#fic: kings play

[atzfilm]

king’s play (m);

🎨 wc/pairing; professor!hj/f.professor reader (4,1k)

🎨 genre/content; college!au, fluff, smut: rushed, explicit & unprotected smut 

🎨 summary; shadowing your colleague as a new professor, you come to realize the reason why his classes are at full capacity within five minutes of registration

🎨 note; this is self-indulgent and i have no remorse you all are coming down with me.

You balance three coffees in one hand as you rush up the steps, desperately trying to be on time once in your life. Students say hi to you as you run past, a quick smile as you greet them back. You have exactly one minute until your dean scolds you for being late, again, and you were sure this was the time you would be there. But unfortunately the train stopped in the middle of the tracks for a car accident, twice, and it left you with barely enough time to get here. A short 15 minute ride turned into an hour one. It’s not your fault, no, but she’d somehow blame it on you. You push through the front doors, almost dropping a cup as you run through the halls.

“Fifteen seconds!” You fly by Professor Jung’s class, shooting him a glare as he laughs at you, closing his classroom door. You slide around a corner, almost making it to the auditorium. The bells ring before you can open the doors. You slow down, swinging it open with your free pinky and running inside. The room is already full with your students, the Dean sitting in the corner of the classroom, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose. She sighs softly, rubbing her face as you run up the steps, placing the coffee carefully on the podium. You throw your bag down on the table next to it, reaching for the projector remote and turning it on.

The chatting from the students fades out when you clear your throat, tapping on the mic lightly.

“Today’s lesson,” you start, trying to catch your breath. “Is that you never trust public transportation. Ever,” you add. A few students chuckle, your Dean’s frown deepening. The world must be against you; on the one day you needed to be early you couldn’t. And it’s the day she evaluates how you run your classes. You sigh into the mic, rubbing your face. “Pardon me, but I left my usb on the train by accident. Still, you all have the slides I emailed you correct?”

A hand is raised in the front, and you gesture to her. “Yes, Soyeon?”

She points to your side table, “Professor, the coffee is spilling everywhere.”

You quickly turn, the brown liquid dripping to the floor. Perfect. Just… perfect.

“That was a disappointing show you gave me this afternoon, Professor y/n,” your Dean says once all the students leave. There’s no use in hanging your head in shame, but you do anyway. It was indeed embarrassing, but you could’ve been worse. You heard that one of the anatomy professors broke a projector and wrote on the whiteboard in permanent marker.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean for anything like that to happen. We were supposed to use the coffee for watercolor, but so many things went wrong and…” you trail off, her unpleasant frown only deepening as you try to excuse yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“This is unacceptable,” she starts up again, tucking her files into a thick black binder. “I’ll have to reduce your classes next semester, Professor. At least until you get your act together. You won’t earn a permanent spot on the faculty if you continue down this route.” She stands, tucking her purse underneath her shoulder.

“Wait, is there anything I can do? Please, I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I had an amazing lesson planned but things just happened. Please Dean, I really do apologize. I’ll do my best the rest of the semester.” You can’t lose your spot here. This is one of the top universities in the country, and being fired or removed from the faculty is a black stain on your record. No one would want to hire you. You’d be forced to move back to your hometown, and deal with the disappointed looks your parents will give you.

She pauses, eyeing you. “Despite your display today, the students do enjoy your classes. You’ve had high ratings in comparison to the other adjuncts that are currently here. So although I do not like what happened, I can give you another chance. Professor Kim Hongjoong is teaching another class right after this block, and I would like for you to shadow him. Attend his class tonight, and speak to him after about times where he can help assist you in your journey to possibly becoming a full time faculty member. Will that be okay with you?”

“Yes!” you say it a bit too loudly, coughing. “I mean, yes. Thank you for helping me out.”

"You do know the reason why I observed your class. A student complained about your tardiness. That is something we don't allow at our university."

"I understand," you plaster a fake smile as she nods, leaving you behind in the classroom. You know exactly which student told on you; the only person you've ever failed. He was the grandson of one of the university's largest donors (to the point where a building was named after their family) so it was unthinkable to fail a student in that high regard. You hate nepotism, so you didn't give them a chance. He barely showed up to class, and expected an A? You could barely hold in your exasperated scoff when he complained to you. And that choice led you to now. On the brink of losing your job.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, making your way back to the podium to pick up your things. Shadowing Professor Kim. It's going to be a long, long night.

-

You grip the large coffee in your hand as you walk in the classroom. It’s a large art studio, several paintings on display already. You were going to take a seat in the back, but you decided to place your things on the side and observe the work instead. You take slow steps, taking in each painting. Being an art professor yourself, you can see what techniques each student used, and where they lacked. But overall, the paintings were amazing, especially for a freshman class. Students began to walk in while you were walking around, so you sit in the far back, enough to not disturb but close enough to see what’s going on.

“Evening,” Professor Kim walks into the classroom. You’ve seen him on campus a lot. The art department is pretty liberal with its dress code but he always stands out from the rest; customized clothing that he obviously did himself, piercings lining his ear, nose, and brow. Most of his clothing is oversized but it fits him well. You’ve sat near him in meetings, his jovial nature contagious. And he wasn’t bad looking, at all. You often were at a loss whenever he spoke, his soft tone pleasing to the ear.

Hongjoong gives easy smiles to the students, chatting with each before he gets to the middle of the circle. He claps his hands, a light grin on his lips. “Ready to paint tonight? A quick recap, we’re on the last night of this painting, and for the next, it’ll be freestyle. Any painting medium you’d like, just make sure you can finish it in five sessions.”

Light groans fall from the lips of the students, and he nods, “I know I know. I’d rather at least eight, but we only have six classes left until your final. Need five of those to work on it. Oh,” his eyes flick to yours. “Didn’t even realize we had a guest.”

“Ah, sorry. Thought the Dean mentioned it,” you say, bowing quickly to him. He waves you off, telling the students to start on his paintings. He makes his way over to you, hopping over brushes that lie scattered across the tiles. He stumbles slightly over his own feet, before making it to you and stretching out his hand. You take it with ease, noticing his painted nails. They’re black, fingers adorned with rings.

No wonder students fought to get into his class.

“I’ve seen you in meetings, but we never get the chance to speak,” he says, grinning. “Nice to officially meet you. I’m Professor Kim, but you already know that.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Professor y/n,” your smile matches his. “But of course, you already know that.”

He laughs loudly, completely genuine. “Well, I’m assuming the Dean put you up to this? She always sends people she doesn’t like to my class,” he sighs. “Not your fault!” he says quickly, eyes widening. “God, now you probably think it is your fault. This is why the other professors don’t like me.” His pout is almost adorable, but you don’t get the chance to dwell. A student calls him over, and he apologizes, leaving you back to your own devices.

You sit back in your spot, watching as he speaks to the students softly. You hear various music genres playing out of students’ headphones as he makes his way around. He definitely has a lot of leeway in his class, the Dean telling you that you couldn’t allow students to play music while they’re drawing. Sure, this is your first semester teaching at this university, but you know how to run a classroom. You’ve been teaching at public highschools for years. So you sit there bitterly, watching as students listen to his advice, his slight jumps when he thinks of an idea, his widened eyes as he listens to their feedback. You could probably watch him all day.

A soft bell rings out in class. He turns off his alarm, saying his goodbyes to students. They clean up their workstations as he packs his things, moving around the students and making his way over to you. “So, what d'ya think?” He wiggles his brows, his piercing moving along with it. “I honestly am not too sure why she’d make you shadow my class, especially in the middle of the semester. I’m not doing much but watch them paint,” he rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“Nope, I can definitely see why they’ve taken this class,” you admit, looking at the paintings. “I mean, they’re just freshmen and they already have their own styles and ways of doing things. And you don’t dismiss it like I’ve seen others do. You embrace it and encourage them to build on it,” you meet his eyes. “Think you have an open spot for a professor?”

He laughs, blush coating his cheeks. “You’re flattering me.”

“Maybe, or maybe I’m being one-hundred-percent honest,” you grin, throwing your tote over your shoulder. “I think a few of your students have questions. I’ll see you next class, hm?” You gesture to a group of young women.

He nods, wishing you a goodnight and quickly moving over to the students. You shake your head at him, moving around the easels and leaving the room.

-

It’s a bit intimate, watching another’s eyes as they focus on something else entirely. The quiet observation, hushed breath as they take in whatever they’re looking at. Observing how they smile, their eyes widening in realization, the way their gaze flicks to yours in awe. It’s overwhelming when your eyes finally meet, your stomach dropping slightly when they look at you in surprise. There Hongjoong is, staring at your eyes as you look back in shock. You wonder if he felt the drop that you usually do, but he keeps your gaze, soft and innocent. Until you see his pierced brow quirk up, waiting for you to say something. That’s when you have to tear away, show your excitement without focusing on his gaze.

“I can believe you have this set! I mean, how? Really, how. Did you steal it from Picasso or something? Raid an art supplier? Professor Kim, this is insane,” you hold it delicately. As if the palette will suddenly shatter if you gripped it too tightly. Of course it wouldn’t, but no ordinary person just holds this.

You’ve been shadowing him for the past two weeks, watching as he walked around the classroom with effortless confidence, spoke to his students with excitement only someone who’s passionate about their subject could muster. Professor Kim Hongjoong was one of the most talented and spirited colleagues you’ve ever met. A lot of them were older and cared less about teaching art (not all, but many). But the way he commanded the room had you silent, staring in awe. Looking past his outer appearance, he cared about what he did. And it only made your dilemma more difficult.

The two of you spent time outside of class together; at first speaking about classes, but soon going into discussions about personal lives and hobbies. You learned that he had his own studio and he invited you to it one night. So, here you are, staring at one of the rarest painting palettes to exist.

Hongjoong laughs at your suggestions, shrugging. It’s modest how casual he is about having it in his possession, and it’d make you want to slap him if you weren’t so immersed in the bright colors. “A friend of mine had a friend who was friends with a famous art seller. Word spreads around, and I found out where they sold these sets. I sold my first car just to get it,” he says.

Your eyes almost fall from their sockets. “You’re shitting me.”

“Shh,” he holds a paint covered finger to his lips, glancing at the open studio door. “The dean will kill us both if she hears you speaking with banned, colorful words,” he wiggles his fingers, and you laugh. “What? You know her, she’d take classes away from me next semester!”

“Not you, but maybe me,” you say, placing the palette back in its place. “She’s been out to get me ever since I won that faculty award last February,” you frown. “It’s not like she could win anyway, no one likes her. And it’s rare for a student to enjoy her history classes. I barely kept my eyes open when I was an undergrad here.”

He frowns. "I was unfortunately one of those faculty members that had to sit in on one of her lectures. I can see why her ratings were so low," he snickers. "Her tenure was definitely the only thing keeping her here. And she isn't too bad as the dean. A bit straight laced for an art school, but you have to be in a position like that.”

“Yea,” you agree, placing the palette back in its spot. You look around the room. You can tell that he loved using acrylics the most, his paintings abstract and bright. But you saw racks and racks of custom clothing as well. It was definitely a messy studio, he mentioned it before you entered, but you loved it. It’s like you’re walking into his mind, seeing what he’s seeing. You stop at an unfinished painting. It looks like a person, though you can’t quite tell who it is.

“That’s my first love,” he says behind you, hands tucked in his pockets. “She tore up my heart, but she was my muse and the start of my journey. S’not finished, but,” he runs his hands along the outside of the canvas. “Not sure if I want to finish it anyway.”

“It’s already beautiful,” you say, tilting your head. The strokes are bold, as if he was angry as he painted. It’s barely done, but you can already imagine where it’ll end up. “Fucking Hell. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met.”

His laugh is loud, echoing around the large room. You turn to him in mock anger, pouting. “Are you laughing at me, Professor Kim?”

He nods, “Don’t know why I get all giggly when I’m around you. Maybe it’s because you’re my crush.”

“Don’t tease,” you roll your eyes, ignoring the thump in your throat. You hold it in, only a grin exposing your feelings.

-

Nothing else came of that night. Just you wondering each day if he actually meant those words. If he found you attractive, if he had a crush on you. He didn’t mention it again to you either, the heavy flirting continuing. It almost made you feel a bit kiddish, thinking about your crush on him. You thought you grew out of the giggling with your friends about a boy stage, but apparently not. You’ve spent each night recollecting his words, screaming into your pillow. It was embarrassing and you’d rather not think about it. But he’s been on your mind ever since, taking over every day dream.

