#volo is a prince because of course he is

[dubb0-g0ldfe11]

The beginnings of a forbidden relationship

Royal au because why not?

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 15

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Damen, who as a prince of the blood did not excel at wagon repairs, nodded knowledgeably,

love this slightly snarky oxymoronic moment from the narration. fake it til you make it!

‘Hey!’ Laurent called out. He was pulling himself up from the front wheel onto the wagon top. He had a swathe of yellow silk in his hand, and he stood on the wagon waving it colourfully at the squadron. ‘Hey you! Akielons!’

i think this entire bit is going to be so much funnier and rewarding after having done 2.5 books of intense analysis, which has made me essentially conclude that laurent and to a slightly lesser degree damen are a gifted and naturally-inclined improv comedy duo, even in the most dangerous and horrifying situations. horny despite the horrors? nah, “yes, and”-ing despite the horrors

It was too late to stop it. Too late to grab at Laurent’s ankle. The squadron had seen them. Brief visions of strangling Laurent weren’t helpful.

The officer in question was identifiable by his superior horse.

"superior horse"

‘You are merchants?’ ‘We are.’ ‘What name?’ said the officer. ‘Charls,’ said Damen, who was the only merchant he knew.

very thankful that they recycle the charls name from the inn but don’t bring up volo again. for reasons

‘You are Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant?’ said the officer sceptically, as if this was a name well known to him.

the absurdity here is perfectly escalated. of COURSE charls is well-known, they cannot catch a fucking break!!

also i just love the idea of these cultures essentially regarding merchants as celebrity figures. like is charls an influencer. he’s so popular that even people in the opposing nation have no choice but to stan

‘No,’ said Laurent, as if this was the most foolish thing in the world. ‘I am Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant. This is my assistant. Lamen.’

i like how laurent’s correction isn’t “of course he isn’t this public figure you know and like, neither of us are” in order to steer clear of having to prove their identities, but instead it’s ‘i’m the public figure you know and like, because i can actually sell this bit’

also admittedly some of the comedy in king’s rising does not work for me. especially the more fanfic-y stuff. but laurent using the ship name for him and damen in the text as a fake name is so fucking funny and i love it

(sorry i couldn't help myself)

The officer said, ‘We’re patrolling for Damianos of Akielos.’ ‘Who’s Damianos of Akielos?’ said Laurent.

‘He’s the King’s son,’ Damen heard himself saying, ‘Kastor’s brother.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lamen. Prince Damianos is dead,’ said Laurent.

Then, to the officer: ‘I apologise for my assistant. He doesn’t keep up with Akielon affairs.’ ‘On the contrary, it’s believed Damianos of Akielos is alive, and that he crossed into this province with his men six days ago.’ The officer gestured to his squadron, waving them forward. ‘Damianos is in Akielos.’ To Damen’s disbelief, he was waving them forward to mend the wagon. One of the soldiers asked Nikandros for a wooden block to brace the wheel. Nikandros passed it to him wordlessly. Nikandros had the slightly stupefied look that Damen remembered from several of his own adventures with Laurent.

this scene works so well because of everything that came before it. just… absolutely perfect

‘When your wagon is repaired, we can ride with you to the inn,’ said the officer. ‘You’ll be quite safe. The rest of the garrison is stationed there.’ He used the same tone that Laurent had used when he had said, ‘Who’s Damianos?’ It was suddenly obvious that they were not free from suspicion. A provincial officer might not feel comfortable confronting a well-known merchant on the road and searching his wagons. But at an inn, he could set his men to investigate the wagons at his leisure. And why risk a fight with a dozen guards on the road, when you could simply escort them back to the waiting arms of your garrison? ‘Thank you, officer,’ said Laurent without hesitating. ‘Lead on.’

damen doing my analysis for me!

It was a common enough arrangement in the provinces: merchants and travellers of good birth appreciated and even subsidised a military presence, which elevated an establishment over the usual public houses where not even a slave, if they possessed a shred of respectability, would risk eating.

in akielos, it’s apparently more respectable to be enslaved than poor. boooooooo

‘Very well.’ Laurent showed no sign of hesitation whatsoever. ‘Come, Lamen.’

i think in-universe laurent isn’t using it as a ship name, but as a pun to call damen “lame.” because he’s a bitch

‘This is Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant.’ ‘That isn’t Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant.’ The innkeeper looked at Laurent. ‘I can assure you that I am.’ ‘I can assure you. Charls the renowned merchant is already here.’ There was a pause.

‘Who is this impostor claiming to be m—’ They came face to face with Charls the Veretian cloth merchant.

laurent is getting ready to “yes, and” the shit out of this

Charls took one look at the unmistakable blue eyes and blond hair of his Prince, who he had last seen in Damen’s lap dressed as a pet in a tavern at Nesson. His eyes widened. Then, with a truly heroic effort: ‘Charls!’ said Charls.

no notes. delightful situation.

‘If he is Charls, then who are you?’ said the officer to Charls. ‘I,’ said Charls, ‘am—’ ‘He is Charls, I have known him these eight years,’ said the innkeeper. ‘That’s right. He is Charls. I am Charls. We are cousins,’ said Charls, gamely, ‘named after our grandfather. Charls.’ ‘Thank you, Charls, this man believes I am the King of Akielos,’ said Laurent. ‘I simply meant that you might be an agent of the King,’ said Stavos irritably. ‘An agent of the King when he has raised taxes and threatens to bankrupt the entire cloth industry?’ said Laurent.

laurent in this scene is me like 70% of the time playing dungeons and dragons. yessss girl pull in local politics and economics to make people accept your credibility

‘There is no need to apologise, Stavos. Your vigilance does you credit.’ Laurent gave a stiff little bow of his own. Then he drew off his riding cloak and passed it to Damen to carry.

‘In disguise again!’ Charls said sotto voce as he drew Laurent over to his table by the fire. ‘What is it this time? A mission for the Crown? A secret rendezvous? No fear, Your Highness—it’s my honour to keep your secret.’

charls deserves his celebrity status. i’m obsessed. he’s like, “oh goodness how delightful! i wonder what fun games of deception the king of vere and his little boyfriend are playing now!”

‘This is my assistant Guilliame.’ ‘This is my assistant Lamen,’ said Laurent.

laurent gets to be himself but damen doesn’t. lmaoooo

Laurent found a seat close to Charls and the silk merchant Mathelin. Lamen was relegated to a small three-legged stool at the table end.

loving how the narrative is now just calling damen “lamen”

It was decent wine and there were no flutists or dancing boys, which was the best one could hope for at a public inn, Damen thought.

WELL DAMEN I THINK THAT’S PROBABLY BETTER THAN PEOPLE SPECIFICALLY ENSLAVED AND GROOMED TO PROVIDE ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE RULING CLASS BUT MAYBE THAT’S JUST ME

Guilliame came to talk to him, since they were the same rank. ‘Lamen. That’s an unusual name.’ ‘It’s Patran,’ said Damen. ‘You speak very good Akielon,’ he said, loudly and slowly. ‘Thank you,’ said Damen.

picturing him like yzma in the sombrero

Nikandros had to stand awkwardly by the end of the table when he arrived. He frowned when he realised he had to give his report to Laurent. ‘The wagons are unpacked. Charls.’

nonconsensual improv

‘We usually operate in Delfeur, but I’ve been forced to come south. Nikandros is completely useless as the Kyros,’ Laurent said, loudly enough for Nikandros to hear him. ‘He doesn’t know the first thing about cloth.’ ‘That is so true,’ agreed Mathelin. Charls said, ‘He disallowed trading in Kemptian silk, and when I tried to sell silk from Varenne he taxed it at five sols a bolt!’

this is the best day of laurent’s life

nikandros private twitter vent #15. obviously. also does this count as an hr complaint? gonna say no—but i think nikandros would still file it out of spite

‘Charls met the Prince of Vere once,’ Guilliame said to Damen, lowering his voice to the conspiratorial, ‘in a tavern in Nesson, disguised as a,’ lowering it further, ‘prostitute.’ Damen looked over at Laurent, who was deep in conversation, letting his eyes pass slowly over every familiar feature, the cool expression tipped with gold in the firelight. He said, ‘Did he?’ ‘Charls said, think of the most expensive pet you’ve ever seen, then double it.’ ‘Really?’ said Damen. ‘Of course, Charls knew who he was right away, because he couldn’t hide his princely style, and nobility of spirit.’ ‘Of course,’ said Damen.

two possibilities here:

1) charls is lying about recognizing laurent immediately as a flex for his friends (most likely)

2) charls did recognize laurent and was just like “go off i guess”

Across the table, Laurent was asking questions about cultural differences in trade. Veretians liked ornate fabrics and dyes, weavings and ornamentations, Charls said, but Akielons had a sharper focus on quality, and their textiles were in truth more sophisticated, every aspect of the weave revealed by their deceptively simple styles. In some ways, it was harder to trade here. ‘Maybe you could encourage Akielons to wear sleeves. You’d sell more cloth,’ said Laurent. Everyone laughed politely at the joke, and then speculative looks crossed one or two faces, as if this young cousin of Charls’s might have stumbled by accident onto a good idea.

this is perfect for several reasons:

1) laurent using his political intelligence to make a genuinely helpful suggestion, foreshadowing that he will be a great leader

2) laurent dunking on akielion fashion in front of damen, which he has done several times before, but this time damen can’t argue

3) laurent further mocking damen, who dropped a fucking pitcher because of his exposed arms, by suggesting that his entire culture start wearing sleeves en masse so such situations would not occur again. iconic.

4) we actually get a sense that it might have worked. because laurent really is just That Bitch.

the wagons where Jokaste was spending the night, along with Guion’s wife, Loyse.

so we’ve got an akielion noblewoman, who had the bastard child of one of the two princes as a means of social mobility, having a hostage sleepover with the mourning and resentful wife of a veretian noble whose son died as a result of her husband’s unforgivable choice of letting said son be assaulted as a means of social climbing. very fun girl’s night circumstances

Damen the assistant checked in on both the soldiers and the wagons,

so he’s called damen again? but he’s called lamen in like two paragraphs. did someone else get the name damen? i don’t see that on the page. maybe it’s just distinguishing based on who’s perceiving him? i don’t know it’s fine i don’t need to understand every little detail (this is going to bother me until i find a coherent pattern or forget entirely)

One of the inn men came out with a lantern in his hand traversing the courtyard to tell Lamen that his room was prepared, second door to the right.

okay so i think it’s “lamen” when he’s interacting with the inn people, “damen” with his own people, and a mixture of both with charls and the merchant’s guild

He ascended the stairs. Without the lantern, there was quite a bit of unlit gloom,

He had exchanged his Akielon cotton for an oversized Veretian bed shirt, loose and trailing laces. And he had dragged all of the bedding from the small Akielon-style bed and heaped it in front of the fire, even dragging the clean mattress down to join the smaller pallet there.

didn’t they do something similar with the fireplace in the nesson inn scene? i get that we’re getting a lot of parallels and it’s great

Damen looked at the bedding, and said, carefully, ‘The innsman sent me here.’

“carefully” he’s like “uhhhh i don’t want to be presumptive but am i about to get laid”

‘At my instruction,’ said Laurent.

“yes. yes you are about to get laid."

Damen felt his heart begin to pound, even as he held himself still and tried not to make any dangerous assumptions.

damen i can read you like a book (literally)

Laurent said, ‘It’s our last chance for a real bed before the Kingsmeet.’

this is brutal, knowing that laurent almost certainly intends to turn himself in at this point :(

‘I need to bathe.’ He said it into Laurent’s ear, let his lips find the sensitive skin just behind it. They were kissing again, deep, heated kisses. ‘So go and bathe.’ He found himself pushed backwards, looking at Laurent across a stretch of space. Leaned against the wall, Laurent indicated to the small wooden door with his chin. His pale brows arched. ‘Or do you expect me to attend you?’

unlike previous sex scenes, they’re actually taking a breather and considering it beforehand. making the conditions how they both actually want them to be. i like that a lot, as opposed to the last sex scene, where it was all very sudden and impulsive. my guess is that i will love this scene for the reasons i disliked the last—they represent the two different ways damen and laurent respectively experience and prefer to express desire. damen’s is overwhelming and raw and primal (“you like it simple”), while laurent’s well-considered and gradual and within his own control. i think it’s very clear which my preference is, and i do stand by the suggestion that the last scene wasn’t as Good as damen felt like it was—but i also acknowledge that i’m just more on the laurentian side of things, and part of a relationship is indulging things that your partner desires that might not be your exact preference. in chapter 12, laurent is indulging damen. in this chapter, damen is more indulging laurent.

The evidence of planning was in fact very like Laurent, though Damen had never experienced it from him quite in this context before.

congrats buddy, you’re about to

(also i love and am saddened by the idea of laurent having a list of things he’d like to do with damen before turning himself in, and just kind of methodically assembling the circumstances to make sure he can experience it all)

Laurent didn’t follow him in, but left him to wash, a utilitarian task.

damen’s bath trauma is definitely an ongoing thing, and i like how we’re seeing how it can slowly heal. we’ve gone from Very Bad associations to Neutral associations—utilitarianism. eventually we’ll get to Good, but there’s still a way to go.

Here, too, was evidence of planning, and he could see it now for what it was: the lit candles, the joint bedding, and Laurent himself, clean and dressed in a bed shirt.

He thought of Laurent, waiting for him expectantly. It was charming, because it was clear that Laurent was unsure exactly what to do, yet, typically, had acted to take control of everything.

it better be charming or else i’m personally screwed. who said that

‘First time to entertain a lover?’ Just saying the word made him flush, and he saw Laurent flush too.

cheesy ass line

Laurent said, ‘Are you bathed?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. Laurent was standing on the other side of the room, near the stripped-down bed. He looked tense in the flame light, a nervy steeling of himself. Laurent said, ‘Take a step back.’

i like how we’re subtly seeing that laurent has been identifying the reasons that doing this specific sex act makes him anxious, and actively seeking to create circumstances where he can feel safe. he wants damen to be clean. he wants to be the one giving verbal instructions. he does not want to be touched. verbalizing those things makes it slightly less overwhelming, and allows him to consciously experience this, rather than just saying “i don’t care, do whatever you want.” and that’s amazing.

‘Take off the towel,’ said Laurent.

dead girl walking…

Virgins and the inexperienced tended to get nervous, which he enjoyed as a challenge to be overcome, hesitancy turned into eagerness and pleasure. It pleased some deep part of him to see in Laurent the flickering of a similar reaction. Laurent eventually lifted his gaze from the place where it had, instinctively, dropped. He let Laurent see him, see his nakedness was on display, the strident fact of his arousal. The flames in the stone hearth were too loud as they consumed the young cut wood. ‘Don’t touch me,’ said Laurent. And dropped to his knees on the floor of the inn.

god this is SO fucking good. laurent puts himself face-to-face with a source of trauma and abuse, sets his boundaries so he can feel safe, and decides to challenge that trauma head-on (PUN NOT INTENDED)

(slightly related, i just recently wrote my first earnest sex scene ever in a self-insert fic for another fandom and it is a LOT like this one. which is funny, bc that wasn’t really was i was trying to do, but i guess it rubbed off on me when i read it back in may. and i’m a lot like laurent, soooooooo)

oh also, damen’s perception of laurent being a cute nervous virgin, when in reality he’s like fighting demons with his bare hands, is yknow. more of the same stuff i comment on, where it’s good that he doesn’t see laurent as a victim but also lacks the understanding that we have and it’s paradoxically frustrating and nice

Damen’s pulse escalated wildly, even as he tried rather desperately not to presume that any other action would necessarily follow from this one.

yeah damen he’s definitely on his knees to rearrange the rug

(it’s nice that he’s trying to show restraint, especially after the last scene. not that he did anything WRONG last time, but he seems to be noticing that this is something laurent wants and needs to control)

Laurent was going to do it. When you see a panther opening its jaws you don’t get your dick out.

i listened to an interview with cs pacat where she was commenting on the way people always portray giving head or being penetrated as an inherently demeaning activity, like it’s always showing that the person doing it is weak, but she pushes back like uhhhh no. when you see a panther opening its jaws you don’t get your dick out

also telling is that one of laurent’s first (and arguably most memorable) acts of dominance over damen was forcing him to have someone else give him head, which very much made him the weaker and demeaned person in the situation, even if damen ultimately kinda just shrugged it off bc he was already so casual about sex before meeting laurent and also like. had sex slaves

The idea of the frigid Prince of Vere sucking his cock was impossible.

was

Laurent’s eyes were very dark, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, clearly struggling with something, as he leant in again.

i am very grateful that laurent exists as a character and is written the way he is

He hadn’t imagined it like this. He knew Laurent’s mouth, knew its vicious capability. He knew it as Laurent’s primary weapon. In his daily life, Laurent held his lips taut, repressing their lush shape into a hard line, his mouth cruel curves. Damen had seen Laurent eviscerate people with that mouth. Now Laurent’s lips were given over to pleasure, his words traded for Damen’s cock.

this is one of my favorite lines/paragraphs in the entire series. definitely the best one related to eroticism. it’s so much more rewarding for damen to have laurent, who he genuinely respects for his brilliance and sharp tongue, willingly and mindfully taking him despite his anxieties out of desire and determination, than for a slave with no personality to do what they’ve been groomed to do, or someone damen only shallowly understands like jokaste to basically use him for social clout. it’s also more rewarding to me personally as a reader for this to happen, as opposed to laurent just being like “i don’t care, do what you want” with very little mindfulness or control and damen just taking him like that, which is what happened in chapter 12. ultimately i think it’s more of a matter of taste and personal preference, which of those situations a reader prefers. both make sense for the characters they feature in control, and tell us useful things in understanding who they are and how they feel.

It was clear that Laurent didn’t know how to process the fact that he was turned on, and that part of his wariness was that he was uncertain what was next, one of the strange gaps in his experience that Damen couldn’t predict.

fuck… that’s so sad. but a really good detail and i’m glad it’s there.

In the dim light, Laurent said, ‘A fair exchange, is it?’ ‘I don’t know. What do you want?’

i’m trying to figure out what exactly this means. is laurent asking for something in return, as a way to minimize his own vulnerability here? what does the “i don’t know” mean, then? it almost sounds like laurent is referring to some previous conversation between them. ughhh i feel lazy. is it just bc damen gave laurent head in a previous scene? laurent being aware that he gives really good head (because [redacted]), basically teasing damen that he (laurent) gives better head and they both know it, and therefore a true fair exchange would include damen giving him a little extra? and damen teasingly being like “mayyybbbeeee, depends on what you want ;)”

‘Show me,’ said Laurent, ‘how it could be.’

damen understands this as “how it could be if we were together as we’ve fantasized about, without any of the war shit and courting conventionally”

laurent means that, but also, “how it could be if i’m not being assaulted or dissociating. because with what i’m about to do—turning myself in to be killed—i’m never gonna have it”

‘I would court you,’ said Damen, ‘with all the grace and courtesy that you deserve.’ He undid the first lace on Laurent’s shirt, and the fabric began to open, a glimpse of the hollow of his throat. Laurent’s lips were parted, his breath hardly stirring. Damen said, ‘There’d be no lies between us.’ He opened the second lace, felt the low throb of his own pulse, the warmth of Laurent’s skin as his fingers moved to the third. ‘We’d have time,’ Damen said, ‘to be together.’ And in the warm flame light, he lifted his hand and cupped Laurent’s cheek, and then leaned in, and kissed him on the lips, gently.

figuratively and literally undressing him. also this is so hot. anyway

He felt Laurent’s shock, as though he had not expected to be kissed after what he had just done.

stopppp

The way Laurent kissed was nothing like the way he did anything else. It was simple and without artifice, as if kissing were serious.

this scene is interesting, because it’s kind of written like they haven’t done stuff like kissing and intimacy together before. is it kind of an indication that damen subconsciously recognizes that this is the first laurent has allowed himself to be fully present? bc i think that is what’s happening here

The kiss deepened at Laurent’s bidding.

“at laurent’s bidding” let’s fucking gooooooo. man who has struggled to prove he’s in control of a world that hates him for 2.5 books has been willingly given control by someone who deeply respects and cares for him, who has said that he trusts him to treat him well

the sort of proprietary touch he wouldn’t have dreamed of before tonight, and still half expected Laurent to kill him for. Laurent made a small sound of encouragement, breaking off the kiss for a moment and closing his eyes, all his attention on Damen’s touch.

yeah this works for me. lol. in chapter 12 it’s like, there damen was getting off on laurent’s lack of control or mindfulness, the fact that his defenses had just completely fallen and he was being “honest,” so much so that he almost acted like a slave. but here, laurent is mindful about his choice to make himself vulnerable, and damen both sees and respects him for the complex and snippy and very un-slavelike person he is. the amazing thing here is that laurent isn’t pushing back or away, but he’s also not dissociating or pretending to be someone or something he isn’t—in fact, he’s pushing himself to be there despite his hesitation, and trusting damen to treat him well.

‘You like it slow.’ He dipped his head near Laurent’s ear. ‘Yes.’

I FUCKING KNEW “YOU LIKE IT SIMPLE” WAS GOING TO CONTINUE TO BE RELEVANT

do i even need to spell it out, how that line so perfectly works with "you like it slow"? holy fucking shit.

