#if a lady in a lake hands you a sword it’s a good sign

[cloudbattrolls]

I’m sure you all know the legend of Midas.

[sadlynotthevoid]

LCF AU in which Og!Cale, ever since he was a kid, can understand aquatic creatures. Not only the normal animals, not only the magic ones, but also the lake spirits that live in the forest near his home, the youkai that hides in the Ubarr territory's coast, the ghosts haunting a pirate ship, the undines he saw when his mom took him in a trip, all of them.

So, when he feels the lake spirit calling him one night in the bar, he stops mid-sentence, tilts his head to listen and leaves.

Once he reaches the lake— the dangerous one, not the poisoned one— the lady herself comes out to the surface to meet him. Long, translucid water snakes surround her and move in front of her, carrying a giant bubble with them.

"She worked hard for this life of yours."

The bubble floated towards the shore.

"So take good care of them. Prove him she was right."

"Who?"

His hand touched the sphere.

"Gods. Our Sea Goddess may not be a major god, but she's loyal and her love is as endless as the ocean. She won't allow the last with her blessing to be stepped on so easily."

That night Cale learned that his ability was a gift. A sign of the blessing that held his family once upon a time.

As soon as the lake spirit submerged again and the waters calmed down, the bubble exploded. It was a good thing that Cale had always been a creative mind, because he doesn't know how he would had managed to carry three men down through the mountain otherwise.

"Hahhh."

He only wanted to drink, cause a little fuss to ban himself from the next noble event. Why was that when he finally was starting to feel drunk for once— well, maybe he did wanted to get drunk this time, it had been a hard week, ok?— the universe threw him a new task.

Now he was trapped building a semi-sleigh with three unconscious men at his side. It just had to be Tuesday.

Bonus:

Back at the bar,

Cale: Harris Village? Why should my fa— *goes still*

Choi Han: (His fa?)

Cale: *tilts his head, brows furrowed in concentration* Huh. *Leaves*

Choi Han: ...what happened?

Bartender: The fuck I know. The Lord's castle is right at the end of that path. If there's something to report, go there and talk to the guards or Hans, the butler.

Choi Han: Thanks.

Bartender: Now get off if you're not going to drink. You're scaring my customers.

Beacrox, hiding in the shadows: *confused assassin noises*

[After Choi Han leaves]

Bartender: Phew.

Waitress: You okay, boss?

Bartender: I feel like I lost half of my life. Who enters into a shop holding a sword and covered in blood? Youth this days.

Waitress: I'm mostly relieved the young master left when he did. He had that look in his eyes, again.

Bartender: *gets stiff* Thanks grandma in the heavens. I'd have to close if that punk was killed here.

Waitress: Oh shush. You love him.

Bartender: He's a noisy punk. He comes, drinks some bottles, breaks something and then he's gone again. He's part of the bar routine at this point.

[olenvasynyt]

A Court of Embers and Sunlight: A Lucien backstory: Chapter 8

Summary:

It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.

Read Ch 8 Ao3

Start from the beginning

Excerpt:

It didn’t take long for Lucien to spot him; tucked away in a lonely corner was Tamlin, with a dark grimace on his face and his hands behind his back as if they were shackled.

Lucien snorted.  He looked like a prisoner of war, chained between the refreshment table and a cluster of gaudily dressed courtiers.  Brushing past the crowd of faeries on the ballroom floor and scooping up two glasses of wine, he made his way to his friend.  Andras followed him like a shadow, either as a cover or to remind him to behave.  

Tamlin gave him a single glance and looked away to the farthest end of the ballroom instead, ignoring the glass he held out for him.  “You shouldn’t be here.”

Lucien ignored that remark.  “It’s good to see you too, Tam.  Though I figured you would be half-wasted by now.”

“Need a clear head.  I’m on duty right now.”

He looked his friend up and down.  The only sign that he was on duty was the sword and knife that hung at his belt, though there was no Illyrian-style bandolier in sight.  “Your father put you on duty during your mother’s tea party?” he asked, amused.  “Was it punishment for something?”

“He requested it,” Andras said quickly.  He gave Tamlin a look, which Tamlin ignored.

Lucien guessed it was to avoid his brothers and father.  “Are your brothers and Euen here?” he asked mildly, looking around at the crowd.  “Or are they causing chaos and destruction elsewhere?”

Tamlin’s jaw twitched.  “They are on a hunting party with a few courtiers.”

“Some delicious violence before the main event.”

Tamlin lips pulled tighter in an attempt to hide whatever emotion rattled around in his blonde head, but he didn’t answer. 

[ervona]

Day 7: Profane / Sword for @tes-summer-fest

Out on the Inner Sea, where Ebonheart had crossed to Vvardenfell with one one bold leap set in stone, the port was rocked to sleep by languid waves. Southwards lay the vast expanse of Thirr, eastwards the City of Swords over which loomed a frozen moon, and thence a ferry sailed in worn and weathered. One of the passengers, a young lady, bowed to the boatman as she disembarked. 

Rather undistinguished in her clean but simple clothes, she was glad for it and took a deep breath of sea air that mixed with the cooking from Six Fishes, watching as stevedores hauled barrels and crates onto a merchant ship. For a few more paces across the cobblestone, she needn’t have been a duke’s daughter up until the bridge to the castle, so she took a slight turn at Forth Hawkmoth.

In the Skyrim Mission hall, she asked of a friendly ambassador all the latest rumors brought in on western winds, while in the neighboring Argonian Mission she exchanged a courteous greeting and hidden scrap of paper with the consul. The significance of each meeting was not as it must have seemed, and she continued to Castle Ebonheart whither the Imperial knight at the bridge led her in without issue.

The guards inside were all aglint in silver, but the mer that strode up to her was in beetle-green silk, embellished with countless shimmering wings. Uncle appeared to her more boyish than ever, though he’d never been older, as his face and hands showed no signs of age that more closely followed the working mer. She leapt into a hug, for the illusion of their friendship was always worth upholding.

“You look like a pilgrim,” he said with a smile; she trimmed the condescension off of it like the hands of Fishmongers’ Hall fileted fish and moved on, carving a smile on her own face. “I see them crossing the lakes daily now, all sorts of pleasant people, long traveled–”

“Good evening to you too. But where’s Father?” Often enough he would have been holding court at this hour, now his seat was an empty ornament flanked by his personal guard.

“Up in his dining hall. Shall we go, then?” So she took him by the hand and followed up the spiraling staircase, soon liberated from his idle chatter by the fact that the chamber with her drawers stood afore Father’s. She excused herself to go change her clothes before sitting at the dinner table, and he proceeded rather than wait for her, which was suitable just fine.

It was apt to call it a guest room, but it had more or less been reserved for her, and all the things she hadn’t taken with her were where she’d left them. She wasted no time dressing, though she did not miss the more restrictive, overly ornate clothing she’d worn at court. Her neighbors in Saint Delyn on the other hand would work themselves to the bone for a brocade blouse like hers. 

Once when in Tear visiting Mother’s kin, she’d taken a liking to the airy anther fabrics they favored in the humid marshlands. Grey was their color, but the city had soon been wreathed in black after a high councilor’s undisclosed passing, strife had been sown and blood ran cold. These days the young, the dissidents, and all those who’d lost their spirits and loved ones in the war had many high seats to fill. 

Her time there had taught her not the evils of slavery, for she’d already looked upon them in Empire-chartered lands, but certainly more ways to strive against it. Even with her Serano cousins had she found kindred spirits, and through them much needed contacts, Black Marsh and beyond. The Dren side of the family was truly no better or worse, distinguished Hlaalu nobles as they were, but she would put that thought aside for dinner. 

Father awaited her in his golden moth robes, and she sank into a silent embrace with only the murmur of endearments into her hair and the clatter of cutlery. There was no need to say too much. He already had the perfect image of her in his mind, carefully cultivated, unable to grow beyond it even when they were alone, for too much shared grief weighed on them. The table was set for three, each with ample space of their own and the appetizer already served. 

She nibbled on a wickwheat biscuit as Uncle seemed to continue what he’d been talking about, his newly established netch ranch, the fine leather it brought, and she bit her tongue in frustration. Him and his blood-stained netch leather and the yoke that pulled lives and souls asunder. The three of them were in different worlds by now, though still only a ferry away from each other in the isles where the sacred and worldly embraced with hidden blades. 

Then he turned to her, wondering aloud why she’d chosen to live in a pauper’s residence. Without breaking her composure, she took a sip of her mineral water. She’d explained it enough to Father, and had lived well for a better part of the year, so where had he been?

“I’d seen it and thought to myself of what wisdom I could take from living in modesty. Our kin in Tearmarsh live simple but the light of the Three hardly touches them, unlike us,” she recited something akin to what she had before and before. Uncle whose kena had been a blademaster of Saint Felms giggled at that, and Father cut him a glance across the table.

“What? We’re not in Vivec, but in Ebonheart,” he stressed that last word with a Cyrod lilt, “I’d hazard to say the Three are asleep at the helm when the people are wanting for them.”

“The Three do not judge mere ill-spoken words, but the people do. Let us eat,” was all that Father had to say before calling the next course, ornada marinated in plum and comberry.

She continued to sup in silence, but imagined if they’d cleared the table and dueled in a knightly manner. A challenge of honor, for the gods at that, had been more common in warlike times but the custom was very much alive. Say they fought to the death, Uncle if he by chance won would get his final rival out of the way and send her to wed the King’s heir Ser Talen Vandas. Father had planned much the same, though not urgently, and he would hesitate to kill his brother in the first place but if he did, she would carry the Dren name.

What did she want, then? For the dinner to carry on in peace, not to lose her composure, and not have to marry the King's dear nephew. But perhaps a queen of Morrowind would carry power, more so than a duke, only the profane ruler of all Vvardenfell. There was a cloak of decorum about Father that fit a very refined doll, having his armor shined as if every day was a holy-day, little else for him to do but dictate legally worded letters for contractless builders on Azura’s Coast and hang his head. She could never become so complacent.

Father ate rather delicately to not stain his bead-woven beard and mustache, and his younger brother followed the lead, though prior stabbing his cooked ornada without grace. The knife he sliced with, dueling the carapace, was as her cutlery gilt and engraved to go along with the ebony plating. Overhead the chandelier of green glass hung as a sword pointed at them, a thousand shimmering blades. Cruel and acute was the castle, had been from its very first stone.

After dessert, she retreated to her chambers still chewing on the apple sweetcake. Father and Uncle having bid her good night continued talking, for which she was too tired, tired of her studies at the Temple and the fragile cover they made, of parlaying with smugglers or worse playing as abolitionists, of crossing betwixt and across sharp edges, and most of all knowing that she was ill-fit for their beautiful world even if she’d ever wanted to return.

She fell upon her bed face-first and rose back up, hair tousled from the impact giving her the feeling of peeking from a thicket. Through her eastward window she could see the lanterns of the city below, Ebonheart’s diadem. Further still across the water was the palace dome awash in cold fire, circled by celestial spheres that seemed like marbles from this distance. In there did Vivec dwell, as far from the cries of the helpless as one could be in the Ascadian Isles.

Once the gods had walked among them, before her time. Perhaps it rang true that they were asleep at the helm, or had spun the wheel and left it to turn uncontrollably as gods were wont to do. It fell to the people to take hold of, but only in hands that meant well could a better tomorrow be spun from the frayed yarn of the past. 

Her bed here was softer than in Saint Delyn, only the finest, most delicate fabrics for the Duke’s household, but it didn’t let her rest easy. In the morning, or the next, depending on how much Father wanted her to stay, she would disembark once more. She would watch the waves play, sway corkbulb boats like merlings on the seaside who had been told the world was their oyster. 

There was much work to be done, but it could wait the morning, or the next, as it had waited for far too long. And she cast a wish, just a small one, to each of the three moons that adorned the sky and sea.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 06 part two

(Masterpost)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Bathing Boy Beauties

So, now we and Wei Wuxian get to see Lan Wangji with his shirt off. Eventually Lan Wangji will realize that his brother set this up, and will think of some way to get back at him, possibly by spending three years being stubborn in a cave or maybe by chopping an arm off of someone his brother cares about. 

This is A+ Yibo fanservice but it's also a male-male version of a trope that's ubiquitous in c-drama, in which the male lead takes a bath and the female lead sees him. The purpose of the scene is almost always so a woman can look a man’s body over and decide, not to put too fine a point on it, whether she wants to fuck him. 

Examples:

The Pillow Book - “Which part of Shen Ye is better than me?”

Women’s sexual agency is not often at the forefront in c-dramas, but the bathtub scenes are an acknowledgement of the female gaze, and of male objects of desire being subject to evaluation & approval.

Tientsin Mystic is a show with a lot of muscley swimming in it, In case you’re looking for your next Netflix show. 

As a CGI artist I have to mention that water does not reflect or refract 100% of light. If you look at a naked dingle-having person in a bathtub full of clear water you will definitely be able to see their dingle. But C-drama water is magic and nothing is visible below the waterline, to the point that Bai Yu is modestly covering his thoracic surgery scar chest in Detective L while leaving his lower half uncovered.

Note: that caption isn’t fake; she is really saying this on her way out the door, after having a long chat with him in the bathroom. You can find the whole series on YouTube.

Seen in this context, The Untamed’s two bathing scenes are saying quite a lot. Wei Wuxian, being a boy, doesn’t display any female-encoded shyness or modesty, but he and his sword pause for a moment of admiration.

(more after the cut!)

16 years later, Lan Wangji will sit quietly in this pool and let Wei Wuxian examine his wet body thoroughly from multiple angles, in a more prolonged invocation of this C-drama mating ritual.

Carrying on - was Xiao Zhan supposed to kick his boot in the water like that? Because if not, he rolls with it like a champ.

Wei Wuxian starts trying to be direct with Lan Wangji, giving him the worst, most neg-filled compliment ever, bless his heart.  

Then he says that there are benefits to being his friend, and starts taking off his clothes.

Wei Wuxian here takes his first step into the bold new world of respecting Lan Wangji’s boundaries, asking Lan Wangji to stay and saying he will keep his clothes on. 

Lan Wangji actually does stay, so he's apparently not too angry with Wei Wuxian about the drinking. Wei Wuxian invites him to visit Lotus Pier sometime (see my gifset here), but the promise of lotus pods doesn’t impress him. Then Wei Wuxian tries to tell him that the Yunmeng chicks really knock me out, they leave the rest behind. This also doesn’t impress him. 

You could read this macking-on-ladies talk as a sign that Wei Wuxian is oblivious to LWJ's feelings for him. But I read it as a bisexual boy being horny on main with a boy he likes, not  understanding yet that some boys don’t share all of his turn-ons.

Lan Wangji is sort of mildly startled when Wei Wuxian disappears under the water. His eye makeup is good here, isn’t it?.

Ice Cave

They end up in an ice cave and both spend the rest of the episode showing how good they look with wet hair. 

When the guqin starts attacking, Lan Wangji is only mildly perturbed about Wei Wuxian getting his shit rocked over and over.

Eventually he sends Bichen to protect his very bedraggled date. Lan Wangji’s sword is faster than the speed of a very slow sound wave.

Beauty's where you find it not just where you bump and grind it 

Gusuship Down

I feel like there are a couple of things in this show that are so problematic the fandom has silently agreed to never discuss them. Well, I’m here to talk about this one:

There are rabbits in this ice cave and they are wearing headbands. HEADbands. On RABBits.  

EXCELLENT FUCKING QUESTION, LAN WANGJI

*deep breath*

Are these rabbits lineal Lan descendants? Who makes the headbands? How do they stay on because “headband” here means “glowing cloud on forehead” without any actual band.  When rabbit babies are born, how do they stay safe while they’re waiting for someone to make them baby-sized headbands? Do these rabbits adhere to the other 3499 Lan Clan principles or just the headband one? Is any ol' rabbit allowed to touch a rabbit’s headband or is it limited to parents and significant others and is that even relevant when presumably these bunnies are all fucking each other like...bunnies?

The characters are like “oh, the rabbits are wearing headbands; killer guqin problem solved.” And then they move right the fuck along with their lives and the rabbit headbands are never seen or discussed again and I just want a hit of whatever the author or creative team was smoking when they came up with this whole idea.

Headband Sharing

When Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji to hand over his headband, Lan Wangji understands his entire rabbit-based thought process without asking

Gen-X Joke Alert

Wei Wuxian is awfully impressed by this sword-recall trick, considering that he did it himself when they went to the lake.

I see you know your way around a sheath

Killer Guqin

When they approach the guqin I hope that the subtitles are mistranslated, because Wei Wuxian keeps promising not to touch it and then says he can't look at it without touching it. I'm not going to touch it, I just need to touch it. 

Lan Wangji is going to teach Wei Wuxian some goddamn boundaries no matter how many times he has to make him fondle his sword.

Nothing suggestive here

Lan Wangji sits down to play the guqin and immediately goes off into the ether where there are seagull noises and plenty of fans. This is either a state of pure bliss, or he just really likes seagulls.

Did Lan Wangji just have a stealth orgasm?

Speaking of getting off, get your ass off of my desk

The Yin Iron

Lan Wangji does some spirit whispering, and suddenly the cave starts yelling at them. A bunch of clans are chanting in unison about a plan, which is the cultivator version of a battle cry.

Lancestor Lan Yi shows up. She is elegant and has a combination of sweetness and gravity that is similar to Lan Xichen’s. And none of Lan Qiren’s douchiness.

Search Party

Lan Qiren is worried and Lan Xichen is worried and they have sent people to look for the boys. It's really too bad nobody around here knows magic.

All these powerful cultivators search for missing people by running around outdoors yelling for them. 

Yanli is excused from PE class because she’s not feeling well, so she sits on a rock in the woods instead of, you know, staying home in the first place. She gets bored sitting down and unwisely decides to walk two or three steps. Xuan Lu, seen here competing in a gymnastics event, gamely pretends she can’t climb a small rock. 

Yanli falls into Jin Zixuan's arms and they gaze at each other for a long heterosexual moment. 

No homosexual explanation possible

This means two things: 1. he isn't looking very hard for her brother if he's hanging out here catching wobbly girls 2. soulful longing looks from him ain't shit, because he's going to dump her in the next episode.

Lanny Granny

Lan Wangji intros himself to Lan Yi and does a full prostrate bow. Wei Wuxian does a standing bow since he's not a descendant, just a future in-law.

No I mean come on, HEADBANDS

Lan Gran explains the entire history of the yin iron. It's bad, it's full of resentful energy, no-one should use it. She’s going to dump it on a couple of 16 year old boys, one of whom has a woody for using resentful energy, because it’s destiny and her battery is about to run out. 

Props to the Prop Department; this thing does look pretty cool

Xue Chonghai was the most problematic cultivator back in the old days. He killed a lot of dudes and fed their resentment to...a turtle? To the disk? I don’t know; I literally am unable to pay attention when anyone is explaining the intricacies of the unobtanium Yin Iron. 

Anyway there’s a disk and it’s soaked up a lot of resentment.  

Using it makes people evil. Well except..clearly this dude started off evil, yeah? If he was feeding people to his turtle.

Side effects may include: being fucking crazy

Here Wei Wuxian brings out his "resentful energy is awesome" theory and has an experienced grown-up grand master tell him that she also thought this, and has spent 100 years locked in a cave with headband-wearing rabbits because she was super fucking wrong. Does this deter him? ...nope

Baoshan Sanren

Now she name checks Baoshan Sanren, and Wei Wuxian has a big reaction and Lan Wangji has a big noticing of Wei Wuxian’s reaction. He’s very attuned to Wei Wuxian’s emotional state, in the moments where WWX lets his actual feelings show through the sass and swagger.  

Lan Gran talks about her search for the Yin iron, and Lan Wangji wisely says, if you can't neutralize it, why look for it? And she says, I was filled with hubris just like ya boi Wei Wuxian.  Lan Wangji points out the exact same shit he will later point out to Wei Wuxian.

So now we have a parallel in which Lan Yi is just like Wei Wuxian and Baoshan Sanren is just like Lan Wangji, yeah? Which is kind of sweet; it shows how these types are drawn together and how your clan doesn't determine your personality. Also it shows how the Lan clan has room for an unorthodox clan leader. Also it shows how the Yin Iron causes some really bad breakups. 

These boys are standing on snow barefoot which has got to take a pretty high cultivation level. Look how short Lan Wangji is without his stilettos, aww.

Flashback to Baoshan Sanren, just long enough to appreciate how beautiful she is.

Did OP give up on recoloring that flashback-blue-hazed image and just start fucking around with random filters? Yes she did. 

We also get to see that Lan Yi and Lan Wangji have more common than just guqin, because they both like to solve problems by kicking them.  

So after breaking up with her girlfriend, Lan Gran became invisible in this cave for 100 years while trying to contain the Yin iron and put headbands on rabbits. 

Soundtrack: Vogue by Madonna Writing prompt: Watership Down rabbits meet Lan rabbits

Bonus extended bath clip:

Bai Yu, Detective L

[mca-attack21]

Surprise (Part 2)

Sorry guys, apparently this part got deleted. You can find part 1: here and the final part: here as for the masterlist containing more of my writing look: here. This is just the beginning for Merlin imagines on this blog, I just watched the show for the first time and in love.

Before long, Gaius came in to check on you. He quickly grew concerned as there were no signs of improvement. In fact, you seemed worse than when you were brought in earlier. He quickly checked your bandages and instead of red, your blood was seemingly black.

“Merlin, take a look at this,” Gaius summoned the young warlock.

“What does it mean?”

“It means that this was no ordinary wound. You need to get Arthur at once.”

Merlin made his way into the meeting room and was trying to figure out the best way to get Arthur’s attention when he caught his eye and caused the king to stop in the middle of his sentence. “Is Y/n awake?”

Merlin just managed to shake his head, “Gaius needs you at once Sire, it is urgent.”

“Excuse me,” Arthur said to his knights and counsel members before all but running up the stairs to his chambers.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It seems that she is getting worse. Her wound is infected and it is spreading. Her pulse and breathing have slowed and she is on the border of fever. Though it is not from the wound itself, but rather I think what dealt the wound. I need to see the dagger to see if we are dealing with a poison or some form of sorcery, Sire. Until then, I’m afraid that there is little I can do.”

“Of course. Merlin, go fetch it, I put it in my saddle-bag.” 

“Right away Arthur.”

When Merlin grabbed it, he could feel the power it possessed. He quickly brought it up to Gaius whose face paled at the sight of it, which Arthur noticed.

“What is it Gaius? Have you seen it before?”

“I’m afraid I have Sire, it is the blade of Karaus an evil sorcerer who had it forged in the dragon’s breath and enchanted so that any any injury caused by the blade no matter how minor would be fatal to any enemy alive or dead.”

“So there is no cure? She is going to die and there is nothing we can do about it?” Arthur asked quickly wiping away a stray tear.

“The only way to save her is to destroy the dagger itself. But to do that you would need another blade forged in the fire’s breath and a powerful sorcerer. Even then, she doesn’t have much time. All I can do is try to keep her comfortable. I’m truly sorry Sire.”

“How long does she have?” Arthur asked never taking his eyes off you. 

“2-3 days at most.”

“I can ride and try to find Dragoon, he has helped us before. If anyone knows where to find such a blade he will,” Merlin spoke up already beginning to hatch his own plan.

“I will come with you, we can leave at first light,” Arthur spoke. 

“I don’t think that is wise Arthur.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I fail and Y/n dies, you should be at her side. I don’t think you would ever forgive yourself if you weren’t.”

“I suppose you are right, but how will you even know where to find the sorcerer?” Arthur asked.

“I can reach out to some of my contacts, one of them is bound to know where he is staying these days.”

“Okay, take anything you need Merlin. Promise the sorcerer anything he wants.”

“Yes Arthur.”

---

Later, Gaius reentered his chambers to find Merlin packing. “Where exactly are you planning to get such a sword? And the spell to break the enchantment?”

“The sword is easy, I just have to travel to the Lake of Avalon and retrieve Excalibur. As for the spell, I was hoping you could help me with that one.”

“Avalon is at least a two days journey, and that is with no hindrances, I don’t know if Y/n will hold out that long,” Gaius reminded.

“It would be a two day journey if I were going by horse. I plan to use a much faster mode of transportation,” Merlin smirked.

“Kilgharrah,” Gaius realized.

