#deceit only says three lines but they are GOLD

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 2 - GOLDEN

“You’re not supposed to ask that,” says the Nerevarine, somewhere deep in the hollow heart of Red Mountain.

It feels, ze thinks vaguely, like one of the dreams. The dusty cavern, almost blurred at the edges, the hot, heady press of stagnant air, sweatingly warm and scented sweet with rot. Braziers burn with something that is not fire. The meandering, shockingly empty path ze took to get this far, through all the proper corridors, with their rusted corners and scraps of rugs – no furniture, not even stacked up in the inexplicable way ze’s come to expect; almost nothing at all, like a house unfinished, like all its denizens have only just arrived. Like they’ve spent all their centuries prone on the floor. Ze kicked up so much dust as ze walked, like no-one had ever trod there before. There’s so much dust in here now. It’s all so very barren-bare, like the dreams; so lonely. Just zem, in all this great sprawling subterranean building, and the figure – statue-still in front of zem, a safe distance away, watching from behind the lucent gold of its mask. The bejewelled hollows of its eyes glimmer, unblinking, three points of an untraced triangle; the face is sculpted with fretted care.

It all feels, ze thinks, like a dream; like the months on months on months leading up to this moment have been compressed, pushed down and packed tight, until it seems like Caelestis Vitellius stepped off that horribly rocking boat directly into this chamber, clad in warped bonemold, jewels pressed down the line of zir sternum and against the joints of zir elbows, conjured blade in ungloved hand. Ze has held the knife for hours, but ze does not hold it ready; the dead skin of zir thumb presses against the guard as ze shifts it loosely in zir grip, arms down, weight placed squarely on zir back foot. The devil is standing in the flesh in front of them, sharper-edged and more tangible than in the dream-messages but otherwise so eerily much the same, and ze thinks ze should feel afraid but ze can’t seem to dredge it up. Maybe it’s the sickly air, setting zir head spinning; maybe it’s the stop-starting rhythm of the conversation they’ve been attempting instead of the fighting ze expected. It’s something of a relief for there to be honesty at the end of it all; not even the opportunity for more deceit or espionage or complicated chess-board moving. Just questions, and promises of answers. Caelestis feels very small, in the dust-coated hollow of the cavern, and as new as ze was the day ze stepped onto Seyda Neen soil, but not afraid. There’s no room for it. It’s all so close to the end, one way or another; everything so very nearly makes sense.

So very, very nearly.

But then the Sharmat asked that question and broke the languid pause before it all begins-to-end to bits.

“You’re not supposed to ask that,” says Caelestis, again, not-fire lambent in the braziers, light liquid against the sculpted gold of Dagoth Ur’s face. Ze tastes the air thick on zir half-a-tongue, cloying, unwell. “What do you mean, am I truly – you called me –” ze realises that ze is gesturing at him with zir knife, shining crystalline in the not-firelight, and ze drops zir arm. (Ze has held the blade all this time, though it hasn’t been needed, not yet; the most use it has been of is scraping Red Mountain’s bitter, caking ash from the soles of zir shoes. Earlier, in one of the quiet stretches of their surreal half-conversation, ze held the humming hilt between zir teeth so ze could fix zir hair.)

It's so silent, in the belly of the mountain; not even an echo. The Sharmat, in front of zem, does not move even to breathe. Ze feels very small. Ze feels very new. Ze feels like ze’s breathing Vvardenfell air for the first time and trying to figure out how to account for it all.

Ze says, “I thought you knew,” and there is more in zir voice than there has been before. Ze doesn’t know what there is more of, just that there is more.

Dagoth Ur tips his head, considering, to one side. He moves in fits and starts, like smoke, deliberate as a rockslide despite it all. “Oh,” he says in his too-ordinary voice, and then, “A pity.”

And it’s all so horribly like one of the dreams; breathing the rancid air of a strange, empty place, conjured blade useless in zir hand, earth drifting out from under zem. The devil stands before zem, impossibly close, impossibly far, and Caelestis is confused, and alone; so very dreadfully alone, maybe forever. And ze doesn’t know what to do.

(In the dream, he called zem Nerevar.)

(Ze wonders, vaguely, how many people got that dream.)

“I don’t want your pity,” Caelestis says, pressing zir thumb against the guard of zir blade until ze can feel its quiet murmur through the long-dead flesh of zir hand. What ze does want – ze doesn’t know. Ze didn’t think about it. Ze should have, clearly, but again, to zir detriment, ze’s assumed that other people will act with honesty, that they won’t bluff and lie where ze wouldn’t think to; he talked as if he knew, so ze believed he did. Ze thought he knew. He was supposed to know.

(The ring shining quiet on its chain is some kind of confirmation. The fact that ze’s here, burrowed like a tick into the belly of the mountain despite its attempts to rebuff zem, is some kind of confirmation. But that’s not the same thing as an answer. A yes isn’t worth much when ze doesn’t have the how or why or even, quite, the what.)

(Ze thought ze’d get that here.)

Caelestis arrived in Morrowind sometime between a century ago and today – it is hard, in the flicker-red-gold of the braziers, to pin down anything more specific – and ze’s spent the entire time grasping for anything that might make it make sense, that might illuminate some kind of reasoning behind it all. Planted because ze might be a myth, or close enough that no-one could tell the difference; put here to do something impossible, and to be unmissed if ze died trying. And the whole time – the whole bloody time – ze’s been looking, and watching everyone else looking, too, from Caius at the very beginning to Nibani to Vivec – looking and looking and looking with varying degrees of hope, and never finding. Ze’s been looking for answers since ze first stepped onto Vvardenfell soil, trying to solve a mystery that wouldn’t be given shape for months, dogging zir steps through city streets and wilderness pathways and on boats and through caves and up mountains and into rivers, lurking indistinct as the cavern shadows in bone-patterned shrines and the burnished-brassy masks of the Ordinators, until ze arrived here, half-dead at the end of the world, staring the devil in its golden face and waiting for it to find what no-one else, agent or priest or god, has been able to.

And he doesn’t see anything, either.

Caelestis takes a deep breath, sour air moving barely noticed through zir misshapen lungs, and lets it sit there.

(There are no answers here. There is only zem.)

(Perhaps there never will be. Perhaps that will have to be enough.)

The Sharmat shifts again, lurchingly fluid. “Then I do not pity you,” he says – his voice still so eerily close to ordinary – “but yet I have compassion, and I will weep for your death. If you have questions, ask them.”

Caelestis exhales.

Ze shifts zir grip on the hilt of zir summoned knife – lifeless skin pressing smoothly against its shape – and ze says, “There was nothing else I wanted from you.”

“Then to you goes the courtesy of the first blow,” says Dagoth Ur; his mask, liquid as it looks in the light, cannot move, but Caelestis gets the strong impression of a smile somewhere in the dark, all the same. The Sharmat inclines his head, gracious as a bow. “I’m waiting, Nerevar.”

[thelordandtheliar]

Talking about Splendor

[Image description: 12 pages of the sixth scene of a comic titled “The Lord and the Liar”. The palette is cooler-toned than the other parts of the comic, only using pink, purple, and blue with golden accents.

1st: Heresy sits on the right half of the page, looking to the side and clutching hys staff. The Shopkeep slouches over their table in the background, looking down at the ground.

2nd: Three panels Panel 1: Heresy looks to the side and says, “I had a friend--the dragon. Splendor, of their declension. They…were the Lord of Lies and Deceit.” Hy is framed by a purple impression of a long dragon’s body, which has a blue arched pattern on it and blue fins. Panel 2: The Shopkeep looks up at Heresy in the first panel, attentive. Panel 3: The Shopkeep leans awkwardly on the table, looking annoyed, and says, “Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?”

3rd: Two panels Panel 1: Heresy sits on a pile of boxes, facing right. Shelves of pastries are at hys back. There’s an ellipsis to indicate a moment of silence before hy says, “Yes. They--you remind me of them. Your manner, the way you joke around like you're picking every word so carefully…” Panel 2: The Shopkeep looks down, perturbed. Out of frame, Heresy continues saying, “Sorry, sorry. I know you probably don't want to hear about them. You just want me to buy a pastry.”

4th: Three panels Panel 1: Heresy sits on the right of the panel, facing the viewer, and hys head is tilted slightly away from the Shopkeep. The Shopkeep is on the left and looks up at hymn, attentive. Panel 2: Close up of the Shopkeep’s face. Their eyes aren’t shown, with most of their face cut off by the edge of the panel. They raise a hand to gesture as they speak, and they say “I won't be able to know if I want to hear it until you tell me about them.” Panel 3: The Shopkeep is now small in the background, facing the viewer and Heresy and looking open. Heresy looks to the side over at them, expression tentative and holding hys staff close. Similarly to the previous panel, hys eyes aren’t in view.

5th: Center shot of a silhouetted anthropomorphic dragon against a pink background. They’re rendered in purple and blue with a red ex over their face. Their arms are crossed in front of themself, and their tail swishes behind them in the background. It has blue fins. Narrating, Heresy says, “Their name was Splendor, but we only knew that because they said it wasn't. They could never speak a word of truth. It was like a curse on them.”

6th: Center shot of the back of Splendor’s bust in silhouette. They’re raising their arms pleadingly as other indistinct silhouettes surround them in an arc with varyingly shocked and disgusted expressions. Narrating, Heresy says, “Everyone they spoke to quickly became offended by their words, or even scared, but they only meant well.”

7th: Splendor’s silhouette curls around another figure at the top of the page. Their body is much clearer on this page, showing blue, arching markings lined with gold, blue fins, horns, and whiskers. They’re a long dragon. The figure they’re curling around has two visible whiskers but is more indistinct, possibly wearing a cloak. They gesture at Splendor. Heresy’s silhouette is also at the bottom of the page, holding hys staff and looking up at Splendor. Narrating, Heresy says, “They had a caretaker, who approached me when I was young. Told me about them and their problem. Asked if I would be their friend, or…at least try.”

8th: Two panels, no longer in silhouette. Panel 1: Heresy steps down from the boxes hy was sitting on, expression downtrodden. Hy says, “It's a bit difficult reading someone when they never tell the truth, but…past being told how much they hated me, I think we got along pretty well.” Panel 2: The Shopkeep watches, head resting on their table and expression sad and concerned.

9th: Two panels Panel 1: Heresy pulls hys staff close, starting to tear up. Hy says, “I don't know. It's been a while. They stole my reed flute and left one day, and I haven't been able to find them since. I don't know what happened.” Panel 2: The Shopkeep sits back up and looks down at hymn, concerned. They say, “Sounds…like a nice person.” Heresy says “HA!” and raises hys head in surprised amusement.

10th: Two panels Panel 1: Heresy smiles, expression more joyful and wistful. A tear runs down hys cheek. Hy says, “I hope I see them again. Maybe we could clear some stuff up. Panel 2: The Shopkeep tenses in on themself, shocked, disbelieving, and hurt.

11th: Two panels Panel 1: The Shopkeep aggressively leans over their table, snarling at Heresy. They say, “You think they hate you?” Heresy straightens and leans away from them in surprise, saying, “No, no. That's what they said when they left.” The Shopkeep says, “And you believe them?” Heresy tries to respond with, “No. No, it’s—“ Panel 2: Closer shot of the Shopkeep, who is still hunched over the table, snarling, and looks furious. They say, “You shouldn't stick around people like that. They'll always bend to their worst nature. They only have your worst interests in mind.”

12th: Two panels Panel 1: Heresy stands, facing the viewer and framed by a pink sky. Hys expression is defiant as hy says, “Shut up. What would you know? You think I'm the liar, anyway.” Panel 2: Heresy walks away, hys back to the viewer and the Shopkeep, and says, “What would you know?” The Shopkeep is hunched into themself, unsure and horrified.

End image description.]

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Scene 6: Talking about Splendor

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[twofacedbelief]

Roceit where Remus is trying to get Roman and Deceit together?

Read it on AO3

Matchmaking is a Sciencetags: background intrulogical, aromantic virgil, hinted sleepxiety

Remus had learnt three very important things after he started to date Logan.

Being listened to and taken seriously was amazing

He could literally die from affection, it was so good

The only difference between screwing around and doing science is writing it down

As such science had become his new favourite thing. Especially after Logan explained how love was caused by your brain producing different levels of dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, and oxytocin. If love could be science, then setting his fellow sides up could be a science project!

The first step was choosing the test subjects. He had immediately crossed out Patton from the list, as the parental figure wasn’t legally allowed to date. It was a law he and Roman had come up with when they were younger since everyone knew that dads could only be married or single, no in-between. The next name to be crossed out was Virgil. For all that Remus could be mean, he wasn’t outright cruel, and it would be cruel to force someone aromantic to be in a science project focused on love. There was also the detail that Virgil seemed to have something going on with Remy, and Remus did not want Sleep to come after him.

With Thomas not even being an option, as Logan had forbidden him from involving their host in any science projects, that only left Roman and Deceit.

Thinking about it, those two were the perfect test subjects for this particular project. Both wanted people to listen to them, both craved affection, and they both lied about not needing affection. They were meant for each other!

The next step was to come up with a hypothesis. Except Remus had no interest in actually being scientific, so he instead summoned a giant bulletin board to plan situations that would make Roman and Deceit fall in love. First, he put up two pictures in the middle of the board: one of Roman, and one of Deceit. Then he used red string to connect between the photos and post-it notes were he had written down what his test subjects liked and disliked. There were some common things, like classical music, waltzing, and flowers - except Roman preferred his roses to be alive, while Deceit kept dried bouquets. What really connected the two was their dramatic flair and interest in romanticism.

With a connection to build from, Remus started experimenting on his unknowing subjects.

Experiment #1: Kidnap subjects in their sleep and let them wake up to a romantic graveyard date in the ImaginationExpectations: They go with the flow, enjoy the food that Remus prepared, and talkReality: Roman is scared, the food is ignored, and Deceit takes interest in the gravestone inscriptionsAftermath: No longer allowed to kidnap subjects in their sleep after Logan found out

Experiment #2: Send formal invitations to the subjects inviting them to dinner in the Imagination castleExpectations: A romantic candlelit dinner as an orchestra of animals play musicReality: One of the animals from the orchestra accidentally caused a candle to topple over, setting the curtains on fire before the dinner could beginAftermath: Everyone had to sit through a lecture on what to do in case of fire as neither stabbing the fire (Roman) or pouring wine on it (Deceit) are acceptable ways to put a fire out

Experiment #3: Talk to subjects about the otherExpectation: They’ll see the other in a new light after hearing Remus singing their praisesReality: They took it as an opportunity to vent about the other - Remus zoned out in both conversationsAftermath: Remus spent an hour making sure Logan knew how loved and appreciated he is

Experiment #4: Tell subjects to just fuck alreadyExpectation: They take the adviceReality: They team up to embarrass him in front of LoganAftermath: Patton baked him cookies and shared some stories of their embarrassing phases

Experiment #5: Instead of the Princess and the Frog, it’s the Prince and the SnakeExpectation: Roman immediately connect the dots and kisses the snake, who turns back into Deceit, and they live happily ever afterReality:

Remus was on his last idea. Technically, his last idea was locking the two into a closet but Logan had used his one veto on that. It might also have been the only idea that he told Logan about because at least one of his earlier experiments would surely have been vetoed otherwise. Using science as a reason did not work when your boyfriend asked what science, as “all the science” weren’t an acceptable answer.

It was out of a mix of frustration and creative genius that he decided to turn Deceit into a snake. And throw said snake to Roman without any explanation. When everyone was gathered in the living room for family movie night. To be fair, Remus had never pretended like he actually thought things through. It had seemed like a good idea, so he did it, simple as that.

Deceit hissed angrily at him from where he had made himself comfortable around Roman’s shoulders.

“Not that I’m not amused, but what the hell Remus?” Virgil asked while he tried to not laugh.

“Let’s just turn him back and return to our movie night.” Logan pushed his glasses up as he tried to do just that. “Remus, why can’t I turn him back?”

“Oh, maybe he needs a kiss!” Patton suggested, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He would probably have loved to hug the danger noodle if not for the way that Deceit glared at him. It was an impressive glare considering he was currently a snake.

“True love’s kiss!” Roman exclaimed. “You’re a genius, padre.”

“So who is going to kiss him?” Virgil asked. He had taken his phone out to immortalise the moment, and to share what was happening with Remy.

“Uh…”

Patton and Roman looked questioningly at each other, as they were the only valid options. Or rather, Patton was doing something weird with his face that Remus couldn’t make sense of, but it caused Roman’s face to grow red. It was definitely fun to see his brother getting flustered because of something Patton out of all people did.

The stare-off - if one could call it that - ends with Roman moving Deceit from his shoulders so that he instead has the slippery snake in his arms. Logan is the only one to politely look away as Roman bends down to press a kiss to Deceit’s snout. There’s a completely unnecessary poof of smoke as the kiss makes Deceit turn back. He looks quite comfortable where Roman is holding him in a bridal carry.

“I love you too, Roman, but if you excuse me, I need to kill your brother,” Deceit said, a smug smile on his lips even as he glared at Remus. He made no move to actually get down from Roman’s arms.

“Wait,” Roman spluttered out as he helped Deceit stand up. “Does that mean we are dating now?”

“Roman, we’ve been dating for a month,” Deceit informed him and lightly kissed his cheek. He took the opportunity to steal Roman’s sword from its sheath.

“What! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Later, darling, I still need to kill your brother.”

Aftermath: Remus didn’t get killed, but Deceit did manage to stab him. It was worth it since his science project was a success and he got to see his brother and best friend being mushy and in love. As a bonus, he got Logan to nurse him back to health as he healed from the stab-wound.

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 08

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Eight: shame, hot buttered rum, and a rude awakening

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 13.0k

extra chapter warnings: bondage but not the sexy kind.

chapter summary:

“Mysterious black-clad army seizing the castle. Killing the king, hunting their princess,” Yeosang says, lifting a hand to place his chin in his palm. “It’s all very fantastical, don’t you think? Like something out of a storybook. Strange to be living it.”

You almost laugh at how very true that is.

a/n: been feeling a lil nervous to post bc of the large influx of readers since the last update. i’m very grateful to have you all here, but it’s definitely made me a little worried about my writing, so i hope it doesn’t show too much in this chapter. enjoy <3

When you awaken it's to light blonde hair tickling your nose. Groggily opening your eyes, the sunlight blares through the open tent flap and down onto your unwilling face, causing you to let out a groan of annoyance. Rolling over to face away from the inconsiderate sun-beam, you're met with a sleepy murmur of protest.

Seonghwa pulls you in a little closer. The man’s grip around your torso tightens as he buries his face into your collarbone, letting out an exhale that feels cool against your clammy skin. He’s still fast asleep, breathing melodically, and you can’t help the smile that grazes over your lips.

It’s been like this ever since the mimic, at least on the nights you’ve managed to sleep at all. Even then, you’ve tried to slip out after he falls asleep and return before he wakes up.

Seonghwa has tried to pretend the entire ordeal with the mimic didn’t affect him, but you all know the truth in that it did, and deeply at that. Woo had found him beneath the floorboards of the stable, in a dug-out hole where he’d been tied up and gagged, eye black and head bleeding from where the mimic had hit him over the head with a plank.

He was there with Aisha - the real Aisha, as it turned out the one you’d talked to and had attempted to lend you her home for the night had also been a mimic’s charade. She’d been down there for weeks.

As for the rest of her family… Well, there was a reason the stable smelled so terrible, like mule shit but somehow worse. After all, the smell of death is far worse, especially when the bodies have been rotting for almost a month.

Seonghwa had only been down there for a couple hours, but that was enough for fear to creep in. With the smell of corpses hanging in the air, Aisha endlessly sobbing next to him, and the knowledge that his mimic counterpart was wreaking havoc amongst the people he cares about most, it was enough to leave more than a minor impact.

Fortunately, it appears he sleeps better having someone to hold onto.

Looking down at him, you run a hand gently through his hair, bright blonde locks moving between your fingers. It must feel nice, as he mindlessly smiles against you, lips curving upwards against your skin.

You know it’s a dangerous line you’re walking here, as the inevitability of your betrayal quickly approaches. This is especially true considering your decision to leave them once they’ve guided you through the Burovian mountains, in hopes that Minho’s prophecy will never come to pass. You’ll find a way to repay them later, but you have to ensure your survival first.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to push him away. It’s mostly due to the fact he needs the support, the closeness clearly having eased and soothed his mind. However, there also remains what you don’t want to admit is a hint of selfishness.

The self-centered fact that you enjoy being like this, not only due to the warmth provided with such intimate closeness, but rather because it’s with him.

You think that in another lifetime, in another world, you could let yourself fall for him.

When his eyelids flutter open, Seonghwa’s eyes are coated in a sleepy haze, and he blinks a few times as if to remember his surroundings.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice light, and he lets out a groan of annoyance, although his teeth glint in a toothy grin. Rolling you over, he throws an arm over your torso, pressing your back into his chest.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs into your shoulder, voice raspy. “Let me sleep more.”

“The sun’s high, it’s probably almost noon,” you reply, shaking your head, although you make no move to get up. “I’m supposed to have sword-training with San.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive your absence just this once,” Seonghwa says, fingers grazing softly along the bare skin of your abdomen. “If he’s mad then he can duel me, I’ll get my ass-kicked in your place.”

Playfully shoving his hand away, you turn yourself back over to face him. “Yes, that’s the way to convince me to stay, make fun of me.”

“Are you saying I need to convince you some other way?” Seonghwa offers, hand suddenly trailing its way down past your abdomen. He raises an eyebrow, and you match the expression.

When he leans in, the kiss is firm. Not sweet and delicate in the sleepy-morning fashion, but more passionate than that. It begs a question, asks for permission.

You suppose if you’re already being selfish, a little more couldn’t hurt.

Pulling your lips from his, you can’t help but grin. “Alright,” you sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder, pressing him into you. “I guess I can be a little late just this once. Maybe San won’t notice.”

“You’re late,” San says, leaning against a tree with both arms crossed as you sprint down the forest trail, running as fast as you can while dragging your sword with you. Pulling up the sleeve of your jacket as it slips down from your shoulder, you do your best to appear put-together, although you're certain you look as if you just rolled out of bed, which isn’t so far from the truth.

“Sorry,” you say, leaning over to place both hands on your knees as you catch your breath. “I overslept.”

San does not look impressed, although the corner of his lip quirks upwards in amusement. “Right,” he says plainly, removing his shoulder from the tree. “Shall we start?”

No wasting time badgering or teasing you, just right down to business. You like that about him.

He gives you a smile as you shrug the jacket from your shoulders, stretching your arms out in front of you and cracking your knuckles to quickly warm-up. You return the expression, although neither of you speak.

There’s been a bit of a rift between the two of you since the mimic, or more specifically since he comforted you afterwards. Not exactly a negative rift, as neither of you are upset with the other, nor is it overly awkward as the two of you continue to spend time training alone.

It’s more as if a can of worms has been opened. He’s comforted you, cradled you, ran his fingers over your hair and whispered that everything would be alright. Meanwhile, you sobbed into chest, clenched onto his tunic, and made him stay that way for almost an hour.

It was incredibly vulnerable on your end, as well as unbelievably empathetic on his. Either way, it was intimate, and it hangs in the air every time the two of you are alone together. Neither of you have talked about it, and you aren’t sure if you even need to, but it’s there. Undoubtedly.

“Okay,” he says, picking up his sword from where it had been discarded on the ground. Rotating it around in his hand, he eventually extends the tip of the blade out towards you, cocking his head to the side. “Your move.”

And so the two of you spar.

You’ve vastly improved over the last few days. Somehow it seems the trials of the desert invigorated you rather than stunted your progress. A little time away from the sword seemed to be exactly what you needed to grow a longing for it, and over the last couple days the two of you have dueled every afternoon.

When you move it’s no longer awkward, the sword feeling more at home in your hands. San says you have quite the natural knack for it, although you’re just glad you can spar with him for more than a few seconds before being knocked over. You’re only up to a couple minutes, but any progress is progress.

Besides, San is good. You still haven’t seen him go full out, but Seonghwa has mentioned his astounding ability enough times that you can mostly imagine it. Even after the recent stab-wound to his shoulder, he moves with an unbridled swiftness, as if the sword is merely an extension of his arm. His casual ease causes something to stir within your chest. Envy, mixed with adoration.

San takes a particularly sudden strike towards the hilt of your blade, catching you off guard. He’s incredible at keeping on your toes, at not allowing you to get too comfortable. Every time you think you have him figured out, he changes tactics. He is a difficult teacher, but that is what makes him a good one.

The strike knocks you off balance, but you do not let yourself lose your footing entirely. Bringing up the sword to block another impending blow, your feet slide backwards into the dirt as he swings once more. Making sure to keep quick on your toes, you take another step back, and the pattern continues.

Moving away from the clearing, the two of you make your way down the forest path, San striking blow after blow as you do your best to block them. Each and every swing has power, and it takes everything in you not to falter, feeling as sweat begins to bead and trail down your forehead.

Breathing becomes ragged as you just barely defend yourself from his next swing, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that you won’t be able to keep this up much longer. You’ll need to change tactics, before you face yet another quick defeat at his hands.

Bringing your focus to his stature, you manage a rushed scan from head to toe, searching for any sort of weakness. Fortunately, you’re not rendered hopeless, as it’s almost immediately obvious how he does not properly defend his own balance. It’s one of the most recent things San taught you.

“The key to winning a duel lies within the defence,” San had said yesterday morning, extending a hand out to help you back on your feet, having just knocked you over. You scowled up at him, irritated, but he knew that you hung on every word, eager to get better.

“The one who wins is the one left standing, not who delivers the most damage. Protect and withhold your balance, then seize your opportunity as it presents itself. It’s that simple.”

However, San continues to strike blow after blow. While he’s practically drilling you into the ground, a clear test of your will and endurance, it’s left the balance in his footing shoddy.

He’s gotten cocky, you realize. He assumes you won’t notice, and you aren’t sure if you’re annoyed with him for doubting you, or proud of yourself for proving him wrong. Likely both.

It’s not until after his next strike that you seize your opportunity. When his own sword comes down onto yours, you almost cushion the blow, letting him knock your own weapon towards the ground. It doesn’t matter, you won’t be striking him with it, and he won’t have the opportunity to try again.

Letting the momentum of his strike knock you downwards, you crouch further onto your knees, although doing your best to keep your ankles stable and upright. His balance is a little off, not near enough to fall over, but he clearly hadn’t expected you to suddenly drop. Capitalizing on the miscalculation, you swing a leg out towards him in a sweeping motion. It’s a bit awkward, as well as stunted considering you’ve never tried the maneuver before, but it’s just sloppy enough to work.

Your own foot takes out both of San’s own, and he lets out a small grunt of surprise as he topples over, a tad panicked as he tosses his sword out beside him. You don’t understand why he wouldn’t at least try to hold onto it, but it becomes apparent the second you realize where exactly San is falling.

That is to say, directly on top of you.

Chest pressing against your own, your back sinks into the dirt as he falls down onto you, knocking the wind from your lungs. He manages to catch himself on his elbows before your heads collide, but the result is his face hovering just above yours.

His chest heaves up and down, attempting to catch his breath, and for a moment neither of you say anything.

Because his lips are less than an inch from your own.

You can smell his breath, the strong scent of rich coffee beans, a blend he’d purchased back in Stockholm. It’s hot against your lips, and you become increasingly aware of the way his waist is pressed firm against yours. His cheeks are flushed, mouth parted open as he breathes. Sweat glistens on his skin, a testament to the effort required in your sparring.

It causes something inside of you to stir, a strange pull within your chest, what you’d almost describe as longing.

Startled by the feeling, you finally manage to pull your gaze up from his lips, only to find that he is doing the same. When his good eye meets yours, he freezes, as if exposed. You swallow hard.

Then he shoves himself off of you.

Rolling over and quickly jumping to his feet, he doesn’t go to grab his sword but rather walks a solid few strides away, running a hand through his hair as he almost makes a point of not facing you.

“That was good!” He blurts out, and his voice is raspy, almost choked. “That was really good. You caught me off guard, I didn’t expect that.”

You don’t respond immediately, because frankly, you have no idea what to say. You can hardly wrap your head around what just happened. San, being so close. His lips being so close, but more so the fact that for a moment, you didn’t wish them to be further away.

“Thanks,” you manage, and this time it’s your voice that’s weak.

Another long moment passes where neither of you say anything. He still doesn’t look at you, although he does go and grab his sword, shoving it back in its sheath.