Laurent’s overfine skin was more sensitive than his own, though during the day Laurent ruthlessly strapped himself into the most severe clothing possible. He wondered if Laurent repressed sensation for the same reason that he struggled to admit it now, his jaw taut.

i love this little observation, wow. laurent represses feelings because he tends to experience them more deeply or sensitively than other people. this means that when he protects himself from harm, he’s also protecting himself from pleasure—because to laurent, as a victim of sexual abuse especially, pleasure and harm come hand-in-hand. we get to see damen figure this out on the page, even without the context of the regent, and accurately suspects that laurent’s “struggle to admit it” runs deeper than just being a flustered virgin, which is what he had previously assumed.

It was Laurent who pushed him down onto the bedding. Laurent’s hands were on him. Laurent touched him as if to learn the shape and feel of his body, as if to catalogue every part of him and commit it to memory.

HMMM I WONDER WHY HE’S TRYING TO CATALOGUE AND MEMORIZE HERE

Laurent broke off, and appeared to have come to a decision, his breathing quickened but controlled. ‘Make me come,’ he said, and placed Damen’s hand between his legs.

checking another thing off the bucket list! i feel like laurent had almost an intimacy contingency plan here: if i do a and still feel comfortable and present, then i’ll try to do b. and then c, if i haven’t been overstimulated or triggered yet. all the way down the list

‘Like that?’ No. Slower.

remember when laurent gave very similar directions to ancel as he gave damen head back in book 1?

“You’re more likely to win a game if you don’t play your whole hand at once,’ said Laurent. ‘Start more slowly.”

turns out the key to pleasuring laurent really was hidden in plain sight the entire time ;) it is the game he likes, after all

His own body’s renewed interest had grown from lazy arousal to primed, heavy; ready to mount, even as he put it aside to watch Laurent attempt to let his guard down.

“ready to mount” damen don’t be cringe

He felt the repression when it came, the hard restraint that Laurent exerted over his body, his stomach clenching, a muscle moving in his jaw. He knew what it signalled. Damen didn’t stop moving his hand.

so he didn’t come? am i reading that right?

‘Don’t like to come?’ ‘Is that a problem?’ His breathing shallow, Laurent didn’t quite manage the approximation of his usual tone. ‘Not for me. I’ll tell you how it was when I’m done.’

damen: you seem to be having a weird time with this (teasing to ease the intensity of whatever dark shit is going on in laurent’s head) laurent: is the matter of how one does or does not come a problem damen: not for me, i come all the time and i’m awesome at it. how about we come together and compare our experiences

they’re ridiculous. i love them

Laurent swore, once, succinctly,

he took Laurent in his hand and said, ‘Come on, then.’ It felt ridiculously daring to tell Laurent in any respect what to do. The first thrust against him was deliberate, a push of heat into his hand. Laurent’s eyes were on his. He could feel that it was new for Laurent to do this, just as it was new for him to feel like he was receiving it. He wondered if Laurent had ever fucked anyone in earnest, and he realised with a jolt of shock that Laurent hadn’t. The flood of heat that came at that wasn’t comfortable. And then like Laurent he was suddenly somewhere he had never been.

cool way for the playing field to be evened between them—the idea of bottoming makes damen feel similarly confused and inexperienced but undeniably aroused to laurent in like most sexual situations

‘I’ve,’ said Damen, ‘never—’ ‘Nor have I,’ said Laurent. ‘You’d be my first.’

damen jots that down for later (laurent doesn’t think there’s going to be a later)

Laurent said, ‘I thought that in Akielos, a First Night was special.’ ‘For a slave it is,’ said Damen. ‘For a slave it means everything.’

“you like it simple”

damen has realized there is so much more to loving a real person than the simplicity of having semi-ritualistic sex with slaves groomed to only care about his pleasure and not their own, for whom the pinnacle of existence is getting fucked. laurent has a lot more going on than just his sexuality, and so does damen. and they truly know and love each other, and demonstrate that in ways that aren't just sexual.

for a slave, this means everything—everything in the absence of any other purpose, because slaves aren’t allowed to have any other purpose. for a person with purpose beyond sex, this means SOMETHING. and it’s something they’ve actually chosen to care about and pursue, because they want it without having to be groomed. and that’s why free will is sexy.

Climax hit even though they were not inside each other’s bodies, but joined together, one.

it’s dangerous to come alone

He felt Laurent shifting, too soon. ‘I’ll get—’

i like how his trauma responses don’t like magically disappear once he lets himself get off. in fact were are reminded of them immediately

He knew that Laurent was fastidious after lovemaking, and he liked that he knew it, liked that he was learning Laurent’s idiosyncracies. Laurent paused, touching his fingers to the wooden edge of the table and just breathing in the dim light. Laurent’s post-coital habits were also an excuse, covering a need to take a moment to himself, and Damen knew that, too.

He sipped from the shallow cup that Laurent provided, and poured water for Laurent in turn, which Laurent didn’t seem to expect.

too easy to point out the metaphor there

Damen stretched out comfortably, and waited for Laurent to do the same. That took minutes longer than it would have with any other lover.

he likes it slow!!

‘You’re still wearing it.’ He couldn’t help but say it. Laurent’s wrist was heavy with gold, like the colour of his hair in the firelight. ‘So are you.’ ‘Tell me why.’ ‘You know why,’ said Laurent.

i think this might be the closest thing we get to an “i love you”

‘There will be no Patran princess, or daughter of the Empire.’

THERE'S NOT GOING TO BE A PATRAN PRINCESS, YOU STUPID SLUT

‘It’s your duty to continue your line.’

damen is projecting. he’s realizing how much he wants to marry laurent and truly Have Him, but it’s in conflict with his obligation as king to create an heir. so i guess that’s also why we have plot device baby

He didn’t know why he said it.

don’t worry man we’ve got our people (me) on it

‘No. I’m the last. My line ends with me.’ Damen turned, to find Laurent was not looking back at him, but also had his eyes on some point in the dim light. Laurent’s voice was quiet. ‘I have never said that to anyone before.’

a few implications here. most likely perceived by damen: he’s ashamed of his bloodline and the bad people in it, including himself. probably intended by laurent: he’s not going to have a chance to continue the bloodline even if he wanted to, because he’s going to turn himself in and get killed

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Laurent. ‘I always thought that I’d have to face my uncle alone.’

i hate it here. just TALK TO HIM AND FIND ANOTHER SOLUTION (something laurent has been unwilling to do several times in this series, and each time it has been a mistake)

laurent has gotten so comfortable conferring with damen re: plans and strategy, as long as the goal is to protect other people. what makes this different is that the only person who will be “harmed” by this plan is laurent himself, and laurent doesn’t believe that he deserves to live, especially if his death means everyone else can win. strong vs weak stuff is still deeply internalized. he does not expect himself to be able to get out of this one by killing a guy with a chair—he’s walking into the situation knowing the regent is stronger, and the best he can do is pave the way for damen to exercise his own strength in opposition

‘You’re not alone,’ said Damen. Laurent didn’t answer, but he did give a smile, and reached out to touch Damen, wordlessly.

yet

it is interesting how we went from laurent keeping secrets from damen in order to punish him and limit the amount of intimacy and care they can show each other, to laurent keeping secrets from damen in order to save him and relishing every second of intimacy and care they have left

Charls’s wagon train lent them respectability

literally an influencer

When the days got too hot, they retreated to inns and wayhouses, and once a large farmhouse where they ate bread, hard cheese and figs, and Akielon sweets of honey and nuts that attracted wasps in the sticky heat.

do you think akielos also has slaves to provide fine goods and foods for the ruling class? is it just a sex thing?

‘So you ministered to his household.’ ‘And to his boys,’ said Paschal. Damen said nothing.

i think damen definitely suspects [redacted] deep down, maybe he thinks laurent would have told him already if it were true?

‘I see that you used to be a slave, and that Charls has freed you,’ Guilliame said to him, as they prepared to part ways. Guilliame spoke very earnestly. ‘I want you to know that Charls and I have never traded in slaves.’ Damen looked out at the weird beauty of the gnarled landscape. He heard himself say, ‘Damianos will end slavery when he becomes King.’

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nikandros was looking at Laurent. ‘He’s very—’ ‘You get used to it,’ said Damen, with a little wellspring of joy inside him, because that wasn’t really true.

AWWWWWW this is a love confession too

And that was strange. To be here, so close to the end of his own plans. So close to the end, really, of everything.

oh my god laurentttt

To be where he’d never dreamed he would be, and to know that by morning, this would be finished, or at least, his part in it.

STOP

Then, because there should be no witnesses to this, he dismissed the guards. All bad things were done in the dark.

Jokaste watched all of this happen and didn’t flinch from it, nor did she scream or plead for help, as he had thought she would not.

i really like “as he had thought she would not”

He said, ‘I think it’s Kastor’s child.’ Jokaste didn’t answer him, and there was a silence in which her gaze was on him. Laurent regarded her in turn. Around them, the camp stayed quiet, no sounds except for the breeze and the night. ‘I think you saw it clearly, in those twilight days in Akielos. The end was coming, and Damianos wouldn’t listen to anyone. The only way to save his life was to persuade Kastor to send him as a slave to Vere. To do that you had to be in Kastor’s bed.’

is laurent accusing her of loving damen and trying to save him, in a very manipulative and roundabout way? because that is what he’s doing right now. which is neat. i like these two together

It gave something away. And she was angry about it, and for the first time she was afraid. He said, ‘I think it’s Kastor’s child, because I don’t think you would use Damen’s child against him.’

“because you love him. i know this, because i’m just like you and i love him”

‘You mean, the only difference between us is that I chose the wrong brother?’ As the stars began to drift across the sky, Laurent thought about Nicaise, standing in the courtyard with a handful of sapphires. ‘I don’t think you chose,’ said Laurent.

WOAH okay gotta unpack that. is laurent thinking of nicaise in regards to what he (laurent) didn’t and couldn’t do to save him? at this time where he’s doing something to save people he cares about? or is he comparing jokaste to nicaise, in that they both had to fraternize with nobility in a way that was technically their “choice” but very much informed by money and society? or is he comparing the baby that he’s giving himself up to save to nicaise, that’s why he cares so deeply about saving it, and he has no choice? none of these feel quite right.

“nicaise in the courtyard with a handful of sapphires” i forget what exactly this refers to. is it when nicaise is about to warn laurent, and fails to? is that the last time laurent saw him alive? is he likening nicaise’s lack of autonomy in the situation with the regent, and the efforts he took to help laurent despite it, to jokaste telling kastor to spare damen? these imperfect attempts at helping others within a situation that robs a person of their control, which an observer could identify as stupid or useless? just like what laurent is doing right now?? yeah. i think that might be it

[zarya-zaryanitsa]

@certifiedsophist

Mock funerals of Morana and Yarilo belong to the exact same type of a holiday - a rather common form of ritual found in many cultures that is supposed to end one season and bring about another, and can be performed at the cusp of any season. There are many other rituals of this kind among the Slavs: funeral of rusalka, of a cuckoo, Maslenitsa, etc. The details and the character dying will vary but the principle remains the same.

Basically, every season of the year could have its special provody ritual that ended it. We can find the most striking similarities with the mock funeral of rusalka in the Kupalo festivities which took place on the summer solstice, that is on the Eve of John the Baptist, Ivan Kupalo (23rd–24th June), and in which a male ithyfallic effigy, called Kupalo, Jarilo, Kostroma, etc., was buried and sometimes resurrected again. Kupalo festivities took place near water and were replete with erotic symbolism, bathing, fire jumping, and dancing on the ritual fields called igrišta – church literature reprehended the orgiastic nature of this ritual.

Rusalki: Anthropology of Time, Death, and Sexuality in Slavic Folklore by Jiri Dynda

In some regions the start of spring was seen as domain of Yarilo (his very name is built from a word denoting spring or a year, which for the ancient Slavs most likely started in springtime). Western Slavs however seem to mostly celebrate Morana around this time, though of course we know Polabians had spring celebrations of Yarovit that didn’t survive the trial of time.

Similarly the summer solstice could be the domain of either, depending on the region. And so Kupalo/Kupala, another character belonging to the body of summer solstice rituals could be identified as related to either of them.

Some slavists studying Slavic midsummer rites came to the conclusion that they may represent a union of two deities, one of death and water the other of life and fire, and on the basis of some folk stories they further speculated the deities might perhaps be siblings connected by forbidden taboo love.

The idea that Morana and Yarilo as well as Perun and Veles need to remain separate at all times seems to me to be a neo-pagan addition. The concept of having to keep Perun and Veles separate was born because Veles was not among the deities whose effigies Prince Volodymyr placed on a hill outside his palace in Kyiv:

And Vladimir began to reign alone in Kiev. And he placed idols on the hill outside the palace: a Perun in wood with a silver head and a gold moustache, and Khors and Daždbog and Stribog and Simargl and Mokoš. And they offered sacrifices and called them gods, and they took their sons and daughters to them and sacrificed them to the devils.

- Tale of Bygone Years as translated in Sources of Slavic Pre-Christian Religion by J. A. Álvarez-Pedrosa

At the same time we know Veles did have an effigy in Kyiv but in a different spot.

And he himself (Vladimir), on entering Kiev, ordered the idols to be destroyed and beaten, breaking some and burning others, but he ordered the idol of Volos, who was known as the god of cattle, to be thrown into the River Pochaina, and the idol of Perun to be tied to a horse’s tail and dragged down the mountain by Borichev towards the river, appointing servants to strike the idols with sticks: this was not because the wood could feel, but to outrage the devil for deceiving us in that way. The infidels wept over this, as they had not yet received holy baptism.

- from the fragments of Life of Vladimir as translated in Sources of Slavic Pre- Christian Religion by J. A. Álvarez-Pedrosa

This is it - this is the reason people decided Perun-and-Veles-can-never-touch, even though we clearly also have sources mentioning them being invoked side by side:

Thus the Emperors Leo and Alexander made peace with Oleg, and after agreeing upon the tribute and mutually binding themselves by oath, they kissed the cross, and invited Oleg and his men to swear an oath likewise. According to the religion of the Russes, the latter swore by their weapons and by their god Perun, as well as by Volos, the god of cattle, and thus confirmed the treaty. (…)

But if we fail in the observance of any of the aforesaid stipulations, either I or my companions, or my subjects, may we be accursed of the god in whom we believe, namely, of Perun and Volos, the god of flocks, and we become yellow as gold, and be slain with our own weapons.

- Russian Primary Chronicle, Laurentian Text

It’s perfectly possible for gods to be opponents - functionally and mythically - and still be worshipped concurrently by the same people as part of the same pantheon. Additionally it’s important to remember that the pantheon of Volodymyr was likely a political tool and slavists have long debated how good of a representation for popular Eastern Slavic beliefs at the time it may be.

In principle, Vladimir’s pantheon was a response to internal socio-political changes and the external needs of the emerging Eastern Slavic state. It was a henotheistic and dynastic cult focusing on the deity which best served state building purposes - Perun. It was a product of the long evolution of the Eastern Slavic religion which in post-migration times diverged from relative conceptual unity of the common Slavic beliefs. Eastern Slavic beliefs evolved in specific geographic, ethnic and political conditions, characteristic of Eastern Europe. Its development was the response to those circumstances. Serving new needs and purposes, the Kievan cult had to incorporate new attributes and acquire a new dimension.

- Organized Pagan Cult in Kievan Rus’. The Invention of Foreign Elite or Evolution of Local Tradition? by Roman Zaroff

So tldr instead of solely looking at Morana and Yarilo separately as divine opposites I think it’s beneficial to look at both of them in the context of a larger body of similar Slavic rituals, some of which I presented in this post. Knowing how flexible those rites are can actually help significantly in building one’s personal sacred calendar to one’s needs.

[toowonderlandcolor]

#1

(English below)

Allora, da dove iniziare?

Ovviamente ho passato un'altra notte insonne. Il pensiero di Lui continua a tormentarmi, lo amavo davvero molto...

Stupidamente ero disposta a trovare mille compromessi pur di stare con Lui, che stupida! Lui aveva già deciso da chissà quanto di lasciarmi, troppo concentrato sul propio ego per poter pensare a qualcun'altro.

"Io ho fatto e quindi voglio e pretendo, tu sei debole e non puoi permetterti di inseguire i tuoi sogni se vuoi stare con me"

Questo è il riassunto di tanta pena.

Da cretina quale sono ho provato ad attirare la sua attenzione in tutti i modi, perchè diciamocelo... quanto male fa non avere più nessuno con cui parlare? Voglia o no era il mio migliore amico, ci capivamo al volo, potevo finalmente essere me stessa e dire tutte le cazzate che mi passavano per la testa senza sentirmi stupida.

Maledetta me, mi manca!

Lui ha la fortuna di poter buttare tutto se stesso nel lavoro e così dimenticare i problemi, io no, non riesco a non pensare, non trovo un modo, e stò male perchè la sua mi sembra indifferenza, sembra che io non esista più per lui.

Quanto vorrei che mi scrivesse...

Il mio animo romantico vorrebbe che un giorno, proprio come il principe azzurro delle favole per bambini, si presentasse alla mia porta con una rosa e mi chiedesse in lacrime di riprovarci, mi dicesse quanto mi ama e quanto gli sia mancata in questo periodo, e io scoppierei a piangere come una fontana e lo abbraccerei, lo terrei talmente stretto da imrimermi il suo odore addosso, e non lo lascerei più andar via!

Cazzo, piango solo a scriverlo!

Quanto posso essere stupida?! E' ovvio che io non gli manchi, anzi probabilmente stà molto meglio così, nella sua routine, senza una rottura di palle come me intorno. Devo farmene una ragione, DEVO, non ho altra scelta. Lui non tornerà.

So, where to start? Of course I spent another sleepless night. The thought of Him continues to torment me, I really loved Him…

Stupidly I was willing to find a thousand compromises just to be with Him, how stupid! He had already decided, who knows how long ago, to leave me. Too focused on his own ego to be able to think of anyone else.

"I did it and therefore I want and demand, you are weak and you cannot allow yourself to chase your dreams if you want to be with me"

This is the summary of so much pain.

Being the idiot that I am, I tried to attract his attention in every way, because let's face it… how much does it hurt to no longer have anyone to talk to? Like it or not, he was my best friend, we understood each other immediately, I could finally be myself and say all the bullshit that came to mind without feeling stupid.

Damn me, I miss him!

He is lucky enough to be able to throw himself completely into his work and forget about his problems, but I am not, I can't help but think, I can't find a way, and I feel bad because his seems like indifference to me, it seems like I don't exist for him anymore.

How much I wish he would write to me… My romantic soul would like that one day, just like the prince charming in children's fairy tales, he would show up at my door with a rose and tearfully ask me to try again, tell me how much he loves me and how much he has missed me during this period, and I would burst into tears and hug him, I would hold him so tight that his smell would be imprinted on me, and I would never let him go!

Damn, I cry just writing it!

How stupid can I be?! It's obvious that he doesn't miss me, in fact he's probably much better off like this, in his routine, without a pain in the ass like me around. I have to accept it, I MUST, I have no other choice. He won't come back.

[voloswag]

thinking about high fantasy au volo dressed up in goofy puffy clothes like some flamboyant colorful troubadour singing songs about old legends

kass, he’s human kass

[absolutepokemontrash]

Hi! So, I absolutely love your series where the MC is the kid of Lucifer, and I was wondering if I could request that with Diavolo and Barbatos? •v•

:0 you definitely can! Right now I’m just doing Diavolo, but Barb’s will be up sometime soon!

MC is Half Demon and Oh Shit They’re Diavolo’s Kid-

Diavolo wasn’t exactly what one would expect of the prince of Hell, I mean, he was suppressing the urge to bounce in his seat from pure excitement. I mean, his exchange program was starting! Humans, demons, and angels, all together, his dream was coming true.

All that was left was for the student to arrive, the portal opened, and the human fell flat on their back. Oof, maybe Diavolo should have set up some kind of landing zone filled with pillows. No matter! The human was-

…

What peculiar eyes this human had…

Oh… oh dear…

Dad-volo

The MC was his child, no question about it. This was… very unexpected. Well, the entire assembly hall was completely quiet, and the kid looked like they were getting impatient.

“HEY! Mind telling me what the hell is going on?!”

After that, Diavolo launches into his explanation, also the explanation that he’s definitely this kid’s dad. Kid was not impressed, they tried to square up with Diavolo and Lucifer had never been more confused as to what to do.

Well, the moment MC sprouted wings and launched themselves at Diavolo, Dia caught them with one hand and continued speaking like nothing happened.

MC, please calm down… Diavolo didn’t know they existed, let him make it up to them! They’re going to stay at the Demon Lord’s Castle! Dia’s going to be a good dad!

“This feels like the plot to the world’s most messed up fairytale.” MC jammed their hands into their pockets and grumbled. “I get sucked into hell and find out I’m royalty there. Great.”

Diavolo managed to smile and awkwardly reach out to give them a pat on the head, then retracted his hand after the kid shot him a glare. “Well, it’s not a very traditional fairytale, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time here.”

“Mm, sure.” MC mumbled.