“Y/n saved his life once, he owes her a debt,” Merlin explained,

“Do you have any idea what spell it will take to destroy the blade?”

“Go grab me that book over there, the one with the black binding.”

After searching the pages Gaius found what he was looking for. “This spell is meant to take the enchantment off of any object. So you cast this spell, it makes the blade a weapon forged in the dragon’s breath, then you take Excalibur and destroy it once and for all.”

“And then Y/n will be fine?”

“Once the blade is destroyed, so is its magic. The queen will begin to recover immediately.”

“Okay, sounds great. Just another day in the life of Merlin,” Merlin joked.

“There is something else that you need to know,”

“What is it Gaius?”

“This blade is powerful in a way that no other weapon will ever be. And it is evil. It will do everything in its power to draw you to evil as you carry it and will fight against its destruction.”

“Anything else?” Merlin asked sarcastically.

“No, that’s it.”

Merlin had trouble sleeping that night. He was feeling overwhelmed by the task ahead. Normally in these situations, you were the one he would turn to. You know about his magic and had always been there for him. He eventually overcame his restlessness and drifted off. The next morning Gaius woke him at first light. He quickly grabbed his bag before promising Gaius that he would be careful.

He decided to go up to see you, just incase something were to go wrong. It was clear to him that your fever had set in sometime during the night. He set a his bags down and went to get a cool rag to place on your forehead. He then repositioned Arthur who had fallen asleep with his head on the side of your bed and covered him up with a blanket.

Both very drowsy and disoriented, Arthur was brought out of his sleep. “Merlin?” 

“Yes Arthur?”

“How is she?”

“The fever has set in, other than that there is no change.”

“Is everything prepared for your journey?”

“Yes, I am just about to leave.”

“I can’t express how much this means to me.”

“Anything to get a day away from you,” Merlin joked.

“I’m serious Merlin. It kills me not to be riding out with you. But if I did have to send anyone, I am glad it is you. I trust you will do everything in your power to save her. Either way I will forever be indebted to you.”

“Thank you Arthur, I won’t let you down, I promise.”

And with that he set off. He made his way out to meet Kilgharrah, trying to mentally prepare for the journey ahead.

“​Δράκος Χρειάζομαι βοήθεια για την Y/n που πεθαίνει” he spoke.

He was not forced to wait long before Kilgharrah touched down.

“Hello, young warlock. Tell me what happened and how I can help Y/n,” the dragon spoke.

“She was stabbed by Karaus’ dagger. I am going to destroy it and need to get to Avalon. Gaius believes she only has a day or two at most, which is why I called you. I need a ride. I know that Y/n once saved your life, please, help me save hers,” Merlin pleaded.

“Hop on,” Kilgharrah said without hesitation. And thus their journey began. The flight was quiet. Merlin was simply taking in the sights. From that high in the air everything seemed so small, so insignificant. Yet at the same time, it was breathtaking and interconnected.

Meanwhile:

“What do you mean that they failed to kill Arthur?” Morgana demanded.

“Your men attacked Arthur and Y/n as they were alone, but were taken out,” Agravaine revealed.

“Fools! All it took was the smallest of papercuts and Arthur would be dead,” Morgana yelled.

“All is not lost, My lady, for the queen was stroke my the dagger. Arthur is distracted, now is a great time to strike Camelot.”

“Where is the dagger now?” Morgana asked.

“The king’s servant took it, he is trying to find some sorcerer to break its spell.”

“We need to find the dagger.”

“We need to take this opportunity to attack Camelot.”

Morgana used her power to choke Agravaine and force him to listen, “That dagger is one of the few things that can kill Emrys. And, it can kill me. We will focus on nothing else until it is back in my possession.”

“Yes, my lady, I will send my men out at once.”

Back in Camelot:

“How is she Gaius?”

“Her fever is dangerously high Sire and none of my potions seem to be having any effect. I am afraid that she will not meet the sunrise. Right now all we can do is to keep her warm and hope Merlin is successful.”

Arthur stared down at you. He couldn’t comprehend how so much had gone wrong in a span of 24 hours. Yesterday, he was the happiest he had been in a long time and now he felt as if his entire world had been turned upside down.

The thought of never hearing your laugh again or seeing your smile. The thought of ruling Camelot without you by his side, it was almost too much to bear.

Arthur re-wet the rag before crawling in the bed beside you and carefully pulling you into his lap and readjusting the blankets. He placed the rag on your already damp forehead and stayed in that position just holding you and taking comfort in your presence.

Meanwhile with Merlin:

“This is as far as I can take you young Warlock, I will wait here for your return.”

“Thank you ​Kilgharrah,” Merlin said already on his way to the lake.

“Merlin,” the dragon called, “the battle for Y/n’s life now truly begins, her fate is in your hands,”

Merlin nodded his head in acknowledgement and began his journey forward. But even as he entered the wooded area, the path became darker. His legs grew heavy and his mind tired.

“The dagger possesses great power, a power that could build your own Emrys,” a voice filled Merlin’s head.

“It is a dark power and it needs to be destroyed,” Merlin shot back.

“Think of the potential, it could be used to take out Morgana. To take out anyone who you deem a threat to Camelot. All it takes is the smallest of pricks,” The force showed him images of him standing over Morgana.

“No one should have that much power,” Merlin reasoned.

“Maybe others shouldn’t, but you Emrys are a great sorcerer, you could manage it. You could use it for good, to protect Arthur and your destiny,” the Force persuaded.

“Y/n is dying,” Merlin replied as he pushed forward.

“You are too late, She is already dead,” the Force showed Merlin Y/n dying in Arthur’s arms and his reaction.

“No, she isn’t. You’re lying”

“Keep the dagger and seek your revenge on Morgana. End her plight once and for all.”

“No. There will be another way, a better way,” Merlin said as his head was now pounding. This force was pushing back against him with everything it had. So he retaliated with positive thoughts, memories of his friends and family, of Camelot, of Arthur, of Y/n, of his dream for the future of Albion.

As Merlin looked up he noticed that he had made it to the water’s edge. He set it on the ground and summoned his strength before reciting the spell that Giaus had given him. As soon as that was done, he turned to the lake where Freya was already offering Excalibur. Merlin quickly took the sword and destroyed the dagger which disappeared into black smoke. With it, an enormous weight seemed to lift off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said to Freya as he tossed her back the sword. His journey through the woods to Kilgharrah was much quicker this time round.

“Congratulations Merlin, what you have just done was no easy task, it took incredible strength and courage,” the dragon spoke.

“I could not have done it without you my friend, I just hope that we made it in time.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 9

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 

“I believe our plan has been compromised.”

Glancing at Mark in confusion, Jinyoung then grabbed the arm of his comrade and pushed him back into the seclusion of the forest boundary to the camp. Once satisfied that only the ears of birds and the Gods above could hear of them now, Jinyoung urged Mark to speak again.

“At our meeting last night, I felt we weren’t alone. I decided to look into things today.”

“You did signal for us that it didn’t feel right and we changed details out loud just to be safe,” Jinyoung mentioned, folding his arms across his chest. “What did you find to confirm your suspicion today?”

“Bugging materials.”

“Our own?” Mark nodded and Jinyoung cursed. “We have a spy within our camp then.”

This didn’t bode well with Jinyoung. He already struggled with endless concerns over you being so actively a part of this battalion. The men, whilst Jinyoung believe the majority wouldn’t cross paths with him knowing full well he would cut them down if they tried, weren’t all from the same background as he. Jinyoung had learned long ago that aside from the three men he had ridden out with from the beginning of his time in the Rebellion, not to trust anyone else.

Still, it frustrated him to know he had been housing and caring for someone who would betray him like this.

“One of the newer members?” Jinyoung suggested and Mark nodded.

“I’ll look into their backgrounds, see what the hunters have over their necks.”

It wasn’t the first time the Rebellion had placed a spy within his camp, trying to keep tabs on Jinyoung’s war efforts. Although it had irked him in the past, it had all been fruitless. He was an excellent leader, and whilst he knew of the harsher conditions in neighbouring settlements, he hardly felt that feeding his men well showed signs of betrayal to the overlord. If anything, well-fed men performed their tasks more willingly and Jinyoung was known for having one of the best plundering teams in the east.

Nothing had come forth from the findings by the spies in the past, and Jinyoung had believed nothing would fault him in the eyes of their Lord in the future either.

Until you came back into his world.

If the Rebellion learned of your existence, what would their actions be? Searching Mark’s grim expression, Jinyoung knew now there would be every reason to contest Jinyoung’s loyalty to those that they served.

Not that he gave a damn about that wretched loyalty now on the brink of escape.

Still, it sullied their plans. The group was almost about to embark on their departure and if someone was reporting that to the hunters then Jinyoung and his team wouldn’t get far. The reality of the dangers ahead of them were already stacking up as almost impossible to make it all out alive without having someone reporting their exact route south to the fishing boats to take away from this land. Now it would be practically impossible to leave this region if they didn’t think of a counteracting plan, and fast.

“You search the men, I’ll think of another way.”

“Onto it,” Mark announced, stealthily departing Jinyoung’s side. There, he leaned against a tree for some time, contemplating that of their fate.

He would still run. Even if there was only one percent chance of survival, Jinyoung was prepared to take it to get you out of this world.

“Why do you have to leave?”

Glancing up at Jinyoung’s subdued expression, you stopped packing clothes into your small suitcase. “I’m only going for a week.”

“Seven days without you sounds horrible.”

“Now who’s lovesick?” you mentioned with a coy smile, inwardly rejoicing over how much you meant to him. “My grandfather is ill and I have to spend some time with him before I cannot. Mother and I won’t be gone for long, and you can keep Papa company whilst I’m away.”

Jinyoung scowled at you before taking your hand. “If you’re gone, I can’t protect you.”

“As if you protect me now,” you retorted with a giggle, shaking your head loosely. “Why, if anything, it’s me protecting you!”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve kept you safe all these years, have I not?”

“Says the girl who falls out of trees, marches into the wintry depths of the lake when angry, and injures herself easily, all without a single care for her safety. Had I not been here, I doubt you’d have survived any of it.”

A radiant smile crossed your lips and stunned Jinyoung into awe, making you giggle once more at his evident affections for you. Leaning in to kiss his lips softly, you then whispered, “You’re truly my knight in shining armour, aren’t you.”

“I am, so how can I protect you if you’re not here?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, slipping the compass he had attempted to steal from you off of your neck and placed it around his instead. “This will guide you to me. If I’m am ever in trouble, you’ll know exactly where to find me.”

Watching you, oblivious to his current mood, Jinyoung couldn’t relax. He knew if he acted impulsively to protect you that would put you further into the limelight, and so he forced yet another smile onto his lips as you chatted to Youngjae about the best recipes to make with potatoes.

“Clearly a hearty stew is best,” Youngjae exclaimed and you rolled your eyes.

“The potato is hardly the element that makes a fine stew. That’s down to the meat you add into it. Baking a potato within its skin is superior.”

“And dry. Very dry.”

“Not with how I serve it up and you will be eating those words by the time I’ve put dinner in front of you tonight!”

“As long as we’re eating something, it shouldn’t matter how the potato is used, right Jinyoung?” Jackson attempted, nudging the man beside him for assistance.

Your eyes snapped up to Jinyoung’s, finally picking up on his presence in the kitchen. “Jinyoung will side with me.”

“I like a good stew,” Jinyoung announced, turning before your immediate glare reached him directly. “However, I’ve had Y/N’s infamous baked potatoes once.”

“Oh, you did! We ate them the day I came back from my grandfather’s house!”

“They truly were the best meal to have with you.”

“Youngjae, how about we leave the lovebirds to it? I think I might be put off our meal entirely if I’m subjected to the way their eyes glisten when staring at one another.”

“Surrounded by all these people and yet I’ve never felt so lonely in my life. Wherever our next stop is, may it be blessed with fine women.”

“Why, are Sally or Trudy not to your liking?” Jackson crooned as the door shut behind them.

You smiled softly. “You surely can’t remember the taste from all the way back then.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“But I do know you’re troubled,” you mentioned, looking up at him from the stack of potatoes you were brushing clean from any remaining soil. “You’re acting skills around me are just pitiful, I’ll have you know.”

“I guess I should have realised you weren’t as oblivious as I thought.”

“When my eyes and mind linger on you as long as they do? Honestly, you are a fool to think I wouldn’t pick up anything about you,” you teased and Jinyoung moved to your side, reaching for a potato and the brush Youngjae had discarded.

“You’re so sure about me.”

“Why? Are you not about me?”

Jinyoung chuckled. “Given what I have risked thus far and will continue to do, I don’t think that is fair to state.”

“Then why question my love for you?”

“We’re in the kitchen,” he warned and you shrugged.

“We’re all alone in the kitchen. Who will hear of me telling the man who owns my heart that I love him? The potatoes?”

“There are ears everywhere,” Jinyoung pointed out, guarding himself again. Scrubbing at the potato skin, he stopped when he realised his efforts had been too harsh, the skin rubbing off with the bristles.

“Jinyoung!” you cried in annoyance, taking the potato out of his hand. “Don’t you know how fragile the skin is with such force? You brute of a man!”

“I know all too well how fragile this world is.”

“I’m not fragile,” you corrected, holding out your healing wrist towards him. “See, you worried I wouldn’t do well with this. But I have. Look at how strong I am. I even wield swords and shoot arrows now. If anything, I make a finer match for you than I once did before.”

“I’m proud of how strong you’ve gotten,” he murmured, though his chest panged with the thought of how little you regarded the sheer dangers around you. Swallowing back his worries, Jinyoung picked up another potato, brushing at it gently now. “In two days, do you think you could go with Youngjae to collect his order?”

“Oh, he mentioned he had seeds to pick up from the nearby village for our trip. I can do that!”

“Good, you will be gone all day with Youngjae then.”

“I can handle that easily. A trip out sounds exciting! I’ll get to use my compass Papa gave me as well, to find my way back to you.”

Jinyoung nodded, kissing the side of your head gently. “You have to make sure you come back to me.”

“You’ll find me if I don’t,” you pointed out the compass hanging around his neck still and smiled. “I know you won’t ever lose me again.”

Jinyoung was ready for the hunting pack that turned up at the battalion. With your presence not found within the camp, there would be no need to judge that of his leadership skills.

Still, Jinyoung shared no returning smile at the older man now greeting him and Jaebum loudly. “Argo, it’s been some time.”

“And that of you my boy!”

“What brings you to our settlement?” Jaebum enquired as he gestured to the gypsy ladies to take Argo’s horse to the stables. “We don’t often see hunting dogs in our area.”

“I’m here to sniff out any troubles. You know the boss likes us to make sure everyone knows of their place.”

“What troubles may you be considering linger here? Men with full bellies?”

Argo laughed at Jaebum’s statement and clapped Jinyoung on the shoulder, leading him along through the side door into their settlement. The grip upon his shoulder was firm, more sinister than that of booming laugh that continued to sound around their grassy common area.

“Now, I hear of your hearts going soft with all that food you offer. I see you have taken in some servants since I was last here.”

“They make running the place easier. When we’re away slaughtering lives, we know we can come home and be served hot water for a bath and get fed right away.”

“I guess there is no harm in gaining under the name of the Rebellion.” Argo then stared at Jinyoung specifically as he stated, “So long as you remain loyal to our Lord.”

Clenching his hands at his side, Jinyoung then gestured to that of his men. “Show me where a disloyal human here stands and I’ll cut them down.”

“Even if that were of yourself? I heard some rumours that maybe you want to settle down and live a normal life.”

“With as much blood on my hands, how would that be possible?”

Jaebum stepped forward. “Don’t we all want that life? If there was a rumour started, maybe it was about me. I sure could do with a quieter lifestyle. Surely you as well Argo, could enjoy relaxing in your home without having to run about these lands as the Lord’s working dog.”

Argo nodded, his laugh not nearly as bold as before. “You’re quite right. But I know dogs can easily be put to sleep by their master’s if they disobey them. The same can go for any of you.”

“Duly noted.”

“Where is that of your shadow, Jinyoung? I don’t see Jackson anywhere.”

“He’s out on the boundary line keeping an eye on our perimeter. You can’t be too careful these days. You don’t know who or what will venture into a lion’s den.”

Argo chuckled darkly. “And I suppose you see yourself as a lion?”

“Far better than being a dog, don’t you think?” Jinyoung challenged, smirking even. “Unlike you, I’m not afraid to bite my master’s hand if he chooses to betray me.”

“I’ve seen all that I need to then. Keep well, comrades,” Argo announced, heading back out to his horse and his own battalion, the sound of hooves thundering along the track leaving Jinyoung uneasy even when he could no longer hear them.

Turning, he found Mark approaching him, dragging BamBam along by his collar. Yugyeom was dashing along at his side, trying to stop Mark with a pleading tone.

Once the young man was thrown at Jinyoung’s feet, the leader sighed. “So it was you.”

_________________

Part 10

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Wilford Warfstache - A Personification of Death

Inspired by my obsession with the Hades game, I found myself watching William’s story in the WKM series in a different light. An idea crossed my mind - what if he was somehow connected to Thanatos, the Greek personification of death? This is my attempt to come up with a tale about it, complete with some cheesiness that would work in the context of a myth.

TW  war (story discussion about William’s time in the war), death (discussed frequently), alcohol (mentioned in passing, but alludes briefly to using it to ‘help’)

Word Count: 4,242 (hence the much needed read-more. Enjoy the wall of text!)

-

In modern times, there are often tales of gods who parent children and abandon them to fend for themselves without the support of influential or important figures to help provide guidance for the young demi-god who is thrust into unfamiliar territory.

This isn’t a tale quite like that, for the ‘father’ never realised until it was too late to reach out. Otherwise, Thanatos would have been there all the way. Who can naturally embrace death when it becomes so normal in their life? But worse, how can one expect to approach a mother when she had never met him? Now, don’t take that the wrong way. Thanatos would never consider doing something immoral with any human. Thantao’s ‘parenthood’ is wholly indirect.

-

An ill man had died in his sleep, and Thanatos knew he was the one to collect the soul and bring it safely to the Underworld. The soul rose in the form of a pale blue wisp and drifted toward the figure cloaked in black in the search for comfort. At that, the door was opened by a young lady in the first trimester of pregnancy, the man’s sister. Though she could not see them, she locked eyes with Thanatos before he disappeared into smoke. However, a single black feather had come loose and fluttered to rest beside the man’s head, allowing it to become visible to the mortal eye. The lady, taking this as a sign that her brother was still with them even in death, kept the feather.

It was woven into a necklace she wore every day. It brought a sense of peace she didn’t understand, but could explain as her brother keeping her company like he promised. But it had a second effect. The magic imbued within the feather began affecting the baby she was carrying, giving him a divine connection that would otherwise never have existed.

When William J. Barnum was born, any onlooker would assume his only connection to death was simply through him being named after his deceased uncle. But to anyone who could sense the extraordinary, they would gather the clues and notice a pattern.

As a child, William was drawn to death. He would find abandoned, injured animals in gardens and parks and keep them company until they passed. He held a quiet curiosity about the topic, often asking about it when it appeared in childhood storybooks, questioning why adults were so keen to avoid talking about it. For him, it was something he found comfort in. When others were grieving, William was able to reassure them that no matter what, their loved one was okay. Like Thanatos, the one who gave him this mysterious connection to death, William’s energy was gentle like light ripples in the calm lake. He helped those that were dying accept their fate and face it feeling at ease, and provided a foundation for those left behind to feel comfort despite their grief. Death was no monster, he believed. It would never actively take lives for fun. Perhaps that was what drew him to Celine and Damien when they were children. Their family connection to witchcraft and communication with the dead (even if it was something neither twin touched on) was something that gave William a sense of familiarity, if one were to look beyond the surface. 

As a teenager, this interest in death stayed. He had asked around and had managed to secure an apprenticeship with a local undertaker when he finished school. He was a natural. His calm, methodical approach was grounding when those around him were hurting. His voice was always low and polite, and he even offered hugs to those who needed reassurance. The only thing that stopped him was the war. He hadn’t fully qualified, but he knew he needed to help his country and protect those he cared about. Though he was barely an adult, William enlisted and promised his friends that he would be the only one of the four to have direct involvement with the war.

When there, he was faced with more death than he had ever seen, and how it made his stomach turn. It was loud. Invasive. Impersonal. It drove him to work harder, do everything he could to keep the soldiers he fought with safe. He learned tactics, organised routines, found ways to help keep morale boosted, argued with superiors over their poor opinions in seeing troops as ‘disposable’. It was no surprise that he became one of the youngest Colonels in modern history. He showed wisdom beyond his ages, and a keen sense of observation. He could bring a sense of calm when his men were stressed with the constant reminders of death and pain, and some would later go on to write in diaries and memoirs how William was able to help badly injured soldiers embrace death and pass in a more peaceful state of mind than they might have otherwise. But with others, he would will them on, encourage them to fight and win, and they would.

One winter’s day, when there was an ‘up and over’ order given, William and his troops were keeping the enemies at bay and refusing to lose ground. Something caught his attention, or rather, someone. A man dressed in shining armour and wearing a helmet with a plume of red feathers raised a sword high into the air, which coincided with a sudden rise in violence and bloodthirsty behaviour from the soldiers. Only William seemed to be immune to this, instead briefly distracted by the unusual sight. The man in armour turned his head, and the pair locked eyes. Even with the distance between them, William could see the look of realisation on the stranger’s face before he disappeared into thin air.

In the weeks that followed, rumours began circulating of seeing a man walking along the barren wasteland between the warring trenches late at night. Those that claimed to see him described him as wearing a long black cloak that matched the large wings sprouting from his back. The man appeared to be searching for something, but didn’t seem to notice any onlookers. If the rumour was passed to others, they would discover a trail of red poppies in the area the cloaked figure was spotted, and sometimes a black feather would be found. Troops believed it was the Grim Reaper himself coming to inspect the damage when the dust settled, but William felt it was something more. Was he connected to the armoured soldier William saw? Not only that, the black feathers resembled the one that was woven into William’s necklace (but felt colder, somehow). Unfortunately, he never caught a glimpse of the supposed Grim Reaper.

---

The Colonel earned his reputation of becoming rather eccentric, and it was put under the simple explanation of “war”. But it was more than that. It was being surrounded by a type of death that was foreign to him. He was the unknowing son of the being associated with peaceful death. Despite his best efforts to keep some sort of calmness, the sheer chaos of it all was too much for him. The sudden, violent losses were heavy and weighed down on his heart. It was suffocating. He should have been able to do more. He should have been able to help them. He managed to get his men home with no one dying for the final six months of the war, but it wasn’t enough.

He tried to resume his apprenticeship after the war, but both he and the undertaker agreed he needed a break from death and to learn to appreciate life again. It was both a good and a bad solution. Good in that it helped him recover from whatever injuries - physical and emotional - he endured in his years away.

Bad in that it gave him too much time to think when he wasn’t in the barracks.

He grew up surrounded by death. Excluding the war, he had witnessed far more death than someone his age should have, when his fairly quiet and untroubled upbringing was taken into account. In a way, it almost followed him, or did he follow it? Was he cursed? Death brought about loss, and he had experienced a lot of that in his fairly short life.

All this only encouraged William to embrace the here and now. Life was short, why waste a moment of it? Life needed some madness, otherwise you would regret it when you found yourself lying on your deathbed. Beyond his childhood friends, he kept a distance from everyone else. If he was cursed with death because of the war, he would run the risk of someone dying because they got to know him.

Alcohol helped. For little periods of time, he was able to not think about whatever was plaguing him and enjoy life like he used to. But he had to be careful. William didn’t need to look far to see what a mess a man could become if he relied on alcohol as his only source of joy. No, that was eventually found in Celine… And we know how the story goes.

---

Mark died by William’s hand in a round of Russian Roulette, but the Colonel couldn’t find it in himself to care. The two who were once as close as brothers barely acknowledged the other without an argument breaking out. One of them would have died that night. There was regret in what was done, but William was never one to mourn openly like Damien did. Perhaps that was why they argued in the theatre. It had been years since they both knew someone who had died. Had Damien forgotten that William didn’t cry or openly mourn? Had William neglected to consider that a sudden death would shake the gentle mayor to his core? Words were snapped, and William made the decision to avoid Damien until it was all over.

