#Frank is an advisor

[krasytoonz]

I wonder where Frank could be!

[denimbex1986]

'Just saw the Oppenheimer film and hungry for more?...

American Prometheus, by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin. “The film is about Oppenheimer, not the project and afterwards. If you want to go deeper, I recommend you read the book the movie was based on and think more broadly about the impact of the Manhattan Project.”

“The Oppenheimer Issue” of Los Alamos National Laboratory’s National Security Science magazine has lots of great stories about Oppenheimer and the laboratory.

Plutonium 1943–1945, by Los Alamos Historical Society....

The Day After Trinity, “an Academy Award-winning documentary, which can be viewed for free on the Criterion app, is an excellent first-hand account with interviews of key scientists involved in the Manhattan Project, who knew Oppenheimer closely. This 1981 documentary is a very good complement to the movie, Oppenheimer. Some of the interesting figures interviewed extensively are Robert Oppenheimer’s brother, Frank; the Nobel laureate Hans Bethe; and Freeman Dyson, who were all part of the Manhattan Project. Their recollections of that important period and the underlying debates are invaluable oral histories for researchers and the general public.”...

Hiroshima “This short book, by John Hersey, is based on what was initially a lengthy article in the New Yorker and was published a couple of years after the atomic bombing. It gave Americans their first description of the actual effects of dropping the bomb. This helps make up for what many critics have felt was an omission in the movie.”

The Making of the Atomic Bomb, by Richard Rhodes, “is the definitive book account of the Manhattan Project and the science and engineering behind the bomb.”

The Winning Weapon, by Gregg Herken, “is a historian’s review of how the U.S. approached the questions of arms control and a possible arms race in the years right after World War II.”

The Advisors: Oppenheimer, Teller, and the Superbomb, by Herbert York, “is a good account of the dispute between Oppenheimer and Teller over whether to build the H-bomb, which became a key factor in the hearing that led to Oppenheimer losing his security clearance.”...

Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World, by Lesley M.M. Blume, “is a good companion book of John Hersey’s Hiroshima and was published on the 75th anniversary of the bombing.”

“If you want to add some perspectives from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, I would definitely recommend the Hiroshima Memorial Museum Online and the recently developed online No More Hiroshima and Nagasaki Museum.”

“The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists Oppenheimer Collection has many good articles with various perspectives.”...'

[readingloveswounds]

okay rlly gotta get my shit together here because it's literally just under a month before i go to france and i want to send three sections to my advisor before that PLUS submit my article to a journal

understand that while i think im behind, i'm technically at 2x the pages i wanted to have by this date. still. crisis time.

by sunday:

finish nimes draft

by august 31

submit article

send at least one of: sens or cahors (cahors is probably best bc shorter)

by september 17

MEET WITH ADVISOR THIS IS NONNEGOTIABLE

have sent advisor sens, cahors, and nimes

have at least started chapter conclusion

have at least started rewriting chapter intro

start frankensteining chapter sections into something coherent or at least have a reasonable idea of what a full document might look like

have a better site list put together and possibly have contact w the SHPF, BNF, and/or Louvre

by september 19

email J

give contact info for fellowship 1 (incl address)

give group pertaining to fellowship 2 my address + phone

things it would be cool to do but not strictly necessary:

go back through P's revisions on vassy

have a better idea of own style guide re names etc

read Foa

get further in LT reread

read more Martyrs - also talk to P about what the actual fuck im doing with martyrs bc im becoming less and less convinced i know how to handle the text wrt my dissertation topic/argument

figure out which chapter im writing next bc doing martyrs sounds scary but idk if im ready to do LT, and im waiting on a massive name in the field to publish his edited version of sancerre lol

[krasytoonz]

This is amazing

I uhhh made this

Royal Wally :D Royal AU made by @krasytoonz

I hope it's accurate!

[nebbyy]

Please write a fanfic about King Baldwin IV from KoH, where he fell in love with female reader. The plot is up to you. Please make it a serious love story with slight fluff 🤗🤭

Baldwin IV x reader - Life always comes down to a game of chess

A/N: You have no idea how much I love you anon, this was one of the prompts I already wanted to write omgggg!! For this fic I kinda got inspired by this painting (which, for everyone interested, it’s “La belle dame sans merci” by Frank Dicksee), and you’ll see how and why reading it;)

Summary: King Baldwin IV receives an offer from an Italian nobleman to marry his daughter; unsure of whether to accept or not this compelling offer, Baldwin decides to do what he does best…

Warning: there are some mentions of christianity and religious references along with some hints at the misogynistic ideologies of the time (about the woman being “owned” by the dominant male figure in her life) ((I don’t condone this ideology at all but I thought it’d be fitting to add it anyway to give some accuracy to it)).

Word count: 2637

King Baldwin couldn’t quite wrap his head around you. The day that he was informed of your engagement, he felt himself quite skeptical of the idea of marrying someone. After all, ever since his leprosy had been diagnosed he had to get used to the idea of living a life of solitude, forced into a lifelong chastity, for no sane man would ever marry off their daughter to a leper. With time, he had found solace in nurturing his own knowledge and virtue, elevating himself to a level of wisdom that very few could boast at his young age.

During the following days, the young king's mind was plagued with thoughts, considerations he was making to weigh the choice. The benefits of marrying Lady Y/N were many, first and foremost securing a connection to the land of Italian speakers, allowing for easier trafficking of crusaders arriving in the Holy Land, not to mention the abundance that would be the young lady's dowry. And not only did marrying her mean strengthening the economical side of his reign, but it also meant giving the impression to the public that the king's health condition was improving to such an extent that he considered that to be an ideal time to marry. His most trusted men and all of his advisors kept repeating to him, marrying Lady Y/N would’ve been  comparable to a blessing.

But despite all the benefits this union seemed like it would bring, Baldwin continued to hesitate to make a decision. What left him so undecided was the possibility that this was some kind of deception, a conspiracy orchestrated against him, hidden in the form of the most convenient of marriages. It was up to him to decide whether it was worth taking these risks in favor of the benefits that would come if his concerns turned out to be unfounded. 

Like everything else in his life, this choice came down to a game of chess…

It was this idea that prompted him to make a decision. Baldwin had a messenger called, to be sent to Pisa to give the news to Lord Y/F/N that the king wished to report his decision to him live, at his court. For the lord to arrive it would have to wait, but Baldwin has always been a man of exceptional patience.

Four months passed, when at the dawn of Lent it was announced by a Pisan messenger that Lord Y/F/N and his daughter had come to Acre, and would soon be coming to Jerusalem. Another week passed before father and daughter, riding two white horses and accompanied by an escort of knights arrived at the royal palace.

When he first saw you, Baldwin could have sworn he saw Mary himself. You walked with such grace that you almost seemed to float. Your face looked serene, despite the anxiety that had been devouring you from within ever since the day the invitation from the king of Jerusalem reached you; a blue veil covered your hair, framing your face and falling over your shoulders. You bowed to Baldwin as was proper to do before a king, yet he felt so tempted to interrupt you, prevent you from bowing to him, perhaps even bowing to you himself.

At that moment he felt like Lancelot before Guinevere, completely mesmerized by your beauty, one who seemed more fit to an angel than a woman. But, he gave no sign of his true emotional state; after all, a gorgeous woman does not mean she can be fit to serve as queen. Her answer will be decided when she has had a chance to hear you speak, away from the judgmental stares of the court, free from any influence that might change what you really think.

As the sun shone bright in the sky, the banquet took place inside of the palace. The king excused himself before going to eat by himself in his chambers as usual, leaving his guests in the company of his sisters and his court. Loud chatter filled the room, goblets were raised to get more wine poured, courses flowed onto the set table, a tribute to thank Lord Y/F/N for making such a journey to fulfill the king's request. All this noise, yet in your ears all became quiet when a servant approached your chair, whispering a few simple words, "The king has requested your presence at dinner."

Your blood froze in your veins in surprise, and you could almost feel your father's thrill as you rose from your seat, having the servant guide you toward the king's study. Walking through the halls of the palace, you could do nothing but feel so small in comparison, you almost seemed to disappear, enveloped by the magnificence of everything around you that, if all went well, you would have called your own.

You were brought back to reality when the heavy doors of the king's room were opened by the two guards who stood at his sides. An enveloping fragrance, a mixture of myrrh and frankincense filled your senses with a feeling of serenity, an almost familiar feeling. In the center of the room, a hooded figure, dressed in silk as white as snow. "Come forward, my lady. I apologize for my absence at the table but," she interjected for a moment, rising from her seat and revealing her face-or at least, what was not covered by the veil-"many might find my appearance somewhat...disturbing during a meal." He chuckled a little at that last part. You wondered if irony had become a kind of means for him to soften his own hellish condition. 

As soon as he turned around you could not help but study the appearance of what will hopefully be your future husband. Rumors about his condition had been swirling since the day he was crowned, so you had been prepared to be confronted with a horrifically disfigured man. Instead, although part of his face was covered by the thin veil, it was like an instinct for you to try to study his features. You could vaguely make out the golden hair that adorned his face, although it was covered by the veil. His voice had intrigued you; it sounded so jovial and yet so deep. A melody that sang of the young monarch's endeavors. It intrigued you, you wondered what his lips looked like, whether they matched the sound of his voice.

But what really caught your interest were his eyes. They were blue, but of a color so deep, so intense, it reminded you of tales you had heard about the northern seas, of the waters that dark and deep seemed to beckon sailors, to lead them to drown within them. Likewise you felt mesmerized by such intensity. And you wondered, how much of this would remain the same as his illness progressed.

You recovered from that momentary trance, wasting no time to bow, but this time Baldwin stopped you before you were able to bow more than your head: "Don't bow, please. Such reverences are not necessary here." You looked at him a little dumbfounded, but despite the king's unusual attitude you did not object. He stepped to the side, revealing a finely decorated chessboard, with all the pawns already set in place. "Do you play?" he asked softly, and you finally mustered up the courage to speak "It's been some time since I last did," as you approached the table, taking your seat opposite Baldwin. He took his seat again, and for the first time in your life you found yourself face to face with a king. 

You quickly realised that he had assigned you the white pawns, the small courtesy of moving you first. You took a moment to think of an initial strategy, and moved your first pawn. A horse. Baldwin raised his eyebrows, surprised by your decision. "Aren't you going to move the pawns first?" You kept your gaze on the chessboard, partly out of respect and partly out of fear, still unsure why the king would call you to his chambers, if indeed it was all just to have a playmate. "I always prefer to start with the horse. I like to think that the pawns would be frightened to charge against the enemy without a knight to guide them." You looked up, meeting his eyes that studied you intrigued. Chuckling at what you had just said, you continued, shaking your head slightly, "Forgive me, it was just a silly thought."

"Not at all, my lady," he replied, studying your every detail, "I find it fascinating." It was his turn to move, and as per rule, he moved one of the pawns, the one in front of the queen. "So you think good leadership is better than letting the individual decide for himself?" There was a spark that had lit up in his eyes, something playful. It was clear that you were intriguing him, surprisingly in your eyes, since you had been instructed to stay behind your father's shadow, not to express your thoughts or externalize your ideologies.

Everything had to be perfect, one could not risk the futile mind of a young woman ruining the marriage that would have been so beneficial to her dukedom, but above all to her family. Yet at that moment she felt that expressing what resided in her own mind was exactly what Baldwin wanted from her. Something lit up in her too, and he in turn caught the same spark in her eyes. Could it be that she had figured out the trick...? 

Another pawn moved, it was Baldwin's turn to move again. Your eyes seldom parted from each other, just for that moment necessary to make your own move. "Independence is not always what benefits a man. Certainly, it is tempting, but in moments of indecision it risks leading to oblivion. An infantryman needs a leader, a young man who is lost in the woods needs a hunter to guide him out..." Another move, the white bishop points directly at the black king "...an indecisive man needs an outside opinion to make his decision."

