#shout out to reign for informing me of this

[cuntertaker]

EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP EVERYTIME YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT BILLY HARGROVE YOURE COMPLAINING ABOUT A GUY THAT LOOKS LIKE THIS

I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT ANYMORE !!!!!! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TALK BADLY ABOUT HIM GO TAKE IT UP WITH LITTLE PRETTY HEAVEN HEART HERE !!!!

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty seven

authors note: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

massive thank you to the lovely @proceduralpassion for assisting me with the medical logistics and jargon for this one! ❤️

warnings: angst

story song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

chapter song inspo: 'photograph' by ed sheeran

***gif credit goes to @romanreigns ***

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 15k

Loving can heal Loving can mend your soul

-----

Roman doesn’t like hospitals. 

Never has. 

For obvious reasons.

But, what he hates more than most things, of all things, is being out of control.

Being out of the loop.

Not knowing what’s going on.

And Roman very much has little idea just what the hell is going on.

It takes him a few seconds—much too long—to orient himself to his environment. A room. A hospital room. Large window to the left of him, blinds partially open, allowing slivers of light to shine though, indicating it’s daytime. A TV anchored on the wall in front of him playing what looks like a soap opera of some sorts, though even with the low volume, he can tell it’s not in English.

It’s in Spanish. 

Turning to his head from left to right reveals two things, one of them being his body is sore as shit, his left shoulder in a sling, and the second being that he’s hooked up to machines, an IV in his right arm.

It’s that single movement that allows the memories to start trickling in.

Single notes of recollection.

Betrayal. 

Rescue.

Solana.

The last one is enough to force Roman to bypass his physical pain as he sits up with a newfound sense of urgency.

And anger.

Where the fuck is his wife?

A call button is a waste of fucking time, and he has no intentions on using it. He has to find her himself. Roman is gathering and quickly brainstorming a way to unplug all these annoying fucking things hooked up to him when he hears footsteps. Head snapping, he’s met with a smiling young woman, dressed in scrubs.

“You’re awake,” she greets, her accent thick and Central American sounding. “How do you—”

“Where’s my wife?”

Straight to the point. Harsh.

She falters with a response. “Sir, I—”

“Answer the fucking question,” Roman sneers, because he doesn’t have time for the shit. He needs to know where Solana is, and he needs to know now. 

“Mr. Reigns, please just calm down—” 

“WHERE IS SHE!”

The woman jumps back, calling out something in Spanish. Roman ignores her, ready to rip the anchors off that prevent him from seeing the one and only person he wants to see right now. The person he needs to see. 

However, as a number of other nurses, medical professionals fill the room, Roman finds himself escalating from angry to furious. They’re trying to restrain him.

Him.

Male nurses, or security, not that it makes a fucking difference, have the audacity to try to hold him down.

Even with his limited strength, it doesn’t take much for the incensed Tribal Chief to shove them away. To get them the fuck off and away from him.

Someone shouts something in Spanish, Roman catching a needle out the corner of his eye. He’s fully prepared to knock it away, recognizing it’s most likely a sedative of some sorts. 

But, he doesn’t have to. 

“Hey!”

A voice he could pick out in even the largest, most boisterous crowd.

Solana

She shoves her way past the group, barking something in Spanish that forces them all to disperse like she’d splashed them with something scalding and burning. And maybe she had with whatever she said.

She switches back to English, informing with a sense of irritation, “he’s looking for me.”

Always.

But, just as quickly as she was scowling, her gaze shifts to something else entirely. Warm, comforting, and loving.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs, coming and sitting on the side of his bed. Roman’s eyes shut naturally the minute she reaches to cup his face, fingers gently pushing back some of his hair. “I’m here, mi amor. It’s okay.”

Solana says something else in Spanish that causes the staff to leave, the closing of the door signifying the unwanted parties have all departed.

It’s just them.

“Sol….”

“I’m okay, Roman,” she says it again, somehow, someway already knowing it’s what he needs. Part of what he needs. But, the partial adjective is only temporarily applicable as she brings his hand to her stomach. He opens his eyes. “We’re okay.”

There’s something immensely healing about those two words. Something heavily and highly relieving. A tightness in Roman’s chest he didn’t realize he was experiencing instantly diminished. 

“I had to get stitches in the back of my head, and my pressure was a little high, but it’s stabilized now, and that was expected given…..” She trails off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. The girls are fine.” A small, sad smile on her face. “Their heartbeats still nice and strong.”

More relieving, comforting information as Roman allows himself to take in his wife’s appearance. She’s wearing a white flowy dress, sleeveless, cleavage slightly on display. Her hair is pulled up and back with a clip, highlighting her face that’s bare of makeup. The scar across her left eye has never been something he’s ever really paid much attention to, never taken away from her ethereal beauty, but the bruise and slight cuts on her face do. They remind him of just what happened.

“Solana—”

“Not right now,” she dismisses. Solana continues to push back his hair, fingers traveling and massaging his scalp. “Your recovery is what matters most right now. We can….we can discuss other things later.”

It doesn’t necessarily align with what they’d previously agreed on as a couple. Not pushing off needed and required conversations, though Roman can understand why, in this particular instance, she’s preferring to wait.

This conversation is much bigger than anything they’ve ever had. 

The sound of the TV serving as background noise returns to audible territory, as Roman also considers the way Solana spoke in Spanish to the medical staff she forced out. 

The way majority of them seemed to speak Spanish.

Curious, he asks, “where am I?”

She answers in Spanish. He only makes out a single word that sounded a lot like ‘hospital.’ “Mexico.” Roman doesn't have much of a reaction to that. He’d started to put two and two together. Just needed her to confirm as such. “After they….” She trails off, eventually clearing her throat. “Roman….”

He studies her, sensing there’s something she’s not saying. “What?”

Solana drops her hand to his, pressing her lips together before taking a deep breath. “Everyone thinks we’re dead.”

And, the surprises just keep on coming. "What?"

She sighs, clearly ready and willing to explain what's objectively a wild ass response when another voice interrupts.

“It’s part of the plan." Roman looks past Solana to see none other than his older cousin, Dwayne. And he's not alone. Matteo stands beside him, both dressed almost casually with slack pants and short sleeved shirts. Minimal cuts on their faces but nothing outside the norm.

Dwayne smirks, as the two men walk into the room. “Not even up for a good ten minutes, and you’re already causing a scene.”

Roman chuckles, seeing the small smile on his wife's face. "You know I don't like being kept out of the loop."

"Maybe you shouldn't have slept so long." Matteo's voice is both serious and teasing, a playful gleam in his eyes as he easily melts back into business mode. "To the world, you bled out on the operating table, dying from injuries sustained during the rescue mission."

"And Solana," Dwayne takes over, the faintest hint of regret in his voice. Performative. "—passed away due to injuries sustained from her torture while in captivity."

Chilling words that create a grisly mental image. Roman has to push that scary alternative from his mind. The alternative to how this all could have turned out.

"Once they got you stable enough, we transferred you here to avoid detection of the truth," Matteo explains, motioning to Solana. "That part was actually Solana's idea."

Roman looks over at his wife, partially surprised, though he shouldn't be. He knows Solana can be insecure at times about not having an education beyond high school, but that doesn't mean shit, because she's easily one of the smartest people he's ever met.

"Yeah?"

She nods, looking back over at the other two men. "After they told me about the….help from…from the Cartel, I just figured…" She trails off, changing the subject a little bit. "We can talk about that later. You need to focus on recovering." She brings her hand to his forehead, as if checking his temperature. "How are you feeling?" She doesn't wait for a response, easily shifting back into caretaker mode. "You need to let the doctor examine—"

"I'm fine, Sol." Roman dismisses, prompting a snort from Dwayne's melon head ass.

"Says the man laid up in a hospital bed."

Solana rolls her eyes. A playful thing. She then gently points out, "it's only been two days."

At that, Roman stills. He's been out for two whole days?

His surprise must be visible, prompting Solana to share in a quiet voice. "You lost a lot of blood, Ro."

"And you had to have surgery to remove the bullet," Matteo shares. "And a laparotomy for where you were stabbed."

Roman makes a quiet sound. That explains the discomfort in his abdomen and why his shoulder is fucking throbbing and in this goddamn sling. The last time he had to have a bullet surgically removed, he was almost twenty years younger.

Thus, he'd forgotten how annoying the aftermath portion is.

Solana suddenly moves to stand up from the bed, Roman unable to miss the way her dress falls against her stomach, showcasing her bump. It might be whatever meds he's on, but he can almost swear it looks more pronounced than he remembers.

"I know you guys need to talk, and I have somewhere to be anyway."

At that, the attention is refocused from her baby bump to what she just said. "Somewhere to be?" Roman sits up a bit in bed, gritting from the sharp pain that shoots through his body.

"Careful," Solana cautions, moving back to his side. One hand is on his forearm, the other back on his forehead, as if checking for his temperature again. "You have stitches."

"Where are you going?"

Solana sighs and answers his question while also not answering his question. "I'm not leaving the hospital. Just….going to the chapel."

The chapel? Roman is even more confused than he was before, though confusion is easily outweighed by concern. There's a certain something that fills his chest at the thought of her leaving again, at being out of his watchful eye.

Like, he's scared for her to leave his side.

And in some ways….he just might be.

"Solana, what's going on?"

She continues to look unsure of how to respond, and he's not exactly sure why, because he all he wants is the truth.

"Domingo Lopez has…..requested a meeting."

At that, Roman closes his eyes.

This….this is why he can't be out of commission for too long. Cause, it's always something.

"Why the fuck didn't ya'll say anything sooner?" He tries to shift again, forcing Solana's hand back down to her side. "What time—"

"Roman," Matteo interrupts, arms crossed, expression even. "It wasn't for you."

Roman frowns. "What?" This shit keeps getting weirder, or either these meds are fucking with his mental. "Then wh—"

"Me," Solana supplies, forcing her husband's gaze on her. "He wants to meet with me. Him and his wife."

"By yourself?" Roman can't even focus on the shock of that plot twist. He's too stuck on the fact this wife is about to meet with one of the dangerous men in this side of the modern world. Alone. "Hell n—"

"Ro," she interrupts, sighing before attempting to explain. "From what I hear….this man is on our side. He helped us. He helped you." Roman has nothing to say to that, because there's nothing to say. Solana is right. That's not surprising though. She usually is. "He means us no harm. If that were the case, he wouldn't still be helping us."

Dwayne offers an explanation for the question Roman doesn't even get a chance to ask. "There's no one on this floor but you, brotha'. And Lopez must have men patrolling the floor, hospital, and hell, probably up the street and round the corner, too."

Roman would love to find a reason to find argument and protest, to point out a flaw in said explanation but none can really be found. Dwayne's information adds another tally to Solana's growing reasons why there's no objectively good reason why she can't attend this meeting on her own.

No danger appears to be present.

But, Roman also believed before that no danger was present, and look where it got him.

"I'll be fine, Roman," she reminds, leaning over and kissing his forehead. "I promise."

She steps back and cups his cheek at the same time a knock on the door pulls Roman from the moment, forces his defenses to go back up. Except, they're only slightly lowered when he sees it's a woman.

Dressed almost casually, it's clear she's not a nurse or anyone on the medical staff at the hospital. That's confirmed merely by the fact that there's a gun on her hip, secured in a holster. However, that also immediately raises his defenses.

Especially when he sees she's looking directly at Solana. She says something in Spanish, short and brief.

Solana nods, replying in the same language, prompting the nameless woman to nod, hands behind her, standing at attention almost.

"That's Stephanie," Solana offers, already knowing her husband continues to be full of question. "She's been….assigned to me while you've been recovering."

It's easy enough for the Tribal Chief to read behind the lines. A personal guard. This Stephanie person has been assigned as Solana's personal guard.

From the Gulf Cartel.

"I won't be long," Solana reiterates once more, gently squeezing his hand before walking away. It's not missed upon Roman how his wife shares some sort of secret handshake type shit with both Dwayne and Matteo as she departs, the later saying something to her in Spanish that has her giggling.

What the….fuck?

Just how long has he been out?

---------

Solana wasn't nervous when she was informed Domingo Lopez and his wife wanted to meet and talk with her.

She wasn't nervous, because it was hard to be nervous about meeting the man who, in a lot of ways, saved her life.

Saved Roman's life.

Because in the two days that have passed since the daunting rescue mission, she's learned a lot. Learned how the leader of the biggest and oldest crime syndicate in Mexico happens to be the father of the sweet little girl she befriended all those months ago.

Aurora. Aurora Lopez happens to be the daughter of Domingo Lopez, a man who, she's also learned, seems to think very highly of her. Believed he owed her a debt for her act of kindness towards his little girl.

A small, insignificant thing that may have saved everything Solana has worked so hard to build.

His assistance. The men. The manpower. The protection. It's all so overwhelming and unexpected, so to deny him a simple meeting seemed wrong almost.

Because, the way she sees it, Solana now owes him a debt she's not sure can ever be repaid.

Dwayne and Matteo had been wise to request medevacs, two in particular, wisely anticipating serious to grave injuries. And that's exactly what Roman had experienced. She tries not to think too much about the way the doctor essentially confirmed if not for the air ambulance transporting him to the ICU in the time that they did, he would have bled out, as he'd been stabbed right where a large artery sits.

Roman would have died.

And, that's something she can't think about.

But, she can think about the man who allowed those preparations to be a reality.

And that man is Domingo Lopez.

Solana walks into the chapel, partially surprised to see them already there and waiting. A man and woman. One she recognizes from a prior meeting. The other doesn't really need an introduction.

Elena stands, a warm smile on her face. "Solana." Solana is partially taken back when the woman initiates a hug, but it doesn't take long for her to reciprocate it. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Solana closes her eyes.

So is she.

Elena pulls back, only to look down. She gasps quietly, looking back up. "You're pregnant?"

Solana nods with a small smile. "I am."

Apprehension crosses her face. "Is he or she…."

"They're okay," Solana answers. "Twins."

Elena gasps again, taking Solana's hand and gently squeezing it. "Congratulations."

Naturally, Solana's free hand falls to her baby bump. "Thank you."

It's a strange, somewhat unfamiliar thing. Not even a full three days ago, Solana's prayer was that she could manage to keep her pregnancy a secret from all until Roman could rescue her or she could escape.

Now, she finds herself sharing it with a woman she's only met once before and a man who she's only meeting for the first time but one she owes so much to.

Life is so strange sometimes.

Domingo stands up, coming to stand beside his wife. He offers his hand. "Solana, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Solana swallows, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. Nevertheless, she powers through, accepting his handshake. "I—I don't know what to say." Because, she really doesn't. "Thank you seems too….too insignificant."

It does. Though any other similar word also feels not strong enough for the depth of her gratitude.

He, however, protests. "That's unnecessary."

She shakes her head, lightly protesting. "You helped save my family's life….that's far from unnecessary."

Domingo says nothing, just motions for her to sit down on the first set of pews directly in front of the alter. Solana takes the one on the right, while Domingo and Elena sit on the pew opposite her.

"I take it your recovery continues to go well." It's a statement that's more so conveyed as a question.

"Yes," Solana answers, pushing back some of her hair. "Thankfully, I—I didn't have many injuries." A blessing, truly, because what scared Solana the most as she received medical treatment was the moment the transducer was placed on her stomach to check on them.

To check on her babies.

True fear has never been experienced like in the moments where it was silent, the strange almost beeping sounds she always heard at her check-up appointments non-existent.

Easily, one of the scariest moments of her life.

And, then she heard it.

The first heartbeat. Not even a full minute later, the second heartbeat.

Just as strong as every other time.

That was the first time Solana broke down. That she sobbed, overcome with all the emotions. Filled to the brim with the feels that accompanied her kidnapping, holding Roman and begging him to cling to life, not knowing if he could, and finally, knowing that she'd been successful.

She's protected her girls.

She'd saved them.

A few crying sessions have happened since, lingering feelings following an undeniably traumatic event but nothing major. Nothing that has her feeling on the edge, and Lord knows she's felt as such before.

"And, I hear that husband of yours is also awake."

A great sense of pride and relief fills her at that. "He is." She doesn't offer anything more, not knowing just how much Roman would like disclosed about his personal recovery.

"That's good," Domingo nods, taking a noticeable pause. "I suppose…I suppose you're wondering why I've asked to meet with you." He gestures between himself and his wife. "Why we have asked to meet with you."

Solana does her best to remain visibly undeterred by him sharing that previously unknown piece of information. She didn't know Elena also wanted to meet with her.

"Yes." That's all she says. All she offers. All she knows how to say.

Elena takes over. "Aurora, our daughter, as I told you before, she really does like you and….and she talks to you." There's an undeniable sadness in her eyes. "More…more than she talks to us."

"The journal you gave her helps a lot. Helps out a tremendous amount," Domingo shares. "She….she will bring it to us and let us read it sometimes if she wants us to know something."

Elena looks down, playing with her fingers. "That….that's how we found out about….her struggles."

Solana frowns. "Struggles?" She recalls her abuela mentioning Aurora's parents argued a lot and that impacted her, as it would any child, but Solana has the sense that's not what Elena is referring to.

Elena continues, her voice softer than it's been the entire conversation. "Aurora was….she was having thoughts about wanting to hurt herself."

Solana's stomach drops. "What?"

Of all the struggles that could be happening, that was certainly the last on her list.

"She thought….she thought if she was dead, Elena and I would be happier. That we….we wouldn't argue as much." Domingo continues, hurt evident in his brown eyes. "Ever since then, we've been really good about not arguing in front of her, spending more time with her, and making sure she knows how much we love her."

It's a heartbreaking thing to hear. While Solana is pleased to hear Aurora's parents are taking her suicidal ideation seriously, it also devastates her to see another little girl go through the same thing she did.

Crushing.

"We have found her a therapist, and she seems to like her well enough," Elena supplies, her voice filled with a small hint of hopefulness. "But, Aurora really seems to trust and open up with you." She looks at her husband before focusing back on Solana. "We….we want her to have someone she can talk to, even if it's not us."

And just like that, without it even being asked directly, Solana knows why they requested this meeting. Why they wanted to speak to her. What they're asking of her.

Domingo must see it too. "We don't expect you to share anything with us," he clarifies. "It wouldn't be fair to put you in that position or make Aurora feel like you're reporting back to us." He pauses for a second. "We just want her to have support and be able to confide in the safe right people."

"A mentor," Elena finally provides the word Solana was thinking. They want her to mentor Aurora. "And, I know it won't be conventional, because you live in America, and we live here, but she has a phone and—and an iPad, and we've even discussed visiting America at one point, so maybe…."

She trails off as Domingo motions to Solana's stomach. "I recognize you and Roman will be busy preparing for the birth of your children, but if you would consider—"

"I want to ask you something."

Domingo gives her a pointed look. In some ways, he reminds her of Roman. Offering and showing just what he wants her to know. Nothing more. A smart business tactic, that, just like her husband, has taken him far.

Obviously.

"Not….not to cut you off, because I deeply appreciate you sharing this with me, but I also….I also have something to ask of you."

The timing feels so off, Solana thought about possible ways to bring it up, how to go about it and whatnot. The certainly feels like not the best way, but it's also, for whatever reason, feels like the right time to say it.

Like a gut feeling.

She just prays her gut isn't wrong.

He finally asks, clearly wanting to ensure accurate, proper understanding. "So, if I say yes to whatever this request is, you'll help Aurora?"

"No," Solana answers immediately. "I'll help her no matter what your answer is."

A floored look from both husband and wife. It prompts her to elaborate.

"Because that's who I am." Solana answers in a small yet powerful voice. One hand on her stomach, she continues, speaking from the heart. "I helped Aurora before because I wanted to. Because I saw a lot of myself in her. And sadly…." Solana shares her inner wrists where faded but visible scars remain. "She's a lot more like me than I realized."

Truth be told, the minute they started to disclose some of Aurora's struggles, Solana was devising ways to help the little girl. Before she even knew that's exactly what her parents were wanting.

So, regardless of what the response is to her request, Solana's answer remains the same.

Yes.

Solana brings her hands back to her lap, reorienting to the conversation as Elena responds in a soft voice. "I understand." She swallows, asking on behalf of her husband. "What is your request?"

A deep breath is taken as Solana straightens her posture, falling into that assertive, professional space. "I plan to open up a domestic violence shelter back home. A place….a refuge for women and children seeking sanctuary from dangerous situations." Solana's gaze drops as done her tone just an octave. "My….mother was killed trying to get us out of that situation, and I…." She swallows. "It's an important cause to me, and I—I have to do it. For her, and for all the other women and children out there that I used to be."

With no objection or question posed, Solana transitions to the portion that specifically regards the couple across from her. "My mother was Mexican. Isla Mujeres was her home. My abuela still lives there." Hand to her belly, a small smile on her face, she shares, "I intend for my girls to have roots there as well, which is why I want to also build a shelter there."

Solana shifts in her seat, offering additional information. "Roman has pledged Bloodline support and financial backing for the one I want to build back home." Naive or not, Solana, despite what has happened, has very little concern that the empire her husband has built up and led over the years won't back out. That the kinks this attempted coup created won't be ironed out by the time she's ready to officially start this project. "But, the one here…."

Another deep breath followed by the plot point. "I don't need financial support, but the shelter will need protection."

Recognition dawns in Domingo's eyes. "You want the Gulf Cartel to provide that protection."

Not a hint of stuttering or stammering. "Yes."

Solana worked hard over her proposal, over how she planned to present her very big ask of this man. Perhaps too big of an ask considering everything he's already done. Already provided. For a brief second, she wonders if she's gone too far. If she's overstepped.

It creates a newfound sense of anxiety.

She opens her mouth, unsure of just how, but planning to backtrack slightly. Or, maybe to just let him know that focusing on her pregnancy is the priority, along with getting enrolled in school, and the building of her and Roman's house.

To tell him that an answer isn't necessarily needed right now.

But, she doesn't get the chance.

"Alright."

She stills. "Alright?"

Domingo lifts his chin. "You build your shelter, and the Gulf Cartel will provide you any backing, protection and financial, that you require."

Solana scoffs in disbelief. Her hands go over her mouth as she works to hold back the tears. To remain as professional and collected as possible. For something that came to her out of nowhere, for her to propose it to such a man, such a couple, and for it to be received and accepted? It's….more than she could have imagined and hoped for.

Solana nods and takes a deep breath. "Thank you." For it all. "Thank you so much."

Elena offers a warm smile and nod while Domingo only looks at her, eventually making a sound and sharing. "I like you, Solana." He shifts in his seat. "You tell The Tribal Chief to focus on a speedy recovery and not to worry too much about that meeting we intend to have. It'll all be formalities anyway." Solana works hard to maintain a neutral expression, though she's filled with some questions regarding his words. He chuckles, studying her with what almost looks like admiration. "Reigns has got one hell of a woman standing beside him."

---------

A couple days later following that meeting with Domingo and Lopez, Solana finds herself in another one of sorts. But, with family this time. And, in a cleared out hospital cafeteria versus the chapel.

Afia's smile is broad and genuine. Her hand on Solana's stomach moving around freely with a sense of awe. "I told you the bump would just appear one day and just keep growing and growing."

Truer words have never been spoken.

Solana continues to find herself filled with amazement every day she wakes up and notices just the slightest of changes with her bump. The way each morning seems to greet her with something new. Before, it was just slightly noticeable, but as the days past, she finds that deepening and increasing. The swell and roundness increasing.

It fills her with such joy.

"I still can't believe you're actually pregnant," Bayley chimes, a look of disbelief on her face as she also reaches over to feel on Solana's baby bump.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," Solana finds herself apologizing. Having Bayley find out the way she did, feeling Solana's bump as they embraced tightly while being reunited at the hospital back home couldn't be farther away from how she wanted to break the news to her.

To everyone.

"We just….it was a safety thing, but we also had a scare—"

"Solana," Bayley interrupts. "It's okay. I understand."

Solana studies her expression, waiting and watching for any indication otherwise. She finds none.

It's so deeply appreciated.

All of it.

"I—" Solana finds herself struggling to verbalize what she hasn't necessarily had the time or mental space to express. To share. "It means….I don't think I can ever thank you both enough for what you did."

Because while Solana's head has been so many different places since everything went down, and she's felt like, knows that she hasn't had time to really process everything, one thing that cannot be denied is how these women showed up.

So many people did, and Solana fully intends to have everyone over at the house as a sort of celebration when the dust settles, but until then, all she can do is verbally express her undying gratitude.

"You both risked your lives…" Solana trails off, the emotion building. What occurred was more than enough to evoke strong emotions, but the added layer of pregnancy hormones have most definitely made Solana just a bit more sensitive to a lot of things lately. Especially this. "And, I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to," is Afia's soft dismissal. "You're my family, Solana, and I know that must be a sensitive subject given what occurred, but my definition of family equates loyalty."

"Exactly," Bayley agrees, reaching to take Solana's hand in hers. "There was no way in hell we weren't going to help get you back."

Solana swallows. It's so overwhelming in the best sort of way. To know so many people came together, came to help Roman, to help her. To save her. Not even taking a second to consider it. Consider the dangers.

It's baffling and almost unreal how in under a year she's gone from feeling and being alone to having a mountain of support behind her.

A family.

But, as moving as the thought is, something else comes to mind. Something Solana has thought about since their arrival in Mexico City.

Naomi and Jimmy.

From what she's heard from both of the women across from her, as well as Dwayne and Matteo, they weren't involved. Had no idea what was being planned until the attack at the library.

Innocent.

They're innocent.

But, as much as Solana would like to say that grants her a tremendous amount of comfort, it doesn't. There's some solace to be found, but it's outweighed by the concern and anxiety. The unknown of what happens now.

Because, while they had nothing to do with what happened, they, more Jimmy than anything, are so close to it. It was Jimmy's immediate family that tried to kill her.

Tried to kill Roman.

Her chest tightens ever so slightly.

They haven't had much time to talk about it, what with Solana wanting her husband to focus on his physical recovery, but she's so lost as to what that especially is going to look like.

Jimmy is innocent. So is Naomi, but how will her husband ever learn to separate them from what occurred? All that hurt. All that betrayal. The trauma.

Not to mention how the other side will feel.

Will Jimmy even want to continue a relationship with the people who are partially responsible for the death of his immediate family members?

How does that even work?

Will it work?

"I'm sorry you're in the middle of this," Solana finds herself apologizing directly to her cousin. "I….I hate that you are."

She truly does. Naomi and Bianca have been best friends for years. Since high school, and to suddenly be in a position where she's lying and keeping secrets from someone who's also like a sister. Solana hates it.

She really fucking hates it.

Bayley's flash with something akin to hurt. "It's not your fault, Solana."

"I know it isn't," she frowns. "But, I still…." She sighs, leaning back in the chair, hand to her belly. "I want to make things right….we have to."

What exactly that entails, Solana isn't sure. She just knows that there's one bumpy ass road ahead, not even including the massive hill that is Roman's to process and work through.

She knows this whole thing has fucked with him in so many ways. Reverted him back in others, and if there was any doubt about that, or just how much it's messed with him, it was squashed last night.

And the night before that.

The reason, reasons, that despite his protest, she's stayed overnight with him in the hospital.

He doesn't need to be alone. That much….that much she knows for certain.

"And, we will," Afia's confident assertion pulls Solana from dark and heavy thoughts. She reaches for both her and Bayley's hand, nodding with all the assurance. "Together."

----------

Leaving her meeting with Afia and Bayley to return to Roman's hospital room, Solana expects to be met with the usual. Medical staff passing by offering small smiles, an occasional verbal greeting, and armed guards who stand at attention at all times.

The usual.

What she doesn't except, however, is the sight that meets her. A few feet away from his room, a frown falls on Solana's face when she sees the nurse exiting said room with tears spilling down and a scowl on her face.

Also frowning, Solana jogs over to the woman, managing to catch her attention. "What's wrong?"

Solana speaks in Spanish, recognizing it's a bit easier for most.

The woman shakes her head. "'He fired me."

At that, Solana's jaw drops. "He what?"

She scoffs, apologizing, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Reigns, but your husband is…." She trails off, not finishing her sentence, instead offering. "I'll alert the charge nurse a new nurse needs to be assigned to him."

"Wait," Solana is unable to finish her sentence, the woman walking off. Blowing out a breath, Solana curses quietly to herself and marches into the room. "Roman, what did you do now?"

He's sitting in the hospital bed looking just as miserable and irritated as he looked when she left him a little over an hour ago. "She sucked. Kept fucking bothering me. I told her to get the fuck out."

She closes her eyes.

This man…

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you causing a scene. You're like a petulant child sometimes, I swear—" Solana stops herself mid rant in Spanish. One of many she's had to give this grown ass man during his not-even-that-long stint here. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, switching back to English, voice almost coaxing. Like talking to a child. "Baby….she was doing her job." Because, she has no doubt that poor woman was just doing rounds. "That was the fourth nurse you've ran off in the past two days, Roman."

"They should hire better nurses then." Is his haughty argument, as he doubles down on his one star rating. "The care here sucks."

Solana tilts her head back, calling on the Lord for His continued patience. "Roman, Médica Sur is the best hospital in all of Mexico. It doesn't get better than this."

Truthfully. Honestly. The care team here, despite her husband's beliefs, have been nothing but stellar offering him only the best of treatment despite him 1000% not reciprocating it in any way.

Love him or not, Solana prays that when she finally finishes school and enters the nursing field, she never has a patient like her husband.

Ever.

Of course, her words go in one ear and out the other. "Then they should up their fucking standards."

Solana blows out a deep breath and says nothing. She loves her husband more than anything, but he can be impossible at times. Walking over, she checks his IV bag seeing that it's full. She sighs, "at least you let her change it out for you."

"She sucked at that, too. I don't want anymore fucking medication," he complains as Solana circles his bed and sits down on his right side. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"I know, Roman, but…" She takes his hand, bringing it to her mouth for a soft kiss. "Just a couple more days." Her gaze falls to his abdomen, curious about the scar that's surely left behind from his laparotomy. She then asks, partially wanting to change the subject, "have Dwayne and Matteo spoken with you about what happens when you're discharged?"

He answers almost quietly. "Yeah."

When he says nothing else, she fills the silence. "So…you know we'll be staying—"

"Yeah."

Nothing else is said, though something else is felt. Solana can't necessarily explain it, but feels like there's an unspoken thing her husband is not sharing. She knows that it was decided she and Roman would stay in Mexico to allow him to continue to recover, as well as continue to allow time to pass for people back home to show true colors as it pertained to the coup and "fall" of the Roman Empire.

Allow the traitors and those who do not need to remain with the Bloodline to be revealed and dealt with appropriately.

Something clearly discussed and he's aware of, but it feels like there's more. Something she's not aware of.

Something he's not telling her.

"Ro—"

"Solana," he cuts her off, and right away, she knows she's in for a difficult conversation. It's the way he's looking away, not focused on her, but his hand remaining locked with hers, his thumb moving over her knuckles. "I need to know what happened in there."

Her chest instantly tightens.

She knows exactly what he's referring to.

It's something she's dreaded from the moment he held her after saving her.

Solana licks her lips. "Roman, I don't think—"

"Sol." He finally looks at her, and one look at him is all Solana needs to fully understand he's not letting it go. "I need to know."

She questions that. Questions if it's truly need. But, regardless of her speculation, one thing they've been trying to do is be honest with each other. Because, nothing good came out of them keeping secrets.

Something she hopes he keeps in mind regarding whatever he's not telling her.