As the day dragged on, William decided to join in on the ‘game’ that seemed to play out before him. Pulling the Mayor’s friend outside to give an indirect confession, firing his gun indoors to deliberately wind up the detective… Trusting Celine.

When Celine arrived, he didn’t know it would be the start of a chain reaction that resulted in him losing everything. Celine and Damien disappeared. No body, no sign of life. That was the first time since the war that he felt true heartbreak. He had promised to protect them both, and he failed. He didn’t care that the detective was shot, but the poor district attorney should never have been wrapped up in the mess. They never deserved such a horrid death.

It was why William was by their side all night. He spoke gently to them, hoping that they would be alright until he felt the pulse in their wrist die out and their hand freeze. They were the only truly innocent soul in all of this, even he knew that. But what could he do about it now? Everyone that stayed was dead, except for him. Once again, he was surrounded by death, and yet escaped. No matter what he did, the cold hand of the Grim Reaper never reached for him… Unless it was because he was hidden, cloaked under the protection of the black feather necklace. It held a feather found upon death. It might be hiding him from the death he might deserve. He unclipped it and carefully placed it around the attorney’s broken neck. Maybe it would give them guidance to a peaceful afterlife.

Imagine his horror when instead, they rose to their feet as morning broke.

This was no homo necrosis, nor the more intelligent variant homo sapien zombifius. They were alive, right before his eyes! They struggled to rise to their feet and looked around, confused as though they were merely hungover. Their head turned effortlessly to take in the surroundings. That neck was definitely injured, William had checked it! But as he watched, he found the attorney being someone he knew and a complete stranger at the same time, like their face didn’t entirely belong to them. He didn’t dwell on it. In panic, fear, desperation, William clung to the extreme idea that maybe, just maybe, Damien and Celine were still alive. He’d pretend it was a joke, he’d slap them on the back and congratulate them for giving him quite a fright and getting even after all the pranks he himself pulled over the years. Just let them be alive and okay!

No matter how hard he searched, no matter how loud he shouted, neither twin appeared, Never would they come out of hiding. But it was okay! William was okay! Let bygones be bygones. They could all still be friends. He’d forget about this elaborate death prank. 

...

It turned out that it wasn’t the only thing he forgot, but I’m sure you know about that already. This isn’t a story documenting the gradual descent to madness: the alias hopping, the loss of original identity; but rather one about death.

---

Perhaps now is a good time to reveal an important piece of information - death is represented by many beings, not just Thanatos. Many cultures depict an individual who bears the important task of guiding the living to an afterlife. These are all true, but there are more. In recent times, as the population globally has grown, so too has the demand. In America, where William grew up, there is what can be considered a ‘family’ of death. With guidance from Santa Muerte, younger figures from all walks of life with a common link with various aspects of death were found as humans and nurtured to allow their abilities to guide flourish in the Americas. It was only as they noticed a bottleneck of death in a city suburb in North America did they discover that they had a brother whose presence was so gentle, he slipped through the cracks. All it took was the discovery of a discarded necklace outside a derelict manor for Santa Muerte to recognise where the lost child of the family went, and which personification of death gave them their powers.

Thanatos was there within the hour. The moment the black feather necklace was placed in his hand, he could feel the comforting energy that was like his, but was so distinctly not. 

“His name was William,” Thanatos murmured, closing his eyes to let the energy tell him the story of the human who became a kin of death. “He was the personification of the acceptance of death. If war had not broken out earlier in the century, he would have lived a humble life as an undertaker who would bring comfort and calm to those dying.”

“ ‘Was’?” one of the younger deaths repeated in a whisper. Thanatos nodded.

“He died, in a way. Without guidance, the war made him think it was a curse that death followed him.” Some of the younger beings nodded in sympathy. They knew how it felt when they were alone. “Something happened and… he cracked. I need to go to him.”

The plan was simple. Thanatos would be accompanied by several younger entities, but only he would enter. The rest would reclaim the souls that were trapped inside. The facade of the building was a disco, but it could be a trap. If there was a bottleneck where souls of the deceased were unable to pass, it could only mean bad news. William could have turned into an angry, vengeful representation of death, using the souls to fuel his power and cause unknown chaos. For the safety of the humans living in the area, William needed to be dealt with, and his ‘father in death’ was the only one who might be able to calm him down. Thanatos took a slow breath to brace himself, let his wings briefly disappear, and entered the disco.

---

A hand shielded his eyes to allow them time to adjust to the brightness. Slowly, Thanatos lowered it as he examined his surroundings. There was no mania, no anger. It was precisely as it seemed to be - a disco. The mood was jovial as the crowds danced. They were completely lost in the music, and Thanatos had to wonder how long some of them had danced for. As he made his way through the crowd, he noticed a clock over the bar. It worked, but the minute hand never moved when the seconds hand completed its cycle. Were they caught in a solitary moment in time? It would explain how the dancers never stopped for a breather. The song reached the big finale and finished with a spectacle. Thanatos lifted a hand and waved it in the direction of the band. To his relief, the members exchanged looks and decided that yes, a break was needed. They put their instruments down and hopped off the stage. As they did, the dancers began to follow. Thanatos stepped back to try and find the one person who didn’t react to the mob mentality of walking out. Sure enough, he spotted William. In the far corner, he had been finishing a chat with a still-living man in a black leather jacket. Even from here, Thanatos could sense the death clinging on him. Unlike William, the other’s presence of death was latched on the man. He was a soul that was cursed with witnessing the deaths of loved ones over and over. What being decided to leave such a foul mark on that man or his family? It was not something Thanatos could help with, but maybe one of the younger beings might be able to help that poor, tormented soul.

The host of the party turned, blinking in confusion to see someone still there. He said something to the other man, who nodded and made his way out.

"Thought ya woulda gone outside with everyone else," he gestured to the entrance, hand holding a martini glass that wasn't there seconds earlier. Thanatos shook his head.

"I was actually hoping to talk to you. I found -"

"Y'know, I don't think I've seen ya before. New ta th' disco, eh? I'll never miss a chance ta talk ta someone new. Wilford Motherloving Warfstache, a pleasure ta meetcha!" A free hand was boldly offered to Thanatos. Confused, he shook it.

"Wait… Wilford? But I thought your name was -" Thanatos was interrupted again, this time by Wilford tutting and pressing a finger against the other's lips.

"Ya got talkin' ta that detective, yeah? He knows me by a lotta names. But I like Wilford the best." He took a sip from his glass, an act that was interrupted by Thanatos dangling the necklace in the air. "Where'd ya get that?"

"I found it on my way in. Does it belong to you?" Wilford nodded, only to shake his head. Then, after a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"I… I wanna say I've never seen it, but I feel like I’ve been reunited with somethin' precious…" Slowly, Wilford reached out to take the necklace into his own hand. Thanatos noticed how recognition lit up Wilford's face the moment he touched it. 

"This is mine. Had it as long as I could remember. I think it was passed down ta me. Can't say fer sure, memories have been a bit funny fer me." His thumb gently brushed against the feather as his eyes lifted to the stranger. Something clicked, and he froze for several long seconds.

"This… this feather is yers, ain't it? Who are ya? What's going on?"

"I am Thanatos, one of the personifications of Death." A hand was placed on his chest to give a half-bow to Wilford. "And I believe you are one as well."

A silence fell on the pair. Wilford stared blankly at his drink, swirling it around for several seconds.

"Someone spiked my drink," he eventually grumbled, putting the glass on the stage. "I'm hearin' things. Death isn't real."

"It's as real as the necklace you hold."

"Ya don't understand. Of course ya don't. People don't stay dead. They get knocked out fer a while an' then they wake again." He raised the necklace to eye level, gears slowly turning in his foggy mind. "I've seen people die an' get right back up after a few hours. I've spoken ta people who oughta be dead. I've shot people, an' they come back ta find me, like Abe!" All the while, Thanatos was silent. It might have sounded like the ramblings of a madman to deny such a certainty exists, but every word was grounded with experience, with personal fact. "I'm sure yer tryin' ta be nice but… I don't believe in death. Not anymore."

"Then how did you know the feather was mine?"

"I can see yer wings."

"My wings are currently invisible to all but those who are Death."

"Bullshit."

"I've never been here before, so why did no one else stop to ask me about my wings?"

"Ya really think that's gonna bother anyone?"

"I was caught in the middle of a crowd packed together, and not one complained about wings being in the way." Thanatos rolled his shoulders, allowing the black wings spread to their full span before folding in neatly. "Even like this, they would be in the way of a crowd."

"But -"

"Wilford." Thanatos cut through whatever ramble Wilford attempted to start. "How long have you kept these people here for?" Wilford's eyes widened, before his head lowered in guilt.

"They were sufferin' with their problems an’ their struggles. I brought 'em in here so they could be happy. None of 'em deserved this." Wilford gestured around them. "It ain't much, but here, they can be happy, they can have fun. Nothin' hurts here. What's wrong with that?" Thanatos sighed at the innocent question, muttering something about 'another Dionysus' under his breath.

"You might not believe in death… but they do. We aren't supposed to play with lives like they are toys. We help guide them to their afterlife."

"Whoa whoa, time out fer a sec!" Wilford make a 'T' with his hands. "What's all this 'we' talk? I'm just a guy who runs a disco."

"Like I said, you're a personification of Death, just like I am. You've lost your way."

"I think I'd remember bein' some sorta skeletal guy with a scythe, thanks very much." A pause. "Do I have a scythe? That'd be cool ta swing an'-"

"You don't have a scythe. Your role is to help others find death -"

"Which I don't believe in."

"- to help them accept it. That's what you used to do. Do you remember wanting to be an undertaker?" The question hung in the air for several seconds, allowing Thanatos to realise that Wilford wasn't kidding when he said his memory was poor. "You're a good man, Wilford. Have you helped someone who might have been, say, confused lately?"

Wilford turned his head to the entrance. "Abe." One word, one name.

"And what was wrong?"

"He… he was lost in a moment. Hunting me for so long for something I did… He thinks he knows everything, but it fell apart the moment I asked questions that went just below the surface." Lost in thought, his accent sharpened to something more dignified. "No one can survive a bullet to the chest. But he did. But the others -" With wide eyes, Wilford looked back at Thanatos. "They're dead. All of them. I only wanted to help them be happy and have fun. That's not wrong, is it? Am I in trouble?"

"You're not in trouble. You didn't know. But now, they can be brought to the afterlife that suits their upbringing and beliefs - Wilford!" Thanatos hurried after Wilford, who had bolted to the entrance without warning.

-

"Abe!!" 

The cry echoed in the empty car lot. Wilford was alone. He slumped on the top step, pulling his knees to his chest like a child. Not even the cold hand of Thanatos stirred him.

"Abe… Was that the man you spoke to?" Thanatos asked. Wilford nodded into his knees. "I don't know where he is now, but he is still alive. Close your eyes and hold the necklace tight. Can you sense him?" There was a slight shuffle as Wilford followed the instructions. A noise that could have been a content sigh or a relieved sob escaped.

"He's okay…"

"He needs time to heal. I know your paths will cross again one day, but you can't stay here waiting for him. Let's bring you somewhere where you can get a warm drink and a change of clothes. What do you say?"

Wiford has always been one to go with the flow of whatever might be happening at the time. This wouldn't be any different. 

"So how does this work? Me bein' some sorta Death, but not believin' in death, an' even killin' some folks?" Thanatos gave a soft smile as he sat beside Wilford.

"Have you considered that you might be the side of death that gives the recently deceased extra time to process their own death before they are collected?"

"But can Death kill people?"

"No, no they shouldn't," Thanatos chuckled. “But we can work on that problem in time.”

A silence fell as the pair sat on the steps. There was a long road ahead of them. Thanatos knew that Wilford would never be ‘okay’, but Wilford wouldn’t be alone with this. Not anymore.

[coreastories]

Three Hours For Chicken

Companion to Corea News: Royal Panic! The queen was lost--and found-- in Seoul 

The queen of Corea wants chicken, and she goes after what she wants, even if the chicken is in Seoul and she lives in Busan. 

“Not arrive together anywhere?”

“Queens Day is for the queen. The focus is on her. The king can watch and visit, but everyone is supposed to see the queen, not the king.” 

Seung-ah made notes. Separate cars. No. Separate times of arrival. This wouldn’t be too difficult, just complicated. She had to prepare for two scenarios: if the king followed tradition, and if he dismissed it and escorted the queen everywhere. 

Lady Noh was saying, “Ah my head,” so perhaps the old woman was also thinking the same thing. Their king and queen were the opposite of predictable. 

Seung-ah could soon hand this over to the Royal Household and the logistics would be their problem. She just had to sign off on everything first, with Lady Noh’s advice and approval, because everything about the Queens Day was under the domain of Public Affairs. 

Her note-taking was interrupted by a text message. Only four people were set to come up on her screen with a pop-up.  

Hey Seung-ah. Can you come to the study, please? Conf. 

Tae-eul. The queen. “Conf.” stood for confidential, which meant not to say anything if Seung-ah was with anyone. So she pretended to be preoccupied with the arrangements and bowed to leave Lady Noh. 

It was 7pm. Tae-eul probably wanted to eat together. And probably didn’t want Lady Noh’s currently overzealous guarding of what Tae-eul ate. 

When she arrived at the king’s private study, she found Tae-eul pacing on the rug. 

“Ma-- Tae-eul, what is it?” Seung-ah was still learning to use the queen’s name when they were alone as the queen requested. It helped that Seung-ah now used it in her head when she thought of Tae-eul. “Did you ask for dinner already?” 

“Can we take your car?” 

“What?” 

“I want to eat banban.” 

“Banban?”

“It’s chicken. Half plain. Half seasoned. And a hundred percent making my mouth water.” 

“All right, I’ll ask for--”

“No, we’ll take your car.” 

“Mwo?”

Tae-eul sighed. “I already told Jangmi. Just get your car over here.” Tae-eul pointed outside the French windows. “But don’t say anything. Even to Jangmi if you see him when you get your car.” Tae-eul tapped her ear. 

Mollified that Jangmi knew even if the rest of the Royal Guard wasn’t supposed to, Seung-ah did as she was asked. Then she got a funny feeling in her stomach when the queen came out of the French windows and went to the car at what seemed like a very specific angle from the wall, got in, and promptly laid down in the backseat. 

“What-- what are you doing? Are you feeling ill?”

“Yep. But I’m fine. Just don’t say anything. Jangmi is meeting us there.” 

“Meeting us where?” 

Tae-eul didn’t answer. 

The palace gate staff knew Seung-ah’s cars, knew her face, and let her pass through without inspection. About a hundred meters from the gate, Tae-eul popped up in the backseat like a rabbit nosing the air. 

Seung-ah’s stomach roiled. It was no longer a funny feeling. It was more of a realization now. 

“Tae-eul. Did you use me to sneak out of the palace?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is Jangmi really meeting us?” 

“No.” 

“Does Jangmi really know?”

“No.”

“I’m turning the car.” 

“Oh no, please,” Tae-eul rubbed her hands together in apology and pleading. “I just need some time away. Please? I would have gone with the king, but he’s in Seoul. That’s it. I can meet him there. No harm done.”  

“WHAT?!” Seung-ah shrieked. “We’re going to Seoul?!”  

“Yes.” 

“It’s three hours away by train!”

There was a pause in which Seung-ah’s hope that they weren’t really going to Seoul soared. Then the queen grabbed that hope and tossed it to the ground. “Oh. Right.” 

“What do you mean oh right?! Did you forget the distance to Seoul?!” 

“Calm down. It’s only three hours.” 

Only three hours! Seung-ah wasn’t religious but called out to God just then. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She supposed she could clutch at the reasoning that the queen wanted to go to the king.  

“Let me tell Jo Yeo--”

“Later. We’ll tell him later when we get there.” 

“Are you trying to get me killed?”

Tae-eul snickered. “Yeong won’t kill you. He loves you.”

“Stop that! What about the king?” 

“Don’t worry about him.” 

Seung-ah snorted. “At least tell Jangmi then. Have mercy on Jangmi.” 

“He’s fine. He’s asleep. He took medicine for his toothache.” 

Seung-ah groaned. 

“I’m sorry. I just… I need to go to Seoul. The chicken place at Misa Lake Park.” 

Seung-ah groaned again. All right. She would tell Yeong when they arrived in Seoul or way sooner than that. Hopefully, the king and queen’s room remained undisturbed by palace staff or Jangmi stayed asleep, whichever would get them past this with the least fuss. 

She looked at Tae-eul through the rearview mirror. The queen wore a Nova Shirt, a Cabello pullover, and a Harris Tweed wool blazer Seung-ah loved. The total cost of the ensemble was over a million won, not counting the jeans and shoes. Not the cheapest in the queen’s wardrobe, but not that expensive either. Not by Seung-ah’s standards. And the queen looked deceptively casual, so they could probably get on the train without attracting attention. 

Tae-eul chose that moment to squeeze her way to the passenger seat through the center console and Seung-ah concentrated on not killing them both and not cursing out her queen. Seriously. 

Tae-eul settled in with her seatbelt on and Seung-ah took deep breaths. 

Then Tae-eul turned to her and said, “So what are we talking about on the three hours on the train? Did you and Yeong go past any bases yet?”

Seung-ah stopped breathing. She felt her face go searing hot. “Stop that. Let me drive. Maybe you should get back to the back seat. But I’ll stop the car so you can get in there using the door like a normal person.” 

Tae-eul just flapped her hand in dismissal. “Do you know Yeong is ticklish in his ankles?” 

“Mwo?” She was saying that so much tonight. 

Tae-eul laughed. “Yeah. I saw it at the gym. They were doing judo and Jangmi was about to grab Yeong’s ankles but Yeong dodged--danced away, really. That was weird. So I whispered to Jangmi to keep going for Yeong’s ankles, and I told him to touch it, not grab it.” Tae-eul curled in on herself, giggling. “I’ll show you the video later. I think getting kicked in the face is why Jangmi has a toothache.” 

Seung-ah laughed despite her nerves at this insanity she was currently dragged into. The queen’s laughter was infectious like that. Yeong was ticklish in the ankle. Hmmm. But poor Jangmi was kicked in the face. “Poor Jangmi.”

“I know, I’ll make it up to him.” 

To Seung-ah’s horror, tears spilled from Tae-eul’s eyes. 

Shit. What the hell. So she said, “Yeong likes to be kissed on the neck.” 

Tae-eul wiped her eyes and perked up. “Really?” 

Seung-ah was relieved. She grinned. “Yeah. He sorta shivers and goes soft in my arms when I do that.” 

“Awwww.” 

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

“Status.” 

“Good and quiet here, Captain.” 

“You sure?” 

“Her Majesty is in her bedroom. Lady Noh is in hers. Time is 2100. I’ll update you again at 2200.” 

“All right.” 

Captain Jo hung up and Jangmi sighed in relief. But his cheek felt like it still had a phone against it. Oh man, it was swollen. Wasn’t the medicine supposed to be anti-inflammatory? 

He rooted through his medicine bag for other meds. What he took earlier had stopped the pain and knocked him out but apparently wasn’t good for much else. 

When he turned back around to face his bedroom’s bank of monitors that came with being Unbreakable Sword to the queen, a court maid was waving to the camera. 

Jangmi swallowed his new pill dry and flew out of his room. 

He got there in under a minute but the court maid had already multiplied into three and Lady Noh was there. 

“What is it?” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the king and queen’s chamber. No queen. Ahhh shit fuck balls. 

“Is the queen in the kitchen?” he asked the maids. They shook their heads. 

Lady Noh said, “I already called the Control Tower. Her Majesty isn’t in the palace and the grounds. She was seen going to the study a little before seven, and then Seung-ah went there as well. Could they have been together? But Seung-ah was seen going home alone.” 

He dialed Seung-ah’s number. She didn’t answer. Probably asleep. Shit. He called another number. “Go to Myeong Seung-ah’s house then call me when you have her.” 

With a cold pit in his stomach, he called the captain next. 

“Captain. I don’t have the queen. We haven’t had eyes on her since seven. We’re retrieving Myeong Seung-ah. She’s the last to have seen her.” 

The captain was quiet for three seconds. Jangmi didn’t breathe. Then Captain Jo Yeong spoke in his quietest, sternest voice. “I’ll try to get Seung-ah on the phone and let you know. Do your job. There’s protocol.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jangmi made a gesture for the maids to leave, and Lady Noh swept them away. Jangmi dialed 8877. The voice on the line only said, “Yes?” 

“Crimson Pheasant. Two hours. Myeong Seung-ah, Royal Public Affairs Office.” 

“Confirming receipt.” The line went dead. 

He hoped Seung-ah wasn’t in the bath or anything, because as the last person to have seen the queen, the Royal Guard and the Corean Armed Forces were about to break down her door. 

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

“I should tell Yeong now. Look, Jangmi and Yeong both called and you didn’t let me answer it.”

“Sure, go ahead. I don’t want them to worry.” 

Seung-ah stared at Tae-eul. “I know you’re my queen but you’re an idiot right now. If you didn’t want them to worry, you shouldn’t have gone to Seoul in the first place.” 

Tae-eul didn’t reply. The server had arrived just then, so Tae-eul only probably heard, “Here’s your chicken.” Seung-ah rolled her eyes and sent a quick text to Yeong. 

And then, because Seung-ah had been hungry for dinner since six pm, and the chicken was right there all beautifully golden, she also ate her share of the fricken chicken. Could be her fricken last meal, anyway. 

There was a loud hum outside, overhead, and then a whoosh and thunderclap that had nothing to do with the clear skies. She had an idea what that was. Yep. Probably her last meal. 

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

Gon was a little surprised that he actually managed not to panic. He was getting better. His life with Tae-eul wouldn’t be quiet, but it wouldn’t be doomed either. He had an assurance about that, and he was getting better in his faith and trust in that assurance.  

Jangmi had arrived by chopper, and he hadn’t straightened since. He was still bent at the waist, reporting to Gon. 

“Her Majesty had a headache so she went to bed around three pm. We didn’t disturb her. She hadn’t come out until 6:42pm when she was seen going to the study. We can’t reach her because she left her phone on her bed. We couldn’t reach Myeong Seung-ah either and she’s not home.” 

“Jangmi, please straighten up. I’m not blaming you. She probably went somewhere with Seung-ah. You need to add another camera in the patio of my study. There’s a blind spot.” 

Yeong looked at him. Yeong knew Gon had used that blind spot before. Before Gon could call out Yeong for glaring at him, Jangmi straightened and Gon recoiled at the sight of his face. “What happened to you? Did the queen do that to you?” 

At the same time, Yeong said, “Did I do that to you?”

“No, no, Captain, you kicked me here.” Jangmi touched the opposite cheek. The one that wasn’t twice its size. Then he touched the swollen cheek gingerly. “This is a toothache.” 

Gon was torn between amusement and sympathy. He turned his snort of laughter into a grimace. He was about to ask if Jangmi had taken medicine when Yeong made one of those showy, smooth movements, taking his phone out of his coat pocket and checking it. 

“Pyeha. We have the queen. She’s with Seung-ah. They’re at Chika Chika by Misa Lake Park. The car is ready.”

Gon sighed in relief and exasperation. Chika Chika. As in chicken. Misa Lake Park, as in Hanam-si. Tae-eul went to Seoul for chicken? “You two. With me. Now. The others can follow.” 

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

Chika Chika was deserted, thankfully. Not that Gon wouldn’t have gone in even if it was full of customers. He saw Tae-eul from the tall windows, and saw her see him and her face soften in greeting and happiness at seeing him. 

He would never get tired of that. If he had felt any anger at all, which he hadn’t--not really-- it would have evaporated right then. He was standing by her table in a few strides. Seung-ah looked at him pleadingly, so he smiled at her in assurance. The poor woman sagged in relief. She deserved a raise. 

“Are you done eating?” he asked Tae-eul. 

Tae-eul wiped her mouth, drank water, and then got up in a too-bouncy way that made him wince. But she was fine. She was fine. He took her hand and he let her pull him to the railing by the lakeside. He saw Yeong and Jangmi on their phones coordinating with everyone. 

They deserved a raise, too. Though he had made certain years ago that the Royal Guard would be rolling in money so they couldn’t be bought. Maybe he could give them something else. 

They arrived at the railing and he watched Tae-eul take deep breaths of the night air. 

“Pyeha. Mama.” 