You smiled, and like the sweetest of plagues you infected him too. You had deciphered his little deception. An innocent deception, with the purpose of seeing with your own eyes how you, in a condition so similar to what is the duty of a sovereign, would have acted. 

After all, his life always came down to a game of chess....

"So you understood..." Baldwin whispered, again sitting in his place. For the first time in his memory, someone had managed to leave him speechless. His witty mind seemed to have died out all of a sudden, the knight in him unarmed by the woman sitting in front of him. Maybe the deception wasn’t as occult as he had planned, or maybe this young lady was really able to stand up to him.

You smiled at him proudly, be proud of your intuition but also relieved that your thought had not turned out to be foolish. Your pride had removed from your mind every rule, every admonition that had been given to you from the moment you set foot in the Holy Land; your mind was now like a river in flood, finally free to flow out according to its natural course. "I do not blame you, my lord. I realize that this is a difficult choice for you, and that the factors at stake go far beyond your individual will."

"And what do you think about that?" Your smile acquired a bittersweet scent, and you answered without almost hesitation: "I am only a woman, my will is that of my father and it will be of my husband. My family prays that this role will be filled by you, and for this to happen I have been instructed to be fit to reign at your side."

“That I can clearly see, but what truly urges me is to know what your own will says. If we were to marry, you would be the bride to a wretched man, one whose fate has already been announced by God. My demise won't be far off, you’ll be left a widow in a foreign land. And before this… curse gets the better of me, there is no saying that it won’t get to you too. If it did, you would suffer the same fate I had been given.”

It took you a moment to let his words sink into your mind. He spoke the truth, a future with him would be filled with sickness and uncertainty; you would have to live in a court far from your home, where everyone was waiting for the king’s death like a flock of crows flying above a dying man. You took a deep breath, feeling as everything came down to this very moment. “I won’t lie to you, my lord, the future that awaits me while standing by your side is not an easy one by any means, and I’m very much aware of that. I do not expect my future to be easy, for it would be an excess of greed. So if I can have a saying in my own future, I’d like to say that I would much rather all the time that is given to me by the Lord standing by the side of a man filled with virtue, than by the side of a man too full of himself to see anything just an inch away from his reflection. There would be no greater honor for me than to stand by your side, for as long as you still have to live, my lord. And if I ever was to catch this disease as well, then I would have no other words to say other than God wills it.“

At your words, the young king had to shake himself up, now more than ever necessary for him to say something, anything really. “For you, my lady, I shall always be just Baldwin.” His tone was softer than ever, a soft breeze that reached to you and whispered I am but yours now. It was unsaid, but decided. Once this meeting would be over, the king would come to your father, and confirm his decision to accept the proposal. Only problem was, this meeting seemed to have become endless. What was supposed to be a quick meal, accompanied by a game of chess, turned into a lively exchange of political views, then silly childhood anecdotes, then again into a walk in the inner courtyard of the palace. Baldwin tried hard to keep you in his presence for as long as was deemed decent for an unmarried man and woman. He kept you with him as long as he could, and when that was no longer possible, he led you back into the great hall, gently holding your hand over his. Soon after the announcement of your engagement, the wedding was set to happen during the following Easter, and the banquet made in honor of his guests was prolonged until the sun had been long set, this time in honor of his betrothed.

You think back to that day fondly, as you lay on your bed, in the comfort of silky sheets and soft pillows. One of your hands holds your head while the others traces the patterns of the scars in your husband’s face that have considerably worsened during the years. Aside from the bed, sitting on a table, forgotten as long as the night reigned over Jerusalem, were two crowns, along with two chess pawns. A white queen and a black king. Both came from the set that had been used the day the two of you met, a reminder for Baldwin of the day God had merged your destinies in one.

A/N: wowww that came out longer than I though oopss. ANYWAY, this was my interpretation of your request, anon, hope you like it!! Also, for everyone who’s gonna read this, feel free to leave any constructive criticism since this is my first fic and I would like to improve a looot more in my writing skills. That’s it now have a nice day y’all <3<3

[writergeekrhw]

There's been a lot of talk over the years about whether Ferengi are a antisemitic stereotyoe. Given that DS9 had more Jewish actors and creative staff, what do you think of that discourse?

Was this something that was kept in mind when reinventing the Ferengi from how they were in TNG?

I can tell you the INTENTION of the Ferengi was to satirize capitalism and the West. Ferengi derives from the Persian "Farangi," i.e. Franks, people from France. More broadly, it came to mean "Western European." Hence "Farangistan" = Europe. Farang/i spread to other languages, notably Thai where it now means "foreigner."

Farang - Wikipedia

So, the Ferengi are intended to be us. Westerners, even more specifically Americans. The original TNG bible compares them to 18th and 19th century Yankee traders. Sexist and greedy, patriarchal and dishonest.

I'm pretty sure this was the intention of their look too, especially the noses. Big noses are common in Asian caricatures of Westerners. Check out the Thai sculpture in the link above. According to my father, for example, the Rhade tribe from the Vietnamese Highlands called Americans "big noses" and when he was their military advisor, he was Captain Big Nose.

And then TNG cast a ton of Jewish actors as early Ferengi, and a lot of people saw them completely differently. (Aside, I've heard from some Asian fans that they perceive Ferengi as caricatures of the Cantonese, which speaks to how different cultures see them.)

We were definitely aware of this issue when DS9 came along, and I largely followed the lead of our Jewish-American showrunners on how to handle it. Generally, by digging deep into three different main Ferengi characters and several recurring, I hope we transcended the stereotypes.

We showed Ferengi not as whip-wielding pirate/raiders (not a Jewish trope btw, see Yankee traders), but as a small business owner, a handyman/engineer, and an aspiring Starfleet officer, all struggling with issues of cultural assimilation and grappling with their own culture's shortcomings when it comes to women and greed.

When writing the Ferengi, I drew from my own (white bread, Catholic, Army brat) background, so for example, I saw the Rules of Acquisition not as some kind of take on the Talmud, but as a satire of Western self-help business books, a kind of "How to Win Friends and Influence People," meets "The Devil's Dictionary." The Ferengi afterlife is based on my vague understanding of Chinese traditions I grew up around in San Francisco, etc.

I'm not sure we fully separated the Ferengi from the baggage they came to us with, but we definitely tried.

[nasa]

Celebrate Earth Day with NASA

"We came all this way to explore the Moon, and the most important thing is that we discovered the Earth." - Apollo 8 astronaut Bill Anders

On Dec. 24, 1968, Anders snapped this iconic photo of "Earthrise" during the historic Apollo 8 mission. As he and fellow astronauts Frank Borman and Jim Lovell became the first humans to orbit the Moon, they witnessed Earth rising over the Moon's horizon. The image helped spark the first #EarthDay on April 22, 1970.

Anders sat down with Dr. Kate Calvin, our chief scientist and senior climate advisor, to chat about the photo, and NASA’s role in studying our home.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[pdouwes]

Don't be offended by my frank analysis, think of it as personality dialysis. Now that I've chosen to become a pal, a sister and advisor, there's nobody wiser!

[neonross]

♥️Hearts Court♥️

I was going to do frank next, but I don't dictate what my hand does, sooooo we're doing Poppy and Barnaby

Poppy and Barnaby are not originally from the hearts kingdom, however they do reside their and are even part of Wally's court, Poppy is a sorceress,

and Barnaby the Kings advisor, although he likes to tell and refer to himself to people as the kings jester.

Originally from the kingdom of Clubs, they moved around the time when Wally was young and his mother was in power

Wally and Barnaby basically grew up in the same castle, and became close because of that

Poppy was also very good friends with wallys mother

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 13 "Come not with a Sword"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

A/N: I apologize for the delay, I've been thinking about the Kinktober prompts a little too hard 🥹 But chapter 13 is ready to be served and I want to thank everyone who takes the time to comment because that literally is the one thing that makes actually writing this instead of just playing it out in my head worth it 💕💕💕 I appreciate you so much.

CW: Suicidal thoughts, implied abuse, something like attempted suicide, but also… be not afraidt

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Day 15

With the opening door breezes a cool rush from the hallway and in comes Lilia, her gold-speckled eyes like coins of color against the black backdrop as she tries to switch off her smile like one might try and fail to switch off the sun.

Mikhail's sharp jaw turns, lips quirked into a crooked grin as the handmaid's shape flutters past him. His cocky eyes drift to the swell of her ass beneath her white servant's robes, his longing glance cut short by the closing door.

"You're in a good mood." The relic ceases the tender rubbing over her healing port and the delicate layer of new skin under the inconspicuous, shaved patch.

"I thought you weren't watching, forgive me." Lilia misinterprets the woman's quizzical look and scrambles to place the stack of new whalefurs and blankets on the lower end of the bed.

"Wasn't I looking right at you?"

The handmaid counters with an openness that might have cost her her tongue with any of her former Lords or Ladies. "Well, sometimes when you're looking right at me, it seems like you don't see me at all." And she doesn't mean the way the hallowed family or the advisors and generals refuse to see her. She feels like she's a ghost to her Lady sometimes, those faraway eyes twitching in hypnotizing patterns like she's a lucid dreamer dancing through a waking dream.

"An old habit. I'm just… Dissociating. Practicing Harkunnin."

"Without looking at any tapes? I only saw you looking at them once."

The relic pulls one of the furs over her crossed legs on the bed. So soft. Her beloved and her new, eight-arm-legged friend will love them. She deflects quickly: "The new guard, do you know him?"

"Oh, uh, in a way!" Lilia turns to the vanity and wipes at an invisible stain with her sleeve. In the mirror, she catches her Lady's glance, this time anything but dissociated. It almost burns her, to be actually looked at by someone of higher standing, but it's a pleasant burn.

Both women are sniffing each other's lies out like a dog does freshly cut meat in the other room, but Lilia breaks first, throwing up her arms in a gesture of giggly defeat. Fine!

"Mikhail's my husband," the maid blushes and lowers her head. "He wants you to know that he's very happy with his upgraded chair."

"Your husband!" The relic exclaims with a bright jolt of her facial features. "Yes, he told me that three times already." She dismissively swats away the talk about the chair. "I couldn't help but notice the look on his face when you passed him. Looked like he wanted to eat you."

"Well, I hope so." Lilia's bold tone contrasts with the way she awkwardly sits down on the vanity stool, one wiggling leg crossed over the other and her chin buried in her palm.

The woman on the bed bursts out laughing and rubs at her eyes, reclining against the headboard. "I feared he was molesting you. If he was, I'd have shown him how we dealt with molesters on Earth."

"I assure you, my Lady, I can give as good as I can get." Lilia's features shift into something as feral as anything living on Giedi Prime is bound to become. Beneath the chiseled mask of unyielding subservience lurk the same baser instincts that incite any organism. The relic has no trouble at all imagining Lilia and her husband fucking each other silly in their sparse free time.

"Oh, good." Snickering, she points at her handmaid with a sweeping finger gun, the motion awkward in its silliness, misplaced among the radiation and murder. "You tell him."

"Mikhail can be all bark and bite until you get to know him. You just need to know how to pet him right," Lilia diligently explains.

"That sounds like Feyd, to be honest."

"Really?" The maid's bobbing leg freezes mid-air. Not only is it improper to talk about the na-Baron in such a demeaning way, it is also deadly. Her shoulders then drop— because it is also true, which almost makes her even more giggly because of the depravity of it.

"Yes, absolutely." The Earth woman's impish smile dissolves into thoughtful tendrils. "But it's not just that. There's so much more that I get to see." The talk of marriage spins the wheel of her thoughts further. "Forgive me the impolite question, but-"

"Nothing to forgive ever, my Lady!" Lilia butts in.

