#Thank you for your patience! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

civilight-eterna · 7 months ago

Note

Hiii requesting horndragora, having an angry and steamy encounter in a Londonium alleyway

(cw: dubious consent, toxic yuri, enemies with benefits)

---

The order of "pin down the caster" was probably not meant to be taken so literally.

Horn had routed around Mandragora's cadre, covered by the debris that fell in the explosion, and at first contact, she'd managed to get behind her, far at the back lines of the fight.

A hand over her mouth and a chokehold later, and she's dragging the kicking feline into the back alley, unseen in the chaos.

"I'm not going to kill you. Just take a cat-nap until my squad passes over and I won't have to tear your head from your shoulders."

Mandragora's legs go weak faster than she expects them to and she staggers to kneel with her as she collapses to the ground, her knees splayed to either side of Horn's thigh.

They struggle for a few more seconds, in the interim of which, Horn realizes-

Mandragora is absolutely soaking between her legs.

It wouldn't be the first time someone has pissed themselves with fear while fighting with Horn, but that's precisely why she can tell that this isn't that. She's shocked, but not enough to loosen her grip.

"Are you-" Horn flexes her arm, tries to keep focused, but she can't seem to spit out the second half of her question-

-seriously about to cum from being strangled?

It's so beyond anything she could have fathomed that her arm slips in her distraction, and Mandragora throws her head back into her nose the next instant in a way that tells her she didn't even need to say it aloud. Heat trickles fast down both nostrils and through her bitten lip as the caster reverses her position, closes her hands around Horn's throat.

"Fuck, you-" She's coughing the words out. One of her eyes is red with broken blood vessels. Her hands aren't even that tight, or holding her in the right place to do the worst kind of damage. She's probably never been in a physical fight in her life where she had even glimpsed the 'winning' side. "Fuck you, you corn-fed Victorian cunt, it wasn't enough to try killing me? You wanted, to humiliate me too?"

Horn puts all her force into her legs, walking them inside Mandragora's guard to pound her feet hard into her chest. The feline goes flying through a brittle glass storefront, and when she chases her inside, she finds her scrambling to her feet, clutching a bleeding arm. A wall of rocks erupts behind Horn, sealing the door, the window, everything.

"Still want to blow us up, toy soldier?"

Horn growls, wordless fury building in her chest. Her team is on the other side, bleeding, enduring, and she can't clear it without burying them both.

"No, but maybe I'll use that hard head of yours as a battering ram if you keep talking." She wipes blood from her lip and flicks it across the floor.

A surge of energy bursts out of Mandragora and the rocks grow to triple their size, closing in the storefront, leaving about half the room to stand in. Horn staggers in the resulting quake and closes the distance between her and Mandragora, pouncing on her. A wolf on a kill.

Pin down the caster.

"You really want to die so badly?" Horn can't keep the sudden strain out of her voice.

"Don't you dare act like it's unbelievable or something! You don't get to pity me now-you're about a decade overdue! As if you have no idea how I've lived!" She's wiggling her wrists under Horn's grip, twisting from side to side in futile struggle.

"Oh, I've an idea," Horn breathes out, "'Mandragora'. Something that is ripped, screaming and crying, from the dirt. Did you choose that yourself? Or was it a 'gift'-" Her glare is molten, haloed in the curtain of wheat-colored hair obscuring them, "-from that beloved Leader of yours?"

Mandragora roars, thrashing and kicking, her fingers curling downwards and grasping, desperate to scratch.

"I'd do it again-I'd claw myself out from under as many bodies it takes to make you Victorians bleed even another drop-!"

Horn suddenly realizes how she's going to get them out of this.

It's unpleasant. It's nothing she would ever consider in any other circumstance.

She knows it'll work so she knows she's going to do it.

But it is all kinds of wrong.

"Alright, little feline-" Horn grimaces, and pushes her knee between Mandragora's legs, eliciting a scandalized gasp, "-bury us here, then. And when historians come to uncover us, maybe ten years from now, maybe one hundred years from now, they'll find Dublinn's caster and the 'White Wolf of Victoria'-"

She readjusts her arms, one around Mandragora's waist, the other raised to press a palm to her cheek in the most saccharine and overtly romantic display of affection she can imagine as she presses her forehead to hers.

"-locked together as star-crossed lovers that deserted their battlefield to die in one another's arms."

"You bitc-mmph-!"

Horn kisses her, hard, leans into her with her full weight, pulls at her slight waist and runs her fingers through her hair like she's never loved anyone else in her life.

Mandragora's nails destroy her back. She's screaming against her mouth, biting at her lips, but Horn readjusts for every inch of purchase she makes.

"Fucking Victorians-!" Mandragora howls, as Horn shifts her mouth over her throat, smothers it with bruising kisses, "-Faking's all you're good for-!"

"What about you?" Horn breathes into her ear, "Were you faking it when you nearly came from being choked out? Or are you that much of a pervert in general? Could it have been anyone but me behind you?" Horn strokes her hair out of her eyes, and Mandragora grabs her wrist so hard her nails are drawing blood.

"I don't know, I think you just love me that much that you would die in my arms."

There's something wrong with the kiss that follows. Tears prick the corners of Mandragora's eyes as she tries to force Horn back, but she's no match for her physical force. They're both exhausted.

The kissing becomes ever-so-slightly less performative on Horn's part. Mandragora's lips part just a touch wider, and even though Horn has been avoiding it, she finds her tongue sliding deep into her mouth.

"Hh...Hhah, fuck-" Mandragora whimpers, trembling with the urge to resist using her arts, overshoot her power. Horn's knee rubs slowly between her legs and she swears louder before she's silenced with an even deeper kiss.

"Mmhm." Horn exhales hard and gasps as Mandragora's cold hands slide under her tank, drag it up just over her breasts. This wasn't in the plan, she thinks distantly to herself.

"Victorian pig-" Mandragora spits, "-I bet you're, hah-used to sweating like an animal-on a leash with some crystal-studded plug up your ass, some noble's concubine because they pay big money to fuck their soldiers-"

Disgusting. Horn should be disgusted.

There should be no other emotions present at the revelation of such a filthy fantasy that her enemy has fashioned for her.

"You think about me a lot at night, don't you? All alone with your preoccupying hatred. Hope it keeps you warm, little feline."

"I was born from a grave. I've never been warm in my life."

"Then may my love for you sow warmth anew that entwines us together for the ages. I'll save you. You'll never be cold again under my embrace-"

"SHUT UP!"

The entire store quakes, the roof blowing off into the sky, the rocks vibrating so violently they become dust and powder overhead. Everything comes crumbling down.

On instinct, Horn throws her arms over Mandragora's head, ducks and covers until it's over.

They stare at one another. A voice from afar breaks the reverie.

"Aye! Captain?!"

They're both rolling away from each other, running opposite directions. Mandragora stops at the other side of the store, hand on the doorframe.

"-This never fucking happened, toy soldier."

"-Agreed."

(It's not the first lie they've told.)

#arknights #horn (arknights)#mandragora (arknights)#requests #my writing #foetp: impale you with my rock #dubious consent #toxic yuri #enemies with benefits #manipulation #these two really are the toxic yuri of all time #slowly working through requests #thank you for your patience!#horndragora

40 notes · View notes

greeenchrysanthemums · 8 months ago

Text

Thus Always to Tyrants

Chapter 2: Secrecy and Shadows

Gem is the commander of the Wintertide royal army, Grian is the leader of a resistance hell bent on taking the crown down no matter the cost. It was only natural that they would become enemies.

Chapter 1 -> next

Read on ao3 ❀ here ❀

CW: Alcohol consumption

Words: 5,682

Pov: Grian

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“Head back to the hideout and wait for me there, Scar.” Grian addressed his companion. “I’ll meet you there later tonight to update you on the situation as soon as the meeting comes to an end and we’ll proceed from there.”

“So bossy,” Scar said, and Grian could hear the pout on his lips without having to look at him. Regardless of his (most likely dramatized) complaining, however, he did indeed leap from the roof to do as he was told, fading away into the shadows of the setting sun.

Grian waited a moment before dropping back down into the alley he and Gem had fought in, his cloak billowing up around him on the way down. It still smelt of smoke in the small space, though most of the visual remnants had cleared out by now. He pulled his hood back up over his head, hiding away his feathers and obscuring his features as best as the thick fabric could.