“That’s enough for today,” he says quickly. The two of you would typically continue for at least another hour, but you don’t even bother protesting. You’re well aware of why he’s ending this early, and you agree with the sentiment.

“Alright,” you reply, and San does not waste a minute before taking off back down the forest trail and towards your campsite. Where the rest of your group is. Where Woo is.

“Right,” you think, flopping back into the dirt, looking upwards to the cloudy grey sky. You can hear the first rumble of thunder in the distance, an indication of a coming storm. You didn’t think it would rain today. “Fuck.”

San does not go back to the campsite. Instead he jogs until you are officially out of sight, before turning into the forest and pressing his back against a tree. He attempts to catch his breath, although his lungs do not seem to cooperate, each new gulp of air as unsatisfying as the last.

Leaning his head against the coolness of the bark, he slides down until he’s sitting on the ground, knees drawn up in front of him.

“What the hell just happened?” He thinks to himself, bringing both of his hands to his temples, attempting to rub away the newfound headache that has plagued him. “And what the fuck is wrong with you?”

San thought he was doing rather well to ignore the weird tension that hung in the air between the two of you since the sand village. Since he comforted you, since he held you in his arms and you clung to him just as tightly.

He knew immediately that it made something inside of him rouse. While he didn’t understand it at first, over the last couple days he thinks he knows why it made him feel so strange, an odd sort of sensation that has settled in his chest.

In that moment, you not only wanted him, but you needed him. It’s been a long time since San has felt like he’s been needed.

Instead, he’s the one who’s been in need of someone a lot lately. Woo after Gloria, you during your time at The Desert Lotus, and Seonghwa afterwards. Even before then, before they ever met you and this journey to Kuroku began, he rarely felt like someone to confide in. Woo doesn’t seem to need nor seek much comfort from him beyond the physical, and Seonghwa has always been the one to grant empathy rather than seek it.

But you let him comfort you. You let him hold you and whisper that it would be alright, in fact you sought after it. He’d be a fool to lie and say it didn’t give him a taste of the intimacy he’s been craving.

But that was supposed to be it. He was supposed to leave behind that moment the second the two of you left Aisha’s house, and move forward. No sense in longing for things he cannot have, nor seeking them out in someone he does not truly love, nor loves him in return. He is not such a fool.

Until just now. Until he was on top of you, could taste your breath on his tongue and feel you beneath him. Your eyes looking up at him, chest heaving, mouth parted open expectantly.

Not love, but for a moment there was lust. Horrible, but undeniable lust.

The way your gaze held his lips, he knows you felt it too.

But you smelt of Seonghwa, such a sobering way to bring him back to reality. You do not belong in his mind, he has no right to even indulge in an unwanted moment of weakness. For the love of the gods, you’d just been with Seonghwa that morning! How would Seonghwa feel, if he knew what San was thinking right now?

Seonghwa, who he yearns for even more greatly, with not just lust but also true affection. Love, although he fears calling it that. He already has his head full of one person that does not belong there, he has no room for another.

Then there’s the other issue. Him.

The reality of if Woo was watching, what would he think? San doesn’t even have to ponder the question, he’s well aware of the answer. He knows he shouldn’t, as he owes Woo nothing - the elemental the one who refuses to commit to him, not the other way around - but all he feels is shame.

San runs his hands through his hair, trying to swallow down the bile that floods his tongue, although his throat feels far too tight.

What is wrong with him? His self-control used to be something he prided himself on, so when did he become so weak?

He sucks in another tight breath, rubbing his face in his hands. When he pulls them away, he decides he’s done with this.

There’s nothing wrong with him, because nothing happened. He doesn’t need to complicate this. You will be gone within a week’s time, and there’s no sense in granting these emotions - if you can even call them that - the light of day.

Rising to his feet, he turns back towards the campsite before his mind can convince him otherwise.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter, and he does not permit himself the opportunity to question whether or not that is true.

“I thought you said there was a inn around here!” Woo calls, forced to shout over the sound of the pounding rain surrounding you. He holds a small tarp over both his and San’s head, looking over his shoulder at Seonghwa, expression drawn into a scowl.

The empath sits in front of you, doing his best to control the reins of the horse as the animal whinnies in protest, equally as unimpressed with the downfall. You also hold a tarp above the two of you, although considering he’s a good deal taller than you it doesn’t work nearly as well, rain pouring down from its sides onto your already drenched tunic.

The thunder had transformed into a raging storm almost immediately, soaking your tents and causing the four of you to pack up your campsite in a whirlwind of panic. Desperate to avoid hypothermia from sleeping under soaping wet blankets, you managed to be on the horses and moving before anything got too damaged.

Only to be riding against the storm for almost an hour, miserably searching for an inn Seonghwa remembers visiting years ago after having left Maralya.

“There is!” Seonghwa shouts back, before muttering beneath his breath so that only you can hear. “...Somewhere.”

Your stomach drops. Your arms shake as you hold the tarp over your head, both from soreness as well as the bitter cold. The wind bites sharply against your wet skin, the chill settling within your bones. Teeth involuntarily chattering, the ends of your ears and nose are entirely numb. Although, you almost consider the numbness a blessing, as at least they don’t feel cold anymore.

You agree with Woo’s sentiment. You seriously need to find this inn, so lest you are forced to down Minho’s elixir that resides in your pocket in hopes that it allows you to somehow survive this endless, monstrous chill.

As if sensing both your cynicism and desperation, the god’s answer your fears in the form of a warm light that glows from further down the trail.

“Oh thank the gods,” Seonghwa breathes, before shouting upwards to Woo and San. “It’s just up ahead!”

The inn you approach is small, only big enough for what you assume is a handful of rooms for the few travelers making their way through the Burovian mountain pass. A quaint little brick building that’s warm light pours from its front windows, the sign simply reads: “Mountain Inn”.

Arriving in front of its doorstep, you untie your bags from the horses in a relentless hurry, throwing two satchels over your shoulder as Woo quickly grabs the reins of each of the horses. He leads them towards the stable stationed at the side of the inn, as you, San, and Seonghwa sprint through the open doorway.

Entering the inn is like being transported into a different climate, nearly a different world. The air is thick and warm, the fire from the furnace in the corner providing the place with a cozy feel. The front desk also doubles as a bar of sorts, tables scattered around the room.

It’s busier than you expected, multiple groups of travelers seeming to have fled here for the night. A few are as drenched as yourself, while others appear to have changed into a warm pair of clothing. Not many of them drink, but if they do it’s something warm.

“Want to grab a seat? We’ll see if they have any rooms left,” San says to you, motioning to the table in the far corner of the room. His voice remains calm, expression even settled into a smile as he looks at you.

You and San have been doing an excellent job of pretending the little incident during sword-training this morning never happened. And as far as you’re concerned, it did never happen.

It’s not like you have any sort of actual feelings towards the swordsman. You think he’s kind, compassionate and steady, but that doesn’t need to be romantic. He had just been so close. It had been hot and sweaty and both of you were breathing rather heavily, it was just a biological response. Nothing more.

You almost believe it.

Letting San and Seonghwa heckle the inn-keeper, you leave your two satchels with them before heading towards the corner of the room. Ringing some of the water from the sleeves of your tunic, it falls in a puddle beneath the table as you settle into a chair. Leaning your head against the wall, your eyes are falling shut before you even consider closing them.

You’re tired. And cold. And sore.

It’s been over a week since you slept on something other than a blanket on the ground, and if it weren’t for the way your body feels as if it’s physically shutting down in protest of the fact, you’d barely be able to contain your excitement.

You nearly nod off in your chair before you feel something drop down on the table in front of you.

“Here you are, dear,” a voice says from above you. Peeking an eye open, you’re greeted by a plump middle-aged woman with greying dark hair and small spectacles smiling down at you. Her voice is cheery as she slides whatever she’s placed on the table closer to you.

Looking down, it appears to be a drink of sorts. In a thick white mug, it’s a brown colour with a stick of cinnamon protruding from the top.

“Hot buttered rum,” she explains, taking your bewildered expression as being towards the drink. Well, technically it is toward the drink, but not because of it’s flavour.

“Oh, this must be a mistake,” you say, tone polite as you push it back towards her. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Of course not!” She exclaims, almost too jovial as she pushes it back. There’s a twinkle in her eye, her smile almost mischievous. “It’s courtesy of the handsome young fellow at the table over there.”

Following her finger as she points to the other end of the room, your gaze almost immediately locks with a man sitting at a table. He’s surrounded by a group of equally young men, with dark hair and light eyes. Dressed much warmer than yourself, he sports black gloves and a scarf that wraps around his neck, holding a mug in his hand. Based on the cinnamon stick emerging from the top, it’s the same as yours.

He is handsome, you can’t deny that.

“Ah, young love,” the lady sighs, placing a hand on her heart. She leans in closer, although she doesn’t bother to lower her voice. “They aren’t as spry as they get older. You should invite him over.”

You can practically feel the way your cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I’ll take that into consideration, thank you.”

Appearing to have taken the hint, she gives you a wink before heading off and back behind the counter. Turning back towards the gifter of the drink, he continues to smile at you, before nodding the glass in your direction in a sort of long-distance “cheers”.

Out of politeness you return the gesture, although you do nothing more than that. Even if the borderline intrusive waitress has suggested you invite him over, you know that would be a horrible idea. Frankly, you have your hands full with the surplus of men already in your life, and flirting is something you don’t think you’ll ever have the luxury of again.

However, it appears the stranger reads your polite smile as an invitation, as he rises to his feet. Whispering something to the man beside him, his friend casts a glance at you from over his shoulder, before grinning and giving the black-haired man a pat on the back.

Casting a wary look behind the man as he approaches you, Seonghwa and San no longer appear to be at the front desk. Your bags are also gone, likely having been taken to your room by the two of them.

Good. You aren’t sure why, but something about the thought of Seonghwa or San thinking that you may be flirting with a stranger makes you feel a bit uneasy. You try not to fixate too much on that thought, the fact that you’re practically engaged to another man yet another issue they’re unaware of, but the relief remains all the same.

The handsome stranger stands in front of you, one gloved hand resting on the table as the other holds his mug. His expression is soft. “Hi. May I join you?”

“If you want to,” you reply, not wishing to be rude. Still, you don’t want to give him the wrong idea. “But I’m with some friends who will be back right away.”

“That’s fine,” he says through a chuckle, pulling out a chair and seating himself across from you. “I’m known to make a quick impression.”

A tad caught off guard by the brazenness of his tone, you don’t say anything in response, although you do offer a chuckle. The man’s gaze continues to watch you, light eyes flickering over your features. He smiles.

“Do you have a name?” He asks.

You take a sip of your drink before answering. “It’s Yeji,” you reply, and he hums to himself, as if mulling it over in his mind.

“Pretty,” he says, and maybe you’d be flattered if it was actually your name. “I’m Yeosang.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Yeosang.”

“Likewise.” He says, fingers tapping against the tabletop. He leans in a little closer, as if hoping to break past the barrier of awkward small-talk, moving towards something the faintest hint deeper. “So, what brings you to the Burovian mountains?”

You almost hesitate, but you’ve always been rather good at thinking on your feet. You’ve had to be, considering you’ve gotten this far with the present circumstances.

“Just traveling,” you say with ease. “Trying to see all of Burovia, figured the mountains would be important not to miss.”

He hums again, a small smile creeping its way onto the corners of his lips. “That’s a good call. The mountains are gorgeous, definitely worth tenting for a couple nights. I’d recommend South-Peak Point, if you want a good view.”

You smile at this. Of course you aren’t actually travelling for recreation and will not have the time to stop and search for any sort of view, no matter how mind-blowing it may be, but for a moment it’s fun to pretend. You always wanted to travel across Burovia, when you were naive and didn’t know how dangerous and gruelling the journey could be, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to play along.

“You sound like a well seasoned traveller,” you say, and Yeosang’s eyes gleam at this. He chuckles to himself.

“Something like that,” he laughs. “You’ll also want to hit all the major kingdoms. Zaria, Kuroku, Dildysus. I’d normally suggest Libaiya, but they’ve gotten into a bit of trouble recently.”

You know it shouldn’t, as he also listed the rest of the major kingdom’s prior, but something about your kingdom’s name tumbling from his lips sets you on edge. You shouldn’t be talking to strangers, even ones with kind eyes and clever tongues. You’re supposed to be laying low.

“I’ve heard,” you say shortly, hoping he’ll drop the subject, or that Seonghwa or San may come back to the table.

“Mysterious black-clad army seizing the castle. Killing the king, hunting their princess,” Yeosang says, lifting a hand to place his chin in his palm. “It’s all very fantastical, don’t you think? Like something out of a storybook. Strange to be living it.”

You almost laugh at how very true that is.

Even so, you have no interest in entertaining the topic any longer. “I’ll be heading to Zaria soon,” you lie, not wanting to give away your real destination, even if he doesn’t appear dangerous. Although, it does strike you as a bit strange for him to bring up the siege, considering it’s likely a heavy topic for many others beyond yourself.

“Long ways away,” he comments, lip quirking upwards. “I’d assume you’d try somewhere closer. Like, I don’t know…Kuroku?”

He says it with such ease and passivity that you know it’s likely nothing, but something about the way he watches you over the rim of the mug as he says the kingdom’s title makes you feel… uneasy. Paranoia, likely, but nonetheless you no longer wish to participate in the conversation.

“I’ve come from Kuroku,” you reply, perhaps a little too blunt. Glancing over his shoulder once more, neither San nor Seonghwa have returned, and you chew on the corner of your cheek, nervous. “Listen, my party should be here soon-”

“Yeosang!” A voice joyfully boasts from behind the man, placing a hand down atop his shoulder. “Are you planning on introducing us to your new friend over here?”

Looking up at the newcomer, he has bright red hair and full cheeks. He’s also not alone, accompanied by a couple of the other men that had been seated at Yeosang’s table.

You internally groan, as frankly, this is not the company you currently wish to indulge your time in. You’re exhausted, and the men appear to take your presence as a form of entertainment. One of them casts Yeosang a wink, the other’s practically swarming around your table.

“This is Yeji,” Yeosang says, extending a hand out towards you in display. “She’s taking a little trip across Burovia. Wanted to see the mountains.”

“Ah sure, sure,” one of the men leaning over the table comments. He turns to face you, lips pulled into a toothy grin. He’s missing one of his middle teeth. “If it’s Burovia you want to see, you’re in luck. We’re the brightest bunch you could’ve ran into.”

You can’t help but let a bit of your impatience slip, tone perhaps a little too sarcastic. “Oh, I’m sure.”

If the man takes offence, he doesn’t show it. Instead he laughs, a hearty sound from his gut. “You pick em’ well Yeosang, we could use some spunk in our group.”

You pause at the statement, this being the second comment he’s made alluding to you joining them. Surely he cannot be serious, as you have literally just met them and are doing nothing to hide the discomfort displayed in your expression.

There’s something a little too forward about these men. The man with the missing tooth stands a little too close to you, so that you can smell the thick stench of alcohol on his breath. The glances they exchange with one another makes a sense of unease settle in your stomach, and you have no interest in sticking around to find out whether or not he’s joking about you joining them.

You awkwardly pull your chair back and rise to your feet. “Listen, I have to go find my group. It was nice meeting you.”

You nod to Yeosang, prepared to leave the table and wander the inn’s hall until you stumble upon your room, but you're stopped as a hand grips your arm. Not tightly, but enough so that you can’t leave without yanking it free.

“C’mon, don’t leave so soon,” he says, giving you a soft smile that does not match the way his fingers clench around your wrist. The leather of his glove is cold against your skin. “You should at least let us show you the trail to South-Peak Point. Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

You know it’s stupid considering you have no plans of going to see the view anyways, but the patronizing assumption that you couldn’t manage to find the trail on your own causes a flare of annoyance to light inside of you. You huff, letting out a laugh that holds little humour.

“Thanks, but I think I can handle it,” you say. You manage to pull your arm free, but Yeosang is quick to grab it again, and this time a little more firm as he speaks.

“Fine, just let me give you something first,” he says. You consider pulling your arm free in a message of denial, but you figure that’d be useless. If he’s suggesting leaving you alone, you may as well swallow your pride and see whatever it is that he wishes to show you.

Yeosang digs into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a piece of paper. It’s coffee-stained, crumpled into a ball, and frankly a little gross, which is why you can’t help the disgusted grimace that settles over your features as he drops it into your extended hand.

Unraveling the ball, you’re quick to notice that there are words sketched in thick black ink, clearly mass-printed rather than hand-written. You stare at them.

You continue staring at them for several seconds, re-reading the title over and over again as your brain appears to have momentarily stopped working in order to comprehend them.

When it finally manages, your heart is the next thing to stop functioning, as it plummets down into your stomach with overwhelming dread.

WANTED: PRINCESS OF LIBAIYA.

Beneath that title, a drawing of you.

Clearly someone must have realized the sketch to be inaccurate, as it no longer looks so much like a stranger. Eyes and nose now having returned to their proper size and your hair its current length and texture, even without the details of your present scarring it’s quite obviously you.

And if it’s truly so obvious, it means that the hoard of men that have surrounded you are just as aware of the fact.

“Couldn’t have made it easy for us, could ya’ Princess?” The man with the missing tooth says from beside you, and your grip tightens around the paper, crumpling it between your fingers. Before you can contemplate the fear that ignites itself within your system, your feet are set in motion towards the door, a desperate attempt at escape.

Yeosang’s hand wraps around your wrist before you can make your exit. This time, it is not the coolness of his leather glove that greets you, but the warmth of his palm. Or better, the horrific scolding heat of his palm, as when his flesh touches your own it’s with a burning sensation that causes you to let out a scream of pain.

His right leather glove having been discarded on the table, you’re immediately struck with familiarity of the week prior, of Jay back in Gloria.

He’s a sadist, you realize, and if you believed you were in trouble before then you’re screwed now.

The other groups of people seated within the inn all falter at the sound of your scream, the bustle of the establishment coming to a studded halt as even the lady who brought you your drink stops pouring the pint of ale in her hand. However, while every eye in the rooms seems to have their attention brought to you, none of them seem too keen on lending a hand. Nobody wants to mess with a sadist, let alone with the large band of brutish ruffians that accompany him.

You want to be mad at them, but you cannot. You are a stranger, they don’t owe you anything. Frankly, you’re more than a little scared too.

“We’ve been hunting you for some time now,” Yeosang says through a laugh, eyes glinting with something that resembles mischief, but not as playful. Greed.  “I’ve got to hand it to you, you’ve managed to keep a low profile. Well done.”

“Let go of me,” you spit through gritted teeth, doing your best to appear threatening, even if tears sting in your eyes from the way your flesh sizzles and steams.

He does let you tug your arm free, but only because he knows you aren’t going to try and make any sort of quick escape, as it’ll surely be rewarded with another scalding of your arm.

When Yeosang speaks, it’s to the men of his party, not you. “Let’s make our way back to Androndea, I think that’s where we last saw them.” It’s in reference to the black-clad men, you’re certain of it.

“What about the storm?” A voice interjects, although from which man of the party you cannot tell.

“Are you kidding?” Yeosang laughs, grin widening. “We just got 250,000 gold pieces richer. Who gives a shit about a little rain?”

“C’mon, Princess,” the man with the missing tooth says, placing his hands on your shoulder, grip uncomfortably firm. While his tone has remained mostly jovial despite the stakes of the situation, his voice suddenly lowers as he leans in, lips roughly an inch from your ear.  “You don’t cooperate, we’ll kill you. We get the reward either way.”

And really, how can you possibly argue with that?

The man steers you forward so that you’re walking towards the exit, and your gaze darts back towards the rooms, hoping that either San or Seonghwa might have heard you scream and come to check what’s wrong. It doesn’t seem likely, as nobody appears from down the hallway, and the inn continues to remain so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

You consider letting out another scream for them to hear you, but the thought of Yeosang placing his hand over your mouth is quick to quelm the idea. You’ve grown rather fond of your lips over the years, and don’t have any particular interest in having them burnt off.

You’re running out of options, and something tells you that if you walk through the inn’s exit, you’re as good as dead.

“What’s going on here?”

Said by a voice from in front of you, your attention is brought to Woo as he stands with his arms crossed. Having returned from the stable, he looks pissed as his eyes flicker between the men that surround you, eyebrows drawn into a deep scowl.

Your initial reaction is immense relief. Things have been good between you and Woo since the night by the fire. A little awkward, considering without the constant arguing and general distaste between both of you, you’ve grown to realize that you don’t really know how to actually exist around one another. There’s still the occasional teasing and bickering, but overall moments alone have been quiet, although not horribly tense. He doesn’t hate you, and based on the way his face twists with both disgust and annoyance towards the men surrounding you, you’re certain that them dragging you out of the building isn’t something the elemental will let slide.

However, your secondary response to Woo’s appearance is overwhelming, horrible dread. These men, they know you. They know who you really are, and if Woo finds out who that is- especially considering what he’d told you by the fire - you’re more than fucked.

You’re dead.

Woo goes to reach for your arm, but the man with the missing tooth pulls you away from him, a little too roughly as you nearly lose your balance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Woo asks, and his voice nearly sends a shiver down your spine. His tone isn’t necessarily violent, not loud or overly angry. It’s quiet, low. It’s a threat, but only if they make it to be.

Yet, Yeosang doesn’t treat it as such. “Fuck off,” he laughs, shouldering Woo out of his way, nodding for the men to follow him. None of them do. “We got her first, the reward’s ours.”

“Shit,” you think to yourself, the air in your lungs dissipating as if they’ve been squeezed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Woo scowls at Yeosang. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Yeosang laughs, rolling his eyes, lip curved upwards into a grin. His eyes glow a deep red hugh, as he likely still rides the high your pain has granted him. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“This is a member of my party,” Woo says through gritted teeth, patience clearly waning thin as his hand clenches in and out, the faintest of flames beginning to dance between his fingers. “I’d appreciate it if you'd let her go before this gets ugly.”

There’s a series of ooo’s let out from the men around you, pure mockery. It’s a challenge, and to your surprise Woo does not extend himself to meet it. Instead, his gaze turns to you, and he nods over towards the hallway where your room is. “Come on, Yeji. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t understand the stakes at play, or why these men are bugging you and toying with him. If he did, he’d know there’s not a chance in hell of them just letting you leave, of escaping this without any bloodshed.

You don’t know what to do, but you know that you have to do something. The jar that contains your lies is teetering at the edge of a cliff, a mere breeze enough to blow it over. You have to act now, before it is smashed beyond repair.

“Yeji, huh?” Yeosang says, mulling over the name as he glances over at you. Your current terror must read blatantly on your face, as his own eyes light up with something that resembles delight. He turns back to Woo, grinning. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Woo- '' You start, trying to gain his attention - or better, take it away from Yeosang. You attempt to move towards him, but the man’s grip tightens around your shoulder, practically pulling you into him.

“Quit playing games,” Woo says, although you don’t miss the faintest hint of suspicion edging it’s way into his voice, as his gaze darts between Yeosang and your own. “Give her back.”

“You don’t even realize how precious the cargo is that you’ve been carrying,” Yeosang says, stepping a little closer to Woo. His grin is wicked, as he seeks to create pain and chaos in true sadist fashion. “You could have been rich, my friend.”

Woo’s scowl deepens, and his gaze falls on yours over Yeosang’s shoulder. “What is he talking about?” He asks, and his tone isn’t accusatory. Even though his gaze has become wary, words hesitant, he’s not angry with you.

Not yet. He will be.

“I…” You start, before trailing off. You should tell him, you know that. He’s going to know, is bound to realize, and that is only if you somehow manage to make it out of this alive. Maybe if the truth comes from you he’ll somehow grant you mercy.

But you can’t bring your lips to move. Out of fear of him abandoning you. Of in fury changing his mind and seeking the reward himself.

Or the most likely of options, being too terrified to see the utter betrayal that will read blatantly across his face.

Woo’s eyes narrow, lips drawing into a thin line as his gaze shifts back to Yeosang. “Let her go. I won’t ask again.”

Yeosang snickers at this, casting a mischievous glance back to both you and his party. “Quite the bodyguard you’ve acquired, haven’t you, Princess?” You wince at the pet-name that doubles as a title, not missing how Woo’s brows furrow even deeper.

Yeosang turns back towards Woo. His tongue slides along his teeth, almost serpent like, and he looks the elemental up and down. “And if I don’t, what then?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

There’s a tense moment as Woo stares down Yeosang, gaze refusing to budge. He doesn’t appear the slightest bit afraid, even though there remains about a dozen burly armed men before him. You wonder what it’s like, to be so sure of yourself. To be the master of such raw and unbridled power.

Then Yeosang reaches forward, grabbing Woo’s throat in his palm.

There’s a choked sound, followed by sizzling as Yeosang’s gift clearly takes Woo by surprise. Fortunately, for what Yeosang’s contains in one hidden gift, Woo matches him with his own.

There’s a flash of heat and light as a ball of flame ignites within the elemental’s hand, followed by a firm sideways swing as Woo’s fiery fist slams against the side of Yeosang’s head. It sends the sadist reeling, as he stumbles backwards. He clutches his scalp, which now sparks and burns from Woo’s flame.

The strike sends the inn into a frenzy, the men around you all unsheathing their own weapons, stalking towards the elemental. Woo’s gaze flickers between them, pupils darting back and forth as he appears to size up each opponent.

Then he begins.

Starting with a strong gust of air that blows two of the men approaching him off their feet, they tumble over the top of a table, landing on the ground behind it with a series of groans and a loud “thud”. Woo does not give them the chance to get up, as he sends another large blast of wind in their direction. The table slides backwards, horrifically fast as it traps them between it and the wall, accompanied by a sound that resembles the breaking of bones.

Turning to his next opponents - or better, victims, as it’s blatantly obvious they don’t stand a chance - both of his palms fill with flame. Throwing one ball of fire towards one of the men, it hits him square in the jaw, to which he lets out a wail of agony before clutching his face and falling to the ground.

Woo prepares the another flame, but it’s rendered unnecessary, as the other man’s expression floods with terror. Taking off past Woo, he sprints through the inn’s open door, towards cowardly safety. Woo chuckles, a low and unhumorous sound.

Yeosang swears under his breath, gaze darting between his deserted lackey and Woo. He turns to face you, before nodding to the man that continues to hold onto your shoulders.

The man with the missing tooth’s grip on you tightens, and he begins to drag you with him as he makes a break towards the door. Woo is currently preoccupied with two more of Yeosang’s men, clutching his fist as one of the kegs behind the counter explodes, the sheer pressure of the liquid enough for one of the men to go flying backwards. His head collides with the wall opposite to you with a sickening “crack”.

It makes your stomach twist, but you have greater matters at hand. Despite the way you fight desperately against the man’s grasp, he is massive, leaving zero possibility for you to outmatch him with raw strength. You need to be more tactical.

As you attempt to shout out for Woo, the man’s large hand flies over your mouth, ensuring that he remains under the radar as he continues his pursuit towards the exit. Yeosang already stands in the doorway, waving him forward.

They’re willing to desert their comrades, you realize. Leave them to suffer so long as they get their reward. If you thought they were greedy and sleazy before, you find them even more repulsive now.

The realization that if you don’t do something now, you’re likely not going to get the chance to do something ever sets in, and it causes you to consider your options. Your arms are rendered immobile due to the force of his grip, and your legs can’t cause much damage either as they’re mostly focused on remaining standing as the man rushes the two of you towards the doorway.

With all your limbs rendered useless, there aren’t many options available. Which is why you sink your teeth down onto one of his fingers that cover your mouth.

The sweat of his skin tastes salty on your tongue, and it takes everything in you not to gag as a strong metallic flavour soon follows suit. Instead of releasing his hand, you bite down even harder, so much so that you can feel the thin-ness of his bone between your teeth.

He mutters a shocked swear beneath his breath, wincing as he tears his hand free. It’s only a moment, but his grip on your shoulder relinquishes itself as he cradles his hand, glowering in disgust at the deep bite marks residing along his bloody finger.

You don’t waste the opportunity. Removing your sword from its sheath, you immediately settle into your defensive stance. San’s voice rings in your mind: Low on your knees, light on the balls of your feet, sword extended in both hands.

You do just that, and when the man finally brings his attention back over to you - arms extended to grab you, as if expecting you to have foolishly remained where he’d left you - his expression is one of surprise. It takes him a moment, but a crooked grin slowly creeps over lips before he reaches down to relinquish his own sword.

“Full of surprises, aren’t we, Princess?” He mocks, falling into his own defensive stance. It’s a tad sloppy, you note. He remains heavy on the heels of his feet, San would make him regret that immediately in training.

