#the throne it's not happening in my lifetime :/

[starcrossedjedis]

Elyana Dondarrion & Criston Cole in “Promise of a Lifetime”

“you know you really love someone when you can’t hate them for breaking your heart...”

I had these floating about my hard drive from when I was stuck between two colourings for a gifset and since it’s Missing Them Hours I thought... why not?^^

tagged: @acabecca @akabluekat @asirensrage @bravelittleflower @chrissymunson @curious-kittens-ocs @darknightfrombeyond @darkwolf76 @drbobbimorse @eddiemunscns @elmunson @emilykaldwen @foxesandmagic @fragilestorm @fyeahgotocs @fyeahhotdocs @harleyquinnzelz @heirsoflilith @if-you-onlyknew @julieelliewrites @kingsmakers @margoshansons @mystic-scripture @ocappreciationtag @sgtbuckyybarnes @stachedocs @scherbatskybish @susiesamurai @victoriapedrcttis

[warriorprincesstramp]

also on a mildly lighter less realistic note I'd rather charles not die because I think the dissolution of the monarchy is the most feasible during his reign

[togenabi]

the promised knight

knight!roronoa zoro x princess!reader

♡— after a lifetime apart, zoro finds his way back to you

word count♡— 8.7k (screams into the void)

genre♡— royalty au, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, slow burn bc a lot of things happen, but there's fluff bc I need there to be

content notes♡— fem!reader wears dresses, mentions of death and grief, very plot heavy, kuina and mihawk are here, canon-typical violence, original side characters, no use of y/n, proofread(ish), inaccurate royalty things, inaccurate chemistry/poisons/acids, yes I got the name florentia from ill be the matriarch

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— quick explanation!: a regent has no right to the throne, they're just someone stepping in temporarily while the next monarch is absent or unable to execute their powers. happy reading!!

Your happiest years were when everyone was together.

Those were the days you’d sneak out of your lessons to go play in the training grounds. You’d find your best friends arguing about something or other, fighting with wooden swords and chasing each other around.

Kuina and Zoro did their best to include you in whatever game they were playing. You found it all good fun, even if you were mostly being rescued or hidden away somewhere. The proud smiles on their faces when they saved you always made the wait for them worth it.

“Why do I have to play the bad guy?�� A young Zoro whines, frowning deeply with shoulders slumped. His wooden sword hangs lazily in his hand, pointed to the ground. 

Opposite him, Kuina’s blade was up, stable and correct with proper posture. “Because we agreed I would save the princess today!”

You remember sending Zoro a small smile, trying to reassure him, “You can save me next time, Zoro. I promise.”

Zoro complained, but gave his all acting as a bandit out to rob you. You and Kuina would run into the meadow—hands held in each other’s—squealing and laughing. You’d always end up collapsed together; among the grass and the flowers. They would cheer and scream into the sky, happy that the great knights protected their princess once again.

But that same meadow is now covered with a blanket of melancholy. The colors aren’t as vibrant as they were back then. Flowers no longer bloom like they did. The children’s laughter has been replaced by a deafening silence.

Everything changed when Kuina died.

She was hit by a stray arrow, they said. They called it a tragic accident. 

More sadness only seemed to follow after she was gone. Zoro left without a word, abandoning his training, and you along with it. Your mother, Queen Florentia, passed due to an illness a few months after that. In a blink of an eye, you lost everything back then.

The large doors to your chambers slam shut, breaking you from your train of thought. The thud echoes into every corner before fading into noiselessness once more. 

A maid rushes in, completely out of breath and practically stumbling towards you. “Your Highness!” She gasps. Waving a hand, you gesture for her to calm down.

“Selma,” You pour her some water in a glass. It’s strange to see your personal maid so distressed. “What did you find?”

Practically inhaling the water, she places a hand over her heart before explaining, “You were right, Your Ladyship. The commander informed me that several knights had poison hidden in their quarters.”

Her eyes trail to the glass she’s holding, then to the pitcher. Selma’s face becomes appalled as it sinks in that you had poured her a drink. You cut her off before she can make a fuss about it.

“Never mind all that.” There are more pressing matters than decorum right now. “What else did Mihawk say? Have the knights been apprehended?”

“No, my Lady.” Selma retrieves a transparent vial from her pocket. “The commander said there's a chance the poisons were planted. Trustworthy men could have been framed… He discourages you from trusting any of them at all.”

The vial is small, barely larger than your thumb. To an untrained eye, it looks like nothing is there. You hold it up to the window, letting the sun’s setting rays shine through the glass.

There it is. A near-invisible, lavender sheen in liquid. The queen regent’s signature poison.

“Damn it all.” You sigh, falling into an armchair. 

It’s common knowledge that most of the people are loyal to Queen Regent Cassiopeia. Not to you, the rightful heir to the throne.

Ever since she took the position after your mother’s death, she’s been doing everything in her power to discredit you. Though she's not in the official line of succession, her goal is to become queen by any means necessary.

You’ve only been able to hold on for so long because there are still people loyal to your mother, like Commander Mihawk. However, it will take only one slip up for your standing to collapse. Cassiopeia knows this, and you suspect that she plans to completely ruin you at the upcoming knighting ceremony.

On a paneled wall in your room, encased in an ornate golden frame, hangs a portrait of Queen Florentia. The gold reminds you of the gilded dagger she gave you as a child. 

Subconsciously, your hand moves to rest over your pocket; where the dagger is hidden under your skirt. What would your mother have done in this situation?

You scan the painting as if the image would respond. It doesn’t, but your eyes settle on the necklace she’s wearing. It was her most prized possession, and she had promised to give it to you when you were older, but it’s sadly lost to time.

The vial grows heavy in your fist. Your mother would stop at nothing until Cassiopeia is defeated, so that’s what you’ll set out to do.

“Selma, get me some ink and parchment.” You order, feeling more determined. “I have a plan.”

Dracule Mihawk burned the note as soon as he finished reading it. Your idea was brilliant, if only a little complicated to execute. 

Cassiopeia will demand you choose a personal knight during the ceremony. Assuming all the knights are loyal to the queen regent, none of them would be a safe choice.

So, you asked Mihawk to hire a skilled fighter to pose as a knight. Someone whose loyalty cannot be bought. Immediately, he knew who to recruit. Though he warned you that you might not find the man… agreeable.

“I don’t care.” You replied stubbornly. “I can’t afford to be picky. Just make sure that he won’t kill me in my sleep.”

Mihawk muses that he might be killed by you in his sleep. Because in a shady, run-down tavern, he sits beside a familiar green-haired swordsman nursing a drink at the bar.

“Fancy seeing you here, commander.” Zoro spits out the title in disgust.

“It seems that some things never change.” Mihawk hums. “You’re still in the same place as you were when we last fought.”

“And your legend ends with you kissing up to that false queen.” Disappointment practically drips from his tone.

“And here you are,” There’s an amused glint in the knight commander’s eye. “...still not able to beat me, Roronoa Zoro.”

Zoro’s jaw clenches in frustration. He breathes out deeply, “What do you want, old man?”

“Join my knights.”

Scoffing, Zoro can’t believe his ears. Is this guy serious? “I’m no knight. Not anymore.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mihawk tests. “The princess needs someone not easily dissuaded.”

At the mention of you, Zoro freezes. He squints at the commander as it dawns on him, “You don’t serve that Cassiopeia bitch.”

“Obviously.”

“But why did you become commander only after Queen Florentia died?��� Zoro asks. “Everyone thought you were bought off.”

“That’s besides the point.” Mihawk hisses. “I know you’ve been wanting to make it up to the princess. I’m giving you a chance to do that on a silver platter.”

Zoro stays quiet, eyes watching the alcohol ripple in his glass. He’s not drunk enough for this discussion. And he meant what he said, that he’s not a knight. That dream died with Kuina, and he chose to pursue less honorable ways to become stronger.

It’s funny how Mihawk, who was an outlaw, traded his jacket for a suit of armor. And now, he's trying to act righteous. But some things are just—

“It’s not too late to change things.” Mihawk attempts to persuade him, calmer this time. “Something tells me you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Shaking his head, Zoro can’t believe this man is talking like he knows him. “What do you know about regret?”

When the commander doesn’t respond, Zoro turns to see Mihawk’s face, a grave expression marks his features.

“I know far too much, I’m afraid.”

Zoro studies him for a moment longer, curious as to what he meant—but he doesn’t dare ask. Only an idiot would test Dracule Mihawk. 

This master swordsman, whom he’s looked up to for so many years, has changed drastically. Perhaps everyone has. It makes Zoro wonder how much you might’ve changed in the years he’s been gone.

You. He’s—there’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to ask… but does he have the right to? 

Who is he kidding? He doesn’t. 

And yet, Zoro can’t help but wonder if he passes on this opportunity and regrets it, would he spend the rest of his life wishing he could make up for it?

After downing his drink, Zoro slams the glass on the bar counter.

“What do I need to do?”

Selma assists you with your hair and makeup on the day of the ceremony. She’s practically buzzing as she flutters around you. It’s nice that she’s still enthusiastic about things like these, even when dangers lurk in the shadows.

“You look stunning, Your Ladyship!” She gushes, adjusting the different layers of your dress so that it falls on you perfectly. “A vision, you are. Just like Queen Florentia.”

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, despite not feeling as sure and confident as your mother was. Would that change, if you were to become queen?

A knock sounds on your door. Selma rushes to answer it, and lets Mihawk into your chambers. He steps in, but remains by the entryway.

“You look lovely, princess.” The commander bows to you in greeting. “I was instructed to escort you once you’re ready.”

Nodding, you approach him and hold onto his arm. “Let us be on our way.”

Keeping your face carefully neutral, you whisper to Mihawk under your breath, “Will you really not let me know the knight’s name? How am I supposed to know who to appoint?”

“You’ll know.” Mihawk pats your hand reassuringly. “Without a doubt, you’ll know. I just hope you’re not too hard on him.”

You side-eye him. “He’s not a convict or something, is he?”

Mihawk presses his mouth shut. This bastard, is he trying not to laugh? “You might actually prefer a convict over him.” 

That pulls a frown out of you that you cannot contain. What on earth is that supposed to mean? Is the man that bad? How are you supposed to mentally prepare with such vague warnings?

All thoughts of the mystery knight fade into the back of your mind, however, when you and Mihawk make your entrance at the throne room. 

The extravagant hall is decorated to the nines. Flags of different family crests hang from the ceiling. Flowers bloom at every window sill. You smile at it all, at your people—but it fails to reach your eyes. It’s difficult to truly smile when Cassiopeia stands dangerously close to your mother’s throne.

You curtsy when you reach the steps, one hand still on Mihawk’s arm as the fabric of your skirt dips onto the floor. You hear murmurs of approval from the ministers in the front row, pleased to see the good relationship between the princess and queen regent.

But they don’t see through your gloves, how your grip on your skirt is tense and far too tight. They don’t see how Cassiopeia’s smile is truly a smirk when you lower your head to her.

“Lovely to have you here, darling.” She says, and you fight the urge to laugh. ‘Lovely’ would be if she accepted her place and let go of her greed. 

Mihawk guides you to the smaller throne on the left. This has been your seat since you were born. If Cassiopeia had her way, it would be your seat until the end of your days.

She glides to the center of the dais, the train of her excessive dress flows like a river after her. She stands; graceful, powerful and smiling—but she will never be happy until she can sit on the throne and wear your mother’s crown.

Whatever it takes, you will find a way to stop her.

“Welcome to the long-awaited knighting ceremony.” Cassiopeia addresses the audience. “It is an honor to have the kingdom’s finest pledge to serve and protect us.”

The ceremony proceeds to speeches from several dignitaries. Mihawk delivers a short yet intense declamation about the knightage being the greatest honor; and hands the queen regent an elaborate, bejeweled sword.

“These warriors before us today are hereby called forward to receive Knighthood. The kingdom will forever be grateful for your service.” Cassiopeia proclaims.

Attentively observing the knights lined up, you keep an eye out for the one Mihawk recruited for you. One at a time, Cassiopeia announces their name before tapping their shoulders with the ornamental blade.

You grow restless as the line dwindles. Frustrated, you throw questioning looks at the commander’s direction. He skillfully avoids your gaze. The nerve.

When only about five men are left, you begin to study them all and weigh your options. Perhaps you should pick someone with a smaller build, so that you can have a better chance of escaping? You also spotted someone who appeared clumsy. If you were to outsmart him, your odds of surviving weren’t so bleak.

But then—dramatically, as if in slow motion—the great doors to the throne room opened with a loud, booming sound. Everyone turned as light poured into the hall.

A swordsman makes his entrance. His armor is unassuming, but the three blades at his side demand attention. He wears a helmet over his head, but even after so much time, you’d know those eyes anywhere.

Mihawk was right. You would have preferred a convict—or maybe some rogue, or a thief who would rob you blind. You would have preferred anyone over Roronoa Zoro.

You thought you’d never see him again, but he’s here, marching towards the end of the line. You gape at him, feeling too many emotions all at once. Why is he here? Why now?

Mihawk intercepts Cassiopeia before she can question Zoro’s identity. “Forgive me, queen regent. This young man ran late due to an errand I sent him out on.” 

How brilliant of him. Cassiopeia hates unexpected interruptions, but would never express her frustrations openly with so many people watching.

It’s amusing to see her grin and bear it. “That’s… quite alright, commander. I’m glad he made it before the end of the ceremony.”

When only Zoro remains to be appointed, you stand and call for the queen regent’s attention.

“Should he accept, this man shall be my personal knight.” You declare as Zoro’s gaze meets yours.

“What of your decision, knight?” Cassiopeia asks. Zoro nods, and the queen regent’s gaze sharpens. She understands that something is amiss, but passes the decorated blade to you without a word.

Back when you were children, you used to dream of this moment together. Kuina and Zoro would kneel before you on the grass beneath a shining sun, pledging their unwavering loyalty as you tap their shoulders with a stick.

You’re no longer children, but as Zoro kneels before you now, you still feel like a child all the same. Your clothes feel too big. The throne room is too vast; the ceiling too high. The sword is too heavy in your hands as you raise it.

“Roronoa Zoro. I hereby dub thee into the honorable order of knights as my chosen protector.” The blade lands on his shoulder—his right first, then the other. You pray to the stars that no one notices your hold quivering.

“Arise, Sir Zoro, and be recognized.”

You’re no longer children, but you’re still here. Playing a different sort of game.

Mihawk, the wise man that he is, makes himself scarce after the ceremony. You’re left to awkwardly journey back to your chambers with Zoro in tow. He doesn’t speak a word the entire time, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of your head. 

Selma is there when you get back, your usual afternoon refreshments prepared. She approaches you, but stops short when she sees Zoro.

“Leave us.” You tell her. She obeys, albeit reluctantly—looking back over her shoulder more than once as she exits.

After the door closes shut, the outside world feels a million miles away; making the air feel tense. You hastily take off your gloves, the fabric suddenly feels constricting against your skin. Every fiber of your being wants to scream at him.

Roronoa Zoro. Your best friend who had left all those years ago. You don’t even know where to start. 

Maybe throwing something at him will make you feel better. 

You throw one of your gloves. The fabric hits his chest before falling pathetically. 

“Seriously?” Zoro frowns at you, unimpressed. You throw the other one. It meets the same fate.

Grumbling under his breath, Zoro takes off his helmet. It vexes you how you subconsciously hold your breath until you see his face.

You huff skeptically, “Why are you here?”

“Mihawk said you needed help.” He answers with a shrug, causing his armor clink. 

After a breath, he speaks cautiously, “I didn’t know things had gotten this bad.”

“How could you have known?” You bite back, “You left, Zoro.”

In a sense, you understand why Mihawk chose him. You asked for someone who wouldn’t kill you in your sleep, and Zoro—at least, the one you knew—definitely wouldn’t.

Some (rational) part of your brain is telling you to keep quiet and accept his help. With Cassiopeia planning a mutiny, time is something you don’t have a lot of. 

But your heart still feels angry and hurt when you see his—stupidly handsome—face. The years just had to treat him well, didn’t they?

“I’m thankful for your help,” You admit disgruntledly. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Zoro calls your name. It makes your heart ache a bit, but you hold a hand up to silence him. 

“Please, just—I need time to process this, Zoro.” Turning away from the knight, your eyes find the window. The sunset paints the meadow in deep oranges and blues. It doesn’t make you feel any better.

“...We’ll talk tomorrow.” You promise, your tiredness evident from your tone.

Zoro lingers, hesitating. But he doesn’t push you. You hear his armor shift as he bows before he leaves.

That night, Zoro stands guard outside your door. It’s good that no one else is around, it allows him to think in peace. About you.

The last time Zoro saw you, you were a small thing, getting dirt on the edge of your skirt. When he saw you today, sullying even the path you walked on felt like a crime. 

He knew you would be mad. He had prepared himself to be yelled at. Maybe he thought you would cry. How much you went through didn’t really sink in until he saw how exhausted you were. 

All the things he wanted to say, every apology and excuse, fade into nothing. The first thing he wants to tell you is how thankful he is that you’re still alive. It doesn’t matter that you stay mad at him forever, he’ll protect you for just as long.

Footsteps sound through the dim hallway. Zoro rests a hand on his blades, ready to fight back anyone who poses a threat. A knight he’s not acquainted with approaches, his steps staggering just a bit. The man carries a bottle of alcohol.

