#imagine a witch and a shadow knight working together

[travis-enthusiast]

HEAR ME OUT GENE AND LUCINDA AS BEST FRIENDS......

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

i just spent the last. several hours. fiddling with the classpects for Sburb Life because im a perfectionist

im still not 100% happy but i think this is a lot better

Grian - Session leader, Prospit dreamer, the Sylph of Dream in the Land of Bread and Sand. Client player Jimmy, server player Scar.

Scar - Prospit dreamer, the Thief of Heart in the Land of Rock and Cacti. Client player Grian, server player Mumbo.

Mumbo - Derse dreamer, the Seer of Flame in the Land of Sparks and Current. Client player Scar, server player Pearl.

Pearl - Derse dreamer, the Witch of Hate in the Land of Love and Snow. Client player Mumbo, server player Gem.

Gem - Prospit dreamer, the Aide of Space in the Land of Blooms and Frogs. Client player Pearl, server player Scott.

Scott - Derse dreamer, the Rogue of Time in the Land of Stars and Bridges. Client player Gem, server player Joel.

Joel - Derse dreamer, the Saint of Rage in the Land of Cliffs and Carnivals. Client player Scott, server player Etho.

Etho - Derse dreamer, the Mage of Truth in the Land of Wool and Secrets. Client player Joel, server player BDubs.

BDubs - Prospit dreamer, the Priest of Void in the Land of Keeps and Clocks. Client player Etho, server player Impulse.

Impulse - Prospit dreamer, the Guide of Hope in the Land of Coal and Bones. Client player BDubs, server player Tango.

Tango - Prospit dreamer, the Sage of Mind in the Land of Heat and Bulls. Client player Impulse, server player Skizz.

Skizz - Prospit dreamer, the Maid of Blood in the Land of Lakes and Cherries. Client player Tango, server player BigB.

BigB - Derse dreamer, the Heir of Ice in the Land of Fissures and Chocolate. Client player Skizz, server player Cleo.

Cleo - Derse dreamer, the Bard of Breath in the Land of Wind and Marble. Client player BigB, server player Lizzie.

Lizzie - Derse dreamer, the Knight of Life in the Land of Trees and Axolotls. Client player Cleo, server player Ren.

Ren - Prospit dreamer, the Prince of Peace in the Land of Shadow and Stillness. Client player Lizzie, server player Martyn.

Martyn - Derse dreamer, the Dame of Light in the Land of Eyes and Coral. Client player Ren, server player Jimmy.

Jimmy - Prospit dreamer, the Page of Doom in the Land of Clay and Dust. Client player Martyn, server player Grian.

also explanation of the custom classes and aspects under the cut

Aspects:

Truth - Truth is the aspect of discovery and revelation. The Truth-bound are difficult to fool, and keep their focus on what is in front of them. They act with practicality, and the aspect itself is tied to rational thought. Its counterpart in the fabric of Paradox Space is Dream. At their best they are rational and calm guides for their friends; at their worst they are uncaring and judgemental.

Dream - Dream is the aspect of lies and imagination. The Dream-bound live in worlds of their own, and their goals are not always obvious to those around them; the aspect itself deals in the nature of falsehoods. Its counterpart in the fabric of Paradox Space is Truth. At their best they brighten the room with their imaginative nature; at their worst they are frustratingly absorbed in their fantasies.

Peace - Peace is the aspect of calmness and protection. The Peace-bound are dedicated to maintaining the status quo, and preventing quarrels amongst their friends. The aspect itself deals with stagnation, love, and comfort. Its counterpart in the fabric of Paradox Space is Hate. At their best they are mediators and lovers who hold their allies together; at their worst they are resistant to change and even oppressive.

Hate - Hate is the aspect of emotion and strength. The Hate-bound hold grudges easily, and will tear down the things they see as being in their way. A Hero of Hate would rather die than allow something that hurts them to continue. Its counterpart in the fabric of Paradox Space is Peace. At their best they are firebrands and leaders, working against oppression; at their worst they are spiteful agitators unwilling to let things go for the greater good.

Flame - Flame is the aspect of change and discovery. The Flame-bound are seekers of the truth, though they are prone to flying too close to the sun and being hurt by that which they seek. They would rather burn the world down and build a new one than try to fix the one that exists. Its counterpart in the fabric of Paradox Space is Ice. At their best they are great artists and leaders, inspiring their allies to change that which they must; at their worst they destroy themselves and those around them with their quests for things beyond their reach.

Ice - Ice is the aspect of isolation and steadiness. The Ice-bound put up walls around themselves, pushing people away to protect themselves and cutting their emotions off. A Hero of Ice is likely to have few true friends, and none who they allow to see every facet of themselves, out of fear. Its counterpart in the fabric of Paradox Space is Flame. At their best they are reliable and steadfast, a source of stability for their allies; at their worst they are cold and unwilling to stand up for themselves, locking away their true thoughts.

Classes:

Saint - Saint is an active class, and its passive counterpart is the Priest. A Saint lives their life by the rules of their aspect, using the structures it sets up to climb to the top of a world they see as ruled by its teaching. As the role of a Saint is highly tied to their aspect, their role in a session varies heavily - A Saint of Life or Space, for instance, will likely be a strong driving force behind the group's success, while a Saint of Doom or Ice may spell the end for the session by their very nature.

Priest - Priest is a passive class, and its active counterpart is the Saint. A Priest allows the rules of their aspect to spread out from them, allowing themself and their allies to use its nature to their advantage. A Priest's aspect will often come to typify much of the session as they spread its teachings amongst their fellow players.

Dame - Dame is an active class, and its passive counterpart is the Aide. The Dame defies the very nature of their aspect, and often bear little resemblance to the archetypal player of that aspect. Their journey through the session is often highly personal, a struggle directly between them and their aspect, though once they are at the end of their journey, they are a force to be reckoned with, having taken the aspects of it that benefit them and left the rest behind.

Aide - Aide is a passive class, and its active counterpart is the Dame. The Aide is a gateway for their aspect, letting its nature out through themselves to defy the enemies of the group. They are highly in tune with their aspects, though not always in a way that others will immediately recognize. An Aide's involvement in a session is often as an unlikely leader, giving the other players something to rally behind when they feel devoid of the Aide's aspect.

Sage - Sage is an active class, and its passive counterpart is the Guide. The Sage is a student of their aspect, seeking to understand everything about its nature; rather than having the information to understand their aspect, like a Seer, a Sage is restricted to seeking understanding through more traditional means. Sages often become the most knowledgeable within their sessions, throwing themselves into their personal quests and embracing the role of the tactician with gusto.

Guide - Guide is a passive class, and its active counterpart is the Sage. The Guide seeks their aspect in order to bring it to their allies; they will often be a confidant and a source of aid or comfort for their allies. A fully realized Guide released into Paradox Space will often come to act as a sort of tutor for another player of the same aspect. Within their sessions, Guides are a centerpoint for the group, assisting other players wherever and however needed.

[askthehs-slugcats]

hi rambling about the hs!slugcats classpects because im insane and wrote all of the descriptions in paragraphs

warning this is SERIOUSLY VERY very long.

sylph of hope (monk) - always positive in some way no matter the situation, id imagine monk to be someone like that. also would be a sick healing class since hope is a powerful aspect if you use it right healing trust, wounds, trauma (maybe helping artificer cope? that would be kinda sweet)

heir of blood (survivor) - influences others along their way (imagine an army of slugcats LOLOLOL) survivor is the big head of the colony, so influencing others to do tasks or hoarding the colony to go iive somewhere else is very useful. this also means survivor has very strong ties with their family, and are close together

prince of doom (hunter) - i think this is a bit of a stretch since i wanted to include doom, but most of them dont fit hunters personality at all, and this is the only one the i could think of, anyways they were strict with the rules that NSH gave them to deliver the neuron and pearl to moon, and of course being a prince, destroying doom and ghosting his own aspect. and leaning towards life, i personally dont understand how this works myself but i will try to pry into it more later (p.s i almost made him a seer of doom which is already one of my fantrolls in a webcomic. whoops!) adding this: they are also doomed to the rot inside their body. in a way it literally destroys him.

knight of life (gourmand) - exploits and defend using life, i think this is self explanatory, gourmand is the head chieftian of the colony, and would defend it against his very last breath, life is also about health and physical appearance, he "exploits" by using his body to crush enemies and exploits by combining things together, including food. its like thinking outside the box! but with food, his body and others life

mage of blood (artificer) - uuhhhh oh no this one is uhhh whoops. mages tend to suffer along with their aspect to learn them in this case, artificer literally got blood from his children on her hands. and that made him suffer (obviously) but learnt that she needed to keep his children closer both literally and bondingly (?)would be extra cool if she godtiered and has the power to Literally Rip Blood Out from his enemies

witch of void (spearmaster) - manipulate void, void meaning shadow, secrets and horrorterrors spearmaster just fits void so well, maintaining their mystery while still being very cool! i think it also fits their quest well, a secret messenger to five pebbles, fanonly (is that even a word) spearmaster is a type of person to keep things to themselves rather than telling them to anyone, and would constantly love to break the rules just to keep said secrets

rogue of breath (rivulet) - steal through breath for others (i accidentally made this to tavros dancestors god tier AHGHAGHAHGAHGAHGEHAHGEAGAJH but it fits so im not changing it >:3) rivulet is a free spirited slugcat which ties into the themes of freedom within the breath aspect. they also wander around and do whatever the hell they want. rivulet "stole" a cell from an iterator and gave it to moon instead, thus being a rogue that steals to benefit their friends

muse of time (saint) - a master class, im not sure how to explain it myself because saint is a weird one. they embody the timeline in a very passive way, dancing around it and being time itself, is very important in keeping the timeline in check, yes this mean saint has witnessed multiple timelines collapse, and all saints in said timelines are just one singular saint visiting them all to make sure they dont collapse, if they do, they just jump to the next one, having the power to ascend thing makes saint very powerful, but being passive means they dont really do much and let time do its thing (i.e just waiting for it to happen/waiting for karma to strike! get it?) they have this one main timeline and they prioritize this more than the others, so it doesnt collapse easily, because everyone seems happy to exist in that one. saint is already god tiered, but wears their usual outfit because its more cozy and nice LOL

maid of space (nightcat) - made of space (explained this before but ill do it again) nightcat, in a literal way, IS made out of spacedust and nebula, shes not a slugcat at all, but just takes form of one. she loves everything related to stars, and wishes shes a literal star in the sky, shining brightly for everyone to remember her by. also loves art and decorating the tree in the colony that they live in, basically shes the artist of the whole colony, sometimes teaching other slugcats how to paint/use blue fruit as paint and other stuff. of course this didnt last long and she ended up being chased off, if she god tiered she would be a very powerful character, making stars and having them explode is cool!!!

lord of heart (enot/inv) - embodies actively and is every aspect of heart - hard to explain but inv can recognize that saint has many souls inside of xem, (headmates) and can sense whoevers talking, saint is disturbed by this, and hates inv for this very reason, also has a similar ability to ascend creatures, but instead of ascending he rips their souls out of their bodies like those echo creatures you see and when you touch them they go away. its like that but Yeah you get what im saying hes also a very emotional person, and loves talking about his feelings to nightcat.

[cats-in-stories]

Reading

She stared at the black and white portrait hanging in front of her, a display of a perfect family. Once an undeniable future, now seemed like an unfulfillable dream. They jostled each other around, laughing, joking, smiling — a cruel reminder of the life she had lost.

Her empty eyes continued to wonder around the room. The once vibrant and colourful room, filled with playful ornaments, are now reduced to different shades of grey.

She stared at the flower vase, hoping to see the tapestry of colours, hoping to see it like how Sophie had described it, only to find yet another object painted on with that similar shade of grey.

Sophie called out to her in a clear and distinct voice, wanting to steal her attention from the mocking flower vase, but Rachel was already deep in the muddied water— too tired, too lost to even acknowledge the slurry of words that swim in her mind as the flower vase continued laughing at her.

“How did you feel after our last session?” Sophie asked, scribbling something on her notepad, as if anything Rachel said is of any importance to her.

“Better,” A soulless voice replied.

Sophie nodded, continue scribbling down something. It must be something really important, Rachel thought, see how fast her pen has moved across her notepad.

Rachel continued looking down, deciding to shift her focus onto the transparent coffee table the vase sat on. At least the coffee table lacks colour, she thought to herself, still sitting in her own puddle of muddled thoughts.

“Good to know that you are feeling better than last week. Before we start……”

Rachel shut her ears for a moment, already knowing what Sophie will be saying next.

Another retelling, another pain.

They said it will help her. The pain will go soon.

But how will it help when she is still falling through the hole, unable to climb back up, unable to get back the life she once had?

She looked up, her eyes meeting another filled with light grey.

She locked her hands together and described her week in the same lifeless voice. It is useless, she told herself. But they say it will work, she reminded herself.

————————————————————

“Tick tock”, the clock said again as she stared at it, hoping it will give her an answer she needs.

But it didn’t, so she nodded, acknowledging the clock’s efforts.

——

“What did you like to do?” Sophie had asked, never emphasising on the word ‘did’, but Rachel still took note.

“Reading”

“I see.” Sophie had scribbled some more. “Why don’t you try to read some books this week. Perhaps those you read before.”

——

It will be useless anyways, Rachel told the clock.

“Tick tock”, it responded.

Rachel took that as a yes.

——

Rachel sat on her couch, sipping on the scalding hot tea she has brewed for herself. An activity that was once fulfilling, now a mindless habit as she slipped in and out of the puddle.

Perhaps she would give it a go.

The wind rustled, giving its encouragement, blowing away the hot steam that has risen from her tea.

——

She remembered when she was a child.

Her innocence was shinning brightly, casting shadows on those around her.

Reading made it shine brighter, she recalled, imaginations of dragons and witched still exist in the puddle, but buried deeper, as if it is trapped under the sinking feeling of a lost childhood.

She had once dreamed of a knight who will save her, from the imaginary red dragon, sweeping her away to a place of safety, of comfort.

She mother would smile fondly, letting her imaginations run rampant.

It no longer did though, her innocence now reduced to nothing.

——

Harry Potter and the Philosopher Stone

The title read as she caressed the spine of the book.

The pages didn’t mock her, not like the flower vase.

She knew that the pages will always be in black and white, just like how she saw it now.

——————————————————————————————

She sat on the same couch as the previous week, the flower vase no longer mocking her as much.

She told Sophie she started to see colours.

Sophie smiled and scribbled in her notepad. She changed her notepad, Rachel noted. It looked more pink than grey the last time she saw it.

Maybe it is just her.

——

Rachel held her mug, sipping on the slightly cooled tea. It still burns as much as last week, but the pain in her heart lessened a little.

It will work. The washing machine replied, whirling as it did its job.

She decided to read another book.

——

Her innocence may be lost, but her capabilities to dream still remained, the words reminded her.

So she read.

She let herself drift in the river’s current, no longer stagnant in the puddle of water.

Imagine, the fishes whispered.

Explore, the fisherman shouted, still in the middle in the ocean.

————————————————————————————————

The flower vase had more colour this time.

Rachel didn’t tell Sophie that this time. Sophie looked like she knew.

Rachel looked up from the coffee table and saw the family portrait.

The people in the picture looked happier. But the picture did not change in the slightest, Rachel told herself.

Perhaps it is just her.

The mother in the picture seems to agree, but the mother did not say anything.

But it worked out in the end, didn’t it? The father said, still holding his son in an embrace.

Rachel just smiled.

[roonyxx]

Stolen Crown Chapter 2: Crushed by Laces

By @jay-and-dean​ and @roonyxx​ 

Pairings : Dean x reader ? Kight!Dean x reader ?

Summary :  What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?

This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too…

Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailled warnings.

Chapter warnings : language, angst

Chapter Word count : 3607

Note : This is a collaboration beetween both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89​​

Stolen Crown Masterlist

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

A deep frown shadows his beautiful green eyes.

“Who are you ? A witch ? Where is my Queen !” he groans through his teeth.

Her hands above her head, she steps back from the pointy sword cautiously. 

“Put that sword down and then I can explain” she states as calmly as possible but the knight doesn’t move. “Blade down, Dean.”

“There is nowhere you can go, witch” he states coldly before reluctantly putting his sword down.”Now talk or I cut your throat for having the insolence of looking like the Queen.” 

“Okay, this is going to be hard to believe but you have to try” she starts, searching his face. “I am not from this world” her eyes try to read his features, but he stays perfectly stern, waiting for her to say more. “In my world I was working a spell with Dean, my Dean, a-and I think we did something wrong and that caused me to switch places with your real queen.”

His frown grows and his jaw clenches.

“A spell ?” he groans. “So you are a witch.”

When his sword moves up again, she hurries to answer.

“No ! I hunt witches, I’m on the good side !”

“You are saying” he states with a coldness she never saw in his eyes since she met him, a dangerousness he keeps hidden from his queen. “That you come from another world, a world where I exist, and where my Queen could be trapped ?”

She nods, hoping he would believe her because the flame in those olive eyes is ready to kill.

“Are you the Queen of your world ?” he asks.

“No” she shakes her head, imagining bossing Sam and Dean around for a second. “Most countries don’t work with queens and kings anymore. We have overpaid dickheads instead” she lets out a little laugh that dies in the room when he stays stern. 

“When will her Majesty be back ?” he steps closer to her, lifting his sword once again. 

His voice is dark, his back straight and tense. She knows she needs to make him believe her before they burn her for witchcraft or anything those middle age people do when they don’t understand something.

“I don’t know exactly when, I’m sorry. But she will, because I know that my Dean and Sam-”

“Sam ?” he cuts her. “You know Sam ?”

“Yes” she nods, he’s Dean’s- your brother.”

The shadow of doubt crosses his face, and she continues talking.

“They will work on bringing me back so they will trade your Queen too” she breathes out, and dives her eyes in his. “But… If i’m dead… You know yourself, Dean. How would you react if someone killed your Queen?”

“I would burn everyone and everything to the ground” he states with a determination that sends shivers to her spine. “Will they treat her with the regard she deserves ? Is she safe ?”

For a second, she imagines that version of herself in a princess costume ordering Dean to kneel and she could laugh despite the gravity of the situation. He will shake the royal shit out of her, for sure…

“He may not treat her like a Queen” she admits earning a worried sigh from him. “But he would never hurt her in any way, I can promise you that. My Dean is a good man, and he will protect her with his life.”

The knight looks her up and down. 

“Do you have any proof of what you are saying ?”

She sighs, she doesn’t. In fact, she is nor even sure Dean found the Queen or that she’s in her world. But she can’t survive without the knight on her side. 

“Wait, I have something !” she states, reaching for her back pocket. “This, in my world is not magic, I know you will think it is…”

She takes off her phone from her shorts and shows him. Carefully unlocking the screen, making him jump back a little. 

“Look…” she searches in her head for the best way to explain. “It’s a phone. It usually is used to talk to people when they are away, but it doesn’t work here… Look.”

Going through her picture gallery, she shows him photos of Sam and Dean sitting in the library, pictures of her and Dean, one of him holding her in his arms… Her heart clenches : She misses him cruelly. 

Watching the photos, the knight clears his throat.

“You keep saying ‘my’ Dean… is he truly yours ?” his eyes burn into hers, like he was searching for something important there.

“Mine like… Together ? Or like we have sex ? You mean married or something ?” If only she could call Dean hers…

His ears turn a light shade of pink and his gaze meets the floor again.

“Well… to have physical intimacy, you have to be married. A woman of your class has to stay pure before marriage” he states with total certainty. 

A laugh breaks out of her, she tries to contain it with her hands but she can’t. 

