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lochallthedoors · 2 months ago

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Noel Versus the Council Skies Tracklist

Context: If you pick just one interview of Noel's to read/listen to from the Council Skies promo run, chances are that interview will feature Noel complaining that he fucked up the tracklist--that he now believes "Think of a Number" should have been first and "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight" should have gone last.

I find his obsession with the album's messaging kind of fascinating in the context of whatever led up to the Oasis reunion, so I thought I'd put together a masterlist of interview excerpts where he explains why he made the choice he did and why he wishes he could go back and get a do-over.

I have thoughts but they're very rambly so they're going in the tags. The focus should be on the transcripts here anyway.

NME Interview Posted 3 June 2023

Noel: "Think of a Number," yeah, it's got a Bowie feel to it. If I had my chance--if I had my time again, I would have had that as the opening track on the album. I've kind of--yeah, that's--that's--I mean, every album that I make, anyway, tends to be flawed in some way, and this is almost perfect, but that's the biggest flaw, is that the opening track, "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight," should be the closing track, and "Think of a Number" should be the opening track. But I didn't think "Think of a Number" was strong enough until it was too late. You know, and, uh, yeah--what a dick. But there you go--I'm allowed to be a dick when it's my own music, so. later in the interview Interviewer: I mean, you talked about how, uh, Council Skies was about you asking "how did we get here, and how did I get here?"--as in you, not me. I know how I got here. Um, did you find any answers? Noel: (pause) No, I think--I think the last line of, um, "Think of a Number," although--although it should be the first track on the album, I think the last line of it is perfect for an ending of an album, which is--is--it's like, "let's drink to the future / I hope it comes round again." Did I find any answers? No, but I will--no, I will find them, though.

Radio X Interview Posted 8 June 2023

On "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight" Noel: The biggest or the most interesting thing, or what I find interesting is I--this should be the closing track on the album because it ends with a lot of hope, you know I mean? "I'm not giving up tonight" and all that. And I, for some reason--the track that closes the album, we'll get to that obviously at the end, but, um, I didn't feel the track that closes the album was strong enough to open a record with. It's a big, epic kind of affair, and I thought that would be a bit obvious. And, uh, I thought "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight" would be a great way to ease into a new record. If I could go back now, I'd--I'd have it closing--closing the record, but it was too late to change my mind. But, um, I do like that song. It's, uh--it's, uh--yeah, it's got a great vibe that's slightly reminiscent of Buffalo Springfield, and, uh, Gem plays a great guitar part on it. And, uh, yeah, I mean, it's--I don't know. Kennedy: Yeah, yeah, no, it's interesting. I mean, it's got the strings on it, it's got the horns on it, and there's a little bit of the gospel choir, and-- Noel: Yeah-- Kennedy: Those are all elements that are through the record. Noel: But I guess the sentiment of it is a song of defiance, you know? "I'm not giving up tonight," and that, you know, obviously writing these things in--in lockdown there was a bit--there was a bit of that in--in a lot of the songs. But, yeah, it's a grand--it kind of sets it up perfectly because it's a--it's a grand kind of opening, but it's a bit laidback as well. On "Think of a Number" Noel: I love the song. Now--and it's me playing the guitar, so it's really epic, and, so, as mad as this sounds, I didn't think that song was strong enough to open a record with. I liked it, right? And I did, and--and something inside of me hung in there with it, and--I don't like closing records on a negative kind of, uh, almost, um, what's the word I'm looking for--uh, pessimistic kind of, um, feel to it. The last line is, you know, "let's drink to the future, I hope it comes around again"--that really should have been the opening track on the album and finished with "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight," you know? That would have been the journey through the lockdown and isolation and all that. But as that song went on, I was like, you know, just didn't feel it was strong enough. I thought it was just a bit standard High Flying Birds rock kind of tune. Obviously, when we finished--when I finished it and mastered it, the penny dropped one night at home, and I was like "Oh, God," you know. And then you do the frantic "Can we change it?" and it was like, "No, we pressed up now. What are you doing?" Um, so it really should have been the opening track, but I love the lyrics on it, and they paint a really pessimistic picture of the future, which is what I was feeling at the time. And, yeah, there's some great--the lyrics are really visual, and, um, yeah, it's--I mean, it's an epic rock tune, and it's--it's got the full production and, yeah, really great.

XS Manchester Drive Posted 9 June 2023

Note: For the clip of Clint calling out Noel's pause, see definitely-rubbish's post here

Noel: Let's do a track called "Think of a Number." Clint: "Think of a Number"--now, this is the--it's the actual last track on the album, innit? Not including the bonus track? Noel: Mm-hmm. Yeah. Clint: When I heard this--and I made some notes--some of the--"Let's drink to the future / I hope it all comes 'round again." It sounds like you reaching out to somebody. Noel: Well, uh-- [Long pause] Clint: That was a brilliant pause! Noel: I could never-- Clint: That pause was amazing. It's gonna sound great on the radio, that! Noel: I could never decide if that track should have been the opening track or the closing track. And if I had my time again, I'd have it as the opening track, because the track that is the opening track, "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight," would end the album on a real--"I'm not giving up tonight"--a kind of sense of hope. But with this song, right up until the death--I never thought it was strong enough to open a record. I thought people would go, "You know, okay, well, I was expecting that from him." And--yeah, I kind of bottled it a little bit and put it as the closing track, which ends on a really bleak note, you know? Uh, but there you go. You know, you live and learn.

SoCal Sound Interview Recorded June 9, 2023

Harcourt: The opening track is "I'm Not Giving Up Tonight," and, I mean, that's full-on. Noel: Mm-hmm. Harcourt: There's bells, there's whistles-- Noel: Oh, yeah. Harcourt: It's--it's the whole thing. Noel: Yeah. Harcourt: Uh, is that at the beginning of the album for a reason? I mean, it sort of seems to set an intention. Noel: Yeah, I should have actually had it as the closing track. I think--I think there would have been a--well, so, the--the closing track is a track called "Think of a Number," and, actually, the entire track listing was set in stone very, very early, apart from these two tracks, and I kept flipping them, just to listen to at home, and I kept flipping them, and I--ludicrously, I actually thought "Think of a Number" wasn't strong enough to open a record, and I thought people would be expecting a big, kind of--and, actually, in hindsight, I should have had that as the opening track, because it would have meant the album would end on a more positive note, whereas it ends on a bit of a bleak note. Harcourt: Mm. Noel: But that's the one change I would make. Um, but, no, it's ["I'm Not Giving Up Tonight"] not there for any specific reason other than I felt like, for this--you know, my albums always open up with something huge, and I thought for this one, maybe something a bit more understated, um. But it's a fucking great song. Harcourt: It is a great song. Noel: Yeah, it's a great song. Harcourt: Yeah. Noel: The way that it--the way that it came out sounding is amazing. Yeah.

#think of a number #i'm not giving up tonight #cs album #things #noel interview #noel versus the cs tracklist #2023 #nghfb #lyric analysis #i spend too much fucking time thinking about this #but if council skies is telling a story and if that story has anything to do with liam and an oasis reunion #then i feel like noel's raging internal debate about how he should begin and end the album #is kind of cool to look at #the tracklist we got and the one that apparently seduced noel into going with it means the album opens on a joyful note of defiance #an attention-grabbing message maybe to 'pretty boy' since that was always meant to follow the opener #in INGUT noel's saying he's ALREADY decided he's not giving up #and there's dancing and music and his assurance to someone that he'll be that person's port in the storm etc #like harcourt says it feels very intentional #and then the album ends on sober negotiation and uncertainty about the future--like ok now what? where do we go from here?#noel doesn't say in any of these interviews when he changed his mind--just that he did when it was already too late #but if the oasis reunion became a certainty around that same time then i think it's plausible that he started thinking about the narrative #and how much better it would have been to start the record on the sober negotiation and end with the joyful/defiant message #to make it so that council skies better reflects the journey to the reunion he was already living #also as an aside #noel did tell rolling stone in 2023 that think of a number as well as DTTW are the two songs on CS about his divorce #but i don't think that precludes the possibility that some part of think of a number is also directed at liam #as clint boon seemed to be hinting

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spotaus · 30 days ago

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New Age AU (An Order to Things)

Hello hello and welcome back! I... write the first part of this like a month ago and then came back and wrote the rest over the past few days! Ancha and I were talking about getting some perspective on the rest of the Castle while Night is still adjusting to his new body, so here we are! A little mash-up of what the Knights have been doing on a regular day only a little while in to Night being small!

no edits, no rereads, fuck it we ball!

(@ancha-aus @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hello again! Hope you don't mind the random @ and as always if it gets annoying just lemee know and I'll cease hehe!)

Oh, and a bonus shout-out to Ancha because I would've completely fumbled an entire section here, but she recalled something from one of my many strange rambles and saved my life in the lore continuity department :]

“Is everyone here?” Dust’s voice was steady and cut through the chatter of the room.

Horror watched as heads turned to face Dust, where he stood at the ‘front’ of the room. The room was actually curved, a nice oval that allowed a long, round, bar-like table to curve along the outskirts and sit up to fifty people along its run. Across from where Dust was standing was the door. Where Dust stood now, well, that was usually where the King sat. They had shifted the ornate seat back and away for the time being, since no one thought it’d be right for Dust to sit in it. Even if he was filling in for Nightmare today.

Those seated, they were Nightmare’s council. Some seats had been barren since before Horror had arrived, a lot had been filled since then, Killer had told them that the population had seen a steep decline after he showed up. From what Horror had heard, it was probably for the best that it had been rebuilt almost from scratch. The council now was made up largely of common people. Monsters and Humans, each a representative from their own cities and townships who had both been chosen by their people and screened by the King himself. They weren’t proper or well-spoken sometimes, but they always seemed to have their people’s best interests at heart, so he figured the king didn’t mind it much. Actually, maybe their informal habits made them all the more appealing to him? Horror could never quite tell. Besides, he usually wasn’t present for these unless the farming representatives were present, and today they seemed woefully absent. Normally it would be Killer or Dust here where he was standing near the King’s seat. But, Killer was helping watch over the King while Ccino caught up on his own work, Cross was scheduled for training right now, and Dust was the one talking, so here he was.

