#Childe enjoys bloodshed and violence

[dulcesiabits]

ur currently my favorite lyney writer so I just wanted to share this with u

https://youtu.be/-drhq4WVKEM?si=z0end8vrsnMVk4JO

I watched this theory and it made me realize we know so little abt lyney and puts into perspective how sly he could be, like way more than we give him credit for. PLEASE WATCH IT I wanna see if this will influence ur characterization of him (in anyway) for future fics

I’m your favorite Lyney writer?? That’s an honor!! <3 I hope you like what I write for him in the future, haha!

So, I watched the video, and I found it pretty interesting; considering Fontaine’s focus on facades, performances and lies, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lyney was still hiding something from us. I think it’s true that he’s both fond of traveler AND he could be avoiding telling us the full truth. To what extent would he and Lynette go to prevent the prophecy of Fontaine…? It’s hard to say.

What I found particularly compelling were the bits with Liliane and the Oratrice; we can only go off of his word about what happened then, and it’s possible he and Lynette manipulated/coerced Liliane to go along with their plans, whatever they might be. He and Lynette couldn’t catch a common thief despite being Fatui operatives and he twisted his ankle while attempting to do so…? That part does feel a bit suspicious in hindsight. He purposefully asked traveler to wait far away from them while he and Lynette handled Liliane, too! It’s also possible he tampered with the Oratrice! Because in the immediate trial following Lyney’s, Childe is pronounced guilty, and this is the first time ever that Neuvillette and the Oratrice have had different verdicts. It really does feel like Lyney could have done something to the Oratrice, and it’s also not the first time the other Harbingers (assuming Arlecchino was the one who gave Lyney his orders) have set Childe up to fail.

Where DID the real Halsey go? Was this a plot hole/oversight on the part of the writers, or is it future foreshadowing? Hard to say at this point.

The only part of the theory I’m iffy on is that Lyney set Crowel to die on purpose. If he wanted to get rid of him, there could have been a lot more efficient ways to do so, that didn’t rely on luck and happenstance (gaining traveler’s trust + having them defend him in court, for example. It seems a bit risky to stake a crucial part of the plan on an unknown outlander). Additionally, Lyney and Lynette aren’t as… callous as the other Fatui are portrayed? They’re shown in a sympathetic light, and joined the Hearth out of desperation. They don’t seem to take joy in needless violence or brutality, and we also don’t know the full extent of what they do for the Fatui. The most we do know is that they participate in spy work/information gathering. Like, I think if they committed murder, it would be a last resort rather than a premeditated attack. I feel like they would be reluctant to go so far, and it would be risky for people so prominent in the public eye to murder someone (especially in front of others). Lyney’s story quest even draws parallels between him and Caesar’s grieving fiancée (forgot her name). He says he could have ended up like her (bitter, cruel) if not for the fact he had Lynette. He’s still a kind person, even if he manipulates and lies. Lyney and Lynette strike me more as self-preserving and desperate to protect each other more than intentional malice.

TDLR: Lyney is suspicious, but he’s also a kind person. I think it’s possible he’s hiding what really happened with Liliane + the Oratrice, but I doubt everything in his trial was planned, especially him and Lynette murdering Crowel on purpose. Yes, he’s sly and possibly more clever than we realize. He lies and manipulates, but it’s done more so to protect himself + Lynette than out of genuine malice.

[luminnara]

Unheavenly Creatures Part Two | Feyd-Rautha x reader (NSFW)

PART ONE | PART THREE

Summary: in the wake of an arena victory on his name day, Feyd rautha blows off some steam with his darlings.

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Read this fic on AO3 under the same account name, luminnara!

Warnings: group sex/foursome, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mentions of cannibalism, canon typical violence, it’s Feyd-Rautha it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, bloodplay, biting, marking, possessiveness, the whole shebang

Word count: 4.6k

Note: I have been desperately trying to find any info I can on the harpies, and I have not managed much 🥲 so pls enjoy my headcanons and made up names ily bye

Tags: @austinswhitewolf @aeilani @maneater17 @serrendiipty @belovedbastardremus @the-dark-dreamer25

It was a day of celebration, and the entire palace—no, city—was abuzz. Inside, a feast was nearly finished, a kitchen full of cooks working day and night for a week to prepare the na-Baron’s favorite dishes. Outside, beneath a black sun, the citizens of Giedi Prime sat cheering in the arena, drinking in the sight of their beloved Feyd-Rautha as he gutted the last of the Atreides warriors. Even as you made your way back to the palace, the roar of the crowd was deafening, their penchant for bloodshed seemingly increased tenfold on this special day.

“Come,” one of the women next to you said, her voice a high, breathy hiss.

“Feyd will want us,” the other smiled, her black teeth contrasting dramatically against her near-white skin.

Feyd-Rautha’s darlings had been quick to accept you as one of them. You suspected it was partly because they didn’t dare question him, though you had seen occasional instances of what could be considered mild defiance from them in your short time on Giedi Prime. They, and you, were permitted to act out on occasion, though none of you were foolish enough to do so in a way that would cast an ill light on your beloved na-Baron. And he was your beloved—with each passing day, you grew more and more comfortable with the Harkonnen heir, and more and more certain that he adored you.

“We will feast on Atreides tonight,” Issa sighed.

“Feyd will reward us,” Yarina said, looking down at you with a grin.

You returned it.

As the three of you walked down the hall, moving as a single, predatory unit, Harkonnen and guests alike were quick to move out of the way. You heard the whispers, caught the curious, sometimes shocked stares as you passed. Feyd’s darlings were rarely seen wandering, and as such, even members of the Harkonnen nobility found themselves stunned by the sighting.

You kept pace with the others as you walked, mindful of the carefully curated air they liked to keep about them. They were both exquisite examples of Harkonnen beauty, equally as dangerous as they were lovely, and though you still did not know much about who they had been before Feyd chose them as concubines, you enjoyed their company. It was a good thing, too; now, you spent nearly every moment with them, and when you weren’t with them, it was because you were alone with Feyd-Rautha.

Some nights, he called you to his bed, having his way with you, whispering things in your ear that he would never say during the daylight hours. Things he reserved only for you. At night, Feyd-Rautha could be almost kind, and you came to suspect that he loved his darlings, in his own way; otherwise, why would you all be allowed to touch him, to pleasure him, to feast with him?

You had never expected that you might become a concubine for the heir of one of the Houses. As a child, you had often dreamt of becoming a princess and being swept away through the stars to wed your handsome prince. But you were no noble; your parents bore no titles, and the closest you were ever meant to come to greatness was when you served your former masters. Was it luck that had brought you where you were today, freely roaming the Harkonnen palace while you awaited your beloved Feyd-Rautha? Or had fate played a trick on you, giving you close to what you had always wanted while still refusing you any title or noble birth? Perhaps it was better this way; perhaps you would enjoy your life as a concubine far more than you would if you had been a lady of the court.

Perhaps the universe had known you would one day commit violent acts, and planned a fitting role for you. If you hadn’t killed your father all those years ago, would you even be on Giedi Prime now? Would Feyd-Rautha had cared at all about the handmaiden who had wandered too far? Perhaps he would have killed you, seeing you as expendable. He would have slit your throat, and his uncle the Baron would have pretended he cared enough to apologize to the Lord and Lady you had served. They would have gotten someone new, and you would have been easily and quickly disposed of.

Perhaps Feyd would have fed you to his darlings.

How strange the wheel of fate was.

“What are you thinking about?” Issa asked you, tilting her head as she looked at you curiously. Her voice was always breathy and alien, a dreamlike quality within it. It matched her appearance and yet it didn’t, making her seem even less human than her black teeth and eyes did.

“Yes, you seem so far away,” Yarina agreed, her accent more akin to the na-Baron’s than Issa’s. You had been on Giedi Prime long enough now to recognize differences in accent and dialect, and had begun trying your best to imitate Feyd’s in an attempt to better fit in. You had no idea if it was working or not, but no one had commented on it yet, which you took to be a good sign.

“My House allied with House Harkonnen,” you said as the three of you neared Feyd-Rautha’s chambers.

“Your former House,” Issa corrected, raising a hand to stroke your cheek. “You are Harkonnen now.”

“I do not look Harkonnen.”

“You do.” Yarina pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

This was normal with them, you had come to learn; they touched casually and constantly, always in contact with each other and now you by default.

“There is no doubt my former Mistress, or at least her husband, is visiting for the celebration.” You said.

“Perhaps our lovely Feyd-Rautha will kill them for you,” Yarina offered.

“Perhaps our lovely Feyd-Rautha will allow us to kill them,” Issa grinned.

You did not know if you wanted that to happen.

You followed them through the door and into Feyd’s living quarters, settling on the large bed while you waited for him. You could imagine him stalking through the halls, bright red Atreides blood painting his chest and face as he hurried back to you. He would kill or maim anyone who stood in his way or tried to slow him down. He was always wild after a fight in the arena, and he always came to you hot and hard and ravenous.

You hoped today would be no exception.

“He must hurry,” Issa pouted as she lounged next to you. “I’m growing hungry.”

“He will come,” Yarina sighed. “He would never let us starve.”

You weren’t sure if they were talking about sex, or food, or both, but you always marveled at the way they spoke of Feyd. They knew how dangerous and callous he could be, but to the harpies, that was normal. If he was a lion, then they were the lionesses; just as cunning, just as regal, just as hungry. Whenever you walked alongside them, you learned more of how to be like them. You learned how to keep your head held high in a room of Harkonnen men, confident that none but Feyd-Rautha would dare to touch you lest they lose a limb or their life. You learned how to stomach the violence that the na-Baron enacted so frequently, and even how to anticipate it eagerly. You had changed in your time on Giedi Prime, and you were becoming more and more like your fellow concubines by the minute.

When you finally heard heavy, determined footfalls outside, you perked up. The door opened not a moment later, revealing a bloodied Feyd-Rautha, his chest heaving and his gaze dark as he crossed the room, eyes glued to you. There was no time to be scared before he was upon you, cupping your face in both hands as he kissed you hungrily, greedily, sharply biting at your lip. You gasped involuntarily and he was quick to force his tongue past your teeth, exploring your mouth while a hand moved to squeeze at your breast.

You felt a soft hand press against the back of your neck as one of the other harpies held you, her body supporting you as Feyd-Rautha pushed you down. The other moved onto her knees, undressing him quickly before leaning in to lick blood off the side of his face.

He moved to catch her lips in his and you gasped for air, heart racing as hands pulled at your dress. Craning your neck, you saw that Issa was behind you, her hands now massaging your breasts as she leaned over you.

Feyd easily threw Yarina down next to you, the bed rocking slightly. He paused, panting as he stood and looked down at his three darlings, all still clothed while he was bare. His full lips curled into a smirk, eyes raking over your bodies as he crawled over you once more.

“This must go,” he said simply, taking a fistful of your dress and pulling.

One of the others sucked in an excited breath, quickly taking the torn scraps and tossing them to the floor.

Feyd-Rautha dove for your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses against the soft flesh as his strong arms caged you in. Someone’s hand slipped between your thighs and you opened your legs obediently, feeling slender fingers stroking you as you were prepared to take the na-Baron.

It wasn’t the first time you had all been together like this. After you had settled in and grown more comfortable with the others, Feyd had permitted them to watch as he bedded you. They had both been fascinated by the small amount of body hair Feyd chose to let you keep, and you had been fascinated by the way no one, not even Feyd-Rautha, had touched you intimately without permission, or at least without being expressly told not to.

This wasn’t the first time you had felt those fingers inside you. When the three of you were alone, the others taught you how to please Feyd-Rautha. They had perfected it to a science, and it reminded you of some of the rumored Bene Gesserit teachings you had heard of; secretive, calculated, confident. Always in control, even when it seemed that they were not. You had been surprised to learn that the na-Baron was vulnerable in front of his concubines, shocked, even, by what you had seen when he took them to bed; for he was not always demanding and petulant, but also subservient. The others knew how to give him what he truly wanted and needed, and that was sometimes the permission to be a different man while behind closed doors.

Today, though, that was not what he wanted nor needed. Today was a day for chaos, for Bacchanalia. Today, Feyd-Rautha’s feral energy was driving him into a frenzy, teeth sinking into whatever he could find as he marked you with his bites over and over.

“Yes,” you gasped as fingers pushed deeper into you. “Oh, yes…”

Feyd tore himself away from your neck to devour another’s lips, his hips grinding against yours as a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his cock and began stroking. The bed was a tangle of limbs and the air was heavy with breathy moans, no one quite sure of where anyone ended and anyone else began.

When you felt the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, you moaned, and it came out almost choked. There, surrounded by so many bodies, you felt hot and slick all over, already sweating before the real work had even begun. Your voice was thick in your throat as you begged for him, pleading with him to please fuck you, please use you…and he obliged, because you were saying exactly the right things to make him drunk with lust.

“Feyd,” you whispered, hands searching for him.

“M’darling,” he groaned as he pressed his face into Issa’s neck, the sound guttural and primal.

“Please,” you whimpered as Yarina ran her hands over your front. Your thighs tensed in an attempt to soothe the needy ache between them, but Feyd-Rautha was in the way, like a solid tower of muscle and flesh that refused to give. “Feyd please!”

He was faring no better than you. His cock ached and wept as it slid over your lips, now wet with your own arousal and throbbing with need as blood pooled in your groin. With each teasing thrust of his hips you grew more desperate, breaths coming in whiny pants as you huffed and begged, chest heaving as your back arched up off of the bed.

As Feyd-Rautha allowed himself to be guided into you, he groaned that deep, heady groan, the one that always had you melting and turning to putty in his hands. You gasped at the feeling of his cock sinking deeper and deeper, slowly, until his skin brushed yours and you swore you could feel him in your womb.

When his hips rocked back you let out a strangled moan, and when he pushed into you once more you made a noise that would be considered filthy back on your home planet. Feyd-Rautha had a tendency to bring those noises out of you, and fill your head with thoughts that some would be disgusted by. As he fucked into you with ever-increasing brutality, though, he reminded you why you were so happy living with him now. Looking up into his dark eyes that watched you while his lips brushed over another woman’s shoulder as she held him, you felt nothing but lust and glee and adoration. Sharing him was easy when you were part of a set like this, and when you were all together as one moving, breathing creature.

His gaze was intense. You knew he loved watching you as he pleasured himself with you. Sex was like war for him, each bedding a conquest, each fuck a battle. You were never his enemy, though; you were his prey.

And you enjoyed being caught.