“Oh that’s… Purity is really not that but, I guess I’m going a little fast” she tries to not look like she was making fun of him. “I’m anything but ‘pure’ in that case, mister” she chuckles, his face turns white in shock.

“Y-you are not a virgin…?” he carefully asks. “Are you married ?”

“What ? Hell no ! Not married, not a virgin… Wait, are you ?” she looks closely at him. 

It’s impossible for a man -no a knight !- this handsome and charming, to be a virgin.

“I am not” he states coldly.

“Of course not, a world where Dean Winchester is a virgin probably doesn’t exist” she chuckles. “Then why should she be ! It’s so unfair.” 

A silence falls on the huge room after that, both of them are thinking what to do next, weighing the risks.

“I do not trust you, who says you are not a traitor seeking the throne ?” he steps closer to her, caging her between him and the stone wall.

How she wished the circumstances were different…

“Then watch me !” she says. “Really, it’s all I want. You know I won’t survive a day here without your help.”

He searches her face intensely, and she continues, serious :

“I really have zero interest in the throne, all I want is to go home. But I can’t, and with me dead, the chances of you getting your queen back are really thin !” she puts a hand on his arm, but he takes a step back. “You need me, Dean, what will the people think when they find out their queen is missing ? I know nothing about your world, but I do know a royal vanishing is enough to start a war. Do you want her to come back and see someone else sitting on her throne ?” 

He clenches his jaw and turns around, putting his sword back into the scabbat and rubbing his face. 

“No, I do not want that to happen. Dear lords… Not now, she is at a fragile time in her ruling even if the People love her, the Council….” he turns back to her in a sigh. “So what do we do now ? You have no idea of this life and world, the Council will know and…” he sighs with a hint of contempt.”You are no Queen yourself.”

“Teach me ! I c-can pretend to be her, just until she comes back” she explains. “That way your world doesn’t collapse and I get to go back home.”

“How ? You know nothing of her work, of her life, the burdens she has to carry ! No one will ever believe it” he scoffs.

His chin up, he seems to be watching the sky through the ceiling, like he could find answers there.

“Come on ! I’m a great actor ! And you can tell me anything I need to know. Please, without you I’m pretty much dead…” she begs him.

She saw enough documentaries and listened enough in class to know that medieval times, even in a fantasy world or anything, are no fun… especially not for a woman.

He lets out a big sigh.

“You better be a fast learner” he states. “I will give you my protection like you were my Queen. I can’t risk for people to know that she is lost. So sit down and listen.” He steps back so she can take a seat on the small bench in front of the bed.

“Dean ?” she frowns. “You have to be good at this too…”

“I’m good at what I do” he groans.

“I mean faking it, Dean… Your whole body language has changed since you know I’m not her, your face is different. You have to imagine I am her.”

“I will, when you will start acting like her” he states, still pretty cold. “You should start calling me Sir. Only whores call me Dean.”

She looks down and swallows hard.

“Yes… Where do we start ?” she asks with her eyes down.

“With you getting dressed” he states. “And don’t ever look down like that.”

How can she do that ? 

How can this stupid Queen live this life ? And how is she supposed to survive another day in her skin ?…

Only one day passed since this cold, old fashioned, version of Dean Winchester accepted to protect her. Since he called the five maids required to get her dressed, to press her body in those torture instruments they call clothes, squeezing the corset like they were trying to break her ribs, ballasting her with pounds and pounds of fabric…

And it wasn’t even the worst day, compared to what is to come, because today the only thing he made her do was eat in one of the thousand rooms of the castle she has to memorize. 

He pretended she was indisposed and couldn’t attempt the Council today and took her to another stone and wood room and started talking, hitting the wood of her chair with his sword when she did something wrong… And she always did.

Yawning, sighing, looking down, nibbling at her lips, calling him Dean… Pretty much everything is forbidden. Especially “for a woman”. And the coldness in his eyes won’t go away.

Now she lays on her royal bed, alone, watching the heavy curtains barely light by a few candles that won’t even last all night… And she repeats in her head : 

Three Heads, the Shoulders, the Hand, and the Heart. The Council.

Like the knight said, she can’t stay unwell too long, or the rumors will spread ; she has to show herself, do what the Queen would do, at least a part of it.

And convincing the Council is the real challenge. 

Their power is almost as big as hers, and if people decide to investigate, ask for a trial, go to war… it would be them. They are the Guardians of the order and the traditions.

And they are not all on her side.

There are three Heads. They are the leaders of the Council -they each have one vote- : One noble, one religious, and one Man of Letter.

Men of Letters seems to be the thinking elite of the Kingdom, some glorified librarians with very strict hygiene and access to all knowledge. They are the teachers, the doctors, the writers… Sam Winchester is one of them. 

Sam is the Head of the Man of Letters, the queen’s only true ally in the Council.

A little smile crosses her face, thinking at how Sam from this world would look. Would his hair be even longer ? Or short ? It is reassuring to know that the Queen has both of the Winchesters close to her.

The Shoulders are the two people the Heads take with them for advice : Two nobles, two religious, two Men of letters. They can change at every Council on their Head’s will.

She sighs, turning in her huge bed, in this uncomfortable night dress, and tries to remember all that he said because she has to survive. She has to go back to her friends… And to the man she loves.

The Hand is the Army. 

Most of the time, Dean, Sir Winchester, himself, as he is the leader of the Queen’s personal guard and responsible for her security, is the Hand of the Council. The Hand, from what he said, has no deciding power at all, he is there to know the Law, to apply it later. But he isn’t allowed to speak unless the Queen asks him to.

That won’t help when she has to sit in front of all of them. All those powerful ambitious men ready to jump on her at the first mistake she makes.

The Heart is the People.

Three randomly chosen poor people, who are offered a good meal, a bath, and new clothes as compensation for losing a day in the field. They are allowed to speak and participate, but, according to the knight, most of them are barely educated, very impressed by being in the castle and exhausted by the trip, so they stay quiet… 

The Heart has one vote too.

She takes her phone to look at a picture of Dean washing his precious baby in shorts, regretting Democracy. She turns the device off, trying to save her battery, because she won’t be able to look at pictures of her home when it runs out.

“You’re the Soul of the Kingdom” she hears the knight conclude proudly in her head. “You have the last word unless… Unless the votes are unanimous against your Majesty, but it only happened once.”

She remembers his face changing when he said that, like night had fallen on his eyes, or maybe was it darkness, and his dry refusal to tell her what it was about, even when she insisted.

Sleeping is almost impossible despite her exhaustion. Every noise in the corridor makes her jump, every thought of being alone in another dimension. Everything is overwhelming.

Her body is hurt from the corset and all she had to bear all day ; rubbing her painful ribs, she lets her mind follow its path…

She thinks of Dean, her Dean, rock-tapes-and-bacon-cheese-burger Dean. The one that can be hard on strangers sometimes, just like the knight, merciless on enemies too, even harder on friends when he is hurt, but with a heart so big that he welcomes the ones who need it in his house, in his life and in his very soul. Just like he did with her. 

The Dean who never makes her feel bad, flawd and insufficient like she feels now.

The one she fell in love with a long time ago, the one she misses cruelly because he is her best friend, her partner, her everything… And being paradoxically this far from him, and this close to another him makes her feel lonelier than she ever has been.

Will he prefer the queen version of her too if he indeed meets her ? Is she that amazing ? That smart and brave, that well educated and gracious ?

And she thinks of the knight too, of his total devotion to the queen. Is it just how he was raised ? Or is there more ? What can be the story of a man that gave his life to serve her ? Where does he come from in this world and who was John ? And why isn’t he a man of Letter like Sam ?

In the constant dim of her thoughts she doesn’t pay attention to the sun starting to light her room with a weak white light coming from the furthest horizon behind the heavy curtains. 

She tries to find sleep imagining Dean is here, imagining she can complain, ask for help and tell him everything. Imagining he has her back, like he always does.

Just when she’s about to finally find sleep, footsteps make their way inside the room with no more warnings than the creaking of the colossal door, and a whole group of maids enters the room.

“What ?” she grunts. 

Can’t she at least get out of her room when she wants ? 

One of the cold face maids opens the curtains and the others start preparing her clothes like bees at work.

Outside, churches’ bells are tinkling louder and louder and a religious choir is coming from somewhere in the castle, like it was in every wall. And even if the music is beautiful, echoing like an old gospel in a cathedral, it sounds like the rise of a thousand voices telling her that they are watching her…

“Wait” she tries with a weak voice but the covers are taken from her bed and the cold air of the huge stone castle hits her.

“Sir Winchester told us not to lose time, your Majesty” one of them says while she sits on her bed, rubbing her face. 

Before she can gather the courage to face this day, the women start to undress her and wash her with cold water. Once again, she has to hide the anti-possession tattoo on her rib again.

She hisses and winces at the cruel contact of the freezing water on her sensible skin, and flinches when the maid washes her intimate parts with a cloth, tired and humiliated. 

“Stop” she tries low when they start covering her with a dress even heavier and tighter than the one she was wearing yesterday. When the maids tug at the cords in her back to squeeze her waist, she tries again.

“Stop…” she whimpers.

This is too much and no one here is able to understand her pain. Her breath gets stuck in her crammed chest and tears fill her eyes.

“STOP PLEASE STOP !” she finally yells, making the ladies take a step back and bow. 

“Did we hurt you, your Majesty ?” one of them asks with her eyes on the floor.

“Go get D- Sir Winchester” she orders, wiping her eyes before the tears have a chance to fall. 

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Leave” she says, but when the maids look at her, confused, she yells. “LEAVE ME ALONE !”

They run outside and carefully close the door behind them. 

Fighting the corset, she tries to breathe, her nails desperately scratching at the hard fabric on her stomach. Burning tears fall on her angry red cheeks and before she can wipe those new wild sobs out of her face, the knight enters the room.

“What happened ?” he asks, making his way in with a frown and closing the door behind him.

“I can’t breathe” she starts to panic. “I can’t do this, I can’t breathe.”

With three large steps, the knight comes to her and, touching her the least he can, with a strong, expert hand, he loosens the laces. 

In a deep painful gasp, she breathes, clinging to the knight’s arm.

“Did you wear a corset in your world ?” he asks.

“No !” she sobs angrily. “Why would I do that !”

“The maids tighten it like they did for her Majesty, but your body can’t take it…” he analyses the situation very seriously. “You cannot have it loosen too much or rumors of pregnancy will spread and…”

“STOP” she pushes him, surprising both of them with that gesture the queen probably never would have had. “I CAN’T ! MY BODY ! MY M-MIND TOO !”

Dean watches her with that implacable roughness on his face and his palpable contempt for her makes her whimper in pain. She never thought she would see such coldness on this beautiful face.

“You do not get to give up” he states, clenching his jaw at her sobs, like they were both hurting and annoying him. “You have no idea what my Queen has endured. You shall not put her position in danger.”

“YOU have no idea what it is ! To be observed, to be controlled, exposed ! To be far from h-him…” panting, she wipes her eyes but a waterfall of pain keeps drowning her face. “I need him here ! Not you ! You’re mean a-and you’re…”

“I am trying to save thousands of lives” he states. 

“Then stop treating me like an enemy ! I hate being a freaking woman here !”

“I am working on keeping one on the throne !” he cuts her, the violence he hides deep behind his manners shows again, proving that this is more than duty for him. “You are not an enemy.”

Wiping her eyes, she searches his scarred worried face. She finds the exact same freckles in the exact same places and it’s enough to stop crying. 

“I am extremely concerned about Her Majesty’s safety” he admits.

Her tears stop falling on her face and she frowns. 

“You miss her.”

“I could not dare missing the Queen, only protect and serve her” he states, getting a piece of cloth to hand her something to wipe her face and while she does, he takes a deep breath. “The Queen went for a health walk with me daily and, on the days when the eyes of her subjects became a lot for her, I used to take her beyond the walls of the city so she could just…” his cold eyes warm like Spring after Winter. “Open her arms and smile and say silly things… Sometimes, cry. I will take you if you want.”

[solohux]

• only a moment •

1.3k words, aka kylo has nightmares & hux is always there to comfort him

It’s a rarity to find General Hux in bed before 04:00. The telltale blue glow of holoprojectors slip through the cracks of his chambers’ door and betray his sleeplessness, as does the clicking of his datapad’s keyboard. The skeleton crew and droids that roam the Finalizer’s corridors after hours know not to hassle him, for the best of the General’s work is completed in the dead of night. They shuffle past his quarters with respectful quietness and go about their shift, wondering how their leader can focus on work at such a late hour.

They do not know that he waits for the witching hour to pass before adorning his bedclothes and joining the rest of the alpha-shift crew in sleep. The hour between 03:00 and 04:00 is when the veil of the Force is at its weakest, leaving its children vulnerable to the shadows that seek to take them. Not on Hux’s watch.

It is an ordinary night. 03:11. Hux works diligently at the small desk in his quarters, going over his final plans for an aptly named Starkiller base. It’s to be a monster, a planet-destroyer that will teach the Death Star the true meaning of death, and it will be his creation. Blueprints hover before his eyes, a hologram that turns slowly to show him the once-great planet of Ilum, now left in ruins by kyber crystal mining. He rubs his eyes, taking a swig of hot caf. Not long to go.

Three knocks rasp at the door—so, not an ordinary night. Hux’s heart sinks, mentally noting that it’s been nine days without incident, the longest that they’ve ever gone since this arrangement—this understanding—began.

He hurries up from his seat and orders the lights to dim to 30%, not wanting to spook his visitor any more than he already is. With a simple touch of a button on the durasteel wall, the door swishes open and reveals the shivering form of a man wrapped in a grey blanket, held around himself like a cape that drags on the floor. His dark hair is tousled from sleep, his eyes wide and haunted, his teeth chattering as though freezing.

“It was him,” Kylo says, sniffling. His tears drop onto the floor and land beside his bare feet. “Snoke.”

Hux can only open his arms to beckon his lover inside of his rooms, knowing this situation so well by now.

“It was just a dream,” Hux recites, ushering Kylo over time his ice-blue sofa where an assortment of plump cushions have been pre-arranged for this. “He’s lightyears away from you, Ren. He can’t hurt you.”

Kylo sits down on the couch, almost missing the seat as a result of his horrified trance. Despite it having been over a week since Kylo’s last night terror, the phantom look in his amber eyes is enough to chill Hux to the bone.

“He was torturing you,” Kylo states at the ground in front of him, and Hux swears that he can hear the faint sounds of his own screaming for a second before silence takes over again. The Knight tucks his feet back as though wanting to curl up into a ball, turning his knees inwards. “And I couldn’t stop him. He took you from me because I wasn’t strong enough.”

“I’m right here. I’ll always be right here. You know that,” Hux says softly, brushing his fingers through Kylo’s hair and tucking some behind his ear. He’s trembling beneath the safety of his blanket, shoulders shaking as though trying to hold back sobs. “I’m here, Ren.”

“Not Ren,” Kylo whispers. “I...I need to be him right now. J-just for a moment.”

Hux nods. He understands. Sometimes, one needs to admit to being lost to be found.

“Ben,” Hux exhales, finding the name just as comfortable in his mouth as Kylo’s. There’s a fine line between Ben and Ren, with a fearful lost boy on one side and an angry vengeful man on the other, Hux’s lover teeters on the edge of being both at once but recently, Ben has been the target of Snoke’s dark ministrations. No doubt, tomorrow will bring a rageful outburst from Kylo once Ben’s sadness has shirked back inside of his broken heart. Hux’s hand finds that of his lover’s and holds on, grounding him in this realm. “Look at me, Ben.”

Ben obeys, looking up from the floor and into Hux’s pale eyes with one blink, his own eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears.

“I’m scared, Hux,” Ben says, voice trembling.

“I know. And it’s okay,” Hux replies, taking his lover into his arms and hugging him, rocking him, and imagining the words that he could have told himself as a young boy in the face of his father’s abuse. “You are so much stronger than he is. He’s a coward for doing this to you, you know that, don’t you? He’s afraid of you and your powers, he’s seen what you’re capable of. And he knows that I’m going to kill him for what he’s done to you.”

Ben rests his head on Hux’s shoulders, accepting kisses atop his head from his lover’s lips. Homicidal rage flairs to life inside of Hux’s chest, craving Snoke’s blood for targeting Ben when he’s at his weakest, but he tries to keep himself calm for his lover’s sake, knowing just how much good thoughts and feelings can impact the mood of a Force-sensitive lover.

“Can I stay? I don’t want to be alone,” Ben asks, his tears ceasing their onslaught onto his reddened cheeks.

“Of course. The bed is already made up for us both.” Hux guides Ben to his feet, taking hold of both of his hands and leading him to the bed where crisp, black sheets wait for them, peeled open and ready. The General makes quick work of his clothing, though it’s difficult with Ben keeping a tight grip on one of his hands, but he manages. The pair stand at the foot of the perfectly-square bed, facing one another.

“Can you say it?”

“Of course,“ Hux says, holding Ben’s cheek, seeing fire rising in his eyes where the fear once was. “Forget everything, just for a moment. And be with me. Deep breaths and focus on my voice, on my hand upon your cheek. It’s just us now, Ben. Nothing else. No one can hurt you. Be with me.”

Leia’s words to her young son, Hux echoes them just as Ben taught him, bringing forth the Force around them as protection as they climb into their bed and lie beneath the soft sheets in a tangle of limbs. With his blanket still around his shoulders, Ben snuggles down, finally warm again after the icy grip of his nightmare felt as though it would drag him away this time. Hux sighs, pressing his forehead against Ben’s and repeating those words to him. It’s like their bed is the cushioned centre of a flower and the Force surrounds them like strong petals, closing in on them and keeping them safe.

As Ben falls into a quiet, dreamless sleep in his arms, Hux watches over him and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. Kylo, Ben or whoever, Hux will protect the man in his arms for as long as he draws breath, for their souls are made from the same stars—Hux is certain. The fear that he sees in Ben’s eyes are what he saw in young Armitage’s, terrified and alone.

He waits until the clock ticks to 04:00 and breathes a sigh of relief. Around them, the veil of the Force returns to its usual strength and Ben sighs in his sleep, his features turning harder, angrier, as his sadness quells and his anger rises, making him knit his brows together even in rest.

“I’m here, Ren,” Hux says, placing a kiss on the crease of Kylo’s eyebrows and then another on his slightly-parted lips. “Be with me.”

A moment passes. 04:01. Hux permits himself to sleep.

[missnight0wl]

The Untold Story of the Cursed Vaults

One of the things I miss the most in Hogwarts Mystery is the proper lore behind the Cursed Vaults. It’s the reason why I came up with my own idea for their symbol over a year ago. Now, if I’m being honest, I kind of doubt at this point that the game will deliver a proper explanation in that matter, so… I attempted to create something myself again.

There was a time when magic thrived in the world, when wizards and witches were growing strong. But with great potential comes also the danger. And so, as one of them became nearly impossible to control, it was settled to lock it up for no one to ever abuse it. The greatest ones were chosen to hold that secret and keep it safe. Four of them established their School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the time, the place intended to gather brilliant minds, shape young talents, and provide protection. Needless to say, it was the most proper location to exploit. However, the walls of the castle and the insiders’ watchful eyes weren’t enough. That’s why the Cursed Vaults were created. Each Founder was responsible for creating one Vault and each of them represented what they valued the most.