“Good.” Dust spoke up again, very shortly, as the group quieted.

Horror noticed Dust had a booklet open on the table before him. Horror recognized the handwriting in the pages, even if he couldn’t read any of the words from such a distance. Those dizzying swirls were the familiar penmanship of their King. King Nightmare must have sent Dust with instructions, or maybe a list of topics to address.

“Our King will not join us today. I am here on his behalf. Trust me, news will return to him.” Dust explained briefly, and neither of them missed the way a few of the council looked between each other. Nightmare had been out of the public eye for almost a week and a half now. “Any questions?”

Dust’s eyelights traveled to his left, where a hand was raised barely into the air. A human sat there, Horror didn’t recognize them, but it seemed like Dust did. He gestured shortly to him and said, “Damien?” As a prompt to get the man speaking.

As Horror had learned, it was customary to stand when you spoke at these events. Everyone, aside from the King, had a cushioned stool which tended to be easier to raise out of and sit on again. The human, Damien, slipped backward off his stool and rose maybe an inch higher than he had been sitting.

“Sir Panther,” He addressed Dust with a slightly nervous voice, “We in the council are grateful for your presence and for listening to our pleas, but some of us present feel that the timing of our King’s absence poses a danger to some of our peoples.”

Damien shoved a strand of dark hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear as he continued with a surprising amount of confidence for someone who seemed to be questioning their king. “While we trust his decisions, we find that our people are growing restless and weary without plans in place to rebuild our shelters. The last flood which passed through was not four days ago, and the letter arrived today more frantic than the last. Is there any hope that we may soon be graced by the King’s presence once again?” He watched Dust’s reaction as he still stood.

Dust, though, had a pokerface of steel. As long as Horror had known him he was always a closed book. Or, maybe more like he had a bottle, but broke the top of the cork off inside the opening, so nothing ever made it out. That was Dust. Horror couldn’t even blame him, with all he was dealing with it was impressive how neutral he could remain. Horror had no doubt this Damien man had no idea what it was Dust was thinking at the moment. Was he happy? Upset?

Before Dust could answer, another hand shot up, followed by a scrambling sound as this other figure, this one to the right, moved faster. This time, it was a monster Horror recognized vaguely, if only because he believed this was one of the few noble lines who got to stay after the ‘spring cleaning’ as Killer called it once. She was a bee monster, one who lived in the capital, but her family resided over some borderland city. She was younger and a lot quicker to speak.

“Mister Damien is underselling how dangerous the floods have become again, Sir Panther!” She hurriedly said. Across the room, Damien seemed to pale under the loud and shrill voice of this noble girl. Dust nodded to her, prompting a continuation of an explanation. “The floods rolled through my town too, though we had time to prepare thanks to their warnings so the damage was less severe. It sounds like, though, many houses were completely swept away, and among them were Mister Damien’s family home. He has two daughters, you know that? They ended up in my town when the water swept them there. That’s how I know.”

She seemed startled when Damien seemed to slump over his stool a bit, planting his hand on the seat as he looked to her.

“My little girls? They’re alright?” He asked out of turn, his voice different. A bit weaker.

The noble girl, was her name Marie? She nearly jumped forward as though she were going to close the gap across the room, her wings buzzing at her back. “Yes! Yes, they’re alright! My mother spotted them in our river and was able to scoop them up.” She replied almost excitedly, entirely blind to the sickly relief on Damien’s face. “Mother said they were very smart girls, they had a hold of a piece of wood and used it to float!”

The two seemed to silently revel in the news, Marie proud to have shared it, and Damien grateful to have heard it. Neither of them was taking in the looks of worry permeating their fellow councilmen, though those nearest to Damien did extend hands of support to his shoulders. Comfort.

“Mm. Good your family is safe.” Dust said, once again reminding the council of his presence. It had so quickly been forgotten in the exchange of information and startling news.

Damien seemed to jolt at that, and he quickly made a bow towards Dust with a quiet, ‘Thank you, my Knight. Sorry, my Knight.’ escaping his chest in quick succession.

“Glad you brought that up. The King isn’t sure when he’ll be back here.” He paused a second, “Sent me with a list of announcements. One was for your cities, got word same time as you.” Dust raised the little booklet off the table before him then. The leather cover, though Horror couldn’t see it he knew what it looked like, had the kingdom’s crest pressed into its surface. Dust didn’t glance at the pages, though. Just showed it off for a few breaths. “Said he’s sending out a contracting team. Capital’s best. They’ll be headed out and nightfall to Peechrey first. Build some drainage. Then rebuild the buildings. Move onto Pinoc after or split sooner, depending on resources. Time.” He debriefed.

Damien and Marie were still standing, their discussion was seemingly not over. Questions unanswered.

“I- I am grateful that our King has already prepared, it was foolish of me to assume, yet…” He took a breath, maybe trying to put together a thought. “Drainage? Should the repairs not occur first? What of those with no home?”

Valid question. If Horror were in this guy’s shoes, he’d probably be asking the same exact things. Dust seemed unbothered by the extra questioning and simply nodded along.

“Would, but it’s flood season. King said drainage first so repairs’ll stay sturdy. Just one fix instead of twenty.” Dust explained with a little shrug. “Those without houses? Take them in. Neighbors help neighbors, till we fix the big issues. Least we can ask.” The way Dust said it wasn’t forceful, or mean-spirited, yet it seemed to make Damien stand down.

“I… Understand, my Knight.” He said briefly.

It seemed he was about to sit when a hand raised from beside Marie. A human woman, one which Horror did fully recognize. Chase. She was one of the people who Crop had introduced him to during the call-outs for farmers willing to experiment with farming methods. That had been Horror’s first big project at the King’s side, and it had been going well so far. Slow, but well.

“My Knight, if I may offer.” She received a nod of approval from Dust. “My village is small, an’ about an hour’s ride by horse to yours, but my people live on a plateau and would be more than willing to house any of yours who might need a place to stay for a time. We’d just ask for an extra hand with the harvest when time comes around.” She suggested, looking to Damien for an answer.

Damien looked right back at her for a few breaths, a little stunned. Horror had found, unlike many of these people, that the farmers who he and Crop had managed to gather for the experimental farming? They were good people from tight-knit communities. Visiting their small villages and farms reminded him much of home each time. Keeping crops and animals requires a lot of fortitude, wit, and compassion. More than anyone gave them credit for, usually. In moments of crisis, if he couldn’t be here with his family, he would choose a farming village over all else. …It seemed like Chase was living up to the high praise Horror hadn’t even realize he’d assigned to her years ago.

“A-are you certain that is all you would ask in return? I fear that Miss Marie was correct in stating that the damages are far worse than I first described. We have at least fifty, perhaps more, who would be needing shelter and resources. We cannot push that upon your people for only a favor of labor.” Damien seemed like he was taking the cautious route.

Horror couldn’t necessarily blame him, he wouldn’t want to be the reason his town was indebted either. Though, he did have half a mind to defend his colleague. She wouldn’t offer something like that if she and her folks couldn’t handle it.

“ ‘Course that’s all I’d ask! We got plenty of space, as long as a few of your folks wouldn’t mind taking turns in the lofts. Plus the food shouldn’t be an issue. We mostly export the extra we don’t need to other towns for trade, but there should be enough surplus to feed that many extra mouths.” Chase belted those words with a pride that Horror had seen on many of the farmers lately. Her chest puffed a bit as she placed her hands on her hips. “Plus, don’t hurt that we’ve got the Knights here listenin’ to us make the deal. If I tried anything tricky with it I know Sir Lion over there wouldn’t let me weasel my way out of it!”

Chase nodded her head in Horror’s direction. He didn’t expect for any eyes to turn to him during this meeting beyond the nervous glances every once in a while. He figured it must’ve been shocking to see him here the first time, and it probably hadn’t gotten much easier for them since. He found himself, regrettably, making direct eye-contact with Damien. The man looked frazzled still. Like he was regretting bringing up the topic at all.

“Mm. She’s right.” He agreed, hoping it sounded half as light-hearted as he’d meant as it echoed from under his mask. “It’s… also a fair trade. Harvest season gets…” He lifted a hand a bit, searching for the words he was looking for. “Busy. Messy, when there are too many fields to harvest and not… not enough skilled hands to pick. Risk losing a lot of crop to…” Again he paused, but for a shorter span. “Over-ripening. Or drying out. Been trying to find a good way to gather it all for a few seasons now, right?” Horror finally broke his stare with Damien to glance over to Chase.

She seemed to be beaming from over where she stood. She ran a hand through her short-cropped black hair with a slight laugh.

“Exactly, My Knight! So, not entirely an unselfish offer, but we scratch your back, you scratch ours! It’d do us a big favor seein’ if getting more hands to help would really gather it all or if we’re gonna need to downscale.” She went between the two, though after looking to Horror again, she seemed to realize that the both of them had gone off-topic from the point of the question. The farming meeting was set for about a month from now, this was the civilian-based meeting. They could save shop talk for then.

In her resounding silence, eyes all turned. Not to Damien, but to Dust. Normally it’d be Nightmare making this choice, of course, but instead? Today it was him.

He seemed to look at the parties in question. He was calm. At some point he’d opened the little journal, but kept it flat on the desk away from any prying eyes of the council. He seemed to consult it shortly, and the room’s silence spanned on for nearly a minute as he seemed to debate silently with his thoughts.

Then.

“Since the offer is made, it falls in guidelines for aide. The King trusts all of the council, but Chase still needs to draft a contract.” He finally announced. “Movement can begin if Damien agrees. Sign the paper later. After the King looks it over.” He said with hardly a moment more of hesitation.

Damien’s mouth was agape for a moment, before he nodded.