There was at least a quarter hour of sunlight left in the sky, so that meant he had just as much time to burn before he was meant to meet with his someone who could make or break his plan. And he knew exactly how he was going to spend it.

He reentered the festival area, the overwhelming noise and smell bearing down on him in an instant. Grease, spices, perfumes, body odor, and more all punctuated by the ear ringing sound of laughter, bartering, and arguing. He could not claim to be a fan of any of it, nor could he claim to want to be here on this day, but, well, scheduling just works out in ways one does not like sometimes, and as a result he had no choice but to be out and about on a horrid day like this.

He made his way through the tightly packed crowd, moving fluidly between the warm bodies that stood between him and his objective. Grian was the average size and build of an avian of his kind, but he was smaller than the average person of any other race, so it was easy for him to maneuver his way through just about any obstacle, including the living ones.

He slid effortlessly into the shadows with his back against the backside of some kind of tent, likely a changing or storage area for performers. He peaked around the bend and spotted the Commander and her entourage immediately. They were alert and uneasy where they stood close to the stage. They monitored the area with careful eyes, ready for anything, for anyone. But he wasn’t just anyone. He had long ago learned to stay silent and hidden when he did not want to be found. His ears perked up at the sound of the Commander's voice.

“Patience, Scott. This is delicate information; I can’t risk letting it slip to the wrong person. We must wait for the arrival of his majesty before I am to utter a single word more on the subject.” She whispered, Grian’s ears just barely picking up on the quiet words.

“But if it is as grave as you appear to believe it is, I worry that we don’t have the time for you to wait for him to be present.” The blue haired man whispered back, though his pitch was louder than Gem’s, making him incredibly easy to hear in comparison. He did have a point, as well. If Grian’s plan really was going to take place sooner rather than later, she should be acting now. What was her reasoning behind being so secretive about it?

“No, Grian isn’t like that,” She interjected. Oh? “He wouldn’t tell me about a big grand plan and then immediately act upon it so soon after the fact. He knows I would be on high alert after something like that, so he will wait even if it means he gives us a chance to prepare, because the longer he waits the more likely we are to let our guard down.

“Not to mention, we’ve not a single clue what we are even preparing for, and he knows that. If we rush in head on, even if he were to act right now, we would have no idea what we are getting ourselves into. No, If I had to guess, whatever it is he has planned will not take place until the King’s speech or even later after it. And that is assuming it has anything to do with the festival at all, which I am beginning to doubt. We have time, and we are going to use it to clear our heads of the initial panic and wait for the King.”

Grian let himself smirk at the assessment, impressed. She was right of course, just as she usually was. He wasn’t planning on doing anything just yet, and what he did have in mind for today was something she wouldn’t suspect regardless, nor was it something she could stop unless she knew where to look. He knew without a doubt in his mind, as well, that she didn’t know where to look.

“You know that I am not one to doubt your mind, but are you sure about this? We all know what he is capable of. Should we be taking the chance?” The taller man with the nubby horns asked in a nervous manner.

Do you truly know what I am capable of? Grian wondered to himself, already knowing the answer.

Gem put her hand on the older man’s shoulder and said with sincerity “Trust me, old friend. I would not do anything I thought would put us, or anyone else here, in danger.”

This seemed to quell at least some of the man’s unease, because they fell into silence shortly thereafter.

Grian knew that Gem was still anxious herself despite the confident front she put on in front of her group of knights; the way she shifted from foot to foot and glanced around while twirling a stray strand of hair hanging in her face was a dead giveaway of this. Not many would notice these nervous habits unless they were looking for them. In fact, he knew it was likely that she made attempts to hide these shows of weakness to those around her, and she hid them well enough. It was simply that Grian had spent far too much time observing her, and anyone else who might be a threat, to not notice them easily.

She was nervous, but she was good at playing brave and making sure everyone else's nerves were calmed; a skill that any good leader should possess. The crown really was lucky to have her on their side, Grian thought with a note of bitterness.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, here comes the king now.

The crowd, previously an eclectic buzz of ear grating noises combined into one, quickly turned to unanimous cheers and murmurs of excitement, though if he focused hard enough, he could also hear some poorly concealed comments of contempt from some festival goers that made him snicker to himself. The crowd turned almost as one, and Grian followed their gaze over to none other than King Ren himself.

The thicket of people in the square parted to make way for the large, white horse which he rode upon. The stead was draped in riches almost as grand as his own attire, looking every bit the royal transportation that it was. Grian had to hold himself back from sneering at the way he held himself, back as straight as a board and head upturned so he was able to look down his nose at the common folk.

His jewel encrusted crown sparkled in the quickly fading sun, scattering fragments of colourful light in every direction. His red, fur embroidered cloak looked far too warm, even for the chilly weather. His many rings looked expensive enough to feed a family for months with the coin you could get off of selling it. Even his stiff, well-tailored clothes looked more expensive than a vast majority of the exported goods sold in the clothing area of the festival. Overall, he looked just as pompous and over dressed as he always did.

At his side, holding onto the reins of the horse from down below, walked the King’s royal advisor and personal guard, Martyn. The man stood tall, his clothes just as uselessly expensive looking, but less stiff to allow him easy movement and covered by a layer of grey armour to protect his delicate weak spots. The strip of green fabric that was tied around his forehead looked more a hindrance than a help, doing little to keep his hair out of his face and only providing a way for sweat to gather and sit stagnant on his skin.

Gross, questionable fashion choice, but who was he to judge.

With the appearance of the two important men, Grian distanced himself from the stage and took to the roof tops beyond the stands and tents. He huffed as his talons made contact with the tiles and his knees bent back to steady him. He was not out of view by any means, but who would think to look to the roof at a time like this? They were all too drunk or occupied with preparing for the feast to care if they saw him anyway.

He watched the Commander march over to the King the second he dismounted from his horse and speak to him, her hands animated as she seemingly explained to him that they needed to talk. He waved her off at first, which Grian could see made her angry by the way her body became tense. Then his advisor put his hand on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear. King Ren nodded and then motioned for Gem to follow him.

Grian jumped from one roof to the next as he followed Gem and The King to an area of the festival that was less occupied, his movements light and airy, but also quick and precise. Eventually they reached an unoccupied area behind the stands similar to the one Grian was hiding behind not long ago. The soldiers formed a semi-circle around them as they came to a stop, keeping an eye out and making sure no one got close enough to listen in on the conversation the two of them were about to have. They were very great at their job.

He settled into a crouch on one of the roofs near them, his talons curling under to grip onto the rafter in order to stop himself from falling. He had positioned himself close enough to hear most of what was said, but hopefully not close enough to be seen or heard himself.

“... warning, you say?” Ren asked, carelessly loud as Grian focused in on the conversation.

“Yes, your highness” Gem confirmed with a nod of her head.

“That hardly makes any sense, Commander. What reason would he have to warn his enemies that he has a plan against them?” The King asked in a condescending tone that left Grian sneering at the sheer indignity of it.

“Your highness, I mean you no disrespect when I say it would be unwise of us to underestimate Grian. Odd as it may be that he’s come to us with a warning, it would do us well to take him seriously. We have no way of knowing the power and numbers he has, nor what it is that he is planning.” Gem said, her tone firmer.

“Or if he is planning anything at all.” Ren said. Grian could not see her face, but he could tell the Commander’s eyebrow twitched, a facial que that she was pissed. She took a measured breath before responding.

“It would be wise to be on guard regardless.” She said, tone even and steady, masking her anger fairly well. King Ren opened his mouth to argue, but then his advisor settled his hand on his shoulder yet again and he raised a jewel encrusted hand up to his chin, scratching at his beard. Everyone waited with bated breath for him to say something, anything. Gem’s shoulders were tense.

“I trust you, Commander,” He finally said, “If it would bring you peace, tell the soldiers to keep their eyes open and increase the security in the streets. Do you believe he will try anything tonight?”

Grian perked up in delight. An increase of soldiers in the streets was not a good thing by any means, but it still meant a decrease in soldiers within the castle. That could work in their favour. What a pleasant outcome to his risky warning. He knew it was worth it.

“No, your highness,” Gem said, “It is unlikely he will make his move tonight, but I still believe it would be for the best if we tighten security, especially around the feast.”

