#like what do you MEAN it turned the empress' children into monsters

[pirate-poet]

as a sunless sea lore knower(thats a term now ive made it a term) its kinda wild to see red honey lore in actual fallen london like everything i know about red honey is from the isle of cats, i have next to no knowledge of any other cage-gardens so after finishing my year and a half long red honey focused fic im STILL learning new shit and its WILD

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Morally Questionable Anime Milfs Side B Semifinals

Propaganda:

Ah-Duo -

"It is heavily implied that she switched her baby with her mother in-law's baby (mother in-law being the Empress) to give him a higher chance of survival after a hard and negligent birth that left her without a uterus. Kind of a cuckoo bird trick. Though it was for the good of her child in an era where children were political commodities, this is still a questionable thing to do. I know I would definitely feel some type of devastation and confliction if I found out my baby had been swapped with another right under my nose. Also, the other baby died. That part wasn't Ah-Duo's fault by any means, but I do think I should mention it. As for milf, have you SEEN her? She's so fucking hot c'mon. Even women in-canon swoon over her androgynous charms."

Eva -

"AVOIDING SPOILERS AS FAR AS POSSIBLE, her moral ambiguity is a deeply important part of the story. Like Episode 3 is in some ways a battle between her better and worse nature, between her love for her family and her resentment and bitterness to her brother.

As a mother to George, seemingly she's raised him very well, turning him into a perfect gentleman and preparing him for a successful life. However, this was all part of her scheming against her brother, trying to mold him into a suitable heir for the Ushiromiya fortune and usurp her nieces position. She made sure he spent every waking moment in study, leaving him socially stunted and resentful of his peers who knew how to make friends. In a way she's using him for her own petty resentment against her elder brother, but she's also trying to set him up for a good life in the only way she understands.

With Ange, things get both harsher and more complicated. Yes, after the horrific tragedy of 1986, Eva becomes a cruel and abusive adoptive mother to Ange. But, it's possible that, at first, she made a sacrifice on Ange's behalf that slowly twisted her into the monster she became. And part of episode 8 is showing the possibility of Eva becoming a good foster mother to Ange, and genuinely loving her, (and raising the question of whether that love was really in Eva's heart, or if it's just a comforting fantasy)

I know I'm saying "just trust me" because of spoilers, but this is a big part of the ending of the story and the overall theme: ambiguity, and the difficulty in knowing another's heart, and what we should believe about others given that. Maybe her actions (and her possible or alleged actions) are too evil to call her morally questionable. Maybe there's enough goodness in her to be in the poll. Hopefully I've expressed some of it in less than one million words. I'll leave it in your hands."

[via-the-cryptid]

Ive been thiking a little about some things:

1.- I dont remember if one of the Rules of Prismo's Wishroom was that you have to arrive on your own to get a wish or you could be invited, but even if thats the case they could still have Farmworld's Enchiridion (because here there is no backstabbing that ends with the book destroyed) to open a portal so Simon gets his wish the right way.

2.- Talking about Farmworld, I cant imagine how Finn, who has been living with a magical snow mom for a couple of months/years by now, would react to seeing a magical ice version of himself in Crossover.

3.- Continuing with Farmworld, we assume that both that and the regular timeline advance at the same time, so if they go into the multiversal adventure with Finn still being a Teenager, that would mean that Farmworld Finn would also be a Teenager when they arrive. But that could open another story, maybe they find him after his parents and brother died/left for some reason and he is on his own with normal Jake and Bartram, maybe when he meets his future wife AKA Huntress Wizard.

4.- If you think about it regular Marceline its indeed stronger than the Star we saw on canon because while the Star has the powers of all the Vampire Council, Marceline has that +VK pure vampire soul. Also idea, this Star was raised by The Empress instead of the VK, because she was the one who wanted to create an Empire on Stakes and in this AU maybe she trained Marceline to take down VK and get the throne. Also that opens the chance to have Betty saying "Empress! You're a bad Mother!"

answering in sections again:

1. I don’t think it’s ever specified if you have to arrive naturally or if you can be invited when it comes to making a wish — the only rule I remember (and there may be others that I forgot, so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong) is that you can only have one wish per person. as far as I know, Magic Simon should be able to make his wish when he’s first invited to the wish cube in order to explain the Snow Queen situation. however, if you do have to get there naturally and you can’t be invited if you’re making a wish, he’d probably just tell Finn, Jake, and Marceline what he was doing so they could help him collect the jewels and open the portal with their own enchiridion.

2. Finn would probably be very weirded out by Ice Finn, and it would also make him consider the whole Snow Queen situation even more. He sees this version of himself who’s absolutely destroyed by the crown, and then he turns around and sees his mom, who’s just… kinda senile and obsessed with her husband. I feel like that’s gotta mess him up, to know that the crown that made Betty obsess over Simon, also turned Finn into a monster in a different reality. if he talks to Snow Betty about it later, she’ll probably be able to explain the way the crown corrupts and what she was like at the start, as well as Ice Finn’s motivations for doing what he’s doing (because it’s not purely malicious, Ice Finn clearly talks about keeping everyone safe with his ice and trying to protect them), but that will be have to come later since they’re pretty busy avoiding the interdimensional cops when the two Finns meet.

3. you are right, and I actually didn’t consider that before, but I definitely should have. in that case, Farmworld Finn probably still has his wife (could be Huntress Wizard, Phoebe, or even Rosalinen from the Puhoy episode) and might have already had Jay, maybe? but probably none of the either children, and Jay would still be a baby, as would Little Destiny. I think Magic Simon and Snow Betty & co would probably still follow someone out to the crater, but in this case it’s more likely to be Farmworld Finn showing them that the crown is already destroyed, at which point they find the Jewel and decide to use it to find another version of the crown, and then Scarab shows up and they gotta book it real fast. Magic Simon may be way more powerful than he has any right to be, but nobody wants to risk him or anyone else getting put in one of those eggs if Scarab manages to hit them at the right moment. Farmworld Finn runs as soon as Scarab arrives, specifically because the Ooo gang told him to and because Magic Simon immediately started having a wizard showdown, and Farmworld Finn ain’t getting involved in wiz biz.

4. you’re RIGHT, she IS! and you’re also right about the Empress probably being the one to take a front role in raising her, because it seems like the VK is definitely following Empress’s plans here. Snow Betty would definitely yell at her and probably chuck a rock at her head, which I doubt would do anything but it would certainly make Snow Betty feel better. Marceline and the Star also get to have a showdown while Vampworld Bonnie watches and realises that maybe perhaps she has a bit of a crush on this alternate Marceline. just a small one. maybe actually a really big one. regardless, I think that VK is still the one with the crown and is ‘in charge’ of the empire, but he’s a little senile and it’s really Empress pulling the strings and mildly grooming the Star as her replacement if she or VK ever falls.

[jimlingss]

Dynasty

➜ Words: 17.4k

➜ Genres: 50% Angst, 35% Smut, 15% Fluff, Historical!AU

➜ Summary: It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie the Treacherous (2015)

➜ Warnings: Brief depictions of reluctant sexual intercourse, dubious consent, emphasis on impregnation, sloppy seconds, creampies, pregnancy. Reader discretion is advised.

“Absolutely not!” 

You stand at once, chair knocked back to the ground in a clatter, unable to believe what you were hearing. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps your ears hear wrongly. But by the way your older brother’s brows are drawn together, marring his usually good-natured features, you know you’re not mistaken.    He had worn the same expression as the day of your parents' massacre.   Your voice is shrill as you protest and cry, “I won’t! I can’t! T-This— this is ridiculous! How could you even….how could you even….”   You are Seokjin’s younger sister — his blood, flesh, bones. Family. And you were about to be traded in like you were no one to him. A chess piece. A part of his bigger plan that you wanted nothing to do with.   Jungkook looks at you with an impassive expression, one you cannot read, but you pay him no mind. Seokjin, however, looks to him and nods his head. They are silent in their communication, and then Jungkook takes his leave until there it is only your shadow and Seokjin’s that flickers against the wall with every movement of the dim candlelight.   He begins with a soft voice. A soothing one as if you were a child.    “There’s no choice, Y/N.”   “There is always choice,” you emphasize as tears start to stream down your cheeks. “Do you really want to send me off to that...that disgusting monster? Do you really want me to be used? If you care about me as a younger sister, if you care about me at all, you wouldn’t be doing this.”   His dark eyes meet yours. “The decision has been made, Y/N. You have been chosen. But this is the way we can make our parents happy. This is the only way for them to reach peace.”   You sob, collapsing onto the ground. Seokjin does little to comfort you. He knows there’s nothing he can do after this betrayal.   You hold your face in your hands, catching the tears that rack through your frame. It is silent except for the noises of your wails muffled through your sleeves.    After minutes of devastation and grief that stutters out of you, your hands drop to look at him. And your voice swoops into a murmur, one that is private, kept between the two of you. You beg for his honesty from sibling to sibling, without duties or titles. “Is...is t-there no other way?”   Your brother deflates, refusing to look at you. You notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, how he swallows hard to answer. “There must always be sacrifices made in times of a revolution and this is ours.”   “No.” You shake your head. “This is mine.”

There is a knock at your door.   “Go away, Seokjin,” you shout at him without regard for sibling hierarchy. In your anger, he has long lost the respect that goes along with the status of being your older brother. “I said I wasn’t hungry!”   But in spite of your bitterness, the door opens anyhow.   It’s Jungkook who has appeared in place of Seokjin, doe eyes and dark hair tied into a high ponytail by a black ribbon that matches his robbed attire and the scabbard by his side.   “I saw the light in your room,” he says simply.   You lift your eyes away from the book you were copying, the last task that you wanted to finish, and your gaze remains cold on the man.    You detest Jungkook.    He is Seokjin’s friend, not yours and not a childhood one. Your brother had met him shortly after arriving in this town years ago. But you do not know him well. You resent him merely because he represents every manner that Seokjin has changed in the ways you hate most.   Before they met, Seokjin was still the brother you knew. Kind-hearted. Mischievous. Protective. There was no rebellion group, talk of treason, risk of harm. The Seokjin you knew would’ve never thrown you away like this.   “Are you ready for tomorrow’s journey,” he asks.   “There’s no reason not to be.” Jungkook is quiet and conniving. You know the only reason he has come out of his way to check on your well-being in the middle of the night is for his assumption that you are a flight risk. You suppose it might be natural to have those suspicions. Any girl in your position would run. But you quickly dissipate his worries if it means he’ll leave. “You don’t need to worry that I’m going to run. I wouldn’t do that to Jin.”   He makes no changes in his expression. Always blank. Always emotionless.   “The journey will be long. You should get some rest.”   “I can take care of myself.”   He remains silent for a moment. But you return to your work and when you look up again, he’s gone, having finally left you in your own misery.   //   When the first blush of dawn arrives, you get dressed in your best attire and gather the little belongings you have. They’re already waiting for you in front of the house, not allowing you a moment to yourself to relish in freedom any longer. There is a horse, a carriage, and four members of the group you don’t recognize along with Jungkook to journey with you.   Seokjin waits there too, but you can’t look him in the eye.   He knows you're upset, you can tell. Neither of you say much to each other, but you mutter a half-hearted farewell.   You can hear the way the corner of his mouth gently quirks by the sound of his voice. “I’ll see you soon enough, Y/N.”   You turn away, walking to your carriage where the horse is already neighing and becoming fussy. But then your steps slow. You hesitate getting in and Jungkook stares at you, waiting patiently, never once pushing you on.   At once, you turn around. “Jin!”   You call out to your brother and he turns around before stumbling. A giggle streams out of his chest after you’ve thrown yourself at him in an embrace as if you were still children. He hugs you back, arms around your body, frame overtaking yours, and he squeezes you tight.   You shut your eyes to savour the fleeting moment.   He leans down, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”   But you shake your head, unable to utter a word for fear of crying again.   “We should get a move on before it gets any later,” one of the members calls out and it’s your reminder of where you’re headed.   You pull apart from Seokjin. He smiles tenderly and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face.   The carriage ride is shaky. Every bump and crack of the dirt road is felt by you ten folds, the wheels wobbling and the horse’s disregard makes it difficult for you to rest easy. But you don’t dare utter a complaint, not when you’re in the company of unfamiliar people. You do, however, pull back the curtain of the square window to look at the land and let in fresh air.   Eventually, there’s a break called. The tiny carriage comes to a halt and Jungkook is the one who brushes open the large curtain. He catches you off guard, peering in with his large eyes that seemingly sparkle naturally.   “We’re going to take a small rest.”   “Okay.”   He helps guide you out and you notice the other people are either on the ground resting their feet or by the stream, taking a drink of water.   “Are you alright?”   You nod. There’s a moment of serene quietness, the birds chirping around the trees, the rustling of leaves. Jungkook drinks from his leather pouch and then hands it to you to quench your thirst.   You sip it, soothing your throat and gather the courage to utter his name— “Jungkook.” He turns to you. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?”   “You’ll be introduced as one of the minister’s nieces. He’s been aligned with us for years. You’ll be inspected and bathed, and then there will be a ceremony and then….”   “I’ll be bedded,” you complete his sentence for him.   Jungkook remains silent.   The Emperor is infertile. It’s a truth no one dares to utter, but it’s been fifteen years since he began his reign and he has yet to produce a child no matter how many consorts and concubines has entered the palace. The Empress has not bore a child either.   And nine years ago, there was an official decree. Every three months since, a girl is selected and brought in. If she doesn’t get pregnant within the time frame, she is executed for failing to fulfill her duty, for treason.   You are the next one.   The one who has to preoccupy the Emperor to the best of your abilities.   “You don’t need to worry,” Jungkook says, perhaps reading the expression on your face, but you slap his hand away when he reaches out.   “Of course I’ll worry,” you spit at him in animosity. “I’m going to die.”   The man’s brows draw tightly together, his lips lopsided. “It’ll be over before they can get to you.”   You say nothing more, returning to the small carriage before you can start to sob like a child and further be humiliated.   //   Night falls and camp is set up with little hardships. By the afternoon of tomorrow, you would have already arrived at the palace, perhaps straight to the Emperor’s bed. The thought makes you nauseated, wanting to crawl out of your own skin and hide from your body.   You know you’re being selfish. In the bigger picture, your desires don’t matter. If anything, you should be happy to give yourself up for the rebellion. For the common good. But you can’t.    “Are you not going to eat?” one of the female guards asks you with a smile and you lift your eyes away from the blazing fire whose heat has pressed against your cheeks.    You look around to the four members of the group that has been commissioned to protect you, their faces illuminated by the glow of the flames. You wonder what sacrifices they had made to be here, what led them here in the first place.   “I-I can’t.” You stand up and all of their heads, including Jungkook’s, turn to you. “I’m sorry. I….I need a moment to myself.”   You quicken your pace towards the forest, trying to escape their prying gazes, the burden that has been placed upon your shoulders. It’s hard to breathe. It’s as if the smog of the fire has bloomed inside of your lungs, constricting your chest, forming a thick lump in your throat.   The darkness of the forest envelopes you and it’s almost comforting.   That is until there’s a branch snapping behind you, and you quickly spin around.   “I knew you weren’t okay.”   “Go away, Jungkook.”   He remains silent, but you can see the outline of him coming closer towards you. He is not dissuaded no matter how much you have pushed him away from you, no matter how rude you’ve been to him from the start. You’re not sure if he pities you or he—   “Can I comfort you in place of Seokjin?” Jungkook requests in an earnest murmur, humble and cautious. “You wish he was here instead of me, don’t you?”   You’re taken aback, brought to speechlessness.   The two of you end up seated by the creek on a wooden log. The horizon is full of stars, allowing you to see enough to watch the water that rushes past in a calm hum, soothing your turmoil.   “I’m afraid.”   “Of what?”   “I don’t know what to do. How to capture the Emperor’s attention. How to be...bedded.”   “You need to be strong.”   You rise to your feet at once, biting back angrily, “I’ve never even been touched by a man! How am I supposed to be strong?!” It’s easy for him to say. It always is to the outsider.   He doesn’t know what this means to you. You’ll never be able to find a husband after this. The peaceful life you dreamt of will be gone.    You will forever be stained as the Emperor’s previous consort, his whore or you will end up dead.    You’re not sure which is worse.   “How am I supposed to know what to do?” Your voice is shrill, desperate and full of pain as if you are asking Jungkook for an actual answer to your predicament.   Jungkook stands and places his firm hand on your shoulder. “There,” he says after a moment when you’ve calmed down, “you’ve been touched by a man.”   Irritation surges through you again at how lightly he’s taken your strife. “You know that’s not what I meant—”   Then you’re suddenly spun to face him, a strong grip at your waist. Your words become muted through the soft press of Jungkook’s lips. Your whimper is muffled by his mouth. It’s chaste. Careful. He allows you room to breathe, to feel the velvet texture of his lips or to pull away if you so choose to.    But you don’t move. Your eyes become half-lidded, gazing into his doe eyes that seem to be full of stars. Your hands come to grip his broad shoulder, his placed on the dips of your body so gently as if he were afraid to break you. And your heart swells dangerously inside your chest.   After a moment of his mouth moving against yours in a sweet kiss, Jungkook pulls apart.   Almost immediately, you tug him back to you again, not wanting the moment to end. You kiss him fervently and he lowly hums inside his chest, tongue peeking at the seam of your mouth, urging you to grant him access. It’s unsightly, the two of you unmarried and holding one another so intimately in the dark during this time of night. If anyone knew, it would be shameful.    But it’s only you and Jungkook in this small space.   Your lips part, allowing his hot tongue to lick into your mouth. And he angles his head, happily deepening the kiss. It makes you gasp for air, becoming breathless, but he doesn’t relent. Jungkook presses forward eagerly like he can’t help himself anymore. His hands come to feel up your body, the softness of your flesh through your clothing, the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts. Your arms loop around his neck, back arching into his firm body. You relish in the sound of soft smacking filling the forest, feeling your face heat as his scent surrounds you.   And when you moan his name again in a desperate whine — “J-Jungkook.” — his lips start to trail down your jaw to your neck. He holds you as you lean into him. You pant, chest rising and falling, and you have half a mind to realize that your clothes have loosened.   The man begins to suck a spot at the juncture of your neck by your exposed collarbone, claiming you possessively. Your entire body heats for him, your stomach fluttering. His name befalls your lips again in a whine and this time, it seems to snap him from his trance.   Jungkook pulls away from you.    Enough distance that if your arms stretched, it would barely be able to reach him.   He wipes his sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “We...we should go back,” he says, winded.   You merely nod, not uttering a single word. The two of you don’t need to speak to know that this can’t be continued further. It wouldn’t be good for either of you.   But you’re still stunned as you follow him back to where the others are. Your eyes trace Jungkook’s backside and you nibble into your swollen lips. The taste of cinnamon lingers.   //   The capital is close — you can tell by the way travelers aren’t as sparse and the rich attire that adorns their body. Their expressions are bright and friendly, innocent from the fear of theft or strangers stealing their food. There are no hollowed eyes and cheeks peering at you blankly, no hands clasped together to silently beg for some grains to satisfy the shriveling stomachs.   By afternoon, the carriage is brought to a halt again.   “I’ll be going ahead first,” Jungkook announces as he sits on top of his horse. “It’ll seem less suspicious.”   The other seem to take little issue, but before Jungkook rides off into the distance, his gaze lingers on you. The two of you stare at one another for a moment, one where you’re not sure if you should bid farewell to him or not, one where you wonder when the next time is going to be.   But before you can utter a single syllable, he turns and whips the reins. The horse gallops off, hooves marked in the dirt. You stare at his backside diminishing before you’re called back into the carriage to carry on.   You arrive no later.   The palace is grander than anything you’ve ever witnessed, stretching across the horizon. The red roof and golden trim are vivid against the town even from the distance. Once the guards at the stone wall are briefly spoken to, the magnificent gates creak open and you’re brought into a different world, one protected from outside life. There are hundreds of servants with downcast heads and folded hands scattering across the vast courtyard, winding pavilion paths bordering each structure. Even from peering out the tiny window, your neck aches with how much you have to crane your neck to see it all.    But you quickly snap out of your awe.   This isn't paradise. It’s your prison.   The gates close behind you, trapping you in its walls and after a minute, the carriage halts the final time.   “Consort Y/N, from the Park family.” Your title is declared and the curtain is roughly pulled back. You brace yourself as you’re guided out and you come face to face with two men, both middle-aged, and two women, the younger one keeping her head down and her hands folded.   Instantly, you lower your eyes with a polite smile and dip down. “It is a pleasure to be here. I am grateful to serve my duty.”    You maintain a soft-spoken voice, barely above a timid whisper. It feels foreign to act this way, but not completely unfamiliar. Even if your title has been stripped away and your family name has been wiped, you still are of aristocratic blood.   “Oh my! I haven’t seen you in so long!” One of the middle-aged men approaches you with half-moon eyes and a plump face. You’ve been spoken to enough that you know the minister’s name is Park Jimin and he’s supposed to be your uncle. “You’ve grown so much!”   “You look as healthy as I remember, uncle.” You offer a brighter smile and he chuckles heartily.   “Do I? I’m glad then. I think I’ve packed on a few pounds since your mother last saw me, but don’t tell her that or she may send me some more medication.”   In the midst of the lighthearted conversation, you realize that you’re being scrutinized by the other man. His hair is as dark as his eyes, gruff around his mouth and chin but his features are sharp. He stands with his chin high, his spine straightened, his arms behind his back. His robes are a deep violet, silks luxurious and commanding attention. You’ve seen him before.   Jung Hoseok. The man who has stood in your family’s courtyard with the same posture as each member was brought out and executed. You had witnessed it from the gaps of the weaved basket that you were hidden in until Seokjin covered your eyes with his small hands. It was fifteen years ago, when you were merely five. But you still remember the iron stench of blood well.    The memory and his boring gaze makes you break into a sweat. It’s as if he’s tearing you apart limb by limb, trying to read your intentions and consider if you’re a threat. Fear drains blood from your face. And perhaps he notices because a moment later, he hums and smirks.   “Let’s not waste all day here.” Hoseok turns away. “Minister Park, there are many matters to attend to. Your greetings can continue later.”   “O-Of course.”   Hoseok glances at the older woman standing beside him and she nods, addressing you, “Come with me.”   “From now on, you are to serve the Emperor. I am going to assume that the Park family has taught you proper etiquette.” The head servant lady continues walking and you struggle to keep up with her and the servant. You don’t glance at the members who took you here as they retreat appropriately. From now on, you’re on your own. “If you step out of line, there is little anyone will be able to do for you. The Empress is difficult to please, but as long as you do what you’re told and say nothing more, then your time will be more pleasant.”   You’re brought into a room with two more female servants and the door is quickly slid shut.    “Strip.”   “P-Pardon me?”   The lady huffs in annoyance and steps forward. Her hands reach out and she begins to tug the ribbons of your clothes. You’re startled, immediately stumbling back out of her grasp. “I-I can do it.”   “You should get used to it,” she says as you shed your outer and inner coat. “There’s no point in being embarrassed anymore.”   Still, your fingers are slow to remove your clothing. After a moment, you’ve rid of your clothes, only keeping your modesty by the last thin white layer that hides your breasts and naked torso from plain view.   It seems to be enough and the woman begins to inspect your skin. She rounds you, examining you from head to toe. Then she holds your arm, lifting them at every angle, making sure there are no wounds or rashes that could infect the Emperor. Her eyes, however, eventually fall to your neck. Right at the spot where you remember Jungkook kissed you hard enough to bruise and your face heats at the memory.    “I was accidentally bitten by a bug yesterday on my way here,” you murmur to explain the subtle lilac stain. “I apologize for being so careless.”   “Nothing that won’t fade then,” she states and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. But then the woman suddenly grabs a hold of your cheeks in one hand. She tilts your head to look up into her eyes and she studies your face carefully. She hums after a moment and lets you go.   You blink at her. “Is there something wrong?”   “You’re one of the prettier ones, that’s all.” The woman speaks softly as if it’s a shame — a shame that you’ve been brought here as the Emperor’s consort and that you couldn’t be wedded properly. You’re unable to dwell on her pity when the other girls take you by the arms and guide you to follow the woman when she walks off. The door slides open into an adjacent bedroom. “You’re going to be washed, cleaned, thoroughly. There’s not much time. You must be prepared for tonight.”   Your feet stop, blood running cold. “Tonight?”   The lady turns around, her gaze more sympathetic than before. “There’s no time to be wasted.”   You’re taken roughly, bathed in milky water with flowers plucked from the royal garden and rigorously scrubbed by two other servant girls until your own skin feels raw. Your nails are trimmed, hair combed before being looped and braided into a half-updo, holding golden hairpins that you would’ve never dreamed of ever having. The robes that are slid on you are soft silks, a light blush pink that matches the peony flowers your mother once had in her own garden. And your lips are pressed with red pigment, eyes lined, cheeks dusted with a rosy shade.   When they’re finished, you don’t recognize the person you see in the mirror.   “The Emperor isn’t difficult to please, but one must know not to step out of line.”   “I understand.”   “All hail Empress Soojin!” There’s a clamour outside and the doors abruptly open. Instantly, the servants, including the head servant woman, sweep back and fold their hands together, bowing their heads. You also look to the ground, dipping down in the presence of the Empress.   “You must be the new girl. Lift your head,” she says and you come to meet cat-eyes narrowed in on you. The Empress is dressed in crimson robes with golden swirls, her dark hair in an updo with pins and luxurious decorations. But she is not worthy of her title from her clothing alone. Her aura is intimidating, her expression unyielding to anyone in the room. She carries herself like she knows she was born of importance, that the mandate of Heaven resides on her shoulders.   Empress Soojin looks at you with a scrutinizing eye that makes you fearful. But then she smiles.   “What’s your name?”   “Park Y/N, Your Majesty.”   “What do your parents do?”   “They are nobles. They have some land in the East. We grow wheat for Your Majesty.” The lies are easy, all part of a narrative that isn’t yours.   Her smiles eases even more. “Do a good job.”   “Yes.”   Empress Soojin is kind — more than what you expected someone in her position to be. You would not know how to feel if you were meeting yet another girl your husband was trying to conceive with. But you’re not foolish enough to be put off guard. You know far better than to fall for her facade.   At the end of the day, she is your enemy. She might poison you or kill you if she so chooses. And you know that your child will also be her child. If you do fall pregnant by some miracle, the baby would be taken away from you and given to her. To grow with her. To call her mother.   But you don’t dwell on these thoughts or let it be known.    Empress Soojin leaves once she’s satisfied with your appearance and a veil is put over you as the sun starts to dip over the horizon. The ceremony is about to begin, the jovial music already playing in the distance and muffled through the walls.    “It’s time.”   You’re led out of the room, lugging your heavy robes with you. But as you look up, your breath hitches in your throat.    Doe eyes stare into yours past the translucent veil.    Jungkook is dressed in navy robes with the royal emblem on it, his hair brought into a ponytail with a sheathed sword by his side. Something lodges into your throat. But you try not to let your eyes linger too long on him. After all, here he isn’t your brother’s friend or the companion on your journey. Jungkook is the Emperor’s guard. You are merely the Emperor’s new consort.   “I’m here to escort you by the Emperor’s orders.”   You don’t speak a word as you walk alongside him. Neither does he.   But when no one’s watching, you steal a glance at Jungkook from the corner of your eye and find that he’s peeking at you too.   The moment is too short.   The throne room is grandiose, golden pillars spiraling upwards to hold the high ceilings. The room is full of ministers sitting by and eating, young girls dancing to the deafening beat of the drums and the melody of the flutes. But even from the distance, you can see the Emperor seated at the throne beside the Empress and Jung Hoseok who stands to his right.    Your hand tightens into a fist until your nails have sunk into your palm.   “All hail Consort Y/N!”   You come to the bottom of the steps where Jungkook leaves you, resuming to the side of the stairs, and you lower yourself on your knees. “It is my honour to serve you, Your Majesty.”   Your expression remains impassive, demure perhaps. But inside you, the rage ignites.   Emperor Minseok who stood by and did nothing as the Kim Family, your family, was massacred. Left behind two children on accident to fend for themselves. Left the nation to soil as he was kept inside ravishing young girls and indulging in pleasures.    He isn’t an Emperor. He does not have the Mandate of Heaven.    He is a puppet.   Emperor Minseok’s eyes light. He scrambles upwards and pushes Empress Soojin aside, making her wince. But he still moves past her to sprint down the stairs and comes to you like a child getting a new toy.   Instantaneously, your veil is thrown off.   The child-like man gasps in excitement. “You’re pretty!”   Hoseok, the person you know well as the mastermind orchestrating the entire court and country, the king’s personal advisor, approaches with a smile. “I am glad you are satisfied with the new girl, Your Majesty. But you must show restraint.”   The Emperor enthusiastically nods, but still takes your hand. He pulls you up the stairs and leads you to sit on the other side of him, something the Empress is visibly mortified at in spite of staying quiet.    “Continue the celebration,” he announces and the music commences once more with the pleasant laughter of the ministers. Minister Park has a twinkle in his smile and slightly raises his cup towards you before taking a sip. Jungkook, on the other hand, faces forward with a blank expression as if he were a statue. “What’s your name?”   Your eyes tear away from the doe-eyed man. “My name is Y/N. I am Park Minister’s niece, sire.”   There’s no reason to hide your first given name. It’s not like they would know who you and Seokjin are.   The ceremony and dancing continues, held as an excuse to welcome you and give fortune to tonight’s conception. In reality, it’s for those in the court to indulge themselves. The Emperor fawns over you the entire time, asking many questions and trying to get you to eat to which you force yourself to swallow down the food. You’re nauseated, especially with the times he touches you, when he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest, but you retain a shy disposition to not arouse suspicion of your true feelings.   It ends much too soon.   “His Majesty will be here shortly,” the servant informs you as you’re brought into the bedroom and before you can get in another word, the doors shut.   They’re listening — you know they are. Maybe other girls have run before you, tried to flee while they still had the chance. But no matter how strong the urge is, your feet stay rooted into the ground.    The bed is revolting to look at. The golden sheets that seem to reek of a luxury that you have never known and now imprison you. You feel sick, like you might throw up, but you hold it in.   Your eyes shut tight, trying to regain control of your breath, trying to dispel away your worries.   It will be quick. It will be over. It won’t change anything about who you are. You will survive.   This is something you must do.   The doors open with Emperor Minseok drunkenly stumbling inside after grabbing a hold of the door frame. He haphazardly slides it shuts and giggles once his gaze has set upon you. You swallow hard, moving back on instinct. He grins and bumbles forward.   “You’re so pretty, huh?” He strips off his overcoat and you fall to the bed, silently seated and gripping the edge. “C’mon, you can say something. Won’t scare you away, kitty cat.”   Emperor Minseok pushes you back and climbs over you with the carelessness of an eager but intoxicated man. He stinks of alcohol and you hold your breath, looking away. He snickers and then frantically pushes the many layers of your dress up as if he doesn’t want to waste any more time.   Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, but you comply, like a dead fish against the sheets. Your eyes shut tight and you think about what it means to make sacrifices...   The Emperor tugs his drawers down in one swoop and aligns his cock against your folds. His hips at once jut forward without warning and your teeth grit, holding in your pained whimper as he enters into you. It burns, aching to the point where your eyes are stinging. He groans above you, withdraws, thrusts into you once and then he’s coming.   As quick as five seconds.    The Emperor groans, eyes shut tight, and then he collapses on top of you.   It takes a moment, for you to gasp for air, to come back to your senses and then you’re shoving the sweaty man off of your body, freeing yourself of his heavy weight. Emperor Minseok snores, already worn himself out, and you curse at him silently while you pull the layers of your dress down.   It’s tempting.   You want to kill him — and it would be easy to do so. But it would mean your death, Seokjin’s everlasting grief over it and the likelihood that someone else will become Jung Hoseok’s puppet.   So you gather your wits and slide off the bed until you’re seated on the floor.   //   In the middle of the night, there’s a shadow at the doorway and a soft murmur of your name.   You grab a loose silk cover to wrap your body and open the door. The candle has long been blown out but you haven’t slept, stayed on the ground while the Emperor snorts in his slumber. You hadn’t expected to see anyone, not until morning at least, but it’s surprising to see Jungkook.   Although you’re not sure if that surprise is pleasant or not.   “What are you doing here?” you ask in a hushed tone, shutting the door behind you and wrapping your arms around your torso, away from the cold wind that brushes through.   If anyone saw him here, it could ruin everything.    You don’t know why someone like Jungkook would take that risk.   “I know. I just…” The more you allow your eyes to adjust to the darkness, the better you are at being able to discern the furrow of his brows and the way it mars his expression. “How...how was it?”   “How was it?” you spit at him. “What do you think?”   There’s a held silence. Neither of you speak.    But the moment anger surges through you, the upheaval follows.    Against your will, sobs begin to break through your frame. As intense as the day Seokjin delivered the news that you would have to do this. And the memories burst through, catching up to you.   It would have been fine if you were alone.   If you could pretend that it wasn’t bad, that it meant nothing. But the earnestly spoken question from Jungkook has brought forth the truth that you had so desperately tried to push away.   You cry, tears shedding down your face as you hold your face in your hands. You are oblivious to the way Jungkook’s fingers twitch, how his hands reach out, how he hesitates. But then he embraces you, pressing your face against his shoulder, his arms around your waist.   You grab onto him, latching on as if he is the only thing that grounds you to this insanity. You muffle your sobs, trying to keep them quiet before you’re found. You wish this was Seokjin.   But it’s Jungkook.   “I had a younger sister,” he tells you suddenly, calming your hiccups as he cradles you against him. “Her name was Jieun. She was brought in, just like you. Five years ago. She was taken in by force. All because she caught the eye of the Emperor.”   You pull away from him and he wipes a tear off your cheek, holding your face within his hands.   You didn’t know. Frankly, you don’t know anything about Jungkook, but to hear him tell you, for him to openly share is something you don’t take lightly. “W-What happened to her?”   “She was always weak and they mistook her sickness for pregnancy. When they found out she wasn’t, they hung her for supposedly losing the baby.” His whispers are quiet, but they carry a grief that you can barely understand. Jungkook’s eyes connect within yours.    Finally, you begin to understand. Why he started this, why he’s come here.    “I don’t want something like that to happen again. I’ll do everything in my power to keep it from happening to you.”   You nod.   He didn’t need to come see you tonight. But you’re thankful he did.   //   “All hail Empress Soojin!”   The doors open with a parade of servants following the female who holds up her dress, entering through the doorway. You meet her halfway, head dipped and hands folded with a demure smile. Her eyes are narrowed in on you and you pay no mind when her servants begin to inspect the place, examining the bed sheets and any other evidence of last night’s affair.   “Good morning, Your Majesty.”   “How are you?” Her gaze sweeps across your body, lingering on your stomach.   “It was fine.”   The Empress lifts her hand and two more servants enter with a tray of food. They start to arrange the breakfast on the table. “You might be carrying a child, so it will be important to nourish yourself.”   You look at the dishes with a sense of queasiness. The last thing you want is food — you don’t think you could contain it in your stomach if you tried. And there’s a fear in your mind that she’s going to take this opportunity to poison you. You wouldn’t be surprised if she did.   So you dip your head. “If you may pardon me, Your Majesty, I am not feeling hungry.”   “Don’t be foolish.”   “I—”   Your words are choked the moment your head is whipped to the side. Your cheek burns. The Empress’ hand print is embedded into your skin, her arm still raised in the air. Your eyes sting.   Even in your worst moments, you’ve never been slapped. Not by Seokjin. Not even by your parents.   “Her Majesty was kind enough to come here and offer you food but you dare deny her and talk back?” The servant beside her shakes her head in disapproval. “The Park Family has no manners.”   Immediately, you fall to your knees. Your head meets the carpet, right by her feet but she doesn’t see the way your teeth grit. “I apologize for my disrespect.”   Empress Soojin huffs in frustration and there’s a clamour as feet stomp out, making the room silent once more. It’s then that you lift yourself back onto your feet and pour the tonic she gave you into the plant.    You spend the rest of your day in your room after taking a bath, staying out of anyone’s way as you were told to do. But after nightfall, there’s news of Emperor Minseok planning to come see you. So you suppose you must’ve done something right for him to willingly reach out to you.   His body weight is heavy against you, your back molded against the bed.    “You’re very pretty,” he says for the millionth time.   You try to muster a smile, but keep your head tilted to stare at the wall, acting like you are much too shy. “Thank you.”   The Emperor is easily worked up, the very antithesis of control. He enters you and you bare through it, getting used to the action. But Emperor Minseok finishes in a mere three pumps, gripping at your thighs with a groan. He rolls over to sleep and you shove down your skirt.   If you could count the little fortune you have, you’re relieved he’s been too impatient to undress you properly. He’s neither kissed you nor laid a hand to the softest parts of your body.   Not like Jungkook.   //   The palace is unfamiliar. It’s a vast space that stretches across the plane and numerous structures gives room for ministers and servants you will never know the name of. The only person you truly know in these walls is Jungkook. He’s the only person to confide in, but there is little opportunity to see him, even if you long to.   But he comes to you, enough times to make you reassured that he is always there, following in your shadow. Though it’s never enough to fulfill your desires or relieve your yearning.   “What is this?”   You open the envelope he’s passed to you, pulling out the folded parchment. The two of you are hidden in an empty warehouse where supplies and weapons are kept in wooden crates. Grime lays in thick layers, cobwebs collected at the corners, but some specks of dust float in the air, seen by the sunbeams that pierce through the gaps of the planks covering the windows.   Your eyes widen at the familiar writing of the letter and your eyes skim the page to see Seokjin’s signature at the bottom.   The corner of Jungkook’s mouth quirks to see your wide grin.   “H-How did you get it here?”   “We have servants working for us and a communication line coming in and out of the palace. It’s the way we exchange news.”   You nod, reading the letter and the kind words that are so much like Seokjin, encapsulating his personality with every ‘dear sister’. But the sentences are short and the content makes the blood drain from your face. There’s been delays of Seokjin getting into the palace.   They need more time. More than three months.   “There won’t be enough time.” Your hands drop, the letter put at your side. Your eyes lock with Jungkook’s, but he doesn’t seem surprised, as if he already knew. “I’m going to die.”   He doesn’t flinch, expression solemn, unyielding to this devastating news. “I will help you.”    “How?!”   “We’ll give them what they want. You won’t be executed if you’re carrying a child.”   “The Emperor is infertile—!”    But Jungkook isn’t.    And once the implications of his words sinks into you, you turn away to hide from his gaze, your voice shrill. “How could you….how could you even think of that? You’re as cruel as Jin. No one...no one has any regard for me whatsoever. It’s all about the country, the revolution.”   In the midst of your hysteria, he calls you. “Y/N.”   “You want to use me. You want to use my body,” you sob.   “I don’t want you to die,” Jungkook emphasizes and grabs you, spinning you around to look at him again. His hand wraps around your wrist, doe eyes staring into yours. Your breath hitches and it goes silent. “If there’s anything I can do within my control to help you, I will. I don’t want to feel powerless.” Jungkook’s grasp on you tightens, as if he is afraid to let go. “Not anymore.”   You recognize the pain in his eyes. It’s tangible. Earnest.   On instinct, you lean in, pressing your lips against his to console his worries. It’s a soft kiss, one where Jungkook’s nose brushes against yours and his hands lift to cradle your face. You succumb to the itch of having him close to you, giving into your carnal desires and the lust that has lingered in you after the kisses you two shared in the darkness of the forest that one night.   And Jungkook doesn’t hesitate either.    He touches you, fingers gently tugging the ribbons of your attire to slip off the inner coat and many layers they’ve cloaked you in. It’s freeing to be out of the silks. You can finally breathe again, but not for long when Jungkook kisses you until you’re gasping for air and your breath is stained with his.   You grasp at his own clothes, ridding them and his sword clanks to the ground.   His mouth moves from your jaw to the juncture of your neck, traveling down your collarbone and the valley of your breasts. He sucks at your flesh, greedy to mark every inch of it. Even if he doesn’t say it aloud, you can tell through his touches. He doesn’t want to use your body. He wants you.   “Jungkook.” The whine only spurs him on and you hold his head against you, fingers tangling to his hair.   It’s silent, except for the sounds of him kissing against your skin. Heat rises on your face, warming your cheeks. You don’t know how Jungkook can stay so careful and controlled. He never once rushes, giving plenty of opportunities for you to push him away if you so choose to.   But you don’t and he lays you on the soft hay collected in the corner of the warehouse.   You shy away from his attention, your naked body laid in front of him. But then he strips from the rest of his clothes, not letting you be the only one bare. Immediately, Jungkook reaches down to kiss you again, mouth pressed against yours like he has become dependent on your taste.   Jungkook readjusts you, getting you to sit on his lap facing him.   “Is this okay?”   You nod, gripping at his shoulders for leverage. His doe eyes lock into yours.   “Tell me if it hurts.”   “Okay.” Tears fog your vision. You’ve never been treated so gently before, not from a man or woman. While the circumstances are undesirable, bliss still blooms in your chest.    Jungkook licks his thumb and lowers his hand to continue to warm your center. You keen against him with a moan as he plays with your bud, rubbing your clit in circles and watching your expression carefully. Your slick begins to leak to his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to mind.   “J-Jungkook…”   Your eyes are teary, nose reddened from the cold. Jungkook presses his forehead to yours, your breaths laboured together. His cock lays thick in his hand, slit weeping with precum and the two of you look down, watching him align it to your folds.   His hips push up at the same time as you guide yourself down.    Jungkook groans. The pair of you are finally connected.    Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt. Far from it and the realization makes your cheeks hot to the touch. You’re snug around him, able to feel his head nudging against your cervix.   “A-Are you okay?” he asks and you nod several times fervently.    Instead of answering in words, you close the distance with another searing kiss.    Soft smacking fills the room with his tongue licking into your mouth. Jungkook’s arms wrap around your waist, guiding you up and down your length while he meets you halfway. Your moans are muffled, his chest pressed against yours and you begin to sweat at your hairline.   You break apart.   “Jung—ko...ok.”   “Hmm?” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face.   “Harder,” you whisper so quietly that you can't hear yourself. He blinks at you, not understanding and you throw away your pride, knowing that there’s no reason to be ashamed when you’re with him. “H-Harder, please. I’m not fragile.”   The corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile, “Okay.”   Soon, indecent noises of pounding fills the room. You hug one another, keeping each other grounded with your bodies. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, your whines stifled against his warm skin. Jungkook tries to catch his breath, a cold cloud emitting from his parted lips.   It feels good. To have your warm and wet heat filled by Jungkook. To be stretched by him and feel him all the way to your throat. To have him so close to you. The pleasure is overwhelming.   Your slick coats his length, dripping down and making it messy where his thighs hits against your behind. It feels like you’re scratching an itch as you ride him, your cunt being bruised against his force. Pleasure thrums through you, thoughts turned to slush, surrounded in his scent. Your eyes are hazy and you feel feverish. All that befalls from your lips are broken and pitched whines of Jungkook’s name.   It gets sloppy and his strokes start to become short and frenzied in a staccato rhythm.   “J-Jungkook!”   He licks his thumb and rubs against your clit, making you sob out. Then, you come undone. You seize, squeezing around him. Light pierces through your eyelids and your toes curl. Pleasure overwhelms you until you’re spineless. At the same time, Jungkook pants heavily and his hips thrust upwards. A moment later, he’s cumming deep into your sopping cunt. His head is lodged right against the opening of your womb. Thick ropes painting your velvet walls. Hopefully to conceive.   “—Soojin visited the consort the morning after the ceremony.”   “Is that so?”   There are voices from outside and your eyes widen, lips stealing a gasp.   Immediately, Jungkook’s palm raises and cups your mouth. His brows furrow, eyes staying locked into yours and the both of you sit still, staying silent. You turn your heads and through the gaps of the wooden planks covering the window, you can see Hoseok and a minister brushing past.   “She’s never shown favour to any of the consorts.” They stop, right where you and Jungkook are naked, merely separated by a brick wall.   “Perhaps she sees something different from this girl than the others,” Hoseok hums. “Keep an eye on Empress Soojin and tell me if she does anything else out of the ordinary.”   Jungkook’s cum leaks from your center, dripping down his length.   “Yes.”   They finally pass and Jungkook’s hand falls from your mouth, finally taking a sigh of relief. Jungkook removes himself from you but only after he pushes his milky fluid back into you with his brows furrowed in concentration. He tucks his cum past your used fold into your heat.   Once satisfied, he gets up and puts back on his clothes.   You’re still reeling, not sure what to say or if you can even look him in the eye anymore. Part of you feels used. You’ve been passed from one man to the next, always with a purpose, a greater reason that your own desires. But then—   “Are you alright?”   Jungkook is tender, helping you up and brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you get dressed again while you feel his cum drip down your thigh. It’s a reminder of the sins you have just committed together, something worthy of treason.   But it’s something you find yourself not minding doing again.   “I’m fine,” you murmur after you’re dressed again.   Jungkook stares at you silently, his eyes unable to be torn away from you. Then he leans forward as if driven on by sheer instinct. Jungkook’s mouth presses against yours in a sweet kiss. It catches you off guard. And then he parts with downcast eyes. “I’m sorry for doing something unnecessary.”   “It’s okay.” You meet his gaze. “I don’t...mind.”   He nods and you turn before he can see your smile. Your hand press gently against your stomach as hope blossoms through you.