"We…." She closes her eyes, head down. "We were kept in a small room for the most part. Myself and Brandi. They….they kept Emma somewhere else."

Of all the things that Solana has wondered about since everything that went down, one of the things she made sure to inquire about was the safety of those on the right side. Especially Brandi and Emma.

And especially after learning of the explosion that claimed so many lives.

That has destroyed families forever.

A bittersweet thing given Brandi, Emma, and no one on Roman's side/team were among those lives lost, but to the other ones that were lost…

Solana swallows. "Rikishi…he came and talked to me. It was more him gloating and trying to make me feel small and insignificant. He said I was….stupid and uneducated and….other things." Solana shakes her head, a bitter scoff on the tip of her tongue. The same woman who he taunted and mocked cruelly was the same one who causes him to take his last breath. "After that…." It's a difficult task, to say the least. Solana wants to be honest with her husband, but she also knows just why he's asking her this.

"Roman, this wasn't your fault, ba—"

"Tell me."

Him ignoring her isn't entirely surprising. It does hurt a little bit though, for sure.

"Brock was there," she finally decides that ripping the band-aid off is the only way to go. There is no good way to explain this to him. Solana looks down, hating how soft her voice goes. "He—" She takes a deep breath. "He tried to rape me." Forcing herself to power through, Solana looks up, absolutely devastated by the crushed look on Roman's face. She can practically feel his guilt, and it's overwhelming. "So, I killed him."

A calm confession. No stammering. Not stuttering. Just a fact. "I killed him, and then I killed Samantha to protect myself and Emma—"

"Sol—"

"And, I killed Rikishi to protect you—"

"Solana—"

"And, I regret nothing."

At that, Roman stops, his shock and surprised plain and evident.

It's an understandable reaction. One that shocks even her just a little but not entirely. For reasons she's about to share with him.

She licks her lips, recalling a conversation from what feels like forever ago. "I know….I know I told you before that I didn't think that I could live with myself if I took someone's life, but I was wrong." So. So wrong. "Roman…" She moves closer to him on the bed, hand still over his. "I did what I had to do to survive. To protect myself and my family, and there was nothing wrong with that."

His voice is pained and low. "But, Solana, you shouldn't have—"

"I would do it all again if I had to."

A bit of a scary confession, maybe even something cold and unlike her. At least, to him. To her, she was being a wife and a mother. Being a woman whose recognized her power and capabilities.

"I didn't kill anyone who was innocent, who never hurt anybody, who were good people. All three of them were terrible people, and they got exactly what they deserved." A hint of anger appears in her eyes, recalling the way Rikishi taunted her husband as she snuck up on him. The horrific, evil things he said to Roman. It brings tears to her eyes. Not just what was said by him, but what was done. What's all been done. "You didn't deserve this…"

Roman looks away, his jaw clenched. "This isn't about me. This is about you and what they did to you—"

"No, it's not." An easy thing to dismiss and discredit. "They only came after me to hurt you, but they didn't hurt me, my love. I'm fine. The girls are fine. I—" She shakes her head, a sad scoff leaving her mouth. "I've been through a lot worse than this, Roman. I was already raped. I was already attacked and beaten. Almost killed. More than once. The only thing that was different this time was me." She reaches for his face, forcing him to look at her as she gently caresses his bearded cheek. "I'm not that 10 and 12 year-old little girl anymore. Not that same scared, traumatized woman you married." She swallows, asserting with all the authority and confidence that rushes through her veins. "My name is Solana Reigns, wife of the Tribal Chief. The Faletua. And, I'll do anything to protect my family. The people I love. Myself." Always. "And, that's exactly what I did."

Solana knows that while she truly believes what she's saying, feels firm in her beliefs and that she was in the right, there's bound to be some lingering trauma. Things that will stick and stay with her, needing to be worked out in therapy. The senseless murders of Sami and Bautista, for example. Losses she will start to grieve sooner rather than later, but right now, sitting in front of her husband, every word that left her mouth is 1000% true.

She doesn't regret her actions, and she'd damn sure do it all again if she had to. If anything, what currently bothers and concerns her more is the man sitting in front of her.

Roman was doing relatively well working on himself, working on opening up, and now she's terrified all of that progress has been undone by inconceivable betrayal. Not that she can blame him. Solana can't even begin to fathom the full extent of what that must be like for him, what it's done to him.

She's seen only a little, and none of it was pretty.

In the slightest.

Solana can only hope and pray that the damage isn't permanent.

--------

Just as projected by his medical team, and much to the happiness of said medical team—and Roman—he is discharged following a week of care. Truth be told, Solana would have felt a bit more comfortable with him staying a few extra days, but she's also not entirely sure just how much longer the staff would have put up with her husband given his behavior during his stay.

Love him to pieces, Solana can 100% acknowledge Roman has to be the worst patient in the history of patients. If not for her practically forcing him to abide with medical recommendations, she's certain he would have signed an AMA and left the hospital the same day he woke up.

That nickname she overheard used by most of his care team, "El diablo samoano," was definitely well earned and deserved.

She's almost certain she heard celebrations commencing as the elevators started to shut.

Roman is relatively quiet on the jet to Isla Mujeres, save his occasional complaints about certain things, namely still being in "this damn sling." The grumbles are subsided and minimized by Dulce who practically sleeps in his lap the entirety of the two hour trip.

And, he seems to offer no protest, Solana seeing how he uses his free hand to pet and caress their puppy for the same duration.

Something tells her he might have missed her just as much as she's obviously missed him.

The car ride is no different, though her forever perceptive husband, easily picks up on the fact that the ride from the airport to their home is taking a bit longer than usual.

He looks over at her, suspicious of the situation, never her. "Where are we going?"

She squeezes his hand, simply answering, "we're not staying at the main house."

Her wording triggers more questions. "Main house?"

"You'll see." She lifts their conjoined hands, kissing his. "Trust me, mi amor."

It feels like such a huge, strange thing to tell him, especially after what's occurred, but if there's anything she can find comfort in, it's knowing that if there is anyone left in this world that he actually does trust, it's her.

Always her, she prays.

Getting out of the SUV, doors opened by the Cartel escort, Solana holds Dulce under one arm. She looks over to see Roman rounding the vehicle, looking around at the property that is certainly not the one he purchased for her.

"Come on," she says, taking his hand, Dulce still calmly in her other arm.

"Solana…where are we?""

She doesn't respond, instead ignores the group of guards who remain near the car, some spacing out among the property. Property that Solana is eager to show and display to her curious, confused husband.

And, she does.

A nice, beautifully decorated, hacienda styled abode, settled comfortably in land that's at least a mile or two away from the nearest neighbor. A spacious amount of land and greenery, the back of the house a mere matter of steps away from the beach, similar to the home Roman purchased for them.

Guiding them to the back of the house, Solana places Dulce down so she can roam—and possibly pee—while she finally explains it all.

Roman looks at her, finally asking, "is this a Cartel safe house?"

A valid question, especially considering the droves of guards that have practically crowded the two of them from the moment they landed in Mexico.

"No." She shakes her head and takes a deep breath."It's my house."

Roman's eyes widen. "Yours?" She nods, pushing back some of her hair the wind seems hellbent on going everywhere but down, courtesy of the steady breeze. "Solana…what do you mean it's yours? You bought a house?" He looks around, still with that same confused, partially irritated scowl. "Just what the hell all happened while I was in that damn hospital?"

Solana giggles and takes his hand. "I didn't get a chance to tell you…" A trail off largely due to her being unwilling to revisit that memory. "Apparently….this land has been in my family for generations, but it was my abuelo who finally took the steps to build on it." Solana looks at the house, motioning with her free hand. "He built this. He built it with the intentions of passing it on to my….to my mother." Sadness fills her tone and her eyes, Solana's volume dropping a bit. "Obviously….that didn't happen, but abuela has kept it all these years and now…." Solana gives a one shoulder shrug, watery smile on her face. "It's mine."

She then corrects herself, "actually, it's ours." Solana then brings their conjoined hands to her stomach. "We can bring the girls here sometime." She watches as Roman focuses on the breathtaking sight of the waves slapping against the sand. "And the other kids…."

The faintest hint of a smile breaks on his face, and it means more to her than she can put into words.

It's the first time he's smiled, even if small, since everything happened.

Solana moves to press her body against his, hugging him, holding him, lingering just a bit. "Come on." She eventually pulls away, taking his hand and starting to guide him back towards the house, calling for Dulce to follow them.

The inside is just as beautiful as the outside. Warm, cultured themes reflected in not only the design of the home, the architectural base, but the furniture as well, as the home is already fully furnished. A wave of emotion revisits Solana, as she recalls the first time she stepped inside. A tremendous amount of grief and love coming over her and abuela, the two women holding and crying together over shared loss and grief but also the love that came with reunion.

This space may have been meant for her mother, but it was also intended to be passed down. And Solana fully intends to keep that promise, to keep this precious space in her family for generations to come.

Starting with the girls.

Security handled bringing in luggage, so Solana is unsurprised to find it waiting in the living room. Speaking in Spanish, she directs one of the men to move two of the heavier bags to the master bedroom.

Neither herself or her stubborn ass husband need to be lifting on anything heavier than necessary.

Not that he'd agree with her, anyway.

A little later, after reviewing a couple things with Stephanie, Solana finds Roman sitting out back in the patio area.

"Hey…."

It's a bit of a silly thing, the way she almost hovers, as if waiting for permission to join him on the bench. Still, a sense of satisfaction fills her when he motions for her to come closer.

She doesn't hesitate.

Solana is partially appreciative that it's his left arm in a sling, because that leaves his right side safe and open space for her to lean against him. Instantly, her eyes shut, her hand moving to his chest.

Sleeping alone most nights has been….difficult, to say the least, and she hadn't realized just how much she's missed being in his arms until now.

"Thank you, Solana."

Brows furrowed, she peers up at him, small smile on her face. "Roman, you don't have to th—"

"Yes, I do," he interrupts. There's a scarily perfect mixture of seriousness and vulnerability, both of which have her giving him her undivided attention. "I'm alive right now because of you."

She frowns. "Roman…."

"Lopez offered and allowed the help he did, has done all of this—" Roman gestures with his chin to the guards that patrol the premises. "—because of you. He didn't have to do shit. He still doesn't have to, but he does because of you. Because you have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met, and you were nice to a random child. Someone you didn't know. And in doing that, you carved out the path for all of this to happen."

Her eyes water, as he continues to speak freely and honestly. "You came back— " He stops, voice tight and even. "You refused to leave me, even after I told you, told them to leave." Her fingers clutch at his shirt, her lips pressed together to keep her emotions in check. As best as possible, that is. "You killed him to protect me…"

"I'd do anything for you, Roman," she whispers. Solana doesn't want to take away from this moment nor does she want to push a man who, for all intents and purposes, has already been shoved over that damn edge given everything that's happened. However, what comes out of her mouth next come straight from the heart versus the mind. "But, I didn't do it all alone." She sees the way his jaw clenches, knows that he knows exactly what she's about to say next. "Matteo and Dwayne…."

She doesn't list the rest. Wants to specifically focus on those two for reasons that are obvious to both husband and wife.

Especially Matteo.

"I know." It's all he says. Initially. "I—I owe them my life. Same with you."

She shakes her head. "You don't owe us anything, Roman." Solana reaches up, gentle in how she grabs his chin and forces him to look at her. "They're your family. I'm your wife. We all protect each other. That's what real family does."

Such a kaleidoscope of emotions dance in his pretty irises. Acceptance, confusion, fear, and so many more. Solana knows better than most everything that went down will take time for him to process and work through, but if there's one thing she hopes he can take from it all, it's that while he's seemingly "lost" a lot of family, he's gained some as well.

Or, rather, it's time to lower the defenses and let in the family that have always been waiting patiently for him to just open the door.

Solana leans up and kisses his jaw, murmuring an I love you as she pulls her legs up under her and further leans into him. Roman's arm around her tightens, his hand moving to her stomach, resting peacefully over her belly.

It puts a small smile on her face.

A smile that deepens when Dulce's bark is followed by her coming out back, leaning up on the leg of the bench. Giggling, Solana reaches and places their fur baby on the bench with them, the puppy settling in her "doughnut" sleeping position.

Moving back to cuddling into Roman's side, Solana murmurs, "we're gonna be okay."

He doesn't say anything after that, but he doesn't need to.

She knows he feels the same.

----------

Normalcy.

It's not traditional, not what he's used to, but it's the closest sense of normalcy Roman has felt since everything went down.

It's what's gained and received from being out of the hospital and in an actual house. A home.

Their home.

And, it feels just like it. Roman awakes to the aroma of his wife's delicious cooking traveling from the kitchen into the master bedroom where Dulce sleeps on the edge of the bed most nights. Just like Solana, she seems to feel better when close to him.

Solana….

There's something indescribable and profuse that fills him every time he catches a glimpse of her smiling, watches her work meticulously and gently when changing out his bandages or handling some other medical need for his recovery. A joy he can't shake watching her carry the small clothing basket out back to hang up the clothes on the clothing line.

And, it's especially felt every time he sees her hand on her baby bump, something that's almost always on display given the light, long, flowy dresses she wears most of the time.

There's a freedom and relaxation about her in this space. This place where the world is so much smaller and life simpler.

Just them.

Roman has to catch himself at various points. Has to be mindful of it all, because he'd be lying if he didn't consider once or twice what it would be like if this was the norm.

If they never went back. Just stayed here. Content and happy.

But, then he's snatched back to reality, reminded of what chaos would ensue if he were to stay gone.

Because, based on what Matteo and Dwayne have told him, chaos is most definitely what's occurred back home.

With no one on his metaphorical throne, everyone believing him dead, bedlam has ensued among the Bloodline. Men vying for his throne, others refusing to move forward without Tribal Combat to elect a true victor.

The Cosa Nostra has already started the process of severing the decades long alliance between them and the Bloodline, his cousin Luca at the forefront of the movement.

Unsurprising.

Dwayne and Matteo didn't need to point out to him the possible involvement he had in said coup, tying together several dots, including the random missing shipment from months ago as well as the case to prove Roman unfit to lead.

It was all a front, a part of an elaborate plot that intended to see him dead.

Roman can't wait for that bastard, especially, to get exactly what's coming to him.

Along with everyone fucking else.

"Heyman and Rollins have been transferred from the burn unit to ICU."

Dwayne's announcement breaks the only Tribal Chief from his thoughts and the way he was focused instead on the scene before them. Out on the beach, chairs spread out, it's only Roman, Matteo, and Dwayne who sit and converse as the rest of the group, Solana, Paloma, Bayley, Afia, and her children, enjoy the sand and waves.

Enjoy the now.

The heartwarming sight is a contrast to the hatred that fills Roman at being reminded of two of the men still at large.

His former Wise Man and the fucking psychopath he once called friend decades prior.

"Good." Is all Roman needs to say. He's already discussed with the two men the plan to handle those fucking bastards, and them being stable enough to be moved from the burn unit to the ICU is just another way his master plan for revenge is coming together.

For most, at least.

Clearing his throat, Roman fixes his mouth. "And Jey?"

Dwayne hesitates before responding. "Released on yesterday." A noticeable pause. "His wife's funeral is scheduled for next week."

Roman says nothing in response. The same way he feels nothing at that last part. A small part of him wants to, feels like he should feel at least the smallest amount of empathy at that. From what Solana had told him, Nicki was only there because she'd been taken for collateral by Solo and Rikishi.

And, Dwayne allegedly heard an unconscious Jey was dragged out of the plant by some surviving Bloodline members. Nicki, however, was not.

She was killed in the explosion.

Same with Bron.

Roman definitely didn't care about the latter, but there's conflicted emotions toward the former.

Especially toward Jey.

And the conversation this morning with Solana didn't necessarily help.

It just confused him.

It confused him a lot.

Matteo's gaze is on his brother, as if reading Roman's mind. "Have you decided what you're going to do about him?"

Roman says nothing, as Mateo simply offers a nod of acceptance and acknowledgment.

"You'll figure it out," Dwayne encourages. Roman looks over to see him sitting forward in the beach chair that seems far too small for his big ass. "And whatever you decide, you know we'll back you."

"Always." Matteo confirms.

At that, Roman goes quiet again.

So much has happened. Too much, even for him. He's tried his best not to overthink some things, not to fall too deeply down too many holes. Both for his own sake but also for that of Solana.

He hates that she was present when that happened. Both times. He's worked so fucking hard to keep that shit away from her, but alas, the weight of it all was too much even for his strong ass defenses.

But, one thing he can't and won't deny is the way the two men beside him are largely part of the reason he's still alive. Like he told Solana, he owes them his life.

He just, for some reason, hasn't been able to express as such to them directly.

Especially Matteo.

Though Roman has a good feeling he knows why when it comes to that.

Still, he owes them at least an attempt.

"I—" Roman fucking hates that one sentence in, he's already stammering like a fucking idiot. "I haven't really….I haven't really had a chance to thank—"

"Ahhh," Dwayne cuts him off, forcing Roman to cut his eyes. He's trying to be fucking nice. "Save it for later. Once we've got all this shit sorted. You've got the time." He snorts, half joking, half serious. "Not even death itself wants to deal with your stubborn ass. We still have at least another 40 years of you terrorizing folks left."

Matteo chuckles quietly. "He's right. Though I'd say 50."

Roman rolls his eyes and drops the conversation. For now.

It's something that needs to be had, but maybe not right now.

"Now, if you boys excuse me, that dark angel over there is just begging for me to show her what a good time with the devil looks like." Dwayne stands and starts his way over to Stephanie, Solana's personal cartel guard. A bit of a bitch if you ask him, but the vicious, lethal look in her eyes is all that matters to him. She's effective.

Roman knows she's more than capable of protecting his wife. The most important thing.

With it now being just the two of them, Roman considers it. Considers taking the space and opportunity to talk with Matteo about that. The other thing.

But, it's as Matteo lands his gaze on his laughing, smiling sister-in-law who continues to play with and entertain his children, her nephews and nieces, it dawns on him. Just hits him out of nowhere. He continues to watch the domestic scene before him while stating, not asking, his younger brother. "You haven't told her yet, have you?"

Roman also shifts to watch the scene, focuses on his wife. His beautiful, happy, kind wife whose laughter is infectious, her smile alluring, and the way she keeps a hand on her baby bump enough to evoke all of the emotions in him.

He snaps a mental image. Commits it to memory. Stores it for a later recall date.

Because Lord fucking knows he's going to need it.

And, he says nothing.

Offers no response.

There's no need.

The silence is all the answer needed.

---------

Hours later, when everyone has left, and Dulce is fast asleep in her bed, Roman finds Solana putting away laundry.

She smiles when he walks into their bedroom, stopping and walking over to lean up and kiss his cheek. "You should be resting."

He chuckles. "Kind of getting tired of that, to be honest with you."

She rolls her eyes, cupping his cheek. "Why am I not surprised?" Solana laughs quietly, turning away from him to finish folding and putting away the clothes.

Roman starts to leave her alone, starts to just wait until tomorrow. He doesn't want to ruin her night. She'd had such a nice day, and this will most definitely ruin it.

But, he also thinks about time.

3 days. They have three days left here, and the longer he waits, the less time he'll have to help her process and understand why this has to be the case. He only does her a disservice by delaying the inevitable.

It's time.

"Solana." She turns around to look at him. Fuck. "I—I need to talk to you about something."

But, it's a twist he could have never predicted. Never. “I already know.”

Roman doesn’t try to hide his shock. He doesn’t try to hide much from and with his wife, really. Not when he can help it, at least. “What?”

Solana walks back over, a small, sad smile playing on her face. “It's been almost two weeks. We couldn’t stay here forever, right?” She shrugs, reaching up and cupping his face. “It’s time to go home.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Just thinks it. 

Fuck.

He knew this would be hard, but it might be harder than he was initially thinking. Solana turns and moves over to the dresser, continuing to fold the clothes, placing them in the open drawer. “When do we have to leave?” 

He says nothing, waiting for her to finish folding the item in hand. “Solana—”

“We have to come back though.” She interrupts, clearly wanting and needing to get her thought out as she pauses momentarily, proud smile setting on her face. A hand drops to her belly. “I like it here, and I think the girls will, too.”

“Solana—”

“I love the house you bought for us, too, but there’s something about this place…” She shakes her head, turning around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She leans back against the dresser, shirt folded over her arm. “When do we have to leave?”

Roman looks at her, suddenly unsure of just how to break this to her. But, then he sees it, sees the realization dawn, resulting in her smile dropping. Solana opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, suddenly shaking her head and turning back around.

“It’ll—it’ll probably be good for us to get back home anyway.” 

He closes his eyes. “Solana.”

“Jumping back into the routine of it all, ya know?”

He watches her continue to fold clothes. Rapidly. Not as neat. A bit neurotic with it. 

Roman takes a careful step toward her. “Solana, I need you to lis—”

“Plus, Dulce is probably missing all her beds.” She laughs, but it’s anything but humorous. “You know how spoiled we have her.”

Proceeding with caution proves effective when Roman is close enough to his wife to touch her. Gently, he reaches for the back of Solana’s arm, slowly turning her around.

She continues to deflect, consumed by the allure of avoidance and aversion.

“And, we still have to go baby shopping—”

“Sol—”

“And set up the nurseries—”

Roman brings his hands to her face, watching how her eyes shut as she continues to try to avoid the inevitable. “Solana—”

“Because they’re gonna be here before we know it—”

“Solana—”

"Why?" She cuts him off once more, not to continue on her track of denial but to ask a question this time. Solana backs against the dresser, fingers tightly gripping the edges. "Why are you doing this?"

He swallows. "Sweetheart—"

"Why?" She asks again, voice more desperate. Eyes pleading with him for an answer he's not sure she'll be receptive to no matter how hard he works to help her understand.

"Things are unstable back home, Sol." He starts, Roman recalling the ten different mental scripts he created to handle this conversation, none of which seem good enough in the moment. But, it's all he has. "I need to figure out how deep the betrayal went, handle everyone involved who's still alive and make things right." She looks away, sniffling and releasing a shaky breath. "It doesn't make sense to take you from here, somewhere that's safe and stable. To take you out of a protected environment and bring you into that chaos."

"I'm not going into the chaos though," she argues, voice small, silent tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to be with you."

Roman looks away, hating the weight that's suddenly on his chest. He knew this conversation wouldn't be easy. Not at all. But, he just hadn't anticipated how deeply her reaction would impact him.

She's gutted.

"Solana…." Roman steps toward her, almost hesitantly, like doing so is a violation of some sort. When she offers no protest, doesn't move, just continues to look away, not meeting his eye, he moves his hands to her hips. "I don't want to do this."

"So, don't," she whispers.

Roman hates how she won't look at him, almost as much as he hates how pained his voice sounds. "I don't have a choice…"

Her eyes clench tight, her lips pressed together as she nods to herself. He's tempted to reach and force her gaze on him. It kills him to not be able to read her in this moment. Though the tension that he can feel under his touch is telling enough.

She's upset.

Rightfully so.

But, her almost icing him out is a different, hurtful experience.

He doesn't like it. At all.

"How—" She starts but stops, emotion getting the best of her. "How long?"

Roman also prepared for this portion of the conversation, but all the practice in the world, it seems, couldn't adequately ready him for this moment.

"I don't know."

He answers after a good minute of silence.

And, it's when that is shared that she finally looks at him, eyes wide and fiddled with indescribable hurt and confusion.

"What?"

Despite her contact on him, something he thought he wanted, it's suddenly terribly difficult for him to maintain that evened gaze. "I don't know how long it's going to take to settle everything—"

"So, not only can I not come home, you can't even tell me when I can go home?" She questions, inching away from him, forcing his hands down from her hips as she digs herself back into the dresser. Like being so close to him is a problem. "Roman….how is this supposed to work?" A fair, understandable question. She sniffles, wiping at her eyes. "What—the only way I can communicate and be with my husband is through texts and—and phone calls and—" She stops herself, and he fucking hates it, because he knows he's clearly given away the nail in the coffin. "What?" He says nothing, jaw clenched, prompting her to repeat herself. "What?"

Roman chews the inside of his mouth. "It's best if we go no contact while—" He's unable to finish, interrupted by the way she shakes her head, pushing him away, mumbling something he can't make out. "Solana—" He tries to reach for her, but once again, she shoves away his touch and attempts for comfort, walking out the room, leaving him alone.

"Fuck!" He shouts, landing a kick to the dresser that has the entirety of it shaking, slamming back against the wall behind it.

Ignoring the pain in his now sling-free shoulder, Roman paces the room, one hand on his hip, the other running over his face.

He wasn't lying when he told her he doesn't want to be away from his wife. The truth of the matter is that this shit tears him up just as much as it probably does her. There's a dull ache in his chest when he thinks about having to be without her, in any capacity for more than a couple hours.

But, he was also not lying when he said he doesn't have a choice.

Roman has combed through option after option, raked through all the fine details of potential outcomes, navigated the different, best ways to handle this shitshow of a situation. But, no matter how hard he's tried, how much he tried to rationalize with himself at different points, all roads lead the the decision he's made.

Solana has to stay here.

She can't come home.

Not yet.

Now when so much is in the air and traitors still roam free. Roman revealing himself as still being alive will have all eyes on him, and that includes individuals who would see this as the perfect opportunity to strike again. Believing him weak and potentially injured, the latter not entirely untrue, it'd be open season.

It will be open season, and it makes zero sense to drag Solana into that dangerous space with him.

Especially with her being pregnant.

He won't risk her life or that of his unborn daughters.

He can't.

So, like it or not, and no one likes it, the best thing to do is to keep her in Mexico where she'll be undoubtedly safe and under the witness protection of the Cartel.

It's the only way.

Roman allows her some time, waits until he goes to find her, eventually locating her on the beach. He harshly brushes away the security that lingers, wanting and needing the privacy this sort of matter requires.

She's standing and facing the ocean, arms crossed over her body, the setting sun reflecting and highlighting the dried tears on her face. Some. Some are dried. Some are new and continuing.

"This—" She starts, voice low, borderline whispered. "This shouldn't be happening right now." She swallows, eyes shut. "We should be home. Designing our new house. Getting ready for the babies." Solana turns to him, her voice cracking. "We should be shopping for their clothes, buying furniture for the nurseries." She stops, laughing bitterly, one hand over her mouth. "I—I should be trying to calm you down because you're getting frustrated because the instructions don't make any sense. We should—" She breaks down, crying into her hands, prompting him to move closer, pulling her against him.

“Please don’t do this,” she sobs into his chest. The earlier strong and admirable attempt to delay what cannot be avoided finally defeated by the cumbersome weight of emotionality and reality. “Please—I can’t—I can’t—”

“It's okay,” he comforts. Roman can sense the anxiety intensifying, could see the reddening of her face, and the instability of her breathing. “Just breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”

She does no such thing, instead looking up, her face the definition of distraught. “I—I don't want to be away from you again.”

A heartbreaking admission that he also feels. Roman doesn’t like this anymore than she does. 

“I don’t wanna be away from you either, Sol. I never do. You know that.” A vulnerable confession for her ears and her ears only. “But, baby, it’s not safe for you to come back—”

“What if I stay in the house?" She suggests, eyes wide and hopeful. It's scarily reminiscent to when he'd left before and she begged him to stay. Something, in hindsight, he should have agreed to. But, despite the anguish and desperation that fill her voice and eyes, Roman knows what the right answer is this time around.

Knows what he needs to do.

Even, if he doesn't want to.

"I won't leave. I promise." She adds, pulling on his shirt the same way her heartbreaking pleas pull at his heartstrings.

"Baby…." Roman moves his hands to cup her face, speaking clearly and firmly. "I want nothing more than to take you with me. For us to both go home together. That's what I want more than fucking anything." An honest confession. It almost makes his chest hurt to think of being without her for an undetermined amount of time. "But, that would be selfish of me. And, I can't and won't be selfish with you." One hand moves to her stomach. "Not when there's so much at stake."

Her eyes shut again, her bottom lip trembling. "Who's gonna look out for you? Who's gonna take care of you?" She sniffles, pointing out, "you're still not fully recovered."

She's right, as per usual, but his recovery plays no role in the decision that's already been made. "I'll be fine," he assures. Roman has been injured before and handled said recovery all on his own just fine. As much as he would love to have his wife assist in that process, it, again, would be a selfish thing.

She gasps, clearly still fighting to speak through her tears. "But—"

"I'll be okay, Solana," he repeats, reminding as his thumb brushes away her tears. "Dwayne and Matteo will be with me."

He's not sure if this comforts her as much as he would like it to, because while he knows she's concerned for his well-being, it's not just his physical safety she's concerned about.

She's concerned about his mental state as well.

"I'm gonna go back home, make everything right, and as soon as the smoke clears, I'll be back for you." A promise to herself and him. Whatever it takes to reunite them, he'll do. He'll do it as quickly yet efficiently as he can, because every fucking minute spent without her will be fuel for his endless fire. "And, I swear to you, we'll do everything you stated. The baby shopping. Decorating the nursery. Designing the house. All of it. I promise."

The sob breaks through as she once again leans her body into him, crying into his chest. Roman cradles the back of her head, whispering soothing words of comfort that do little to dull or diminish the shared ache of heartbreak felt between the two of them.

--------

The last few days spent together are rough, to say the least.

Both husband and wife do the best with the little time they have together, but the massive countdown that hangs and swings over them is a daunting thing that can't be ignored. Roman feels the sadness, borderline depression, in his wife just as much he can see it. The way her smile is dimmed, doesn't really meet the eye. Can tell when she holds and hugs him, it's done with a sense of yearning and memorization. Like she's trying to commit it all to memory when those memories are all she has.

He does the same.

Time spent with anyone other than each other is also greatly minimized to none. Occasional visits to the house from Dwayne, Matteo, Afia, Bayley, and Paloma that never last longer than an hour or two.

They also know.

Know that while Roman is set to fly back home in a couple days, Solana won't be on the jet with him, hence the privacy being allotted to the couple.

It's appreciated. More than they probably realize.

Solana never really left the house before he broke the news to her, part of her needing to lay low, and Roman only left for matters of business and rehab. Other than that, they're practically attached at the hip. In their own little world. Him. Her. And Dulce.

A family.

But, escapism from a grim reality is but a short term thing, and before either realizes it, the day has arrived.

It's time for Roman to leave.

Solana is on the quiet side all morning. Intentional, Roman is sure of that much. Her quietness is her attempt at keeping it together, keeping herself from falling apart and showing him just how devastating this is for her.

Not that he needs her to say it.

Again, it's more than felt.

Walking outside, Roman sees the fleet of SUV's lined up. Some waiting to escort him. Others just part of the heft security detail that will be watching and protecting Solana in his absence.

Protecting their unborn children.

Heavy footsteps lead him to where Bayley and Afia are talking among themselves, conversation silencing as he moves inches close enough for hearing distance.

They don't say anything, and neither does he. Not at first.

"I—" Roman clears his throat, suddenly hating how fucking awkward he feels. This shit is hard. "I want to….I want to thank both of you." Only Bayley shows any sort of surprise. Afia just wears that same unreadable expression.

Damn assassins.

"For….for what you did."

It's really the first time he's had a good chance to express as such. Express appreciation for the role they played in rescuing Solana. The help they provided. A massive level of help.

"Well, holy shit," Bayley curses. She looks at Afia, gesturing with a thumb. "I didn't think he had it in him."

"Don't fucking push it," he snaps.

Bayley rolls her eyes. "And there it goes."

