when forced into these games. He’s one of the few that still have fire in their eyes, a desire to fight back. In WWX’s opinion of seeing him again, he’s still just as beautiful as ever, even with his ripped robes and messy hair, he stole WWX’s attention even from far away.

Now, closer, stuck in this pact with LWJ the sole alpha among a handful of omegas and undercover Wen helpers... WWX lets out a whine and LWJ responds!! It takes everyone by surprise when LWJ doesn’t even try to move them away from the group as the others did when he grabs WWX and start rutting up against his thigh.

They’re used to this in The Games, honestly. It’s the sorry and sad nature of the event, but to see someone like LWJ break shakes them.

Wen Sizhui can’t get LWJ’s attention enough to even ask him to leave, that they’ll take care of the omegas when LWJ pushes WWX down on the ground and starts rucking up his robes. So the omegas and undercover Wens run before LWJ penetrates WWX. And as for WWX, the dam broke the moment LWJ touched him. He was gone, all wet and wants nothing more than to get LWJ inside of him and mate him until he can’t see straight.

Which he does. Brilliantly.

Having held back for so long, and never taken anyone, even in a forced rut, LWJ has very little control or downtime. He mumbles, between sessions, how he is sorry that he “cannot care of Wen Ying as he should” and WWX understands. And gets that, well, LWJ knows who he is.

After The Games end WWX begins to incite rebellion among the people. Mo Xuanyu was never respected for his obvious incestuous desires for his kin and his general lack of sanity (or so they say). But he suddenly gains new respect among the repressed with the rebellion leader LWJ by his side.

However, Meng Yao (sorry, he is the evil bad guy in this one) is smart, and uses his skills of persuasion and sweet face to always be at the right place at the right time when the rebellion tries to rise up. However, soon, the entirety of Gusu Lan is overturned and the Wen office is burned.

NHS gets on board and make a personal vendetta against Meng Yao for the plotted death of his brother. Soon, smaller sects join in once they see the tides turning.

Then on a surprise move, Jin Guangshan is poisoned. No one is 100% sure who did it, but some suspect his son. Jiang Yanli will never tell the public how her father-in-law tried yet again to get her into bed, and how her fingers slipped over his drink with something hidden in a ring.

This incites inner fighting, then a pushback on the Wens.

A few months of fighting passes by and changes happen as tensions rise and people are pushed together as they fight. Mainly, having to maintain heats around alphas.

WWX didn’t realize the amount of work that omegas went into to keep their scents at bay, so he didn’t realize at first just why LWJ would not let him have a night to himself. Or why LWJ would be possessive around other alphas. Then he goes into heat again, naturally, and LWJ steals him away for an amazing few days of doting and mating and come back to a lost battle for the rebels.

Lan Xichen has to teach WWX these things. Here, WWX learns about JC being a secret romantic to LXC and they have mated no just out of necessity. LXC blushes and says that JC marked him years ago and they had to find a spell in the black market to cover it up. Apparently, Wen Sizhui discovered this and handed the spell to JC and since has shown himself as an allie as well.

WWX slowly falls in love with LWJ, who turns out to be an incredibly doting mate and even asks to be marked before the final battle. LWJ never stopped loving him, even in death.

The final battle, NHS calls a secret truce talk with Meng Yao where NHS says he’ll betray the rebels as long as he’s left alone and safe with his art and fans. Then he stabs Meng Yao in the back. Literally, NHS asks for another bowl of wine, and when Meng Yao turns to get it he stabs the little f’er in the back.

The Wens are falling apart when JC pulls his loyalists/secret rebels/Jiang clan survivors to turn the tide. It’s Wen Suzhui that kills Wen Ruohan with a bloody show of power; even holds up his head as proof before everyone that he’s dead, then orders Wen Chao dragged out and beheaded as well.

Wen Suzhui is viciously cold when he has to be. Therefore, the young man becomes sect leader and surrenders the Wens to the rebels. Unlike before, when the Wens are all rounded up in the end they have a leader that doesn’t resist but demands boundaries to be set, all the while with the sweetest of faces and the deception of youth.

Wen Ruohan loyalists are cut down, and what little remains of the Wens are banished to a village where Wen Ning and Wen Qing are. So, not many Wens left. (Doesn’t stop Wen Suzhui from courting the Jin heir from afar with sweet letters, gently returned with flowers with Jin Ling’s scent)

At the celebratory banquet for their win, WWX announces his pregnancy and LWJ publicly cries happy tears. And then...?

Happily ever after? Probably.

[365days365movies]

February 2, 2021: Pretty Woman (1990)

ALL RISE FOR THE KING AND QUEEN OF ROMANCIA!

First, we bow to the Actor King of Romancia, Richard Gere. Gere is a DYNAMO of romantic movies, having starred in The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, American Gigolo, An Officer and a Gentleman, Sommersby, Autumn in New York, Chicago, Shall We Dance?, Runaway Bride, and of course, Pretty Woman. He was crowned king of this fictionation both because of his film prowess, and because DUDE HAS DATED A LOT OF FAMOUS PEOPLE GODDAMN

Second, we bow to the Actress Queen of Romancia, Julia Roberts.

Roberts’ resume is equally romantic, including films such as Notting Hill, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Eat Pray Love, Steel Magnolias, Mystic Pizza, Runaway Bride, and of course, Pretty Woman. She was crowned queen of this fictionation because, I mean...it’s Julia Roberts, man. Who else was gonna be queen, Meg Ryan? She’s too busy ruling the Holy Romance Empire.