"I disagree, but… I can't help but wonder, did you marry because you were forced to?" 

"Oh, no." Trustfully, Lilia scoots closer to the bed, toes wagging and fingers drumming on her own cheeks. If anyone will understand her, it's the woman from old Earth. "We married out of love. Mikhail would throw a tantrum if he knew I told you but… I was the one who asked him to marry me." The ambers that are the woman's eyes spark to life with a golden glow. Nourishing sun beams. "And he said yes."

Something green then springs into bloom inside the relic's chest, a leaf to her tender sapling perhaps. Hope, she finds, tastes pink and yellow— cherry blossoms and lemons. A single goodness is enough to peel away her lurching belief that the universe of her people's descendants is inherently poisoned into badness.

"That is wonderful, Lilia. I'm so happy for you. I will make sure that nothing happens to you or your husband." I will make your life better.

The maid blushes purple, eyes lowered to her own knees.

"But that's our task, my Lady, to protect you."

"I don't think anyone can really protect me, but that's fine." She'll just have to adapt. The astronaut is unhappy with the course of her thoughts, the tender leaf ruffled by the winds that tug on it from all directions. She is almost thankful when her handmaid brings up the silly chair again.

"Sooo, about that chair." Lilia purses her lips with a jolly quiver of curiosity. "How did you…?" Her glance sweeps to the cryo pod before she lowers it shamefully.

An electric charge of wary caution prickles along the relic's nerves and she weighs her words with care. If this knee-jerk act of empathy on a desperate night is going to cost her the revelations of her secrets, she is going to hurl herself off that balcony.

Unknowingly, Mikhail saves her from the explanation, knocking then strutting into the room with his slightly o-shaped gait, toolbox in hand, folded chair under his arm.

"M'sorry Ladies," he drawls with an exaggerated extension of the last vowel. "I am to seal that ventilation shaft, confidentially."

Mikhail doesn't seem to give a shit about keeping the relationship to his wife a secret. He seems to give few shits about the proper tone in general. 

"Confidentially?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Na-Baron said so himself, eh." He taps the transponder button behind his ear, its placement quite similar to the relic's fine chip port.

Confidentially. So, the Baron mustn't know that his pet has been taking liberties and befriending the unwelcome guest. Feyd has told her of the many deaths, the many rebirths, Gholas, when he held her tight the other night. Memories embedded in the flesh, a scientific breakthrough lost to a universe's political machinations. It makes her sick as much as it fascinates her.

"You know how to seal a ventilation shaft?" The Earth woman questions with a suspicious lilt.

"I know my way around things, eh. Seen some things, done some things before I joined the troops."

"If it really needs to be done, let me do it!" The engineer quizzically ogles the electrical welder that Mikhail swoops out of the toolbox. 24,000 years later, and some tools haven't changed at all. She's almost yearning to get her hands around it, but Mikhail, whistling something low in his throat, disregards her prompt benevolently.

She hadn't seen to the ventilation hatch sooner, hoping that the being named Glugo would come for a secret visit once more. Now she is forced to watch Lilia's husband climb on the plastic chair (upgraded with an unfoldable flap to rest his legs upon) whose statics are not balanced to carry a standing man.

"The Lady said you were looking at my ass earlier, is that right?" Lilia has jumped up from the stool, sauntering over with a swing to her hips.

"So what if I— huurghh!"  She pokes the back of her husband's thighs, causing his ticklish hamstrings to contract into a twitch. "Ah! Woman-" 

Mikhail sputters a litany of curses in Harkunnin and Lilia has to grab a whole two handfuls of ass to keep the wiry guard from flying off the wobbly chair.

The relic can't help but laugh and laugh, even when her cheeks start hurting. So alien, that feeling, as alien as the colors green, pink and yellow have become.

"Give me an hour and I'll print you a ladder!"

So, love, after all.

It turns out, real love can be born out of any sort of wasteland.

Day 20

The engagement - canceled! How delightful! Things couldn't be going much better for Vladimir Harkonnen. Though there is room for improvement. His darling nephew still sneaks into the concubine wing with its single, occupied quarters each night. Vladimir hadn't expected Feyd-Rautha to recover from the blow of rejection so quickly.

No wedding! It's only a matter of time until the order of robed poison whisperers comes knocking on his orbit and demands that he make it happen. They might even want to install a witchy pestilence in his palace to observe the process. It puts him in the mood for good old-fashioned femicide, but for now he has bigger concerns.

Because Feyd almost looks happier than before and that is decidedly against the rules.

The Baron is nothing if not a kill-joy, and so he waits, half-afloat in a bog of oily bath water and self-complacence.

To kill her like the sorry graftling, that might be a bit much, though he had entertained the idea as early as when he first saw the needy gleam in his nephew's eyes when speaking of that woman. Wouldn't it be fun to have her killed and remade as a Ghola, the same flesh but unable to remember a thing about Feyd-Rautha?

No, no, no - The Baron needs to play his nephew like a fine instrument, as tempting as it might be to punch him like a drum with a stick. With well past 80 years of age, Vladimir is slowly growing tired of mind games.

If the Bene Gesserit are telling the truth, the woman has already had her rebirth. A mummy out of the ice. And she might as well be dead to him, the way she stays in her chambers as silent and unmoving as a corpse. That's all right with the Baron. He doesn't need to see the toy his nephew wets his dick with.

But a proper meeting is long overdue.

And so he waits and exhales herbal vapor into the soggy air, the only sounds being the drip-drip-drip of oily, steaming bath water whenever he lifts his heavy arm, and the pistons of his lung machine.

Then, a hollow rumble shakes the bath crypt's vaulted ceiling. The door opens to a rectangle of light from the hallway and a waft of cold air stirs the lazy molecules, quickly swallowed by thick, muggy air.

A figure cuts through the fumes, broad shoulders, dark eyes gleaming past the fog. So anxious that boy.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. You've left me waiting. Too busy to indulge your old uncle in a bit of your precious time?"

There are no guards, no slaves. Feyd-Rautha stands stiff as a board in front of his uncle's tub, knowing what it means. He offers no response.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with your new toy." The Baron's neck wobbles as he tilts his head.

"So? What's a new toy if I don't play with it?"

Vladimir laughs and laughs until his lungs hurt from the rotting disease inside. The pistons of the bulbous breathing apparatus that hovers like a moon in his back jump up and down with wheezing jolts. "I'm starting to feel a bit neglected."

Anxiety is barely the right word to describe the crippling tightness behind her sternum when she walks down the bug-like bowels of the palace pyramid. After almost three weeks of being huddled up in the illusionary safety of her chambers, her advance down the hallway feels like she had just given birth to herself, more vulnerable even than she had been when the sisterhood freed her from her sarcophagus and she came out spitting the thawed, amniotic fluid.

Guarded by Mikhail, his presence does little to brighten her mood today. And then he stands still in the middle of the corridor, footfall stopping so that the only sound she's left with is her thundering heart.

"Ain't allowed to go closer." His jaws and neck are ramrod stiff as he jerks his chin to the far door. Tall and glinting black, it may as well have led to hell. "But you go. It'll be fine."

Fine is no word that agrees with her when she is invited by the Baron Harkonnen himself without a given reason. She didn't even have the time to have Feyd in the training hall informed.

"Okay," is all she manages with a small voice, not looking at her guard for affirmation. Mikhail is glad for it, because anxiety is ticking in the veins under his temples. He doesn't know what the Baron wants of his new Lady, but he knows of the dead slaves that are frequently carted from the bath chambers to the meat plants. "Please don't let anyone into my room."

"Yes, my Lady."

And so she walks with only a bobbing glowglobe left for company and her gun in its makeshift holster which sits snug against her waist, concealed by a jacket whose armpits have long grown clammy with anxious sweat.

Come quietly, don't knock, the note had said. Gingerly, her fingers wrap around the cold, bulbous handle and quietly push the door open, just a crack so she can slip through.

She finds herself blinded, venturing into the dense fog that nearly takes her breath away. It smells of herbs and metal, the scent so thick she can taste it at the back of her throat. Immediately, her jacket clings to her arms from the humidity. The sound of distant bubbling drones out her quiet footsteps on black, slippery tiles.

The room takes shape and structures emerge from the thick mist, an oval contour, a pale mountain, a person standing at the side. She parts the fog and freezes with a thousand little icicles in her chest.

Feyd-Rautha stands next to his uncle's bathtub, his tunic discarded, his bare shoulders milky and damp as oily, scented steam curls off them, muscles rolling as he turns to face the unexpected visitor. His teeth clench tight, a muscle snapping like a whipcord across his jaw.

Her poor beloved looks at her with such horror, she may as well have been the apparition of her own naked corpse. His hands are frozen at the hem of his trousers, pushed below his hip bones with just the top of his flaccid cock peeking out.

He is the minotaur at the center of a prison-maze and his woman is the gun with its cold muzzle pressed directly at his forehead. Fog slips from the bath chamber into his mind and the world begins to spin.

The woman's dumbstruck gaze sways slowly to the Baron who sits half-submerged in oily liquid. The top of his massive, fleshy chest wobbling just above the surface. Veins are stretched thin across the expanse of skin, each blood vessel leaving a purple imprint against his sickly pallor. Her glassy eyes remind Vladimir of his dear nephew's when he was still young and sweet, afraid and confused.

The Baron smirks, lifts one fat arm on the back of the tub with a playful bat of his fingers, rings clanking on the tiles, as if to say 'Hello, little pawn'.

Glass shatters in her eyes and if she could strike him down with anger, she would. The Baron's meaty finger twitches to his thickest ring that hugs his middle finger like a capsule and the fog around him snaps and ripples. A shield powered by a tiny Holtzman generator, and the first time she sees one in action. The hidden gun at her ribs taunts her with its uselessness.

Helpless like a fly in a web, she averts her gaze from the thick, white tarantula patriarch who mocks her with glinting, beady eyes below his saggy brows. She has no weapon, no tool to obliterate the devastation in her beloved's eyes, the humiliation that has burrowed itself so deep that neither fingers nor knives could claw out its festering tumors.

"Feyd…" Her voice dies with his cold, wet stare.

"Isn't my dear nephew pretty like this?" The Baron drones, stirring the waters with a gooey, fat knee. "But I suppose you've seen him already. Just remember that I've seen him more often." Seen him— and touched him.

Feyd snaps into a crouch, picks up his belt and tunic, long limbs turned into stiff, hard rods. With no sound besides his feverish breath, he rushes past her. The touch of tender fingers on his naked belly makes him jump like a wounded foal and he finds his voice, a low-pitched bellow that echoes off the cavernous chamber walls a thousandfold.

"Get away from me, woman!"

The door bangs open and out the fog bursts a haunted bull, stampeding down the corridor. Veins across his hands and arms are swollen thick from the humidity, blood races through them hard and fast as punches the glowglobe to shards. He slings the belt around his hips and yanks the tunic over his head savagely, his own blood running down his knuckles. Mikhail has wisely removed himself.

"Feyd, I'm so sorry, please wait, please let me—"

"I said get the fuck away from me!" His voice cracks, his uncle's laughter rings in his ears like death knells. The Baron has poisoned her now with an image she will see every time she lies with him, every time she looks at him. Her steps grow quicker. So do his.

"I didn't know what he wanted!" She pleads. "If I had known, I would have killed him straight from the door!"

"No one can kill him!" Feyd-Rautha spits over his shoulder, takes a sharp turn, away from the concubines' corridor, dizzy from the fog, dizzy from the rage. "I've tried, too many times!" Bracing himself against the wall, he runs onward, collecting dirt under his damp soles.

His darling calls for him. This time, he draws his blade and her little footsteps falter at his back. Immediately, his throat draws tight. Wetness blurs his sight and he wants to curl up, curl up with his blade, with his blade tucked against his tummy. His bloodied palm finds the panel to unlock his own chambers.