Afia chuckles quietly, bowing her head almost gracefully. "You're welcome, though we did nothing that true family wouldn't do."

Roman doesn't have anything to say to that. His definition of family is a muddy, confusing, borderline traumatic mess these days.

"She's right," Bayley agrees. "Like it or not, we are all family. Whether it be blood or marriage…" She trails off a bit, crossing her arms and smirking. "And when the girls get here, we're about to see a hell of a lot more of each other, because Aunt Bayley and Aunt Afia can't wait to spoil the princesses."

Roman is certain he shouldn't feel as mortified as he does. It's a good thing the girls will have people who love and care about them beyond just himself and Solana, but the idea of all those people.

Some level of his mixed reaction must show as Afia offers a bit of an out. She transitions, tone solemn. "We'll look out for her. She'll be safe."

He swallows, unwilling to comment on that. Bayley offers a nod of agreement. A part of him wants to also thank them for being willing to stay with Solana. For putting their lives on hold, in a sense, while he tries to put his back together.

But, he decides against it. He knows that they're not doing it out of obligation or even duty.

They're doing it out of love.

With a few more parting words, Roman turns to head back in the house only to be met with someone else.

Paloma.

Unlike the initial silence with himself and the other two women, there is none to be found with his wife's grandmother.

"It will be hard for her." She cuts straight to the point, a hint of sadness in her voice. "She's will miss you deeply, and your absence will be like a void no one else can fill." She pauses, and Roman wonders if it's because his lingering guilt at a decision he knows is right, albeit gut-wrenching, is weighing on him. "But, she will be okay. We're here for her. She's not alone."

Roman wishes her words hit deeper than they do. Appreciated. Truly. But, they don't seem to stand up against the tidal wave of regret he has in Solana even being in this situation.

Not of his own doing, but a situation he hates, nonetheless.

"Thank you."

It's all he knows how to say. What more is there to say to something like that?

Paloma chuckles and steps forward, lifting her hand to cup his face. She closes her eyes and says something in Spanish. He readies to ask for a translation when something catches his gaze above and behind her.

Solana stands in the front of the house, speaking with Dwayne and Matteo. His cousin reaches to pull Solana in a hug, nodding as she potentially says something to him. Pulling back, he places his fist over his chest, patting it twice and nodding.

An acknowledgment of some sort.

Then comes Matteo. That hug seems to linger a little longer, both communicating something unheard from where Roman stands, but there's an ease that comes with reading Solana's face. Something understood as she wipes her eyes after the hug breaks apart, and the two men turn to leave, Dwayne heading toward the SUV's and Matteo to Afia.

And then Solana is looking at him.

Roman swallows, seeing how she motions towards the house before turning on her heel, disappearing inside.

Paloma drops her hand from his face and motions behind her. "Go."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

He finds her standing a mere few feet away from the front door that he quietly closed behind him. She's leaning back against the wall, arms crossed looking upward, as if deep in thought.

She doesn’t say anything. Not at first. Just keeps her head tilted up towards the ceiling. And then after a good minute, she breaks that silence. Her voice is borderline stoic, a testament of her valiant attempts to keep it together. “Thanksgiving is in four days.”

Roman stills. He had no idea. In the midst of everything that’s occurred, the days have seemed to bleed and blend together. Not to mention he’s never been big on holidays. Hasn’t celebrated or really acknowledged them since he was a boy.

But, Solana….it's different for her.

Was supposed to be different for her this year, and she confirms as much.

“I was going to….to talk to you about hosting this year.” She whispers. Roman hates how he can hear the emotion she’d been trying so hard to suppress make its way to the surface. “I—I wanted it to be special.” He closes his eyes, gaze dropping to the floor, fist forming at his side.

Thanksgiving will be anything but.

“And Christmas….” She trials off, finally dropping her head, Roman meeting her shattered gaze. “I wanted….” A dangerous glint of hope appears in her eyes, foreshadowing a question that will only elicit further disappointment. “Will you….will you come back before….”

Roman fixes his jaw. The only thing he can give her in this moment is honesty. Even if it only digs that knife in deeper. “I don’t want to lie to you….”

Truth be told, Roman believes he can fix everything, that he can get everything stable again, before then. That he can have his wife back home with him before the year-end holiday she seemed so excited about. But, there’s also so many unknown variables that could hinder that, and he doesn’t want to mislead her.

Doesn’t want to get her hopes up for what could be nothing.

"Solana—"

"Christmas is only a few weeks away." Licking her lips, closing her eyes, she nods to herself. "I didn't even get a chance to finish making your gift." And with all resolve crumbling, there's a slight tremble of her body as the weight of it all topples her. "We….were supposed to be together for Christmas." She gasps, shaking her head, one hand to her stomach. "Like a family."

Two steps are all it takes for him to move in front of her. Wordlessly, Roman gathers her into his arms, feeling the way she clutches onto him, bawling into his chest.

"This isn't fair," she cries. "I hate this. I hate them for doing this to us."

"I know," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "I hate it, too." More than she could ever realize. "But, I'm going to make this right, Sol. I promise. And the second things are safe again, I'm coming back for you." He's said it several times now and will continue to say it for as long and as many times she needs him to. "Nothing and no one could ever keep me from you, Solana." His hand drops to her stomach, pressing against the swell of her baby bump. "From them."

She nods, as if trying to sear his words into her mind, body, and soul. "You'll be careful, r—right?"

He kisses her temple. "Always."

"And continue your r-rehab and do what the doctors t-tell you?"

For her. He will. It's the least he can do. "Yes, baby."

She grasps onto his wrist, eyes still closed, tears still falling. "And as soon as I can come home—"

"I'll be on the jet coming to get you." Another reiteration. Reassurance she's needing a lot of in this moment.

Solana nods once more, leaning up to wrap her arms around him, forcing them into a hug.

Roman closes his eyes and breathes her in. Takes in every detail, from minute to overt. The way her body fits perfectly against his. The press of her baby bump against his abs, the aroma of her gourmand perfume that allures him.

Just her.

"I love you, Solana." A whispered, vulnerable thing, because just as much as she's going to miss him….he'll miss her more. He swallows once again, that emotion building back up. "More than anything in this whole fucking world."

She chokes up a sob, voice cracking as she reciprocates his vow of love. "I love you too, mi amor. Siempre tu."

Words inked on her body and etched in his soul.

Roman isn't entirely sure who breaks away first. He just knows Dulce sitting and whimpering at their feet prompts him to pet her once more. He'd already told her goodbye earlier, another rather difficult task, but like her mother, another parting gesture is needed.

Standing back up, Roman cups Solana's cheek. She brings her hands to hold his wrist, the smallest, solemn smile on her face. And with the saddest voice he's probably heard in some time, if ever, she whispers the single damning word.

"Go."

The weight deepens, shifts on his chest, but it's a weight he has to ignore. Has to power through. And, he does. Roman places one last kiss against her forehead, lips lingering, the same way she squeezes his wrist one last time before dropping her hands.

Stepping back, he grants her and Dulce one last look, another task of necessary memorization, one final time.

And, then he's out the door, forcing himself to ignore the sound of her sob finally breaking through and the succumbing of the weight in his chest.

Heartbreak.

It's heartbreak.

------

Loving can hurt Loving can hurt sometimes

[elysianightsss]

Regency Price thot🌹🤍

I am working on Limerence and Part two of both mountain man and the pen pal au by popular demand. But while you wait for me to write those please enjoy this lovely Viscount John Price and his Viscountess.

Price sat waiting patiently, newspaper in hands reading the latest gossip of the ton. “Aristocrats.” He scoffed low under his breath. Being one of the wealthiest, best-connected members of the middle class came with privileges but too much gossip as far a Price was concerned. Unless it directly affected him he couldn’t care less.

The doors to the dining room opened and in walked a butler, white curly wig on top of his head, his hands wringing together in nervousness as he looked at his master. “Well?” Price asked without looking away from his newspaper, an interesting snippet about a whistle or a lady down or something or other caught his eye.

“My Lord she..” the lack of answer was beginning to agitate him, he rolled up the paper and slammed it on the table, finally making eye contact with the butler.

“What?” Price snapped.

“She doesn’t seem to be here My Lord.” He said, gulping with unease clear in his voice.

“One of the horses is gone too.” A maid had said a little too loudly as she rushed into the room with the important information. Everyone in the room cringed, each and every servent, perhaps at this point even the entire ton, knows if the Viscountess and one of the horses are missing, someone will either be fired or end up in the hospital.

A wave a darkness crashed through the room as John growled out “Find me who by the time I’m back from retrieving my wife.” His orders were clear as crystal as he rushed from the room, Simon, his number two following swiftly after him.

“My horse Simon.” John grunted pulling out his pocket watch from his jacket. After years of being married to you, he always knew exactly where to find you based on the time of day it was or day of the week.

You thrived in order and schedules, one of the many things that he loved about you. Loved knowing he didn’t have to worry where you’d be at eleven in the morning. Always the drawing room catching up the on stitching you’ve been putting off, frustrated when the cross stitch didn’t form the absolute way you wanted it to.

Simon, ever the loyal to a fault number two replied quickly and lowly, “Yes Viscount.” He began to rush ahead of John making it to the stables before him and barking orders at the stable boys to fetch the masters horse and saddle. Price didn’t bother with riding clothes or shoes, simply latching his everyday boot into the stirrup and hoisting himself up into his horse.

“Shall I follow My Lord?” Simon asked head bowed as usual.

“If you wish.” John didn’t stick around after that, whipping his reigns and taking off on the beautiful brown stallion. “Come on boy, we’ve not got long before it rains!” John shouted to his horse as if the creature actually understood him, though in his fear he did not care.

The looks of the sky had him worried, the last time you went riding in the rain you caught pneumonia. He remembers how you shivered, how you were covered in sweat yet cold and how you burned to the touch. He never wishes to see you that way again. These thoughts had him pushing his horse harder to get to you faster. By the cherry tree you should be, and oh does he hope you are.

You however had just become done with your rage fit and were about to leave. Stupid Miss Carmichael, one of the bitchiest women in the ton. Not even married and yet she had the gall to mock you about not getting around to giving John a child yet. Joking about possible infertility, the words made you sick as did her audacity.

You had been married to your husband two years now and yes you were yet to bore him a child. Though the first year of your marriage, due to it being a simple arrangement, you spent it away from him. Always avoiding him, even on your wedding night you locked yourself in your room.

Though finally he managed to get you to open up to him, taught you many things, you began to love him. He had loved you however since the first moment he saw you. More so when you had advertently put him in his place after he was rude to a servant.

You had spent the second year, still getting to know each other and becoming one as husband and wife didn’t happen until three months ago. It had been essentially two years of little innocent hand touches here and there, longing looks and John standing too close to you at balls and events just so he could feel your warmth and smell your scent for longer. You were both still making up for lost time, having children was not at the forefront of your minds. Well not yours anyway.

You sighed glancing at the horse you’d rode here on, you’d best get back to join John for breakfast was your first thought. Even though it would take barely a minute for him to see you were upset and demand who had made you that way. You didn’t need to put your burden on him as much as he always insisted that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do as his wife.

Blinking up at the sky, you saw rain clouds rolling in and started to feel the drizzle of water falling down from above. Then a clap of thunder and you instantly regretted your decision to ride out here after your awful interaction with Miss Carmichael earlier. “Wonderful.” You sighed annoyed as you pulled your cloak hood over your head and made your way back to the black horse waiting patiently for you. One last look at the cherry tree and you set off into the eye of the storm.

“That’s it girl yah!” You whipped your reigns, both feet tight in the stirrups. You never rode side saddle like most women do, preferring to ride properly. Just as the cherry tree was almost out of a view, the most spectacular sight came bounding toward you. Your husband Viscount John Price gallantly riding his brown steed toward you.

“Darling!” His yell was so quiet in the midst of the rain and thunder, though it was enough to have you stopping your horse and remaining stationary as he began to slow down the closer to you he got.

Pulling on the reigns John came to a halt, horses next to one another legs touching. “Before you say anything,” you began blinking up at your handsome husband who was staring down at you heatedly, he nods encouraging you to go on. “It wasn’t raining when I started riding.”

You give him a smile, and despite the fact that you’re wet through, chilled to the bone, and as far as John is concerned in desperate need of a hot bath, he thinks you’re the most beautiful sight to behold. He smiles back leaning in close to you until his nose brushes against yours, his strong hand coming up to cup your jaw as he whispers into your mouth, looking you dead in the eyes.

“I’m not mad my love, but make no mistake, once you’re warm and dry I plan to bend you over my desk and fuck you from behind. Keep you stuffed with my cum all day, then you can tell me the reason for your riding today and who I need to talk to.”

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : A Broken Reign

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Story Summary: As queen, your duty was to be a proper wife for your king. Unfortunately, your king is a selfish adulterer who grows more short-tempered as time passes. Your lonely existence within the castle walls changes when two Feys stumble into the hands of your guards. One skilled in battle, one skilled in mischief. Two new knights for your kingdom. Two heart silently yielding to love over duty, but how long can these hearts be kept silent?

Notes: Yikes. Realized this idea has been in my wips since december last year.

Warnings: Hurt. Pining. Fluff. Soft and sweet. Violence. Strong Language. Romance. Infidelity. Angst. Forbidden Love.

Word count of this fic: 9k+

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Since birth you had lived with the knights in the castle. Some of the guards had even served your parents and grandparents. So it was not hard to tell when they began to act out of the ordinary. Something was amiss, they were whispering amongst each other too much. Whilst passing two of them by discreetly in the hallway, you overhead them speak about two newly imprisoned people down in the dungeons. The word ‘execution’ fell. It was uncommon for prisoners to be executed so soon after being imprisoned and it was suspicious that you had not been informed of it either. Why did they want to handle the matter discreetly? What was there to hide?

You headed to the dungeons to see for yourself if these prisoners deserved to be executed, to learn about what crimes they had committed that could be grave enough to warrant for this punishment.

Ser Finnian, one of your knights walked out the door to the dungeons and saw you nearing him. “We will handle the matter, Your Highness. No need to worry.”

“Step aside.”

“My lady-”

“Step aside, Ser Finnian! Do not make me repeat myself again.”

He stepped aside and let you walk passed him to the door that led into the dungeons. The place was still a maze to you, you disliked spending even a moment there and would avoid it completely if possible. The sudden frightened shouting of what sounded like a child made you hurry. When you turned another corner and ended up in the deepest part of the dungeons, you understood what was happening. Your guards were dragging a young boy out of the cell they must have kept him in.

You shouted your command at them, “Let go of the boy! NOW!”

And then to your great horror everything escalated. There was no time for them to respond to the command.

One of your guards had tried to warn the others. “He’s loose! The ropes are-”

You heard a gurgling sound and felt your stomach drop. One guard tried to hold on to the boy while the other five tried to defend themselves against the other prisoner who broke out of the cell and had stolen the sword of the guard he had just killed. This man cut through your guards as if they had not spend years practicing the sword.

You feared for the boy’s safety and ran towards the guard with the boy, you grabbed the child’s arm and commanded him in the same way you’d order your guards. “Come with me, hurry!”

The boy and you were almost in the midst of the fight and he knew it was a wise idea to find a safer place to stand around then this. You did not await his answer and pulled him along just as the man decided to launch an attack on the guard who had held on to the boy not a moment ago. You ran with the child, hearing the fight grow eerily quiet mere moments later. The boy had noticed too and came to a sudden halt, digging his heels into the floor to resist how you tugged at his arm.

“Who are you?” The boy demanded to know.

“Not important. Just know I came here to help you.”

“Lancelot!” The child suddenly shouted out into the dungeons.

You frowned. Did the boy know the man? “You know who is attacking my guards?”

The boy was highly alarmed. “He is my friend!”

He managed to pull himself free from your hold but you quickly got hold of his arm again, firmer this time.

“Don’t run off!” you told him.

There was no time to question him further. The boy had called upon this stranger and the stranger had listened to his call. You realized this when you were pulled away from the child and your firm hold on the boy broke. You were thrown with your back against the wall, a hand wrapped around your throat and threatened to take your air away. The bloodied sword was lifted and ready to take your life.

“No, stop!” The boy shouted at the man.

The man halted at the boy’s command and looked down at the child to seek the reason why.

The boy quickly explained, “She said she came here to help me.”

In the light of the torches you could see the face of the stranger and were struck by his appearance. Dark marks ran over his cheeks like tears. You had heard the news of the Weeping Monk’s betrayal to the Church, but never expected to meet him and certainly not like this. He did not give you much time to look at his face, he changed his hold on you, forcing your cheek to the cold stone wall.

One look at you and he knew you were a noblewoman. The clothes, the jewels, it was blatantly clear. You could be very useful in aiding this escape.

His voice was hoarse, a certain deathly sharpness to it, “Who are you?”

The answer to his question was soon to follow. Another lot of your guards had followed Ser Finnian into the dungeons and you held up your hand to make them halt before the situation escalated further.

Ser Finnian saw the sword threatening you. “Unhand the queen!”

And with that information the Monk pulled you away from the wall and held you with your back against his chest, the sword was at your throat.

“No,” was his firm answer. “You will let me and the boy leave this place, or I will cut her throat.”

Ser Finnian tried to console you, “All will be well, Your Highness.” He turned to the guards. “Let them through, sheath your weapons!”

The Monk used you as a shield and had the boy follow him, you were scared for your life. Hallway through hallway he walked, making you tell him the fastest way out of the castle. And that way was through the courtyard.

“I was trying to help you and the boy!” you seethed at him.

“‘Help?’” he scoffed bitterly. “Your guards planned to execute us.”

“And I went into the dungeons to forbid it!”

He was quiet for a moment. The boy was looking up at him, judging him for what he was doing.

“Why would I allow an execution of a child?!? Or any execution without knowing the crime!”

He stopped walking for a moment and gave a tug. “You claim you would help a Fey?”

You tilted your head back when he put the flat of the sword against your throat. “Kill me for it all you want, Weeping Monk. Yes, I help Fey-kind.”

The sound of running guards came from all around, both knights and guards came into sight and surrounded you on the courtyard at a small distance. The Monk knew how dire the situation had become now.

“Tell them to stand down,” he commanded.

“They will not listen.”

“You are their queen.”

“They are following my king’s command now.”

“He would let his queen be killed?” he scoffed, not believing it.

“Put down the sword and I can shield you and the child from bloodshed.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You were a man of faith, were you not? Have a moment of faith in me and watch as I keep my promise. I cannot protect the boy if you do not let me.”

He yielded due to the dire situation. “Do not let them harm him. He’s just a boy. Swear it.”

You made the vow, “I swear I will do all I can to keep the boy safe.”

The sword was moved away from your throat, his hold on you was gone. You knew you had to act fast or risked one of the guards sending an arrow through them.

First you grabbed the boy and pulled him close, telling the Weeping Monk, “Kneel.”

You were trying to shield him from the guards’ eager bows, even he could tell. He dropped the sword and knelt down, understanding that the skirt of your gown fell wide enough to make it harder for the guards to aim at him.

“Lower your weapons!” you commanded them. “He surrenders!”

Ser Finnian approached with some guards, you halted him by holding a hand up. “Your Highness?”

“I do not want them harmed. He was protecting the boy.”

The knight still had his sword ready. “It’s the Weeping Monk, my lady.”

You remained firm on the matter. “I am aware. As I am aware of his skill. He killed seven of my guards, seven, on his own. My king will want to see if he is useful.”

It was no secret that your husband, Elroy, was constantly looking for new guards and knights. He loved to build an army many would fear.

“Take him to the dungeons.” You glanced down at the Monk. “He will wait there until I have spoken to the king.”

“And the boy?” Ser Finnian asked.

You put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll keep me company.”

The Monk looked at you, fear for the boy’s life rested in his eyes. Never had you thought you would feel sympathy for a man notorious for his crimes against the Fey. But now he was willing to risk his life to protect one.

“Lancelot-” The boy tried to step towards him.

You were aware of the danger an unexpected movement could pose and kept the boy at your side, the Monk seemed to appreciate the effort made to keep the boy safe.

You whispered to the Monk, “Behave yourself and this may be the opportunity you seek to start anew.”

There was just the slightest tilt of his head, an acknowledgment, a silent agreement.

The boy was worried. “Lance-”

“It’s alright,” the Monk told him. Then he looked at you. “His name is ‘Percival’. Protect him and I will find a way to repay you.”

The guards were closing in, ready to drag him back to the dungeons. You slowly stepped back so they could do their duty.

You hated to see how the boy, Percival, watched how they bound and dragged him away under the threat of their swords. But you assured Percival that if the Monk kept his word, you would keep yours as well. The boy would be safe in the castle, but the fate of the Monk was yet to be decided.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Your husband, the King, was indeed interested in the skill of battle and war the former Weeping Monk possessed. Once he knew Lancelot could be trusted, Lancelot became one of his knights and was offered a place to stay.

It took time for him to adjust to life in a castle. But Lancelot’s desire to ensure a good future for Percival was what made him choose to stay and become a knight. And he was an excellent one, his experience from his earlier life shined through. You were glad he had found his place in the castle, he became respected amongst the guards and most of the knights. In a matter of months he walked the castle grounds as if he had never lived another life.

A past as a monk, yet the more time you spend in his presence the more that past was truly left in the past. Often he accompanied you on your travels to some of the villages, you shared the love of horse riding, something Elroy often mocked you for doing. Elroy considered it unladylike to ride a horse, another ridiculous opinion he had. Months in, you realized you had spend more time with Lancelot than you had spend with Elroy during your whole time wed to him. And Elroy saw no issue, he knew Lancelot was raised as a monk and saw no threat. Perhaps he should have seen one…

It was so simple to converse with Lancelot, so easy to forget the time and talk for hours during those rides. He actually listened and was not afraid to share his opinions, unlike the other knights and guards who would ride along. So easy, so simple… you should have known what could grow from such a connection and the danger that would become part of it.

This day was no different, your mood was elated when finally arriving back at the castle after another ride to a nearby village to see for yourself how the people were doing. Lancelot was quick to dismount Goliath and helped you safely down from your own horse. You thanked him as always and headed for the entrance of the castle.

Lancelot rushed after you suddenly, your cloak in his hands. “Your Highness.”

“Oh.” You reached out for the cloak, but he proceeded to come closer, stopped behind you and gently placed the cloak over your shoulders.

You felt him look over your shoulder to close the cords of the cloak that sat just below your neck. He was in such close proximity that his breath went over your skin just below your jaw. Did your ears betray you, or did you hear him inhale deeper? You knew of his heightened sense of smell, but why would he use it on you? It felt oddly intimate and you tilted your head down to hide your reaction when seeing Ser Finnian approach. The knight held the door open for you to walk inside.

Ser Finnian eyes darted between you and him. “Your Highness. Welcome back.”

“Ser Finnian,” you greeted him politely.

“There are some matters Ser Magnus wishes to discuss with you,” Finnian said. “He has been awaiting your arrival in the war room.”

You moved past him. “I shall go and see him now.”

        Ser Finnian waited until you were inside the fort to confront his fellow knight, “Did I just see you sniff the queen, Ser Lancelot?”

It was impossible not to notice the hint of disapproval in his tone. Ser Finnian was right to question him, to be suspicious, it was his duty. Still, he did not know how to answer in a way that would not cost him his head.

Ser Finnian did not await his answer. “Have you lost your mind, knight?” He turned his head to look at him, hissing lowly, “She is the queen! You serve the king! You do not lust after his queen!”

He kept looking straight ahead, trying not to let any truth show on his face. “I do not lust for-”

“Don’t you dare!” Ser Finnian warned. “If I witness any more evidence of your disloyalty I will inform the king. Is that understood?”

Knight or not, there were matters no title could protect him from facing the punishment for, becoming too familiar with a queen was one of them.

“Yes.” Was all he answered, not granting Ser Finnian a single look.

“Do not behave like some sort of hound around her. Smelling our queen… she is not one of your kind you can breed with.”

He tried to block out what was being said, or else he would lose his head for killing a fellow knight.

This time he looked at Ser Finnian slowly. The knight must have seen the silent danger building in his eyes, he said nothing anymore and left him alone.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  After speaking to Ser Magnus , you headed to your chambers. Well… you tried. The door was in your sight when a sound came from underneath your feet. The wooden floorboard cracked in warning too late, your foot sank through it and the splintered edges cut into your ankle. A scream had fled your lungs. You had to kneel and feared more of the floor would give in. Trying to pull free only made the floor creak more.

“Your Highness!!” Lancelot’s voice rang through the hallway as he hurried towards you.

You were relieved to see help come your way. “I’m stuck. Be careful! The floorboards are creaking under me.”

He carefully got closer, testing the floor with his boots to feel and hear his way to you. “It may just be where you are.” Fortunately he managed to get close. “Are you hurt?”

You gave a nod. “My ankle. The wood is cutting into it when I try to move.”

He made you put your arm around his shoulder and began to move the skirt of your gown aside just enough to see the problem. Even just a glimpse of your ankle had the poor former monk’s cheeks flushing, the pinkish hue to his cheeks suited him well.

The back of his hand was between the sharp edges of the broken wood and your skin, protecting you from further harm as he helped free your foot from the hole in the floorboard. You yelped when standing on your feet again, feeling the cuts the splintered wood had caused.

He looked around for a moment, then brought you to your chambers. He had you sit down on the soft leather covered bench near the fireplace. Speechless you stared as he went around the room, collecting what he’d need to help. You were still trying to find the right way to say it when he knelt down beside you and reached out to move the hem of the gown again. Quickly you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

He glanced up at you, eyes inquisitive, your touch had distracted him from the task. “I only wish to help you.”

You believed his word. “I know. But you of all people should know well how inappropriate this is.”

He was brave enough to question why you thought that, “Because of the vow I once took?”

It was hard not to smile when he sounded amused by it. “Yes. Or are monks allowed to touch a woman now?”

He clicked his tongue and smiled. “It is still strongly forbidden. But as a knight I find it more inappropriate to not aid my queen. I will not speak of this to anyone and it will spare you a walk to the infirmary across the castle.”

He had a point. You were never eager to visit a healer or the infirmary and walking all the way across the castle with a sore ankle would not be pleasant at all.

He watched as you let go of his wrist. “Allow me to help you. And I will go to the infirmary after this to fetch something for the pain. Agreed?”

To answer that, you moved the skirt of your gown up so he could use that damp cloth he had ready. You saw his neck flush. Eye-contact seized to happen until he was done dabbing the little blood away from your ankle and part of your lower leg.

With a piece of linen, that he had cut off of one of the bed linen, he bandaged your ankle to keep the cuts clean. Not one second had went by when you could ignore how gentle he was handling this, how warm his hands were. He had been fully focused on this, on helping you, any other knight or guard would have dragged you to the infirmary and let a healer handle it. But not him…

It slipped from your thoughts before you could prevent it, “You are so different from them.”

He had been inspecting the knot in the bandage to ensure it sat secure but not too tight, now his gaze lifted to yours.

He would have asked what it meant, but when his eyes met yours he could have sworn he saw in them what he so longed for. Could it be?

A silence fell between you, the unspoken lingered in the air once more. This had not been the first time such silence had fallen, it had always occurred when the truth threatened to free itself. You could not allow the truth to be free and still… part of you wanted to believe he knew the truth already. You reached down and smoothed out the skirt of your gown again, seeing him swallow hard and looking uncertain.

He cleared his throat and got up from the floor. “I hope I have not made you uncomfortable?”

“No. I fear I soon may grow too comfortable with you, my king will not approve of it.”

“Why is it that a king can grow far too comfortable with another, while his queen is not even allowed to let a knight help her ankle?”

You knew he was alluding to your husband’s chain of mistresses. How freely Elroy behaved so shamefully without consequences.

“Because he is king.”

“And therefor his queen should suffer in silence?”

“I do not want to speak of this.”

“I have one question I wish to ask, if you allow it?”

You gave a nod.

“If you could choose another life, would you?”

“Depends on what kind of life we are speaking of.”

“One where you are free of this golden cage you have been trapped in.”

You stood up. “I am not in a cage!”

“Then why are you not free to do as you please? You are a queen, you of all people should have the power to do anything you wish for.”

“Why are you saying this to me?…”

“I was trapped once. I see the same hopelessness in your eyes that once could be seen in mine.”

“Sympathy…” you scoffed. “I do not need pity, Ser Lancelot.”

“I do not pity you.” He frowned. “I fear for your life if the king continues his behavior. Kings tiring of their wives is not uncommon. I do not wish to see you be replaced if he dares to choose another queen for himself.”

You were quiet for a moment, unable to meet his eyes out of fear that it would cause your tears to break free. By taking a step back and gesturing to the door, you let it be known that this conversation was over.

He knew when he was being dismissed. But unlike your other knights and guards he did not always listen to a command, it seemed that this was one of those times.

You sighed a little, knowing how stubborn he could be. “Ser Lancelot-”

He kept his voice on a low volume, “If he ever shows such intent, come to me. Warn me of it.”

You looked down at the floor at his blatant protectiveness. For a moment neither of you moved.

It was him who broke the building tension and headed for the door. “I will arrange for the floor to be repaired and have a guard bring you a vial for the pain.”

“Thank you.”

Of course your voice had to waver on those two words. Hoping that he had not noticed was futile, you saw it in his eyes as he had halted by the open door. Hidden truth was spoken through the silence of a shared gaze, a look which lasted too long to be innocent, a softening in his eyes that made you forget how to breath normally. You forced yourself to turn away and breathed in deeply when hearing the door fall shut again.

What were you doing? A married queen growing enamored with her knight… if Elroy knew he’d have him executed for it. You could not allow it, would not… there was no hope.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You had not expected dinner to go the way it went. Elroy had been sitting beside you until his newest mistress had walked into the dinning hall. Elroy had beckoned her over and to your shock he told her right in front of all to see, and those close enough to hear, that he wanted her to come along to his bedchamber in that very moment. Frozen you sat on the chair, forced to watch your unfaithful husband walk with his mistress on his arm through the dinning hall and take her to his bedchamber.

The eyes of the room were on you and taking a sip of water did nothing to hide how the cruel humiliation was affecting you. Your hand trembled around the tankard, putting it down on the table again was the only way to hide it.

Lancelot had been sitting only a few chairs away from Elroy and wiped his hands clean on one of the linen provided for it, which he then threw down on the table, it was the first thing that betrayed how irritated he was by the situation. He came and took place on the empty chair beside you, politely dismissing the ladies-in-waiting who had been chatting at the table to allow for more discretion. One look from him around the room was enough for the stares to stop, his eyes held a warning for those who would think it proper to disrespect you. He touched your arm, so light and gentle and it still startled you. You quickly looked at him and shook your head discreetly.

Ah yes, the king could run off with his mistress in front all, but his queen was not allowed to have a comforting touch to her arm. It was no wonder many noblewomen were unhappy.

The risk of it costing his title or head did little to deter him, he withdrew his hand and pointed at your tankard. “Shall I fetch you more water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Something else to eat?”

“I lost my appetite.”

“He is a fool.”

You gasped quietly at his statement, eyes wide. “Ser Lancelot! You cannot say these things-”

He sat back more in his chair, eyes still on you. “Many here think it.”

Your eyes fixed on the plate under your eyes. “I believe they see me as the fool.”

He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a low volume, “Not all here prefer the king, Your Highness. They see you, they see a queen much wiser than her king.”

With a deep breath, you forced the question out, “Why does he treat me so?”

Why were you not enough? Why did he enjoy causing this humiliation to you? Had he ever even loved you?