“Hey! New guy!” The stranger bellows. “This ’ere is a little something we prepared for ya, since yous didn’t eat dinner with us.” Zoro makes a mental note that they’ve been watching him.

“Take it, take it.” The knight tries to shove the bottle into Zoro’s hands. At the last second, Zoro spots a knife the man hides behind his back.

Quick on his feet, Zoro jabs the man’s neck, causing him to stumble. The knight charges at him, but Zoro effortlessly dodges. Grabbing the knight’s shoulder, Zoro slams his head onto the stone wall.

The bottle clatters to the floor as his opponent collapses, looking up at him in fear. Picking up the glass, Zoro sniffs at its contents. It’s laced with some sort of sedative. 

Zoro pries the knight’s jaw open before pouring the drugged beverage into his mouth. The amber liquid spills. The man coughs, gurgling and struggling in vain until he slumps onto the ground.

Observing the bottle inquisitively, Zoro shakes his head before dropping it again. What kind of amateurish attempt was this? Is the queen regent testing his skills? 

If anything, all this managed to do was—Zoro starts, turning to your door in alarm—…divert his attention.

Not a second later, he kicks down your door. The elaborately carved wood falls from its hinges, dust clouds billow once it crashes on the previously spotless tiles of your room.

You’re fighting off three large strangers clad in black, a dagger in your hand. Zoro tries not to think about how your eyes softened in relief when they landed on him as he cuts down one of the intruders. Maybe you still care for him a little.

“Took you long enough!” Or not.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He grunts back, slashing his sword at someone charging towards you. Zoro only realizes the deeper meaning to his words when you make a face. 

“Don’t make being late a habit, Zoro!” Stabbing an intruder’s side, you quip at him, “You and your dramatic entrances, I swear.”

Zoro bites back a grin. He missed you more than you’ll ever know. 

After taking down one of the intruders, you hide in your wardrobe as Zoro deals with the rest.

It would be smart to lock the door. Barricade it, so that no one can get to you on the off chance Zoro is defeated. But you don’t. You keep the door ajar to watch everything unfold. The way he fights is a captivating sight.

Look at him. Your knight in lackluster armor. Protecting you like how you always talked about as kids. He’s wielding two blades, one for each perpetrator still standing. You blink in surprise when you make out the third, sheathed blade. Kuina’s.

The more you examine him, the more you see how different he seems. He carries himself more confidently, unlike that boy who whined about roles, responsibilities and challenges. 

You also see how gruff he’s become. He’s grown stronger, for sure, but you get the sense that he’s closed himself off from the world. Perhaps the years weren’t as kind to him as you'd thought.

The last intruder lets out a pitiful cry as Zoro knocks him unconscious.

“I’ll tie them up and let Mihawk deal with them in the morning.” Zoro says, pausing to breathe for a moment before dragging the men out by their feet.

Emerging from your wardrobe, you become dismayed at the sight of your room in such a state. “Did you really have to kick down the door?” You groan.

Surprisingly, Zoro blanks, appearing sheepish. “...I didn’t know it would break like that. I just—you should get a damn better door.” He mumbles, heaving the doors up and resting them against the wall outside.

When he comes back from restraining the intruders, he stands before you awkwardly—like he doesn’t know what to do when he’s not fighting or cleaning up bodies.

No one says anything. You both just take each other in, not completely recognizing the person that looks back.

You don’t feel so angry at him anymore. When all’s said and done, everyone has different ways of dealing with grief. Your heart only grows conflicted, wishing you had been there for each other instead of being apart. Goodness knows you could have used someone by your side. You’re sure he did as well.

“I—” Zoro falters. “...I’m glad you’re okay.”

‘Okay’ isn’t how you would describe your current state, but you nod anyway. 

“You too, Zoro.”

In a secluded alcove in the royal gardens the following afternoon, you invite Mihawk for tea on the pretense of thanking him for your newly sworn knight. The story that spread was that you would have been done for were it not for Zoro. You don’t want to think about how true that might be.

“The queen regent is furious you were able to secure a knight loyal to you.” Mihawk informs you as he helps himself to some pastries. “We should avoid meeting for a while, lest she suspect anything of me.”

“Alright.” You agree. “Selma also informed me that we can gather statements from mistreated staff.” You show Mihawk a list of names. “If enough of them support us, and if we can prove Cassiopeia orchestrated what happened last night… We can take her down.”

“She will be busy attending a gala this evening. I’ll make sure no one is near her office while she’s gone.” Mihawk turns to Zoro, who is standing guard behind you, sending him a fearsome look. “Those men got a tad too close last night—”

“Mihawk.” You warn him to drop it. He doesn’t.

“Ensure that it doesn’t happen again, young man.” 

“It won’t.” Zoro replies icily. The commander only huffs in response. 

‘It won't happen.’, he said. But trouble finds you when Zoro steps on a tripwire in Cassiopeia's office. Arrows soar, launching from scattered, hidden contraptions. Zoro shoves you into a bookshelf, covering your frame with his.

“So much for her not finding out we were here.” You remark sarcastically, waiting for him to step back.

But then, as they cage your head, Zoro’s arms tense up. His expression contorts in discomfort.

“...Zoro?” Raising your hands, you cradle the sides of his face.

“Damn arrows,” He growls. “I think they’re poisoned.”

“What?!” You gasp, ducking under his arm to check his back. You find a wound where an arrow grazed his skin. “Of course you get injured when you don’t wear your armor.”

“Why don’t you try sneaking around in that thing, then?” Zoro argues, but you’re startled when the wound begins to bleed.

“We need to get you treated.” Panicking, you grab his arm and pull him along. He doesn’t budge. “Zoro, we should go.”

“No.” He refuses, hissing in pain all the while. “That bitch won’t let us find a way in here again. Let’s just be quick.”

“...Fine.” You cave, still worried, hating that he’s right. “At least stay still, search the desk. I’ll handle everything else.”

Zoro relents, opening every drawer and scanning every document in them. You turn your attention to the shelves, trying to find hidden compartments or anything that looks remotely suspicious.

It's not long before a loud crash makes you wince. Zoro found something.

A panel beneath the desk detaches, revealing an ornate box. Studying it, you hum, “It looks like we’ll need a key.” Zoro unsheathes one of his blades, cutting through the lock until it cracks open. 

You shake your head. “Or we could do that, sure.”

However, instead of the nefarious plans or blueprints you were hoping for, you find old papers. All of them yellowing with age. 

“It’s your handwriting.” Zoro points out, picking up the first document.

“What?” You lean in, reading the file over his shoulder. It’s a letter written to acknowledge a transfer of money. But the amount is astronomical, and you don’t remember signing anything of the sort.

“Look at the date.” Pointing to the corner, it reads more than ten years ago. And then it clicks, “My mother wrote this.”

“There’s more than one.” Zoro sifts through the papers, counting over ten.

“All of them are addressed to… Shimotsuki Koushirou?” He reads the name slowly. You look at each other, confused. Why would Queen Florentia be sending payments to Kuina’s father?

A tall longcase clock chimes to signal the hour. If you clean up now and review the evidence later, you can make it look like you were never here. You instruct Zoro to pack up the box.

“We should head out soon.” You say, moving to pick up the arrows scattered on the floor. 

“Be careful.” Zoro reminds you.

“I am.” You show him that you’re holding the arrows by their tail ends. “You can go ahead, if you want. Get that wound treated.”

“Do you really think I would leave you?” You can’t help the incredulous look you send his way. 

“...Forget I said anything.”

Back in your chambers, you twirl an arrow you decided to keep as evidence while examining the documents sprawled out on your carpet. 

Zoro grabs it from your hand. “I thought I told you to be careful with that.”

You think aloud as he sets the arrow to the side, “I just can’t figure out why my mother gave Koushirou so much money.”

“Maybe she felt bad about the accident.” Your swordsman suggests. “We all did.”

“But why did she have to keep it quiet…” Mumbling in thought, you read the last receipt Queen Florentia signed. It had been penned the week of her death.

The sky grows darker, and it becomes more difficult to see. Zoro strikes a match to light a few candles, bathing the room in a subtle, warm light.

Beneath the dim, flickering flames, the sharp arrow on your tea table glints ominously. 

It took you a long while to get over spacing out whenever you saw an arrow. It was one of the things that affected you after Kuina’s passing.

Sometimes, you think of how much better everything would be if she was still here. If it weren’t for that—

…accident?

“Zoro?” Your voice is unsteady, “...What do you remember about Kuina’s death?”

“It was some new guy at the training grounds.” He answers, frowning as he recalls what happened. “He misfired, and his knighthood got revoked after that.”

“But,” Memories come flooding back as you try to piece things together. “If the archers were practicing that day, what was Kuina doing in the grounds?”

“Kuina wasn’t in the grounds.” Zoro corrects you. “She was in that meadow we always went to.” 

He points to the view outside, raising a finger to trace the horizon. “The arrow flew through the fence, but it was really dangerous, even—” 

Zoro turns back to you with wide eyes. “Even the queen was almost hit! Holy shit, she was there to observe that day.” 

You blink at him in disbelief, “My mother was the real target.”

“And she didn’t want the culprit to know she realized, which is why she kept quiet about the money.” 

You collapse into a chair as you run your hands over your head. “Did anyone ever check the arrow for poison?”

“No.” Zoro’s face crumples. “She was hit straight in the heart... She wouldn’t have made it even if it wasn’t poisoned.”

“Oh, Kuina…” You choke back a sob, covering your face with both hands. “I’m so sorry it took us this long.”

“Wait.” Zoro calls out your name, taking your hand and kneeling in front of you. The strength of his grip hurts, but you don’t mind it. You need to feel that he’s with you right now; especially when his next question makes your heart fall through the floor.

“How did your mother die?” 

“She—she got sick. A lot of our people got sick that year.” You answer shakily, not liking where this is going. “Do you think…”

“Queen Florentia could have been poisoned.” Zoro whispers. “And I bet that fake bitch was responsible for it. For Kuina’s death too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” You counter, “Cassiopeia deals with poisons, sure, but she wasn’t even in the kingdom yet then.” 

“...Someone must have betrayed your mother so Cassiopeia could be queen regent.” He suggests, rubbing circles into your palm. “Because isn’t it convenient, how she was there to bring the people together after Her Majesty died?”

It’s confusing how the world seems to have slowed down, and yet your mind is spinning so quickly, you can’t process anything. You squeeze Zoro’s hand to anchor you, but you shatter all the same. 

“I hate everything.” You cry, tears streaming down your face. “I hate how I didn’t know—but we were kids! How were we supposed to know? And, I hate feeling so powerless. What—how, are we going to fix this?”

“We’ll find a way, I promise.” Zoro moves to embrace your form, but you glare at him.

“You. I hate you too.” You push him away weakly, but he doesn’t let you go. “I—I hate that you left, Zoro… You have no idea how lost I was.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “I was lost without you too.”

Zoro feels you melt into his arms. Your strength just vanishes, and you slump forward until your forehead touches his.

“...Don’t leave me then.” You whisper. You beg.

He holds your cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb. “Never.”

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Zoro pressing the softest kiss to your temple as he tucks you in bed.

Selma barges in the next morning, slamming the (newly repaired) doors open. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you’re starting to feel sad for the abuse your doors have been going through lately.

“Princess! Your Ladyship! Your Highness—” She stops abruptly, covering her mouth, looking scandalized. What is she so flabbergasted by—

Only then do you see Zoro sleeping on the floor beside you. He’s leaning on the bed, using his forearms as a pillow. One of his hands is intertwined tightly with yours.

“Your Highness!” Selma gasps playfully, gesturing to your mother’s portrait. “Right in front of Her Majesty!”

“Selma,” You sit up, letting go of Zoro’s hand. “Did you have anything important to report?”

“Ah!” She exclaims, face becoming worried once more, “The commander has been imprisoned!”

You curse, shaking Zoro’s shoulder to wake him. “Couldn’t you have told me that first?”

“Forgive me, princess. It’s not everyday I see you holding hands with a man. May I ask who confessed first, Your Highness?”

“Oh my god, Selma.” You groan. “Just go prepare my clothes.”

“Shall I dress you, or will Sir Zoro—”

“Selma!”

If Zoro heard any of Selma’s ramblings, he’s excellent at hiding it. You both get ready in record time. After which, he leads the way to the dungeons; careful to make sure you don’t run into anyone. 

“We can sneak him out through that secret passage we used to play in.” You whisper, your knight nods. 

“When we get to him, break the lock with your dagger. I’ll stand guard in case someone comes over.”

But someone already beat you to Mihawk’s cell. Zoro pulls you into a shadowed corner to hide.

The queen regent paces in front of the bars, her extravagant dress and cape out of place in this gloomy dungeon. 

Mihawk is on the ground, his wrists chained with heavy shackles. Yoru is noticeably missing from his back. Seeing him like this is heartbreaking.

“I should have known you’d help that wench.” Cassiopeia sneers. “You’ll regret not siding with me soon enough, Dracule.”

“Now that you’ve found me out, I can finally ask you to stop calling me that.” Mihawk yawns. “My name always sounded revolting in your voice.” Crazy bastard, will it kill him to try to stay alive?

“But Florentia called you that, didn’t she?” 

Zoro squints at how something about Mihawk changes at the mention of your mother. It’s almost imperceptible, but the air shifts dangerously. The queen regent should watch her mouth.

“Her name sounds revolting in your voice too.”

Cassiopeia scoffs. “You’re just like her. Thinking you’re better than everyone else.”

“Aren’t you talking about yourself?” Mihawk leans back, crossing his legs. “That’s not a good habit, Cassie.”

The queen regent kicks the cell. Mihawk doesn't flinch as she snarls, “I’ll deal with the princess and that knight... I’ll make you watch as the light fades from their eyes.” Gathering her skirt, her heels clack loudly as she stomps away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you and Zoro run to the commander.

“Mihawk!” You call out as you stab the lock with your dagger. It crumbles to the ground after a few strikes. “What happened? What did she charge you with?”

“Treason, apparently.” He shrugs, the chains holding him rattling together.

Mihawk goes on as you break his shackles, “This kingdom should be grateful we’re trying at all. We could easily leave them to their own devices—” You frown at him. 

“...But of course, we won’t do that.”

Sneaking into the library, you regroup with Selma; who passes on vital information.

“The queen regent has the palace on lockdown. Everyone has orders to take you in.” She tells you. “But I’ve rallied the staff. We're going to plead your case to the ministers, Your Highness.”

“Thank you. Do you have my mother's letters?” She nods. “Good. Use them well. I'll make sure your efforts will not go to waste.” You say, giving her hands a firm squeeze. 

“Where’s that fake queen now?” Zoro looks eager for a fight.

“One of the butlers said that the queen regent disappears sometimes, and no one knows where she goes.” Selma explains, passing you a note from her source. “There are rumors that she smells like grass when she returns.”

Mihawk lets out a disbelieving laugh, “She must be at the secret garden.”

“The what?” You ask. That sounds exactly like something you would have loved as a child, but why haven’t you heard of it before?

“It’s a place reserved for queens. Only crowned monarchs should be allowed in there, or even know where it is.” He says. “That woman truly doesn’t know her place.”

“Why do you know about it?” Zoro asks.

After a pause, the older swordsman deflects, “I’ve been called a queen once.”

“Mihawk,” You urge him to be serious. “Can you take us there?”

Before he responds, Mihawk looks at you with something you can’t fully discern, as if he’s recalling an old memory.

“Of course. It’s your birthright, after all.”

The entrance to the secret garden is hidden in a passageway beneath the greenhouse. You imagine your mother walking along this path, to a sanctuary she could truly call her own.

But the vision darkens when you think of how Cassiopeia has been using the space all this time. You hope you're still able to recognize traces of your mother when you get there.

An iron gate stands at the end of the path. Vines tangle through the metal spirals and flowers. Mihawk holds a finger to his lips, carefully opening the gates without a sound except for the rustling of leaves. You all crouch behind a large plant that fans out, over your heads.

And then, you see it. You see what your mother left for you.

The centerpiece of the garden is an intricate pedestal, Yoru is propped up against it. On top of it, however, is a glass case displaying your mother’s most treasured golden necklace.

You almost want to run to it, but Zoro grabs your arm, warning you not to take another step. He nods towards where Cassiopeia stands in front of oddly shaped vials and strange devices containing diff chemicals. She douses a sword with an eerie purple liquid as she speaks.

“Three against one... That hardly seems fair.” She kisses her teeth. Looking over her shoulder, she glares. “Why don’t we fight on even ground?”

Out of nowhere, a large cage falls towards the three of you. Mihawk pushes you and Zoro out of the way, but isn’t able to avoid the cage himself.

“And I just escaped. What a shame.” Mihawk fusses, but you can see that he’s relieved you’re alright.

“Maybe you’re meant to be in a cell, Dracule.” Cassiopeia remarks. “I’ll have your kids join you shortly.”

There’s only one of her, this should be easy, right?

She throws a bottle at you. Luckily, you’re able to dodge it. The bottle shatters, its contents spilling over the bystanding greenery. The liquid turns out to be acid, burning through the foliage and leaving a smoky trail. 

Well, fuck.

Zoro also seems to realize how serious this fight is. For the first time since you’ve reunited, he unsheathes Kuina’s sword, placing the hilt in his mouth.

You brandish your dagger as you yell, “Really? You bite it? What would Kuina say?” He sends you a look. You try not to laugh.

And in the next second, you charge at Cassiopeia together.

