#cw implied/referenced incest

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH7: Back in the present, Nero, Sephiroth, and Cloud go to the grocery store.

rating: mature (for now) CW: implied/referenced incest

(right after Deepground Flashback Part 2. maybe i should start properly numbering these)

EDIT: I PROPERLY NUMBERED AND LINKED THEM YAYYY

🕷️🪽🥀 the Valentines 🥀🪽🕷️

Nero had never been to a grocery store, but he knew of them conceptually. Not that he had any burning desire to experience one firsthand, now, but Sephiroth made it clear he didn’t have a choice, and told him to go get ready. 

With as bad a grace as possible, he went upstairs and came back down again, dressed in some of the clothing the obnoxious blonde man purchased for him. In the face of Nero’s utter indifference and flat refusal to choose anything for himself, Cid had evidently decided the young man’s theme color would be purple, and made his selections accordingly. 

Thus, Nero now wore a dark-purple hoodie, black, acid-washed motocross jeans, purple converse high tops, and a black turtleneck, to hide the Shinra-made restrictive collar, which supposedly prevented him spitting out clouds of people-eating darkness miasma, or at least reduced the ability somewhat. 

“Ah-guh!” the hyper-alert noise machine announced, over the shoulder of the little blonde (as Nero uncharitably thought of Cloud, despite the fact that they were the exact same height), alerting everyone to Nero’s entrance. 

He shot the baby a glare, then his eyes fell on Sephiroth, and his lip curled. “Why do you look like that?”

“Keeping a low profile,” Sephiroth said tranquilly.

His boyfriend smirked. “Meaning, he’s the most famous war-criminal in the world. He can’t be seen in public looking exactly like his wanted posters.”

The hitherto silver-haired giant was dressed in his usual white v-neck t-shirt and black jeans, with the addition of a leather jacket, but his long hair had changed to jet black, and his eyes were now crimson, like those of the rest of the Valentines. With their coloring coordinated, Sephiroth’s resemblance to Vincent was downright unnerving. He looked even more like him than Nero did.

“Look at your brothers, Ollie. They're almost as pretty as you,” Cloud cooed to the baby, who gurgled and drooled about it.

Nero gave a ‘hmph’ and went to lean on the wall, with his arms crossed, unconscious of the fact that this was among his father’s most characteristic behaviors, and one highly recognizable to his associates. 

Cloud and Cid looked at Nero, then at Vincent, then at each other, and had to cover their mouths to stifle laughs. Vincent appeared bewildered and asked what was so funny, which only made them laugh harder.

Before the young men could depart on their errand, there was the ordeal of transferring the baby from Cloud’s arms to Cid’s, which took a measure of sleight-of-hand and trickery, and to which she took great umbrage. She made her displeasure known by turning bright pink from head to toe and howling like a banshee, despite Cloud’s assurances that he’d be back soon.

“Nero,” Vincent said, as the three young men walked out the door. 

Nero stopped and turned back sullenly, prepared for the highly unsurprising lecture about behaving himself and not harming civilians and blah blah blah. 

Vincent, however, failed to produce the expected admonitions. He only pushed something into Nero’s hand. It was a pair of dark-lensed sunglasses. Nero looked down at them and back up at the man, in blank perplexity.

“It’s bright outside,” Vincent said simply. “The polarized lenses help.”

Then he turned around and went back in the house, without another word. Nero stared after the man, as the door swung shut, muting the baby’s raucous wailing inside.

His vision went red, teeth clenched tightly and hand shaking, around the black sunglasses, as a big, ugly knot of pain and rage and other unidentifiable emotions surged up in his chest, choking him and making his eyes sting with tears. 

He wanted to smash the stupid things to fragments, hurl them at the door and scream curses at that man. Rip open his bleeding chest and force his so-called father to look at the mangled insides of the ruined creature he brought into this world, and then tore away from the only person in it that he’d ever loved. 

Then the cold reason of his dark side rose up, black flowing into red, and cooled the rage. Calmed the storm. Reminded him of his objective and the tasks before him. He needed to gain these people’s trust, if he was to get back to Weiss. Childish outbursts would only hinder his purpose. Patience. Patience.

“Nero, are you coming?” Sephiroth called out, drawing him from his ruminations.

Nero shoved the sunglasses onto his face, to hide his pink-rimmed eyes, and stalked gloomily to the vehicle. 

The little blonde had arrived on a motorcycle, but that was an impractical means of conveyance, for their errand, so the three of them were to drive to town in one of the many vehicles that belonged to the Valentine-Highwind household. 

This one was a small work truck, with a pickup style bed and cab that technically seated three. Technicality butted heads with reality, however, when Sephiroth was one of the three involved. 

Cloud was driving, since neither of the others had a license, and Sephiroth’s six-foot seven-inch frame was already pushing the limits of the truck's capacity, even in the passenger seat. As a result, Nero wound up packed like a sardine into the middle seat, between his ostensible elder brother, and his brother’s former-nemesis-slash-current-boyfriend. 

He very quickly began to suspect this was some method of psychological demolition. Because, if the entirety of the prison system had coordinated its efforts, it could never have contrived a more devilish torture for him, than this exact situation. 

Not only did Cloud drive like a lunatic, causing Nero to be constantly bumped and jostled about between the two, but Sephiroth kept reaching over him, to fiddle with the radio dial, simultaneously invading his personal space, and causing all kinds of disjointed snippets of songs to blare briefly from the vehicle’s speakers. 

Finally, much to Nero’s relief, Cloud smacked Sephiroth’s hand away. “Cut that out. I’m driving, so I get to pick the station. Besides, you have the absolute worst taste in music.”

“I do not,” Sephiroth contended.

“He does,” Cloud intimated to Nero. “He was raised on nothing but classical music, for optimum cerebral development, and now he’s taking revenge by soaking his super-brain in the most atrocious, top-forty pop garbage imaginable.”

“The music you claim to prefer is full of screaming, and instruments that sound like rusty bandsaws,” Sephiroth put forth. “I simply do not enjoy music with such an aggressive sound and violent themes.”

“Said the most violent man on the planet.”

They went on like this for the remainder of the drive, with Nero seething silently between them, his eyes squeezed shut behind his sunglasses (for which he was very grateful, now), and darkness tendrils stuffed into his ears, against their affectionate banter.

At long last, they arrived at the grocery store. It was a massive, fluorescent-lit, commercial monstrosity, that a corporation had christened Mid-Mart without a hint of irony. They paused, just inside the entrance, and Sephiroth tore the grocery list into three parts, handing a piece each to Nero and Cloud.

“We can get this done more quickly and efficiently if we spread out,” he explained. “Everyone take a basket, gather your items, and we will rendezvous at the Mt. Nibel Dew display, in thirty minutes. Understood?”

Cloud returned a jaunty salute, and before Nero knew what was happening, he was handed a red plastic basket with black handles, and then left on his own, in a grocery store full of innocent, unarmed civilians. Him. The known terrorist, official enemy of society, and former de-facto leader of Deepground. Like his custodians were mentally deficient. 

Luckily for them, now was not the time to make a move. He had his own plans, and no intention of playing his hand, just yet. Storing the sunglasses in his hoodie pocket, he studied the list of items, and began the daunting task of searching for them, in the glossy, chaotic fever-dream that was a modern grocery store.

Shopping was not as difficult an undertaking as had it seemed, at first blush. The aisles, though arranged according to no logic decipherable by man, were labeled with their general contents, and items tended to be grouped together with other, similar items.

Following this pattern, he quickly gathered the first several things. Next, his list had ‘maple syrup’ and ‘strawberry jam’ on it, which were in the same aisle as breakfast cereals and granolas, but not the peanut butter or honey. 

As Nero turned into the aisle, he encountered the little blonde, choosing canisters of something called ‘rolled oats.’

“Hey,” he hailed, as Nero approached. “Finding everything ok?”

“Yes,” Nero answered, putting a jar of strawberry jam into his basket. “It isn’t a particularly challenging task.”

“So, um. Sephiroth told me a bit about you,” Cloud ventured. “What happened with your brother, and all that.”

Nero’s crimson eyes flickered to his face, then away. “And?”  

“And…nothing. I’m just sorry you had to go through that. I know what it’s like to lose your only family member.”

Ugh. Concerned sympathy from a fellow griever. Nero was repulsed by this kind of thing. He knew how to shut it right back down, though. “Weiss is more than just a family member. He is my lover.”

“He’s…what?” Cloud asked, confused.

“Weiss is my biological half-brother. He is also my lover,” Nero said slowly, pronouncing every syllable clearly, as if defying Cloud to take issue with it.

Cloud balked, blindsided by his frank assertion. “Y—you mean…”

“Yes. I mean exactly that.” Nero narrowed his eyes and tilted his head questioningly. “Is me sleeping with my brother—the only person who has loved me and taken care of me, in my entire life—somehow stranger than you sleeping with the man who burned your hometown to the ground, and murdered your mother?”

Cloud’s golden brows lowered angrily, but he swallowed whatever sharp retort was on his tongue and took a deep breath, before he answered. “Look, I didn’t mean to come off like I was judging you. I don’t know about your relationship and it’s none of my business. I was just caught off-guard, is all.” 

“I am not offended, I was merely illustrating a point,” Nero said serenely. 

“Which is?”

“The heart can be neither ruled by law, nor governed by reason. Thus, reason and law have no place in the dominion of love, which will reign over a man’s heart, one way or another—whether it is as a ruthless tyrant to a captive slave, or as the benevolent sovereign of a willing subject.”

Cloud blinked. “Uh…”

“Pickles.”

“Huh?”

“Pickles are the next item on my list,” Nero clarified. “Do you know where they can be found?”

“Right. The ones Cid likes are pickled cucumbers, in the refrigerated section, with the cheese and cold snack foods. The ones Vincent likes are Chinese-style pickled vegetables, which are in the international foods section, on aisle thirteen.”

For the briefest moment, Nero’s curiosity got the better of him and he paused. “Is he—”

“Half Chinese. Grew up bilingual. That’s why everyone in the house speaks Mandarin. You didn’t wonder?”

“I don’t bother myself about what others are doing,” Nero replied, with a haughty toss of his head. “If learning languages amuses them, then so be it. It’s nothing to me.”

“Maybe you should try learning a little, too,” Cloud suggested. “It’s part of your family’s heritage.”

“Those people are not my family,” Nero said icily. 

“Yeah, sure,” Cloud snorted. “Whatever you want to tell yourself.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you don’t know them as well as I do. Once they’ve decided you’re one of their own, they won’t ever give up on you, no matter how much you kick and scream. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Nero gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, well, thank you for the sage advice. If you have nothing further to add, I am going to collect the rest of the items on my list.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, leaving Cloud feeling flustered and annoyed, and rather glad to be rid of the intractable, unpleasant young man, who seemed so much older and wiser than himself, but was actually several years his junior.

In aisle thirteen, where all the Asian foods were grouped together in one section, Nero found the pickled vegetables, without much trouble. To his exasperation, however, there were spicy and regular varieties, and no one had specified which was wanted. 

On the other side of the aisle, as he was deliberating, there was a woman near a partially filled cart, with a girl of around two years old, sitting in the child seat. The woman was talking on her cell phone, whilst perusing the products on the shelves, with her back to the child. 

As such, she failed to notice that the little girl had got loose of the safety restraint, and was reaching for something on the shelf, stretching her little hands out further and further, till all of a sudden, she toppled out of the seat, headfirst.

Quicker than sight, Nero’s darkness tendrils shot out and caught the small girl, just before she cracked her skull on the tile floor. He was setting her gently back in the cart, when the mother turned around and let out a bloodcurdling scream, dropping her cell phone and snatching up the child. The child, startled by the scream and being yanked around so abruptly, immediately burst out sobbing.

“My baby!! Help! Help!!” the woman shrieked. “This monster is trying to take my baby!!!”

Nero sighed and placed the jar of pickled vegetables (spicy variety) in his basket, now deeply regretting that he hadn’t just let the child fall and break its stupid neck. 

Meanwhile, footsteps came clattering from every direction, as the store employees, manager, security guard, and curious onlookers stampeded over to see what the commotion was. Fortunately for all of them, Sephiroth and Cloud arrived faster, and got between them and the extremely volatile bio-engineered weapon, in a purple hoodie.

“What’s—what’s going on, here?” the rather portly manager panted. “Ma’am, are you alright?” 

“He’s a monster!” the mother intoned, clutching the bawling child to her bosom. “He tried to snatch my Sally, right in front of my face! He grabbed her with these horrible tentacle things, like some kind of demon!!”

The gathering crowd turned on Nero, muttering and glaring at him, with open hostility and disgust. There were cries of ‘damn freak!’ and ‘arrest him!’ 

“Everyone shut up!” Cloud bellowed, in his rather impressive command voice, giving the manager and security guard (who were already sweating, looking up at the towering Sephiroth) a jolt. “Did anyone here actually see what happened?”

There was general murmuring from the crowd, but it was apparent that no one had. 

“I saw!” the mother said furiously. “I already told you what happened! Were you not listening?”

“Ah…ha. Let’s not be hasty, ma’am,” the security guard attempted, in a conciliatory tone. “Is it possible you saw wrong, or—”

“Why are you questioning me instead of arresting this man!” the woman interrupted. “Look at him! Look at his eyes! He’s clearly dangerous!!”

“Nero, what happened?” Cloud asked, while the manager and guard were attempting to soothe the woman.

“Didn’t you hear?” Nero sneered. “I’m a dangerous freak. I tried to snatch a baby with my monster tentacles.”

“That attitude isn’t helping,” Sephiroth told him, in an undertone. “If the police get involved and assault charges are filed, you’ll be in violation of your house arrest, whether you’re guilty or not.” 

“Fine,” Nero sighed, as if he was being sorely put upon, and pointed to the mother. “That idiot was on her phone, not paying attention to the child. It fell out of the cart. I caught it, before it landed on its head, and put it back. Then she started screaming nonsense at me and making a scene. In hindsight, if she’s going to raise it to be another fool like herself, it would’ve been better to just let it crack its skull on the ground, and end its misery.”

“How dare you!” the woman scolded. “You’re calling me liar and victim blaming?! And wishing harm on an innocent baby?!”

“Sir, this store has security cameras, correct?” Cloud asked the manager. “Shouldn’t a review of the feed clear all of this up?”

“Ah…ah, yes! In my office. W—we can look at the footage in my office,” the shiny-faced, balding man stammered, nodding like a chicken pecking rice. 

The woman tossed her head. “Hmph. I know what I saw, but fine. It’ll just prove I’m telling the truth.”

“Right this way, right this way,” the manager said, directing the involved individuals toward the back of the store. “Gerome, disperse the, uh…other guests, please? Thank you.”

The security guard waved people along, as the group followed the harried manager back to his office, which as turned out, was a rather tight squeeze, for five adults and a baby. Everyone wound up inelegantly clustered together, over the bank of monitors, while he scrolled back through the international foods aisle footage, to a few minutes ago.

The video showed the incident more or less as Nero described it, save for the fact that his darkness tendrils didn’t show up on cameras, so there was a bizarre moment when it looked as if the child stopped its fall and hovered in midair, then floated back into the cart, of its own accord.

“Ma’am, is that satisfactory?” Sephiroth asked, looking down at the woman, who was packed in between himself and the manager.

The woman’s lip trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “I—I thought…I just saw tentacles grabbing my Sally, and this man with scary, red eyes. I can’t be blamed for thinking the worst, right?”

Sally, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying all of the excitement, very much, and was busily yanking on Sephiroth’s long, inky-black hair, with both tiny fists. 

“Sally, no—we don’t pull hair,” her mother chided, gently prying the baby’s hands open. “Sorry about that, she grabs everything these days.”

“It is quite alright,” Sephiroth replied mildly. “My little sister is about the same age. I have to wear my hair in a braid at home, unless I want it all to wind up in her mouth.”

“Oh, I can imagine, with long hair like yours. That’s why I’ve cut mine short. It’s just easier that way,” she smiled, softening at finding common ground with another (sort of) parent. Then she hesitated, glancing awkwardly at Nero. “Look, I apologize for overreacting. We keep hearing these horror stories about people coming back from the frontlines deranged and with all these horrible mutations, and attacking people right in the streets. I lost my husband to the war, and Sally’s all I’ve got now. If I lost her too, I just—I don’t know what I’d do.”

Nero, however, was looking the other direction, studiously ignoring the conversation.

“All’s well that ends well, so there’s no sense in dwelling on it,” Cloud answered for him. “I’m sure we’d all just like to finish our shopping and get home.”

After the woman and baby had gone away, the manager apologized and sweated profusely, at the three gentlemen, for a few more minutes, and even went so far as to offer them a twenty percent discount on all their purchases today, by way of compensation for the trouble, though it looked like it cost him a pang to do it. 

“So. Your first foray out of the house, and you saved a baby from getting seriously injured,” Cloud remarked to Nero, as they drove homeward, a little while later. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Nero scowled, behind the dark sunglasses that he’d put back on, the moment they exited the store. “I acted without thinking. Needless to say, I won’t be making such a foolish error again.”

“Our father will be very pleased to hear of your good deed,” Sephiroth put in, looking exceedingly smug. “It seems you’re already making progress toward becoming a productive member of society.”

Nero crossed his arms disconsolately, shrinking down in the cramped middle seat. “I hate this stupid family.”

“It’ll grow on you. You’ll see,” Cloud chuckled, as he swatted Sephiroth’s hand away from the radio, yet again. 

NOTES:

Sephiroth picture: user screenshot by MrsPika with a mod for black-haired Sephiroth. No idea what they used for the eyes when ollie says "ah-guh" that's ollie for "er-ge" which is mandarin affectionate for "second elder brother", pronounced like "ahr-guh"

LINK TO CHAPTER 8

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

New chapter is up, my Darlings!

Full link to AO3 fic here

18+ only/minors DNI. Tags and CW for this chapter: mentions of matricide; implied/referenced CSA; implied/referenced sexual assault; implied/referenced incest; questionable consent involving the Bene Gesserit; pregnancy; misogyny; marital strife; vague murder plots; eventual smut; sub!Feyd; subspace; oral sex (F+M receiving) face-fucking/riding; collars; pronged collars; leashes; binding (Feyd has his hands tied behind his back for most of the sex scene)multiple orgasms; overstimulation vaginal sex; riding; dom!Reader

CHAPTER TWELVE: PLANS WITHIN PLANS

Idrisa’s waiting for you in the hallway a few meters away from the dead servant and even with her head lowered in deference she catches your look of surprise.  

“I go where my lady goes,” she explains.

You exhale, closing your eyes for a moment.  You’d lined your eyelashes with black gloss earlier; you can feel the remnants of it drying on your cheeks.  “Then can you take me back to my quarters?” you ask.

Idrisa hesitates, glancing down the hallway towards the rooms where people still celebrate, before looking back at you.  “Are you sure, na-Baroness?” she asks, voice small.

“They won’t notice that I’m gone,” you tell her.  “And if they do, they won’t care.  I just need to get away.”  You shake and feel bile rising in your throat and gag, trying not to vomit as a pair of guards pull the dead servant’s body away.  He leaves behind a trail of blood as you keep your eyes on Idrisa and hold your breath, not wanting to breathe in the coppery smell of blood that lingers in the air.  

No one else seems affected by it, not even Idrisa, who ignores the sight before her and inclines her head while giving a curtsy.  “If that's what my lady desires,” she says.  

“It is,” you say quickly, glancing behind you at the double doors separating you from the Baron’s throne.  You can barely make out Feyd’s clipped, furious tone but not any words.  You don’t want to be here when he re-emerges.  You nod at Idrisa, jutting your chin out as if to say, Let’s go.

As your heels click along the dark marble she trails behind you like a pale shadow, her head downcast.

You feel sick.  You need a moment to decide what to do next.

Stay as far away from Feyd as possible, at least until you have answers.  But where to get them?  You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose as you realize you know exactly where.

Even if they aren’t friends of yours, you still have the Reverend Mother Mohiam and multiple Bene Gesserit sisters on Geidi Prime until tomorrow night.  They’ll have answers and insight.

Answers and insight they deliberately withheld from you .

They must have known, or at least the Reverend Mother probably did.  They’ve had their hands in everything, especially involving looking after their own, which just makes you wonder why they chose to help keep this buried.  Not why they chose to keep this buried from the other Great Houses; if Feyd’s really so important for their selective breeding program, it doesn’t surprise you that they would.  

You’d known that he kills people well before you ever met him.  Many men with his kind of power have killed.  But there’s no way they’d construe him killing a prisoner of war in an arena execution as being the same level of evil as killing his own mother.  They hid this from you, and you want…well, not even to know why they would, because you could answer that yourself, but to know why they’d let him be raised by a monster, why they care so much to preserve his life, no matter how painful it’s been.  Why they chose you for him.  

“The Bene Gesserit Sisters aren’t leaving until tomorrow evening,” you manage as you walk together, and you keep your voice from trembling.  “Can you speak to one of their consorts?  Request a private meeting for me with the Reverend Mother Mohiam before she goes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” Idrisa says. 

You don’t know what else to say as she leads you to your quarters and aids you out of your gown, into a chemise and robe.  Was it only half an hour ago that you thought Feyd would be either tearing you out of this gown or simply hitching your skirts up around your hips before fucking you hard and fast?  

“I’ll grab some wet cloth for your cosmetics, na-Baroness,” Idrisa says, and ducks into the bathroom.

You stand there, almost swaying in place, furious at everyone including yourself.  Even at the end of your patience with Idrisa, who gently applies a damp cloth below your eyes to where you’ve wept.

“It’s alright,” you say after a moment, closing a hand around her delicate wrist to nudge her away.  “I can handle that part myself.”

Idrisa drops her hand when you release her wrist but otherwise stays in place, kneading the cloth in her grip.  “My lady is distraught,” she says.  “Is there nothing I can do to comfort her?”

Does she know?  You can’t shake the question, can’t avoid it.  You look at Idrisa and think, she’ll squirm, but she won’t lie.  “Can you tell me about Feyd-Rautha’s mother?” you ask her.

You hadn’t realized it was possible for her to blanche, but she does.  “I am sorry, na-Baroness,” she says.  Your hands shake and you take a step back.  She continues hardly above a whisper.  “Like I said, it was before my time.  I remember hearing she’d died, but I don’t think anyone was surprised when she did.  Her name was,” she pauses, trying to find the right euphemism, “not popular here.”

Of course it wasn’t . 

Idrisa adds, giving you an almost apologetic look, “People called her Abulurd’s whore.  Apologies, na-Baroness,” she adds when you wince.  “I heard she was killed in a home burglary.”

“And is that all?”

Idrisa’s lips part a fraction.  After a moment’s hesitation she asks, “Does my lady suspect anyone in particular?”  Her eyes dart across your face.  

Do you? you almost ask.  “I did,” you tell her.  “It turned out to have been someone else.”

You let the silence speak for itself. Idrisa’s eyes widen before she looks down.  “I’m very sorry, na-Baroness,” she says.  

“So really, no one here has any idea,” you say, finding it almost impossible to believe and yet it makes a disturbing amount of sense. 

“We’d heard no details other than a burglary resulting in a stabbing and that was the end of it. Whatever happened, it happened on Lankiveil, “ Idrisa says.  “None of us witnessed it like…” she hesitates, unsure where to look as she can’t keep your gaze.

“You saw it?” It .  The thing that keeps going unspoken but hovers over your husband, your marriage, your children’s futures.

“Trust me, na-Baroness,” Idrisa says, “I didn’t want to.  None of us did.”

You finally look at each other.  You know Idrisa’s terrified of Feyd, and yet the compassion you see in her eyes is for him as well as you.  You hesitate, then open your mouth, about to ask her what he was like back then.

The door swings open and Feyd strides in, and all at once you remember how frightening he was when you first met him, how much he’d make you feel like prey.  How there’d been something that felt distinctly inhuman about him.

“You disrespected me in front of my uncle,” he says as he slams the door shut behind him.  “He won’t overlook that anytime soon.”   

Your vile uncle can go fuck himself , you don’t say.  You lift your chin and meet his gaze as you tamp down on your instinct to run.

His lips compress into a thin line before he continues.  “I don’t think you understand how fair I am with you.  If you’d been Rabban’s wife and this was his party, he’d be raping you in front of his men right now just for the fun of it.  He’d cut out your tongue for shouting at him, because it’s not as though you need one in order to give him sons.”

“Get out,” you tell him.  You sound more confident than you feel.

“No,” he says.  “If I speak, then you’ll listen.”

Idrisa swallows, glancing nervously at you and at him, looking like she wants to disappear and weighing her options on whether that would be more disrespectful than acknowledging Feyd, before giving a small curtsy and starting to step back.

If he hadn’t had to reach down for his boots you wouldn’t have caught him drawing a blade in time, because he doesn’t look away from you as he strides forward, about to slash the edge across Idrisa’s throat.  But he did, and you have a split second to react, and even if it’s not enough time to run forward and tackle him, you find your voice.

“ Stop! ”  It’s a less angry, more desperate scream from before, but it makes Feyd-Rautha pause, knife centimeters from Idrisa’s neck.

“Don’t you hurt her,” you tell him.  Your voice shakes as much as you do.  “She has nothing to do with this.”

He doesn’t turn his head, but his eyes slide towards her, then back to you, his expression as cold and detached as it was at the start of his arena fight.  Idrisa shuts her eyes.  A tear slides down her cheek.  

For a moment the three of you stand frozen in silence.  Do you take a step forward and try to disarm him, or will that provoke him?  Idrisa certainly can’t move; her fate lies in Feyd’s hands.  He’ll kill her for sure if she tries to evade or resist him.  Feyd, for his part, seems to weigh his options: remind you what he’s capable of and how there’s nothing you can do to stop it, or try not to upset you any further tonight.

Given the turn tonight’s taken, pure spite might motivate him most right now.

“Please,” you blurt out, too scared to take that kind of risk.

A brief flicker of surprise.  You can imagine the thoughts running through his mind.  Why do you beg for the safety of a mere slave?  She’s replaceable .  

“Say that again,” he says, as if he thinks you’d be too proud to beg for the life of the only friend you’ve made here.

“Please,” you say again, slower. “Please don’t kill or hurt Idrisa.  I’m the one you’re angry with”--a statement you’re not entirely sure is even true–“so please don’t take it out on her.”  After a moment you add, managing to keep the venom out of your voice, “husband.”  You try to breathe, fresh tears pooling in your eyes.  How, you wonder, do you try to reason with him?  Why do you try to appeal to his humanity when it’s been called into question that he possesses such a thing?

And yet you stand, silently begging, barefoot and hardly dressed, feeling as vulnerable and powerless as you did on your wedding night, but with another life hanging in the balance between you.

Feyd’s eyes go half-lidded, lip curling in contempt, but he lowers his blade.  For a moment you and you’re certain Idrisa wonders if he’s simply going to swing it back up and slash her across the throat.  The muscles in her face clench up.  He makes no such movement, simply takes a step back.

“ Out ,” he says.

Idrisa sags, letting out a loud sigh of relief that leads to a rattling gasp, tears now streaming down her face.  She lowers her head and scurries away, murmuring, “ Thank you, na-Baron.  Thank you, na-Baron .”  As she leaves she nods towards you.  “ Thank you, na-Baroness .”

She closes the door behind her.  You and your husband stare at one another.  Fear has done nothing to quell your anger.  It takes you a moment before you think you can talk without breaking down.  

“Did you really think I’d never find out?  That I wouldn’t eventually ask?” you finally manage.

“You’d seemed to’ve drawn your own conclusions,” Feyd says, stock-still with his hands at his sides, his grip on the knife looser.  He doesn’t come in any closer.

“You’re right, I did,” you say.  “I’d thought your uncle had her killed to make sure she couldn’t help you.”

“She didn’t help me when she was alive, either,” Feyd snaps, the implication clear, the lines of his face harsh.

How could you think she’d ever have let the Baron touch you? you want to ask.  No mother would ever sit idly by and watch their child go through that.

“She was one woman against Geidi Prime and Baron Harkonnen,” you tell him.  You can’t accept the fact that any sane mother would just allow their son to be raised by a man like the Baron, or that she didn’t know what kind of monster he was.  “There’s no way she just gave you away.”

“How do you know?” he asks, his tone not accusing, not yet.  He sounds almost amused, in a manner you find almost condescending.  It makes you want to clench your fists.  I didn’t think you were still so naive, wife, he seems to be saying.            

“Your father got out.  He defected .  She would’ve known why,” you say.

Feyd tilts his head slightly as he considers your words, looking at you as if you’re the one who’s unreasonable.  “Why did you think I was born in the first place?” he asks.  “Why do you think my mother, a Bene Gesserit witch, chose to get pregnant eighteen years after she had her first son and when she was nearly forty?  It wasn’t an accident. I’ve never heard of an accidental Bene Gesserit pregnancy, have you?”

You look away.  He gives you a moment to respond.  You can’t.

“They always have plans within plans,” Feyd says.  “Their children are never just their children, they’re tools to serve a greater purpose.”  

And they’re always Bene Gesserit first, not mothers or wives or anything else .

“Why do you think they sent one of their witches after a man who was estranged from his own House?  Why do you think he was of any value to them?”

You know what he’s asking.  You shut your eyes as you answer.   “Because his degenerate older brother wasn’t the match they wanted to continue the bloodline,” you say.

When you open your eyes, it’s to the sight of him giving you a grim smile.  “See?  You understand, even if you don’t want to.  Now, why do you think she waited until Rabban was about grown before trying for another son?”

“Feyd,” you start.

“Why?   And why do you think everyone waited until after my father was dead before I was taken in my sleep to Geidi Prime the night after my seventh birthday?”

You don’t realize you’re shaking your head.  Even if she had an agenda, she wouldn’t have just let it happen.  You can’t believe it.

Feyd’s eyes are like a shark’s.  It’s hard to look him in the eye.  “I was only ever a tool for her, for their kind.  They just cared about furthering the bloodline, not what it would cost me to live like I have.”  The thing he never talks about.  The thing he still won’t talk about.  You could scream.  Everyone knows, and everyone’s quietly agreed to acknowledge it.  You finally break, saying it before you’re realizing you’re saying it.

“Did you really kill her because of that or because you couldn’t kill him?” 

The question hangs there after the words spill out of you.  Your ears ring and your heart pounds as you force yourself to look at him. 

His nostrils flare.  His eyes look silver in the harsh light.  

“You killed her after you’d tried and failed to kill him first.”  You can see the rise and fall of Feyd’s chest, his look of warning.  “And I understand why you wanted to kill him.  Anyone would’ve, and should’ve.  He should never’ve been allowed anywhere near you.”

Feyd’s eyes glint.  He doesn’t speak, but he looks stricken, looks livid.  

You try to craft your next thought word by word, unsure where to tread lightly or go straight for the jugular.  “I know it must’ve seemed different at the time, but he was clearly trying to isolate you.  He was trying to make you hate your mother.”

“He didn’t have to try,” Feyd says.  “Did it all on my own, after enough time passed.”

“I…” you start, and stop.  Feyd waits for you to finish a sentence you cannot construct.

“You don’t know what it was like,” Feyd says.  “ You. Weren’t.  There. ”  He enunciates every last word, baring his black teeth in a snarl.

You flinch away.  When you can speak you say, “You’re right.  I wasn’t there.  I don’t know how it feels to go through what you went through.  And you refuse to tell me.”

Feyd’s lip curls.  Something flashes in his eyes.  “You’re saying you want all the details?” he asks.  “Did you want to know how the first time it happened was eight months after I was brought here and two months after I finally accepted that I’d never hear from my mother again?”

“I’m saying that this is more than a marriage; it’s a political alliance.  I’m saying that as your ally I have the right to know things that will impact me.  And as your wife, even knowing that I can’t change the past, it  was still so much worse having to hear it from the Baron than if I’d heard it from you.”  Your chest heaves.  You won’t cry again.  

And Feyd doesn’t respond.  

“You killed your mother.”

“Yes,” he says.  He sounds resigned.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask.

“I briefly did, at first,” Feyd says.  “Mostly I don’t think about it at all.  Thinking about it won’t change the fact that she’s still dead.”

You look down; the silence hangs between the two of you and grows heavier.  You feel cold.  You wrap your arms around yourself.

“I won’t let you fuck me tonight,” you tell him.  “You’re not welcome in my bed, and I won’t come to yours.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not really in the mood anymore,” Feyd says.  He turns towards the door, pauses, and adds, “We’re expected to make an appearance tomorrow.  The festivities aren’t over yet.  Someone will send you another gown.”  

He leaves, and after he shuts the door behind him it feels like the air has gone out of the room.

Not to your surprise, you have trouble sleeping.  

For some, the party’s still going on, and will continue into the morning.  Feyd’s still going to train, you’re sure, and you don’t envy the poor sods expected to spar with him.  You imagine they’ll be bloated and sweaty, desperately hungover or perhaps still a bit drunk from their master’s festivities.  There will be more festivities tomorrow night, and the night after that, although muted by comparison.  You will be expected to be present for at least part of it at Feyd-Rautha’s side.  You think about how most visitors will be leaving after tonight’s festivities.  You think of the cold, detached way the Reverend Mother alluded to Feyd’s abuse.  You think of Margot Fenring and her coy, knowing smile.  The daughter growing in her womb and the bitter way Feyd talked about plans within plans.  

There’s a sick kind of acceptance in your gut that could almost be freeing.

There’s no one here who you can really trust .

You manage to fall asleep at what passes for the crack of dawn on Geidi Prime, even if through the window it’s all just different shades of sickly grey, only to wake up three hours later feeling not-particularly rested.

Your morning knock at the door reveals not only Idrisa but one of the Bene Gesserit nuns; lower-ranking, you suppose, who’s shrouded head to foot.

“Good morning, na-Baroness,” the young woman says, her voice sounding youthful enough to call the descriptor ‘ woman ’ into question.

“Good morning, Sister,” you say, a burbling cocktail of both hope and dread rising in your stomach.

“Would you like to join her Reverence for breakfast, na-Baroness?” she asks.

“I would, thank you.  When does she want me to join her?”

“In an hour, na-Baroness.  Your handmaiden will know where to take you,” the nun says as Idrisa sets your tray down on your end-table.  She seems so poised, as if she hadn’t nearly been murdered last night.

“I’m looking forward to speaking with her.  Thank you, Sister,” you say as you think that for such a meeting it would be most appropriate to wear something with a hood, perhaps something that covers part of your face.  Feels safer that way.  Perhaps the Bene Gesserit are onto something there.

When it's time, the room Idrisa leads you to isn’t within the guest wing, like you’d expected, but in a neighboring corridor you haven’t been in before.  You wonder, for a moment, if the Reverend Mother is more familiar with this vast Fortress than you are after an entire month of living here, and then a pair of Harkonnen guards open the door for you to step inside.

After a month of breakfasts with the Baron, the spread set out for the two of you is quite modest, even if it’s more food than the two of you combined could put away in one sitting.  There’s a plate of different breads and accompanying toppings, eggs, fruit, and pitchers of juice and distilled water set down in the space between the two of you.  There’s also a pot of tea with sides of lemon and honey.

“Thank you for meeting me, your Reverence,” you say as you sit down, and for a moment the two of you sit in silence.  A Harkonnen slave girl pours tea for each of you before leaving the room.  The Reverend Mother waits until the door’s closed to lift her veil and take a sip of tea.

“I'd heard it was urgent that I speak with you at my convenience,” she says once she’s set her cup down.  “It’s convenient for me now.  So by all means, speak.”

You take a breath, twisting your hands in your lap, thinking about how you’d rehearsed this conversation in your head all night and earlier this morning.

“I must confess I got some rather distressing news last night,” you tell her.  “Something that’s fundamentally changed the nature of my marriage, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” she asks, tilting her head ever so slightly.  

“Did you know Feyd-Rautha’s mother, Emmi Rabban?” you ask.  Did you assure her all would be alright?  Did you pretend to comfort her when her child was abducted?  Did you care at all when her own son murdered her?

“I spoke to her a few times when she was alive, yes,” her Reverence says, and doesn’t elaborate.  Seconds tick by and she offers nothing else, eyes tracking every minute muscle in your face.  She seems content to let you torment yourself in the ensuing silence, and it works.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you finally ask.

The Reverend Mother pours herself some more tea. “I imagine it must’ve been the Baron who shared the news with you if you’re only just finding out,” she says.  “If his nephew hadn’t used that bit of family history to keep you in line, he must not have wanted you to hear about it at all.

“Of course,” she adds, “It was a little naive of you, young Y/N, to be so shocked when you knew everything else.”

“It’s not something he ever chose to share with me,” you tell her.  “I’d thought…I’d have expected matricide from his uncle or his brother, but not him, not even in the state he must’ve been in.”

“You’d thought better of him?” her Reverence asks and you flush.  The woman who’d assured you that he could be tempered, that he had a sense of honor, is acting like it’s your own fault for trusting your husband to be above the act of matricide.

“I mean… yes, ” you say, unable to keep the incredulity out of your tone.  “With everything I’ve learned about the Baron I’d just thought…I’d thought Feyd had tried to find asylum on Lankiveil after the assassination attempt and the torture that followed.  I’d thought he’d tried to defect from the Harkonnens.  I’d thought the Baron had been the one to have her killed so Feyd would have no one left to turn to.”

“The thought occurred to him, I’m certain,” her Reverence says.  “But that would’ve been too simple, wouldn’t have gotten his would-be heir to truly embrace his inner darkness. 

 “If he’d had her killed she would’ve been immortalized as an innocent in Feyd-Rautha’s eyes and he would’ve hated his uncle all the more.  But poisoning her image, fanning his separation into hatred, would ensure that he lost her well before she died.  The Baron has a talent for manipulation.”

“I realized that after I found out who really killed her,” you say in your defense.   “Then it made sense that the Baron convinced both of his nephews to each kill a parent.  I can see how he manipulated Rabban as well.”  From your limited interactions, Rabban seems more concerned with his uncle’s approval than his younger brother is.  

The Reverend Mother tilts her head in acknowledgement and gracefully spears a few berries onto her fork but doesn’t eat them.  “It took far less work.  Rabban was already a man by that point, young but too old for the Baron to break in his preferred ways and not as bright.  Good enough to work for his uncle, not promising enough to carry on his legacy or serve our plans.”

You and your fucking plans , you think.  “Is that why you let the Baron cover up Feyd’s matricide but not his brother’s patricide?” you ask.  “Because it doesn’t matter how negative Rabban’s reputation is outside of his own House but Feyd-Rautha,” you shrug, angry, vaguely aware of how petulant and emotional you must seem despite your earlier intentions of treading carefully, and finding you don’t care, “now, if he’s as important to your plans as you say, then he has to be as respectable as a Harkonnen can be in the eyes of the other Houses, the Empire.  He has to be someone close to redeemable, and there’s no redemption for someone who murdered their own mother.”

He killed their mother; his brother killed their father.  Oh, Great Mother, is Rabban going to be sent back here?  You don’t want to be anywhere near your brother-in-law, not when he’s going to be bitter and vindictive over losing his governorship.  He’s going to want to go after his little brother’s toys–and you’re certain that’s how he sees you.  

Please just keep him on Arrakis or send him to Lankiveil.  Fuck it, just send me back to my home planet.  It’s not like anyone needs me to be here right now.

“So you knew all this, and you chose not to prepare me for it,” you tell her.

“What good would it have done you?” her Reverence asks.  “You have no Bene Gesserit training, you haven’t learned to overcome your own fears and desires.  It would’ve clouded your judgment, plagued you with self-doubt that you could temper him and gain his devotion.  You wouldn’t have been any more prepared to bed him and gain favor with him with that information. Without it you’ve been more malleable, more open-minded to the strengths of your marriage.”

I didn’t tell you because you would’ve tried to resist the marriage if I had .  

You try not to think about the machinations of it–not that you’ve ever wanted to picture it, but the image of the Baron’s swollen fingers groping his nephew’s bare skin when Feyd’s a grown man is enough to make you want to throw up, let alone…you suppress your cry of disgust. 

“You knew all this , knew what the Baron would do to him, and still allowed it all to happen,” you say, voice rising in pitch before you can reign it in.

“He needed to ascend to a Major House,” she says.  “We’d have had no use for him as a whaler’s son.”

“But you did as someone driven to matricide?” you demand.  “What greater use do you even have for him beyond siring a boy?  What are you going to do to him when you’re done with him?  What are you going to do to me? ”  Before you can stop yourself, because the thought’s been lingering in a way you cannot ignore now no matter how much you’d like to, you add, “Whose child is Lady Fenring really carrying?”

“ Silence! ” her Reverence snaps and you feel your mouth shut tight, jaw muscles clenching of their own accord.  You’re shocked.  You feel so utterly stupid for feeling shocked.

She watches your face as you glare at her, your anger and fear so transparent it’s embarrassing.  You’d wanted to be poised.  You’d wanted to keep your fears if not abated then suppressed.  You wanted to be able to play a sharp mental game of cheops with a Truthsayer.  You just failed.

“I must say I’m disappointed in you,” her Reverence says.

I feel the same way, your Reverence, you don’t say even if you could; it’s like there’s a vice, like clamps keeping your jaw clenched.

“Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is going to lead one of the Great Houses, and one of the wealthiest Houses in Landsraad.  If he needs to be brutal to ascend and take his uncle’s throne, then so be it.  It’s entirely expected among his people, and if anything you should be grateful he didn’t adopt his uncle’s tastes for himself.

“I never lied to you about your purpose with him, young Y/N,” she continues.  “It’s always been to combine your genetics with his, create a bloodline with him, and provide a son.”

For me and him or for you?   You take a deep breath.  In.  Out.

“I told you when we first met that you were under the protection of the Bene Gesserit order.  I didn’t lie to you about that, either.  You insult me by questioning my abilities and that I will not tolerate.  You are safer on this planet than anyone else who inhabits it.  You’re acting like a petulant child.”

You feel yourself flush, angry and ashamed of where you are right now.  You still can't’ speak, can’t even open your mouth, but you can feel your lips tremble and feel heat pricking up at the corners of your eyes.

“You have our protection and for all of your husband’s violent past and likely violent future, you have his protection as well, and for that you ought to be grateful.  He’s a vicious enemy and an even more vicious guard dog.

“As for Lady Fenring, it’s nothing personal.  Our Sisterhood needs daughters from every major House.  She and her husband will raise the girl, she’ll receive the best Bene Gesserit training of Landsraad, and neither of you will ever have to think about her.”

Did Feyd know her purpose in taking him inside of her?   Will her daughter grow up knowing who her biological father is?  

Did she use the Voice on him?

And suddenly you feel like the clamps have loosened.  You run a hand over your jaw as her Reverence asks, “Now that I’ve explained everything to you, do you think you can handle a quiet, civil breakfast or will you continue to question me?”

You want to curse.  You want to tell her that she’s full of shit.  Without the Voice’s influence you clench your jaw of your own volition to tamp down on everything you wish you could say.  “I have no further questions to ask, your Reverence,” you say.

“So will the na-Baroness behave in the manner expected of her title?” the Reverend Mother asks and in that moment you hate her.

“Of course, your Reverence,” you say.  “What sort of hostess would I be if I didn’t entertain my guests?”

Your head pounds and your hands shake as you get back to your quarters and find the gown for this afternoon laid out on your bed.  It’s not as provocative as yesterday’s, but you’re no more excited to put it on.  Idrisa silently helps you with the bodice and the new jewelry of fine silver corded necklaces that lay over your chest like a row of chains.  Idrisa assists with your hair; for someone who’s never touched real hair until recently, she’s gotten quite good at helping with it.  Doesn’t even seem confused or repulsed by it anymore.  Your cosmetics manage to cover up the shadows under your eyes.  Neither of you talk much, even though there’s a lot that needs to be said.

“I’m sorry, Idrisa,” you tell her as she puts away your cosmetics and you’re ready for her to escort you to the Banquet Hall.

She looks bewildered as she turns to you.  “Oh, no, my lady,” she says.  “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

I could’ve gotten you killed, you think, wondering what else she's been through that makes her so quick to try to forget last night when the two of you are flanked by two guards once you reach the main hallway.  She’s probably trying not to think about it when the doors to the Banquet Hall open and Feyd’s already there in long black robes with a silver chest plate, standing by the door awaiting your arrival.

The politics of marriage, you think to yourself, as the two of you match the body language you’d shared in front of everyone last night; no more and no less affectionate.  Even though a trained and watchful eye can see that the way he gives you a quick kiss on the lips and how you rest your hand on his arm is stiffer than yesterday, as is your posture.

You wish you could drink.  Instead you make polite little smiles at everyone who acknowledges you, as visitors stop by to show their respects, bid the na-Baron a happy belated birthday and to offer their congratulations on your nuptials.  The tables are laid out with platters full of imported delicacies and you pick at a few, but your breakfast sits like a brick in the pit of your stomach.  Feyd’s appetite is marginally better, and he nurses the same goblet of wine, twirling it absently more than he ends up drinking from it.  Finally he leans over and whispers in your ear, “I’m going to one of the private pleasure rooms and you’re going to join me.”

You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, as you look back at him.  He holds your  gaze, nothing in his flirtatious or suggestive.  He simply rises from his chair and holds out his arm.

You clench your jaw, remember all your etiquette training, and rise to take it.  Not everyone’s going to notice the two of you leaving together, let alone leaving together in the same direction, but those who do will interpret what comes next.

You know the Baron sees.  You can feel his smirk like a trail of slime. He's probably thinking, Good; my nephew’s breeding his brat-whore of a wife into submission .

Feyd leads you past two guards who wisely don’t react beyond lowering their heads in respect and down a hallway where there are opaque slots in the middle of each door.  Some are black, some are white.

“White means unoccupied,” he says, and presses a button to open one of the doors.

The room’s fairly sparse, you notice as the two of you step inside; there’s a bed, a nightstand, a chaise.  A small chest of drawers, the contents of which you don’t want to know.  All the anger from the previous night, from this morning, comes flooding back.  You want to slap him for this humiliation, for having the audacity to drag you in here.

The door closes behind you and the  two of you stand opposite each other, the bed a threatening presence at your side.  You speak first.

“I don’t want this,” you tell him.  

“I know,” he says.  He doesn’t come in any closer or make any effort to undress.  Instead he stays where he is and you cross your arms, waiting for him to speak again.

“You spoke with the Reverend Mother Mohiam this morning,” he adds.  It doesn’t surprise you that he’d know this; every guard in this Fortress reports to him.

“I did,” you say, your tone clipped.

“I imagine she told you everything,” he says.

You shrug, looking down, your arms folded across your chest.  “She said enough,” you respond after a moment.

“About my mother?”

“A little.  We spoke a little bit about multiple topics.”

“Such as?” Feyd prompts.

“Your uncle, your brother.  Lady Fenring.”  Feyd’s jaw tightens and his eyes narrow for a moment.  “You know Lady Fenring’s carrying your child, too?”

“The bastard in her womb belongs to me less than it does to her cuckhold husband,” Feyd says. 

“I’m not jealous,” you add.  

“There was nothing to be jealous of,” he says, the tone in his voice leaving an implication that has you furrowing your brow.  Do you mean what I think you mean? You open your mouth to ask, but he speaks first.  “So what else did you discuss?”

“What else did you discuss yesterday?  With the Baron?” you ask.

“Plans within plans,” Feyd says wryly.  Of course; plans within plans within plans .

“Such as?” you ask.

His mouth twitches upwards.  It's almost a smirk.  “I’d wondered why after centuries of tension it was only now that we took down the House of Atreides.  I’d thought it was in retaliation to them being gifted Arrakis.”

“Was it not?” you ask.  “Even if it was the Emperor who handed Arrakis over to them in the first place?”

Feyd’s eyes glint.  One of the corners of his mouth twitches upwards again.  “Why do you think he handed Arrakis over to them, then?” he asks.

That…you shake your head.  The Houses Corrino and Atreides were allies.  The Emperor and the Duke were friends.  “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do,” Feyd says.  “The other Houses can find us as brutal and unforgiving as they want, but the Emperor was the one who gave us the orders, lent us his soldiers, and had us wipe out the House of Atreides in the dark.”

Impossible.  “ Why?” you ask, voice higher than intended.  

Feyd sighs.  “Uncle withheld that bit of information from me, if he knows at all.”  

You try to think.  How far does this go?  Who else knows and what are they hiding?  What did they have to gain from massacring an entire Major House?

“And what do you suspect?” you ask.

He considers something, and his response throws you off.  “The Atreides boy–the Dukeling.  Did you know him?”

What does he have to do with anything?  He was years off from inheriting Caladan.

“You mean Paul?  Not well, but he and I spoke a couple of times over the years.  He’d be turning twenty-one around now,” you tell him. The interactions were brief, polite, and uneventful, a potential match between the two of you always unlikely.  The Duke had clearly been hoping for one of the princesses’ hands in marriage for his son and your father had been hoping for someone a bit more intimidating than the skinny, affable Duke’s son.   ( Of course, he did end up getting what he’d been hoping for, much to his chagrin .)  “Why?”

“The Duke’s Bene Gesserit whore was meant to bear a daughter,” he says.  “That daughter would’ve been my wife; it had all been planned out.  She refused the order and gave the Duke a son instead.  Screwed up all their plans.”

The Reverend Mother told you about their years of planning, selective breeding.  How plans had recently changed and the new plans involved feeding you to the heir to the Harkonnen throne.  

Your brow furrows as you ask, “Did the Baron tell you this?”

“I've known since before I met him.  I remember hearing my parents arguing about it around my fifth birthday, when the Dukeling was born,” Feyd says.  “Thousands of years of planning out the window.  From what I could gather, they decided they could choose either the Atreides boy or myself to continue the bloodline they want.”

You think back to this morning.  You think of Margot and her growing number of daughters who aren’t her husband’s.  You remember what Paul Atreides’s face looked like when he was nineteen and making polite small-talk with you about the similarities between Y/P and Caladan and for a moment you imagine what he’d have looked like as a girl.

“I’m not certain exactly how or why,” Feyd continues, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if those witches impacted the Emperor’s decision. It’s almost funny how often they’re spotted lurking in the shadows when powerful men fall.”

“If they had something to do with it, do you know why they chose your House?” you ask.

Feyd shakes his head.  “Not yet,” he says.  “But I know this: Uncle wants a Harkonnen on the Imperial throne.  He’s wanted it his entire life, more than anything else.  And he thinks we’re closer to it than ever before.  He might even be right.”

You collect yourself, try to think, and when you do you can’t help but be selfish.  You flex and clench the fist of your right hand to avoid bringing it to your belly.  “Did he say where I fit within these plans within plans?” you ask.

Feyd doesn’t look away, but he also doesn’t speak for a moment.  He seems to look at every curve, angle, and slope of your features as if trying to commit the sight to memory.  “Your place is by my side, Y/N Harkonnen,” he says.  “As my wife, as the mother of my children, as the bridge between Harko and the rest of Landsraad.”

All very nice words.  Not a real answer.  “I notice you didn’t say if those were your uncle’s plans or not,” you tell him.  

“I know you did,” he says.  “What he thinks about you doesn’t matter.”

You take a step back, unable to help the incredulity within you.

“How does it not matter?” you ask.  “After everything he’s done, after everything he’s done to you, you still do whatever he wants.  If he decides that I don’t fit within his plans, then how can I believe you’ll keep me safe?  After everything you’ve done?”

Feyd recoils and he looks like he’s never been more insulted in his life, and he does not deserve to give you the reproachful look he’s giving you now.  “You think I’d go back on my vows?” he asks.

“You mean them now, but what about after he’s born? What about after I give you more children?  As I get older and I start reminding you more of your mother?” you demand.

“You don’t remind me one bit of her and that’s not going to change,” he says.

“But how do you know that?” you ask.

He doesn’t try to touch you, but takes a half-step forward.  “Because when you talk about our son you don’t talk about the greater plans for him.  You talk about him like he’s our child, not any part of an agenda.  You talk about nurseries, not who you’ll breed our son with. Because you don’t.”  He pauses.  “Because you aren’t one of them.  You belong to me, not them.”

You look at him as your heart pounds.  You shouldn’t be so naive to believe him, but you’re certain he means it.  The next thought that comes to you is one you can’t shake away.  It’s a risk; walls have ears.  But it’s a question you’ve been wanting to ask for weeks, and one you can’t avoid anymore.

“I read up on Harkonnen wedding vows,” you say.  “You made a vow to protect me, keep me safe.”

“I did,” he says.  “I will.”

“And our children?” you ask.  Feyd’s spine goes rigid.  “Will you keep them safe?”

He knows what you’re asking; he says nothing.

“Will you keep him away from our son?” you ask.  “No matter what?”

He looks at you, his jaw clenching for a moment as he looks down, lashes fluttering.  You wait.  

Finally he speaks. “When I ascend, my coronation needs to be honest.  The rank needs to be earned or I’ll never truly have the respect of my people, let alone the other Houses.”  Not quite an answer to the question you asked, but to what you really mean.  You take a breath, nervous.  “But my priority will always be the future of the Harkonnens, not what will soon be past,” he adds.  “That’s you and that’s our children.”

Yesterday showed you that Feyd isn’t always forthright, but he doesn’t lie when you ask him a direct question.  It’s something, a step in the right direction, and certainly a better one than last night.  

“Alright then,” you say on an exhale.

“Alright then,” Feyd echoes.

“Shall we?” you ask, gesturing for the door.

Feyd looks at you and his eyes flicker to your neatly-arranged hair.  “Not yet,” he says, and closes the distance between the two of you and tugs a few strands askew before burying his hands in your scalp, scrunching with his hands, and then releasing.  He shifts the silver strand adorning your hair just a little askew.

“What are you–?” you start, and he moves his hands down to pinch your cheeks.  You squawk and slap his hands away.

He gives a small smirk.  “Trust me, Y/N,” he says, “you’ll want them to think we were fucking instead of talking.”

And so you keep your head held high as you leave the room and re-enter the Banquet Hall, primly ignoring the few pointed looks you get.  They don’t linger, anyway; no one wants to get their throats slashed by the na-Baron for gawking at his, as far as they know, freshly-fucked wife.

The festivities continue, albeit a little muted compared to last night, and without further incident.  When it seems like an appropriate time to take your leave, you take a few minutes to thank everyone for sharing in your company.  Even, begrudgingly, the Baron, who gives your mussed hair a pointed look and a snide comment about how you must need some rest.

You don’t go into Feyd’s bedroom.  As the hours tick by, you realize he won’t be coming into yours, either.

You’re hit with twin feelings of relief and doubt.  You know you’re going to have to share a bed with him again; everyone has made it abundantly clear that it’s a part of your obligations as a married woman.  He’s going to Arrakis soon; you don’t want him to leave with memories of a newly frigid wife. You don’t want to lose any more of the momentum you’d been building with him that you’d created in no small part through near-constant intimacy.

And still, you stay alone in your bed, not even wanting to touch yourself.

The following morning you could almost swear that things are normal again, or as normal as they were before the Bene Gesserit arrived.

Feyd calls on you to train with him early in the morning again.  He double-checks to make sure your shield’s activated before having you practice with Korvo, and then with him.  

Breakfast is a bit different, though.  The remaining distinguished guests join all of you and the spread is even more vast than usual with dishes both savory and sweet.  You’d noticed over the course of the past month that Feyd almost always eats the same thing for breakfast: eggs and a savory porridge cooked in bone broth.  This morning, however, he doesn’t have much of an appetite, perhaps because of the couple seated across from him.

Among the last remaining guests are Count Hasimir and Lady Margot Fenring, the husband looking a little like a rat in fine robes with a velvet brocade, his beautiful younger wife in a fetching blue dress that’s formal enough for the occasion but looks comfortable enough for her trip back home.  

“Her Reverence has departed early, along with the other Sisters,” Margot explains to you.  “But she appreciated the hospitality you showed.”

I snapped at her and she used the Voice on me last time we spoke, you think.  “We appreciated her guidance,” you say, knowing she probably knows what transpired between you two.  Presumably so does her husband.  You glance over at the Count a few times and wonder, does he like the idea of his wife fucking other men and carrying their children?  Or does he merely tolerate it?

“Did your brother give reason for not attending your birthday celebrations?” he asks.  “Surely he attended your nuptials, at least.”

“He did,” Feyd says, “but his presence wasn’t required for either.”

You hesitate, wondering if it’s going to exacerbate rather than ease his tension, before finding his hand under the table and brushing your fingertips against his knuckles in a silent invitation to take his hand.  He doesn’t look over at you, but after a moment’s stillness, takes your hand in his and sets it on his leg.  

Since it’s the na-Baron’s belated birthday and another chance to show his statesmanship, the Baron delegates the two of you with seeing off your foreign visitors afterwards.  It also conveniently saves him the strain of having to continue staying upright and making small-talk instead of lounging in what Feyd has described only as “the tub” in a tone that makes you glad you’ve never seen it.

Count and Lady Fenring are finally leaving–you bid them farewell for the last time alone while Feyd sees off a representative from the House Corrino.  After what he told you about the Emperor, you assume his reasoning for this is two-fold.

Hasimir Fenring’s in the Emperor’s ear as well.  You wonder what he’s going to report about you as he kisses your gloved hand.  You wonder what Lady Fenring really thinks about you as you smile at each other for what you hope will be the last time for the foreseeable future.

“Your visit has been most educational,” you tell her.

She knows what you mean.  You don’t even have it in you to hate her all that much.  You don’t think she’d ever have done anything with Feyd if given the choice, and that makes it somehow more fucked up.

And then they’re all gone, docked and shipped out, and things can go back to normal.

None of this was ever normal, though.  And even with the understanding you think you’ve reached with him, it’s never going to be the same.  