Lancelot had not expected the question. “Your Highness-”

Not shedding a tear in the face of so much pain was difficult. “What do I do wrong? Why am I not enough for him?”

He reacted impulsive and fast, putting a hand over the one you had on the table to take hold. “Stop. You are not at blame for his idiocy. He is selfish and never sated, not by power, women or gold. Greed is in his blood.”

You sat frozen, looking at the hand resting on yours. Hit by the realization how much you craved a warm touch such as this. He blinked, suddenly becoming fully aware of what he had done. There was a change in his eyes when you did not rush to pull your hand away to scold him for it. The look shared between you told a secret not meant to exist, one that would cost you your lives if the king learned of it. Slowly you pulled your hand back, knowing deep down that a bond beyond duty had formed, that it was too late to guard your heart against someone who was already inside it.

“Ser Lancelot-”

He was quick to respond, “Yes, my queen?”

Taken aback by the way he had addressed you, you nearly forgot what you were about to say. ‘My queen’? Your heart took a leap of joy at the small sign of affection, oh how depraved it felt of it. “Will you accompany me on a walk through the gardens?”

For a second all he did was stare, then cleared his throat. “Of course.”

You stood up from the table and waited for him. Together you headed to the gardens, the sky was darkening but the weather still felt comfortable. For minutes there was only silence, his arm brushing against yours a few times by accident as he walked beside you.

You were the one to break the silence. “You spoke of another life to me. I wish to let you know that I would respect your decision if you chose to pursue another kind of life. I know the duties that knights have can prevent them from seeking a companion to share life with. But I want my knights to have the freedom to have a life outside of duty.”

His eyes narrowed ever so little as he plucked apart what you had told him. “Thank you, Your Highness. But my life here has allowed me to ensure Percival will have a brighter future. We are content.”

It slipped out, “Do you never feel lonely?”

He stole a glance. “Does that worry you?”

“Yes,” you dared to admit.

“I shall answer that question if you answer it as well.” There was a slight arch to his brow. Always digging for the truth you kept buried under a smile.

A speck of truth is what you could give. “I have felt less lonely these past months.”

He folded his hands behind his back. Quietly admitting, “I share the sentiment.”

His eyes were enthralling, captivating a part of your soul you had believed to be lost long ago. If only you had not been forced to wed a man you did not love, perhaps matters would have been different.

He let his eyes fall to the grass. “How is your ankle?”

“Better, thanks to you. And I see you have survived the sin of helping me.”

“Barely,” he jested.

It made you wonder. “Do you still pray?”

After a short silence, he gave a nod. “It has become a force of habit I believe.”

You feared he’d consider you too nosy. “And do you feel relieved after?”

He averted his eyes, the question more personal than you could have known. “No. It still feels as if I pray to a void where only darkness is my answer in return.”

Without thinking, you touched his arm. “You can always come to me when you seek a listening ear, you must know that. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to spend your whole life in the clergy and then break away from it.”

His gaze fell to the hand you had on his arm and he put his own over it to keep it there a little longer. “It is difficult, but I find comfort in knowing that I fled before nothing of me was left.”

You couldn’t resist feeling his bicep just a little, disguising it under a comforting squeeze. “And so began your path to your truest self.”

“A path you helped me find and walk on.”

“You’re the one taking the steps, Lancelot.”

“Because your faith in me encourages me.”

You drew your hand back, already missing his warmth. “I am glad to hear that.”

He was impulsive, catching your hand in his before it could get far. It was so easy to forget this was crossing a line. Was there even a line if you wanted this? His touch should not have made you want to smile but it did, you tried to hide it by looking down at the grass.

It was when he took a step closer that your eyes snapped up to his to read the intention from them. He was looking around carefully, scanning the garden for curious eyes. He turned your hand, palm facing up, and lightly brushed the tips of his index and middle finger over it. A touch so light and yet it traveled all through your body, your chest heaved as it tried to control your breathing.

He was studying your reaction, reading you like an open book. “I know.”

Your eyes widened, questioning his own. He couldn’t possibly have meant… “What do you mean?”

Again his fingers brushed up and down over your palm, feeling well how your hand trembled in his own. He repeated it quieter, voice filled with the unspoken truth that threatened to be voiced once more, “I know.”

You drew your hand back, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. This was not good, him alluding to being aware of your affection for him was too close to the truth reaching the light. It was too dangerous. From afar you could see Ser Finnian beckon for you and you were grateful for the distraction. Without a word to Lancelot, you headed to Ser Finnian, guessing correctly that he would follow.

        As you headed to your room for the evening, Ser Finnian was speaking of some important matters regarding the villages whilst Lancelot followed a few steps behind him in silence. Elroy had grown hated by many in the kingdom, he was having roads guarded and prevented some villages from importing the needed flour and other necessities by wagon. This was to force the villages into agreeing to pay more of their income to him. You hated his tactics, his antics. The people were starving and you doubted they would not retaliate soon if Elroy did not end the roads blockages.

As if he knew people were speaking about him, Elroy turned the corner of the hallway and spotted you. You sighed quietly at the sight of him, he must have grown tired of his mistress for the night again. He acknowledged Lancelot and Finnian first, then set his eyes on you.

Elroy was mistrusting. “In important conversation with our knights, my queen?”

“Ser Finnian has brought to my attention that you are still having the roads guarded.”

He saw no fault. “Indeed.”

You confronted him, “We cannot let this continue. They must be able to bring in the wagons with their harvest.”

“We?” He sounded reprimanding, “I decide when they deserve their freedom back.”

It was infuriating. “They are starving!”

Elroy showed not an ounce of empathy for them. “Good. Let them starve, it will set an example.”

He turned away, tiring of the conversation that was not going the way he wanted it to go. You walked after him, grabbing him by the sleeve to make him stop ignoring your opinion on the matter.

You could tell that he did not like it at all when you ‘stepped out of line’. “The only thing it will do is cause them to hate you even more than they already do. You ask too much of them-”

Elroy struck your cheek, the force of it sending you stumbling and hitting the wall hard with your arm. It had not been the first time but never before had he dared to do it in front of others to see.

Ser Finnian had to physically step in front of Lancelot to stop him getting closer to the king.

“Don’t.” Ser Finnian whispered to him. He still saw the focus of the his fellow knight on the king and grabbed hold of his arm.

Elroy spoke viciously to you, “I did not ask your opinion. You would do best to keep silent.”

Your cheek felt like it had been burned and you forced yourself not to let the tears of the shock show. “Ignoring my advice will not spare you from the anger of our people!”

Elroy looked towards the knights present. “See my wife to her chambers. Ensure she does not leave them again tonight.”

Elroy walked past you as if you were nothing more than air to him and once again you were left to handle the wreckage he left behind in his wake.

“Your Highness.” Ser Finnian remained formal, obeying the command of his king as he gestured to the direction of your chambers. Lancelot stepped to your direction but he stopped him. “I will guide the queen to her quarters. Head to your own, I believe you need a moment to clear your head before you make a mistake.”

There was no ignoring the warning under the ‘advice’ Lancelot was being given. And perhaps it was wise, all could see the fury burning in his eyes. With dented pride you started walking towards your quarters, not willing to get the knights into trouble for failing to execute the order they were given.

Lancelot turned to Finnian. “We are commanded to protect her, yet we have to stand aside and watch as the king strikes her?” It came out sharp.

Ser Finnian half-turned to him. “We obey his command. Our queen can withstand him.”

In other words, you were left to undergo the king’s wrath alone. Was the duty of a knight not to protect and fight for the good of all?

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~

  It was deep in the night when soft knocking on the door startled you awake. First you grabbed the candle holder from the nightstand, then went to open the door, ready for anything behind the door. A pair of concerned blue eyes met your inquisitive glance upon opening the door.

You became very aware that you were in your chemise and hid a little behind the door whilst blindly putting the candle holder down on the dresser beside it. “Lancelot? Goodness, it’s the midst of the night.”

His confession fell, “I had to see if you were alright.”

Such concern, the worry in his voice, the true face of empathy he often tried to hide. Your heart felt like it was fluttering and it spread a pleasant feeling all throughout your chest and up your neck.

You gave a quick nod to put his mind at ease. “I will be fine.”

He had build up the courage within him. “May I step inside for a moment? I wish to speak with you, in private.”

The door felt like the only thing still standing between the unspoken and you, it would have been so much simpler to hide behind it, to use it as the last shield to protect your heart and future. But when he put his hand lightly on the door and brought it closer to where yours held the edge of it, your resolution broke.

You stepped back from the door, leaving it open, letting him choose to cross this line together. He quietly opened it more and stepped into the room, aware of how inappropriate this visit was he closed the door as quietly as he could. You quickly went to grab your warm robe to cover yourself up more. He was mere steps behind you when you turned around again after haphazardly putting on the robe.

You swallowed down the nerves. “What was it that you wished to speak to me about?”

He startled you by reaching out and touching your cheek that had received the hit not long ago. “That bastard…”

Some of the fury still simmered in his eyes, embers ready and willing to burn those at blame for it’s cause.

The tender touch made your heart ache. “It had been a while since he last struck me.”

“Has he done it since I am here?” His thoughts forced him to ask it.

Had you been in danger right under his nose before? He had his suspicions that the king had violent tendencies from the way he had seen you flinch once weeks ago, but this? The king hitting his queen for all to witness proved he feared no consequences for it.

You forgot how to think, the warmth of his touch was a welcome one. “No.”

He saw you take a step back, saw how you timidly cast your gaze to the floor. “You do not deserve the humiliation he forces on you. You are a queen by birthright, your power is equal.”

“What do you suggest I do? He is my husband-”

He did not hold back, his tone was sharp, “Annul the marriage. Leave him to rot in the misery he will create.”

You nearly gasped at hearing it. He was a knight and to serve the king, not convince the queen to leave him. “Do not speak of such a thing. If he hears of it he’ll have you executed, he’ll have us both executed…”

“Would you tell him?”

Slowly you shook your head. “I will not lose my most skilled knight.”

It was a grave risk he took when he set a step closer again, he folded his hands together behind his back as if to resist what he wished for. “My queen, King Elroy’s spells of anger will worsen. I beg you, do not make me have to watch how he will rain his fury upon you.”

You feared the future, feared to hear the truth be spoken aloud. In your mind you pushed it away, “Your duty is to serve as a knight-”

He was stern, refusing to be silenced on this matter. “I was appointed to protect you, and I will, even if it be from the King himself.”

“Lancelot…” You shook your head, falling silent.

There was no waver in his voice now that he let his true thoughts free, “My loyalty lies with you, my queen. It has been with you since the day you welcomed me here. Without you, Percival and I would have been cast out at best and be left to survive in the woods. But you… you gave us shelter. You gave me a chance.”

You could not look away from him, he spoke with such conviction and strength.

He knelt down before you, tilting his head down in obedience. “I swore my sword to your kingdom but I cannot stand aside as it’s queen is left dishonored. I can no longer serve the king. I cannot betray my heart that beats not only to serve but to love the queen faithfully.”

You stepped back fast. “You must leave, Ser Lancelot. This cannot happen.”

He lifted his gaze up from the floor, pieces of his shattered soul were to be found in his eyes. “Then you must call for the guards, my queen. Because I will not leave you in the hands of the king. I swear I will not hesitate to turn my blade against him if he lays a hand on you again.”

If he would not leave, then you would, you had to. Your gaze went to the door mere seconds before your feet began to hurriedly travel to it. Your hand was on the door handle, Lancelot’s hand fell flat on the door and held it shut. His sudden close proximity made your blood start to rush, you did not dare look at him as he stood beside you. Sometimes you forgot how quickly he could react in situations like this when he was truly alert.

His voice was a whisper meant to persuade, “I can protect you.”

It felt hard to breath normally. “I am a queen. My king will never let me go.”

His hand slid down over the wood of the door, until it was just above your own. “Do not concern yourself over what he would do. Say you wish to leave his side and leave the rest to me.”

Your eyes remained on the wood, never before had your body felt so unstable. Every fiber in your being was attuned to him now, you felt his breath on the side of your face, his warmth was radiating off of him, his whole presence left you shaking in your bones.

You sensed his intentions but feared what would happen if they were spoken out loud. “What are you asking of me?”

His other hand landed lightly on your back and you jolted a little, your eyes still did not leave the wood. “I have lived a life in the clergy, I know that makes me a less than desirable match for one born a queen but I would do all within my power to give you the love and happiness you deserve.”

You couldn’t believe this was happening, that he would truly speak this out loud. If anyone heard it would cost him his life. And it would cost you yours if Elroy ever knew just how many times you had dreamed of this happening.

“Lancelot, please.” You pressed your eyes shut, feeling the tears brim in them. “I do not want to see you hurt because of me.”

Silence overtook the room, all you heard were your and his breathing. The atmosphere was loaded and the tension increased with each passing second. Something was about to happen if you would not seize control and command him to obey you. But you could not bring yourself to voice a command, he thrilled you in ways he should not have.

“I will love you, my queen,” he whispered against your hair. “Not as a knight, but as just a man.”

You swiftly turned, grabbed hold of his collar and tugged firmly, your lips pressed to his. Soft, a slight prickle of his mustache, hot breath that came in the form of a quiet gasp from him.

What were you doing… what had you done? It had shocked yourself and you quickly let go and tilted your head down.

He stood motionless, just like you. Seconds passed before he very slowly touched his fingers to your chin, tilting it to make you look at him. Your gaze locked on his eyes, seeing how they filled with the dangerous mixture of want and hesitation, only one could change everything.

Such soft lips. His queen had kissed him and now you looked so frightful of his response. He would hang for this if caught, but he had accepted death long before coming here.

His lips descended on yours, sealing your faiths. He did not expect you to reciprocate with the passion you showed. You held him close, arms wrapping around his neck, entrapping him. If you were to suffer the punishment, you would do the crime well.

“My queen…” his chest vibrated against yours. The touch of his hand grazed over your waist. His hot breath was near your ear, “My beautiful queen…”

“Lancelot… I…” your voice was a trembling mess. “I…”

“I know.”

He spoke your name, not your title, soft and full of undeniable longing. You were entwined with him, feeling loved for the first time since long.

The sound of guards walking by the door brought your mind back to reality. You broke away to compose yourself and calm your racing heart. He was as rattled as you were, breathing just as heavily. You hugged the robe around you, a boyish smile curved his lips as he looked at the floor.

“Uhm…” You didn’t know what to say. But you did know that him remaining there longer would only heighten the risk of getting caught.

His gaze glided to the door, then back to you. “You want me to leave?”

“If they found you here…”

He was understanding of it, well aware that what was done was punishable by torture, death or most likely both. His hand landed on the door handle, yours landed on top of his a second later.

“How did you know?” you quietly inquired.

With a gentle smile he looked at you. “You look at me differently. And you smile when our eyes meet. You stare. And I have been in enough fights to know when one is not staring at me with ill-intent.”

Flustered, you evaded your gaze. Had you truly been so obvious to him? Had others noticed it too?

He touched his fingers to your chin again and stole another sweet kiss. “I hope you will sleep well, Your Highness. Know that I am only a few doors away from here if you should need me.”

You gave a slow nod and caught yourself wishing he did not have to leave. But you let him walk out of the room before someone could find him there. If Elroy learned of this betrayal, the consequences would be truly dire.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The next two days it was hard to keep up appearances, to pretend the moment shared between you and Lancelot had not happened. But his stolen glances and your secret smiles filled your days. Nothing more had happened, no kiss or touch, as if both of you did not know how to maneuver the situation. It was perhaps wise, the risk was great and the temptation even greater.

All had been calm, until tonight. Elroy had taken some of the knights and guards, including Lancelot, with him when he had traveled to one of the villages to see for himself if his tyranny was successful in demolishing the people’s moral. Hours passed and there was no sign of their return yet. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Rain was pouring down over the lands, thunder and lightning filled the sky. You stood at a window, growing more concerned by the hour. The concern was not for Elroy, it was for your Fey knight. This was abnormal and you had send a group of guards out hours before to search for them. It was that group that you saw return and you hurried down all the stairs to the entrance hall to see what information they might have.

One guard approached you, his attire soaked by the rain. “We did not find them, Your Highness. They must have taken another road. We went to the village where they claim they saw them leave hours before our arrival.”

You tried to stay composed but inside you feared the worst. “Those who have searched for them now will remain at the castle and rest. Send two more search parties to find them.”

He tilted his head down in submission, accepting the command.

The fear in your eyes could so easily be seen as a sign you were worried for your husband instead of the man your heart had promised itself to. The looks of sympathy from the knights and guards present were aimed at you.

The doors suddenly swung open, the wind outside making them more stubborn to allow entrance. The guards and some of the knights who had left with Elroy hours ago walked into the entrance hall. Their clothes drenched in mud, rain and blood. Lancelot and Ser Finnian were two of the last who walked in. Lancelot was supporting a wounded Finnian and let him sit down on one of the benches that stood against the wall. You frowned at the doors, wondering why Elroy had not entered the castle yet.

One of the younger knights came to bring you the news, he knelt with a sorrowful expression. “The king is dead, Your Highness.”

You stared at him as his head tilted down, he feared looking at you now, feared the reaction to come. You looked at the others for an explanation, for one of them to come and tell you that the young knight was mistaken or confused, but they all just awaited your reaction. Was this truly happening? If Elroy was truly dead, you were immediately the one ruling over the kingdom, on your own… Their eyes sought guidance, instructions, anything.

You were trying to make sense of the situation that felt so surreal. “He is dead? How can he be dead? What on earth happened out there?”

“Lancelot-” Ser Finnian started coughing. “Tell her.”

Lancelot stepped forward, his clothes soaked by rain and blood much like the others. “We were ambushed on our return to the castle. The rain and darkness made it difficult to know everyone’s location. The king must have lost sight of us. We found him after the battle.”

You stepped closer to him, it had sounded too practiced, too calm for how unexpected this must have been. “Ambushed… by who?”

His eyes told a truth he would not speak aloud. “One of the groups terrorizing the villages had made their liar near the path we were riding on. They were dealt with.”

You were no fool, Elroy was a talented sword fighter, he would not have met his demise so easily. “You failed to protect the king?”

Something flashed in his eyes mere seconds before he knelt down in front of you, submitting himself to your mercy. You looked at the others, counting only a few surviving guards and realized all of them had always favored Elroy. And two days ago Ser Finnian had stood aside and not even tried to help you when Elroy struck you. Could it be that Lancelot… surely not… The puzzle was falling into place and told you of how far your Fey knight was willing to go for you.

You stepped away from him, commanding the others, “Bring the wounded to the infirmary. Have the body of the king retrieved, the people must be assured that their king has passed.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” some of them answered in choir.

“I do not want to be disturbed tonight,” you told them.

They were quiet for such a large group, all were trying to process the events in their own way and they respected your wish to be left alone. They must have assumed you were in mourning. Instead you tried to think of how to confront Lancelot with what you believed had truly happened in the forest.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  It did not take long for him to find you, there was one place in the castle you liked retreating to when you were troubled. He set foot into the library and made certain to close the door behind him, it proved there were secrets in the air that he did not want to share with those outside the library.

You sat at the table, the words finally spilling from your lips, “By who’s sword did Elroy really perish?”

He stopped in his tracks, tensing up. His mouth opened to speak then decided against it. The look in his eyes said it all.

Deep down you knew the truth of the matter. He had not picked those guards to come along on the trip to the village at random. You knew that Lancelot knew well what areas were safe and which ones were not. Elroy was led right into their hands by him. The only thing you were uncertain about was who had truly been the one to kill Elroy. One of the attackers, or one of his own knights.

You confronted him, “You led him right into their hands.”

He did not deny it, eyes locked on yours to read your response to knowing the truth.

It was not even a shock. Maybe it should have been, but you had seen the fury in his eyes after Elroy had struck you again. “Have you gone mad? If anyone learns of this-”

“No one will know unless you wish to tell them.”

“What if I did? Would you kill your queen as well?”

He came closer, kneeling just next to the chair you were sat on. “You know I would never harm you. Tell everyone. It does not matter what happens to me as long as you are safe.” He let out a small sigh. “He would have worsened in time, I have seen enough men like him. With him gone, you rule this kingdom. Now I can be certain that Percival will not be raised under the command of a tyrant.”

You were quiet for a while, fidgeting with a book on the table. “Was it quick?”

He was drawn to the emphatic side of you. “I cut his throat. It was over quickly.”

“No one else can ever know of this. He was killed by the attackers in the ambush.” You locked eyes on him. “Perhaps, after some time has passed, we will not be met by stares or suspicion if we…”

He guessed the rest you were too shy to speak. “I shall be here at your side, hoping that in time you will allow me to be more than a knight to you.”

“You want to be king then?” you jested.

“No.” He shook his head, took hold of your hand and placed it where his heart rested in his chest. “I want you. Not a title or crown.”

It was impossible to pull your eyes away from him. You rose to stand. “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”

There was an instant flash of hurt in his eyes, it vanished when he saw the smile curve your lips and knew you were teasing him. He stood up from the floor.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his aketon, gripping a light hold. “It will be difficult for us to be together without you receiving a title, you are courting a queen, Ser Lancelot.”

His gaze fell on your hand and how it was gently tugging him closer.

“I could name you my consort.” Purposely you fixed your eyes on his lips. “But I’d prefer to call you my king.”

He dared to carefully jest about it, “We have yet to bury the last one.”

You knew he was making a lighthearted comment, but others could easily have the same reaction to it. “He did not even wait for my death to flaunt with other women. He struck and humiliated me. I should feel ashamed for betraying my husband, but I do not. Once I had believed there was hope for my marriage, until I heard the guards speak of what was happening behind my back. I was denied love and I had accepted that. What I could not accept was his disloyalty and lies. If a queen cannot trust her king, then what point is there?”

He cupped your face in his hands, cradling your head. “Not many will weep for his death. You owe no one an explanation for not mourning him.”

You slowly nodded. “I fear they will consider me cold.”

His thumb brushed over your chin. “I have heard enough villagers speak to know that that fear should have no ground to exist on. He might have been king, but they bow to the queen.”

He could silence your fears so effortlessly, even now with his cloak soaked in a mixture of blood and rain. You broke away and pulled him along to a more secluded part of the library, stacks of books on shelves cast their shadows and provided the needed discretion. He was no fool and read your intentions right from your eyes, willingly letting himself be tugged against you, gladly obeying his queen’s wishes.

“Hmm,” You hummed and took hold of his hands to place them on your waist, your own glided up his chest. “What shall I call you when the weeks of obligated mourning pass? "

He let himself be pulled in closer, eyes falling shut when he felt your lips touch the side of his neck. “I… It does not matter what you call me, as long as I may call you my queen.”

“I will make you a king, Lancelot.” You breathed teasingly against his skin, whispering, “My king.”

That very breathy whisper made him claim what he had wanted more than any title. Your lips were at his mercy when he kissed you with a fiery eagerness that send shivers all through your veins.

You had given up on love, sacrificed it for the sake of duty. And now it was here, all consuming and everything your heart had longed for.

A new reign had begun.

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[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Hello :)

I would like to know if you know who is behind the horrible false accusation against Marie Antoinette regarding her son. We know that Hébert presented the testimony in the revolutionary tribunal, and although he bears responsibility for it, I don't think he was alone in fabricating this false testimony.

While it is hard to know for sure exactly whose idea it was to make incest a charge against Marie-Antoinette, these are all the people involved in obtaining the information needed that I’ve been able to track:

When giving his testimony during Marie-Antoinette’s trial, Hébert claimed this ”fact” had been discovered by Antoine Simon, Louis-Charles’ caretaker in the Temple, who then told him, alongside mayor of Paris Jean-Nicolas Pache and prosecutor of the Paris Commune Pierre-Gaspard Chaumette, about it (cited in Histoire parlementaire de la Révolution française, volume 29, page 355-356):

…He (Hébert) adds that Simon having informed him that he had something important to communicate to him, he went to the Temple accompanied by the mayor and the prosecutor of the Commune. There they received a declaration from the young Capet, from which it was revealed that at the time of Louis Capet's flight to Varennes, La Fayette was one of those who had contributed the most to facilitating it; that for this purpose they had spent the night at the castle; that during their stay at the Temple, the inmates had continued for a long time to be informed of what was happening outside; that correspondence was sent to them in clothes and shoes. The little Capet named thirteen people as those who had partly cooperated in maintaining these intelligences, that one of them having locked him and his sister in a turret, he heard him telling his mother: I will get you the means of finding out the news by everyday sending a peddler to shout the evening newspaper nearby. Finally, young Capet, whose physical constitution each day was deteriorating, was discovered by Simon [while engaging] in indecent pollutions that were fatal to his temperament; that the latter having asked him who had taught him this criminal practice, he replied that it was to his mother and his aunt that he was indebted for the knowledge of this fatal habit. From the declaration, observes the deponent, that the young Capet made, in the presence of the mayor of Paris and the prosecutor of the Commune, it follows that these two women often made him sleep between the two of them, that he there committed acts of the most unbridled debauchery; that there was not even any doubt, from what fils Capet said, that there had been an incestuous act between mother and son. There is reason to believe that this criminal enjoyment was not dictated by pleasure, but rather by the political hope of annoying the physique of this child, who one still liked to believe was destined to occupy a throne, and whose morale one wanted by this maneuver to ensure the right to reign over while, by the efforts that one made him make, he remained attacked by a descent, for which it was necessary to put a bandage on this child; and ever since he no longer lives with his mother he has regained a robust and vigorous temperament.

The letter where Simon asks Hébert to come over to the Temple has been conserved and can be found cited in volume 1 of Histoire du tribunal révolutionnaire de Paris : avec le journal de ses actes (1880) by Henri Wallon:

The republican Simon to the patriot and damn patriotic Father Duchesne, The Temple, 30 September 1793, year II of the Republic one and indivisible Hello. Come quickly, my friend, I have things to tell you and would feel a lot of pleasure seeing you. Try to come today, you will always find in me a frank and brave republican.

Louis-Charles’ declaration, made on October 6 1793, can in its turn be found cited in Procès des Bourbons (1798). Besides Louis, Simon, Pache, Chaumette and Hébert, the document has been signed by Frery and Seguy, commissioners of the temple, Heousée, police administrator, and Laurant, council commissioner. According to The Dauphin (Louis XVII) (1921) by G. Lenotre, Louis-Charles’ signature is very clumsily written when compared to the handwriting in his schoolbooks, opening the door to the possibility his interrogators had threatened him or made him drunk in order to get him to put his name on the paper:

…He declared to them, furthermore, that having been surprised several times in his bed by Simon and his wife, charged with watching over him by the commune, committing indecency on himself that was harmful to his health, he admitted to them that he had been instructed in these very pernicious habits by his mother and his aunt, and that different times they had amused themselves by seeing him repeat the practices in front of them, and that very often this took place when they made him lie down between them. From the way the child explained himself, he made us understand that once his mother made him approach her; it resulted in copulation and a swelling in one of his testicles, as said by the citoyenne Simon, for which he wears a bandage, and that his mother recommended him to never speak of it: that this act had been repeated several times since.

In the same work we also find the interrogation held with Louis’ sister Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte the following day. She was then among other things asked ”if, when playing with her brother, he did not touch her where he didn’t get to touch her; if one didn’t make her brother jump on a blanket, and if his mother and aunt hadn’t made him sleep between them?” Thérèse responded with a no. The protocol then documents the following:

We immediately called for Charles Capet, and invited him to tell us if what he said yesterday, regarding the touching of his person, was true? [He] persisted in what he had said, repeated and maintained it in front of his sister, and persisted in saying that it was the truth. Asked a second time to state whether this was indeed true, he replied yes, it is true; his sister claimed to never have seen it.

This document is signed by Jacques-Louis David, Pache, Chaumette, Heussé, Laurent and Danjou. The same people plus one Séguy also signed the interrogation of Madame Élisabeth held the very same day. The childrens’ aunt was she too questioned about the incest:

Has she read Charles' statement, regarding the indecencies mentioned in the document, dated the 15th of this month? Responded that a similar infamy is too far below and too far away from her to be able to respond to it; that moreover the child had had this habit for a long time; and that he must remember that she and his mother scolded him for it several times. Charles was asked to explain on this subject: he attested that he had told the truth. She read the rest of Charles' statement on the same subject, in which he persisted, adding that he did not remember the times, but that it happened frequently. She said that as it only concerns her, she will not respond to it any more than to the rest; she believes that her conduct must protect her from suspicion. Charles asked to declare who had first instructed him in this practice. The two together. Did it happen during the day or during the night? He doesn’t remember, but he thinks it was in the morning.

The secretary who wrote the interrogations down was one Daujon. His colleague, the municipal officer Goret, wrote that he had told him the following about the incident (cited in The last days of Marie-Antoinette (1907) by G. Lenotre):

It was this same Daujon who was acting as secretary when the young prince was subjected, in the Temple, to an examination on the subject of the slanderous and infamous statements that had been circulated with in regards to the Queen. Here, word for word, is what Daujon told me on the subject of that examination, and I may say that I considered him a man worthy of belief. The young prince, he told me, was seated in an armchair, swinging his little legs; for his feet did not reach the ground. He was examined as to the statements in question, and was asked if they were true: he answered in the affirmative. Instantly Madame Elizabeth, who was present, cried out: ”Oh, the monster!” As for me, added Daujon, I could not regard this answer as coming from the child himself, for his air of uneasiness and his general bearing inclined me to believe that it was a suggestion emanating from someone else, — the effect of his fear of punishment or ill treatment, with which he may have been threatened if he failed to comply. I fancy that Madame Elizabeth cannot really have been deceived either, but that her surprise at the child's answer wrung that exclamation from her.

[givemeonereason]

Meditations: First Friend

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Dragon Ball Masterlist Givemeonereason Masterlist

Rating: Angst

Plot: Piccolo has been missing and you’re the doing the actual missing. A friendly police officer seeks out to try and help you recover the missing link.

A/N: It’s about time I bring some other fellow DBZ characters into this.

They all interlink and play a part in each others lives. Also, this just felt like a very nice way to tie everything together.

I hope to bring at least one more character in during the next installment.

Don’t worry too much. We might see a reunion very soon.

╒══════════════════════╕

You looked for him out the window of your office those next few days hoping to see the white of his cape fluttering in the wind. However, he was never there. No matter how many time you check, and all the different times of the day, nothing.

Two weeks had passed and not one sighting.

You sat down in the company-provided ergonomic, rolling desk chair. It spun to the side. You let your feet dangle there limp.

The alien documentaries and fictional programs you've tried watching by way of research haven't really given you any closure. They just made you more frustrated considering that your alien, Piccolo isn't anything like they portray. It doesn't even give you any sense of how to get him back either. As far as you knew, there wasn't a spaceship to seen. At least, you didn't see one.

Is he really gone forever?

If you could just go back in time and change the outcome of what happened before. The day he carried you through the skies and you cried.

I'm not scared anymore.

I was caught off guard is all.

During your lunch break, you treaded up the hillside to where he usually sat. You could imagine him there still as a board with his eyes closed.

You stood there listening to the sound of the passing cars below and the birds above. You looked up to the sky searching for a place someone could fly to. And there was nothing.

"Piccolo!" No hesitation in your shout. "Piccolo, where are you?"

Someone on the sidewalk below stopped and looked up toward you. Some crazy lady screaming from a hilltop for her lost woodwind instrument? What on earth are they cooking these days?

My green alien guy.

