#queen of the quizzical brows

[tolstoytwofurious]

[thatfandomslut]

A Really Good Friend

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Trigger Warnings: this story doesn't include Cady so that it the trigger warning :sob:

Request:

basically a fic where fem!reader replaces cady and it goes a bit differently? a different past, but was still homeschooled and transfered. janis and damian could still be involved, but the reader has no incentive to do any revenge on regina because she doesn't get a crush on aaron. and like, y'know, regina isn't that bad. she's so protective of reader and is SUCH a great friend. regina makes the reader feel so special. hehe

A/N: I did not know how to write this, so please be kind.

Mean Girls requests are open.

"Don't look at them," Damian attempted to shield (Y/n)'s eyes, but she gently removed his hands out of curiosity. "They call those three the Plastics. The girl with the big hair, that's Gretchen Wieners. Her hair is so big because it's full of secrets. Then, you have Karen Shetty, I once saw her put a 'D' in the word orange." Damian hissed as a blonde girl came in after them. She was obviously the leader of whatever the group was. When she flipped her hair over her shoulder, everyone was still in awe.

Janis grumbled as she crossed her arms with narrowed eyes. "Evil takes human form in Regina George." She commented, letting her know who the last girl was. (Y/n) couldn't get over how stunning she was. "She's the Queen Bee, she always wins Spring Fling Queen. You need to be careful around her, (Y/n)." Janis warned, trying to stop the brainwashing before (Y/n) was too far in. But it seemed like she was too far in and hypnotized until she almost dropped her tray onto the floor because she almost ran into someone.

"Why don't I know you?" A voice called, causing (Y/n) to look up from her lunch tray, and away from Janis and Damian. She made eye contact with a blonde who was in a leather jacket. It was obvious that she had status at North Shore High by the fearful stares of their classmates. That's why (Y/n) hoped that when she looked around, there was a different new student that the girl was talking to. "No, no… I'm talking to you. Don't be shy, come over here."

(Y/n) looked over to Janis who shook her head, but (Y/n) felt she had no way of getting out of this. Approaching the table with an awkward smile as she set down her tray. "Why haven't I seen you before?" Regina turned her head quizzically. The honey blonde next to her leaned closer as she examined the situation, wanting to hear what (Y/n) would respond with. However, on the other side of her was a girl with wavy black hair and a curious look in her eyes despite not having a thought behind them.

"I'm new here," (Y/n) said softly, fidgeting with her hand. Regina's brows rose, and it was obvious she was vying for more information. She wanted to know more about (Y/n), but she wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Not when her only other friends were so against the idea of her coming over. She didn't want to upset Janis or Damian, nor did she want to upset these other girls. "Well, I'm not new to North Shore. I've just been homeschooled my whole life before now. I just finally convinced my mom to let me come to school here."

Regina nodded with a small smirk on her lips as she looked at the other girls behind her. "Give us just a moment," Regina said before whispering to them. This left (Y/n) standing there, not knowing if she should walk away and give them space or if she should just stand there. "Right, so we never really do this, but how'd you like to have lunch with us all week." Before (Y/n) could reject their offer, Regina held up her hand. "There's no need for you to thank us, there's no need to even speak. You're new and you don't know things, you need good friends who can tell you what to think. We'll see you here same time tomorrow." She said, know now that (Y/n) couldn't reject her.

"On Wednesdays, we wear pink!" The girl with long wavy hair said, grinning up at (Y/n) as Regina nodded. (Y/n) was then excused and she made her way over to Janis and Damian with her lunch tray. She didn't know if they would be upset with her or not when she sat down. Instead, they looked like they wanted to know exactly what happened over at the table she was at. This made her feel a little more comfortable to know they weren't mad at her.

(Y/n) then just gave them a polite smile. "They want me to eat lunch with them for a week." (Y/n) said softly, starting to eat the sandwich on her tray. Janis grinned at this, nudging Damian who looked surprised. "I already said I'd join you guys though, so I guess I'll have to reject their invitation." (Y/n) shrugged. She was a loyal person, and she didn't want to just drop Janis and Damian for the Plastics.

"No, no, no," Janis said, waving her hands with a jubilant look on her face. "That's the tits, and I think you should do it. You should take the offer, and then you should come to us with every little stupid thing that they say."

(Y/n)'s nose crinkled in thought as she looked over at them. "I'm not sure I can spy on them, but if you really want me to take up the offer… Do either of you have a pink shirt?" She asked, hoping that one of them did since she didn't. Damian nodded before letting her know that he had her back. "Great, thank you. I'm going to head to class. Thanks for being so cool on me not wanting to spy on them. You're both great friends." (Y/n) said as she separated from them in order to make it to her class.

The next day, Gretchen sat in front of (Y/n), letting her know all of the rules that they must follow if they want to remain at the Plastics table. "You can't wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear a ponytail once a week. Oh, and we can only wear sweats and track pants on Fridays. If you break any of these rules, you can't sit with us. And, I mean, none of us can sit here if we break the rules. Like, if I was wearing sweatpants today, I might have to sit over there with the art freaks." Gretchen pointed to Damian catching some food that Janis threw over to him. The action caused (Y/n) to chuckle, but she quickly covered it.

"That sounds fair," she confirmed with a smile as she began to eat her lunch. She was surprised to see how kind the girls were. She then began to wonder what they did to make Janis hate them so much. More specifically, she hated Regina.

Regina hummed as she tried to process the percentage of sugar in her Yoghurt before looking over to (Y/n) with a smile. "After school, we're taking you shopping. Then, we're going to hang out at my place. Meet us at my Jeep right after the bell." She said, before getting up to get cheese fries instead. She was pleased to see Regina acting so kind to her, and she was grateful for her allowance since she had been saving for years, and now she might be able to use it. She was beginning to feel lucky at how great of a friend Regina George was.

"So, any cute boys?" Gretchen questioned as Regina left. She was a bit nosy, but her heart was always in the right place. That was what (Y/n) began to notice about her. Shaking her head, (Y/n) shrugged. She had only been there for a day, and the only person she felt attracted to was Regina, who wasn't a boy. "That's too bad. If you do end up having a crush on someone, please tell me. I'm great at keeping secrets, so it'll just be between you and me."

(Y/n) nodded, not sure how true Gretchen was about that last part. However, she felt it was better to agree than disagree with her. Karen braided her hair during lunch, adding butterfly clips, and (Y/n) couldn't see how anyone could hate any of these girls at this table. "Don't keep us waiting later, pretty girl," Regina flirted with a wink causing (Y/n) to leave with pink cheeks and no words. She couldn't understand how the world could be so right after years of being stuck at home because her mother was very fearful. However, she was having the time of her life at North Shore.

After school, Regina took the Plastics shopping and (Y/n) was beginning to feel special thanks to Regina. "Let's give you a makeover," Regina announced before the girls began to give her a makeover. The girls were having a blast until Gretchen and Karen had to head home and it was just Regina and (Y/n) by themselves. "You can stay here tonight if you want." Regina offered when she noticed the time. They had been talking into the late hours of eleven o'clock at night.

"My mom would kill me, but thank you for today." (Y/n) said softly. She called her mother to pick her up and she had ten minutes extra with the Queen Bee. "Thank you for inviting me to your table. You're a really good friend, Regina."

Regina smiled gently squeezing (Y/n)'s hand. She could be a good friend, it just depended on who it was and her mood. She was happy that (Y/n) felt that way about her. "See you later, loser," she said softly. "Maybe we can spend more time just us." (Y/n) nodded in agreement when she heard her mother honk from outside. Waving softly, she made her way outside, feeling like she had just made more than just a really good friend.

[themotherofblood]

Want A Drink?

Vampire!Daemon x Reader x Vampire!Rhaenyra

masterlist | Bloody Baby Series | Vampire AU

synopsis: Rhaenyra finds a doe eyed thing for her and Daemon to drink from, however she has a bad habit of playing with food.

warnings: dub-con? Kinda non-con? Feeding, blood drinking. threesome, oral (F), riding, compulsion.

a/n: I will take requests for this series :)

A masterful event, truly. The rooms of this old castle filled with enough free booze, loosened inhibitions and stumbling younglings draped in what they would consider cool clothing. This was a rather fun way to hunt, the days of random strangers in the forests had long dwindled decades before, this, this was chique - a classic way of finding a pretty someone to feed on and a hell of an excuse for party.

Rhaenyra, leaned against one of the many high tables, her senses working to find the one, if there was one. She shook her head, watching Daemon stumble and dance along with one the many girls that were fawning over him. Even with the wedding band glinting on his ring finger, these young broads didn’t care. Hands in the air as he moved to the beats - if only they knew what he was.

You tore through the thick crowd, all smiles and huffs as you came to rest your head on the table Rhaenyra stood by. The air so thick within, you needed to pull away for a minute. The smell even beyond the sweat and the booze, she could smell you. Even more so hear the running blood under your skin, lavender? No jasmine, that’s what you smelled of. You took deep breaths, trying to find air within the thick ambience of this room. You couldn’t - tequila, it had to be the tequila making you feel this way.

“You doing alright, love?” Rhaenyra’s voice boomed over the music in front of you.

You looked up, confused and a little dazed. Gosh, she’s so pretty you thought dumbfounded “I- yeah, it’s hot in here,” you replied, you looked up once more trying to breathe through your mouth this time as you lift your hair in your palm to ease away the heat.

“Come with me,” this time you hadn’t realized that she came to stand next to you, her frame towering over your as you came to stand straight. You looked back to where your friend was dancing with her boyfriend, just go, you nodded, taking her hand as she led you outside the grand room.

You mindlessly followed her, such naivety - crawling along with her to the monster’s den. She led you to a balcony, the crisp air of the night prickling goosebumps against your skin as you took yet another deep breath before your lungs fully let your chest to clear. You leaned against the balcony columns. Below in the courtyard, people stumbled over to trimmed shrubs, chatters and giggles echoed with the muffled thud of the music with every door opening and closing.

You giggled, shaking your head as it turned to chuckle. You had forgotten about the pretty woman still standing against the other column. She looked at you quizzically, what sweet sounds the corners of her lips up turned, wondering what intoxicated thought had you musing so. “What’s so funny?”

“This palace,” you coughed to halt your giggles “whatever fat lord had this made, I doubt he envisioned rowdy peasants fornicating in its bushes.” you laughed one more, pressing a hand to your belly.

“I’m sure he had many debauched plans, sweetheart.” Rhaenyra smiled, this time approaching you. Her little words of endearment didn’t go amiss as your cheeks flushed.

“He had three wives,” you blurted, the only thing you could do under the intimidating gaze of her purple contacts.

Rhaenyra’s brows waggled, she looked curious, a little knowing. “history student, are you?” She tucked a piece of your loose hair behind you ear.

“Hobby really,” you shook your head, feeling sandwiched between the marble column and this - this angelic lady dressed in maroon.

“What else do you know,” she whispered, her thumb still grazing over your cheek.

“There lived a Queen here, once, with her husband and his three wives,” your breath hitched as she grew closer “he died for her and she died in grief.”

“How terrible,” Rhaenyra murmured, you’re so pretty your mind began to scream so loudly that your actually said it. She pulled back looking amused, her thank you?

She finally closed the space between the two of you, one hand snaking around the small of your waist as the other held you cheek. The smell of vanilla and wood was hit against your nose as her lips moulded against yours. You squeaked into the kiss, frozen for a moment until you gave in. Letting her lips melt your to putty in her hands as she explored your mouth. Breathe, breathe - so overwhelming as you gasped breaths of air within the short pause.

“Enjoying without me, my love?” A man’s voice tore you away from the daze Rhaenyra was lulling you into.

A man with silver hair stood leaning against the glass paned balcony door, his cream shirt unbutton to his sternum, “Isn’t she just a beauty, Daemon,” Rhaenyra chides, before pecking your lips once more.

You looked between both of them confused, were you a home wrecker now? “I’m sorry- I- I didn’t know you were married,” you said eyeing the ring on the woman’s finger.

“Shh- sh It’s alright, Daemon doesn’t mind. Do you honey?” She began nipping at the expanse of your neck.

“My…you really are pretty,” Daemon said approaching you. Your mind seemed to have been in a trance, the way they looked at you, smelled, the hold of their fingers in each wrist.

“You are going to be a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Daemon asked, his thumb grazing your lip. it felt like a demand, your on consciousness slipping. You nodded, letting his thumb push in as your suckled around it.

You were in and out after that, but mostly you were warm. So very warm, perhaps it was the giant fireplace in their bedroom, the only warm yellow light of the room. There were spurts your remembered.

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra moaned as you kneeled between her legs, lapping away at her cunt with your nose pressed up against her clit as she rolled her hips against your tongue “just like that.” Daemon’s grip on your hair was tight as he kept your face against his wife’s pussy, admiring the scrunched look on her face you licked away at her needy bundle of nerves.

The mere moments of lucidity passed once more as your mind dwindled to the warmth, the next you were straddled and Daemon’s hip. His cock deep within you as you rolled your hip and bounced on his cock, “can we keep her? I want to keep her?” Daemon groaned, feeling the vice grip of your cunt milking him.

“Hmm, she would make a fine pet. Look at her.” Rhaenyra whispered from behind you, she hands pinching and rolling your nipples in between her finger as you pleasures her husband.

You felt her pressing kisses onto your neck as you weight fell back against her, exhausted and wanting as Daemon yet agains began rubbing your clit, hood pulled back as he flicked against the reddened bud. You felt a sharp graze, maybe the woman’s fingernails. You whimpered, dazed as your felt the warmth in your belly stir, you were close and all three of you knew it. Daemon thrusted his hips upwards, his fingers unrelenting as you played with your bundle of nerves “that’s it darling, come for him.”

Rhaenyra sounded desperate, her eyes blown as she watched Daemon face scrunch up. She was hungry, she wanted to taste you against the blood rush. You squealed once more, a moan stuck at the back of your throat and Rhaenyra gave in. Sinking her fangs into your jugular and moaning when the thick crimson liquid hit her tongue. Blood dripped from the opened wound down your torso as you thrashed against their tight holding. The initial scream still ringing in your ears as you felt Daemon’s tongue flatten on your sternum and lick up the dripping blood. The fear has blown your eyes wide, tears polling around them.

Your heart thudding as you tried to fight against them, barely making any headway “Shh- you’re alright,” Daemon wiped at your tears, his eyes dilated and then calm, your heart was no longer thudding “you are safe.”

“I am safe,” you mumbled as Daemon lifted your wrist to his mouth before he too sunk his teeth in deep.

When you woke up next morning, messed hair and aching in a soft (too soft) bed, one unlikely to be yours. You groaned pulling yourself up, a gentle sting running down your body as you took in the silk pink nightgown your body was dressed in. Your mind wavered for moment until it focused in on their faces, the silver woman and her husband Da- Daemon. Your friends would surely freak out when they find out you fucked two people in one night. Your fingers grazed at your lip and then it all came crashing back.

Teeth, your neck. The bandaging on your wrists, heart thudding against your heart, praying that perhaps it had been a bad dream. You stopped at the giant body length mirror, multiple bite marks down your thighs and legs. One on each side of your neck, what the fuck, you winced ripping the bandage from your wrists. Yellowing bruise and two distinct wounds sunken into you skin, still bleeding. You had to get out of here, you had no idea where your phone or your clothes were but all you did was run.

Rhaenyra and Daemon sat in their dinning room, the cleaners already having returned their palace to its pristine nature. They looked rather pleased with themselves and the events that took place last night. “We should have dried her out,” Daemon groaned, eyes fixated on his glass of scotch.

“We should have,” Rhaenyra agreed, “we could just keep her.” she repeated Daemon’s words from the night before. It had been nearly a century since they shared a companion together. The end wasn’t so pretty for the last one but perhaps this time it would be different, Rhaenyra had become far more capable at curbing her blood thirst.

Daemon dryly chuckled “What? Should we just ask her to be our human blood bag?” A stale joke since they had much other plans to be within your company. You were far too warm, to sweet to let go. “Looks like Ms Blood bag is awake.” Daemon notes the distinct sound of footsteps hurrying along the grand staircase. He downed his cup of scotch before signing.

You were running, unsure which way to go at first but the hallways were organized enough to lead your straight to the enterance. Barefoot and naked another this flimsy night gown, you didn’t care you just ran. Just as you were about to reach the main door and push past it. You crashed into a hard body, stood looking unimpressed at your little attempt at escape. You screamed as he held onto you.

“No! No no- please let me go.” You yelled “Let me go!”

Daemon just stood there, hoping your outburst would heel on it’s on, unwanting to compel you once more. He needed the fear to subside on its on. Rhaenyra walked along calmly from the dinning room to the enterance, watching your frame thrash as your screams echoed through the palace. Daemon sunk to the floor, trying to shush you but looking extremely irk. Rhaenyra bent to your level as she pushed your hair away from your face. She too didn’t want to compel this away.

“Please, please don’t kill me,” you begged “I’ve barely lived.” Tears fell past your eyes that she wiped away.

“We don’t want to kill you, darling.” She hummed.

“No?” You whimpered, confused at her soft demeanour.