Neither of you talk much at dinner.  The Baron shares some of the more salacious details about Count Fenring, knowing neither of you want to hear it.

“He’s not just sterile, he’s impotent,” he says, picking up a piece of lamb by the bone and dipping it in a cream-based sauce.  “The man’s testicles are purely decorative, and on top of that he’s hardly an intimidating man to look at, but he commands respect and why?  Shrewd political mind.  It will get you farther than just muscle.  Bodies age and break down but that’s all fine as long as you keep a sharp mind, Feyd.  Remember that.”

“I will, Uncle,” Feyd says, ignoring the sauce for his own lamb.  “But I don’t think my body will be breaking down any time soon.”

He looks like he regrets it the moment he says it, because the Baron smirks.  “Oh, certainly not yours , nephew.  You’re still a handsome young man.  Eventually, though, age comes for everyone.”  He turns to look at you with the closest thing to an affable smile he possesses.  “Believe it or not, young Y/N, I didn’t always look like this.  I was never as attractive as Feyd here, but I was leaner, had a more defined jawline.”

There’s something unsettling about him trying to be friendly towards you, especially as Feyd looks downright thunderous as he stares at the knife clenched in his fist like he’d rather use it to cut his uncle rather than his meat.

“Well,” you say, shifting in your seat, “as you said, my lord Baron, the sharpness of the mind is the most important thing, and you certainly still have that.”

Something’s wrong.  It was far easier to overlook when there were multiple other people to entertain at dinnertime but the tension between Feyd and his uncle is palpable, even as the Baron ignores it.  It lingers and follows you after dinner, when you and Feyd walk together to your quarters, and you know a conjugal visit is in order and you know that perhaps it would be more prudent to just let him fuck you first and then interrogate him when he’s spent and pliant.  But with everything Feyd’s talked about, the way he spoke of the Baron, sends whatever desire you might have been trying to build up cratering. 

So when you get to your bedroom door you turn to him and blurt out, “Can we talk first?”

Feyd looks at you and nods, his movements serpentine in their grace as he follows you inside and you shut the door behind you.  He waits, and for a brief moment you think about speaking evasively before dismissing the thought entirely.  This is neither the time nor the place to play coy.

“What did your uncle really say about me?” you ask.  “On your birthday?  What are his plans within plans for me?”

Feyd doesn’t look surprised at the question.  A muscle twitches in his jaw.  Dread rises in the pit of your stomach, threatening to evict your dinner.  His eyes look darker than usual.  

“After you bear my son, my uncle wants me to wed the princess Irulan,” he says.

And even as you can’t say you’re surprised you can’t help but gasp, hand flying towards your belly, because whatever conversation they had about this didn’t involve the words annulment or polygamy and Feyd doesn’t need to spell that out for you.

Feyd’s lips part just a fraction at the look on your face and he reaches a hand out, stopping for a moment when you flinch, and then moving slower to cup the side of your face.  His palm is warm.  

“I won’t,” he adds.  “ You’re my wife, and I’ll have no other.  You’re not going anywhere, Y/N Harkonnen.  You’ll be my na-Baroness and them my Baroness and perhaps even Empress.  We’ll have more children after this and you won’t have to worry about him .  Neither of us will.”

“You said your coronation would have to be legitimate.  You said you’d have to earn your ascension to the throne,” you tell him.  “You were so adamant that it was the only way to take over,” you tell him.  Your heart beats like a rabbit’s, chest heaving, feeling like you’re about to throw up.  You force yourself to look at him as he uses his free hand to cup the other side of your face.  He looks so calm.  How can he look this calm?

“I’ll say this only once,” he says.  “He’ll be gone by the time you’re in labor.”

Your eyes dart across his face, looking for a sign of anything that could contradict the conviction in his voice and you find none.  He means it.  

“Care to explain how?” you ask.

Feyd tucks in his bottom lip for a moment and exhales.  “Better not,” he says, “for the sake of plausible deniability.”  He pauses.  “At least, not yet. ”

You take a breath.  “Is that why he didn’t want us to have time to be alone together on your birthday?” you ask.  “Or were you never planning on telling me about this, either?”

“I wasn’t sure how I would, or when,” Feyd says.  “But you said it yourself that you’re my political ally as well as my wife.”  He tries to give you a smile; it’s a twitch of the lips.  “I wouldn’t withhold information about a potential assassination from my greatest political ally.” 

He kisses you once, slow but not deep, as if feeling out how receptive you are to it, and trying not to seem too disappointed that while you don’t resist, you barely reciprocate.  

“Not tonight, then,” he says.  

“We can,” you offer.  He can hear the reluctance in your voice.

“Not for nothing, Y/N, but I tend to enjoy it more when you aren’t morose and I must assume dry as a bone,” he says.

You sigh, looking down.  He’s not wrong.  You haven’t been aroused once since his birthday party a few nights ago and this conversation hasn’t helped in the slightest.  “Tomorrow night,” you tell him.  “Tomorrow night, your bedroom.”  We can do whatever you want, you almost add before he leaves, but you don’t want to offer something you’re not sure you can fulfill.

The following morning you get up early to train with him.  If anyone dared comment, they’d note that you seem a little aggressive with your offense when sparring.

During breakfast it seems like Feyd has an appetite again.  The Baron probably notices.  He also probably notices that the air between the two of you feels less tense than it has for the past couple of mornings, and of course he narrows his eyes in sidelong glances at you.  You ignore it, offering a couple of vague pleasantries about how efficiently-run Feyd’s birthday festivities were.  

“So,” you ask Feyd as you set down your distilled water.  “What’s the process like?  Moving to Arrakis?”

The Baron sits a little further upright.  “You told her about Arrakis, boy?” he asks.  You glance away from him, thinking, He told me about much more than that you sick man.  

Feyd glances at you before answering, his tone unfazed.  “If I’m leaving her behind for months then she should know why,” he says.

The Baron looks between the two of you as if he can get more answers from a single glance, and you look down at your food and spread a pat of butter onto your toast.  So far your appetite hasn’t changed.  It probably won’t for another few weeks.

When you get back to your quarters you write to your parents to give them the news of your pregnancy.  You want them to hear it from you first rather than a formal announcement from Geidi Prime a couple of weeks from now.

In the letter Mother sent you, she had asked, her tone vague but concerned to the point that you could imagine her voice faltering as she dictated the words, if the Baron was being kind to his niece-in-law.  You’d laughed bitterly when reading it, knowing what she was asking.  He has never shown any untoward interest in me, you’d responded, thinking, that’s not the problem at all .

You’re going to take to Feyd’s bed again tonight, as you told him; even as you’re still not looking forward to it, you’ll power through.  You don’t want the bed to grow colder.  You don’t want him to get frustrated and find other bodies to fuck, even as you know that will likely happen anyway in your upcoming months of separation.  You were able to get leverage with him in the first place by catering to his desires.  That’s how you’ll keep it.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you strip and shower that evening after dinner, and don’t bother to dress after drying yourself off, padding naked into his bathroom and past it into his bedroom.

You’d wanted to feel arousal, and you’re certain you’ll get there eventually.  You weren’t aroused the first couple of nights of your marriage but he’d gotten you sufficiently wet enough for him to fuck, even if it was a rough passage.  

Feyd’s sitting naked on the edge of his bed with his elbows resting on his knees.  “So what’s keeping you from getting wet tonight?” he asks as soon as he gets a good look at you.

“How would you even know that?” you ask.

If he had eyebrows you’re certain he’d raise them at that.  “I’ve gotten to know your body pretty well, pet,” he says, and you don’t normally mind the nickname but tonight there’s no appeal to it.  “If you’re wet I can practically smell it.  When you’re feeling desire it shows, and when you’re not it shows even more.”

“I don’t know,” you tell him.  “It’s not important.”

“Last time we fucked you were drooling and practically begging for my cock,” he says.  “I’m not interested in going from that to you only tolerating it and I want to know why that is so I can fix it.”

You sigh, trying to think, trying to find the words, embarrassed when you do.  Because it sounds so shallow and petty when you do. “I guess it’s because I’m yours but you’re not mine,” you say finally.  It’s not something you ever allowed yourself to think about, not even as a child who knew you’d have to get married one day and knew you might not like or even know the man you’d marry. 

But now you are married and you think you’ve gotten to know the man you’ve married pretty well, especially over the last few days.  You even like him sometimes, despite everything.  

Feyd blinks and tilts his head, his lips curled into a faint smirk.  “You think I’m not yours?” he asks, his tone shifting.  Teasing.   You bristle.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you say.  “Not right now.  Not after everything that’s happened.”

“I’m not.  I’m just surprised, pet,” he says.  He rises and stands, walking slowly towards you, his movements almost serpentine.  “You really think I’ve ever willingly given as much of myself up for anyone as I have with you?  Servants and enemies alike fear my very name, run from my shadow, tremble before me.  But you have me in a way no one else does.”

You hesitate.  You didn’t expect his words to send heat through your lower body.  You lick your lips before you realize you’re doing it.  

“Do I? ” you ask, your voice deeper than normal.

Feyd senses the shift within you.  He can probably smell just like he says.

“Use me,” he says.  “Take as much as you want from me, as much as you can.  I can handle it.”

You glance down at his full, plush lips.  They curve into a real smile when he notices where you’re looking.

“We can start there.”

The collar’s heavier than yours.  There are prongs on the inside–they’re dull, they won’t pierce Feyd’s throat, but they’ll still dig into his skin, potentially even break it.  You look at it and look at him and your heart beats faster.

You glance back at the armoire; the leash isn’t the same fine silver chain but a heavier length of metal chain.  It’ll be an effort for him to comfortably keep his head up after a while.  It’ll be an effort for you to hold it after a while.

“You sure I’m ready for this?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t,” he says.  “Do you think you’re ready?  More importantly, do you want this?”

You picture him on his knees wearing nothing but the collar you’re holding and you answer without a drop of hesitation, “ Yes .”

He guides your hands as you unfasten the collar and wrap it around his neck, when you fasten again, but he brings his hands to his sides and keeps them there when you clip the chain to the center of his collar.  You take a step back for a moment to get a better look at him, how he stands proud while naked and leashed, your handsome plaything, and thinks he looks perfect.

Or rather, almost perfect.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks when he sees you thinking.

“I want to tie you up,” you admit.  “The way you’ve tied my hands behind my back.”  The memory of the way he’d fucked you relentlessly from behind with one hand pressing your head into the mattress and the other holding up your hips as you’d felt utterly, deliciously powerless flickers.  You want him to have the same feeling.

“Alright,” he says, unfazed.  “I can talk you through it.”

And as it turns out he’s a decent knot-making instructor.  He crosses his arms in an X across his back, turning his head to look at you as best he can while you stand behind him and cinch the ropes in–not tight enough to cut off his circulation, but to keep the knots intact.  You smile as you circle around him once it’s done, caressing his biceps, his shoulders, the parts of his back not marred by scars before crossing in front of him.  His pectorals look especially prominent this way, pressed forward and impossible not to play with.  So you do, groping the warm flesh, pinching the stiff peaks.

“On your knees, Feyd,” you say softly.

He’s far more graceful than he ought to be as his knees hit the floor in one long smooth movement.  You gasp at the sight, nearly dropping the chain as you take in the way the long, pale muscles in his thighs look as he kneels before you.  You look at the elegant lines of him from an angle you only now realize that you’ve never seen before.  Feyd’s eyes dart everywhere, zigzagging across the different planes of your body, and you smile as you take a step forward and cup your own breast, watching how Feyd’s pupils dilate, how his semi-stiff cock finishes filling out.  You stare back at him as you trail your hand down further, in between your legs, idly stroking and rubbing, letting your fingertips collect the growing slick down there before pushing two fingers inside.

You see his breath hitch, chest expanding, as you pull your fingers back out and step in close, just above him.  His mouth falls open the moment you bring your fingertips to his face; his head tilted back as he gazes at you with the same delirious, worshipful look he’d had a week ago.  He laps at your honey coating your fingers, gaze burning into you, his cock hard.

You grin down at him as you tug on the chain.  He closes his eyes for a moment, lips parted and twitching upwards in a brief smile.

You know what you want; when he’s licked you in the past it’s always been when you were on your back or on all fours, and never with the same domination as when he’s gotten you on your knees for him.  You know the physiology will be different, and trickier to navigate, but you’ll both manage.

Feyd moans softly as you grip the back of his head with your free hand, nuzzling against your bare cunt, his nose against your bud and his tongue reaching out to lap at what he can access.  His forehead rests against your mons for a moment.

“You’re so eager for it,” you tell him as you try to sound like you aren’t eager yourself, like you aren’t fucking dripping for this.  “So desperate.  You’d beg for this, wouldn’t you?”  You don’t wait for an assent before adding, “You don’t have to.”

You shift your feet, legs going wider, and slide one thigh over Feyd’s shoulder. 

He moans again, desperate, breath ragged, as you grip his skull tighter and grind your slit down onto him.  

If you didn’t have all night, you’d be embarrassed at how quickly your momentum builds the first time, moaning shamelessly, breath hitching, as you ride his mouth.  You think about how the first time he ever put his mouth here that you’d wished he had hair you can pull but realize now that you can manage just fine.  You think about how it’s been over a week since he’s licked you here, and nearly that since he’s touched you at all and that could be why you’re getting so close so fast.  And then you can’t think at all.

You have to hold onto his head and neck for support when you come and you gasp for air, raising your hips off of him enough to breathe.  

“You could come just from this, couldn’t you?” you ask, dazed, hardly able to speak, pulling him off long enough for him to groan an assent.  “Don’t.  Not yet.  I’ll take care of you when you’re finished here.”

And with that you bring his face back in, nails digging into the back of his head as you move his mouth for a moment, dragging his eager tongue inside of you.  You can’t help the snarl in the back of your throat as you feel his nose against your clit, building yet again, so close.

He seems to forget he needs his mouth and nose to breathe, and a couple of times you nearly do, too, grinding his face into your privates as you dig your nails into his skull, tugging on his chain as you keep your thigh draped over his shoulder, the metal digging into your skin as the muscles in your inner thigh squeeze his cheek .  “That’s it. Fucking take it, Feyd,” you hear yourself say at one point.

You wonder how he can enjoy being nearly smothered in between your thighs, but when you manage to get a glimpse southward, he still looks achingly hard, precome glistening at the tip.  Well, alright then .

You’re just as much of a desperate whore for this as I am, you think, and collapse forward for a moment, and bring your leg down, sliding it off his shoulder, realizing that if you keep going like this you won’t be stable enough to stay upright.  You take a deep breath, spread your stance, and tug Feyd’s collar down so he has to sink down lower, going from kneeling to sitting on his haunches, tilting his neck.  You switch his chain from one hand to the other, dragging your nails down the back of his head as you yank his chain forward.  

How is he still going with this kind of enthusiasm?   You feel like you're pushing yourself nearly as much as him when he’s the one being put to work.  Can he lick your cunt, his face buried in it, for hours?  Can he last longer than you can doing this?

Well, now you certainly intend to find out. 

You don’t know how long you keep going, grinding his mouth against you until you shudder and come, and then releasing him so you can both breathe before you pull him in again.  It’s too much.  It’s agonizing.  It's perfect and it’s actually starting to hurt but you also want to keep going, addicted to everything he’s giving you, and you stumble, legs shaking, vision going white for a second.

“Hold on,” you manage.  “I need to sit down.  I–I can’t…”

You relax the chain, stepping back so you can sit down at the edge of the bed.  Feyd shuffles forward on his knees and for a moment you wish you hadn’t tied his wrists so you could watch him crawl towards you.

My beautiful obedient beast , you think, as he reaches you, sits back on his haunches, and leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy.

“Wait,” you tell him before he can.  “Just stay there for a second.  I need a moment before I’m ready again,” you add, still feeling fluttery.  You hold the back of his head in place with your free hand, close to your swollen, slick cunt, his nose not-quite brushing against it, his cheek resting against your inner thigh.  He gives the closest thing a voice like his could make to a whine, desperate to dive back in, not daring to move as you curl your fingers around the back of his head.  You spend several minutes this way, him on his knees, in place, hardly moving a muscle.  You feel his lashes flutter, but otherwise he remains still.

There’s something so deeply intoxicating about having this kind of power, about his warm breath against your cunt, about how obedient and submissive he is.  He’d stay down there all night if you asked, kneeling before you, wanting to but not touching you, not tasting you, until you commanded him.  

You smile, eyes shut, tamping down on a fit of giggles and the urge to say, Down, boy .  You loosely wrap one hand around his throat, just above his collar and then trail your fingers over his scalp.

You finally open your eyes and look down at him.  His bright blue eyes shining with hope, but not daring to say a word, waiting for you to tell him what to do.

“Oh, alright then,” you tell him.  You feel delirious as you tug his chain forward and he dives in, desperate, as if grateful for the chance for you to fuck his face again.  As if you’re the one doing him a service.

You groan, spent and running on fumes at this point but still not willing to let up, curious to see how much more he has in him.  How much more you can handle.  “That’s it, Feyd.  This is what your mouth was made for,” you say, and at this moment you’re pretty sure it’s true.  Your nerves are frayed and you’ve been so thoroughly tasted it’s becoming painful and your muscles feel as taut as if you’d just had a strenuous training session when really all you’ve done is have your cunt feasted on.  And still you persist out of sheer stubbornness until the tension builds again.  You shift and spread your legs a little wider, sitting closer to the edge of the bed and rolling your hips against Feyd’s face.  He can hear your breath hitch, your moans getting more desperate.

You start babbling, unable to keep the words from spilling out every image that pops into your head.  “Next time I use you– ah, fuck!  I, I’m gonna tie your wrists to the bedpost and fucking use every part of your body.  I’m going to ride your dick and then ride your face until you get hard again, just gonna alternate between the two until I drain you.  I’ll never get sick of it your fucking magnificent body and that mouth –”

And then you come, one last time, doubling over as you clutch the back of his head with both hands, burying his face in as deep as it can go, his nose scrunched up against your bud and his tongue buried inside of you.  You hear your own guttural scream as you shudder, moving his head side to side for a moment to wrench every last bit of pleasure out of it before you can come down.

For a moment you hold him there, just enjoying the closeness of him.  He’s still breathing, thankfully.  What an embarrassing obituary that would be.  Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, dead at twenty-six.  Cause of death: suffocated on his wife’s pussy.   You can’t help but laugh as you pull him off, but the laughter fades as you get a good look at him.

He’s a mess, his face drenched.  His eyes blaze, his cock leaking precome.  He stays where he is as he gazes up at you.  He’s still looking at you with hope and desire.  Did I do good? What else can I do for you?  Do you want me to go back in?  I’ll go back in .

“Wow,” you say softly, thinking, You’re so beautiful like this .  

It takes what feels like a full minute to be able to stand again, your legs trembling, and you give Feyd just enough slack on the leash for him to continue kneeling.  His knees must be in agony right now.  He probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Stand up,” you tell him anyway, watching as he slowly manages to rise, biting back a groan at the effort.  “Good.  That’s good,” you say softly, looking up at him once more.  He keeps his head bowed, breath smelling of you and ghosting over your lips as he waits for further instructions.  You smile at him as you unclip his leash and let the chain fall to the floor between you.

You touch his chest again, made more prominent as he squeezes his arms behind his back as if standing at attention.  You decide you won’t untie him just yet as you run your hands down his torso, spread them to his sides and down his hips, your fingertips just barely digging into the flesh of his ass.  You haven’t talked about it yet, aren’t sure how well or poorly he’d respond to being touched there, so you keep the contact brief.  You don’t want to ruin anything when he’s been so good for you and seems like he’s still in that space in which he’s inclined to do whatever you want.  Feyd stays stock-still, like a good soldier awaiting your orders, and you find your voice.

“Have a seat, husband,” you tell him as you step aside to let him, and he does, where you just were, and waits.

You start by standing in between his legs, pressing your breasts together, and leaning down to rub them against his face.  He dives in eagerly, licking, kissing, sucking marks into the soft flesh.  It only briefly feels strange to feel your own slick there, but your mind seems to discard that after coming to the conclusion that it isn’t unpleasant.

“They’re going to get bigger in no time,” you say aloud.  “Will you like that, Feyd?”  He moans an affirmation, albeit a muffled one as you guide his face in the space between your breasts and keep him there for a moment.  “When they’re full and juicy and there’s more to play with?”

He moans again, chest heaving.

“You’ve been so good for me, Feyd,” you tell him as you caress the back of his head.  “So sweet, so devoted.  Are you ready for your reward?  I think you’ve finally earned it.”

And then you get on your knees.  His mouth falls open in a gasp, as if he hasn’t seen you in this position before.

Granted, he’s never come in your mouth before, even as he’s said he’s thought about it.  You caress the tops of his thighs, your thumbs trailing along the insides, before you grip his cock, tilt your head, and give him one long lick from sac to tip.

His breath comes in rapid pants, the salt of precome making the slide of him in your mouth all the easier.  You take him down as far as you can manage, your tongue along the underside of his cock.  Maybe next time you’ll tease him a bit more, take more time with this, but tonight you want to give him his reward.

“A- ah! ” He shudders and gasps as he comes in your mouth for the first time; it’s viscous and briny and you choke a little as you swallow it down but you swallow it down all the same, sticking your tongue out to swipe at what's left around your lips.

You get up and nearly stumble as you settle on his lap, kissing him, reaching for the ropes that bind him because you need him to touch you and you’re certain that he needs it, too.  You kiss your own slick off his lips and taste it on his tongue as he tastes himself on yours and perhaps someone else would find that disgusting.  A while ago that someone probably would’ve been you.  Right now it feels devastatingly intimate as you fumble with the knots and finally set him free, the rope dropping onto the covers.

Feyd’s hands slide over your hips and waist, into your hair.  He buries his face against your neck for a moment, his breath a rattle.  And you’re straddling his hips and his chest is pressed against you and, somehow, despite how overstimulated you are, you need him inside of you again.  It’s been multiple nights.  It’s fine if you don’t come; you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come tonight, it’s all a blur.  You just want him nestled within you, just like this.

“Do you think you can get hard again?” you ask as you caress the back of his head, which he lowers to your breasts.

“I…” he starts, voice muffled as he holds on to you.  “ Augh, I…” he pauses, shutting his eyes.  “Yeah, I can.  Anything.  Anything you want.”  

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” you say, rocking against him.  It takes a few minutes, all dignity gone as you dry hump him slowly, your slick gliding over his spent cock until it starts to stiffen again, but there’s no one else here to see or judge it.  You can barely think as you raise up on your knees and spit into your palm before reaching down and wrapping a hand around him to work him to fullness.  It brings him face-level again with your breasts, and he takes advantage of the fact for the moments he can.  It makes you smile.  For a man with no particular voices it sometimes seems like he’s downright addicted to your body.

“Alright now,” you murmur once you feel Feyd’s cock hot and rigid in your grasp again and start to slide down.

It’s almost languid at first.  You just want to feel his cock inside you.  You hadn’t thought you’d miss it when it’s been less than a week.  You might go mad with frustration when he’s on Arrakis, you think, rocking slowly down onto him.

But that’s when a thought occurs, and you start to speed up, rising and falling on him with greater fervor.  You’re going to milk this man dry, you think, and giggle to yourself at the thought.  Between now and when he ships out to Arrakis you’re going to fuck him so good and so often he’ll be satisfied for the weeks, even months you won’t see each other.  You’re going to replace anyone else he could ever want in his mind’s eye.  

That’s what you’re thinking as you start riding him harder, faster.  Feyd’s gasps and grunts grow in volume alongside yours, his hands wandering everywhere now that they’re free to, but letting you take full control of the rhythm of him inside of you, letting you slake your lust on him rather than insisting on the other way around.

And as such you didn’t think you’d be able to come again tonight, but you were wrong.

“ Mmm! ” you shudder and shut your eyes as you can feel yourself start to clench up, almost at the precipice.

You nudge Feyd’s shoulder with one hand and he goes down, back hitting the mattress.  He gapes open-mouthed at you, eyes cloudy with lust and you gaze down at him until the pressure makes you shut your eyes again, until it’s too much and you’re grinding on him hard and fast.  You feel his hands cupping your breasts the first crest you wave, and then him coming inside of you on the second and stronger one that has you crying out.

Your mouth, your hands, your cock, they all belong to me, Feyd .  You can’t speak.

You can’t quite stop moving in the moments after you come, hips jerking awkwardly before you still, taking a deep breath, feeling the contracting and relaxing muscles of Feyd’s abdomen under your hands.  It takes another moment for you to come to your senses enough to open your eyes and look at the timepiece on your nightstand, and then you can’t help but laugh when you see that the two of you were at this for over an hour.

You look down at Feyd, who sits back up to meet you for a kiss.

“So,” you say, smiling into the kiss.  “Do you feel sufficiently used?”

“Dunno,” he says.  “Have you taken all you want?”

You nod against his lips.  “For tonight,” you tell him, and give him one last kiss before unfastening his collar.  The skin around his throat is red, indentations where the prongs dug in, and you press your lips there before nipping at it with your teeth.  He just holds onto you for the time being, tilting his head to give you access where you want it, breath coming in soft pants when you use your teeth on him.  You bring your mouth to the shell of his ear and murmur, “If you give me a second, I’ll put everything away.”

It takes some effort.  Your thighs shake as you slide off of him and grab the collar and rope.  You remember as you pick up the chain and walk over to the armoire that he’ll want some water as well.  If you’re thirsty from the amount of noise you made, then he certainly will be, too.

You sense movement and see Feyd shifting to the edge of the bed, about to get up, watching as you set everything back in place.  “Just relax, husband,” you tell him over your shoulder, proud of the fact that you can walk and sound coherent when you feel like you might pass out.  “I’ll take care of it.”

And you do; you wonder if this is how he feels on nights he pulls from his armoire.  You wonder if he feels the same kind of smug pride putting his equipment away while you lay in bed, exhausted and recovering.  You wonder if the reassuring calm as he does it is just as much of a facade, because tonight you’re pretty sure he took you to your limit even more than you took him to his.

You lay back, afterwards.  He nestles in between your legs, his head on your belly as you absently stroke his back and neck.  There will be visible scratches there and along his scalp, conspicuously at the back of his head.  The indentations of the collar will need to be covered; while people will certainly notice the scratches you doubt anyone will dare comment. 

“How soon is too soon to tell everyone?” you ask.

He turns his head, gradually coming out of his dazed, heightened state you don’t have a name for, and kisses your stomach before resting against it once more.  “If I felt it was appropriate, I’d burst out of this room right now and shout it to the whole planet and the Emperor himself that you’re carrying my child,” he says.  “Realistically, I’d say we should wait a couple of weeks, though.  After a doctor’s visit to confirm it.”

“Will you be there for it?” you ask, stroking his cheek and lifting two fingers under his chin to tilt his head towards you.  His cloudy blue eyes brighten a little.

“I’ll be here.  I don’t ship out to Arrakis for another month.”

“And after that?” you ask. 

“I’ll fix Rabban’s mistakes.  I’ll recover our lost Spice.  I’ll extinguish the Fremen rebellion.  And then I’ll come back to you,” he says.

And what will I do before you come back? you don’t ask.  You’ll need to.  You’ve thought about asking to go home, to Y/P, where you can be with your family and foster the life growing inside of you in an actually hospitable climate.  

You shift your legs a little further apart to get more comfortable.  Feyd gives a soft sigh and shifts as well, his breath tickling your bare skin and his arms loosely wrapped around you.

You’ll bring it up later. 

Tag list: @aemondseyepatch @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @cavillandevanssandwhich Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for future chapters!

[defensivelee]

Six Lives Won't Make You Happy: Will-o’-the-Wisp

A happy October 14th to all! It certainly isn't for Mary, who's dealing with her increasingly unhinged father and a nasty methamphetamine withdrawal. But her work awaits for nothing! On the other side of things, Bentinck, Anne, and William decide to go fox-hunting in the city of Nayaflitt. It turns out the touch of a dwaallicht spirit may be a curse as well as a blessing.

Here is the AO3 link! This chapter's a bit more relaxed, but fun nonetheless.

CW: explicit violence, murder, death, gun use, heavy drug use, addiction, withdrawal, smoking, drinking, mild alcoholism, abusive relationship(s), abusive parent(s), domestic violence, implied/referenced child abuse, ableism, implied/referenced psychosis, fantastic racism, objectification, dehumanization, public humiliation, rape threats, normalization of rape/sexual assault, implied/referenced child sexual abuse, implied/referenced non-consensual incest, prostitution, explicit sexual content, ritualistic sex, explicit rape/noncon.

It was a truly peaceful night, nothing could ruin it. The wind was gentle against his face. The sky above was pure black, save for the stars that flickered and then fell to the ground some immeasurable distance away. The dark red blades of grass seemed to protest against every lash of his tail, as if they wanted him to lie still. Forever.

I am not staying here. He managed to sit up, holding a hand up to his heart. It no longer beat in his chest, nor did he hear his own breaths as he tilted his head up towards the sky.

“I did not expect to see you back so soon,” he heard an echoing voice say behind him. “William.”

William turned around to glare at the feathered devil, coiled there as if preparing to leap. His orange eyes matched the glow of his claws, which tore at the grass as he approached on all four of his legs, the scales on his back shaking slowly. His long, thin tail was made of nothing but rattling bone, as were his open jaws.

His name was William, too, when it was translated from the ancient language of Infernal. Only, he was the first William, the oldest William; indeed, the oldest devil in the world— the Prince of the Western Kingdom, right at home in the devils’ realm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the younger William said, backing away warily. “It’s not my fault Bentinck didn’t come for me on time.” He shook himself out at the thought, at the memory of waiting so foolishly for help that came too late. Bentinck had held him to his chest, and William had leaned in like he always did, but it was a thoughtless gesture. Being so close to his Ally’s beating heart, he wanted nothing more than to rip it out with his teeth.

“You could have saved yourself,” the Prince said. “You did it once before. You do not need your Ally when you were born with so much power within you.”

“If I could have saved myself, I would have done it, old man,” William hissed. “But the fucking spells you devils left us with require the use of our voices and hands, none of which I had!” He paused, lowering his head. “Bentinck could have done it. It’s not unreasonable for me to expect better of him.”

“I did not give you six lives so you could sit around and wait for your Ally to come save you,” the Prince said, pacing around William. “I respect you, boy, but forgive me if I have any doubts after witnessing every day slip through your fingers with no progress at all.”

“Maybe if I had all the promised gifts and powers of an Overlifer on day fucking one, this wouldn’t be happening,” William said. He kept having to turn this way and that, trying to keep his glare on the circling Prince. “But no, you make the Overlifers wait six lifetimes. You make them die over and over again to reach their full potential. It’s like you punish us for daring to want more!”

“Why, yes, William, that is precisely what we are doing,” the Prince said with a chuckle. “Power cannot be obtained without sacrifices. You know that better than anyone. Shall I list the memorable dead?”

“There’s no need—”

“Oh, ‘tis not a long list, child. I did say the memorable dead, after all.” The Prince sat back to lap contentedly at his claws, like a lazy cat. “If I listed all those deaths you never cared to remember, we would be here for an eternity.”

“If I didn’t care enough to remember them, then I correctly decided that they weren’t important enough to remember.” William tilted his head to the side. “That’s not on me.”

“Are you trying to be dense here?” The Prince equally tilted his head to meet William’s gaze. “You have decided that in order to do what you want with the world, some people have to die. Is it so wrong for the devils to decide that sometimes you have to die, too?”

William nodded firmly. “Who do you think you are to limit our strengths, to clip our wings?”

“Must I remind you who you owe your lives to?” The Prince leaped towards William, baring his teeth before his face. “Who do you think you are to speak to us like this?”

William leaned forward, staring right back at the Prince’s bright eyes. “I will have your kingdom after your death. I am essentially your heir, and you would do well to remember that. The end of your rule draws near. Remember that I decide if you die or not.”

“I am your oldest ancestor.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first relative I kill,” William said, stepping back. “Has it been six hours yet? I’m getting bored of your realm here.” He knew that would sting; the devils could not stand any insult to their home, perhaps because they knew how much better the land they had left behind was.

The Prince’s scales shook faster, but he otherwise ignored the slight. “Not yet. Why are you so eager to return to such a hostile world?”

“What am I going to do here?” William flicked his tail over the grass. “Besides, Bentinck came for me. I...should be safe now, right?” He winced. His voice sounded a little more desperate than he had intended, as he realized that he truly had no idea if Bentinck had gotten out of the burning Hoerenkast or not.

What if I’m still dying? His whole destiny, cut short by a measly little fire!

Or, even worse— what if Mary had taken him back, after all? She had made it very clear that there would be no exceptions made for him anymore, especially now with her father lying dead and helpless as well. She would still want William to be there for when James woke up, wouldn’t she?

I’ll just wake up to another nightmare! He swallowed, realizing he was shaking at the thought of still being in their hands, and he felt the Prince’s tail come up to his chin.

“You are safe now, trust me,” came the rumbling voice. “But you are always welcome to stay, child.”

“Fuck, no, you want me dead,” William said, pushing him away. He took a deep breath from the wind picking up around them. “If you promise I’m safe, I’m going now. They need me up there.”

The Prince sighed. “Very well.” He straightened himself up as he began to trace a summoning circle through the grass with his claws. “You will return with more power than you have ever known, but remember that there is still more to be found.”

William bowed his head. “You will not see me here again. Not for a very, very long time.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “I will prove to you that I don’t need all the power you hold back from me to fulfill my destiny.”

“We shall see about that,” the Prince said, looking up at William again. “One last thing. When you return, your doctor will give you an order that I advise you not to follow.”

“Oh, really? My doctor?” William wondered what Bidloo could possibly want now. Had he been with Bentinck? He hoped not; he could only imagine how insufferable he must be acting right now.

“Yes, he’s there now,” the Prince said. “This is the only time I will tell you this: do not listen to him.”

“Why not? Is he a traitor?” William narrowed his eyes, but received no answer as the Prince suddenly turned away, smacking his tail hard against William’s chest. William stumbled back with a cry, waving his arm out behind him to catch himself, only for it to go straight through the summoning circle, and pull him down with it.

“Cryptic bastard!” William shouted as he fell through, the energy sparkling all around him nearly being enough to knock him out again.

No— but it was enough to bring him back out of the inevitable claws of death.

🝰🝰🝰

“He’s almost up, Mary.”

Mary looked up at her stepmother, standing at the doorway of her room. What on earth was she talking about? It must have been important if Maria was looking at her like that. But she couldn’t remember, she couldn’t remember a thing that had happened to her, ever, and was only present here, lying uselessly on her bed. There was something streaming down her fingers as she lifted them away from her mouth.

“Oh, you’re bleeding again!” Maria rushed to her side, and Mary quickly sat up, backing away from her. That was it, the scent of iron on her hands.

“It’s fine, what are you going on about?” She kicked her legs out at Maria, who shuffled back in surprise. “You always act like this when I get high! Like you’ve never seen it before! You don’t have to act so offended.”

Maria tilted her head to the side. “I’m not.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should try it some time.”

“Acting offended?”

“Getting high, you stupid bitch!” Mary yelled. “At least then you’d have a reason to be seeing shit for no reason. And maybe you don’t have to look James straight in the eyes. You’ll be okay, you got that?”

“Mary...” Maria laughed nervously. “There’s always a reason. Whatever I see is meant to help all of us here, meant to help you, and- and James, even if he doesn’t realize it sometimes.” She reached out to gently place a hand on Mary’s shoulder, as if she were trying not to scare her off, to keep her there. “Even if you don’t realize it. They’re not...senseless hallucinations. I’ve had them since I was a child.”

“Seems pretty senseless to me,” Mary said. “Some of it, anyway. Most of it.” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s just all the smoke you breathe in from me. I mean, I see stuff, too. Now and then. I know those aren’t...divine visions, or whatever special name you like to call your lunacy.” She turned away and lay back on the bed with a groan. She left bloodstains on the pillow as she clenched her fist over it. “Don’t act like the worst thing in the world is what you are— fucking crazy.”

“Ha!” Maria barked out a sad, bitter laugh. “Yeah. So are you.”

“Am I the worst thing in the world?” Mary smiled back at her.

“No, Mary, of course not.” Maria shifted up beside her. “You know that.” She hesitated before adding, “Did you want to see your father now? I...understand if you don’t want to, I don’t imagine he’ll be too pleased with you. I just want to make sure I’m at his side when he does wake up.” She lowered her voice. “So that snake Churchill isn’t the first face he has to see.”

Oh, there she went again. Mary had no idea what she was referring to. If it had to do with James, though, she had to be there, didn’t she? Besides, she didn’t know why he would be unhappy with her at the moment. Hopefully he would have forgotten whatever it was by now. He played such strange games with everyone around him, though; she could never tell what it would be.

“I’ll go,” Mary said, sitting up.

“Are you sure?”

“You would keep a daughter from her poor old father? Why would I ever refuse it?” She wiped her fingers on her skirt and got up, though it took some effort. She pushed her hair back, glaring ahead at the light outside her room. She didn’t want to step out there, under the unceasing glow. But she knew James would have liked her to.

“Come on, then.” Maria took her hand and led her out of the room. Mary followed, keeping a hand on the wall as she walked. She thought she might have been tearing it open, despite the perpetually short nails she kept; there was an incessant buzzing at her fingertips that had been growing lately, every time she smoked her pipe.

It was, to her relief, much dimmer in the stairway, as well as in the main salon, where she saw a small crowd of Disciples gathered there. Those with tails whipped them about impatiently, staring down at something on the white sofa. Devils below, why did it have to be white?

“He’s all healed by now,” Maria told her as they stepped in. “We’re just waiting for the devil to release him.”

The devil? What devil? Mary opened her mouth to ask, but snapped it back shut when she saw that all the Disciples were staring back at her with wide eyes, letting her pass almost too easily. They did so in a very slow, ghostly manner, as if she were all alone in this room, and her six lives were enough to consume the ancient spirits surrounding her. She thought she could reach out and wave them away like leaves.

Six lives. She paused before the sofa. What a foolish thought. The power was never hers to wield.

“No, Mary,” she heard a faint, familiar voice say beside her, echoing deep in her mind. “It was always his.”

She glanced at the speaker. She realized she truly had smoked too much when she saw her uncle Charles standing there, just as he looked before his death, save for one broken horn. He smiled at her, though his blank eyes were far from friendly.

Right. She remembered now. She turned away from him, letting him disappear into the back of her mind, and knelt in front of the body before her. That of her father, who had been shot last night...by none other than her sister. She’d pay for that, Mary would see to it.

Oh, she had done other things, too— she’d started a fire, which might have explained the unusually sore throat Mary had today, and she’d spoken to Ally Marly, but all of that paled in comparison to the secret she had revealed. It had the power to destroy the leadership of the Disciples.

Of course, it hadn’t, but she still would have liked killing Anne before she spat out the revelation that Mary and James had both killed Charles. She didn’t like the stares she was receiving now, the hacking coughs she heard behind her. Anne wasn’t here, so Mary knew that, at least for now, she was where they turned their ire towards.

She lifted her head towards James, lying so still and beautiful, his curls falling over his eyes. He would be angry, too, that she had let slip the truth so easily; it was undoubtedly why Maria had only asked and not ordered Mary to be here. She didn’t know where else she was supposed to be, though. He’d surely be looking for her the moment he opened her eyes.

Maria approached cautiously beside her, sitting up next to James and dipping her head to kiss one of the filaire-marked horns. Behind her, Marly leaned down over the sofa, staring at Mary through narrowed eyes. He looked like a starving cat.

What does he want? Was he disappointed she and Maria had survived his treacherous actions? Well, he would have more to worry about when James woke up, she would make sure of that.

She thought she had her explanations ready as her father began to stir, opening his mouth wide in a yawn that displayed the gleam of both his white and golden teeth. She wouldn’t be able to explain away everything, especially since she knew he would be very, very angry, and yet she dared to hope, clenching her teeth so hard that it sent shivers down her neck. It hurt.

James opened his eyes, sitting up with such force that Maria jumped back in surprise. He curled his lip back in a sneer as he glanced down at his clothes, none of which had been changed since he had been shot. He must have smelled the blood; Mary could see the fur on his tail standing straight up as he looked around.

The Disciples all bowed their heads deeply in greeting, but James did not acknowledge any of them. Instead he looked straight at Maria and asked, in a slow, uncertain voice, “Where is William?”

William. Mary might have despaired at the sound of his name, but hearing it this time only made her feel her heartbeat more acutely. She wiped the sweat from her face with her arm and looked up to face her father. At least this wasn’t the worst thing he could have said.

“You weren’t awake for this, but Anne started a fire,” she began. “She used a Western fire spell, so you know she wanted to kill us all. Indeed, it spread so quickly—” She stood up, nearly tripping on Maria’s lashing tail. “It was a choice between saving you or catching him, and he scurried away so quickly. I mean, he was like a little fucking rat, you really would have had to be there.” She mimicked the motion of crawling with her hand. “Oh, I guess you were there. But not awake, right? Right. So he left, and we had to take you instead, and Maria saved both of us! You and me. And herself, too, I suppose. We were the last ones to get out.” She clapped her hands and looked back at everyone else. “It’s very likely that William probably died there, burning alive as you might have wished him to be. There’s nothing left of him, and he was the only casualty...save for yourself.”

She turned back towards James and Maria, in particular raising her eyebrows at her stepmother. If it were up to Mary, they might have kept William, and this whole mess within her would be over, but Maria had insisted on letting Bentinck take him back, for whatever nonsense reason Mary couldn’t understand. All she knew was that Maria had allowed William to slip away, allowed him another day to come back and destroy them all.

So she hoped that it was enough for James to believe her and cast his gaze away from Maria. She had saved Mary’s life, now Mary could save her, if even for a little while— an eye for an eye, it was what the devils would have liked to see.

James managed to stand, his hand on Maria’s shoulder for support. “So we are sure,” he said, “that William is dead.”

“I think so.” Mary smiled at him, backing away slowly.

“Well, at least Anne did something right,” he spat, much to her surprise. “I wish I could have been there to see it, but that’s one less thing to worry about.” His eyes glittered. “How cute; she must have thought I would forgive her. Poor thing. Did any of you happen to capture her?”

“She hasn’t been seen since,” Marly answered, bowing low before flitting to James’ side. “And neither has Sarah.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, and Mary couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know where either of them went!” she said. “You were speaking to them both right before the fire spell was cast.” She pointed straight at him, feeling foolishly like a child choosing her favorite treat from right outside a shop’s window. It delighted her. “And then —get this, sir— you left us! You fled to save your own skin, never looking back once for James. Some Ally you make.”

Her smile widened even as she heard the mocking, disbelieving hisses from the Disciples. Marly jumped a little, his gaze flicking from her to James to Maria.

“I- I was always thinking of you, sir,” he said to James. “I only tried to- to speak to Sarah to dissuade her from fleeing with Anne, but I don’t know if she really knew about your daughter’s plans until the very end.” He glared back at Mary. “I know I didn’t. Besides, I was the one that saved you, not—”

“Enough.” James flicked his tail to silence him. “Don’t lie to me again.”

“I’m not—”

“John, I said enough.” There was a warning in James’ voice as he turned his head towards his Ally. “Has anyone else defected, or was it just your beloved Sarah?” He spoke the word with a sly smile growing on his face, and Marly swallowed.

“No, I don’t believe so. We’ve all stayed.”

“Ah, how wonderful.” James stepped forward, starting to circle and weave through his followers. “It pleases me to see you all here after that unnecessary revelation. You must recognize how far I will go to ensure only the very best for the descendants of the Eastern Kingdom. More importantly, you surely recognize that an Overlifer must do everything he can to ensure his voice is heard above all others. He must be willing to make sacrifices. The moment a limb loses all functionality and becomes nothing but a painful, stinging burden...he must be willing to cut it off.”

Mary glowered at the Disciples who still lashed their tails suspiciously. Couldn’t they see how dedicated James was to them? If it had been the other way around, Charles would have never killed James, he would have let the whole cause rot. There was someone with no honor, no determination, no backbone. James was always meant to rule in his place.

So what if he just...hastened the process?

“But it is also necessary for an Overlifer to listen to his Eastern subjects.” It was Madam Finch’s deep voice which spoke, that of the only Disciple Madam in Altos Diablos, dressed accordingly with the odd cravat and justaucorps. She always had a severe look about her, though Mary didn’t know how honest it was. She had always been nothing but polite.

“An Overlifer commands absolutely,” James said simply, stopping in front of her.

“An Overlifer cannot possibly rule if every subject is unhappy,” Finch said. She lifted her head to look into James’ eyes, blinking tiredly. “I trust that your word is law, but some things have historically never been allowed to pass by the followers of your ancestors. Believe me when I say that I have never agreed with those rebels.” Her tail flicked slowly from side to side. “But I can understand why they did what they did.”

“Is that a threat?” James snapped.

“Let’s just say it’s an unprecedented situation, sir,” Charles Talbot, Finch’s favorite whore (and, by extension, Mary’s as well) piped up beside them. Today he had somehow managed to look more exhausted than his mistress. “Killing an Overlifer, of the highest divine blood and rank, even for the sake of becoming one yourself...it’s never been done before. Can it be done? Should it be allowed?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mary said. She stared at Talbot’s thighs as she spoke, ever so slightly exposed in between his shorts and boots. She’d certainly like to be in between them again. “My father is better, and his choices now as an Overlifer cancel out the will of a dead one.”

Talbot gave her a look she couldn’t read, and said nothing more.

“I don’t mind this so much at all,” Spencer said, approaching rather noisily with his heels. “It’s the lies that stung, sir. I would have followed you anywhere.” He was smiling, but his tail, lashing slowly, revealed his discontent. So even him.

“Does this mean you wouldn’t now?” James asked. His features seemed to soften as he looked back at Spencer.

There was a pause, then Spencer bowed his head. “I would. But you must think about where you would be without us.” His gaze burning, he turned around and walked out the door.

James snorted. “Insolent snake. I’ll deal with him later.” Waving his tail at everyone, he said, “You may be Easterners, but remember that I decide your future in this world. My brother promised glory, but I won’t make it so easy for you. Around here, you earn your place. So glory you may receive, if you simply behave.” He flashed a grin at Finch. “But you can also earn yourself a fate worse than death. You would all do well to remember that.”

It was only sensible. Mary didn’t know why they all looked so stunned, their high horns blurring at the edge of her vision as if they were reaching up towards the heavens. This was how she had always lived, understanding well that the more use her father had for her, the more favor he would show her, and the happier they could all be. It was a peaceful existence, where she could numb her mind and let James pull the strings for her. It was so easy to kill when the order came from his lips.

She was the daughter of an Overlifer. Everyone else here had the honor to serve him, to bring him one step closer to his solution for humanity. What more could they want?

Just follow orders and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted and more. She looked up, and it seemed to her that the Disciples might have been speaking. There was the mindless drum of conversation all around her, but they all appeared to be frozen in place, disappearing beside her as she began to walk towards the stairs again.

Everything I’ve ever wanted. She’d been following James for twenty-three years and yet she could only feel a sort of new, aching grief within her as she glanced back at the frozen figures.

“Mary. I’d like to see you alone, please.” That was James in her ear. She looked up at him and followed him up the stairs, resisting the urge to cling onto his tail like she had when she was a child. At least she had more reason for it now, unsteady as she was.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing she said once they were alone in the corridor.

“Why did you tell her?” Already James was circling her, like a wary lion with his tail swishing from side to side. It looked sort of funny; she had to stifle a laugh.

“Anne? I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted a reason to kill her, you ever thought about that?” It was a lie, she never once had thought of it. But she was of hardly any use to James anymore, she only made their dear father angry. It wouldn’t have been such a great loss to Mary. Not if she just spent the rest of her life as high as she had been that day.

“I would have liked to avoid killing my own daughters,” James said in a low voice.

“Ha, well, you wouldn’t have been the one doing it, anyway. You’d just send me again, wouldn’t you? I can kill anyone.” Mary tilted her head to the side so that she was leaning against the wall. “We could try getting high some time. You and me and Maria. And then we can kill anyone we want. You know, I think if you’d been shitfaced enough, you could have killed Charles yourself. You could have strangled and beaten him. It would have been so easy for you.”

James paused his pacing, turning his head sharply towards her. “What kind of goodbye would that have been for him?”

“Yeah, right. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Will you shut the fuck up, Mary?” he snapped. “You don’t know anything about what happened that night. You were just there to kill him, and you did your job, so keep it professional, why don’t you? I don’t need to hear your opinion on the...customer.” His tail wagged a little at the tip, as if he were amused at the remark.

“Mm. Well, you know. Just some feedback.” Mary shrugged. “Besides, I’m not complaining. I’m just saying, if you’re getting high, that’s more power to you.”

“You revealed our secret while you were high!” James said bitterly. “And you couldn’t even kill Anne once she knew. Two of the most important orders I have ever given you, and you disobeyed both of them.” He stepped closer to her, and Mary gritted her teeth as she looked up at him.

“Never on purpose—”

She was cut off by her own yelp as he reached out to pull hard on her hair, bringing her so close to him she could smell his metallic breath. “I can’t believe you’re my heir,” he said, “and you have done nothing lately but bring us further and further from our destiny.”

“I thought you were going to live forever,” Mary said faintly, and her father shoved her back, hard enough for her to nearly stumble and fall. She gasped as he began to walk towards her again.

“That doesn’t matter! What matters is that you must always serve me, and somehow you keep fucking it up!” With those last words, he raised his fist, only narrowly missing her eye as she turned her head. She felt the impact there anyway when it landed, her vision blinking out for a moment when she fell back against the wall, hitting the other side of her head as well.

Shit. She rubbed at her cheek and tried to scurry to the side when she felt James’ shadow over her. But he took hold of her wrist, pulling it sharply towards himself so that she fell back against him. She cried out, feeling him take a step back at her weight, but then he shoved her down on the floor.

“Ugh- fuck!” she cried out as she landed on her back. She was shaking so hard she could hardly sit up, though she frantically tried to scoot away when she felt James’ presence right down beside her. “Sir- sir, please, you don’t—”

“You’ve become no better than your sister! Am I to be alone in this forever?!” he shouted at her, crawling over her and pinning her arms above her head with one firm hand. “All you and Anne have ever done is ruin everything I’ve been trying to do here, you’ve never done so much for this like I have!”

“N-No—” Mary could hardly catch her breath, her chest heaving below her father’s. What was all the blood for, then? Did her father never smell it upon her, like she did on him?

Or perhaps she was remembering wrong, after all. Sometimes it happened when she was high enough. Reality was rather disappointing the next day.

She saw a flash of silver above her, and then it came down on her face, sending so sharp a sting through her that she opened her mouth to scream. It was muffled as James shoved his forearm into her mouth, forcing her to bite down as he landed blows from the buckle on the belt he had slipped off. Her arms were free now, but try as she might, she couldn’t push him off, couldn’t make him stop.

She was glad she kept her eyes shut, or she would have seen the fierce gaze that she remembered from a time so long ago, yet somehow also a time where everything was the same as it was now. She would have seen his lips curled back in a determined snarl. She hated that it was all a lie, then, that he truly thought so little of her that the worst he could offer her were these mindless beatings.

Damned beast! She bit down as hard as she could on his arm, and still he did not move. She could no longer hear anything but her own racing heartbeat, her shallow breaths becoming faster as the seconds ticked by. She could feel tears slipping out the corners of her eyes.

“By all the stars,” she heard James exclaim once he was done, sitting back with a huff. “I don’t know why you would do this to me.”

Mary lifted her head cautiously as he stood up. She could feel that, for the most part, he’d struck her face and arms. Her eye that had escaped his first punch couldn’t even open now.

“I’ll kill all the disloyal snakes that I have to,” James said, turning away from her. “I don’t care why; if they so much as even suggest that they no longer believe in my rule, I will fucking devour them myself.” He glared back at her. “But they were happy before. The blood will be on your hands.” With that, he disappeared down the stairs.

As if he cared about that. She was quite offended that he thought she would— any traitor, no matter the reason they dissented, deserved to die!

She pushed herself up with a grunt and stood up, swaying in the air until Charles reached out to steady her. Instinctively, she leant against him, but instead she fell hard against the wall, hitting her head on it.

“Will you stop doing that?” she mumbled. She let herself slide back down the wall, clutching at her still-frantic heart. She hated Charles. She hated this false high; it didn’t even make her happy for a moment. None of it did at this point.

So why do you still do this? Just stop. It hurts. It hurts, just stop. She buried her face in her hands with a shaky breath. Just smoke like everyone else.

No, no, she couldn’t do it. She had to keep going— being sober never made anything better, anyway. She could at least try to have some fun.

For now, though, it only brought her and James nothing but trouble. Nothing but uncertainty and the fear of the beginnings of something working beneath them. She’d seen the look in Spencer’s eyes, like a festering wound.

She wanted to scream that she had tried, that she had always done whatever James had asked of her, but none of it could ever compare to this. They’d spent years building up to this, to the moment James would finally rule, and she had just shattered it all. 

Somehow, it was explained to her that she always did.

🝰🝰🝰

Anne turned her head to the side as Bentinck leaned down to kiss her neck, letting out sweet gasps when he shifted his hips forward, deeper into her. She was warm underneath him, her hands shaking slightly over his shoulders, her legs spreading just a little further to grant him easier access.

“A-Ah— my lord—!” Her eyes glistened under the rising sun as she cried out. Bentinck paused for a moment, listening to her huffs, borderline prayers, before starting up again. He stroked at her horns, kissing them while she buried her face in his chest.

“You don’t need to call me that,” he reminded her gently.

“I- I want to,” she said, her face flushing as she smiled up at him. She brought her hands up to his hair and pulled him closer, sighing against his lips before kissing him. Bentinck certainly had no problem with that; he shut his eyes and continued that way.

He was the first to break away with a ragged gasp. He bowed his head to stifle a groan as he came, feeling her body shudder against him. She laughed breathlessly beneath him.

“Have I pleased Lord Portland?” she asked.

“Well...have I pleased Lady Anne?” He pressed another kiss to one of her horns and backed away with a stretch. He hoped they had been quick and quiet enough to not have disturbed Bidloo downstairs, but he truly couldn’t have waited any longer.

I just hope that William doesn’t mind that we used one of his guest rooms for this. He glanced back at the door, and Anne sat up beside him.

“You have,” she said. “Very much.” She pecked at his cheek, then looked downwards and said, “Hey, do you mind if I get your condom?”

“Oh- what?” Bentinck turned sharply back towards her. She merely blinked at him, waiting for his answer. Somehow she had never looked more serious.

“Well, I need all the blessings I can get,” she said. She nudged one of his legs to the side and began to slip off the condom on him. She held it up over her head once she pulled it off.

“What are you doing?” Bentinck laughed nervously.

“They say it’s better to drink straight from the source,” Anne said, opening her mouth wide. She began to squeeze all the cum out onto her tongue, a few drops falling from her lips and landing on her chest. Bentinck swallowed hard as he watched.

“But this will do,” she said as she finished. She wiped absently at her mouth, and Bentinck bounced forward and kissed her. She returned his kiss with a soft sigh, reaching up to hold his hand, cupped around her face.

“Hans,” she said, opening one eye to stare up at him as he lifted his head. “An Ally such as yourself—”

“Oh, please, Anne, enough of that,” Bentinck cut in. “We’re here as lovers, are we not? I love you. That’s all there is to it.” He hated that he had to let her go and get dressed; she appeared so vulnerable there on the bed, her eyes narrowing.

“And I love you,” she said cautiously. “Very much.”

“Is something wrong?” Bentinck tilted his head down at her. He hadn’t liked the way she said that.

She seemed to think on it for a moment. “No,” she said at length.

Oh. He didn’t exactly believe her, but it seemed the matter was quite done on her end, as she turned away to dress as well. Maybe what she needed was time, then.

He didn’t mind that. Right now, if Bentinck was correct, William was just on the verge of waking up, and he’d no doubt be pestering Bidloo about where his friend was. For some reason, Bentinck was already dreading speaking to him again.

“No Ally clothing today?” Anne asked behind him.

“Um, n-no.” Bentinck cleared his throat. “Don’t have it on me, anyway. And William doesn’t like seeing me with it. I don’t have to make this whole...situation worse for him.”

“Do you like it, though?”

“Well...maybe a little.”

Unfortunately William had already woken up when they got downstairs, sitting up on the bed and giving Bidloo a nasty scowl as the doctor spoke to him. Bentinck peeked in through the doorway, trying to remain hidden, but William caught him an instant.

“You—!” He stood up, but Bidloo pulled back on his arm.

“Sit down, you just woke up!” he said. “You’re not so steady yet.”

“Fuck off, I know more about my state than you do,” William retorted.

“William, I’m right here,” Bentinck said, sitting beside him on the bed. Anne stood beside him, her wary gaze kept on the Overlifer.

“Oh, finally, you’re here when I need you,” William said. He glared up at Anne, then back down at Bentinck. “What is she doing here? Do you know what she did to me? Or- or do you just not care?” His tail lashed furiously behind him, swatting Bidloo in the face. “You get this traitorous snake out of my house or I’ll kill her myself—”

“Enough,” Bentinck said sternly. “It’s because of her that I was able to save you.”

“It’s because of her that I was captured in the first place!” William yelled. “How could you trust a Disciple? If she came back to help, it’s because she just wants the protection of an Ally, and having one be mad at you doesn’t exactly put you in the good graces of the devils.”

“That’s not true,” Anne broke in. “Trust me, I would have liked to see you die—”

“Anne,” Bentinck warned her, but she went on.