Okay, so his child wasn’t that enthusiastic about the exchange program, but Diavolo was sure they’d come around.

Dia tried everything he could possibly think of to get his kid to both like him and enjoy their time as an exchange student. A lot of things had… mixed results.

Also, legally recognizing MC as his child and legitimizing them caused a big stink amongst the nobles who were opposed to the exchange program to begin with. So MC then had to deal with a few assassins. Wonderful. Fantastic. Show stopping. Dia, be a good dad and comfort your angsty murder target- I MEAN preteen.

They do manage to build a good relationship fairly quickly despite their less than stellar first impressions, and Diavolo made them a promise that he knew he wouldn’t ever break: he would let them live as normal a childhood as possible.

This means that MC gets to do all the normal kid stuff that Diavolo wasn’t allowed to do. It honestly works out great for everyone. MC gets to live their life, Diavolo gets the satisfaction of knowing that his kid’s having fun, and Barbatos doesn’t need to worry about MC causing chaos in the castle.

Man… does this kid’s magic potential scare the shit out of everyone though…

Tired Uncle Lucifer

No. This has to be a violation of his worker rights. It cannot be legal for him to be this stressed.

He knew this exchange program was a bad idea. LUCIFER FUCKING KNEW IT. This kid was judging him. Why did he suddenly feel self conscious about every single one of his features? This child was picking him apart and they hadn’t even said anything!

He confiscated Asmo’s phone immediately, this was a matter of national security! Satan’s too! Beel as- oh shit Lucifer may have to give Beel the heimlich maneuver, then take his phone.

When all the brothers eventually got back to the HOL, they were greeted with Mammon getting shaken down by Levi.

“Lucifer! Ya won’t believe this! Levi- what’s wrong with you?” “The exchange student is Diavolo’s child.” “What..?” “*pops the cork off a bottle of Demonus* the exchange student’s Diavolo’s child.”

The worst part about this kid was that they took to the privileges of being royalty like a fish to water. MC went out and did whatever the fuck they wanted, and Lucifer needed to make sure a state of national emergency wasn’t called just because MC picked a fight at RAD.

It didn’t help that MC was just so unimpressed with Lucifer. Anytime Lucifer would tell them not to do something they would just raise their eyebrows and challenge his authority without saying a word.

What the fuck.jpg

The things he does for his prince boyfriend…

Cool Uncle Mammon

Huh, so this little pipsqueak is Lord Diavolo‘s kid? Hm, do ya think they’d let him into the royal treasury? No? Okay… lame.

Mammon then decides this kid would be just perfect for scamming people! Who is going to say no to the Crown Prince’s kid? A suicidal person, that’s who!

And the kid is… up for it? Wow, Mammon didn’t even have to grovel! Awesome!

It’s such a shame that Lucifer came in and promptly removed MC from Mammon’s presence. Tsk, killjoy…

Mammon and MC do get along swimmingly after MC stops angsting. Whenever they hang out it’s pure chaos.

And they would have gotten away with it too- wait, they do get away with it. Because who’s going to question the Crown Prince’s kid? >:)

Reclusive Uncle Leviathan

Levi was in the middle of throttling Mammon for his money back when Lucifer burst through the door looking like he had spent over 1000 Grimm on a gacha game only to not get the card he wanted.

And where was that human he said would be staying with them? Huh? The human’s HUH????!!!!

… wack. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped out on that Student Council Meeting…

Either way, ew, new person he needed to talk to. NO THANKS. Well, no thanks until MC started to visit the HOL to hang out with Mammon. Of course those two normies decided to bug him. OF COURSE.

Levi finally snapped when MC loudly proclaimed that they could totally beat Levi in Mario Kart. Haha, NO. Levi challenged the little runt to a 1 v 1 race on Rainbow Road.

Kid lost. Obviously. Rainbow Road is rigged.

Honestly, kid’s alright. Still a total normie, but not completely terrible.

Cat Uncle Satan

Huh, a half human child of the soon to be demon king, how very interesting.

Oh, and just look at Lucifer’s face. :D priceless. Satan wished he was fast enough to get his DDD out to snap a picture, but he wasn’t able to…

But back to MC, oh how very intriguing. How much power do they have in comparison to Diavolo? Will using that power rip their fragile little body apart? Would they learn to control it? Satan was just dying to find out.

His feelings on the child themselves were mixed at best. They were clearly unhappy with the situation and Satan could sympathize, being thrust into a completely new world and then being told you can’t leave and are also royalty? That has to be hard. But this kid was still being an unreasonable little shit.

Satan continued to try and study MC from afar until the kid themselves walked right up to him and half demanded half pleaded for his help in studying for a test.

Not being one to avoid an opportunity to flex how smart he is, Satan agreed to help out. (Nerrrrd)

And honestly, it went well. When the kid wasn’t being a little shit, they were actually quite pleasant to be around.

Overly Affectionate Uncle Asmo

…wut

Listen, when Asmo asked Lucifer to pick a cute human, he didn’t mean cute as in CHILD.

This kid was DIAVOLO’S?! What lucky human had gotten to have the experience of [Jesus Fucking Christ, Asmo I’m not writing what he said for the sake of the nation]

Anyhoo~ little MC just made his heart go “SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE SO CUTE!” They were so cute Asmo could just eat them up!

But they were so mean! That scowl they always had on was going to give them wrinkles and ruin their perfectly cute face!

Sigh, oh well. He can’t manually rearrange people’s expressions. What he can do is take this child shopping. Poor Diavolo was constantly in his RAD uniform, this poor innocent baby shouldn’t have to suffer the same fate.

The kid continued to scowl at everything, but at the same time, their little quips were very entertaining. This little kid spitting verbal venom at anyone who displeased them reminded Asmo of someone… he just couldn’t place who, but they definitely had amazing hair and a cute face :3

Hungry Uncle Beel

Where’s the takeout- I mean human? What’s happening? …are all humans this small? Dang, that’s barely enough for a snack.

So the human’s not going to live with us because they’re not fully human and Diavolo’s kid? Huh. Wild. Anyway, what’s for dinner?

Beel’s not too invested in this drama, he misses Belphie too much to be that interested…

The kid’s weirdly interested in how cool and strong Beel is though. MC tails him to the gym pretty often.

Diavolo and Beel already being gym buddies send tweet-

Since this benevolent little shit likes Beel so much, they decided to take it upon themselves to help with the family drama.

Beel finds that very sweet 🥺

Murder sleepy Uncle Belphie

Oh man… if you thought Belphie was being unfair to L!MC due to their parentage… hoo boy…

When this kid waltzed up the attic steps like they ran the place, Belphie needed to hold himself back from trying to break down the door and throttle this kid.

Pff, of course Diavolo would have a half human kid. Of course.

…kid beat the shit out of him when he tried to kill them. We stan this MC.

After all is said and done, Belphie still isn’t overly fond of MC. They’re brash and rude and only funny 40% of the time. They don’t even like napping 😒

But Beel likes the little runt, so Belphie and MC put up with each other.

Bonus! Your Angelic Uncle Simeon’s Chihuahua

:0 friend!

MC: *speaks*

>:0 not friend! Begone! *throws crucifix*

[olympianroyals]

Last time we was with Pandora and Alias [HERE]

Pandora: Starbucks! Starbucks! Starbucks!

Alias: Yeah, Yeah [rolls eyes]

[Alias and Pandora after they received their drinks]

Pandora: My gods, this is so good. [Slurps] this was just what I needed after delivering that epic beatdown earlier.

Alias: Hell yeah, he fucking deserved every bit of it. I still cant believe he said that to you.

Pandora: He had the audacity Alias! This man whom I've never met before found the audacity to say some crazy shit to me and expected me to not let that go? annnd not to mention Silvia lost her damn mind too! 

Alias: Yeah she shouldn't have said any of that that but you handled your self well though. (Thank you) I'm glad to see that your using me to feed your frappe addiction.

Pandora: Of course, what other reason would I keep you around for other than for you to supply my Frappe addiction? Oh that reminds me. Can we stop at the convenience store on the way home? I need to stock up on my goldfishes for the weekend. I'm running dangerously low on the good stuff

Alias: Your not tired of eating those bland ass crackers yet?

Pandora: [gasps] How dare you refer to the gift hand crafted by the gods as something as plebian as that!

Alias: Because that's what they are? Bland ass nasty ass goldfish shaped crackers. 

[Pandora gasps dramatically] We can no longer be friends

Alias: Good! I don't only want to be your friend

Pandora: Whatever, you don't talk shit about my crackers and I wont break ya leg, deal?

Alias: That's kind of extreme dontcha think? (no, breaking both of your legs would be extreme). Anyway more importantly, there's this new movie coming out i wanna see this Sunday. You…wanna check it out with me?

Pandora: Maybe, Mom texted me saying that they're coming home early for some reason and is leaving tonight instead of leaving Sunday night. So depending on what time they fly in, I might be able to go. Have you asked Alexia yet?

Alias: nope

Pandora: I think Alexia might be busy anyways since her wash day is this Sunday. It might just be me and you going.

Alias: Well I couldn't think of anything better [grins] its a date then

[An hour pass]

Alias: Are you ready to start heading home yet? Its getting late.

Pandora: Yeah, my body is starting to ache. What time is it anyway? My phone died.

Alias: Its almost 8, you don't have your phone charger?

Pandora: I might have left it in your car.

[Alias phone starts ringing]

Alias: Hold on. I got to take this, it's important.

Pandora: Yeah that's fine, I'll wait here, I think I want to order another frappe to go

Alias: Sure [distracted]…..hello?

News Reporter: WE INTERRUPT THIS REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM TO BRING TO YOU THIS HEARTBREAKING NEWS!

Pandora: Mhm? A news broadcast from Olympia?

News Reporter: It saddens me to report... that Their Royal Highness, Prince Damien and Duchess Savannah Morris, the Duke and Duchess of Volos, have been involved in a deadly car crash earlier tonight.

Pandora: [drops drink]

News Reporter: At around 11:48 pm, a car was found flipped over on the side of the road …Damien was found....unresponsive...… while Duchess...had …..died on impact...more information has not been...….

Pandora: …. 

Alias: PANDORA!...…

Book 1: Chapter 1, Episode 6

| The Beginning of Chapter 1 | Previous | Next |

[not-a-coral-snake]

Some additional thoughts I had while writing this post:

In the fight after Laurent duels Govart, Damen's sharpest retort, the thing he says that stops Laurent in his tracks and shocks Damen with the force of its impact, is this:

In their fight after Nicaise's death, it's this:

Damen shifts, over the course of Prince's Gambit, from accusing Laurent of being just like the regent, to accusing him of being dangerously obsessed with his opinion, just like Aimeric and Nicaise. It signals a shift in how Damen sees Laurent, and what he views as Laurent's weaknesses and flaws. After the duel with Govart, Damen is horrified at Laurent's cold calculations, his tendency to plan three steps ahead and manipulate people to get his own way. After Nicaise's death, Damen is angry that Laurent isn't being cold and calculating enough: not yet realizing just how affected Laurent is by Nicaise's death, he's horrified that Laurent would throw away a tactical military advantage for the drama of a doomed last stand on unfavorable terrain.

Damen has been through a lot in the last few weeks, has had the opportunity to become intimately familiar with Laurent’s scheming in a truly impressive variety of contexts. He’s been impressed by the extent of Laurent’s long-term planning (Volo’s hat, the timely arrival of first the Vaskian women and later Torveld’s army) and come to appreciate how a deceptive approach can also be one that limits bloodshed (taking Ravenel in disguise). By this point, Damen has come to view Laurent’s scheming not with horror but with a mixture of amusement, grudging fondness, and genuine respect.

As a result, it’s easier for Damen to see with more clarity what makes the regent evil. It’s not merely that he deceives and manipulates people. It’s the distinct cruelty with which he does it.

Damen’s concern now is not Laurent’s underhandedness. Damen’s concern is that Laurent will, like Nicaise and Aimeric, prioritize the regent’s attention and regard, and in doing so will act emotionally, heedlessly. Will lash out in anger or in arrogance, rather than sit quietly and strategize. Damen would love for Laurent to set in place a cold, manipulative plan here. 

And this is especially interesting, because acting emotionally, lashing out out of anger or arrogance without stopping to coldly plan is actually a very Damen thing to do. After learning about how Laurent set up the duel with Govart, Damen was angry at Laurent for not behaving like Damen. Now he’s angry at Laurent for not behaving like himself.

Damen’s also angry that Laurent isn’t treating the regent dispassionately, as an impersonal enemy, despite their family ties and shared history. He’s afraid that Laurent will, like Nicaise and Aimeric, put himself (and Laurent’s case, all his men) in danger by ignoring the fact that the regent clearly doesn’t care about him. And of course, this too is a weakness of Damen’s as well--he never really learns to treat Kastor as merely an enemy, rather than a family member. Laurent has already told him that in his own case, it is naive to trust that your family won’t hurt you, so this is perhaps another way in which Damen sees Laurent as behaving unlike himself. Laurent has admitted before to having been surprised that his uncle would try to kill him, but Damen had thought Laurent had moved past that, had accepted his uncle as simply the enemy in a way Damen is still struggling to do with Kastor and Jokaste.

It’s somewhat surprising that by the fight over Govart, Damen already believes so strongly that Laurent can or should be better than the regent. Laurent used to be the epitome of the cold, calculating Veretian in Damen’s mind, but by now the regent is. By the second fight, there’s no question in Damen’s mind that Laurent is better than the regent. Now, he wants Laurent to be more than Nicaise and Aimeric could be, to break free of the regent’s lethal orbit. And he respects Laurent enough as a tactician to think that Laurent will be able to beat the regent if only he can avoid being drawn into playing the regent’s game.

Finally, some thoughts on Laurent’s reactions: he reacts strongly both times, but far more strongly the second. I wonder if this is a sign that while he worries about becoming just like his uncle, he worries far more about caring too much about his uncle’s opinion. Or if it’s just that by the second fight, Damen’s opinion matters far more to him than it did in the first. In fact, it’s notable that by the first fight, Laurent already cares enough about Damen for Damen’s words to matter him at all. Given how thoroughly the regent has positioned himself to the Veretian court as responsible and magnanimous, and Laurent as petulant and lazy, I wonder if this is the first time anyone has accused Laurent of being just like his uncle.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fortuna Inversis

Kaon. It’s an open, festering wound on the otherwise generally peaceful and prosperous planet of Cybertron; a city-state prostrate under the heel of the tyrannical Lord Straxus. Everyone knows this, and no one knows it more than the inhabitants of its closest neighbor, the city-state of Vos. Kaon is a place of energy deprivation, filth, poverty, and misery; in short, it is a place Vosians go out of their way to avoid. So how did a well-bred Vosian noblemech like me end up in one of Kaon’s hovels? That, I am afraid, is a rather complicated story, and for you to fully understand it, I need to start at the beginning. My name is Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael (or, for those of you who do not speak Vosian, Blast Off of the House of Space), the creation and only heir of Dominus Spatium and Domine Astrum.

My creators were extremely wealthy, arguably even wealthier than the royal family, and they were a regular presence in the court of Rex Ventus, the King of Vos; however, they were also spacefaring explorers, and, as such, they were killed in a particularly unpleasant spaceship explosion when I was four stellar cycles away from the age of legal majority. It was a tragedy, of course, but as they had been away from home frequently for most of my life prior to that point, it did not affect me as much as it might have, and upon their deaths, I became the master of the Cael estate and its workers. Not long afterwards, I hired a mech from Kaon to serve as my clerk. He was quiet and efficient, and generally did good work, but he was always filthy and clearly half-starved, not to mention a war-frame, and that did not fit in with the image I wanted my staff to project. Thus, I fired him; which proved to be stressful for both of us. When I informed him that he was being let go, he started creating quite a scene, begging me to keep him on for the sake of his family and generally acting horribly undignified. In the end, I grew tired of trying to reason with him and had my guards remove him from my estate. After a few days, I forgot about him altogether, little imagining that we would encounter each other again, and my life progressed quite smoothly for the next two stellar cycles. I even arranged a sponsalia (that is, an engagement) for myself with Illusion of the Furtim Line, a female from the Towers District. But my happiness proved to be transient. Just a few solar cycles after I reached sedecim (sixteen) stellar cycles of age, I was baselessly arrested for treason. Sure, I may have made a few….inopportune….statements about Rex Ventus’ ability to rule, but I had never plotted to overthrow him, and everyone knew it. As he soon made clear, his real interest was not whether or not I had betrayed him but rather to see if he could get his filthy hands on my land and holdings….and irritatingly, because he was the king and thus the head of the judiciary system of Vos, it soon became apparent that he could do just that. On the pretext of incredibly flimsy evidence (even the king’s young creation, Princeps Stella Clamor- Prince Starscream- remarked on the flimsiness of it), I was found guilty of treason, and stripped of my title, my lands, and my holdings. Ventus made a show of mercy, claiming that he would spare me from execution because of my youth. Then he banished me to the slums of Kaon with no servants, no Shanix, and no energon….which, had fate not intervened, would have been nothing more than a prolonged death sentence. So much for his mercy. Not long after I was abandoned in Kaon, I was approached by a mech whom, I would soon learn, was one of Lord Straxus’ Enforcers.

“What are you doing out at night, Empty?” he spat. While I could understand Neocybex fairly well, my ability to speak it was rather limited. Most nobles (and their servants) could speak Vosian, after all, so there had been little need for me to practice speaking the language. Thus, my response to his question was less than elegant.

“I do wrong?” I stammered in broken Neocybex.

“What’s the matter, Empty? Can’t you speak?” the Enforcer mocked

“Empty?” I echoed, utterly confused. I knew the word-in Vosian, it was vaccus -but he seemed to be using it as a noun rather than an adjective.

“Yeah, an Empty. That’s what you are…a worthless piece of gutter trash. Although if you’re too stupid to know what that means, then maybe you’re also too stupid to know that no one is allowed out after curfew. If you don’t get inside in the next ten minutes, I’m taking you to prison. You got that, Empty?”

“Yes,” I replied. With that, I bolted away from the mech and started searching for some way to get inside before I got thrown into a Kaonite prison, which I was certain would make the one I had been locked up in in Vos seem like my palatial estate by comparison. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon a small building-a hovel, really-and, in desperation, banged on the door.

“ Fac me introire! Ergot placet mihi! ” (Let me in! Please, let me in!) I was in such a panic that I didn’t even stop to consider the fact that whoever was inside probably didn’t speak Vosian. After a few seconds, the door was opened by an exhausted-looking war-frame, one who was startlingly familiar.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” he barked in Neocybex.

“Need roof...help,” I replied, now desperately wishing that I was more fluent in the language.

“ Vosiane loqui possum. Quod requires? ” (I can speak Vosian. What do you need?) the other mech asked, surprising me. His rough, thickly accented voice was also familiar, but I still couldn’t place him.

“ Et opus tectumque . Quaeso! ” (I need shelter. Please!) I replied. The war-build examined me, and then glared at me coldly.

“Et nota videtur. Quod nomen tibi est? ” (You seem familiar. What is your name?)

“ Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael ,” I replied….and just as I said this, I realized why the war-build seemed so familiar. He was the same one whom I had fired from his position as my clerk two stellar cycles previously. A sense of dread washed over my spark. This was not good.

“Quid si ego auxiliatus sum tui? Et accensus sunt me, cum scires haec non erat familiaris. ” (Why should I help you? You fired me unjustly, even though you knew I had a family.) the war-build said coldly.

“ Paenitet! Paenitet-” (I’m sorry! I’m sorry…) I exclaimed, stopping short when  I realized that I had never bothered to learn his name.

“ Impetus. Impetus sit nomen meum. Cum tibi, ne quidem sciunt nomine meo: ego auxiliatus sum tibi, non. Exite!” ( Onslaught . Onslaught is my name. Since you do not even know my name, I will not help you. Go away.) In complete panic, I fell to my knees.

“ Amabo, noli me manere. Faciam quod vis facere! ” (Please, let me stay! I’ll do anything you want!) I pleaded.

“ Quidquid ?” ( Anything ?) Onslaught asked.

“ Ita, quod, ” (Yes, anything.) I replied. Onslaught seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, then pulled me to my feet.

“‘Ut maneat in domo in tribus conditionalibus. Primo, vos mos reperio a officium, mercedem tuam super me, et convertam. Habeo tres alere velis nobiscum sic oportet operam. Secundam, maneat, si tu non es membrum de familia. Et erit servum, et sic potest haberi. Tertius, et sic loquetur ad me, domine . Mecum adhuc volo?” (You may stay in my home, on three conditions. First, you will find a job and turn over your wages to me. I have three brothers to support, so if you wish to stay with us, you must contribute financially. Second, if you stay, you are not a member of the family. You will be a servant and be treated as such. Third, you will address me as “sir.” Do you still wish to stay with me?) he asked. Naturally, I was horrified by the conditions that he had set, but because the alternative was even worse, I was forced to swallow my pride and accept them.

“ Ita domine. Habeo alia optio, ” (Yes, sir. I have no other choice.) I said. Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, you can come in. You will speak Neocybex from now on.”