There is no peace there.

A tiny sob from behind him makes him jolt over the threshold. He doesn't want her pity, he wants her rage. He wants to die.

She is quicker than the closing door and bursts inside his room together with him. A quick glance across the large room, vaulted ceilings, glossy windows with the shutters half closed, the furniture hard and uninviting.

Despite Feyd's build and height, she manages to tackle him to the ground, or rather, he stumbles in his hysterical attempt to pull away from her. He rolls on his back, hand on her tummy in a half-hearted attempt to keep her from crawling over him.

"Please, please, please, you're panicking. I'm here!"

Yes, that's the exact fucking problem. She was there.

Feyd-Rautha laughs, tears streaking from his eyes to his ears, tongue peeking out between his blackened teeth. He presents his blade which gleams in tear-wet astigmatism. Real pretty. It would be even prettier embedded in his neck, dripping with his blood. His darling's belly rises and falls under his palm in quick fearful breaths. 

"What d-do you want with the blade? Please, put it down, please put it down, please—"

Oh God, it's not at all meant for her, she realizes when Feyd-Rautha points the glinting blade at his throat. It's meant for him. 

Her fingers lock like vises around his wrist, nails digging into the thin, white skin. Feyd giggles, biceps clenched as he guides the knife slowly to its soft target, free hand sprawled across her belly, twisted into the flesh. To push her away or to pull her closer; maybe both.

Is he really trying, or just trying to scare her? Her arms aren't really stronger than his, yet she somehow manages to drag the blade away from his jugular, clutching his wrist so hard, his carpal bones are bruising her palm.

"Stop this, stop this, stop this!" She yells with each hearty tug.

The sharp tip jerks down and scrapes over his collar bone, a little curve, a  crescent shape. Feyd gasps a wet little moan, giggling through his stinging tears as blood slips down his shoulder, warm and wet. His woman fumbles for something under her jacket and he finds himself presented with the barrel of a gun made of half-transparent plastic. He nearly goes cross-eyed before he starts laughing.

"Yes, shoot me, my darling!" Feyd-Rautha slurs hysterically, twisting his fingers hard into her stomach. He nearly grows hard from the idea of his rotten brain matter splattering across the gross tiles of this insidious room, finally delivered from evil. No one would be better to do it than the angel from his dreams. She'd have to burn his corpse afterwards, so the Baron can't have him brought back.

He still holds the blade, metal tremoring above his neck, now contained by only the counterforce of her non-dominant hand. Her clammy fingers fumble with the hammer of the gun. 

"Put the blade down, or do I need t-to shoot your fucking hand off, Feyd?" She pleads and his eyes snap up with sudden fury, mouth twisting into hardness, eyes spilling over with shiny tears. His arm flexes, pulling her clenched hand right with him in its pathetic belief that she could stop him with the strength of her body. The black-hot tip kisses his neck.

The relic snaps the gun up and points it at herself, the muzzle cold and grounding against her damp temple.

Laughter fades at once. Feyd-Rautha's brows furrow and his grip slackens, deeply disturbed. "My darling… What are you doing?"

"Drop the blade right now!" 

He obeys without thinking, weapon clattering across the tiles before his palms find her hips, clinging to them in fear. "What are you doing with that gun? Stop that— You c-can't leave me."

"And you can't leave me." With a deep exhale and smoldering eyes, she places the gun right next to Feyd's knife, a tiny click of plastic on marble. His fingers clench, his belly where she's seated jumps with quick breaths. 

"I still love you," she sighs and Feyd-Rautha's entire body goes slack. Maybe that's what he needed to hear all along. "Of course, I still love you!" 

Her voice cracks, her shoulders slump. Crying, she throws herself over him, forcing her arms around his neck to serve as pillows for his head. Cheek to cheek, she kisses his tear-streaked skin. Feyd's arms slide home around her back, holding her to him like a blanket.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay. You're my love and nothing could ever change that." Brief laughter tickles his ear. "When I woke up, I thought I belonged nowhere. But that's not true, because I belong with you and you belong with me. I think I've been floating through space for 24,000 years just to get to you."

He is so ashamed. He never wants to come back out of her embrace.

"I'll find a way," she promises, a sweet whisper against his ear. Already, the gears have started turning in her head and her interface twinkles like a shooting star to make a wish. "We'll kill him."

Feyd wants nothing more than to believe her. His fingers trail up her spine, to the nape of her neck. His flesh burns with vile memories. "Can you— Can you still touch me and make it go away?"

"Of course, my love. I will make it go away. I'll make it better." Her voice trembles from the decision she's made. "I will make it all better."

Come not here in the sun! Come not with a sword! Come not crying over a naked corpse! Come not with a disturbed mind!

- Druth (Hellblade)

A/N: To distract you from your killing fantasies, I think this is the right time to mention that Lilia and Mikhail are my lovely bestie's and my OCs in Dune disguise and I love them so absurdly much, your honor 🥹❤️

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst

[krasytoonz]

friends

[wordstome]

kingdom come - ii

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting

4.4k words

tw: none

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Let's have something lighthearted and playful after the absolute Week the cod fandom has had, shall we?

“What do you mean he’s letting you kill him?”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Calliope, I thought I made myself quite clear.”

“But…but that’s mad!”

“He is mad!” You shove the sleeves of your blouse over your arms. “But I’m still alive, so I’m not complaining.”

“Of course. Should I send word to your father about these new developments?”

You bite your lip. “No,” you say. Something catches your eye outside the window, and you move closer to have a look. König is outside, walking with one of his advisors while eating an apple. It’s a strange juxtaposition between the relaxed boyishness of him throwing the apple in the air and catching it, and the stark, emotionless expression of the mask covering half his face.

As if he can feel your gaze on you, he looks upwards, eyes locking with yours. You shudder and quickly shut the curtains.

“I can do this.” You say, determined.

“You’re not eating.”

You stare resolutely at him from across the table. “I’m not hungry.”

He sighs, as if you’re a difficult child he’s being forced to babysit. “I heard your stomach growl. The food won’t bite back.”

“To be frank, I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Who the fuck is Frank?”

You glower at him. “I know this is all a game to you, but I’m trying to stay alive.”

“By not eating?”

You look down at the food dubiously, and your doubt must be written all over your face, because König laughs. “Surely you do not think so lowly of me that I would poison my bride at the breakfast table,” he taunts. “That wouldn’t be in the spirit of the hunt.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for presuming otherwise of the man who asked me to eat a nightshade berry.”

He rolls his eyes. “One berry can’t kill a full-grown man. Or woman.” He takes a sip of wine. “And besides, that wasn’t the point of our little encounter in the garden anyway.”

Your hunger wins out over your apprehension. “Enlighten me,” you say, tucking into the food.

“Isn’t it obvious? I was testing you to see if you were going to try and kill me.” He points a fork with a piece of sausage on it at you. “Quiet, secluded place with nobody watching, plenty of exits. You surprised me by staring at me like a startled doe.”

“You caught me off guard,” you mutter. “You’re a very off-putting person.”

He gives you a bemused look. “You’re not a very good assassin.”

You bristle. “I assure you, if my target was anybody else, they would already be dead.”

“Tell me, princess. Have you ever killed anybody?”

“I’ve killed.”

“A human.”

“I know how to kill someone!”

“So that’s a no.”

You’re fuming at this point, your meal long forgotten. “It’s not to my advantage to let you know what I can and can’t do.”

He studies you, twirling his fork in an admittedly mesmerizing motion. “And your father sent you here, to kill me, having never spilled another person’s blood before.”

“My father prepared me my entire life for this.”

“Not sure that speaks highly of your skill.”

You’re already tired of him. “What’s the point of this?” you demand. “A smarter man would have either killed me or thrown me in a cell by now.”

“Not a smarter man, a boring one,” König corrects.

“So you have a death wish.”

“Of course not. I have much to live for. Eating, killing, fucking. Great fun. But not enough on its own.” His grin is near wolfish as he stares you down.

“You are vile.”

“You could be doing something about that.”

You look at him in mortified disbelief. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“I was referring to killing me, but it is interesting that’s where your mind went first.” He looks entirely too pleased with himself, as if he’s caught you in a clever trap.

“Fuck you.”

“Now we’re talking!” He stands up, and for one fleeting moment, you fear he’s about to make good on the offer, but instead he just wipes his mouth and makes to leave.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this little bout of verbal sparring, I have somewhere to be.”

“You seem in quite a rush to leave my presence, for a man who seems so convinced I won’t be able to kill him.” If he wants to be a smart little asshole, you can too.

“Ah, believe me, princess. I would like nothing more than to spend all day in your lovely, murderous presence. But unfortunately, I have responsibilities.” He runs a hand through his tousled hair, and you studiously ignore the way your stomach flips a little at the motion. “I’m obligated to hear petitions.”

You stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“Why? It’s fucking dull.”

“So I can have more opportunities to kill you.”

“Yes. Of course.” Again with that smile. You’ve never met anyone half as pleased to be in your presence as he is. (The only exception is Calliope, but she kind of has to be near you.) This man simply refuses to act in any normal manner whatsoever, and it’s starting to get on your nerves. You throw your dagger at the back of his head more out of irritation than a dedicated effort to kill him.

He catches it in the air with casual precision and keeps walking. “Too predictable, little one.”

You should be concerned by his razor-sharp reflexes, but it’s difficult to feel anything but annoyance right now. And…respect?

You get up and follow him before you can give yourself a chance to dissect that.

König was right. This is dull.

At first, the concept of receiving petitioners seemed like an amusing prospect. But in practice, it’s all politics and people complaining about taxes.

You entertain yourself by watching König. He seems just as bored, if not more, as you. He appears to be intrigued by your dagger: examining it, testing the edge, handling the heft.

Some man is talking animatedly with his hands, bemoaning some property dispute with his neighbor. You’re sure that if König rolls his eyes any harder into the back of his skull, he’ll go pigeon-eyed. Admirably, he manages to push through—if it had been you, you would have just told the man to get out and stop wasting your time. As loathe as you are to admit it, König is a good leader.

“Alright, we’re done here. Tell them to go home,” König says, dismissing everyone with a flick of his wrist. The guards begin to push the doors closed when one last man runs in, near crazed, and throws himself on the floor, babbling incoherently.

“What is the meaning of this?” König demands, immediately standing up. The guards begin to approach the man, hands on swords.

“Wait! Please, your majesty, I beg of you,” the man pleads. “I have journeyed many days to come here and beseech your aid.”

König heaves a sigh. “Spit it out then.”

“Thank you, my king,” the man pants, pushing himself up to a standing position. “There’s a beast. In the south.”

“A beast?”

“It’s ravaging the countryside. It follows the flocks, but it doesn’t eat them. It’s…” The man swallows hard. He looks weary, run ragged no doubt by his arduous journey to the capital. “It’s taking our children, sir.”

König’s eyes narrow. “And you haven’t attempted to track it down yourself?”

“We’ve tried, your majesty. Our most skilled hunters have gone after it.” The man sways unsteadily on his feet. “None of them have come back.”

“Has anyone laid eyes on it? Is it a wolf?”

“None who have seen it have returned to tell the tale.”

König leans back, looking contemplative. One of his advisors speaks. “We’ve received reports about this already, sire. We’ve dispatched soldiers already but had no luck.”

The man shakes his head frantically. “It doesn’t leave anyone behind to tell the tale, sir. Not many people dare to go into the woods anymore, and the ones that do…they don’t come back right.”

“How so.”

The man’s voice betrays his naked fear, trembling. “They go mad, sir. Some think…some think it’s the fae’s doing.”

That seems to finally get König’s interest. He leans forward, his entire demeanor stiffening. A hush falls over the people gathered as the man invokes the fair folk’s name.