“Have it be done than. If that is all, I believe I have a speech to make, do I not? You’ve kept me from it long enough.” Ren said.

Gem and her right-hand men bowed to the King, and with that he took his leave, the soldiers that had been guarding the area following after him. Gem and her men stayed behind for a moment, anger clearly stewing. She punched the stone wall behind her with a noise of frustration before bringing her hand up to rub the spot between her brows. Impulse tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and took the lead back towards the city square.

Grian knew he should be going. He was most definitely late for the meeting at this point, but surely it could not hurt to listen in just a little bit more. Who knows what he was likely to hear. He unhooked his talons and took off across the rooftops once more.

As he grew closer to the center once more, where the stage had shrunk in size and been surrounded with rows upon rows of tables that were overflowing with delicious foods, he jumped from the roof and onto one of the unattended, canopy covered alcohol stands. He sank into the surface, causing it to cave in the slightest amount. He pulled his talons into his core to avoid tearing the fabric apart and rolled towards the edge until he was on his belly overlooking the feast.

He had perfectly positioned himself on the stand next to the royal dining table, where everyone important or related to the king was sat eating the plethora of food. There were large kegs of alcohol atop the tables, rendering the stand he lay upon useless, so it was unlikely for anyone to approach it and find him.

He watched as Ren made his way up onto the small stage, Martyn ever by his side. He began to talk, voice loud and domineering over the crowd as laterns all around them began to light up the growing darkness. Grian tuned the entirety of speech out, uncaring of whatever prattle was going to come out of his mouth. He knew he would gain nothing of value from it. His speeches were all the same, empty promises of safety full of nauseating amounts of self flattery.

His attention sharpened as Ren raised a golden goblet of wine up into the air, “To another year of prosperity!” He declared.

Grian covered his sensitive ears as the cheers of the crowd grew far too loud for him to bear. He watched as the King made his way over to his designated table, marked by the grand, gold lined red tablecloth that covered the surface. He uncovered his ears when the noise softened to an acceptable, but still aggravating, level as everyone began to feast.

The King sat at one end of the long table, Martyn sitting to his left with cautious eyes. Gem sat at the other end, Scott and Impulse on either side of her; they were who Grian had positioned himself near. Scott, the one with the blue hair, looked peeved. He leaned in towards an equally as angry appearing Gem, his elbows on the table as he spoke to her. Grian closed his eyes and focused his sensitive ears to hear them among all of the noise.

“I just do not understand his unwillingness to listen,” Scott said in a tone just above a whisper. “He knows better than anyone where your skills lie. It would do him well to trust in your word and instinct when facing something unknown like this threat.”

“He meant me no disrespect,” Gem said, though her tone said she believed otherwise. “This is out of the usual for Grian. He may even be right, who is to say it is not just a trick he is playing on us all?”

“But to dismiss it so easily-.”

“That’s enough, we’ll talk more after-.” Gem interrupted and the cut herself off, her eyes turning towards the roof tops.

Grian ducked out of view, though he doubted she would have seen him from where he was regardless. It was too risky to keep listening in when she was in some way aware of his presence, so he took that as a sign that it was best he be on his way.

He looked around him and found that the sun had fully set at this point. The moon and stars were both high in the sky, meaning it was well beyond time for him to go. He rolled towards the edge of the canopy and slipped off with one easy motion, hitting the ground with a near silent clink of his talons. He kept hidden behind the booths until he rejoined the crowd outside of the town square. The flickering fire from the lanterns cast dancing shadows across the walls and the ground, creating a kaleidoscope along what was visible of the stone floor.

He reached the tavern in a timely manner and pushed the wooden door open. This place was usually more busy, but with the festival in full swing most would prefer to get their alcoholic fix in the streets where they could enjoy the festivities at the same time. Because of this, the spacious tavern was mostly empty, save for a few regular drunkards and people who had stumbled in to avoid the noise of the outside world.

It was dark inside, the few, scattered lamps that were lit around the space providing very little actual light. It was also filthy, with trash, food scraps, and sticky puddles of ale littering the floors and tables. There was a man slumped over one of the tables near the entrance, his hand still loosely holding onto an empty mug. He swore he spotted another man underneath a table near the back, but he chose to ignore it.

Grian made his way over to the bar, where the tender was stood rubbing the lip of a mug with a filthy towel as he eyed Grian with suspicion and murderous intent.

“I thought I told yous to stop coming here after the last time,” The man said, setting the mug on the counter with enough aggression that it rattled the racks of cups behind him. “Yous is trouble, too much trouble.”

“I’m here to meet a friend,” Grian said with a smile, undeterred by the aggravation directed his way. The man did have a right to want him gone, after all. Last time he’d been inside of this establishment he’d started a bar fight that ended with Gem showing up and the two of them fighting. The damage done to the interior had been spectacular. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him around? About my height, maybe a little taller. Brown hair, green streak in the front. Perhaps he had gills and earfins?”

“I have the right mind to call the guards in here right now, you know. Lotta nerve you’ve got showing up here to conduct your shady business.” The man said, crossing his arms.

“We both know you won’t, though.” He said, his grin turning into more of a smirk, “So, have you seen him?”

The bartender grunted, a sour expression on his face, before he pointed to the far corner of the bar, where a hooded figure sat at a large, round table all by himself. Grian gave the bartender a slight bow before heading over to where his potential ally was sat.

The hooded man looked up as Grian approached, his green eyes reflecting the flickering orange light of the lantern that hung from the ceiling. He was nursing a mug of ale that Grian knew from experience tasted like warm piss on a good day, and based on his twisted expression as he took a sip, today was not a good day. Well, people didn’t come here for the taste of the ale anyway.

Grian pulled one of the chairs away from the table and spun it around so he could sit with his legs spread and his arms resting over the back. He was rewarded with an unimpressed look, for more reasons than one.

“About time you showed up. I’ve been waiting a bloody quarter hour.” Joel scolded, his sharp teeth on display.

“Sorry, Joel, I got a little caught up on the way here.” He said, choosing to leave out the part where he had been spying on Gem and her people.

“Sh! Keep your voice down, would you? Might as well just run into the streets and announce that I’m here while you're at it!” Joel whispered harshly, leaning forward with paranoid eyes. Grian rolled his own black eyes at the exclamation.

“Joel is a very common name, and you aren’t the only one with it. I can guarantee you that no one knows who you are. Even the hood is unnecessary.” Grian retorted, leaning forward to flick the hairline of the hood. Joel leaned back, glaring.

“You’re wearing a hood as well, you know.” Joel protested.

“Because unlike you, I am well known in this area, and I would be recognized.” Grian replied with a tilt of his head. He felt like that was obvious.

“Whatever,” He said, taking a swig of the drink in his hands as his eyes scanned the tavern, “Let’s get down to business before this place falls apart on top of us.”

“Oh, come now, it’s not that bad.” Grian said, waving his hand. He reached over and snatched the ale from Joel’s hands and took several hardy gulps. He licked his lips and slammed the mug down onto the table, “That being said, the owner very much would like to see me buried six feet under, so perhaps it is best we get this over and done with as soon as possible.”

Joel looked perturbed by the assertion and the theft of his drink but said nothing of either.

“So, tell me, what choice have you come to in regard to the plan?” Grian asked.

"She has agreed to the plan, and I’ve been officially assigned to take care of preparations for you. I will personally be coordinating everything over the course of the next few weeks. It should all be in place just in time for the New Moon, just as you asked.” Joel said, posture straightening as he spoke.

“Excellent news!” Grian said, taking another drink of the alcohol and wiping the foam off of his lips with his shoulder, “I will arrange for a place for each group to camp out until the night we make our move.”

“I was just going to ask about that. I have already taken the liberty of renting out one of the vacant shops in the market district under a fake name. I already have a group here who accompanied me on my journey, so I will have them base there, but the shop is not nearly big enough to occupy the number of people you have requested.” Joel said. He eyed the mug Grian had stolen from him, and Grian slid it back over to him. Joel frowned when he saw how much Grian had drunken from it, squinting at him over the lip of the mug as he took a drink himself.

“Leave all further housing to me, I will take care of it.” Grian said. He briefly wondered if he should order his own ale but decided against it. He didn’t need to give the bartender more reasons to be angry with him.