“It’s pathetic,” you murmur, putting an earbud in your ear. You’re at the annual conference with other professor’s, making a painting to showcase at the end of the event. You only had a few hours and you barely started, most of your canvas empty. You glance to your side, looking at Hongjoong’s. His was as covered as yours, so it was a relief. You looked back at your painting, feeling a heavy stare.

You glance to the side again, Hongjoong meeting your gaze.

“I hate being stared at, you know,” you retort. His lips curve into that lopsided grin of his, your face warming without remorse. “That implies that I want you to stop staring, Professor Kim.”

“It’s your fault you’re so pretty, Professor. It’s a bit hard to look away even for a brief moment,” he says softly. But he follows what you say, eyes moving back to his painting. As if he didn’t utter the tenderest compliment you’ve ever heard. You let your hand rest against your chest, trying to control your heart. You don’t notice how his eyes flick back to yours for a moment, amused.

"You can't say things like that," you start. He pauses his stroke, glancing at you.

"Why not?"

"People might get the wrong idea." (People = yourself).

"And what if it's not wrong at all?" He raises that pierced brow of his again. It's taking everything in you to stay in your spot, your teeth grinding together as you grip your stump. Think good thoughts think good thoughts–

"I want you, Professor y/n. It's as simple as that," he adds in.

You almost press the paintbrush into the canvas, hard. You look around quickly, the other professors in the room too immersed in their artwork to notice what he’s saying. And all of them have headphones on, so his soft whispers won’t go past you. You look back at him, wetting your paintbrush.

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper back, lightly mixing the red.

He sighs softly, “I’m not teasing. I don’t know how much more obvious I can make it. We’ve been on two dates already.”

This time, you do paint incorrectly, your brush falling to the floor. You grab your cloth, dabbing the canvas quickly to get rid of the mistake. Luckily it disappears in an instant. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to Hongjoong. You lean closer to your canvas, making sure no one can read your lips.

“Two dates? I don’t even remember the first?”

“First, my studio. Second,” he gestures around here. “This.”

“You’re calling this conference a date?”

“I invited you to sit next to me,” he smiles, glancing at you. “Is that not enough for one?”

Kim Hongjoong may be one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid your eyes on, but man, was he a dumbass. You nudge his foot, glaring at him. “You are such a-!”

“Hm?” He raises his brow. “Such a what, y/n?”

You lose your train of thought, mouth opening and closing as he stares at you in amusement. You never thought that someone saying your name would sound so… alluring. You swallow, turning back to your painting. He doesn’t say anything else to you, but you feel his shoe tap yours. You still don’t say a word, even as his foot covers yours.

“I swear Hongjoong–”

He stops tapping, and you falter.

“Hongjoong?” He whispers softly. “Fuck, say my name again.”

Nope.

You stand, grabbing his arm. He yelps, a few professors glancing. This is completely and utterly unprofessional, but you don’t care at that moment. Because right now, you want to find the nearest empty conference room and - well. You drag him into the first room you see. Just as you peek in and make sure no one is around, he shuts and locks the door behind you. There’s only a momentary pause, before his lips are on yours. His work is quick, teeth hitting against one another’s, vests tossed to the side, coats somewhere on the opposite side of the room. Your back hits the conference table rather harshly, ouch spilling from your lips. It makes his quick pace falter for a moment to look at you in concern, but you’re already unbuttoning your blouse. He lifts his shirt up with one hand, and you have only but a brief moment to admire his tattoo decorated skin before he’s on you again.

“Think they’ll notice we’re gone?” You tease through kisses, his lips traveling down your neck. He snorts slightly, looking back up at you.

“They wouldn’t if you weren’t so involved in the presentations,” he slips off his pants, playing with the buckle of yours. Your hands cover his, aiding him. Soon enough you’re both pantless

“No one was speaking up, there had to be a sacrifice- oh-”

His fingers slip into your underwear, sinking into you with ease. His palm nudges your clit as he does so, lips still against your neck. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer into you. He curls them, moving in and out quickly. You hold back a moan, fingers digging into his skin. You hear a speaker in the distance, grabbing his hands and pulling them out. He looks at you in confusion, but you only slip your hand into his pants, stroking his cock. He groans, head pressing against your shoulder.

“No time,” he murmurs.

“I know, that’s why we need to be quick,” you whisper, nudging him closer to you. “Think you can fuck me and be done in less than five minutes?”

He rolls his eyes, “Not in college anymore.”

“Hongjoong…” you frown, and he swallows slowly.

“Fuck, I love when you say my name,” he pushes his underwear down. Just as you’re about to say it again, his cock sinks into you with ease. You press your hand against your mouth, holding back the moan that threatens to escape. His fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer to him as he presses his hips into you. You let your hand slip in between the both of you, rubbing your clit at the pace he sets. His fingers dig harshly, breaths loud.

“You feel so good around me,” he mumbles. “Just like art.”

“Joong,” you utter, only causing him to move quicker. He lets go of one side of your hip, moving your own hand away and rubbing your quickly. “Fuck, I’m close.”

“Come for me, pretty girl, come on,” his teeth bite your neck softly. You wrap your arms around his back, humping his hand. It happens much quicker than you realize, his soft whispers in your ear pushing you over the edge. You hold him tightly as he stills of you. “y/n, fuck, y/n I need to come pretty girl.”

You let him go and he pulls out immediately. He disappears before your eyes in a moment, grabbing the garbage under the two of you and coming. The sight is humorous in itself, but you’re in too much of a daze to let a laugh out. You slowly get up from the table, looking around for your vest as you pull up your pants. He steadies himself, turning around to look at you. A lazy smile crosses his lips, following your suit to redress. After a couple of minutes of gathering yourselves, you turn, looking at him.

“A garbage can?” You snicker, tossing him the hand sanitizer you keep in your pocket. He catches it with ease, frowning.

“There’s nothing else around!”

He adjusts his shirt, messily. You move closer to him, helping him adjust his coat and shirt to look not too wrinkled. He does the same for you, tucking loose strands of hair back into its place. His eyes stay on yours as you do so, flicking back to your lips.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says. “You are pretty beautiful, y/n.”

“You’re pretty handsome too, Professor Kim,” you smile at him, ignoring the rattling of your heart.

“I don’t…” he trails off, thinking. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, I want us to be more than a one time thing. You’re more than that to me.”

“I want that too, Hongjoong.”

Relief washes over his face at your words, “You’re not teasing me right?”

“No, I do like you. I wouldn’t have let you do any of that if I didn’t. But maybe we take it slower next time? Like taking me out for coffee?”

“Okay,” he steps away from you, glancing at the door. “Time to go, then?”

“As long as you don’t go out there with that lipstick on your mouth,” you grin. He grabs his phone and looks at his face. There it is - a long streak of lipstick against his cheek. He rubs it quickly, using your hand sanitizer.

“You would have let me walk out there like that?” He asks, eyes wide. You only shrug, walking past him and out into the hallway.

[rnmidnm]

Touch-starved Arthur Pendragon is the only Arthur that makes sense to me.

Arthur grew up with a distant father. Also, since he was a prince, it was probably forbidden for anyone to casually touch him (patting him on the shoulder, hugging him, etc).

And then a peasant appeared who saw him for the first time and openly challenged him. Furthermore, when said peasant learnt that Arthur was a prince, he struck him with "and how long you were training to be a prat, my lord". Arthur openly gave his affection to Merlin and Merlin always gave it back. Because c'mon guys there really is no need to constantly touch your manservant and stare at him.

Merls comebacks were always the best, he kept Arthur on his toes.

Which is after all was what he really needed.

[saym0-0]

you know, im not sure ive ever drawn art for a fic, featuring a ship thats not even in said fic. However i was posessed by the skizzpulse demons and i just loved drawing @watcheraurora's kings tide designs so much i couldn't help myself 🤭

close up under the cut vv

[teatime-at-4]

wanted to draw something easy, so have a sketchy comic. I might do a colored version sometime, who knows.

I've been struggling with writing for Small Enough, but this was a comic I made traditionally for a chapter that's already but never posted, so I decided to digitize it!

here's the chapter in question, now the comic!

and the full page:

and have small Wukong because I love him:

[ruvviks]

to celebrate nearly three years of posting about these bozos, have the clown brigade in all their glory (please for the love of god click for better quality)! bios are in order of the individual pictures! vincent "v" mayer [he/him] >> the living legend of the afterlife. a resourceful and skilled merc working for vitali dobrynin and many other fixers in night city vitali dobrynin [he/him] >> a high profile fixer from wellsprings, and v's partner. offers high risk / high reward gigs and is well known for joining his mercs on the job cato wu [she/her] >> one of kang tao's most wanted. becomes head of security for vitali after mikhail koshechkin steps down from the role shiro nakano [he/him] >> ex arasaka security turned assassin and security expert. handles vitali's most dangerous assassination gigs huxley byrne [she/they] >> skilled gunner and (getaway) driver. used to run with the moxes before becoming one of vitali's most trusted eddie wolfe [he/they] >> ex bouncer turned mercenary. handles most bodyguard-type gigs at vitali's office and provides on-site security lauren dimas [she/her] >> a skilled netrunner and techie from t-bug's circle. has known vitali since college and handles all of his office's cybersecurity mikhail koshechkin [he/him] >> vitali's ex head of security and main medic at his office. regularly tags along on gigs when no one else is available thibault lajoie [he/they/xe] >> ex doll turned mercenary. specializes in stealth operations and provides on-site security with eddie wolfe

taglist (opt in/out)

@nistarot, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @mojaves;

@shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption, @ncytiri;

@calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @faithchel, @radioactiveshitstorm, @strafethesesinners;

@fashionablyfyrdraaca, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian, @estevnys, @devilbrakers;

@aezyrraesh, @carlosoliveiraa, @adelaidedrubman, @fromgotham, @wardenevka;

@samuraifics

[dayas]

4 + klonnie, esp if in a TO rewrite! 💞

4 ⧽. kissing in the middle of an argument.

THIS IS SOOOO GAGGY EXACTLLYYY OMG

It’s been awhile since I’ve watched TO so bare with me 🙏🏽

—

New Orleans had become Bonnie Bennett’s home. The last time she’d considered a place home, her grandmother had been alive. It was a long time since then, but she finally felt like she found a place she truly belonged. Naturally, she was absolutely livid about being asked to leave.

“No! Klaus, I am not going anywhere.”

It was pure misfortune that Klaus Mikaelson remained unearthly beautiful even in the fits of rage he currently displayed.

“It’s not up for discussion, little witch.”

He hadn’t lost it, not yet, but she could see the anger burning brightly behind his dark blue eyes.

“The hell it isn’t! You know how important it is for me to be here. The witches, the coven, all of it. I can handle anything that comes my way.”

His laugh was harsh, sardonic.

“Really? Anything? Tell me, darling, can you handle armies of witches, vampires, and werewolves, all coming, ready to tear you limb from limb? Can you handle a relentless onslaught from them at all hours of the day and night, the manifestations of their hatred and hunger for power? Can you handle your so-called old friends returning and joining them, facing off against you because of where you align yourself now? Tell me, my dearest Bonnie, truly, can you handle it?”

“Yes I can!”

She didn’t care that she was shouting now. It felt good to shout, to scream out her emotions. Mystic Falls never gave her enough space to breathe. In New Orleans, she could scream her lungs out and keep coming up for air after if she wished to.

“Just because you don’t care for your own life does not mean others share the sentiment!”

He was shouting too now, and some sick, twisted part of her enjoyed it. She enjoyed the fact that she could anger the Hybrid King, that she alone could produce such heightened emotions from him. Maybe that’s why she’d come closer with every word, and why she held herself so straight as she neared him, yelling out, “Enlighten me, then! What exactly do you care for?”

Klaus’s gaze lit itself on fire. Bonnie’s eyes widened. His hands came up to her face, he pulled her in, and kissed her. She was frozen in shock for a single second. Then, she kissed him back with everything she had in her, clutching him as close as she could to her. They broke apart but he kept her flush against him, his forehead touching hers lightly.

“I’m staying,” Bonnie whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

“Bonnie — ” Klaus murmured, strained.

“No. We rule here. They will not chase us out.” She took his hand carefully, placing it between them to rest on her stomach. His fingers caressed the fabric, brushing back and forth over it.

“If they come for one of us, they are coming for all of us now.” She felt his sigh stir her hair, his palm flattening out against her belly.

“Then we will raze them all to the ground.”

That smile she loved, maniacal and bloodthirsty, rose into his lips.

Her own followed with it.

[onboardsorasora]

Thought of this last night, a sort of semi violent meet cute lool

Something something Max follows Logan, Oscar and Lando to a hockey game the week after the race. He had been planning to stay in Miami but Lando had begged using first time winner best friend privileges or something.