“We want you to be ours.”

I’m thinking of making this a Dark! AU, like eventual Stockholm Syndrome kicks in vibes and maybe she is actually happy. I will take requests for this AU right now. So if you have any ideas with Ms Blood Bag and Daemyra don’t me afraid to send a request ;)

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :)

[xbadgerbearx]

chapter one: new hire

summary: When a tall stranger is suddenly hired into the King's Club, your world shifts abruptly--whether for better or worse. As he unravels the threads of his history, you find yourself running from your own. Can you confront the shadows of the past, or will they ultimately consume you both in the end?

pairing: Kid x reader

word count: 2k

warning: spoilers!

notes: I did give Kid's character a name, but it came from an interview that Dev Patel did.

Redlight: masterlist ... [2]

There was a new man in the kitchen today. 

He seemed nervous as he made his way over to your area–you were washing dishes. He was here just the day before when he was escorted into Queenie’s office. It was surprising that not only Queenie didn’t immediately throw him out, but that she also gave him a job. His eyes met yours briefly before turning away to busy himself with some miscellaneous cutlery. You did the same, although you noted how beautifully big they were.

The peacefulness of working in silent tandem would be interrupted when Alphonso, your “manager,” showed up. “New guy, huh? What’s your name?” Your ears perked up, also wanting to know what the quiet stranger's name was.

“Bobby,” he answered unconvincingly.

Alphonso hummed before making his way closer to your station. “Wear your cap properly,” he chided one of the cooks. “We don’t want one of your pubes in the curry.” Alphonso stood next to Bobby–who was next to you–and only made it up to his shoulder. “Bobby,” he repeated with humor. “I think we’ve met before, right?”

“Don’t harass the new staff,” you reminded him impassively. The tall man quickly turned his attention to you. He hadn’t heard you speak until that point–he liked your voice. Alphonso waved you off.

“You like tequila, huh, Bobby?” Bobby walked around the short man to pick up a dirty pot to clean. “Patrón, Don Julio, the one with George Clooney in the photo?”

“I just want to clean the dishes, okay?” He took his place beside you, which was at the sink.

“Coke? Morphine? MDMA?” Alphonso continued. 

“Alphonso!” you snapped as your actual manager intervened. 

“Oi, Alphonos, eh, I’ve told you many times to stop hassling my staff.”

“Quality control, man,” he answered nonchalantly as your manager walked away. “You’re gonna thank me for this one day!” Alphonso got close to the new hire. “Stay cool, Bobby. Stay cool, hmm?” Alphonso turned his attention to you. Leaning against the sink, and right in your way, he laughed. “And how is it being in the kitchen today, hmm? Better than up there?” He extended a single finger up. 

“Alphonso,” you started calmly. “If you want to keep your finger, I suggest you get out of my way.” He quickly slid off to the side, but he was still leaning against the sink. You brought the newly dirtied dish to the sink to start rinsing it. 

“Okay, okay,” he smirked. “This is her on a good day, if you can believe it,” he said pointedly to the new hire. The tall stranger raised an eyebrow, but ultimately said nothing, “You should see her when she’s really on duty. She’ll have you-”

“Alphonso,” you interrupted, eyes glaring. “If you don’t leave us alone, a leg won’t be the only thing you’ll be missing,” you reminded as you walked past him and into another part of the kitchen, leaving Bobby alone with the short man.

“If it pleases her majesty,” he mocked while doing a small curtsey. The tall man looked at Alphonso quizzically. “Whatever Queen Whore wants, she gets,” he laughed, but Bobby frowned. 

“Don’t call her that,” he said quietly, eyebrows furrowed, but Alphonso wiggled his brows playfully instead with a smirk.

“Hm, what’s that, Romeo? You like her or something?” he grinned.

Bobby opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out as you strolled back into the area, this time holding a fresh set of towels. Alphonso laughed as Bobby scowled at him. 

“Alphonso, if you don’t leave this second, I’ll get Queenie myself,” you cooly explained, ignoring all eye contact and continuing to dry the dishes.

Alphonso tsked and swatted the air with his hand before deciding it would be wise to leave. “You better be careful with her,” he announced as he was leaving. “Five men entered a room with her, and only she came out-” he cackled. “Alive!” He then chastised a cook for bumping into his leg before exiting the kitchen. 

Quietly going back to work, you ignored Bobby’s glances and carried on with your day. He was quietly thinking about his earlier interaction with Alphonso. What did he mean by that? And Romeo? He had some things to ponder over… 

When your back was turned, he noticed that when you washed the dishes, you spent extra time cleaning your already clean hands.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time you worked with Bobby, he was tasked with preparing Queenie’s tea. He seemed a little lost, but you quietly helped him before sending him to her office. He was surprisingly in a light-hearted mood at the moment. A cook made you bump into a table and almost knocked Queenie’s favorite cup off, but he caught it. Instead of a snide comment or remark, he just laughed and handed you the cup. His positive mood improved your own, slightly sour one. You wore a small smile.

“I never got your name,” he said quietly after a while as he put the sugar bowl onto a tray. 

“And I never got yours,” you replied as you grabbed the small milk pitcher.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “It’s Bobby.”

“No it’s not,” you stated nonchalantly, as if it was a simple fact. Bobby looked at you confused, although his heart beat a little quicker, fearful that he’d been spotted out already. He was quiet as he gathered his thoughts. Then he had an idea.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled nervously. “You got me. I-I’m Romeo. That’s my name” He was wearing a big smile, sure that you would buy this one.

You paused what you were doing and met his eyes. “Romeo?” you asked in disbelief and he nodded hesitantly. “Romeo?” you asked again. “So why ‘Bobby?’” 

His smile fell slightly and he shrunk into himself. He chuckled a little, seemingly to stall for time. “I, uh, well-” he shrugged as he tried to form a sentence. “You know Alphonso. I said that to get him to leave me alone,” he said unconvincingly. He was bad at lying. 

Staring at him for a few moments, a smile slowly formed on your face. “Sureeee your name is Romeo,” you drawed. “And I’m Juliet.” The tall man laughed, his smile reaching his eyes. He had a nice smile, you noted. “Anyways, Romeo,” you emphasized sarcastically, obviously not buying this name either. “Queenie’s tea is done. Probably shouldn’t keep her waiting too long,” you directed, handing him the finished tray. He took it gratefully and made his way to her office.

You didn’t expect to be interrupted so quickly after sending him on his way, but Sita–an escort–came over to your station. It surprised you seeing the state she was in; she had just been crying and was wearing a plain chemise. “Queenie wants you,” she murmured before hurrying off. 

Heading towards Queenie’s office, you could see the new hire and Alphonso already in there. You knocked on her door and she waved you inside. “See? How hard is it to learn some fucking manners?” She berated Alphonso. You waited on her couch and got comfortable. Bobby glanced at you as he was pouring her tea; he was surprised at how…confident you were in her office. Queenie went over to her safe. “Hey, you,” she snapped at Bobby. “Face the wall.” He turned around, which allowed you to discreetly admire him in his uniform. 

Queenie finished her discussion with Alphonso. “Tell Naqeeb that if the maal is good, we’ll buy some more for Chief Rana.” She handed a stack of cash to him. You could see Bobby stiffen. “Get it sorted by the weekend. He is coming with his boys. Remember, only the best serve the VIPs.” Alphonso left, and soon Bobby as well, although not before giving you a quizzical look.

Queenie sat behind her desk and got comfortable in her chair. “I need you to be on your best behavior this weekend, got it? No funny business, not like last time.” You scowled but nodded in understanding. “Good. And wear that little red dress you have, you know it’s his favorite.” 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. “Okay. Anything else?” You stood up from the couch and made your way to the door. 

“Yeah. Watch over that little goat fucker. You seem to keep him in check.”

“Who? Alphonso?”

“Yeah, him, whatever. He seems to harass my employees less when you're around,” she smiled. 

“Yes ma’am,” you chuckled before leaving her office and heading back to the kitchen. You scanned the area for your Romeo, expecting him to be there, but he wasn’t. 

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

Bobby was currently hurrying after the shorter man. “Alphonso! Hey, uh, good job with Queenie, huh? She really respects you.”

Alphonso scoffed. “The only person in that room she remotely respected was your little work wife. What do you want?”

“Um, look. If you- if you,” he stopped to calm himself before starting again. “Look, if you need any help with the VIPs…”

“Hey, new guy. You know what happens to earwigs around here? You hear nothing, you see nothing. Got it?”

“Look, I’m just saying. If you need someone to go and do the job…”

“Does it look like I need help from someone like you?” Alphonso continued walking, but the tall man grabbed his shoulder. “Hey! What the fuck, man?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was looking slightly more desperate. “Look. You want to make some money? Guaranteed?”

Alphonso humored him, but he did look interested. “Go on.”

The tall man quickly found a piece of paper and wrote an address. “Come to this place tonight…bet on Khan. You’ll make a killing.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“I-I’ll be fighting him.” Alphonso scoffed before laughing at him. He obviously didn’t believe him and told him to fuck off. “The monkey will win the first two rounds and go down in the third.”

The shorter man became serious. “What’s in it for you?”

The tall dishwasher replied, “I want a promotion,” before patting him on the shoulder and leaving to go back to his job.

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

You didn’t see Romeo or Alphonso for the rest of the evening after what happened in Queenie’s office.  Your shift was over and you had just finished washing your hands when Alphonso strolled over. “Hey, baby-” he smiled.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay.” He straightened himself before lowering his voice. “I need a favor. Well, not really a favor, but I’d appreciate it if you went with me to this place.”

“Where?” 

“I’m not sure. That tall fucker–the new hire–gave me this address.” He passed the piece of paper with hurried writing over for you to see. 

“...And you want me to go?”

“Yeah!”

“Pass.” You hung up the towel and took off your apron before folding it over your arm. Alphonso followed you as you made your way to the exit.

“Aw, come on! You’re gonna make me go to this sketch ass place by myself?”

“No one is making you go.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you at least a little curious about Bobby?” You slowed to a stop. Alphonso smiled, seeming to sense his victory in winning you over. “I mean, come on. No one knows anything about that guy. He just keeps to himself and washes dishes. He said that if we go and bet on this guy named ‘Khan,’ then we’d make a lot of money.”

“I don’t even think his real name is Bobby…or Romeo,” you muttered to yourself, finger pressed to your lip as you looked away in thought.

“Soooo…” Alphonso looked at you hopefully. A few moments passed before you rolled your eyes and relented. “Yeah, baby! Come on, we’ll take Nicki!”

“Your scooter?”

“Hey, now. Nicki is not a scooter. She’s a classy rickshaw,” he huffed before smiling. “Let’s go before we’re late to the show.”

“Show?!”

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,9k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond and Aylana's POV.

Chapter 1 (Prologue)

Chapter 2 (Aemond)

Chapter 3 (Aylana)

Chapter 4 (Aylana)

- AYLANA –

I want a trouble-maker for a lover; blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, who burns like fire on the rushing sea.

The celebration was a suffocating spectacle. Meaningless chatter swirled around me like dust motes in a sunbeam, while servants drifted through the masses with food and drink, but the tension never abated. It sat there, uninterrupted. Like an echo before the words were even spoken. 

Parched, I plucked a goblet from a passerby tray and secluded myself in the shade, twisting uncomfortably in my gown.

In that same moment, I watched the Queen return to the godswood. The masses parted from her course like waves before a storm. She strolled right up to her first-born who was nigh-on asleep in his chair at this point. A curt exchange, a forceful tug on his arm, and the heir to the throne stumbled out of the gardens, escorted by two King’s Guard. 

“She looks unhappy, do you not think?” Jace had materialized beside me, plopping a grape into his mouth. 

“Who?” I stifled, feeling as if though the heat had thickened my mind to mush, because I swore there was two of him. 

“Helaena,” he said blatantly. 

My eyes found the poor girl at the edge of the garden, a flurry of nervous energy. Her hands danced in a silent, rapid rhythm, a desperate attempt to soothe the storm within.

“Well, I would be too if I were engaged to my brother. Or even worse, to Aegon,” I laughed, nudging his shoulder, to which Jace rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not funny,” he parried, “She looks positively miserable. We should do something.” 

I raised a brow and turned to my brother, smiling slyly in equal disbelief and mockery, “What are we to do, dear brother? Kidnap her? Take her with us to Dragonstone? Do be serious.” 

Jace shot me a look and shook his head in realization. 

“Besides,” I proceeded, “I don’t believe happiness would touch any of the Greens with a five-foot stick.”

Jace scoffed and fixed me with a disapproving glare. He really did have a heart of gold and I chastised myself for being so insensitive. There was no disputing that the Greens were not as we had left them. A deep sadness settled around them like a poisonous mist, though Helaena appeared to bear the brunt of its affliction.

Alicent grabbed hold of Aemond next, her fingers digging into his leather sleeves, her air vibrating with repressed worry. Aemond listened intently, a flicker of defiance warring with a deeper concern in his face, though he spoke to her softly, listening attentively to her wishes, but by the look of it, he was being castigated. He caught my gaze then, a spark of surprise before a steely resolve settled in his stare. My own breath hitched in my throat as our eyes locked for a heartbeat, a silent exchange that crackled with something unspoken. 

I looked away.

“Is everything well, sister?” Jace peered at me with eyes the color of a huntsman’s hound, rimmed with the most genteel glint. 

“Naturally,” I forced a smile, pulling on my skirts. There was no denying the heat. The thick, moist air covered the city like a woolen blanket. 

No breeze. No respite. Just the broiling sun.

“They’ve been gone a long time,” Luke appeared at his brother’s side with an ominous plea, wiping his upper lip. 

I looked at him quizzically.

“Mother and Daemon,” he clarified.

Though, they had been absent all but ten minutes, my youngest brother had grown timorous beneath the scrutiny of the Greens.

“I’m sure they’ll be along,” I reassured him, though my voice must have lacked conviction.

“We shall go find them,” said Jace with great solicitude.

With the jolted realization that I’d be left all alone, I grabbed Jacaerys by the arm. “Do not,” I blurted out, a bit too loudly than I had intended.

“We won’t be long, sister,” Jace consoled. 

“Our presence is of greater service than our absence.” My heart hammered strangely against my ribs as they turned to leave.

“Which is why you will remain here.” 

Before I could protest further, Jace and Luke melted into the throng, leaving me nonplussed and perturbed, a chill whispering across my skin in the heat.

A longing gnawed at me as I gazed across the glittering waters below the city, out of which our volcanic island sprung a mere thirty-minute flight away. I shamed myself for faltering so easily. A one-eyed eunuch with a grudge and a court full of Greens shouldn’t be enough to dismay me. 

Faint laughter followed by sounds of plunges and splashes could be heard down below. Women swam naked in the river, right beneath the castle. I grew acutely aware of the sweat leaking out of me in hot pulses, the heat clinging to me like a second skin, and the new dress that Mother had made me wear was not exactly helping my affliction. 

What I would give to be low born for a day.

A low voice, rich with an accent that hinted at sun-baked sands, startled me out of my musings, “With beauty like that you’ll leave cities in ruin.” His accent exposed what his complexion would otherwise suggest. But my train of thought was cut short when I met his heavy gaze.

Dark eyes, rimmed by thick black lashes, his skin olive and his hair gleamed like onyx in the summer sun. He donned a golden robe of samite, fitted tight around his waist by a jeweled belt, adorned by the sigil of Sunspear. A sharp rush of reservation ran down my spine. 

“A Dornishman in the capital is a rare sight,” I remarked, disregarding the honeyed words that coated his flattery. 

“Indeed.” Something amused and dangerous played in his eyes as he wafted a hand by his face. “We don’t like the smell,” he grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

A wry smile tugged at my lips. I could hardly disagree with him about that. 

The stifling heat might have been unbearable, though the city’s stench was masked somewhat by the prince’s cologne – a curious mix of citrus and spice, like a desert oasis after a long journey.

“Prince Marius Martell,” he rumbled, his voice as rich and warm as Dornish sand. He pressed soft lips to my knuckles, dark eyes never leaving mine, “At your service.”

The son of Qoren Martell of Dorne - a traitor to the Crown, some say.

Their people were said to be descendants of the Rhoynar. 

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. 

And rightfully so, because they had never been conquered, and bent the knee to no king. Not even Aegon the Conqueror who united all of Westeros could bring Dorne to heel. Their independence had always sparked a thrill in me, though their reputation at court was as one might expect.

“I’ve been told that to trust a Martell is to be disappointed.”

He laughed. It was such a big, hearty, exuberant laugh, it came as a surprise. He tilted his head to the side. “Princess Aylana,” he chuckled, his timber disarming. “You Targaryens take yourselves far too seriously.”

My name on his lips caught me off guard.

“Your father joined forces with the Triarchy against Prince Daemon for control of the Stepstones some years ago, did he not?”

Prince Marius gazed out over the open water with a devilish smirk still plastered on his lips. “Dorne and the Crown has rarely seen eye to eye, it’s true”, he said. “But surely we have the right to our own waters. Do you not agree?” His mouth expressed its words in a stretching and sort of rolling manner, providing them with surprising weight, entrancing me like a siren’s call. “Besides,” he continued, and clicked his teeth together. “That was some years ago, was it not?” he smirked, echoing my words for a playful comeback. 