Time passes and maybe the Empress notices that you’ve been smiling more because she asks— “Are you feeling any differences?” — with a careful eye and something akin to anticipation.   “Not yet,” you answer with your head dipped. “But I’m sure it may happen soon.”   The Emperor has been seeing you two times a week. But you’ve been seeing Jungkook every other day.   If the two of you are lucky, one of these days a baby will stick to your womb and neither of you will have to be worried about how doom is impending. You have a feeling though; it’s going to work.   “Empress Soojin has personally ordered a tonic for you,” the head servant says as she enters with a tray and porcelain bowl filled with an amber liquid. “It will increase your fertility.”   Your eyes flicker from her face to the bowl and the servant softens. “Don’t worry. She won’t harm you if there’s a chance you could be carrying her child.”   You trust the woman and you ease your instincts, taking the tonic. And no later are you and Jungkook’s limbs tangled in the old warehouse again, away from prying eyes and ears.   But it’s taking too long.   There isn’t any news of Seokjin’s arrival, no movement from the rebellion group whatsoever and you can tell that Emperor Minseok is losing interest in you.   As you’re passing by the pavilion, you take a brief pause.   The servant behind you also stops, aware that you are watching the way Empress Minseok is drinking and laughing with other women, being served wine as he lies on giggling girls trying to catch his attention. You aren’t jealous, far from it. But you know nothing good will come out of his boredom with you, that it will only speed up your execution date if you are still without child. His favour would prove not only advantageous to you, but to Seokjin and Jungkook.   You’re supposed to preoccupy him after all, keep him distracted.   “All hail Consort Y/N.”   The doors to the Emperor’s chambers open right as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon. Emperor Minseok is having drinks and some dishes while there are two concubines looped around his arms.   “My beautiful consort!” He calls out to you with a grin, surprise evident on his features.   You muster a smile and dip down. “May I speak to you privately, Your Majesty?”   “Sure, sure.” He bats at the concubines, motioning at them to leave. They bow their heads and scatter out. Once alone, you lift your eyes to lock it into his. “Is there something wrong?”   “I just…” Your smile becomes shy. “...wanted to see you.”   Emperor Minseok bursts out laughing, hearty in his chest and grating to your ears. “You were lonely? Come sit.” He pats at tiny chicken thighs and you hold your breath, complying. You nearly slip off his leg, but his sticky hands are placed on your waist.   His nose digs into your neck and you accidentally flinch.    He notices, brows raising and you swiftly cover up your mistake with a smile. “It’s still...hard for me to have so much attention from you.” You fiddle with your fingers. “I’m not used to it.”   The man grins. “But you still came here.”   “Because I was lonely,” you confirm in a quiet whisper. “The palace is so grand, I don’t really know what to do…”   “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, clearly not caring about the topic of conversation anymore with the way he stares at you. It’s almost as if he’s entranced by your features and his hand reaches down to slink up your leg.   You abruptly stand and grab his collar, making him rise to his feet too. “The palace is beautiful, especially the gardens. But it’s lonely to go flower viewing by yourself.”   Emperor Minseok cups your cheek. “Then I’ll come with you next time.”   You turn away, out of his grasp. “I could never ask that of Your Majesty. I can’t be selfish and you are always so busy. Actually...I…”   “What is it?”   You duck your head, playing a bashful act. “I try to look at your painting to satisfy my loneliness.”    Emperor Minseok chortles again and you spin around with a tiny pout. You step forward until he’s fallen onto his bed, amused at your boldness. “But it’s hard,” you say as you begin to climb on top of him. “There’s not many paintings of you.”   You position yourself so he’s underneath you. You straddle his hips, a coy smile at your features. “For a grand palace like this, one would think there would be more.”   “You’re right.” The Emperor is breathless, already excited after barely ten seconds. His greedy hands come up to grab your bottom, but you push him off so he doesn’t touch you.   “My father once commissioned a painter,” you murmur as you slowly tug his trousers down. “He was quite immature and eccentric, but his skills are unrivaled with.”   “W-What is his name?” His eyes watch you, pathetically salivating. You wonder if he’s going to cum in his pants already.   “I...think his name was Kang Seokjin,” you lie, quirking your head to the side. You grab his tiny, red cock that looks like it’s about to burst and he groans. “Have you never heard of him? He’s quite infamous in the East.”   “I-I’ve never.”   You hum, tugging your many skirts up and his eyes pin to your exposed skin. “Well, he’s a free-spirit and rarely does paintings, even for people who pay for it. Gold doesn’t buy him. My father had to beg him for weeks and even then he was reluctant.”   He scoffs. “He would never deny the Emperor.”   “Of course.” You align him up to your pink folds. Yet, you linger, putting the crumbling man under you in great suspense. “But…”   Emperor Minseok blinks at you, becoming impatient. “But?”   “You never know till you try, right?”    You drop down like the way Jungkook taught you to. You know better now how to satisfy a man, how to satisfy yourself, what kind of rhythm works best. But it only takes two swivels of your hips and one groan from him until he’s done and finishes. Emperor Minseok has tired himself out and succumbs to the seduction of sleep almost immediately with a smile on his face.    You roll off of him as he starts to snore.   You feel disgusted — skin grimy and crawling, the pit in your stomach growing with queasiness, revolted at what you had to do. But you know bathing and scrubbing your skin until it’s raw won’t be enough to satisfy you. It won’t be enough to cleanse yourself from him. So you leave the Emperor’s chambers as quickly as you came, abandoning the greasy man on the bed and shutting the doors behind you.   In the dark, you hurry as fast as your feet can take you.    You’re out of breath by the time you’ve twisted through the structures and pavilions. But relief comes in the form of a doe-eyed, dark-haired individual. The person you’ve been wanting to run to.   The person you’ve been yearning for.   “What are you doing here?” he scolds sharply, standing as you slide the doors behind you. The candlelight flickers, providing a dim glow on the profile of his face. “What if someone saw you?”   “They didn’t and they won’t.”    The bedroom Jungkook’s stationed in is tiny, a round table and two stools with a large opening for where his bed fits into the wall as if it were built in. But none of it matters to you. You don’t care that he has nothing but a sword and some folded clothes. All you care about is that he’s here.   “And what if you were caught?”   “Every time we do this, we risk getting caught.” You quiet his worries by closing the distance. You cradle his cheeks in your palm and kiss him frantically, sealing your mouth against his.   Jungkook hums to the sweet taste of your lips, licking into your hot mouth, but then he pulls away. “Wait.” His hands secure around your shoulders and he searches your expression after noticing the way your eyes have become teary. “Is there something wrong?”   You shake your head. “I just want you. Is...is that so bad?”   The candle is blown out, flooding the room in a comfortable, intimate darkness. But close up, you can still see Jungkook with the faded moonlight coming through the paper walls.    His back falls against the bed, but Jungkook doesn’t give you a long opportunity to climb and sit above him. He whirls you around until it’s your body that molds against the soft surface of his bed, preferring to take care of you than vice versa. And when he undresses you and sees the sopping mess between your legs, he understands what this is all about.    Why you’re so desperate for his touch.   “Let’s get rid of this,” he murmurs tenderly, not at once hesitating and you nod.    Jungkook kisses you again, deep and earnestly until you’re panting against him and he’s swallowing your exhales. Then his mouth travels downwards, careful this time not to leave a bruising mark against your skin where others could see in spite of longing to mark you. The man’s tongue ends up wrapping around your soft breast, allowing the bud to pebble underneath the warm muscle. You keen into him with a sob, arms wrapped around his neck and he continues mercilessly.   His lips travel down to your stomach and once your skin has gotten warm to the touch, your body writhing against the sheets stained with his scent, he positions you upwards. On his lap. Facing him.   Jungkook brushes away the strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and he gently holds your chin, turning your head so your eyes can lock into his. “Look at me,” he pleads in a husky timbre.   You nod and he positions himself at your dripping center, allowing you to drop down when you choose to. And when you do, the two of you groan while keeping your gazes connected.   It feels like he’s filled a void that you didn’t know was there. He’s a snug fit around your velvet heat, stretching just enough that pleasure thrums through you. “J-Jungkook.”   He makes a noise at the back of his throat, understanding what you’re feeling and he leans in for another kiss, his tongue wrapping around yours and drawing more sounds out of you.   The two of you work with each other. Your hips swivel as he pounds upwards into you, pelvises rubbed against one another to clear away Emperor Minseok’s fluids. Jungkook works hard while you squeeze and the cum drips out of you in clumps. It sticks to your thighs and his thick length, drying unpleasantly, but soon it’s only your wetness that comes out from your center.   Jungkook’s hands hold your body, touching you anywhere you guide him to. And you lean onto his sturdy frame, holding onto his built shoulders. Finally, you feel clean. You feel loved.   You kiss him again and his thrusts stutter.   It’s intimate, the sounds of gasping breaths and skin slapping on skin filling the darkness.   Jungkook can tell you’re close and rubs against your clit mercilessly and you cry, quickening your own pace to chase after your pleasure. But before you can finish, he turns your head again.   “Look at me, Y/N,” he says and you nod, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.   You cum while looking into Jungkook’s doe eyes, trying your best to keep them open. And as you squeeze around him, hugging against his cock, he cums. Deep into your heat, right at your cervix. Claiming you as his. Ropes of milky white spurting in then leaking down out of your folds.    All while keeping his tender gaze trained on yours.   You kiss Jungkook again, letting him soften within you, keeping him here just a moment longer.   You love Jungkook. It’s a fact that you don’t want to face in light of the situation — one that you had tried to deny for the sake of your own sanity, but it’s all too true. You love him. And every time he holds you, it feels like you’re making love together. If only things were different, maybe you could’ve had a future together. Maybe you could’ve gotten Seokjin’s blessing and married Jungkook, started a family together and lived a humble life for the rest of your days.   But that desperate and simple wish seems so far out of reach.   Overwhelmed with emotion, you try to keep your tears at bay. Yet, they shed down your cheeks and in the intimate darkness, Jungkook holds you close to him.

It’s one afternoon while you’re walking in the gardens with the poor servant assigned to you following closely behind that you recognize a dark-haired, mischievous individual that you had missed. But you don’t call out to your brother, no matter how much you want to. You keep yourself poised, distant.   “Oh, Consort Y/N. Glad to see you wandering,” the head eunuch, a man you’ve spoken to little, says with a smile.   You keep your head lowered, a tiny smile that is all too genuine on your features. “Empress Soojin said it would be good for my health, so I have followed her instructions.”   “Well yes. Indeed it is.” He grins and then seems to remember the taller, younger man beside him. The head eunuch steps aside and motions towards your older brother. “This is Kang Seokjin. He is a painter from the East that Emperor Minseok has commissioned. Seokjin, this is the Emperor’s most recent consort, Consort Y/N. But I believe you have met before.”   “Only briefly.” You lift your eyes towards your sibling who smiles. “It is nice to see you again.”   “Yes, nice to see you again.” Seokjin’s eyes speak more than his words do and the two of you look at one another for a long moment, exchanging meaningful expressions and taking in the differences that two months have done.   “Well, I must head off now.” You break away the stare, keeping yourself unsuspicious. “It was pleasant to meet your acquaintance again.”   You pass Seokjin, but the two of you look at one another from the corner of your eyes.   He’s finally in the court and a sense of relief fills you. If a few more ministers agree to turn against the Emperor, everything will be complete. It’s Seokjin’s turn to act and now only time will tell.

In the middle of the night when the palace has gone asleep, you sneak from your quarters.   The dirty warehouse has become your sanctuary with Jungkook, a place you’ve grown fond of because it holds your most precious memories. It was this place that you looked forward to the most. That kept you sane. That always promised that your favourite person was waiting inside.    It’s tonight with the full moon out that you get to savour the moment. After the deed has been done, you’re slumped in Jungkook’s arms, naked with just his outer coat around your shoulders.   You take his right hand, uncurling his fingers. Carefully, you trace letters against his warm palm.   “Kim?” Jungkook questions after a moment of concentration.   “Kim means gold,” you murmur and trace more letters against his skin. With your head leaning against his chest, you can hear his soothing heartbeat in your ear. “Seok means great. Jin means precious. Together, it means great gift or big treasure.”   If things were different, you would’ve liked to be a scholar. Transcribing books all day long or writing your own, perhaps creating poetry about nature. As a child, you hated studying and preferred to play like Seokjin did. But it was now that you yearned for those simple times again.   You know Jungkook’s name too and you trace each letter against his palm with your index finger carefully. “Jeon means rice. Jung spindle tree. Kook is country. Together, it means to have a beautiful country.”   “Pillars of the nation,” he clarifies quietly. “Or at least that’s what I think my grandfather intended when he named me.”   “They’re such great names. I hope….the name of our child will be meaningful too,” you hum drowsily while dreaming of the possibilities. “If it’s a boy, Minkook, the country of the people. If it’s a girl, Yujin, meaning full of stars…”    The both of you know you won’t be able to name your child. Not if it’s born within these stone walls. Not when everyone believes it is the Emperor’s. The baby will be taken away from you the moment it’s out, raised while calling the Empress their mother and you would be a nobody.    But then Jungkook dispels away your anguish, even if it’s just for a second. “They’re beautiful names.”   The corner of your lips quirk and you blink sleepily. You tell him about your dream, a memory of the future you have conjured to comfort you, “They would be raised in a quiet home on top of a hill. Where we could see the sunset and sunrise every day. There would be grass where the children could play. A river nearby to wash the clothes too…”   Jungkook’s arms tighten around you and you feel the press of his lips against your temple. “That would be perfect.”   You hum again silently with a smile, falling asleep with Jungkook right beside you. And it’s all you know you can have.   //   Empress Soojin enters your chambers the moment you are doubled over in a copper bowl, the contents of last night’s dinner squeezed painfully from your stomach. The world is on an axis, your head dizzy since you had awoken. But when you realize she’s standing there and taking in your crumpled form, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and try to stand.   “Your Majesty…”    The Empress rushes over to steady you, her eyes wide and full of surprise. “You feel nauseous?” Your expression meets hers, your face drained of all blood. The silence speaks for itself. Empress Soojin immediately whirls around to her parade of servants, anticipation etched on her features. “Call the physician!”   No sooner are you laid in the bed with the physician pressing two fingers on your wrist, quiet as he listens to your heartbeat. The Empress is crowding around, her hands gathered together but still trembling. Then the old man lifts his head with brightened eyes.   “She has been with child for two months now. It’s extraordinarily healthy and strong.”   Empress Soojin stumbles back. Her palm is pressed against her chest, her breath staggering out of her parted lips. And you lift yourself, your hand laid on your stomach that has yet to swell.   It’s your child and Jungkook’s.   “From now on, only consume cold foods and make sure it is properly cut or mashed,” he says as he wobbles to his feet. “Avoid shellfish and pineapple too. I will prescribe a herbal tonic that you can take daily.”   “Thank you.” Empress Soojin is grinning and comes to your side to envelop you in a warm embrace that you aren’t used to. “Are you still feeling unwell? Are you hungry? It is important to nourish yourself for this baby.”    When you shake your head, having no appetite, she nods and looks around. “This place is so rancid and dusty.” The Empress spits several servant’s names and they step forth with bowed heads. “Clean this room immediately! We will go on a walk in the meanwhile and get fresh air.”    There is little you can do to deny the whims of the Empress who’s more alive than you’ve ever seen her before. So while your room is cleaned and redecorated with luxurious sheets and golden vases, you’re guided by her on a walk around the garden.   The news spreads like wildfire, passing from servant to servant to official declarations.   Within a few minutes, Emperor Minseok is bounding over. There’s a grin plastered on his sweaty face, the strands of his hair sticking together. He’s out of breath, still in horseback riding gear like he had gotten off a few seconds ago and you recognize Seokjin behind him in the same attire.   “You’re expecting a child?!” Emperor Minseok exclaims loudly, startling you. He’s jumping and you muster a stiff smile, not sure what you should say. But he doesn’t give you an opportunity to. He immediately reaches out to your stomach with his greasy and soot filled hands. “Is it moving?”   But he never lays a hand on you.   Empress Soojin slaps his hand away and her brows furrow sternly. “The child is at a delicate stage. These are not trivial matters.” She pinches her nose. “And the horses’ stench that you’ve brought here is defeating the purpose of coming out here for fresh air.”   “Of course, of course.” Emperor Minseok smiles, retracting his arm.   Your eyes meet Seokjin’s and the corner of his mouth quirks warmly into a familiar smile. “Congratulations, Your Highness. May your child have great blessings as you do.”   You bow your head, trying to not prolong your gaze and arouse suspicion. “Thank you.”   “But…” Emperor Minseok’s eyes flicker between you and the Empress. “Does this mean I will get another concubine soon since I can’t play with Y/N anymore?”   Immediately, Empress Soojin is distraught. Hurt comes across her features as if she’s been slapped and for once, you sympathize with her. She never answers, merely turning around. “We should get you back inside for some rest. It’s not good to be in the cold wind for too long.”   You nod, glancing at your brother behind your shoulder and after a moment, you follow her.   But as you’re making your way back, your path is intercepted by Jungkook on his way to the courtyard. He’s dressed in black robes that match his long hair tied back, holding a sheathed sword as always. Yet what’s different from before is the tenderness of his eyes.   Jungkook doesn’t need to speak for you to understand. You’ve come to learn all the ways he communicates through silence.   “I heard about the news,” he says and you slow to a complete stop. “Congratulations, Your Highness.”   “Thank you.” You savour the moment, looking at him with a soft smile.    To the Empress who turns around to see the delay, the exchange is simply between a guard and consort without connection. She doesn’t know that the meaningful gaze is shared between a mother and father to be, two secret lovers separated by circumstance.   //   There’s many good wishes and felicitations given to you. Even Minister Park, your supposed uncle, makes an extravagant gesture by personally delivering a basket of fresh fruits and vegetables that makes Empress Soojin command the servants to re-wash. But the person you least expect to receive praise and blessings from is Jung Hoseok. In spite of that, he is here in your room, having shown up suddenly.   It’s a surprise and you struggle to get up from your bed.   “Are you alright?” he asks, concerned. “You don’t really need to stand—”   You muster a smile and manage to sit up. “It’s quite alright. I was always taught that the least I can do is greet a guest properly.”   The thin, middle-aged man rubs the gray scruff on his chin and you can feel his sharp eyes that probe into you. The way he studies you carefully would cause sweat to bead along your forehead if not for how safe you feel. It’s not from Empress’ insinuated promise of protection or that you’re abstained from execution or knowing Jungkook would defend you at any cost either.    Ever since you’ve found out that there was life budding within you, you’ve felt safe.   You’re no longer alone. No matter where you go, you carry someone else with you.   And now there’s never been a stronger reason for you to fight, to be strong and unafraid.   “I heard the physician was called this morning,” Hoseok says.   “It was just morning sickness.”   The man hums, arms shifting to place behind his back. “Well, the Empress made quite an uproar.”   “She often worries about me and the child,” you state plainly and it almost sounds like a threat, one Hoseok visibly acknowledges with a cocked brow. But you don’t dwell, clearing your throat and putting a pleasant expression on your face. “May I ask for what reason you’ve graced me with your presence?”    “I just wanted to visit the future emperor.” Hoseok’s eyes linger on your stomach and his smile becomes wry. “It’s quite a miracle, isn’t it? It’s no secret that there has been….some difficulty for a child to be produced. And for it to last this long too. The physician said it was exceptionally strong.”   Your smile stretches, but mirth never reaches your eyes. “The Mandate of Heaven grants miracles. It must be a divine wish and I am honoured to be the one fulfilling it.”   “Yes.” He nods and then notes, “well, you’ve gotten close to the Emperor’s guard, haven’t you?”   “I have no idea what you mean.”   Hoseok eyes you and it goes silent.   Then, you sit back down with the back of your hand pressed to your forehead. You gasp for breath and bat at yourself. “I’m beginning to feel faint. I think I need to lay down. It would be best if you were to leave, minister. God forbid...something happens to this child otherwise.”   Hoseok scoffs, but turns to exit.   Your fist clench, wrinkling the sheets underneath your hold. You’ll do whatever it takes to protect Jungkook’s child.   //   The fourth month milestone of your pregnancy is eventually reached without many qualms or complications. You’re less nauseous than you were before, but the queasiness has been replaced with hunger that often strikes in the middle of the night. You’re given teas and tonics, tested to make sure there is no poison — something Empress Soojin obsesses over and screams if there’s even a hair in the liquid which you’re still not sure if it’s worth laughing about or being scared of. Your breathing has become laboured too, even after short walks.   But most importantly, you’ve begun to feel strange sensations. Flutters in your stomach that the physician says is the movement of the child and when they happen, you can’t help caressing the bump that’s not so tiny anymore.   While things have been going smoothly, you’ve been put under strict monitoring for a whole month.   You’re protected, out of harm’s way. The only people who visit you are the physician, the head servant, a few other servants, and Empress Soojin who constantly and excessively frets over you — her incubator to her supposed baby. Her kindness and concern is meant for the child, not for you and you’re fully aware. It’s not that it matters to you, but it’s something you keep in mind.   You’ve heard the Emperor has found himself new concubines to preoccupy his time with too. Ever the same as he disregards matters of the nation to have innocent girls and conniving concubines lay underneath him. At least you’re untouchable to him now, out of reach and far away.   But it comes at a price.   You can’t see Seokjin. And you can’t see Jungkook either.   Your only connection to him is the swelling of your stomach, a sizable bulge that you can rest your hands against.   You miss Jungkook — so much that it hurts to think about. And it’s yearning for him constantly that makes you question your ears when you hear his voice whispering your name one night.   But it isn’t your imagination.   “J-Jungkook?”   “Don’t get up,” he says, shadow laid against the paper walls of your room. Your eyes trace against the black outline, lump forming in your throat at how this is the closest you can get to him. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that in three days, it’s happening. The ministers and other government officials have agreed to turn against the Emperor and Jung Hoseok. They’re going to force him to abdicate.”   He did it. Seokjin did it. The realization has tears flooding your vision.   “I’ll come for you,” he promises.   The tall shadow moves away, but you call out to him before he leaves—   “Jungkook.” He stops at the soft enunciation of his name, a beck and call made with emotion. And your heart stutters, knowing that the day your yearning will cease is coming close. “The physician thinks it’s a boy. I do too.”   He lingers.   If you could see him, you’d find an affectionate smile stretching into his cheeks.   Jungkook murmurs, “I hope Minkook will be as handsome as his father and as strong as his mother.”   Tears stream down your face. The corner of your lip lifts as Jungkook’s shadow fades.   //   You count down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. They pass by tediously, but excitement swells in your chest as you consider that in three days time, you will have freedom. A life with Jungkook. Seokjin by your side. Your child in your arms, never to be taken away from you.   It’s all you wished for since you stepped foot into the palace. But perhaps even before then.   You might’ve never loved Jungkook the way you do now or yearned to hold your healthy baby close to you, yet it has always been clear that doing anything and being anywhere would’ve been better than here. Even with the careful treatment you receive, this isn’t what you want.   So you wait. Patiently. For the promised day to arrive.   But it’s the day before the expected overthrow that there’s chaos in the middle of the night.    “Y/N!” You’re shaken away by Empress Soojin. Her sudden appearance shocks you out of your peaceful slumber and you’re left gasping for breath. But she’s frantic, eyes nearly falling out of their sockets. She’s still in her nightgown, hair in a disarray. The woman holds you by your shoulders, making you rise. “There’s something going on. I—I n-need to bring you to safety.”   The Empress guides you upwards, shouldering your weight. Once you’re on your feet again, she grabs a silk overcoat and secures it around your shoulders. “Quickly. There’s no time to waste.”   “Your Majesty.” You try to shake the sleepiness away, wondering if it was all a dream. “What’s going on?”   One of your hands is held in hers while the other rests underneath your swollen stomach, supporting the heaviness of the baby. “There’s a carriage waiting for you.”   There’s yelling from the distance, footsteps on the roof that make your head tilt. But you’re unable to discern what they’re saying, what’s occurring. All you know is that you’re about to be sent away. Without Seokjin — without Jungkook.    “Wait.” You struggle to catch up to her pace, confusion inhibiting your movements. Yet she still pulls you along, past the structures and paths shrouded in darkness. “I can’t leave.”   “It doesn’t matter,” Empress Soojin says, more serious than you’ve ever had the chance of witnessing. “You have to protect the baby at all costs.”   She’s desperate to protect you, to protect your child. She came to you first when she could’ve run on her own and left you asleep. She chose to keep you from harm over her own well-being.   Time and time again, Empress Soojin has made sure you were watched over.   And the realization makes guilt well up your throat.   Your steps slow and your arm tugs her back.   “This baby,” you whisper, “it doesn’t belong to who you think it does.”   But Empress Soojin’s hand tightens on yours and she turns around. Her brows are drawn together, the corners of her mouth tilted in a sorrowful smile. “Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t matter,” she spits in the midst of your shock and continues pulling you. “The child is supposed to be mine. It will be mine. It’s the only way I can be a mother.”   Before you can get a single word out, she turns the corner and there are deafening shouts. A clamour of feet stomping against the wooden floorboards, the clinking of heavy armour following grunts— “Stop right there!”   “Stand down!” Her voice is unwavering, strong as she pushes you behind her. “I am your Empress—!”   But they are Hoseok’s guards.    You recognize them from having followed the man around, from standing by during the ceremony and other celebrations you’ve been a spectator to. They have sworn their allegiance to him. Not to Emperor Minseok and most certainly not to Empress Soojin.   But she doesn’t seem to understand she’s been caught, that she’s a mouse cornered by two felines. She is naive and continues to scream at them for their disobedience. You try to tug her away, to get her to run, yet her pride is much too strong and you’re yanked away.    Sideways. The collar of your coat is taken by the bloodied knuckles of the guard. Stumbling. He clicks his tongue in annoyance at the ear-piercing Empress and in an effort to silence the ordeal, his weapon raises against you. His sword is high in the air, prepared to slash and end this nightmare.   Except, his blade never hits you.   Even when you shut your eyes, wrap your arms around your stomach to protect your child, hitch your breath, bracing yourself for the cut…..   “NO!”    Empress Soojin throws herself in front of you, her arms outstretched, allowing herself to take the blow as she is ripped from across her right shoulder to the left hip. She spits blood, warm crimson spewing out and splattering onto your cheeks. The world seems to come to a stop.   Your breathing ceases. The guard’s eyes shake for having hacked the Empress herself.   Yet she does not yield in spite of the wound that drips blood to the floor in droplets with a steady rhythm, that soaks into her white nightgown, marring the clean colour. She lurches forward, grabbing a torch attached to the wall and shouts, “Stay back!”   Her yell is howled out from her throat, jarring to the ears, full of wrath and will. And she throws the torch, allowing searing flames to engulf the corridor.   The guards stagger backwards with widened eyes and after a delayed moment, they retreat with profanities before the smoke can engulf their form.   Empress Soojin collapses.   You drop down to her as sobs wreck through your frame. As calculating and thoughtless as she has been, she has never once been insincere to you. She has never abandoned you. You cradle Soojin’s head into your lap, trying to wipe at her mouth with the sleeve of your silk overcoat. But she bats your arm away. Her hazy eyes remain connected with yours.   “P-protect the child…..prom...ise me…”   You nod, tears staining your cheeks forevermore. But you stand, finding leverage against the wall that was slowly being consumed by the sweltering fire and you run. As fast as your weak knees allow you to.   You leave Soojin behind — laying on the floor — staring up at the ceiling.    She dies before being taken by the fire bleeding through the palace.   You run, unsure of where to go but away from the uproar of people, the bloodshed and clashing of swords, away from the blazing inferno, collapsing ceilings and smog that chases your shadow. And it’s when you begin to lose breath and come to a four-way path that you nearly collide with another body.   A scream tears out of your chest until you find warm, familiar eyes.   “Jin?!”   Your brother’s hands secure around your shoulders and he lowers himself for your gazes to meet. “Are you alright?” His chest rises and falls, steadying his breathing as well and you notice the sword dangling by his side, unsuitable and much too lanky. Seokjin has always suited brushes and books more than weapons — something you wish you had told him sooner.   “I—I’m fine, but Empress Soojin. I...I left her behind and she’s wounded. There’s fire….fire!”   “Y/N,” Seokjin calls you calmly and sternly. “Are you okay?”    You nod and he sighs, pulling away. “Then that’s all that matters.”   “What’s going on, Jin?! I thought the abdication was going to be tomorrow.”   “Some of the ministers changed their minds last minute. They decided they wanted to remain loyalists to the Emperor for fear of their families being punished. The revolt has been moved up.”   “Revolt?! I thought….I thought they were just going to force him to abdicate!” You didn’t know that there would be such violence. That all of this was planned prior. It makes you queasy.   “Sometimes sacrifice is needed,” Seokjin merely states. “But you don’t have to worry. We still have the majority of the ministers’ support. They would’ve still voted in favour of abdicating the Emperor from his throne.”    Your brows are drawn tightly together and you shake your head. “What does that mean?”   “It means we’re going to win.” Your older brother smiles, his eyes crinkling, a sense of elation evidently filling his features. But you wonder what the cost of the rebellion coming to fruition is. “I know you’re not carrying the Emperor's child. It’s Jungkook’s, isn’t it?”   Seokjin searches your expression for any confirmation, but unlike how you thought he would be wary of your relationship with his close friend and the dangers that came along with it, he appears more relieved.   “Jungkook told me,” he explains, “and I told him to come find you. Stay here, alright?”   “What?” You grab a hold of your older brother before he can run off, before he can disappear with your worry for him being abandoned with you yet again. “Where are you going?”   “I’m going to find Hoseok before he can run away. I’m going to give him what he deserves.”   Every syllable is spoken with malice, a sharpness and anticipation flooded between each pause.    But you hang onto Seokjin, refusing to let go. You gaze at your sibling, his eyes and hair that appear darker in this lack of lighting, the downturn of his mouth, his shoulders and frame that seem to have gotten thinner in the months you haven’t seen him. You’ve missed Jin so much.   And at this moment, you don’t care that the fire is spreading through the palace. That there was smoke already spread at the ceiling. Bloodshed and pitched screams not far from where you stand. You turn deaf to those noises, to the crackling of the flames, the uprising’s cry.   “Do you really need to do this? Isn’t this enough already?”   “No. It’s not. I won’t be satisfied until I know that bastard hasn’t run away.”   “Please, Seokjin,” you beg with your entire frame, fingers tightening on his sleeve until your knuckles have turned white. You do all that you can to reach him, begging him, pleading with him as his younger sister. “D-Don’t go. I miss you. We’re….we’re family. I only have you left and I...I don’t want you to go anymore. Stay with me, please. Please, please, that's all I ask.”   You remember. Days under the sun where you would follow him. Days he would take dull sticks and poke you incessantly. Days he would piggyback you and tell you stories he made up off the top of his head. That day the two of you hid in the woven baskets and witnessed the massacre of your family until he covered your eyes with his small hands still dirty from picking flowers.   “Don’t go.”   But Seokjin’s has already made up his mind. All by himself.   You can tell with the way his eyes become saddened, how he merely leans in to plant a kiss at your forehead, how he pulls out of your grasps. Seokjin runs off and you try to chase him as if you were still children playing games in the forest. But just like then, he’s faster than you are.   “Seokjin!”   He runs, disappearing into the darkness.   “Jin!” And you’re left alone. Abandoned. Sobbing heart wrenchingly until your whole being aches. “Kim Seokjin!”   You call out to him to no avail, watching the backside of your only brother fading away.