“If Hans didn’t love you so much, I might have said nothing at all,” she said. “I only came back because I knew how much it would hurt him to lose you. I don’t expect nor want your gratitude, but because of you, I can never return to the Disciples now.”

William seemed so angry he let out a real growl, like that of a devil, and turned to Bentinck. “The point still stands. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t believed she loved you.”

“I do love him!” Anne cried.

“Silence!” William snapped his jaws in the air. “I’m talking to my Ally.” He crawled closer, his tail twitching behind him as if he had no idea who sat before him now. Bentinck wanted to back away, but found that William’s stare was just as effective as any Southern mind spell.

“Hanni,” he whispered, leaning his head against Bentinck’s shoulder. “You never knew of this plan, did you?”

“No, of course not,” Bentinck said. “She knocked me out, too. I was fine, though,” he added quickly, glancing back at Anne. “And then I wanted to go get you. I’m sorry I couldn’t go sooner, but- but I promise, it’s thanks to Bidloo and Anne that I knew where you were. If I had known of James’ orders to her, I wouldn’t have left you alone, so you—” He hesitated, glancing over at Bidloo before taking William’s hand in his own. “You must forgive me.”

William bowed his head, and Bentinck realized then that his master truly stank, of blood and smoke and spirit flesh. He’d been too late, late enough so that whatever torture James had been planning had probably already been carried through. William’s face was clear, as, it seemed, was the rest of his body, but the devils could only mend physical wounds, not memories. His clothes made the ordeal more obvious to Bentinck, torn and stained with dry blood.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Do you know,” William began, “how fucking embarrassing that was? To kneel before James, to be unable to say a word to defend myself?” He stood, turning away from all of them as he spoke. “I’m sure no Overlifer had ever suffered such dishonor. For a moment there, I saw James in all his triumph, standing high above us all, and I saw the madness in his eyes...in his heart...” He nodded once. “I was afraid, not for myself, but for what would become of the world once he had his way. Once I was dead. And I thought I would die.”

“William, what did he do to you?” Bentinck made his way towards him, but William stopped him with a flick of his tail.

“I guess you would have had to be there, right?”

“He said he was sorry,” Anne said in a low voice. “He didn’t have to go at all.”

“But he did,” William said. He turned back to stare at her, in his eyes a coldness that Bentinck had only seen from the Disciples. “That’s the bare minimum. What I truly wanted and expected was for him to come quickly, before I had to face all those Disciples, before that damned spirit tamer—” He stopped himself, his lip curling back in a sneer. “Well, I’ll let you imagine it for yourselves.”

“Did they call snake’s eye for an eye?” Bidloo asked, his small tail twitching anxiously.

Shit. That wasn’t something Bentinck had considered. He knew James wasn’t above it. He looked up, holding his breath as William opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“No.” He still stared at Anne.

That didn’t sound entirely convincing, but it wasn’t exactly anything he could be made to talk about. Bentinck glanced at Anne, who shrugged and turned away.

“Well, that’s good. They might have, though, after the first execution.”

“Yes, so naturally you must think you came just in time, didn’t you?” William hissed. “Just after they had beaten and whipped me.” He flicked his tail at the back of his shirt, still covered in dried blood. “You were all pleased to let that happen.”

Bentinck ran at his friend then, bowing his head to kiss one of William’s horns as he held him close. He heard William gasp softly, but he didn’t protest, merely stood there and dropped his head on Bentinck’s chest. He felt a long tail coil around his body.

A whipping— Bentinck had survived that before. It wouldn’t have killed him, but William could have.

No, he had saved Bentinck’s life instead, and here the Ally stood, clutching pathetically at his master who he had failed over and over again. Anne was right, somehow; he didn’t deserve William.

“Truly, forgive me,” he said. A tear fell from his eye and onto William’s head, and the Overlifer looked up with wide eyes.

“Falling in love with a Disciple who betrayed and captured me,” he said. “I should have you killed.”

Well, maybe you should. Bentinck dropped his gaze as William lifted his hand up towards his cheek, wiping at the tears that fell there.

“Unfortunately, she’s right. You still came. Both of you.” To Bentinck’s surprise, he laughed. “And also, I love you.” He jumped up and wrapped his arms around Bentinck’s neck, still laughing and clinging onto him with his tail. “Even as I lay dying, I- I was so, so happy to see you.”

Bentinck stumbled back and laughed too, pushing the hair out of William’s eyes as he smiled down at him. “You- you really are too kind.”

“Well, I don’t hear that one often,” William said. He let go of Bentinck and directed his grin towards Anne, though his tail now began to lash again. “But it’s true, isn’t it? Anne.”

“What?” Anne jerked her head up. Beside her, Bidloo snorted, but he paid no attention to them, instead looking down at his phone.

“You cannot stay here,” William said. “I appreciate what you did to help Bentinck, but you’re still a Disciple. You’re a risk to us if you stay. And,” he added, his expression now becoming serious as it was before, “you are not to return.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sir,” Anne said. Her eyes glittered as she looked over at Bentinck. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I could never return. I’m no longer a Disciple. James’ rule is far worse than I ever imagined it would be.” She sighed again, wistfully this time. “I suppose I don’t really want to stay here, either. But I trust I’m safer under the protection of the Devils of Orange-Nassau than I would be if I just walked alone.”

To hear her so certain about this decision once more was another thrill to Bentinck. He couldn’t help but walk over and give her a light kiss on the cheek. She lifted her head slightly as he did so.

“So you betray us first, and then immediately after, you want to join our cause.” William let out another laugh, though Bentinck could detect the sarcasm in it. “Oh, that’s fucked. Especially when you might just be another spy.”

“Not this time!” Anne said, looking helplessly up at Bentinck. She hesitated before bowing low, taking William’s hand to kiss it. “You have my word.”

William raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move. At length he said, “You’re forgiven, Hans. But this one will have to earn that honor. I trust you to keep an eye on her until then. Understood?” He snatched his hand away from Anne and turned his fiery gaze back to Bentinck.

“Yes, sir.” Bentinck nodded once. It certainly wasn’t an impossible order, and he trusted Anne to stay true to her vow. He reached out to squeeze her hand once to reassure her.

“Are you done now?” Bidloo looked up, holding a lighter in one hand and his phone in the other. “I want to get out of here.”

“You can leave whenever you like, you know.” William glared back at him.

“No, idiot, I can’t,” Bidloo said. He stood up and stretched. “Been with you all night just to tell you that you need to stop dying.”

Bentinck winced, and the fur on William’s tail stood straight up. “You don’t think I know that, you—”

“Well, clearly whatever your strategy is isn’t working,” Bidloo calmly interrupted. “You told me once before that you were working on getting the Earl of Albemarle to come to you. Hurry it up.”

Albemarle! Bentinck’s blood ran cold as he remembered the sharp-toothed grin the fox spirit had flashed at him, right before Anne had knocked him out. That beast had been out to kill.

“I’m trying,” William began, but Bentinck cleared his throat.

“Actually, Anne and I came across him at the- the abandoned mall we went to,” he said, hoping the mention of the place wouldn’t stir up memories that were too unpleasant. “I was going to capture him, but Anne, she- um—”

“Anne, huh.” William sighed, falling back on the bed. “By all the stars. And you didn’t think that was the first thing you should have brought up?”

“Sounds like maybe he isn’t so elusive to you, after all,” Bidloo said. “You go there and see if you can track him down again. It would save me a lot of trouble, and the whole rest of the world, too.”

“Some doctor you make,” William growled. “Aren’t you supposed to give me the prescription yourself?”

Bidloo let out a high, bitter laugh. “Oh, no, I’m not spending any more time with you than I have to. You and your Ally can handle it.” He opened the door to leave, lighting a cigarette as he did so. “But actually handle it. Those are my orders, William, not as your doctor, not as your subordinate, but as someone who doesn’t want to see James rule the whole world.”

William blinked up at the ceiling. “Done.”

🝰🝰🝰

In the Mercia governorate lived the greatest Allies in the world, among them the ruler of Altos Diablos, watching the nation from his place so far up among the clouds. Mary had never really understood Ally Lucky Balcer, as he seemed ever so fond of the Stewarts when it must have been obvious to him the animosity they held towards him. At least James was much better at hiding his contempt than Charles had been. When he was ordered to report to the Administrative Hoerenkast, where every Master of the Devils reigned from in the governorate, he dropped everything he had planned for that day and set off almost immediately.

He took Mary and Marly with him, Maria being left to run the Disciples in Berufungsachse. Mary thought it a little offensive that he should not have left her in charge instead— she who was the heir! But James had made it clear that he wanted Mary beside him, and it would have been only Mary had it not been for the fact that an Ally was quite logical to bring to a Hoerenkast.

On the train ride there, however, James revealed a yet more flattering reason for bringing Mary along. As she stared dejectedly at her cigarette, smoking it for even a fraction of the thrill she got from her meth, James blew smoke out from his own lips towards her face.

“Mary,” he began, “we are going deep into enemy territory now. I want you to take out at least one Ally, preferably one of the governors. They’ll all be there, Lucky and I are meeting with them.”

“Whatever for?” Marly asked beside him.

“They’re trying to get a bill passed to limit the power of monopolies. They want my opinion, as a man who runs a few of them myself.” James paused to take a drag from his cigarette, then held it out towards Marly, who took his turn as well. “Lucky’s words, not mine. With luck I can get them to shut the fuck up about it.”

“Are you friendly with Lucky?” Mary asked. She had been wondering about it since the day she’d been caught by the Master and his Doves, noting how easily it was for him to forgive her. He had asked her to take a message to James, simply don’t do this again. And now this...

“Stars above, no,” James said, rolling his eyes. “But Charles was, in his...way. I suppose his influence is still felt.” He flicked his tail, dismissing the matter. “Oh, you know how it is with us. In any case, the order stands, Mary.”

“I’ll do my best.” She bowed her head, though inwardly she was panicking a little. How was she supposed to do this sober? Her father hadn’t given her methamphetamine for a few days now. She was exhausted, her eyes fluttering through a damnable headache that would certainly make it harder to aim her gun or blade.

More importantly, it wasn’t fun like this, and ecstasy would only make it worse. She was tempted to tell her father, but he had always been adamant that she was a better assassin when she wasn’t high. He might have been correct nearly a decade ago.

Truly, have you not been paying attention this whole time? She didn’t dare ask the question that would displease him more. Instead, she focused on taking all that she could from the cigarette she held.

Supposedly, when she was younger she had been taken into the Administrative Hoerenkast with her father and uncle, but she remembered nothing of it, nor did she remember the rest of Mercia very well. The governorate where she had been born was crowded today with Doves at every corner, though the streets of the capital city, Ferociudad, seemed emptier when compared to New Amsterdam. This was not a place where just anybody could be expected to survive.

Inside the Hoerenkast, there were far more Doves guarding the place, standing on the numerous floors above them and glaring down at the guests through their masks. The shadows seemed to get darker near the top, but Mary could still see the brilliant eyes blinking at her. At any moment they were ready to aim their guns down at her.

If I fuck this up even a little...

“Did you want to come in with me?” James asked her, his tail flicking at the edge of her vision.

“It sounds boring,” she admitted. “Why don’t you take Marly?”

Take him if you like him so much, she added darkly to herself. Marly glanced at her, stepping closer to her father as they walked.

“I will,” James said. “I suppose, then, you will wait here and—?”

“Are the governors here yet?” Mary asked in a hushed voice. Almost immediately, the Doves leaned in closer from their places above.

“Yes. You’ll have to wait until we’re done.”

Are you kidding me? Had he set her up to fail on purpose? She shook herself and began to look around for any quick exits, the ones that wouldn’t set off any alarms, out of sight from the Doves. She noticed, too, that everything echoed here, so shooting wouldn’t be an option.

I could try poison. She knew they were also invited to dine here, and it was certainly easier, for she could expect no fight from her chosen target. Devils below, if she was quick enough, she could even kill all of them.

“Ah, James Stewart!” came the greeting from down the hall. Mary recognized the voice, though it was quite different hearing it sober now. She looked up, saw Ally Lucky walking towards them, as always with a few Doves at his side. “You came, love!”

“There was no reason why I shouldn’t have,” James said, rolling his eyes. He stepped back as Lucky approached, laughing and patting his shoulder as if he were greeting an old friend. At this, Marly drew back, looking Lucky up and down.

“How are you, dear?” Lucky asked. “You look worse when you’re not covered in stars, you know. Oh, but you are a lion!” He ran his hand through James’ hair, and Mary narrowed her eyes.

Who the fuck does he think he is? For whatever reason, this was the one Ally whom Mary was forbidden to kill, when he seemed the most insufferable to her out of all of them. All Allies acted as if they owned everyone who spoke to them, but to do it to James, who held more power than anyone else— he deserved to die!

“Please, sir,” James said in a voice remarkably calm for him. “I am here on official business.”

“Ever so dedicated,” Lucky cooed. He glanced at Mary and Marly, his smile spreading wider in a way that made Mary’s skin crawl. She knew false kindness when she saw it. “Hello again, Mary. Will you be joining us?”

“Oh, n-no,” Mary said, glancing at James. “I can wait out here.” She felt the Doves glaring at her. They surely recognized her from when they had last seen her, though this time instead of it being obvious that she was high, today it was too obvious that she wasn’t. But what was she to do? James knew how she got in withdrawal, and had brought her along anyway.

“Stay out of trouble,” was the last thing James said before following Lucky down the hall. Marly smiled at her not unlike Lucky had, and then they left her standing there alone, watching them go through lidded eyes. How tempted she was to throw her blades at them.

Even you, James, she thought, though she immediately felt sick at the idea. She turned around and left them as they were.

The water in this Hoerenkast ran far longer than any of the streams back home, leading her to a kind of waterfall that fell in front of the entrance to a grand meeting room. The most faithful followers of whatever Ally sat here would have to step through the water to see their idol.

But there was no one here, so there was no need to show such foolish reverence. Instead she simply squeezed through the gap in between the entrance and the water, skipping through the little stream and nearly falling into the room.

It was as if she had stepped into a jungle; it was strangely humid in here, patches of sunlight beaming down upon the throne in the middle of the room. The rest of the room was dark, but she could see plants hanging from the ceiling, as well as the spot in front of the throne where the stream formed into a gentle spring. As she stepped towards it, lights from beneath the water flickered on as if they had sensed her, highlighting a single goldfish swimming alone.

Hm. Real pretty in here. She looked up when she heard a small meow come from behind the throne.

It was a pure white cat, staring at her curiously. It stepped back as Mary sat down in front of the spring, then ducked behind the throne, its tail flicking from side to side. Its gaze dropped to the fish.

“What, did you want to eat it?” Mary asked in amusement.

“Lady Mary.” A deep voice called her name behind her, and the cat ran off into the darkness, much to Mary’s disappointment. She looked back, glaring at the masked Dove standing in front of the waterfall.

“Hello,” she said. “Want a picture?”

“No.” The Dove tilted his head to the side. “My children watch you. Even after I told them that you tried to kill Master Lucky and that I have seen you in such a miserable state for a girl of your status. Even after I described the tattoo on your neck in great detail.”

“You haven’t seen it,” Mary said. “Quit lying to your kids, they deserve better.”

“We all know what a Disciple’s tattoo looks like,” the Dove said. “And we know why you’re here.” He twitched his tail behind him, and a couple other Doves stepped through the water, already holding their spears out.

Ugh. She began to reach for her spells, her favorite knife.

“You are here to kill him again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just you,” Mary said. With that, she took a slip of paper from her pocket and ripped through it with her knife, yelling, “Accelerami!”

It was a spell written by Maria, though it had sounded too good to be true to Mary. And yet, it worked to make her practically fly through the air, the Doves before her nearly frozen in time except for the slight movement of their arms as they began to lift their spears. She paused for a moment, remembering Maria’s instructions on how to make use of the spell.

You may get as close to your enemies as possible, but the moment you touch them, your speed will return to normal. Use it once, to finish a fight.

How was she to finish this? She held the knife up to the lead Dove’s throat, then braced herself before shoving the mask up to make room for the blade to pierce through the skin. She shoved it far deeper then she had intended to as she slowed down again, and the assisting Doves sprung back in shock. Blood rained down on them as she pulled the knife out, letting the Dove fall beneath her.

“What kind of spell—?” one Dove uttered in horror. “Only devils reach such speeds!”

“I wasn’t intending to kill you,” Mary said. She looked down, realizing that the body was bleeding out into the stream. She kicked it away, but it was too late; she could see the blood running through the water already, and certainly others would as well. “Now look at what you’ve done—!”

“Who cares, just shoot her already!” The other Dove reached for her gun, and Mary panicked, kicking out hard at the stream before her. The water splashed the Doves, who instinctively lifted their tails to shield themselves. She caught them in her hand and pulled back, bringing them towards her and shoving her knee up into one Dove’s belly. He fell in the stream, and Mary took his spear, swinging it around towards the Dove that was still standing.

“I’ll kill both of you like I killed your friend here,” she said. “I can cast the spell again and you won’t even have time to reminisce on your lifetime. It’s just—” She snapped. “Lights out.”

“Cheater,” hissed the standing Dove. She lifted her head, ever so slightly, but Mary saw it. She turned around in time to knock the gun out of the other Dove’s hands, realizing with a new wave of nausea that it had been pointed straight at her head.

“Devils below, you never learn!” Mary shoved her spear into the Dove’s thigh, throwing another one of Maria’s spells behind her. “Return to your master!”

Just as she predicted, the Dove behind her shot at Mary, but the bullet never reached her. Mary tore the spear out of the Dove in front of her, kicking him back towards the ground, and turned around to see the other Dove falling back against the wall. There was blood pouring from a clean hole in her chest, which heaved up and down desperately for breath.

“Who- who taught you such things?” she heard her remaining opponent ask with a shaky voice. It sounded distant through the ringing in her ears.

“Well, I don’t know where she learned it from, either,” she answered, out of breath herself. She pushed her hair back and pointed the spear back down at the Dove’s chest. “You call yourselves Doves? Protectors of the Master? It’s little wonder this government has grown to be as weak as it is.” She raised the spear above her and slashed it with finality across his throat.

Oh, James help me. She remained there for a moment, wrinkling her nose at the scent of the blood on her clothes and the floor. If anyone came in now, they would see what a mess she’d made of things. They would finally see her for who she was, a murderer, and then they would turn towards James and know that the Disciples of Restoration were still in operation after all.

This really didn’t have to happen! Truly, it was their suspicion that had killed them. Of course, they’d been right, but how wrong they were to think they could have protected anyone. She took one by the horns and began to drag him to the back of the room, nearly stumbling over the stream.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she huffed, dropping the body again. Even if she hid them all now, they would be found eventually, and it would all be traced back to her. But that didn’t matter much when she remembered just how loud the gunshot had been. Had the rushing waterfall been enough to stop the sound from reaching any other Dove?

Surely not. She leaned back on the throne and brought a hand over her eyes. They’re going to catch me, and James—

He would kill her, maybe. There were only so many failures he could take from her. It would be a mercy, however, if it would spare her from going to one of the rehabilitation facilities, especially the one where that Devil doctor, Govert Bidloo, ran the show.

“Two minutes until they arrive.”

“Huh?” Mary looked down, thinking for a moment that one of the Doves was still alive.

She saw only the fish staring up at her. It turned this way and that, and then said, “Need some help?”

“Oh?” She decided to humor her hallucinations this time, induced by the grief of her brain, longing for the stupid crystals that only impaled and disfigured it. What a foolish, poor head she carried on her body; she considered putting it out of its misery with one of the guns here as she stared at the fish that had been made an actor against its will, taking orders from the director, psychosis.

“I could take these clowns with me,” said the fish. “I could wash the blood from your hands. I ask no favors, but you will remember my deeds forever, do you understand? You must.”

“Yeah, nice try,” Mary said. “I wish it were so easy.”

“Nothing is so difficult for a dwaallicht remnant.” The fish jumped out of the water then, spreading its fins which became wings, and then humanoid arms, its body becoming longer and larger. It fell forward on the ground, sitting up on its claws and looking back at Mary.

Indeed, it appeared to be a humanoid spirit, wearing little save for an orange silk in between his legs, and golden bracelets which matched the color of the fins on his limbs. The scales on his tail were far more varied in color, as were the ones on his face, forming into fins above his head that acted as some kind of elegant mane. He curled his lips back in a smile, revealing dozens of needle-like teeth.

“Wow,” Mary said, though she couldn’t find it in herself to be impressed. “So you’re real?”

“Let’s see.” The goldfish spirit smacked his tail against the water, splashing Mary’s legs. “How’s that?”

“Stop that!” She stepped back. “You said you could help me, didn’t you?”

The spirit hummed thoughtfully. “One minute left. Do you accept?”

“Alright,” Mary said, unable to think of anything else to say. It wasn’t as if she had any better ideas.

The spirit laughed and opened his mouth wide. His tongue began to roll out of his mouth endlessly, and it kept going as he took the bodies, one by one, all in a single hand. He scooted back into the spring and clawed at the water with his feet, pushing the bodies in with his tail. They disappeared as soon as they hit the water, sliding in as if they went to another world. And yet, the water remained clean and still.

The fish then swiped his tongue about the place, flicking it up and down to wipe the blood off of every surface. He then turned to Mary and ran his tongue over her body as well, the blood sliding off easily with the saliva. Somehow, she remained dry, save for her hair.

I can’t just be seeing this, right? She stared at her reflection in the spring, her appearance now only as unkempt as it had been when she had first arrived.

“What sort of magic is this?” she asked.

The spirit rolled his tongue back into his mouth and grinned. “You, too, can learn it. Now, I must be on my way, for in ten seconds the Doves will arrive here, and you must have a good excuse.”

“Hold on,” Mary said. “I know you asked for nothing, but can I offer you something, anyway?”

“What?”

“You could always come eat me out, if you want.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Truly?” Then he jumped in the air and back into the spring, and in an instant he was a fish again. He dipped into the very bottom and disappeared with a mere plip! of the water.

She heard the rush of the waterfall briefly interrupted by rather harsh footsteps, and she looked up at the few Doves that had entered the room. As they did so, the white cat she had seen earlier bounded in front of her, pressing itself against her legs with a loud purr.

“Mary Stewart,” one of the Doves greeted her, too polite to have been one to recognize her. “We- we heard a sound—”

“I did, too,” Mary said. “I thought it came from outside.” She glanced down at the cat. “I like the kitty you have here.”

“The kit- I mean, the cat belongs to Lady Ildicó,” the Dove replied. “In a sense. One day, as she knelt down before this very spring to drink from it, the cat bounded out from within her crowd of followers and went up to drink with her. Since then the cat has lived here, waiting for whenever she returns to visit her father.”

Ildicó Balcer. Mary recognized the name, for the daughter of Master Lucky was one of the most famous and beloved Allies in the world, admired more than even her father. She could not, however, remember exactly what that woman did.

“Is she here today?” Mary asked. “As one of the thirteen governors?”

“Yes, she’s the governor of Berufungsachse.” The Dove tilted his head to the side. “You live there, I thought you might have known this.”

“I, um—” Mary laughed. “Oh, well. You know. Not really into politics. I mean, I’ve never voted in my life, really.” She shrugged, changing the subject. “Why on earth would she drink from the spring, though?”

“Does it every time she meets with her followers here,” said another Dove. “To give thanks to the city that raised her. She’ll do it again tonight.”

“Ah. I hope to be there, then.” She paused, then added, “I want to leave an offering.”

The Doves bowed their heads and left her there, presumably to pray. Instead she waited until all was fully silent before she took a vial of what was supposed to be a deadly poison out of her bag. It might have been thallium, some fancy shit like that, but she could hardly remember what James had been saying to her the day he had given her the vials. She just knew it would kill.

She opened the vial and poured its contents neatly into the spring. She watched the powder dissolve for a moment, and then she looked at the cat, staring up at her with its brilliant green eyes.

“Do not drink from this when your lady does,” she instructed it. “There’s my offering.”

The governor of Berufungsachse— James would be so very, very pleased.

🝰🝰🝰

William could hardly hear the words of the hushed voices behind him, but he knew that they spoke of him. He was leaning against the window of the car, right beside Bentinck, who was one of the voices; quite improper, if you asked William, since he was also the one driving. He clenched his fist and looked to the side, where his milkshake shook over the cupholder. He took it and slurped on it loudly, interrupting the conversation behind him.

“How is it?” Bentinck asked after a moment.

“The shake? Fine.” William set it down again and sat up to face his friend. “Are you absolutely sure you did not sense the Earl there? It’s not unheard of for spirits to be able to hide their presence.”

They had gone back to that abandoned mall the day before, even if William had felt the fur on his tail bristling as soon as he had stepped into the shadows. He was supposed to be looking for Albemarle, but he’d only been waiting for Elizabeth Villiers to jump out at him again, her fingers digging into his hair just to smash his head against the wall. He had tried to fight back, of course, even trying to land a bite here and there, but she’d been incredibly quick, and he was not used to surprises. Even if he should have expected no less from a Disciple of Restoration.

Much to his relief, however, they’d gotten out of there quickly after Bentinck had announced that he sensed no presence of any remnant here. It made sense; Albemarle had been sighted here once, it certainly would not be the last time if he stayed where he was, but it annoyed William to no end. Now they had to drive up north of Berufungsachse, to one of the only shrines dedicated to the fox. He was as loved as he was hated for all the blood he had spilled throughout the centuries, and it was unknown if he would appreciate the shrine enough to stay away from the visitors, or if it would instead attract him to the taste of their adoring blood.

As glad as he was to be out of there, it was beneath an Overlifer to visit a remnant shrine, and this one in particular was two hours away from New Amsterdam by car. He’d been tempted to take a jet, but Bentinck had dissuaded him of it, saying they couldn’t risk bringing attention to them now, just as they were about to catch one of the most famous spirits in the history of the Four Kingdoms. Albemarle had always been wanted and hunted— whoever was the one to catch him would only be the next target, but William had other plans.

So it was just the three of them, in Bentinck’s car, with Anne sitting behind them. She’d just been leaning forward to speak to Bentinck, but now she lay back, sipping on her own milkshake that they’d stopped for twenty minutes before.

“Are you doubting him?” she asked. “You might have seen something, too, Overlifer.”

“It’s not something I was trained for,” William said, rolling his eyes. “I just don’t want to go all the way up here to waste time.”

“It would have been quite a fuss to fly over here, anyway,” Bentinck cut in. “Just relax, William. We have an hour left. You can take a nap.”

“This isn’t one of your usual cars, is it?”

“No.” He reached out to pat William’s hand. “You didn’t, ah, tell the Disciples about this, right? They didn’t...get any information out of you?”

“As if I would ever let them get anything out of me.” William lashed his tail upwards, catching it and inspecting the tip. It was hard to believe it had ever been broken, hard to believe—

Count. One, two, three.

He let go of his tail with an involuntary shudder. How easily the numbers had spilled forth from him, as if Spencer had taken control of his tongue. But it would not happen again, he swore that now. Surely a broken tail was a more tolerable pain the second time. Besides, it was a meaningless list. A simple order. It’d be much harder to get him to admit to anything else.

If you think you have me, Spencer...you’re mistaken. He swallowed. It felt as if his neck had started to burn, right where the gloved hands had caressed and lifted his head.

I’m not that easy. I’m not that—

“William.” That was Bentinck. “You’re safe here.”

“Hm?” William looked up, forcing out a bitter laugh. “W-Well, yeah, obviously. I know that.” He brought a hand over his chest, realizing his breathing had sped up, slightly so. Had Bentinck noticed?

“Drink your shake, it’s cold.”

“I know.” William sighed and lifted the straw back to his lips. “Just wish you would have brought something better to drink.”

“Are you telling him to drink and drive?” Anne barked out behind him.

“No, I’m saying that I can drink, he can drive,” William said. “Nothing illegal about that. Encouraged, even. Right, Hanni?” He leaned on Bentinck’s arm. “Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.”

“I just think we should all be sober before we have to capture a deadly spirit,” Bentinck said.

“You know you like me better when I’m drunk.” William flashed Anne a smug smile before looking back out the window, turning up the volume on the radio. “Wait, shut up. I like this song.”

“Never heard it,” Bentinck said.

William opened the window, narrowing his eyes slightly against the wind. “Shame. It’s an honor to join the choir of an Overlifer.” He smiled, genuinely this time, and took a breath before raising his voice over the violins.

“Oyfn furl ligt dos kelbl,

Ligt gebundn mit a shtrik.

Hoykh in himl flit dos shvelbl,

Freyt zikh, dreyt zikh hin un tsrik.”

They arrived at the shrine about twenty minutes after another stop, this time insisted on by William, who admittedly could not resist even the worst of beers from the gas station. He drank two cans before they had even exited the highway, and one more as they drove through the city of Nayaflitt. It was quieter here, and significantly less wealthy, William noted with a displeased flick of his tail. At the very least, one could see the sky here.

“The shrine is behind one of the Hoerenkasten here,” Bentinck said once he had parked the car. “I’d like to have a word with the bitch who decided that a little spirit’s shrine is worthy enough to be anywhere near an Ally’s meeting place.”

“Neither of you matter under mine divine eyes,” William declared.

“Isn’t he your fucking friend?” Anne glared at him.

“Well, yes, but if he matters then that is why. Not because of—” William flicked a finger out towards Bentinck’s unnaturally dark gaze as well as the ridiculous outfit chosen for today, complete with a corset, a blue and white skirt, and thigh-high stockings. “All this.”

“It’s the greatest honor I could ask for,” Bentinck said, smiling at William’s waving hand.

The servants at the Hoerenkast were quite startled to see that an Ally and his handler were visiting, bowing profusely and kissing Bentinck’s hand in greeting. They rushed to ask if it was a meeting room he needed, if he intended to stay for the night, but Bentinck explained that they were merely here to visit the Albemarle shrine, and that if all visitors could be cleared out from it so that he would be alone, that would be perfect.

“Your followers are so obnoxious,” William muttered through his mask as they bounded through the halls. The Hoerenkast here wasn’t as large as the ones at home, and nowhere near as splendidly decorated— there wasn’t even a stream that William could see. There were, however, stained glass windows, showcasing history’s bravest Allies and fiercest devils.

“One day you’ll be in my place, William,” Bentinck said. He glanced up at the windows. “That’ll be you there.”

“Yeah, cheer up, soon we’ll have to look at you everywhere we go,” Anne said. “Doesn’t that sound fun? We look out our windows, it’s you; we turn on the TV, it’s you; we go for a stroll in the park, it’s you.” She trailed off and stepped closer to Bentinck.

With everyone’s gaze upon him. Wasn’t that what he had always wished for, as a boy? He would be happy when the whole world could only look up at him.

They’re looking at me. They’re all looking at me, and I—

There was a presence behind him again, the same one that had been there when he had knelt on the ground, the chain about to swing back down on him. And they were all watching him scream.

Ugh. He turned around, so briefly that Bentinck and Anne didn’t notice, but it did the trick. There was no one there, after all. He bowed his head and kept walking.

The shrine itself looked like just another meeting room to William, though the entrance was far smaller, so that both Bentinck and Anne had to duck to enter. They were met with a great altar in the center of the dark room, dozens of spears propped up on the walls, surrounded by masks that resembled white foxes. Two tapestries hung at the back of the room, singing praises in Infernal.

“William,” Bentinck said. “Light a candle.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“You’ve got a mask, don’t you?” Anne asked.

“Alright, enough,” Bentinck said. “I’m just saying that since he’s on his fourth life, he should be able to do some minor Western spells. Eastern, even, with his ancestry.”

“Don’t talk about my Eastern blood to my face.” William shook himself out. It was strangely cold in here for a Hoerenkast, and yet he realized he was sweating, his gaze unfocused as he looked around. Maybe he had been drinking too fast.

I could try. He didn’t think an explosive spell like the one Mary’s sister had cast would work without the paper, but maybe something small...to light a candle, like Bentinck said. He walked towards the altar.

“Light my way,” he said, snapping his fingers just over the wick of a candle that sat atop a plate shaped like a scallop, right beside a wooden fox figurine. It seemed like a hazard, in his opinion, but the subsequent spark that came from his fingers was small, and the flame stayed where it belonged. 

“Aw, William, look at that!” Bentinck exclaimed. “I told you you could do it. You get more powerful with each day.”

“Well, that would have been useful.” William drew away and looked around the room. “You gettin’ any presence of the spirit yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then we’re going to need a summoning circle, right?” Anne asked.

“Maybe if either of you brought something to draw with,” William said. “I didn’t.”

They fell silent for a moment, then Anne piped up. “I have an idea. Hans and I accidentally summoned the creature at the mall, when I blew him to entertain the other spirits that were there. Maybe if we did something like that...”

“Are you telling me you want me to watch you two go at it here?” William frowned. “I’ve seen more of him than you have. Besides, we’ve tried doing that this whole time and we haven’t sensed him once.”

“Maybe he just liked me more,” Anne said with a shrug. “I don’t see why there’s any reason he should reject us if we draw a summoning circle out of Ally semen, though.”

Bentinck started laughing. “I- I mean, if you want to do that, I wouldn’t mind.”

William sighed. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” He brought his hand up over his mask, thinking for a moment. It had worked, after weeks of trying, only when he wasn’t there to see it. What a truly insolent spirit. He knew what he was doing.

He dropped to his knees in front of Bentinck, slipping off his mask and setting it aside. “Alright, then. Masturbate.”

“On your face?” Anne said doubtfully. “Aren’t you going to blow him, too?”

“I don’t want to swallow it if we’re going to draw the circle with it.”

Bentinck’s face flushed, and he laughed nervously, glancing at Anne. “Oh, dear...William, I’m not so sure—”

“Want Anne down here with me? Alright, Anne, get over here.”

“Mm, very well,” Anne said, not at all hesitating. She sat down beside William and smiled up at Bentinck, reaching up to pat his thigh. “Go on, we’ll be right here! You’ll do so good, I just know it.”

Bentinck made a clear effort to swallow before pulling down his skirt, slipping out his cock that was noticeably hardening already. William leaned forward to press his cheek against it. His breath quickened for  a moment, but he lifted his hand to his chest, willing himself to keep quiet.

“Oh,” Bentinck said. “Ah, well—” He began to stroke his hand up and down his cock, until William could tell when it had reached his full length. He backed away, his tail twitching.

“You know, you can imagine whatever you like,” Anne said, her eyes glittering.

“Don’t make me do some crazy shit, though,” William said.

“Ah- fuck—” Bentinck was stroking faster now, his eyes lidded. “C-Can’t one of you just suck it?”

“Can’t you even fuck yourself properly?!” William growled through gritted teeth. “I’m not doing anything in front of Anne.”

Anne laughed and spit onto Bentinck’s cock, but didn’t move any closer. “Will that help?”

“Y-Yes, thank you...” Bentinck huffed and continued. William saw him bite his lip and guessed that he was already close.

Too damn easy. He wished he could have been more intoxicated for this, but nonetheless he turned to Anne and brought her closer to kiss her, one eye kept up on Bentinck. She seemed to understand, for she leaned in as well and met William in quite a repulsive kiss, if you asked him. Still, he made sure Bentinck could hear his sigh.

“So fucking cute,” Bentinck grunted. It was a few minutes before he finally came, though William shuffled away to leave it on the floor instead. At this Anne looked a little dejected, but she did the same.

“That was very good, Hans,” she said. “Look how much we have now!”

“Yeah, great, perfect,” William said, rolling his eyes. He was absolutely going to wash his mouth out as soon as he could. “Now, are you going to draw the summoning circle?”

“I don’t know it,” Anne retorted.

“I, uh- I don’t, either.” Bentinck still looked flushed, trying to catch his breath. Anne stood up beside him and leaned in to kiss his cheek, and William looked down at the mess on the floor. He had memorized all the summoning circles for the Prostitutes of the West a long time ago.

“The one Hoerenkast without a stream, of course,” he muttered. He placed a finger in Bentinck’s cum and began to trace out the circle across the floor, as big as he could with the amount he had. He heard Bentinck laugh awkwardly behind him as he pulled up his skirt again.

At last William knelt down before the circle, nearly falling over as he did so but hiding it well. He was quite dizzy now, and he wished he had taken some water from the servants. He would need to be fully lucid for this.

He leaned forward and tapped his hand over the center of the circle. “Come to me, fox,” he whispered.

To both his surprise and amusement, the circle began to glow, and he shuffled back beside Bentinck, his tail twitching in anticipation. Bentinck straightened up suddenly, his eyes narrowed.

“Is he here?” Anne asked him.

“I’m starting to sense him...”

“Get ready to capture him as soon as he comes out, then.” William shoved his hand in his pocket, quickly checking to see if all his most important spells were there. Anne loaded her gun, and as William glanced at her he realized it was the same one that she had forced down his throat.

What the—

“Wrong way!” a delighted voice yelled out behind them. Before either of them could turn around William felt sharp teeth, like that of a dog’s, dig into his neck, jerking him to the side with enough force so that he slammed hard into the wall, horns first.

Shit. He looked up, dazed, and saw the beautiful spirit in the form of a young man smiling triumphantly down at him, drops of blood staining his toothy grin. William had often heard of how breathtaking the creature was, with his ashen hair that had grown all the way down to his white, bushy tail, matching the small, pointed ears on his head. But it was another thing to witness this himself, to look up and see the clever blue gaze flicking down to meet his own.

“You- you are the Earl,” he breathed out. He lifted his hand to the wounds on the back of his neck; thankfully, they were shallow.

“And you are going to die,” Albemarle said pleasantly. “Fools, the lot of you. You had no need for such a drastic summoning circle if I was already in the same realm as you.” He bowed low, his torn black dress nearly slipping off his shoulders as he did so. “I merely obeyed your call so I could come destroy you at last.”

“Damned beast!” Bentinck tore a spear off the wall and pointed it at Albemarle with a vicious snarl entirely unfitting for him. “If you surrender now then I won’t have to sedate you. It is the greatest honor to serve an Overlifer—”

“This Overlifer?” Albemarle barked out a laugh. “Oh, but he is even smaller than I could have ever imagined! He is all bark, no bite whatsoever, like all of the others.” He turned around to face Bentinck. “Ah, Lord Portland, how the mighty do fall. I never thought I would see you so desperate to please me.”

“It is an Ally’s purpose to submit to the will of the Overlifers!” Bentinck spat. “As it is the purpose of all dwaallicht remnants.” He brought his spear back in, then pointed it directly at the ground. “Enough of this. By the ancient order of the dwaallichten who created our Earth—” He shoved the spear nearly all the way through the tiled floor, and the sharp end came out of the wall, right above William’s head.

“Shut your mouth!” Albemarle hissed, springing forward before the spear could go through him. He raised what William believed to be his arm, hidden by an exceedingly long sleeve that widened as it approached and dragged on the floor. It was rather unusual, as his other arm was uncovered save for a long glove that still showed off his fingers and claws. But a strange glint at the bottom of the sleeve caught William’s eye.

“Bentinck, get out of the way—!” he called out, just as Albemarle flung his sleeve forward with all his strength before he had even reached Bentinck. It was like a ferocious swipe of a fox’s paw, and, just like any other paw, there were huge, thick claws sewn into the end of the fabric. Sharper and more precise than any blade of steel.

Despite William’s warning, Bentinck clearly hadn’t been expecting it, as he’d been pulling his spear back up, thinking he had enough time before Albemarle reached him. The weight of the claws, however, knocked it out his hand, then drove through his stomach.

“Hans!” William scrambled up to his feet, crying out at the same time Anne did. He was unsteady, he realized, and whether it was the loss of blood at his neck or the drinks he could not say.

“Miss Villiers!” Albemarle grinned at Anne, standing triumphantly over Bentinck, who had dropped to the floor, clutching at his wounds. “I’m surprised to see you here after you stopped him last time.”

“I didn’t do it for you!” Anne shot at him twice, and he jumped swiftly up in the air, transforming into a lithe, white fox.

“So you want to play hunter now?” Albemarle landed on Bentinck’s shoulders, bowing his head to sniff at his wounds. “Ah, how divine! You have many years left in you, far more than anyone else here! Even more than your Overlifer!”

“Get off of me, rat!” Bentinck grunted, taking Albemarle by the scruff of his neck and flinging him at the wall. The spirit returned to his humanoid form as soon as he hit it, falling to his knees for a moment.

“W-Well, my lord,” he said through gritted teeth, getting back up with some effort. “What great strength. You have not changed a thing about yourself, have you?”

William rushed to Bentinck’s side. “How deep is it?” He ducked down and held his hand up to the open wounds. Bentinck winced.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said. “I-I can still fight.”

“Nonsense, stay down.”

“But you said—”

“That’s an order, Bentinck. I can handle a spirit.” William stood up and smiled ruefully down at him. “Besides, you already did the work of the circle, didn’t you?” With that, he picked up the spear that Bentinck had dropped and threw a spell in the air.

“All blades become bullets!” he shouted in Infernal as he slashed through the paper with the spear. He then swung the spear to the side, bright orange reflections of the blade flying off of it like thrown knives. Most landed on the floor and wall and disappeared upon impact, but a few got caught in the tangle between Anne and Albemarle. She’d been stabbing at every open spot on Albemarle’s body with her own spear, though unable to land anything as he transformed from human to fox and then to human again.

He didn’t have time to bounce away as one reflection landed deep in his thigh. He ducked back with a shriek, just in time to dodge the other two, and Anne rolled to the side, her eyes widening.

“Damnit, William, you could have hit me!” she yelled.

“Keep fighting him!” William called back. He took out another spell, murmuring, “Écartez vos ailes, Majesté.” As the paper burned away in his fingers, the shadows on the wall reached out towards him, and he willingly stepped into them, allowing the claws of the Southern Kingdom to hide him. He flipped the spear over onto the blunt end.

“Y-You think this will stop me?” Albemarle laughed, holding his hand over the wound on his thigh. “This will heal in no time at all. I have survived far worse things—” He began to step away from Anne, who glared at him, clutching her spear to her chest.

William came up behind him, raising the spear high above him as Albemarle continued to back away, hissing and lashing his tail. Anne paused, as if she had seen the shadows move strangely behind the spirit. Before Albemarle could notice the look, William smacked the spear as hard as he could on his head.

It knocked him to the side and into the altar, and William shook off the shadows to reveal himself. Albemarle blinked up at him, evidently dazed, before William gripped his hair and pulled him up to his feet.

“Ah, you wanted to run already?” William asked. “That’s always been your thing, hasn’t it, my child? Always running away, leaving a trail of blood in your wake.”

“You are certainly in no position to say such a thing,” Albemarle growled, his ears slicking back. He began to lift his claws towards William’s hand, and William threw him to the ground, towards Bentinck. He flicked his tail once.

Bentinck sprung at the gesture, sinking his fangs into Albemarle’s neck before the latter could get up again. Albemarle flinched, biting his lip lightly, but said nothing as Bentinck backed away and spoke the word that every one of his opponents so hated.

“Relax.”

Albemarle had no choice but to obey, bowing his head but keeping a wary eye on Bentinck. He bared his teeth as William and Anne approached.

“You have me now, does it please you?”

“Very much,” William said, strapping the gas mask back on his face. He buried his hand back in the hair behind Albemarle’s neck, much as if he were scruffing a fox. “You could have come to see me without a fight, you know. You could have been a guest and not a prisoner.”

“I...have enough dignity to refuse to...to submit to an Overlifer who wishes to use my body,” Albemarle said.

“Use your body- no, no, that’s never what I intended.” William shook his head. “I wanted to speak with you, maybe strike a deal of some sort, but then you had to attack and cause all this.”

“It was you who- who wanted to capture me— ‘tis what you said—”

“By the order of the dwaallichten who created our Earth, I command you to be silent,” Bentinck said. Anne helped him stand, blinking anxiously down at his wounds. “You will do as William commands. You’ve ignored his calls for too long. That’s a lot of nerve for a dwaallicht spirit.”

Albemarle lashed his tail, keeping his fierce gaze on Bentinck as William began to drag him out of the room. All things considered, he was remarkably docile, William noted with pleasure; maybe an Overlifer wasn’t valid under those flashing eyes, but an Ally always would be. And yet...nobody had to know that.

“Hurry up,” he called behind him, picking up his speed. “I think the servants would like to see this.”

“The servants?” Anne echoed. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing here.”

“We’ve just caught what is perhaps the most desired spirit in the world.” William lifted Albemarle up slightly. “Are you kidding me? Let the Disciples see just how invincible their enemy is now.”

“They’ll want to take him from you,” Anne said. “Especially James. If he knows where Albemarle is now, he’ll stop at nothing to capture him. And Marly is, well—” She glanced over at Bentinck. “He’s more skilled than even Hans is.”

“But never as powerful as an Overlifer,” William said. “Let them come.” He saw the servants up ahead, as well as a few of the worshippers that had been cleared out of the shrine, and he waved his tail in greeting as they turned to look at him.

“Followers of Ally Bentinck and the Master of the Devils,” he announced, “I have captured one of the state’s greatest enemies. He has always killed to serve his own lifespan, and then fled without facing any of the consequences, but today he is tried as a human killer.” He lifted Albemarle up in the air, gripping his neck firmly. Though the spirit was around his own height, he was quite a lot lighter. “The Earl of Albemarle has been captured. The people of Altos Diablos have nothing left to fear from him.”

Albemarle’s face flushed as the people stared, as they stepped closer and then drew back as if he would pounce at them suddenly. One servant cleared his throat.

“W-Well, sir, with all due respect, what is a shrine without its spirit? Is that why you came here today, to catch him when he only expected to- to be able to grant a few prayers?”

“Worshipping a deadly spirit is a choice only masochists and cowards could make,” Bentinck cut in. “This pathetic beast tried to kill me.” He lifted his hand to show the blood on his stomach, and his subjects gasped. A couple servants bowed briefly towards him before directing him to sit down so they could look at his wounds. Anne hesitated before walking over to stand at William’s side.

“We were only defending ourselves,” William said. “And my lord will take care of him in his own Hoerenkast back home. He’ll be the last Ally he harms.” He brought Albemarle down towards his face, so close he could see the blood the fox had drawn on his teeth. Albemarle curled his lip back into the beginnings of a snarl.

“I have seen...everything,” he let out in a hissing whisper.

William stared back for a moment before dropping him back down to the ground, giving the small crowd around him a displeased look. A few of them were taking pictures of the spirit lying before them; good, as long as he showed up as well.

“The Western Defense Company has always been dedicated to the safety of every citizen of Altos Diablos,” he said, inciting the name of his most famous corporation, “as we all know that the threat of Grand Cabaret has never truly gone away. The continuous production of our firearms has kept them in their place thus far.” He could nearly scoff at the gleaming eyes of his audience. Had they forgotten his Grand Cabaretian grandmother so quickly? “But for too long the threat of such spirits has gone unchecked. Rest assured that Ally Bentinck and I will work endlessly to eliminate their insolence once and for all.”

“What do you intend to do with Lord Albemarle, sir?” another servant asked. “Do you intend to take advantage of...the legends we have heard of him?”

William rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. I have no need for it, I know my life will be as long and prosperous as that of my father. No, Albemarle will be killed. There is no reason a human should live beyond a century.”

“Killing such a powerful spirit? Can it be done?”

“The question is if it should.”

“He’s been a danger to humanity for the longest time...”

“Surely not so much that he needs to be killed! His power holds value!”

There were already new people trickling in, having seen the illustrious figures of William and Bentinck through the windows, only to be faced with none other than the Earl of Albemarle. The Earl himself tried to sit up, though he seemed too shaky to do so. He blinked expectantly up at William.

“Go on, my child, give them a smile.” William nudged his shoulder with his tail. “For whatever reason, they’re all afraid of you.”

🝰🝰🝰

Albemarle’s chest rose and fell, his youthful face covered by his tangled curls. Bentinck had finally ordered him to sleep, and he’d been perfectly peaceful since, lying as limp as a fox pelt when William had carried him up the stairs, into a guest bedroom. Even in this state, he seemed impossibly light.

Bentinck winced as Bidloo poked his last open wound with a needle, and the doctor looked up with a scowl. “How long were you and William with the news stations, again?”

“Trust me, it didn’t last long,” Bentinck lied. As soon as the city had found out, of course, then it’d been a mad scramble for the interviews with William, who was already so respected by the media and had long shaken off the bloody legacy of his grandmother. Oddly enough the stations hadn’t been so interested in speaking to Bentinck, rather they asked Anne for his opinion. It seemed they didn’t want anything to do with a bleeding Ally on camera.

So it had been a few hours before they could get back, and though Bentinck could already feel the lacerations healing, they were nowhere near fully sealed. He wondered how such a strange weapon could be so dangerous. Even now he saw the claws hidden under the long sleeve, which fell off the side of the bed and had nearly slid all the way down off Albemarle’s shoulder.

“Didn’t last long,” Bidloo mocked. “Yeah, well, no matter how long it takes, if you keep bleeding then it’ll be harder for your devil to heal you. If I’m not in there in time then you need to get to a fucking hospital, you hear me? This needed fucking stitches!” At the last word he roughly pulled the needle back out, and Bentinck bit his tongue, clenching his fists over the arms of his chair as Bidloo continued.

“You- you could be nicer about it,” he said. He swore Bidloo hadn’t numbed the wound only because he enjoyed seeing his patients in pain, a fact he had admitted to dozens of times before. But Bentinck didn’t bring it up now.

“I’m not taking shit from an Ally,” Bidloo muttered. At last, he finished and stood up, opening and closing a bloody, gloved fist. “Looks like the healing time might be more than twenty-four hours. Call me at the same time tomorrow so I can see how it is.”

“Thank you.” Bentinck bowed his head.

“As for that fox...” Bidloo turned towards Albemarle, pushing the furry tail to the side so he could see the wound on his thigh. It had already been bandaged. “How long does a spirit take to heal? Do you know?”

“With ones like these, I would say about the same time as an Ally.”

“Mm, well, his was much deeper than yours.” Bidloo ran his hand along Albemarle’s thigh. He’d wiped off the blood, though the white stocking that stopped at his knee was still heavily stained. “William didn’t curse the spear he used, did he?”

“I don’t think so,” Bentinck answered. “At least, not before he cast the Southern shadow spell.”

“Ah, that one.” Bidloo’s features softened. “You always hear about that spell in great legends or fairy tales, and yet, no one’s ever been able to cast it. An Ally hasn’t done so publicly in decades. It might as well never have existed.”

“But William has,” Bentinck said. “So it does exist.”

“William, oh, William,” Bidloo sighed. “I would ask myself what I would do without him if I didn’t already know.”

“And what is that?”

“Same as I’m doing now.” Bidloo shrugged and got up. “I’m surprised he actually listened to me this time. If he tries to fuck Albemarle tonight, tell him I wouldn’t advise it. I don’t want that wound opening again.”

“You’re hardly one to care,” Bentinck scoffed.

“If only because I don’t want to come here again anytime soon.” Bidloo flashed him a wide grin before stepping out, leaving Bentinck alone with the spirit.

Damn. He inhaled sharply as he looked over at Albemarle. He really is beautiful. He had to admit, it was one thing seeing him shrouded by shadow, glowing unnaturally as he had been in the mall, and it was another to see him now, lying still under the moonlight that was slowly rising through the window. His body was not unlike William’s, with that slender waist of his, though there was certainly more softness around his chest and thighs.

He looks younger, too. How was it possible, he asked himself, leaning forward to lift Albemarle’s face in his hand, that such an ancient spirit should appear more divinely timeless than William, an Overlifer who had only just reached his thirtieth year?

He should have savored the moment that he had been allowed to bite into Albemarle’s neck. He remembered, all too clearly, how the fierce, wiggling spirit had stiffened under him, how the fire had left his body but not his eyes. He’d felt the slight shudder as he had backed away, and had seen how the noble head had dropped as if in instinct. He’d thought nothing of it then, but regretted it now.

You know what your place is, after all. He let go of Albemarle just as William opened the door, Anne at his side.

“How was dinner?” Bentinck asked.

“Better than anything I usually have,” Anne said. She glanced down at the bandages on Bentinck’s belly. “Are you healing already?”

“Slowly, but yes.”

“And Albemarle?” Anne sat down on the bed, looking at him with an expression Bentinck couldn’t read. “He’s kind of cute, Hans.”

“I- I was thinking the same thing, but, um...” He trailed off as William stepped forward, dropping to his knees in front of the bed, resting his head right in front of Albemarle’s. His tail twitched once, twice.

“You’re not seriously going to fuck him tonight, are you?” Anne asked. “He’s still hurt. Besides, he’s got a right to be awake for it, and you won’t...rape him, right?” She glanced at Bentinck. “I mean, if Hans claims you’re so much better than James...”

“He is!” Bentinck cried. “But Albemarle is a spirit, and he must know that his raison d’être is the service of the greater powers above him— the Allies, the devils, but most importantly, the Overlifers.”

“Does that mean he must obey?”

“Yes!”

“And what if he doesn’t want to?” Anne’s eyes widened. “Will you go ahead with it anyway? Will you pressure him until he has no choice but to accept?”

“That- those are no- spirits cannot—” Bentinck shook his head helplessly, looking over at William.

“Cannot what? Cannot be raped?” Anne stepped in between them both. “Oh, yes, I’m sure your master must think the same thing of Allies and everyone else beneath him.”

“Silence!” William stood up, his eyes blazing. “I will not rape any spirit, but I will not wait forever, either. You must understand, Anne, that just as it is his duty to accept what I have to offer, it is my duty to provide him with only the very best experience, especially for someone with a title such as his own. It’s an honor for me as it is for him. I will—” He paused, noticeably swallowing. “I’ll have to think on how to go about this. But I will not do anything until I know he will allow me to do so. He’s not a human, but he’s no animal, either.” He glared at Bentinck. “I mean, what do you take me for?”

Bentinck felt his face warm up with embarrassment. “You should know that you’re not the equal of the remnants.” There was something else that irked him about William’s stern refusal to touch Albemarle, but he couldn’t place it, though he suddenly realized it was weighing on him more heavily than concern for William’s honor did.

“Should the Overlifers not rule with fairness, something the Allies think they’re so far above?” William lashed his tail in irritation. “They oppress their followers; we listen to and protect them.”

“That’s a lot of talk from someone who commands the same authority as James Stewart,” Anne said.

“James is a false Overlifer,” William hissed. Though he was shorter than the two of them, his presence suddenly became larger than life, his tail bristling as he spoke. “I am not. It offends me that you both should think that I hold the same status as him.”

“N-No, William, never that,” Bentinck said hurriedly. “But I mean, that’s exactly what I’m saying! You’re so much greater, your power is- it’s incomparable, really, you don’t deserve to bend to the whims of a mere spirit.”

“And I suppose my father didn’t deserve to bend to the whims of a child, either, did he?” William cried out suddenly, his eyes filling with tears as he clutched at his chest. “Because he was an Overlifer? Should I then become the very man himself? Fuck you, Hans, seriously!” He pushed Bentinck to the side and rushed out of the room, hiding his face in one hand.

“Ah, shit— William! That’s not what I meant!” Bentinck began to follow him before hearing the door downstairs slam shut.

“That was really weird, Hans,” Anne said, raising an eyebrow when he looked back at her. “Is that what you really think?”

“I- well- we have the creature now, shouldn’t we take advantage of this chance?”

“If he can consent, then you would do well to remember that,” Anne said. “I can’t believe you’re an Ally and your Overlifer has more sense about this than you do. Even after everything he’s done to you—!”

“He has done nothing to me!” Bentinck realized tears were gathering in his own eyes, and he blinked, turning away towards the window. “Nothing at all. I’m serving him, as I always have. And I’m proud of it.”

Anne sighed. “It’s so hard to watch this happen, you know? If you can stop just one more person from being hurt, then why shouldn’t you?”

He’s not a person, Bentinck wanted to say, but found himself unable to speak through the lump in his throat. He’s not a person, and neither am I.

“P-Please don’t go,” he said at length. He bit his lip; how pathetic he sounded.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” Anne said with a shrug. There was a flicker of disappointment in her eyes as he changed the subject, but she seemed too pleased to drop it as well. “James knows where I live. You know I can’t go back—!” She tried to smile as the pitch of her voice heightened near the end.

“Then- then you can stay here, of course. I’m not going anywhere.” He held his hand out towards her, but she jumped into his arms instead, wrapping her own around his neck. He could feel her shudder against his chest.

“The world isn’t safe with people like them,” she whispered. “I’m scared, Hans.”

🝰🝰🝰

Mary watched her stepmother dip under the radiant water, the glow coming from the many lights within the pool. Yet it seemed the water itself was the sole giant lamp behind the house, interrupting the darkness of the surrounding trees and starless sky above them. For this reason Mary much preferred swimming here during the night, sometimes alone, and sometimes not.

Maria swam back up again, leaning on the edge of the pool and handing Mary the phone she had dropped at the bottom. “You always do this,” she said. “Are your hands really so—?” She cut herself off, instead reaching out to take hold of Mary’s shaking wrist.

“Maria, I think I’m going to kill myself.”

“No, you’re not,” Maria said firmly, letting go of her again. “Your father will come around when he realizes you can’t kill anyone during withdrawal.”

“But the thing is that I did,” Mary said. “I killed Ally Ildicó.” The news had come about a few days later, that the governor of Berufungsachse was dead. There would have to be someone to replace her, and already the grief of the nation was overshadowed by the Allies here squabbling to get to the top.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Maria said.

“Did you want me to disobey?”

Maria tilted her head to the side. “No,” she said. Changing the subject, she stepped back a little, shaking her wet hair off her shoulders. “Come in with me! Is your phone okay?”

Mary tried to turn it on. The dirty case seemed no cleaner than before, and was in fact dripping its filth over her fingers. But the phone itself seemed to be just fine, as it turned on to show her the wallpaper of her favorite character from the latest game she had played on stream.