It was impossible not to be charmed by him, with his Dornish drawl and inquiring eyes. It felt like I knew everything about him, yet not a single thing at the same time. 

He spoke of his homeland with a passion that ignited a fire in my chest, reciting the histories, legends, and customs of his people, and I came to realize he was from another world entirely. A world painted in vibrant hues, vastly different from the courtly intrigues that choked King’s Landing. A world where bastards were not despised and daughters had as much of a claim as sons. 

It was riveting. 

A prickle of unease danced on my skin. My gaze flickered to Aemond as if I’d felt him watching me. His eye was burning me. His fingers trailing the hilt of his dagger like strings on a fiddle, playing the tune of its blade across my neck. My hand travelled instinctively to the blooming crimson. 

“You’ve been hurt.” Prince Marius’ words snapped me back to attention. I whirled away, the movement a touch too swift, a touch too desperate. 

“Dragons can be unpredictable creatures,” I offered tersely, an attempt of a smile on my lips. My mother’s words echoed in my head, a cruel reminder,

Know that you’re a terrible liar.

But it wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

“That may be,” he drawled. “Though, unlikely to wield a blade.” He watched me with an inquisitive gaze, his perceptiveness sending a tremor through me.

“My sword is yours to command if you reveal the culprit.” Prince Marius drawl dipped a notch lower, duress coating his voice, as if he had not heard my explanation, or simply ignored it as a response of a silly girl.

For the briefest second, I genuinely believed he was a mind reader and I fought so hard not to let my eyes travel back to the source of my injury. Prince Marius’ sudden resolve tickled opposite emotions out of me, and I laughed. 

But the prince of Dorne did not jest. He stood there, unmoving, waiting on his command like a sellsword.

My laugh fell short. “That will not be necessary,” I assured him. Though, I had to admit that his sudden determination to root out my enemies without the slightest hesitation brought me satisfaction and comfort. 

Perhaps a Martell could be trusted, after all. 

I watched his mien soften to my reassurance. 

“How long do you plan to remain in King’s Landing?” I asked, attempting to sway the conversation in a different direction.

“Until the tourney, princess,” he replied. He was to join the tournament list? “Though everything after depends.” 

“On what?”

His gaze locked with mine for a beat too long as a secretive smile spread across his lips. “On you.” The words dripped from his lips like honeyed wine. 

My cheeks flushed and nerves played beneath my skin.

On me?

He bowed deeply and kissed my knuckles valedictory, before disappearing through the press of bodies.

The boldness of Prince Marius, it seemed, had thrown open the gates for every lord of a noble house to present themselves to me. Lannisters, with their gilded smiles and promises of influence. Tyrells, draped in silks, whispering of wealth. Baratheons, booming with hearty laughter and boasts of strength. Tullys, with an air of cautious calculation, and even a Greyjoy, his presence a salty reminder of the unforgiving sea. Taking their turn one after the other. It was overwhelming. Each echoing their house words in the stale air like hollow promises. Each offered a variation on the same theme: a plea for favor at the upcoming tourney, and requests to spare a dance at the wedding feast in two days’ time. The sheer volume of it all threatened to drown me.

“Cregan Stark of Winterfell.” A young lord, no older than myself, bowed deeply before me in black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather, making him appear curiously feral amongst courtiers in delicate fabrics.

His forehead glistened with beads of sweat, and though his face remained stoic, a flicker of discomfort danced in his blue eyes.

“You’re far away from home, Lord Stark,” I said, offering him a gentle smile. “How are you faring in King’s Landing?”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Implausibly hot, princess,” he rumbled, his northern accent wafting me like a welcomed breeze.

“On that we agree.”

He was beautiful in a stark kind of way. In the way snow glaze mountains, and the way ice reflect the first rays of dawn.

“Please accept this gift as an apology for the namedays I’ve missed, and as a token of my fealty to you, and to your family.” Ser Cregan’s hulking bannerman lumbered forward, the leather leash creaking in his grip as he unveiled a magnificent white wolfhound. “I’ve heard how much you adore the creatures.”

A gasp escaped my lips before I could contain it, as I observed the majestic beast at my feet.

“May she offer you comfort and protection,” he continued, adding weight to the word, and if it wasn’t for the bliss I was currently basking in, I would’ve grown coy. 

I could only imagine the state of myself from his view – a scarred face and a slashed neck. 

Must’ve been a sight.

“This is a most generous gift, my Lord,” I managed, my voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion. I dropped to my haunches and allowed the hound to sniff me. Her fur, the color of a winter blizzard, was matted and dusty from travel, a stark contrast to the pristine white of her glacier eyes. Her chest heaved with exertion, a giant pink tongue lolling out of her mouth. She was clearly parched. How long had she been out here?

“See to it she has water and a bath,” I commanded a nearby maidservant, and watched as the girl scurried into the castle with the panting hound. 

“I shall be watching your prowess at the tourney on the morrow, my Lord,” I declared with a smile. 

Lord Cregan dipped his head. “Thank you, princess, but I am not on the list. I will join merely as a spectator.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall save you a dance at the feast.”

“I don’t dance, princess,” he rumbled, a hint of apology battling with his natural stoicism. “But if you find yourself in need of… meaningful conversation,” he offered, “I am at your service.” A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips for a moment before he bowed once more, and took his leave with his bannermen in heel, leaving me feeling oddly dissatisfied.

As the throng thinned and the servants descended upon the revelry’s remnants, I found myself beneath the white oak tree. Its bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved into its trunk, and its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines wrestled beneath the soil. Birds sang their melodies from hidden nests and brought a sereness to my overwhelmed mind, but the thumps of a cane against stone made my skin crawl.

“We have missed you, princess. I dare say, none has sparked the court alight quite like you these past years. Not even your mother when she was your age,” Lord Larys Strong drawled.

A tight smile played on my lips, a flimsy shield against the disdain bubbling within me. “You flatter me, my Lord.” The image of feet flashed before my eyes, and I had to do everything in my power not to gag.

“I must offer my condolences on the passing of Ser Harwin,” he said, his voice laced with venom, “You were so very close growing up. Even as a babe you were special to him. The gods are cruel.”

My jaw tightened. “He was your brother, Lord Larys. I believe it is I who should offer my condolences,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

Larys lifted a shoulder and stacked his hands atop the head of his cane, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm. “Grief, princess, is a tapestry woven with many threads. One person’s sorrow does not diminish the anguish of another.”

I met his gaze, a challenge flickering in my eyes. “Is it such grief, after all?” my voice was barely above a whisper, “You took his place as the new Lord of Harrenhal.” 

My statement hung heavy in the air. 

Larys looked at me as if I’d hit him over the head with my goblet. But I knew he was full of shit. 

“Sharp as a winter wind, as always, princess,” he said, almost in a state of admiration, as a grin tugged at his lips. 

The nausea I felt rising in my throat had nothing to do with the wine. Rolling my eyes, I gazed up into the crown of the heart tree, its face looking like it wailed in agony.

“They say the children of the forest carved the faces in the weirwoods during the dawn, centuries before the coming of the First Men across the Narrow Sea.”

Trying to dissociate from Lord Larys’ strenuous tale, I caught Aemond’s lingering gaze over my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but notice that he had not touched a scrap of food, nor drunk a drop of wine since our earlier encounter. 

A spark of triumph ignited in my chest – I had rattled him. 

But whether this unexpected advantage would prove to be a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

More chapters

[im-a-wonderling]

White Moves First, Part 6 ~ Edmund Pevensie

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: an unhealthy paternal relationship

Word count: 5k

White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist

Edmund had never seen a castle so busy as King Loon’s castle in the days leading up to the wedding, and the castle in Anvard wasn’t even as big as Cair Paravel. 

The servants—laden with baskets and flowers and food and clothes—never seemed to walk anywhere. They ran. In fact, all their movements were at the greatest possible speed, proven by the millisecond between Edmund laying his fork down on his plate after his last bite of breakfast and the plate being whisked away.

Edmund wiped his mouth with his napkin, watching as the maid placed the plate on a tray and left the room, likely bringing it down to the kitchens.

“King Edmund, my dear boy,” said King Loon on the other end of the table, not looking away from the papers in his hand. “Today, we must arrange the proceedings for the wedding ceremony.” Edmund felt his hands start sweating, and he reached for his water, hoping to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “After all, my daughter is getting her wedding dress fitted today.”

Edmund started coughing as he inhaled, sending water down the wrong tube.

King Loon didn’t seem to notice Edmund fighting for his life. “The hall is already being decorated, and of course, Queen Susan is making the preparations for the journey back to Cair Paravel.” Edmund let out one last cough, rubbing at his burning throat. The journey. Back to Cair Paravel. With his wife. “Now, I’ve already prepared what I will say as I officiate, but is there anything in particular you would like me to add?”

Ironic. King Loon hadn’t asked Edmund’s opinion about who should officiate. Apparently that was a given.

Edmund supposed it was an honor to have a king officiate one’s wedding, but if he’d had his choice of king, he would’ve chosen his brother. Unfortunately, while Lucy was on her way through the forests and over the mountains which separated Narnia and Archenland, Peter couldn’t attend the wedding, because to do so would be to leave Cair Paravel without monarchs. Never had Edmund thought he would get married, but he certainly never could’ve imagined he would get married without all his siblings present.

“No, I trust that whatever you have prepared will suffice,” Edmund replied.

“Capital,” King Loon replied, not looking up from his paper. “I will start the ceremony, Y/N will come down the aisle, I will say a few more words, you will pledge yourself to the princess, you will give her the ring, I will pronounce you married, and then the ceremony is over!”

“Half a moment,” Edmund interjected, “Y/N won’t make a pledge?”

King Loon finally looked at Edmund and arched a quizzical brow. Edmund dimly registered that he’d used just the princess’s name instead of her title, but it was too late now to take it back. “It is customary,” King Loon said, “for the groom to say the vows and the bride to receive the ring. After all, it is the husband who leads the wife, is it not?”

What a good thing it was that Edmund had enough practice in quietly organizing his thoughts to avoid blurting them out the minute they crossed his mind, otherwise he would’ve said much to the king just then.

He’d seen many subliminal demonstrations from the king as to how little Y/N was valued in this castle, but this was a new height. Was the king really content for Y/N to have simply a visual role in her own wedding? It seemed he was, for Y/N’s only part in the ceremony was to come down the aisle. 

And if Edmund’s ring and Edmund’s pledge was all the wedding involved, how was it any different from what Edmund and Y/N had already done? Y/N already wore Edmund’s ring, and he’d already pledged himself to her by proposing. The only difference then between their engagement and their marriage was simply some ceremonious prattle from the king?

Edmund tried to brush off the unflattering line of thinking about his future father-in-law, but he couldn’t.

Perhaps this was an opportunity to see if the king still valued Edmund’s counsel. 

“What if the princess wishes to say vows and give a ring as well?” Edmund asked, his voice flatter than a pond. 

King Loon flicked his hand, almost flinging the words far away from him. “Such a promising event should not be the first to deviate from tradition.”

Edmund sat back in his chair, looking upon the king with new eyes. “Your Majesty,” he began, “this wedding marks a new alliance for Narnia and Archenland. If my knowledge of history is as diligent as I believe it to be, such an alliance has never been done before between our countries. It stands to reason that we might then have a wedding that has never been done before.”

“Mmmm.” King Loon tapped the tip of his quill thoughtfully against the parchment, leaving behind little dots of ink. 

“And furthermore,” Edmund hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard, “if only one country is making vows, our alliance starts off on unequal footing.”

King Loon did not immediately reply, which is how Edmund knew the king was actually considering his words. “It would be…highly irregular for the bride to give vows,” the king finally said.

“Your Majesty, nothing about the princess is simply regular.” Edmund’s heart kicked up a notch as King Loon’s eyebrows rose. “And neither is Archenland,” he hurried to add. 

The king frowned, but before he could summon a reply, the doors to the dining room opened. Edmund leapt to his feet to bow to Y/N, who gave a small curtsy before gliding over to her father, who rose to his feet to kiss her cheek. “My darling girl, I thought you were busy with your dress.”

“The seamstresses asked for an extra hour,” Y/N replied, “so I thought I’d come join you for breakfast.” She glanced at Edmund, meaning she missed the displeased look on her father’s face. Why was the king so unhappy? Had King Loon intentionally tried to keep his daughter away from the planning of the ceremony?

“Your betrothed,” King Loon said before Edmund could decide, “has requested that you make vows as well in the ceremony. To ensure that the alliance is…equitable.”

Y/N’s surprise may not have been visible, but Edmund swore he could almost feel it. “Well, why not?” she said easily. “I have no objection.” Her casual words were undermined by the slight tugging at the sides of her mouth. She was excited by the prospect. 

“Very well.” The king’s words were slightly rushed, as if he wanted to talk about anything else. “Both shall exchange vows, and both shall receive rings. Now, King Edmund, is there anything more?”

Edmund gave a small nod. “No, Your Majesty.”

King Loon took his daughter’s hand, not waiting for Y/N to take it back before he started leading her out of the room. “Then we shall go and see about the dress.” Just before they walked through the doors, Y/N turned her face towards Edmund, her smile warm and bright. Then they were gone. 

Edmund ducked his head, a sudden flush appearing across his face. A flush of pride or something else, he couldn’t tell, but it warmed him either way. It wasn’t until Edmund watched a servant clear King Loon’s place that he realized Y/N hadn’t gotten to eat. 

-

I stood on the little platform in front of a large mirror in my room, watching the many seamstresses bustle about behind me in my reflection. I didn’t envy their position. As every princess did, I learned embroidery at a young age, so I had some idea of how hard it would be to create a whole wedding dress in under a week. 

Perhaps any other bride would spend their wedding dress fitting entirely preoccupied with making sure their dress was perfect. I, however, was more focused on Lord Trane standing beside my father. 

Why would a political adviser be present while the princess tried on her wedding dress? In fact, why was my father here? This was a decidedly feminine activity, and if my mother were still alive, she would be the one guiding me. My father had never been a very fashionable man nor a very sentimental one, so why was he overseeing this?

“Your highness,” said Rona, drawing my attention. My lady’s maid held what seemed to be enough white fabric to dress a mountain in a funeral gown and appeared reverent enough to mourn it. “Shall we step behind the changing screen and try it on?”

I stepped off the platform, looking down at the garment she held. “This isn’t taffeta,” I mused, brushing my hand over the fabric. “It’s–”

“Cendal.” My father stepped forward to rest his hand over mine, stopping my assessment. 

I watched him closely. “I thought the seamstresses were making my dress with taffeta as I do not need a fancy weave for my gown.” Or, rather, did not want one. 

“They did make it with taffeta,” my father gently took the fabric from Rona, “but I want you to try this one first.” When I did not move, he held it out to me. “I think the cendal will make you look beautiful.” 

He’s up to something, I decided as Rona took me behind the screen and started unlacing my dress. He wouldn’t be so charming if he didn’t. I didn’t have enough information yet to guess what. 

The rich silk was too smooth against my skin as Rona helped me into it and laced me up in record time. Then, she helped lift the back of the luxuriously, troublesomely long train and accompanied me back onto the platform.

I stared at my reflection, heart sinking the longer I looked at the old-fashioned garment. I hadn’t recognized it at first because I hadn’t been able to see the red and gold embroidery around the bodice, but the ornamentation in conjunction with the puffed sleeves and square neckline was now unmistakable. This was the dress from a portrait that once hung in the main hall, but had since been moved to my father’s suite. 

Rona fluffed out the train of my mother’s wedding dress. “You look beautiful, my lady,” she praised reservedly, the aura of reverence still present.

“Well? What do you think?” my father asked in a tone that told me exactly what he thought.

“It’s very…I mean, it’s so…it’s rather…” My words kept failing me. I’d never expected this, and as such, was unprepared.

My father’s face was alight with joy and nostalgia, and the seamstresses beamed. Even my father’s advisor nodded with approval. “It’s perfect,” my father said. “Rona, doesn’t it look perfect?”

“Yes, your majesty,” my lady’s maid quickly affirmed. “With a few alterations, it should suit nicely.”

“You were always meant to wear this,” my father told me, but his eyes were fixed upon the dress. 

My breathing kicked up as I experimentally shifted from side to side. This dress was far too heavy. Already I was starting to overheat to the point of sweating, and if this dress became wet, it’d be even heavier. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to swim in it. Swimming likely wouldn’t even work because this dress would drag me down to the depths quicker than I could 

My throat closed, as if my body were already losing air.

And all of the sudden, it was too much. 

“I need Edmund,” I blurted. 

My father blinked. “What?”

I grabbed my skirts, lifting them high enough to step off the pedestal and walk for the door, sending all the seamstresses into a flutter. “I need Edmund, I can’t decide on the dress without him.”

“But it’s bad luck!” Rona spluttered, quickly getting in between me and the door as if her traditionalist values would crumble completely if I even touched the doorknob.