“Feyd,” the harpy behind you called in her hissing voice.

He tore his lips from Yarina’s flesh, leaning over you as his hips continued thrusting, meeting Issa above you. He attacked her hungrily, hands gripping her roughly as his speed movements grew more erratic. You knew he was becoming more and more frenzied by the sighs and moans, his kisses turning to bites. You watched, enraptured, as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, a bead of dark blood running down her breasts and dripping onto your cheek.

Yarina made an excited sound and dove around Feyd-Rautha, intent on licking it up. Before she could, he released Issa, shoving her aside as he snarled at Yarina, hands coming down on other side of your head as he caged you in once more.

She hissed at him, jealous and hungry, moving instead to suck at the wound the blood had oozed from. The na-Baron huffed a ragged laugh, baring his black and bloody teeth as he grinned at them, then down at you.

“You will have your turn,” he said to them while looking at you. “You will never go hungry.”

You knew he was speaking of both literal and sexual appetites, and that he meant it; there was plenty of blood and plenty of him to go around, and he was incredibly good at balancing his attentions between all three of you. Though his concubines were meant to serve him, at times it seemed as though that was achieved by him serving you—ensuring that all of you were happy, proving that you were well cared for in all ways. When his darlings were happy, Feyd-Rautha was happy. You could almost call it love.

His love was harsh, though; as he gazed down at you, you felt as if you were the only one in the universe, drawn in to those dark eyes, and you obediently turned your head and bared your throat to him. He relished the sight, and the willingness, and the vulnerability. He could kill you so easily like this, with his cock buried inside you and his teeth in your flesh. A part of him longed to spill your blood everywhere; you knew because he had said so before.

But he wouldn’t kill you.

You were his.

And he was shockingly gentle with his things, reverent when it came to their care. His knives, lovingly and proudly displayed on the wall, another hidden in the bed in case of emergency, were always sharpened. His favorites were sharpened by him, because he trusted no one else with them, much they same as how he trusted no one else with you.

As his teeth sank into you, he moaned, relishing the feeling of having you there in his jaws. He could crush you if he really tried, if not with his teeth then with his hands. But as he held you close and swept his tongue over the sore mark he had left, you knew he never would. You were safe with him, as odd as that felt.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he breathed as you gazed up at him.

“You are as well,” you replied, smiling at the admission.

He kissed you, deeply and seriously, not a hint of those teeth. It was pure, in a way, just like his care for you was; not pure in the innocent sense, nor the good sense, but pure in that it was simple and primal. It wasn’t evil. It wasn’t overtly just. It simply was.

Then, he nipped at your lower lip, sharply enough to draw blood, and he sucked at it greedily. You felt a tingle in your core, something uncoiling within you. When you brought your legs up and hooked your heels around him, he pushed into you even further, as if he wanted to force himself inside your very skin. When he dropped his head next to yours, you knew he was close—and when he bit into you again, you shrieked, and you knew you were close as well.

“Fuck,” he growled against you. “Move.”

You immediately unlatched your ankles and he pulled out, painting your front in his seed. Marking you as his once more.

He tilted his head as he looked at you. You writhed beneath him, hips bucking as you searched for him, so close to your own end and yet now feeling devoid and empty.

“Shh, pet,” he cooed, reaching between your legs. “I will care for you.”

You were nearly in tears as you watched him, far beyond the ability to speak coherently as he toyed with your swollen clit. His mouth moved to your inner thigh and he bit, drawing blood, leaving a trail of marks. The sounds that left your throat were desperate and wanton, echoing off the high ceiling of his chambers as Feyd-Rautha made quick work of you. Your pleasure was agony and beauty, and as he dragged you down over the edge, your voice felt hoarse from your cries and moans.

Anyone passing by in the corridor would hear.

You did not care.

You would never be ashamed of the sounds you made when Feyd-Rautha pleasured you, and as he bent down to swipe his tongue over you and lap at your wetness, you felt a smug sense of achievement. There was the na-Baron, on his knees, tending to his low-birth, off-planet concubine.

He pressed a kiss to the deepest bite mark. “Exquisite.”

Then, you were gently moved aside, and he began anew with one of the others. Though he was selfish, your pleasure was his, and he worked through the three of you however he pleased, always ensuring you were sated. You watched in fascination as he made them writhe, and when he allowed his own skin to be broken, you sucked at the wound, tasting the strange Harkonnen blood on your tongue and appreciating the fact that you were probably the only person from your home planet to have ever been given the chance.

How strange, the things you appreciated now.

-0-

“Something troubles you tonight,” a rough voice commented.

You turned your head to look at its owner. “Why do you say that?”

“You aren’t in bed with the others.” Feyd-Rautha approached you, coming to stand behind you.

He was right; you had initially found sleep to come easily after a long day of celebrations and feasting, your aching body in desperate need of rest. But after some time you had awoken, and it was impossible to close your eyes again. So you had dressed yourself in a black robe and slipped away, escaping to the balcony window down the corridor.

“My apologies,” you mumbled, looking down at the railing.

His chest brushed your back as his hands gripped your elbows. “You shouldn’t be out alone.”

“I know, but—“

“I was worried.”

His admission made you pause. When you glanced up at him, you saw that he was serious, jaw tense as he looked down at you.

“You were?” You asked, staring at him with wide, black eyes.

“I was.” His voice was stern. “It is not safe.”

“I’ve wandered these halls before,” you said, a hint of amusement in your tone. “Even before I joined you.”

“You were a guest.” He said. “I was your greatest threat then.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you.” You jutted your chin up towards him.

“I know,” he grinned. “When you told how best to spill your guts so as not to ruin the meat, I knew.” Then, he grew serious once more. “I also knew I must have you, and no one else would touch you.”

“No one here would dare.” You said haughtily. “They know better than to play us.”

“That is not what I worry about, my darling.” Feyd-Rautha placed his hands on the railing in front of you, leaning his chin on the top of your head as he looked out over Giedi Prime. “I am the heir to the Harkonnen throne.”

“You’re an important man,” you furrowed your brow. “What of it? Does that not guarantee me protection?”

“You are a target.”

“…na-Baron, I am a concubine, not a bride.” You scoffed. “There would be no reason for any political adversary to—“

“Feyd.” He growled.

“Wh-what?”

“Call. Me. Feyd.”

You gulped. “I-I’m sorry, Feyd.”

“Don’t…” he heaved a sigh, steadying himself. “Don’t apologize, darling.”

He was silent for a moment, and you weren’t sure whether to feel safe or uncomfortable.

“All of Giedi Prime knows how important my darlings are.” He continued. “You are safe when you are with me. But I cannot guarantee that safety when you are alone.”

Feyd-Rautha turned his head, leaning his cheek against you. It was an oddly intimate movement; in fact, the entire situation felt more akin to one that should take place with husband and wife, not murderous na-Baron and concubine.

“I am only a concubine,” you said again, voice small.

He barked a cruel laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

You winced at the harsh sound. “It is the truth.”

“My darlings,” he began, his voice low, anger simmering just below its surface, “are much more to me than simple concubines.” He turned you in his arms, forcing you to lean back against the railing. “Surely you know this…or do you turn your nose up at me?”

You recognized the glint of anger in his eyes and felt panic rising. He couldn’t really think you hated him, could he? “Feyd, no…”

He gritted his teeth as he glared down at you. “The little off-world pet, too good for the likes of the barbarian prince…I know what the Great Houses say about me.”

His hands drifted down to grab at the thin fabric of your robe, grabbing it in bunches as he hiked it up. He paused for a moment and you realized he was listening, for your quickening breaths and heartbeat, and you watched as something in his eyes shifted.

“They call me psychotic.” He nosed at one of the bite marks on your neck. “What do you think, darling? Are they correct?”

“Y-yes, Feyd.” You stammered, both frightened and excited by the game you now realized he was playing.

He made a thoughtful noise as a hand slipped past your robe, fingers finding your swollen, used folds and plunging inside. “What else?”

“Th-they say you are bloodthirsty,” your breath hitched as his thumb brushed your clitoris.

“Am I?”

“Yes, Feyd,” you gasped at the addition of another finger.

A sick smile twisted itself onto his face. “What do they say about me on your home planet, darlin?”

“That you are v-violent,” you steadied yourself with a hand on his bare chest as your thighs trembled. “That you kill without second thought. That you are cruel and crave violence with every breath.”

Some of it you had made up; truly, you had never heard anyone on your planet speak in great length about the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. In fact, most people on most planets probably didn’t even know who he was. But for the sake of his ego, and for the hand between your thighs to continue its work, you exaggerated, and it worked. Despite a long day of fighting and fucking and enjoying spice, Feyd-Rautha was awake, attentive, and ravenous.

“And what does my darling think?” He asked, rubbing your clit as he twisted his fingers inside you.

“I-I think—!” You gasped, eyes wide at the sensation, wetness pooling around his hand, “Feyd—!”

“Answer me,” he purred, amused.

“I think that you are all that and more!” You blurted, tears pricking the edges of your modified eyes.

“Good pet,” he caught your lips in a kiss and focused his efforts on your clitoris, allowing and encouraging you to reach your peak on his hand.

And you did, of course you did. You always finished with Feyd, oftentimes before him. As your orgasm overtook you, he breathed you in, devouring you in his adoration.

As you came down, he leaned back, pulling his hand away and watching your flushed face as he licked the taste of you off of his fingers.

“Delicious,” he rumbled, looking at you with a hunger in his eyes.

Then, he placed his hands on your shaky hips and turned you, and before you had even caught your breath, his cock was inside you for the second time that day. He squeezed your breast as he fucked you, pressing kisses along your spine that seemed far too gentle for the na-Baron, and again, you marveled at the way he treated his darlings.

“Do you see now?” He panted in your ear. “Do you see your importance? Only my darlings do this to me.”

Only his darlings made him so feral and so tame at the same time, because while he bit and tore and raged with you, he refused to truly break his favorite things.

“And you take me so well,” he growled, spending himself inside of you with a grunt.

Feyd leaned against you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You felt comfortable there, within the safety of his body. Nothing could harm you when you were with him; you were one of his darlings, and now, you were certain that he adored you.

“Come,” he said, pulling himself out of you and straightening up.

“Bed?” You asked as he easily swept you into his arms, carrying you back to his chambers.

“A bath,” he decided. “Then bed, with the others.”

And you smiled as he held you, so secure against his chest. Feyd-Rautha was everything you had said and more—he was a lover, as well, in his own way.

[xythlia]

CHOKE ON MY DEVOTION

› alucard x f!reader

› idk if anyone will even see this but i NEED him idc how stupid it makes me look I gotta fuck this man my life depends on it!!

warnings : mdni. mentions of blood and violence. thigh riding. finger sucking. spit. teasing. a lil angst if u squint in the beginning. degradation ish

"Are you afraid?"

The thunderous rhythm of your heart would betray you but it wasn't pounding through your entire body out of fear, no, it was his intense closeness to you. The way he was all consuming in front of your senses and easily overpowering what little will you had as you stood with your back pressed to the frigid brick wall.

"No." you whisper to the dark, feeling his fingers glide along your jaw with something akin to tenderness.

"Perhaps you should be," he mused, coming into brief focus in your eyesight. Not for the first time you wished human sight wasn't so abysmal compared to a vampires, you bet he was beautiful in the tar black shadow of the manor basement.

It was always like this, this bizarrely passionate insistence that you needed to view him as a beast and your equally spirited push back that no matter how hard he might try that particular point of view wasn't one you'd share. It's not that the bloodshed or violence didn't matter, it was very much a core part of his being but rather that it didn't overshadow everything else that existed in him. No matter how hard he tried to push you away for seeing it.

You recall words you'd heard before regarding him.

A sobbing child that had lost everything.

Wordlessly you shift sideways, away from him and turn to make your way back out of the basement. All you'd needed to do was deliver blood bags, a task that usually fell to you since he enjoyed making other manor employees nearly die of cardiac arrest for the trouble, terrorizing them with various tricks and near psychological warfare. Not that you minded much though, it was an excuse to spend even five minutes alone together.

At first you thought he hated you, detested your presence because each time you'd end up near each other he was far more cold to you than even his baseline treatment of others. Only after being up late one night after a mission that had been a particular bloodbath, tipsy bordering on drunk as you snuck out onto the rooftop that you'd spoken freely to him and he to you. Maybe it was the residual adrenaline, or maybe he felt comfortable with the assurance that in an inebriated state you'd remember less.

He was wrong of course, when it came to him you couldn't help but remember everything in painful detail.

Something vaguely noncorporeal latched onto your wrist before you could make any further move to leave, giving you pause as you glanced down. A tendril of shadow, barely there but enough to almost anchor you in place. Of course he's too proud to tell you to stay, it brings a small smile to your face.

Silently you let it lead you back to him, standing in front of the ornate chair that served as the only piece of furniture in the carnivorous space outside the coffin you were sure was somewhere outside your field of vision with crossed arms once the tendril let go.

"I almost have to respect your insistence," he said, clearly taking in the defiance of your posture as amusing.

"What? Do you want me to call you dog and beast?" You didn't mean for it to come out so testy but his purposefully confusing behavior grated on your nerves. "If I didn't know better I'd say you have a thing for degradation."

That earns you a real laugh, making warmth seep inside your chest. Before you can comprehend it you're in his lap, making you gasp softly in surprise as a sharper, more embarrassed heat floods through your body.

Daydreaming about straddling him and actually doing it are two very, very different things.

"Your stubbornness is unfortunately alluring," he purrs against the shell of your ear, sending phantom fingers down your spine as you stiffen in his light hold. There was an oddly placed note of melancholy in his voice however, despite the intimate position you were in. He didn't give you much time to ruminate on it though.

Alucard was painstakingly mindful of his teeth, much sharper than your own, as his mouth found yours to keep you speechless. It wasn't a difficult task, and your mouth opened eagerly against each swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip. He tasted heady, faintly metallic and it made your hips involuntarily grind down against him.

His fingers dug into your sides, one hand sliding upward to cradle the back of your head as the kiss devolved into a mess of teeth and tongues, bursting with desperation that practically clung to your skin. His other hand only urged the movement of your hips, grinning wickedly against your mouth as your whines reached a louder pitch.

Deftly he maneuvered you into straddling his thigh, clearly enjoying the way your eyes screwed shut feeling him flex the muscles in his leg and push upward, grinding against your clothed cunt.

"You look cute when you're trying not to cum," he teased. It made a high-pitched groan tumble from your lips but before you could utter a word back his ungloved fingers were sliding against your tongue.

