#HE SET SHORT KING RIGHTS BACK BY DECADES

[hussyknee]

I just made a noise like a dying seal and scared my cat.

my fav letterboxd reviews of red white & royal blue aka yaoi for white liberals

[biblicallyaccuratecrow]

in stars and time "method actor" au braindump

the people have spoken! welcome to the method actor au! in which i took the theatre themes of isat and stretched them to their absolute limit!

the premise is that instead of saving vaugarde, the party + major side characters (the king and euphrasie) are an acting troop! and they're telling the story of the saviors through a play. Siffrin is playing The Traveller, and over time in rehearsals has really grown to like his castmates (even the one playing the king- he's actually quite sweet!).

it's the opening night! they're more than prepared for the show!

... until they aren't.

All it takes is a faulty prop from the fly tower, and suddenly siffrin is right back where they started the day before, waking up from a nap in the greenroom before the last rehearsal.

they're back at the beginning. they get a second chance.

after all, you only get one opening night, and siffrin is determined to make it perfect.

...all they need to do is make sure the show goes smoothly!

no stage hazards,

no missed lines,

no injuries,

no deaths,

no mistakes.

and if they have to play the hero to do it?

if the lines between them and their character have to blur so that their parts are perfect?

so be it.

the show must go on.

[notes below the cut!]

[spoilers for isat below!]

so yeah, siffrin takes the term "method acting" way too seriously. out of necessity, though. this is a performance, after all! they have to keep it together for the show, and the best way to do that for them is to embrace their role.

setting

still takes place in vaugarde! except yknow. the king isn't actually happening (yet), so instead of a group of saviors we have the acting group playing the saviors! a bit meta, but it works.

craft and the island still are a thing, and play a major part in the overarching story! this is still a time loop, after all!

all of this is taking place on a stage within dormont's house of change! Euphrasie sponsors, and was more than happy to be included for her very short role! The theatre there has been out of use for decades, but Euphrasie sees it fit to resurrect it just for this show!

The party:

Mirabelle is the playwright, having dreamed up a story like the books she loves to read but for the longest time being too afraid to put it down. Euphrasie encouraged her to go through with it, and they've been building the show ever since! she thinks she isn't a good actor, but she's actually very empathetic as the heroine, since she (secretly) based it off herself.

Isabeau was actually the first to audition- and the only one, at least in the first round. He came in last-minute, and after delivering a solid monologue (with a few puns slipped in), Mirabelle was eager to cast him! He actually loves costume design, but he doesn't dare to reveal this to the party, even if he occasionally spends hours in the House's storage room looking through pieces from older performances.

Odile was a surprising addition to the cast. She was interested in Vaugardian tradition, and figured the best way to learn was through the epicenter of vaugardian culture, at a house. She reccomended some plays to mirabelle from her travels, and after giving some pointers on mirabelle's early scripts decided to join in for the hell of it. She likes horror productions in particular, and contributed a lot to the concept of the king's time craft.

Siffrin was visiting the house, and came to see one of the plays... but got the time wrong and came in during a live-reading of the scripts early draft. he stood and watched for a bit before mirabelle noticed, and after a LOT of fumbling and apologies admitted that he loves theatre. Mirabelle practically dragged him in after that. Given that he didn't have anything else to do, he agreed. Despite claiming he's not much of an actor, much preferring to work on the set design, he's actually uncannily good...

The King is... just a guy, actually! very quiet, very reclusive, but after seeing one of mirabelle's casting calls came in and absolutely smashed the audition. he's been with the group ever since! he's pretty busy outside of the production, but he puts his all into his work! He and siffrin have a kind of kinship, given their shared elusive background and... white hair, i guess.

Bonnie is the younger sister of Nille, who worked on trade classes at dormonts house after the two left Bambouche together. Mirabelle needed someone to help make the sets, and Nille volunteered early on in the production, so long as she could bring Bonnie along. Initially Bonnie wasn't all that interested, but after hanging around the cast a bit grew curious. Siffrin caught them reading through one of the scripts and acting out the various parts on their own. After that, Mirabelle made the time to write in The Kid for Bonnie to have a role thats easiest for them! Fun fact- a lot of The Kid's lines are actually ad libs from Bonnie throughout the production. Mirabelle kept writing them into the script as a sort of inside joke.

Euphrasie is mostly the same! As the head housemaiden, she's had a bit of experience with public speaking and acting, and after seeing Mirabelle having such fun she allowed herself to be roped into a small role as The Head Housemaiden in the production.

the story...

Siffrin's first death is actually to a prop rock falling on top of them. When they wake up, they're back in the green room, waking up from a nap. Isa is out by the favor tree as usual, odile is buying food for the cast party, mira is pouring over her dating profiles disguised as her script, and bonnie is hanging out in the auditorium.

Of course, at the favor tree after the first death is loop. They immediately cast siffrin as the "new director", and from there basically acts much the same as in canon, though a lot of the "memories" are slight improvements to siffrin's acting or the set props.

so, despite all their preparation, the performance keeps getting interrupted in increasingly more and more bizarre ways. A strange array of stage accidents, usually resulting in siffrin's death. They initially suspect that the show is cursed (theyre not that far off), and start to dig into how that could happen. this is where the idea of wishcraft gets introduced. The King seems the most likely to be highjacking the show, but siffrin doesn't want to believe it.

As siffrin performs show after show, things start to get... weirder, somehow. Like the performance is becoming more real with each passing loop. This doesn't just extend to the set, but also to siffrin themself. The line between them and the traveller blurs. As they learn more about wishcraft and the forgotten island, they project this into the story and their performances, and even off set will take mannerisms from the traveller role and use them to brush off the party's concerns.

in later acts, the rest of the cast begins to blur with their own respective characters, to the point that siffrin starts to become irrationally aggressive towards the king, somehow believing him to be responsible. Loop does their best to keep siffrin's handle on reality in tact, but by act 4 they're essentially living out the play. there is no distinction between reality and mirabelle's script- it's all one thing. And the wish makes that true during the performances as well, in ways that even the party can notice- ghosts on the stage, reality warping because of props, even randomly improved sets and staging. The further siffrin descends, the stronger the wish's influence over the performance and their reality grows. by act 5, the wishcraft has transformed the house to reflect that of the play, and everyone to be their characters- or be frozen, as a captive audience. the rest happens similarly to how it does in canon.

the real crux of the issue, like in canon, is that siffrin made a wish. They love their cast, and they love their performance. They want it to stay like that. They want to stay with them. And so they wish at Dormont's favor tree. And it comes true, in the best way the universe can manage- by making it so that the performance never ends. The actual hazards of the set are real- Dormont's theatre is borderline decrepit- but once the wish craft begins to influence things, they become more serious.

i initially had the idea that maybe during the first loop the story becomes real, like what we see in canon, and siffrin is reacting to the actual characters as a literal actor, but i like the idea of the party playing their SASASA counterparts as more base/easily digestible protagonist versions of themselves more. plus like, the idea of it all being literally on a stage is too fun for me

the hilarious thing is, in my mind... the audience wouldn't know that wasnt the intention for the play. in their pov they saw this shit being acted out and not the absolute wacked out acid trip the party saw while on stage. it's an instant success, though the entire party agrees to never put on the show again.

thats about all i got so far? dunno if i'll actually write anything for this, and if i do it'll probably be a one shot or two. but if youre interested in more info abt the au, or just wanna chat about it, feel free!

until next time!

[perseidlion]

How the Cat King Got His Groove Back (Ongoing, soft E)

The sky over Port Townsend was slate gray as it often was for weeks on end in the winter. The air was damp and heavy, with the ocean breeze cutting right through even the warmest jackets. Winter was usually free of snow in the Pacific Northwest, but the endless stretch of gray and drizzle was just as depressing as any deep blanket of snow. Perhaps moreso, because at least in snowy climes, the sun occasionally came out to play. 

The Cat King’s cannery was drafty and cold. Even his loyal subjects had abandoned him for spots beneath houses and under staircases where they huddled together for warmth.

It had been about a month since the Dead Boy Detectives had come to town and stirred up everything like a whirlwind. Cat had felt more energized than he had in decades, and not just because one of said detectives was curiously handsome and fascinating. 

But in their wake, they’d left an eerie calm. Their time in town had been short, but they had a reputation for a reason. They’d solved nearly a dozen cases, small and large in their short time. Some of the cases had been outstanding for decades. They’d also vanquished Esther Finch, the powerful and vain witch who had been causing trouble in town longer than the Cat King had ruled. 

Esther was a scourge who crossed lines even some of the darkest creatures would not. Plus, she’d beaten him to death with her cane, taking one of his precious lives in the process. Which was just…so rude.  Cat would be lying if he said he didn’t miss her a little - if only for the chaos she brought. She was a piece of shit, but she was a piece of shit who kept life interesting. 

And things were just so…quiet without her particular brand of chaos. 

And without him.

Cat stretched his toes out and off the edge of the stack of palettes that served as his throne. He was draped in a heavy black fur coat to try and hold back the chill. When he exhaled a deep-chested sigh, his breath condensed like cigarette smoke. 

He felt numb. He knew he should get up and at least use his magic to kindle a fire in an oil drum or envelop himself in a protective haze of magic. But the cold that pricked his skin and the draft that trickled between the fur of his coat at least let him feel something. He’d been considering the possibility of moving for a good long while, but couldn’t will his limbs to do more than shift a bit to make sure his body was covered by his coat. 

Cat would swear up and down that he was an independent creature, one who went where he pleased and made love to whoever he liked. But the truth was, he was a profoundly lonely creature who covered up that loneliness with tricks and flirtations. 

He wasn’t fully a cat. When he transformed into his feline form to join the feral colony of Port Townsend, they all knew it was him. They treated him with deference and respect, but they also othered him. He could be human whenever he wanted, which set him apart even more than his position.

Cat wasn’t fully human, either. To the residents of Port Townsend, he was known as the town’s slutty weirdo who was always followed by feral cats. They were used to him by now, but just because they didn’t hassle him didn’t mean he was one of them. His dual form meant he was trapped between two worlds, only really at home with other creatures who had a foot in both worlds. And most of them, he’d already alienated or had some sort of beef with - or were just not creatures whose company he found entertaining. The result was, he didn’t really have any friends in town to speak of, which only added to his loneliness. 

Finally, Cat got up the energy to drag himself to his feet. He took a series of lazy, heavy steps down off the platform, his fur coat dragging along the dirty ground. As he walked aimlessly through the warehouse, he chased echoes of memories. 

First, he passed the stain of blood on the ground where his previous body had been beaten to death by Esther. The reminder of that pain made him wince involuntarily. But then he saw echoes of Edwin when he caught the first hints of lust in his eyes, followed by the indignant British snark of him protesting his punishment. He closed his eyes and remembered what a pair of ghostly lips brushing his cheeks felt like when Edwin came to say goodbye. 

Cat turned and caught his reflection in an old, half-broken mirror propped against one wall and partially covered by a dropcloth. Slowly, he turned to face the mirror head-on. He lifted a hand to summon his magic, paused, rethinking it for half a moment, then he swirled his wrist.

The purple fog that accompanied his transformations with an affectation - a magician’s trick to make the whole thing seem more impressive. His magic in its natural state was subtle and quiet, as befitted a creature of stealth. The shift to his body happened in a blink. 

Edwin’s reflection stared back at him from the mirror, one hand still held delicately in the air, clad in a brown leather glove that matched his brown overcoat. He was a perfect copy, save golden, slitted eyes. He stepped up to the mirror and swept the gloved hand across the surface to clear it of some of the dust. Then he tugged off his glove and caressed his own cheek. He closed his eyes and let his fingertips creep over his lips. He nuzzled his own palm and exhaled warm breath against his fingertips.

When Cat opened his eyes, it was Edwin’s green eyes gazing back at him. Edwin’s face full of sadness and longing. Edwin’s face aching with loneliness. He pulled off the other glove and held his own hand, tracing knuckles and fingertips. He held his own hand and squeezed it. 

Keep reading on Ao3

(This fic was originally a short called Ennui that just consisted of the first chapter. Now it's an ongoing fic with shapeshifting shenanigans and some light Catcrow elements, though the shapeshifting/identity swap stuff is the focus over the ship.)

[badboydevotee]

Beneath the Glitter

"Today is my birthday, so you're dining in style. I'm not going to eat any though, so you can finish it off." -Fico's birthday voiceline.

The restaurant was as extravagant as it was exclusive—a gleaming beacon of opulence nestled among the glittering skyscrapers. Its walls were adorned with velvet drapes and the air was filled with the gentle hum of classical music, the subtle clink of silverware, and the rustle of hushed conversations. Outside, the city glittered under the fading light of dusk, but inside, it was a world of indulgence, where the rich and powerful gathered to feast, to gossip, to flaunt their successes. You sat across from him, your heart a tangled mess of confusion and hesitation, unsure of what to make of the invitation. Romeo Scorpius Lucci, the man who oozed wealth and arrogance with every step he took, had asked you to join him for dinner. On his birthday, no less. But there was something unsettling about it—something you couldn’t quite place. His gaze was sharp, his posture immaculate, but his lips were pressed into a thin, cruel line. 

You had known Romeo for a while now, ever since you had crossed paths at the casino. He was a man of sharp edges, a man whose temper could ignite the room with a mere glance. It wasn’t hard to hear the stories—the whispers about how he had once been the crowned king of the fashion world, only to watch it crumble down to dust, and how he had clawed his way back from that fall with a vengeance. Everything about him screamed ambition and control, but today… today, he was different. The usual fire in his magenta eyes was muted, replaced by something unreadable.

He took a sip from his glass of wine, his lips curling slightly as he glanced at you, still silent. His hair, perfectly styled with the right side falling slightly longer than the left, caught the light from the chandelier above. The tips of his short gray hair darkened almost imperceptibly as it cascaded over his earring—each one a solid gold hoop, gleaming as brightly as the man himself. Despite the tension in the air, he looked… untouchable. Beautiful, even, though you’d never admit that to his face.

“This is a fine dining experience, BB” he said, his voice low but sharp, like the edge of a well-honed blade. “They’ve prepared a special tasting menu just for us.”

His tone held a hint of something else—something strange, like a thin layer of ice coating his usual arrogance. As he looked down at the elegant table setting, his red eyes—darker now in the dim lighting—flashed with irritation. You knew better than to speak when he was in one of these moods, especially when his temper seemed so volatile.

“It’s too bad you don’t have any appetite for the finer things in life,” you said softly, hoping to ease the tension in the room, to break through the wall he’d built around himself.

Romeo chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a wry smile. His voice came out clipped and almost condescending, like he was humoring you—one of the few things he ever did with genuine attention.

“Today is my birthday,” he declared, the words sharp and almost bitter as they passed his lips. “So you’re dining in style. I’m not going to eat any of it, though,” he added, leaning back in his chair with a languid stretch. His fingers grazed his gold earring absentmindedly, a habitual gesture that you’d seen him do countless times before. It was almost like he needed it to remind him that he was still in control. “You can finish it off.”

A part of you wanted to protest. You knew how meticulously Romeo valued every detail, every ounce of luxury and decadence. To see him not even touch the food—food that had been specially prepared—felt… wrong. But it wasn’t your place to question him. Not now. Not when his presence was so overwhelming, like the dark storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

The waiter approached, setting down a series of dishes one after the other: delicate amuse-bouches, perfectly seared foie gras, intricately arranged seafood towers, and the main course—a tender cut of wagyu beef, its rich aroma drifting through the air. It was a meal fit for royalty, but Romeo, true to his word, didn't so much as glance at it.