You took out your phone and went to the internet and key searched "alien Piccolo." You saw lots of information regarding King Piccolo and his reign of tyranny and the World Martial Arts Tournament.

King Piccolo does greatly resemble the Piccolo you know. However, your Piccolo has softer features overall, but the sharp angles of his jawline and the point of his ears make him rather handsome. In an alien sort of way, handsome nonetheless.

"Excuse me, Miss." There was a gentle voice behind you. You pressed the screen of your phone against your chest hoping that whoever was standing there didn't see you staring down at the evil Namekian. It's not as if you were really looking at him, but rather imagining someone else.

"Yes?" You turned on a heel to address the voice standing behind you. You looked and saw no one at first, then your eyes darted down to see a concerned face.

When your eyes met his, he reached out a hand toward you. "Hello Miss, I'm Officer Krillin. I'm with the local police. There was a report of a woman shouting at the top of this hill searching for something. Are you alright? What is it that you're looking for? I can help you."

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh from within your chest. "What I'm looking for isn't here anymore." You glanced up towards the sky, the white fluffy clouds spread across the horizon. There was a longing in your eyes, the way you lingered subtly before looking back down at the man before you and smiled. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

There is little to no point in trying to explain this to the police. What are you going to say, there is this alien named Piccolo that I met here and I don't know how to get in touch with him now. He's tall and wears a cape. Claims to be a Namekian. Like the police would know, or even care about that. The best outcome would most likely be institutionalism. They'll lock you in a padded room with nothing to eat but porridge and if you're lucky jello. At least that is the worst-case scenario, right?

You took a step forward to walk down the hillside, but the officer stopped you. "The concerned citizen claimed you were looking for an instrument. That you were yelling out towards the valley." He was looking down at his notepad. He pulled a pen from his pocket, pushing the top with a click, he jotted down another note. "I am going to need to file a follow-up report. Do you think you could tell me more about this, please?"

You didn't say anything at first. You called this. You knew if you opened your mouth it was all over. How could you word this in a way that didn't make you sound crazy? "Let's say I lost my piccolo." You sighed once more before continuing. "I haven't been able to find it in some time. I came to see it-- play it here on this hillside."

The man took diligent notes. "And do you think you can describe what this piccolo looked like? I'm not sure I've ever seen one up close and personal. Are there any particular identifiers?"

Raspberry. I'm not really a fan of the raspberry jello. If anything I hope I'll get the pineapple. Refreshing.

Well, this could go two ways.

I could speak vaguely about the actual Piccolo and confuse this man.

I could just be plain and say a regular piccolo that you rented from a nearby instrument shop.

Neither of them sounds the least bit good. So you chose to go for the first.

No wait, lime. Yes, it's green. Green like..

"It's green, white and purple. It's a custom, limited edition instrument."

"Green, white, purple." He recited back. "Okay. I'm going to have a look around the area to see if I come up with anything. I will take down your number as a follow-up."

Officer Krillin walked down the side of the hill with you. He jotted down your phone number on his notepad. "Don't worry miss, I'll do my best."

You smiled at him, your eyes hiding the hopelessness there. "Thank you, officer." You knew this would be a fruitless endeavor, yet you had to play your part. You waved goodbye before you walked back into the office building. Somehow you completely forgot you had to work for a living.

═══════════════════

Officer Krillin walked around the area, rummaging through the brush on the side of the road and looking into divots in the hillside.

He kept looking down at his notepad, repeating the notion over and over as he scouted the area.

“Green, white and purple…Green, white and purple….”

He stood on the sidewalk and scratched at his temple. “A piccolo that is green, white and purple.” He looked online at a photo of what a piccolo looked like. “Okay, so it’s little green, white and purple then. Just like this picture. Little, green, white and purple.”

He crossed the street and looked in the grass on the opposite side of the street. “Little, green, white and purple. Little, green…little green…..hmmmm.”

He stopped in his tracks, squinting his eyes as the wheels turned inside of his brain. “Little, green. Dende? I wonder how that little guy is doing? Okay, Krillin, she was talking about a piccolo. Little, green, white….piccolo…..PICCOLO!” He exploded. He laughed loudly at this own realization.

He walked back to his motorbike planning to go back to the station and investigate this further. “Now, I have been wrong before, but I just have a hunch she’s talking about our Piccolo. The real question is, how does she know Piccolo?”

His mind wondered how such a brute like him would come into contact with such a beautiful woman like you, let alone she was looking for him as if she wanted to see him again for some reason. It perplexed him.

Though, he pulled himself a hottie himself so anything is possible. If 18 could hear his thoughts now she would laugh, but she also chose him.

But what if there is business with Piccolo? What if something is wrong? She was yelling as the report was written.

He rode faster towards the station where he dropped off his bike and headed for the roof of the manciple building. “Well, there is only one way to find out.” He shot up into the air, flying straight for the lookout.

When he landed on the platform Mr. Popo was diligently pruning his garden. He paid no mind to Krillin as he hummed an offbeat tune to himself.

Dende rushed up to meet Krillin. The smiles across each other's faces were as wide as the horizon beyond the lookout. "Wow, Dende, you've grown so much! You're so much taller than me!"

Dende laughed and reached out to embrace the smaller man in front of him. "How are you? How is everyone?"

"We're all good." He nodded his head. He posed with a thumbs up. "I didn't come here to worry you. I was wondering where Piccolo was?"

Dende turned and pointed towards the building behind him. "I saw him inside."

"Thank you little green." He started off towards the entrance. He could hear Dende over his shoulder, a tinge of irritation in his voice. "Not little....."

"Piccolo?" Krillin called out as he walked the halls in search of the, he looked back down at his notepad again, limited edition, green, white, and purple, piccolo.

Piccolo walked through the threshold of a room meeting Krillin in the hallway. "Thank kami I found you." Krillin laughed, his hand behind his head.

Piccolo looked down at Krillin sternly. It's not always good news when he meets with Krillin. Sudden visits never indicate anything by trouble.

"Hey Piccolo, funny enough, I've been looking for you for hours." Krillin laughed once more. His cheeks red reminiscing at his own cleverness as a police officer. To some, it's might only be considered luck.

Piccolo tensed where he stood. His whole body became rigid. Though you would never be able to tell with his powerful aura. He braced himself for whatever was coming next. Something wrong with Pan? A new enemy?

"So Piccolo, you might not believe this, but I met a woman today who I think is looking for you."

When Piccolo's narrowed eyes didn't soften and he didn't respond, Krillin continued. "It's kind of a funny story actually. Someone came into the station and said there was a woman on a nearby hillside screaming out about a piccolo. I went to see her and she described what the....." Piccolo was already walking away from Krillin before Krillin even realized he was gone.

"Wait, Piccolo!" His small stature only giving him minimal distance towards the Namakian. "Piccolo! I think she's looking for you." Krillin caught up to him. "Do you think that woman meant you? She said the piccolo was green, white and purple." He pointed towards him. "Man, that fits you to a T. But I just don't know why?" Piccolo walks into a room that befits a lofty office. Krillin followed him into the room, stopping short of the large table strewn with books on it. "Why does she care so much about you?"

Piccolo's fist comes down hard on the table. The books quiver about the violent vibration. His voice is deep and pointed. "Would you give it a rest?"

Krillin takes a step backward. "Woah, man, I just thought there is no way what she said was a coincidence." He laughed with his whole chest. "In all seriousness, she did look worried. She said she lost it, well, you."

Piccolo turned away from Krillin. "Leave me be."

Krillin stood quietly for a moment. "What do I tell her then?"

"I don't care what you tell her," Piccolo responded flatly.

Krillin narrowed his eyes, and he felt a sudden sadness wash over him. "Oh."

He walked towards the door and turned back to look towards the Namakian. "Did something happen between you two?"

Piccolo barely looked back over his shoulder. He chose to only look at Krillin through his peripheral. "Even if she does want to see me..." He looked back forward, walking towards the bookshelf against an adjacent wall. "I don't think I can face her after what I did."

Krillin seeing an opening, "just go down and-"

"No."

His shoulders dropped. "Why?"

"I told you to leave me be." He closed the book with a snap.

“I—“

Piccolo whipped around, his cheeks reddened with anger, his chin tilted downward, and his eyes narrowed. He roared at Krillin. “LEAVE!” Which made Krillin witness his life flash before his eyes.

Krillin took off out of the room. A steady push lifted his feet into the air as he took off down towards the ground.

A slew of emotions rippling over him. Mostly the lack of answers leading his confusion.

I haven’t seen Piccolo so worked up in a long time. Why now, and why that woman?

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Part 20

Hello, Apologies for the lateness of part twenty, as it took me some time as I wanted to decide how I wanted this chapter to end and how I wanted it to continue, and I know this chapter isn't four thousand words Like I said, but I decided to create four chapters out of it, as I wanted to explore where the story could go, but anyways please do enjoy the this chapter.

Kyle huffed as he dodged a fist that came from behind him it clenched tight “Pass these out Gaz” Simon said barely giving Kyle the time to catch whatever it was into his hand before his hand disappeared as quickly as it came.

Once Kyle had caught the items he looked at them finding them to be little black ear pieces “Oh man why have they given us the shitty ones” he mutters as he passes them out to you and Johnny, you look at him confused as you slip your bud in, listening to it crackle into a frequency.

“That’s shite,” Johnny said, as he put his in you watched as he winced as the frequency hit his ears “Och Cap’ is there any need for the freq,” he asked as he pulled at his ear trying to lessen the irritation from the frequency.

“Captain Wells is holding the good stuff hostage until we either trade Ven or we get rid of Ven and since I don’t believe in caving to tyrants or trading flesh for goods, we’re stuck with this” John said as he drove, the boys grumble clearly a little annoyed at Wells.

“Where is Alejandro?” you ask, as you pull any strands of hair that may have got trapped between your ear and the piece, Johnny and Kyle went silent their eyes flicking between themselves and then you, before they slightly turned their heads to look at Simon and John over their shoulder.

“He was having medical issues, So he’s back at the base while it gets investigated further, but don’t worry he’s handling the coms and the camera,” Simon said, you nodded your head before your earpiece crackled and Alejandro’s voice came over “Is a sweet omega missing me?” he asked, his voice sounding rough and out of breath.

“Hardly just making sure you weren’t dead or anything” came Simon’s rough reply, You watched as John and Kyle tried to hide their smiles and choked laughs, with their hands as they fiddled with their gear.

“What is this mission about Cap I know it’s mostly recon?” you ask, as you slide to the edge of your seat “It’s simple Venom, there is some research that was stolen and we are to recover and if we can destroy what we can,” John said, as the vehicle made a sharp turn.

“Do we know, what we are looking for?” Johnny asked, as he turned his head to the front “Not as of right now, we will receive more information once we reach base” Simon responded.

“Base? I thought this was going to be a quick mission” you said, as you watched Kyle play with his uniform, “Like I said Captain Wells won’t give us good missions” John said, as the vehicle came to a stop, Johnny and Kyle grumble as the climb out of the car, “Great we get shitty cots and we got an omega to care for” Kyle muttered.

“HEY!” You called back, “I take offence to that" you shout “Sorry Ven, it was hard enough to keep you safe with Alpha we knew let alone ones who have gone possible months without contact from outside their moon pack” Kyle says, as he walks to the boot of the vehicle.

You grumbled as you followed him “So? there was no need to pick on my status” You said as you helped pull out bags, You jumped a little when John’s hand clasped your shoulder, “He’s right Venom, we gotta keep a tighter reign on you now” he said, as he picked up his bag, you grumbled at the mention of being on a tighter reign, they talk as if you were free roaming the first place.

The five of you make your way into the small base, you eye a few of the tents that are dotted around the small area, feeling like thousands of eyes have found their way to and are devouring you at every opportunity, you turn your head to a tent furthest away from the lot only to see a flash of…well something dart back inside of the tent, you shifted your shoulders a little.

feeling uneasy was common for an omega, especially around alphas they didn’t know, nor were they a part of their packs, But this was abnormal it looked as though the place was deserted, Johnny pulled you closer to him wrapping an arm over your shoulder almost like he could sense your discomfort and your worry, then again he probably could, he was one of two who were the most attentive, with you.

As the group marched deeper and deeper into the base Kyle pulled up beside John, whispering something to him before turning his head to you, Simon and Johnny, John nodded his head as he came to a stop turning to you, his voice barely above a whisper “You got something to hide your scent?” he asked, his hands digging into your pockets “I’m wearing my patch does that cover-” you were cut off by Kyle his voice a little strained “No, you still smell like an omega an un-rutted omega but still an omega” he said, as he dropped his bag and pulled out a shirt from his bag and tossing it at you.

You snatched it pulling it close trying desperately to resist the urge to swim in his smell “Wrap that around your waist under your shirt quick” He said as he fixed his bag back onto his shoulders, you quickly followed his instructions tying the shirt around your waist and pulling your shirt back down, “I don’t think-” Johnny begins to say before he was cut off by a much deeper and growler voice.

“Captain John Price and his little team of misfits I never thought I would see you on one of my bases after what happened last time” the voice had said, you looked up to find a tall lanky man who appeared to be in his late thirties if not early forties, the hair slowly greying from it’s natural brown, skin mottled from different tans, as well as a few bruises some looking a little fresher than the others, “Sargent Evans, When did they let you out of nomads?” John asked as he walked closer to the man.

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Part 19 / Part 21

See you around, my little loves.

Kissess.

[anjuschiffer]

Repairing a Broken Hero (if you can even call me that) Chapter 3

...i swear...I'm trying to catch up on fics QQ

tags: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @fairlyfatale @battybatbat @angie500

-

Chapter 3

PREV | FIRST | A03

“Any luck?” Tim asked, Bruce picking up the shouting in the background. He had changed out of his alter ego and was now in the Batmobile, reading Flash’s report. He didn’t find her nor did he find a corpse.

As the saying went. No news is good news. 

She was still out there. Somewhere. ”Did Hood-”

“No. He refused to talk to me. But I left the file behind in case he changes his mind.” Bruce quickly added, noticing another incoming call appearing on his screen.

Black Canary.

Oh, that wasn’t good. “Robin, I’ve got to go.” Without waiting for a response, Bruce hung up and picked up the next call. “Ca-“

“I just read Flash’s report and Oli  just filled me in. What were you thinking? Sending Red Beetle after Mr.Freeze? You put her against her biggest nightmare, her trauma…

What was going through your mind when you made this mission for her? From the looks of it, she clearly wasn’t.”

“She needed to face her issues head on.” He defended himself. “She can’t be part of the Justice League until she learns to reign in her anger and rage.”

“But not this way.” Dinah huffed. “She shouldn’t have been forced to face it on her own like she has been for the past seven years. 

For the past seven years, she didn’t have anyone to guide her, to train her. She had to learn everything by herself…

She was still a kid, Bruce…she still is a kid…and it’s our job to help her manage the rage she’s been carrying in her for the past seven years. Not add to it. 

She was already wary of us and now? I’m afraid we made it worse.”

Bruce went silent knowing Dinah was right. But what choice did he have? 

They didn’t know anything about her and they couldn’t find anything about the supposed defeated nemesis.

Not a single remnant was found regarding Hawkmoth and when Diana interviewed the girl and found out she used magic, it caused Kent to go on high alert. 

While he was usually okay with magic, something about the alleged heroine didn’t sit right with him, pushing him to ask Bruce to test the girl’s moral compass. 

Something about the look in her eyes and the way her magic felt around him; Kent hated the hollowed look in her eyes and the way her magic tended to slither around her, as if desperately trying to anchor itself onto anyone within her range. 

As if trying to stabilize itself with the help of someone else. “-even listening? We have to find her before-”

“Flash didn’t find Red Beetle at her last known location and I couldn't get…the help I needed to try and find her.” Bruce struggled to say, especially that last part. “We’re going to need the services of a certain detective.”

“I hope it’s not who I think it is.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice.” Bruce informed her, steeling himself for what was about to happen. “A magic user is missing, we’re going to need his help.

See you at the Tower.” With that, Bruce made his way back to the WatchTower, contemplating his decision. Dwelling on the thought for a while, he finally huffed before opening up his glove box and taking out what seemed to be a die. 

He crushed it between his fingers before calling Robin again.

“B? What’s-”

“A certain detective will be making his way there. Give him a briefing on the situation. I should be there in 10.”

“On it.” Robin rogered, hanging up with a click.

Bruce hoped this man would still be there when he got there. Then again, there was no telling if he was going to actually help them.

After all, he was a con man first before a detective and a mage…

-

“A cryogenic freezing chamber…” Marinette scoffed as she let go of him, Victor let out a breath, bringing his hand to where the knife was held against his throat, the tips of his fingers feeling the impression left behind. 

He propped himself up, watching as Marinette made her way to the equipment, the furious heroine not once blinking as they held eye contact. 

He hated the way she glared at him, the way her shoulders squared against him. It was a complete 180 from the heroine he was speaking to moments ago.  

She looked exactly as she did when they first met: feral. 

He watched as she raised an arm and then suddenly-

“Marinette! Don’t!” He cried as he reached out towards her when he realized she was about to shatter the glass. “It’s Nora’s! That’s all I have left from her!” He watched her stop her blade a centimeter away. “It doesn’t work anymore.” He explained, noticing her hand shakily lift itself away from the chamber.  

Marinette let out a cry before punching the wall beside them, retracting her hand from the hole she made. 

Dust fell from both her hand and knife as they rejoined Marinette’s side. 

Victor watched as she huffed and puffed, her grasp tightening on the blade in her hand. 

“To think it was you who made this.” She growled out, turning to look at him with glossy eyes. “You.”

“I made it for my wife. I made it to-“

“You made her suffer!” Marinette cried out. “You were making her suffer!”

“She was not suffering!” Victor yelled. “She was in a comfortable slumber, waiting for me to find a cure for her!”  Victor defended himself. “She was-“

“In your delusion of grandeur, she was quietly rotting away, her illness eating away at whatever was left of her! You’re selfishness-“

“It was not a delusion! And I was not selfish! You have no idea what you are talking about!” He yelled, his hands now fists that shook violently at his side. “I made sure the chamber lowered her body’s functions to prevent her cancer from-“

“Tell me the truth Victor.” Marinette quietly said. “In the end, it was all for naught, wasn’t it?” She walked up to him, the tears in her eyes more prominent. 

“If it weren’t for my creation, Nora would’ve already been- I loved her Marinette- no. I love Nora and will forever love her. I love her ‘til this day, Marinette.”

“You just couldn’t accept her fate…your fate.” Marinette said, dropping her transformation. “You couldn’t accept her death because it meant accepting the fact that the two of you weren’t meant to be toget-”

“I let her go, Marinette.” Victor said defeatedly, turning away from her. “I don’t know what Gabriel did that filled you up with all this anger and rage, I don’t know what went on that made you react this way upon seeing Nora’s stasis chamber, but let me tell you one thing.” Victor looked her dead in the eyes. “I wasn’t cretinous enough to keep her alive when I realized I made her cure too late.” 

He walked to the chamber, placing a hand over it. 

He looked at his wedding photo he had placed against the inner wall, a place where he believed Nora would see upon waking from her deep slumber. “By the time I made her cure, Nora’s cancer had already progressed so much that my cure would not have been able to reverse the illness…

So no, I do not think- I do not believe keeping Nora alive while I looked for a cure was for naught. 

I made the cure. 

It was supposed to cure her…

My only flaw was forgetting the most crucial factor against this being a success: time.” 

Victor turned to Marinette. “If I had the chance for a do-over, I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d do it all over again…anything for Nora.” He looked at Marinette, the girl still glaring at him, tears running down her face.

“Even if it meant stealing and killing…again?” Marinette asked.

“In a heartbeat,” he replied with no hesitation. 

“And what if you had a kid?” Marinette threw the curve ball, watching Victor’s eyes widen, his eyes softening a bit. She watched as he ran the thought in his mind, the frown he had turned into a thin line. “Would you still-”

“I would.” Victor said firmly. “But not at the price of making her-our child suffer…if…” Victor held in a warble. “If Nora had left me behind a child…then I would’ve cherished the child to bits. 

After all, that child would be the last thing Nora would’ve left me behind in memory of her.

A gift of our love for one another…

Our love in a tangible form…

Why wouldn’t I care for it? Why wouldn’t I cherish the last remaining piece of Nora?” 

Marinette stood there stunned, trying to understand the man before her. A man who told her he killed and stole to find a cure for his wife. A man who didn’t hesitate to kill if it meant being one step closer to saving his wife…

A man who would stop his madness if only he had a child to hold him back and reign in his sorrow…

Marinette let out a sob, causing Victor to take a step closer to her. “Marinette, are you-”

“You were just like Gabriel…planning, scheming, hurting those around you…all for the supposed sake of your dying wife…” Marinette managed to say despite the tightness in her throat, wiping away her tears. “And yet…you are nothing like him.

Nothing -sob- at all.” She sank to the floor. 

“Gabriel?” Victor asked, “why are you-”

“Why couldn’t he be like you?” She asked him, furiously wiping away her tears. “Why wasn’t he more pragmatic? Why wasn’t he you?” Marinette let out another sob. “If he was…then maybe…maybe…maybe I wouldn't have blindly tried to join the Justice League.”

What? What was she talking about? She had impulsively tried to join the Justice League? For what reason? “If Gabriel had just loved his wife the way you loved Nora, then he would still be here.

He would’ve been at my-”

“Marinette, who are you talking about?” Victor placed a hand on her shoulder. “Who would’ve been-”

“Adrien.” She answered with a sniffle. “If it weren’t for Gabriel, he still would’ve been in Paris. He would’ve been here with me. 

It’s all his fault!” She screamed, slamming her fist against the floor. 

“Who is Adrien?”

“Gabriel’s son… my first love…and…my one and only partner who fought by my side all these years…” she let out a dry laugh. “Can you believe I found that out when I was taking down my nemesis?”

“But what does Adrien have to do with you joining the Justice League?”

Marinette wiped her face one more time before facing Victor with dull eyes.

“He’s missing. He’s been missing for the past year. And my magic isn’t enough to locate him. I need someone else to help me try and find him.”

“Who do you need help from?”

Marinette wiped a tear away, staring as it sat perfectly round on the tip of her finger.  

“John Constantine.”

“

“Tim, why is he here?” Cassandra asked Tim, who was quickly condensing Marinette's information into a single document to read to Constantine. The boy was so immersed in trying to finish the summary as he only answered Cass with a grunt. 

The guy came out of nowhere. 

One minute they were just sitting near the zeta tubes and the next, a giant yellow portal opened in the middle of the floor and Constantine stumbled into headquarters with a lit cigarette in hand and muttering under his breath. 

A ‘how fucking dare you,’ and a ‘you’re using the favor now?’ was heard as he closed the portal behind him. To add on to his annoyance, everyone ran to him when he asked for Batman, he was ignored.

“Are you going to help us find Red Beetle?”

“We’ve lost contact with her while she-“

“-already told all you bloody kids I don’t know why I’m he-” John noticed Tim and walked up to the boy, causing him to jump when he put his shoulders on him. “Baby Bat, where Bat’s?” Tim looked at him appalled by the nickname, but John ignored it. “Bastard had the nerve to call me on my day off-”

“First off, it’s Robin. Second, he’s running late and told me to debrief you on what’s going on.”

John leaned back, crossing his arms. 

“Alrighty then. Yap away.”

“We need your help finding-“

“You want me to help you find someone?” Constantine looked at the others in the room and back at Robin. “Bats called me to help him find a person?” He laughed. “And he’s suppose to be the better detective-“

“If he’s asking for your help it means he couldn’t find her through normal means.” Robin seethed, a scowl forming. “We need you to locate her through magical means.”

“And I’m assuming it’s this Red Beetle everyone and their bloody mother have been crying about?” John asked the obvious, earning glares but he kept smirking. 

“Red Beetle was online when her two trackers turned off and when someone went to check the scene, she was nowhere to be found.

She disappeared without a trace.”

“Uh huh.”

“So we need you to help us-“

“I’ve heard enough.” John opened a portal and was going to head back when he felt pairs of hands pull him back and tell him that he needs to help them. “If she couldn’t be found through your means and if I do end up locating her, then -more often than I can count- she’s in a magical bind and I’m not dealing with whatever shit that would be.

I didn’t tell Bats I owed him a favor for him to drag me into one of your manhunts on a rogue.”

“So you’re not going to help us look for her?” Jaime asked. “If she’s in a bind, then we have to-“

“I’m not going to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, you daft. I know when to stay in my lane. And this-“

“We just need you to locate her Constantine.” Baan spoke up, startling the kids. “We’ll handle the rest.”

“Well, look who decided to finally show up. You should’ve started there, Batsy. What would’ve been better if you were here to begin with instead of these blokes.” John dusted his coat and disposed of his cigarette. “They’re not exactly in their right minds to be taking charge of this manhunt, wouldn’t you say?”

“They’re not in charge. But they are worried about her.” Bruce looked at the teens, some glaring at Constantine till while the others just followed him with their eyes. Observing every movement he made. “How fast can you locate her?”

“Don’t rush me, love. Gotta focus well if you want me to find this girl.” Bruce grunted. “Now, if you kids could move, I’d appreciate that.”

Constantine watched as the teens stepped away from him. “Lovely and now that I have room to breathe again, let’s get this started, shall we?”

Bruce watched as John prepared himself, pulling out a needle from an inner pocket of his coat. “These suckers are to find, ya know? Sold a kidney for this one.”

“There’s no way he did, did he?” Garfield asked. 

“I mean, the man did sell his soul already.” Tim bluntly replied, the others looking at him with a horrified face. 

“I’m going to need the kids full name. And a photo of her.”

John noticed Bruce’s silence, which was hard to miss with everyone else keeping their mouths shut. “Bats. This isn’t going to work if you don’t give me her full name and her photo. Do you want me to find the kid or not?“ Constantine waited for an answer.

Instead, Constantine was given a photo of the girl with the name ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ written under her face. John looked at the photo, not hiding the shock upon seeing her face. “Are you sure this is the girl you’re looking for?” He asked Bruce, Bruce wondering why the usually unserious man was asking him such a question.

“Why are you asking?

“Just a heads up, I might not be able to find her.” John didn’t give Bruce time to ask what he meant by that as he closed his eyes and lifted the needle in front of him. 

They watched with bated breath as he conjured a magic globe, the needle lifting from his fingers as he muttered a spell under his breath. 

They watched as the pin flew off, twirled once around the holograph Earth before it started to sputter and then break, not startling John. He turned to Bruce and narrowed his eyes.

“How in the ever loving fuck did you lose a Guardian, Bats?”

NEXT

[ladylilithprime]

Day 15: Sigils

(Inspired by Somebody Else's Thanksgiving by @posingasme .)

WHEN THE CALL came in from Castiel to meet him at an old abandoned property, Dean almost went alone. With the way he and Sam had seemed to be working weirdly at cross-purposes despite supposedly being on the same page, it was only Castiel's sharp insistence that had him calling for Sam to join him. The way Sam looked at him, like he knew Dean had wanted to leave him behind and was simultaneously resentful and resigned to it made guilt churn in Dean's gut harshly. He shoved it down and waited impatiently for Sam to slide into the Impala's passenger seat before gunning the engine and driving them out to the old shack.

There were two bodies outside, the ground blackened with the shadows of huge wings seared into the ground. Sam made a sound in his throat like a keen that was partway to gagging, and took off for the shack at a run, leaving Dean to curse and follow.

"Cas!" Sam shouted as he flung the door open. "Castiel!"

"I'm here, Sam," the now-familiar gravelly voice answered. The angel stood motionless inside a circle of fire just inside the main room, the walls of the shack painted with bloody sigils, many of which Dean recognized from Bobby's panic room. "Don't break the sigils or the circle of holy fire. It's the only thing keeping them from being able to summon me."

"Who?" Dean demanded, when Sam only swallowed and nodded. "Summon you where?"

"Back to Heaven," came the disquieting answer. "The Archangels don't want you learning what I have to tell you."

"The bodies outside...." Sam started, then stopped, shuddering.

"Angels," Castiel confirmed gravely. "Sent to bring me in. I regret killing them, but I could not let them prevent me from speaking to you. Dean, Sam... Heaven wants the Apocalypse to happen."

"Oh, no," Sam whispered, barely audible around the roaring in Dean's ears.

He wasn't nearly so restrained.

"What the fuck?!" he shouted. "What, so all that running around and saving Seals, was that actually just moving everything along faster?!"

"More an attempt at misdirection and manipulation," Castiel said, shattering Dean's world further. "Only the First and Final Seals are immutable, and with six hundred and sixty-six Seals, only sixty-six of which actually needing to be broken, the Archangels felt it best to direct you to try and save a handful of simple Seals so that you would miss the demons and other angels breaking others elsewhere. The First Seal, you already know. The Final Seal is the death of the First Demon in a desecrated convent in Ilchester."

"The death of the First Demon meaning Lilith," Sam whispered in horror. "Oh, God... Lilith would've led us a merry chase until letting us catch up just in time to kill her and break the Seal...."

"Let you catch up, Sam," Castiel corrected with surprising gentleness. "Two brothers, two immutable Seals... two prophecied Vessels for the Apocalypse. While you would have been led to Lilith, Dean would have been sequestered away to await the appointed time to agree to be Michael's Vessel--"

"Leaving me alone and in position to be taken as Lucifer's after Lilith tricked me into letting him out," Sam finished woodenly.

"Like hell're those dickless asshats getting anywhere near me, or Sammy!" Dean growled, finding his voice and trying not to feel that stab of guilt at the surprise that crossed Sam's face at his vehemence. "So how do we derail things?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted, spreading his hands in supplication when Dean glared at him. "Truly, I don't. Angels are created to serve and follow orders, and free thought and feeling is considered an aberration. Even with these defects, I am not suited to creative thinking the way humans are. The best idea I could think of was to give you two all the information and hope you could think of an option I couldn't."

Silence reigned for a long moment as Dean processed that while Sam stared off into the distant space between molecules or whatever it was he was looking at when he did that. The only sound besides his and Sam's breathing was the low roar of the ring of fire that was apparently important enough to Castiel to have burning that he would say not to distupt it even though it looked like he could barely move.

"What happens if they can't take us?" Sam asked after a long moment. "Michael and Lucifer. They're Archangels, and Lucifer is Fallen, but they're still angels. They have to get our permission first. So what happens if we say no?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "That is not something anyone in Heaven or Hell believes will happen, as neither will care overly much how they gain your consent so long as they do gain it. I suspect that Michael might become impatient enough to raise your half-brother Adam for the purpose as an imperfect back-up, but you have no such half-siblings by your mother for Lucifer to take."

"So it's just me that needs to be taken out of play," Sam murmured, sending a chill down Dean's spine.

"Sammy," he said warningly.

"You know it's true, Dean," Sam said, sounding so fucking young and weary all at once. "Michael's got a back-up if he can't force you to agree, but I'm Lucifer's only option. If we can take me out before Lilith is ready to make her move--"

"Then the Archangels would simply resurrect you after wiping this conversation from your memory," Castiel broke in sharply. "Sam, I implore you, do not be so quick to give up your life on a slim hope!"

"What he said," Dean huffed grudgingly. "I went to Hell once to keep you alive, little brother, don't think I won't do it again!"

"Don't think I'll let you," Sam snapped back. "And I'm not talking about me dying. Not exactly. But I may have an idea. I just don't know how much Castiel is gonna like it, and I know you aren't gonna like it. At least I know I'll be able to stomach the taste."