Your body didn't even need to do any work, his other hand kept your hips moving at a harsh pace against his leg that made heat pool inside your belly and made your brain feel like it was suddenly made of tv static. If you had any wherewithal maybe you would've felt more ashamed of the position you were in, his fingers jammed in your mouth as your tongue worked spit over them, that same spit sliding from the corners of your mouth to drip against your chest, and the way he had you grinding on his thigh like an obscene toy.

You always thought you were so clever when it came to hiding your feelings for him but knew the moment you laid eyes on him. You didn't stiffen with fear or apprehension, no it was desire that made you turn your eyes away each time. It was such an adorably human trait, to be almost embarrassed for getting caught wanting.

None of that embarrassment was on display now, his hand barely had to guide your movements anymore and the way you sucked on his fingers went beyond pornographic. It made arousal burn in his lungs like a harsh drag from a cigarette, seeing how shamelessly you chased your own end and listening to every salacious moan and whine bounce off the shadows around you two.

Your leg muscles were screaming against the repetitive movement, your breathing coming in short gasps around his fingers and your rhythm fell off into sloppy halfhearted jerks as you felt the pressure inside your gut burst like a dam, the friction against your clit reaching its crescendo.

You grabbed his forearm in a white knuckle grip as you whined and spasmed in his lap, moaning and panting as the orgasm crested over you. Slowly your senses return, and the ache in your legs isn't strong enough to detract from how painfully aware you are of the spit coating your skin and of his smug smile as his fingers stroke along the back of your neck.

"If I had to say, I'd think you enjoy being degraded."

His deep timbre laugh makes you jerk your head to the side, refusing to look in those burgundy eyes.

[thedovesaredying]

Flames of Green | CoD x GoT/HotD | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish | Part 1.

Artwork by Elizabeth

You're the heir to the Iron Throne, the eldest child of the current king with the blood of the Targaryens flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, you're due to be married off to a mysterious Northern lord by the name of John MacTavish. At least your closest friend and member of your guard, Simon Riley, will be by your side throughout it all.

A/N: I'm back in my House of the Dragon era, so I'm mixing hyperfixations. The Cannibal doesn't get enough love, he's a nasty bastard and he deserves to cause some chaos. It will eventually be a Ghost x Reader x Soap relationship and likely a bit of a slowburn. Literally just for my own entertainment, but I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: None

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next

It’s times like this that you mourn the loss of your youth. Forced to sit in silence while discussions are held by old men around a table, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of your future marriage to every potential high lord in Westeros. Your opinion is never considered, let alone asked for by any of your father’s advisors, your compliance expected regardless.  

If you had been born a man you could have your pick of any woman in the kingdom to take as a wife, but instead, you’re forced to simply accept whatever man is placed in front of you. Such is the burden of being the princess and heir to House Targaryen. You will be made to give up the right to rule the kingdom to the high lord assigned to you, never to touch the ever-elusive Iron Throne that should have been yours by right.  

You had never really taken the prospect of marriage too seriously in your youth, always considering it a problem for the you of the future to deal with. You didn’t care to forge lasting alliances with other ladies and lords, too busy dragging your poor best friend, Simon, through the gardens and dirtying your extravagant dresses. 

But those days were over. 

Talk of wedding a powerful lord and bringing forth the next line of Targaryen children is all that fills your ears now. You’re forced to entertain every man, young and old, that wishes to gain your favour with a polite smile and feigned interest. You don’t even have your dear Simon to offer you his companionship and a break from the cruel realities of the world. No doubt he would have entertained you with his dry remarks about each man set before you.  

It has been years since you last saw Simon. He was taken from the Red Keep by his father and sent to squire for another lord in the hopes of teaching him the art of warfare. Lord Riley was a foul man, constantly berating his son for spending his time with the Princess rather than roughhousing with his fellow boys. He considered the boy too soft and squeamish at the sight of blood to make a good future lord of their keep.  

You disagreed, of course, Simon was perfect just the way he was; gentle and kind to all those around him. Your friend couldn’t hurt a fly, but he was still one of the bravest people you knew.  

You dread to think just how much he would have hated being drawn into battles, forced to kill other men with his own hands. The letters he occasionally wrote to you always steered clear of depicting the violence you were certain he must have been subjected to, but you’re far from naive enough to hope he has yet to participate in any bloodshed. As the years dragged on, word from him has grown scarce, however, to the point where you can hardly remember when you heard from him last.  

What you do know, is that he had been sent to offer assistance in maintaining peace throughout the Stepstones, killing raiders and pirates that would endanger trade routes to King’s Landing.  

But that was almost six months ago, and there has been little else to soothe your vexed nerves over his safety. He had made a promise to you the day he left, that once his training was done he would return to your side, this time as a knight who would offer himself to your Queen’s Guard once the time was right. Never again would he leave you, more than happy to forfeit the ruling of his own homeland if it meant he could keep you safe.  

You had clung to that promise every day for years after his departure, but with each passing moment it become harder to hold out hope of seeing him again. After all, what is one promise between children in the grand scheme of things?  

It’s a blessing when you’re finally relieved from the meeting, escaping from the suffocating air within the council chambers and fleeing to the safety of your room. You don’t even pause to ensure one of your guards is following you, getting straight to stripping from your dress and replacing it with your riding gear.  

As the carriage carries you away from the city and toward the Dragon Pit your nerves begin to settle. The constant odour of sweat and excrement quickly gives way to fresh air the further away you get. It’s a beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky and wildflowers blooming all along the road. It’s a genuine shame that your day has started so poorly, otherwise you’d have loved to wander the palace gardens and enjoy the midday sun.  

The ground is rocky outside of the dragon pit, and you’re jostled around a bit until the carriage comes to a stop. Although this is your destination, the dragon you seek is not here. Your dragon is far too large to be housed within the Pit.  

Unlike your younger sister, you were not blessed by the Gods to have your dragon egg hatch while you were in the cradle. All throughout your childhood you sat next to it and prayed for the hatchling to come forth, promising you would care for the creature and love it more than anything. But the baby dragon never arrived.  

Many said that it was a sign from the Gods, that you were unfit to be the heir if even your own dragon refused to hatch for you. It was a heavy sentence hanging around your neck, weighing you down and making you feel as though you are worthless, despite the fact you have more power than most of the people laughing at your situation.  

None of them are laughing now.  

You see your dragon stretched out atop one of the nearby ridges. He’s so large that his wings and tail drape over the edge of the rocks, entirely unconcerned by the humans fearfully gathered beneath him as he snoozes away in the warmth of the sun. His scales are like coal, absorbing every ray of sunshine that he can.  

The Cannibal may not be as large as Vhagar, but he’s far older and, as many would argue, far meaner than the old girl. Where most dragons have vibrant, golden eyes, you’re greeted by a pair of sinister green the moment you draw near. His go-to reaction to most things is aggression, and you’ve seen many people meet their end in a blast of emerald flame for merely disturbing him.  

It’s for that precise reason you’re stunned to see someone standing beside the grumpy old beast. There’s only one person other than yourself who could get anywhere near the Cannibal without immediately being swallowed whole. The man pauses his rubbing of your dragon’s scales the moment he sees you, only to earn a displeased whack from the Cannibal’s snout. You bite your lip to force down the grin that’s threatening to spread across your face when the man drops down to one knee, his head bowed respectfully.  

“Lord Riley,” you nod, “I do believe that’s my dragon you’re touching.” That earns a groan from the Cannibal, his massive head twisting away from you both, as though already bored of the conversation.  

“A thousand apologies, princess,” Simon grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “your dragon was growing impatient.” The dragon in question huffs, his tail twitching like an agitated cat.  

Simon looks so different from the last time you saw him. He’s both taller and broader, completely filled out with muscles. When he stands again, you’re face to face with the rather intimidating bone mask adorning his face. You’re not certain if it’s real bone, but at that moment you could have cared less, throwing yourself at the large man.  

He catches you easily, holding you tightly against his larger body. It’s entirely improper and if anyone other than your guards witnessed such an interaction there would no doubt be whispers abound. Perhaps it’s a good thing Simon decided to meet you somewhere so private.  

“When did you get back?” you ask, leaning back just long enough to look him in the eye.  

“We docked late last night,” he answers, and you can feel the way his chest rumbles with each word. His deep voice soothes something within you, your stress dissipating like mist at dawn. “We received word that the King’s Guard now has an open position,” he continues, and then much to your shock adds, “I’m here to fill that position.”  

You pull away from him almost completely, only your hands still gently curled around his gauntlets, “but I heard that your father was recently taken ill, don’t you need to return home?”  

While the mask hides the majority of Simon’s face, you can still see the way the skin around his eyes crinkles slightly, “I made a promise to serve my future Queen,” he takes your hand from his arm and presses the back of your palm to where his lips are beneath his mask, “if you’ll have me, princess.”  

You can feel your face burning with the intensity with which Simon stares at you. “I’m certain my father will be delighted to have such a well-regarded warrior in his service,” you smile, gently pulling your hands away from the knight, despite the urge to keep holding onto him.  

Before you can continue the conversation, the Cannibal turns his head back to your again, nudging at you with an irritated huff. His breath is scalding against your skin, yet it doesn’t burn you, thankfully. You place your hand against the beast’s snout, feeling the thick scales shift under your leather gloves. “Gīda,” you coo to the dragon, waiting until he lowers his wing to the floor to provide you with a way to climb onto his back. He’s far too large for you to mount the same way you would a younger dragon.  

Once settling into the Cannibal’s saddle, you grin down at your friend, “I look forward to seeing you in the keep, my lord.” You only have the time to see Simon’s quick nod, before your dragon is leaping from the edge of the ridge, forcing an end to your conversation. You can feel his clear exasperation through your bond and ensure to give the old dragon a scratch to the neck.  

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia - Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon

The day of the Heir Tournament has finally arrived, and what is a joust without some bloodshed? 

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: TW! Depictions of violence, mentions of blood, Daemon being an asshole, angst, the continuation of my blood feud against HOTD’s costuming department

Word Count: 4.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: With all the explicit detailing I included about the character’s dresses, would you guys maybe be interested for me to post some of my fashion designs here, so you guys can get a clearer vision of what I envisioned the characters wearing? Because I find it extremely difficult to translate my designs into words lol, blame my lack of fashion background. And from this chapter on, things are going to start getting serious. 

Also recommended that you listen to ‘There Are Worse Games To Play’ on the Hunger Games soundtrack while you read this chapter, particularly towards the end 💗

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics as always!

The fire crackled merrily in Lady Y/N’s chambers, although the room was filled with a ruminative silence. Night had once again descended on the Red Keep, and after tending to Aemma all day, who was in more discomfort than usual, Y/N was exhausted. 

She was still simmering with displeasure at Daemon’s words from that afternoon. One could argue that Daemon was merely being careless with his words, but Y/N knew better. Just like many other people, he disregarded her based on her gender. She thought maybe Daemon would be different since he cared not for the restraints society has put on him, but it appears she was nothing but a fool to ever think positively of him. 

I sighed, my fingers continuing to weave the bonnet for Aemma’s babe, even though I found no pleasure in the task. Daemon’s words this afternoon had sent me tumbling into an unpleasant spiral of emotions, and I directed my dark gaze towards the roaring fire, where the charred remains of my father’s letter still sat. 

Lord Matthos and Lady Primrose, Lord and Lady of Highgarden, and my parents. With my lady mother dead now, and me being their unfortunate sole surviving child, my father had directed his focus on getting me married off as soon as possible. “You must wed and produce heirs that could inherit Highgarden,” my father had insisted, pleaded, even. “I know with your...reputation, it might be difficult to find a match, but you are no longer young anymore, and you must marry as soon as possible. It is the duty you owe to House Tyrell.” 

“My duty,” I snorted, nearly pricking myself with the needle in the process. It was simply unfair, why must I be expected to marry and pump out babes for my husband while men like Daemon could prance about freely without a care in the world? I wanted to enjoy my youth, as was my right. Why should i care for duty? Even if my father required heirs, House Tyrell was not lacking in any cousins that could inherit if he should pass. 

Indignation coursed through my blood as I began increasing the speed in which I was weaving the bonnet. Even Aemma had reminded me on more than one occasion of the importance of duty, and I was sick of it. There was just some part of me that couldn’t grasp why everyone was so fixated on it. The Seven had granted us one chance at life: one should revel in it by pursuing their own desires. And besides, after witnessing Aemma’s grief and pain over her many miscarriages and stillbirths, I shuddered to think what duty might have in store for me. I was determined that I would not succumb to the notion of the dutiful, heir producing daughter that my father so wished me to be, no matter how much my father pleaded with me. After all, if Daemon could evade it as long as he did, surely I could do the same.

I frowned as I eyed the finished bonnet. Not as pretty as I envisioned, but children grow fast anyway. I went over to the window, gazing at the Dragonpit, dark and imposing against the night sky. It only made me think of a certain princeling, and I huffed, drawing my curtains shut. Rubbing my temples and exhaling heavily. I decided not to waste any more of my thoughts on the Rogue Prince. Clambering into bed, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

I had not expected to be in attendance at the tournament today. Aemma had been experiencing increasing bouts of pain for the past few days, and I wanted to keep her company should the babe be close to making its arrival in this world. Unexpectedly, I had been nearly dragged out of Aemma’s apartments by Rhaenyra and Alicent early in the morrow, with Aemma insisting I go spectate the tourney instead of staying with her like a watchful owl. I had argued, but Aemma specifically called upon Rhaenyra and Alicent as reinforcement, with some explicit threats that I would be quartered, hung and my head placed on a spike should I refuse to attend. 

Thus here I was, in the royal box, my face etched with concern as my mind kept wandering over to Aemma. I prayed fervently to the Seven that she would not go into labour in my absence, and to the Mother that if she did, that her labour would be smooth and painless. 

“What say you, Y/N?” I was pulled out of my reverie, eyes wide as I muttered an unintelligible “Huh?” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes good-naturedly while Alicent struggled to hide her giggles. “I was just discussing with Alicent why you seem to be favouring gowns of Tyrell green as of late. Usually, we noticed you would be in lighter shades.” My gaze shifted downward, surprised at her observation. 