You stared at the plate before you, the warm light of the candles reflecting off the fine porcelain. The aroma of the food was intoxicating. It was rich, indulgent, everything he loved. Yet, there he sat, staring at his glass of wine, as if lost in thought, as if the celebration wasn’t for him at all.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Romeo said, breaking the silence, his voice now sharp with a hint of something deeper. “I’m not here to enjoy this. I have no time for pleasure when I’ve got more important things to attend to.”

You raised an eyebrow, a fleeting moment of disbelief washing over you. His obsession with money and status had always been something you’d never fully understood. But this… this felt like more. There was something in his eyes now, a flicker of vulnerability that he desperately tried to mask with that familiar sharpness, with the cold indifference that kept everyone at arm’s length.

His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, the sound of his rings against the fine wood the only noise in the otherwise still room. It was then that you realized the truth: this wasn’t a simple birthday dinner. He was fighting something. Fighting it in a way that was both desperate and painfully obvious.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said quietly, pushing aside the delicate silver fork, suddenly aware of how strange the situation was. You’d never seen Romeo act like this before. He was always so in control, so driven by his insatiable hunger for success and wealth.

Romeo’s eyes flicked to you, his magenta irises flashing dangerously. His hand shot out, his fingers tightening around your wrist as he leaned forward, his voice low and unyielding. “You think I’m doing this for you? For anyone?” He let out a short, derisive laugh. “No. I’m doing this because I can. Because I have to.”

You didn’t pull away from his grip. It was firm, a reminder of how tightly he held everything in his life—his empire, his ambitions, even his emotions. You could see the strain in his jaw, the barely concealed rage flickering in the depths of his gaze.

“You can’t outrun your past, Fico,” you said softly, using the nickname he’d always insisted on. “You can’t keep punishing yourself like this. You deserve to enjoy something—just once.”

Romeo’s expression faltered, just for a second. It was as though your words had pierced through that armor of pride and defiance. His grip on your wrist loosened, and for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the walls around him seemed to crack.

“I’m not like you,” he muttered, a rare admission slipping from his lips. “I can’t afford to be.”

You reached out, gently taking his hand. The warmth of your touch seemed to ground him in a way that nothing else had been able to. His eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away, didn’t snap, didn’t rage. He simply stared, as if weighing the unspoken connection between the two of you.

“Maybe you can,” you said quietly, your voice a soft whisper in the midst of all the grandeur and extravagance. “Maybe you just need to let someone in.”

The air between you seemed to hum with something unspoken. He exhaled sharply, as if the weight of everything was momentarily too much to bear. For the first time in ages, Romeo Scorpius Lucci didn’t seem like the cold, calculating man who’d clawed his way to the top.

For a fleeting moment, he simply looked… human. And in that moment, something shifted between you both.

With a slow, almost reluctant movement, he picked up his fork, piercing a delicate slice of wagyu, before setting it back down with a soft sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, his usual arrogance slipping back into his voice. “I’ll have a bite. But only because it’s my damn birthday.”

And for the first time that evening, you both shared a genuine laugh.

You couldn’t help but smile as Romeo finally took a bite of the wagyu, his eyes momentarily closing in appreciation. It wasn’t much—a small victory—but it was something. It was a crack in the armor, a rare moment where the walls around him seemed to crumble, just a little. And as he chewed slowly, his usual sharp gaze softened ever so slightly.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, teasing him gently as you picked up your own fork. You couldn’t resist—he might be insufferable at times, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him. His stubbornness, his pride, even his scornful nature—everything about him was a puzzle that you couldn’t seem to put down.

Romeo's lips curled into that familiar smirk, but it was different now—less biting, more amused, like he was letting you in on some private joke only he understood.

“I’m not the one who’s impossible here,” he shot back, his tone still sharp but with a hint of warmth underneath. He leaned back in his chair, looking at you as though he were sizing you up, like you were the most intriguing thing in the room, despite the luxury that surrounded you both. His gaze lingered longer than it should have, as though he were trying to figure out why you, of all people, had the ability to disarm him so effortlessly.

You tilted your head, studying him in return. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him so vulnerable, but it was the first time he’d let you see it without the walls of anger and pride. For all his bluster, Romeo was a man driven by a hunger that went deeper than money or power—it was something else. Something raw. Something broken.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Fico,” you said, leaning in slightly, your voice low and steady. “But you don’t have to keep pretending you’re some perfect machine, only running on fuel and ambition. You’re allowed to—”

“Stop.” He raised a hand, his voice firm but not hostile. There was a slight tremor in his fingers, a hint of something beneath the surface. "I don’t *need* anyone’s pity or concern."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the defensiveness in his tone. “I’m not offering either of those. Just... maybe a little bit of understanding. Maybe I’m the one who’s trying to figure out the puzzle.”

Romeo stared at you, his magenta eyes gleaming in the low light, and for a moment, the world outside the restaurant seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, in this little bubble of rich, warm air, surrounded by fine dining and too many untold stories.

“I don’t need understanding,” he muttered, though there was a softness to his words that didn’t match his usual fire. “I just need what’s mine. What’s owed to me.”

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his words. His relentless pursuit of what he had lost was something you couldn’t ignore. The dreams of grandeur that haunted him. You could see it now, clearer than before—the weight that crushed him. It wasn’t just about money, not really. It was about power, control, and reclaiming something he had once thought was within his grasp, only to watch it slip away.

"Then I guess that makes two of us," you said quietly, and for a second, you wondered if he understood the subtle implication.

Romeo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took another bite of the food, his lips pressing into a thin line as he chewed thoughtfully. His magenta eyes flicked up to meet yours once more, the tension between you thickening as the air seemed to charge with something unspoken.

“I’m not someone you should get close to, you know,” he finally said, his voice low and earnest, a trace of something vulnerable creeping into his tone. "I’m not the kind of person who lets anyone in."

You knew that already. You knew that better than anyone else. But you also knew something he didn’t seem to realize—that sometimes, letting someone in wasn’t about fixing the broken parts. Sometimes, it was just about *being* there, without the expectation of anything in return.

“And yet, here we are,” you said softly, offering him a wry smile. “Maybe you don’t have to let me in. Maybe I’m just here for the ride.”

For a moment, Romeo’s gaze flickered, like he was deciding whether to laugh or argue. Instead, he simply looked at you—really looked at you—and the tension between you seemed to soften, just a fraction. The walls that had always been so solid around him were starting to bend. You weren’t sure if they’d ever come down completely, but for now, this—this strange, tentative truce—was enough.

Romeo took another sip of wine, his posture returning to something more casual, almost like he was letting go of some of the weight that had been pressing down on him all evening. His magenta eyes softened, not in affection, but in a quiet understanding that he didn’t need to push you away. Not yet, at least.

“So,” he said, his voice returning to its usual cocky tone, “this is a fine meal, but I expect you to finish it all. It’s my birthday, after all. And I do have a reputation to maintain.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused despite yourself. "You *really* are impossible," you muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips that you couldn’t quite suppress.

Romeo’s lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

And just like that, the moment passed, and the two of you fell back into the dance you knew all too well—his sharp remarks and your knowing smiles, the ever-present tension between you both. But now, there was something else there too. A hint of understanding. A crack in his façade. 

Maybe he didn’t need to admit it out loud. But for once, Romeo Scorpius Lucci wasn’t the terrifying, untouchable man he always tried to be. And maybe—just maybe—neither were you.

The rest of the evening passed in a strange, comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional teasing remark, the clinking of silverware, and the soft sound of laughter that lingered between you both. And for once, the glistening city outside didn’t feel so far away.

It felt, for the first time in a long time, like it was within reach.

Ao3 vers.

Please love Romi <3

[catsafarithewriter]

A/N: Many thanks goes out to the ever-wonderful @tcrmommabear for triggering the thought of the Cat King and Natori shipping Haru/Baron as hard as they'd once shipped Haru/Lune. Unfortunately for Haru, they only have one solution for romantic woes. So here's a very silly, very short ficlet.

.

Claudius Rex, the once Cat King (their most wise and magnificent ruler, the king of Cat Kingdom), and reason why Haru nearly spent the rest of her life with whiskers and a tail, sat on the windowsill and mulled over Haru's love life.

(She hadn't asked him to, hadn't even known he was coming until that fine spring morning, a decade after their first encounter, when she'd opened her curtains and nearly punted ex-royalty from a sixteenth-floor window.)

The once Cat King (Claudius, he'd insisted Haru call him) considered the dilemma of a mortal falling in love with a Creation with all its due gravitas, and finally said, "Do you think he doesn't love you because you're not a cat?"

"I – no??"

"Oh. Shame." The ex-king looked to Natori. "We could've fixed that."

"It appears not every love conundrum can be rectified with felinity," Natori said wisely.

"What other love conundrum did you fix this way?" Haru asked.

Both cats looked at her. Claudius leant over to Natori. "This is the babe we set up with my son?"

"It appears she is suffering from some kind of memory lapse," Natori stage-whispered back.

"Turning me into a cat helped with nothing!" Haru cried. "Lune married Yuki, remember?"

"Ah yes," Natori said, "but if you had been willing to marry the prince, then we simplified matters for you."

"Not being a cat was your main problem, you said."

Haru vaguely remembered saying a lot of things to get out of the unexpected marriage, and the different species had been only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. "You can't fix every problem by turning someone into a cat! And, anyway, the Creation part is the main problem."

Claudius was silent. Then, "So what I'm hearing is if we turned you into a cat Creation–"

"Nope. Stop that. Right now."

"What about the Creation?" Natori asked. "What if we changed him?"

"I... wait, you could do that?"

"We could turn him more into a cat."

"How would that help anything?!"

"If we then turned you into a cat—"

"Under no circumstances," Haru said slowly, "are you to try to help me by turning anyone into a cat." She hesitated, and then added, for good measure, "Or any species in general. Not even a cat Creation– wait, is that even possible?"

"Half of it is," Natori said cheerfully.

Haru groaned. "I don't know why I even asked."

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Regina Mills x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey bitchessss here's chapter 3!@#$%^ Don't expect a full come-back. I'm just high asf rn and wanted to write this small chapter for you pookies<33

Chapter 3: I’m a Troubled Teen (Going Up North to be a Lady-In-Waiting)

Many years ago

The Enchanted Forest

“Your highness, the King and Queen request your presence.”

Oh, God.

It was never good when your parents “requested your presence”. Most of the time it meant you had done something wrong. The last time this had happened, you had jumped off the side of a royal navy ship in your underclothes and satin slippers. 

You shut your book and set it down on the side table in the library, standing up and dragging your feet as you followed one of the advisors. When you approached the door to the “good parlor”, as your mother called it, he knocked three times. You thanked him and after he shut the door a tense air thickened around you.

Your brother, Eric, sat at a chess table with your father while your mother sat by herself in the loveseat practicing her embroidery. 

“What?” you said.

Your mother smiled. “We just wanted to know where you were.”

You looked around awkwardly. “I was in the library…Why did you ask for me?”

“We wanted to spend time with you,” your father said. “It feels like we haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What’s the real reason you asked me here?” you asked.

Still partaking in her embroidery, your mother smiled and looked up at you from the sofa. “We have some news…You remember King Leopold, right?” 

“Sort of.”

“Well,” your mother said, continuing, “his wife, Queen Regina, is looking for a new lady-in-waiting…and they’ve asked for you.”

Your stomach sank. “What?”

“It’ll give you a chance to observe how a kingdom runs,” your father said. “And, it forms an alliance between King Leopold and our kingdom.”

“But–But, Eric is next in line!” you protested. “Shouldn’t he be doing the observing? He’s going to be ruling this kingdom within the next few decades, but instead he’s out on a ship sailing a–”

“Enough!” your father shouted. “This decision is final! The ship sets sail in a fortnight. Queen Regina, King Leopold, and Princess Snow are already expecting your arrival. I won’t hear any more protests from you. It’s time you learn some responsibility and this is the best way to do it.”

__________

Present Day

Storybrooke

You knocked softly on the door to Regina’s home. Waiting a moment, you glanced over to see a sliver of her finger parting the fabric curtain in the front window, just in time to see it quickly close again.

The deadbolt in the door clicked and the door cracked open slowly.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

Regina seemed stand-offish. When the door opened further, you could see it in her eyes that she had been crying.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

She nodded and let you in. You had only been in her home a handful of times–mostly dropping off Henry after school–but it was still as beautiful as you remembered. Instead of admiring the dark hardwoods and the tall ceilings, you focused on her–and now you were admiring much more.

There were still tears in her eyes and wrinkles sat scattered over her navy pantsuit. Everything was becoming so clear in this short amount of time–every dream, every vision, the vague images of your parents in your head. A part of you wanted to yell at her. She took so much from you, but, god, it was hard to be mad at her.

“Um, Regina,” you murmured when she closed the door. “I just wanted to say–”

And there was that feeling–her lips. They encased yours so perfectly. You could feel her strong hands grasp your biceps as you leaned into the kiss. You took a few steps back, bracing yourself against the wall when Regina pulled away. “What?” she huffed. “You wanted to say what?”

You searched her eyes. “Nothing, it can wait for later,” you said, grasping at her shoulders as your lips met again for the first time in 28 years.

[echoeternally]

Echo’s Newer Bowsario Fanfics!

Lol, I was gonna use "latest" for the title, but "newer" got a giggle out of me, so, there we go.

Anyway! Hello to my selective few Bowsario (aka Bowser/Mario) shipping fans. I know there aren't very many of us out there, lol, but hey, we exist! And we have what fun we can.

It's been a few years since I made this kind of post, but I collected the fanfics that I've written in the past (found on this link and then also on this one too) for the pairing.

The content is easy enough to organize elsewhere, but I thought it'd be nice to put it in a convenient spot here too. And maybe some new readers will be delighted by the finds?

So, I figured I'd add a new one, since I've added a bit of new stories since the last post. And I'll share the old stories like I did before as well, because why not?

Presenting the list of the lesser-viewed Enemies-to-Lovers greats!

~~~~~

Amid the Roses - Set in an alternate universe where Mario and Bowser are removed from the Mushroom Kingdom conflicts, this stars the pair as a flower shop owner and tattoo parlor artist respectively. They end up meeting and bonding in a new way here!

Constellation Quelling - A much more traditional fare for the couple, this story has Bowser interrupt Mario while he's alone and relaxing. They bicker at first, but soon open up to one another in a way neither really expected, and the stars above certainly set a mood...

Distant Dawn - Based on a fanfic prompt from years ago on Tumblr, this is a short story to show some early morning musings from Bowser, who considers how his new relationship with Mario can develop, while a secretly not-slumbering Mario listens.

~~~~~

Along with those latest stories listed above, there were a couple of updates to my ongoing Bowsario fanfic, which started a decade ago.

That feels weird to post! But, with some new updates from earlier in the year and more since the last posts, I'll add that below here.