“You can expect the second group of men and women to arrive by the end of next week. They will be disguising themselves as the family of my men already here, so be on the lookout for merchants selling glass.” Joel said.

“Give them word that they should head to Big Bakeries once they’re inside of the Capital and ask for the secret recipe. He will send them my way and I’ll get them settled.” He said, reaching over for the mug. Joel let him take it, and he deflated in disappointment when he found it empty.

“I’ll be sure to pass along the message,” Joel said before slapping his hands on the tabletop and pushing himself up into a standing position, “You made me wait too long, so I’ve got to be on my way. I’m on a tight schedule if you want things moving smoothly. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“I think we’re done here unless you need something from me,” Grian said, moving to stand as well when Joel shook his head ‘no’. He kicked the leg of the chair to spin it around to its proper placement and pushed it in, “It’s been both a pleasure and an honour doing business with you, I look forward to our future interactions.”

“You know how to get into contact with me if you need to,” Joel said, fixing his hood so that it properly hid his face.

“And you, me. If the usual avenue doesn’t work for whatever reason, you may also find me through the same method as your men, or you may also reach me through the inventors on Tinker Avenue. All you have to do is tell them you are there to watch when they ask what you need.” Grian said.

“Gods, I forgot it was your reach that tipped us off to your existence. It’s disturbing how many connections you have within the city. It makes one wonder what you need our help for at all.” Joel said, eyeing him.

“We are many, but there are hardly enough of us to lay siege to an entire castle all on our own. Your assistance is as greatly needed as it is appreciated.” Grian said. Joel nodded in understanding and then rounded the table to stand near him. He held out his hand and Grian reached out his own to shake it, careful to not scratch the man with his sharp nails.

“I was here much longer, so it only makes sense that I will be the one to head out first,” Joel said. Grian nodded and let go of the man’s hand, watching as his ally departed from the tavern.

He waited what he hoped was an appropriate amount of time to avoid appearing like he was following Joel out before pulling a bag of coins from his belt and tossing them towards the bartender. He caught it with a nasty look and tucked the bag away under the counter. He pointed towards the door and Grian rolled his eyes as he saw his way out before he could be thrown out.

As he entered the night air, he shivered a bit. Though it was only fall right now, it was already growing colder by the day. Winter would be upon them in no time. He would have to remember to inform everyone that they should wear warm underclothes once the fated night arrived.

The festival was still well in effect at this point, the jovial sounds reaching his ears and the smell of the food making his stomach rumble. He hoped their joy would last after his plan was enacted. He was doing it for them, even if they didn’t know it. While he had faith that everything would go well, especially with the news that their sister kingdom, Coral Crest, was on their side, there was always the ever-looming threat that things would go wrong.

In any case, he needed to get home to tell Scar the good news and give him a new task. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he exited the town, the noise finally dissipating to a low murmur before disappearing entirely and being replaced by the near silent sounds of crickets and wind ruffled leaves. He hurried through the trees to the location of his and Scar’s main hideout, one only they and Mumbo knew about, and looked around to ensure he wasn’t followed. Not that it really mattered. This place was completely guarded by magic, but one could never be too safe when you lived the life Grian did.

Once he was sure he was alone, he entered the cave hidden among the boulders and trees, and carried on further until he reached a split in the long tunnel. He came to several of these twists and turns until he finally reached the cavern he had been calling home for many years now. It was small, the interior only about the size of the average house, illuminated naturally by amethyst and some species of moss that grew along the ceiling and ground. There was a hammock in the corner for him to sleep in, a few chests scattered around the area, and a table that held a pitcher of water and piles of papers, both used and unused, in the center of the room. The left wall was entirely covered in papers with his messy handwriting on them, along with diagrams of the castle; all of his planning throughout the years.

Few people knew that this place existed. It was safer that way.

“Scar.” He said, his words echoing in the dark. He let out an exacerbated sigh when he received no response. He raised his voice, “Scar!”

“So impatient,” A voice said directly beside him. He didn’t so much as flinch, having had years to develop an immunity to the Scar’s bullshit and antics, “Give me a chance to respond!”

“Coral Crest has agreed to help us during the new moon.” Grian got right to the point. “They’ll be sending groups of soldiers to us over the next few weeks until then, so we’ll have to be ready for their arrival. Can you safeguard a few houses?”

“Anything for you, my delightful birdie friend.” Scar said. A meow reached Grian’s ears and he looked down to find Scar’s familiar rubbing against his leg. She looked up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he reached down, gingerly taking her into his arms before standing again.

“And while you’re at it, do me a favour and safeguard the glass shop over in the shopping district as soon as you can. There are a few Coral Crest allies stationed there already, and we wouldn’t want something happening to them.” Grian tacked on, scratching Jellie under the chin with the tip of his talon, as gentle and careful as could be though he knew he could not hurt her. She purred in his hold.

“Consider it done.” Scar said, and then continued with a satisfied grin, “The pieces are falling into place just as we hoped they would, aren’t they?”

“We’ve prepared for this day for nearly a decade. There is hardly any room for anything to go wrong.” Grian stated matter-of-factly, settling Jellie down on the ground.

“Let us hope that things keep going our way then.” Scar said before he and Jellie disappeared just as suddenly as they had showed up, no doubt getting right to work with the things Grian had tasked Scar with. Scar may be a bit on the carefree and goofy side from time to time, but he was also quick and efficient, especially with Jellie by his side. It would be taken care of by morning, Grian was sure of it.

All he had left to do until Joel arrived with more of his men in the coming week was go over the ground plans with his engineers, but that could wait. He pulled his cloak off of himself and discarded it on the chair by the table before heading over to the swinging hammock that hung from the lower parts of the ceiling. He climbed into it with practiced ease, folding an arm behind his head and settling the other on his stomach with his feet hanging over the edge. For now, he would sleep and await the new day.

He smiled a true, sincere grin up at the stone ceiling. Soon it would all be over, and this living nightmare would finally, at last, come to an end. Scar was right, everything truly was falling right into place for him.

Gem froze mid-sentence and turned her head at an unnatural speed towards one of the alcohol booths off to the side of the table. Her mouth snapped shut and her brows furrowed, lips twisting into a confused and foul expression.

“What is it, Gem?” Impulse asked, leaning back in his chair to look in the direction she was.

She hesitated for a second, eyes trained on the darkness. There was nothing there that either she or the boys could see, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something, no someone, there. She, against her better judgement, turned her attention back towards her meal. She couldn’t let that encounter with Grian drive her mad with paranoia this early on. She had to be on her A-game, and that included not jumping at the shadows.

“It was nothing,” She said, ignoring the growing pit of unease that had yet to leave her. She only hoped that her words held true.

#GG rivals au #GG main fic #grian #geminitay #joel smallishbeans #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft #life series #Danny's fics #fic: Thus Always to Tyrants #Point of View: Grian #cw: alcohol #very sorry for the wait everyone!#thank you for your patience!#let me know if this needs any more content warnings and I will update it in a heartbeat

50 notes · View notes

barracuda-shark-games · 2 days ago

Note

That ask about MC breaking a servant's arm as a reaction to a PTSD trigger had me wondering about a follow up - if you don't mind of course!

What if after the fact, once MC realizes what they have down, they just full on have a breakdown, crying and calling themself an uncontrollable monster that should be put down or something along these lines? Especially if they don't seem to fully understand WHY they did what they did / what was happening to them, and clearly taking it even harder because they consider it to be 100% their fault and what not.

I'm comfortable answering both this question and the question it refers to because it honestly won't happen in the story because of how PTSD will manifest for the MC (more on that in this recent ask); if anything they'll be less responsive than you might think and their trauma responses will be a bit delayed/atypical! However this is a fun exercise for a glimpse into the ROs themselves. :)

So, RO (+Emp(ress/eror)) reactions under the cut!

Advisor Jocosa would have a flip switched in her brain and, without thinking, wrap the MC in her arms to try to soothe them. She'd calmly encourage them to let it out while also gently insisting that they are not a monster. It hurts her to hear the MC speak of themself this way, and she privately kicks herself for not being gentler with MC to start with. As she gently runs a hand up and down MC's back, she would already be brainstorming ways to help MC's outlook in the long term.