Seokjin hears you, loud and clear. But he doesn’t turn around.    He twists around the corner, sword slashing anyone who comes in his way. After years of training, it’s no longer difficult to drive his blade into bodies and let their blood splatter on his hands. It’s rather easy when he consumes himself in his hatred and anger.   Seokjin kills any guards still wearing the royal emblem or those who have sworn their allegiance to Jung Hoseok, and any ministers who have decided to stay as loyalists. He spares servants, letting them run past him as they cry, begging for mercy. And he persists, even when he has to lurch forward, the gash of his shoulder dripping of his blood and the nicks on his face sting painfully.   He makes it to the grand throne room. The red carpet is rolled in front of him, golden candle lights providing piercing luminescence but making his own shadow darker. This is the place that once held extravagant celebrations to welcome the Emperor’s consorts that were disposed of months later, that held dancers and musicians for the entertainment of the ministers, that failed to save the nation from poverty and famine.   And now, Seokjin finds Hoseok seated on the throne.    The man is alone. Pouring his last cup of wine to drink.   “Jung Hoseok!” Seokjin’s voice booms across the hall, his steps finding vigor as they close the distance. “You can’t run anymore!”   “I know,” the middle-aged man says after he sips and smacks his lips, savouring the taste of wine. “I know I’ve lost. It must feel good to undermine my position, huh? I should’ve known better than to underestimate you, but those are things of the past. I can’t change them now.”   His calmness exasperates Seokjin to his core.   And Hoseok rises to his feet, brushing his robes behind him. His arms are placed behind his back as he walks down the steps of the throne, finally facing the younger man. But he isn’t surrendering, far from it when he takes the sword from the stand and points it at Jin.   There’s shouting, an ear-splitting clash of metal against the crackle of the flames becoming louder as they seep through the back wall. Hoseok is stiff, age having slowed his movements. He isn’t as agile as Seokjin is, doesn’t have his fervour, but it’s clear to Jin that he’s not going without a fight. That he will never give up out of his own will. Hoseok would rather burn here.   “You killed my family!” Seokjin spits when their blades crash against each other again, the older barely able to deflect.   The corner of Hoseok’s mouth tugs. “I ended many families.”   Seokjin never tells him about the Kim family, about how his father and mother were both executed when knelt on the dirty ground, how his uncles and aunts were brutalized before being murdered, that the servants’ sobs only stopped once their breathing ceases.    Seokjin doesn’t tell, just because he has an inkling, a fear that Hoseok won’t even remember.   So he lets his grief speak for itself— “You will pay for what you’ve done.”   There’s a swing, another clatter. Hoseok stumbles back before lifting his sword again.   There’s a chance. An opportunity. Seokjin could deflect, could move away swiftly without a blink to waste, but his eyes instead pinpoint to Hoseok’s open abdomen. A perfect spot and he seizes the moment.   He drives the sword forward.   Until he can hear the breath in the older man hitch, see the way his pupils tremble. Even when the cost is that Hoseok’s own blade digs into his shoulder and tears it down into his chest.   Blood pours like rain on an April afternoon. It drips in a rhythmic beat, coating the empty throne room until the iron stench overwhelms the smoke of the burning, golden walls.   Seokjin uses the remaining of his strength to step back, pulling the sword out of Hoseok. The blood-soaked blade crashes to the ground at the same time as Hoseok’s own body collapses.   And Jin falls back a moment later. The pool of his blood is warm, the fire enveloping the room sweltering. He stares at the magnificently painted ceiling before shutting his eyes for the final time.    The corners of Seokjin’s mouth tugs upwards into a smile.   We’ve won, Y/N.

At the same time, you stumble.

  The wind knocks out of your lungs as your knees buckle. You’re grabbed by one of Hoseok’s guards, pulled back until your arm feels like it’s being yanked out of its socket. You cry out as agony overwhelms you and the guard wheezes over the exhaust of the fire engulfing the palace and paints the wooden structures into bright scarlet.    “She’s here!” he shouts while you struggle.    But before you can be taken, dragged towards the center of the palace, there’s a low grunt from the guard. A short shout is made and he suddenly drops, revealing your saviour. Doe eyes and dark hair, his hands splattered in carmine and his brows knitted closely together.   “J-Jungkook!”   He embraces you in an instant, arms wrapping around your frame for the first time in ages. His nose digs into your hair, your face into his shoulder as you shake. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here now,” he soothes you in a murmur that you desperately hang on to.   But the intimate moment doesn’t last for long.   Jungkook pulls away. “We have to go. There’s an open entrance in the back by the stables.”   “Wait—wait, Jungkook! Jin. I couldn’t stop him. He—he went to find...he went to find Jung Hoseok and he went towards the fire. I can’t leave him behind. He’s my only brother. Please go look for him, please,” you beg him, hands tightening on his. “I can’t go without him.”   “I know,” Jungkook tells you with lips lopsided. “But I need to make sure you’re safe first. I need to fulfill my promise to him. This is what he wanted, okay?”   You nod, putting your trust in him and quicken your pace. The faster you go, the more time they’ll be for Jungkook to return and search for Jin before it’s too late. But as the two of you interlace your hands, running alongside one another, you’re stopped meters away from the circular opening of the wall.   “Stop!” Emperor Minseok shouts pathetically. He’s obviously shaken, his hair in a disarray, his once magnificent robes dirtied and fluttering open. He is with two other guards wielding weapons, but without his clothes and servants, it is clear that he is undeserving of his title.   He is not an Emperor.   “Y-You can’t leave! That child is mine!” Minseok points to your stomach.   “This isn’t your child!” you shout back at him and the man seemingly pales, eyes horrified as his mouth drops open. “It has never been.”   “You….You!”   There’s a clamour above the roar of the fire consuming the entire palace. The last of his guards were coming from the corridor and your hand squeezes Jungkook’s.   If you die here, then so be it. But you will do so protecting your child until your very last breath.   Yet, Jungkook has other plans and it doesn’t encompass your death.    “Run,” he whispers sharply into your ear and you whirl around to look at him. “I’ll hold them off. Run and don’t look back.”   “But—”   “I love you.” Jungkook smiles. His doe eyes crinkle, shining in the flames bleeding to your feet. “I’ll see you again.”   He pushes you forward and your feet move on instinct. You run with your arms wrapped around your swollen center, breaths stolen from your parted lips and your eyes shut tight. The guards swing their swords around, but their blades never touch you. There’s a clatter of metal, blades striking one another.   Minseok reaches out to seize you, not letting you get away. But his fingertips merely skim the tips of your hair. You hear his grunt, a smothered sound coming from his mouth, the drop of a body.   You run. Out through the entrance. Up the dirt incline until your feet begin to slip. Until the darkness has completely covered your form from sight. Until sheer exhaustion forces you to stop.   Against Jungkook’s will, you turn around.   You watch as the raging fire engulfs the palace, eating away at the structure that stretches across the horizon, as blazing as the sunlight at dawn itself. And you fall to your knees, sobbing for the people you love.

[Epilogue]   The dynasty has fallen.   New people have taken over old places and you wonder if it was all futile — if history will repeat itself once more — if Seokjin’s sacrifice has been made in vain. For his sake, you hope not.   After the rebellion and riots on the streets by the common people, the loyalists of the old empire have been driven away from the country. But you know there’s few of them that are still after you because of your ties to the rebels. There are those on the uprising’s side that are seeking to kill you too. They believe that your child belongs to the deceased Emperor and many would rather be safe than sorry, not wanting to risk his bloodline being in existence at all.   But one look at the babbling baby trying to stand in front of you and his striking doe eyes and dark hair, you know for certain that he is of Jungkook’s blood and bones.   “Minkook, what are you doing?”   You pick up your mischievous, chubby toddler to place on your hip.   His grabby hands take your hair and his mouth circles, trying to sound out syllables and string them together. “M-Mum..mum..mama…”   You smile, nuzzling into him. “Are you hungry?”   Those who believe you, the ones closest to Seokjin, have chosen to protect you from the threats. After the birth, you were brought to a safe house far from the capital where no one knows your name or your child’s. It’s a modest home on top of a green hill, close to the riverbend and where you can see the sunrise and sunset. It’s peaceful and every morning and evening, you’re able to sit on the steps. Waiting.   They told you about Seokjin. You heard that several of them saw his body before the entire palace went up into flames, but there’s been no news of Jungkook. No sighting of him.   It’s been eleven months since that time. Six from when Minkook was born.   You don’t know Jungkook’s whereabouts, don’t know if he can even find you with where you’re hidden now, how he will manage to get himself here. But you believe in his promise. You trust that you will see him again.   “Goodnight, Min.”   Your sleepy toddler is unable to keep his eyes open for any longer and succumbs to the seduction of sleep. You plant a tender kiss on the top of his round head and set down on the bed, still softly humming a lullaby that Seokjin had taught you so long ago — a way you keep his memory alive. Once Minkook is secure and safe, your footsteps pad quietly across the floor.    You come outside, shutting the door behind you, sitting on the wooden steps.   The last light of the sun is fading from the sky. The horizon is painted in murky shades of tangerine and rose, the clouds wispy and floating in shapes that you and your brother once tried to discern as children. Someday, your own children will lay in the grass staring at the sky because of his sacrifice and yours. But for now, you watch the sun fall.    You watch as night takes over the evening, how another day has passed.   But as you turn to head inside as the sky starts to be filled with stars, your breath hitches in your throat.   You blink hard to ensure that it's not a dream. That the illusion has not imprinted into your mind after so much desperation and time. But the sight is all too real when you open your eyes again.   Over the horizon at a distance and in the last dwindling light of the evening, there is a man with doe eyes and dark hair approaching. His gaze meets yours and a tender smile stretches into his cheeks. His features are tired as if he has been traveling for days, clothes ragged and ripped.   But none of it matters.   Jungkook comes closer and closer towards you. And you run, meeting him halfway as tears flood your vision. You leap forward and he laughs, arms catching you in a tight embrace.   The two of you are finally reunited at last.

[a-snow-decahedron]

14?? :)

Jaflslfmdjdb thanks for asking Norrie.

Number 14 is Toriel.

Anyways let's begin 👀 (pretends to hide my joy)

Warnings for mentions of Neutral Endings (Queen Toriel, Exiled Queen, Empress Undyne) and the No Mercy Route. This rant is also very very long.

The biggest question is: where do I start? (spoiler, i just say everything. this is gonna be long ksajhaskjd)

Slowly learning about Toriel, who she is and who she was is a pretty interesting experience to have if you play blindly. I think this is a biiig reason of why I like her character and story.

She introduces herself as a "silly old woman" who worries too much. A caretaker, and the first person to show Frisk some genuine kindness. She holds their hand and welcomes them in the Underground. It's all great, and we don't think much of the small hints of the person hidden behind. The room under renovations, the lonely golden flower in her room, her diary, the three chairs, or her books all have a reason to be there, but we don't know about it yet. The house is cozy, the fire is warm and doesn't burn. Not until we start asking questions, and this somewhat stable structure starts falling down. The fear about the unknown settles and so does our trust. The tensions grows until she decides to take matters into her own hands, and go ahead and try to destroy the exit.

And her fight is so painful. On one hand, she tries to convince to warn you of the risks, to make you face her to prove your strength. She's bitter because no matter how hard she tries, no child wants to stay, no one listens. And she swears she knows better what's good for them. On the other hand, staying feels like prison. You're putting all your trust in her, but what if she's wrong? And how will you get home if you don't try?

I killed her in my first run. I didn't think she could just... die. I didn't think that she wouldn't dodge? (heh, only one person dodges and sadly it isn't her).

I remember feeling awful, but also feeling like I just turned the page and that it wouldn't hurt too much to keep going. I could fix things for her sake, but I had to see what came next. She's a general warning of the dangers ahead. Surely nothing would be affected by the area that seems isolated from the rest. Nobody mentions the Ruins besides some closed door.

Or so I thought. Both the conversation at the MTT resort and the walk through New Home hit extremely hard but for different reasons.

Talking to Sans about Toriel punches you in the face with a few facts. One, that she wasn't completely isolated from what's going on outside the Ruins, and all that could mean. Two, that she's willing to trust in someone else if there's a slim chance of making a difference between Frisk and the children that came before them. Three, that she's a dork with a terrible sense of humor (affectionate). Four, that I killed her and not only would she be missed but that because of her loneliness and the barrier of the door her friend wouldn't even fucking know. How do you process this? Can you even grieve? I could go on longer about that idea but let's move on.

Asgore's home is a whole different story. It's just screaming "Toriel" at you. The house is the same, the room under ranovations is hers. It's full of golden flowers, contrasting the rest of the house. And the story is of her family, about lost children -a monster and a human- and a lot of her story starts making sense. Now we understand what she left behind, and later, against Asgore, we find out why she left. A lot of misssing pieces, or those "odd" things in her house make sense now, because we found out who she was.

Her decision to leave her role as Queen and go back to the Ruins:

Almost everyone has talked about the conflict that separated Asgore and Toriel, so I will try not to get too into it. Please don't start discourse on this post. I'll just say that it's not difficult to imagine why she made that choice, because she wasn't just dealing with the grief of losing both her children with Asgore (who grieved their loss, too), but he -and pretty much every other monster- had grown tired of being Underground and wanted their freedom, willing to fight against humans to get their souls and free themselves. Toriel rejected the idea, but as much as she could voice her opinion and try to undo the declaration that Asgore had already made, she couldn't step in without being met with A LOT of opposition and potentially dividing monsters even further.

It must hurt. To think that you relied on people but you now know that what they want is Not something you could ever agree to. She probably wanted to get to the surface as much as the next monster but she opposed to the means proposed. She's supposed to be for her people and yet she just, can't go through with it. Not like this. You can agree or disagree with her decision to leave, but you gotta admit that facing this reality is painful and isolating. So she went to the place where she could (try to) stop this, without interferring with the others.

So now we get the full picture. We understand where her fear comes from and her warning. And to think I killed her, huh? She couldn't even protect herself. Her efforts were pointless. Haha (note my sarcasm).

Neutral endings are worth listening to. You learn a lot about the story and how the Underground works. I got an Empress Undyne ending my first playthrough. And the truth is that without someone with influence actively vouching for humans, there's no way people could hold a positive opinion about them. Toriel is only briefly brought up by Sans, nameless, again. Uncertain, maybe she's not feeling well? Except we know. Only we know.

Now, if you spare Toriel, regardless of your choices she will try to rule back and make a new policy that goes with her morals. People will agree with that or not depending on your actions. Kill Papyrus, or at least 10 bystanders and they will overthrow her. If Undyne's alive she will lead it. If she's not, the people will on their own. Toriel will not change her mind easily, let alone if it has to do with her morals, however she isn't the type of person to push everyone else to agree with her. If she can't rely on them, she'll do it on her own, and let those who agree follow her.

So now you can see why I think her story is so interesting to me.

The presence she has in the story despite not appearing directly in most routes.

As much as I would LOVE to see more of her in-game in Undertale, I'm kind of glad of the mysteries surrounding her. She is never seen after you leave the Ruins (until you reach the True Pacifist ending, but her presense is always there). Either through someone else's stories, the phonecalls, the things left in New Home, or even the Delta Rune, that she wore all along and was foreshadowing her role, you are reminded of her and her words. Even in the No Mercy Route she's directly alluded by Sans at least twice. (Once in Snowdin, after Frisk doesn't emote at his jokes, once apologizing in the Last Corridor, right before the first time you fight him). The thing is that the game doesn't want you to forget who she is and what she stood for. We finally get to see her in a True Pacifist route, when she finally steps out of the Ruins (presumably on her own), and gains the determination to put an end to this conflict. To stop hiding herself and actually stand for what she thinks is right. I like to think she does it too in neutral routes, but fate is cruel and she's always late, but that's just me. I like thinking of what makes her snap. There's some potential.

About other things!

All of those paragraphs helped me to express the reasons why her story is so compelling to me. Her decisions, her resolution, her loneliness, her attempts of being a good caretaker despite her failure.

Look, I love Toriel because she isn't just "goat mom", only filling in a role as caretaker. She's a teacher at heart, a person with hobbies and a sense of humor, who curses, who doesn't have the best coping mechanisms. Someone with a lot of responsibility on her shoulders. And someone who is, very often, alone. Whether literally or regarding support. So she makes herself as self-relying as she can. I honestly think she's really really interesting in that way. You don't often see older female characters getting to have this much depth. And you don't often see stories of people taking second chances at life. She's flawed, like any other. And that frustrates me because I do want her to succeed at times. But it also makes her character great and you know what? It makes her relatable. Maybe not many people think about her that way (according to the Undertale Survey at least) but I do see it sometimes and wanted to say it.

So yeah. Toriel my beloved.

I am so fucking excited about chapter three of Deltarune and any possibility of character development for her you have no idea. Or maybe you do a little, after reading this. Deltarune Toriel is an interesting take on her, and I want to see what changes of her when she's under different, more mundane, circumstances. I also wanna see all the theories regarding her involvement with the Dark World, her past and yeah I also think the soap opera of the Deltarune Divorce Epidemic can be a bit amusing to get distracted from the main plot. I grew up with teleseries (telenovelas/soap operas). I just can't help it lol.

I hope you enjoyed! These were... 1,6K words.

Wanna read more? You can also request a number

. 1 | Amalgamates | 3

. Asriel | Requested | 6

. 7 | Mad Mew Mew | Mettaton

. 10 | 11 | Papyrus

. Sans | you're here! | 15

[archduchessofnowhere]

I recently went to Austria and visited the Hoffburg palace (saw the rooms of Sissi and Franz Josef) and that trip definitely increased my interest in Habsburgs and XIXc. Austrian Empire. I knew a fair bit about Sissi's life before that, but could you name some of the misconceptions that are popular? Like, was her mother-in-law really that bad? Was Sissi herself a decent person? Etc.

P.S. after seeing the palace I can firmly say, all movies and TV shows do not do the grandeur of the Austrian court justice. Dishes alone take up the entire floor.

How cool that you were able to visit the Hofburg! I'd love to go one day, it's a place with so much history!

One misconception that annoys me, and that you'll find it everywhere because it's a good click-bait title, it's that Sisi "stole" Franz Josef from her sister Helene. I even read once in an online magazine article that he "broke-off his engagement" to Helene in order to marry Sisi, which it's straight up false: Franz Josef was NEVER engaged to Helene, nor he ever expressed any desire to marry her. Franz Josef owned nothing to Helene, so saying that Elisabeth "stole her sister's boyfriend/fiancé" it's completly undeserving. Also, recently historian Christian Sepp wrote the first-ever biography on Sisi's mother Ludovika, and there he argues that in fact there was no scheming between Ludovika and her sister Sophie to marry their children. Saddly the book it's only available in German and thus I haven't been able to read it yet, so I can't really say much about this.

Another common misconception it's that Sisi was a striking beauty in her teens and that Franz Josef fell in love with her because he was instantly taken by her looks. Sisi was not considered beautiful at all in 1853, her mother Ludovika wrote that year "I seriously question wheter he [presumably Prince Georg of Saxony] would find her attractive (...) true, she's pretty because she is very young and animated, but she has no single pretty feature". As historian Brigitte Hamann wrote: "The legendary beauty of Empress Elisabeth grew very slowly. She had been a sturdy, boyish little girl with a round peasant face. At that time, her sister Helene was considered the great beauty in the family". Elisabeth only became a renowned beauty icon in the 1860s.

More under the cut!

About Archduchess Sophie, I think from Sisi's point of view she was that bad, but Sophie wasn't a sadistic monster that personally enjoyed torturing her daughter-in-law: she genuinely believed that what she was doing was for the greater good. Sophie had very old-fashioned and bigoted beliefs, and it were those beliefs what crushed the Revolution in 1848. I can see why she thought that mantaining tradition by any means was the only way of keeping her son and the Habsburg dynasty in power. She ended up being very cruel towards Elisabeth, but she could also be very loving: she adored her children and was devastated when her infant daughter Maria Anna died, and years later the loss of her son Maximilian, the ill-fated Emperor of Mexico, affected her so much that it actually deteriorated her own health. By all accounts, she seemed to have been a very complex woman. Also ironically, Sisi herself would later be very cruel towards her own daughter-in-law, Princess Stephanie.

A thing that I wish was more known it's that the firt trip to Hungary that Elisabeth and Franz Josef made with their daughters in 1857, the one in which saddly the little Archduchess Sophie died, wasn't the first family trip they ever did! In 1856 they went to the regions of Italy that were part of the Austrian Empire back then (can't remeber the exact places right now), and they took baby Sophie with them. The trip ended up being a success and Sisi was able to enjoy time with her daughter without having Archducess Sophie around, so it makes sense that Elisabeth insisted on taking her daughters with her to Hungary, because she already had before and everything had turned out fine! Sometimes I've seen the decision of taking the girls to the trip framed as an unwise choice that Sisi made, but it makes a lot of sense if you know about the trip to Italy.

Something that I'm not sure if is exactly a "misconception" but that I personally don't like it's the whole "Sisi is the 19th Century Princess Diana" narrative that has become quite popular in recent years. My problem with this narrative it's that while some of the parallels drawn are reasonable (like both of them struggling with eating disorders and depression through out their lives), others just feel forced, to the point of distorting actual facts of Elisabeth's life to "fit" her into Diana's image. For instance, a common one it's "both of them had unhappy marriages" which it's truth, but for completely different reasons! Charles doesn't seem to have ever been truly in love with Diana, meanwhile Franz Josef adored Elisabeth until his dying days. Another one it's "they were both beloved by the people", which it's not untrue but highly misleading: while Diana was almost universally beloved, Elisabeth was mainly loved in Hungary, in Austria she was very unpopular during her lifetime. Also this narrative exagerates Sisi's charitative work; while she was generous with people of lowers classes and had a special interest in mentally ill people, it was never a cause for her and in her later life she completely abandoned her representative role as Empress and dedicated wholly to her hobbies of traveling, writing poetry and studying languages. Diana, on the other hand, made charity her life's work and undertood the impact that her representative role had for good causes, and used it to the maximum. I can keep going on, but this are my main points.

Speaking of her marriage, something that is a well known fact by people that is interested in Elisabeth and Franz Josef, but perhaps the general public that only knows them from movies aren't aware of it's that their marriage wasn't a fairy tale love story. Although it was a happy union at first, Sisi fell out of love with her husband as years went by, to the point of actively evoiding him at some moments. She never hated him though, and she always cared about him. Elisabeth just wasn't interested in fullfiling the traditional role of a wife, so she didn't.

This leads me to the annoying misconception that Elisabeth and her friend Count Adrassy were lovers, and that he even was Archduchess Marie Valerie's biological father. This misconception isn't popular amongst people that like Sisi (or that at least have read read about her), but you'll find it everywhere in historical fiction. We can never know for sure, true, but the fact it's that there isn't a single piece of evidence of them ever having an affair, only malicious rumors spreand by the Viennese court. About their relantionship she said that "Yes, it was a true friendship, and it was not poisoned by love". Elisabeth actually seems to have been asexual; she definetly expressed repulsion towards sex (and also pregnancy) several times, and refused to sleep with Franz Josef after their son Rudolf's birth, and then again after their daughter Marie Valerie's. This doesn't really sound like a woman that would have a physical affair, right? Also, Marie Valerie was the living image of Franz Josef, there's no way he wasn't her father.

Lastly, about how she was as a person it's a bit hard to tell because she was very flawed, which is a normal thing since she was a human being, but I can understand why some people might not personally like her. She was shy, kind and loving, she could also be selfish and vain. She adored her daughter Marie Valerie, but she also didn't pay much attention to her older children Gisela and Rudolf; she even once told Valerie that "It is you alone that I love". I think that she was perhaps permanently scarred from the time that Archduchess Sophie took her eldest children away and that was the reason she couldn't really connect with them, but still ouch. As I mentioned before, she was very mean towards her daughter-in-law, and a lot of that hostility seems unjustified: the Viennese court just decided that Stephanie was a cold, stupid woman the moment she arrived, and Sisi agreed, and worse, later she even blamed her for Rudolf's death. But again, she could be a very loving person: she loved her Bavarian family, remained close to her siblings during her entire life and even defended her cousin King Ludwig II when everyone accused him of being insane. Also, she was devoted to Hungary and to the hungarians to the point that to this day they love her. And a lot of her more erratic behaviour seems to have come from her mental illness, so personally blaming her for that it's unfair (although of course, mental illness isn't a free pass to hurt other people). Overall, I think she wasn't a bad person, just extremely difficult, and that she could and did hurt a lot of people close to her.

Well those are at least some points that I can think of, this post ended up being way longer that I planned, sorry! It turns out I had a lot to say lol

[rhetoricalrogue]

Fiction Type: Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age Prompt: "You have no proof"

Continuing @fictober-event with the AU of the AU of the AU @alittlestarling and I are up to our eyebrows in, this time focusing on my son Vincent.

Running and fighting. Fighting and running. Catch a few fitful hours of unrestful sleep, then repeat. It seemed that was all Vincent had been doing these past few months. First, there was the running and fighting that had been expected of him when he had been conscripted into Empress Celene’s army, then the running when a templar on their side had turned on their unit – Vincent was still healing from the many arrow wounds he’d received when the smite had hit him from behind, the barrier he had put up to protect the solders on their side crashing down at the worst possible moment – and then running from where he had dragged himself, almost near death, to heal and recover back to his side of the army out of fear that they would think he had abandoned his post and hunt him down to drag him back or worse, give him the Brand and use him as an example of battlemages who thought they could take advantage of chaos on the battlefield to make a run from the Circle.

There had been a brief respite from the fighting as he traveled back east, the days of interrogation he’d undergone to prove that he spoke the truth about what had happened that day finally paying off. Vincent knew that his noble birth was one of the main reasons he had been allowed to return to Ostwick, injured in the line of duty – if conscription into a war not of his making nor even in his homeland could ever be called duty – and he wasn’t going to argue with his commanding officers once they signed the paperwork for his release back to the Circle. He’d set a hard pace from the Exalted Plains to Jader, worry that word of his untimely death – once they couldn’t find a body, the army had been quick to declare him killed in action – had already reached those he cared for.