Yes. Yes, I will be visiting the Holy Romance Empire soon.

Anyway, one of the advisors to this great land was the now sadly passed Garry Marshall, a seasoned romantic movie director, responsible for The Princess Diaries (and its terrible sequel), Beaches, Runaway Bride (shit, should I watch this one?), and those bad holiday romance movies from the late 2000′s. You know, Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Eve, Mother’s Day? Yeah, that’s the guy.

Marshall was appointed an advisor of Romancia because of his role as director of the film...you know.

Enough navel-gazing; let’s get into Pretty Woman, shall we? I, for one, am looking forward to venturing further into the land of Romancia! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

We start at a party where...George Costanza?

Huh! Phil Stuckey (Jason Alexander), a lawyer and kind of an asshole, is romancing women at a party, held on the behalf of Edward Lewis (Richard Gere), a businessman from New York. However, he’s currently in California away from his unhappy girlfriend back east, who’s feeling a tad neglected by the constantly busy Edward.

Meanwhile, on a less-than-great side of town lives Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts), a prostitute working the mean streets of Hollywood. Making her way to the red-light district, she enters the Blue Banana Club (which is...a name, that’s for sure), where she finds her roommate Kit De Luca (Laura San Giacomo). Laura’s unfortunately spent their rent on drugs, during the height of the cocaine epidemic in Hollywood.

The two meet each other on the street, where Edward’s lost, and struggling with Phil’s stick-shift Lotus Espirit. She offers to give him directions for money, and he reluctantly accepts. She gets in, and guides him back to his hotel. As he struggles to drive, she displays her knowledge of cars from back home. He then offers to drive the car for him, and also shows her prowess as a driver. Which...is pretty neat.

He asks how much she makes in her profession, as the two roll up to his hotel. As they begin to part ways, he asks her instead to accompany him into the hotel. She’s about as charmed and gawky as I would be going into a sick-ass hotel like that. The elevator in it has a FUCKING SOFA INSIDE, YES PLEASE

Edward’s a little embarrassed by her gawking, but they quickly get past it. Edward’s graveyard-still complacency is contrasted by her manic pixie energy. Not that she’s a manic pixie dream girl...I think. It’s more of a “rock-and-balloon” relationship deal. When Vivian busts out the condoms (she’s a “safety-girl”), Edward instead says he wants to “talk.”

During this talk, it’s revealed that his girlfriend has officially broken up with him, leaving him conspicuously single. He asks if she can stay the entire night, and she agrees for a price, to which he gladly agrees. They spend the night getting to know each other, although Edward is doing business during much of it. And she’s watching TV, and it gives off these kinda weird daddy-daughter vibes (not kink-shaming, mind you), and it’s...mildly uncomfortable.

This quickly progresses into her beginning to seduce him, and the two presumably have sex. We cut away just before anything happens, though. Afterwards, Edward takes a shower, as Vivian falls asleep, taking her wig off for the first time.

The next morning, Edward talks to Phil about an upcoming business purchase, when Vivian walks into the room. He’s ordered breakfast for them. ALL OF THE BREAKFAST. Seriously, everything on the menu. Motherfucker, do you KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE ROOM SERVICE IS? WE GET IT YOU’RE RICH

He reveals just how rich he is, noting that he buys companies on the brink of failure, and then sells pieces of the companies he buys. Vivian equates this to a chop-shop, which seems extremely accurate. On another call, Phil tells him that it would be better if he had a date. And it looks like...he already has one.

Yeah, Phil “hires” Vivian to be his girlfriend for a week. For $3000, she accepts, and I feel just a little icky. And yet...I dunno, we’ll see. He’s doing this purely to avoid romantic attachment, which is a little weird, but understandable? Maybe?

At this point, we get one of the most iconic scenes in the film, as the uptight women at a Rodeo Drive store tell her to leave, like assholes. They’ll get their comeuppance, though. OHHHHHH, THEY’LL get it. This compounds when the hotel manager, Barnard “Barney” Thompson (Héctor Elizondo), questions her presence there. And while it seems that he’s going to kick her out, he actually helps her out with an outfit.

Meanwhile, Edward’s business deal begins to go somewhat south, until Edward takes advantage of GOVERNMENT CORRUPTION. Anyway, Vivian goes to a local department store, where Barney’s friend Bridget (Elinor Donahue) helps her out with a cocktail dress. When she heads back, Barney acts like a bro once again and teaches her proper etiquette, Emily Post style.

Edward heads back to the hotel, where Vivian is waiting for him. And she looks cuuuuuuuuuuute. Edward thinks so, too, and they head to the corporate dinner. There waitselderly businessman James Morse (Ralph Bellamy), and his grandson David (Alex Hyde-White). We get a taste of just how vicious of a businessman Edward is, and Vivian makes a much better impression on the Morses than Edward does. Also, Eddie’s kind of a sociopath, huh? Or, at least, he has some sociopathic tendencies. I dunno his pure emotionlessness is rubbing me a weird way.