Bodyguard Amis would shield the MC with his body and smoothly lead them somewhere safe and private without causing a scene. He would take the MC's hand and place it firmly on his chest, breathing deep and slow, in order to help ground them. "You're going to be okay," he'd say. "Just follow my breathing." His eyes would betray his worry, but his voice would never waver after swallowing down his own anxiety. He just has to make MC okay first.

Knight Elric would clear the area in order to grant the MC privacy and dignity. After ensuring that the MC will be undisturbed and not overheard, he would sit down next to the MC. After a moment's hesitation, he would place an arm on their shoulder, trying not to tremble, himself. He would squeeze it, offering what little comfort he can while they let it all out. He would want to do more, but he can't. He shouldn't even be doing this much.

Noblewoman Muir's eyes would darken, a frown marring her beautiful features. "Listen to me," she'd say, her voice more stern than MC's ever heard it, "don't listen to that cruel voice inside of your head. It doesn't know what it's talking about." She'd grab the MC's hands and pull them up between them. "You can cry and scream and lash out however you need to right now," she'd caress the MC's face before continuing, voice softer, "but don't believe that voice. It's wrong. I happen to think you're wonderful, and I'm never wrong." Her smile would be as charming as ever, despite the glimpse of worry behind her eyes.

Priest Larkin would feel an ache in his chest, though he wouldn't be the least bit surprised by the MC's reaction. He would wrap his arm around the MC with a gentle grasp, loose enough so that the MC can pull away if they need to. "I am here for you," he'd say in a low voice. "You are not alone. You are not a monster. You are a brilliant, beautiful soul. You don't see that right now, and that's okay. I can see you for both of us right now. It might take time, but some day, I pray you'll look at yourself and see what I see." He'd go on to describe everything that makes the MC good in his eyes.

Spymaster Sunnifa would clench her fists. "Don't say that." The words would come out without her thinking, causing her to blink in surprise. But she'd dig her heels in and continue, "Please don't say that." Before she could change her mind, she'd will herself forward, marching to the MC before clumsily pulling them into a tight hug. "I'm here, okay?" She would whisper, heart pounding in her throat, hard enough for both of them to feel it. "I'm here..."

Emp. Wilmot would rush to the MC, placing their hands on their shoulders. "Hey," they'd say in a soft voice, "it's okay. You can cry, it's okay. Let it out." After a moment's pause, they wouldn't be able to hold back from asking, "Is it okay if I hold you?" If permission is granted, they would effortlessly pull MC into their embrace, rubbing their back in soothing motions. Otherwise, they would insist on sitting with MC in silence until they calm down. They would cancel any and all court appointments that day in order to ensure that MC's needs are met.

#inbox #bethroned ro reactions #thank you for your patience!

16 notes · View notes

lemony-ship-it · 16 days ago

Note

Trick or treat for remrom

Thank you for your unprecedented patience here! Please enjoy it as my blood, sweat, tears, and other bodily fluids went into the making of this fic. I also threw some mulch in there because we ended up with an abundance of it due to unforseen circumstances.

The Hummingbird and the Vine

Words: 6,476

Prince Roman of Escheri rang in the Harvest Ball with the toll of a great, gleaming brass bell that sat in the castle's square. Thunderous cheers erupted and jaunty music began to play, filling the early evening air with merriment and covering the sounds of rioting just outside the palace wall. Strings of paper lanterns and festive pennants lined the cobblestone streets, flickering over happy faces. Sheaves of plucked cornstalks and sunflowers were tied around every lamppost. Smartly dressed people laughed and danced and played and crafted dolls out of corn husks and carved gourds, and yet every year, Roman was forced to walk up the steps of the raised dais and sit on his throne in the royal palanquin.

"Simply perfect, my dear," his mother praised. She said that every time he did this. He gave the same speech each year, did the same movements and scripts like clockwork that the King and Queen expected of him.

"Thank you, mother," Roman replied politely, remembering to sit up straight and prim.

The queen turned to gossip with her courtiers outside and as usual, the King stayed silent and still. Sometimes Roman wondered if the man was still alive.

Nothing ever changed here. Do the speech. Ring the bell. Watch while the world lived and he rotted on his throne. Toast to the country and his lineage and the friends and neighbors who made it possible. Do the harvest ritual. Light the bonfire. Go home surrounded by a parade of party goers and guards carrying festival lanterns. Gods, it was times like this where he missed Remus the most.

Their parents had sent Remus off when the twins were 8 to be a page under one of their most esteemed knights, a vainglorious warmonger under the Weston crest. Both twins had begged and pleaded for their parents to reconsider, that they'd be on their best behavior from here on out, but they fell on deaf ears. The twins were too much trouble together. Of course, they always meant Remus was too much trouble.

"Time spent training the mind and body will make you a strong, valiant general one day, one that Escheri can count on," the King chided. "Your future, the kingdom's future, depends on you turning this misguided and destructive energy into something productive."

Though the boys were equally mischievous in nature, their parents usually pinned the blame on Remus. Roman knew it was unfair and tried to do what he could to spare his younger brother the harsh punishments, but the King and Queen were nothing if not strict. Their parents never said anything about it, but instinctually, the twins knew it was because Remus, though a near mirror image of Roman, had been born with his left leg tightly folded in on itself, which caused him to have a pronounced limp.

That night, they laid together in Roman's bed, sharing tears and clinging to each other, covering each other's cheeks and foreheads and noses with chaste kisses over and over again until their jaws ached. Under the pale light of a crescent moon, they made a pact to never let a week go by without a letter, and that once they met again, they'd never again separate.

That was far more than a decade ago now. Roman thumbed over his heart, making like he was brushing off an imperfection to his crisp, white regalia. What his parents would never, could never know about was that he always stowed the latest letter from Remus in a pocket he'd sewn into his shift. This particular letter had promised surprises, though Remus had neglected to mention what it was. He didn't even mention when, only that it would be "soon."

A sharp rap from the Queen yanked him out of his head. He sat up straighter. "My apologies," Roman said, not sorry in the least.

"Good," she praised, then got back to her gossiping.

Roman sighed quietly. He hoped whatever surprise Remus had in store was actually coming soon.

It wasn't long after that thought that Roman felt eyes boring into him. As a Prince, he was used to all eyes being on him all the time, but this felt... different. His impassive face scanned the crowd. Nothing looked amiss, but the feeling remained, crawling beneath his skin and beading sweat at his brow. A glance toward his parents showed that neither of them were paying much attention to him. One more scan across the crowd and he finally saw him.

A cloaked figure in green, one who wore a jackal's mask, stood in the stretching shadows of a nearby alley to the right, eyes trained on the Prince.

A single blink took the figure and the scrutiny away, but Roman kept focusing on where the figure had been. There was no way anyone could've simply vanished into thin air. Had he imagined the whole thing? Though the stranger had certainly unnerved him, nothing else out of the ordinary happened while Roman was tucked away in the royal palanquin. It did little to assuage him though; assassination attempts were becoming relatively commonplace in his daily life.

His father had become wildly unpopular with their people, thanks to being a rather flippant man who cared little for politics and lacked opinions of his own. Even his mother was despised by those outside their circle for being haughty and stingy. It reached a head when a blight struck many parts of the country the previous year. His parents had been reluctant to part with their more than ample reserves, no matter how Roman protested. He tried to sneak help out, but it was never enough. By the end of it, the people turned him away when they saw him coming. Nary a week went by without some barely thwarted poisoning or stabbing or bludgeoning on both his parents and himself. Maybe that's what this was about.

The thought plagued him as the feast began. He never let it show as he ate the meager meal in front of him, always served at the palanquin and never at the long, boisterous tables set up for everyone else. Too soon, it came time for him to deliver the toast after his father gave his small speech.

He descended from his throne and stood on the ground just outside it, untouched wineglass in hand. After steeling himself and plastering a pleasant smile on his face, he spoke. "My people, it is a great honor to stand before you all today. As we celebrate the bounty of the harvest, let's take time to be thankful for not only the goodwill of the Gods, but in the goodwill of our kingdom, our friends, our neighbors, and those who protect us—" He caught sight of the jackal-masked stranger leaning against a lamppost no more than 20 feet away from him, arms crossed nonchalantly. Roman's stomach dropped. From here, he could see the cocky smile on the man's face peeking from under the mask.