Ambitious Slytherin who wielded the power over the Ice Knight set a guard for the First Vault. Gryffindor, who treasured courage above all, reassured that no timid soul would face the Second Vault. The Third Vault held the threat of death, but fair Hufflepuff placed it away in the Dark Forest, so the students would be safe. Finally, wise Ravenclaw designed the most difficult obstacle in the Fourth Vault as it’s the hardest to face the secrets hidden in depths of your heart. Then, they created the Fifth and Final Vault together. And only the one who conquered all the previous ones and who knows the meaning of the real loss can earn what lies within. Each Vault had the sealed curse which would punish any intruder trying to penetrate its inside. The curses had a secondary role as well – they would inform that the balance was disturbed and chastise those who let that happen.

When the creation was completed, four families were chosen to keep the keys to the Cursed Vaults: the Knowledge, the Book, the Arrow, and the Portrait. And four more families were appointed to guard Hogwarts and people living there in the situation where one of the curses would be released. Both the Key Keepers and the Guardians formed the Eight Branches. In addition to that, two more families were involved - the Core, connected with the Final Vault. The Core consisted of the Key and the Guardian who was devoted entirely to protecting the Key itself. The choice of them was special because of the importance they were about to carry. The Key possessed the natural ability to read human nature to help them stay safe from the wrongful influence. The Key’s Guardian had exceptional power to help them do their duty.

The Eight Branches and the Core formed a bigger group, and they called themselves Remedium. They kept the Cursed Vaults at peace for centuries, and they passed their secrets through generations, maintaining the strict structure. Nevertheless, time changes everything. And so, there were wizards who didn’t want to be burdened with such responsibilities any longer,  whether it was caused by selfishness or fear. They never revealed any information to their children, cutting off the whole Branch. Other families left to different countries where the Cursed Vaults became more and more irrelevant with each passing decade. Some of them would die off eventually, either naturally or in unfortunate events. In the end, corruption consumed the others. The knowledge can be overwhelming, especially when it can lead one to something far more powerful. The remaining members of Remedium succumbed to the promise of the treasure lying in the Cursed Vaults. Still, there were a few of them who wanted to stay true to their origin, but because they were in minority, they were considered traitors and called the Cabal.

The schism weakened both sides. They worked on growing back in strength and becoming even more. After years of their conflict occurring in the shadows of the wizarding world, the Cabal decided that the ultimate way to stop Remedium and keep the Cursed Vaults safe is to eliminate the Key Keepers and the Guardians. In particular, they needed to annihilate the Core. Little did they know, that it’d be the hardest part. Nobody heard about the Key or the Key’s Guardian in forever, it seemed like they were among the ones who ceased to exist. And without them, the Cursed Vaults were untouchable.

Until the day when one curious boy started reading a peculiar book, sentencing himself to the life of a nightmare where one ancient organisation wants to use him for their own gain and another wants to kill him.

_____

All the ideas (except the name Remedium) are based on information from the game, including the House sigils from” Nearly Headless Nick” SQ and the mention of the Eight Branches book from “Sleep Walker” SQ – both of which are currently “temporarily” removed. Go figure. Anyway, you could say that it’s kind of “a novelisation” of the theory (which surprisingly was not that easy to write…).

Also, I wouldn’t dare to compare it to the opening from The Lord of the Rings, but I do imagine it being narrated by Cate Blanchett, and, um... it’s pretty cool if I say so myself.

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - You Chose Sam

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: None really, some mention of Sam questioning his self-worth.

Choice:  [You chose Sam Winchester]

Y/N = Your Name

—

“Right… So, to make sure we’re ready…” Sam said, ignoring the annoyed glare from his older brother as he turned the music down to run through the plan again. As always, the youngest Winchester wanted to make sure you were all prepared. That the plan was bulletproof, and no one could get hurt. 

When you were dealing with not just one, but two witches, that just became all that much more important. Since one spell or hex bag was all it took, and any one of you could end up hurt. Bullets couldn’t tear through words, only cut them off at the source. Possibly a second too late.

According to the briefing, the two witches had moved into the farmhouse not too long ago. The two victims had been connected to the property, and the unfortunate recipients of hex bags. Though, if you knew witches and their opportunistic little hearts, they weren’t done. Sure, the closest town was just a sleepy little thing. But there were quite a few wealthy families with long histories that they could possibly be aiming for, to increase their own bankroll.

“The two witches work as a pair. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to be right next to each other in the farmhouse,” Sam continued, a hand absentmindedly going up to brush the hair out of hazel eyes as he reread the information sent to you via text. The small innocent movement easily making your breath stick in your throat as you watched him. 

The big hand that brushed soft brown hair out of eyes the colour of sunlight through a glass of whiskey always made your whole world tilt. Your body heating up at the thought of how they would feel on your skin, clasped at the back of your neck as he drew you in for a kiss, running down…. 

Down girl! Focus!

Shaking the thoughts away you put on your most innocent expression as you focused on the younger hunter’s words instead of on his lips, or jaw or… Damn it. You were a lost cause when it came to Sam. Every soft smile and warm worried eyes had your heart performing Olympic level acrobatic routines in your chest. 

“So, our best bet is going to be to split up. Dean one way, me the other, and…” Sam’s words brought you out of your own dirty mind for long enough to catch the hunter’s attempt at benching you from the hunt. His hazel eyes glancing up at you in the rear-view mirror warm and soft with hesitant worry.

“I’m going in too Sam,” You sighed, unwilling to let him finish whatever grunt work he was planning on assigning you to keep you out of harm's way. Though you were in love with the man, you didn’t just want him to be some romance novel knight in flannel that swept in and rescued you from all the drama. You were a hunter, not a damsel in distress.

Sure, you had to admit that you found the Greek god of a man sinfully sexy. And yeah, the thought of having him sweep you up into his strong arms did unspeakably dirty things to your mind... But that wasn’t why you’d fallen in love with him. 

What attracted you to him was his careful strength, the comfort of absolute safety you felt when you were fighting side by side with him, knowing he’d have your back. You’d fallen in love with the intelligent man whose eyes shone with unfettered empathy. The kind man, whose strength was mirrored in his continued compassion, even as the world tried to break him of it. With the fighter who didn’t just give up when faced with the loss he feared more than anything else, he kept fighting, for that small hope he still harboured. 

It was the man, Sam Winchester, you loved. And no, you didn’t just want to be protected. You wanted to be his partner. To have his back and as he had yours. Make the world a better place, together. To help him save lives. So that he could one day look back and see all the people who had his back, who didn’t abandon him, and finally understand that he was worthy of love. 

“Someone should watch…” Sam tried again, sunshine eyes clouded with unspoken twisted futures where you left the Winchesters, through death or curses. The same worry that always stained his eyes whenever you demanded to be included in the plans. When you stood your ground, refusing to tip the hand in the monsters’ favour by sitting it out and possibly causing Sam to end up the one hurt. Making him the one leaving you behind. 

“I’m not sitting this one out Sam. Three against two’s a hell of a lot better than fifty-fifty when we’re fighting witches,” You shot in, interrupting his weak attempt at changing your mind. You were just as unwilling to see him hurt as he was to see you, or anyone, hurt. There was no way in hell you’d sit back and watch him walk towards a door that could possibly be hiding his future tormentors. Be it temporary or final. 

You loved him too much to let him bear all those burdens himself.

“Yeah, ok… But, you’ll be with me then,” Sam hesitated before answering as his eyes went from yours in the rear-view mirror and back to the phone. Clearly trying, and failing, to find some loophole in your reasoning. Even Sam, with his tendency to act like a sacrifice whenever someone tried to hurt those he cared for, couldn’t find a way around the facts. Three against two was safer. 

Especially when dealing with hex bags, spells and the cowardly scheming you’d have to expect from the two witches.

“Ok, so do we know anything else about them? Are they both inexperienced or..?” You asked, happy he’d dropped the multiple attempts to shield you like some damsel in distress.  And doubly happy since you’d be right there by his side. Ready to watch his back and keep both the hunter, and the heart you’d secretly given him, safe. 

“That’s the bad news. They’ve both apparently been in this business for a long, long time,” Sam’s brow furrowed, his head falling forward a little as he read the information on the phone screen again. 

“Well then Sammy. We’ll just have to scope out the place and decide on the best plan of action,” Dean spoke up, sending you a knowing grin through the rear-view mirror. The type only a best friend could have. Before he revved the engine of the Impala and sped down the old country roads. 

Reaching out with a pointed stare at Sam, the older Winchester easily turned up the music again as your eyes met Sam’s in the rear-view mirror. Giving him your most comforting smile, you nodded, determined. You’d kick some witch ass, burn some spell books, and you’d all be on your way back home in no time. 

Together. With no man left behind. No one abandoned.

--- 

“Nice place they’ve got here...” 

The words left you as you eyed the farmhouse with wide eyes. When you heard the boys call it that you’d pictured something out of The Hills Have Eyes. Dilapidated and falling apart, maybe with some rusty trucks littering the lawn to complete the aesthetic. Not a freaking mansion! 

Looking from the house to the two hunters you couldn’t help the little confused stutter that left you. Gesturing towards the house that was only barely visible through the trees where you’d parked the car.

“They have a swimming pool! A fucking pool! We’re the good guys right? Where’s my mansion,” You groaned as you waved at the house again, watching Dean’s shoulders shake in barely contained laughter as you frowned in obvious envy. 

“It’s not theirs (Y/N). Don’t forget, witches don’t exactly do things the right way,” Sam chuckled with a warm soft smile. Your little overreaction smoothing out some of the worry lines on his forehead and soothing the trepidation in his eyes. Being able to make him smile was always been your favourite thing in the whole world. At least it had been for as long as you’d known the youngest Winchester. 

Giving the farmhou… Fucking villa, one last envious look, you followed the boys to the back of the Impala. The earlier laughter completely dying down as soon as Dean popped the boot open and started handing you your weapons. It might only be two witches. But you were sure to make yourself a walking, talking arsenal. Carefully packing extra bullets and blades in every available pocket. As you busied yourself by filling the chamber of your revolver with the witch killing bullets, your eyes strayed back to Sam. 

Instead of focusing on the task at hand, his eyes were on the farmhouse in the distance. A strange mix of longing and worry painting his eyes a darker colour as he saw what a house, a home, should look like. Albeit a bit on the grander scale. 

Your hands trembled as you forced the last bullet into the chamber of the gun. Physically flinching from pain as the recognition hit you. Though it was bigger than normal, that farmhouse was a visual reminder of what Sam Winchester didn’t have. 

Sure, you had the Men of Letters bunker. But it was both a base of operations and sometimes also a prison. The dark rooms were walls closing in on you, shutting out the light and the world that kept hurdling forward without you. It was a necessity, no matter how much you were trying to make it a home. Something open like that mansion… Hell, that was just asking for trouble. 

Yet, to Sam, the perfectly manicured lawns and the beautifully bright house was like something out of a fairy tale. One with only happy endings and no monsters hiding in the shadows. A dream where no one ever left him, no one thought he was useless, no one died. A safe space where he could smile and relax, where he didn’t have to be perfect all the time. 

Watching him stand there, gazing at the house, you could tell he was imagining a different kind of life. A safer life. Though you knew he’d never give up on the hunt. Not if it meant other people would lose their loved ones. Because Sam knew loss. Better than anyone else you’d ever met. 

Sam was moulded by loss, shaped by it. His softness slowly but surely sharpened, as wave after wave of pain, lost friends and turned backs walking away from him, crashed into his life and destroyed the mountain fortress he had tried to build around his heart. Until the walls crumbled, leaving just the man, afraid and alone, clinging onto the last of his humanity to keep from falling into the dark waves below. 

Loss for Sam was more than just heartbreak. He seemed to believe his soul, the thing that made him human, was only surviving due to the humanity of those around him. That, if the last of the people close to him abandoned him, he would somehow fall, and become a monster. Become less than human and once more lose his soul.

But you saw the truth. Sam was human and he was beautiful for it. Yes, the memories of past loss lingered, and they cast shadows across the warm bright light in your life that was Sam Winchester. Still, they also made the good moments shine brighter. A spotlight in the shadows illuminating that there was still good in the world.

Warm smiles and hesitant sunshine eyes. That was the Sam you’d fallen in love with. 

“Hey...” Your voice was soft and low as you slid up silently next to him to look at the house. Yet, he still jumped slightly as he tore his eyes off the mansion that was playing the part of picket fences and pies cooling on windowsills in his mind. 

“(Y/N), I’m…” Sam sounded guilty and worried as he tried to get what you guessed was an apology out. Guilty for his temporary daydream, and worried you’d blame him for it. That more people would abandon him if he was anything less than 100% perfect. 

“You know, I bet cleaning that place is hell. The electricity bill has to be through the roof. And swimming pools are overrated, I prefer lakes any day,” You said, keeping your voice light as you spoke over his attempted, and unnecessary, apology. Allowing yourself a small hidden smile when the man you love rewarded your efforts with a soft laugh. 

“And it probably has a ton of freakish art,” Sam said backing you up, grateful eyes crinkling in a smile as he glanced down at you. 

“Clown art,” You said with a teasing gasp. Suppressing the laughter that threatened to inform the witches of your approach as Sam shuddered. 

“Shut up (Y/L/N),” Sam groaned, a big hand going up to run through his hair, as if he was combing the last of the repulsed shivers out of it. 

“Yeah, yeah Winchester. Go get your weapons, we’ve got some witches to hunt,” You grinned back, bumping your shoulder into the big guy, though you barely even moved him. 

---

“You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do Sam,” You sighed, unwilling to go through the same song and dance again as you closed in on the house. Your plan had been revised to fit the size of the place. Which meant you’d all have to split up and go your separate ways in an effort to get a jump on them. 

These witches were tricky. They weren’t going to risk a straight up fight with the Winchesters. They’d either run or try to get the jump on you if you gave them any opportunity. So, there was no way you could leave any of the main three entrances untouched. You were only three people however, so the three main doors would have to do. You couldn’t cover everything. 

You weren’t exactly going in blind. But it wasn’t the airtight plan you’d have wanted it to be either. Especially now that you had to split up from Sam and try to find him again inside the damned country singer’s wet dream of a farmhouse/mansion. All while also keeping an eye out for any nouveau witch that would attempt to get the drop on you. 

Fun. 

But you were hunters. You had a plan. Or at least an entry strategy. Plus, you had enough witch killing bullets to take down half the cast of Harry Potter if they tried to magic you away. 

Dean would go through the screen door by the pool. Your best friend, the man who constantly acted like the world’s shield and sword, taking the most likely exit route by the witches. And also, the most likely gathering point; since you’d spied the living room there on your way down from the Impala.  

So now it was up to Sam and you to decide who went in the front versus who would sneak in around the back. Though, as the youngest Winchester seemed too busy trying to talk you out of it. The choice was up to you. 

Weighing your two options you looked up at the man you loved. Worry sinking in now that you knew you wouldn’t be there to watch his back. Not until you met back up with him inside the house. 

Yet, you knew you’d find him. 

The mansion could be a freaking labyrinth, and you’d still find him. You, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would never abandon Sam Winchester. Even if the world turned against the two brothers and you, you were there to stay. 

“Alright, then…” You sighed, steeling yourself as you rechecked the chamber of your revolver and made sure every weapon was tightly packed against your body. It was time to go hunt yourself some witches.

—

Make your choice below to move the story along:

Which way do you go?

[Go through the front door] or [Sneak around back]

—

Confused or New to Choices? Start Here Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where you pick your Winchester brother and go on a hunt for one of 8 different endings in total. Four for Sam and four for Dean (2 happy and 2 bad endings per brother). Go to the intro to start your story!

—

[rohad93]

Woth the Fight : Chp 2

Eda is shaking her awake before the sun is even really up the next morning and she groans, burying her face into King’s fur. He growled at the hand and Eda rolled her eyes at the giant lump of fur and her equal lump of an apprentice, curled up together on the bed. If she didn’t know for a fact Luz was human she would swear she was some kind of demonic wolf the way King had taken to her when she’d first started traveling with them, like she was his pup, even though she treated him like he was her baby in turn. At least the two looked out for each other when she was out on jobs.

“Both of you get up, we still have a lot of ground to cover, before we make it to town,” she said as she strapped her belt with her sword tied to it around her waist.

“I’m up…,” Luz’s groggy voice muffled out from King’s fur but she didn’t move until King finally stood up, sending her dropping, face-first into the bed with a grumble as he stretched out like a cat before jumping off the bed. Luz groaned into the blankets before finally pushing herself up onto her elbows and blinked tiredly before letting out a jaw cracking yawn as she sat herself up.

“Come on, if you wanna eat we need to get a move on, and I know you gotta be hungry,” Eda grunted, pulling on her own dark cloak. The moment she said it Luz’s stomach growled angrily and she grinned sheepishly at her.

“That’s what I thought…” Eda smirked. “Come on.” She waved, walking out the door, King trotting after her at the promise of food.

“Eda, wait for me!” Luz scrambled off the side of the bed and pulled on her sword belt and cloak as she hopped across the room, trying to pull on her boots with one hand and grab her book off the bedside table with the other at the same time.

Eda waited for her downstairs, where she’d already ordered food.

She stuffed her face with as much dried meat and bread as she could in the inns’ main room before they headed out on the road just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon.

Her feet dragged through the dirt by mid-afternoon and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. Even the overbearing rays of the summer sun overhead were only serving to help lull her to sleep despite their blistering heat.

She’d stayed up much top late trying to decipher the intricate little runes that filled most of the pages in vain. Her knowledge of glyphs was less than beginner level, it was all but non-existent really. She could read, and write, and spoke two languages, but the tiny symbols witches used for denoting elements and the properties of magic had always escaped her, not that she really had anyone to teach her. Eda was a master at the practical side of magic, enchanting objects with power and then using them, but had never been big on the academic side of things, much to Luz’s dismay.

“You’re the most skilled witch knight in all the Boiling Isles, how can you not know any runes?” Luz’s hands dropped, book slapping against the tops of her thighs in defeat.

“I don’t need that book stuff. Magic is wild and free you just have to feel it!” Eda threw her arms out, gesturing to the wide blue sky above them.

“I literally can’t feel it, I don't have a bile sac.” Luz frowned and Eda blinked, bringing a hand back down to scratch her chin.

“Oh, right… Well, you got the book, right? You learned anything?” she cocked her head as she glanced at her and watched as Luz lit up.

“Most of it is in runes… but I did learn something, watch this!” She dug through one of her pouches and pulled out a piece of charcoal before unsheathing her practice sword and carefully drawing the small glyph on it, when she was satisfied with her work, she tapped it and the glyph burned away as the whole blade glowed with a bright incandescent light.

Eda squinted against the light.

“You really did do magic…”

“Yeah, a light enchantment!” Luz beamed at her mentor, still swinging around the glowing blade.

“Okay, okay, put that thing away before I go blind!” Eda shielded her eyes with her hand from the glaring light.

Luz sheathed the blade, smothering the light that would go out in due time when the energy of the glyph was exhausted.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Luz grinned as she sheathed the blade.

"It's bright…," Eda rubbed her eyes with her fists, trying to clear away the spots she was still seeing. "...not sure how good it would be in an actual fight though…"

"Well… maybe not… but it's still magic!"

"The point of adding magical enchantments to weapons is to do more damage in attacks, or create barriers...or other... stuff," Eda trailed off, rolling a hand. “What you have is a metal torch…”

“Well, what else is a dull blade good for? If I had a real sword maybe I could actually be useful,” Luz huffed, turning to look at the ocean sitting below the cliffside. At some point, the fields had given way to the shore and the far-stretching ocean. Eda frowned.

"You'll get a real sword when I decide you're ready, not before." Eda crossed her arms, they’d had this conversation before.

"It's been five years, how am I not ready yet!?" Luz frowned, throwing up her hands in exasperation. Eda had been saying that for years. It had taken her two years just to get the training sword.