They turned to Seung-ah. She was holding her phone up. “Let’s do this. For something sweet in the morning. People were asleep in their beds, you know.” 

He saw Tae-eul smile so he smiled and that was the photo done. Seung-ah left them alone. He put his arm around Tae-eul and felt his smile grow when she leaned into his side. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t look that much sorry.”

She smiled wider. “The banban was really good.”

“Yeah? You didn’t even get me takeaway.” 

“I forgot, I’m sorry.” 

“Did you really forget the distance between Busan and Seoul?” 

“Did the air force really fire warning shots?”

He pressed his lips together and looked at her as sternly as he could, when he knew his eyes were soft for her, this side of her he was seeing for the first time. 

She laughingly sighed. “I knew I was in Busan but I also thought I was in Seoul, that driving here would only take about 10 to 20 minutes. Can you believe it?” 

“I can believe it. They say that happens.” 

“It’s crazy. You should have seen Seung-ah’s face.” Tae-eul laughed. Gon couldn’t help grinning back. He loved that she was happy. She looked so beautiful when she laughed or smiled this way. 

He tightened his arm around her. “I was already on my way back to you. You just beat me here.” 

“I didn’t come for you. I came for the chicken.” 

They laughed. 

“You’re insane. Are you all right now?” 

She snuggled against him, nodded, and squeezed his waist. “Let’s go home. I want to go to bed.” 

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

“Crimson Pheasant Code Green. 2300. Pheasant and Dragon taking off for Busan 2300.”

Jangmi hung up with the Royal Armed Forces palace switchboard and nodded at Yeong. That was the end of it. Yeong nodded back. “You need to get to a dentist, hoobae.” 

“They can’t do anything until that swelling goes down anyway,” said Seung-ah, joining them on the bench. “Try this, Jangmi.” She rummaged in her purse and gave Jangmi a whole bottle of pills. 

“You have that in your purse?” Yeong asked dubiously. 

“Of course.” 

“You all right?”

“Yeah. I’ve had time to recover. The worst was when I realized the queen intended to go to Seoul and we were already outside the palace.” 

“I think we need to get more of that chicken,” Jangmi said. 

“What’s the difference between that chicken and the chicken in Busan and in the palace?” Yeong asked, truly mystified. 

Seung-ah tilted her head in that way she did when she was thinking or about to make an observation. She had no idea Yeong tilted her head that exact same way when he kissed her. 

“I think there’s a hint of some sort of caramel in the coating. Then it opens up to this--” 

“OH!”  

Yeong and Seung-ah both jumped at Jangmi’s exclamation. 

“Oh no. Noona. They probably broke down your door.”

“MWO?!”

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

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 43

Masterlist

TW: Panic attack in the first scene (in case you want to skip it, it starts after the conversation ends)

----

Queen Ravenia of the Black Land requested another meeting. Tomorrow, two hours past midday, in the Lake Palace. The letter was polite but cold, not a hint at what she might want this time. Drakon wanted nothing more than to throw the letter into the fire and ignore the summon. Whatever this meeting is about, it won’t be good for him, and going feels like he’s playing into Ravenia’s plans. But at the end of the day, it is better to know about whatever it is Ravenia is planning in advance than to be caught unawares.

So Drakon goes to the meeting. Alone again, even though he longed to ask someone else to accompany him. But Miryam is the only one to know about the sword (and even she knows only that it exists), but she is caught up in a council meeting. Besides, he could never have asked her to face Ravenia for him.

When Drakon arrives in the Lake Palace, Ravenia and Artax are already there. They are standing in the centre of the room, still as statues. The image is unsettling enough that Drakon involuntarily pauses in the doorway, unwilling to go any closer.

"Majesty," he says without inclining his head. He usually manages to mess up Continental etiquette even without meaning to, but this time, he is impolite on purpose and he hopes Ravenia notices.

"Your Highness." The queen doesn't incline her head either - Drakon isn't sure if she means to insult him, or if she's just reacting to his behaviour - but she gives him a small smile. Artax, standing half a step behind her, offers the barest nod.

Slowly, Drakon walks over to them, never taking his eyes off Ravenia. He can’t spend the entire meeting hiding by the door, but going any closer to them is deeply unsettling. "What is this meeting about?" He asks.

"I believe you know," Ravenia says, still smiling. "Do tell me, how is Erithia faring lately? I hope everything is well."

Drakon digs his nails into his palms and says nothing. He might have played into Ravenia’s plans by coming to this meeting, but he will not play along with her taunts.

Ravenia frowns at him. "I'll admit," she says, "I have a hard time understanding your intense loathing of me. Our political opinions might differ, but I have never treated you with anything other than politeness, nor given you reason to believe I would mistreat you upon our marriage."

Drakon could have pointed out that she had his family murdered, him tortured and his country invaded, all of which gives ample reason to hate her. But he has no doubt that Ravenia would simply claim all of this was a direct consequence of his actions. Besides, none of these replies would quite cover the truth. After all, his initial dislike of Ravenia was never about him.

"I'd be a terrible person indeed if all I cared about was my own wellbeing," he says. "You own thousands of slaves. You murder and torture children. Innocent people. Your entire country is built on the suffering of thousands. If there was any justice at all, you would have long since drowned in all the blood that was spilled in your name."

Ravenia doesn't look overly impressed. She turns to Artax, who gives her a wry smile.

"Very dramatic, Your Highness," Ravenia says. "If you were a little older, you would understand that political marriages rarely factor in the individual opinions of the participants."

She doesn't even pretend to take him seriously. "I factor in individual opinions, though," Drakon says, "And I'm not going to marry a mass murderer and slave-owner."

Ravenia shrugs with one shoulder. "If you are dissatisfied with this arrangement, you ought to blame your father, not me. He is the one who sold you to me in exchange for trading rights." She absentmindedly plays around with one of her bracelets. "If it is any consolation to you, I would have far preferred a partner who is a little older. I do not fancy marrying a child. Especially not one who has as little care for etiquette and traditions as you do. Had it been up to me, I would have chosen one of your sisters, but your father insisted I could have neither of them."

Drakon doesn't quite manage to hide how much her words hurt him. He always knew that his father didn't need to pick him for this marriage - knew and understood, since his sisters were far too useful in Erithia to marry them off to a foreign queen - but hearing it like this from Ravenia makes it hurt worse. Somehow, she has a talent to turn her words into arrows, and she rarely misses.

"No one is forcing you to marry me," he snaps. It's a weak argument, but at least it buys him time to compose himself.

"You know why," Ravenia says lightly. "And you'd spare us both a lot of discomfort and embarrassment if you just gave in. We both know that you don't have the strength to refuse me forever."

Drakon shakes his head. Is she truly this arrogant? "I don't need to refuse forever," he says, "Just until we win this war. And considering how it's going now, that will be sooner rather than later."

"Not within the next three days, though.”

Drakon stares at her. Dread settles in his stomach. He doesn't know what Ravenia is aiming for, but her tone makes him pause. Artax smirks at him like he is immensely enjoying himself.

"And what, precisely, happens in three days?" Drakon asks. He can’t quite shake the feeling that he stepped into a trap and it’s about to snap shut around him.

Ravenia smiles at him like she just got exactly what she wanted. "We're getting married, of course."

She nods to Artax, who produces a parchment scroll from a pocket in his cloak. He hands it to Ravenia, who passes it on to Drakon. Slowly, he takes the scroll from her.

"Our engagement contract," Ravenia says. "Specifying the terms of our marriage. One of the terms being that we are to be married at latest seven years, seven months and seven days after the contract was signed. That date will be reached three days from now."

Drakon's fingers shake, he nearly drops the paper. "I'm breaking the contract," he says, trying hard to keep his voice steady. "You don't really think I'd marry you because of a piece of paper, do you?"

"You might wish to take a look at the end of the page," Ravenia says lightly. "You'll find your signature, written in blood. Should you choose to confer with that half-breed piece of trash you call friend, I'm sure she'll confirm to you that this contract is magically binding."

Drakon forgets how to breathe. No, he didn't sign a binding contract. He would remember if he had. Binding contracts are no small thing, he wouldn't have mindlessly signed one. Never, not under any circumstances, would he ever have been this stupid.

But he wasn't around for the negotiations of the marriage contract. His father oversaw them and only gave Drakon the final draft to be signed. And his father was six hundred years old, he wouldn't have missed anything as vital as a contract being made to be binding. Nor would he have made Drakon sign one without his knowledge. He wouldn't have. And yet, Drakon’s signature is there, at the bottom of the page.

"You know the punishment for breaking a binding contract, of course," Ravenia says. "So I assume you will prove that you actually do have the ability to be rational and do as you promised."

Yes, he knows the punishments. He'll be lucky if he only loses his magic - if the contract is one of the harsher ones, the price will be his life. And with him being Prince, it wouldn't be uncommon for the fallout to affect Erithia as well.

"I'm not unkind," Ravenia says, "So I will give you time to prepare. As I mentioned, you have three days left until you will be punished for breach of contract. I'll have the marriage planned for that very date, and I'll expect you to meet me here and accompany me to the Black Land in two days."

Drakon doesn't manage a reply. He can't even nod. He keeps staring at his name on the paper, tying him to the contract. He can't breate, can't move.

"I'll see you in two days," Ravenia says. "Keep the contract if you want." With that, she pushes past Drakon, Artax trailing after her like a loyal shadow.

The High Witcher of the Guild pauses next to Drakon. “If I were you, Prince, I’d do as she says,” he says lightly. “It will save you a lot of pain. And besides, I will find that island you are trying so hard to protect with or without your help eventually. I can sense the wards around it fraying, and it will only be a matter of time before I know where it is.”

Drakon begins shaking. Artax is still watching him, head angled slightly to the side. When Drakon doesn’t reply, he shrugs and follows Ravenia out of the room.

As soon as they are gone, Drakon's legs give out from under him and he falls to the floor. Pain flares through his knees, but he barely feels it. He gasps for air, but his lungs won't draw breath. He stares down at the contract in his hand. Shackling him more surely than any iron could have done. He's back in Ravenia's dungeon, trapped in the dark. The world is tilting around him and he can't breathe.

He tries to focus on the world around him. He isn't in a cell, isn't being tied up and beaten. But he can't manage to concentrate on his surroundings. His focus keeps slipping, his chest feels far too tight and he still can't breathe properly. His vision is turning black around the edges. He’s trapped, this time for real. There’s no way out of this.

----

There are days when Miryam doesn't mind the council meetings. Today is not one of these days. Sitting in the council chamber, listening to complaints while she knows Drakon is meeting with Ravenia, is grating on her nerves.

"Would you kindly explain to us, my Lady, what General Jurian was thinking?" Emperor Shey asks in a tone that hides sharp edges under faked pleasantness.

"It may have escaped your notice," Miryam says, "but I am no longer co-commander of Jurian's camp and therefore not privy to the reasoning behind his decisions. Should you wish to see them explained, you should speak to him, not me."

She is tired of being the one the council goes to whenever Jurian makes a mistake. She will always care for him and wish to help him, but she isn't responsible for his actions. For all her efforts, at the end of the day, it is Jurian who chooses his actions, and Miryam isn't always able to explain his reasoning.

In this special case, she thinks she knows why he did it, but that doesn't mean she's able to find a reasoning the council will accept. And the council has been unruly enough as of late, some of the Fae pushing back against her every word. Her position is getting more and more difficult, and if she lets the blame for Jurian's actions fall back on her, that might well harm her standing beyond repair. (There have been new marriage proposals, too, and Zeku tells her that she cannot refuse forever. The thought terrifies her more than she's willing to admit.)

"Where is General Jurian, anyways?" Another councilmember asks. "Why isn't he here, answering to us himself?"

"I'm sure he's busy in his camp," Nakia replies brusquely. “None of us were informed this would be a trial. If you had sent out a notice in advance, I’m sure he would have come.”

Zeku leans back in his chair. “No one wishes to put the General on trial,” he says, “And all of us have the utmost respect for his past achievements. But his current behaviour is putting people in danger, and that is unacceptable. Whether you like it or not, this discussion needs to be had.”

A few of the humans shift around on their chairs. Nakia glares at Zeku. Most of the Fae mutter in agreement, though. Miryam suppresses a frown.  Damn Zeku. Why did he of all people have to steer the conversation in this direction? For the sake of their alliance, Miryam cannot openly oppose him, but she cannot agree either.

They haven’t coordinated their stances for this meeting in advance, but Zeku must have known that any action against Jurian goes against what most human councilmembers want. Jurian is still well-respected amongst the humans, especially the soldiers see him as their biggest hero. (The Fae like him far less, especially since his stance has become more radical lately.) This problem cannot go before the council. No matter what choice they make, it will not go over well.

Nakia glares at Zeku. “And what type of discussion are you aiming for, Grand Duke?”

Miryam cuts in before this can get any worse. “A discussion needs to be had, but not in this council. I’ll go talk to Jurian.”

One of the Fae snorts. “You, his former lover. I can imagine what type of conversation that might be.” He smiles suggestively. A few people laugh. (That they do is a bad sign in itself. A few month ago, no one would have gone along with such a comment against her.)

She waits for the laughter to die down, then says, “I will talk to him on behalf of the council. There won’t be a repetition of what happened yesterday.”

Even though she knows she can’t guarantee it. She promised never again once already, and it didn’t work. If it goes badly this time, it will fall back on her, and rightly so, but what else is she supposed to do? Even if there was less controversy around Jurian in the Alliance, Miryam could never support political action against him. She might not have been able to help him through his pain, he might hate her for it, but she would never betray him like this.

“And if there is?” The High Lord of the Night Court asks.

“Then we can discuss,” Miryam says as pleasantly as she can manage.

Many of the Fae seem dissatisfied. Half a year ago, they would have accepted her decision with far less complaint. Miryam needs to get this under control, and soon, or her entire position will be put in jeopardy.

The meeting, at least, ends soon enough. It's long midday now and Miryam desperately wants to have someone winnow her to Erithia so that she can check in on Drakon. He must be back from his meeting with Ravenia by now - if everything went well, that is - and Miryam needs to see him. She needs to know that everything is alright, that Ravenia didn't do anything to him.

But there's also Jurian. Jurian, who is slipping away from them further and further. Jurian, who is suffering so badly and is putting them all in danger with his actions. She needs to talk to him first, see if she can find a way to help him. Whether he wants to see her or not, she should never have left him on his own devices for this long. Maybe if she had insisted they keep contact…

“Lady Miryam.” Suddenly, Zeku is standing next to her. She didn’t even notice him approaching. “May I have a word?”

She inclines her head. “Of course.”

She follows Zeku to one of the private meeting chambers. He closes the door behind them and Miryam sits down one of the chairs.

“I hope you aren’t offended that I spoke against Jurian today,” Zeku says. “I do value him as a person, but in the current political climate and with how he has been acting, I deemed it the wiser course of action to suggest acting against him.”

“I see,” Miryam says. She cannot truly blame him for his reasoning, but she can’t quite accept it, either.

Zeku inclines his head. “That aside, Jurian is not what I wished to discuss with you today.”

Miryam nods. She guessed as much. It is beyond clear that she is in trouble, it is only natural for Zeku to want to speak to her about it. “The council,” she says. “They are displeased with me.”

Zeku finds glasses and a bottle of wine in one of the cupboards. He pours himself a glass and offers Miryam a glass of water. “Displeased is not quite the word I’d use,” he says. “They are nervous. You are an unknown piece on the board, no formal alliance to anyone and no set goals for once the war is over. And you are far too powerful to be ignored.”

Miryam pretends to be very interested in her water and doesn’t answer. What is she to say? She assured Zeku time and again that she has no political ambition for after the war. All she wants is to free her people. But saying that never really changed anything, and she is tired of repeating herself. She needs to speak to Jurian. She wants to go see Drakon.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Zeku says, “but you ought to reconsider your stance on a marriage. Marrying into a royal family would offer you the protection you currently lack.”

So they are back to that old game.

“What if I still chose not to?” Miryam asks. The idea of marrying some almost-stranger who just sees her as a way to increase his power terrifies her. It’s like there are shackles already closing around her wrists.

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice,” Zeku says. “Not if you wish to survive this war.”

Miryam chokes on her water and starts coughing. Zeku warned and warned her that the council considered her a threat, but he never so openly suggested that they might murder her. She long since accepted that she might not survive this war, but she never considered that she might get killed by her own allies. “Trust” has always been a relative word in Continental politics, and there are few council members Miryam actually trusts, almost all of them human. Still, there are certain rules that go with being allies – one of them being that you don’t murder each other – and Miryam did trust that all of her allies would keep to it.

She swallows around the lump in her throat. “I will consider it,” she says.

----

Jurian knows he messed up. He sees it in the way his soldiers look at him, like they are somehow disappointed with him, like they don't know if they can still trust him to lead them. Any elation of their victory has long vanished and left nothing but emptiness and cold, hard anger behind. Andromache hasn't returned to their camp, hasn't even sent word. Jurian assumes she is angry. How could she not be, when he got so many of her soldiers killed?

Like a coward, Jurian hides in his tent. He cannot face the disappointment of his soldiers, who trusted him to do the right thing. Cannot bring himself to go to the council meeting and explain what happened. A defiant part of him wanted to go, to meet their anger with scorn. Did they not win not won, but two victories due to his actions? Is he not the only one in this war who is brave enough to act while everyone else just sits around and argues? Yes, he went against orders, but it turned out alright in the end.

Still, the shame won't go away.

Alone in his tent, he stares down at the maps, notes and reports strewn out over every surface. Tiny victories. That's all he ever seems to win against Amarantha. As long as he doesn't defeat Amarantha, no victory will ever be true. They can never win this war if he doesn’t first get rid of Amarantha, he just knows it. And to do that, he needs to get her to stop this cat-and-mouse game and face him outright. But how?

Something rustles at the tent's entrance. Jurian whirls around, hand going straight for his sword.

"It's just me," Miryam says and closes the entrance behind her.

Jurian quickly lets go of his sword, freezing. He is suddenly acutely aware of the sorry state his tent is in, papers, empty wine bottles and a half-eaten tray of food lying around. He himself doesn’t look much better – his hair is a mess and he hasn’t bathed in… well, in a while. Jurian half-heartedly wonders when he stopped taking care of himself.

“What do you want?” Jurian snaps. His voice is sharper than he meant to, maybe because he is embarrassed.  

“To talk to you.” Miryam in her elegant, long-sleeved court dress seems startingly out of place in this tent. There was a time when she belonged into this camp, no matter what clothes she wore, but now, she is an outsider, almost a stranger.

“I don’t want to talk,” Jurian says. “Go away.”

Miryam doesn’t obey. “I’m worried about you,” she says. “I realize that things have been difficult lately, and I want to help – “

“Oh, don’t pretend you are here because you care about me,” Jurian bites out. If Miryam is wearing a dress, she came here straight from a council meeting without changing first. And if she comes from the council, that means that she is likely here to chide him for what happened yesterday. “You just want me to stop acting out, that’s all. You aren’t here to talk, the council sent you to reprimand me. Give me a slap on the wrist, get me back in line.”

Miryam, for once, doesn’t hide that his words hurt her, but Jurian couldn’t care less. He just wants her to leave. Can’t she see that having her around like this makes it worse? Doesn’t she understand that looking at her feels like being stabbed in the heart? She left him behind. The one person who was always there, always by his side, and she left. Even now, she isn’t truly here, isn’t really there to help him. She’s just doing her job.

“This isn’t true,” Miryam says softly and takes a step towards him. “Of course I care about you. I’ll always care.”

“And you still left,” Jurian snaps.

Miryam flinches. Looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” she says. No further explanation. No comment.

They stand around in awkward silence for a while. Jurian turns abruptly to his table. He finds a half-finished wine bottle in the mess and takes a swig. Miryam, for once, doesn’t comment. She doesn’t leave either, though.

“We’re winning this war, you know,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “It is nearly certain now.”

“And?” Jurian challenges.

“And I think it might be for the best if you stepped away from the fighting for a while.” Jurian whirls around to her, spilling wine on his tunic as he does. Miryam continues, “Our position is secure enough that we could afford it. And you have been fighting without pause for six years now – more, if you count the time before the war officially started.”

Jurian stares at her, not quite believing his ears. She isn’t suggesting that. There’s no way she’s telling him to step down. He spent his entire life fighting for this. Every day, every hour, he fought and fought so that they might one day be free. And now that victory is close, she tells him he isn’t needed anymore? Like he is a broken weapon – no longer useful, so he gets discarded.

Miryam seems to sense his anger, because she takes another step towards him, hand outstretched as if she wants to reach for him. “I’m not suggesting this because I want to push you aside or replace you. Believe me, this is the last thing I want.” She shakes her head. “But Jur, don’t you see…” She makes a vague gesture at the tent, at Jurian. “It can’t go on like that. Not for my sake, or for that of the Alliance, but for you.  This war is killing you, can’t you see?”

Jurian shakes his head. “So you think I can’t take it anymore?” He asks, voice biting. “That I’m not dealing with my problems correctly?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He takes a step towards her. Now, they are standing almost toe to toe. “If you want someone who can’t deal with their problems, who should not be fighting in this war, go find a mirror, Miryam.” His face twists into a bitter smile at the shock on her face. “You dare tell me I’m not dealing with my problems properly? You can’t even talk about yours. All the years we’ve known each other, and you never once managed to sit down and talk.” Anger rises in Jurian, bubbling and hot. “You have the nerve to tell me I am no longer fit to fight this war? When you are the one who can’t ever sleep more than two hours at a time, who wakes up screaming every night. When you are so terrified of your own powers that you are barely able to use them, and can’t even get into a dress without shaking.”

Distantly, Jurian is aware that he is crossing a line. That he should stop before he breaks something beyond repair. But he is too angry to care. How dare Miryam come here and tell him that he can’t do this? What gives her the right to look at him like she pities him and pretend she is any better?

“You are just like me,” he says, each word sharp as a knife. “Just as angry, just as ruthless, and just as broken. The only difference between us is that you are a liar. You, with your pretty clothes and faked smiles – just because you pretend to be fine doesn’t mean you are. At least I am honest.”

Miryam’s face has gone entirely still. Whatever she feels at his words, she doesn’t let it on. Not a flicker of anger or hurt. (He wonders if she realizes that by no reacting, she is proving him right.) Then, she slowly steps back.

“I don’t think this conversation leads to anything,” she says. Her voice is carefully neutral. It’s the same one she uses in council meetings. “I’ll leave you to think about what I said and come back in a day or two. Maybe then, we can talk.”

Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the tent. Jurian watches her go. Just like that, his anger evaporates, leaving him cold and empty.

He shouldn’t have said those things. Why did he ever say that? He doesn’t want her gone, not really. For all that he might tell her to leave, he doesn’t actually want her to. All he wants is for her to stay, and stay for real. But why would she, when he speaks to her the way he did just now?

Fingers shaking, Jurian turns to his notes. He needs to fix this. Somehow, he needs to fix this. He has to kill Amarantha. Amarantha and Clythia both. Once they are gone, everything will go back to normal. It will be fine. Then, he will be better and Miryam will see… She will see that…

He just needs to finish off Amarantha first. And for that, he needs her to stop playing games. If he could just… He pauses.

Revenge. This is what got him to chase after Amarantha in the first place. It’s why he hasn’t been able to let go since. But Amarantha doesn’t have a reason to want to face him. She doesn’t hate him, it isn’t personal for her.

Maybe it’s time for him to change that.

----

Miryam walks through the halls of Erithia’s royal palace. From the first time she visited, she liked the Erithian royal palace. The entire structure is built from the dark, shimmering wood of the trees that grow in the surrounding mountains. It is pleasantly light, all open archways and huge windows, the wood artfully carved. Nowhere near as obtrusive as stone structures tend to be. The guards incline their heads to her as she passes, servants and courtiers pause and stare, but she barely notices. Jurian’s words are still ringing in her head.

She knows Jurian only spoke out of anger and pain, knows he said those things to push her away, but that doesn’t make what he said sting less. Especially because she knows, deep down, that he is right. Just because she can pretend to be fine doesn’t mean she actually is. And maybe if she had ever managed to be open about her problems, things between her and Jurian would have gone less wrong.

She tries to tell herself that at least she has gotten better about talking, but it doesn’t feel like much. She can talk to Drakon with little problem by now, but that just shows that she could have learned to talk to Jurian, too. If only she had tried harder.