Maker, if Roz ever thought he was dead, it would gut him to think of putting her through unnecessary grief and agony, no matter how brief.

Travel back home was on a decent pace, then he heard word of a contingent of mages traveling to Haven, which was decidedly closer than boarding a ship to sail from Jader back home. Vincent’s mind was made up when he heard that there were mages from Ostwick in the company and joining up with them was far more preferable than sailing across the Waking Sea.

Vincent and boats went together just as well as oil and water.

And then the unthinkable happened. He hadn’t even been anywhere close to Haven when word got out of the explosion, rumors quick to jump to the conclusion that mages had been at the root of the calamity and had taken a page out of the apostate from Kirkwall a year or so ago and blown up the Divine to enact change. Vincent was fortunate that his physical build wasn’t what one stereotypically thought of when they pictured a mage, and he used that to his advantage to flee. Templars were suddenly everywhere, killing on sight. Whatever brief rest he had from running and fighting was well over, and Vincent found himself hiding among pockets of mages similarly running for their lives in the wilds of Ferelden. He lost count of the days, catching sleep when he could and helping as many mages as possible while looking out for himself. It was selfish and he would feel guilty later but running, even if running meant leaving people behind, was the only way that he would possibly ever make it back home again.

Back home, and back to Rosalind. The image of her was seared into his mind and it was one bright thing he had to cling to. He would be damned if he had survived everything that had been thrown at him so far only to succumb to a templar’s blade before he could see her in person again.

Who knew how many days later, Vincent found himself close to Redcliffe. There were rumors that the village was a safe haven for mages everywhere and it was the closest thing to hope that he’d felt since leaving Orlais. He didn’t know how much further it was, but there were abandoned crofter’s cottages dotting the landscape that he dared to take shelter in. He couldn’t risk lighting fires in the hearth, but fitfully sleeping with a roof over his head instead of out in the open was a welcome relief.

And then the demons came. The most direct route to Redcliffe was cut off and Vincent found himself running from shrieking monsters that he had only encountered during his Harrowing. The only positive was that the demons didn’t discriminate between mage, templar, or regular civilian, so if he were really looking to put a positive spin on an otherwise absolute shitshow, he told himself that there were fewer templars trying to kill him in the area.

He came across a group of mages one evening and they readily welcomed him into the shelter of the woods they had named the Witchwood. He listened halfheartedly at their more radical ideas, silently resolving to abandon them for the preferred safety of the nearby crossroads once daylight broke, when he heard someone call him by name.

“Enchanter Trevelyan?”

The light was dim in the cavern, but he didn’t need it to recognize one of his favorite pupils. “Noemi?” He made to get up from where he had sat on the floor but didn’t even make it to his knees before the fourteen-year-old girl flung herself in his direction. He muffled a pained grunt as her arms wrapped just a little too tightly around his shoulder, the last of his injuries having to heal on their own as he used whatever magic reserves he had to fight off daily attacks instead of tending to himself. “How are you here?”

“How are you here? They told us you were dead!” Vincent froze. Oh no.

“Noemi, who else is here with you? Did you come with the people going to the Conclave?”

She wiped at her face, her tears making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. “No. I ran when the Circle fell.”

His eyes widened. “What?” Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders in his hands and focused on her. “Tell me everything. Where’s Roz? Is she here?” Maker, please, he begged, his pulse roaring in his ears. I’ve never been a devout man, but please, let her be safe.

“We were heading to dinner after lessons when she took me and a few of the little ones aside and told us to head to the greenhouses for a special project. She said that she would be there as soon as she could, but there was something that she had to do first. Then all at once, there was a lot of yelling and fire and…” she swallowed. “The last I saw of her was when she was running to the greenhouses. She told me to take the little ones and run.”

He couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, the last you saw of her?”

“Ser Barnabas grabbed her by the hair and hit her with a smite.” Noemi’s lips trembled. “She screamed for me to run, so I ran. I ran and I ran and I haven’t stopped running.”

No. No, he refused to believe she was dead. “Did you see her fall?”

“No, but…” She scrubbed at her face. “We were all scared of Ser Barnabas, you know that. You know how much he liked to threaten hitting us. I didn’t see it, but Vincent, I think she’s dead.”

Vincent shook his head and sat back against the cavern wall. There was something building in his chest, a wail that wanted to break free and rip past his throat. “You have no proof though,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm as to not scare her. “You thought I was dead, but here I am. Roz is strong, and she’s clever. She had to have made it out of there alive. We have to hold onto the hope that she made it and she’s somewhere out in the world, just like we are.”

He took one look at Noemi and knew that she didn’t believe him, yet she nodded. “Okay.”

“We’re leaving here tomorrow morning. There’s a town, Redcliffe. Have you heard of it?”

Noemi shrank back from him. “No, you can’t make me go back there!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I was there. I took as many of the little ones as I could find after we scattered and we got on a boat. The older instructors said that Redcliffe was safe, but something in that town feels wrong. I made sure that the little ones were looked after, but then I snuck out in the middle of the night to find somewhere safer. I thought that I could go back, take the children with me to wherever I found, but…” she spread her hands as if to silently express the chaos around them. “They’re safer where they’re at for now, but I don’t want to go back. Please, don’t make me go back.”

Vincent winced as she huddled at his side, her entire body shaking. “Okay. Okay, we won’t go there, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her, his mind whirring, desperately trying to focus on Noemi instead of the great yawning grief that threatened to swallow him whole. “Have you heard of the Crossroads? I don’t think it’s very far from here, we can make our way to that in the morning, okay?”

She nodded. “And look for Roz?”

Vincent squeezed his eyes tightly. There was no way that she was dead; she was such a fixture in his life, a lifeline even in the most peaceful of times. He loved her so completely that he was certain that he would have felt something, some sort of connection that tied his heart to hers sever, should she be truly gone.

He ran his hand soothingly over his former pupil’s back while trying to speak over the lump of unshed tears that had built in his throat. “Yes. And just you wait. We’ll find her.”

Maker, how he almost believed that.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 47

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Chapter 45 | Chapter 46

It is always difficult, abandoning XingChen in the midst of a battle.

Xiao XingChen, the former First Prince of the Shan Empire, the notorious Rogue Prince to some, the Blind Immortal to others, whose cultivation had surpassed Song Lan’s while they were still children together, has always hurled himself headfirst into danger, heedless of consequences. Even now, shoulder to shoulder with the Lan Sect Leader, glowing like the sun, he pays no attention to the chaos around him. There is much to be admired in his single-minded focus, in his ability to step forth bravely into the oncoming storms. But Song Lan lives in terror of the day when he may not be by XingChen’s side when needed, the day when XingChen’s impetuous courage propels him into a battle he cannot win alone.

It is illogical to think this way; Song Lan is aware that his fears have very little basis in reality. XingChen is no wilting Prince of the court, who must be held gently and shielded from the storms. He does not need Song Lan to be his faithful shadow; it has been many years since he has needed a companion to watch his back. XingChen is a true descendent of the Immortal Empress, his power and skill near impossible to match.

Still, Song Lan hesitates.

He is aware of the three Jin disciples who must be monitored at all times, but knows nothing of those who had been assigned this task. True to his nature, Nie HuaiSang had offered no information that had not been asked for outright. Still, Song Lan had watched these disciples closely throughout the ceremony, reasoning that an extra set of eyes could not go amiss.

One of these disciples has left the hall in a hurry.

Song Lan sees three Nie disciples follow only moments later, their movements fluid and lethal, as if tracking the scent of prey. A single Jin disciple should be no match for three boys from QingHe Nie, especially those who have been trained under Sect Leader Nie’s heavy hand. But any one of the three Jin disciples could be the person they had been hunting.

This person, boy or not, is far more dangerous than any of them can imagine. This monster, who had killed over three hundred people, will not be so easily overpowered. Song Lan cannot allow him to slip through their fingers again.

XingChen’s profile is immaculately serene. It gives no hint of the power he exerts, not a single whisper of fatigue or distress. 

It takes effort, to turn away from that tranquil expression, and trust that XingChen will keep himself safe.

The small arch leads out into the palace meeting hall. The hall is cavernous and empty, the commotion of the disastrous Gifting Ceremony growing muffled behind him. He had dallied too long; he cannot see the Jin Sect disciple, or the Nie boys who had followed on his heels. Song Lan is intimately familiar with the Emperor’s palace, each hall and courtyard etched into his memory from a young age. But does the Jin Sect disciple know it as well? Does he have an escape route planned, or is he running blind?

In his place, Song Lan would have cut across the empty East courtyard, as the Emperor’s public study is often unguarded when vacant. From there, an easy path through the second Imperial library would lead out into the Imperial Gardens, which would provide the necessary cover, as well as multiple points of egress. Especially now, with the palace having descended into chaos, and the Emperor incapacitated, the Imperial guards are doubtlessly being issued multiple conflicting orders. It may not be so easy to slip past them at the main gates, but it is unlikely that any of the guards would consider Imperial Gardens as a plausible escape route.

An ordinary Jin disciple would not think like this. However, a murderer who had avoided capture multiple times, who knows the palace well enough to perform multiple assassination attempts, would have planned his escape well ahead of time.

The disquiet over the possibility that he had chosen wrong does not last. The clash of steel and indecipherable shouts reach him before he steps out into the East courtyard. By then, one of the Nie disciples is motionless on the ground, and the other two have abandoned their sabers to tackle the Jin Sect disciple, all three rolling in the dirt like they had forgotten how to fight properly.

There is an alarming amount of blood smeared over all three of them, but they seem lively enough, and even the motionless Nie disciple is only unconscious, his chest rising and falling. Song Lan means to step in and grab the Jin boy before the other two suffer the same fate, but there is no safe way to approach the flailing tangle of limbs. Instead, he uses a small trick XingChen had invented for hunting, a thin rope of spiritual power that can bind a person as securely as a set of chains.

He uses the rope to drag the Jin Sect disciple away from the others. One of the Nie Sect disciples, the smallest of the three, uses his enemy’s immobility to his advantage. He kicks the Jin boy twice, each kick ruthless, but clearly uncoordinated, driven by fury rather than any calculated intention.

This is precisely why Song Lan has never been fond of the Nie Sect disciples; they may be skilled and fearless, but their tempers often lead them astray.

“Enough,” Song Lan says, “you should not kick your enemy when he is down. Go see to your friend.”

On the closer inspection, the Jin Sect disciple appears to be much younger than Song Lan had thought him to be. It is difficult to imagine that this boy, who looks no older than fifteen, could have murdered over three hundred people.

Could they have been wrong in their assumptions?

The boy, his left cheek smeared in fresh blood, grins at him widely, displaying two rows of bloody teeth, “You have finally caught up with me, daozhang. I have to admit, I was starting to lose hope.”

“You are behind all of this?” Song Lan says, unable to keep disbelief from his voice, “The slaughter to collect the resentful energy, the assassination attempts, the attack on the Emperor, it was all you?”

The boy’s lips twist into a feigned moue of disappointment, the expression both mocking and delighted, “All these months of hunting, daozhang, and you still know nothing. I can see that the tales of your skills have been grossly exaggerated. How is the Emperor, by the way? Is he mad already, like his grand-uncle?”

The small Nie disciple is a blur of movement to his right, but Song Lan manages to snatch him by the robes while still maintaining his grip on the binding cord. Spitting and hissing like a scalded cat, the boy tries to propel himself forward anyway, nearly choking himself on his own collar.

“You speak of the Emperor again, and I will rip out your tongue,” he growls.

“This one bit a chunk of my ear off,” the Jin disciple says conversationally, “He will die for that.”

“You can act brave now,” the Nie disciple shoots back, “but you squealed like a pig.”

“He will take a long time to die,” the Jin sect disciple says.

“Shut up,” Song Lan says, “or I will let him loose, to see if you do squeal.”

Trying to shake off Song Lan’s grip, the Nie disciple spits on the ground, “I would not bite him again. I have bitten into garbage that tastes better.”

“Enough,” Song Lan says, wishing he had a free hand to rub his aching temples, “go and summon the Imperial guards.”

The Jin disciple smirks, “Am I being detained? What, exactly, will you accuse me of?”

“The attempted murder of the Divine Ruler.”

“But this is where you are wrong, daozhang,” the boy says seriously, his expression no longer mocking or amused, “I have never wanted to kill the Emperor. I only wanted him to meet his full potential. I wanted him to achieve greatness.”

Song Lan does not know what that means. He is beginning to think that this boy is much more disturbed than he appears to be upon casual observation. Questioning him may turn out to be problematic, especially if he continues to spout nonsense.

“Who are your accomplices?” he asks instead.

“You are asking the wrong questions,” the boy tilts his head, unperturbed by the blood dripping from his ear, “you truly are a disappointment. I had expected better. When can I meet the First Prince? I think I would rather speak to him.”

The idea of XingChen being anywhere near this-- creature, with his disturbed talk of meeting potential and achieving greatness fills Song Lan with unease.

“Never,” he snaps, more unsettled by the boy’s words than he wants to admit, “the First Prince would not waste his time in speaking to you.”

The words seem to strike a nerve, because the boy snarls at him, pushing at the binding. His spiritual power is not insignificant for a young disciple, but it is nowhere near Song Lan’s own.

Another assumption they had gotten wrong. It is possible that this boy had committed all the assassination attempts on the Lan Sect. It is even possible that he had been the one to release the arrow that had wounded the Royal Companion. But he could not have murdered over three hundred people without attracting notice, not with his limited power, not unless he had the help and protection of someone else.

“You think very loudly, daozhang,” the boy mocks, “I can practically see your mind struggle for answers. Does it amuse the First Prince when you do this? It amuses me. I think I know now, why he keeps you around.”

Song Lan knows the boy is only trying to provoke him, but it is unnerving to have a complete stranger zero in on his insecurities so quickly. A stab in the dark it may have been, but it is a fairly accurate one nonetheless.

He does not respond, letting the boy mock him until the Imperial guards arrive. Once they have him in hand, however, he does not hesitate to issue specific instructions. No one is to speak to the boy without the Emperor’s order, or the order of General Nie.

It is a logical decision; they do not know who the boy’s accomplices are, or how close they may be positioned to the throne. The boy is clearly unhinged, and skilled at provocation. Keeping him confined and isolated should tamper most of the damage he is capable of causing, especially while the Emperor is indisposed.

Still, watching the boy be led away, he feels unsettled. The boy may be the one they had been hunting all along, but his capture has provided no answers, only more questions.

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side A: “Promise”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener is granted an audience with her patron Arcana… 

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “Promise” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: mentions of death, monsters, slight horror, drowning themes, manhandling, some blood

~ 2.6k words

Kipling has made it to The Empress’ realm. Ozy hangs back in Vesuvia with Nadia, Muriel, and Asra. He opens a smaller Door that allows them to watch Kipling’s progress with her patron Arcana...

Asra and Nadia’s body language easily gave away their excitement. They crowded on either side of Ozy as he stretched open the portal to get a clear view on what was going on with Kipling and The Empress.

Abaco and Taro were excited as well. They both perched themselves on Ozy’s shoulders. Nadia withdrew to avoid getting a face full of the lemur’s bushy tail.

“Taro,” she said with a tight smile, “I’m afraid you’ll have to find a different spot. I cannot see past your charming purple coat.”

Ozy chuckled and pulled a contrite-looking Taro into his lap. Muriel, who hadn’t moved from where he was on the other side of the table, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Nadia, Asra… you’re both okay with this?”

Asra turned his fluffy head and arched a white brow. “Why wouldn’t we be, Muri? Now we get to keep an eye on Kip and make sure she’s doing okay.”

Faust nodded enthusiastically. 

Watching is fun! Kipling is fun!

Muriel didn’t look convinced. “Ozy, this doesn’t feel like spying to you?”

Ozy shook his head, keeping his eyes on adjusting the portal. 

“Nope! This is for educational purposes. If I’m going to continue to teach Kipling about grey magic, I need to know how this goes. Feel free to leave if it’s making you too uncomfortable.”

Muriel took a long look at his friends and their familiars craning their necks to get a full view of what was happening in The Empress’ realm.

“I’ll stay, but I won’t watch,” Muriel decided. As an afterthought, he mumbled to himself, “I’ll just listen.”

***

Kipling did not feel so uncomfortable around her patron Arcana after she had taken a seat in the grass down by her feet and started scratching out a poem on a slip of paper. The gardener did, however, find it difficult to concentrate with so many animals occupying the same space. They made lots of interesting, but distracting noises. Not to mention there were saber tooth tigers and hyenas walking around with baby ducklings and turtles trapped between their maws – and the latter were very much still alive.

Kip glanced nervously up at the Empress. “Um. Aren’t you going to stop your children from eating… your other children?”

The Empress tilted her antlered head. “Oh, them? They’re merely practicing at being predators and prey. They can’t kill anything yet.” She plucked one of the berries from her antlers and flicked it to the back of her throat. “The killing and the dying will come much later. When they are grown.”

Kipling suppressed the shudder that threatened to climb up her back and returned to her poem. She channelled those unsettling feelings as best as she could onto the paper.

The Empress drummed her fingers on the leafy armrest of her throne. “Do you know why you’re here, umbra?”

Kipling didn’t answer her right away. She held off until she wrapped up the last line of her poem. Then she put down her pen, folded the slip of paper and looked up at her patron. “Well, I’ve already opened my third eye, so I’m guessing you’re going to show me how to do something else that will help strengthen my magic?”

The Empress snorted. “Magic? Think again.” With a heavy breath, she hoisted herself out of the throne.

Kipling stood up too and tucked the slip of paper between the flowering vines in the backrest of the throne. Then she followed the Arcana on her leisurely stroll through the garden.

“Did you know that every human cannot function without three things? Any guess what those things might be? I’ll give you a hint. You and your friends embody each of the three.”

The hint didn’t do anything except confuse Kipling. She shook her head. 

The Empress’ nostrils flared in amusement. “No? Every human needs... a heart. A body. A mind. Which one do you think you are?”

Kipling took a moment to consider. “Am I… the heart?” 

The Empress nodded. “You are. Perhaps I am biased, but I do believe the heart serves the most essential function.” She didn’t wait to see whether or not Kip agreed before elaborating. “It’s up to the heart to communicate what the body can’t. What the mind won’t…. Tell me, do you remember your reading with Small Hermit? Can you recall why you pulled me in the reversed position?

Kip shrugged. “I guess I’m just… too smothering.” She sighed. “And it’s causing me to neglect other things that are important to me.”

The Arcana lifted her chin. “Yes. When you are under pressure, especially one that calls upon your emotions for another, you tend to cling. Your friend, Khleo… they shut down. And as for Oz’mandias–”

“He detaches,” Kip said softly.

The Empress hummed her approval. “Humans. You all have weaknesses. Don’t look so ashamed, umbra. How you overcome these flaws is what makes your kind interesting and worthwhile.”

Kipling rolled her eyes. “What are you trying to say? That I should be less clingy? That I should just let Khleo go?”

“Interesting that you mentioned letting go. Let’s unpack that. Tell me, umbra, how do you expect anything to bloom, if you never give it a chance to grow? Imagine the relief that would bring. Once you’ve cleared all of the detritus from your heart, you can give new seeds room to germinate.”

Kip let herself say to The Empress what she wouldn’t with Ozy. “But I don’t want to let Khleo go.”

The Empress gave another one of her derisive snorts. “Letting go. You don’t even know what that means.”

Suddenly, Kipling and The Empress were no longer standing in a garden. Now they were on a rock that looked out at the ocean. Kipling recognized this rock and the sea that turned its waves below and far into the horizon. She bit back the urge to ask The Empress why she had transported them to a replica of the Melting World.

“Look, umbra. See yourself there.”

Kipling turned in the direction that the Arcana was pointing. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as she registered what was happening on the edge of the rock. She saw herself and Ozy arguing. They were so young. She was fifteen. He was seventeen. 

Kipling tore her eyes away from the bickering teenagers and searched for…

“Let’s practice letting go, umbra,” The Empress said just as Kip’s eyes fell on a young Khleo, who was standing before an enormous Door. “See if you can figure out the meaning on your own.”

The Door yawned and tugged roughly on Khleo’s body.

Kipling took off. She barely stopped to think before casting herself into the portal after them.

“Khleo–”

The gardener reached and grasped at nothing at first. Then something slammed into her, leaving her breathless. It took a moment before she realized that she had been caught up in a wave. She knew this feeling too well. All her nightmares in the past had been like this. 

Kip’s cheek was pressed to the rock. Her whole body hugged the rough limestone. It scraped her skin as she shifted to look around for Khleo. She found them. Standing before the Door again. Just like they were moments ago. She could hear the younger version of herself bickering with Ozy in the background.

The Empress’ voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

“Let go.”

Kipling fixed her gaze on Khleo and stood up. “No.”

She took off again, not caring that the wave from before had snatched off her shoes and now the limestone was cutting into her heels. She knew that if she just pushed harder, ran faster, she could get to Khleo in time.

WHAM.

Another wave crashed into her, followed by another sickening bout of disorientation. But Kipling had been there before. This was nothing new to her. 

She saw Khleo. Heard the arguing in the background. She ignored it, choosing instead to chase after Khleo.

She ate seawater. Her sinuses burned in brine. She didn’t care. 

She had to save Khleo. 

The gardener lost track of how many times the Door reset. 

How many times was The Empress going to force her to watch Khleo get taken away? When would she understand that Kipling could not – would not let go?

After a particularly violent wave, Kipling let the Arcana have her way.

“Fine!” She wheezed, cheek pressed to the rock, eyes shut against the painful images that kept replaying without her consent. “You win!”

When she coughed, it felt like torture because of how many times she had been caught up in the waves. It hurt to breathe. 

Water fought its way out of Kipling’s nose. She writhed in an effort to sneeze and instead swallowed a wet, salty lump. It made her sick. She wanted this to be over so she could go back to her plants and be happy. 

“I get it now. I should just be grateful for what I have.” She would love Asra and Muriel and Nadia. She would show Ozy the love he deserved. She would let Khleo go. “I want too much! I always have.” 

She opened her eyes, thinking she would see The Empress. Bending low to place a crown of flowers upon Kipling’s head. Murmuring something about graduating to the next realm of understanding and healing.

Instead, she saw the cascade of a monstrous wave.

“N-No!”

WHAM.

And so it went on. Kipling took the beating of the hurricane and the sea.

“What do you think it means now, umbra?”

Dying, Kipling wanted to say. It means to die.

“Do you think letting go means closing your eyes and waiting for it to be over? Do you think it means forgetting about that person? Do you think it means pretending like they never existed in the first place? It’s none of those things!”

When Kipling could speak again – and it was a long time before she could – with the back of her hand, she wiped away the salty drool mixed with blood from all the times she hit the rocks and said, “You’re killing me.”

The Empress bleated in laughter, her thin lips curling back over blunted teeth. 

“You cannot expect a strong body to rely on a weak heart. What’s more, Kipling, my sweet, a weak heart could never support a powerful mind! They need you just as much as you need them. So you must know – you will learn – when to hold on…” 

The Empress snatched Kip’s head off the rock and pried open her eyes. She watched Khleo’s mouth open in an empty cry as they were taken by the portal again.

 “And when to let go!”

The gardener screamed and jerked out of her patron’s grasp. She tumbled down the rock until she landed roughly before the great Door. There was no wave this time, but her senses still burned from the sound of her younger self and Ozy screaming just off to the side.

Look around. 

Kipling didn’t want to look. Not at those two. Not at herself.

Think about what you’re letting go of. 

“No. I can’t,” Kipling wheezed as she propped herself up on her elbows. “I don’t know that person.”

You can. Because you’re almost there.

It was Kipling’s own words that she was hearing. Not The Empress’, she realized. 

She turned and looked at her teenage self. Kipling stood up.

“I never forgave her.” She said finally. “I said I was sorry to Ozy. I accepted his forgiveness. I even let go of the guilt, but I never forgave who I was then for all the damage I had caused.”

She knew The Empress could hear her. Those dark ruminant features entered her periphery. This time her antlers were covered in seashells and barnacles. 

Plucking an oyster from one of the branches and cracking it open, The Empress said, “As a child, you were one who insisted on keeping everything to herself, letting nothing out, letting no one inside. Imagine if you had held onto her. Imagine who you would be now and the people you would not be able to keep in your company. You let her go a long a time ago.” She removed a fat pearl from the oyster and wedged it inside of one of her hollow eye sockets.

“But forgiveness is a different type of letting go,” Kip said, feeling as though she was talking to herself rather than a Major Arcana. “I forgive her. She was young. I mean, I was young. I know better now.”

Kip didn’t look, but she sensed a smile from The Empress.

“Watch out, umbra. Another wave comes.”

Kipling was ready. Her gauntlets hummed to life. She saw several waves stretching high overhead, intent on crushing her against the bedrock. She saw the glyphs in the framework that intersected the fabric of everything, felt the ones that lit up just for her.

“Taro.”

A tiny Door spiraled open by Kipling’s elbow. Taro chittered and glowed as she floated into view and whizzed around the umbra’s shoulders. Just like Kipling felt the Doors, she felt the tethers to her familiar – in all ten fingers. And Taro, who had always been able to pick up on the things Kip wanted quicker than she felt them at times, knew exactly where to go.

“Hmm.” The Empress mused. “You spin silk. Like my spiders.”

Kipling directed Taro, who passed her tethers onto the glyphs, where they knotted and secured Kip’s connection to them. She never had to leave the motherboard as she tugged with one hand and engaged the dials with another. 

Doors opened under her feet, dragging down the weight of the crashing waves. Kip closed her eyes, relaxing until the locks on all of the Doors clicked smoothly into place. The water rushed violently past her head, but only her freckled cheeks were kissed by the ocean spray.

When the sea had emptied itself, the umbra sealed off the Doors and called Taro back to her. The light dimmed from the lemur’s eyes and markings as she took her seat on Kip’s shoulders. 

The gardener was in the middle of rewarding Taro with scritches when someone came up behind her.

“If I go through that Door...”

Kipling turned to see Khleo towering over her.

“Will I die?”

Kip swallowed. The Empress was nowhere in sight. She took in Khleo’s features. Their height, the slightness of their bones and thin arms. Her eyes smarted at the sight of their ghost lock chasing the salty breeze.

Their face. It was the only thing that would stay the same. Everything else about them was going to change.

“Will I die?” Khleo repeated, their dark brown eyes flicking over Kip’s head at the great Door that yawned in their direction.

Kipling glanced over at where the old Kip was arguing with the old Ozy.

“It might feel like you’re dying at times,” she said honestly. Then she took Khleo by the hand. “But I promise, that’s just you becoming strong.”

Khleo blinked and looked curiously at Kipling. “Strong like you?”

Kip laughed a little. “No, Khleo.” She wiped her eyes at the memory of seeing them in Strength’s realm.

“Strong like you’re meant to be.”

And it was then that Kipling knew what she had to do. She gently pulled Khleo towards the Door.

“I’m scared,” Khleo said, their voice breaking as it often did in those days. 

Kip nodded sagely. “Growing up is scary sometimes.”

Khleo bit their lip. “Oh.”

They didn’t look as worried as they did before when Kipling guided them to the threshold. Khleo didn’t say anything else. They did, however, offer her a small smile and squeeze her hand. Kipling smiled too before she let them go.

Then she took a step back and watched Khleo walk through the Door.

[phykios]

the marble king, part 12 [end] [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Constantinople, 1453

Even here beneath the waves, down in the darkness of the crushing ocean, all she could smell was smoke. War drums still thundered in her ears. On her lips, she tasted blood and salt--though whether it was the seawater or her tears, she could not say. 

But it was not enough that she had failed to defend the city of Constantinople. It was not enough that she had lost her unit to a man, or had abandoned her post, or had allowed the Ottomans through the Kerkoporta on her watch.

Any one of these things would have branded her a failure--but that the wretched, insufferable, intolerable son of Poseidon had borne witness to it all only turned the knife even deeper, salting the wound and taking pleasure in her misfortune.

To be reduced to a weeping woman like this, taking refuge in his embrace, it was disgraceful. It was nearly as painful as the loss of the city. 

The city… gods above, the city.

The heart of the known world. The defense of Europe. The last gasp of the Roman empire. 

Gone.

And all that was left of it was him.

And so she clung even tighter. 

It felt vaguely sacrilegious to be here, holding his hand, beneath the shadow of the temple erected to his father’s defeat. Her siblings would shun her. Her mother would disown her. The earth should have split open and swallowed her whole for such blasphemy.

And yet, it felt so right.

They had traveled so many miles together, weathered so many storms and stood against so many monsters. He had followed the Hunters of Artemis all the way to Mauretania, chasing a hazy vision of Annabeth struggling beneath Atlas’ burden. He had returned from certain death, thrown himself before her when she was in danger, had refused the gods’ offer of immortality. Then, even after she had spat in his face, expelling him from her sight, when the world crumbled around them and he could have so easily turned and ran, straight into the arms of the sea, his protection and the source of his power--he had sought her out. 

“If you agree, Annabeth,” he said, strikingly earnest in the way that only he could be, “let us, here and now, tie off these threads of our history, as one would to a tapestry. Let us end this rivalry of ours.” 

Percy had always risked life and limb for her safety. And, she thought, her old shoulder wound itching, she had done the same. They were a team, a partnership. In the absence of their brothers in arms, of their divine parents, of all trappings of the world they once knew, they should stay together. His logic was sound.

“A plan worthy of Athena,” she said. “I agree to your terms.”

That her mother did not immediately emerge from the temple, in all her heavenly glory, to smite her for such an insult was even more proof that her spirit no longer dwelt in this place. Lady Athena had never attempted to hide her distaste for her uncle’s son.

“To think,” he wondered, softly, hazily, “that such a legendary rivalry could have been resolved so easily.”

“It is strange,” she admitted, looking out on the diminished city, the light streaking across wooden roofs and weathered stone, “that along with my mother and our ancestral home, I have lost this as well.” 

As long as she had known him, Percy had been a remarkably consistent presence in his life--in some ways, even more solid than the other foundational truths of her life. Her mother would not always be pleased, her friends may not always return from war, but Percy would always be there to irritate, antagonize, and infuriate her to previously unreached heights. To let that go as well, to be so unmoored… it was frightening. 

“Well,” said Percy, squeezing her hand, a silly little smile crossing his lips, "my first act, in the shedding of our rivalry, is to pledge myself to our future empress, Ana Zabeta Palaiologina." 

Palaiologina. The word cut through her in a way she could not quite understand. 

Maidens the world over dreamed of marrying into a family with such prestige, spent every waking moment scheming how best to attach themselves to royalty. Annabeth herself had done the very same thing, not days previously. To ingratiate herself to Thomas and Demetrios would be child’s play for someone with her abilities. 

And yet… she did not want Percy to call her Palaiologina. 

He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the skin there, gracious, deferential. Or mocking, if the glint in his eye was any indication.

Phykios, she grumbled to herself.

Pulling her hand back, she wiped it on her dress, hoping to rid her fingers of the hot, tingly sensation which had taken hold.

 ***

 The words echoed in her head, long after they had been spoken aloud, clanging like the bells which sat atop the churches on every corner, inescapable. 

Percy had long since gone to sleep, safe in the strength of their companionship. How easily had he divulged his secrets to her! Were their rivalry still intact, she would now have the precise knowledge she required to ruin him entirely. Alas that the same knowledge which would have brought her victory years ago now brought her to ruin and despair.

No mortal woman.

Again, for what must have been the fifth time since he had fallen asleep, she examined every corner of their conversation, turning each word over for double, triple, twisted meanings, meanings which he may not have even been clever enough to imply. That he had rejected Rachael’s advances, even though she had been a fine marriage prospect, that she had never seen him in the company of another woman, that he had admitted to relations with a man so easily, that he had never pursued her, despite years of questing and friendship and several less-than-obvious hints--it all pointed to one logical, if devastating, conclusion.

Yet there was another side to such a terrible coin. She should not have spent so many years agonizing over her words and actions which had turned his heart from her, for she had never had his heart in the first place, had never had a chance to it. No woman had. Annabeth need not have gone to such lengths, seducing Katya when she had expressed an interest in Percy’s hand, monopolizing his attention, flaunting her femininity before his eyes, for he never would have noticed her at all. 

While Annabeth was beside herself, worrying herself sick over his health and safety, Percy had been languishing in the arms of another man--of a man of the Legion.

She felt so cold, despite the fire, despite her cloak, despite the heat of the summer night which lay upon her, heavy and still. 

None of it had mattered, she was coming to realize. Not the time he had refused immortality, nor the time he had returned from the island of Ogygia, nor the time he had crossed the known world to rescue her from Lukas and the titans. A maiden’s fanciful romance, she had enjoyed imagining that at least some of it may have been for her sake. 

The stars blurred before her eyes, her breath hitching.

No. She would not let herself fall to pieces, in her silent, lonesome revelation. There was no sense in weeping over spilled oil; to mourn for a future which had never been possible was a waste of time and energy.

And yet. Gods above, and yet.

She had so successfully repressed the stunning depths of her feelings for him for years, her stubborn, willful pride refusing to let go of a silly grudge and a terrible misunderstanding. How fitting, then, that it should resurface as soon as she discovered such an avenue had never been available to her.

Sniffing heartily, she scrubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears which had gathered in them.

Do not weep, she told herself. There were more wars to fight, more battles to be won, and matters of the heart did not take precedence, no matter how much they hurt. 

 ***

Her siblings, as children, always teased her for her fixation on her hair. Blonde was not an unusual color at the agoge, but children of the war goddess were not supposed to be so concerned with such things as physical appearance. That was strictly the purview of the sons and daughters of Aphrodite; Athena’s children were supposed to focus their wits on things far more deserving of their attention than beauty. Beauty was fleeting, ephemeral, intangible--beauty did not win battles. Athena and Aphrodite were always at odds, in this way.