“I- Yes. Thank you My Knight, Miss Chase, Miss Marie. I will agree to your offer to aide, and we will discuss the specifics after the meeting adjourns.” He finally decided.

Chase seemed thrilled. The woman was surely happy to have a whole new town’s-worth of new able-bodied souls to help her manage her crops, even if it was just for the harvest for one season. Horror and her both knew that this would put her ahead of schedule from the other farms by a bit. More progress did mean more attention from him and Crop, more notoriety for their village, and more trade incoming and outgoing. Plus, Chase was the kind of woman who insisted a little bit of manual labor was healthy for the soul. She was already getting her hands on that parchment used by all the council members to plead their cases to be reviewed by the King.

When all was quieted and both Damien and Marie also seemed to have begin writing, though theirs were on regular paper (letters maybe?), Dust allowed a moment of quiet before he reintroduced their topic for the day. And… was immediately interrupted by another raised hand from a new corner of the meeting room.

“How… do you do it?” Horror asked quietly, lifting his axe from the sling along his back.

Dust glanced at him. Horror could tell, the tilt of his chin meant he wasn’t following.

“I mean. Talk in front of all those people. Think of good answers to their questions so quick. You’re so calm.” He clarified.

“Mm.” Was all Dust said for a second.

They’d been out of the council meeting for a few hours now. Dust had rushed off post-meeting to see Nightmare. As much as they all knew Dust was the king of paperwork, especially contracts, Nightmare had made him promise to let him at least read over each one so his stamp was proper. (They all knew that meant he’d take the fall if anything went wrong for either party, too.) So, despite their King being so tired and busy with his whole… being a teenager thing? He was still triple-checking legal documents in his study.

When that was finished Dust had gone off to check the stables and now he was back inside. In the training room, to be more specific. He’d been trying to make sure his magic was under control. His storm. Horror figured he was nervous, with Nightmare being so young now. They all needed to be on their toes. Horror had wanted to come with him, because he needed to sharpen and polish his axe. And ask him that question.

“Black Market boss.” He replied evenly, tugging his hood over his head a bit farther than it usually sat.

Of course Horror knew about that. It had been very obvious when he’d first showed up. Back then, Dust was still wandering around in his shackles and being used as a walking map to find every black market location. Sure, he figured that the stress of a job like that, plus the paperwork involved, had to have prepared him for something like this, but… Horror was the last one to forget that past of his. He meant something else.

“Didn’t mean that.” He said with a little huff. “Meant. Like. You think how the King would. I could… make choices that I liked. But. Not the same way Nightmare would. You know? You think of everything.” He elaborated a bit more.

Dust stood beside him as he plopped down onto one of the benches to the side of the training room. Dust would need all the floor space to practice his spells, and sharpening and cleaning his monster of an axe didn’t need much space at all.

“Same morals?” He replied deadpan with a shrug.

Dust was already moving out onto the big open floor to begin his summons, but he clearly heard it as Horror let out a laugh, because his steps got a bit lighter.

“You ass! I saw you send me a look about the Cherris rep. You wouldn’t have… said yes to her on your own.” He accused, almost playfully. He liked when his small friend set his shoulders. It meant he was trying not to laugh about something. Dust didn’t turn towards him.

“She asked for… a lot. Already gets a lot of support.” He replied shortly.

Quickly after his words, Horror was graced with the vision of Dust’s magic igniting across the room.

It was always in bright flashes. Sometimes manifesting as crooked, broken, brittle bone attacks with an electric taste in the air and a scorch mark left on the floor. Others, it showed up like a streak of lightning arching quickly from Dust’s fingertips or from the sky to strike wildly in any direction. It always had this deadly purple hue to it, and his one eyelight always flashed with vibrant colors just for a spilt second before it would fade back to that pale white/greyish color he sported normally.

Dust didn’t like to talk when he was fighting or training, unless it was Killer. It seemed that would be his answer for now, which didn’t really help his curiosity in the slightest. It almost made him wonder more, but lucky for the both of them, he wasn’t a very pushy person. If Dust didn’t want to talk about it, there would be no talking.

So, Horror took this time, with the ambient zapping noises of his fellow Knight’s magic as his soundtrack, to properly care for his axe. It was a nice, calming, repetitive task that helped chase away building headaches and distract him from worrisome thoughts. It was times like these when he could really take a moment to think about things he hasn’t in a while. Like, for instance, his family back home.

Almost two weeks ago, only days before the King’s reverse-ascension, he’d gotten a letter from his mother. It was written in their foreign tongue, the only writing all the family could recognize and the only language which most of them spoke. It had detailed how his brother was doing well, managing their own experimental patches well and how his studies to learn more of Orchan, the dialect spoken by the people here, had been going by quickly. He was already planning to send a letter to him apparently. Though, his mother had insisted he not mention that when they meet again because it was meant to be a surprise. It also sounded like their old farm dog had finally had her last litter of puppies. They were going to move her into someone’s house and off the fields soon, once this batch of pups grew old enough to protect the livestock on their own. Horror knew how much that old dog deserved a nice retirement treat. Warm bed and shoes to chew on when she’d get bored.

He ran a cloth along the broadside of the axe blade, away from the sharp bits for now. He liked getting the side shiny enough that he could spot a silhouette, but not enough that he could see his own reflection.

…Honestly, he wanted to visit his family. He wanted to visit his family with the King in tow, though. The plan had been to ask him about another visit soon, because his entire village adored the King just like he did. His mother once swooned to him about how ‘awkward and kind’ the King was when he sat with everyone at dinner. His dad liked the way Nightmare tried to hold back his joy at the taste of their home-cooked meal they’d served to him. The King’s poker face had hardly broken for a moment, but the curling of those tendrils of his had been hard to miss.

He just thought it’d be nice to bring Nightmare along. Plus, then, his family would be much less likely to try and baby him. He’d be on the clock as a guard, even if the King wouldn’t say so.

It would have to happen another time, though. Maybe he’d invite Crop instead. Have him examine ground zero for this entire project of theirs? That’d be nice, it’d keep his family occupied by talking technicalities with Crop… but then Horror wouldn’t get nearly enough time with Crop all to himself… Maybe-

“Worried for him.”

Dust’s voice snapped Horror out of his thoughts with a jolt.

Dust stared at him, only a little apologetic at giving his large friend a heart-attack. He was stood right past Horror’s axe. He must’ve stopped polishing a while ago. Dust looked like he’d worked up a sweat, the room felt at least 10 degrees warmer, and the floor and some walls had distinct scorch marks all along the stone in various locations. How long ago had Dust stopped training? He hadn’t even heard the zapping end, so lost in his own head.

“What?” Horror asked, confused now.

Dust frowned slightly, though he tugged his mask back over his mouth.

“Been learning his process for years. Only doing it now because I’m worried.” He said.

He moved to sit beside Horror on the bench, and Horror twisted to look at him. Waiting for any more insight into Dust’s thought process.

“He looks tired. Can see the bags under his eyes. Missing words too. Trouble focusing, looks confused sometimes.” He explained. “Don’t think he’s dumb, real genius kid. Just… the whole “13 year old brain” is getting to him. Don’t think he’s sleeping much either. It’s a lot.”

Dust looked a little pained to be saying it outloud. Horror knew he was just speaking his mind. Trying to find a good way to say that he was rightfully worried for the King’s wellbeing.

Ever since the incident, Horror hadn’t been around the King much. Not by choice of course, every bone in his body wished he could just wrap his young employer up in his arms and make him go out to the courtyard to play catch, just like he used to do with his older cousins as a kid. It just… it just made sense for him to remain vigilant and focused. Ccino and Killer and Dust seemed to have things covered with the King’s personal interactions. Horror and Cross had just been tasked with keeping face and continuing training best they could. Nightmare hadn’t even been coming to supervise trainings. So, Horror could barely say anything to Dust’s description.

The only thing Horror knew was that Dust wasn’t one to worry unneededly. Like, when he and the King returned with that Mage. Error? He’d seemed worried about the kid, but after a few days he relaxed again, because it was safe and that kid seemed genuinely happy. If Dust thought something was up with the King, Horror would believe him without doubt.

“Mm. Good thing. You learned, I mean.” Horror replied carefully. “Probably a lot like…” Hmm, maybe he didn’t want to say that out loud. Would that be rude?

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Yeah.” Dust just said quietly.

Of course Dust knew what he was about to say. Comparing the King’s rewind to his own skull injury. Granted, his happened when he was a kid, but even now it made things harder. Harder to think, to remember, to see, to process things. He’s had time to get used to it though. Nightmare was just hit by similar issues so suddenly, and no physical wound to soothe either. Their king was smart and prepared. Horror could bet he didn’t want to lose that feeling. To lose… everything he’d been doing here. Just like that.

“Don’t want to, though.” Dust’s voice was still quiet and even.

Horror tilted his head at him curiously.

“Talk. In front of others.” He clarified with a shrug. “Was nice being a Knight. Quiet before. …But I want to help. King’s too young to act alone.”

Dust sighed after those words.

They all could have said the same things about themselves in the past. Horror remembers the first time Dust discussed his early days out on the streets. He was too young to put himself into those situations. Then again, Killer had been too young for any of the shit he was put through. Same with what he heard from Cross. Even he shouldn’t have really been the sole communicator for his entire family in his youth. There had been a few close encounters in those early years thanks to angry customers.

There was no time to really think back on it, though. In the moment now, Dust was right. The King was having that crisis in real time. They all needed to face the music and help take on some of the weight, especially after all Nightmare had done for them. Was still doing for them.

“Think there’s… something I can do? To help you with the meetings?” He paused, and Dust didn’t say anything so he continued. “Or help the King?”