“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.” She sighed and pushed herself in the water, though the smell of chlorine in the air made her headache no better, and her shaking only got worse as she stepped ever deeper, in spite of the warmth of the night.

She watched Maria do laps around the pool, yawning, though the shock of the cold water kept her awake. She found herself staring mostly at Maria’s red and white bra, cute with all its ruffles, the swimsuit a present from James if Mary remembered correctly. Of course, she told herself that it was merely the bra that she was looking at and nothing else.

Her own swimsuit was nowhere near as impressive, pure white, though a little stained since it had been a while since she washed it. At least her chest was bigger and covered in more tattoos, she noted with a glimmer of pride.

“Oh, stars above, that’s nice,” Maria said, popping up beside her so suddenly that she splashed a bit of water onto Mary’s glasses. “Why don’t you swim? They tell me you loved it as a girl.” Wondering who they could possibly be, Mary shrugged and looked to the side. “I don’t know. I just can’t anymore. But the water isn’t so bad...” She smiled and then ran her hand through the water, bringing it up to splash Maria in the face.

“Oh— Mary!” Maria jumped back with a laugh.

“What? Your face is already wet!” Mary grinned back at her, and Maria smacked her tail hard against the water, returning the violent splash. Mary tried and failed to cover her glasses in time.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” she cried. “I don’t have a tail!”

Maria laughed again. “And a very good thing you do not. You’d never stop moving it!”

“Hmm, maybe,” Mary said, feigning thoughtfulness. “But it’s just as well, I can play with yours instead!” She took hold of Maria’s tail and pulled it back towards her.

“Ow, by the stars—!” Maria twitched it in her grasp, but Mary gripped it tighter until Maria cried out. “Alright, that’s enough!”

Mary let go of it and sighed. “Sorry, sorry. It just really is so fluffy, you know.”

“So I’m always told,” Maria said, examining the golden tip.

Mary’s amusement was soured by the voice of Marly, calling out even before he was visible in the shadows of the house. He bounded forward, wearing the familiar, revealing attire of an Ally, and reminding Mary who the most tattooed Disciple truly was.

“Where is James?” he asked.

Maria narrowed her eyes. “What do you need him for?”

“Nothing that should warrant that face,” Marly retorted. “I wanted to tell him that William is alive, I mean— he’s all over the news! He’s caught the Earl of Albemarle in Nayaflitt.”

“Albemarle?” Mary asked. She turned to Maria. “What does that one do, again?”

“He grants you a longer life,” Maria said thoughtfully. “But Overlifers have six of them.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Marly huffed before sitting down in front of them, the water rippling as he did so. “Think on it, our enemy survived, and for all we know, he’s still on his third life. Nothing can harm nor kill him, and as long as he keeps sleeping with Albemarle, then he’ll live forever. This is- this is the worst thing that could have happened.” He sounded almost distraught at the end there, but Mary couldn’t help the skip in her heartbeat.

Immortal William? She was oddly relieved to know that the world would be graced with his beauty and presence forever, whereas she would part with it eventually, hopefully soon. Her only regret was that once she left without him, she would never see him again, wherever the dead fled to.

I suppose it’s a mercy for him, though. She sighed, smiling foolishly down at her reflection. Her stupid, traitorous heart rejoiced as she realized she could never kill him now, after all he had escaped from. The fox had freed her.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Maria said, her voice quiet but startling Mary nonetheless. “Albemarle is a spirit. His protection can’t do anything against the attacks of a devil-sent Overlifer. Most of us can’t break through it, but you know better than anyone that James wouldn’t want us to. That’s his prize to win.” She laughed, a little sadly. “And as long as William’s on this life, it’s guaranteed to him and only him.”

“So the extra years— James can just- he can just interrupt that?” Marly’s eyes widened. “Are Overlifers so powerful that they can defy even Albemarle’s touch?”

“That’s the hierarchy.” Maria shrugged.

“If it’s the hierarchy, then why can’t Allies break that, too?” Marly asked. “We’re more powerful than the spirits.”

“Because they’re still devils, after all,” Maria said. “And you are not.”

“Spirits are devils,” Marly muttered, shaking his head. “Silly...silly.”

“Oh, who am I going to believe? The one who thought spirits could truly override the powers of even the Overlifers, or myself, who was literally raised in a Hoerenkast?” Maria lashed her tail in the water, splashing Marly slightly. “It’s common fucking sense, Marly, get with the picture. You’re an Ally.”

“And you dare say I’m of a lower rank than those filthy remnants—?” Marly began to stand, but evidently the smell of smoke came to them all simultaneously, for he froze at the same time that Mary felt her heart sink.

“Ooh, did I come just in time for the catfight?” James laughed behind them, his tail swishing in amusement. He appeared rather disheveled, his hair wild and his shirt unbuttoned, showing off the elegant R on his neck as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Calm yourselves, ladies. What is it?”

Marly glared back at him. “William is alive. But these two instead concern themselves with the fact that spirits are supposedly more powerful than I am.”

James’ head snapped up. “What?”

“William,” Marly repeated slowly, “is alive.”

“I thought you told me he was dead, Mary.” James turned towards her, and she backed away in the water with a nervous smile. “Did you not make sure of it?”

“I-It seemed only logical. I mean, where could he have escaped to, you know?” Mary stammered. “He was weak, you- you damn near killed him yourself. I didn’t expect him to be able to get up.”

“You couldn’t have shot him?” James asked. “Just to make sure he stayed down?”

“It was a lot, James,” Maria said hurriedly. “She could barely escape herself. If she had stayed any longer, it would have been at the expense of her own life.”

“Every Disciple must be willing to give their life for the cause,” James said.

He was met with silence. Mary didn’t dare look up at him. Did he truly mean that; would she have been of more value to him if she had died, but brought William down with her? It had been the whole reason for her training, after all.

Who am I kidding? Of course that would have been better. She could have been dead, alone with him, but now that would never happen. She closed her eyes, the lights of the pool suddenly being too much for her head to tolerate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, again.

“Don’t ask me for your fucking drugs ever again,” James spat. “I don’t care how sick you get. You have the audacity to ask me for this shit that you don’t need, and I’m over here like an idiot just giving it to you. But when I ask for something, you can’t ever do it right.”

“Sir, I killed Ildicó!” Mary cried, finally looking up. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Don’t try to pull that shit with me,” James said. “You know very well what your main duty was.”

“P-Please, sir, I—” There she went again, her voice breaking with the tears that began to spill from her. “I c-can’t- I can’t live like this—!”

“You will live,” James said coldly, “as you have allowed William to.”

“James, please, it really isn’t so serious,” Maria said. “No one can kill William now, anyway. No one except for yourself.”

“What are you saying?”

“William has the Earl of Albemarle now,” Maria explained. “If he has already kissed the spirit, then no one can harm him for however many years he’s received. But,” she added hastily, seeing the look on James’ face, “what’s little known is that an Overlifer can bypass this protection. Ferocity willing, he doesn’t know about it, either, so he won’t expect any attacks from you.”

“What?” The news didn’t seem to mollify James, much to Mary’s dismay. “You expect me to kill everyone myself? I have things to do, Maria.”

“We can always bring you William,” Maria said. “But we cannot harm him.”

“By all the fucking stars, girl, if you can capture him, you can kill him!” James snarled. “What does a spirit matter? All three of you have been of no use to me in regards to our rival, and because of your carelessness, he’s become even more impossible to deal with!”

Mary knew the wiser thing was to remain silent, her voice choked behind the lump in her throat, but there was something on the back of her mind that she couldn’t resist bringing up. “S-Sir, I thought you- you wanted that glory. You relieved me of that duty...remember?” Perhaps James had forgotten.

Her father turned his blazing eyes towards her. “Because I knew none of you could do it.”

“Exactly,” Marly cut in. “So you shouldn’t mind doing it yourself, right?”

“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should!” James slapped his tail against the water, splashing them all in the face. Marly in particular, still wearing his makeup, looked displeased as he drew away. “It’s not about William. It’s about who is in charge here.”

“James, please, I- I’m very sorry,” Maria said, reaching out to rest a hand on his leg. “But it isn’t the end of the world. Sit down, we can talk about it.”

“Failures like these can spell an end to our world,” James said in a low voice. He sighed and then dropped down to lie beside the pool, resting his head on Marly’s lap. “Stop making excuses, Maria, for both yourself and for my daughter. You can’t hide behind anything; I know what you did wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Maria repeated softly, but James didn’t answer.

Mary had heard it all before, just as James had heard their endless apologies that he, in his infinite mercy, accepted and forgave. It would be over tomorrow, and then maybe when he was in a better mood she could ask to get high again, but for now she listened and wished the world wasn’t so full of love for the wrong thing. If only Bentinck hadn’t returned for his master, if only Mary had truly meant it when she said her farewell to William.

Her father seemed to calm down as he blew smoke up at Marly’s face, then almost immediately held the cigarette up to his lips. “Say, Marly, you haven’t heard from that hydra Sarah again, have you?”

“Excuse me?” Marly blinked down at him in surprise.

“You heard me,” James said. “What a false siren. You see now that she loved you for your power, right?” He smiled and lifted his hand up to caress Marly’s cheek. “She was so happy to leave you as soon as she saw where your true loyalties lay.”

Mary snorted. It was Marly who loved James for his power! He would be nothing without his Overlifer, and he knew it well. She shook her head; sometimes her dear father could be such a lovesick fool.

“I- well- no, sir, I never doubted her love,” Marly said, backing away. “As I surely don’t doubt her love for Anne. If she helped your daughter with her betrayal, then it wasn’t out of malice. She would follow Anne anywhere.”

“But not you,” James said.

“I don’t need her with me at all times. I’m an Ally, and Anne—”

“Oh, Marly, baby, hush now,” James cooed, gripping Marly’s face more forcefully now. “You know I have always loved you more than she has. I’m just very, very glad my warnings have rang true at last, and now it’s just...you and me.” As if on cue, Maria started to back away, but James flicked his tail at her, ordering her to stay.

False siren. The words rang in Mary’s ears. It was Marly who ripped James away from his true family, from Maria, from his destiny— how could James be so blind? If it were up to her, she’d have gladly dragged Marly all the way into the water, and held him there until he stopped moving beneath her.

“Sir, I love you just the same, but Sarah was my first handler and I won’t part so easily with her,” Marly said, narrowing his eyes as he tried to wrench his head away from James’ grasp. “I’ll never forget the kindness she treated me with when you- you—”

James sat up and butted his head against Marly’s shoulders, the force of his horns being enough to knock the Ally to the side and into the water. Mary gasped and covered her face, trying to shield her glasses from the water as much as she tried to hide her laughter.

“Ah, Marly, my true, true love!” James cried as he stood up, grinning down at Maria for a moment before he shifted his glittering gaze to Marly. He dragged himself out of the pool, gasping and coughing.

“Y-You— you fucking snake, you—” Marly could hardly speak. He wiped at his smudged makeup, then let himself fall forward on the floor, a hand held up to his heaving chest. He looked up with wide eyes as James stepped towards him. “Get- get away from me, James—!” Evidently, he heard Mary laughing, for he turned around to glare at her. “Shut the fuck up!”

“You can try and make me!” Mary retorted, turning to Maria with an amused smile. But Maria only looked pale, seemingly unable to tear her eyes off of her husband.

“I think I’ll stay right here,” James said pleasantly. He kneeled before Marly, digging his fingers into his Ally’s hair and jerking it up so that they faced each other. Marly cried out, but remained still as James spoke to him.

“The end of this dance draws nearer,” he began. “Berufungsachse is without an Ally governor, and you are without Sarah. Do you know what that means?”

“I- I—”

“You will run, and you will win,” James said. “And I, as your loving husband, will be at your side, telling you what is best for this noble governorate. We will purge this nation of...what was it? Heretics, Vita-marked?” He brought Marly closer and practically whispered, so that Mary had to get closer to listen with horrified awe. “Until we’re the only ones left.”

“Husband?” Marly repeated, his breaths shallow.

Husband. Mary snapped to attention. It can’t be—

“John...will you marry me?”

Marly visibly swallowed, his hand shakily trying to pry James off of his hair. When he didn’t answer, James leaned forward and kissed him. At first he tried to pull away, but James held him there, gripping his wet hair until Marly at last fell limp and returned the kiss.

You damn siren. Mary inhaled sharply as James drew back, licking his lips.

“I- I can think of no greater honor,” Marly said at length, and then the two kissed again, much to Mary’s disgust. What a truly ungrateful rat he was, pulling away only moments before until he inevitably must have realized what he had to gain from such a union. 

“James, are you sure?” Maria asked, her voice sounding strained. “By marrying you, he marries me as well.”

“Damnit, Maria, I thought you would be pleased,” James snapped, glaring down at her. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? Hm? I provide for you and I’ll provide for him as well. You have nothing to complain about.”

“I understand why it’s necessary, but surely there- there must be some other way—”

“Enough.” James stood abruptly. “Neither you nor Mary have pleased me as of late. Maybe with him living here I’ll finally get some fucking peace in this house. At the very least, you can allow me that.” He took Marly’s hand and turned to leave.

“Of course,” Maria said. She waited until they had left before she looked at Mary.

“This is fucked,” Mary muttered.

“I- I don’t understand, you killed Ildicó!” Maria cried. “And nobody has found out, you did perfectly! Isn’t that what he wanted? Is that not what he wanted?” Her voice shook, and she took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. “What was I to do, let William die?”

“That might have been better,” Mary said.

“You don’t understand, they were telling me— the devils, they-”

“The devils?” Mary cut in. “You mean the shit you see? They told you to let him go?”

“Some did,” Maria said. “Not all. But I knew it wasn’t illogical, Mary, I’ve never had reason to distrust them.”

“Is this not reason enough?!” Mary gestured vaguely around her. “James is going to marry Marly, do you know how badly you have to mess up for him to do that?”

“I- I’m sure he was planning it already,” Maria said.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason he did it in front of you,” Mary said. She began to get out of the pool, grunting with the effort. “And it’s because of how fucking unbearable you make yourself here. He can’t stand you, Marly can’t stand you, I mean, even I— what the fuck did you think was going to happen if you told him about the little Overlifer loophole with Albemarle?”

“It’s better than nothing!” Maria reached out to take Mary’s hand, but Mary pulled away with a scowl.

“You need to get some serious help!” she said. “You’ve let shit like this happen too often.”

“Oh, quit acting like you weren’t so relieved to see William spared!” Maria yelled. “You’re in love, aren’t you? Just like I was when I met your father!” She followed Mary out of the pool, shaking herself. “And look at me now!”

“Ha, I’m looking, alright!” Mary shook her head without turning around. “I’m not going to run away with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No, Mary,” Maria said. “I was actually hoping you would.”

Mary paused. Her heart seemed to inexplicably stop. What did she—?

“Look at me now!” Maria repeated. “I, the wife of the ruler of all the universe! His only wife, I might add, and I will remain forever so!” She raised her voice even higher. “I’m happy! I’m very happy!”

“Fucking madwoman.” Mary waved her hand dismissively and kept walking, turning on her phone as she did so. She needed to get out of here. Her mind was still on Talbot’s thighs from a few days ago, and she knew that if she called him now, he’d be happy to go anywhere she pleased.

And then, of course...she couldn’t go on like this. No, something great would have to pass, something that would at least momentarily distract James from his vitriol and his prospective marriage.

“Do you know what that means? I will rule with him! I will be your queen— no, I will be your angel! Even you can’t live up to the name, can you?” Maria kept on. “And it’ll be me, only me, eradicating this rebellious, ungrateful human race!”

What Mary needed was Anne. Someone who dared take the first life of their Overlifer could not be allowed to live peacefully in this world. She knew James would enjoy punishing the insolence, the defiance, as he always had with Anne. Her poor, idiotic sister.

“I think James will go down with them, too!”

Mary pulled her towel about herself and began to call Talbot, the very same number dozens of people called each day to have their fantasies realized by the adored King of Hearts.

“Do you hear us, Ferocity? Do you hear our prayers? Ah, of course you do—”

Mary held her phone up to her ear. “Charles, dear, where are you right now?”

“The Law of Honorable Succession still survives!” was the last thing she heard from Maria.

🝰🝰🝰

There was some sort of toast going on when William walked into the club, where the patrons were all gathered around up close to the largest stage, their eyes bright but dull with the numerous drinks they had no doubt already finished. Nonetheless, they held up their shot glasses at the command of the young man who stood upon the stage, dressed in what was clearly a mockery of the attire of the Allies. His brown curls were voluminous and wild, but they failed to hide the dark, disfiguring scars all across one side of his face that reached down towards his neck, covered only slightly by an eyepatch. William recognized them as the scars that only acid could leave on a person, for he had attended enough sessions of torture to see it used often.

He wondered briefly if this man, with his clear Eastern descent, was involved with the Disciples at all, and that was how he had come to suffer such an attack, possibly at the hands of the Devils. If he was involved, then William had to stay hidden here, away from the quick, amused gaze of the stranger’s single eye.

“Praise be to King Louis!” he was saying, met with much roaring and applause. “Soon arrives the Southern Kingdom, and I expect to see you all here again for the festivals. Ferocity willing, I’ll have Ally Marly with me.” He blew kisses at the adoring crowd, who held countless guilders up towards him, whistling as he bent over to take his tips.

Southern Kingdom! William snorted and sat down at the bar, watching the man descend the steps of the stage. That was most certainly a Disciple, then. His sharply twisted horns were small, but telling, and his long tail, with the fur at the tip styled into the shape of a heart, twitched with sudden apprehension as he weaved through the guests. He waited a moment before sitting down on one of the many white sofas, right beside a large, graceful figure who leaned in to kiss him. There was something lazy, but affectionate about the movement, something familiar—

Mary! William gasped, but before he could get up to see her, he heard the bartender clear her throat behind him.

“Mr. Nassau,” she said. “It’s an honor to have you here. Can I help you with anything?”

“Not right now, but you’ll have your chance, trust me.” William flicked his tail at her and kept walking. He realized then just how alone he was out here, how wide open he was left without Bentinck. There was little chance that anyone who saw him here, Disciple or not, wouldn’t recognize him. If he had company, he had to admit that he liked entertaining and lecturing the young businessmen here who looked up to him so, even if their admiration was superficial. But here, stalking nervously through the darkness, he felt as if every glance was that of a potential assassin.

As he got closer he began to hear Mary’s laugh through the chatter, and he could no longer resist the pace he was going at. He bounded forward, crying out, “Mary!”

Mary looked up, her companion jolting a little beside her. She grinned to see William approaching, a smile that made his throat run dry, and she got up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Devils below, you’re here!” she said, her words slurring slightly. He found it difficult to react when even her simple embrace took his breath away, even after everything. “Oh, you look so much better than when I saw you last.” She gasped and drew back. “But what a terrible night to come out here, do you know how many Disciples are swarming about?”

“You should have told me,” William said, smiling back up at her.

“Idiot, I might have,” Mary said. “But how was I supposed to know you’d come here? I mean—” She looked around. “Are you alone? Why are you here?”

“Same reason as everyone else is,” William said with a slight bow. “To drink until you know nothing.”

“You’ve got enough money to do that at home, don’t you?”

“Oh, I can’t stay there. Not right now, we have that- that fox there with us, I couldn’t stand him.” He tried to clear his head of what Bentinck had said. Perhaps he felt bad for pinning it all on Albemarle, but it was an answer that would make more sense to Mary. “He makes my skin crawl. But of course...there’s no shortage of whores out here, either.” He glanced at the man who had been kissing Mary only moments before, and Mary laughed, batting at his shoulder.

“You can have the one at home or you can pay for one here,” she said. “I saw pictures of you posing with Albemarle, like my father posing with a jaguar he shot in Grand Cabaret. I must say, I wouldn’t blame you if you had decided to stay home, after all.” She lowered her voice. “Especially when James was so convinced you had died in the fire. You could have fooled him if you hadn’t drawn so much attention to yourself!”

“Sooner or later, I always end up in the news.” William shrugged. “It’s better when I can control the information that comes out about me.”

“You’ve made James furious,” Mary said. “Unbearably so.”

“Have I?” William’s eyes widened, and he leaned in, squeezing Mary’s hand. “Are you well? Has he hurt you? I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” Mary gripped his hand and began to lead him towards the stairs near the back of the room, where the lights became fewer and fewer. “You can’t be seen here...”

There was the tapping of heels behind them, and William looked back to see the scarred stranger rushing after Mary. “My lady,” he called after her, “is it so wise to go alone with- well, with him?” He bowed his head slightly towards William. “You know I would keep any secret for you, but this borders on treachery, and with your father so displeased with you, I shouldn’t want you to—”

“Are you calling me a traitor, Charles?” Mary turned to him, her eyes flashing. “Or are you jealous? I’ll go home with you later, so just let me have this moment with William. Alone, please.”

“Mary, please, just think about it, I know you respect him, but—” He took her hand. “If you go any further than that, you put yourself in danger, and this betrays everything you’ve ever been taught.” He paused, then added, “Will you try to kill him?”

“Even if I was, I wouldn’t be telling you in front of him, idiot.” Mary tore her hand away. “I know why I do the things that I do. I won’t reveal any secrets, I promise.”

“But you’re still—”

“Shut it,” she snapped. “Shut up now. Has my father not spoken civilly to William before? I can do the same thing, and I am as faithful as I’ve always been to this cause of ours.” She stepped closer, her hand drifting up to her belt, where William guessed she held her gun. “But if a word of this reaches him, trust me, I’ll find out.”

The said Charles glanced at William, then bowed briefly at Mary and walked away. Mary rolled her eyes and skipped up the stairs, flanked by a more hesitant William.

“You were kissing him,” he said. “When I first saw you.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “He’s damn good at it, too.” She laughed and leaned precariously over the railing, smiling down at the scene below. “That’s Charles Talbot for you. He’s kind of fun when he isn’t being annoying. Have you ever seen his stuff?”

William shook his head. “Is he an actor of some sort—?”

“You don’t know the King of Hearts?” Mary’s eyes widened in shock, but then she laughed again, turning away from him. “I don’t know what I expected.” She pulled out a chair from under a small table and sat down with a sigh. “It was nice to see you smiling, you know. In those pictures of you with the fox. I mean, it was good to see you so alive, you know?”

William swallowed as he sat beside her. “Y-You never told me your streamer tag. I’d like to see you...alive as well.”

“Oh, it’s stupid—”

“Never as stupid as the movies your father’s Ally is in,” William teased. There seemed to be a flicker of darkness over Mary’s gaze as he spoke, but he must have imagined it, for she smiled back at him, leaning in to stroke at his horns.

“Oh, alright, as long as you give me one thousand guilders every time I go live,” she said. “I call myself the ‘lemonwingsangel,’ which is a weird theme, I know, but you have to keep in mind that I made this account when I was twelve.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” William pulled out his phone. “I can follow you right now.”

“And subscribe too?” Mary added hopefully. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fine, I’ll subscribe.” He let her lean on his shoulder to see his screen as he did so. After a moment he realized his tail was coiling instinctively around her, and his face flushed.

“You haven’t gotten any drinks,” Mary remarked once he was done. Her own breath smelled of alcohol, something oddly sweet.

“I’d like to be sober to talk to you,” William said. He lifted his head as her hair brushed against his chin.

“Aw, really? But you’re so amusing when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t think it’s...safe. Not out here.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Was- was Talbot looking out for you? Or was he drinking too?”

“No, he needs to be sober for what he’s doing,” Mary said. “I’ll be fine, William.”

“I- yeah, that’s...probably good.” William sighed. “I’m sorry about your father. I’d have stayed hidden if I had known, but there was only so much time that could have worked out for, I mean—” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for- for saving me. Even if you knew what would happen. I remember looking up at your face, and- and it was the last thing on my mind before I—”

“Before you died,” Mary finished. “Again.”

William bowed his head. “Yes. Trust me, I was trying not to do it while you were holding me.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I saw you die,” she said. “But I don’t want to see it again.” She sat up, and William looked at her, so covered in both shadows and vibrant light. It was hard to see her eyes under her glasses, reflecting everything they caught, but even then he could tell her smile was sad. “Have you slept with the Earl of Albemarle yet?”

“I- I will,” William said, almost defensively. Mary tilted her head to the side.

“Well, do it quickly. You know that only my father can—” She paused and drew away. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing, William.”

He reached out to take her hand, resting on her lap. “Has he- has he hurt you?”

“Oh, yes, but...it’s nothing new.” Her voice shook slightly. “I- I keep messing up, but I don’t understand. Have you heard of what happened to Ally Ildicó? I killed her, I did what he asked—” She inhaled sharply and dropped her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t kill you. And I don’t know if...I’ll make it through tonight—!” She rubbed at her eyes, and William sat up abruptly. “You mean to say he’s going to kill you?”

“N-No, not that, I just...I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what any of us are going to do.” She placed her glasses down on the table, still wiping at her eyes, though William could tell it wasn’t stopping the tears. “It’s so hard to be there, but I can’t just leave.”

“Mary, I- I killed my father,” William said. He lifted her chin gently in his hand. “You can do the same. Besides, you killed Charles, didn’t you?” He remembered Anne’s furious announcement, the interruption that had ultimately saved the rest of his lives. “That’s pretty good, you know. It’ll just be another Overlifer.”

“I did it for James!” Mary cried, pulling away. “It was an order, okay? And- and what use would it be, why did Charles have to die if I was just going to kill his brother, too? Why did I do that, then? Why do I do any of this?”

“So you can be the next Overlifer, Mary!” William urged. “Look at you, with the power to kill even Charles! Something I couldn’t manage myself. You were made to rule, you have the ruthlessness, the power, the audacity.”

“You don’t understand, you’ve only ever seen me that way— you don’t know me at home.” She lifted her legs up to her chair, resting her head on her knees. “I’m such a fucking mess. It’s my father who- who’s fated to rule the world, and that’s just fine with me. I couldn’t handle it, I- I just want to help him. That’s my destiny, and if I turned away from that to defy and murder him, then what would be left for me?” She looked up at him in bewilderment. “I’d have to go with him.”

“So you’re just going to live like this? Forever?” William asked. “Mary, even I had a breaking point.”

“Oh, I’ll die eventually. He won’t.”

“Is that how you want to die?”

She paused, then shook her head, her voice quiet under the music. “No.”

“Your friend Anne didn’t want to die like that, either,” William said. “And neither did your sister. Please, Mary, I’m always here, I’m always...waiting for you. You know there’s something more to life if you also know that this is no way to live.”

“And what’s that? What is that something more? Do you know?” She scooted closer to him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re an Overlifer, too. Are you living?”

“O-Of course,” he said. Her gaze was like knives at his throat. “I’m doing what I’ve always wanted.”

“You’ve always wanted this?” Mary looked disappointed, and oddly enough William felt the same.

“It’ll get better when I fulfill my destiny.” The words he had always repeated to himself as a boy felt empty now.

“Destiny, destiny!” Mary fell down against his lap, resting her head there. “My destiny was to kill you, and I have to say, I’m happy now that I didn’t. I’m so very tired of the word of Overlifers. Both of you.” She sighed bitterly. “Is that heresy?”

“Do you not believe in me?” William sounded more desperate than he intended.

“I’m an Easterner,” she said. “Of course I don’t.”

“I would spare you,” he insisted, but before he could add more, Mary sat up on the table in front of him, crossing her legs.

“What a fine honor you do me,” she said. “I told you I didn’t want you to save me, especially not you. James never told me that serving him would be easy. I-” She swallowed. “I know what must be done to unite his world, as surely as you know what must be done to unite yours.”

“It’s not about what you want, Mary, it’s about what you need,” William said. He reached out, hesitating before cupping her face in his hand. “You need to get out of there. I want you to be happy, and to not be afraid of every choice you make. I want you to come with me.”

“So you want to be my prince?” Mary’s features seemed to soften. “My dear, heroic prince. The misguided tortoise who runs behind me still.”

“If- if that’s what you would like.” William tensed as Mary reached up to place her hand on his. “I’ll be your prince. Whatever will save you.”

“Ah, William, you could at least try to make me swoon,” she sighed. “And maybe I’d think about it more. You’re not tempting me at all right now.” She pushed his hand away. “Are we really, truly in love? Is that what this is?”

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, both to himself and her. “You saved me a few times, but then what?” He shrugged. “I...don’t know anything about you. And you know nothing about me, either, except for what you’ve been taught.”

“I know that you believed in me from the moment we met.”

“I was drunk-”

“And yet you found it in yourself to tell me,” Mary said, blinking tears away once more. “Why? What kind of joke did you try to play? To give me hope like this, always, always making me think I can be more, just to rip everything away at the last minute!”

“That’s all I’ve given you, Mary. But you—” He stood up and leaned in towards her. “You’ve returned the favor. You’re an angel of second chances, so give yourself one, as well.” Now, he thought to himself, and tilted his head up to kiss her.

She was quite taller than him, especially now, but she brought him closer, gripping his horns as she did so. He waited a second before allowing himself to close his eyes. For all her sharp edges, in this moment she felt very soft, fitting perfectly around him.

“I do want to fall in love with you,” she whispered as she pulled his head back slightly. “If I haven’t already.”

“Then I’ll do everything to convince you,” he said. “I already love you, always—” He cut off and jumped up to wrap his arms around her neck, his tail twining around her body. “I’m sorry it just wasn’t someone better. Someone who could save you.”

“It just had to be you, huh?” Mary laughed above him, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m sorry, too. That it was me. I mean, you have someone like Bentinck!”

“He’s not you,” William said firmly, taking a step back. “For a while I thought I would marry him, but...I just can’t look at him like that. I know it isn’t his fault, but he’s keeping me entangled with the shit I just want to...forget.” He felt his face get hot with shame as he tried to remember how much she knew, but nothing seemed to have changed, anyway. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to love an Ally. Another Overlifer by my side would command far more respect.”

“Even if I’m an Easterner?”

William thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Why does it matter? I’m part Easterner, too.” He had never taken any pride in it, to be of mixed, polluted blood, a result of his father’s foolishness in choosing a partner he had never cared for, anyway, but now he decided that the rules had been bent for a reason. He was here now, and he loved Mary like he loved no one else, like no one had ever, thankfully, loved him.

“Ha! Then I wonder why he hates you so.” She got off the table and yawned. “My father, I mean. He was close to your mother.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” William muttered, flicking his tail dismissively.

“Very well. Then let us both shut up about these stupid things.” Mary placed her hands on the railing in front of her. “Damnit, William, I came here to drink and you’re not even letting me do that. Can we make this a real date, please?”

“Well...would you like to dance?” He held his hand out to her, and she took it, her chipped nails causing him to grit his teeth with discomfort. But he said nothing as she led him back down the stairs, nearly tripping on her heels.

He felt the loud music was even more annoying than when he had first walked in, especially when he tried to speak to Mary, but she seemed happy enough to simply hold him as she swayed her hips, drifting ever closer to him. They were both out of breath after a few songs, William before Mary, but she ordered Talbot to bring them more and more drinks, so they never were apart. Her proximity to him was starting to make him sweat.

William was relieved when they finally stopped. He hadn’t realized he’d been feeling as if he were about to fall over the whole time, dizzy as he glanced around at the blurred lights. He collapsed back on the sofa he’d first found Mary on and groaned.

“William, we’ve got margaritas!” she cooed at him, holding the ornate cocktail glass out to him, filled with a frothy blue liquid. “Do you want one?”

“Yes, thank you.” He snatched it from her and hardly tasted the margarita as he sipped it all through the straw, though the burn when he finished it made him gasp as he gave the glass back to Talbot. He held a hand up to his chest, realizing his clothes were damp, though he couldn’t tell what it was. “Mary, can you smell my tits? What is that?”

Mary sat on his lap, eliciting a grunt from him. “Damn, I don’t know. I can’t smell shit.”

“Ugh, Bentinck’s gonna smell it all over me and he’s gonna be like William, you can’t be doing that! And then...I’m going to fuck him, and he’ll shut the fuck up.” William slammed his fist down on the sofa and laughed bitterly. “Yeah, that’ll be nice.”

“You don’t want to make love to me?” Mary asked wistfully, tracing his horn with a finger.

“Oh, I could do it right now. Come here.” He sat up and kissed her, sighing as her tongue slipped into him eagerly. She bucked her hips against him, and he let his hands drift up to her chest, where he squeezed her through her buttoned-up shirt and bra. She was even softer now.

She had his shirt halfway off his shoulders when Talbot finally cleared his throat beside them. “Mary, I am told your father is here.”

“Huh?” She looked up, licking her lips. “Why the fuck—? What time is it?”

“Just past midnight.”

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t get to fuck you, either!” Mary stood up and pushed the hair out of her face with a sigh. “Ugh, fine, but you’re coming with me.” She looked back at William. “You’ll be okay?”

“Really better than I’ve ever been.” William grinned ruefully up at her.

“Whatever you say. Don’t get roofied.” She dropped down to kiss him once more before running off with Talbot, laughing and pushing him along. Talbot glanced over at William as Mary paid the tab, then followed her out of the club.

William sighed and began to get up, his eyes on the bar. He was startled by a gloved hand coming down on his shoulder.

“No, no, stay! Don’t go!” A bright red tail twitched at the corner of his vision, and he froze as he heard the familiar voice above him. “I’ll bring you anything you like.”

He swallowed as Robert Spencer came around him, kneeling in front of him before the sofa. He held a full shot glass, which he then tilted up towards William’s lips, ordering, “Drink.”

“Y-You’ve spiked it,” William growled, scooting back.

“No, I haven’t.” Spencer gulped down the shot and crawled closer. “Do you not like vodka, little one? I could always get you something else.”

“I— that won’t be necessary,” William said. He curled his tail in as Spencer stood up again. “What the fuck are you doing here, jackass? Come to gloat?”

“You should be the one doing so,” Spencer said. “Considering you survived, and now you’ll never die again. I wonder...” He lifted his hand up to his horns. “If I ran these through you, would the fox himself come to stop me? Or how does this work?”

“You think you could harm an Overlifer?” William laughed bitterly. “You can try.”

“You think I couldn’t?” Spencer smiled, his eyes glinting. “I already have, remember?” He sat down beside William, lifting his fine legs, as always in their long, shiny boots, up onto William’s lap. “We should catch up a little. How have you been?”

“Better before I saw you here, cunt.”

“Oh, better indeed,” Spencer said. “You were getting real close to James’ daughter, weren’t you? I suppose it makes sense. Both of you make yourselves very easy.” He flicked his tail at a host walking by. “Two shots of your well vodka, love. Thank you.”

William snorted as the host walked away. “Think you can buy me with that cheap shit?”

“You’re drunk enough for it.”

“Well, can you get your fucking legs off of me before I—”

Spencer cut him off. “What a filthy mouth! Is that what you were kissing Mary with? The princess doesn’t deserve such a foul-mouthed Westerner.” He sighed and sat up to look William in the eyes. “You look a little roughed up, but well, otherwise. It pleases me to see that you’ve recovered.”

“Sure it does.” William rolled his eyes.

“No, really! Ever the suave businessman, aren’t you?” Spencer got up, pulling on William’s tie as he did so. “So you’ve got the money to pay for this.”

“What are you on about?”

Spencer pushed through the crowd of people and hopped up onto the largest stage, lifting his fingers to his mouth and whistling. “Forgive me, I know the stage isn’t open tonight,” he announced, “but would you all want to miss this?” He untied his hood and whipped his pink hair about, met with much applause. “Now it’s up to you to see the rest.”

What a ridiculous show, William thought. He was only too happy to take the two shots that were brought to him, glaring ahead at Spencer on the stage. He moved very predictably, in William’s opinion, swinging his hips to the bells of the song and stomping a heel to the beat as he sauntered around the pole. He hooked one leg onto it and pulled himself up, spinning once before climbing up higher, his tail twining around the pole. He winked at William and let himself drop back.

Ugh. William’s face flushed, though he was unsure if it was out of embarrassment or simply the alcohol. He ordered two more shots and watched the crowd work themselves into a frenzy over Spencer’s exposed chest, revealed as he hung upside down and his shirt fell over. There was a green tattoo quite literally snaking its way down his belly, what looked like a resting serpent. But William caught only a glimpse of it as Spencer swung himself back up again and spun around the pole.

He hoped he would faint as he downed more shots, as Spencer spread his legs before the audience and hopped off the pole. He slid slowly to the ground, to his knees, and began to unbutton his shirt. Lucky for the bastard, the collar he wore must have hidden the R that was undoubtedly on his neck.

William buried his head in his hands when Spencer bent over, his ass and tail straight in the air. He managed to block out most of the subsequent noise from the crowd, though as soon as he closed his eyes he felt a wave of nausea run through him. He shuddered, looking up and into the lights again. As he breathed, he became oddly aware of his chest rising and falling, pounding louder than the music.

Spencer at last came back to him, his eyes glittering with amusement as he pulled his shirt back on. He had what looked like hundreds of guilders hanging from his belt. “You greedy boy. I knew you'd drink them both. And then some, hm?”

“Fuck you,” William mumbled, hardly audible.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” He then glanced to the side and chuckled.”It's about time we get out of here. I'll pay for you. I made enough dancing for those needy worshippers.”

“Nooo.” William batted at Spencer's tail, and Spencer laughed again, walking away. 

Did he intend to come back? There was a dim sense of dread in William’s skull, and he tossed his head back on the sofa. He could run, of course. He doubted he could drive in his current state, but he could hide in his car, at least, and Spencer wouldn’t know which one was his.

He got shakily to his feet and began to weave his way through the people, shoving back against anyone who accidentally bumped into his shoulder or stepped on his tail, which dragged on the floor behind him. He met every apology with a fierce growl and kept walking, though every unsteady step startled him.

“Woah, William, watch out,” he heard Spencer say behind him. “You’ll fall like that.” He flung an arm around William’s shoulders. “It’s a good thing you have me, hm?”

Where is he taking me? William wanted to pull away, but he knew he wouldn't make it very far out on his own. He could wait. As they stepped outside, the sudden quiet made something rise in his throat, and instinctively he clung onto Spencer's shirt with a groan.

“Are you well, little one?” Spencer asked. “We're almost there.”

“I- I'm leaving now,” William said, swallowing hard and wrenching himself out from under Spencer. “Thank you, but—”

“Oh, that's perfect,” Spencer said thoughtfully. “I came here with the others. We can just take your car back.” Seeing William’s expression, he added, “You seriously didn't think I was going to let you drive like that, did you?”

“I sure as fuck don't need you to drive me.” William glared at him and began to stumble off, bunching up his limp tail in his fists.”I- I would rather die again, out there in the fucking streets.” He paused and turned back to yell, “Kill yourself!”

Spencer followed him, his heels tapping ever closer in a way that made William's heart race. “Let me drive you. I can't let you die out there.” He took William's hand and kissed it. “Please.”

William ripped his hand away. “You- you'll take me to James, you sly bitch. If there's anything you can do for me…just die.” He saw his car out of the corner of his eye and edged closer to it, wondering if he should scream for attention from the other people out in the parking lot. But what then? Who would come save him? He knew he made himself very unpopular among the younger citizens of Altos Diablos.

Spencer looked around, then suddenly took him by the hair and slammed him back against the car. William gasped, kicking out at him as he felt the gloved hands run through every one of his pockets. They were uncomfortably warm.

“Get- get the fuck away from me, you—” He was cut off as Spencer took him by a horn and forced his head down on the car, his knee coming up in between William’s legs. William bit his tongue, keeping his fiery gaze on Spencer as he lifted the car keys triumphantly.

“You’re quite weak for an Overlifer,” he said, unlocking the car. “Why an SUV? You don’t have a family.”

“That’s none of your fucking business!” William fumbled for the gun in his belt, before remembering with dawning horror that he’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t brought one with him. Perhaps there was one in the car, but then what—

Spencer’s arm came around his neck, pulling him back as the former opened the door. William clawed uselessly at the long gloves before he was thrown onto the backseat, his tail getting caught under Spencer’s heel. He pulled it out and sat up quickly, curling his lip back in a snarl as Spencer got in with him, shutting the door behind him. They were left in darkness; even the lights outside hardly reached them.

William realized he was sweating as Spencer crawled closer, and he drew back further still, lifting his legs up. “I- I’ll fucking kill you,” he grunted, looking around for one of his pistols. He swallowed again, the sickening taste in his throat returning. He let his head fall back with a sigh.

“You know you need me, William,” Spencer said pleasantly. He moved one of William’s legs to the side and smiled at him. “I look upon you with the eyes of a serpent.” With that, he pulled William’s head in, kissing him rather distastefully.

William shuddered at the force of the tongue that slipped through. Truly it was like that of a serpent’s, and as he felt it shoved down his throat, he finally retched, tears springing to his eyes. Spencer shuffled back just as William turned to the side, vomiting on the floor of the car. He winced at the burn in his throat, coughing until he was sure he was done.

“You couldn’t have waited?” Spencer sounded disappointed.

“I- I didn’t— you are—” William could hardly speak through his gasps. He fell back and covered his eyes with a hand. He knew there was nothing left in him to vomit up again, but he still felt nauseous, especially in this heat.

“Shh, little one. I’ll take it from here.” He heard Spencer begin to unbuckle his belt, but he no longer felt as if he had the energy to move. His legs were heavy as he shifted them up slightly, feeling Spencer’s hands on his belt.

“You’ve done this before?” Spencer asked once he had pulled William’s pants off. He began to unbutton his shirt next, and William looked up at the pierced stars on the elegant gloves.

“I asked you a question, William.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” William felt his hand shake as Spencer lifted it towards his lips, kissing it once more. “Very good. You’ll call me sir, do you understand? Like all those I take under my blessed protection.”

I fucking hate you, William thought, but he nodded.

Spencer spit down onto his hand, spreading William’s legs and then spitting down there as well. William jolted at the feeling of the uncomfortable, wet leather entering him. He turned his head to the side and held his hand over his mouth. It hurt, but not for long.

“Alright, we can make this quick.” Spencer sat up and looked through the pockets of his shorts, taking out a cigarette. He lit and took a drag from it as he lined himself up with William. He was fully erect already, William could tell. He whimpered as Spencer rubbed the tip up against him.

“You like that? Good boy.” Spencer leaned over to kiss him again, fully pushing himself in. William cried out into the kiss. His hand came to grip Spencer’s shoulder, involuntarily.

He moved like William would have expected of him, with something of impatience but nonetheless grace. He huffed with every thrust, keeping the cigarette held up to his lips with one hand and the other on William’s waist. His tail flicked behind him in amusement.

He was big, almost painfully so. William couldn’t resist his gasps, then his groans, forced out of him almost rhythmically with the obscene sounds the rest of his body made. He began to buck his hips against Spencer, trying to catch him in the right place.

“Ah, good boy,” Spencer sighed. “This is how an Overlifer should fuck. I hope you know that you’re better than James so far.”

“Thank- thank you, sir,” William let out. He tossed his head back with something approaching a shriek as Spencer shoved himself all the way in, blowing smoke all over his face. He coughed and tried to wave it away, only for Spencer to take his wrist and pin it down beside his head. It sent a spark of fear to him to realize how truly powerless he was in this moment, how Spencer could strangle him if he wanted.

He looked up with teary eyes, panting softly as Spencer smiled down at him. The Disciple was louder than him, taking deep breaths and sighing often, his gaze admiring as he stared down at William. He seemed to pause for a moment, then let go of William’s hand, instead running it under his shirt, stroking at his chest. William let a cry slip out of him when Spencer picked up his speed inside of him. His hand came up to grip the gloved wrist.

“Devils below,” Spencer breathed out. “William- ah, William, my love— I pledge myself to you, forever— nothing can take me from you; oh, my leader, my Overlifer, my savior.” He seemed to get more tactless, slamming into William like a true Eastern beast. William let him take control and fell still, meeting Spencer's praise with nothing but his own moans.

At last he heard Spencer hiss above him, stopping deep inside him. His hips still rocked slightly; William guessed he was done now, judging by his eyes that drifted shut after a moment.

“You know how to finish a man very well, don’t you?” Spencer smiled as he pulled out. “Look at that sloppy hole! Very beautiful.” He took a puff from his cigarette and kissed William’s lips once, then shifted his lips down to his neck. William turned his head to the side with an insistent whine, and Spencer drew back with a laugh.

“Ah, very well.” He lashed his tail once. “By the stars, it smells in here. Sorry about the mess in your car, but boys like you like to have other people clean them up, anyway.” He pulled his shorts back up, not even bothering with the belt. He took the keys that he had placed in the cupholder beside him and moved up to the front, his swishing tail hitting William in the face.

“P-Please don’t take m-me to James,” William managed. He wanted to sit up and get dressed, but he only had the strength to hold his arms around himself, trying to ease a bit of the sickness. “Sir.”

“Of course not,” Spencer said. “I already told you that I can’t let you die. You’ll take the whole world down with you.” He glanced at William from the rearview mirror. “We’re going to your place. Where do you live?”

There was some objection in the back of William’s mind to telling Spencer his address, but there was no other way about it. He couldn’t call Bentinck now.

“You best tell me, William,” Spencer piped up again, “because I’m not yet done with you.”

[noirsdoll]

MASTERLIST! + wip list

mouthwashing—

pretty please? one. two. | curly / reader -> Curly’s doing everything in his power to put space between you and him. Like he can try. There’s no restraining orders in space. And there’s no locks on the sleeping quarters. | cw: noncon. drugging. implied/referenced abuse. baby trapping.

wip untitled | dad!curly / daughter!reader -> It’s so, so wrong. And Curly loves that it is. | cw: father/daughter incest. ddlg. dumbification.

resident evil—

in your arms. | leon / sherry -> No matter what, she’s still his little girl. | cw: pseudo-incest. dubcon.

wip the trade. chapter directory. | jill / ada -> Ada and Jill meet before the Raccoon City outbreak. Their lives intwine through the coming events. | cw: canon-typical violence and gore. smoking. smut.

wip the red lady. chapter directory. | leon / ada -> Leon investigates the murder of a starlet's boyfriend. Only problem is that she's the main culprit. | cw: mentions of gore. referenced noncon. drugs. smut.

wip changing. | dad!leon / daughter!reader -> Leon hasn't done anything to deserve a perfect girl like you. I cw: father/daughter incest. mention of suicidal ideation. dumbification. smut.

wip conniption. | leon / reader -> You might just be an angel, a message sent from God to set him back on the right path. | cw: religious imagery. suicidal ideation. dubcon. smut.

wip untitled. | trans!leon / reader -> He’s such an asshole. You need him. | cw: mild sexual harassment. smut.

wip untitled. | rookie!leon / reader -> It's only fair that the rest of your body gets some love too. I cw: feet. body worship. smut.

wip untitled. | leon / kidnapper!reader -> Note to self: don’t share needles. | cw: dubcon. drugging. vomit. smut.

wip dog days. | krauser / rookie!leon -> Cooling off on a hot day has never felt this good. I cw: piss. gangbang. noncon. smut.

wip untitled. | stars!wesker / reader -> Wesker’s always taken a liking to you, and now you're freshly single. | cw: intoxication. dubcon. smut.

wip untitled. | wesker / experiment!reader -> You are far from perfect. And Wesker desires perfection. | cw: dubcon. hybrids kinda. snuff kinda. smut.

wip proximity. | jill / rookie!reader -> Jill has a stifling addiction to pretty girls. | cw: mentioned drug use/smoking. smut.

wip untitled. | leon / reader + jill / reader -> Leon’s never made you cum before. Jill takes on the challenge. | cw: cucking. smut.

silent hill 2—

in sickness and health. | james / nurse!reader -> James turns the thought of you over in his head, smoothing over the divots and imperfections till you become this monolith of escape, more idea than person. | cw: rape. abuse. smoking. smut.

wip untitled. | dad!james / daughter!reader -> You tried to leave him, when all he ever had was you. | cw: father/daughter incest. rape. somnophilia. referenced bulimia. snuff. attempted suicide. smut.

wip untitled. | james / bimbo!reader -> You’re so lost in whatever’s coming out of his mouth that you don’t see the pill fizzing at the bottom of your drink. | cw: noncon. drugging. thigh fucking. smut.

wip untitled. | james / stripper!reader -> You recognize his brand of customer. The type that clings to the wall, the type that psyched themself up in the car before walking in. | cw: feet. smut.

spider-man noir—

wip chills. | noir / reader -> Peter takes a liking to you, deciding to learn more about you the only way he knows how. | cw: stalking. smut.

wip untitled. | noir / black cat!reader -> His secret is safe with you. Yours isn't. | cw: mentions of violence/abuse. mentions of blood and gore. eventual smut.

revolutionary girl utena—

wip untitled. | akio / reader -> Culled. So expertly culled. You don’t realize the leash around your neck until it’s been pulled tight. | cw: abuse. rape. smut.

wip untitled. | utena / anthy -> She has to protect Utena, or she'll never be saved. I cw: mentions of csa. mentions of noncon. mentions of violence. angst.

[thetentaclecommander]

On a Devil's Wings

OaDWs (part 4 of the Devil's Saga)

((Header Pic for the series done by Lil-Chilo)) On a Devil's Wings Rated E; has adult/intensely heavy themes and very explicit content Fandom: Resident Evil Main Ship: Nemesis/Jill Valentine Side Ships: Jill Valentine/Albert Wesker, Carlos Oliveira/Ada Wong, Original Character/Original Character, Nemesis/OC, others in light passing Chapters: 32/?

CW: graphic depictions of violence, psychological trauma, implied medical torture, implied/referenced torture, major character death, heavily implied incest and rape, on-screen dubcon (full tag list on AO3) Summary: ~Does beauty truly conquer the beast, or does the beast conquer her?~ ~It’s save, not conquer, my silly prince.~

The final arc of TDS taking place right after TSoD/Domesticity. This is where hard decisions and painful truths that change everything known up to this point occur. Do not expect the fairy tale ending to stay completely pretty. The last remaining brother to Nemesis, Zeus is a creature of not sound mind nor understanding of the value of life. He is 'free' from his 'Father' Simon Ghandon, but is ensnared by a deeper want - to find his brother and to clean him of his failings including his weak female and child. This arc digs deeper into 'what is' about Nemesis both physically, psychologically, and emotionally. It will explore darker themes and topics: it will basically not shy away from nor sugarcoat the violent or suggestive situations within. ________________________________________________ Excerpt from On a Devil's Wings: Prologue-

It's hot…

Father

Why is it

So hot?

Where did brother go?

Where are we…

Body feels lighter yet heavy. The feeling of thrashing underneath skin registered to the 'mind'; the sensation curling through bone and muscle culminating into the sick ripping of tentacle pushing through skin. More and more purple-black tendrils push through the headless corpse of the 3rd NE-T to have ever existed.

The head was still pinned to the wall, the sword hilt sticking out of a maw gapingly open in a monstrous permanently shark-toothed smile. The head was staring blankly at the world with empty bloodied sockets. …Not that in life the artificially reddened eyes gazed with any more life unless the gaze of madness hidden behind them counted as such. The body still vaguely registered the sensation of sloppy jagged cuts the sword that struck him down left along what was left of the neck. 

But the one that did this to him – the male that had his own head burnt away by a frail, hapless human in one point and time – had hurt the body but did not end the mind. The parasite that was in name Zeus had merely retreated deeper into his stocky body, letting brother Nemesis behead him. A necessary sacrifice to survive and a gamble that paid off. As his former head stared blankly with still wet ichor dripping down the wall, his parasitic tentacles like bloody fingers pushed out through his neck. His limbs had begun to move albeit jaggedly only sensing heat but nothing more.

If there was pain, he could not register it. Not that he really understood what pain was in 'life'. Pain was like another touch. Another way to touch, mark, claim…brother. Where is brother? The NE-T's body had risen with the grace of a zombie, only having touch to guide his way, the senses of sight, taste, smell, and sound denied him. It feels so warm now. Too warm. The parasitic brain that maneuvered the body like a headless marionette did not dare emerge out for fear of losing what it had claimed as 'himself' for so long.

The body had after a few moments of moving around blindly, stood stock still. The many tendrils protruding from the severed line of his neck reached outward like spidery fingers. They roam out nearly crossing the entirety of the room grazing along old toppled overstuffed and positioned dead animals, to the blank expanse of wall where a tapestry once hung. A tendril touched the wall, dragging along the layer of dust the large wall hanging had hidden.

It dragged downwards still till it wrapped around something metal, along with wetness. The tentacle wrapped tighter still around the metal before pulling on it. With inhuman strength, the tentacle ripped the metal item from the wall. Had he had the ability to hear, the sickening sound of muscle ripping along with the thud of the heavy unattached head hitting floor would have registered. The metal item was dropped to the floor, the bigger prize now somewhere on the floor.

More tendrils shot to the floor, the mass now certain of where the missing head was. They curled around that broken, bloodied pile of flesh, bone, muscle and whatever filled the head of the 'dead' Tyrant before lifting it up towards the stump where it should have been at the Tyrant's neck. Almost immediately they began to penetrate the head – still warm for it was very recently he had even lost it – from the bottom, the tendrils filling key portions of it. From within the parasite began to fill the fatty mess of brain and cortex; the organ itself not important for it only gave the parasite more cushion. The Tyrant body Zeus 'inhabited' was long mentally dead anyway. The reintroduction of the parasite would revive what needed to be.

He could not see, but he could vaguely hear and smell again. Smoke and the loud countdown to some sort of purge. His eyes were damaged; he could not see for brother made sure to blind him. It would take a while to fix what was needed. 

Too long...it's hot here.

We are confused. Why are we here?

We…We need to rest. Father why is it so warm.

The strangely reattached head shifted and held on, the parasite slowly trying to blend it with the body again, making both one. But it…he needed time. So much energy needed; this place is too warm. Like a blind worm the risen Tyrant's body shifted through the eternal darkness, grasping along the thick dusty walls. The sensation of the ground moving was odd but warned him something wasn't right.

Father wasn't right…no. Father is dead. Father and that female…and…and…

And?

Despite being blind, despite feeling the not so complete reattachment of his head, the parasite known as Zeus slowly reclaimed his body and along with it the memory of what landed him here. Father was dead now. He, in other words, was free. But what is free? No, Father is just dead in body, that's all. There is no 'free' for us. Freedom meant being unneeded. Unnecessary. Like brother.

He could only understand the freedom of anger, complete obedience, and rage at the image of who did this to him. This last pushed him through halls full of debris and rubble he could not see, through fires he could only feel, the scents of blood and viral agents filling his hidden nostrils. The loud and obnoxious warnings of a long-dead human's voice rung in his ear holes.  But most of all he could almost taste him…taste the lingering presence of his 'killer' on a tongue that licked across sharp teeth.

'Oh Zeusy, are you still being a good dog? Good dogs know to lie down when beaten.'

If he could work his not quite functioning voice box, he would've snarled at the voice. Brother even now is trying to make us fail. Ruining our thoughts with your lies!? But that's okay, we will prove you wrong. We will make you lie as Father taught us. We won't…won't let you confuse us. We are too filthy for that. Yes…too filthy. Even with the voice of brother roaming in his head, he was not deterred; if anything Zeus could only feel the rising excitement from not only their last fight but in still feeling his lingering presence in the air. Even his bloodstained leathers held splatters not his but of his brother. 

Oh yes. 

We will find him. 

We will find and destroy such weakness, and make brother see his error. Brother is so wrongly made, Father. Why doesn't he accept our assistance? We are his better. We will strip him clean of his filth. 

So much filth coats you, brother.  (Continue reading the prologue of On a Devil's Wings on A03)

[funkyhanji]

Family Outing [English | BNHA]

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia (@Horikoshi Kohei) Character(s): Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Mitsuki, Bakugou Masaru Pairing(s): (Mitsu)KatsuMitsu Rating: E Word count: 1.500 CWs: Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Mother/Child Incest, Consensual Incest, Implied/Referenced Threesome -F/M/M, Femdom, Outdoor Sex, Vaginal Sex, Barebacking, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Mommy Kink, Dirty Talk, Wank and Tell, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary: - It'd been a while since all three of them had had enough free time to hike up the mountain near the city, what with their fashion company and Katsuki's training keeping them too busy to take off even a couple of days for a tiny vacation with family. Mitsuki was happy they managed to plan this trip though. - PART 5 OF Got Me In Chains SERIES

«You good there, dear?» Mitsuki asks her husband, looking back to where Masaru is concentrated on putting together their tents for the weekend outdoors.

It'd been a while since all three of them had had enough free time to hike up the mountain near the city, what with their fashion company and Katsuki's training keeping them too busy to take off even a couple of days for a tiny vacation with family. Mitsuki was happy they managed to plan this trip though.

«Yes, dear,» Masaru answers, turning to smile at her. «I've got it, thank you!»

Mitsuki nods, winking his way. «Alright, then Katsuki and I will go find some wood for the fire!»

«Go alone, hag!» Katsuki pipes up from the edge of the hill they're camping at. He glares and pockets his phone after taking some pictures, a snarl at the ready.

Mitsuki rolls her eyes at her son's antics, striding toward him to snatch him by the collar and drag him away. «Stop being a little bitch, fucker. Come help your mom.»

They disappear under the canopy of trees outlining the clearing to the sound of Masaru's chuckles. It doesn't take long for them to be further enough away from the camp that they no longer hear him. Katsuki stops struggling and keeps up with Mitsuki, silent for the next few minutes as they walk through trees and underbrush.

She figures they're a fair distance now.

She whirls around, snatching Katsuki's shirt in her fist. «C'mere,» she says, pulling her son closer before he can react.

She's crashing her mouth to Katsuki's with a hum, her free hand snagging into his hair and tugging on it. Her son gasps, his lips parting with a low moan; Mitsuki's tongue slips inside, taking her time to thoroughly explore and taste him. She sucks on his tongue, nips at his lip, kiss him deeper.