Eternally Never Yours - An ongoing fanfic that details a full affair between Bowser and Mario, as they try to make their seemingly impossible relationship a reality, while struggling to deal with the Mushroom Kingdom at large.

~~~~~

As for the rest, I'll be copying and pasting those below here, so that they can be included too. Makes it a little easier to find it all in one place, I think, right?

Mario’s Defender - A fanfic for Mar10 Day, it tells the story of Mario overhearing some unkind comments about himself, and then a certain someone (Bowser) going back against them. 

Time for Tea - Peach has a small tea party gathering between herself and her friends, the Mario Bros. She wanted the brothers to invite their partners, but didn’t realize who Mario would bring until it was too late. Daisy, however, wants to hear the story of how they got together! 

Red and Blue - In a slight change to the usual storytelling, this is a story that doesn’t use any dialogue to describe tender moments between Bowser and Mario while they explore a relationship together, going over their thoughts. 

Bowser’s Beard - For Bowser Day, a story where Mario and friends go to find out where Peach has been taken, but then find Bowser’s Castle mostly empty when they get there…save for one hairy Koopa King.

Quiet Life - In a “what if…?“ styled story, Bowser is essentially exiled in exchange for the Koopas finally being at peace with the Mushroom Kingdom. Mario is the one that brings comfort to him. 

Inn’s Covers - While going to an inn before a golf tournament, Mario ends up paired in a room with Bowser. They slowly learn to get along, and then some. 

Upon A Dream - After taking a mystical pendant, Bowser ends up in a dream where he’s married to Mario, and grows to not hate it. 

Heart of the Ancient Kingdom - Mario and Bowser are sent on a quest back to the oldest parts of the Mushroom Kingdom to retrieve a rare jewel. They go back to World 1-1 of their earliest adventures, and grow closer too. 

A Spirited Story - Based on Super Smash Bros., the spirits of Wolf and Fox get into a chase sequence of sorts. Mario and Bowser are among the couples they visit. Not quite from this year, but I’ve included it too. 

Wild Cards - A tennis story that focuses on Wario and Waluigi, but has a good deal of shipping support for Mario and Bowser. Also, Bowser wears his tennis outfit and Mario approves. 

Jolly Season - A Christmas special that features not only Bowser and Mario as a couple, but some fluff for Peach and Pauline as one too!

~~~~~

Actually, you know what? Speaking of Peach/Pauline, I may as well include those fanfics here too. What the heck, you know?

This group is a series of stories that I started, um...also a decade ago! But, I've only stirred up the latest fanfic recently, so, gotta get to work on that one again.

Nevertheless, if you're a fan of Mario and Bowser being gay, then I hope you might enjoy Peach and Pauline doing so too!

Toying With Her - The first in the series, where Pauline finds a new object of her affections in the famous princess of the Mushroom Kingdom. Set prior to Pauline's return as mayor in Mario Odyssey! (This story was from years before that even existed.)

Toying With Them - Sequel to the first, Pauline finds herself invited back to Peach's Castle, and finds several more lovely ladies to inspire her toys. Though she's only musing her crushes, that might not be the case forever...if one happens to read between the lines...