Before you can assess his technique any further, he’s on the move. Approaching you with a monstrous swing, both hands over his head as he brings his long-sword down upon your own, it takes all the strength you can muster to not drop the blade. Your wrists burn at the contact, but you don’t let yourself focus on the pain.

Upon striking you, the man takes a few seconds too long to raise his blade once more. He’s slow. San has always been fast. Even if the result is San’s swing’s not being as powerful, as the swordsman would put it, focusing too much on strength can quickly become a weakness.

And it does, as this time you're ready for his attack. When he brings the blade down again, instead of deflecting the strike you parry backwards, causing him to miss you entirely.

The man growls in frustration, followed by a stifled groan of pain as you swing your own blade out towards him, managing to nick his shoulder even as he attempts to dodge the swipe.

You grin, and it dawns on you that in this moment you’re out-wielding him. This is not San - of whom you know, who knows you in return and seeks to train rather than beat you - this is an actual opponent who strikes with a vengeance, a desire to win.

And yet, you are the one who’s winning, and it fills you with a sense of pride that you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt. A sense of passion, a desire for more.

Striking the man once again, this time your sword slices sharp against his cheek. Blood immediately drops from the wound near his eye like a red-stained tear. For a moment, he falters. Now should be his opportunity to attack, but he does not take it. Instead, he opts to fall back into his defensive stance, chewing on his bottom lip as his gaze darts upwards to meet yours.

He’s nervous. You smile.

You’re prepared to strike towards him again, already settling your sword into both of your hands to prepare another swing, but you don’t get the chance.

A hand grips around the back of your neck, and with it comes that familiar burning sting. You drop your sword.

“Quite the show,” Yeosang whispers as his fingers tighten around your neck, his nails digging into your burning skin as he pulls you behind him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Scanning the room, you find Woo fighting with a tall and lanky fellow, who appears to be running from him more than actually sparring. San and Seonghwa also must have overheard the commotion during your sword fight, as they both have appeared and are dealing with their own opponents, San with his sword and Seonghwa with hand-to-hand combat. They are the only men left standing, the rest having either escaped or are crumpled against the floor.

Fortunately, while Yeosang’s grip is agonizing it does not render your lips useless as the man’s before him had.

“Woo!” You shout, breaking his attention from the man he has just finished throwing yet another ball of fire at, this one having landed true against his chest.

The elemental’s eyes widen when he sees you being pulled towards the door, and he does not hesitate for even a second before taking off after you.

When his fist connects with Yeosang’s nose, it is with no flame, just the sound of his raw knuckles cracking against the man’s face. Yeosang’s stumbles backwards with his hands cupped around his nose bridge, Woo following after him.

It’s with another swift punch that Yeosang crumbles to the ground. By the way he doesn’t move to get back up, you know he’s fallen unconscious.

You finally take the opportunity to catch your breath. There’s a moment shared in silence between both you and Woo, as you watch Yeosang breath in and out, eyelids fallen shut.

When Woo moves, it’s towards you. Hand wrapping around your wrist, he pulls you with him towards the door, before shouting over his shoulder to both Seonghwa and San. “Finish the job, we’ll be down the trail!”

Running as to not be dragged behind him, you pass by the inn’s owners on your way out. The other customers and the lady who’d given you the hot buttered rum hide behind the front desk, trembling in fear as they watch you with worried stares. You aren’t sure if they’re afraid of you, Woo, or whether your group will bring them more trouble before the night is over. Likely a mixture of them all.

Woo pulls you through the door, the two of you taking off down the trail. You jog for what you assume is ten minutes, and when he doesn’t stop, you realize that you aren’t sure where exactly you’re even going.

“Woo?” You ask. You aren’t able to see his face as he runs in front of you, expression shrouded in the storm’s shadow. It continues to downpour, the many droplets pounding heavily on your skin, filling you with a bitter cold as they soak through your tunic.

“Woo!” You try again when he doesn’t answer, forced to shout over the sound of the rain hitting the ground, pattering against the many puddles as the trail has already begun to flood. “Where are we going?”

It’s at this he finally lets go of you, stopping in his relentless pursuit. His gaze flies up and down the trail, searching if anyone had followed the two of you out. Once he realizes you're alone, he sighs, swallowing hard.

Then a sharp gust of wind blows you off your feet.

You tumble along the trail, mud splashing up and into your face as you roll along the dirt, knees burning as they scrape along the rocks beneath you. The force of the wind is great, and when you finally manage to stop rolling, you’re dizzy as you rise to your feet.

Even through the unsteadiness, you take off into the forest before you can consider otherwise. The realization of the danger you’re in has set in to your body, but not yet your mind. All you can think is run.

Twigs and rocks crunching beneath you along the forest floor, you fight against the mud threatening to suck you down, clawing at the bottoms of your shoes. You’re doing alright, until it’s one particularly thick patch of the wet dirt that takes hold of your boot, and you tumble down onto your forearms.

Attempting to immediately rise back up to your feet, it proves to be no use as the mud refuses to relinquish your ankle. You turn around, prepared to shed yourself of your boot if that is what permits you to escape.

Only to find that the mud is not only sucking you down, but crawling up your leg. It’s deep black sludge twisting around your calf, creeping its way upwards.

You attempt to pull your leg free, but it’s of no use, especially considering the mud has also begun to intrap your other ankle as well.

“No, no, no,” you whisper beneath your breath, panicked as your gaze shoots upwards. Woo makes his way towards you, clearly in no rush as his hand is extended out in front of him, fingers dancing as the mud’s pace begins to quicken. It engulfs both of your legs, and it’s only then you feel it begin to creep over and onto your wrists, the mud from other puddles within the forest approaching you in the form of large, worm-like beings.

A large echo of thunder rattles around you, not far off as the forest flashes with a strike of lightning. It casts light across Woo’s expression as he approaches, and his eyes are dark as he watches you through furrowed brows. Rain pours down upon him and his dark hair clings to his forehead, giving him a rugged look as he remains covered in the damp grime of the keg’s ale. His jaw is set firm, teeth clearly gritted beneath the tight line his lips are drawn into.

If looks could kill, you would already be dead.

Woo clenches his fist, and the lines of wet earth wrap firm around your wrists, while the mud that encompasses your feet suddenly launches you upwards. It’s as if you are standing, but a layer of mud continues to sit under your feet, trapping you as your back presses firm against a tree that sits behind you. Meanwhile, the mud around your wrists pulls your arms in opposite directions, like two ropes attached from opposite trees.

You know you can’t move. You don’t even bother to try.

Woo finally finds himself in front of you. His gaze bares into yours, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything. He doesn't have to, the rage that swirls within the darkness of his eyes already says enough.

When he finally does speak, his voice is quiet. It gives nothing away. No anger, no sadness. Nothing.

“Who are you?” He asks.

You know he heard them back at the inn, the men calling you Princess, the way they went on and on about how you were “precious cargo”. He knew about the reward since he found the poster back in Stockholm. Woo is smart, and based on the way his eyes bare through you, there’s no doubt he’s already put the two and two together. No sense in hiding any longer.

“I think you already know,” you answer.

Woo’s face contorts inwards on itself at the admission. All of his features - his eyebrows, his lips, his nose - squinching together, a look of overwhelming, crushing devastation. He looks upwards into the sky, as if to curse the god’s for where he has now found himself. His fists clench at his sides, and the mud tightens around your wrists and ankles, although you aren’t sure if it’s intentional.

“Shit,” he whispers, and it’s more broken than it is angry. He buries his face into his hands, and it appears as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The realization of it all hitting him in full force, the depth of your lie. How Seonghwa has gotten himself so deeply entangled with a fraud. How your father is dead and there is no money in Kuroku, meaning San could be as good as fucked.

How he completely unravelled himself for you, only to find it was your family that had tied all the knots in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know it’s a meaningless, pathetic excuse for an apology. You don’t expect his forgiveness, you don’t deserve it. Perhaps that is why you do not try, as you do not wish for him to grant it.

Woo pulls his hands away and they fall down at his side. He does not look at you, instead his eyes remain trained up at the sky, the rain pounding endlessly across his face. He does not seem to care.

Woo swallows hard. Then he moves towards you.

Digging into his pocket, he pulls something out. As its cool metal presses against your throat, you’re quick to recognize it to be a knife. Based on the beautiful design fashioned on the hilt that you can see from the corner of your eye, it is the one from the day you met them, the one he’d taken from you before the scorpions.

You bet he wishes the beasts had finished the job.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” he says lowly, and his eyes meet yours over the blade. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, warm against the storm’s bitter cold, and it reminds you of back in the sand village. When he’d brought you into Aisha’s house’s narrow hallway and asked for your help, a testament towards his newly forming trust. A mistake.

His eyes are glossy, and when the tears begin to slip through it is not the same as it had been a few nights ago. Then he was nothing but vulnerable. His tears were sad, but they were of the gentle kind, the trusting kind.

These tears are just as raw, but they are born of nothing but fury, of hatred in its most pure form.

“You are a monster,” he says quietly. “You are no better than them. Jay, Warden, your father,” he spits the word out like a curse.

“At least they are honest about what they are,” he says through gritted teeth, practically seething as he stares daggers into your eyes. “At least they don't trick broken men into doing their bidding. At least they don’t hide behind pretty smiles and fake tears.”

You swallow hard, and you feel the knife against your throat as it bobs. When you speak it is choked and quiet, the blade not permitting anything more than that. “Do you want to know why?”

“You think I give a fuck why?” Woo says through a harsh laugh. “I don't care if you’re on death row, I don't care about what men are hunting you, I don't care what real business you have in Kuroku. I don’t care.”

He presses the knife further against your throat and you wince, the blade breaking past the first layer of skin. “You saw what San is dealing with. You saw how badly we need that fucking money, and you didn’t give a shit!”

You want to argue that you did care, that it has been eating you up inside since the confrontation in Gloria. That every spare moment in solitude has been devoured by guilt, wanting nothing more than to tell them the truth, but too afraid to take the chance given your reward.

You don’t tell him this, because Woo does not want to hear it. You do not blame him, he does not owe you the opportunity to plead your case. He owes you nothing.

“But of course you didn’t. Your whole cursed family doesn't care about anyone but themselves,” he continues, lips curling in disgust. “Were you laughing inside listening to what happened to me in your orphanages? Was it amusing for you?”

The accusation makes your chest ache, because no, of course not. His story was horrific, unlike anything you thought your father was capable of. It crushed you, and it continues to crush you still. It certainly is not something in which you find any sort of entertainment.

“I didn’t know about the orphanages Woo-” You start, desperate to have him aware of that fact, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Like hell you didn’t know!” He cuts you off, and now he is yelling. His tone is higher than normal, as he fights off the tears that well in his eyes, voice breaking with emotion. “You think I'm actually going to believe that, after all of this?”

He shakes his head, and you can feel as his grip tightens around the hilt of the knife in his hand. “I should slit your throat right now.”

“You should,” you agree, simply because it is true. A tense moment of silence passes and Woo does not use the knife, nor does he pull it away. “So why don’t you?”

His answer is preceded by a pause, but when he speaks, it’s as if it should be obvious. “Because of them. The people you’ve used,” he spits, his breathing escalating as he struggles to control his anger. “Seonghwa is so far passed smitten for you, and San is too good of a person to agree to what you deserve.”

He presses the knife a little deeper. Not enough to kill, or even severely wound, but enough that it hurts. You swallow down a whine of pain, although tears sting in your eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low.

“I want you to understand that if it weren't for them, I would kill you where you stand. And I would enjoy it.”

“Woo? Yeji?” Someone calls from down the trail - Seonghwa, based on the accent - heading towards you as his voice becomes louder. Woo’s face twists even deeper into a scowl at the mention of your name. Your fake name.

“You guys?” You hear Seonghwa call again, before a series of footsteps head towards you. In the distance you can see as both he and San approach, your sword in San’s hand. “We saw your footsteps heading into the forest, what are you guys…”

Seonghwa trails off as he sees the two of you before him, the elaborate mud-prison that Woo has trapped you in certainly an alarming sight. Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrow together and he steps towards you, casting Woo a bewildered look.

“Woo, what the hell are you doing?” he asks. In response, Woo clenches his fist, and the mud comes tumbling down to the ground. You fall with it, knees burning as they crash against the forest underbrush. You don’t bother rising to your feet, your legs feeling too much as if they’ve turned into liquid to manage it.

“Ask her,” Woo spits, shoving the knife back into his pocket. When you don’t respond, your lips feeling too numb to make themselves move, his tone becomes even more furious. “Tell them what I’m doing.”

You want to, but your tongue suddenly feels like it’s swollen three times as large. Seonghwa looks at you with big, innocent and worried eyes. So genuinely and truly concerned for you. San’s expression is not as gentle, but it is equally as confused. He watches you with bewilderment, it does not appear to cross his mind that you have done something to wrong them.

Which is why you cannot bring yourself to speak, to tell them the truth of what you have done. How you have used them. How that while you will try to get the royal family in Kuroku to bring them wealth, there is no guarantee, as you are not even from their kingdom. Your name is not Yeji, you are not the girl you swore to be, the girl who they’ve grown to care about.

“A liar to the very end, huh?” Woo says, letting out a snort of disbelief. Turning away from you and towards both San and Seonghwa, his expression shifts from anger to sadness, as if realizing just how deeply this will hurt them.

Still, he is less of a coward than you are, and he does not hold himself back.

“She’s not from Kuroku,” he says plainly, one fist clenching at his side as the other points back towards you, accusatory. “She’s the Libaiyan Princess.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows pull together, and he lets out a small laugh of confusion. “No she’s not,” he says, and from the lightness in his tone you can tell that he truly and whole-heartedly believes it.

When Woo says nothing in response, Seonghwa turns to you, as if expecting a rebuttal. A moment passes as he waits for you to deny the accusation, to exclaim that Woo is only joking, because surely he must be. Surely you would not do something so horrible, play them all as fools.

You watch the soft smile fall from his face as he realizes you are not going to.

“Yeji,” he says, followed by nothing, once again prompting you to deny it. He doesn’t want to believe it’s true, refuses to until the words come from your own mouth.

“Stop calling her that,” Woo interjects angrily. He’s not upset with Seonghwa, merely cannot stand to hear the lie fall off his tongue. “She’s not Yeji. It’s all been a lie. All of it. There’s no father in Kuroku. After all of this, there’s nothing for us. We’re as good as fucked.”

Woo whirls on you, gesturing to both himself and around him, to all those you have hurt beyond repair. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’re almost to Kuroku. I hope you got what you wanted.”

He’s storming back down the path before you can offer any sort of response, although you doubt you could have managed to say anything of value. Tears well in your eyes and fall silently down your cheeks, you cannot even bring yourself to sob. It feels as if your voice box has been hollowed out, losing even the mere ability to speak.

What could you possibly say to make it better? The answer is simple: there is nothing.

San watches you, mouth drawn into a tight line. His good eye flickers between you and the sword that rests in his hand. At first you do not understand what he’s looking at, but you soon realize that it’s the sapphire embedded in the hilt. Your mother’s sapphire.

A small, sad smile spreads over his lips. He shakes his head, as if disappointed, both in you and himself.

“Ah,” he says at the realization, setting the sword down on the ground in front of him. He gives you another glance, and you cannot understand his reaction. He does not cry, he does not scream, he does not do anything but smile sadly. “I should have known.”

He turns to run after Woo, and now it is just you and Seonghwa.

The blonde stares at you, and his face is almost blank. Lips only slightly down-turned, his eyes remain vacant. Empty.

Seonghwa is always so animated. Smile enough to brighten a room when he’s happy, teeth practically chattering when he’s worried, and eyes like broken saucers when he is sad. It is only now that you’ve ever seen him appear so hollow, and it is far more difficult to bear than the pain even his tears could bring you.

“Is it true?” He asks, and you nod.

He swallows hard, as if gulping down any and all emotion. His pain is something he’s never appeared to hide from you, vulnerability never a source of shame between the two of you. How quickly that has changed.

“How could you not tell me that?” He asks, and his tone is plain. Numb. “How could you go all this time keeping that from me?”

When you don’t respond, you can see the way his anger itches beneath his skin, bubbling up his throat as he once again gulps down more air. He wants to be angry, but he also so desperately wishes to understand. Understand how the girl he’s grown so fond of is nothing of who she truly is. “What, did you not think you could trust me like I trusted you?”

“I couldn’t take that risk, Seonghwa,” you say, almost pleading with him to understand. You hate the way he’s looking at you, eyes so vacant, as if you are a stranger. It’s unfair of you to wish otherwise, it’s true. “I couldn’t let my guard down, not with such a high reward on my head.”

“You couldn’t let your guard down but you could sleep with me,” Seonghwa interjects, and there it is. Plain, harsh, but also complete and utter fact. “Did any of that mean anything to you? Or were you just playing with my head so I wouldn’t suspect anything?”

“Of course it meant something to me, Hwa-”

“Stop,” he whispers, lips pursing together. His gaze shifts to the ground, as if he cannot bear to look at you any longer. “Guilt, regret, and desperation.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you ask what he means through a sob. Your body finally permits you to cry, and as the tears fall your entire being shakes, from your chest to your very soul.

“That night in Stockholm, those are the emotions I took from you,” he explains, his own throat tightening as his voice becomes raspy, the words difficult to get out. “If only I knew what they were really from. I thought I was being kind, not pressing you any further, turns out I was just a fool.”

“You weren’t a fool-”

“Oh, I am,” he cuts you off, lips pursing together. He finally looks at you, and his eyes have begun to glisten, rimmed with tears he does not let fall. “I am because even now I hate to see you cry.”

He shakes his head, before turning around. When he speaks, he does not face you. “I suggest you stay here for a while, Woo will need some time to cool off. If you’re really the princess, I’m sure your business in Kuroku is a royal affair. If that means there’s a way you can get San the money, come back. If there’s not…”

He trails off, gaze drifting to your sword on the ground, he sighs. “If there’s not then don’t bother.”

Seonghwa leaves and you are alone.

The night’s darkness cascading down upon you in tune with the pouring rain, you remain on your knees, fingers digging into the mud as you clench it within your hands.

You almost wish it would come alive once more, that Woo would come back, even if it was simply to scream at you. To berate you for your lies, for what you have done. At least then he is here, and you are not alone. Even if you have destroyed everything, they are all still with you.

But he is not here. None of them are.

Minho’s words from a week prior ring in your mind like an unwelcome tune: “They will discover your lies, and it will change everything.”

A sob erupts from your throat as you know that it already has.

~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

[rrasado]

• Serpentine Warning •

A long ago written fic finally seeing the light of day. Talk of a lavishly thrown banquet had reached your attention, will you risk the seeping venom to partake in the labyrinth of genuine deceit?

Semi Slow burn, potential enemies to lovers, set in an older time period.

Tag a snake stan perhaps?

The estate where the Asim family resided can be described by an array of metaphors, usually falling among one of three classifications. A genie’s threshold where anything you wish regardless of foolishness, may be granted by miracles possible in wealth. An endless catalyst for the wonders of the very scalding sands merchants traverse in the name of prosperity. And the more unpleasant.. A den of vipers waiting to feast on sinners unworthy of the world’s finest gold. Just how exactly these whispers of two way grandeur came to be, was a tale left to be told by whoever managed to avert their longing.

Despite the countless uncertainties that surround the estate, we are but only human where it’s in our nature to go after what we can’t reach in hindsight. Ambition? Desire? Greed? Time and time again these fickle reasons plague the human heart, try as you might but not even the rush or lack of blood can disprove the temptation whenever one lays their eyes on the doors looming the visage of fools. Had you been none the wiser…would you have turned away? Or did the venom already entice you before you could take one step on the embellished tiles?

How pitiful…then again, so was he.

—

The heat wasn’t all that forgiving, neither was the vendor you tried talking to in hopes of gathering a bit of knowledge regarding that diamond in the rough, a building that can never be missed for a mirage in this literal desert. A subtle sneer left their lips before finally caving in due to your state.

“That gold den-er- estate is where Asim and his family live, with more children than a run of the mill town, there ain’t wondering why it beats the property size of the capital…”

Eyes blinked in thought over what the vendor said, a promising beast tamer such as yourself had seen many things over your travels, a wealthy family isn’t inherently new but this was a different case. One may even call it dire.

“Asim… say, sir. How well do they take to guests.?”

That vendor soon relished in his fit of cackles, hand waving before reaching for the side of his stained turban. It was obvious he didn’t think of the question seriously, much less taking this new face traveler in a genuine manner. How can he? 

“Listen kid- they may not be royalty or sultan in status but trust me when I tell ya that-”

A mere single coin was thrown over his counter, the gold glint of maddol caught the vendor’s eye but he merely shook his head before pushing back the money over to you.

“-regardless of tipping, this is just friendly advice. Call it hm..good deed? Good karma? Whatever the shaftland folks call it- unless you’re a big shot yourself you’ can't exactly waltz over to their door and expect to be received lightly”

The traveling beast tamer could only sigh in response, but his honesty was appreciated at least. Old eyes scanned your reaction, it wasn’t entirely rare for merchants to just come and aim for a hook with the Asims but observing you told him that you had pure intentions. He coughed to get your attention to which you gingerly complied by looking back up at him.

“Buuut those folks are holding a public banquet or something along those lines- rich folk get bored in confusing ways honestly” 

With newfound hope and turning on their heels they gave one final wave to the vendor, before turning their gaze over to him once he was a good distance away. Pulling down the hood of their worn out cloak to flash a genuine grin.

“I’ll take your word for it, thank you again”

He could only grin in giddiness when he found a few of his fruits gone in exchange for twice their price. Maybe Shaftland morals work after all, he thought.

What exactly was your goal here? Simple really… as simple as trying to find a place to stay for the week is. Let’s rewind shall we? The worn out cloak on your back covers the brooch one called Dire Crowley bestowed on you, as his student in the art of beast taming. Yet it’s that very same man who gave one ambitious assignment before you can be truly called a full fledged beast tamer.

‘Reach the other end of the map, your prize and insignia as a beast tamer will wait for you. Aren’t I so gracious for molding you into a fine veteran of your field~? But a good beast tamer must be able to withstand the curses of the world just as their beast can withstand the orders of their master. Use any means necessary, just make sure to get to your destination.’

You can still hear the echoes of his frivolous laughter in your head, or were the effects of the sun’s heat already taking effect? Either was just as bad as the other truth be told. Recalling the old vendor’s words, you hoped that you’d stumble upon a kind host within that banquet, the sun was at its afternoon peak so you should still have a bit of time to prepare. An inn would’ve been an option if you actually manage to find one not crawling with greedy thieves. The last one you tried had almost stolen your brooch! Life was hard, even you  understood that, resorting to a life of crime isn’t gonna keep you on the brighter side of life… that’s what you’d like to believe anyways.

Your train of thought came to an abrupt stop when you harshly bumped into someone, two grunts collided rendering you both to retreat. Lost in your own lamentation you failed to notice someone carrying what looked to be bags of fruits and vegetables…a bit too much for one simple family dinner you thought.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t looking-”

“Don’t, no need…”

Velvet like voice ringed in your range of hearing, only now did you observe the man you’ve had the misfortune of bumping into. Dark hair cascaded down his back in sets of braids embedded with bits of gold. You immediately kneeled down to help collect the scattered fruit muttering a string of apologies to which he didn’t say much on rather, focusing his attention on reorganizing his bought goods. You look up only to be met with deep charcoal gray eyes, laced with neither gratitude nor disdain. Perhaps the sun’s heat was beginning to take its toll on your senses but all you knew was that he had already finished recovering from the nasty fall.

Without being given another chance to apologize he briskly stepped past you and left the scene, earning a scoff on your end for his rude conclusion but then again you did admit that it was partially your fault… And yet you couldn't help but to feel a tad bit irate with how passive he was with your sincerity, the least someone could've done was communicate normally, yes?

The thought only made your head hurt, refusing to succumb to the heat’s effects. You shook your head and allowed your steps to take you to a well shaded area. The formation of the dry plants along the stone benches told you that this was supposed to be some sort of park. Was it well kept? In a way perhaps one could call it that… So with a heavy sigh you rested until it was time.

—

Any blemish within the estate's reputation burns and disappears on certain nights. Just like this moment where your feet are leading you to the tall gold encrusted doors where guests of all status are pouring in like moths drawn to a flame, the open banquet was truly an enchanting fire to behold. With the occasion being held by none other than the merchant Asim, said to be a monarch of the trade world but such descriptions were never left spineless. This open banquet where even the poorest of street rats or the richest of peacocks may make merry in the name of festivity. Was this a flaunt of wealth? Power? Influence? A warning? An invitation? It always depends on who's asking. 

The outside should've given you a sufficient heads up for what lies beyond the doors, the towering structure against the twilight sky felt ethereal from afar sure but when the heel of your shoe made contact with the carpet…

“-to your liking is it?”

Gaze locked with sharp serpentine like eyes, your attention piqued the moment the tall male gave a small smile. It was the same man from earlier...only now did your eye catch the circular bronze tray under his arm, was he a staff here perhaps? It didn’t take you much to notice his mannerisms. They were attentive with an air of caution. A small nod was given in return to his inquiry, laced with the slightest bits of bittersweet respect.

“Yes, its reputation precedes it…”

He gave a slow nod, when he first bumped Into you he didn't think much of the accident, simply writing it off as that- an accident. Your attire did gave him a vague idea but now that you stepped foot on the family's estate? He couldn't tell whether you'd still remain as a forgettable face on today's boisterous event. Jamil subconsciously gripped the tray tighter, deeming your presence as something to try and minimize contact with. He needed to do that while everyone was at their lightest, he heard your conversation with that old vendor earlier- a beast tamer at a time like this? It posed a threat to his otherwise calculated plan of action.

There was something about his gaze that made you feel on edge, yet it wasn’t the type that urged you to stay away. Earlier you could barely observe any display of emotion under the scorching sunlight but now it's effect was the opposite, the feeling left you standing where you stood, eyes lingering to his distanced figure. 

"You should scurry along then…loitering won't do you much good"

And here you thought he'd at least hold the hospitable front a bit longer. Your first impression of him had no immediate mark but now he was finessing his way over to your iffy list. Gingerly following his advice you gave an instinctive scoff, hastily walking to a safer spot where you wouldn’t be blocking the entrance. What was it with him? Dropping by and whisking out of your sights the next, it was as if he was purposely doing it. The mere thought was provoking on your end and had you been none the wiser perhaps you would've tailed that man. 

You did your best to put those thoughts to rest, making small talk with most of the guests in hopes of finding a good host for travelers such as yourself. Standing next to these lavishly dressed personnel felt humbling, truth be told, each parading their utmost worth for the public eye. You weren't too low on the tier of prestige, showing elements of sage Island fashion with the addition of your dearly loved brooch pinned to the left of your chest. A prospect beast tamer like yourself earned you your fair share of charismatic talks, perhaps associating with that oh so gracious bird kept your social ammunition full and loaded. 

Talk led you down the line of guests, eventually coming into contact with the king of merchants himself. Despite being new around these parts there was just a certain air of luxury radiating off of the grinning man you're currently conversing with. If you possessed a keener sense of smell there were faint traces of foreign herbs laced on his person here and there. 

"Why- if it's a place you need then I have rooms upon rooms for guests of your sort! It'd be a shame if a student of Crowley couldn't even be treated accordingly!"

You had to suppress a cough when he patted your back with the slightest bit of force, lost in his own glee of receiving yet another fine guest at his humble abode.

"W-why thank you for your hospitality sir. I'll be sure to inform my mentor of your gracious act"

This was what earned your ticket to a safe haven of rest, you thought, not catching the way he called for someone to come over.

"Oh you're too kind my child- your field is an art to behold! I'm quite a fan myself if I'm being honest, Oh the menagerie you'd love it! Who knows you might be even able to assist in taming this new find we had shipped from the north!-  ah but where are my manners? Look at this old man bombarding the youngster with his nonsense- I'll have you escorted by someone to your quarters."

The shared smiles on your faces dropped when you saw who exactly your escort was. They say once was happenstance, twice was coincidence and third…

"Oh? If that's the case...then I'll see to it that they arrive there safely"

...three times is enemy action.

"Thank you Viper, you're in good hands here my dear guest"

"Is that so…"

The grand chandeliers reflected a golden hue over his expression, displaying sharpness for whatever he was intending to do. You of all people would know what that foretold, reading a beast's mannerisms were part of your skills and only few would admit that it was the same with people.