It was the playoffs, whatever that meant, so it was supposed to be exciting. That's what Logan said.

The game was exciting, even if Max couldn't follow it all. They sat behind the players benches and he was surprised at how often players were coming and going from the area.

He'd heard that hockey was fairly violent and crazy, but seeing it and hearing the crowd go into a frenzy for it was something else. Every time a player was rammed into the glass there was a whoop from somewhere in the crowd and when a fight broke out, it was like feeding the feral masses.

The home team, Logan's team, were winning. They were already up 3-1 to their opponents and so the air in the arena was charged. Max thought he finally got used to the blaring of the horns by the third period.

It was all action packed and chaotic, and of course Max didn't know who any of these players were. but there was one guy that caught his eye, Max had seen him going in and out of the penalty box, on and off the bench. Each time a ref pulled him off of another player, he had a wide grin on his face and was clearly reveling in the violence. The big C on his chest showed him to be the captain and he was like a king at court.

“Who is that?” Lando leaned over Max to ask Logan. Max was happy he didn't have to ask because he was too busy tracking this guy’s movements.

“Oh that's Daniel Ricciardo…” Max’s brain tuned out the remainder of Logan's response about goals and assists and other stats. Daniel was smiling again, playing with his mouth guard and showing a mouth full of teeth. Max felt a flush when their eyes met as Daniel clambered back into the bench. Daniel winked at him before sitting with his team and speaking to his coach.

The home team won and the arena went wild, throwing things onto the ice. An official collected the drivers and brought them back to the locker rooms to meet the team. Oscar and Lando were chuffed, and Logan was immediately pulled into a conversation with one of the half dressed men. Max glanced around surreptitiously looking for the one player he cared about. Daniel wasn't there.

Disappointed, Max posed for pictures and signed a few sticks and jerseys before they were led out of the room.

There was an interview wrapping up further down the hall and a honking laugh rang out when the cameras cut. Max watched as Daniel ran a hand through sweaty tangled curls, his face and smile were even better without the helmet to cover it. His jersey was also gone, and Max thought he looked smaller in just a loose tank and his lower pads. Max wanted to bite his corded shoulders.

Daniel walked over to them, with the waddle of someone wearing skates on carpet, and shook their hands.

“Fuckin killer game out there man.” Logan praised and Daniel grinned, bashfully pressing his hand behind his head. Max could only stare at the indecent bulge of his bicep. He wanted to lick Daniel's tattoos.

They chatted for a little bit longer before a handler came to collect Daniel. He took a few pictures with them and walked away, brushing his shoulders against Max’s jacket clad one along the way. When Max looked over at him, Daniel winked at him again with a smirk. Max felt his face flush in response.

[angelasscribbles]

What Could Have Been: A Bad Romance One-Shot

Series: What If but more specifically Maximum Damage (the alternate ending)

Original Series: Bad Romance

Fandom: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairing for this chapter: Liam x Max (now), Liam x Riley (past), Riley x Max (past)

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: character death mentioned.

Word Count:  812

A/N: This was written in response to an ask from @kyra75 for the angstgiving event hosted by @choicesprompts. The request was for the prompt "What could have been" and was specifically for the Bad Romance gang. Since BR had a happily ever after, I couldn't come up with a good, angsty what could have been until the alternate ending popped into my head. Once it did, this just suddenly existed in my head and I had to write it.

My other stuff: Master List.

The crown princess of Cordonia was getting married to the love of her life. It was a watershed moment in her life. All of Cordonia would be watching as she walked down the aisle.

The king was sure that there had never been a prouder father in the history of the world. His little princess was all grown up. She was happy. She was radiant. She looked just like her mother.

He turned his head to observe his queen. The years hadn’t dimmed her beauty one bit. She was as beautiful as the day he’d first lain eyes on her in that bar in New York.

Liam had been born into wealth, and raised to rule, but the greatest privilege of his life had been raising their daughter. It didn’t matter that biologically speaking; she was Drake’s daughter. Her DNA didn’t matter.

Drake. The best friend he’d ever had. His childhood companion. His partner in crime. His closest confidant. His brother.

“Don’t get too sentimental. You promised her you wouldn’t cry.” Drake smiled at him from the seat on the other side of Riley.

“How can I help it?” Liam responded as tears slipped down his cheek. “You’re here. You’re both here for her big day.”

“Liam.” Max’s voice intruded on the scene.

Not yet, Max. Just a few more moments.

Riley leaned over and touched his hand. “She’s so lucky to have you. You’ve done a wonderful job. You and Max both. Thank you.”

“Liam. Liam.”

Not yet, Max!

But it was too late. They were already fading.

“Wait! Don’t go!”

“Liam, come on, it’s time to get up.” Max shook him gently by the shoulders. “We don’t want to be late for the wedding.”

Liam blinked against the onslaught of brightness flooding into the royal suite. “Max?”

“Yeah, who else would it be? Are you okay? You were crying in your sleep.”

“I was dreaming, but Max, it seemed so real! I was at the wedding, and Riley was with me! Drake too!”

“Oh, babe.” Max climbed back into the bed and wrapped Liam in his arms and tears sprang into his own eyes. “I miss them too.”

Twenty six years later and he still blamed himself. If only he hadn’t dropped the damn cell phone that day. If only he’d pulled over to the side of the road before trying to call 911. If he’d done that, then Riley and Drake would both still be here. Hope would have her biological parents. Liam would have his queen. He would have his everything.

But that’s not what happened and now all they could do was dream about what could have been.

Liam looked up into his husband’s eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. It was a tragic accident.”

Max smiled through his tears. Of course Liam knew exactly what he was thinking. Liam was the only reason he was alive. Liam had willed him to live and pushed him to walk again.

Getting out of that wheelchair had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Not because of the grueling months of physical therapy, but because he had felt like he deserved to be there. He would never understand why he had Liam’s love and forgiveness when he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he was grateful for it. And he was grateful for the daughter they shared. The one whose heart stopping smile was the spitting image of the woman they had both lost.

“I know,” Max lied. Today was a happy day, not a day to wallow in recriminations. “We both promised Hope that we wouldn’t cry today.”

Liam laughed, a bit of sunshine returning to his life. Max had a way of doing that. “We all knew that was a lie when we said it.”

“Oh, a bald faced lie! She’s our baby girl. Of fucking course we’re going to cry!”

Liam laughed again as the last vestiges of the dream wisped away.

Riley and Drake would be there in spirit. Hope had left two reserved seats empty to represent them.

Hope was what they had left of their lost loved ones. And she had brought exactly that into their lives. Hope was what they had clung to in those early days of grief. She had brought sunshine and joy, laughter, and beauty back into the world.

Drake had certainly named her appropriately all those years ago.

Four hours later, they watched her say I do. They both cried copious amounts, but they were happy tears.

And while they both wished that Riley and Drake were there with them, they were thankful to have each other.

The king glanced at the two empty seats. He swore he could feel them there. Maybe, somehow, in some other existence, they were.

Deep in his heart, Liam believed that somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, what could have been, was.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Well, not a snippet. A whole durn one-shot. No title yet, so let's just call it "Responsible Adults, or, Damas Wants A Raise"

(This mentions a hilarious headcanon that rose from a discussion of game weapons with @troblsomtwins829 and @segaphantom , one I intend to use from now on, where it was decided that red eco shockwave ammo is what Wastelanders give their kids when they're first learning trigger discipline, and Jak is the equivalent of a kid bringing down a grizzly bear with a plastic baseball bat. Also featuring swears borrowed from Watership Down because rabbit language is a lot of fun tbh)

It should have been a perfectly straightforward event. Fourteen candidates who had finally passed the initial terrain tests to Kleiver's satisfaction, finally able to go at it with weapons. Only Scatterguns for now, of course. Live ammunition would wait for those who passed their first trial. Those left standing would receive their gate pass and first amulet, everyone who had dodged the lava but not their comrades' shockwaves would be scraped off the sand and delivered to the on-site hospital. They would have to wait another month to retake their trial.

It was standard procedure.

They'd done it hundreds of times.

But this time, it was immediately apparent that something was amiss.

One man broke out of the pack before Damas could even explain what was expected of a first trial. He ran between the cover provided by the matter formers like his life depended on it, gun swinging uselessly on his back.

Well. That one probably wasn't going to last.

Damas sighed and checked the tiny screen that showed him the Arena from a closer view. Oh. That was the Krimzon Guard who had turned up at the temple, begging for clemency in the wake of Praxis's death.

Well if he survived this, his record was clean. But if he didn't-

Well that was one less Krimzon Guard in the world.

Behind him, down the stairs leading to the interior corridors of the Arena, Damas heard an alarm siren. He frowned. What could be so urgent as to sound an alarm back there? Was a patient coding?

The king twitched one ear back to listen for details while glancing periodically at the ring.

"All personnel, all personnel, be on the lookout: an unaccompanied minor is missing from Ward 2. Light hair, underweight, believed to be experiencing medical distress-"

Damas blinked. How on earth had a patient gotten out of the children's ward without someone noticing? Oh, Dr. Petros was going to spit fire when he found out.

"It's going to be one of those days," Damas grumbled, rubbing his forehead, "I can already tell."

He was correct.

A chorus of surprised voices began shouting in the stands, and Damas squinted down into the Arena. Amidst the chaos, the tattooed soldier formerly of Haven was still fleeing for his life. He occasionally fired behind him, but focused mainly on looking for a way out of the Arena. And now Damas could actually see his pursuer.

The figure was small -- tiny, compared to most of the candidates in both height and weight. It wove in and out of the combatants with an unusual speed and grace. But something was wrong.

"What the-"

Damas stood.

"Asa," he said into a handheld radio, "Don't activate the lava. Can you get eyes on the field and tell me if I'm actually seeing someone in hospital scrubs out there?"

"If what?!"

The man running the matter formers went silent as he peered out of his booth further down the wall.

"Bloody Frith! That guy doesn't even have a gun! They're not allowed to be unarmed for trials!"

"No, no they are not." Damas tightened his jaw. "But if he's unarmed-"

Then what's the Krimzon so afraid of?

The mystery candidate passed near the drone camera, and Damas almost dropped the screen entirely.

"Embleer Frith!" he swore, "It's that kid!"

It was the boy he'd found in the desert, barely alive, the one with a dead man's beacon in his hand. It had only been two days! Foundlings weren't permitted to take Arena trials until they had been declared medically sound for three consecutive days after their rescue!

Damas suddenly remembered the call from Petros, informing him that the young man was not, in fact, an adult from Haven. That he was in reality a young boy, covered with some deeply concerning scars. And the doctor had been very insistent about the foundling not being of age for combat trials.

The alarm from the hospital continued to blare, and Damas had a sinking feeling that the unaccompanied minor and the kid he'd hauled out of the desert were one and the same.

Who had allowed this?! The foundling definitely hadn't passed the terrain test yet -- he hadn't even reached the minimum age allowed to compete yet! He never should have gotten past Kleiver in the waiting hatch!

"Oh don't tell me," he breathed.

The Arena had been compromised. And that meant that the results of the fourteen candidates' initial combat trial were compromised. If Kleiver didn't have an incredible explanation for this, heads were going to roll.

Below, the boy had caught up to his quarry. Every single blast of the Scattergun, he dodged. Then the former guard shouted something; Damas couldn't make it out, but from the footage his lips seemed to be forming the word "free" or "freak".

Yells of both excitement and alarm filled the stands as the renegade patient just

Changed.

Purple sparks flickered over his body, like lightning. Every part of his body the sparks touched drained of all color. This was not the pallor of the dead, this was the white of bleached bone, and teeth. Black horns rose from ragged hair. Black claws were barely visible on each hand. At this distance, even his eyes looked black.

What. Was. That.

The KG screeched, firing without aiming. But the demonic boy launched too quickly to be tracked by the drone, taking the guard to ground. Damas knew without looking that the man was dying. He didn't even scream. There was only a pitiful gurgle as claws pierced his throat.

Damas turned the volume as far up on his screen as he could, just in time for the monstrous form to recede, to vanish as though it had been a mere hallucination. Spattered with blood, the boy from the desert stood up on shaking legs. Just barely, the drone caught his vicious hiss.

"Not so funny when you're the one with a mouth full of blood, huh, Tyber?"

He spat on the dying man.

And then his knees buckled.

Damas had seen enough.

"Stop the trial!" He commanded, waving guards towards the Arena. "The Arena is compromised! Get the candidates back to barracks, and send Kleiver to me, immediately."

He started to leave the booth, then turned back to the radio again.

"And find whoever was in charge of Ward 2 this week! And for the love of the Precursors get that kid out of my Arena!"