I was dressed in my best, another gown of Tyrell green silk, with fitted sleeves that trailed to a more sheer, but still dark green material that flared out below my elbows. Several gold roses adorned my shoulders, interspersed with tiny rubies. The neckline dipped slightly in the valley of my breasts, but anything that could cause scandal was covered by a layer of Myrish lace. The dress’ skirts clung to my figure, parting at the centre to reveal an underskirt of olive green and gold brocade. It had cost a fortune, and had once belonged to my mother. My signature gold earrings adorned my earlobes, and my hair was pinned into an elegant braided updo. I might dislike the idea of duty to my house, but regardless, I had to represent House Tyrell in the best light possible, especially at such an important event. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent were decked out in their finest for the occasion as well. Rhaenyra was clad in Targaryen colours, and I admired the black corset that looked reminiscent of armour fitted across her upper half of her body. Dragon scales were painstakingly patterned on the corset, and they were held together by laces made of fine golden thread. Underneath the corset, she wore a dark red gown with an intricately pleated skirt. The sleeves were off the shoulder, going down to her wrists. Gold shoulder plates set in a dragonscale pattern with gold fringes protected her bare shoulders from the autumn chill. She wore a heavyset necklace cut with square shaped rubies, hammered into gold, and her hair was let loose in a wild cascade of curls. She looked every inch a Targaryen warrior princess. Alicent was dressed simpler, but still looked beautiful nonetheless. A light blue dress of brocade and silk with a square neckline hugged her soft curves, exposing a little bit of her collarbone, where two strands of pearls were draped across her neck. Her sleeves were puffed at the shoulders, stopping short just before her elbow, while the rest of her sleeves were fitted tightly to her wrists. Small delicate flowers were sewn at the hem of her sleeves. Her skirts parted at the centre to reveal an underlying layer of cream white brocade, and her bodice had crisscrossing geometric diamond patterns sewn on it, dipping at her waist with a point. Her hair was fashioned in a half up, half down hairdo, curls tumbling to the small of her back. Both of them had inquisitive looks in their eyes, though Rhaenyra’s harboured a glimpse of impatience.

I smiled a little awkwardly at the question. Truth be told, I had no idea why. My thoughts had been taking on a darker turn since my encounter with Daemon in the throne room and the raven sent by my lord father, and I supposed my choice of apparel reflected my mood. “Well, at such a celebration, it is only fitting of me to dress in the colours of my house.” I reasoned, tilting my head slightly. “Do the darker gowns not suit me?” 

“All colours suit you well, my lady.” Alicent said gently. I smiled gratefully at her, as Rhaenyra turned to Alicent and asked teasingly if she suited any colour as well. My smile widened as I watched the two bicker playfully. 

We were interrupted however, by the arrival of the King. We all stood up to greet him, bowing politely. He was beaming from ear to ear, as he began addressing the crowd, much to the raucous cheers of the crowd. 

“The day has been made more auspicious, by the news I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labours!” My eyes widened upon hearing those words, and as soon as the King finished his address, I stood up, ready to excuse myself to go tend to Aemma, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, effectively halting my attempts of a hasty exit. “Viserys-” 

“I know you want to be there for Aemma,” the corner of Viserys’ eyes crinkled as he spoke gently, trying to push me back down to my seat, “But she asked me to relay a message: trust that she will be alright, and enjoy the tourney instead. It will be your only time to relax before you are swept up in your duties to take care of the babe.” 

I bit my lip, a sense of unease washing over me. “But-” “You must stay and enjoy the tourney. Your King commands it. As does your Queen.” I glanced at him, eyes filled with worry, but he only nodded encouragingly. 

“If my king commands…I shall obey,” I said with some reluctance, although it dissipated somewhat when Viserys beamed at me, clapping my shoulder affectionately before sitting back down. I sat back down too, my eyes wandering over to Rhaenyra, who gave me a smile, which I returned. I said a silent prayer to the Seven as the first few contenders were being announced, that both Aemma and her babe would be safe and healthy.

The first of the tilts began, to the boisterous cheers of the crowd. I watched as a jouster carrying a shield with a sigil unknown to me quickly unhorsed a squire of House Tarly. My brows furrowed., I turned to Rhaenyra, “Do you recognise the sigil that the mystery knight was carrying?” She shook her head. Alicent leaned over, eyes fixed on the knight as he steered his horse before the royal box and bowed, “I think he’s from House Cole. Of the Stormlands, I believe.” 

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose, “I’ve never heard of House Cole. This should prove most interesting.” I pursed my lips as Lord Boremund Baratheon asked for Princess Rhaenys’ favour, addressing her as “The Queen Who Never Was”, causing the crowd to stir a little in dissent. “You could have Baratheon’s tongue for that.” “Tongues will not change the succession,” came Viserys’ assured response. “Let them wag.” 

“Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.” “Lord Massey’s son?” Alicent inquired, a little surprised. Rhaenyra nodded, “They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.” I snorted, remembering some of the unsavoury rumours I had heard swirling around the court as of late. “Best get on with it,” my voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.” Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief, and Alicent clapped a hand over her mouth as if reeling from the sheer impropriety of it, while I merely shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips and turned my gaze back to the proceedings. 

I leaned forward in my seat, intrigued when the mystery knight of House Cole unhorsed Lord Boremund in a single tilt, much to the crowd’s delight and mocking laughs. Rhaenyra let out a small “oof” sound, while Alicent looked  dumbstruck. Mayhaps the tourney would be of some excitement after all. 

“Prince Daemon, of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!” The smile that was forming at my lips dropped in an instant, and I pursed my lips as Daemon, clad in his black armour, raced past the audience astride his black steed, much to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. I rolled my eyes: show off. 

I was unsurprised and somewhat amused when Daemon chose Ser Gwayne Hightower as his first jousting opponent. Of course, Daemon chose today to be even more of a little shit than usual. Oftentimes, I wondered if he gained his life essence from pissing Otto Hightower off. I craned my neck backwards to catch a glimpse of the Hand’s expression, my lips curving upwards in a smirk when I took note of his irked expression. 

Suddenly, I felt a heavy stare upon me, and I turned back to the spectacle to see Daemon’s violet eyes fixed on me. When he met my gaze, that little shit had the audacity to smirk and tilt his lance at me. I huffed and turned away, fixing my eyes on Ser Gwayne instead.  

I had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh as Daemon’s lance was nearly knocked out of his hand by a well angled tilt by Ser Gwayne. Mayhaps that smug bastard will get some comeuppance today, I thought with glee. 

That glee was short lived as Ser Gwayne was thrown from his horse in an unsightly scene, when Daemon aimed for his horse’s legs, causing the animal to neigh with agony as it slid forward and bucked Ser Gwayne off into the dirt. I heard Alicent gasp with fright next to me, and I reached out to pat her hand reassuringly. That cheating bastard really had no scruples when it came to dealing with Otto Hightower, even to his kin. 

I frowned as I watched Daemon parade around on his horse, looking all too pleased with himself. I was caught off guard however, when Daemon came to a stop in front of the royal box, prompting Rhaenyra to get out of her seat, tugging me and Alicent with her. I was screaming internally for Rhaenyra not to drag me into this, but I begrudgingly followed Rhaenyra as she leaned over the railing, grinning at Daemon. “Nicely done, uncle,” Rhaenyra complimented him, causing Daemon to tilt his chin upwards arrogantly. “Thank you, Princess.” 

He smirked as he zeroed in on me, lingering behind Alicent. “Lady Y/N,” he called, a certain mischief in his voice. Oh no. 

“You look rather radiant today, dressed in your house colours.” I narrowed my eyes, aware of his attempts to bait me, by first paying me a compliment, so that if I rejected him, I would seem ill-mannered. But with so many eyes on us, I could only respond through gritted teeth, “Thank you, my prince.” 

“With such a beautiful lady as the one before me, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask for her favour.” Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, as I attempted to minimise the lethality of my death glare. This brazen little punk. To ask for my favour after what he had said yesterday-

I leaned forward, whispering harshly, “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” Daemon merely raised an eyebrow. “You know I am certain I can win these little games. Having your favour would all but assure it. You won’t rebuff me with so many eyes watching us, won’t you, byka zaldrizes?” 

Grinding my teeth, I did my best to keep my expression neutral. He was right, the crowd was getting restless. I could hear some murmuring from the lords behind me, and even Rhaenyra was nudging me subtly. The gods have chosen to curse me on this very day. I sighed, before moving to retrieve my favour, a small wreath of orange and purple flowers. Sliding it down the lance Daemon offered up, I forced a smile on my face. “I wish you good luck in the jousts, my prince.” 

Daemon smirked, having gotten under her skin like he wanted. “With your favour, I’m sure I don’t need it.” Daemon rode away as I rolled my eyes and took my seat once more, Rhaenyra and Alicent following suit. “It appears the Prince Daemon is attempting to play nice today, Lady Y/N,” Alicent smiled at me. Rhaenyra nodded earnestly, “Mayhaps he is starting to be civil to you, Y/N.” I had to refrain from snorting and saying something very derogatory about the Prince, instead letting my surly expression do all the talking. 

As Lady Y/N was distracted by the frenzy of the tourney, a maester sidled up to the Hand of the King to relay a message. The Hand’s eyes turned grim, and he turned towards Viserys, whose expression was still filled with mirth after witnessing his brother ask Y/N for her favour. Upon hearing the news, the King’s face visibly blanched, and he got out of his seat swiftly, followed closely by the Hand. 

Y/N, Alicent and Rhaenyra were engaged in fervent conversation, completely absorbed in the proceedings. But soon enough, the tourney had given way to violence and bloodshed. Y/N winced and averted her gaze as one after the other, the jousters who chose to continue their battle in arms caved in each other’s heads, fighting each other like feral beasts. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she did her best to block out the sound of agonised grunts and screams from the bludgeoned competitors. Looking over, she saw Alicent picking at her own fingernails till it was bloody. Frowning, she quickly nudged Alicent, who immediately stopped with a sheepish expression. Covering Alicent’s hand with hers to provide some reassurance, Y/N turned her head backward to take in Viserys’ expression, startled when she realised both the King and the Hand were missing. Cursing herself for her lack of awareness, she quickly moved to get up, but Alicent pulled her down to her seat. “Y/N, you must not leave now!” Alicent insisted, “Prince Daemon is about to tilt against Ser Criston!” 

I tried to shake off Alicent’s hand, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “I couldn’t give two damns about Daemon, the Queen needs me-” “It would be rude to leave before you’ve seen the jouster whom you’ve bestowed your favour to compete,” Rhaenyra chimed in, her purple eyes alight with excitement. “Father is there with Mother, she will be alright. They commanded you to enjoy the tourney with us, and as your princess, I order you to stay.” My face fell as I chewed my lip while glancing at the exit of the royal box. Alicent tugged on my hand, and I found myself relenting at the determined looks both of them were levelling at me. After all, there was no harm in staying for just a while. And I might even see Daemon get bested for the first time in his life. 

Reluctantly, I relayed my attention back to the tourney, just as both the competitors began charging at each other. Putting a hand over my mouth, I watched as Ser Criston and Daemon both failed to knock each other off their horses in the first tilt. With my heart in my mouth, my eyes nearly boggled out of my head when I watched Daemon being knocked off his saddle and into the dirt. 

Daemon had lost. 

Mouth agape, I stayed rooted in my seat, even as the crowd all stood to rain thunderous applause and cheers on Ser Criston. I felt a smug smile slowly spreading across my lips. Daemon had lost! At long last, someone had humbled that egotistical bastard, and I had been here to witness it. I sighed happily, savouring the prospect of being able to mock him for this for the rest of his life. “Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!” 

I raised my eyebrows as Daemon approached Ser Criston, wielding Dark Sister with a dangerous expression on his face. He is nothing better than a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum, I thought to myself, snickering. My eyebrows shot to my forehead when I noticed Ser Criston carrying a morningstar. A most unusual weapon. 

The crowd followed the ensuing sparring match with enthralled eyes, myself included. Rhaenyra was nearly falling out of her seat from the way she was leaning forward, and Alicent had a hand over her mouth. When Ser Criston splintered Daemon’s shield, it was like something feral had awoken in Daemon. He began doling out more impulsive blows as anger overtook him, slashing at Ser Criston like a madman and deftly manoeuvring out of the range of his blows. 

I clasped Alicent’s hand tightly in mine as Daemon kicked Ser Criston to the ground, pouncing on him with brutal force. When Daemon blocked Ser Criston’s attack by lodging Dark Sister with the morningstar’s chains, Rhaenyra reached over to take Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Finally, Daemon delivered the final blow, hurling the remains of his shield at Ser Criston, striking him squarely in the face and causing him to flounder on the ground. 

I shook my head in disbelief as Daemon raised both his arms up, hollering and revelling in his triumph. But that victory was soon short lived as Daemon felt a slash on his behind, knocking him to the dirt, face first. I felt Alicent reel back in surprise next to me. Daemon tried to lurch for his sword, but was forced to submission by a few well aimed kicks from Ser Criston, breathing heavily as he dangled the morningstar threateningly in Daemon’s face. 

“Yield.” Daemon could scarce believe what was happening right now. He had lost. To some unknown commonborn knight. Him, the Rogue Prince. The finest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. Tasting bile in his mouth, he gritted his teeth. “Yield.” Ser Criston’s voice made it clear that he would not ask again. Daemon chuckled humorlessly, refusing to say a word, but begrudgingly surrendered. He knocked away the arm that the knight offered, rising to his feet before stalking off. While leaving the jousting field, he took note of Y/N running off from the royal box. His ire now increased by tenfold, he swiftly made his way to the exit of the royal box, where he spotted his lady emerging from the shadows. Snarling, he grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face him. “Daemon, let me go right now. I do not have time for your tantrums-” 

“It was you,” he hissed, twisting her arm, causing her to grimace. His rage was blinding him, the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears making his blood boil. “Your favour cursed me. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have won. And instead, I was humiliated-” Y/N scoffed, trying to break away, but Daemon only tightened her grip. “You lost because you were a cocky, arrogant bastard. Do not attempt to blame your failings on me. Now let go!” 

Daemon’s vision was nearly red by now, and he pulled her closer to him as he spat out, “You’re not going anywhere, byka zaldrizes.” “Let. Go.” her voice was laced with contempt. “I will not ask a second time. Go reflect and accept your loss, maybe this will teach you some humility.” 

Daemon opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the arrival of that cunt, Otto Hightower. He wanted to spit at him to fuck right off, but the look on his face made him think twice. Y/N’s hand went slack, causing Daemon to release her, worried that he had hurt her. He looked between the both of them, confused, but quickly caught on when he saw the Hand bow his head grimly. 