But regardless of her own mistakes, regardless of his sharp words she needs to find a way to help Jurian. Maybe she should ask Drakon, he might have an idea. Although if she can ask him depends entirely on how his meeting with Ravenia went. The guards at the front gate told her he is back in the palace, but that doesn’t necessarily mean everything went well.

The guards in front of Drakon’s suite on the highest floor of the palace let Miryam through without a word. She finds Drakon in the drawing room. He sits on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest and wings tucked in closely to his body. Nephelle and Sinna are also there, they both look grave. Miryam’s chest tightens.

“What happened?” She asks. She isn’t quite able to keep the panic out of her voice.

Drakon looks up, startled. His eyes are red, like he was crying. Miryam quickly walks over to him and wraps her arms around him. Drakon presses his face into her shoulder. Over his head, Miryam meets Nephelle’s eyes. She shakes her head softly.

“She has a contract,” Drakon whispers. His voice sound muffled because he still has his face buried in Miryam’s clothes.

“What?” Miryam asks.

“Ravenia,” Drakon says and straightens. “She has a marriage contract. Magically binding.”

A jolt goes through Miryam. Her first thought is, This is impossible. Drakon can’t have signed a binding contract. It’s just not possible, it… She frowns. It is actually not possible.

When several of the Continental royals started showing interest in her, she read up on marriage contracts. Binding contracts, although rare, were also touched upon in the book she chose. So she just happens to know that Continental law explicitly forbids anyone under the age of twenty-five from signing a binding contract. She also knows that Drakon was still twenty-four when he got engaged to Ravenia.

“You signed it?” She asks.

Drakon nods. Miryam flips to the end of the page, and indeed, there is his signature. His father’s is suspiciously missing. Only Drakon and Ravenia signed. No one else.

“Why didn’t your father sign in your stead?” She asks sharply. This is what should have happened, in any case.

“I don’t know,” Drakon says. “I…” He shakes his head, looking unhappy.

“Because he’s a fucking bastard, that’s why,” Sinna snaps. She is glaring daggers at the contract and looks like she would happily murder Drakon’s father herself if he was still alive.

Miryam is inclined to agree, but Drakon already looks upset enough at Sinna’s comment that she doesn’t say anything. Everything is bad enough already and the last thing Miryam should do is to make things worse for him by starting a pointless argument. If Drakon still wants to pretend that his father was a good person, she won’t stop him. Miryam straightens, forces a relaxed calm to replace her panic.

“Okay,” she says, glancing down at the contract. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“I have to marry her within three days,” Drakon says. He stares down at his fingers, but doesn’t seem to see them. His eyes are strangely empty, like he really isn’t processing anything at all. “If I don’t, I’m as good as dead, and there will probably also be consequences for Erithia.”

Miryam’s throat tightens. Magical contracts, like bargains, cannot be taken lightly. And they cannot be broken by any outside force – not even by a witch. With a bargain, Miryam might have stood a chance, but not with an actual contract.

“And…” Miryam begins, but has to pause. Her voice sounds too thick and she has to clear her throat before she can continue speaking. “And what are we going to do about it?”

Drakon doesn’t reply – Miryam isn’t even sure if he heard her – but after a moment, Nephelle answers. “There’s nothing to be done.” Her voice is soft and she doesn’t meet Miryam’s eyes as she speaks.

Miryam shakes her head. “No,” she says. Shakes her head again, as if refusing adamantly enough will make the world bend to her will. “No, there has to be something. There’s always some way. Have you looked through the contract?”

“Of course we have,” Sinna snaps. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

Miryam doesn’t reply. She looks down at the contract in her fingers, fighting the absurd urge to tear it to shreds. Her heart is racing, blood pounding in her ears. “We’ll look again, look more closely. There has to be a way.”

Drakon puts a hand on her arm. “There isn’t one,” he says softly. “There’s no getting out of this.”

Miryam brushes his hand off and jumps to her feet. “Don’t you dare give up,” she snaps. “This isn’t over yet.”

She hates how resigned Drakon sounds, hates how neither Nephelle nor Sinna disagree with him. Her power rumbles awake inside her, a great beast opening an eye. She tries to soothe it, but she is far too upset to even come close. Her power just spirals further and further. She keeps imagining how smug Ravenia must have looked when she told Drakon, how she must now be sitting in her palace, surrounded by her slaves, and drink with Artax to their success.

“Miryam,” Drakon says and reaches for her.

She steps back. She can’t take the look on his face, can’t take the fact that he is trying to calm her. Suddenly, there is far too little air in the room, the walls are pressing in on her and her power is roaring inside of her.

“I need to get some fresh air,” she gasps and all but runs out of the room. The guards look at her strangely as she rushes past them, but they make no move to stop her.

She gets lost almost immediately. All she knows of the palace is the way to Drakon’s quarters, and right now, she ended up in a wing of the castle that she never visited before. Her power is still rushing through her, she feels light-headed. For the first time in months, her grip on it is slipping. If she doesn’t find a way to control herself, she’ll bring the entire palace down around them. And hard as it is to anger Drakon, she thinks he might be a little annoyed if she accidentally destroyed his palace. She needs some air, and an open sky above her. Right now.

“Excuse me,” Miryam says to one of the guards who stand along the hallways. She’s out of breath even though she wasn’t running and her power keeps surging. “There’s a roof garden here, right? How do I get there?”

“My Lady.” The soldier bows deeply. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just – “

“Please,” Miryam says. The ground is shifting beneath her feet and she doubts she will be able to control herself much longer. “You can go to Drakon for confirmation, but it would really be easier…” Her magic surges and she doesn’t manage to finish the sentence.

The soldier surveys her, then seems to decide that chances of Drakon being angry if he lets her into the garden are indeed low.

“This way, my Lady.” He walks ahead, and Miryam quickly follows him.

The garden is beautiful, overflowing with colourful flowers, but Miryam barely has eyes for it. Her head is spinning.

“Thank you,” she manages. “If you would leave me alone, please.”

She barely notices the guard bowing again, then leaving quietly. Between the flowers, she drops to her knees, presses her palms against the ground. Breathe in. Breathe out. Ghost taught her to soothe the power like it’s a frightened animal. But today, she cannot. Ravenia’s face keeps appearing in her mind.

“Come on,” she whispers.

With a start, she realizes she still has the contract in her hand. The parchment is crumbled in her fingers and she quickly lets go. Her power surges again and this time, it hurts. Burns like fire. Miryam gasps for air.

“Shit,” she whispers. It has been a while since her power last hurt her like this. She almost expects the shadows to reappear.

Something moves and Miryam flinches, but it’s only a hummingbird that flies over and starts swirling right in front of her face. It’s about the size of her thumb and coloured in vivid blue and green colours. Miryam smiles at it and stretches out a hand.

“Come here,” she whispers.

Something in her chest seems to ease as the tiny bird sits down on her palm. It is beautiful, a perfect, tiny creature. Carefully, Miryam runs a finger over its feathers. She barely dares to touch it; it seems so breakable. The bird rubs its head against her finger. Slowly, Miryam’s power seems to settle.

She keeps watching the hummingbird, focusing only on it. A second one swirls over to her. This one is a bit greener than the last one, and it settles on Miryam’s knee. Miryam smiles and watches the birds. They are the only thing in the world, all he needs to care about. She breathes in slowly. Her power is almost calmed down now.

“All good,” she whispers, looking at the bird. “Thank you, you two.” She smiles after them as the two hummingbirds swirl away.

Her smile fades as her attention returns to the contract, though. Now that she can think straight again, she realizes that she shouldn’t have stormed off like that. She should have stayed and found words to comfort Drakon, not run off like she was the one who ought to be comforted in this situation. She should go back to Drakon, find words to make things easier for him.

Her eyes drift to the contract. Going back now might be the right thing. But it would also amount to admitting defeat. None of the others are willing to try. They think it is impossible to get out of the contract, and maybe they are right.

But if there’s one thing Miryam has learned these past years, it’s that impossible is an illusion. Impossible is a sixteen-year-old runaway slave from the Continent’s cruellest country starting a war all over the world and becoming leader of half the Continent. Impossible is a human girl being a witch. Impossible is breaking into Ravenia’s palace and stealing her most valuable prisoner from right under her nose. Impossible is a spell that effectively cleaves the world in two.

Miryam long since stopped believing in impossible. And she isn’t about to start now.

She spends the next hours sitting over the contract, trying desperately to find the loophole in the contract. She doesn’t understand all of the words, which makes it difficult, but there has to be a loophole. There’s always a loophole.

Over her, the sky turns dark and Miryam has one of the soldiers bring her a candle. By its flickering light, she keeps working. The moon has reached its highest point already when she finds it. A small paragraph, easy to dismiss, and yet it changes everything. If only she can manage one small trick.

----

Ever since Drakon managed to return to Erithia, he has been strangely calm. It’s like he’s separated from his surroundings by a thin wall. He can see and hear anything around him, but it only reaches him in a muted, less vibrant version. He can’t even feel panic or terror.

He is, of course, aware that this is just a strange reaction to shock. His body is shutting down, he is going numb. But it makes things so much easier.

Miryam hasn’t returned. He doesn’t know where she has gone. Maybe back to Telique. He desperately wishes she was back here with him, but at the same time, he understands if she needs space. This is probably just as much a shock for her as it is for him. (Sinna glowered a bit at her disappearance, but largely let it pass.)

They sit together for most of the night. Nephelle fishes a bottle of liquor out of one of the cupboards. They pass the bottle between them, none of them speaking a word, until they emptied a bottle.

It’s long past midnight when Nephelle falls asleep, head resting against Sinna’s chest. Sinna absentmindedly runs a hand through her hair.

“You could refuse,” she says, voice barely more than a whisper. “The magic might leave you alive. And we can face any other consequences.”

Drakon shakes his head. “You know that contracts ruling families sign tend to affect their land as well. I cannot risk that.”

Sinna nods and doesn’t say anything else. They sit in silence for another hour until Sinna finally falls asleep. Drakon isn’t tired at all. He remains sitting on his couch, knees drawn up to his chest. With a start, he realizes that this is his second-to-last night in Erithia. In two days, he will be in the Black Land. He needs to see to it that his affairs are settled. Name a successor. Talk to his council. Leave orders behind.

His stomach lurches and Drakon barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

He spends the rest of the night lying on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He wonders what will happen once he’s married to Ravenia. She’ll likely make him take her to Cretea, to the cave. She will take the sword, and she will take Erithia. What she will do then, Drakon cannot imagine, but he doubts it will be good for any of them. He doubts he will ever know. He doubts Ravenia will kill him, but she will certainly lock him up somewhere and throw away the key. (He tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter. That if what Artax said is true, they would have found Cretea and the sword eventually with or without this contract. But knowing this doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all.)

He’s so scared. For himself, but mainly for the rest of the world. The humans, Erithia, the entire Cauldron-damned Alliance…

He cannot let this happen. It isn’t just about him and his country. If Ravenia gets her hands on the sword, they will all be doomed. And Drakon would rather die than allow that to happen. He just doesn’t know how to stop her.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because he startles awake when the door slams open. Sinna is already on her feet, hand reaching for a knife.

“I’ve got it!” Miryam says as she storms into the room.

Her hair is in disarray, standing wildly up from her head. Her eyes are bloodshot and her clothes ruffled, but she is smiling wildly. There is an almost frantic energy radiating off her, power sizzling through the air.

“What?” Drakon asks. The memories come back abruptly, like a slap in the face. He sits up.

“I’ve found a loophole,” Miryam says. She waves the contract in front of their faces. “Here, section four.”

Drakon’s hear misses a beat, then races on with twice its usual speed. “Really?” He asks, slightly out of breath. Nephelle is on her feet as well now, any tiredness vanished.

Miryam nods. “I knew there would be something,” she says. She lets herself fall on the couch next to Drakon and points to a passage in the contract. “Here, look.”

Drakon reads the passage and feels his heart drop. He already knew about this particular exception; it is common for any and all Continental marriage contracts. But he won’t be able to use it.

“That won’t work, Miryam,” he says as softly as he can. “I’m only except from having to follow the contract if I find a mate, and as far as I know, I don’t have one. Even if I do, I certainly won’t find them within the next few days.”

“I know you don’t have a mate,” Miryam says, waving the comment off. “But we could change that. I mean, I could. Being a witch has to be useful for something, doesn’t it?”

Drakon stares at her. “You mean…” He breaks off.

“You want to create a mating bond?” Nephelle asks, eyes wide.

Miryam nods. “It won’t be an actual mating bond, but it will look similar enough that it should fool the contract.” She reaches for his hand. “If I can convince the contract’s magic that we are mates, you won’t have to marry Ravenia. It will all be fine.”

Hope flutters in Drakon’s chest, but he forces it down. Much as he would want this, much as he loves Miryam for being ready to do this for him, they can’t go through with it. “Just having a mate wouldn’t be enough, though,” he says. “The contract requires I marry that person.”

Miryam’s smile fades and she nods, suddenly serious. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks

[riviae]

so anyway... did anyone ask for a regis-centric character study set during his time in beauclair in ‘lady of the lake’ ft. angouleme? no? well i wrote it anyway lol:

Beauclair was a fairytale place—that much Regis was certain of. However, even fairytales bore monsters, gave blood and bone to things that were better off not existing at all. And, more often than not, fairytales gave birth to monsters in the shape of men. 

The land was an illusion of peace, a mirage of vineyards and bustling cities that fed the monsters that thrived there. Where there was peace, there would also be strife. Where there was laughter, there were also tears. Where there were innocents, so also were there those who sought to spill blood. Regis had not spilled blood in a long time, but some of his more... tumultuous memories resurfaced during the full moon, the urge to fly high above the castle battlements and walls giving way to more long-repressed desires. 

He wanted to fly. He also desired a drink—though this wasn’t confined to full moons. He settled on walking and humming the melody of some tawdry ballad that Dandelion had composed when they reached the Sansretour Valley. Regis could have misted through the cobblestone streets as a barely perceptible fog—in fact, it was how he had favored to travel before his encounter with Geralt and his rag-tag hansa—but his time spent traipsing the narrow pathways of Beauclair with his companions had made him oddly nostalgic. Walking at a human’s pace allowed him the chance to reminisce, to commit the sprawling array of shops and houses to memory. 

To his right, he saw a row of apartments painted a soft peach, dark green ivy climbing over an overhanging trellis and up the façade of the building. In the mornings, there was often an elderly woman that sat on one of the stoops with her cat. She had a faint Nilfgaardian accent and spoke animatedly with Cahir, who, to Regis’ surprise, smiled and laughed brightly. Regis could count on one hand the number of times Cahir had laughed in his company, which was only once more than Geralt. 

Without the winged helmet and cape, Cahir looked almost boyish, his tan, freckled skin and dark hair giving the impression of someone who worked hot summer days on his parent’s farm. In truth, with just his sword at his side, Cahir did not look like a soldier or even a knight. It was only in his most basic mannerisms such as the way he postured himself as he walked, the subtle way he mapped a room with his gaze, his back always pressed to a wall, that betrayed his years of service as a soldier. War had not yet taken the kindness from his eyes or the gentleness by which he spoke to Milva, Angouleme, Regis, Dandelion, and, at times, Geralt. So, along with his politeness, it was only natural that he would be popular with the older generations. 

Regis stopped in front of the elderly woman’s door, his eyes shining silver in the flickering lamplight. In the dark, he could see that she did not choose to close her window, the drapes within the first-floor bedroom moving almost imperceptibly due to the mild draft.

In a fairytale, a monster would materialize from the shadows to crawl through the window. It would approach the woman’s bed, its rows of teeth poised over her, only to have its head lobbed off by some kindly knight. 

The vampire approached the window. He could hear her snoring loudly, heard her shaky intake of breath and then a brief stutter. It was a moment where she had stopped breathing, but Regis was not worried. Most sleep apneas were generally harmless and he did not hear any other telltale signs of more serious ailments such as excess fluid in her lungs. In fact, her lungs and even her heart seemed strong. It was likely nothing more than apnea brought on by the muscles of her throat relaxing, something that could be treated by learning to sleep on her side or abdomen. 

Quietly, and without difficulty, he misted into the room. He locked the window and closed the drapes before disappearing again, this time the dark fog of his incorporeal form crawling underneath the space between the stoop and the door. When he reappeared, he was human-shaped and he suddenly felt the lateness of the night tugging at his eyelids. Sleep was not always necessary for his kind, but it was a luxury he had been spoiled with ever since coming to reside in Beauclair castle. 

It had become a habit thanks to Angouleme’s insistence on sleep being a ‘good fucking elixir to any ailment’—her diction taken, more or less, from Regis, but sprinkled with her choice of vulgarities. It was quite endearing. And it also explained why he spent some afternoons in the shared common area within their wing of the castle, tome in hand, dozing now and again on a wide chaise lounge while the flaxen-haired girl snored in his ear. Sometimes even Milva would join them, though she took to the adjacent sofa and either played cards with Cahir or sharpened her arrowheads. Geralt, on the exceedingly rare days where he wasn’t tangled up with Fringilla Vigo or taking on a contract, sat in the armchair and scribbled in his own personal bestiary, gazing now and again discreetly at his dozing company with an expression that could almost be described as tender. 

Perhaps he truly was getting old even for vampire standards, he thought, returning to the present. Giving a very human yawn that he covered reflexively with his palm, Regis turned away from the apartment and immediately met the gaze of two teenagers. One of which who had brandished a small, curved hunting knife. 

If they had seen Regis reappear from a spindle of smoke, neither teen acted as if it mattered. As if all he had done was but an elaborate parlor trick, as evident by the way that more muscular teenager pressed the blade silently and fervently to his neck. The vampire allowed himself to be pushed into the nearby alley and against a brick wall as the blade pressed deeper into his skin. 

A few beads of red dripped down the knife, splattering onto the ground in a star-like shape. The pain barely registered to the vampire, though his nostrils flared at the scent of sweat and alcohol. The teenager with the knife to his throat was sober, though possibly high on fisstech if his dilated pupils were any indication, but the other boy, lean and dressed in black with a sabre at his side, had definitely been drinking. He smelled of cheap beer and blood—many people’s blood. 

“Looks like you’ve caught us a meddler, Boris,” said the boy with the sabre. He pulled a metal flask from his belt and took a swig, wiping the excess with the back of his hand. “Listen here, grandpa, we’ve been casing this place for weeks. So instead of worrying about some elderly wench, you should focus on yourself.”

Boris flashed a grin that sent a sinking feeling to the pit of Regis’ stomach. It was a wholly familiar grin. One that he had given long ago, so long ago that it felt like he had dreamed it. “This guy looks like a fucking tax collector, doesn’t he? Hey, gramps, you’ve got any coin on you? You must, it’s Beauclair, after all.” 

“I’d bet he has more coin than common sense. Only a senile old coot would walk around alone at night, ” the other boy added, snickering. “It’d be almost a mercy to kill him.”

It was, disturbingly, like looking into a mirror of his youth. The jeering, the recklessness, the utter lack of respect or dignity for life—they were young, stupid, and thought the world owed them something. Something that they had no qualms taking violently. 

This is what I was like before, he thought to himself. I only cared about myself. I lived to drink—and died for it, too. How pitiful.  

His inner thoughts were interrupted by a swift strike to his cheek. Boris had dropped the knife in favor of using his fists, one hand curled around the vampire’s throat while the other prepared to punch him squarely in the jaw. Regis fought the urge to snarl, settling on a frustrated huff. If they realized he was not human, he would likely have to kill them. He did not want to—bloodshed no longer suited him. At least that was what he kept telling himself whenever the option for violence arose. 

Regis did not fear many things. He did not fear fighting or war or even death, really. But he also knew that there were many fates worse than death. He feared returning to the habits and mindset of his youth, of losing the respect he had for others that had taken centuries to come to fruition. Regis was not naturally kind; kindness did not come easy to him. But he was naturally good at learning through observation and, like any skill, kindness could be cultivated—even in the worst of people if given the time to change. Or so he believed.

“Listen to us when we’re talking to you, old man,” Boris hissed none too kindly, this time reaching to tug at Regis’ greying hair. “Vinny, let’s just kill the guy already and go rob that wench.” 

“No,” Vinny replied, his tone almost playful. “I’m just starting to have some fun.” 

The words echoed loudly in the vampire’s ear, alchemizing into a voice that he recognized as his own. 

“I’m just starting to have some fun,” Regis remembered himself saying as he rose from the barstool, lips pulled into a sneer. In a blink of an eye he had crossed the entire distance of the tavern to seize a drunken man by the scruff of his neck. 

“Now, now, there’s no need for tears, my good fellow,” he said calmly, pulling the man closer. “We’re just having a party and need your… contribution.” Fangs met flesh then, the man’s outcry cut short as Regis dug his teeth cruelly into his neck. The vampire rolled the body away from himself when he was done, barely sparing it a second glance. He was already thinking of where he could get his next drink now that the last human patron of the tavern was dead, adding to his morbid pile of bodies. 

Back in the present, the lean, dark-haired teenager had traded places with Boris, choosing instead to point his sabre directly at the vampire’s Adam’s apple. 

Again… must I always have swords pointed at my throat? 

Vinny blinked, dark eyes widening in surprise. “Huh, well I’ll be damned. The old man’s got a sense of humor.” 

Regis, who had not realized he had spoken his previous thought aloud, hid his own shock with a hum of agreement. “Amongst other things,” he said, voice calm and polite. “Anyway, I’d be more than willing to part with some of my coin if you would be so kind as to lower your weapon. I am not in any mood to fight.” 

“But what if I’m looking for a fight?” Vinny goaded. 

Regis sighed. Perhaps he couldn’t talk his way out of a confrontation. He was tempted to use hypnotism, to simply have the pair fall into a drunken slumber beside the nearest gutter, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t prey on some other innocent citizen the moment they awoke. “I’m sorry,” Regis began, tone and expression severe, “But a fight with me is equivalent to courting death.” 

“This old fuck must be on something…” Boris muttered, a full-body shudder wracking his muscular frame at Regis’ tone. “Let’s go, Vin. Something doesn’t feel right about all this.” 

Before Vinny could respond he was cutoff by a distinctly raucous laugh from the mouth of the alleyway. “Hey, uncle!” a familiar voice chirped. “Need a hand?” 

“Angouleme?” Regis breathed, watching as the teen approached, both hands shoved casually in her pockets. 

As she approached, her grin grew even wider. It was an expression that very much reminded Regis of a feline who had gotten its claws hooked into a canary. “Oho, now look at what the cat dragged in! Vinny and Boris, it’s been awhile, you whoresons.” 

“Angouleme,” Boris greeted, giving a nervous look to Vinny. “What are you doing all the way in Beauclair? Thought the Nightingales didn’t travel this far south.” 

“They don’t—I’m not a part of their shit gang anymore. They’re also all very, very dead.” At this, Angouleme flashed another wide grin, giving the two boys a wink. “So maybe don’t bother my Uncle Regis anymore if you don’t wanna end up in the ground.” 

“Fuck this,” Vinny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He lowered the sabre from Regis’ throat with a frown and stepped away. “Ang, we were just casing some house when your uncle or whatever showed up.” 

Regis took the brief interlude to fix the collar of his shirt, smoothing out the creases in the dark fabric. His gaze then returned to Angouleme who had now stepped in front of him, acting as a barrier between him and the two teenagers as much as her petite, lithe frame would allow.

“I’m sure you were,” Angouleme agreed. “But y’know what else I think, Vinny? I think you’re just out looking for someone to kill. Steal from whoever, I don’t care—but watch your blade. Too many murders in one area and people are bound to notice.” 

“Almost sounds like you’ve gone soft, Angouleme,” Boris said, tone neither accusatory nor playful—as if he was only stating a very obvious fact. 

“Almost sounds like I should’ve let Uncle Regis kill you two,” Angouleme replied icily. Her right hand twitched, ready to reach for the blade she kept hidden in her boot—a gift courteous of Milva after she had lost her own. “No one’s going soft, especially not me. Go find some drunk in a ditch to rob if you must and then get the fuck out of Beauclair.” 

“And what if we don’t want to leave?” Vinny asked with obvious bloodlust. “What’ll you do then, Ang? Because I don’t believe for a second that your geriatric, grey-haired babysitter could even throw a punch before I have him gored on my sword.” 