After the dinner goes VIOLENTLY south, the two begin to relate to each other a bit more. He notes that he prefers not to bring emotion into business, although he apparently does like Mr. Morse. He also notes that his father died a month ago, but it doesn’t appear to affect him much. Still he heads downstairs to get some air. Later, Vivian gets the bellhop, Dennis (Patrick Richwood) to help her find him, and she does. He’s playing piano like a GODDAMN MANIAC HOLY SHIT! Just like, “Don’t mind me, I’m just playing an operetta to PUT THE KNIFE FEELINGS TO SLEEP IAMTHEZODIACKILLER.” This manic performance is followed by the two just...fuckin’ on the piano. They just FUCK IN THE LOUNGE RIGHT ON THAT PIANO JESUS CHRIST GUYS

The next morning, post-musex, they go to get outfits together, in which Gere buys a massive set of outfits, and we get the first makeover montage this month! He also flashes even more sociopathic flair with a clothing store owner, goddamn. And that’s...when we get the song.

I mean, we had to get this song in here at some point, right? She also engages in the most iconically HUGE moment of the film. You know what I’m talking about, and it’s beautifully cathartic, my Lord.

Meanwhile, at work, Edward’s starting to...lose it, I guess? As Phil’s encouraging him to close in on Morse for the kill, Edward’s beginning to grow a heart. And may I note that he’s been in this relationship for TWO DAYS. Jesus, buddy, you’ve really never had a meaningful relationship, huh? They eventually go to a polo match for business reasons, here Phil finally meets Vivian. Vivian also notices that none of the high-society people here seem like, well...friends.

Turns out that David Morse is one of the polo players, and Vivian starts to speak with him. Phil, meanwhile, notices this, and suspects her of being a corporate spy. And Edward, like an ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE, tells her that Vivian’s a prostitute. Phil LITERALLY IMMEDIATELY GOES AFTER HER, and solicits her like a fucking CREEP.

This obviously very much upsets her, and she chews Edward out back at the hotel. And the argument that follows IMMEDIATELY puts me on Vivian’s side, because Edward’s being a sociopathic douchenozzle. Goddamn. She rightfully wants to leave, and he just lets her. And here’s the real kicker; she doesn’t take the money.

And that’s when Edward sincerely apologizes to her, as best as he can. And yeah, he’s a little sociopathic, but I can see that the dude is trying? The two make up, and once again open up to each other. Edward starts to realize, in turn, that he legitimately has feelings for her. And we head into the third act of the film.

The next day, Edward leaves work early to go on a date with Vivian, and Phil asks if the date is with “the hooker.” And Edwards flashes him a look that’s just...knifey. I’m still not convinced he isn’t the Zodiac Killer. He takes her to an opera in San Francisco, before which we get this scene.

Adorable. God, I love Vivian. Also Dennis and Barney are the best, and they’re super fucking invested, and I am HERE for it. Their date to the opera is...sublime. Understand, my girlfriend and I watched this entire film together, and we’re both in love with Vivian and the opera after it. Imma take her to the opera on a date one of these days, I swear it.

That night, they play chess together, and Edward actually takes the following day off. He also actually sleeps in a bed for once, instead of going to work. And this is when my girlfriend the following phrase:

Is he sculpting her, or is she sculpting him?

OK, that fantastic question is one of the reasons we’re together, but also a very interesting point. Lemme explain here. This is very much a Pygmalion story in a few ways. While not a straight adaptation by any means, this film is definitely taking a few ideas from the Pygmalion trope. See, if you don’t know, Pygmalion’s a Greek myth about a sculptor who falls in love with his statue. It’s been adapted multiple times throughout the history of the arts, but the most prominent version of this was the stage musical My Fair Lady, famously adapted into a film starring Audrey Hepburn in 1964.

And again, a lot of adaptations of that, too. While Pretty Woman isn’t explicitly an adaptation of either work, the themes are still present in the work. So, yeah, it’s a good point. In this version, she’s changing him as much as he’s changing her. The sculpture is sculpting the sculptor. Which is cool.

And then, as we had that cute little revelation, Vivian tells Edward that she loves him. And OH FUCK. It’s the last day. And when he says he doesn’t want this to be the last of them together, she takes it as romantic. But when he essentially proposes making her a beck-and-call girl, putting her up in an apartment and hooking her up with dresses...she’s understandably not interested. She says that, as a little girl, she dreamed of a white knight that would sweep her off her feet and take her away. But Edward isn’t that knight.

Have I mentioned how much I love Vivian? Because Vivian’s fuckin’ fantastic, Jesus Christ.

Edward decides to leave, and says that he’s done all he can at this point. He leaves, and she’s shattered. Kit, meanwhile, comes to visit her at the hotel, and she admits that she’s fallen in love with him. While Kit’s initially worried about it, she says that they could maybe settle down and buy some diamonds and a horse. I also love Kit.

Meanwhile, at the meeting with Mr. Morse, Edward turns the tables on Phil and his yes-men, and asks to speak with Mr. Morse alone. Phil’s gobsmacked by this, but agrees. Once they’re alone, Edward admits that he no longer wishes to buy his company and destroy it. Instead, he wants to help him rebuild his company. And Morse agrees, telling Edward that he’s proud of him.

Phil, EXTREMELY irritated by this, and decided to make his way to talk to Edward at the hotel. And that’s when he finds Vivian. FUUUUUUUUCK. As expected, Phil tries to r*pe her, and that’s when Edward shows up, and BEATS THE FUCK OUT OF HIM.

Edward tells Phil off, calling him an EVEN BIGGER sociopath than he is, and kicks him out. Friendship ended with Phil. Now Vivian is his best friend. But despite this, Vivian still realizes that their relationship, at least the one she wants, seems impossible. Conceding, and on his way back to New York now, Edward pays her, and tells her to call him if she ever needs anything. 