Daemon had experienced a lot of things he would never forget that day, but nothing could compare to the pure look of devastation on Y/N’s face at that moment. The Hand inclined his head, lips pressed together, before he moved past them to the entrance to the royal box, no doubt to inform the other lords. 

His anger dissipating, an unsure look appeared on his face as he scrutinised Y/N’s face. She nearly stumbled over, eyes mad with grief, and Daemon unconsciously caught her arm with his left hand, steadying her. She didn’t seem to register his touch however, mumbling in a daze, “Aemma…I need to find Viserys. Viserys…” Daemon followed her movements with his eyes silently, as she mounted a horse reserved for the nobility nearby, spurring it towards the Red Keep. He watched her disappear into the distance, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his purple eyes swimming with a dozen complicated emotions. He needed to get out of his armour, it suddenly felt all too stifling to be in it. 

Y/N raced into the Red Keep, taking the steps two at a time as she rushed past startled servants. Barging into Aemma’s apartments, she stopped short when she reached Aemma’s bedchambers, her hand going to her mouth when she took in the gruesome sight before her, praying fervently that it was just some sick nightmare. 

Queen Aemma, no, her friend, her dearly beloved friend, Aemma, was sprawled out on the bed, the coppery stench of blood permeating through the room. Trickles of blood still oozed out of the incisions the maesters had made around her abdomen, and Y/N felt bile creeping up her throat as she realised what had been done.

No. 

No. 

 Y/N bypassed Viserys - still hunched over in grief, staring at Baelon’s small, wiggling frame with a broken expression - and went straight to Aemma. Her footsteps felt leaden and unsteady, as she crouched down to hold Aemma’s lifeless hand. She squeezed it desperately, willing her to wake up, to be alive. But it was in vain. 

Y/N went still, before she gently reached over and slid Aemma’s wide blue eyes shut. Trembling as tears began to cloud her vision, Y/N noticed the sun’s rays glinting off a small object tucked between Aemma’s sweat covered neck. It was Rhaenyra’s present to Aemma, that necklace with the ruby falcon pendant, its red shining brilliantly in the sun as Y/N and Viserys mourned for their good Aemma. 

rip aemma :( and also f*ck viserys, he deserves to be burnt alive, roasted and fed to balerion. 

Fic Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18​ @llovinjoonie​

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy​

Those who are bolded are those who could not be tagged! Let me know in the comments or through this form if you want to be tagged for future updates on this fic :) 

If you liked this fic, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Thank you for reading this far! 

[mi-rae07]

Jeong Yunho : His Wish

Pairing : Jeong Yunho (Ateez) and named character (Kim Yuri)

__________________________

Synopsis : Yuri and Yunho were once a couple that lived on the streets, starving and cold. She had a million wishes, wishes she knew could never be fulfilled. But yunho had been determined, he had promised her to make all those wishes come true. She had laughed at him, knowing it was impossible but a decade or so later, she's proven completely wrong.

Yunho is now a ruthless president, exploiting people for his own personal wishes, or rather hers. He has fulfilled all her wishes, except this last one. Will he fulfill that too? Even if it means turning himself into something he cannot reverse? Or is he already too far gone?

_____________________________

A/n : this is a really long fic, maybe even one of the longest I've ever written but I PROMISE it will be worth it. I'm actually really proud of it too! Let's hope this doesn't flop just because of how long it is. Whichever way, I hope you guys enjoy this.

_________________________________

??? : how does it feel like being the wife of such a ruthless murderer that rose to power through pure violence?

??? : does he abuse you as well?

??? : how do you bring yourself up to love such a monster?

??? : ma'am how was it like watching your husband change into this new man?

??? : are you going to divorce him soon!

This was all yuri had heard when she stepped out of her house as the first lady of the country years ago. And they were right, yunho had become the president of this country through force and bloodshed. Yuri had watched him change from the righteous, good man yunho was to this corrupting, ruthless monster he was now. She had watched him change, but she still couldn't bring herself up to hate him.

He was her husband, someone that had loved and cherished her when no one did. He had protected her from her abusive father, given her a home, a child, a family, she could never hate the father of her child.

As yuri stepped into her daughter's nursery the 5 year old ran up to her with a huge smile that was similar to his, her eyes sparkling in joy

Yeseul : mama!

Yuri : seul-ie.

Yuri kneeled down and hugged her daughter as she jumped into her arms, mumbling into her chest

Yeseul : missed you!

Yuri chuckled as she ran her hand along the back of yeseul's hair before whispering

Yuri : mama missed you too sweetheart.

Yeseul : appa?

Yuri pressed her lips together at her usual question, knowing she would have to give yeseul her usual answer.

Yuri : appa has work, seul-ie. He's busy.

Yeseul nodded in understanding, that being what hurt yuri the most. The fact that she was understanding, never throwing a tantrum over anything.

Yeseul : but appa loves me?

Yuri smiled as she closed her eyes, hugging yeseul tighter before whispering

Yuri : you're his entire world, baby.

_______________________________

Yuri watched as yunho entered their room, his eyes droopy from the tiredness but his blood stained white shirt telling otherwise. That blood was proof of the fact that her husband had robbed a family of another father, another son, another husband or another brother today, as he does every other day.

Yuri : that's not your blood, is it?

Yunho shook his head with a sigh as he started unbuttoning it.

Yuri : yeseul asked me about you today, can't you really spend some time with her?

Yunho : you know I can't.

Yunho threw the shirt into the trash as yuri said

Yuri : I could've had the maids wash it for you.

Yunho : the blood stains never go away, yuri.

Yuri stared at yunho, that sentence repeating in her head. She had thought about it countless times, the swears people said to yunho silently as they watched him kill and kill, the curses that fell from each mother's trembling lips, each wife's broken body as they watched their men die. It was horrible, knowing yunho would never be able to wash those stains off. It would always come back to him, to his family, to their daughter.

Yuri : I just uhm, you keep having to buy new shirts-

Yunho : we have enough money for that now.

Money, yes. That was one of the very few things they had in plenty, killing people came with at least one advantage. Money and power, even if it was at the cost of others. Yuri vaguely remembered the times yunho and her had spent time in the streets starving, wishing someone would drop at least a coin so they could buy proper food as their wages never paid enough. But even through that yunho had remained in the side of justice, that was until he got a small taste of power and decided to overthrow the government entirely.

Yuri : how was…work?

Yunho : fine.

Yunho stepped into the bathroom as he shut the door behind him, the sounds of shower falling into yuri's ears. She wished it were different, she loved yunho but she wished he were different. But there was nothing she could do about that, she'd come to that conclusion long time ago.

Yuri got up from their bed as she opened the door to the bathroom, stepping into it as she looked at the steamed up shower cubicle at the corner of the large bathroom. She walked towards it as she asked out loud

Yuri : do you mind if I join you?

A minute later yunho replied

Yunho : no.

Yuri let out a breath as she removed her nightgown, opening the cubicle door as she stepped in. She looked up at yunho who was now drenched in water, his hairs sticking to his forehead and his chest glistening against the low light.

Different from the frail, skinny and fragile boy he once was in the streets, so very different.

Yunho : is something wrong?

Yuri shook her head as she wrapped her arms around yunho's neck, the water now drenching her as well as she whispered

Yuri : no, I just missed you.

Yunho wrapped his arms around yuri's waist as he brought her close, resting his head against her shoulders as he felt her kiss one of the scars that littered his collarbone. He remembered how he'd gotten it, the weeks it had taken for it to heal. But then he thought of yuri, their then newly born daughter, and he'd lived with the pain happily.

Yuri : does it ever hurt you?

Yunho : what?

Yuri : killing people. The screams, the cries, the pain. No?

It haunted him every night, every single time he would so much as sit still. He remembered the curses, the cries, the sounds of death that he caused. It strained the life out of him day by day. Yunho sighed deeply, his arms around yuri tightening as he said

Yunho : does it matter?

Yuri : it does to me, yunho.

Yunho remembered the times yuri would call him 'yun', instead of his full name. that was before all this, before he became this monster. Back when yuri loved all of him and cherished all of him. Now she loved only that mist of what yunho once was that was barely inside him anymore, yunho knew it. And the disappearance of his favorite nickname from her mouth was proof. He was no longer the man yuri once loved in the streets.

Yunho : sometimes. But then I remember I have a family to feed.

Yunho's hand came up to yuri's bulged stomach, resting upon it as she sighed. Of course, yunho had always been selfish and ruthless when it came to them.

Yunho : have you thought of a name yet? There's barely 6 months left.

Yuri let out a small smile as she looked at yunho's large hand that was rested against their baby boy, his eyes showing happiness and hope too.

Yuri : not yet. Do you really not have any wishes for it? I named yeseul too, you know?

Yunho : yes and you chose to name her after my mother, not a name that was precious to you.

Yunho had always told yuri about how important his mother had been to him, and how she had withheld everything and protected him until her very last breath. He'd told her of how she'd given up her own comfort and happiness to keep him warm during the cold winters, how she had suffered his father's abuses in silence just so she could keep yunho safe. She knew how much his mother had once meant to yunho, which was why she'd named their first child after his mother's name.

Yunho : this time I want you to name our son after a name that is precious to you, and only you.

Yuri nodded as yunho lifted her chin up with his fingers, staring into her eyes as he whispered

Yunho : I love you, I have loved you my entire life and forever will yuri. Because without you there would be no me. All that I do, is for you.

And for a split second yuri could see the man that she once loved in yunho, the man that slept on the streets with her, covered in mud and sweat. But even then she had loved him, she had cherished him. And even now, she loved him. Maybe not in the same way as she once did but in another way, in her own way, she still did.

Yuri : I love you too yunho.

Yunho leaned forward and kissed her, the water wiping off the blood on yunho's chest and the tears off yuri's cheeks.

______________________________

Yunho walked into yeseul's room late at night, yuri already having fallen asleep. So had yunho, until a nightmare woke him up. He was glad yuri had been too far asleep to notice his little cries. Yunho crept up to his daughter who was also lying fast asleep in her small princess bed, her toys all tucked close to her as a silk blanket kept her warm from the perfect cold of the air-conditioning.

Apart from watching yuri sleep in peace and in warmth without fearing someone touching her in the wrong way as they had in the streets, this was what made all the pains yunho had had to go through worth it. He had never had this when he was a child, a bed to sleep in, warm blankets, nothing. His father had given him and his mother nothing. Yunho had then vowed that one day when he had a wife and children of his own, he'd given them everything no matter what it took from him.

If it was his righteousness and his humanity, then so be it. He wouldn't let yuri, yeseul or their unborn son go through a day of their life without food or warmth like he had. Not a single day.

Yeseul : appa?

Yunho looked at yeseul as her sleepy voice woke him up from his trance, quickly replacing the frown with a smile as yunho whispered

Yunho : hello, my princess.

Yeseul smiled as she sat up on her bed, scooting towards yunho before nuzzling into his chest. Yunho's heart swelled at the feeling of having her against him, quickly wrapping his arms protectively around their daughter as he asked

Yunho : did you have your meals today, princess?

Yeseul nodded as she said

Yeseul : mhmm, it was very yummy. I had my favorite pastries today.

Yunho smiled at that, running his hand through her hair as he said

Yunho : you'll have your favorite pastries every single day, hmm?

That was a promise, a promise yunho knew would stand even after his death. He would make sure of it. Yeseul mumbled an okay as she looked up at her father and asked

Yeseul : appa?

Yunho : yes, princess?

Yeseul : what did you want to be when you were a child?

Yunho paused at that, remembering the time in his mother's arms when he'd told her that he wanted to make a difference in people's lives someday, make them better, make them good. Help the homeless and give food to the starved. That felt so long ago now, a distant memory.

Yunho : a lawyer. I wanted to bring justice to people who deserved it, let innocent people live happily and let the bad suffer for their bad deeds. I…wanted to make the world a better place.

The words stung his throat, knowing how things had turned around. Knowing that he was now doing the exact opposite of all that he once wanted to do.

Yeseul : I'm going to be a lawyer one day then.

Yunho looked down at yeseul in part surprise as she smiled and said

Yeseul : I'll make all your dreams come true for you one day, appa.

Yunho smiled and nodded as he hugged yeseul once again, feeling tears stream down his cheeks. He knew he wasn't going to see that happen, he just hoped he could hold his unborn son at least once before he died.

__________________________

2 months later :

??? : the revolts are going out of control, sir.

Yunho : and the army?

??? : well, some men are turning their backs on us now, some others killing themselves as they consider death better than to fight for your safety, sir.

Yunho could see how satisfied his advisor was by those news, they say keep the one you trust and love as your advisor but the only person who trusted and loved yunho was yuri. And she too would rather die than be his advisor on matters relating to mass murders.

The advisor tried his best to hide the satisfaction as he conveyed the news, knowing what happened to the last one. Yunho still remembered his last words

"How long are you going to keep doing this until you kill everyone, mr president? How long?"

"As long as I can to feed my family"

Yunho : kill them all. And find new men.

??? : p-pardon me, sir?

Yunho : kill the men who turned their backs on me, and their families. And recruit new men, bring the age limit down to 14.

Even the advisor couldn't hide his shock

??? : sir but they are children-

Yunho : did I stutter, advisor?

??? : no, sir.

Yunho : then do as I say before I kill you as well.

____________________________

Yuri : you're recruiting children now, yunho?

Yunho sighed as he unbuttoned his work shirt, throwing it away before saying

Yunho : I can't let the numbers go low.

Yuri : you know this isn't going to work, yunho recruiting children will cause only more anger. They will destroy you.

Yunho : well then it will take them a month at least to gather themselves up from the shock, by the time they come for me, I'll be ready.

He'll be ready with what? Another weapon of mass destruction? Yuri felt this would go too far, even for him.

Yuri : what?

Yunho : can we just sleep?

Yunho got onto the bed as yuri said

Yuri : yunho I've never said anything to you about the horrible things that you've done so far but this…this is too cruel even by your standards. Children, they're children yunho even you have a daughter-

Yunho : these children will grow to be rebels that revolt against me, my daughter would never do that. If these children die now, then so be it. I'll just be ridding myself off of future rebels and work.

Yuri stared at yunho with horrified eyes, his words cutting through her heart.

Yuri : you…this is not the man that I loved. The man that I loved would never sacrifice the lives of innocent children. The man that I loved would never be this cruel and animalistic, yunho.

Yunho felt her words break another piece of his heart, but he didn't let it show.

Yunho : the man that you loved is dead, yuri. He was left dead in the streets.

Yuri felt a tear slip down her eye as yunho laid back down on the bed, turning around and closing his eyes. Yuri couldn't believe him, believe how cold hearted and nonchalant he was being about this. She felt her heart drop as she realized that power really had gotten to him.