Angouleme cackled, a feral glint in her eyes. “Since uncle doesn’t like resorting to violence very much and I’m feeling particularly nice tonight, I’d be sure to kill ya both myself. And since we used to run in the same circles, I’d make it a quick death too. You’d both be bleeding out before you even had a chance to piss yourselves in fear. Call it a friendly discount—two quick, painless deaths. Hell, I’ll even bury your bodies so the birds don’t dine on your insides.” 

“Now there’s the girl I remember,” Vinny said, whistling appreciatively. “You always had a way with words. You were all bark and bite. But now I wonder if you’ve been muzzled; why else would you be traveling around with a man who looks like a bank teller?” 

“If I may interject?” Regis asked, raising a hand politely. Angouleme whipped her head back to shoot the vampire a confused look. 

Regis cleared his throat. “I think there’s another way we can settle this. Without bloodshed.” Not waiting for a reply, Regis turned his gaze to Vinny and Boris, sighing. He addressed the dark-haired man first. “Vinny, was it? You like killing, don’t you?” 

Vinny nodded, tone expressionless. “It’s fun. I like hearing ‘em scream. Why do all these people get to live cushy, painless lives here in the city? What’d they do to deserve a good life? Nothing. I’m just here to settle the score. Be the monster all these rich folk told me I’d be growing up. It’s a bonus that I enjoy it.” 

Boris gawked at the other teen. “What the fuck? Why’re you admitting all that? Have you gone fucking mad?” 

Regis continued, ignoring Boris’ outcry. “So you feel that you have some right to kill? Because you were wronged in life?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m good at stealing and killing. It came with practice. Do anything long enough and you learn to develop a taste for it.”

“I see…” Regis trailed, now turning his attention to the other teen. “Boris. Why do you follow Vinny? I can tell that you have less of a stomach for murder than him. Though it seems as if you are fine with violence… within reason. ” 

“He’s a right bastard but he’s also my only friend. I can’t abandon him no matter how much I want to sometimes. He likes getting into trouble—starting brawls, drinking till he pukes, murdering when he doesn’t have to, racking up as many bounties on his head as he can without it being chopped off—and it’s up to me to keep him from going too far. From getting himself killed.” 

Regis smiled sadly. “You think you’re helping him. But in actuality, you are enabling him. I don’t blame you, however; it’s often difficult to tell the difference.” 

“So what’re you gonna do with ‘em, uncle?” Angouleme piped up, eyes wide with admiration for the vampire. “Wish you could teach me how to hypnotize people… seems like it’d come in handy,” she added, kicking at a loose stone. 

“Hmm… well, I’ll actually leave that to you, Angouleme. You know them better than I do. Do you have a solution? We can’t just leave them to their own devices.” 

At this, Angouleme paused, brows furrowing. She deliberated for a few moments, tilting her head from side to side until she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Keep ‘em still for a second, uncle.” 

Regis nodded, focusing on keeping the two teens in place. 

Swiftly, and without any preamble, Angouleme landed a solid kick to Vinny’s right arm, relishing in the loud crack that followed. The teen howled then, the pain freeing him from Regis’ influence. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, falling to his knees to curl up into a ball. His outcry was jarring enough to snap Boris from his own trance, panic flooding the teen’s face at the sight of his friend curled on the ground. 

“Hey, Boris,” Angouleme drawled casually, smile curling even wider at the way the larger teen steps back instinctively in fear.“ Do me a favor, will ya? Take Vinny and get out of here. Help him heal and teach him how to control his anger. Not everyone in the world is out to get ya; you don’t need to take a swing at every person you come across. So if I hear about you two causing any sort of ruckus I’ll make sure to break more than an arm. Got it?” 

With a shaky nod, Boris helped Vinny back to his feet. In mere moments the pair had disappeared, skittering out of the back alley as fast as they could. 

“Thank you, Angouleme,” Regis said, smiling in his own gentle way, the tips of his fangs peaking out from beneath his lips. “You were able to defuse the situation rather brilliantly—with no bloodshed. Impressive.” 

At the genuine praise, the flaxen-haired teen looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t want Regis to see how her cheeks had reddened at his words. Praise was rare; before joining Geralt’s hansa, she had only been praised for her prowess at killing and stealing. This was different. She wasn’t doing something because she wanted the praise or attention or the safety that came with being stronger and more dangerous than her peers—she was simply doing what she thought was right. 

As they walked back to the castle, Angouleme gave a contented sigh, tilting her head up towards the full moon. 

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

“It is, my dear Angouleme. It certainly is.” 

Angouleme smiled, gaze softening. “Think we’ll get more nights like this?” 

“I hope so,” Regis replied, voice thick with something akin to melancholy. 

At that, Angouleme snickered, nudging the vampire’s shoulder playfully. “Heh, you sounded so sentimental there. Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss going on long walks with a brat like me. ” 

“…I’m going to miss a lot of things about Beauclair. Mostly, though, I think I’m going to miss all these fragile moments of peace.  I know even good times must end—we still have a quest to complete, after all. Geralt’s ward is still in danger. But being here was nice. And I especially enjoyed our walks, Angouleme.” 

Together, they walked the winding road back to the castle. Home, Angouleme thought a moment later. They were going home. It was the first time that she had ever thought of a place as home. There had been houses, small huts and backwater inns that she had lived in, sure—but home implied belonging. She had a place where she belonged with the friends she now saw as family. 

And if Regis noticed the few stray, happy tears that brimmed in her eyes, he politely didn’t mention it.

He too was busy reminiscing--his life had changed the moment he decided to follow Geralt, to join his company and work to save his ward. Even if it amounts to nothing but ash, Regis thought, I won’t regret my choice. Here, with everyone, is where I know I belong. I don’t know if this story will end like a fairytale or a nightmare, but at least I won’t be alone. Not anymore. 

[ruddcatha]

GUARDIAN Chapter 6

Thank you again to @heavenin--hell for your inspiration, I hope this story does your work justice.

posted on Ao3: Here

Posted on FFN: Here

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Inuyasha eyed the strange seats that Kagome, Sango, Miroku and Totosai sat on.  His golden eyes darted around the room, seeking anything that he could say was “familiar” in the strange room.  He could smell the anxiety and undertones of residual fear, and it did nothing to calm his nerves.

“Inuyasha” Totosai called out to catch Inuyasha’s attention.  “I have to contact the council to inform them that you have awoken.”

“Keh” Inuyasha scoffed, continuing to look around the room.

Totosai tried again, he would need to bring the council more information for them to prepare for what was to come.

“Inuyasha, the council has only limited information about the events of the past…”

“For good reason” Inuyasha interjected.

“Kagome, are you able to follow what they are saying?” Sango said quietly to her friend, she was not able to understand any of the conversation around them.  MIroku took the opportunity to move his chair closer to the women, ignoring Sango’s look of annoyance, and began to translate.

“The time for secrecy is over Inuyasha, we need to know what occurred to discuss with the council. Lord Koga…”

“The wolf is still around? Good to know. But I need to know, who or what is this ‘council’?”

Totosai tilted his head “That is fair” he acknowledged.  

“Following your sealing, humans and yokai began to live among each other.  Initially, there were the expected conflicts.  Early on, a council was formed consisting of the heads of the yokai clans, the Ookami, the Kitsune, the Bats, the Oni, the bears, to act as a governing body for yokai.  They created a set of laws that govern yokai.”  

Kagome watched Inuyasha as Totosai spoke, fascinated by his ears.

“In time, as our races integrated as second council formed, a human-yokai alliance council.  The members were hand selected by the yokai council, humans must have spiritual abilities, such as myself and Miroku here, while the yokai must be trusted and loyal to the yokai council.  Information and membership are closely guarded secrets, all members are marked by a tattoo infused with spiritual energy that would only react when in the presence of the guardians.”

Totosai rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt, showing the glowing silver tattoo of a dog demon surrounded by a circle.  Inuyasha glanced over at his arm, nodding slightly in recognition.

“Feh, fine.  I guess father’s precautions worked.  How much do you know about the conflict with Ryukotsusei, what he was planning?”

“Very little, other than the information shared by some of the members of the yokai council. No one knew the location of your resting place, or when you would awaken.  When the shrine was uncovered, I was called in due to my reputation in the field, but also because of the influence of the yokai council, who wield a large amount of influence in this area, just in case. A member of the Human/Yokai alliance has been sent on every excavation of a shrine or temple for the past 100 years.”

Totosai took a deep breath before moving to stand in front of Inuyasha.  “Now we need to know why.”

Inuyasha released a grunt, lifting his head to stare at the strange roof above him.  It was time to begin.

__________________________

There was a simple beauty to mornings in the forest, the last vestiges of fog fading in tendrils off the lake, dew glistening as the early sun cast its warmth over the land. A doe made her way out of the safety of the trees, drawn towards the lake.  In a flash of silver and red, her journey was ended, the hanyou completing his hunt.  He closed his eyes, silently thanking the deer for the lifegiving sustenance she would provide.  He knew that most yokai would not offer the same respect, however he had learned early on to respect the cycle that provided life.  Inuyasha lifted the doe over his shoulder, padding through the forest with silent steps despite the extra weight he carried.  He paused briefly to collect the buck and the boar that he had also caught during his hunting trip, then continued to make his way home.

As Inuyasha entered his village he was surrounded by children, their voices all jumbling together in their eagerness to greet him and ask questions.  Even with his enhanced hearing he could not make out any specific question, he chuckled at their enthusiasm and eagerness.  He released a low growl, knowing his role in the daily game they played.  In response the children all gasped in mock terror at the Yokai who had broken into THEIR village.  The children began running around him in a circle, moving with him as he made his way to the center and the outdoor cooking area that had been constructed.  

He noted his father, the Inu No Taisho, nicknamed Toga by the children (who could not pronounce Taisho and decided his name was too long thank you very much) deep in conversation with the headman and the village elders.  His snorted when he saw his brother, Sesshomaru surrounded by the unmarried ladies of the village (and if his eyes were not deceiving him, which he knew they did not, quite a few of the married ladies as well).  If you did not know Sesshomaru, he would appear to be unaffected by the attention, his pale golden eyes seemed blank and his pale face gave away no emotion.  Inuyasha, however, could see signs of annoyance, the slight tick of his brother’s right eyebrow, subtle, oh so subtle, giving away his irritation.  

“Ah, Inuyasha” Sesshomaru coolly stated, gliding through the crowd that surrounded him towards his brother, then grabbing the boar from Inuyasha.  

Inuyasha quirked an eyebrow, laughter in his voice as he said “you know full well I can carry this with no problem Sessh…. Trying to avoid someone perhaps?”  

Sesshomaru glared at Inuyasha out of the corner of his eyes and tightened his jaw.  “You know I don’t share the same fascination with humans that you and father do… they just… refuse… to leave me alone” he growled, giving a slight shudder.  Both brothers caught the sighs of the women in the village, and a few of the men, as they continued to the center, Inuyasha letting out a soft chuckle of amusement while Sesshomaru tightened his jaw, emitting a soft growl that only his brother could hear.  

The brothers made a striking image as they walked together, their long silver hair glistening in the sunlight, their golden eyes appearing to glow. The villagers knew that the brother’s similarity ended with their coloring.  Sesshomaru, the ice king as he was (lovingly) called in the villagers’ whispers, refused to truly be part of the village.  The villagers had never seen him wear any color other than white, unless he was donning his armor, and he somehow managed to always keep it pristine. The women were drawn to his cold demeanor, seeking to be the one to thaw his heart, yet one glance of his golden eyes, frozen in their intensity, made them shiver, both in fear and with thoughts of what it would be like to have his attention focused on them.  Yet Sesshomaru never showed the slightest interest in them.  Those who had spoken with him knew that he found humans to be a bother, when he deigned to speak with the villagers or the elders, they were always left with the feeling that he was somehow judging them, and found them wanting.

Inuyasha had the warmth his brother lacked, like two sides of the same coin.  He and his father were always part of the village, helping them thrive, thus the hunting expedition that morning to help stock the villages stores and to prepare dried meats for the upcoming winter.  The children of the village loved to play with ‘Uncle Inu,’ his puppy ears drawing their attention and fascination.  Inuyasha had no qualms helping around the village, he and his father had helped to build most of the buildings and always attended every festival, gathering, and event.  Their presence served two purposes, one, to be part of the celebration, but two, and the most important, to protect the villagers from the yokai that sought to prey on them.  

The village was under the Taisho protection.  Any yokai that sought to prey on their village were soon reminded why Inu No Taisho was the Great Dog General, the strongest yokai alive, with his two sons close behind him in strength.    

The protection, however, was a double-edged sword.  Toga had lived near the village for over 1000 years, helping it grow to the thriving community it had become.  He had left the village unattended only once, when he entered a mating alliance with Inukimmi, a powerful Inu-Poison Yokai from another clan.  When Toga had returned with an infant Sesshomaru in his arms 300 years prior he found that the village had been nearly decimated as lesser yokai sought to destroy his home. He helped the village rebuild and placed it officially under his protection.  Toga had not left the area village for more than a day since, and when he did have to leave, Sesshomaru was there to act in his place. For two hundred years Toga and Sesshomaru worked as a team, making their home in the forest outside the village.  They did not join the village, building their grand home inside the walls, until Toga met her.

Izayoi.  Her family had once been powerful, her father a merchant in one of the main training ports, until he refused the Lord his daughter’s hand in marriage.  The lord, in his anger, destroyed their business and cast them out of the port.  Izayoi and her family were forced into the life of traveling merchants, making their way through Japan, trading their limited merchandise for lodging and food. Their journey brought them to the Inu forest village.  The moment Toga and Izayoi’s eyes met her parents began to negotiate with the headmaster to become members of the village.  They had heard of the Inu no Taisho, and it was obvious to them that their daughter would not be leaving the village, and equally obvious that if she tried the yokai would not let her.

Toga immediately sought to construct a home worthy of his family, to show Izayoi that he was able to provide for her.  That caused many fights between the father and son, Sesshomaru could not believe that his father was so taken with a female, “just bed her and be done with it” he had sneered one day.  

He almost did not survive his father’s attack in response.  Sesshomaru stared at his father though the haze of blood covering his eyes “why?  That is all I want to know, why?”  

Toga stared at his son, and in a cold voice calmly told him “one day you will understand.  One day you will have SOMEONE to protect.”  At that Sesshomaru was puzzled, “we have a whole village to protect.”  Toga softly shook his head and whispered “it’s not the same.  Until you experience it for yourself, you won’t understand.”  

Three years later, Inuyasha was born.  Sesshomaru watched coldly as his once stoic father was reduced to…*shudder* baby talk and cooing at the infant.  The child had dog ears, marking him as different, yet for some reason, his father did not see that.  He watched the child grow and his father continuing to change as they fully immersed their lives in the village.  His father and his woman (he refused to call Izayoi mother… causing more fights with his father) were honored guests at each event, his half-brother growing up as one of the children, playing among them. Inuyasha seemed to ignore the proud yokai lineage, content to act as a human.  That was acceptable in a hanyou, but Sesshomaru could not reconcile his once proud, silent, and strong father with the yokai before him, laughing, dancing, helping the humans.  Fighting other yokai to defend them, none the less.  But his father was his alpha, and as the beta it was his duty to follow the alpha’s orders, until he was no longer qualified to be the alpha.  In the blink of an eye, at least to Sesshomaru, Izayoi passed, Inuyasha was only 50, a child in yokai years.  

It had been almost 50 years since his mother passed, and Inuyasha was starting to see life come back into his father’s eyes.  In the past ten years, the attacks on the village had been increasing, and reports of attacks on other yokai lords had been reaching the Inu forest village.  

One of his father’s old friends, Ryukotsusei , a dragon yokai, was rumored to have been gathering yokai to his side and his belief that humans were no more than fodder, food to be raised and harvested, and yokai that did not agree with that vision were to be treated similarly.  The puzzle and the conflict seemed to invigorate his father, Toga once more donning the mantle and armor of the Inu no Taisho.  As Inuyasha and Sesshomaru deposited the two deer and the boar with the village cook and dryers to prepare the meat, they both caught snippets of the conversation their father was engaged in “… attack, the Ookami…. Tribe almost….”  The smile on Inuyasha’s lips fell as the brothers turned to their father, 50 years of training together had them moving as one.  

Toga stepped away from the conversation with the village elders, turning to his sons.  Sesshomaru froze when he caught his father’s full outfit, and Inuyasha burst out laughing as Toga, the Great Dog General, strode towards them in a white kosode and hakima, a red sash, and a long flowing cape. Toga stopped in front of his sons and cocked an eyebrow, a smirk touching his lips as he stared at his sons. He had taken to tying his long silver hair back with a strip of cloth, leaving the two purple lightening marks on his cheeks uncovered, giving him the appearance of an overgrown teenager, and not the imposing general Sesshomaru knew him to be.  

“Really dad, a cape?” Inuyasha choked out through his laughter.  

Toga’s smirk got wider “jealous pup?”

Inuyasha snorted “Hell no” as Sesshomaru lifted his left hand to his forehead… wondering yet again how he could be related to the two idiots.   “Clothing choices aside, dear father” Sesshomaru stated coolly, lowering his hand “what has happened?”

Toga’s face hardened, losing the smirk, his dark amber eyes sharpening as he remembered the conversation with the elders and headman.  

“There has been another attack, Ryukotsusei has attacked the Ookami tribe of the North.”  Inuyasha and Sesshomaru both growled at the news “the tribe was almost completely wiped out, only a handful survived.”  

“Koga?” Sesshomaru asked, remembering the prince of the tribe that he had met before.  

“Prince Koga was one of those who survived, he had been out on a hunting party at the time of the attack. He was able to help the remainder of his pack get to safety and headed further north to regroup with another tribe.” Inuyasha tightened his fist “how many more attacks must there be until someone stops him?”  Toga looked at his two sons, his eyes going sad That’s what we were just discussing.”

Toga refused to tell his sons anymore out in the open, motioning for them to follow him back to their home.  Once inside, with all the doors closed and windows sealed, Toga turned and faced them, gesturing for them both to sit.  He sighed deeply, trying to figure out how to explain what he had just been told with the least amount of outrage from his children.  “Kaede has had a vision.”  

At those words Inuyasha’s ears came to attention while Sesshomaru scoffed.  Both knew the name, Kaede was a well-respected healer and seer, any who disregarded her visions did so at their own peril, at least that is what Inuyasha believed.  Sesshomaru could not understand why his father was listening to any human, no matter how well respected she was.  

“What did this mortal see father?” Sesshomaru asked carefully, ignoring Inuyasha’s angry look at his tone of disrespect.  

Toga closed his eyes as if in pain and turned away from his sons.  “There is a battle coming.”  At these words, the face of both brothers took on a cruel smile, prepared to finally, FINALLY, be joining the fight “but not now.  It cannot happen now.”  

The smiles died, the siblings looking at each other in trepidation of what was about to follow.

“What do you mean dad?” Inuyasha asked, puzzled.  

“If we attack Ryukotsusei now, even with our allies at our side… we will lose.  Ryukotsusei will enslave all yokai who fought against him, and humans will be cultivated and harvested for food, eventually being eradicated completely.”  Toga turned back to his sons, his voice sounding as if the weight of all his centuries of life were weighing on him “We are the keys to end this”

“Then let us go end this now!” Inuyasha yelled as he jumped to his feet, interrupting his father. Sesshomaru reached up placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, shocking Inuyasha as he was pushed back to his seat and held there by Sesshomaru’s grip.  

“Let him finish pup.” Sesshomaru calmly said, holding his struggling brother in place with an iron grip. Toga moved to sit before his two sons, taking in their appearances, knowing neither will like the rest of what he had to say.

“As I said, we are the key, but not now.  There are…. Pieces missing that will be needed to end this battle.”

“So, we wait it out” Inuyasha snarled, annoyed at being told that once again, they would be doing nothing.

“It isn’t that simple” his father whispered “if we wait, we will not survive long enough to end this. We will be hunted, and we will eventually be killed.  We are strong, but we cannot survive against Ryukotsusei’s army on our own.”  

Sesshomaru’s mouth tightened into a thin line before he spoke “and what, exactly, did this human priestess say that we, the strongest yokai known, need to do?” venom dripping from his voice in disdain.

“Seal ourselves.”

As expected, both Inuyasha and Sesshomaru jumped up, Inuyasha’s voice echoing loudly off the walls, Sesshomaru’s dangerously soft.

“What the actual fuck, why the hell do you think we would ever agree to just do fucking nothing, and be sealed so we can’t do a goddamn thing?”

“Explain to me father why we are listening to a human who wants nothing more than to be rid of our kind?

“Enough.”  The soft voice of their father stopped both Sesshomaru and Inuyasha.  

“There has been a council meeting of the remaining lords who oppose Ryukotsusei.  This has been an ongoing discussion and plan, only now we have the specifics of what needs to be done.”  

Toga raised his head to look directly at the two pups… no men before him.  “The blood of the remaining yokai lords, including me, will be used to bind Ryukotsusei, and we will take a blood pact, all involved, or their heirs, will stand beside us at the appointed time.  We will be sealed in a shrine until we are needed.  At the moment of sealing, Ryukotsusei’s spirit will be split into three, each portion sealed in a different vessel as a safeguard to prevent his release until we are awoken and to give us time to prepare our allies for the fight to come.  Those alive in our village will know where we are sealed, but this information will not be passed on to any others, not even their descendants.   All references to us and what has been done will be erased, we will become figures of myth until we are needed.”  

Toga paused, looking towards the sealed door.  

“This is the only way.”

[allyvampirelass29]

Murder at Cripple Creek

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A boomtown swimming with ghosts Dead eyes can't hide Their hedonist living Drinking, debauchery and sinning Scarlet ladies having babies But a whorehouse is not a home Trading flesh for coin Tempting patrons, at the sacrifice of your boy Little Charlie grew up in the hellish dark The sins of the mother Scarring the son's heart Murder brewing in this simmering fleshpot Oh Hateful Harlot, Mother Manx Is is to your neglect and bitter thanks Your baby boy, molested, and you can't protect Your little dreamer from the wicked world you wrought for him Blood on a beautiful boy's hands But the only thing murdered here Is his innocence. Sending his rapist and that lustful bitch Back to hell Charlie, Charlie you're not a villain You had to save yourself.......

Is...... anyone alive out there? It's been days, and I'm still sobbing, my heart desolated by the roiling emotional turmoil, my ignited rage murderous. I don't know about you guys, but...... I'm an absolute wreck. WHY are you DOING this to me, NOS4A2!?!? After the brilliant turn of last week, the sleek sophistication, and glamourous entrapment, "Cripple Creek," was a backhand strike, a blatant violation that I never saw coming, and I spent the entire episode, quivering, sobbing, pleading desperately behind my hands plastered over my face, watching between my fingers, helpless to stop the punishing abuse My Charlie suffers in two different timelines, his bruises of an abused childhood mingling with the fresh wounds of now, as he is tortured, beaten and berated by Bing Partridge!!!

I hated this episode. I HATED it. There, I said it. But I think you're supposed to, I think that was the sole purpose of this traumatizing ordeal. However, as far as Bing (GO TO HELL YOU FILTHY BASTARD) is concerned, the writer's motivation seems drastically convoluted. If this was supposed to be Bing's Big Epiphany, his "redemption," (Ughhh seriously?) This episode fails miserably in accomplishing that. And if this episode was meant to do, what I had predicted back in Season One, cement him as the actual villain of NOS4A2, making him the more immoral evil, be his rise in notoriety, his coming of age as it were, into the monster he was always going to be, giving Charlie and Vic someone to unite their hatred against, it fails to do that too. The biggest misstep of the series, after so elegant a triumph, I'm going to drown my sorrows in ice cream, and try to forget that any of it ever happened. Close your eyes, and think of Christmasland........