The Queen cleared her throat loudly. Murmurs passed between the people at the tables.

Roman forcibly turned his attention away from the cloaked figure, though the man remained planted in place. "Um. Yes, uh... I'd like to toast not only to my family and our glorious kingdom, but to all of you as well. Cheers," Roman said, faltering at the last word but still raising his glass. Everyone carried on as if he hadn't just royally blundered.

As he climbed back into the silken cage, his mother glared coldly. "When we return to the palace, you will be reciting the proper toast until the sun comes up," she bit.

Though Roman's body felt fiery, he took a breath before saying, "My apologies, my Queen. It seems I was momentarily distracted by a... most unusual attendant. I feel that there may be another assassination attempt in the works."

The Queen shook her head. "Enough excuses, Roman," she said sharply.

"We have more than enough guards to ensure our safety," the King grunted.

Roman bit his tongue, turning away from his parents. He suddenly wasn't very hungry anymore.

As the feast wound down, Roman's already tight chest filled with icy dread. He hated the ritual. His fingers brushed the scar on his palm; it always brought back the memory of his first ritual when he was 9. More heavily, he couldn't banish the smirking image of the masked man. Roman knew he was around here somewhere, but no one else seemed to notice or if they did, they didn't care. Why did no one else seem to care?

The royal sanctuary's clock tower chimed the hour. Each of the nine bells rattled through Roman's skull. His knuckles turned as white as his tunic as he grasped the thick fabric of his pants. Regardless of his wishes, the tolling bell was his signal to begin the ritual. The crowd fell silent, the music stopped, the discord outside the walls became a murky din. The king and queen rose from their thrones, cuing Roman to do the same right after them. As a group, they strode straight down the aisle made by the tables toward the unlit burning pile. Torch bearers fell into step behind them, clad in brown and orange ceremonial robes. Just one step behind them came the bearers of the offerings in brown and deep red, carrying one gourd and one calf, and at the back of the party strode the bearer of the ceremonial dagger in brown and somber plum.

All eyes locked on him as the pile neared. None of them mattered. At the back of the crowd stood the man in the jackal mask. Roman steeled his composure as best he could, but the quickening pace of his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He forced himself to look away, to just look forward and get through this horrid ritual. His parents split in front of the pile, leaving space between them for him. He turned back toward the crowd when he'd taken his place and frantically scanned the crowd with just his eyes, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

The man... he had to be a figment of Roman's imagination. There was no way anyone could move that fast. He took a deep breath and expelled all the unrest in his belly. Of course the man was nothing more than something his mind conjured! The ceremonial procession came into their first position, two out of the three torch bearers standing at either side of the pile and everyone else kneeling in front of them. In the middle knelt the bearer of the dagger and the last torch bearer.

"My people," Roman said confidently, "the time has come to pay our dues for such an excellent harvest this year and ensure our future bounty and prosperity. Through these sacrifices, we give thanks to the Gods who so graciously provided for us. We offer our praise and benediction for the fruits of the earth, so lovingly provided by the Gods and those that move them." He took the dagger and the gourd, carving a perfect hole in the top and setting the seed-laden cap aside. One torch bearer set their flame to the unlit pile, holding it steadily in place.

Roman gulped at the next part. The bearers brought forth the calf and wrangled it to where its neck was splayed right over the opened gourd. He knelt in front of it, licked his dry, dry lips, and placed the blade against the animal's throat. "We offer praise and benediction for the noble beasts that give their lives, so carefully tended by the herders, hunters, and flock keepers," he boomed with false confidence. With a remorseful look to the poor calf, he quickly slid the blade across it's throat, not watching as it's blood pumped into the open gourd. The baby bellowed out, thrashing and kicking to try to get away, but it was held too firmly. It was always held too firmly.

The calf stilled, and the second bearer set their torch to the pile and held it steady.

Roman stood taller than he felt was natural. No one noticed. He set the bloodied blade to his own palm, the sharp metal taunting him. "We give praise and benediction for the children of man, who enact the will of the Gods piously in all they do," he said.

Before he could make the cut, however, a voice cut through from behind him, "I think the Gods want more than blood."

Roman whirled, suddenly coming face to face with the jackal-masked man. Smoothly, the man seized the knife from Roman's hands and slashed his parents' throats before Roman had time to flinch. As blood came pouring from their necks, the man pushed them into the growing bonfire. Without breaking momentum, he lobbed the bloody gourd into the fire at them. Before Roman had even registered them disappearing into the growing flames, the man had already hefted Roman over his shoulder. Before Roman realized hundreds of armored, armed men had flooded the square, they were already far down the alley, hundreds of bloodcurdling screams ringing in his ears.

Roman tried to flail against his captor, to do any kind of damage at all, but everything bounced off the man like he was throwing pebbles at a wall. "Unhand me!" Roman cried. "Put me down!" The man didn't listen, jostling him roughly as he ran far too quickly for any human. It was like being on a horse and going nearly as fast.

Roman's captor brought him all the way to the carriage house of the castle using back alleys and shadowy corridors.

"Ugh, I'm gonna be feeling that one tomorrow," grumbled the man under his breath. He regained his composure to say, "Now then my little Prince, you are not to move or shout when I put you down and you'll let me explain."

Roman offered no response, but the man put him down anyway. He didn't have it in him to fight. Hand-to-hand combat never was his strong suit, and even his own people would sooner see him hanged for the sins of his father than assume the throne after their murder, no matter how hard he tried to make up for it and no matter the help he tried to send. His parents were dead and he was likely to follow in the next few minutes, without ever getting to see Remus again.What else was he to do but graciously bear his throat and go out with dignity? "I only ask that you make it quick," he said, closing his eyes.

"Uh, what are you doing?" the man asked him.

Roman's eyes shot open, staring at the man. "You mean... you're not going to kill me...?"

He chuckled. "I'm not about to kill my own brother," Remus said, peeling his mask off with a grin. "Surprise!"

Tears sprang to Roman's eyes and his hand covered his mouth. "It- It's really you," he breathlessly said.

Remus offered him a hand up. Roman gladly took it, and Remus tugged him up and into a strong, loving embrace. They smothered each other in kisses as fervently as starving men devour food. The brothers held each other for a long while, crying and laughing and kissing and rocking back and forth on their heels before Roman pulled back to drink the sight of his brother in. Their faces were still nearly identical, same strong chin and glittering brown eyes, but Remus now sported a curling mustache, a lock of silver hair on the front of his head, and several healed scars over his impecable visage.

"I can't believe it!" Roman gushed, holding Remus' face in his hands and running his fingers over the now tear-soaked scars. "I— I've missed you so terribly all these years! Ma petite feuille!"

"You're not the only one, hummingbird. I dreamed of you every night," Remus replied, gently stroking Roman's cheek and wiping his tears away.

Roman's heart leapt at the nickname, but his smile quickly faltered. "You... killed our parents."

Remus' smile widened. "Heh, yeah, I did! I don't suppose you'll be locking me in the dungeons, will you?" he purred.

Roman shook his head. "Of course not. I knew one of these days the attempts people were taking would succeed. And you know how mother and father were! They sent you away and kept us from being together all these years."

"I guess that's what one awkward kiss in the stables will do, huh?" Remus said, faltering a moment. "Well that and them hating me for coming out wrong."

"We kept trying to tell them we just wanted to know what it was like and that we wouldn't do it again, but they were never fair," Roman recalled.

"It's not like that was the truth anyway, and it's not like it matters now!" Remus said brightly with a shrug.

Once again, Roman shook his head. "They don't matter anymore, but... what about the kingdom? No one likes our family and I can't even blame them for it."

"Oh believe me, I know. Knights and commoners talk about that a lot. Buuuuuuut I also know how we can redeem you in the eyes of the people," Remus said, kissing Roman's nose, "and even better, we can finally do what we promised to when we parted!"

Roman's heart skipped a beat. "You mean..."

Remus nodded. "Yeah, I mean," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a simple golden ring. "I hope you like getting dirty, little birdy."

"I don't care what we have to do, I just want to be with you," Roman said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "No one can stop us now."

Remus laughed. "I know!" he exclaimed, not holding back his own jubilation as he slid the weighty wedding band onto Roman's ring finger. "No one will get in the way of us again."