Everybody knows the fae exist. In hushed whispers, people tell the old stories: of when the fair folk lived among men and ruled over them with cruelty and trickery. There are some forests people know to stay out of. And when a newborn babe fusses just a bit too much, or a child grows up a little too quiet, the rumors fly in secret.

The fae are cruel, beautiful, and nearly impossible for a mortal to kill. If they’re involved in this matter with the beast, then that village is as good as dead.

Before König can say anything, the man fidgets and turns. You watch as his attention lands on you, eyes widening. Something his gaze becomes unfocused, misty, his chest beginning to heave as he visibly panics.

“You…they’re here…THEY’RE HERE!” With a crazed look on his face, the man lunges towards you, moving at a threatening speed. Your hand goes instinctively to your hidden sheathe, but your fingers close around air. Shit! König still has your dagger. You brace to defend yourself as the man draws even closer—

Like a deadly blur, König is on the man in an instant. The force of him knocks you backwards, watching in shock as König subdues the screaming, flailing man with cold, expert precision.

As if in slow motion, you watch with a mixture of horror and fascination as he turns to look at you. His eyes, usually a tranquil pale green, are blue. Vivid blue, with an unearthly glow to them that makes you wonder if you’re hallucinating. You feel like a butterfly pinned to cork by that stare, simultaneously trapped and admired.

He blinks, once, and his eyes are green again.

With what looks like no effort at all, he turns the man on his stomach and pins his arms behind him as he struggles and hollers. “Put this one in a cell,” he says with a deep growl. “We’ll see what he has to say for himself when he’s in his right mind again. If he ever is.” The guards rush forward to haul the man away as König stands back up.

He gives the rest of the room a cursory glance. “Well? Back to your duties.”

The gawking staff quickly gather themselves and scatter. König claps his hands together as if dusting off some nuisance.

“…Why did you do that?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

He gives you a skeptical look. “Why did I defend my queen from an attacker?”

You take a deep breath. Gods preserve you. “I’m not your anything.”

“Technically untrue. You are my wife, which makes you the queen.” He strides over to you and offers you your dagger, holding the blade so you can grab the hilt.

Its weight soothes you as you put it back into its rightful place. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve already said I have no intention of killing you. Besides, it wouldn’t look good for me if I allowed you to be attacked in your own home.”

This isn’t my home, you almost say, but stop yourself. You’re starting to sound too much like a whining child, and you don’t like it.

You surprise the both of you with what comes out of your mouth next. “Thank you.”

He’s looking at you that way again, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You’re welcome.” He averts his eyes, hesitating for a moment like he wants to say more. Then he evidently thinks better of it and strides away from you.

“My lady!” Calliope rushes forward, concern written all over her face. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, just…shaken,” you say, still watching König leave. “I’m fine.”

“Simply outrageous. I can’t believe none of the guards got to that man in time,” she fumes, fussing over you in her way.

“Yes, well. König got here in time. So no harm was done.”

Calliope follows your gaze, eyes narrowing at König’s retreating backside just as he turns the corner and vanishes from sight. “I don’t like that one.”

“Neither do I,” you snort.

“No, pet. Listen to me.” Startled, you turn to look at her. You haven’t heard her take on this tone in quite a while: the last time was when you had broken your wrist trying to scale one of the abandoned towers back home. You can’t quite recall why you had been trying to do that, but you do remember the worried look on her face, and the sternness of her words.

“He’s not right,” she says. “Something’s wrong about him.”

It’s a foregone conclusion to say that König is no ordinary man, but something about the furrow of Calliope’s brow tells you that more is happening here than she’s letting on. “Are you going to elaborate?”

A strange look passes over her face, like a cloud briefly blocking the sun. “No.”

You wait for a few moments before nodding. Whatever it is, you trust her to know what’s best. “I see. Though I didn’t need a warning on how dangerous he is, you know.”

“You are a smart girl,” she says wistfully, straightening your ruffled clothes a bit. “But there are some things that are not for you to understand.”

“I have to understand, if I’m to kill him.”

She frowns. “I think you should put that out of your mind for now.”

“What?”

“I mean, you may have to play a longer game with this one. There’s too much we don’t know.”

You open your mouth, then close it. She’s right. There was something bone-chilling about the way he looked at you just now, but instead of feeling afraid, you feel something different. Curiosity. Fascination.

Not for the first time—or the last—you feel drawn to him.

König’s been antsy lately.

You’ve gotten quite good at reading his moods, even when he’s wearing the hood. The rest of his body betrays him: his shoulders are tense, and his fingers are constantly toying with a phantom knife. He prefers to be fidgeting with an actual one, but it tends to make him too intimidating for that to be practical.

You’ve taken Calliope’s advice and taken to studying your target rather than trying to end him and be done with it. There’s a lot to notice, which is surprising: you’d taken him for some mindless hulking brute upon first impression. It’s clear that he’s intelligent, with a cunning quickness to his thinking that both impresses and chills you.

Shame he’s still as much of a raging pervert as he was in the beginning, though.

“You know, I wasn’t sure about you in pants at first, but now I think you should wear them more often,” he says, surprising you during target practice. He startles you enough to throw your shot off, the arrow clattering uselessly to the ground below the target.

“Can I help you?” you demand, giving him a venomous side eye.

“Not at all, princess. Just admiring the view.” He leans against a nearby post, watching your confused expression. It takes him shifting his gaze downward for you to realize what he means.

“Ugh!” Without hesitation, you nock another arrow and shoot it at him, aiming right between his eyes. He dodges it, of course.

“You can’t expect me to marry a pretty woman and not look at her,” he says smugly.

It’s an unfamiliar situation, being desired. You don’t have much experience with this sort of thing: not only are you the king’s daughter, but you tend to give off a chilly, hyper-competent aura that keeps men with fragile egos away from you. You’ve only had one encounter with a man: a shy kiss behind the stables, featherlight touches that sent tingles through your whole body.

König has never touched you, but the way he looks at you is enough to make you blush. You should be indignant, but instead you find you don’t mind all that much.

“Why are you bothering me?” you say instead of responding to what he said.

“Bothering you? I’m hurt,” he says, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve physically wounded him. “I came to inform you of my departure.”

“Your what?” you ask, gawking at him. “Where are you going?”

“Do you remember that man who came to tell us about the beast?”

“You mean the man who attacked me? I’d forgotten,” you say drily.

“Your wit is as alluring as ever,” he responds. “I’ve decided to enlist the help of the most competent man I know to deal with the threat.”

“And who would that be?”

“Me, of course.”

You shoot him a confused look. “You’re leaving to deal with something personally?”

“It’s too perilous of a problem to continue throwing my men at,” he says, taking on a more serious tone. He’s toying with a knife again: a hefty, aggressive-looking thing with a jagged edge. “If you want something done, you need to do it yourself. Or at least lay eyes on the problem yourself.”

“You’re not worried at all about dying and leaving your throne empty?” you ask disbelievingly. This is beyond reckless, verging on foolish.

“Don’t start,” he sighs. “I just got out of a hours-long meeting with my advisors. Anything you could say to me, they’ve already told me a dozen times. It won’t change my mind.” One look at him tells you he’s dead serious, and won’t be persuaded otherwise.

“Well, when do we leave?”

“We?”

“Yes, of course. I’m coming with you,” you say, puzzled at his confusion.

“You are not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“It’s too dangerous. And besides, the journey won’t be pleasant. I’ll be traveling without guards or servants.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Too much of a hassle. I’ll get there faster if I’m traveling alone. Emphasis on alone. Besides, I would prefer not to be sending any innocents to their deaths.”

“You’ll need someone to watch your back.”

“And you think you qualify?”

“Yes!”

He chuckles at your indignant tone. “With all due respect, my queen, I doubt you could take care of yourself out there, much less be of use to me.”

You wish he wouldn’t call you that. It makes your chest feel strange. Which isn’t helpful when you’re getting mad at him for doubting your competence.

“If you go alone, you might not come back,” you retort. “If I come with you, I can ensure you don’t come back.”

He looks at you, startled, and proceeds to let out a hearty laugh. “You are full of surprises,” he says. “It won’t be like a vacation, you know. We’ll have to travel light.”

“I can handle that.”

“I’m sure you can. The question is, can you handle whatever beast those villagers are so worried about? You may not worry about my wellbeing, but I would worry about your own first.”

“You don’t think I can hold my own?”

“To be honest? No.”

“Then let me prove myself.” You step right up to him, so close that your face is nearly pressed to his chest. God, he’s so big. And broad— “Let me show you I can hold my own in a fight.”

A sly smile crosses his face. “Alright. Let’s spar.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s. Spar.”

“You want me to fight you?”

“What were you expecting?”

“That’s not a fair fight.”

“You came here to kill me.”

“Assassinations don’t usually happen during prearranged one-on-one fights.”

“Touché. But I’m not asking you to beat me. If I think you’re competent, then you can come along.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I actively do not want you to join me, mind you.”

You let out a quick, angry breath through your nose. Infuriating. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you after lunch, then.”

You turn away from him and trudge over to a tree to pick up some fallen arrows. “What’s the rush? Are you leaving so soon?”

“Tomorrow morning, in fact. Just before dawn.”

“I can wake up that early.”

“No need to put the horse before the carriage here. If you’re going.”

“I’m not concerned.” You bend down to pick a few arrows out of some scrappy tough grass, and when you straighten, König is right there, looming over you like a threatening shadow.

“What—” You gasp as the knife König was fiddling with rushes past your face and embeds itself in the tree trunk behind you.

“I don’t think this is quite getting through to you, so I’ll only say this once,” he mutters darkly, leaning over you to whisper directly into your ear, his hand firmly gripping the knife above your head. “You have nothing to prove to me, and I don’t know what you’re trying to do by insisting you come with me. If you change your mind now, we need not speak about this again.”

You glare up at him. “You’re not going to change my mind. And it’s quite suspicious that you’re trying to.”

“Is it really so difficult to believe that I’m concerned for your welfare?”

You don’t understand him. Being this close to him isn’t helping you think straight, either. There’s no other way to describe it, but it’s almost like you can feel the intensity radiating off him. He smells like pine needles and lye, and some distinctly manly musk that you don’t dislike. And when he’s up close like this, you can see every detail of his eyes, the green streaked with blue and brown.

“It would be easier if you weren’t,” you whisper.

He snorts. “Don’t I know it.” Before you can process what the hell he means by that, he’s pulling his knife out of the tree and stalking off, suddenly in some sulky mood.

You stare at the deep mark left in the bark, wondering what just happened.

“Again,” calls the swordsmaster.

You scramble to your feet, exhausted and sore. “This isn’t fair,” you whine. You’re twelve years old, and the man who’s been teaching you how to fight has just dropped you for what feels like the millionth time in a row.

“How so?”

“You’re bigger than me!” you pout. “And far stronger.”

“That isn’t always an advantage, you know,” he says, doing a flourish with his practice sword that you vow right there and then to master someday.

“How? That’s all fighting is. It’s just big people beating up the little people.”

“Being smaller just means you have to be nimbler.” He gestures for you to come at him again. “Don’t focus on trying to hit me in the chest. Use your size to your advantage and focus on weak points.”

You brandish the practice sword again and ground yourself, steeling yourself with a deep breath before charging. You go for the knees, smacking them so hard that they buckle, bringing your instructor down with a shout.

“I did it!” you beam proudly.

“A little unorthodox, but the job is done,” he pants. “Remember, there is no decorum when you are fighting for your life. It is imperative you intuit your enemy’s weak points and exploit them. Even the strongest enemy can be brought low.”

You nod with determination. “Always go for the knees.” That draws a laugh out of your instructor.

There’s something deeply unnerving about the way this man moves.