Jamil in turn observed your expression, it was one he himself had to be cautious of. He's served this estate all his life and that guard you refuse to lower would either hinder or work in his favor. Keeping formalities in mind he gave a partial bow to your figure where even his master can see the servant's deed. Subtly extending an arm forward for you to take.

One week, for one week neither of you are free from the other's thoughts. And had you known it would have cost you your tranquil peace of mind, you wouldn't have jumped into this den of venom. Nor would've you accepted his hand for guidance, calloused yet tender warmth left as soon as it met your own skin.

A/N: This is a starter fic, should demand call for it then a continuation will be given 👀. Jamil is fun to write and He'd be more fun to characterize in a situation where his priorities and morals will be compromised.

[alpineshepherdbadboy]

for the character ask meme, Ignacio Varga ofc!

my little dude!

Favorite thing about them: i love the his relationship with power and control. the whole reason he shot himself was because the last few seasons have revolved around him becoming increasingly powerless, but he’s never actually powerless. he just has power he’s unwilling to wield. he got himself into a lower-middle management cartel position on his own. he wasn’t offered anything— when he wanted something, he’d go behind the back of his erratically violent boss to get it. that’s where season one nacho’s power came from. and when that little fiefdom of power is threatened, he gets tuco locked up. he takes on more power in tuco’s absence without too much protest until he realizes his newfound power has a condition: his father. he then tries to shed his power, but that paradoxically only brings him more power. the more powerful he is, the less powerful he feels. he’s a prisoner to his own upward mobility. lastly: i also like how much of a bitch he is.

Least thing about them: as beautiful i think nacho’s completed story is, i was a little disappointed with how the show (or perhaps more specifically michael mando— sorry mr. mando i think you’re an incredible actor) ended up painting him as him as a hero. this is why i’ve taken to calling him a folk hero rather than a hero— he belongs in the echelon of greedy, deceitful, and violent men who managed to harvest something truly beautiful out of their lives. in his final episodes, i wish we could have been reminded of the ambitious and self-interested man we met in season one. the incredible death he died was not in spite of the man he was. because that man is the one who carried him to that lovely death.

Three things i have in common with them: we’re both 5’ 5” (or at least i like to imagine nacho is), we both have an appreciation for gold jewelry, and we both are perhaps a bit too cautious of people.

Three things i don’t have in common with them: i would have finished that glass of $1400 cognac, i will never be as butch as him no matter how hard i try, and i have better taste in art. okay? can we talk about how fucking ugly nacho’s interior design is? it’s not that i don’t like minimalism— i love minimalism, but i love real minimalism. nacho’s house is bullshit. those two fucking pieces that are made up of extruded triangles or whatever? i hate those! they do nothing for the space!!! minimalism can only exist when nothing can be added or taken away, and to evaluate that tenant the minimalist object, wether that be a home or sculpture or painting, must be evaluated within the environment it inhabits. nacho’s home is a hastily curated collection of disparate parts that make a sickly whole. the car painting/print could be nice if the installation weren’t garbage. hire some fucking art handlers dude. no regard for space! that living room makes me wish nacho shot himself sooner! the only nice place in his house is the dining area where he spoke with his dad (was this also where they had the poker game? 👀)

Favorite line: either “i’d rather get some shut eye” (that line is just so heartbreaking to me) or his entire “here’s how i got s msn’s skull stuck in me” speech from s2.

brotp: for realsies? nacho and domingo. for funsies? nacho and jo. for fantasies? nacho and kim. (i’ll say this again: they are on the same journey, just headed in opposite directions).

notp: no one really? i mean, i’d be down for anything really. nacho/lyle from los pollos? arguing about whether mr. fring is a nice man? sure! nacho/howard? sounds like a hoot! nacho/chuck’s lesbian doctor, the good dr. clea duvall? all nacho has to do is throw on a cheerleading uniform and you’ve got mu favorite feel good movie!

otp: wouldn’t it be funny if i didn’t say lacho?

Random Headcanon: he never learned to cook because after his mom died, his dad tried to keep him in a sort of suspended childhood. manuel took up all the cooking his wife used to do and wouldn’t dare let nacho help bc he didn’t ever want nacho to feel like he had to take care of him.

Unpopular Opinion: idk if this is actually unpopular, but his relationship with amber and jo is disgusting. i love nacho, i love the relationship as a story element, i think it reveals a lot of very nuanced things about him as a character, and i even think it’s pretty hot. but he knows exactly what role he plays in there lives and arguably never shows a hint of remorse about that. he exploits their addiction and other dependencies because he’s lonely or because he’s maintaining an image or because it’s more convenient than any real human relationship or all of the above. they’re certainly using him, but look at scenes like when he poured out a puzzle for jo— the woman who’s drug habit he indulged to the point where he had to treat her like a child for interrupting his soccer game. (talk about a strange relationship with power). it’s never fully addressed in story how unconscionable that really is, but i don’t necessarily thinks it had to be. i got it. i just wished it felt like more audience members recognize the malleability of nacho’s morals.

Song i associate with them: field commander cohen by leonard cohen.

Favorite picture:

[missmungoe]

Can we get more pirate Makino

Of course! I’m actually writing a thing about exactly that, so here’s a glimpse from the first chapter of a three-part fic I’ve been working on, titled On the Water (alternatively: How to Become a Pirate in Your Thirties).

Follows Long Live, rated M for, well, Shanks. The full story will be up on AO3 when it’s finished, but I hope you enjoy this sneak peek!

-

For her birthday he gave her the horizon, but adapting to life at sea was a work in progress.

The ropes scuffed her palms, gentle hands that had always known hard work, just not this particular kind. She’d have blisters tomorrow, Makino suspected, although hoped that was all she’d have, and not a broken back and fractured skull to boot.

“Need a hand?”

His voice reached down towards her, as a big hand was offered, the broad palm roughened with harder calluses than hers. The metal of his wedding ring caught the sunlight; unlike his fingers, it didn’t bear the evidence of his way of life, but then he hadn’t been wearing it on his hand for very long.

Her own ring was dulled and scratched from wear; the curious symmetry of their lives, at least before her recent about-face in terms of careers, her apron and serving tray exchanged with canvas, rope, and questionable safety measures.

She looked at the hand held out to her, following the sinewy forearm to Shanks, perched on the ratlines above her with an effortlessness she couldn’t decide if made her want to gawk or shriek in frustration. The fact that he could even offer his hand was hard to believe, given that he only had one, but he looked utterly unhindered by the fact, his bare feet steady where he balanced on the ropes, in a way that made it seem like having two hands would have just been overkill.

For her own part, Makino was trying her best not to cling with every appendage she had.

“Are you being cheeky?” she called up, just a little shrilly, gripping the ropes when an impish gust of wind sent the ratlines swaying.

“You tell me,” came the quick reply, her disbelief parried with the flash of a roguish grin. “You’re the one with the view.”

Poised on the ropes directly beneath him, Makino demurely refused to acknowledge the cheeks in question, hugged rather snugly by the fabric of his pants where he leaned his weight against the ropes. Today’s pattern was cheerful palm tree leaves against a bright red backdrop. The fact that it might be the last thing she saw before falling to her death was a sobering thought.

“Eyes aloft, sailor,” Shanks said, a note of command that sent a shiver jumping up her spine, and that had her gaze darting from his rear to his face, and the delighted grin stretched across it. “I know I’m distracting, but try to be professional?”

Had she been a better liar, she might have attempted a glib retort. As it was, the sight of him on the ropes was distracting, a captain in his natural element, his feet bare and his signature cloak discarded; the ruggedness of a man who’d spent his life at sea, all rough stubble and sun-darkened skin swept with dark hair, his half-buttoned shirt straining over his wide shoulders in a way that really ought to be against the law, or at the very least prohibited during certain circumstances, like, say, when she was trying to keep her concentration so she didn’t fall and break every bone in her body.

The toned arm extended towards her, the right sleeve cinched around his bicep, flexing when he caught her eyes darting to it.

Her attempt at an unfazed expression faltered, and his chuckle chased her gaze when she averted it, although her blush was arguably more incriminating, but then it was hard not to be impressed, and she still wasn’t used to seeing him like this.

Curling her toes, she tested her balance. She’d rolled her breeches up past her knees, and her bare feet helped with her grip on the lines. The only thing she’d kept of the clothes she’d brought aboard with her was her loose-sleeved blouse, and even her kerchief had been exchanged for a longer scarf to better hold back her hair; red with white embroideries, he’d gifted it to her shortly after they’d set out from Fuschia, weaved into her long braid now, brushing her spine where it hung between her shoulder blades. She wore no further embellishments, although had wondered how she might look, with gold in her ears and on her fingers, or pearls from the bottom of the sea. Trappings for a different pirate, or at least a bolder one.

She missed her skirts, her silk bodices and embroidered aprons, but this was more practical, and better suited her new chores. Maybe one day she’d be a barmaid again, but for now she was a pirate, and if an enemy showed up, they wouldn’t be asking for a drink.

Shanks offered his hand again, and this time Makino took it, sea-roughened fingers wrapping around her smaller ones tightly, and her breath seized when he lifted her up, and so fast she had to stifle the startled yelp that escaped her, and heard his laughter, a softer thing now as she scrambled to hold on to her new perch on the ratlines beside him.

Her feet curled around the ropes as she tried to reclaim her balance, her breath hitching when the rigging swayed.

She watched as Shanks moved, his leg sliding behind hers as he put himself behind her. A big hand settled over one of hers, gripping it reassuringly.

“Breathe,” came the gentle order, as her back met the sturdy width of his chest, the support allowing her to relax enough to slacken her death grip on the lines, the breath she’d been holding easing out as she did. His feet caged hers, tiny in comparison, his body keeping her secure on the lines. The top of her head was barely level with his sternum; she could feel the warmth of his skin bared by his shirt where it pressed against her back. “Attagirl.”

Shifting his weight, his hips brushed against her backside, and her breath shivered with her laugh, feeling him.

“This is hardly what I’d call professional,” Makino said, even as she yielded some of her weight to him, glad of the support offered by his bigger frame.

“What are you talking about? I’m the essence of professionalism. I just have a very hands-on approach to teaching.” His grin brushed the tender spot on her neck beneath her ear as he rumbled, “This is the first time I hear you complaining about that.”

“I’m not complaining,” Makino said, the shiver in her voice betraying her reaction, but sensing an opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine, added demurely, “I like having you behind me.”

She felt his surprise in the startled grip of his fingers, and could picture his grin from the winded laugh that reached through her back.

“Say things like that and you’ll make me lose my grip.” The way he pressed against her felt retaliatory, her breath hitching at the grind of his hips, and the hardness beneath her rear. “I’m trying to show you the ropes here.” His lips skimmed the back of her neck, the fleeting kiss followed by a rumble, “Although if we move this to our cabin I can show you some different ones.”

Her heart skipped, although not so much for the suggestion as for the casual use of our that had found its way into his vocabulary lately.

Her laugh was soft, and she felt him squeeze her hand. “Such a thorough education you’re giving me.”

“Well, I want you to be prepared,” Shanks said, as a grinning kiss marked the spot above her pulse. “There are some real scoundrels on this sea.”

“Oh, I know.” Her eyes flicked up to catch his, tempered steel in the sunlight. “If I’m not careful, one might steal me away on his ship.”

His look softened, a gentler kind of heat, before he bent to kiss the crown of her head.

But even teasingly said, it touched upon something she hadn’t broached with him yet; an underlying fear that had followed her from East Blue like a shadow in the water, and that was a large part of why she wanted to learn how to sail.

She didn’t want him to regret taking her with him―that there should come a day when her inexperience would cease being endearing, if she became a burden he couldn’t afford to have on his ship.

“Hey,” Shanks said then; the shift in his tone made her blink, before she realised that her thoughts had wandered. “Everything okay?”

Makino nodded, and hoped the slight quaver in her voice helped make her lie convincing. “Just made the mistake of looking down.”

There was a beat where she wondered if he’d seen through her deceit, but then, “As much as I’m enjoying teaching you,” Shanks said, and she was surprised there was no teasing in his voice now, “you know you don’t have to learn this, right? I captain a pretty big crew. We’ve got plenty of hands on deck, and that’s not an amputee quip.”

Murmurs of agreement backed him, from the crew gathered below, all of them having come out on deck to observe. She’d ask them to mind their own business if she’d thought it would work, but recognised a lost battle. They hadn’t minded their own business since the day they’d met.

Although catching the wary looks on their faces, she wondered if the real reason they’d gathered to watch was so they could catch her if she slipped.

Ben was holding the baby, wide-eyed and sucking on his fingers where he watched them both aloft, and she had the sudden thought that he probably wouldn’t forget it if she fell to her death.

It almost made her hesitate, wondering if she really was pushing it, and that her focus was better spent on something a little less hazardous, like charting stars or assisting Marsh in the galley, and not on building a career as a sailor when she was long past the age most swabbies got their first posting. She wasn’t even a proper swabbie, but couldn’t exactly claim a higher rank when she had no skills or credentials to back it up.

But there was a part of her that wouldn’t back down, even against her own misgivings. She couldn’t choose this life, his life, and keep living the way she had. This sea wouldn’t allow it, and she’d be naive if she believed otherwise.

It was never going to be easy, and she was painfully aware that she’d chosen the worst possible time to abandon her law-abiding job to become a pirate. Granted, most fledgling pirates didn’t achieve overnight fame and a back-bending kiss on the cover of the WENP. If she’d hoped for a subtle change of careers, that ship had thoroughly sailed.

But whatever kind of pirate she turned out to be, she didn’t want to be useless. At the very least, she wanted to know her way around his ship.

“It’s not like I’m going to put you on watch duty,” Shanks said, when a lull had passed where she hadn’t spoken. “That’s why we have Fen, although between you and me, if Whiskey could sound the alarm, he’d be out of a job.”

“No offence, Boss, but that cat was shat out of satan’s arsehole,” spoke the freckled young man seated on the yard above them, with the ease of someone who spent a lot of time aloft, and who didn’t have thirty-two years of deeply burrowed roots holding him back. “But yeah, you’re probably right.”

“If our ship’s cat can do it, then I should be able to,” Makino retorted pertly, although didn’t say that she’d rather not spend a whole night in the crow’s nest by herself. Not that Shanks would ask her, and if he did, he’d have something rather different in mind than keeping watch, but even that would be moot if she couldn’t get up there by herself.

If they hadn’t had an audience, she might have told him. Instead what she said was, “I can’t be a pirate without any sailing skills, Shanks.”

“Hey, there are plenty of pirates who have no sailing skills,” Shanks countered. “Don’t underestimate how much you can get away with by riding someone’s coattails. It’s done wonders for Buggy’s career.”

“At this rate, he’ll be an Emperor soon,” Fen said.

“Who will?” Yasopp asked, appearing on the yard beside Fen, causing Makino to start, and she was glad to have Shanks behind her, as she didn’t lose her grip. She hadn’t even seen him climb up, but, “Hey, Ma-chan,” he chirped, swinging his legs over the yard as he took a seat. “How’s it hanging?”

“Oh, just swimmingly,” Makino sighed, and tried not to squirm, uncomfortably aware of all the eyes on her. Unlike Shanks, she’d never loved the spotlight, particularly when doing something she wasn’t good at, and it was a little intimidating to have a whole crew of experienced pirates observing her stumbling attempts into learning their craft.

For all its delight, Yasopp’s grin was understanding, and her gratitude was silent when that sharp-eyed gaze left her to look at Fen, his arms crossed over his chest in a casual repose as he repeated his earlier question, “So who’ll be an Emperor soon?”

“Buggy,” Fen said.

Yasopp snorted, but after a beat, conceded, “You know, I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s got a way of falling upwards.” Then with a grin, “Roster’s getting pretty packed now, though, with Luffy and this one,” he said, nodding to Makino. “You’ll have to watch out for challengers now that you’ve announced yourself, Ma-chan. It’s eat or be eaten on this sea.”

“Don’t,” Makino said primly, before Shanks could open his mouth, and she couldn’t see his grin but she could imagine it well enough. Then to Yasopp, “And please don’t include me in this power-grabbing contest.”

“I hate to break it to you, my heart, but it’s a little late for that,” Shanks said.

“You did give an interview,” Yasopp pointed out.

“The photograph was also hard to misinterpret,” Fen agreed.

“I don’t mind what they call me,” Makino said, and already knew what it was, the endearment that had been given to her by the man she’d married long before she’d asked him to take her with him, but Empress was symbolic, not declarative, and the title itself wasn’t the issue. “It’s about what they expect. I’m not going to challenge anyone, I just want to be a normal pirate. No politics, just plain and simple swashbuckling. Whatever happened to parrots and peg legs?”

“Do you want a parrot?” Shanks asked.

“What I want is for my merits to speak for themselves,” she said, gently firm as she tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “Small and unimportant as they might be.”

His look held a thought he didn’t share, but before he could say anything, “So I’m not riding your coattails,” she told him, and was quick to add, “And don’t,”―he pinched his lips shut, although the boyish grin stayed―“make that into something lewd. It’s too easy, even for you.”

“She’s got a point, Cap,” Yasopp said. Fen made a noise of agreement.

“I feel like you’re all underestimating my creativity, but whatever,” Shanks said. “Also, ‘even for you’, wife? The level of disrespect. You’re on my ship now, and last I checked, I was still the captain.”

Doubtful murmurs from the deck below, which he answered by sticking his tongue out.

Her smile was sweetly mutinous. “Let me rephrase, then: I’m not riding your coattails, Captain.”

She knew from his grin that she was going to be paying for that later, but, “Have I told you that I find your premature midlife crisis adorable?” Shanks said instead. “Most people just change their hair. Or buy a really big boat.”

“Or marry a younger woman,” Ben supplied from around his toothpick. The baby on his arm was falling asleep, his head tucked under his chin.

Shanks turned his head to call down, “Et tu, you ass?”

Laughing agreement from the rest of their crew set off a debate of who’d had the biggest midlife crisis to date―a tie between Yasopp’s dreads and their captain’s choice of wife, who demurely elected to have no opinion on the matter―and Makino felt the momentary reprieve of their attentions, Shanks’ in particular, who for all his easygoing attitude had been watching her closely since they’d begun climbing the rigging.

It wasn’t that he minded her learning, but she wondered sometimes if he’d expected her to take the safer route, or at least one that didn’t include the risk of breaking her neck. His desire to protect her was endearing, if a little hypocritical from a man who was entirely too casual about danger. Their departure from East Blue was only the most recent example.

It had been a few weeks since her birthday, when she’d left the only home she’d ever known, chased from her safe shores by a fleet of navy warships. That last part had thankfully not needed repeating, but then the navy didn’t have the same foothold on this sea, or the presence to enforce their authority, in her husband’s territory.

Hers now, too, or at least symbolically, although even then it was a lot to accept for someone whose only claim before this had been to a little bar on the seaside. She still hadn’t fully grasped the finer points of the New World’s politics, aside from the precarious balance of powers that always felt one nudge away from toppling, and even saying that she wanted no part in it, she wondered sometimes if she would even have a choice.

Warm fingers squeezed hers. “Ready?” Shanks asked, and with a fortifying breath, Makino nodded.

She felt him shift his weight, yielding room for her as she made to climb further up the ratlines, and following close behind her until they reached the footrope beneath the course yard, where the bottom sails were stowed.

Reaching past her, she watched him swing himself up onto the yard, nimble in a way that never ceased to amaze her. She’d used to observe him working aloft, that first year they’d been docked in Fuschia, but watching him still stole her breath, his amputation no more a hindrance than the wind, and sure-footed in a way that made her wonder if he’d ever feared anything.

She wished for a bit of that confidence now, as she focused on making it look like she wasn’t clinging to the ratlines now that he was no longer behind her.

Her gaze fleeted down to the deck. She’d never been particularly afraid of heights, but then she’d made a point of keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground. The only other occasions she’d stepped out of her comfort zone had been at his direction, except this was a bit higher up than atop a table.

Shanks extended his hand to her, and this time she was prepared when he pulled her up, her weight not even a minor burden as he lifted her onto the course yard in a single, fluid movement.

His hand cupped her elbow, steadying her as she found her footing. It was the lowest yard on the mast, but the distance to the deck still felt considerable.

The sea spray was gentle against her cheeks, touched pink by the sun that had darkened her freckles, the weeks they’d been at sea. The salt wind kept trying to stubbornly coax her hair out of her scarf, a few rogue strands freed to brush her cheekbones.

Looking up at Shanks found him watching her, so tall she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes, a thought behind them she wasn’t privy to, but at her questioning look he just said, “It suits you.”

Bemusement wrinkled her brow as she laughed, winded from the climb, “What, sweat and your old capris?”

The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened, a fey smile that made her wonder if she’d guessed correctly, before his hand lifted to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing the arch of her cheekbone before tucking an errant lock of salt-swept hair back into her scarf, as Shanks said simply, “The sea.”

Her grin wavered, and she had no comeback to that, but he only curled his fingers under hers, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles, before gesturing to the mast. “After you.”

He let her grip his hand until she’d found a foothold, and kept one step behind her as she climbed the ratlines towards the top of the mast, until they’d reached the topgallant yard, and balancing on the footrope, he waited until she’d hoisted herself up before climbing up beside her.

The sea spooled out beneath them, the blue silk sky above the horizon the most perfect she’d ever seen. This high up, the wind sang louder between the masts, laughing where it tugged and teased the rigging, the shrouds stretched taut and the ratlines creaking as the ship swayed.

Releasing a shuddering breath, Makino eased her legs down on either side of the wooden yard. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing the world from this perspective, and couldn’t say if the thrill she felt leaned more towards fear or excitement. 60/40, probably.

She looked down.

…or maybe 70/30.

Searching for a distraction, she lifted her eyes to Shanks, his long legs draped astride the yard, like he might sit on one of the benches in the galley. “How does it feel?”

Breathing in deeply, “Like I want to throw up,” Makino said, and saw his grin where it split his face.

Her smile softened, and keeping her eyes on him, she said, “And like I never want to go back down.”

His grin held understanding, and a feeling that made her heart ache, it was so fierce, and that wasn’t the view’s doing, although it was an undeniably spectacular sight, the sea and the sky ever-bending, the world stretched as far as it would go from horizon to horizon; an otherworldliness about this ocean that was humbling, faced with her own mortality against those terrifying powers, which had nothing to do with the pirates who sailed it.

Before coming to the New World, she hadn’t known what to expect. Between Shanks’ camping stories and the navy’s propaganda, all she’d known was that it wouldn’t be anything like East Blue, which meant she couldn’t keep being the same person she’d been. Not if she wanted to be in an Emperor’s crew, even just as his wife. There was no room for the ordinary in this realm, where only the extraordinary survived.

Lowering her gaze, she braved a glance at the deck far below. Hopefully she wouldn’t fall and break her neck. Given the countless ways to die on this sea, it seemed a somewhat anticlimactic way to go.

Lifting her eyes to Shanks found him considering her, outlined by the sun behind him, his eyes hooded under his scars, a curiously vulnerable look in them now, as though he couldn’t quite make himself believe she was really there.

She wondered if that look would fade, if he ever came to regret bringing her with him.

The intrusive thought slipped past her defences, before she blinked it away.

“So, my barmaid,” Shanks said, the tender note in his voice rendering it too sincere for teasing. “How are you finding the pirate’s life so far?”

She hoped her smile didn’t betray her earlier thoughts. “It’s actually been pretty uneventful,” Makino said, with a lightness that attempted to conceal the slight shiver in her voice. “I’m almost beginning to wonder if you really were exaggerating about all your dangerous escapades. I’ve seen no bears, either.”

His smile indulged her teasing, but his silence was telling.

She wondered what he was shielding her from, and if she even wanted to know. But even if she couldn’t hide from it forever, she was grateful for the uneventfulness of their voyage thus far. It wasn’t the same as Fuschia, with its gentle monotony, and where change had always been welcome. On this sea, change could easily be synonymous with war.

Her stomach twisted at the reminder, but looking out over the sea found it calm, although she did wonder what would happen the day it inevitably caught up with them. Shanks had enemies, and one in particular had featured in her nightmares since long before she’d asked to come with him.

Blinking her eyes, she dispelled the thought of Blackbeard, anchoring her focus in the present, and Shanks on the yard beside her, in his shirtsleeves and with his pants rolled up past his knees, the deceptive trappings of a simple sailor, and not the pirate lord the world knew. The wind had dragged its fingers through his hair, and his scars looked gentler under the look of contentment on his face, his staggering features eased with a smile, and the note of tension that was usually there gone from his brow.

Looking at him, it was almost easy to forget the authority he held on this sea; the kind of power he commanded, and the territories under his flag. To believe for a few seconds that she might be a simple sea captain’s wife, and nothing more.

But lifting her eyes to the top of the mast, and the jolly roger dancing on the breeze, there was no denying what he was, and what she was now, and had been since the day she’d married him. That the pirate who’d stolen her away from her quiet shores was not the same who’d first dropped anchor in her port twelve years ago; the one she knew as her husband.

She didn’t know him like that―as Emperor. She wondered idly if that was what he was shielding her from, more than anything else.

“You know,” Shanks said then, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re handling this a lot better than most do, their first time aloft. Buggy only made it halfway up―I bet him that I could climb higher, so of course he had to prove me wrong. You should have seen him. Captain had to climb up to get him down.”

“What about you?” Makino asked, smiling. She could picture it easily, for all that she’d never actually met Buggy.

His grin belonged to the eight-year-old up to no good, all boyish pride. “I made it to the top.”

“He had to get you down too, didn’t he?”

“Yup. I think I even cried a little on the way down.”

Her laugh tumbled out, the sound softening his eyes, and she saw his gaze where it drifted a bit, as though remembering.

Watching him, Makino tried to picture their son at that age, if he would be similarly brave, and foolish, and if he might have a little brother or sister egging him on. Maybe even more than one.

It wasn’t the first time the thought found her, imagining more children. She hadn’t brought it up since the birth of their son, and didn’t know how to broach the subject now, when their lives had changed so much. She hadn’t been able to make herself ask him what he felt about it, afraid of what the answer would be. It was already a risk having her on board, and a baby who wasn’t even a year old. A pregnancy wouldn’t exactly make things easier.

Would he think it would be too dangerous for her to stay? She couldn’t say he would be wrong, but just thinking about going back to her life before, and that aching loneliness, to wait, scared and alone on some island, filled her with a fear that made all her other worries pale in comparison.

She knew his old captain had accepted the risk, allowing the wife and children of one of his men to sail with them, but it had been a different time, and from what Shanks had told her, she could hold her own against the best in their crew. Makino couldn’t say the same for herself.

“It proves my point, though,” Shanks said, drawing her back from where her thoughts had gone, and her hand slipped from where it had been worrying her stomach. The admiration in his voice was genuine, but then for all his teasing, he’d never been the type to indulge her just to make her feel better. “You’re a natural. At this rate you’ll be dancing on the yards in no time.”

The impulse seized her, not an unusual feeling where he was concerned, wanting his eyes on her, and his admiration. It was what gave her the courage now, overtaking her fear, and spurred by the sight of his eyes widening, Makino put the future out of her mind, focusing instead on Shanks as she made to push to her feet.

Shifting her weight, she rose to her full height. She wasn’t looking at him now, but felt his focus, the near-physical grip of his eyes, fastened on her where she balanced on the yard. The wind tugged her blouse from where she’d tucked it into the waistline of her breeches, filling her lungs, until she felt light as air. Aside from being terrifying, there was something exhilarating about being aloft, so high up it felt like you could see to the very ends of the world.

The yard creaked beneath her bare feet, but her balance held as she walked the length of the yardarm, her arms lifted, but she didn’t waver, a balletic grace that cheerfully defied her hesitance climbing up, and reaching the end of the yard, she turned to find his mouth hanging open, and couldn’t keep her smile demure where it split her face, her secret revealed.

She wished she could commemorate the look on his face somehow, as Shanks told her, “I don’t know what I’m more proud of, your acting skills or the fact that you’ve been practicing without me noticing.”

Smiling, she didn’t mention that the last one had been a bigger challenge than learning to work aloft, but the nights he’d been busy with their son, going to sleep early, she’d sneak out to practice. Fen and Yasopp had been teaching her, and she saw Shanks single out both culprits now in the crow’s nest, wearing near-identical grins.

His eyes found hers again, a new look in them now, as though he was seeing her differently. And it was a look she knew but that never failed to catch her off guard, something that was at once tender and fierce, and that filled her with a thrill that knew no equal, even against the adrenaline rush of being aloft where she stood atop the sea, dressed in the warm spray and the salt wind and with blisters on her hands and feet that it would take some time yet to become proper callouses.