But what she didn't see was the tears that streamed out of yunho's eyes the second he felt yuri lay back down and turn her back against his. It hurt, every single day it hurt.

Then yunho remembered the way yuri had cried into his chest while on the streets, saying over and over again that she was so hungry, so cold. He remembered his promises.

_____________________________

Yuri stared up at the ceiling 3 hours later, not being able to sleep. She remembered the time on the streets when yunho had asked her how she wanted their future house to look like. She'd laughed at the thought, they would never have a future house together. They were on the streets, the most they could get was a few pennies for some food. Her laugh, yunho had noticed. How sure she was that they'd never have a house. But even then she had told him how she wanted their house to look like, like she was explaining a dream too good to happen.

And then when yunho became president the first thing he'd ordered for was a house. He hadn't let yuri pick anything in their house while they were building it and that had angered her. But it all melted away the second she saw it in the end. It was exactly as how she had described it to him 4 years ago, down to every single detail. Details even she couldn't properly remember.

The same navy blue interior, golden curtains, white beds that were too comfortable to get out of. Everything was the same as what she'd told him on the streets. Back then it was just a dream for her, one she'd laughed at when yunho promised to make that house for her some day. She'd laughed again, she appreciated the sentiment but she knew it wasn't possible.

But that day, yunho had made it possible. He had made her dream come true, and he continued to do so even up until this date. He kept all of his promises, even the once unrealistic ones.

Yuri flinched as she felt yunho suddenly sit up on the bed, gasping as he almost screamed out her name. Yuri sat up as she tried holding yunho, him getting frantic at the sudden hold as he pushed her away. It scratched her arm, causing it to bleed as she winced. But she didn't stop, she tried holding him again as she said

Yuri : yunho! Yunho shh, I'm right here. It's just a dream.

Once again yunho tried pushing her away, his breathing getting heavier and heavier as sweat covered his forehead and chest. He was having a panic attack. Yuri tried holding him again as yunho flinched, her holding his hands down with force as she said

Yuri : yunho please! I'm here, I'm here it's okay!

Yunho paused at that, his chest heaving as he looked at her with tears in his eyes. For a moment he stayed like that, his broken eyes staring into her worried ones. And then he collapsed against her body, his head falling on her chest and his arms wrapping around her shoulders as he sobbed

Yunho : I was so sc-scared.

Yuri quickly wrapped her arms around yunho, it having been a long time since she heard yunho cry like this.

Yuri : it was just a nightmare yunho, shh.

Yunho shook his head as he looked up at her with such intensity and said

Yunho : you cannot die.

In that moment yunho looked like he could kill anyone who so much as touched yuri, and it scared her knowing that yunho had enough power to do that.

Yuri : yunho-

Yunho : no! Even if I die you have to live, I have done everything so you could live, I cannot lose you I would lose my mind-

Yuri shook her head as she said

Yuri : hey, no that's not happening okay?

Yunho sniffled as yuri held his cheek, making him face her once again as she whispered

Yuri : you are never going to lose me, I will always be here for you yunho.

Yunho's face contorted at her words as he whispered

Yunho : what if I can't? What if I can't be with you?

Yuri's eyes softened as she held yunho closer to her before whispering

Yuri : yunho-ya, that was just a dream. You will always be with me, won't you?

Yunho pressed his lips together, giving her a small nod as he nuzzled his head back into her chest. Yuri sighed as she ran her hand along his hair, whispering softly

Yuri : it was just a dream darling, nothing's going to happen to us.

Yunho : you know-you know I love you right?

Yuri : I do.

Yunho : all I've ever done is to make your dreams come true, I just wanted you to have the life you deserved and wanted.

Yuri felt tears in her eyes, closing them as yunho said

Yunho : when you told me about the sort of life you wanted to live and I promised you to make them come true, you laughed at how ridiculous those promises were. You never expected me to fulfill them.

Yuri : yunho-ya.

Yunho : aren't you happy now?

A tear streamed down yuri's eyes as yunho looked up at her and said

Yunho : please tell me you're happy, please. Tell me you feel safe, warm, healthy. Tell me you've had all your dreams come true.

Yuri could see the desperation in yunho's eyes, wanting so hard to know that he had fulfilled his promises. And he had, he had broken every other promise he had made to everyone else just to fulfill hers.

Yuri smiled as she wiped off yunho's tears with her thumbs before whispering

Yuri : you have, yunho, you've made all my dreams come true. I am happy.

________________________________

A month later :

Yuri saw the news, the revolts couldn't be stopped anymore. They wanted yunho hanged. Yuri had hoped yunho would come up with something but there was nothing, he hadn't even come home for 3 days and barely picked up her calls to let her know that he was alive. Yuri feared this had gotten out of control, they had to run.

She had been sitting in the living room with the TV still on, her hands rubbing her baby bump as she felt the door open and shut. Yuri quickly stood up, turning around as she saw yunho rush into the living room. He looked like a mess, his shirt sticking to his sweaty skin with blood stains on it, his hair drenched from sweat and blood as he almost stumbled up to her.

Yuri : yunho!

Yuri caught yunho in her arms as she felt him rest his head weakly against her shoulder before whispering

Yunho : it's over.

Yunho's voice was final, it scared her.

Yuri : no. No it can’t be, there has to be some other way-

Yunho : there is, there is a way out for you. You and the kids.

Yuri stared as yunho moved back, pulling out a box from his pocket as he gave it to her before saying

Yunho : tickets for two, to Wales and the keys to your new countryside manor there.

Yuri’s eyes widened with tears as she stared at it in horror. Her mind flashed back to another one of her wishes

"Do you know what my biggest dream is? To live in a countryside manor in Wales with you and our kids in the future. Raise our kids to be good people, live in peace and live a full life of happiness"

Yuri : no. No yunho no! you can't be doing this to me-

Yunho : listen to me.

Yuri shook her head desperately as yunho held her cheeks, giving her a smile as he said

Yunho : do you want to know why I became this? This monster of a man, this stupid president despite knowing I hate everything that has to do with politics? Torturing myself by killing people every day, watching their families hurt when all I wanted was to help these people?

Yuri shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks, finally realizing everything.

Yunho : because helping people would never have given me money. You had so many dreams, yuri, dreams you felt so sure would never come true. I saw the way you cried from hunger, shiver from the cold. My righteousness and belief in justice would never have given you food, or warmth. I had to change, I had to do something to make it all stop. So I went against everything I knew, I exploited people and made them work for me. I became this monster. Every day I would look in the mirror and I couldn’t even recognize myself, I hated myself yuri.

Yuri : yunho…

Yunho smiled as tears streamed down his cheeks, whispering in a broken tone

Yunho : but you were happy. You were warm and you were no longer hungry. Yeseul was happy, she had a childhood and now so will our son. If that comes at the cost of my own life then so be it.

Yuri : yunho please you-you can’t-

Yunho : when I first became president I started using the tax money to store it away secretly in a vault in England without anyone knowing. I’ve saved every single day since then, to the point where I had to buy 20 more vaults to fit the money. The money that I have stored there will last you a full life of wealth and luxury. It will pay for food, warmth, and our children’s education and future. Yours as well.

Yuri looked at the box in her hands as she asked

Yuri : and you? Wh-what about you?

Yunho : I cannot come with you, you know that. The people want me hanged and I plan to surrender myself to them tomorrow morning. They won’t come after you, I’m sure of that. They only want me and that I will make sure they have.

Yuri sobbed as she felt her legs lose their strength, making her fall to the floor with a thud

Yuri : this isn’t fair. I want you yunho, I don’t care about any of this I want you. We can run together-

Yunho shook his head as he kneeled down next to her before saying

Yunho : you know that’s not possible, sweetheart. They will hunt me down wherever I go, there will never be peace for us. We will have to live in constant fear and that will only hurt you and our kids.

Yuri cried as yunho hugged her, his arms warm around her body as he said

Yunho : this was my last promise, the promise of a future. One that I’ve never been able to give you before. I worked so hard for this, I suffered every single day for a decade so I could give you this yuri-ya. Please.

Yuri stared at yunho with broken eyes as he sniffed and said

Yunho : I’ve turned myself into a monster for this. You can’t throw that away, please. You have to take this.

Yuri : I can't live a life without you, yunho. Not when you've done so much-

Yunho : for our children, please. If you do this, if we do this you can give them a childhood, a future. They can live happily from the start, something we've never had. They will never starve, yuri, they will never have to fear living on the streets. They will have a life, a life that is theirs.

Yuri looked at yunho with a sob as he whispered

Yunho : all that I've done, I've done for you. The whole reason I became this president was so that I could fulfill your dreams, my promises to you. You deserve that.

Yuri : and what about you! Why is it always me and the kids, what about your life yunho!

Yunho shook his head as he held her cheeks before whispering

Yunho : all I've wanted was to see you happy, was to give you a healthy and safe family. I've just wanted you to live, yuri, I don't care for what I have to do for that.

Yuri sobbed as she hugged yunho, her tears staining his shirt as yunho said

Yunho : my life has always been yours, yuri. Whatever it is that you want, I will make it happen, I promised it. I always keep my promises.

Yunho ran his hand along yuri's hair as he said

Yunho : you have given me a life, a family, so much love and happiness. I want to give that back to you, to our children.

Yuri cried, not being able to form a word as yunho rested his hand against her bump before saying

Yunho : I will never be able to hold my boy, never be able to see him but I will always love him and yeseul. They'll grow up to be good people who can make a good difference in this world, I'm sure of that. And maybe…one day, they could save a couple like us from this pain, they could help a family be together happily. For that chance, for them I am willing to do this.

How yunho wished he could hold his child just like every other father in this world, but he knew this was the punishment for the sons he had killed in his life. But even then, he was sure that their son would grow up to love and protect his mother. And that was all yunho needed. He didn't need to hold the child, yunho knew he would still be his son.

Yuri : I have only ever wanted you, yunho.

Yunho : and me you will have, you will always have me, yuri. I'll be right here, always.

Yunho placed his hand against her heart as he kissed her forehead and said

Yunho : I love you.

Yuri : I love you too, yun. I always will, I promise to remember you until the moment I take my last breath. And the life after that, we will live together. Happily and in peace. We will be together, and it won't be cold anymore, and we won't be hungry anymore.

Yunho smiled, his lips quivering at the use of his old nickname as he connected his forehead with hers before whispering

Yunho : together, forever.

_____________________________

Yeseul : appa? But it's only 3am, why did you wake me up already?

Yunho smiled at yeseul's confused sleepy face as he said

Yunho : there's somewhere you have to go, with eomma.

Yeseul : so…you're not coming with us?

Yunho felt his heart break at her words, wishing he could go along with them, live a life of peace and happiness with his family. But he couldn't, he had accepted that long back ago.

Yunho : appa can't, he has some work to do. You'll be fine, won't you? You'll take care of your eomma and your little brother for me? While I'm away?

Yeseul smiled, that smile that was so similar to his own as she said

Yeseul : of course I will, I will always take care of them for you appa.

He could hear the finality in her voice, and yunho knew their daughter would grow up to be just like her mother. Yunho smiled as he felt tears in his eyes, widening his arms for yeseul to come to as he whispered

Yunho : won't you give appa a hug, princess?

Yeseul nodded as she hugged him, yunho running his hand along her hair. He knew this was the last time he would hold his daughter like this, but at least he got to see her grow. His son, more than anything yunho hated how that boy would never see his father or know the love of his father. At school when everyone would have their daddies come to pick them up, yeseul and their son never would. At least yeseul would remember her father, his hugs. His son never would and that haunted yunho. He cursed at the world for this life of theirs.

Yunho : you are my life's treasure, yeseul. You've always been the ray of hope in both mine and your mother's life. You made every day of my life worth living. I love you so much, my princess.

Yunho pulled back as he removed his family ring from his pinky, that being the only gift he'd ever received from his father as he put it on yeseul's little thumb finger

Yunho : this is yours, for I know that one day you'll bring pride and honor to our family name. And this ring will finally have some value to it.

Yeseul smiled and nodded as she hugged her father once again before whispering

Yeseul : I love you too, appa. No matter how far away from us you'll be, I'll always love you.

Yeseul stared at the ring with hopeful, determined eyes as she said

Yeseul : and our family name will shine one day with honor, I promise.

___________________________

The hardest part was not letting them go, it was watching them go. Yunho watched as the cab that would take them to the airport pulled up to the manor, the driver loading all the luggage yuri had quickly packed up into the car. Yeseul had been the first to skip outside the house with her small bag, running up to yunho and hugging his legs

Yeseul : I'll miss you, appa.

Yunho smiled sadly as he leaned down and kissed her head before patting her back

Yunho : I'll miss you too, my princess.

Yeseul smiled and waved at yunho one last time before getting onto the car, not knowing she'd never see her father again. And seeing her hopeful smiles of yunho's return later almost caused yunho to break down, but he had to hold himself strong. That was until yuri walked out of the house wearing the first proper dress yunho had bought for her with his money, her eyes red and puffy.

Yunho pressed his lips together as yuri walked towards him, his hand placing itself against her bump as yuri smiled at him before whispering

Yuri : I'll tell him all about his father, all the things you've done for him and how wonderful of a father you have always been. He'll remember you as if he's known you his entire life, yun, I promise.

Yunho smiled as he felt tears fill his eyes once again, leaning forward as he hugged yuri and said

Yunho : you have to take care of yourself first and foremost okay? You have to be happy, or all of this would've been for nothing.

Yuri bit her lips as she felt tears stream down her eyes, nuzzling her head into her husband's shoulder knowing that this was the last time she would ever feel his warmth, the warmth that had kept her alive during the harsh winters.

Yuri : you…it won't hurt that bad right? When they…when they hang-hang you-

Yuri cut herself off with a sob as yunho shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head before saying

Yunho : no. No it'll be okay, I'll be okay sweetheart.

Yuri nodded as she pulled back and sniffed before holding yunho's cheek with her trembling hands

Yuri : I will always be your wife, yours and yours only.

Yunho let out a shaky breath and nodded, he didn't know if he could speak anymore without breaking down. Yuri leaned forward and kissed him, pouring out all her love and pain into the kiss. Yunho kissed her back with tears streaming down his eyes, knowing he'd never have this again. They pulled back a minute later, their foreheads still connected as yuri said

Yuri : I love you, yun.

Those would be the last words yunho would have ringing through his mind as he hanged, yunho was sure of it.