I audibly groaned when we opened onto Bing at the Lake House. After so much needless repetition in an otherwise FLAWLESS episode, I REALLY did not want to relive Bing's point of view of the siege, unless it was him getting shot by white knight Chris McQueen over, and over, and over........ Thankfully, the rewind didn't last too long, but I was having NONE of his, "Are you there, God, it's me, Bing Partridge," moment!!! On his knees in the graveyard, (Why...... why are we in a graveyard?) Bing appeals to the heavens, proclaiming his own innocence, asking God to show him what he should do next. I snickered coldly, the whole thing melodramatic, and absurd, as he cries, "I've been so good!!!" Secretly, I was fantasizing about Buffy SLAYING his creepster ass in the graveyard, beating him bloody, before staking him in the heart with a witty saying like, "It's been a gas, Bing, but I get the last laugh!!!" Alas, alack, no such luck. His appeal to the heavens was answered not in divine intervention, but with bird droppings splattering in his mouth, which of course, translated in Bing-A-Ling Logic to, "Kill the FIRST person that tries to help you, bury him in the freshly dug grave, and take his keys!!!" It's PRAYING Bing, you dolt, not preying!!!

While the side quest FINALLY explains how Bing was able to catch up to Charlie and Wayne, after previously believed to be on foot, not to mention shot, which would have been IMPOSSIBLE, supernatural car not withstanding, it's altogether unnecessary. It was the less than scenic route to get to last week's blood-curdling cliff hanger, and I really think we could have done without all the maudlin hullaballoo, and picked right up from there. Also, it creeped me out BIG TIME hearing Bing Partridge say, "Hidey holes," because that's what I called them last week, when Charlie was adorably telling Wayne about his hiding places. "Look at you with your hidey holes, Babe!!!" Needless to say, Bing has ruined that phrase for me FOREVER!!!

"Charlie, Charlie, telling lies, soon he will be crying cries......" A chilling foreboding that was like ice in my veins........ I was definitely crying cries...... I literally WEPT with this horrid little rhyme, and even still I was so naïve, unprepared, for the gut-churning horror that waited in the shadows of a broken little boy's murdered childhood, and the degradation of the beautiful soul that survived it. It's one of the most grueling, and disturbing things, I've ever watched, and like my Darling Boy, strapped to the chair, enduring forced interrogation by gassing, brutal beatings by Bing's homicidal, ham-fisted punches, and some....... deeply unsettling sexual innuendo, I felt like I was the one getting tortured.........

I did utterly enjoy Charlie's feigned relief, as he uses that silver tongue, in valiant effort, to slip his way out of this sickening predicament. "Bing, My Dear Fellow, thank the stars! I thought you had been done in by those wretched McQueens!!" Charlie gasps, thankfully, knowing full well he'd left Bing behind to die, and for good reason. Any other time, this would have worked, Charlie would have used his coaxing charm, and Bing's oafish gullibility, twisted them into a breathtaking manipulation, weaving the lie that he had no choice but to leave him behind, and Bing would have eaten it out of the palm of his hand, because he wants that badly for it to be true. But Bing watched it happen, his face falling, as Charlie sped off without him, and he's DONE playing. Charlie's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Bing drugs him for answers, revealing the fatalities of every single one of Charlie's former accomplices, and with the finality of one apocalyptic truth....... Bing descends into a frenzied, foaming madness.

"Cripple Creek," is the double edged sword that none of us were meant to survive. Switching between the stabbing scenes of Charlie's withering assault, his lifeline to The Wraith, cruelly severed, and the slicing violation of his childhood self, his innocence massacred before our very eyes, our bleeding hearts never stood a chance. I always knew that Charlie's childhood was going to be horrid, downright Dickensian, devoid of magic and light, unloved by his drunk, whore mother, but I had no idea the HELL this beautiful boy endured at so tender an age, forever scarred, betrayed by the one person he trusted, respected, desperately in need of a father figure, only to be exploited in the most heinous way. It's a MIRACLE My Precious Love can even function as an adult, much less still manage to find wonder and beauty in the world, clinging, clawing to hold onto his ember, his remnant of pure light that persevered in a life of darkness.

The inexplicable joy at seeing a young Charlie Manx, aged 11 or 12, tapdancing on stage, along with the giddy marvel that this young actor looks just like our leading man in miniature, is short-lived, as a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in him....... I don't know how, maybe it was the intent way he watched him dance, or the way he touched his shoulder a little too long, but I knew........ I KNEW this man was going to sexually abuse Charles, I felt it gnawing in my stomach, instantly unnerved, and I hoped with all my heart, my first instinct was wrong....... I'm devastated to say........ it was not.

Not only does this manipulative pedophile Son of a BITCH molest my baby, he first uses him to persuade other boys to flock to his house, knowing full well how much the young ones look up to Charlie, as their leader. He wins Charlie's favour and trust by befriending him, and giving our little darling the one thing he wants more than anything else. Escape. Escape from the vulgar, gratuitously sexual environment, that no young boy should have to endure, a chance to make money, have an honest, respectable living. A chance to have a father figure, a man to look up to, learn from, and take him under his wing. The shop owner offers all of that, with a crooked smile, the charade falling dangerously away, as he knocks back a shot glass, eying our boy, and then says in the cruelest, most chilling voice. "You've earned yourself some fun........"

Thankfully, NOS4A2 was not overly graphic in this lewd portrayal, but the innuendo was enough to make me ugly cry, and seethe, as this sweet child is violated by someone he admires so much, realizing in horror, that he led all of his friends to be mishandled in this same disgusting manner, like lambs to the slaughter. But our brave little Manx was NOT going to let this sin go unpunished, and I clapped, cheering him on, as he uses his sled, now tainted by its means of acquisition, to kill the shopkeeper, dark fire flashing in his eyes, blood splattering on the shot glass, and I've never been so happy, or nervously relieved to see someone die.

His mother comes to him, and instead of crying, and taking her boy in her arms, stroking his dark curls, soothing his fear, and assuaging his guilt, she just scoffs at his accusation, the picture of apathy, and places the blame back on him. "You knew too, Charlie!!!" You WHORE-ABLE Mother!!! Your son was just sexually ASSAULTED, and YOU DARE make it his own fault, like he'd turned a blind eye, and therefore deserved to get raped!?!? Charlie might not have killed her, if she'd actually had a maternal bone in her body, if she'd done SOMETHING, shown any sign of regret or compassion, but she doesn't, and I feel nothing but proud as he finishes her off too. Her death was surprising, given the admonishing way Charlie talks about his mother, creating the impression that she'd been a bane on his existence his entire life, and yes, as a writer, I wanted to see more of a direct conflict between them to make that defining moment that much more satisfying, but as a viewer, I was just grateful she was dead, and Charlie was free. The only murder perpetrated, the only death I mourned at Cripple Creek, was that of Charlie's innocence, his childhood slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Bing continues to torture Charlie in the present day, my chest shuddering with every thrown punch, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. What was the deafening truth spoken that sends Bing Partridge into a flailing rage, you ask?

"Christmasland is for children. We are special...... That's why we can't go......."

Charlie was never going to take Bing to Christmasland. All that this poor dope had lived for, dreamed of, for eight years, amidst his conning his way into dentists' offices, and offing mothers, and it was always a lie. I had suspected it the entire time, especially after the mention of a, "special feast," but what SHOCKED me the most, was the unimaginable heartbreak of Charlie's own deepest secret coming to light, and as Bing draws it forth, it's like drawing blood. In spite of being the architect of his lifelong dream, and greatest solace from a life full of abject misery, Charlie doesn't think he deserves Christmasland, because he sees himself as ruined........

I broke down sobbing, that pain, that anguish, that he's so long carried with him, ripping through me, and I'm tearing up even as I write this, remembering....... Charlie denying himself his own dream, seeing himself as a ruined article that might profane its pure vision, is a tragedy that I can't come back from. It's a sorrowful, aching confession, and yet somehow it explains so much, and in this, his greatest pain, his darkest secret, I felt intimately closer to him. At last........ we see why Charlie never stays long in his Christmas kingdom, why he's so focused on the next child, and the next, sacrificing time with his own daughter, because they deserve Christmasland, and he doesn't. Always the courier, never the partaker. Christmasland is for children, and Charlie Manx never got the chance to be one.

The searing pains of his past still guide so much of who he is today, placing a strict emphasis on propriety in every aspect of his person, in manner, speech, and dress, because he was robbed of his dignity as a child. I also, FINALLY, after two seasons, understand why he turns the children into vampires, a contradiction to his love of them, that has remained frustratingly elusive to my grasp. Charlie's childhood was taken from him, brought to a vulnerable, violent end, and by turning the Lost Children, theirs becomes eternal. They never have to grow up, and lose that purity, that innocence. I also realized, that by giving them their bite back, they are able to defend themselves, meaning no one can ever hurt them again.......

There was so much awful going on, so much inflicted misery, and disorienting chaos, that I was sure I'd heard wrong when Bing decides on an even more dehumanizing method of torture. Did Bing just...... call Charlie a BITCH!? I shook my head, but there it was again, and at this point I'd HAD it. Somebody give me a GUN, I will WASTE this SICK BASTARD myself!!! The skeevy sexual threat against Charlie felt like overkill to me, utterly ridiculous, a cheap shot at adding dramatic effect, especially in the face of his childhood shame. Bing has exhibited absolutely no inclination of...... swinging that way, as it were, before, and yeah they kind of threw in last minute that he'd done this to Mike's father, offscreen, but I don't know WHY he would do that, especially given his particular affinity for Mike. Charlie, himself, pointed out that there was no indication in the Graveyard of What Might Be that Mike needed saving, or that his father deserved punishing. It's awkward, and disturbing, and there seemed to me no method in this madness.

"If I'm a monster....... who deserves to die....... You deserve so much worse." BAM. Hell yeah, Babe!!! Thank GOD, Charlie's quick enough to convince Bing that he too is a monster, and we are spared any further asinine innuendo. Bing, after these series of unfortunate events, beating, berating, and threatening Charlie with rape, suddenly, deus ex machina-esque has a change of heart, and an epiphany that comes a LOT TOO LATE!!! We're both monsters, we BOTH deserve to die....... What we're doing is WRONG. Was I happy when Bing urged Wayne to go, and tell a police officer that his mom is Vic McQueen? Yes. Do I believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart, and has finally seen the light? Freaking HELL NO!!! Bing, after losing Christmasland, has nothing left to live for, and this is his way of giving up. If I can't go to Christmasland, Wayne can't go...... and he decides a bizarre murder/suicide in The Wraith is his final act of redemption.

Before they even showed the car crusher, I was already sobbing profusely, losing my freaking mind, because I had figured out exactly where Bing had taken Charlie.

"There's going to be two less monsters in the world........"

Meaning to crush them both, and kill the Wraith irrevocably, Bing puts on his mask, and presses the button. At first Wayne laughs, and thinks it's a game, his inner vampire child coming out, but when it hits him that Charlie's in actual danger, he realizes he has a choice to make....... Save Charlie Manx, or let him die, and go home safe to his Mom and Lou.

"No, My Boy, this isn't a game, it's time to play, Save Father Christmas!!!"

Charlie calls out frantically, coaxingly to his young charge, and I loved that so much, my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, Wayne, PRETTY PLEASE save Father Christmas!!! A lot of people despised him for what happened next, screaming at Wayne for his choice, even calling him a stupid kid, but I, myself, felt even more love in my heart for that already dearly cherished little lad, as he smiles, and slams down on the button, halting the crusher, and saving Charlie from imminent death.

It's a profound moment, the abductee choosing to save his kidnapper's life, and many cried out strongly against it, but you have to understand....... Charlie Manx has become so much more to Wayne than the scary face in his mother's paintings. Here is a man that has shown genuine interest in his life, his hopes, his dreams, who has treated him gently, fussed over him, concerned, and who has come to love him like a father. Couple that with The Wraith's effects on Wayne, slowly tying the two of them together, it makes perfect sense to me, how this unexpected bond has formed. Yes, had Vic been there, herself, he would have chosen her over Charlie in a second, but when faced with the reality of letting Charlie die, our tender-hearted Bats just couldn't do it.

"Do think of me at Christmastime, won't you?"

CHARLIE. LIKE. A. BOSS!!!! The single greatest moment, and brightest scene in an hour of plunging darkness, is definitely Charlie, snapping back into his delectably dark, unrivaled perfection (although, I must say I still found him incredibly dashing in his distinguished grays) charging Bing Partridge, murder striking in his wild, smouldering eyes, stabbing him, with a reveling whisper, twisting the knife, with this most PERFECT line, that gave me wonderous, reverberating chills!!! I also LOVED how Charlie glowers in his lumpy face and says, "You were never special." DAMN that's HOT!!! My only grievance with an otherwise ENTHRALLING moment, was that inexplicably, yet again, CHARLIE DIDN'T KILL BING!!! Charlie has KILLED for so much less, and while he did offer a vague explanation about prison being so much worse for Bing than hell, it felt like hell frozen over that Charlie would ever let Bing live. I know this is the writers wanting to keep Bing around to creep another day, but MY GOD, hang that Partridge from a pear tree, and HAVE DONE already!!!!!

This was an especially dark episode, but there were flashes of some really beautiful, albeit fleeting moments, first with Wayne and Craig, and then with Millie and Cassie, though the reoccurring theme, the common thread, did seem to be Innocence Lost. I was startled with the The Wraith's sneaky trick of causing a child to forget their parents the longer they are in the car, and BLESS YOU, Craig for helping your son remember his mother, and fight the transformation!!! He tells Wayne that Vic's favourite movie was Jaws, and Wayne tells him that her favourite holiday is the 4th of July. (Which is really cool, because it's my favourite too!!!) This slows the Wraith's effects on Wayne, and becomes a very special moment between father and son, as they fight to keep Vic's memory alive.

"How do you know my mom?"

"She was my best friend."

More overwhelmed sobs, because apparently I haven't cried enough this episode!!! Craig decides not to tell Wayne that he's his father, but our little Bats is ingeniously clever, and I think he's going to figure it out before long!!! Another mini heart attack comes with a second lost tooth. The suspense of Wayne's slow turning, mirroring the tender emotion in this scene was fantastic.

Millie and her mother have a similar moment, and I thought that was BRILLIANT of her to introduce Vampire Millie to her former human self. The two play with dolls, and human Millie talks about how she can't wait to go on a date, and have adventures when she grows up! It's such an endearing scene, and also incredibly sad, as the pale, gaunt shell of Vampire Millie envies her bright, and bubbly human counterpart, seeing the hope and innocence that she's so long been bereft of. "She's me...... Who I'm supposed to be." Cassie explains that her father's sad fantasy is depriving Millie of the gift of growing up, and explains that there's nothing Charlie Manx fears more than a woman with her own mind, and that's the LAST thing he wants his beloved daughter to become. A woman that would eventually leave him. More tears. Poor Millie. Poor Charlie!! Can I just give everybody a hug!?

"Cripple Creek," lingers like BAD Dream, and all I want to do right now, is curl up with Charlie Manx, hold him in my arms, stroke his cheek, soothe him with the tenderest hands, and softest words, tell him he's beautiful, and that he deserves Christmasland, and the world, that he's not ruined, but PURE!!! This was my least favourite episode in the entire series, and just like, "The Gas Mask Man," will be skipped indefinitely in the re-watch, but like I said, it endeared Charlie even more to my heart, and I feel fiercely protective over him, over that goodness that still glows in his dark eyes, despite lifetimes of feeling unloved, and in ever-present pain. All I ever wanted in Season One, was a glimpse into the past that crafted my mysterious and refined vampire chauffeur, and this entire experience, My Darlings, is an exercise in, "Be Careful What You Wish For..........."

[phoenix-downer]

Rokunami Day 2020

Sir Roxas and the Lady of the Lake. ~2100 words. Inspired by Arthurian legend. 

Brocéliande. There was a certain magic in the name of this place, and it lingered in the air and hovered near the oaks and beeches Roxas passed by on his steady mount Llamrei. Dappled light covered the ground beneath Llmarei’s hooves, and Roxas wiped the sweat from his brow. How long had he been riding through this enchanted forest? 

Llamrei’s pace was slowing and her breathing was getting heavier, so Roxas dismounted and led her by the reins, searching for traces of water for her. A bubbling brook or steady pool would do just fine and give him the chance to refill his canteen, too. 

After walking for a little while, he noticed the trees were growing thinner and the ground underneath him was sloping downwards. Then the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore reached his ears, but they were different from the strong waves of the sea. A few moments later, his eyes confirmed what his ears had told him: before him was a lake full of dark blue water, and a hazy mist rose from its glassy surface. 

This was perfect. Llamrei could drink to her heart’s content, he could restore his own water supply, and there were bound to be berries and roots nearby, as well as animals coming to drink at the lake that he could hunt. They could rest, too, once they’d had their fill of water and food.

“You thirsty?” Roxas asked Llamrei, and she nickered. “Well, you’re in luck. We found the perfect place.” 

Roxas let Llamrei wade into the shallow water, and she lowered her head and began to drink. Satisfied that his horse was taken care of for now, he walked a little ways away from her, then kneeled and lowered a hand to the water. He was about to scoop up a sip when a young woman’s face appeared right beneath the surface of the water. Yelping, he staggered backwards and nearly tripped over his own two feet, and Llamrei lifted her head. 

“Wh-What’s that? Who’s there?” he demanded. While it was possible he’d just stumbled on a corpse, this was said to be an enchanted forest, and it was just as likely that he’d found a fairy or a nymph or some other creature with a mischievous streak. Whether this creature would be cruel to him or kind to him depended largely on its own whims, and it was best if he stayed on his guard.  

A light, airy laugh echoed all around him, and Llarmei’s ears flickered back and forth as she tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. 

“You come to my lake and dare to ask who I am?” came a voice as if from far away. “You are quite bold, Sir… Sir…”

“Roxas. My name is Roxas,” Roxas said nervously. Being rude to a fairy was a bad idea, if his mother’s stories were to be believed. He peered into the water again, but her face was gone.

“Sir Roxas,” she said. “And what brings you here to my lake?”

“My horse Llamrei was thirsty, ma’am,” he said. “She needed water.” 

“Well… a man who is kind to animals is a welcome guest to my abode,” the woman said at last. 

Roxas relaxed. For now, at least, he was probably safe from any tricks. “And who might my gracious hostess be?” he asked, being careful to keep his voice polite. 

“I am Naminé, the Lady of the Lake.” 

“Lady Naminé,” Roxas said as he bowed his head, “thank you for letting me and my horse drink from your lake.”

He didn’t dare ask to see her again; that would be too bold. Instead he cautiously waded back in the water and drank, then refilled his canteen. As he was readjusting his pack, he thought he spotted a sword rising from the surface of the water a little ways away, grasped in a slender, delicate hand.

“Lady Naminé?” he called. “Is that you?” 

“This sword is yours for the taking, if you so wish to take it,” came her singsong voice. “But if it pleases you to take it, you must promise to grant me one wish.”

With a gasp, he realized he recognized the weapon. It was Excalibur, his prized possession, his beloved sword. He had lost it in battle, and ever since, he hadn’t had the heart to duel wield anymore. He still had the beautiful Dyrnwyn with its white hilt and its blade that caught fire when wielded by anyone worthy, but it still wasn’t the same as having Excalibur. Excalibur was a weapon above all other weapons; forged in the furnaces of Avalon, the two chimeras on its hilt struck fear in the hearts of its wielder’s enemies. Using the sword greatly enhanced Roxas’s power and magic, and wearing its scabbard protected him from losing even a drop of blood. 

“Please, I have to have it back,” he said as he waded deeper into the water, then hesitated. What if this was a trick? What if it was an illusion, and the Lady of the Lake would lure him deep into the water, then drag him underneath its surface and drown him?

“Don’t be afraid, Sir Roxas,” Lady Naminé said. “I will give it to you if you promise to grant me one wish.”

He hesitated again. “What wish is that, my lady?” 

“I cannot tell you until you have agreed to my terms.” 

“But how can I know if the terms are good if you won’t tell me?”

“You will have to trust me. You want your sword back, don’t you? All you have to do is say, ‘Yes, I will grant you your one wish,’ and Excalibur will be yours again.” 

He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he wanted Excalibur back, more than anything. But on the other hand, he could be signing up for his own death, or for a fate worse than death, by agreeing to this. Legends abounded of people trapped in trees and towers and rocks for angering lovers or friends who turned out to be fairies or magicians or enchantresses.  

“You promise you aren’t tricking me?” he said. 

“I promise. You have my word.”

Roxas sighed and said, “Very well, Lady Naminé. I will grant you your wish in exchange for Excalibur.” 

Something bumped against his leg, and he realized it was a small boat. He climbed inside and rowed to the middle of the lake, where Lady Naminé patiently held up Excalibur. He could make out her face underneath the water again, and it struck him that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were the same deep blue as the water, and her hair was like sunlight. Her dress swirled all around her, ebbing and flowing with the water to the point he couldn’t determine where it ended and the waves began. 

He set the oars aside and reached over the edge of the boat. His hand rested over hers, and her hand wasn’t at all cold or wet like he was expecting. It was soft and warm, and he almost regretted the moment she let go of Excalibur, leaving the hilt grasped in his hand. 

“Thank you,” he said, and she smiled. She looked more like an angel than an enchantress, which was what Roxas figured she was. Whatever her true nature though, Roxas was beginning to believe she really was on his side. He returned her smile, then fastened Excalibur’s scabbard to his waist. It felt good to have his trusty sword back, and now it was his turn to uphold his end of the bargain. 

“Now, what is it you wish?” he asked. 

Her smile faded, and a shadow came over her face. “When you are king, do not forget me. Do not forget the Lady in the Lake who restored Excalibur to your side.”

“Wait, I’m gonna be king?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir Roxas, you will be king.”

“That’s all you want me to do? Remember you?” 

That seemed easy enough. Surely there was some kind of catch to her request. 

“It will be a harder task than you may think,” she admitted. “You will go on many adventures. You will meet people whose faces you remember better than mine. We may cease to recognize each other completely, in fact. But you must find me again.”

“And then what? What happens when I find you?”

“What the stars have decided for us from the moment we were born. Now go, and do not forget me.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.” 

She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Oh, but you will. You will forget. You’ll forget my face. You’ll forget my voice. You’ll even forget my name.” 

“No, I won’t!” he cried. “How could I ever forget a face as beautiful as yours?” He froze, and he knew a blush was creeping up his neck. Had he really just admitted he found her beautiful? That wasn’t the kind of thing he should be saying at all to her. Where had his manners gone?

“Beauty is fleeting, and memory is faulty,” she said sadly. “Many a man has promised to free me from this lake, only to forget me and abandon me.”

“You’re trapped here?” he said, his brow furrowing, and she nodded. 

“An evil enchantress cursed me to remain here when I was just a child. Soon after I was born, it was foretold that my magic would be greater than hers, and she was jealous of me. She kidnapped me and trapped me here.”

“That’s awful,” Roxas said. How long had she been stuck here all alone?

“The only way to free me is to return for me,” she explained. “But everyone who meets me once leaves and never comes back. The only thing I can conclude is that they’ve all forgotten about me. They’ve all forgotten the promise they made.” She sighed deeply. “It must be the work of the evil enchantress. She wants me to be trapped here forever.”

“I won’t forget you, I swear,” Roxas said. “I’ll come back for you, I promise.” 

“How can you be sure?” she said sadly. 

Roxas thought for a moment. If magic really was involved, who was to say he wouldn’t forget her like all the others had? As he pondered the problem, his hand idled to the ring around his finger with his family’s crest, and that was when it struck him. He needed something to remember Naminé with, something that magic couldn’t mess with. 

“Give me something of yours,” he told her. “Something to have and to hold. Memory may be fleeting, but if I have something to remember you by, it might be enough to resist the curse.” 

She nodded and reached into the folds of her dress. A moment later, she lifted a handkerchief out of the water. Somehow, it was perfectly dry as she placed it in his hand. He noted with a great deal of pleasure that she left her hand in his for longer than was really necessary before shyly withdrawing it. 

“See? This has your name embroidered on it,” he said as he carefully examined the handkerchief. “I’ll wear it next to my heart until we meet again.”

He could’ve sworn her cheeks turned pink, but it was a little hard to tell with the water between them. 

“Thank you, Sir Roxas.”

“Please, just call me Roxas.”

Her cheeks got pinker. “Yes, Roxas. And please, call me Naminé.” 

“Sure, Naminé.” He smiled and slipped the ring off his finger. “Please wear this for me until I return. You gave me something of yours, it’s only fair I give you something of mine.” 

She lifted her left hand out of the water this time, and he slipped the ring on her ring finger, then kissed her hand. To his relief, she didn’t chide him for his bold gesture, and instead smiled and gently touched the ring once her hand was back underwater. 