«Mom,» Katsuki sighs against her neck when they separate, nosing at her jaw as her hands move lower. «Mom…»

«Yeah, baby.» Mitsuki slides her hands under her son's shirt, nails dragging up his back, warm skin exposed centimeter by centimeter as she bunches the fabric at his armpits. «I missed you too.»

Katsuki copies her, his larger palms sneaking under her top to feel her up, to push her sports bra out of the way and grope her tits, sink his blunt nails in the plump flesh. Mitsuki sighs, chest arching to encourage Katsuki to touch to his heart's content. He abandons her earlobe to bow down and latch on a pert nipple, sucking, nipping and flicking at it with familiarity. With yearning.

Mitsuki gets it. Ever since Katsuki moved to the dorms, it'd been difficult to adjust; to make time to see each other.

«So good, baby,» she says, patting blond spikes as he buries his face between her tits. His hands clutch at her sides, pressing her into a tree and she appreciates the support of it. He looks up at her, his red eyes dark with desire, feverish. «Kiss me, Katsuki.»

He's surging forward with a groan, his tongue invading her mouth, trying to rob her of her breath, of control, but they both know who calls the shots here. Still cute though, she thinks. Her hands travel along his flanks to his ass; she squeezes him, pulling his hips to rock into her own. She hooks a leg around his waist, rutting up into the tent she feels poking her. They both moan, panting into each other's mouths.

It's been so long since they had the chance to do this.

«M… Mom… can I…?»

Oh, she likes his pleading tone — even if he didn't outright beg, yet — and his wide eyes; it's like he's young and innocent again, being forced to sit and watch mommy and daddy fuck and have so much fun without him, asking why he's left out. Her pussy's drenched already. She takes his hand in hers, guides it between her thighs.

«Mommy's cunt's so wet for you, Katsuki,» she whispers. Katsuki shudders at the filthy words, his fingers pressing into her. Her damp thong dipping into the valley of her folds, fabric soaking up her slick the more her son put pressure on them. «Yeah, feel that?»

Katsuki nods, cheeks blushing a beautiful pink. His hand slips under her yoga pants and underwear, pointer finger wasting no time to trace her pussy and settle at her clit. Mitsuki parts her legs a bit, leaning on the tree, giving her son better access. She hums, rocking her hips up to meet his languid touch, grabbing his collar to crash their lips together once again. One stronger thrust of her lower half makes Katsuki's finger slide inside her and she fucks herself on it, enjoying the feeling but decidedly wanting something more substantial to pound her.

«Baby, fuck me,» she moans into his ear. «Now. Fast and hard.»

«Shit, shitshit—» he cruses. He's pushing his pants down past his ass in a hurry, his flushed cock swollen and dripping precum.

Mituski barely has time to turn and face the tree, her own yoga pants bunched down her thighs, when Katsuki grips her hips and shoves his cock inside her, her thong pushed to the side with a thumb. She sighs in satisfaction, arching her back for a better angle. They both thrust back into each other at a frantic pace, more focused on getting off together after months of distance then on drawing it out.

«M-Mom…! Ngh — tight…! F-fuck, so good!»

Mitsuki laughs, breathless. «Ya like... Mommy's— ah!— tight cunt... mh baby?»

Katsuki's moans of «Yeah! Good!» make her smirk through her pleasure. She rolls her hips on his cock, clenches around it to hear him curse and stutter on his next thrust. He's close, she can tell; his length throbbing as it spears her pussy over and over. His breath is humid on her nape as he licks her sweat from her neck, loud and interrupted by grunts and groans.

«I-I'm— Mom…! I—» he tries to say, hands gripping her tighter, thrusts erratic.

«Good boy Katsuki— aahn!— cum for Mommy,» she tells him, one hand blindly reaching backward to curl into his hair, her head turning to the side for an open-mouthed kiss. «Fill me up.»

«FUCK! Fu-fuck…! Mom…!!» he whines, cock shoved in deep one last time, before stilling and releasing spurt after spurt of thick cum in Mitsuki's pussy almost violently.

«Nnnh, yes, baby! Like that!» she praises. She ruts back onto him, smirking at his keen when she languidly fucks herself on his overstimulated cock. The squelch of their fluids lewd and dripping down her thighs. «Oooh, you were so pent up, mmh?»

Mitsuki lets her son pull out, tuck himself in his pants, then she's pushing him on the forest floor while he's still slightly off kilter. She ignores his squawk of surprise, crawling on top of him; she places her hands on his muscled, heaving chest for leverage and sits on his still-flushed face.

«Ya had your fun Katsuki, now be a good boy and make Mommy cum,» she tells him.

She cuts his answer off — it'd be a "yes please Mom" anyway, 'cause she's trained him well over the years — and smothers him with her sloppy cunt. He's there waiting, his tongue plunging inside her immediately, licking his spend from her stretched hole and puffy folds. She rides him, spine arched as she ruts her sensitive clit over his lower lip and chin, rocking back and forth, his lips sucking at it. He groans, pushing his face further up, his tongue fucking in and out. He eats her out like a champ, coaxing her orgasm closer and closer.

«Yes!! Keep going, baby! Ah! Fuck, yeah! You're doing so well…! Ah— shit…!!»

Mitsuki grinds her pussy down on Katsuki, tensing and digging her nails in his pecs, convulsing and cumming with a loud moan.

[-]

They walk back to camp after cooling down, rearranging their clothes and picking up few sticks of wood.

Masaru greets them with a smile. His brown eyes take in their disheveled hair, the leaves stuck in Katsuki's spikes; they notice the hickeys blooming on both their necks and Mitsuki's upper body. They zero in on the wet patch at Mituski's yoga pants' crotch as well as on the bulge in Katsuki's own.

«Had fun out there?» he asks, amusement in his tone and mischief in his gaze.

Mitsuki feels a bit guilty for leaving Masaru out this time, but it's all right — they have the all weekend to enjoy themselves anyway, all three of them; to renew their bond as a family, as a unit.

«Yeah,» she says, matching her husband's impish aura with her own. «Right baby?»

Katsuki stares between them, rolls his eyes. The blush staining his cheeks fools neither of his parents. «Yeah,» he agrees, a smirk stretching his swollen lips. «We did.»

Masaru laughs. «Well. I'm glad, but next time bring back more wood, eh?»

[mother-of-houseplants-2]

🌱 AO3 Fic Masterlist 📑🖊

A consolidated list of all my Fiona-centric fics!*

Taking Care of Things [WIP] | T | WC 45,531

-> Fiona takes care of everyone, but who takes care of Fiona? In which the kids are forced to step up, the truth about Fiona's childhood comes out, and Sheila's 'magic candles' may have a little more truth to them than the Gallagher siblings think.

Nobody, Nobody [WIP] | T | WC 3,615

-> Fiona develops an eating disorder during the most difficult period of her life. Nobody notices. [CW: eating disorders.]

Who We Become | T | WC 2,795

-> Mickey and Fiona have a conversation about childhood, being raised by your sibling, and the people we become when we have no other choice.

Carl, Interrupted [WIP?] | T | WC 4,325

-> Fiona has another dinner announcement. Carl gets the shock of his life. [CW: cancer mention.]

You Can Count On Me (Like 1, 2, 3, I'll Be There) | G | WC 3,119

-> Fiona comes in to talk to Lip's principal about his plan for graduation. It reminds her of a very similar situation - another Parents' Evening, so many years ago.

With the Wind | G | WC 2,258

-> The kids learn that Fiona never learned how to ride a bicycle. They take it upon themselves to teach her.

Afterthoughts | G | WC 2,260

-> Life goes back to normal again for the Gallagher kids in the wake of Monica’s departure. Well, for all of them except one.

What Monica Left Behind | T | WC 4,019

-> Eric Scarton has a very reasonable request for the Gallagher siblings: seventy thousand dollars or seven pounds of meth in twenty-four hours, or he’ll kill them all, one by one. Simple, right? Totally reasonable. The problem, however, is that Eric Scarton is not a reasonable man. [CW: kidnapping, threats of murder.]

Sixteen | M | WC 2,278

-> Ned gets in the wrong bed while drunk at the Gallagher house. Fiona’s not happy. [CW: mentioned dubcon.]

The Good Parts of Love | T | WC 10,409

-> Five times one of the kids hurts Fiona and one time someone stops them.

Getting Serious | G | WC 1,212

-> Fiona doesn’t hate Mandy Milkovich, really; she just wishes she’d wear more underwear around the house.

Hungry Mouths | M | WC 8,404

-> Fiona exhausts herself working to take care of everyone while sick. Her kids turn the tables and take care of her instead. [CW: implied/referenced noncon.]

You're Not Alone, Kid | G | WC 5,786

-> Lip's having trouble at college. Fiona's having trouble at home. They work it out together.

Little Words That Come In Pairs | G | WC 11,927

-> Five times Steve is a dad to Fiona’s kids and one time Fiona confronts him about it.

Twelve Going On Midnight | E | WC 5,135

-> Lip is twelve years old when he comes home to his older sister sobbing in the bathroom, pregnancy test on the sink bearing two little blue lines. He's twelve years old when he finds out the baby is Frank's. Lip is twelve years old when he plots to murder his father once and for all. [CW: discussion of rape, incest, abortion.]

*TBC!

[harrypocter]

Blaise Zabini Masterlist

moodboard by @alohaemora

Pleasure by @bluethepineapple

Blaise is well-practiced at dealing with his mother's urges. CW: for incest and implied/referenced sexual abuse. Please mind the warnings!

Love by @indigo-scarf

Blaise's reflections during the Amortentia lesson.

Quiet by @alohaemora

A chilling insight into Blaise Zabini's life. TW: Brief reference to underage drinking.

Best angle forward by @ashesandhackles

Blaise Zabini has a chat with Pansy, OOTP timeline.

Mechanical by @bluethepineapple

Blaise Zabini was trained in pleasure on his mother's knee, and he would make sure Ginny knew it. CW: Referenced childhood sexual abuse and dissociation during sex.

Based on numerous requests, we will be extending the deadline for fic submission for Festival of Colours! We will be announcing the new date soon, so keep an eye out for our page! <3

[gendervapor14]

gen's gen one piece fanfiction masterlist!

what's that? you don't feel like navigating my ao3 dash? i gotchu 😎 here's a masterlist of all my GEN RATED fics piled onto a tumblr post! i took the liberty of organizing them a little bit too! <3 i will do my best to keep on top of this 👍

link to my OP ship fanfiction masterlist!! <3

these stories contain no romance, or if there is romance, it isn't the focal point. ratings vary, but i tried to loosely organize them by characters featured!

updated 08-12-23

negotiations

rating: T warnings: none! status: complete! oneshot, 2,011 words genres/cw: angst, power imbalance, canon-compliant, tension characters: doflamingo, viola/violet summary: He was keeping his cards close. It didn’t matter. She could already see through them. additional notes: a first-meeting fix-it! my first and probably favorite work on ao3.

babysitting

rating: T warnings: none! status: incomplete, one chapter, 2,737 words genres/cw: humor, domestic fluff? as domestic as the donquixote family gets at least, canon-compliant, dark humor characters: gladius, dellinger, doflamingo summary: “What’s the matter, Gladius, are you afraid of little Dellinger?” “Horrified, sir.” additional notes: gladius is responsible for babysitting baby dellinger. anguish ensues

utopia (is always just out of reach)

rating: T warnings: none! status: complete! oneshot, 666 words, genres/cw: angst, alcohol abuse, nightmares, disturbing themes, canon-compliant characters: doflamingo summary: In a way, Doflamingo envied his brother's ability to find sleep. But it was more than that. There was always something more to it. Corazón didn’t just sleep. He rested. He escaped. additional notes: had a bad string of nightmares so i decided to take it out on doflamingo <3

splitting (searing) tearing (fearing)

rating: T warnings: no archive warnings apply status: complete! oneshot, 1,422 words genres/cw: canon compliant, dialogue heavy, referenced incest pertaining to the celestial dragons, alcoholism, implied drug use, shit talking rosinante characters: doflamingo, vergo summary: trading one heart for another. perhaps it's better to have none. ~ takes place in the 01746 universe, but can be read standalone ~ additional notes: i got very disturbed and so i wrote a story about doflamingo being very disturbed because he deserves it and i don't 👍

birds of different feathers

rating: T warnings: no archive warnings apply status: complete! oneshot, 3,456 words genres/cw: canon compliant, angst, tension, warlord meeting, character study, pre-dressrosa, doflamingo being an asshole characters: tsuru, sengoku, doflamingo, sengoku's goat summary: garp hunted roger. smoker hunted luffy. most seem to forget tsuru hunted doflamingo. {for marines week 2023} additional notes: my friend asked me for my opinion on tsuru and doflamingo's relationship so i shat this out

beast pirates inc.

rating: T warnings: none! status: incomplete, one chapter, 6,669 words genres/cw: office humor, satire, modern AU, transphobic character characters: doflamingo, donquixote family summary: kaido certainly made an interesting choice when he decided to hire doflamingo as the regional manager for the spider miles branch of his (illegal) operations. additional notes: replaced the staff of the US version of the office with the donquixote family. disco's there for like 3 seconds and says some very unpleasant things, so be wary of the content warnings with that one.

the last trip to the county fair

rating: gen warnings: none! status: complete! oneshot, 1,725 words genres/cw: modern AU, high school AU, county fair, rural vibes, angst/hurt/comfort, slice of life, pov rosinante characters: rosinante, doflamingo, homing and momquixote have a breif cameo summary: Jamming his fists in his pockets, Rosinante decided this is what Doffy wanted. He wanted his little brother to be miserable and lonely. Suffer like the loser he was. Well, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. additional notes: wrote this in a depressed slump, based off of a true story. i hate having brothers.

01746

rating: M warnings: graphic depictions of violence, major character death status: complete! (undergoing edits) 55 chapters, 270,663 words genres/cw: angst, backstory, canon-compliant, mental health issues, conflict of issues, romance, alcohol & drug use/abuse, suicidal thoughts/actions, dark themes characters: rosinante, doflamingo, sengoku, tsuru, original character, donquixote family, law summary: Somewhere in that heavenly demon, there was human. Besides the flesh and blood, besides the eyes behind lifeless lenses. Somewhere there was the potential for good. But it was all tossed towards his sense of self. Doflamingo, with his wicked heart, sauntered about as if he were absolved of sin. Embodied it, really. Surrounded himself with a loyal, fallen family of his own making. Striving to achieve this goal of divine perfection. Because he felt it was owed to him. Still, Rosinante did not want his brother to die. Maybe he should've. A tale of fallen nobles, justice, freedom, and love. additional notes: this is the biggest project i have written so far! rosinante's backstory, from when he's taken in by the marines, to his death. covers his life as a marine, his experience undercover, living with the donquixote family, and his short adventures with law. there is some sappy romance in this, (rosinante x oc, and background doflamingo x crocodile) but it's not the focal point, and can be skimmed/overlooked without hindering the plot.

doflaminBROS week 2023 ficlet collection

rating: T warnings: major character death status: complete! 5 chapters, 3,402 words genres/cw: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-compliant, character study, nightmares, implied drug use, ptsd, mild sibling abuse, referenced alcoholism, depictions of a corpse characters: doflamingo, rosinante, law, donquixote pirates summary: collection of canon-compliant ficlets for the doflaminBROS week 2023 event! prompts are as follows: april 10th: brothers, april 11th: smile, april 12th: cigarettes, april 13th: childhood, april 14th: hurt/comfort, april 15th: silence, april 16th: free additional notes: ummm yes pretty much what it says on the tin, bunch of little snack-sized sad stories about these two goons

a father for a son

rating: gen warnings: major character death status: complete! 7 chapters, 589 words genres/cw: artwork, traditional art, angst, poetry, ficlet collection, canon compliant, canonical character death characters: rosinante, donquixote parents, sengoku, law, doflamingo, sengoku's goat, bell-mere summary: a collection of artwork (by @attyattlaw), and accompanying poetic ficlets (by gendervapor), for coraweek2023! prompts are as follows: day 1: smile, day 2: gun, day 3: seasons, day 4: soul, day 5: family, day 6: martyr, day 7: smoke additional notes: a collab between me and atty for coraweek! we had a blast with this and also suffered a lot :D

life of a paper shredder

rating: gen warnings: major character death status: complete! oneshot, 2,327 words genres/cw: canon compliant, angst & feels, the goat does not die!! characters: sengoku's goat, rosinante, sengoku, tsuru summary: “You be good to Admiral Sengoku and keep him company while I'm gone, and I’ll let you eat a copy of my final report. Promise?” a companion breaks no promise. additional notes: i get a lot of comments on this one about people crying so. be wary.

corazón de oro

rating: gen warnings: none! status: complete, oneshot, 2,785 words genres/cw: hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, nightmares, canon-compliant characters: rosinante, law summary: “Love, it’s…kind of like a leap of faith. You take your dive, you give them your heart. And you can only hope they’ll catch it when you land.” additional notes: sweet little snippet of cora and law's adventure. cora raises law's spirits after a bad dream and shares his take on the meaning of love. uh, also worth clarifying, not a ship. i might add more snippets of their adventure to this at some point, and use it as a cora & law fluff dump.

fight over flight

rating: T warnings: major character death status: complete! oneshot, 666 words genres/cw: angst, poetic, character study, disturbing themes, canon-compliant characters: rosinante, law, doflamingo summary: The boy, a pathetic, sputtering thing, still had a heart. Something to beat and bleed and fight for. A living, stolen treasure, stashed away into the wrong hands. But were these scarred palms any better? additional notes: i don't remember writing this. honestly not sure if it's any good. i do remember i wrote it as a foil to utopia.

sunflowers > gold

rating: T warnings: major character death status: complete! oneshot, 1,402 words genres/cw: angst, character study, goodbyes, canon-compliantcharacters: gladius, monet summary: As he gazed up at that sea of gold, hands fisted in his pockets, Gladius could only wish for the impossible. It wasn’t fair to split the Family apart. An act of trust, they’d call it, but some part of him feared it was far worse. additional notes: a little gladius character study, focused on his relationship with monet. could be viewed as platonic or romantic!

trash > treasure

rating: T warnings: none! status: complete! oneshot, 3,131 words genres/cw: hurt/comfort, dark humor, found family, character study, fluff and angst, implied drug use, chronic illness characters: doflamingo, gladius, donquixote executives summary: Maybe Gladius was a waste like the executives foretold, but he was a waste Doflamingo cared about. For whatever reason, that miserable, soft-spoken, sickly little brat got under his skin and had him reevaluating his recklessness. additional notes: i noticed gladius and doflamingo had pretty similar hairstyles when they were younger, and so this was born. some very cruel, dark humor shared between the executives worth noting.

battle your tears, bottle your fears

rating: T warnings: no archive warnings apply status: complete! oneshot, 3,917 words genres/cw: canon compliant, angst, mental health concerns, broken bones, heart attacks, betrayal, grief/mourning, hallucinations, drug use, chronic illness, crying, medical inaccuracies characters: gladius, baby 5, doflamingo, donquixote pirates summary: The least he could do was keep his shit together when Doflamingo needed him the most. Instead, he was going to lie here and die from a broken foot. ~ contains spoilers for the 01746 universe ~ additional notes: a gift for the lovely @mariaashlay for. being an incredible human. and a fellow gladius lover ♥

[sodomhipped]

eight months after

pairing: vash/wolfwood (implied past knives/vash) rating: mature words: 2.9k cw: implied past non-con, unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied/referenced incest

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47581282

[umalvie]

Id / azula, iroh, and 50 sentences that do not fill any voids

There has never been a relationship between Iroh and Azula to mend.

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced csa, implied/referenced father-daughter incest

[umalvie]

oh i've got a lot of posts talking about how much they compel me.

this is a breakdown of some of the most interesting aspects of their relationship in my eyes overall.

this one is an early post of mine about maizula, but it's a breakdown of the "i love zuko more than i fear you" scene, which is key to understanding their relationship.

here is a post talking about how azula shits all over mai's parents both out of respect for mai and in an act of revenge. i don't get super deep into it here, but the important takeaway is that azula's love for mai, whether you perceive it as platonic or romantic (to me, it's obviously very romantic) sort of "reduces" her from a prodigious princess/child soldier to (really reverts her to) a regular 14 year old girl.

in this post i talk about them in terms of how they play with the rich girl weird friend dynamic (a favorite of mine).

this post isn't maizula-centric, but in it, i break down azula's relationship with the other fire nation teens through the lens of her varying levels of respect for them (hint: she loves all of them, but mai is the only one she respects).

also not maizula-centric, but this post talks more about the boiling rock betrayal and why mai's betrayal is, for azula, far more surprising than ty lee's.

that's all i've got in terms of meta about them (and i really should write more on mai's perspective because hers is REALLY interesting what with how she treats azula as if they were equals despite the gap in their social status), but i've got some jokier posts about how great they are here, here, and here.

if you're still not sold on them being the best ship, i've got some fic recommendations for you!

molotov is the maizula bible. it's a modern au in which toward the end of her high school career, mai's boyfriend introduces her formally to his family, including azula, sparking an affair between the two of them. it reads like a literary fiction novel! it's easily the best fanfiction i've ever read. cw for underage sex scenes, self-harm, child abuse, and implied/referenced csa, incest, and suicide. i also recommend its sequel hollowpoint, but i won't link that one for you to avoid any spoilers before you've read molotov.

i'm drinking violence out of the sound of your name is a really good canon-compliant fic! cw for child abuse and all the other canon-typical themes.

hemophilia is a 50-sentence mai character study that features both maizula and maiko. cw for self-harm and references to underage sex.

now for me to plug my own fics.

katabasis is my favorite fic i've ever written. it's a thoroughbreds inspired modern au in which after a university-aged mai narrowly avoids being accused of animal cruelty, she's brought back together with azula, who's an olympic figure skater, by a desire to kill the prime minister, azula's father. cw for child abuse, self-harm, japanese racism against koreans, and implied/referenced domestic violence, rape, and incest.

you all over me is a a post-canon examination of how mai is dealing (or not dealing) with the ashes of her relationship with azula. cw for implied/referenced child abuse.

utterpok is my most ambitious fic ever. it's an ongoing au in which azula is the avatar because aang wasn't the airbender avatar when the genocide of the air nomads happened. a lot of the lore from canon atla is changed and ships aren't the primary focus, but the maizula dynamic goes crazy. it's an ensemble cast, so there's something for everyone if you have the time to read it.

but yeah, maizula compels me like crazy.

why do u ship maizula? (not hating just curious)

I'm sure @evilprincesss could do a much better job than me explaining why Maizula is the best ATLA ship.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

WHAT UP, MY DARLINGS

Sorry for the long hiatus. New full-time job was kicking my ass, and I also realized there were a lot of changes I wanted to make to what I'd already written. That said, new chapter of my Feyd Rautha/Reader arranged marriage!AU is up.

Link to full AO3 fic here

Tags and CW for this chapter: switching; riding; body worship; come-eating; knifeplay; nipple play; oral sex (M+receiving); mentions of past self-harm; masochism; orgasm delay; teasing; subspace!Feyd; pregnancy discussions; dom!Feyd as well as sub!Feyd; both dom! and sub!reader; subspace and subdrop; collars; leashes; blindfolds; face-fucking; implied/referenced past child abuse; implied/referenced past incest; the Reader being an unreliable narrator/having way too much trust in the Bene Gesserit; mentions of Feyd's mommy issues

This takes place seconds after the previous chapter so if you need a refresher I also have the previous tumblr chapter here. Even with the tags up above this is definitely the softest and most romantic chapter I've put up so far. Like, by a significant margin.

CHAPTER TEN: UNLEASHED

For a few minutes all you do is kiss, lazily, trying not to move your hips too much as you lay atop him and his hands pass over your ribcage, your sides, your hips, before curling into your hair.

You're sweet like this, you almost say.  Never thought I'd be able to say that about you.

You drop your head and bring your mouth just below his ear, at the juncture of his jaw and neck.  Past experiences dating even prior to him taught you that this is a weak spot for you, and it appears to be the case for him as well as he gasps.  You remember the knife beside you, think about how he always enjoys a bit of pain to heighten his pleasure, and curl your fingers around the hilt.

You’re almost stunned at your own confidence as you do it, your bone-deep certainty that Feyd will enjoy this, as you lean upwards, taking the knife, and just barely pressing it against his chest, drawing a thin red line that ends just above his left nipple.  The cut’s shallow and the knife’s sharp so it probably doesn’t hurt much,  even as Feyd shifts and arches his hips, browline furrowing and mouth falling open in a silent gasp.  And then you lean down and lap up the blood welling up in slow, deliberate licks.

His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp as it starts to fill out–slower than before, but awakening all the same.  He gives a rattling breath as you close your teeth around the nipple and tug lightly.  His hand curls around the back of your head but applies no pressure, as if he isn’t sure if he wants you to keep going or pull back, groaning and filling out more as you gently roll your hips and set the knife down  beside you.  You smirk around his bare skin, clench around his finally-stiff cock, and think, Alright.  I think it’s safe to say you’re ready for round two .

You sit up all the way, then, fanning your fingertips over his chest at first, fingertips of your right hand catching the last tear-droplets of blood that you bring to your mouth, sucking on your fingertips as you roll your hips properly.  Will he wear his favorite collar next time he lets you use him like this?  Will he still lie docile, waiting for you to command him?  

You picture it, and groan at the idea: him with his hands tied–wrists bound above his head, or maybe, oh, Great Mother, tied to the bedposts.  Is that why he has hooks on each of his bedposts?  You laugh, the heat already building up your spine, coming swiftly for you as you bear down on him, head falling back as the laughter turns into a moan as you shift your hips in just the right angle.  Incredible .  You can’t help it as the words spill out of you.  “I could do this all night,” you tell him.  “I– oh, fuck– I could ride your fat cock all night.  Would you like that, Feyd?” 

He groans an affirmative, and you feel all the hotter for it, stunned at how quickly the heat builds again, at the obscene squelch of your slick around him.  You move his hands from your hips to your breasts and he immediately understands your instructions, squeezing and fondling them as you topple effortlessly into your third orgasm, leaning back at just the right angle, both hands braced on his thighs.  

Thing is, you meant it when you said you could keep going, if nothing else than sheer force of will. You keep moving, desperate to come again, desperate to keep him inside of you for just a little longer, searching for the moment where you hit your threshold.

“Don’t come yet,” you tell him, panting.  “Not until I come again.”

Feyd groans under you and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s not out of protest, but arousal.  You try to make sense of it as you finally understand the phrase ‘ drunk with power ’ because the hold you have over him right now is utterly intoxicating.

It makes sense; one of Feyd’s strongest qualities is his discipline.  You venture further, trying your luck.  “If you want to come then make yourself useful, Feyd,” you tell him, and he gets to work, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to your bud, as if you’d need the extra lubrication when you can feel his previous spend leaking out of you.

You reach down and pinch both nipples, twisting.  His hips jolt up, nearly knocking the wind out of you as it feels like his cock is all the way up in your ribcage, but he doesn’t come, even as he gives an agonized groan and the cords of muscle in his neck bulge.  He arches his back, jaw clenched, eyes shut.

Oh, that won’t do .

“Look at me, Feyd,” you tell him.  You want him to see your face when you come, and it’s so close you’re about to lose your mind.  Four times in one night .  You didn’t think such a thing was possible.

He obeys you with a low groan, working your bud faster, managing to meet your frantic pace, his pupils blown wide, beautiful and pitiful and vulnerable and entirely at your mercy.  His cock has never felt so good , you think, one final roll of your hips hitting just at the right angle inside of you.

You come with a guttural wail, head falling back, trembling and feeling utterly possessed, hips still moving but quickly losing rhythm, just frantic grinding on top of him to wring every last drop of pleasure you can get out of him.

Feyd gives out a pained growl of his own but you don’t feel the tell-tale sensation of him spilling within you.  You open your eyes as you pant and stare down at his slack face.

Please.  Please tell me I can come, Y/N, he seems to be pleading with you .  I need your permission to come.  Have I not been good for you? he seems to ask.  And he has been good, hasn’t he?  So good and obedient, laying there and taking it, letting you use him.  The grip he has on your hips is going to leave bruises and you’ll prod at them later with fondness.

“That’s it, come for me, Feyd,” you tell him, and he does, spasming, hips bucking up into you as he groans, still sounding like he’s either in paradise or agony and that he loves it either way.  The moment lasts for another moment, him spurting inside of you as every muscle seems locked, and then on an exhale he sinks back down, his grip on your hips and thighs loosening.  

He shuts his eyes as he gathers his breath and his face starts to relax.

“Hey,” you say, voice gentler this time, waiting for him to absorb the words.  “Look at me,” you tell him as you stroke his cheek.  He does, eyes opening wide and bright, full lips parted.  You smile down at him, thinking, you’re so beautiful .  And he is beautiful, in the way that a briefly-tamed beast is beautiful.  For a moment you remain still, sitting on him, feeling him softening inside of you, wondering what he’s seeing when he stares up at you.  If it’s as stunning to him as he is to you right now.  Then you finally dismount, panting, looking at the pallor of his face as close to flushed as he’s ever going to get.  

You wonder–while he’s like this, open and vulnerable, if maybe he’d–?  Even still in a near-euphoric haze, you pay close attention to the way he breathes when you lean down and kiss his neck, when you nip at his pulse point again.  He gives a soft sigh and you slide down further and scrape your teeth across one of his nipples.  This time he gasps, hands leaving your sides to clutch at the sheets.

“Yes, that’s good,” you murmur.  “Keep them there.”  

He does, and you watch the corded muscles of his forearms clench and shift to obey you.  You smile again, feeling strangely fond, as you go lower.

His pants are still around his knees and it doesn’t take much effort to tug them down and toss them over the edge of the bed.  His cock is utterly coated in both of you, and a thought occurs that’s so obscene it surprises you, but piques your curiosity.

After half a second of hesitation, you lick the spend off of his cock and go lower, to where it’s drizzled down one testicle, and then the other.  He’s never let you do this before, never let you taste and touch him on your own terms rather than feeding his cock into the cavern of your mouth, and the idea of continuing to play with him is too tempting to ignore.

His breath hitches and his stomach clenches, and for a moment you pause, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he doesn’t.  He trembles under you, spreading his legs a little more, and you look up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a wet gasp.

“Do you like this, husband?” you ask him.  You keep your voice quiet, as if any volume above your near-whisper would penetrate the fog that’s settled over you.  He jerks a nod.

It should probably feel subservient, licking him clean like this.  It doesn’t.  You’ve never felt more powerful in your life.  You kiss the top of one thigh, wanting to bring your mouth to his scars, but refraining. He’s being so pliant, so patient for you–you don’t want to risk ruining it, uncertain if such an intimate touch there would. Instead you finally bring them up.  “These scars don’t match.”

Feyd makes a noise like he’s only starting to come back to his senses, but still foggy.  Still lost.  

“The scars on your legs.  One of the legs has different cuts from the other.”  You stroke his hip and outer thigh as you stay propped up above him.  “How’d you get them?”  You don’t think they came from the Baron.

“Left leg, seventeen.  A woman did it to me,” Feyd says.  “I asked her to.”  Asked .  Not commanded.   Interesting.  “Right leg, a few weeks later.  Did it to myself, wanted to replicate the feeling.”  

You glance back down between his thighs as he’s still obediently laid out before you.  The scars on his right thigh look deeper and angrier with shorter strokes.  “Did it work?”

“Not really.  It’s not the same if you do it to yourself,” he says.  “I just ended up losing a lot of blood and passing out.”  

You give a soft hum and nuzzle your cheek against his inner right thigh before turning your head and licking along the scars.  His breath hitches, and you sink your teeth in.  It’s more of a playful bite, not hard enough to even try to break skin, before coming back up, face to face with him.

Feyd kisses you languidly, accepting the taste of you, of him, on his tongue, and burying both hands in your hair.  He sighs into it, closing his eyes, relaxing into it and letting you control the pace until you break away, coming down from the peaks you’ve reached.  

You’re an utter mess between your legs, you think as you set the knife on your nightstand and the two of you pull up the covers that had been kicked down around both of your ankles earlier.

How did they end up that way, again?  Oh, right, my husband ambushed me in bed while I was asleep and rewarded me by letting me use his body as my personal playground .

“You know,” he says, still seeming somewhat out of it–and no wonder, you are, too– “there are devices, something I can wear next time you ride me.  It would delay things even further, making you able to come five times for every time I come once.  You’d be able to ride me for hours, if you wanted.” 

Part of you would prefer to test his self-control to its furthest limits without the use of an aid, but his suggestion makes you smile as you settle in with him.  “That so?” you ask.

“You took to it like nothing I’ve ever seen, Y/N,” he says, as you settle back, turning off the lights once more.

He turns to lay on top of you; you feel him squeeze his eyes shut as he rests his head against your shoulder.  You can’t help but smile to yourself as you gently stroke the back of his head and neck and wrap your other arm around his back.

It’s something wonderful and powerful he’s given you, and you’re certain that he wouldn’t have unless he felt you earned it.

He takes a deep breath as he wraps his arms around you, as he moves his body down lower and lays his head on your stomach.

“Is this what you need, husband?” you ask.  There’s probably proper terminology for this sort of thing, but you don’t know it.

He nods.

“In a couple of days we’ll find out if life’s growing in there,” you say idly as he nuzzles against the soft skin of your belly.

“There is.  A boy,” he tells you and you laugh.  Wishful thinking.  How could he possibly know?

“I saw him,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts.  “Dreamt about you giving birth to him.”

“A dream doesn’t predict the future, though,” you tell him as you absently run your fingers over the back of his head and neck.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of something that came true, faces I’d never seen before but met later on,” he says.

“Oh?” you ask, and he gives a grunt in the affirmative, but says nothing else.  His breathing grows slower and his muscles slack.  You lay there in silence with him as he drifts off, still nestled against your stomach.

It's not the most comfortable position to try and fall asleep in, but you'll give him this.  You laugh quietly to yourself as you look up at the ceiling.

You have to remind yourself that your husband of one month just pretended to be an assassin to test your training and reflexes, and it’s somehow brought the two of you closer together than ever before.

.

You wake hours later to an empty bed.  There’s enough gray light streaming in to tell you before you’ve even looked at the timepiece on your nightstand that you’ve slept in.  You rub the sleep out of your eyes as the events from the previous night–into the early morning–trickle back into your consciousness.  For a moment you could almost believe that last night had been a dream, but the knife’s still on the bedside table and you feel a delicious soreness in your legs and abdomen and the less-enjoyable feeling of flakes of dried come on your lower lips and inner thighs.  You can’t help but smile remembering Feyd slack-jawed and moaning underneath you, how good he felt inside of you from that angle, how insatiable you were.

There’s a knock at the door and you instinctively pull your sheets up to cover your breasts.  “Who is it?” you call out, to hear Idrisa’s voice muffled from the other side assuring you that it’s just her with some morning refreshments.

“The Na-Baron wanted to let you sleep in, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she comes in and sets down a tray.  

“Oh?” you ask, reaching for your robe to put on as you swing your legs to the side of the bed and sit on its edge.

“He said you could take the morning off, Na-Baroness,” she tells you.  “He said you had an eventful evening and you’re going to have a busy day.  He said he wanted you well-rested.”

Last time he'd given you the morning off, it'd been because he was furious with you.  You can't imagine that being the case today, but you’re also not entirely sure, and that makes you nervous.  His birthday is two days from now; you can't afford to be on poor terms with him right now, between the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow and Feyd 's arena showing the day after that.

“How did he seem?” you ask, trying to process everything and imagining that a little caffeine will help. 

“I did not see him, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says.  “I’d received word from a Fortress guard what his instructions had been.  I heard nothing to suggest that he was in a foul mood, though.”

“Alright,” you say, still thinking, still wondering what the shift last night started will mean for you, in and out of the bedroom, going forward.

At breakfast there’s of course no acknowledgement of what transpired last night; neither of you would ever have that conversation in front of Feyd’s uncle anyway, but there’s a cool detachment in how Feyd treats you that feels tangible.

“Your brother sent word that he will not be attending your birthday festivities,” the Baron tells his nephew as soon as you’re seated, presumably continuing the conversation they were having before you came in.

“Best idea he’s had in months; it’ll save him the embarrassment of showing his face here,” Feyd says, wordlessly passing you a tray of fruit.  The Baron narrows his eyes for a moment, looking between the two of you, as if there’s something conspicuous about a man passing a plate of food to his wife during breakfast.  You look away, accepting the plate with a mouthed ‘ thank you ’ and pretending that you didn’t notice.

The conversation goes back to Feyd’s arena performance, with a brief discussion of the new Mentat, a man named Kalevi Itkonen.  It’s a name you realize is familiar because he was one of the first faces you saw landing on Geidi Prime, and one that made another appearance at your wedding; a lean man who had greeted you and your family with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his dark, deep-set eyes.  Affable, certainly compared to other Harkonnens, but seemingly amused at your dread and discomfort.

“May I ask what happened to the previous Mentat?” you ask.

The Baron sighs.  “An unfortunate casualty during the fall of Atreides.  It’s a shame; he was good.  Of course, Itkonen’s fit for the job as well, if only Rabban was willing to listen to his statistics.”

If Rabban’s this bad at his job then why not reassign him to something else?  Something where he isn’t in charge of Harkonnen lives? you want to ask, but instead offer your condolences.  It’s thankfully the most you and the Baron interact but you don’t get any private time with Feyd to set him aside and ask if he’s alright.  

Not long after breakfast Idrisa escorts you to the Dressmaker’s atelier, and the Dressmaker curtsies low and deep at your arrival.

“As requested, your gown for the Na-Baron’s birthday,” she says, stepping aside to show you the gown she made out of your measurements.

The dress is all black; common but not a requirement, you’ve noticed, for Harkonnen fashion.  Shades of charcoal and gray are also in vogue, even tinted with navy or forest green.  This, however, is as utterly devoid of color as Geidi Prime’s sun.  That’s not what makes your eyes go wide.

“It’s revealing,” you say after a moment.  The top half has thin straps, and you’re pretty sure the leather-like bands around the ribcage were added to make sure to not completely reveal your breasts, because it has a plunging neckline and no real back to speak of, you realize as you slowly walk around the mannequin.  It’s fitted tight from the ribcage to the hips, only flowing once the hourglass shape ends.  There’s a slit in the skirt that will reveal the curve of your thigh every time you walk.  On the floor beneath it are a pair of black boots with a reasonably high heel and around the mannequin’s neck a necklace that looks almost like one of the collars Feyd-Rautha has used on you.

The Dressmaker’s face falls.  “Does the Na-Baroness not like it?” she asks.  “The Na-Baron specifically requested a gown that would show off his wife’s assets.”

“Thank you,” you say, realizing that you won’t be able to wear anything underneath to protect your nipples.  “If that’s what he asked for then that’s certainly what he’s getting.  I’m sure he’ll love it.”

It also sends quite a message.  Look at the fecundity of the Na-Baroness’s body.  Look at what the Na-Baron gets to take for himself whenever he wants .   Look at how he owns her.

But that's the image you're meant to play.  After his birthday will come the news of his upcoming fatherhood, and depending on how you play your hand, either the birth or Feyd 's coronation will come next.

.

You spend the afternoon practicing Harkonnen pleasantries and as such don’t see Feyd until dinnertime; he doesn’t say much, not to you or to the Baron, who reminds both of you about the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow.

“I trust you’ll have the results that they want,” he says, leaving the implications hanging open in the uncomfortable air between the three of you like wet laundry.

“We’ve done our part,” Feyd says, voice curt, tearing his bread in half with a little more force than usual.  You’d not blame him for his irritation with his uncle but for the fact that you’re stuck here, too, sitting in uncomfortable silence, supposing you ought to be grateful that the Baron’s little jabs at your potential childbearing abilities aren’t out of any interest in you.  But of course that’s due to the possibility that even though he probably hasn’t forced himself on his nephew in nearly a decade, he may still get some secondhand voyeuristic satisfaction thinking about how he performs in bed and the thought of that puts you off the rest of your dinner.

After the fact, while you’re getting ready to leave Feyd places a hand on your arm.

“Meet me in my room tonight,” he says quietly.  You nod, glancing back at him, hoping for some sort of barometer for tonight and getting nothing.

.

Feyd’s naked, as he typically is during your night-time rendezvous, and you’ve matched him coming into his chambers.  He stares at you for a moment without a word, cock not-yet awakened, his expression inscrutable.

You finally ask the question that’s been bothering you all day, hoping the honorific at the end will appease him.  “Are you upset with me, husband?” 

Feyd tilts his head ever so slightly.  “Why would I be upset with you?” he asks, probably knowing the answer and pulling it out of you anyway.  You fidget and twist your hands, trying to look him in the eye.  Right now they give nothing away.

“Last night…we did something different.  I liked it.  It seemed like you liked it.  But now I don’t know how you feel about me seeing you…like that.”

“Submissive and obedient?” he prompts you. 

“Yes,” you manage, blinking, looking down, forcing yourself to look back up.  Feyd’s gaze is dark, and for a moment cruel in the brief seconds of silence that drag on and make your heartbeat speed up.

“I do like it that way sometimes,” he says finally.  “And I enjoyed it last night.  So no, I’m not angry with you; you passed more than one test.  If I’d known what you were capable of sooner, I’d have allowed you to take control sooner, but I wanted to wait to make sure you’d be equipped.”

“ Equipped? ” you repeat, raising your eyebrows.  “Why?”

“Because in the past I’ve killed people who put me in that role but didn’t do it correctly,” he says.  He sounds so casual and detached as he says it.  “You know me well enough at this point that it won’t be an issue.  My trust is not something I give out easily, so don’t take it for granted.”

“I won’t, husband,” you say quickly.  “I assure you that I,” you take a breath, “I appreciate the…the trust and patience you showed me.  But may I ask, why did you seem withdrawn earlier?  It seemed like you regretted last night.”

A faint hint of a smile appears at the corners of his mouth.  “Because it made me wonder if I could have the same effect on you.”

“I don’t think I understand,” you say.  When have I not been at least to some extent obedient in bed with you?  I’ve almost always been submissive.  

“Don’t be naive, pet.  It doesn’t suit you anymore.  You saw how I got when you were on top of me, like I was almost delirious.  Seemed at times like you were, last night, too.  I wanna see if I can get you to that place where I’d gone last night.  You’ve gotten close, but never quite there.”

You try to think.  Yes, you suppose there have been times where you’ve felt a level of catharsis, exhaustion and relief, when he’s pushed your boundaries and tested how much you could take, what you enjoyed despite yourself.  Thinking about it, though, he’s right.  You never felt quite so dazed as Feyd looked, like he’d disappeared within himself.

Could you get there?  Maybe.  “So how do you want to go about it?” you ask.

“I want to see how much of it’s natural for you, see how much you trust me.”

“What makes you think you haven’t earned my trust?” you ask.

He looks at you and you can tell that if he had eyebrows, they’d be raised right now.  “Because I still frighten you,” he says.  “Not that I blame you; you know who and what I am, but even when you’ve enjoyed submitting to me, you’ve never quite let go and allowed me to possess you the way you did with me last night.”  He crosses over to his armoire and opens a compartment in the lower drawers.  “What’s been bothering me isn’t what happened last night.  It’s that all day I’ve been wondering if I can really do the same to you.”

He pulls out a blindfold.  You stare at it as you think about the collars, the leashes, the floggers, the clamps, the ropes and chains–the moments of shame for being subjugated replaced with shame for enjoying the sensations of it and his hungry gaze on you.  

“So,” Feyd says, seeming to watch for any potential signal on your face.  “Will you allow me to try?”

You’d gotten so wet last time he’d put you on a leash and collar that you’d been able to feel it trickling down the inside of your thigh.  The only humiliation you’d felt then was knowing what your friends and family would think if they knew you were learning to get off to things like this.  But they’re not here; it’s just you and Feyd.

You look at the blindfold for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“Yes,” you tell him.

.

Feyd sets out his favorite collar for you alongside the blindfold on his dresser. After he grabs a length of silver chain he takes a step back and looks over at you as if to ask, Think you can handle it?

You simply brush your hair to the side so he can get the collar around your neck and he grins.

“Comfortable?” he asks as he fixes it around you.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him, and he gives a soft hum as he takes the blindfold and wraps it around your head.  It's soft; your eyes flutter closed at the silk.  His touch feels somehow more intimate with one of your senses gone.  

“Good?” he asks again, and you nod.  “I want a verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, husband,” you answer, meaning it.  You can feel your nipples stiffening as the faint gust of his breath against the shell of your ear, hear the clink and swallow at the sudden weight of the chain being clipped to your collar.  If you concentrate you think you can hear him breathing.

“Kneel,” he says, and you do, taking a deep breath, your hands at your sides.  The chain starts to have more give, being tossed to you in increments as he seems to be walking way, to another spot in the room.

“Crawl over to me,” he says.  “Follow the sound of my voice.”

You think you manage the right direction, moving slowly, until you hear him speak again. 

“Stop right there, stay where you are,” he says, and you do, staying on your hands and knees, waiting for the next instructions.  Several seconds tick by, and for a moment you drop your head, wondering what the next signal will be, what Feyd wants from you next.  It doesn’t sound like he’s moved, but he can be utterly silent sometimes, so hard to detect.  He’s still here, at least; you can feel the chain being held upright.

Please say something, do something.   You wait, suppressing a whine, trying not to get agitated as the silence grows. You breathe in, breathe out, and try to focus on what’s grounding you–the marble floor below you, the leather of the collar and the weight of the chain.  The certainty that there’s someone on the other end of it, holding it for you.

“I’m here, pet,” you suddenly hear above you.  “Get on your haunches.”

You exhale.  It occurs to you that a month ago you wouldn’t have imagined being relieved at the sound of a voice as rough as his, but warmth floods your belly as you do, sitting back on your heels and settling your palms on the tops of your thighs, waiting for more.  Give me more.  Push me.  Show me what I’ve been missing and the place you went to last night while I was on top of you .

He leads you up to your knees and without thinking you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.  He’s only gotten you in this position before for one purpose, so the gesture comes naturally.  There’s nothing to it, you realize. 

Feyd laughs quietly above you.  “That’s it.  You know what to do,” he says as he pushes his cock inside.  “My pretty, perfect cockslut.  You love this, don’t you?”

You feel yourself flush, heat flooding your face and licking up your spine.  No one’s ever called you a slut before; you’d bristle at the term were it not for the fondness in Feyd’s voice, the warmth of his palm cupping your face and traveling into your hair.  Without letting yourself question it you moan an assent, hands at your sides, focusing on breathing through your nose.

“Sometimes I think about claiming you in the arena,” he says, one hand secured on the chain, the other clutching the back of your head as he presses in deeper.  “Showing my people how breedable you are.  But I’d kill anyone else who’d ever see you like this.”

You whimper around him, trying to swallow down, trying not to gag, feeling all the wetter for it even as tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and dampen the fabric of your blindfold.

He pulls out, giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing back in, and he’s in so impossibly deep, down your throat, that you don’t understand how you’re even taking him, but everything feels as if it’s encased in mist.  All you can feel is the marble under your knees, your husband’s hands stabilizing you, his cock so close to cutting off your airflow until it doesn’t, and he releases you again–this time for an even shorter reprieve.  You whimper again around it, holding still as he rocks his hips.

“You’re getting so good at this, pet,” he says.  “Such a smart girl, learning so quickly.”  He stops moving his hips but holds your head still for a moment, as if he’s simply curious to see how long you can take the length and girth of his cock in your mouth and down your throat, how long you can push past the discomfort and keep him there.  And then in one practiced movement unlatches the leash from your collar, letting the chain fall to the floor.  His grip relaxes in your hair, his hold barely more than a touch.  You could pull off if you want, you realize, but he said he wants to see how obedient you can be, so you keep your hands at your sides as you swallow around him, the tears collecting in your lashes as you try to breathe through your nose.  

The next time Feyd applies pressure, it’s to pull you off of him.  You’re not entirely sure how long you had him down your throat, but you can feel the string of saliva connected to his cock as you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering.  Your head swims.  Feyd swipes his thumb over your chin and lips, collecting the saliva that’s pooled around the sides of your mouth.  You’d give anything to see the expression on his face right now, but you also don’t want to take the blindfold off, not until he says so or does it himself.

Without thinking you nudge your head forward, once you’ve regained your breath and you’re certain you can take more–you can take anything he gives you and you gasp as Feyd stops you, your breath close to the head of his cock, you’re certain, but not quite touching it.

Give it to me, Feyd.  Please, I can handle it.  I want to prove it to you .  You say nothing; you wait.

For a moment the tip of his cock brushes against your cheek and you turn your head, lavishing your tongue along his frenulum, wrapping your lips around the tip of him.  You moan, utterly shameless, to try and encourage him to push in deeper.  He just stays that way for a moment, though, not thrusting in, not burying his head in your hair to push your mouth onto him, either.  He simply lets you feel the weight of him on your tongue before he takes a step back, slipping out, and you wait, unmoving, for what comes next, wet and pliant and ready.  It’s only the marble beneath your knees that grounds you.

And then without a word he takes off your blindfold and you blink against the sudden light before you realize Feyd’s staring at you with his pupils blown wide like last night, chest heaving and mouth open.  He cups your chin in one hand, eyes darting across your face.  Does he see in your eyes what he felt last night?  

“Get back on all fours for me, pet,” he says.

For a moment you feel disoriented.  Does he want you on all fours on the bed or…?

“Right here, pet,” he says, knowing what you’re about to ask before you can ask it.  You can’t speak, can’t form coherent words as you lean forward and brace yourself on your forearms, breathing in, then out.  His voice sounds almost like it’s coming from another room or inside your own head, you think as he kneels behind you.

He wordlessly slides his head along the line of your spine, applying only the faintest of pressure, guiding your top half down, down, until you rest your cheek against the floor, your forearms a cage bracketing your head, your ass raised up to expose it and your weeping cunt to him.  The cool marble feels nice against your flushed cheek.

He trails his fingertips along your slit, getting all the verification that he could need of what this is doing to you.

“Greedy, eager thing, aren’t you?” he says softly, and you sense him gripping his cock in his fist to line up against you.  You can’t help the giggle that spills out of you.  You really are, aren’t you? 

He finally pushes in and you arch your back into it, wanting to slide the rest of the way onto him but waiting, knowing that you’ll accept what he gives you because you can.  

“ Oh ,” you manage when he bottoms out inside of you.  He’s still for just a moment, and for that moment you wait in delicious anticipation before he starts thrusting.

He doesn’t hold back, grabs your hips, kneads your ass, knowing you’ll stay face-down because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.  You probably sound needy and pathetic, but you don’t care.  There’s no one here but the two of you as he pulls you onto his cock again and again, taking you on the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts as he changes his angle that hits your insides differently, dragging against a spot within you that has you seeing spots and stars instead of the vantage point you have of the bed only a couple of meters away.  You open your mouth in a silent scream, hips jerking uselessly, stomach clenching.

Feyd, ever so clever, senses your shift immediately and bears down on you from this new angle that’s probably strenuous on him, from the way the muscles in his thighs clench and his grunts become harsher, but he keeps going, giving you everything he can, everything you can take.  You want to touch yourself, bring a hand between your legs, but you’re not going to.  Feyd will handle it or he won’t.  You feel drunk even though you haven’t had anything that could get you drunk in over a week.  

“You want to come, Y/N?” Feyd asks behind you, and you moan an assent.  “You’re gonna have to use your words if you want me to make you come,” he says, tone on the verge of scolding, but still playful enough to keep it from stinging.

It takes a moment to form any coherent words, the four syllables laborious.  “Yes, please, husband,” you manage, voice sounding wrecked, and Feyd obliges you as soon as you get the words out, bringing his fingertips to where the two of you are joined, collecting the slick there, and rubbing circles along your bud.  You can’t help but buck your hips, your moans desperate.

“That’s it, pet,” he says, rubbing harder now, probably relishing the sounds you’re making as he brings you over.  You nearly black out, tears streaming down your face, clenching again and again around him, coming so hard you think you might actually be drooling, and then when you think the most intense shockwave of it has passed, you feel his seed filling you up.

I feel so full, Feyd , you think, delirious. 

You can hear him panting and grunting behind you as he pulls out part way, the last of his come landing hot and viscous on the small of your back.  You gasp, feeling decidedly marked up, but you don’t move, waiting for what’s coming next.

Feyd pauses; you hear his breath even out, and from the shift behind you you’re pretty sure he’s settled back onto his haunches.  It seems to take him a moment to decide what he wants to do with you next before he’s kneading the soft flesh of your ass.  You sigh at the contact, arching your back, and feel your mouth pop open in a surprised “Oh!” as Feyd’s tongue makes contact with your lower back, licking up the remaining droplets of his spend in one long stroke.

And then it’s done, but you don’t move, and for a moment neither does Feyd, who you suppose must just be staring at you and the way you’re exposed to him in a way that you could almost recall being humiliating around the time of your wedding but feels titillating now.  

After a minute Feyd starts to get up, but you stay where you are, still face-down, ass-up, presented to him as if he were to start again immediately.  He might.  You can handle it if he does, you’re certain.  You have no idea how long you remain there, the side of your face pressed against the floor, your body weight on your elbows and knees.  The combination of yours and Feyd’s fluids seeping out of you start to turn sticky, but you’re utterly calm.  You feel weightless.   Your breathing evens out.

“Sit back up for me, pet,” you hear as if Feyd was a thousand leagues away.  You blink and start to rise up on your forearms, stretching like a cat, rising up to sit on your haunches.

Feyd comes back into view, taking your chin in his hand.  You don’t know what he’s seeing in your eyes; perhaps what you saw last night in his.  He drops his hand from your face and extends them both to you in a silent offer to help you stand.

Once he has you up, he tips you, a hand behind your back, and you hardly realize what’s happening before he has you in his arms, carrying you to bed.  He sets you down gentler than you expect before pulling the covers over you and climbing in with you.  Smart idea; you hadn’t realized how cold you suddenly feel, shivering as Feyd gets under the covers with you, braces himself above you, and leans down for a kiss.

You kiss him back immediately, suddenly desperate.  Up until this moment you’d felt almost like you were floating on a string, and now that string's been cut and you’re crashing to the ground.  You gasp into it, clutching his back.  You dig your nails in, your breath ragged, and after a moment Feyd pulls away, eyes darting across the different points of your face.

“You’re shaking, Y/N,” he says.

Yes, you are.  A fresh batch of tears comes and spills down your cheeks and you don’t know why.  If you didn’t know any better, Feyd looks almost concerned, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before that takes you a moment to place.  Has he never reacted this way before?  Never been affected quite this way before?

“Can you please hold me?” you finally manage, and he complies wordlessly, shifting to lay on his back, wrapping his arms around you.  You don’t know what’s wrong with you, why you’re crying.  You’re not sad, not angry.  Just spent in a way that you’ve never felt before.

After a few minutes your breathing evens out again.  The solid wall of the man holding you and the steadiness of his heartbeat against your ear helps.  Feyd senses it and reaches for your collar.

“Let me keep it on for now,” you say, and Feyd stills his hand.  “Please.”

Feyd looks for a moment like he wants to ask why, but doesn’t, instead keeping an arm wrapped around you as you nestle against him.  You can’t explain it; right now you feel kept, like you’re something precious.  

“Better?” he asks after a moment.

You nod against his chest.  “But I wasn’t feeling bad before,” you manage, speaking slowly and trying not to slur your words.  You doubt you have it in you to do all this over again, even if he asks, even if he manages to get you floating again.  “It was just overwhelming for a second.”

“I know,” he says, and when your grip on him relaxes he shifts, moving to sit up, and you furrow your brow, wanting to follow him, nervous at the idea of being alone in this bed.

“I’ll be back,” he says.  “I’m not leaving this room, pet,” he says, getting up.  You notice that this time on the side table the water pitcher has two glasses and he fills both.  

He notices your hands are still shaking and lifts the glass to your lips himself, watching as you gulp half the water down first, then take small sips of the rest, not setting it back down on the nightstand until it’s finished.

“When I first met you I’d never have taken you for such an affectionate little thing,” he says before taking a sip from his own glass.

“Neither would I,” you tell him.  “Definitely not with you.”  

Feyd smirks at that above the lip of his glass before setting it down next to yours and settling back in with you.

“I’m going to take the collar off you now,” he says.

“Okay,” you manage, fading, tilting your head to give him a better angle as he unfastens your collar and sets it on his nightstand.  Not that you want him to get up and leave you alone in bed again, but you’re a little surprised that he doesn’t immediately and meticulously set everything back in his armoire.  He’s not the type to leave things until the following morning.  But he’s doing it now; he turns off the light and quietly turns you around so he can pull your back to his chest and slide one muscled thigh between your own.

You’re not sure what the name is for what you’re feeling, the way he shifts and wraps an arm around you and nuzzles his face into your hair.  It’s a sinking feeling rather than the floating feeling you had earlier, but nice all the same.  You start to drift off, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, his breath slowing down, and just before you fall asleep you remember the word you’re looking for.

Peaceful .

.

The next morning you don’t wake up until you feel the absence of a solid form behind you and sit up to notice Feyd almost-fully dressed, putting on his boots.

He gives you a small smile when he senses you watching him.  

“Excited for tonight?” you ask him.

Feyd’s smile fades as he stands.  “It’s an obligation like the rest.  We’ll make a good appearance for the guests, Uncle will get the confirmation he needs, and we can plan for tomorrow.”

“So is that a no?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“I obey the Bene Gesserit’s instructions. I don't have to like them,” he says, voice flat.