Yet when Annabeth, a child of fourteen years old, one day very shyly sidled up to Silena, having swallowed her pride to ask the older girl for assistance, Silena agreed immediately, without ever having to hear any arguments. “You have always had such lovely hair,” she had cooed, sitting beneath the shadow of one of the olive trees, her hands deftly twisting her thick, curly, unruly hair into sleek, orderly locks. “Many a sibling of mine has lamented that you have been given so many gifts, your tresses not the least among them.”

Annabeth had smiled, pleased. The older she became, the more comments appraising her apparent beauty she received, and she was not always so pleased to receive them, though coming from Silena’s mouth, they seemed much more sincere. “You speak truly?”

“Of course! And it is not only my siblings who say so.” Then, Silena had leaned over, slipping Annabeth a sly wink. “I have heard tell that a certain son of Poseidon has expressed quite a particular admiration for it as well.”

Indignant, she had squawked, lightly smacking her friend, while Silena tittered, very prettily. “Cease with such falsehood! I know you do nothing but jest!”

“It is no falsehood, korie,” she had said, pulling on a curly forelock. “Carlo has told me how he often speaks of you in such flattering tones. One would think he had decided to court you already!” And then she had laughed again, gaily, delighted--but never mocking.

Flushing, Annabeth’s heart had begun to pound as she considered the potential truth of such a statement, that Percy had spoken of her that way. Recently, she had developed a rather peculiar set of reactions to Percy’s presence: flushed cheeks, pounding heart, an absence of all her faculties so that she, at times, became nearly as foolish as he.

She did not like those feelings. Not at all. 

“Can you teach me,” she had said instead, unwilling to dwell on such strange emotion, for such things were so obviously beneath her, “how you wove your hair so skillfully the other day?”

“Of course,” Silena had said, a knowing glint in her eyes. “In fact, I will teach you one better. My siblings say that this particular braid is supposed to resemble the tail of a mermaid.”

Annabeth had practiced the skill for years, long before and long after the moment she had divined what those feelings of hers had truly meant. The mermaid’s tail, however, had not caught its mark--nor had any of the other simple or complex plaits she had mastered and perfected. By the time she was old enough to begin covering her hair, as older girls were meant to do, it seemed that there was nothing she could do with her hair to entice a particular man’s gaze, nor with any other part of her.

Of course, now she understood why.

How cruel were the Fates, that they had finally given her what she had so fervently desired, Percy’s hands in her hair, at such a terrible, unromantic time! 

Still, he treated her with all delicacy and respect as he quite crudely hacked away at her gathered hair, sawing off all traces of her femininity. Annabeth was not endowed with so much in her hips nor her breasts; her hair was certainly the most obviously feminine part about her, thus with its removal, she would be better able to pass for a man, and be better kept safe from marauding bandits with evil, grasping hands. 

It was sound logic, yes. But it was not her only goal. 

She closed her eyes, measuring her breathing so as to keep the rapid war-drum of her heart from alerting the other party. All she could smell was the comforting salt scent which seemed to engulf her, like the warm embrace of the sea on a sunny day.

With a tug, then, it was done. “There,” said her companion. “It is finished.”

How odd, she thought, to feel air on her neck, so cold and exposed. “Well?” she asked, turning round before she let fear get the better of her. “Am I sufficiently boyish?”

He looked on her so oddly, his face a strange concoction of overlapping emotions, coalescing into a furrowing of his handsome brow, a pursing of his lips which still sent her into madness if she should consider them for too long. Please, she nearly prayed, as though she could change his mind from the force of her want alone. Am I as beautiful as all the boys in Rome? Am I someone you could love?

It seemed he had learned quite a bit of tact in their years apart, for he relieved her of her little fantasy ever so gently. “I am not certain,” he said, careful, deliberate, “you could pass as a man--though, perhaps you could be seen as a particularly delicate one.”

Her foolish wish shattered, as glass hurled against a wall.

Well. What was done was done. With a snap and an appeal to his gentlemanly nature, she sent him away so that she could pilfer a dead man’s clothes--and mourn her childish dreams--in peace. 

 ***

 Something in the air, the cold snap of it, the feeling as though one were breathing in pure ice, little shards of glass tickling the lungs and stomach--she had not realized just how much she had missed it. Of course the summer nights of the south were pleasant and fair, but there was something so sublime in the frigidity, the freezing, the ice in her fingers and the heat in her cheeks.

And, truth be told, something to say of her traveling companion as well.

Percy had been… nothing short of a miracle. Ripped far from his home, from everything he had ever known, and from his great Roman love (she thought to herself, with an internal scowl), he had been, the whole time, staunch, stalwart, solid. A better companion she could not have asked for, nor a better friend.

She told him as such, and distantly enjoyed the way his face flushed, ever so lightly. Tanned a deep, dark brown by the sun and by his natural coloring, it was sometimes difficult to tell what he was thinking, but she knew him well enough now. Had known him well enough for years. 

He was very, very close now. For warmth, they had begun drifting closer together, their bodies’ natural attempts to stave off the bitter, northern cold. 

She saw his eyes flick down to her lips.

No, she told herself firmly, no. He did not want for her advances. She had done everything she could to demonstrate her interest, short of simply throwing herself at him, and he had never risen for a single one. Annabeth and Percy were simply not meant to be, and no amount of forced companionship could change that.

For a brief, agonizing heartbeat, she thought she saw him twitch closer. 

Then, from the corner of her eyes--light. “Percy, look!” she gasped.

Ásbrú, the rainbow bridge, pierced through the night sky as a blade through water, a burning ribbon of color, near as bright as the moon itself, even more beautiful than in her wildest imaginations. Though she knew well its existence, the bridge had never presented itself to her, not as the mountain of Olympus had. To see it now, it felt like stepping through a silk curtain, passing some invisible line. It felt like a rush of bloodlust, a guttural roar, like a warm fire and the hot curl of mead in her stomach.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

It felt like coming home. 

 ***

 How little her father had changed. 

Politics was certainly not his area of interest, but he threw himself into his work as passionately as he had with the histories of Anglia and Gallia. His collections of papers, books, and pamphlets of various sizes and subjects were dizzyingly well-researched, a kind of organized chaos which resonated within her, every piece of information in its precise place, even if the place was incomprehensible to others. However, she could sense how little he cared for it.

“My dear,” he said, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, “I am afraid there is not much else that I can do. Mary tells me the Totts are growing more and more insistent--and they are merely the kindest about it. Word of both your reappearance and your inheritance has spread far faster than either of us had suspected it would, and we are expected to reply to a demand.”

Annabeth had returned to Svealand, it seemed, in the middle of quite the precarious situation. In the years since she had escaped her monastic doom, there had been no less than three separate kings who had ruled over the joining of northern lands: one deposed, one dead, and one perilously close to danger. Now the union had split apart, and had been at war with itself, with no signs of stopping. 

Like many, many noble girls, Annabeth was being paraded around for marriage. At first, when she learned her mad uncle Randulf had left her some properties and the like, she had been oddly touched. She had never known the man personally, nor his children, who had died by some supernatural force whilst she had been roaming the European countryside, but she supposed it had been a final act of some charity, some avuncular affection for his brother’s daughter--yet, after she had learned what the inheritance had brought with it, she wished her uncle had given it to Magnus instead. Or at the very least, kept it to himself. 

At least her father was equally upset at this turn of events, if not more so. 

“Understand me well, Anja,” he said, his voice thick with fear and worry, “were it up to me, I would never allow it. If I had known you would have been subjected to the predatory whims of the blue-blooded fools in Uppsala, I would have never prayed for your return. I did not get you back just to lose you to--”

“I understand, papa,” she interrupted, gently. It would do neither of them to lose their heads at this time. “Of course I understand.”

“The rebellion is growing, and it is powerful. I do not think it will be very long until Karl Bonde is overthrown, but I worry this land cannot undergo any further crises. To see you enmeshed in such bloody business is one of my deepest, darkest fears, and yet…” He then put his head in his hands, the picture of defeat. “I see no way out of this.”

For her part, Annabeth could think of a few ways, each more distasteful than the last, full of lies and conceit. If she knew she would be forced to be married after all, she would have done more to convince Percy to take her to the Morea.

Then, a thought occurred to her. An idea. A magnificent, inspired plan. A dirty, sordid trick.

“What if…” she said slowly, considering. The next few words out of her mouth could determine a whole host of things, be they pleasant or or unpleasant. She had to speak carefully. “What if I were already married?”

He raised his head, peering at her curiously. “Are you--?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Certainly not.” Not for a lack of trying, anyway.

Still, he looked thoughtful. “That is a clever idea,” he mused, rubbing his chin, “though I suppose they would then question why we did not think to mention it sooner.”

No doubt her stepmother had paraded about her unmarried status to all who would hear her. “We could say I was married in the eastern church. Perhaps that could explain the irregularity.”

“Perhaps.” Her father sounded doubtful. “I fear, however, that without a union in this church, it would not be recognized as legitimate.”

Seated in her chair, her foot tapped against the floor, quite unbecoming of a lady. Her fingers twitched in her lap, blood pulsing. “Then I suppose my ersatz husband and I must be married again.”

He nodded. “I see… yes, I see. And have you someone in mind for the role?”

It came tumbling out of her mouth so quickly, she ought to have been embarrassed. “Percy.”

“Your friend from the agoge?” 

Upon her return, she had relayed a number of stories to her family of her adventures--and of course, nearly all of them included Percy. They had all been privy to tales of his nobility, honor, and gentlemanly nature; surely there would be no reason for her father to refuse the idea. 

She swallowed, a knot of terror in her stomach.

“Percy,” he said again, “yes, I do believe this could work.”

At his assent, Annabeth nearly collapsed. 

“Another brilliant idea, my dear,” said her father, fondness suffusing every word, “though I cannot say I am surprised. Even as a child, your mother’s influence shone through quite clearly.”

Were she of a crueler, colder nature, Annabeth could have walked away right there and then, freedom solidly within her grasp, in a form most pleasing to her. Percy’s hand in marriage--the dream of many a girl in the agoge. She could leave it at that, and be done with the whole affair.

But. But. 

“I will speak to him on the morrow, then,” he said, gathering up his files. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“Just--” she blurted, heat rushing to her face. “Only--promise me, papa, that we will not move forward without his consent to the match. I do not… I would never wish to force his hand in this manner.”

She may have had him in her grasp, but she loved him too much to keep him there. 

But, she vowed, as long as Percy was beside her, she would never be able to marry another man, not a lord nor a king nor an emperor--for what were any of these compared to her prince of the sea?

 ***

 She silenced the little voice of doubt in her mind, cast aside all thoughts of fear or nerves. 

Percy had agreed to marry her, and, all told, it had taken very little convincing, as she had suspected--his nobility was well-documented and unflagging. He would never have left her to such a horrid fate if he thought he could do something to save her.

It did not make her feel better.

But, in the end, they were married in the local church, in a simple, unfussy ceremony. Annabeth wore blue for the occasion, a garment of her own creation, and a garland of flowers, as was custom. Percy, of course, was unfairly handsome as always, his eyes lighting up when he first saw her, and when he kissed her, as the ceremony required, she allowed herself to pretend for one beautiful, beautiful moment, that he had kissed her of his own volition. 

She was smiling as she pulled away, carried off by the fantasy, even as she could tell he worked very hard to keep his composure. It would not do to show open disgust at his own wedding, she surmised.

They were forced to kiss once more by her dastardly cousins, Magnus cheering and jeering and egging them on until they participated in the little wedding game devised by Alejandro. Her cousin was far more empathetic than many people realized, and though she had never spoken of it to him, she was almost certain Magnus knew the truth of her feelings, and had decided to play a cruel trick on her. If only it did not make her heart tremble so!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon the perspective, she could not dwell on it for very long. The marriage bed awaited them. 

Her family accompanied them there, to see her off on this final portion of the path to womanhood. Magnus and Alejandro were still quite inebriated, but her father was sober as could be, embracing his daughter warmly. “Tell me, Anja,” he whispered to her, in their language. “Do you love him?”

Athena would only have chosen the cleverest of men with whom to create a child. Of course he had uncovered the truth of it.

She nodded into his chest, and he held her even tighter. “I am glad,” he said. “I am so glad.”

Then releasing her, he nodded to her husband--her husband--and he left them alone with the marriage bed.

The two of them had shared a bed several times during their journey. It should not have affected her so--but there was a slight, yet significant, distinction between a bed shared by two friends, and one shared by a husband and wife. A distinction she could no longer ignore. A distinction which Percy, too, seemed well aware of. 

A distinction which, unfortunately, changed the nature of their relationship. 

The trinity men believed a marriage was not valid until intercourse had occurred--the rule held even more strongly for those of the nobility. Percy and Annabeth shared no such inane assumptions, of course, but they were beholden to a different set of rules, now. To please the land-grabbing nobles of Svealand, they would have to consummate the marriage.

Annabeth wished she could say she explained the matter plainly and calmly, and that Percy had accepted her logic without much fuss, and they had gone to bed in order to fulfill the silly contract set out for them.

In reality, that was not how it had gone.

She had fallen to pieces, dissolving into tears, so intense he had had to hold her, and she could not even enjoy the feeling of his arms around her, so ashamed was she by her display of emotions. Haltingly, punctuated by sobs and hiccups, she explained her case, and all but begged him to make love to her.

And he did. Because he was a noble man.

And it was just as wonderful as she had always imagined it.

He finished inside of her, glorious and copious, and she could have died in that moment, so full of him, she might never be empty again.

But the truth swiftly fell upon her like a sword: she had coerced, tricked, and beguiled a good man into her bed, a man who did not, and would never, love her. She felt cold all over, from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes, still wrapped around him. 

It was done. They were married. And Annabeth had never felt worse. 

Not even sleep could soothe her, for that night, she had a most frightening dream. 

In her dream, she stands upon a stone hill, overlooking a little town. From the rocks beneath her burbles forth a spring, salty and strong, and beside, an olive tree, of thick trunk and golden branches. Before her, there is a king, his body compounded of a man and a serpent, and there is a god, he who is the wave and the storm and the thunder of hoofbeats, and she, too, is a god, she who is the owl and the spear and the shield who strikes terror in the hearts of men, and the king delivers judgement onto them. He says then to the wave and the storm, “The people have spoken, and their choice is clear. This land shall be ceded to the goddess.”

“Bah!” scoffs the god, the rumble of the earth in his breath. “You would insult me so, who cares for your sailors and delivers them home unharmed?”

“Cecrops has spoken, uncle,” she says, in a voice not her own, silver and gold and unyielding. “The Oracle has given the people of this city the power to choose their patron, and chosen they have. You, who lay claim to the bounty of waves and the power of the sea, will you not allow me this little hill? Will you not respect their judgement, and go in peace?”

But the god frowns, his thick brows drawing together above the typhoon in his eyes, and he brandishes his weapon, the three-pronged trident which had split the very earth itself. “I shall go,” he says, as the crash of water on the shore, “I shall leave you the city--but be warned, glaukopis, and be wary, king, for you and your people have made a powerful enemy on this day.” 

“No, uncle,” she says, commanding and columnar, the sound and the fury and the cry of triumph, bolstered by the land which now belongs to her, and the people who are already worshipping in her name, an ever present thrum in the core of her being. “It is you who has made a powerful enemy.”

He glowers, the black, heavy clouds of the horizon, and he strikes the stone with his weapon, and from that spring which had been his gift, now becomes his curse, a mighty wave pouring forth from the earth itself, powerful and unyielding as the hundred foot waves and the stampede of horses, rising up as the sea itself, flooding the plain and the people and the king and the goddess, burying it all beneath the sand and the water, but still the stone hill remains, and still the olive tree stands upon it, its branches stretching towards the sky, defiant, willful. It stands, proud, rooted, planted, immovable, immutable. 

Permanent.

 ***

 Annabeth had dreamed of married life with Percy for far, far longer than she was willing to admit. In her dreams, she had imagined it to be endless fun, endless bickering, and endless bliss.

It was none of those things. 

He did not love her, nor any woman. He’d married her to secure her hand away from squabbling lords and wicked step mothers, and possibly for the financial security of her land--she did not blame him for it, of course. Such a large favor demanded an equal reward, and if any man deserved to rest on his laurels it was Percy. She was happy to take care of him, but as the days dragged on, she wondered if that was what was happening at all.

Marriage seemed to have drained all the light out of Percy. He floated around the manor, gray and listless, speaking rarely, and then mostly to Alejandra. They shared a bed, closer than ever before, and yet, she was not sure she’d ever felt so distant. He looked at her, yet she was not certain he saw anything at all. 

She tried to entice him to enjoy the finer things, offering to hunt with him as Alejandro had, suggesting that they go for a trip around the lake, even attempting to arrange for them to visit his new holding, so he might see where they were to make their estate. Each advance was summarily turned down. He resisted meals together, and ate very little. He retired to bed early, and stayed in after she’d gotten up. 

Once, desperate and sad, she even asked him to join her to view the beauty of the midnight sky. It was an indulgent thing, but she thought only the night sky could compare with him in beauty, and she wished to see it all up close. 

He declined. 

He did not even seem to notice when she found herself ill several mornings in a row. He slept for much of the time these days, but it still hurt--once upon a time, he had been so quick to observe her. 

Her maidservant tutted as she instructed a chamber girl to take the chamber pot into which Annabeth had vomited away. She was a middle aged woman who had served Annabeth’s aunt, and was rather eager to have another woman in the family, because Alejandra did not like having a personal servant to help with dressing for reasons Annabeth understood, but that was not well known beyond the family. After the pot had been emptied and the dirtied linen had been delivered to the laundry, she had helped Annabeth into her gown.

Annabeth had not engaged any servants in Constantinople, obviously, nor at the agoge, and could lace her stays perfectly well, yet there was something delightful about having assistance. The gowns here were heavier, after all, the fabric much thicker and the detailing far finer. Not having to do it all herself was a relief, as was someone to clean the room and cook the food. 

“Will you and the master be moving to your estate before or after your babe is born, ma’am?” asked the maidservant.

Stunned, all she could say, was a single, inelegant, “What?”

“I know you were inquiring with the steward about going and surveying them, and the houses,” said the older woman. “But no one was sure what you’d found.”

Slowly, like the pieces of a good strategy, the woman’s meaning began to make itself clear: Percy, her master, and the estate her dowry, now transferred to her husband, where they would have to move sooner or later. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth said. Percy had not wanted to. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth repeated, because she could not quite understand the last part of the maid’s question. 

“Then, if Lord Magnus and Doña Alejandra will have it, best stay here until the baby is born. You and your husband can have some time then to engage the household. My brother in law would be a good candidate for steward, ma’am. He’s learned in his letters, can write anything the master might need, even in Latin.”

“Percy can write Latin,” Annabeth said distractedly. 

“Oh, of course, ma’am. I should expect nothing less of a prince.”

Annabeth could not even begin to parse that statement. Percy was, technically, a prince, but that status was kept even from the small group of people who still kept the heathen gods in her cousin's house, and this woman was not one of those. But--“What baby?” she asked, instead of interrogating the woman what she knew of Percy. 

Her servant blinked, and paused in her lacing, just above Annabeth’s stomach. She gave a kind of condescending smile which would have normally rubbed Annabeth all the wrong way, but she was too struck with terror by the implication. “Well,” she said, speaking as though Annabeth were a little girl, “you can never quite tell before the quickening, of course. However, it has been seven weeks since your monthly, and five since your wedding. Now you have fallen ill in the morning,” She had a twinkle in her eye. “I won’t be getting anyone in trouble, but there has been lots of talk, given how taken you and your prince are with each other, for how long it would be before you’d be with child. Such a joyous occasion is to be celebrated, even if perhaps it wouldn’t do to go around announcing it just yet. For safety's sake."

Her blood rushing, the ocean in her ears, with almost trembling hands, Annabeth touched at her belly. Nothing felt different beneath the layers of fabric.

It had not occurred to her it could even be a possibility. Percy had only laid with her once, on their wedding night, and only at her insistence. Now that the idea had entered her head, it began to grow, taking shape in her mind and her heart. Just like Percy’s seed in her womb. 

Percy’s child. She could give Percy a child. 

That happy thought carried her for several more weeks, as she monitored the signs and tried to find the perfect time to speak with him, to get him to visit their land, so she might show him his fortune and share the news that she would give him an heir for it as well. 

Men wanted sons, she knew. Perhaps, perhaps with luck Annabeth could still win him, could give him money and a son, and earn a little of his affection in return. 

As the days turned longer, still his mood did not improve, until one day after the morning meal, she prodded him to eat more, so she could then take him out to see all that was his. 

He told her instead that he wished to leave. Leave Svealand, his newly acquired land, and leave her, too. 

Struck with panic and despair, still she would not resort to cheap ploys. She fell back to the tricks that always worked with Percy: a little bullying, a lot of logic, and a refusal to let him go without her. 

By the end of the week, then, the plan was set. Once again, she would set out for lands unknown, leaving her father and her family behind, with no assurance she would ever see them again. This time, however, she was able to give her a proper farewell--and to tell him her suspicions. 

He embraced her, his joy overtaking his sorrow, and she embraced him in turn. 

To leave once before nearly rent her in two. Leaving him now was sorrowful, yes, but startlingly simple. The road would be long, and hard, and dangerous, but she was going to have Percy’s child. She was going to find her mother.

Let all manner of horrors just try and stop her. 

 ***

 She was beginning to understand why her mother had sworn to remain a chaste goddess.

Pregnancy was a truly nightmarish invention. Between the nausea, the soreness, the constant need to relieve herself, the inability to use the full spectrum of her wits in the manner to which she had been accustomed, she was well and truly suffering--to say nothing of the incessant, unending, all consuming lust which would strike her at the most inopportune times. The wind could merely change direction, and she would suddenly be aflame with carnal desire, aching for the touch of her husband in her most private, feminine parts, unable to think for the haze of want and need.

It was maddening. Utterly, utterly maddening.

Then, her hand would come to rest on her stomach, and it all would fade away at the mere thought of the child inside of her. Percy’s child. Their child.

Their son, she prayed.

And oh, how she prayed for a son, a little boy with wild black hair and eyes the color of the sea in the sunlight, who drooled in his sleep and loved his mother above all other women!

Concern gripped her, then, cold fingers around her heart. 

What did Annabeth know of being a mother?

She had only met her true mother a handful of times, and had barely ever received an ounce of affection from her. Her father’s wife had been the sworn enemy of her childhood, the two of them always at odds, until it had reached its boiling point, and Annabeth had taken her chances with the wild. The most she knew of motherhood had been what little she had been able to glean from Percy’s mother, Sarah, who had been more than happy to share the secrets of her trade--yet she could have spent a lifetime under Sarah’s tutelage, and still she feared it would not be enough. 

Annabeth was not a kind, nurturing person by nature. Hard rather than soft, sharp rather than gentle, none who had ever known her would have ever imagined her to be a mother. In truth, as a young girl, Annabeth had not even imagined it for herself. A warrior woman, a daughter of Athena: she had been so sure that she had been destined for greater things than marriage and children.

How foolish she had been.

Wives and mothers won wars in ways that Athena herself could not even conceive of. When she considered motherhood now, she thought of Mary, her father’s wife, moving money and bodies on a chessboard of titanic proportions. She thought of Sarah, who had labored every day beneath the notice of the men around her to provide and care for her son, to teach him what he would need to know to defeat the titan lord. 

Now she better understood why Hera, queen of the heavens, had also been the patroness of mothers.

Annabeth would do everything in her power, she swore, to shore up influence around their little family, to ensure that they were safe and secure and comfortable in all ways, both seen and unforeseen. And, well, if Percy would not accept her affection, as was his right, then at the very least, she would be able to give it to their son. 

 ***

 He was perfect. By all the gods above, he was absolutely perfect. 

Her son. Their son. Little Alexandros. 

She had so wanted to name him ‘Perseus,’ not after the slayer of the gorgon, but instead the hero of Olympus. No matter her personal feelings, for all that he had done, Percy deserved to be immortalized with the best of the heroes, for he was the best of the heroes--no, the better of all of them--and he deserved to have his name and his legacy passed on.

But, alas, it was not meant to be. Percy, gentle as could be, rejected the name for their son, and so they had settled on Alexandros.

He had been right, to her great surprise. Alexandros, the name, was perfect.

“The ship’s crew are in a tizzy,” was Nico’s greeting the day after her son’s birth, and nearly three years since they had last seen him.

Glibly, she said, “I had not meant to give birth aboard.” 

“That is not the issue,” he said, his eyes locked on Percy. “They have noticed we are, apparently, traveling at a much faster pace than we should be.” 

“Do they not wish to reach Venice in a timely manner?” Percy asked, before busying himself with her shawl, though she had assured him she was warm enough. 

Nico’s eyes had not left him, piercing. “They are wondering if it is an ill omen.” 

“They should be happy that the new mother and her child will be in safety soon,” was her husband’s only response.

“Yes,” Nico nodded, “about that…” He trailed off, eyes boring into her now, brimming with so many questions. 

“You promised you would not pester them so soon,” Will scolded, though he had a smile in his voice. 

“Well you cannot expect me not to wonder at such extraordinary circumstances.”

Annabeth did not remember Nico and Will being particularly friendly during their days at camp; in fact, she distinctly recalled Nico running away from any sort of friendship at the first chance he could. He had been a surly, combative young man, with his stony glare and frightening aura. That he had attracted a friend as sunny and cheerful as Will was nothing short of a minor miracle, and that they tolerated each other enough for light teasing was quite the achievement.

In her memory, Niccolo di Angelo was still a skinny little thing, carrying an ancient, profane sword too big for his body, following Percy about like a lost puppy. She would confess to not knowing much about the young man, but she was certain she would have remembered if he had been a noble--yet somehow, the revelation that he was a count had completely blindsided her, with a fortune fit for the son of the god of wealth. 

“Well, what of your story?” she asked, adjusting her position to better support her sleeping child. “We have not seen you for nearly three years.”

He raised a brow, familiar disdain on his face. “I reside in the city.”

Oh. Well, then. Annabeth had sort of been under the impression that he lived in the Underworld, with his father. “Truly?”

“My mother was a countess,” he said, “many years ago, and, with some light forgeries, I was able to access her estate, as her sole living descendent.”

Many, many years ago, on their very first quest, Percy and Annabeth had sought to take refuge in a large tavern, only to discover it to be the den of the Lotus-Eaters, whose power stole time away from one’s perception, seducing them with food and wine and cards and dice to trap them there completely. Though they had not realized it at the time, Nico and his sister had been trapped in the same establishment, stashed there by an Underworldian associate some seventy or so years prior. How strange it must have been for him, to emerge into a world he could no longer recognize, and all his family long since perished.

But Nico would not be moved. “Our tale is long and tedious by comparison, but yours--now that has piqued my interest. I understand you and your husband were still in the city on the eve of its fall?”

“We fled as the walls were overrun,” she said. “We had thought to make straight for the agoge, but when we arrived, it had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.”

He frowned. “Yes, it had gone by the time we had arrived as well. Afterwards, then, Will and I traveled to Aachen, to speak to the Legion. I would have thought you would have gone as well.” He turned his eyes to Percy. “Iason sends his greetings, by the way.”

Clenching her teeth, she busied herself with something on Alexandro’s blanket, so she would not open her mouth and say something particularly foolish.

“We traveled to Thera, and to Athens, first, to try and contact our divine parents” said Percy. Annabeth did not think she could detect any changes in his voice, any hints of longing or the like, but she heard nothing--though that, in itself, did not necessarily indicate much. “Once we were unable to reach them, we decided to travel to Annabeth’s homeland in the North, to return her to her father.”

“A successful journey, I take it?” 

Lightly, Will swatted him. 

“After our marriage, then,” Percy went on, “we thought it best to return to the South.”

“And Venice?” he asked. “Have you any family here?”

Percy cast her a sideways glance, one she could not quite parse. “We… wondered if, perhaps, the gods had landed here,” he admitted, in a low voice, “after they fled the city of Constantine.”

“We have not seen hide nor hair of them,” said Will. “Nico has not even been able to contact his father."

Percy’s eyes widened. “Lord Hades has gone, too?”

“It seems so,” Nico said, looking pensive. “The ancient doorways have moved as well: the River Styx, the Door of Orpheus, and others.”

“The only clue we have is a message imparted to us in dreams from our parents,” said Percy, “the city of old soldiers.”

Will straightened in his seat. “I, too, have had such a dream.”

“As well, there also was a vision from my mother. In this city, she said there is a church, green and white with a red dome. Have you ever heard of such a place?”

Nico hummed, thoughtful. “Possibly. I was delivered a different clue, it seems: Zagreus and Thanatos, blood and death, appeared to me in a dream, and bade me to seek the birthplace of fire itself.”

As one, they frowned, turning over their words as though they had been handed one of Rachael’s prophecies. As one, they all came up empty. “Well,” said Will, after some time, “I do not believe we shall divine an answer today. There is another riddle I have in mind, one quite simpler: Percy, Annabeth, have you a place to stay in the city?”

With little persuasion, Nico had been insistent that they stay with him for the time being, in his large palazzo. When Annabeth was feeling better, he swore, Nico would show them all his available properties--for, of course, he had several--and that they would discuss rent at that time. Quickly and expediently on their arrival, he arranged for his staff to move their things, and granted them use of his beautifully appointed rooms, a separate one for each of them, down the hall from each other. In an uncharacteristic stroke of compassion, she thought, he had even located a wet nurse for Alexandros. Though Annabeth was loath to part with him during the day, she found it to be a godsent at night, even after only a week, allowing her the sleep she so desperately needed.

Percy proclaimed the procurement right and good, but it took her several days to realize he wanted to relieve her of her son. “Let Nico handle it,” he said, fussing over her, “you should rest.”

Days turned to months, and he let Nico handle a great many things. He spent hours holed up in Nico’s study, discussing matters of economics, travel, and management, as the Conte di Angelo poured his resources into a new business venture--a shipping company, financed by Nico and overseen by Percy.

The months stretched on into a year, and predictably, Percy had already seen great growth and investment from some other bankers and merchants in the city, what with his ability to not only turn the seas in his favor and outrun any marauding raiders, but also to simply discern the best days to sail, to predict weather patterns and wave directions. 

She always knew he’d be superbly successful at this line of work--even without his father’s blessings.

Annabeth, meanwhile, had not been sitting idly by. Once again, with Nico’s assistance, she had entered the expatriate community of Constantinople, rubbing elbows with certain persons who would not have even deigned to look her way, had they known her before, in the fallen city itself. Now that she was moneyed and married to a very important shipping contractor, a whole world of politics had opened itself to her strategic ways, though she largely tried to avoid the thorniest problems. Even now, there were whispers of what to do with the poor princess Zoe, how they might set her up in marriage with a Roman prince or Northern lord, and grow their strength and finances until they had mustered enough of a force to retake the city of Constantine.

Even with all her newfound money and influence, unfortunately the men of the community did not often take her thoughts into consideration--unsurprisingly. 

Besides, she was a mother now. She had a child, and a new sympathy for Zoe’s plight. Were it her decision, she would recommend that they leave the young lady alone. 

Annabeth could not say that she liked her new friends. They were pleasant enough people, and provided ample stimulating conversation, but many had never known the feel of a weapon in their hands or had tasted their own blood, never mind that they were all, of course, Christian. Oh, there were a few children of the gods here and there, one or two legacies of the Legion, but they were few and far between.

Percy was not always working, but he was not one to be confined to the home. He adored the city, and the city adored him right back, filling him with a kind of life and energy she had not seen since those few, halcyon months after the second Titanomachy. He was thriving in Venice, not just financially, but emotionally--and physically. Somehow, in the year since they had arrived, he had grown even more handsome, merry and always flushed with laughter after he returned from Nico’s residence. 

A part of it pained her to see him thrive among the Latins where he had only shriveled up in her own homeland. He had not looked poorly in Svealand, of course--Percy could not ever look poorly--but there he had been so sour and withdrawn and cold, and here he very nearly burst with life. After weighing the differences between there and here, she could only conclude that the greatest changes in his life had been the lack of snow, and the presence of a companion he liked better.

Not her, of course.

When she was feeling less charitable, it seemed to her as though her husband spent every waking moment with the count. They were an odd trio, Percy, Nico, and his doctor friend Will. At the beginning, she had thought Percy was exercising some latent protective tendencies over the count. She knew he still harbored no small amount of guilt over the death of his sister, many years past; the man of noble character that he was, of course he would want to see that Nico was well taken care of. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Then they became business partners, a sound financial move. Then they began to spend the bulk of their time together. Then, during the Carnival season, Annabeth had heard them stumbling into her house together, no doubt having just come from the raucous festivities which had captured the whole city, tittering like a couple of young girls. 

Things began to piece themselves together after that.

“The next time we travel to Aachen, you and Percy should accompany us,” Will said, extending an invitation for which she had a distinct feeling only came from him, at supper one night, while Percy and Nico were out overseeing some new contract or other. “I know Iason and Franko always ask after Percy; I suspect they would be very pleased to meet you.”

Franko, perhaps, she thought to herself, but certainly not Iason. Annabeth very much doubted he would be pleased to make his acquaintance with the woman who had stolen his great love from him, trapping him with a phony marriage and an unplanned child. 

The children of the elder gods had a kind of undeniable sway; Annabeth had felt it for herself. How darkly amusing, she thought, that not even Percy was immune to its influence, having attached himself not only to the son of Jupiter, but the son of Hades as well.

“I should be very pleased to meet them as well,” she replied, sipping on a cup of tea. 

She would not, but she had no real recourse to refuse. 

Annabeth had made her deal with the devil, and now she reaped the rewards: her son’s love, her friends’ affections, her social standing, and her husband’s indifference. If she had to meet another of her romantic rivals, she would do so with all the grace and poise her station required of her.

Even if she would rather die.

 ***

 Venice, 1455

The distance from Conte di Angelo’s residence was a little farther than she would have liked. Most days, she would have taken a gondola all the way from the palazzo to their little house, but today, she needed time to think. What better way to do so, she supposed, than by strolling through the Piasa San Marco. 