Toying With Peril - Finally set after Pauline's return in Odyssey, Miss Mayor comes back to the Mushroom Kingdom...only to find Peach kidnapped and Mario totally unavailable for the rescuing! Guess who gets to step up to the plate this time? Ongoing for now, but do you think Peach will finally learn of and return Pauline's feelings...?

~~~~~

Ha, I haven't done this for a few years. It's nice to see them all together again. Last time was in 2021, and now we've got this in 2024; I didn't think I'd have enough for another round.

Anyway, I know there are fewer fans of them, but for anyone that might be curious to try fanfics featuring Mario and Bowser as a couple, here's my current listing for them.

Meanwhile, if you want stories from other lovely authors, be sure to explore the tag link which I’ll be adding in right here for Bowser/Mario on AO3! It's grown a lot more since I last posted. There are even new regular posters for the pairing besides me!

Though I'm less practiced on Peach/Pauline (they're called Peachline, if I'm not mistaken), they've grown a bit more from my one-off notion of the ladies in love. (Started that back in 2014!) Find some authors that explore the pairing in better detail here. Hope you enjoy!

Part of me likes the idea of writing some more one-shots for Bowsario fanfics at least, and of course finishing that Peachline story in the future. ENY still has some ways to go, but it's moving towards its later stages finally. I wonder what this will look like next time...

Ah, neither here nor there.

For new readers, welcome, and if you've made it this far, thank you for reading and stroking your curiosity! Hope you enjoy.

For older readers, welcome back! If you find something new or want to revisit an older story, I hope you do so and enjoy too.

To everyone, thank you for reading this, and spending a little while with me! If you read any of the stories, please enjoy! Hope you all take care and have a wonderful day.

[well-look-at-this]

Contending with You. II

a/n. bro... writing this was like trying to pry something out of a dog's mouth man... NO BETA RAHHHH!! I finished this and immediately died on the couch w/o posting it major L. anyway here's the 3 short kings and a dog edition (i did NOT notice i put all the shawtys together until i was alr deep 😭 Lilia's was almost so long just because he is so old lmao CHAPTER 7 SPOILERS GUYS FOR DIASOMNIA

Part I: Idia, Azul, Ruggie, Cater

Includes: Riddle, Epel, Jack, Lilia

Thinking about Epel and pride that bleeds. About growing up happy and loved and never feeling wrong. Thinking about when he started school in another town and it started. You look like a girl. Shouting and bruised knuckles. Screaming at a brick wall. Thinking about how it only would get worse as he got older, how he couldn’t grow out of it. Thinking about living in a body that stops feeling like you but just won’t change. About living in people’s assumptions and never being heard. Thinking about being forced to play the role anyways, because you weren’t strong enough. Because he’s never been strong enough to be allowed to be himself. Always told what you are but it’s never right. Thinking about Epel Felmier, the wolf born in the skin of a lamb. 

Thinking about Riddle and hunger. About being the smallest thing in a big perfect house. Thinking about growing up in a conditional and surgical world. Everything done to the T and if not then you’ve failed completely. Plain planned meals in a soft small body. Hungry, but you can’t exceed your planned caloric intake. Watching other children laugh across the street. Hungry, but you have to study, you can’t be irresponsible… you’re five. But it’s not like Riddle knows what he’s feeling, it wasn’t part of the curriculum. Secret friends and a whole tart, feeling full for the first time–being punished for it. You can’t see your friends anymore. Starving. Going to school and becoming part of a place with eight hundred and ten rules. Feels like home. Thinking of tyranny, of a love like your mother; of doing what’s best for them. They start to shake around you, you’ve finished your favorite tart and received another set of As so why are you hungry. Thinking about Riddle trying to feed monsters that will never be satisfied. Thinking about Riddle Rosehearts and a hunger that’s eating him alive.

Thinking about Jack and faith. Admiration and goals; the expectation and excitement of meeting your idol. But no one ever told Jack that you shouldn’t meet your heroes. Meeting Leona, who doesn’t try and certainly doesn’t play fair. Thinking about someone raised in a pack with values and a place for everyone thrown out in the savannah. They should be a team, so why is everyone eating each other alive? Thinking about being thrust into a place where you have to prove your worth to not be tossed aside. But everything you do and know is wrong here, nothing you do could ever make you fit in. Thinking about being threatened in your own dorm. Being so on edge you betray “your” own pack for another. Thinking about living with the aftermath, the whole savannah on his back. They could’ve won if not for you, they want to make sure you won’t be a problem next time. Thinking about Jack Howl who knows he can only end up a martyr. 

Thinking about Lilia and all his time. A feral kid with no birthday, who finds unexpected family only to lose them too soon. Missing and dead, with an egg in his arms that he’s not good enough to see but won’t hatch for years. Thinking about decades scouring the world in the hope he can find his missing friend. Thinking about every time he mused about “what Malleanor and Levan would think of this”. How many times would he catch himself, reminding himself one is dead, the other is missing, left only with their slowly dying son he can’t seem to save. Thinking about the general who hates humans and everything they’ve stolen but can’t help but appreciate them in his years among them. Thinking about the Lilia who cries holding Malleus and won’t let go despite what the council says. Who realizes Malleanor was right and he’s just so full of love. Thinking of Lilia and a lifetime of being so lesser you believe it. Despite raising a boy you can’t say he’s your son, because he could never replace the people he sees in their face, he doesn’t deserve it and he’s vile for even entertaining the thought. Thinking about finding the son of the man who destroyed your family and country, and raising him as your own. About never treating him as anything less than yours but still not allowing yourself to think of yourself as his father. That the boy can never really be yours, even when he is, Seven’s he is. Thinking about thinking yourself is so inconsequential that there’s no gravity to you leaving with no warning. Thinking about Lilia Vanrouge, the fae who couldn’t realize he was a father.

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3

Elain was brought to Nesta, standing in a little alcove that offered them the illusion of privacy. Nesta looked exhausted, eyes ringed with dark circles and her face paler than Elain remembered. She watched Elain approach, nostrils flaring and lips thinning.

“I don’t know which of you is worse,” Nesta hissed when Elain reached her. “Tell me the rumors aren’t true.”

Elain should have known Nesta hadn’t come to hug. “What rumors?”

There were so many possibilities, and Elain didn’t dare to admit to anything. Nesta narrowed her eyes, but said, “You killed a High Lord?”

“That was Eris Vanserra,” Elain said automatically, just like Cadmus had instructed. Nesta looked like living flame just then, like she might combust entirely. “I was only in the room.”

“That’s not what Killian has said. He’s frantic.”

“Why?” Elain genuinely could not fathom what would have Killian so worked up. If Eris wanted to hold Elain accountable, surely he would have called in the troops by now. 

“Because you assisted in killing a High Lord,” Nesta hissed, speaking slow as though Elain were simple. “Why aren’t you more concerned?”

“Because Eris Vanserra isn’t going to share any of the credit,” Elain replied snappishly. “And this is just another attempt on Killian’s end to drag me home. I’m not going.”

Nesta stared at her for a moment, blue eyes unreadable. “Feyre said the same thing,” she mused, more to herself than to Elain. “No one wants to return.”

“Why are you here, Nesta?”

“Because the rumors circling you are concerning. Shacking up with a Day Court Prince—” Nesta’s nostrils flared again, lip curling in triumph when she realized that must be true.

“Assassinating High Lords. Three of them are dead in the span of a day, and our family is at the center of all three. Not to mention Hybern is in Spring—”

“What?” Elain breathed, trying to recall if Lucien had told her that.

Nesta’s amusement died again. “Tamlin is a fool. His father had some bargain with their king—one that was broken when he died, and should have remained broken. But Tamlin…Tamlin invited their general in anyway, and has been giving them tours of the wall.”

“Why would he do that?” Elain demanded, heart frantic in her chest. There were defenseless humans on the other side of that wall. Not to mention, her family was centralized in Spring, left to the whims of Hybern. Maybe her father would be fine, but would everyone else? Nesta waited for Elain to have the same realization she must have had. 

“Because he truly believes Rhysand has kidnapped Feyre and is holding her mind, and nothing short of a thousand years married to her will convince him otherwise. Lucien Vanserra’s assertion that she was not spelled and quite herself didn’t matter. Tamlin is willing to sacrifice everything to get her back.”

“So what do we do?” Elain asked, stepping a little closer. “I could talk to the High Lord—”

“We need to go home,” Nesta said, reaching for Elain’s shoulders. “All three of us. We need to go back, and I can’t convince Feyre this is the right thing.”

Elain blinked. “You want me to…”

“To talk to her? Yes. I want you to tell her that Tamlin isn’t listening to reason. He needed to see her, hear it from her own lips.”

“And what then? What if he doesn’t?” Elain demanded, pulling from Nesta’s grip. “What if you’re right and he won’t believe her unless she marries him. Are you asking me to convince Feyre or that, too?”

“No. There will be no convincing her, not when—” Nesta pressed her lips together tightly, arms crossed over her chest. “If Tamlin can’t be convinced, there is still one brother who could rule. Killian has some sense, at least. He hates Amarantha.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Elain murmured.

“You’re the only one who has seen a High Lord die,” Nesta disagreed, eyes pleading. “And I can’t do this by myself. I don’t want to go back either, Elain. We have to. Spring has been our home and the thought of letting it fall…I…”

Elain knew if she told Lucien this plan, he’d intervene. He’d come up with a hundred reasons for her to wait, or for him to accompany her. She thought of her promise—she wanted to make things permanent between them. 

“How much time do I have?”

“I’d like to leave right now,” Nesta said gently, as if she guessed Elain’s thoughts. “It’s not forever. That mate of yours will survive a week without you.”

Elain didn’t bother asking how Nesta knew. Of course she did. She must have scented it the moment Elain walked into the room. 

“A week?” Elain questioned, sliding the ring on her finger in circles. Nesta nodded her head, though Elain thought it was smart not to make any promises. A week could become a month, or even a year if they weren’t careful. 

“What happens if Feyre says no?”

“Then we go back and you can explain to me exactly how you ended up in a room with the High Lord as his son murdered him.”

Nesta’s eyes glittered with promise—she knew Elain was lying. Elain didn’t bother to correct her, even as she thought the plan was awful. Beron had been seduced by a younger, prettier female and put in a compromising position. Elain very much doubted she or Nesta could tempt Tamlin into the same.

He likely would have heard the details, besides. The only person who was going to ever get close enough to Tamlin was Feyre. And if Feyre was smart, she wouldn’t agree to go back. She’d say no and stay safe in Night with the new High Lord and whatever friends she’d made. 

“Did mother write to you?” Elain asked, thinking of her things dumped wordlessly into Lucien’s bedroom. What kind of welcome was waiting for her at home?

“She did,” Nesta said, her voice laced with pity. “She is…unhappy, but not unswayable.”

“She’ll never approve of him,” Elain insisted, her voice thin and reedy. 

“It’s not her life,” Nesta said fiercely. “She made her choices with father, and you get to make yours, too. What male wants another male’s mate, besides? Killian thinks he will but the scent coming off you makes my hair stand on edge. Mother had a life planned for us all, and we’ve wrecked it.”

“Sorry about Atticus,” Elain murmured. Nesta had always been slated to marry him just as soon as she finished her studies.

Nesta smiled—a genuine thing that made her far more beautiful than she already was. “Why? The High Lord of Night did me a favor. Atticus, too, if we’re honest. I don’t think he ever wanted me as a wife, either.” 

“If we’re going to leave, we should go now,” Elain murmured, looking behind her sister toward the window and the rising sun. Lucien would eat breakfast and meet with his father before coming to look for her again. 

He’d understand, she reasoned. Lucien wouldn’t like the deception, but he’d understand. And he’d be careful, too. Rationalizing that if things went so wrong, Elain could take refuge in nearby Autumn, she reached for Nesta’s hand and began leading her through the palace. Her home. 

I’ll be back, I’ll be back, she chanted in her head. Careful to keep her heart rate steady so she wouldn’t alert Lucien that anything was amiss, Elain managed to get Nesta through the palace without much notice. Courtiers and scholars still fluttered through the halls, glancing her way before returning to their conversations. She was nothing interesting anymore—a princess, so commonplace most of them just barely inclined their heads. 

Later, when Lucien was looking for her, this moment would be cited. He’d know she left intentionally, that she avoided him to keep him from convincing her to stay. It would take no effort on his part—Elain didn’t want to be parted from him. Not today, not ever. Her vision still loomed heavy in her mind. Was she walking straight into it? Or had she derailed just enough that Lucien would honor their marriage vows, deception or not?

Elain simply had to trust that whatever Lucien swore he felt, he meant. That it would take more than one small act of defiance—one made to try and save her home from utter ruination—to sour his feelings for her. Lucien had said he would want her, bond or not.

And though it was so deeply unfair to make him prove it, there was no other choice. Elain stepped into the humidity and the bright light, tilting her head against the warmth while Nesta hissed in disgust. Elain closed her eyes against the cold wind of Nesta’s winnow, wishing that when she opened her eyes, she’d be back in bed with Lucien.

That she’d find this had all been a dream. 

Elain opened her eyes to a city made of moonstone and marble. If Day was burning sunlight, this place was glittering starlight. Elain had never given much thought to the Night Court, and never truly considered what it might look like. This, though, with its shining, clean streets and neat buildings lined up in elegant rows, was beautiful. 

There was no screaming, no pleading or rivers of blood. There was even sunlight, hazy up above and far colder than Elain was used to. She wished she’d grabbed a cloak on her way out. Nesta smiled for a moment, unbidden and bright before she caught herself and replaced that smile with a scowl. A male was striding toward them. He was handsome with his thick, dark hair that fell in waves around truly massive shoulders. Elain didn’t think she’d ever seen someone as broad and muscular as this person. Tattoos crawled up his neck, vanishing dark leathers conforming to his powerful body. Red gems glinted in the light, flaring with what Elain suspected to be excitement when he saw her sister. 

His massive wings, once tucked tightly against his back, flared out for a moment. “Hey, Nes. She came.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snapped as Elain turned to look at her elder sister. Nes? 

“I’m Cassian,” the large, impossibly tall male told her as he extended a hand. “Elain?”

“Elain,” she agreed with a broad smile. “How do you two know each other?”

“We don’t,” Nesta insisted as Cassian, still holding her hand, replied, “I’ve been training her.”

Training her in what? Judging from the flush staining Nesta’s cheeks, it wasn’t just a sword. There would be time to untease all that later—maybe when Elain had Feyre to herself and they could giggle like they were children again, far out of Nesta’s earshot. 

“We’re here to see Feyre,” Nesta interrupted, spine impossibly straight. Cassian’s grin merely widened, as though he were used to these sort of displays and enjoyed them immensely. 

“Lucky for you, she’s at the town house with Rhys. I’ll walk you to her.”

“There’s no need—”

“Oh, I insist,” Cassian interrupted smoothly. “It’s my job to welcome your sister into our court.”

“Well. Welcome her, then,” Nesta snapped. Cassian’s grin was just as sharp, just as lethal as Elain’s eldest sister. Had Nesta met her match here? 

Cassian turned to Elain, sweeping into a half bow. “Welcome to the Night Court, Elain Archeron.”

LUCIEN:

“You wanted to see me?”

Lucien’s father turned from his place in front of the window, his study in disarray. “I did. Elain is with her sister for the day, and I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

Anything to pass the time, he thought to himself. Lucien was unreasonably excited that when he returned to his bedchamber later, Elain would be waiting with food. She was going to accept the bond and they’d have a private celebration. No one could take her from him, then. No matter where they went, no matter how they were separated, she would always belong wholly to him.

Lucien needed something else to think about while he waited or he’d be too tempted to track her down. 

“Of course.”

“I need you to meet with your brother.”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, sighing heavily. “What has Eris done this time?”

“Nothing,” said Helion, turning to face his son. “That’s the problem. War is on the horizon and Eris has all but closed his borders. I thought we could count on him…but…”

But Eris was self-serving above all else. And if he felt the risk was too great to himself personally, he’d stay out. Just like his cowardly father. Lucien was trying so hard not to hate his half brothers, especially after what they’d done for Elain. He owed them for that—Eris and Cadmus could have locked Elain up and held a trial, could have used what she’d done as an excuse to march into Spring or Day, depending on their mood. 

And instead Cadmus had brought her home while Eris gleefully announced to the world that he’d killed his father and then pardoned himself for crimes of treason, all while sitting with a Day Court courtier on his lap. Presumably. Lucien couldn’t picture Eris putting Arina on his lap—that’s just what he would have done if he’d killed Beron and had his mate with him.

Eris probably had Arina stand at the foot of his throne in one of those dresses that buttoned to her neck, penciling in when they ought to have sex based on some ridiculous calendar of her courses so he was certain to get his precious heir. 

“I’ll go. I want to see Arina, anyway.” That was true. Lucien wanted to offer her an out if she’d changed her mind. He knew how overwhelming the mating bond could be and how heady an experience it was. Surely the fog would be clearing, her senses returning. Assuming she hadn’t done anything stupid—like accept the bond and married his brother—Arina could still come home. 

Even if she hadn’t, Lucien might try and smuggle her out anyway. He could always lie and say she’d run away. His parents would kill him for it, but Lucien thought it would be quite fun to steal Eris’s wife right from under his nose just as his father had done to Eris’s father. 

“Take your time,” Helion instructed, unaware that Lucien was itching to get back to Elain. Or maybe he did, given his eyes slid to the mating band on Lucien’s hand. “Keep that from your mother. You’ll break her heart.”

“She’ll get her big celebration,” Lucien promised, though he ducked his hand behind his back all the same. Disappointing his mother was one of the worst things he could imagine. “This was just for us.”

A soft smile slid across his father’s face. “I know the feeling well. Keep it to yourself.”

Lucien nodded, making his way back into the palace. He did go checking after Elain, unable to help himself. He wanted to tell her he was leaving without her, and that it had nothing to do with her abilities or skills. A servant informed him she’d taken her sister into the city and Lucien thought it was best not to bother them given how sad she’d been about her mother and father’s rejection. Maybe Nesta Archeron could smooth things over for Elain’s family so by the time he visited, everyone was on better terms.

Lucien dressed himself, unable to take his eyes off the still rumpled bed in the center of the room. Elain’s trunks were still scattered about, half opened with clothes spilling out. He knew when he arrived, all her things would be neatly stored, the trunks put away. Maybe, having spoken to Nesta, Elain would feel better about where she’d left things with her parents, too.

Assuming, of course, Nesta hadn’t come to drag Elain back home. Lucien wasn’t willing to entertain that possibility, twisting the mating band around his hand nervously. She was his wife—he could go into Spring and bring her back, kicking and screaming if he had to.