You look down.  He’s implied it before; you’d assume it’s because the Bene Gesserit tend to make powerful men nervous but there’s likely more to it.  

His mother was Bene Gesserit.  You’re not about to ask if she treated him like a son or a cog in her Sisterhood’s larger plans.  Not this morning, perhaps not ever, you think as he watch him leave.

The entire Fortress is bustling, preparing for incoming visitors; not just the Bene Gesserit but Harkonnens living off-planet in colonies and fiefdoms as well as a few guests from other Houses.  Your family will not be among them, but they’ve sent a gift–casks of some of your planet’s finest liquor, apparently.  

Not that you blame them for not wanting to come to Geidi Prime, but it would be nice to see them, especially when you can feel the mounting pressure on you like a valve you wish you could release.

.

It’s both too soon and later than you realize when you have to change into a different dress that’s thankfully more modest than your gown for tomorrow, complete with long black gloves and a lace cloak meant to evoke the often-veiled and hooded style of the women you’ll be greeting.

Itkonen will be the first Harkonnen official to greet the Bene Gesserit after they receive their medication to help with the atmosphere, at which point you and Feyd will accept them and act as intermediaries before bringing them to the Baron.  The Baron’s also reminded you and Feyd that they’ll examine you to make sure that you’ve secured an heir for the Harkonnen line, as if either of you could forget.  As if that’s not the entire reason the two of you even met.

The anticipation builds as you and Feyd wait in the Reception Hall, you on his left and half a step behind him in deference.  In front of both guests and other Harkonnens, you call Feyd exclusively by his title, because as far as Harkonnen politics are concerned, you may be his wife, but you are not his partner.  You are his subject, and as such you will keep up the appearance of being his doting subject, his broodmare, his doll that dresses and presents herself as he chooses.  You’ll live with it, and some part of you might even want to smirk at how the people won’t be privy to what you and him have developed.  They won’t see how you’ve fucked him into an incoherent state, how worshipfully he licks your cunt, or how he likes holding you against his chest at night when you fall asleep, but the two of you will know better.

You’re also reasonably certain that these women, certainly the Reverend Mother Mohiam, will know better as well.

Itkonen steps in, inclines his head, and announces your Bene Gesserit guests.  His dark eyes slide towards them as they enter, a hint of a derisive smirk on his thin lips that only you and Feyd see as he glances back at him.  Duplicitous whores, the lot of them, aren’t they, boss? his eyes suggest.

All the women are veiled, most with their faces hidden.  You incline your head in a slow, respectful curtsy.  This is what you’ve been training for your entire life.  You were made for this, you remind yourself as you then lift your head with a polite smile.  

You only recognize the Reverend Mother Mohiam, but there’s another just behind her, one who’s quite beautiful with almost cat-like eyes and high cheekbones.  You noticed her, though, not because she’s beautiful but because you could sense Feyd-Rautha just barely stiffen for a moment beside you as they entered the room, and when you glanced over at him saw a glimmer in his eyes that suggested uncomfortable recognition.  If you hadn’t been so close to him you wouldn’t have noticed but it’s unmistakable.

They’ve met before , you realize, even as they don’t exchange a word of conversation and the woman doesn’t spare him so much as a second glance, her gaze on you.

Feyd seems to recover almost immediately as he greets the Reverend Mother.  “We offer our fondest welcome to your Reverence and your Sisters on behalf of the Baron and Geidi Prime, and gratitude for making the trip here for the occasion.”

Reverend Mother Mohiam looks both unsurprised and unimpressed that the Baron himself couldn’t be bothered to get up from his throne but accepts the greeting with the same dignified coldness she’d shown you back on your planet.  She looks over at you, taking inventory of your still-intact hair and eyebrows, and looks back at Feyd.  “We appreciate your hospitality, Na-Baron Harkonnen,” she says.

You’d almost forgotten that Feyd does a decent job despite having a menacing presence at playing the part of statesman and representative.  Not that he was ever quite able to fool you into thinking that he’s harmless–and he certainly doesn’t fool them–but he manages to keep the small-talk polite without being insipid as the two of them lead the conversation towards the Baron’s throne room.

The Baron stays seated in his suspensor chair, which whirrs forward as he nods his head in acknowledgement.  “Welcome to Geidi Prime, your Reverence,” he says.  “We do hope you and your Sisters enjoy the festivities during your stay.  My gentle niece-in-law will be especially accommodating.  She’ll be relieved for female companionship.”

Much as it makes you want to grind your teeth and glare at him to speak as though you aren’t there, he’s right about that.  How he’d even know, you’re not sure.  He’s certainly not asked you.  

“Our services will take only a minute, but we appreciate the invitation to enjoy Feyd-Rautha’s birthday,” the Reverend Mother tells him.

“Forgive me for not knowing the exact details,” the Baron says, “but what process do you use to determine if young Y/N has secured the Harkonnen bloodline?”

“Nothing invasive, Baron,” the Reverend Mother replies.  “Just a private meeting.”

“Well, then, you certainly have your opportunity now,” the Baron says, gesturing loosely towards you.  “The people of Geidi Prime will be happy to know that my nephew has continued the Harkonnen bloodline.”  He looks at Reverend Mother Mohiam expectantly, as if to say, alright, let’s get it over with.  Show me if my nephew knocked up this Y/H whore or not .

She holds his gaze.  “We’ll conduct the test privately, absent of any men,” she says. 

The Baron blinks and looks at her as if to say, Are you dismissing me?  Have you lost your mind?  You can’t possibly expect me to wait outside , before beckoning a servant over.  

“Show the Na-Baroness and our Bene Gesserit visitors to the next room, on the left.  It should more than suffice for their needs,” he tells her.  

It is; a sort of lounge area that tomorrow will be teeming with guests, you notice as you trail in.  There are ample seating areas, tables that can and will hold down trays of food and drink.  The lighting is even somewhat hospitable.

“May I ask,” you start as you’ve all filed in, “how you’ll be conducting the investigation, your Reverence?”

The Reverend Mother looks at you.  “You seem healthy,” she says.  She means, Feyd-Rautha’s been civil towards you?

“Thank you, your Reverence,” you tell her.  “Geidi Prime requires an adjustment period, but I believe I've been able to find some decent footing here.”

The Reverend Mother looks a moment longer at you before speaking.  “Have you met Lady Margot Fenring before?” she asks, extending her arm to the woman you couldn’t help but notice earlier.

“We have not met officially, your Reverence,” you say, looking over at her.  Fenring .  She must be the wife of Count Hasimir Fenring, then, even if she looks like she must be a good thirty years younger than him.

“Lady Fenring here is expecting as well, Na-Baroness Y/N,” the Reverend Mother says.  “She has a certain talent for detecting pregnancy in other women before doctors even can.”  

You glance at Lady Fenring’s stomach and don’t see a bump–a still-recent development, then.  She sees where your gaze drops and explains, “I’m only two months along,” she tells you.  “A daughter.”

“Congratulations, Lady Fenring,” you tell her, cautious, wishing you knew more about Bene Gesserit customs.  Nothing invasive, they said, watching as Lady Fenring delicately pulls off the glove of her right hand and reaches for your stomach.

You take a small step back before you realize it, and Lady Fenring gives a coquettish little smile.

“ Don’t be afraid ,” she tells you, her voice pleasant and melodic, and she slowly places her ungloved hand on your lower abdomen.  For a moment, your heart slows down, your limbs feeling heavy, and you’re not entirely sure if her words were spoken aloud or if you thought of them yourself.

The woman closes her eyes and you can’t help but stare, vulnerable at her gentle touch but unable to move.  You feel lost, reminded of the early morning fog on your planet, before the sun starts rising.  You close your eyes as well to try and snap out of it, but the same murky feeling persists where fear and dread had been.

Did she just…did she just use the Voice on me?

That can’t be right.  The Voice is forceful, commanding, or so you’ve heard.  Margot Fenring is anything but.  You breathe in, breathe out, and wait, until she speaks again.

“Congratulations, Na-Baroness Y/N.  Your union has proven fruitful.”

You open your eyes and gasp, unable to tame your reaction before it comes, unable to stop your smile and breathless, “ Really? ”  You suddenly feel sharper, everything brighter, as Lady Fenring removes her hand and you move yours to where it had been.

“The life growing within you is new, the seed still very small, but it’s there, and it’s growing,” she tells you.

You can’t help but laugh a little, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you do.  You did it .  How long has it been forming?  A week?  Two?  Three?   Is it smaller than an apple seed?  Can this woman tell if it’s a boy like Feyd claims he dreamt of?

And then you think about the other man waiting for the news outside, probably more impatient for the results than your husband.  Your smile fades and you drop both hands to your sides.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her.  “The Na-Baron will be pleased.”

You need to help me keep the Baron away from it, keep him from c orrupting it.  If you’re anywhere near as invested in keeping it safe as I am then …

This is why they’re here, you remind yourself.  They need you and your progeny to be healthy.  They’ll look after you.

.

You emerge with the Bene Gesserit sisters trailing behind you.

“We bear good news,” the Reverend Mother says.  “The Na-Baroness is with child.”

Funny thing is that before all of this, before you thought you'd get married to a Harkonnen, you'd never had any expectations about how the moment would happen, when you would find out you were pregnant for the first time and told your husband.  It hadn't been a situation you'd ever really entertained even as it was always inevitable.  And yet this feels disappointing, not even being able to say it yourself, and having the news shared in front of your vile uncle-in-law as you try to seem demurely pleased and nothing else.  You try not to make direct eye contact with Feyd.  This isn't for either of you as individuals.  It's for the Harkonnen bloodline, for the Baron, for the Bene Gesserit and their selective breeding program.  So when it stings a little that Feyd 's only response is a nod in your direction as if to say, Well, done, you feel silly for it. 

The Baron says, “We’ll wait until after Feyd’s birthday celebration to make the announcement; we don’t want to overshadow his match.  Still,” he glances at you, “the people of Geidi Prime will be delighted to know that he’s continued the Harkonnen line.”  

You lower your head.  He truly has a gift for being able to suck the joy out of any celebration.  The baby growing in your womb will have to share space with the gnawing twin feelings of disgust and dread settling in your stomach.

After that, though, the Baron makes it abundantly clear that his main purpose for inviting these women has been accomplished and foists the responsibilities of entertaining all but the Reverend Mother onto you.

“Mohiam will speak with you tomorrow, young Y/N,” he says to you.  “But in the meantime, I’m sure there’s lots for you to discuss with our other distinguished guests.”

You curtsy and assure him that you’ll be an exemplary hostess in your most deferential tone before you and the other women are escorted back into the room you’d just been in; servants have already begun laying out plates of foods, various delicacies representing different Houses, goblets with pitchers of water, juices, and wine.  

The veiled women wait until the food and drinks are set out and all the male servants have gone before they show their faces, lifting their veils to take the first sips and bites.  Their ages range from possibly even younger than you to their seventies, all quiet at first.

Lady Fenring ranks above the rest of them both in title and within their ranks, it seems, as they defer to her and she’s the one who initiates conversation with you.

“It appears you’re adjusting well to Geidi Prime,” she says.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her.  “It was an unfamiliar environment to which to adapt, but the Fortress has been accommodating.”

“We’re in casual company now, do feel free to call me Margot,” she tells you, and you blame it on the fact that you haven’t gotten to talk to any of your friends in over a month that you smile, feeling warmth flood your chest.  

“Then feel free to call me Y/N,” you tell her.

“I was curious about your hair,” one of the Sisters says.  “The fact that you still have it–was it your decision or your husband’s?”

“The Na-Baron informed me shortly before the wedding that I could keep my hair.  It’s my preference as well, but I would’ve made a concession if it had been required,” you tell her.  He only allowed the hair I have growing out of my head, though, you don’t add.

“About the hairlessness–is it a personal choice or are Harkonnens simply incapable of growing any?” she asks.

“They are while living here,” you tell her, knowing that everyone’s listening.  “Geidi Prime’s bustling with industry but not organic life.  I’ve heard that it’s only possible for Harkonnens to start growing hair if they live off-planet for long enough.”

“It is indeed,” Margot says.  “The late Abulurd Rabban had not only a full head of hair but a beard when he died, but at that point he’d been living on Lankiveil for over twenty-five years.  Have you ever seen a picture of him?”

“I have not,” you tell her.  “His memory isn’t widely celebrated here, for obvious reasons.”  You’ve never seen a picture of either of Feyd’s parents, but you’ve wondered what arrangement of features they each had that they could have produced such different-looking brothers as him and Rabban.

She looks at you a moment longer, as if contemplating what next line of questions she has for you.

“I’ve done a bit of research,” you say first.  “The Harkonnens are of course better known for commerce and warfare but the library they have in the Fortress is very impressive.”  You wonder how transparently you’re trying to play ambassador.  You wonder how much it’s working.

When you all conclude your meal, and once all the plates are cleared, the other Sisters find conversation with each other, leaving you and Margot alone, and the thought gently scratching at the back of your mind becomes clearer; this friendly conversation is a soft interrogation.  Margot will relay everything, your words and the tone with which you speak them, back to the Reverend Mother.  Whether or not she is actually interested in your opinions is entirely beside the point, but even with this she certainly makes you feel that way.  Her body language is demure but inviting, her questions polite but never overtly invasive as she asks you about your upbringing and your hobbies, how you spend time on your new planet.

You’ve never met someone who seems both serene and somehow unsettling in a way you cannot articulate but feels tangible.  She has a certain poise you realize the longer the two of you sit in the same vicinity, that you just haven’t matured into yet.  She’s older than you and Feyd, more complete than either of you.  

She tilts her head at you at one point and says, “Forgive my questioning, but had you ever been courted or had an intimate relationship before your marriage?”

“A brief-lived courtship,” you tell her.  “Nothing substantial ever came of it nor did I expect it to; neither of us had high hopes that my father would approve of him as a potential husband, and I suppose I’ve always been too practical to entertain the concept of a love-match.”

Margot blinks slowly, and her next words are as diplomatic and polite as anyone can manage with the subject you realize she’s about to breach.  “I ask only because I’m sure you’ve heard some discouraging, perhaps intimidating rumors about Harkonnen men?”

Ah .  There it is .

“I have,” you tell her.  “But I’ve also heard for years about how the best way to temper a man is through catering to his desires,” you tell her.  “Even without any substantial prior experience it didn’t take long to understand what my husband wanted and how to provide it for him.”

You don’t need to delve any deeper.  She’s both Bene Gesserit and married; she’s known this for years before you did.

But there’s a part of you that wants her to know that you’re more observant than people may realize.  There’s an even greater part of you that wants to know what caused Feyd to nearly flinch when he saw her when you’d never seen such a reaction from him before.

“May I ask how you first met the Na-Baron?” you ask, trying to keep your voice a mask of politeness and casual indifference.  

She doesn’t look surprised at your question, which unnerves you further.  “I was assigned to test him,” she says.

“On what?” you ask, fairly certain you know the answer.

“Whether or not he could play into our larger plans.  What I found was interesting.  Despite being a man with no Bene Gesserit training he possessed a level of prescience I’ve seen only in my Sisters.”

He dreamt about our son .  You try not to let your nerves show.

“And then there was his pain tolerance,” she adds, cat-like eyes on you.

You keep a straight face as you wonder how she’d be familiar with it.  Has she bitten him?  Flogged him?  

She keeps you waiting for only a second before continuing.  “Have you heard of the Gom Jabbar?” she asks.

“I think so?”  You weren’t sure if it was a real thing or a myth concocted to instill fear of disobeying the Bene Gesserit, but you’ve heard of a test meant to bring whoever takes it to the extremes of pain, and that many of those subjected to such a test did not live to pass it.

“He not only passed, but he lasted longer than anyone I’ve ever tested.”  She meets your gaze as she says, “I’ve never seen anyone react to it quite like he did.  He didn’t just endure it; he enjoyed it.”

Oh .  Well, that would explain how they know each other, you think, trying to parse your own jumbled thoughts.  That’s probably all she did; she has a husband, after all, and she was testing Feyd to see if he’d be a good match for you , not herself.

But despite yourself you imagine her riding him with slow, deliberate movements rather than the grinding, bouncing desperation that you had doing the same thing two nights ago.  The image makes you inhale and glance away as you try to shake it from your mind.

Weeks ago the thought of him satiating himself with someone else would’ve been a relief.  Now a shameful ball of jealousy blooms in your chest, and she can sense it.  The Bene Gesserit aren’t truly omniscient, you know this, but she seems almost close to it.  It’s embarrassing how transparent and vulnerable she makes you feel, like a child trying to keep pace with an adult who’s skilled at a game you’re still learning.

For her part she seems politely amused when you look away, feeling yourself flush. You won’t ask if she saw him in the arena and took to his bed.  You don’t want to know if she indulged him in some of his darker fantasies or if she was able to coax him into a submissive state that took you a month to discover.

Focus on what she just told you, you remind yourself.

“You've seen it in him,” she says.  It's not a question.  Not from her, in any case, but the Reverend Mother will want to know, and it takes only a couple of seconds to cave.

“I have.  Both his masochism and his prescience,” you admit.  You won’t share any specific details, though; it’s too intimate to share with this woman, even as it feels as though she’s seeing you naked, like she can extrapolate your most personal moments with Feyd from a single glance.

Margot smiles.  “Her Reverence will be most impressed with you.”

.

The evening concludes when it seems as though the Baron’s meeting with the Reverend Mother has, and servants come in to escort the Bene Gesserit to the guest suites.

As you all emerge you see Feyd, stone-faced, glancing between you and Margot as he notices the two of you walking alongside one another.  You look over at her, who curtsies towards you.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Na-Baroness,” she says, undoubtedly aware of the attention the two of you are getting.

“You as well, Lady Fenring,” you tell her as you incline your head.

Feyd barely manages a curt nod in her direction before turning away, presenting his arm for you to take as you head back to the private residence wing.

You don’t say it; if you say it you won’t be able to take it back, feign ignorance.  You don’t say a word on the walk back, and for a solid few minutes, neither does Feyd.  He offers no recourse, and doesn't tell you what he, his uncle, the Reverend Mother, and Itkonen were all discussing over dinner and beyond it.  His silence lasts just long enough to set you on edge, make you wonder if he’s upset about something.

“You did well tonight,” he finally says, as the two of you reach your quarters.  “Uncle doesn’t care to entertain female company,” he adds, the closest thing to innuendo he’s suggested when it comes to the Baron, “so while he won’t say it, he was relieved to push them onto you.” 

You smile.  “Diplomacy is what I’ve been training for since I was a child,” you tell him.  “I wasn’t prepared for the intimate parts of marriage, but I trained for the politics of it for most of my life.”  Marriage is politics for a woman in my position .  “Although I’d like to think I’m getting reasonably good at the intimate parts as well,” you say, leaning in, looking up at him as if to ask, Your room or mine tonight?  You start to wrap your arms around his shoulders, thinking about how you’ll get to sleep more easily if he’s there, nestled behind you like he usually is.  

Feyd doesn’t move, instead staying where he is, rigid and unyielding.  “Not tonight,” he says.

You’re confused at first, pulling back, certain you misheard, but he’s completely serious.  Hadn’t he talked about wanting to spill his seed in more places than just inside of you?  How he’d wanted to continue fucking you even after confirmation of your pregnancy?

You drop your arms and take a step back.  Did seeing Margot Fenring put him off?  Is she the type of woman he’d prefer?  Not a Bene Gesserit, he’s said as much, but a woman with more effortless poise?  Or does he intend to find someone else tonight now that he doesn’t need to take you?

“I understand,” you say, trying not to let your hurt and indignation show.  “We’ve done what was necessary to secure an heir and now there’s no need.”  Not for another year at least . 

Feyd looks amused for a moment, taking in your disappointment that he’s not going to bury himself inside of you like usual.  It is sort of funny, in a sense.  Weeks ago you would never have anticipated wanting his touch and feeling disappointed at not getting it.

“I abstain from indulging any kind of carnal desires the night before arena matches,” he says.  “With others or with myself.”

Why? you want to ask, pretty sure the answer lies in something along the lines of discipline or wanting to save pent-up energy to put on a show for his audience.   

“I’m pregnant ,” you say instead, more to yourself than to him.  It’s almost incredible how shocked you are that the realistic outcome to the past month is finally here.  Like being surprised that a seed you’ve planted and watered every day is starting to sprout.

His almost-smile turns as close to soft as you’ve ever seen on him.  “How ‘bout that?” he says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand to your stomach.  His touch is gentle, his eyes drifting to where his hand rests.  For a moment you don’t think you’ve ever felt closer to him.  For a moment you’re not concerned with politics, with the Baron, with your future, and you can insulate the two of you inside the warmth you feel blooming in your chest.

“Can I kiss you, at least?” you ask.  He looks at you and nods, and you take your opportunity, cradling the side of his face and wrapping your other arm around his shoulder as you pull him to you.

He breaks the kiss first, but still rests his forehead against yours, his hands on your waist.  You can’t resist giving him one last peck on the lips, needing to pull away because otherwise you’re going to keep holding on.

“Good night, husband,” you tell him, your voice thicker than you realized, feeling a rush within you.

You finally have allies here; you’ll be able to talk to the Reverend Mother, devise the best way to keep the Baron away from your children so that what happened to Feyd will never happen again.

You will find a way.

.

You wake up in the morning feeling resolute.  It’s not the same quiet dread that you had on your wedding night, but the tension in the air still feels thick.

You won’t be seeing Feyd until it’s time to adorn him with war paint; you will dine separately, prepare separately, and once you have finished painting his body will sit in the stands waiting for his not-match.  After that the people of Geidi Prime will shower him with their praise and adoration and the entire Fortress will celebrate the Na-Baron’s birthday.  You’re not likely to have any real privacy with him today, certainly not until bedtime and even then you imagine it’s going to be a late night of entertaining well-wishers and keeping up appearances.

Your food is brought to your quarters, and you find you don’t have much of an appetite, between the snug fit of your dress’s bodice and the thudding feeling that starts in your ribcage and spreads downwards.  Not just Idrisa but another attendant helps prepare you to look as anointed and pristine as you were on your wedding day.

You wear your hair down, save for two braids starting at your temple and connecting at the back of your head.  It’s not defiance against the Harkonnens; they surely know that you look precisely how the Na-Baron wants you to.

Lips painted black aren’t any less common here than teeth dyed the same color, you think as you apply your cosmetics.  In fact, when you apply it, you think about how your mouth resembles an inverse of your husband’s.  

Your husband .

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is beloved by his own people, feared and despised by others.  He’s a force of violence, a killer and stone-cold executioner.  He’s a sadomasochist who comes from the most dysfunctional family you’ve ever seen and is set to lead the most bloodthirsty population in Landsraad.  He’s also known you with such tangible intimacy that it’s sometimes overwhelming.  He’s brought you to heights of pleasure you hadn’t thought possible.  He’s the man whose child you’re carrying in your womb at this very moment, even if the whole of Geidi Prime doesn’t know yet.

You are going to go out and watch the arena match as the Na-Baroness, and as the bridge between his world and the rest of Landsraad, both of and separate from the Harkonnens.  

You keep your head held high, the quiet clicking of your heels against the floor the only sound you make as you and Idrisa head for the chambers where your husband’s preparing to make his appearance.

At the entrance is another girl whose name you don’t know, and they flank you down a flight of stairs you’ve traversed only once, and two a set of double-doors guarded by two men in white who bow their heads, eyes downcast before opening the doors for you.

On the other side of the room a pair of young women wait, one of them holding a bowl and the other a pair of translucent gloves.  

And there’s the man himself, stripped to ceremonial loincloth, watching you enter.  His gaze sweeps up and down the length of your body, taking in the sight of your long, unadorned hair, painted-black lips, and every feature your gown shows off to almost exaggerated effect.

You stop for a moment and incline your head.  “Happy birthday, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

“Come to give me my gift, then?” he asks, and a month ago you’d have thought his tone cold and mocking.  Now it sounds as close to playful as he’s willing to get with other people present, especially as he’s still staring at you.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you tell him, and glance to the side, at the raised platform jutting out of the wall.  His Darlings are all curled up in a pile, lazily but contentedly watching the two of you.  They’re wearing clothes this time, matching outfits.

“You dressed them for the occasion?” you ask Feyd.

“I had servants sedate, bathe, and dress them, but yes,” he says.

One has a stripe painted on her forehead; she seems to be the leader of the pack, moving first and the other two deferring to her, and she leans over as far as she can manage, nuzzling against your side

You inhale sharply, picturing her not for the first time taking a bite out of your lower abdomen with those black fangs.

Feyd can sense it.  “They won’t hurt you,” he says.  “They like you.”

I wish I could say the same about them , you think as she purrs–another feature no doubt installed by the Bene Tleilax.

“Do they smell it?” you ask.  The baby?

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they did,” Feyd says, 

I won’t allow them near the baby when it’s born , is a conversation for another place and time, when there aren’t other people around and you don’t have an imminent task.  The girl holding the bowl steps forward, head bowed, to remind you why you’re here.

“Let’s prepare you, then,” you say, and Feyd gives you a small smile before turning his back to you.

Maybe when he first told you to paint him, he thought it would demean you, but it doesn’t.  You doubt he feels that way anymore, either.    He rolls his shoulders back briefly, and you watch the taut muscles ripple under his pale skin.

I was terrified of you the first time I saw you like this, you don’t tell him as you press your fingertips against him, but even then I thought you were impressive to look at.  Maybe not a traditionally handsome man as far as I was concerned, but I liked seeing you in a loincloth back then, too.

One of the girls holds the bowl for you, and the other gives you a pair of gloves to keep you from staining your hands.  You looked up the design–they change depending on the occasion and a birthday or other holiday requires its own set of strokes.

“Is this correct?” you ask, feeling pretty certain that it is.

“Yes, that’s right, Na-Baroness,” the girl holding the bowl says softly, hardly more than a whisper.  

“Very good, Na-Baroness,” echoes the girl just beside her, waiting to take your gloves off for you once you’re finished.

Feyd’s silent as you work, turning his head briefly and giving you a view of his profile as he glances over his shoulder at you as if to speak, but ultimately remaining silent.  You don’t have much to say, either, nothing that you want an audience for.

He’s going to kill people today; you assume prisoners of war, former soldiers who would put up a tough fight if the playing field were even.  Instead they’ll be drugged before meeting your husband, their ruthless and efficient executioner.  It’s not fair, it’s not good.  It’s not something you can call yourself proud to be associated with, but it’s him.  And you’re a part of his life, his legacy.  A knot forms under your ribs as you finish with his back and focus on his chest and stomach.  Does he share the combination of power and vulnerability you feel now, as he stays still for you to adorn his body with ceremonial paint?  Is he looking forward to cutting down total strangers in front of thousands of cheering people?  Because for all the discussion in the Fortress for it, Feyd seems less excited for it than everyone surrounding him.  Does he quietly long for the thrill of a real fight?  A challenge amongst everyone catering to his every desire?

You finish painting him and take a step back, allowing the girl next to you to pull your gloves off before she and her partner scurry to the side.  For a moment it feels like there’s no one else in the room, and you think as you look at Feyd in his loincloth and ceremonial paint that he’s devastatingly beautiful.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

His eyes look dark in these halls; it’s tough to find the blue of them.  “For making me a part of this,” you add.  “A part of your culture.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, before snapping the fingers of his right hand.  Idrisa and the other girl hurry forward, hands clasped in front of them and eyes downcast.

He still looks at you.  “Uncle will sit in his usual spot, that's his alone.  He’ll have you sit in the private box with the Bene Gesserit Sisters.  It’s a gesture meant to insult you, but don’t take the bait.  Just keep being hospitable to our guests.”

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you say.

A figure enters; a fat man carrying a cushion laden with knives–the swordmaster.  Feyd’s eyes flicker briefly towards him before turning back to you, and he gives a small nod.  Dismissed .

For a moment you’re not entirely sure what to say.  Good luck?   It would be insulting to imply that he needs it.  I can hardly wait?  He knows that’s not true.  In the end you say nothing, opting to curtsy before leaving, taking the same steps you’ve taken once before, ready to play your part as he plays his.

The slaughter awaits.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich

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[defensivelee]

Six Lives Won't Make You Happy: Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

A dog fight, a mock trial, a humiliating execution: James certainly has his schedule full this time around! He has decided there can only be one winner in each of these, but Bentinck and Mary have other plans, and so do others he would not expect, clawing at the edges of his heart. Victory seems inevitable with his enemy finally kneeling before him, but that's where he makes his first mistake...

Of course, here is the AO3 link! Please enjoy this one, I think it's my favorite so far.

CW: explicit violence (more than usual), torture, murder, death, use of guns, drowning, fire, heavy drug use, addiction, smoking, drinking, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, objectification, dehumanization, indoctrination, public humiliation, rape threats, sexual assault, normalization of rape/sexual assault, implied/referenced child sexual abuse, implied/referenced non-consensual incest, implied/referenced pregnancy from rape, mild necrophilia.

“You could never tell now, but your father used to fight in the arena, too.”

Mary looked to her uncle as he sat down beside her at the bar, his massive, striped horns catching the neon lights above him. He flicked his tail dismissively when the bartender came by; much to her surprise, he had not come here to drink.

“He did?” She pushed her hair from her face, sticking to her with sweat. In her drunken daze (though she had so far smoked more than she had swallowed any substance), she couldn’t remember if James had told her such a thing. She couldn’t imagine why anyone other than an Ally or a hostage would fight in an arena. It was fun but pointless bloodshed, the risk too high for the reward.

“Yes. In the Southern Kingdom, while we were in hiding.” Charles laughed. “He acts as if he’s ashamed of it. I hope he isn’t, because there’s nothing wrong with what he did there.”

“He killed people?” That wasn’t a surprise. He still did it all the time.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the part he worries about.” Charles curled his lip back to show his teeth, lifting a finger to tap at a canine. “Right here, Mary, he used to have tusks. Long, regal things, and rare, too.”

“He’s talked about them,” she said. She’d heard about them often, actually, when she was younger. The days were all blurred and incomprehensible in her head; even if she were sober, she could remember very little from that time, but she knew that in their games, he had liked to say that he was going to bite her. She would hold up her little hands to his mouth, and he’d snap his teeth, flashing the golden ones at her, and she’d fall back with a squeal.

Her mother said that he used to bite her all the time. She always teased him for it, said that he acted like he still had those big, glorious tusks of his. He said that he was glad they were gone, for he could speak and eat properly now, but sometimes Mary thought he was lying about that.

Everything was alright then, when her mother was still alive. When James still loved Mary because she was his daughter and nothing else. Now she had to give him reasons to love her, reasons justified in blood and devotion.

“Good, otherwise this would be a very awkward revelation,” Charles said, tapping his tail against her shoulder. “Anyway, they worked wonders in the fighting rings. King Louis had never had a human in his arena before, so he sent James in, expecting him to die...but he won, Mary! He had never bitten anyone before, but in that moment he tore right through a devil’s throat and became the first human in centuries to kill one of those divine beings.”

“And did you ever kill one?” Mary hoped she didn’t sound too accusatory. But she had to wonder, then, why James wasn’t the one leading the Disciples if he had managed to kill a devil before his brother.

“Yes, Mary, many times after,” Charles said, his yellow eyes widening slightly. “I’ve told the stories before.”

“Forgive me.”

He smiled and continued. “It wasn’t the last time James fought for the Sun King, and the ring certainly wasn’t the only place. Louis turned him into his little fighting champion. Those powerful tusks were the only reason James wasn’t immediately killed when he entered the Southern Kingdom.” He shook his head, lowering his voice. “They saved his life then. They secured victory after victory. And yet...what good was it for Louis?”

Mary shrugged. She knew little of that devil save for the spell that called him, and the protections he had extended to her father. And even that she could not make sense of.

“It was Louis who ripped them out,” Charles said. “But it wasn’t the end of the world. By then, James could defend himself without biting once. It was just as well; devil blood is disgusting. Have you ever tasted it? Slightly metallic, but more than that, it’s a stinking, bitter liquid, burns your throat like alcohol.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mary said. She stared listlessly ahead at the glowing clock on the wall, reading the Infernal on the walls. Or so she tried, but she hadn’t understood the written words in a very long time.

“Maybe to some people,” Charles said thoughtfully. He flung his tail over Mary and laughed again, and she laughed too. “The fight’s about to start; come, sit next to me! We could even bet on the winner. I say it’ll be that feisty little dwaallicht remnant we caught last month.”

“Oh, no, thank you, sir,” she said, getting up. “I’ll be with my father.”

Charles stood up with her, following her to the back, past the stages and the smiles, where she opened the door and heard the cheers from the ring below. It was the same as always, blood everywhere, the brothers smoking and cheering on the relentless death.

“I just- do I have to go?” she asked, looking back at Charles.

“I can cover for you,” he said. “If you’d like that.”

“Yes, please, I-” She stepped away. “It’s just the same thing every time, you know? It’s boring. Suffering needs a reason; that’s what makes it satisfying.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, perhaps with confusion, though she didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t understood what she said or simply didn’t believe it. But he shrugged and walked past her towards the stairs.

“I’ll just say you were a little more fucked up tonight,” he said. “Don’t talk to any strangers out there, Mary.”

“I won’t.”

“And who knows?” He waved a hand at her. “Maybe we’ll get an Ally in here soon. It won’t be so boring then, won’t it?”

She shook her head. “Not at all,” she said, and turned away, just about collapsing back into her seat.

🝰🝰🝰

The fight’s about to start.

The agitated cries of four hundred Disciples filled the room, all looking down to the arena and anticipating the fight and subsequent execution. Fights like these were held once a month when Charles was alive, maybe twice if James couldn’t wait any longer. Of course, he saw no reason to delay them any longer than his supposed mourning lasted, so here they were again, Mary sitting between her sister and father.

“I don’t know how he expects Marly to fight,” Anne said once James had turned away to speak to Maria. “Something happened yesterday—”

“Whatever it was, he’s an Ally.” Mary shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

Anne lowered her voice. “James stabbed him. In the fucking thigh. He could’ve hit an artery in there, do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Well, he didn’t, so Marly should have healed up nicely.”

“Have you ever cared about anybody that he’s hurt?” She leaned in towards Mary, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Even yourself?”

“If he’s hurting anyone, they deserve it.” Mary rolled her eyes and pushed her away. “We’ve talked about this, Anne. Everything we do here is for the sake of our future!”

“The sake of our future!” Anne mocked. “I’m not even going to be a fucking Overlifer, you’re the heir! Where would that leave me?”

“Um, my second-in-command?”

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I EVER WANT TO SERVE YOU?”

“Anne, will you stop yelling?” Maria leaned over and scowled at her stepdaughter. “You can argue about whatever it is later.” She gestured down at the arena. “We’re about to witness justice being served, your father doesn’t need the extra stress.”

“It’s an execution,” Anne said dryly.

“Which is still justice,” Maria said, looking back at James expectantly.

“That’s right, Anne, and you’ve caused enough trouble for me as it is.” James glared straight ahead at the arena. “You know what could have happened with Marly? He could have bled out, he could have been out for a while, and then who is going to bomb all those trains? It isn’t going to be me.”

“I’m not the one who stabbed him,” Anne said, it being her turn to roll her eyes.

“It was your fault!” James leaned over Mary, who ducked back in her seat, looking frantically between her sister and her father. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, you insolent, ungrateful girl! Come here-” He reached out towards Anne’s horns, and Anne shuffled to the side. “Stop moving!”

“James, by all the stars, enough!” Maria pulled back on his tail, and James turned to her with blazing eyes.

“Don’t tell me how to discipline my daughters,” he snapped.

“I- I’m not telling you to do anything,” she said, clearing her throat as he settled back down beside her. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you’re causing a scene and maybe we should get on with the fight. There’s four hundred of our people here, and they’re all looking at you.”

James snorted like a slighted bull. “You see, Anne? You see what you do?”

Anne sat back down with a huff, turned pointedly away from Mary, who realized she was breathing hard, her heart beating its way out of her chest. She looked down and buried her face in her hands.

Calm down. He’s not mad at you. Everything’s fine.

If anything, he’s pleased. He’s very pleased with you.

Why did Anne have to be like this? It was as if she searched for every opportunity to enrage James, to go under his nose and mock him and Maria behind his back like a true heretic. She knew what would happen, and still she did it anyway.

“Why can’t you just obey?” she asked out loud, her voice shaking. “Why don’t you understand how things are?” Then, slightly louder: “Is it true? You won’t serve me when- when James—” She couldn’t finish the sentence; losing Charles stung, losing her father was unthinkable.

Anne swallowed with what looked like great effort and focused her gaze ahead on the sands. Her tail came to a rest behind her. “I- do- do you really expect me to answer that right now?”

“I guess not. I’m sorry.” Mary looked back at James, who glanced down at her and took her hand, smiling as he adjusted the microphone over his mouth. In an instant, all kindness was gone from his eyes as he looked to his Disciples, his grin suddenly one of contempt.

“Hello, my dearest, beloved subjects,” he said, quieting down the last excited murmurs and whispers. “It’s been long since our last fight, hasn’t it? As a reward for waiting so patiently, I have made sure this one will be as exciting as it’s never been before. Most of you by now have heard of a dwaallicht spirit’s attempts on my divine lives, and both times we have beaten him, crushed him like the worthless dog he is!” He leaned back and waved his arm about triumphantly. “That’s right, today we have here the legendary Duke of Monmouth!”

The Disciples did not cheer as usual, instead looked on in disgust. From one end of the arena, the aforementioned spirit was dragged out onto the sand, his blank white eyes widening as he looked out at the audience. The chain was unclipped from his collar.

“Heretic!” cried Maria abruptly, her voice carrying nearly as well as James’ microphone did. “Look upon this heretic!”

At that the Disciples joined in on the chant, heretic, heretic, heretic, jeering and hissing, fangs bared and tails whipping in the air. James didn’t say a word, only watched through lidded eyes as Monmouth stumbled back and shook his head.

Mary, too, kept her mouth shut. She knew that if she joined in, it wouldn’t sound sincere.

This is going to be...unreal. Though she was sober today, it all still felt like a dream. It was a stupid hope, her wish to wake up before he had to die.

“Good girl,” her father murmured at Maria. Standing, he smiled at Monmouth and raised his voice once more. “We have no room for traitors like this spirit. Charles was too friendly with these little beasts, and I have tolerated it. But no longer! All his mistresses, all his half-bred children— they are not welcome here unless they serve us from their proper places beneath us.”

“And I can serve you!” Monmouth yelled over the noise of the audience. “You don’t have to kill me, you- sir, please, do you remember when I was a boy? You were the one who taught me how to use my powers to help you. I was named after you!” He reached his magnificent claws out as if he were about to call for his shadows, but a second glance around seemed to remind him that he couldn’t win a fight here. Instead he attempted to smile. “Sir, you- you can’t say this is what my father would have wanted.”

James snorted. “And what do you know of that? He was never your father, he was only my brother. Do you think he’d turn the whole world over to defend an insignificant little mutt spirit, all to go against me? His real blood, the only person he ever gave a fuck about?!” He shouted the last part out, then shook his head. “No. I will not spare you because you have deluded yourself into thinking that I ever loved you as a nephew. You only affirm that I am making the right decision with this insolence.”

Monmouth flicked his ears back in horror, and James looked back to the audience. “This is not just any fight. This is an execution that he cannot win his way out of. And his executioner we all know very well. My champion, my Ally, my most beloved John Churchill!”

Marly entered from the other side, resplendent in the small golden chains hanging off his shoulders and waist, and the shimmering green of his rings, earring and nails. As usual, most of his body was exposed to the audience, showing off the tattoos that James so loved; only his chest and crotch were covered by black and green silk. And around his face was strapped a traditional accessory of the Allies who fought in the arena of an Overlifer: a gold wire muzzle.

Despite this, he always sauntered out in the same way, so sure that he would win this fight like he had won all the others. Today he walked only with a slight limp, but Mary could see no wound on him; much of his thighs were covered by the chains and jewels. Other than that, he seemed fine, as she had guessed. Maybe his smile was even more annoying today.

Should have stabbed him harder! She rolled her eyes when James waved down at Marly, who knelt on the sand before him and bowed his head low.

“I have no reason to believe that he should fail today,” James said, and Mary recognized the slightest hint of a warning in his voice. “Remove the muzzle.”

Sarah hurried out behind Marly and began to gently pull the muzzle from his face, her tail twitching as she looked from him to James. The excitement buzzing in the air seemed to pause when she leaned in to kiss Marly, gripping his hand tightly. James only raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Sarah skipped up the seats to sit next to Anne.

“Your greatest honor is to die,” he went on instead.

There it is. Mary’s heart skipped a beat. It was about to begin.

“Today, I will refuse it,” Marly replied. He raised his hand in the air and called up a spear from out of the devils’ realm, and James sat back, his tail lashing forward once in satisfaction.

Monmouth held his hand out cautiously as Marly approached him. “Wait,” he said. “Marly, you- you and I, we’re—”

“We are nothing!” Marly stabbed his spear into the sand, and behind Monmouth, another one sprouted up from the ground, brushing by his tail. The spirit yelped and ran to the side, his wounded tail flying between his legs.

“Are you making this boring on purpose?” Marly narrowed his eyes. “Fight, damnit!”

“I’m not going to fight you after what happened last night,” Monmouth said firmly.

You have to at least try to survive! Mary clenched her fists on her legs.

Marly looked around at the Disciples, some of the front rows having grown quieter with curious whispers, all wondering out loud about what Monmouth could possibly be referring to. James seemed unaffected, merely tilting his head to the side when Marly looked up at him.

“It is not your place to mention that,” the Ally spat, glaring back at Monmouth. “You think I can’t fight now? You think anything can stop me? I have the power to destroy everyone here!” He threw the spear at the dog, barely missing him as he flew into the air, now a raven as he had been when Elizabeth shot him.

“Oh, you son of a—!” Marly called for the spear again as the bird flew frantically towards the exit. James stood up then, his eyes wide, but he had no need to worry as the spear melted in Marly’s hands to form a long chain. He threw it out at Monmouth, and it wrapped all around his wings just as he was flying out, pulling him back sharply. He fell to the sand with a dissatisfied caw.

“I thought you would have learned by now,” Marly said, dragging Monmouth back towards him. “I can only catch you easier in the sky.”

“Very good,” James muttered, sitting back down. He turned to Mary. “He better turn back before Marly kills him. Where’s the fun in killing a little bird?”

“It wouldn’t be a face we recognize,” Mary said.

“Yes, that’s exactly the problem.”

Mary sighed, looked back to the fight.

“You want a real fight, Marly?” Monmouth flapped his wings, trying and failing to shake the chains off of him. “Very well.” The shadows and ribbons around him began to draw closer to his body, his wings and feathers appearing to grow and grow until they were not feathers but fur. Sharper teeth glistened from a snarling black mouth, raised high in a powerful bark.

Mary’s eyes widened. A real dog.

And he’s huge!

“Shit, John, don’t waste time!” Sarah whispered frantically. “Kill him now!”

Monmouth ripped off the chains with a fierce growl, beginning to pace around Marly, a new confidence under his starry black pelt. “We haven’t had a real fight in a long time,” he said.

“You think I can’t handle an animal?” Marly pulled the chains back in, letting them wrap around his wrists.

Monmouth snarled again, leaping at Marly and throwing him back against the sand. The Ally rolled to the side as Monmouth brought his jaws down on his stomach, scoring wounds along his waist and thighs. The audience cheered as they had in the beginning, and James lit a cigarette, grinning down at Marly as he dragged himself out from under Monmouth, his blood dripping onto the sand.

“Maybe I shall be their champion after this,” the spirit said, stepping forward.

Marly slammed a hand down on the sand, and three spears drove upwards from the ground beneath Monmouth, digging into his belly. He let out a shriek, rearing up on his hind legs and tearing the spears out of his body. All save for one disappeared back into the sand, and Marly took the last one, pulling himself back up to his feet.

Monmouth was panting now, licking his whiskers, before running once more towards Marly, snapping his jaws in the air. Marly jumped to the side and onto Monmouth’s back, forcing his spear into him before the dog could manage to throw him off. Monmouth turned in a circle, desperately trying to shake Marly off, but the Ally only buried the spear deeper until it poked out through Monmouth’s chest.

“Too easy,” James remarked. Raising his voice, he shouted, “More, more, Marly!”

Marly smiled up at him, then pulled the spear out, eliciting a loud whine from Monmouth. He stumbled forward, unsteady on his feet, and Marly took hold of one of his ears, the spear shrinking down into a whip. He brought it down against Monmouth’s haunches, and the dog sprung forward, once again bucking in the air to throw Marly off. But he was too weak to thrash around any harder, only spinning around as Marly whipped him. The sound was familiar to Mary, sending a thrill through her.

At last Monmouth bowed his great head, his shaking body returning back to its usual humanoid state. Marly twisted the whip in his hands, turning it back into a spear and bringing it down through one of Monmouth’s folded ears. Monmouth cried out, his shivering slowly coming to a stop as Marly stepped off of him. He ripped the spear carelessly back out.

This heartless bitch! Mary swallowed hard, feeling James’ hand on her shoulder.

“What, can’t fight anymore?” Marly kicked Monmouth in the side. “Get up.”

Monmouth said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the ground in front of him, but he was not dead, Mary knew. No, this was Marly’s power that James loved so much, the ability to drain the movement from a person when he drew enough blood from them. It was rather useful, Mary supposed, to be able to end a fight quickly, but she imagined it as some kind of cheating, even though there were no rules.

“Kill him now!” Maria yelled beside James. “Now!”

This is what happens, Monmouth, you should have known. Mary narrowed her eyes as Marly turned his spear into an axe. He raised it slightly, as if in hesitation, but surely he knew it was too late for that now.

This is what happens when anyone defies James.

Marly brought the axe down on Monmouth’s neck, and the shadows engulfed him fully, pooling around the sand like blood. Marly waved them away, letting the axe fall into them and disappear back into the realm of the devils. When he stepped away, the body was gone, leaving nothing of the remnant.

He’s with Charles now, wherever that may be. Mary bowed her head. She didn’t care what James said; Monmouth had always been family, and she’d remember him as she liked. Oddly she wasn’t as upset as she thought she’d be. Maybe she just had to give it a few days.

Or maybe she had no problem with this after all, but she had no idea.

“The traitor is dead!” Maria called out, springing out of her seat and raising her tail and fist triumphantly in the air. “Long live our Overlifer, long live James Stewart!”

She was met with echoing sentiments from the Disciples, some of them even applauding their leader, and this time Mary joined in. James laughed with almost giddy delight like she’d never heard from him, flinging an arm over her and leaning in to kiss her face.

“You know I do this all to protect you,” he said, “though he really wouldn’t have ended up down here without you.” He lifted her head in his hands, and she looked into his glistening eyes. “I love you.”

“I- I love you too!” She attempted to smile, but he thankfully broke away from her and walked over to Anne, ruffling the hair between her horns.

“I forgive you for last night,” he said. “Just don’t do it again.”

Anne coughed, leaning away from James’ cigarette. “No- no, of course not.”

“You know I love you, Anne.”

“Yeah.” She stood up and began to follow Sarah down towards Marly, flicking her tail at her father. “I know very well.”

James sighed as he watched her go, turning to Maria. “Sometimes I wish she had stayed small. She was a lot sweeter. And a far better listener,” he added with a snort. “Nowadays it’s like I give her one order and she feels compelled to do the exact opposite.”

Maria shrugged. “Maybe you should let her live on her own. I mean, she’s been with you so long—”

“I would prefer to stay here, Maria,” Mary interrupted. “And I’m sure Anne would as well. We’re the heirs, we need to stay where our Overlifer is should anything happen.”

“Exactly,” James said. “They’re safer with me, Maria. The whole world would break them if given the chance.” He shook his head. “I have been protecting them since they were born, and I will do so until they die.”

He made it sound as if he would outlive them both. It was possible, Mary knew, and likely, even, with the way she went about things. She had already decided that that wouldn’t be so bad, either.

They were to host a very late dinner that night back home, much to Mary’s disappointment— she’d been looking forward to getting high again and streaming into the morning. But James said she had to be sober for the celebration, since it wouldn’t be just family.

She didn’t really care for any of the Disciples there, though, and she might as well have been drunk for the way she watched them laughing in the limo on the way back through her tired eyes. She fell asleep leaning on Anne, half-dreaming of the vicious dog still barking, with blood staining its teeth. It was Maria who woke her up a while later, gently adjusting the glasses back over her nose, and she followed everyone inside in something of a stupor.

She stopped by her room first to look for her lighter; everyone would be smoking there, so at the very least James would have to allow it for her, as well. When she stepped back out in the corridor, standing alone in the vast darkness, the booming, merry conversation below tempted her to retreat back into her room.

James’ voice was louder than everyone else’s, which was unusual— that had been the role of his brother’s. But she realized then that it was on the same floor she was on, coming from down the hall, where his room was. She headed toward the stairs first, but in the end she turned back to follow James’ voice. He had no reason to be up here if he had to entertain his guests.

“Well, heal it up quickly,” he was saying from behind the door. “I don’t want you bleeding out like that in front of everyone.”

“It’s not that fast,” answered Marly’s voice, and Mary stifled a sigh of relief that it was only him and no one else. “Besides, I was bleeding out in front of four hundred of your people and you said nothing then.”

“It’s the arena, you are in fact expected to bleed a little.”

“So they can expect it again now.”

“Ah, John,” James sighed. “You know, I do love that about you...”

Mary didn’t hear the rest as she backed away. Whatever happened between the two was none of her business, but it certainly was Maria’s.

“I think James is done looking at you for the night,” Mary said as she sat down at the table, quiet enough so as not to arouse the attention of the Disciple guests, but loud enough so that Maria could still hear her over them.

Maria sighed. “You know it’s always like this for a while after every fight. Both in and out of the arena.”

“An Ally doesn’t deserve to have such attention showered on him by an Overlifer,” Mary grumbled.

“No.” Maria glanced up as James walked in with Marly at his side. “He doesn’t.”

Mary had no idea why her father wanted her sober; as the night went on, everyone around her drank to the point of what might have been death had Marly not quietly slipped their glasses away from them and told them to get a grip on themselves. It was the worst thing about him, the worst thing about the whole circle of Sarah, Anne, and a few others— they thought they were so much better than everyone else here.

But it wasn’t even close. She was the heir, and Marly was an Ally, a sycophantic, sickening Ally kissing James right in front of the latter’s wife. She had hated him before, but she hated him more now for all he had done tonight. James returned every little kiss and touch until it would have been voyeuristic for Mary to stay any longer. She nudged Maria and murmured that she was going back upstairs.

As she stood she heard someone knock on the front door, and she rolled her eyes. Whoever it was, they were lucky James was too drunk to notice anyone new; he would have had their head for coming this late to his celebration. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Mary, baby, hello!” Elizabeth Villiers wagged her tail at the sight of her. “Is your father in?”

“Um, yes, but he’s—”

“Perfect! Bring him in, Anne!” Elizabeth turned to the side, and then the aforementioned sister pushed past Mary, shoving forward the furious, wiggling body of William Henry Nassau, letting him fall hard to the ground.

Mary stumbled back in shock. “You- you actually got him.” His hands were tied rather messily behind his back, his face obscured by a tight blindfold and gag. Around his horns, ropes had been woven in and tangled like webs, and it was from their excess that Anne pulled him back up on his knees, forcing his head up towards her.

“I followed your orders,” she said, glowering down at William with a cold satisfaction Mary had never seen from her before. “If you had known half of the shit he’s done to Hans, it would have been much easier to capture him. Trust me.”

“Is that so?” Mary laughed nervously. “Ah, well, great job.” She had drank very little tonight, but she thought she might be sicker than anyone else now.

Anne looked up, the cruelty in her eyes replaced with the usual concern Mary had come to associate with her. “This is what you wanted, right?”

Mary swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m not- not mad, I just didn’t expect it, I mean—” She stared at William’s tail, lashing with indignance. “You really did it. You might have just saved the Disciples.”

“Have I?” Anne looked down at the floor, and Mary took her hand.

“Yes. Thank you, dear, it means everything to me.” She pushed the hair from Anne’s face and smiled at her. “James is going to be very happy.”

“I know.” Anne still didn’t look up.

Mary hurried back to James, who was coughing in the midst of his laughter, another cigarette lit in his hand. Marly sat on the table in front of him, one of his legs on the Overlifer’s shoulder, and they both glared at her when she tapped at her father’s tail.

“Forgive me,” she said, bowing her head at her father, “but the Villiers sisters have returned. They have William with them.” “Are you serious?” James stood up, looking around at his guests.

“Yes. He’s by the door.”

“Marly—” James coughed again, then handed his cigarette to Marly, waving his hand. “Tell everyone! Go, go! Meet me there.” Turning to Mary, he took her hand. “Take me to them.”

Elizabeth was tying the ropes around William’s horns into somehow even more elaborate knots, an increasingly difficult task as William bucked his head up and down like a displeased horse. She stood up when she saw James, and Anne brought her foot down on William’s back, forcing his head down on the floor.

“Well, well, he looks much nicer like that, it must be said,” James said, running his tail over William’s spine. “You see, Lilli? You’re much prettier when you keep your mouth shut.”

William clenched his fists. Behind them, a few of the Disciples guests, led by Marly, came warily out of the dining room, their eyes wide as they stared down at the rival Overlifer.

“And hopefully we never will have to hear you speak again,” James said. He nudged William’s horn with a foot. “How many lives do you have left? Five, at least, right? Nevermind, I’ll ask you later. Then we can figure out how many executions I need to plan. Oh, Mary, we are about to have so much fun—” He looked back at his Disciples watching. “And once we get rid of their leader, dealing with the fuckin’ Devils will be much easier. That Ally, too, the fuck was his name? Ah, Bentinck...loyal Hansi.”

Anne’s grip seemed to tighten around the rope she held, her gaze fixed on William before her. James turned to her and Elizabeth with a lopsided smile.

“Such good girls,” he purred. “I ought to reward you; what are you thinking? Perhaps you would like the greatest gift of all, the divine touch of an Overlifer such as I...” He ran his tail under Anne’s chin, lifting her head up, but she pushed it away, shaking her head rapidly.

“Money would do just fine,” she said.

“Are you sure? I can make you-”

“I’m very sure. Both of us.”

James glanced uneasily at Mary, then flicked his tail at Anne. “Your loss, ladies. One last thing— take our prisoner to one of the smaller arenas outside of the city, with Mr. Spencer, and make absolutely certain that he does not escape.”

“We can’t leave him here?” Anne asked.

“Fuck no, that’s like rescuing, say, a wounded bear, and bringing it into your house just for it to tear you apart later.” James shook his head firmly. “I’ll look at him tomorrow. We have a great trial planned for you, William, you hear that?”

“Trial?” Mary said. “For what? We know everything he’s done, don’t we? Nothing is going to stop us from killing him.” At these words, William curled his tail in closer, and Mary wondered then if this was the last glimpse she would catch of him before his executions. It was a cruel wish of hers, but she wanted to say goodbye, at least, thank you for the hope but I didn’t need it anyway.

“It’s more of a ceremony than anything.” James shrugged. “It’s new for everyone here, nobody has seen an Overlifer’s execution before, like how they used to do it in our oldest days.” He lifted his tail at Anne, who stepped off of William and pulled him back up to a sitting position. James then took William’s chin in his hand, wiping at the drool from underneath the gag. “Tomorrow I’ll set things right with you. Tomorrow.” He pushed William’s head back, spitting down onto his face, and the Disciples laughed as James walked back over to them.

“If he escapes,” he went on, staring at the Villiers sisters, “after all this, I will seriously fucking kill you.”

As soon as he was gone, Mary cleaned William’s face up with her sleeve. “Alright, keep a close eye on him. Knock him out if you have to.” She drew back when William tried to twine his tail around her leg.

“He’s perfectly safe with us,” Elizabeth said, patting William on the head. “Besides, I’m sure he has enough of a concussion from the beating Anne gave him.”

“What? Anne did it?”

“He deserved it,” Anne muttered, looking away. “He’s no better than your father.”

“He’s far worse than him, actually,” Elizabeth said with a pointed look at her sister. “Alright, William, let’s go!” She tugged at the rope in a manner not unlike that of a loving master to their dog, but William did not stand, instead jerked his head from side to side, pulling himself towards Mary.

Oh, William. Mary turned away, began walking up the stairs to her room. “Just go with them,” she called. Deepening her voice and thickening her accent, she added, “Tomorrow I’ll set things right with you.” She heard laughter behind her from the sisters, and smiled to herself as she went into her room, collapsing on the bed.

Her followers had been expecting a stream tonight. She knew some of the younger ones would be worried about her, and she’d seen enough theories about her role in her father’s supposed terrorist group (which, impressively, were all correct) to know that there would be speculation about this if she didn’t apologize and come up with an excuse in some hasty post. But she couldn’t even bring herself to do that. Despite all the noise downstairs, she fell asleep.

It was the sound of her door opening that woke her up later that night, or rather in the earliest hours of the morning. She noticed that everything had fallen nearly silent now, the only sound being the footsteps approaching her. She looked up, saw that it was only Maria.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Nothing.” Maria looked around the room with wide eyes as she closed the door and sat down beside Mary. “Marly’s just taken my place on the bed again, and I’m not listening to that. Do you mind if I- if I sleep here, with you?”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t mind.” She stared up at the ceiling as Maria got under the blankets next to her, wrapping an arm and her tail around her. The embrace was as warm and protective as it had been when she was younger, and she leaned into it, giggling when Maria pushed strands of hair away from her face.

“I heard about William,” Maria said.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it is?”

Mary turned away. “I guess I’m supposed to.”