"I don't have to like it if it keeps you alive and out of the Devil's clutches," Dean said, staring his brother down. "I learned a long time ago that the only order of Dad's I can't follow is to let you die. Ever. So lay it on me."

"It's risky," Sam warned. "And kinda crazy."

"Crazy's kinda what we do these days," Dean pointed out with a sweeping gesture towards the sigil-marked walls, trapped angel, and the entire damn Apocalypse mess beyond.

"Okay, then," Sam nodded slowly. "Do you still have Lenore's number?"

[miko32]

Born into the Seven Ruler's of Devildom

I was isekai'd to a world in a book. The title was "Kristin in the Harem of the Seven Demon Lords." Like its title, a human named Kristin was brought to Devildom against her will and had to survive through the temptation of the seven demon lords, who were brothers and avatars of the seven sins.

The seventh brother, Belphegor, the Avatar of Sloth.

The sixth brother, Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony.

The fifth brother, Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust.

The fourth brother, Satan, the Avatar of Wrath.

The third brother, Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy.

The second brother, Mammon, the Avatar of Greed.

The first brother, Lucifer, the fallen angel, the Avatar of Pride. My father. The one who succeeded in seducing the human Kristin and impregnating her.

I was in shambles with the ending. Lucifer had kicked Kristin out, banished to the swamp and died giving birth. The baby survived and was named Leilel by Kristin, and that baby is me.

I'm Leilel Morningstar, the child of Lucifer Morningstar.

CHAPTER LIST

1, 2, 3, 4, 5,

TAG LIST (If anyone wants to be tag, just comment and tell me what you think, I will love to hear your opinion 🤗)

@f0uerleafedcl0ver , @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf

Chapter 6 --- I'm still in Hell

Three days later, the students of RAD are in an uproar. Every demon has the newest newspaper. The front page is loudly written:

"MEPHISTOPHELES, THE TRUE LOYAL LORD TO THE CROWN OF DEVILDOM, DIAVOLO, CERBERUS BREEDING IS SHUT DOWN!"

I stared at the title with bored eyes. So loudmouthed. Then I read the columns.

The Cerberus Breeding. An operation built by the Demon Lord, Jezelbub, who rebelled against the crown Prince of Devildom, Lord Diavolo. For almost a decade, this operation had been going on under the noses of Lord Diavolo's reign. Entrusted to the Seven Demon Brothers, who had no result at all....

I snorted at that. It's obvious Mephistopheles is mocking the demon brothers.

The demon brothers had only found small clues, a clean scene, unreliable eyewitnesses, yet thousands of hell dog homeowners still went missing due to the operation.

Now, homeowners' pets may rejoice thanks to the greatness and true demon from the House of Lords, Mephistopheles.

"IS SHUT DOWN!" shouted from the picture of Mephistopheles in front of the warehouse.

"Hm," I mumbled, feeling a little satisfied that Mephistopheles' hatred toward the Demon Brothers ran so deep that he wrote about them being deemed as useless. I smirked, then neatly folded the paper and carefully put it in my satchel, making my way to the colosseum for Mephistopheles' award.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"GIVE IT UP FOR MEPHISTOPHELES!!!"

I covered my ears, laughed, and clapped my hands with the other students as they cheered and chanted Mephisto's name as he ascended the stage. Pride evident in his steps and a big smile adorning his face, he laughed and waved at the crowd. Diavolo accompanied him, shaking his hands, while flying cameras with bat wings captured their photo.

"Demons of Devildom, may I present," Diavolo gestured to Barbatos, who was carrying a big red box. It opened to reveal a golden crown of thorns. "The Bright Thorn of Devildom!"

The crowd gasped in awe at the magnificent crown and clapped their hands. I too was amazed. The crown was only bestowed upon the most devoted demons who had contributed to the Crown Heir of Devildom's works. I don't know if the Seven Brothers had ever receive this. Did they?

Wow. Just my information could lead Mephisto to receive this? I need to ask for more favors from him.

Diavolo then crowned Mephistopheles. He thanked his Lordship, and Diavolo allowed him to take the podium for his speech. The crowd cheered as Mephistopheles did.

Mephisto raised his hand to silence the crowd. "Now, all students of RAD, I could not be credited for all of this," Mephisto said. "For it is the loyalty of our Crown Prince, Lord Diavolo, that has pushed me to the limit. As such..."

Mephisto continued, bragging about his loyalty, all for the glory of Lord Diavolo. I shook my head. The book talked about Mephisto being absolutely in awe of Diavolo. Seeing him in real life on stage, green eyes sparkling with admiration, like a kid looking up to his idol. It's kind of cute.

...

What the... What am I thinking? I shook my head. Maybe because the adult mind inside me. I may be thirteen, but added with my first life, I should've been thirty years old at least. So I'm way much older on the inside. I huff through my nose.

No Leilel, not with a demon. Never with a-

Suddenly, my body shivered in a different sense. I look up and my eyes caught the demon at the far corner of the stage, Lucifer. His deep red eyes bore into me.

It's like an arrow shoot right into my chest. I held my breath in fear, feeling like a predator being cornered by its prey. Lucifer red eyes look deep into my soul, sucking all the life in me. I clench my fist at my side and move away, slowly. Away from his peering gaze and turned back. I sneaked out from the crowd, exiting the colosseum.

I didn't feel his stare again, but maybe that's just wishful thinking.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I decided to hide in Mephistopheles' office. I'm sure he won't mind. We still had some business to do. Like changing my shackle. My wrist felt heavy and felt like being cut off. Mephistopheles has to change the term on the seal he put on my wrist. Soon, it'll be a protection spell.

I was almost fell asleep on the expensive vintage couch, when the door of the office bursts open. 

"Forgive me, fellas, I have business to take care of." Mephisto says to the demons who had come to admire him. He must have noticed me and kept the door ajar to hide me. 

"Aww, Mephisto, another work to do?"

"You’ve solved one of the highest operations, and you're still gonna work?"

"Celebrate, man!"

"I’m sorry, it's just this one deal I had to take care of. Goodbye!" Mephisto slams the door. He sighs and turns at me with a smile. "Now, where were we?" he stride around the room and takes a seat across from me. Unlike the other day, his smile is genuine, like a salesman to his biggest client. His eyes lit up. "Oh! I forgot! I should offer my guest a beverage!"

He starts to stand when I stop him. "No need, let's discuss our deal first."

Mephistopheles stop and sighs as he sits back. He doesn’t seem to like this. Well, he was cocky enough to accuse me of being one of the rebels. Mephistopheles leans forward, hands folded over his lap, and say the demon's magic word. "Well, what do you desire, Lami?"

I bit my lower lips, remembering Lucifer's red eyes at the colosseum "First of all, did you tell Lucifer about me?"

"Wha-no!" Mephisto huffs, leaning back on his coach. "I kept my promise!" I glower at him. Mephistopheles pursed his lips and asks, "Still, I wonder, why wouldn’t you take any credit for this?"

"Because that’s where our deal will be." I answer and lean forward. "I want your support and protection from any demons in this school who would bother my school life, and that includes the seven lords."

Mephistopheles' eyes widen, and he strokes his chin in thought. "The other demons, I get that. But why the seven lords?"

I almost rolled my eyes. Still suspicious, huh? I can't tell him that I'm Lucifer's daughter that he might put me through torture and kill me. Guess I have to pull out my trump card. "Let’s just say I don’t have any faith in any of the former angels who call themselves demons."

Mephistopheles whole body flinch in surprised. He blinks, and suddenly laughs. "Aha ha! Is that so? Well," Mephistopheles chuckled, hand over his chin. "We have the same thought, Lami."

No, we don’t. I just know that from the book. I smile back. "Oh, we do?" Mephistopheles nods, leaning on his hand as he gives me a smile. It felt, genuine and cute. I cough. "Anyway, I will only need your protection until I can get into the exchange program."

"The exchange program?"

"Yes, I plan to go to the human world, to tempt humans. It has been my dream since I was a little girl."

"Ugh, such a common dream for demons," Mephisto mumbles.

I ignored his comment. "So, do we have a deal?"

Mephisto smiles at me and again pulls out his gloves, offering his right hand. "It's a deal."

Once we shake hands, the seal on my wrist glows, changing our contract. He lets go to let me look at my wrist with the newest seal. My protection, my promises of the future. Now, I’ll just wait for time to go by. Then I’ll be in my real world, the human world.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

That night,

"Give me my money back, scumbag Mammon!!!"

"Why don't ya just shake me, maybe I'll rain money from my pants!"

The avatar of envy did so, shaking the second-born with all his might. Mammon shouted at his brother to stop. They both continued to shake each other off.

There was a meeting between the demon lords in the council room of RAD. All six demons were seated together at the round table. Satan read his book despite his rowdy brothers. Asmodeus hummed while looking at himself in the mirror. Belphegor slept on the table while his twin brother Beelzebub chewing candy.

Then, the first-born stepped in, Lucifer. Mammon and Levi, who were still bickering with each other. Two fists smacked on top of their heads.

"Ow!"

"Hey! What's the big idea?!"

They both flinched under Lucifer's red eyes. "Be quiet!" He commanded and sat in the middle. "The meeting starts."

Satan was the first to speak.

“I have collected the necessary curses for the demons responsible for the Cerberus Breeds. All the most torturous curses, even the deadliest ones." Satan let out sinister laughs.

"Hold your horses, Satan," Asmo hummed to his brother.

Beel raised his hand. "Lucifer, what will happen to the dogs that were used?"

"Diavolo has decided to keep the dogs and treat them. I had Levi find some professional demons to handle this," Lucifer replied, turning to the third-born.

"Oh, oh yeah, here," Levi handed Lucifer the papers. The first-born looked through the papers and then back to his brothers.

They continued discussing shutting down the operation. The talk between them smoothed down into a debate about how Mephistopheles found the first base operation.

"I mean, the guy could have just happened to come across it," Mammon said.

"Are you really that much of an idiot?"

"LOL, LOL," Levi exclaim, typing to his D.D.D. "Mammon said. "Mephisto finding it was a 'coincidence,' so stupid! And tweet!"

"Oi! Why do you have to tweet that?!"

"Levi, you're not supposed to tweet our meeting,"

"That's what worries you?!"

BANG!

The demon brothers turned to the door, where two human exchange students stood.

"Hi, everyone~~" Carina greeted. The other human, a plain boy with glasses and pale skin, lifted his hand.

"Hi, sorry to bother you,"

Lucifer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are you two doing here?"

The boy frightened as he hid behind Barbatos who escorted the two humans. Barbatos explain. "Forgive our interruption, but Carina refused to go home until the brothers are done."

"I-I..." the boy stuttered. "Didn't want..."

"Awww~ Mathieu, are you gonna keep hiding behind Barbatos?" Asmo stood, leaning over the table with a mischievous smile. "He's also a demon too, you know?"

Mathieu shrieked and jumped away from Barbatos. Barbatos only smiled.

Lucifer's eyebrow stress became more evident. "Aren't you responsible for tonight's dinner, Carina? Don't be selfish and go home."

"Awww... I can't just leave you all behind~~" Carina pouted, putting on her puppy eyes. But none of the demon brothers swayed, giving Carina a dead look. Mathieu gulped down his throat, Carina blinked at the brothers, confused by their response.

"Why don't you all have a meal here?" Barbatos suggested. "It has already passed dinner," He checked his watch. "There may be leftover from the cafeteria. I shall fetch some food from there."

"Oh yeah!"

"You're the demon, Barbatos!"

"Bring back at least a hundred dishes, please."

"We are quite famished, thank you very much, Barbatos."

Barbatos nodded and was about to close the door when Carina stopped him. "Tha-thank you so much, Barbatos." She had a shy smile, blushing cheek, fiddling with her fingers.

Barbatos stared at her, and gave his cold-butler smile. "Of course," He closed the door a bit hard in her face. Carina gasped, offended, and stomped her foot.

She looked over at the brothers. Now Mathieu was in the center of attention. The demons were asking Mathieu's opinion on how Mephistopheles found the warehouse.

"I-I-I mean," Mathieu stuttered, fixing his glasses. "Meph-Mephisto? Could've... found the spell? (Was it a spell) That mirrors are the hideaway (somehow), that-that's how he found it, right?"

Satan nodded. "Okay, but... How did he find the right spot where the mirror is?"

Mathieu shrugged. "I-I-I really don't know, why not, ask him?"

"Hah!" Belphegor exclaimed, startling Mathieu. Belphie's expression was bored as he leaned on his hand. "That guy has loose lips, but when it comes to this, he was very secretive,"

"Yeah, even to Lord Diavolo." Beel said. "It was very surprising,"

"What if it wasn't him?" The brothers stopped and turned to Lucifer, who stated his opinion. "I suspect that he was helped by another demon."

Satan scoffed. "Aha! Are you going to be suspicious of him every time he does something good for Diavolo?"

"What is that supposed to mean, Satan?"

"You know what I meant. You don't like that Mephisto solved this and not you."

"Actually," the brothers turned to the voice belongs to Carina. "Three days ago, I did see a particular demon walk into his office a day before Mephistopheles busted the warehouse."

"Huh?"

"What did she say?"

"Stupid Mammon, are you deaf now?"

"Hey!"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, pondering Carina's words. "Who is this demon?" he asked, almost commanding.

Carina looked surprised, hand over her mouth. "Lami, that new demon. I wanted to be her friend, so I followed her. That's when I saw her went into Mephistopheles's office." Carina gasped and changed her tone to dismissive. "Ah, but, this is just a theory, she could've just wanted to join the newspaper RAD, right?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. If the demon swamp wanted to join, Mephistopheles would never consider it. He wouldn't even let any lower demons step into his office. Lucifer turned to the second-born. "Mammon, you are in the same class as her, yes?"

Mammon looked sideways. "Uuuh, yeah?"

"Keep an eye on her."

"Huh? Why me?!"

"Idiot, you're in the same class as her." Lucifer exhaled. "It is best to keep an eye on new demons; we never know whether they are loyal to Lord Diavolo or not."

Mammon pout, grumbling under his breath. "I don't like her!"

"Huh? First week, and you already don't like her?" Asmo chuckled, eyes flirting. "Fufufu, what did she do, is it scandalous?

Mammon glared disgust at Asmo, then looked at Mathieu and Carina. Mammon slump down into his chair and whispering. "Because she is supposed to be the new demon, not her."

The brothers were quiet in the room. Mathieu could feel the change and remained still like a rock. Carina scrunched her eyebrow in confusion.

"Mammon." Leviathan leaned forward. "You know that we're still looking for her,"

"And we will not stop looking for her," Lucifer said the final word. The brothers humm agree. Leaving Mathieu and Carina out of the circle. One of them is very upset.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The moon is at its lowest peak as I walk back to my dorm room at ten pm. Ten!

"Urgh!!!" I grumble under my breath. That history teacher is so petty, putting me in detention for a week! A week! Petty demons! They're the worst kinds of creatures. I hate, hate, hate them!

My eyes spot a 666 leaf clover. The green color reminds me of Green Blops. If he were here, seeing me angry, he would've faced me, with his arms crossed and looking at me.

I sigh and begin my ritual. Take a deep breath and let go. I did it again.

When I was a child, I had my moments of tantrum. Even with a mind of an adult, you can still get mad like a child. I refused to eat anything the Blops gave me, which made Red so sad. I was violent with Yellow and Orange, I didn't see they were hurt. I was pushy and annoyed with Green and Purple. I rejected everything nice Pink gave me. Until it hit the limit when Blue was scolding me, I shouted at him that I hate him because he's a demon.

I remember Blue's face when I said that. He was shocked, really shocked. When I thought he was gonna punish me, his face got neutral, no smile, no scowl, nor glare, nothing. Instead, he turned his back away and ignored me. I was surprised but decided to ignore him too. It went on for a week, with all the six Blops following after Blue. They still gave me food, bath, and clothed me. But there were no kisses and hugs, the Blops wouldn't play with me, they wouldn’t talk with me. They just left me alone. On the seventh day of the week, I cried so loud, asking for forgiveness.

Of course, the Blops quickly forgave me. There were kisses and hugs and how awful it was for the Blops to hold back. Blue told that every Blop understands. The shout, the violence, and the hate towards demons are just anger I kept inside for Lucifer.

So I told the Blops everything. From the memory when I was a human, to be reborn as Lucifer’s daughter, and asking why am I put into this situation. There are so many humans in the world, and I was the one who isekai into an awful unfortunate character.

The Blops didn’t understand, but they still love me the same. In fact, they love me more than ever. So did I.

Green then taught me how to meditate, to control my anger, and not to bottle everything in me. The Blops told me to tell them everything that is in my heart. And I always did, and the Blops always comfort me.

I open my eyes, feeling a bit relieved. I decided to let the teacher have it my way. It doesn’t matter if I had a week detention. On weekends, I’ll be back in my cabin with my Blops, talking bad things about Miss Vile.

Ufufu. I’ve already imagined Pink and Yellow when we gossip.

I had a smile as I walked in the dorm building. I reached my room with a hum and placed my hand on the doorknob.

BANG!

"Hello, little demon~"

Someone grabbed my mouth and slammed me against the doors. My eyes widened as I recognized who it was. It was the same demon who walked me to my room on the first day. My body froze.

"Ahahah, it's so easy to munch little demons like yourself," the demon licked his lips with a twisted smile and lustful eyes. I shivered in fear, my mind went blank. "Already excited, heh? How about we do it in your room?"

His words snapped me out of my entrance, and I struggled. He strengthened his holds, nails digging into the skin of my shoulder. I scream under his palm.

"Stop struggling, you bitch!"

I panicked and grabbed his arm holding my mouth. Then I saw. A purple glow flashed before us.

“Argh! What is this??!”

He let me go. I felt power surging through from Mephisto’s mark on my wrist. Like an ocean wave, the surge power pushed the demon far away to the end of the hallway into a window that was suddenly open by itself, and he went flying.

I watched as he faded away. His scream became distand. I gasped for breath and went fumbling with my keys to open my bedroom door and crawled inside. I closed the door with my back. It took forever with my trembling fingers to lock the door, twice. Then, I screamed and cried on my knees. I didn't care if any demons heard me. Hell, they might have heard and wouldn't care a thing.

Thoughts flooded in of what could've happened. That demon was really going to molest me. I could've-

I felt my stomach churn, and I threw up on the floor. All the contents from my stomach was emptied. When it was over, I stared at the leftover food I had this evening. Then I cried and lay beside my own retch. I didn't care about the smell. I only wanted my trembling body to subside.

This was a reminder that I was still in hell.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning arrived, and I felt terrible. I had a headache, stomach cramps, and was in a completely rock bottom mood. I really didn’t want to go to school, but I had to since it's still the first week. I couldn’t afford another bad rap with a teacher. In fact, they might use this to bully me. Mocking my background. I really had enough.

Fortunately, no demons were talking about last night. They might not even care or might be too busy discussing Mephistopheles' success and the exchange program. Lucky me.

All day, I kept my head down and stayed alert, hoping I wouldn't pass by that demon from last night. There’s no way he would let go of what happened. In fact, he must've planned something to torture me. Maybe giving me a cursed object? Hypnotizing me, drugging me—anything could happen!

I felt like throwing up again, but I held on with my hand over my mouth. I hadn't eaten anything this morning, but my stomach felt sick, like when you ride a roller coaster after eating.

Half the day had gone by, and it was lunchtime. I was walking in the hallway between students toward the cafeteria.

"Agh!" I felt my cape being pulled back. My foot almost lost its balance, and I looked over my shoulder, my body freezing.

"What are you doing?" Mammon asked with a smirk, as if he had caught me stealing a cookie jar.

"I... wha!" I yelped. Mammon pulled me forward by my red cape. "Hey!!!" I protested as I tried to keep my feet on the ground. Then I felt someone grab my arm.

“Mammon! Don’t pull her like that!” Carina protested, pulling me toward her. I leaned backward while Mammon still grabbed my cape. My posture probably looked stupid, as all the students were watching us.

“Argh! Shut up, human!” Mammon pulled my cape again.

I grabbed my cape, begging him. "Wh-what do you want from me?!"

Mammon frowned, looking at me as if I’m stupid. My heart twisted with fear. If Mammon had figured me out, this might be why he's bothering me right now – he's going to act all obsessed with me. My brain imagined all the possible ways this could go.

"Wait! Please, just," I stuttered, frantically looking around the hallway for an escape. "Please, let me go," I pleaded, holding back tears. Mammon tilted his head.

“Mammon, come on, don’t pull the poor little girl,” Carina said.

I glanced at her smiling at me. She reminds me of Kristin. Even in hell, she still tries to be nice to everyone. To a demon. I gulped down my throat. Both of us are poor, unfortunate souls. Doomed for a lifetime of torture from the demons here in Devildom. But unlike Carina, I’m going to survive. I’m going to survive from this dem-!

Mammon released my cape. I gasped as I was released. Mammon stared at us, hand on his hips. I took a deep breath and tried to think of an escape. If I ran, Mammon would catch me for sure.

"Let's go, I'm hungry!" Mammon exclaimed and walked away.

“Come on, Lami!” Carina still grabbing my arm, pulling me forward. My body is still completely stiff from the shock and I just followed. But, if there is a slight opening, I’ll run like hell.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: my little girl

authors note: roman being soft with his youngest (as of this oneshot). we love to see it. this is dreamland based.

*gif belongs to @romanreigns*

words: 3k

warnings: fluff galore, some angst

It happens every so often. Not a ton, but definitely on more than one occasion.

Where the house is empty sans the pets and one or two children.

Typically, it occurs over a weekend where there’s some type of overlap between the older kids' extracurriculars. This time, it’s Lina having a volleyball conference out of town, Leya tagging along to go support her sister, Tama attending a football camp, and Koa and Kai at some type of weekend tech training for kids. Roman doesn’t really understand what that last bit entails, but they, along with the rest of the family all have their security details with them, Jacob with the girls, and Zilla and Lance with the boys. They’re safe, and that’s all that matters to him.

However, with everyone else gone. That just leaves him and his youngest. 

Little Ms. Aroha Reigns.

The same little girl who’s currently using her equally little hands to try to shake him awake. “Daddy.” The dichotomy of her trying to keep her voice down while also wanting to wake him up makes him smile a little. “Daddy, you gotta get up.”

He knows he does, but a part of him wishes she would have slept a little longer. Her tiny body curled against him, as she’s always scared to sleep in her room by herself when her siblings are away. It’s too quiet in that wing of the house for her, hence her sleeping with him and bringing Coco with her. 

But, Roro is up now. There’s no going back.

Roman groans quietly and rolls onto his back, opening his eyes to see her staring down at him, just as alert and awake as all the outdoors. 

She's clearly pleased at her wake-him-up victory. “Daddy, you’re up!”

He chuckles. “I’m up, but why are you up?”

She pouts, and his smile reappears. “Cause we gotta make breakfast.”

“We do?”

She nods happily, informing him like he doesn’t live there. “Mommy always makes breakfast.”

She’s not wrong about that. Roman can only recall a few times where his wife hasn’t gotten up early just to ensure their family starts off their day the right way with full stomachs. He’s tried to tell her countless times that she doesn’t have to, but he sees it’s something that brings her joy. The cooking, but specifically, the cooking for them.

So, he leaves her be, and obviously, the importance of this now tradition is something that’s been burned into his youngest child’s head. 

Roman clears his throat and rubs his eyes, asking, “whatchu’ want us to fix, baby girl?” 

With raised fists of excitement, she shouts, “sparkle pancakes!”

Roman laughs a little. “Daddy knows how to make regular pancakes.” One of the few meals he’s learned how to prepare over the years. The Tribal Chief knows his place when it comes to the culinary arts. That’s all Solana. Definitely not him.

Again, there’s that pout. “Regular pancakes are boring.” Her eyes light up. “I’ll show you how to make sparkle pancakes! Mommy taught me.”

Another not surprising thing. Similar to Leya, Aroha has shown an interest in cooking and baking, often wanting to help her big sister and mom when it comes time to prepare food. 

Aroha has clearly set her mind to this being the plan, thus her trying to shove on him to get him moving. “Come on, daddy!”

Roman gives one more heavy sigh before sitting up, scooping Aroha up with him as he climbs out the bed, seeing Coco still sleeping away.

“Hygiene first, kiddo.” Roman carries her into his master bathroom, setting her on the counter as she grabs her toothbrush from her little section of stuff he already set up for her. Together, they get teeth brushed, faces washed, and Roman does a lazy bun with his hair but focuses on getting her ponytail just right as she talks away about all of the “fun” things she wants to do with him this weekend.

He doesn’t mind. Roman can’t recall the last time it was just the two of them, so he’ll do whatever she wants—within reason—to make this weekend special for her.

After letting the dogs outside and putting out their breakfast, Roman and his youngest get started on their own. He lets Aroha lead, allowing her to walk him step-by-step through her unsurprisingly detailed tutorial. Even the parts that are no-brainers, because she clearly enjoys feeling like she’s the one teaching him. 

She does get a little heavy handed with the sprinkles, probably more than Solana would approve of, but Roman also knows his daughter. Knows that while she may be on a bit of a sugar rush for a part of the day, when she crashes, she crashes hard. 

She’ll be knocked out for the night when all is said and done, so he’ll just give her the now.

And they sit in the living room, using trays to share their breakfast together, Roman having to ‘force’ her to drink orange juice instead of the chocolate milk she could finish all on her own if left alone.

Kid has a sweet tooth like him.

Grabbing the remote, he asks right as she sticks her fork into her stack of two pancakes, “whatcha’ wanna watch?”

Her eyes squint as she deliberates over this very important question, finally settling on, “Inside Out!”

Roman smiles a little. That was one of his guesses. “Which one?” Of the four films, he knows she doesn’t really have a favorite, but it’s still worth asking.

She lifts her index finger, answering with excitement, “the first!”

Roman nods. “The first it is.” 

Navigating to Disney Plus, selecting Roro’s profile, he hits play on the film that’s already in her watchlist. Settling back on the sofa beside her, the two eat together, Aroha taking time in between bites of food to explain certain things. If she doesn’t end up doing something with animals, he can see her being a teacher. At seven, she’s pretty damn good with explaining stuff. 

Aroha’s adorable giggling is music to his ears as she points at the TV. “That’s you, daddy.” 

Roman looks up at the TV from the phone that he was using to send a quick check-in text to the rest of his family when he’s met with one of the scenes of Anger, well, being angry.

He scowls, disagreeing. “That is not me.”

“Yes, it is,” she laughs, climbing off the sofa and moving in front of him to provide a demonstration. “You get all angry like this,” Roman laughs as Aroha attempts to provide an example of how Roman turns up his face when irritated, disgusted, or….angry. “Kids! Get down here now!” The laughter continues as she clearly tries to mimic him. “Roro! Time for bed! Koa, Kai, time to get off the games! Tama, Lina, Leya, come help bring in these groceries!”

Roman shakes his head as she climbs back on the sofa, on her knees, looking up at him. “That really me?”

Aroha shakes her hand. “Mommy says you can be a grump, but I don’t know what that means.” She finishes with a confused look, shrugging indifferently as she refocuses back on the film. 

Thinking, probably overthinking, about what she said, Roman finds himself hitting the pause button a few minutes later.

She turns to him with a frown. “Daddy?”

“Aroha…..” Roman angles his body toward her. “I know….I get angry sometimes, but you know it’s never at you, right?” Because that’s something Roman has always done his best to be mindful about, not losing his temper with and on his kids. They might frustrate him from time to time, because they’re kids, but he would never want them to be scared of him.

That would kill him.

“I would…..I would never yell at you or your siblings or your mom like that.” It’s a bit difficult for him to explain given her young age, but he has to try. Has to make sure she understands that she’s always safe with him. 

“Daddy, you’re never mean to us.” She says it so sweetly, like she almost can’t believe he would even ask such a thing. “You’re the best daddy ever.”

Feelings. So many feelings. Things he used to shield and shove away like they were something to be embarrassed of. But, falling in love, becoming a parent, it’s all made him realize that there’s nothing wrong with them. They’re normal and okay to have.

And he has a bunch of them festering with such kind, genuine words from his daughter. Roman pulls her into his side, kissing the top of her head. “thanks, kiddo.” It’s all he wants in life. To do right by her. By all of his kids.

By his family.

“You’re welcome, daddy.” She peers up at him, in all of her randomness, asking, “can I do you hair?”

Roman smiles and laughs, not sure where it’s coming from but obliging her, nonetheless. “Sure.”

She cheers and climbs off the sofa, running off, probably to get the ‘supplies.’ He takes the opportunity to check his phone, seeing missed texts from his wife. 

Solana: We’re good, my love. 

Solana: I’d ask how you guys are doing, but it’s not needed.

Solana: She’s with her favorite person. And vice versa. ❤️

Roman chuckles as he types out a reply. 

Roman: I’ll probably take her out in a lil bit.

Roman: Dogs need more food.

Solana: You wanna take her to the pet store with you?

Solana: Well, send me pictures of the latest pets. 😉

Roman shakes his head. 

Roman: I’m not getting her anymore pets, babe.

Solana: Lol. Okay. 🙂

Roman readies to reply and defend himself when Roro comes back in the living room with one of her sparkly backpacks as she directs him to sit on the floor. He climbs down, as Aroha hops on the sofa behind him and gets to work.

He hits play on the movie as she takes his hair down and does a lot of probably unnecessary brushing and combing, all the while explaining her actions. As always, he just lets her do her thing, playing into and supporting her along the way.

They stay like this for the duration of the movie, after which Roman asks the unnecessary question as to if Roro wants to go with him to pick up more food for Coco and Max. It’s a no-brainer, because the way that little girl rushes to get dressed and is ready to go in less than fifteen minutes should be studied.

So, after cleaning the kitchen and Roman throwing something on, he’s out the door with his mini-me who talks almost the entire car drive, not that he minds. He remembers times like this with Leya and Lina.

It goes by so fast. He just wants to enjoy the here and now.

Wants to revel in her being cute and little for as long as he can. 

But, it’s that cuteness that’s about to get him in trouble and eat his words as soon as they’re about to checkout at the pet store when Aroha passes the animals.

The bunnies. 

She gasps, letting go of his hand, rushing over to the small selection. It doesn’t bother him that much, mostly and largely because he had the entire store cleared and has security stationed around the place. Inside and out.

He never takes any chances when it comes to his kids. Especially little Roro.

 “Look, daddy!” Roman walks over, leaving the cart unattended to see the two small bunnies that have caught his daughter’s attention. “They’re so little….”

“They are.” He knows where this is going. Knows exactly where this is going, a part of him wishing he had listened to Solana. Taking her here with him maybe wasn’t the best idea. 

With sadness in her cute little voice, she realizes, “they’re here, because….because they don’t have a home.” 

“Not yet,” he answers, taking her other hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “But, they’ll get one.”

With hopeful eyes, she looks up, asking that question he was dreading. “Can they come home with us?”

Roman shuts his eyes.

Damn.

“Baby…..” He sighs, trying to explain in as calm and gentle voice as possible. “We already have the dogs and Nala.” Nala being the kitten his animal loving child found and rescued, hiding in her room for almost a week before being discovered.

The memory makes him chuckle a bit. That was….something else. 

Aroha’s frown deepens as places her hand up on the glass, looking at them before gazing back at him with those big, sad eyes. Solana’s. She has her mothers eyes. “But, everyone needs a family.”

And it’s that single sentence that seals the deal.

An hour later, Lola and Thumper are the latest additions to the Reigns household, Roman spending more than what was necessary to get all of the supplies Aroha wanted for her latest “little babies.” 

