#my improper posting schedule will be the death of me

[namachuki]

Anguish emoji

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

The Butterfly Effect

Chapter 2

Hey everyone! I’m glad that you liked that first chapter! I’ve tried to add everyone who asked on my last post to my taglist, if you are interested in being added comment below, and let me know if it works or not. The updates will be pretty random depending on my work schedule but I’ll try to get them out once they’re written as I’m having fun writing again!

I hope you guys enjoy!

Trigger warnings: power imbalance, manipulation, Mean Aemond (like mean mean), and blackmailing (he threatens her job)

Dividers are from @firefly-graphics (all of their work is amazingggggg)

You spent the rest of that night tossing and turning in your small bed remembering what had happened. Gods you were so stupid. You never did know when to stop talking when your anger got the better of you.

At least the family was more preoccupied with Aemond’s outburst which caused a scene so soon after the death of Vaemond Velaryon.

As the sunrise peeked through the curtains you dreaded leaving your bed, but followed the lead of your roommates and started to prepare for the day. You found yourself falling into the easy routine that you had established since starting at the Red Keep.

After a long stretch you hastily made your bed, tightly tucking the sheets into the frame before tending to your hair. It had been awhile since you had worn your hair down as it was considered improper for a servant so you had found multiple braided updos that fit your hair. With each twist of your hair you mentally took stock of what the day would bring as if it were a checklist. Hair and cap done? Check. Uniform on? Check. Apron pressed and clean? Check.

When you were satisfied with your appearance, you and your roommates: Daelia and Wendelyn made the short walk to the Red Keep together. Although you enjoyed their presence you wouldn’t exactly call the two girls your friends. Daelia was prone to petty gossip and would alway have a rumor to spread whenever you talked to her. Wendelyn; however, was the opposite. She detested idle chatter and kept mostly to herself when at home. You supposed you were somewhere in between the two.

“I heard that Princess Rhaenyra only wedded Daemon because he impregnated her before their wedding.” Daelia whispered into your ear as the three of you entered the Keep and headed towards the kitchens.

“Did you hear it from Mushroom?” You asked dryly, referring to the fool that ran around court with wildly fabricated stories.

“Well-“ Daelia stuttered. “He is close to the Princess-“

You groaned heavily as she spoke. “Daelia what you speak of could get you killed. And besides Mushroom isn’t exactly a trustworthy source. We’ve talked about this.”

Wendelyn nodded sagely as you spoke but added nothing to the conversation.

“You stupid girl.” You heard some hiss in front of you as you crossed the doorway into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry what?” You asked in disbelief as Naerys stormed over to you.

“She does not look happy.” Wendelyn said softly before patting you back supportively and walking away.

Daelia said nothing before finding the cracked stones very interesting and walking over to check them out.

“You had one job. One duty. To pour the royal family’s wine and not bring attention to yourself.” Naerys grabbed you tightly by your arm and dragged you out of the kitchen.

“But I did!” You said defensively.

“Not well enough apparently.” Naerys shook her head, obviously irritated with you. “Prince Aemond requested you by name to attend to him.”

You froze at her words and felt your face pale.

“Whatever insult you did or offense you committed, apologize. Profusely.” She gripped you tight enough that you felt her fingers through your long sleeves.

“I- I didn’t mean to say… it just came out…” You felt your hands grow clammy as Naerys looked at you deeply.

“Well ensure that no other insults come out.” She slowly released you. “Prince Aemond is currently training with Ser Cole but requested that a bath be ready upon his return. Now go. Perhaps he will tire of you soon enough.”

You nodded quickly, trying not to show your nerves. Out of all of the Targaryens to upset Aemond was not the best choice and you should have known better than to provoke him. You remembered reading about the atrocities he would commit against House Strong all because they shared the same blood as Rhaenyra’s children. Perhaps you could put aside your pride for once and grovel if need be. You bit your lip as you found yourself walking to the laundry rooms to fetch fresh linens and towels.

The smell of soap invaded your senses while you grabbed what was needed. It was impossible to guess his motivations for seeking you out, but you tried to anyway. Maybe he just wanted to humiliate you more for daring to smile at his sister and nephew dancing. But how did he learn your name? Naerys said he knew your name.

The way to his chambers was similar to the one to the dining room as they were in the same wing of the Keep. You struggled to hold the smooth sheets and blankets as you attempted to open the door. The handle clicked slightly as the door swung open revealing an empty room. He must still be training with Cole.

Prince Aemond’s chambers were about what you would expect for a prince. The furniture was opulent with a large four posted bed in the middle of the spacious room. You had never been in a room that belonged to the royal family before so you found yourself gawking at the private balcony and golden detailing that decorated the walls.

Looking around the room you noticed another entrance to what must be the bathroom that you slowly walked towards. Better to get this over with quickly. Perhaps you might not even run into Aemond at all.

His washroom was much smaller than the rest of the rooms, only containing a large brass tub in the middle of the room and some cabinets near the doors that had a woodsy smell.

You were fortunate that others had brought in large buckets of water that already filled the tub. All you needed to do to prepare was light the fire underneath to warm the cold water.

Humming slightly, you opened the nearby cabinet and rummaged around looking for the flint and steel. You missed music. Real music that you knew and grew up with.

“I’ve never heard that song.” A deep voice spoke behind you, causing you to jump and slam your hand into the drawer.

“Fuck!” You grabbed your throbbing hand and shook it slightly as you turned to see Aemond in the doorway. His long hair was slightly tussled, probably from sparring with Criston Cole.

“You really are an impudent little thing aren’t you?” He quirked his good eye’s brow as he sauntered over. “You are supposed to acknowledge me with a nod of your head when I enter.”

He was standing too close to you as he spoke with a smug smile as you hurriedly did as he said. “My apologies, my prince.” You whispered softly. Remember what Naerys said. Put aside your pride and get him to forget you.

He hummed slightly, deep in thought before stepping back slightly. “Well? Get on with it.” He waved his hand over the tub impatiently.

“Of course, my prince.” You mumbled out kneeling next to the tub and striking the two metals together. You were surprised as you got it on your first try with your shaking hands. If they were from anger or fear you couldn’t tell.

The man said nothing as you stood up and gathered the needed linens to remake his bed, only watching you with that smug smirk as you focused on your task. You roughly grabbed the sheets from his bed and practically ripped them off of the bed before remaking it harshly and trying not to pay attention to his sharp gaze.

“You are not from Westeros.” He said simply from behind you.

You felt sweat drip from your temples from his statement. “I am not, your grace.” You agreed as you finished smoothing out the top blanket. One more task done and the faster you worked the faster you could leave.

“You’re not from Essos or Dorne either.” His voice sounded closer than before and you heard his shoes thump across the floor as he walked. “Your accent is from somewhere I have never heard of before. I could not place it last night and cannot even now.”

Your mouth was dry as you scrambled to think of a response. “I am from somewhere very small, my prince. It’s no wonder you haven’t heard of our accent before.” Just be agreeable and perhaps he’ll forget last night.

He hummed again thoughtfully as you checked on the water before adding the oils that looked like they were used the most. “Everything you need for your bath should be prepared, your grace.” You nodded your head to him as he passed you back into the small washroom and peered at your work with a discerning eye. “Will that be all for now?” You added at the last second remembering the protocol that you were taught before being assigned to the kitchens.

Aemond reached behind his head and quickly pulled off a small tie that kept his hair in his signature style, letting it fall freely. “Hmmm. Nothing else to add? No more clever quips?”

You blushed at his words. “What happened last night was a mistake, your grace. I’m truly sorry that-“

“I will require your help in undressing and bathing.” He said as he threw the hair tie to the floor without a care in the world.

“I- that’s not… I really shouldn’t…” You stammered out feeling your face turn from a light pink to fire truck red.

“What you should do is obey your prince.” Aemond cocked his head at you and held his hands out expectantly. “Although I suppose you could always find some other way to make some coin, perhaps on the Street of Silk.”

You felt your lungs start to expand rapidly as he brushed the side of your arm softly. “My brother tends to frequent those streets but perhaps with you there I might have to make a habit of it as well. ” You couldn’t move as his hand started trailing under your apron. “I do think my mother would be very interested to hear what you said about her favorite son.”

“Please…” You begged weakly, fighting the urge to slap him across the face. “I can’t afford to lose this job.” Your voice creaked as his caress turned into a sharp grope on your ass.

“Then we’re in agreement. You’re here to serve, so serve.”

Tag list

@dixie-elocin

@shari-berri

@ka1afbr

@sepherinaspoppies

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

HELLO!!! FANCY SEEING YOU HERE ALSKUXHCHC I WOULD LIKE TO REQUEST FLUFF, WITH BOKUTO, AND PROMPT #5 💚🧡💚🧡💜💜💜❤️❤️🤎🤎💚💕💚🖤🖤💜💜💖💘💓💕💕💗💗❤️❣️❣️

The corners of your mouth twitched into an uneasy smile as you processed the scene ahead of you. It was nearly identical to the image printed on the postcards you had purchased mere moments ago from the resort lobby. A fresh batch of snow gracefully blanketed over the slope, and the visitors, adorning their colourful snow tubes almost appeared to be sprinkles on the icy substance.

When you had originally allowed your fiancé to pick your vacation destination – you knew it would involve some adventure, but you did not expect that he would bring you to a winter wonderland.

“Babe, I need your hand.” Bokuto fiddled with your glove, as his bright irises twinkled in concern. “You’re gonna get a frostbite.” Once you absentmindedly provided him access to your hand, he slipped the glove into place before stepping back, and confirming that you had adequate protection from the dropping temperature.

“Kou, I’m warm! Don’t worry.” Despite your internal alarm with the scheduled activity, you had vowed to make the most of the day. And so, you would conquer your fear – or at least try to conquer it.  

After one more scan of your body, the volleyball player was satisfied. Since the procedural aspects were now complete, his attention landed on the staircase leading to the smallest slope on the resort. The other three slopes were only accessible if one rode the gondola lift, but Bokuto knew you were not ready for those just yet.

“Alright! Let’s do this.” The declaration had brought a dazzling grin to his mouth – one that you found to be incredibly contagious. With a faint smile tracing along your features, you proceeded forward, taking his right arm into your grasp.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

After selecting your snow tubes, you made your way to the top of the first slope. Upon reaching your destination, your breath caught inside of your throat. The emotions sprawling within your chest could easily be labeled as beginner’s nerves – yet the label did not help calm the danger sirens you were trying to silence.

“Hmm, babe? You okay?” There was no disguising the second wave of anxiety that washed over you. Tilting his head with his brows furrowed, Bokuto reached out to brush aside the few strands sticking against your cheek.

“Kou… What if one of us gets injured? Did you see that guy? He fell off and landed face first!” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you pressed yourself closer to him.

“Huh? Oh, that guy? Didn’t you see he was laughing about it? I think he’s fine.” For a brief moment his attention flickered to the group of friends below, no one appeared to be harmed. Rather, it seemed that he jumped off the snow tube earlier on purpose. That being said, if you were feeling uneasy it was his job to comfort you. Puckering out his lips in thought, he searched the surroundings for a solution.

“Kou, if I die. I love you, you know that, right?” The dramatic response was stated in a whisper as you continued to watch the other tourists who embraced the thrill associated with the activity.

Exhaling a breath to dismantle the pout on his mouth, he planted a kiss to the tip of your nose then shook his head. “I love you, y/n. But you’re not going to die. Not as long as you have me to protect you!” Striving to reassure you, he presented a toothy smile, one that melted some of the anxiety wrapping around your heart. “Plus, I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Echoing the words back, curiosity brought your eyelids to narrow.

“Uh huh.” The grin remained plastered against his features as he approached the employee responsible for instructing the tobogganers. “Hey hey! I have a question. What kinda positions are allowed for couples who wanna share a snow tube?”

“Koutarou!” His name was choked out in embarrassment, and the group of teenagers behind you giggled in amusement.

But the resort employee remained unbothered, lifting his shoulders into a shrug. “What kinda position do you want to do?”

“Can she straddle me?” The pure edge to his voice did not match the content of his question. By now, you were masking your bewildered expression with your glove.

“Uh. That probably wouldn’t work. But she can sit on your lap, and wrap her arms around you or something. Your tube is large enough for that.” The disinterest clear in his tone made you wonder exactly what was asked in the past to make this person so…dead. But maybe that was a question better left unanswered.

“Oh yeah? Did you hear that, y/n?” Bokuto was practically bouncing on the spot. Snow tubing had now gotten more exciting for the male. He loved being close to you, and now he could package that with snow-tubing? He could not be happier.

You on the other hand? Well, you provided him a weak wave to indicate your “approval”.

“Yes. I heard it all.”

Once it was your turn, Bokuto placed the tube onto the snow then took a seat inside. After the employee directed him to place his hands on each handle, he instructed you on where to sit and how to hold onto your fiancé. While it was certainly embarrassing with everyone watching, this arrangement was one you were happy to accept. Even if straddling was allowed, there was no way in hell you would do that in front of an audience. But sharing a snow tube with your significant other wasn’t a big deal, a detail you realized after witnessing multiple other couples do so.

“You both ready?” The attendant sighed out. With Bokuto’s enthusiastic “hell yeah” and the muffled yes falling from your lips, he pushed your tube forward and towards your awaiting death.

Just kidding.

With your face finding refuge against the crook of his neck, the journey down was short and painless. Once the tube halted, you peeled away from Bokuto and let out a little “huh.”

“Not that bad, right?” Before you had a chance to respond and lift yourself up, he adjusted your hat, making sure your ears remained covered.

“Wait. I wanna do it again.” Remaining seated on him, you shifted your stare to the hill that no longer contained a threatening aura.

“Alone?” He tilted his head, attempting to recapture your attention.

“Yes.” The determination animating your y/e/c irises was equally adorable and fascinating, drawing out a chuckle from the male.

“That’s my girl!”

After conquering your fear with the smaller slope, you felt much more confident when approaching the larger ones. Bokuto, who remained attentive to your needs and concerns, would insist on accompanying on the journey down until you became comfortable enough to go on your own. When it was finally time to visit the final slope of the resort, you were much calmer and rather excited for the experience that awaited you.

“Kou, I’m gonna grab my own tube for this one. I think I can do it alone.” Proceeding a step back, you reached on your toes to catch a visual of the tube you abandoned near the cable transport.

“You sure?” Pausing, he surveyed your stance for any indication of hesitation.

“Yeah! Just go down without me.” It was quite clear he did not enjoy the idea of leaving you alone, but you reassured him with a wiggle of your fingers. “I’ll only be a little behind you, I promise!” That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

Once you retrieved the snow tube, you hoisted it up with a confident smile. As you began to walk back towards the attendant’s post, however, the conversation of an unknown group of men forced you to stop in your tracks.

“I can’t believe our luck. Running into the MSBY Black Jackal’s Ace?”

“I can’t believe his shit luck. Hanamiya’s really going to puncture his tube.”

“Guess he really does live for the fun of “crushing” people.”

Rage boiled inside of your veins, lacing together with pure panic. Bokuto was already halfway down the slope, and you presumed the one lined up next was the one named “Hanamiya.” Thrusting your weight forward to fight against the weight of the snow, you tried to make it to the attendant in time. Unfortunately, it was a little too late.

“Shit. Shit shit.” Lowering the tube to the ground, you waited until you saw the volleyball player reach the bottom safely. But the issue was that this meant that the stranger after your fiancé was already halfway to his goal. “Okay. Screw it. I’m sorry!”

Instead of waiting for the resort employee’s approval, you jumped onto the tube then nudged yourself forward. Due to your improper position, your tube almost tipped over numerous times. Yet, you somehow managed to reach the bottom without completely being thrown off. You were seconds from completing your journey when you saw the dark-haired male slyly approach Bokuto. Without a second thought, you launched yourself off from the tube, transferring your weight onto the stranger.

Surprise coloured his features at your sudden attack and emergence. But you did not waste a second, quick to press your covered palm against his face.

“You stay the hell away from my fiancé.”

“Y/n!” Soon Bokuto’s arms were hooked around you, dragging you off and away from Hanamiya. “What happened?”

“Wow. Attacking a stranger. I wonder if I could sue you for this.” Raising himself from the ground, he patted off the snow stuck against his jacket. An emotionless smile hung from his mouth, only increasing your irritation.

“I heard your friends, you little shit. Don’t think for a second I’ll let you hurt him.” Standing protectively in front of your fiancé, you placed your hands on either side of you. Behind you Bokuto struggled to comprehend what was occurring, in a puzzled state his eyes travelled from you to the stranger ahead.  

“And here I thought you were only a damsel in distress.” Clicking his tongue, amusement curved Hanamiya’s eyebrows.

The statement did not register well with Bokuto who fell into a scowl. “What the hell are you talking about? She could totally kick your ass and mine.”

“Kou, I would never do that to you.” Reaching out, you poked his nose with the tip of your glove before turning your focus back to your newfound adversary.  “But you, wouldn’t it be unfortunate if that pin you’ve been holding ends up stabbing you instead.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Casting his glare aside, he shoved his hands into his pockets. A few meters away were his friends from earlier, they seemed to be watching the scene from a “safe” distance. “Whatever, this isn’t fun.” After administering a final glare, Hanamiya shifted his back to you and then went to join his friends. 

“Asshole.” The curse fell from your lips as you fought the urge to launch another attack on him.

“That was really dangerous, y/n.” Bokuto stepped aside, forcing your gaze to return to him. A childish pout was on full display to demonstrate his emotional state.

“What?”

“Jumping off the tube! You could have gotten hurt.” His pout only increased now, it was clear that he was unphased by the potential threat that was posed to his safety. It was you he was worried about. 

“Oh yeah. But it was kinda fun.” Recalling the thrill of the event, a titter crawled up your throat.

“She’s a monster! My fiancée has turned into a monster.” Low laughter rumbled from his chest as he slipped his arms around you, drawing you into his embrace.

“Well it’s only fitting that I’m engaged to a member of the monster generation then.”  Rolling your eyes, you contently accepted the warmth offered by your fiancé.

A/N: 1) My shooting star! I am sorry this took 500 years, I was trying to write this properly! I hope this was okay ;-; 2) I realized too late that snow tubing may be something most people don’t know so here is a reference photo lol 

General Taglist:  @newfriendjen @lvoejimin @moonlightaangel @gyozaaaaa @byun-nies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @amberalisa @graykageyama @yourstarvic @chaichai-the-weeb @chibishae34 @haikyuusimp91 @volleybloop  @rajablast @idiot-juice-enthusiast @melonmayhere @cuddlesslut  @athenarosaline @memes-and-money @coconut-dreamz  @mismatched-loves @elianetsantana @tsumume @tsukkismamagucci @the-golden-jhope @camcam1617 @ivsahi @prettyforpapiiwa @swoonhui @neobakas @azumane-kun @elephantloser @dreamstormings @rintarawr @anejuuuuoy   @thatthangwasthangin

Bolded means I can’t tag ya ~ 

[just-come-baek]

get in, loser 2

Pairing: Taeyong x female!reader

Themes: smut | mafiaboss!taeyong | carthief!reader | streetracer!reader

Word count: 8.3k

Summary: As controversial as it is, it’s Taeyong’s order for me to participate in the most prestigious race of the underground. As one may expect, it is frowned upon by other gang members.

Warnings: disregard for police enforcement | illegal street racing | improper driving | violence | character death | taeyong being the ruthless mafia boss | poor stress management | drinking

A/N !REUPLOAD! sorry I fucked something up. Next parts shall be posted on Tuesdays every two weeks. 

***

Getting up early in the morning isn’t really my thing. I was the most productive during late evenings and nights, and the fact that I had to be ready unusually early fucked up my sleeping schedule. Hopefully, it was the first, and the last time my presence was requested at such an unholy hour. Right after getting introduced to my new workplace, they had to be flexible enough to let me adjust the work schedule to my preference.

Unfortunately, Taeyong didn’t specify how early Lucas wants to see me the next day.  I guessed it was around 7 o’clock in the morning – it was late enough for an early bird, yet early enough for someone who doesn’t really fancy getting up at sunrise.

Having parked my starling Fiat500 in front of the building, I saw a man. He was leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. It must’ve been Lucas. Who else could’ve been? It was the asscrack of dawn, for crying out loud!

“You’ve gotta be kidding me… that’s your car?” the man asked as he flicked the butt of the cigarette, stepping on it, grinding it against the ground, visibly galled by my cute feminine vehicle.

“It’s inconspicuous,” I commented, trying to make my point. Blending in after hours was one of the most crucial things in this profession, I didn’t want to go on and scream that I steal cars and race for a living.

“You’re late,” Lucas whispered. Under any other circumstances, I would roll my eyes, but right now, I just couldn’t. I was just staring at him, slowly checking him out. He was ridiculously handsome, and I tried my best not to drool. “I’m Lucas,” he said, sending me a playful smirk.

Politely, I introduced myself despite him already knowing who I was.

“That’s impressive,” Lucas commented, and I shrugged, not wanting to go through this once again. “How did you do it? It’s not that easy to steal Taeyong’s car, let alone Yuta’s,” he added, and I sighed, trying to come up with a vague and equivocal answer.

“What can I say? You’ve gotta have charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent.”

“Alright, I get it, keep your secrets,” Lucas voiced, biting his lips as if in deep thought. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure this out,” he promised and smiled, willing to take this secret with me to the grave. (I had a bad feeling in my gut, telling me Taeyong would be pissed if he found out the truth about the theft, and I was too cowardly to admit the facts.)

“Are we gonna stand here the whole day, or are you gonna show me around?” I challenged, and Lucas took a step to the side, gentlemanly letting me enter the car repair shop, following closely behind me.

“Ladies first,” he added, chuckling.

It wasn’t a typical car repair shop. The space was huge, and it could accommodate at least fifteen vehicles. On the inside, it resembled a car factory, but instead of assembling the cars, people were taking them apart.

What surprised me the most was the fact that I was the only female inside. Though I knew it was a stereotypically a male profession, men to women ratio was astounding. I didn’t mind it, though. I knew I could beat every single one of them. Gender didn’t matter at all.

“Let me introduce the guys you’ll be working with,” Lucas mentioned, and a few men stopped what they were doing to look at Lucas and me. “Please, meet Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chenle, Jisung, Jaemin, and Mark,” Lucas introduced them to me, but they didn’t seem very happy to see me. If anything, they seemed a little bit hostile.

“Hi guys,” I said, smiling and waving at them, but their intimidating auras didn’t change. It was awful, and I couldn’t imagine how difficult it was going to work with them. They obviously didn’t like me and didn’t respect me as if worthy of the same position. And it was especially weird because I knew I was better than all of them combined.

Ignoring their angry glances, Lucas explained their roles in this division. Renjun, Haechan, and Chenle were in charge of tuning up the cars, making sure they’re up to the racing standards. Mark and Jaemin were stealing the cars and bringing them here, and Jeno and Jisung were racing. Later on, Lucas revealed I was assigned to both – car theft and racing, and of course, the boys had to voice their objection.

Apparently, they had never heard of multitasking.

According to them, it wasn’t fair for a rookie member to participate in the street races. This position had to be earned through hard work, and they just couldn’t comprehend how much effort I had put to prove my value to Taeyong.

Well… to be honest, I didn’t suspect any of the boys to ever personally talk to Taeyong.  I highly doubted they had an idea of what I had to go through to get recruited. They probably had never heard of Yuta, let alone been to his area and stolen one of his vehicles.

“I hope we will work together just fine,” I declared, though deep inside, I knew it wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. I was sure the boys were to make my time there miserable.

And, oh boy, I was right…

***

Somehow, I managed to survive a week at my new workplace without quitting. At some point, I was really close to doing so, yet then I remembered what I had gone through to work here, and this thought alone kept me going. The boys were an enormous pain in the ass, but it would definitely take much more than juvenile bullying to make me leave.

I was a lot of things, but definitely, not a quitter.

Having acted tough the whole week, I needed something to help me chill, and the only person I thought of was my best friend – Doyoung. I was a gang member now, but I knew it wouldn’t matter to him – it wouldn’t have any impact on our friendship.

Within an hour, I was already at his car repair shop. Not bothering to announce my arrival, I strolled inside, looking for him. It was already weekend. All of his employees were recharging their batteries for the upcoming week, so the slim pair of legs under the Nissan Maxima must’ve been Doyoung’s.

Smirking, I slammed my hands against the hood, startling him in the process. Swiftly, Doyoung rolled out from under the car, staring at me angrily, as if refraining himself from murdering me with bare hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he yelled when he saw my face, apparently relieved it was me. “Ever since I helped you with that gig, I have terrible anxiety,” he confessed, and I couldn’t blame him. I felt the same, fearing that someone might want to get rid of me with violence.

“Good thing I stopped by,” I mused, excited to reveal my amazing plans. “I was wondering if you would like to go on vacation with me – my treat. We haven’t spent all the money Taeyong gave me that time, and he hasn’t mentioned anything if he wants the rest of it back, so I thought we could go to the beach. What do you think?”

“More like Mr. Bad Boy’s treat… It does sound tempting, though. Where is the catch?” Doyoung asked suspiciously, knowing me all too well. “Are you on another stupid assignment?”

“Well… not exactly,” I answered, looking away, nervously playing with my fingers. “They’ve accepted me as the newest addition to the family, though some of them gotta warm up to me yet,” I explained, shrugging at the thought of the relentless bullying. “But that’s not the point. Taeyong told me to get rid of the car, and  I thought of kindly returning it to Yuta. It’s only logical I send him back the car plates, yet far from home because I don’t want anyone to trace it back to me.”

Judging by the look on Doyoung’s face, he wasn’t completely sold on this idea.

“It’s like killing two birds with one stone. We’ll go to the beach, post the plates to Yuta, and then enjoy the rest of the weekend, sipping drinks by the sea. It’s a two-minute risk-free adventure. What do you say? We both deserve some leisure…”

Staring straight ahead, Doyoung must’ve weighed all the pros and cons of my proposition. Ultimately he decided he deserves some alcohol drinks with cute little umbrellas in the glasses.

“What about the other car?” Doyoung asked, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“I’ll give it back as soon as we return.”

“Fine.”

“Great! Pack your suitcase, the plane takes off in four hours.”