It’s difficult to get close enough to land a hit. The queen regent leads you in a dance of acids and poisons. You dodge one bottle only to be met with the toxic end of her blade. It seems that your mother’s dagger won’t be enough in this fight.

“I didn't get this far to be stopped by the likes of you!” Shrieking, she lunges at you.

“You will never be queen!” You roar back.

Behind her, your eyes spot Yoru leaning on the pedestal. The blade is large and intimidating, and you’re not entirely sure if you can wield it correctly… But you might not have a choice right now.

As you were distracted, Cassiopeia’s sword almost cuts through your side. Panicking, you stumble backwards. Zoro slashes at your enemy’s wrist. Her hold on the poisoned weapon falters. It plummets with a clang.

While she’s occupied with Zoro, you rush towards Yoru. From behind the bars, Mihawk watches, holding his breath as you wrap both hands around Yoru’s hilt—but the damn thing is too heavy. 

“Dear princess, you should have learned from your mother!” Cassiopeia smashes a bottle on Zoro’s head. “Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!”

The glass explodes into countless glittering shards. A red gas escapes into the air, and your knight inhales far too much of it.

He falls, and for that moment, the entire rest of the world vanishes until all you see is him. Your ears start to ring. His grip loosens on his swords. 

No. Please. Not him. Not anyone else. No more.

Mihawk calls your name. You turn to him, on the verge of breaking down. But then, he nods once, slowly. The action reminds you to breathe—filling you with an overwhelming sense of strength. You can do this.

Screaming, you attempt to brandish Yoru again. 

You swing the legendary greatsword in a perfect arc. Once it collides with the ground, the air ripples. Power surges through an invisible force headed straight for the queen regent. She tries to run, but the hit lands.

Her eyes don’t stray from yours as she collapses. In her final moments, she falls from grace, howling in agony and rage. 

As a last ditch attempt, she throws one last vial of acid at Zoro. You’re about to curse the world all over again as you run to stop it.

Mihawk throws a tiny sword like a dart, miraculously breaking the container before it lands on your knight. Your knees give out, and you pull Zoro into your arms as you gasp for air.

It’s done.

Zoro wakes up to the feeling of you checking his temperature. Your hand is warm against his forehead, making him want to reach up and hold it. He should probably wake up and check on you now.

“Oh.” He hears Mihawk speak, “I didn’t realize your relationship took a certain… turn.”

On second thought, another minute of sleep won’t hurt.

“Not you too, Mihawk.” You groan. “I get enough of that from Selma.”

“Ah, yes. I heard.” The swordsman deadpans, “Hand holding. How scandalous.”

“Alright, if you’re not going to be of any help whatsoever, please just go.”

“If you wanted time alone with him, you could have just said so.”

“Goodbye, Mihawk.”

Zoro hears you escort Mihawk out, and he takes the moment alone to open his eyes. He’s in his quarters, which is a few doors down from yours so that he can easily get to you. 

Not that he stays here often, Zoro prefers standing guard outside your chambers. It’s strange how he lasted years without seeing you, because now that you’re back in each other’s lives, he becomes restless whenever you’re not around. 

Like right now. What’s taking you so long?

The door opens. Zoro perks up, but deflates when he sees that it’s Selma bringing in a pitcher of water. 

“You could’ve at least hidden your disappointment better, Sir Zoro.” She huffs at him, taking full offense. “I’ll go get your princess.”

“Oh!” She yelps excitedly, “My bad, it’s queen anointed now, isn’t it?”

Zoro smiles, his voice raspy with sleep, “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Indeed, it does.” Selma nods, bidding him farewell. 

He doesn’t have to wait long to hear your rushing footsteps. The door opens again to reveal you, this time. Your eyes shine in that really pretty way they do when you’re happy. He’s glad that’s among the things that didn’t change.

Zoro opens his arms, inviting you, “Come here.”

Not needing to be told twice, you fall into his arms, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re okay.” You murmur.

“I wasn’t about to miss your coronation, Your Majesty.” Zoro pokes your nose. He did that a lot when you were kids, you forgot how much you liked it.

“Thank you for being okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his cheek softly.

Zoro brushes his fingers through your hair. He holds your face in his hands, tracing your features as if that will help him memorize the happiness he feels in his heart. The sort of happiness he thought was lost to him forever.

“Hey,” Zoro speaks your name with care. “I love you a lot, you know.”

He always envisioned confessing to you in some dramatic, elaborate way that you’d deserve. There could have been a beautiful sunset. He would’ve brought flowers.

But he was wrong. All he needs are the words themselves, and you—smiling the way you’re smiling at him now. 

You laugh, “I might love you more, I think.”

Zoro shakes his head, sitting up so that he can bring his face to yours properly. “Doubt it.”

The kiss tastes like magic, like you were always meant to find each other's lips. His heart starts doing something funny, and he has to pull you closer—hold you tighter. You respond eagerly, kissing him back so intoxicatingly that he’ll remember the softness of your lips for as long as he lives.

Later that week, your coronation is a grand and extravagant affair.

When Cassiopeia's misdeeds came to light, the people banded together to celebrate her downfall. Those loyal to her either surrendered or tried to escape. Although none of them were able to get away, since Zoro and Mihawk were ruthless towards those involved in the attempted mutiny.

The crown on your head will take some to get used to. It still feels like you're borrowing something of your mother's; but instead of shying away from it like you had before, you step into it openly. You're ready to become a successor worthy to carry on her legacy of kindness and strength.

Uncharted these waters may be, at least you have Zoro now, who would dive into any perilous sea right after you.

Escaping the celebratory banquet and the revelries, you visit Queen Florentia and Kuina's graves with Zoro. It's only right that you pay respects together.

You leave flowers on your mother's headstone, thanking her for everything she did. You're startled when Zoro takes one of his swords, holding it in front of him as he kneels in front of the previous queen.

“Your Majesty, Queen Florentia,” He speaks, his tone steady and sure. “I, Roronoa Zoro, vow to never leave your daughter’s side. I will protect her until I draw my last breath. I swear to cherish her, and to love her even in my next life.”

What is he doing, making you cry like this? It turns out that emotional boy you knew is still somewhere in there. Your heart feels full, knowing your mother would have appreciated the gesture.

As you're about to move on to Kuina's grave, Zoro motions for you to go ahead without him. You look at him strangely, but do as he says to give him some space. 

Mihawk emerges from the treeline when you've gone far enough.

“You look like you’re about to leave without saying goodbye.” Zoro remarks.

“Of course you’d know how that works, hm?” Mihawk challenges, raising a sharp brow. “Try even thinking about leaving and I’ll return to make sure it’s your last thought."

“Didn't you just hear the oath I made to the love of your life?” Zoro turns to Florentia's tombstone again. “Your Majesty, back me up here.”

“She would have approved of you.” Mihawk’s frown is unimpressed, but his gaze is unmistakably caring. 

“...Take care of her, Zoro.”

“Of course. I promise.”

As Mihawk walks away, Zoro asks him one last question, “How are your regrets now, old man?”

The former commander’s shoulders shake in a mixture of amusement and relief. “I suspect they'll heal, with time.”

When Zoro catches up to you at Kuina's grave, you're grinning at him. He can picture that same grin on Kuina's face if she were here. 

“We were just talking about you.” You jest, “All bad things, too.”

“You had nothing to talk about, then.” Zoro sits on the grass beside you. “I’m perfect for you.”

Appalled, you scoff and turn to Kuina's headstone. “Can you believe this guy?”

That day, you talked for hours, even after the sun had set. And on the trek back to the palace, a soft breeze caressed your skin. It felt like Kuina encouraging you, sending you off onto the next chapter of your lives.

Zoro becomes Captain of the Royal Guard once Mihawk leaves. He's teaching you about weapons and self defense when he picks up your dagger to inspect it, turning it this way and that curiously.

“Is there something wrong with it?” You ask, observing it too.

“This pattern and material.” Zoro says, tracing a certain swirl on the weapon. “I feel like I've seen it before.”

“Ah,” He says in realization, tracing a finger down your neck and making you shiver. “It’s the pattern on your necklace.”

“My mother must have had them made together.” You say, unclasping the chain before handing it to him.

There's a gap in the center of the pendant. Thin and barely noticeable, but it looks like it can be opened by something sharp.

“Do you mind if I,” Zoro gestures at the dagger.

“Just don't break it.” You say. “Treat it like my heart.”

Zoro makes a face that pulls a laugh out of you. “I would never do this to your heart.” Aw. You might have melted a little.

The tip of the blade slots perfectly into the pendant. After twisting it slowly like a key, the metal clicks to reveal: a locket.

Handing it over to you carefully, Zoro lets you open it the rest of the way. Inside, there are images drawn on two panels. You, as a child on one side… and Mihawk on the other. Now you understand why your mother treasured this so much. Tearing up, you sigh.

“You’re not surprised.” Zoro notes.

“...I think a part of me always knew.” You respond. “And, I definitely felt something when I held Yoru. No wonder why.”

Treading carefully, Zoro wraps his arms around your waist as he asks, “You’re not upset that he left?”

“But he didn’t. He’ll always be there for me, and so will you.” You smile up at him. “I’m happy I found my family again.”

Many years ago…

The grass on the meadow bristles gently in the wind. Dusk bathes the land in a dreamy, gold and purple hue. 

After a day filled with imaginary adventures, two children wave their dearest friend goodbye. The princess smiles at them fondly before returning to the castle.

Kuina grins, face eager as she points her training sword to the sky. “I’ll be her knight someday. I’ll be commander and everything.”

Zoro jolts, immediately expressing in protest, “No, I’ll be the one to protect her! I’ll be commander!”

“Oh yeah?” The girl’s smile turns knowing. She pokes Zoro’s waist with her sword. “How will you do that? Aren’t you going to marry her?”

Stunned, Zoro can only stare at her in response. A blush creeps up his neck, reddening the tips of his ears. Kuina seizes the opportunity to make a run for it.

“Princess, wait up! Zoro wants to tell you something!”

“Kuina! Get back here!”

read the companion piece / my notes / the timeline of this story (in mihawk's perspective) here : "the taste of ale"

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @ay0nha @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @murnsondock @starszns @msmisasoup @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @appalost @commanderfreethatdust @onebatch--twobatch @rebeccawinters @gunslxtz @akakaze @lownna

[dragonseeds]

love and light to everyone but if i see one more post that’s like “the point of asoiaf is that feudalism is BAD��� i’m going to rip out my hair and start eating dirt and worms. like yes, it is bad. yes, monarchies are bad. yes so true it’s annoying when people ignore all of that and focus on who they think deserves the throne more. but that’s not the point—that is the premise? it’s the beginning of the exploration and deconstruction. functionally this system is rigid (specifically in terms of gender and class) and horrifically violent: so what it’s really like to live in it? to try to be a hero, a knight, to be a lady in a world where your body belongs to your family, your lord, your order? is it possible to be a good person in a hierarchal world like this, with such vast power imbalances woven throughout it and every relationship and interaction that you have informed by that? how do you navigate that imbalance in order to have meaningful relationships—can you every truly do it? and who decides what is good? how do you know if it’s truly right or it just felt right because it’s what you wanted to do? what about the people who have no name, no family, no order: what happens to them? don’t they matter? what if in a lifetime of looking the other way or actively causing others harm, you do a few things—maybe one thing—that’s objectively good: does it mean anything? does it matter, even if no one ever knows? what if the best thing you ever did broke every vow you made, every law that governs your society? how do you live with that dissonance?

what’s it like to be a ruler, to be a king or queen—is it possible to be a good one in such an unequal system? to wield power justly? who decides what is just? who decides who should rule? at which point does the amount of power someone can have cross the line into too much? is it when you stop trying to figure out how to use it correctly and worry only about how to keep it? if holding onto it costs you everything, your family and all your relationships, is it still worth it? what if having that much power available is necessary to the survival of your people, maybe even your world, but when it’s misused the carnage left behind is beyond articulation—is it still worth it? are the lives it saves worth the lives it took? how do you measure that? who carries the weight of that choice and how? how do you live with it? how do you go on living in a world that can be harsh and cruel and unfair, a world where your good intentions and your personhood seem to matter very little in the face of someone else’s greed or when compared to the yoke of your duty? and the questions never stop and the answers when and if they come are rarely easy, but the point is that you keep asking and keep trying because that’s what it means to be alive lol

[verus-veritas]

Died and Gone to Heaven

Reworked caption story by RookCaps

"Welcome back to heaven, Atreus." The enormous scantily clothed man boomed. Jeremy had just awoken after he thought he had died saving a man by pushing him from the path of a bus hurtling towards him.

"Who... who are you?" Jeremy asked. His voice was not his own, it had a deep and masculine quality to it that was totally alien to him.

"Ah, amnesia - I am Kyrion, King of The Gods. Don't worry my son, it is normal to have temporary memory loss after living as a mortal for so long."

Son? Mortal? Is this man a god? Who is this Atreus person? Jeremy thought as he looked down for the first time, seeing the absolutely perfect adonis body below him covered only by a simple fabric that would not be considered appropriate by even the most risqué individual. Oh my god! I must be this Atreus. The hospital must have me on some crazy drugs for me to be tripping like this.

"Oh my son, my prince, I can see you are distraught. Here, I will bring you to your quarters to recover." The huge man grabbed hold of Jeremy, lifting him effortlessly. Jeremy felt like a child being cradled in Kyrion's arms.

The God King left Jeremy in a room nearby. Overwhelmed, he lay down to sleep, trying to avoid thinking about the odd yet incredible sensations coming from his god-like body. As Jeremy drifted off to sleep, he hoped he would reawaken free from this crazy fever dream.

— This must be real then. I've tried to find a more sensible explanation but all evidence points to the crazy fact that I am now in possession of this heavenly body. Jeremy had awoken to find himself still in the prince of gods, Atreus's body. He ran his hands all over those perfectly sculpted muscles, every touch leaving his new body feeling invigorated and powerful. As he grabbed his thickened and hardened manhood and thrust into it, he let out a powerful roar while golden semen coated his entire chest. After some more incredibly pleasurable self exploration of his new body he had turned to trying to find out what had happened.

He looked around his bare room for information but could not find any information at all. It was only when he walked to look in the mirror that he realized that it wasn't merely a mirror at all. It seemed to be a magical artefact of some kind, displaying whatever information he wished to see. It was there that he had learned more about this new domain. He found that Gods and Goddesses were in fact real. They had created humanity as an experiment and entertained themselves by interfering with the mortals as they saw fit. All human religion was based on one or many of the Deity's that existed in this heaven. Recently, the last couple thousand years, Kyrion had restricted Gods and Goddesses from interfering with humans directly - only he was allowed to do so and he chose to do so rarely. Punishment for Gods consisted of banishing them to live as mortals temporarily, usually for one to fifteen lifetimes. There were only 138 Gods and Goddesses, reproduction is strictly controlled by the God King.

After the brief history lesson on what seemed to be the origin of all religion Jeremy knew of, he turned to trying to figure out how he even ended up here. He found he was in the body of Prince Atreus, son of God King Kyrion. Atreus would inherit the throne if Kyrion was to die. No God had died since Kyrion had taken control, as only a Godkiller weapon could end a God's life and the new regulations put in place had prevented such weapons from being created.

Jeremy wondered if this magic mirror artefact could recall the accident that had led to this whole situation, when he had pushed that man out of the way of the bus. The mirror immediately responded to his thoughts, displaying the street he had been on that day. Just before the bus barrelled towards the oblivious hunk, who appeared to be a more human version of his current body, time slowed down.

He saw a gold glowing beam extending vertically above the scene of the impending accident, the handsome man had a silvery ethereal trail extending from his body - slowly being pulled up by the golden light. Jeremy saw himself shove the man out of the way, splatting into a bloody mess on the pavement. The man's silvery soul floated back into his muscular body while a similar, albeit much dimmer, blue ethereal mist left Jeremy’s broken body. His own soul was vacuumed up where Atreus's had meant to go.

Jeremy sat down, realizing the gravity of the situation. Should he tell Kyrion that he was not the son he appeared to be? Should he just keep quiet? He wasn't sure how the Gods would react if they knew a mortal was now in possession of one of their immortal bodies.

Distraught, he sat down in the chair beside him. He felt an odd solid object press against his beefy leg. Pulling at the cushion, he found a small glowing dagger hidden beneath the folds. Gripping it he felt an awesome power flowing through it. What does this mean?

Jeremy noticed a blinking emerald crystal in the hilt of the dagger. He rubbed his rugged finger across the gem, a strange gold light emanated from the crystal, producing an ethereal message in the air:

Mortal,

I was able to place your soul in the Prince's body without the detection of the

immortals. Not even your new father, the tyrannical Tyrion, has realized my deception. For one thousand years I have plotted his demise so I can take control as I deserved. He is the bastard son of Khronus, not me! I have one simple task for you, mortal. If you succeed, I will leave you in Atreus's body to rule by my side as my personal guard. You will no longer be a mere mortal, but a god. My task is simple, use the dagger I have left for you and plunge it into Kyrion's heart. I have scheduled a meeting with him this evening. You will join the meeting and murder him while he is distracted. He will never suspect his dim-witted son to betray him. Do this, and you will be rewarded.

Mishara, God of Deception

Jeremy didn't know what to do. The offer was enticing, he could be a god!. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to give up his integrity to be immortal, and he definitely didn't want to be this power-hungry Mishara's personal plaything.