“Wait for me,” he said, and she looked up to meet his eyes. “I’ll come back for you when I’m king.”

“I know you will. Farewell for now, Roxas. We’ll see each other again soon.”

As he withdrew from the lake with Llamrei at his side and Naminé’s handkerchief next to his heart, he willed with all his heart to make his promise come true. He would return to Naminé, and when he did, he would make her his queen, if she would have him. 

For that, no amount of magic or enchantment would ever stop him from returning. 

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

This was written for Rokunami Day, for the prompt, “To have and to hold.” I’ve been wanting to do something related to Arthurian legend for KH for a while now, and I finally got to do that with this fic. I hope you all enjoyed! 

A big thank you to @rapis-razuri​ who read over this fic for me. I really appreciate the support! And thank you to the Rokunami fandom for always being so caring and kind and supportive! 

I’d also like to thank Canva and Pixabay for making this graphic possible. haha. My graphic design skills are a work in progress, but thanks to them I was able to put something together! 

[dracula-in-purple-story]

Romantic Idiots

How to confess to your crush(es)?

Option 1 : Do not let your brain and heart clashes together and give you mixed signals. Then confess.

Option 2 : Give him/her/them an Applin or any shiny Pokemons. Then confess.

Advice : Panic if fail. 

“Panic if fail? What’s that supposed to mean, Grandpa?” Hop glanced up hesitantly as he finished noting down the old man’s advice. His ex-champion brother nervously clenched around his Charmander plushies. 

The grandfather smiled coyly as he went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea while the brothers tried to follow behind him. Their mother chuckled at this silly scene before the grandmother answered for her husband, also smiling coyly.

“Panic as in running away like an idiot. I swear to Arceus, when I was at your age, Leon, your grandpa over there tried to asked me out by throwing a Poke Ball at my window. Poor Appletun dearie got a fright that time and refused to acknowledge him for a decade.”

“Hush, sweetheart.” the blushing old man ruffled his wife’s hair before settling down. “Our daughter-in-law got it worse than you. Am I right, Helen?”

The said woman just sighed blissfully before snorting out loud, almost making the brothers laughed if they weren’t asking for some love advices. Standing up, she shuffled through the living room to picked up her wedding photos and was reminiscing the moment.

“Mom?” the older brother asked gently as to not interrupt the moment.

“Yes, Leon?”

“How did Dad confess? It can’t be worse than Gramps’ attempt.”

“Yeah!” the younger brother butted in while grinning at the offended-looking man, “What was it like? Could it be he try to serenade? Bet he sounds goofy and passed it down to Lee!”

“Hey! I sound amazing, Hopscotch! You are just jealous!”

“Boys,” the mother smiled at her sons’ playful banter. When they finally stopped, she smiled even wilder as she recounted the fateful evening.

“Well, he didn’t serenade, for starters. But he did tried to make an A Capella with Rotoms and Dittos. Never worked out since he first practised it at the Lake of Outrage. The Rotoms snitched on him with the Dittos were making ‘He love You’ letters while I saved his arse.”

“Oof, ouchies.” Hop scrunched up his face jokingly while Leon laughed as he imagined the scenario over and over. They pulled out their own RotomPhones when they were done though. 

“You better not snitch on me, dude. I must do this myself.” The ex-champion pleaded with his little bro nodding beside him.

“You got it-Roto! Don’t stutter when you confess-Roto!”

“We make sure to taped you guys so we can see who’s got the worst end of the stick-Roto!”

“ROTOMS, NO!”

The purple-haired brothers panicked as they chased their cackling phones, leaving the amused adults behind. 

“I bet two thousand PokeDollars that they would failed terribly and cutely at the same time.”

“No need to bet, Mother. It’s obvious that their ability to confess is still strong in their blood.”

“Rude, ladies. Very rude.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Now back at their shared apartment at Wyndon City, Leon was pacing around. His little bro had already went out to find his crushes. The new chairman wished he had this kind of courage. He wished, just not gonna happen. He and Raihan are just friends with a healthy rivalry of ten years! How is he going to react if he just confess out of the blue?! That’s why he got a perfect plan! Sonia had helped him devised a lot of plans. Plans related to shiny Pokemons were quickly rejected due to him being a natural shiny repellent. Flowers were also a big no, Raihan’s Pokemons tend to gobbled up flowers from his fans. Chocolate was supposed to be part of the plan, but Sonia rejected that idea because it was overrated. So this is the result. Just ask Raihan to go out with him and make sure he knows it’s a date and not a Valentine’s Day hangout. Solid A+ Plan! “Over a phone call? So outdated, Master Lee. Not gonna lie but that’s so last season,” the RotomPhone floats around in front of Leon while showcasing the contact details of his master’s dream man. “I don’t want Raihan to see my face if I ask him face to face! It’s too obvious!” “Ain’t that the plan?” “No!” “Okay, okay! Geez, you humans are so overly complicated. What happen to mating calls? It’s so much easier.” “Shut it, Rotom...” With a heavy sigh, he slouched over the single-seat coach. Maybe it’s a bad plan, but it’s the only foul-proof plan he could ever execute. “Okay,” Leon sat up and slapped both side of his cheeks to concentrate, “I’m ready! All I have to say is ‘Go out with me this evening’!” Snatching RotomPhone from the air, while apologizing, the purple-haired man pressed ‘Call’ with confidence. It rang for a few times before the Dragon Gym Leader picked up with his smooth, husky voice. The voice he should still get used to but still melt every time he heard it. “What’s up, ex-champ? Feeling lonely on Valentines?” Let’s be boyfriends. Leon’s mind went on short circuit for a bit. He didn’t respond for a minute, making the silence unbearable. “Uh, Leon? Are you there?” “LET’S DO BOYFRIENDS’ DATE!” Unfortunately, his mind ended up fusing what he initially going to said and his current thoughts. Freaking out, he ended up the call without hearing the reply. He just screwed up. He managed to screw up the only foul-proof plan. This is not what it should happen and yet, here he was. Leon stomped his way to his bedroom, slammed his door open and threw himself onto the bed in frustration. He really shouldn’t take Option 1. ~~~~~~~~~~ Arriving at the Hammerlocke Gym, Hop quickly strode towards the lift, and quickly slid his access card. He went in but not without getting bumped by Raihan, who never seems to noticed him as the top Gym Leader dashed outside with the biggest grin plastered on his face. Leon succeed, huh... The lab assistant shook his face to focus on his mission. He really put a lot of effort finding these Pokemon after all. Gramps’ advice always worked! Reaching his destination, he walked out slowly towards his so-called Rival Gang. They were grooming and playing with Zacian and Zamazenta. The Legendary Pokemon was really ease up on Victor and Gloria real quick. Hop let out his own Legendary Pokemon partner, Eternatus, scaring the occupant in the room, especially the albino-haired boy. “Hop! You idiot! Are you trying to scare me half to death?!” I wanna smooch you til I melt though. Grinning characteristically, he settled himself down between the girls, who now switched their focus on Eternatus. Victor, the new chairman’s secretary, smiled gently at him as greeting. Arceus, I would love to see your smile everyday, every time. “So, how’s the research coming up, Hop? Having such a rowdy Pokemon like this dragon must have damage the lab a few times.” Marnie smirked at Hop while throwing a Heavy Ball for it to catch. Such a graceful badass. With a super effective smirk. “Natus can shapeshift to a smaller size to roam freely so it’s not a problem,” the lab assistant answered before side-glancing his Legendary partner, “the problem would be giving Sonia a hard time to examine it.” “Typical. Seems like giving you Eternatus is the right choice. After all, I don’t think I can handle two huge responsibilities at the same time. Am I right, Zacian?” Gloria, the newly-crowned champion, winked at the Sword-wielding Warrior Pokemon. Zacian huffed out a pleased grunt, almost indicating it agreed with her. Are you trying to faint me with your adorable wink?! Finding the right time, Hop waited for the opportunity as they talked and played around. Occasionally battling or betting matches, making curry at this unusual location, talking about work. Hop had to thank Arceus when Victor popped the question. “So... today’s Valentines Day, ain’t it? You guys got some confession to make?” Silence taking over the room. Marnie and Bede tried to hide their blush but failed miserably while Gloria was looking embarrassed for once. Hop took a deep breath. “I do.” Shocking his gang again, he took out four Love Balls. Each of them had their unique designs that Hop took the time to do. “It makes me sound crazy but I think... I have a crushes on you guys. Super, duper big ones,” he slowly exclaimed as he handed them each of their own unique Love Balls, which they took it gladly. A good sign. Victor had Sobble with heart-shaped eyes drawing; Gloria had Scorbunny with its ear forming a heart-shaped drawing; Bede had a heart-shaped Solosis drawing; Marnie had Morpeko with heart-shaped cheek pouches drawing. “Hop, I hate you,” the Fairy Type Gym Leader started scowling. While Hop thought he was already damaging their friendship, the blushing albino head also threw him and the others a Love Ball. “You make me look so underprepared that it hurts.” “Me too.” The Dark Type Gym Leader joined in as she too had four Love Balls. “Me three.” The secretary chimed in, also with another four Love Balls. “I’m an idiot,” Gloria was flushed red as she took out four boxes of chocolates. The gang bursted out laughing at their rightfully-called lover. Lovers... that rings nicely to my heart. Our heart.

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.15

Camelot. Throne Room. (Lancelot is escorted into the room by Morgana's men. Morgana is seated on the throne with Morgause standing to her right. Lancelot is thrown to the floor.) Morgana: "Tell me, Sir Lancelot, are you and your fellow knights ready to honour and serve me? Speak up." Lancelot: "I would rather die." Morgause: "That can be arranged." Lancelot: "My loyalty is to the true Queen of Camelot, Guinevere. There is nothing you can do to change that." Morgana: "We shall see. They tell me you were with Arthur when he recaptured the Jabberwocky. There are rumours that you were the one who swung the Vorpal Blade that left her pinned to the wall for many years. Your mother, the Lady of the Lake, she forged that blade, didn't she? (Lancelot merely nods:) It was for this heroic act that Arthur awarded you the honour of the Siege Perilous, correct? (Lancelot says nothing. Leaning forward:) We both know what a snake Arthur turned out to be, but are you aware of just how he came to power?"

Camelot. Past. Uther's Chambers. (Moments after leaving Arthur's side to protect the King, Guinevere arrives outside Uther's chambers. Hearing voices, Guinevere draws her sword and inches open the door to peer inside.) Jabberwocky: (Standing before an unarmed Uther:) “What are you afraid of, Uther?” Uther: (Defiantly:) “I'm not afraid of anything.” Jabberwocky: “Not even... (Reads his mind:) the feeling of smoke... filling your lungs? (Walks behind him:) The fire burning all around you... out of control. (Uther’s eyes widen and he begins gasping for breath:) The feeling that there's nothing you can do to save yourself. (Uther blinks rapidly:) That you... are... powerless. (Uther gasps loudly, coughing:) And you don't know what burns you more... the secret you’ve been keeping inside you all these years... (Kneels beneath Uther as he’s bent over:) ...that the orphan boy, Arthur, the one you tried to drown, is your son. A constant reminder of your betrayal of Ygraine... (Whispers:) or is it the lack of oxygen... in your lungs?” (Uther collapses to the floor. Standing, the Jabberwocky turns and leaves the room, her task complete. While still trying to process what she’s overheard, Guinevere rushes to Uther’s side, looking for any signs of life, but finding none.)

Camelot. Present. Throne Room. (Morgana continues her tale.) Morgana: "As the battle raged on, Arthur fought his way to me. I thought to protect me, but I was gravely mistaken." Camelot. Past. Council Chamber. (Arthur fights two of Cenred's men, knocking them backwards before ushering Morgana into the room. Barring the door, Arthur turns his attention to Morgana.) Arthur: "Those soldiers, it's like they're protected somehow. Everything we throw at them just bounces off." Morgana: "What can we do?" Arthur: "We have to destroy the source of the magic." Morgana: "Which is?" Arthur: (Hesitates:) "I don't know." Morgana: "Our only chance is to get out of Camelot." Arthur: "No, it's too late for that. I need to think. Here. (Arthur hands Morgana a water skin:) Have some water." Morgana: "I'm not thirsty." Arthur: "No, I mean you have some before I finish it." Morgana: (Nods:) "Thank you." (Morgana drinks. Almost immediately she begins to have trouble breathing. Morgana looks at the skin and then at Arthur. Arthur wipes his mouth and then turns to face her.) Arthur: “Forgive me. I had to save Camelot." Castle Corridor. (In the midst of the fighting, Morgause senses something is wrong.) Council Chamber. (Arthur tries to hold Morgana as she struggles to breathe.) Arthur: “I give you my word, as King, I shall restore honour to the name Pendragon. (Morgana’s eyes widen at this and tries to fight him off:) Yes, I am your brother. (Stands:) I’ve known for some time.” Castle Corridor. (Morgause begins to hold her throat like Morgana.) Council Chamber. (Blowing the council chamber door open, Morgause rushes to Morgana, taking her in her arms.) Morgause: (Stroking Morgana’s face:) “What has he done to you?” Arthur: “I had to.” Morgause: (Morgana lays unconscious in her arms:) “You poisoned her!” Arthur: “You gave me no choice.” Morgause: “Tell me what you used and I can save her.” Arthur: “First, stop the attack!” Morgause: “You’re nothing but a simple soldier! You don’t tell me what to do!” Arthur: “If you want to know what poison it is, you will undo the magic that protects Cenred and his men!” Morgause: “Tell me the poison or you’ll die!” Arthur: “Then she’ll die with me. I don’t want this any more than you, but you give me no choice. Stop the attack and you can save her.” Morgause: (With tears in her eyes, lifts the enchantment:) “Astýre ús þanonweard! Cnihtas Medhires, éower sáwla. Rid eft ond forsliehð eft.” Castle Corridor. (The knights blows begin to take effect on Cenred’s soldiers. An overly confident Cenred allows a knight to take a strike at him and is slashed through the heart. With a shocked look upon his face, Cenred falls dead to the floor.) Council Chamber. (Arthur hands Morgause the hemlock bottle. Guinevere and the knights burst into the room.) Guinevere: “Morgana!” Morgause: “Keep away from her! (Rocking Morgana in her arms, Morgause begins to chant:) Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!” (Morgause and Morgana disappear in a windy cloud of smoke.) Camelot. Present. Throne Room. (Morgana continues.) Morgana: "And for ten long years, that was the last time anyone heard from Morgana Pendragon, the true Queen of Camelot. Now I am back to claim my rightful place. (Tilting her head:) Guin has already accepted her part in Arthur's betrayal. It was from her store cupboard that my bastard brother stole the hemlock. She would see me take my birthright, so why not you, Lancelot?" Lancelot: (Looks to her and smiles:) "Long live Queen Guinevere!" (Motioning to her guards, Morgana watches with interest as Lancelot is taken back to the dungeons.)

Neverland. Night. (Regina, Emma and Tiger Lily are escorted to the beach while the Lost Boys dance, holler and bang drums around the fire.) Regina: (Sighs:) “Why is it never past their bedtime?” Lost Boy 1: “For your crimes against Pan, the Lost Boys sentence you to death.” (He points towards several stakes lining the beach. Before they can make good on their threat however, a bright light blinds the Lost Boys momentarily as a large door materialises on the beach.) Emma: “Regina, it’s the door from the Sorcerer’s mansion!” Regina: “We’ve got to go!” (Using the distraction to their advantage, they run towards the door, carrying Maria between them. Emma stops, turning to see Tiger Lily escape her guards.) Tiger Lily: “Run. Now!” (Amidst the confusion, they manage to run through the door, leaving the feral Lost Boys behind them.) Storybrooke. Sorcerer's Mansion. (Stepping through the door, Emma is just able to see Hook, Anna, Kristoff and Rumplestiltskin standing there before she is enveloped in a hug by Elsa.) Elsa: "Thank goodness we found you!"

(Anxiously watching Regina's reaction to this display, Anna steps in.) Anna: (Gently pulling Elsa away from Emma, smiles at Regina:) "It's been an emotional day." Hook: "Swan, Lily's been kidnapped." Emma: "What?" Anna: "And we think Maleficent's missing too, although we don't know for sure. I mean we do know she's not been seen for awhile but-" Rumplestiltskin: (Cutting her off:) "Belle and the others have been rounded up by the new regime in Camelot. If we had everyone who fought with us in the Dream World, we'd still not have enough fire power to defeat Morgana's army." Tiger Lily: (Making her presence known for the first time:) "Even if you had, Morgause's magic is powerful. Perhaps more so than yours at the height of your reign as the Dark One." (Rumplestiltskin is unnerved by the sight of his former godmother.) Elsa: "Which is why we came to find you. I don't know if Lily and Maleficent's disappearances are linked to all of this, but if they are..." Emma: (Looking to Regina:) "We're the only ones capable of breaching their defenses."

Camelot. Dungeons. (Lancelot is being escorted to the cells by four guards.) Belle: (Stepping out from a side passageway:) "Oh, boys?" (The guards and Lancelot turn to face her, Lancelot smiles.) Guard 1: "Oi, how'd you get out?" (Belle blows them a kiss and runs back down the passageway. Two guards chase after her, which allows Lancelot to make quick work of the remaining guards, collecting their swords along the way.) Passageway. (Belle sprints down the passage with the two guards hot on her heels. Running through one gate and then another, Belle sets the trap.) Belle: "Now!" (Before the guards can reach the second gate, Merida closes the door behind Belle, locking it. When the guards try to backtrack through the first gate, Xena and Gabrielle appear, locking that door.) Xena: "Sorry, boys, but you don't spend time around Autolycus, King of Thieves, without picking up a few things." Merida: "Stay there and don't move, eh?" (Merida, Belle, Xena and Gabrielle run back to join Lancelot who is now surrounded by guards. A fight breaks out and Xena, Gabrielle and Merida each quickly disarm a guard each, taking their swords. Lancelot sees a set of keys on the table and throws them to the imprisoned knights before handing one of his swords to Belle.) Xena: (Twirling her sword:) "Now this is what I call a good time!" Wonderland. Grendel's House. (Ella and Will continue trying to free themselves of their bonds.) Ella: “He's out chopping wood. He'll be back any second.” Will: “Don't panic. I've been in worse binds than this. (Attempts to break the ropes by brute strength, but fails:) Well, equivalent binds. (Ella finally frees herself:) How the bloody hell did you do that?” Ella: “Patience and persistence. (Ella unties Will’s hands and they both set to work untying their feet:) Hurry. (Ella heads for the door but notices that Will hasn’t moved:) What are you doing?” Will: “I ain't leaving without that knot.” Ella: “Will...” Will: “I made the deal with the Caterpillar. It's my bloody head on the line.” Ella: “It'll be both our heads if we don't get out of here. Come on!” (Ella tries the lock but it won’t budge. Suddenly an axe is hurled at the door by the Grendel.) Will: (Sarcastically:) “Whenever you're ready, Ella. No hurry.”

(With Will’s help, they finally manage to open the door to find a large beast waiting for them outside. Quickly closing the door, they back away.) Ella: “What in the hell is that thing?” Will: “It's a Bandersnatch.” Ella: “What's it doing here?” Will: “It’s popped round for tea - obviously! How the bloody hell should I know?” Ella: (Glancing over at the knot:) “Come on. I have a plan!” (While they head towards the knot, the Grendel picks up a knife and heads for the door. The Bandersnatch breaks through the door, sending the Grendel flying into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Snorting and snarling, the Bandersnatch tears through the house, climbing onto the dining table where it sees Will and Ella through the knot, crouching on the floor.) Will: (Standing beside Ella by the window:) “He bought it. (The beast roars and sticks its head through the knot:) Now! (Ella pulls on the rope, hauling the Bandersnatch up into the air:) You did it!” Ella: (Struggling:) “Not yet! (The animal kicks and screams, protesting its capture, Will holding Ella around the waist to keep her feet on the ground. Suddenly Will releases her, running into the other room:) Where are you going?!” (The Bandersnatch continues to flail around, Ella trying desperately to keep hold of the rope. Just as it turns its attention to Ella, the Grendel enters the room and charges. The Bandersnatch knocks him down again, roaring in Grendel’s face and is about to take a bite out of him when Will re-enters the room with a knife, stabbing the beast. With a final roar, the Bandersnatch disintegrates before their very eyes.) Will: (Helps Ella to her feet:) “How did you know that thing would fall for your trap?” Ella: “I didn’t.” Will: “Charming!” (Behind them, the Grendel stands.) Grendel: "You saved me. Thank you.” Will: “Yeah. Well, bygones and all that. (The Grendel walks towards the Forget-Me-Knot:) So that means we're square, right? Off the dinner menu?” Grendel: (Holding up the knot, stares into it sadly:) “She's gone.” Ella: “Who was she?” Grendel: “My wife. I lost her long ago.” Ella: “I'm sorry.” Grendel: “I thought I would die of heartbreak. But then I heard of this object and I stole it from she who owned it, and brought it here.” Will: “The Forget-Me-Knot.” Grendel: “That night, two things happened. I saw my wife alive again. But for my crime, she turned me into this.” Will: “Someone destroyed your life?” Grendel: “Yes. But I had no choice.” Will: “You did what you had to do to be with the woman you loved. There's no crime in that. The only crime is what she did to you.” Grendel: “Take it. It holds no value for me now.” Ella: “Thank you.” Grendel: “I hope it brings you what you desire.” (The Grendel walks away sadly, Ella and Will watching him go.) Storybrooke. Past. Regina's Vault. (During the period of time when the town was surrounded by a large ice wall and the Snow Queen is on the loose, Regina and Emma try to discuss the real problem at hand.) Emma: "For the last time, I don't have feelings for Elsa!" Regina: (Scoffs:) "Yeah, right." Emma: "Look, the only possible thing between me and Elsa is the connection to the Snow Queen. Ingrid seems to believe that Elsa and I are her long lost sisters or something." Regina: "You're spending an awful lot of time together."

Emma: "Time you could be spending with me, if you weren't so caught up trying to find this so-called Author of yours." Regina: "You mean spend time at the station with you, the Ice Princess and the Handless Wonder?" Emma: (Rolls her eyes:) "So we're back to Hook? I'm not even going to dignify that one. Hook and I are friends, just like Elsa. Elsa is trying to find her sister, just like Hook is trying to find his child. (Softer, walking closer to Regina:) There is nothing going on between me and either of them. How could there be when I am so, completely in love with you?" Regina: (Putting her book down:) "And you don't find either of them attractive?" Emma: (Scoffs:) "I couldn't possibly find Hook as attractive as Hook finds himself. And me and Elsa? Two blondes don't make a right. Besides, Elsa is far too... happy for me. She sees the world in a completely different way than I do. Than you and I do." Regina: "Yeah?" Emma: "Oh yeah. She's far too innocent for me. I prefer a little darkness. (Puts an arm around Regina's waist:) And you know I love how that darkness tastes." (Emma pulls Regina for a kiss, which the brunette readily returns. Before it can turn into anything more however, Regina pulls away.) Regina: "Mm, we can't. (Resting her forehead on Emma's:) We both have full mornings and we have to pick up your brother from that god-awful Mommy and Me class." Emma: (Nods:) "Okay. (With one last kiss, they part. Emma stepping aside so Regina can leave. Watching Regina run a hand through her hair as she walks:) Mm, girl. You know I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave." Regina: (Chuckles:) "Idiot. Just don't be late." Camelot. Present. Morgana’s Chambers. (Morgana stares out of her window with a thoughtful expression.) Morgana: “I’m beginning to see the challenges that I face. Being queen is not so simple, Guin.” Guinevere: “You’re doing well, your Majesty.” Morgana: “You think? The knights do not share your view.” Guinevere: “They don’t know you.” Morgana: (Turns to her:) “I need their allegiance. Without that, the people will not yield to me.” Guinevere: “They all look to Lancelot and he will always be loyal to me. I could talk to him, try to make him see sense?” Morgana: “You would do that for me?” Guinevere: “Uther killed my father and Arthur kept me by his side through magical enchantment for years.” Morgana: “Yes, I…forgot you too had suffered.” Guinevere: “Let me meet with Lancelot. I believe that we would all work very well together.” Morgana: “I will arrange it.” Guinevere: (Curtseys:) “Thank you, your Majesty.” (Morgana smiles as Guinevere leaves the room.)