Yunho : I love you too, sweetheart.

Yuri let out a final breath as she kissed his cheek before stepping back, their hands being the final thing that connected them together. Their wedding rings glowed against the light, a forever reminder that yunho belonged to yuri and yuri, to yunho.

And without another word yunho watched his entire world leave him forever. And in that moment, he was already dead.

____________________________

Yuri was now sitting at the airport with yeseul reading a book next to her, their flight boarding within 20 minutes. She had gotten a private lounge so people wouldn't recognize her, and the private lounge seemed to have a TV with the news channel currently running on it. She had been staring at it mindlessly for a few minutes when it suddenly changed to live news, and the sight horrified her.

Yunho was being carried to the hanging tree, the people screaming in victory as cameras flashed everywhere. They were kicking and throwing things at him, having tears of happiness and relief. Yuri's eyes widened at yunho's tortured state, him barely being able to even walk anymore. Yuri watched with teary eyes as the rope was tied tightly around his neck, the people gathered looking the happiest they had ever been.

Yuri looked to the side as she suddenly realized yeseul was watching, quickly bringing her hands to cover both yeseul's eyes and ears the same time the plank disappeared under yunho, the rope tightening ever so around his neck. Yuri shut her eyes tightly with a sob as she looked away, not wanting to watch it anymore. She could feel her heart break at the people's cheers, knowing her husband was now dead.

And so as yuri stared down at the plane window, she remembered her wish once again

"Do you know what my biggest dream is? To live in a countryside manor in Wales with you and our kids in the future. Raise our kids to be good people, live in peace and live a full life of happiness"

He had fulfilled all his promises, except the most important one. Live in a countryside manor in Wales with him, that was the one thing yuri wanted. He seemed to forget that part, the part where she wanted all this with him. He had given her everything, even a family now. But he forgot the part where she wanted this all with him.

Yuri looked to her side at yeseul's sleeping face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried in silence. Her husband, her sweet man, all gone from this world. And all because he wanted to fulfill her desires.

______________________________

4 months later :

The nurse carried a crying baby towards yuri who was now covered in sweat, breathing heavily as the labour pain still lingered. But as she took her son into her arms, his eyes the same as her husband's and his face having the same sharpness that yunho's once had, she felt all the pain disappear. He was just like his father.

Nurse : congratulations, mrs jung. You've given birth to a handsome, healthy baby boy. Have you decided on a name for him?

"You chose to name yeseul after my mother, yuri, not a name that was precious to you. This time I want you to name our son after a name that is precious to you and only you"

Yuri smiled at the nurse and nodded before saying

Yuri : jeong yunho.

_______________________________

28 years later :

Yeseul : eomma! I'm going to go to work early today as I have an important case in court to defend!

Yunho : oh yes, the one where you'd filed a petition to build homes for the homeless?

Yeseul paused on her tracks as she looked at her younger brother who was now dressed in a blood red suit, his blonde hair slicked back elegantly and a victorious smile on his face as yuri was busy fixing his tie with a proud smile on her face as well. Yeseul's eyes widened as she looked at the election result polls that were being shown on TV, realizing what day it was today.

Yunho : you lost the bet, noona, your little brother is now President of this nation.

Yeseul squealed in happiness as she rushed to her brother, hugging him tight as she said

Yeseul : OH MY GOD! I'M SO HAPPY I LOST THIS BET! I seriously went and prayed yesterday just to lose this bet. Ah congratulations yunho-ya, I’m so happy for you!

Yunho chuckled and hugged her back as yuri smiled at their children, their daughter now a successful lawyer who fought for the rights of the poor and their son, now elected the high president of their nation.

Both of them making the difference that her husband so wanted to bring to this world.

Yeseul paused as she looked outside their window, realizing reporters and citizens had already flooded their gates with flags.

Yeseul : oh lord, there's no way I'm making out of that alive.

Yunho smirked playfully as he said

Yunho : this is just the beginning noona, wait until I break your record of owning 3 supercars now.

Yeseul rolled her eyes as she whacked yunho’s arm before saying

Yeseul : whatever! I'm going through the backyard then.

Yeseul walked up to her mother before kissing her on the forehead as she said

Yeseul : I'll make you proud today too, eomma.

Yuri smiled widely, patting yeseul's head as she said

Yuri : you always do, seul-ie.

Yeseul smiled and turned to her brother before saying

Yeseul : and yunho-ya, congratulations. I may have lost the 20 dollar bet but you owe me a house for all that math classes I helped you study for! Torture, but it has at last borne some fruits.

Yunho smiled and nodded at his sister as she skipped out of the house, him turning to look at his mother as he asked, standing tall and proud

Yunho : how do I look, eomma?

Yuri smiled, looking at him with proud tears in her eyes as she remembered the way her husband had once looked in the same suit, his smile bright and always meant only for her.

He would’ve been so proud to see his son wearing the same suit, but instead going to make a good difference in this nation. The life that her husband wanted their son to have, he was going to have it.

Yuri : you look just like your father, yunho-ya.

Yunho smiled, knowing that was the best compliment his mother could give him. He gave his mother one last hug and smile before opening the doors to face the reporters and his new life.

Yeseul got into her Porsche as she threw her work bag to the side seat and munched on her favourite pastry, hearing the happy cheers of the people and the reporters as her younger brother stepped out to greet them as their new president. The people that cheered at her father’s death were now cheering at her brother’s success. Yeseul had heard it all despite yuri covering her ears, and she had promised then that she would do all that it took to reverse their life around.

It was what her father had died for, and she would honour that.

And so yeseul looked at the shining family ring that adorned her pinky now, her smile wide and proud as she whispered

Yeseul : this family ring now has honor to it, appa, just like you had always wanted. I've finally fulfilled your wish.

_____________________________

[velidewrites]

Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter IX: There Can Only Be One

Rhysand remembered the name of every single child the Capitol ever murdered.

The same could not be said for them, of course. Their memory faded as quickly as the funds Panem’s elite poured into the Hunger Games—forgotten as soon as the bloodshed was over. Year after year, Rhys watched as history repeated itself, more innocent blood spilled as the sponsors learned how to get creative.

First, there was all the betting. If there was one thing the Capitol loved almost as much as watching its children die one after another, being right had to be one of them. The endless battle of wits, all done behind the arena’s bloody curtain where the Tributes were nothing but numbers, nothing but pawns the elites forced around their imaginary board. Rhysand had never seen so much money in his life—certainly not before his own Games started. He sometimes wondered just how much of it went out of the Capitol’s pocket just to get him through to the end—right behind that curtain. Right into their laps.

Some people called him lucky to have ended up here. Others—the Victors, mostly—preferred to call him names he’d rather not think about right now. Rhysand, though—he liked to call himself a strategist. Part of something bigger.

After the sponsors poured all their money down the drain, there came the worst part of it all—the waiting. Countless pairs of eyes glued to the holoscreen, either widening in shock as their favoured fell, or narrowing in smugness as they cut down yet another victim of the country sworn to protect them. Each time, Rhysand would etch the victim’s name into his memory, knowing it was already forgotten by their sponsor, the funds already moved to their executioner.

These, Rhysand learned far too late in his life, were the true Hunger Games. The Tributes, their families, their Districts—all meaningless, all mere pawns to satisfy those at the very top. To feed the Capitol, starving for entertainment.

There would come a time when they starved to their deaths—or, better yet, choked on their own greed. It was the only hope he held onto these days. The only thing that kept him going through the past decade.

So Rhysand waited, eyes focused on the holo as he began writing yet another name into the most shielded corner of his heart.

Nuan of District Three must have been one of the cleverest Tributes he’d ever seen. Even through the screen, he could practically hear the wheels of her mind turning. For someone so young, her intelligence and wit had already gained her a sponsor, determined to see the ceremonial crown placed atop her head—to see the gold reflected proudly in her black hair. The man had made sure she’d lasted through the winter day with a coat and the proper tools to light a fire—all proven useless in the end, though, with Nuan figuring out how to keep herself warm hours before the package was delivered. The freshly killed elk’s body heat and warm blood had not been a sight the sponsor particularly enjoyed, but Rhysand watched the entire spectacle with a smile on his face.

That smile was long gone now. Nuan was clever, yes, and she’d managed to make it to the final four—but it was not enough.

It was not nearly enough.

Rhysand, frankly, had no idea how the girl had learned about the coming storm. The sponsor couldn’t have told her—it was against the rules and closely monitored by the Gamemakers—which only meant more credit was due to Nuan’s skills. With the autumn day still around the corner and the spring and summer days seemingly following their old pattern, there were no signs of the coming changes. Only a handful of sponsors had been told of the Prime Gamemaker’s plans to “make things more interesting,” as Eris Vanserra had called it. The fire, he’d said, had been a spectacle, yes—but he hardly enjoyed watching the same show twice, a sentiment the sponsors certainly shared with the final hours of the Games approaching at last.

The wire, Rhys had to admit, was perhaps one of the most brilliant strategies he’d ever witnessed in his ten years of experience. He’d been confused about Nuan’s choice of weaponry ever since he saw her sprinting for it at the Cornucopia—armed only with the long, metal string and a short dagger, Rhys did not anticipate the girl to last this long.

She’d wrapped one end around the bark of an oak tree, the thin cord disappearing in the dried-up grass before dipping into the neighbouring river. It was the perfect trap—if timed correctly. The moment her victim’s foot stepped on the wire—and the lightning struck the tree—would be the moment they drew their last breath. The only thing left for Nuan to do was to hide in the bushes and wait for the storm to come.

It was already too late.

The camera zoomed in on the girl’s face, her gaze focused on the sky above. The sun was starting to come down, greyish clouds already shielding the arena from its light. Rhys could almost hear the thoughts churning in Nuan’s head—the storm is coming. But Nuan did not—could not—see what Rhys saw.

Brannagh was coming, too.

And she was a lot faster than the storm.

A smirk twisted Brannagh’s dirt-smeared face, unease curling in the pit of Rhys’s stomach at the sight. She looked more like an animal than a girl now, he thought, the urge to kill almost primal as it flashed in her eyes. A predator ready to dig her claws into her prey.

The live footage followed Brannagh’s every step, dreadfully quiet against the sun-scorched soil as she made way for the river. If Nuan stayed hidden well enough, perhaps Brannagh would’ve set up camp nearby—would’ve stayed until the rain started pouring.

But Nuan’s attention remained on the clouds high above, her expression tight with anticipation, and Brannagh…Brannagh moved too silently to make her presence known.

It would take a sound—a single crunch of a twig beneath Nuan’s feet, a rustle of the bushes wrapped around her slim body to let Brannagh know she was not alone in the clearing. Rhys’s heart picked up, thumping loudly against his ribs, as if to yell loud enough for Nuan to heed its warning. If only he could be there, somehow—or send a message, one of those silver parachutes to carry a weapon of more substance than the pathetic knife strapped to Nuan’s boot. The holoscreen separating them reminded Rhys that, just like any other Tribute in the past, Nuan was all on her own.

“Come on,” he murmured, chin propped up in his hand. “Look down.”

“Nervous, Rhysand?”

The voice snapped him back to reality so suddenly he nearly flinched—he certainly would have, had he not gotten used to hearing it almost every night. On the holo, Nuan fidgeted with the spare wire in her hands, as though she, too, heard the syrupy question.

Rhys turned to Amarantha with a lazy wave of his hand. “This has been dragging on too long,” he complained, motioning to the screen. “That District Two girl should just get on with it.”

She took her seat on the couch beside him, the deep maroon of her hair spilling over the back. “So bloodthirsty,” she purred, trailing a long, sharp nail down his shoulder. Before he could stop himself, Rhys shivered, and Amarantha smiled, clearly misinterpreting his reaction.“I’m surprised you’re so eager to see Brannagh move forward,” she added, her gaze flicking to the holo.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Rhys asked, letting his own mouth curl in a smile. “The sooner the Games are over, the sooner I have you all to myself again,” he teased, brushing a thumb over her pale hand.

Amarantha did not so much as look in his direction, her focus on Brannagh now as she kneeled by the stream. “That is not what I meant.”

Rhys’s smile faltered. “Oh?”

Her head angled an inch. “Brannagh seems to be awfully determined to get to a favourite of yours,” she mused quietly.

For a moment, Rhysand’s heart stopped beating.

Did she know?

She couldn’t have—she simply couldn’t. She’d shown no apprehension towards him in the lounge the other day—and certainly none in the night that followed—and he’d been so careful, lot more than in the past few years. There was no chance anyone had found out about his meeting with—

Rhysand composed himself quickly.

“Come now, Amarantha,” he hummed, pressing his lips to the cold hand on his arm, willing her eyes back on his own. “You’ve known me long enough now to know I don’t play favourites. Well,” he winked. “Except for one, I suppose.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she seemed to ease up a little, her lips pursing playfully as she countered, “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a shameless flirt, Rhysand.” He chuckled, letting Amarantha study his face as she explained, “I meant Feyre Archeron, of course.”

She looked briefly to the live footage, where Nuan finally seemed to have taken notice of the Career a mere few feet away from her.

“Our shining Star of the Capitol,” Amarantha hummed absently.

Rhys forced his gaze away from her face, letting that trained boredom fill his own as he looked to the screen as well. “Feyre Archeron?” he asked, scrunching his nose slightly. “I thought she was already dead.”

The words soured in his throat, the strange sense of betrayal they carried making his stomach tighten painfully.

Amarantha hummed again. “Not yet.”

Rhys blinked. Somewhere, in a world far away from this one, Nuan began silently stepping out of the bushes, the wire clenched tightly in her palm as she crept up on the Career. Brannagh would be far gone before the storm even started—she must’ve decided to act now.

“What do you mean?” he asked somewhat breathlessly, her answer knocking nearly all the air from his lungs.

Amarantha blinked, too, her dark eyes flicking back to him as she explained quickly, “I’m only saying if you’re not even half as bloodthirsty as that dirty Career, our lovely Feyre is unlikely to hold her own against such…”

A loud scream sounded from the holo as Nuan fell to the ground, a knife deep in her throat, fresh blood staining the corners of her mouth. Brannagh hunched over the girl, breathing in an out sharply, hand pressed to her side—just below her liver, Rhys realised, where Nuan’s wire had managed to bury itself seconds before her death.

“…talent,” Amarantha finished.

Nuan coughed for the final time, blood gurgling out loud enough for the cameras to hear, before her eyes stilled, a glossy veil falling over her panicked gaze. The cannon boomed, marking the Tribute’s death.