And Lucien suspected he would. If Elain went home under some misguided belief she needed to do right by her family, Lucien would flex his muscles as heir of the Day Court, bring that signed scroll with Elain’s uncoerced signature on it, and put her right back in his bed.

Shaking his head, Lucien shoved the thought out of his mind. Elain wouldn’t—she’d wanted to get married, and she wanted to accept the bond. She wasn’t going home, barring some unforeseen disaster. She was safe in the city, likely showing her sister all the best parts of Rhodes. He’d meet them for dinner if he was home in time and hopefully charm the eldest Archeron into loving both his home and himself, and then have Elain moaning beneath him before the night was through. 

It was too hot to have a jacket buttoned to his neck. Lucien opted for a hunter green tunic with a white shirt beneath. Lucien used gold sleeve garters right above his elbows in lieu of his usual armband, and picked out his nicest pair of trousers and a gleaming pair of boots. That ought to satisfy Eris and his ridiculous court would be looking for anything to pick apart—Lucien didn’t intend to let them find it in his appearance.

Still, for the moment he stood outside, the outfit was unbearably hot. Itchy, too. Lucien winnowed quickly before sweat could cling to his skin and make a mockery of him, landing on crunchy leaves just outside the Forest House. 

Beron is dead, he reminded himself. It did little for his crawling anxiety, especially when the guards surrounding the palace watched him, arrows pointed straight at him as he walked to the entrance. 

The smell of cinnamon and wet soil slammed into his senses, far stronger than it had ever been outdoors. Lucien frowned, already missing home. A guard was waiting in a crisp red and white uniform, beckoning for Lucien to follow after him. The palace seemed thinner than Lucien remembered—fewer courtiers meandering the winding halls, watching for something to gossip about later.

Absently, Lucien wondered if Eris hadn’t culled them. It was possible they’d also fled for another court, though Lucien wouldn’t fathom who would want Autumn’s set living within their walls. 

Familiar golden doors were thrust open when Lucien approached, though there was no Beron Vanserra sneering at him as he entered. No open insults, no hateful eyes. Only Eris, casually positioned in that wooden chair made of twisting branches. Arina was propped on his knee, crowned in a burnished laurel leaves and draped in a pretty, burgundy dress that cut far lower than anything Lucien had ever seen on an Autumn Court female. Rubies adorned her throat, a match for the pretty ring on her finger.

She shot upward the moment she saw him, gathering her skirts as she jogged the four steps to the wood floors. Lucien kept his eyes on his brother, waiting for that flash of anger his father would have given.

Eris merely seemed amused. Indulgent, even. Lucien didn’t know what to make of that.

Arina flung her arms around his neck, and Lucien, still testing her brother, hugged her back with a little too much intimacy. He caught Eris’s expression shift to irritation, lip curling over his teeth before he smothered it.

“Where is Elain?” Arina demanded, pushing back just enough to peer around him.

“Busy, unfortunately,” Lucien replied, scanning his friend for any tell-tale signs of bruises or other harm. “How are you?”

He expected Eris to jump in, furious at the insinuation. True, his brother stiffened on the throne, gripping the arms so tightly Lucien heard the wood creak beneath his grip. But he kept silent so Arina, bubbly and vivacious as ever, could say, “I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that—Eris could only dream of getting one good hit in.”

“I don’t dream of that,” Eris said, his first words since Lucien had arrived. “I am content to let my wife speak for me.”

Arina rolled her eyes with affection, looking over her shoulder as Eris stood. 

“He had to make such a show of it. Did you know he’s High Lord?” she teased as Eris rolled his neck before slowly making his way toward them. “He reminds us all no less than ten times a day.”

An affectionate smile spread across his brother's face, so at odds with the male Lucien was accustomed to seeing. What had Arina done to him? It was impossible to consider that Eris may have always been this way.

“Brother,” Eris said by way of greeting, sliding one arm possessively around Arina’s waist. Was Lucien also that obnoxious? Arina reeked of Eris’s scent, the bond between them nearly overpowering. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a warning not to get too close unless he wanted his throat ripped out.

But Eris was keeping it together, given Lucien had just been rubbing his hand up and down Arina’s spine. 

“Have you come to ensure I’m not mistreating my mate?”

“Among other things,” Lucien replied, not bothering to deny it. 

Eris exhaled. “Spend as much time with her as you like.”

Lucien didn’t think he could stand to, though it certainly put some of his fears to rest. If Eris had things to hide, he surely wouldn’t hand her up on a silver platter. Not when the mating bond was still riding him so hard, at any rate. “It’s tempting. A sleepover, like old times?”

Lucien relished the growl that slipped past Eris’s throat. It was too easy to rile him up now. Arina poked Eris in the ribs, leashing Eris before he could do or say something that might start an incident between Autumn and Day.

“Why are you really here, brother?’

“You know why,” Lucien retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “This potential war. Father wants to know where you stand.”

Arina looked up at Eris, eyes wide. “War?” she asked. 

“How poorly you inform her,” Lucien sneered, earning a smack in the chest from Arina.

“Knock it off,” she warned, looking between the pair of them. “What war?”

“Maybe war,” Eris interrupted, pushing the words through his teeth. “As far as I can tell, Tamlin is merely giving Amarantha a tour of his home.”

“Of his borders,” Lucien clarified. “Why would she possibly need to know that? And ships are pouring in from Hybern in the dozens. I doubt it’s all goods for trade.”

“What do you want, then? A promise I’ll march with Helion if Amarantha decides to invade?”

“Yes,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Eris held Lucien’s gaze. “Fine. I’ll agree—on one condition.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucien replied, “What is it that you want?”

“For you to stay two nights. Here. With your brothers,” Eris clarified, perhaps guessing Lucien would merely waste his time hanging out with Arina. “Otherwise tell Helion he can get fucked.”

“Are you serious?” Lucien seethed, well aware his father would not be so forgiving if he returned home without securing this alliance all because he wanted to sleep beside his wife. Eris must have guessed, eyes sliding to the band on Lucien’s hand. 

“It’s time to put the past behind us,” Eris said, slinging his arm around Arina’s neck. She beamed, clearly loving this plan and wholly unaware of what a bastard her mate was. 

“Oh, Lucien, you should. Things are so different—you’d love it. Invite Elain to spend some time here, too.”

“I’m sure Cadmus would love to see her,” Eris added. Lucien swallowed the urge to beat Eris to death with his fists.

“Fine,” he gritted out. He’d write Elain and explain himself. “Two days, and you agree to support Day if Spring lets Amarantha use their territory as a base.”

Something dark flickered over Eris’s face. “And Day will agree to house any refugees from my court should she come over our borders.”

Lucien would need to talk to Winter, too, but it was reasonable enough. Extending his hand, he nodded.

“Deal.”

[consanguinitatum]

DT talk throwback: my interview w/Steve Pang, writer/director/producer of SPACES

This post is the second in the series of posts I'm making to rescue my lost interviews with people who worked with David in his earlier years: you can find the first, with David Blair - the director of Takin' Over The Asylum - right here.

Over half a decade ago now I was a writer for David Tennant News/DT Forum, one of the bigger unofficial fan sites of DT's at the time (now sadly defunct). During my time there, I got the chance in July 2015 to interview Steve Pang - the writer/director/producer of SPACES, a short film David starred in back in 1993. I didn't want this interview to sink into the depths of the Wayback Machine and I thought y'all might enjoy reading it, so here is that interview in its entirety (and if you'd like to see it in its original form, click here.)

Screenshot of SPACES from Moving Image Archive / Steve Pang, Writer-Director-Producer (today, and in a 1993 interview)

--

Recently I was able to chat with Steve Pang, the writer, director and editor of SPACES. SPACES is a 1993 short film starring David Tennant as Vinny, a young man working a night shift in a car park in Edinburgh. The film depicts the characters Vinny meets over the course of the night: an older colleague with a troubled past, a bright young girl who uses the empty car park for her violin practice, and a young homeless boy.

Pang won a First Reels funding Award in 1993 from the Scottish Film Council and Scottish Television for the script he submitted for SPACES. First Reels was “a joint short film initiative from Scottish Screen (and its predecessor body the Scottish Film Council) and Scottish Television that was launched during 1991 by the Scottish Film Council in response to a perceived need for small grants to help young and first time film-makers to make or complete their first film or video project.”

Winning the award gave Pang the funds to make SPACES a reality. In the following years he decided to shift gears and move into film and television editing. He began in film as an assistant editor in the 1997 James Bond film Tomorrow Never Dies and on television in The Vicar of Dibley. Since then he has worked in various editing capacities on a lengthy list of projects including Wonka, Band of Brothers, The Da Vinci Code, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The 10th Kingdom, and Gravity.

How did you hear about the First Reels project? 

The scheme was announced whilst I was at Napier University in Edinburgh studying for my degree. As it was open to students, pretty much everyone on the course applied as it was a rare opportunity to get funding to make films.

It’s my understanding the First Reels project gave filmmakers grants to help them realize their projects, but that the projects didn’t have to be finished films to be submitted.  What stage in its development was SPACES at when you submitted it? Did the grant you won help you film and complete the work or had it already been completed in a rough form? 

As I recall I submitted a script and a supporting application form. Had we not won the grant, I think the film would have still gone ahead in some form but we would not have been able pay the cast or equipment suppliers – which would have undoubtedly had a detrimental effect on the film, in my opinion.

Was SPACES your first film? Take us through its development from idea to reality. How did you decide on it as your submission for First Reels?

It was probably my second or third short, but certainly the most ambitious (everything else before that was really more just fooling around and experimenting with a camera). The goal was to ‘keep things simple’ and come up with an idea that could be shot in one location with a small cast. I had worked part time in a 24hr car park in the past and my experiences in that job were the source material for the film.

SPACES is set in a car park and tells the story of one young man’s night shift. What were your inspirations for the story line?  he ending? Can you share a bit more about what you hoped people would take away from the film?

The short is essentially a dramatisation of a number of real life experiences I had working part time in a 24hr car park in Edinburgh. It sounds like a pretty mundane job, but I worked with some very interesting people and there were one or two unusual incidents. I thought collating everything into a single night would make an interesting short film. I’ve always found night time in cities really fascinating and I thought SPACES would be an original way of depicting that kind of atmosphere and mood. 

Screenshots from SPACES

Were the actors you chose initially the ones that actually appear in the film? How involved were you in choosing the talent, and how did the actors you chose come to your attention? 

We contacted a number of local actors agencies and as I recall the actors in the film were all our first choices for each role. At the time I had no idea who David was or that he was about to become a big star. Looking back, I think he was already making a name for himself as an up-and-coming actor within the industry but as a lowly, newbie film student I didn’t have that ‘inside knowledge’. All I knew was that he seemed remarkably in tune with the character I’d written and came across as incredibly natural in the first audition. The role was his immediately. It was only after the film was completed and submitted that I started hearing comments along the lines of ‘wow you had David Tennant in your short.’

Speaking of actors — David was very young when you worked with him (it’s listed as only his 4th credited role). Was there something that impressed you about this young unknown actor? What about the experience of working with him still stands out for you all these years later?

Working with him – from rehearsal to shoot – was great. We had a tiny budget, a cold, dark location, and it was a night shoot. In hindsight, given that we were a bunch of newbie students and he was about to break through as a major actor, I’m grateful that he was so tolerant of the unsociable hours, the unglamorous location and facilities we had!

I have information that SPACES was shown on television sometime in the latter half of 1993, when Scottish Television ran three half-hour documentaries showing excerpts of the winners from the First Reels. Do you recall if it was shown, and if so, how did you feel seeing your film broadcast?

An excerpt was shown yes, along with a short interview with me. I remember being wracked with nerves on the night of the broadcast and kind of being in shock afterwards. It was probably only a couple of minutes of screen time in total.

Do you have any interesting behind-the-scenes sorts of recollections about working on the short?

I remember our equipment causing a short circuit at the location that required us to completely re-order the schedule. And I think our catering consisted of soup and bread for everyone. It was all very basic.

How do you think working on First Reels influenced you in developing your career?

It was an invaluable boost and a great learning experience. Who knows what would have happened had I not received that grant.

For Further Reference:

View Mr. Pang’s IMDb or his extensive CV.

Synopsis from entry on SPACES from the full film record at the Scottish Screen Archive.

A copy of SPACES is held at the Moving Image Archive and can be viewed at the National Library of Scotland. Private and research viewing only.

--

And that's that! I hope you all enjoyed this unique insight into SPACES and DT's work with Steve Pang!

[enhyqenn]

❝ the cost of it all ❞ — TEASER

pairing. angel!ni-ki x demon!fem!reader

genre. short story, slow-burn, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, fantasy, supernatural

summary. after nearly a decade of war, lord satan is forced to turn over a daughter as collateral for his crimes, paying a debt for the betrayal of his trust with the malakim. but as death seeps into the glass castle once again, reopening once-mended scars amongst the sky kingdom, allegiances begin to rub raw and old relationships flourish with the necessity for survival.

wc. 0.8k | taglist. open

note. posting this to come back from my year-long hiatus (lol) this is apart of @emeraldenha 's UNLIKELY collab! i highly recommend checking it out :)

playlist | read full version here

inhaling deeply, you sunk into your chair and smoothed down the imaginary wrinkles on your dress. fuck, you mentally cursed, itching to rub at your face. you had forgotten that the seven brothers each had a set of their own powers.

settling on fiddling with the chain around your neck, you observed your surroundings with a frown and met the stares of watching eyes.

“i don’t think glaring at them will cause them to burst into flames. your powers are nullified in here,” riki stated. his presence hadn’t startled you, and you had a small feeling that it was because some part of you knew he would show at the absence of his father.

resting your chin on a hand, you merely said, “i’m aware.”

he took the seat to your right. “then why do you look like you’re trying to light everyone in this room on fire?”

“because,” you started, tilting your head to look at him, “it’s fun. i like watching as they squirm and writhe. it makes me feel more powerful than i am.”

riki’s brows raised as he crossed an ankle over his knee. “we’re the only two people in this room dressed in black. people stare at us as we walk past. shouldn’t that make you feel powerful enough?”

“no,” you scoffed, letting your hand fall back to your side as you stared at him. “my definition of power seems to be very different from yours, nishimura.”

“it was always different,” riki said smoothly.

ouch.

mouth drawn in a tight line, you kissed your teeth, gaze sliding from him to the archangel now standing on the dais. seven identical thrones accompanied the king’s, the new seats all filled except one.

the crowd grew silent as someone tapped a spoon against a wine glass.

“greetings,” the king said with a sickening smile, his wings extended behind him in a subtle display of power. “oh, how i have waited for this moment, to welcome you all here to the castle on the occasion of good news.”

good news? you thought, eyes flashing to riki. his face heeded no information on whether he knew what this was about or not.

the king continued, his white hair shining under the chandelier light, making it appear silver. “here, in this ballroom, we have a very special guest among us. now, she has already made her appearance through an array of deviant actions, but i think her company here could bring us great benefit, wouldn’t you all agree?”

if every person in the room wasn’t already staring at you post entrance, they definitely were now.

your throat closed up at the sudden urge to vomit all over the tile flooring, and you swallowed down lingering anxiety as you stared at the king. you were almost certain that even though the wards around the room nullified your powers, your irises had turned a dark shade of red.

the monarch up front continued to talk, but the words started to slur together as blood thrummed in your ears. this is bad, you thought, forcing yourself to remain dormant in your chair. sudden applause erupted in the room, and someone grabbed your shoulder.

“what?” you heard yourself snap, eyes flicking to riki, who was now getting to his feet.

he nodded toward his father, dark hair falling past his ears, as his mouth curved into an amused smirk. he extended a hand. “dad requires your presence.”

blinking up at him, your mind shadowed with a haze as you stood slowly, ignoring his offered palm. squaring your shoulders, heels clacking on the marble with each step, you weaved through the crowd—riki right behind you—and forced your face to become unreadable. all eyes were on you, and while it wasn’t necessarily a foreign concept, you felt small. like a child hesitantly approaching its furious father.

“ah, there she is,” the king said, watching with a smile that made your stomach twist in on itself. “i’m happy you’re here…and so is everyone else.” he took your arm, turning you to face the crowd he addressed (though not before shooting a dirty look toward riki, sending the black-winged angel to his designated throne).

gulping, you stared at the large group of angels, some with and without wings; of individuals that called this place their home. the idea of people actually being happy here made your stomach knot.

the king continued to speak, it was white noise in your ears, his speech muffled. you continued to blankly stare down the crowd, focus landing on a pocket of empty space, not daring to meet any person’s gaze. you thought it better that you ignore them, even with all of their attention zoned in on your stilled figure.

“...and my sons will oversee her training and missions, making sure that she understands and complies with our rules.” the king moved his hand to your back, and you hoped to hell that you didn’t visibly flinch.

your life now consisted of being the new personal assassin to an archangel, and if you were to keep the impression you strived for, no weakness could be displayed. not now and not ever.

© enhyqenn 2023 | do not repost, republish, steal, or translate !!

[atopvisenyashill]

THE WIDOWS OF WINTERFELL: A True Telling of the Trials and Tribulations of Sansa & Serena Manderly Stark, as written by Coryanne Martell of Bear Island

Though the First Men, the Andals, and most of the Valyrians hold with the tradition that a daughter must always come before an uncle in matters of succession, the truth of this is that inheritance does not always - or even usually - follow such strict traditions. There are variances not only between the kingdoms that make up Westeros, but throughout the world as to whether a Lord or King's wealth and role may pass to a son, daughter, brother, sister, or even a relative further removed. These variances amongst traditions include the Iron Throne itself, where no woman nor man descended from a woman has ever sat, the Dornish and their Rhoynar tradition of age based succession - and, more recently, the North, which holds a similar age based succession tradition.