He had only been among the gods for a day and he was already involved in their murderous and aristocratic politics. How could these super beings be so primitive? I guess we are created in their image, but we seemed to have evolved past this archaic style of government, Jeremy thought.

Hours later, Jeremy accompanied God King Kyrion to meet Mishara. Jeremy observed the two arguing about the state of human-god affairs. He could tell that this debate had been had before.

When the debate became more heated, Kyrion arose to his massive height to look down upon the God of Deception. His back was turned to Jeremy, so this was his opportunity to kill the king and keep this god-like body for himself.

He removed the dagger that had been hidden underneath the fabrics and raised it above his head.

Jeremy hesitated for a moment, thinking about what he intended to do, then stepped past Kyrion and plunged the God Killer dagger into Mishara's chest. Mishara's face twisted in shock, shouting, "You traitorous mortal!" The god fell to the ground, life leaving him as golden blood flowed from his chest.

"What have you done, Atreus? What mortal was Mishara talking about?" Kyrion asked with an edge to his voice, he did not know why his dim-witted son had done what he had done. Not trusting himself to speak, Jeremy poked the dagger's emerald; Mishara's message reappeared for Kyrion to read.

"So you are not my son, you are a human? I am surprised a mere human did not give in to their greed to steal an immortal body. You are more just than many gods, as evidenced by Mishara's betrayal. You deserve a reward." The God King rubbed his chin. "You will take my son's place as prince, heir to the throne."

"What! But what about your son? He will die a mortal?" Jeremy asked, as he questioned if immortality really was worth the freedom.

"Was being a mortal so bad that a god should not live as one? Atreus was not suited for the throne, he was as dim and stubborn as he was handsome and strong; he is better suited to be a mortal man. He had voluntarily become mortal as a vacation from the pressure of his position. He abandoned his duty as prince; no, you are humble and just, more fit for the throne than he ever could be."

Jeremy knew he could not argue with the God King, he had to accept what he had been given. He was now Atreus, God and Prince, heir to the throne of gods and goddesses. It would not take long before he came to love the glory of his immaculate body of a literal god. His to enjoy for the foreseeable eternity.

Hey everyone! Hope you've all been well! As for myself I've been feeling better health-wise, and I'm finally getting more time for writing again! I can assure you that the writing itch never left my body, as I've made a list of stories I'm planning on finishing in the foreseeable future! Stay tuned, guys! /Verus

[welcometoneverland-98]

Fire of Venus // 𖥸 Chapter 3 𖥸

#Geta’s POV#

I had tasted many sweet things in this lifetime. The gods had been kind to me during my lifetime, the only thing I could complain about was my own half, my shadow and twin Caracalla. How he disdained what I did and how I disdained him in return. Our favorite game to play as we tugged back and forth with whatever we wanted. The empire was ours and yet he liked to try and claim whatever I had for myself and I was starting to grow more and more impatient. 

Any whore I had, he had to whine and have as well; any food I enjoyed he had to go and say he enjoy and almost grip it out of my mouth. Rome seemed to be lacking sweet things and I had been so focused on making it bigger that I didn’t even realize what I had been missing until it stared at me right in the face. The sweetness, the woman whose body was untouched and eyes had yet to be grazed with the terrors of this world. The general’s daughter. The one he so much tried to hide from our eyes and by finally looking at her I was tempted to say I understood his reasoning for that. 

The shape of Venus herself stood in our very own halls and for the first time I felt like my eyes were underserving of such a sight. 

So it was obvious that once I stood up to greet her that Caracalla would start to spin in his own mind. Not even his fucking monkey could keep him occupied and out of my business for a moment. This was to be my moment, this was to be my own sweet thing and I had to find a way to make that happen. 

I made her sit between our thrones, a chair had been brought just for her at my command as I helped her sit down and began to talk to her about the people that filled our rooms. The commotion around us recommenced as they saw their emperors deep in conversation once more but I saw their eyes on us, I enjoyed their eyes on us. 

Then there was the general and his little wife, standing in a corner and staring at her. Clearly uncomfortable and waiting to see what I, or my brother, would come up with and the looks on their faces only made me want to come up with something even more. He had been a good general, our territory was growing by the day and I knew we could get even more, we would get even more. The next conquest was already planned and he was to leave soon enough that he would have to, once more, leave the women alone. But not her. I wouldn’t let her alone anymore now that I knew she existed. 

She sat still for most of the event, drinking softly from the cup of wine that had been brought just for her at my request and she ate just as softly, plucking grapes that were served near my brother and that he loved feeding to his stupid pet monkey. He was looking at her most of the time, I knew it without even looking at him that he was doing so. Caracalla was easy to read and even easier to anticipate. It was obvious that he was plotting some stupid way to get her attention, the grapes was the first introduction to whatever he had plan, if it even was a plan. There was the disease in his mind that kept him from acting accordingly, dear mother said he was just different, closer to the gods than most of us, but I knew that to be untrue. I was the one in a closer reach to the gods, they spoke to me and through me and it was them that made me act they way I do. It was their intention for us to expand the empire and so we did, and now they gifted me with something so sweet to reward my efforts and my brother thought he could slither in and take it. Not a chance. 

“How are you enjoying yourself sweet Anna?” I turned my face to her, my hands clapping as people danced in front of us to entertain us. 

She looked back at me and for a moment something in my chest moved faster and seemed to stop all at once “it is quite a commotion emperor. I assume this is all to your liking”

I found myself nodding my head to the melody that were her words, her voice sounding like the most beautiful tune that had ever been played. This was to our liking indeed. It could probably have a little more blood in it but all could be arranged at the proper time. 

“I have been thinking you know” I brought my cup to my lips, my gaze finding the one of general Acacius and a smirk appeared on my lips “You are to have a new purpose you see?”. 

This brought my brother attention to the conversation as he stood taller on his chair and looking at the both of us. 

“You can’t marry her!” He yelled out like a little child whining like a toy had been ripped from his hands. 

I shook my head and laughed out loud taking Ana’s hand in my grasp. 

“Dear Anna you are to spend time at the Palatine with us and I am to use your talent of storytelling to my favor”. 

There were rumors about her. We had obviously heard them before, everything reached our ears no matter how well people would try to hide it. She was said to love stories, clever little thing. And was also said to be a good story teller and I could just do with one of those. 

It had been brought to my attention that some of my best entertainment was growing weak due to discomfort. Those weak gladiators were not putting on the types of shows we intended them to and I had been growing tired of even attending those, so this was something to improve that. 

A storyteller to appease the beasts and get them motivated for the best show. A storyteller to keep my mind sane and my eyes cleansed from the weariness of ruling a whole city and soon the world. She would be by my side through it all. 

Thanked be the gods.

A/N

New point of view unlocked. 

Since the chapters have been smaller I will try to upload them more often. 

[saltywinteradult]

“there is no way in hell Alicent is going to abandon her children” why not?

Aegon’s a rapist and Aemond’s a sociopathic kinslayer, why should Alicent be forced to stay loyal to them?

I understand Rhaenyra why loves Jace, Luke and Joffrey because what’s not to love, they’re perfect. But I cannot see Alicent genuinely loving Aegon and Aemond after everything they’ve done.

It would be 100x more radical and feminist for Alicent to choose Rhaenyra, to put herself first, to stop letting men control her.

Goodness me, I hardly know where to start with this.

I don’t know how you think parental love works, nonny dearest, but it sure as hell isn’t "I won't love my children if they're not perfect people". That’s generally not how parenthood works. And Alicent loves her children. She was sold as a child bride and endured years of rape for the sake of producing those children. Raising and protecting them has been the main purpose of Alicent’s life for twenty years. How could she not love them?

In case you need proof, Alicent physically attacked Rhaenyra, arguably the big love of her life, because she was that angry (and rightfully so) about her son being maimed. Alicent went along with usurping Rhaenyra's throne, despite knowing it would lead to war and ruin what little chance she had left of mending things with Rhaenyra, because she loves her children and is desperate to keep them safe, and she believes that Rhaenyra would kill them to secure her claim to the throne. (Whether that is true is a different discussion - what matters here is that Alicent believes it.) Alicent stepped in front of a dragon to protect Aegon, for crying out loud. Aegon being a rapist clearly tarnished him in her eyes, and yet she still stepped in front of that dragon to protect him. If that doesn't tell you everything you need to know about Alicent's love for her children, I don't know what will. So I don't know that this is a case of Alicent being "forced" to stay loyal to her children, as much as it is Alicent choosing to stay loyal to the people she loves most in the world.

I would also like to point out that Rhaenyra's children are very much not perfect. Jace and Luke both participated in bullying Aemond. In case you forgot, it was Luke who literally mutilated and permanently disabled Aemond. It doesn't matter if Aemond was in the wrong for claiming Vhagar or calling the Strong boys bastards. He wasn't, but even if he was, cutting out someone's eye is not a thing that good people do. So I don't know where you got the idea that Jace and Luke are "perfect", nonny dearest, but it sure as hell wasn't from HotD.

I'm not going to argue over whether Luke maiming Aemond is more or less bad than Aegon raping Dyana or Aemond killing Luke (which is his fault, even if in this version of the story he didn't intend for it to happen). That's not the point. And please note, I am not making a single excuse for Aegon raping Dyana or Aemond killing Luke. I'm simply pointing out that it is extremely hypocritical to claim that Aemond and Aegon are unloveable because of the terrible things they do, but Jace and Luke are loveable when they both do terrible things as well.

And here's the thing. Rhaenyra clearly loves Jace and Luke anyway. Why wouldn't she? They're her kids and she loves them flaws and all. So why is it any less believable that Alicent would love Aegon and Aemond? Why are Jace and Luke loveable despite their terrible deeds, but Aegon and Aemond aren't? And if Alicent choosing Rhaenyra, whom she loves, would be a feminist storytelling choice, why would it be any less feminist for her to choose to stay with her family whom she loves just as much? Why are Alicent's choices only Feminist and Radical when they benefit Rhaenyra?

Even if it were true that Alicent abandoning her family and becoming lifetime president of the Rhaenyra Fan Club would make for a more feminist story - which, to be clear, it isn't - my first priority is not for the story to be The Most Radical And Feminist™. I want the story to be good. And I do not think that making Alicent abandon her family for Rhaenyra would make for a good story. It goes completely against Alicent's characterisation to have her abandon the family we're shown time and time again that she loves more than anything else. Not only would that be a betrayal of her character, it would undermine the narrative as a whole.

For better or worse, these two women and their relationship have been made central to this story. They are foils and they've each been made into the figurehead of their respective teams in every way, down to the marketing of the show. It would simply be bad storytelling to throw off that narrative balance by having them team up. It would completely upend the story being told. The point of making Rhaenyra and Alicent's relationship so central to the show is that despite their love for each other they were still driven apart and forced to become enemies. Having them reconcile would undermine the point that this story is a tragedy.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Instead of doing my job, I thought of another tasty AU.

Dark EmDuo Timeloop (tw: mild suicidal thoughts)

Technoblade is the crown prince of the Hypixel Kingdom. One day, he wakes up to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded. War has come to his home. He is young, but clever. Smart and strong. Even out of tragic losses, he is able to wrangle victory. A once in a lifetime general. A masterful Tactician.

The Hardcore Kingdom is defeated. They are routed. They are sent back with their tails between their legs, forces completely flogged. It is a complete victory.

There is a celebration in Hypixel. There is drinking and merriment and joy about the end of the Five Years War. Technoblade finally feels like he can relax. Its over. Its done. Next week, he will have the terms of surrender signed for all the international world to see.

He goes to bed, feeling hopeful.

He wakes up a Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

He is confused, disoriented, thinking this is some kind of nightmare. But as days turn to weeks, he ISN'T waking up.

He adjusts. He decides he will save more lives this time. He knew now where the enemy would be. He knew hardcore's strategies. The war would be shorter this time.

Hardcore doesn't follow the same strategies.

Technoblade struggles a bit under his misconceptions and its his troops that suffer. He makes assumptions based on before and battles are lossed. He still scrapes by, but the war takes 10 years, not 5. He is older. There is more death. But it is an even louder celebration when Hardcore is routed once more. Voices sing and bodies dance. The war is done. They are safe.

Technoblade goes to bed that night, worn and weary. Just wanting to rest.

He wakes up as Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

He shrieks in rage at this, startling the servants, but he immediately goes on the offensive. He won't give Hardcore and inch this time. He will not be merciful. He bashes the forces of Hardcore with the rage of a million suns.

The war ends in 2 years. More lives are lost on both sides than any time before.

There is celebration, but it is muted. People side-eye the king with fear as he stews in his throne.

Technoblade stays up as late as he can, the dawn light completely brightening his room before he even tries to sleep.

He wakes up as Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

He sits in shock as he listens to the advisors speak, the older men giving him knowing looks and kind words about his father's death.

Technoblade has no idea how this keeps happening. In between war coucils, he scours the library on magic and divinity. He tries to find SOME REASON this keeps happening.

He finds no answer by the time the war ends. Six years this time. The celebration is beautiful, but Technoblade does not attend. He scrambles in the library, trying to find something. He falls asleep under candlelight, face lolling onto a book.

He wakes up to as Crown Prince learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

Instead of guiding soldiers from the palace, he decides to join the warfront himself. His aids beg him to reconsider, but he refuses. He rides out to war on his steed, sword in hand and a determination to make this be the final stand.

He's as good at fighting as he is strategizing. He leaves bloody swathes in the army in front of him, enemies looking at him in terror when they see his gleaming crown. None can stand against him. And the war is won in 3 years.

Technoblade considers the sword in his hand as the sun starts to rise, wondering if there was a different sleep he should consider.

He couldn't be sure that would work. He goes to sleep.

He wakes up as Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

This life gives him some type of answer. Once more, he takes to the battlefield himself. The feeling of DOING giving him some relief in feeling so stuck.

He crosses blades with Hardcore's King, Philza.

Philza is delighted to meet the young king. He has such clever strategies. He mocks Technoblade and Technoblade snarks back. And Philza seems delighted while he tries to cleave off Technoblade's head.

Technoblade spits at Philza that he will never take Hypixel. That Technoblade would never allow it. Philza jokes that "If at first you don't succeed, try try again." Technoblade growls at him that no, this will be the FINAL TIME.

Philza is taken aback by that and Technoblade grabs the advantage, knocking Philza away from him. But when Technoblade locks blades with Philza again, Philza is SO MUCH STRONGER than before, and staring at Technoblade with piercing eyes.

Philza demands to know what Technoblade means. Technoblade doesn't respond at first, trying to cut Philza's head off. Philza rebuffs him , demanding even more to know what he means.

They are interrupted by Technoblade's reinforcements, which swarm the battlefield. Philza calls a retreat, still staring at Technoblade as his troops flee the battlefield.

Technoblade is unnerved the day of the victory celebration, but also excited. Finally, he might have a clue about what is happening. He goes to bed that night early, a plan forming in his mind.

He wakes up as Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

He has a new goal this life. He needs to take out the King as soon as possible. He doesn't have much experience with spies and assassins, but he invests some time into that endeavor as he once more takes to the battlefield.

His spies don't learn much. There doesn't seem to be any secrets Hardcore keeps in regards to time loop tomfoolery. He learns nothing.

Until Philza ambushes him on the battlefield.

Technoblade doesn't see it coming. He is knocked off his feet, rolled in the mud as a body presses down against him. Knife at his throat. Philza grinning down on him, telling him they never got to finish their conversation.

Technoblade attempts to free himself, but isn't able. The knife gets closer.

Technoblade demands to know what the heck King Philza did. Why does time keep resetting?

Philza laughs victorously, saying he knew it. It made sense why King Technoblade kept changing as well. Technoblade manages to throw him off while he's distracted. Points his sword at him at says it doesn't matter. He will end it this time.

Philza laughs and asks how he plans to do that?

Technoblade responds that he'll try by killing King Philza, then go from there.

Philza laughs and wishes him good luck. But this only ends when Philza wins the war.

Technoblade wins the war in 4½ years. He never managed to kil Philza.

Time loop after time loop, Technoblade tries to murder King Philza. Or try to find some other way for the war to end. For time to stop reseting. He wins the war, over and over and over again.

He keeps meeting Philza. Philza seems to be enjoying himself. Philza laughs and goads Technoblade. Technoblade snarks back at him. Mocks Philza's failed conquest. Some of their conversations could even be almost friendly, if you removed the swords from the equation. Technoblade loses count of how many times he had won to war.

This continues until Technoblade dies.

He was near the end of the war. From experience, he knew he would route Hardcore in two battles tops. He had this down to a science. He was currently in a battle with King Philza, their swords meeting each other with no force behind them. Almost jovial air.

One of Philza's soldiers sneak up behind Technoblade and stab him in the back. Technoblade collapses, blood filling his lungs as he could barely bleed.

Technoblade doesn't see a furious Philza behead the soldier. He just knows that Philza pulls him out of the muck and gently turns him over so his head is in Philza's lap.

Philza speaks to him, but Technoblade has no idea what he is saying. It was a really good hit. He bleeds out quickly, drowning in the blood that fills his lungs.

He wakes up as Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

Technoblade wakes unnerved, the familiar rush of servants scrambling around him. He had died. He had DIED. Someone else must have finished the war, if Philza hadn't won. But had he died any sooner, that would certainly be the end. Philza knew Technoblade's forces too well to be confronted by anyone but Technoblade.

He couldn’t allow himself to die again. It would be the end.

He stops going to the battlefield.