König is so big, but he doesn’t move like it. The way he paces reminds you of a big cat: all intimidation and quiet, deadly strength on light feet.

“I’ll let you make the first move,” he says with a crooked smile. He looks deliciously rumpled, the sleeves of his shirt pushed to his elbows. You’re only looking at the swell of his biceps for tactical reasons, of course. Of course.

“How generous,” you reply. Without hesitation, you lunge at him.

He’s ready for you, of course. He matches you hit for hit, parrying you effortlessly. If you thought he was fast before, there’s something downright inhuman about it now. You doubt he’s even breaking a sweat.

He pushes you back, sliding on your feet a little. “Do you seriously have one hand behind your back right now?” you hiss.

“You’re as difficult to fend off as a feather,” he shoots back.

It’s like having a conversation, sparring with him. More than just the banter, of course. You trade blows, each unable to move in too closely to the other. He may be strong, but you’re fast. And you can tell you’re wearing him down.

“Getting tired, big boy?” you taunt.

“Of waiting for you to give up? Perhaps,” he grits out. “Don’t try my patience, princess.”

“I want to watch you squirm,” you respond. You watch as König’s eyes widen slightly. You jump at the opportunity, taking advantage of his moment of shock to knock him off balance and pinning him underneath you.

“That wasn’t so hard,” you purr as he pants under you. “Feel familiar?”

“Last time we were in this position, it didn’t end so well for you,” König shoots back. He can say whatever he wants, but you’ve visibly winded him.

“This time, I went for the knees.”

“Oh?”

“You have buttons that are very entertaining to push, your highness.”

“You little—”

It’s quick. One moment he’s pinned underneath you, and another moment some supernatural strength has him rapidly reversing your positions. He catches you off guard, and you spot a flash of blue in his eyes as the wind is knocked out of your lungs.

“Next time you have an enemy pinned like that, finish the job instead of crowing about your victory,” he hisses.

You wheeze a little before shooting him a coy look. “Struck a nerve, did I?”

“You are an infuriating little minx,” he says, visibly frustrated. He stands up, offering you a helping hand.

You take it, springing up with a little bounce to your step. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Am I coming with you?”

He sighs in consternation. “I suppose you are.”

You give him a little pat on the face. His exposed cheek is warm underneath your palm as he looks at you with an indecipherable expression.

“Glad we sorted that out. See you at dinner,” you say sweetly.

You prance off without a look back. You could use a bath.

MOOOOOOOM THEY'RE FLIRTINGGG

I started out unsure of how this chapter was going to turn out, as it's mostly just setup for the plot to get going. But I ended up having a lot of fun, and some pretty important things are set up in this. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Comments and feedback are of course always appreciated <3

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp

[somewhereincairparavel]

Ok, but like I feel like I've never dove in how Jason was probably the youngest in the legion. Probably for a very, very long time. And imagine how it felt to watch as kids played in new Rome, and eventually joined you. And you could never join them as they played in new rome. Imagine all of the kids you know are older than you, and you can't make friends. Imagine having to lead quests of people way older than you that resent you for it because of your parentage. Imagine how happy he was when people his age finally started joining, and I wishing he could he them? Imagine basically being raised by a bunch of teenagers, many of whom dislike you? Would love to hear ur thoughts

honestly, i imagine all of the older members of the legion whispering behind Jason's back about how easy he has it in camp jupiter bc of his dad, about how he isnt "qualified" enough to lead missions, and how he has everything "handed" to him. i feel like he had a LOT to prove and only when his missions started getting successful, people actually accept that he is capable, but even then envious members of the cohort would say that he got lucky or only succeeded bc of jupiter's blessings or smth. could you imagine a baby jason going to the older members of the legion for advice and they just coolly shrug him off? i feel like in a realistic standpoint, they arent outright mean to him bc they are terrified of jupiter's anger but they arent friendly either.

They just let him sit in a corner. i feel like at some point, even when people his age start coming in, he still wouldnt feel loved, because they all would think jason is too scary or intimidating and would avoid him out of fear, also bc he doesnt understand their jokes bc he was brought up too serious. so he would be an outcast. he would be an outcast but not necessarily in a bad way, but like "he's too good for us" type of way which actually hurts jason way more. like when he comes in they all would give him a small bow or something and it gets on his NERVES.

overall i feel like there is too much jealousy surrounding him for him to have any comfortable conversation with people, especially because he is their "leader" even if he was a praetor very late, people still subconsciously saw him as one, even the old praetors consulted him before they came to a decision.

i feel like the moment people even remotely saw him as a human with feelings is when he joined the least reputed legion simply to popularize it. i feel like that was HIS moment where ppl were like "yep this guy is actually a living person with empathy!" but it reverted back to ppl seeing him as an unapproachable artifact

which is why im so upset that frank and hazel didnt have a closer relationship with him, i mean we did see jason and frank talking together on the deck of argo 2 after jason transferred his praetorship to frank, probably filling him in his position, but i wish their relationship ascended beyond just a mentor and his apprentice. because that concept with jason's character gets so old. literally everyone saw him as an advisor and leader that they could learn from, but who really saw something beyond that about him? only leo, nico, reyna, piper and percy tbh.

and in the end, reyna had a subtle fallout with him so they didnt talk, piper broke up with him so they were awkward and tense, leo "died" and never saw him again, the last time nico saw jason was probably during the strawberry field scene when nico told him he's staying at camp, and jason got too busy with his temple project to see anyone else. he was working to keep his promise till the very end, just like a true roman. honestly thanks to you i might actually expand on this in a separate post and tag you in it :)

[beansnsoup]

The World We Knew

Summary: He was yours, emphasis on was. One day, you were in love, at least you were. The next, He was gone, and you felt as if your whole world had gone in shambles.

Relationship: Romantic?

Character: Loid Forger

Warnings: Angst, Long lost love, fem reader, but it's not a huge part of the storyline, Spy x Family VOL. 10 spoilers!!!!

Note: I hate to have put "blank" when talking about loid but considering the storyline circumstances and volume 10 we still don't know his name, like it was literally bleeped out in the volume itself.

Peace.

It's what the both of you wanted. It's what everybody wanted.

You had known him since you were kids, and you always knew it had been a passion of his to move forward with the war to gain the peace of every townsperson deserved. He wanted more with his life, and that was what he chose.

Out of everyone in the little group you had, you were the closest with him. He had always been so nice to you and never failed to make you feel included.

You weren't a big fan of playing war games with him and the other boys, but you remember one instance where they had told you to just go home because they didn't want you moping around why they were playing their army games.

All of the boys agreed except him.

He suggested you be a nurse. What would happen if they got hurt, and nobody was there to help? You happily took on this role. He always found a way to make you feel special.

When you talked about all of these interactions with your mother, she told you upfront that you had a crush on him. At the time, you were too young to think about having a crush.

However, as you got older and really thought about how much you talked about him and how he made you feel, it was, in fact, a crush.

After the bombing in Westalis, you hadn't seen him in years. You had always assumed that he was caught in the ruble of it all. You know that was thinking the worst, but it was completely possible.

You had decided to volunteer as a nurse for the war, the role you felt you were meant to be in. It just felt right to help out. Plus, if he was alive, you'd knew for a fact he'd be fighting in the war, underage or not. One day, you could see him again.

At the moment, you weren't placed in the hospital wing. You'd instead been sent to go provide food for all the soldiers, the ones in care, and the ones walking around freely.

"Wait... Is that you advisor?"

You overhear someone ask over the ruckus of the townspeople and soldiers, your mind immediately went straight to the first face you had locked with that name, but you knew it couldn't be, there was no possible way.

Even though you had been waiting all these years to hear that name and see that face, it just all still felt so unreal, you just couldn't bear to face the reality of it.

"Genral? Corporal? Major?"

"It is him!"

"It's advisor!"

"No way! It can't be!"

You weren't trying to eavesdrop, but it was very hard not to. They went on and on about how they attempted to search for "advisor" and how much he had grown.

This time, you couldn't help but look back, and they were right. It was him, and he did look the same. It took every strength in you not to walk over and talk to them, they were your friends, but it had been so long, and they were closer to one another, you didn't want to ruin their moment.

"Now all we need now is our nurse, and the whole gang will officially be back together again!" One of the men chimed in, if only they knew you were standing just a few feet away from them. "Yeah, I've been trying to look for her just as much everyone else, she's probably been on my mind the most."

The guys all hooted at this, you pretended it also didn't get a rise out of you while you still acted as if you were more interested in the fruits in front of you instead of the conversation happening behind you.

"Are you free this weekend? There's a great restaurant in the next town over!" The advisor proposed, trying to distract him from what he had previously said. They all explained what they would be up to but how they'd keep in touch.

You had turned back around by this point, but you could tell he was smiling as he they put together their plans.

You listened to them all walk away, then you're mind started racing,

"Should I have gone to talk to them?"

"No, it's okay, they wouldn't have remembered me."

"But I'd be with him."

You jolted back around, just to find none of them there, damn.

-

The war had long since been from over. It had probably been one of the worst moments in your life aside from the bombing you'd experienced as a child.

And after seeing all of your old friends names, all except for him, in the charts marked as deceased you knew wouldn't be able to stand another minute witnessing such torture. So now all you could think about was the fact that you could've spoken to them that one day, before they all passed, but you just couldn't muster up the courage.

But now you were starting a new life in a new area, and maybe he would finally leave your mind and just be a fuzzy memory that you joke about with your future children.

At the thought you hear a child start to laugh, you avert your eyes to the direction. She's a young girl, no more than 6 or 7 years old, and she has pink hair that reaches her shoulders, you smile at her excitement.

Moments like these make your mind wander into a field of imagination of the family you could've built by now. But you were fine with not being settled down just yet because you knew with how much time you had been working as a war aid there wouldn't have been any time for love.

And there was no time for love while your mind was still on him.

You glance down back at your book, reading the paragraph over that you were interrupted from.

"Papa! Look! Look at all of the cows!"

"Yes, I see them." He chuckled in response.

Your eyes widen, head jolting back up to the familes direction, that voice.

"Genral? Corporal? Major?"

"...She's been on my mind the most."

"Are you free this weekend?"

It was him, it had to be, there was no doubt about it.

You wanted to walk up and say hi, but you didn't know how weird that would be, considering you had once had your chance for a reunion but blew it. But maybe it was time, even if he had a child next to him, and she called him 'Papa.'

Yet at the same time, you didn't want to regret it for the rest of your life by not going up to speak and reminisce with him like last time.

You would have given anything for him to look at you again.

In that moment, you had decided that it was time, and you would see and talk to him again.

You put your bookmark in, saving your page and closing it, and just as you were about to stand and make your way over, a woman came walking out of the bathroom area of the train.

"Sorry I was gone so long!"

"Mama!"

Your smile dropped, and you felt your world collapse once more. You couldn't feel your face.

She was breathtakingly gorgeous. She had her silky jet black hair that was styled up and beautiful ruby eyes.

She's what he needed, what he deserved.

This made you feel sick to your stomach, but also ashamed, you had been fawning over this man for years. It was embarrassing.

You checked the clock above the door of the train, you didn't know how much more of this you could take, luckily there was only about 15 minutes left of your traveling.

All you could do now was fidget with your clothes and hands. You couldn't even bother to open up your book back up, you know you wouldn't be able to focus on anything that you were reading.

Once the train had come to a complete stop you felt a sense of relief wash over you, you couldn't stand to hear all of them be so happy together, not knowing that her role could've been yours.

You got up from your seat, beginning to grab your bags on the shelf above your seat. You had about 2 or 3.

As you struggled with the bags you didn't know that he had noticed,

"You two wait for me outside, I won't be long."

The two girls walk outside and sit on a nearby bench and wait for him while he helps you, you're still oblivious to everything happening around you.

"Miss?"