"Look, Luz, you tend to get carried away, and I just worry you'll rely on your sword to get you out of trouble before your brain. Show me that's not the case and you'll get your sword," Eda promised and Luz slumped.

“How am I supposed to do that?” she grumbled. Eda just shrugged and she sighed as they continued on down the road, the conversation was over. She contented herself with looking at her book and half falling asleep until she’d stumble, almost eating it before catching herself. The sun was slowly but surely dipping closer and closer toward the horizon, lighting the ocean on their left aglow with glaring reds and pinks. After the fifth time of almost watching Luz trip face-first into the dirt, Eda stopped them in the thick of the woods.

“We’re gonna make camp here for the night,” she declared. “You can barely keep your eyes open, your gonna end up falling into a pit or something.”

Luz glanced around at the thick foliage around them. One of the first things Eda had taught her was to make camp in the open whenever possible, to avoid ambush or any creatures sneaking up on you in the dark.

“Is it safe to camp here?”

“Eh, it’s fine, and we wouldn’t make it out of here before it got good and dark anyway, just don’t wander off into the forest and it’ll be fine.” Eda pulled her sack from her back. “Go gather up some wood and we can get the fire going.” She jerked her head to the edge of the forest just off the path.

“I’m on it!” Luz shrugged off her pack and set down her book before trotting just into the treeline to pick up sticks, King trailed along behind her, her ever-present shadow, trying to snatch the bigger ones out of her hand.

“We’re not playing right now, King!” she grunted, trying to wrench the branch from between his massive jaws. “Let go!” she growled, and he did, sending her reeling back into the bushes with a yelp.

“Ow,” she grumbled to herself before rolling out of the bush, leaves sticking out of her hair as she looked up to find King at her side, and then his large wet tongue was on her cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” she laughed, pushing his furry head away as she pulled herself to her feet. She brushed herself off and started picking up all the sticks she’d dropped when a loud screech filled the twilight sky’s air, making a chill go up her spine and clutch the bundle of wood to her chest, brown eyes darting across the ever-darkening woods.

It had sounded far away...

Again the blood-chilling screech echoed across the forest, sending an eruption of good-bumps across her arms.

What was that? She’d never heard a sound like that before in her life and she had heard and seen quite a few things in the years she’d been traveling with Eda and King.

“Luz!” Eda’s voice calling from just a few yards away jolted her out of her thoughts as she turned and jogged back toward camp with King at her side.

“Did you hear that?” is the first thing out of her mouth as she dumped the wood into the ring of stones Eda made while she was gone.

Her mentor nodded, as she looked into the woods with narrowed amber eyes, hands planted on her hips.

“Sounds like a cockatrice,” she hummed.

A cockatrice.

Luz frowned, she’d read about them, and all manner of the other strange and deadly creatures that called the Boiling Isles home. Eda had also given her lessons about them. They were smaller than griffins and manticores, with scaled, winged, lizard-like bodies, covered in feathers, and had the head of a rooster. They were pretty ugly in the illustrations she'd seen. Eda had fought a number of them for jobs over the years, but she had never taken Luz with her on those jobs, only told her the stories after the fact, she’d never seen one with her own eyes. She wasn't sure what she imagined it would sound like, but that hadn’t been it.

“Should we do something?” Luz’s brows furrowed with concern, running a hand up and down her arm. “Kill it?” she asked.

“Pfft, you mean, should I do something? And no, it sounds pretty far off, I wouldn’t worry about it… ‘sides, you’ve got a blunt training sword and you’ve learned one enchantment, Kid, and let’s be honest, not the most useful one either; so hold your horses.”

Luz frowned at that, shoulders slumping, which made Eda sigh under her breath and slapped a hand on her apprentice’s head.

“All in due time, Luz. Just trust me, okay?”

Luz glanced up at Eda, who was looking at her questioningly and she sighed before nodding.

“Okay…”

“Good, now, let’s get the fire started before the wolves come out,” Eda said, ruffling her hair with a grin before she walked over to the pile of wood Luz had collected.

“Please, no pack of wolves is a match for King!” Luz said, scratching his head. The great beast seemed to puff up at the praise, tail wagging as Luz scratched around the base of his horns.

“We don’t need wolf guts strewn out everywhere either, that would attract something else…” Another loud, distant screech filled the warm night air, sending a chill up Luz’s spine “...like that…” Eda deadpanned.

“Did that sound closer than before?” It was hard to tell, it was still quite far off.

A fire blazed to life, drawing her attention away from the darkening woods.

“A little fire will keep most things away, don’t worry,” Eda assured her

“I’m not worried, what would I be worried about?” She planted both hands on her hips, chest jutting out in defiance.

The screech echoed over the trees, making her jump, and Eda snorted in laughter as Luz’s face turned red, shoulders bunching up around her ears.

“It’s fine, Luz, now come sit down so we can eat,” Eda huffed, still grinning as she pulled their rations out of her own bag.

Luz plopped down into the dirt beside the fire, King at her side as Eda tossed her a dried chunk of meat, she wasted no time before she started gnawing on it while Eda tossed a chunk to King, who snapped it out of the air between his massive jaws before turning to nose Luz, whining.

“No, this is mine,” she leaned away from him, holding the dried meat just out of reach, but then he was practically crawling over her to get to it, stepping on her in the process. “No, King!” she yelped as he stuck his neck across her, tongue sticking out toward Luz’s dinner before she shoved the whole thing into her mouth and gave him a victorious look.

Eda rolled her eyes at the both of them and chewed silently on her own food, keeping her ears pricked to the occasional screech of the creature in the distance.

~ ~ The moon is high overhead when something woke her up.

She wasn't sure what woke her up, but all of a sudden, Luz was awake, eyes popping open suddenly. She glanced around from her place laying on the ground beside the fire, her eyes flickered across their roadside camp. The fire is still crackling brightly and King is laying beside her, curled into a ball at her side. The light from the quarter moon overhead casts everything outside the light of the fire in a faint silvery glow.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and she starts to close her eyes again before she realizes; Eda is gone.

She sprang up, knocking into King and making him jolt awake with a surprised, snort.

Eda is not laying nearby or is anywhere she can see, and that immediately worries Luz.

“Eda?” she called quietly, as she rubbed her fist against her eye, casting off the last bits of sleep still clinging to her consciousness.

Only the quiet ambient sounds of the forest, crickets, and the rustling of leaves answer her back.

“Eda?” she called again, climbing to her feet and staring out into the darkness beyond the light cast by the fire.

Nothing answered her back, not a voice anyway.

Suddenly she could hear something in the distance, the rattling of bushes and the snapping of twigs and branches. She tensed, listening to the sounds as they seemed to move about the woods, crashing and smashing.

“That the best you got?”

Luz knows that voice.

“Eda!” She scrambled to her feet and took off into the darkness of the trees, King jumping up and following after her.

She stumbled over roots and rocks, branches scratched at her face and arms as she rushed by them. She ran blindly through the woods towards the noises growing louder and louder; the sound of fighting. There's a dim light somewhere in front of her, a beacon in the all-encompassing blackness of the woods at night.

She cleared the trees and skid to a stop in the dirt, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as a high-pitched squeaking sound forced its way out of her throat.

Standing in front of her is a large, two-legged, draconic creature. Dark green, almost black in the darkness, and her noise of surprise had drawn its attention.

She knows the second it faces her what it is, with its large winged arms, tipped with three long talons and the large scaly head of a rooster.

A cockatrice.

It looks at her, head cocking to the side in jerky motions as it examines her.

“Luz!?”

Her eyes flicker to the voice and standing, back pressed against a tree is Eda, a dimly glowing lantern on her hip providing the only light other than the moon and her sword gripped in her right hand.

“Eda!” she yelped and the creature made a guttural hissing noise at her that stopped her cold, eyes going back to the creature, its pupilless yellow eyes staring into her and wings twitching, as if about to take off at any moment. King is growling, deep and guttural, black fur standing on end and lips curled back over long, white, curved fangs.

“Get out of here, now!” Eda yelled at her, but her legs are frozen, her muscles refuse to move despite the bloodthirsty creature looming over her.

Eda scowled. Luz is frozen and she knows it. She jolted forward and hacked at the creature’s back left leg, sending a spray of blood across the grass.

It made a loud screeching sound and whipped around to face Eda, its spiked tail slamming into the older woman and sending her slamming back against the tree.

“Eda!”

Eda sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, holding her sword out to keep the hissing beast at bay as it snapped its razor-sharp beak at her, looking for an opening as she pressed her free hand to her side where she’d been struck.

Luz sucked in a breath when she saw the growing dark spot on Eda’s side that she cradled under her left hand; she was injured.

She had to do something!

Her hand gripped the handle of her training sword tightly, isn't this what she'd been training with Eda for?

She unsheathed the blade in one swift motion and raised it overhead.

Maybe it's edges weren't sharp, but it had enough edge that when she brought it crashing down with all her strength she severed the spiked end of the creature's tail from its body, blood splattering the ground as the still wriggling appendage fell to the dirt.

It spun to face Luz, eyes aglow and the blood-curdling squawk that erupted from its mouth at her made King spring forward with a roar, fangs sinking into the scaled hide of its neck with a squelching noise.

Its cries continued to pierce the air as it writhed, wings thrashing and body shaking until it flung the demon wolf loose, his body rolling across the ground with a hard thump before it turned its gaze to Luz, letting out another piercing shriek.

Luz screamed and bolted back into the woods, batting the branches away with her sword. She could hear it chasing her, it’s thundering steps beating against the ground as it ran, branches snapping under its feet.

Something, hot and sizzling, shot past her face, grazing her cheek, and it burns like fire! Her eyes water and she stumbles for a second but quickly rights herself and keeps running, heart pounding inside her chest.

Surely if not for the injury Eda had inflicted on its back leg and the tight quarters, it would already be tearing her apart by now.

She panted, zigzagging through the trees. She needed a plan, and quickly! What did she know about cockatrices’? She tried hard to remember Eda’s lessons, she can only remember bits and pieces in the moment.

They had acidic saliva, ate prey alive, and lived in dark places, caves, or other underground spaces, only coming out at night because of their incredibly sensitive night vision.

“That’s it!” she huffed, she needed a minute though, somewhere, anywhere she could get just a few seconds.

She made a sharp turn, heading back for camp, the creature still hot on her heels. She could see the light from the fire and ran, breakneck straight for it, never breaking stride as she leaped over the flames, but as enraged as it was, the beast didn’t see them and ran straight through the campfire, sending up a cloud of sparks and embers, it’s oily feathered wings catching immediately. It let out wild, hissing cries.

Luz slid to a stop, watching it a second before she shakily dug through one of her pouches as quickly as she could while the thing flailed and writhed, trying to put out the flames licking across it’s dark green and black feathers, what’s left of its tail whipping around.

She tried to still her shaking hand as she grasped the piece of charcoal and drew out the glyph from her book, forcing her hand still, as the smell of burning feathers and flesh filled the camp, making her stomach churn; it needed to be perfect.

The cockatrice screeched, having finally put out the flames and Luz dropped the charcoal as she took off back into the forest, the monster's angry cries behind her, farther behind than before, but not far enough.

Ahead of her are some fallen trees.

She drop slid under one, sitting propped up on a rock, and popped back up, barely breaking stride, even as she heard the cockatrice smash into the dense log as it tried to follow her in its blind rage, the heavy smacking and crunching sound told her all she needed to know as she bolted through the trees.

Her heart is beating wildly in her ears as she burst from the treeline to find herself standing on a stretch of cliff that jutted out over the ocean.

She slid to a stop just a few feet from the edge and turned to face the forest, sword clasped in her hand. It took only a handful of seconds for the beast to come sprinting out of the brush, screeching as it barreled toward her at full speed, angrier than ever, and ready to melt her face off.

Luz swallowed thickly, knees bent and body tense, waiting for the perfect moment.

‘Close, closer… just a little closer… now!’.

She slapped her hand against the flat of the blade and the glyph glowed before the entire thing erupted in a blinding light. The beast screamed in pain as it was blinded, and running too fast to stop. Luz dove out of the way as it ran headfirst off the side of the cliff, crispy, near featherless wings, flapping helplessly as gravity took hold of it.

She panted, whole body trembling with adrenaline as she laid face first in the grass, a white-knuckled grip on her glowing blade, but a few moments passed and nothing happened. She slowly pushed herself up from the grass before she crawled over to the ledge and looked down.

Laying sprawled out in the sand far below, with ocean waves gently lapping at it, was the cockatrice’s lifeless body.

“I… I did it…,” she breathed as a grin slowly broke out across her face. “I killed it!” she whooped, pushing herself to her knees and throwing up her fists, glowing sword still in hand before she gasped to herself.

“Eda!” She jumped up and ran quickly back to her mentor through the woods, glowing sword lightning her way, she found the witch making her way through the trees with King at her side.

“Eda!” Luz practically screamed as she ran up to the surprised witch. "Are you okay?" She looked her over, and there was a dark stain on her own dark red tunic, but not nearly as big as Luz had feared it had been.

"I'm fine, it just grazed me. Where is it?" Eda asked, looking around cautiously. Luz puffed up, chest jutted out

"I killed it!" she proclaimed, holding up her still glowing training sword

"Wha- seriously?" Eda blinked her wide amber eyes at her.

"Yeah!" Luz regaled her with the tale as they walked back to camp.

"You took out a cockatrice with a dull training blade and a light enchantment, color me impressed, Kid." Eda grinned at her and Luz beamed proudly at the praise as King laid his head across her lap while she scratched his head between his horns as they sat next to the fire. Luckily he wasn't really hurt either.

Eda hummed, leaning forward, eyes narrowed as she looked at Luz's face.

She reached up and touched her left cheek gently with her thumb, making Luz hiss with pain.

"Looks like it got you with its acid…," Eda mumbled. "That's definitely going to leave a scar.' she frowned, but Luz lit up further if it was possible.

"My first battle scar!" She cheered, throwing up a fist. King made a grumbling growling sound at the movement.

Eda blinked before chuckling to herself.

"Never change, Luz." Eda shook her head.

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 14

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

Golda told you about the ruins of a Cathedral near the southern border of Lebanon. The immense structure is now little more than the skeleton of a church that was ravaged by fire a lifetime ago. The natural explorer in you hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

The past couple of months had brought snow for weeks on end, but there’s a break in the weather. The sun is shining through your window for the first time in forever and you’re interest is renewed. You plead with Sam to allow you to venture out. He was skeptical at first, he’s getting ready to lead a party out to the borderlands and he’s been hesitant for you to venture outside the castle without him.

In the end, he agrees, but with terms. While he can’t go himself he’s entrusted you to the always faithful Philip. But he wasn’t satisfied with just one knight.

That’s how Dean ended up riding beside you, one hand gripping the reins as he looks off into the distance.

Each breath puffs out in a hot little cloud, the air is icy but you’re plenty warm, wrapped in a thick fur cloak.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” you look to Dean who remains stoic.

“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” he grumbles, pursing his lips in indignation.

“Still,” you press, refusing to let him sour your mood. “The fresh air is invigorating, even if it’s a bit nippy.”

“I’ve had enough fresh air for a lifetime.” He shifts in his saddle.

He’s a handsome man, there’s no denying that, but his awful disposition has made him less and less appealing as time goes by.

“And how are you this afternoon, Philip?” You turn the one person you’re always able to depend on for a kind word, even if half of what he tells you is designed to placate you.

“Very well, my queen,” he nods, his eyes darting from Dean to you. “Always a pleasure to be out of the castle.”  

“It’s some solace knowing that not everyone is tortured with my presence.”  

Dean groans, rolling his eyes and giving his horse a kick as he rides ahead.

“We’re close,” Philip explains, remaining at your side. “The ruins are just through that tree line.”

He points off into the distance and through the naked branches of the dead forest, you can see a crumbling spire reaching upward toward the sky.

“It must have been enormous if that’s the leftover.”

Philip nods. “It was. People came from hundreds of miles to worship here. The place still feels sacred, even what’s left of it. Come on, there’s a path just head.”

You follow Philip through the forest and out into the clearing. As the trees open up there are the ruins of the mighty cathedral. Half of it still stands perfectly erect, as if God himself reached down and sliced the stone in two. What still stands is long charred from fire and smoke, still black from the flames all those years ago. The other half of the structure is nothing more than a low stone outline, showing where the outer wall of the far side of the church used to be.

Dean is milling around, gathering kindling to make a fire. He doesn’t even look up as you dismount and hand the reins of your horse off to Philip. The knight throws your saddlebag over his shoulder, following as you make your way around the ruins. It’s easy to imagine what this looked like before, grand and opulent, especially for a cathedral tucked into the countryside.

You find a spot with the best view and then take the bag from Philip, pulling out parchment and coal for drawing. You’re a terrible artist but enjoy it nonetheless. Trying to put the image on paper somehow sears the details into your brain.

For several hours you draw, then read a bit before feeling true cold set in. The afternoon must be fading as foretold by the severe drop in temperature. Dean’s fire is still smoldering and he warms you a cup of pine tea before the journey home. It’s warm in your hands and even warmer down your throat.

“Thank you,” you nod, savoring every bit of heat you can.

Dean shrugs, taking a nip from his flask. “I can’t have you freezing to death. Sam would kill me.”

“I’m still grateful-”

“Don’t do that.” He cuts you off, looking you dead-on for the time first today. “There’s no need for your polite production when it’s just us.”

“It’s not a production,” you respond calmly. “I’d hoped that perhaps some time together would help to foster our relationship, but I can see I was wrong.”

“You can’t help yourself can you?” Dean snickers, holding his hands out to heat them by the fire.

“Help myself from what? I’m simply trying to suss out exactly why it is you hate me so,” you spit back, feeling your hackles rise.

“Everything you do is a dance, carefully choreographed to fit into whatever the situation brings. My brother is blinded by his lust for you but I’m not as easily fooled. I haven’t yet figured out what it is that you want, but I will. I see you for what you are.” He’s agitated, cheeks blooming redder in the fading light.

You’re dumbfounded, staring at him in genuine confusion.

“And what exactly is it that you think I am?”

“I’m not sure. But you set yourself up quite nicely to appear as some sort of saint, defending the poor and unvalued. The way you came here, the way you’ve wormed your way into Sam’s head by getting into his bed. I see it all. And I’m not the only one.”

“Excuse me,” you gasp, taken aback. “I’ll not have the intimate details of my marriage made a topic of conversation.”

“It’s far too late for that. Besides, you don’t think Sam told me straight away the first time he fucked you? Knotted you? You’ve got him spinning, he’s so enamored he can’t see the forest through the trees.”

“You will not speak to me like this.” You sputter, trying to stand but slipping on the hardening snow only to sit back down, anger building inside you. “You are out of line.”

“Please,” Dean’s on a roll now, unable to temper his disdain as he glares at you. “The worst part of all this that you don’t even understand what it is that you’re playing at. After Ruby, I thought he’d learned his lesson. But I should have known he’ll always be deceived by a beautiful face. He’s supposed to be the one with the level head but not with you whispering to him in the night like some kind of siren.”

“Stop!” You cry, clutching your fists. Tears spill over the edge of your eyes, utterly gutted by his unwarranted hostility. He hates you. No, this is more than hate.

Somewhere along the way you’ve become the enemy.

“You’re brave though, I’ll give you that.” He laughs dryly, waving his finger. “Telling him to stay in your bed during his rut-”

“He can’t!” It’s Philip who pipes up, the exclamation leaving his lips before he can stop himself, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind his reaction.

“Aye,” Dean nods, looking from Philip to you. “She’s convinced him that it’s the only way.”

“He’s my husband!” you spit back, leaning forward to counter. “A wife wanting to keep her husband from another woman is certainly not out of the ordinary.”