Oh, heads were going to roll.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jak could hear shouting long before the creaking wooden platform reached the top of the shaft. He'd already been tense when the two big Wastelanders pulled him off the cot someone had dropped him on. If one of them hadn't been carrying Daxter, it was very likely that Jak would have tried to kill them, too. Now he started tugging experimentally at his arms, checking their grip.

"Quit!" One of them scowled at him. "The king’s mad as it is, don't make it worse!"

"-Didn't drag that kid off death’s doorstep just for you two to send him right back!" A raspy voice was yelling, "So you tell me, Rezzik, how a patient -- who Petros already told me was a minor based on musculoskeletal scans -- got into the Arena -- unarmed -- during a combat trial!"

The voice that responded was the skinny guy Jak had shoved away from him when he first woke up.

"Sire, the boy just-"

"I didn't ask about the boy! Tell me what you did! You were in charge of the children's ward this week, not the boy! When I want to hear the boy's side of things, I'll ask him myself!"

The other guards holding Jak's arms sucked on his teeth nervously.

"Oh, he's pissed," he whispered. "I wouldn't want to be the nurse right now."

"Or Kleiver. They're in deep weeds," the other agreed.

The elevator locked into place and, for a moment, Jak forgot the shouting. They were inside. And there was water. Water. Inside. Vast pools of it like an indoor oasis. Trees lined the room, dropping the temperature by several degrees. And this had been built by hu'men hands! How?!

"Well there he is." The raspy voiced man -- oh, Jak had seen the guy with the staff on that balcony of that stadium -- made an impatient gesture in his direction.

"Back from the dead, are you? You've certainly caused a fuss, young one. Care to tell me exactly what you were doing unarmed in a combat trial?"

"A combat what?" Jak answered the question with a question.

The man with the staff steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply and wheeled to face the skinny medic.

"Rezzik!"

Rezzik put his hands up defensively. "He was unconscious, my lord! He wasn't expected to even be lucid until Se'enday!"

The king dropped his face into his palm.

"Oh my gods," he groaned, "He doesn't even know where he is, does he?"

"Uh, "he" is right here," Daxter snapped.

Every person but Jak jolted.

"It talks?!"

"Oh what the rot what the rot-"

"Oh that's so cursed-"

"Why does it talk?!"

Daxter whistled sharply.

"Yes yes, I'm a miracle of premodern medicine. Moving on! Who are you mooks, where are we, and what's all this about Jak and a combat trial?!"

Jak glowered at the ground.

"Saw Tyber. From the prison. He's dead now."

Daxter's ears drooped and his eyes widened. "Oh..."

He reached down to pat Jak's shoulder.

"The creep had it comin', Jak. You did good."

"Well. Considering you apparently weren't conscious until now, you can't be expected to have known," the man who was probably the king groused, "but entry into the Arena is restricted to those aged eighteen and older for a reason. So. What I need to know is who let you through that gate."

He pointed at the sullen man with the big mustache.

"Did he or did he not make any attempt to stop you?"

Frankly, Jak couldn't remember much about how he got onto that field.

"Wouldn't have mattered if he did or didn't," he muttered, "he couldn't have stopped me."

The king narrowed his eyes at him. Then he seemed to actually see him.

"Ah, what are we doing- Jin, Faro, let go of the kid! Get him some water for the gods sakes, he just passed out on the battlefield!"

Then he turned to look at the guy he'd called Kleiver.

His voice was much quieter now. And somehow that was more frightening.

"Kleiver, you know the procedure for new arrivals," he said softly. "Three days' recovery and approval from Maud or Petros before First Trial. So what made you let a boy in hospital clothes through that gate?"

The big man sneered. "Did you see the anklebiter?! He was out for blood! He ended up fine, di'n't he?"

"Fine?! Look at him!" The king gestured sharply in frustration. "He's wearing pajamas!"

"If he'd passed out two minutes sooner he could've died!" Rezzik gasped, appalled.

"Sire, this clearly wasn't the hospital's failure," he said, turning to the king. "This oaf put my patient in danger and-"

"Enough." Damas held up his hand, face hard.

"You are both to blame for what ultimately derailed the trials of fourteen candidates. Rezzik, I leave your penalty to be decided by your superiors. But Kleiver-"

He glared.

"Your only chance at retaining your position is if that boy had an extremely valid reason for hunting down that candidate."

Jak edged away from the guard offering him a canteen. "What counts as valid to you?" he asked pointedly.

The king paced to the edge of his dais, watching Jak with eyes a little too knowing. He folded one arm behind his back and studied him with none of the fire that had been directed at his own people.

"Newcomer, I will ask you only once, and you need only answer once. The man you killed: did he give you those scars?"

Jak went rigid.

They'd seen his scars.

They knew.

Nausea rocked him, crawling up his throat and tasting of shame.

"Boy?" The king pressed, "Did-"

"No." Jak practically spat the word out. "He kept me from escaping. He laughed. And now he's dead. Got a problem with that?"

The king scoffed slightly. He glanced back at Kleiver.

"You are fortunate today. I will retroactively approve an exception for the boy this once as a case of justified retribution. Do not let it happen again."

"Sire," Rezzik piped up again -- guy just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut -- "Arena exceptions must have signed affidavits from the guardian of the minor, mustn't they? As the attending physician, shall I-"

"Don't be a pot-stirrer, Rezzik," Damas said flatly.

Jak muffled a snort and exchanged amused glances with Daxter. At least he wasn't the one getting yelled at.

"No," Damas said, tense again and gritting his teeth, "Since apparently I am the only reasonable adult in this entire godsforsaken room today, I'll complete the affidavit."

He waved dismissively at the group.

"Do not compromise the trials of our candidates again. Negligence costs lives, and weakens our city, gentlemen."

Kleiver looked like he had a few choice words to say about that, but he dipped his head respectfully and marched away without a word. Jin and Faro cringed at each other, then made to grab Jak's shoulder.

"Come on, kid. You need to go back to the doc-"

Jak shoved Jin away and stumbled back.

"Don't touch me!"

Rezzik raised his hands placatingly, approaching as if the boy was a frightened baby animal.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, we only want to help you! I know you must be scared, but if you'll just let us get you back on the IV-"

Jak didn't hear anything else after that.

They were going to inject something into him.

They were going to strap him down and inject something into him-!

His breath shortened as he ducked Jin again. Faro was surprised enough by the elbow strike to his gut to loosen his grip on his gunstaff, and that was all Jak needed.

He ripped the weapon from the guard's hands and swung it in a wide arc, eyes wild.

"Get. Back."

Daxter snarled next to Jak’s ear. "Nobody touches my pal. Keep your filthy needles to yourself, or better yet, stick them up your-"

"Hey! Come on!" Faro complained, "That's custom, kid! You can't just jack a Wastelander's peacemaker, that's just not on!"

"You're not taking me back."

Jak swung the gunstaff again.

"I'm not going back there!

You can't take me back! I won't go back!"

Damas frowned and started down the steps. "What the bloody bones did you people do to make him do...that?!"

"That's...that's what I was trying to tell you before, sire," Rezzik said meekly as he backed away from Jak, "We didn't release him from care, he had some kind of...panic episode. Ripped out the IV and nearly killed Jessop on the way out."

The grinding of teeth was audible even at the bottom of the stairs.

"Petros is going to strangle you if he finds that you didn't take precautions with newcomer trauma," Damas said sharply.

"But we didn't know-! He was unconscious!"

"Get out."

Damas pointed to the elevator.

"Send Petros up here with his file after he deals with you."

When the guards didn't immediately follow the medic, Damas growled. "All of you get out! I've had enough foolishness for one day!"

"Sire," Jin gulped, "The uh, the boy-?"

"He's fine. I have to ask him questions for paperwork now thanks to at least one of you."

That left Jak and Daxter alone with the really really pissed off Wastelander King. (He hadn't even known there were enough Wastelanders to have a king!)

For almost a minute the man paced, swearing very colorfully under his breath. After six or seven very slow, deep breaths, he finally seemed to get control of himself again.

"How do you see needle scars and not think "hm, perhaps someone should stay with him to explain when he wakes up"? It's not that complicated!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Is it the full moon this week? It must be. Everyone's lost their twice-rotted minds around here."

He took another deep breath, and after letting it out slowly, he sat down on the edge of the dais.

"Well, I can hardly think of a worse introduction to Spargus than that, but I hope you won't hold it against me."

Jak kept the staff clutched tightly in his hands, but didn't aim it at the man yet.

"Who are you? And what's Spargus? I know it isn't in Haven. Nobody cares what age you are in Haven."

"Definitely not Haven." Damas buried a curse in his hands.

"Gods I hate that place."

Daxter scowled. "Join the club."

"My name is Damas. I am the king of the territory of Spargus, and the man who pulled you out of the desert that surrounds us. And you are going to be an interesting case, I can tell."

Damas used his staff to drag a box from the side of the throne to just beside him. After some digging, he came up with an oddly shaped piece of metal.

"Ah. There it is."

He looked up.

"This is a battle amulet. Earning three grants adult newcomers citizenship and equal legal protections in the city."

"What if you're not an adult?" Jak challenged.

"Then you're already a citizen, but you can't vote until you're nineteen." Damas dismissed this as if it barely warranted mentioning.

"Now, understand this, boy: I am giving you your first amulet. And I will give you the modular gun. But you will not be allowed to take further trials until you pass eighteen years of age. I will hold your gate pass until such time as you can show me you have learned to survive in the wastes out there."

"You're keeping us here?!" Jak bristled.

"You're a minor. You had heatstroke. It happens. And since my people want to be idiots today evidently, you and I are going to be stuck with each other for a couple years. So you'd better get used to this place." Damas turned and stood up to stretch.

"Frith-rot-it. I have to go get the bloody intake forms, make a whole folder now- Do we even have more guardian ad litem forms?!"

He stepped somewhere behind the throne and seemed to vanish. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone. No drowning in my throne room.".

And then he was gone , leaving the boys with more questions.

"What...what just happened?" Daxter asked.

Jak didn't have an answer.

[kay9leo]

WIP Tag Game

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you’re currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

@myokk tagged me and seeing how I needed something to get me back into the writing world again after a hiatus, this seems like a good way to get back in 🤗

So while not a "true" WIP, it's an idea stuck in my head since in my original WIP (written and hidden in my computer files) of where Iñaki Martinez Cariaga (or MC) is used, I have Hogwarts Legacy take place in the late 2000s...but what if Iñaki's Ancient magic takes her back in time...to the year 1890? As a play on the name of a title of a famous Mark Twain book, I present a small snidget of an idea that's been flying circles in my head:

A New York Yankee in Hogwarts' Courtyard, 1890

Iñaki walked around Hogsmeade, trying to reconcile the past with the future wizarding village that she remembered before she was sent back in time over more than a hundred years ago.

Hogsmeade was still Hogsmeade with its quint shops, townhouses and stone ruins nearby its town entrance, but it was also different from how she remembered back in 2008.

For one, the MCC or the Muggleborn Cultural Center hasn't been made yet, a place where all muggleborns would go to get a taste of home away from home (even though it wasn't truly a taste of home for her, with her home being an ocean away in New York). Two, the Shrieking Shack building didn't exist yet and three, there was no Tim Howards Coffee Shops yet - the only American magical coffee shop chain that somehow made it across the pond.

If you think about it, I might be able to run into Tim Howards when he's still a baby in this time period. He doesn't become a famous Quidditch player until the 1920s. Iñaki frowned at that thought.

"So, what do you think? Is Hogsmeade up to your standing Yank?"

Iñaki blinked out of her thoughts and looked over to her right to see a brown haired boy, Sebastian Sallow giving her a confident smile despite the nervous look in his eyes. He was currently giving her the grand tour of the place. To her surprise, Sebastian wasn't the cocky boy he made himself out to be before the duel that he lost in DADA class. The entire walk, Sebastian was friendly, jolly and curious about her homelife back in America, never once meeting a Yankee. Soon that became her nickname when he saw how it made her smile as he asked questions to get to know about her a bit more.

It was hard to be tight lipped about her homeland. Especially as far as he and everyone but Professor Fig knew, she was just another girl from their era and out of her element because she was the new kid in a new country and NOT being stuck in the wrong time period. She had to be careful about what she said, to reveal little about the future as possible like Professor Fig and all those time traveling books and movies taught her before.

While she ran into some more recognizable names - Weasleys were a dime a dozens, Prewett was an extinct family name in her time period with their remaining line married into one of the Weasleys' family branches and Gaunt was the original family name of the founder of Ilvermorny- there were a few she didn't recognized.

Onai was one. So was Sweeting. And then there was Sallow.