“I...try, sir,” I replied. Onslaught nodded, and mercifully did not comment on my broken Neocybex. Then he led me inside the shack of a building he called his home, and I was shocked by the squalor inside. There was a table, three recharging centers, and four chairs, crammed into a space that was smaller than the storage closets on my estate. Other than that, there was no furniture-no washracks, no energon dispenser, nothing! In place of those essentials were a third grown mech who clearly transformed into a tank, a grey youngling whose rotors marked him as a helicopter, and the tiniest sparkling I had ever seen. He was bright yellow and had enormous purple optics, and he appeared to turn into a ground-based vehicle of some sort, though I wasn’t sure of what type.

“These are my brothers, Brawl, Vortex, and Swindle,” Onslaught said, as he pointed to the tank, the youngling, and the sparkling in turn.

“Who’s that, Onslaught?” the tank, Brawl, asked. He was exceedingly loud, and I could tell right from the beginning that he was going to be a major irritant.

“This is Blast Off of the House of Cael,” Onslaught replied.

“The rich jerk who fired you? What’s he doing here?”

“I’m not entirely certain of that, Brawl, but given the fact that he, a very wealthy, very arrogant mech, begged me to allow him to take shelter in what he probably thinks is a shack, I’d guess that he has run into a disaster of some kind,” Onslaught replied. When he said this, I realized for the first time just what I had done. I had agreed to work as an unpaid servant in exchange for being allowed to take shelter in a hovel !  

“We can barely keep ourselves fueled; why’re we givin’ some of our energy and our home to a rich, spoiled jerk?” Brawl asked.

“We aren’t “giving” Blast Off anything. This is probably a foreign concept to him, but rest assured-from now on, he’s going to have to earn every drop of energon we give him,” Onslaught replied. Although he was ostensibly speaking to his brother, it was clear that Onslaught was telling me something as well: namely, that if I didn’t please him, I would not get to refuel.

“Where’s he gonna recharge?” This question came from Vortex. The question being something that I, too, was interested in, I turned to Onslaught for the answer.

“There isn’t enough space for him to recharge on the floor, at least not without us tripping over him on a constant basis, the recharging center you share with Swindle is far too small for another sparkling, let alone a shuttle of his size, and my recharging center barely fits me. Thus, he will have to share Brawl’s recharging center,” Onslaught replied.

“ What ?” Brawl and I exclaimed simultaneously. Vortex giggled.

“Now you know how I feel having to share a recharger with Swindle,” he said to his older brother. Brawl growled, and I backed away from him, but the small helicopter just giggled again.

“Vortex, go back to recharge,” Onslaught said.

“But I’m not tired! And Swindle kicks really hard in recharge,” Vortex whined, gesturing at the unconscious sparkling. How that sparkling managed to stay in recharge with Brawl and Vortex shouting around him, I did not and do not understand.

“I know that sharing a recharger is unpleasant, Vortex, but we don’t have enough Shanix or enough space to get you your own. If you don’t recharge properly, you’ll be at risk for developing a virus that we wouldn’t  be able to afford to treat. Please at least make an effort,” Onslaught said gently. Vortex pouted, but he climbed onto the tiny recharging center regardless. Evidently, he had been lying about not being tired, as, only a few minutes later, he was clearly in recharge. Once he was assured that the youngling was resting, Onslaught turned back to Brawl and me.

“It’s very late, so it would be wise for the three of us to get some rest, too. I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging chamber and was almost immediately dead to the world, leaving my-shudder-new companion and me staring awkwardly at each other.

“Just my luck, havin’ to share a recharger with a prissy little snob,” Brawl muttered.

“I...not like….either,” I replied, mortified by how poor my spoken Neocybex was. Brawl shot me an odd look.

“Why’re you talkin’ funny, Prissy?” he asked. I scowled at him, as I did not at all appreciate him calling me “prissy”. It was hardly my fault that I had been bred to be disgusted by the squalor that these brothers lived in!

“I speak Vosian. I...not good...speaking...Neocybex,” I explained, inwardly fuming at how unfair it was that I was expected to adjust to the language used by these plebeians.

“Oh. Okay then. Which side of the recharger do you want? I ain’t gonna like it regardless, so it don’t matter none to me,” Brawl asked. I idly wondered why he insisted on butchering his own language before replying.

“Left,” I replied. I had no desire to be trapped in between the tank and a wall.

“Fine. Just so you know, Prissy, I snore. Hope you don’t mind,” Brawl said as he got onto his recharging center. I very much did mind, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing I could do but wish fervently that I was anywhere but in the slums of Kaon and follow him to the recharging center. I gingerly joined the tank on the center, glad that the lighting was too poor for me to see how filthy they both probably were, and struggled to enter recharge. It seemed as though every time I was about to do so, Brawl’s engines decided to rumble noisily, and then, as though that wasn’t unpleasant enough, he eventually rolled over in such a way that he pinned my arm to the recharging center’s slab. This was, as one might imagine, quite painful, and I cried out, but no one reacted. Evidently, they were accustomed to recharging through a racket. After what seemed like an eternity of discomfort, exhaustion eventually took over and I fell into recharge.

“Wake up! You have work to do!” I checked my chronometer, and was startled to find that it was only 4:30 in the morning.

“ Suss etiam mane, ” (It’s too early.) I protested. I was not fully awake, and, as such, my CPU had not yet fully registered that I was no longer at home. Then my optics focused, I saw Onslaught, and the events of the previous night rushed back to me. I groaned in a mixture of exhaustion and disgust, and then quickly got to my feet. A quick perusal of the room (my processor simply refused to accept it as a building) revealed that Onslaught, Brawl, and Vortex were already awake. The tiny sparkling was still asleep, but then, he wasn’t even out of his first frame. Clearly, then, and much to my distaste, I was going to have to become an early riser.

“I had better not have to wake you up again, Blast Off. As one of my employers told me, it’s ‘not my job to coddle the hired help’,” Onslaught snapped. The fact that I had been the employer in question made the whole situation even more mortifying.

“Yes, sir,” I replied weakly. I knew that protesting would likely only make my-*shudder*- employer angrier.

“Good. Now, your alternate mode is a shuttle- if a small one- correct?” Onslaught asked.

“Yes, sir. Quare -er,why?” I asked, wondering what my alternate mode had to do with the work that he would expect me to do (whatever that proved to be).

“You have no work experience, and you can barely speak Neocybex. Due to those handicaps, the quickest way for you to get a job is to get you employed as transport of some kind, since, as a shuttle, your alt mode meets the main requirement for that position. Here are the instructions to the transport center; download them to your CPU,”  Onslaught replied as he handed me a small chip. I stared at him, mildly appalled. A noblemech working as transport? It was beneath my dignity!

“Hey, Onslaught, I don’t think Prissy likes that idea,” Brawl observed, sounding mildly amused. Vortex snickered.

“Can I call him Prissy, too?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Sure, kid,” Brawl replied.

“You’re in no position to complain about what they call you, Blast Off; or, for that matter, the job I want you to get…..unless, of course, you’d prefer to find energon and shelter on your own,” Onslaught said coldly. I sighed weakly. Any ludicrous hope I had had that I would be able to maintain a semblance of dignity as the-ugh-unpaid servant of a pauper was effectively dashed by what Onslaught had just told me.

“I….be good, sir.” Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, get going. Brawl and I have our own jobs to get to,” he snapped.

“Energon?” I asked. Surely, they didn’t expect me to go job-hunting on an empty fuel tank! Brawl and Vortex laughed.

“Wow, you’re even dumber than Brawl if you expect energon now! We never get to refuel at this time of the solar cycle!” Vortex exclaimed.

“Dumber than Brawl? I’ll show you dumb, tiny!” Brawl bellowed.

“You always do, bro,” Vortex replied, giggling as he ducked to avoid the punch Brawl threw at him. Such barbarism!

“Enough! Blast Off, not everyone is able to refuel whenever they feel like it. This unit is lucky if we get to refuel once a solar cycle, and at present, I have gone without refueling for three solar cycles. Do you understand?” Onslaught asked. I stared at him in shock, wondering vaguely if this was some sort of joke, before realizing that he was serious. If the unit couldn’t even fuel itself properly, no wonder Onslaught needed my labor! Grimly resigning myself to hunger, I nodded.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then, for the last time, I will tell you to go find a job. I don’t have time to explain everything to you. Brawl and I have work to get to,” Onslaught said. I nodded and quickly left the hovel, then downloaded the directions to the transport station into my CPU, transformed into my alternate mode, and took off. Roughly forty minutes later, I arrived at my destination, which, although not quite as disgusting as the hovel I was currently living in, was still quite filthy. I transformed, landed, and walked inside the building. The inside was just as filthy as the outside. I reluctantly walked over to the window that was marked as “Employment”. Much to my surprise, I was the only one there, so I winced, swallowed my pride for the millionth time in less than 24 hours, and walked closer to the window. The mech on the other side looked at me with very little interest.

“You a shuttle?” he asked. He had a very strange, slightly echo-y voice.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“You’re awful small for a shuttle,” the mech said. In response, I transformed into my alternate mode, which, although much sleeker than the shuttles typically used for-ugh- transport, was still most definitely a shuttle. Once I was confident that the other mech was convinced that I was, indeed, a shuttle, I returned to my robot mode.

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. Though why a delicate thing like you is applying to work as a garbage shuttle, I couldn’t begin to guess,” the other mech said. It was at this point that I realized just how much of a grudge Onslaught held against me. It was one thing to expect me to work, but this? This was an entirely different level of humiliating.

“Job,” I replied weakly.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he asked.

“Vosian. Not good at Neocybex,” I replied. His optics brightened in apparent understanding.

“You can’t speak Neocybex? That explains it, then. Garbage transports don’t have to talk much-and given how lithe you are, I think I’ve got a good job for you. You see, the Towers District has been requesting more garbage transports, but they say they think our regular employees look too bulky. A sleek shuttle like you would be the perfect fit, and I can finally get my boss off my back about that. What do you say?” he said. My first instinct was to say “absolutely not”, but then I remembered that my life was very dependent on my getting a job.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to sound absolutely horrified.

“Great! You’re hired! Follow me!” he exclaimed. I complied, and he led me to what appeared to be a hanger of some sort. A few other shuttles, all much larger than me, were milling about. They were all filthy and covered in grime, and I shuddered. My beautiful, clean plating….

“Can you transform for me?” a different mech asked. I did so, and then he started gathering cans of paint.

“What...you doing?” The new mech laughed .

“Repainting you. All garbage transports have a specific color, and you don’t match it yet. That being said, this will probably take awhile, so if you want to take a nap, you can. I’ll wake you up when I’m done,” he said. More out of a desire to escape my situation than anything else, I decided to take his advice. I was reawoken about forty-five minutes later.

“All right, I’m done. You can go ahead and transform back into robot mode now,” the second mech said. I complied, and had to hold back a nervous breakdown. My beautiful purple-and-white coloration had been replaced with a hideous shade of brown, and my family crest had been painted over and replaced with Neocybex lettering that read “Garbage Disposal”. Once I had calmed down from panic to mild disgust, I turned to the second mech.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t feel thankful at all, but it seemed prudent not to let him know that. The mech smiled.

“No problem,” he replied. He walked off, and the mech who had hired me walked up and took his place, then handed me a chip similar to the one Onslaught had given me earlier.

“Here’s your schedule. Your shift starts at 6 and ends at 5. You make 12 Shanix per day; if you’re late to any of the pickups, it comes out of your pay. Any extra Shanix you earn will come from tips. Any questions?” he said rapidly.

“I...start now?” I asked.

“No, you start tomorrow. That way, you have some time to go over the schedule, though I guess you’ll have to find someone to read it for you if you don’t understand Neocybex very well,” he replied. I didn’t bother to tell the mech that I could read Neocybex just fine; there didn’t seem to be much point.

“I...go home?” I asked. I felt very relieved that I was not going to be immediately thrust into a humiliating, unfamiliar work environment.

“Yeah, you can go home now. But if you aren’t back here by 6 AM sharp tomorrow, you’re fired. Got it?” the mech replied.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. With that, I left the transport station, transformed into my vehicle mode, pulled up the directions that I had used to get to the station, and then simply reversed the directions in order to get back to Onslaught’s hovel. (One of the benefits of being a shuttle is the fact that we all possess a natural skill for navigation.) Upon my arrival, I returned to robot mode and knocked on the door, which was opened by none other than the tiny sparkling.

“Hi,” he said. He seemed a bit bemused, but not particularly frightened. A few seconds later, Vortex joined him at the door.

“That’s the shuttle I told you about, Stumpy, the one who showed up last night when you were in recharge. His name is Blast Off, but Brawl and I call him Prissy because he used to be Onslaught’s boss, back when you were even littler than you are now. He used to be really rich, and he still thinks he’s better than us, but something bad happened to him and now Onslaught says he’s the “hired help”, and that means he has to do what we say. Ain’t that right, Prissy?”

“Yes,” I replied, still a bit shell-shocked by the fact that I-the wealthiest noblemech of Vos-now had to take orders from two filthy little brats.

“Onslaught must think you’ll make a lot of Shanix.” Unbelievably, this particular comment came out of the mouth of the tiny sparkling.

“What?” I asked.

“If you’re living with us, we’ll have to buy energon for you, which will increase our expenses. If Onslaught’s letting you stay anyway, it must be because you’ll bring in enough energy to cover the difference-and also make a net profit,” the little sparkling replied. I stared at him in utter bewilderment. What sort of sparkling had that level of understanding of economics?

“Onslaught says that Stumpy’s an “economics prodigy”,” Vortex explained, as though sensing my confusion.

“I see,” I replied. It was rather unfortunate for Onslaught, then-but quite fortunate for me, conditions being what they were-that the sparkling was far too young to be employed full-time (even in a cesspool like Kaon).

“What are you doing back here so early, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be getting a job?” Vortex demanded.

“I...got job. Job starts tomorrow,” I explained quickly.

“Oh. Okay. See you later, Prissy. Stumpy and I have stuff to do,” Vortex exclaimed. He grabbed his younger brother by the hand and proceeded to pull him outside.

“You go to school?” I asked.

“School?” Vortex and “Stumpy” echoed, apparently perplexed, which in turn puzzled me. Surely a youngling and a prodigy knew what a school was.

“Learning place,” I explained. Vortex frowned.

“We know what school is, dummy. We just don’t know why you think we go to school,” Vortex replied.

“Schools cost money, and Onslaught can’t afford to send us,” the sparkling added. This shocked me. Apparently, my assumption that public education was available across the entirety of Cybertron was mistaken.

“Where going?” I asked.

“Out,” Vortex replied. Before I could ask any more questions, both the youngling and the sparkling scampered away and disappeared. After a few seconds of worry that Onslaught would be upset that I had not kept an optic on them, I quickly realized that, since Brawl and Onslaught both worked, and I hadn’t lived with them until very recently, they were accustomed to Vortex and Swindle taking care of themselves in spite of their youth...and in truth, they were both probably more street savvy than I could ever hope to be. Unfortunately, with their departure, I was left alone in the tiny, filthy hovel, with little to do except reflect on my thoroughly unpleasant situation. Starting the following day, I-a noblemech of Vos!-would be working 11 hours every day as a garbage transport, all so I could pay my former employee for the “privilege” of living in a hovel and sharing a recharging center with a loudly-snoring, filthy tank. How had I been reduced to this? Overwhelmed by the blatant unfairness of it all, I started to weep. Why me? After I finished wallowing in (very deserved) self-pity, I finally downloaded the schedule that I had been given at the transport station, which promptly created yet another cause for self-pity. Because the universe apparently has it out for me, the last stop on the schedule was Amabilia Manor, the estate of my sponsa (betrothed), Illusion of the Furtim Line. In other words, there was a very real chance that Illusion, whom I was still quite fond of, would see me working on her estate as a garbage shuttle ! What had I done to deserve that? A few hours of alternatively wallowing some more in self-pity, vaguely wondering if I was supposed to be responsible for cleaning the interior of the hovel, and trying to ignore my ever-lowering fuel levels later, Vortex and the little yellow sparkling returned with a handful of Shanix and one (very small) energon cube.

“How... you get that?” I asked.

“Stumpy. I dirty him up a little, set him in full view of passersby, have him make his sad face, and bam! Instant Shanix. Nobody can resist helping out a poor, starving orphan, after all. It’s great!” Vortex explained. Wonderful. I was living with a pair of miniature con artists.

“I hate it. Why don’t you ever have to be the orphan?” the tiny sparkling said.

“Because I’m a warbuild, and thus, not small or cute enough to get sympathy. For some reason, you were the only one of us our creator didn’t design as a warbuild, so you have to do the cutesy stuff. Besides, you’re a better actor than I am,” Vortex replied.

“But I have to do all the work!”

“No, you don’t! When your cute face doesn’t bring in enough Shanix, I make up the difference by raiding their subspace containers while they’re distracted. How do you think we got the energon cube today, magic?” Vortex replied. Oh, terrific. One of them was a thief as well. However, much to my surprise, rather than keeping the Shanix for themselves, the pair instead deposited it in a container located under Onslaught’s recharger. The box was largely empty and lined only with a thin layer of Shanix, which puzzled me. Even considering the fact that neither Onslaught nor Brawl was likely to have a particularly well-paying job, it seemed like they should have more Shanix than that. With two grown mechs (soon, I reflected sadly, to be three) working full-time, why were their savings so limited, and why did they have to ration energon so strictly? The answer to that question arrived a few minutes later, when a large red-and-white mech stormed into the hovel, prompting shrieks of fear from Vortex and the sparkling, who both  promptly ran to hide behind me.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“An Enforcer. Do whatever he says,” Vortex explained, clearly ill at ease. Given how confident he had been previously, this was rather alarming.

“All right, Empties. Pay up!” the Enforcer exclaimed aggressively. In response, Vortex ran over to the Shanix container, handed it to me, and instructed me to hand it to the Enforcer, which I did. The sparkling started crying into my leg, and for the first time, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for the two of them. If I was terrified, it had to be even worse for a youngling and a sparkling. The Enforcer emptied the container into what appeared to be his personal subspace compartment and then scowled.

“Is that all the Shanix you have?” he demanded. I looked at Vortex, who nodded. In response, the Enforcer proceeded to upend the hovel, apparently in search of any hidden Shanix, and totally destroying one of the chairs. My fuel pump felt like it was beating out of my chest, and my spark constricted in terror. After what seemed like an eternity, but, according to my chronometer, was actually only five minutes, he stopped tearing the hovel apart, now apparently having determined that Vortex had told the truth. Then he stomped over to me.

“Tell Onslaught that if he doesn’t have at least fifty shanix waiting for me next time, I’ll take your two youngest brothers as payment instead. There’s a titanium mine that would pay hundreds of shanix for a couple of slaves who are small enough to fit in those hard-to-reach crevices,” he said threateningly. With that, he grabbed the energon cube, downed it in one gulp, dropped it back onto the floor, and stormed out of the hovel. As soon as he was gone, I found myself awkwardly attempting to comfort a sobbing sparkling while also trying to work out what, exactly, had just happened. After a few seconds, I gave up and decided to just ask Vortex.

“What happened?”

“I told you that guy was an enforcer, right? Well, all of the Enforcers work for Lord Straxus and make sure he gets to stay the boss. Because of that, they can do whatever they want-short of trying to overthrow him, that is-and almost all of them eventually set up this thingy they call a “patrol fee”, which is a fancy way of saying that they can come into your home and take as much of your Shanix as they like, and you can’t do anything to stop them...unless you wanna get thrown in prison. And if you can’t meet the fee they want for whatever reason, they’ll throw you into debtor’s prison or sell you into slavery,” Vortex explained. This, as one might imagine, was less than comforting news. While it certainly explained the desperate poverty of Onslaught’s unit, the revelation that most of my earnings wouldn’t benefit me even remotely was even more disgusting and unpleasant than the fact that I was expected to work as garbage transport in order to earn them in the first place. Once the sparkling finally stopped sobbing, I reorganized the hovel to the best of my (very limited) ability, as Vortex watched with very irritating amusement. I was trying my best! It was not as though I had ever personally had to reorganize a room before! As soon as he was convinced that his home was (more or less) back in order, Vortex started heading for the exit again, dragging his younger brother behind him.

“No! I’m n-not going out again! The Enforcer might still be around, and if he catches us begging, he might put us in jail!” the sparkling said, clearly terrified. His huge optics somehow seemed even wider than usual. Vortex laughed.

“C’mon, Stumpy. They’ve never caught us before,” he said, remarkably boldly, I thought, for a youngling who had been hiding behind my leg, in apparent fear of an Enforcer, not thirty minutes before.

“‘“M not going. Enforcers are scary,” the sparkling replied, suddenly sounding a lot more like what I had expected a sparkling still in his first frame to sound than a business mech.

“Only if they’re close enough to hurt you. If they don’t know where we are or what we’re doing- which they won’t-they’re no threat,” Vortex replied. In response, the sparkling latched onto my leg again, much to my mild disgust. Although I pitied the pair, I had no desire for them to be putting their filthy hands on me on a regular basis.

“You can’t make me. The Enforcer is too close! And if you do, I’m gonna tell Onslaught,” the sparkling said. Vortex scowled.