“And if you survive it, he’ll be even more bewitched, won’t he? Wrapped around your finger out of loyalty and obligation. My God,” Dean hisses, unrestrained disgust seeping from his veins. “It must be worth it, whatever it is that you have planned. And if it doesn’t work out you won’t be around to reap the consequences. He’ll never be able to forgive himself if he hurts you, and if all goes well you’ll give him a child by this time next year. No would be able to touch you after that.”

“You sir, are out of line,” you whisper, vibrating with anger and shock, hardly able to believe what you’re hearing.

“Sam always said I was the one who was out of control but there’s something between your legs that melts his reason-”

“Enough,” Philip is beside you now. Your eyes widen as he stands tall and Dean rises in opposition. He shouldn’t speak, certainly not challenge the brother of the king. “You don’t hear the things I hear. He hurts her, she calls out when he’s-”

Philip realizes his insolence mid sentence, stopping short and looking in horror to Dean.

“I’m so sorry, my lord.” He bows his head, clasping his hands together.

“Watch your tongue,” Dean snorts, turning at you. “You think you have everyone fooled, but not me, little witch. I’m watching.”

He kicks a load of snow onto the fire and heads toward his horse.

“We should go, the sun will be setting soon and you need to back inside the walls before dark.” Philip walks off as well, leaving you by the dying fire in shock and confusion.

-

You’re seated in front of the fire in a self-made nest of blankets, trying to get warm. Your mother always told people you have thin blood, every time there was a breeze you asked for a cloak and in the winter you were never able to stay warm. It’s worse here, Lebanon has brutal winters and once you get cold it’s nearly impossible to warm up.

Watching the flame you replay Dean’s words over and over in your brain. You’ve rarely been on the receiving end of such contempt, even your mother was far more uninterested than spiteful, but Dean hates you with a vengeance, that much is clear.

You’ve just fallen asleep when Sam returns, inching into the room trying to stay quiet. He spots you asleep on the floor and smiles, untying his cloak and toeing off his boots.

Hearing the rustle you sit up, spying him in the shadows.

“Hello,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks. “You’re late, I was starting to worry.”

“We got caught up…” he cocks his head, reaching into the basin of water on the side table, splashing water on his face and rinsing his hands off. “Have you been crying?”

“No,” you sniffle, rolling your eyes at your inability to remain composed. “Perhaps a bit.”

“Why?” He slinks toward you, illuminated by the firelight. Watching you carefully he sinks down, reaching out to cup your jaw. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Your brother is an absolute ass.” You shake your head. Dean’s awful words come back into memory, spurring more tears. “And I am a child for letting his words bother me so.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Sam rumbles, reaching out and scooting forward in tandem until you're between his legs. Big, strong arms engulf you as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. “You’re shivering, did you just return?”

“No, the midwife thinks I have poor veins.” Feeling the warmth and strength you felt against his chest, happy to have at least one person who wants you in his life. “Please, don’t tell Dean I was like this. I shouldn’t like to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had such an effect on me.”

“What did he say?” Sam strokes your hair softly, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Nothing that I wish I repeat.”

Above all else, you’re stubborn. You always have been. Telling you not to do something only sparks the need for you to prove your aforementioned detractor wrong. And you’re going to prove Dean wrong.

“Let’s go to bed,” Sam presses a kiss into your hair. “Take your nightdress off, it’ll be easier to warm up that way.”

You both disrobe, crawling into the cold bed only to be surrounded by Sam’s raw, animal heat. His body radiates warmth, his skin on yours does the trick as you sink into this safe place.

“Sam, you’ll stay with me when your rut comes, won’t you?” you whisper, wiggling your backside into the softness of his belly. “You promised me you would try. I need to know you won’t go to her.”

“This is what you’re worried about?” His lips are at your shoulder, hot breath curling like smoke that sends a shiver down your spine. “What did my brother say to you?”

“This isn’t about him. I need to hear you say the words, promise me.”

Sam hums at the shell of your ear before nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I promise you.”

[faejilly]

Okay, after seeing the Briar Rose one, I *have* to sent an ask for the shipping meme. Since we're on tiny fandoms, how about Choice of Romance/Affairs of the Court? For de Vega and an MC of your choice.

LUIS DE VEGA! And my Isabel de Flores, of course. [shipping meme]

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter

Luis de Vega is a terrifying hunter, quiet and patient and capable of watching and stalking his prey for years beyond the point they thought they’d gotten away.

Isabel knows exactly what it’s like to be trapped and judged for who you are and all the things you cannot change.

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman

Luis hates fishing, it’s undignified and frequently smells bad. (He likes being very good at manipulating people’s perceptions. He’s a very competent merman, sleek and shimmering as he disappears between the waves.)

Isabel will be good at fishing if she has to. She refuses to be bad at things if she has any say in the matter whatsoever.

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar

They are both familiars to the evil witch that is the Monarch, of course, and there’s nothing else to compare to the feeling when they are finally both free.

(And together, in a much better way than all those years working side-by-side but in too much danger to ever really reach for more.)

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict

Luis wants sweet coffee, but feels that undermines he’s vaguely terrifying reputation, so Isabel is very careful to make it in such a way that no one else ever notices.

who’s the professor and who’s the TA

When they meet? Luis is definitely the professor, the mentor, the man of power, and he is pleasantly surprised by how well Isabel holds her own, even before they are truly partners and equals.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)

HE RIDES A HORSE TO COME RESCUE HER HEART AT THE END OF MY GAME, WHAT DO YOU THINK?

For all he rescues his Princess, I do think she saved him first, however, by making sure he never crossed too many lines in his service to the Monarch; he never would have forgiven himself if he had, and he would have, more than once, if not for her standing there in the shadows of the Court, and knowing he’d have to meet her eyes again the next day.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent

Oh no imagine the world where Isabel’s parents weren’t just broke but gone, and it’s just her and her siblings facing the world.

/Luis’ heart would break for them, wouldn’t it?

who’s the writer and who’s the editor

Luis is sure he’s fine and he doesn’t need an editor.

(But everyone can do better with just a little help, can’t they?)

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary:  With the help of the baby he found along the way, Mr. Banana sets out to rescue Princess Floria. If he can return her to Paris, she should be able to end Lord Gabriel's war on magical creatures. He'll only have to fight off giant lollipop monsters, Mayura's minions, and his own feelings along the way.

Word Count:  3082 | Chapter 1/2

Notes: I blame @botherkupo. Floria’s her name for August’s mom. Overall I’m torn between pride and regret at writing this. i wont tag maddy bc i think she’s suffered enough for her sins

XXX

“Lollipop!” The baby—Mr. Banana had taken to calling him Greenie, on account of his radioactive green eyes—cried out and tried to clutch at the castle in the distance.

“No, it’s not a lollipop,” Mr. Banana laughed as he adjusted Greenie on his hip. It did look like one, though, with the swirling stripes and colorful shingles on its turrets. “Here you go, little guy. This is even better than a lollipop.”

He stopped walking to bend down and pluck another onion from the ground. Some people thought he lived off of nothing but bananas, and that that was the reason he looked the way he did.  It always boggled him. Didn’t they know that would be like cannibalism? But onions—now those were a vegetable he could get behind.

Sometimes he chose to pretend it was his onion breath that kept all the other fairy tale creatures away, and not the fact that he was a giant sentient banana.

“Lollipop?” Greenie tried holding the onion by its tall grassy top, as if it were a stick. When the onion drooped, he spun it around like it was the heroic Ladybug’s magic yo-yo. 

At least the baby was entertained. Mr. Banana had run out of lollipops about ten kilometers ago, so it was the best he could do.

Unfortunately, that meant that he had to carry Greenie instead of Greenie carrying him.

“At least I’ll have some nice biceps to impress the princess with.”  He flexed his free arm and grinned.  Well, he was already grinning.  His face just sort of did that, no matter how he was feeling.  His neighbors probably found that more unsettling than the onion breath.

Greenie didn’t mind, though.  He just gurgled and swung his onion at Mr. Banana’s peel.

Two hours and one diaper change later, Mr. Banana stood in the castle’s shadow.

“Lollipop,” Greenie said with wide eyes.  Mr. Banana held him close, patting his back.  The castle might look disarming with all its pastel colors, but Lord Gabriel had told him that a terrible monster guarded the princess inside.

Not for the first time, Mr. Banana wondered if this quest was worth it.  Lord Gabriel wanted him to retrieve Princess Floria, who had been imprisoned by the enigmatic witch Mayura over a year ago.  Mr. Banana didn’t understand all the details.  He just knew that Lord Gabriel said the princess’ brilliant red hair could heal any ailment.

Maybe it could even Mr. Banana into a human.

No point in getting his hopes up about that, though.  He still had to actually save the princess first.

“You’d better stay outside, Greenie.”  He set the baby down in a patch of grass.  “It might be dangerous in there.”

“Nana?”  He reached out, opening and closing his tiny fists.  His radioactive eyes were wide, like he was about to cry.

Mr. Banana’s grin faltered.  “I’ll be right back.  I promise.”

Ever since Mr. Banana had saved Greenie from Lord Gabriel’s minions, they’d been attached like apples and bananas.  Magical creatures like himself and the baby weren’t safe in Paris.  Hopefully, Princess Floria could change that.

Mr. Banana saluted the baby before pushing open the heavy castle door.

“Stay peachy, little guy.”

XXX

The inside of the castle was just as bright as the outside.  Weren’t castles supposed to be dark and scary?  But this one was decorated with bright purple and blue swirls across the walls and up the pillars.  It was prettier than Mr. Banana’s lonely swamp, honestly.

But pretty or not, the castle was lonely.  Mr. Banana hadn’t seen a single sign of life.  Was the princess actually here?  If no one was guarding her, wouldn’t she have just run away?

Maybe there were guards further inside, near the tower.  He’d better be careful.

He pushed open another large door.  This one was pinky-orange, like a soft ripe peach.  His stomach rumbled; he should’ve eaten that onion on the way here.

“Woah,” he breathed when he entered the room.  “Greenie would love this.”

Giant lollipops seemed to grow along the walls of the chamber.  Were they part of the castle’s magic?  Or did Princess Floria spend her days gardening lollipops to pass the time? ...Could you even garden lollipops?  He didn’t think so, but then again, most people didn’t think living bananas existed, either.

No time to get distracted, though.  He crept through the chamber, leaving footprints in the thin layer of sugar that dusted the floor.  If his were the only footprints here, he could at least be pretty sure the room was deserted.

A low rumble sounded from the far end of the room.  

Okay, not deserted then.  

He froze as a cluster of lollipops peeled from the walls, then latched together like the limbs of a saccharine golem.  Despite not having a face, it seemed to swivel to look at him.

“Uh-oh.” He gulped.

Time to make like a banana and split.

He dashed down a corridor branching off of the chamber.  The thundering footsteps of the lollipop monster crashed behind him.  That thing would be too fast to outrun, and his potassium-filled heart was already beating as fast as it could go.  Should he dive out a window?  No, the castle was at the edge of a cliff; he’d end up mush in the chasm below.  But this hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and the monster was gaining on him.

He tripped over the plush carpet.  This was it.  After everything, he was going to get crushed by a giant lollipop monster.

But if he was gone—who would take care of Greenie?

He rolled to the side, and the monster’s lollipop fist shattered the floor where he’d been lying.  That could be him next, if he didn’t get up soon.

He scrambled to his feet, but still nearly slipped into the fresh hole.  That dark abyss was not peachy.

“Wait—that’s it!”  He grinned.  (Well, he was already grinning, but his heart was in it now.)

He dashed further down the hall while the monster was shaking the dust from its spherical fist.  Then, he removed a section of his peel.  There was no time for blushing modesty; he dropped it on the floor and kept running.

A few moments later, he heard a giant crash.  Hopefully the monster slipping on the peel.  He didn’t look back to check.

He finally reached a spiral staircase at the end of the hall, and sprinted up the steps two at a time.

XXX

“Wow,” Mr. Banana whispered as he reached the top of the tower.  He could’ve stared at the gossamer curtains, or the plush carpet, or the broken bits of lollipop hung from the ceiling, catching the afternoon light like stained glass.  But each of those things only got a passing glance.

The real beauty was the princess lying sprawled on the couch.

Her limbs were askew; one arm hung off the side, fingers dangling in a piece of peach pie.  (Clearly she had good taste.)  A soft snore escaped her, sending his heart stuttering.  But the most stunning thing about her was her brilliant red hair.  It fell around her face in waves.  One strand was stuck in her mouth, and seemed to be plastered to her cheek with drool.

He hated to wake her when she was sleeping so soundly, but he had no idea when the lollipop monster would right itself, or if it could fit up through the spiral stairs.  Either way, he would surely have to get Princess Floria past it.  He hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet.

“Um, Princess?”  He stepped forward and tapped her shoulder.  

No response other than a louder snore.  This wasn’t some kind of magical sleep, was it?  In all the stories, true love’s kiss could wake any unconscious princess, but that wouldn’t help him.  He was a banana.  He couldn’t be anyone’s true love.

“Princess Floria?”  He shook her a little harder.

“Ah!”  She bolted upright, fists swinging.

He yelped and sprung back, but not before taking a punch to the nose.  “Ow...”

“Oh my gosh.” Floria’s eyes widened.  Her hands covered her mouth.  “Are you okay?  I’m so sorry, I’m—wait, who are you?”

He flashed his best grin (well, his normal grin) and flexed his arms.  “I’m your knight in shining peel, Princess.  Here to rescue you from this castle.”  

She took him in from stem to toe.  Maybe he should have worried about modesty—it would take a day for that strip of peel to grow back, and he was painfully aware of how naked his side would look. Still, he wouldn’t let his worry show.  She didn’t have to like him; she just had to come with him.

And, hopefully, fix his curse.

“You—you’re a banana.”

“Mr. Banana, actually.”  That’s what he’d taken to calling himself, anyway.  If he had a real name, no one had ever bothered to tell him.  Maybe he should’ve picked something a little more… normal-sounding.  Well, he could pick a new one if he got to become human.  

He was thinking Louis.  That had a nice ring to it.

“Is this some kind of joke?”  Princess Floria asked.  Whatever remorse she’d had for punching him had vanished.  She rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, scraping off the dried drool.  “Why did Mayura send you?  Isn’t trapping me here enough?”

“Mayura—?  No, I’ve never met her.  Lord Gabriel sent me, actually.  He said Mayura should be on vacation this week.”

“Oh, that’s so much better.”  She crossed her arms, getting peach filling on the sleeve of her green dress.  “Mayura may be a witch, but I trust her on one thing.  Gabriel’s more of a heartless monster than any creature she’s created.”

Mr. Banana blinked.  None of this was going how he imagined.

“So, uh… does that mean you don’t want me to rescue you…?”

She sighed.  “Sorry.  None of this is your fault.  I’ve just—it’s been a long time, and talking to the sentimonsters gets pretty boring after a while.  Mayura only comes around when she wants to vent about something, so… yeah.  Shall we?”

She held out her hand, as if expecting him to help her to her feet.  That hand happened to be the one with peach pie still stuck to it.

He shrugged and tugged her up.  “Guess we shall.”

XXX

“You didn’t slay the monster?”  The princess gaped while crouching behind him.

Mr. Banana stared over the side of the spiral staircase, where the lollipop monster was trying to shove its bulbous fist through the handrail’s supporting bars.

“I’m a banana!  I don’t know anything about killing monsters!”

“Then why did Lord Gabriel even send you?”

“I was the only one who would try!”  

He was the only one with nothing to lose.  Well, except Greenie, but the baby would’ve been taken by Lord Gabriel if Mr. Banana hadn’t complied.

The sentimonster shook the staircase again.  If he didn’t find a way out soon, the structure would crumble right into the monster’s sugary clutches.

“You couldn’t just eat the lollipop thing, could you?”  Mr. Banana grinned at the princess.

She gave him a deadpan stare.  “Not any more than I could just eat you.”

Sweat beaded on the outside of his peel.  “R-right.  Just throwing out ideas.”

He couldn’t make the monster slip again; its feet were already planted on the ground.  Maybe he could slip through its legs?  But he wasn’t confident he could carry Princess Floria at the same time.

The princess gripped the railing with white knuckles.  “Maybe we could—”

“Lollipop!”  A high-pitched voice interrupted her.

Mr. Banana’s eyes widened.  He leaned over the rail, searching the floor below.

“Greenie!”  He spotted the baby crawling towards the monster.  His dark brown face was powdered with sugar, but those radioactive eyes were unmistakable.  (Plus, there probably wasn’t another baby in the castle.) 

“Is that—August!”  The princess shouted.

And then, before Mr. Banana could stop her, she leapt over the railing.

“Floria!”  He reached out, but she was falling, falling, her green dress billowing up around her.  The sentimonster swung at her, but she gripped the stick of its arm and flipped from it like an acrobat on a trapeze.

Mr. Banana gaped as she stuck the landing.  She… she was incredible.

She scooped up Greenie while Mr. Banana was still tripping down the stairs.  The sentimonster couldn’t move fast, but it was still too big to outrun, especially if the princess was carrying a baby.

“Lollipop!”  Greenie wailed while Princess Floria rushed him away.

“Right, banana-split up!  Keep the monster confused.  Brilliant,” Mr. Banana said.

Well, it would have been brilliant, if it worked.  The monster only seemed interested in Floria.

He dashed after them, trying to keep up with the monster’s lumbering steps.

“Lollipop!  Lollipop!”  Greenie still screamed.  Now wasn’t the time for the baby’s sugar addiction— 

Or was it?

“Princess!”  Mr. Banana shouted from behind the monster.  He could still see her running away through the wide gap in its legs.  “Put Greenie down!”

“What?”

“The baby!  You’ve got to put him down!”

“Are you out of your mind?  I’m not losing my son again!”

Her—what?

But like it or not, she didn’t have a choice.  The sentimonster’s heavy step shook the floor, and she tripped, barely managing to curl around the baby as she fell.

“Lollipoooooooooop!”  Greenie squirmed from her embrace.

This had better work, Mr. Banana thought with a grimace.  Magical, monstrous lollipops might not trigger Greenie’s transformation like the ones he’d stolen from the town.  They might not even be edible.

That didn’t stop Greenie from latching onto the monster’s foot and licking it anyway.

Suddenly, Greenie grew to enormous size.  Purple and pink spandex stretched over his dark skin, so thankfully none of them had to deal with the problems of a giant naked baby.  Just a normal giant baby.

“A-august?” The princess gasped.  “What’s happened to you…?”

“No time to explain.”  Mr Banana grabbed her wrist and tugged her along.  “He’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?  You’re a talking banana who cursed my son and wants me to leave him with a monster!”

“Lollipop!”  Greenie—no, August, apparently—laughed and picked up the sentimonster with both hands.

Then he stuck its head in his mouth.

“Y’know, I think I feel worse for the monster right now,” Mr. Banana said.  “I’m sure he’ll find us when he’s done.”

She glanced over her shoulder one last time before nodding.

Then she hiked up her skirts, and they ran.

XXX

Ten minutes later, August crashed through the castle wall, still clutching bits of chewed-up lollipop in his chubby fists.

“Lollipop,” he announced proudly.

“Fantastic job, Gree—er, August.” Mr. Banana beamed.

“Are you going to tell me why my son is the size of a house now?” Princess Floria asked once she’d finally caught her breath. She straightened from where her hands had rested on her knees.

“Nana,” August crouched beside them. His eye was as tall as the Princess, and it took her in with curiosity. “Who?”

“You remember me.” The princess’ voice was pained. “Ma-ma. I’m Mama, August.”