He hadn’t exactly been doing much. Killer and Dust had taken on most of the responsibility, and Ccino… that poor guy, Horror wasn’t sure how he was managing everything he was. Killer gave them a breakdown once of all the shit he technically oversees as the ‘Head of House’ and stars was it way too much. And Cross was still a rookie, so he got why Nightmare hadn’t assigned any big stressors to him. Horror was capable though, and he hoped the King wasn’t-

“Next few weeks. He can’t meet the farms. I dunno how he runs those meetings.” Dust once again sliced through his thoughts with his even tone. “ ‘sides. You stayed, didn’t do your missions. Watching out for Cross. Think Night likes having us close. Already helping a lot.”

Right. When Dust says it like that, it made his whole lot of nothing sound like everything. Sometimes he forgot Dust was an older brother. Horror chuckled a bit, and he could’ve sworn Dust’s cheekbones rose ever so slightly with the twitch of a hidden grin. He should’ve known better anyhow, Dust always knew just the right information. It was why Night hired him in the first place.

“You’re doin’ well. Keeping things moving smooth. I’m sure the King appreciates it.” Horror voiced, before he sighed and hoisted himself to his feet. His axe was definitely done. He’d sharpen it another day. “Maybe,” A grin appeared on his face. “When he’s better, we can assign Kills to talk instead.”

In hardly a moment, a silent moment, Dust was at his side now standing. He raised a doubtful brow at the suggestion.

What is he doing? What is he doing?

Oh, this felt so, so odd! He wasn’t- he shouldn’t! Well, he was ordered to, but still! He-

“Cross?”

Cross jolted as he looked up from where he had made a poor attempt at excusing himself from the group outside. He’d insisted he had important business, he was sure he sounded convincing… until he’d walked through the nearest door. Which happened to be one of the weapon storage closets out amidst the training grounds.

Now, as he turned to face the person who had spoken, he found that there was someone standing in the doorway. A familiar someone. A human with an impressive beard and dark tanned skin and scars tracing across his cheekbones ever so faintly and kind eyes with a few wrinkles under them. From age or stress, Cross wasn’t entirely sure.

This was Captain Rogers. The King’s first in command who watched over all the royal guard as well as castle security. The man who had personally guided the batch of recruits which Cross had snuck in with during his spying mission hardly two years prior. The man who, he had swiftly learned, had seen through him very quickly and had purposely placed him with Shep as his guide. That damn liar. Captain Rogers was sharp, and skilled, and trustworthy.

As far as he knew, the Captain had been around longer than Killer. At least, that’s what Killer had told him when he asked. He also had mentioned, and Cross had noticed, he was friends with the Head of House. Cross guessed that made sense. The captain had ensured Ccino be introduced as an important person within the castle very early on in their work here, and he had been proven very very right.

Maybe it was that reputation Cross had seen true with his own two eyes during his stay that led him to not ask the Captain to leave as he eased his way into the weapons storage and gently closed the door behind him. He wasn’t a threat. Especially if the King trusted him with Ccino. He could know that much.

“I’m not looking to disturb your business here, but I wanted to see if I could be of any assistance.” The Captain offered loosely.

He’d been kind since Cross was pardoned by the King and allowed to train. His first few weeks when he fought against the Captain’s own soldiers? He and the King had both been patient with him. Something about being in combat like that again… it had brought out the worst in him. An old wound reopening in his chest like an empty chasm. He was pretty sure the King never explained to the Captain why they would suddenly stop mid-round, but Cross figured he could see the change as well as Nightmare could feel it. They’d only kept that up a few weeks until he was deemed too high of a skill level to continue training with the soldiers. He’d been moved to private training with the Knights not much later than that. Only saw the Captain in passing ever since.

If nothing else, that time under his guidance had taught Cross that he was a man who knew how to speak with others. With security for himself and what he does, a pride in his work. He didn’t act maliciously. Perhaps only in jest or retribution to those who deserved it. He wouldn’t follow Cross in here if he hadn’t noticed him acting weird.

That mortified him.

“Thank you. For the- for the offer, Captain Rogers.” Cross replied hurriedly, realizing he’d already been staring for a period of time that felt too long. “Though I’m not sure there’s anything that can be helped.”

The Captain was silent for a few breaths, but he did wander deeper into the shed to join Cross before the stand which he had decided to stop at in his rush to get out from the scrutinous eyes of the soldiers out there. He turned away. He could easily see the reflection of the Captain on the steel surfaces of the longswords he’d stationed himself in front of. Of course he’d stopped near the long swords. He was so predictable.

“I’m not so sure about that, kid. I’ve seen time again how the helpless can be helped in these recent years.” He said quietly. Part of Cross knew that, with their ranking, in some ways they were meant to be equals. It never seemed that way, though. Maybe that was why Cross’ nerves were on fire. “So if I can help, I’d like to offer it to you.”

Yeah. From what Cross had seen of the people in this castle in these two years, it made sense to him now more than ever that Nightmare would keep people like the Captain around for so long.

Wait…

“Have you… spoken with our King recently?” Cross had to know.

After all, he hardly saw Nightmare interact with his own soldiers. He devoted much time into his Knights, but those in lower rank hardly saw him. He didn’t seem to know their names as well as he did the servants. Did he leave all business up to the Captain for the sake of trust? Was there something he had been missing?

He saw as the Captain glanced towards the closed door, and his eyes skimmed the rack of weapons. Checking for any signs of life in the reflection. His eyes only landed on Cross, staring right back at him in the shining steel.

“Not directly, no. Though I have heard word from Ccino as to how he is fairing. Seen him pass by in the night a few times. He seems to be doing well, considering it all.” He voiced, his voice almost dropping to an inaudible whisper. Cross had to stop breathing to be able to hear him. “I know you see him regularly. I’m glad for that.”

Cross nodded, mostly to himself. Yes, he figured that the Captain would know. Why else would he agree to let Cross back out among his men so easily? The King was in danger if he didn’t train these monsters.

He took a slight breath from the silence, drinking in the scent of cleaners and musty wood.

“I wish Killer was in charge of this…” He muttered to himself, dragging his hand up to his skull to place pressure to his sockets with the heel of his palms.

And he nearly jumped when the Captain let a laugh fall from his mouth. It was subdued, but hardy enough Cross practically felt it bounce around in his ribcage alongside his racing soul.

“You truly believe Sir Killer would have better luck with something like this?” The Captain questioned, a slight smile still present after his raucous laugh had scared Cross to the bone. “No ill will, of course. Just… think on it. Truly.”

Cross, part of him, felt an indignation on Killer’s behalf. For a moment he wondered if the Captain was being rude towards the Knight. The oldest of them, the most skilled, the one who stood at King Nightmare’s side. Though it only took half a second for him to recall. No, he was actually right. He couldn’t picture Killer out there on the training grounds, trying to teach swaths of people at a time. To dodge, too. Killer was a very aggressive fighter and only fled when he truly needed to. Even then, most of that work belonged to his beloved steed Granite. Killer was not the type to teach fighting lessons to a crowd.

Though, he wondered how the Captain had come to a conclusion like that. Cross had heard that Nightmare had sparred with the Captain before. Only a few times, not even close to the kind of intense training which the Knights had to go through. That he had been training. Before Night’s change, of course. From what he’d been told. The Captain had only lasted hardly a minute. One, very impressive, minute, but still. There was no way he’d ever sparred against Killer.

“No… You are right, Killer wouldn’t be the best option here.” He admitted. “Though I get the feeling that one of the Knights would be a better fit for this sort of training…”

Of course, it went unsaid in the silence which followed that, well, the other Knights were too busy to do something like this. Dust was leading every meeting Nightmare had scheduled, and planned to continue for as long as he was needed. Killer was busy staying by the King’s side and taking on the King’s usual commoner communications. Figuring out what little issues were good to be dealt with how. As well as ‘cleaning out’ the dungeon. Cross was pretty sure they didn’t keep as many criminals as they had in the past, even when Cross was among the cells those two years ago it hadn’t been very crowded. He had a feeling that the more dangerous and violent of those below the castle had been swiftly dealt with by Killer’s blade. Horror he was pretty sure was preparing. The two of them had spent a lot of time by each other’s sides those first few days, when the King was asleep or waking for only short periods before returning to sleep. After, though, Horror received his orders to cancel his missions and prepare for the upcoming harvests which would need to be guided and recorded over the fall. Cross… Cross had only been asked to continue his training with Horror when their schedules fell in line, and to work with Killer to settle any local matters.

He didn’t mind it so far, there had been very little to do, though. He worried he’d been sidelined. Sent to do the unimportant tasks because he wasn’t capable enough. Nightmare had smiled at him, but he seemed distressed. Cross was too, then.

There was no way the King had chosen him to do something like this. Teach others. He couldn’t do that.

“Well, it is a shame that you think like that. You were recommended to me for this training, you know?” The Captain crossed his arms. “By several someones, actually. Training the soldiers may have been my idea, but you were who many pointed to when I asked for assistance.”

Cross blinked at those words in confusion.

Who could have possibly suggested he do something like this?

“I find that hard to believe.” He said. He’d meant it to sound a bit more joking, but it looked like it’d come out more genuine. The Captain furrowed his brow in response, and Cross attempted to backpedal, raising his hands a little. “I mean! Kidding! Just kidding!” Though his awkward chuckle obviously wasn’t contagious.

“Look, Cross.” He huffed after those words. “If you really don’t want to do this, I can always ask for a hand from someone else. I bet Horror would do it in your stead if we reached out to him.” He offered.

Was- was the Captain really just going to let him slip away from this? He was kind. Incredibly so.

He wondered how it would feel to just accept. Hand off the stressful duty to Horror. Horror knew these people better anyhow, they had trained early on before Nightmare decided to offer him a position as Knight. Horror still spoke with most of them regularly. Cross, on the other hand, evaded eye contact like a kicked puppy. It would be so easy to just let Horror take over before he had to do his meeting things for the harvest season. It would be so convenient. So easy.

“No. I’ll do it.” He said quickly.

The Captain raised a brow, but Cross was already moving past him. Towards the door.

“Sudden change of heart?” The Captain questioned from behind him.

Cross took a deep inhale. One to center himself as he outstretched his hand and placed it on the knob leading back outside.