“Right.” The two were silent for a while, long enough that Mary thought Maria had fallen asleep, until she spoke up again. “There’s more devils in here than usual.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mary was too tired to pull Maria away from her tormented little world tonight. Sometimes it was fun to play along with the delusions, the hallucinations, though James never saw the sense in encouraging it.

“Yes.” Maria shuffled closer to Mary, glaring out at some unseen enemy in the darkness. “I don’t know why they’re so angry at you tonight. They’re usually very quiet here.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ll protect you, alright?”

“You sure will.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve done enough.” Mary smiled over at her. “I don’t trust anybody else with the devils. Go get them, girl.”

Maria smiled back, but in the way that Mary knew meant she saw right through the supposed sincerity and found amusement instead. She was tired of it; well, so was Mary. Her stepmother turned away with a sigh, and Mary let her hand fall from the bed, praying for the devils to take it and drag her down to their realm.

🝰🝰🝰

The sun glared through a hole in the wooden roof, on occasion blinking down at William when a wispy cloud passed over it. He only knew this because the light over his closed eyes would go away for a moment, and then he’d open one eye and it’d be just a little darker where he sat.

His body felt much too stiff now, and every little movement from where his hands were tied, high above him on a pole, sent an angry spark down to his shoulders, his back, all the way to the base of his tail. It was coiled around the same pole, tied higher than even his hands so that the tip dangled just over his head. He wanted to look down, shoot daggers with his eyes at all the Disciples here, but in the position his head was forced up in, the only thing he could see was the sun, on his knees before it like a servant of the Southern Kingdom.

Fucking Anne. It was all he could think in the midst of what might have been delirium or some kind of fever. He felt sweat fall from his hair to his neck, and yet he was freezing, his spine pressed against the cold metal behind him. Having stared at the sky since last night, he thought he was perhaps still caught in a dream.

Damned Villiers girl. Fucking Anne. Fucking Hansi.

Ooh, that was new. Was he seriously going to be mad at Bentinck?

Yes, he decided. In fact, for all he knew his Ally had betrayed him, whether he had intended to or not. He couldn’t believe that of Bentinck, but when he shut his eyes again, all he saw was the way that lovely blue gaze had fixed on Anne. And he knew that Bentinck would die for her, would kill for her.

Was I never enough? I gave you what you wanted. What does she have that’s so much better?

William bit into the gag, hearing his own breaths heavy around it. Bentinck wasn’t stupid. And yet, this was the second time he’d been left behind, left alone so Bentinck could fulfill his private little ambitions with a Disciple he either hated or loved. Did he think William could wait for him to finish?

Bentinck would come for him. He had to, or William would know then that, yes, this was all real, intentional, and that yes, Bentinck was willing to betray everything he’d ever known for one Disciple lover. And he didn’t want to know that.

In the meantime, in his mind he was thinking of all the ways he was going to kill the Villiers girls, but especially Anne for the utter humiliation she had forced him through with the gun. And then he’d get James, and then Mary—

Poor Mary! She had sounded shaken when they brought him in, and he had wanted to stay with her. But, if he remembered correctly what Anne said, it’d been her orders. What did she want from him?

She’ll save me like she did the first time. He’d known, when he was younger, that if there was one thing he would not let his father take from him, it was going to be Bentinck. That was what set him free. And if Mary was anything like him, she would do the same; she would realize that there was no blood family in the world worth losing him for. For all he had shown her, she owed him everything.

He didn’t know why everyone had such a problem with it. This romance shit was easy.

He heard someone yell ahead of him, over the voices of the working Disciples. Out here in the tiny arena, what looked more like an arena for dog fights, all they had been doing was herding dwaallicht spirits back into cages. They would slap spells onto the bars that the spirits would occasionally slip through with enough power, and then the Disciples had to go chasing after them. He saw one run past him out of the corner of his eye, kicking sand up towards him.

“Ugh, I’m sick of doing this shit,” he heard another Disciple say, kicking a spirit back into its cage and throwing it into the truck. “Back at the club, the spirits never escape, and James doesn’t even use any spells!”

“It’s because they’re so scared of him,” one replied. “That’s what I’m thinking. They smell the six lives on him. And it was the same with Charles too, Ferocity rest his soul.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? So feared and respected you just can’t be bothered?”

“Sounds kind of lonely.”

“We have an Overlifer right here, why don’t we ask him?”

“No, you fools.” It was a deeper voice, speaking with its own streak of authority. “The Villiers ladies said not to take off his gag. They said he had even managed to cast the Louis spell once with no trouble at all.”

“That’s fucked. He can just call up the ruler of the Southern Kingdom at any time, no big deal.”

Yeah, real fucked, isn’t it? William straightened himself up against the pole, and he heard the Disciples gasp as if they expected him to call Louis up with nothing but his fucking eyes.

“I really appreciate it, Mr. Spencer, but I don’t see why James would trust us with, you know, the only other Overlifer in the world,” said the first one that had spoken once they had all seemed to recover from their brief fright. “He’s not going to escape, but like, what if he does?”

“He won’t,” came the self-assured voice again, so-called Mr. Spencer. “We brought him to the very edge of a fine society for a reason. If he slips out, we’ll catch him quickly, like we’ve caught all the spirits.”

Try me. William huffed through the gag.

“Man, I’m bored,” another stranger piped up. “You guys want to call snake’s eye for an eye?”

William froze. They wouldn’t do that here, would they?

Hurry up, Hans! He tugged frantically against the ropes, trying to snap the ones tying his legs down, and a Disciple walked over to him, swinging a cattle prod around on his gleaming red tail. His eyes were not malicious, but curious as he pressed the cattle prod to William’s side.

William jolted, his whole body tensing as the Disciple leaned in, smiling in a sort of disinterested way. It was worse than any smug triumph, but all he could do about it was glare defiantly back at him, biting as hard as he could into the gag to stifle his gasp.

“Boring,” the man remarked, stepping away, and William realized it was Spencer. He let himself fall limp, the tip of his tail twitching furiously as Spencer smiled back at him. “I don’t think he would take very kindly to it.”

“But it’s an Overlifer...”

“When will we ever get a chance like this?”

“Enough,” Spencer snapped, his gaze darkening. “We don’t have James’ permission. If any of you lays a finger on him, I’ll cut it off. Get back to work.”

The Disciples obeyed, grumbling, and William stared at the man in front of him. His dull, pink hair was obscured by a hood of black and red silk, like the ones that Ally servants usually wore, but he didn’t have the rest of the usual attire save for the black gloves. They were, however, marked with red pierced mullets all along his arm, meaning that at the very least he was some sort of spirit handler. His horns were striped in the usual Eastern, black-and-white manner, decorated with rings and chains dangling between them.

“Don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Spencer asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag from it with the smile back on his face. “Heard you have asthma, among other things. This fresh air must be nice, hm?” He brushed his tail against William’s cheek. “My name’s Robert, but dwaallicht spirits call me Master Spencer.”

Oh, great. William winced, trying to shift his head away from the tail.

“James will be here for you before it’s dark,” Spencer went on. “I have no idea what he plans to do to you. He still has us torture people for information, but...” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone, I just think he wants to do it for fun. It doesn’t work, does it? I mean, it never has for me. Anyway, just be aware you might not be coming out of here in one piece.”

As if he hadn’t already guessed!

The sun was setting when the Disciples began to leave, leaving only Spencer behind. By then William’s breaths were coming out in raspy gasps, and the aching all over his body had faded into the background, though he knew it would return with a vengeance once he was free. More than anything, though, he was bored, and only found entertainment in all the ways he was imagining he was going to yell at Bentinck.

Spencer stepped out of the arena, his gaze fixed on something beyond William. The Overlifer was still for a moment before realizing he was alone here, and he began to toss his head back, trying to use his horns to rip through the ropes. All the while he pulled down on the ropes binding his wrists above him. It burned, and he paused for a moment before feeling the cattle prod shock his tail.

“Ah—!” His eyes widened, and then Spencer was walking around him, flanked by James and Mary.

Mary! William tried to pull his head down to look at her. She stepped behind James, who smiled down at him.

“Finally got a noise out of you,” Spencer said with a shrug. “We’re getting there.”

“It’ll be much more than that when I’m done with him,” James said. “Leave us, Spencer.” His vassal having obeyed him, he walked over to William, his horns blocking the sky above them. “Good afternoon, William. How are you today?” He reached down to stroke William’s horn. “Please don’t be so upset about this. You already know that you should have never been born. I’m sure you heard it many times when you were young, but it only holds more truth now. You were never meant to lead the Devils of Orange-Nassau, and you were never meant to challenge me.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “And now, your fate is to die. Your father really was a fool, but then, so was your mother, for not strangling you before you even took your first breath.” He lashed his tail, and Mary stepped forward, slicing the ropes from William’s wrists and tail and shoving him to the ground.

Now, get up! Fight! But as William lifted his head, his body seemed to lock in place, burning with every breath he took. More than that, he was dizzy with both hunger and a headache, and he let his head fall. Here was a chance to escape, but, miserably, he knew he couldn’t take it.

“Fucking weak,” James spat. “Look at me, up here. Look at me.”

William kept his gaze on the ground, and he was met with James’ foot slamming down on his horn, forcing his head on its side. He tried to kick out as Mary stepped onto his tail and began to tie his hands behind him again. He glared up at the grinning figure standing over him.

“Charles and I saved you, you ungrateful little brat,” James said coldly. “And all we asked was that you never receive your six lives. I truly thought for the longest time after your father died that you still had some sense of honor, that you respected the promise you made to your mother. For that I still held some respect for you, for still fighting me despite knowing that you had only one life to lose.”

You never respected me. William tried to wrench his head free. Certainly, he had made that promise, but it was in the midst of a delusion, a frantic hope, on a day when he thought he was destined to be anything less than an Overlifer. He hadn’t expected James to think he would actually keep it. Even back then, sitting in the car with tears in his eyes, he hadn’t believed it of himself.

“Maybe I would have taken you in,” James went on. “Maybe I could have loved you. Your mother meant a great deal to me, more than even a sister— I would have proudly helped her with her child after all we had been through together. But it was you your father came for; he shot Mary because he had you.”

No. He never cared for me. William’s eyes widened as James leaned in. There was a frightening expression on his face, a hungry enthusiasm he remembered from that horrible night, the last night his mother was alive. When they had fled to James and Charles in the hopes that they could finally escape William’s father. Knowing they would only make him angrier and still going anyway.

“It was you who killed her,” James said, lifting William by his shirt collar and pulling him up. “I still see her in your eyes, the way she would glare at me when she would tell me she wished I was better. The way she looked at me before telling me she was getting married to a man who had raped her just to create you!”

William stared back in horror. How could he bring that up now?

James smiled back at him. “Even before your birth, all you did was hurt her. I know she loved you, and even if I can’t fathom why, I will kill you and fulfill what she would have wanted.” He leaned in to whisper. “She would rather see you dead than fighting me. She was an Easterner, through and through, and only realized her mistake when your father murdered her.”

“No!” he cried out through the gag, and James laughed, throwing him back down on the sand. A shudder ran through William’s body as he landed, his tail twisting inwards in pain.

“Her last words to you made that much clear,” James said. “You know, I can never get that out of my head. How she looked at me, and then at you...a scared little boy...poor little one.” He kicked William in the side, and William clenched his fists so hard that he felt his nails begin to draw blood from his palm.

Her last words. He didn’t remember them. He knew he had heard, and yet the moment he saw her bleeding out in James’ arms, his father staring ahead with those empty eyes of his...all of it had faded. He forgot how to speak, how to understand.

“She was right.” James knelt down to pull William’s head up by his hair. “It should have been you.”

So that was what she had used her dying breath for. To tell him that she wished he was in her place.

He had called her traitor all this time, traitor for trying to escape; he couldn’t say that now. He glowered at James, trying to blink back his tears that came as if he had just lost her all over again.

“Crying already?” James shoved him back and stood up again. “It isn’t even your trial yet. Pathetic.”

William lifted his head defiantly. Behind James, he saw Mary staring in silence. Staring at him. It might have been with pity or horror or both, something so kind as that. And he had no idea why; for all he knew, she had it far worse with someone like the monster before him.

“Well, I hope your father taught you a little something about defeat,” James said. “It’ll pay off now.” He shrugged his shoulders back and smiled. “I look upon you with the eyes of a serpent.”

No! William shuffled back in terror, only allowed to shake his head to express his refusal. In the back of his mind, he realized he had been waiting for this moment with the heaviest dread; he could not let it happen again. Not to him.

He fought desperately against the ropes, holding his tail out towards James to keep him away. He heard his rival laugh above him, and he looked up at Mary as if she could stop him. He knew she couldn’t.

But James merely shook his head, still laughing. “Oh, William. You think I’m serious?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’d rather die than touch you. That’s an honor you don’t even deserve.”

Good, because it’s an honor I don’t want. William brought his head down, trying not to let the terror show on his face. He wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t be, James was leaving him alone. It was fine.

So why was he shaking?

“Spencer,” James called, looking away. “I’m done with him. Do what you like.” He flicked his tail dismissively down at William. “I’m excited to hear much more from you at the trial, and then the execution. Maybe the first one won’t be so much to you, but you can only die so many times before it starts driving you mad.”

“That’s what it did to Charles,” Mary said, and James nodded.

“That was just his problem,” he said. He glanced back at William one last time before walking away, motioning with his tail for Mary to follow him. But she merely watched him go, sitting down beside William as soon as he was gone.

“Don’t say anything crazy,” she said, reaching behind his head to take off the gag. “William.”

“Mary,” he breathed, licking at his lips. He hadn’t realized he’d been drooling so much. He shut his mouth, swallowing gratefully, finding that he had nothing to say after all. He just wanted to sleep.

“I- I had no idea he was going to do any of that,” Mary said. She looked around before leaning in to push the hair from his face. “I don’t know anything about what he just said!”

“It’s nothing...”

“Well, it has to be something!” She helped him sit up, drawing back as if in fear before kissing him. William winced but returned the kiss.

“What are you going to do about all of this?” he asked as he pulled away. “You’re going to have to kill your father.”

“What?” Mary stared blankly at him, and he coughed.

“I mean, that’s what I did. When he threatened to kill Bentinck...” He trailed off, realizing Mary was glaring at him.

“You killed your father?” she said. “By all the stars, William, that’s- I’m not doing that just to save you!”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t I worth more than an abusive piece of shit who-”

“He’s not abusive!” Mary cried. “Devils below, you sound like Anne! Both of them! He- he loves me, and I’m sorry if your parents didn’t, but not everyone is like that.”

“My mother did love me. She was just afraid.”

“Really? Wishing you were dead was love?”

“She thought it was better than the way I lived,” he let out in a rush. He had never said it before, not even to himself nor in his head, as if he had never realized it, but he knew now. “She was wrong, but she didn’t say it because she hated me.” He lowered his voice and looked down as Mary reached out to hold his face. “If- if she did hate me, though...I would not— blame her.” He gasped, realizing he was crying, and Mary wrapped her arms around him.

“Mary, look,” William began, shifting back. “I- I lived through all of that, and I’m here now, where I’ve always wanted to be. You’re already older than I was when I killed my father.”

“Don’t start with this again,” Mary warned.

“I couldn’t have imagined it, either,” he said. “I didn’t have anyone to save me, but you- you have me.”

Well, there was always de Witt. But that was someone no one could ever know about. He swallowed at the memory of the execution and tried to smile at Mary, who now looked at him with disgust.

“You think you’re my savior?”

“I just want to help,” he insisted. “I think everyday of living under my father, and how you live, and I- I hate to imagine it. Mary, you need to get out, I don’t want to have to fight you—”

“Oh, so you just want to eliminate an enemy, is that it?” She only gave him a sad smile this time. “What gave you the right to stay, then?”

“I- I had to lead them—”

“So you don’t think I’ll take over the Disciples after my father dies?” she asked. “Fine, I don’t either. But I love him, and he loves me, and I intend to serve him until the day I die. I’m going to finish what you never could.” She stood over him, and as he looked up at her, his breath caught painfully in his throat.

Ferocity help me!

“I’m going to fulfill my father’s destiny,” she said. “Not rip it away from him. And if that means you have to die, then so be it. I’m sorry, William, I’m really glad I met you.” She smiled at him, her eyes glistening under the rising moon. “I think so, anyway. You and I— did you ever think it was anything worth fighting for? I killed you.”

“You’re not going to save me?”

“You will be saved.” Mary stepped away. “Goodbye. I’ll try to keep an eye on Bentinck for you after you’re dead.”

No! William wanted to call out, but he didn’t want to bring James here; that would only give her trouble. So he watched her go, still searching for something to say, anything that would convince her, before Spencer stepped out under the darkness.

“I feel like I heard more of that than I was supposed to,” he said, and William’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you dare tell her father, you-” He was cut off when Spencer pushed the gag back in his mouth.

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I won’t. I have my own secrets.” He laughed in a sort of dismissive, exhausted way as he knelt down to pull the ropes off of William’s legs. “We all do here. If Mary wants to leave, fine by me.”

William was brought inside into the barn full of screeching, hissing spirits. Some of the more humanoid ones were covering their ears, but perked them up when they saw William pass by.

As uncomfortable as it was to lie on the hay in one of the larger cells, where many smaller spirits were sleeping, he greatly preferred it to staying outside in that arena, stinking of blood and death without dignity. He only wished he was untied so he could stretch out; the pain was all the same.

“Try to sleep,” Spencer said, hopping on top of one of the cages. “You’ll want to be wide awake for your trial tomorrow.”

🝰🝰🝰

“My lord, are you in there?” A servant knocked on the door. “It’s almost time and you’re not even downstairs. Do you need help?”

Bentinck groaned and lifted his head from his hands. He might have needed help doing his makeup again, now that he was looking into the mirror, but he couldn’t let anyone see him like this. Then they might ask why, and then he had to explain that he’d just lost the only two people in the world who mattered.

“No,” he said. “I’ll be out in a second, hold off the visitors for a little while.”

“If you say so...” He heard the servant step away, leaving nothing but the sound of rippling water to soothe him. He closed his eyes.

He was fine. He was fine, of course, at least his head was, though everyone had thought it was such a horrible shock that one of their beloved Allies was injured, which was the dumbest, fakest thing he’d ever seen. Only Govert Bidloo, William’s ridiculous doctor and spy, had brushed off his injuries, saying he’d be fine the next day, like always— and, much to Bentinck’s annoyance, he was right.

If anything, he had asked more for William, who was definitively not fine. Bentinck had hesitated to tell him, knowing very well how Bidloo would react.

“You left him alone with a Disciple?!”

“Well, I was alone with one too-”

“Both of you, idiots! Unbelievable! I can’t believe this is the man destined to rule the world!”

“I’m going to go get him, and then I’m going to kill those Villiers girls.”

“Oh, that would be very nice, our facility really needs new bodies.”

It had offended him in the moment, but the way Bidloo was speaking to him made him feel something of a whipped dog; he had no inclination to defend William in front of him. For the longest time Bidloo had been the only one able to speak that way about their leader, and no one had said anything about it.

The worst thing was that, once again, he was right. What an idiot Bentinck had been! To believe that these Disciples had ever had anything beyond James on their mind, to ever dare to love one— it was worse than treason! He knew William would forgive him, as in all things, but it was more than he deserved.

And now he had to go save him, killing as many of those damned Disciples as he could on the way there. If he could, he’d kill James and Marly, the arrogant snakes, but it was Elizabeth he was looking forward to strangling the life out of. Treacherous viper!

Then there was Anne, whom he couldn’t do anything to.

He knew she had loved him. It hadn’t been enough, apparently, but she had loved him, of that he had no doubt. And he had loved her too; no, he did love her, despite all the attempts he had made to hate her now, to try to think of how furious William must be and all the things James was doing to him.

What she’d done was unforgivable, and here he was, trying to fix his makeup and go meet his followers, all while realizing that he couldn’t kill the Disciple who had done this. It was pathetic, it was betrayal.

“Ferocity,” he breathed out, stumbling back into the little stream of water in his room. The heat had never made him dizzy, but today it did, and he sat down in the water, looking down at his reflection, blotted out by the dim lights over his head.

There was yet another knock on the door, and Bentinck clenched his teeth. “I’ll be right down there!” he yelled.

“Well, your thoughts are very loud, could you perhaps quiet them down a little?” came the voice.

Ally George! Bentinck swallowed, forcing himself to think of nothing but the water flowing past his fingers. He only realized he hadn’t answered when George opened the door, looking around the room in wonder.

“Oh, it’s beautiful in here,” he said. He walked over to push aside the vines and flowers falling from the walls, examining the posters of old brand deals and photoshoots hidden under them. “Ooh, that one’s pretty— oh, alright, that’s nudity- um-” He stepped away, glancing at himself in the vanity mirror, before stopping beside the flowing stream, running his fingers through the small waterfall spilling over the wall. “Wow. It looks so much nicer in your room.”

“Thank you,” Bentinck said. “Can you leave now, please?”

“You sound very troubled,” George said sympathetically. “I love a Disciple too, you know. Her name is Anne, but this one’s Stewart, not Villiers.”

“I believe I noticed when you first came here,” Bentinck said, sitting back up on the ground. “How much did you hear?” Nosy bitch, he added silently, at which George made a visible effort to ignore.

“I’ve only been up here for a few minutes,” he said. “But when you’re sitting by the waterfall, it dims it a little. I couldn’t hear it from where I was, but the water seems to quiet you down, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.” Bentinck shifted uncomfortably. He’d never thought of it that way.

“So, James has your master? William?”

“Um—”

“Anne told me about it yesterday!” George said, his eyes brightening. “Oh, it sounds like they’re going to have a lot of fun over there. I mean, not fun for William,” he added apologetically, “nor very fun for your Anne, if her love for you is real.”

“It’s real!” Bentinck insisted.

“I don’t doubt it, but it’s hard to tell just through your thoughts,” George said. He shrugged. “I mean, loyalty to the Disciples is a very difficult thing, from what I hear. No one there is happy anymore, not under James— some never were happy. But you stay anyway, you know? It’s so hard to walk away.”

“I would have run from James a long time ago,” Bentinck said, finally letting all his thoughts back out into the open. Everything he tried to hide, he was sure George knew, either through James’ daughter or Marly or through his own observations. And out of everyone who could have had this power, perhaps George was the best choice, after all.

He’s not...technically an enemy. Bentinck sighed.

“No,” George said. “I could never be a Disciple, after everything James has done to Anne.” He leaned in and smiled down at Bentinck. “See, maybe you could run from them. But could you run from William?”

“Of course not, he’s my friend.” Bentinck shook his head, glared back up at George. “How many times do I have to say it to people? He’s not like James!”

“And if he were?”

“Then I wouldn’t love him like I do. It’s not that hard.” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s very easy to say you would leave,” George said. “But you didn’t grow up there. You didn’t see James as a younger man, you didn’t see the lengths he went to protect his daughters, you didn’t hear the promises he made to Marly and Maria. You didn’t hear the promises he made to everybody.”

“You think I don’t know how a cult works?” Bentinck asked.

“One would expect a better understanding from someone who’s in one.”

“The law may say we’re a cult,” Bentinck said, standing up again, “but we know what we really are. We are the protectors of the new faith, a new world that we’ll bring forth when all of you Allies are dead and the Disciples are defeated.” He stepped towards George, who backed away, his eyes widening. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“Yes- yes, very- ah, very well,” George stammered. “But you can’t say any of this is-”

“What? Is what?”

“I’ve looked deep into the minds of both Disciple and Devil.” He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know how any of you can think like this. I don’t know how you can call yourselves good.”

“Must look that way to an outsider,” Bentinck said, watching with satisfaction as George seemed to melt back into the wall. “But James is the only true evil here.”

“Yes.” George swallowed. “Yes, he is.”

“I’m glad we can agree on that.” Bentinck turned away, splashing George with a flick of his fingers through the waterfall. “Maybe we can agree on something else.”

“Please don’t finish that thought.”

“We’ve both lost someone to James.”

“Anne isn’t dead.”

“Not yet, but-”

“Oh.” George’s eyes widened. “Your father.”

What? Bentinck looked at him with bewilderment before realizing who he’d been thinking about mere seconds before, the face that had come to his mind before he’d even known it.

No, it’s not him! That was a long time ago! But the images came anyway.

The flick of a blade in the air, a raised tail, horns gleaming with blood—

There’s so much of it.

A hand running through his hair—

It was all his fault.

Lies woven through promises, told through endlessly black eyes.

Stop listening- I know you’re there— ENOUGH!

George flinched back, and Bentinck looked to the waterfall, focusing on the sound until he thought the blood on his hands had washed away with the water.

“You’re right,” George said gently. “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

“James can’t take William too.” Bentinck thought of nothing but his tongue forming the words. He would not lose William; he wouldn’t even dare imagine it.

“Truly, I would help you if I could. But I can’t say I condemn what James does and then turn around and align myself with William.” At the corner of his vision, George smiled. “I’m only here for Anne, no one else.” Bentinck heard him open the door. “You should probably go down there. Your followers are waiting for you.”

Damn them all, Bentinck wanted to say. Damn them if Anne is not among them any longer.

🝰🝰🝰

Mary wagged a finger at the camera as she spoke, addressing the thirty thousand people watching her. Sometimes, it was hard to love her followers, knowing that many would die when James ruled the nation, and that she deceived them, but having smoked enough tonight from her glass pipe, right now she loved them all equally. And she knew she meant more to them than any Ally. Whatever she said, they would respect her and listen, and slowly, they would find themselves under the world of the Disciples without even realizing.

That’s how we make them ours, James.

“Let me tell you something before I go, chat,” she said, leaning back on her chair. Glancing at the window, she saw that James was getting into one of his cars with Maria at his side, the sun setting over them. There was a strange pang in her chest as she watched them go, but it was only for a second, and then she was smiling back at the screen.

“I worry about the state of Altos Diablos, honestly. I don’t really like to talk about politics on stream, but you hear about the bombings and the assassination attempts...” She sighed at the thought, at how often she’d been at the heart of them. “And you just wonder, will it ever be safe? Grand Cabaret is becoming more and more openly hostile, and it’s looking like it might be war. Real war. And we haven’t had real war on this planet for a very long time.”

She flicked her eyes to the chat. Good, it was working; many said the same thing. A war was coming.

“Alright, I’ll be clear, then.” Now that I have you.

She leaned in from her chair, pushing the stuffed tigers and rabbits and wolves to the side, all of them gifts from either her fans or her father. Her followers adored them, had even helped name them, but there was no room for them now. “I don’t think it’s heresy to criticize our government,” she began. “Allies are chosen to lead us, so why is Master Lucky proving again and again that the devils might have been wrong?”

Yes, yes, yes, this was it— much of her chat was confused, but one by one they began to tentatively agree. She didn’t care if they said it just to please her, it did please her!

“Some Allies are better suited to other things with their fame,” she said. “For example, we would never say Ally Marly is qualified to lead us, right? Just because he’s an Ally?”

Devils below, can you imagine, she saw one message say as it flashed by, and she laughed.

“No, no, it’s unimaginable,” she said. “Lucky should have stuck with his position in the army. Such a military-minded man can’t lead a nation wanting peace! Here’s my idea!” She slammed her hand down on the table. “We get the devils back in charge! Bring back the Four Kingdoms! Summon them like the ancients used to do, get them to solve our problems for us! You know, I hear good things about the Hanoverian devils of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Are you okay? asked a donation as it popped up on the screen.

“Me? I’m great! Why would you ever ask that?” Mary shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, you know, I shouldn’t even answer! That’s not for you to know! I’m perfectly fine!”

They’re going to make you apologize for this later, said another subscriber.

“What? Who the fuck is they? The Allies? The devils?” Mary narrowed her eyes. “You guys? ‘Cause I’m not taking any of this back. Just because my daddy’s controversial doesn’t mean I have to be!” She groaned and leaned back against her chair again, pushing her hair from her face. She was sweating, she realized, and the pounding of her heart was agitating her.

“Just think about what I’m saying!” she yelled as she sat up. “It’s not radical to say the devils would do better! Because they would!”

Now they were getting worried; she was losing them. Some of them liked to see when she was high on stream, others not so much. It seemed like there were a lot of the “not so much” crowd here tonight.

“You’re all going to see one day, and you’ll be grateful for it,” she said. “Good night! I’ll be live later this week, maybe on Friday. Pretend this never happened.” With that, she ended the stream and started to laugh, picking up one of the wolves that had fallen to the floor. She held it close and laughed even harder.

It’s not long now, not long at all. James would fix everything. All the kids who had watched her when she started five years ago were now nearly adults, forming their own opinions of the world around them— and some of them would turn to her father for answers.

It was all going as he had intended. And who could ever suspect her, he liked to say.

“They love you more than I do.”

“By all the stars, Mary, what the fuck are you doing in there?” Her sister’s voice came from outside the door. “Are you high again?”

Mary nodded but didn’t answer. She spun herself around on her chair, humming as she pet the wolf.

“Damnit, Mary,” she heard Anne say. “Hurry up, I need to talk to you about something. Quickly, now that James isn’t here!”

“Ugh, fine, what is it?”

Anne opened the door, and Mary tossed the wolf at her face. Anne caught it rather clumsily, setting it back on the desk and walking over to lean against the window. Her tail closed the blinds behind her.

“You shouldn’t get high in front of so many people,” she said, glowering over at Mary as she searched through the files on her computer. “Are you listening? It’s already caused enough of a scandal!”

“And I’ll have you remember that that’s what got me so many followers,” Mary said, fanning herself playfully. “What do you want, anyway? You never come here. If you wanted to join in on the stream, it’s too late, and if you want drugs, you have to wait for James—”

“I don’t care about your stream or your crack, or whatever it was this time,” Anne snapped. “It’s about Monmouth.”

“Oh.” Mary laughed without meaning to. There was sickness at the back of her throat. “Pretty good fight, huh?”

“No,” Anne said, raising an eyebrow. “Not at all. I don’t care about the fight. I mean, I do, but-” She paused, making an effort to swallow. “But it’s over now. Monmouth is dead, our last hope is- he’s dead.”

“Last hope?” Mary shook her head. “That’s James. They may have the same name, but don’t confuse them with each other. Now that’s just insulting.”

“Our last hope to escape James, I mean!” Anne cried. “I wouldn’t want to see Monmouth rule either, but at least he wouldn’t have kept us here.”

“Escape?” Mary looked over at her, bewildered. “Come on, Anne, why on earth would you want to escape? We’re happy here! We’re safe! We’re going to inherit the world when James dies, and we’ll lead everyone to peace and prosperity, and they’re going to love us— we’ll be their saviors.” She waved her hand about as she spoke. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I’ve never said I wanted that. And neither have you.” Anne flicked her tail dismissively. “Besides, you don’t just make people love you. You have to earn it. And you’ve done very little to earn it from this nation.”

“They’ll be grateful when they realize,” Mary murmured. She lifted her nails to her lips and nipped absently at them, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, it sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Anne said. “Ruling by fear?”

“No one’s afraid of us.”

“They should fear you.”

“Me?” Mary let out a shaky sigh. “They have nothing to fear from the Disciples as long as they obey.”

“And it’s the same with us,” Anne said. Her eyes were bright in the gathering darkness. “James is fine until he isn’t. You want to call living with him safe? You want to say we’re happy?”

“I’m very happy,” Mary said. She was drawing blood from her nails now; it hurt so bad.

“Mary, quit doing that,” Anne said, walking back over to her. “I know we- we have a destiny. But it could have been fulfilled without everything James has done to us. It could have been fulfilled without fear and pain.”

“No,” Mary breathed out. “Never. It was all necessary. Every drop of blood.”

“Even Charles?” Anne lashed her tail with frustration. “Don’t you see where this religious war got us? We’re losing people, everyone is losing people—”

“Charles was the most necessary death of all.”

“What? Yeah, maybe- maybe to you.” Anne stepped back as Mary stood up. “You’ve always wanted to see James in power.” She hesitated before adding, “He killed him, Mary. James killed his brother. You and I, we’ve always known it.”

“Oh, have we?” Mary laughed. “Why does everyone always say that?”

“Because it’s true. You know it is.”

“Maybe,” she said, glancing to the side towards the drawers under her desk. “But no one knows him like I do. Killing is a great thrill to him, but it all changes when you bring his brother into the equation. Of course he wanted Charles dead. He’d lost his mind, Anne, do you remember that? And he wasn’t even that old! Well, as it was, James saw that the Disciples needed a stronger leader, right? Someone more certain in where their destiny lay.”

“So he killed him,” Anne said. “We all know how it ends.”

“No, no, no, no!” Mary said, clapping her hands. “No, this is where it gets better. He loved Charles, you see. He always did! I mean, I can never understand that— if I had to kill you, I would.”

“What?”

“No, there’s no time!” Mary went on. “What was I saying? Ah, yes, I mean, no. James did not kill Charles! But he did tell me, one lovely night, that he was worried for his brother and for the Disciples. He told me he was so very, very concerned, that something had to pass...”

“He told you about this?” Anne’s eyes widened.

“Oh, he didn’t just tell me. He gave me one fascinating order, just one, but by far the greatest I have ever received—”

“You killed him.”

Mary nodded ruefully. “Should have seen the look on his face. Poor thing.”

“Mary, you-” Anne raised her voice. “You killed him—!”

“Yes. So, you know, in the end, I guess James and I did betray him.” Mary opened a drawer and dug through the tangled wires. “It was out of love, or whatever you want the excuse to be today.”

“You’re heartless,” Anne whispered. “Did you see the state of his body?”

“Of course I did, I’m the one who left it like that.” Mary found what she was looking for and turned to Anne. “So what now?”

“What now?”

“Well, you know, James kind of told me to...kill anyone who found out?” Mary pulled one of her knives out from the wires, twisting it in her fingers and lifting it up towards Anne. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know why I told you any of this. I guess I thought it would be kind of funny, but now you have to die, so...not really.”

“You’re going to kill me?” Anne stumbled back, holding her hand out defensively. “Right now?”

“Yeah, when else do you want me to do it? When I’m sober?” With that, Mary lunged at Anne, shoving her back against the wall and raising the knife over her head.

Anne gasped and caught Mary’s hand by the wrist, lifting a leg to kick her in the stomach. Mary grunted sharply and fell back, and Anne tossed her head back as hard as she could, her horns shattering the window behind her.

“Fuck, you’re paying for that!” Mary shouted. Frantically, as Anne ducked out of the window, Mary drove the knife forward, managing to pin the tip of Anne’s tail to the wall. She heard the scream come from outside at the same time she heard a snap, and then she was staring at nothing but broken glass and the fluffy, decorated tip of her sister’s tail.

She’ll bleed out! Mary pulled the knife out and thoughtlessly followed Anne through the window, letting out a yelp as she landed hard on her feet, pausing to catch her breath. She saw Anne’s tail disappear through the trees ahead, and Mary ran after her. She hadn’t expected to kill someone today, but she wasn’t complaining.

She wasn’t tired yet, simply winded; she thought she could run forever. Anne certainly couldn’t, Mary thought as she advanced on the lashing tail. 

Just as it came within reach, as her fingers brushed the bloody fur, her foot halted under her, running into what might have been a branch or a lifted root. She let out a cry as she fell forward, managing to catch herself before she landed on her face.

By the stars. She propped herself up against the tree behind her, realizing how loud she was panting. It was the only thing breaking the silence here; sometimes it would be the screams of James’ prisoners, but no one would ever find them here. Anne had already disappeared.

“Oh,” Mary gasped, lifting her head to the sky. She had almost caught up. And then what?

Even if I loved you once...

Of course, she should have guessed. James hadn’t been able to kill Charles, either.

🝰🝰🝰

He was woken by Spencer after a fitful night of sleep, a boot’s heel slamming into the tip of his tail. He bit into the gag and hissed like he had when he was a child, but Spencer wasn’t fazed. He took hold of one of William’s horns and lifted his aching head up, tying a blindfold over his eyes, and then tugged at the rope around William’s wrists, forcing him to stand.

He was pushed back onto a wooden stool, where Spencer tilted his head up with the slightest of touches. He felt something fitted around his neck— a collar. It was made of leather, William could tell. It seemed to tighten around his neck when something was clipped onto it from the front, a chain judging by the rattling sound.

“That will do very well,” Spencer murmured as he pushed the hair out from under the collar, brushing it back with what might have been a comb.

There was the sound of something else clicking and jingling, and William realized there were horn bands being clipped around his horns, the gold chains and assorted gems being spread between them. Then he heard something like scraping above him, his head being jerked back. His horns were being trimmed, but to what extent, he could not guess.

He felt the chain go taut, forcing his head to tilt slightly upwards. The gag was slipped out of his mouth, and he let out a relieved gasp, taking deep breaths.

“What- what’s all this for?” he asked.

There was silence on Spencer’s end save for footsteps heard a distance away. William lashed his tail indignantly. “You do not get to ignore an Overlifer. Is this for the trial?”

“I don’t like it when dogs bark senselessly at me,” Spencer said, his voice coming closer. “Open.”

“For what?”

He was met with a backhanded slap to the face. He stumbled to the side, nearly falling off the stool if it weren’t for Spencer pulling him back up by the chain. The sting became a burn when he felt a gloved hand cup around his cheek, the thumb forcing itself past his lips. William huffed and bit down as hard as he could.

“Fuck—!” Spencer sprung back. “See, this is the thing about all Western spirits. They all bite.”

“Call me a spirit again and it’ll be your throat next,” William growled.

Again, Spencer did not answer. Instead, he felt fingers dig into his hair, pulling him out of the stool and then slamming his face against the wall. William’s teeth came down on his tongue, and as he stumbled back he tasted blood over his lips as well, falling from his nose. He thought he could have fainted. The hanging gems rattled by his ears.

“Oh, James isn’t going to like that look,” Spencer said, the wince evident from his tone. “But I have a feeling the hot stick wouldn’t have worked on you, anyway. Will you behave now?”

“You- you really think—”

William was cut off by his tail being suddenly twisted at the base, where the sharp bend was. He let out a fierce hiss through clenched teeth, and Spencer’s free hand came around his neck, pinning his head back on the Disciple’s shoulder.

“We cannot have a trial and execution without obedience and discipline,” Spencer said. “Count the seconds I hold your tail this way or it will only get worse.” As he spoke, he coiled the tail around and around his wrist, and William gasped, kicking fiercely at Spencer’s legs behind him.

“I will kill you myself—!”

“Common, easy threat,” Spencer said. “But a false one. You will not get out of here to kill anyone ever again. Count for me, little one.”

Little one! William tried to think of any spells that would work without any slip of paper, but that was an ability reserved for Allies and his six life. A life that, if all went horribly wrong here, he would reach soon.

He tried to kick again, but Spencer curled his own tail around William’s legs. His breath was warm beside William’s cheek.

“Go on,” he said. “Just count. It’s so easy.”

“Fuck you,” William snapped.

“So it shall be this way,” Spencer said. He brought his hand back up to William’s hair and pushed his body down against the floor. William winced as his chin came down on it, dust rising up beside him.

Not now! He inhaled sharply and coughed, feeling Spencer’s heel on his back as he tried to sit back up on his legs.

He felt his tail bent over something like a ledge, what might have been a cell door. “Same as before,” he heard Spencer say. “Just say it.” He began to press William’s tail down over the ledge with one hand, the other pulling back on the tip.

William coughed again, a shudder running through his body. He would not count, he would not do anything these Disciples told him to do. Yet it was taking a greater and greater effort to keep his mouth shut, whimpers beginning to form along with his wheezes.

No, no, no, don’t make a sound.

He felt something snap at his tail where Spencer was holding it. He bit his lip hard, failing to muffle a shriek, but Spencer did not stop.

“That’s just a few bones,” he said. “There’s more where that came from. I will go until all of this tail is broken, if I have to.”

“One—!” William cried hurriedly. “Two. Three. Four.”

“Very good. Until ten.”

“Five. Six.” Tears came to William’s eyes as Spencer squeezed his fist around the broken bones. “S-Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten, now let go!”

Spencer dropped the tail, and William curled it in with much effort, trying to catch his breath. He was forced up to his knees by the chain on his collar, cutting away yet more air.

“Now,” Spencer said, “that looks good.” There was another gag shoved into his open mouth, but this time his lips did not close around it. It was his bloody tongue hanging out instead, leaving his jaws open, drool forming there relentlessly. The blood was cleaned from his face, his shirt unbuttoned so his saliva would not stain it. At this he turned away with a grunt of displeasure.

There was the sound of a phone ringing, and Spencer dropped back. “Good morning, sir,” William heard him say, “did you sleep well?”

There was a pause, and then Spencer laughed. “I was just asking. Yes, he’s still here.”

Is he talking to James? William tugged at the ropes around his wrists. He tried to push his tail in between the knots, but the force of it would send a sharp pain from the bottom of his spine all the way to his horns. He shuddered and tried to swallow back a groan.

“Yes, I’ve been doing- yes, I know,” Spencer was saying. “But he’s given me quite a challenge, I-” He stopped, then sighed. “Yes, he will be there. I broke his tail, and maybe his nose, too- oh, please—” There was the sound of something whipping the air; an irritated tail, no doubt. “It’ll be difficult to get him to hold still. I’ve just made it easier for you. No, I haven’t- he’s not dead— fine, give me a moment. I’ll be there soon.”

William jerked his head back in the chain, only for it to pull him forward onto the ground. It was in something of a daze that he realized Spencer was pulling his hair again, dragging him outside, the approving hisses of the spirits fading behind him.

Maybe I will die here. It came to him like a thunderbolt. He should have fought like one, but then—

He recognized the motion all over again, the roughness of being shoved into the trunk of a car. He tried to kick out at Spencer, but his movements felt too sluggish, his head pounding like he was high all over again. But there was no peace here, only a dim sensation of panic as he felt a hand run through his hair.

“I see now why you were granted six lives,” Spencer said.

What? William’s face flushed as he felt the saliva wiped away from his chin again. He heard Spencer step back, and the door was shut over him.

At least his mouth was open this time. With the movement of the car, though, he felt something else begin to drag him below, where the devils lay. They wanted him now. In a dizzying moment he came to the conclusion that his father was among them, and that he had to fight, but he did not want to...the darkness became absolute; what a waste.

🝰🝰🝰

Bentinck’s phone was ringing again, late into the night. He felt as if he’d been on calls for most of the day, scolding the Madams and the bombers and the dealers for their insolence to their Overlifer, who was perfectly fine, thank you very much, he will get back to you in a few days, now stop calling; he’s very busy. Nobody needed to know William had been captured and that he wasn’t back yet.

Well, he would be back tonight, Bentinck had decided, before anyone found out. He wasn’t sure where William was, but maybe stopping by some of the Stewarts’ many residences would give him a clue. Or, better yet, he was already there.

Right now, however, he had to answer this last call. He picked up the phone, his sigh becoming a groan when he saw who it was.

He answered and placed it on the table as he worked on loading his gun. “Hello, Bidloo,” he said. Of course, the one man who William would trust with this information was also the most annoying.

“I’m outside,” Bidloo said.

“What?”

“Outside...your house. Open up.” “I’m sure William would appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for you to come in,” Bentinck said, laughing nervously. He shrugged off the tension on his shoulders and tried to remember what some of the Infernal spells were, in particular the ones spoken in the dialect of the Southern Kingdom. Those were the most useful, but the most elusive.

“I will bomb the place if I must,” Bidloo said. “What are you doing this time? How many men are in there?”

“It’s- it’s just me, Bidloo,” Bentinck said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re planning to go get him by yourself, aren’t you?”

“Well, who else is going to?”

“I could do it. Easily.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Bentinck snapped. “Look, you’re welcome to try, but you know you were never very good at the spells, nor protecting yourself from them. And they all know you well, especially James— he’s got a reason to want vengeance, after all the Disciples you’ve institutionalized.”

“Oh, yes,” Bidloo said, as if he were remembering a fun day of his childhood and not the countless sessions of torture.

“Well, here’s something you don’t know,” Bentinck said. “You don’t care about death. It’s all impersonal to you, isn’t it? Doctor.”

“Oh, you know, it puts food on the table.”

“It would be a waste to let you go out there and kill everyone who stands in your way,” Bentinck went on, “because it would mean nothing. Meanwhile, I have something I need to do over there. Right now, they’ve taken my friend, and when I was a boy, you know James-”

“Murdered my father,” Bidloo interrupted. He barked out a laugh. “So you think only you can kill him. You think it’s only fair.”

“No, William has to do that, but...maybe just one life.”

“You don’t make the death of a person right by killing someone else,” Bidloo said. “You’re just killing more people. Revenge is just a concept, Hansi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bentinck said, his face flushing.

“In any case, sounds like you’ll get way too caught up in other things that don’t pertain to the mission. Like your emotions.” Bidloo lowered his voice. “You’ll need someone there to orient you. With your power, you could become a truly threatening force to the Disciples. You just need to focus.”

“I’m not going to let you come with me.”

“Why not? I have something that you know you need. You can’t go out there without it.”

“Really? You?” Bentinck snorted. “And what the fuck could that be?”

“Some doll named Anne Villiers,” Bidloo said, yawning as he said the name. “The spy who deceived you. You, Bentinck, she deceived you. Someone who should have seen the motivations of the Disciples in her long before they came to fruition. Alas...your emotions were quite a distraction, weren’t they?”

“You—!” Bentinck jolted. “You have her?”

“She came to our facility, yes,” Bidloo said. “She was asking for you. Silly girl, I took care of her for you, don’t worry.”

Bentinck hung up and walked outside, past his gardens and past his gate, where Bidloo was waiting in his car, poking his cat-like face out of the window. His rather jarring appearance was illuminated by the fluorescent street lamp above; while one horn was huge, striped, curling in towards Bidloo’s head in the typical Northern manner, the other was cut short near the base, the remains of it unevenly spiked.

“Did you kill her?” He felt as if his heart had frozen in his chest, tensing for the answer.

“No, she has valuable information, I’m sure,” Bidloo said. “But she refuses to share it with me. She said she needed to speak to you outside of your meeting hours, but didn’t know where to look— save for our facility, of course, seeing as there’s a Devil running around the place.” He pointed a finger at himself with a chuckle. “She showed me the R and said she could do dreadful things to me if I didn’t help her.”

“She threatened you?”

Bidloo shrugged and rolled down one of the back windows. “Ask her yourself.”

He looked up, refusing to believe that he saw her then, sitting behind Bidloo, her eyes wide as she brought a hand up to adjust the hair around her face. It was that movement that convinced him; it was Anne.

“Hans!” She leaned out the window, accidentally kicking Bidloo as she did so. “I- I thought he was lying, and he was going to kill me, or something— like he has with everyone else. He was kind of rough, I mean—” She paused, looking up at Bentinck’s stunned face. “Oh...”

“Anne,” he breathed. “You did come back.”

She hesitated before opening the door and leaping into his arms, squeezing her own around his neck as if she’d been waiting for it. “I love you, Hans, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” Her voice broke, and she seemed to become smaller, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You know I would always forgive you.” Bentinck stroked at her hair, surprising himself with the truth. “From the moment I realized, I forgave you.”

“No...” She looked up again. “But that’s what made it so easy, Hans.”

“It was worth it.”

“You- you know, I didn’t want to leave you.” She let out a bitter sigh. “I didn’t want to lie to you, either, but Mary ordered it of me, and James, he- well, you know James.”

“Too well,” Bentinck growled. “This is all his doing, Anne.”

“The truth is, I didn’t do it just for him,” Anne said, her gaze hardening over. “I mean, for Mary, of course I would do anything for her. But after everything you’ve told me about William...I thought that maybe you would-” She stopped as Bentinck leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“You think I would be better off without him,” he said.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Hans.”

“He’s my friend, Anne, for the last time—”

“If Mary treated me like William treats you, I would have already left the Disciples,” Anne cut in. “And come to you. But there’s a reason I’ve stayed.”

“If William treated me like how you say he does, I would have already left, too,” Bentinck said firmly. “I know you mean the best, but- but he’s my friend, and I love him, and now he is in danger because you- because you thought it was good for me.” He turned towards Bidloo, trying and failing to blink away his tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.”

“I’m sorry. I knew it would be this way.” Anne’s hand slipped into his.

“Just don’t- don’t get caught up in things that don’t concern you.” He ran his thumb over her hand, though he intended mostly to soothe himself. He felt scars there, near her wrist.

“One last time, then?”

“What?” He turned his head back to her.

“Tonight is William’s trial,” she said, “and his first execution. It may have already started. That’s why I had to find you again. I don’t like him, but things would only get worse if we let this happen.”

“What?” Bidloo spat from the front. “And you didn’t think to tell me that first?”

“Why would I tell you anything? You kind of kidnapped me.” Anne waved him off. “We have to go, Hans.”

“Yes- yes, let’s go.” Bentinck started to step away, but then glanced back at Bidloo. “And I suppose you’d like to take us there.”

Bidloo turned his icy gaze to the Ally. “Why, thank you for the invitation.”

🝰🝰🝰

A hand came down on his head, pulling at his hair and jolting him out of his uneasy sleep. He was still breathing hard, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, becoming more dizzy with every sharp wheeze of his. He deliriously wondered if he had lost a life, and now the cold air that he was breathing in was from the realm of the devils.

“William. Hello, darling.”

No devil could speak like this. He turned his head to the side, and a thumb suddenly shoved itself into his mouth, forcing his tongue down with a sharp nail. He gasped, heard laughing from above.

“He looks like a mess,” came the voice. It was James, William realized, and it made the reality before him more certain. He had to escape or he would die.

No one is coming to save you!

He kicked a leg out, trying to sit up, and the chain on his neck was pulled hard, forcing him up on his knees. He lashed his tail behind him, letting out a heavy sigh at the renewed pain there. He had almost forgotten.

“Come on out, step lively! You’ve been sleeping all day.” That was Spencer’s voice, the voice of a snake as cheerful as ever. There was a gloved hand on one arm, a firmer one on the other, helping him stand with deceitful kindness. He swayed on his feet, wondering if he should run now, but the chain remained taut. He wouldn’t get far.

Or I’ll just fall on my nose. He looked up, trying to make anything out through the blindfold.

“You know, it’s kind of nice, this silence from you,” James said, his voice making William’s head seem heavier. Like a venomous lullaby. “It’s nothing at all, really, but it’s a sound that few are blessed to hear.” The hand came back around William’s head, another one on his cheek, the same one that had been in his mouth seconds before. He recognized the movement, his heart speeding up.

He jerked his head back, but James brought him closer still, slipping his tongue into William’s mouth. It wasn’t a kiss; no, this was the first taste of many that would undoubtedly come later, and some would venture further than others. He stifled a cry, trying to lift his head as James ran his tongue along the roof of William’s mouth, down to his teeth, and finally his lips, where the tongue lapped away William’s drool and replaced it with its own.

Devils below. He shuddered as James stepped back, his breath leaving him when he bent forward and began to retch, the tip of his tail shaking. He might have fallen if it weren’t for the hand buried in his hair keeping him up. He wasn’t sure if anything came out of him, but he could taste nothing at the back of his throat.

“I thought your father would have taught you better than that,” James said, the disapproval evident in his voice. “Well, Spencer, bring him in. I have to make sure everything is ready. I can trust you to watch him again, yes?”

“It’s been my great pleasure, sir.”

What was this place? The heat as Spencer pushed him inside convinced William it was a Hoerenkast, a strange choice for an execution. These places meant nothing to Overlifers, and it would surely be noticed if someone was brought to die here, especially someone like William.

They were all watching, he thought, and laughing. No one cared. He’d kill them all when he got free.

“We’re coming to some stairs,” Spencer said into his ear. “Be careful. We have time.”

Stairs? William could hardly keep himself up when he was still. His legs shook as he was pulled up the steps, his tail held out stiffly behind him in an instinctual attempt to keep him balanced despite the sharp pains near both the base and the tip. Spencer still held on to him, though William was tempted to bat him off. He didn’t need help for this.

He fell to his knees once they made it to the top and he heard a door close behind him, his head still forced up by the chain. The collar felt as if it were choking him, cutting off the air he had already so desperately needed. He hoped he wouldn’t have another attack— Spencer was not the sort to help him.

“Oh, little one,” he heard Spencer say, a tail running under his chin, “we can’t have you passing out in front of everyone. Would you like some water?”

Please! William nodded rapidly. His throat had been increasingly dry these past few days; he had been given nothing to eat nor drink. Eating very little he was used to, often skipping meals since he was a boy, but the pangs in his stomach could hardly go unnoticed now, and water he could not go without. Certainly he couldn’t escape like this.

“I know where I can find your weakness,” Spencer said, his voice low behind William. “You’re very easy, you know.” A sharp heel dug into William’s back then, pushing him down so that his chin rested on the floor. Before him, he could hear the gentle running of water, and realized that they must have been by one of the Hoerenkast’s streams.

“There’s your water,” Spencer said. “Drink.”

This was the water he was offering William? From the warm stream, where countless Allies had sat before? He shook his head, trying to lift himself back up again, but Spencer brought his heel down on his head next, sending a fire down William’s spine. He grunted and narrowed his eyes under his blindfold.

This will be the first and last time you treat an Overlifer this way. Who did Spencer think he was, treating William like a common spirit? Even rival Overlifers deserved respect.

He doesn’t believe in me. He felt his face warming up, whether it was from anger or embarrassment he couldn’t say, but he heard Spencer sigh.

“Are you going to make me regret this? Drink.”

Like a fucking dog? William took a shaky breath, but obeyed, bowing his head further to lap from the stream. It was bitter, bringing no relief with its warmth, and then he realized he couldn’t even swallow with his mouth forced open. He tried again, lapping up more, but he only coughed once it reached his throat, feeling it drip back out of his mouth.

You sly fucking rat. He shuddered as the heel pressed down harder on his head. What had he looked like to Spencer? Like the obedient little spirit the Disciple wanted?

Well, he would never be that. He paused, then sprung up, throwing Spencer’s heel off of him. He turned his head around wildly, when he felt a hand grip his hair hard, forcing his head up until tears came to his eyes.

“Behave,” Spencer said simply, and then his head was pushed into the water. William gasped involuntarily, water filling his throat until he choked on it, his open mouth still refusing to swallow it. He stiffened, spasms running down his back to his tail. His nose was burning; he thought the water might have been boiling—

“Had enough of a drink?” Spencer asked as he brought William back up again.

William was still gasping, coughing with water running from his nose and lips. Inexplicably, he was trying to swallow, but it only made him choke more, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

He heard the door open, a stern, familiar voice say, “Is he ready? James is about to make the announcement.” It was Ally Marly, and even in the midst of this shitshow William felt the fur on his tail stand straight up at the sound. “What are you doing to him?”

“He wanted a drink,” Spencer replied, “so I gave him one.”

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” The chain on William’s collar was pulled upwards, his hair being tugged along with it, and he stumbled to his feet, too stunned to do anything but follow the two Disciples. “James isn’t going to be happy with how you made such a mess of his hair.”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

Marly snorted. “Sure.”

He was going to die for the third time. He couldn’t say it scared him, but with every step his body only shook more, the emptiness in his stomach growing.

🝰🝰🝰

Only the most trusted of Disciples were allowed to watch the execution of their greatest enemy, only the most useful. They were all here, all people Mary knew and hardly liked, just as she despised the looming presence of the Tenth Honor Hoerenkast. She supposed it was all a very symbolic, triumphant thing, to kill an Overlifer in the temple of their most obnoxious rivals, but she couldn’t stand the devils that were watching from the stained glass or the tapestries. At least it was only them, and no one else— Marly had asked all the servants and other Allies to leave the place to him today, for an “event.”

Stupid, obedient Disciples. Everybody here, standing in the largest meeting room where Marly usually met with his starry-eyed followers, waiting for their glorious Overlifer to begin speaking. She didn’t know why, but today, she hated them all.

James was sitting on Marly’s throne, smoking as always, his head leaning on Maria’s shoulder as she stood beside him. They were speaking to each other, and though Mary was closest to them she couldn’t make out anything. It was only when Maria looked up and beckoned for her to come that she heard what James was complaining about.

“Where is your sister, Mary? We can’t start if everyone isn’t here.” He twitched his tail furiously with annoyance. “She’s always doing this shit.”

“I don’t know,” Mary said honestly. She hadn’t seen Anne since she had fled yesterday. She had kind of expected her to return at some point, which made no sense, now that she thought about it. Coming back wouldn’t mean she would be spared, especially if James knew now.

But he didn’t know. Mary had decided not to tell him— she could handle Anne on her own, and when she was dead she could tell James all about it and watch his eyes light up with pride. For now, though, he didn’t have to know, because then Anne didn’t have to die just yet; there was no clock ticking for Mary, urging her to do it now, now, now, kill your sister.

She could do it whenever she liked. She could decide all on her own. It wasn’t deceit or treason, surely, as long as she still did it.

She would do it, of course. She wasn’t like James. For now, she just had to deal with the displeasure on his face as he looked around the room, then sank back into the throne with a sigh, lifting his cigarette to his lips. “She’ll hear about this when she gets back,” he muttered, “I’ll drill it right into her fucking skull.” Oh, Anne. Mary sighed. Always making things worse for yourself.

“And your little Villiers friends?” James asked. “I see Elizabeth, but where is Anne?”

“That...I don’t know, either.” That was a little bit more worrying, though at least this Anne had the advantage of having actually pleased James immensely a few days back. He couldn’t be too harsh on her, could he? She was the reason they were all here.

“I’m starting to suspect treason from your sister,” James said, “and insolence from your friend. Tame that girl, Mary, or I’ll have to do it myself. As I must do all things around here,” he added with a yawn.