“Ma...ma?” The giant baby frowned, then looked at Mr. Banana. “Na-na.”

“I’m sorry.” He fought to turn his tetanic grin upside-down. “You’ve been in that tower for over a year, haven’t you?  Do you think he…”

Princess Floria didn’t meet his eyes.  Probably for the best, since he shouldn’t bother finishing that sentence.  It would only make her feel worse.

Instead she scooted closer to August, resting her hand against his giant foot.

“He doesn’t remember me.”  She bowed her head.

“Pretty,” August said, patting her red hair softly.

She choked out a laugh.  “Thanks, sweetie.”

She wiped her eyes before turning back to Mr. Banana.  He froze, still feeling like he was intruding on this mother-son moment.

“You brought my son back to me.  Even if I don’t know who you are, or how you did it, I suppose I owe you for that.”

His heart pounded.  This could be where he asked her to heal him.  To turn him human.  If she even could.  He had no proof that he was like August; once normal, but cursed by Hawkmoth’s evil taint.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he ended up saying instead.  “You’re free now.  To take August and go… wherever you want, I guess.”

She frowned up at her son, who had taken to picking tiles from the castle roof and tossing them into the river that flowed at the base of the cliff.

“Will he be okay?  I mean… will he go back to normal?”

“In about an hour.  He only changes if you let him eat lollipops.”  Mr. Banana smiled.

“Okay… weird, but convenient.  No more sugar for you, huh, baby?”

August ignored her, blowing raspberries as he continued deconstructing the castle like it was made of legos.

“You might want to leave now.  While August is still big enough to carry you.” Mr. Banana said, though his heart ached at the thought of returning to isolation.  But he couldn’t ask Floria to return with him to Lord Gabriel.  He doubted she’d do it, considering her opinion of the man.  Besides, she deserved to be free, to finally raise her son.

Maybe he could take her place here.  Living alone in a castle would be better than living alone in a swamp, wouldn’t it?  At least here he’d have a lifetime supply of candy.  

Mayura might come back and demand to know what happened to Floria, though.  

“Leave?  But… alone?”  The princess wrapped her arms around herself.  “I’ve been alone for so long… and August seems to like you, even if you are a talking banana…”

Mr. Banana chose to ignore that half-insult.  It was better than what he usually got when people talked to him.

“Are you saying I—I can come with you?”  He asked.

“Well, you are my knight in shining peel, are you not?”  She smirked.  “Plus, I think August might listen better to you.”

Listen was a bit of a stretch, but Mr. Banana still grinned.

“Greenie!”  He cooed, and August dropped the brick he was playing with to blink at him.  “Up?  We go up?”

“Up!”  August threw his hands in the air.

Then after a bit more coaxing, he picked up Mr. Banana and Princess Floria, and they were off to…

Well, hopefully somewhere safe.

[eagesoldartblog]

fantasy au w/ lewthur or lewvithur where one or more of them is royalty/a high ranking noble? no pressure but id love to see your take on it :0

I PUT IN SO MUCH TIME INTO THIS, BEcause this is an actual fic I want to write, so THANK YOU for this. B U T this actually has two parts, because,,, It became ten pages lONG. 

Claiming The Prince’s Heart

Sunlight beams through fleece clouds, filtering its rays through the thickets of yellowing canopy, and shining down on the blanket of red leaves coating the forest floor. A torrent of a river is not too far off, streaming water that was so clear and reflective that you could make the stars out in them. Accompanied by her own heavy steps, and the prince’s behind her. It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to come out here, I’ll have to make sure to give him my thanks. Of course..

“Dame Vivi,” She turns, head bowed, smiling. Unable to help the pull of her lip, it wasn’t every day that she got to see her highness. Especially not like this. With his hands clasped tightly together and eyes darting around every which way, a hint of rosiness blossoming in his cheek- whether it was from the mild chill or his utter delight on being let outside for once- well, it wouldn’t have made a difference. “Thank you for accompanying me out here today. I promise that it has left me with nothing less than gratitude and ecstasy, I will make sure you are rewarded handsomely for your sacrifice-”

“Your highness, with all due respect,” 

“Yes?” He continues to smile, but now it is almost perfect, a replication of a doll. 

“You dont have to address my like other nobles, your highness.” 

Arthur noticably deflated. His prim and proper smile dropping with a sigh and he sags forward, “Thank the good heavens.. I was wondering when you’d give me the go ahead..” He mumbles, pressing his fingers into his cheeks and forcibly massaging them. The ache must have been unbearable! Vivi snorts into her palm- accidentally bumping her nose in too far.

“You know, you don’t have to wait for me,” she explains, and part of her wonders how many times he has, but with a flick of her wrist, and grabbing his attention, she adds, “you could just begin to address me casually as soon as we step out.”

“And let the other guards and ad-advisors think you’re a seduc-ductress in disguise?” Arthur crosses his arms, nodding his head back to the castle with a bitterness clouding his eyes, Vivi only laughed more, “Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Haha! How funny. To think!” Taking a step forward, Vivi takes his wrist and holds it up, pulling him into her, leading him into a twirl, “The one dame they have been sending you out with every season is the one slowly undoing all of their precious work!” His disdain melts away, and he falls with her elegantly- he must have learned the dance recently. Vivi lets go of Arthur and drapes herself dramatically against a nearby tree, feigning despair, “Oh, the tragedy!”

A hand flashes out before her, and despite the anxiety Vivi could feel from its slacked position a dazzling warmth dancing across his face instead, “The Greeks will have a thrill recounting our t-tales.”

“Our downfalls,” She takes his, pulling him into the clearing.

Bad idea, Arthur’s eyes dart in every which direction, “O-our triumphs,” before his expression shifts and- 

“Into the great fall of the Hidorian kingdom!” They sing in usion, before Arthur bursts into a fit of cackling giggles, muffled by his own hand slapping a hand over his mouth. Raising her eyebrow, Vivi couldn’t help but laugh as well. But what made him this hysterical..? Dread? Is a war on the way?

“Well, i’m glad to hear you’re still in good spirits, your highness..” Standing straight, she returns to his side and places a hand on his shoulder- ignoring how he stiffens, “But you don’t usually joke about .. that. Is something up? Everything going alright with your healer?”

A shallow breath, and he stands straight. Any amount of cheeriness they just had vanished in an instant. “… Ah, yeah, it’s fine..” Frowning, Vivi crosses her arms, able to tell by the shudder in Arthurs shoulders that there was bound to be more. Swinging around- far too exaggerated than one would ever assume of a prince, his voice spills out of his mouth faster than he thought, “Well! things are-! Uh They are k-kinda difficult! But-! But, it’ll be alright in the end. No- nothing.. Will fall or- be destroyed or- or .. anything!”

“Hm.” Arthur freezes in his place, eyes wide and lit like candle flames, tucking her hands behind her back, Vivi leans forward barely an inch, “I won’t push if you desire, but what do you mean? Surely something must be wrong for you to talk about the end of our name.” Slowly approaching him, Vivi watches his shoulders ride up into his ears and his eyes dart from the trees, the grass and finally back to her. As if worried that someone else will hear. 

Cringing, Arthur bites his lip, “Well… I- we… “ In the distance a twig snaps- most likely from a squirrel- but Arthur jolts hard and jumps into a ridiculously panicked pose, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed together, breath rapid. 

“Your highness,” he flinches again, gaze shifting one last time before realization dawned on him… how ludicrous he was being. “This… you cannot speak a word of this to anyone. Understand?” 

With a nod, Vivi lets her arms cross and her eyes soften- hopefully lending an ounce of peace to Arthur. 

“We-we..  figured I am still a hopeless romantic,” A rush of blood filling his cheeks, averting his gaze, “The priestess worries I’ve been .. st-struck by cupid’s arrow, and considering the curse… I… “ Arms folding, he clutches the fabric tightly and gnaws on his lip- hard enough to be noticeable, and Vivi resists the urge to warn him against it.

But the fear that noticeably coursed through his body. Hard shadows reflecting that onto the otherwise vibrant scenery around them. A cold wind slamming into them at the same time. For good reason too.

That wouldn’t stop her. Moving closer, Vivi resists the urge to take him by the shoulders and hold him close in a hug, “Yes? Did someone catch your eye?” 

Arthur pauses, eyeing her carefully. His eyebrows furrowed together and for half a second his lip quivered. 

Before his smile- lacking anything real- returns and his shoulders sink, “You can say that, Dame Vivi. Hopefully in the coming years, it won’t be an issue anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

Arthur tilts his head, “You ask a lot, don’t you?”

“When I hear any news concerning my prince and my kingdom, I must know every detail. To quell my aching heart.” Her heart was racing, slamming against her chest. Whatever fear she felt wouldn’t find its way onto her face, however. Not when he was already under this stress. 

He didn’t relax. Instead the artificial structure of his posture and expression had become especially more fabricated. “A witch is on his way to the kingdom tonight. Do you by chance recall the name, Lewis Pepper?”

“Lewis Pepper of Paradiso. A promising Witch who stumbled upon the kingdom at the age of five. Possessing the great prowess of a Shaman- able to communicate and control the unknown realm with minor complication. A prodigy who had been taken in by the monks to properly train and learn.” Vivi recites, spouting off the information like it was her own name. Of course she would know his name. All Knights and Dames are required to learn the names and attributes of all known magic users- whether affiliated with religion or not. 

Magic never fails, and its power of the three realms is even more so. But harnessable by human beings? Humans who are driven to madness over a single thought and possessing ambitions beyond themselves? 

Leaving those of that nature unchecked is a death sentence. Everyone knew this.

Arthur tilts his head, “I’m pleased, then I won’t have to give another explanation. Tonight, he will be arriving here, and we will be performing a ritual. One that will hopefully cure me of this dreaded hex.”

“What-!” Vivi gasps. Mouth hanging open, several thoughts jumbling up and smacking together in a buzzing train of thought, “But-!…” Questions are about to fly, but Arthurs expression shifts from empty kindness and content to a look that a testy tyrant would wear. Daring her. Vivi grinds her teeth, takes a short breath, and straightens up, “Ahem, my dearest apologies your highness. That is excellent news, and I am delighted to hear it. However, I do have concerns.”

“And what would those concerns be?” 

Taking a deep breath, Vivi looks him in the eyes, and doesn’t flinch when she meets Arthur’s face again, “I mean no disrespect, but hasn’t previous attempts at this exact thing been a failure? Not only that, but you must be aware of his… condition.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“Reverend Pepper isn’t completely human.”

Arthur’s eyes widen for hardly a second, before he closes his eyes and nods, “We are well aware of his inhumane status. In fact, during the ritual, several more priests and witches- all under our own name- will be overlooking the rituals. As well as a charge of Dames and Knights.”

She hums, and her shoulders sag, nodding as her mind begins to drift, picturing the worst case scenarios, “Of course. I can only imagine that there would be ample security.”

“Dame Vivi.” 

She straightens up again.

“Would you like to join the onlookers tonight?” 

Heart stillen, Vivi gulps. 

“I would feel much safer with you present.” 

A carriage rolls across the dirt path - its wheels filled with creaking and its occupants spoke silent chatterings with hushed whispers - slowly approaches the secret entrance to the grand Hidorian palace. A sheltered and hidden part of the castle, where no civilian should be able to locate and travel inside without the consultant of the guards and council. 

Now, a great gathering of guards, priests and scribes were settled around its gate. The great councils and advisors of the king and the prince stood tall. Lacking care for how their fine robes draped against the ground and was stained by its dirt. Of course, none would dare mention it in the presence of the King and the Prince. 

Those two stood in the front and center of the gathering, watching the carriage roll through without a sound. 

Arthur shuffles in his spot, fists tightly pressed to his hips. Beads of sweat threaten to slide down his cheek as his anxiety grows with each creak of those wheels. Lip pulled in a nervous frown, Arthur spares the king a look, “Your majesty-”

“That isn’t my name, Arthur.” 

Uncle. Arthur spares his uncle a look, and he coughs back the urge to mention how that was inappropriate. But then again- who was going to tell them how to address one another? “Fine- Lance, uh-” As the words come out, it became abundantly clear that he didn’t have a single clue on what to ask the shorter man- who now peers over to him with an eyebrow raised, which was in itself very reminiscent of how he looked much earlier in life when his brother was king and he was a simple black smith who didn’t take anything from anyone and-

“Arthur.” 

He swallows back the urge to whine, forcing his gaze back to the carriage. He can almost see the outline of the Witch through the sun kissed tarps- and god did he look massive. Arthurs shoulders sank along with his heart and finally his brain spits out something, “Just- just nervous. I- ahem, I worry if this ritual will work, or if there will be any spies within their group or-” 

“There is no need to worry, your highness.” A priestess takes a step beside him, and her comforting presence does nothing to take away the unease on his shoulders. He meets her gaze, and it’s obvious she feels the same. It’s been this way ever since their last.. meeting. Blond hair in tight coils against her scalp, and her look of worry even more prominent, Madam Chloe continues, “According to the advisors, only Reverend Pepper will be present during the ritual.” 

“And his companions will not be coming forth into the castle.” An advisor- Duet- mentions from behind him. Arthur spares them a glance, and instead of the usual look of stoic content, there was twinges of worry lacing their features. Much like the rest of the Knights and Dames, as well as the priests and nuns and … everyone. 

It did nothing to ease the stress in his shoulders, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t expected. It was always this way. Arthur reminds himself, switching his attention back to the carriage, which finally stopped. Its Coach man lifting the door that held the key to his own salvation. 

Stepping out, was truly a monster of a man. Dressed in dark robes and wooly hair pulled back in a conservative manner, and glassy purple eyes shifting to meet his gaze. This time Arthur couldn’t even begin to process the sheer magnitude of him. Not only that but how… terrifying it was to be in his presence. He’s heard many times of what this man looks like, how tall he is, and how strong he is due to his inhuman nature. Except now it was real, and it was triple his expectation. 

But despite that, somehow, Reverend Pepper had… such a gentleness to his eye. A calm smile and his presence seemed to exude peace. All despite being a witch. Arthur gulps back his anxiety, straightening up, and looks him in the eye. 

“Welcome, Reverend Pepper. We are humbled to make your acquaintance. Was the trip smooth and stress free.” 

Pepper, chuckling the smallest bit, nods, “It was delightful to take in the scenery of your kingdom your majesty. It truly is the city of gold. However, if I may, you do not refer to me by that title. Lewis will do.” 

Arthur’s throat tightened, nodding a bit too quickly, “Lewis, of course. Please call me Arthur.” He takes a step forward and holds out his hand, suddenly overly aware of his actions when several eyes pin to his back, both from his side and Lewis’s. 

One must never knowingly take the hands of a caster, for they may be able to grab your soul through your hand and make you their servant. The lesson repeats in his head seven times before he noticed Lewis tilting his head, amused. 

“My, I didn’t take you for someone so trusting,” Lewis says, thoughtfully watching him and- to much of the horror of everyone else- takes Arthur’s hand firmly, “Thank you for allowing me the pleasure to help you, your highness. I will not fail you.”

As the King, Prince, and Witch spoke to one another, the tense and active air growing more screwed up and yet relaxed with the easy conversation. Neither the king nor Arthur paying the frightful bunches any mind. 

Madam Chloe feels a presence beside her, and eyes boring into her. Whether or not Duet wanted to speak to her, she didn’t turn her head to him. Keeping her hands clasped together and her eyes trained on every movement the prince made. 

Finally, a low whisper, “Do they seem untrustworthy to you, Madam Chloe?”

“No,” she admits, swallowing her tongue back, her fists tighten, “no, the chances of him doing anything is slim. I promise.” Nothing emitted from the man to show otherwise. No malice, no hatred, and all metallic clinks and trinkets within his robes weren’t the angry and swift voice of fallen victims, but instead a smooth, calming voice of a healer. And yet, her stomach twists and folds into knots, and Duet seemed to notice. If they were the only ones present, there’s a chance they would have placed a hand on her shoulder. Her mouth burned, but she kept her teeth ground shut. 

Duet must have heard it too, because they turn to her and watch her twitchy movements. They sigh, and turn to the King and Prince. “Your majesty, your highness.” The two turn back to him, King Lance’s expression unreadably gruff and Prince Arthur’s so obviously panicked. From behind them, Reverend Pepper leaned forward with interest- as well as everyone else. Duet continues on, “Madam Chloe and I need a moment to discuss some important matters. With your permission, may we take our leave?” 

King Lance stares at them fixedly, appearing uncaring for a single moment until it occurs to Madam Chloe just how much he seemed to debate that thought in his head. A glint being her only hint, and the rest being the grueling sensation of his aura. Tearing into her like paper. 

Do not lash out. She reminds herself, hiding her twisting fists out of sight. Only able to hope that he wouldn’t suspect anything from the two. 

“Granted,” The king says, snapping Chloe out of her spur and her eyes widen a fraction before she reminds herself to stay calm, unwavering. “Take one of the Dames or Knights with you.” 

Duet holds up a hand, “Your majesty, that wouldn’t be necessary-” 

“Take one with you. For security measures.” King Lance repeats, and this time they both knew that defying him further would end up with them in their deathbeds. Bowing their head, Duet nods.

“Of course, your Majesty. Please forgive my ignorance.” 

Chloe lifts her head more, tearing her gaze away from the king, and landing on the prince. Arthur. Who stared at her, with so much fear hidden in his eyes, fear and terror. 

I’m sorry, Arthur. 

A knight walks up to them, “Shall we be on our way?” he asks, and Chloe doesn’t respond, allowing her eyes to downcast, guilt welling up in her throat like glue. 

“Of course.” 

__

A woman was shackled to the wall. Her feet shackles as well. Her head hung low, and she didn’t move much besides for her gentle breathing- attempting to not breathe in too harshly and activate her sinuses. These dungeons were far too dirty to have breathable air. A harsh stench of a decaying body reached her nose, as well as the freely spoken words of the guards and knights of who to alert. 

”We failed to keep this one alive, what should we explain to the Captain?”

”Explain that it was the magician. It appears they casted a spell on themselves to ease them into Death’s embrace.”

The first knight scoffs, or laughs, she couldn’t tell. ”A coward’s way out, I tell you. Can’t even die with dignity.”

She cared to disagree, searching through the murky depths of her own vision to take in her own clothes. Stained with blood, powder, and losing the glow of protection she casted onto herself. Soon, she’s going to become hungry, and shrivel up in pain, wishing for anything to eat. If the Hidorian kingdom was like any other. They would leave her to starve. Or, perhaps keep her hanging onto life for as long as possible, to get answers, to show her origin, to- 

Heavy clicks fills her ears, and the knights who were posted fell silent. The scrap of metal gliding against metal alluding to the possibility that they were bowing in respect. ”Advisor Duet, It is a pleasure to see you here.”

”As well as to you. I have heard reports of a new magician dressed in green being locked away in here. May I see her?” Her blond hair falls in front of her eyes as she peers down to her stained clothes- meant to blend in with the nature around her. How could they possibly think it’s strictly green?

”Y-yes! Fo-forgive us for the conditions of her cellar, we-.. We didn’t have enough room to hold her in a prope-”

”There is no need to explain to me, I know that it isn’t customary to bring prisoners to proper rooms when one had just perished. Besides, she is in need of cleansing and washing, isn’t she?”

 The knights are silent for a second, ”Y-yes, she is still covered in… magic. D-Duet! Shall we accompany you? To ensure she doesn’t pull a nasty trick-”

A laugh, low and gentle, ”That will not be necessary. Her cellar is close, am I wrong? You do not need to follow after me then. At the very least, feel free to escort me to her. I do not want to keep her waiting.” The smug tone only brought a look of a shriveled man with a snarky grin across their face. She could spit. Spit in their face for all she cared.