The smile on her face is more than worth it for Roman, however, as he sets everything up in her room for the bunnies. 

And it’s even on her face as she finds him a little later in the day, plopping her body on top of him as she takes a nap, needing a respite before tackling the rest of the day. 

But, it’s as she sleeps peacefully on top of his chest, her little lips partially open, breath escaping and chest moving up and down as she holds onto him that Roman reflects.

47 seconds. 

That’s exactly how long Aroha went without breathing when she was born. 

Roman has really only ever experienced fear a couple times in his life, most of which have revolved around his family. His wife. His children.

But, the day that Aroha was born, the minute Solana welcomed her into the world and instead of being met with the sound of their daughter's wails, thus officially making her grand entrance into the world......they were met with silence.

Aroha didn’t cry. She didn’t cry, because she wasn’t breathing.

And it’s those 47 seconds that stretched and felt like fucking hours as the labor team went to work on their not even a full five minutes old daughter.

Roman will never forget the sheer terror that set in the minute Solana realized what was happening. “She’s not breathing.” With her medical background, it was both an easy and horrifying thing to realize. “Why—why isn’t she breathing? Something’s wrong.”

The reason, that they would find out later, being something called Birth Asphyxia. The cause having something to do with Solana not having enough oxygen in her blood during childbirth. To this day, he doesn’t truly understand fully. But, at that time, he wasn’t concerned with why his daughter wasn’t breathing.

He just wanted her to be okay.

Aroha was rushed to the NICU where she received the best care money could buy, including some type of whole body ��cooling” treatment that was apparently significant in her care. But, at seven days old, they conducted an MRI that revealed slight brain damage. As a result, Aroha received early intervention PT and OT, which was something Roman didn’t even know existed until then for such a young child. 

However, it was effective, because while Roman and Solana were advised Aroha may need to continue therapy up until her first few years of her life, their fighter of a daughter ended up beating the odds, cleared and meeting all milestones on time by five months of age.

It was the biggest relief and blessing they could have ever asked for, but Roman can and will never forget the devastation he felt trying to comfort Solana as they had to return home without their baby girl. It was rough, trying to spend as much time in the NICU with her while still being available and present for their other children.

The day they finally got to bring her home remains one of the happiest days of his life.

And now, at age seven, she’s a happy, healthy child who continues to not only meet all milestones but presents with intelligence that bypasses what’s expected for her age.

But, most importantly, she’s alive.

And that’s why Roman knows and is well aware of the fact that he might let Aroha get away with some things she shouldn’t, agrees to things that he doesn’t have to, says yes when he maybe should no.

The thing, however, is that none of that could be an option. It could not be an option because she couldn’t be here right now.

She could have died, but she didn’t. His little girl is a fighter, and he’ll always love her just a little bit harder just because of it. 

Grabbing his phone, careful not to disturb her, Roman sends Solana the picture Roro used his phone to take of her "babies."

He then adds the caption.

Roman: She named them Thumper and Lola.

Solana texts back not even five minutes later.

Solana: 😂😂😂😂

Solana: Told you.

Solana: They are cute......

Roman: I guess.

He can practically see his wife rolling her pretty eyes through the phone.

Solana: But, you know we're gonna have to get the boys those lizards now, right?

He does, and while he's not exactly thrilled about it, he knows it's the right thing to do. Knows that it's unfair to grant Aroha's wish, but not Koa and Kai.

Roman knows all too well what it's like to feel like the less favored of his siblings, and he'll be damned if any of his kids will feel that way.

Ever.

Roman: I know. I'll take them next weekend.

Solana: Good.

Solana: Girls said to tell they love you. I love you too. ❤️ Give my baby a kiss for me.

Roman: Love ya'll too. I will. ❤️

Roman sets his phone back down on his nightstand and chuckles as Aroha adjust herself on top of him, smacking her little lips a little as she sighs in her sleep.

Roman kisses the top of her head, one arm around her, holding her closer for as long as he can.

[warpedlegacywrites]

The Reign, ch19: The Sky Is Watching

Theresa and her band make their way through the Fallow Mire.

“Remind me to thank Harding for properly informing us about the water!” Dorian shouted. His own reserves were running low, forcing him to resort to using his staff as a melee weapon. A hard swing knocked a skull clean off the shoulders of the nearest corpse. It bounced across the mossy ground until it was crunched beneath one of the Iron Bull’s massive boot heels.  Bull barely noticed, carving a wide swathe with his greataxe. His battle-roar was nearly a match for the menacing thunder overhead. At least he was having fun.  “You could have stayed at camp and let Solas take your place,” Blackwall reminded Dorian, plunging his sword straight through an exposed ribcage and swinging up, cutting the corpse in half from the waist up.  “And miss out on this lovely display of southern charm?” Dorian gave an aggravated cry as his boots sunk into the wet mud, holding him in place. He was forced to expend energy he barely had to fend off more bodies with a spout of flame while he dislodged himself.  Cole, who was similarly ensnared, declared forlornly, “The mud wants my feet to stay.”  “It certainly does.” Dorian tsked over his unsalvageable boots. “Is this what Fereldans might consider a tourist trap?”  “Aw, what’s the matter?” Bull called mid-swing. “Not enough slaves to rub your footsies?”  “My footsies are freezing, thank you!” Dorian gritted his teeth and pushed back against a particularly determined skeletal figure, sending it right into Brycen’s shield, which promptly shattered it. “If this is what spring is like, I shudder to think of summer. However do you manage winters?”  That last was directed at me, since Dorian knew I shared his distaste for the cold. I tossed him a chastising look before sizing up a gathering cluster of corpses charging straight at me. I channelled my annoyance into a chain of lightning, dispatching them all at once before they could summon more.  “Once again,” I told him, panting heavily, “I’m from Ostwick, not Ferelden.” I sank the end of my staff into the mud and leaned on it, hazarding a glance around. That appeared to be the last of them. For now. My scarf had fallen from my nose at some point during the fighting, and I quickly adjusted it back into place. “Although honestly, nationality doesn’t seem to matter much when you’re a mage.” Mattrin and Margot exchanged awkward glances, making me feel just a little guilty for my bitter tone. But only a little.  “Unless you’re Tevinter.” Dorian clapped me on the shoulder, using me for support while he caught his breath. “Then it appears to be the only thing that matters.” “Ehh, quit your whining and hike up your skirt, mage boy,” Bull grunted and rested his axe over his shoulders with arms stretched from one end to the other.  Dorian glared daggers at him. “At least I’m wearing clothes. Why are you always bare-chested?”  “Just for your benefit, big guy.” Bull flashed his teeth in a hungry grin while Dorian sputtered and struggled to come up with a snappy rebuttal.  

DAFF Tag List: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur,

@ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb,

@theluckywizard, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe,

@agentkatie, @delicatefade, @leggywillow, @about2dance, @plisuu,

@hekaerges

[gaiamossiah-is-open-for-comms]

Hello 👋.

Do you think we will get Sakura's full backstory through flashbacks in kiryuu arc ? 🤔 I think Sakura's backstory deserves centric arc& volume with centric conflict revolves around him . We have waited so long for any meaningful information about his past and childhood .

I think and hope that it would have a centric arc one day. I feel like Sakura has this one or two similar situations with some Furin members but not the whole picture. And they're gonna be kind of a clue to his whole story. Kiryuu seems to have more than one circumstance similar to him but honestly, all that shouting is kinda common in a messy household so I'm just gonna highlight the shed in my brain rn. For others so far, he was similar to Tsubaki with how they were judged for how they looked and while Tsubaki was accepted by the old couple (first ones that accepted him that led him to be who he is and fight for what he likes), Sakura was accepted by Furin. And while this one is kinda a stretch for now, he might be similar to Sugishita with how fights start cuz of lack or absence of proper communication.

So i think, really, that Sakura for now could relate to a lot of them but we might see sneak peeks but not in the proper order or not in the full proper context. And then one day once we have enough, we will have a full flashback on his story. Maybe, just maybe, someone from his past would encounter the lot and that will trigger a full focus on Sakura's background. That or, a situation arises wherein he has to explain himself and he's comfortable enough to finally open up to everyone about his story.

That's what i think and kinda want for how things would play out hahaha Nii-sensei could possibly take a totally different situation. So while we could speculate, Nii-sensei (and his editor probably) has the full reign on the story and whatever route they would take on the story with is something we should respect when it plays out. 🥰🥰

(first time someone asked me a question so I'm kinda nervous but thanks for asking ❤️)

[kaaragen]

By the Scenic Route

(A short(ish) fic inspired by this conversation with @stellanslashgeode)

Ahsoka glared at her datapad as if narrowing her eyes further would force the information to align in a way she liked. Sat in the Noti pod that was now her base of operations, the data was refusing to comply. However she spun it, twisted it, rearranged it, pleaded with it, argued, and threatened to throw it against the wall, the datapad was resolute.

No purgil migrations would be happening for another two years. Minimum.

Which meant her chances of escaping Peridia were zilch. Nada. Nought.

She sighed and leaned back against the cold metal of the wall, stretching her legs out across her cot, long lekku draping down toward her waist. Months they’d been out here, with no sign of a way out. She’d briefly scouted the space around the planet with Huyang, scoping with the sensors as far as possible, but wherever Peridia was it was the ass-end of it. Nothing was out there for light years.

And while she was stuck here, Thrawn was back home. Doing who knew what. Yes, sure, she trusted Ezra, trusted Hera and Luke and everyone, but still.

The sound of running feet scuffing through dust twitched her montrals and the sigh was leaving her lips before Sabine even skidded to the open hatch.

“Master!” Sabine shouted, doing nothing for Ahoska’s headache. “The bandits are attacking!”

Ahsoka feathered fingers to her temple. “Sabine, for the love of the Force, can you and Shin find other ways of hanging out...”

Sabine looked affronted, even as her cheeks reddened. “Hang out--what do--they’re murderous, rampaging bandits!”

Ahsoka crossed her arms sourly. “Really? And when was the last time they murdered something more valuable than flowers?”

“I--”

“Never mind!” Ahsoka threw up her hands and stood, storming past Sabine and into the cold light of the village. The Noti looked spectacularly unbothered for people apparently about to be raided, going about their daily tasks of mending the curving, snail-like pods, caring for the children and organising the supplies. A couple poked their eyestalks toward Ahsoka and Sabine but most paid them no mind as Ahsoka strode for her howler, Yoti, snoozing at the edge of the village circle. She gestured and Yoti responded to her presence, yawning and stretching.

“I’m going out,” Ahsoka said, gathering up her saddle and reins and putting them on Yoti, “I place you in full charge of the defence of the village.”

Sabine put her hands on her hips, frowning. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome Padawan. Enjoy the lightsabre duel. Make sure the plant pots stay safe.” She cracked the reigns and Yoti shot off, bounding across the mottled earth.

“Sheesh...go have a wank or something, don’t take your frustration out on me...” she heard Sabine mutter.

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

Ahsoka wasn’t aware of how long she rode, or even where. The light didn’t change much at the best of times, and much of the planet had a drab, hewn grey. But she could pick out some markers to lead her back to the Noti. For everything else, she had the Force.

She breathed deeply. Casting her eyes up into the cloudless day, the pale blue of the sky revealed nothing, save for the purple line cutting across the heavens like a lightsabre blade. Huyang had determined that that phenomenon, whatever it was, was several million lightyears away but was unable to determine what it was. Focusing on it and questing through the Force in the past had brought Ahsoka nothing but a deep, sickly feeling so she’d ignored it since.

What was she going to do? Everything inside her was screaming at her with visions of destruction, death, returning to the galaxy to fine the Empire renewed and everyone she knew gone. Again.

Sometimes she could shut it out. Sometimes she could keep it quiet. But there were nightmares. And during the day, they would intrude into her consciousness, jabbing like needles into her skin.

It was happening again.

She breathed. She let the rhythmic thump of her mount’s stride reverberate. She reached through the echoing pulse of her feet striking the ground. Followed the ripple of its waves into the grass. Followed the pollen leaking from the grass up and up into the air. Followed them as they dappled down, landing across furrowed ground and then some tools and then the sides of a hut and up and up and landing on...

Something...familiar?

She opened her eyes, confused. Ahsoka cast her gaze to the East and directed Yoti to follow a path she hadn’t traversed before. The path led her toward a mountain, where tumbled statues fell across the ground, large stone hands that had once been upraised in triumph now beseeching to anyone passing by. She ignored them, focusing on the horizon getting closer and closer, crossing a small stream.

The curve of the planet unrolled and she came across a small hut with a flat roof, sat at the end of a ploughed field. Several crops poked from the furrows of the ground, some hanging fruits as well as rooted vegetables. Ahsoka swung off the howler, and walked across the field, her eyes never leaving the figure sitting in a cross-legged meditation pose on the hut’s roof.

Ahsoka halted a meter away and stared. “Barriss?”

Barriss Offee, for it was she, cracked open an eye and turned her head slightly. She wore a plain, loose black tunic, a shawl wrapped over her hair, the black freckles of her diamond tattoos across her nose and cheeks standing out from the yellow skin. A few lines streaked her face, but still recognisably her.

“Ah, hello Ahsoka,” she said, closing her eyes again. “My apologies, I’m in the middle of completing an exercise. Would you mind waiting?”

Ahsoka raised a bewildered brow.

Barriss’ eyes flew open and her mouth twisted into a rictus. She toppled off the side of her hut as if she’d had a heart attack.

Thud!

“...Owww...”

Ahsoka looked down at Barriss, rather inelegantly sprawled upside down with her ankles in the region of her ears, wincing at what was an almighty whack to the head when she fell.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ahsoka asked, more in shock than anything else.

“I live here!” Barriss replied. She scooted herself around to a seated position, rubbing the back of her head. She cast a vicious glare at Ahoska, as if she’d missed a ‘private property - keep out!’ sign. “What are you doing here?”

“I...” Ahsoka started and then trailed off. She’d been asking herself that same question, repeatedly. “I...live here too...I guess.”

“You guess? Are you not aware?” Barriss scoffed, getting to her feet. She froze slightly and cast a worried eye at her. “You’re not...you’re not here for...?”

“You? No. Until this moment I had no idea you were here.” Ahsoka frowned. “What are you doing here?”

A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped Barriss’ throat. “What do you think? Hiding. Trying to find some semblance of life away from it all. I had to run to entirely different galaxy to escape my demons.” She paused, her expression falling into a pit. “Seems they found me anyway.”

Ahsoka swallowed. “I’m...Barriss I’m not looking to...” She shook her head. “How did you find your way here?”

“The fairy tales. I always like them. I read up on purgil migration patterns and thought I’d take the chance. Anything was better than...than where I was.” She cleared her throat. “The Inquisitorious...it was...”

“I know,” Ahsoka interrupted. “We found the list.”

She’d spent days staring at it, when she’d seen Barriss’ name among the reports, declared dead some two years after the rise of the Empire. There had been a part of her that had ached. Ached for the loss of closure. For the missed opportunity to talk. But she’d put it away and had largely not thought about Barriss for nearly thirty years.

Now she was suddenly, quietly, back in her life.

She almost couldn’t process it. There was the face she remembered from her youth. Older now, but still her. The person she’d almost died with, multiple times. The person she’d gone through a war with. The person she’d grown up with.

The person she’d felt...

Who had betrayed...

Barriss’ eyes flicked to her, and their gazes hooked into each other for a long moment.

Barriss’ lip trembled. “I...I wouldn’t presume to hope that you’d know...but I want to say that I’m so sorry for--”

“Barriss, stop.”

Just like that, she couldn’t take it anymore. She collapsed into a squat, energy draining out of her. Her arms hung limp over her knees and Barriss said nothing, just watched her.

“I’m...I’m so tired.” Admitting it felt strange, but it came with a pulse of truth. She took a deep breath and ploughed through. “I get it. I don’t agree with what you did, but I understand it. I’ve been fighting, constantly, since I was fourteen years old. The Empire has been gone for twelve years and I’m still fighting. Even now, stuck here, all of my thoughts are about trying to get back, trying to keep fighting, and what will happen if I don’t.

“I was angry with you. I’m not going to lie, I spent a lot of hours imagining confronting you in the aftermath of...of it...”

“Did any of them take place in a galaxy far, far away?” Barriss asked weakly.

Ahsoka cracked a smile. “No, but a spectacular number ended with you getting punched.”

Barriss’ face twitched. “Can’t say I wouldn’t have deserved it.”

“But seeing you, now, just makes me think...that I’m too exhausted for this anymore. I’m too exhausted to stay angry. Or anything.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Barriss cleared her throat. “I don’t...I don’t want to give advice but...if you really can’t get back, then perhaps take that as a sign?”

Ahsoka squinted up at her.

“The Force and I...we don’t have the best relationship. I’m trying to find my way back to it, to let it back into my life. But it’s been good out here. It gave me time to think. To decompress. To...” She waggled her hands. “To rest. Maybe you’re getting a signal that you should do the same?”

Ahsoka swallowed. There as a part of her that rebelled at that idea. That couldn’t stand the idea that she should just leave things be. That wanted to rage against the infinite box she was placed in. But...but what good would it do to even return to the galaxy if she was this tired?

Her confrontation with Anakin had told her something; that death wasn’t the right path. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some rest. That she couldn’t take a break. That she couldn’t let herself truly breathe...

She chuckled softly and stood. Maybe the Force had led her with its pollen path?

“Thanks, Barriss. I think I needed to hear that.”

Barriss smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re welcome, Ahsoka. May the Force be with you.”

Ahsoka nodded and turned to go to Yoti. She reached halfway across the field, before pausing and then swinging back. Barriss stared at her, rooted to the spot, eyes wide and a trembling across her face.

Ahsoka swallowed and opened her mouth--

“Do you want to see my village?”

Barriss blinked. “What?”

Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut. All the vaunted maturity she’d thought she’d gained over the years fled out of her system and suddenly she was a teenager again, desperate to say something but not knowing how to or even what the something was beyond a vague feeling. But this time the feeling was clear: she wanted her friend back.

She opened her eyes, and there was Barriss and for the first time she saw all the fear that had coagulated in her being. “Do you...do you think we could just pretend that we talked it all out a long time ago? That we moved past it?”

Barriss held still a moment, then she crumpled back against her hut. Her breath came thick and short, and she squeezed her eyes closed. For a moment, Ahsoka thought she was going to vomit, but she seemed to get herself under control.

“I would like that,” she gasped. “I would like that very much.”

A wave of relief, carrying with it a long-buried feeling, settling over her like an old cloak. Not exactly comfy, perhaps, and maybe not fitting right anymore. But comfortable, with the familiar scent providing warmth. She walked to Barriss and lightly put her hand on her shoulder. Barriss looked up at her wide-eyed, hopeful and scared.

“Then let’s do that.” Ahsoka smiled.

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

The ride back was comfortable, the two catching up on the way. Barriss didn’t have much to tell, apart from her “less-than-daring escape” as she put it, and Ahsoka chided her to come up with something more entertaining to tell later. From Ahsoka’s side there was so much.

“So they built two superweapons?” Barriss queried, riding behind Ahsoka on the mount, her hands resting on Ahsoka’s thighs in a light way that suggested she was afraid of touching something scalding.

“Yeah. I think there must have been an underspend in the budget somewhere.”

“And they called this planet killing weapon the Death Star?”

“They sure did.”

“What have they called the solar system destroying weapon? The Sun Crusher? The Starkiller?”

Ahsoka laughed. They crested a rise and came onto view the village, the pods all miraculously undestroyed and unraided.

“Here we are,” Ahsoka said. “It’s not much, but it’s a base.”

“It looks lovely. I’ve traded with the Noti before. Very friendly people. You’ve done well.” Barriss squinted past Ahsoka’s arm. “Are those Scar-Waste Bandits?”

“Yes.” Ahsoka frowned. Alright, this was unusual. Usually the bandits scuttled off after a bit of ritual bellowing and a lightsabre fight between Sabine and Shin, that usually ended with Shin fleeing and threatening vile retribution like some HoloNet serial villain. But this time, they were hanging about. Drinking tea with the Noti, spinning some of the kids in their disc-shaped hats, and generally being pleasant people. Their helmets were off, pale blue skin with green eyes peering out. “This isn’t normal.”

“From my experience, they’re not ones to trade or be pleasant, even when it would be more advantageous to them. But they leave you alone if you give them a sufficiently thorough kicking.”

Ahsoka raised a brow at Barriss, and her cheeks darkened. “They caught me on a bad day and took a potato crop that had just ripened. I’m not perfect!”

Ahsoka slid off Yoti and Barriss followed her through the village. She reached out, trying to locate Sabine and twigged her presence as coming from their pod.

With...someone else...

Ahsoka halted outside of the pod, the hatch door shut. “Sabine?” she called.

Someone swore. There was a fumbling, stumbling noise, two people in a hushed argument. Sounds of items being thrown and clinking against the walls and floor. An isolated curse. And then the hatch popped open and Sabine popped out, flushed and panicked and wearing a light grey tunic that was familiar and also not Sabine’s.

“Oh! Hey, Master, I thought you would be longer--that is, it’s good to see you back!”

“Master?” Barriss queried with a twitch of her lips.

Ahsoka flapped her hand. “What are you doing?” she asked Sabine.

“Uh...well, actually, I’m in the process of negotiating a peace treaty with the bandits.”

“Really?” Ahsoka’s voice dripped with so much sarcasm it nearly pooled at her feet.

“Pretty intense negotiations actually.” Sabine toed her boot into the ground, the ankle and leg above its hem bare.

Ahsoka closed her eyes and let out a suffering sigh. She turned to Barriss. “I don’t suppose I could stay at your place?”

For what might have been the first time in her life, Ahsoka saw a genuine smile cross Barriss’ face. She slid her hand into Ahsoka’s and gently squeezed.

“Come on, I’ll take you home by the scenic route.”

Home. She liked the sound of that word and the implications it held.

Ahsoka squeezed the hand back. “That sounds like just what I need.”

[backjustforberena]

As you mentioned, when it comes to the book, there are two possibilities: either Rhaenys didn’t know, or she did know, and her reaction simply wasn’t recorded. However, we can be sure of one thing: book Rhaenys would never have silently accepted the betrayal.

We know this from how she confronts Jaehaerys, openly challenging him when he tries to take away her birthright. We also see it in her behavior during the Black Council, where she’s willing to go to war with all the dragons, even those of her youngest grandchildren, just to defeat the greens, who have just commited treason.

Do you really think this Rhaenys would remain silent and not even question Corlys if she found out?

The truth is, in the show, they’ve stripped away the fire that made Rhaenys a fierce and impetuous woman—the same fire that would have made her a great ruler. Instead, she’s been reduced to a wife who’s willing to turn a blind eye to everything just to keep her husband by her side. This is especially clear when, after Corlys has been gone for six years, she merely remarks that he was a jerk, but quickly returns to her role as the faithful wife.

I don't accept your conceit that there are two ways to react. And two ways that Rhaenys would have reacted, and that she would have reacted the same no matter where she was in her life when she found it out, if she found out. I don't think the text is good enough for that.

Again, you can believe this and there's nothing to say you're wrong in any massive way. But there's so much grey area that, for me, I hold back off anything that feels too much like an assumption. We cannot "be sure" that book Rhaenys would never have silently accepted the betrayal, just as much as we can't even be sure that she did silently accept the betrayal - as I've said, she could have had a reaction that simply isn't recorded.

Because, for every shouting match she has with Jaehaerys, there's radio silence on the slights she and her house later receive. For every position of strength at the Black Council (I disagree with your reading but that's by the by), we have the choice to not go to war over her own claim or swear vengeance against someone, or take her dragon to the Stepstones, or protest against something or someone.

Rhaenys was 18, bereft, aggrieved and hormonal when she cursed her grandfather. How might a (hypothetically) 40+ year old woman react? What if she found out during Corlys's fever, even? Things change as people change. So, as much as she could have reacted similarly to Corlys as she did to Jaehaerys, she could easily have not. The reasons are still there.

Rhaenys, as a character is silent during Viserys's reign. We don't have anything for her. Even during massive scenes on Driftmark, there is nothing about where she is or how she reacts (except scant references in line with Corlys; them as a unit, following their children's deaths). We don't know where she was when Laena died. How she was when Corlys was ill or Vaemond killed on her shores. We don't know how she reacted during the events of Laenor's funeral. There is zip.

For a supposedly tempestuous woman, we have nothing. So, why would we have something about Corlys's affair? Ergo, we can't rule out her knowing and not saying or knowing and saying or not knowing and therefore not saying. That's three options right there, and then you can break it down into whatever reactions, at whatever point in time that you like. We can assume away,and we can have theories, as you have, but we can't know. The text doesn't allow it.

Do I really think this Rhaenys would remain silent and not even question Corlys if she found out? In the book? I don't know. I can't know. The information isn't there for me to make that judgement call, because we can't be certain that she didn't find out, didn't remain silent, didn't question Corlys. A situation could be that she knows, and said nothing, and the text in the book would, honestly, remain EXACTLY the same. It wouldn't be undermined at all.

You're right. In the show, Rhaenys isn't impetuous. She doesn't just do things for the hell of it and not worry about consequences or perception. She observes, thinks, is cautious, is political. She's fiercely intelligent and pragmatic and has the best poker face in Westeros. That's how she's survived. How she's been raised.

If she'd been impetuous, then she'd have been a threat. If she'd been impulsive, she'd have waged war when she was passed over. If she were led by betrayals felt and emotion then she wouldn't have acted in a way that kept peace.

You say the fire would have made her a great ruler? She has fire. She absolutely has fire. She'd never cowed, not once, in that show. She just controls it. She doesn't suggest sending dragons to war because look at what that looks like.

She's never belittled or been shy or been afraid. Corlys doesn't order her or threaten her or infantilise her or undermine her. She speaks her mind and she does so freely unless she chooses not to - there is no external force pressuring her. She's not named Hand but she takes a place at the head of that table and keeps order whilst Rhaenyra is absent. She takes on leadership roles and she rules Driftmark when Corlys is away at war and at sea. She makes her choice, independent of Corlys, to support Rhaenyra. She has spirit, and will, and wisdom. She's tough. She's complex. Basically... she's human. Not a few lines here and there.

The one reducing her here... is you. She's not what you want. She's not what you expect, and that's fine. You're allowed those feelings. Just as I'm allowed to say that I disagree with you. Rhaenys "merely remarks" that he was a jerk and then returns to her "role" as the "faithful wife"? As if that's the only thing she is?

And, funnily enough, "faithful wife" is the description used for her in the actual book. But, it seems, to you, that "faithful wife" is an insult. Why is that? Do you suppose it suggests something bidable? A pushover? Hyper-femenine and subservient? Existing only to serve the man she married?

Rhaenys loves Corlys, that's what you're not talking about. This isn't a sad state or sorry role she's landed with. She loves him and doesn't want to hurt him any more than he needs to be hurt. How she reacts is her choice and it is not one motivated by fear, meekness or weakness.

Do you not see what utter strength it is to put aside your own hurt because there's a fricking war looming and they need to get their act together to help? Do you not see how she told him, point-blank, glaring, that he had abandoned her? What that did to Corlys - who, yes, was a jerk for leaving her, but had done so without malice and returns knowing it had been a mistake, wanting to make it right? Did you not see her tell him what they needed to do and make him swear to Rhaenyra, and to fight?

She is not passive in that marriage, in the show. And she exists outside of Corlys and for reasons other than Corlys. I'm sorry if Rhaenys didn't match up to how she is in you head, but to say she wasn't fierce is absurd.

[canmom]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere: 013-032

Previously: 000-012, spinoff post about entropy [all Flower posts]

Time for more flower...

...no, not that flower!

Unless...?

Welcome back to my liveblog of sorts for web novel The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere by @lurinatftbn! Shout out to the Flower discord for giving me such a kind welcome. You're making me want to go all out on this liveblog, but, I musn't...! So I'm going to try to just comment on things that jumped out as especially noteworthy rather than write down everything that went down.

Especially since... a lot happened in these chapters. We have a perfect androgyne tree thing! Magical duels! Questionable student/teacher relationships! Steamed hams! Intense political arguments at dinner! Metafictional assurance of fair play! Prosognostic events! Transgender AIs! And of course........

a murder!!!!!

...ok that one was kinda obvious. But the first body has hit the floor! I don't feel like I have nearly enough information yet to start speculating about who might have dunnit.

That's a lie. It was definitely Kinzo Ushiromiya. That bastard.

So, from the top!

We're introduced to a few of the members of the Order, with by far the most screen time going to Su's mentor and ah, kinda-girlfriend? Neferuaten. And like, damn, lot going on there!

Before I get into the meat of that - first the bit where I search a character's name on Wikipedia. Neferuaten's name is most likely a reference to an Egyptian female king/pharaoh (a rank that's apparently distinct, conceptually, from a queen) variously called Ankhkheperure-Merit-Neferkheperure, Waenre, and Aten Neferneferuaten. Most often shortened to just Neferneferuaten.

Her exact historical identity seems to be a little unclear - she may or may not be the same person as Nefertiti for example. Whoever she was, she apparently reigned for a couple of years around 1334–1332 BCE, and was then succeeded by the famous child king Tutankhamun. Or maybe Smenkhkare came in between them? Seems to be a matter of some debate. Girl really needed to leave a few more vast and trunkless legs of stone so we can figure this stuff out.

In any case, this version of Neferuaten goes way back with Su. Her introduction is to launch a magical attack on our poor girl while she's contemplating the 'everblossom'. One of those classic 'master surprise attacks the student to see how much they've learned' deals. This servers as a fine exposition for the exact mechanics of magical duels.

Zettai! Ummei! Mokushiroku!

Let's briefly note how magical duels and magic works here, since it seems like it will be very relevant later.

The more we learn about magic, the more explicit is that this system is not some natural property of the universe, but something that's designed by the mysterious Ironworkers. It seems like it's kind of an API to the Ironworker admin console. The Ironworkers wanted to make it difficult to do magic on human bodies, and therefore they designed a system for detecting what is 'human', based on three heuristics - anatomical, motion and neurological.

Humans, being the freaky little hackers that we are, of course set about figuring out how to bypass this system, and created standardised means, consisting of three spells, termed [x]-beguiling arcana. In a sense the three criteria are something like three 'hitpoints': the primary way to win a duel is to get all three spells off, thus making your opponent vulnerable to magic.

To achieve this, you can either speak the words of a spell or sign them by drawing them with your fingers - i.e. one way or the other express the appropriate string of symbols. This is risky because if you're interrupted at the wrong time, your spell can backfire and blow up, and getting a spell right requires precise pronunciation and also rapid mental maths. So the general 'gameplay' of magical duels involves attempting to disrupt the opponent's focus and aim, while fast-casting the spells that are most familiar to you.

We're introduced to a few spells that could be useful in battle, such as

Matter-Shifting (telekinesis spell with a geometric bent, used to move a cube of dirt to act as a smokescreen),

Matter-Annihilating (deletes stuff),

Entropy-Denying (essentially a shield that freezes objects and fluids in relative motion),

Air-Thrusting (creates a shockwave air blast),

Light-Warping (fucks up the light for visual cover),

World-Deafening (mutes all sound, which can interrupt casts)

Entropy-Accelerating (disrupts coherency, causing rapid aging-like effects - can be used on a 'higher plane' to disrupt all magic in an area)

Entropy-Reversing (rewinds matter along its path of motion - reference to entropy here seems a tad dubious but w/e)

It's clearly a pretty carefully thought out system - I appreciate that it's approached from the point of view of someone trying to exploit the shit out of the system and figure out what the real meta would be. It does kinda seem like if you got the drop on a wizard and shot them with a sniper rifle they'd be toast, but we'll see later that much more powerful weapons than mere chemical firearms exist in this world, and presumably in a combat situation everyone would have entropy-denying (or equivalent) shields up, so maybe that's a moot point.