As soon as we arrived, we made a short stop to mail the package to Yuta, praying for him not to trace it back to me. The parcel contained the Ferrari’s plates, a key to the storage room in Japan where Yuta’s vehicle had been kept, and a tiny piece of paper with a sorry written on it. Hopefully, once Yuta gets it back, he will forget about the car ever being stolen.

Later in the evening, we checked into the hotel I had booked, left the baggage, and hit the SPA. Having taken all available services, I was calm, I felt like a lotus flower. Doyoung, however, still was anxious and whiny.

“You need some vitamin D, my friend,” I told him, and he grimaced at me in disgust. “You know… there’s this man, his name is Jaehyun. He’s a guy from work, and I’m pretty sure he could help you let off some steam,” I offered, and Doyoung shook his head, sassily wrapping his lips around the straw, sipping on his third drink of the evening.

To be honest, I doubted Jaehyun swung for the same team, but both of them needed to get laid. Jaehyun because I was really close to start believing his gaze could be literally lethal, and Doyoung because he was so whiny and intractable to be around. I knew it wouldn’t ever work out, but I had to, at least, try.

“I appreciate the proposition, but I don’t hook up with gangsters,” Doyoung said, setting his drink on the counter. “You know what…” Doyoung started, and I rolled my eyes, knowing his further statement will be both funny and hurtful.

When tipsy, Doyoung would often state things harshly without even thinking about running around the bush. “Being your friend has become really stressful recently. It’s a matter of time until I go completely bold, and it will be exclusively your fault.”

“I know…” I agreed, sighing in helplessness. “I’ve been a terrible friend, I’m sorry,” I whispered, resting my head on Doyoung’s shoulder, reaching out to hold his hand. “I’ll never put you in danger again, I promise,” I added, acting way out of my character. Usually, I wasn’t this emotional, but I suspected it was coming from pretending to be badass all the time.

“OK, enough of the weeping, let’s buy some alcohol to go and go get drunk on the beach, waiting for the sunrise,” Doyoung pushed my off of his arm and jumped off the barstool.

“That’s the spirit!”

***

“Gather round people,” Lucas yelled as soon as he entered the car repair shop. As always, he looked like a complete snack, yet I chose not to comment on that. Though we barely spoke with one another, everybody knew how big his ego was, and I didn’t want to inflate it even more.

“What is it?” Haechan whined at Lucas, being annoyed by the interruption.

“The color festival,” Lucas revealed, and everybody grew silent at the mention of the event.

Though a regular person wouldn’t understand what’s that big of a deal, to a car racer, it was an event of the year. It’s an annual the most prestigious car race in the country – participation alone is an honor. It’s every racer’s dream to take part and win, earning a shit load of money and fame. The participation fee is 50 grand per head, after all. Every year the date is different, and only the best racers are talented enough to be a part of it. No wonder Taeyong’s gang will have its representative.

“It takes place this Friday, and Taeyong has already decided who’s gonna represent us this year,” Lucas announced, and the boys started to guess whether it would be Jisung or Jeno. If I had to nominate anyone, it would be Jeno – his drifting skills were no joke. “As I was saying, it’s Taeyong’s direct wish that our special snowflake represents us in the competition,” Lucas specified, and the boys looked at me the way Jaehyun did – with hatred and disgust.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” I chuckled drily, but the boys didn’t change their attitudes.

No way! Taeyong couldn’t… he wouldn’t. Well... I expected him to respect me after what I had done, but this… it was too much. Some drivers worked their entire lives mastering their techniques to participate, and right now, I felt as if I had my chance served on a silver platter. The boys must’ve felt the same way.

I deserved to participate, but Jeno and Jisung did as well. I wouldn’t mind sitting this one out. Their bullying was giving me a headache as it was, another reason to pick on me was the last thing I needed at the moment.

“It can’t be,” Jaemin stated, too perplexed to voice a longer statement.

“Well… it must be, Taeyong’s orders,” Lucas added with a smirk on his sexy lips, ignoring all complaints. “Guys, behave, it’s not my decision to make. You can always try next year,” he tried to console the whining boys, but it didn’t seem to work. If anything, it only multiplied the anger they felt towards me.

“It’s impossible,” I muttered, but the boys didn’t pay any attention to what I was trying to say, “I’m pretty sure it’s not final. I’ll talk to him, I think I can change his mind,” I continued, but once again my words were muffled by the loud white noise of complaining.

“You can’t just call him,” Lucas remarked, trying to remind me of my position in the hierarchy. Now, when I was a valid member of the organization, I had to follow the rules, and Lucas was my superior to whom I was obligated to report everything back. Talking to Taeyong would be highly unprofessional; I had to stick to the code.

“Can you try to persuade him?” Jisung asked, full of hope.

Lucas laughed at Jisung’s question as if it was one of the funniest things he heard in years.

“To be honest, I don’t give a fuck who’s gonna ride this year,” Lucas started truthfully, and I gasped at the harshness of his words. He didn’t sugarcoat nor beat around the bush. “It’s Taeyong’s decision, and I am in no place to question his choice, so beat it.”

His words successfully shut everyone up; Lucas was mean and straight-forward, but it had to be done. Perhaps his leading skills were a little bit rough around the edges, but they managed to get the work done.

“You,” Lucas exclaimed, looking at me. “Meet me here before the race; we’ll pick up the car,” he added, turning around, leaving me alone with the boys, so they could take out all frustrations on me.

“Fantastic.”

***

As expected, the boys, Jeno and Jisung in particular, were giving me hell. It was obvious they were unhappy with Taeyong’s decision, yet I shouldn’t be the receiving end of their relentless bullying. If I could, I’d pay Taeyong a visit and persuade him to change his mind, but just like Lucas said, I was on the very bottom of the gang hierarchy.

At this point, I’d call it quits. Unfortunately, I was too far in the game to bow out. Right now, I could only endure their harassment in hopes of quickly getting promoted, leaving them far behind. It wouldn’t be the most challenging thing I had done for the gang’s sake.

It was a Thursday night. Within 24 hours, I would compete in the most infamous race of the year, and I was beyond mortified. I had drunk half a dozen mugs of double lemon balm, yet the stress was still eating me from the inside out.

It was oddly quiet. Usually, at this time of night, something was going on, but tonight, it was silent. Without any white noise, one could hear a pin drop.

Everything suggested I was alone in the car repair shop. Having slammed down the hood, I wiped my hands in the cloth and looked around. Where was everybody? Did they forget to add me to their group chat? Did they go out for a drink without telling me?

I strolled through their stations, yet I didn’t find anybody. They really left me behind. That wasn’t cool. We weren’t best friends, but I deserved to know if there was a staff outing. Maybe this time around, I’d pass, given the plans I had for tomorrow, but any other time, I’d be down to have a beer with them.

Perhaps, they would warm up to me if we could spend some quality time together.

Once again, I looked around the space and decided to call it a day. There was nothing urgent that I had to finish, so I closed up. I really wanted to come back home, relax, and psych myself up for the upcoming race.

Yawning, I slowly made my way to my car, which was parked two blocks away from the car repair shop. Lucas had suggested it was for the best if the boys didn’t see my vehicle, since it would definitely become another reason to pick on me. Though I didn’t care what they thought of me, I ultimately decided to follow Lucas’ advice. He was my superior for a reason.

The narrow street was barely lit, yet I made my way through it with ease. I had the route memorized by heart, even though I wasn’t completely familiar with this city district.

Once the car conjured in my line of vision, I reached into my backpack, fishing for the keys.

Unfortunately, before I managed to find them, somebody grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me onto the ground. Stupefied, I looked up and saw half a dozen of persons, each of whom clad in a black hoodie and a face mask.

I was being mugged in a dark alley.

The survival instincts kicked in. The adrenaline rush hit me in a matter of seconds. Just like mothers who can lift cars to save their children, I was in a combat mode, ready to fight off all of them. I was outnumbered, but when driven on hormones, I thought I stood a chance to defend myself and kick their asses.

Quickly, I got back on my feet and took a few steps to the back to distance myself from the attackers and strategize my next move. My first idea was to run away, but that wasn’t going to work out. Two men with crowbars crept out of the shadows, depriving me of the only escape route I could think of.

“OK, think,” I whispered under my breath. There were seven of them, two of whom had crowbars, while one of them pulled out a knife. Seven against one, it didn’t sound fair. Back in the day, I had taken some self-defense lessons, but it was a long time ago. If I had some skills unconsciously memorized, they would surely be rusty.

Perhaps, I could bullshit my way out of it.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, but none of the men even flinched. They were frozen in their spots, probably waiting for the best moment to attack. “I don’t have any money on me, but I can give you my wheels,” I proposed, but once again, I didn’t get any reaction. “It’s a measly car, but I got it checked by a mechanic a few days ago. It’s as good as new.”

It was like talking to a wall. I could run my mouth, yet I would never receive any reply.

Plan A didn’t work out.

They weren’t cooperative enough for me to implement plan B.

I had no choice but to go with plan C, which consisted of fighting back, hoping they wouldn’t beat me to death. It wasn’t the most optimistic scenario, but it’s what my mind came up with after doing the math. It wasn’t a fair fight, what were the odds of me winning?

Close to zero.

When I was about to pick which guy I should attack first, the one in front of me made a cutting throat gesture. It did freak me out, but on cue, I ran up to the one with the crowbar and kicked him in the nuts before he managed to smack me with the metal. Instantly, he crumbled down on his knees, dropping the weapon on the ground.

It was my opportunity to try to even the chances.

Everything happened so fast. One second I was wiggling my body from side to side in an attempt to dodge the attack, while a moment later, I was swinging the crowbar like a baseball bat. In all honesty, I wasn’t that bad, I managed to omit most of their punches.

Unfortunately, there were too many of them. At this point, I knew I wouldn’t win. The least I could do was to try to minimize the damage.

Though I could feel a couple of bruises on my thighs forming up and my blood oozing from my shoulder, I gathered enough strength to swing the crowbar at the man, hitting him straight on the neck, knocking him out. As soon as the man’s head collided with the ground, everybody stopped in their tracks, trying to register what just happened.

They couldn’t believe that a woman successfully fought back. It was a small victory, though. Six more angry men wanted to mug me. Or rape me. Or worse.

“You bitch,” one of them yelled, going towards me with a knife as if he wanted to gut me.

I saw everything in slow motion. He ran to me, screaming, and I tightened my grip on the crowbar, getting ready to knock him unconscious, too.

Before he managed to get close enough for me to hit him, we all got blinded by the lights. There was another car in the alley, scaring the men away. In an instant, they picked up their stunned friend and ran away, disappearing in the distance.

My vision couldn’t accommodate this amount of light, so I couldn’t precisely see my savior. Unfortunately, I was unable to see the person behind the wheel, but the vehicle looked like a Ford. Too bad it drove off before I could have a better look.

Worrying the thugs might return, I limped to my car and locked myself in. My pulse was slowly getting back to normal, and the adrenaline was wearing off, making me feel the pain. Each bruise and cut was hurting me, but I inhaled, flooring the accelerator.

***

When I woke up around noon, I was sore all over. Though I had taken some painkillers and put on ointment on the fragile skin, I still felt like shit. I wasn’t the best at treating wounds, and I discovered this fact about myself in the worst timing ever.

How was I supposed to win the most meaningful race of the year when I felt excruciating pain when I had to stretch my arm? How was I supposed to operate the gearbox in this state?

By the time I had to leave my apartment, I felt only slightly better. High on meds, I drove carefully to the car repair shop, expecting Lucas to already be there. It was typical Lucas – giving vague instructions, yet at the same time, demanding precision, or in this case, punctuality.

Gingerly, I parked the vehicle outside the garage, noticing Lucas leaned against the wall, smoking what I hope was just a cigarette. Putting a smile on my face, I undid the seatbelt and exited the car, waving at my superior.

“What the hell are you wearing? Are you going to a race or Lazytown?” Lucas yelled, amused by my outfit. I could bet it wasn’t a typical outfit for street-racing.

Tonight, I chose to wear a pastel pink wig that reached down to my shoulders, a mini dress in the same shade of pink, and a pair of white combat shoes. I had my reasons to wear this type of clothing, though.

First of all – diversion; I hoped the other contestants would underestimate me upon seeing my eccentric outfit. Looks might be deceiving, and at this point, I couldn’t wait to bask in the glory of their judging stares. In this outfit, no one would think of me as a threat.

Second of all – bruises; no one paid them any attention because all the curious gazes were focused on extravagant clothes. Moreover, I could apply another layer of ointment if needed because the skimpy outfit allowed me easy access to my bare skin.

Third of all – Taeyong; pink was his favorite color and it matched his current hairstyle. It was a bold statement to demonstrate whose gang I was representing in the race.

“The outfit is going to serve its purpose, so let me live,” I murmured, not in the mood for friendly banter. Lucas was ridiculously hot, and I respected him, but right now, I didn’t feel like joking around. “What car do you have for me?”

Lucas pulled the sliding doors to the side, letting me in, following right behind me. Though I tried to control my walk, Lucas quickly caught on.

“What’s happened? Why are you walking like that?” Lucas asked in concern, and I told him everything about the men, their attempt to mug me, and the savior. I didn’t even fail to mention how I knocked one of the guys out with a powerful hit in the neck. “I don’t really think it was some random dudes,” he concluded, taking a closer look at my bruises and cuts.

“Huh?” I mused in confusion.

“I think someone wanted to make sure you’re not participating in the race,” Lucas stated. I creased my eyebrows, unable to make sense out of his suspicion. It was ridiculous. Though I knew how to race, my name wasn’t widely known in the illegal underground racing circle. “It can’t be a coincidence you’re getting attacked one night before the event.”

Well… Lucas had a point.

“Can you race?” Lucas inquired, his voice coated in worry.

I did not expect that, but it felt nice. Lucas, being my superior, looked after me, and it was the first time I felt like a legitimate member of the gang.

“I’ve taken a lot of pills, I can pull through,” I stated, smiling half-heartedly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed, though I could already feel the medication wear off. This insignificant setback wasn’t going to stop me. I had something to prove.

“Alright then,” Lucas said, following me to the back. “Taeyong has personally chosen these cars. You can pick any of them,” he added, and I looked at the beautiful machines in amazement. “Oh, before I forget, he also said you get to keep it if you win.”

“For real?” I asked, and Lucas nodded, smiling at my reaction. “Sweet.”

Now, I really had to win.

Taeyong had selected three vehicles for me to use: BMW M2, Toyota Supra, and Porsche 718 Cayman. The three of them were white and shiny, and it was a real dilemma.

“Tough choice,” I whispered, struggling to make the ultimate decision. Each vehicle had incredible features, and it was impossible to pick the best one. It felt like having a birthday on the same day as Christmas.

“Be quick, we’ve got to go,” Lucas urged me, tapping his foot against the concrete floor impatiently. “Make up your mind, woman.”

“OK, fine, fine, let’s go with Toyota,” I answered, and Lucas put his hand into the pocket of his jeans, fished out three sets of keys, and threw one for me to catch.

“Let’s go, then,” he added, quickly making his way to the passenger seat.

“How does it feel like to win such a race?” I inquired, breaking the silence inside the car. I was speeding to the abandoned airport, while Lucas was texting with somebody, completely ignoring me. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to bond with him, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. Three years ago, being the youngest participant, Lucas had won the race, and I really wanted to know how it felt to make history.

Who knew? Maybe I’d be the first woman to win this race this year.

“Fine, I guess,” Lucas answered dismissively, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

“Oh,” I sighed, deciding not to pry further. We would have other opportunities to talk about it.

Once we arrived, Lucas told me to park the vehicle on the start line. The race would start in an hour, and until then, I had to mingle with other drivers and make my presence known. It was time for the rich men to make their bets.

“Hmm… that’s strange,” Lucas commented when I turned off the engine. “Taeyong’s here.”

“Is that strange?”

“He hasn’t attended such an event ever since he had won it five years ago,” Lucas explained, and I nodded my head, registering the new information. When Lucas put it like that, it really seemed out of character. “Interesting,” he added, deep in thought.

When Lucas got out of the car, I searched for Taeyong in the crowd. Thankfully, it wasn’t that difficult. This time around, Taeyong was wearing a green tracksuit set, thick-rimmed black Fendi sunglasses, and a pair of simple white sneakers. With his pink-ish hair and a custom-made Dior purse loosely hanging off his shoulder, he did not fit in this picture packed with gangers. Taeyong looked like a stray 4-year-old who got lost in a dangerous alley.

Following Lucas’ example, I exited the vehicle, and leaned against the hood, posing as a confident yet quirky driver. Though I expected everyone to underestimate my skills, deep inside, I wished to be recognized as a serious competition.

Looking around, I stared at Taeyong and deliberately ignored Jaehyun’s death glares. Even from afar, I could sense he hated my guts. I suspected I was the reason why Taeyong was here right now, and Jaehyun was unmistakably displeased by it.

With my eyes locked on Taeyong, I noticed Lucas joined him and whispered something into his ear. Whatever Lucas had told him, it made Taeyong visibly angry.

“Attention racers,” a female voice spoke through the speakers, obtaining everyone’s attention. “The race shall begin in thirty minutes. We ask all racers to pick up the GPS device box at the judge’s lounge. Thank you for your attention and good luck.”

Every participant had to install the device in one’s car. Once set in the vehicle, the racer could see this year’s route and all checkpoints. The fastest one to clear all the checkpoints and come back to the airport would win the competition.

Following all the instructions, I got ready for the race. In a few minutes, twelve cars would leave the airport in an attempt to chase their dreams of fame and success.

I was sitting comfortably in my seat, and though on the outside, I seemed calm, the courtesy of painkillers, I was freaking out internally. I didn’t even notice someone knock on the window, making me jump in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Lucas, you scared the shit out of me,” I cursed, rolling down the window.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he added, smiling genuinely. “I spoke with Taeyong, and he would like to talk to you after the race in his mansion.”

“Oh.”

And with that, Lucas walked away, letting me relax some more before the race. I just had enough time to turn on my playlist, which consisted of Britney Spears’ biggest hits. It always helped me to uplift my mood, and I really needed that.

“Three,” the woman counted out loud, and all participants turned on their engines.

“Two.”

“One.”

At once, all the cars surged forward, and people cheered enthusiastically, not even muffling the loud engine roars.

The route had seven checkpoints in total, and since the race was called the color festival, each stop was named after the rainbow color. There was no specified order in which the contestants ought to clear them, yet most of them chose to drive east, toward the indigo checkpoint.

I, on the other hand, decided to head west. The more drivers in one area, the more chances of dirty tricks, and I didn’t want to end up getting pushed out of the route into the gutter.

Only four racers mirrored my actions, and out of the five of us, I was leading. With ease, I cleared the green checkpoint, but one Britney song later, the driver of the red 2020 Lexus SC caught up to me, driving straight into my back left lights, making me lose control of the vehicle for a second. Thankfully, I managed to get a hold of the situation before I drove into the dangerous turn.

This bastard scratched my car and cleared the yellow checkpoint before me.

I couldn’t let him get away with it.

Flooring the accelerator, I quickly found myself on the right side of the Lexus, staring at the driver. I recognized him in an instant. It was Felix, and he was infamous for dangerous driving. It didn’t matter how many drivers he had to send to the hospital to win the race.

Perhaps, it would be reasonable to let him be, but I was high on meds, and the logical solution fled my mind before I managed to memorize it. The only sensible reaction I could muster in the heat of the moment was hitting him before he hit me again.

Sticking my tongue out for Felix to see, I abruptly turned to the right, pushing him out of the road. Unfortunately, I didn’t hit him hard enough. Before I drove into another sharp turn, I saw him in the rearview mirror. He was back on the lane, trying to catch up with the rest of the participants.

“Too high, can’t come down, losing my mind, spinning ‘round and round, do you feel me now?” I sang along with Britney, driving through the blue checkpoint.

I was almost halfway through the race, and it was about the time when I ran out of luck. I could hear a loud siren ringing in the distance, followed by red and blue lights. It couldn’t be a good sign. Competing against lunatics was challenging, yet on top of that, I had to lose the police.

My first thought was to let the other drivers catch up to me, and then hope the police would chase them, but I quickly realized it was a dumb idea. The racers would out-speed the police cruisers anyway; it was stupid to purposefully slow down.

The next checkpoint was near, and it was my priority. I’d deal with the police by the end of the race. Of course, only if the police cruisers could handle such speed. It was doubtful, but I chose not to underestimate them.

“Fuck, it can’t be,” I cursed when I noticed the red Lexus again. “He is stubborn,” I added, once again flooring the accelerator, trying to keep as much distance from Felix as possible. This car would be mine if I won, and I didn’t want any more damage.

Then, a few seconds later, another car appeared a couple of hundred meters behind me.

Too bad the police were too incompetent to catch them. The sirens were still ringing in the distance, so it only meant they didn’t give up yet. I didn’t think they stood a chance against any of the sports cars in the race, but it was admirable that they still tried.

The red checkpoint was a couple meters ahead, and I reasoned I needed to step up my game. In order to win, I had to think out of the box. I had to do something they wouldn’t dare. I couldn’t play it safe if I really wanted to win.

Having cleared the red checkpoint, I made a U-turn without slowing down. If it wasn’t for the breaks, the force would pull me out of the lane, sending me flying off the cliff. Felix and the other guy were visibly confused when I started driving right at them.

Going over 180 km/h, I passed them and the police cruiser before I made an abrupt turn, driving through run-down, abandoned properties. Very few people knew this short-cut, and I hoped it would give me the advantage I desperately needed.

With no problem, I cleared the orange checkpoint.                

Only two more to go, I told myself, trying to uplift my mood.

The violet checkpoint resembled a war zone. Three cars were sitting on the side of the road, all scratched and damaged. Compared to this psycho who had done it, Felix was a harmless kitten. Thankfully, he hadn’t chosen to follow the same path as me. It made me sick to think I could be inside of one of these wrecked cars.

Or it was the meds overload in my system.

I couldn’t be sure.

Having passed the final checkpoint, I noticed a sports car. It was heading the same direction, so I concluded it was one of my rivals. The neon green Porsche Boxter was behind me, but it was catching up incredibly fast.

I had to get my shit together, or I was going to lose.

I could see the finishing line in the distance. Unfortunately, the green Porsche was right there, on my left side. Neither of us wanted to lose, and almost at the same time, we turned, smashing against each other. Sparks were flying everywhere, the sound of scratching metal was ringing loudly, yet no one dared to let go.

If I didn’t push him out of my way, we would tie, and this result was unacceptable. With my foot on the accelerator, I turned the steering wheel to the right as hard as I could. The vehicle barely moved to the side, yet it was still making progress.

Maybe it was pure luck, but the Porsche ran over something on the road, and its driver lost control of the car. It was my time to shine, so once again I turned to the right. The vehicles made a 90-degree turn, which resulted in me being the first one to cross the finishing line.

Oh my god, I won.

These guys could suck it because I beat them!

When I got out of the car, Taeyong and Jaehyun were gone. Lucas was the only familiar face in the crowd, and he actually ran up to me to congratulate me. “You won,” Lucas said, beaming. His smile quickly faded away upon seeing how wrecked the car was. “It was a new car,” he cried, calculating the damage.

“It’s still new,” I remarked, but Lucas didn’t find it amusing. Well… I could relate. After all, it was my car. I knew the second the painkillers wear off, I was going to in pain because of what I did to the vehicle. Hopefully, Doyoung would help me get it fixed.

A lady in a deep-cut bikini and sun-kissed tan walked up to me to hand me a bag of cash and a bottle of champagne.

“Everybody, make some noise for this year’s winner,” she screamed into the microphone, making the crowd go crazy.

I was smiling like a lunatic. People were cheering, and it was all for me.

Though I was craving champagne, I knew it wasn’t the best idea to drink it. The pills mixed with alcohol would kill me, so I opted for an alternative celebration. Swinging my arm, I threw the bottle at the car, smashing it against the scratched doors.

“Christening the car seemed appropriate,” I commented when I saw Lucas trying to process what I just did. “At this point, one more tear doesn’t make a difference.��

“Yeah, whatever,” Lucas said lifelessly, staring with concern at the vehicle. “You better go. Don’t keep Taeyong waiting. He’s not a patient person.”

***

Having parked in front of Taeyong’s big ass mansion, I made my way to the main entrance and rang the bell. The doors opened a few seconds later, and Jaehyun looked at me from head to toe, stepping to the side, letting me in.

It was my first time in Taeyong’s palace, and the interior was breathtaking. Everything looked expensive, and everyone must’ve felt the wow effect during their first visit. Though I knew he had a shit load of money, witnessing his wealth first hand was an unforgettable experience.

“Stay here, I’ll get Taeyong,” Jaehyun ordered, and I smiled sheepishly, not wanting to mess with someone who could easily murder me. “Don’t touch anything,” Jaehyun added as he turned around, catching me red-handed on trying to brush my fingers against the sculpture, which was set on a coffee table.

Two minutes later, Taeyong joined me in the spacious living room.

“Lucas told me you won,” he spoke as he plopped down onto a leather couch, putting his hands into the pocket of his disgusting green tracksuit. “Good job.”

“Is that why you wanted to see me? To congratulate me?” I asked out loud, wanting to smack myself the moment the words left my mouth. Of course, Taeyong didn’t want to congratulate me; he had invited me to his mansion before the race even began.

“No,” he replied shortly, and I smiled sheepishly, trying to forget this incident. “You know what I will never tolerate?” Taeyong asked, and I sighed in thought.

“I don’t know… Hmm… it’s a wild guess, but is it Hawaiian pizza?”

“No,” Taeyong denied, smirking at my random guess. “I will never tolerate treason, doll.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to figure out what he meant. I hadn’t done anything to betray him, yet he still somehow found something to punish me for. No way, it wasn’t possible. Had he figured out how I really had stolen Yuta’s car?

Fuck.

“Come on, doll. Let me show you,” Taeyong whispered, standing up. With his eyes on me, he smiled and stretched his hand. Anxiously, I let him hold his palm around mine as he led me to the basement.

It wasn’t a good omen.

Despite all of my achievements, Taeyong was going to kill me.

“The pink really suits you,” Taeyong spoke out of the blue when we slowly made our way downstairs. “I really like this hair on you,” he added, playing with the ends of my wig.

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d like it,” I answered, trying not to show how intimidated I was.

“Oh, I do, doll,” he smirked, pushing a pair of big pine doors open, stepping to the side, letting me in first.