Technoblade directs his forces from the war room, like the first few lives. Its harder, Philza seeming to be on a rampage. And as each loop passes, King Philza seems to be getting more and more desperate. More and more angry.

The loop begins to wear on Technoblade.

He has no idea how many years he had lived. How many times the scenario had played out. It just continues. He just wins. And wins. And wins. There is no passion. There is no drive. He can't remember his father's voice anymore. He protects the people just because its HABIT.

He is so tired.

He wakes up as Crown Prince to learn his father is dead and he is to be king and the Hardcore Kingdom has invaded.

And for once, Technoblade decides not to fight.

His advisors beg him to rally the army. The nobles plea with him to see sense. This is a war they can win! They have the strength! They have the supplies.

Technoblade says no. Let them come. We won't fight. And Technoblade enforces this, with a force that no one knew the young prince possessed.

The gates are opened when Philza rides up to the palace, his army in tow.

Technoblade doesn't dress for the occasion. He picks something comfortable for his country's surrender. He sits in his father's throne, bored. Tired. Watching the throne room door as Philza strides in with his guards.

"Philza," Technoblade says bored.

"Technoblade," Philza would respond.

They watch each other in silence for a while, all the nobles in the room watching with bated breath.

Technoblade just sighs and stands up. Steps down the dias. He meets Philza face to face, Philza's guards bristling. Philza just looks on impassively.

Technoblade declares that Philza wins. He pulls the crown from his hand and thrusts it toward Philza with little care. Philza carefully takes it, before throwing it to the side. Technoblade barely glances at it. He doesn't care about the crown anymore.

He does flinch when Philza wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight. Technoblade holds back tears before hugging Phil just as tight.

Philza declares that he missed him. Technoblade does say the same. He just says that he's tired.

Philza says he wouldn't be so tired if he wasn't so stubborn. Honestly, a whole millenia to take a single kingdom? Philza did have things to do. He was supposed to go on a date with his wife when the war was over.

Technoblade snorts at that, but just leans into the hug.

Thats all I got! Time to actually get some work done. Hope.you enjoy this bit!!!

OUGH, something about this one fucks me up so bad /pos

It's less like... outright 'dark' than a lot of dark SBI ideas feel at first glance, except when you start to think about it, there's some really grim possibilities here. To what extent can Phil (and later on Techno) really care for his men/soldiers, knowing their deaths aren't permanent? What does destruction and death matter if it'll all go back to the way it was before? I could imagine them becoming really careless with human lives.

Then there's ofc the thing where - without him really doing anything THAT terrible - Phil essentially drove Techno mentally into near-suicide and complete apathy. Sure, it's implied at the end he's going to be a good friend to Techno and take care of him, but how would you begin to 'make up' for that kind of extreme mental strain on a person. Phil, you're evil (/still pos)

Loved this so much. Dining on it like a 5 course meal. Kissing you on the lips, Lenn (/platonically but also a little bit homoerotically (/j))

[calisources]

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑? 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different media and some made from scratch about the royal succession line and the troubles it brought during a medieval/fantasy period. Change pronouns, names, titles and locations as you see fit.

You poison a king so that they may take his place.

Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance.

If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.

Princess Catherine. Your loss has endeared you to the people. They share your grief.

 You've had your courses for days, but you do not tell anyone. I don't understand.

God would have me wed Prince Harry.

But you are his brother's widow. It is impossible. It is forbidden.

I am every inch the soldier... And commander.

In England, widows don't handle swords, much less a widow carrying a prince in her womb. 

And I'll wager that you were praying for a boy.

My mother is already planning my next marriage, though in God's eyes it will be my first marriage.

If you are still a maid, then, Catherine, I can be your husband. 

I will raise you up, you... you and all of England. You will be my princess and... and my queen.

Ten years since the king has been on the throne and there is no heir apparent. Only his brother, gods forbid. 

Daughters don’t inherit, sons do. 

You have a son but you must have a spare too. Gods know what would happen if the boy dies.

The line of succession is clear on these matters. Girls are the last resource.

I am a woman, whoever I marry must be clear on his duty. He is not the crown, I am.

His Majesty has no male heir and will have none but he, Buckingham will succeed to the throne.

By assassinating His Majesty.

Right of Conquest is still a rightful way to gain a throne. Has anyone banned it as a law?

Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?

 God forbid that the king should abandon her just to ease his own conscience. I don't think the English people would ever forgive him.

She is threatening the peace in this realm by playing the king with empty promises. No one can predict a son. 

Perhaps the succession must change, this dynasty is large and will survive.

Your Majesty, I beg that you yield to the King's will.

To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.

You think he might invade England in support of the queen?

You underestimate the support he/she has with the smallfolk and highborn alike. They would  go to war if you dismiss them.

Perhaps, one day this little girl will preside over empires.

Now I am indeed Queen.

Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine! 

Perhaps there should be reasons to annul the marriage and make the king consider marry another. He is still young. 

Nothing like a young bride to make a man forget his troubles. 

He will have his heir or else he will have my head.

Tell Sir Francis to double the guards around the Princess Mary and defend her with their life- for if the King dies, some will be for the boy, others for her.

There shall be a proclamation soon, the king shall announce his heir and the realm will rest.

A lifetime of building an empire can fall in a day because of the wrong successor to the empire.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.

He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away.

When the crown is weak and struggles, anyone can come and sweep it away. And in this world, it is allowed.

This small council tried to work out what that meant for the line of succession.

If she were to wed him, her claim to the throne will increase, as her popularity. 

While the king entertains the highborns, the prince/princess makes friends with the people they rule. The decision is easy.

Whoever he marries is as important as how many heirs he can produce. 

Sons are good for the realm, Daughters are good for alliances. 

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.

I would rather feed my sons to the dragons, than have them carry spears and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a king.

I understand why you're angry. And you are my sister and technically have a claim to the throne. And believe me, I would love for someone else to rule. But it can't be you.

Father would hate to see you sit in his seat, when it was never you he chose.

The pretty decent king split the crown between his heirs.

Proclamations are good, but this should have been in written, send to every corner of the world. Now we have war.

When the king needed to be replaced, one of the royal family would be elected to be the new king.

Succession is never peaceful. The King new this and the reason he called a council for his new heir to be chosen.

The line must always continue.

That little bit of dragon blood in him allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on the throne and continue.

Our son is a wastrel and a halfwit. We shudder to think of the throne in his hands.

My greatest hope is that you will surpass me in every way, consigning my name to some forgotten corner of history.

What's most important is what he isn't like—his father. I think you'll find him to be a reasonable man.

The King is easily controlled by those in his council. All too happy to give some of the power away to another.

A king is a martyr to their ideals.

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

Women can rule as wise as men, perhaps even more.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield.

Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand.

The princess remains your best bet to step closer to the throne. Seduce her, marry her. 

In the end, history will remember little, as history is written by the winners.

You have not one son now but two, Your Grace. Perhaps some changes to the successions are to be made.

I know why you are here. Men want my crown as much as they want the pleasure of a woman. 

I need to give the realm an heir and plenty of spares. 

What use is to gain a throne if you are already in crisis by having no heir by blood?

I can give you what she never gave you. Another son. 

Are the rumors true, then? There is a child in your belly? 

All of my father’s work will crumble if I leave it all to a weak sickly child.

[arcielee]

the salver & the sword

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 4.4k+ warnings: AFAB reader, more missed moments, just sprinkling some seasonings and placing you back into this crockpot that is slow burn author's note: Sorry this chapter was delayed. I have been rewatching jjk and Nanami crept into my brain. I always knew he was going to show up but I was unsure as to how. Also, Runa belongs to @itbmojojoejo (thank you for letting me borrow her) from their amazing story Crimes Of Passion (another fandom, but I don't care). I just fell in love with this OC and thought, "Yes. This is perfect. This is exactly what Nanami needs." Also, oji is uncle in Japanese. Enjoy! 💜

Chapter IV ~ No Hesitation

At first your sorrow held over like a heavy fog, a slow dissipation as you settled into a routine with the days that followed. 

The general was a man who seemed to wake before the sun, tending to Mimiko while you remained curled in the furs, hazy blinks into the sunlight spilling through the trees. You helped pack up the camp, saddling everything onto the horse, and Suguru would take the lead while you walked along the other side, just as before. He kept Mimiko at a steady pace, allowing you time to unfurl from your silence, from your lingering grief that grew lighter with your steps. 

He asked you simple questions which allowed you to tell memories of your father, and you found it soothing to share your history, the story of how Atsumeru was passed down. It was an endeavor began by your grandmother, who was a renowned healer across the sea. She taught your father everything he knew and when he came of age, she gifted it to him, telling him to go and make his own name. 

It was a dam broken, and you continued on to share about your mother, something that was both familiar but foreign on your tongue, a pain more muted after all the time that passed but never forgotten as her very fierceness was embedded into your blood. She had fled the Ryomen Kingdom after Sukuna’s violent claimant of the throne, and was just a wounded refugee that your father came across. 

He cared for her and as she healed, she could not help but fall in love with him. 

“After she died, I knew I wanted to follow after my grandmother and my father.” Your cheeks were warm from your overshare, and you peered over at Suguru. 

He was watching you, a pain flickering over his features before he dared ask. “What happened to her?” 

His thoughtfulness touched you, though that pain was not as raw as it once was, just another event in that lifetime ago, back at Hoshi. It was something else that fell into place, creating this pathway that seemingly carved its way back again.

“She was cut by a shi no ha during the battle of Hoshi. It was not deep, of course, so she and my father focused on helping those more grievously injured.” 

Your eyes stayed forward, hiding the shine of unshed tears, habitual now with your current heartache, but you noticed the tension that rippled over him. “The death blade.” It was a statement confirming what you shared. 

Hemlock grew rampant in the north and was poisonous when ingested. The Ryomen soldiers would ground it and line the insides of the scabbards and sheaths with it, a tactic that allowed a fatality with shallow swipes of their steel. This method allowed a slower, painful reaction, with stomach cramps and a rapid pulse, a slight fever that could be ignored until it would scorched through, boiling the marrow of your bones. 

And then, it was too late. 

It was new to the battlefield, nothing to be prepared for. Your father did not realize what was happening until he noticed how her eyes dilated, black swallowing the color, and her jaw locked, saliva frothing at the corners of her lips. It was a chain reaction all around, plaguing those who thought they survived the battle, and his supplies were sorely limited.

Nothing could be done to save them all. 

“I now try to always be prepared,” you admitted. 

Suguru was quiet for a moment. “The charcoal?” 

You nodded, a warmth with the thought that he recalled the pouch that you tucked away along with the other herbs purchased. “You can mix it with water and it helps prevent it from being absorbed from the stomach and into the body,” you confirmed. “And besides, I need to take whatever I can find these days.” 

He was watching you, his stoicism held on like a guard with glints of unsaid emotions that came and went with the flutter of your pulse, a silence that now curled into your abdomen. You allowed him the time, as you realized he took a conscientious effort to gather his thoughts. 

“I believe you will make your own name,” he said, “just as your father had.” 

The sincerity in his tone prickled your skin and you looked ahead again, your face burning. “That is what I hope. I know I can start again–I have my father’s book, I have the few mementos of my mother, and I still have that pouch of silver.” 

Suguru only hummed his acknowledgement, but you caught the smile touching his lips. 

The days were spent in this way, a conversation revived that allowed you a raw honesty you never shared before, but it was something you wished to give him. Suguru still felt like an enigma, unreadable, and at the same time, he returned that candor with any question you dared to ask him. 

For Suguru, you found it to be an even exchange, with his ceaseless patience shown to you in every situation. There was no hesitation because of your sex, but he would share tasks, like capturing smaller wildlife of the forest: he showed you how to strip away the fur and cut the meat into strips, placing them over the fire to dry out. He was not one to bloat you with praise, just his low murmur when you mastered whatever was shown.

You preened from that attention.

He gifted you his hunting knife which felt comically big for your hand, but he showed you how to keep a firm hold and cut some rope to knot around your waist, a place for its sheath. His hands were careful and the warmth of his palms bled through your dress, fluttering into the pit of your stomach. 

“So you can protect yourself,” he told you, “if I am not there.” 

That struck you deep, rattling you with the thought, if I am not there, and it spilled past your lips before you could stop it. “Then I will pray to the gods that you always are.” 

The unsaid flared in his eyes, a conflicting desperation to press onward or remain rooted in the moment, and you were the one to pull away from him, your disappointment carving into your belly. He needed a distraction, it seemed, and you allowed it. 

Autumn allowed berries to blossom, and you showed Suguru the difference between the edible ones and the poisonous ones. You held on your skirt to carry, picking until your fingers stained and washing them in the river that followed along. It was a treat to share until you both ate your fill. 

Still he remained guarded, still deliberate with his every action towards you, and it left you craving for something unknown in return. You found yourself mindful of the setting sun with the stretch of shadows, eager to help set up the campsite. Your patience petered away until the blackened blue sky extended overhead and the stars glittered bright above, and only then would he reach for you, pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around to hold you close.

It lulled the disappointment, the craving that wound tight within you, scattering away into the solace he unknowingly created at night. His steady breathing and his warmth were comforting in a way you wished you could dig your fingers into and never let go. 

But the sun would rise again and pull him away. You would wake, alone, to repeat the day. 

It was not anything you experienced before. Other suitors would come by and speak with your father about your “need” for a husband, a good man, but he would chuckle and tell them same thing, “It is her decision. Only she will know.” Time again it proved that whatever you were looking for did not exist within them, and you wondered if it could ever be found.

And now you were walking across the Tengen Kingdom with the purple-eyed demon. It felt that you still did not know him, truly, though his actions showed you one man versus his legend known throughout. Your curiosity knitted onto your features, stealing bolder glances across Mimiko.

The amber hues of the coming dusk washed over Suguru, illuminating him–his eyes showed golden in the light and the black silk spill of his hair gleamed, the sun reflecting Nanako and her gemstone that glittered in her hilt over his shoulder. 

Worthy, returned the thought, followed by the intrusive: He is so very handsome. 

“What about you, Suguru?” 

Autumn decorated the road with leaves of burnt orange and red, the crisp air returning as the sun curved to tuck away. You had been bared to him and felt desperate to understand the man beneath the myth, but hid your eagerness with your almost teasing tone, beneath your sly smile. 

“What about me?” He asked, his eyebrow arching, daring you. 

You swallowed. “I wish you to tell me more of who you are.” 

“But I do not have much to tell.”

His smile spoke otherwise, and you continued. “You are the most fearsome swordsman of the Queensguard, and you have nothing to tell?” Your palm pressed to Mimiko to guide your steps without looking, to tilt your head towards him with a mocking pitch. “The very same man who wields a legendary blade that chose him?” 

You relished in the rose tones that flushed his face, the soft smile that touched his lips. “I do not believe that you do not have much to tell. Nothing to share outside of your lore?” You hesitated. “No lady of the court that awaits your return?” 

That thought had been twisting in your stomach, but you were determined to remain coy, flippant as you waited for him to pick out his words. When he looked to you, the shadow cast cut away the gold glow, his purple eyes pinning you. “My life is my duty to the queen and to the prince. No one stays very long, and I cannot blame them.” 

It was sombering, and it left you burning with questions you could not stomach to ask– a feeling that replaced the dull ache with something that seemed unattainable. For Suguru, a general’s devotion was his life, just as being a salver was your own, and to ask him for anything else… 

You broke away from his gaze, biting into your bottom lip, caging your thoughts behind your teeth. 

“Besides,” –you dared to look back to see him smirking, and it flared through you– “who would wait around when I am sent on a fool’s errand?” 

Suguru was never what you were expecting, and your laughter spilled in a way that felt absurd, pulling a string of merriment that pearled tears in the corners of your eyes. He was pleased with your reaction. 

“General Suguru Geto.”

You froze, the voice cutting through. Suguru looked ahead to see a man walking up from a pathway with a fishing net over one shoulder and carrying a basket brimming with mackerel. “I had thought the gods bless us,” the stranger seemed dour, unsettling, “but I see it was only to prepare for you coming across my path unexpectedly.”  

A smile stretched across Suguru’s jawline, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and you exhaled, unaware you had been holding your breath. “We both know you do not believe in destiny in that way, Kento Nanami.” 

“Perhaps.” He was sunkissed, his golden hair slicked back and the gleam of his perspiration pulling his cotton shirt to his form, to his broad shoulders. The severity etched onto his sunken features softened as he came closer, his hazel eyes flitting from you and settling onto Suguru. 

“Either way, here you stand now,” he gestured, a smile curving on his lips, dimpling into his cheek. “Come, follow me home to see Runa and the kids. We can eat and you can tell me about whatever Satoru has you doing now.” 

+ + + +

Kento Nanami had grown up in Hoshi, serving alongside Suguru and Prince Gojo during the war. He found his notoriety when he led a small militant group, cutting westward to ambush and kill the infamous major general, Mahito, which resulted in crippling the Ryomen force. The tandem continued, allowing Suguru to press north, Nanako in hand, beating them back across the border and ending the war. 

You were already aware of these tales from the ballads and songs about the purple-eyed demon and the valiant fight that echoed throughout the Tengen Kingdom, their efforts forever immortalized. 

What you did not know was the kinship that was forged during this. You also learned that Suguru Geto, and sometimes the prince, would come and visit in the springtime, and how Kento’s children referred to him as oji.

You followed along in a daze, the road ahead splitting and a stone path weaving away into an enclave of trees. A wooden fence bordered around, providing ample room for livestock where some goats and a cow grazed. Suguru unhitched Mimiko so she could join, and you helped him carry what you had back towards the cabin aglow, smoke curling up from the chimney. 