“She’s quite right,” Lord Trane said, swiftly moving to stand beside her, “it won’t do.” I barely withheld my frown at the advisor’s interjection into private family business. 

“Really, Y/N, you know better than that.” Somehow, my father’s reproachful tone made the dress feel tighter. 

But constraint really was the mother of desperation. “I can’t wear this for the wedding.”

The king frowned. “Why ever not?”

“I-it wouldn’t be right, Father.”

“Nonsense. Why, nothing else could be more right.”

“But–”

“No!” The king held up his hand. “I won’t hear any objections!”

I stared at my father. Pressure built up in my chest, as if I had to scream, but I knew that if I opened my mouth, no sound would come out. Just as my father wanted. 

This was my wedding, the only wedding I would ever have, along with being the exact event I was raised for. The man I was marrying, the day I was marrying him, and where we would be on that day was all being controlled by circumstance or my father. Was I really not allowed to choose my dress either?

I folded my hands to stop them from shaking, and the smooth metal of Edmund’s old signet ring made my breathing slow. 

Think like Edmund, I told myself. What would he do?

A strange calm came over me, a sudden strength in remembering my friend. “Father, King Edmund’s colors are blue and silver, not red and gold.” My father’s nostrils flared, but I plowed forward. “If I wear this, we are in danger of insulting my future husband.”

“She’s right,” Lord Trane admitted, who paled slightly when my father rounded on him with an expression of wrath. “B-begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but we cannot risk anything before this alliance is set.”

My father looked about the room, as if waiting for one of the seamstresses to pipe in with a sage defense, but they only lowered their gazes to the floor and remained silent. The king’s eyes flashed and the boom of his thunderous voice quickly followed. “Fine! The princess shall wear her taffeta.” And with that, he stalked out of the room.

As I followed, I overheard one of the seamstresses say to another: “how are we ever supposed to finish the taffeta in time?” Ignoring her and nearly tripping on my skirts, I ran. “Father!”

Instead of slowing down, my father picked up his pace, and the weight of my gown outweighed the weight of his displeasure, forcing me to slow down. I watched him round the corner, standing helplessly. 

How was it possible that I felt more connected with my mother than my father when I could kiss his cheek but couldn’t even go see her grave? Perhaps, I thought grimly, it is better for a parent to be dead and unable to ruin one’s own memory than alive and doing an incredible job of ruining their memory all on their own.

“My, my.”

I whirled around to see Prince Rabadash. He leaned casually against the wall, his glittering eyes settling on my face.

“What are you still doing here?” I snapped, stretched too thin to be polite. 

His mouth spread wide in a smile. “Well, I’ve been invited to the wedding of course. I heard it’s to be a most beautiful event.” His eyes traveled down my body, his smile shrinking. “If that’s what you’re wearing, perhaps I heard wrong.”

The insult made my face heat. “I don’t want you at my wedding,” I snapped.

Rabadash lifted off the wall to come closer, and at that moment, I was glad of the big skirt, because he was forced to stop before he was within arm's reach of me or risk trodding on the cendal. “As Tashbaan’s representative, it’s very important that I attend this auspicious event.”

“What a load of–”

“Careful,” Rabadash purred. “We wouldn’t want your fiance to hear you sound undignified, would we?” The undercurrent of his words implied he most certainly would.  He lowered his eyes to my chest, and it took everything in me not to hit him. “Might make him rethink this whole engagement of yours.” He looked back up at my face, cocking his head to the side. “You know, I can’t help but find it interesting that the Just King suddenly realized the depth of his feelings for his lifelong friend just before she was betrothed to another.”

The snake was smarter than he let on. Rabadash had figured out what my family had been unable to—that Edmund wasn’t marrying me because he loved me—and he wanted the wedding to fail. If the wedding fell through, and I was a scorned, unmarried princess, it might make my father desperate enough to marry me off to the bespawler standing in front of me.

“My father–” I began.

“–had until sundown to accept my proposal,” Rabadash said, his smug expression darkening with wrath. “And he was going to accept it before Narnia once again interfered.”

I blinked, remembering when Edmund had left my drawing room after proposing to search for my father…it’d been maybe a half hour to sunset.

Thirty minutes. The difference between my father forcing me to marry Rabadash and allowing me to marry Edmund was thirty minutes. 

Rabadash ran a finger down the edge of the long sleeves. “Hopefully he’ll still marry you in such an antiquated dress.”

I glowered at him as I shoved his hand away. The time for honey was long gone. 

The fingers of my right hand found the signet ring on my left, drawing strength from the metal. Edmund dealt with conversations like these with the unfaltering capability of his mind, and I would take a leaf out of my fiance’s book. 

Strength. Intelligence. Confidence. 

“After I wed Prince Edmund,” I leaned closer, my voice more forceful with every word, “and begin the pulchritudinous, fruitful marriage that will bring me to Narnia, you will crawl back to the squalid desert hole you came from.” I could almost see the fire of my anger reflected in the prince’s eyes as I dealt the final blow. “And if you ever step foot in either of my countries again, I will ensure it is the last thing you do.”

Without waiting for a response, I flounced past him, more resolute than ever.

Even if I wore my mother’s dress, had no flowers, and had Rabadash as the only guest, it didn’t matter. 

I couldn’t allow anything to stop this wedding. 

-

The wedding was in the morning, and Edmund couldn’t eat a bite of his dinner.

Lucy had arrived that afternoon and now sat next to the twin princes, chatting away with an unmatchable enthusiasm. The twins had always been fond of the youngest Pevensie, and Lucy was fond of everyone. Susan and King Loon were discussing the procession, the final arrangement for the wedding. They all seemed merry as they ate and talked, not a clue as to the absolute waves of anxiety threatening to drown Edmund.

Y/N’s plate was relatively untouched as well, which only increased Edmund’s trepidation. He supposed it was normal for brides not to eat much the night before their wedding, and if Edmund wasn’t immune to the pressures of being her groom, Y/N wasn’t immune to the pressures of being his bride.

“I’m only thankful that the seamstresses managed to finish the dress this afternoon,” Susan was saying to King Loon.

The corners of King Loon’s mouth turned down in a hint of distaste, which was surprising enough on its own, but then Edmund noticed Y/N’s shoulders slump slightly.

Had something happened with the dress?

Whatever was going on, Y/N looked so desperately unhappy. The whole point of their marriage was for Y/N to avoid an unhappy marriage. If she was unhappy anyways…

“Princess Y/N,” Edmund said, loud enough to draw everyone’s eyes. “Would you care to take a walk with me through the gardens?”

Y/N nearly leapt up from her chair. “Yes, King Edmund, that would be lovely.” She curtsied to her father, and joined Edmund at the head of the table. The chatter in the room did not dim, but Edmund could feel King Loon’s eyes on him as he opened the door for Y/N.

He walked side-by-side with his friend as they wordlessly traipsed through the corridors and reached the gardens lit by the setting sun. A few gardeners were collecting flowers, presumably to decorate the chapel with the next day. 

Edmund had only had fleeting glimpses of Y/N since she’d accepted his ring in the king’s study, but he had a sinking fear that it wasn’t the wedding preparations keeping her away, but the wedding itself. Things were different now, and while Edmund missed their old dynamic, he couldn’t blame things for changing. He could hardly expect their friendship to stay the same as they prepared to wed. 

Tomorrow.

Edmund would have a wife tomorrow. 

He took a long breath, trying to calm the heavy and agitated anxieties in his gut. 

“How is your dress?” Edmund asked, the only thing he could think to ask. He knew he’d said the wrong thing when Y/N’s mouth flattened into a line. “Sorry,” he said quickly with a forced laugh that was supposed to alleviate the tension in the air. “I guess the groom isn’t supposed to hear about the dress before the wedding.”

“I don’t suppose that really matters much,” Y/N said. Was Edmund imagining the unhappiness in her voice?

“Is everything–” 

Y/N suddenly reached out for Edmund’s arm, clenching it with a grip tight enough to cause worry. 

“What’s wrong?!” Was she rethinking the wedding? Was she about to faint from the stress of the occasion? Would Edmund have to catch her? Edmund was no good at catching fainting ladies.

“Don’t look now,” Y/N said out of the corner of her mouth, “but Rabadash is watching us.”

It took all of Edmund’s might not to turn around, to keep looking at her face as if he didn’t have a care in the world beyond her. “Where?” he muttered. 

Y/N stepped around him, standing in-between him and the doors to the servant’s entrance. “Behind me,” she whispered. Edmund’s eyes flicked over her shoulder to see the slimy prince himself, standing on a balcony. 

“Thirty minutes,” Y/N said softly, shaking her head. 

Edmund tilted his head, unable to ignore the troubled look on her face. “What?” 

“Nothing.” She looked distractedly around. 

Edmund glanced up again with only his eyes to see Rabadash leaning his weight on the balcony railing, settling in to watch them.

To watch her. 

Edmund bristled. Y/N was betrothed to Edmund. It was inappropriate for Rabadash to be conversing with her, looking at her, or so much as thinking of her. If he could, he would climb into Rabadash’s mind himself and wipe away all traces of Y/N.

“Has he been bothering you?” Edmund meant for the question to be comforting, but it sounded harsh to his ears, causing him to wince. 

Y/N didn’t answer, but she averted her eyes as they took on the unhappiness from earlier. 

“Give me your hand,” Edmund said lowly, holding his out. He expected Y/N to protest, but her soft hand laid on his without a moment’s hesitation. “Step a little closer,” he said, resisting the urge to glance at Rabadash to see if the prince was still watching them, and instead holding her gaze. 

Y/N shuffled closer, peering up into his face. He saw the moment in which doubt started pricking her mind. “Don’t look away,” he murmured. “Keep looking right at me.”

Y/N’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, but she followed his direction. “I think he knows,” she said, and the hand in his gave a little tremor. “I think he knows about our plan.”

“I don’t care if he knows,” Edmund said roughly. “It doesn’t change the fact that he can’t have you.” Almost as soon as the words left him, a flush of shame shot through him at the sheer possession in them. “I’m-I’m not, I mean, I didn’t mean to–”

“I know what you meant,” Y/N assured. “But he might still try something to stop our wedding.”

“I can’t do anything to stop him from trying.” Edmund took a miniature step closer, his chin nearly resting on his chest to keep sight of Y/N’s face. “But we can stop him from succeeding. Once we’re married, nothing can break that.”

Unbreakable.

His anxieties soared, leaving him scrabbling for purchase on his sanity. He was tying himself to Y/N for the rest of their lives. He hadn’t thought it possible to grow more anxious over the promises they were about to make the next day, but this visit to Archenland was full of all kinds of surprises. 

Y/N squeezed his hand, as if she knew the fear that lingered underneath his words. Of course she did. She knew him better than anyone. He knew she only meant to be encouraging, but the action also served as a reminder: some things were more important than fear. She was more important than fear.

So Edmund stood tall and pulled her even closer. He knew he was pushing what was appropriate in public, but it was better for them to do this as an engaged couple then to risk Rabadash thinking there was a weakness that could be exploited. “Now laugh as though I’ve said something funny.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Well, why don’t you say something funny then?”

“Umm,” was all Edmund could think to say. Y/N waited, her lashes fluttering with every blink. Why was he suddenly so distracted by eyelashes? “What’s a raincould’s favorite battle maneuver?” he asked quickly. 

“What?”

“Storming the castle.”

Y/N’s face didn’t change as the silence drew on. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, was that it?”

Edmund felt himself flush. “Yes, that was it.”

“That was the famed wit of King Edmund the Just?”

“Oh, shush.”

She did laugh then, and suddenly Edmund’s thoughts shrank to just the crinkles by her eyes and the curve of her brilliant smile. He would not have thought orange to be such a becoming color on a lady, but the orange glow of the setting sun made her seem to fairly glow against the backdrop of the darkening blue of the sky behind her. 

Rabadash could’ve fallen headfirst from the great height, and still Edmund wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to look away.

As she laughed, Y/N tilted her head enough for his eyes to follow the smooth skin of her neck up from her collarbones to the same scar on her chin he’d noticed in her drawing room. The faint, thin line started just at the contour of her chin and extended towards where her head met her throat, in the perfect place to be hidden from everyone. 

Y/N ducked her chin, still smiling. Never had her smile been a disappointment to him, but Edmund found himself on the verge of distress as the scar was tucked away and out of sight. He flexed his fingers, fighting the urge to trace the almost perfectly straight mark. Was it possible that Edmund could be pained by not knowing where this scar’d come from? Was it caused by rock? By metal? By human?

Too late, Edmund realized the distraction that his thoughts caused as his hand lifted. Gently, he pushed her chin up again so her eyes were once again meeting his and that lovely line was in view. 

“Where did this come from?” he asked. He gave into his thoughts, brushing the knuckle of his index finger down the path. 

Y/N gave a small hiccuping sound of surprise. “Um…” She blinked a few times in quick succession. “Fencing accident. When I was five. Cor wanted to practice for real, so he tried to sharpen the end of his foil with a rock before practicing with me.” She smiled a bit. “Cor still isn’t very good at sharpening his swords.”

Edmund grinned. “Or fencing, if I remember correctly.”

She laughed again, her hand tightening its grip on his ever so slightly, as if she wanted to hold him closer in her mirth. “We can’t all be as good at fencing as you are.”

Edmund hummed at the compliment, dazedly looking at the scar still. How many people had caught a glimpse of it over the years? Against reason, Edmund hoped he was the only one that knew it was there. 

“Is, um…” Y/N licked her lips. “Is he still there?”

Edmund reluctantly lifted his eyes up to the balcony. As soon as the balcony was in view, he dropped his hand from her face. “See for yourself.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder, seeing the definite lack of Rabadash. A broad smile spread on her face. “Checkmate.” 

Edmund laughed. “Checkmate, indeed.” He couldn’t stop smiling. A shared checkmate, he mused. He quite liked the idea of the two of them banding together to defeat a common enemy. If Edmund and Y/N were on the same side, no one else stood a chance. Yes, partially because Edmund would go to World’s End to protect his friend, but also because Y/N’s charm, resolve, and intellect paired with Edmund’s own could be an unassailable combination if they wanted it to be. 

“May I accompany you back to your room?” Edmund asked. “You know…in case the marigolds launch an attack?” He’d hoped—nay, expected—his reference to their last conversation in the garden would make Y/N laugh. Instead of laughing, Y/N pursed her lips. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, though her troubled expression begged to differ. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Edmund.” 

She reached out, her soft hand squeezing his for a single moment before she walked back towards the castle.

Edmund watched her go. 

Their encounters were always so brief, and yet Edmund could feel the peaceful shield Y/N provided, because every step she took away from him, the more fear stabbed at his gut.

I’ll see you tomorrow, she’d said. 

At the altar, Edmund realized. 

-

Part 7

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

@thelifeofsecretpenguins @read-just-cant @chesh-ire-cat @emotionallyattachedteen @cassini-among-the-stars @uncontainedsmiles @mastermasterlist1p1 @goldfishinpainttubes

[elkieselkiewrites]

Snippet Sunday 22/12

This is my first Snippet Sunday on this blog, so I'm cheating a bit and just choosing a few paragraphs I wrote a while back, but I think they're fun, so I hope you enjoy it anyway!

It's from about two thirds of the way into the story, when the crew have finally made it to Hibrek, the Capital of Vyskavia.

~*~

It was eerily quiet for how bright it was, the star lamps spilling light out onto the streets like liquid silver, flattening the bright colours of the buildings to shades of steel and pitch. There was such a variety of shops and stalls lining the roads and squares as they walked the steepening incline towards the palace. Half a dozen bakeries, their painted wooden signs advertising everything from cream horns to salted knot-bread, then butchers, haberdashers, booksellers and more. They even passed a puppeteer's stall, puppets left hanging for anyone to take. It struck Ida then how dire the situation must be for a craftsman to leave his wares out in the open, certain of the fact that no one would dare brave the streets at night to steal them. The puppets watched her with their exaggerated features, their eyes seeming to follow her as she passed, and she suppressed a shudder.

"A shame, a shame." Aarna rumbled beside her. Ida raised a quizzical brow. "Such a waste of such beautiful craftsmanship. I was here a month before we met in Sudstowe, this time of night was filled with laughter, even children ran about underfoot. Such is the way with star lamps, though I have never seen any as pure or as brilliant as these even in the Delflands."

"How do they work?" Ida said, trying to shake the feeling of being watched.

"I couldn't tell you that." Aarna replied. "Not out of secrecy, mind, but simply because I do not understand it myself. I work with cogs and crystals true enough, but my song is one of time, not of light."

Ida watched their companions move through the artificial twilight, their features cast in dramatic shadows, like charcoal sketches of their true faces. She wasn't sure she could see the beauty in it when there was the possibility that they were being hunted through the streets in this surreal half-light.

"It was a Delfman that designed them, though?" She said at last.

Aarna nodded, a proud smile breaking over his stone features. "It was, one of the best lightsmiths we ever carved. Others have tried to emulate his work, of course, got lamps to throw shades of blue or yellow, but never this pure a white. I can see why that queen of theirs named it starlight. Never seen something so pure that wasn't plucked out of the sky itself."