This tradition traces its origins to the succession crisis of Winterfell in the year 175 AC when a short - but tense - stand off occurred between Sansa Stark and her younger uncle, Jonnel Stark. Sansa, being the daughter of Jonnel's older brother, would have come first when holding to traditional succession laws, as would her sister Serena. The issue was seemingly resolved by the marriage of both sisters to their eldest uncles, Jonnel and Edric, with Jonnel being named Lord of Winterfell and Sansa his lady. In truth, the Sisters Stark had only begun their war of words against their young uncles.

Much of our knowledge of that time comes from the account of the succession crisis set down by Torrhen Stark and edited several decades later by Maester Walys, as well as the many letters sent to close friends while they plotted and planned - and the grumblings of their detractors in the North as well as the South. The judgement of their actions is varied; some called the Sisters Stark overreaching tyrants, more interested in their own power than having any true interest in what they called the rights of heiresses. Those that loved the sisters believed Sansa to have as tender a heart as any woman but with the cold pragmatism of the old Kings of Winter, and Serena an intellect to rival a Grand Maester that she hid behind charm and courtesy. Whatever the judgement of their actions, their impact on Northern succession law cannot be mistaken.

SOME NOTES HERE

The names are NOT listed in age order or the graphic doesn't work. Sue me!!!

My characterization for Jonnel, Edric, Barthogan, and Brandon is based off the very vague idea that the North “lamented” the loss of Rickard because the rule of his sons was “troubled” as they were just, not that good at being Lord of Winterfell, except in this version Sansa and Serena get frustrated with that and just refuse to let go of the North when Jonnel dies, and make their beef the North’s problem by going “actually succession is strictly age and not gender based now, new rule.”

read more here, this idea came from me trying to justify absolute primogeniture being recent in the North, for maximum drama between the Starklings and also to give Ned a heart attack.

This timeline is held together mostly on vibes lksjfd I might update the concept as I go along but I got tired of trying to piece together the ages and death dates.

I genuinely have like a novella worth of F&B style lore to back all of this up. Here is only a tiny little bit of it-

Cregan sends Sansa to the Maidenvault to be a companion to Elaena Targaryen. She is one of very few Northern girls sent, and likely (definitely) sent to ensure she could not develop proper support in Winterfell to rival Cregan's sons.

She is recalled to Winterfell once Baelor the Blessed dies, because Cregan Does Not Fuck With Viserys Like That, but Cregan hems and haws about her marriage match until the day he dies.

After she realizes Jonnel intends to cut Serena/Cregard out of the line of succession, she starts building alliances not just in the North but in the South as well. Elaena and Alyssa (one of Rhaena's daughters, Alyssa Hightower, because it is the funniest name!) help her find matches for Cregard, Aregelle, and Aranna that come with influence, money, and a small household ready to move into Winterfell and loyal only to Sansa and Serena.

Cregard marries a northerner, Robyn Ryswell, to gain the Ryswells as an ally. More than that, it was important to Sansa that Cregard marry a Northerner, because some talk about them being ~poisoned by Southron ambitions~ bc she was raised in the Capital.

Torrhen, Cregard's twin brother, marries Rhaella Hightower, or what Alyssa, Elaena, and Sansa refer to as Rhaena and Garmund's Oops Baby. Younger than her sisters by over a decade, Rhaella is doted on, and comes north with a large household and a small fortune.

Aranna is the first match Elaena and Sansa set up though it's not for politics (it happens before Edric dies) but because of their fondness for each other - Elaena's son, Jon Waters, with Serena's oldest girl. I know there’s the bastard thing but executive decisioning that Jonnel and Edric are excited about it - they grew up hearing all sorts of stories about Alyn Velaryon and they can't help but think it's both very cool and potentially useful to have his bastard son with a Targaryen princess in Winterfell.

Aregelle's husband, Garin Martell, is not from the direct line of the Martells aka a brother to Myriah and Maron. He is however, part of the household sent to protect Myriah when she comes North to marry Daeron in 169, as a squire. Elaena suggests the match and also hints at the idea that she wants a Dornish influence in the North to help Sansa and Garin is like "say no more, that's hilarious."

The match between Lyanna and Galeo Cassel is made by Serena. Galeo Cassel was a merchant from Braavos who made his home in winter town, finding he much enjoyed the cold weather and the odd, serious ways of the Northerners. He becomes a close friend of Serena's while Sansa is in the South, and is rewarded with a marriage match, when he designs a sigil - he tells everyone who will listen that the single wolf is Cregan, the two wolves are Sansa & Serena, the three wolves are him, Lyanna, and his brother, and the four wolves are their children (who haven't been born yet). Being the richest man in winter town, his support and fondness for the girls becomes important to their goals. Yes I worked in an origin story for House Cassel.

Sansa reaches out to every aunt she has with the promise of fantastic matches for all their kids if they back her claim against Barthogan. I simply did NOT have the room for all of the kids, hahahaha, but this is how she gets the Norreys, Umbers, Ryswells, and Blackwoods on her side - all of a sudden, they get to jump the line over her uncles AND they’re offloading their spare kids into other people’s castles. In return, she gets second son Leo Blackwood's own son, Ronnet, a sweet match with a Tully, and they marry back into the family a generation later. She gets the Ryswells a sweet match as well with Cregard, obviously, and will get the Umbers one soon (hold that thought).

Alysanne Stark, daughter of Torrhen and Rhaella Hightower, is their oldest child. She, Edrick, and Addam and Elaena are all close, growing up in Winterfell together. Alysanne, who married Jason Blackwood, is given some land in the Wolfswood to settle, and the two eventually form their own cadet house, at first called House Stark of the WolfsWood but eventually it is shortened to Starkwood. Elaena Soranys, a name she later takes on to rid herself of the taint of bastardry, marries the heir to House Umber. Olyvar marries the heir to House Mormont, Janna, and his second born child - they have four daughters in total - establishes House Martell of Bear Island.

I haven’t decided if it’s more likely that the Martells of Bear Island are just, this random Martell cadet branch in the North that by present day just doesn’t look Dornish at all and has no relationship to Dorne or the main Martell branch, but kept the Martell name, OR if Bear Island is like, just a Little multicultural because the presence of its original Dornish founding member is enough to draw the presence of more Dornish people to Bear Island. I was picturing kinda like the Marches, where you can see through the names and marriages a bit of a mixing of the two dominant cultures there, like a lil sprinkling of southron influence seeping through.

I still wanted to keep the concept of a succession crisis when Dunk and Egg get to the North SO! Brandon still marries Alys Karstark - a match Sansa fights against loudly - and Beron still marries Lorra Royce and has several children (i stole some of them for other characters though). Cregard dies before his mother and Serena, who is old, frail, and sickly, rules in name alone when Sansa finally passes - the rule of Winterfell is mostly in the hands of her grandson, Edrick. He marries a Manderly, and they have one child that lives to adulthood, Arsa, though she has a number of cousins all eager to be her favorite - including, eventually, her cousin William.

After William’s wife, Gillian’s Glover, dies in the birthing bed, Arsa sends for a nursemaid to care for his son, Brandon. Though Brandon dies soon after the nursemaid, Nan, gets to Winterfell, a grieving William is touched by his cousin’s care.

When Sansa dies, and Edrick is fatally wounded not long after, Dunk and Egg walk into a succession crisis. While several first born daughters have inherited since Sansa and Serena's changes - Janna Mormont, Corlynne Cerwyn, Arya Flint, and Serena Hornwood - the very short rule of Edrick and the premature death of Cregard has everyone on edge about yet another ruling Lady of Winterfell. As Edrick lay dying, Westeros’ nosiest squire and most upon knight roll up to the castle, curious as to why every single Stark is suddenly at Winterfell.

Also, here are the invented sigils, the Mormont Martell words are not serious but I imagine their words are similarly metal:

[phoenix-flamed]

Prefacing this post with, as always, it's completely okay if you don't agree or like this headcanon! It's something I've been wanting to elaborate more on, but have been hesitant to, because I know Jill's situation of being taken to Rosaria as a child is a bit of a touchy topic. It's never my intention to step on anyone's toes! So if any Jill RPers have their own headcanons they want to incorporate into our interactions regarding how negotiations with her father went, please feel free to let me know, and we can work with those!

But the subject is an important one to my muse, and I don't want to brush it aside, both good or bad aspects. Plus sharing it is meant to shed some light on how my muse thinks, and how his decisions are made -- which plays into how he is as a ruler.

The conflicts between Rosaria and the Northern Territories weren't a recently-developed thing at the point in time when Elwin led his campaign into the North. They had been going on for decades at the absolute least -- so when Elwin took the throne, he was essentially inheriting a nation that could be dragged back into war at the drop of a pin, with a long-standing history of blood and fighting against their neighbors to the north. In fact, when Elwin led that campaign, it was because the north was invading Rosarian territory.

An important fact about my Elwin is that he is, most of the time, very future-driven. All of his decisions and actions are carefully planned out with the future in mind, rather than the present; he believes very passionately that building a better Rosaria -- and world as a whole -- isn't meant to benefit him or his generation. It's for the generations after, for the youths who would otherwise carry the weight of war left by their forefathers, and for the generations yet to come.

In short, he's all about setting the brickwork for foundations of change. Or a better comparison is, planting seeds! He's planting seeds that, over time and with cultivation, will grow and blossom.

Taking Jill to Rosaria wasn't just about keeping the Northern Territories from attacking the duchy. It was, perhaps more importantly, about fostering good, friendly relations between the two territories. My Elwin's hope was that the personal friendship between Jill and Joshua + Clive would carry on well after Joshua had taken the throne, and would inspire their peoples to come together as well. Jill is, after all, a princess, and by all rights should have at least some influence in political matters in her homeland.

It was never his intention to keep her from seeing her family again, nor to keep her from returning home. It was never his intention to strip her of her heritage, culture, traditions, everything from her home in favor of Rosarian ones; she wasn't intended to convert her entire way of life to that of Rosaria's. She was a ward of House Rosfield, yes, but not a political prisoner(as was my thought back when I first made this blog). She was meant to be more of a foreign exchange student, you could say. She would learn about the duchy and its people, and in turn, the boys would learn about the Northern Territories and their people.

My muse is very respectful when it comes to other nations, within reason. He does not, and never has, believed in conquest and subjugation. Even when it comes to war and fighting in general, he chooses it only as a last resort, or when defending his homeland. When it came to the fighting with the north, his final campaign was not necessarily about strong-arming King Warrick into withdrawing his men from Rosarian soil and laying down their arms against the duchy. It was about treating for peace. It was about negotiating terms that benefited both nations, ensuring that both would be left in a better position and that they could reach understanding to the point of working together.

Perhaps, one day, they could forge an outright alliance.

Taking Jill to Rosaria, in my headcanons, was not a forced, one-sided matter, although it was, yes in my opinion, unfair to Jill regardless. Not to mention that, just like with Clive and Joshua, it forced her to carry the weight of her homeland's future on her shoulders. But this decision was something that both Elwin and her father had agreed upon, after King Warrick listened to Elwin's plans for the future, rather than Elwin forcing him to submit and accept the terms. After all, the lore tidbit about Elwin's campaign into the north uses terms like "pacifying" the Northern Territories, and "uniting" them. It was about ending the fighting, both with Rosaria and among the Northern Territories' various groups as well.

I understand if individual Jill RPers don't agree with this, and have their own headcanons on the subject of what happened; I'm willing to compromise for interactions with your muse regarding the negotiations with Silvermane and my muse, just let me know it's something you'd like altered! My muse's motives, however, will always remain the same, no matter what -- they're a core part of who he is and how he operates.

Tl;dr, there's a reason for everything he does!

[penny00dreadful]

Happy WIP Wednesday! I thought I'd share some snippets of my multiple WIPs because I'm obsessed with all of them and the urge to share became too much. These will all eventually be posted both here and on AO3. Some are first drafts and might change slightly and some have already been through rewrites, ALL will be published eventually.

Return of the King - Part 5

Anything further Eddie wanted to say was swiftly lost as the back door was thrown open with a shout from Dustin.

“He’s a vampire?!”

Eddie tilted his head back the whole way so he was looking at Dustin upside down.

“That’s the prevailing theory.”

“Dude!” The next second Dustin had disappeared back inside.

Sitting back up straight again, Eddie glanced over in Hopper's direction.

“A vampire? Really? You’re encouraging this?”

Eddie raised his hands up in surrender. “I’m just calling ‘em like I see ‘em, Hop. The boy’s got fangs. He drinks blood. He’s not dead anymore.”

“Whose blood?! Did he bite you?”

“I wish.” He muttered but evidently not quietly enough if Hopper’s scandalised expression was anything to go by. “No, he didn’t bite me. He stole some cows' blood from the butchers.”

Hopper groaned as he heaved himself up from the chair and let a loud exhale go. “I don’t know why I’m surprised by anything anymore. Fuck it, fine, he’s a vampire. Just another god damn Tuesday in Hawkins.”

Commuppance - The kids meddle in Steve's love life and get their just desserts.

“Eddie, we need you to flirt with Nancy.”

The man in question turned his head slowly and methodically until he was facing Dustin completely, his hand still hovering over the battle map he was prepping.

“Excuse me?”

“If you make Steve jealous, that might be the kick he needs to finally do something.”

“You’re playing with fire here, Henderson. You can’t toy with people’s feelings like that.”

“Who’s toying with feelings? There’ll be no feelings involved.”

“What about Steve’s feelings? What about Nancy’s?”

“It won’t matter once it all works out.”

Eddie’s mouth was set in a firm, grim line. He looked almost angry. But that couldn’t be right.

“And there’s no way this could possibly blow up in your face, right?”

Dustin looked at Eddie like he had six heads. What wasn’t he getting about this? This was how things were done. He was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Nancy and Mike into the Harrington basement.

Steve barely glanced up at their arrival, just sending a short smile their way, too deep in conversation with Robin about the news or interior design or whatever the fuck grown ups talk about.

Dustin sent a very pointed look Eddie's way who heaved the most put upon sigh, rising from his seat and giving Dustin the middle finger which he sarcastically reciprocated.

“Hey Nance.” Eddie said, sildling up beside her and oozing charm and charisma. “I'm glad you decided to come today. Don't know what I would've done if I had to go without seeing your pretty face for much longer."

Worship - Reincarnation AU

Their last Life together had been… well there was no word to describe it other than horrible. He’d only ever seen Eddie die so brutally once before.

But those demobats had been…

Fuck.

Something in Steve broke in that last Life.

He’d fought so hard for so long. Scrambling for whatever scrap of Eddie he could get in each Life, over and over and over again.

And Eddie never remembered.

Each new Life for him was a fresh start.

But Steve remembered all of it. He remembered everything. Living, dying, searching for Eddie every time, for years, sometimes decades until he found him.

He supposed it was what he had asked for.

Or rather demanded.

Maybe he was stupidly naive to think that pissing off, disrespecting and insulting Her then demanding he get Eddie back would get him what he wanted, the way he wanted.

Maybe it was a curse.

Steve’s Curse.

Unnamed Dungeons and Dragons AU

“Hunt him down, Harrington.”

Steve glared across the table.

“I’m not your fucking errand boy, Carver. I don’t need your money.”

“No, but you need a quest to become a full Knight. Even your daddy can’t buy you that.”

Steve bristled, his stomach turning sour because the thing was Jason was right. His father had attempted to buy his way, as far as could be bought, into a knighthood though Steve had succeeded through his training all on his own merit not needing the aid of daddy's money. He was nothing if not a talented athlete.

But in order to be fully knighted and earn his station as a Paladin, he needed to complete a quest outside of their small town of Hawkins. And a quest for such a thing could only be approved by the High Priests, which Jason was currently in training to become, serving directly underneath the Head High Priest Henry Creel.

“I hardly think some pissy little bard from the shitty part of town would qualify as a quest.”

“He tried to curse Chrissy, Harrington. Messing with dark shit. Nercromancy. Blood magic. It's a god damn miracle she's even alive. You want a freak like that roaming free?”

Steve scoffed. “It’s not like he’ll ever come back to town. He cut and run fast enough.”

Through the Valley - Post Apocalypse AU

Eddie swiped furiously at his eyes with his bedsheets, trying to will the lump in his throat away. His heart still ached and he knew despite his best efforts he’d be carrying it around with him for the rest of the day. He hated those nights with a burning passion. He didn’t have nightmares like Dustin or Nancy did, he had these dreams. He wept in his sleep, crying until he was dried out and exhausted upon waking up but he wouldn’t trade them in for anything.

At least with these dreams he could still…

It wasn’t important. He had too much shit to deal with today to spend time mourning the past. Their food surplus was getting dangerously low and there hadn’t been a supply drop in weeks though their own vegetable crop was still growing strong. Chester Hagen and his goons were still giving Nancy trouble. They needed extra hands to get their fence back up again and those bandits were still out there. They might have been scared away by Dustin and Scott’s genius and deadly electrical wiring but they weren’t going to stay away for long.

Their settlement was way too valuable an asset to have under their belts from a defensive standpoint alone and if they were able to seize control it could be catastrophic.

And the fucking Ghouls.

A constant trickle of Ghouls stumbling towards their settlement, invariably drawn towards the noise their small community made. Their numbers had started to dwindle a little but they were still a very real threat.

The two bodies that had to be brought home and buried during the last trip to maintain their water tower made that clear enough.

Fuck, they needed food. Everyone was running on fumes and it was making them sloppy. Their sentries were having trouble concentrating, their medical personnel had started to feel they couldn’t perform their duties safely anymore, their smartest minds were waning.

Eddie dragged himself out of bed, the one he’d slept in alone and lamenting the empty space next to him since they first arrived at this estate, nine months ago and fourteen months since...

No.

Too much to do today.

[dent-de-leon]

Hey Leo, do you think if Gustav found out about Molly/Kingsley being reborn versions of Lucien, who was murdered, he'd suddenly become terrified of Tealeaves?

Not because of anything they've actually done, but because if one reborn murdered soul found him once..... who's to say that more won't follow?

And who's to say they won't have a more personal score to settle with him?