“Fine! Stupid sparkling,” he exclaimed. With that, he pouted and sat down on his recharging center. It was at this point that I realized that I had not yet learned the sparkling’s name (or, for that matter, how old he was). Onslaught had told it to me the previous night, but I had subsequently totally forgotten it.

“Name? How old?” I asked the sparkling.

“Swindle. I’m five stellar cycles old,” he replied. “Swindle” seemed like an odd name for a sparkling, but then again, “Onslaught” and “Brawl” weren’t exactly names that I would have imagined a creator giving to their creations either. Perhaps it had something to do with what their creators were like. Since three out of the four brothers were war-builds, it seemed likely that at least one, if not both, of them were also war-builds, amongst whom such names might be common. My curiosity having been aroused, I decided to continue questioning the sparkling to see if I could obtain any further information about Onslaught’s unit.

“Creators?” I asked. Much to my surprise, it was Vortex who answered. I had assumed that he was too street-savvy to trust me with such information, but evidently I had either overestimated him, or he did not think that the information was important.

“Our male creator was named Dragline and our female creator was named Highwall. They were miners and they died in a cave-in two solar cycles after Stumpy was brought online. He doesn’t remember them at all, and I was only three stellar cycles old, so I only remember little bits and pieces. Brawl was eleven stellar cycles when the cave-in happened, and Onslaught was thirteen, so they remember more,” he explained.

“Other members of house?” I asked.

“Well, there was Dragline’s brother, Onslaught. He was a soldier, but he was offlined in battle a long time ago, I think before Brawl came online. Our Onslaught’s named after him,” Vortex replied. Stunned, I started performing some mental calculations. If Onslaught the elder was the only member of their house besides their creators, and he and their creators had all gone offline by the time Onslaught had reached the age of thirteen stellar cycles, that meant two things. First, Onslaught had been raising his three younger brothers, alone, since he was thirteen, and second, if he had been thirteen when Swindle had just come online, and Swindle was five stellar cycles old now, that meant that he was currently only eighteen stellar cycles old, barely any older than me. I had thought he was at least thirty-five stellar cycles!

“I see,” I replied at last. The next several hours passed largely uneventfully (especially in comparison to the shocks that the morning had provided), and, around 7:00 in the evening, Brawl returned to the hovel. (His approach was so loud that I heard him coming several minutes before he actually arrived.) Upon his arrival, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Hey, Brawl, how was work?” Vortex asked.

“Long. Did Prissy get a job?” Brawl replied.

“Yep. He starts work tomorrow,” Vortex said.

“You stay out of trouble, Tiny?” Brawl asked. Vortex smirked.

“Of course, bro. Stumpy and I would never do anything that would get us in trouble.” Brawl snorted. Clearly, he knew better than to believe his brothers.

“And what really happened?”

 “We got ten Shanix and an energon cube from our usual methods, but then the Enforcer broke in and took all of it, so now we’ve got nothin’ again. I hope you picked up some extra shanix today, ‘cause if not, none of us are gonna get to refuel, and I’m hungry,” Vortex explained.

‘Lousy no-good Enforcers. Ain’t like we got any Shanix worth stealin’,” Brawl muttered.

“How much Shanix did you earn, Brawl? I’m hungry too,” Swindle asked. In response, Brawl actually gave what passed for a smile; which was much more terrifying than his scowls.

“10, plus 6 extra I spent on energon,” he said. Vortex and Swindle cheered, and even I felt a sense of relief. Admittedly, it was disgraceful that I- a noblemech!-felt relief at the prospect of something so basic as being able to consume fuel, but it was still better than dying of fuel deprivation. Vortex started pawing at his older brother, likely in search of the energon.

“None of that, tiny. Nobody’s refuelin’ till Onslaught gets back,” Brawl said. Vortex pouted, but didn’t argue, instead choosing to kick me in the shin to relieve his frustration.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. Vortex giggled, and I glared at him. Why had I felt sympathy for the filthy little youngling, again? I elected to ignore him and turned my attention to Brawl instead.

“Where...work?” I asked.

“Construction. Ain’t many jobs for a stupid tank like me, but I can lift stuff pretty good. So long as I can do that, my boss don’t care that I’m not so bright and don’t have no ed-you-cay-shun,” Brawl replied tersely. (I am not exaggerating his pronunciation of the word “education”, by the way. That’s exactly the way that he said the word.)

“No...school?” I asked.

“Not really. Our creators worked real hard to make sure that they could send Onslaught and me, but I only went for a stellar cycle. Teachers said I was too stupid to learn anything, and so my creators took me out ‘cause it was too expensive to spend Shanix on school for me if I wasn’t gonna be learnin’ nothin’. My female creator tried to teach me some after that, but she was always real busy, so I never did learn much before our creators died. Onslaught’s real ed-you-cated, though. His teachers said he was the brightest student in his level, and he always made real high scores. Our creators were so proud of him. He was ‘posed to be our ticket outta bein’ poor, seein’ as he was so smart and all. His teachers even said he could probably get a scholarship to Kaon’s Military Academy, but a stellar cycle before that could happen, our creators were killed, and he had to drop out to provide for Vortex and Swindle and me. Don’t bring that up around him, though. Makes him mad,” Brawl explained. I had a feeling that this was the longest that I would hear Brawl speak for a very long time. He didn’t seem particularly chatty by nature. The fact that he didn’t say another word until Onslaught arrived at the hovel about an hour later, even as his younger brothers chatted nonstop around him about a variety of inane topics, proved my suspicion correct. Upon Onslaught’s arrival, he took one look at the room and then glared at me.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“I...sorry, sir! Not...clean...before,” I apologized. Onslaught didn’t look appeased.

“It wasn’t really Prissy’s fault, Onslaught. An enforcer showed up and tore the place apart looking for Shanix other than the ones in our container. Prissy was just too stupid to know how to put things back right,” Vortex said. Normally, I would have glared at him, but I was too relieved that he was defending me to really care whether or not he was calling me an idiot (which, for the record, I am most certainly not.)

“An enforcer? Are you two all right?” Onslaught asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine, but the Enforcer said that if we didn’t have at least fifty shanix when he came next time, he’d take me and Stumpy as payment instead,” Vortex replied. In response, Onslaught sat down on his recharging center (remember, there wasn’t-and, sadly, isn’t- that much room in the filthy hovel) and buried his faceplates in his hands, clearly quite upset.

“He said WHAT?” Brawl exclaimed as he jumped out of his seat, so loudly that I am surprised my audio receptors weren’t burnt out. Vortex repeated his explanation, and Brawl collapsed back into his chair, his anger evidently spent. Onslaught, for his part, turned to me.

“Did you get the job?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to think about how horrible the job was.

“Good,” Onslaught said, sounding utterly exhausted. Then the little sparkling walked over to him, huge optics filled with worry.

“If we don’t give him enough Shanix to pay his “patrol fee”, the Enforcer’s gonna take us away! You won’t let that happen, will you, Onslaught? I don’t wanna be taken away by an Enforcer. They scare me,” Swindle asked.

“I most certainly will not allow that to happen, even if it means working even more shifts than I currently do. Nothing is going to pull this unit apart,” Onslaught replied firmly. At this, Swindle seemed to relax. I, on the other hand, still felt nervous. No matter how hard Brawl, Onslaught, and- *sigh* -I worked, I did not see how it was possible for us to be able to purchase energon and consistently maintain at least fifty shanix for the enforcer on our meager salaries.

“Now can we refuel? I’m hungry,” Vortex asked.

“Yes,” Onslaught replied. With that, he, Vortex, and Swindle joined Brawl at the table (which was, like the rest of the furniture, rather worse for wear), and Brawl retrieved four energon cubes from his storage compartment. One was split between Swindle and Vortex, one was taken by Onslaught, and one was taken by Brawl. Assuming that the last one was mine, I reached for it...only to have my hand slapped by Onslaught.

“You are the hired help, remember? You fuel after we are finished,” he snapped. My circuits heated up with embarrassment, but I retreated back to “my” recharging center and sat down on it to wait anyway. While it was humiliating for me-a noblemech!-to be treated like a servant by my own ex-employee-a desperately poor pauper, no less-I could not afford to raise a fuss. Luckily, Onslaught’s unit refueled remarkably quickly, so I was able to refuel myself less than thirty minutes later….only to immediately gag. The taste was disgusting!

“Energon...bad,” I choked out. Onslaught gave out a harsh laugh.

“I would advise you to get used to it. It may not taste like the delicacies you’re used to, but it’ll keep you alive, and it’s all we can afford,” he said sharply. Although I hated to admit it, he made a good point, and so I forced myself to consume the fuel despite its taste. After all, for all I knew, it might be solar cycles before I could refuel again. Not long after I finished, Onslaught sent Swindle and Vortex to recharge. Both complained extensively, but eventually gave in, and were in recharge in only a few minutes. This being accomplished, Onslaught collapsed onto his own recharging center and was immediately offline to the world, and Brawl followed suit. Clearly, both of them had been absolutely exhausted, and that did not bode well for the career that I would be starting the next day. It was only 8:45 in the evening! Was I going to be that exhausted from work every solar cycle for the rest of my life? However, I still joined Brawl on the recharging center a few minutes later. If I was going to have to wake myself up at 4:30 in the morning, I needed as much rest as I could get. I set an internal alarm to ensure that I wouldn’t oversleep and anger Onslaught again, and tried to ignore Brawl’s loud snoring. I fell into recharge after what felt like an hour (but likely wasn’t). Luckily, the alarm worked, and I was woken promptly at 4:30, then left Onslaught’s hovel to head to my first solar cycle on the job (shudder). I arrived at the transport station at 5:10, and sat around awkwardly for twenty minutes, then departed for the first stop on my schedule. (I definitely did not want to have my pay docked for showing up late, so I felt that it was wise to depart early.) I arrived at the first of the manors of the Towers District at 5:50 and sat around awkwardly once again. At about 5:56, a mech whom I assumed was one of the manor’s servants arrived with a garbage container. I winced, tried not to think about what I had been reduced to, and then opened the door to my cargo bay. The servant then deposited the garbage into my interior, and I shuddered. It was so unfair! I hadn’t been built for work like this! Once he finished emptying the container (into my interior!), he pulled out a few Shanix.

“Hey, you! Transform so I can give you your tip,” he said. I complied with an intense feeling of humiliation. Why me?

“T-thank you,” I stammered, hoping my mortification wasn’t too obvious. The servant handed me the Shanix, and I put it into my subspace compartment. (Shuttles actually have two, one which stores the cargo they can carry in alternate mode, and one which is for personal use.)

“No problem. My boss really appreciates your streamlined design, so he decided to reward it. He says it’s much more “aesthetically pleasing” than the other shuttles he sees,” the servant replied. I nodded, reverted to my shuttle mode, and then took off for my next stop. For the next eleven stops, nothing particularly interesting happened, though my beautiful plating quickly became covered in filth and grime. I did receive tips at all eleven of these stops, evidently because of the sleekness of my alternate mode. I had no idea if this would be a regular occurrence or not, but I wasn’t about to complain about it. The more Shanix I made, the more reason Onslaught would have to keep me around. While it was still humiliating to be tipped like a servant, it was preferable to the alternatives, so I planned to keep my mouth firmly shut on the matter. However, the thirteenth and last stop was not so uneventful (sadly). The flight between the twelfth stop and the manor of Illusion was shorter than the flights between most of the other estates, which meant that I arrived early. Although one of the servants was ready with the garbage (and my tip) when I got there, this meant that I had a full hour before I was expected to deposit the garbage at the dump. As such, I found myself standing around awkwardly on the grounds of the estate, listening to the servant talk about various things.

“Sure, they’re a bit stuck-up, but they’re not that bad, all things considered. And in speaking of not bad, the Lord’s daughter is a beaut...and whaddaya know, she’s come out on the grounds with some of her friends now. Aren’t they lovely? Of course, they’re way out of our league, but a mech can dream,” he said. My circuits heated up in humiliation. I had been betrothed to Illusion less than five solar cycles ago, and now she was “out of my league”?

“Yes,” I said quietly. He grinned.

“Well, I gotta run. Have fun watching the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he said. With that, he left me and went back inside the manor, and I turned my attention to the conversation Illusion was having with her friends.

“Is your betrothal off then, Illusion?” one of the friends asked (I believe her name is Argenti.) Illusion sighed.

“I don’t know. Blast Off hasn’t so much as called me in three solar cycles, and the King of Vos says he hasn’t seen him for awhile, That doesn’t seem like him,” she replied. I sighed. It was official. The Universe hated me.

“Well, if this is his way of calling off your engagement, then I’d say you dodged a laser blast,” Aurum, another of her friends said.

“No kidding. If he doesn’t appreciate someone like you, he’s crazy,” Argenti added.

“But I know him, Argenti. He’s a bit arrogant, but he’s not inconsiderate of me. He likes me! He would never just fail to call me for three solar cycles. Something must be wrong,” Illusion replied. As you might imagine, I was more than a little relieved that Illusion, at least, didn’t think that I was some sort of irresponsible cad.

“I’ll say something’s wrong. Your conjunx-to-be is a creep,” Aurum said. Suddenly, a blue-and-white mech appeared out of nowhere, prompting shrieks from the females. I recognized him as Mirage, Illusion’s cousin. I had met him once or twice at dinner parties.

“Mirage! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Illusion exclaimed. Mirage laughed .

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite cousin?” he asked.

“Mirage, you’re my only cousin,” she replied.

“Technicalities. And I have to say, I agree with Aurum. If Blast Off doesn’t appreciate how beautiful you are, he doesn’t deserve you,” Mirage said.

“Me? Beautiful? That’s why suitors have been beating down my door, I suppose,” Illusion replied dryly.

“They don’t know you’re available again yet, cousin dear,” Mirage said.

“And they won’t be the only ones chasing you. I think that garbage mech is sweet on you, Illusion! He hasn’t taken his optics off of you since Tersus left,” Argenti exclaimed.

“And no wonder! You’re probably the first clean, beautiful thing he’s seen in a stellar cycle,” Aurum added. She, Argenti, and Mirage laughed.

“He would certainly make for an interesting story, at least...and you could use the smell to scare off all the other suitors!” Argenti said. This conversation, as you might imagine, was mortifying, and I decided to make myself scarce. I headed for the edge of the estate, hoping that I would no longer be able to overhear the conversation. Much to my surprise, however, Illusion actually followed me to the edge of the estate.

“I’m so sorry for what my friends said about you. You weren’t causing any harm, and….Blast Off?” she exclaimed. Apparently, being covered in grime and wearing hideous brown paint was not sufficient to prevent my sponsalia from recognizing me.

“ Ita ,” (Yes.) I replied quietly.

“ Quid tibi accessit? Ubi eras?’ (What happened to you? Where have you been?)

“ Me expulso rege fictis maiestatis criminibus. Et comprehenderunt omnia mia. Ego autem in Kaon cum pristini ... servum suum servo suo ut nihil minus. Qui autem pauperrimus, et sicut tale, et iussit ut reperio a officium ad terminos occursum. Est nimis ignominia.” (The king banished me on false charges of treason. He seized everything I own. Now I am living in Kaon with my former servant…as his servant, no less. He is very poor, and as such, he ordered me to find a job to make ends meet. It’s very humiliating.) I explained.

“ O, non! Quod sonos terribilis! Quid facere possum?” (Oh, no! That sounds terrible! What can I do?)

“ Proelio nostros dicere videmur. Non possum non enutriet, et non aliquid incorruptelam possidebit.” (I think we should call off our engagement. I can no longer support you, and you will not inherit anything,) I replied. Because Illusion had an elder sister, Apparition, she would inherit very little from her creators. As the younger child, her fortunes were dependent on picking a suitable Conjunx Endura. I, sadly, no longer fit the criteria.

“ Non curo illud! Te amo,” (I don’t care about that! I love you.) she exclaimed

“ Ego autem en uno-locus, magno cum quattuor aliss. Opus mihi quotidie horas undecim. Ibi sus ‘nunquam satis cibum. Illic est non satis manducare. Non possum facere vobis.” (I am living in a one-room hovel with four other mechs. I have to work eleven hours every solar cycle. There’s never enough energon. If you become my conjunx endura, you’ll have to slave away just to stay alive, too. I can’t do that to you.) I said. As horrible as it felt to call off my engagement, I couldn’t drag Illusion into the desperate poverty that I had somehow found myself in. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and living with a Conjunx Endura that I was unable to support would have been unbearably humiliating. Illusion frowned, but then nodded, apparently having realized the full costs of becoming my Conjunx Endura.

“ Saltem accipe pecuniam,” (At least let me give you some money) she said. Then she handed me a pile worth about 500 Shanix. Part of me wanted to reject it, but knowledge of my dire situation won out.

“ Optime. Gratias tibi,” (Very well. Thank you.) I replied.

“ Gratias. Bona fortuna,” (You’re welcome. Good luck.) she said. I deposited the Shanix in my subspace compartment, bid Illusion farwell, and then transformed into my alternate mode and departed from her estate. I dropped off the garbage at the dump, flew back to the transport station, where I received my (pitiful) wages, and then returned to Onslaught’s slum. Swindle and Vortex were waiting there for me.

“How many Shanix did you earn?” Swindle asked.

“Twelve. Thirteen...tips. 500...female,” I replied.

“500? We’re rich!” Vortex exclaimed. I deposited the Shanix in the container, as Swindle and Vortex enthusiastically speculated about what they would do with it all. About an hour later, Brawl returned home, deposited his earnings in the same container....and then stared at his younger brothers and me in shock.

“Where’d we get so much Shanix?” he asked loudly.

“Apparently, a girl gave Prissy a bunch of Shanix for some reason, and now we’re rich!” Vortex replied.

“That true?” Brawl asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

‘Huh. Maybe you ain’t as bad as I thought, Prissy,’ Brawl said. Coming from him, this was high praise indeed. Onslaught, upon his return to the hovel, was just as surprised.

“How did you manage to get this much Shanix?” he asked.

“Can’t explain...Neocybex. Don’t speak well,” I replied. Onslaught shrugged.

“I suppose that it doesn’t matter where we got it so long as we have it,” he said. That was all he said on the matter, and for most of the evening he treated me with the same hostility of the previous two nights. However, after his brothers had entered recharge, he walked over to me and actually gave me a look of what seemed to be respect.

“You’ve worked all day without a single complaint, and you managed to bring more than 500 shanix to my home with you...more than enough to keep Swindle and Vortex safe from the Enforcers the next time they come by. For that, I suppose I should thank you. I still don’t like you, but you’ve proven that you can earn your keep. You’re still our servant, but you’re now a member of the unit, which means that I’m not kicking you out. You do good work,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging center and was quickly dead to the world, leaving me to my thoughts. As much as I hated the life I was now stuck in, at least I was no longer utterly hated by the mech whom I depended on for shelter. That, at least, was a positive development, and it is one that has stuck. The past six lunar cycles have been dreadfully humiliating, but at least there is one glimmer of hope. If I could win over Onslaught and his unit, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that all of us might be able to escape the festering wound that is Kaon.

[elliemarchetti]

A Red Lover part 8

In the beginning the chapter was born to be longer, but when I realized that it would become practically a novel, I decided to break it in two, so let's say that this could be considered as chapter 8 part one. @chaoslaborantin a thousand times thank you for the wonderful comment to the previous chapter and for your support. I hope you like the first, short court meeting between Thomas and Mare. 

Previous chapters here 

Words count: 2092

Thomas hadn’t seen Maven for thirty-four days. Every day, with a fork, he engraved a notch on the skirting next to the bed, to keep track of the passing time. It was nice to leave a mark, to cause a little damage to the golden prison, comfortable and well furnished,   where Maven had thrown him, apparently forgetting about his existence. His Reds jailer didn’t mind; they probably hated that place too. Yet they continued to serve here, to remain silent, to keep their position, seated for six hours on either side of the door like living-eyed statues. None of them had ever returned, and Thomas wondered what Maven did of those he sent to check on him. Did he kill them? It wouldn’t make sense. He probably replaced them for fear that they would pity him. But in their eyes, he didn’t read any kind of feeling. What lie was told to them? Thomas didn’t really want to know. In any case, no lie could have been worse than reality. He was a killer, and he hadn’t killed in war, to defend himself, when the choice was to kill or be killed. He had deliberately enjoyed seeing the body of that witch burn in the flames; his spirit had risen to new life at the sound of those screams. He had become a monster, just like Maven, just like the one he despised so much. Or maybe the choice not to use someone else for his own purposes made him better? These were questions that he had no answer to and that he didn’t intend to pose to his jailers.

Sometimes he still dreamed of Maven. Nothing too articulate, just flashes of his face, his dark hair, his broken promises of love. There were no mirrors, not even in the bathroom, but Thomas knew that imprisonment and silence were ruining him: he could feel his face dug day after day, making him a ghost of who he had been; he could see the bones under his skin, more angular than ever. Despite the poor food, when he was at the front he was healthier. Even at the time he was in a cage, but it was a larger prison.

He hadn’t much to do, except to sleep or read a few tomes that he could hardly understand, yet for a few days he had been seized by unbearable fatigue. Perhaps he was ill, even if he couldn’t understand how. Perhaps they were slowly poisoning him. Perhaps he was becoming paranoid. And yet, at the dawn of the thirty-fifth day, he turned away the breakfast plate without even touching it, despite the sugary cereals, the fruit and toast tempted him.