Inside the room were seven men tied to the chairs with a piece of cloth wrapped around their eyes. Since there was only one light bulb, it took me a while to recognize them.

They were my colleagues from the garage. What the hell were they doing here? Why had Taeyong imprisoned them? What had they done? It was them who had betrayed Taeyong? No, it didn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t have invited me if it was about them.

“I don’t understand…” I commented, my eyes focused on the tied men in front of me. The moment when I looked at Jisung, I saw a wound on his neck.

Then it hit me.

It was them.

They had tried to kill me last night.

“As I said, I cannot tolerate treason,” Taeyong voiced as he began to rip the makeshift blindfolds off their faces. “Working against the gang is unacceptable, and you dared to hurt one of your own,” he spoke, and I trembled, afraid to witness what’s going to happen next. “Who came up with this stupid plan?”

Silence.

“Alright then,” Taeyong concluded through gritted teeth. It was the first time I saw him this angry, and I was scared. I’d shit my pants if I were the reason for his wrath. “Come here, doll,” he ordered, wanting me to join him. “Pick your weapon,” he told me, and I looked at him in confusion. What did I need a weapon for?

I looked to the right and saw pegboard tool storage on the wall. It was an impressive collection of torture weapons, and Taeyong wanted me to use them on the traitors. It was wrong on so many levels, and I really didn’t want to do it, but the perspective of wronging Taeyong seemed even worse. I would rather hurt them than let Taeyong hurt me.

“We don’t have a whole night, doll,” Taeyong urged me, and I grabbed the first thing which was in my arms’ reach. It happened to be a hammer. “Excellent choice; who should we punish first?” Taeyong asked, resting his arm over my shoulder, smiling like a maniac. Without any doubt, it was to bring him a lot of pleasure.

“I don’t know…”

“Alright, then,” Taeyong smiled in amusement before he started to sing the eeny, meeny, miny, moe counting rhyme to select the first victim. At first, I didn’t look, but once Taeyong stopped singing, I opened my eyes to see that his finger was pointing at Haechan.

“Do what you gotta do, doll,” Taeyong ordered happily, leaning against the wall, making sure he had the best view at the scene unfolding in front of him.

I wanted to cry, but I tried my best not to. As a part of a gang, it was inappropriate to show vulnerability. I didn’t want Taeyong to revoke my membership, especially when the only way to leave the gang was through excruciating death.

“Where should I start?” I asked myself under my breath, having no idea how torturing worked. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a way of inflicting the least amount of pain, while maintaining the expected level of Taeyong’s satisfaction.

Having closed my eyes, I swung my arm, hitting Haechan’s palm with the hammer, making him groan in pain. “You bitch,” he cursed, and I repeated the blow a couple of times until his hand looked like a smashed pomegranate.

Haechan was yelling in pain, Taeyong was chuckling in amusement, and I tried my best to refrain myself from crying. Though I didn’t particularly like Haechan, and he had been a real pain in the ass with the bullying, he didn’t deserve such punishment. How was he supposed to work at the garage without his dominant hand? His career was basically over. It was a dick move to attack me, and though I was awfully petty, the punishment was too severe.

“Who came up with this stupid plan?” Taeyong questioned again, yet none of the boys dared to speak. Not even Haechan, who was in a tremendous amount of pain. “Here, hold this,” he added, handing me a baseball bat, “I got bored of the hammer.”

Obediently, I grabbed the baseball bat and hit Haechan in the stomach until he started coughing blood on my pink dress. “What the fuck?” I cursed, getting angry at the minor inconvenience.

“Stop it, you’ll kill him,” Jisung yelled, trying to shimmy himself out of the ties. “I did it. I told them to beat her up. She didn’t deserve to ride in this race,” he carried on, and Taeyong sighed, walking up to Jisung nonchalantly with his hands loosely tucked in the pockets.

“It wasn’t that hard, was it?” Taeyong asked as he bent a little and caressed Jisung’s chin. “I really appreciate your honesty,” he added before he pulled out a gun and shot him in the head.

It was hard to process, but he really did shoot Jisung.

“Good job, doll,” Taeyong congratulated me with a smile before he fired his gun once again, this time shooting through Haechan’s forehead. “What? He was useless without his hand anyway,” he commented upon seeing my shocked reaction.

“You’re not gonna kill them, are you?” I quietly asked as I leaned against Taeyong’s frame, clinging to his chest. None of them deserved to die, yet I hoped Taeyong would spare the remaining five.

“No, I think it was enough for them to learn their lesson,” Taeyong revealed, and I sighed in relief, glad the bloodshed was over. It was the first time I saw somebody get killed, and it was a morbid sight. I wouldn’t mentally handle the situation if he decided to murder them all.

“Can we go now? The blood makes me sick,” I confessed, and Taeyong once again wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulled me to his side, and led outside. Surprisingly, regardless of what I had seen a while ago, his hug felt genuine. “I have a question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“How did you know it was them?”

Taeyong smirked, “who do you think was in that car that scared them off?”

“You?” I asked, cocking up my eyebrow, trying to process the newfound information.

“No, what I would be doing there?” Taeyong denied, making me even more confused. “I told Jaehyun to pick you up and bring to my mansion. However, when he saw you were attacked, he drove off and hunted them down.”

“I guess I owe him big time.”

[kalypsichor]

don’t be cruel [ john lennon x reader ]

summary: You come to class in the shortest little skirt and Professor Lennon is so distracted he can barely teach. Afterwards, he tries taking matters into his own hands... only to be interrupted by the very subject of his fantasy.

prompt: my own fucking post, bc I have no self-control warnings: oral sex, dirty talk, professor kink... this is basically porn and I’m not sorry. oh also there’s dante’s inferno discourse, if that’s upsetting to anyone

i have nothing to say. this is filth. see y’all in the second circle of hell lmao (also, can you spot the �� hint?) 

i was gonna schedule this for 9 am or something but... apparently some of y’all are still awake if my notifs are any indication. so. enjoy. it’s almost 4 am for me

This is so, so wrong.

You’re not that much younger than John, with you in your early twenties and him just approaching thirty. Still, he’s your professor. You’re his student. There’s an unspoken taboo about the whole thing, a clear line that should never be towed. John’s a rational man—after all, he’s a Literature professor—and he knows these things in his head. They’re as clear as day, as obvious as Brontë’s warnings against forbidden love throughout Wuthering Heights. 

All that rationality flies out the window when you come into class this morning wearing a short skirt that makes John almost drop his chalk. 

You greet him with a nod and a smile, as per usual, but John can’t bring himself to smile back. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. So when a flash of hurt streaks through them, he misses it, having already turned his back to write the day’s lesson on the chalkboard.

All of class, John is distracted. Not distracted enough for his students to take notice, of course; he’s familiar enough with the topic and his students are too busy scribbling notes to care. Still, John can’t stop thinking about running his fingers over your ass, about bending you over his desk and fucking you, your pretty little skirt bunched up in his hands. Maybe he’d wrap his tie around your wrists. Make you beg to be touched. And John would give in, if only to hear you whine when he teases your clit.

Thank god for the podium at the front of the room. John’s always been an active teacher, walking up and down the aisles as he lectures, sometimes even sitting on his students’ desks just for the hell of it. Professor McCartney calls it dramatic, but John knows that it brings so much more to his teaching. It keeps his audience engaged, which is exactly what he needs when he’s trying to get them interested in some dead 13th century Italian guy’s rhapsody on death.

Unfortunately, he’s got the worst hard-on ever right now, and even moving slightly behind the podium is causing the fabric of his slacks to shift agonizingly against his erection. John curses having tied his belt so tight this morning. 

He’s halfway through the class, basically talking to a dead room of glazed eyes and drooping pens, when you raise your hand. 

“Sorry, Professor Lennon.” John inhales sharply at the way you say his name and almost misses your next words. “But just now when you mentioned Beatrice, did you mean that she symbolizes divine love? Because isn’t that the whole reason she can take Dante to heaven, whereas Virgil is limited by human reasoning?”

“Yes, that’s right. What did I say?”

You bite your pen and John’s gaze is immediately drawn to the shape of your lips around it. He swears that he can see you almost smirk a little when you speak again.

“You called her ‘forbidden love.’”

Okay. Maybe John is more distracted than he thinks.

The rest of the hour, Johns finds himself glancing at you even more often. And though you’re sitting in the back of the room, John thinks that he catches you looking right back.

For the first time in his career, John has to agree with his students: the end of class can’t come quickly enough. The moment that last straggler pushes out of the lecture hall, the double doors closing behind them, he pushes off from the podium and rushes into his office, not even bothering to lock the door. John just needs some sweet relief and he finds it when he leans against his desk and unbuttons his slacks.

The moment John takes his cock in hand, he groans and lets his head fall back. Fucking hell, he’s been wanting to touch himself since you walked into class in that stupidly short skirt. He knows that this is improper, especially in his own office, but John couldn’t care less right now. He strokes himself with one hand, bracing against the desk with the other. And then his mind veers off and imagines that it’s you touching him. Your hands are so much smaller than John’s. The thought of them wrapped around his cock makes him swear, your name tumbling from his lips before he can stop it. Fuck, he’s getting close, and in his head he can hear you edging him on, can hear you calling his name—

“Professor?”

There’s no time to hide. John can barely even react, eyes jolting open to see your wide, shocked ones… glued to the sight of him masturbating.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t hear you knocking, I...” His babbling trails off when you don’t seem to be freaking out. And when you close the door behind you, turning the lock, something else entirely shoots through his body.

“I heard you saying my name.” You walk to where John is standing, his hand still wrapped around his cock. “Were you thinking about me?”

“I, uh. Look, I didn’t-”

The sight of you dropping to your knees in front of him is the hottest thing John has ever seen. Involuntarily, his hand jerks and he lets out a shaky breath. 

“Tell me, please?” And how can he say no when you’re looking up at him like that, biting so innocently at your lip?

Something inside John lurches and he stumbles right across that line separating right from wrong.

“Fuck, I was.” John’s voice pitches a note lower, tone more confident and now it’s your turn to catch your breath in your throat. “Been thinkin’ about you all class, birdie. You knew what you were doing, paradin’ around in that little skirt. I bet you wore it for me, hm?”

You nod your head, a little shyly, and place a hand over his, not quite touching his cock. Still, the sight of your much smaller hand on John’s makes his grip tighten and he grunts. The sound goes right to your core.

“Wanna feel you in my mouth. Can I?”

John barely gets the chance to nod before you’re mouthing at his tip. His hand falls away immediately, joining the other in gripping the desk at the feeling. You pull away a little and lick all the way from up from the base, flattening your tongue against his veins, before taking his cock into your mouth.

You go down on him slowly, so slowly, and the feeling of your warm mouth enveloping his length makes John groan. His eyes want to fall shut but he forces himself to watch your pretty lips stretch around his cock. It’s worth it, especially when you flick your eyes up to look at him. The sight of you makes his hips jerk involuntarily and you gag, pulling backwards with a wet pop that sends another wave of arousal coursing through John.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand to brush away the tears that have welled up in your eyes, but you shake your head. Wordlessly, you guide both of his hands into your hair and go down on him again—and when you take in as much of his cock as you can, you look up to John as if waiting for something. 

When he understands, he finally lets himself close his eyes. 

“God, you’re so good for me, aren’t you?” John pulls out of your mouth a little before sliding back in, gasping at the warmth. “Taking your professor's cock like this. Mm, fuck—you feel so good.”

John increases his pace, starting to really fuck into your mouth. His grip tightens in your hair and you whine. 

“What if Professor McCartney walked in right now, huh? I bet you’d keep sucking me off. Would you?”

The blush across your cheeks darkens and John takes note of it, something piping up in the back of his mind. But then you’re moaning around his cock and the vibrations are making his knees weak. He’s gonna come, soon, and his words devolve into grunts and curses as his hips jerk faster and faster into your mouth. Your throat has got to be tired by now but you’re not stopping or pulling away. The thought that you actually enjoy this, that it’s turning you on to be on your knees for John, is what sends him over the edge.

You let him finish in your mouth, swallowing all of it—or at least, as much as you can. Still, a little bit of John’s cum makes its way down your bottom lip. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls you up to your feet and kisses you. It’s soft, a distinct contrast to the fervor with which John had just been fucking your mouth with, and a little bitter with the taste of his own cum on his tongue. You whine when he swipes a tongue across your lip and the sound turns into a high pitched moan when he bites down where he just licked. 

“Professor-”

“Call me John,” he says, pulling away and seeing a shy smile cross your face.

“Okay,” you say. You close the gap between your lips and kiss him again. “John.”

Just to make sure, though, John has you scream it for him when it’s his turn to get on his knees.

* * *

THERE IS NOW A PART TWO  🥪🥪🥪

[arcticfern]

Quite Extraordinary

My fic for the @ts-storytime Big Bang project! I’m several days past my posting date, but I managed to get it done! This is going to be Part 1 of 2, and I understand the second part won’t be reblogged once it’s posted. Part 1 will be uploaded to my AO3, arrowcreates, chapter by chapter over the next few says. I’m absolutely honored that I got to participate in this project, and super duper thankful to my artist, @lestroodledoodles, for drawing such a gorgeous piece for my fic. I hope everyone gives him the love he deserves, and I hope everyone enjoys this fic! 

This fic is a Fable III Sanders Sides AU. The game meant everything to me as a kid, and I wanted to make this project something I would never forget.

Word Count: 22,619 

Pairings: Logan/Roman, Virgil/Patton

Warnings: Deceit, Remus, Major Character Death (in part 2), minor character deaths, implied sexual behaviors, blood, gore, skeletons, more tags to be added

In his dream, there were two children. One was older, a sister called Rose. The other was a brother she called little sparrow. They had only each other. They had no home, and no money, though they were happy enough.

But it could not last. 

A trader came to town, boasting wares from all around the world. Among them was a music box that the trader claimed was magical. The girl dismissed it, but a mysterious blind woman warned her against so easily refusing magic. The siblings set out to earn enough money to buy the box. 

It was not easy. They captured criminals, killed bugs, and various other tasks. They saved a dog who instantly bonded with the boy. Eventually, they had enough for the box. 

It was a beautiful music box that, when opened, was supposed to grant a single wish. The girl and her brother wished to live in the glorious castle they slept in the shadows of, and the box played its haunting melody. Disheartened when their wish did not immediately come true, the children slept. 

They were awoken some time later by servants of the castle, sent to collect them. The Lord of the castle, a widower who lived alone, wished to speak with them. He told them that he had heard their wish. He offered them a home, if they would help him first. 

The children, delighted that their wish had seemingly been answered after all, agreed. The Lord questioned them about the box, and the girl admitted they had opened it. This infuriated and confused the lord, who told them that only very special children could open it. He led them to his laboratory and bid them stand on a pedestal. 

When the pedestal began to glow, he retrieved a pistol and shot the sister, killing her instantly. The boy, terrified, fought to reach her. The Lord apologized for what he had done and was about to do, and then shot him, too, a brilliant blast that sent him through the window and to the ground in a flash of white light.

-

All Logan knew, for an instance, was light. 

Then he heard the voice of his butler, attempting to coax him from his bed. “It is time to wake up, Master Logan. You have a busy day ahead, and it is improper for a prince to sleep in.“ 

Logan groaned and covered his eyes. "Go away, Virgil,” he ordered. The tail of his sentence got caught in a yawn. 

Virgil clicked his tongue at him and came over anyway. “That is not an option, sire. With your permission, I shall wake your companion.” He took hold of the blanket and pulled it to the end of the bed, revealing a mound of fur. “Wake up, Cat." 

The fluff unwound itself until it could poke a snout and floppy ears into Virgil’s hand. The dog gave a single bark and then leaped from the bed, trotting over the window to look outside. 

Logan sighed, finally sitting up. "Cat, must you be so hyper in the mornings?” He asked. “You were so quiet as a pup." 

"Ah, is that why you named a dog Cat?” A light creak came from the corner of the room as Virgil opened his wardrobe. “Which outfit would you prefer today, sire?" 

"What is my schedule today?" 

Virgil returned with two bundles of clothes, which he expertly arranged on the bed. "Master Elliot was looking for you earlier, and I believe your brother is hosting a supper this evening. I’ve taken the liberty of choosing outfits that correspond to each event. Of course, should you choose the ‘rougher’ outfit, you will have time to return to your quarters and change before supper." 

It was barely even a question. "Declan has spies all over the castle,” Logan reasoned, “so if I were to wear something more according to Elliot’s tastes he would know before Elliot and I even crossed paths. The supper outfit this morning, I think, Virgil." 

Shortly thereafter, once the particularly stubborn collar had been vanquished, Logan was dressed. He called Cat to him and opened the door to his room. The guards snapped to attention, a light breeze ruffling the hair under their caps. "Remember, you have lessons with Sir Patton after dinner,” Virgil reminded him. “And be wary of your brother. He’s in an unusually foul temper this morning.”

“Will do,” Logan replied. “Bye, Virgil.” He clicked his tongue, and prince and dog descended into the garden. 

Despite Logan’s refusal to primp and preen as the nobles of court did, he had to admit that he loved the complex symmetry of the people currently wandering the grounds. The nobility confused him greatly: what sense did it make to be dressed more ridiculously that the royal family? And as if the powdered wigs and massive hoop skirts weren’t silly enough, they even had to speak like useless fops. Logan hated them, yet he was absolutely fascinated by them. 

The only solace he could take was that across the gardens waited Elliot, a smart, sensible noble who Logan someday hoped to wed. Elliot saw the court for what it was: full of two-headed snakes. That was not to say he did not have his flaws, but if Logan had to choose any person from the upper echelons of Albion to rule with him, he would choose Elliot every time. He just had to reach him.

Weaving his way through the grounds was already somewhat difficult, given the layout, but it seemed that every person he crossed paths with wanted to speak with him. Were it not for Cat, he likely would have been stuck catering to the nobles for hours. His loyal companion growled whenever the nobles got uncomfortably close or asked inappropriate questions, which was always. Any noble who knew anything about Logan knew that when Cat growled or barked, their welcome had been overstayed. 

After beating back nobles for what felt like an hour, but was probably closer to ten minutes, Logan finally evaded the last of the nobles and made his way towards the massive tower at the back of the gardens. Easily as tall as the castle itself, the giant construct had been repurposed as a royal tomb by his father. He did not know what it had been before; any time he asked, Patton or Virgil found some other topic to discuss.

He had never been inside, as his mother’s funeral had been held right outside, in the gardens, when he was just a child. Her favorite place, according to Declan. The funeral for the old Hero King had been held at Bowerstone Lake so that the whole kingdom could view his body. All he knew of the old mausoleum was that the inside was supposed to be big and opulent. 

Logan had also heard some of the servants whisper amongst themselves that the old place was dangerous. He had no clue how it could be; it was just another mausoleum, if a spectacularly large one. 

His thoughts were broken as he rounded the back of the mausoleum and a familiar voice called out to him. “Logan!” The grin that lit Logan’s face was one rarely seen as his beloved came bounding over to him. 

Elliot was only a few months older than him, but he would be taller were it not for Logan’s ridiculous heeled shoes. His eyes, a rich brown color that Logan could recall even in sleep, twinkled at the sight of him. He gave a little mock bow and then chuckled. “Good morning, Logan. I was worried I would have to protect the kingdom all alone." 

"I can’t let you have all of the fun, now can I?” Logan replied, bowing in response. Declan would berate him for that, if someone reported him; his older brother didn’t believe royalty should show inferiors respect. “We shall save the whole of Albion, you and I." 

"Oh, really? And how would you stop an army?” Elliot teased. In response, Logan gave him the gentlest kiss. Eliot flushed. “Now, that might work, but I suppose I’ll be a bit jealous." 

Logan laughed and stepped past him to stand by the garden rail. The view, dreary though it was, never failed to dazzle him. The air had a salty taste to it this morning, wind blown in from the sea. Elliot came up next to him, and for a moment they stared at Bowerstone in silence. Finally, Logan asked, "Virgil said you wanted to see me?" 

Elliot’s face took on a serious look. "Yes. Things have been getting worse in the city. The staff say a factory worker was executed this morning. Your brother has them all scared senseless.” His hand found Logan’s on the railing, and he squeezed it. “I told them you would speak with them. They need someone to ease their minds. Will you do it?" 

"Of course. When do I need to meet them?" 

"As soon as you can. I fear what your brother may do if he hears them talking.” Logan nodded and stepped back, away from the city, away from the momentary, precious taste of freedom on the air. 

The boys kept each other’s hands as they trekked through the gardens, Cat following dutifully. “Why would Declan execute a factory worker?” Logan asked idly. 

Elliot shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s changed so much lately. He used to be happy, carefree. Now he looks so tired all the time.” They climbed the steps together under the eyes of the castle guard and a couple dozen nobles. “It’s hard to believe that was only four years ago." 

"Being king has changed him.” Logan turned his head to look back at Elliot. “Come in with me?” He asked. Elliot smiled sweetly and nodded. They stepped around a fleeing, soot-covered chicken and into the bowels of the castle.

Inside, the kitchen was a mess. Remnants of breakfast lay scattered, not yet cleaned. Logan had rarely seen the kitchen dirty; usually, the staff was already preparing lunch. 

The staff themselves stood huddled near the fire, where the head chef was lecturing them about how to behave. Logan found the notion ridiculous. The kitchen workers had never been anything but unbearably polite. He cleared his throat, and the head chef jumped. 

“Your Highness! We weren’t expecting you until later. It’s an honor.” In one fluid, well-rehearsed motion, the staff bowed in unison. “Master Elliot mentioned you would be coming this morning to speak with us. Have we done something wrong?" 

Logan frowned. Why had Elliot not told them the reason for his visit? "No, not at all. I’ve come to discuss certain rumors with you.” Various members of the staff flinched; one young lady hiccuped, eyes red from crying. 

He clasped his hands behind his back and assumed a dignified air. “I know this is a difficult time for all of you. Many of you have friends and family in the factories, and my brother grows more unpredictable by the day.” Technically, it was treason to say that, but Logan knew the cooks would never report him. They all agreed. “I thank you all for being patient and continuing to work under these circumstances. I will speak with Declan about these rumors and about improving working conditions both here and in the city. You have my word. Thank you." 

The staff let out a scattered round of applause, then quickly returned to work as the door into the rest of the castle opened to reveal a familiar face. "That was quite a speech. You didn’t threaten, you didn’t shout, you didn’t behave anything like a royal.” The man grinned. “It was bloody brilliant." 

Elliot laughed. "Good morning, Sir Patton. Here to snatch him from me once again?” He held up their entwined hands. “You may have to fight me for him.”

The older man smiled at the pair. “It is time for lessons,” Patton confirmed. “He needs to practice, Elliot. Don’t make me arrest you.” The joke, meant to be lighthearted, fell a little flat as they all reflected on the morning’s events. 

“It’s true, then?” Logan asked quietly. 

Patton nodded. “I’m afraid so. Come on, Logan, your lessons are important." 

Elliot squeezed his hand once more before letting go. "Take care of him, Patton." 

Logan trailed along behind Patton as he climbed the inner steps to the dining hall. His mind was reeling. How could Declan execute a factory worker? It seemed so totally unlike his brother. No, he corrected himself, it 

 to be unlike Declan. Logan didn’t know who his king was anymore. 

They were just entering the Great Hall when Logan registered the raised voices. A cursory glance around the room revealed that the morning’s petitioners had been let into a roped off section of the hall. One man, in particular, kept attempting to flag down passing nobles. None would make eye contact with him, perhaps fearing Declan’s wrath; it was well-known that the petitioners asked for things Declan could, but would not, give his subjects. 

Patton slowed down as they passed the crowd, and the man seized his chance. "Sir Patton! Would you be willing to sign my petition? We have to come together to stop the poverty running rampant through Bowerstone." 

"Very well,” Patton agreed easily. “But I’m just an old soldier, I don’t see that my signature will do much good. Perhaps the prince here would be willing to sign?" 

Logan loved his mentor, but very much hated him in moments like this. He was nowhere near the socialite Declan used to be, and often preferred simply being alone or with trusted companions. As the man turned to him, he shot Patton a look. "Oh, would you? It would greatly help." 

"I would be happy to,” Logan answered awkwardly, taking the pen and signing the offered parchment with his neat scrawl. 

The man grinned. “Thank you, Your Highness! With your signature, perhaps King Declan will be forced to listen to us!” He turned and darted back into the crowd before the guards could force him away. 

Patton had already begun across the room again, into the opposite corridor. Logan scrambled to catch up. “Declan won’t be pleased with you,” Patton stated. “That was a bold thing you did back there." 

Logan saw no need to reply, and said nothing.

After a moment, Patton continued. "You’ve been making real progress lately, but your opponents won’t always go easy on you, and I won’t always be there. Today, I want you to fight me like your life depends on it, because someday, it might." 

They reached the training room and Patton immediately grabbed a sword off the racks. He nodded toward the rack on the opposite wall, letting Logan choose his own sword, as opposed to tossing him one as he usually did. Logan selected a standard blade, heavy enough to raise sizable bruises but not too heavy that he couldn’t wield it. 

Patton took his position on the floor, and Logan copied him effortlessly. Years of practice coalesced into this one moment. Logan felt his mind shift to what Patton called his ‘battle mode.’ His sensory input seemed to heighten, allowing him to easily predict which way a sword or axe might swing. His body grew tense enough to spring easily out of the way, but still loose enough to allow ease of movement. Patton had told him once, when he was young and still learning how to do it, that his father had been able to do the same thing during a battle. 

Logan would never tell anyone that hearing that almost made him cry. And certainly not that it had made him imagine what it would be like to be a Hero like his father. 

Though Patton always let Logan strike first, apparently he felt today should be a challenge. Logan barely had time to block his first attack. "Logan!” Patton always changed when they trained: he became stern, strict, the soldier he used to be. “Think on your feet!" 

The next attack was easier to dodge, but Logan already knew what would happen. Patton knew Logan’s defense was sorely lacking. If he didn’t turn this match around, get on the offensive, he would lose. 

When Patton next came at him, he was ready. He ducked and then lashed out, catching Patton across the knees. He sprung back and lunged again, striking Logan in the ribs, but not before Logan dealt a blow to his shoulder. The fight levelled out, neither having the upper hand.