Oh, that's interesting! I feel like Molly's fondness for his circus family still bleeds into Kingsley, still affects him once he starts getting those memories back. I think Gustav will always mean something to him, even if he might not want to admit it at first. And on Gustav's end, I think he had enough love for Molly--and guilt over his death--that he would happily take in any incarnation of Tealeaf.

The only one that would have anything against Gustav is Lucien, I think. And...I don't really think he would even find him too threatening, because he was willing to risk taking Molly in in the first place.

I would not at all be surprised if Gustav knew the Tavelles, or at least had heard of them. They're both from Shadycreek, and there are only so many people in the Run who are entertainers and showmen. A family of purple tieflings that would sing and dance and put on little plays? I feel like that's something that's hard not to notice, and I can imagine Gustav seeing their caravan pass by from time to time.

And given that they all got caught up in a bargain with a hag from the Savalirwoods, that this little family of tiefling performers ended up all dying, their caravan set on fire--the horror of the fact that they resurrected their own son as an undead puppet before that...I feel like Gustav had to have at least heard stories of this bard-like tiefling family that all died horribly--or just vanished--right there in Shadycreek.

And then he sees this purple tiefling wandering around the Savalirwoods over a decade later, "Empty" and alone and looking so terribly haunted...? I do wonder if Gustav recognized him in that moment, saw this soft, heartbroken tiefling and remembered some of the horror stories about the Tavelles.

Of course, I could just be reading too much into it. But, whether Gustav had ever heard of Lucien before or if he had no idea where Molly came from, the comic still portrays him as taking a dangerous risk in letting this stranger into their camp. Accepting him at once and offering him shelter. He just didn't have the heart to turn Molly away, and I think that would hold true for any incarnation of Tealeaf he ever met. "What are we, if not a home for broken things?"

I also think to this day he still regrets Molly's death, and if he ever found out that that shard of his soul lived on, then...I think he'd want to find him again, try to reach out and check in. He was the closest thing Molly ever had to a parent, and then he dies so young, so tragically--and Gustav could do nothing to stop it. For him, Molly is, “A brief star burning very bright, but twice as short...It's a shame. He was a good one.” Another one of his regrets. And if he could reunite with him in this new life, try to make amends in some way--I'm sure he'd want that.

Given Gustav's philosophy of taking in "broken" souls--while the rest of the camp chide him for taking too many risks because of how soft he is--I can definitely see him welcoming Kingsley back with open arms. King also mentioned wanting to retrace his steps with Nein, to "go and visit and learn." Beau even asks Molly, "Don’t you want to see Gustav now that you’ve paid off his debt?” during that final Cognouza fight, and it definitely has an effect on him. I can see Kingsley wanting to reunite with him and the other circus folk sometime in the future, once he feels ready to face the past.

I think the only thing Gustav would ever have to fear is...the possibility that Tealeaf finds out he was willingly giving victims to Kylre, entirely complicit in it. I think it would've broken Molly's heart to see that the closest thing to a parental figure he ever had--one of the kind circus folk who gave him a home and shaped his core morals--was leading others to their deaths behind his back. (And the parallels to his parents bringing victims to a hag and Gustav's deal with a demon is just...chilling--)

"Things came back quick, and the circus helped--they were good people. They did a lot for me, and joy can fill an awful lot in a person's life...I stayed with that circus for two years. I know how people treat each other, it's important." Gustav even gave Molly his name.

I don't know that Mollymauk would've been able to forgive that kind of betrayal--especially since he was only alive for two brief--mostly happy--years, and the whole concept of betrayal is something he's never really personally experienced. Especially if Lestera died as a result of Kylre feeding on her. Which, isn't explicitly stated or anything in the comic, but...we know he was eating older folk, and Lestera seemed perfectly fine and healthy before dropping dead suddenly right before Molly was meant to meet her.

And from the way Taliesin looks so hurt when he starts to realize that Kylre has been eating people who came to the circus? The way he just stops and goes, "Oh...Oh no..." I do wonder if a part of that was him realizing that...maybe that's what happened to Lestera. After all, we know he was feeding on Toya too. The fact that we get a panel of the rest of the circus folk mourning Lestera at her funeral--with the exception of Gustav--also seems like a deliberate choice. We never get to see his face. I wouldn't be surprised if her death was something else he was wracked with guilt over, another reason he wanted to stay in that cell.

And given how Kingsley started asking about, "a beautiful woman in a red coat" as soon as he woke up, seemed so disappointed when he couldn't find her...I think once he realizes Lestera is gone, that's still going to really hurt. And if he finds out it was someone he used to be close to that caused her death? I could see that causing some bad blood between them.

Either way, I think it would still be good for them to meet. To have that closure--and perhaps a part of Gustav also wants to confess everything to someone from the circus, admit what was really going on after it's haunted him all this time. I don't know that Tealeaf would forgive him, or whether he'd feel too distanced from it all, but. I think it's still a conversation that would heal them both to finally have.

I think Gustav would be so moved and relieved to see Tealeaf alive again for the first time, overjoyed at the chance for a reunion. Either that, or...I wonder if he looks at this lost soul he couldn't save, who was so full of joy and life, fiercely loyal and protective--with so much love to give, so compassionate--and. I wonder if a part of him sees King as a ghost come back to haunt him for all he's done--

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross: Chapter 19

The Unseen Foe

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Sometimes I’m not angry, I’m hurt, and there’s a big difference.

--------------------------------------------------

It was no secret that the Panda King was a ruthless, dangerous criminal.

Born penniless, the man had grown up fascinated by fireworks and had spent a decade learning the art, hoping to impress the rich business that set up shops every New Years to sell only the highest quality products. When they had instead proceeded to ridicule him and ruined his already-meager reputation, he and his sister had been forced to relocate halfway across China just to find work under people who did not share the connections with the men that had made a laughing stock out of his work.

“Inspector Fox.”

Humiliated, King had eventually returned to take revenge on those who shunned him by using the very tools of his art for crime, destroying both their livelihoods and their lives with his fatal fireworks. The Fiendish Five had recruited him as their demolition’s expert within a few short years afterwards, and from then on, his explosive touch became feared worldwide.

“Inspector Fox.”

The panda was well-known for returning to his home country after a completed job with his cohorts. His last sighting had been a year and a half ago at the eastern border between China and North Korea. But no one seemed to know where, exactly, he holed up in, and local police provinces were either unhelpful or unwelcoming towards every Interpol effort to find information about him.

If only there was one clue they could get, one tiny piece to jumpstart the puzzle, then –

“FOX!”

Carmelita jolted out of her train of thought to see Inspector Barkley standing in the doorway to her office. His arms were folded impatiently with an unimpressed look on his face, and she hunched up her shoulders in embarrassment as she turned away from the world map on her corkboard wall that was littered with little red pins. A few in Europe, another several in Africa, one or two down the coast of South America.

An entire cluster across the whole of China.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just so focused…”

“So I’ve noticed,” he said gruffly, stepping up beside her to study her wall map and the chaos of tacks all over it. “Just wanted to check in and see how things are going. You’ve been holed up in your office since you’ve been back.”

The fox swallowed. It had been nearly two weeks since the…since she had returned from Wales. She had come back to France out of a blinding need for familiarity and security, but nothing seemed to help calm her scattered thoughts. Staying home felt lonely and unproductive. Working in the office felt crowded and confining. She was stuck in a limbo where all she seemed to think about was the worst day of her life and all she wanted to think about was anything but that.

What made it even worse was that she couldn’t fall back on her main case to distract her. With only two members of the Five left to find, no strong leads for one and practically zero information on the other, the inspector had hit a brick wall that left her frustrated on her best days, and nearly depressed on her lowest.

Barkley seemed to have caught on to that last fact, considering he was standing here when she couldn’t remember the last time he had sought her out willingly instead of summoning her to his office. He continued to eye the mess across the wall, stroking his mustache almost thoughtfully.

“Finally hit a wall on the Fiendish Five case, hm?”

“Not a permanent one!” She rapidly replied, fighting the urge to fidget like a child scared of disappointing their teacher. “Just…a minor bump in the road. I’ll be right back on track soon, I swear.”

“Relax, Fox. We’re not going to boot you from the case for getting stuck. Considering you’ve taken down more than half of them in the last month when we had couldn’t even manage one in fifteen years, it’d be foolhardy to even entertain the idea.”

Guilt made Carmelita’s tail curl behind her out of her boss’ line of sight. She didn’t deserve that praise. Not when she had been unknowingly relying on help and info from a traitorous, heartbreaking criminal.

“I appreciate your faith in me, sir,” came her response anyway, because it was what she would’ve said in any other circumstance. He couldn’t know about what she’d done. Who she’d trusted.

The badger grunted, still stroking his mustache, then appeared to come to a decision. He motioned for her to follow him out the door and down the hall. “What you need is a change of pace, I think. Something to keep your mind sharp while you’re working through this rut so you can return to the case with a fresh pair of eyes.”

“Did you have another case in mind, sir?”

“Not quite.” He led her down a set of stairs, down to the floor where they questioned those they had arrested. “Let me ask you – when was the last time you helped out with an interrogation?”

“Since before I started working on the Fiendish Five case.”

She was intrigued despite her melancholy; interrogations were usually boring or unfruitful, but she knew how to cast an intimidating presence and it had often yielded results when her coworkers were unsuccessful. It would probably be less likely to make her want to bash her head against the wall, at any rate.

Then they entered the observation room adjacent to the holding pen, and she got a clear look at exactly who she was supposed to be questioning. Sir Raleigh sat in his chair with perfect posture, picking idly at whatever perceived dirt he could find along his cuffed hands. Even from the other side of the one-way mirror, the fox could practically feel his boredom for the situation he’d found himself in.

Barkley started talking about everything they’d tried to make the machinist speak against his still-free cohorts, but all of it went in one ear and out the other as Carmelita stared at the man who had pushed the tiny metaphorical snowball into the cascading mess that was currently wrecking her life. There was not a single part of her that didn’t want to go into that room.

“Well, Fox? What do you say? Think you can get your most recent quarry to finally crack?”

What left her mouth was almost automatic. “Of course, sir.”

She had no way of saying no without having to explain herself. She didn’t want to talk to Raleigh, with every fiber of her being, but even more than that, she absolutely did not want to share any of the events that had transpired from the moment she’d stepped foot onto a certain ransacked street in Mesa City.

Mechanically, distantly, the inspector entered the room. Raleigh didn’t even glance up from his fingers.

“I want my phone call,” he said, sounding both curt and unconcerned. It was a disturbing talent he had, truly.

Carmelita took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she sat down across from him. “Did someone promise you a phone call?”

The sound of her voice finally got the frog’s attention. He looked at her, surprised for all of two seconds before a downright catty grin curled across his visage.

“Well, well, well. To what do I owe the honor to be graced by your presence?”

“I’m here because I’ve heard you weren’t cooperating with our other officers.”

“’Cooperate’ is an awfully generous term, Inspector. I’ve merely been exercising my right to general silence and I have been harassed immensely for it.”

The grin had stricken fear in her heart, but she forced herself to relax when he didn’t act on whatever was obviously going on in his head. So long as he remained indignant about how he was being treated, there was a very good chance she could get through this encounter without him bringing up the elephant in the room.

The raccoon, to be more precise.

“There are standard procedures in place for these interrogations,” she said, trying to appear the no-nonsense inspector that she was. “Whatever injustices you believe you have experienced, we will make note of it.”

“If I recall, allowing a prisoner at least one phone call is also standard procedure, but no one has given me that courtesy yet. Interpol certainly doesn’t practice what it preaches, does it?”

"We'll see about getting you your phone call once our discussion is over. Your cooperation will speed things along."

Raleigh scoffed and folded his arms, looking at her like she was a bug to squish. “Bloody get on with it, then.”

“Very well. How long have you been a member of the Fiendish Five?”

“No doubt since you were in diapers, little wench.”

She ignored the insult. This was much more familiar territory now. “Can you give me any specific dates? Even just a year?”

“How bizarre. I can’t seem to remember. Next question.”

“Fine. We’ll come back to that one later, then. What kind of technology did you provide for your fellow colleagues?”

“I’m sure you lot have enough neurons to share between yourselves to figure it out from the private residence you ransacked when you assaulted me.”

Another jab that was easy to sidestep. The sooner she asked her questions, the sooner she could get out of this room and back to relative safety. Extending their time together by getting riled up was only adding risk to herself.

“Where are the rest of the Fiendish Five located?”

“Do I look like a rat to you?” He sneered. “Why are you even asking me that? Don’t you already have a –”

Raleigh broke off suddenly, staring at her in a way that made her fur bristle. He sat back in his chair with a rising smirk.

“Ah. You lost him, didn’t you?”

The fox stiffened where she sat, feeling Barkley’s eyes through the one-way window. She took a deep breath and put on her best poker face of puzzlement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’d like to stay on topic.”

“Of course, you would. Someone like you doesn’t want to be reminded of what she let slip through her fingers.” How desperately she wanted to wipe that awful grin off his face. “I can’t say I blame you for it, though. He’s trickier than even I realized. A sly little thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Carmelita’s fingers twitched against the table, but the frog didn’t acknowledge it beyond a widening of his smile. She prayed to all that was holy that he didn’t go any further – that this was just a dig to get under her skin, that he wouldn’t expose her secret to her fellow officers.

Her terrible, terrible secret.

Raleigh opened his mouth again and she braced herself for the worst, knowing he was a criminal, knowing he’d relish a chance to throw her under the bus and ruin her reputation, blow her credibility as a detective to smithereens entirely as a form of revenge –

“I’m done answering pointless questions. I want my phone call now. I won’t speak to anyone again until I get it.”

“...What?” She asked dumbly, thrown completely off balance.

“Phone call, Inspector,” the machinist scoffed. All traces of amusement had disappeared under impatience and contempt. “Are you daft? Just as moronic as those other rozzers who were in here earlier? Tell your boss that either I get my call, or you’ll be stuck in this pissing contest you’re so eager to have forever.”

“I’ll – I’ll see what I can do,” came the lame response as Carmelita struggled to comprehend the fact that he wasn’t going to expose her deeper involvement with one of his fellow criminals.

Raleigh refused to answer anything else, and sat in irritated silence until the inspector finally gave up and retreated out of the room. Barkley was waiting for her.

“I’ll have someone else work on him for a while,” he promised, studying his subordinate as she ran a stressed hand through her hair. “He’s probably more likely to cooperate with someone who didn’t have a hand in bringing him in.”

“Right,” she murmured, staring out the one-sided window at the criminal who was still sulkily lounging in his chair.

“Raleigh seems to think you had another Fiendish Five member within your grasp, though,” the badger pointed out. “Know how he reached that conclusion?”

“I…I thought I had a decent lead on Clockwerk.” The lie rolled off her tongue so smoothly. She hated herself for it. “I had found something in the boathouse that seemed connected to him. Raleigh saw me with it when we were fighting. It turned out to be a...waste of time.”

That last part was true, at least, but her gut still twisted into a pretzel as her boss accepted the story without question. He stroked his mustache in thought.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea – looking into Clockwerk until you get over that wall you’ve hit on the Panda King’s case, I mean. How much have you delved into on him?”

“Not much,” Carmelita admitted. “I read his file along with the rest when you first sent them to me, but there wasn’t much to go on. I haven’t touched it since.”

Barkley exhaled harshly through his nose. “He’s definitely the most elusive member. We were damn lucky to even get photos, and those are barely identifying at all.”

A traitorous thought drifted across her skull; wondering if Sly had ever seen their leader in person. Would he have described him if she’d asked? Her jaw clenched tight as she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to banish him from her mind yet again.

“I’ll keep you posted on any new progress I make,” she said, trying and failing to sound less exhausted than she felt.

“Good. And I’ll let you know if anything changes here.”

The two of them looked through the window. Neither had particularly high hopes.

“Keep up the good work, Fox,” he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

The walk back to her office felt twice as long as the walk away from it. Every time the inspector passed a coworker by, she could feel the respect and recognition in all of their gazes – things that had been in short supply before she had taken on her most recent case. Instead of feeling happy and welcome, all she wanted to do was shy away in shame, knowing that it had been earned through a farce. Secluding herself from those looks did little to help, but she did it anyway.

Carmelita collapsed in her desk chair and put her face in her hands. No matter what she said or did, thoughts about Sly – Cooper – kept coming back to her like weeds rooted in her brain. She bared her teeth, pressing her fingers harshly against her temples, and warred with her broken heart to please, please focus on anything else.

But no matter how hard she tried not to, the picture of Sly’s face and the sound of his voice was stark in her mind. Teasing her for her struggles on a mission; getting infuriatingly quiet when he felt like being obtuse to her questions; sending biting words her way that got her blood pumping with the urge to bite right back and prove him wrong.

The way he’d screamed her name when she was nearly crushed by Raleigh.

The inspector shook her head, trying to clear it all away, but it warped into other memories instead. The way he had listened to her stories on their long plane rides. His laughter growing less and less reserved every time she was actually able to make him laugh. That night on the roof together when he had admitted he trusted her; wanted to continue trusting her.

Empty eyes and cold, hard metal against her throat.

She growled and stood up so abruptly that her chair nearly toppled. Enough distractions – there was work to be done, locations to find, and criminals to catch. If she couldn’t banish the thief from her mind, then she’d just push him to the side to deal with later. The fox went back to her corkboard, pretending that there was a detail there she hadn’t already scoured ten times over.