She wondered what he saw now when he looked at her, if it was a barmaid or a pirate; wasn’t sure which she felt like, but the look on his face rendered the distinction unimportant.

Glancing down, the drop still made her stomach turn in on itself, but it was a different feeling being up here now than it had been the first time. It might also have something to do with his reaction, and the grin that was so proud it looked like it couldn’t go any wider.

Her own pride made her bold, and made her forget the distance to the deck, and holding his eyes, she didn’t pay enough attention to her feet, or the loose bit of rope where it peeked out from where the sails were stowed.

It caught her foot.

She saw Shanks’ eyes widening, his grin falling as he scrambled to reach for her, but it was too late.

Terror seized her limbs, and even the formerly playful wind couldn’t cushion her fall as she plummeted through the air. For all that it had seemed so far, the drop to the deck below was quick, and she had less than a second to think as she twisted mid-air, grabbing for the rope as Fen tossed it down, and her heart lurched into her mouth as her downward descent changed course, the momentum provided by her fall allowing her to swing around the main mast.

The wind rushed by, dragging tears from her eyes and a terrified laugh from her chest as she soared through the air, towards the deck and the crew who’d gathered to watch, wearing horrified expressions and looking like they’d been prepared to catch her, but they were forced to step aside as Makino released her grip on the line.

Her landing wasn’t as smooth as she’d wanted, as releasing the rope saw her stumbling forward as her feet touched the deck, multiple pairs of hands reaching out to grab her, but she didn’t fall, catching herself against Lucky, who was the closest.

A full second of stunned silence followed where no one made a sound, before Yasopp let out a whooping cheer, but the rest looked so shocked, they didn’t immediately respond.

She saw the first wavering grin, before more rippled through the crowd, followed by their voices, their salt-hewn timbres raised in a roar under the open sky. It filled her chest, leaving her lightheaded as rough hands ruffled her hair and gripped her shoulders.

Still reeling, Makino didn’t tell them she was glad for the support, because it felt like her knees were about to give out.

Her heart was pounding against the roof of her mouth, adrenaline and childlike exhilaration pulling a winded laugh from her chest, bright and airy as she lifted her eyes to the main mast, only to find Shanks calling down towards her.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Shielding her eyes from the sun, she didn’t even attempt a demure smile this time, or pretend her knees weren’t trembling as badly as her voice, even as she called up, “Were you worried, Captain?”

His breath left him in a gust she couldn’t decide whether or not was a laugh.

She watched as he lifted to his feet, her eyes widening as he reached for one of the lines, before diving off the topgallant yard, using the propulsion from his jump to swing around the mast like she had, although with far more control.

But where she’d expected him to step onto the deck, he only shifted his weight, allowing his momentum to carry him towards where she was standing, and she’d just realised what he meant to do when he swept her off her feet, the arm extended to hold the line wrapping around her tightly.

Her hands scrambled for purchase, clinging to his broad shoulders, a shrieking laugh pulling from her lips, chased by his deeper cadence as they soared through the air, once more around the mast. The wind carried them forward, and glancing down saw the drop to the water below, but it wasn’t fear that filled her this time, her nose buried in his neck with her laughter, like when he’d spin her, dancing in her bar as the fiddle played until she was dizzy and gasping for breath, only this time they danced on the squalls to the singing of the ship.

He put them down on the deck, his arm around her keeping her legs from giving out as he stepped off, holding her to him as he gently eased her down on her feet. Her whole body shook, adrenaline and laughter in equal measure as she steadied herself against his body.

His arm curled around her loosely, his palm spanning her back, but he didn’t let her go, which Makino appreciated, as she didn’t trust her legs just yet.

“That’s payback for nearly giving me a heart attack,” Shanks said, playfully chiding, although there was a slight waver in his voice that couldn’t be smoothed over with humour.

Looking up at him where he held her, her beaming smile didn’t know how to contain itself. “I wanted to surprise you.”

His look softened, somehow both achingly proud and mildly exasperated, as he told her wryly, “You succeeded.” Touching his chest, he let out a wheezing sigh. “Well, at least I know my ticker is working. Always good to know at my age.”

“I try to keep you on your toes,” Makino said, and gently glib, “That’s what a younger wife is for, or so I’ve heard.”

The chuckle that left him was winded, and pulling her close, “I love you,” he sighed. “You’ll send me to an early grave, but at least I’ll be really excited about it.”

Her grin hurt. “Any comments on my form?”

“Exquisite. Dainty and petite. Perfect, tiny breas―”

She clapped her hands over his mouth, her laughter loud and startled. “Shanks!”

“What?” he asked, his voice muffled behind her hands. “Oh, was that not what you were referring to?” His grin peeked out from behind her splayed fingers, her palms catching on his beard as he chuckled, “My bad.”

Kissing her fingers, he wrapped his own around them, his big hand dwarfing hers as he squeezed it. Makino almost thought it felt like his fingers were shaking.

His grin had eased a bit, although his voice was rough with pride as he kissed her small fist and said, “Quick reaction time, and damn impressive manoeuvres. A bit shaky on the landing, but you get extra points for theatrics.”

Beaming, she didn’t mention that she’d fallen on her ass the first eight attempts; she was just delighted she’d stuck the landing when it counted. “I still need more practice going down,” Makino said.

His whole face brightened, his grin fairly wolfish, and she recognised her mistake a second too late.

“Oh my god,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a gusting laugh.

“I’m torn between vehemently disagreeing with that statement and graciously offering myself up for you to practice on,” Shanks said, his arm wrapping around her as she bent her head towards his chest, her laughter helpless as he lowered his voice to murmur, “You know my feelings about that particular skill of yours. Look; it’s already got a standing ovation.”

She pinched his side, and demurely ignored said standing ovation where it pressed against her stomach, her arms wrapped around his waist as she leaned into his chest, his laughter soft as he pulled her close, a trembling kiss pressed to the parting of her hair.

The others were there, their voices raised with delight, “Seriously, Makino!”

Nervous laughter. “You really had us going there for a moment!”

“Yeah, no shit. I thought my heart was about to fall through my ass!”

“Lovely image,” Shanks said, his arm sliding around her back as she leaned into his side.

Ben was holding Ace, awakened from his brief nap by the commotion. For once, his untouchable expression yielded a surprising amount of feeling, although Makino didn’t know whether to call it relief or like he desperately needed a smoke.

“You’re supposed to be the one with sense,” he told her, handing the baby over to Shanks when he reached his arms towards his father.

Shanks just grinned, and settling their son on his arm, “Just wait until this little guy begins climbing the rigging. It’s a good thing you can’t get any greyer, Ben, but then it’s my turn now, I guess.”

Ben looked at them both, then at his godson. Makino wondered if it was the first time the thought had occurred to him.

Smiling, and ignoring the thought of how she would handle an overactive toddler on a ship, “Wish you hadn’t quit smoking?” Makino asked him.

Ben looked at the baby, making excited babbling noises as Shanks pointed at a seagull grooming on the yard where they’d been sitting.

But for all his long-suffering, and the worry she still felt that they’d be too much trouble to have aboard, it wasn’t regret that made a startled grin break across his face, catching even her off guard as Ben said, and with a look that made her wonder if he knew what she was hiding, “A small sacrifice.”

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 12th of April, 2021

This is speculation only

Cards drawn 11th of April, 2021

Question: What do we need to know about Prince Philip's funeral?

Interpretation: Harry and Meghan and their shenanigans, when the funeral is supposed to be about Prince Philip and only about Prince Philip.

Card One: The Knight of Swords. This is the card of an air sign person, particularly a Gemini. In this spread it stands for Prince Philip and all that his life represents. The funeral is reminding the world about the values that Prince Philip embodied - honour, dignity, service, the ability to keep information to yourself, the ability to keep your private life private, to be able to put others ahead of yourself with dignity and grace, to protect what is important to you, creating a legacy that lives after you, etc. This is Prince Philip's funeral and it should be all about him.

Card Two: The Nine of Pentacles. This is a card about money, wealth, material goods. Here we see Daedalus, the craftsman, standing over a pile of gold that is the result of his hard work. The money represents both financial security for the future and the result of honing and practising his craft in the past. The pile of gold is standing out to me, so this card is all about money. Coming after the Prince Philip card, it is about Prince Philip's money/estate - the money and goods that he leaves to his wife, children, friends etc.

With Harry as the underlying card (see below), this says that Harry is concerned about his inheritance from Prince Philip. He is expecting a lot of money, as represented by the large pile of gold on the card. The Moon card coming after this card, on top of the Harry (and his guilt) card in the spread, tells me that there could be and probably will be some illusion or deception about the amount of money Harry will inherit from Prince Philip. It may not be the huge amount that he expects. It may be that there will be PR articles about how much Harry inherited, and they turn later to have grossly over estimated the amount. It may be that Harry will try to use emotional manipulation/deceit to get more money from the inheritance than that amount to which he is entitled. It may be all of these and other forms of deception/illusion/deceit.

Nothing is going to be as it appears when it comes to Harry and his inheritance from Prince Philip. Do not believe the articles that will come out. Do not be upset by them. Remember this and wait for the truth to emerge over time.

Card Three: The Moon. This is the central card of the spread and the only major arcana card in the spread, so its energy is very important. The energy of the Moon card here is one of deceit, distortions of truth, illusions, and perhaps outright lies. Nothing is as it appears on the surface, especially when it involves Prince Harry (the underlying energy of the spread), and you have to dig deeper to find the truth. The truth of these illusions will almost certainly be cloaked with secrets and/or hidden in the shadows (for example, the article that said Prince Harry wanted to wear military uniform at the funeral - I can find articles discussing this, I can find articles giving the opinions of people on whether it will happen or not, but I can not find the article that said Prince Harry asked to wear military uniform - it has vanished like moonbeams in the light of day). These deceptions will be particularly strong around Prince Philip's inheritance (the Nine of Pentacles) and Harry's past (the Six of Cups).

Card Four: The Six of Cups. This is a card of the past, of looking over the past, and sometimes of childhood. On the card Psyche sits on the rocks, remembering her past life with her husband and drawing strength from it for the future. In this spread, this card is a card about the past. The funeral of Prince Philip will (obviously) be about his past and his life. Here, with the underlying energy cards being about Prince Harry, it says that this is a card about Prince Harry's past, especially his past with Prince Philip. With the Meghan card ahead of it, this refers specifically to Harry's past when he was coupled with Meghan, and how they treated Prince Philip. With the Moon card behind it, expect deceptions, illusions, secrets etc around this past. The past may be re-written to show a different version of Harry and Meghan's relationship with Prince Philip, with any actions that reflect badly on the couple being re-written to show them in a better light. Harry may also use his past with the BRF as part of his deception/illusion/manipulations to get more money from Prince Philip's inheritance, or to soften the impact of his past actions towards his grandfather (for example - 'they treated Harry so badly and he still went back to the funeral as a respectful grandson' - that sort of distortion of the truth).

As with the question of Prince Philip's estate, nothing is going to be as it appears when it comes to Harry and how his past is portrayed with Prince Philip and the BRF. Do not believe the articles that will come out. Do not be upset by them. You know the truth, and all the distortions of the truth in the articles can not change what actually happened.

Card Five: The King of Wands. This is a fire sign person, particularly a Leo, and in this spread it stands for Meghan. It is at the opposite end of the spread from the Prince Philip card, and this indicates that Meghan's values are directly opposed to those of Prince Philip. Instead of the funeral being about him, she wants to make it all about her. The card of the past/childhood (the Six of Cups) appearing before this card indicates that Meghan may do something about her unborn child or her first child to pull the attention back to her, and/or release PR about them in some way to try and get attention. She may also release PR combining the past with the present, the most obvious example being articles comparing Harry walking behind his mother's coffin (the past, child) to Harry walking behind his grandfather's coffin (the present), especially if she can twist this to suit her victim narrative (for example, he was forced to walk behind his mother's coffin and now the mean BRF wouldn't let him wear a military uniform for his grandfathers, despite him being on active service during his years in the army, the only one of the BRF to do so - the lies and distortions of truth in this example are what the Moon card represents in the spread).

Underlying Energy Card One: The Knight of Pentacles. This is an earth sign person, particularly a Virgo, and in this spread the card stands for Prince Harry. He is the energy underneath everything else in this spread, and he is the major concern as people prepare for the funeral.

We know that the other members of the BRF will behave at the funeral, follow HM the Queen's wishes, and ask only to grieve in private for a short time before returning to their duties. We have no such reassurance about Prince Harry, who has already shown that he will go against the express wishes of the widow, HM the Queen, in his quest for attention and PR that he can use to make money (he showed this when he and Meghan put up a cold and heartless tribute to Prince Philip on their website when HM the Queen had said that nothing would be said by the Royal Family, and everyone else just had copies of the tribute from Buckingham Palace).

Underlying Energy Card Two: The Nine of Swords. This card shows Orestes tormented by the Furies after he killed his mother. They pursued him wherever he want, and he could not escape them. Similarly, Harry's thoughts are tormenting him. He is plagued by thoughts of how he treated his family (who he is returning to face at the funeral), how he treated his grandmother, who his grandfather spent his life protecting and supporting (putting up that heartless 'service' statement after the Queen has said no member of the family was to speak out is the latest in a long line of disrespectful actions that have caused her stress and worry), and how he treated his grandfather (the Oprah interview while Prince Philip was in his last days on this earth and blowing off an important event for the Royal Marines, a position he inherited from his grandfather, to attend a movie premiere are two incidents that come to mind). He feels guilty.

The Moon card above this card and the Knight of Pentacles (Harry) card says that Harry is not only involved with deception around the funeral, but he is also deceiving himself. He feels guilty, but he is not yet ready to admit to himself that his actions caused hurt to others, and so he lives in a constant state of uneasy and defensive self justification.

Harry can not escape these thoughts and they are causing him stress and sleepless nights. The thoughts keep coming up in his mind (like the swords pointed at Orestes in the picture) and every time he has to justify his actions to himself. It is in this state of mind, stressed, defensive, and self-justifying, that Harry is attending the funeral.

I am not saying that Harry is not grieving his grandfather, just that the energy coming from the card is stress, guilt and the self-justification of someone who knows they have behaved badly but are not ready to admit it. These feelings are most likely powered by grief at losing his grandfather, and that is why they are so constant and so strong.

Arrangement of the Cards: Look at how the spread is arranged. Prince Philip is at one end and Meghan at the other, with Harry (and the Nine of Swords, his guilty feelings) as the balancing point underneath the five cards. This says to me that there is a range of energy between that embodied by Prince Philip (service, duty, putting yourself last) and that embodied by Meghan (putting yourself first and only you, no conception of duty or service), and at this point of time Harry is standing precisely at the middle of these energies, in fact he may even be torn between them. He may turn back towards the Prince Philip side, or he may turn towards the Meghan side, but at this time he is balanced in the middle. The Moon card is directly above Harry, indicating that there will be some sort of deception(s) or illusion(s) about his presence/behaviour at the funeral, and/or that he will use the funeral as a cover for other behaviour, and/or as a way of getting what he wants. The cards on either side of the Moon card show what will be involved in and/or the reason for this deception/illusion: Money (the Nine of Pentacles) and Childhood/Children/the Past (The Six of Cups).

Conclusion: This funeral is meant to be all about Prince Philip, but Meghan wants to make it all about her. Harry is in the middle, and he is tormented by his past actions with respect to his grandfather, actions that he has to keep justifying to himself. The Moon card says that there is so much illusion and deceit going on on, both in Harry not being honest with himself (deceiving himself about his intentions/motives/how others react to him/being self justifying etc) and in Harry's actions at the funeral, especially in regard to his inheritance from Prince Philip, and in regard to his past, especially his past actions towards his grandfather. Harry may be using deceit/illusions/emotional blackmail based on his childhood to try and get the money he thinks he deserves.

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Robbing a Dead Woman

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale:

Prompt: "Why are you robbing a dead woman?" "Why did you die rich enough to rob?"

The first thing Beca Mitchell realized, was that the ground was still frozen. Even though it was well into May and a subtle sweat was dripping its way down her back, it seemed as if the soil in St. Joseph cemetery didn’t’ get the memo- and if it did, it had been swiftly ignored.

She had almost fallen over, sticking the tip of the iron shovel just below the grass before balancing on its wings and nearly toppling into the marker that was just to the right of the one she had positioned herself on top of- and really, Beca Mitchell wasn’t built to rob graves. She wasn’t built to do anything except for curl up and sleep.

It was well past three am and her exhaustion was still clinging to her just like the scent of freshly turned dirt filled the air. And this was stupid, truly, it was. Because the last thing she ever wanted to do was dig up the grave of some old bat because her gold-plated watch had a gold-plated map on the bottom that would lead to even more gold.

Someone else had probably, probably dug this up before. But the coordinates that she stumbled upon on the campus library had an unbroken seal. So, she thought that maybe it was possible that the famous Beale treasure was still here, still hidden, and still buried under feet of half-frozen mud.

Beca got the first layer of mottled dirt and grey grass away from the opening before she decided to catch her breath. Her shoulders ached and she was sure that a splinter was wedged into the palm of her hand at this point. Her exhale clouded in front of her.

Gravediggers had some gull, she decided, to do this for a living. But she was also sure when no one was watching they brought out a machine that did this for them. It was horrible work- horrible needless work. She was a history major, a stupid history major that just got into cryptography because of an undergrad, and fell into a deep dark hole of lies and codes and deceit.

The Beale family really was at the center of it all. Their names were on several of the buildings on campus and there was an ominous oil painting of Mr. Thomas Beale in the science wing. He wore a lavish blue coat that must have been a fortune in those days and scowled down at the students hunched over different mixtures.

She had already committed some… crimes, or vandalism when she snuck into the dark hallways and took a pocketknife to the back of the dusty canvas. She didn’t’ press hard enough to break into the layer that faced the world, but she hoped vainly that whoever dusted around it next didn’t hold it up to the sun because there would be a very precise square missing from the middle.

The map in the book had led her to the painting and the painting had lead her to Chloe Elizabeth Beale’s grave, which she was now more than halfway through. She could smell the wet overturned soil and her own sweat, and the blood from the blisters on her palms.

A golden light swept across the campus cemetery and Beca didn’t’ waste any time dropping into the hole in the ground that she had just upturned. She held her breath as if the person wasn’t just a passing stranger in their car or some students leaning into one another with the smokey stone park as a backdrop.

She was on her back, trying to ignore the prospect of worms squirming under her clothes. She watched the light and fought the urge to drift off because the dirt was shockingly comfy and warm after a while. The lull of the nearby engine was enough to seduce anyone.

“Why are you robbing a dead woman?” A voice whispered.

Beca shot her eyes open and a scream threatened to form in her throat before passing her lips. But before she could a hand clamped over her mouth, strong and cold and also tasting of soil. She breathed in thickly and darted her eyes towards her left.

For all intents and purposes, Beca Mitchell figured that she was alone in the graveyard. She had been alone while digging and alone while researching where to dig. More importantly, she had been completely and utterly alone while she ducked and flattened herself on top of the soil.

But a woman was next to her, so close that she should be able to feel body heat and she should be able to notice something other than her stunning, ghostly, looks. Her red ringlets of hair and the way little specks of black sludge against rosy, white skin. There were freckles, soft and subtle ones that would be void for not the fleeting headlights still shining through the markers.

“You shouldn't do that, I don’t know who’s in that car but they won’t take kindly of you robbing a dead woman. Why are you doing that, by the way? Robbing a dead woman?”

The girl frowned as if she realized Beca couldn’t answer with a hand over her mouth and pulled back, her breath was just as cold as her skin, even as it pushed against Beca’s collar bone and made her hair raise.

The historian made an uneducated leap. “Why did you die rich enough to rob?”

She had never seen valid photos of Thomas Beale’s wife, but it was only rational, or irrational, to figure that this was her. She hadn’t even hit wood yet and ghosts… ghosts weren’t technically real, not that she could prove or disprove.

But this woman, beautiful and dark and light all at once, didn’t disprove her theory. In fact, she smiled as if it were more than just assumption. Her white teeth were glistening under the moonlight as it mingled with the rest of the world.

“Oh, you know you’re not the first person to attempt this?” She said, turning from her side so her dark blue eyes faced the sky and the stars within it. Beca was torn between watching her and watching the constellations but figured they were the same thing- really. “The whole grave robbing thing is a bit barbaric though. Started in the nineteenth century when medical students stole bodies to perform dissections.”

“History buff, are we?” Beca asked, trying to gauge the engine of the car turning over again.

“Thomas didn’t think women should be able to learn but I spent most of my time reading regardless. He was quite barbaric too.” She scoffed “Liked to make people fight for their next move. Did he hide treasure, then? No one has ever gotten this far before.”

“Other’s have tried?”

“Plenty. You got the painting, though. Smart. I like smart.”

Beca grimaced and tore her eyes away from the sky. She found that Chloe Elizabeth Beale stared at her now too. They didn’t’ say anything, not for a few moments. She didn’t look dead or dying, she looked preserved, she looked captivating.

“What killed you, then?” Beca asked despite herself, curious “If I’m to rob a dead woman I might as well know what made her that way.”

Chloe had a bit of a smile to her voice; it was a soft sideways grin and it made Beca warm in a cold grave. “Consumption. They said it was consumption anyway, with it’s blood and mass destruction. But it never lined up for me and by the time I had enough sense to refuse the whiskey’s that Thomas poured it was too late. Arsenic really has no taste. Did you know that?”

“Can’t say I did,”

“Thomas was always one for his riddles. He thought it would be poetic to hide the next clue within a cage, buried under dirt and a gold wedding ring that was much too weighty to carry. Once some poor fool got all the way to my finger and figured that was the treasure.”

It was Beca’s turn to smile. “Oh? So if I ever get a chance to clear the dirt, there’s going to be something more?”

“mm,” She hummed, breath not showing as Beca’s did in the slowly dimming night “Maybe. Let me know if you ever get the chance. I’d love to know if there’s any truth to the myth. The legend… something worth dying for.”

[imma-potatoo]

Property

Blond Janus AU

Summery: Now that Virgil is out of the picture. The Darks have decided that Janus needs to be put in his place.

Set just after AA

Warnings: Drugging, passing out, minor panic attack, forced branding, unsympathetic dark side oc, sympathetic Janus, questionable Virgil, gagging, tying someone up, graphic abuse, food, rats, burning, Apathy is really really creepy, starvation, ask to tag

BE CAREFUL READING THIS ONE!!! This made me have to take multiple breaks during the writing process. I'm serious. Read the warnings.

Word count: ~4319

AU masterpost

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

Janus was nervous, Janus was always nervous or scared or something along those lines. But this time it was worse. He felt watched and studied like an animal in a zoo. Virgil had only disappeared a few days ago, he hadn’t been seen since and it was starting to worry the teenager.

Janus slowly creaked out of his bedroom, the ancient floorboards creaking and groaning in protest as the side lightly pressed his weight on them. Idle chatter filed in from somewhere else in the enormous house. The others were loud that day, yelling and screaming, Wrath had always been particularly touchy but today he was just being ridiculous, Apathy had been particularly invasive too. Watching him from the corners of rooms and flicking his lighter open whenever the yellow side got close, and Depression was just gone; no clue where he went.

Janus felt almost like the callous side was planning something, but he needed to eat something. His stomach was churning and painfully seizing in with every breath as it started to digest itself. He hadn’t been able to eat anything in three days, which was a problem, he was beginning to feel faint and weakened. Chilling shivers shot down his spine at the very premise of being completely vulnerable to the much stronger sides. So regardless if Depression had been weirdly sparse that day, or if Apathy was planning something, or if Wrath was going to ambush him in the central hallway, he needed food.

The yellow side kept his steps even and slow, his breath even slower as his fight or flight response kept screaming in every step. But he kept himself calm as he could, the yellow side glanced through the double doorway, seeing Depression walk through the living room to the ballroom; the yellow side waited in bated breath for the blue side to enter the black and gold covered room. Janus managed to slip past unnoticed. He peeked carefully into the kitchen, listening for any of the other hallway doors to open. The large old house settled with an ear-shattering crack. Janus could feel his heart rate spike, he edged the kitchen door open carefully with a creak accompanying it.

Empty.

Sneaking past the door quietly, Janus started to dig around in the cabinets. Janus felt what little pride he had fallen as he caved to the gnawing feeling invading his every thought. Normally he could become numb to that feeling that eroded his stomach, every single night he could practically taste the savory flavor of steak and potatoes or the intoxicating smell of hickory-smoked salmon or even the captivating scent of buttered vegetables that the others ate but he wasn’t permitted to. It made his stomach twist with every trace of the alluring scents.

He took wary steps to the cabinets, opening them softly. Most of the food that he had access to was either stale or coated in black and white mold like a charmel apple at a carnival fair. Janus could feel the burning bile rise in his throat when his ungloved hand grazed the infected food. Deep shivers ran down the sides spine when he touched something furry at the back of the cabinet.

 Its fur was as black as the mold on the food, the fibers matted together with oozing brown puss. Its face was narrow where its brown stained nose led up to glaring beady dark crimson eyes. The teeth were sharp as knives, they pushed past the edge of the creature's mouth, dripping thin strips of saliva.

Janus jumped back with the creature bared its teeth and let out an unnatural sound of threatening intent. He crashed into the counter when wide afraid eyes as the demon-like critter scampered off with the last of the food, sliding down to the cold tile when the room started to grow fuzzy and started to spin. The young side put his shaking hand to his chest and followed the breathing exercises his father taught him. Eventually, the sound of his own breathing didn’t overstimulate his ears, the scratching of the other rats didn’t fill his brain with mind-numbing static, the sound of a lighter flicking open and closed didn’t set off his fight or flight, and the spinning of the fan above him allowed fo- wait….. What lighter?

Janus raised his head slowly, at first seeing the polished dress shoes, then the perfectly pressed jet black slacks, the bold white dress shirt illuminating the room better than any dim bulb could, the black suspenders a harsh contrast. The yellow side brought his eyes up to meet the other sides.

The cold unfeeling black eyes of the apathetic side looked down upon the teenager. His face empty and devoid of any emotion, he was eerily still, the only movement his repeated opening and closing of the lighter. The clicking of the lighter shutting blended with the scratching of the rats in the walls as Janus scrambled backward. His nails scraping against the cracked tiles, already stained with blood but cutting open his fingers none the less on the sharp edges, Apathy watched in twisted enjoyment as the yellow side hit the wall with a small groan. “A-Apathy! When did you get here?”

The taller side chuckled lowly, it was fake of course. Everything about Apathy was fake. “Don’t stutter, what are you, Three?” the blank side mimicked a smile, “ I came in when you were using those ridiculous breathing exercises from Paranoia” He looked Janus up and down, “well? Get off the floor Deceit.” The younger side stood up, gripping the counter for extra stability as his legs tumbled and shook. Forcing himself to keep his breathing even and calm, Apathy was known for his dramatic mood swings, one second he’ll beat you to the pulp, the next he’ll help clean and tend to the wounds that he caused “Are you hungry?” Apathy looked down at the yellow side, who barely reached his shoulders, the null side was tall. And imposing, with far too much strength compared to the thin, gaunt, and weak in muscle mass; Janus. Mostly due to the younger side being denied proper nutrition.

“Wha-” Validity didn’t even get to finish his sentence before hearing a low guttural growl coming from the taller side.

His teeth were bared, eyes burning ice into the young side, “Answer the question.” Apathy hissed through his teeth, his eyes glowing a blaring sign of danger which Janus couldn’t see. Janus nodded, his eyes drifted down to avoid the null ones blaring into his soul. The taller side made a small note of feigned happiness, “Sit. I’ll get you something.”

Janus knew better to say no to the second in command, he hopped slightly and sat on the counter with less than a second thought, trying to watch what Apathy was doing but being unable to see due to the height of the side. Janus eventually gave up and resigned to just watch him prepare it.

With his focus placed on the food that the null side was preparing, he missed when Apathy slipped something into a glass of water, but all he could focus on was the starch-filled baked goods that filled his senses. Jannus watched as Apathy sliced two slices of bread from the loaf, flinching when the knife hit the cutting board, the null side opened the fridge and grabbed a few more items before assembling the sandwich, “Have you heard anything from Paranoia?”

Janus rubbed his arms, flinching when he rubbed a bruise a little too hard, “no. I haven’t. I haven’t heard anything from da- Paranoia.”

Apathy hummed slightly, a twisted grin hidden from the yellow side. “Hm, well. I guess he didn’t love you as much as you thought he did.” Janus tightened his grip on his arms. His brow furrowing in thought and concentration.