"Finished," he announced, speaking for the first time in thirty-two days. His voice’s sound was strange, not the same with which he articulated his thoughts and not even what he remembered from his dreams; it looked like a child's, ridiculous and flickering. He felt pathetic, but it had to be just what Maven wanted, so he threw away the thought.

One of his jailers, two women had come over that turn, took the tray, looking at the untouched meal in disarray. It was the first emotion he saw on someone's face and it almost moved him, as well as investing him with a wave of pride: he wasn’t going crazy; Maven was really trying to poison him.

When the door opened, Thomas looked up immediately, hoping to see at least a glimpse of the antechamber outside the room. It was empty, as always, and his heart tightened: no one had gone to save him that day either. Perhaps he had finished his chances of salvation, perhaps that imprisonment was what he deserved, or perhaps he had to try to save himself. But how? He glanced out the window. The only way to escape the guards was to jump, but from such a height, it meant certain death. The familiar, yet wrong, shot of the lock distracted him from his mental wanderings. It was unscheduled and it interrupted a routine that was now law for him. On hearing that noise, he suddenly turned his head, just like his jailer, who lost their concentration in surprise. The adrenaline rushed through his veins and he jumped out of bed, uncaring to be wearing one of the pajamas Maven made available to him. If Farley, Kilorn or Rasha had seen him wearing silk, they would’ve make fun of him for until the end of his days but it would’ve been a torture that he would’ve been more than happy to endure: it would’ve meant that he still had days to live in his friends’ company. But it wasn’t them who entered his field of vision but an anonymous guard, wearing the Samos’ colors, who was escorting a young man who was anything but anonymous and whom Thomas had learned to recognize.

Ptolemus Samos’ black eyes peered at him from head to toe and returned with the tenderness of a whip. He threw the same look at Tristan before killing him in that Summerton’s cell. Who knows what they had done with his body. Probably the same thing that they had done to Ann’s. Surely nothing that was worth saying to Rasha. Without a doubt something very different from what would happen to his. Because if Ptolemus Samos was in his room, it could only mean that he had come to kill him.

"You don’t have permission to stay here." said the cat-faced woman, now standing between Ptolemus and Thomas. The newblood was stunned by her audacity: no one stood between Ptolemus Samos and his prey, the demonstration was the way he had shaken off his own sister and the prince that damn day at Summerton.

Ptolemus didn’t even look at her, and the guard took her away coldly. He crossed House Samos first-born’s gaze and Thomas prayed that he would read the hatred he felt for him.

"Wear something acceptable, the king demands your presence." he said, loading every word with contempt. Suddenly, thirty-five days of imprisonment seemed too few. A part of him would’ve wanted to oppose, but even the isolation hadn’t affected his survival instinct: any move was an extra possibility to escape. Therefore, he opened the wardrobe and looked at the clothes that Maven had left him: they were all well-made, probably old garments that had belonged to him in the past. Only when he recognized a military suit he realized how wrong he was: they weren’t his clothes, they were Cal’s.

Maven sat on a throne of Silent Stone. It was slowly wasting him, but at least he was certain that his mother's hand wasn’t in his thoughts; it had been more than a month since her death, yet he was still terrified that something had remained in his mind. He was sure he wasn’t crazy, that he had heard her whispers well after Elara had taken her last breath. Therefore, he had built that hurried in a hurry, no gems or precious metals to embellish it: it had to do his duty and until that day, it had done it very well, but something seemed to break when he caught Thomas’ gaze. An abyss of distractions, full of noise and elegant confusion, separated them, but the room could’ve been very empty. He shouldn’t have been there. He should’ve been in his room, dying slowly, away from his eyes. But not from your heart, whispered his mother’s familiar voice. For once, he agreed with her of his own free will: Thomas could never be away from his heart.

Slowly, he also recognized Mare. She still wore the collar and the white shirt and a sentinel Arven kept her on a leash. Thomas too noticed her and turned, showing him his pronounced cheekbones. Captivity had physically tried him but it hadn’t bent his spirit; when he met his gaze again, in his eyes he read a silent reproach. He twisted his hands, uncomfortable. What was he doing there?

"I demand an explanation!" he snapped, leaping to his feet, but being careful to keep his grip firmly on the throne’s high arms. The anger’s explosion made the music stop, just what he would’ve preferred to avoid, although it was just what he had agreed with Evangeline, and with it the dance, shifting his guests’ attention to the scene.

"You gave orders that the terrorists were imprisoned, locked up as useless wine bottles, and after a month of council deliberations, there is still no agreement on what will happen to them." Evangeline answered. He didn’t read in her eyes the same fear he had felt in Templyn, but the same couldn’t be said of her brother. Ptolemus Samos was stiff and immobile, his hand clenched in a fist, as he shuttled between him and his sister with his eyes. But what could he do? She had deliberately disobeyed his orders but she was still Volo Samos’ daughter, his betrothed and future queen. He certainly couldn’t punish her, not when his position on the throne was still shaky. Of course, not doing it would’ve meant other cons... With Thomas so close, he couldn’t concentrate and he decided to postpone the decision later. For the moment, he would stick to the plan.

"The crimes they committed are many," Evangeline continued, "so much that they would deserve a dozen death sentences and a thousand life sentences each, according to our laws, as they have killed and mutilated hundreds of your subjects, including your parents."

At the deceased rulers’ mention, both prisoners shivered, but for different reasons: Mare had witnessed what had happened to his father, while Thomas had been the cause, along with him, of what happened to his mother. Only the thought of having burned her alive made him sick and at the same time filled him with a strange sense of lightness. Did the Reds feel like that when they managed to kill a Silver? Was that the feeling of getting rid of your oppressor?

"And you, who are not even part of my council, would like to talk about their punishments here, during a party?" Maven asked dryly, thanking the Silent Stone for preventing him from incinerating Evangeline instantly.

The girl ignored his modification of the script and went on anyway, shortening the distances between them.

"If the council still treats you like a child, I'm willing to do that!" she snapped, shortening the distances between them. It was obvious that it was all a fiction, a show performed on that stage because the court was there to assist and he had to end it before anyone noticed it.

"The Queenstrial has certainly highlighted the most skilled girl." he commented, taking her hand, repressing the disgust he felt toward her. Then he turned suddenly, just like an actor in the theater, addressing his uncle, accepting his interrogation. He felt sorry for Mare, he knew well what it felt like to have a whisper in his head, but she was a person who was willing to sacrifice for his own kingdom. Contrary to Thomas.

When Mare began to beg him, the newblood also began to do so. They must have become friends, after all.

"Maven, please, don’t let him!" he shouted, but his voice seemed to get lost in the hall echoes. He hadn’t used it for too long and now the silence so prolonged showed off its fruits.

He hadn’t enough strength to escape the Samos guard’s grip, nor to resist when Ptolemus grabbed him by the shoulders. Both held him there without too much difficulty, forcing him to be a passive observer of the terrible scene that ran before his eyes. He couldn’t decide who to watch, if Samson crushing Mare's throat, his big hand squeezing tightly above the metal collar, Mare herself, the personification of terror, which she called Maven in a last, desperate attempt to persuade him to change his mind, or the latter, who held one hand on the throne and with the other clutched Evangeline's. They were a couple of monsters, perfect for each other even in the lack of love they could mutually give each other. He met his gaze, his eyes blue like ice, so familiar and ruthless. Her eyes. Maven didn’t have the strength to bear his delusion and broke eye-contact. Then he turned, leaving him alone again with two silent jailers, wondering what would happen to Mare and how and why she was there, aware that no one would give him the answers he was looking for.

[josselinkohl]

5 times Laurent thought about Damen - Part 3A (because this part is so LONG)

Previous parts: one, two

All of the parts on AO3: link

Damianos liked the earring. Or perhaps he liked the pampered pet act. One of those. But his liking was in his eyes as he looked at Laurent that evening, the heavy way they rested on Laurent’s body. He watched Laurent from across the tavern as Laurent lost at cards to Volo. When Laurent came back across the room to sit next to him, Damianos followed him across the room with his eyes, and almost ended up looking at him cross eyed as Laurent slid onto the bench next to him.

Perhaps this pet act was what the Akielon was used to—what he liked—because he seemed freer with Laurent than he was usually. He dared to fed Laurent bites of bread that Laurent only accepted because of his stomach’s hunger, and he grumbled deep in his throat when Laurent leaned in on the bench next to him and rubbed his thigh.

By the time Laurent had finally gotten Damianos to lead him upstairs to see the messenger—if there was any hope the messenger was still here after two weeks of waiting—Laurent was smirking to himself because it seemed clear that Damianos had a completely different idea of what was going to happen when they were alone in the inn chamber. Damianos was terrible at acting and yet he was as easily led by a single earring as was the innkeeper and that ridiculous gambler Volo.

Was Damianos picturing that their game was going to continue when they were alone? That the caress Laurent drew along his thigh in an inn common room would continue further up to where he truly wished it? That the pampered pet act would continue and Laurent would lower coquettishly to his knees in front of him? What possible reason would Laurent have for any of that, he thought. The Akielon did not think these things through. He was to be disappointed, and when they reached the room and came upon the messenger, it was amusing to see Damianos collapse into a chair next to the door.

Laurent dispensed with the messenger. The man left, probably riding back to Nikandros that very evening. The door closed behind him. They were alone in the room. Damianos stood.

Laurent had been thinking, as the man had left and he had turned toward the door, about telling Damianos who the man was. About asking if he had any words for Nikandros, kyros of Delphi, and seeing if Damianos had any similar confidences to share with Laurent. Something about his identity, perhaps. Nikandros was very likely to come based on Laurent’s message and his signet ring, but a personal secret from his king would be sure to bring him. It might have been worth taking the chance.

These thoughts fled Laurent’s head as Damianos stood. Sometimes when they stood close together, Laurent was reminded anew of how tall Damianos was. Damianos was looking at him. Laurent remembered the game they had been playing a moment before, and he felt almost breathless. There was something bright and admiring in Damianos’s gaze now, and Laurent could feel how the moment was about to turn intimate. It was impossible to reconcile the warm smile the Akielon was bestowing on him now with the man who had murdered his brother.

Laurent felt as though cold water had been thrown on him, suddenly. He shifted his gaze. He took off the earring pointedly and dropped it into his pocket, and then he retreated to the bath, taking a moment to particularly tell Damianos not to follow.

It was a private bath chamber, which was an unusual luxury even for the nicest rooms in the inn. It might have been a connecting door to a shared room with buckets and clothes for washing and a large tub for soaking. Instead, it was a small room with water already set out by the servants and a kettle to warm it hanging over the fire.

Laurent washed quickly, wondering if Damianos would listen to his instruction or whether he was about to open the door.  There was no latch on the door from the inside, so the only warning Laurent would have would be the squeak of the hinges. Damianos might come in to continue their game, he supposed, or he might come because he was stubborn and he did not like to let Laurent out of his sight. That was the only reason that Laurent had consented to bring him along on this errand in the first place, though he admitted to himself that having Damianos along had proven quite convenient.

But the man might insist on guarding Laurent even in the bath, or if he were the spy in Laurent’s camp then he might insist because he was reporting to Laurent’s uncle on all of his activities. He couldn’t really be the spy, could he? He hadn’t known about the other message, and he had seemed genuinely surprised by—Laurent didn’t think it was him. But there was someone, and Laurent did not think it was any of his men when he turned each of their names and faces over his head, so someone was clearly deceiving him.

Laurent turned his thoughts away from deception. He was in too good a mood to think of that, today. He thought instead of it it had been a public bath through the door. He might have called for Damianos to join him, then, so as not to be left alone with the gaze of the other men who were sure to be bathing in the evening. And it could have been like the game in the common room, sitting next to Damianos and pretending to be the too-expensive pet of a merchant. The others would eye them and wonder who the Akielon was, to merit such a prize, and speculate after they left.

They could wash, and Laurent could insist that Damianos help him wash his back. Laurent could imagine the feel of the cloth running over him, and he shivered. After washing they would soak, because that was what men did after washing. Laurent could curl up next to Damianos sitting on the edge of the bathing tub the way he had on the wooden bench in the common room. Draw his fingers along Damianos’s thigh under the water and see the man’s gaze focus exclusively on him, heavy with intent.

Nothing could happen, in a public bath, with the other merchant and his assistant sharing the room watching them curiously, but that allows Laurent to be freer with his teasing than he would be if they were alone. He could touch Damianos, lean against him and feel his chest resting against Damianos's arm. Complain about the scent of the soap and cause Damianos to roll his eyes.

The Akielon wouldn’t tolerate teasing forever, of course. At some point he would lose patience, and he reaches for Laurent, and wraps a hand around his neck, and pulls Laurent in close so he can whisper in his ear. His words are a threat, a murmur about making promises he doesn’t intend to fulfill, and Laurent pretends it is just a tease, and laughs flirtatiously back and then steps out of the bath and lets all of the eyes rest on him while he dallies slowly with the towel.

And when they went back to the room a second time, Damianos would truly think that something was to happen. Laurent thought about it for a moment, torn between the smug satisfaction of dismissing the man’s hopes and seeing him collapse into that chair by the door a second time, or between remaining silent, and letting Damianos take a step closer, reach for him again when they were alone, tug Laurent a little bit closer—

The water had cooled.  Laurent got out and dried himself perfunctorily with the towel, and put his pants back on. The earring was still in his pocket. He fingered it for a moment, thinking about putting it back on. Damianos would notice, if he came back wearing it in his ear again. His eyes would follow it. Laurent let it slip from his fingers and stay in his pocket. He returned to the room carrying his shirt in his hands and still drying his hair.

The Akielon had been fulfilling the role of a domestic servant. He’d decided to move half of the bedding from the straw mattress to a pile in front of the fire, and he’d found a plate of food from the hall. Laurent’s stomach grumbled and Laurent accepted the food and waved the Akielon off toward the bath himself.

Laurent’s hair was wet, so he settled himself near the fire on the blankets Damianos had arranged there. The fire was warm, and the food was hearty and filling. He thought of Damianos in the bath. Was Damianos sitting in the bath thinking that Laurent was about to come through the door and join him? If two men sat in that small tub the water would overflow and spill out onto the tiled floor of the room. Laurent didn’t get up.

He ate half of the food and left the other half for Damianos, and thought of his messenger to Nikandros. Would the man make it out of Nesson-Elloy? He had made it this far. Would the kyros agree to Laurent’s proposal? If neither Torveld nor Nikandros were willing to come to Laurent’s aid then he was going to be desperate at the border. He might have to ask Damianos to assist him for real, beyond being his bodyguard and lifting heavy things for him, but to call the Akielons to his aid, to barter something of value to Vere for Akielos’s assistance so that he could overtake his uncle. He didn’t know what Akielos would find valuable enough to involve themselves in a civil war in Vere. Territory? Cutting further into the borderlands than they already had in Delfeur?

Or perhaps he did know what it would take. Perhaps it had been what he had been thinking of all evening, and all it would take would be living up to the teasing glances he’d been offering the Akielon prince all night. Damianos might be almost as easily won as Torveld. Except that Torveld had been easily distracted from the promise of what was to come—later—with the arrival of a demure blond slave, and Laurent had no such other slaves handy to distract the Akielon prince. Laurent had a sense that Damianos would not be so easily distracted. It would have to be Laurent himself. Was that really too great a price to pay for Vere? To free the kingdom from his uncle? And then Laurent would be remembered as the prince who rolled over for his brother’s killer to commit regicide on his uncle. It would be an inglorious ending to his line. Laurent pursed his lips and watched the fire.

Damianos returned from the bath. Laurent looked over. He had also put his pants back on, so Laurent could not see his legs, but he could see Damianos’s stomach, and his shoulders, and his arms, and his hair dripping wet on his shoulders. Damianos scrubbed at his head with a towel, and Laurent admired what that did for his torso while he did so. Damianos set the towel down on the chair and came to sit next to Laurent near the fire.

Laurent prided himself on recognizing others when they were valuable, and his mind had just been on the eventuality where he might come to need this man very much. So he offered a thanks. “I don’t think I would have arrived here without your help, not without being followed. I am glad you came.”

Damianos leaned back with a hand resting on his knee while he listened to Laurent. “You’re in a strange mood.”

Laurent smiled. “I’m in a good mood.”

The Akielon was skeptical.

Laurent smiled again. “The food is good,” he waved at the plate. “The fire’s warm. No one’s tried to kill me the last few hours.” You’re here, he continued silently in his head.

“I thought your tastes were more sophisticated than that,” said the Akielon.

You know so little of my tastes, thought Laurent. He thought of moving a bit closer to Damianos on the blanket, and then, after a long moment, he did so, disguising his movement by reaching his hands in front of the fire as though he intended to warm them.

Damianos seemed deep in thought. There were moments when Laurent looked at Damianos and could tell he was thinking of his family and his kingdom. Laurent interrupted his thoughts, wondering if he would receive the truth this time.

It was a half-truth, a story about Jokaste. Laurent paid attention to Damianos’s description of her. Intelligent, accomplished, beautiful, desirous of power. It was interesting that those were the traits that Damianos claimed drew his attention after he’d been distracted all evening by a pretty sapphire earring.

“I wouldn’t have picked that as your type,” said Laurent. He waited for Damianos to return the flirtation, to ask in return what Laurent thought was his type, or what was Laurent’s type, but the man still seemed distracted, his thoughts elsewhere.

And then he did. “And what about you?”

Part 3B

[themadauthorshatter]

I just thought of Sora and company going to Norta and meeting Mare, Cal, and the rest.

If the worlds collided I imagine it would be like this:

Sora, Donald, and Goofy arrive in The Stilts, just as Mare leaves and see her sister Gisa watching her go, deciding to ask her the lowdown on what's going on. Note that Donald has used magic to make himself and Goofy look human since, in this world, people will question the world more if they see a talking duck and dog. Gisa informs them that Mare was summoned to the royal summer palace for presumably a job, the skepticism there because Mare is a pickpocket. Sora is confused, obviously, and Gisa tells him that their family is super poor and shows him her broken hand. The boy asks how he can help and Gisa tells him to follow Mare and keep her out of trouble while she works for the Silver high class. He gets deadass confused and Gisa crosses her arms and asks him if he's been in a coma and if he's ever even been to Norta, which Donald replies by saying Sora hit his head and git amnesia. Despite the lie, Gisa tells them a Silver is a person born with silver blood and powers like telekinesis and super strength while a Red is a person born with red blood and no powers. With this knowledge in mind, the group sets off to keep Mare safe.

TIME FOR QUEENSTRIAL!!!

Sora and company arrive in time to see Mare take her spot for her job, see the royals be introduced, and be spotted by Ptolemus Samos and his father, the former pulling them into a seat next to him and warning them not to stand out in the hall again, lest they get mistaken for Red servants.

The three watch the event go off without a hitch until Mare gets her lightning powers and she and Evangeline is swarmed by heartless.

Sora jumps into action as a small battle insues, ending with Evangeline throwing knives at them and Mare running as sentinels chase her.

The three follow, but are stopped when the arena doors shut around them, courtesy of Volo Samos. More sentinels arrive and point their guns at Sora, shouting at him to submit to arrest or he'll be shot and killed. Naturally, he agrees and is brought before King Tiberias VI, Queen Elara, and Princes Tiberias Calore VII (Cal) and Maven, who he bows and salutes to, of course because he's a precious bean.

Despite being a little flattered, the King interrogates Sora due to the teen being able to fight the heartless with nothing but a toy sword, in his eyes. Sora tells him it's a keyblade and what the heartless are. Tibe tells Sora about the Scarlet Guard and tells them that maybe the Guard is responsible for the attack, which Sora doesn't believe but still says he will stay and fight the heartless, as they are a common enemy between the two.

Elara thanks Sora for his courage and Sora notices the darkness coming off of her, but tries to shake it off.

The story follows the book for the most part, though Evangeline and her friends give him crap for taking down the heartless and Cal, while being extraordinarily supportive, is still jealous and tells Sora his form's off and he needs to wear smaller shoes so he doesn't trip on his own feet. Sora gets him back by pointing out how Cal likes Mare, deapite her being betrothed to Maven.

Speaking of Mare, the three follow her to a Scarlet Guard meeting and agree to help the cause, with "encouragement" from Farley. Maven later comforts him by saying she's a little less scary than Cal in training or with his legion, admitting that he wishes he could wield a keyblade himself, which is something Cal cannot do. Sora is reminded of how he and Riku talked on the dark shores in the realm of darkness, how Riku admitted he was jealous of him, and tells Maven that he has something Cal doesn't: something to truly fight for.

The heartless attack the night of the ball and the group misses Cal torturing Farley, but Mare fills them in, making Sora go cold towards Cal.

I imagine at this, Cal might say something on the lines of, "You've never fought in a war before; you're just a kid. You don't understand" or something and Sora points out how for a guy who preaches duty and all that he is actually a really bad prince for having an interest for Mare.

Fast forward to the Guard's attack on White Fire. Sentinels and heartless overwhelm the group and, while Donald and Goofy escape, Sora is arrested with Maven and Mare.