It didn’t work.

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Records were kept in the building’s basement.

Inspector Fox made her way down there the very next day, moving with a purpose she didn’t actually feel after another wasted day of not finding a lead on the Panda King. She had told herself that having a physical copy of information to study would be more stimulating than staring at a computer screen any longer, and she kept that thought firmly in mind as she plucked King’s file from the appropriate cabinet and then made a beeline for another.

Down an aisle or two, she found the cabinet with the “C” listing, and from there it was short work to find Clockwerk’s remarkably thin folder. The fox pulled it out, started to close the drawer, then stopped. Considered.

There was no point trying to be sneaky when there were cameras mounted everywhere. Even so, Carmelita couldn't help glancing both ways down the aisle to make sure she was alone as her hand slid past "Cl" and into "Co".

Cooper, Conner.

She pulled the file out carefully, afraid to spill its contents. It was far heftier than Clockwerk’s, she noticed – and then wondered why she was comparing them. They had nothing to do with each other. There was no connection between the Fiendish Five and the master thief.

Except for one young raccoon who wouldn’t stop plaguing her.

It felt like she was stealing something priceless as the fox hurried back to her office with Cooper’s folder tucked under her arm, hidden from sight under Clockwerk’s. The moment her door was shut safely behind her, she rushed to her desk to flip through it.

Page after page of Cooper’s countless heists, robberies, and suspected crimes were laid out before her. The man was a legend in his time with barely more than a glimpse caught of him by the many detectives who had chased him for nearly twenty years. They hadn’t even been certain that the male raccoon found in the massacre of that couple in the U.S. had actually been him until his DNA came back a match from one of his earliest heists. It was the first time they’d ever seen his face.

Carmelita let out a quiet noise as she found the police report on Conner’s death. She had studied it as well as the criminal himself during her time at the academy, but it had been a required subject that had only delved into his criminal escapades. His murder had been a footnote at best, and there had certainly never any mention of him having children.

She slipped her reading glasses onto her face and began looking.

At 8:36 PM local time, a police dispatch had received a call about a domestic disturbance. Two officers had arrived at the scene ten minutes later and discovered the bodies of Conner Cooper and his presumed-spouse, Charlotte James-Cooper. Charlotte had been found in the dining room with three bullet wounds across her body. Conner had been found in the living room with severe chest trauma.

Manner of death: Homicide Perpetrators: Unknown

There were pictures tucked under the page. Carmelita pulled them out – and immediately regretted it. She had never actually seen the photos of the infamous scene, and even though she was no stranger to the often-graphic aftermath of crime, these were…particularly brutal.

“Severe chest trauma” was an understatement. The man had had his chest ripped open from sternum to hip. She’d have those images stuck in her head for weeks.

Swallowing hard, the inspector put them back and started skimming through the rest of the documents. Autopsy reports, police and witness accounts, press conference transcripts – but nothing about a child found or rescued or even reported. No mention of relatives or other known family that had been contacted after death, either.

That last one had been unlikely, anyway. The only attachments the master thief had ever been known to have were his fellow Cooper gang members, and one of them had turned himself in as soon as news of the murders had been made public. Briefly, Carmelita considered the idea of interviewing Jim McSweeney to find out if he knew of any other Cooper relatives, then nixed it immediately. She highly doubted that Conner, secretive and cautious as he was famous for, would have let his fellow criminals near any potential children he might have had.

Not to mention, the walrus had no affiliation with the Fiendish Five. Barkley would want to know why she was pursuing a completely unrelated case when her hands were already full with this one, and she didn’t want him asking questions she didn’t know – or want – to answer.

Not until she had a better understanding of just how Cooper’s supposed son had started working for one of the most notorious criminal gangs of the last century, barely out of his teens.

More photos of the crime scene, thankfully with less violent imagery. The fox thumbed through them one by one, noting the ransacked rooms and particularly the open wall safe in the living room, so reminiscent of the state of Muggshot’s office way back when. It wasn’t anything more than a coincidence – certainly not enough to prove a connection between the bulldog or his associates with Conner Cooper’s death. Honestly, there wasn’t even really proof that Sly was who he’d said he was. Doppelgangers had popped up for years after the master thief’s death; a tribute by some criminals who had admired Cooper, and an attempt to ride the infamy of his name by others. He could have simply lied about his heritage to get into the Five’s good graces and happened to have enough talent to back it up until he no longer could.

Maybe that was why he had suddenly wanted to get out.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t even be sure that the cane Sly had used was the real deal. It had felt like the real deal when it had been looped around her neck, but it could have easily been custom-made. Nothing to suggest it was actually Conner Cooper’s original cane, despite the thing still being missing to this day.

Something caught her eye in the wide shot of the living room. Carmelita squinted at the photo, noticing for the first time that there were several broken picture frames littered about the floor. The details were too tiny to make out, but the shapes in them picked at the detective instincts in her mind.

She started flipping through the rest of the photos, grateful for the evidence team’s thoroughness when she found one that showed a close-up of those frames and the contents within them. Most were, bizarrely enough, pictures of previous Coopers who had also been famous for their thieving exploits – Tennessee Kid Cooper and Thaddeus Winslow Cooper III were two she immediately recognized, among others.

But they weren’t the ones that had grabbed her attention. That belonged to a single photo that must have been ripped off the wall incredibly violently, because its frame was broken and there was a huge, jagged crack in the glass right down the middle. Even then, she could still make out what that picture was.

Conner Cooper on the left, his wife on the right. Both were cut off above the shoulders because they were not the focus of the image. The focus of the image was a grinning child holding a balloon between them who barely even reached their hips in height.

Even ten years younger, she’d recognize Sly’s face anywhere.

Carmelita fell back in her chair, clutching this photo of a photo that held the proof she had been looking for. There had been a child. Cooper had had a child, and it had been Sly. What had happened to him after the homicide? How had he started working with one of the most infamous criminal syndicates of the modern age without first making a name for himself elsewhere?

And why wasn’t there a mention of his existence in any of these reports? Surely, a new descendant of the Cooper line would have been a very big deal regardless of whether he had survived the massacre that claimed the rest of his family.

She stared at that picture for a long time, mind whirring as she tried to make sense of it all. Something wasn’t quite adding up no matter what angle she tried, and it was frustrating her that she didn’t have anything else to go on. If she just had a little more information, she’d be able to piece it all together. She was sure of that.

The inspector glanced at the door. Then she glanced up at her corkboard, littered with sticky notes and pins and question marks about the two remaining Fiendish Five. She found herself wishing her partner was with her to help find them, then immediately banished the thought from her head. He hadn’t been helping her at all. He’d been playing her. He’d probably known where every single one of them had been and was just stringing her along to make her feel like she’d figured things out herself.

Well, she could figure those things out all by herself from now on. She didn’t need him anymore or ever again.

But maybe a quick detour to solve a smaller mystery first wouldn’t hurt.

Armed with Conner’s file, Carmelita left her office and walked with purpose across the hall and down a floor, where most of the employees stationed here were more office workers than actual investigators. There was one person she was looking for in particular, one she’d never sought out of her own free will before, and it took a minute to find his name on his office door.

She gave three rapid knocks.

“Come in!”

And entered immediately with no further fanfare.

“Winthorp, is this all there is in the Conner Cooper case?”

The otter looked up from his laptop just in time to watch her lay the heavy file on his desk. He opened his mouth as if to greet her, then saw the no-nonsense look on her face and seemed to realize she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Instead, he glanced back down at the case.

“Which part of it?”

She opened it to the section about the master thief’s death, swiping a photo of the destroyed living room and waving it in front of his snout. “This part. The homicide and robbery. Were there ever any other reports or notes made about it beyond what’s here?”

“Uh…” The poor man was clearly struggling to catch up. He scanned what was in front of him as quickly as he could, but Carmelita still fought the urge to cross her arms or tap her foot in impatience. “I can check. Give me just a few minutes.”

He began typing rapidly at his keyboard while the fox waited with bated breath. She almost hoped he didn’t find anything new; that the revelation she found herself on the cusp of wasn’t truly there.

“Looking into a few cold cases, huh? That’s a great idea! I’ve heard a lot of detectives say it helps them break out of the slump they’re struggling with in their main cases – not that you’re in a slump, ma’am! I’d never say that, absolutely not…”

Carmelita was so caught up in her own thoughts that it took her far too long to realize he was talking. She shifted her weight and finally did fold her arms, more out of awkwardness than anything else.

“Yeah, I, um…needed a break from the Fiendish Five case for a bit.”

“Oh, I completely understand!” He chirped, very clearly not understanding at all while he obliviously typed away. “It must be awful having to go after such horrible people. I’ve been reading up on them lately – not for, uh, any particular reason – and just hearing about the terrible crimes they’ve committed was enough to make my stomach turn. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever – huh.”

His awed rambling cut off in a distinct noise of confusion, breaking her out of her rising exasperation. The fox zeroed in on the pinched, bemused expression suddenly on his face.

“What? Did you find something?”

“…Yes?” Winthorp answered tentatively. “Or…I guess, no? I’m not really sure.”

Frowning, she walked around his desk so that she could see what had him so stumped. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; in fact, it looked like the exact same information that was in the physical file.

“Walk me through what you’re seeing,” she said, knowing that he would fill in the blanks she couldn’t even find.

“Well, I noticed when I first pulled up the report that the Interpol officer assigned to the case was Francine Pennington. She retired a few years ago, but she was a really amazing detective when she was here for like, twenty years.”

“I know; she tutored a class I once had about the importance of detailed record-keeping.”

“Okay! So then, you probably know how she liked to make her own personal entries about every case she was assigned to, regardless of whether she solved it or not.”

Carmelita didn’t actually know that, but she didn’t question it. If there was anyone in the entire department who could recognize the difference in paperwork between individual officers, it was Winthorp. The guy practically lived in Records.

“I can see here that every time she encountered Conner Cooper or reported a successful heist he did, she left an additional side report – usually rehashing what she’d already formally said but with her personal thoughts and questions as well.”

“She added her own case notes to the official records?”

“Pretty much! Since she was usually the only detective assigned to the cases she worked on, it probably left an easy way to pick things back up whenever she returned to them.”

“As fascinating as this is, Winthorp, I’d really like to know where you’re going with it.”

“Her personal report about the night of Conner Cooper’s death is missing.”

That pulled the inspector up short. “What do you mean? She just didn’t write one?”

“I mean that it’s completely gone.” He gestured to some small detail on his screen that she couldn’t decipher. “It used to be in our system, I can see the submission date for it along with everything else right here, but it’s just…not there anymore.”

“Was it moved? Deleted?”

The otter bit his lip and began pecking at his keyboard. His frown grew more and more pronounced until finally he leaned back with a sigh and a shake of his head. “I don’t know. Whoever messed with it knew how to cover their tracks. I’m not a tech guy, unfortunately.”

Someone had tampered with Interpol evidence. The weight of that knowledge hung heavily in the air between them. Carmelita restlessly drummed her fingers against the Clockwerk case file she was still holding, disturbed and struggling to make sense of it.

Was Sly mentioned in that report? She wondered. Did he find a way to have it erased to make it easier to move around the world unnoticed?

“Could you do me a favor, Winthorp?” She asked. “Do you think you could find that missing report for me, or at least see if there’s a copy of it? I’m, um, really curious as to why it’s disappeared.”

“You and me both,” he replied in a surprisingly candid mutter. “I’ll see what I can do, Inspector. If I do find it, what’s the best way to contact you?”

The fox hesitated, then decided that the pros outweighed the cons. “I’ll give you my number.”

To his credit, he didn’t get weird about it – although it might’ve just been because his snout was practically touching his computer screen with how absorbed in this new conundrum he was. “Thanks. I’ll let you know as soon as I find it.”

“…Sounds good.”

As soon as she left Winthorp’s office with Conner Cooper’s file back in her arms, Carmelita looked up and down the hall before slowly pulling out her phone. She opened her contacts and scrolled down until a recent, damning name stared back at her.

She’d saved Sly’s number after the first time he’d finally called her, right before everything had gone to shit. It had burned in the back of her mind for two weeks, but she hadn’t dared do anything with it. She couldn’t; she didn’t know how or have the equipment to track a phone, and asking someone who did would only lead to questions that she was still afraid to answer. But she hadn’t deleted it, either, for reasons she knew were there but didn’t dare think about.

He'd probably ditched his phone at the Isle of Wrath, anyway. All she was setting herself up for was more devastation.

But she didn’t delete the number. Instead, she pocketed her cellphone and started walking almost aimlessly as her thoughts whirled over everything she had just learned.

So caught up in her thoughts, the fox turned a corner and nearly ran right into Inspector Barkley. He raised an eyebrow at the no-doubt haggard look on her face, but something more pressing seemed to be on his mind.

“Oh, there you are. I was just looking for you.”

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“No, but we’re about to let Raleigh have his phone call. I thought maybe you’d like to witness it in person in case it gives a new clue to your case.”

She subconsciously tucked the Cooper file a little closer under her arm even though its title wasn’t visible. “I definitely want to be there. Is it happening right now?”

“Just about. We’ll have to hurry if you don’t want to watch a video recording later.”

They wasted no time returning to the interrogation room, where another officer could be seen through the one-way mirror letting Raleigh know that his call could be recorded or traced. The frog looked just as bored as ever, but Carmelita could see the way his fingers tapped impatiently against each other, the only tell to his eagerness.

She leaned up as close to the glass as she dared, watching every minute detail in the criminal’s body language as he was finally handed a cellphone. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, studying it, and then proceeded to dial a number so quickly that she couldn’t even catch the area code.

He put the phone up to his ear and waited.

The call had been set up to play in the adjacent room so that the observing officers could hear everything that was said on either end of the line. Both fox and badger waited with bated breath as it began to ring.

After almost half a minute, just when they thought there’d be no answer, someone finally picked up. There was no greeting from the other side; not a single sound could be heard at all.

Raleigh was not unnerved by this. He cleared his throat loudly, staring directly at the one-way mirror as though he knew exactly where Carmelita was hiding behind it.

“He’s all yours.”

Then he promptly hung up and laid the cellphone on the table.

No one moved at first, collectively confused at the cryptic message and such a short interaction for someone who had been demanding a call for two weeks. Raleigh kept his eyes locked on the mirror, gaze leering and knowing, and the inspector resisted the irrational urge to retreat from the window.

“That was…anticlimactic,” Barkley muttered next to her, sounding just as baffled as she felt. “Did that phrase mean anything to you?”

She shook her head, unable to turn away from the machinist’s piercing eyes.

“Hmm. Alright, well, I suppose you’re dismissed?”

It was a rare moment for her boss to be so perturbed, but she didn’t find any hilarity to it. With a final nod in his direction, almost afraid to turn her back to the other room, Carmelita pressed the Cooper case file close to her chest and began trudging back towards her office, turning the bizarre scenario over and over in her mind.

You’re missing something. C’mon, Inspector, it’s all right there in plain sight. I know you can put it all together.

The voice in her head sounded infuriatingly like Sly, which derailed her inner deliberating and scattered all potential connections to the wind. Suddenly angry at him for dominating her thoughts, again, and at herself for letting it happen, again, the fox stomped back to her office, slammed the door closed, and practically flung the case files onto her desk before whirling on her stupid corkboard.

Sly’s voice mocked her for being a terrible detective as she tore down every pin, every flag, and every interconnecting red string in a blind rage. Every time she was about to put the pieces together, every time she was close to making a breakthrough, he just had to worm his way back into her brain and destroy her progress. She was just – so – sick of it!

Her fingers curled around an entire cluster of pins stuck into the east side of China, venomously ripping them out and throwing them to the ground in pure, furious spite. It left a large empty space of map in its wake, revealing cities and marked landmarks that had been buried for weeks. Carmelita reached forward, ready to tear out another handful, when two words jumped out at her.

Kunlun Mountains.

The inspector froze, staring at that name.

“I lived in Kunlun as a kid for a while.”

Something clicked into place for the first time since she’d had her heart ripped out in Wales, and the fox let out a bitter laugh. Of course, he was still leading her on. Of course, he’d found a way to subtly push her towards his next planned destination. Even in the aftermath of his panic, he’d been trying to manipulate her into doing what he wanted.

Whether it was true that the raccoon had actually grown up in Kunlun didn’t matter; what mattered now was that she finally, finally had a lead on her next target, and she was going to run it into the ground until she had her criminal.

And whether that criminal was the Panda King or Sly Cooper didn’t matter. A criminal was a criminal, and she was going to show no mercy.

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A/N: Art was commissioned by the ever lovely @saikonohero! I'll reblog the standalone as well.

I know it's a day late from what I promised but I was very tired last night and I'd rather delay a chapter to ensure its quality than churn out a sleep-deprived mess.

The conspiracy deepens! Carmelita would normally be able to put the pieces together, but she's been dealing with heart-break and guilt so strong that it's been messing with her thinking process a little too much. Hopefully she's not coming off as incompetent, because that's definitely not my intention.

Thanks for reading, and see y'all in a month!