"It's unnerving though, the way it strips the colour. It is nothing like the torches we burn in Eathel."

"Of course not, do you see the vibrancy of the day by moonlight? That's the fallacy, you see. Star lamps look like stars well enough, but their essence is in the light of the moon. In our tongue we call them kirrpolkuur, Moon Shards."

The word sounded like pebbles rolling down a hill, and Ida could not recreate the sound with her own mouth, but she had to admit, looking at the lamps again with the words tumbling through her mind, she felt perhaps a sliver of the appreciation that Aarna held for them captured in those three murmurous syllables.

"Sorry Mister Aarna, sir." Came Nol's small voice from Ida's left. "I can appreciate clever design as much as the next Journeyman, but I've never warmed to this place. They have some of the finest weaving west of the Isreau, but I try to finish my trade before nightfall for this very reason. Even when there wasn't a mass murderer out for our blood it was like a city of phantoms at every turn."

Til hummed in agreement. "It doesn't help that there are real phantoms in this city, it just makes them more difficult to distinguish."

"What kinds of phantoms?" Ida asked, thinking back to the Ganfer on the fog-drenched shore of Outer Goria with no small amount of trepidation.

"The same phantoms you find in every Theden city. Restless dead, harmless as moths." Aarna said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's the living you have to worry about here, by the sounds of it."

[pyrrhia-times]

Chapter 5 - Under Pressure

Wind blew over them as they sat waiting on the top of the pavilion. Croak shifted his feet uncomfortably on the decorative blue-white tiles.

Pretty, but painful on the feet.

The Summer Palace had been hidden away during the War of SandWing Succession, and abandoned after a vicious attack by Burn’s army, but now Queen Coral had rebuilt the Palace to be welcoming to all dragons on Pyrrhia. While most of the Royal Family still lived under the sea in the Deep Palace, Queen Coral and her daughters spent most of their time above water in the Sea Palace.

A royal guard had greeted them with a quizzical look when they landed at the top of the pavilion. Her face quickly changed into a look of recognition before she rushed off to tell someone more important about the arrival of the “Royal Investigators”.

“My wings are going to fall off if we have to do any more flying.” He whispered to Slag, who let out a chuckle in response.

The Palace had changed since the war, and was no longer covered by a canopy of thick green vegetation. Dragons came and went flying lazily down to other levels of the twisting pavilion, or plopping themselves down into the sea-green lake below. Occasionally other dragons descended down onto the visiting level beside them, and were quickly greeted by their hosts to shortly take off again.

Croak peered over the edge of the pavilion and was hit with a touch of vertigo. They were high up above the lake, the island’s cliff walls rising up even further into the sky around them. He gazed down and busied himself watching other dragons.

At first glance, it looked like an overwhelming amount of the dragons at the palace were SeaWings, with only the occasional flash of red, black or yellow that he could spot. On a second pass, he noticed that about a quarter of the dragons where RainWings mimicking their SeaWing neighbours’ beautiful greens and blues while they lounged in the sun.

I guess they still need their sun-time even outside of the jungle.

He gave a glance to Slag, who now had all of his notes spread out in front of him and his brow pinched in concentration.

“What’s your theory?” Croak asked.

“Honestly, I’m at a loss.” He huffed. “I can’t figure out how these two murders could be connected, but I’m sure they must be. It’s just too much of a coincidence.”

“Whoever it is must be trying to stoke hostility between SeaWings and the MudWings.” Croak suggested. “I know a lot of SeaWings didn’t agree with Queen Coral’s open forgiveness of Queen Moorhen after the war.”

Slag looked up from his notes, “A SeaWing burned to crisp and a MudWing drowned in the Delta. I think you’re onto something.”

Pride blossomed in his chest hearing Slag consider his ideas. Maybe I’m not such a bad detective. He thought.

Croak heard a flutter of wings behind him and turned to see the royal guard returning. She landed with a thump beside them, breathing heavily but she quickly composed herself.

“I’m to inform you that all members of the Royal Family are currently attending Prince Cerulean’s burial.”

“Uhm... and where is that?” Slag asked.

“At the Royal Cemetery, in the Deep Palace.” She answered.

Slag turned and looked at him expectantly, and Croak already knew what he was going to ask him.

At least I won’t have to fly there. He conceded.

Queen coral was wearing black pearls. The pearls spiraled around her body like a black vortex. Flanking either side of her were Cerulean's siblings all adorned in their own black pearls. Auklet sat closest to her mother, head bent in mourning.

Croak watched from the sidelines, skin prickling under the questioning glares of the Royal family. Queen Coral had yet to glance in his direction and he was too much of a scared squid to approach her himself.

Cerulean's body lay wrapped in seaweed as his family mourned him. Croak quietly wondered how many of them had actually been close to the Prince.

Two royal guards broke out of the group and approached Cerulean’s body. They took hold of it and delicately lowered it down into his grave. The guards then swiftly pushed the white sands of the seafloor over and into his grave.

Queen Coral stepped forward and flashed her scales, “goodbye my son.” She placed a small twisting piece of dead coral over the grave and stepped back.

One by one, each dragon stepped up to the grave and placed their own piece of coral beside the Queen’s. Feeling awkward, Croak remained on the sidelines.

Should I have brought my own piece of coral? Oh scallop, I probably seem so rude.

After the ceremony was done, dragon’s started bowing their heads and excusing themselves, swimming away to head back to the Palace. Auklet caught sight of Croak lingering behind her and the Queen and narrowed her eyes at him. She placed a talon over Queen Coral’s and pointed in his direction.

“One of your investigators is here.”

The Queen whirled around, leaving bubbles in her wake, and rushed towards Croak. He froze as the Queen was suddenly in front of him and grabbing hold of his talons in her hands.

“Have you found out who has murdered my dear boy? Oh, please tell me you have.” Her flashes nearly blinded Croak.

“No- We were chased away by soldiers when we arrived at the Mud Kingdom.” He flashed awkwardly back.

Her face rippled with anger and her grip tightened considerably around Croak’s talons. “They’re trying to cover something up.” She released Croak and turned back to Auklet. “Come on, we must head to Queen Moorhen’s Palace at once.”

“Wait!” Croak flashed out. “We found out something before the soldiers forced us to leave.” The Queen stopped and looked at him enthusiastically, “A MudWing was found drowned in the Diamond Spray River.”

“WHAT!” The Queen roared, sending bubbles into the water. “Drowned? Are you sure? Oh my, oh my. Queen Moorhen must know that one of my subjects would never have done this.”

She whipped around again sending more bubbles flying through the water as she raced off.

“Quickly! Follow me!” Croak barely made out from behind the bubbles.

He glanced at Auklet who rolled her eyes and then set off behind her mother.

Please, not anymore flying, I can’t take it.

<|>

Read it on Archives of Our Own

[intellectualbrainrot]

in relation to my post about being a memey little shit

this is a little snippet of the couples counseling fic I've been working on

After dinner Jason had asked Marvin to play some chess with him in his room.

"Can I be white," his son asked sheepishly as he sat down on his bed.

Marvin drew his brows together and shrugged. "Of course." He moved the nightstand to set up the chess board and sat down on Jason's deskchair - the one he'd picked on their outing.

"Thanks." The kid nodded and moved a pawn to e4. "So is the therapy thing working?"

His head shot up from the board, surprised his son started on the topic again. "It-" Jason wouldn't want to hear that things were complicated.

He looked back at the board. After considering possible responses - he'd re-immersed himself in chess strategy just a bit after his not quite recent loss - he decided to mirror Jason's move. Pawn to e5. "I hope so."

Jason hummed, clearly less satisfied with that answer than he'd been with Whizzer's. "Okay." He made his move. King to- King?

Quizzically Marvin stared at the board, unsure what exactly was happening here. He had moved the king, the essential piece of the game. King to e2. What possessed his son to make that massive error?

After what must have been an eternity of confusion Jason spoke up. "Your turn."

He looked up at his son who blinked at him innocently, like he wasn't quite aware that he'd made a mistake of a magnitude reserved for someone who misunderstood the rules of chess to a painful degree, a major hint of fucking checkers, even.

With a sigh, he resigned to making the most logical moves, still confused how his kid could make a move like that after beating him both times he'd stayed over. Pawn to d5. "How's the chess club?"

Maybe it was the other kids' fault that his son had forgotten every single opening principle.

"Its pretty fun, actually," Jason said with a shrug and moved the queen to e1. A decent move considering the trainwreck of an attempt at an opening.

"You said they weren't very nice." Marvin glanced at his son and slid the queen to h5.

"They weren't." Pawn to d3.

Queen to g4 - check. "But they're nice now," he asked.

Jason nodded. "Yeah."

A small smile spread across his face, reassured by the knowledge that his son was starting to connect with his peers.

With that the conversation ended and they kept laying in silence, the only sounds the occasional clacking of the pieces against the board or one another when one of them took a piece.

Despite the out-there opening Marvin ended up losing, too caught up in the shock to properly develop his pieces and thus struggling to hold his own in the long run. He held out his hand for Jason to shake.

"I did it!" Disregarding the outstretched hand Jason jumped up and down in excitement.

While he wanted to be angry - not the most mature reaction, he was well aware - the pure pride on his son's face melted any frustration away. Jason was proud of himself, and he was there to witness it - part of it, even.

"Zoe said I wouldn't win!" The jumping turned into a victory dance and was it adorable.

Marvin grinned widely, laughter bubbling up in his chest which he barely managed to keep at bay. He hadn't seen his son expressing such unbridled excitement in such a long time. It was then that he was hit with the realization of just how much time he'd let pass without seeing his son this joyful.

"Why did Zoe say you couldn't win," he asked, deciding to focus on his son - for the first time in a while. God, how selfish he'd been.

Jason's victory dance came to an abrupt end as he looked at him with a sheepish smile. "She said I can't win with that opening."

Confused, Marvin stared. That was an opening? If it was, it wasn't one he'd ever heard of. "What's the opening called," he asked, hesitantly.

"The bongcloud." His son shrugged.

[sparesovereign]

dances and balls starters // accepting

@howthesleeplesswander asked: "You look stunning in that gown." ((from Elsa! uwu/))

"Aww really? You think so?!", Anna gasped, placing her hands over her heart in a thankful gesture. "I was sorta worried it was a bit too over the top but I guess it fits for a Queen, right?", she chuckled, looking at herself in the mirror again before sighing.

"I just want to make a good impression tonight! It's my first ball since becoming Queen and I know all eyes are gonna be on me. No pressure!" With her smile returning, Anna spun around in a rather child-like manner before turning to her sister and raising a quizzical brow. "And just what are you gonna wear tonight? Blue? White? Purple? Sparkles?! Oooo You should throw everyone off their game and wearing something like.......ORANGE!"

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Eight TEASER

hey all, sorry for being IA the past week! i am working on Take Care chapter eight as fast as i can, but i have very little spare time at the moment so please bear with me!

here’s a lil teaser of what i’ve written so far. it’s gonna be emosh. it’s gonna be fluffy. i hope this chapter makes you all shit and cry and throw up <3 mwah

“I could work anywhere, I think it’s just… everything else, that’s getting me down.”

The end of the season. The threat of relegation. Saying goodbye. Every-fucking-thing.

“You’ve got time,” Keeley reassured you. “Your lease at the flat doesn’t end until July, you’ve got job offers left right and fucking centre, and, well– you’ve got Roy.”

You furrowed your brows quizzically, but that was counteracted by the small smile that curled onto your lips. “Got Roy for what?”

Keeley sent you an amused look. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that,” she said, as she shoved another mouthful of pasta in her gob. “I see the way you two are when you’re together.”

You huffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here.”

Keeley dropped her fork and pointed at you abruptly. “You’re in denial, babes.”

“I am not–”

“Yes, you fucking are! You’ve been around a whole bunch of sexy footballers for months now, one of which has gone out of his way for you, your degree and your future, not to mention he showed up at your door with an apology fit for a fucking queen. All I’m saying is, if I was in your shoes, I would have had him at least three times by now–”

“Keeley,” you warned her, through a wave of amusement.

“What? Not even a fucking kiss? What a bloody waste,” she said, before she grinned at you with her teeth mischievously.

“The last thing Roy needs right now is me scuttling around him.” You took a sip of your wine. “He’s got enough on his plate as it is, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Do you hear yourself, babes?” Keeley said, her eyes wide. “You’re exactly what he fucking needs right now.”

You scoffed at that, reminded of yesterday in his car. “No, I’m not. Even at the best of times, Roy has the emotional output of a fucking teacup, but yesterday…” you trailed off, taking another sip– more like a gulp– of wine.

“Was it bad?” Keeley asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, it was bad.”

<3333

[dancingwithflames]

the queen's news

The news spread like fire across the castle.

The maids shared the information in wistful, relieved whispers. The Royal Guard dispersed it as a precaution, knowing heightened security would be needed once their adversaries became privy to the knowledge. The King’s advisors drink full glasses of wine and ale in vexation after learning of it, knowing they would now not be able to make a widow out of the King for the fourth time when the public became aware that Queen Estelle had sired an heir for her husband. 

A feat the previous three had not managed before their heads landed themselves on a pike. 

King Valentin marinated in the information of the supposed fruitfulness of their labors as he was dressed. He disregarded the felicitations from his steward and the gracious smiles of the maidservants as he traversed the grand corridors toward the formal dining room. She was already there when he arrived, disdainfully dismissing the anxious attentions of her ladies-in-waiting with a flick of her hand.

“I assure you I can sit on my own.” She sighed, then eyed him skeptically as he sat to dine. “Good morning, Your Grace.” 

His crown sat heavy on his head, but his posture never relented. Food appeared in front of him, yet he ignored it in favor of returning a dubious stare of his own. 

“My Queen,” The King acknowledged, jutting out his chin. “I understand congratulations are in order.” 

She cocked her head to the side, raising a quizzical brow. 

“Aye, Your Grace. With the arrival of Spring, we shall welcome a babe of our own.” 

The King leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, watching her. The Queen did not squirm under his unrelenting stare. In anything, his eyes only appeared to give her confidence. 

“At long last, an heir to the Crown. It is such a miraculous blessing that I so scarcely believe it.”

She smiled mirthlessly, understanding his words. Her eyes slipped away from his to survey the room. The nameless faces of their servants dutifully averted her gaze, yet he sensed their watchful eyes on their every move, their ears attuned to pick up on every breath they took. They were not alone, and each word they spoke would be broadcasted across the castle in whispered gossip before their meal was completed. The Queen sensed this, surely, as a moment later she spoke:

“Leave us. I should like a private moment with the King to celebrate our most fortunate news.” 

The room cleared in an instant, leaving them alone. Silence sat between them as they watched one another, waiting for one to say something. Finally, breaking their competition, he spoke.

“When our marriage was arranged, we talked of the importance of siring an heir to the throne.” King Valentin explained. “Maybe I unjustly assumed the heir would be mine.”

The Queen had the audacity to appear affronted, her eyes widening and a flush of indignation rising to her cheeks. Her lips parted slightly as if she were on the verge of an undignified retort, yet she maintained an air of regal composure as she thought, her posture unwavering despite the palpable tension in the room.

“That is a treasonous accusation you place upon me, Your Grace.” Queen Estelle scolded. “Surely you have proof of my infidelity, then? Because I am sure the maids who change our linens would attest to your enthusiasm in sharing my bed these past months.”

The King twisted his features, his barely-concealed anger at the verge of breaking the surface. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white as he fought to maintain his composure. Valentin's eyes blazed with a cold, calculating intensity as he stared at his wife. The glint in her eye was all-knowing, and he sighed in contempt.

“Have you always known?” He whispered venomously. 

“Have I always known what, husband?” Queen Estelle retorted coyly, stretching out forward. Her elbows sat on the table, her chin pressed into her hands. 

“Do not toy with me.” 

The Queen sighed, removing her chin from her hands. She smirked as she stood from her chair. Slowly, patiently, she walked along the table until she stood beside his seated figure. Forced to look up at her, his glare intensified. 

“There were others before me. Not one, not two, but three wives that did not bear you children. Not even a whisper of the loss of Royal fruit or a stillborn babe. And your whores? How many of them have been sent away to avoid a discovered bastard? None.” Queen Estelle revealed, clicking her tongue. “You have proven your proficiency at performing the marital act so we know the problem does not lie there– No, Your Grace, the women have never been the problem.” 

“Estelle–” The King began, but she cut him off.

“Your seed is barren, not their wombs.” 

A tense silence followed, heavy and suffocating. The King's face reddened with a mix of shame and fury. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his lips. Estelle continued, her voice now laced with a cold determination. 

“It is a tragedy that they died for your misfortune, but I refuse to share their fate.” She said, shaking her head. “I have done what I must to ensure my safety.” 

“I can just as easily reveal your ruse. Your head could be on the end of a pike by the end of this very day if I desired it.” He retorted.

The Queen laughed, infuriating him. 