But he asks her to stay one more night with him, not because of money...BUT BECAUSE OF LOVE. And she replies that she can’t...and they part ways. Vivian goes to say goodbye to Barney, who still rules. He calls a cab for her, and says that she can visit them anytime. My girlfriend says that she would leave me for Barney, and I agree. I agree so much, because she deserves the best, and the best is Barney, and I could never BE Barney. 

I could never be Barney.

It’s over now, as the song in the background says, and Edward laments his lost relationship as the thunder rolls in. Vivian decides to finally go to San Francisco, and finish high school, inspired by Edward’s love and faith for her. She passes that faith onto Kit as she says goodbye. Fuuuuuuck, man, this goodbye hurts as well.

Edward goes to the lobby, and talks to Barney one last time. AND BARNEY TELLS EDWARD WHERE VIVIAN WENT, LIKE A GODDAMN CHAMPION. WHY CAN’T I BE AS PERFECT AS BARNEY????

He makes his way to her apartment, and buys flowers from a woman with a Cockney accent, WHICH IS A MY FAIR LADY REFERNCE! HOLY SHIT! He arrives in a white limo at her place, overcomes his fear of heights and climbs a fire escape in a metaphorical tower to rescue his princess. 

THAT’S HOLLYWOOD, BABY! And it’s Pretty Woman as well. That was a very heartwarming film, and I’m very glad that I watched it! Is it perfect? Ehhhhhhhh, see you at the Review.

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Chapter Four: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 2

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

a/n: Now we’re getting into some really deep worldbuilding shit, and even deeper magic. This chapter took me so long to perfect, continually questioning the viability of the magic and magic-teaching and the Atheneaum as a whole... hopefully it makes sense to everyone else! 

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard – special thanks to @cssns for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART)

Chapter Four on AO3

ART

– – –

“I’m so proud of you, brother,” Killian says, clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he fixes his collar in the mirror of their shared barracks. 

Liam meets his eyes in the mirror, flashing a large smile before reaching around to wrap his arm around Killian’s shoulders. 

“Thank you, Killy.” 

If anyone else ever even tried to call him ‘Killy,’ he would probably throttle them, but no one has ever tried. Only Liam has ever come up with a nickname for him, and though he knows the tips of his ears turn red on the rare occasion Liam calls him ‘Killy’ in public, he would always take ‘little brother’ over that any day.

It wasn’t a lie, though: Killian is proud of his brother. Very proud. Today is his promotion — both of their promotions, actually, though Liam’s is a much bigger deal than his own. 

The youngest admiral the Nephilysis military has ever seen. The only dryad to even become a high-ranking officer in the navy. Gold’s son, Baelfire, even called him the ‘most skilled fae’ he has ever seen. All because he has honed his abilities in a way no one ever expected, combining his air manipulation abilities with his love for the ocean and working with an Elder and a Fae to create a whole new system for travelling: the airship. 

So today is more than a promotion for the elder Jones brother; it is also the day Liam gets a ship of his own, the perfect and pristine Jewel of the Realm, whose flying technologies include the best of everything Killian and Liam, with the help of Merlin and the rest of Gold's elders, have created over the last eight years working for Gold. 

The ceremony, though filled with age-old traditions, does not take nearly as long as Killian anticipated, even with both of them receiving promotions: Liam to Admiral of the Jewel of the Realm and a small fleet of ships equipped for air travel and Killian as Captain, serving directly under his brother for the time being. 

The ceremony does not take long, but the meeting that he and Liam have directly afterwards, where they are getting their first assignments in their new positions, is proving to be the opposite. 

Killian had assumed that the only business of the meeting would be giving them their assignments, and he had been dead wrong. Instead of only them, he and Liam found themselves meeting with Gold’s entire war council, which included the Elders for each Nephilim faction, other admirals and generals from all across the Wasteland — not to mention the Prince and his band of Elders and guards, much younger and less traditional than Gold’s men. It’s a stark contrast in the room, really, between the Elders who follow Gold and those who follow his son, between those in traditional Nephilysis uniforms and those in jeans and sweatshirts. Killian would never dare to show up to a meeting with Gold the Elder, the King of Nephilysis, the man that he serves under, wearing jeans. Hell, he would be embarrassed to even be seen by the King of Nephilysis wearing jeans — but he supposes that Baelfire and his collection of followers lead a very different, and much more privileged, life than he does. 

Finally, after what feels like hours — though, according to Killian’s wristwatch proves to only be an hour and a half — Gold turns his attention to the Jones brothers for the first time. 

“Now, as for the newest members of this council,” he says, his voice odd in a way Killian struggles to describe, though slimy comes to mind. He smiles, though there is not a happy thing about it, more sinister than anything else. “Many of you should already know about Admiral Jones’ work with his airships, so now it’s time to give him and his small fleet of Captains their first destination. I’m very pleased that we are now able to go to far-off places thanks to the hard word of Admiral Jones, and so it is an honor to finally announce that he will be leading an expedition to somewhere my advisors and I have had our sights set on for a while now.” 

He says nothing beyond this, waiting for every eye in the room to be on him. The last to look up, Killian notices, is Prince Baelfire, who rolls his eyes when he realizes what his father is doing, but looks up at him nonetheless. Finally, Gold turns back to Killian and Liam, that same sinister smile on his face again. 

“Neverland!’ he says with a laugh even more sinister that chills Killian to the bone. 