Logan couldn’t have said how long the fighting wore on, only that he rapidly tired out. Finally, it seemed the end of the match was near. Patton was relentless, and Logan was losing focus. 

Then, right as Patton moved to strike the final blow, something peculiar happened. Logan blinked, and everything became crystal clear. He knew, without any doubt, what Patton was about to do. He knew, also, that he could block it. 

He moved almost faster than his eyes could process. Patton, perhaps sensing the shift, changed in an instant from offense to defense. Logan’s blade met his with a deafening crack, and Patton’s sword hit the tile. 

"My gods,” Patton wheezed. He held something out for Logan to examine. It was the hilt of his sword. “You only went and broke it! Am I good or what?" 

Logan was astounded. It was a clean break. "I really did that?” He asked. 

Patton grinned. “Your father would be proud. Listen-" 

The door to the room burst open, revealing a panicked Elliot. "Patton! Come quickly! You need to see this!" 

Patton dropped the hilt and took off running, leaving Logan to chase after them. The three raced to the Great Hall, where Elliot led them to a window. Patton swore. "They’re rioting. This isn’t good.” He put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Stay here. I need to find your brother." 

He turned swiftly and hurried up the stairs. Elliot and Logan shared a glance. "We can’t sit and do nothing. Come on!” Elliot grabbed Logan’s hand and tugged him toward the staircase. 

Figuring out where Patton and Declan would be was not hard. Declan spent most of his time in the War Room anymore. They rushed for the extravagant sitting room that was positioned in front of the War Room. 

Elliot dropped Logan’s hand and crept over to the door, looking in through the lock. He gestured Logan over. “Quickly! You can see them!” Logan crouched next to Elliot and peered into the room. 

“There’s no need for this,” Patton was saying. Declan stood off to the side, facing his map. Logan flinched at the sight of the massive scar on his face, as he always did. Every time he saw it, he wondered what had happened on the excursion that caused it, why Declan didn’t travel anymore. Why he was so cruel now. 

“You will not tell me what to do,” Declan responded emotionlessly. He gestured some of his elite guard to him. “Start with the ringleaders. If that doesn’t work, continue into the crowd.”

Patton took a step forward. “Declan, please, you don’t need to-” He was cut off as a guard smashed a rifle into the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. 

“Patton!” Elliot breathed. He saw Logan straightened and reach for the handle. “Logan, wait-" 

All conversation halted as Logan burst into the War Room. Declan looked surprised for an instant. "What are you doing here? The War Room is no place for a child. Leave. Now." 

Logan clenched his hands into fists. "No. You can’t kill all those people." 

Declan raised an eyebrow. "You presume to tell me what I can and can’t do? Perhaps you think you should be making the decisions. Very well, let us see how you do.” He waved a hand, and Logan and Elliot were surrounded by guarda. “You are no longer a child, and it is time I stopped treating you as such. Take my brother and his friend to the throne room." 

-

"Move it!” One of the guards snapped. Elliot stumbled as he tried to move faster, and the guard hit him in the back with the butt of his rifle. Elliot fell to the floor. 

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Logan ordered. He helped Elliot to his feet, holding fast to his hand as they approached the steps leading up to the throne. 

Declan sat upon it, looking alarmingly bored. To his right, Logan saw a small group of people. Patton stood at Declan’s left hand. “Well, brother. You want to make decisions for the kingdom. Here before you stand the leaders of the violent mob. I will offer you a choice. Them, or this boy." 

Logan looked behind him as a guard yanked Elliot away from him. "What? I can’t do that, I won’t!" 

Patton stepped forward. "Your Majesty, I hardly think-” Declan held up his hand. Patton stopped instantly. 

“If you cannot decide, I will.” Declan stood and made his way to the stop of the steps. “They will 

 be executed." 

The room around Logan swayed every so slightly as he looked back and forth between Elliot and the peasants. Elliot locked eyes with him. "Logan, choose me. I couldn’t live with myself if you let them die. Please, it has to be me." 

Patton and Declan were both watching him carefully. Patton looked furious, Declan curious. Logan’s world was blurry and his cheeks were damp. 

In an instant, he made one of the hardest decisions in his life. 

He crossed the room to Elliot and grabbed him by the hands. "I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I have no choice.” Elliot’s eyes spoke a thousand words as he shrugged the guard away and wrapped Logan in a fierce hug. 

“I love you,” Elliot muttered. He pulled away and kissed Logan gently, then the guard grabbed his arm and jerked him back. Logan forced himself to stay still, though he longed to fight. He knew Elliot would suffer more if he fought. 

Once Elliot was gone, Logan turned back to his brother. The mob leaders were crying and hugging each other, relieved to be alive. Logan paid them no attention. “I will never forgive you for this,” he hissed. 

“Good,” Declan said. “Then you will never forget it.” He snapped his fingers, and two of his personal guard appeared. “Take my brother to his room." 

-

Hours later, the dusty purple of twilight snuck through Logan’s window, illuminating Cat curled up on his bed. Logan leaned against the windowsill, hands curled into fists. He had been attempting to rationalize why his brother would do such a thing, but so far had found nothing. “How could he make anyone choose between two evils like that?”

Virgil stood across the room, stoking the fire. “You musn’t blame yourself, Logan,” he said. “I don’t think any of us realized just how far he’d fallen into madness.” 

Logan clicked his tongue indifferently. Cat perked his head up, then got up and trotted over to his master, headbutting his side. Logan glanced down at his childhood companion. This dog had been Declan’s once, too. The boys had spent hours playing with him, bathing him, arguing over him. Then, just like today, Declan had become careless over the creature’s fate. Logan became his sole caretaker.

Staring at his dog, he came to a decision, one that scared and excited him. Looking back toward the window, he spoke to the night sky. “I can’t stay here,” he announced. 

The doors to his bedroom flung open, hitting the walls with loud cracks. Logan spun around, wondering if the very wind had carried his treason to Declan’s ear. Patton stared back at him, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked to Virgil, who stood brandishing a fire poker. “You’re right,” he told them. “That’s why we’re leaving. Tonight.” 

“Leaving?” Logan repeated. 

Virgil set the poker down and hurried over toward Logan’s wardrobe. “Very good, I shall pack some essentials,” he muttered. Cat followed him, sniffing at the butler’s feet. 

Patton waved a hand. “There’s no time. We take nothing.” He spun on his heel and began to walk back out the door. 

Logan and Virgil shared a look, then Logan trailed after him. He dimly registered Virgil asking, “Not even pajamas?” 

Patton led them down the stairs and into the garden, occasionally stopping to look for guards. He spoke as they walked. “I should have taken you away sooner. Today shouldn’t have happened. Albion needs nothing less than a revolution.” His treacherous words seemed to echo through the deserted gardens. It struck Logan that just this morning, it had been a dull but happy place. Now, in the dark of a moonless night, it seemed haunted and dangerous. 

“Where are we going?” Logan asked. The gardens may have been pretty, but there was nowhere to go unless they planned to fling themselves off the cliff. “I thought you said we were leaving the castle.” 

Patton nodded. “We are, but there’s something we must do first.” He came to a halt in front of the old mausoleum. A crest Logan had never noticed before was inscribed in the stone above the door. “I promised your father I would bring you here when you were old enough.” 

Logan inched his way past the others, both of whom seemed lost in memories, and descended the steps leading to the door, trying to get a closer look at the mark. He had never seen the crest before, yet it tugged at something in the back of his mind, as if he should know what it meant. It was like staring at someone who claimed they were friends, but he had never met them before. “Patton?” He said finally. 

Patton blinked rapidly, coming back to himself. He followed Logan down the stairs and produced a key. As he put it in the door, he spoke, voice wistful. “It’s time we paid our respects to Albion’s last Hero.” 

-

The door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Virgil glanced behind them as Patton took the lead. The steps into the crypt were slippery. Logan had to grab onto Patton’s arm at one point, else he would have fallen. The steps evened out into a cracked, crumbling room lit at the far end by torches. Logan’s breath caught. Despite only being, at most, one or two hundred years old, the crypt was in ruins, pillars toppled and the floor cracked. 

"Magnificent, isn’t it?” Patton asked. Logan couldn’t understand why he thought the desecrated tomb was grand. “Come, your father is this way.” He gently steered Logan toward the far end of the room. As his eyes adjusted, he began to see what Patton had obviously been referring to. The pillars that had not been destroyed had intricate carvings of animals and strange runes. The floor tiles were rimmed with gold. And right before his eyes were two smooth stone tombs. On the other side of the tombs, a massive golden statue of a hooded man watched them, hands clasped over his chest. Across the tombs from the statue, at the top of the steps, lay a massive circle with that same symbol from atop the door.

Virgil moved up to the stone on the left; Patton took the right. Logan stood behind them, confused. When both of his friends bowed to the tombs, he realized this was their tribute. He let instinct guide him, stepping between the tombs and reaching out. His fingers grazed both of them as he somberly said a silent goodbye to his home. 

“Virgil,” Patton said quietly. “It’s time.” Logan looked up to see his mentor had moved. Now he knelt by the wall next to the statue. Virgil quickly copied him. “I regret not bringing you here sooner, but I worried you weren’t strong enough.” These words were directed at Logan. 

“Strong enough for what?” Logan asked. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. 

“The night your father died, he made me promise I would bring you here when you were old enough, strong enough.” Patton nodded his head at Virgil. In unison, they pushed the wall. Twin stones moved inward. 

A hideous creaking noise split the air as the statue’s clasped hands began to lower, rusty chains guiding them down. When the chains pulled taut, they did so in such a violent manner Logan worried they would snap. Nestled in the statue’s palms, directly in front of him, lay a golden circle with that odd symbol inscribed on it in a strange blue hue. “It’s that symbol again,” Logan muttered. 

“Ah, so you’ve been noticing them. This is your father’s most treasured possession: the Guild Seal. It chooses only those who are strong enough to be Heroes. Those with the potential to become legends. Take it.” Patton moved around the tomb to stand by him, not stepping on the Seal on the floor. 

Logan turned to the Guild Seal. It was so beautiful he didn’t want to touch it, lest he risk dirtying it with his fingers. Still, something in him beckoned him to pick it up. He reached out and carefully listed it from the outstretched hands. 

Nothing happened. 

Logan felt a peculiar sense of disappointment. Virgil clicked his tongue, and Patton swore quietly. “Perhaps he’s not ready, Patton,” Virgil whispered. 

Patton shook his head fiercely. “I was sure-” he began. 

He cut off as the Guild Seal began to glow, dim at first, then so bright Logan almost couldn’t look at it. He squinted and turned his head away slightly as Virgil shouted in surprise and Patton whooped. 

The light left him momentarily blinded. The weight in his hands disappeared. He dropped to his knees and cast his arms about, searching for the Guild Seal he was sure he had dropped. As his vision began to clear, he registered other things: he stood on a Seal identical to the one in the mausoleum. The air smelled like dirt and water. There was a playful breeze mussing his hair. The light that had blinded him did not look like torchlight. 

“The Guild Seal is in a safe place. You need not worry.” Logan looked up, wincing slightly as the light stabbed his eyes again. Several feet ahead of him, in front of a gate flanked by squat stone pillars, stood a hooded man. The same man as the statue in his parents’ mausoleum. Logan couldn’t see his face. 

Embarrassed, he got to his feet. The grass he had been combing through was green and lush, and was in a wide strip around him. If he followed the line of grass, it wound towards a distant building that he thought might be Bowerstone Castle. 

With a start, he realized the grass strip was the only ground he could see. A chilling thought raced through him, and he cautiously approached the edge of the grass. Surrounding the path on all sides was water, rippling in the wind. He stepped back, feeling vaguely, oddly seasick. 

The hooded figure waited patiently while he surveyed his surroundings, only speaking again as he approached. “You have done well to make it this far, Logan,” he said. His voice still sounded faintly echoey, despite Logan standing directly in front of him. 

“Who are you?” Logan asked. “What is this place?" 

The hooded man shifted his head slightly, and Logan realized he was blind. "I am Thomas, the Seer of the Spire. This is the path you were born to take. At the end is the kingdom you were born to rule.” He swept out an arm. Logan looked past him and saw several gates spanning the length of the grass, each flanked by similar stone pillars. Beyond the gate they stood in front of, a single chest sat in the grass. 

“What do you mean, the path I was born to take?” Logan demanded. “I do not take orders." 

Thomas turned to each of the pillars in turn, almost as if he could see them. "Of course not,” he mused. “You have been brought here because, like your father, you can touch the Guild Seal. Only a Hero can do so.” He let Logan react appropriately before moving on. “A Hero is exactly what Albion needs now. Your brother is leading the kingdom down a path of destruction and ruin, and none can oppose him. None but you." 

"You’re asking me to usurp my brother?” Logan asked. “He would have me executed for such treason." 

"It will be a difficult path,” Thomas answered. “But it must be done. With Declan on the throne, Albion will fall. You are the only one who can stop him. You already have two followers: Virgil,” a translucent image of his butler appeared to his left, “who would follow you to the ends of the earth, and Sir Patton Bron,” his faithful mentor appeared to his right, “who will be your greatest ally. They are good men, but even they will not be enough. You will need the people of Albion standing behind you. You will need an army."  

Logan looked at the two images of his closest confidants, and felt a pang in his chest. "How am I supposed to raise an army? I am the second son; nobody would dare disobey Declan,” he insisted. 

Thomas gestured to the gate behind him. “Regardless of your supposed heritage, you are meant to rule. You have already taken the first step in this journey. Step through the gate and claim your reward.”

Logan could never remember if he blinked, but next he knew Thomas was gone. The gate in front of him swung open silently, the first of what promised to be a great many. 

The chest was ornate, edged in swirling gold designs that culminated in a small Guild Seal where a lock would be. Logan pushed the chest lid experimentally. When it began to open, he lifted the lid the rest of the way. 

Inside lay a glove without fingers, made from a thick, dark brown leather. The back of the glove had a half-sphere made from crystal or glass. Loan picked it up carefully. The leather felt worn and surprisingly warm. Without hesitation, he pulled it into his right hand. 

It fit perfectly. 

“This gauntlet will help you channel the magic within you. Use it on the Seal by the tomb, and the way out of the castle will open for you.” Logan whirled. Thomas stood behind him, seemingly appearing from nowhere. “Now you must take your leave. You will return here once you have gathered enough followers to unlock the next gate. Virgil and Patton will lead wherever you follow. With luck, the rest of Albion will one day do the same.” Logan glanced down at the gauntlet. When he looked up, Thomas was gone again.

Loan spent a solid minute or two flexing his fingers and otherwise fiddling with the gauntlet before he noticed the Portal standing in front of the next gate. He approached it and, after a glance behind him at the strange place he was leaving, stepped through. 

The shock of finding himself back in the mausoleum, standing on the Seal nonetheless, made him wobbly. Virgil and Patton stood in front of him and saw him lose his balance. 

“Logan, are you alright? Do you feel any different?” Patton asked. 

Logan shrugged, shaken from his encounter. “I-I don’t know.”

Virgil inhaled as Logan’s hands lifted. “Patton, look,” he said. 

Patton took one look at the gauntlet on Logan’s hand and grinned. “By the gods, when did that get there?” He stepped forward and bent down to look at it. His eyes glinted in such a way that Logan was certain he knew what it was for. Sure enough, Patton said, “Try casting a spell. It’s supposed to be our only way out of here." 

Virgil grimaced. "You could have mentioned that sooner, Patton." 

"And spoil the surprise?" 

Logan just sighed heavily, then looked down at the gauntlet on his hand. The idea of being trapped didn’t appeal to him; he could already sense the air going sour. That alone gave him the courage to hold his hand out in front of him and focus. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was focusing on, but it seemed to matter little; several seconds passed before he felt the gauntlet grow warm, almost hot. A fire bloomed on his hand and he jerked away reflexively, sending it to the floor. The Guild Seal he stood on began to glow. 

As Patton laughed in amazement, the floor between the tombs began to slide open, parting to reveal a hidden staircase leading under the statue. "Good heavens, you did it! You really 

 a Hero!” Patton cried. 

“

 never doubted you for a second,” Virgil muttered, glaring at Patton briefly. Logan caught a small grin on his face as Patton sputtered to correct himself. 

“Neither did I,” he swore, “but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing, Virgil. Let’s carry on, it won’t be long before Declan realizes we’re gone. If he’s smart, this is the first place he’ll look." 

Logan wondered, as they descended the staircase and he heard it shut behind them, if Declan had known he was a Hero. If he had, why hadn’t he tried to have him killed? Logan hated to think about things like that, but logically speaking, a ruler would be better off if they disposed of opposition early on. Especially opposition as dangerous as the Heroes of old supposedly were. 

When he voiced his concerns, Virgil slowed to match his pace and put a hand on his shoulder. "You must remember, your brother wasn’t always a tyrant. He did and does love you, in his own twisted way. That’s not to say we aren’t doing the right thing by leaving, but I doubt he could bring himself to harm you." 

"Either way, soon it won’t matter,” Patton called back. His voice echoed in the narrow tunnel. “We just have to get out of here and we can get to work. Armies don’t build themselves, you know.” He had to turn sideways at one point to avoid colliding with the walls, and visibly shuddered. “Blast, couldn’t your father have made this tunnel a little wider? There’s nothing around down here except dirt. It’s dark here, too." 

Logan and Virgil shared a glance, but neither replied. Patton kept muttering to himself as the tunnel evened out, a dim light filtering from what appeared to be the exit. The light was far too bright to be starshine, but too dark to be sunlight. 

The trio came through the hole, for that is what it was, and stopped, staring around in awe. They had come into a massive cavern, several hundred feet wide and high. They stood atop a cliff, overlooking a serene lake that stretched half the chasm. Patton sighed in relief. "That’s better,” he said. “This is what a proper royal escape system ought to look like!" 

Virgil rolled his eyes and left the other two to scramble after him as he began to walk along the path again. "I dread asking, but what exactly is our plan?” He directed the question at Patton.

“Simple. We need to stop Declan." 

Logan flexed his fingers again. "How am I supposed to do that? Even if I am a Hero, I’m only one person, and the second born at that." 

Patton turned to look at him. "Which is why we need to find allies. Once the people of Albion know what you are, what you can do, many will follow you, and many will be willing to fight. This kingdom needs nothing less than a revolution, and the people know it." 

Up ahead, Virgil came to a halt and yelled, "Bats! Take cover!” He crouched and put his hands over his head. 

Logan looked up to see a swarm of the little creatures rushing at them. He assumed they were merely frightened, until one of them scratched his face with its claws. On impulse, he shoved his arm in front of him, surprising himself when a fireball shot out of the gauntlet, killing the offending little beast. 

“Your first real attack,” Patton cried, drawing his sword. “Well, young Hero, let’s see what you can do!” He began to swing at the horde of bats surrounding him.

Fireball after fireball, Logan brought the creatures down. It seemed the attack went on for ages, when in reality it was barely a minute. Once the bats realized they were being slaughtered, many of them fled, flying too high to be caught and soaring away behind them. Patton helped Virgil straighten, checking him for injuries.

“I hope those repugnant, dirty little beasts are the worst we’ll find in here,” Virgil muttered, shaking away Patton’s searching hands. “I can’t imagine how they got here to begin with, but I don’t think your father would stock his escape route with hobs and skeletons and things of that sort." 

Patton beckoned, and they continued on, though Logan noted he kept his sword out. The thought did not bother him; he knew that Patton, being a former war hero as he was, liked to be prepared. 

The group made their way through the cavern, winding ever deeper into the earth. Several times, they had to fend off more bats, and every time Patton would tend to Virgil afterwards. It dawned on Logan, the third time he witnessed this, that Virgil was obviously scared of bats, and that he and Patton must be old friends. He realized with a start that he didn’t know as much about them as he thought he had. The two bantered easily, in a way that reminded him of the nobles he’d seen flirting at court. 

Eventually, they came upon a massive half tube laid into the ground, one that stank heavily. "Might want to cover your noses,” Patton said. “This is Bowerstone’s sewers." 

Virgil coughed. "I daresay we must be under Bowerstone Industrial; what an unusual stench." 

Patton inclined his head. "You’re probably right. Not the safest place for us right now, but once we reach the surface we can find a way out of the city." 

Logan, glancing about them, figured it would not be so simple. And when they came into another huge room with no exit, he knew he was right. 

The cavern continued on into the distance, though the platform they stood on ended several yards ahead, railing preventing accidental falls. Both sides of the platform were covered by dozens of lit candles, casting a soft glow on the space. At the end was a small raised circle with another Guild Seal on it. 

"It’s a dead end!” Virgil groaned. 

Patton shook his head. “Not quite. I believe this is a cullis gate. Heroes used to use them for transportation." 

Virgil’s eyes widened. "I thought all of the cullis gates were gone." 

"It would appear not. Your father must have put this one here in case he ever needed to use it.” Patton looked out at the cavern. “This must be the way out." 

Virgil looked down at the floor. "The Guild Seal is on it. Do you suppose it’s activated the same way as the one before?" 

Patton shrugged. "Only one way to find out. Logan, you know what to do." 

He did. He climbed onto the raised surface. With less than a thought, he sent a ring of fire into the ground around him. He heard a faint ringing noise, then darkness covered his vision. 

When he began to be able to see again, he realized they had been transported. They now stood in a circular room. Across from him, several closed doors led to other areas. Off to one side stood a shelf built into the wall, with a dog bed next to it. Directly in front of him was a map table similar to the one in the War Room at the castle. Behind him, a tiny raised platform contained another in-ground Guild Seal. 

Patton and Virgil were at either side of him. Patton looked wary, while poor Virgil had fallen over and now lay on the ground to his right. 

"What is this place?” Logan asked. 

Patton took a few steps forward. “You know, it must be… it’s your father’s Sanctuary. He spoke of it often, but I never thought it was a real place.” He walked over to the map table and picked up a book. “Virgil… this book is addressed to you." 

Virgil, who had managed to sit up, now struggled to his feet. "To me? That’s not possible." 

"It has your name on it. He must have left it here for you.” Patton passed him the book, and he flipped through it. 

“It appears to be a guide book, telling us how to use the Sanctuary. According to the book, this table functions as a teleporter. Simply select where you want to go and the map will take you there, provided you’ve been there before. How astonishing.” Virgil kept reading, lost to the world as he took in how this new location could help them. 

“Where are we supposed to go now?” Logan asked. He ran a hand over the fake ocean on the map, watching how the torchlight made the water appear to ripple. 

“The Dweller mountains,” Patton said. “I’ll explain on the way. Virgil, are you staying?" 

Virgil looked up from his book and nodded. "Yes, that would probably be best. I’ll best be able to assist you both here. I’m no warrior.” He looked surprised when Patton crossed the table and gave him a hug, but did his best to accommodate. Logan thought it looked ridiculous. 

“Alright,” Patton announced finally, pulling away. “Logan, take us to the mountains, if you will." 

Logan stepped around the pair and gazed down at the mountains, wondering how the map would know where to send them. Upon closer examination, he noticed a small platform built into the mountains with a tent on it. It looked like a spring-loaded button. Very carefully, because he did not want to break anything, he tried to press down on it. 

It gave way with a satisfying click, and Logan saw swirls of bright light appear around himself, Cat, and Patton. Cat, who had settled on the dog bed, barked in alarm as his master disappeared, then again as he did, too. 

Before his vision cleared and the ringing in his ears stopped, Logan was aware of the bitter cold. The wind was blowing around him, lending itself to the chill seeping into his bones, but that was not the source. As the dark spots began to clear, he saw Cat digging through a pile of snow while Patton watched on in amusement. Logan stepped off of the Seal he was standing on and joined his companions. “Is it always so cold here?”

Patton said, “We’ll get you some proper attire once we reach their village. Come on.” 

The trio set off at a brisk pace down the mountainside. While they walked, Patton kept speaking. “The Dwellers have lived in these mountains for generations. They are a noble people. And they hate Declan’s guts.” 

“How are we supposed to convince them to help us?” Logan asked. Cat pushed his head into a snowbank nearby. 

“Sabine is a proud old sod,” Patton admitted, “but I think I can convince him, if it means getting your brother off of the throne.” 

The little path down the mountain led them to a quiet little nook between two slopes. At the far end, a wall of pointy tree trunks barricaded a large tent. Logan could see campfires set up here and there. The camp’s inhabitants, no doubt the Dwellers, were pale and thin. Many simply sat or knelt in the snow, too tired or hungry to do much else. The children that ran about were scrawny, their faces unusually wary for their ages. 

The Dwellers all stopped what they were doing and stared at them as Patton led Logan up to the tree wall. Two men stood outside, and upon seeing Patton, they straightened. Patton inclined his head, then turned to Logan. "It’s probably best if I talk to Sabine alone, first. He won’t take kindly to royalty tromping around if I don’t explain before-hand. Here.“ Patton fished out a small pouch of coins and passed it to Logan. “There’s 500 gold pieces un here. Go buy yourself a new outfit,” he instructed. “I’m sure someone around here will be willing to take that coin off your hand. Meet me back up here once you’ve spoken to the Dweller some.” Patton turned and spoke a few quiet words to the men at the gate, then disappeared between them, leaving Logan alone. 

Logan turned around and walked back down the hill, occasionally meeting the eyes of the Dwellers he walked past. Toward the center of the encampment he spotted a caravan with a few things on display. Bottles of potions lined one side of the caravan, while a mannequin stood opposite. On the mannequin were a bandanna, vest, gloves, pants, and boots, all covered in fur. Logan approached the man standing nearby. “Excuse me,” he said. “How much for the clothing?” 

The Dweller looked up, eyes widening as he took in Logan’s attire. "100 gold pieces, sir.” 

Logan opened his pouch and silently counted out the coins, handing them over without hesitation. “Here you are,” he said. The man took the coins, then pulled the clothes off of the mannequin and pointed Logan toward a little room in the back where he could change. As he folded his old clothes up, he heard the man talking and the clink of coins passing hands. He came out to see the man handing the money out to various children, with only a small pile set aside for himself. The children looked ecstatic, skipping around and shouting. Seeing how happy they were about even such small amounts was Logan’s first hint that the people outside of Bowerstone Castle had been suffering more than he had ever been told. 