A woman came to the doorway, tall and lean with a copper spill of curls and blue eyes that pierced through you. “Suguru,” she called his name with a warmth, a fondness that touched her lovely features. “We were not expecting you so soon.” 

“This is my wife, Runa.” Kento moved towards the steps of the wooden porch that stretched around, setting down the basket before wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her close for a kiss. You felt your blood simmer and looked away, spotting two more sets of eyes peering from around her skirts, a little girl and a little boy. 

“Off with you!” Runa pushed Kento back, still smiling. “You smell like fish!” 

“Oji!” The little girl burst forward, unabashed, her eyes golden, with a wildfire of strawberry curls and freckles strewn across her nose and cheeks. 

Suguru crouched on command to scoop her up and she giggled as he tossed her upwards. “Hana, I want you to meet my friend,” he said, settling her onto his hip before turning towards you. 

Her eyes widened with your name, a toothy grin on display when she asked if you belonged to her oji. You wished for the earth to swallow you, but Runa was quick to react, sweeping Hana back into her arms and chiding her– “You little minx, you cannot ask that.” 

“But you said that he needed a lady friend!”

The warm tones clashed with Runa’s hair, panic glinting in her eyes as she ushered the little girl back inside, along with the basket of fish. You could not look at Suguru, but focused on the other pair of eyes–blue like his mother’s. He stepped forward on unsteady legs, his hands reaching to grab your skirts with a shy smile as he looked up at you. 

Kento reached to ruffle his golden hair. “And this is my youngest, Nobu.”

“Hello.” You kneeled to be at his eye level and his skin stained pink, his smile dimpling his face. “Do you want to come inside with me?” 

He nodded and you took his hand, allowing the men their reunion. You followed after Runa and Hana to the kitchen that was wide and spacious. A table was placed in the center where the basket spilled, and the stove burned bright with a warmth that filled the room. 

For you, it felt like a long-lost home. The children played on the floor while you followed Runa’s command, taking the spare knife to remove the heads and split the fish in half while she tended to the broth and rice. Hana offered her services to spot and pluck the pin-bones and Nobu watched with a wide-eyed wonder. 

Runa was effortless, a sharp wit that had you tittering, a boldness that allowed her prying to understand the guests her husband brought home. “What brings you both out here?” 

Your embarrassment prickled over and you cleared your throat. “Uh, the prince commanded for me to be fetched by…” you faltered on his name, “the general, so that I can become his wife.” 

Runa stopped to look at you, aghast, her empathy bringing her brows together and her lips downturned. “Poor Utahime. I see that Satoru remains as rash as always,” she tsked. “And pulling you into it, you poor thing.” 

You giggled again. “I feel bad for Suguru, if anything, as he has been given the duty to return with me.” 

“I see we have nothing better to do with a decorated general,” she began to stir the broth again, shaking her head. “So what will you do?”

It was only fair for her to ask. Runa did not know you. “I have to go and let the prince know that I will not marry him.” 

It was her turn to laugh, a warm raucous that filled the air along with the gustful smells of supper. “I like you already.” 

The men came inside as dinner was served, the children eating their fill while you listened to more of the stories shared about Suguru and Satoru and Kento, with mentions of that blustering knight, Yu Haibara. You ached from your laughter, savoring this unconditional friendship shown at the table, flowing with ease and filling your chest with a warmth that touched your cheeks. 

It was getting late and Nobu had fallen asleep, curled in his mother’s arms though Hana fought to stay awake, her head dozing against Kento. You watched their affection, the tenderness in this family that called to you–the vast difference from the loured expression Kento greeted you with earlier. Now he held his daughter with one arm while he reached with his other to pull on Runa’s curls, and the gesture forced a blush in response. 

You had to know. “How did you two meet?” 

It was curiosity, or perhaps a sort of envy coiling in your chest, watching their love so bold in front of your eyes. Throughout the night, Kento always looked to his wife, to his children, with a softness to his features, a glow reserved for them. Runa would catch his wandering eye and her radiance returned, brightening the blue of her eyes. 

It was something almost tangible. 

She laughed at your question, pulling your attention. “You may somewhat relate, but imagine waking up and finding a damn soldier bleeding in your garden.” 

“She actually thought I was dead,” Kento corrected, his eyebrow arched at her, a good nature scowl scrawled across his sharp features. “I woke up to her going through my belongings–”

Runa held your gaze. “It was war and things were dire,” she defended with a wicked grin. 

“Nonetheless,” he shifted to pull Hana up, resting her head on his shoulder, “I found her holding my sword–assessing it for its worth, in retrospect,” –a manic giggle spilled from Runa’s lips– “and noticed some of the surviving men of Mahito coming up behind her.”

You saw that Runa’s eyes shone as she listened, as if she was hearing it for the first time. You looked to Suguru and saw his smirk on display for whatever was coming next. “I was going to warn her,” Kento continued, “but she quickly turned to them, portraying this damsel-in-distress act, begging them to remove me, luring them closer and then…”

Kento paused, a slight smile on his lips with the memory. “Well, I had not seen such skill with a blade since Suguru–” 

“My father taught me and my brother very well.” Runa boasted. 

“She cut through them all, hacking them into pieces to dispose of them.” Kento was proud. “I watched her, covered in their blood, and I told her she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.” 

Runa smirked. “I thought he had lost too much blood.”

“She pulled me inside and took care of me until I healed, and I would have stayed if Suguru and Satoru had not found me.” 

“She begged us to take you away,” Suguru scoffed, adding to the retelling. “She told us that he had gone mad.” 

You looked back to Runa and she shrugged. “Kento proposed,” she explained, rolling her eyes, but she was luminous with rose hues. “He told me that he wished for me to become his wife. I told him no, that he needed to go and end this blasted war, and only after, if he still felt compelled, he could come back and perhaps I would reconsider.” 

Your heart fluttered with the prospect, the possibility of leaving a life of sworn duty, seeing how it now thrived in this very residence. You licked your lips. “And, I am assuming, you did just that?” 

Kento returned a war hero and the queen had offered him whatever his heart desired; she granted him a dishonorable discharge. “I had to go back to her,” he explained.

“He never stopped talking about her,” Suguru teased. “It was endless about this red haired beauty who wielded a sword so fine, piercing his heart…”

Amongst the tittering, Kento looked to you, his asperity returning with his words. “It was not love at first sight, but something that came from the moment that I truly saw her. She called to my heart and it recognized her.” His smile was soft again. “I would do it again.” 

His words rolled over, pulling at your heart, and your eyes flitted back to Suguru. He looked away, crimson on his cheeks. 

It was the sleepy whimper from Hana that broke the moment and Kento pushed to stand. Runa shifted, but Suguru was quicker, moving to pull Nobu into his arms, following after his friend to put the kids to bed. 

She watched her husband walking away, her head tilting to admire. “We do have a spare room for you and Suguru,” she told you without looking. “It’s for when my brother comes through, but the bed should be cozy enough for the two of you–” 

You nearly squeaked your surprise. “But, we are not–” you stammered, unwilling to say it out loud. 

“Really? I was so sure,” Runa turned to face you, surprised. “But–I apologize, I only assumed with how you would look at him, and the way Suguru blushed with what–”

The thought never finished as Kento and Suguru returned. Instead, baths were to be drawn for their guests and for the day to come to an end. You followed after Runa, lost in your thoughts and the steam that rose from the tub, almost startled when she pressed something in your arms: a clean dress to change and a chemise, along with a belt. 

“For your blade,” she smiled. “I noticed you had it knotted around your waist.” 

You flushed. “That was Suguru’s doing. He wanted me to be able to defend myself, if I needed to.” 

Runa watched you for a moment, the scrutinous blue blaze of her eyes. “Then allow this belt to help with that.” She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway, peering over her shoulder back at you. “Suguru is… not shy, but he holds onto his honor like armor.” 

“What do you mean?” You were quiet with your question, your eyebrows knitting together. 

Runa sighed. “He would never try anything, especially if you are intended for Satoru.” 

She left you alone with a scurry of thoughts and emotions that twisted throughout, a wave of gooseflesh in its wake. Intended, the word repeated, almost poisonous, and you felt as if you were burning. 

You peeled away your old dress and slipped beneath the water with the bar of soap you made, the honeysuckle and tree oil soothing. You soaked, your mind pulling back to Suguru with an absent-minded tracing of your fingers along the top of your thighs, moving up to press into your knee before falling away again. 

It always returned to him, a muscle memory formed since he first came and found you in your garden. 

Your agitation had burned bright despite the legend that stood in front of you, irksome with his subtle arrogance he carried with his posture, his gait, his certainty with every word spoken as bold as the blade strapped to his backside. There was a power to his gaze, the glitter of amethyst that pulled you with some unspoken emotion that danced, while his lips held onto his infuriating, perpetual smirk. 

But your perspective of him had changed, though you could not pinpoint the moment with so many woven together in the short amount of time shared: the market, the fire, the nights curled up against his chest under the endless stretch of starlight. 

You always thought him handsome, you could admit, but that seemed a girlish crush at first. This was something that matured without you realizing; it was the way his gaze always seemed to find you, rooting you, and how he would tease you when you balanced on the precipice of your temper, and how it would ground you again.  

That night at the market–you asked him to stay because something told you that he could be trusted, that he was safe. He showed you glimpses of his true character outside the lore and legend with how he touched you that night of the fire, his gentle wipe away of your tears mixed with ash, his empathy somber on his face. 

He did not let you go that night, you realized and that memory flushed through you, curling into your lower abdomen. You shifted, water spilling over the edges, and you slipped beneath, washing away the suds before you finally pulled yourself out. You dried with the sheets left behind and changed into the cotton chemise, brushing the rose oil into your hair and plaiting it back, moving back through the quiet home and towards the spare room. 

Moonlight spilled through the windows, and tapers were lit for an amber glow. You saw Suguru at the other end, dressed in a clean shirt and slacks from Kento, baggy on his lithe form. He paused. “I was going to just sleep in the loft,” he offered, looking at you. 

And your heart recognized him. “You should stay.” Your voice was quiet, careful with your shy admittance. “I sleep better with you at my side.” 

At first, he seemed stricken with your words, and his jaw ticked as he processed them. Suguru then nodded and reached to take your hand, leading you towards the spare room.

The bed was as cozy as promised with the scent of fresh hay and clean linen, mixing pleasantly against his skin, warming your cheeks as you curled back on his chest. 

taglist: @sugurubabe @elliesndg @paprikaquinn @yeehawbrothers @witchbybirth

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

[ask-the-royal-absol]

(@masked-vee) Tunip's ears perked when she heard that Kader was a king. "You're a king? That's incredible! My boss is a king! King of the Chestnut Kingdom monsters." She pipped. "How did you become king, if... you don't mind me asking." Oaken asked.

*Kader did not share the same excitement for his title as this one had. In fact, he hated the fact that he had to rule the entire kingdom so young. He wished he had more time training him up for the role. That's why he'd hidden himself away in his room. He couldn't face the responsibilities it entailed yet. Not since...

He turned away from the pair, feeling his blood beginning to boil. His anger slipped out with each word, like the venom of an ekans.*

Kader: I had always been destined to rule my kingdom. To become king. I was the heir to the throne. My parents were the ones ruling. However, it has happened far too early. I was not supposed to take my title yet.

Kader: One which I had never thought I would ever see in my lifetime. They were taken too early and I have to clean up the pieces. Now I have to be in charge of an entire kingdom when I am not ready...

Kader: …Sorry. This is still a rather sore subject for myself. I should have composed myself better to answer your question. Forgive me.

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

The role of women in criticising men for their moral failings in the name of “strength” is increasingly prevalent in this week’s episode of HotD:

Rhaenyra & the Black Council:

We start with Ser Alfred continuing to undermine Rhaenyra during a council meeting. While speaking about Rhaenyra in the same condescending way he usually does, he says, “It is merely that the gentler sex, heretofore, has not been much privy to the strategies of battle, or their execution.” Rhaenyra has to then remind him and her council of men about their shared inexperience with battle: “There has been peace in our lifetime. You've seen no more battles than I have.”

As Rhaenyra says to Mysaria, her small council speaks “around” her, not “to” her. Mysaria points out that by dismissing Rhaenyra because they view her as a “gentle” woman, it reveals how the men “betray their own smallness”.

This idea that women are “gentle” and therefore, weak ties to when Rhaenyra said, “there are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing.”

Alicent & the Green Council:

Like Rhaenyra, Alicent isn’t taken seriously by the men around her. She urges the small council to choose her over Aemond as regent because Aemond’s “lack of restraint” has “cost [them] dearly”. Out of the men at the council, only one of them supports her. This happens to be the most knowledgeable member of the council - Maester Orwyle. He backs Alicents reasoning, “It is experience that offers the surest path to security. Queen Alicent ably shouldered the duties of the realm when her husband's health failed him.” The rest of the council refuse her case based on the fact that she’s a woman. Again, the idea of “strength” is used to justify the actions of men. The council asserts that this is “a time when [they] must show strength.”

This ties back to Alicent’s words to her father: “Reluctance to murder is not a weakness!" Another example of the narrow definition of “strength” that is imposed by men.

Later, we see Alicent warning Cole of the dangers that this rigid adherence to “strength” will lead to: “You know what [Aemond] is... what of justice, of temperance? Or is strength now to be our only god? So you cast me aside.” Of course, Cole justifies his dismissal of Alicent because he views her as a gentle woman that needs to be “spared”.

Daemon: Alys & Laena

Daemon attempts to justify his crimes by stating, “war is a terrible thing.” Alys corrects him, “This is not war. These are crimes against the innocent…And once again, in the name of power, it's the weak and the women who must endure.” In response, Daemon argues that the people, “look to a man for strength.” Here we see that he views the idea of strength as equivalent to masculinity.

Ultimately, this show of “strength” back-fires on him when his victims denounce him as a “tyrant”. It’s in this scene where Laena’s ghost asks him, “Have you looked after our girls?” Her ghost is used to haunt Daemon over his past mistakes. His desire for strength and power have led to many unintended failures.

Aemond & Helaena:

While staring at the Iron Throne - a prize he secured as a result of relentless scheming - Helaena asks him, “Was it worth the price?”

Similar to Laena, Helaena’s role is to haunt Aemond. This follows the overused trope that women serve as moral compasses for men.

Rhaenyra & Jace:

Jace is restless and goes against his mother’s wishes. He is eager to take his dragon and fight leading Rhaenyra to remind her son that Luke was killed by Vhagar and Aemond.

Rhaenyra shoulders a great burden. She is expected to be “always prudent” while the men around her rush to war.

Final Thoughts:

It’s clear that the writers are trying to portray the women as “prudent”, wise and “cautious” while characterising the men as power hungry, reckless and driven by a narrow notion of “strength”. Clearly, the writers are using gendered tropes. This dynamic is not a novel one. And these ideas are not complex.

However, it is important in adding depth to a character like Rhaenyra who was dismissed as “cruel” in the books.

Usually, gendered tropes attract criticism because they tend to reinforce the existing gender order. Although I’m not applying that specific criticism to this case, I do think that the heavy reliance on the idea that women’s voices should hold men accountable for their actions feels overused.

[camlovesjace]

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her.

Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!fem Targtower. Part two, -part one, here:

https://www.tumblr.com/camlovesjace/747473041907449856/no-grave-can-hold-my-body-down-ill-crawl-home-to?source=share

WARNING: war stuff, violence, grief, etc. SINOPSIS: Cellys thinks Jacaerys is dead, the whole kingdom mourns the crowned prince while the war pushes everyone and everything apart. All must choose.

The days were a torture, the nights even more. His face seemed to haunt her anywhere she could look at, his honey eyes, those who capture her whole heart and tempted her to worship him until her last breathe. The lords were ashamed, like if the biggest burden were resting on theirs shoulders, and how could they not feel like that? Even the white haired girl felt ashamed, ashamed of being alive while Jace wasn´t. It felt totally wrong...to be in a world without his presence, to know that her name will never come out of his mouth, that his hands will never touch her again, that his gaze will never find her own in this lifetime once again.

Aegon and her mother moved from forced to stay into her bechambers to force her to get out of them, but Cellys wasn't really interested in keep pretending that a piece of her had not die with Jace. The sheets of her bed were glued to her skin, in a mix of tears and pain, her cries in the moonlight kept the whole castle awake. Her sobbing were a constant reminder of the life this was was stealing from them. Not only the lives of those who fight for the greens, but also to their enemies. The lost of Jacaerys Velaryon, prince of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne, was a stab in the guts of everyone.

Maester Eustace stayed loyal to the young boy, claiming him as legitimate and denying the comments of those who dare to call him bastard, even if those rumors were true or not. Aegon knew Cellys would be destroyed and devastated, and it was happening in front of his eyes. She barely ate, her pale skin turned into a gray almost lifeless, her white hair was silver and her eyes seemed empty. All the rage in her stopped suddenly, it was like if she were a shelf of the old fearless princess who always had something to say.

Seeing her like this wasn´t usual at all.

Now it was all silence, empty and breaking silence. No words, no fight, just a deep whole of darkness. And she was not fighting against it, Cellys was just letting it ate her.

"No, mother..." she spoke, refusing the petition of the old green queen about walking in the gardens. Her voice was slow, hoarse from all the crying of the last night. Half a moon had passed since the death of the eldest son of Rhaenya and Cellys Targaryen was already rotting from inside.