Sebastian Sallow was a name that rang a small bell in her head, but she couldn't remember for what reason it was for as she smiled at its owner with a light smile as she pulled up a half lie.

"I think it's cute, like it's from a storybook. It reminds me of another wizarding village I visited in the past at home..." Or was it future? It didn't matter, it's in my past now... Iñaki thought with a small painful smile as she looked over the smaller village in this era.

"You really miss home, don't you Iñaki?" Sebastian said as he placed his hand on her shoulder. Iñaki looked up to him with a tight smile, fighting back tears that suddenly appeared in her eyes.

"Who me?" Iñaki chuckled, waving her hand off playfully as if she could physically fight off the emotional pains that came every time she thought about the new country she found herself in due to her dad's new job, the time period that she didn't belong to or the possible reality she might be stuck here for good and might never see her parents, family, friends or even her neighbor's pet dog ever again.

Heck, she might be in the history books of another country and her loved ones would never know what happened to her.

And if she let one tear escape, the whole dam would break and she wasn't certain if she would survive the floods of her emotional pain since she woke up in 1890 after accidentally tampering with a magical place she thought nothing of. It wasn't like it was a time turner. Just a bunch of standing stones that reminded her of Stonehenge that stood in up in a forest nearby Feldcroft that called to her for some reason when she was flying around, trying to free up her mind from the thoughts of being homesick.

She was really far from home this time around.

"Yes you. You seem to keep your distance from everyone you know? We don't bite." Sebastian smiled at her. "Take it from someone that had to move before, you'll find yourself fitting in sooner than later. Natty practically befriend you -"

True...Iñaki thought.

" -Ominis seems relaxed and happy to be around you since you met him your first night-"

It probably helps that my first thought of his surname that I told him was that one of his ancestors rejected her family's prejudicial pureblood beliefs and founded Ilvermorny and not of his infamous descendent that is Tim Riddler...or what ever his name was.

" -in the Slytherin Common Room-"

I was a Gryffindor in my time period.

"-and I do need a dueling partner in Crossed Wands." Sebastian winked at her. "Yeah." Her voice croaked. That's what it seemed it was good at doing since she moved to London for her Dad's work. "I-" She cleared her throat with a smile. "-I DO like dueling."

Dueling made it easy to forget, to not remember that she was no longer home. That there was no DeLorean or ruby heels she can tap together three times to bring her back to her time period, to her world.

It wasn't until the Troll fight she had with Sebastian that she thought, maybe she didn't need a time traveling car or magical red heels to go home. Not when she felt that same magical force that brought her to this time period flow out of her when she defeated -no vanquished- the troll.

If Ancient Magic brought me back to the past, I'm going to find a way to use it to get back to my own time with no problem. Iñaki thought with a smug smile as she helped repair the town back, unaware of the only flaw in her plan as Sebastian Sallow gathered her for a quick drink at the Three Broomsticks on him.

And never once did she notice the awe in his eyes as he looked at her or the growing heart he wore on his sleeve for her the longer she remained stuck in the past. She would have noticed it if she looked back, but the only flaw in that was this:

Iñaki was too busy looking forward to finally go back home, back to the future where she belonged.

No Pressure Tags: @theladyofshalott1989 @ps-cactus and whoever sees this and is interested in writing as well/needs a small push to return to the writing world 😁

Thank you @myokk for tagging me and helping me to slowly return to the writing world for a bit after the hiatus I took💖🥰💖

[copsecore]

guys i’m in my angst era (adding the inversion into Playing With The Boys)

[allmyhomieshatelawns]

AND SOME MORE FOR THE HYPNO POP AU BECAUSE IT WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE EVEN THOUGH MY HANDS ARE SCREAMING IN PAIN BECAUSE THE WEATHER KEEPS SHIFTING LIKE A DICK.

anyway anyway, please enjoy another lil somethin i wrote for @djmurphy ‘s Hypno Pop AU!

“Because I’m happy, clap along if you feel like a room without a roof!” My throat stung with the words, volume rising higher with the lyrics of the song. “Dance along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do!”

Cruel irony that. I certainly didn’t want to, but that isn’t what mattered. The village needed to be happy, we were celebrating nearly twenty years of freedom from the bergens. This was a happy time!!

I continued dancing on the main stage, singing with the rasp that had developed in my voice some years ago. King Peppy said it made me sound more mature and that I should like it. And I do! I love how it sounds nothing like the angelic voice that got—

Don’t falter! I snapped back to attention just in time for the knee slide, grinning despite the harsh impact.

The entire village went wild, several in the crowd fainting, and even more screaming for an encore.

I felt tired, like my bones were crumbling away inside of me, but my smile didn’t falter.

“You guys want more? Alright! This one I’ve been working on for a while now!” My lips and throat moved on their own; I wouldn’t be getting any rest anytime soon. Might as well retreat.

Everything was on autopilot, but thankfully the screaming fans didn’t seem to notice or care. They just wanted more. They always want more. It was so wonderful that they loved my music. I loved making them all so happy!!

“Wow, Branch! I can’t believe you did three encores! Where do you get the energy? I would’ve had to stop after the first one!” Princess Poppy was at my side, practically dragging me off the stage.

I was allowed to sag into her side for a moment, it was close enough to Hug Time, it was fine. But all too soon my strings pulled me away, smiling.

“I can’t say no to my adoring fans!” I grinned, the right side of my mouth gave a violent twitch, cramping from the nonstop use. I turned away so hopefully Princess Poppy wouldn’t notice. She can’t think I’m weird, I’m normal, I’m supposed to be normal!

“Branch?” Princess Poppy’s voice was laced with concern, her hand grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around.

I tried to maintain my grin, feeling the corners twitch uncomfortably against the frames of my glasses. I tugged on my blue puffy vest, nerves trying to rise from my belly but thankfully, as always, halted in their tracks.

“What’s up, Princess Poppy?” I asked, my hands now hanging limp at my side since they weren’t allowed to do anything else.

She made a face at her title like she always did, but her hand tightened on my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is perfect! Why wouldn’t it be?” My mouth said, the words a little too chirpy. “The fans love me, and your celebration is going even better than projected!” That should throw her off, get her talking about the party. Everyone is happy.

It worked like a charm. Princess Poppy beamed at me like I had given her, her favorite dessert.

“Thank you, Branch! This party wouldn’t have been half as successful without you here though! You make every party more fun.” She then began prattling on about the different streamer and glitter bombs she had used this time as opposed to last year. She was so dedicated to keeping the village happy! We were so lucky to have her and King Peppy!

I relaxed, as much as I could, and smiled along. Thankfully it didn’t have to be a big smile, I could soften things for the princess.

Soon enough we were in the area considered backstage, and I expected her to peel off and go back to her friends, but instead, she pulled me into a more private dressing room area. My skin prickled at the privacy. That meant bad things. That meant I wasn’t happy enough.

“Branch, I need you to be real with me here. You’ve been acting kind of… off lately. Are you sure you’re okay?” Princess Poppy looked apologetic as she said it, but I felt the immediate effect.

A scream of pop music resounded in my ears, so loud I thought they would start bleeding. The pounding in my head got worse, like a bergen bashing my head against a tree. Even my muscles started to scream, wanting to cramp and twitch as they were forcibly pulled. I wanted to scream and cry and curl up under the bed in my pod, but I stood there beaming.

“Princess Poppy, I assure you, I’m perfectly fine. Just a little tired from the party tonight. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” The words were straight from the string and they hurt, like they were being ripped from me. My voice even went raspier, like there was another voice speaking under mine, but I wasn’t sure if that was from the singing or not. It had been a long time since I had to have the string speak through me. I’m supposed to be better than this. Get it together, Branch. You’re perfectly happy!

Princess Poppy took a step back, a frown pulling down her lips.

No! No! I can fix this please—

“Is everything alright, Poppy? I saw you follow Branch back here.” King Peppy’s voice sent shivers across my body, locking up my joints. King Peppy is here! Oh good he’ll make everything better, like always!!

“Oh! Hey Dad, I was just congratulating Branch on his performance!” Princess Poppy lied to the king! Her face didn’t show any hint of dishonesty though, and I didn’t feel compelled to correct her, that would be rude, so I just nodded along, my smile back to the tight beam that had been on display for everyone tonight. I had worked super hard on it to make it perfect.

He looked between the two of us like he wasn’t sure it was the truth, but merely motioned me forward. I went without hesitation of course, my body still rigid and stiff despite the bounce in my step. I stopped in front of King Peppy, smiling up at him.

“Run along now, my darling. I wanted to talk with Branch about something, you know, guy talk.” King Peppy winked over my head at the princess, causing her to gag and laugh.

“Ew Dad, okay. Alright, Branch, it was awesome talking to you!” She hesitated a moment before giving me a hug, squeezing tighter than normal, like she was afraid of something.

I watched her walk away, my pink-tinted vision clouding her shape the further she got. Like I was drowning alone in suffocating pink mist.

King Peppy’s hand landed on my shoulder heavily, and he sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I worry about her. I only hope that when it’s her time, she will continue to make the right choices, as I have. Now, come along, Branch. I’ll top you off.”

“Thank you, King Peppy!” I chirped, melting as the string was plucked, and I could just dive back into the haze of my mind. We were having to do this more frequently. It used to be, I could go for a week without having the string played for me, but that time was shortening. I didn’t want to think about what would happen to me should the string stop working altogether. That wasn’t a happy thought, and only happy thoughts were allowed!

[arsenalgbt]

in genuine tears my baby darling and grandpa jorgi... willo not knowing how to put on an apron... canon... fic material... the instructor basically endeared by willo aka playing favourites................ willo's littol noises... HIS FACE!!!!!

serotonin boost!

[kristinamae093]

Ghosted

Ghosted - Family Ties (Chapter Thirteen)

Series Summary - Prince Liam fell for Riley Brooks hard and fast. A marriage filled with love and devotion was within his reach, but everything changed when she vanished just before the end of the social season. As everyone voices their concerns regarding her scandalous departure, a confession from an unlikely source turns Liam's world upside down and makes him question everything around him.

Book/Pairing - TRR - Liam x f!MC (Riley Brooks)

A/N 1 - This AU starts right before the beginning of the engagement tour. There is a two-month lapse between the coronation and where we pick up, but we will stray from canon. Please excuse any errors found. Not beta'd.

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Tags - @choicesficwriterscreations

It's another long one 😬👉👈🥹. Listen I'm only slightly sorry, lol. A lot is happening here, LOL.

A few evenings later, what would have been a polo match in Portavira was canceled, and instead, a small, intimate memorial took place for Penelope near the water. The forecast for the day perfectly matched the melancholy atmosphere, as storm clouds rolled in and painted the sky in dark hues of blue and gray, the crisp breeze causing the temperatures to drop well below average. 

The nobility mourned alongside the family, but whispers of what happened and why spread like wildfire. An official announcement about her death was released, but the details were incredibly vague; they wanted to withhold that information until they had someone to hold accountable. Emmaline and Landon cooperated with Ray, who worked around the clock to find some kind of suspect or a clue to lead them to one.

Liam was confident Ray would promptly produce an answer. Olivia helped him scour the crime scene from top to bottom, but little clues remained. However, Penelope’s note had fingerprints on it and her body showed prominent signs of a physical altercation, all of which pointed to her trying to fight back. The coroner extracted DNA from underneath her fingernails and found bruising and discoloration on her forearms and shoulders. He concluded this case was a homicide, which didn’t come as a surprise to anyone. 

Every ounce of evidence was sent off for further analysis, and everyone anxiously awaited the results. The cross reference in the national security database would surely produce a name to match those fingerprints, and they hoped it would put them one step closer to unraveling the chaotic web around them. Ray looked at the surveillance system but found someone deleted the footage from the camera positioned outside of Penelope’s room for a certain period — no doubt when whoever took her life was inside. 

They had a time frame, which was at least a start, but that was the only thing they knew.

Ray did as asked and backtracked to look into Rhonda’s demise. Liam was correct in his assumption that most of the damning evidence was long gone, but they confirmed the legitimacy of the second report they found; Bastien’s fingerprints were indeed on the murder weapon. Although they remained unsure of where the brutality initially took place, Bastien would face charges of homicide — and more — as the story unfolded, and Liam intended to serve him multiple platters of cold, hard justice. He was being monitored at a local hospital under a continuous watch from three heavily armed guards and medical professionals. 

Liam told the guards if Bastien miraculously disappeared, they would face charges of aiding a dangerous criminal, even going as far as threatening to make them stand trial for treason. He didn’t use the term hate lightly, but he hated Bastien and was determined to make him stand before God and everyone to take accountability for what he’d done. His doctors had no choice but to put him into a medically induced coma while they tried to stabilize internal bleeding from Liam’s relentless assault, but when he woke, he would get moved to a permanent cell. 