He quietly slipped out of the tent, noticing more eyes on him. Several kids ran past, genuinely happy now, finally looking as young as they truly were. One child, he noticed, came to a stop in front of a woman sitting on the ground. After what was clearly a great internal struggle, the little girl leaned down and pressed the coins she had into the woman’s hand and then ran off. The woman looked after her like she might cry. 

Without stopping to think, Logan began moving through the camp, rounding up the children he saw. Many were cautious about approaching him, but eventually he had a tight knot around him. He crouched down and pulled out his money pouch, noting the way the children watched it. He quickly separated what was left in the pouch between the children, explaining to them what he wanted them to do. As they nodded and began to split off, he put a finger to his lips to signal silence. Once the children had dispersed, he stood again and made the trek back up the hill to the fence. 

Sir Patton stood outside waiting for him. As Logan came up to him, a boy sprinted by and disappeared through the gates, shouting something unintelligible. Patton grinned at his appearance. “The scruffy look suits you,” he said. “Come on, Sabine wants to speak with you. He’s very blunt, but he means no offense.” 

Inside the wall was a group of caravans in a loose circle. Many men and women stood near them, talking in hushed tones. The young boy who had run past them stood near an enormous man. Logan and Patton approached him, but he remained silent. 

“Out of the way, Boulder, I can’t see a thing.” 

The giant man took several steps to the right, revealing a short old man sitting on a high-backed wooden chair resembling a throne. The boy whispered something to the old man and then hurried off to one of the groups of adults near the edge of the wall. The old man eyed Logan suspiciously. “So, a noble has come to the Dwellers seeking aid. A Prince, no less. Sir Patton claims you are a Hero. Don’t much look the part, do you?” 

“Sabine!” Patton warned. “Hero or not, this is Prince Logan you speak of.”

Logan held up a hand. “It’s alright, Patton,” he said. He turned his gaze to Sabine. “We’re planning a revolution. We need the help of you and your people.” 

Sabine laughed. “Refreshingly honest for a royal. Whether you are a Hero or not remains to be seen. Even if I wanted to aid you, I cannot. My people are on the edge of starvation, and what hunters we have been able to send hunting often do not return. Your brother has pulled even more of my men to fight.” He crossed his arms and leaned forward, openly staring at Logan. “Though the children report to me that you gave them coin to pass out to my people, and a decent amount of it. I thank you for that.”

Patton looked over at him in surprise. Logan understood why; normally, he would not simply give away money on a whim like that. But Logan knew now that he had never truly seen the poverty the people were plagued by. 

Waving a hand, Sabine stood and limped over to them. “That action alone has made me reconsider, know that. I will lend you assistance, on three conditions. First, you must rid the valley of the mercenaries who plague us and steal our game. Second, you must convince the people of Brightwall Village to send us supplies. Third, you must prove you are a Hero. This is easily done; in Brightwall there is a treasure that supposedly only a Hero like your father could reach. Bring it to me. Accomplish all of these tasks, and the Dwellers will join your revolution.” He reached out and clapped Logan on the arm, then turned and disappeared into one of the caravans, effectively ending the conversation. 

Logan and Patton left the walled area of camp and trekked back down the hill. “I know the relic he was talking about,” Patton mentioned. “Your father is the one who put it there. It’s in a cavern under the library in Brightwall. The librarian there, Sam, was quite close with your father; he should let you go down. But first-” Patton turned and grabbed Logan’s shoulders, “-you need to take care of those mercenaries. You can’t waltz in looking like that, and you don’t have a weapon.”

“I may be able to help as far as weapons.” Logan looked around, but saw no one. “This is Virgil, sir. It would appear I can speak to you through the Guild Seal.” 

“Virgil?” Logan repeated. 

He heard a sigh. “Obviously. If you would be so kind as to return to the Sanctuary, I’ve found some things that may be able to help. Simply use your magic to will your way back, and you should appear in front of me. Or so the book claims, and it hasn’t proven wrong yet.” 

Patton was watching him, though not quizzically, which led Logan to the assumption that he’d seen his father communicate through the Seal before. “Go,” Patton said. “Get a weapon, then meet me at the tavern in Brightwall. I’ll try to come up with a plan while I wait.”

Logan closed his eyes and focused, picturing the Sanctuary and Virgil in his head. For a moment, he got so unbearably dizzy he feared he would fall over. When he opened his eyes, he stood in the Sanctuary.

“Ah, hello,” Virgil greeted him. “The dizziness will wear off momentarily, I think. If you’ll follow me, your father has left some rather amazing gifts for you in one of the rooms.” Virgil skirted around the map and climbed the stairs leading to the second room from the left. The symbol over the door was a sword and a rifle crossed over each other; an armory.

Logan let his vision return to normal before following him. The room he came into was still rather dusty in the corners, but what drew his attention was the small assortment of weapons. Three sets of mannequins lay in front of him, one in front and one to either side. The mannequins on either side were posed kneeling, offering their weapons to him. The ones in front of him were similarly kneeling, but these offered only a single hand to him. Logan knew instinctively these mannequins were for gauntlets. 

Virgil stood by the mannequins to his left, waiting. Of the four that occupied the alcove, two held weapons; one a sword and one a massive hammer. Logan came over to inspect them, finding himself almost immediately discarding the hammer in favor of the sword. “These were your father’s weapons, these and the guns over there. Apparently, they change over time, depending on how you use them. Extraordinary, isn’t it?” Logan pulled the sheath from the mannequin’s waist, fixed it onto his belt, then sheathed the sword at his hip. 

The guns were a more difficult choice. On the one hand, rifles were more long-distance and held more ammunition, though they were slower and took more time to reload. Pistols took less reload time and were faster, but held less ammo and required enemies to be closer. In the end, he chose the pistol, only because he knew he would be in close quarters in the mercenary encampment. 

"Be careful, Logan,” Virgil bade him earnestly. “Mercenaries are brutes. They will kill you if you don’t watch yourself." 

Logan tucked the pistol into its holster on his other hip. "You worry too much, Virgil,” he told him. “I’ve got Cat with me. I will be fine." 

Virgil just shook his head in clear exasperation. "Regardless,” he said. “At least try not to get blown to bits. That would look bad on my resume." 

"Did you just make a joke?”

“No one will ever believe you.” Virgil clapped him on the shoulder. “Go on, now. Sir Patton is undoubtedly waiting for you now.”

-

The trip to Brightwall Village was uneventful, for the most part. Logan discovered, by accident, that Cat was uncannily good at sniffing out buried items and treasures. He ought not have been surprised; Cat’s sire had been a mangy stray who was also very keen about treasure. 

The only real challenge that awaited man and dog on the journey was the wolves. The damned things lurked the mountains and the valley below, haunting the trees much like the mercenaries did. Luckily for Logan, the sword Virgil had provided from the armory was more than adequate in dispatching them, and his magic and Cat succeeded on the rare occasions he chose not to use the blade. 

Brightwall Village itself was a quaint little town surrounded by a very high wall and secluded by a river and bridge. Ever the strategist, Logan thought the set up was excellent for defense, which was likely why the town hadn’t seen the same harassment the Dweller camp had. After Cat sniffed around and deemed the village safe, Logan made his way in. 

Stalls lined the far end of the square, near the river. To his right lay the tavern and an odd little shop the sign announced was a pawn shop. Between the two lay a little dirt path leading off somewhere. To his left lay a blacksmith and more stalls, as well as a bridge leading to the rest of town. Cat seemed eager to explore, but Logan wrestled the beast over toward the tavern, where Sir Patton waited by the stairs leading to the tavern’s balcony. 

“There you are,” Patton said. “I was beginning to think the wolves had gotten you.”

Logan held out his right arm, showing his mentor two shallow half-moons from his first encounter with the wolves. “They almost did. Cat had to tear one off of me.”

“It brings me joy to know you two can handle your own for the most part. Now, your priority at the moment is getting the relic Sabine spoke of. The library is across the bridge at the top of the hill, it’s the biggest building in the village. There should be a fellow there by the name of Samuel. He knew your father. Tell him who you are and he’ll get you under the library.” Patton nodded behind him. “Meet me up there when you’ve got it. I’m going to try to figure out a way to convince these people to send supplies to the Dwellers." 

Logan processed the information Patton had given him, then turned and set off at a brisk pace across the village. He knew the people who stared at him were looking at his outfit, but he began to fear that one of them would recognize his face. He knew for a fact Declan wouldn’t dare put him on any posters; that would involve admitting he had failed to keep his younger brother in check. However, he also knew that these people would know his face, simply because he was their prince. 

The Brightwall Academy and Library was indeed the largest structure in this village, and therefore easy to locate. A sign on one of the massive front doors declared the place had been shut down. Logan vaguely remembered hearing Declan mention shutting down the Academy to cut costs, but it had never fully settled in that his brother had closed the closest thing this part of the kingdom had to a school. 

He pushed open the heavy wooden door and slipped inside, letting it fall shut behind him. To its credit, the door barely made a sound as it settled against the frame once more. He followed the long hallway until he came out into a large main room. An older man stood behind a counter, absentmindedly flipping through a book. From here, the Academy split off on each side, and then behind the counter. Cat wandered off to the left.

The man sounded utterly bored when he spoke. "The Academy is closed. We do not sell feed, alcohol, or anything else,” he droned. 

Logan cleared his throat politely. “Ahem." 

The man looked up and his eyes widened in astonishment. "By the heavens, an actual visitor,” he breathed. He gently shut the book and slid it to the side. “I am afraid that what I said is quite true, though. King Declan closed this place down many years ago. I’m a glorified janitor these days. But, I’m rambling. Er, how can I help you?" 

"I was told the old King has a relic somewhere under the library,” Logan said bluntly. “I need to get to it.” Cat barked once wherever he had gone, then came trotting back to his master with a book. Logan took it from him and set it down before Samuel (for that must be who this man was) could see. 

Samuel blinked, then shook his head. Not denying Logan, merely confused. “Not many know the King built a Reliquary below the Academy,” he admitted. He leaned forward, scrutinizing Logan carefully. “Who are you, sir?" 

Logan reached into his pack and carefully removed the Guild Seal, holding it out for Samuel to see. "My name is Logan. I’m his son,” he announced. The Seal glowed softly in his hands. 

“My goodness! I haven’t seen the Guild Seal in many years.” Samuel reached out to it, as if to touch it, then pulled his hand back. “If you’ll follow me, Your Highness, I’ll take you to the door.” He hurried out from behind the counter and unlocked the door at the back of the room. Logan skirted the counter and trailed after him, listening to him talk. “Your father built this place, you know. He was a great man, a kind and generous ruler to his people. I needn’t say the whole kingdom mourned when he passed.” He turned to the right and unlocked another door. “I greatly miss speaking with him when he came by for tea. I don’t suppose anyone is traveling with you?” 

Logan tucked the Seal under his arm as they came up to a massive double door. It was intricately crafted, with gears locked in a complicated pattern leading to an indentation in the center of the doors. He had a feeling he knew what went into the hole. “Sir Patton Bron is with me, actually. He waits in the tavern for me, if you wish to speak with him.” 

Samuel turned to face him, nodding gratefully. “Perhaps I will later,” he said. “I will close the Academy for the day, to lessen the chance of your being interrupted. But I can’t leave my post, and I can’t keep out the guards if they decide to look around.” 

“I appreciate it. Thank you, Samuel.” 

Samuel nodded again, then turned and hurried off, muttering under his breath about Patton. Logan turned to the door and let the Seal slide down his arm and into his hand. He positioned it the way he believed to be face up, then pushed it into the door. The old gears began to turn immediately, both doors swinging open with a loud screech the hurt his ears and made Cat whine and turn in circles. 

Having no room for delay, Logan pulled the Seal out of the door, tucked it back into his satchel, and stepped past the threshold, where a long set of dank stairs descended deep into the earth. 

The smell hit him first, decay and dirt. He nearly gagged, it was so strong. Cat raised raised his hackles and growled as they reached the bottom of the stairs. It was dark, but not unusually so. Logan hoped this would prove a simpler challenge that the castle’s escape tunnel. Of course it couldn’t be that simple, but he hoped nonetheless. 

The Reliquary ended up being a series of puzzles and traps. A few almost bested him, but with Cat’s help he managed to figure them out. Not that he would ever tell anyone a couple of puzzles (easy once he knew the solution) almost turned him back. 

The most interesting thing, perhaps, were the glowing orbs. Each had its own activation procedure. Logan learned, with Virgil’s assistance, that the blue ones were to be hit with his sword, the red ones needed magic, and the yellow required the use of a firearm. He was glad he had taken the pistol when he did; he still had not quite gotten the hang of traveling to and from the Sanctuary. 

Even worse was the sheer amount of enemies he encountered. No bats lurked down here, but there were plenty of skeletal creatures Virgil told him were called hollow men. The smaller ones were fairly easy to destroy, but the bigger ones needed several good whacks before they broke apart. 

There were several times he had to double back to find routes that weren’t collapsed. Once he even had to dive off a broken bridge and into a pool of water several yards below him. The whole time, he wondered about his father’s treasure. What was so important to him, so dangerous, that it had to be stored so far from the castle? 

Logan could honestly say he hadn’t the faintest idea. It took him so long to get through a small army of hollow men that by the time he saw a different sort of light from the dim torches he was used to, he almost thought he was hallucinating. 

After he wiped out the last of the hollow men, he came into a cavern so far across he couldn’t see the end. Again, there was a raised platform for him to walk along, which dropped into the abyss below. Similar to the castle’s escape route, at the end of the platform was a set of circular stairs leading up to a pedestal. Logan approached cautiously, the worry that his father had left something dangerous here only intensifying. 

Upon the pedestal was a small octagonal box, about as tall as his hands and rather heavy. There was a seam on the top that ran down the middle of it, and a handle on one side. He began to suspect he knew what it was. 

He had heard his father tell the story of his rise to power many times as a child. Every time, his father would say his journey had started with a rose and a music box. Logan and Declan both knew that he had had a sister named Rose, and that she had been murdered by a power-obsessed lord when he was still a child. A nomadic man called Thomas had found him, gravely wounded, and raised him with the help of his caravan. They didn’t know much beyond that; their father never told them the whole story before he died, and Logan had combed the entire library for written accounts and found nothing. It was a mystery that would likely never be solved. 

What he did recall, was how his father used to whistle sometimes to get him or Declan to sleep. Now, he wondered if the music box had taught him that tune. He grasped the handle and wound it up three times, like his father had always said Rose had. 

The old familiar melody washed over him as the box began to play, a haunting song that reverberated in his ears and brought tears to his eyes. 

As the tune faded away, he noticed that the box was glowing. He shut his eyes just in time for his feet to be lifted off of the ground. 

When he was set back down, he opened his eyes to find Samuel staring at him in awe. He was back in the Academy’s foyer. He took a step and felt his legs threaten to buckle. He would never get used to teleporting, he decided. 

Samuel stared at him for a long moment before putting a finger to his lips and returning to his book. Logan gently tucked the music box into his pack and left without a word. He never figured out if Samuel had signaled silence because of guards or because he was enjoying his book. 

It took no time at all to reach the tavern, now that he knew where he was going. Up the stairs he went, calling for Patton. “I’ve got it!” He announced, sweeping through the door triumphantly. 

Patton sat at a small table to his left, next to a man slumped over the table. Logan wouldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.. “Hello, Logan,” Patton said cheerfully. “I’ve figured out how to get you into the mercenary camp!" 

Logan set his bag on the table. "Please tell me he’s still alive." 

"Of course. He’s just had too much to drink. Challenge a man to a drinking contest, let him think he’s going to win, and he took care of the rest himself.” Patton patted the man’s back. “You’re going to take his clothes and sneak into the camp disguised as him." 

”…What?“ 

Patton tossed the man’s hat at him. "You’ll need a fake beard but there’s a barber across town who should be willing to help. I’ve been talking to the townsfolk. They don’t have much aid to give, they’re barely surviving themselves. While you’re gone I’m going to be figuring out a way to help the Dwellers and these people, too." 

Logan just shook his head. How very Patton of him, to try and help everyone. He wondered if that came from his time serving his father in battle. 

It took a while to convince the barber to help him but he ended up back at the tavern with a shoddy patchwork beard attached to his face. It was extremely itchy. 

He felt like there was something inherently wrong about stealing another man’s clothing, but even he couldn’t see any other option. They outfit was slightly baggy on him; he only hoped this man’s friends wouldn’t notice. 

"Before you go,” Patton started. He looked more serious than Logan had ever seen him. “I don’t expect you to get all the way to their leader without being discovered. But you should know that killing a man is a heavy burden to bear. It haunts even the toughest of men, and I had hoped you would never hold a bloody sword. Think carefully before you take any lives, today and in the future." 

Logan nodded. "I will,” he promised. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Patton had seen in his lifetime, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to try. As he trotted down the stairs, Cat came racing over, barking at him. He held out his hand for his dog to sniff, then flipped his hand over quickly and tucked his ring and pinky fingers into his palm. Cat obeyed the command, sinking down on his haunches. “Good boy. Come." 

It was nearing night now, probably the ideal time for him to do this. He had some idea where the mercenaries fort was, having seen an imposing structure out on the lake earlier as he walked to Brightwall. He went to it now. 

He had no idea of the time when he got to the gate; it was a moonless night. A man on top of the wall called down to him. "Oi, there you are, Jimmy! Was beginning to think you’d be gone all night!" 

Logan raised a hand in greeting as the man yelled something to someone inside. The gate lifted just enough for him to duck through. It closed behind him with a clang. He immediately began walking toward the next gate. Nobody tried to stop him, which led him to believe that Jimmy wasn’t as free with his words as with his liquor. 

The guards at this gate stopped to scrutinize him, but let him through in the end. He knew he wouldn’t make it much further, and began plotting how to distract the guards up ahead so he could slip through. 

It seemed that word of a potential imposter reached the next gate before he did. They were alert, rifles ready. Thinking quickly, he ducked behind a tree and tried to launch a fireball at one of them. The flames hit a barrel nearby, which exploded and flung them both to the ground. 

He took off at a sprint, sliding under the gate as it creaked open on the other side. Cat was behind him a way, and he heard barking and yelling. His faithful companion found him again with blood on his muzzle. "Come on, boy,” he whispered. The pair kept running, Logan slinging fireballs at every barrel he saw. Some only caught fire, but others exploded as intended. Soon the entire camp was in chaos, and more than a few burned corpses and injured men were on the ground. He felt sick every time Cat attacked someone, or when he had to draw his sword and defend himself, but there was nothing to be done about it now. 

A large, circular wall came into view as he neared what he judged to be the end of the camp. The gate on this one was open. Several torches were lit here, with no barrels in site. A nasty feeling crept over Logan, and he silently commanded Cat to stay out of sight and wait. Cat trotted behind a tree and laid down. 

Logan, whether foolishly or fearlessly, walked straight up to the gate and right through. It fell shut behind him with a loud thud. 

The surviving mercenaries, ones who had been asleep or run away, crowded the tops of what he now realized was supposed to be a cage. Directly across from him was a man easily a foot and a half taller than him, and twice as muscular. He was an ugly brute, scarred and bald. He was smoking a cigar. 

“Ya killed some o’ me best men,” the giant yelled. He plucked the cigar from his mouth and dropped it, crushing it underfoot as he fell into a fighting stance. “I ain’t lettin’ ya get away, ya bastard!" 

Up above them, Logan heard cheering and several shouts as the men cheered their leader on. Through the noise, Logan discovered his opponent was called Captain Saker. 

Saker charged him and he scrambled back. He may have been decent with his sword, but hand to hand combat was not his forte. As he backed away, Saker pulled something from his pocket and lit it. It was a Molotov. Logan barely moved out of the way before it exploded. 

When it finally dawned on Logan that Saker intended to fight dirty, a realization that struck him as three of Saker’s men dropped into the ring with them, he pulled his gun out. It was too close quarters for the sword, but with the pistol and his magic, he proved to be an even match with Saker. 

The fight didn’t last much longer than that. Once Logan blew a Molotov up as Saker threw it at him, the force of the blast knocked the giant to his knees. He did not try to get back up. Logan approached him cautiously. 

"Ya win,” Saker announced. “Kill me or not, my men won’t bother them Dwellers no more, ya have my word." 

Logan would be lying if he said he didn’t entertain the thought of killing this man. But then he thought of the destruction around him, and all the lives he’d taken to get where he was. He simply couldn’t. He held out a hand to help Saker to his feet. His men cheered.

As soon as Saker was up, the breeze stopped. Logan’s vision went greyscale. A shimmery patch of air appeared behind Saker. "Come to me, Logan.” The voice belonged to Thomas. 

Logan stepped through the portal without hesitation. He was beginning to understand how this man could potentially be of use to him. 

He came out, as he expected, on the Road to Rule, outside of the locked gate. Thomas stood in front of him. 

“You have shown great courage today, Logan,” Thomas said. “You have spared lives, and taken them. You have gained a potential ally, one who is very powerful in and of himself. The Dwellers are willing to follow you, should you prove yourself to them." 

Logan couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing that came to his mind. "You knew my father, didn’t you?” He asked. 

Thomas just looked at him a moment before answering. “Yes, I did. I raised him after his sister’s death.” He seemed genuinely distraught. 

“But that would make you over 80 years old,” Logan thought aloud. 

“I am far older than that. Now, there is no more time for questions. Step through the gate, Logan.” He vanished. 

The gate slid open silently, revealing 6 chests. Logan read the inscriptions on the 2 to his left, then discarded them in favor of the other side. Three were labeled as upgrades for his weapons and magic. The fourth, closest to the next gate, simply said “Shock." 

Logan chose to open this chest first, though he felt like he might be able to open one more as well. Inside was another gauntlet, this one suited for his left hand. He tugged it on and felt the hairs on his neck and arms stand up. Carefully, he walked to the edge of the path and lifted his left arm, reaching for the power. 

A bolt of lightning shot through his hand and arched away into the air, nearly throwing him back with the sheer force of it. He grinned. Lightning! This would be immensely helpful. 

The return back to the camp left Logan dizzy, as usual. Saker was standing right where he had been. As soon as Logan was steady, the world resumed around him. Saker clapped him on the back, and Cat came hurtling through the gate to jump on his master. 

Logan left Saker and his men to clean the mess he’d left in favor of returning to Brightwall as soon as he could. Dawn was turning the sky grey as he crossed the bridge and hurried to the tavern. 

Patton and Sam were sitting at the balcony table, chatting. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. "Logan!” Patton cried, looking him over. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back, kiddo. Did you do what needed to be done?" 

He dropped into the empty chair and nodded. "Saker lives, but many of his men didn’t survive,” he explained. 

Samuel balked. “You left their leader alive? Are you mad?” He asked. 

Patton raised his hand. “Hush, Samuel. Let him explain,” he insisted. Both of the men turned to him. “Well, Logan?" 

"I was going to kill him,” Logan said uncomfortably. “I know I was supposed to. But it didn’t seem right, not after defeating him. It felt like leading a lamb to slaughter." 

Patton grinned, clearly proud. "I’ve brought you up right,” he told him. “Now, Samuel here has been helping me brainstorm, and we think we’ve come up with a way to help the Dwellers. Samuel?" 

"As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Your Highness,” Samuel started, “we don’t exactly have an overabundance of resources ourselves. However, I’ve been speaking to the villagers. They are all willing to help the Dwellers, on the condition that you repay their generosity once you claim the throne from your brother. They want the Academy reopened, and less crops taken by taxmen." 

Logan considered his proposal, then nodded. Not because he needed their support enough to lie, but because he genuinely thought it would be possible to achieve. "You have a deal, Samuel." 

They shook on it. "Then let’s get supplies to our friends in the mountains, yes?”

Logan, Patton, and a handful of village men scrounged together about 4 cases of spare supplies. The trek back up to the camp proved to be perilous only by way of an ice storm that had hit the mountains overnight. One man slipped and nearly fell off the cliff, and was only spared nature’s wrath because Cat knocked into his leg and pushed him away from the edge. 

Midday had passed by the time they got back to the camp. The village men followed Logan and Patton as they led the way to Sabine’s caravan. Behind them grew a cluster of Dwellers, curiously eyeing the crates. 

The crates made satisfying thuds as the men dropped them near the gate. Logan thanked them, gave them each a few coins, and they were on their way again. 

Patton went ahead of Logan as the latter wrestled the music box from his pack. He heard Sabine yelling something to his people, loud cheering from behind him. Several hands grabbed him and pushed him up to Sabine’s chair. He did not appreciate the invasion of privacy, but he tried to understand their excitement. 

Sabine had his fingers steepled as he watched Logan finally pull the box free. Knowing potential allies examined him from every angle, he bowed as far as tradition allowed him as he presented Sabine the music box, in acknowledgement of an equal. The people yelled even louder, and Sabine cracked a smile. 

“Play it for me,” he requested. “Only the old King was ever able to make it work." 

Logan locked eyes with Patton, who gave a little nod. He knew what his mentor would be saying if he could, about how this was his chance to prove he was his father’s son. He straightened, grasped the handle, and turned it three times. 

That haunting tune began to play, ringing out clearly even above the yelling and celebrating. The audience quieted down quickly, hanging onto to every note the same was Logan had first done. Everyone in the kingdom knew the legends behind how his father rose to power, how important this unassuming little box had been. Hearing such a legendary object, seeing it, was something these people would tell their children, passed down for generations. 

As the box played its final chord, silence fell over the camp. The only noise for a long time was Cat shuffling over near Boulder. 

Finally, Sabine stood. Slowly he made his way to Logan, coming to a stop in front of him. Then the Dweller chief nodded. "You will make a fine ruler, Your Majesty." 

Logan was so used to hearing the honorific used for Declan that he almost turned to look for him. It was all he could do to keep a steady face as he and Sabine shook hands. Somewhere in the crowd, a baby laughed. 

Several hours later, after getting some much needed rest, Patton and Logan were at the entrance to camp. The Dwellers were still celebrating, periodically coming up to Logan to bless him and bow. Some women were crying, and several of his little helpers from before came up to hug him. 

"Where to now?” Logan asked Patton quietly. 

Patton chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought. “I have a few more people I’d like to try and contact to help us. We’ll be going on the Mistpeak Monorail system to visit an old friend of mine first." 

-

Logan looked around, watching the men finish their preparations. A small group nearby was burying someone; Logan had heard someone say the poor sod had only died the night before. More people were hurrying around, hastily repairing sections of the fort’s walls.