“I don’t think I’m any good at leading or teaching, thinking on it makes me sick to my stomach… but the idea of making the others take on another responsibility is ten times worse.” He practically spat.

No, he was not happy about this. He shoved open the door to the shed and drew his sword as he walked back towards the warm-up field where the soldiers had occupied themselves by whacking dummies with their weapons. He wanted nothing more than to turn away, out of the beating sun and watchful gazes of these people who he once hid among. He couldn’t though. Not when everyone else had some way to help. If this was Cross’ new duty, he’d do it with all the confidence he could muster.

… Besides. They were training for fast-reaction magic attacks. He was literally the only choice for this. He’d just have to make his own training regime this time around. He could do this.

Killer had done a lot of odd jobs in his past. Most of them involved stealing. Or threatening. Or killing. He had to get his name from somewhere, after all. Even so, running into town to pick up Ccino’s fabric order hadn’t been something he’d ever expected to be on his resume.

The King was having one of his rough days. Killer hadn’t often been able to see them first-hand back in the day, but he knew they were very much there. The days he would lock himself away in his study, the Head of House the only one allowed to enter, bringing with him a cup of tea or a platter of small snacks. Staying inside for hours at a time on occasion. Killer had often guarded the door if nothing else, but the walls were thick. He couldn’t often hear the low murmuring voices within.

Now, that the King was miniscule, Killer had been allowed to spend more time around both the King in his private spaces, as well as around Ccino. He was grateful for both opportunities. Though, today the King had looked exhausted. He’d been up for a few days trying to make that magic spell he found work, to make his eye cyan again. He wasn’t saying anything, but Killer figured it was draining his magic more than he wanted to admit. And earlier, when Dust came to deliver those reports from the meeting, Ccino had asked the two of them to stay for a while so he could collect a delivery. Only… Nightmare nearly flung himself out of his seat when he heard Ccino suggest he was leaving. The King didn’t outright say anything, but all of them knew those wide sockets were pleading. A silent beg to stay. Which was quickly followed by stray tears that he hastily noticed and covered with his sleeves.

Emotions. He hadn’t thought the King had been such a crybaby before. Maybe he hadn’t been. Killer couldn’t blame him though. If he had to go back to being 13, with the awareness of his 13 year old self? Yeah. No. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t make it a day. It was just that he was a crying a lot. The slightest little things would make his sockets well with tears, and then he’d try to insist he was okay and didn’t need help. Even when he would still bury into Ccino’s arms the moment they came in contact.

That was what had happened. Ccino returned to the King’s side, and the King immediately clung to him, muttering apologies. Insisting he go out anyways. What he reacted poorly and should be able to handle himself.

Killer had looked to Dust, and Dust had just nodded at him.

“I’ll go get the order.” Killer had offered stupidly, a little too eagerly, into the open air.

Both Nightmare and Ccino had seemed startled, but when he promised he wanted to run into town anyways (he hadn’t) they relented and Ccino gave him the details. Dust offered wordlessly to stay and watch over the King and head of House in Killer’s absense. He knew Killer all too well. He’d have to thank him with a drink sometime.

Those tears. They just made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t good with emotions, especially not sadness. He doesn’t know quite how to fix crying. It’s not his thing.

It just made sense for Ccino to stay and Dust to watch over them. His big brother senses must’ve been strong today, and his patience plentiful.

He’s run to the shop, of course. A tailor shop owned by a pretty skeleton just off from the capital square. He hadn’t seemed excited to see Killer, even with that mask. A nervous energy rolling off his shoulders as he reluctantly gathered items from behind the desk and packed them carefully into the bag which Ccino had sent him with to carry the items. He’d asked about Ccino. Whether he was okay. Killer had just told him that Ccino was busy so he was running errands. They hadn’t had much more to say beyond that.

Now, he was back in the castle, ready to present Ccino with his prize, and see if the King had been able to calm down at all.

“My lord?” He called out as he opened the door to the study with an easy swing of wood on heavy hinges. Slipping inside was no problem, but he’d be stupid to deny that he was confused when he didn’t spot the little monarch sitting behind his too-big wooden desk piled high with paperwork.

“Killer,” He sure knew that voice! His head swiveled until his vision fell to Ccino, sitting on one of the couches. Dust was nowhere in sight. “Perfect timing. Dust just left to meet with Horror to train… How was your trip to town?”

Ccino, polite and reserved as always. It made Killer’s gut twist just a little. At the distance. His soul certainly wriggled in place as he made his approach, bag clutched by one hand at his side.

“Not bad. Could’ve done with a little more action!” He joked, though as he got closer, he lowered his voice and the laugh trying to come to him simmered back into his cheshire grin. “Your little friend from the shop asked about you.”

As Killer rounded the largest couch to stand just across the low table from Ccino, he noticed what he hadn’t prior. The King was curled up with his back to killer, arms loosely hugging to Ccino’s middle, his face buried against Ccino’s apron. A blanket normally tossed over the back of the few chairs within the room was covering him, and someone had tucked him in tight, like a bug in a rug. Even more charmingly, one of the cats took up the rest of the space on Ccino’s lap. That little calico, Princess. Her back was pressed to the back of Nightmare’s skull and she seemed perfectly content to roll up into a perfect little bun on her master’s lap.

And despite the adorable scene, Killer didn’t miss how Ccino seemed to perk up at the mention of his friend. So they were friends, then.

“What did you tell him?” Ccino asked, his voice quiet. One of his hands was settled gently atop Nightmare’s side, the other was free and tucked by his side.

Killer chuckled quietly, sitting on the opposite couch as he plopped his delivery silently to the table before Ccino.

“Nothing bad. Told him you were busy so I was out on a grocery run. Everyone knows you’re a very busy man.” He teased. Was it okay to tease him right now? Was Ccino going to be mad with him?

Well, if he was, he didn’t seem to say anything about it. Instead , he peered at the bag, then smiled a bit.

“Well, thank you for running out, my Knight.” He returned, eyelights shifting back down to his charge who rested in the comfort and safety of his lap. …Killer had to admit to himself that he was a bit jealous. “When I have the chance, I plan to visit our tailor and ensure that our King has a wider wardrobe, since it seems he truly won’t be returning to his previous form anytime soon.”

Right. They were still trying to keep everything under wraps, so Ccino couldn’t just send a servant with measurements to see the seamstress halfway across castle grounds. He probably had to go himself. Especially because, as Killer had quickly learned, Nightmare is particular about things. The texture of his meals, the feeling of his clothes, even the temperature of his sheets in the night or the brightness of a candle. Though, he rarely voices his discomfort. Ccino was just a master of noticing the little ways the small King would squirm or tug at his top or squint at a candle just a bit too strong for his newly sensitive eyes. He wanted to learn how to do that so well.

His only good news on that front was that Nightmare still made a lot of the same gestures as before. His little, silent commands to Killer. At ease, be alert, with me. He was fond of still being familiar with their own little secret code they’d unintentionally invented over the years.

“It really wasn’t a big deal. Besides, our little Lord said that it’d be better for the city to see the knights are still active, right? With Dust and Horror out of commission for day-trips, I’ve gotta pick up the slack!” he joked, leaning back comfortably into the couch and sighing. “Next time you need a break, we can always try and ask him to supervise a training for us. Maybe it’d make him feel a little better?” he suggested,

Nightmare, small as he was now, still couldn’t deny a duty which called for him. Especially, Killer assumed, from his Knights. A little of that old normality would probably be good for him. Make him feel like not much had changed. Even though… it definitely had.

Ccino smiled a bit at that idea, his hand gently petting Nightmare’s ar. His chest rose up and down ever so gently.

“He cherishes training with all of you so dearly. Maybe he would enjoy a small break from all of these worries.” He agreed quietly.

#new age au #I... honestly had no idea what I was doing here for most of this haha #I knew I wanted to show Dust and how he's developed since arriving (He has complex feelings about having to come up with solutions to peopl #and their problems as well as be standing in the spotlight) and Horror and how he feels a bit adrift but how he'll manage just fine.#Then ofc Cross is having his own little crisis (he does NOT want to be working with these people. He's not a full Knight but he's in a #weird between rank that makes him the same level as the Captain but he's still just another recruit so he feels weird teaching the actual #soldiers? And I've also decided that Cross had a bit of time to train w/ the normal guard after his release (Horror started his training #with them too) but he started to fall into an old pattern he used to get when training w/ X-Gaster. And that got. Spooky. So now he feels #like an outcast and that he isn't qualified to teach these guys anything!) but luckily Rogers is cool.#He was there when Cross was a rookie #even if he was a fake one. And he sees potential and can tell that Cross is a sweet kid (Ccino has high-praise for him too.) so #he comes to his aid! And. Well. he manages to get Cross to talk himself in a circle about it at the very least! He was planning a pep talk #but... eh. it worked out!#Then Killer! He just needs a little fun outing since Cross gave some insight into what else he's been up to. Plus it sets up future events.#(Lust and Cross meeting? Killer not being able to handle a sick and delirious emotional night? Y'know?)#And... yeah! Just a lot of stuff I kinda piled in lol- I'm sure each of these could get a little drabble of their own but i liked compiling #them like this! Plus it made me feel less bad about it only being a glimpse rather than a full scene lol.#Okay!!! Okay. My final statement is that I fell asleep mid-type and woke myself up #fully just because in my hazy dream darkness I thought 'I need to post that drabble' and then snapped awake because i hadn't finished it #lmao-#So!!! Good night!!!#Oh also. Actually my last thing: Yes I did revisit Change in Management because I needed to remember Rogers as a character lmao.#I hope I caught him right? I love Ancha's depictions of him sm and I was very afraid I'd make him sound stale lmao-#OKAY I"M DONE. NIGHT!