Anyway, we are later informed by the closest thing to authorial voice that everything we're told here about magic can be assumed to be axiomatically true, similar to the red text in Umineko. Which pretty heavily foreshadows that this is going to be on the test, if you like!

the magical metaphysics

With apologies to Neferuaten, who will get more detailed comments shortly, there are some other big revelations about magic and the nature of this world that I should talk about while we're on the subject of magic!

In the last post I wondered whether casting magic is an innate quality or a 'skill issue' situation. It turns out the answer is sorta 'neither'. In fact, it's something that has to be unlocked, using special equipment and a particular ritual. The cost of this ritual is not yet entirely spelled out, but we definitely get an inkling. It's rather ominously implied by this exchange in chapter 22:

"We're supposed to want to save people, to make the world better. To defend a bunch of people who practically committed murder--" "You're a murderer too, dour girl." I stopped, and blinked. It took me some moments to process the words. They'd come from Lilith, who now seemed to have finished with her dessert. Now she was just slowly swirling her spoon around in the last remnants of the chocolate sludge on the plate and, occasionally, dipping a finger into her cream bowl and licking little bits of it up. Her expression was irritated, but disconnected. "All arcanists are," she said. "It's how it happens. So having fights over moral high ground like this is very stupid and annoying. Please stop."

In the same chapter, Su uses something called an 'acclimation log', in which she records her 'association' with a series of diary entries from her childhood self. It all suggests that Su's present consciousness has somehow taken over the body of another character, who we could maybe call original!Su.

A few chapters later, we find out what's the deal with prosognostic events. In fact we get a pretty extensive exposition. It turns out that iron is magical in this universe, providing access to higher dimensions, FTL and all sorts of shit. However, because the Mimikos and other worlds are running on a 'substrate' of iron - sort of like a simulation - we are told this is why they can't recursively include iron within. And since the human body includes a certain amount of iron (most notably, in the haemoglobin protein in red blood cells), it is not possible to fully realise the human body inside these artificial worlds.

a self-referential quibble

Here's how Su puts it:

A substrate cannot exist within itself. That sounds awkward when I put it so directly, but it's not too hard to understand if you think about it in abstract-- A foundation obviously can't support another foundation of equal weight and nature, because… Well, it would make nonsense of the whole premise. A book is a device for storing information, but it cannot contain within its letters everything about itself and what it contains, because that is already more than it contains. A box cannot hold another box of equal size, unless it is bent or otherwise changed. A mind cannot hold another mind…

On the face of it, this seems on the face of it... not entirely true, at least in some domains? You can run a virtual machine program on a computer, representing any particular combination of hardware and software, which is from the perspective of software 'on the inside', essentially indistinguishable from a computer running on 'bare metal' hardware. The only real difference is that operating the virtual machine has some computational overhead, so it will be slower. The more virtual machines you nest, the slower it gets.

But 'from the inside', the only way to tell which layer of virtual machine you're on would be to refer to some kind of external clock signal (which can trivially be spoofed) and notice that it's running slower than it should!

We could also mention here the subject of quines, which are programs which print their own source code.

Let's consider Su's examples. The book that completely describes its contents might be able to get around this problem in a similar fashion to a quine, by exploiting redundancy and self-reference.

For example, let's try creating a string that completely describes its own content, using a quine-style technique.

This string begins with a sentence followed by its quotation, and then 100 letter ws; the sentence is: "This string begins with a sentence followed by its quotation, and then 100 letter ws; the sentence is: " wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

In fact the '100 letter ws' could literally be the entire string that follows. Suppose the length of the 'real content' of the book is S, and the length of the rest of the 'metadata sentence' describing properties of the book is M; then the total length of the book is 2M+3S.

You can add as much additional information to the 'metadata' string as you like, provided you quote it again afterwards. If you don't like having a book be three times the length it needs to be, you could compress the 'real content' string using an algorithm like DEFLATE, and include instructions in the 'metadata' on how to decompress it. (Text tends to compress really well.) This is where we run up into notions probably all too familiar to rats, or indeed anyone who recently read Seth Dickinson's new novel Exordia, such as Kolmogorov complexity.

But... I think this might well be intentional. Given how common notions like 'stacks of simulations' and 'self-reference' are in rat space, I suspect we may be being misled! The 'rules' of the game - more on that in a moment - say that Su won't deliberately lie to us, and won't withold information without saying so, but her perceptions could be mistaken. Maybe she's been given a false explanation of why the world works the way it does.

It's also totally possible that while the general point (you can't contain a thing in itself) may have some edge cases, the specific instance - you can't build a universe on a giant higher-dimensional iron spike and still have that universe contain iron - may still be true. We don't know the first thing about building universes using magic iron after all.

anyway... the Deal with Prosognisia!

The Ironworkers had a hacky workaround to the 'no iron' rule: they had a few tens of thousands of preserved human bodies on board their Tower of Asphodel. Asphodel, incidentally, is a genus of flower, said to carpet the Asphodel Meadows, one of the three divisions of the realm of Hades. (In their game, Supergiant decided to convert it into a lava zone.) It looks rather pretty actually!

So, they were able to instantiate these bodies in their rebuilt worlds by sort of making them into a reference to one of these stored human bodies. Here's Su again, chapter 26:

Some human bodies, or at least the impression of them and the iron within, had been preserved as part of the Tower, frozen in a timeless place. And because of that, it was eventually discovered it was possible for them to exist in the artificed planes as a sort of stable paradox. After all, while a book can't exist within itself, it can still reference other stuff it does contain internally, even if it makes for somewhat awkward reading. A few tweaks and workarounds solved the problem of the iron associated with that human body staying a part of it, and just like that, human beings were walking something at least akin to the earth once again. However, this only permitted replicas of those bodies within the Tower to exist. The creation of new ones remained impossible, and births not incubated by anima taken by the same mechanism would inevitably fail. And there were far fewer preserved bodies than minds; scarcely more than ten thousand or so for each party.

So every human born in the Mimikos is forked from one of these human bodies. For... mysterious reasons, if you recognise that someone nearby is forked from the same body as you, you both straight up die. If you touch such a person (a 'contact paradox') it's even worse, and all the iron in your body disappears, leaving behind a 'greenish sludge', which seems to be a severe enough disaster to cause deaths of nearby people as well.

(This is a little surprising given that the iron in the human body is only about 60 parts per million by mass, but it would kinda destroy your blood's ability to carry oxygen, so it would definitely be pretty fatal.)

The 'distinction treatment' we heard about is able to mitigate the risks somewhat - with quick medical intervention and time magic, it's possible to allow the people involved to make a full recovery. An interesting wrinkle is that it's implied either Ophelia or new character Balthazar is trans, because normally people of the same gender can't share an upstream body.

That definitely leads to a very fascinating fucked up medical emergency scene, but the reason I'm discussing it now is because it's got bearing on this big-deal question of 'what's so fucked up about arcanists anyway'...

so what's so fucked up about arcanists anyway?

Having finally answered one of the major questions, we can start zeroing in on another. In a flashback scene in chapter 30, we learn that the 'original' bodies have innate access to the magic API, but when you're given a distinct identity at birth you quickly lose it. To have your sv_cheats 1 restored, you have to go through a process that, it would seem, downloads a new mind into your head from one of those original bodies...

The man sat back a little in his chair, crossing his legs idly. "It's intimidating in concept, but please do understand that, in the overwhelming majority of cases, there are no observable effects whatsoever. Around half of the individuals who go through it don't even lose consciousness, and of the other, four out of five don't report any abnormalities when they reawaken. And even of the remaining 10%, the symptoms are negligible for nine out of ten-- Fleeting false memories, minor alterations in temperament that self correct, usually in under a day..." "And the others?" I inquired. "The remaining one percent." He considered this question for a few moments, obviously choosing his words carefully. "The technical term for the rare cases where confusion persists in the longer term is pneumaic assimilation failure. We have a program for treatment, using a combination of various phychological and medical means. It's time-tested. It brings people back to themselves quickly, usually within only only a few months at most." 'Confusion.' 'Brings people back to themselves.' I wasn't feeling fond of the way he couched everything in euphemism. It wasn't helping. "What do you mean by 'it brings people back to themselves'..?" I furrowed my brow. "They just... Forget everything?" "Not immediately," he said. "But they lose a sense of association with... Well, with anything that shouldn't be there, and that leads those memories and feelings to fade over time." He smiled. "The human mind is very adept at excising anything it judges to be out of place. All it needs is a push in the right direction."

The new mind tends to rapidly adjust to its new context, connecting to the memories stored in the body and assuming continuity of identity. But in rare cases it fails! Nuts! And we can infer poor Su appears to be one such case.

Presumably this is what Lilith is referring to when she says that all arcanists are murderers. It's not clear if there is continuity of consciousness when you get /mode +o'd - since you (usually) inherit the memories it is perhaps hard to say whether such a thing is meaningful.

In any case, Su's mega-guilt complex, the reason she seems to want to visit the mysterious egomancer Samium, seems to be at least partly that she's evicted the previous consciousness to inhabit this body. I don't think that's the whole story though! Her grandad seems to be involved somehow too. I don't think Su is literally the reincarnation of her grandad, because it seems unlikely that he'd be motivated to carry out ego suicide like this.

introducing teacher mommy

All those major revelations aside, let's get back to the subject of Neferuaten, aka 'Grandmaster', Su's old mentor in entropic thanatomancy. She quickly establishes herself as one of the most likeable of the inner circle of the Order - she's funny, understanding, generally affable and a little self-effacing. Su definitely puts her on a massive pedestal - though other characters such as Ran find her a little more sussy.

I gotta say, the author is really good at writing old academics. Each one of them comes across as strongly believable, distinctive, motivated and flawed characters. I'll talk a bit about the others in a bit but first let's talk age gap yuri! lmao

Anyway, at the end of chapter 20 we get this:

Then she leaned over and, in an impulsive, almost casual gesture, kissed me on the lips. Before turning, heading to the exit.

'Huh!' thinks the reader. 'That sure is an unusual thing for someone's teacher to do.'

It is quite a few chapters later before Su gets round to telling us a bit more about what's going on...

After that, we met outside of the university more and more often, her becoming sort of a source of emotional support. At some point, I became aware that what was happening was probably quite inappropriate. It's not like I was underage, having turned 25 two years prior, but she was my professor. But I'd been bad at making friends in both of... Well, in both my past contexts, and I'd felt so lonely living in Tem-Aphat, away from Ran and any reminders of the resolutions we'd made. And it all somehow felt so natural. Things got out of hand. One day, I'd had a fight with my father over the logic bridge, and had got a little drunk when I was due to see her. I don't know exactly what I was thinking, but I did something uncharacteristic of me. Inappropriate. But she didn't respond in the way I'd expected. To my shock, she didn't act like it was inappropriate at all. It wasn't as if we ended up dating. That would never have worked, and I was pretty sure she was past wanting that sort of thing anyway. On some levels, she always kept her distance. But it became something we did together, an avenue of private expression that became part of her support for me - and mine, eventually for her.

Su then expresses a bunch of guilt over the whole thing. (Not least because it's a 'selfish' thing she's doing in a body that, implicitly, she doesn't think of as hers.)

The issue of age here is interesting lol. Definitely my gut reaction, and probably the one the story is aiming to elicit, is to be a bit 'wuh oh' by all this, maybe think of Makima wrapping Denji round her finger. That said, by vastly expanding the range of human ages, it's definitely poking pretty hard at our intuitions about what's 'appropriate'. The vibes are like... the students are constantly referred to as 'the kids' by the hundreds-year-old wizards. I don't think we're told Su's current age, but if she was 27 in this flashback, and in the present she says a 29 year old computer is close in age to her, so I would guess currently early 30s. Neferuaten's age is not stated at this point but given her position she's def a few hundred years up there.

The vibe though is that Su is infatuated with someone who has vastly more emotional maturity and experience of the world, not to mention social power over her, and that person is all too happy to encourage it.

The way Su tells it, it sounds like this fling went pretty ok for them? But I definitely feel like things are probably not gonna stay ok, given how clearly the 'inappropriate' nature of this relationship has been foregrounded!

Dark yuri is literally one of the things I'm here for, so I'm looking forward to the fireworks lmao.

Anyway, besides that, we get a bit of a sense of Neferuaten's ideology. She actually shares a lot of Su's skepticism about the viability of the whole immortality project. She makes a big point of making sure the gang get a sense of the order's culture and rituals, apparently viewing this as a chance for their project to be judged by outsiders for the first time. On a personal level, she raises the issue of if the project might be able to save only the young - whether they might be the last humans to not become immortal. Nef's attitude seems to be that she'd be good with that - something she clashes with Kam over.

Otherwise, she's kinda... world-weary, I suppose you could say. She seems to look at the firey youngsters with an attitude along the lines of 'wish I still had that'. She does love to perform to an audience, asking leading questions to set up some lesson or another.

She's a fun character, I enjoy reading her a lot.

Also she seems to have made a sapient AI in the basement! Only everyone says it's definitely not sapient - it is in some sense not agentic, it can't change its motivation, allegedly. Still, it definitely has a 'passing the Turing test' sorta vibe.

don't mention the war

Besides Nef, we get introduced to a few of the remaining members of the class, and also the masters of the Order. Of note is Bardiya, the former revolutionary. He's a very 'speak his mind without preamble' sort of character, which can land him in hot water.

So, returning to Chapter 22, we have a really juicy scene in which a dinner conversation gets very heated after Bardiya mentions his role in the war, provoking a political row with Durvasa, a member of the order. It's a really well observed social dynamics scene - the characters dancing around the topic and the way a row is almost avoided, and then it isn't - Bard's determination, Kam's brown-nosing, Su getting drawn in against her better judgement in a deeply relatable way.

Thanks to this convo, we get a sense of the events of the revolution! So, as @nightpool helpfully informed me, I actually got things a bit mixed up in my rough timeline last time. The 'gerontocrats' were not a feature of the distant-past imperial era - rather it's a figure identified as an oppressor class by a very recent movement, still within living memory for even the youngsters.

The events broadly seem to reflect something like the Paris Commune. There was a famine under the hand of a 'Meritist' city council, killing thousands, which led to a popular uprising let by a 'paritist' movement. The paritists executed a handful of people and redistributed property based primarily on age, intending to break the power of the 'gerontocrats' who had neglected the 'younger generations' by hoarding resources. The Administration overseeing the whole world alliance then cracked down hard - deploying a poison gas that, though it was intended to be nonlethal, turned out to have unexpected lethal side effects.

In the aftermath of the revolution, it seems many reforms were made - besides relaxing the rules on what magic is banned, they changed the equation of scarcity so that food could be replicated more readily? Little unclear on this part. Su mentions that the situation is different now than it was when the Alliance was built, with the material scarcity mostly gone, but clearly there was a famine in recent memory.

Anyway, there is naturally a big generational divide over this. The older generations lived through some pretty fucked-up sounding wars, called things like the 'Great Interplanar War', and in the aftermath built a political system that was supposed to secure peace. (c.f. League of Nations, UN). Although she broadly sympathises with the revolutionaries, Su seems to extends the older generation a fair bit of understanding for having built this system and fearing what would happen if it were destroyed. Though the most relativist view comes from the mouth of Neferuaten:

"I think a common problem with inter-generational communication is an inability to really convey context and scope," Neferuaten said. I noted she didn't actually convey if Kam's understanding of what her point had been was correct or not. "Someone who lived through the Interluminary Strife might tell a young person from the modern day that they have no understanding of hunger, only for the latter to stubbornly retort that they lived through that Ikaryonic famine that preluded the civil dispute… Except that one was a catastrophe that lasted decades and killed tens of millions, while the other slew less than a thousand." She sighed. "People try to relate the experiences of others to their own lives in order to contextualize their understanding of the world and how it might be bettered, but those second-hand experiences inevitably become caricatures, conveying no useful truths. It makes me wonder if human beings, both young and old, are capable of learning from history at all."

Around here is raised the question of a person's political development - the arc from a young person's anger at the state of the world and determination to tear it aside for something better, against the resignation of an older person who fears losing what is already there, however flawed. (We might note of course that there exist young conservatives and old radicals. Circumstances have a lot to do with it.)

Of course, with this whole 'gerontocrat' business at stake already, the mission of the Order hoping to achieve immortality is naturally cast in a dubious light. Fun conflict. On the one hand we have 'can immortality be achieved, and what will it cost', on the other 'who will benefit from it, if it is'! So much narrative force is obtained by politicising this, attaching it to characters with personal motivations and histories, instead of leaving it up to an abstract 'living forever good/bad'.

But it's not all political debates and shagging your teacher...

Over the course of these chapters we get a sense of what the order's been up to!

Let's talk flowers. Just prior to the meeting with Nef, Su comes across an enormous freaky plantlike thing. This turns out to be an experiment to create a being that can survive in even the most extreme environments, like the bottom of the ocean - an attempt to demonstrate that immortality is possible at least in principle. This lifeform is termed the Nittaimalaru or 'Everblossom'. It seems like a pretty good candidate for being the story's eponymous Flower - symbolically, the underwater immortality-granting plant that appears in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

It's worth noting here that 'indefinite lifespan' is actually not entirely impossible in our natural world. I was talking about this with a friend who raised some interesting points:

reading the first post i wanna bring up that while the concept of cancer is fundamental to any multicellular organism the presence of cancer as a problem is actually pretty niche. same with telomere degradation, which is a purposeful anti-cancer measurement. like pretty much all perennial plant life is capable of absolute immortality. while the lobster grows forever until it can no longer use its legs to push its great weight along the sand towards food, if a tree overshoots its growth it's more than happy to break off its unnecessaries, though with both of them at a certain point it's always good to have help after a while. as mammals we're very obsessed with the concept of like ending death as this sort of ultimate goal, prime directive, whatever, when that shit was deliberately turned on in the first place (assigning intent to evolution sue me), because in terms of cost benefit it gave us something in return that we as students of medicine or biology are still not fully grasping.

After a little more discussion:

@play-now-my-lord wrote:

even if humans weren't causing climate change, climactic fluctuations over centuries upend a lot of what is normal in specific areas. if the people on a farmstead in bronze age sweden lived 500 years, the methods and habits they internalized when they were young would habitually be incorrect for the conditions as they existed, the weather, the soil

other friend:

that's how most trees die in the end the root system operates as a weak parallel to the tree's neurons, with a more physiological bent than say our chemical one. patterns around balance, nutrient access, hydrology, and wind are ingrained and learned over centuries and the more regular/consistent that cycle is the more a root will grow. if a tree's roots are built around buttressing from a wind tunnel due to forest conditions and the trees around it fall for whatever reason, it has to relearn what used to be a hundred year old certainty that it needs to lean against the westerly gale every winter, etc. - this is generally a pretty brittle process altogether when it comes to the base of the plant n stuff

some caveats:

should be noted i overlooked a lot of nuance about perennial mortality, like, some plants are more used to investing into survival than others i'm thinking of like how beech bark disease doesn't affect the roots of the beech, so the trunk dies but new shoots continue to grow out and eventually catch the disease and repeat, so the plant is essentially still immortal but forced into a perpetual state of adolescence. but i think for a great number of trees if the tree falls it just goes "eh the rot consumes us all " and dies

Among mammals, we could also note the cancer resistance of the naked mole rat, which loves to defy all sorts of generalisations (also one of the only non-arthropod eusocial animals). They're not exactly immortal, living around 37 years on average, but their chance of dying at any given year is pretty much flat rather than increasing with age.

Of course, longevity and resilience are different things. Nef mentions the resilience of tardigrades as an inspiration. As far as their experiment goes, the 'everblossom' is not an entirely successful experiment, requiring twice-yearly maintenance to address an imbalance.

Given how prominently it features, and the invocation of Gilgamesh, it seems pretty damn likely that the everblossom will in fact be a key to immortality, or something like it.

Religion exists after all!

Other parts of the facility are also pretty funky. We learn that it was patterned after the old headquarters of the Order, which was destroyed when they got found out; that headquarters was built in an old church compound. What sort of thing does a church worship in this world? Actually it's kinda goffic as fuck. Makes Catholicism look downright tame. It's a polytheistic religion and the deities involved are figures like this...

In the center of the circle was a statue, about 8 feet high, and of the kind of ornate-but-formulaic design that characterized art from the Second Resurrection. It depicted a tall, skinny woman, though her two sides, left and right, were very different in nature. The left was beautiful and youthful in a generic, almost ethnicity-less way, dressed in the most delicate of silk peploi, with long and unrealistically tidy curls falling elegantly over her shoulders. Her lip was curled into a gentle half-smile, kind but slightly mysterious, teasing. Her right... Well, her right, to say the least, was very different. On that side, she appeared to be skinless, although it was hard to tell with a statue; I recalled it being a matter of hot debate among the boys in my class back in secondary school. It was possible she was simply incredibly emaciated, or that there were supposed to be growths - like scales - erupting from her flesh. Her hair was made up of hateful, eyeless wyrms, biting and hissing at each other, and her flesh, which was naked save for a tasteful rag covering one area in particular, was covered in numerous stab wounds, bleeding openly. As for her face, it was grim and wide eyed. Mournful and contemptful both. I recognized the figure depicted at once; I passed one of her temples whenever I went to the distribution hall to pick up groceries. This was Phui, Dying Goddess of Love Given Way To Anguish, one of the eleven deities of the now largely defunct Ysaran-Inotian Pantheon.

In the stories, Phui was the third-to-last of the gods to fall during the end of the world, who attempted to take her own life after the death of her lover. But the breaking of the heavens had left her unable to die, meaning that no matter how she much she cut into her flesh, how much she starved herself of food and drink, reprieve would never come. Only relentless, unceasing pain, and grief for that which she had lost.

Metal album cover ass-religion, I'm into it.

The mysterious Ironworkers seem to have really drummed into the population of their new Mimikos that there was a very nice world once, and they'd better be damn sad about what happened to it. However, religion has waned in the present day, and it seems most characters are atheists of some sort.

What did happen to it, anyway? It's referred to as 'the collapse' with a lowercase c; I noticed an author's comment where the author says it's not a case of just a name for the apocalypse. A few people in the comments started speculating about false vacuum collapse. This is a physics thing. Basically, a remote possibility exists in the standard model of particle physics that the existence of matter in our universe could be in a kind of local energy minimum, but it would be possible for it to locally fall into a true minimum, creating a kind of bubble that expands at the speed of light and just deletes everything. We're pretty sure that isn't true though. If it did happen we literally would not be able to do anything... at least in a universe without FTL.

(Curiously, Su mentions special relativity at one point. With all the funky cosmology stuff I kinda wondered if special relativity is still real, but apparently it is! Electromagnetism has been mentioned as still being a thing a couple of times now, so rather than being totally absent it seems like the physics is a bit different, with an electric shock being sufficient to cause radiation poisoning.)

The fair play interlude

In between chapters 22 and 24 we get a curious little interlude called Intermission ∞ 1. The introduction presents it as something that is happening on one of the 'higher planes', translated into terms we can understand, which is grounds for it to get metafictional.

Two entities, calling themselves the Playwright and the Director, discuss the direction of the story so far before laying out the version of fair-play mystery rules this story will be operating under. They are as follows:

THE PERSPECTIVE OF THE PROTAGONIST IS ALWAYS TRUTHFUL

ALL EVENTS FOLLOW THE RULES OF CONVENTIONAL REALITY, UNLESS INDICATED OTHERWISE

ALL SYSTEMS INTRODUCED CANNOT BREAK THEIR OWN RULES AS DEFINED WITHIN THE NARRATIVE, UNLESS INDICATED OTHERWISE

I made them red because it feels like they would be red in Umineko.

Further clarifications and caveats allow that Su can withold information (for dramatic tension or whatever I guess) but she'll always tell us when she does, and an example of 'system introduced' is the magic duel sequence: the characters know accurately how magic duels work.

The two entities are performing this story for some sort of audience, and during their double-act credit themselves with control over the direction of the scenario, sometimes disagreeing. (Another one, the chorus, enters at the end.) Probably best not to think too hard about what that implies for our characters on the 'main' level of the story being 'real', it's probably just a cute bit to take the audience aside without completely breaking the fourth wall. Then again... who knows!

What this means is that my concerns about professed liar Su being an unreliable narrator are unfounded. It's still a limited POV, so Su could fail to notice things or be deceived, but she's not trying to pull one over on us.

I bring this up because...

There's been a mordah!

So, in the last chapter I read - strictly the beginning of a new arc - we find someone dead!

Well, this was kinda foreshadowed earlier. The chef disappeared, the assistant chef was knocked out by magic, and some kinda crazy time magic happened in the pantry - with the heavy implication that someone was trapped in some kinda hyperbolic time pantry for many years. At least they'd have plenty to eat..? The characters don't pick up on the implication of the tally marks and write it off as a stasis field malfunction.

So, it was natural to suspect the cook is dead. Indeed they are: Su finds a mysterious note in the book given to her by an academic at the school as a parting gift, warning her not to trust the inner council - inexplicably written two years prior and warning her to check the archive in a certain position. Investigating this, she and Kam find a secret armoury room. In there is a tunnel, and at the bottom, the cook appears to have committed suicide, leaving a suicide note vaguely implying the Order is up to some seriously sussy shit.

Of course, Kam and Su immediately suspect foul play. But they also both have ulterior motives for coming to this conference, so they agree to keep it hush-hush. This is definitely a great idea that won't get everyone killed by Beatrice... I mean uh. Whoever the murderer is.

The obvious question is, who dunnit? And why? Unfortunately, we don't really have alibis for most of the characters. Many of the inner circle haven't even shown up on screen yet. So there's a lot of people who it might have been.

More suspects! More suspects!

I haven't even mentioned several of the characters. We also have Sacnicte, steward of the house - she's an arcanist, and Su is kinda insanely horny for her aesthetically appreciative, in a way that the other characters notice and are literally like 'I don't see it'... which makes me wonder if we have a situation where someone has fucked with her perceptions. She's very down to earth and casual.

Her name is probably a reference to the Maya princess Sac Nicté, meaning 'white flower', who according to legend was involved in the migration of the Itza people from the Chichen Itza. Mind you the article I'm getting this from is kinda horrendous; the sole source is in Spanish and appears to be some random website from 2004.

Among the older generation, we have Theo's dad, Linos. He is a generally affable chap, kinda socially awkward (he's responsible for prolonging the political discussion by a botched apology) but otherwise not particularly standing out among the Order members.

Linos or Linus is another Greek name with a few referents.

The Order member who really does stand out is Anna, or in full, Amtu-hedu-anna. She's the one who's properly old, having dodged many of the 'kills people around 500' bullets of this setting, and not especially inclined to make nice. Very 'straight to the point' kinda lady. We meet her fairly briefly - Ran seems to have landed in her good books.

This one really took some digging! It seems to be based on Enheduanna, who was a Sumerian high priestess of Nanna and the oldest named author in history, credited for tablets like The Exaltation of Inanna, although it seems there's some debate over whether she definitely wrote them. Her rank in Sumerian was Entu, and I could fully believe 'amtu hedu anna' is a different transliteration of 'Entu Hedu Anna'.

As mentioned above, we're introduced to two logic engines, Sekhmet and Eshmun, built respectively by Neferuaten and (the as yet unseen) Hamilcar. Sekhmet has more biological components and wants to be a human. She wants to be human, and she's also expressed a distinct pronoun preference and gender id, which I suppose makes her trans. Eshmun is a more traditional logic engine with a lot of cogs; Sekhmet calls him 'big brother', so I guess he gets he pronouns from that.

Sekhmet is of course named for the Egyptian lion-headed warrior/medicine goddess. Eshmun is a Phoenician god of healing. Hamilcar was a name used by a number of Carthaginians, mostly generals.

Ezekiel is another one of the student gang. We haven't seen much of him yet, so I don't have a lot to say about him. Abrahamic prophet.

Balthazar is a student from another school - another thanatomancer in fact. He's something like the protégé of Zeno, and his presence is Zeno's condition for having this whole affair go ahead. He's got the same eyes as Ophelia, and Zeno failing to do his paperwork and allowing to happen is a big deal. But Zeno's kind of a bigshot so it might not come to anything. Anyway, Su is kind of suspicious towards Balthazar, but he takes it all in good humour.

Balthazar was one of the three magi in Christian mythology. There were a few Zenos, but the best known is surely Zeno of Elea, who came up with his famous "we need to invent calculus to solve this" paradoxes around infinite sums.

Yantho is a member of the Order staff, who was cooking when whoever did shenanigans in the kitchen... did shenanigans in the kitchen. His roast was ruined, but sadly he was too unconscious to order fast food and pass it off as his cooking. He can't speak and communicates by writing on his tablet.

The name crops up as an obscure Maya deity, part of a trio of brothers with Usukun and Uyitzin, but I can't find any source that seems particularly definitive.

Samium is an old egomancer, whose presence is a secret that only Su and Ran are in on. Su wants to speak to him, for reasons that are probably to do with finding out if he can restore 'original!Su' into her body, or maybe resurrecting her grandfather, or something?

...is that everyone? I think that's everyone. At some point I probably need to make an Umineko-style character screen lol.

can we solve anything yet?

Since this chapter is the beginning of the arc, I suspect there's more info to divulge before we can think about trying to solve this one. And, given the Umineko inspo, the problem to solve probably isn't simply 'whodunnit' but something more fundamental to the nature of this world.

Still, it seems all but spelled out explicitly that current!Su failed to properly assimilate into her body after she became an arcanist. Her grandfather's final 'kindness' is less clear. Her intentions with Samium... I've mentioned the obvious theories about already. She's mega guilty about overwriting this poor girl and has decided the only course of action is to try and restore the mind that inhabited her body originally. But I don't think we have the whole picture just yet, because I still can't figure out what her granddad did.

Given her discussion of 'dragon' vs 'phoenix' resurrection, and of how her meeting with Samium might change the order, I also theorised - before I really twigged the arcanist thing - that she was here to resurrect her grandfather in her own body. Body-hopping is like, the classic immortality strat after all. But... I'm less convinced of that one now? It doesn't seem like Su particularly liked the old man, she definitely doesn't want to follow in his footsteps, and 'saw him die unexpectedly during the revolution' does not seem like it would inspire the same sort of guilt.

Still, he surely did something to her, she's definitely cryptically alluded to that enough times.

Besides that?

Obviously really digging this story! Honestly, this one rules. It helps that the author is clearly into a lot of the same shit I am. All the long discussions and beat by beat narration could potentially feel a little dry, but honestly, I'm pretty hooked, it's definitely pulling me forwards. It's a fascinating, conflict-rich setting, that raises all sorts of interesting concepts. It's confident in knowing what it wants to be. Umineko is a hell of a tough act to follow, but this one has a distinct identity of its own. Can't wait to see what happens now the mystery seems to be about to kick off for real.

With that in mind, I'm sure it won't be long until the next one of these. I may have to dial back the detail a bit, this is kinda having a bad effect on my work right now. There's just so many fascinating corners to follow up ^^'

Anyway, I realise these posts are kinda massive for tumblr, so I'm gonna start copying them over to canmom.art soon. <See you next time>.