There is just something about him that Killian strongly dislikes but he can’t figure out what. He realizes, perhaps a moment too late, that he may have let his disgust with him show on his face, and tries to wipe off all expression --and then realizes exactly what Gold just said to them. 

When he turns to Liam, his brother looks just as confused as he feels. “How is it I’ve studied maps of the world practically my whole life and yet I’ve never heard of this place, this Neverland?” 

Gold’s slimy smile grows, somehow. It takes all of Killian’s energy not to cringe, though he’s useless against the confusion he feels when the Prince answers Liam’s question instead of the King. “Well, because Neverland isn’t on any map, it’s not somewhere you can navigate to.” 

It’s time for Killian to voice his concern, turning to the Prince. “Then how are we supposed to get there?” 

But Gold himself answers instead. “There’s only one man who has ever made it to the island and returned, so he is going to join you.” He gestures towards the door just as a young man — much younger than even the youngest recruits, Killian notices — pushes through the door, as if on cue. Out of anyone in the room, his eyes meet Killian’s, a smile just as sinister, if not more, than the King’s, spread across his face. “Admiral, Captain, this is Peter Pan.” 

 Liam slams the door to their barracks behind him, the anger that he’s been trying to keep off his face suddenly obvious. 

“He can’t be serious, can he?” he practically yells, furiously pacing between the close walls of their cabin. “That Pan, he’s — he’s just a boy. He speaks so highly of himself, as if he has more knowledge than anyone else in the room.” 

“I hate to say it, brother, but I do believe there is more to that boy than meets the eye,” Killian responds, sitting down on one of the chairs in their common area. 

Liam whips around. “What does that mean?” 

“I don’t — he could be…” He shakes his head, then rests it in his hands. “One of the books I read recently spoke of these… these beings who don’t age, who are from all of these weird lands, and I thought it was fantasy, just a myth, but then I saw this—this boy, and I got this… I don’t know, this feeling that he was one of them.” 

“Killy, that’s insane.”

“I thought it was insane, too, but now I’m not too sure.” 

Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, huffing, but sits down next to him anyway. “What else did your book say about them?” he asks finally, the words coming out slowly. 

“Dark magic, Liam. They’re creatures of pure black magic.” 

Liam shakes his head. “King Gold does a lot of things, brother, but I cannot believe that he would go to that extreme.” 

“That’s not all. Not only are they dark magic, but the places they come from are the same, are home to the darkest magics of the world, items and poisons and weapons. This Neverland, I’ve never heard of it, but I can only imagine that it’s one of these places.” 

He is still shaking his head. “No. No, I refuse to believe it. King Gold is— he’s corrupt, yes, but dark magic? That’s insane, Killian.” 

“I’m just telling you what I read.” 

Liam stands up again, continuing with his pacing where he left off. “Dark magic,” he whispers, scrubbing his face with his hand, then he starts to unbutton the jacket of his dress uniform. “You don’t think King Gold would send us on a mission to collect dark magic, do you?” 

Killian does, a fear that he feels seeping into the deepest parts of him — but he just shakes his head. He may think Gold is evil enough to send them to a land of dark magic, but to say it out loud, even to his brother, would be treason. Bad form. 

 The gates to the Athenaeum loom above them, shining in the golden sunlight of the dawn. It took them a whole day’s drive to get there, opting to go around the bulk of the city instead of through it, hoping to keep as much attention off of them as they can, even if it meant adding another four hours in the car. 

Regina has never much cared for the second entrance to the Athenaeum, never afraid to travel through the city because of her immunity, both an atheneid and an Elder on the Gale Council. But she understands how careful Emma and Mary Margaret want to be, being so close to the Prince himself. 

With a huff, Regina checks her watch. It’s been almost a minute since she knocked on the door, and there has still been no sign of movement on the other side of the gate. Finally, one of the gates swings open, revealing a dark-skinned Naphilm soldier in a dress uniform — something Regina hasn’t seen for years, since she was a young woman studying to become an elder and an atheneid. Something she never thought she was going to see again once she left Nephilysis behind. 

"State your business." His voice is sinister, angry, but he is unable to deny them access once Regina shows him her credentials as an atheneid, which allows her access to the Athenaeum and no questions asked about her allegiance. He doesn’t let them any further than inside the gates, though, barring them from walking any closer to the building. 

Even still, Regina rolls her eyes when he stands in the middle of the path, keeping them from going any further. "We're here for a meeting with Magistra French, she's expecting us." 

He doesn’t budge. "You're going to have to wait here for her to come get you." 

Both Emma and Mary Margaret take a terrified look around, noticing all of the Nephilim in uniform around the building, both as guards and simply sitting in the gardens in the gated area around the Athenaeum, more than either of them have seen in a single place. 

Regina stands her ground, conjuring a fire ball in her right hand without breaking eye contact with the guard. "Both you and I know that's not the protocol." Her voice is hard, confident, one she has had more than enough practice with as a member of King George’s council. 

"Gold has changed the protocol," the guard growls. He tries to make himself taller, tries to tower over Regina, but he is still a few inches shorter than her in her heels.  

Her fireball grows bigger., her eyes wider "He doesn't have the power to do that, not here." 

"Tell him that yourself and see how willing to listen to you he is." 