"Do you want to keep living like this?" Alicent asked, yet her question didn't get any answer from her younger daughter "He...he was..." she spoke but when the young woman gaze her she closed her mouth, unsure if her words would help or make her feel worse.

"Do no insult him in front of me" Cellys said, thinking about the worst.

"I was not about to insult him" the old queen said, sighing "I know how much you cared about him, i know it...but he wouldn't want you to consume yourself with the pain of his death"

Cellys knew Jace would not want that, if he would be here he would literally pick her up from bed and take her to take sunlight, he would try to distract her with anything to not let her felt alone. He would want to her to live, and move on...to find happiness again.

But he wasn't there, and that was the most unbearable feeling.

Cellys doesn´t know if Rhaenyra found his body, or if the sea sank him. The thought of his body alone, cold and forlorn made her want to die as well.

"I..." she whispers, but the knot on her throat cut off any words, she wanted to cry but the sore on her eyes was painful. She wanted to ask her mother to let her go to Dragonstone, to talk with Rhaenyra and...at least, confess that her heart the one of his son were one. Even if a marriage didn´t tied them officially, their souls were one.

But now she was only a half of that soul, cursed to try to find a glimpse of him her whole life.

He never made her his own, her womb never carried and never will carry a child of his, his blood and flesh. And she will have nothing to remember him but her own memories, that will deteriorate every moon, every second.

She missed him, and she wouldn't doubt to die instead of him in any chance she could get.

His lungs were sore, every breath felt like the slowest torture. His eyes were still closed, soft gasps rolled out of his tongue when the unknown hands on his back moved to heal his wounds. The pain on his chest was overwhelming, and yet his mind was consumed by her face.

"Cel..." he says, but a gasp of pain cut his words, his whole body aching while the soft cries ran out of his mouth "Cellys"

He called her, hopeful to hear her voice against his ear, to see her face, but the touch of those hands weren´t hers. The warmth was not the same as the one she has.

"Eis baos han daar" an old woman said and he couldn´t understand her, the language was something he'd never heard before.

-the boy had woke up-

"Han esse jeiclis?" someone asked -is he still hurted?-. Jace felt a wave of cold sweat ran over his back, he stayed there, trying to not be seen like a threat. But that voice, the voice of a man, was very familiar.

"Naor, we essese kao jeiciness" again, the woman who was taking care of his wound spoke those new words. -yes, but he will heal-

He opened his eyes, breathing heavily and biting his lower lip to hold on a cry of pain. He felt embarrassed for being crying like this like a child but the pain was too much to handle. Then a man kneel beside him and the face of Lord Stark blind him for a second, until the feeling of relieved hit him. A soft smile showed up on his face and Jacaerys tried to do the same yet he was sure that it must have looked like a grimace.

"Prince" The man said, almost proud to see that he survived. The arrows on his back looked bad but he was awake and that was a good sight.

"Cregan" Jace says back, he tried to get up from the small mattress but his friend stopped him, shaking softly his head. The background sound were a mix of man's speaking and horses noises, it was an army...

"No, stay there, you need to heal" he spoke and then his dark eyes found his own, and everything that needed to be said spoke for itself in between their gaze. Both knew what will happen next, and Jace was ready to face it, to get back his mother and his own birthright...and to take his woman back to his arms, where she belonged "We have came to fight for our dragon queen"

[naturallyadventured]

sacred.play

𓂀 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡, 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔢. ☽ ◯ ☾

fernolivia

One of my favorite photos 📷 women CELEBRATING women. Captured by @sacred.play In healing sister wounds around jealousy & competition, I noticed how I would feel threatened by women offering similar magic. I always wanted to be the shining star 🌟 I was an only child, so I have been CLEARING old programming of needing to be the center of attention. 💕sharing the spotlight with my tribe is much more fun and soo much less pressure! How have I healed? I hug my inner child and remind her that she is unique & so loved! I placed balm on the wound by calling in my sisters who offer similar medicine, so we can share and expand in co-creation, as we learn from each other. We know that there is ALWAYS enough love to go around, there are no worries or hurt feelings when we can’t attend every event because we energetically sprinkle our love where it needs to go - all 💕 for each other sharing in service to grow our communities. 💚🌿 There are many beautiful portals popping up around Santa Teresa, including my home Temple Gaia 🌿 during my travels thru Nosara & Uvita this month, I was in awe at the abundance of visionaries rooting + rising here. 🌱 let’s keep going shall we?! It makes my ❤️ so happy to see the new waves of women and men co-creating Heaven on Earth. 🌊🌎Though I have been in Costa Rica for 4 years, and many of my sisters for far longer, I truly know that we have all been here for lifetimes before! ✨ when we remember that we’ve landed back here to shine together, we will unlock the keys to Heaven on Earth. 🦋

fernolivia

WE are dear sisters, fellow priestesses, at the Great Turning. 🌏👼🌺 "When a priestess is truly seated on her throne, she realizes that she carries the throne within her. Our bodies are the temple of our souls. To be seated on the throne is to be well placed inside our own sacred chambers, deeply grounded into the root of Mother Earth, well-seated in the center of our belly, as we connect to the stars and the sky and let the Goddess's inspiration, her words, and actions flow through us." Gaia Codex: Node 34215.955 Our temples are found in forest groves, in the reflection of a clear glacial lake, or on the mountaintop. 🌾 It is known that our physical bodies are one of our most profound and sacred temples. 🦋 The priestess must be pure of heart. ❤️ She must know her body to be a temple of the Cosmos and of Earth, and she must be awakened to the Serpent, the Kundalini, the Shakti within her. ✨ As I gaze into her eyes, feel her angelic hands on my bare skin, I am being joined with a lost part of myself. My bones feel stronger. My cells are more vibrant. My breath is steadier, my vision clearer. "I have been waiting all my life for this." I whisper. "All your sisters have been waiting for you." I feel my heart as a luminous bloom that continues to unfold. I also feel the pain, the distinct physical sharpness, as our collective past sorrows arise to the surface - my visceral sorrow for what is happening to our Mother Earth, and the suffering of many souls on the planet. The tension on my heart increases until it breaks, flooding my body with radiance. The heart has many layers.❤️ There are emanations and intimations of the Web of Life that appear to move through all Women through the rising sun, and the corner fires that keep people warm at night. I begin to notice faces in the crowd: strangers who feel familiar. Women who like myself, appear ordinary, yet emit a certain presence on closer inspection. The look and silent greeting that rings within my ears.🙏 Sister, we are here.

[yandere--stuck]

Can you do hc of my my gilr fail d'arce too?

🧡 The Knight is more than happy to meet a friendly face down in the dungeons, grateful when you ask to accompany her. Two heads are better than one, no? And, though she couldn't bring herself to admit it, she felt a lot less wary with a companion by her side. As you began to get acquainted with one another, D'arce noticed a certain… Magentism about you. Her eyes constantly tracing over your features in awe. How easily she opened up to you as you did with her, as if disarming her. When you sympathized and reassured her, she felt calm and safe. Like everything was going to be okay. And when you talked about your life and what brought you down into the dungeons, D'arce found herself trying to memorize it. As if it were important. As if you were important. She could feel it. Almost… Divine, even.

⚔️ D'arce is such a worshiper yandere. She's delusional in the sense that she will actually come to believe you're actually a god in human form. It takes time for her to descend into that delusion, though, and she'll be torn between her faith in you and her faith in her captain. She may even be aware of and resist her delusions… For a time. She keeps trying to rationalize her way out of her thinking, but it works less and less the more her obsession deepens. D'arce will come to credit you for any luck or gold fortune that comes your way. She sees you as something precious and far above her, someone needing protection and reverence.

🧡 D'arce, as a bearer of the soul of the dominant, is used to taking charge and dishing out orders. In the merry band of allies you've collected, she's assumed the role of captain naturally. However, she will almost always defer to you and your strategies unless absolutely necessary. She wants to be an extension of you and your will. The sword between your fists. The neck that turns the head.

⚔️ If Le'garde is found alive, her reaction is a lot milder. It feels like ages since she'd last seen her captor. Since she'd heard the Outlander's gruesome tale of the slaughtering of his people, one she had supported unknowingly, one that Le'garde had painted as noble and necessary. He barely speaks to her, barely makes eye contact with her. There is no thanks. No smile. Just an empty head with no memories of her or his capture or the ransacking of Oldegard. The only reason Ragnvaldr holds himself back. A part of her, deep down, hopes he's telling the truth. But that's just to hold back the weight of realizing he's lied to her. He's always lied to her. At least she can stay by you for comfort…

🧡 The only reason she'd give in to Le'garde's insistence to delve deeper is some dwindling sense of duty from the last shreds of respect she had for her former captain. If something were to happen to the man, well, no loss. D'arce had found someone better. You. Someone who actually respected her. Listened to her. Knew her. How sad was that? A man she thought she loved for years was more of a stranger than someone she just met. That is, she thinks you had just. But, with how you clicked together so perfectly, it was almost as though you'd known each other lifetimes. Maybe even meant to meet. And if Le'garde has to die for you to live, D'arce will enthusiastically sacrifice him in your name.

⚔️ Maybe even kill him herself or allow Ragnvaldr to, if he makes it all the way to the Throne. He's lied to her. Betrayed her. Used her. Forced innocents down further in the depths of Hell… In a fit of mania, she might try to place you on the throne herself. And if anything happened to you… Gods, she was nothing without you. But, she has learned blood magic from Enki. She could bring you back. But, that wouldn't happen, no. D'arce wouldn't let it. Sue needed you. You were inseparable now. And when you got out here, she'd worship you as you should be. Spread your word. And live happily ever after. Even if you might not see it her way, at first.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Though The Path May Be Long, I Shall Find You; Leona Kingscholar

A path lies ahead, some are more treacherous than others. At the end of the winding, coloured footsteps is where they can rest; a bird directing them forward, made out of precious stone.

Main Character; Leona Kingscholar

Supporting Characters; Kifaji, Jack Howl

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match), gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort, some inner turmoil, bird shenanigans, can be read as platonic, familial, or platonic and that was done on purpose

Content Warning; injury (Leona), I do mention scars/marks but I don't mention where/what they're from

Word Count; 5.5 K

Author's Note; The bird messengers are inspired by mutual relationships that people and some animals have with birds. As with all of my writing, do NOT put my -or other creators' for that matter- works into AI. I did struggle a bit with writing this, so it may read a bit differently, but hey, I wrote it and that's what matters.

Ruggie's Story | Jack's Story

Prologue

Much like the Sea Witch gifted merfolk with soul matches, the King of Beasts did much the same with beastmen. Instead of a song playing in their head or their soul being tugged at by their match, beastmen would receive a messenger made of stone. Typically, this stone messenger would come in the form of a bird, as they can travel far greater distances than a terrestrial creature. And the stone represented what their match would help them overcome in this lifetime. It represented a confidant, an advisor, a friend; the person that they needed most.

And once they were ready to find their match, glowing footsteps would lead them along the path.

These messengers are delivered during the night of their fifth birthday by the southern winds and remain dormant until the time is right for them to start searching their soul match, typically around their thirteenth birthday. If a child does not receive their messenger, it is said to be a marker of bad luck, a bad omen. Not only just for the beastman in question, but for their family and the community at large. This marker is of even greater weight should a member of the royal family not receive a messenger. The last time that happened, a great drought hit the land, causing mass famine and illness. Since then, any member of the royal family who does not receive a messenger is forced to abdicate the throne, even if they are the firstborn. For the common folk though, it holds less weight, even if it is still considered a bad omen.

What if someone does receive a messenger but they don’t activate? What does that mean?

It could mean several different things. It could mean that their soul match has passed before they had the chance to find them. It could mean that their match wasn’t here yet, still to come into this world. These lifeless messengers often bring a sense of loneliness or bitterness, and many a beastman try their best to discard these cruel reminders. No matter how hard they try though, be it magic, force, or distance, the little stone messenger will always come back. Always there as a reminder of what could have been. A reminder that only they can see. The little stone bird will sit by them, vacant of life, but watching them still.

But only they could see their messenger, the only other person who could see it being their match. They would only become apparent to each other once their person decided that they wanted to find their match, that they were ready. Upon finding each other, the two birds will fly around the two, performing an aerial dance. Once this dance is completed, their match’s bird will land on their shoulder, and their bird will land on their match’s in return.

And once these messengers activate they will stop at nothing to guide their person to their match, and cannot be destroyed. It could take hours, days, weeks, months, years, or even several lifetimes, but the bird is determined to find their match, even if the person wanted nothing to do with them. The bird won’t stop, and even though the path may be long, they will always find their match. No matter what.

…

…

Main Story

…

...

Leona had somehow managed to escape his various caregivers and the supervision of Kifaji… again. But who could blame him? The palace wasn’t the best place for a rambunctious four-year-old. He wanted to play. To explore. To not sit through Kifaji’s boring lectures and lessons. He wanted to just be a kid. And Faleena was always busy, not always able to play hunting games with him and leaving him without a playing partner. So it becomes a habit, to escape the confines of the palace, to trade the grand halls for the grasslands.

The little lion prince continued to walk through the tall grass, running his hands through the swaying blades. The sun was starting to kiss the earth as the sky slowly melted into night, and he could hear the various calls of animals from the brush. But he didn’t pay them much mind, since he was told that they would never harm him, as he was part of the royal family. 

Something hopped out of the grass, catching the young lion-beastman’s attention; a butterfly. His eyes followed the slow wing beats and he decided to chase after it. The butterfly didn’t seem to notice or care, staying just out of reach and continuing on its lazy flight path.

“Come here,” Leona called after it, trying to jump and catch it, but the insect avoided his grasp. “Don’t fly away! Can we be friends?”

The butterfly eventually landed on a tree, high up on a branch. Now, why was Leona so determined to catch it? Well, he wanted to get a closer look at it, maybe have it land on his nose before letting it go back into the bush. It was a challenge, one that he wasn’t backing out of so easily.

Leona looked up into the tree and his ears twitched. “Fine then! If you’re not going to come down, I’m coming up!” He started making his way up the tree. Oh, if Kifaji could see him now, he would have grown a white hair on the spot seeing the young prince so high up. But the thought of his advisor’s fretting just made him climb up higher even faster. There! The butterfly was almost within his reach, just a little bit farther-

The butterfly took off, flying off into the sunset, just as he was about to finally catch it too. Leona sighed to himself. At least he had a nice view of the amber sun dipping behind the horizon, turning the sky into warm oranges, pinks, reds, deep blues and violets. Rustling from the canopy caught his attention, and he looked up, curious as to what was making the sound. Sitting on the branch above him was a red-billed hornbill, cleaning its plumage.

“Hi,” he waved at the bird, swinging his legs back and forth.

The bird stopped preening, its full attention focused on Leona. Further up in the tree, he could hear the faint chirping of baby chicks. 

Leona stood up on the branch, getting closer to the bird. “Can I see your family? Do you have baby chicks? I wanna see!” He asked excitedly, getting far too close to the bird’s personal space and nest.

The hornbill ruffled its feathers and took flight, but it didn’t go very far. Instead, it turned back and swopped by Leona’s head, trying to tell the child to back away. Instead of backing off though, Leona caught the bird mid-flight. The bird, fearing for its own and its family’s well-being, scratched at his face, leaving behind a large scratch mark going over his left eye. 

He let go of the bird, hissing in pain, teardrops starting to form. “Kifajiiiiiiii,” he yelled, tumbling down the tree and running back to the palace, tail in between his legs. “KIFAJIIIIII!” He didn’t want this to happen. He just wanted to play. To have fun. To be a kid.

…

…

Leona went to bed on the night before his fifth birthday, lightly tracing the still-healing scar on his face. It was still sore, and it stung, both physically and emotionally. Why does nobody like me? He snapped out of his thoughts though, shaking his head. 

“You have no one but to blame but yourself, your majesty,” Kifaji said, standing in the doorway to his room. He strode in, and although his words may have sounded harsh, there was a softness in his expression. Sighing, he placed a cool, damp, cloth on the prince’s face. “What were you thinking? You should know better than to run off-” He stopped, noticing the conflicted look on the young boy’s face. Nagging can wait, right now Leona needed comfort, not a lecturer. “…But what’s most important is that you are alright.”

Leona sniffled, “What about my face though? It hurts… I just wanted to play… And it’s going to leave a scar-”

Kifaji smiled softly, “It will heal in time, as all things do. Besides, the King of Beasts had a mark just like it. It may hurt now, and perhaps it will leave a scar, but it proves that you overcame hardships. That you’ve learned lessons.” He tucked in the prince, adjusting the blankets around him. “As for the bird, I believe they were just protecting their family. Your mother would do much the same for you and your brother, as would your father. Now, off to bed with you, as you’ll be receiving your messenger tomorrow.”

“What do you think they’ll be,” Leona asked, his visible eye filled with curiosity. “Do you think it’ll be a bearded vulture? Like Faleena’s?”

Kifaji hummed, “I can’t say, as only you will know that come morning. Now, off to sleep with you. After all, tomorrow is a big day.” The blue-haired man dusted himself off, double-checked the cloth to make sure it was still damp and then left for the night. Leaving the young prince alone.

Leona picked at the dressing on his eye and looked out his window. Outside the stars were shining bright, and the songs of night birds and insects filled the air with their rhythmic melody. A warm breeze played with the curtains, casting dancing shadows onto the walls.