They still knew who held that kind of control over Bastien, and that was Constantine. Liam avoided him at all costs in the short time since that revelation. He wanted to question him and knew he needed to, but he honestly didn’t know how he could remain calm and keep his head level, and this wasn’t something he could send Olivia to do; he needed to hear it, straight from the horse’s mouth. However, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt the man who gave him life, but if it came out that he harmed or acted against Riley, his body might react without a second thought and he knew that would not be pretty. Perhaps he should have kept his cool with Bastien to get more information, but he didn’t regret taking out some of his aggressions; if anything, it was a release he didn’t realize he needed. 

Since Ray was now officially investigating the homicides, Olivia took over the search for Riley and Tariq. She wasn’t as skilled as Ray in tracking missing persons but had some basic knowledge. Her results were the same as his — there were no traces of either. She contacted the airport and requested security footage for the date and time Bastien specified, but unfortunately for them, he told the truth when he said he dropped her off in a blind spot; the SUV wasn’t on camera and Riley was nowhere to be seen.

She watched the footage from every angle until the sun broke out and illuminated a nearly empty parking lot, but never saw a single sign of anyone relevant. 

They dissected the file ‘Operation Ghost’ from top to bottom for every detail. It held no other useful information, but enough to charge Bastien with murder and prove Riley did not disgracefully leave with another suitor. Technically, it was enough to clear her name, but it did nothing to ensure her safety or help them locate her. Her phone also received a thorough examination but uncovered nothing of importance.

Liam knew he could not wait any longer because time was of the essence, and they needed answers; he had to corner Constantine and demand an explanation. It crossed his mind more than once that his father could know something, but he shook it off, concluding there was no way Constantine would do something of that nature. In retrospect, he was the reigning monarch at the time of the incident; something of this magnitude couldn’t have gone completely undetected, especially if Bastien was involved. The thought alone shredded his fragile heart, but he pieced it back together with bandaids and pushed forward. 

Liam’s mental state was fluctuant, at best. He felt unending guilt for allowing all of this madness to happen, and that pit doubled in size with every passing hour. If he had been more attentive and alert from the beginning, none of this would be happening. Innocent lives were taken all too soon from a path of unrestrained fury, and he truly felt like that blood lay on his hands. Not to mention Riley’s heinous assault rested heavily on his conscience, creating wave after wave of remorse mixed in with soul-consuming rage. His out-of-body experience continued to taunt him; her screams and those vile chortles flowed through his mind on an insistent loop, taunting him with shreds of the truth, but he still couldn't put a face to that man's voice. And now, he had the added stress that she suspected he ordered her assault. He hoped she wouldn’t believe the lie, but without seeing her, he automatically jumped to the worst-case scenarios all the way around. 

They decided Liam and Leo would quietly pull Constantine aside and question him after the memorial concluded. There were only a few events left of the engagement tour, and now the wedding had much more at stake than only the future of the monarchy. It wasn’t a hunch they had confirmation for, but they just knew if they didn’t locate Riley before it was time for Liam to say I do, something drastic would happen. 

During the ceremony, Liam’s heart broke for the shattered remnants of a mourning family, but he couldn’t help but feel they were on the verge of a breakthrough. If his father was involved, this couldn’t climb the social ladder any higher, meaning Constantine could hold all the answers he desperately sought. He kept telling himself he would control his emotions regardless of what his father said, but everyone knew that was a lie, especially given his unfiltered and raw reactions as of late. Leo expected a knock-down, drag-out between Liam and their father, but he would stand beside his brother through hell and high water when it came down to it. 

As the service winded down, Liam made a bee-line for Constantine, who was deep in conversation with Godfrey and Adelaide, with Leo hot on his heels. He made it to the group and plastered on the politest smile he could muster, ignoring a glare from the duke. “Excuse me, but I need to speak with my father.” 

Constantine waved him off, barely even glancing in his direction. “Not now, son. I’m in the middle of a discussion.” 

Liam forcefully clenched his jaw and swallowed down the ball of rage forming in his throat. “I insist on speaking with you. It is urgent.” His eyes pleaded, but he didn’t make it too noticeable; just enough for Constantine to read because the last thing he wanted was to alert Godfrey and Adelaide. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to get irate and start screaming right then and there, but he was determined not to lose his head — at least until after his father answered some questions.

Constantine’s irritation rose, but he paused and observed Liam and within a second, his resolve weakened. For the first time in weeks, he truly took in his son and what he saw left him speechless; his sunken and darkened eyes with large bags underneath, his slouched posture, and he spotted Liam fidget with his hands, even though he tried to hide it. He knew Liam spent a few hours at the hospital recently, but since he was released so quickly, he assumed it was a farce, or someone being overprotective of the monarch. However, at that moment, he started to question his well-being.

Leo stood beside him, but wouldn’t look up to meet any of their gazes. Constantine heard he was around somewhere, but hadn’t seen him until the beginning of the ceremony. That wasn’t unusual, as Leo typically avoided his father like the plague, but he consistently interacted with Regina when he visited, and even she hadn’t mentioned him. His body language seemed nervous compared to the usual cocky demeanor Leo always wore, as he continuously bounced in place and mindlessly trapped his fingers against his thigh, raising multiple red flags.

Constantine had never seen his sons in such a way; the tension within them was palpable, making it impossible to ignore. 

He casually finished the rest of his wine, doing his best not to raise suspicion of their distress to the current audience. “Alright, boys, you have my attention.” He politely waved toward the lingering duke and duchess, before following Liam and Leo away from the crowd.

Liam silently led them down the beach, away from the surrounding commotion. While they walked, he racked his brain, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. When he ascended the throne, he never imagined it would lead him here — questioning the man he put on a pedestal his entire life about his one true love's disappearance. 

His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was sure it would jump out at any moment, and the bites of finger foods he consumed tumbled in his stomach, threatening to reemerge. Every step crunched in the sand, the sounds echoing in the deafening silence. The ocean lapped against nearby rocks, but was the farthest thing from calming, white noise; every violent crash amplified the tension, the air nearly crackling from the combined stress and the distant lightning. 

They reached a small enclosure away from the gathered nobility and sat inside. As they did, Constantine quickly asked, “What’s going on? Are you alright, Liam? Were you in the hospital?” 

“I was, but that’s not important right now… ‘’ Liam trailed off, his voice soft; a stark contrast to the swell of emotions in his head. He remained silent momentarily before murmuring, “I need to ask you about something…”

“Alright, well, what is it?”

“Before I begin, will you promise to be honest with me? I — I’m begging you.” Liam pleaded, but wouldn't meet his father's curious gaze. His hands trembled violently, leaving him with no choice but to clasp them tightly in his lap. 

Constantine furrowed his brow. “I shall do my best, son, but what’s this pertaining? What’s the matter?” 

Liam glanced at Leo, his distress shining brightly, and his brother gave him a reassuring nod in return. He wanted so badly to believe his father was innocent, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t, and the thought alone made him fearful; he wasn’t sure he could stop the wrath that may ensue once the confession left his mouth, but he needed to hear it, regardless. 

With a deep, shaky breath, Liam began. “I think you know something about what happened with Riley. We know she didn’t leave with Tariq and the photos were fake. We found her things in Applewood with evidence to suggest she suffered an attack. Bastien has been working to cover it up and is responsible for that maid’s death — possibly Penelope’s too — to ensure this stays hidden. He confessed and told us you ordered him to engage… I don’t want to believe it, but I think he told the truth…” 

He sat forward but kept his vision cast downward, dread hitting the pit of his stomach like an anvil. “I need to know where she is. I don’t care about everything else, aside from the murders. Just — tell me where Riley is.”  

Constantine’s jaw dropped further and further the longer Liam spoke. Leo observed with a critical eye, but his father’s confusion only intensified throughout the story. Constantine was good at a stoic facade, but he was no actor and Leo knew all his little tells — he was genuinely shocked. However, there was guilt in his eyes; when Liam mentioned the scandal, Leo saw the flash in his gaze, but otherwise, he only showed bewilderment. 

“Liam… I —” Constantine started before he forcefully coughed, but quickly cleared his throat and tried again. “I admit to knowing of the scandal and her relocating back to New York, but I know nothing about the rest.” 

Liam’s vision turned crimson, but he squeezed his hands into fists and used every speck of restraint to deny the urge to act on his intrusive thoughts. “How? Bastien has been working to cover it up this entire time! I didn’t tell him to do that — you did, didn’t you?” 

“I — I did, son.” He stopped to take a steadying breath. “I told Bastien to bury the tracks, but I only approved the scandal and her returning to the States.” 

“You approved the scandal?” He repeated, his brows nearly touching his hairline. “What does that even mean?” 

“That’s correct —” Constantine admitted with his head held high. “But I assure you, I did not partake in any of these other things, nor did I know they were happening.” He sighed heavily when Liam and Leo merely stared at him, disbelief etched on their features. “Son, I knew how you felt about her — it was clear. If given the chance, you would have selected her as your queen, but I couldn’t let that happen…” 

“Why?” Liam demanded, his tone sharp and harsh. 

Constantine’s shoulders slumped, an air of melancholy clouding his expression. “I was afraid, Liam. Look at me — I’m withering faster than an apple rotting in the summer sun. I needed to do everything in my power to ensure you had a stable, capable queen to rule beside you.” 

Liam shook his head, the rosy hues in his complexion brightening with every sullen breath. His willpower teetered, hanging on by less than a thread. “Riley would have made an excellent queen. She thrived during the social season! She may not have been born royal, but she fit right in! Everyone accepted her! The people loved her!” 

“She was inexperienced, Liam.” 

“She could have learned everything she needed to know,” Liam bit out, his patience dwindling rapidly. Leo noticed and shifted in his seat, praying with everything in him that he wasn’t about to go postal.

“Inexperience equals weakness. I was protecting you.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Liam scoffed. 

“Liam, believe it or not, I only did it to protect you—” 

“So you made me turn my back on her to protect me? She’s in fucking danger because of you! I ignored her because you shoved this down my goddamn throat!” Liam yelled, not caring who heard.

Constantine winced at his volume but calmly responded, “I didn’t know she was in danger. Bastien told me—” 

“I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you.” Tears blurred his vision as his entire world came crashing down. He felt a fool for giving him the benefit of the doubt, but that was a mistake he wasn’t willing to make more than once. 

“Son—” 

“No, you — you’re not my father, not anymore. You threw my mother in my face so much, but look at you! What you’ve become would disgust her!” Liam seethed. “I should banish you right now for lying and betraying your own flesh and blood. Do I mean anything to you?!”

“You mean everything to me, son.” Constantine held his hands up in surrender but remained calm as a cucumber. “And I understand your anger, but I need you to listen to me for a moment—” 

“Fuck. You.” Liam growled. He got into Constantine’s personal space quick as lightning and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him to his feet. “I hope you rot in hell, you spineless piece of shit.” 

Liam balled the fabric in his hands and bore his eyes into Constantine, who merely let it happen, but he didn’t recognize his son; Liam was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what this monster before him was. He’d never seen him so worked up, but knew he needed to calm him down so he could plead his case. 

Leo approached and rubbed Liam’s shoulder, gently pulling him from his enraged trance. “Li, man —” He gave him a sad smile as Liam faced him. He understood his brother’s fury over the situation, but Constantine hadn’t even started talking. Until they got useful information from him, he had to keep his cool — for Riley. His eyes pleaded with him, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Liam’s features softened as if he got the silent message loud and clear. 

Liam turned back to his father and held his intent gaze for a long moment before he pushed him away with a firm shove. The former monarch stumbled, but quickly regained his footing. 

Constantine straightened his jacket and sat back down while avoiding the judgemental glares from his sons. He took a deep, shaky breath before he softly started. “Do you remember what happened to your mother? Did you want something similar to happen to Lady Riley?”

“Look around!” Liam bellowed, his face red as a ruby. “It is happening, and you fucking did it!” 

Constantine sighed. “I told you, I knew of the scandal and her departure — nothing else. I ordered Bastien to send her back to New York so you both could start over.” 

“She never returned to New York!” Liam and Leo yelled in unison. 

Constantine furrowed his brow. “... Pardon?” 

“Bastien told us he left her for dead in a parking lot after Penelope drugged her, with a plane ticket, but she never went inside!” Liam hastily explained. “She didn’t board, and Bastien told us he later received all her forms of identification in a sealed envelope. We have no fucking clue where she’s at!” 

Constantine’s mouth fell ajar. “Bastien told you this?” 