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anto-pops · 1 month ago

Text

The Serpent's Paramour CH 25 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Out of the frying pan and into the fire. That was where you found yourself now— surrounded by snakes and deceivers, left with no choice but to cooperate with the very men you wanted dead. It was a bleak prospect, but what other choice did you have? If agreeing to Victor’s terms kept your other companions safe and gave you the chance to keep your eyes on Sebastian while he remained their mindless hostage, you would do it.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language, minor violence, minor physical abuse/unwanted touching, sexually implied statements, angst/no comfort

New chapter is up on Ao3 as well :))

“Sebastian…”

You didn’t know why you bothered saying his name– it was obvious that he couldn’t answer you. The man you had once loathed and resented before growing to love him so deeply was staring at you with a stony expression. Hard. Unyielding and unfeeling. Uncaring.

It was like the person before you now was a mindless wax replica of the man you adored. Cold. Blank.

Dead.

The tears flowed freely down your cheeks, your lower lip quivering against your will as you tried to wrap your head around what this meant for you. For him. If he was under Victor’s control, Sebastian could be made to do anything. You already knew Rookwood wouldn’t be above using his former protege against you to get what he wanted. The thought of the sickly man forcing your lover to enact his barbaric will was too real– too great of a threat for you to arrogantly start attacking.

What if he made Sebastian defend him? What if Victor forced him to kill you, or Devlin, or Poppy and Garreth? What if he made him kill himself?

You couldn’t– no, wouldn’t risk that. Victor had tipped the scales in his favor so heavily, it was hard not to look at the situation bleakly.

“You fucking bastard!” Devlin snarled from beside you suddenly, ripping his wand from its resting place against his hip before angling it brazenly at Victor. You didn’t even get the chance to stop him– Lincoln acted so fast that from your perspective, he was standing behind Rookwood one moment, then closing in on the Ashwinder the next. The heel of his palm shot out and connected with Devlin’s nose, a sickening crunch sounding from the impact, and you gasped as the older man flew back with a howl of pain.

What happened next was all instinctual; your dark power lashed out quicker than a whip, bypassing your companion entirely as the sentient magic zeroed in on the true threat in your mind’s eye. The red, jagged bolt of concentrated pain struck Lincoln in his shoulder, sending him soaring towards the cluster of men in front of the castle gate, and he landed on his back with a wheezing grunt that would have no doubt been louder had the air not been punched from his lungs.

It wasn’t a critical hit by any means, but you didn’t care. All you had intended to do was get him far enough away from Devlin so that he couldn’t cause any more harm, and with that accomplished, you rushed to your friend’s side and collapsed to your knees. “Devlin–” you exclaimed softly. “Are you alright?”

Henri swore under his breath, throwing his hands above his head in alarm. “Fils de pute– you see now, Victor? I did not lie about the girl– that magic is abhorrent!”

Victor only hummed in acknowledgement, watching you fuss over Devlin with a strange, appraising gleam in his eyes. Eventually, he said, “No, you most certainly did not. What a prize that magic is…”

The Frenchman clearly disagreed if his scoff of disgust was any indication. You ignored all of them, though. Devlin had a steady stream of blood cascading from his nose and dripping down his chin, and he grimaced when you reached up to gently touch the now crooked bridge. “It’s definitely broken… here,” you quickly charmed up a rag wandlessly, carefully pressing it below his ruddy nostrils before taking his hand and moving it so it replaced yours. “Hold that there.”

Devlin could only blink at you when you flashed him a reassuring smile– although it probably looked more pained than anything– before glancing back at Victor and Henri. Lincoln was easily overlooked as Rookwood continued to drink in the sight of you, causing the hair on your arms to stand on end. He was repulsive. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“I think it’s nigh time to establish what will happen next,” he smoothly announced, looking far too smug for your liking. Lincoln groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, sending a murderous glare your way that promised trouble for you later on, then backed up so he was planted guardedly beside his boss. “You– and only you, dear sweet Hero– will come with me, my men, and obedient Sebastian here to the ancient magic site. You will aid me in unlocking it, assist in my retrieval of the relic without a fight, and keep your magic to yourself at all times. Agree to my terms, and I’ll let the rest of your friends here leave with their lives.”

Every feasible insult in existence danced on the tip of your tongue. You wanted nothing more than to refuse– to tell Victor to go to hell and spend the rest of his miserable life rotting and seething knowing that he was doomed to fail in his quest for the relic without your help. Fighting back with your companions wouldn’t be impossible… it might be difficult, but Rookwood was weak. He didn’t stand a chance against the four of you united, and overpowering Lincoln and Henri to get to him didn’t seem like a hopeless prospect.

But Sebastian… he might get caught in the crossfire. Victor– the coward he was– would send him into the fray. He would make Sebastian fight against you without restraint, and you couldn’t bring yourself to even imagine the idea of killing him. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

A lump formed in the back of your throat, choking you silently as Rookwood smiled at you with all of his yellowed, uneven teeth. He knew exactly what you were thinking. He knew he had you right where he wanted you; between a rock and a sharp, prickly hard place.

Just as you were about to open your mouth to give him your answer, Devlin was cutting you off harshly. Bloody spittle flew from his lips as he yelled, “Like hell she’s going anywhere with you! So much as try to lay a finger on her, and I swear I’ll–”

“You’ll what, Devlin?” Lincoln was the one to speak up, and upon hearing his voice for the first time, you realized he was Irish. What on Godric’s green Earth was he doing associating with vile, British wizards like Rookwood? He tipped his head back defiantly, looking down his nose at the elder man as he sneered, “You’ll maim us? Rend our souls from our bodies? You’re a relic yourself– a wizard from a bygone era. You’ve been past your prime for a long time, and the only reason you held any merit while serving Sebastian was because he was too egotistical to replace you with someone better.”

It was easy enough to read between the lines there. Something told you that Lincoln was referring to himself. Had he been considered to work as Sebastian’s second in command? Maybe Victor had intentionally kept them apart because of their ambition… both of the dark wizards seemed to embody the definition of megalomaniacs. Given what little you knew of Lincoln, you could already tell that he enjoyed being in a position of power above others, so it wasn’t a far cry to believe that Rookwood knew putting his right and left hand men on the same team was risky.

It was an avenue you would think to exploit later on… for now, though, you needed to do everything you could to ensure that Sebastian stayed safe. Even looking at him now across the courtyard, the sight of those unnatural green eyes made you nauseous. Being intimately familiar with the Imperius Curse yourself, you wondered if he felt the same way you had when Henri had used the curse on you.

Was he still there in his own mind? Watching and banging against the walls his consciousness was trapped behind? Maybe it was just wishful thinking. After all, he still looked like a numb Inferi from behind Victor. Nothing about his demeanor reminded you of the man you had fallen in love with.

Sebastian was a husk now, but you would see to it that you freed him from Victor’s influence. The only way you could do that, however, was if you agreed to the madman’s terms.

“I’ll go,” came your confident reply. You were grateful your voice didn’t tremble or crack, because you didn’t want to appear timid or afraid in front of these monsters in the slightest. “You have to swear you won’t harm anyone, though. You take me, and you leave the others untouched.”

Victor’s smile grew an uncomfortable amount, and you saw Devlin’s head whip towards you in your peripheral vision. “No, kid, you can’t do this–”

“I have to,” your eyes stayed trained on Rookwood’s as you argued. “You remember what Sebastian said back at the manor? That still stands, Devlin. You have to go.”

While it might have sounded like you were imploring him to go and save his own life, there was a deeper meaning hidden behind those words– one that only Devlin would fully understand. He knew you were telling him to go to Nora. He knew that you were urging him to stay alive for her sake– to live through this altercation so that he might get the chance to see her healed and whole again. But you were also indirectly telling him that it was up to him to go and get help. Go to Nora, and he would find himself before Ominis again. Go to the Auror, tell him everything, and send help to the ancient magic site.

It was the only chance any of you had at this point. You weren’t about to let them leave with Sebastian, and you didn’t want Poppy, Garreth, or Devlin getting caught in the middle of it.

“You heard the girl,” Lincoln taunted, cocking his head to the side as a smarmy expression took root. “Go and crawl back into the hole you climbed out of–”

“Shut. Up.”

Lincoln visibly recoiled like you’d slapped him, surprise streaking across his face as he openly balked at you. It disappeared rather quickly, though, and was instantly replaced by indignant anger. His large hands curled into fists, and he narrowed his dark eyes at you as he demanded, “What the hell did you just say?”

“I said shut up. My deal is with your boss, not you, so quit interrupting like a belligerent child and know your place.”

Rookwood’s head tipped back, and he laughed hard. Long and loud and violently enough that he had to forcibly slam his back against his wheelchair to stop from toppling out of it. “Oh, that’s rich! That’s fantastic!” More grating chuckling slipped from his chapped lips as Lincoln’s cheeks flushed red with anger, but you remained impassive all the while. You needed to stand firm if you were going to make this work. A plan was already formulating in your mind, and riling Lincoln up was the first part of it. “Sebastian went and imprinted on a spitfire! This is too much, even for me–”

“Swear it,” you interrupted Victor, and his lip curled as his attention was drawn back to you. “Swear that you won’t harm anyone here, and I’ll go with you without a fight.”

Devlin began shouting from beside you– begging you not to do it– imploring you to rethink your decision, but you ignored him. Victor was your only focus now, and he seemed to consider your words thoughtfully for a few moments before holding out his shaky arm in silent offering. “Very well, child. I’ll swear it, but it will be done my way.”

Shit… an Unbreakable Vow? You hadn’t considered that at all– you didn’t want your life on the line if Victor intentionally phrased the Vow in ways that left loopholes. From behind you, Poppy and Garreth both swore under their breath, and Devlin continued to object vehemently from his place in the grass.

There really wasn’t any other alternative for you. You had to ensure that everyone made it out of this alive, and refusing would just make Rookwood think that you had never intended on going along with him in the first place.

Without waiting for anyone else’s approval, you stalked forward with your spine ramrod straight, scowling at Lincoln when he snarled at you as you passed him. He would be a problem to deal with later. As you came to stand directly in front of Rookwood, Henri stepped forward with his wand drawn, evidently prepared to attack in case you were trying to trick them all for the sake of getting close enough to do damage. Pursing your lips, you held out your hand and stared down the man in the chair, conveying with your actions and your expression that you weren’t bullshitting.