“Please,” Leona whispered to the stars, “please, please, please bring me a friend… I just want a friend.” He pleaded to the night sky. The warm breeze now playing with his hair, lulling him gently off to the land of dreams. 

His dream was calm, a starlit sky ahead of him and shifting, glowing sand beneath his feet. All I want is a friend. Can I please have a friend? But he heard nothing, just the gentle hissing of the shifting glowing sand beneath his feet as he walked toward the horizon. A large lion stood in the distance, glowing green eyes looking towards him, beckoning him forward. But when he tried to walk towards them, the sand shifted, having turned into tar. And when he looked back up, the lion was gone. Leaving him with nothing but glowing sand and black tar.

When he woke up in the morning, a small hornbill made out of green calcite sat on his bed stand, silent and watching. And it would have been in perfect condition save for the large scar that cut across the left side of its face, mirroring Leona’s to the T. He touched his scar, remembering that fateful night only three weeks ago. “Why,” he whispered. Why did it have to be a hornbill? Why would the King of Beasts gift him a messenger that had hurt him? Why would he gift a messenger that left behind a scar? And why did it have a scar of its own?

…

…

…

It’s been fifteen years since Leona received his messenger, and it has yet to come to life. Yet to fly around. Yet to show him any sign that he had a match out there, somewhere. He took it as a sign that they had either died before they had ever met or, a more bitter thought, that they had yet to enter the world. He didn’t want to be some glorified babysitter.

He has tried to get rid of the damned bird. Thrown it as far as he could when he was younger. Used banishment spells on it as he learned about magic. And when his unique magic had manifested itself, he even used King’s Roar on it. But no matter what he tried, or how hard, the bird always reappeared, even when he turned it into sand. Still as silent and lifeless as it always has been since the first day it had shown up in his life. Still, a bitter reminder that he would rather forget about and pretend never happened.

Even in the ceremonial room, it followed him, taking a liking to his shoulder despite him flinging it off at any chance he could, before just stuffing the annoying thing in his pocket. People would give him a weird look, as they couldn’t see what was pestering the lion beastman, but they ignored him for the most part. Well, most people that is.

“Something bothering you,” Vil murmured under his breath, just loud enough so that only he could hear. “You seem more… irritated than usual.”

Of course, the Pomefiore House Warden would notice his behaviour. He wouldn’t even be surprised if that other third-year and creepy stalker, Rook, was keeping tabs on him. “And, what’s it to you?”

Vil raised a brow, “Just something I took notice of. Can’t be giving your new dorm members a bad impression on the first day.” He paused, as the ceremony was beginning, and welcomed the new Pomefiore students with a practiced smile.

Leona rolled his eyes but welcomed his new wards albeit not as prim, proper, and practiced. They deserved something real, and not dripping with formality. “Well, that ceremony was as boring as ever,” he yawned, having missed his usual nap that he would have at this time of day. “I’m going back to the dorm. If you’re in Savanaclaw House, follow me.”

That’s odd though, that blithering fool of a headmage was nowhere to be seen, and Leona could hear all of the hushed whisperings amongst the students. But he could hear the faint footsteps of two people making their way down the hall. And low and behold, the headmage entered the room in his usual tiring and flamboyant way. Huh, looks like one of the freshmen hasn’t been sorted. He didn’t really care though, even when that cat tried to set the room on fire, or the bickering with Vil. This was all so tiresome, honestly, why did he attend this again?

He didn’t pay much attention to the new Savanaclaw students, leading the way silently. And even though he couldn’t see the other beastmen’s messengers, he could hear the faint rustling of wind as they flew about behind them. His eye twitched, the weight of the stone hornbill weighing heavy in his pant pocket, still cold, still lifeless.

Upon reaching his room, he promptly flopped onto the bed, tossing the bird to the other side of the room with a satisfying crack. Leona closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, promptly falling asleep. Back to that damned dream where he was stuck in the shifting sands at night, the only source of light being the distant, twinkling stars and the faint gold glow beneath him. And the tar had grown, nearly drowning out the glowing gold.

The stone bird righted itself and came to rest by his head. The orange light from the setting sun warming it. As the sun was traded for the night, the stone bird blinked, finally and slowly coming to life after all these years of stillness.

…

Leona felt something pulling at his hair. Groaning, he grabbed the closest pillow and haphazardly swung it about, trying to get rid of the intruder. “Cheka,” he hissed, as the first person that popped into mind for this annoying behaviour was none other than his young nephew. But when he cracked an eye open, the cheerful five-year-old was nowhere to be seen. Something was still pulling at his hair though. 

Flipping over, he finally laid eyes on the intruder, and he stiffened. Sitting on the edge of the bed was his messenger, and it was alive. After a decade of stillness, the pale green crystal bird was finally alive and moving about. He rubbed at his eyes, and the bird was now walking towards him, doing its little call and looking way too happy for his liking. What the- What kind of sick joke is this?

“Oi,” he pushed the crystal bird away, as it had tugged at his hair again. “Cut it out.” Why was it finally awake now of all times? It’s been ten years since it should have awakened, back on his tenth birthday. And now, out of the blue, the now alive and annoying bird had finally decided that now was the time. “Why are you alive?”

The bird flipped onto its back and played with his school uniform ribbon. Why did he expect an actual answer? It was a stone bird. But Leona’s brow was furrowed. Why was the bird finally awake? His face soured even more. I swear if they’re a kid… He didn’t want to deal with another Cheka, especially not for his soul match. Tch, why did I even bother waking up? The bird continued to play with the ribbon, rolling about on the bed.

Leona rolled his eyes and ignored the bird, at least it was pre-occupying itself and not annoying him. Hornbills are playful birds after all, so it makes sense that his messenger would be too. Why again, did the King of Beasts send him a hornbill as his messenger again? “I’m not going to go out of my way and find them,” he huffed, grabbing his ribbon back from the bird. 

The hornbill stopped playing and snapped at his hand. “You need to find them,” they spoke in his mind. Ugh, he forgot that they can do that. That the messengers could speak to them in their mind when they deemed it as an important matter. “And they are not a child. They are around your age, from what I can sense. You need to find them.” All of the playfulness from before vanished, suddenly reminding him of Kifaji. Stern… Disappointed.

“What I need is for you to leave well enough alone.” He swatted at the bird, but it flew off and sat on the balcony where they could watch at a safe distance but still have an eye on him. “I don���t need or want you… or them.” They weren’t there then, why should I want them now?

The hornbill ruffled in irritation, “They couldn’t be there, not at the time at least. And you’re lying to yourself.” Their tone shifted, wavering, like they knew something. “You will need them sooner than you realize. When you change your mind, do call.” With that, the bird took off into the morning, leaving behind Leona with his thoughts. 

The lion beastman tensed and relaxed his fingers, brow furrowed. “Like hell I’ll need them sooner rather than later,” he muttered to himself. Today had barely begun and he already wanted for it to end. He knew nothing good would come of that bird.

…

…

…

You held the green crystal in your hands, turn

ing it over and looking at the carved features. The hornbill was wiggling its toes and singing to itself happily. It was a cheerful little thing and always kept itself busy. And on occasion, you would see a similar bird sitting on the roof, but they never came down from their perch and would fly off before you could investigate further.

You had no idea why or how you came to possess the stone bird. No idea why it was alive the morning after your sudden arrival in Twisted Wonderland. No idea why there was a near-perfect replica sitting on your roof. And you had no idea what it all meant. But in the short time that you had your crystalline friend, you’ve grown attached. Yes, they liked to cause some mischief every now and then, but they were very sweet. They even took a liking to resting on your armchair as you worked, singing their little song.

The little bird even tried to fight that third-year Savanaclaw student, Leona, for you. During the first encounter, where he nearly took a tooth for stepping on his tail they had flown around in a panic; which wasn’t much help. But during his overblot, they had taken a hit from his unique magic, King’s Roar, for you. You had thought that your little friend was gone, forever turned into sand and lost to the wind. Even the bird that sat on the roof went missing for two weeks, but then they were back. Playful as ever before, but there was something else there as well, a sadness of sorts. Frustrated. Restless. Now they also had a large gash, from where they had been hit and it mirrored your own cuts and bruises that you had sustained from the fight. You also noticed that it had other marks, ones that you had sustained back in your dimension.

You should have been angry, but you weren’t. You felt tired, and a sense of guilt. Why had this little bird risked its life for you?

“Prefect,” Jack’s voice snapped you back to the present. Oh right, you had just been forcibly evicted from Ramshackle… the only place you could call home in this world. Now you were sitting in the Savanaclaw Dorm. “Are you alright?”

You blinked, coming out of your thoughts. Jack, even though you two had only just become acquaintances(?), friends(?), was observant that you were spacing off. “Ah… no,” you sigh, all of the stress of the past weeks catching up with you. “No, I’m not alright.”

Jack’s ears twitched, and your crystal friend hopped up onto your shoulder, rubbing its beak on your face. “Do you want to talk about it?” He looked at your shoulder, where the bird was sitting.

“Can you see them?” You could lay your heart bare right now, but you knew most of the answers to them. What you wanted to know was about the bird, and what it meant. 

Jack shook his head, “No, but I can hear the flapping of wings.” His brow pinched, thinking. “Has anyone told you? About soul matches?” 

Your bird hopped up onto your head and got comfortable up there. “Jack,” you breathed, rubbing your temples, “no one has told me anything.” You paused, realizing how harsh the last part came out. “Sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean-”

But it’s true. No one had told you anything about what a soul match is. Anything about what the bird meant. Anything about how you were possibly going to get back home; if it was possible at all? Anything of real importance when it came to living in this world besides the fact that there were seven pseudo-gods who were villains in your world and that magic was real. You had the scars to prove that much. And you were tired, so tired of not knowing anything.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he placed a hand by yours, in case you needed to hold on to someone. “I don’t know your entire story, Prefect, but I do know that today was stressful… I can tell you more about soul matches, and what your feathered friend means. But that can wait until you’re ready.”

You felt the crystal bird shuffle a bit, letting out a little snore. “I want to know.”

“There once was a king, both noble and fair. Who sought to bring joy to his people’s hearts. The King of Beasts travelled to the horizon and made an agreement with the setting Sun and the whispering winds. On the eve of their sixth year, beastmen and residents of the Sunset Savannah would be gifted a crystal bird messenger.  No two were ever the same, as the birds would carry the marks and scars of their person. The crystal itself holds a message on what their match will help them with. These birds are only visible to their person, and can only be seen once they have decided that they wanted to find their match. And though the path may be long, and lead to many different crossroads, the little crystal bird will always find their match.”

Jack’s explanation of the bird messengers played in your head as you stared up at the ceiling. Said bird was sleeping beside you, and much like the story, it had all the same marks you had. The pale green crystal shone softly in the moonlight. Apparently made out of green calcite; a stone meaning to expand your compassion, to heal, of letting go of anger and resentment. You knew that you needed to work on that, but so did your match.

…

…

…

Leona was still at ends with himself after his overblot, and that herbivore from Ramshackle was now also crashing at his dorm of all places. But he did owe them, and like hell he was going to let some octo-punk get the better hand. He also happened to overhear the familiar story that Jack had shared with them. So he hadn’t been hearing things, the Prefect did have a messenger. But why did the thought of them having a messenger put a sour taste in his mouth? 

You need to find them. You will need them sooner than you realize. He hated to admit it, but the stone bird was right. Maybe if he had taken their offer he would have found them by now. Maybe he wouldn’t have overblotted… Maybe he would finally know that someone could accept him, not because of his title or royal status, but because, just maybe, they would accept him for just being him.

“You were right,” he huffed, turning over and looking to the balcony.

The crystal hornbill was back like it had never left. “Are you ready then?” It flew over and took a roost on his forearm. Are you ready to start healing? It wasn’t spoken, but it was implied, especially after all of that blot had surfaced. 

Leona shifted to an upright position, looking up to the stars, feeling the warm air gently surround him carrying the scent of warm earth and blossoming night flowers. “... Not yet.”

The bird nipped at one of his ears, “What are you waiting for then? An invitation?” It continued picking at his ears, trying to get Leona to action.

His ears flattened, from irritation but also to escape the attack. “Oi, cut it out, would ya? I want to make it up to them first before waltzing in like some ‘prince charming’ into their life.” He rolled his eyes at the cliched term. He didn’t view himself like that, and he didn’t want his soul match getting that idea either. He knew that he had aspects of himself that he needed to work on… That he needed to heal. But he didn’t want them taking the brunt of it. He wanted to prove to them, that besides his initial rejection, he was trying. That he wanted to make this work… Whatever this proved to be. Be they a friend, found family, or even something else. He was tired, so tired of being alone… maybe he could finally let someone in.

“Hmph, as long as you don’t keep them waiting for too long.” But the hornbill’s stoney expression softened, joking. Leona didn’t notice how the bird looked off to the side, looking at your sleeping form, nodding at the matching bird sitting beside you. “And they are a lot closer than you think.”

Leona flopped back on the bed, making the bird take flight to avoid getting tossed about. “Mmm, what matters most is travelling the path, whatever it may look like, and finding them at the end of it. Or whatever that bedtime story was.”

Going back to sleep, he was expecting to be back in the endless glowing dunes as he usually was every night. Stuck in the tar. But tonight was different. Instead of barren sands, he was surrounded by blooming flowers, towering trees, and a pleasant filtered light radiating through the branches. He was in the botanical gardens, under his favourite tree, his hornbill chasing after some butterflies… And the lion from all those years ago was back, standing in front of him. Follow the path. Find them. And it was gone, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He placed his over their’s, squeezing it.

…

…

You’ve noticed something different about Leona ever since you made your alliance during Azul’s overblot. Yes, he still called you herbivore, but he seemed easier to read, not as closed off. You could tell that he was joking with you by the sway of his tail, and the flicking of his ears.

“Head in the clouds again?” 

Oh right, there’s been another new development alongside Leona. Your crystalline friend now spoke to you. Well, not really speaking, more so talking in your mind. The first time it happened you nearly threw it across the room, but honestly, what were you expecting? A talking crystal bird shouldn’t have been that shocking to you after everything you’ve been through.

Your attention snapped back to the lecture Professor Crewel was giving a certain group of first-years about not eating during lab. “Just there’s been a lot,” you said. Seems like there wasn’t going to be any new content taught today since somebody decided to eat the ingredients and get rushed to the infirmary room. You wonder if Crewel just said that his hair was dyed or if he was going white early due to the impulsive thoughts and actions of his students. So you were able to freely discuss as much as you pleased with your stone friend. “What can you tell me about them?”

The bird paused in its fuddling with a spare pen, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“You need to travel down that path on your own decision, not influenced by anyone,” they took off, leaving you alone for the first time on their own free accord. But gold, glowing footsteps followed them, leading the way.

I need to travel the path on my own decision. You knew those glowing footsteps would lead you towards your soul match. But why did they lead to Ramshackle? 

…

Meanwhile, in the botanical gardens, Leona was sitting comfortably under one of his favourite trees, eyes closed and tail swishing back and forth peacefully. But he was awake, and he was listening in to the conversation of his hornbill and a new voice.

“How do you think it will go?”

He recognized the voice of his hornbill.

There was shuffling on the branch, a new voice entering his head. “They are both quite stubborn, but seeing the progress thus far, even without them knowing, is promising. But they must go forward, forge their own path.”

He cracked an eye open, seeing the two green birds sitting together on their perch. But something else caught his eye, glowing footsteps. Follow it. So he followed them, the footsteps. Leona saw the other hornbill, his soul match’s hornbill take flight, the footsteps leading in the same direction. He looked back under the tree. To follow or not to follow, that was the question…

He ran after the footsteps, his hornbill clutching onto his shoulder for dear life.

“WHAT IS WITH THE SUDDEN CHANGE OF HEART?!” They squawked, falling off and flying beside him.

Leona rounded a corner, nearly running head-first into a Scarabia student, but he ignored him and kept on running, getting weird looks from everyone. “I’m tired of waiting,” he snapped. But also, he knew that there was going to be no perfect time to find them. He realizes what he needs to work on. He realizes that it will be a rocky path. That it will take time to heal. But he knew that whoever was at the end of the glowing footsteps, that they had the matching hornbill. That they were right. That they were his equal in all things. Regardless of status. Regardless of upbringing. Regardless of what even his first insecure thoughts were. 

He stopped running, looking to where the footsteps disappeared under the door. The front door of Ramshackle Dorm. He put his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it.

They are a lot closer than you think. They weren’t able to be there for you for a reason. So it wasn’t just a sense of owing someone then. That bitter taste in his mouth from when he found out you had a soul match was jealousy that it could be someone other than him. Of course, it was you. One of the first people in a long time where he felt like you weren’t looking down at him, or just judging on initial interactions. That you accepted him. That you rolled your eyes whenever he felt like being snarky with you. That you bantered with him. That he felt… lighter with you.

But his hand didn’t move. He took it off the knob. He wasn’t just going to barge in. So he knocked on the wood, three gentle tap tap taps.

You looked up from the busted wall you were trying to patch up, the ghosts having alerted you that someone was waiting at the door for you. The fact that they were waiting surprised you, usually people would just come in unannounced or just kick the door down. But they were waiting. You made your way to the door and looked through a large crack. What was Leona doing here?

You opened the door, and you noticed the same bird that watched after you from the roof. Both of your birds took flight and danced with the other before coming down and landing on both of your shoulders. Performing the soul match dance.

"I'm glad it's you."

Fin!

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