"No one," Roman repeated. He hugged Remus tightly. His other half was back, and for the first time in over a decade, he finally felt whole again.

That night, the two got to work enacting their illusion: Roman, the Prince of Escheri, played the captive of the man who had deposed the king and queen. Iron manacles hung heavy from his wrists, and Remus had smeared some mud and blood from the knife on his face to make it seem like there had been a real struggle. Remus had even retrieved the crown from the castle. With a final tender kiss behind closed doors, the show began.

Remus led Roman to the top of the palace walls with guards trailing behind them. The sound of chaos crept closer the higher up they went, reaching a crescendo once they'd crested the wall. Upon seeing the two of them, one of the guards sounded a warhorn, and the crowd grew quiet. That was their cue. Remus stepped forward, tugging Roman forward with him until they could see the masses of people below.

"People of Escheri," Remus boomed in his most official voice, "you were promised much and given little by these paltry royals. While you starved and ailed and toiled for them, they left you hungry, sick, and weary. But their time is over. The tyrants have fallen!" He held the crown over his head in triumph and put it on his own head. Cheers erupted through the crowd, nearly deafening. "And as a final humiliation to the royal family I betrayed, I will claim the crown prince as my bride!" He raised Roman's shackled hands.

The crowd got even more boisterous at that, and Roman tried his best to look ashamed and tearful.

"Today," Remus continued, "we celebrate not only the harvest, but the dawn of a new era of prosperity for all!"

Remus led Roman away to thunderous jubilation behind them. Once they were out of sight and back on solid ground, Remus suddenly stumbled. Roman caught him as best he could, but the pair still came tumbling down with Roman landing on top of Remus.

"Ree, are you okay? What happened?" Roman asked frantically.

Remus just laid there beneath him and chuckled. "The potions wore off," he said, sighing.

"Potions? What potions?"

"The ones that help me move?" Remus replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Roman just furrowed his brow, but moved to get up. Before he made it far, Remus pulled him back down into a kiss. "Let's stay here awhile."

"On the ground...?"

Remus just kissed him again. And again. They were the world's most persuasive lips if Roman had to guess, because 30 minutes later they were still there making up for lost time as they gazed at the stars. They shared stories of their time apart, everything that wouldn't fit in their letters, like how Roman had been thrown off a horse the first time he'd ridden one on his own at 10, how he'd pulled off his final prank, and of the time Remus bested his begrudging mentor when he was 19.

"The man actually believed me when I told him there was a damsel in distress near the boar's cave!" Remus guffawed. "I didn't finish him off, but it's a funny thing about boars, they don't care as long as they smell blood. So I ripped the crest from his tunic and left him there when I heard the snuffling. Never saw him again and no one ever asked for details, but he had a damn fine horse!"

"That's impressive," Roman said, smiling. "You managed to deprive the old loon of the glory he ached for in death. Serves him right, really, a tyrant knight for tyrant masters."

Out of the corner of his eye, Roman saw Remus move. He turned his head to see that lovely mirrored image reflected back at him, confused and delighted. "Since when did you become so vengeful?" asked Remus.

Roman laughed and rolled onto his side to face his brother. "You already know the answer to that."

Remus, in turn, answered back, "Heh, yeah," and rolled with some effort onto his side. "I... might need you to carry me back to the palace. I really overdid it and I don't think my legs will do the job. Well, maybe the right one will if it's not going to be a traitorous bastard."

"Fine, but you need to take these chains off me first," he said, sitting up and reaching over to help Remus do the same. Remus pulled the key from his pocket and slid it into the locks. The cuffs fell to the ground with a light clang. "Ah, thank you." Getting up, Roman picked them up and draped them around his neck and grabbed his fiancee's hands, tugging him up with more difficulty than he would've anticipated. "Gods, Remus, you're heavy!"

Remus cackled as he came up, collapsing against Roman with a sudden, "Fuck!" as his left foot made contact with the ground. A still moment passed, then Remus continued like nothing had happened, "Yeah, that's what hard combat will do to you."

As they started making their way toward the castle, Remus hobbling while Roman supported his left side, Roman asked, "You mentioned taking potions earlier?"

"Nothing too fancy, just strength and dexterity potions. Let's me move without my leg tightening back up too much."

"That's why you were so fast!" Roman concluded.

"Of course! It's rougher to do it on my own, but I could if I needed to for a short time."

"What did wicked Weston have you doing anyway?"

Remus shrugged. "Usual page stuff. Then typical squire things, followed by basic knighting. Lots more conflict than I anticipated."

"Conflict? When did you encounter that? We aren't at war."

"Ah, you've not been out in the streets lately, have you?"

Roman sighed sadly as the chains around his neck clanked in time with his footsteps. "Not with the leash our parents kept on me. I may as well have been a prisoner. Said it was 'too dangerous' since last year. That's when the assassination attempts started in earnest," he said.

"Probably for the best for you. I don't know what I would've done if something happened to you, hummingbird." Remus paused a moment, then said, "I mean, I would tear whoever hurt you apart and make their families watch, but regardless. I took care of mercenaries, mostly. The occasional bandit. Once when I was 18, the beast sent me after the leader of a local thieves guild alone. He never told me I'd be coming face to face with 30 of them."

"That many?? What happened?"

"You tell me. Only one of us came out alive."

"Ree."

Remus snorted. "Okay fine. It took hours, but I managed to pluck them out one by one until only the leader remained. Then after a fearsome battle to the death, I alone remained. That's how I got this neat scar!" he said, pointing to a jagged line beneath his eye. "After that, I guess I kind of became something of a folk hero? Everyone got real candid with me. I heard everyone's distaste for our parents. And..." Remus looked away, "for you, too. I really tried to dissuade them from that. I'm sorry to say I couldn't with most of them. But they rallied behind me and soon enough, I had a plan to get everyone back on our side and get this country built back up."

Roman smiled. "You've really been out there doing a lot of good. It makes me so proud that you're my brother and now my betrothed. You deserve to be the one to lead the kingdom after all that," he praised.

"Without you by my side? I don't think so."

"Of course I'll be by your side but, honestly, what do I know of our actual kingdom? I've seen so little of it, experienced almost nothing of it outside the doors of the noble families, and frankly, I... I don't have any claim to be in charge of it."

Remus stopped abruptly, nearly causing them both to topple again. "You don't seriously believe that." A gentle breeze rustled dead leaves against the cobblestone street as thundering silence stretched between them. Roman couldn't meet Remus' eyes. "Roman, please tell me you don't think that."

After what seemed like ages, he solemnly replied, "I do. At least... that's how it is now. What has a life in an ivory tower taught me about running a country?"

"Did our parents really teach you nothing about— never mind. Because you know what? It doesn't matter. Roman, do you know why I did what I did? I mean, do you really know?"

"So we could be free?" Roman answered. "So we'd be able to wed like we promised?"

Remus chuckled. "That was a pretty big reason," he said. "But I had to do this because I knew that without us ruling together as a team, it would be for nothing. You forget that we get to make the rules now! And what we don't know, we can learn together or just make up."

Roman couldn't help how his heart swelled at that. "That's true," he said. "We have our whole lives to figure this out!"

Remus grinned brightly at Roman. "Exactly! Sometimes you gotta turn your mind off to see what's really there. Works for me all the time!" He knocked on his own head, then motioned them forward. "Now let's get going, I've got about, I'd say, 5 minutes until I can't move anymore."

"What??" Roman cried. "Why didn't you say that earlier??"

"Eh, some things are worth it," Remus said casually. Giving Roman a lovestruck look, he added, "And you're worth everything."

"You're worth everything to me too, but this is important! Ahhhhh we're not going to make it in time!"

Remus shrugged. "You can just drag me back- Oh!" Roman hefted his brother up over his shoulder like Remus had done with him earlier. "Oh, okay, that works too."

Roman set off at a labored, wheezing trot, clanking wildly down the wide road to the castle. By the time the pair had made it to Roman's chambers up all of those damnable stairs, Roman's legs wobbled as he fell forward onto his canopied bed with Remus still over his shoulder.

"Wow, who knew you had it in you to carry me all this way unenhanced?" Remus delighted.

Roman only weakly groaned.