I’m sorry, you’ll have to remind me who captured William and who didn’t, came the tempting retort in Mary’s mind, but she only smiled and bowed her head.

“Yes, sir.”

“James, please, today is supposed to be a happy day,” Maria said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Mary could see that she was already tense, the tip of her tail stiffly twitching behind her. “Don’t stress too much about it, you’ll make your nose bleed again.”

“I’m not stressed,” James snapped, batting her off. “But can you blame me for wanting my daughter here to witness this victory? This is the longest she’s been out of my sight, and it is at the worst possible time.”

“It’s barely been a day,” Maria said. She reached down to take his hand, lifting it to her lips to kiss it. “She’ll come back. Just get on with it, before William finds a way to escape. The longer we wait, the less time we have before someone inevitably comes and tries to rescue him.”

“We don’t have to wait for them,” Mary added.

James paused, then stood up, kissing Maria on the cheek as he did so. “Very well,” he said. “We shall begin.”

Finally. Mary stepped back, taking her place back beside Elizabeth. She had no regrets over this, none at all; she only wished she could have been the one to capture and kill William, as had been the original plan for years. It was a simpler way for him to go, the way Charles would have liked, without ceremony nor honor. But Charles was dead, and now his brother...

Well, he’s a little different, isn’t he? She took a deep breath and looked up at her father. And William was never meant to go out so easily, by the hands of someone like—

You.

“Welcome, all Disciples, to the first of many trials for our captured Overlifer,” James began. “This is an ancient ceremony, one that hasn’t been performed for centuries. However, today I’d like to bring it back as a celebration of our victory. Our enemies are now on the verge of defeat. We have their leader.”

No one else deserves him. Mary held her hand over her heart. It was going too fast for all the nothing that was going on. So do it, James.

Kill him.

“The Overlifer must answer for his crimes,” James went on. “He must admit that what he did to us was wrong, and that his existence, in reality, holds no meaning. He must acknowledge me as the true authority of humanity. He must beg for my forgiveness.” His eyes glinted, and the Disciples all leaned in with interest. “But it will not be granted.”

At that, the curtains flew open behind the audience, and they all looked back to see William himself, dragged in by Ally Marly and the spirit handler Robert Spencer. At the sight of him the Disciples began to cheer and roar, jeering at him as he walked by each of them.

“Fucking snake! Look at him drool!”

“Half-drowned mouse!”

“We got Spencer on this guy? He must be pretty damn weak!”

“Call snake’s eye for an eye, sir, let him service us!”

“Bring him down!”

“Let him kneel!”

Devils below. Mary’s eyes widened as William came by her. He was in an even worse state now, wheezing through his open mouth as water dripped down his face and hair. The tip of his tail was strangely twisted, his shirt ruffled and torn open at his chest, a blindfold tied around his head. His horns, however, were trimmed into sharper and neater points than Mary remembered, with chains of gold tied in between them.

“Kneel before James Stewart, animal,” Marly said, slamming his heel down on William’s tail. William jumped, hissing under his breath, and Marly pulled on the chain on his collar, bringing him down before the stream running in front of the throne. Spencer bowed towards James, then ducked back into the crowd of Disciples, his eyes flashing as he watched William.

What’s he looking at him that way for? Mary shook herself with disgust.

“Wasted no time,” she heard James say as Marly handed him the chain. “Good boy.”

Marly made no comment, merely sat beside James on the armrest of the throne and smiled down at William.

Self-satisfied cunt. Mary rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze on William. Under the dim light of the candles above he was beautiful, a figure at its finest when it was bound, his wet locks gleaming like his eyes would have had it not been for the blindfold. With his head forced up, he looked as if he were defying James.

“Look at that,” Elizabeth muttered beside her.

“I’m looking.”

James cleared his throat, and the whole room fell silent. They all watched their Overlifer stand, his eyes no longer anything but cold, his lips letting loose gray smoke. He brought the chain closer and stepped over the stream..

“Look upon this blasphemer, this criminal,” he said. “William Henry Nassau; our most persistent enemy, and the most convincing of liars. I shudder to think what deceit he infects his Devils with to ensure their loyalty to the wrong Overlifer.”

Really? Mary could almost laugh.

“When he is dead, the Devils will come under my control, under the right Overlifer,” James continued. He stepped forward, pulling the chain up until William was forced to lift himself off his legs. “They shall never remember you, William. You, who were born through evil, and have led the life that your father wrote out for you from the moment you were born.” He curled his lip back in disgust. “It’s pathetic to watch. You’re just like your mother.”

Why bring that up now? Mary swallowed. He just had to get it over with!

William’s only response was a wide lash of his tail. James glanced at the audience, then pressed his cigarette down on William’s tongue.

The shriek that came from him was what broke the spell; as he fell back, crying out and shaking his head, the Disciples began to laugh again, some of them clapping their hands. Maria’s eyes widened behind James, but she said nothing.

“Our glorious leader has finally gotten a scream out of the imperturbable Defender of the Faith!” Marly yelled, invoking the ancient name for the leader of the Devils of Orange-Nassau. “Long live James Stewart, long live the Restoration!”

The Disciples echoed his call, Elizabeth joining in with much enthusiasm. Mary hesitated, then lifted her head to take up the cry, watching William furiously pull back on the chain. James did not look up, kept his gaze frozen there, upon William. The only indication of life from him was his tail swaying slowly behind him in satisfaction.

He raised his hand, and the Disciples eagerly shut up again in no time at all. James brought his hand down to lift William’s head, untying the gag and pulling it out of his mouth. There was a pause as William swallowed, closing his mouth and then opening it once more, this time to spit at James, “Fuck you!”

Oh, William. Mary shook her head, the gasps of the Disciples audible around her.

“Is that all you can say?” James asked. “Nothing to defend yourself?”

“I don’t- I don’t have to defend anything that I-” William cut himself off with a cough. “That I have ever done. I know who the real Overlifer is here. It’s not you, you- you fucking fraud! Do you think you have any right to treat me this way? If I would ever kill you, th-there would be no ceremony! You don’t fucking deserve it, you piece of shit, fucking creep—”

“Do you realize from where you’re talking right now?” James tilted his head to the side. “I can make your death so much more painful than it has to be.”

“Ha!” William laughed viciously. “You were already planning on that. Sadistic bitch!”

“What was that?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? I knew you were getting old, but you’re hardly in your fifties!” William laughed again. “But you did hear! I called you a bitch and a sadist, both, even—”

James drove his knee upward, striking right under William’s chin, sending him flying back against the floor. He let out a hiss as his head landed, and James snorted, circling him with a flicking tail.

“Had your fill?” he asked. “Insolent brat.”

Mary’s breath hitched as William sat up again. “Never,” he said. “Lying, cheating, arrogant viper, relying on your daughter to do everything for you! Lazy, apathetic—”

It was James’ turn to hiss like a primitive devil. He took William by the neck and forced his head under the water at the stream, bringing his heel down onto it again and again. He took William’s flailing tail and twisted it around his wrist.

“Holy shit,” Elizabeth snorted.

Now he’s really mad. Mary looked down at the floor, her vision blurring before her. It was just as it had been at the fight— this sick uncertainty in her, even without her father’s eyes on her. But they would turn towards her soon, she was sure of it.

“Are you alright?” she heard Elizabeth ask. “Mary, pay attention.”

“I- I know.” Mary inhaled sharply. “It’s just- just the drugs again.” She looked up again, realized with horror that her father was looking straight at her.

“You do not get to say anything about my family,” James growled, nodding once at Mary and then glaring back down at William. “What do you think you would know? Hm?” He pulled William back out, kicking him in the side as he bowed his head, coughing and taking in raspy breaths. Surprisingly, he managed to bite back any noise this time, though he shuddered at the impact.

“Nothing to say now?” James smiled back at the stunned audience, as pleasant as he had been at the beginning. “Very well. Let the trial begin. Like the fight from before, it can only end in one way— death, as many times as it must come to him.” He brought William’s head back up by the chain, speaking over the hacking coughs. “William Henry Nassau is charged with the following crimes—”

“You- you and your fucking theatrics!” William cut in with evident effort. “Flashy bitch! That’s why you have- you’ve got your wife on one arm and an Ally on the other! An affair with an Ally, now that’s fucking rich from an- an Overlifer who claims he’s valid!”

Shut up, William, by the stars! What did he think he could do from this position?

Maria narrowed her eyes and glared at Marly, flicking her tail dismissively at him. James looked between the both of them, then turned back to William, his eyes bright with rage.

“Oh, you never know when to shut up, do you?” he snarled. He lifted William up by his collar and stepped over the water, throwing him back against the throne. “Then let us go through your crimes this way, shall we?”

“I plead guilty to all of them.” William curled his lip back in a sneer, his tail twitching erratically.

“So you admit it,” James said. “That you did send assassins after me, my brother, and my most valuable Disciples.” As he spoke, he drove his fist into William’s face, hard enough for William’s head to bounce back and blood to begin dribbling out of his mouth and nose.

“Yes,” William gasped out. He still bared his teeth.

“That you did kidnap, torture, and execute hostages you promised to return to us unharmed.” James dug his fingers into William’s hair and shoved him back to the ground, keeping his hold on William’s head to land another blow on it.

“Yes.” William bit hard into his lip, making a sound like he was trying to swallow, and James let him fall.

“That you did cause the death of my people in your terrorist attacks all throughout the nation, whether it was intentional or not.” He landed another vicious kick in William’s ribs, then his neck, and finally his head, where a startling crack was heard from his horns.

“Yes.” From where Mary was standing, she could not see his face as he answered.

James took the chain from William’s collar and swung it carelessly around in his hands. This time he did not pull William up, rather he let him stay on the ground, and instead raised the chain behind him and then brought it down against William’s back.

“AUGH—!” William roared, his whole body jolting, and the Disciples leaned in with renewed fascination.

“That you did intercept our lines of weapons, narcotics, Westerners and Northerners, whatever it may be, and caused us a great loss in profit.” James folded the length of the chain in, bringing it down again with more force.

William’s answer came in his scream. “Yes—!”

“That you did disrespect me and my divine authority.” James held his foot over the tip of William’s tail and did the same as before. Mary swore the screams were louder this time.

“Yes!”

James didn’t pause anymore, not beyond a few seconds between each lash of the chain. “That you did murder your mother as a boy.” His voice seemed to grow quieter with every accusation, as if in a nervous anticipation.

“Yes, by the stars— yes!” William was still quick to answer, though Mary thought he might have been choking on his own blood, dizzy with agony even she couldn’t imagine.

“Murdered his mother? What’s all that about?” Elizabeth murmured.

Mary shook her head helplessly. To James, it must have looked that way, and he must have believed in it; therefore he was correct.

“That you did break the promise you made to her before her death,” he went on. He kicked William again, knocking him back down as he tried to right himself under the relentless whipping. The chain made a lovely, unfamiliar sound as it came down.

William let out a long, breathless shriek, breaking off with a retching cough. “YES!”

“That you did murder my brother,” James finished, pulling William closer by the chain and lifting him in the air by his neck. He really was so small. “Three times over.”

William did not answer, and James smiled as he lifted the blindfold from his eyes, revealing the many bruises underneath. But those very eyes were still narrowed in defiance and hatred as they raked over James.

“I-”

“It’s a yes or no question, William, don’t make this difficult for us,” James said, squeezing his fingers tighter around his throat. “It’s the same as all the other ones.”

I’m so sorry, Mary thought, involuntarily, then cursed herself for it. But she saw William’s eyes roll back, heard his breaths begin to quiet down, and thought right then of how needless it all was, every drop of blood spilled to arrive at this moment, every breath stolen away. She wasn’t satisfied at all.

And you, William? Would you do the same? She focused on his quivering lips. He wanted to say something. Of course he did.

“You’re asking the wrong person, sir,” came a firm voice from behind the audience.

Mary turned, along with all the rest of the Disciples, and recognized her sister there, illuminated by the numerous candles near the entrance. Her eyes shone as she lifted her head, and Mary realized that behind her stood what must have been an Ally, if she could guess from his dark eyes. Ally George, she remembered now. A new Ally of New Amsterdam, the one who could read minds.

Does she know him? She winced when his gaze passed over her. Ah, don’t look at me—!

“Anne, my princess, you’re just in time,” James cooed, letting go of William. The latter fell to the ground, gasping sharply, and Marly called a spear from the devils, holding it over William as if to guard him.

“Don’t call me that,” Anne spat. “Liar.”

James raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that? It’s a lot coming from someone who disappeared without notice right before this momentous execution. You missed the best part.” His eyes widened when he saw the Ally standing behind her. “And who is this you brought us?” He twitched the tip of his tail at Maria, whose hand drifted to her gun.

“Why does it matter to you?” Anne asked.

Don’t make him mad again! Mary ducked her head as James stepped over the water, his tail lashing slowly like that of a cat poised to pounce. Indeed, his eyes were the same way— focused on nothing else at all.

“If you bring an enemy right before me, then of course it matters to me,” he said. “Unless this Ally wants to join us.”

“Nobody would want to join you after all you’ve done.” Anne turned her gaze to all the rest of the Disciples. “Your crimes, even as an Overlifer, are excessive. But I’ll only name the one that everyone here cares about. Ferocity knows nobody gives a shit about how you’ve treated us.”

“What are you going on about now?” James rolled his eyes. “Anne, come in here. Step aside from the Ally.”

Anne edged closer to George, and Mary swallowed. Oh, they do know each other. A little too well.

“I confronted Mary a few days ago,” Anne began, and Mary’s heart stopped. “She confirmed something I had already suspected, from the moment I saw our late Overlifer’s body. That James Stewart is responsible for the death of his brother.”

“What?” James turned to glare at Mary.

“I- I wasn’t—” Mary didn’t know what to say that would keep James’ secret any longer. There wasn’t any excuse she could offer other than she was high, but even that made no sense to her. She couldn’t fathom herself, her own reasons, her own life.

The Disciples were staring at Anne with an angry sort of confusion, like they didn’t quite believe her yet, even with the lack of any denial on James’ part— not until she said the next thing.

“Ah, responsible, yes,” Anne said, “but not quite the assassin. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that it was Mary who murdered him, under his orders. She told me this herself with the utmost honesty. But, in case you still don’t believe me, I’ve brought us a mindreader.” She looked to George expectantly. “What’s my father thinking now?”

“He’s wondering what to say to convince them all that you’re lying, or crazy, or both,” he said, rather pleasantly. “I think you’re neither.”

The Disciples recoiled like swiped flies, letting out shocked hisses and whispers, their frantic gazes darting between Mary and James and then back to Anne. James’ eyes widened, but he said nothing to defend himself.

“Without any remorse,” Anne continued, “it was the both of them that carried out this plan, and they succeeded because none of you could be bothered to look within our own ranks, towards our so-called leader. Do you think evil knows any limits?” She lifted her tail, the once-beautiful tip now bandaged and bloodied. “Do you think James would have been content to die without the glory of his brother? No, he is greater than one life.”

“So he needed six,” a furious voice muttered from within the audience. Mary couldn’t tell who it was, but that was what pushed the quiet Disciples over the edge, finally allowing them to set free their outraged, horrified cries.

“Say it isn’t true! What’s your defense, sir?”

“Mary told her this? How do we know she was telling the truth?”

“How do we know Anne is telling the truth?”

“That’s Ally George, isn’t it? His powers aren’t a lie!”

“Was Monmouth right, then?”

“Did you do it, sir? Did you kill your brother?”

“We can’t be too hasty—”

“Mary, is it true?”

That last one was Elizabeth, watching Mary back away fearfully. There was not hatred nor suspicion there, only a cold certainty.

“I- I must follow his orders,” was the only thing she could manage.

In all of this, James remained silent. He was staring at Anne with something unreadable in his eyes. She stared back, lifting her head as if to challenge him.

“It was William, wasn’t it?” Marly asked behind him, keeping his spear over William. “You loved your brother, you- you wouldn’t have.” He reached out towards James, then drew back when he received no answer.

“You still think Anne would lie?” Sarah hopped over the stream to stand at his side, and he sighed bitterly, looking back down at William.

As he did so, Maria ran over to Mary, taking her by the shoulders. “Mary!” she cried. “I- I told you James had killed Charles, he told me himself, he was so proud of it, but- if you knew, Mary, that it was you— why didn’t you tell me, did you think-” She took a shuddering breath, her eyes filling with tears. “How could you do this?”

“Did you expect me to disobey?” Mary’s voice broke; she was crying, too.

Maria hesitated, as if she were about to say something else, but then James raised his hand, calling for silence. Miraculously, he was obeyed, though Mary guessed it was no longer out of respect, but impatience. They wanted to hear his explanation, his excuse, more of his lies that they would happily swallow up if it meant they could go back to hating the true enemy— William, still lying breathlessly before Marly.

But, for once, he did not lie. “Yes, I ordered Mary to kill Charles,” he said simply. “And she did very well. I never expected her to reveal this information, much less so easily,” he added, in a tone that sent dread through Mary, “but it’s out now. What will you do about it?”

The Disciples did not reply, frozen in terror. James raised his voice.

“I ask you, what will you do?” he shouted. “What do you think you can do to me? I have my six lives now. I was chosen by those trembling devils, scared of my power! Do you hear that? My power! They knew what I had done when I came to them, and they didn’t care. They know an Overlifer must do anything to forward his destiny.” He shook his head slowly, lapping at the blood that had started to run from his nose with his tongue. “Charles had lost his mind. He was not fit to lead us any longer; I freed him, and I freed you. Ungrateful little rats.”

“You really expect nothing to come out of this?” Anne blurted. “He’s a traitor, everyone! Do something!”

James laughed, even as the blood ran into his mouth, staining his golden teeth. “What?” he asked. “What are they supposed to do? As long as I have my six lives, they’re mine and they know it. Their loyalty cannot waver. They realize now that this was not the act of a traitor— this was an act of love.”

Love. Love. What is all this, love? Mary couldn’t even pretend to believe it anymore.

It was a moment before Maria pulled away from Mary to stand beside her husband. “I stand beside James Stewart,��� she announced, “always.”

And then, much to even Mary’s shock, the rest of the Disciples began to relent, echoing her promise, bowing their heads as they did so. Elizabeth did the same, and Mary soon followed, hoping it was real enough for James. She didn’t know if it was real enough for her.

Marly was the last one to speak. “I follow James Stewart.” He did not look at the Overlifer.

James grinned at Anne, who looked around at the Disciples in bewilderment.

“Love,” she whispered, then, louder, “love! If that’s your definition, then I love you, too, sir.” With that, she took the gun from her belt and shot her father in the head.

“James—!” Maria caught him before he fell, his body convulsing in her arms. Mary ran to help her as the shouting Disciples rushed beside her, crowding around their leader— desperate to do anything, but knowing they could do nothing when they saw the blood pouring from his shattered face. He was already dead, his first life spilling all over Maria.

Mary reached out to take her father’s hand. She waited for the fingers to squeeze around her wrist, to bring her closer. She heard Maria crying out his name, holding him to her chest protectively as the Disciples leaned in.

You’ll come back. Mary let go of his hand with some difficulty, stepping away as the candlelight swam and blurred around her. She let out an involuntary sob and covered her mouth. 

Just do it soon.

Someone had to die for this, and she knew who. Looking over the crowd, she looked up towards the entrance, towards her sister.

She was speaking to Sarah, Marly at her side, nodding as if he were listening. Anne held a spell out towards him, and he seemed to read it over before nodding once more. Then she looked behind her shoulder, meeting Mary’s gaze.

You killed our father, Mary wanted to scream. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull out her gun.

And I’ll do it again, Anne seemed to respond with her sneer. She turned decisively away with Sarah and George, dropping the spell on the floor. Her lashing tail knocked over two of the candles by the curtains as she left.

What did she—?

The flames of the candles brushed against the curtains, and the fire started slowly...burning away at the stars...flickering over the slip of paper on the ground...and then Mary realized what the spell was for.

“Louis help me!” she uttered in horror before taking one of her own spells from her pocket, praying it was the right one. Slamming it on the floor, she screamed, “Louis le Grand, délivre-nous du tout mal!”

The shadows came up at the same time as the explosion, shielding all of the Disciples. It had never once worked for her before, but now they seemed to embrace her with their protection, as if they’d been waiting for her and not the other way around. It was a strange sensation, and she wagged her finger in a circle almost too eagerly, letting the shadows retreat again.

Thank you, Your Majesty, she thought as she looked around the room, though there wasn’t much to see aside from the smoke, rising high over the flames that surrounded her. Her eyes stung at the heat, and she bowed her head, running back towards Maria.

“What- what is all this?” Maria yelled over the panicked exclamations of the Disciples.

“Fucking Anne! And-”

“Western fire spell, it looks like,” Marly interrupted as he ran up beside them, kneeling down beside Maria to brush James’ hair from his face.

“A whole spell was used?” Maria’s eyes widened. “We have to get out, now!” She lifted James in her arms, and Marly began to help her; remarkably, she hissed at him to back away.

That’s right, traitor. Now there was something Mary would have to tell James when he came back. Perhaps Marly had even known what Anne was here to do. Sarah undoubtedly had.

“Up here!” she heard Spencer cry out. She looked back and saw him shooting one of the stained glass windows, the faces of the devils falling before them. He shot out two more and looked expectantly back at the Disciples, gesturing with his tail to follow him out.

William! Mary remembered. She had to get to him before the inevitable stampede did, pushing past her to escape.

“Oh, it’s so hot in here,” Maria panted beside her. “I think I’m going to faint.”

“That would be a really bad idea,” Mary said unhelpfully. “I’m taking William.”

“What? Why not just let him die here?” Maria asked. She looked smaller than ever beneath the towering flames, with her husband slumped in her arms. “We don’t have time to waste on him!”

“Maybe you don’t.” Mary ran ahead to the throne, where, perhaps worryingly, William still lay. The fire was drawing ever closer, she realized, clawing at the windows as if it wanted to follow the Disciples out. She saw tails getting singed on their way out.

It’ll be more than that if we don’t hurry. With the windows shot out, who knew how long it was until flashover?

“William,” she said as she crouched beside the body lying before her, turned away from her with only a twitching tail to indicate its terror. “I’m here.” She lifted him in her arms, perhaps a little rougher than Maria would have.

He was still alive, thankfully, and conscious, though he looked like he was on the way out, his eyes drifting open and shut and his chest heaving rapidly. Mary untied his hands and stood up, grunting at him to hold on to her neck. He had enough strength to obey, but not very well.

“You- you said goodbye to me,” he whispered against her cheek.

“You’re not leaving after this,” she said, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“No. Neither of us...”

Nearly all the Disciples had emptied out, leaving only Maria dragging James out of the window. Marly helped her up, precariously balancing over the windowsill. It was a little higher than what a normal human could jump to.

“Mary, hurry if you’re going to take him!” Maria called. “I’m not leaving here without you.” She hesitated before jumping back down, running to Mary’s side. “Is he heavy?”

“Not- not at all.” Mary was breathing hard; she wondered if it was the smoke she was breathing in. She had to keep her head low.

“Marly, take William,” Maria ordered, taking William in her arms and pushing him up towards Marly. “I’ll help Mary up.”

Marly shook his head. “I have to take James first. William can afford to lose this life.”

“But we can’t!” Maria said. She gasped as the flames seemed to fly at her face, and she stepped back, holding her tail over Mary. “Hurry up, Ally, or we’ll burn alive in here!”

“Just...hold on a second. I’ll be right back.” 

“What?” Maria raised her voice. “Get us up there or so help me James!”

“Our leader cannot die,” Marly said. With that, he took James by his shirt collar and hopped outside, dragging his master with him.

“Fucking Allies!” Maria looked around the room frantically, and Mary held William tighter. The fire rose higher before them, blocking out their last three hopes with its heat and what must have surely been its anger.

“You should have- have left without me,” William said. “You only have one—” He broke off, his body shaking all over with the force of his coughs.

Oh, that was right. She was going to die here. It wasn’t such a bad way to go, but oh, so woefully dishonorable, at the hands of traitors.

Traitors like Marly. He wasn’t going to come back, of that she was certain.

“We don’t have time to wait!” Maria pressed closer to Mary, her tail flicking with terror. “Do you have any protection spells left?”

“Not ones that can stop fire.”

“Oh, no,” Maria breathed, looking up at the ceiling. “Even the devils are fleeing. No...”

“Now’s not the time, Maria.” Mary only wished she could make this death less painful for William. She didn’t know what was worse; being beheaded or burning alive.

“Mary.” She felt Maria’s hand on her wrist. “Please- please don’t be afraid.”

“What?” “The only thing that scares me more than this is losing you.” Maria blinked, and her eyes seemed to flicker through the smoke, the only soft light among the flames and darkness. “When faced with that, you’ll see this is nothing at all.” She raised her voice, and shaking as it was Mary only felt more afraid.

“Maria—”

Maria screamed something in an ancient tongue Mary didn’t know, wrapping her arms around both her stepdaughter and William. Mary closed her eyes as the heat all around them might have killed them, when the darkness was lit by the endless blaze tenfold.

But she realized she could still think, she was still awake, and when she looked up she saw Maria still holding her, the massive white wings from her back being the only thing shielding them all from certain death.

  🝰🝰🝰

There was smoke in the distance, Bentinck noted as he rested his head against the window of the car. Bidloo was driving rather recklessly at this point, cursing drivers under his breath, but all of Bentinck’s thoughts were on William, now that Anne was back with him.

“Is that the Hoerenkast?” he heard her ask from behind them.

“Why would they burn anything for an execution?” Bentinck turned his head sharply towards her. “Are they—?”

“The first execution wouldn’t be so brutal,” Anne rushed to reassure him. “James said that he’d drag out the suffering even more each time. Maybe...maybe it’s something else.”

“What would a first execution look like?” Bentinck knew that was the wrong question to ask, but he couldn’t look away. He had to know what he was facing, what would happen if they were too late.

“Just the usual, I think,” Anne said. “Slit his throat. Let him bleed out.”

Well, we’ve seen countless of those, haven’t we? He’d seen how the blood ran out, how the prisoners choked on it, how their eyes widened when they saw their life spilling on the ground.

But, of course, neither William nor Bentinck had ever been on the receiving end.

He had already convinced himself that it wasn’t the Hoerenkast that was on fire, so when they stopped in front of the building and saw the smoke rising from the windows, from the open balconies, it felt as if his breath had been knocked out of him.

Like William’s breath surely would be if he was in there. He began to open the door, but Bidloo held a hand over his shoulder.

“Are you trying to get hit? We’re still on the street!”

“You’re not seriously asking me to wait!” Bentinck argued. “William is in there!”

“Nobody knows that,” Bidloo said. “So at least try to look calm, alright?” He hesitated before adding, “I’ll let you off here, just don’t do anything stupid. But get out now, we’re causing traffic!” He shoved Bentinck towards the door, and the Ally opened the door and stepped out into the street. He looked back as he crossed, realizing Anne was following him.

“I didn’t even have to ask.” He smiled down at her as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “I knew you’d be with me.”

“And I knew you were going to attempt something stupid,” Anne said. She looked up at the Hoerenkast, speaking over the distant sirens approaching. “Back here again, huh? Well, you’re not going in there this time, Hans.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Bentinck shook his head. “You know that nobody in there is going to save him!” He began to walk towards the entrance, where it didn’t look like the fire had reached yet, but Anne took his hand.

“Mary- Mary might.”

“You’d risk his lives for might?”

“You’d risk your life for William?” Anne glared at him, pulling him towards her. “You’re powerful, but you’re not invulnerable. You can’t just walk through fire.”

“Maybe the fire hasn’t even reached him yet,” Bentinck said. “Anne, I have to do this. I’ve explained to you before how much I need him, and how much he needs— me.”

“You don’t need anyone in your life, Hans, you just think you do.” Anne lifted a hand to cup Bentinck’s cheek, taking a sharp breath. “But I want you to be happy.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t be happy if you’re dead. So just—” She kissed him then, and he shut his eyes, nearly forgetting everything else. He couldn’t allow himself to, but he let her warmth slow his heart, ground him in this reality, where he could have her and William and they could all be happy.

“I trust you to survive,” she said as she backed away. “I know you won’t let me go with you, so at least take that.”

“With pleasure,” Bentinck said. He looked up, realized with alarm that there were Disciples he recognized crowding the sidewalk, some of them with singed tails or horns, most of them coughing. They were coming from the back of the Hoerenkast, glaring up at it as if they were questioning the audacity this heretic structure had to dare to burn with them inside of it. And yet...among them, he could not see James, he could not see Marly nor Mary, and, most importantly, he could not see William.

“Go with them,” Bentinck said to Anne. “Don’t let them see you with me.”

“I love you,” she said, turning away from him.

And I love you. He didn’t need to say it out loud to know that she knew. Ducking away from the crowd, he waited until they were all looking either at each other or at the street to dart inside the building, shutting the door behind him.

It was remarkably calm here at the lobby, where a servant was usually there to greet him. He wondered if Marly had the place cleared for the execution; he had the authority to do so, and no one would have questioned him for it. It would just be an event for the pleasure of the devils, surely. William had Bentinck do it all the time for his own events.

They really don’t even have fire alarms in here? Bentinck looked up, seeing faint wisps of smoke on the ceiling. It was the oldest Hoerenkast in the city, yes, but there had to be some sensible upgrades made along the decades.

He knelt on the floor, sending his senses out everywhere around him, letting himself melt into the distant sounds and smells. He was the smoke, he was the flame, he was the aura—

Who’s there?!

He jolted out of his focus, his head jerking up in terror. Never once had he heard a voice interrupt him. But he recognized it, knew where it was coming from, and that was enough for him to go on ahead, the air becoming lighter and hotter around him as he advanced through the winding halls.

As he turned a corner he found the source of the fire; one of the meeting rooms, the largest one here, where Ally Marly always met with his followers. The whole of that hall was beginning to catch on fire as well, with the tapestries hanging on the walls burning away. It was through the haze of smoke that Bentinck saw the aforementioned figure step forward.

“It was you,” he said to Marly as he approached. “I thought you would have left with your Disciples by now.”

“I had to come back in,” Marly hissed. “Trying to hurry this shit along.”

“So you want this place to burn down?” Bentinck asked. “It seems needlessly dangerous to do it while everyone is inside.”

“Makes it more believable,” Marly said. “Just another one of those terrorist attacks.” He yawned, and that was when Bentinck saw that he dragged a limp body in one hand, dangerously close to the flames spreading around them.

William? He leaned in with narrowed eyes, only for a spear to come up in front of him, nearly slicing through his eye had he not jumped back at the last second.

“Why does he matter to you?” Marly held the body up. The head, torn open and bloody, was nearly unrecognizable, but the jagged horns convinced Bentinck of its identity.

“James,” he breathed. “He’s dead.”

“Once, maybe.”

“Did William do this?”

“William! Ha!” Marly grinned. “He is already dead as well.”

“What?” Bentinck shifted his glare back to him. “Where is he? Is he in that room there?”

“You’re not going there.”

So he is! Bentinck bared his fangs, raising his hand to call the claws of the devils to help him. They came to him like they never had when he was a boy, and as he brought his hand back down he shot them forward, glowing little blades heading towards Marly’s neck.

Marly leaped up with impressive speed, high above Bentinck, still holding James. He landed on one of the windowsills and tore a tapestry down easily, with strength that Bentinck thought might have failed him in this heat. He waved it in the air, the subsequent winds fanning the flames back, letting them move faster towards Bentinck.

Go now! Before it gets worse! He would not stay here to fight Marly, not this time. He ran forward, jumping as high as he could over the flames, waving the smoke away with minor Northern wind spells and keeping his head bowed. He could breathe in smoke like the devils could, but he didn’t know for how long, and that didn’t stop his eyes from stinging both at the brightness and the ever-increasing heat.

He heard glass shatter once, twice. Marly was breaking more windows, more oxygen was being let through. He stepped forward, trying to make anything out through the smoke, only for something to burn at his legs.

“Ah—!” He sprung back, but stopped short when he felt heat touch him there too. He could not move from his place. Were his clothes on fire already? He rolled back on the ground, kicking his legs out to try to put it out.

Oh, shit. He looked up desperately, seeing glowing eyes glinting at him through the smoke, a flippant hand waving it away as simply as if it were a bird. There was Marly, walking through fire, now holding James in both arms with more care than Bentinck thought that man deserved.

“There will always be someone more than you,” Marly said. “The devils have chosen me.”

“They chose me too!” Bentinck cried, his breath hitching and breaking off with a cough.

“Ah, Lord Portland, dripping poison onto everything he touched,” Marly went on. “A fearful beast in his time. But Lord Marlborough bested them all; the commander of fire and thunder and power ruined every devil that came his way! You’ll have no such privilege.” He looked almost manic, with his wide, red eyes and the sweat dripping down his hair. “My lord.”

“You think you’re the only one who can survive this?!” Bentinck spat. “You’re not any more powerful than all the other Allies.”

“With James at my side, I think I rather am.” Marly lifted the limp head in his arms, leaning in so that he almost kissed the bloodstained lips. “I didn’t want this to happen. I wish I could be happy with him. I wish I didn’t—” He paused, his voice breaking. “I wish I didn’t feel like I could hate him everyday. Like I could kill him. How can you be happy with him?”

With him? Bentinck began to crawl forward, muttering the wind spells again. It was a very narrow path to drag himself through, and he had to curl in on himself as the fire would begin again behind him. He bowed his head, praying he knew where he was going.

“I wish I could just let him die. And you can do that so easily right now. So why don’t you?”

“I have never known fear like you, my lord.”

“I hope all four of you die here,” Marly said at length, and then there was silence behind Bentinck, nothing but the roaring of the fire to fill Bentinck’s ears.

All four of you? Well, who were the other three? He looked up dizzily.

“William!” he called. “William— please!” He didn’t know what he was begging for. He knew he was in the room when the darkness was replaced by nothing but orange, orange, orange, everywhere around him, where even the wind spells couldn’t help him.

I can’t go in there like this! He could call King Louis, the only spell that could protect him now— if the king decided to listen. And nine times out of ten, he never did, even to the most skilled of Allies.

I have to try. He rested his head on the ground, shutting his eyes and pounding his fist on the floor.

Louis le Grand, délivre-nous du tout mal.

He didn’t dare believe, but then he felt the heat begin to draw away from him. He could still hear crackling, wood creaking; had it worked? William said everything was silent among the shadows. He cautiously looked up and gasped.

It was not shadows, but James’ wife, Maria Beatrice, with that blinding aura of hers. Maybe she was someone whom Bentinck should have feared, but she never joined the fights, never went out to kill. She was always beside James, his quiet, perfect little love.

Now she stared down at him with majestic, feathered wings held up defensively over his body to keep the flames away. Clinging to her was Mary, swaying like she were about to fall (and indeed she might have, seeing the exhaustion and confusion on her face), and in her arms she held William.

William! His head lay against Mary’s chest, his tail and arms hanging limp.

“No,” Bentinck blurted, stumbling to his feet. Maria watched him warily as he leaned in towards William.

“I knew you would be here,” Mary said simply. “Do you want him?”

“That’s not even a question,” Bentinck snapped. He held his arms out for William, and Mary handed him over as she leaned back on Maria’s wings. Bentinck didn’t know of any spell that gave anyone wings as big as these, especially ones that rendered Maria impervious to fire, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask right now.

“William,” he said, his voice shaking as he moved the hair from William’s bruised face. There was blood all over it, still falling from his nose and lips. It had made a mess over his neck, where there was a curious collar strapped there. “What did he do to you?”

William didn’t answer. He was wheezing sharply, and dangerously, and Bentinck decided that talk could wait until later.

“I don’t suppose you’ll walk me out,” he said to Maria.

“James would be so very, very happy if you died here,” she said. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“N-No, not really.”

Maria hummed thoughtfully. “I let you go the first time Mary killed him, and he didn’t even look my way. You know, there always has to be someone to stop him.”

“Yes.” Bentinck bowed his head. He had no idea where she was going with this, but maybe if he agreed with her they could hurry this along. William wouldn’t last long here.

If he has lasted at all. William had grown eerily quiet in his arms.

“We’re not letting him go after this,” Mary coughed beside Maria. “We can’t, not now that we have him after all this time.”

“There can only be a proper confrontation between them at the end of the world, when the trumpets of the apocalypse sound at last,” Maria said. “It’s no good trying to force an execution. No, both Overlifers are greater than that.” She nodded at Bentinck. “Stay under my wings.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He still didn’t know what she meant, but followed her as she walked through the fire, as unbothered by it as Marly had been. Perhaps she was an Ally too, albeit one that James had kept secret, but Bentinck couldn’t see black in her eyes.

“What apocalypse? What the fuck are you talking about, Maria?” Mary was hissing. “I’ve tried to be nice about it, but you know how James feels about letting your delusions affect the way we do things. If you let him go because of this, he’s going to kill you. And I don’t want that for you.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Maria asked.

“No, but—”

“Then we have nothing to worry about. Trust me...he’ll be pleased when the time comes.”

They ran into the firefighters on their way out, who were rather startled to see the generally unharmed group, especially Maria, who had not even a hint of soot on her face like the others. She folded her wings in behind her as they stepped outside.

“Is everyone okay? Somehow?” asked the one firefighter that had followed them out. “What spell did you use, my lady? It might be useful for us inside.”

“It’s not a spell anyone else could use,” Maria said. “I’m sorry. I wrote it myself.”

She did what? Bentinck turned his head sharply towards her.

“Oh- well—” The stranger glanced back at Bentinck through his mask, then stepped towards William in alarm. “What about him? Is he conscious? Come, let me take a look at him.”

“That- that won’t be necessary,” Bentinck said, backing away and holding William closer.

“What? But look at him, my lord, he’s not—”

“I’ll take him to a hospital myself, thank you.”

“But he needs to be checked over now.”

“It isn’t necessary,” Bentinck insisted again. “I promise, I know what deadly looks like, and this isn’t it. He’s under my- my divine protection and preference. He’ll be fine, at least for a little longer.” It was bullshit, but most people seemed to fall for it. He hoped this man was also most people.

The man paused, then bowed his head. “Very well. But I advise you to make it quick, my lord. It looks like he inhaled a lot of smoke.”

“I’ll be going now, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He could tell he hadn’t made an entirely convincing argument, but what else was he to do? He was right, after all; checking over William wasn’t necessary, and nobody could look at him now without revealing the dangerous secret.

Because you’re already dead.

He nudged William’s horns, watching the head roll slightly to the side against his chest. He hadn’t imagined it; the labored breaths had stopped.

Aren’t you?

“Hans!” That was Anne calling for him. He turned away as she approached, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “You actually got him.”

“Thanks to Maria,” Bentinck muttered. “No one else.” Could he have saved this life if only Marly hadn’t been there to stop him? Or was William already losing this one when he got inside?

He must have known. He must have thought I left him there. He ran his fingers through William’s matted hair, strangely wet and dry at the same time. He could smell the blood all over him, and he tried to imagine what it was that had caused him to bleed so much, what kind of pain he’d felt before he died.

“I’ve never wanted to do anything else but save you,” he said, trying to smile down at the body. “I’m sorry.” He blinked rapidly, but he let his tears fall once Anne wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing up close behind him.

“He lost a life?” she asked.

“His third,” he said, finally allowing himself a sob. “Already his fucking third. Six lives are supposed to last you, Anne, but everyone- everyone wants him dead. He must have been afraid. He must have been so afraid.” He took a shaky breath and bowed his head, burying it in William’s neck. “I would have lost him that first time.”

“He would have lost more if you hadn’t come for him,” he heard Anne say into his ear.

He didn’t have to lose any at all. If it weren’t for the deceit of the Villiers sisters—

No. He looked up, turned towards Anne. She had to follow orders. She was afraid.

“I- I suppose it had to happen,” he said.

She nodded. “And he’ll be all the more powerful for it. You were very brave to go in there, Hans.” She lifted a hand towards his face, then drew back with a nervous laugh. “But you need to get cleaned up, seriously.”

“Bentinck!”

They both looked up then, seeing Bidloo run towards them with his head bowed, like a charging bull. Under the red lights of the fire trucks, he looked more like a vengeful spirit as he approached, peering down at William in Bentinck’s arms.

“Why aren’t you getting him checked over?” he asked. “What if he-”

“He’s dead, sir,” Anne cut in. “There’s nothing more we can do for him. And there’s nothing we should do for him— we can’t make it known to anyone else here.”

“Dead?” Bidloo stumbled back, his eyes widening. “What- but you— no, Bentinck, let me look at him.”

“I’m sorry, Bidloo, I tried,” Bentinck said. “But it was too late, he couldn’t breathe—”

“It’s always too late for you!” Bidloo shouted, startling the Ally. “You can never get to him on time, you can never be at his side when he needs you— why do we even have an Ally if he’s fucking useless to us? His power means nothing! You put yourself through this for nothing!” He glared at Bentinck for a moment, then turned away with a huff.

“Come on,” he said as he walked away, his voice ominously low. “I’ll drive him to your place.”

Bentinck swallowed and turned his head up to the sky. He couldn’t make himself follow, not yet.

“He’s right about that last part, though,” Anne said.

“Not helping.”

“Maybe if you—” She cut herself off, and Bentinck looked down again to see both Elizabeth and Mary walking over to them.

“What now?” He glared pointedly at Elizabeth, who laughed and waved at him.

“You will remember that Maria saved your life,” Mary said.

“She did?” Anne asked. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t even know how she did it,” Bentinck said, shaking his head helplessly.

“I wish she hadn’t,” Elizabeth said with a dismissive flick of her tail. “Anne, have you been with this guy all day? I was waiting for you at the execution! Why haven’t you just knocked him out and taken William back yet?” Her eyes glittered. “It worked well enough the first time.”

Bentinck opened his mouth, an excuse for her ready in his mind, but Anne held her hand up to silence him.

“I’m going with him,” she said. “I’m not coming back here. I’m done with James, and you and Mary, especially Mary— you should be, too.”

“You are?” Bentinck couldn’t stop the delight from springing onto his voice. “Anne—!”

Elizabeth’s tail furiously whipped the air behind her. “I said he wouldn’t love you.”

“Even if he didn’t, I would have left, anyway,” Anne said firmly. “I didn’t know where I would go without him, but I know now. I’m not going to serve the man who has abused his whole family, my best friend—”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Mary said, clearing her throat, and Anne turned to her, her gaze softening.

“Mary, please,” she said. “Come with me. I don’t want to leave if I don’t know that- that you’ll be safe.” She reached out and took Mary’s hand, squeezing it in her own.

“Trying to steal the princess away right from under our noses!” Elizabeth hissed. “I don’t care what happens to you, Anne; James will be hearing about this.”

“You will not be telling him, Elizabeth,” Mary said, batting her on the shoulder. “That’s an order.”

“You’re just letting him go? Letting both of them go?” Elizabeth gestured at William. “We are so close, Mary. Do you want to make your father furious when he comes back?”

“When he comes back— is he dead?” Anne asked, her eyes widening slightly.

“Yes, for a little while, anyway.” Mary shrugged like she was pushing off the memory of however her father had died. Bentinck wondered if it had been in the fire as well. “You can go, Anne. Watch over William for me.”

“You’re not coming?” Anne tilted her head to the side. “Mary—”

“I just can’t,” Mary said with a bitter sigh. “He doesn’t need to lose two daughters in one night. I have to stay, I have to believe that things can get better. I’ll never be safer than I am with him.”

Does she really believe that? Bentinck couldn’t imagine William ever saying that about his own father.

Anne glanced at Bentinck, then ran into Mary’s arms, refusing to let her out of the embrace.

“I don’t want to fight you,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking.

“They’ll never make us enemies,” Mary promised. “Neither William nor James.”

“I love you. Please take care of my sister and- and yourself.” Anne pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

“I’ll do my best.” Mary turned towards Bentinck, though she kept her gaze on William. “You can take him now. Just remember what Maria said— he can’t keep running forever.”

Bentinck gave her a slight nod. “William will be the last one standing. Thank you, and...thank Maria some more for me, too.”

“She doesn’t want to hear it,” Mary said. She whisked away, back towards the Disciples, but Elizabeth stayed longer, her gaze becoming harder by the moment.

“I’ll kill you both myself,” was all she said before she turned to follow Mary.

The ride to Bentinck’s house was mostly quiet, with Bentinck trying to shake the soot and ash off his hair, face, and clothes. William could get cleaned up later— certainly he didn’t mind waiting at the moment. He noticed Anne staring at him with an amused glint in her eye, visible even in the darkness.

Bidloo was the one who carried William inside, setting him on Bentinck’s bed, which Bentinck suspected was intentional. But he didn’t object, instead sitting down beside William and fiddling with the burnt tail. He noticed it was twisted unnaturally near the tip.

“I still wonder what they did to him,” he said. “This is broken.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell us himself when he wakes up,” Bidloo said, keeping his gaze on the ground.

If he wakes up, Bentinck added to himself, though he knew William would. It was only his third life. And then he would be on his fourth...three more deaths and then Bentinck could really say his friend would never wake up again.

And he lost the first three so quickly...

“Don’t let him die again,” Bidloo said, as if he’d just been thinking the same thing. “He’s burning through these lives.”

“I know.” Somehow Bidloo saying it out loud made it more real.

“I can’t- I don’t want to deal with that.”

“I’m going to protect him, Bidloo, I promise.” Bentinck reached a hand towards Bidloo’s shoulder. “Nothing else will come first. I failed before, but- it won’t happen again. No Disciples will ever get their hands on him after this.”

Bidloo snorted. “Some promise.” He glanced at Anne.

She had stayed quiet this whole time, staring at William with an unreadable expression. The white light trickling in through the windows shone upon her tiny horns, her glossy, dark hair, giving her the appearance of a woman made of ice with how still she lay beside Bentinck.

She looked like she could shatter, he realized. There had always been danger with the Disciples, certainly, but there was no one more wanted in the world than a traitor.

🝰🝰🝰

No one could know who had died.

No one could know he was dead.

It was a hope of nonsense, a hope that would be disappointed by morning. But it was still there, as heavy as the body that Marly dragged along with him.

He had to take it to Anne. Or he had to tear James apart himself. And then that hope would be reality.

But “reality” is so boring.

He saw the car waiting in the distance. There was no one else here, watching him from the shadows. It was just him and James. Him and his— master. The love of his life.

A lie. She was only up ahead.

John, don’t do this to me.

He was imagining it.

I gave you everything.

That didn’t make that any less true.

He lifted the body up, bringing it towards his face so that the head came to lean against him. He felt the lips press to his neck, like they always did. The only difference was that James did not sigh against him.

Is that it, sir? Do I take your breath away? Marly leaned back, smiled up at the empty eye. One seemed to have been shot out, or there was too much blood to see it; no matter, there was still the other one left, sightless and beautiful.

He bowed his head and met James in a kiss. How many times had James kissed him awake, he thought wryly; how many times had he lay there in a petrified daze and James had kissed him anyway?

In the end he turned away. He could have left him to die here, but—

I have never known fear like you.

[sugoi-and-spice]

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❥ This is an 18+ blog. I focus a lot on Dub-Con, dysfunctional relationships, morally gray characters, and other problematic content. If you are underage or uncomfortable with this content — please do not interact.

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Multi-Chapter Works Status:

Play Nice (Shigaraki x Reader), Chapter 31/36 - Tomura Shigaraki was her dad's boss's son. He was the creep that stole girls' underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it's not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn't sleep with him, right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love

Burnt Bridges (Bully!Dabi x Reader), Chapter 3/3 - If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you. She could almost laugh. By that logic, Dabi must’ve been fucking in love with her. That thought was what finally made the tears start to spill. Not because of how ridiculous it was or how isolating it felt. But because it was exactly what she wanted.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Smut, Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships, Bullying, Manipulation, Humiliation, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Power Play, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Drugs, Alcohol, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Sadism

Step by Step: A Gecko’s Guide to Becoming a Really Bad Person (StepBro!Spinner xReader), Chapter 1/3 - In which, reader manipulates Step-Bro!Spinner sexually in increasingly demeaning ways. And eventually, he asks his good ol’ pal Tomura Shigaraki for help).

CW: Dubious Consent, Step-Sibling Incest, Blackmail, Bullying, Mean Reader, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Iguchi Shuuichi | Spinner Has Two Penises, Human/Monster Romance, AU - No League of Villains

WIP’s:

❥ Shigaraki x Stalker!Reader, One-Shot

❥ Shigaraki x Cam!Girl x Toga, One-Shot

❥ Endeavor x Reader, Age Gap Fic, One-Shot

❥ Manager!Shigaraki x Reader, McDonalds AU, One-Shot

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Episode one: 𝙨𝙡𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮- 𝙈𝙖𝙞 𝙕𝙚𝙣'𝙞𝙣/𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Uh yeah this is part one of what might become my wlw jujutsu kaisen fanfic series, all of the upcoming parts will be centered around wlw, x reader pairings, although there will be some m*n in some of them! Also sound off in the comments if y'all liked my bootlegged brands, I didn't wanna use trademarked stuff so I got creative

CW: PWP, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced incest, porn with feelings

cross posted to my ao3

The soft fabric of your blanket surrounded your body as you plopped down on your bed. You and Mai had just returned from a mission, exhaustion seeping into your bones. Grabbing your phone, you texted Mai.

“Slumber party in my room?”

You knew she was stressed, the combined stress of being in your final years at jujutsu tech and her family situation was enough to burn anyone out. You felt your phone vibrate,

“Yea, be right there.”

You peeled off your uniform, opting to take a quick shower before Mai arrived, her room on the other end of the hall.

“Y/n im coming in.

I’m in the shower, you can come in!”

You washed away the last bit of conditioner in your hair, wrapping your towel around your body. You hadn’t brought clothes into the bathroom with you, opting to just grab some and change in your room, it wasn’t like you and Mai hadn’t seen each other in various states of undress anyways. Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, you tiptoed into the room, careful not to drip too much water everywhere. Mai was laying on your bed, clad only in a tshirt you were pretty sure was yours and a pair of shorts. You grabbed your clothes, picking out your favorite underwear and bra, despite having no actual reason to wear them.

“Oooh! I like those y/n!!! Where did you get them??”

The pair in question was a lacy, red thong that accentuated the flare of your hips and ass.

“I got them so long ago, i don’t even know, they’re probably from La Sense.”

You pulled on a pair of loose shorts, and a tight tank top, forgoing a bra.

“What do you wanna watch?”

It was routine for the two of you to have a sleepover together and watch movies, this time felt different though.

“I dunno, how about we watch Barks stationary fortress?”

The movie started, you had pulled out snacks and drinks earlier, but again, something felt off.

“Mai whats wrong? Did something happen?”

You could tell that something was bugging her, but she seemed reluctant to say what.

“C’mon hun, y’know im not gonna judge you or whatever, whatever it is, its bugging you.”

You weren’t budging, maybe it was your massive crush on the girl, but you wanted to whatever you could to make her feel better.

She sighed reluctantly,

“Fine, its my family.”

That was no surprise, the Zen’ins were an interesting bunch to say the least.

“What about your family? Are they forcing you to do something? Did something happen?”

It seemed that you had hit the nail on the head,

“Theyre making me get married!

Married! To fuckin who!?! You’re still basically a child!

Theyre making me marry Naoya!”

Her face was burning in embarassment, the admittance of her family’s fucked up proclivities proving how fucked up the clan was.

“Holy fuck, isn’t he like your fucking cousin?!?

He is, they say its because we’re both strong, so we’re the best matched to make the new line of Zen’ins.

Oh my fucking God, thats so fucked up. Don’t tell me he’s for the idea?

He is. Im pretty sure that he’s the one that suggested.

Oh my God, i’m so sorry, thats so fucked up!”

Mai was almost in tears, the reality of her situation sinking, as she realized that she’d be forced to marry her cousin instead of the person she actually loved, you. You pulled her into a hug, comforting the crying girl,

“Babe, im so so sorry, you shouldn’t be forced into that.”

She looked up at you, her eyes still slightly teary. God did she look gorgeous, you were almost in tears thinking about losing her to her fucking cousin. The two of you were only about an inch apart, and the distance seemed to close instantly as you kissed her. Surprisingly, she kissed you back, your lips moving in tandem. The kiss deepened, as you pulled her into your lap, your hands settling on her hips as hers slid up to your ribs, thumbing over the flesh under your breasts.

Almost as if he was summoned by your talking about him, Mai’s phone rang with Naoya’s contact appearing on the screen, interupting your makeout session. The two of you parted, panting breathlessly.

“I have an idea. Answer the call.”

You slid down onto the floor, kneeling as you pulled Mai’s hips towards the edge of the bed. You heard Mai answer the phone, you paid no mind, sliding the fabric of her shorts down her legs, taking the opportunity to stroke the flesh of her thighs. You were met with the sight of her panties, a simple pair of black boyshorts, already slightly damp from your heavy kissing. You slid those down her legs as well, revealing her pussy. You mouthed up her thighs, leaving bruises on the soft skin, pulling her legs apart you dove in.

Licking a stripe from her hole to her clit, you made sure to look up at her. Her face was covered in a pink blush, her voice shaking as she spoke to Naoya on the phone. Paying them no mind you returned to your task. You laved at her cunt, spreading her wetness with your tongue. You inhaled the musky scent of her pussy, tasting the natural aroma on your tongue

“You taste so fuckin good baby.”

You were loud enough for her to hear you but not enough for Naoya to hear you. You continued your assault on her pussy, wanting to get her wet enough to slide your fingers in. Suckling at her clit, you could tell it was getting harder for her to maintain composure, if her gushing pussy meant anything, you were doing a good job. Burying your tongue to the hilt inside of her, you rubbed circles into her clit with your fingers. She was getting closer, now unable to hold in her moans. Resuming your assault on her cunt, you slid two fingers into her hole, crooking them, making a come hither motion. You were sure that by now Naoya could tell what was going on, the squelching sounds of her soaked cunt echoed within the room and her moans bounced off the walls. You were glad that Todo and Noritoshi were out at the moment, or they would have been able to hear the two of you through the thin walls.

“Come on baby, wanna feel that pretty cunt cumming around my fingers, wanna taste your sweetness.”

You were deliberately louder now, wanting Naoya to hear you. You couldn’t make out what he was saying, but you were sure it was some annoying bullshit. With a thrust of your fingers and a suckle of her clit, Mai was coming undone.

“It feels weird! Wait!”

She gushed around your fingers, her hips thrusting wildly as she squirted. She had soaked the bottom half of your face and part of your tits. You stood up, pulling her back onto the bed with you. Grabbing her phone, you put it on speaker, Naoya’s angry voice meeting both of your ears as you ground your palm against her spent pussy, pulling mewls and moans from her throat.

“What the hell is going on!?”

You smirked,

“Me and your girlfriend playin dress up at my house.”

What!?

I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch.”

You could almost feel Naoya’s anger over the phone. The fucker was fuming, the prospect of some low-born student stealing his soon to be wife from under his nose angering him.

“Stay the fuck away from Mai.”

You hung up, turning off Mai’s phone.

“You’re fucking crazy, they’re gonna fucking kill us both.”

You smiled, maybe she was right but all that mattered right now was you and her.

“They can try. But lets not worry about that right now, all I care about right now is tastin you again.”

You pulled her into a kiss, this time much rougher than before. Grinding against her, you pulled back, lifting the hem of her top as she lifted yours, both of your breasts spilling out. Her tits were absolutely immaculate, perky and supple, with pink, puffy nipples. You groped at her breasts, rubbing over them with your hands, making her nipples pebble and perk up.

“So pretty.”

You pressed your mouth against her neck, peppering kisses and bruises down the length, stopping at her collarbone, you wanted her neck to match the bruised skin of her thighs.

“Mmm its my turn now.”

Mai flipped the two of you over, she was now hovering above you.

“Hey sailor”

She dove down, attacking your neck with kisses, pawing at your perky tits, the size difference between the two of you turning her on. She suckled at your nipple, willing the perky bud to harden. You moaned beneath her, she was fuckin good with her mouth. She pulled your shorts down your legs, wasting no time on pulling off your panties, pushing the skimpy fabric to the side and going to town. She licked up your slit, mimicking your earlier actions. You were soaked, as she thrust her fingers in and out of your hole, thin strings of arousal covered them.

“Mmh Mai! Right there!”

She was hitting every spot, your gummy walls fluttering around her fingers. She was bringing you to climax quicker than you were expecting. Burying her face in your mound, you could feel her spelling her name with her tongue on your clit. The lewd action bringing you to your climax. You clenched on her tongue, covering her face with your sticky juices. She pulled away, wiping her face with the back of her hand and licking up the excess. You pulled her into a kiss, slotting your pussy against hers. The wet gush of both of your pussies made grinding much easier as the two of you kissed passionately. You grabbed her ass, groping the pale flesh and squishing your bodies impossibly closer. You ground your hips against her, the bump and drag of your clits against each other pulling the both of closer to your orgasms.

“Y/n!”

She was moaning your name and God it felt like a Goddess herself was singing praises unto you.

You lost yourselves in the feelings of grinding against one another. Your slick, gummy cunts dragging against each other creating a lewd friction. She came first, the added simulation of you pawing at her breasts pulling her to the brink. Her pussy gushed against yours, bringing you to orgasm as well. You panted her name, the both of you breathless.

“God I think I love you.”

You were on cloud nine, the girl you loved, loved you back. You felt almost weightless, the euphoria of being loved by your beloved almost making you cry.

“I love you too.”

You pulled her into a much more gentle kiss, full of adoration and love, reminding her of what love should feel like.

Perhaps you had fucked up big time, there was no way that Naoya wasn’t angry at you both, there was no telling what he would do and what you had just dragged Mai into. But with you by her side, she would face it. The two of you together would face it.