“Yes! Are you really trying to sit there and tell me you didn’t know any of this?!” 

Constantine remained silent for a long moment, gathering his thoughts, but both Liam and Leo noticed his anger escalating; neither was aware his elevating state caused his already labored breaths to shallow themselves further. His chest tightened and a strange discomfort erupted and traveled the length of his spine, but he shook it off as best as he could, and focused on the need to prove his innocence.

But Constantine was having trouble keeping his composure because he realized he'd been played and lied to — that was abundantly clear. Someone took matters into their own hands and ignored a direct order, and he was unwilling to take the blame for that. Bastien was at their disposal but even he disobeyed his wishes. 

They went rogue. 

As he took in the deadly determination staring back at him in Liam’s eyes, he realized it was time to come clean. Whatever happened that night did not go according to plan; not his plan, anyway. 

“Liam — let me tell you what I know because I did not wish for any of those things to happen. As a matter of fact, I strictly forbid them…” 

Lythikos, during the Winter Ball

Constantine retired to the king’s suite much earlier than normal. Usually, he would keep Regina on the dancefloor until both of their feet ached, but he just didn’t have the energy. He insisted she stay at the gathering, as it was still fairly early in the night and one of them needed to be in attendance, but he couldn’t withstand another minute. He was exhausted and found his lung capacity was nowhere near what it should have been; no doubt from his recent cancer diagnosis. 

Since Liam’s social season was in full swing, he knew he needed to step down and let him take the position of reigning monarch. He and Regina made the difficult decision together, after hearing his condition was fatal. However, Constantine realized in doing so, he would dump a world of responsibility on Liam’s shoulders, and he remained uncertain if he could handle the pressure so soon after taking on a role that was never meant for him. 

Regardless, the suitors all proved themselves capable in one form or another; some more than others. He hoped Liam would make the best decision for Cordonia when the time came, but knew his heart already belonged to a specific candidate. He wanted to forbid Liam from picking her but realized he would ultimately follow his heart. And, at one point, Constantine defied his father and married Eleanor; to speak ill of their hypothetical union would make him a hypocrite, and he knew that. He tried to convince his son to be reasonable and view the situation from a governance perspective, but Liam couldn’t see anything past his puppy love.

Just as Constantine was about to begin his nighttime routine, a sharp knock echoed throughout the room. He furrowed his brow, as everyone knew not to bother him after he retired for the night unless it was an emergency. He hastily dashed to the door and swung it open to find a familiar face on the other side. 

“Your Majesty.” 

“Hello…” Constantine answered unsurely. “It’s been a while…” 

“I’ve kept myself rather busy these days.” Constantine’s face contorted, but before he could press, they continued. “Respectfully, I’m in a bit of a pinch for time.” His company heartedly chuckled. “Do you mind if I come in? I have a proposition for you. One where we both get something we want…” 

Constantine eyed his visitor for a moment, but ultimately let them inside as his curiosity got the better of him. He ushered them to the seats situated around the fireplace and took one across from his guest, a thick silence filling the air. “What is this proposition you speak of?” 

His companion took a short moment to collect themself but soon began with utmost certainty. “It’s clear who your son intends to choose at the end of this… Lady Riley.” 

Constantine noticed the hint of distaste in their tone. “Yes, I believe that as well…” 

“And you’ve done nothing to stop it? You and I both know Madeleine is the one who rightfully belongs on the throne.” 

“Really?” Constantine challenged. “I’m not sure I understand why—” 

“She is a commoner, sir — nothing good will come from that for anyone.”

“I agree with you to an extent, but what am I supposed to do?” Constantine shrugged. “I’ve tried speaking with Liam about it, but he’s not listening.” 

“He’s thinking with the wrong head.” 

“I concur, but again, how am I supposed to remedy this situation? It’s not like I can send her home before he has the chance to choose her!” 

“Perhaps you can.” 

His visitor smiled, and Constantine had never seen such a chilling sight. “Pardon?” 

“I have a plan… We set her up.” 

Constantine’s interest rose. “… How so?” 

“We get her alone, send someone to her room, and have a photographer waiting to capture a scandalizing scenario… I’m not sure where just yet, but we can dispose and erase all traces of her after.” 

“Dispose?” Constantine shook his head when his comrade nodded, completely stunned by the suggestion. “No, we will not be doing that.” 

His guest winced. “Perhaps not dispose, but only ensure she leaves and can never return.” 

“And how do you suggest we do that?” 

“We detain her somewhere — perhaps use the tun—” 

“No.” Constantine sternly interrupted. “I will not allow you to do such things to her. Staging a scandal I could agree with, but I will not let you imprison her simply because of her origins.” He scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Perhaps a ticket back to New York would suffice, instead.”

“We can’t just send her back to New York! She will surely find her way back, or Liam will—” 

“If Liam is heartbroken, he will let his duty guide him; that’s the only way he will leave her behind.” Constantine returned but kept his vision locked on the floor. 

“We can’t simply rely on breaking his heart!”

“I know my son — he’s emotionally driven. If he’s devastated, he’ll keep going…” Constantine admitted in a low voice. He felt guilty about even entertaining the idea; to manipulate his son and the situation, knowing how he felt about Riley, but the past would always be there to haunt him and he couldn’t let it go, no matter how hard he tried. 

“... So, you’re agreeing to the scandal?” 

Lady Riley’s presence was pleasantly surprising and she had undeniable chemistry with Liam. In another universe, he would eagerly support their relationship. However, the throne was not to be taken lightly; it was a dangerous position that would put not only her but Liam at risk as well. He’d already lived through one assassination attempt and buried his mother after her demise, yet he still entertained the idea of letting a commoner rule beside him. He didn’t understand this weakness could bring Cordonia crumbling to the ground, taking his heart and man-hood down with it.  

Constantine briefly thought back to the torturous months after Eleanor’s death — how heartbroken and hopeless he felt. Those were the darkest times of his life, and he truly didn’t know how Cordonia wasn't brought to its knees then. He wanted to protect Liam from experiencing that type of pain at all costs. A harmless scandal and sending Riley back to New York was a decent option; he would ensure Liam continued for the greater good of Cordonia and, eventually, she would become a distant memory. 

His country and his son would be safe, and Constantine could rest in peace, knowing he did everything to protect what was important to him. 

However, he didn’t know if he could genuinely trust the person before him. The solutions they suggested were extreme, and he did not wish for those to come to fruition. On the other hand, he recognized his time left dwindled rapidly, and as it was, he physically could not make any plan come to fruition and he couldn’t step away at such a crucial moment either. He needed to ensure the transition from monarch to monarch went smoothly, especially after Leo's sudden abdication.   

There was no other choice than to take a chance and hope for the best. 

“Will you be present during the operation?” Constantine questioned with a curious eye.

“Yes, sir. I will make sure everything goes according to plan and they’re removed from the premises after.” The response came immediately, with not even a single second of hesitation.

“They? Who’s the other?”

“Lord Tariq — he’s the perfect candidate. He’s naïve enough to go along but still noble. The goal is to photograph them in a compromising position.” 

“Compromising how?” 

“That will depend on how the situation flows, I suppose, but something to disgrace her and make your son and the nation believe she left to be with Tariq. We’ll find a media outlet or something to leak the story and soon, her name will leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouths — including Liam.” 

“And how will we enlist this photographer? We can’t do it ourselves — it’s too risky.”

“I'll request the aid of Lady Penelope.” 

Constantine’s brows rose. “And you expect she will agree? What will you offer in return?”

“Don’t worry about her,” His guest smirked. “I have my ways, sir… She will comply with the request willingly.”

After a moment of deep consideration, Constantine slowly nodded. “I can agree to this, but perhaps we should let her finish out the season to avoid raising suspicion.”

His visitor tensed. “Respectfully, I don’t see that as a viable option. If someone has the chance to get to her, they may convince her to stay. It has to happen before the end of the social season — at a random moment, without notice.”

Constantine stared off into the fireplace as he pondered that statement, but ultimately knew it was true. He could admit Riley was kind, funny, and incredibly smart, but those features couldn’t grant her the specific birthright she needed. He couldn’t let it happen; it wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, especially Liam and Riley. 

This had to happen. 

“I suppose you’re correct.” Constantine finally agreed with a heavy sigh. 

“She has to leave beforehand. It’s the only way we can make it work.”

Constantine bowed his head, overcome with a rush of various emotions, as their plan snapped itself into place. “... Alright, I’ll allow you to oversee the operation.”

“Marvelous!” His company grinned. “Perhaps you have a few guards to spare? Just to ensure everything runs smoothly… Maybe — Bastien?” 

“Alright — you have Bastien at your disposal to assist in whatever you may need and he will report to you, but he is to be in charge of Lady Riley’s departure at the end of the night.”

“As you wish, my liege… Just to clarify, you’re putting me in charge of this operation?” 

“I — am.” Constantine reluctantly agreed, but quickly added, “Do not make me regret it… Now, what of Tariq?” 

“I'll handle him. You and Bastien deal with the commoner.” 

“Okay, but neither of them is to be harmed in any of this, and I shall tell Bastien the same — do you understand?” He eyed his visitor critically, searching for any signs of ill intent, but found none.  

“I do, sir.” His guest snickered, a small notion the monarch didn’t notice. 

Constantine mindlessly nodded, sufficed by the answer. “This needs to happen fast — perhaps in Applewood, as it’s an older estate and it’ll be easier to have all of this go unnoticed.” 

“I agree.” 

Constantine inspected the person across from him once more, causing his cohort to shift in their seat. “Remember what I said — neither of them is to be injured, only removed — that is an order. And you had better make this quick and quiet — nothing that’s going to end up causing more harm than good.” 

“Understood, Sir… Now, what can we do about Duchess Olivia?”

“I ordered Bastien to ensure she went back to New York — safely, and he told me he did. I pushed the scandal on you because I assumed the plan came to pass as instructed. It wasn’t until this conversation that I realized they played me.” 

Liam couldn’t believe what he’d heard. It hurt him in a way he didn’t know was possible, to know his father acted against the woman he loved in such a way, even if he says his intentions were pure. Plus, the manipulation he suffered at the hands of the person who should’ve shielded him from the animosity shredded the frail remnants of their relationship. He felt the tear within his chest, as that father-son bond crumbled into a million pieces. He truly didn’t know who the man sitting across from him was, and couldn’t conclude if he could trust his confession. Constantine looked genuine, almost remorseful, as he spoke, but he knew his father could shift and mold himself to adjust to any situation.

That’s what snakes do best. 

“I don’t believe you,” Liam suddenly declared, breaking the tense stillness. 

Constantine’s shoulders sank. “Liam, I —” 

“No!” Liam shouted as he shot up from his seat to tower over his father. “You’re lying and I demand to know the truth!” 

“Look at me, Liam!” Constantine breathlessly pleaded. “What do I have to gain from lying at this point?! I’m dying! I never wished for harm to come to her — I only wanted to remove her from the situation—” 

Liam sardonically laughed. “Yeah, well they fucking did, alright!” 

“Liam, I apologize. I trusted the wrong person and—” 

“Me too — me too.” Liam shook his head, tears of rage burning his eyes. “How could you?” 

“Son —” 

“YOU LET THEM HURT HER!” Liam wailed, not caring if anyone could hear their altercation. 

“I didn’t! I specifically told them not to!” 

“But yet — you ordered Bastien to go along with it?” 

Constantine winced. “I did, but he never mentioned any of the additional things you speak of. I told him to cover up the scandal — nothing else. His job was simply to escort Riley to the airport and ensure it stayed quiet. Anything additional, he did under the supervision of someone who was not me.” 

“But you told him to clean it up?” Leo questioned. 

“Yes…” Constantine swallowed thickly, followed by a small coughing fit. He recovered quickly and continued, “But I didn’t know—” 

“Yeah, well, for once, Bastien understood the assignment — maybe even a little too well.” Leo retorted, completely blown away by Constantine’s admissions. He regained himself rather quickly, however, and a light bulb suddenly went off inside his head. “Have you ever heard the names Anton and Claudius before?” 

Liam froze, but centered his death glare on his father, watching for any waivers in his facade but  Constantine’s face only contorted, his confusion showcased brightly. “... Who?” 

Liam scoffed. “Keep lying and see what happens.” He laughed indignantly, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’m not playing these games. I want to know the truth, and I want to know now.”

“I am being truthful with you. Listen to me, Liam — I never should have gone along with it and I am so incredibly sorry,” Constantine pleaded, but as he finished, his lungs screamed for air. He inhaled deeply, searching for oxygen, and found just enough to continue. “I never should have agreed, but I was afraid, and I let that fear guide my decisions in the matter.” 