You're shocked to hear his voice, you drop your bag, almost tumbling backward but catch yourself on the seat.

He chuckles, "Mind if I help?"

"No, not at all."

You finally spoke to him, you look up at him, locking eyes, it had been everything you dreamed of.

His eyes go so wide, you swear they took the shape of a perfectly round circle.

"Y/n?"

You smile and nod.

He wants to hug you, he wants to hug you for centuries, he doesn't know what to do, this feeling that has just suddenly overcome him is making him feel like he no longer has any control.

There was no other way to explain it, he had thought about you so many nights.

Those nights when he was fighting for peace, he was thinking about you, thinking about how you when you were both still children and you would describe to him your future and the peace that would surround you.

"I-"

He's interrupted by a loud voice outside of the train,

"Passengers need to be making their way out of the carriages , the train will be loading more people soon!"

He rushes to grab your bags and help you off. He stops you outside of the train, a good few steps away from his 'family.'

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, it's reckless, it could ruin everything, but seeing you just opened up something within him and he can't stop himself, he just keeps talking.

"I thought you," he pauses.

"Died?" You finish his sentence, smiling at him still, you couldn't believe this was happening.

"Yeah, that."

"I could say the same for you, blank."

Hearing his real name makes his heart drop a little, he hasn't heard many people speak it since he served in the military and his old friends addressed him by it.

He was glad you were the one to say it.

He sighs, a small smile of his face, "I've missed you, alot.

Tears start to threaten to spill out, "I've missed you too, alot."

"I love you, blank." You say without thinking, he doesn't flinch at this the way he did at hearing his own name, which you don't question.

He stands completely still, looking you right in your eyes, not being able to get enough of this moment.

The next words that come out of your mouth surprise you, "But it's too late," You glance over at his 'family', making eye contact with the little girl, who looks almost as shattered as you do right now.

You grab your bags from him and walk towards the exit, feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

He couldn't feel his face, he felt more numb than he had ever felt before. He hears footsteps come up from behind him.

"Who was that Loid?" Yor asks, Anya clutched by her side, with a sad look on her face, like she had heard the whole conversation, Anya blocked out anything her parents were saying to scan around for the you.

"An old friend," He replies, still looking straight ahead, thoughts racing with what could've been.

my mind has been racing with this concept, sorry for the damage i have caused

[beegomess]

Just ride || Kendall Roy

Summary: After a long time away, you return to New York for work, leaving Kendall's life slightly more hectic and some people not so happy. Warnings: some swear words. - word count: 4.1k

Since his youth, his life inevitably crossed with Kendall's. Bound by a friendship between powerful families, you grew up together as a kind of improbable duo, united both by the influence of your parents and by a natural affinity. Daughter of Frank, one of Logan's advisors, you lived in the Roy circle from an early age, and time has consolidated this closeness. In college, you and Kendall were inseparable, and over the years, Stewy joined the circle, forming a trio of heirs willing to live intensely, as if each night could be the last.

Your college adventures were commented as stories of excesses and privileges, and the weight of surnames attracted spotlight and media speculation. There were not a few times when chaotic parties and summers on family yachts became headlines, generating theories about the "boss's children" and, especially, about the supposed relationship between you and Kendall - a rumor that never completely dissipated. You kept a bond so close that the line between friendship and romance seemed invisible. He remembered when, at any party, Stewy came up with cocaine and suggested that you try it. It was Kendall's first time and yours too, and the night got even more blurred when you ended up together in bed.

That should have been a unique episode, but the fact is that it was repeated a few times over the years. It was a connection that both understood, an intimacy that went beyond any label. You spent holidays with the Roys, something usually reserved only for wives and brides, and Logan approved you unconditionally, considering you an ideal choice for Kendall - after all, you had all the attributes of a true ally.

The familiarity with the Roy family brought you closer to Kendall's brothers. Roman, when he was still a pre-teen, had a kind of crush on you, something you thought was funny, but that Kendall seemed to disapprove whenever her brother insinuated something. Shiv, on the other hand, liked your company as an older sister, saying that, with you, she didn't have to worry about deciphering intentions.

For your families and the media, you and Kendall dated for a while, but the truth was more complicated. You liked each other, sex was great, but a formal commitment always seemed like a step further. Maybe it was fear of ruining the friendship, or maybe both were too young for something so serious. After college, your paths separated: Kendall was sent to Shanghai, while you went to London, where you settled in the same profession as your father.

The friendship, however, resisted the distance. You were present in every new chapter of his life: the beginning of the relationship with Rava, the increase in cocaine use, the arrival of the children and even Rava's requests for help to accompany him in the most complicated moments. Somehow, Kendall always found a way to bring her back into her life.

But now it was different. While Kendall returned from Shanghai just a year later, you remained in London, perfecting your work and preparing to one day replace your father in New York, if necessary. That moment finally seemed close. Your return, however, would be more than a seasonal visit; this time, you would be moving to live in your own apartment and work directly in the city.

For Kendall, his return to New York carries something more. An unspoken, almost secret expectation that, this time, you can fill the spaces you have always left open. And even if he doesn't say, you recognize that look - the kind of expression that only reveals itself to someone who has always been there.

Your return to New York didn't just mean a professional opportunity - it also brought the promise, or perhaps the uncertainty, of what could finally be defined between you and Kendall.

____________________________

It wasn't just Kendall who seemed eager for his arrival - others around him also seemed to notice the return. Emma, his new assistant, a young woman recently graduated and with a promising talent, showed interest, albeit in a subtle, almost imperceptible way. She observed every detail of the imminent return, sometimes questioning the importance of the event, but without admitting the impact it had on her.

Emma remembered the night she made the slip with Kendall, a situation she tried to forget, but that was often repeated in her mind. In a moment of exhaustion and overload, after weeks of working side by side, the professional barrier between them had broken. It was not planned; they flirted, exchanged glances frequently, and that night, alone, one thing led to another. The tension turned into something that, the next morning, resulted in embarrassment.

Kendall had made it clear that it wouldn't happen again. Guilt and regret weighed on him, and she knew that his decision had less to do with what happened and more with the fact that, to Kendall, she seemed too young to understand him in other ways. But Emma, even trying, couldn't forget that.

Almost a year ago at Waystar, Emma had gotten used to the looks and provocations in the workplace, especially those of Roman, who loved to mock Kendall in every possible way. She still remembered a specific afternoon when he, with that malicious air, showed Kendall a picture of her on her cell phone and said: "Damn, she looks even hotter now." Kendall gave her brother a cold look, ignoring the comment, but Emma couldn't avoid the chill she felt. A slight feeling of discomfort mixed with the growing fear that she was, in fact, in love with her own boss worried her.

The preparations for his arrival only increased this insecurity. When Jess asked Emma to get reservations at the best restaurants for Kendall to take you, she convinced herself that you were just another business woman. But, little by little, this hypothesis was undone. Emma found herself searching her name on Google, and, in a few clicks, she understood that the story was much deeper. His face appeared in several old photos, stamping covers of gossip magazines and columns about the life of the rich and powerful. Still, Emma thought it could be just speculation - until she found an iconic image: you, on Kendall's lap, laughing while he held her, on a speedboat in the middle of the Mediterranean.

It wasn't an ordinary pose for simple friends.

The list of ex-boyfriends that appeared in the stories also surprised her. You had few relationships, but all the men were children of magnates. It was almost as if her ex-boyfriends could represent the GDP of a developing country. Every detail seemed more unbelievable than the previous one.

Emma's insecurity only intensified the next day, when she saw her getting off the helicopter in Waystar's own building. Kendall and Frank were waiting for her ahead, while she and Jess positioned themselves a few steps behind. The slight smile on his face illuminated the scene, and soon, when removing his sunglasses, it was evident that his young appearance showed no signs of the time he had passed. For Emma, it was as if you had stopped in time.

Frank hugged her with pride and affection, a longing that only a loving father could transmit. Emma noticed how Kendall watched it with admiration, but also with a slight sting of envy. As soon as you let go of his arms, you turned to Kendall, and a familiar smile opened on your face, full of nostalgia.

- Finally! New York is not the same without you. - Kendall commented, with a genuine smile as she hugged you.

Emma paid attention, observing the gentle way you exchanged smiles, unable to avoid the tightness in the heart. The connection between you was undeniable.

Soon, cars were called for the dinner trip that Frank had prepared especially for his reception. Although it was a surprise, you seemed really enchanted, typical of a father like Frank, proud of the woman you had become, eager to see how you would do among the bigwigs of New York.

Frank's penthouse was great, with a stunning view of the illuminated city. There were many important people there, and Emma began to question why she had never heard of you before, since it seemed so essential. Even Logan was present, something rare, considering the latest events in the family.

Dinner began with Frank making a brief and emotional toast.

- It's wonderful to have my little girl back. Now, as a woman I'm immensely proud to see. - he said, his gaze full of love and approval.

As the night progressed, you reunited with Roman, Shiv, Tom and Kendall. Emma watched the interactions from afar, realizing how undeniable the chemistry between you was. You laughed together, but Emma noticed that Tom, as always, seemed a little out of place, as if trying to fit in, but couldn't completely.

At one point, the brothers began to disperse, leaving only you and Kendall alone for a few seconds, until Logan approached, accompanied by Marcia.

- We're already leaving, but I want to say I'm glad you're back. - Logan said, and you greeted him with a gentle look.

- Thank you very much, it's really good to be back. - you replied, and Marcia offered you a soft smile just before they moved away.

Emma watched you move away, following you with her eyes. Sometimes, you noticed Emma's looks, but she always looked away when you stared.

Outside, the view of the city was stunning, but Emma couldn't hear what you were saying. However, through the huge glass, she saw how you interacted intimately, sharing a cigarette and looking very comfortable close to each other, a constant smile on your faces.

- So, how was it to stay in London for so long? - Kendall asked, breaking the silence while the gentle wind swayed your hair.

- I ended up getting used to the bad food and the tea with milk. - You gave a chuckle, a malicious glow in your eyes. - How have you been? Are the children okay?

Kendall sighed, looking more serious when speaking. - Well, things have been complicated. Rava and I... we're not exactly on the same page. And as for Sophie and Iverson, it's a constant fight. I feel like I'm always trying to be a good father, but sometimes, it seems like I can't please anyone.

You listened carefully, feeling the weight in your words.

- One day they will realize that you are a good father... in your own chaotic way of being. - Kendall laughed, but there was something grateful in the smile.

- Yeah, I hope so...

A brief silence followed, before you broke it with a provocative tone.

- Speaking of complications, I have to ask... are you dating your assistant?

Kendall was in shock, widening her eyes.

- What?! Where did you get that from?

- Oh, Ken, she didn't take her eyes off you all night. I'm not judging, but you know how it is... That would be a scandal. - you said, provocative, with a malicious smile.

He was completely unresponsive for a second, and you laughed.

- Oh, well... yes, I mean... - he started to get in the way, and you laughed incredulously.

- For God's sake, Ken, I was joking, but fuck... You gave yourself up now. - a smile still danced on your face.

Kendall, slightly embarrassed, but still laughing, decided to explain himself. - Let's say there was one night... a silly mistake. I was exhausted and it was totally stupid.

- Well, maybe things didn't end that night for her. - you observed, still with a slight smile, having fun with the situation.

- I'll make sure of that at some point. - he concluded, a smile playing on his lips while changing the subject, both getting lost in the conversation that involved them, oblivious to the world around them.

You remained side by side, silent for a few moments, watching the brightness of the city lights. The light conversation seemed to have disarmed something between you, leaving only the quiet presence and mutual understanding.

Kendall swallowed the cigarette, her gaze lost on the horizon line, and released the smoke slowly, as if pondering something she couldn't or maybe didn't want to say out loud. Then, he laughed softly, shaking his head.