“Henri,” Victor murmured coyly. “Would you do the honors, my good man?”

The Frenchman sucked his teeth loudly, side-eyeing you warily when he eventually opted to come closer and cater to the dark wizard’s request. He positioned himself so that he was off to the side in-between you and Victor, then cleared his throat. That thick, accented voice of his was quiet when he muttered, “You must stand for this, Victor.”

Rookwood didn’t have to say anything. In the next instant, Lincoln was beside his mentor, aiding the creaking, rickety man to his feet with remarkably gentle hands. The pissed off look on the younger wizard’s face contrasted heavily with his body language; while he took care to keep his hold on Victor mindful and supportive, his tense shoulders and stormy expression told a different story. He loathed the process. He despised being made to assist such a sorry sac of bones with something as simple as standing up.

Another good thing to file away in your brain, you wagered.

It seemingly took everything out of Victor to stand, but he managed to hold himself upright well enough when Lincoln let go of him. When he wrapped his scrawny fingers around your hand, you winced. For such a brittle, broken man, his grip was unnervingly strong. Henri pursed his lips and let the tip of his wand rest atop your interlinked hands, and while you would never admit it out loud, the fear you felt in that moment was one of the worst things you had ever experienced.

The last time Henri had pointed his wand at you, he had put you under the influence of an Unforgivable.

Victor kept his smile on his face as he murmured, “Go on, child. Set your terms.”

The fact that he was willingly allowing you to be the one to initiate the Vow made you incredibly nervous. Didn’t he know that you could demand anything? Why would he make such a bold play and leave the ball in your court?

Was he confident or just stupid?

Swallowing thickly, you ignored the clammy feeling spreading across your palms and said, “You let my friends– all of them– leave here alive and unharmed in exchange for my cooperation in getting the relic. And…” you glanced over at Sebastian’s stoic, unmoving form. His bland expression had bile rising in the back of your throat, so you were quick to look away. “You have to leave Sebastian here, too.”

“No,” Victor refused. “He comes with us. That is non-negotiable.”

Asshole. You tightened your grip on Rookwood’s hand– wanting desperately to crush his bones together hard enough that he could never use the limb again– but you held yourself back. “Then you have to release him from the Imperius Curse.”

Lincoln scoffed, evidently against the idea if his anxious glance at the brunet was any indication. Victor, however, seemed to consider it. “Very well. But only once we reach our destination– I won’t have him causing a ruckus on the way. My patience has its limits.”

“Fine,” you spat. It was better than nothing. So long as you didn’t have to go along with everyone and deal with a mummified Sebastian Sallow, you could cope.

“And you will not harm me during the course of our arrangement. No ancient magic tricks, and no using that other neat power of yours. That will be all,” Victor declared. “I won’t have you adding on addendums that involve me letting you and Sebastian leave once everything is over. You get to fight for that right.”

Oh, you would gladly fight for it. You would tear the bastard limb from limb the second the opportunity arose. He knew it, too. That challenging glimmer in his sky blue eyes told you as much.

As Henri repeated the terms back to you both, it felt like you were making a deal with the devil as you forced the words from your throat. “I do.”

“And do you, Victor Rookwood, agree to let the friends of the Hero of Hogwarts leave here alive and unharmed in exchange for her solemn promise to aid in the retrieval of the dark relic?”

“I do,” Victor purred with a toothy smile.

“Do you also agree to release Sebastian Sallow from the Imperius Curse upon your arrival at your final destination?”

Rookwood paused. He hesitated, and your eyes narrowed threateningly, which only prompted his smile to grow. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when he finally said, “I do.”

Why did it feel like there was some unspoken joke floating through the air that you hadn’t been clued in on?

The string of flaming light that coiled around your and Victor’s joined hands pulsed brightly, growing hotter for a few seconds and causing you to wince. You half expected to find burn marks seared into your skin when it finally dissipated, but as the whole procession came to a close, the only scars you found were the ones you had given yourself back in Uganda.

“Now then,” Victor chimed as Lincoln helped him lower himself back into his wheelchair. “We should really be on our way. Sites to visit, relics to unlock, you know the agenda.”

“Kid, please.” You turned around to stare at Devlin, a swarm of mixed emotions flooding your entire system when you realized he was crying. His tears coursed down his cheeks unapologetically, intermingling with the blood that still adorned his chin. Without thinking, you made your way to him in a few hurried strides, falling to your knees so you could throw your arms around his shoulders and give him a bone-crushing hug. Devlin returned the embrace with equal force– as if he was trying to hold you to him to prevent you from leaving even though it was pointless in the wake of the Vow. “You can’t do this– you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into–”

Your voice was shaky when you cut him off. “I know. Trust me, Devlin, I know. Go back to Uganda– tell them everything. Tell Ominis what’s happened and to get the Ministry to help. It’s our only chance–”

“As touching as this is to bear witness to, we need to be going.” Victor laughed dryly from behind you, then said to someone, “Grab her.”

Devlin’s arms tightened around you in silent protest, and as the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer to your back, you rushed to repeat your instructions. “Go and get help. Meet us at the site–”

A pair of strong, cold hands appeared around your waist, yanking you out of Devlin’s arms so roughly that your head snapped forward and left your neck aching in protest. You didn’t get the chance to fight against being manhandled– especially not once you realized that it was Sebastian who had grabbed you. His massive, unyielding arms trapped your own at your sides, depriving you of the ability to elbow him or push him away as he hoisted you off the ground and started carrying you back over to Victor.

You couldn’t let yourself dwell on how vicious he was being with you. It was so unlike him– so out of the ordinary– but you knew it wasn’t him. Not really. Your ribs screamed in protest as Sebastian’s grip tightened to the point where you could barely breathe in completely, but every time you tried to wiggle around to alleviate the discomfort, his hold intensified. Rookwood took one look at your disgruntled expression and grinned diabolically, taking immense satisfaction in your current predicament. “It’s so good to see Sebastian is still capable of following orders. I rather like the ‘all brawn, no brain’ persona for him, wouldn’t you agree?”

You could only scowl. Speaking was next to impossible with your lover’s elbows digging into your torso, and Victor’s smile grew wider.

As the villains congregated together, Henri finally elected to address Poppy and Garreth, who thus far had been doing their best not to draw attention to themselves. Good. “Au revoir, Mademoiselle Sweeting,” the Frenchman waggled his fingers towards the shorter woman, who in turn bared her teeth in blatant distaste. “Perhaps next time you will have better luck poaching me, eh?”

So Henri did know about their pursuit of him. Poppy advanced one step, but thankfully Garreth was there to grab her arm and hold her back with a firm shake of his head. “No, Pops… not now.”

“Enjoy your freedom while it lasts,” Poppy hissed across the courtyard. She raised one finger at the Poacher, the action imbued with a vow of her own. “You can’t run forever, Henri. We’ll find you.”

Henri’s throaty chuckle was his only reply, his chubby hand rising to calmly stroke his beard. Lincoln appeared beside you and Sebastian in the next instant, shooting you a sidelong look that dripped with contempt, and almost immediately afterwards, Sebastian’s hold on you became downright stifling. If he squeezed you any harder, you were certain your ribs would break. Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you stammered, “S-Sebastian, please–”

“He can’t hear you,” Lincoln taunted with a devilish smile. Then, in an act that both surprised and mortified you, he lifted his hand and made a curling motion with his fingers, prompting Sebastian’s arms to turn into steel bands that forced a pained whimper from your lips.

It wasn’t Victor maintaining the Imperius Curse on him– it was Lincoln.

As sensible as the discovery was, you were horrified. Of course Victor might not be able to sustain an Unforgivable for a lengthy period of time… Devlin had even told you back in Colmar that the man was too weak nowadays to cast any spells. But knowing that Sebastian’s wellbeing was in the hands of someone like Lincoln made your blood run cold in your veins. The man was a screeching tempest of hate and violence. Merlin only knew what he might do with undue influence over Sebastian’s mind.

Noting the mix of terror and pain on your face, the dark wizard smirked and dramatically opened his fist. The unnecessary pressure on your ribs lessened, but you were by no means closer to being able to move freely. Which meant that when Lincoln tauntingly moved into your space to curl a strand of your hair around his finger, you were left with no choice but to suffer through the close proximity. “Looks like we’ll have plenty of time to get well acquainted soon enough, Miss Hero. With your boy-toy indisposed, well… I’d hate for you to get bored while you’re with us.”

Nausea festered in your gut so fast, it was a miracle you didn’t projectile vomit straight into his face. From over your shoulder, Sebastian made an almost strangled choking sound that drew the sleazy wizard’s attention for a brief moment, and you watched as Lincoln narrowed his eyes questioningly at his now-indentured, former colleague. Beyond the random noise, however, Sebastian was exactly the same.

Unfortunately.

“My deal,” you growled venomously when you were once again the recipient of Lincoln’s demeaning stare. “Is with Victor, not you. Touch me, and I’ll flay you alive.”

Your strand of hair was released abruptly, and Lincoln tsk’d softly before stepping back. He didn’t look scared in the slightest, but at least he wasn’t breathing the same air as you anymore. “I look forward to watching you try.”

It became obvious to you, then, what exactly you were getting yourself into. Devlin no doubt knew best what the men you were surrounded by were capable of, and your eyes sought out the elder Ashwinder of their own accord. He was still kneeling in the grass, the rag you had charmed up for him long since discarded at his side. His icy blue eyes were red-rimmed from shamelessly crying earlier, and he looked sick to his stomach in the wake of watching Lincoln try to intimidate you.

Gods, you hoped that he listened to you. Go to Uganda, find Ominis, get help. Go to Uganda, find Ominis, get help. You repeated the list over and over in your mind as you held his stare unblinkingly, trying fruitlessly to project your thoughts into his head. You knew it was pointless to try, but the fire burning in your eyes at the very least made him purse his lips in understanding. Devlin’s chin lowered– if only slightly– and you prayed that the tiny motion meant what you hoped it did.