”Of course, Duet. We will be you to her right now.” Her arms and muscles stiffen, clenching her eyes shut, she takes a deep breath- despite the rot filling her lungs- and holds it. Steeling herself for anything. 

”Glorious.”

Three sets of footsteps, one considerably softer than the others, traverse the dim and dirty halls to her cellar. Sure enough, three silhouettes appear in front of the bars. She didn’t lift her head. Able to feel their gaze on her, locking her in place. 

“You two may disperse now. I will handle all proceedings coming forth.” The smug voice, low and nasally, ripples through the cellar just in time for one of the grated doors to open. Much to the displeasure of the two knights, but she can imagine that Duet simply waved them off, because in the next few minutes, the two knights leave. All that was left was Duet, herself, and the dingy cellar. The chains holding her grind together awkwardly. 

For a second, there’s only silence. 

“Well, hello there, young lady. Or would you rather I refer to you differently?” 

Her jaw clenches and tightens, lungs feeling full, tight, ready to burst, and without her own input, she’s looking up at them. Cheeks full of air that squeezed past her lips. They quirk an eyebrow, twisting their head. 

Despite the darkness shrouding them both, it was clear they were smiling- but if it was for contentness or asserting, she couldn’t tell. “I wonder what you’re doing that for? Mind to release your breath and explain it to me. I’m eager to learn.” 

She doesn’t. Chest tight and instead sucking in more breath. 

“Ah, I see. You don’t want to speak to me, do you?”

Her wrists pull, blood pumping. 

Their smile drops, and they nod solemnly, “Understood. Well, I will make my case quickly for you then. If you wish to ask for clarification, I would advise you to open your mouth, or show the feistiness you possessed earlier during your capture.” 

Shit, that’s right, it dawns onto her again, and her eyebrows furrowing together from discomfort. She had been screaming earlier, as dames and guards overwhelm her, pin her to the ground in the library. Snatching her tools and forcing her into submission. All in front of the Prince she was trying so hard to take down. It wasn’t her fault-! Him becoming king would result in the end of the world-! No one would allow that- Duet takes a step forward, eyes training into hers, and in retaliation she squeezes them shut. 

“Rest assured, I have done everything in my power to find a way to ensure your safety, young lady. However, the king is far more stubborn than you are, and he doesn’t typically take much mercy to magicians and sorcerers such as yourself.” Duet hums a bit to themself, “As you can perhaps imagine why. The use of magic to manipulate the supernatural is a skill that is feared by many, especially since magic never fails. You understand why the use of magic is highly regulated and in some cases, entirely outlawed, correct?” 

They wait for a few seconds, their smiles returning, “It’s because a magician, such as yourself, assassinated the rulers of various empires and kingdoms around us. Including our previous ruler, who single handedly brought our kingdom to its golden age. Your presence, your assassination of our prince, is nothing but proof that those laws are neceassary.” 

She knew, she’s always known. FIguring out magic was hard enough as it is, but with the restrictions, its only more demanding of its user. Her lungs started to burn.

“You are to be executed by dawn, do you know that?” 

It slams into her, like a brick. Any remnant of calm shatters like glass and she gasps. Choking, sputtering, gasping for air as her head spins. Executed? Why- Duet takes a step back to dodge the spit flying from her mouth. 

“For attempted assassination of our next ruler. Surely, you would have understood that when you came into our kingdoms’ courts and violated our most sacred rules.” The smugness returned, she was in his court, and as far as she knew, there was little she could do. She peers up at him, desperation lacing her oxygen deprived brain, begging. She couldn’t tell if Duet was pitying her at that moment. “But, this isn’t the first time a magic user has entered our kingdom. And you will quickly learn that it is due to myself that they’re still here.”

What..? 

“We have a Dame who is quite famous for her work, and I know that she uses magic. It is in her blood, able to summon and borrow power from a god among animals that has sworn itself to her family. It took a long while to convince the King to allow her, but because of her good image, her new found status, it was easier to convince him to allow you a chance.”

She blinks up at him, confused, and mouth hanging agape with questions and worries she couldn’t begin to fathom. 

“The prince is quite nervous, and is in need of a priest to help him rest his worries, and figure out how to live his life with a hex plaguing him. I figured, who would be better to help him than a magician turned priestess.”

“A … a priestess..? Me…?”

“Of course. Living a life of celibacy, honor and honesty. All in exchange for not perishing tomorrow. How does that sound?” 

“F… fuck you!” She spits, grinding her teeth as rage fills her skin and boils out of her ears, surely her expression was akin to death itself, but Duet seemed entirely unphased. “I won’t do shit for you! I’d rather watch this kingdom burn to the ground with every monster in it-!” Her voice fell silent. She blinks, eyebrows furrowing as her mouth hangs open, starting to move but nothing coming out. A painful, stretched feeling overtaking her vocal chords and leaving her throat raw and strained. She tried to scream, but it only worsened the pain. 

“I wouldn’t recommend you continue, miss,” Duet says, his tone harsh and cold, uncaring, “regardless if you live for another century under the oaths of a god or die at a cross made of bones, the only tongue you will speak is truth.” Each word felt like a knife, slicing into her slowly, forcing her body to still and numb, “Only one secret will die with you, the secret of this spell, and your inability to resist the burn of hidden words on your tongue. It’ll feel much more like a hot coal in your teeth the longer you hold it back.” 

Her body shivers, crying out as her voice suddenly comes back, stinging tears falling from her eyes as her body sags and her mouth starts to burn. 

“Now,” Duet says silently, “why don’t you start with your name?”

Her stomach and arms lurch, heart pounding and nearly jumping out of her chest, up her throat and onto the floor. Before she trembles, and letters connect and fall out before she can stop them- try to.

“Ch-chloe..” 

“Madam Chloe,” Duet watches her knowingly, noticing how her arms shook and the way her jaw clenches and almost smiling. God she could rip that fucking face off of their skull if she could. Chloe’s mind screams, fists tighter than ever before. Her body has never contained so much anger, hatred, and regret than it has right now. Before being captured she could scream and fight her heart out, but priesthood was a very different ballgame. And it’s one that is filled with bitterness and fury beyond anyone’s comprehension. Even more so now that her lungs are filled with ash and the ember of a tongue has grown worse. 

But a secret isn’t a secret when it’s given to her. 

“Prince Arthur has fallen in love.” 

“Your highness,” Lewis’s voice finds him through the swarming ocean of madness and confusion, bringing his mind back to the candle lit room, and to the heavy chain around his neck. The weight of it pulling his neck down, and reminding him of how small he felt in the circle. Arthur opens his eyes to confirm if he was still there. Maybe to see if his daydream was real. 

Of course it wasn’t real. Arthurs brain reminds him, staring down at the chalk covering the floor around him, the blood red glow of the candles casting hard shadows everywhere, Lewis isn’t here to help you escape, Arthur. He’s here to cure you. Why would you even think that up in the first place? His shoulders tense up like his stomach- soured and sucked in so much it was painful, and he swallows back harshly, shooing away the wishes clouding his head more and more. 

Arthur clenches his eyes shut and allows the resulting thunder of his muscles attempt at clearing his thoughts. And when the lingering whispers of hope refused to stop, his logic bellowed. He wouldn’t ever ride away on a horse, clutching the hand of his dame and- and certainly not following the lead of this kind and gentle Witch. The grassy plains and the warm sky was nothing but a fantasy that he desperately wished to crawl away in. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, Lewis would hear and grant his worries and pull him out of that depraved room and from those begging eyes. He didn’t need to look to see those sharp gazes boring into him. Hell, Arthurs surprised he doesn’t have scars from the piercing stares- they nearly burned into his skin!

A throat clears, “Your highness,” and Arthur’s attention snaps up to Lewis, who somehow still looked peaceful even with the deranged lighting. He smiles warmly, taking Arthurs left hand- which was a trembling, shaking fist- and slowly painting on the symbols against the top. The coldness of the paint made him flinch. Lewis didn’t say anything, “You seem more nervous than before, is this bothering you?” 

“Y-you could say that.” Arthur mumbles, glaring at the hand in Lewis’s grasp and trying to will it to stop shaking as much as it did, but his words only seemed to worsen it. Much to his surprise, Lewis gently begins to massage his palm and wrist, and Arthur’s heart jumps into his throat. 

“It is understandable, Arthur.” Lewis murmurs, words already beginning to soothe him, “These types of procedures do bring out the worst of the imagination.” His eyes flicker up, a small grin dancing on his lips- or was it the light? Arthur blinks rapidly but before he could try and look and check, Lewis was done, and shuffling back to his original spot.

His heart raced, whatever it was. Arthur couldn’t even begin to wonder why the smallest look was sending his brain spiralling. Control yourself, Lewis is just- just trying to comfort you! Nothing more!

Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Just-just keep reminding yourself of that, okay? Okay.

As soon as he was back in his proper place, Lewis sat up straight and nodded to his right. There was two persons there sat behind two large drums, and upon his signal, they slammed their mallets against it. It’s beat so loud, Arthur could feel it in every part of his body. His mind going numb, and Lewis began to explain,=.

“Tonight, I will draw this curse out from your body and into the amulet you bare now.” His voice was different, commanding, fierce, “Whatever demon is held in your soul, Arthur Kingsmen, it will be gone by dawn’s end.”

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Yesterday was a busy day of meetings and airplane travel for peter and connor but last night peter took some time to share his thoughts on the passing of the great christopher lee christopher lee was the tallest actor I ever knew he was also by far the most literate when we first met in a los angeles studio where he was recording his lines as king haggard in the last unicorn he had just recorded haggard’s speech about his first sight of unicorns and I mentioned that it was probably my favorite speech in the book he immediately wanted to know well did I do it properly we can always redo it right here of course he’d handled the lines perfectly but writers and writers’ opinions about their work mattered intensely to christopher that same afternoon we discovered that between the two of us we we could call to mind just about all the lines of g k chesterton’s poem the rolling english road we also discovered a mutual need to hit the men’s room and my son dan in his mid teens at the time still has a very clear memory of christopher simultaneously peeing while declaiming in that voice which no one could ever keep from imitating after fifteen minutes with him before the roman came to rye or out to severn strode the rolling english drunkard made the rolling english road a reeling road a rolling road that rambled round the shire and after him the parson ran the sexton and the squire I leave it to the reader to imagine that voice in the tiled acoustics of a hollywood bathroom we met a second time in munich where the last unicorn was being dubbed into german most of my memories of that time and of chris lee have to do with books and authors he had known both j r r tolkien and a writer who mattered more to me t h white we had a long ongoing argument in munich about a chapter of the sword in the stone that appears in the english edition of the book but not in the american one he turned out to be right he usually was he never failed to mention the last unicorn as one of his very 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and spent a good half of the day roaming with other tourists around a legendary concentration camp peering blindly into the huge crematoriums but staring with equal horror and fascination at the endless rows of filing cabinets containing every record of every human being who was ever imprisoned starved gassed or simply worked to death in this place michael and I grew quieter and quieter that afternoon until by the time we started back to munich we weren’t speaking at all I think we both felt that we might say anything in words again the first person we met in the hotel lobby was christopher he took one look at us and announced you’ve been to dachau we nodded without answering chris strode toward us looked all the way down from his six foot five inch altitude lowered his voice and inquired still smells doesn’t it with the end of world war ii christopher as a member of the special forces and whose five or six languages included fluent german had been assigned to hunt down and interrogate nazi war crminals and had been present at the liberation of dachau and yes the smell of death had undoubtedly faded somewhat since 1945 but it was still as real as michael and me wandering dazedly between the ovens and the filing system we just didn’t know what it was but christopher did and i’d know it again I never saw him again after munich though we spoke on the telephone a few times on the last occasion when I had called to wish him a happy 90th birthday I remember him assuring me that if by the time you come to make your live action version of your movie I have passed on do not let it concern you I have risen from the dead several times I know how it’s done he worked almost to the last as the real artists of every kind do they work to be working because that’s what they do and they die when they stop I always regarded him as the last of the great 19th century actors that bravura larger than life style went with him no modern rada trained performer would ever attempt it today nor should they it would inevitably come out parody however earnestly meant yet there was always more to christopher lee as an actor than dracula or the mummy or saruman or sherlock holmes for that matter though he was very proud of having played not only both holmes and watson but sherlock’s brother mycroft as well lord summerisle of the original the wicker man probably his favorite of his own movies is most likely closer to chris’s dark benignity than any other role he ever inhabited I believe this because lord summerisle sings a surprising amount in that movie and chris passionately loved singing if there is any such thing as an afterlife or reincarnation I truly hope no believe that christopher lee will return as a wagnerian opera singer if he hadn’t been considered too old in his 30s to be accepted for formal vocal training he might have been in his own eyes at least a happier more fulfilled man but we would have been deeply poorer for it and never have known See Other related products: Mimi Witch Broom Halloween T-Shirt

[agent-cupcake]

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 2)

Here is the second chapter! I’m posting at school because I live the high life and enjoy doing whatever I can to avoid having to do homework... Yeet

Berceuse Sous la Lune Opus 2, No. 1

There was no comparison for the beauty of the day. Lush and lively, with the sun casting warmth and life upon every creature below, illuminating each vivid color of the world. But your days since arriving at the academy were filled with work and people, endless activity and motion. The time you did spend beneath the sun was while you were training with weapons, pushing your body to its very limits in an attempt to catch up with the others in your class. The rest was spent in the classroom, learning all that you could from Professor Byleth in regards to tactics and battle sense. Things most of your fellow students had learned early on in life. A background education of manners and music was not ideal for the knight you wanted to be, and thus your day had not a moment to spare for the slow appreciation of day’s beauty.

That left you to retreat to the sole consolation of the majesty of night. It was a time of dreams and mystery, perhaps a time more suited to your particular romantic nature should you not have had such a fondness for the light of day. The silvery sliver of moon hung as a beacon in the indigo sky, the stars winking from up on high. If anything, the air was a bit more cold than would be comfortable, but that only aided in the witching cast of the hour.

A sleepless night. And one, you decided when you found yourself unable to bear the silence of your tiny, isolated room a minute longer, that was very fitting for a bit of music.

Sitting shamelessly upon the cobblestone ground at the edge of Garreg Mach’s dark fishing lake with your lyre a comfortable weight in your arms, you began to test the strings. Aside from the audaciousness of the cold encouraging you to pull on an extra cloak before leaving your room, it also wasn’t very kind to your poor lyre. You probably should have practiced inside, but the fishing area was protected enough to grant you workable conditions.

The music began slowly. Just a few eclectic chords and notes, your hands caressing and plucking the strings with a forwardness that would probably embarrass any other lyre if you were not as well acquainted. You didn’t practice as much as you had when you were younger, having spent the better part of the last year and a half with a sword rather than with an instrument, but music was not something so easily forgotten.

Little by little, the notes unraveled to become fragmented melodies, which twisted together in something resembling a tune. It was as natural as breathing that your fingers decided upon the piece they wanted to play. For the moon and for the stars, for the collection of fish hiding beneath the surface of water, and perhaps for the goddess herself, should she wish to hear it. A song began to roll across the monastery's fishing lake, swirling in with the mist that had settled there before dissipating into the dark night sky. Out of respect for the somber night, it wasn’t one of the hero ballads or tavern jaunts you so enjoyed, but a lullaby. Simple in the way each note pushed into the next, easy to pick up so it could be passed from generation to generation, but resonant and sweet nonetheless. The lyre, when properly played, could have an ethereal flow to it. An eternal melancholy and sweet beauty, lending something special to the time favored tune. There were no words that you knew of, but you took the melody in a humming line for the chorus, your voice helping the lyre to weave silk from silence, and perhaps coax an overwhelming world to peace.

It wasn’t long until the short song pulled to its final farewell. Your breath held while striking the final chord, as if to savor the last of the sound, to hold on to the song that much longer. But it was temporary, and the lullaby eventually faded out to silence entirely. The breath, too, left your lips. A sigh of disappointment that it was over, but of contentment at having played at all.

“That was a lovely song.”

From your lips emerged an awful squeak of a cry, your head whipping to look behind yourself to the owner of the voice that startled you so. It took a moment, even with your eyes as adjusted to the dark as they were, to discern who it was that so menacingly loomed above you.

“Your Highness?” you asked, your voice trembling with nerves and shock. After blinking a few times to confirm what you thought you saw in the dark, you were sure that it was Dimitri that stood tall behind you. He was recognizable for many reasons, but especially for the bright blue cape slung across his shoulder. Even in the dark, it seemed to retain that unmistakable azure color.

He was, perhaps, the last person you expected to encounter, but you were glad it was him and not one of the patrolling knights. You let out a big breath of relief, glad that being so thoroughly startled hadn’t injured your lyre. Or worse, caused you to throw it into the dark water below. You truly didn’t fancy a swim at this time of night.

“Was I being too loud?” you asked.

“Not at all. I just came down from above,” Dimitri responded, gesturing in the direction of the stairs to the second story dormitories. “I am truly sorry for giving you such a fright.” He paused, then added, “When I heard the music, I wondered it might be the work of a siren luring me to my demise.” Dimitri spoke in a voice that was mostly serious. You thought, maybe, you could hear just a touch of playfulness in his tone as well, but it was far too dark to see his expression, and you didn’t know nearly enough about him to tell.

You weren’t sure if it was less believable that he’d make such a teasing remark, or that what he said almost sounded like a compliment. You weren’t sure what to do with the influx of excited nerves that twisted your insides, either.

It occurred to you that you hadn’t ever anticipated finding yourself in this situation, and that for all of the conversations with Dimitri that you had composed in your head, you were utterly uncertain of what to say in reality.

Maybe it would have been better to be approached by one of the scary knights after all.

“Ah, my apologies. That was inappropriate,” Dimitri said after your stilted moment of shy silence stretched too thin, his voice a bit awkward.

“No, no! It’s okay!” you said in a rush, scrambling for something to add, something that wouldn’t lead to any further bizarre misunderstandings or give away how utterly flustered he made you. “It’s not that at all! I was just surprised that you would say something so… Whimsical.”

“Whimsical?” Dimitri repeated, regarding the word with dubious amusement.

“It must be in the air tonight,” you said, pushing past your rush of fluttery panic and grasping for a subject change. “Speaking of that… What are you doing up so late?”

“I was unable to sleep. I thought I’d put the time to good use and train,” Dimitri answered.

“Training, Your Highness? At night?” you asked, surprised. Didn’t he do enough of that during the day?

“Yes, well, the knights leave the training grounds unlocked. I find it helps me clear my mind.” Dimitri allowed his answer to settle before asking, “As you mentioned, it’s quite late. Is there a reason you’re playing out here? Surely it would be more comfortable, to mention warmer, in your personal quarters.”

“I got a noise complaint,” you responded, your nose scrunching. That much was true, at least. The girl you shared a wall with had complained of your playing, although you found it to be a bit unfair considering her own nocturnal activities. At any rate, it was a convenient reason. “Besides,” you added. “It’s a lovely night.”

“I see,” Dimitri said, his frown made clear in his tone.

“Is that a problem?” you asked slowly.

“Not at all. I only worry about your safety. I don’t doubt the integrity of our fellow students or the diligence of the academy’s faculty, but...”

He didn’t need to finish that statement for you to understand what he was implying. You hadn’t even considered the question of safety. Before moving to Fhirdiad nearly two years back, you had spent your life sequestered on your father’s estate, allowed to do as you pleased anywhere you wanted no matter the hour. You had hosted many midnight recitals for the flowers in the garden and the moon in the sky. In Fhirdiad, you had access to a balcony that had become your refuge when the inside rooms became too claustrophobic.