Since they had left the Dweller camp two days ago, it had been a whirlwind of activity. The Mistpeak monorail, which they had intended to get on to go to Bowerstone, had met an unfortunate end almost as soon as they had arrived at the station to board it. The thing had caught on fire, fallen off its track, and plummeted hundreds of feet to the ground, where it promptly exploded. Logan and Patton had gone down to look for survivors (the cars has been full), but they had found only flames and nasty, twisted creatures called hobbs. 

It had been a struggle to get out of the caves, but at the end of the tunnel Logan had been taken again to the Road to Rule, where Thomas had told him his immediate willingness to help was indicative of a just ruler. Logan had found a special gauntlet that allowed him to wear two gauntlets at once, creating devastating combo spells. His current favorite was fire and lightning, though fire and ice was also useful. 

The end of the tunnel had spat them out in Mourningwood. Patton had seemed surprised, then concerned. Logan had had to run to keep up with his mentor’s fast pace. Along the way, Patton had explained that he had an old military friend stationed in a fort here, and that he hadn’t heard from him in a long time. The path they took was winding, often backtracking. Logan found several health vials and a massive hammer Virgil called the Bonesmasher among the many chests tucked off to the sides of the path.

The fort itself had seemed surprisingly tall at first, several stories high. Logan would always remember how a man, later introduced as Major Swift, had yelled at them, ordering to state their names and ranks. Specifically, how frightened the man had sounded.

Major Swift, currently, was talking to Patton nearby. The major had been extremely happy to see his old friend, but Logan had the feeling there was more going on than just guarding a musty old fort. 

“This is really all they could send for reinforcements?” A young man’s voice near Logan’s ear made him start and turn. His sword was against the man’s throat before he even knew what was happening. 

The man he had just accidentally threatened was tall, taller than even him. He had a mess of dark brown hair and dark eyes that were, at the moment, wide with shock. He wore a tattered soldier’s uniform with a pistol and a blade strapped to his hips. 

He heard Patton laughing. “Roman Finn,” Major Swift barked, “how many times must I tell you to stop sneaking up on people?” 

The man, Roman Finn, stepped back and shrugged sheepishly. “One more, I suppose,” he said. He looked Logan up and down. “Clearly you can handle a blade, but why the hell couldn’t the King be bothered to send more than two men?” 

“We weren’t sent by the King,” Logan said tersely. He sheathed his weapon and went to stand by Patton. This young man reminded him, somehow, of Eliot. It made his chest ache.

Roman crossed his arms over his chest. “A boy and some old man, just wandering through Mourningwood near nightfall?” he scoffed. “A likely story.”

“You have the privilege of speaking to Sir Patton Bron, Finn,” Major Swift told him.

Logan was impressed by how quickly Roman snapped into a soldier’s salute at Patton’s name. “Sir Patton? Truly? It’s an honor, Sir Bron,” he said. 

“Please, Patton will do just fine, son. The young man who nearly beheaded you is Logan,” Patton introduced. Logan nodded his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patton and Swift exchange a glance, and Swift nod slightly. “He is my protege, King Declan’s younger brother, and future ruler of Albion.” 

Roman’s shock was almost enough to make Logan forgive him for sneaking up on him. Almost. “The prince?” 

Major Swift cut in then. “Hate to interrupt, but we’re nowhere near ready for tonight’s assault. Patton, Logan, I’m afraid it won’t be safe for you to leave until morning. The hollow men will be here soon.” 

“Hollow men?” Logan asked. 

“We’ve been attacked by hollow men every night for ages,” Roman explained. “It used to just be a few, but now they’re coming in waves. More men die every time the sun goes down.” 

Major Swift nodded. “Ay. We lost Simmons last night, damn good man he was. If you don’t want to fight, I suggest you take shelter down in the bunkers, but I can’t let you leave until the sun comes up.” 

Patton laughed, clapping Swift on the shoulder. “Come on, you should know me better than that! I haven’t turned down a fight in thirty years, I’m not about to start now. Logan and I are happy to help, just tell us where to be.” Part of Logan resented not having a say in the matter, but the rest of him knew he would have agreed to help if asked.

“Wonderful. With you on our side, Bron, I don’t see how we can lose. Roman, take Logan up and show him how to use the mortar. We haven’t got long, now.”

Roman saluted again and motioned for Logan to follow him. As he scrambled to follow, he took a moment to appreciate that Swift hadn’t made a huge deal of his status as the prince. All were equal within the fort, it seemed. “There’s three mortars up on the walls, two facing the graveyard and one the way you can,” Roman explained as they walked. “Have you dealt with hollow men before?” 

“Under Brightwall,” Logan told him. 

People stopped them several times on the way up, asking Roman questions about the barricades. A few introduced themselves to Logan, but nobody appeared to know who he was. He was unsure whether that was because he had rarely ever left Bowerstone, or merely because of how dirty he was. 

"Working the mortars is fairly simple. You’ll have a man to load for you, all you need to do is aim and fire.” The mortar was nothing unfamiliar to Logan; Patton had been extensive in his combat training, thought they’d only spent a day on cannons and the like. “Lucky for us. Don’t need some royal pomp blowing the gate in,” Roman muttered under his breath. Logan got the idea he wasn’t supposed to hear that. 

Logan took his position behind the mortar, giving it a few experimental twists to get the hang of its weight. “Heavier than the ones back home,” he commented. 

Roman looked surprised, but he didn’t react beyond saying “You’ve got your feet wrong.” He came over and nudged one of Logan’s feet just a bit to the side. It put them far too close together than was proper, but Logan figured that was just how things were in the king’s army. 

They spent some amount of time going over how to fire the mortar, Roman doing most of the talking. He talked about the battles he and the rest of the men had fought, what sorts of games they played when they got bored. Logan didn’t mind; he much preferred listening, truth be told. One gained much more information that way. And if he were to be completely honest, he found it interesting hearing about the lives of the soldiers. Roman had a way of talking that made everyone around him want to listen. He was very animated, using his whole body to talk and doing impressions of the people he spoke about. Logan began to suspect, listening to him, that the Royal Guard hadn’t been this man’s first career choice. 

Day was just beginning to fall into twilight when another man, barely a boy, came to them. He introduced himself as Logan’s loader on the mortar, but Logan could never remember his name later. 

The boy said that Major Swift had sent the call for supper. Roman became solemn as he led Logan back down to the ground. The men were standing gathered around an unlit fire, passing bowls of stew around until everyone had one. It was incredibly bland, but Logan made no comment. Patton had told him once that Declan’s men did what they could with what they had. 

Everyone ate in silence, the only sounds the scraping of spoons on bowls and the occasional cough. When an owl somewhere beyond the fort let out a hoot, the first sound of night, Major Swift wordlessly held up a hand. The group stopped and looked at him. 

“Gentlemen,” he began. The men stirred, waiting with bated breath. “I am pleased to announce that tonight we have the honor of fighting beside Sir Patton Bron and his protege. Many of you know Bron and I fought together many years ago; he is highly skilled. His apprentice, he tells me, is one of the best with a sword he’s ever seen. With them at our side, I truly believe we will drive those damned hollow men back tonight. Not for good, but enough that we might sleep tomorrow.” 

He looked around, locked eyes with each and every man. Patton stepped forward and raised his arm into a King’s Guard salute. Roman followed suit. It had a ripple effect of sorts; the salute traveled the circle, each soldier letting out a war cry until dozens of voices filled the air. Logan added his own yell to the fray. If he was going to fight beside these men, he would act the same as these men. 

A loud crash sent some of the men scrambling. Swift shouted above the din, calling for positions. Roman caught Logan’s wrist and yanked him toward the stairs. “They’re coming!” He hollered. All around, Logan saw chaos as people prepared for battle. Patton had his sword drawn and was guarding one of the gates. Their eyes met and he nodded. Logan nodded back.

The boy from before was already loading the mortar when they got to it, throwing ammo into it with surprising strength. Roman jumped onto the mortar next to Logan’s, wearing a grin Logan could only define as feral. Oddly enough, the expression suited him. 

Out in the graveyard, movement caught his eye. Hollow men began to burst forth from the earth, many already holding weapons. Immediately, Roman fired at a cluster. It exploded into dust, bone shards scattering. 

Logan twisted his own to the left, where Roman’s range didn’t quite reach. The mortar’s kick nearly threw him down as he fired, but he braced his feet and prepared for a long battle. 

He lost track of time as the fight raged on. He knew, at one point, that he abandoned his post to launch over the wall rail, into the fort, to help a downed soldier. He knew that the hollow men broke through their defenses at that exact moment. He knew Roman had called out to him as he heard the gate give way. He knew that Patton and Swift were taking turns hacking down foes at the opposite gate. He knew that Roman landed next to him, rolling into a crouch that brought them face to face. He knew the other man had winked at him before standing and turning to take out a hollow man. He knew they worked together to get the fallen man out of harm’s way. He knew he took many hits with blunt objects and small blades.

He knew that Patton and Swift got surrounded, and surely would have been seriously injured had he not impulsively thrown a shard of lightning at the horde around them. He knew several men stopped and stared at him as he gave his identity away. 

More than anything, however, he remembered the rumble in the ground as the hollow men’s onslaught began to dwindle. He found out very quickly that Simmons, the soldier who had died the night before, had been a very large man. He had been a good fighter, too. Logan spent a long time after the fight wondering how he had survived it; Simmons could have taken down Patton, even in his newly resurrected form. 

Magic helped immensely, he figured. He remembered shooting Simmons with fireballs, a lot of them, until his energy was depleted. He remembered Cat ripping the dead soldier’s arm off and running away with it. He remembered being down on one knee, Simmons’ re-killed corpse in front of him. He remembered several faces above him as he finally caved to exhaustion, pink streaks of dawn sky making it impossible to tell who he saw. 

He was only unconscious for a few hours, Patton told him later. Roman had carried him down to the barracks while Swift and Patton had taken care of the injured. When he came to in a bed, Roman was sitting on a bed nearby, whittling a stick into a sharp point. Logan assumed he was merely keeping him company, but Roman grinned when he noticed he was awake. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he teased. He put his knife away and tested the stick with his thumb. “‘Bout time you woke up. You had ol’ Swiftie pretty worried.” 

Logan struggled into a sitting position. His throat was almost too dry to speak. “What are you doing here?” He rasped. “Where is Patton?” 

Roman shrugged. “Figured someone ought to be here when you wake up. I volunteered, since you sat and let me ramble last night. You’re an alright person, Your Highness.” Logan flinched slightly at the honorific, always aware of the danger it now held. “Sir Bron is helping topside. We had a lot of injuries last night.”

He helped him change into a spare soldier’s uniform and climb out of the barracks, leading him to a fallen log where he could see the goings-on of the fort. Patton was kneeling near a figure on the ground across the way, while Swift shook his head. “I’ll go get him for you,” Roman offered, disappearing before Logan could tell him not to. 

Cat found him quickly, barking and trying to jump on him. He hushed the dog and sunk his fingers into his fur.

“You’re the Prince, aren’t you?” A nearby voice muttered. Logan turned to see a man leaning against another log across the campfire, head bandaged. “Everyone knows only the Hero King ever used magic like what’s you used.” 

Logan looked around, wondering if this soldier knew he was on the run. “Yes, I am,” he said finally. 

The man waited, but Logan said no more. He nodded, as though he had learned all he needed to know from that silence. Perhaps he had. 

“Logan,” Patton called, walking toward him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit by a mace,” he answered honestly. “When do we leave?” He used Cat as leverage to get to his feet. 

Patton looked concerned, but knew better than to offer aid. “I would prefer to let you rest longer, after your magic exhausted you do thoroughly. We can’t, though. A scout came through this morning, Major Swift’s reinforcements will be here within hours. I’m certain Declan has told his men to be on the lookout for us. We can’t be seen here, or all these men will be executed.” 

“I’m ready,” Logan insisted. 

Major Swift and Roman joined them then, Swift’s hands caked in dirt. “We’ve managed to gather up enough to hold you both out until you get to Bowerstone,” Swift said. He and Patton hugged fiercely, then he turned to Logan. “I owe you a debt for your assistance.”

Logan grinned. “You can repay us by leading my army into battle against Declan,” he offered. “I may have Patton on my side, but we’re sorely in need of a second lieutenant.” Patton’s nod, and Swift and Roman’s shocked stares, told him he had made the right choice. 

“It would be an honor, Your Majesty,” Swift answered. He cleared his throat, clapped Logan carefully on the shoulder, and walked away without another word. 

Roman held out his hand, which Logan shook gratefully. He never was one for hugs. “Swiftie and I’ll meet you in Bowerstone soon as we can,” he promised. “Don’t go getting killed before we talk again, Your Highness. I’d regret not getting to know you better.” 

He turned and strode off quickly, leaving Logan with a warm face and a laughing mentor. He punched Patton in the shoulder, then used Cat as a crutch to hobble over to the gate. 

Luckily, they managed to leave Mourningwood before night fell again. Logan did not ever want to fight another hollow man in his life. Unfortunately, he still felt faint. His magic had yet to fully return to him, and he was irritated that he was so weak. Patton refused to let him go faster than a steady walk, although being out in the open made him long to sprint to the nearest hiding place. Cat stuck close by him the entire time, leaning against him every time he had to stop and catch his breath, which was often. 

After an hour or so, by Logan’s best guess, they stumbled upon a cluster of ramshackle huts so decrepit they couldn’t even be properly called a village. There were very few people out and about so early, and no children anywhere. Logan assumed most of the people were still hiding. Across the dismal space he could see what looked like a massive wall, and another sewer entrance. “Are we… outside of Bowerstone?” Logan asked, staring at the wall. 

Patton shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Beyond the wall, if I remember correctly, is Millfields. Your brother’s business partner Remus has a mansion there, I believe.” 

Logan shuddered; he had heard of the wild dealings Remus and his brother had. Remus was a known sexual deviant of sorts, as well as a financial crook who openly endorsed child labour. He didn’t know much else about the man, nor was he entirely curious to find out. 

“I hope we won’t have to deal with him,” he said. 

“We will eventually. He has such close ties to the throne that ignoring him once you’re the king would be a very bad idea.” Patton turned in such a way that they would be able to skirt the group of huts to get to the sewer. Nobody paid them any mind as they hiked through the sludge. 

The sewer smelled, predictably, but Logan was beginning to grow accustomed to rank odors. “So if this wall isn’t Bowerstone, where are we going?” 

Patton blinked. “Why, to Bowerstone Industrial, of course. I have friends in the resistance there who would gladly lend a hand deposing the king. This is the safest and quickest way to get there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear boy, surely you didn’t expect Declan’s resisters to be everywhere but Bowerstone?” he asked. 

“Of course I knew there had to be rebels in the city,” Logan argued, miffed that Patton would doubt his intelligence. “I would expect them to be hiding in the Old Quarter, since Declan never goes there. Remus runs practically everything in Industrial, after all.” 

“Which makes it the perfect base of operations for the Bowerstone Resistance. It’s almost too easy to keep an eye on Remus when they’re directly underneath him.”

Logan turned to look at him, then cursed as he kicked a low wall on accident. “Underneath?” he asked. “They’re in the sewers?” 

Cat barked up ahead, and Patton grinned. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Good on you for figuring that out so quickly. Once we get to Bowerstone Industrial, we’ll have to move quickly. Getting from the edge of the city to their sewer entrance will take some time if we have to avoid the guards, but since both of us have changed clothes we won’t be as easy to recognize.” 

“Very well,” Logan said. He altered his pace as much as he could, reaching for his magic. To his relief, he felt the faintest spark; it was returning to him. “Let’s join the Bowerstone Resistance.” 

-

Being back in Bowerstone after weeks of being on the run was strange. Everything looked the same as he remembered, but there was a note of danger in the air. He was constantly on the lookout for guards, as was Patton. Cat had the good sense to not bark in the city proper; all of the soldiers they saw seemed unusually tense, maybe bored enough and stressed enough to turn their rifles on a dog. 

Getting through the main town turned out to be the hardest part of their operation. Once they reached the Industrial quarter, guard presence relaxed enough that Logan and Patton could walk freely through the square. Nobody noticed two battered soldiers wandering around in uniform, as it was a common sight for soldiers to spend their coin in the seedier taverns in town. 

Before they could make it to the docks where Patton said the resistance  hid their entrance, shouting drew Logan’s attention toward one of the factories. He ducked into the crowd and followed the noise into a work yard, where a group of people appeared to be protesting. One man was at the front, shouting to the rest of the crowd. Logan couldn’t hear what he was saying, only the chorus of screams that rang out several moments later when a bullet took him down. Another man, richly dressed, stood atop a balcony, pistol in hand. Logan could just barely see the manic glint in his eyes and a hint of grey in his hair. Patton pulled him away as the pistol-wielding madman locked eyes with him. It occurred to him, as the workers scrambled to get inside, that this had to be Remus. The thought chilled him. 

Patton led Logan over to the docks, where several military ships were docked. With a pang, Logan saw the one his father had allowed him to name when he came of age. It was also standing on that ship where he met Eliot for the first time. 

He looked away. He had a lot of memories of that ship that were associated with Eliot, and he couldn’t afford to be lost to grief now. He had barely had a chance to come to terms with his beloved’s death before they left the castle, but his mourning would have to wait until after Declan was off the throne; there was simply no time to focus on anything else. Patton must have noticed, because he put an arm around him and gently steered him away. 

The pair descended a slippery set of steps that bordered the water, leading to a wooden door set in the stone. It was one of many such doors in Bowerstone that led to the sewers, and so far out of the way that Logan would have never known it was there otherwise. 

Patton didn’t hesitate to enter. They walked through the quasi-darkness silently, listening for sounds of life. There were none, other than the occasional rat. 

“I don’t like this,” Patton muttered. “I would have been informed if they had relocated again. Keep your guard up.” 

Logan nodded as they stepped into a large vaguely-circular room. Wardrobes and bedrolls littered the space, and a barrel had been broken down in the center to make a fire, which cast eerie shadows on the walls. A second door across the room appeared to be the only other way out.

“I wonder where-” Patton started. 

“Stay where you are!” Logan looked about for the source of the voice, saw a man standing behind one of the wardrobes. “State your intentions.” 

Patton lifted his hands and took a step forward. “We’re here to speak with Page, we’ve got urgent business.” 

The clicks of several rifles being loaded caught Logan’s attention. He became aware of several other men, and surprisingly some women as well, hiding around the room. 

The man who had spoken, presumably the leader, stepped out of his cover, aiming his own rifle at them. “Who are you? Nobody speaks with Page unless we’re told to let them pass.” 

“Page didn’t know we were coming, there wasn’t time to send word ahead,” Patton responded. He shifted slightly in front of Logan. He seemed to be expecting this to end badly. Logan prepared himself for a brawl. 

The door across the room swung open, revealing a short, dark-skinned woman with dreaded hair and tattered clothing. “Kidd!” She yelled. The man flinched and dropped his weapon immediately. “What the hell are you lot doing?” 

Kidd straightened and turned to face her. “You didn’t tell us you were expecting anyone, Page,” he said. 

Page crossed her arms and stared at the scene before her. “You disappeared without a word,” she said finally. Logan realized she was speaking to Patton. “My informants thought you and your husband had been executed in the middle of the night and the prince imprisoned.” 

Patton rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “There wasn’t any time to leave a note. If we hadn’t left when we had, what you feared might have indeed come to pass.” 

While they talked, Logan stared at him. Husband? He had no idea Patton was married. 

“In any case, it’s mighty good to see you,” Page told him. She turned her sharp gaze on Logan. “You must be the prince.” 

Logan snapped out of his reverie, summoning a fireball and shooting it at the dying flames in the center of the room. At this point he had come to the conclusion that people wouldn’t believe him unless he used his magic to prove it. 

Page nodded approvingly. “Kidd,” she said. “Keep an eye on things, Sir Patton and I need to talk. And I swear, if someone else comes through, come get me before you shoot.” 

“Yes, Page,” Kidd answered demurely. Page beckoned Logan and Patton to follow her. 

When the door had closed behind them, she began to talk again. “Sorry about him. He’s the most senior man I’ve got, but he’s only been around a few months.” She looked haunted and sad as she led them through another sewer hall. “We got hit hard after you disappeared, Bron. Remus found our other base out in the Old Quarter, presumably searching for you. Nobody survived.”

“I’m so sorry, Page.” Patton didn’t reach out to her, which spoke volumes to Logan about what kind of person she was. “You know I would have left a message if I could, but there was too great a chance it would have been found.” 

They entered another rounded chamber, this one with a war table in the center. To Logan’s immense surprise, Major Swift stood leaned over it, moving around some of the pieces. He raised a bandaged hand. He didn’t look well. Off to the side, leaning against a wall, was an equally battered Roman Finn, watching them carefully. He sent Logan a tiny smile, more real than any of his flirtatious gestures at the fort. 

Patton crossed the room in two strides, at Swift’s side in an instant. “Swift, Roman, what are you doing here?” 

“We had no choice,” Swift said bleakly. He grabbed another piece and moved it across the board. 

“One of the men told the soldiers you two had been in the fort, we don’t know who. They tried to arrest us, we had to flee. We’re both officially deserters and fugitives now,” Roman explained bitterly. He pushed off the wall and came to stand by Logan and Page. “One of Swiftie’s friends recognized us out on the road and brought us here. This lovely lady here took us in, but she had trouble believing you were on your way.” 

Page just glared at him until he backed away, hands raised. “Like I said, Bron, we were operating under the assumption you had all been killed. Now that you’re here, any help from Major Swift will be gladly accepted. Logan,” she requested. He moved into her field of vision obediently. “Under any other circumstances I wouldn’t need to test you, but despite what Bron and Swift have told me, I need to know for myself that we can trust you.” 

Logan didn’t know whether to be insulted or impressed. “What would you have me do?”

This seemed to ease Page’s conscience a little. Her shoulders relaxed. “The people of Bowerstone won’t follow you unless they know who you are. Obviously, they can’t know you’re the prince, but if you show them you’re willing to help them, they would more easily accept your leadership when the time comes to take the city.” 

Understanding blossomed. “You’re asking me to help my people the way Declan won’t,” he breathed. “I must admit, that’s brilliant tactical thinking.” He bowed his head at her. “I will gladly go topside and see what I can do. I wouldn’t follow an unproven man, either.” 

“Yet you followed your brother,” Roman pointed out. 

“He used to be different,” Logan said quietly. Swift and Patton stopped talking to listen. “Declan used to be a good man. I know it was long ago, but surely you remember how he used to want to help his kingdom, rather than hurt it. I don’t know what changed him,” Logan admitted, “but I swear to you, to all of you, that I will not become what he has.” 

Before anyone could speak, he called Cat to him and left the room. Right as the door shut behind him, he thought he heard Patton mutter, “He’s becoming a king.” 

Hours later, Logan stumbled back into Page’s room, swaying from exhaustion. More than a few of the people he had helped over the course of the day had needed magical assistance, and his not-yet-recovered magic reserve did not take kindly to be drawn upon. 

Admittedly, had it not been for Roman leaning against the wall next to the door, he would have hit the floor. The soldier caught him as he tilted, chuckling. “Tired, Your Highness?” He teased. 

Patton, Swift, and Page rose to their feet. Logan, too tired to control his tongue, snapped, “I still haven’t recovered from saving your sorry ass in Mourningwood.” 

Page and Swift burst out laughing, while Patton silently reprimanded him. Roman looked stunned that Logan had sassed him. “I may have overstepped myself,” he acknowledged. 

“Bring him over to the table, Roman,” Swift told him. When Logan was seated, Patton and Swift also sat back down. 

Page stayed standing. “You’ve done well, Logan. My people have been reporting to me that you’ve not lost your temper with anyone, no matter how insane the request. They also report that you have been using your gifts freely. Such a person, by my judgement, can only intend good. I officially welcome you to the Bowerstone Resistance, but there is another task which I must ask of you now.” 

Logan had been staring at the table, mostly listening. He found it incredibly difficult to meet her eyes, instead settling for looking at her nose. She didn’t seem to notice the difference. “Has something happened?” He asked. 

“I’m afraid so. We’ve gathered intelligence that Remus hosts incredibly elaborate, secretive parties every month or so. Kidd and some of the men went to investigate, but they haven’t returned yet. I fear they’ve been captured.” Page produced two small pieces of parchment. Invitations. 

Roman stepped forward. “Page, you can’t expect him to go right back out into the thick of things,” he insisted. “Look at him, he’s dead on his feet. At least give him some rest and some food before you throw him to the wolves.” 

Page turned to glare him down, as she had earlier, but Roman didn’t back off this time. The resulting staring match lasted so long Logan almost fell asleep. 

Finally, Roman nodded. He disappeared from Logan’s view for a moment, then came back with a cup. He pressed it into Logan’s hands as Patton stood up to talk to Page. They whispered quickly while Logan sipped the soup. 

“We can’t afford any delays,” Page said loudly. Logan startled. “I’m sorry, Logan, but I need your help to get in there.” 

Logan struggled to shrug off the exhaustion pulling at his limbs and rose to his feet. “I’ll go,” he announced. 

Patton and Roman both looked upset at the outcome of this argument, while Swift was across the room drawing on a cloak. “Good,” accepted Page. “I’ve already got an outfit for you, complete with a mask. Lucky for us, Remus is fond of masquerades.” She paced between the map and the door as she thought. “I’ll have to dig out my outfit. Get dressed and go on ahead, and I’ll meet you at the gate to his manor in Millfields.” 

-

Logan tore his mask off with a deep sigh, flinging it off into the trees somewhere. Page and Kidd stood nearby, nursing their wounds. 

The manor had turned into a bloodbath, a fact Page kept cursing herself for not anticipating. Kidd had been the only rebel alive by the time they had gotten to the manor. Remus’s servant had led them through the manor and into a poorly lit chamber where Remus had subjected them to something he called the Wheel of Misfortune. Logan and Page had been forced to fight hobbs, hollow men, bandits, desert ninjas Remus called sand furies, and eventually Remus’s own guests. 

“Balverines!” Page yelled, throwing her hat to the ground. “Bloody balverines! How can he associate with those brutes?” 

Kidd was cutting his waistcoat into strips to bandage a wound on his arm. “Men like him will do anything for a profit, Page,” he said darkly. 