A flash of fear crosses her face, and the guard laughs, only to be stopped by the doors behind him opening to reveal the Magistra herself. She, unlike the guards, is dressed much more casually, in a pair of black jeans and a yellow button-down top. After narrowing her eyes towards the guard, who has now stepped to the side, she smiles at the three ladies, her eyes landing last on Emma, holding there for a moment before returning to Regina. 

"Please, Regina, come in." 

She has a thick accent, different than Emma has heard, though she assumes it’s from the southern parts of Nephilysis, perhaps even the islands off the coast, knowing the accents get stronger the further from the Wasteland. 

“Thank you for travelling all the way out here, ladies,” she says, leading them through the entryway to the building and through the stacks. “And on such short notice.” 

“Thank you for seeing us,” Mary Margaret says, voicing the words that Emma is somehow unable to vocalize. 

Instead, she is focused on the sights around her, the wooden stacks of books that stretch to the high ceilings. Emma has been to some of the smaller universities around the Gale, traveling with Johanna while honing her medical and magical abilities, or with David after she formally became personal aide to the prince, but none of them are anything like this, even the biggest ones in the Gale. 

Emma has always wondered — silently, never voicing her questions — why this is the place that every Elder must come to study the arts under the Magistra, thanks to an order by one of the previous King Gold’s (Emma can’t remember which one, never needing to memorize it for academia.) 

But she understands it now, following the Magistra and Regina through the building with Mary Margaret taking the rear. There are rows and rows of books in every direction, seemingly endless in the monstrous building. Every once in a while, the repetitive rows are dotted with a collection of tables; broken by a staircase, leading to another floor; or a small study room surrounded by glass walls, some of them covered in writing from the people inside. 

Belle leads them up one of these sets of steps and down a small hallway, placing her hand against a biolock not unlike the ones Emma uses in the hospital to open one of the identical doors. Emma notices the large, intricate “M” carved into the dark wooden door as she walks through it, and her suspicions are confirmed when she finds herself in a large office, the walls lined with bookshelves only broken by a window that overlooks a small courtyard. The books, she notices, are some of the oldest she has ever seen, and meticulously organized in some sort of fashion that puts the dusty, cracked ones with pages visibly falling out near the edges of the bookshelf, allowing the bulk of the entire middle to be lined with matching sets and collections of different-colored leather-bound volumes. Many of them do not have words printed on their spines, some of them only letters, if anything at all. 

Belle sits down behind the desk, folding her perfectly-manicured fingers in front of her. She allows herself to look at each of them for a few seconds, once again ending with Emma, but this time she does not look away. 

"Your phone call sounded urgent, please tell me what I can do to help." 

Even though the call did not come from Emma, the question is obviously directed at her, but when Emma fails to voice any response, Regina speaks up. "Emma, this is your story, I think it's only fair." 

She takes a small breath, gulps, then clears her throat. For some reason, just the thought of relaying the story to someone as important as an Atheneid — as the Magistra herself — brings a new sense of realness to their situation. 

And with that comes a new sense of fear. 

From the first time she felt the way the wound on Killian's chest reacted to her magic, she found herself afraid to share it with anyone, sure that it was some sort of secret that she would never be able to discover the meaning behind. (Sure that Killian wouldn't be alive long enough to allow it, really.) And when she learned that it was her magic that did it, and not just light magic responding to the darkness and the poison in the wound, she was even more sure that this was not something to take lightly. 

So needing to recall the whole story to the most important fae in the world at the hunch of Regina made her a little uneasy. 

But she does it anyway, every eye in the room on her as she tells a shortened version: finding Killian in her office, her ability to heal his wounds save the ones seeping with dark magic, and describing as best she can what happens when she tries to use her magic on them, since this is the detail that made Regina so sure they had to come here. 

At this, Belle's eyes go wide, and she jumps out of her seat and starts to search the wall behind her for something. 

Emma is too stunned by her response to say even another word, though she did come to the end of her tale, save the very little information Regina gave them in the cabin before they left. Sensing either her shock or the fact that her recollection has come to its end, Regina takes over. "I remembered what you showed me once in one of the obscure healing books that you insisted I memorized, something I haven't thought about in years, and when I gave him a vial of SOMETHING she was able to extract the Dreamshade from his wound for just a moment." 

Belle turns around from the shelf, bright eyes wide with both excitement and awe. "So you're thinking she's—" 

Regina doesn't let her finish. "Yes, I'm almost sure of it, but I knew I had to bring her here to know for sure." 

“Has she tried it with other poisons?” 

Both Regina and Belle turn to her, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never dealt with other poisons. Only Dreamshade once before, and I never tried to do anything to it with my magic.”

Belle nods. “And what about this man? The one you healed? Are you also thinking that he's—" 

"The one from the—"

"Yes."

"I'm almost sure of it." 

“What about him?” Emma asks, having enough of their half-conversation. 

“Did you try any other magic on him? Any other strange reactions?” 

“What do you mean, strange reactions?” 

Belle's response comes in a rush, more words than Emma is able to focus on as she thinks back to try to answer the questions: “How about when you tried to heal him, did anything else out of the ordinary happen? Any… energies that seemed off? Weird feelings from either of you, but especially you? Did anything work better than you expected, or seem to happen instantly when you know it’s taken more time in the past?” 

The breath leaves Emma's lungs. She really wishes things would stop taking her breath away.  Belle must sense something, must know that this has riled Emma's memory, and she watches her in anticipation across the desk. 

"Well, yes," she says finally, once again able to regulate her breath. "Many of his wounds were less severe, just cuts and gashes on his chest, and many of them not only healed in response to my magic, but disappeared entirely. Not even a scar." 