“I do not accept your apology! You–you’re a monster!” Liam yelled, his voice cracking on the last syllable as one lone tear traveled down his cheek. 

“I — I know, son…” Constantine hung his head. “I regret the things I’ve done, even more so now that I know Lady Riley is potentially in danger.” He hacked again, but then forcefully clenched his jaw. “I told him not to…” He grumbled to himself, which Liam nor Leo heard. 

His lungs burned with every shallow breath, and his pulse steadily rose, causing his hands to shake and turn clammy. He wanted to blame his sudden change in state on nerves for being caught, but realized it ran deeper than that; something was wrong. A tight sensation in his chest made him feel as if a weight sat on top, growing in pounds by the minute, and every breath seemed to do the opposite of what it should. His windpipe slowly narrowed, and the erratic thump of his heart was so forceful, that he felt it from the tips of his toes to his temples. 

Leo interjected himself. “You don’t know where she is? Or Tariq? Really?” 

Constantine didn’t answer but stared off into space with furrowed brows as he recalled conversations, while simultaneously trying to catch his breath and settle his elevating state. He and his conspirator spoke only a few times regarding the ordeal, but every time, they subtly asked for insignificant details regarding a specific location within a few of the duchies. He never thought much of it because the areas were abandoned, never used, and inaccessible; but it would be possible if someone knew where it was, and he’d practically given them a detailed road map to it. 

His eyes widened as he slowly turned to Liam and spoke just above a whisper. “The tunnels…”

“You mean that old wives’ tale about underground passageways?” Leo returned. 

“It’s not a tale, but very real,” Constantine replied, matter-of-factly. 

“And you think that’s where she is?”

“It's a huge possibility. If you go deep enough, the passageways lead to cells, almost like a hidden dungeon. Our ancestors used them as torture chambers when someone spoke out of line against the monarchy, but those accusations are mostly hearsay. He kept asking about it when we spoke, but I didn’t make the connection.” Constantine coughed again, trying his hardest to hide his rapidly deteriorating state. 

Liam’s heart rate involuntarily quickened, the light at the end closer than ever before. “The tunnels?” 

“Yes… If you believe Lady Riley is still in the country, I would almost guarantee that’s where she is if you haven’t found her by now.” Constantine answered through a wheeze, but neither Liam nor Leo noticed, as they processed this new information. 

“Where? Which estate?” 

“I’m not entirely sure which duchies still have one. A lot of the dukes and duchesses opted to have them filled with cement long ago to erase the remnants of what their ancestors used them for. All I know is they are only accessible through a hidden door, likely on the outside, but it won’t be easy to find without knowing what you’re looking for. It will take you underground, but the chambers will have concealed doors as well. I know for a fact the one at the palace remains open, but Portavira and Ramsford are closed.” 

“Why is the one at the palace still open?” Leo demanded. “And how do you know so much about this if you’re ‘innocent’?” He air quoted.

“My father’s father brought forth plans to fill it, but uprisings started and it got lost in the hands of time. As far as my knowledge of it, I was young and curious once as well. There is a book in the library that has a lot of useful information on it, and I know for a fact that it has not moved from its spot on the shelf.”

“How?”

“Maybe I knew in my subconscious that something wasn’t right, and I wanted to ensure it was there so I knew it wasn’t being used to gain access.” Constantine shrugged. “As long as it was there, I didn’t have to face the possibilities of what I allowed to happen, I suppose.” 

“Yeah? How’d that work out?” Leo rolled his eyes but centered his attention on Liam. “Applewood, maybe?”  

“Yeah… Yeah — that makes the most sense, right?” Liam responded, his mind racing a million miles an hour. Every muscle in his body shook as wave after wave of adrenaline rushed through him. “Perhaps I’ll send teams to all the duchies.” 

“Not a bad idea — knock ‘em all out at once, and we can’t leave any stone unturned. And I think we should check all of them, despite what he claims.” 

“I agree, boys,” Constantine hoarsely interjected. 

“Don’t even act like you helped us at all. You knew about all of this and never said a word to me about it! And you had Bastien fucking me around this entire time!” Liam bellowed. 

Constantine let out a slow breath and spoke in a low, quiet voice. “I understand you’re upset. However, I truly thought she safely returned to New York. Bastien mentioned none of these things to me, nor you. Granted, perhaps I should have stayed more on top of the situation. I was aware of the deaths, but you never told me there was foul play involved or that you suspected Bastien. If you had come to me sooner, I would have told you what I knew.” 

“Yeah, I bet you would have.” Liam huffed.  

“I would have, Liam. I never meant for this to happen — all I wanted was to ensure you and Cordonia would be safe after I’m gone. It was my duty as Cordonia’s king—” 

“No, it wasn’t! And you’re behind Olivia leaving too?” 

“She’s far too irrational to sit on the throne, Liam. I knew if you had her as an option, you would choose her.” Constantine’s face contorted as the knife in his chest suddenly twisted. He somehow pushed through it, but the pain only flourished, alternating between sharp, sudden jabs and a dull, throbbing ache. “You still tried to select her, but I assumed she would speak to you and not leave without saying a word.” He breathed, his face turning a bright shade of pink.

“I don’t understand something—” Leo spoke with furrowed brows. “Why was all Riley’s stuff in Applewood?” 

“I didn’t have any part of that. I was not interested in taking things from her — I only wanted her to leave.” He wheezed. Liam and Leo both continued to glare at him, but their fury and curiosity blinded them from seeing their father’s deteriorating state.

“One more,” Leo went on. “If you were behind the scandal, why’d you drop it during the coronation of all moments?” 

“That was the only hiccup in the ordeal that I knew of; the timing. I realized Liam would have an adverse reaction, but it was supposed to be released early enough to give him some time to let the general shock wear off.” Constantine rasped, and that’s when Leo finally took notice of his father’s struggles. Despite his sideways feelings, a surge of concern bolted through him. 

“Wow…” Liam spoke before Leo could address their father's state. He shook his head, tears of rage and devastation stinging the corners of his eyes. “You played me like a goddamn fiddle and I let it happen. You had everything planned out, down to my emotional needs.” He indignantly laughed, the sound sending waves of uncertainty through everyone. 

“I — I’m sorry, son. I regret what I’ve done, and I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me for getting caught up in this—” 

“Don’t hold your fucking breath.” Liam snapped. 

“I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you find her, Liam.” Constantine held a shaky hand over his chest as the pain intensified, momentarily taking his breath away. Leo rose to his feet, torn between his brother's wrath and his father's struggles, but Liam continued before he concluded what to do.

“How can I trust you? You knew about all of this! I think you know much more than you’re leading on, too!” 

Constantine’s mind raced so fast, but he tried with all his might to fight off whatever was happening within his body. “I’ve told you all I know, son. I will gladly assist you in any way possible from here on out.” 

“You’re going to be lucky if you don’t wind up in the infirmary next to Bastien, or worse,” Liam snarled as he slowly rose from his seat. “Who?” 

“Pardon?” 

“Who was it? Who came to you that night in Lythikos?” Liam stalked toward him with his hands balled into fists at his sides, his steps loud and menacing. He didn’t even notice Constantine’s struggles — all he saw was the monster who destroyed his life and decimated everything he’d ever cared about. “This is your only chance to come clean because if I have to ask again, you won’t like how I get the answer.” He scowled. 

Constantine stumbled upright and took another ragged breath, but realized he was no longer getting any airflow. He coughed, but his hands flew to his neck after, helplessly clawing at his throat. He suddenly gasped for air and grabbed at the front of Liam’s shirt, his knees buckling under his body weight. His eyes were nearly black as the dilation swallowed his iris, but his sclera was tinted with a bright shade of pink.

“What the—” Liam started, but soon recognized the problem. Constantine’s complexion somehow went from a shade of red to white within an instant, his gasps becoming more panic-laced by the second. One moment they were face-to-face, but the fear Liam saw staring back at him momentarily took him aback; it wasn’t a terror rooted around being caught, but something much deeper. His body tensed, the hands securely holding onto his jacket turning white and shaking from the intensity of the seizing. Constantine choked on his saliva, struggling for air, but soon let out an anguished, blood-curdling cry.

The next instant, Constantine crumpled to the floor, his entire body going limp.

Before Liam or Leo could register what happened, the guard stationed close by was already on site. The man spoke into his earpiece and summoned medical professionals to their location, a frenzy of lights approaching in the distance nearly instantly. Constantine’s eyes were open but nobody was home, and before too long, the man had no choice but to start CPR. 

Liam could only stand, frozen in place, unable to focus on anything else. He wanted to look away so badly, but couldn’t gather the strength. He felt every push against his father’s chest as if it were his own, and his pulse soon matched the rhythm of the compressions. An overabundance of emotions filtered through him; betrayal, fear, anger, regret, and guilt. Constantine shredded their bond into a million pieces, and he couldn’t find it within him to be sad; he desperately wanted to feel any inkling of remorse that his father might have just taken his final breath right before him, but he wasn’t, and that made him question if he was a monster in disguise all along, too.

He fixated on the fact that Constantine knew who did this and, right now, he wasn’t sure he would get to hear that tale. His heart yearned for Riley, but every time he got even a drop of information, he only met an abrupt wall. He’d almost grown accustomed to having the tiny shrivels of hope dangled in his face and then yanked away, but this time, he couldn’t simply shake it off and pretend like they had the situation under control, because they didn’t.

The abyss of insanity Liam teetered for so long pulled itself dangerously closer. His father had aggressive, end-stage lung cancer, and something like this should come as no surprise. But — for his clock to stop ticking at that exact moment seemed too convenient and at some point, the term coincidence just couldn’t apply anymore. Any other time, he wouldn’t have questioned it, but he instantly fell into a pit of madness as he internally debated the facts.

He couldn’t decide if this was nature taking its course, or a different force pulling strings. 

[leupagus]

A War of Seasons, Chapter 9: Arianne

Title: A War of Seasons Author: leupagus Fandom: Game of Thrones Chapter: 9 of 24 Wordcount: 55,082 Rating: M Warnings: Author Chooses Not To Warn Tags: Canon Divergence AU (Season 6) Excerpt:

"Did you solve the Daynes' crisis, dearest petal?" Loras asked, when at last she returned to their rooms, trailed by two of House Dayne's guards and their shared burden. "Did you dazzle them with your brilliance and find a solution no one else could have possibly considered?" "In a way." She directed the men to set down the great chest in the darkest corner of the room. They did so and left with another bow, no doubt relieved to be rid of the thing. It was old and heavy and ugly, and she resisted the urge to kick it. Loras peered over the back of the sofa upon which he reclined. "Doesn't seem like much a reward," he observed. "It's not," she replied. It was the hour of the wolf; inasmuch as it could, the Red Keep was asleep. Yet Loras was awake in their shared chamber, one of his tiresome dissertations on fencing in his hand and a half-full glass of water-wine at his elbow, with an empty glass and a flagon beside it. "You didn't have to wait for me," she said, absurdly touched. He shrugged, placing a marker between the pages before shutting his book and setting it on the nearby table. "The bed was too cold without you," he said sardonically as he patted the seat beside him. "Now, tell me everything. Including why you've just broken your own mother's rule about bringing nothing into the home that is not beautiful." "You're incorrigible," she said, but sat all the same. It was strange, how familiar Loras had become to her in so short a time. The great Houses of Dorne and the Reach had despised each other for centuries, when the Lords of the Reach had been Gardeners and not Tyrells. Yet Arianne had found no trace of the family's animosity in Loras or Margaery (though their father and grandmother held more than their shares, and outrage besides that Loras had betrothed himself to a Martell without so much as seeking their blessing). She suspected Margaery's warmth to be calculated in part, which she did not begrudge; a Queen would need all the allies she could charm. But Loras seemed to hold a genuine affection for her, which she had never expected. Such affection could not be relied upon, of course; her own parents had once held affection for one another, but it had not overcome the pull of their conflicting needs and expectations. She and Loras would one day rule their own Houses and their own kingdoms. She could no more trust him than she could any other great lord. But for now she could confess, a little, of her own burden.

[shannonsketches]

something something foils moving in opposite directions Goku's always happy to seek and fight stronger opponents because he spent most of his life being the strongest guy in the room and Vegeta wants to be the strongest/is always exhausted to find stronger opponents because he spent most of his life having to navigate his survival around the whims of the strongest guy in the universe room and so Goku has a foundation of safety and stability and so spends his time craving challenge and adventure and Vegeta has a foundation of challenge and adventure and spends his time craving safety and stability and the overlaid section of their venn diagram is that the only way they know how acquire and maintain those things is through battle