“You shan’t do that though, hmm? Because you hear the whispers, too. You feel the tension brewing. You are the only living member of your house left. Your subjects are wary of the absence of an heir, but your enemies rejoice in the knowledge. You are weak without this child– The whole kingdom is. It is only a matter of time before someone makes an attempt on your life to get that crown on your head.”

The legs of the chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood to his full height, towering over her. She had gone too far–

The Queen held her hands out in a placating manner. 

"I do not attempt to threaten you,” she replied calmly. "I only speak the truth. Our legacy depends on this ruse. Our people must believe in the legitimacy of this heir, and that can only happen if you accept this child as your own flesh and blood. I took care in finding someone of your likeness to ensure the babe would hold a resemblance. You must play your part lest you risk losing everything you have fought so hard to protect." 

The King’s hands trembled with the force of his suppressed rage, but already it dimmed in the reality that she was correct. Executing her while the public believed she with his child would only further strain the rumors. If he was to secure himself against his precarious position, he had little choice but to concede. His eyes met hers, a reluctant acknowledgment of her victory.

"Very well," he said through gritted teeth. "But do not think this will be forgotten, Estelle. One day, you will answer for this deceit."

The Queen smiled, a cold, triumphant smile. "Until that day comes, Your Grace, we shall both play our parts to perfection."

She turned to leave, but he caught her forearm. 

“What of the child’s real father?” He asked quietly. “Will he be a problem?”

“Trust that the man shall be, and remain, a non-issue in our future.” She said simply. “I made sure of it.”

Queen Estelle pulled her arm from his grasp, reaching forward to take his chin in her fingers. She leaned forward, kissing the corner of his lips. 

“Finish your breakfast, Your Grace.” She said, pulling back. “The whole Kingdom may well know of our child by the time you are done.” 

With that, turned and gracefully left the room, leaving King Valentin to seethe in her victory. 

[ladyphlogiston]

Prologue

"And how fare you, my lord and my love?" Titania asked, luxuriously stretching her arms against her rose-petal sheets and allowing her back to arch enticingly.

Oberon purred, running zir hand down her neck and onto her chest, feeling their magic sparking between them. "I am glad to have you once more, my queen."

Titania smiled and kissed him, allowing the sensation to carry them both away.

Some time later, she pulled back and looked at zir quizzically. "Yet how shall we maintain this peace? Should we not take some measure to unite our two courts?"

Oberon's light contracted, and ze lifted them both to sit up. "Surely they can learn peace from us? As you said, we are their parents and originals."

"They will follow us into peace, but our courts will not intermingle if we do nothing to encourage them," Titania replied.

Oberon cupped her beautiful face with one hand, sending light dancing across her cheeks and eyes. "Very well, my queen, what do you suggest?"

Titania's eyes grew distant as she looked across time and dimensions. "There is a human," she began.

"One of your pets, my queen?" Oberon murmured provocatively.

Titania lifted her chin, and her magic met zirs directly. "A servant and a friend," she said with dignity, "She and I have spent time - or will spend time - enjoying the goings-on of mortals. The mortals have a method of finding mates, which we may emulate.

"Do you, my lord, select four and twenty of your nobles, and create a new name and visage for each one, that they may not know each other. I shall do the same for four and twenty of my court. From the full moon to the new moon, they shall speak to each other but may not see or touch each other. At the new moon, they shall each select a mate with whom to be kept in seclusion, and when the moon is full again, they shall be bound for a year and a day, as is the custom of our kind."

Oberon's brows drew together. "And this is how the mortals learn peace?" ze asked.

Titania smiled brilliantly. "They speak of enduring love when they do this. My human and I have watched it many times."

Oberon sent zir magic dancing across her arms and shoulders as ze drew her to zis chest. "The so it shall be, my queen."

And so it was.

[tameodesza]

Bittersweet

₊˚⊹♡ Prince!Shawn Michaels x Commoner!Bret Hart ♡⊹˚₊

masterlist | AO3 link

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Summary: Prince Shawn informs his parents of his decision to marry Bret, but when their disapproval threatens to tear the pair apart, a plan is concocted to unite the lovers once again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n: promise I’m working on a oneshot where bretshawn gets together, but I couldn’t help but write some angst for this au!

Silver utensils clinked softly against porcelain plates as the royal family finished their dinner. The king and queen spoke in hushed conversations, Shawn barely engaging as he didn’t have much interest in the topic of trade negotiations. His mind was rather occupied with thoughts of Bret, anticipating the discussion he needed to have with his parents that would ultimately seal his fate.

Shawn finished off his glass of wine, gathering courage as he set his fork down onto his plate. He let out a breath, saying plainly, “Mother. Father. You should be happy to know that I’ve made a decision regarding my suitors.”

The king turned to Shawn quizzically, the queen matching his curious expression. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. I know it’s quite soon, but I’m confident in my choice. I…I choose Bret.”

Those words seemed to echo throughout the dining hall as the king and queen went eerily quiet. The two glanced at each other with stone-faced expressions before looking back at Shawn.

Shawn furrowed his brows, greatly confused by their reaction. He assumed his parents would have been overjoyed at the news. He was following through with his betrothal, was a step closer to appeasing the royal council, and he’d finally agreed to commit to someone for once in his life for the sake of carrying out his royal duty.

Yet, all he received was the king’s disapproving grunt as he expressed, “We were afraid you’d do so.” Shawn’s blood ran cold, not liking the ominous undertone. “Son, I need to make you aware of something. Following your suitor selection, multiple concerns were raised by the council concerning your suitors. Well, more specifically, the commoner.”

Shawn frowned, “Concerns? I don’t understand. Isn’t this what everyone wanted? For me to find a partner before years end? That’s what I’ve done.”

“Be that as it may, the council has taken issue with the commoner’s social status, and it was discussed that in the event that you made the wrong choice, the betrothal would be null and void.”

Shawn felt as if the rug had been pulled from under him, anger immediately taking the forefront as he fiercely said, “Wrong choice? How could my choice ever be wrong if it’s supposed to be my fucking decision?”

“Hey, watch your tongue,” the queen scolded. “You cannot marry some measly commoner, Shawn. It would bring great shame to the family. That commoner and his family cannot offer anything of value to us. Your father and I are considering what’s best for the monarchy.”

Angry tears pricked at Shawn’s eyes as he exclaimed, “What about what’s best for me?! If you’ve felt this way about him this entire time, why allow him to court me?! Why allow me to fall for him?! Why wait months after suitor selection to tell me I never even had a choice?!”

The king answered boisterously, “Because we never thought you’d actually pick him! No royal in their right mind would do so. But leave it to you to always go against the status quo. Think about it, Shawn. He can’t take care of you. Do you really think he can afford your expensive lifestyle with him living in a shack?”

“He doesn’t live in a shack,” Shawn scoffed, feeling the need to defend Bret’s honor. “Even if so, I would happily live in a shack if it meant I didn’t have to deal with this royal bullshit!”

“How dare you speak ill of the very establishment that’s raised you, you ungrateful petulant child! Do you know how many people would kill to have a life like this?”

“Then let them have it, because a life without Bret isn’t a life worth living.”

That seemed to stun his parents, the queen saying lowly, “Surely, you don’t mean that. You’re too young to understand-”

“Do not speak as if I’m uneducated. I understand that this isn’t right. Father, please. You can’t let them do this! You’re the king. Your decision overrules anything the council decides.”

“Son, l have a duty to fulfill and a reputation to uphold. And quite frankly, your actions have caused much distress to this family for quite some time. I cannot go against the council on this ruling seeing as your previous unruly behavior has already damaged our family’s name.”

Shawn thought that was a bunch of bullshit. Regardless of how strongly the council felt, Vince had the majority vote. If he wanted to, he could have easily shut down the council’s bogus suggestion.

“What if I refuse,” Shawn asked indignantly. “You cannot force me to marry.”

Done with Shawn’s backtalk, Vince venomously spewed, “If you plan to stay in this family, to see your siblings again, to continue having your riches and security, then you shall! Otherwise, your refusal to marry will be seen as a treasonous act and you’ll be exiled from the family. And as long as you are living under this roof and tied to the McMahon name, your opinion on the subject doesn’t matter. Forget about that commoner. You are to marry a suitor of our choosing and that’s final!”

Shawn left the table in a tearful retreat. He was shocked beyond disbelief, feeling completely blindsided by what had taken place. He refused to believe this was reality, but the conviction in his parents’ voice told him otherwise.

He ran towards the palace doors desperately needing to get away. As he approached the foyer, he ran into Sebastian, begging the man, “Take me back, Sebastian. Please. I am begging you. Please take me back to Bret.”

Sebastian was alarmed by Shawn’s desperate plea. He hadn’t been near the dining room during the argument, but he heard bits and pieces of it as the angry voices carried down the palace halls. He was just as appalled as the prince in the king and queen’s actions. But even with his sympathy, he had his own duties to uphold.

“My Lord, it is after hours. I am not permitted to-”

“If you will not take me, I shall find a way myself!”

Sebastian stood perplexed as the prince looked at him with a determined gaze. It would be a breach of policy to allow Shawn out of the palace past curfew, let alone take him to the home of the man he’d just been forbidden from seeing.

However, Sebastian also cared about Shawn’s wellbeing, and knew the blond would likely get lost if he attempted to head to Beauville alone. That and the danger Shawn would be putting himself in by wandering aimlessly throughout the night was enough for Sebastian to reluctantly agree.

-

Bret’s slumber was abruptly interrupted as he felt a hand tapping frantically on his shoulder, Owen’s voice following, “Bret. Bret, wake up!”

“What is it,” Bret groaned.

“It’s the prince. He’s outside.”

Bret was up before Owen could even finish his sentence, throwing on a pair of shoes before hastily making his way to the front door. He opened it to reveal a teary-eyed Shawn, the blond looking as beautiful as he remembered even under his duress.

Upon seeing Bret, Shawn immediately threw himself into the man, his tears unleashing as soon as he felt Bret’s comforting arms wrap around him.

“Shawn. What’s the matter,” Bret worriedly whispered into Shawn’s ear only to receive another sob from the blond.

Bret’s heart clenched tightly at hearing the prince’s cries of sorrow. He had no idea why Shawn was so upset, but knew it had to be serious for the young man to travel all this way.

Bret shushed the blond, lightly caressing the back of his head as he said gently, “I’m here, Shawn. I’m here. Please try to breathe for me, ok?”

As Shawn tried to control his breathing, Bret’s attention was drawn to the crowd that had formed consisting of his nosy siblings and concerned parents. He waved them off, but they refused to leave. Bret then shifted himself and Shawn outside and closed the door behind them for privacy.

After realizing they were outside, Shawn tightened his arms around Bret, not wanting to be separated from the man.

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” Bret whispered, lightly running a hand across Shawn’s back. Over Shawn’s shoulder, Bret spotted Sebastian standing nervously by the carriage, glancing ever so often down the road as if anxiously awaiting someone’s arrival.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Needing answers, Bret pulled away slightly to rest his hands on Shawn’s cheeks, wiping away at the streaks, asking delicately, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The question only seemed to make Shawn cry more as he blubbered out unintelligible sentences. Bret was eventually able to make out the words, “I told my parents that I want to be with you.”

Bret’s heart leapt at the confession. Shawn wanted to be with him. He told the king and queen. It’s official. But as happy as Bret wanted to be, he couldn’t wrap his head around Shawn’s reaction.

Bret smiled softly, wiping away at Shawn’s eyes as he expressed, “That’s wonderful, Shawn. You have no idea how ecstatic I am to know you want this just as much as I do. But I don’t understand. Why are you crying?”

Shawn lowered his head to Bret’s chest, mumbling, “They won’t allow it. The marriage cannot take place without their blessing.”

Bret stiffened at the revelation, feeling as if a joke were being pulled on him. He gently lifted Shawn’s head from his chest, asking, “Why?” The blond averted his eyes, causing Bret to plead, “Shawn, please tell me why. Did I do something wrong? Is there a way I can fix it? There must be something I can do-”

“You can’t,” Shawn whispered, stepping away from the man hanging his head in shame. “It’s because you’re a commoner that they will not carry on with the betrothal. I’m so sorry, Bret.”

Bret didn’t know how to feel. There were so many emotions rushing through him at once – confusion, anger, embarrassment, betrayal, heartbreak, love for a man he couldn’t have. All because of what? His social status? A class he was born into, just as the prince was born into his?

It was then that Bret understood Shawn’s contempt for the monarchy, the older man growing resentful himself. His love for Shawn only grew as he realized that the blond hadn’t let his family’s prejudice against commoners cloud his ability to fall for one.

Bret let out a sigh, running a frustrated hand across his face before pulling Shawn back into his arms. Shawn seemed surprised by this, assuming that Bret wouldn’t want anything to do with him after the revelation. But he melted into the warm embrace, wrapping his arms around Bret’s neck to hold him closer. They stayed like that for some time, words unable to express their anguish.

Sebastian was conflicted as he watched, for once in his life questioning the decisions of the monarchy. He’d been with Shawn on every outing with each of his suitors, and although it was his duty to remain impartial, he couldn’t ignore the chemistry he witnessed with Shawn and Bret. Sebastian was actually put at ease knowing that someone with such a humble background had captured the prince’s eye. Unfortunately, the monarchy hadn’t felt the same way.

Bret eventually broke the silence when he asked, “What now? What do you want to do?”

“I wish to be with you. Only you,” Shawn whispered into Bret’s neck.

Bret smiled into Shawn’s hair whispering back, “I wish to be with you, too.” A smile also made its way onto Shawn’s lips, but was short-lived when Bret said, “But you must go back.”

Shawn’s head sprung up from Bret with knitted eyebrows, saying, “What? No-”

“I don’t want to make you choose between me and your family.”

“They’re the ones making me choose, not you,” Shawn shouted, no longer able to contain his anger. “You mean so much to me, Bret. What am I supposed to do without you after you’ve claimed my heart?”

Bret felt his throat tighten, clearing it in his best effort not to cry. “But they’re your family, Shawn-”

“I don’t care! That’s how much you mean to me. That’s how much I want to be with you. Do you not feel the same?”

“I do, Shawn,” Bret said softly, shushing Shawn as he pulled him back to his chest. “I do. Please don’t doubt it.”

“It’s not fair,” Shawn sobbed.

“I know it’s not. It’s just…this is so damn hard. I wish I knew what to do to make this right.”

Noting how late it was getting, Sebastian slowly approached the lovers, saying reluctantly, “My Lord, I must inform you that you are expected to return to the palace tonight. It is without a doubt that a search has been issued-”

“No,” Shawn said over his shoulder, refusing to separate from Bret. “I’m not leaving him, so you may as well head back to the palace without me.”

“I- you know I can’t do that, young prince.”

There wasn’t much room left for arguing as the trio heard the rapidly approaching sound of hooves galloping against the dirt road. Knowing who it could be, Shawn pulled Bret into a short kiss, pouring every emotion into it, unknowing if he’d ever have the opportunity again.

“I love you,” he whispered against Bret’s lips, the older man’s eyes watering at the confession as he returned the same phrase.

Just then, multiple white and gold carriages pulled up the house, the largest being the center carriage that housed Shawn’s parents. Several guards exited the other carriages as a coachman opened the door for the king and queen.

Queen Linda was first to step out followed by King Vince, both tooting up their noses in disgust as they took in their surroundings. A desolate neighborhood, dirt roads, tiny homes. This is what their son was drawn to? Ridiculous.

Unbeknownst to them, Bret’s family was watching anxiously from the inside, trying their best not to be seen as they crowded by an open window.

“We’ve got to go out there,” Owen said as he tried to walk to the door, but was pulled back by his dad, Stu.

“Let them handle it,” said the elder man. “If it looks like Bret needs our help, then we’ll head out.”

Owen relented, sitting next to his brother, Bruce, who was just as antsy.

Linda remained standing beside the carriage as Vince slowly approached his son. His eyes immediately went to Bret’s hand that was interlocked with Shawn’s, directing a disapproving glance to his son. He stopped shortly in front of the two, saying, “Ok, Shawn. You’ve made your point known. It’s time to stop playing games and come home.”

“This is not a game, father. If I am not allowed to be with him, then I’m not going anywhere. I love him.”

“Love,” Vince tsked. “That’s outlandish. You barely know the fellow.”

“Yeah, almost as outlandish as marrying a stranger for status,” Shawn smartly replied. “I told you, I’m not coming.”

That seemed to wipe the smugness off the king’s face as he said menacingly, “I wasn’t asking.”

At the flick of his hand, a group of guards rushed towards the lovers, ripping Bret away from Shawn as the blond shouted, “Bret!”

A rush of events took place after that - Bret’s brothers running out of the house in his defense, guards forcefully holding them down as their parents and sisters watched angrily from the doorstep, Shawn breaking away in an effort to get to Bret only to be withheld by Sebastian.

The commotion ceased as Vince’s voice boomed, “If you do not come willingly, these people will be arrested for resisting authority and disobeying royal orders! Is that what you want, Shawn?!”

Shawn struggled to get out of Sebastian’s hold, shouting, “No, you can’t do that! They have nothing to do with this!”

“I can and I will. It’s up to you how this goes.”