Belle's eyes go wide, even wider than they already were, and she turns back down to the book spread across the desk in front of her.

Silence overtakes the room, and Emma tries to decipher some of the writing that Belle is looking so intently at, only to find it written in a language that does not look familiar to her at all. 

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but her heart is pounding wildly in her chest — another side effect from the events of the last two weeks that she wishes would just disappear. 

Belle shuts the volume in front of her, folding her hands on top of it. With her head hung, she takes a breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders, before looking back at Emma. 

"There's a prophecy," she says. 

Emma scoffs, stopping her mid-sentence. "You're kidding, right?" 

Belle shakes her head, but decides to tackle the subject from a different angle. "What do you know about your lineage?" 

Emma scoffs again, this time rolling her eyes. "No, really, you've got to be kidding." 

"I can assure you, this is no joke to me." 

There's something in her voice, a hardness and a seriousness (and perhaps a dash of magic) that makes Emma suddenly very sure that the Magistra is telling the truth. "I'm — I'm an orphan. I know nothing of my parents, or of any part of my lineage. I was left on the steps of a university outside of the Gale when I was a few days old, raised by the Elders there for a while until I took to the streets." 

Even after making Emma spill that, Belle says nothing for a moment, though her eyes search Emma's face for… something. Emma isn't sure what, and is even less sure whether she finds it or not. 

"And they were the ones who helped you hone your abilities?" 

Emma shakes her head again. "I'd left the university by the time my abilities started showing themselves, and it wasn't until David — until the Prince helped me find an apprenticeship with the palace healer that I started to focus on medicine." 

"And you've never attempted any art other than the one that showed itself then? Terren, or dryad?" 

The question catches Emma off guard. From everything she's heard about the Elders, and about the Magistra in particular, they are supposed to be able to sense these things about a person without having to ask. 

"Well, actually, I've — I've never really been sure. Plants, sure, and I've never much tried with the wind or whatever, but I once saved David by using a large boulder to protect us, and I've calmed some waters, but I've mostly just harnessed my own energy for healing purposes." 

"Plants, earth, water," Belle mumbles, turning her chair around to face the bookshelf once again, this time finding one of the more used volumes, with a cracked spine and unattached pages in every direction. She places it on top of the other on her desk, but does not open it. "Plants, earth, water… energy." With the last word, she meets Emma's eyes once more, her whole face seeming to light up. "Regina, I'm assuming you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asks, not even looking over at Regina. 

But Emma does, and the wide smile spread across her face just makes Emma more curious. 

In the silence, Mary Margaret gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Of course," she breathes. 

“What?” Emma says, at the end of her patience. “What conclusion have all of you come to that I somehow still can’t see?” 

“See,” Mary Margaret says, completely ignoring Emma’s question. “Emma didn’t have… formal education, really, so she was never fully introduced to all of the factions, and probably never really heard about all of it, so it makes sense that she never—” 

“I am right here,” Emma practically yells, stopping Mary Margaret’s words in their tracks. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“A Vis,” Belle says. “Emma, I think you have the Gift. I think you’re a Vis.” 

A Vis. She’s — she’s heard of them, sure, maybe read about them once or twice, but… 

A Vis. The rarest of all magic-wielders, with the ability to create their own energy instead of just using those around them. 

“As rare as Vis are, it’s pretty common for some of those with the Gift to simply go through their lives thinking they are just a simple fae.” 

Emma has so many questions. How, mostly. How has she gone her whole life without knowing this? 30 years, almost half of that time as a fae. 

As a Vis. 

She doesn't have enough time to process this. When Regina said they had to come to the Athenaeum, the last thing she expected was something like this. She assumed it was to find a way to save Killian. 

Killian.

"What does this have to do with Killian?" she asks, the first words spoken for almost a minute.  

Both Belle and Regina turn to her, wide-eyed, not understanding the question.

Mary Margaret does. "Yeah, you said he had something to do with this, right?" 

"Oh," Belle says, closing the book in front of her again. "No, that's not related to the Vis thing. If you're… well, if you're the Savior that the prophecy foretold, then there's reason to believe he's your True Love." 

"You can't be serious." 

"Athenaeid do not joke about prophecies, Emma," Regina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"But true love? Is that — you can't mean —" 

Mary Margaret cuts in, stopping her sputtering. "Does that mean we can save him?" 

Belle opens one of the books in front of her again, silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I really can't say for sure. True Love is a fickle thing, and Dreamshade even more so." 

"And True Love is the most powerful magic there is," Regina adds, a brightness in her eyes that Emma has never seen before. 

(She's not too fond of it, either.) 

"What the hell does this even mean? That I can—what—true love's kiss the poison away?" 

Belle and Regina share a silent glance. Belle wets her lips. Regina raises her eyebrows. 

"Well," the Magistra mumbles. "Yes, there's a chance of that." 

A loud, gasping laugh escapes her chest, one she just couldn't keep down. "This is crazy. Absolutely insane." 

"There's a chance it's much more complicated than that, too, though," Belle says quickly, trying to save Emma from spiraling too far. "In fact, it's much more likely to be more complicated. Something more along the lines of your being the only person who can save him." 

It works. This is much easier for her to wrap her mind around, unlike the rest of the information Belle and Regina have sprung on her in just the last half-hour. This, at least, makes sense. More sense than her being one of the most powerful types of fae, or the fact that there's a prophecy. This, at least, she can deal with. 