"Okay, okay, come here, I'll take it from here." Remus pulled himself out from under Roman and dragged him the rest of the way on the bed. He took Roman's boots off, tossed them on the ground, then rolled Roman over onto his back.

Though Roman still felt like he was breathing in fire, he gave Remus a weak smile. "Thanks," he wheezed.

"Tomorrow, let's stay in bed all day," Remus said, smoothing Roman's hair. He took off his own boots, then peeled off his leather armor and leg brace. "Ah, that's the good shit," he moaned, stretching his left leg out as much as he could.

"Bed all day with you sounds amazing," Roman replied, starting to undress himself shakily.

"Your room is different," Remus noted.

As Roman doffed his tunic, he said, "Yes, just a little. I like red, and mother made me earn it." The room, with its Rococo flair, ornate woodwork, and luxuriously upholstered furniture, had all been Roman's own preference. He hated the stoic, sterile Gothic style of his parents, down to the dreary colorlessness of the decor.

"What do you mean 'earn it?'" Remus asked, throwing his own tangled tunic to the floor.

"Oh, well. They made me stay awake and standing for the entire renovation. It was only three days, but..." Roman trailed off. "I wish I could say that was the worst of it after you left."

"Why not tell me about it in your letters?"

"They monitored them, you know. Withheld a few of them, tried to stop so many from going out, but I stole them back. For the past few years now, I've sent them in secret. They never knew I was still writing to you."

"The true faces of evil, huh. It's a good thing they got what they deserved," Remus said.

"Yeah," Roman said. The relief of that reality washed over him warmly. He tugged his pants off and let them fall to the floor, followed by his stockings. Suddenly, Remus' finger was resting over his heart.

"What's this?"

Roman hummed, then delicately retrieved the letter from its resting place at his heart and opened it for Remus. "I keep all the letters you send me, but your most recent letters stay here so they'll always be close to me," he explained wistfully. "It really helped me feel closer to you with all this space between us, y'know?"

"I guess we had the same idea then," Remus said. Roman's gaze drifted to his brother. In his hand was Roman's last letter to him, the crisp white parchment still as pristine as the day he'd written it. "I kept the others too."

"How? I must've sent hundreds by this point! Surely they couldn't have all fit in your saddlebags," Roman said, resting his hand on Remus' thigh.

"They did at one point. The others are somewhere safe, and I intend to retrieve them soon, all 792 of them."

"Where are they? We can ride out together and get them once we've rested."

"So long as we can move tomorrow," Remus laughed, taking the crown off and putting it on the bedside table. "And don't forget, we have a wedding to plan!" He leaned back onto the goose down mattress, making grabby hands at Roman.

"I can't wait to be your proper husband," Roman breathed, settling into the plush bed in Remus' arms.

"That makes two of us," Remus mumbled. "I love you, Roman." He held Roman just a touch tighter.

Roman leaned into it, snuggling closer to his brother. "I love you too." Without anything more than another kiss between them, the pair drifted off into the most comfortable sleep either of them had had in years.

A week came and went in the fanfare of planning the twins' wedding. They'd rehearsed the ceremony by themselves over and over, making sure every line and motion was expertly calculated. Remus directed castle staff in how the event was going to go down, what decorations they wanted, where everything needed to be for the big day. Roman wrote out more than 500 invitations and took care of making what decorations he could from his room. The twins had both agreed that in the spirit of a new era, their guest list would extend far beyond the usual list of attendants. Now that the noble population had been pared down, there wasn't much point to keeping such an arbitrary standard anyway.

Another week passed and finally, the big day arrived. Guests from all over their island nation had been steadily pouring in since the invitations had gone out, and the castle was nearing its capacity. The twins spent the morning with their tailor as the reedy man fussed over the finer details of their attire. He had to admit it was impressive how the man had accounted for Remus' leg brace into the design.

"I must say, my liege," the tailor said, "it is rather... avant garde for you to be wearing this suit instead of your brother's."

Remus just shrugged. "Nothing to say I can't. I feel like the role of the nurturer fits better since it's going to take someone, how did you say, avant garde? To lead our people. A nurturer is also a protector, you know."

The tailor hummed uncomfortably, but got to work closely examining his emerald green waistcoat's red hummingbird embroidery at the cuffs and split crew collar, making sure they were perfect. Roman tried to stifle a giggle and examined his own outfit in the tall, gilded mirror.

His suit coat matched Remus' in all but color and accoutrement; green vines, flowers, and leaves adorned his flushed red coat, expertly graded into the soft, thick silk. The symbol of the provider. Ten elegant gold clasps fastened the finery together in the front. A delicate gossamer cape attached to the garment at the highest clasp, draped tacitly over his shoulders and spilled to the floor in a cascade of translucent cream. He turned and looked at how the loose, gathered pants bunched at his mid-calf and ended in an embroidered, widely-ruffled cuff. Simple cream stockings and dazzling wedding slippers that matched his suit tied the whole ensemble together.

Roman's heart caught in his chest. He looked over to Remus, who looked back at him quizzically. "This is really happening," Roman muttered.

"Of course it is!" Remus brimmed. "What do you take me for, a cheat?"

"No, never! I just mean... it's all becoming real now, you know?"

Remus pursed his lips and scrunched his brow. He clapped and said, "Malchior, this is truly exquisite work you've done, but I need to speak to my groom alone for a moment." Remus waved his hand. With a grumble about tucking a stray thread, the tailor exited the room with his supplies in hand, bumping past Roman as he left. Roman didn't miss the malicious twinkle in the man's eye as he passed.

"Now with that out of the way," Remus said, dropping his tone to a hush, "there's no need to worry. We've practiced hundreds of times together! What could go wrong?"

Roman shook his head, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "It's not that I'm worried about messing it up, I'm not worried at all really." He turned his gaze back up, looking Remus in the eye with a watery grin. "I'm simply awestruck by all of this. We've waited decades to see this through, ma petite feuille, and now it's finally coming true," he uttered. He couldn't help the tears that welled and spilled over his cheeks, nor the smile that made his face ache from its power.

Remus came over and cupped Roman's face in his hand, wiping the tears away with a pleased grin. "Every day with you is magic, hummingbird, and I can't wait to spend every day with you as your husband." He kissed Roman then, soft and sweet and gentle and it filled him with the fire of a thousand suns. "We're going to bring this country back from the ashes our parents left them in." Remus wiped the tears from his face gently and kissed him again before going to the door.

The tailor followed him back in the room, the spiteful man sneering at Roman proudly. Roman, however, didn't care. How could he, the happiest man in the whole world, care about such a trivial thing as a tailor's opinion of him? Before long though, the reedy man busied himself tucking in a stray thread on one of the red hummingbirds in flight on Remus' collar.

Before long, they were alone again in preparation for the ceremony. They each grabbed a small container housing the ceremonial lip paints and brushes. "Shall I?" Roman asked, uncapping the tiny vessel.

"I'd be utterly wounded if you didn't! Literally, I'd have a knife in my heart, gooshing all over the place," Remus replied, miming the action overzealously.

Roman laughed, dabbing the brush into the ruby red makeup. "Well we can't have that, not on our wedding day." Remus offered his face forward and Roman, before applying the cream to his upper lip, kissed him once more for good measure. "I love you."

"I love you, too, more than you can ever know," Remus replied, bringing Roman in for a kiss once more. Roman quickly finished applying the makeup and Remus did the same with the emerald green makeup on Roman's bottom lip. "There, now you look like a true groom."

They looked at each other and themselves in the mirror. "This is always how I'd imagined it growing up," Roman said.

Remus smiled brightly at Roman, hand in hand. "Well then what are we waiting for?Let's step into our future."

Roman squeezed his hand tightly and smiled once more. "Yeah."

The two were quickly wed and Remus coronated right after in front of a huge crowd of common folk and gentry alike. As the years passed, the twins made good on every promise they'd made to their people and to each other. And though it took quite a long time, the people of Escheri warmed back up to Roman as King-Consort once they realized he really wasnt anything like his parents. Roman and Remus led their country into an unprecedented era of internal peace and prosperity out of the shadow of their parents and lived happily ever after.

#lemon answers #lemon writes #remrom #romrem #creatnativity #thank you for your patience!#you have no idea how close i was to just infodumping on marriage customs in their made up country #i might still do it if theres enough interest OuO

9 notes · View notes