Annabeth adored the square: the red stone with its straight, white lines, the beautiful arches on the surrounding buildings, and of course, the church which dominated the eastern end. Mammoth and blocky it was, yet it reminded her so strongly of the old St. Sophia, from the golden walls which shone in the morning sun to the grand domes which rose above it. The domes still had their weight borne by expertly decorated pendentives, each surface layered with gold and portraits in the style of Eastern Romans, hideous, of course, yet comforting in its familiarity. Whenever she walked around inside the building, pretending as though she were observing the rites of the Christians and ignoring the scandalous gazes of older women as she went about with her hair only lightly covered, a complex crown of braids piled upon her head, she felt as though she were inside of a great, golden jewelry box, fit for an empress. It was not, she thought, the church of Sarah’s dream, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

She did not enter the church today, but stayed outside of it, settling herself in one of the arches of the surrounding buildings, observing the strange procession of Christian men as they passed, their steps and their songs hypnotic, in their own way. Annabeth was no expert in the rituals of the trinity, but even to her untrained eyes and ears, the differences between such displays of piety on the part of the fathers, and the rituals and regimens of the eastern patriarchs were stark, almost exaggerated. 

Some days, she missed Constantinople and the agoge so much it ached. The good St. Mark, despite its Latin trappings, helped her to feel a little less lonely. 

And her son, of course.

Even thinking of her son, she could not help but smile. Little Alexandros. Already he took so much after his father, his same dark hair and green eyes and large nose. He would grow up to be very, very handsome, she could already tell. To her great delight, he was just as attached to her as she was to him, eschewing the nursemaids and nannies for Annabeth instead. He was her great comfort while Percy was out conducting business on the water, the little piece of him that he had left with her.

Annabeth loved her son, more than nearly anything else in the world. All of her immediate peers, however, they had large, sprawling, enormous families. Annabeth, with her single child, simply could not compete, and she so hated to lose. Was she merely lonely? Jealous, of the family ideal? Perhaps. 

But even besides… she still loved Percy. Even though he had barely so much as looked on her ever since they arrived. He was a decent husband and a magnificent father, and she wanted to give him more. She wanted more for herself. 

And selfishly, she wanted him to touch her once again. She could no longer satisfy herself, not when the sense memory of his fingers inside of her still haunted her dreams.

So, she had gone to the count in order to petition him for the use of her husband.

Nico had only stared at her, flabbergasted.

“...Come again?” he had asked.

In her finest dress to prop up her ego, she had once again repeated her request. “I know you and my husband are involved,” she had said, her head raised high, “but one child is not enough for a family of our class. He will need an heir, of course, as well as daughters for dowries and sons to carry on the business. I can provide those for him.”

Yes, Annabeth could--and not Nico. This was the keystone of her strategic brilliance, a body which could bear children. 

Still, he had stared at her, more confused than ever. “I… Signora, I do not understand.”

What was so confusing? “Your excellency,” she had said, ready to try again, “I have come to you today to--”

“No, no, I understand that,” he had said. “You have made your request quite clear. My confusion is thus: why do you feel the need to petition me for children, when you could very easily ask your husband?”

“Because…” Was he being deliberately foolish in order to mock her? “Well--because, you two are…”

He had raised an eyebrow. “We are what?”

Gods above, was he going to force her to say it?

“I think, perhaps, you may have misunderstood the nature of our relationship, Anna Elisabetta,” he had said, dryly. 

“With respect, sir,” she had replied, “do not mistake me for one of the trinity zealots of this city. I know what heroes do when they keep company with each other.” 

He had frowned, befuddled. “You… are you implying that your husband and I--”

“I, too, have kept company with women,” she had said, quickly, suddenly worried he would take her words as an insult, “and I would never seek to cast judgement.”

Then, he had done something she never expected.

He had laughed.

“I beg your pardon?”

He only laughed harder. 

So uncivilized, she had thought, her irritation growing by the second.

“I can certainly say,” he finally said, when he regained his wits, though stray chuckles still escaped every now and then, “that this was not what I was expecting.”

It had been odd to see him laugh. Odd, but not unpleasant. Truly, he had a lovely laugh, the dourness falling from his countenance. It was not difficult to see why Percy might be so taken with him. 

“Oh, Annabeth,” said the count, “I do not know what mist has deceived you, for it can only be through magical means that you do not recognize just how deeply Percy loves you.”

He had sent her away shortly thereafter, to seek out her husband, and ponder on his words, which was how she found herself at the church of St. Mark, lingering as the day stretched on into evening. 

Did… did Percy love her?

She thought he had, once. In their youth she had sought his affections and thought she had been making progress. She had spent several long months waiting for him to ask for her hand. 

She had destroyed all hope of them, then, and then he had found the legion, and the beauty of men… or so she thought.

Had he not gone around the world with her? Had he not agreed to marry her, to stay with her and build a family with her? Had they not shared intimate moment after intimate moment, exchanging secret words and heated touches?

But he had also avoided her as best he could, eschewing her companionship for that of his friends. He had only lain with her once, at her insistence. He had had to be convinced into the truth of his marriage, that they were a union, and not two people unhappily bound together. And those same, maddening words, the ones which had haunted her for months, ever since they had made camp in the ruins of Olbia, they rang so clearly in her ears: no mortal woman. The implication there was clear. Whatever interest he may have had, he had not acted on it.

However… 

Perhaps she had been… mistaken. 

A different sort of fear took over her then. Had she been mistaken? Had she missed such an obvious clue, and thus doomed herself to a life without love, all because of a silly misunderstanding?

She could not think on it for too long, lest she become consumed by the hurricane of her own fears and misgivings. 

Rather than take the river road, she chose to walk the rest of the way to their apartments in the eastern end of the city, the neighborhood they called Castello, hoping beyond hope that her heart would have calmed itself by the time she made it back. 

It hadn’t.

Entering her home, she was first greeted, as always, by Freya the cat, who had, in the intervening years, grown even softer and furrier than she had been as a kitten, the tiny little puffball. Trotting up to Annabeth, her tail held high, she gave her mistress a perfunctory sniff, and a sweet little bump of her head, before darting off to commit untold amounts of feline mischief, as was her wont. Following her inside, then, her heart already softened, the next thing she saw was him.

Percy must have taken off work early; she had assumed he would still be at the port for another few hours at least. He had Alexandros with him, as well. They made such a wonderful picture together, father and son. When she next had a stretch of uninterrupted time, she would go about having this moment captured in perpetuity in a tapestry, a moment trapped in time and memory, just to make her smile. He had not yet noticed her, so taken with their son was he. 

Then she saw what he was doing. 

“There you are,” he said, popping another olive into Alexandros’ mouth. “Yes, they are your favorite, are they not?” 

In response, Alexandros gurgled, happily. He had spoken a few words already--”mamma” and the like--but he did not need words to express his joy at being given his favorite food.

“Indeed?” he asked, as though he were truly carrying on a conversation with his son. “Another?” He held out another olive to him, but Alexandros would not accept it, clumsily smacking his hand away. “Oh no? You are finished, then?” 

He shook his head, indicating Percy with his thick, chubby hand.

“What,” Percy gasped in delight, “you wish me to eat with you? Yes?” he asked, bringing the olive to his mouth in order to test his hypothesis.

Alexandros giggled, clapping.

“Oh, very well,” said Percy, his bright, beautiful smile like the glint of the sun off the water. “Since you insist, and since I love you very very much, I shall share this with you. Not a word of this to your grandfather, however--understand?”

Then he popped it into his mouth, and swallowed. Alexandros giggled again, smacking his hands together. 

“And here I thought,” Annabeth said, unable to keep her silence any longer, “you hated the fruit.”

To his credit, he did not jump at her presence. His smile did not fall either. “I think our son is more important than my father’s disdain for olives, no? Say ‘hello’ to mamma!” he bade his son, hoisting him up on one hip. 

Alexandros reached for her, his sea green eyes wide and wanting, and she took him into her arms, kissing his forehead. “Hello to you, too, angele mou,” she said, falling in love all over again. “I apologize for being gone so long.”

“It was no trouble,” said her husband. “We were able to keep ourselves entertained well enough.”

She recognized the look on his face well enough. It was the one he wore whenever he was overcome with love for Alexandros, a silly little grin crossing his face, his eyes soft and shining, his whole being exuding warmth and comfort. 

But he was not looking at their son. He was looking at her. 

She swallowed. 

Many months ago, she had asked Percy how he knew that his mother had reached safety, and he had responded thusly: that it was a matter of faith. 

Pressing another kiss to Alexandros, enjoying the way his face scrunched up at the odd feeling of her lips, she passed him off to the nanny who had been observing the scene from a respectable distance, whispering, though he could not understand at so young an age, that she would be with him shortly. 

Then she turned back to Percy. Still did he look on her with that same expression, softness and affection, care and comfort, home and serenity. 

A matter of faith. 

Stepping up to him, she slid her arms about his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

He responded in kind. 

His hands immediately went to her hair, tangling his fingers in the free-flowing strands. He tugged on them, just a touch, but enough that as her mouth opened in a gasp, he was able to slide his tongue inside, and there she tasted all of him, felt the firmness of his body as he pressed up against her. 

Yes, she thought, her senses full of the sea. Yes.

Pulling back, he chased her lips with his, whining a little as she did not let him continue, and oh, how she wished to continue, but words had to be exchanged first. She could not be wrong again. She refused it.

“I love you, Percy,” she murmured, gazing deep into the waters of the ocean. “I love you, most ardently.” 

Those eyes crinkled in the corners, joy crossing his face in thick lines, like the faces of the saints on the walls of St. Mark. “I love you, Anja,” he whispered back, bringing her hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “I have always loved you.”

Then, without further ado, he kissed her again, and she melted into the warm embrace of the waves.

 ***

 The first thing she felt in the morning was soreness. 

She felt it everywhere, but she felt it most keenly in her stomach, pulsing out from the core of her into every muscle and sinew and bone.

No, not her stomach--lower.

She flushed.

Ah. 

With a groan, she rolled over, only to be met with the smiling face of her husband. “Oh,” she mumbled, still half asleep. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Annabeth,” he said. “How was your rest?”

Deep and fulfilling, for she had been pushed to the very brink of exhaustion by their activities the previous night, a fact which he most certainly already knew. “Well enough,” she replied, with an air of disaffection, and he chuckled. She could feel it against her chest, realizing, belatedly, that he wore no night shirt, cuddled so close together they were. “And yourself?”

“Wonderful,” he said, and he kissed her cheek. “Marvelous.” He kissed her nose. “Absolutely divine.” He kissed her mouth, running one hand gently over the bare skin of her side, and she shivered.

“Mmph, Percy--” The force of his kisses stoked the fire within her, and as much as she desired to give into it, she felt that there were a few things which required a brief discussion. “A moment, please.”

At her request, he pulled back, though he kept a hand loosely curled at the juncture of her shoulder. His fingers brushed against her, as though he could not stop himself from touching her the way he wished to, the way she wished him to. “Yes?”

“We…” By the gods, she could not focus when he looked on her like that, dark and arresting and wanting. “I--”

But she could not help herself, breaking down into giggles and laughter. Percy joined her, until the two of them were as children again, laughing at nothing and everything. 

“Oh, perdono, perdono,” she said, breathless with humor. “There were things I wished to say, I swear.”

“There will be time later for discussion,” he replied, a familiar heat overtaking his gaze. “Now there are different sounds I would have you make.”

Rolling her on top of him, he kissed her once again, his mouth hot and insistent against hers, crushing her to his chest, the currents of his hands running through her hair and buffeting her body. With great, great regret, she lifted herself up, pulling herself away from him, even as he rose up after her, eyes gleaming with such affection that she could not even fathom, as boundless as the sea that was his lifeblood and his birthright--she drowned in him, and she would be more than happy to die with him once again. 

“Percy, wait,” she said, firmly. She could not let this go on a moment further without saying her piece.

Obedient, attentive, loyal to a fault, he sat up with her on his lap, his fingers curled about her hips, tapping lightly, waiting for her. She touched him in kind, her hands about his shoulders, rocking back and forth on his lap as she tried to settle her nerves. 

“I…” She swallowed, raising her eyes heavenward. Old shame caused her cheeks to heat, mistakes long since made rising from the fog of the past, like mountains. “There is… something I must say to you. Please, allow me to say it in totality, and without interruption.”

Frowning slightly, nevertheless, he nodded.

To ground herself, she squeezed his shoulders, focusing on the swell of his bare chest as it rose and fell with each breath, indisputable, irrefutable proof of his life, of his life with her. “What I said to you,” she began, haltingly, “all those years ago--please, you must know I never truly wished you dead.”

“Annabeth--”

She squeezed again, more firmly. “I beg you, allow me my space to speak.”

Mouth twisting, he acquiesced. 

“When you disappeared,” she said, casting her mind back to that horrible, terrible time, “I--I thought I had left you to your death. You, the person whom I loved most in the world, I thought I had left you to tender mercies of some monster, and that in my moment of weakness, I had abandoned all that I had been taught by Chiron, Thalia, you, to never leave a friend in peril. For over a year, I lived in my shame and my weakness, and when you did return, miracle of miracles, know that I was happy. I was so happy to know you were safe.” She could not count the hours she had lost to tears and sleeplessness and self-hatred. The year had passed as though in a terrible dream, in bursts of meaningless activity which she could not recall and had only served to render her even more miserable. To see him home once more had felt like the passing of a sea storm, or the healing of a wound, but then--”But when I saw the mark of the Legion upon you, I--I was so angry with myself, to think that I had spent all those months worrying myself sick for nothing, when you were as hale and healthy as one of our kind can reasonably consider to be… but that feeling, in itself, was childish and immature. I should never have thought those things, or treated you thus, yet I let my baser instincts take over until I pushed you away in the most vile manner, and for that, know that I am deeply, deeply sorry. I do not beg your forgiveness, nor do I deserve your love.” Then, taking his hands in hers, she kissed the knuckles there, as he had done to hers many times before, and closed her eyes against his face. 

It was not graceful, but it was the truth. She had never been so skilled with words, but she could not let another moment pass her by without her great confession.

Percy was, by nature, not a vengeful person. In that way, his mother’s influence far outweighed his father’s, so she was not surprised when he pulled her forward, and kissed her forehead. Opening her eyes, she saw Percy looking up at her, his beautiful gaze shining like the glass of Murano. “Of course you are forgiven,” he whispered. “Of course you are loved.”

“You forgive too easily, kærasti.”

“I most certainly do not,” he said. “But we were young and misguided in many things, and we deserve a little grace between us.” He kissed one cheek and then the other. 

“I do not want there to be anything between us,” Annabeth said. “no ambiguity or animosity. You must understand how much I adore you and always, have.” 

“I love you.” Even at such simple words, she felt her face grow hot, felt her mouth curl up in a smile. “I have loved you for so long, certainly since before we arrived at your father’s house, but, truly, for much, much longer than that--ever since I was a child.”

“You have?” she whispered, afraid to even voice the question, lest the fantastical words be ripped from her.

“Do you remember,” he said, twirling a stray curl about his finger, “the night of the Solstice festival upon Olympus? When we danced in the hall of the gods?”

Of course she did. She had been taller than him then, bless him, but they had danced together well into the small hours of the morning, to a song both sorrowful yet bursting with hope.

“That was the moment I realized that I loved you, and I have never, never stopped--not even during my time with the Legion.” His countenance changed, then, frowning lightly. “My only regret is that I did not tell you before I went with them. I should have said something on our way to Aachen, but, you must understand, I had nothing: no money, no employment, no--”

She placed her finger on his lips, silencing the stream of dour truths. “I know,” she said. “Of course I understand.”

“Never did I think that I could have this,” he said, around her finger, kissing the tip of it. “The gods saw fit to bless me with your hand and your child, and I would have been happy with no further.”

“But now you have me, too,” she responded--perhaps a little cheeky.

Percy liked a little cheek, she knew.

He grinned. “Oh yes,” he said, sweeping her close once more. “Now I have you, too.”

And if it were up to him, she knew, he would have her, again and again and again, a series of events to which she was not unopposed. Yet, he had given her so much, his life and his love and his loyalty, and so he deserved something in return. Something she had never done for anything else. Something she never imagined she would do at all. 

His arms crossed the bare skin of her back, one high, one dangerously low. It was almost difficult to move, to shimmy herself out of his embrace and down, and not only because Percy was stronger than she. He must have made a valiant effort to control himself during their little heart-to-heart, for she could feel the hard press of his cock up against her, no doubt having been awakened by such a warm, friendly presence, rocking back and forth upon it. As he had done the previous night to her, so she did to him this morning, kissing her way down the planes of his chest, his stomach, his hips--a body worthy of Phidias, of the greatest marble-men and bronze-workers of the ages. 

“Where are you going?” he pleaded, petulant. “I have not had my fill of kisses.”

“Worry not--you shall have all the kisses you desire, and more.” Truly, he must have been a man of particular restraint and discipline, to have gone all those years without kissing her, so demandingly, so full of passion. To think that such a romantic had been lurking beneath the surface of the sulky, downtrodden boy who had stumbled into their camp! Certainly, she had never imagined that they two would be in this position, until one day, when she could no longer imagine being in this position with anyone else.

Both in the literal sense and the metaphorical.

Lukas’ betrayal and Percy’s disappearance had made things… somewhat difficult for Annabeth, in the realm of romance, and without Silena, her closest confidant, to help her make sense of her feelings, she was left to the whims of her own imaginations. Though she never acted on any of them, her imagination had provided her with many, many scenarios to dwell upon, most, if not all of them, featuring the man before her--and being pregnant had only made them even more intense. To have known his attentions so intimately, to bear the proof of it so obviously, made her dreams even more vivid and agonizing than usual, particularly since he was so physically close, yet so maddeningly far away. 

She had not had a chance to perform this on her wedding night, too burdened with hesitation and dread. Now that she had him as he had her, she would not hesitate. 

A student of art and architecture, Annabeth was no stranger to male anatomy--beyond the simple study of marble and body, she had grown up with a number of young men and women in very tight corners, which did not allow for much privacy. She was even no longer unfamiliar with Percy’s anatomy, having studied it quite extensively the previous night. 

Upon seeing it again, she could not help but flush, biting her lip. 

Percy was a proper man, with a proper man’s cock--small and perfectly sized, unlike the large, boorish, sex-crazed animals in the poems and drinking songs. He wielded it as skillfully as he wielded his sword, bringing her to greater and greater heights with each thrust. 

She should thank it for giving her a son, no?

Annabeth then wetted her lips, and kissed the very tip of him. Percy nearly jumped out of his skin, his knees knocking into her shoulders. “Anja!” he gasped, “what--”

But she would not let him answer, taking the whole of him in her mouth. 

For some time, she had him prisoner there, hypothesizing and experimenting and committing to memory everything he enjoyed, which twist of the tongue or pull of the lips brought the most broken, wrecked sounds from his mouth. At his sides, his hands flexed and unflexed, hypnotic like the tides, grasping at nothing but air. “Anja, Anja, Anja,” he babbled, breathless and writhing, and Annabeth found she was quite enjoying this. The taste was not so pleasant, but the sight of his head tilted back, his chin pointed to the sky, the strain in his muscles as he struggled not to thrust in her mouth so that she would not be so rudely interrupted, the control and the power--she liked that very, very much.

It was not long before he was pawing, clumsily at her head. “Anja,” he groaned, “I cannot--I cannot--”

Even this, too, was becoming more and more familiar, the state of him as he neared that point. She must have miscalculated, however, for it was not a moment later that she was forced to pull her head away, her mouth suddenly very ill-tasting.

Unable to grasp any sort of control, he spent himself in her hand right there and then, so forceful it even landed on her face, and in her hair. 

“Cazzo, cazzo, merda, Anja,” he sighed, twitching and moaning as he fell once more to earth. “Oh, Anja.” His chest heaved as he gasped for his breath, his limbs boneless and lax. On his face was a smile, sleepy and silly, his eyes closed. 

She gave him one more lasting caress, and he shuddered, whimpering.

Climbing back up the expanse of his body, she returned much the way she came, kissing each exposed inch, from stomach to chest to shoulders to neck, then meeting him once more at his lips. He groaned, his face twisting quite adorably at the taste of himself in her mouth. “If I must taste it, love,” she said with a smile, “then you must too.”

His eyes popped open, then. “No,” he said, “no, no, you mustn’t do anything which you do not like.” With some effort, he craned his neck to see her, his hands coming up to cup at her face. “Neither something to me, nor with me, nor for me. I will only see you brought perfect pleasure in our bed.” 

“You misunderstand me,” she said, raising a brow. “I did not dislike it. I did not dislike it quite a bit.”

A moment, then he blushed, divining her true meaning, and flopping his head back down. “I see.”

She tittered, feeling once more a girl of sixteen years old, in love with a boy and with the funny feeling in her stomach whenever he smiled at her. 

“As well, I felt as though I had a debt to pay for all the pleasures you performed upon me last night. I must say,” she said, nestling into the space of his shoulder, drawing her finger up the planes of his chest, “that was very well done for one who has never known a woman.”

He frowned, though she more felt it than saw it. “How do you mean?”

“What you said to me, all those years ago--that you had lain with ‘no mortal woman.’” It had been a phrase which had haunted her waking dreams, ringing in her ears like the bells of the churches on every street corner, frightening her into withholding the truth of her heart for far too long. 

An odd smile crossed his face, then, something far more smug and self-confident than she had ever seen him before. Percy lightly stroking the skin of her neck, she shivered, pressing into him. “No mortal woman, yes.”

The implication of emphasis was clear. 

She leaned up on an elbow, incredulous. “An… immortal one?”

Strange little smile, he nodded. 

Her heart thudded in his chest. An immortal woman. The pool of potential partners had just expanded considerably. “Well,” she said, perhaps a little shakily. “Look at you.”

Look at me, she wished to say. Look at me, so plain and mortal. Look at me, who spurned and rejected you, whose beauty shall fade in time, who will one day leave you, through no will of my own.

Curiosity overcame the greater part of her fear. “With whom?”

But Percy, sensing her turmoil, raised himself up on his elbow to look her in the eyes. “One day,” he said, soft and low, “I shall tell you the truth of it. I shall divulge every moment of that time, and how each one paled in comparison to the long, cold, lonely nights beside the Danapris. For now, however,” he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind the swell of her ear. “Now, let us have peace. There will be time later for talk--a whole life’s worth of it, and one I look forward to sharing with you.”

“A whole life’s worth,” she agreed, settling down beside him. Instantly, he turned his body towards her, his arm coming up once more to pull her close. “I cannot think of anything better.”

“Nothing?” he teased.

“Well,” she said, stretching her neck up towards his face, matching smiles adorning their faces, “not quite nothing.”

In truth, there was nothing more she required of him than this, his body beside hers, their fingers intertwined, and their hearts finally, finally, finally together.

But she would never say no to another kiss.

It took them the better part of the morning, but they did eventually find the strength to pull themselves out of each other’s arms in order to get dressed and rejoin the household. The feel of Percy pulling the laces of her stays made her wonder if perhaps her maidservant would find herself relieved of that duty. When he was done, he pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, the feeling of his chapped lips against her skin inspiring yet another surge of heat inside of her which nearly forced her to rip her clothing right back off, but the dual promises of food and her son kept her from pulling him back to her bed.

The bed they would now share, she was sure. 

She found one of her veils, a white one detailed in blue that she had hoped her husband would like, and began wrapping it around her head. “Must you torture me so, my love,” he said, face set in an adorable pout.

“How do you mean?”

“Why do you insist on covering even more of yourself?” As he spoke, he reached under it before she pinned it in place, and pulled several of her curls out of it. 

She giggled at his expression, strikingly reminiscent of the one which Alexandros wore when he did not wish to eat his sprouts. “You wish everyone to see me?” 

“Well, perhaps not all of you,” Percy admitted, his hand curling around her waist. “Some parts of you are mine alone.” He brushed his hand over the space where her feminine center lay, and even through her gown, it was nearly too much. “Yet, if it meant I never had to have it shielded from my view, I would not mind everyone seeing your hair.”

Pausing, she considered his eager, wide-eyed look. It was a little scandalous, but… there was not much work to be done outside of the household today. What was the harm? 

She stripped her veil away running a hand through her hair. Unexpectedly, it caught on something hard and crusty resting in her curls. Frowning, she pulled on her hair, confused--then when she realized what it was, she felt her entire face heat.

“If you insist on spending your seed in my hair, love,” she said, dryly, “then I will not be able to walk around with it uncovered.”

He flushed, too, dark and red, turning and retrieving one of her combs from her table. “Allow me then to rectify my mistake.” 

“Oh, no, no.” She waved him off. “As your punishment, I am going to keep it this way. But, as I am a respectable, married woman, and respectable married women tend hot to keep their husbands seed in their hair, it will be covered, for now, to teach you a lesson regarding aim and husbandly manners.”

Thoroughly chastised, yet still smiling, he set down the comb. “Might I… plait it, before you cover it, then?” 

Once he promised he would not attempt to remove his dried seed, she acquiesced.

It was not her boldest fantasy about the man sitting beside her, but she had long dreamed of the feeling of his hands through her hair. The only time she had experienced the feeling before had been the day he had cut all of it off. It had been quite the experience, certainly, and convenient in many many ways, but given his affection now, she vastly preferred this. 

He made quick work, weaving her hair into a rope, not as delicate or intricate as she might have done, but still, the fact that it was Percy doing the weaving, Percy tracing his fingers about the shape of the curls, Percy performing the act, made all the difference.

When he had finished, he tied it off with a leather strap, kissing at her hairline. “Please,” he murmured, “do not ever think that you are not the picture of wifely virtue in my eyes.”

A flattery, for Annabeth could not quite imagine what about her was the picture of wifely virtue--she had just insisted on wearing her husband's seed, for gods’ sake. She was neither deferential nor demure. She had broken his heart, and forced his hand, ripping him away from his life to deliver her halfway across the world, and then once more. Certainly he loved her. She knew that now, and could see it through their long years together. But to see her that way, when she felt so much like she failed as a wife, and could only now make it up to him with the full force of her devotion, was almost more than she could take. 

“When I have the best husband in the world,” she said, “to be a good wife is no great difficulty.” 

He paused and took her hand in his once again, kissing at her knuckles and then the palm, along a very old, once very deep scar. Then, her hand still in his, he led them out of the bedroom, and into their house. 

In some corner of her mind, she had expected just a little bit more of a reaction from the other members of the house. She thought the servants would have given them a suspicious look or two, or, at the very least, for Alexandros’ nurse to raise an eyebrow, yet neither strange word was spoken, nor odd look thrown their way as they walked their apartments, or sat down for their luncheon. In that state of utter normalcy, then, when they were done, they went to visit Alexandros.

Usually, Percy and Annabeth had often spent much of their time with their son alone, without their partner, as Percy was often at sea, and on his return, Annabeth rather felt she needed to leave them be, so that they could bond without any external influence on her part. Today, Alexandros sat between them, trading smiles with his father. They looked so alike, it warmed her heart. 

It always had, from his first moments, and even before, as she had been eager for her son to look like his papa, yet for the past year, there had been something of a painful edge to it, to the heavy knowledge that, while she had the love of her son, she did not have that of his father. It had been sweet and pure and perfect, yet bitter and cold as well. Now, however, as a family, real and whole and complete, she could not help but be overwhelmed with them both, with how much she loved them, and with the knowledge that they loved her in return. 

After an hour or so, in which Percy entertained her son with his menagerie of little animal toys, Alexandros turned to her, wide-eyed and innocent. “Mamma,” he said, grasping at her breast. “Mamma.”

“Are you hungry, my darling?” she asked, picking him up and taking him onto her lap, as she had dismissed his nurse when they’d come into the nursery. Now that he was on solid foods, he required less nursing on the whole, but his nursemaid also knew that Annabeth vastly preferred to do the deed herself, in something of a break with convention. She had not done so in the presence of Percy since Alexandros had been the smallest of newborns, on that ship, in the tightest, most unavoidable of quarters, and when they had reached Venice, and Nico had set them up at his house while they waited to find their own, Percy had left her alone to it. No longer bashful, she undid her lacings, and pulled down her chemise, and with very little effort, began to feed her son. 

Percy swept several of the toys aside, and came and sat with her on the little bench she held him on. 

“I am so happy,” he said, in a quiet voice, “that you have such a wonderful mamma, Alexandros. You deserve only the best--and you have received it.” 

She looked at him, and there were tears forming in his eyes. One like a crystal rolled down his cheek, and he made no move to hide it, or pretend it was not there. Percy was not usually one to weep--that was more her own purview, to her great chagrin--but she was pleased to see how he presented no shame at the thought of revealing his emotions. Good, bad, towering, subtle, a crashing wave or a gentle tide, after years of being deprived of his feelings through her own foolish actions, at last, she had them once again. 

“I love you,” she said again, unthinkingly, though she must have repeated the sentiment a thousand times before in the last few hours. She had wasted many a year by denying them both the truth, and so, she vowed, she would never withhold it again.

He smiled, face wet like the morning mist off the shore, moving closer, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, kiss to her brow. “And I, you.”

The day proceeded as naturally as possible from there, though they did not return Alexandros to the care of his nanny until the hour had grown quite late. Watching Percy hold him, as their little boy drifted to sleep in his arms, she was loath to part with such a wonderful picture. 

They laid him in his bed together, then, as soon as they had closed the door behind them, Percy picked her up, clear off the ground. She shrieked as she suddenly found herself in his clutches, though she knew it to be the safest of all possible places. “What are you doing?” she gasped, breathless with laughter.

“Holding what I cherish as close as I can,” he said, a touch dramatic, and swept her off to her bedroom. 

“You lovesick fool!” she cried, giggling as he practically bounded through the halls.

The moment the door had closed behind him, he dropped her on their bed, nearly ripping her veil right off of her head. 

“Please, take care--I happen to quite like the stitching on that one,” but he stopped her chiding in its tracks as he wound his fingers through her hair, dislodging handfuls of it from its braid, and pulling her mouth to his. 

“You have punished me long enough, I think,” he smirked, “and now I shall have my revenge.” 

His revenge was the sweetest kind. 

With a gentle hand, much lighter than she had expected, he unwound her hair, and, picking up her comb from where he had set it down earlier, went about brushing it out, the slow, sweet process of removing his leavings from their earlier intimacies. 

She winced as he pulled on a particularly knotty section. Of the many pains and indignities she’d suffered, her hair being tugged by her husband was not terribly high on any sort of list, though she was a bit theatrical about it. 

“A thousand pardons, my love,” Percy said. 

Oh, Annabeth could hear him say it a hundred times, and she did not think she would ever tire of those words. She had no wish to abandon their old, childish names for each other, but adorations such as these filled her with a lightness she had never known. 

“I shall need a thousand more” she said, “as you should not have spread your seed so liberally. Going forward, we shall have to clean it more quickly.” 

“I will endeavor not to pain you so,” he replied as he moved all her hair aside, planting a hot string of kisses along her neck that caused her to question the sincerity of such statements. Then, taking up a jug, he poured a bit more water on the hardened curls, reapplying the comb. 

“See that you do,” she said, “and that, in the future, you shall place your seed where it belongs.” 

“And where, pray tell, would that be?” 

He leaned in again to suck at the junction of her neck and shoulder and she moaned at the feeling, bringing her own hand to her center, rubbing lightly, before it grew to be too much, and she pulled away from him turning around to face him properly. 

Lifting her skirts to sit astride his lap, she said, “It belongs inside of me.” 

Wrapping one hand around the curve of his shoulder, she snaked the other between them, down to his breeches. And squeezed. 

“Yes.” he breathed, hot and heavy. 

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, short and clipped, trying to force her own breathless desire down for just a moment longer, “for if you do not spill inside of me, how am I to give you more sons?”

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back. 

Not far, not out of her arms, but away. All lust faded from her, replaced with concern. 

“You do not have to give me a single thing,” he said earnestly, raising a hand, and tracing her cheek with a sword-callused finger. 

“What?”

Sincerely, far more sincerely than his earlier promise of decorum, he brushed a stray curl from her face. “You have given me more than any man deserves--yourself, and our son. Please, please, my love, my dearest dearest Ana Zabeta, do not ever think I would ask any more of you.” 

His words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, they strung with the bitter bite of a poison dagger. “You… do not want any other children, then?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice level, her face calm, her pulse slow. 

“Do not think me to be so greedy,” he said. “My love, do not think I would put you through such pain and fear again. I have our son, and I have you. My only desire is for your health and happiness.” 

“But…” She knew not what to say, how to argue against this. If he truly wanted no more children, if Alexandros was to be their only one-- 

He went on, beseeching. “Yet do not despair, for I can love and pleasure you in a hundred ways which shall carry no risk. I can give you everything you desire, and you shall never want for my affection and my care.” 

“But I do desire more children.” It sounded petulant to her own ears, but, there was no other way to express the force of her wants. “Alexandros is perfect, his father is perfect--how can I not wish for more? Faced with such perfection, how can I not dream of growing our family, our home, our love?” 

He looked at her, his handsome features marred by hesitation and fear. “I… could not bear to lose you, Anja,” he said, softly, achingly gentle. “I only just got you. I almost lost you so many times before, either to monsters or to years of silly arguments and pointless squabbling. I almost lost you to pregnancy last time.” His voice shook as he spoke. “I, too, would love more children, but not if it carries any risk to you. You are too precious to me,” he breathed, tracing his fingers over her skin, so careful. So wonderful. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you.” 

She leaned over, kissing his cheek, small, quiet tears at the corner of her vision. His pains were so clearly evident, for her and caused by her, all at once. “It will not be so dangerous as you imagine,” she said, hoping to put him at some kind of ease. “By some great fortune, Will is here. Not only is he the greatest healer in the world, he has magic: ambrosia and nectar and all sorts of potions and pastes.”

But she could not dismiss his concerns entirely. Bringing Alexandros into this world had been a frightening experience, her fear and terror lingering even for months afterwards, slow to fade.

“I will freely admit it is not without any risk,” she said, after a moment, “but we have taken so many risks together, for us and for others. We have faced only the greatest of dangers, dangers that our mortal peers could never even dream of in their darkest, most terrible thoughts. Let us face this smaller danger together, with all the comfort of our house, and all the safety of the good doctor. And,” she grasped the hand that still rested on her face, and pulled it away, bringing it to rest on her belly, “think of the reward.” 

He swallowed, casting his gaze downward. “It would be great,” he murmured, reverent, speaking before an altar.

“The greatest,” she promised. “I can give you more sons, each one greater than the last.” 