Devlin was the last thing you saw before a loud crack sounded all around you, followed by a brilliant flash of light. The sensation of apparition was even more jarring than normal since you weren’t on your feet supporting yourself, and as everything around you tilted on its axis and left you feeling weightless, you clung to the still-forming, desperate plan you had already begun to enact.

Devlin would need to call in reinforcements. Until then, though, you had to survive.

—

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way any of this was real– it had to be Rookwood’s idea of a bad joke. If it wasn’t, then this was by far the most unique form of torture you had ever been subjected to, and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it.

You were having dinner. With Victor, Henri, Lincoln, and a still Imperio’d Sebastian.

Well, they were eating dinner. You were just sitting there in-between Henri and Lincoln with your hands folded in your lap, doing your best not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. Even though you were actively watching the group of dark wizards serve themselves food from the platters at the table, you didn’t trust a crumb of it. Starving was preferable to ending up drugged or sick.

You had been here– wherever here was– for close to three hours. One of Victor’s men had been waiting for you all in the living room of the modest house you’d been apparated to and had greeted his boss with a curt nod, then swiftly gave the lurid Ashwinder a run-down on what had been going on in his absence. You weren’t privy to hearing any of the information, though. Sebastian had carted your squirming body through the house before depositing you in a room by yourself for two hours. You’d been left alone with your own thoughts for company before he eventually returned to fetch you and bring you to where you were now; in a dimly lit dining room, surrounded by nothing but enemies.

Sebastian didn’t count, of course. But he wouldn’t so much as look at you, and trying to speak to him while he led you towards the table had predictably been a moot point. Lincoln still had his claws dug into your lover’s mind, which meant that you were truly on your own in what could reasonably be deemed the belly of the beast.

The sound of cutlery scraping against plates was the only noise that filled the room. No ambient chatter took place, and apart from the one random man who had shown his face earlier, you hadn’t seen or heard any other people. It seemed counterintuitive, but the lack of bodies within the abode unnerved you. Something about it being just you and the domineering leaders of the country’s Ashwinders and Poachers set your teeth on edge.

At the head of the table, Victor swirled his wine around in his glass leisurely, looking for all intents and purposes like he didn’t have a care in the world. And why would he? As far as he was concerned, he had won. He had Sebastian back under his control, your express cooperation, and was one whole step closer to getting his hands on the dark relic. Still, his nonchalant demeanor only served to sour your mood further, and a soft sigh slipped through your lips as you leaned back in your chair.

“Something the matter, my dear?” The bastard smirked as he asked the question, which told you well enough that he knew you were miffed. “You’ve hardly touched any of the food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll need to eat if you’re to keep your strength up. Who knows how draining the next few days might prove to be…”

The way he coyly purred the statement implied very heavily that he himself knew how draining things would be. What a prick. “I’d rather eat glass.”

From beside you, Henri’s hand on top of the table curled into a fist, and his tawny eyes glimmered with unrestrained disdain. Why the bloody menace thought he was so much better than you, you didn’t know. Ever since he had seen your abilities firsthand, he’d had it out for you. His hatred towards you had turned into revulsion– which made no sense considering he was an avid user of Unforgivables. Dark magic was nothing to him, so why was yours something he frowned upon? “That can always be arranged, chérie.”

“Nonsense,” Victor waved off the threat at the same time you opened your mouth to snap something that could have very well left you with a welting handprint on your cheek. Henri scowled as he fixed his eyes on Rookwood, but the crippled man was too busy sipping his wine to take note of the glower. Smacking his lips appreciatively, Victor mused, “There will be no injuries exchanged tonight. There’s important work ahead that requires everyone here to be in mint condition.”

“Is that why Sebastian is still the living embodiment of a lobotomy patient?” You jerked your chin pointedly at the man in question. He was sitting across from you– a dazed sort of expression on his otherwise emotionless face. Since retrieving you from your room earlier, he hadn’t moved a muscle. Not to eat, not to stretch, not even to blink.

Maybe their goal was to weaken him as much as possible… but even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t let yourself think of any other possibilities. You were angry enough at the injustice of it all.

Lincoln huffed dryly to your right, and you shot him a glare out of the corner of your eye when he leaned closer to smile at the side of your head. “Sebastian would hurt himself if he wasn’t on such a short leash. You of all people should know how temperamental he can get.”

What the hell did he know? If there was one thing you had learned about Sebastian by now, it was that his disposition was almost always triggered by something. He didn’t get angry for no reason. You would relish the opportunity to see him cave Lincoln’s face in with his fist. You’d probably even help– Merlin knew you were already biding your time for a chance.

Ignoring Lincoln completely, you instead focused on Victor as you said, “You swore you would free him from the Curse once we got here. So do it.”

“Ah ah,” Rookwood waggled a skinny finger in front of his face, then ran the digit along the rim of his wine glass. “I did not. First of all, I’m not the one maintaining the Curse on him, am I? Secondly, the deal was he could be returned back to his natural state once we reached our final destination. This is merely a brief stop on our way to the ancient magic site.”

It felt like time stood still in the brief seconds that passed following Rookwood’s claim. He was muttering something unintelligible, but you could barely hear it through the thrum of blood rushing in your ears. He was unbelievable. This was insane! Suddenly Victor’s expression in the midst of making the Vow with you made sense. He had known the unknown flaws in the agreement would all but guarantee that he got exactly what he wanted; you and Sebastian both under his thumb for an indefinite period of time. How long did he plan to stay in this house? How long would he stall in order to keep his former protege enthralled?

Your nails dug painfully into your palms, and you gritted your molars together hard enough that Henri and Lincoln could probably hear it. Ever the smug conspirator, Victor smirked and plucked up his wine glass once again. The beverage was a hairs-width away from his lips when he murmured, “It’s always those damn technicalities that get you in the end, hm? Contracts as a whole are such nasty business…”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Being coerced into traveling with these monsters was one thing, but to willingly sit through such a condescending conversation with the man you loved blearily hunched over in his chair? Knowing that you were unable to change his fate– or even inflict a lick of suffering on the man responsible for the whole ordeal? You were at your wits end.

You had no idea how long they planned to stay holed up here, which meant that you had no idea how long Sebastian would be forced to remain under Lincoln’s Imperius Curse. The manipulative snakes you found yourself surrounded by were all but begging for you to kill them, and they knew there was nothing you could do to act on those urges. Not with the Vow now in play, and not with Sebastian serving as their hostage.

When you moved, it was fast enough that neither Henri nor Lincoln expected it. Both men jolted back when you jumped to your feet, the sound of your chair tipping over and clattering against the floor reverberating off the walls of the room. Victor looked unimpressed, but the other two men had the good sense to stare at you warily with their equally wide eyes, watching and waiting with bated breath for you to do… something.

Attack them? Swear at them? Hell, you wanted to bring the whole house down on top of them. But seeing as you were bound by a Vow that had the potential to end your life prematurely, you settled for spitting at the floor before stepping over your discarded seat.

Henri tutted disapprovingly, “Ugh… n’importe quoi.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Lincoln called after your retreating form. The legs of his own chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet– presumably to stop you from leaving.

“I never agreed to sit through shit like this,” you said in a low voice. “I’m going to bed. Stay the hell away from me unless it’s time to go to the site.”

The pounding footsteps from behind you got closer and closer, and when you whirled around to launch your fist at Lincoln’s face, his palm was intercepting the hit. Long, thick fingers curled around your balled up hand, then twisted the limb sharply to the side, and you couldn’t suppress the sharp bark of pain that spilled from your throat. His other hand gripped you by the back of your neck with brutish force as he pushed your head down and attempted to drag you back to the dining table, but you dug your heels into the ground with every ounce of strength you possessed in your attempts to fight back.

“Let go of me!”

“I don’t think so,” Lincoln snarled menacingly beside your ear, his hot breath fanning across your skin making your hackles rise. “You’re a little too high strung for my liking. Clearly Sebastian did fuck all to tame you–”

“That’s enough, Lincoln.” Victor’s commanding tone didn’t match up with his fragile appearance at all. His voice rang out sharply, stilling his subordinate’s movements and drawing his attention. “Don’t bother. If she wants to mope, let her.”

You knew you were the only one that heard the low growl Lincoln let loose. His expression turned stormy, and when his fingers tightened around the back of your neck, you were fully anticipating for him to deny his leader’s request and do what he wanted with you regardless of the consequences– if there even were any. But then his grip went slack; he let go of your fist and your neck, cursing under his breath as he took one hesitant step back towards the table.

Thank the gods. You didn’t spare any of the dining room’s inhabitants a second glance. As quickly as you were able to, you scurried back into the shabby room you had been stuffed inside earlier, slamming the door with enough force that it shook the foundation of the house. Even with the lock in place and four extra walls surrounding you, you didn’t feel safe. Nothing about this situation had a silver lining.

For the first time since Henri had kidnapped you and brought you to Colmar, you felt alone. Vulnerable. Somewhere within the room, the ticking of a clock rang out softly– mocking you with the steady reminder that time wouldn’t stand still while you figured out what to do. The seconds, the minutes, and the hours would pass by while you sat on your hands waiting, and it made you sick to your stomach that you didn’t know what the future held for you.

Or for Sebastian, for that matter.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #my writing #WIP TSP #poppy sweeting #garreth weasley #victor rookwood #I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I TOLD YOU IT WAS GONNA GET WORSE BEFORE IT GOT BETTER #decided to post this chapter early cause it's HARD writing this fuckin story when my beloved prince Sebastian is basically lobotomized #he'll be back in action soon #in the meantime though MC is suffering and I feel really REALLY bad about it #fr mind the warnings this time around I don't wanna trigger anyone #would have added like another 1k to this chapter but I decided the ending I initially planned would work better as the start of the next on

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