Shawn’s eyes frantically darted across the yard, taking in the sight of Bret’s brothers kneeling on the ground under the guards’ force. Then his eyes landed on Bret’s who, even under the painful grasp of a guard, kept his face neutral in an effort to calm Shawn.

Shawn helplessly looked to his mother, saying with a crack in his voice, “Mom?”

The queen was seemingly affected by her son’s plea, but after taking a breath, she said flatly, “Listen to your father. Do not make this any harder than this has to be.”

Shawn lips trembled, feeling an ultimate sense of betrayal. Although his relationship had been rocky with both of his parents, he got along better with his mother. If there were one person he thought could fix this, it would be her. But seeing that she took Vince’s side, Shawn felt hopeless.

The blond’s shattered expression hit Bret hard with emotion. Against his better judgment, he spoke, “It’s ok, Shawn,” which earned him a hard knee to the gut.

Shawn lurched forward but was held back as he watched Bret grunt in pain struggling to catch his breath. “Shawn,” Bret said in a strained voice.

The guard then unsheathed his sword, pointing it at Bret’s neck which caused Shawn to say in a panic, “Ok! I-I’ll go! Just…please don’t hurt him.”

Owen gasped, “No, Prince,” but he was met with the same fate, getting a knee to his side.

“Stop hurting them! I said I’ll go,” Shawn said in distress. Before being led away, he said to Bret, “I’ll never forget you. I’m so sorry this has happened, but never forget that I love you.”

“I love you, too, Shawn,” Bret whispered with a quiver in his voice.

Shawn was led to his parents’ carriage, the blond shrugging off Sebastian’s grasp once he made it to the doors. The king and queen followed behind, the door slamming shut before the curtain on the window was quickly closed.

With the royals out of sight, the guards finally let up on the family before heading to their own carriages. After the loud whinny of a horse, the line of carriages left the home with no intention of ever returning.

Bret sat on his knees a broken man, staring down the dirt path as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. He felt numb as his family crowded around him, tugging and pulling him different directions in concern. With the help of his brothers, he eventually got up and was led inside of the house.

After finding his voice to tell his family he was ok, Bret headed to the stables to get away from everyone. When he was finally alone to his thoughts, Bret cried his eyes out, mourning the loss of a love he only had the privilege to briefly experience.

Shawn found himself in the same position, the blond balled up in the corner of the carriage as endless tears poured from his eyes, not even daring to look at his parents.

The king and queen sat clueless, not knowing what to make of their son. Vince had never been good at comforting his kids, and Linda didn’t know how to fix the situation without giving Shawn what he wanted, an offer that wasn’t on the table.

After another squeak in Shawn’s voice, Linda tried, “You’ll find someone better, I promise. Someone more worthy of the royal-”

“I will never find anyone like him! You’ve ruined everything! I hate you!”

His parents were stunned into silence and nothing else was said for the rest of the ride. After arriving at the palace, Shawn rushed to his room, bypassing the concerned looks of his staff. He cried throughout the night, his sobs not going unheard as Sebastian stood guard outside of his door overtaken with guilt.

-

There was a light knock at Shawn’s bedroom door, followed by Sebastian’s muffled voice, “Your daily news, my Lord.”

Shawn groaned as he rolled his eyes and threw off his heavy comforter, sluggishly making his way out of his bed towards the door. He’d been camped to his room for over a week, refusing to interact with anyone in the palace. His parents initially thought it was a phase. Surely, Shawn was just acting out and would get over it in a couple of days.

But when the days stretched on and Shawn began requesting to have his meals sent to his room, they soon realized Shawn’s tantrum wasn’t as simple as they thought. But that didn’t change the fact that they were still adamant about Shawn finding an appropriate suitor.

Shawn opened his bedroom door and grabbed the paper from Sebastian’s outstretched hand. He unfolded it, lazily glancing it over in disinterest until he froze after catching sight of a bold headline:  

The Search Continues: Prince Shawn Remains on the Quest for Happy Ever After His Majesty, King Vince II, has issued a statement that has shocked the kingdom. His son, Prince Shawn, is still hoping to find Prince Charming. The King states, “Queen Linda and I are very grateful and thankful to the multitude of suitors who expressed interest in our son, Prince Shawn, months ago. But as a result of his courtship, we’re afraid we’ve not yet found a match. We’re announcing that the palace will be hosting another suitor ball, this one not as open as the last. Potential suitors will need to be of royal blood, come from a long line of wealth, and meet various royal standards that the royal council and I deem fit. More details will be released in the following-”

Shawn couldn’t even finish the article, his blood boiling as he pushed past Sebastian to rush towards Vince’s office. The door was heavily guarded, a guard blocking Shawn from entering as he said, “Forgive us, Prince Shawn, but the king-”

“I don’t give a shit what he’s doing. I need to talk to him now.”

As one could assume, the conversation wasn’t productive, it consisting of various obscenities and insults hurled each other’s way.

The screaming match ended when Vince proclaimed, “You’ve embarrassed this family long enough! We’ve accepted your unconventional lifestyle. We’ve swept away your scandals. We’ve even let you relinquish your title. The one thing we ask of you is to marry of the same class! Think of Shane and Stephanie, and how brokenhearted they’d be knowing their older brother chose a mere commoner over his own blood. I’m not going to let your selfishness tear this family apart, so this is happening whether you like it or not!”

-

Bret nearly crumbled after reading the article. He was still in shock at how someone he loved could be ripped away from him so easily. Shocked at how the royals’ privilege allowed them to not only mistreat his family but mistreat their own son as well. He was still haunted by the anguished screams Shawn let out that night, frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

For a week, Bret shut himself out from the world, remaining in his room except to tend to the horses and crops. His absence was felt in the market as he refused to work, wanting to avoid the villagers’ pitying glances. Word had traveled fast after his family’s encounter with the royals. Many villagers had visited the Harts to express their condolences, wishing the young couple could experience a happy ending.

But there was also a subset of villagers who were jealous of Bret’s opportunity to court the prince, a few even spreading absurd rumors such as Bret attempted to hold the prince hostage. Fortunately, many of the villagers came to Bret’s defense – a true testament of his good character and positive impact he’d made on the community.  

“Hey, man. How you holding up,” Owen asked after entering Bret’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed with the news article in hand.

Bret answered blankly, “I can’t believe they’re forcing him to do this. I know this is not what he wanted.”

“What can we do?” Owen was just as affected over the situation as Bret, offended that the royals would cause such a raucous at their home. And over what? Their son falling in love with his brother? It was outrageous and Owen was fully prepared to do whatever it would take to reunite his brother and the prince.

But his bravado diminished as Bret answered glumly, “There’s nothing we can do. We’re not royalty. We don’t come from wealth. And the palace sure as hell isn’t going to welcome me as a suitor again. It’s a lost cause.”

That saddened Owen immensely. His brother was a hardworking man who always put the family and the village first. Because of this, Owen always worried that his brother would be destined to a lonely life. The prince was the one person that gave Owen hope that his brother had found his better half. But life always seemed to be the cruelest to those least deserving.

With the recent news, the last thing Owen wanted was for Bret to be alone. He gave Bret a light pat on the shoulder, saying, “Come one, man. Let’s go to the market. Work should be a good distraction from all of this.”

Except it wasn’t.

Between the villagers staring at him as they walked past his stall to others shamelessly asking him about the prince, Bret soon regretted his decision, wishing he’d listened to his gut and stayed home. He was constantly reminded of Shawn throughout his shift, especially after a patron asked for a bag of strawberries.

Bret searched throughout their stall double-checking their inventory but was confused to find no strawberries in stock. After excusing himself from the customer, he asked his mom, “I can’t seem to find any strawberries. Are we out?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry, I forgot to tell you, dear. A purchaser from the palace bought everything we had this morning. They even placed an order for a batch of strawberries that are ready for picking in the fields.” Well, it’s not that she forgot to tell him. More so, she wanted to keep anything palace-related from her son, fearing it would only cause Bret more pain.

Bret curled a brow in question. “That’s odd. Why would they order so much?”

“Well, the gentleman didn’t say much. Only that it was requested by someone within the royal family. Any idea who it could be?”

Bret’s heart swelled as he thought of only one man with a strawberry addiction. 

-

Back at the palace, Shawn hadn’t been doing any better.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my Lord, but I don’t think you can survive only off of strawberries.” 

Shawn was in the middle of finishing his third bowl of the day as he sat at his vanity table, opting out of breakfast that morning for the delicious fruit. Normally, he would still be hungry, but his appetite had been lacking ever since being literally ripped away from Bret.

Shawn moped, “If they won’t allow me to be with him, I can at least enjoy his product.” He popped another strawberry into his mouth, relishing at how delicious it was. Yet, he wasn’t able to fully enjoy it as memories of Bret flashed through his mind. 

Sebastian stood by silently, his concern for Shawn only growing in the passing weeks. On multiple occasions, he’d almost crossed the line of professionalism in his worry for the prince. He tried to hint to the king and queen about Shawn’s declining mental state, but he was often ignored as the royals brushed it off as an act for attention.

Their nonchalant approach was unsettling, and it was moments like this one where the prince stared absentmindedly into his bowl that Sebastian knew he had to step in. Royalty or not, everyone reached a breaking point, and Sebastian’s sympathy for the man outweighed his obligations to the monarchy.

Sebastian slowly approached Shawn, pointing to the empty spot on the bench, asking, “May I?”

Shawn looked up, blinking in surprise. His guards usually avoided getting anywhere near him out of formalities, but also out of fear of being accused of doing something indecent with him.

“Sure,” Shawn nodded as he scooted over to make more room for Sebastian. 

After taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench, Sebastian said, “My Lord. I’d first like to apologize for my behavior that night.”

Shawn didn’t need to ask which night Sebastian was referring to. He paused mid-bite into his strawberry, not expecting an apology. After placing the fruit back into the bowl, Shawn said tiredly, “You were just doing your job. I can’t blame you for following my parents’ foolish orders.”

Sebastian bit back the instinctive need to defend the king and queen, insisting, “Even so, my Lord, that night has caused you great pain. And I am ashamed to have ever been part of it. I’ve served your family for nearly 30 years. I’ve watched you grow from a young boy to a young man. In all my years of serving, I’ve never seen you as upset as you were that night. I hope someday you can find it within yourself to forgive me.”

Shawn observed Sebastian, his heart aching for the man as he saw the guilt pooling in his eyes. Shawn didn’t hold a grudge against any of the guards, understanding that they were just following orders. He knew how tyrannical his father could get when he didn’t get his way.

It only made Shawn grow more bitter towards his parents. So much pain had been caused just because of their obsession with appeasing the council rather than their own son.

Shawn gave a gentle smile, saying sincerely, “I accept your apology, Sebastian. No need to allow this to become a burden.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I am relieved to hear that. I also feel that it is my duty to try and right this wrong.”

A look of puzzlement crossed Shawn’s face as he asked, “Hm? What do you mean?”

Sebastian smiled softly as he relayed, “I’ve been with you on every courting, young prince. With Mr. Hart, you two seemed to be better suited for each other. You seemed happier in his presence, so happy that you ran off into the woods with him and left this poor old guard behind.”

Shawn said sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

“It is fine. The point I am getting at is that a love like that, one naturally formed between two strangers, is hard to come by. I’ve seen so many royal pairings live a loveless marriage, one full of dread and sorrow knowing they’re destined to a life with someone out of duty. It is not for the faint-hearted, and I fear you may be destined for the same. You deserve better than that, and I have too much care for you to idly sit by as it happens.”

Shawn felt his eyes watering, touched to know that someone within the confines of the palace actually cared about his feelings. Sebastian’s kind words only reminded Shawn of Bret, of how the older man made him feel seen.

Sebastian handed Shawn a handkerchief, the blond taking in graciously before dabbing his eyes. “Thank you, Sebastian. Not just for the handkerchief,” he chuckled. “But for having my best interest at heart. I’d give anything to see Bret just one more time. I…I miss him dearly.”

“Worry not, my Lord. I have a plan.”

—

A month had passed since that fateful night and Bret attempted to move on. But that was easier said than done, and he was starting to believe that the phrase ‘time heals all wounds’ was a lie.

He sat on a stool next to his stall, his sore feet thankful for the short break. But his break was short-lived as an odd man in discrete clothing approached him, casting a shadow over him as he blocked the sun from Bret’s view.

Bret glanced up to tell the man that they were closed for lunch, but he was shocked to see that it was Sebastian standing before him in a dark, tattered cloak.

“Sebastian?” Bret asked before looking around eagerly hoping to find Shawn in tow.

But he was disappointed when Sebastian whispered, “He’s not here, Mr. Hart. I’m actually here on his behalf. Um, may we please go somewhere private? I would like to avoid being seen.”

“Yes, of course,” Bret said before hastily leading them around the corner to a dark alley. After ensuring no one was around, Bret urgently whispered, “How is he? Is he ok?”

“He’s,” Sebastian stalled, but decided to be transparent. “Honestly, he’s not doing well, sir. Your forceful departure has left him quite shaken. He wishes for me to tell you that he deeply regrets putting you and your family in the position you’re in.”

“He shouldn’t regret anything. None of this is his fault. He and I have been nothing but pawns in the hands of the monarchy, and it’s not fair to either of us. God, if only I could see him one more time. At least to tell him he doesn’t have to harbor any guilt over this. I-” Bret cut himself off in a grunt, deeply frustrated with the situation.

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m here. I’m sure you’re aware of the masquerade ball that is taking place next week at the palace.”

“How could I not be,” Bret muttered. The extravagant event had been the talk of the kingdom, only the most elite suitors being invited to the occasion.

“I hope you’d be pleased to know that my Lord has extended you an invitation.”

Bret was taken aback, unsure if he’d heard the man correctly. “An invitation? Me? At a ball? At the palace?”

“I know it is a risk, but it is something I am fully prepared to help you with if you so choose to attend.”

“I don’t understand. How would I even get in unnoticed, especially with my dingy attire?”

“A valid question, Mr. Hart, but worry not. We’ve got it all planned out. If I can get your measurements today, I can have a tailored suit delivered to you by the end of the week. Since it’s a masquerade ball, you will not be expected to show your face. When arriving at the palace, you shall identify yourself as the Duke of Cardonia, Lord Jericho. He’s a close friend of the prince and has been made aware of this plan. I’ve done all I can up to this point, but it is up to you to take hold of the opportunity.”

Bret felt a bit overwhelmed, Sebastian’s information coming at him a mile a minute. It was a risk, a huge risk, to sneak into the event, and if it didn’t go well, Bret didn’t even want to think of the repercussions. But then he thought of Shawn and how miserable he’d been ever since they were separated from each other, knowing he wouldn’t rest easy if he let this opportunity slip by.

So Bret agreed to the plan, allowing Sebastian to quickly measure him to get the proper dimensions for his suit. As he finished up, Sebastian said, “Oh, before I forget.” He dug around under his cloak before pulling out a sealed envelope stating, “It’s a personal letter from the prince. I’ll leave you to it. Fair well, Mr. Hart.”

Bret held the envelope with shaky hands, heart pounding as he caught a whiff of the light cologne Shawn had spritzed on the paper. It was the same sweet cologne he wore on their courtship, the smell immediately taking Bret back to that day.

He opened the envelope, pulling out a folded piece of paper before opening it to reveal Shawn’s neat handwriting:

To my dearest Bret, Words cannot express how much I cherished our time together and loathe our time apart. Every day without you feels like a cruel punishment from the gods, and I grow resentful every second of my life that you are not in my presence. Though it is a risk, I hope that you’ll accept this invitation to the masquerade ball for I wish to see you once more. I miss you. And I hope to see you soon.  I love you, Shawn

Bret was misty-eyed after reading the short letter, no doubt in his mind that he was going through with the plan.

[forthedancingandthethriving]

Guinevere is an up and coming fisher-cat. All of them were important to the trade of Harmonia, as since their seas were particularly blessed by Caspian, they'd never run out. Fish was their specialty, and by the Muses was Guinevere going to live up to everyone's expectations.

Her father was a proud captain in Queen Alina's armada (though he had more time now, considering the Taiga Wars between Desiderio and Monaxiá were over) and her mother was one of the most famous fisher-cats there was, always bringing in large hauls.

So yeah, no pressure or anything.

"Ah!" Guinevere hisses, quickly drawing her paw from the water and shaking it. "Sea's a prickly bastard today. Zenith must've hit ya, eh?"

She sighs and leans against her boat with a loud grumble. The sea further out had been ravaged by a storm the past few days, where all the good fish was. It was far too annoying.

Her keen ears pick up the sound of someone sputtering and coughing. She quickly stands, heart racing.

Oh no, don't tell her someone went out in the storm and got washed up!

She quickly rounds to the other side of her moderately sized boat-

And stops, body going slack.

"What.. are you?" She whispers, ears pinning back.

What lays on the sand, coughing and sputtering, is not a cat. It has a snout and fur like hers, their fur chocolate. But their tail was hairless, long and thin. Small round ears were atop their head, with smaller whiskers. Their snout was more pronounced than a cats, throwing Guinevere off. All that looks vaguely familiar was the fact that.. whatever this being was, they wore something fairly similar to a painter's outfit.