Janus felt his throat close up, his eyes starting to burn, the hair on the back of his neck standing up in a way that Janus feels is painfully obvious. Apathy could sense the smaller side tense up and grow quieter. He made a mental note of the effects.

“Well! It’s no matter! You’re a dark side anyway. Not like you could ever be accepted anyway!” Apathy turned around with a completed peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of water. “Here. take it” Apathy stared at him with eyes cold and unfeeling. His grin was too sharp, too much teeth, his eyes were filled with too much malice to be completely trusted.

Janus knew this. But Janus was hungry. So so hungry. His stomach lurched at the promise of food, practically begging him to just reach forward and grab the plate. So against his better judgment, Janus took the plate. His mouth nearly dripped with saliva at the very premise. And it wasn’t coated with mold, or rat droppings, he wouldn’t get violently ill even though he tried his very best to prepare the food with the utmost diligence. Janus only spared Apathy a single glance before he took a huge bite.

The taste of strawberry jam and peanut butter overwhelmed his senses. He barely even chewed it before swallowing and taking another huge bite. He could feel Apathy’s eyes on him but couldn’t bring himself to care as he devoured the sandwich like it might be his last meal. To be fair, every meal might be his last in the dark household.

The sandwich was gone as soon as it was given to him, his stomach still ached for food but Janus knew that that would be enough for another day, or two if he really pushed it. He barely had a chance to take a breath before a tall glass of water was shoved in his hands. Two hesitant eyes looked up at the taller side. The contact he was wearing burned his eyes, made it hard to see, made sneak attacks too easy. But he managed to make eye contact with Apathy, eyes still cold and emotionless. Not even an ounce of fake kindness as Apathy starred at the Deceit. His mind was blaring warning signs, everything was too much. The fluorescent lights messed with his already messed up vision but he could tell that this was wrong. Everything was wrong, his mind was screaming at him to stop. Stop, don’t drink the water. He brought the glass to his lips, mind still screaming at him that this would only end in tears and pain and heartbreak. That he should run, run back to his room and lock the door, try to break the iron bars that held him inside like a pathetic pet only to play with and hurt. The water was cool against his throat, it tasted sweet, like berries. He wanted to stop drinking the liquid but his body begged him to continue, to accept the water with a feigned smile and fearful eyes. And he did.

Janus finished the glass, panting slightly. He looked up at Apathy, “Thank you…” Apathy looked down at him with a blank expression.

“No need to thank me, I’m just helping a fellow dark side.” Janus nodded as he hopped off the counter and started for the sink. He took in a large breath as the room started to spin. His mind growing fuzzy as he started swaying back and forth, his breath growing heavy as he started to hyperventilate. The glass fell from his hands, shattering on the floor. His breath started to quicken, even more, eyes watering as he stumbled, attempting to run away with all his strength. Trying to reach the kitchen door to run to his room. His mind was screaming for him to run. Running has saved him so many times. But he couldn’t.

His feet tripped as the room continued to spin, crashing to the cracked floor with a yelp. The tiles slitting open his hands and ripping his shirt as he tried to crawl away. His eyes filled to the brim with horror as his limbs grew still against his will. He tried to move but his limbs cried in protest. They burned an aching fiery pain as the yellow side tried to crawl to the door. All while Apathy watched in twisted fascination. 

Janus went still, still very much awake but immobile. The haunting clicking of Apathy’s black dress shoes was haunting as the side knelt down and lifted his chin, he was entirely dependent on the apathetic side and it was terrifying. His wide ghastly eyes were fogged as he made eye contact with him. The kitchen fan above whurred at the same pace it always did as Apathy said something he couldn’t make out. Shaking and trembling in fear as tears made their way down his cheeks to the cold floor.

He succumbed to unconsciousness.

-------

Janus was hot. He was overwhelmingly warm, he could feel his hands bound together with tight constricting knots, like a snake; Janus was aware of the irony in that comparison. A thick piece of cloth was shoved in his mouth, acting as a gag. Janus slowly slid open his eyes, the muscles spasming at the effort. Janus was used to being so cold that his body was sluggish and couldn’t pick up a pencil let alone defend himself, but the burning heat of this room was almost unbearable. Janus looked up from his position on the ground.

He was in the dark side boiler room, it was behind the fireplace. And was dark besides the glowing flame from the furnace, the air smelled of burnt flesh; which made Janus cringe from old memories, the ceiling was sagging slightly too. Fallen behind in disrepair due to no one wanting to fix the stupid thing. Janus remembered what led him to his arrangement too.

His own stupid choices. He never should’ve accepted anything from Apathy. He should’ve denied every offer of food or help from a side that constantly burned and beat him, he should have run away to his room at the first sight of the taller side; he knew that the side was dangerous with his temper, he should have defended himself, he should’ve left to go find Vee not try to deal with everything himself. he should A huge bubble of shame grew in his gut as the side stared into the fuming furnace in front of him. It was old. Very very old. Covered in rust and an antique model in construction, Janus could see the burning embers fuming from inside, entranced by the dancing flames.

He was brought back to reality with the door opening and closing with a click. The yellow side looks up with little surprise to see Apathy, he shifts away from the side as he draws closer. The clicking of the dress shoes stopping when Apathy was only a few feet away, “Look at me.” The voice was so cold and uncaring. Janus shakily raised his head but couldn’t make eye contact, in response the null side kicked him in the ribs harshly. A sharp intake of breath and a whimper of pain was muffled by the gag. The kick sent Janus to the floor, landing on his side. Janus could feel the large bruises start to form amongst his sides as the apathetic side pulled away, “Look me in the eyes bitch.” Janus raised his foggy tear-filled eyes to look into Apathy’s dark ones, almost black in colour. Panting for breath as Apathy smiled.

The taller side walked to another part of the room. “You know, you’d think after all these years you would finally do what we say and stop fighting us.” he was digging around in a box, metal scraping and clanging as he dug around. “Now that Paranoia is gone, well. We can finally make sure that you never forget that fact.” Finally finding what he was looking for, Apathy turned back to face Janus. The yellow side wanted to scream in horror.

In his hand was a long piece of metal. A rubber grip on one end to make holding it easier, the opposite end was larger. It was a hefty rectangle, Janus couldn’t read the cursive writing that sat inside of it but he knew that it held nothing but pain for him. Janus tried to back away from the branding iron, hitting the wall as he tried to wrestle out of the rope binding his hands, muffled pleas filled the room as Apathy heated the iron in the furnace.

Janus’ mind was foggy from the drugs, but the laugh that came from Apathy could pierce through any smog in his mind, “beautiful. Isn’t it?” Apathy was staring into the flames as a child stared at the stars, completely fascinated. “The flames, they are truly the most beautiful things in the mindscape. And now, you’ll have a piece of the flames with you too.” Janus wanted to scream. He wanted to yell and tell Apathy that if he loves the fucking flames so much then he could go die in them. He wanted to cry and curse and fight every single person and decision that had led him to be in this position where he’s going to have a brand permanently etched onto his skin like he was nothing more than cattle on a farm. Janus wanted to scream for Virgil, for Vee, for his father, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because he was tied up with a gag lodged firmly in his mouth, successfully muffling all of his screams as Apathy talked on and on about the beauty of the flames. The rope tying his wrists burned and scraped. Blood staining the ropes as mangled bloody flesh winded throughout the fibers. He wanted to scream and call Apathy an insane bastard for every scar, burn and cut. But his jaw was hurting from being forced in a position to hold the torn piece of fabric.

Apathy chucked at his attempted pleas, “keep singing like that, and maybe I’ll give you another gift~” Janus felt his heart grow cold despite the flaming heat of the room. Another brand? Janus pulled his knees to his chest. Tears staining his shirt and pants. Repeatedly shaking his head as Apathy left the flaming iron from the furnace as he turned to Janus.

Apathy walked up to the cowering side like it was just another day. He pulled the weaker side from his hiding spot without a single care of what harm he might cause, dragging him to the center of the room, the concrete floor scraping at his already torn pants; bringing small pinpricks of the crimson liquid through the snake like sides flesh, tying him to a table with hefty knots, Janus was screaming into his gag as Apathy took a knife from his back pocket and cut off his shirt. Throwing the now shredded shirt in the furrence, Apathy looked over his scar covered skin. Scales on one half of his body in patches, some of the scales were a slightly lighter green; signifying that they recently grew back in after being ripped out, the other half of his body was scar covered. Bandages covering a large section of his top half but were now stained in blood as the wound reopened. Janus watched in petrified horror as Apathy grabbed the branding iron.

It was illuminating a horrendous red and orange. The dark room only being lit by the burning furnace and gleaming iron. Janus could only scream into the cloth as Apathy stepped closer to him, tears streaming down his face, repeatedly shaking his head no. but the apathetic side didn’t care as his eyes scanned over the emaciated side.

The yellow side was struggling. The ropes digging into his skin as more and more scarlet liquid dripped down his hands and wrists, tears streaming down his cheeks in bitter agony. The taller side gripped Janus by the scalp and pulled his head back to keep him in place as he positioned the branding iron just above his heart. “Are you going to sing for me, little songbird?~” Janus shut his eyes tightly, he couldn’t bear to look Apathy in the eyes as he permanently maimed his skin, he heard Apathy chuckle but couldn’t process it as he felt something hot touch his flesh with a sizzling noise.

Janus screamed into the gag as his eyes flew open involuntarily, eyes wide and full of fear as Apathy watched with a grin.

It started lightly, only slightly touching his flesh but the sizzling was none the less torture, Janus wailed in pain; the gag acting as a mild sound buffer. Only for the iron to be pressed deeper into the young sides flesh and deeper and deeper. The iron was pressing almost to the skin’s limit, Apathy continuously pushing it harder and deeper into the younger sides already mangled flesh. The burning was akin to a million wasps all stinging in one area. The side was screaming as his skin was seared, the gag was practically useless as he could feel his voice growing loader with every second. The iron dug deeper, the skin grew a dark irritated red. Apathy held the sides scalp tighter as he pulled the iron away.

The smaller side was panting, skin pale, his arms weak, eyes glanced over as his body stopped fighting; resigned to tremble in fear and in sobs. Apathy looked down at the side with amusement. “Well, you certainly sang. Didn’t you?” Apathy let go of Janus, letting him collapse to the floor, the side knelt to the floor, gazing into Janus’ new brand and the side’s broken eyes. “Aww, aren’t you pretty like that. What do you think songbird, wanna go again?” Janus’ muffled pleas were ignored as Apathy chose another branding iron.

Janus was branded a total of three times that night

----Two weeks later----

Janus stood in front of a mirror in his room. His fingers hesitantly raising to touch the scabbed over skin. One was on his upper right bicep; reading ‘monster’, another on his left ankle of his symbol and finally the one on his chest. Janus trembled at even imagining the look in Apathy’s eyes as he held the glowing iron to his skin. A quick hushed knock breaking him out of his staring contest with himself. Janus threw on his shirt; doing up the buttons as he made his way to the door, leaning against it to hopefully make out who was on the other side. “Baby snake?” Virgil.

Janus unlocked all the deadbolts as fast as he could, unlocking the door and throwing it open with hopeful glass like eyes. Happy for his father to be back, he could be back to protecting him. Virgil would never let Apathy do anything like that ever again. Janus opened the door with a smile and dragged the purple side into the room. Relocking everything before turning to his father. The pinstripe purple dress shirt was replaced with a black hoodie with purple patches. His striped tie gone, replaced with a thundercloud patch

The purple side looked sheepish, looking to the floor in shame. Janus felt his mouth dry up, words becoming unable to form; light sides had patches. “Dad… wh-what happened?” Janus’ voice was breathless, shocked from the sudden change of clothing and from his father avoiding his gaze.

“I got accepted.” Virgil sounded almost uncaring to the repercussions of this revelation. “I need you to accept my acceptance so my room will move” Janus couldn’t tell if Virgil was blocking his emotions to the situation, or if he just didn’t care. Janus looked at him with wide eyes and mouth gaped.

“What?” tears started to spring to the smaller sides eyes.

“I said that I got accepted and I need you to accept that so my room will move.” Virgil couldn’t meet his child’s eyes, “Thomas needs me.”

Janus’ voice was refusing to work with the fact that his father was leaving him, “but….. You can’t leave me here.. Alone…” His voice was breaking, “what about Wrath? And Depression? An-” his speech cut out, “ a-a-and Apathy?” The lump of lead in his stomach was only growing heavier as he gazed into Virgil’s eyes.

Virgil looked at his child, “Do you trust me?” the yellow side nodded almost immediately, “Then you have to let me go. I promise I’ll come back for you, but just because I have your trust, doesn’t mean I have the other’s.” Virgil walked up to his child and put a hand on his shoulder, not noticing a shudder “Now, you have to let me go and trust that I’ll come back for you.” Virgil let out a small smile as Janus nodded, tears falling down his cheeks.

The dark house groaned and creaked as Janus let Virgil go. As soon as the side was there, he was gone and Janus was left all alone once again.

Janus locked the deadbolts once more as Virgil left. The younger side limped back over to the bed and sat down. He looked back into the mirror and couldn’t help himself as he unbuttoned his shirt once more.

His eyes raked over the marks permanently marked on him. His symbol on his ankle he could possibly accept, probably not, but he might be able to figuratively heal. The word ‘monster’ on his bicep was nothing more than his internal thoughts ingrained on his skin, the scales that mocked him and made him permanently stand out even more than he already did with the blond curls. No, the one that we could never recover from was the words etched on his chest. His eyes raked over the words, a sob coming from his throat even though he couldn’t stop himself from reading it again and again.

‘Property of The Dark Sides.’

Janus could only sob choked tears as his fingers traced over the brand.

------

@mother-snake , @writerstrashbin , @psychedelicships , @cryptidwriterdotcom , @idkanameatall (ask to be removed or added)

Guys..... I'm sorry...

[vegalocity]

Seperated (Red Groom AU)

The part of the Albino will now be played by -drumroll- Jin and Yin is that even a question? of course its Jin and Yin.

Also i rewatched this sequence a few times to get the dialogue right and... Am I on glue or are Humperdink and Count Rugen like... kinda into eachother?

--

Xiaotian awoke with pain. He pulled a hiss between his teeth as a rag—no doubt drenched with cleaning fluids for how much it stung—was pressed to his shoulder. The room he was in was dim when he forced his eyes open, but soon his gaze was met with the red eyes of a silver skinned demon.

“Who-” he croaked. “Where am I?”

“The pit of despair.” The demon hissed, his voice raspy and dim, it reminded Xiaotian of the whispers of a ghost. On some level it made him nervous. “Don't even think-”

“Yin, you gotta stay away from the guy while he's still injured, brother. You sound like a nightmare warmed over.” a far more normal voice made itself known, and Xiaotian watched a golden demon that other than the change in coloration seemed near identical to the silver one entered his vision.

“But Jin I-” The silver demon, Yin apparently, gasped. “Come on, I NEVER get to be the ominous assistant!”

“You're still ill, If you mess up the experiment by getting the prisoner sick Macaque is gonna ACTUALLY kill you, and I don't wanna be an only child.”

Yin huffed and puffed.

“Maybe he should go home.” Xiaotian offered weakly. Less guards meant less people to fight while he escaped after all.

“Pssh!” the gold brother, Jin apparently, waved a hand. “Like we'd EVER- Nah he's just gotta leave prisoner interactions to me. Speaking of!” He snagged the clean rag from his brother's hand. “You'd rather be treated by the one that ISN'T actively sick right now, wouldn't ya, prisoner?”

Yin let out a series of sneezes that nearly seemed to knock him off his feet. So Xiaotian was thankful when he finally shrugged and went over to a worktable while Jin leaned over and went to applying the cleaning fluid on his wound.

“Like my brother was saying though, don't even think to try and escape. Those chains could hold down the Monkey King, they're that strong.” The irony of that statement was lost on Jin, Xiaotian hadn't been in his monkey disguise when they'd captured him, it was unlikely anyone knew of his ruse. Even Red Son while surrendering (his heart still hurt at the memory of defeat in his voice) had been nonspecific about WHAT nearby mountain was his.  “And the entrance is like, super secret too, like top secret. Only the Boss, the Prince, and my brother and I know where it is, and Yin didn't even pay attention when we were being shown the way.”

“It was boring!” Yin defended himself from across the room. “You were barely paying attention yourself!” Jin turned around and likely made an ugly face at his brother, whom quickly returned it with one of his own, before he turned back to Xiaotian.

“You're gonna die down here my good fellow.”

“Then why heal my wounds?”

“I 'unno. The boss tells us he likes his test subjects in tip tops before he messes them up.”

“We generally leave between 'experiments'” Yin added on, before letting out a loud grunt as he moved some heavy looking contraption across the area. “He's like.... Super creepy when he gets into it. Gives Jin the willies.”

“Honestly there are some times when I can't remember why we even work for him.” Jin agreed with a visible shudder and a shake of his head.

“Cuz mother said she would force us out of the house if we didn't find work, and he pays well.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

He wasn't paying much attention to the brother's banter, he'd already put together what matters.

“So they're going to torture me down here?”  Jin hummed in agreement as he continued to clean him up of left over blood. “I can handle torture.”

Yin let out a raspy laugh that was somehow less disturbing than the audible shudder that went up Jin's spine.

“Look, my man, you're new here, you don't know.” There was something close to pity in Jin's voice and it almost immediately set off every alert in Xiaotian's nervous system. “that machine they rig people up to, it's no joke. We only heard the damn thing a few times and it's really, REALLY bad.”

“I still get nightmares!” Yin agreed.

But then Jin had finished cleaning up his wounds and went over to aid his brother in whatever he was doing moving things around, leaving Xiaotian to his thoughts.

Something so bad that it made demons recoil in fright? What sort of horror display was he in for? That Six-Eared Macaque did seem the sadistic type, but what did that entail?

He had to get out of here. He tested the chains, but no dice, his arm was still injured though the bleeding had stalled, and he was strapped down with both hands nearer his waist than his head so he couldn't even try to summon some backup in the form of a clone. And his shapeshifting was still rudimentary at best, he couldn't do any forms that would change his size quite yet and that was the one thing that could help him break out of here!

He'd have to stay put for just a little longer at least until he could figure something out.

At this point the Prince wasn't likely to kill Red Son until they were already married, and though his heart ached at the idea of his love being forced to play along with that cruel beast's games until he found a way around it, or managed to escape on his own—as he knew that he would at this point. Now that he knew that Red Son's heart had remained true, and Red Son knew he was alive, he knew his love would stop at nothing to get out of this arrangement and find him again, he was far too clever to simply go along with this and hope that those mercenaries were wrong or deceitful—he could find him on his own.

He knew he would. Red Son was far too intelligent for anything else.

–

Within three days time the Prince's father had died. And on that very night he and Red Son were married.

It was the day after the ceremony and Red Son, now a married man, was to be prepared not to be a demon king in his own right like he'd always assumed but-

–

“What? That's not right! Grandpa you're telling the story wrong!”

“What do you mean, little one?”

“Red Son doesn't marry the prince he marries Xiaotian! He's his true love not the prince!”

“But Red Son turned himself in to the Prince to save Xiaotian's life, remember?”

“But! But after the Forest-! And everything Xiaotian did to get back and save him from the mercenaries-!  After everything he did he doesn't even get to marry him in the end?! That's so unfair!”

“Whoever said life was fair? Where'd it ever get written down that life was fair?”

“B-But! But! Xiaotian is still in the Pit of Despair! He needs Red Son to save him like he saved him! ”

“You wanna know how this ends or not?”

“...Yes...”

“Thought so. No more interruptions, alright? Where was I...-”

–

-It was the day after the ceremony and Red Son, now a married man, was to be prepared not to be a demon king in his own right like he'd always assumed but the husband of another. And as such he didn't know his new court anywhere near as intimately as he did his own back home. So he was taken to oversee the goings on of this court and acquaint himself with the advisers and nobles within.

He was dressed now not in the warm tones that his family was known for, but the cool pale purples of his husband's own court and in his own opinion, it clashed horribly with his hair, if it were a darker purple maybe, but this simply wasn't a good shade for him.

But that was just one in a long, long line of things that were wrong about this situation, so he did his best to appear the unflappable demon prince he once was.

Examining the court before him he could only compare it to the one he knew back home, and in many ways he found it much the same. The same types of sniveling yes-men, the same kinds of conniving power-seekers, and the same sort of surprisingly wise elders.

And then just three steps away from him, one of the advisers snickered. A cruel, twisted sound, a mocking laugh.

Red Son... was on a bit of a hair trigger for obvious reasons and whirled around at the noise, approaching the previously assumed sniveling coward, and feeling his hair light aflame behind him.

“Is there a problem?” He tried to make his voice as unshaken as possible, but the rage that was so quick to boil in his gut was difficult to contain.

“Oh no, your highness-” the adviser gave an melodramatic mocking bow. “No problems here, I simply find it funny how everyone else here seems to think you worth our respect!” The Demon loosed another gale of laughter and didn't seem the least bit frightened when Red Son reached forward and grabbed him by the collar. He didn't even seem surprised.

“What was that, you infernal garbage?!”

“The only garbage here is you, Red Son!” The Demon howled with laughter, before looking among his fellows, trying to gain support. “Can you all even believe it? This cold hearted princeling had true love in his hands and he let it go!” His gut dropped. “After everything Xiaotian did for you! To come back to find you! To save you and keep you alive when you couldn't even summon a candle's worth of flame in that forest and you repaid him by betraying him!”

The demon slipped from his slack grasp as he chortled, and Red Son found his limbs very weak indeed, his anger replaced by a cold, sick feeling.

“They were- He was going to kill Xiaotian, I had to-”

“Oathbreaker! Xioatian lives and you marry another! You had love in your hands and you treated it like garbage!” The demon leaned against the side of another adviser, whom seemed frozen in place. Much like how Red Son felt.

“Because that's what you are your highness! Garbage! Prince of all refuse!” The Demon shook his neighbor's shoulder. “Bow to him if you want! Go ahead! Bow to the prince of all slime! The prince of all filth! Prince of all putrescence!”  His laughter never once abated, and when the demon took a step toward Red Son, he instinctively backed away.

“An oathbreaking fool! That's what you are!”

“Muck! Filth! Coward!”

His laughter was piercing.

Red Son awoke with a startle, heart thumping in his chest and a cold sweat across his brow. The King was still alive and the wedding was ten days away, yet his nightmares were getting worse. And on this morning he came to one conclusion:

“I cannot afford to bide time any longer.”

–

“See? I told you he'd never marry that rotten prince!”

“Yes you're very smart, shut up.”

–

As quick as he possibly could he changed from his sleep shirt into proper attire and began to plan his escape. His betrothed would attempt his life the second he let it slip that he knew of his plans, so he had to be quick, he had to be clever, and above all, he had to be sneaky.

He didn't know why his betrothed had decided to assume sincerity, but since he wasn't dead yet he could only guess that he was waiting until the wedding night to enact his plan and frame whoever he wanted to frame for Red Son's 'assassination'.

So he had ten days. Child's play, he could do it in three, tops.

The hard part would be keeping a low enough profile until he made it to Flower Fruit Mountain to evade whatever hunters his soon to be ex-fiance would send after him. How ironic, he thought to himself, that it was now his turn to make an impossible death defying escape and make his way back to his love.

He didn't have much by way of sewing skills, but the wardrobe of the rooms he was given had no mags with which to carry his supplies, so he had to make do with a spare blanket and what little he knew of hemming fabric until something resembling a traveling pack was made and ready.

It was about then that the prince made summons for him.

Red Son turned over what to do or say in his head as he approached the sitting room, and came to the conclusion that if he acted like he was alright with all of this then he would arouse suspicion. Red Son was well known for his temper, and he'd made it obvious that he had a love in Xiaotian. Though he'd willingly given himself up for his safety, the fact of the matter was that the prince had been willing to fight and hurt him, and if Red Son didn't already have plans to run then that would mean he'd be furious.

So he held himself as stiffly as possible and didn't hold back his scowl when the prince came into view.

“Ah! Beloved! How wonderful to see you!”

The prince seemed unshaken by Red Son's fury and remained unwavering as he stiffly marched over and sat across from him. It occurred to Red Son as he sat that the prince would likely expect him to try and call the wedding off at least once. He would do everything in his power to either try and convince Red Son to take back his announcement (he wouldn't be able to) or restrain him to the palace until he could force him to acquiesce.

“I refuse to lie to myself any longer.” He spoke only then, His betrothed's brow raised in curiosity. “I love Xiaotian, I have since long before my parents ever reached out to yours, and I always will.”

If anything this might be an interesting way to see if he's going to play along or not. “If I am forced to marry you in ten days you must understand that on the eleventh I will be dead.” There, if he set the assumed date afterward, then the Prince wouldn't think that he was moving the timetable of his own plans up-

“I could never cause you such greif.” He said after a sigh. “Consider the wedding off.”

He knew this was a ploy, he had a plan of some kind. But Still Red Son felt the tight clamps pressed to his chest loosen at the words being spoken aloud.

“You returned this 'Xiaotian' to his mountain?” The prince turned halfway and Red Son was startled to see the macaque standing in the shadows, he hadn't even seen him when he'd entered!

“I did.”

“Then we'll send a messenger for him.” They wouldn't. They'd sent Xiaotian back to Flower Fruit Mountain no doubt, lest they risked starting conflict with his own army. However Red Son knew the prince had no problems at all lying to him. Any messenger he oversaw a letter being handed off to would likely get out of sight and shred the note to bits before lying low for a time and returning. “But, Beloved, Can you be sure that he'd still take you back?”

The laughter of the demon in his dream echoed in the back of his mind. “What do you mean?”

“I simply mean that, it was you who did the leaving back in the forest.” Red Son couldn't fight back a flinch at the reminder. “And... kidnappers aren't exactly well known to keep their word.” Thankfully he didn't need to fake outrage.

“He didn't kidnap me!”

“Well... then may I suggest a deal?” The prince considered his tea before taking a sip. “How about this; I'll send my four fastest messengers along different routes to your Xiaotian's mountain, and you'll write four separate letters explaining the situation for them to deliver. To decrease the likeliness of the message getting lost due to bandits and the like. Your Xiaotian is sure to receive at least one of them by that. And if he accepts you back, then good fortune to you both.”

The Prince's brow furrowed with worry, and once again he reached out to try and take Red Son's hand. He pulled his hands back. “But if he doesn't, If your love decides this was one betrayal too many, then please at least consider me as an alternative to suicide.”

He was trying to get him to doubt himself, to doubt Xiaotian. Trying to put something like that in the back of his head so he'd be less convicted when he had some notary of some kind fake a letter of rejection.

“Are we agreed?”

“We are.”

He'd be gone in a few days time anyway. And if the prince was right, if Xiaotian did feel rejected and betrayed, and angry, and if he somehow did decide that he didn't want him back...

...then he'd just have to win his heart again. If that were the case it may be difficult, he hadn't exactly gone chasing him all that time ago in the Inn, He wasn't sure if he knew how. But he'd try, whatever it took.

He just had to get out of here first.

–

“You know, now that I've spent a time with the prince, I can see why so many other demon suitors were banging down his door for so long. A mote too angry for my own taste, but even for a more human-looking demon he's not too bad on the eyes.”

“Don't go falling in love with my groom Macaque. I'll not have you ruining my plans.”

“Pff! No worries there, highness.”

“...You know, when I'd hired the Spider Queen and her ilk to kill him on their way to my mountain I thought THAT was a work of genius, but it'll be so much more moving to cut his head off on our wedding night myself I do think.”

“His parents will be furious.”

“Especially once I blame the Monkey King when I send word to them about it! They'll insist on going to war and our combined forces will finally claim that eyesore of a mountain.”

“It's going to be a bloodbath.”

“Which I'm sure YOU'LL enjoy my six-eared friend.”

“Now.. where is that secret knot... damn thing's always changing locations I swear- Ah... Are you coming down? Xiaotian regained his strength, I'm going to be starting him on the machine tonight.”

“Macaque, You know how much I love watching you work; but I've two anniversaries for different alliances to plan the celebrations of, My wedding to arrange, my husband to murder, and the Monkey King to frame for it, I'm swamped!”

“Get some rest my prince. If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything.”

--

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.” Jin was mumbling over and over as he and Yin rolled the slab of wood Xiaotian had been strapped to this whole time across the ground, and up against an unmoving water wheel.

“By all means, quit if it upsets you so.” The Six Eared Macaque stated idly, and out of the corner of his eye Xiaotian could see him scribbling something down, some sort of notation.