Page paused and looked over at him. “Of course you’re right,” she admitted. Logan was surprised as how calm she suddenly was. “How bad are you hurt, Kidd? Can you make it back with me?” 

“I’m alright, Page.” Kidd held out his arm so she could look at the wound. 

Down past the gates, the trio heard a town crier start shouting. “All subjects to the castle! All subjects to the castle for the King’s speech!” 

Logan looked between Page and Kidd. “I can’t go,” Page said. “They know my face at the castle, and I have to get Kidd back to base. I know you’ve helped immensely already, but we need to know what your brother has to say.” 

“Go,” Logan told them. “I understand. I’ll get to the castle and back undetected.” 

Kidd nodded gratefully, leaning against Page as she wrapped the torn shirt around his arm. “Get back safe,” he said. 

=

Logan would have liked to say he wasn’t shaking like a leaf as he slipped, with the crowd, into the gates that led to the castle courtyard. Truth be told, he felt he stuck out like a sore thumb, even though he knew there was no way Declan could recognize him from the back of the crowd. 

A hand on his elbow had him reaching for his sword, but another hand grasped his before he could. “Logan, it’s me,” Roman muttered in his ear. 

“Heavens, Roman, don’t scare me like that!” Logan hissed, pulling his hand free. Roman snorted. 

“Sorry, Lo, I’ll keep in mind you’re easily startled.” The soldier winked at him, and he smacked his arm. 

A hush fell over the crowd and Logan looked up to see his older brother out on the balcony, staring down at all of them. “People of Albion,” Declan began, spreading out his arms. “I come to you today with a grave message.” 

A snap of his fingers brought two of his personal guards out, a hooded man between them. One of the guards ripped his hood off, and Roman gasped. “Swiftie!” he breathed. Logan stared in silence, transfixed by his brother’s evil stare. He knew no one else could see it, but he knew what was about to happen. His hand sought out Roman’s and held on tight. 

“This man is a fugitive and a deserter, a former major in my guard. He has been proven to work with the rebels trying to tear your kingdom apart, and is hereby charged with desertion and treason. The sentence is death.” Declan held up a hand. Roman moved as if to step forward, but Logan held him still. The fist closed, a shot sounded out, and Roman looked away. “Rest assured, loyal subjects. I will find the rest of the rebels who threaten our peace, if I have to hunt every last one of them myself.”

The crowd took that as a natural signal to disperse, and Logan pulled Roman far away from the castle before giving him a chance to speak. But Roman just stared over his head, expression blank. Logan knew he hadn’t processed it yet. “Roman?” he asked hesitantly. 

“They killed him,” Roman stated. His voice was filled with a cold rage. “Major Swift was an honest man, and they killed him for it.” He looked down at Logan. “We have to stop him before he kills anyone else. Before he gets Patton, or Page, or you.” 

Logan could see the tears beginning to form in his eyes. “We won’t let him get away with any of this,” he promised. “But we need to go. Page and Patton need to know what happened.” 

The trip back to base was a silent one, made ever more tense each time Logan saw the wanted posters on the walls. Patton, Page, Roman. Everyone had one but him. He knew why, but it made him feel as though he was merely imitating. Pretending to be a bigger part of this rebellion than he actually was.

To say the others took the news of Swift’s death hard was an understatement. Patton had to sit down, and Page left the room. Roman had retreated to some far off corner of the room and was on the ground, back to the wall and head in his hands. Logan, it seemed, was the only one either not horribly affected or too tired to react. 

He couldn’t say when, exactly, but at some point he woke up on the ground. He nearly got up, but the feeling of fingers threading through his hair gave him pause. In this half-asleep state, he had only fuzzy recollections of the day before. Swift’s execution, coming back to tell everyone. How Patton and Kidd had made a plan to do some reconnaissance the next day. How Logan had offered to go with, and when they agreed, how he had come over to sit by Roman. The two hadn’t talked much, but Logan realized he must have fallen asleep while keeping the man company. His head lay on Roman’s lap.

Ordinarily he would sit up, apologize and move on. But it had been so long since anyone had been so tender towards him that he let himself relax and enjoy it. Roman’s fingers were methodical, combing one section of his hair thoroughly before moving on to the rest. He was humming absently. 

It was such an oddly domestic moment in the middle of what could technically be called war. Somewhere nearby, he heard Page come in and begin to speak. Patton’s voice followed, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He drifted off again.

By his best guess, it was late afternoon or early evening when he awoke again. He now rested fully on the ground, a thin blanket tossed over him. He pulled it around his shoulders as he sat up. As far as he could tell, he was alone. Even Cat seemed to be nowhere around. He climbed to his feet, calling just enough fire to his palm that he wouldn’t trip on the uneven ground. He was staring down at the war table when he remembered Kidd’s reconnaissance plans. With a curse, he stumbled through the door and down the passage until he reached the main chamber. 

Kidd was tending to the fire, poking it with his dagger and throwing another piece of broken furniture on it. His arm had been bandaged properly. He looked up as Logan entered. “Hello,” he greeted. “You’ve been asleep for quite a while.” 

“You should have woken me for the mission,” Logan accused. He pulled the blanket off his shoulders and carefully refolded it. 

“You needed the sleep, Logan,” came Patton’s voice. Logan saw him, partially hidden behind a large chair, grooming Cat. The dog noticed his master and barked happily, but otherwise made no effort to join him. “You’ve been running on fumes since we left the castle. The mission went fine without you.”

Logan scowled, but went to him anyway. “Hello, traitor,” he said to Cat. “What did you learn?”

“Apparently, the Auroran people across the sea are none too happy with your brother themselves,” Roman interrupted, appearing behind Logan. Logan jumped and ducked his head slightly. Neither Roman or Patton noticed, thankfully. “We’ve been trying to come up with a way to get to them.” 

Patton nodded, smiling gently. “Virgil is the one who came up with the solution, believe it or not. He suggested we steal one of Declan’s supply ships, since we’re already wanted criminals. He’s so often prim and proper these days that I forget how much of a scoundrel he used to be.” 

Roman shook his head in fond exasperation. “You can reminisce later, Patton. I’ve got the trap laid, but it won’t hold long before they figure it out. If we’re going tonight, we need to do it now.”

“Right. Up for an adventure, Logan?”

Logan sighed. Less than a week around Roman Finn, and he would recognize that mischievous glint anywhere. Patton’s eyes held a similar gleam. This could only mean trouble. But he nodded anyway, checking his magic reserve and smiling in relief. The sleep had refueled him, for the most part. What he still lacked, he could make up for with a meal on the ship. 

On the way to the wharf, Patton explained the plan in hushed tones. Roman had rigged several of the fleet’s warships with explosives to both distract the Royal Guard and to prevent them from chasing them to Aurora. Patton, Logan, and Roman would be going alone to seek aid from the Auroran people, while Kidd and Page stayed behind to give the Guard something else to focus on while they were gone. This quiet explanation was interrupted several times as guards spotted them out late and stopped them, or sometimes recognized Patton or Logan and attacked. Through some streak of luck, they managed to dispose of each group before reinforcements could be called. 

They were at the edge of the wharf when the first explosion went off. It was a spectacular display, really. Several ships that hadn’t been rigged to blow got caught in the resulting fires simply due to how close they were to each other. The only boat that Logan could see that didn’t take any damage was the one they were sprinting toward. Cat, being a dog and therefore faster than any of them, reached the ship first, leaping across the gap and landing in a heap on the deck. Despite the seriousness of their situation, Logan couldn’t help laughing. His silly dog had completely ignored the boarding plank that led to the ship. 

“Roman! Get the sails lowered!” Patton shouted. “Logan, keep those guards away from the ship!”

Logan slowed, allowing the others to board while he remained on the dock to fight the small cluster of guards that had followed them. “Halt in the name of the King!” One of them yelled. 

Logan grinned. He knew from the way they stumbled back that his magic, coupled with his expression and the flames casting shadows over his face, made him look inhuman. “I halt for no one, especially not Declan,” he told them. 

The guard’s ringleader, whether brave or foolish, drew his sword and began a slow advance. “That’s His Majesty to you, boy,” he snapped. 

“Oh, come now, sure my brother and I are past formalities at this point,” Logan said casually. A chorus of voices kicked up.

“Prince Logan!” 

“His Majesty instructed him to be brought in alive.” 

“We’re all going to be executed for this.”

The lead man charged him, and Logan sent out a bolt of lightning, shooting the man off the dock and into the water. Some of the other guards turned and fled. Those who stayed also ended up either in the water or unconscious on the deck. 

“Lo!” Roman cried. He was struggling against the vicious breeze that had kicked up. “Get on, we have to go now!” 

Logan began to jog toward the end of the dock, where Patton fought to keep the wheel from turning. The plank fell into the water with a splash, and Logan put on a burst of speed as he launched himself from the edge of the dock. He nearly missed the ship, catching a rope and crashing into the side of the hull with a solid thwack. 

With everyone aboard, Roman let the sail snap back to its original position as he came to help Logan get up to the deck. Cat licked his face as he was hauled over the rail.

“You alright?” Patton called. 

“Just dandy,” Logan responded. He lay on the deck for a moment before he began to laugh. “We just set fire to the royal fleet and stole a ship! Declan’s going to kill me for this one!” 

Roman went and tied the sail down, then came and sat by Logan. “I take it you were a troublemaker as a child?” He prodded. 

“Oh no, not really. Declan was the one who was always in trouble with Papa. But when he started teaching Declan how to rule, before he got sick, I would play tricks on him sometimes. The reason Cat likes me more than Declan is because I taught him how to ask the nobles for treats during state dinners.” Logan stared up at the night sky, watching the clouds cover the moon. “Whenever Papa would catch me, he would just laugh. Declan would tell the tutor and make me write sentences.”

Roman didn’t seem to know what to think of that. “You called him Papa?” he asked finally. 

Logan shrugged. “Not in front of guests. Then he was Father. He said that if we appeared dignified, even at such young ages, nobody would question us when we were older. He was right, for the most part. I guess he never expected Declan and I to turn on each other.” 

At the wheel, Patton was singing some sort of sea shanty. Judging by his expression, he enjoyed being on the sea. Logan realized he didn’t know much about his mentor’s past. He knew his history in the Guard, of course, but he had almost no knowledge of Patton’s life before serving his father. 

“I think, despite everything, you’re really lucky,” Roman said suddenly. “Not because you’re the prince, or because you grew up with everything. You’ve got so many people who care about you. I would kill to have a father like Patton.” 

Logan sat up, watching his friend, realizing that he did, in fact, consider them friends. “Roman-” he started. 

A flash interrupted him. Logan and Roman both looked to the side, where they saw storm clouds rolling in fast. Patton had seen them, too. “Balls!” he cursed. “Hold on, boys!” He jerked the wheel to the side, sending them sprawling as he tried to move the ship out of the storm’s path. 

It was no use. The thunderhead was massive, and the storm had sneaked up on them. There would be no escaping. “We have to tie ourselves down!” Roman yelled. 

Logan shook his head. “No! If the ship goes down, we’ll drown! Just hold on!” He reached out his hand and Roman took it. He grabbed the mast while Logan wrapped his free hand around Cat’s collar. 

Patton was looping his arms through the wheel and holding the base of it tightly. “We’re going to be okay!” He yelled. “It’s all going to be alright!”

The rain the storm brought stung like a thousand frozen pins. They were all soaked within seconds. The wind kicked up, howling in Logan’s ears. He saw Roman shouting, but his words were ripped away. Lightning cracked in the water nearby, and the waves began to climb dangerously high. 

Cat was cowering, trying to get out of the rain. He ducked under Logan’s arm, huddled close to his master. Logan felt an impending sense of doom as a wave began to form in front of them. The ship was headed straight for it. 

He squeezed tight to Roman’s hand as it came down, stealing his breath and forcing salt water into his lungs. He could feel Roman struggling to hold onto him as the waves fought to tear them apart, and he knew suddenly that if he didn’t let go they would both drown. He dug his nails into the back of Roman’s hand, before loosening his grip. 

As the wave receded, he felt Roman grasp for him again, saw the man open his mouth to say something and then choke on the ocean. He kept a tight hold on Cat as the water pulled him away. As his dog tried frantically to swim against the current, he surrendered to it. He couldn’t see Patton as he was flung into the sea, but he saw the bolt of lightning that struck the ship.

All at once, he had the terrible fear that Patton and Roman were going to die. He fought to shout, to say anything, but the current pulled him under again. His head bounced off of something and he felt only sharp pain. Red pulsed across his vision as it went dark, and he vaguely registered he was seeing his own blood.

Then the sea swallowed him once more, and he knew nothing else. 

[facethroughthemirror]

Face Reality

Characters: Donald Doyle, Dr. Grey Relationships: Doyle/Grey

They've been shoved into the same living space, at least for the night. It's probably due to the fact that they're both Federal officers and Kimball doesn't care much for finding them separate quarters, though it's not as though it's at all improper at this point, anyhow. The good doctor has been... off... since they've gotten to the New Republic's base of operations. The general finds out why when he catches sight of her face.

For day two of @rvbrarepairweek, and crossposted on ao3!

"Emily, I can't tell you how happy I am that you're alright... L-Locus told me there were no survivors at your outpost!"

They've been shoved into the same living space, at least for the night. It's probably due to the fact that they're both Federal officers and Kimball doesn't care much for finding them separate quarters, though it's not as though it's at all improper at this point, anyhow. He's turned politely away from her, looking away as she removes at least her plate armor. He finds it slightly more respectful, though he's not sure she really cares, and again, it's hardly inappropriate.

"Well, I imagine there were no surviving soldiers when he left! And I don't know that he saw me at all. I'm just glad you weren't there!"

Emily sounds as chipper as usual, but she's not fooling him for a moment. She's been... off... since they've gotten to the New Republic's base of operations.

"... Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine, General Doyle!"

Ah, right. Formal terms of address, at least on her end: there could be sensitive ears nearby. Neither of them trust the rebels not to spy on them, it seems. And at this stage, he, at least, would prefer to keep their level of familiarity as concealed as possible, particularly from the rebels. After her death being reported to him in no uncertain terms, along with those of the Reds and Blues, he's just happy to see her alive, and hearing her voice. What she says at the moment is far less important to him right now than the fact that she's here and alive to say it.

He hears her set down more of her armor, stacking it all together beside the small cot they'll be sharing for the night, and when the sounds stop, he finally turns back around. She's hasn't taken off her undersuit, neither of them will, and she appears to be digging in her kit for something. He wanders around her, to start placing his own armor out of the way for the night, but stops when he catches sight of her face.

The poor thing has always been pale, probably from lack of sunlight and her exquisitely poor sleep schedule. She would still have her lovely pale olive complexion, he's sure, if she'd ever gotten a reasonable amount of sunlight. Her paleness isn't what concerns him, and even though her dark circles are somehow worse than the last time he'd seen her, those don't bother him either.

What does frighten him are the freshly-stitched-up wounds on her face that stretch up and out from the corners of her mouth, across the soft part of her cheeks.

The stitching is undoubtedly her own work: she's given him stitches before and these look virtually identical. And heaven knows he's no physician, from the irritation around the edges of the stitches and of the wounds, he thinks they could be very recent. Good heavens, did she really sew up her own face?! She must have done that looking into a mirror, or something reflective, there's no way she did it blind... lord, he doesn't suspect that she'd had much access to anesthetic on the run, he certainly hopes that she managed to find some... goodness he feels a little sick just thinking about it. But of course he can't let her know that: the poor thing's probably in enough pain, even though she's somehow still smiling. So broadly that it must be agony for her. She doesn't need to distract herself with the worry that he might faint.

"... Oh Emily..."

"... Please go away, General Doyle." She turns her face away from him, and he sees her tipping antiseptic of some sort onto a scrap of gauze. Probably to clean up the area a little better, if she hadn't been able to do it on the run with the Reds and Blues. The formal term of address actually stings this time. "You don't need to see this! I'll only be a moment with this."

"A-Absolutely not! I'm not going anywhere!" He isn't entirely sure where she expects him to go in the first place, but he isn't going to argue with her on that. "Good lord, are you alright?! What happened to you?!"

"It isn't that bad!" She starts to dab at her face with the gauze, gently cleaning the stitches and the wounds they're closing. "I've certainly treated worse."

"You've treated worse than this on other people, not yourself!" He rests his hand on her arm to stop her movement. He sits down beside her on the cot, pulls his forearm pieces and gloves off, carefully takes the gauze from her, and picks up where she left off. "... here, dear, let me help with that."

Her hands fall limply into her lap, and she doesn't move again. Doesn't wince, and he doesn't even notice whether she blinks or not. He bites his lip, and his heart stings when he notices tears welling up in her eyes. When one starts to escape, he catches it with the back of his finger before it can reach her injury. He finally sets the gauze aside, pulls her into a tight hug and keeps her held close for a long, long moment. She's still smiling, but he can see the blankness in her eyes. She must be teetering on the very edges of her "happy place." She doesn't function very well out of it, though she's rarely out of it anymore. He doesn't understand exactly how Emily's "happy place" works, but she's, unfortunately, stuck there. At some point, it stopped being her reacting inappropriately to situations by smiling and laughing, and it became rare not to hear her sounding terrifyingly happy about amputating limbs and dissecting corpses. He didn't know how to help her, at first, and now, he doesn't know how she'll function after the war, but that's honestly the least of their concerns at the moment. He doesn't even know if there will be an "after the war."

She doesn't really react to the hug, at first, just moves her arms ever so slightly to rest loosely around him in return. Her question is curious. " ... what did Locus tell you?"

"That..." He swallows. The imagery makes him sick even to think about, but she asked, and he owes her the explanation. "... that there was a rebel attack on the compound. That they overwhelmed the men stationed at the gates and stormed in, just... oh, lord, indiscriminately opened fire, said they were searching for the Reds and Blues, and that the Reds and Blues... were caught up in the fray. He'd lost sight of them until it was too late."

"... what did he say happened to me?"

"... he ... told me that he saw you face-down in the snow with your helmet off. Didn't... d-didn't see you breathing. He said he tried to... tried to check on you, but when he turned y... y-your body over... he said that you'd... y-you'd likely lost too much blood, there... th-there was nothing anyone could have done. H-He had your... y-your necklace, Emily, I thought... I-I thought I'd lost you. Good lord, I don't know what I'd've done..."

"… please don't worry about that," Emily murmurs back, before she squirms in place to break his hold. "You're going to make yourself sick."

Right, Emily sometimes doesn't like to be held onto unless it's her idea, he knows that. It makes her feel trapped. And at any and all other times, he would absolutely respect that. Without question, of course. But he'd been so worried that she hadn't made it out of her outpost. He'd been so distraught. It was just such a relief to be able to hold onto her again. He simply offers her a hand to take. "Well, it's quite good I've got an excellent physician then, isn't it?"

She ignores the offered hand. "... I'd prefer not to have to treat an unnecessary sickness in the first place, but I suppose."

"Right. I'll try not to add to your work load, then." He withdraws his hand. "... Emily, if you ever want to talk about what--"

"I don't."

"... right." He fidgets, and the question escapes him before he can stop himself. "... may I... ask... how much of what Locus said was true?"

"... he was probably correct in that there were no survivors left. To my knowledge, there are no bodies left at Outpost Thirty-Seven to find. But there were never any rebels. We never thought they were rebels. We didn't know who they were." She shivers, and he reaches out for her again, but his hand goes ignored once more. "I'm... very glad you weren't there."

He chews the inside of his lip, understanding now the full gravity of her statement. She had made it out of the outpost because she'd been lucky. If there had been something to delay her even a few seconds, it was entirely possible that she would have missed the Reds and Blues and been left to Locus' mercy. If he had been there, there was no guarantee that either of them would have survived, particularly if they weren't looking for each other. But then... would Locus have even made such a bold move if he'd been there? Had he contributed, however indirectly or unknowingly, to the massacre at the command post, and therefore to Emily's disfigurement, by choosing that time to go to Armonia?

Perhaps, if he hadn't chosen then to abandon the outpost for some business in the capital that probably could have waited, he wouldn't have been confronted by the mercenary depositing Emily's ring and one of her identification tags into his palm rather like a cat presenting its owner with a dead bird, now that he's thinking about it. He wouldn't have heard Locus express what he originally thought were simply awkward condolences from a subordinate to a superior, or describe in flat, unemotional detail the condition in which he had allegedly found Emily's body. Wouldn't have sat in his office in Armonia reading over her tag, wondering what had become of her body, memorizing information that he already knew about her. Her blood type (AB-,) her service number (1209-714,) her surname and initials ("Grey, E. L.,") the "NRE" that denotes her status as non-religious, and the string of letters that identifies her as Federal Army personnel and labels her as a qualified doctor, rather than simply a medic. Turning her ring over in his hands, hooking it to the ball chain of the tag to keep everything together, so he wouldn't lose it.

He would never have come face to face with Vanessa Kimball with a rifle pointed at him while wearing Emily's identification tag and wedding ring on his own chain, fearing for his life and expecting to die with them over his heart. Knowing that this was the woman whose soldiers had been responsible for Emily's death. And somewhere under all the fear, thinking that at least if she put a bullet through him, he'd at least be with Emily again. He hadn't considered at the time whether atheists still got to see their loved ones after they died, but he'd admittedly been quite preoccupied.

His thoughts are paused by the feeling of Emily's hands on his, and he looks at her. Despite the ghoulish, haunting smile now permanently carved into her face, she's frowning.

"I know what you're doing," she states evenly, squeezing his hands. "You're trying to make this your fault somehow."

Of course she knows. "W-Well if I hadn't--"

"No."

"... n-no?"

"No." Emily lets go of his hands. She reaches up, unpinning her hair from its messy twist and letting it fall, pulling it around to unbraid it. She probably needs something to do with her hands right now, it calms her down. It would seem that he's correct in this assumption, as her smile comes back ever so slightly, and her tone brightens, as she fusses with her hair. She's trying to get back to her "happy place." It's... better than her being distraught, he supposes. "Your anxiety is getting the better of you again, and we simply can't have that right now."

Of course. He's just being silly and selfish, he knows that. "You're entirely right. We can't."

"And don't start: it's not selfish."

How does she do that? "That's neither here nor there--"

"It's precisely here! I know you, dear."

Ah, her "loophole" pet name. She calls everyone "dear," so it's not suspicious. It makes him feel a little better, at least. "... Be that as it may, Emily--"

"Are you going to argue with me for the rest of the night? Because if you are, I'll go see about sharing a space with Agent Carolina!" she chirps, running her hands through her hair in order to gather it into a ponytail so that it remains out of the way. "You know what I meant, and you're letting a flawed belief cause you undue stress when you're much more useful to Chorus not having a heart attack!"

There she is. Every single part of what she's just said sounds like a threat, even though she's absolutely beaming. To the point that it must undoubtedly hurt. She's definitely back to normal, for the moment. She's at least partially back in her "happy place." And as usual, that's both good, and worrisome. "... Of course, dear."

"... please don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm going to bite your head off! I had quite enough of that with the Reds and Blues, I'm very tired of it."

"I know you aren't going to do that, darling." He reaches up and takes hold of her hands after she secures her ponytail. "... you must be exhausted. Why don't we get some rest?"

"Oh, I'm not tired."

Of course she's not. "Well, I am. And it's just been so difficult these past few days trying to sleep by myself. I don't suppose you'd indulge me just a little bit and at least lie down with me?"

"... I suppose I can do that."

"Thank you." He presses a kiss to her forehead and stands to pull off his own plate armor, stacking it beside hers. When he feels his identification tags hit his chest, he recalls the extra weight of her tag and her wedding ring, and he reaches up into unclip them. He turns the little gold ring over in his fingers for a moment, the diamonds in the heart and crown catching the dim light.

It had belonged to his mother, but when he'd gotten the nerve to make things official, Chorus had already been at war for several years and jewelers were not exactly easy to come by anymore, certainly not to the capacity to find her her own ring. One of the weapons technicians at the time, he had been a good friend of the brigadier's, had been a jeweler before, his husband had been a watchmaker. He had been more than happy to resize a ring for old times’ sake – and two bottles of whiskey. The second bottle, though, was for engraving a message inside the band. "Tá mo chroí istigh ionat," it reads. "My heart is within you."

That part of it is entirely Emily's.

The chain had been tied around the band of the ring, to keep it attached. Locus had clearly realized that the ring, not the chain, would be sufficient proof of Emily's supposed "death." Well, if the single identification tag he'd also "recovered" wasn't enough, anyhow. But he offers the tag and ring almost sheepishly out to her. "... you're going to need a new chain, I'm afraid."

"... oh!"

She takes them from him, and her smile softens, like she's happy to see them. She clips the tag back onto her own ball chain, pulls the broken chain off of the ring and tucks it into a pocket of her undersuit, inspecting her ring as if to check for damage. He suddenly clears his throat, and offers his hand back for it. "... er... may I?"

She raises an eyebrow, but hands the ring back. When he takes her hand and puts her ring back on her finger for her, she giggles and her smile softens further and there's life back in her eyes. It brings a smile back to his own face before he presses a kiss to her forehead. While the knowledge that she's keeping details of her injuries to herself, when they undoubtedly must be weighing on her mind, isn't comforting, he knows she'll talk to him when she's ready.

Things aren't wonderful right now, but for the moment, he can stop worrying and at least pretend that they are, just for tonight. He's just happy to have her back, happy that she's alive. They can worry about the mercenaries and the rebels and the war in the morning. For tonight, it will just be them, and no one else. Right now, he supposes that they're both in their "happy place."

[kayann9]

Distance Part 2

Sorry it has been a while! Hope everyone had a great holiday season. More Parker fluff - the conclusion and make up to part 1. I won’t post now before New Year so I hope everyone has a lovely start to 2019 :) Characters are choices and not mine

Parker X Mc

Tags: @mind-reader1 @mistersinclaire @krish58100

Words: 1,781       Rating: T

“So, you’re just not getting dressed. Ever?”

Elliot clucks at me whilst rummaging for his second favourite shirt. Apparently, it’s my fault that the one with the blue has shrunk even though he definitely pressed the ‘on’ button for that load of laundry. I roll my eyes as he throws piles of similar looking t-shirts onto the bed; all crumpled and wrinkled from not being unpacked when I’d told him to. Although, I suppose, in my current state, I can’t judge him too much. I smooth out my grey joggers, a size too big now thanks to my lack of appetite over the last month, and scrape my hair up again still damp from the shower.