They sputter again, and Guinevere panics. "Ah, Muse-damn it! You're choking!"

She rushes over and kneels down, sand clinging to her wet pants. Now so close, she saw just how small this stranger was compared to her. Almost adorable, if not for the fact they were hacking up water.

She focuses intently and starts to sing softly, feeling the magic flow through her. "Water of ocean, blessed ye be.. follow my voice, please come to me."

Water soon streams from the being's mouth, Guinevere soon had it tossed back to the ocean. Quickly, the stranger sat up, and their head hits her chin.

"Ow!"

"Gah!"

The two cry in pain and quickly separate, with Guinevere rubbing her chin and the stranger rubbing their head.

They're the one to speak first, though they have an accent so thick to Guinevere that she can hardly make out what they say other than a 'sorry! So sorry!' from what sounds like a male voice.

"It's okay!" She opens an eye to look at them. "Uh, are.. you ok?"

The stranger looks are her quizzically and looks her over, and she isn't surprised. She's never seen one of them, and they've probably never seen one of her.

He nods. "What.. you?"

She pauses to think before pointing. "Uh.. Guinevere! I'm.. a Cat."

The stranger looks down, his eyebrows furrowing as he if he was figuring it out. Then he looks back up, speaking tentatively. "Guinevere? Cate?"

"Kha-t." She speaks slowly, making sure to sound it out.

"Cat." He nods, then points to himself. "Monet. Mouse."

Guinevere thinks her brain stops as she tries to figure out what Monet just said. "M.. Mise? Mouise?" Her own accent was not helping.

"Mous." Monet says slowly, and she nods.

"Mouse." She repeats.

"Yes!" Monet nods eagerly and then frowns. "Where.. I?"

"Harmonia." Guinevere answers. She stands up and offers a paw, which Monet takes, and she's taken aback by how he reaches up just to her waist. "Ethil kingdom."

Monet seems to understand and looks around. She then hesitates before speaking.

"Come.. to my home?" She asks carefully. "Help you?"

The Mouse pauses to think before he nods.

○●○

"Thank the Muses for pa being close to that mage in Cilcia." Guinevere sighs in relief, as she clips a bracelet around her wrist, as Monet did the same.

"The Muses?" He raises a brow.

"Mhm, they're the ones we worship! We follow Caspian, Muse of water and creativity." She smiles. "It was probably thanks to him you didn't die in the ocean out there."

He seems skeptical. "Eh.. I doubt that. It was probably our ocean Artistan, Arno."

Guinevere pointedly ignores that. "Right.. well, how did you even end up here?"

"Gah.." Monet groans. "I was part of a crew that was going out to the ocean to get some new painting supplies. The clay is quite good where I'm from." He frowns. "A freak storm hit the boat out of nowhere, and the captain jumped ship."

Guinevere fur bristles. "Cowardly bastard!" She hisses. "He'd be tried and jailed for that here, the Admiral as judge!"

Monet looks surprised. "You seem to take this type of stuff seriously."

"Of course!" The she-cat nods, striding over to the brick stove. She kneels down and grabs some nearby logs stored by the wall, setting them in. She grabs a flint and strikes it several times before it lights. "The sea is Ethil's way of life! I mean, for Muses sake, it's the backbone of our industry."

He thinks, then speaks. "Do you all have magic?"

"We do." She nods as a fire ignites under the brick stove. She then stands. "Do you?"

"We express it in art."

"We express it in music."

The duo looks at each other before Guinevere rubs the back of her neck. "Can I.. get ya anything to eat?"

"Do you have an fruits?" His ears lower a bit. "Just something to tide me over."

She winces a bit and scratches her cheek. "Uhmm.. I don't, unfornately. Cats don't.. we, uh, don't really eat fruits on their own. I might have some apples..? I think?"

"That'll do." Monet nods, though he does look perplexed.

Guinevere sets a kettle of water on the before moving to search around her small, quaint cabin before she manages to get some fruit. She sets it down on a plate in front of him and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry.. it's just.. us Cats, we eat purely meat. Fruits and vegetables are usually added just for flavor."

Menot nods in understanding, and she moves to the stove, where the kettle begins to whistle. She carefully lifts it off the hot stone and pours the water into stone cups, and then she sprinkles tea leaves, which quickly soak in. She sets the kettle down on the stone counter and walks over to the table where Monet sat. The Cat set one cup down in front of him as she sat across from him.

She pointedly doesn't make eye contact. She doesn't like how something primal was telling her leap at him. "So.. how.. does taking ya to see Queen Alina sound? I'm sure she'd be willin' to help you find a way home."

He perks up at that. "Oh! That'd be wonderful!"

She smiles nervously. "Just a fair warning. She can be.. intense, ya know?"

"Ah, it'll be fine." Monet chuckles. "I'm sure I can handle meeting her."

Guinevere sweats a bit. Muses, I hope you can handle meeting my aunt.

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Prepares (Part 49B)

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Sans wanted to come along.

"But it doesn't concern you." You look at him quizzically, the Manager knowingly.

The Manager smiles slyly, leaning back in her chair. "And why would you want to?" She directs her question to Sans. "I've heard there's been a bit of an upheaval in your Family..."

You're not quite sure if she means the seed she planted in Toriel's head, or if she actually knows what happened. Sans saves you the trouble of explaining though, as he puffs on his cigar and drawls, "Whatever you did, Manager, gave Tori some inspiration. She's Queen now, Asgore high tailed it; and she's gonna come by and ask you to declare him excommunicado."

The Manager seems to think, and this time you think you detect a hint of remorse on her face. "That won't be possible, I'm afraid. His Former Highness has committed no wrong in the eyes of the Continental - I don't have the power to declare someone excommunicado without good reason." As you thought.

Sans seems to have expected that response, simply shrugging. "I thought so; still had to ask though. Anyway," he continues, sliding his crimson eye lights to you. "We ain't lettin' you go alone."

We? You furrow your brows in a rare departure from your usual expression. Still, you shake your head at the same time that the Manager does.

"They won't be," the Manager says with an amused tilt to her voice, as if she's trying to hold back a laugh. "I'm sending some service staff with them." You nod in agreeance.

Sans seems to grimace, looking down at his cigar which has almost burnt down to a stub by this time. "If yer facing what ya think ya are, better more firepower than less, right?"

That...is fair.

"Take boss, I know he's still itchin' fer a fight after we lost track of Asgore." He takes a puff of his nearly finished cigar, crushing it in his hand and tossing it into his suit pocket...much to your and the Manager's distate. He seems completely unperturbed. "I'll join when I can. Boss is worth a whole contingent of soldiers."

And yet...you can't help but think there might be something else. But Sans doesn't elaborate, and you do not ask.

The Manager holds her hands up in surrender. "I don't command you or your brother, Sans, but we certainly can arrange for transport accordingly, if that's what you want." And by 'we', she means you.

"It is."

Holding a sigh in your chest, you nod. First to the Manager, then to Sans. "I'm going to prepare accordingly. I'll text you the details and you can pass it along to Papyrus."

"And give me the coordinates so I can catch up."

He intends to teleport over? You thought he could only teleport to places that he has actually been to, but no matter.

Sans flicks his hand in goodbye, winking at you as he strides out. The Manager only giggles at you once Sans has actually left the room and pretends to swoon. "Oh, how chivalrous!"

You are so tempted to seize the paperweight from her desk and hurl it at her.

"Two now?" she teases you, standing up so she can head for a closet she keeps in her office. "You work fast, my Heart." Even though she teases you, you can see the gears turning in her head. She doesn't confide her thoughts in you though and instead gives you a zipped garment bag.

When you look at her with a silent question on your face, she winks at you. "Courtesy of the Tailor, my Heart. Go swiftly and come back to me in one piece."

"Of course, ma'am," you bow. Accepting the garment bag, you're mildly surprised at the weight of its contents. Not just a normal suit, then.

With a swift goodbye and a promise to keep in contact, you sweep out of the room and into your own little office to make the arrangements. Your team is put together in short order - six men and women in total to support you and Papyrus. Transport is equally arranged without much fuss, and you eventually find yourself at a quiet, dark, private airfield in the dead of night, loading your bags into the plane

It is a quiet ripple of air that makes you whirl around, dead eyes going sharp. Twin pairs of floating crimson orbs bob and weave, coming closer and closer. Ah, it's just Sans and Papyrus. The shorter of the two waves at you, his other hand in his pocket as he comes up to you. "sweetheart," he murmurs softly, ensuring that your team is far enough away not to listen in.

"Sans, Papyrus. Good evening," you greet them in turn, equally softly.

Papyrus inclines his head to you, his clothes looking a little tighter fitting than they normally do, with a case slung over his shoulder. "CONCIERGE." His voice is lowered as much as possible, but you still feel the ripple of his magic in his voice.

You extend your hand towards the plane, speaking to Papyrus, "If you would stow your luggage away with the others, we will make preparations to leave immediately."

The tall skeleton scowls but obliges you, walking away with long strides without another word.

Sans just grins at his brother's back, while you turn to look at him. "i got yer coordinates, sweets," he wiggles his phone at you. "gonna tie up some things with tori and the kiddo and then head over. same place for my flight?"

You nod.

"nice." His eternal grin softens slightly and he reaches down to gather your hands in his bare phalanges. Presses them against his teeth and nuzzles them affectionately. "don't have too much fun without me, alright sweetheart?"

Your lips threaten to turn upwards into a smile. "As you well know, that's hardly a factor I have control over, Sans."

He grins. "still. i know ya hardly need protection but boss'll take care o' ya. he's the coolest that way."

You're quite amused at the way he seems to gently compliment his brother in your presence, considering how they needle each other otherwise. "I shall keep that in mind," you say softly in response, feeling more than seeing one of your team calling for you by waving. "We have to go - it's a long trip to Osaka."

Sans nods then, nuzzling your hands again. "a'ight. travel safe."

"STOP CANOODLING AND LET GO OF THE CONCIERGE SO WE CAN LEAVE, BONEHEAD." Papyrus hisses from above your head. You blink, tilting your head up so you can look at him. Goodness, he's tall enough that you can only see the bottom of his chin as he looms over you and glares at Sans.

The older but shorter brother only sneers back and lets go of you reluctantly. "fine," he drawls, stepping back with his hands in his pockets. Then, with a cheeky salute and a wink at you, he disappears in the blink of an eye.

So that's how it looks like... There one moment, and not the next. You carefully look around to see if anyone was watching, only to have your head brush against Papyrus' chest from how close he's standing to you.

"WORRY NOT FOR MY BONEHEAD BROTHER. HE MADE SURE NO ONE WAS LOOKING. AND I WAS BLOCKING HIM FROM VIEW." Papyrus, always prepared and always thinking ahead.

You nod and let your expression soften. "That is very considerate of you, Papyrus."

In the darkness of a new moon and the light-less airfield, Papyrus' blush is like a torch. He sputters and growls and stomps off as quietly as he can manage back to the plane, snapping at one of your valets to step aside so he can get into the aircraft.

How cute. You stifle a smile and follow him into the body of the plane which is slightly more well-lit than the darkness outside. Your two pilots nod at you and disappear into the cockpit, taxi-ing off and preparing for takeoff.

Inside, you find that Papyrus has jammed himself into the seat next to yours, looking comically large in the human-sized chair. Which admittedly is larger than most. The rest of your team busies themselves with not looking at Papyrus and tending to their own gear while you walk over and sit down.

"Is this your first time flying, Papyrus?" you ask softly, doing up your seatbelt and looking up at him. It's a good thing that these chairs are very broad, because his shoulders just barely fit - if the seats were any narrower, you're sure that his shoulder would be jammed in your face.

He scowls and grumbles, folding his arms over his broad chest. "...WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING TO ASK SUCH A STUPID QUESTION?" Is that a tinge of embarrassment in his voice?

Hmm. The lights dim even more into near darkness, the plane shakes and moves as it begins to roll down the runway.

Papyrus stiffens in his seat, hunching further into his shoulders. His hands hold his suit in a death grip.

A pang of...something fills your chest. It's odd to see such an indomitable man defeated by something like a plane, though it's certainly not the first time you've seen it. So you extend your hand on the armrest next to him, gloved palm up.

Crimson pips for eye lights look down at it, then at you, constricted to mere dots. You can see the silent question on his face, but you offer no verbal response, instead lifting your hand up in an offer. An offer to hold hands while the plane takes off.

And indeed, Papyrus doesn't have much time to decide, because you can feel the plane reaching the right speed to take off, pushing you into your seat. Wind rushes past the plane and rattles the cabin, flowing under its wings. As someone who has familiarity with flying, you can identify the exact moment the front wheels leave the tarmac, and that is the same moment that Papyrus seizes your hand in his.

Not surprisingly, his grip is tight. Tight, but warm, and even though you can feel the strength rippling through his hand and his bones, he doesn't crush your hand in his. If you had to liken it to something, it would be the compression gloves you wear before bed. Given how his large hand completely engulfs yours, that might be accurate.

You don't do him the humiliation of looking at him while he clings to your hand, but you're sure that the blush you can feel radiating off his face is a sign he feels embarrassed nonetheless. That and the slight glow of red bouncing off the seat in front of you.

How cute.

Papyrus holds onto your hand until the plane is at cruising height, until the cabin slowly lights up to a comfortable luminance, until you gently tap at his wrist with your free hand to request it be released.

"Time for a briefing," you explain to him, unclipping your seatbelt to stand.

It's short. Simple. Mostly out of necessity since everyone needs to rest before landing in Osaka.

Dossiers on the Marquis' own private military company, the Myrmidons, are passed out and explained. Men and women of notable martial prowess, clad in their trademark grey tactical suits with no helmets or masks. Competent in firearms, knives, and unarmed combat all.

Their leader, one Chidi, is the most deadly of them all. "Flee on sight or engage in threes or more," you say seriously. "We are to bolster Osaka but there is no sense in throwing your lives away."

Everyone nods, even Papyrus.

The six on your team is assigned pairs - if they must peel off, they are not to go alone. Papyrus is your assigned partner, and he hums with satisfaction.

Beyond that, you know there is a chance that the Myrmidons will be accompanied by High Table emissaries, with a small 'E'. Fully armoured soldiers wielding rifles and shotguns and pistols. You know you have trained your staff well - they can hold their own against the soldiers. Papyrus...his magic will be a complete wildcard.

"I would rather you maintain a cover during this operation," you say to him as everyone returns to their seats.

"WHY?" he looks at you curiously. "I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I AM INCREDIBLY INTIMIDATING WHEN I WOULD LIKE TO BE. AND VERY STRONG. THEY WILL TREMBLE BEFORE MY GREAT AND TERRIBLE MIGHT-!" You lay a hand on his forearm gently as his volume rises. Almost immediately, he quietens down. "APOLOGIES."

You shake your head to wave away his apology. "I would consider you our trump card, Papyrus." Oh, there's his blush again.

"AS YOU RIGHTFULLY SHOULD."

"And as such, it would be a tactical decision not to show our hand too early." You wait until he thinks and nods at you before you continue. "To that end, I'd ask that you wear these."

Reaching into the luggage bin above your heads, you take out a hood and mask that looks a fair bit like his own - an ivory, fanged skull.

He scowls at it, but accepts them nonetheless. "...THIS LOOKS LIKE MY OWN FACE."

You incline your head. "My intention is not to hide you away, but rather to disguise your nature. There are no monsters in Osaka, or in Japan. The High Table has had minimal dealings with monsters. Disguising yourself as a human with a macabre taste in accoutrements is the logical option."

Ivory phalanxes trace over the mask in thought. You know the mask is made of resin - strong enough to protect from most blows but light enough not to impact performance. The hood and the back of the mask is made from a soft material for comfort and to prevent chafing. "VERY WELL," Papyrus finally says, a tinge of...respect? in his voice.

"Perhaps wrapping your scarf about your neck will hide the edges of the mask as well." You gesture to his red scarf that hangs loose around his shoulders.

A grunt is your answer, but he takes his scarf from around his neck and bundles it with the mask and hood too. With a reluctant air, he sits back down in his seat and grumbles about the squeeze. Though he stops his grumbling when you sit down next to him.

"I would apologise for the size of the seat, but, Papyrus, I'm afraid you're much broader and taller than most humans," you say softly, quiet enough to barely be heard over the engines. Then, looking up through your lashes, you let a small smile spread on your lips and warm your expression. "I'm not complaining, however."

And there's that blush again. Some sputtering. And Papyrus crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl after he reclines the chair to his liking. You can only catch a bit of his muttering, little bits of 'infuriating human' and 'incorrigible flirt' and 'not so bad' reaching your ears.

The chuckle brewing in your chest is stifled with great effort. Honestly, how this dangerous man can be so...cute...is just beyond you.

Leaving Papyrus to his grumbling, you recline the seat entirely until it is nearly flat, turning your back to Papyrus so you can sleep. But for a good few minutes, you remain awake, your mind whirring with plans and contingencies, thinking about what you might face in Osaka.

But above all, you hope that you're not too late.