“And daughters?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I--” He flushed. “Well--if I am permitted, then, to indulge in greed…” He pulled his hand off her belly, taking hers and bringing it to his lips, kissing it, just as he had over two years ago in Athens, when they had sworn an end to their hostilities, speaking faster, and with greater intent. “Whenever I thought of a family for us, I always dreamt of a daughter, of your daughter, a little girl with all of her mother’s spirit, intelligence, and cunning, her strength of heart and her wickedness with a dagger.” 

“I see.” It had not even occurred to her. A daughter, yes, in passing, those things happened, but that Percy might wish it so strongly… “Yes,” she nodded. “We can work towards that, as well.” 

He slid a hand around her back, bringing her even closer, her chest flush against his clavicle, desire and worship in equal measure in the heat of his eyes. “Then let me give you as many sons and daughters as you wish, my love,” he whispered, a rumble in his chest she could better feel, rather than hear. “Let me see as many legacies of Athena as I can provide take Venice by storm.” 

And with that, he pulled her down onto the bed with him. 

 ***

 “I hate the lost years,” he whispered into her skin, “but the truth of the matter is that I could not have made you a good husband when we were young.”

“Of course you would have,” she said, breathless, her mind mostly on his hands as they combed up her flanks. His skill with his tongue, his hands, his cock, it all had to be innate.

Still stroking her tender, he said, apologetic. “I had no means to support a wife. I still have no means to support a wife. It is only due to a sheer stroke of luck that you possess enough means for the both of us.”

“I have looked at the accounts,” she pointed out. “In just two voyages you have earned back nearly all of our investment. Within a year, you and Nico will be clear and settled. You support your wife and your child quite well.” 

She’d almost said ‘children,’ but she did not wish to curry his excitement just yet. The midwife had not been so sure, and given Annabeth a whole host of other potential maladies.

Will had said it was not any of those things, but told her to feel for the quickening, and then they might all know for sure.

"You support us,” Percy said, “I merely work to make sure your money goes far. I do not mind,” he sat up, assuring, “It is not a question of some manly pride on my part. I am so very happy that you and Alexandros are so well cared for, and that you care for me, as well. That it must all fall to you, however, and that without our journey to Svealand, I would not be able to see you taken care of as you deserve, is what irks me so.”

“But I am,” she said, “I am well taken care of by you.”

His smile was too small and sad for such a happy conversation. “I love you with more passion than I believe some know to be possible,” he said, simply, “and I hope I take care of you in many ways. I pray that I am a worthy steward of your money, and that I represent you well when I use it on both of our behalf. Yet I must never forget it was you who brought such an asset into our marriage. We would have had nothing after the war with the titans, and I would have hated that.”

"I would have had you,” she told him, equally as simply. 

What a sweet thought! How they might have grown together in that time! How many children mind they have, now, if they had not gotten in their own way!  

“I would have worked my hardest to be worthy of you,” he said, all the earnestness of youth clear on his face, “but I fear you would have only ended up with the least eligible man in all of Constantinople.”

She laughed at his little jest.

He did not laugh with her.

Her laughter trailed off at his confused look.

By the gods, he was serious. 

“Need I remind you,” she said, “that you were the most eligible man in all of the agoge.”

“I was no such thing,” he said. “When my lack of any kind of material advantages showed, all women but you were rightfully scared away.”

Annabeth stared at him. This man. Her husband, father of her son, love of her life. A great hero, a brilliant strategist, the person she’d want with her in battle over all else.

And, she sometimes remembered, the occasional fool.

“Do you know how much effort I spent, Percy, seducing women away from you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Oh yes.” And what a time that had been. “Most of the girls of our little village had their own money, you know. Katya had some truly wonderful land, I was told, and Tora’s father was simply dripping in silks and spices.”

“You… seduced them?”

“I did indeed,” Annabeth said, easy and straightforward. “I distracted them, made them think that a man would not be worth their troubles compared to the passion I could provide.”

It had not, precisely, been much of a chore. They had been beautiful women, all, vivacious and full of life. Clarice and Silena had been her own choices, of course, sweet childhood romances while she’d mulled over her feelings for Percy, but the women whom she’d engaged so they might direct their attentions away from the man she loved had proven to be sweetly entertaining nonetheless.

“You romanced Katya and Tora to get them away from me?” His eyes were wide, the blush in his cheeks winding its way down his chest, roses in bloom.

“Not just them,” she said. “Between our journey through the labyrinth and the great war, I must have bedded… oh, half the children of Aphrodite--save Silena, of course, who was too enraptured by Carlo by then. And then a few others.” It was truly a wonder she had not garnered something of a terrible reputation. Truly, the children of the gods were an enlightened few, unburdened by arbitrary rules. “You were quite the catch.”

He blinked again, his gaze very far off. “You must have been… very distracting.” 

His voice hitched, and she realized he might have been picturing it.

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “I was quite the distraction.” Leaning in close, she trailed a line of kisses from his jaw up to his ear. She liked the rough stubble against her lips, a feeling she’d only ever known from Percy. She’d long loved women, their smooth skin and sweet faces and musical voices, as friends and partners both, but she loved Percy, too. “Would you like to hear about it, my love? Would you like the stories of the women I seduced, so I could have you all to myself?” she whispered into his ear.

He whined, marvelously, his breath shuddering in his chest.

She would not give him all the stories today, as she had many to share. Before he went back out to sea, however, she would give him a few.

 ***

 “Do not think,” Annabeth said, attempting crossness even as she lounged on their bed, “that I shall allow you to continue to put off your voyage this way.”

“Think you so little of me?” She could sense him attempting crossness as well, though he was far less accomplished at it than she was. “Which one of us can control the waves, again?”

“And which one of us has put off the extraordinarily lucrative Genoese shipment for the last two months?” she countered.

Percy shrugged one shoulder, jostling the bowl of olives awkwardly held in the crook of his arm, though he had remained in that position for at least an hour, now. “Giovanni does not require my assistance to move a few silks and spices ‘round the country. L’Imperatrice is in good hands, I promise you,” he said, plucking a fruit from the bowl and feeding it to her.

L’Imperatrice--the Empress. That he had named his flagship after the little canoe which had carried them together through to the ends of the earth, which had taken her name from Percy’s private little fantasy, it sent her heart on a strange little dance.

Annabeth should have been cross with him, truly. In all considerations of the situation, to defer and delegate such an important shipment to his mortal second-in-command who did not possess even a tenth of Percy’s skill with the waves in order to spend time with his pregnant wife, rubbing her feet and hand-feeding her olives, was a poor business decision. She should have been cross, yet, doted upon and loved and with a belly full of his children, she simply could not bring herself to feel anything less than perfect bliss, neither anger, nor irritation, nor even a passing annoyance. 

Yes, children. Will, the poor man whom they kept poaching away from the Conte di Angelo,  suspected it to be two. Her treasures were many, and multiplying. 

She moved her body, just a little, repositioning herself on the soft bed. Though her pregnancy had been rather a dull affair, all things considered, as compared to the previous one, some things, unfortunately, had remained constant.

“Still,” she said, as she refused to give up quite so easily, “please do promise me that you shall go down to the docks to at least speak with the man before he departs.”

“I suppose I could,” he tilted his head, considering.

She narrowed her eyes. Having seen and catalogued all possible configurations of his handsome face by now, there was virtually no possible way to construe this one as sincere.

“Or,” he said, a lascivious grin crossing his face, his free slowly, agonizingly slowly, tracing random patterns on her shift and her skin, sauntering ever so vaguely downwards. “Or, I could spend the afternoon doing something infinitely more… appetizing, shall we say, than speaking to Giovanni.”

Percy, the absolute rapscallion, even had the audacity to lick his lips.

Damn him. Her sense memory was far too strong to resist.

It was only a matter of time before she gave in. She knew it, he knew it--to argue otherwise would only be prolonging the inevitable, driving their lusts higher and higher with impatience and anticipation.

So, then, she decided to prolong it a little.

She hummed, tapping her chin with a finger. “Allow me to think on it for a moment or two.”

“Of course, my love,” he murmured, his voice already deep and warm, the quality it only took on during activities such as these. His fingers had transported themselves from her collarbone and clavicle to the skin of her shin, dancing and tapping at the edge of her shift, occasionally crossing underneath the hem. “You shall have all the time you require.”

Tap, tap, tap, a maddening little dance he played on the bumps and ridges of her knee, so distracting she could not even focus on pretending to be uninterested, her hips moving of their own accord, ever so slightly.

As it happened, she did not require nearly as much time to decide as she had thought she would.

And she did not even mind terribly when the bowl of olives, overturned and spilled in haste, ended up on the floor.

 ***

 For weeks, Annabeth had been dreading the birth. Twice the children, twice the trouble, she had thought, and given just how dangerous the last one had been, she had been wracked with nerves for days. Not even Percy’s presence, warm and soothing and solid, could chase away her fears.

Though, at the very least, there was no danger of Percy accidentally raising another typhoon.

“Much simpler than last time, no?” Will had commented in Greek, attending to Annabeth while he had his assistant wrap the babies. “I was, at the very least, expecting some sort of earthquake to send the city plunging into the lagoon.”

Percy chuckled at the good-natured jest, far past the point of chagrin. “To have you here the whole time has put me much at ease, Dottore,” he said. “If you are certain there is nothing more I can do for you as repayment--”

But he waved Percy off, wiping down an instrument. “Think nothing of it. I am always glad to assist old friends.”

“Scusatemi, signora,” said his assistant, timidly, holding the newest members of their family in her arms. She had been somewhat scandalized when Percy had not made himself scarce during the birthing process, as was customary for menfolk, and though she had not been outwardly cold to him, or anything less than professional, Annabeth could sense she was still in something of a state of shock. “I tuoi infanti--un bambinetto e una bambinetta.” 

Having already assisted Annabeth into a sitting position, Percy relieved her of one child, passing it to his wife, then took for himself the other. She had received the bambinetto, the little boy, curly wisps of blond hair nearly invisible against his skin. Just as Alexandros had been, he was beautiful, tiny and wrinkled, yet sublime in his smallness, in the little hands which curled into fists, in the slow, sleepy blink of his gray eyes as he first ever beheld the light, beheld his mother’s face. 

Loving Percy had been an unexpected surprise, something for which she had neither predicted nor planned. Loving Alexandros had been something of a foregone conclusion, a soothing balm to her then-broken heart, and she had feared she would not have enough room in her soul for her son, so taken was she with his father, unwilling to exchange one for the other. Loving this little boy, however, and his sister, would be the simplest thing in the world. 

She turned to her husband, pleased to see the look of awe and delight on his face. “Well, kærasti? How fares you now, now that I have given you a daughter?”

So enraptured, it was as if he had not heard her.

The door opened then, with a creak, a small, dark-haired shape toddling his way in, past the reaching hand of his caretaker. “Mamma!” he cried. “Mamma!”

“Accidenti,” muttered the Conte di Angelo, standing in the doorway. “A thousand apologies, Annabeth, but your little… child… could not be contained.”

She laughed. “Worry not--I have heard more than a few similar such sentiments from his nanny.”

Clumsily, lacking all grace, Alexandros clambered up onto the bed, making to crawl towards his mother, until he was stopped by the nigh impassable barrier of Percy’s outstretched leg. “Careful, careful,” Percy said, sweetly. “Your mamma is resting.”

All wide eyes and curiosity, he crept even closer, his mouth hanging open in a child’s confusion, as doctor, midwife, and count exited the room, in the periphery of her vision.

“Angele mou,” she murmured, “would you like to meet your brother?”

He did not respond, not so old yet that he possessed the gift of uninhibited communication, but he did peer, curiously, at the small thing in his mother’s arms. 

If she cast her mind back, Annabeth could not quite recall the first time she had ever met her brothers. Buried beneath the dirt and rubble of time and more pressing matters, she tried to remember if she had been excited to become an older sibling, to have some sort of sororal responsibility for her father’s new wife. Her situation had been quite different, of course; she had been old enough to comprehend what was taking place, and too clever by far for her to not feel some resentment, and in a fit of terror and rage, had taken flight into the unknown. 

Alexandros, perhaps, did not yet understand the matter, could not quite understand that these two little things were now his family, that his mama’s love and his papa’s attention would no longer be solely focused upon him. 

“This is your brother, Lukas,” she told him, the name she and Percy had agreed upon, a bygone memory of a friend and brother who had taken care of them both, and risen above all his failures in the end. “Can you say hello?”

“Loo-kas,” he said, reaching out a pudgy hand.

“Very good!” She was charmed far too easily by her children, but she simply could not help herself--it was far too sweet an image. “And that,” she said, indicating her husband beside her, “is your sister.”

If Percy could even conceive of a world outside of his daughter, now, he showed no indication of it, barely even moving when Alexandros made his way over to him, grasping onto his shoulder for balance. 

Hushed, she asked him, “Percy? Have you chosen a name for her?”

They had spent weeks agonizing over names for their newborns. Names had power, they knew intimately, and had to be chosen with great care. When it was determined she would be having twins, they had each agreed to choose one child’s name, to be shared with their partner, or kept a surprise. Percy knew the names for which she had a distinct distaste, and so she was not concerned he would choose something she truly hated, but she was quite curious. 

His gaze, green and glassy, was fixed on his daughter, a single tear falling down his cheek, his throat working as he summoned the will to speak. “Anja,” he murmured.

“Yes, my love?”

He turned to her then, his mouth trembling, the sunrise of his joy breaking on his face, warm and brilliant. “Her name is Anja.”

If her heart were any more full, it would burst right out of her chest.

“Then, if you are able to part with her, I believe Anja,” her voice hitched as she spoke the name aloud, the name of the little girl with blonde hair and gray eyes and all of her father’s love, “is in need of a little food.”

Percy nodded, bringing his little Anja to his lips, and laying a soft kiss on her blonde head.

Carefully, then, he passed her to Annabeth, making sure she was well situated in her mother’s arms, then he brushed a hand over Lukas’s head, as softly and tenderly as he could. This man could fight and kill, lead armies and win wars. His blood was that of the earth-shaker, the vengeful, the violent, who cursed and doomed any who would harm his children. Yet here he was, the absolute gentlest of fathers.

Little Alexandros, sweet thing, was drooping, sleepiness over taking his frame. Plucking him up, Percy transferred him to his other arm, so that he could be even closer to her, tucking Alexandros beneath one arm, and Annabeth beneath the other, his fingers playing with the ends of a curl or two. 

The lord of the sea could never be so soft, cradling Sarah and a baby Percy, nor the lady of war so affectionate, cuddling with Fredrik while they looked on their little Anja. All children of the gods emulated their parents, in ways both great and small, proliferated year after year, generation after generation, all their mistakes reborn alongside the heroes and the monsters and the stories. Yet, sometimes, they could break free of it. A daughter of Athena and a son of Poseidon could learn to trust each other, to love each other, to end the mighty rivalry of the heavens--and thus, in this way, they were already better than their parents, like the words of the old poet. 

Yes, she thought, as Anja and Lukas took their food, as Alexandros fell asleep in the crook of his father’s arm, as Percy stroked her hair, the thump of his heartbeat beneath her shoulder, beautifully, breathlessly mortal. Yes, they were better, by far.

[lampyrid]

Hey hello. So for the past few day's i have been follow you're blog and i quite fond and love you're blog oh so very much!, are you still accept request? Can i have the reaction of the dorm leaders when their darling told them that they were an empress with the nickname the goddess of war by the knights and the people of her Kingdom, and heard stories during Darling's time in the battlefield and the time she ruled over her kingdom. Pretty please🥺🥺

Hm...you’re quite the greedy dreamer...usually, I accept only up to five individuals in a dreamer’s dream...but since you’re the first one to request this world, I’ll let it slide just this once. 

Riddle Rosehearts

...is in awe once he finds out about your status. 

He knew that there was something special about you. The way you carried yourself, full of confidence and dignity, your discipline and manners, the way you effortlessly took the lead and instructed your friends through difficult situations...to think that you were an empress of all things!

He admired the Queen of Hearts for she was a strong woman that upheld the rules and valued discipline. That admiration now extends to you. You are an amazing person in his eyes. He was not royalty like Malleus and Leona, but he knows that it is incredibly hard to rule an empire and gain your citizen's respect. You must have put a great deal of effort to obtain what you had.

He loves hearing tales of your conquests, but at the same time, he can't help but think of the hardships you went through, especially when you went into battle. 

After finding out about your status, Riddle would hold your hand more often. He would gaze at your delicate fingers and feel the callouses on your hands, no doubt gained from wielding a weapon. A Goddess of War indeed.

Although with Riddle's admiration, there is also pangs of insecurity going through his heart.

Is he good enough for you? You have an empire waiting for you back in your world...does that mean you will leave him? Rulers put their people first, do they not?

He asks for your forgiveness, because he would never let you go back. His twisted love for you is stronger than his conscience. If your empire should fall without you around then...so be it.

Aside from that, nothing changes. You are still within Riddle's clutches, obeying his rules and accepting his affections with no other choice.

Although your achievements do motivate Riddle to work harder and prove that he is a worthy man to be with you.

In Twisted Wonderland, you are not an empress.

Riddle is the King of Heartslabyul. And you are his Queen.

Leona Kingscholar

...feels jealousy go through his heart.

You're an empress admired by your people while he's the second prince of a kingdom that won't get to offer you anything grand.

Don't get him wrong, his respect for you is immense especially when he finds out that you're a warrior as well, just like the women from his home. He just doesn't like feeling inferior. Not to his brother and definitely not to you. Expect him to become even more possessive of you after he finds out your status.

With how you're nicknamed the Goddess of War by your people and how you're experienced in real battlefields, he most likely would not have a chance at ever pinning you down completely.

Also, even if he can't actually scratch you, that doesn't mean he can't lay a hand on your little herbivore friends. He knows that your first instinct is to protect them, and he will hold that against you.

He takes care of any man that dares to approach you with hidden intentions. Leona can smell would-be rivals a mile away. If they're not careful, they'll get mauled.

Don't even think about going back to your world because your "people need you". You're staying, no questions asked. That empire of yours can go and find themselves a new ruler.

Still, he does love seeing you fight. Either with a sword or bare-handed, you look beautiful in his eyes. It also amuses him when he sees the anger and frustration in your eyes as you slice a large tree in two. You're clearly taking out your rage in training due to your current predicament.

That's fine. You're a lot easier to deal with once you're calm, and the other Savanaclaw students can witness your power as well. A powerful warrior empress fit for the king of beasts.

Azul Ashengrotto

...first witnesses your prowess when you manage to bring down Floyd with one hit. He remembered almost spitting out ink as he watched you bring down the six foot tall eel. Well, that threw some of his plans into disarray.

There was quite the scuffle in Mostro Lounge that day as you fought the twins protecting the octopus. Azul stayed out of your range, holding the golden contract tightly within his hands. 

He was utterly enamored as he saw you fight so fiercely. Burning eyes, a ferocious expression, soft lips pulled into a snarl, vigorous and precise movements...it made shameful feelings arise within him and he found himself trembling with excitement as you got a little too close for comfort before Jade pulled you back.

But, you had one weakness. And that was your lack of magic. With several spells at his disposal, you were eventually subdued. The twins both had to pin you down as you glared at Azul.

You were stuck with the mer and there was no getting out of it. Due to your abilities, you'll find yourself chained up in Azul's bedroom with chains imbued with magic until you learn to behave. They were extremely difficult to obtain...but anything for you, my dear.

Once he finds out about your background, his feelings would be quite similar to Riddle. He is amazed, yet his heart would fill with insecurities. From there, Azul would seek specific people out and trap them in a contract. Each of those individuals would have qualities that would serve to perfect his image even more. His darling is an empress, so she deserves a worthy man. (He won't allow that worthy man to be anyone else other than him.)

You can say goodbye to your empire as well. Because once the both of you graduate, he'll take you back to Coral Sea where you'll spend the rest of your life with him.

He could never be an emperor but...perhaps he could be the magician that makes you happy. (He'll wait until you learn to love him.)

Kalim Al-Asim

His eyes would sparkle with interest once he finds out about your background. 

An empress?! A Goddess of War?! How incredible! You're such an amazing person! It makes Kalim love you even more.

He loves to hear stories about your time as a ruler. About the monsters you've fought, about the people you've met, about how your empire developed, any story you tell would excite Kalim.

And as an empress, you should only have the best, right? So he spoils you rotten. Beautiful clothes made of the best fabric, sparkling jewels that bring out your pretty eyes, exotic pets that will be trained to listen to your beck and call...just say the word and Kalim will get you anything you want.

He would watch in awe as you dueled with Jamil, enjoying the sight of you moving so gracefully with your weapon. (Jamil on the other hand is worried and very much on guard. He knows your circumstances and he fears that you may go after Kalim's life. With that kind of physical prowess, assassination would be a very easy thing to do.)

While Kalim cares for you very much, he's also a bit delusional. In his mind, he's thinking that you had already abandoned your empire to stay with him. You chose him over your own people which makes him happy (and a bit guilty). He chooses to ignore the obvious signs and view your relationship through rose-tinted glasses.

He reassures you that your empire is fine, that a new ruler would come and make things better there.

So please, don’t look so sad! Just look at the new world Kalim will show you! He’s sure that you will grow to love it, just as much as you loved your empire!

The moment his family find out about you, they’re over the moon! They start planning your future wedding right away. It will be grand, it will be beautiful, and it will be a day that you will remember forever!

Kalim is sure that you'll make a wonderful wife and mother to your future children.

Vil Schoenheit

Well now, looks like you're not a potato after all. 

He had his doubts about you being a normal person of common status. You walked with grace and confidence, carrying an aura that even the other nobles of Pomefiore found themselves treating you with respect as if you were higher than them.

Charisma, poise, excellent manners, intelligence...you had it all. Someone that is truly fit to be a royal. Vil is very pleased about this. He won't have to do much in turning you into a perfect lover.  All you needed was a bit of polishing to shine as bright as him.

Vil loves showing you off and you would often find yourself accompanying him at special events. In other people's eyes, the two of you were a beautiful couple. They do not notice your smile not reaching your eyes nor the iron grip Vil has on your waist.

The only thing Vil did not like about your background is that you entered battlefields. He almost screeched once he saw scars on your otherwise flawless skin and immediately started concocting medicinal salves that would make them disappear. He would also frown at your calloused hands, not enjoying their rough texture. 

If you insist on maintaining your combat prowess, then he will allow you to take up fencing. A relatively safe sport that will help you stay in shape and won't get you any new scars.

In a way, you're Vil's beautiful and perfect little doll. An empire? Protecting the people? Those aren't your responsibilities any more. Why care about a world that is unreachable now?

Idia Shroud

...feels like he's in some sort of fantasy visual novel game (I mean...technically he is?) and you're the ultimate love interest that a player can romance only when they've cleared the rest of the game's content. 

You just became even more perfect in his eyes. He feels like he's on cloud nine once you tell him about your background. An empress, a Goddess of War...and a shut-in otaku like him got to be the one that dates you!

His obsession for you only grows, and so does his possessiveness. You're amazing while he's...not so great. He constantly seeks your validation and affection, often trapping you within his arms and whispering frantic declaration of love in your ears. If you don't return his affections, he's going to cry and ask how he can make you like him more.

You're someone that's supposed to be out of his reach and that thought haunts him every single day.

He hacks your phone, puts a tracker on you, and sometimes, he steals some of your stuff so he can bask in your scent while you're away from him.

He's fucked up. He knows that. But does he care? No, he does not.

Idia plans to take you back to the Isle of Lamentation sometime soon so you can stay with him forever. And you won't get a choice.

He can't really provide you with the luxuries you may have had during your time as a ruler, but he'll try his best to spoil you rotten. He is from a noble house after all.

You really shouldn't think about your old world or your previous  responsibilities...since you're staying by his side even after death. He'll make sure of that.

You'll become his beautiful Persephone no matter what.

Malleus Draconia

He finds out about your background when you were already taken to the Valley of Thorns to become his spouse.

He thought that you came from a common background, so he assigned tutors that would teach you the ways of royalty. He started to suspect that there was more to his precious child of man when all his tutors praised you for your excellence in their lessons. Even Lilia, who was assigned to teach you about their customs was impressed about how quickly you learned.

He didn't get to ask more about your background until he and his retainers found you subduing an assassin that snuck in as a servant with a mere dagger. He was amazed at your prowess and elegance as you fought with your assailant and quickly plunged your weapon into their heart, killing them instantly.

Once the chaos died down, you explained that you were an empress that ruled a mighty empire back in your world. Not only that, you were a warrior praised by your knights due to your strength.

You could feel Malleus' pride as he regarded you in a new light. Would his child of man ever cease to amaze him?

This revelation also solidifies your place as the queen. Many of the fae have come to respect you, admiring the human that can even rival their best knight in strength. Even Sebek, who first regarded you as a weak human, now looks at you with reluctant acceptance.

After the assassination attempt, Lilia will also be the one assigned as your personal guard for two reasons. One, he is Malleus' most trusted retainer. And two, aside from the prince himself, Lilia is the only one capable of stopping you if you ever decide to escape.

While you cannot return to your empire, surely becoming queen of the Valley of Thorns is an excellent alternative? 

Malleus promises to be a loving husband that will take care of you and your future children. He’ll reassure you that its alright to forget about your past and focus on the present and future.

And well...if you do try something, a simple sleeping spell won’t hurt you.

You will rule the kingdom with Malleus for eternity, your life forever bound to his.

[richincolor]

New Releases For The Rest of 2020

The year ends with a number of books we've all been anticipating which makes for lots of great reading for us during the winter holidays. What books are you looking forward to?

A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) by Sabaa Tahir Razorbill

Picking up just a few months after A Reaper at the Gates left off…

The long-imprisoned jinn are on the attack, wreaking bloody havoc in villages and cities alike. But for the Nightbringer, vengeance on his human foes is just the beginning.

At his side, Commandant Keris Veturia declares herself Empress, and calls for the heads of any and all who defy her rule. At the top of the list? The Blood Shrike and her remaining family.

Laia of Serra, now allied with the Blood Shrike, struggles to recover from the loss of the two people most important to her. Determined to stop the approaching apocalypse, she throws herself into the destruction of the Nightbringer. In the process, she awakens an ancient power that could lead her to victory–or to an unimaginable doom.

And deep in the Waiting Place, the Soul Catcher seeks only to forget the life–and love–he left behind. Yet doing so means ignoring the trail of murder left by the Nightbringer and his jinn. To uphold his oath and protect the human world from the supernatural, the Soul Catcher must look beyond the borders of his own land. He must take on a mission that could save–or destroy–all that he knows. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Heiress Apparently (Daughters of the Dynasty #1) by Diana Ma Amulet

Gemma Huang is a recent transplant to Los Angeles from Illinois, having abandoned plans for college to pursue a career in acting, much to the dismay of her parents. Now she’s living with three roommates in a two-bedroom hovel, auditioning for bit roles that hardly cover rent. Gemma’s big break comes when she’s asked to play a lead role in an update of M. Butterfly filming for the summer in Beijing. When she arrives, she’s stopped by paparazzi at the airport. She quickly realizes she may as well be the twin of one of the most notorious young socialites in Beijing. Thus kicks off a summer of revelations, in which Gemma uncovers a legacy her parents have spent their lives protecting her from—one her mother would conceal from her daughter at any cost. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

The Black Friend: On Being a Better White Person by Frederick Joseph Candlewick Press

“We don’t see color.” “I didn’t know Black people liked Star Wars!” “What hood are you from?” For Frederick Joseph, life in a mostly white high school as a smart and increasingly popular transfer student was full of wince-worthy moments that he often simply let go. As he grew older, however, he saw these as missed opportunities not only to stand up for himself, but to spread awareness to the white friends and acquaintances who didn’t see the negative impact they were having and who would change if they knew how.

Speaking directly to the reader, The Black Friend calls up race-related anecdotes from the author’s past, weaving in his thoughts on why they were hurtful and how he might handle things differently now. Each chapter includes the voice of at least one artist or activist, including Tarell Alvin McCraney, screenwriter of Moonlight; April Reign, creator of #OscarsSoWhite; Angie Thomas, author of The Hate U Give; and eleven others. Touching on everything from cultural appropriation to power dynamics, “reverse racism” to white privilege, microaggressions to the tragic results of overt racism, this book serves as conversation starter, tool kit, and invaluable window into the life of a former “token Black kid” who now presents himself as the friend many of us need. Back matter includes an encyclopedia of racism, providing details on relevant historical events, terminology, and more.

Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera, Celia Moscote (Illustrations) BOOM! Box

A NEW GRAPHIC NOVEL ADAPTATION OF THE BESTSELLING BOOK! Juliet Milagros Palante is leaving the Bronx and headed to Portland, Oregon. She just came out to her family and isn’t sure if her mom will ever speak to her again. But don’t worry, Juliet has something kinda resembling a plan that’ll help her figure out what it means to be Puerto Rican, lesbian and out. See, she’s going to intern with Harlowe Brisbane – her favorite feminist author, someone’s who’s the last work on feminism, self-love and lots of of ther things that will help Juliet find her ever elusive epiphany. There’s just one problem – Harlowe’s white, not from the Bronx and doesn’t have the answers. Okay, maybe that’s more than one problem but Juliet never said it was a perfect plan… Critically-acclaimed writer Gabby Rivera adapts her bestselling novel alongside artist Celia Moscote in an unforgettable queer coming-of-age story exploring race, idenrity and what it means to be true to your amazing self. even when the rest of the world doesn’t understand.

A Curse of Roses by Diana Pinguicha Entangled Teen

With just one touch, bread turns into roses. With just one bite, cheese turns into lilies.

There’s a famine plaguing the land, and Princess Yzabel is wasting food simply by trying to eat. Before she can even swallow, her magic—her curse—has turned her meal into a bouquet. She’s on the verge of starving, which only reminds her that the people of Portugal have been enduring the same pain.

If only it were possible to reverse her magic. Then she could turn flowers…into food.

Fatyan, a beautiful Enchanted Moura, is the only one who can help. But she is trapped by magical binds. She can teach Yzabel how to control her curse—if Yzabel sets her free with a kiss.

As the King of Portugal’s betrothed, Yzabel would be committing treason, but what good is a king if his country has starved to death?

With just one kiss, Fatyan is set free. And with just one kiss, Yzabel is yearning for more.

She’d sought out Fatyan to help her save the people. Now, loving her could mean Yzabel’s destruction.

Based on Portuguese legend, this #OwnVoices historical fantasy is an epic tale of mystery, magic, and making the impossible choice between love and duty…

New Releases on Dec. 8th

A Universe of Wishes: A We Need Diverse Books Anthology edited by Dhonielle Clayton Random House Children’s Books

In the fourth collaboration with We Need Diverse Books, fifteen award-winning and celebrated diverse authors deliver stories about a princess without need of a prince, a monster long misunderstood, memories that vanish with a spell, and voices that refuse to stay silent in the face of injustice. This powerful and inclusive collection contains a universe of wishes for a braver and more beautiful world.

Authors include: Samira Ahmed, Libba Bray, Dhonielle Clayton, Zoraida Córdova, Tessa Gratton, Kwame Mbalia, Anna-Marie McLemore, Tochi Onyebuchi, Mark Oshiro, Natalie C. Parker, Rebecca Roanhorse, Victoria Schwab, Tara Sim, Nic Stone, and a to-be-announced debut author/short-story contest winner.

New Releases on Dec. 15th

Oculta (A Forgery of Magic #2) by Maya Motayne Balzer + Bray

After joining forces to save Castallan from an ancient magical evil, Alfie and Finn haven’t seen each other in months. Alfie is finally stepping up to his role as heir and preparing for an International Peace Summit, while Finn is travelling and revelling in her newfound freedom from Ignacio.

That is, until she’s unexpectedly installed as the new leader of one of Castallan’s powerful crime families. Now one of the four Thief Lords of Castallan, she’s forced to preside over the illegal underground Oculta competition, which coincides with the summit and boasts a legendary prize.

Just when Finn finds herself back in San Cristobal, Alfie’s plans are also derailed. Los Toros, the mysterious syndicate responsible for his brother’s murder, has resurfaced—and their newest target is the summit. And when these events all unexpectedly converge, Finn and Alfie are once again forced to work together to follow the assassins’ trail and preserve Castallan’s hopes for peace with Englass.

But will they be able to stop these sinister foes before a new war threatens their kingdom?

This Is How We Fly by Anna Meriano Philomel Books

17-year-old vegan feminist Ellen Lopez-Rourke has one muggy Houston summer left before college. She plans to spend every last moment with her two best friends before they go off to the opposite ends of Texas for school. But when Ellen is grounded for the entire summer by her (sometimes) evil stepmother, all her plans are thrown out the window.

Determined to do something with her time, Ellen (with the help of BFF Melissa) convinces her parents to let her join the local muggle Quidditch team. An all-gender, full-contact game, Quidditch isn’t quite what Ellen expects. There’s no flying, no magic, just a bunch of scrappy players holding PVC pipe between their legs and throwing dodgeballs. Suddenly Ellen is thrown into the very different world of sports: her life is all practices, training, and running with a group of Harry Potter fans.

Even as Melissa pulls away to pursue new relationships and their other BFF Xiumiao seems more interested in moving on from high school (and from Ellen), Ellen is steadily finding a place among her teammates. Maybe Quidditch is where she belongs.

But with her home life and friend troubles quickly spinning out of control–Ellen must fight for the future that she wants, now she’s playing for keeps. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 73

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

BEFORE YOU READ THE CHAPTER: Very dark themes. You have been warned. Kylo Ren is Not Nice.

Chapter 73: Behind Glass Windows

You didn’t remember being told that you were now docked on earth; you didn’t remember even getting ready to go down to the surface, but you were now watching behind the windows of your eyes as you were in the shuttle being brought down. You could hear and see everything you normally could, but you were behind the glass of your eyes. You couldn’t interact with your world, he was doing that for you. It was like watching a movie about yourself where you couldn’t control anything unless he let you.

You watched as you departed the ship when it made it to the surface; you were now in D.C. you could hear Mitaka say that your family was brought here, for your safety.

You knew your crown was adorning your head, you could see as everyone around you bowed or saluted in your presence. But you were stuck, watching this nightmare unfold before you. You saw them, your parents, your siblings, and their spouses and kids. All a mix of terrified and confused. Your body stopped in front of them, but they did nothing other than stare at you.