All three are brought before Tiberias, Elara, and Cal, who explains to the first two that they were in on all the attacks, minus the heartless.

Elara takes control of Tibe and Cal, and Maven reveals himself as being in cahoots with his mother the hole time; she controls the heartless despite Maven having a stronger darkness with him.

Cal kills his father, which Sora looks away from, and he, Mare, and Cal are arrested and sent to the bowl of bones.

Sora is revealed in the fact that he can use his keyblade, but must fight against high house children and a heartless boss. It's a rough foght, but he gets out okay.

The group win the battle, but Maven sends a firing squad at them and the Guard saves the day, Donald and Goofy with them.

Sora is bummed out and mad that he was tricked by Maven and swears to help Mare and the Guard with their next mission.

I'll probably come back to this later, bit this is all I have so far

[magicalmischel]

Falling for You CH2

CHAPTER 2 - Angels Don’t Need Sleep

This wasn't the first time Arthur hated his chainmail more than he hated boring council meetings his father had him sit through. But this was certainly the first time that he was genuinely worried he might die because of a piece of metal that was supposed to protect him. And the first time that he knew his death would result in another death – if he didn't come back with the flower, Morgana would surely die.

No matter what, he just had to come back. He had to survive. But the enormous spiders crawling up the cave wall weren't making it any easier, especially when he had only one arm to keep himself balanced and his heavy armour was making it even harder to move up and reach the flower, let alone get out of the cave. The only way out was up, and gravity wasn't exactly on his side.

Arthur took a few quick breaths and then tried to kill another spider with his sword. He missed. But on the second try, he managed to throw it down the seemingly bottomless pit that he tried hard not to think about.

Just as he was about to climb another inch up, a strange blue light orb appeared next to him, giving him light and as if looking at him.

"Come on then! What are you waiting for?! Finish me off!" Arthur yelled at it, barely holding on to the wall. The witch he had just met was most probably just making sure he was dead, or she wanted to watch his death through this magical light orb.

Arthur tried to swing his sword at it, but he missed and couldn't try again because of more spiders. In the end, he stopped worrying about the orb because at least it was giving him light and it wasn't attacking him. He used it to his advantage and fought off the spiders, climbing up inch by inch, until he finally reached the flower. He hid it inside his belt and turned back to the cave wall, eyeing the light orb suspiciously.

It was just... floating there, keeping an eye on him, as if observing him. Waiting and giving him its bluish white light. It didn't seem dangerous... Arthur shook his head and started climbing up again, killing another spider and then finally getting out of the cave, emerging in the middle of a forest next to a huge hole in the ground.

He lay down on the grass and closed his eyes, still feeling the orb above him. When he opened his eyes though, it flew away and he found himself in darkness again. As quickly as he could, he stood up and checked if he still had his flower. When he was sure it was still tucked under his belt, he smiled and looked around.

It was only then when he noticed someone was hiding behind a tree.

"Hello?" He called. "Is it you again? Are you too afraid to show up? Your spiders didn't work! Is that really all you've got?" He drew his sword and pursed his lips. He knew he shouldn't be playing with the witch like that, she had a very big advantage on her side – magic. She might as well throw him back into the cave.

That was why he quickly stepped away from the hole and pointed his sword at the tree that someone was hiding behind.

To his surprise, the one he was talking to peeked at him. It was a boy, a young dark-haired boy with... Arthur's eyes widened and his hand with the sword dropped to his waist. "Are those wings?" He mumbled. Then he regained his posture and frowned. "Who are you! Speak!"

The boy stepped away from the tree, his huge white wings knocking into a twig from the tree he was hiding behind. He hissed and moved his wings closer to his back and then he looked up at the prince with his eyes wide and curious and a little bit scared.

"Y-you can s-see me?" He stuttered.

Arthur frowned. "Of course I can see you." He said, not putting away his sword. Not yet. He looked up at the wings and back down at the boy. Then a thought crossed his mind. "Are you a sorcerer?" He asked. He was genuinely curious, but also on high alert. All sorcerers were evil, weren't they?

"What?" The boy laughed softly and he made a few steps towards Arthur, stopping when he saw Arthur tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword. "I'm not a sorcerer, I'm a... um... I'm not supposed to be here." He avoided the question. But Arthur wasn't one to argue with.

"Who are you then?" He asked. "If you had anything to do with king Bayard and his pois-"

"No, not at all, no." The boy said. "Look, you're not even supposed to see me, I... uh..." he scratched his head and swallowed. Then he shrugged and looked up at the trees and made a few steps closer to Arthur again. It surprised him how unalarmed the boy was by Arthur's sword.

"Will you answer my question then? Who are you?" Arthur demanded. "And are those wings? Answer me!"

The boy looked at Arthur and there was pain in his eyes. "No, sorry, I can't."

"What do you mea-"

With that and without letting Arthur finish his another question, the boy spread his wings and used them to fly up into the dark night. Arthur looked up, but he couldn't see him in the dark.

He was alone again.

Arthur looked around a few times, still keeping his sword in his hand, but in the end, he sheathed it again and went to look for his horse to get back to Camelot in time. Morgana's life depended on him after all.

xoXÖXox

Merlin kept flying until he was sure the prince couldn't see him anymore and couldn't follow him. He stopped in mid-air, beating his wings and looking around before he slowly landed in between the trees in the forest and looked up through the branches.

All he could see were hundreds of stars and the moon and clouds. No heaven, no Garden, no angels, not even Will. Merlin sighed and frowned, wrapping his wings around himself.

He screwed up. Seriously. Humans were never supposed to see angels unless it was completely necessary. And that was rare. He was a young angel and didn't even have a human and he wasn't supposed to just go down here and let Arthur see him, let alone talk to him. That was unacceptable.

Merlin shivered and frowned. He felt something... on his forearms. When he moved his wings and looked at his arms, he saw what it was. Goosebumps. He was cold. He's never experienced this, the temperature in the Garden was always perfect.

He gritted his teeth and looked up at the sky. "Nunc viribus uti volo. Volo ad caelos!"

But nothing happened. He tried again, louder, but before he could finish, he saw something move in the dark forest. He quickly spread his wings and flew up to a branch, noticing it was only a squirrel.

"Nunc viribus uti volo. Volo ad caelos! Obsecro!"

The night was still cold, the forest was dark and the stars were the same above him. Nothing happened and he was still alone. And afraid. With fear in eyes, he realized he had no idea how to get back home and that he was stuck down here, on Earth. Among humans. With his wings.

Thinking about them, he realized they were his only hope for help. He could use them to get to the only place he could – the only place he knew on Earth – Camelot.

But what about his wings? Oh, right. "I can make them invisible." He whispered and hit himself in his forehead with his palm. He was such an idiot! Why hadn't he hidden them from Arthur before?! Then he would have thought Merlin was only a lost boy or something and he wouldn't have pointed his sword at him. But it was too late for that, and Arthur knew he wasn't human.

Actually, Arthur was his only help because he was the only human who saw him, and Merlin had to keep it that way. He had to find Arthur and ask him for help. It was his only way back to heaven.

None of the angles were expecting to find one of their own on Earth, let alone in the middle of a forest. They were watching over their humans, not over squirrels. Which was why Merlin had to get to Camelot too. He was sure one of the angels was watching someone in that castle and maybe someone would notice him and save him. But, not every angel in heaven knew him...

Merlin closed his eyes and sighed. No matter what, Camelot was his only chance. He spread his wings again and flew above the trees, flying back to where he met Arthur and then quickly following his footsteps, walking on his own. He wasn't in the forest anymore and there was always the possibility he could meet someone on his way to the castle. He could make himself invisible and just fly there, but... to be honest, now that he was on Earth, finally breathing in the air around him and seeing the nature from so close... he really wanted to walk to Camelot on his own and spend some time in nature. So he only hid his wings and started walking, hoping he'd find Arthur on the way or in the castle.

xoXÖXox

Arthur left his horse in the stables and ran back into the castle, right into Gaius' chambers. He gave him the Mortaeus flower and then ran for fresh water, while Gaius worked on the antidote, and when he returned, it was done. They quickly poured it into a little vial and left the quarters, heading back to Morgana's chambers.

The prince was worried about her. She wasn't really his sister, but it felt like that. And he knew they were usually just insulting each other and bickering, but he loved her. And he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he was too late and let her die.

Once they opened the door, Uther raised his head and Arthur could see rage in them.

"Arthur!" He called. "Where have you been? I have sent guards to find you, I-"

"We have the antidote!" Arthur interrupted him, thankful that the rage in his father's eyes got replaced by surprise and hope.

"Hurry then," Uther gestured towards his ward that was lying in bed. Arthur watched as Gaius came to her and opened her mouth, pouring the potion in and then closing it.

That was the first time Arthur noticed the blisters on her skin. His eyes widened and fear gripped his heart. He hoped they weren't too late. Her skin was pale and she looked as if she was dead. Arthur couldn't see her like that, but with every passing second, his hope kept slipping away.

Finally, Morgana gasped and started coughing.

"Morgana!" Uther smiled and leaned closer to her, together with Gaius and Arthur and Morgana's maid that he didn't notice was in the room with them too. They all let out a huge sigh of relief, and while Gaius took Uther away to tell him something in private, Arthur sat down on the edge of his sister's bed.

"How are you feeling?" He asked her, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"As if I got run over by a horse." Morgana smiled up at him. She still looked pale and he could clearly see how weak she was. Then she frowned. "You don't look so good yourself. What happened?"

Arthur shrugged. "I went on a day-long trip. To find a flower that would save your life."

"Oh, you did, didn't you?" Morgana smirked as she closed her eyes. "I knew you cared about me." And before Arthur could answer, Morgana reached out her hand towards her maid. "Gwen?"

"I'm here, my lady." The girl answered, taking her hand.

"What time is it? How long was I unconscious?" She asked, finally opening her eyes and finding Gwen's face after a few seconds.

"It's close to midnight. You were unconscious the whole day." Gwen told her, squeezing her hand and smiling. "But the prince saved your life, now you're going to be alright."

Morgana nodded.

"She needs rest," Gaius turned to them, just as Uther turned around with a grim expression.

"But-"

"No buts, Morgana." Gaius shook his head. "As your doctor, I know what's best for you. Now shush, and try to sleep. It's late."

Morgana nodded and sighed.

"Sleep well," Arthur told her as he left the bed and walked over to his father. Uther was just speaking to the guards, but Arthur didn't hear what he told them. And he didn't care. He's been stuck on a cave wall for at least an hour and now he needed to get to his bed otherwise he might pass out right there in Morgana's chambers.

He left her rooms and walked back to his own chambers, opening the doors and closing his eyes. He was exhausted and would prefer a bath, but it was too late for that and his manservant was already asleep, wherever he lived.

"Hello." Someone said and Arthur immediately opened his eyes and reached for his sword, realizing it was not there. He must have left it on his horse.

As he looked up with bare hands, he frowned. The dangerous intruder in his chambers was the boy he met in the forest. The boy with wings that... Arthur couldn't see now. Did he even have wings? Was it only some magic trick? "You followed me here?" He asked, slowly moving towards his table, where he'd left his dagger from earlier that day.

The boy shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go." He told him. Then he stepped forward with his hands up in surrender. "Please, I didn't come here to hurt you. The light you saw in the cave... that was me."

"So you are a sorcerer!" Arthur frowned and considered calling the guards, but he couldn't be faster than any spell and he was already too close to the table.

"I'm not a sorcerer." The boy hurriedly said.

"Then what about the wings I saw!" Arthur asked him, finally reaching the dagger and pointing it at the boy, but he didn't seem alarmed.

"I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to see them." He said and looked at the dagger in Arthur's hands. "No mortal blade can kill me, sorry." He apologized again, making Arthur frown.

"What if this isn't a mortal blade?" Arthur tried, knowing damn well it was a normal dagger.

The boy pursed his lips. "It is, I can feel it."

"How?" Arthur asked, but the boy only shrugged again. So Arthur tried another question, far more important. "What are you doing here? Why did you follow me?"

The boy's shoulders slumped. "I... I need your help."

xoXÖXox

Merlin saw that Arthur paused and stayed silent for a while, probably thinking about what to do. Merlin didn't have to say anything to use his powers in a small way, for example, he could read minds. And he knew Arthur was hesitating right now, deciding if he should use the dagger or call the guards or demand more answers.

"Well?" Merlin asked. He wasn't very patient.

Arthur pursed his lips but didn't hide his dagger. "Prove that you're not evil. If you want my help, I need to know what you need from me and why you want it and why should I help you."

Merlin sighed and went over to sit on Arthur's bed. Arthur didn't seem to mind... a lot. So Merlin moved his hand and made his wings visible again.

"You want answers." He said. "I've already broken a couple of rules, but in order to get home, I need your help, and for your help I need to prove I'm good and tell you more, which means breaking more rules, but I guess I'll have to do it because I already miss the Garden an-"

"Could you please start making sense?" Arthur stopped him. He put the dagger into his belt and slowly sat down on a chair at the table. "You can start by telling me who you are."

Merlin sighed again. "I'm... not a sorcerer. You can see my wings now, and I doubt you've ever seen a sorcerer with wings."

"True." Arthur nodded and looked at Merlin's white wings warily. "So you are..."

"An angel." Merlin finished for him and smiled. "You probably won't believe me right away, but I'm here and I'm real. And I need to get back home."

"And you want my help with that?" Arthur laughed. "Even if you were an angel... I'm only a human. How do you expect me to help you?"

"Well, I'm not sure exactly." Merlin frowned. "I don't know how to get home and I know you won't know how to do that either, but I was kind of hoping someone from heaven would notice I'm missing and the biggest chance that they do is if I stay here, where there's a lot of people that my brothers and sisters watch over."

"You're not making sense again." Arthur rubbed his eyes, yawning. "So... you want to get home, and I need to help you... how?"

"You'll let me stay here." Merlin smiled at him. He couldn't believe he was actually talking to Arthur. To a human. To the very human, he wanted to protect once he returned to heaven.

"And if I let you stay here, what do I get for it?" Arthur asked. "Why shouldn't I just call the guards now and let them take you to the dungeons?"

"See this?" Merlin pointed at his wings that disappeared again. "I can make myself invisible, so you would look like a fool if you called them for nothing." When Arthur frowned, Merlin quickly added, "but of course I can't make you let me stay. But... you know, I'm an angel in need and you're human, so if you help me, I guess... you'll go to heaven once you die."

"That is if you are an angel though and aren't lying." Arthur pointed out. "What if I die young? What if I die tomorrow and won't be able to help you?"

"I'll do everything in my power not to let you die." Merlin told him honestly and smiled, standing up. He was glad that Arthur didn't reach for his dagger this time. "I know who you are, and although I'm too young to have a human to protect, I want it to be you. And once I'm back in heaven, I'll make sure you're okay."

"That's... nice?" Arthur raised his eyebrows but was still frowning. "Um... I need leave." Arthur stood up and put the dagger into his belt. Merlin quickly searched his mind and found out he wanted to go to that old physician that he saw by Morgana's bed in the pond.

"People can't know I'm here." Merlin took a step closer to him. "Please think twice before you tell someone. I'm in hiding. Humans shouldn't see me at all, this was really just a huge mistake." Merlin confessed and sat back on the bed.

Arthur didn't say anything and quickly left his chambers, not saying anything to the guards in the hall. Merlin smiled to himself and lay down on the bed.

He just actually talked to Arthur.

He couldn't believe how easy it was to find him and talk to him and let him see his wings and all of that. He'd thought it would be much harder. Well, actually, when he was still in heaven he thought he'd never get the chance to talk to Arthur, but seeing how easy it was now, he was glad he messed up the spell and ended up here.

He wouldn't even mind if the angels didn't find him at all. He never really felt at home in heaven. It was his home of course, and he loved it. But he always liked to watch the Earth in the pond. He loved to watch Arthur especially.

His cheeks started to feel little warmer than usual and he quickly touched them, hurrying to the mirror on the wall. Was he... blushing? Why was he blushing? Merlin shook his head and smiled to himself when he thought about Arthur again. He'd love to be his angel, but at the same time, that thought made him sad. If he returned to heaven and became Arthur's angel, he would never talk to him again. He would just watch his life from afar.

Merlin sighed and went to sit down on the bed again. He didn't know what to do. He was used to not sleeping at all and having all the time in the world, but the Earth was so interesting and he wanted to explore as much as he could. But at the same time, he was stuck in Arthur's rooms and it wouldn't be appropriate to just go through his things.

So he lay down and sighed again, suddenly feeling something he's never felt before. His eyes closed on their own, and he didn't fight it. And within the next few seconds, he was asleep.

Translation

- "Nunc viribus uti volo. Volo ad caelos!" - I wish to use my powers now. I wish to return to heaven. - "Nunc viribus uti volo. Volo ad caelos! Obsecro!" - I wish to use my powers now. I wish to return to heaven. Please!

CH1      /      CH3

[evangelineartemiasamos]

Red Queen Fan Fiction Blood Curse part 2

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chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

A/N: The narrator is my original character and there is an awful lot of words explaining her family situation, sorry if that gets confusing. 

Cassandra POV

The queen glides into the throne room, moving with a quick pace that leaves her retinue of three so far behind her that you can barely call them such. They are an unusual retinue to begin with, as they aren’t high-born ladies-in-waiting in ostentatious, gem-studded gowns, but two secretaries, a man and a woman, and the Lady Ambassador of the Lakelands.

I turn my head away from them to watch the queen reaching the dais and taking her seat on the throne. As she sits down, the whole court present – 120 people – rise from their kneeling positions. I stand in second line, behind Larissa of House Welle, my future sister-in-law, and I’m flanked by two other sentinels. Thirty of us were in the throne room and while there is no evidence to expect another assault on the Whitefire, due to the dire situation of Norta’s king caused by the Scarlet Guard and the separatists from the Rift, a demonstration of security seems appropriate.

The queen betrays no discomfort by sitting on the throne made of Silent Stone, just like the king didn’t. Before he went to Corvium to deal with the Red occupying force, the queen took the consort’s throne, as had the witch queen before her death. But Iris Cygnet isn’t going to leave leadership in the hands of the fickle, instable boy king. She is our regent and she emitts the dignity of three-hunded years of absolutism exerted by her royal forebears. She’s more regal than any Calore king I’ve ever encountered.

My boyfriend Sorata reported to my mother and me on the queen’s reception by the commoners – and the Reds as well. Admiration is too strong a word, but Iris is liked well enough as the princess who has ended the war. The Scarlet Guard’s didn’t choose the best timing when they crashed the wedding of peace. As if the Reds aren’t already instigated against them and needed further reason to mistrust the rebels. You can’t have everything. Red Nortan soldiers will fight the Guard, just as Maven intends, to my chagrin.

With a wave of the queen’s hand, her retinue take their places alongside her on the dais, still standing. Iris observes her nobles while the master of ceremonies, Richard Provos, summarizes the schedule for this audience. Of course it’s hilarious. I doubt anything of this is news to the queen while her courtiers must have heard rumours before.

Corvium wasn’t reconquered and a quarter of the Silver Nortan forces were killed in action by the united forces of the rebel army made of Newbloods and the traitorous Samos allies. The Lakelander king, our new queen’s own father, was murdered by an Iral separatist while King Maven got away with his life and if the queen is relieved or unnerved by this is impossible to tell. While her gown is, indeed, coloured in the dark shades of mourning, she’s dressed in no way ceremonial, apart from the delicate crown of silver, sapphires and rubies circling her brow. She wears leather, as she does often, and her skirt is divided to reveal her crossed legs clad in leather pants and flat, knee-high boots.

At least the foreigner queen has a more tasteful sense for fashion than the Nortan courtiers in their gem-studded tents. I know it’s superficial to judge people by their clothing, but I can’t let go of my impression. I wish I could see who these people surrounding me are beneath their house colours.

As if my own relations are any better at revealing their true motives. While my family’s first and foremost loyalty is devoted to our own, we chose the path of taking no side apart from obedience to the throne. If that includes working for the usurper Maven and the foreigner queen in front of me, so be it. It’s not easy for us. My mother Charlotte is a Haven, a family supporting King Volo of the Rift, yet she plays her own dangerous game here, expecting to remain standing whoever wins in the end. With Maven as the victor, she expects to be named the Lady of House Haven as the only one remaining loyal, yet at the same time, she acts as a contact person to her house, with each faction believing her to be their double agent.

The victorious and vindictive monarch – whoever they will be – isn’t going to behead the whole of the court if all they have done has been following royal orders, Mother claims, especially if said courtier is someone as effective as her, the boss of the secret service.

I’m not sure that the same applies to me. I, Cassandra Griffey, the bastard telky, have chosen a hazardous position myself by becoming Maven’s executioner and assassin who kills and arrests his Silver adversaries.

Vengeance might await me at every turn and the king knows that. While he appreciates my prowess, he assumes that no one will miss the commoner sentinel if she is caught in a crossfire. And if my closer family does decide to avenge me, it isn’t like I’d gain anything by that. I would just be another scion of House Haven – in all but name and ability, I have to admit – waiting to see if we are truly claimed by Lisa Corvin, our disembodied ancestress, or if my family’s faith in the aethereal realm of ghosts is misplaced.