But you were no longer in either of those places, and Dimitri had a point. Looking out across the romantically beautiful lake, into the lovely mysterious sky, you found it hard to imagine bad things happening. The night was truly a lovey time. Then again, it was also the time for those who lived in the shadows to enact their foul deeds, the time for those with intentions they wouldn’t dare expose beneath the revealing light of the sun to see them realized. You had read enough stories of such things to understand the inherent peril of the night.

“I didn’t even think of that,” you said with a sigh of disappointment.

“You could come to the training grounds to play," Dimitri offered quickly on the tails of your disappointed sigh. And then, as if embarrassed, he quickly continued, "That is, I wouldn’t mind if you did, and I doubt that anyone else is there at this hour to complain of the noise."

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother to you,” you said, albeit with a rush of butterfly-like excitement. Excitement over the offer? It wasn’t as if he was asking you out or something, in fact he wasn’t even really inviting you to spend time with him. It was an offer to simply share the same space. Then again, the two of you would be alone. At night. And he would get to hear you play. You were blushing at the thought, you could feel it, along with a sense of gratitude for the concealing darkness.

"You wouldn't be a bother at all," Dimitri responded earnestly.

“Then… That sounds good,” you said, forcing yourself to maintain a sense of normality. Carefully, you placed your lyre in her case - a velvet lined beauty that had cost nearly as much as the instrument itself - and latched it, overly aware that he was watching you.

The nerves you felt weren't an effect of your childish crush coming back to haunt you, you didn't think. Nor were they really any sort of crush at all, although you couldn't entirely deny such a thing. For the most part, your nerves came from the fact that Dimitri was more or less a stranger to you, albeit one you regarded in high esteem and with much awe. Being near him in the academy hadn’t lessened those feelings, only augmented them to fit a sense of deep admiration for a peer rather than an idol. Dimitri was aloof and cool, always focused on training and learning with steadfast attention. He was more skilled in lance combat than anyone you had ever seen, and didn’t allow himself to become caught up in distraction,

Not to mention that, while he made it a point to emphasize the idea that you were all of equal standing at the academy, Dimitri was still a prince. And then, as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, there was his appearance and the matter of his sex. Under your father’s roof, you had never spent any time alone around boys when you were younger. Keeping you isolated from men had always been easiest for your father, maintaining you as an untouched jewel to be presented as pure to a stranger man in need of a bride. More recently there simply hadn’t been time to entertain the idea of courtship or marriage, even in a casual sense.

In short, you were hopelessly inexperienced when it came to boys. Especially attractive and royal ones that you looked up to.

Your only hope was to appear as anything a step up from disastrously awkward as you stood and brushed off your backside, lyre case in hand.

“Shall we?” you asked, maintaining your nervous smile. He hummed in assent, following your lead. A dozen different ice breaking sentences begged to be spoken as you walked at Dimitri’s side towards the training grounds, the words whirling and nervous. You were filled with an uncharacteristic amount of shyness, compounded by the dark and the quiet.

“Have you been playing very long?” Dimitri asked as you scaled the steps to leave behind the lake and all its lovely misty, moon-drenched beauty. The lawn you had to cross in order to reach the training grounds was outside a block of first floor dormitory rooms, shadowed by the tall stone buildings rising tall on either side, casting the both of you in thick, intimate darkness.

“Since I can remember. I love music,” you responded quickly, glad to have a reason to fill the air with words and trying most desperately to keep yourself from letting on how nervous you felt at his side.

“And yet you came to the Officer’s Academy,” Dimitri said. Not a question, not exactly, but holding the spirit of one.

“It’s really your own fault, Your Highness,” you blurted out unthinkingly, smiling despite yourself.

“My fault?” Dimitri sounded surprised.

“Ah… Yes, but not in a bad way!” you assured him, scorning your nervous impulsiveness in the same thought that you were grateful for its bravery in the face of your sudden timid streak.

“And how might that be?” he asked. You could recognize the playful tenor to his voice this time. You also recognized that Dimitri was looking at you, and that your face was hot with the nerves that writhed in your stomach.

“When I was young, my father was invited to a ceremony and reception at the palace for... Something, but I can’t remember what. As his daughter, I was brought along. It was unbelievably exciting, I had never been much of anywhere until that trip, but the part I remember the most is King Lambert and his son personally introducing themselves.”

“Really?” Dimitri asked in surprise. “So we’ve met before.”

“Yes, you kissed my hand and everything,” you responded, smiling fondly at the memory. Of course you had been enamored with him after that, what kind of girl wouldn’t have been after such a gentlemanly introduction? “Anyway, the entire affair left a pretty big impact on me. After that, the only stories I cared to know were stories of princes and princesses, kings and queens. Stories of heroism and noble deeds and all that.” You paused, remembering that part of your life so vividly, yet with such vague recall. An odd combination of idealized memory and unhappy truth. “Eventually I realized I didn’t want to just know and repeat and sing about these stories, but that I wanted to be a hero, too.”

There were other factors as well, but you had already told him more than enough without mentioning all of the tiresome details. You especially left out the part where you had spent a great deal of your late childhood in love with the mere idea of the prince you had met, wishing and hoping that he’d rescue you from the lonesome repression of your father's mansion.

“And how do you think the reality compares so far?” Dimitri asked. You couldn’t tell how he felt about your little story, and feared falling on your face should you try to catch a glimpse of his expression while walking.

“Well…” you let the word trail off as you thought about it for a moment. “You had long hair when I met you. Almost like a girl, actually. And you’re taller, obviously. But your eyes are the same. I think I must have told everybody I knew that the king and prince had the most beautiful blue eyes in existence.”

Dimitri laughed, although you could hear the edge of embarrassment. “That’s not quite what I meant, but... Thank you.”

“Oh! You meant heroism and all that?” you asked. That made more sense than what you had thought, and you felt a strong pang of embarrassment having given such a silly and revealing answer. “It’s different than I thought it would be. I trained an entire year before coming here, but I still feel so clumsy and useless when I fight. I want to have the strength to protect, to save those who are in need… But that’s awfully hard. I’ll stick with it though, Your Highness.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Not giving up and maintaining motivation are some of the most important steps in becoming stronger.” Dimitri paused a beat, continuing, “And by the way, there’s no need to address me so formally. We’re both students here at the academy.”

“Oh, right. Sorry… Dimitri.” His name came out awkwardly, although it wasn’t that being informal with him felt uncomfortable to you, not really. Unfortunately, old habits were hard to kick, and acknowledging titles was something your father had made a priority in your education. He had cared a great deal about titles, given that his own social standing was something he was all too aware of. He must have been rolling over in his grave to hear you address a prince by his first name. You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

Another bout of somewhat awkward silence fell upon the two of you as you approached the large structure of the training grounds. You didn’t dare break it, suddenly feeling quite sure that you’d made a fool of yourself by telling Dimitri so much. Perhaps he would find it odd that you would remember such an event, and especially that it would be so important to you, but there was no way to tell him that it wasn’t he who had created your dream, but some phantom concept of princes and knights that had kept you strong throughout those lonely years. Meeting him here, now, was only a coincidence, really. Still, there was no natural way you felt you could voice that, so you said nothing.

Besides, thinking of that ball always brought back a hollow feeling of wistful melancholy. That had been right after it was discovered that you had a Crest, leading your father to recognize you as his legitimate heir. You and your mother were moved out of your tiny residence and to his large country estate to begin training in manners and other feminine pursuits. You were only with him in Fhirdiad for that ball so he could establish you as his daughter, and to introduce you to various Kingdom nobles in the hopes of arranging a profitable marriage later on.

But as a child, you had known none of that. All you cared about was the beautiful clothes he bought you and the dazzling splendor of nobility, all of the people that were suddenly very interested in you and the stranger of a father who was suddenly showering you with affection.

The arrival at the large training grounds doors surprised you. Between the conversation and the memories it dredged up, it as it felt as if you’d arrived quicker than you should have. Dimitri opened one of the doors and stepped aside to allow you in first. A gentleman, even still. The warm light of several lit lamps greeted you from beyond, although not nearly enough to entirely chase away the shadows. You hadn’t seen the large training plaza so empty before now, the sight of it was almost eerie.

Dimitri let the door shut behind himself and crossed the room to where the training weapons were stored, While all of the iron and steel was held under lock, the wooden equivalents weren’t valuable enough to bother.

“Do you train at night a lot?” you asked, forcing yourself to shake off the tendrils of memory and the lose the veil of awkwardness as you trailed slowly behind him.

“Only when I find that sleep evades me," he explained, picking out a sturdy training lance and weighing it appraisingly. After only seconds, it was replaced, switched out for one you thought looked almost identical. Dimitri seemed satisfied with it, turning away from the weapons rack with the wooden staff in hand.

“Does that happen often? The sleeplessness, I mean,” you continued curiously. “Not that I’m trying to pry! I only ask because... I think I can understand, at least a little. Sometimes it feels like no matter how worn out I am, I can’t turn off my mind when I lay down.”

“It happens more and more often, these days,” Dimitri answered, his voiced layered with the tone of something deeper, the sound of genuine fatigue. Quickly, that tone was abandoned in favor of a brighter sound. “In any case, it’s a good excuse to work on my technique.”

You watched as he moved out into the training area proper, swinging the practice weapon around with a casual deftness that nearly took your breath away. Then he set his stance, a breath leaving his lips, and began to move.

It was easy to recognize the familiar stances and choreography of one of the most basic katas as Dimitri adopted its technique, engaging in a warm-up meant to refine different stances and lance techniques. The pattern only mimicked the actual movements of battle rather than serving any sort of usable attack, most of it done at an unnaturally slow pace to instill control and form. You’d always seen the exercises as impractical, a tedious task with no actual use. But you understood now where you had been wrong. While you felt clunky and awkward while following the exaggerated move set, where you had seem them as an annoyance imposed on you by your teacher, Dimitri performed the kata with grace and ease unrivaled. His body created a sort of art, each fluid movement leading into the next with a seamless ease.

Right then, your lyre case felt heavy, pulling on your shoulder and tiring out your fingers, your awareness focusing keenly on its presence.

Music was something you loved. To it, you were unquestionably devoted. But it was also something you were only allowed to do with your father’s blessing, because it was seen as an attractive trait in a bride. Having decent pitch and fingers clever enough to play an instrument were traits akin to those you'd use to upsell a fine horse.

Fighting, being a hero like in the stories you adored so much, was something your father had found most reprehensible. It was something you had struggled and fought to be able to do, and in the end your opportunity to pursue it and come to Garreg Mach only came at the expense of his life and a great deal of effort on your part.

Letting out a breath, you set the lyre case down in the outer ring of the training arena and took off both of your cloaks, letting them flutter like the broken wings of a butterfly to the floor. You hoped desperately that you weren’t intruding on something you had no business in as you approached the weapons rack and picked out a wooden lance. Unlike Dimitri, you weren’t sure what to look for to determine the quality of a lance. The sword was your main weapon, but Professor Byleth had said that he had hopes for you to become a Pegasus Knight, so learning to use a lance was necessary. The wood of the first one you picked up was smooth, a solid weight in your grasp. It wasn’t a weapon that would ever taste blood or see combat, but it was useful nonetheless.

Taking a deep breath, you turned.

“Dimitri,” you called, almost feeling sorry to stop him, but urged by something within you. He paused, lowering the lance to look towards you. Now that you were indoors, you could see him more clearly. Maybe that should have embarrassed you, but you found yourself too distracted, too driven to bother. “Do you mind if I train with you instead?”

His eyes flicked over to your discarded lyre case, then moved to your expression and the weapon you held. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

You smiled, nervous and hopeful and excited all at once. “Might as well, right?” But the casual words came out all wrong, a cover as you gathered all of the courage you could for a bold, brazen request. “I know I haven’t much basis to ask this of you, and doubtlessly I’m intruding so I must insist on clarifying that you have every right to dismiss me if you so wish, but, Your Highness-”

“Dimitri,” he cut in, forcing your nervous rambling to halt in its unraveling coherency. “If we’re to train together it should be as equals, don’t you think? We are striving towards the same thing, after all.”

A smile tugged on your lips, not a nervous grin or a shy expression to mask your doubt, but something true and warm.

“Of course, Dimitri,” you said, slower and less frantic. “So what I’d like to ask... Well, could you show me how to move like that?”

He didn’t answer right away, as if your request had surprised him. You hoped that was a good thing. “I suppose I can try.”

[qqueenofhades]

“I’ll take care of you.” “It’s rotten work.” “Not to me. Not if it’s you.” Pretty please for All Souls Gabriel and Garcia?

Nantes, BrittanyOctober 25, 1440

The scaffold stands nearby, looming in the darkness, the hangman’s noose clutching a gasp of empty air where tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, it will clutch Gilles de Rais’ wretched neck. Dry kindling has been stacked, awaiting the burning, and most townsfolk have kept well away from it, only to spit and cross themselves if they must pass. Nobody wants this to be a spectacle, grievous and awful as the accused’s crimes are. He was a war hero ten years ago, the close companion of Joan of Orléans, marching against the English invaders, heroically beating them back, and now this. Ordinarily he should have been sent to Paris for trial, but the courts do not want the English getting wind of the fact of Gilles de Rais’ crimes. Some details are so heinous they have been stricken from the court record. The sorcery and sodomy and murder, the unnatural usage of children before they were killed, the torture and the occult experimentations, the dabbling in black magic. It would be too convenient.

Gabriel de Clermont stands in the shadows of the far side, regarding the courtyard, the pacing guards, the knowledge that this square will be flooded with the folk of Nantes and the surrounding countryside by sunup tomorrow, all eager to see Rais burn. He stole their children, he was the monster that they welcomed into their homes and hung with laurels, he was the one they believed in, and it began almost the moment he returned home from Joan’s campaigns, after they burned her in Rouen. Gabriel knew the Maid of Orléans only briefly. He customarily finds religious zealots unpalatable and inflexible, but he had something of a soft spot for her, this tiny nut-brown peasant girl whose rural French sounded half like Occitan, spitting furious and full of righteousness, who was questioned for days and never broke, who put on armor and did what this entire godforsaken country has failed to do itself in beating the English. Gabriel is, after all, and has been for many centuries, French himself. And yet –

We should have done more, he thinks. We could have done more. They had to step back and let Joan burn, and then for eight years, even when appeals were sent to the Knights of Lazarus as knowledge of Gilles de Rais’ crimes began to seep out across the countryside like poison, his lord father has refused to take a hand. We do not fight the humans’ wars. We are not their judge and jury. Gabriel could recite the speech in his sleep. He knows, he knows, that it’s not that Asher de Clermont does nothing. Asher has protected the mortal world from threats they have never even imagined, has fought monsters beyond all comparison, has trained his sons to do the same, and the world itself made it through the last few hundred years, beset with its human problems even as it was, because the Knights of Lazarus were there. And yet, to stand here and look at this scaffold, soaked in eight years’ worth of children’s blood, because Asher did not deem it noble enough to interfere in humans’ business –

Gabriel breaks off and starts to walk, angry, burning, restless. He knows the arguments. We are too strong for them. We cannot appoint themselves their gods, their judge and jury. We cannot let them rely on us to do what they must do for themselves. No wonder the de Clermonts’ rivals jeer that Asher is too soft and too principled and too honorable to ever make a proper leader for their kind, even if they would not dare say that to the Grandmaster’s face. The humans are weak, they have been for years. Plague, famine, war, unrest, economic and religious and political upheaval. They tear themselves apart easily, they die like flies, in their hundreds and their thousands. The creatures, witches and vampires and daemons alike, could emerge from the shadows and strike, kill all the humans easily, make this their world, and it is only Asher’s restraint and power that stops them. Gabriel loves his father, adores him and admires him beyond all words, knows that they must make sacrifices, but at the same time –

You could have let us stop Gilles de Rais, he thinks. Just this once. Just as if you could have let us save Richard, and you did not.

Gabriel comes to a halt, leans against the wall of a wattle-and-daub inn, and then almost jumps out of his skin, fangs flashing out and eyes going black as he hisses, as someone’s hand touches his shoulder from behind. It takes only an instant after that for him to land rather sheepishly. “Ah,” he says breezily, feigning his usual devil-may-care demeanor. “Hello, darling.”

Garcia eyes him, unconvinced by this bravura performance. (He is the only one, Gabriel thinks poignantly, who would even know that it is one.) “What are you doing skulking out here?” his brother asks. “It’s getting late, and – ”

“They only intend to burn one monster tomorrow, so far as I am aware.” Nonetheless, Gabriel grudgingly consents to turn away from the square and the waiting scaffold. They walk down the lane, pass a tiny church, and Garcia absently crosses himself. He is Catholic in a way Gabriel is not, born to it just as the first missionaries were reaching the pagan Slavs of Ragusa, whereas Gabriel was born before the Romans nailed that Jewish carpenter to a tree and has duly converted with the rest of the family. As they emerge on the far side, Gabriel bursts out, “We could have stopped this, you know.”

Garcia pauses, a look of pain on his face. He takes a moment to answer. Finally he says, “You know that Papa – ”

“Yes,” Gabriel snaps, “yes, I know what Papa. Eight years. Eight years of – you’ve heard what that bastard Gilles has been doing, and if it was my child – if someone had laid a hand on Christian like that, torn him to pieces and used him vilely, and there was someone who could have stopped it happening to any other son, and did nothing because of principle – ”

Too late he wonders if he should be lashing out about their father to Garcia, as Garcia fears too much that Asher might not count him his own son enough to openly criticize him, but Garcia reaches out, grips Gabriel’s arms, and holds on hard. “Shh,” he says, a little roughly. “Shh, moje srce, we’ll make it right.”

“How?” Gabriel demands, the word raw on his tongue. This whole spectacle is doing nothing for his cherished reputation of never giving a fuck about anything, but it’s too late. “Turn back time? Bring those dead boys back to life? Apologize to the mothers and fathers for being able to do something, but deciding that our father just would not stand for it, so very sorry? If they marched on Sept-Tours with pitchforks and decided to avenge it, they would be entirely – ”

“Shh,” Garcia says again, more forcefully, and this time, Gabriel is forced reluctantly to listen. “We will watch Gilles de Rais burn tomorrow. We will do what we came to do, and we will see justice done. It’s not your ill. It’s not your sin. There are other battles to fight, where we can make more of a difference, stop much greater evils. All right?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer, chewing over it, not wanting to argue, still not entirely agreeing. Finally when he still doesn’t speak, Garcia says awkwardly, “Do you – do you want to find a brothel?”

“What?” That startles a disbelieving whoop of laughter out of Gabriel, despite his dark mood. “Did you just – you hate brothels!”

“Yes, well.” Garcia shrugs defensively. Vampires can’t flush, but he’s trying anyway. “I thought it would cheer you up.”

Gabriel isn’t sure how to respond to that. He looks at Garcia, still trying so hard to pretend that this is actually how he wants to spend his evening in any remote measure, sitting stiffly while the whores flirt with him and Gabriel goes upstairs with an armful and must be turfed out the next morning. “No, darling,” Gabriel says at last, with genuine regret that he loves Garcia too much to make him endure that – at least tonight, as both of them know full well there will be many others. “Come on, let’s find supper. Though if you propose to keep my company, be warned it’s much less scintillating than usual.”

Garcia shakes his head. “Not to me,” he says. “Not if it’s you.”

So they start to run, breaking into supernatural speed away from the village, bounding across the dark countryside in pursuit of stags to catch and drain, and sit together beneath the stars, and on that night, terrible as the weight of the injustice may be, Gabriel de Clermont does not mind his own sins so much.

(september prompt list)