You heard Mitaka’s usually timid voice attempt to be confident. “It is the law to bow to the Empress when you are graced with her presence.”

You watched as your older brother attempted to dispute this, “But she’s our sister.” You knew they didn’t want to give you the same respect you had always shown them. You could see the internal struggle within your family. They were terrified to be in this position, but they also believed that being related to you granted them exceptions. It did not.

“I will say it once more. It is law for you to bow in front of the Empress when she graces you with her presence.” Mitaka’s voice was a bit agitated at the blatant disrespect for you. He might be timid in many ways but he loved rules, and what the First Order stood for, and this was showing disrespect in the face of it all.

You watched as your family looked confused and shared looks with each other but they eventually complied to the law. Bowing awkwardly to you, their Empress.

Your mother spoke up, “May I ask why we weren’t invited to your coronation? Your wedding?” Her voice reminded you of all the women in stores who demanded things from workers, that same annoyingly trying to be important tone.  

You didn’t know how to answer but words came out of your mouth anyway, words you couldn’t stop. “You were not invited simply because you are not important enough. You may be the people I happen to share DNA with, but you are not my family.”

Your mother gawked, but your father spoke first, “Now I know you don’t really feel that way.” You could see in his eyes that he was trying to deescalate the situation, trying to reason with you, but you weren’t in control.

The ugly black creature speaking for you, “I am the Empress, you do not have the privilege to tell me what to do.” You could feel its hold on your brain tightening with every word.

“You know that I wasn’t trying to do that,” your father’s voice was reflecting the worry that was plastered across his face. Of course you knew that but that didn’t stop the controlling force on you. You saw your head cock to the side, contemplating their existence in this world.

The monster roared, but your voice masked it. “Execute them.” You watched the creature vibrate with glee, overpowering you, and your wishes.

“M’lady? They are your family,” asked an officer who was in the room, Mitaka staying silent. You could see the hints of concern on his face, knowing something was wrong, that this wasn’t like you.

You watched as you turned to him. “They have wronged the Empress. Execute them.” You then walked away. Your back turned as you heard their confused yells, the education failing them, panic setting in.

You watched the fear in his face, “The children too?” You could hear the unease in the young officer’s voice. You wanted so desperately to tell him no. You watched as you turned back around to face the officer that dared to question you.

“Yes.” Was the answer you gave.

You began to walk away, down the hall to who knows where. You sure didn’t as you weren’t in control of your body, your mind. You were screaming and pounding against the glass that seemed to be preventing you from doing anything. But you watched as the tendrils moved in front of it and around you, being burned by the dying embers around you. You wondered if there would be a way to stoke the fire somehow. But it was just you, the glass wall, the dying embers, the tendrils, and blackness. You knew you had no control anymore, but you were fighting for your life.

You heard a voice speak on the other side of the glass. “Empress, I have some things I would like to catch you up on.” It was General Parnadee. She was here talking to you, in person for the first time in weeks.

You turned to face her. “Yes, general you may proceed.” The words were out of your mouth, you wanted to scream at her to let her know that you weren’t all right. That you needed help. That you were trapped inside your own mind.

She eyed you carefully like she always had, analyzing the situation before her like the expert tactician she was. “It seems someone you knew previously to the annexation to this planet is in coercion with the resistance. I was wondering if you would like to overlook the interrogation. Maybe provide some insight? Or speak yourself?” Her eyes gauging you every movement.

You could see the black creature fill with glee once more. Excited with the possibility of witnessing an interrogation. Its inky threads dancing across your brain. “Yes, I would. Lead the way general.” Shaping and molding the parts it had yet to fully seize.

She eyed you for a moment. You wondered if she could tell that something was off. Hearing yourself speak, you didn’t quiet sound like you, like yourself. You sounded like a different person had access to your voice, because technically that’s what this was. You weren’t controlling you; you did not have power over your body, your mind, you even wondered if you had power over your soul at the moment.

You were lead to a room in the lower levels. It did feel like an interrogation room, when you stepped inside you saw your former boss, Scott, strapped down to a chair. It looked like a torture device, complete with a small black drone droid flying about.

You wanted to know what he was doing here, why he was here. But the creature spoke for you. “You looked relieved Scott? Were you expecting someone else?” You could feel your eyes narrowing at him. The creature turning you into a hunter before its prey. “I’m just glad it’s you and not the supreme leader. I’ve heard the rumors. What he can do to the mind.” You could hear the exhaustion and fear in his voice, and the small sense of relief. The creature narrowed in on the fear.

You felt your head cock to the side. “What rumors?” The creature turning you into a hyena before a dying animal, circling him in the chair.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, obviously, you weren’t displaying the reaction he wanted. “I know you know. That he can tear into someone’s mind. But I know you will get me out of this, I know you know I am innocent. I’ve never done anything to you or the First Order. All you have are lies about me.”  You wanted to believe him, suspecting what the outcome of all of this would be if he was found guilty, but you didn’t have control.

The creature mocking him now, “You see that’s where you are wrong. I know you aren’t innocent Scott. I remember being in the conference room when you said: ‘Well we’re fucked, We are all surely fucked. Who are these people to think they can just take over like that? Do they think we are just going to sit by and let them brainwash us? Let them take everything from us?’ Did you think I forgot that” Your voice now sounded like something out of a horror movie, some fake female sounding voice that came from a monster.

Scott’s eyes were wide. “That doesn’t mean anything surely you know that right? I’m innocent. Please, you know I have a wife and kids.” He could see there was no good outcome for him. He would have to face his death.

“Hmmm yes I do.” The creature teased him, looking for the final kill. “But unfortunately for them, they will have to pay for your actions, just as you will.”

Panic, fear, horrification were just brushing the surface of what he was feeling about what the creature was suggesting. “What does that mean? Please take me and not them. Kill me and let them live.”  

Your head list to the other side. The you that was in control was really toying with him now, like a cat before her already caught prey. Which he was, strapped to the chair, helpless and in tears, afraid for his life. “Yes, you should be grateful that I am unable to tear into your mind, but know this I show the same amount of mercy as my husband. Which is none.”

You turned your back to him and walked out of the room, but not before telling the guard that Scott and his family were to face public execution, as examples of traitors to the first order.

You walked past the general. “I will be present for both executions, I would like them to happen as soon as possible.”

She looked at you, you could see it in her eyes that she knew something was wrong, “Yes, Empress. We are having them in an hour. I have been informed by your ladies-in-waiting that you have been requested to change for the executions.” You were different, and she could tell.

You simply nodded and headed down the hallway. You did not know where you were going, but you ended up in a bedroom where Adlez and Olivia-Rose were waiting, with your new gown for the execution.

“Are you all right m’lady we heard what happened,” asked Olivia-Rose.

The entity spewing harshness, “News travels quick.” You voice came out with a menacing tone. Both of them looked at you and each other, Olivia-Rose was terrified but Adlez was analyzing you. You had never treated them like this before. You knew it would only be a matter of time before the black monster in your head would mess up enough for them to want to do something about it.

But the creature blacked you out, ending any and all conversation, taking you to the execution before it allowed you to see through the windows of your eyes once more.

On the top of the front steps to the Lincoln Memorial, one of the very images that used to define freedom, is where the execution was taking place. The Lincoln statue was removed, in its place was a red banner with the First Order Insignia, its bright red color was like blood against the pure white marble.

It was more than just your family and Scott being executed, there were others lined up, but they didn’t matter to the part of your brain you couldn’t control. You wondered if you could stomach what you were about to witness. What he was about to make you witness. The death of your family.

You felt yourself step forward to address the crowd; you knew once again that the words coming out of your mouth were not your own. “Citizens of Earth, the people before you today have committed the act of treason against you, against the most gracious First Order. I stand before you today as your Empress. Showing you firsthand that I stand behind what is done here, the examples these people will be to you all. Break the rules, cause disorder and you will be eradicated. We will be pure, we will have order, we will be better.”

You stepped back; you knew all eyes were on you, but you were numb to it all. Not feeling the pain that was so clearly in your heart, in your soul. You watched as an Executioner ‘trooper stepped forward. Through the voice distortion, you heard names and the crimes they committed. You watched as Scott went first, his crime being a spy and conspiring with the Resistance. You watched as they forced him to kneel in front of everyone next to a ‘trooper with a laser axe. You watched on horrified at the falling of his head, but the crowd that gathered in front of you was living for it. Shouting various encouragements to the executioners, saying disgusting things to those who were lined up. Next was his wife and two kids, their crime was failing to report a conspirator of the Resistance. Your body not following your will, forcing you to watch, breaking you.

But you weren’t prepared for what you were about to witness next, your family. Your mother, your father, your brothers and sister with their spouses and kids lining up together, a stormtrooper holding each of them, an executioner next to them waiting, waiting for the announcement of their names and crimes. You could see the fear and tears on their faces, some of them trying to look at you, trying to show you their dying eyes. The children and babies not knowing what was happening. What you were about to let the First Order do, knowing you couldn’t stop what was about to happen.

Their death, and your isolation.

You watched as the axes fell in sync; you were alone now. Your family was gone, Kylo on the other end of the galaxy but controlling you. Allowing. No. Forcing this to happen. Forcing your isolation. Forcing their death. The rest of the execution was a blur, the tendrils seemed to decide that you have had enough of being forced to witness things. You didn’t remember the rest of the day, or the next few days as a matter of fact. The inky blackness was all you saw.

[silverypurple-rosedlions]

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏/𝟐

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲: @incubuswooyoung

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✨ Mentioned in the post: @seventeen-cb @ghoulxbaekhyun, @leejihoon-cb, @empress-jiaqi, and @kpop-shelter

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💜 | Jeonghan: I want to address, first, my gratitude towards the first group who talked to us officially, and the first twins we met who interacted with us, lending a hand when we needed it even when you knew little about us, reassuring the members and me, and shared hilarious moments with us, memorable moments that I won't ever forget. You were the first who were able to get close with us, and without judgment for what we have or do, or had done, even if it's concerning. You welcomed us with open arms, and I can never forget that. You even made me laugh and smile more than I usually do, and I thank you for that. Thank you for giving me more joy than I already have. I thank you for reminding me, and the members, that we are still human, no matter how psychotic we are, or appear like monsters to others. I would write for each member, even if I haven't talked to some that much, but it would need to be a separate post. Perhaps next Saturday, I'll do that, haha.

Second, goes to our friendly ghoul, Baekhyun hyung, who I am proud to say is a unique and great friend. We haven't talked "that" much like you do with Seok, but we've had our conversations that I enjoy, and I appreciate you. I appreciate the care and protection you would provide to the members and me if something were to happen, the compassion you have, and your warm words you provide in comfort and reassurance. You're able to understand certain situations that are similar in bits and pieces, finding a balance and talking with us. Thank you so much, Baek hyung, for being proud of me and encouraging me as a friend, a leader, and a person who suffered through the majority of my life. But, you're right. It did shape me into who I am now, for better or worse, and I wouldn't change it if that meant none of my members would gain the opportunity to be in a better living space and to meet you and the others. Know that you can always turn to any one of us for anything, hyung.

The third is Empress Jiaqi, Kiki. The formidable ruler, haha. But thank you for making treats for us, bringing food and tea towards the members, and for making them smile and feel comfortable. Even if you threaten Gyu, he would never be upset, and neither would we. You've shown care to us, and willing to be there for anyone, and you're understanding. Also, I want to thank you for including our Adminnie within the post prior, and even if you shoo us away, we always prioritize our Adminnie's happiness first. And you made her smile and cry with tears of joy, something we don't see too often because she keeps her emotions in check.

Unfortunately, because I don't interact that much as the boys do, I'm limited to four. But my last is Joshuji. My sweet, sweet Joshuji. Hong Joshua Jisoo, my guitar boy, my heavenly angel. You're incredible, and I don't deserve you. You've been by my side since Middle School, all the way till now, facing hell with me. You've waited for me for two years, waiting for the day we'd reunite and have a life together, good or bad. You've always been my pillar, the reason I have a real home with the boys within my heart, you've given me love and support that was taken from me, and you knew better than others. You knew I was hurting, and still do, always being there for me and doing whatever it takes to bring me joy, relaxation, and security. I love you, and I'm overjoyed that we never split, only growing closer to the point that we're inseparable. You're my entire future, my home, my life, and the only one for me. Thank you, Joshuji, for everything, for allowing me to continue.

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🖤 | Joshua: I want to begin with our first twins we met, an incredible group we have become close friends with. You're all chaotically fun, always supporting us and assisting us whenever we needed it, even if it was something silly. You made it such a thrill to be on here, including us in days like Femboy Friday for kicks, all of us laughing and joking around about, meaning no harm. You've seen our lowest, and even then, you did your best to haul us back up. I can never forget the memories we've made so far, and I can't wait to see what happens next. I'm happy for you all, and I have no regrets coming onto this community and making such great friends. Thank you for being the first twins, the first group we could gain reassurance and support from. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Second is to Kiki, who feels my pain for caring for the children we have, haha. You're absolutely sweet, and I'm proud to have met you with the boys and have comfortable conversations, some that escalated to a hilariously alarming rate. But thank you most of all for being such a great friend in the short amount of time we talked together. And I know that later on, things will only become greater between us, as a whole. You've given us such delicious food, always ensuring that our health came first, and considered whether any of us had allergies or disliked a specific flavor of cookies. Thank you so much, especially for accepting us like so many have. Take care, and don't ever cause stress to yourself. And if you need help getting out, the members and I are happy to swing by and help you out and in, haha.

The third is to Baekhyun hyung, who I am astounded that he can handle our rambunctious Seok, haha. Thank you so much for being there for any of the members, worrying for whoever wasn't doing well. Thank you for supporting us, comforting us as our history is revealed, still is heavy on our shoulders, and being willing to be there if ever needed. Our conversations are quite interesting, especially the one we had on Kiki's post, haha. We haven't had the chance to know each other just yet, but I know we will in time, and I promise to take care of Hannie, happy that you support our relationship, and I'll do my best not to become crazy with these kids of ours. I appreciate you so much, and thank you over and over again, especially when Seok's with you, and we all are worried he's done something, but he's perfectly fine with you and those he interacts with.

Another is @leejihoon-cb, Jihoon, someone I've talked with now and then but haven't been able to reply in time. Although we haven't talked much, you can always talk to me whenever you want, and hyung will be here to listen and have conversations now and then. You're welcomed to come around my corner, or any of the members' corners just for company. I know you went through a little rebrand lately, so stay strong! I'm always supporting you!

Then, to my Hannie. My Yoon Jeonghan, my Angel, the very person who always remained, and still remains, loyal to me. I don't know what I would have done without you in my life. I always wondered what it would be like without you when we were younger, but when that happened, I gained the horrendous answer that I regret. Without you beside me is excruciating. Without you at my side, I felt lost and conflicted, unable to forgive myself or function without finding small reminders of you everywhere I turned. I never want to go through that again when you give me everything I could have ever wanted. You gifted me loved and security, cherished me, cared for me, and you always put me first. You allowed me into your deepest depths of your mind, allowing me to help carry your troubles, never taking me for granted. I'm happy that I became your boyfriend, your significant other under the cherry blossoms in the field where it was a world of just you and me. I love you, forever and always, Hannie.

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💖 | Junhui: Ahh, I don't want to say too much because I want everyone to have a chance to say there's. But, I want to appreciate the first twin group we met! You're absolutely such great people who are wholesome, compassionate, and determined. I have no regrets with meeting you all and having the chance to have a strong bond of friendship between each other. Just know that we're always here for you, especially our Adminnie whose willing to always be there for yours! Stay strong okay? Take good care of yourselves, all of you, and sleep well, eat, rest, and do the best that you can even if the results aren't the best. We're rooting for you!

To Baek hyung, you're right. We haven't been able to really get to know each other but always come together whenever a skirt is in sight, haha. But thank you for at least being a hyung to me, and the others. It means the world to us, and we appreciate you so much. I'm happy that we met you, especially through Seokmin, Jeonghan hyung, and Joshua hyung who were the very first to interact with you. You're a caring person, whose always hella kinky, but you're beyond incredible. Thank you for coming along the journey with us of our backstories, and I'm sure that we'll get to know each other better.

Empress Jiaqi, the loveable Kiki, and hard-working empress, thank you so much. I know that it must be stress with your work, so please take it easy and always know you have the others and me to come to if you ever want to hang around, talk, or perhaps go out and about. Thank you for the delicious bakeries you make during your breaks or out of fun from work, and for always caring about the members, and appreciating our Admin Moonie, who works so hard. Take good care of yourself, and I'll personally make sure Mingyu doesn't do something dumb or say something dumb to you, haha.

Lastly, to my Jeon Wonwoo, my Woowoo. Thank you so much for accepting me, helping me and comforting me about my insecurities, and for loving me. If I were allowed to change anything in my past, especially something between you and me, I wouldn't change a thing. I love being with you, hearing your voice, seeing your smile, your hands within mine with our fingers intertwined, and even the times you make me red and flatter me, as much as I would "dislike" saying it out loud. I'm happy that it was you who swept me off my feet, and that I was the one to save you from your disease and to give you the love and affection you deserve, my fierce boxer. I can't wait to see what's in store for us in the future, and I can't wait to face it with you, hand in hand. I love you so much, Wonwoo, and you mean the world to me, being my universe that I admire every second, minute, and hour. I love you, I love you, I love~

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❤️ | Wonwoo: Wonwoo is unavailable at the moment, but will post his own sentimental post later.

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💜 | Jihoon: Jihoon is unavailable at the moment, but will post his own sentimental post later.

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💚 | Minghao: Minghao is unavailable at the moment, but will post his own sentimental post later.

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🧡 | Mingyu: Mingyu is unavailable at the moment, but will post his own sentimental post later.

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💙 | Seokmin: Ahhh, there's going be a gigantic section from me. First up is the first group, that ALL of us are mentioning because, how can we not? But the we best twins towards us, and I'm glad that we've become closest friends with each other during our time here. There's a point for me to say much because the hyungs stole everything I could say! But you have done so much for us and we appreciate all of you so much for that. You've helped us, and made us laugh and smile so much! You've supported us since day one and till now. Please take care, all of you! Or else all of us are coming and barging in on everyone just to make sure you're all doing well! Also, to Admin Shana, take care of yourself! We all care for you and hope you feel better soon! We're always supporting you, always wishing the best for you as you balance so many things in your life. Take it easy, okay?

I can't choose who to say will be second, because I'm becoming very indecisive right now, haha. But, the hyungs made me a little list... Ah! KIKKIIIIIII! You're second, Empress! This will be difficult, but I might as well get everything off my chest. But I adore you! You're hard-working, caring, generous, hilarious, and loving! I care for you so much, and I am glad to have befriended an amazing and impressive woman like you. I will always be the familiar angel you like to call me, and I will seriously do whatever it takes to defend you whenever you need a helping hand. I'm grateful and don't deserve your kind words and care, I swear. I'll admit it right now that I do have feelings for you, and I mean, why wouldn't anyone? But it means the world to me that even if things don't turn out to be you and me, that we'd continue to be close friends who are always there for each other. It comforts me to a whole 'nother extent because it's something I've been worrying about throughout this untidy brain and heart of mine. Just know that I care for you so much, and always take care of yourself, and especially your Admin who's handling quite the bots!

Third is... Whose handwriting is this?... Ah! Changkyunie! Changkyunnie, you fierce yet adorable wolf, I don't know what to say! I know that lately, you've been attempting to become strong and dominant so you can protect those in the shelter with you, and I completely support you! I hope you do manage to achieve the goal you're striving for, and I'll always be here with each step you take. Thank you for the wolfy cuddles that are so soft and genuine, always making me smile, and for protecting me when the hyungs were bullying me not that long ago, haha. And not to mention for being such a good guard! You caught my eyes the first time I sneaked out without Adminnie Moonie's attention, and you still do. I'm sure you, and of course those in the shelter, have taken the hint that I like you. But I am so worried about hurting you by accident, but know that I will always be here for you if you need me. You'll always have a place in my heart, okay? Please take care of yourself, everyone in the shelter, and your Admin, who cares deeply for all of you and went through great lengths for you all!

And I don't need to look at the list to know who I have left to talk about, and in all honesty, I'm glad the hyungs had it set like this. Last, but not least, Byun Baekhyun, the very ghoul I call Baekie hyung, the best ghoul around here. How curious, perhaps even silly, how a strong bond was created by the discussion of cannibalism, gradually leading towards the start of a friendship I had not expected. I even remember the time I first appeared, unknown to you while Jeonghan hyung and Joshua hyung were out, and I was just a mysterious person who supported you. But thank you so much for everything. You comforted me when I was doubtful, you know a portion of my past just like I know yours, and you're so sweet with me, always having fun and meaningful conversations. You're caring and protective, always willing to defend the members and me, and anyone else closest to you. And I'm grateful that you remind me that I shouldn't be pressured about this situation of mine, something that I have been doing but started to slowly reduce, almost to completely nothing.

I'm speechless, I really am. But I can't deny the fact that I like you, Baekie hyung, and that it makes me ecstatic that you're beginning to feel the same. Yet, it also worries me because I'm scared of hurting you and the others even though it's unintentionally. And originally, I didn't have this feeling towards you. But we got closer to each other in time, sharing things between each other that is usually hard to tell to another so willingly. Yet, we were able to do that comfortably with each other, being there for each other and sharing reassuring conversations. And... after what had occurred between us in private, I think, no, I'm positive that I have slipped deeper into liking you after having time to think about this. But I want to be sure that you're also sure about this, and don't make a mistake with choosing me when there are so many other ghouls and people who could always bring you happiness. And even then, if things take a different turn, I'm always here for you and will always stay by your side no matter what. Let's always stay strong together, yeah?

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Admin Moon: Will participate in the next post

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@moonlit-jaemin @time-for-confession @fnafnctdream-chatbot @artsydahyun @softdommechungha @princess-yeji @werewolf-sehun @julia-oc @mafia-chaeyoung @purgejaemin @peachy-jaemjaemin @heiress-yeeun @letsplay-heochan @vampiremomo @lynxshua @psycho-jennie @moonlit-nono @college-baekhyun @highschoolboy-kevin @tbzmafia @vampiresanha @bunny-woong @softdomlino @dandyboy-seungmin @dandyboyseungminie @subbyhyunjinchatbot @insomniac-chris @deku-nako @cb-twitter @bunny-irene @puppy-jueun @psycho-yiren @kangyeosang-bot

[miladaydreams]

WIP

UNAMED WIP

Whispers, child tales and letters to the gods

GENRE: High Fantasy

POV: Third Person Limited

STATUS: First Draft/Nanowrimo 2020

SYNOPSIS:

When Empress Calpurnia dies, the people whisper. She leaves behind twins Justia and Caligula with newborn baby Max. The people can’t blame their Emperor when grief consumes him, but soon the rumors start. The people say, baby Max is gone and the twins are off in foreign lands. They say the Emperor has disappeared and his children are off at war. The senate denies it but the people wonder, and when years pass without a glimpse of the royal family, rumors become more than rumors and the people wonder: Who sits on the Valisan throne? 

CHARACTER LIST:

Justia Romano- Justia is used to being ignored. Daughter of the emperor of Valisa she’s not even the spare for the throne. All her life she has struggle to find her place and when she thinks she’s finally done it she’s forced back home. Back to a palace that never wanted her in the first place. A palace she wishes she could call home. Justia thought she found her place in the army but she will have to give it up if she wants to achieve her dreams.

Caligula Romano- Chosen heir of the kingdom Valisa, all Caligula wants to do is run away. He doesn’t want the crown or Valisa. All his life people have been telling him he is just like his father but Caligula is nothing like him. Caligula is caring and gentle but Valisa is a war country and when the kingdom he has sworn to hate, falls in trouble, Caligula will have to choose between his duty and dreams.

Maximilian “Max” Romano- Max never met his mother but everything seems to come back to her. All his life, Max has been told he is important, but how important can he be when his whole family has abandoned him? He wants to be someone worth something and when Valisa is in trouble it’s his chance. Max is willing to put away his differences to help, but as someone who has always put duty before himself, when does it end?

Silas L.- Unwanted. Unclaimed. Silas knows what it’s like to be raised in the streets. No one tells him why he’s different. No one tells him why his eyes are golden. Half-breed, they say. Monster, they whisper. Yes, Silas has seen the monsters in the night. He has felt their touch in cold torn streets. Silas might not be worth much but he doesn’t care. Life had taken everything from him and now it’s time he takes it back.

Caius Lax- Youngest senator of Valisa, Caius is ready to prove his worth. His country has been in turmoil for far too long and he’s ready to fix the mistakes. His only goal is political but in matters of the senate, sometimes the heart can get involved. This is not part of his plan. This is not what he wanted, but Caius finds himself falling for the heir of the throne and soon realizes things are not as easy as they seem.

EXCERPT:

The sound stops her more than the burning sensation. Her cheek burns and she struggles to comprehend what has happened beneath the film of water in her eyes. 

“Don’t touch her!” a voice shrieks from behind her, before two hands are pulling her backwards and a body stands between her and her father. Her mind reels as she gaps mouthfuls of air and still the blood doesn’t disappear. 

“Caligula,” her father warns, “this is between me and your sister.”

“Don’t touch her.” There is a threat in Caligula’s voice but also a fear only a child can carry.

Caligula is golden crowns with laughing swords, and a throne to sit upon and a burden to hold. He is the favorite and beloved. The one the crowds whisper about and no one can ignore.

“If you don’t move you’ll get your sister’s punishment.” But Caligula stays firm. The turning of his face is the only evidence her father’s palm had made contact with Caligula’s cheek. 

Unlike her, Caligula doesn’t stumble and instead glares back. So alike. So different. Brown hair with brown eyes and murder in their hands. Romano against Romano. Emperor against heir.

Is this what it means to be a Romano? 

Is this what it means to be half-god? 

Anger burns in her father’s eyes and the blows don’t stop. 

Oh.

Blood.

The blood. 

The one Justia had been laying in and the one she carries across her skin. It’s the blood that drips from her hands and she leaves footprints with. The red sticky substance that stems from her brother’s wounds and floods the floor until it laps at her toes. 

Is this what it means to be a god? 

“Stop,” she whispers, body trembling. 

Her father’s blows are harsh and unjust.”Stop! Stop hitting him!” She launches herself at him, nails digging into his wrist as she tries pulling him away.

She doesn’t want this. This is not what she wants. This is not the blood she wants to wear. Her fingers scratch at the rough fabric of his sleeve fighting to find purchase with his erratic movements. Fear slithers through her veins. Her brother isn’t moving anymore and the puddle of blood he lays in gets bigger and bigger every second.

“Stop!”

[whattodowithkpop]

Saving Grave (Chapter 7; Final Chapter) [S. Coups]

Title: Saving Grace

Pairing: Seungcheol (S. Coups) x Reader 

Genre: Angst, Spice, Fluff

Word Count: 12.3K Words [All Chapters]

Writer: Kpopmadness

Summary: Reader is an Empress with tragic backstory and Seungcheol plans an alliance with her.

A/N: Final chapter. Thanks everyone for your support! Hope you enjoyed! 🤗

*****

Chapter 7;

"You need to come to the banquet tomorrow." He had said after she pulled her body away from his. "It will be a power move. My father thinks he's won and that you're dead now. Come. Show him you're not gone." 

"Seungcheol...I...I..." She had stuttered, not angry, but also uncertain of what to say.

Seungcheol took her face in his hands and whispered. "Let me protect you. I'll stand by you the entire time. Besides, we're kind of still engaged."

The way he had said that last bit stayed with her. The way his brown eyes held a gleam to them made her heart flutter.

The Empress pressed a pillow to her face and let out a low growl. She felt her face flush hot which only made her heart flutter more in her chest. He had made her feel ways she hadn't felt before. 

She let out a sigh and rolled onto her side, as she dozed off to sleep she realized she was going to the banquet tomorrow night. Because she knew Seungcheol was right. And that scared her. 

...............................

The guests rolled in in their carriages in sparkling fine dresses and men in sharp starch suits. The moon seemed add to the sparkle of the night. The Empress sighed and rested her head against her carriages headrest. 

Nerves coursed through her veins making her heart pound. She soothed her gowns materiel for the thousandth time. 

When the carriage pulled up to the palaces front door she saw Seungcheol standing outside greeting guests. Just inside she saw his father. This made her heart race even worse. 

The driver dismounted and came around and opened her door. Helping her out of the carriage. She took his hand and eased the rest of her dress out of the carriage. 

Seungcheol had made his way down the stairs to her, drinking her appearance in. Her hair was swept back elegantly with gold flecks peppering her hair. A small gold crown rested on her head, its blue sapphires sparkling in the moonlight. 

 She wore a blue gown that was dark around her torso but faded into a light blue color. A slit that extended up to her thigh showed just a bit of her leg as she walked.  Black gloves covered her hands and came up to her elbows. Gold makeup had been worked into every part of her scar that traced her neck up to her face.

Seungcheol smiled warmly at her as he said, "You're dressed slightly unconventional tonight, Empress." He said, pointing to the slit that went up her dress.

The Empress smirked at him, "To most people I'm sure this will be highly indecent. But tell me Seungcheol, when have i ever been exactly conventional and fitting to modern standards?" 

Seungcheol smiled at her widely before extending his arm to her and kissing her gently on the forehead, "That's what i like about you." 

When they reached the large stairs the Empress stopped, nerves filling her body once more. 

She hadn't been out in public as herself in years. Not since becoming an empress. Even as she was deep in thought she could feel eyes watching her and people pointing at her. Pointing at the scar that was etched into her skin.

"Hey," She heard Seungcheol whisper beside her, pulling her from her whirling thoughts. She met his dark does eyes evenly with her gray ones. 

"You're okay." Seungcheol soothed, "You can do this." 

The Empress smiled appreciatively at him before feeling him press something against her palm. Puzzled she looked down at it, her breath catching in her throat.

In her hand was a black rose necklace, the one Tilly wore the night she came here. 

"She would want you to have it." Seungcheol whispered to her, "And she would be proud of you for doing this." 

The Empress felt tears sting her eyes before shaking her head and taking a deep breath and ascending the steps of the palace. Her head held high.

When they reached Seongcheol's father the Empress tightened her grip on Seungcheol's arm but held his gaze.

The Kings eyes grew wide at seeing her and recognizing the large scar that laced her skin. Then she saw a fire ignite behind them, one of anger and humiliation. 

"My king," The Empress said respectfully, bowing low before him.

"You..." The king said in disbelief. "You're dead. Twice to be exact." 

The Empress smiled darkly at him, "Oh, i have been dead, my king. I've been dead emotionally for years because of you. Thank god you're son is nothing like the monster you are."

The kings face went dark red, veins in his neck popping out in his anger. He raised his hand as if to strike the Empress, making the guests surrounding them gasp. 

Seungcheol grabbed his fathers arm, stopping the strike. Just as he caught his arm, a flood of guards in black with masks covering their faces surrounded the king, swords drawn. 

"What is the meaning of this?!" The king demanded, his hands shaking in anger.

"These are my men, my king." The Empress explained. "Your time as king, is over." 

"What?" The king whispered darkly. "Seungcheol, what on earth is this witch going on about?"

"This witch," Seungcheol replied angrily, "Is the women you took everything from all in one night. You massacred not just a monarch, but her family. Including her siblings, who were only children. Then two attempted murders to the Empress herself. The first being the night her family died. The second, was an attempt on what you thought was her life. But cost the innocent life of her best friend. And then theres the matter of my mother."

The King scoffed and searched the eyes of the guests surrounding them. "You can't really expect people to follow your leadership after this little display. You need me.  The people need me."

"The people are sick of you." The empress snapped, "And you've been in kingship for three years longer than you're supposed to have been. Therefore, Seungcheol has the right of leadership. He especially has the right now that an entire empire has sided with him and the former king has been exposed as a murder."

The king opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to think better of it and hung his head in defeat. 

"Get him out of here." Seungcheol commanded the guards, who obeyed and took the former king away. Where he would be confined to a prison for the rest of his life. Or if he was lucky, he would be hanged and wouldn't have to survive harsh prison conditions.

Seungcheol turned to the Empress and smiled weakly, his hands shaking. Their attention was snapped back to reality however when the people around them began clapping and cheering. A genuine smile lighting their faces. Some simply left without a word, but most stayed.

Music began to play and Seungcheol smiled widely at the Empress as he bowed to her and said, "Dance with me Empress?" 

The Empress smiled at him and took his hand as she said, "It would be my honor, my king."

The sound of laughter and music got louder as the night went on with Seungcheol sweeping the Empress across the dance floor. A bright smile lit her face that he hadn't seen before now. A feeling sparked in his chest, one that he found he wanted to always feel when he was with her. One that hoped she would always smile as brightly as she was now. 

...................

3 years later

“Daddy, look what i made!" A little girl with dark hair and dark eyes exclaimed, handing a drawing to Seungcheol.

Seungcheol smiled at her and scooped her into his arms, "It's beautiful. darling." He said as he examined it.

"I drew Zeus and Sasha." She said proudly, pointing to two dark scribbles with ear like shapes on top of their head.

Seungcheol chuckled and kissed her forehead, "Yes you did." He said simply, loving her cheerfulness.

"Tilly," A voice called from behind them, making both parties turn their head to the voice. 

"It's time for bed." The Empress said sweetly, opening the door wider beckoning her daughter to follow.

"Yes mama." Tilly said as Seungcheol put her down.

"Will you and mama come kiss me goodnight daddy?" Tilly asked, her big brown eyes pleading up at him.

Seungcheol smiled at her, "Of course." He promised. 

Making Tilly smile wider at him before running past her mother and down the hall to her bedroom.

Seungcheol walked over to his wife and wrapped his arms around her.

 "She adores you." The former Empress whispered to him as she kissed his cheek.

Seungcheol smiled and rested his chin against her shoulder. "I think we should have more children. They can fill our palace and distract us from being monarchs and adore us as their loving parents."

The Empress rolled her eyes and pulled away from his embrace, "We had one child, Seungcheol. One is enough."

Seungcheol smirked at his wife before placing a kiss on her lips, "You're right," He whispered against her mouth. "We don't need more of you running around." 

The Empress smacked Seungcheol against the chest and laughed at his remark before he took her hand and led her to their daughters bedroom to tell her goodnight.

Previous Chapter ~

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