- You've always known... taking the weight off things. As if, I don't know, the world wasn't as complicated as I make it seem.

- Well, it's just that things don't have to be... so intense. - you replied, with a half smile. - But, to be fair, I also missed the chaos.

He let out a low laugh, a little incredulous.

- I think it was always that between us, right? You show up and, suddenly, everything becomes... easier. Even if I try to fuck everything.

- Yeah, you have a gift for these things. - You smiled.

That was a truth that both understood effortlessly, a complicity that had resisted time and distance, surviving the ups and downs of the years in which they were separated.

While you exchanged, you watched the lights of the city ahead, the night wind brought a feeling of nostalgia, as if old memories were present in the air. Kendall, hesitant, looked away to the horizon before speaking, as if he was on the verge of a confession that even he knew how to express.

- We really got along well before, didn't we? - He commented, his gaze lost, almost distant. - I mean... Maybe things would have been different... if I hadn't agreed to go to China.

You gave an amused smile, although you understood the sting of melancholy behind his speech.

- And what would you do, Ken? Say "no" to Logan Roy? - The provocation came with a touch of humor, enough to break the weight of the moment a little. He laughed, a laugh that seemed sincere, but with a bitter background. - I love my father, but I would also have packed for China without looking back if he had. That's what we knew how to do: say "yes".

Kendall let out a light laugh, almost a relief. That was the kind of understanding that only you shared, an ironic and resigned familiarity.

- But, seriously, we'd better go back before he thinks I disappeared from the reception event itself. - You indicated the direction of the party with a look.

He nodded, taking one last drag on the cigarette before throwing it away, and followed you back to the hall. The atmosphere between you still had a touch of lightness, but there was a discreet tension - a tacit understanding that, although the past could not be changed, there, at that moment, you were exactly where you should be.

____________________________

The office was already in an uproar for your arrival, and you hadn't even stepped there yet. In a way, it was like relearning the city: the details of a New York that kept secrets and expectations.

The reception at his father's house had ended in an almost inevitable way: Kendall in his bed, waking up next to him. You were as messy as the sheets around, and when you noticed the time, it was a silent rush to get ready in time for your first day. Your relationship was, in fact, peculiar. It was not news that something happened between you when you approached, but now, it seemed different, as if something unsaid, but strongly felt, hovered.

For Emma, this night did not go unnoticed. She saw signs of this throughout the reception, every exchange of glances, every detail that denounced the intimacy you shared. And now, as he climbed the elevator of his building, he felt a mixture of curiosity and restlessness. Jess had asked her to take a suit that Kendall had requested, something she would normally do without hesitation, but which today brought a new weight. Holding the carefully folded suit, Emma watched the floors go up while trying to organize her own thoughts. It was becoming pathetic, she thought, this painful fascination that made her follow trivial orders with such zeal.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Emma was greeted by an impressive sight. The apartment exuded sophistication and an almost oppressive luxury, with each piece of decoration handpicked. The walls displayed works of abstract art, and the soft lighting left the environment immersed in an atmosphere that was both elegant and intimidating. The silence there was absolute; no one seemed to have noticed his arrival.

Hesitantly, Emma called a shy "hello", but got no answer. He then decided to advance through the corridor, passing through spacious rooms: a huge TV room, a library, until he slowed down even more when he saw the ajar door of a room, from which sounds of water and movements came out. She discreetly peeked through the slit and saw, reflected in a large mirror, the messy bed.

The perception of what had happened there became clearer, and she felt something hard form in her chest. Soon, your gaze found you, wrapped in a black robe, adjusting an earring while talking on the phone in hands-free.

On the other side of the line, Frank's voice was slightly impatient:

- Why the hell doesn't he answer? I've been calling for almost an hour.

You answered naturally, but with that diplomatic touch that Emma only saw in well-rehearsed conversations.

- He must already be on his way, dad. You know how Kendall is... - you said, almost like someone trying to soften an evident problem.

Frank let out a sigh and, with an implicit smile in his voice, replied:

- Honey, let's skip this part where you try to convince me that he's not there, right? Just ask him to call me back.

You laughed, ending the conversation with a simple "Okay." She hung up and, when she turned around, was surprised by Kendall, who appeared from the bathroom door with a towel attached to her waist and her hair still wet. He approached you, a light smile and a quick kiss, his hands firm on his waist, and Emma looked away, the discomfort growing when she realized the naturalness with which you exchanged these intimacies.

- What did Frank want? - Kendall asked.

- Talk to you. - he replied, with a smile that seemed to keep a world of intentions.

As she moved away to get some clothes from the closet and Kendall returned to the bathroom, Emma decided to break the silence with a hesitant touch on the door. You looked up, noticing your presence. You smiled in an understanding way, without losing control of the situation.

- Oh, hello. Sorry to enter like this, it's just that no one answered... - she said, her voice trembling.

- No problem. I'm just alone for now; the servants start in the afternoon - you replied with a casual nod.

Kendall, from inside the bathroom, asks carelessly:

- Have my clothes arrived?

You said yes and took the suit, handing it to him while Emma, still in the embarrassment of the moment, said goodbye.

- Well, I think I'm going...

- No. - you interrupted her with a slight smile. - You can wait in the living room. The traffic must already be horrible at this time and calling another car would take forever.

Emma agreed and withdrew, but the brief exchange she had witnessed remained alive in her mind. She returned to the living room, sinking into the sofa and reflecting on what it meant, the discomfort and the feeling of exclusion that took over her. I was being forced to confront something I preferred not to see: the reality that, for you and Kendall, this was an intimate routine and totally alien to any spectator.

After a few minutes, you and Kendall emerged from the hallway, dressed for work. He looked impeccable, while you were still fixing the blazer, ending a comment that Emma couldn't hear.

- Do you catch something on the way? - you asked him with a casual lightness, as if it were something they had been doing for years. - I promised to have breakfast with my mother today.

Emma got up, observing how tidy and tuned you were in every detail.

- Oh, of course. - Kendall replied, then turned to Emma, signaling her to follow him. - See you at the office?

- Of course, I wouldn't miss my first day. - you answered with a calm smile, letting them go to the elevator.

In the elevator, the silence weighed. Kendall kept her expression relaxed, but Emma, restless, tried to ignore the tension she felt. In a casual tone, he broke the silence:

- Why couldn't Jess come?

Emma answered almost dryly:

- She asked me to help because the weather was tight.

He doesn't answer, turning his gaze to the panel, apparently oblivious to what was going on inside it. The route to the office was equally uncomfortable, a reminder of his own condition in that scenario. She felt displaced, torn between the professional obligation and the uncomfortable pain that the truth brought.

When they arrived, you quickly settled in, greeting your colleagues formally and safely, while Emma watched from a distance. It was as if you had left everything that happened behind, impeccable in your posture, and this only served to intensify the discomfort she felt. At the end of the meeting, Emma felt the weight of reality: that relationship was a mystery that would inevitably leave her out. For you and Kendall, it was clear that this was part of something bigger that she would never be able to understand, a secret shared between the two of you and inaccessible to any viewer.

Emma watched from afar, feeling a strange mixture of curiosity and discomfort when she saw you two interacting through the glass wall. Kendall called you to his room right after the meeting, and when you came in, he smiled in that convinced way that only he could.

- So, what did you think of your first day? - He asked, as if he were being magnanimous.

You laughed and replied with a sharp look.

- Don't treat me like an intern, Ken. I used to do much more complicated things in London, you know?

He raised his hands, surrendering.

- Okay, okay, fair.

- But then, what do you want? - You went straight to the point, bluntly.

Kendall hesitated, a little disconcerted, but soon amended:

- I wanted to know what you will be free today.

You arched an eyebrow, an ironic smile appearing.

- You know, you really should stop asking your subordinates to go out. - he replied, with a pang of humor.

He laughed, but insisted, his voice a little more serious:

- Oh, what is it? I'm serious.

- I already have another appointment. - His voice is casual, almost indifferent.

Kendall raises her eyebrows, clearly taken by surprise. - Another appointment?

You smile, having fun with his reaction. - What's up? I also have my contacts.

He lets out a short laugh, incredulously. - Oh, is it? So tell me... who are you going out with?

- And why so much curiosity? - you reply, the provocative tone. His eyes capture his expression, which tries to disguise his attention.

He shrugs his shoulders, pretending disinterest, but the look betrays a hint of anxiety. - It's not curiosity, just... I don't know.

You stare at him for an more moment, letting the suspense hover, until you get up with a victorious smile. - Relax, Ken. It's just Shiv.

The change in his expression is almost imperceptible, but you notice the relief that softens your features for a moment.

- Girls' night? - He forces a smile, as if he didn't care. But his gaze remains attentive.

- Exactly. - you answer, amused, starting to leave, but he interrupts you with a casual suggestion.

- Well... - he says, his fingers drumming on the table - you could stop by at home after the "girls' night".

You turn around, holding back your laughter. - Oh, of course! I'll ask Shiv to give me a ride straight there.

Kendall laughs, but the answer disconcerts him a little. He gives a half smile, trying to maintain the pose, but the eyes still follow you to the door, a restlessness not so well hidden behind that carefree charm.

Without looking back, you leave with a half smile, leaving Kendall standing there, alone, watching the empty space where you were seconds ago. The casual answer, almost disinterested, echoes in the room, leaving a slight shadow between you. As much as he tried to hide, there was a restlessness in his eyes, an uncomfortable silence that he knew how to interpret - but would choose to ignore it.

Outside, you feel the weight of Kendall's gaze, even without seeing it. He has always been like this: wrapped in doubts that he would never assume, caught between the desire to have you around and the fear of getting lost in this proximity.

And you, although you didn't say anything, you also knew what that game meant. Every word between you was like a moving piece on the board, a dance calculated between distance and desire, mystery and revelation.

Emma watched everything from afar, with a discomfort that she herself could not explain. There was something powerful and, at the same time, dangerous in the silence between you and Kendall, something she could never fully understand. For her, it was like peeking through a blurry glass, a secret that seemed simple, but that hid too many layers to be unraveled.

A/N: Okay, I know this is different from what I usually post, but I let my mind wander through this story and ended up liking it. I hope you like it!! 🫶🏼

[book--brackets]

Curse Workers by Holly Black (2010-2012)

Cassel is cursed. Cursed by the memory of the fourteen year old girl he murdered. Life at school is a constant trial. Life at home even worse. No-one at home is ever going to forget that Cassel is a killer. No-one at home is ever going to forget that he isn't a magic worker.

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The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison (2014)

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Fortunately, Royal Bodyguard Hatter Madigan knows all too well the awful truth of Alyss' story - and he's searching every corner of our world to find the lost princess and return her to Wonderland, to battle Redd for her rightful place as the Queen of Hearts.

East by Edith Pattou (2003-2018)

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Circle of Magic by Tamora Pierce (1997-1999)

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Only something else has escaped with her. Something dark. Something powerful. And to find the truth, she will have to track this beast to the very heart of the Old City, where the rabbit waits for his Alice.

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Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty (2023-present)

A pirate of infamy and one of the most storied and scandalous captains to sail the seven seas. 

Amina al-Sirafi has survived backstabbing rogues, vengeful merchant princes, several husbands, and one actual demon to retire peacefully with her family to a life of piety, motherhood, and absolutely nothing that hints of the supernatural.

But when she’s offered a job no bandit could refuse, she jumps at the chance for one final adventure with her old crew that will make her a legend and offers a fortune that will secure her and her family’s future forever.

Yet the deeper Amina dives the higher the stakes. For there’s always risk in wanting to become a legend, to seize one last chance at glory, to savour just a bit more power…and the price might be your very soul.

October Daye by Seanan McGuire (2009-present)

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And there are no strangers in the town of Near.

These are the truths that Lexi has heard all her life.

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