“He doesn't mean that.” Yin assured his brother as he forced Xiaotian this way and that, tightening leather straps to his chest and head. Hollowed out iron funnels were affixed to small holes in the straps, the cone sides pressed to his skin while the nozzles were being slowly attached to a set of copper tubes. “He'd be without any assistants that can keep their mouths shut without us.”

He couldn't move with these stupid straps all up and down his body—well... he already couldn't move MUCH, but the lack of what little mobility he'd had from there lost further was upsetting.

“Got back to work you miscreants.” The macaque snapped before standing and approaching him. When those eerie purple eyes were peering down at him Xiaotian had the uncanniest of feelings that he was trying to look like the Monkey King.  Like some sort of crazy fan that wanted to steal his life or something. No wonder he hadn't realized that Xiaotian was actually disguising himself as such with Sun Wukong's blessing.

“Lovely machine isn't it? Been working on it for a solid century now.”  He patted the strange device affectionately, as though it were a beloved pet. “You probably know by now your 'love' isn't the only scientific mind among our kind. But where he's interested in any field of study he can get his hands on I'm more interested in... shall we say... the study of pain.”

“Made my living stealing other people's powers for my own ya see, and it's been fun, but it's maybe getting a bit old too. Because I've been doing that, basically my whole life, and I kinda wanted to change it up. So I decided to see how much I can make someone hurt. I'm still testing this thing out mind you, so...Be honest with how it feels, alright? It's for posterity's sake.

“Now, this being our first try, I'll ease you into it. We'll start on the first setting.”

Xiaotian tensed, steeling himself over for whatever pain would follow.

The Macaque pulled the lever-

The machine whirled to life-

And there was pain.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 5

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/630063393754284032/odins-ward-chapter-4

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word count: 2240

Warnings: None

Y/n: 18 // Loki: 20 // Thor: 24

Y/n’s POV

Jovial music fills the air, encouraging the plethora of people in attendance to dance. Since I came of age weeks ago, I am eligible to join in the festivities. Today is Thor’s birthday, and Asgard has spared no expense. Food and drink line every available surface, people don lavish dress, and the hall boasts various shades of red and gold. The King and Queen sit at the high table, eyes sparkling in humor.

Thor’s booming voice cuts through the music, and all sound ceases immediately. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for joining me here tonight.” He stumbles a bit, clearly under the influence of alcohol. “I—I….” He purses his lips, trying to gather what he wishes to say. His friends begin to chuckle, but everyone else knows better than to laugh at the Crown Prince. “I am so happy that this party is happening.” He licks his lips and leans on the nearest person for support. “I love you all, and I know you all love me.” A cheer goes up at that, and I can’t help but join in. Thor is behaving utterly ridiculously, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself. “Thank you for being here, and enjoy the festivities. Music!” At his command, the music begins once again, filled with a vigor it didn’t quite have before.

“Lady Y/n! What a delight it is to finally have your luminous presence at one of Asgard’s little gatherings.” Fandral saunters up to me with a sultry smile. “Might I be so bold as to beg a dance?” He offers me his hand.

“A dance is fine,” I respond. “But I will not be joining you in your bed this evening.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he freezes. Then, he bursts into laughter. “How charmingly direct. I shall endeavor to change your mind.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.

“And I shall endeavor to watch you fail.” I keep a smile on my face so he knows I’m still his friend, then take his arm and allow him to escort me to the center of the floor.

Asgardian dances are more complicated than the ones I saw on Alfheim when I was younger, but I have had nearly a year of practice during my lessons with Queen Frigga and her ladies. Fandral keeps me occupied for the next two dances, twirling me around and stepping on my toes due to his level of intoxication. Still, I laugh along with him, enthused to finally be allowed to attend the festivities.

When the second dance is done, Fandral bows to me and I curtsy in response.

“Lady Y/n, thank you for your company. Perhaps I shall encounter you later this evening?” He waggles his eyebrows in time with his words.

A laugh barks past my lips. “You wish!”

He chortles good-naturedly and takes his leave, already looking for the next person upon whom to bestow his ‘charms’. A man with light blonde hair shyly asks me to dance, and I accept. He’s nice enough, but too quiet to hold my attention.

Three dances in a row is a little tiring, so I curtsy to the man and excuse myself, going off in search of a drink. I find one of the many stations to the side of the room and pour myself a glass of water. Before I can take a sip, a series of hard claps on my back causes me to tumble forward, effectively spilling water all over the table.

“Hey!” I whip around to yell at whatever idiot caused the incident.

I’m met with the chest of a grinning Prince Thor. “Lady Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it. Are you having a good time?”

Knowing now that he didn’t mean to cause me to spill my drink and that he’s just too strong—and drunk—for his own good, I let it go. “I am! Happy birthday, Your Highness.”

A radiant smile lights his face. “Why thank you! Allow me to fix you a drink.”

I’ve never had alcohol before, but now is as good a time as any to try some, so I nod eagerly. Thor grabs a cup about the size of my face and fills it with a mixture of sharp-smelling liquids.

“My creation is complete!” Cheers erupt from the ten or so people around us, and I can’t help but laugh at Thor’s exuberance. “Drink up, Lady Y/n.”

Shrugging, I bring the goblet to my lips and confidently take a gulp.

The sting has me doubles over and coughing before I can even properly swallow. Thor laughs heartily and takes the goblet, patting me on the back until I can stand up straight.

“A valiant effort, Lady Y/n,” he decrees, and the people respond with enthusiastic claps.

A smooth voice comes from behind my left shoulder. “Brother. Do you think it wise to begin Lady Y/n’s evening with one of your more…powerful concoctions?”

“Ah, Loki!” Thor claps him on the back and even Loki sags a bit under the weight. “My well-meaning brother. It would be so sad to let this drink go to waste. Besides, Lady Y/n handled it well, didn’t you, Lady Y/n?”

“Oh, yeah,” I respond with manufactured enthusiasm, my eyes still watering from the sheer force of the drink.

Loki sees through my facade and eyes me warily. “Very well. I shall not let it go to waste.” He deftly plucks the goblet from Thor’s hand, presents it to him with an exaggerated bow, stands up straight, and downs the entire cup without taking a breath. The group surrounding us reacts wildly: jumping up and down, cheering, tripping over each other. Loki maintains his composure and proudly presents the empty cup. He doesn’t so much as grimace. I stare at him in disbelief, and he offers me a smug grin. “All in due time, Lady Y/n, shall you be as strong as I. Now, brother,” Loki turns to Thor, “I wish you the happiest of birthdays. Would you now permit me to steal Lady Y/n from your presence?”

Thor guffaws and begins making himself a drink, nodding absently.

Loki offers me his arm and we walk in tandem to the opposite edge of the room. I frown, realizing something. “I never did get my water.”

With a flourish of his hand, Loki conjures a goblet from thin air and hands it to me.

I drink gratefully. “Thank you. I must say, your ability to down that entire drink was impressive! I could have done it myself with a bit more practice.”

The gleam in his eyes tells me he very much doubts that, but retains enough politeness to refrain from saying so. “I’m sure.”

I take a sip of my drink and lean casually against the stone pillar behind me. “Too bad you didn’t actually drink Thor’s concoction.”

Loki blinks. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

I give him a long look from over the side of my shoulder. “So you’re saying it’s not stored away in whichever secret dimension you favor?”

His lips twitch as he fights a smile. “My dear friend, it is rude to question a prince of Asgard.”

“Is that a threat?”

He’s fully grinning now. “Perhaps.”

“Mm,” I respond, not taking my eyes from his. “I will keep that in mind in the future. Perhaps until then, however, you could humor me with the truth, just this once.”

What follows is quite a lengthy staring competition. Feeling my eyes begin to burn, I make a face that causes him to break with a laugh.

“Alright,” he concedes. ���You have me.” With a sigh and a playful roll of his eyes, he procures the drink he pretended to consume earlier.

“Ha! I knew it!” I point a finger at him, solidifying my victory. “You liar.”

He grins. “Trickster god, you mean to say.” He takes my outstretched hand in his. “Since you have found me out, I do believe I must occupy the rest of your evening. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to be left alone to spread word of my deceit.”

“No.” I try to bite back my smile and fail. “I’m sure you can’t.”

“Then may I have this dance?”

I shrug, pretending not to care. “Only because you’re the Prince of Asgard and you’re so important.”

With a roll of his eyes and a noise of playful exasperation, he leads me to the center of the room. The music starts and he draws me only as close as propriety allows. We sway and spin in time with the music. He’s far too graceful for my liking, so I try to trip him about halfway through.

“Why you—” He cuts off with a laugh as I spin away. He chases after me, but each time I deftly avoid his grip. We weave in and out of the other dancers. Some laugh, some grimace, but no one interferes with our game.

With a quick glance back, I see Loki just behind me. Intending to speed up to evade capture, I instead crash into an innocent bystander.

“Oh wow, I am so sorry, I—Loki!”

He laughs with abandon, throwing his head back and circling his arms around my upper body. “Silly girl, thinking you can escape me.” Still laughing, he pulls me once again to the side of the room.

“How-how did you do that?!” My voice is made higher with surprise.

He leans in conspiratorially. “I have learned to create doubles using my magic. There’s still a lot to perfect, but I feel as if I could one day be quite skilled.”

“Yes,” I laugh along. “And then you can continue to catch unsuspecting women who are just trying to enjoy a simple dance.” I do my best to put on an innocent air but can’t quite manage it.

“Mm, that will surely be the case.” He rolls his eyes yet again. I’m certain it is one of his most practiced skills. I tell him so.

“Well,” he responds with a fake huff, “I wouldn’t have to get so much practice if I didn’t have such an exasperating woman in my life.”

I shrug. “Not my fault it worked out like this. You should have better social skills, maybe then you could score better friends.”

He chuckles wryly. “Perhaps. In the meantime, however, I will just have to learn to cope.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Poor you.”

We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the scenes around us. Out of nowhere, Loki grabs my waist and turns me so that I can see the far right side of the hall. “Y/n, look!” His voice is equivalent to that of a child discovering a wonderful gift has been left for him.

I immediately see why.

Thor, who is quite drunk at this point, is making a fool of himself trying to catch a woman’s attention.

“It seems as though my brother is trying to convince that poor maiden to accompany him to his bed.” It doesn’t escape my notice that Loki’s hands have not left my hips. I swallow and do not mention it.

I don’t intend to be so quiet when I speak, but I can’t force any more volume behind it for fear that my voice will begin to shake. “She won’t refuse him. Most women here tonight are trying to earn his affections. Haven’t you noticed? They’re doing the same to you.”

He scoffs. “No, they’re not.”

“Yes,” I counter, a little too forcefully. I demure. “It would be quite advantageous to gain the attention of one of the princes.”

Loki grins. “How jealous they must be of you.”

“What can I say?” I put on a haughty air, feeling much more comfortable in the realm of humor than intensity. “I’m just that important.”

We chuckle at our shared joke and return our attention to the spectacle.

Thor has now succeeded in getting the woman to take his arm. Two seconds later, however, he trips over his own two feet and takes quite a stumble. Loki laughs so hard he has to lean against the pillar for support. This causes him to take his hands from my hips, and I suddenly feel cold.

The unnamed woman kindly helps Thor from the ground and tries to tug him out of the ballroom. A light that I am quite familiar with enters Loki’s eyes.

“Loki, no—” before I can stop him, Loki conjures up an extra pillar in front of Thor’s face, causing him to smack straight into it and go crashing to the ground. Loki practically explodes in laughter. Thor begins to suspect something is amiss and whips his head wildly around the room in search of his scheming brother.

“Ope!” Loki quickly grabs me and sprints to the dance floor, burying us in the array of couples. Nearly breathless with laughter, we take turns twirling around so we can see Thor’s progress with the woman. Tired of all the antics, she leaves Thor standing by himself with a frustrated look on his face.

“You are bad,” I scold, turning back to my favorite prince. I’m sputtering too hard to put any real reproach behind my voice.

Loki just winks and twirls me once more.

A/n Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

Masterlist

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/631916582484017152/odins-ward-chapter-6

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99

[mother-snake]

self-destruction pt.1

(welcome to a new series! this will be angsty... but thats to be accepted by now...) tags: @idkanameatall warnings: self-hurt, crying, tears. general angst thrown out the window words:4646 next: n/a

-janus wakes up to a voice in his head he hasnt heard since the day he was created. things can only go down hill from there, cant they?-

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Nothing had been okay for a while. And no one had realised how much it had been affecting a certain side. the split… Virgil leaving… Remus leaving…

And now he was alone. Something he wished he never was. it had hurt to wake up each morning and make breakfast, only to call on Remus to remember that he was gone. he didn’t know how long he cried when the deep green door wasn’t in its place. The three dark sides had promised each other that no one would be left behind… yet… here he was.

Alone, cold and done. The lines on his arms showing the pain that seemed to break over the surface. maybe that’s why it hadn’t been such a surprise when he woke up late one day, a heavy weight draping over him.

He had laid there for a while before standing up to at least make himself look presentable despite the fact no one was there… old habits die hard.

And when he looked into the mirror. He had been surprised. His once shiny brown hair was duller, grey streaks mixed in, making him look like he had aged years over night. even his scales had matched his grey hair, just darker… his eye was still yellow. Just duller.

He stared at his reflection curiously. Reaching up and running his had along his scales. He flinched as he felt how cold they were. Not warm like they used to be. But now ice cold.

Then he froze in place. A small voice. One he had not heard since the day he was created. But it had stuck with him. And it spoke something that sent a shiver down his back.

“I’m sorry self-destruction,”

And just like that…it was gone.

Had that really been what had happened… had his core shifted? Become something new? this… wasn’t like a split. He would have known if there was one present. Anyone would have.

A weak smile grew on his face. he truly had changed. There was no way the others could trust him when he looked even more like a villain.

he looked around his room. Nothing had changed much to his confusion. Everything was still bright yellow and pitch black.

His eyes landed on his hat. He walked over and picked it up. he brought it up to his chest and held it tight. it was a gift. From the one person who hadn’t deliberately left him. The one gift he had ever gotten… and it had been from Romulus.

He placed it back on his vanity. It was time to retire the hat… things were changing. And maybe it was time to start from fresh. Completely.

“just listen to me!” he jumped at the voice that screamed in his head with such agony. this… was Logan’s voice? What?

He felt himself sinking down before he knew what was happening. Drawn like a moth to a flame. His mind reeling from the sudden noise and overwhelming sensation of sadness that had swept over him.

--

When he arrived. he had been rather surprised. He was in Logan’s room. The walls covered in graphs and papers. It was bigger than his room. Almost double.

His eyes landed on a figure hunched over at a desk. The light sound of tears made his heart ache. But… that was it. he didn’t seem to care as much as he used to. Maybe it was the lack of feeling in his chest.

“Logan?” he said. the logical side seemed to tense at the spoken word. “Logan, are you alright?” Janus said as he made his way over, trying to avoid knocking over the several towers of books.

--

Logan took a breath and looked over to where the deceitful side was. he blinked and rubbed his eyes… what the… what had happened?

He wasn’t sure what to focus on really.

His hair, scales, eye or the thin lines on his arms that were scabbed and fading. “Janus… what happened to you?” he said as he stared at the other. “that’s not why I’m here,” Janus stated coldly, sending a shiver up Logan’s spine, “I want to know if you’re alright.”

“I… I am fine Janus, I assure you?” “really then?” he said as his lips twitched up, “so you’re not bothered by the fact the others wont listen to you then?”

Logan froze as he turned back to his computer. “what?” his head snapped over to look at the other.

“you’re being ignored by everyone… and its causing you stress. But instead of facing it, you’re over working yourself,” Janus stated. “why do you care deceit,” he spat back. “one, that’s not my title… two because I care. If Thomas’s logic burned himself out due to over working, things could get bad. That and despite the fact you say you have no emotions; there you were not just five minuets ago crying due to the others not listening and messing up the schedule.”

Logan was at a loss for words. He glared at the snake. “falsehood,” he said as he stood up, “im logic. Emotions don’t matter to me. they only get in the way. if this is an attempt to make me join the dark side, I suggest you leave.” he glared at the other. Anger boiling in his chest.

“go talk to the others,” Janus muttered as he cast his eyes away, “tell them that they are making you work over time. That’s all I want to say.”

The small smile was replaced with a blank stare. And he was gone just as quickly as he had come. leaving a puzzled Logan in place. Wondering one thing. what had he meant by deceit no longer being his title…

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

 Janus sunk to his knees when he arrived back in his room. Silent gasps filled the air as tears poured from his eyes. he thought that maybe Logan would be able to see past all he had done. Think logically about why he was there in the first place.

He guessed wrong. And the words that had fallen out of Logan’s mouth were like knives to his soul. He would be telling the truth when he said that it had taken so much energy not to break down at his words then and there.

Why had it hurt so much? was it because after several weeks of being alone, that was the first thing anyone had said to him? or was it because of his new core… he didn’t know. But he just wanted to stop crying.

 it had taken half an hour before he stopped crying. He moved himself off the floor and onto his bed. he laid sprawled out, weakly holding onto the blanket under him. Burying into the fluff and warmth.

Little to no energy left. The lack of sleep from the previous night getting to him, making it hard to keep his eyes open. soon he caved in, grasping onto the sleep.

--

Logan had been concerned, the more he thought about what Janus had said. and it was slowly getting to him. “Logan? Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Ah. He was just staring at his toast. Had he been so caught up in thought? “after breakfast I would like to talk to you all, if that’s alright. But I will have something to do first,” he sighed, slumping his shoulders. “of course! But may I ask why you’d like to talk to us dear nerd?” roman asked. “it’s about the schedule. With everything that keeps coming up I’m constantly trying to fix it. and at the minuet I don’t know how Thomas is going to get everything done,” “so you need help cutting some things out?” Virgil said as he took a sip from a purple cup. “basically… yes.” “no problem specks,” Virgil said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“anyways, where will you be going?” “ah… I will be visiting Janus later,” roman and Virgil froze at his words. “why?” roman said with a raised eyebrow. “he… was the one to bring up the fact I was burning myself out. I said some harsh things. I also have a question to ask him.”

The other four sides looked between each other with confusion and worry.

 He was outside Janus’s door sooner than he would have liked. But he was okay with that. Patton had sent him away with a box of cookies for the snake. Worried about him as they hadn’t spoken since the Lilly-Patton incident. he unconsciously rubbed his neck.

He sent three sharp knocks on the door. But much to his surprise, the movement had pushed the door open, the deceitful side must not have closed the door properly.

He nudged it open just enough to peek inside. A sharp pain filled his heart as he saw Janus sprawled on the bed that sat in the furthest corner of the room. another thing he realised was just how cold it was. like an icy blanket that covered the entire room.

He entered cautiously, placing the tub of cookies down by Janus’s hat. he looked over to the sleeping side with worry. He had never seen him looking so peaceful. It was kind of worrying truthfully.

He summoned a blanket and draped it over Janus, hoping it would keep him warm for now. he reached into his pocket. A small sorry letter he had written in case Janus wasn’t in. but sleeping was also another reason he hadn’t thought about.

He placed it at the end of the bed. Hoping the other would find it when he woke up. and if he didn’t, that wouldn’t stop him from apologising in person. he knew when he was wrong about something. And he knew he was wrong to say the things he had.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

He had been surprised when he was slowly waking up. something warm was covering him like the worlds best hug. He would be lying if he said he didn’t pull it further over himself.

But as he slowly woke up, he cracked his eyes open and almost broke. He stared at the blanket that was covering himself only to see the deep blue colour. Logan had been here?

He sat up quickly, scanning his room quickly to see if the side was there. Not to his surprise… he wasn’t there. his alarm clock told him he had been asleep for a while. Lunch rolling around the corner soon.

He pulled the blue blanket over his shoulders and tied the ends like a cape. He forgot how cold he was for a couple seconds.

He looked over to his hat, a small plastic box sitting next to it. a small part of him thought he was asleep. There was no way that a light side would willingly come over… right?

He picked up the container and opened it up. chocolate chip cookies stared back at him. yes… he was definitely still asleep. There was no other way this was happening. Yeah… he would wake up in a couple seconds and he would be alone once again. None of this would be here.

He sighed and reached into the box, pulling out a cookie. a tiny smile formed on his face. he knew Logan couldn’t cook. So, there was a high chance that it was Patton’s or romans cooking.

He placed it back into the box and closed it over. But he held the container in his hands a little longer before placing it down.

Any warmth that had filled him before seemed to dull down as he realised that despite everything. He was still alone. For all he knew they were doing this to keep him away for a while longer…

“why can’t I do anything right!” the voice yelled in his mind. this one he could tell was Patton’s.

He sighed. Today was going to be a long day. He could already tell. he snapped his fingers and changed out of his pyjamas and into something else.

Black dress pants and a yellow button up. his caplet draped over his shoulders. Logan’s blanket still tied around himself like a cape.

And soon he found himself sinking down.

Let's say we up and left this town, And turned our future upside down. We'll make pretend that you and me, Lived ever after happily.

Janus arrived in the light side’s kitchen. Patton stood staring at the wall. he let out a cough, grabbing Patton attention almost immediately. “oh! Hello Jan- “he cut himself off as he looked at the snake with shock, “you…seem to have changed quite a bit there,”

Janus simply rolled his eyes, not as bothered as he felt he should have been by morality’s words. “anyways… I came to ask if you were okay,” he moved himself over to Patton's side.

“I’m… I’m okay kiddo,” Patton said, plastering a fake smile on his face.

Janus returned the smile with a blank look on his face,” that’s a lie. Isn’t it?” he sighed. “I don’t know what you mean?” “you’re bottling it up. you feel like you keep hurting those around you with everything you do,” Janus felt like such a hypocrite, “and you feel like you’re driving them away in the process. Am I wrong?”

Patton felt tears pricking his eyes as he looked at Janus. “what do I do?” he said, “I don’t want to lose them…”

Janus stayed silent. His face scrunched up in thought. His fingers rapped over the counter. “I don’t know truthfully… but maybe you should just confront it head on. Don’t skirt around the issue…” don’t do what I did, that’s what he meant.

Patton looked at him with a sad smile. “would you like to join us for lunch Janus?” he said as he rubbed his eyes, getting rid of the tears that messed with his vision. “as much as I’d love to, I know roman and Virgil wouldn’t want me there,” he said sadly. Patton could feel the small amounts of sadness coming from him. But it was blocked off by something else. As if it was being hidden by something else. Whatever it was, he couldn’t sense it. “well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us.”

Janus gave a weak smile in Patton's direction and turned to leave but froze as he saw who was standing at the door.

Virgil glared at him but he could see the confusion in his eyes. “why are you here deceit,” he growled. “one, that’s not my title any more. And two… Patton simply needed some assistance. I was happy to help,” he said, keeping his eyes of the anxious side.

“excuse me?” Virgil said startled, “what the hell do you mean deceit isn’t your title anymore?” Janus shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the other. “you can call me self-destruction from now on,” he said coldly, glancing up an connecting his eyes with the purple of Virgil’s.

Neither side knew what to say at what the now self-destruction side had said. This was new. sure, there had been splits… but never a full core change… “Janus…” Patton said as he took a step closer. “don’t,” Janus said, holding a hand up. Patton stopped walking towards Janus. His concern for the side growing even more.

Virgil didn’t know what to do, he just stood there dumbfounded. This was the last thing he had been expecting. Okay sure, he had been startled when he saw Janus’s new look. but this… his title shifting to something new. something like that? he didn’t know what to do. And he didn’t like not knowing things…

“how long,” Virgil said as he stared at the snake. “only this morning… no one else knows,” Janus said.

They shifted uncomfortably for a couple more seconds. “well… if you don’t mind, I think it would be best if I left for now,” Janus said, making his way over to the door Virgil had been blocking.

“no,” the anxious side said, “we don’t know what you can do now. How do we know if you wont effect Thomas,” he said staring at Janus. “please, you didn’t care about me before, why change that now?”

Virgil felt his chest tighten at the words spoken by Janus. “as much as I hate to say it… Virge has a point. With a new title… you will have to learn new things about yourself. And having people around might help,” he said carefully, trying to block out the words Janus had previously spoken.

“just let me go,” he muttered, swaying as he stood as still as possible. “Janus are you- Janus!” Patton yelled as he caught the side who had toppled over.

Janus was unconscious before he heard Patton yell his name.

Virgil was by their sides in seconds. Panic spreading through his veins. “Janus… Janus,” he said as he shook the snake, hoping to wake him up. “he’s like ice!” Patton said as he jerked his hand away from his head.

“get the others and tell them that Janus will be staying with us for a while,” Patton said as he picked Janus up bridal style. Trying his best not to shiver under the coldness of the others skin.

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Virgil gave a sharp nod before bolting out the room and making his way to the bedroom hallway. the first door he came to was Logan’s. he pounded on the door, hoping it would startle Logan out of his work. he heard shuffling on the other side before his door creaked open. Logan looked at Virgil rather surprised.

“get your ass down stairs,” Virgil said before shooting of to the twins shared room and pounding on the door in a hurry.

The door opened on its own and he flung the door open irritably. “get your asses down stairs, now,” he said as he looked at the twins who seemed startled by his sudden appearance, most likely thinking he was Patton.

But non the less they both stood up and made their way down the stairs after Virgil and a rather confused Logan. the three of them got closer to the living room. The sound of shuffling and Virgil pacing was all they could hear until they reached the room.

Patton was draping a blanket over something on the couch as Virgil moved something, placing a pillow underneath. and as the three of them got closer. They stopped moving.

“Janus,” Logan said before making his way over to the other two sides. he knelt down next to the unconscious side, “what happened?” he asked looking at the moral side. “we don’t know, we were talking and he started to sway before falling unconscious. I managed to catch him before he hit the ground, but he’s so cold. Almost like ice,” Patton muttered.

Logan reached his hand and placed it gently on the sides head. Patton was correct. He was cold as ice. “keep him wrapped up in the blankets,” he said before turning to the twins, “can one of you come with me to Janus’s room? I need to check something out from earlier,” he said as he stood up. “oh, and Virgil. Go into my room and get the medical box from under the bathroom sink. His arms need to be covered,”

Virgil stared at Logan, “what do you mean by that specks,” he whispered. even Remus who was normally loud and yelling, his eyes glazed over at his words, “he said he stopped…” he whispered horrified.

“ill come with you then dear nerd, we shall be back soon,” he said as he sunk out with Logan not too far behind.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

 Logan and roman appeared in Janus’s room. The first thing roman did was curse under his breath at how cold it was. “no wonder he was so cold specks… his rooms colder than the artic!” “but why…” Logan said as he began to look around.

The room was much smaller than his own. But it was much more cluttered. A wall of trophies Thomas had won sat high and on display. musical posters and photographs hung the walls. a bookshelf sat facing Janus’s bed. Filled to the brim with books on philosophers and snakes.

Then his eyes landed on something. A small leather-bound book that looked far older than anything on the book case. “roman,” he said, causing the side to look up from his position, looking in a small wooden box. he made his way over as Logan removed the book. it didn’t take too long for him to realise what he was holding. “looks like a diary,” he muttered.

What had caught roman was the symbol printed into the front. One he hadn’t seen in on much. but knew all to well. “why does he have Romulus’s diary?” he said to himself, but it didn’t go unheard by the other in the room.

“no… its Janus’s,” he said as he flicked through the pages, “each one was signed of by Janus. Not Romulus- wait look here,” he said.

The hand writing and use of pen had changed from black to a multi coloured one. Red and green ink swirling on the page. he read over what was written.

They re read what was written. Guilt seemed to flood into them as the read it over and over again. had Romulus and Janus been that close that… oh god… a sick feeling laid planted in romans chest. he didn’t know much about the person he had split from. But he knew that Janus had always played a part in his past. He thought that maybe he had been the cause of the split.

Not that Romulus split on purpose in hopes to better balance out the mind scape for everyone’s sake. Maybe… he would discuss his plan with his twin later. “we should keep looking. And if we don’t find anything… we can put it down to his core shifting and messing with his room,” Logan said; he only getting a nod in response.

Ohhhh... And since we know that dreams are dead, And life turns plan’s up on their head, I will plan to be a bum, So I just might become someone.

Janus needed to stop falling asleep. He was going to mess with his sleep schedule. he noticed three things as he began to wake up for the third time that day. one, he was warm. Not Logan’s blanket, just keeping out the cold. This was full on Patton hug level of warmth. second was the smell of cookies that hung in the air. It was comforting to some extent. Only he knew he hadn’t done any cooking in a long time. third was that he was lying on something soft. His bed had always been stiff and hard. This, he was able to melt into like putty.