The situation doesn’t become any easier as my half-brothers are Eagries through their father’s side, a House remaining staunchly loyal to King Maven, while their grandmother is a coat-turning Iral. We are like the textbook example of the family torn apart by a civil war. Right now, there are more Eagries in the Whitefire than I’ve ever seen before, apart from my brother Roman and his aunt Aude, a general who fought at the Corvium siege and who has to be frothing with frustration about the second defeat.

The queen is the opposite. She’s as calm as the lakes of her home country, but I don’t doubt she can be as relentless as the sea. I’ve seen her fighting when the Scarlet Guard crashed her wedding and for the first time, I’ve been in awe of another Silver. She can probably drown me in my own tears if she feels like it.

Dignity is the only expression she shows and the slight moves of her fingers on the armrests remind me less of nervousness and more of Mother’s own twitching to control shadows. I wonder, does Queen Iris try to control water despite the Silent Stone on her chair, or is it just her way to cope with the heaviness and nausea emanating from the throne?

I understand well enough either way. The power of kings isolates you, it is the same for all rulers. They have to choose the throne and nothing else. Be it Maven, the old king or the young woman from the former enemy country. She isn’t allowed to show grief or insecurities. Love and friendship are luxuries no monarch can rely on.

“The traitor Samos in the Rift has declared for Tiberias VII, the murderous prince who collaborates with the Red terrorists,” the master of ceremonies declares eventually and tears me from my contemplations. Courageous – or very stupid – to say this in front of the congregation of the High Houses. Who knows who else might defect because of this news?

The queen’s stormy eyes darken and stop Provos from continuing, like saying which houses back the claim of the traitor prince. Though any noble with sense would have left Archeon already if they intended to turn their coats. For whatever reason, the people gathered here chose to support Maven – until he would lose, of course. Opportunism and repression rule the world and all of them would be begging the victor to be allowed to pledge another oath of allegiance.

Larissa Welle turns her head to give me a questioning gaze. I can only shrug, cursing my damned helmet for the umpteenth time. We’re friends, Larissa and I, as she is betrothed to my brother Hagen. Apparently, she isn’t bothered by his blindness. Maybe he’s lucky that he doesn’t have to see her hilarious dresses with a whole meadow of tulle and satin flowers sewed on her huge skirts. Even if I wasn’t limited to my sentinel uniforms, I wouldn’t wear anything like that, but in a way, it fits her, the affable greenwarden. Indeed, the real cornflowers braided into her dark brown hair are quite beautiful and in a colour as intense as blue fire. And she dresses Hagen impeccably as well. As much as it angers me, making him at least look like a proper noble is a necessity for him to serve in the Whitefire.

The Provos master of ceremonies regains his topic and starts to report on the fragile alliance between the Scarlet Guard, the Rift, Piedmont and the Republic of Monfort, which are still dangerous grounds. Many courtiers gasp as they imagine a nation governed by Reds, actually a bunch of Newbloods, to make it even worse.

I don’t believe that any of this is news to the queen. She has to have set up this audience to inform her court of their enemies, to make us realize how much we need our tense unity and her rule and her Lakelands backing. But this play makes her look more like a young girl than a schemer. Maybe that’s exactly what she wants.

Iris stops the report with a raised hand. She looks almost amused beneath her serious bearing.

“My good subjects,” Iris begins, “we shall not forget that we are Norta. We have the technology, the resources and the power which the Rift may only claim in parts. The Samos kingdom will not last for long while we stand together! Four traitorous High Houses and volatile Reds cannot break what the House Calore has built up in centuries, a nation rightfully proud of its progresses and strength.

"One long war had ended, and here I stand as the herald of the unity Norta and the Lakelands have finally found. What has divided us shall now be our greatest advantage – our differences and rivalries have made us reach our greatest selves and this is the time to demonstrate what we can accomplish together. The king and I will not stand to see this era of peace sullied by a secession caused by some obstinate, presumptuous and greedy House lords who think they can rule their own states by nothing but rebellion. They are defectors who forgot the importance of loyalty, traitors who threw in their lots with wretched terrorists. They are insurgents need to be reined in again and to meet punishment for their crimes.

"I trust you to defeat them. I trust you to win, for Norta, for peace, and for yourselves.

"And I’ll fight with you. I will slay Norta’s enemy as relentless as the sea. For power and strength!”

I blink when the queen uses the words I have attributed to her just moments before. They have to be an obvious simile, I think, as the throne room drowns in cries of power and strength and thunderous applause. I squeeze Larissa’s hand as she moves to leave with the other nobles, dismissed by the queen once she’s delivered her rousing speech. I almost admire how easily she’s brushed over the fact that Maven’s forces were defeated. I start to follow along with the rest of the security personnel not on duty for guarding the queen as Iris raises her voice once more.

“The sentinels and security officers shall stay.”

My feet stop immediately, accustomed to obey a royal order. I line up with the rest in front of the queen and take the chance to look directly at the group on the dais. The queen has regained her seat on the throne, sitting straight and comfortably, seemingly still unperturbed by its compound. Her attendants’ faces are blank, as if focusing on the soldiers in front of them, but the Lady Ambassador grins wickedly.

Never trust a diplomat, was one of my mother’s lessons, and yet it is strange for the lady to show her derision so openly. The queen should rein her in as well, if she wants to maintain her pageant of the peace harbinger. But this is not the time as Iris wants to speak to her Nortan guards for now.

“I’m inclined to trust you with the protection of my life,” she begins, her regal bearing changing from pleading figurehead to haughtiness in an instant. “But I would rather not see another infiltration of the Whitefire and in my opinion, these disguises you wear are like an invitation we shouldn’t continue to use. Remove them.”

I can’t hide the smirk on my face as I take off the damned helmet. The queen rises and leaves the dais to walk down the line of her bodyguards, going on prattling about her expectations. She stops in front of me.

Up close, I see that Iris is athletic and muscular like me, but 10 cm taller. “My Queen?” I ask, maintaining my composure.

She chuckles. “You’ve heard that, Isabella?” she exclaims to the ambassador. “She calls me ‘my Queen’, as if she is truly loyal to me.”

For a born-and-bred princess who knows about the importance of flashing her image, she is quite open about her mistrust. She sidles closer to me and her hand almost touches my chin – or my throat. There is honest curiosity in her eyes, a feeling I’ve noticed from her before, even on the first time we’ve met years ago.

The corners of her mouth twitch and she moves back a step. “We’ve seen each other before, Sentinel Griffey. You have visited me in Detraeon once.”

I supress the urge to blink and nod. “Yes, my Queen.” Visited me isn’t exactly right as I didn’t come for the Second Princess Iris five years ago. I assume the two different colours of my eyes – black and grey – make me so memorable, as I didn’t have my tattoos back then. The queen inclines her head, waves the ambassador to her and goes on. I remain the only one she’s talked to. As Iris walks, drops of water gather around her, swirling in alternating patterns. As she turns to go back to the dais, she hesitates. She faces us instead and the waters change shape to surround us like fetters. I hold my breath at the queen’s subtle control of her element.

Iris barks out four names and the swirls point to the corresponding persons. I am among them.

“I promote you to my personal bodyguards,” the queen announces.

Ah shit.

“Allyson and Henryk,” - her secretaries, apparently - “will coordinate your new tasks and schedules. I expect nothing but excellence from you.” Her smile reveals pretty, small teeth. “I’ve heard only the best about you, and I remember your efforts from my wedding and before.”

I’m not sure if my performance of the royal wedding is a recommendation. Whatever Queen Iris has seen of me, she couldn’t have noticed what I’ve really been doing, dodging attacks and bullets aimed at the infiltrators. Guiding my fellow sentinels away from areas where they’ve been needed. Opening the rooms in which the recruited Newblood soldiers were locked in.

I’m a very good sleeper agent for the Scarlet Guard.

The queen beckons her chosen four, two men and a woman I all know well enough. The queen’s smile sends a shiver down my spine. This is a formidable woman I’ll have to outwit, even though I’m flattered by her recognition. But that can’t have a matter in my coming tasks. I’m the daughter, sister and lover of spies and I’m becoming one as well. The young queen of peace has selected a traitor to protect her.

Commentary:

Tell me if Cassandra fangirls Iris too much ;-)

Tell me if you don’t get Cassandra’s character. She appeared in my former fic Black Storm but maybe not everyone read that one too. But I couldn’t let go my precious murder baby, fight me …

And yes, Cassie judges people’s sense for fashion because it’s a common thing to do. It doesn’t mean that she hates them just for that.

 @queenmareena @lilyharvord @redqueenfandom @universegamer @tiygreen37

[ironxsilvcr]

Describe Evangeline's relationship with Elane

ask me about my muse :: ALWAYS OPEN

Evangeline is head over heels in love with Elane like I can’t even put it into words. Her feelings run very deep. I love the idea of Evangeline pouring her heart out to Elane and just letting every wall drop when they are together. Everything she goes through to become what her parents want her to be; all the blood and training and pain; Elane is there to put her back on track on the rare occasions that her determination falters (NOT because they’d be together but because Evangeline is the one meant to be queen, she is the best among them, she deserves to be queen!). I also love the idea of Elane taking care of her; reminding Evangeline that she can’t push herself too much, that she needs to take a breath when she doesn’t manage to finish a lap faster than Sonya one day and she just spends all day in the training rounds running until she can barely breathe.

Even though I haven’t decided yet on when their relationship started, I’m willing to bet that they’ve been together for quite a while. It would have taken Evangeline quite some time to open up to someone and she wouldn’t plan the rest of her life with someone she doesn’t love and care about. Their plans to stay together are careful and thought out.Elane marrying Tolly (even if it’s a good and advantageous marriage because of the power Samos has) couldn’t be a reckless decision that was made on a whim or if the girls didn’t have deep feelings for each other AND DIDN’T THINK THEY WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF THEIR LIVES TOGETHER. I GET IT THAT EVANGELINE IS BARELY 20?! 19? AND WE NEVER LEARN ELANE’S AGE WHATEVER! THIS IS LOVE! 10000000000/10!

Having said that I DO think that sticking to the plan of marrying Elane to Tolly was a little stupid on their part because even if it wasn’t for Cal and Anabel, Evangeline would still be the princess of a newly founded kingdom that would need allies. Eventually, Volo would have married her off to some silver from the high houses that allied with him (and because this is the Queenstrial champion and princess we’re talking about she would have been married off to a future lord, not just some second or third son, which means she’d be the lady of a High House) or even a prince from Piedmont in Volo’s search for allies SO they would be separated eventually. NOW I think this is where their age comes into play a lot. Evangeline was excited to be free; to be in control of her fate and life (or so she thought); she was drunk on being able to be with Elane and didn’t think things through. She felt powerful and in control. Nothing could go wrong. She was a princess and the girl she loved was at her side without Evangeline having to marry someone she despised to be with her. SO YES they got a bit complacent and thought nothing could destroy what they had but I think it’s irrational to expect logic thoughts from two girls who have never felt this free or in love as they did during those first days in Ridge House

BUT we also have to consider that Elane had no business being in the Rift other than being Tolly’s betrothed. She should have been with her family after they betrayed Maven but no, she was with Evie; she was taken to the Rift even before House Samos got there but being Tolly’s wife was the only reason for her to stay around and it was definitely very much encouraged by Volo who bared witness to Mariella’s death after she yelled ‘Long live Tiberias the Seventh!’ in Maven’s face. House Haven’s allegiance was very much up in the air (and it was them who sneaked Anabel in the Samos throne room) so of course, he would want his son and heir married to Elane if only to force their submission. 

I feel I’ve gone off topic (AGAIN!) but anyway, I think it’s obvious that Evangeline loves her. The thought of her is comforting at times of stress like the escape from Archeon, it’s also a distraction and she has to kick herself but into focus which is JUST ADORABLE!! Maven disrespects her in front of his entire court and Evangeline plain wants to kill him and well when Cal was accused of treason and her initial plans went up in smoke, she wanted to kill him, too. WHAT BETTER PROOF OF LOVE THAN OFFERING THE HEADS OF A PRINCE AND A KING TO YOUR LOVER?! ;)

[nerdsonearthblog]

Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is the newest adventure for D&D 5e. The back cover describes it as “a mad romp through the wards of Waterdeep” that will take players from from 1st through 5th level. I’ll provide a full chapter-by-chapter review below, but first, please indulge me as I take you on a quick romp around the block.

Anyone who has undertook a huge new endeavor knows it takes a couple of years to really hit your stride. My personal belief is that Chris Perkins is the greatest living D&D storyteller (respects to the King of the Nerds, Gary Gygax). Perkins, of course, was in no way solely responsible for the launch of D&D 5e (his colleagues include the talented Mike Mearls and Jeremy Crawford). Still, Perkins understandably had a lot on his plate story-wise when D&D 5e was first launched just a few years ago.

This resulted in the first few D&D 5e adventures being very good, yet sometimes just shy of great. To be clear, I enjoyed Hoard of the Dragon Queen just fine and I thought Princes of the Apocalypse and Out of the Abyss had many, many moments of greatness.

But years into the release of D&D 5e, I read Tomb of Annihilation and it was that specific adventure where I had the thought that Chris Perkins was fully at the top of his game, having solidified himself as the GOAT-not-named-Gygax.

Now, having just turned the final page of Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, I felt like I read a Chris Perkins story so clever and brilliantly done that he has reached the point of confidence in his career that he could set the stage for adventure, then step back and invite a new generation of storytellers to their mark on the story.

But…what do I know? Maybe I have read the situation entirely wrong. But even a gross mis-understanding of the internal processes of WotC doesn’t change this simple truth: Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is an astonishingly excellent D&D adventure. There are several sections of the book that don’t feel like they were written as much as they feel like the design team collected everything fun and enjoyable together in order to stuff them into a confetti cannon that was fired over the pages of Waterdeep: Dragon Heist and allowed to fall onto the pages like a glitter bomb of joy.

So, let’s take a deeper look, shall we?

Reviewing Waterdeep: Dragon Heist

In order to properly review Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, an overview is first in order. In the splendid city of Waterdeep, a gold coin is called a “dragon” and a half million of those dragons are hidden somewhere in the city. A magical item called the Stone of Golorr is imbued with the location of the treasure vault but the Stone of Golorr is comically being passed around a huge cast of NPCs like a hot potato.

Players are on the hunt, but their madcap chase is complicated by the fact that there are warring, jostling factions in Waterdeep. These factions might try to recruit the PCs just as quickly as they try to kill them, the end result being that their are four different villains the players can confront:

Xanathar, the megalomaniacal beholder crime lord who is based in Skullport, deep below Waterdeep,

The Cassalanters, Waterdavian nobles who are secretly devil worshippers that reside in an ostentatious villa with a secret lair beneath it,

Jarlaxle Baenre, a dashing drow swashbuckler best know for being a character in the Drizzt novels, and

Manshoon, a powerful Zhentarim wizard who has cloned himself like the glam Mr. Sinister.

Are you having fun yet? Because I had fun just reading the introductory chapter, which perfectly set the stage for adventure. But if it sounds like a huge cast of NPCs and different possibilities for villains might make Waterdeep: Dragon Heist difficult as an adventure for first time players or DMs, you’d be correct.

Perkins and his team clearly understand this, so included in the book are coherent overviews and well-done flowcharts to help track the adventure. Still, this isn’t a D&D adventure that I can recommend you use to get your feet wet. (The Starter Box adventure Lost Mines of Phandelver is best for beginners.) Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is best for players who like intrigue, bluffing, subterfuge, and other roleplaying heavy skills.

It begins with a bar brawl and a quest from none other than the famous Volothamp Geddarm (chapter 1). Even Volo’s introductory quest has twists and turns, ultimately resulting in a case of mistaken identity. But it introduces lots of NPCs and allows players to get a feel for the city setting of Waterdeep.

Plus, the quest concludes in the most wonderful way possible, which is Volo giving the PCs a deed to an old tavern in Waterdeep! (chapter 2) In addition to giving the players a “home base,” this always allows players to feel at home in the setting, while also introducing quests that deepen the major factions of Waterdeep.

Even though the quests are effectively simple “dungeon delves,” Chapter 2 is wonderfully and thoughtfully done. Besides, even though many have begun to use phrases like “it’s just a dungeon delve” as a pejorative, that completely overlooks that delves and crawls are the meat and potatoes of D&D.

Chapter 3 is where Waterdeep: Dragon Heist stumbled for me. A fireball is detonated just outside the players’ new HQ, rattling the windows. This leads to an elaborate ‘who done it?’ that has the PCs working parallel to Waterdeep’s City Watch to determine the who and why of the fireball attack, before finally determining the where of the Stone of Golorr.

To be clear, it’s a well-written and exciting plot that reads like a episode of True Detective. But it involves a slew of NPCs and an amount of skill checks that could frustrate even the most patient DMs or the most intrigue-loving players.

One of the chapter 3 headings was “What’s Happening Here?” At times, I couldn’t tell. My recommendation would be to allow the City Watch to solve that mystery and feed the information to the players so they can jump right into Chapter 4: Dragon Season.

I won’t beat around the bush: the 40 pages of chapter 4 are among to absolute best that I’ve ever read in any roleplaying game book, ever. What they outline (again, with the help of a handy flowchart) are ten different encounters that range from a classic old tower to a mausoleum to a wharf or a chase across rooftops.

Depending upon which of the four villains is chosen, the ten encounters are shuffed into a unique sequence. Then each encounter is re-jiggered according to the season, giving fresh elements to each of the 10 encounters for the spring, summer, autumn, and winter, respectively. At the end of each encounter chain, players should now have the Stone of Golorr, attuning them to the location of the horde of dragons. It’s dope.

Huzzah! After one final tussle with the villains, the players exit the vault and return the treasure to the proper authorities, becoming celebrities as word of their deeds spread throughout Waterdeep!

The four villains (Xanathar, The Cassalanters, Jarlaxle, and Manshoon) are too powerful for the player characters to face directly, so Waterdeep: Dragon Heist does a bang up job of allowing them to face off indirectly,  hindering their criminal operations without an obvious TPK. Overall, Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is light, fast, and  filled with quirky characters.

But chapters 5-8 do excellently detail each villain’s lair should the player characters have delusions of grandeur. Otherwise, the now 5th level characters are invited back to the Yawning Portal in order explore Undermountain, the next book coming from Chris Perkins and the D&D team.

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Apologies for brushing past chapters 5-8, as the lairs are well done, but it’s chapter 9 that takes Waterdeep: Dragon Heist from a simple adventure book to something much more. The D&D team have cleverly attempted to have each adventure book double as a fine setting book for homebrewers. This is certainly true with Waterdeep: Dragon Heist.

Volo’s Waterdeep Enchiridion (chapter 9) beautifully paints a picture of life in Waterdeep. DMs will want to read it for the adventures of Dragon Heist of course, but home brewers will dig it, as it is a nice aid for further adventures in Waterdeep, or even a generic urban-based story that is thunk up. It’s not a full gazetteer, but the chapter has enough hooks to hang up all the mittens and coats from a long Minnesota winter, making it a nice value add for future adventures in the splendid city of Waterdeep.

Closing the book are the typical appendices that detail NPCs, new magic items, and player handouts. But I want to close by talking about maps. First, tucked into the back cover is a large removable map of Waterdeep. It has one side for players, while the other side is for GMs and includes marked locales. It’s fantastic. I don’t know what the economics are of getting a map like this tucked into every D&D book, but I hereby start a petition that it should 100% be the law of the land.

The interior Dyson Logos maps in the book aren’t to my taste. I fully admit the sparse black and white maps are very usable. (Quick to draw or easy to snap a picture, then print out) But I would have preferred them as free digital downloads, allowing the actual interior maps to have the added color and details. As Banky taught us in Chasing Amy, inkers and colorists aren’t simply tracers, they really add depth and definition to a drawing. I would have liked to see that depth and color in the book’s included maps. But, again, that’s just a personal preference.

What I love about Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is that it isn’t a hyped-up world-destroying cataclysmic event designed to have PCs face down villains to prevent total doom and destruction. Instead, it’s like Cannonball Run or the Amazing Race if all the contestants were, you know, wizards.

I close this review as I began it. Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is an astonishingly excellent D&D adventure. Kudos to Chris Perkins, the entire D&D team, and for the new designers to D&D, who certainly added freshness and creativity to the book.

It’s a great time to be a D&D player, a god reason being that we all get to enjoy a wonderful city-based adventure for the world’s greatest roleplaying game. So I highly recommend Waterdeep: Dragon Heist as your next D&D campaign. And if you aren’t considering running it? Well, Nerds on Earth’s jack-booted thugs will soon arriving at your doorstep to push a 20-sided die into your palm. Resistance is futile: Xanathar sent us.

You can get Dragon Heist here. Better yet, ask for it at your FLGS.

[Disclosure: Wizards of the Coast sent Nerds on Earth a copy of Dragon Heist in exchange for an honest review.]

The Newest D&D Adventure: A Review of Waterdeep: Dragon Heist Waterdeep: Dragon Heist is the newest adventure for D&D 5e. The back cover describes it as "a mad romp through the wards of Waterdeep" that will take players from from 1st through 5th level.