"So now, she needs to be trained, right?" Regina asks, and Emma feels her heart beat in her throat. 

How long could that take?, she doesn't have the ability to ask. There's a time crunch, she has to save Killian, she can't— 

"Well, if she wants to save this man from Dreamshade, she certainly doesn't have time to stick around here long enough to master anything," Belle says, once again saving Emma from the spiral she was threatening to get lost in. "Honestly, you should get back to the rest of your group and make way towards Neverland as soon as possible, in my opinion." 

"What?" Emma blurts out, even though she agrees with everything the Magistra just said. "You're just going to drop this information on me and… send me away?" 

Belle shakes her head. "Of course not," she says cheerily. "I have to come with you." 

Killian’s heart is in his throat as David knocks on the door to the cabin. He thought he was going to be okay, back here where Smee was killed and he was kidnapped, but he’s thinking the worst: that no one will open the door. That all of his friends, practically everyone he has left, are gone, taken by the same for that he barely escaped from. For what feels like forever (but in reality can’t be more than a few seconds) no one answers the door. 

And then there’s a thud on the inside, followed by the muffled “Bloody hell” that can only belong to Will Scarlett. Killian and David exchange a smile, an almost-literal weight lifted from Killian's shoulders, and the door opens. 

At first, Will can’t believe his eyes, which are practically bugging out of his head (Killian’s pretty sure it’s the longest he’s ever seen Will not speak). He doesn't blame him, though, because he can only imagine the conclusions they drew about Killian when they returned that day to find him missing, with Phillip dead on the floor of the kitchen. 

It's the first he's thought of this, really, since he has been spending so much time trying not to hype himself up with the thought of them surviving an attack from Pan and Baelfire, but now that he knows they did, he wonders. What did they think when they returned back that day? They all knew his history, knew that he spent the first years as a soldier working for Gold. Did they think him a traitor to his newest allegiance, think that he returned to the Nephilysis army that betrayed him all those years before? 

He hopes not. The only thing he has ever wanted to be is a man of honor, and he hopes that the men he has spent the better part of the last ten years with understand that. 

Killian is pulled from the worst-case scenario in his mind when, instead of saying anything, Will practically jumps through the door and wraps his arms around David, who, after a moment, hugs him back. 

Killian smiles. Even if they believed the worst of him in the weeks he's been away, returning at the Prince's side is a sure sign his allegiance has not shifted. 

"Holy shit," Will whispers, shifting his hug from David to Killian, then he says it again. “I saw someone coming up towards the cabin on the radar but I never expected—” 

From behind him, Robin emerges from the kitchen, dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Will, who was at the—" And then he meets Killian's eyes over Will's shoulder, then David's. "Holy shit." 

"That seems to be everyone's response here," David says, rushing through the doorway to embrace his oldest friend. 

"Why didn't you say you were coming? You could have contacted one of us?" 

"Honestly, mate," Killian says, taking his turn in giving Robin a hug. "We weren't sure if any of you would even be here, since I was kidnapped by Baelfire from here. If it was still safe, or if any of you were still alive." 

"Who else is here?" David asks, closing the front door as he finds a way to ask the question that Killian was too afraid to: was anyone else killed when they came for me? 

"Graham was out back somewhere, but I imagine he should be in any—" 

Robin's words are cut off by the man in question coming through the back door and calling out: "Is someone here? I got a notification that someone drove through the sensor in the driveway and I—" He comes around the corner, holding his phone out in front of him, but when he sees Killian and David standing inside the door, his words stop. For a moment, the entire cabin is shrouded in silence, waiting for someone to break it. 

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and David wraps his arm around his shoulder. 

“I think we should all sit down,” David breathes. “This might take a while.” 

 “So, what, we just have to find this Merlin guy?” Will asks, his mouth still full from the last bite of his sandwich. 

“Christ, Scarlett, don’t you listen?” Robin scoffs. “Finding Merlin is the first step.”

“And the easiest,” David mumbles. 

Killian leans forward on his elbows, momentarily forgetting about the worst of his injuries, though he is painfully reminded almost immediately. “Once we find Merlin, hoping he still has my brother’s ship hidden away somewhere, then we have to fly to Neverland.” 

“And what if — pardon me for asking, but what if he doesn’t have your brother’s ship?” Graham asks, always the most level-headed of them all. 

All eyes turn to Killian, who turns his gaze down to the table. 

But David speaks up with an answer: “Then we just have to find another way to get to Neverland.” 

The room is silent for a minute, until: 

“I thought you said this ship is the only way to get to Neverland?” Will asks, once again missing the feeling in the rest of the room. 

Killian nods. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Another beat passes, all attention on Will, waiting for him to understand what Killian is trying to say. 

“Oh.” He scrunches his face, a soft embarrassed red spreading across his already-red face. “So what’s our plan then?” 

Killian turns to David, who gestures for him to take over. “Well, our only hope is Merlin, and I haven't been able to get a hold of him. There's rumor he's somewhere in the Northern Mountains, hopefully still with The Jewel of the Realm, and I have a pretty good idea as to where, so I suppose that's our next destination." 

The room falls silent again, each of the men around the table trying to decide just how to feel about all of this — Killian’s torture, the need to travel to new lands, to fly. But David doesn’t let them ruminate for long. 

"Pack your things, fellas. We probably have a few days still, but we leave as soon as the ladies meet us here."

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