He didn’t want to move. He was perfectly fine being here for the rest of eternity. but he was curious as to where he was. so despite his body complaining against waking up, he tried his best to crack his eyes open. A bright light filled his vision, causing him to et out a small hiss of pain.

Then noise filled his ears, the sounds of people shouting and moving filled his head as he finally got his eyes open. he didn’t expect to see all the light sides surrounding him.

“Janus! Are you alright?” Patton asked. he didn’t know what to do. His mind ran at several miles an hour, a light panic setting into his chest as he realised how close they were to him.

Virgil seemed to know the look on Janus’s face, “everyone back away, you’re crowding him. He’s already starting to panic,” he said as he shuffled away slightly.

The others followed suit as they realised Janus was indeed internally panicking. they waited a couple minutes before Patton turned to Logan who gave him a quick nod. He stood up and made his way out of the room. “sorry,” Janus muttered as he bowed his head down. “it’s alright Jannie,” Remus said as he smiled at Janus.

He looked around the room once again. Still confused as to why they weren’t being hostile as before… “what happened?” he asked as he looked at them. Virgil shifted uncomfortably, grabbing Janus’s attention, “you fell unconscious after I confronted you in the kitchen. Patton caught you before you hit the ground,” he said, keeping his eyes away from Janus.

The room fell quiet. But it wasn’t bad… it felt calm. “well, should I put a movie on in the mean time?” roman asked everyone. “I have no quarry with that,” Logan said as he adjusted his glasses. “same here princy,” Virgil said. “sure thing bitch,” Remus said punching his twins arm getting a wince in response.

Janus nodded, moving his hand to rub his arm before looking down, realising he wasn’t touching his coarse skin. Once again, he felt himself freeze in place. They had seen them…

Well he was fucked. “Janus- “he looked up from his arms and towards roman. “is there anything you’d like to watch?” Janus didn’t respond, he only looked at roman before casting his eyes back to his wrists.

It was at that moment Patton entered the room with a bowl of soup. He gave it over to the grey scaled side with a smile. “you missed lunch and dinners still a while away, I thought you might get hungry,” he said cheerfully.

He held the bowl staring at it for a couple seconds. The soup seemed to ripple for a couple seconds. And it was then that he realised he had begun to cry. a pair of hands moved the bowl from him and someone wrapped him up in a hug. That only seemed to make him cry harder despite the fact he had clung onto the person.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccupped as tears continued to pour. he tried to stop crying, but the tears continued to pour despite his best efforts. “it’s okay Janus, you’ve been too strong for a long time, its our turn to return the favour,” Virgil whispered into his ear. another several sets of arms wrapped around him to the best of their abilities.

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Things were far from fine. That was for sure. But in that moment… he knew why he was crying and it wasn’t from sadness or loneliness or the never-ending coldness that laid over his heart that slowly seemed to be filling up with something warm.

The tears were from the overwhelming love he felt the others giving him despite all he had done. the warm looks given his way. he didn’t deserve them. But it felt so nice.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

He himself was by no means going to be okay for a long time… but this?

This was a start.

[we-are-fam-ily]

Painting ‘I Love You’

Wordcount: 1,000+

Tags: Logince, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, First Kiss, Remus mention, Deceit mention, Fluff

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365435

“Does everyone have their prompts? Don’t say what they are!”

Logan nodded an affirmation and looked down at the slip of paper his ‘prompt’ was written on.

Paint a representation of your painting partner. Use the whole canvas!

“Now remember, kiddos, you’ll be using the same canvas, so think about how your art will work with your partner’s!”

Logan looked up at Roman, his partner, who was looking at his own prompt sheet and frowning.

“Roman, would you be amenable to my going first?” Logan had an idea. “My painting can be used as a backdrop.”

Roman nodded absently, still frowning at his prompt. Logan wondered what it was, since Patton had made all the prompts for this ‘fam-ily bonding’ activity. He had also assigned who was partnered with whom.

Logan supposed he didn’t mind. He wasn’t the most artistic person, so he would have to represent Roman in a way that looked decent, at least. De Stijl might not look the most like a human being, but if Logan painted his feelings for Roman, it would mean something, right?

Morse code didn’t translate perfectly into the art style, but Logan would do his best, just as he always did. He supposed there were less roundabout ways to confess his love for the creative Side, but he was too haunted by the possibility that Roman wouldn’t return his affection and couldn’t bear to be straightforward.

‘I love you’ was such a difficult phrase to utter. If it wasn’t, Logan would say it to Roman every time the other Side came into the kitchen for coffee, still in his pajamas and with hair mussed from sleep. He would say it every time Roman burst into another rant about the ‘prince of his dreams’, if only to keep from having to hear Roman sing the praises of another man yet again.

He would say it now, staring at Roman from the other side of the canvas, as the other furiously sketched in a notebook to prepare for his part of the painting, a pencil in one hand and a paintbrush behind his ear.

“You going to paint any time soon, Specs?”

Logan startled as Roman spoke, not realizing that the other had looked up at him in the midst of his introspection. He cleared his throat, willing away the blush he was sure coated his cheeks, and turned to the canvas. He conjured a ruler and began to work, completely missing the smitten look on Roman’s face.

I love you. Two dots. A dot followed by a dash and two more dots. Three dashes. Three dots and a dash. One dot. Dash, dot, dash, dash. Three more dashes. Two dots and a dash.

I love you. The thought rang loud through Logan’s head as he finished his carefully painted, coded masterpiece.

I love you. Every preparatory movement Roman made while the paint dried caused Logan’s heart to feel like it would pound out of his chest cavity.

I love you.

I love you.

I-

“Specs?”

Roman was looking at him.

“I beg your pardon, my mind was somewhere else. Did you require something?”

Roman smiled, a brilliant smile that made Logan feel like he’s swallowed a kaleidoscope of rhopalocera.

“I just wanted to say that your painting is extremely well done! It is the perfect complement to my prompt!”

“May I ask what your prompt is?”

“Of course! I have been asked to paint a picture of the most glorious creature in existence, the prince of my dreams!”

A lead weight dropped in Logan’s gut.

Of course. His ‘I love you’ was pointless in the face of Roman’s burning affection for someone else. Logan wondered which Side it was, because there was no way he was Roman’s prince.

Roman had described his ‘prince’ as handsome and witty and perfect. All things that Logan most decidedly was not.

All was well. His ‘I love you’ would just be a background to Roman’s. It would surely pale in comparison to the beauty of Roman’s own confession via painting.

All was not well. Roman spent the entire time he was painting singing various inane love songs, from Disney to Broadway to Taylor Swift. And Logan had to sit there and listen, nursing a mug of tea that would surely go cold in his unfeeling hands.

‘I love you’ was a horrible phrase to say.

“Logan? You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, L, you good? You don’t look so hot.”

Logan took the out he was offered.

“I fear I may be coming down with something. Perhaps I ought to go rest. Please continue to enjoy yourselves, I would hate for this to be cut short for my sake.”

Remus and Deceit looked up from the canvases they shared with Patton and Virgil respectively at the disturbance, but Roman was too engrossed to look away from his painting.

Logan sighed and sunk out, tears prickling at the back of his eyes as he did so.

~~

Roman finished his masterwork with a flourish, and came slowly back to the present.

“-Logan? We’re Sides, we can get sick.”

“Maybe he’s dying! We can die, Deedee! Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Remus!”

Was there something wrong? With Logan?

Logan, the love of Roman’s life? The Prince of his dreams? The adorable nerd that Roman was using today’s project to confess to? He and Patton planned it all out, how they would confess to their respective crushes. All Roman had to do was show Logan the hyper-realistic line art of him that Roman had painted on top of Logan’s red and gold De Stijl background. It was perfect!

But…

Logan was nowhere to be seen.

“Patton? Where did Logan go?”

“He wasn’t feeling well, kiddo, so he went to his room. I’m about to go check on him.”

“No, no, I’ll go!”

Patton thought for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Alright, kiddo, but be gentle with him if something is wrong.”

Roman saluted and sunk out, determined to find his beloved and save him from whatever was ailing him.

He knocked gently on Logan’s door.

“Go away, Patton.”

“Tis I, Microsoft Nerd! Are you unwell?”

There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then the door opened, revealing Logan, who… Definitely did not look well. His tie was loose, his hair was untidy, and his eyes were rimmed in red.

“Have you- have you been crying? What is troubling you, that I might find it and kill it?” Roman drew his sword, ready to go on the offense for his love.

Logan laughed wetly, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. “I love you.”

Both Sides stopped short, Roman staring in delight at his beloved and Logan staring back in abject horror as he realized what he said.

The logical Side started to slam the door, a furious blush rising on his face, but Roman was faster, getting his foot in the way.

There was so much he wanted to say. ‘I love you too.’ ‘You are more wonderful than any beautiful thing in this world.’ ‘Can I kiss you?’ But all that came out was:

“I finished the painting. Will you come see it?”

Logan’s face closed off in an instant, but he fixed his tie and snapped his face clear of any indication that he’d been crying. Then he straightened his posture, as if steeling himself for something unpleasant, and nodded once.

Roman grabbed his arm and rose them both up in front of the completed painting.

Logan was quiet for a long while. In fact, the whole room was quiet, as if waiting along with Roman’s bated breath.

“But… That’s me.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Me?” Squeaked Logan, looking up at Roman with wide eyes.

“May I kiss you, Logan?”

The logical Side nodded dumbly, and Roman leaned down for his long-awaited true love’s kiss. It was just as magical as he’d dreamed, especially when Logan started participating.

When they finally broke apart for air, the other four Sides started applauding, causing Logan to blush heavily and bury his head in Roman’s chest.

Roman, for one, wasn’t complaining at all.

[piraytoro]

Please please PLEASE give us the thought process behind picking everyone’s true form

The archangels and antagonists specifically punched me and took all my lunch money with how spot on they felt

I have actually gotten three asks about this so far, so I’ve decided that I’m going to give an explanation for one of the posts in response to each ask. I’m going to do the antagonists here.

Uriel: This one is very imposing, it looks like a spray of feathers. The gold is striking, and to me it represents power, but it’s the only color outside of black and white, which represents his rigid thinking. The whole image gives me the vibe of a crown of feathers, representing Uriel’s belief in the purity of angels and their cause, as well as his feeling of superiority over humans. But all this aside, this is one of the images that I saw and immediately knew which angel it was, before I thought much about my reasoning at all. I saw it and said, “oh, that one’s definitely Uriel.”

Metatron: This one reminds me of an emperor penguin, because of the colors, the shapes, and the textures. That’s not why I chose it for Metatron but that’s what made it first catch my eye. It’s fairly simplistic in colors, in a similar way to Uriel’s, because Metatron thinks he’s a lot more creative than he actually is. There’s something almost sinister about this picture, although you might not notice it at first glance. I think it’s the way the yellow and white peaks in front stand out, but there are others looming in shadow in the background.

Zachariah: I chose this one for Zachariah because it reminds me of a painting you might see hanging in an upscale hotel. Not like a millionaire hotel but more like a nice hotel your boss puts you up in while you’re on a business trip for your white collar office job. It’s abstract but kind of in a boring and predictable way. It’s colorful, but the colors are kind of muted. There’s also a lot of negative space. I don’t know, this is another one that I looked at and immediately went “oh yeah that’s Zachariah.”

Hester: We don’t really know that much about Hester aside from the fact that she was in Cas’s garrison and said that iconic line about Dean corrupting everything that touches him. Castiel was lost the second he laid a hand on him. Icon. This image looks kind of like blue and light green feathers proliferating out from a single point, which is pretty cool. This one was chosen mostly based on vibes, I don’t have a great explanation besides just saying that this looks like Hester. Idk.

Naomi: Okay THIS one I have a lot to say about. So this one I originally saw in a portrait orientation rather than landscape, with the blue on top, which honestly works better but looked weird when all the other ones were sideways. So the blue on top/the left represents the placid minds of the people who she’s brainwashed, as well as her own outwardly placid demeanor. However, there’s chaos underneath, and it’s trying to break out, represented by the cracks in the blue. In the original orientation, it looked like blood was bleeding down from the red dots, representing the cost of that “peace.” It’s also the exact visual of the blood leaking from Cas’s eyes as he started to remember what she pushed down. There’s a violence to her, underneath the calm veneer.

Anael: This is actually one of the ones from the very first edition of this post before I decided it worked better without the explanations included. Here’s what I had there. “Dark, with a sort of murkiness to the colors. Gives the sense of things hidden, secrets. Inconsistent coloration, with combinations that look ever so slightly off. Deceitful. Lots of negative space, like something has been removed or depleted.” I think that pretty much stands for itself. The shading also lends to this, as well as the sketchiness at the edges of some of the shapes.

Ishim: This is one of the ones that I thought was pretty cool at first but came to really, really love the more I looked at it. It looks somewhat like a third grader’s interpretation of the sun if an artist rendered it. It has a quality to it that makes it almost look like a woodcut. I chose this one for Ishim because of the way it looks like fractured light. I also think that the “body” of the “sun” in the top right corner is dark, like a dying star going supernova. Cas once saw Ishim as someone to look up to and follow, but he sees that the angel army has been rotten from the get-go, causing pain and suffering by carrying out orders they don’t question.

Duma: This one is really cool to me personally because it looks kind of like the inside of a cell and I am a gigantic science nerd. Tell me the left side of this doesn’t look like the Golgi apparatus. I chose this one for Duma because it’s complex and intricate, and it looks almost maze-like. The pattern of the colors makes it look almost like there’s a shape being partially obscured by the negative space. Like a puzzle missing pieces, and if you were to find those pieces an image would emerge.

Ephraim: This one also piques the interest of my science brain because it reminds me of synapses, where electric currents are carried from one brain cell to another. However, there are black veins running down through one side of the image, like death spreading at the cellular level. All of the pinks represent the pink mist left behind after Ephraim’s kills, and the apparent incongruity between that color—the color of bubblegum, a color associated with innocence, levity, happiness—and the gravity of Ephraim’s job is interesting to consider. The side of the image with the black veins running through it is more colorful, with a wider range of colors, even though the black is there—a black that is NOT present on the pink side which represents death—representing the pain that Ephraim senses from humans that naturally comes along with experiencing a wider spectrum of emotions. But this spectrum, with its pain, also includes a happiness and freedom that Ephraim will never know.

Gadreel: This particular image is interesting because it’s really the only one with such a sharp delineation down the center, with fairly solid colors on both sides. This represents the duality that Gadreel presents within the narrative itself, as well as his personal struggle between two loyalties. The fact that the separation doesn’t go straight up and down the image is also interesting to me, and it almost gives the appearance of falling, to represent Gadreel’s fall from grace, and the red droplets on the right side represent the damage that was done when Gadreel fell.

[nitewrighter]

We need more ASOIAF gency pls

Oh man it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written for that AU. And by hot minute I mean three years.

Previous Ficlets: 1, 2

“The nature of humanity is every so often we accidentally reinvent the Jaime/Brienne Bath Scene.”

-----

They waited for a long while until the rain on the sept would let up, but it seemed the rain would only reduce itself, not stop completely. As time passed it was argued that if they didn’t want to spend the night in that crumbling sept, they would have to keep moving. Mercy would have preferred them to stay where they were and allowed Genji more time to recover from his injuries, but conceded being this exposed to the cold and wet only put him at further risk for suppuration. Orisa had a map on her person that indicated a village a few hours’ travel southwest. After some bickering debate with a still somewhat delirious Genji, the three of them found themselves walking the kingsroad in a prickling drizzle, the rolling hills of the Riverlands seemingly buckling under the white weight of mist.

 Both Orisa and Mercy had insisted on putting Genji up on Orisa’s horse, Dynast, with his injuries, and he argued something about looking like an ass making a Septa walk while he rode, but eventually Orisa just hoisted him up into the saddle and his wince from his wounds cut off any further argument. Genji rode with a sour frown on his face. His hand still over the point where Mercy had laid the kingscopper poultice over the worst of his wounds.  She tried not to look at him too much as they walked, and when she did, she did her best to convince herself that it was out of concern for his injuries, not studying the face of the would-be betrothed she was supposed to be fleeing. The mud of the road sucked up around Mercy’s boots and skirts, and at one point got so deep that she stumbled when her foot loosened in her boot. She stumbled and lost her balance, flailing and braced herself for a face full of mud, but then she felt a hand catch her arm. 

“Thank you, Lady Orisa--” she started as she regained her footing and yanked her skirts up out of the mud with her other hand, but then she realized the hand gripping her wasn’t armored. 

She glanced up to see Genji, the drizzle making his dark hair stick to his forehead. He had caught her arm before she could fall in the mud.

“Th-thank you, My Lord,” she managed, glancing off as they resumed walking.

“That’s fine armor you have on, Lady Orisa,” Genji commented on as Orisa flipped up the visor of her horned helmet with the darkening skies, “Stormlands?”

“Yes,” said Orisa, glancing off.

“...And you swore your sword to the Seven to avoid being conscripted into Ogundimu’s power grab, I take it?” said Genji, turning his attention back forward.

“I swore my sword to the light of the seven because I trust gods more than men, Lord Shimada,” said Orisa tersely, giving a weary and wary glance to Mercy.  Mercy wondered which of the seven hells they would be going to for their deceit... but then again she was already disgracing Woolflower Hall by fleeing her betrothal and lying to her betrothed’s face, might as well throw heresy into the mix. They had only meant to get Mercy to Oldtown, but now they were losing time and ground, and they were in the company of the very person they were supposed to be fleeing.

“Practical,” Genji said with some amusement, “I bet the Smith’s your favorite.”

A prickle of fear went through both Orisa and Mercy at the mention of the Smith. It was the Patron aspect of the Sept at Aurochs-ford Hall, the seat of House Oladele--was Genji saying he knew which house Orisa was sworn to before she started protecting Mercy? 

Play the role and the fool, Mercy decided, Fear only rouses more suspicion.

“They’re aspects of a septune god, My Lord, you’re not supposed to have ‘favorites,’” said Mercy, assuming the best holier-than-thou Septa voice she could.

“Doesn’t stop folk from having one. Personally, I like the Stranger,” said Genji, clearly goading her. So he was just talking. Spouting charming nonsenses to fill the air. 

Your fear is getting the better of you, Mercy thought to herself, He’s a vain and silly lordling, and once he’s safely at the Inn, you can leave him first thing in the morning.

“Best not to say that too loud with your injuries, my lord,” said Mercy, giving him a shrewd sidelong glance.

He gave her a smile, though she assumed it was more at his own teasing than anything.

It was only dusk, but with the weather so bad it may as well have been night by the time they reached the Inn of the Kneeling Man. The innkeep was a tall, uncomely woman whose sharp, dark eyes scanned across the three of them as they stabled their horse and walked in--bloody, muddy, and soaked to the bone. She eyed Genji’s clothes.

“...bit of a small traveling party for a lordling,” the innkeep remarked.

Genji scoffed. “We will be needing a room. Two tubs. And enough hot water for three baths. If you have access to Ravens, I should need pen and paper as well. I must write my brother to let him know where his machinations have landed me.”

“He was injured by brigands,” Mercy explained, “Is there a Maester we can call who can attend his injuries as he bathes?”

“There’s a sept in a village a few hours’ ride north,” said the Innkeep, “But to get word to him and for him to get down here...he wouldn’t be here but by morning.”

“...Ah,” Mercy glanced down.

“But it was you who set the poultice earlier. Getting tired of me already, Septa?” Genji tilted his head at her.

 Mercy caught herself. If she had attended his injuries before, why would she stop now? Because he would be in a bath? She felt her ears burn and was thankful they were covered by a Septa’s wimple. 

“A maester would be better equipped for someone of your status, my lord,” said Mercy, glancing off.

“I’m too tired to wait hours for an old man to hobble over on a donkey in the dead of night and look me over,” said Genji with an eye-roll, “You’re a healer, and you’ve kept me alive this long. Besides, it’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

“...of course, my lord,” there was a slight shake to her agreement and Orisa looked over her with some alarm.

“Lady Orisa, you’ve been walking in armor for hours,” said Mercy, “You may take your bath in our room, and I will see to Lord Shimada.”

Orisa’s eyes flicked to Genji, now haggling with the innkeep and explaining he would leave his chestplate as collateral for payment for the night before arranging with his brother to send them gold, and then back to Mercy. There was a wary confusion in her eyes but Mercy gave her a glance that said, “We’ll play our roles.” 

----

“Perhaps you can feign a cold?” said Orisa, peeling off her armor as an Innmaid filled her wooden tub with steaming water from a kettle.

“He did say it was nothing I haven’t seen before,” Mercy responded quietly, “And--and I’ve already been healing him, and I’ve read plenty of Maester’s texts on medicine and anatomy,” Mercy scoffed, “He’s right. It’s nothing. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Orisa gave Mercy an arched-eyebrow before stepping into the tub, a shuddering exhale falling out of her as she sank into the water. “Just... call me if you need me Lady An--I mean, Septa Mercy,” she said, sighing as she settled in, letting the warmth sooth her muscles. Mercy nodded, took her bag of herbs and stepped out of the room. Genji’s room in the inn was down the hall, and she heard him wincing even before she opened the door.

With the creak of wood the words, “I can undress myself--ngh!” flinched out of Genji as Mercy walked around him. Another innmaid had filled his tub and hurried out of the room, eyes cast down. Genji looked up over his shoulder at her. “Septa,” he said with a slight nod as she closed the distance between them.

“...My lord,” she said stepping in front of him and then focusing on the buckles of his brigantine. He winced as she pushed it off over his shoulders.

“I must thank you, Septa Mercy,” he said, stuffing down a grunt of pain as they both worked to get his tunic over his head, “And apologize. I’m sure your true calling is making life more bearable for the smallfolk, not thrust into the role of one more servant to a Storm Lord.”

“Well, for the sake of the smallfolk, one must make sure nothing befalls our noble storm lords,” said Mercy. He leaned against her as he stepped out of his boots, his breath drawing in tense. All that remained were his breeches. She looked with some concern down at the laces and became distracted for a second by the lines of his stomach. He was leaner than she would expect a lordling to be--scrappy and lithe, almost catlike, like a sellsword. She bit the inside of her lip and tried to remind herself that it was like the corpse diagrams of her Maester’s texts.

“They always suffer our petty dramas the most, don’t they?” Genji sighed, undoing the laces of his breeches to Mercy’s relief. He moved to pull his pants down and then grunted again. Mercy stepped back, giving him some space to try and maneuver better while still supporting him, he made eye contact with her, moved to pull down the breeches once more, and then drew in a pained breath through his teeth. “Septa,” he said tensely, “Know that I am a proud man, and were I capable, I would not ask you to perform this task but...” 

“...Right,” Mercy said, “I can...” she trailed off. Could she? Suddenly she was a stupid noble lady of Woolflower Hall sitting around uselessly again, not the practical, powerful healer she aspired to be. Or was she simply not that with Genji, studying her now with those dark eyes framed by thick eyelashes and even thicker brows? 

“Septa--?” he said and Mercy tried to use the panic her own hesitation induced to speed her hands without shaking them. Bracing one hand to support the uninjured side of his torso, she yanked down his breeches at several awkward points. She tried to focus her eyes on the chamberpot underneath the bed behind Genji before she finally managed to get his breeches down past his knees and rising up to support him at the shoulders as he stepped out of them. A huff escaped him, but she kept supporting his weight as he finally (finally!) stepped into the bath. She helped him lower as much as she could, but her own exhaustion from their travels had pushed her to her limits, and there was only so much weight she could support while bending over. But his own legs were jelly, and rendered even more so by the warm water around him, and he gracelessly plopped into the tub, sending water sloshing over the sides and grunting as he supported himself with his arms on the sides of the washbasin. The poultice on his side was coming apart, sending up small white and yellow flowers and tea-leaf-like bits floating up on the surface of the bath. The smell of them was soothing though. “Not exactly a gentle healer, are you?” said Genji, easing up in the bath. She studied the other injuries on his body. No signs of suppuration. No injuries on his legs that she had missed back in the ruined Sept. His delirium seemed to be mostly shock and blood loss. Good. 

Mercy laughed nervously at his words before quickly stepping away to prepare another poultice from her bag. “I suppose I’m used to treating rougher sorts--Smallfolk, you know.” She tried not to turn around as she worked. Tried not to look at the shifting of his shoulders and chest, or the little droplets running down it. She knew she would have to eventually, to clean off the remains of the old poultice, help him out, and apply the fresh one, but she focused on tearing apart herbs with shaking fingers.

Genji gave an amused huff out of his nostrils. “I suppose so,” he said quietly, “I used to envy them, used to think they were free enough to not be married off like chattel--but they are, same as us. I should just count myself lucky I’m not giving goats to Woolflower Hall.”

He brushed his wet hair back from his face as Mercy stepped over with a clean cloth and began wiping away the remainders of the old poultice.

“And my bride’s even less thrilled about it than I am, I look forward to having that much in common with her--nnh!” he winced, the water around the wound pinkening with blood as she brushed more kingscopper from him, “...if she’s not---

“Dead in a ditch somewhere?” said Mercy, “Yes. You’ve said. I will pray to the Maiden for her safe--”

“For her safe return, yes, you’ve said,” said Genji, clearly trying to talk through the pain.

Her eyes flicked up to him from his wound. “If you need more time to soak...” she started.

“I fear I’m a bit too lightheaded for that,” said Genji with a chuckle as she got up to fetch him a cloth to dry off with, “Oh Warrior, please lend our dear Septa your strength to get my useless arse out of the bath--Pardon the profanity.”

“You’re not exactly a gentle lordling yourself,” said Mercy, arching an eyebrow.

Genji just held an arm out to her. “Storm lord,” he said giving her a dizzy smile that made her stomach tense.

She cleared her throat, dropped to one knee next to the bath, shouldered his arm while bringing hers around his back, then slowly rose to her feet, bringing him up with her. A pained, grunting breath fell out of him, and he was dripping water all over her. A wave of lightheadedness visibly hit Genji as he rose, but Mercy was too busy trying not to look down, trying to focus on the chamberpot again as Genji almost drunkenly swung one leg over the edge of the washbasin.

“There...we go....” Genji winced. The day’s exhaustion was soaked into Mercy, too though. She could feel her legs shaking under his weight. 

“Genji?” she said warily.

“’Sfine...” Genji grunted, “’mfine, Storm lord...” his weight was swaying with only her as his support.

“Let’s get you over to the bed...” she grunted, walking over, trying not to look down. 

“Would that you were my bride, all... strong and no-nonsense... treating my wounds... like a song...” Genji seemed to be talking just to keep himself awake at this point, but his words made Mercy’s neck prickle with panic, “Alas, you’re married to the Seven...” His head lolled. He couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus. 

Just get him to the bed, thought Mercy, Just get him to the bed, and get the other poultice on--

But then she slipped in the puddle of water Genji was dripping on the floor. And Genji was in no state to catch her this time. Quite the opposite. She landed on her hip with a pained grunt and Genji completely limp and naked on top of her. 

“Orisa!” the call came out of her as a flinch and there was a thunder of footsteps down the hall and Orisa wrenched the door open, clad only in a white cloth wrapped around her torso from the bath, but still wielding her arming sword.

“You would dishonor a Septa--!” she started furiously, but then she noted Genji’s complete limpness on top of her, “...please tell me he isn’t dead,” said Orisa.

“He’s passed out. Help me get him onto the bed,” said Mercy, attempting to flip the sodden cloth at Genji’s hip over his bare ass. 

“...I’m pretty sure when Lady Efi charged me with your protection, she didn’t imagine us doing anything like this,” said Orisa. 

“Orisa!” said Mercy, struggling under Genji’s unconscious frame.

Orisa sighed and bent down.

Together they managed get him onto the bed and cover his nakedness with a blanket. Mercy set a fresh poultice over his wound and watched for a few moments as his chest shallowly rose and fell. 

“Thank you, Orisa,” said Mercy, pushing the stray strands of hair that had fallen loose from her wimple back.

“Did we not agree we were getting you away from this betrothal?” Orisa’s voice was hushed, “Getting you to Oldtown so you could properly study the healing arts? Getting you away from the bitter rivalry of Storm Lords?”

“I know,” said Mercy, looking at Genji’s pale and scarred face, “...I know.”

“...I am getting my bedclothes on,” said Orisa flatly, “And you might see about getting a bath yourself.”

The exhaustion was deep in Mercy’s bones at this point, but the word ‘Bath’ gave her an unwanted flare of adrenaline.