“I am wearing clothes thus dressed.” I give his shoulder a shove out of the way and open the bottom drawer of his dresser. Quickly, I throw the black shirt at him.

“How did you-”

Because you look for things with your eyes closed. That had been mom’s favourite thing to say to Elliot when he lost his shoes, or his bag, or his everything. “I have my ways.” He screws up his nose as he throws it over his t-shirt. “You are going to be late.”

Panic floods his wide eyes as he looks at the clock. “Shit.”

“Elliot!” I snap.

“You curse all the time. I heard you calling the tv an asshole yesterday for not having Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on at scheduled timing.” As if that’s an argument. I’m a grown woman. I glare at him, unwavering and it doesn’t take long for him to break the eye contact. “Fine. Some of us are more equal than others.” He mutters.

“Don’t George Orwell me. When you’re eighteen curse all you like. Now get going Scooter.”

Grabbing his hat, he rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “Fine. But – why don’t you go and-” I cut him off with another glare. I don’t want to go anywhere. “I’ll be home before dark.”

Meeting Robbie hadn’t been the first thing I’d have liked him to do, not after the whole scenario in his basement but, I suppose, he made Elliot happy and at least one of us should have that opportunity. I grab a bagel because bread is my friend. I’d be singing from a different hymn sheet when I couldn’t fit in my dress for Imogen’s creepy initiation ceremony I’d, for some reason, agreed to partake in.

The door goes as I’m about to take my first bite of starchy goodness. Scooter. Probably forgotten to make a snarky comment about something else or perhaps he’s short a few dollars. “Just so you know, I’m not giving you a ride. It’s your fault you’re late.” I call into the kitchen with my mouthful of processed starch.

“Yeah it is kind of my fault.” I almost choke, caught somewhere between panic and the realisation that this had to have been some kind of twisted dream. There is no way Parker Shaw is here; not after our last conversation. After we’d both silently reached the conclusion that we were quietly hoping for different outcomes to this already bad situation. I look up. He’s here. His hair still a mess, face creased, and eyes rimmed in red from tiredness. He shrugs. “Elliot told me to come in. I was going to knock but then-”

I shoot up from the couch, my plate clattering to the floor. “No, no it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting -”

I look like shit. I look worse than shit. My joggers have a hole in the knee. My shirt is Care Bears. I’m not even wearing a bra. Wonderful. Way to win him back.

With a little smile, he cups my jaw with his hand and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. God, I want him o kiss me. His thumb gently runs over the skin and he chuckles gently. “You have a little-” Crumbs. I have a face covered in crumbs.

“Oh. Sorry. I was having-” I don’t even know what meal I’m meant to be eating right now. Three in the afternoon so perhaps a late afternoon snack?

“No.” Parker states firmly. “I mean no. I’m sorry Harper. I’m sorry for the other night.”

Since it happened, since he’d left that night, I’ve played out in my head what I wanted. There are times he apologises and promises he’ll never leave and there are times I’ve sought him out, in my brave imaginary state, to let him know how valid his pain is. None of them included me covered in half-eaten bagel. None of them happened in this living room with M.A.S.H reruns in the background. But, I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s here, and with him, my shred of sanity.

I motion for him to sit.

“Parker, you have nothing to apologise for. You were right. I have no right to assume that-”

“Yes, you do. You have every right. You have every conceivable right to question this considering what you’ve lost.” He sighs, and his hands grip his knees. “I don’t want Arthur to be guilty. I don’t want Abe to be either but if he is, I’ll be ok. I think.”

No, he won’t.

How did we get here?

I can’t stand seeing him like this. His eyes are shiny when he looks at me and I wipe my face, my own tears starting to burn again. But, he looks so hurt and broken. A man who’s resigned himself to the misery that is to come. I don’t even know what I want now other than for all this to go away. For me and Elliot to be fine and for me and Parker to be fine and everyone living happily ever after with songs and talking animals – preferably ones that don’t have several heads.

I squash onto the arm chair where he’s sitting. I don’t have much space but, I don’t need much space. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest my head on his shoulder. The second his arms go around my waist, tight and firm, I kiss his cheek.

“I don’t want you to lose things either.”

Slowly, he leans back in the chair and I rest on him. “I know you don’t. It was stupid of me to even think that.”

“You’re not stupid.” I growl at him. I need him to stop saying that; to stop believing it. “This is a stupid situation. This whole thing is stupid. We are not. We’re doing our best with what information we have and-”

His lips press against mine, slowly but decisively. When he pulls away, my heart beat is thundering in my ears. “I’m sorry.” Oh god. Does he regret it? Is he apologising for our near-death making out session? Couldn’t he stand to even look at me now? Sickness gnaws at my stomach. “I shouldn’t have left. We promised that when it got bad, we’d not do that, and I broke that promise.”

I’d not even thought about that. I run my fingers through his hair and shuffle to sit on his thigh. “Nobody broke anything. We’re talking. You, Parker Shaw, are a man of your word.”

The smile on his face makes me feel lighter than I have in days.

“I am indeed a man of my word.” He rubs his hand over his stubble and winks. “I just want you to know something. This whole thing is terrible – worse than that – it’s shit. Just utter bullshit. I hate that you’ve lost your family. I hate that this town is a mess. I hate all these lies and secrets. I especially hate ghosts and zombies.” Parker grabs my hand and wraps his fingers in mine. “But one thing I could never hate, is you Harper. You are the only thing making some sense to me and I want you to know, whatever happens, that I truly believe that.”

For the first time, maybe even since I got here, genuine warmth spreads in my chest.

Softly, he presses a kiss to my forehead and I let my eyes close. Thank god. Thank god he’s back.

“I know. You’re important to me too.”

The laugh he releases is warm and makes my spine tingle. “You know, I might even treat you to a romantic dinner when we put all this behind us.”

“I quite enjoyed the cramped supply closet whilst being chased by murderous crazy people.” His head shakes at me and I press my lips to the corner of his mouth. “Fine, I suppose I can let you wine and dine me.”

Even though it had been days, I’d missed this. Like I said, my only shred of normality. The only time I don’t have to be on or responsible.

“I quite enjoyed the supply closet too. In fact, I seem to remember something about carrying it on when sound wasn’t an issue?” His eyebrows raise. I had said that, hadn’t I? “You, Harper Vance, are a woman of your word.” I swat him in the arm.

“One make out session and you’re a regular Don Juan but, you are in fact correct. I have an empty house and a promise to make good on.” As Parker’s mouth brushes against the skin on my neck, my spine shudders. Bliss. Probably more bliss than I deserve. “I mean it is improper to get to third base without at least popcorn and terrible movie -”

When he laughs, his breath tickles my flesh. “I swear, I will keep this between us. Your reputation is safe with me.”

I doubt that.

Slowly, his mouth moves to mine and I lose myself in it; safe and warm and everything.

“Shit! God, my eyes!”

We both fall out the chair, trying to untangle our limbs faster than a human possibly could. As Elliot and Robbie stand above us wide-eyed and pale, I glare at Parker. Didn’t even lock the door; a cop, that didn’t lock the door.

“Elliot! Hi Robbie – Parker and I were-”

“This is most gross thing I have ever seen.” As Elliot speaks, Robbie bites back a smirk. “And please, spare me the ‘he stopped breathing and I was giving him mouth-to-mouth’ yarn; it didn’t work when I caught you with Brendan Gibson and it won’t work now.” With a snort and a head shake, Elliot hops up the stairs leaving Robbie awkwardly shrugging in our direction.

Silence befalls us as we sit on the floor; my ass bone probably bruised from the landing.

Parker, despite the redness on his face, is the first to laugh. “So, Brendan Gib-”

“Don’t you dare Parker. Don’t you dare.”

[theharellan]

You've talked before about how Solas assists with trauma response when it comes to others (forever sad about that cut content) but what about himself? Is he equally aware of his own dissociative moments and trauma responses? How does he deal with them and practice self care?

send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on | accepting

General content warning for talk of mental health.

To address them quickly, so more potentially triggering stuff can go under a cut: yes. He doesn’t always practise self care, however, and rather allows himself to stew in it. Sort of as a way of punishing himself.

For the long answer: yes, but it was a journey getting there. After he fought in the war that created the evanuris I think was the beginning of most of his mental health issues. Before there were… cracks, I suppose? Moments of anxiety over having his interests dismissed that resulted in him leaving the village he began in to find people more like him. More or less, however, he was healthy, and once he found people who appreciated his interests more those anxieties had mostly subsided. It wasn’t until during the war that he started getting worse.

We know Solas doesn’t enjoy killing, and when he was young he could bear it much less gracefully. But he mostly dealt with the trauma by suppressing it: before the Veil, emotions could be felt, and as he rose to a title such as general it wouldn’t have done for people to know exactly the effect the deaths of their enemies were having on him. Suppressing his feelings, never giving them voice, seemed to be working for him. The closest he would get to dealing with them is talks with Wisdom, who would often offer small acts of self care, even if he didn’t necessarily recognise them as such.

And then as evanuris it became all the more important that he didn’t… feel too much? People saw him as protector to Mythal, justice herself, as well as qualities that were eventually attributed to his own “godhood.” Since I tend to see him being associated with things like joy, a sort of Dionysus/Hermes cross, it became something of an issue for acknowledging his own issues. Being evanuris was unhealthy for him, personally, and he went centuries without working on any of his issues. It was easier being what people believed him to be.

As his life becomes entangled with the rebellion, and he begins to distance himself from the title of evanuris, all of the stuff he built to keep himself functioning collapses. During the period between evanuris and Fen’Harel, when he doesn’t really have a name in my interpretation, he goes through a period of depression that culminates in him trying to drown himself. He’s stopped by someone who doesn’t recognise him, and not long after that he joins the growing rebellion under a new name. As far as I’m concerned, by the way, Solas by no means began the rebellion against the evanuris. Rather, it was something he joined, hence why he believes even his allies give him more credit than he deserves.

It’s under the rebellion that he begins to better deal with his own issues as well as those in others. There are some desires he denies himself– as evanuris he basically convinced himself he didn’t desire romance, now he can admit to himself he desires it, but (rightfully, imo) believes it’s improper to act upon any feelings. Due to the kind of fragile state he’s in he does develop crushes on a lot of people in the rebellion. It’s the first time in a while where a lot of people value him as a person, and not as a god, while before there were only a few (Mythal and Wisdom, namely) who couldn’t be expected to sort out his issues. Being around people who were healing themselves helped him heal, and admit his own struggles with depression and depersonalisation. This later helps him recognise that he’s disassociating throughout Inquisition, though even that, itself, is a journey. At first he thinks his perception of the world not being real is correct, and it takes connecting with people like the Herald, Ian, Cassandra, what have you, to recognise the fault lies within himself.

As for how he deals with it, well…

Cole: It’s brighter here. Glittering. Glaring. Glinting. I can’t…Solas: It’s a mild tremor in the Veil. Nothing to worry about. Focus on what is here, in this world.Cole: But… what is here?Solas: Feel the ground, the breath in your lungs, fabric rustling against your skin.Cole: (Breathes.) Thank you.Solas: It’s nothing. It can be overwhelming for anyone.

Cole seems to experience issues of derealisation due to being a spirit, and I think Solas has some similar issues to Cole, but is better at dealing with them so he can appear functional. Most hints that he even has issues come from Cole, funnily enough. I think his advice for Cole is telling of how he deals with it himself.

Bare feet are, in part, a way to help him connect with solid ground. Comfortable clothes, he’s wearing what he wants to wear– even when the Inquisitor hands him something, he makes it his own like every companion. And practised breathing is a pretty common way for people who experience anxiety and panic attacks to cope. Meditation is a big one, sleeping is another although that can lapse into oversleeping if he’s not careful (and towards the beginning of Inquisition I do think he sleeps a lot more than later, Ian worries he interrupts Solas’s sleep schedule when in reality he makes it more stable lmao). Painting, sketching, casting spells– anything that requires expressing himself, and Solas’s magic is as much an art for him as his murals.

Touch is another form of self care, one that he’s done since he was an evanuris with Mythal, who he was quite affection with. Among the rebellion I often headcanon the people in his “inner circle” often slept in kind of a pile. It’s something he denies himself a little more in Inquisition, because he does have moments of touch aversion, but with Ian he does eventually find that form of self care. We don’t see him touch many people in Inquisition in general– aside from a romanced character, we see him touch Cole and Flemythal to my knowledge. So I do think he’s a little more touchy with Cole than other people, but Cole’s a little more familiar.

Also, without going too much into post-Inquisition and post-Trespasser stuff, Solas denies himself a lot of this. He wears armour, his feet don’t touch the ground, and by my interpretation he doesn’t even allow himself his own name. His touch aversion is worse, to the point he often doesn’t want even Ian touching him. It’s sort of a manner of self-punishment. Solas is taking effort to make sure that the lives of the people of Thedas are their most comfortable by doing things like stopping a qunari invasion, but isn’t doing the same for himself, even though, assuming he’s not stopped, the time they have left is likely to be more or less the same.

[opticor]

yesterday i had queued a text post, and it started like this: “it’s not my style to review books while still reading them (or, indeed, ever) but i wanted to tell you that i’m reading Ninefox Gambit right now and it’s giving me a lot of feelings; not exactly in the “so many feels” way, but rather in the “a lot of very conflicting feelings” way, which while less memetic is no less overwhelming.” but since then the post became obsolete, first because the book descended (ascended?) straight into the so-many-feels territory, and then because i actually finished it, and what a book it is! i want to say some things, so this post, while not a review, is probably not spoiler free either. you have been warned!!

so, this is subjective stuff, i won’t pretend otherwise. the reason i mentioned conflicted feelings (let’s say, i was in the first half of the book then) was, well, i’ve consumed some amount of media through the years, so unfortunately i often think of things as being like-other-things (unless they are totally-unlike-other-things) and so, i was reminded of things, such as the Divergent faction system (which i don’t like) and certain scenes in the early instalments of Hellsing (which, embarrassingly, i do like) and quasimagical warfare in The Solstice War (which i love; in my opinion, if you liked Ninefox Gambit you are likely to enjoy The Solstice War as well! the opposite may also be true, depending on what you like the most about The Solstice War -- give it a shot!)

there was also a scene that unpleasantly reminded me of an unhealthy pattern in a past relationship. that was rather painful because it was also a scene i really liked, actually the most Hellsing-like scene. i am actually not certain anymore if anything exactly like it happened in Hellsing and i am not in the mood to check right this moment, but i seem to recall an episode where Alucard in his many-eyed form terrorized Seras with the intent of teaching her some important lesson about being a monster. there is nothing improper about monsters being monsters, and it’s a soft spot for me. i liked it. in the book, though. well, in that scene Jedao torments Cheris until she’s completely broken and it’s a game, a test. he apologizes and is awfully nice afterwards, but it gave me a pause. i mean, by this point this is more of a personal post than anything remotely resembling a book review but i still want to stress that i absolutely don’t want to say anything bad about the book as such for having this in it! it was just, viscerally unpleasant to me personally in light of, you know. and it made me think about my embarrassing preference for hurt/comfort in fiction (is... is it hurt/comfort if they are provided by the same person? i am not even certain) in contrast with the same in real life; and also what would this dynamic look like if the roles were differently gendered. i guess it is also a mark of a great work that it makes you think, about stuff?

so i thought about that some, then decided thinking about it does no good, scheduled my text post and went on about my evening. but regular activities were unengaging because what i really wanted to do was continue reading the book. and so i did. and i couldn’t stop reading. not to say there weren’t horrible, gruesome, heavy things from there on. it’s not harmless and virtuous. it, actually, not only made me cry, but was painful enough that it physically hurt which a book hadn’t done to me since i read Stephenie Meyer’s New Moon at age eighteen. but there wasn’t anything displeasing to give me a pause, or a stop, after that tenth chapter. book just kept going and went from an uncertain four to a solid five and, i don’t know, i don’t think it’s got anything to do with its technical qualities. just how it went for me. that was certainly an Experience.

speaking of technical qualities, i thought it was paced really well. i’m not an expert but i don’t enjoy fiction that doesn’t live up to my personal standards for good pacing, stuff like slow pilot episodes or filler or what have you -- though not, mind me, infodumps. the menace of infodumps is a blunt instrument applied by amateur critics to scare readers and authors alike away from exposition, and is, just like tvtropes, probably not real. i had, actually, read a scathing review for Ninefox Gambit that condemned it for its infodumpiness, among other things. well i am happy to say that that-reviewer can stuff it. information about characters and setting is, in my opinion, elegantly inserted and never out of place. i may have more thoughts on this after a re-read of course since it takes time to ease into the specific terminology, but that is my initial impression.

which brings me to the plot. where, after all, is this wonderfully paced story going? spoiler: a good place. was it twisty? well... no, i wouldn’t say, for something mentioning many a multi-layered plan. hindsight is a harsh mistress. near the beginning, the book gives you a problem: why did this character do that horrible, monstrous thing? and it gives you a hint: the answer is not insanity. if you assume, as i did, that Jedao is a good (for some measure) person, i don’t think that could lead to many significantly different answers, in the context of this book. and answering that question, there are not many directions it would make sense for the story to go. i don’t think this a defect, by the way. i think it’s good writing. of course, the answers could potentially change as it is, among other things, also a first book in a series. it’s something of note on both pacing and story. it’s definitely a part-one and there are some subtle things that are impossible to fairly judge a part-one on. story, i guess? or, more like, how satisfying is the story arc overall? as it is, it would be called open-ended, i guess. so i won’t say anything about it. i just don’t want to be saying something like “it’s a good first book in a series” -- it’s a good book, period. but also, a first book in a series. speaking of which the second one is coming in just a few days and i for one cannot fucking wait to read it

thank you for taking the time to read this wall of text, i am awfully flattered that you value my opinion on books this much; i also apologize for putting a very long post on your dashboard, and i may put a cut in it after i see it on a real browser. i wish we had LJ’s functionality of only putting some of the text in a readmore, rather than everything

the part i’d leave outside of a cut is this: if you want to read an actual, nicely written review, there are many but i particularly recommend this one, over at Strange Horizons

and since it’s a recommendation, content warnings include: graphic depictions of injury and body horror; death, violence, and other war tropes; torture, emotional abuse, rape

[thewebofslime]

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private home tours Florida Lottery results for Saturday, March 9, 2019 Source: Raiders acquire WR Antonio Brown from Steelers No survivors in Ethiopian Airlines crash en route to Kenya Live blog: FHSAA Wrestling State Finals in Kissimmee Trump to demand $8.6 billion in new wall funding, setting up fresh battle with Congress The Latest: Jetliner crashes in Ethiopia, killing 157 from 35 countries Canada’s no-sex, no-money scandal could topple Trudeau Brexit backers to UK prime minister: Don’t delay Head of UN Women: Technology revolution must benefit women Dear Abby: Pen pal labors from a distance as dementia fades friend’s memory Miss Manners: Expect judgment from guests when giving private home tours Florida Lottery results for Saturday, March 9, 2019 Source: Raiders acquire WR Antonio Brown from Steelers No survivors in Ethiopian Airlines crash en route to Kenya Next Polk child-care agency CEO set to resign amid multiple allegations, currently under internal investigation MOST POPULAR 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Johnathan Alcegaire gets death sentence for home-invasion triple murder in Lakeland Mar 8 at 3:52 PM 4 Police report filed after Florida bus driver removes student’s MAGA hat Mar 8 at 11:57 AM 5 Cops: Man broke into Arizona woman’s home while she slept, made tortillas Mar 8 at 1:52 PM 6 Sting ends in 3 arrests, seizure of 3½ pounds of meth, marijuana in Haines City Mar 8 at 6:29 PM 7 WHPD: Family is asking for public’s help locating missing Haven man Mar 8 at 4:31 PM 8 Dog beaches in Florida: 11 of the best dog beaches, from Panama City to Key West Mar 8 at 2:25 PM 9 Bartow man guilty in stabbing death of Mulberry woman Mar 8 at 6:39 PM 10 Union Academy former assistant principal retires amid sexual harrassment investigation Mar 8 at 9:04 PM 11 Sebring bank shooting: Still numb from tragedy, Florida town hosts race day Mar 8 at 5:37 PM 12 Local aviation luminary dies at 97: ‘His hands were gifted in the sky’ Mar 8 at 7:27 PM 13 Florida sheriff adopts kitten whose abuse was caught in 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certain employees and creating a toxic work environment. Gilbert Rincon, 50, remains on paid administrative leave pending completion of the investigation that also is looking into allegations of the misuse of funds for travel. Diane Bowman, the coalition’s vice president of client services, has been named interim CEO. During an emergency meeting Tuesday morning, ELC’s board of directors agreed to keep Rincon on the payroll for a third week while lawyers for both sides negotiate a severance package. Related content Polk child-care agency nears agreement with former CEO for resignation amid internal investigation March 21, 2018 The board is expected to review the compensation package at its regularly scheduled meeting at 8:30 a.m. March 21 in the education building at the Florida Industrial and Phosphate Research Institute, 1855 W. Main St., Bartow. Until two weeks ago, Rincon presided over the $32 million nonprofit agency that oversees subsidized child care and early learning programs in Polk. The Lakeland-based coalition serves an average of between 9,000 and 10,000 children. It also is responsible for on-site inspections of child-care providers and provides training and resources. Rincon is paid an annual base salary of $163,734. Bill Dorman, chairman of the agency’s board, referred all questions to J. Kemp Brinson, the Winter Haven lawyer hired to look into complaints about Rincon, who was hired in November 2010 as chief operations officer and elevated to CEO in late 2012. LISTEN: 911 AUDIO Rincon did not immediately return phone messages Wednesday afternoon for comment. Brinson provided The Ledger with a tape recording of a Feb. 21 board meeting at which he briefed the board on his findings so far. At the meeting, he said concerns about Rincon’s behavior surfaced in early 2016 when an employee who had been terminated accused the CEO of having an inappropriate relationship with another agency employee. Both Rincon and the employee denied any relationship, Brinson said, and there was no evidence to the contrary. In late January, another employee and her supervisor complained of a hostile work environment and they alleged that Rincon had continued showing favoritism to the same employee with whom he’d been accused of carrying on a relationship. Brinson said there is evidence of favoritism, but didn’t think the situation met the legal definition of a hostile work environment. 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[just-a-rantpage-blog]

Caring More & More that He “Could Care Less”

It’s story time. 

A few weeks ago, I went on a Tinder date. 

Side note: Tinder, dating, being single, online dating, swiping, ~and all that jazz~ (Velma Kelly dances enthusiastically across the stage) will make its way into another rant, or two or three, promise. So, don’t get excited; this post isn’t about the trials and tribulations of singledom. Nope. This is about language, well kinda. See what I did there? Got on a high-horse about *language* and then fall right off with the use of slang... tsk tsk.

Back to our regularly scheduled broadcast: the story. 

So, I am at dinner with this guy. He was nice... enough? I don’t know, there were lots of, not red but maybe yellow flags. Again, I promise this story is more about language and less about the dating, I just need to set the scene a little. Bare with me.

Anyhoo, we are talking & getting to know each other. Correction: he is talking and that left me with getting to know him. Prior to swiping I knew he was a professor. Actually, it was one of the characteristics that made me #swiperight. So, when he started to talk about his job & students, I was legitimately interested. 

But then... he used the phrase “I could care less”... 

Now, there are a few things about this that made the scratch my head. But, I tried to play it cool. And by that I mean, he kept talking while I tried to subtlety assess how I felt about the situation without hinting to the fact my head was doing linguistic gymnastics. Not entirely sure I was successful, be he kept talking. 

First, I tried to figure out if he did, in fact, care and therefore used the phrase correctly, just obscurely. Or, more likely, if he fucked up the phrase because he actually didn’t give a flying rat’s ass. 

Based on context, he was talking about his students’ classroom behavior and being the “cool teacher,” I surmised it was the latter. Thus, he misused the phrase. He had meant “I couldn’t care less.” Glad to had cleared that up, I continued to ponder. He kept yammering. 

Next, I began to think I misheard him. Which isn’t entirely impossible. My hearing is notoriously bad, remind me to tell you the story about twatterpoof: its a riot. And, to be frank, the auditory contraction of “could” & “not” can be subtle. So, maybe I jumped the gun. Maybe he knows the phrase is “couldn’t care less” because he is fresh out of fucks to give. Which, okay, sure.

But then, he said it again: “I could care less.” Same phrase. Different context. What the fuck. Bro, do you even care?

Now, in my mind, it’s settled: he doesn’t know the phrase. Which, okay, not great, but not a *deal breaker.* And I’m not gonna pull a Hermione and tell him it is Levi-O-sa or some shit. So, he keeps talking: about himself, his work, his students, his family, the band he played in (yeah... that one is a red flag), his roommate, his pets.  

And, guess what:

He “could care less” about his job.

He “could care less” about his students.

He “could care less” about his family.

He “could care less” about the band he once was the drummer for... ew.

He “could care less” about his roommate.

He “could care less” about his pet snake that froze to death, but nbd because he had it less than a year and wasn’t that attached yet... what the literal fuck you heartless monster. 

So, at this point, not only am I concerned he doesn’t understand the fundamental meaning of words, but also sir, what do you care about!?

I don’t know if you can tell... but I care a lot, about all the things, everything. Hell, this whole blog is about things I overly care about, for better or worst, funny or nah. 

Needless to say, after hearing all the things he didn’t give a flying fuck about, I was left caring less & less about getting to know him. I’d learned enough. 

He didn’t care. So, I didn’t either. 

Now, I may sound like a complete snob. But, strike one was using the phrase incorrectly. Strike two was continuing to use it incorrectly. Strike three was the fact that I sat there wondering “what the fuck do you care about?” Strike four? He ordered hard shelled tacos at an actual restaurant. 

Lesson of the day: when on a date or, hell, just talking to another human being don't act like a douche who arrogantly leans back in the booth blabbing on & on & on about all the things you don't consider important or meaningful to you. It’s not cute. You’ll come off like a tool. 

So, ladies & gentleman & genderfluid folk, that is how I became turned off by the improper use of a phrase, (among other serious things, like, can we talk about the dead snake he shrugged off like no big deal???!)  

Unsurprisingly, we didn’t go out again. I couldn’t care less.