Amarantha sighed, rising from the couch. “And then there were three.”

Rhys forced himself to look up at her and smile. “Shall we watch the finale back at my place?” he asked, his voice dipping suggestively.

She took his jaw in her hand, thumb brushing the crest of his bottom lip. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Amarantha teased. “No, I’m afraid I will be watching with Grandfather tonight.”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “Since when?” he blurted before he could really think the question through.

Her smile faded. “The President values my company, Rhysand.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He shifted in his seat. “Of course—that’s not what I—”

Amarantha laughed—a low, raspy sound. “I like watching you squirm,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’ll see me after the ceremony—you can be sure of that.”

Fuck!

He was an idiot—an utter fool for not keeping his cool when it mattered most. This was it—his chance to be there, to get her to take him with her, to finally get to a place where only one person before him had ever managed to get to. 

And Rhys ruined all of it.

She took him by surprise—she’d always stayed with him for the finale, with Hybern preferring his own company as the Games reached their climax. If he’d been smart, Rhys would’ve waited—would’ve fucked her senseless for it if need be, just as he’d done a thousand times before.

He missed his chance.

“I’ll miss you,” he threw in desperately, a pathetic attempt to gain what was already lost.

Amarantha leaned over the couch, the crimson of her lipstick flashing before she captured his mouth with her own, her tongue demanding immediate entry. He let her in, the way he’d always done, responding with the passion he knew would make her seek him out one way or another later—perhaps he’d manage to pull some information out of her, when she was tired and exhausted and naked in his bed.

Her teeth dug into his lip for the final time before she pulled back, a secretive smile playing on her pale features. “I’m sure you will,” Amarantha said. “Until next time.”

With that, she was gone, the door to his room closing with a light click.

Rhys vomited.

***

“Feyre.”

Feyre kept her gaze on the path ahead. She had no interest in stopping—not with the sun minutes away from setting, and certainly not with the fire sure to start within hours. She would not survive the autumn day again, that she was sure of. This—all of it—needed to end.

Now.

“Feyre,” Tamlin pressed behind her, his large hand reaching to capture her own. Even with the summer’s wet heat slipping away, his skin felt clammy against hers. Feyre ignored the feeling. It was nice to feel someone else’s touch, she realised. Especially since she might very well be dead in a matter of hours.

“Stop.”

She did, the new firmness in his tone halting her in her tracks. Tamlin’s face was hard as stone as she faced him, though the look his eyes was enough to betray exhaustion—they’d been walking for two hours now, moving from one corner of the arena to the other, guided by the river’s shimmering stream.

It had flushed out Tarquin’s blood within minutes, but even now, miles away from where they’d left his body, Feyre swore she could see red staining the water. Feyre knew the Capitol’s ship had probably picked him up soon after they’d left the clearing, and yet, she couldn’t shake the horrid image off her mind. Rotting flesh, slowly sinking into the mud or slipping into the river. Limbs caught up in the net—the net meant for her.

How many had already died so that Feyre might live?

She began counting them mentally, averting Tamlin’s searching gaze. The girl from Four, killed by a dagger seconds after they Games had begun—a dagger Ianthe aimed for Feyre’s throat. Devlon, terrible as he might’ve been, caught up in Brannagh’s bloodlust. Even Ianthe, whose bow now lay strapped to Feyre’s back.

Ressina.

Ressina, who would’ve lived had it not been for Feyre trying to play the Capitol’s game. She was good, her mind as sharp as her physical ability. Had it not been for the trap Feyre had set up, Ressina could’ve very well managed to survive until the very end. It could’ve been her friend now marching for the Cornucopia, ready to put an end to all of it.

Instead, it was Feyre, who only got this far because of sheer luck and whatever it was that Tamlin felt for her. She’d kissed him in that clearing, with Tarquin’s body as a witness. They’d barely spoken since then.

Perhaps, just as Feyre did, Tamlin was starting to realise they could not leave the arena the way they were now—hand in hand. Only one would survive.

And if they managed to kill the two Tributes left…

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Tamlin said quietly.

She slipped her hand out of his grasp.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Feyre looked up to meet that emerald gaze, now stern with conviction. “The sun is setting,” she explained.

“Yes,” Tamlin agreed.

Feyre sighed. Her answer, apparently, was not good enough. “I’m worried about the fire.” Not entirely a lie—she had been thinking about it just a moment ago.

Tamlin’s shoulders fell a little—as though in relief. “There’s nothing we can do about that now.”

“Yes, there is,” Feyre countered. “Once we reach the Cornucopia—”

“We don’t even know if the other Tributes are there,” Tamlin interrupted. “The Games will not end tonight, Feyre. We should find shelter for the night.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested it in the past hour. Feyre’s lips thinned—no matter how many time she’d pressed, Tamlin simply refused to back down. As if he wanted to prolong the Games, for whatever reason. He’d have to kill her eventually, anyway.

Feyre certainly wasn’t going to kill him. She had enough blood on her hands to understand there was no going back.

She could never go home again. How could she? To face Elain, so kind and gentle and good, and expect her to love a murderer? To face Nesta, who valued loyalty above all else, knowing she had watched as Feyre killed the one friend who’d looked out for her? No. Her sisters were lost to her.

Tamlin, at least, would get to go back. It was the one consolation she had left. After everything she’d done, at least she could set things right with him. He protected her—had lied and killed for her out of nothing but the affection in his heart—and he would get to go home because of it. He deserved it. District Twelve deserved it.

If it came down to the two of them at the end, Feyre knew what she’d have to do.

And there was not a shred of regret in her heart because of it.

“Feyre,” Tamlin’s voice, deep and unwavering, sounded again.

“We are so close, Tamlin,” she said, something heavy building up in her chest. “So close.” You could be going home.

Tamlin sighed. “That’s what worries me.” He turned slightly, gaze sliding over the trees around them until they settled at some point far to their right—as though he could see something there. A bird nesting deep between the leaves, a stray squirrel, perhaps, or worse—Brannagh, her favourite dagger already in hand, ready to slice it through their throats.

A split second later, though, Tamlin seemed to relax, powerful shoulders relaxing a little as he reached for her hand, thumb gently swiping over the back of her palm. She couldn’t help but lean into the touch—just how many of them did she have left?

“Tamlin,” she admitted, her voice quieter than a breath lest the Capitol could hear. “I’m scared.”

He squeezed her tightly. “There’s nothing to be scared about,” he told her with a rare smile. “I’ll protect you.”

No, you won’t, Feyre thought, though the words remained silent in the back of her throat. I won’t give you that chance.

He must’ve seen it, then—the pained look twisting her face, the shadows clouding her stare—because his brows knitted slightly, and he straightened. “Feyre,” Tamlin started, “Why—”

His question died with the loud boom of a cannon, so close to the two of them it might as well have been their own deaths it marked.

Feyre’s heart stopped beating entirely, her blood chilling into ice.

“Brannagh?” she dared to ask, the question no more than a whisper.

Tamlin’s eyes widened. “We need to move,” he urged, tugging on the hand she forgot he’d been holding. “Now, Feyre.”

She did not object this time.

They ran back into the forest, far away from the path laid out by the stream, the trees offering shelter from the fading sun. Three—there were three of them left.

The Games were coming to an end.

Feyre could only pray—pray to whoever would listen—that the cannon had been set off for Brannagh, that the girl from Three had somehow managed to kill the Career hell-bent on coming after the two of them. The thought almost made her stumble over her own steps.

Feyre considered the prayer again. Then again. And again.

Perhaps…perhaps this was her solution.

She already knew she wasn’t making it out of here alive—not when Tamlin was still by her side, breathing and in perfect health. She also suspected that if it came down to the two of them, Tamlin would not let her sacrifice herself for him.

Brannagh, though…

Feyre was certain the District Two Tribute shared no such sentiment.

Tamlin could handle her on his own—Feyre had no doubt of that. And Brannagh…Brannagh could handle Feyre.

Feyre swallowed thickly.

Elain, Nesta. I’m so sorry.

“There’s a cave just ahead,” Tamlin said beside her, motioning to the pile of rocks hiding an entry just under an oak tree. “We can wait out the fire there.”

Feyre nodded.

The moment Tamlin fell asleep, she would be gone.

Just as the cave she’d hidden in before, the space was cold and dark, the wet soil clinging to the soles of her boots. Near the entrance, a plush patch of moss laid waiting, the grassy scent mixing with the pungent mud. Feyre coughed once, then twice, earning a concerned look from Tamlin. She shook her head.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said. “It’s just…the smell.”

Tamlin scrunched his nose—then shrugged. “It’ll have to do.”

“You should get some rest,” Feyre told him, willing strength into her voice. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Feyre,” Tamlin’s tone invited no argument. “I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, but you almost died today. Died, Feyre.”

She huffed a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, what else is new?”

Tamlin rolled his eyes. “Very funny. I’ll go out and try to find us some dinner. We’ll need something to hold us over during the fire, won’t we?”

Feyre chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t think—”

She didn’t get to finish. Without warning, Tamlin pulled her in to his chest, arms wrapping tightly around her as his mouth crashed into her own.

The kiss, unlike the one they’d shared by the river, was quick and chaste—but it was enough for her body to slump a little, exhaustion hitting her all at once. She could wait a little, Feyre decided. The forest was still ripe with prey, and the sun had only just now set. She could sleep—for the final time.

“Wake me up when you’re back,” she told him when he finally pulled back.

Tamlin nodded. “I will.”

And just like that, he left.

***

Ressina’s laughter was warm even underground, the sound echoing through the training ring.

“I’m really trying,” Feyre grumbled.

“Oh, I can tell,” her friend teased, teeth flashing in a mocking smile. “You really showed that dummy, you know.”

Feyre followed her gaze to the back wall—right where the dummy stood proudly, untouched by what seemed like a hundred daggers at its feet.

She sighed deeply.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Ressina tried again, stepping in closer to Feyre’s side. “Your stance has improved, but the issue is in your grip. Here,” she instructed, long, slender fingers wrapping around Feyre’s wrist. “Loosen it up a little. Not that much,” she said when the dagger fell flat in Feyre’s hand. “You still need the strength to throw it—but its the flexibility of your wrist that will guide the knife to its aim.”

“Where did you learn all of that, anyway?” Feyre asked her absently, eyes narrowing on the target once again as she adjusted her stance.

“I’ve told you,” Ressina said. “Apple farms.”

Feyre gave her a look.

Ressina chuckled. “You’re clever, Feyre. More clever than you think. Oh, that’s a good thing,” she added at the sight of Feyre’s rising brows, then nodded to the knife in her hand. “Daggers can only get you so far.”

Feyre followed her gaze—then looked to the dummy once again. She made herself count to three, releasing a deep, deep breath with each second until her shoulders steadied, and the knife became as much as an extension of her own hand.

A moment later, the blade lodged itself right in the puppet’s heart.

Feyre turned to Ressina. “I don’t know about that.”

Ressina smiled.

***

Feyre’s eyes shot open.

Propped up on her elbow, she lifted herself off the cold ground, heart thumping loudly in her chest. The sound of Ressina’s laughter still rang somewhere in the corners of her mind, the memory, too, like a knife burying itself deep into Feyre’s heart.

She blinked the stinging sensation away, her vision adjusting to the darkness around her. She could just barely make out the moss growing at the cave’s entrance, ruffled slightly by the night’s gentle wind.

It was then that Feyre realised she was alone.

She jolted upright, hand nearly slipping on the wet ground. Just how long had she been asleep?

“Tamlin?” she dared to whisper. Perhaps he was simply keeping watch outside. But no—he’d promised to wake her when he returned. What if…

What if Tamlin was never meaning to come back?

He could’ve planned for his own death the same way she had—the cannon told them Brannagh wasn’t far, after all. What if Tamlin had left for his own death, hoping to spare her from having to kill him at the very end?

“Tamlin,” Feyre tried again, voice growing desperate. She had no doubt there were cameras in the cave somewhere—she didn’t care. Not right now, when she needed to go and find him—needed to try and—

A quiet jingle sounded outside, breaking out of her panic.

She recognised it almost immediately, rising to her feet to meet the parachute outside. Perhaps, for whatever reason, Rhysand had taken pity on her again, and was now sending her some sort of protection from the fire. Or maybe, just maybe, the parachute was meant for Tamlin—and, hearing its gentle call, he was already on his way back to her.

The moment Feyre stepped outside, the parachute landed right in her hands.

Not for Tamlin, then.

The package was smaller than her last—only a small box hung attached to the silver fabric, nearly invisible in the darkness. She couldn’t have been asleep for long, then—the sky seemed nowhere near clearing up, the few stars above her only light as she unscrewed the top.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting—a protective balm for her skin, maybe, anything to let her know the wild, ravaging fire would not be how she went out of this world.

Inside laid a neatly rolled piece of paper, the elegant, familiar handwriting no more than five words:

Don’t let the Hunger win.

Feyre read the message again. Then again—and again.

She gave up with the sixth time.

“What does that even mean?” she asked the stars, twinkling playfully in response. Feyre threw her arms up in exasperation.

“I don’t have time for this,” she grumbled, shoving Rhysand’s secretive message into her back pocket.

She needed to find Tamlin—and she needed to do it now.

***

“And you’re certain,” Rhysand said, his voice shaking slightly on the chill, underground air.

“Positive,” Nuala confirmed. “The parachute went out ten minutes ago.” 

He loosed a breath. “Did she already receive ours?” She nodded. “Good. How much until the other?”

She shifted on her feet—a rare sight, and it only made his stomach tighten. If anything went wrong…

“Cerridwen is monitoring the cameras,” Nuala said.

“No names,” Rhys hissed.

“Right,” she scrambled. “Right, of course. I—yes. Tamlin should receive it within minutes.”

Rhysand forced another, frigid breath. “Did she send it personally?”

“She’s not stupid. And, from what you told me, she is occupied.”

“Right.” He’d almost forgotten.

Silence fell, filled by nothing but darkness between the two of them. It seemed that the waning hours of the Games were getting to Rhys, too—and more than he’d anticipated.

“We warned her,” Nuala said quietly—a shred of comfort in a situation like this.

“She won’t understand until she sees what they sent him,” Rhys countered. “And even then—”

“And even then, you’ll have done everything in our power to keep her alive,” Nuala pressed. “The only thing left for us to do is wait.”

The waiting is the worst part, Rhys remembered.

Still, he had no other choice.

It was up to Feyre now.

He could only pray she’d understand.

***

She found Tamlin not even ten minutes later, crouched behind tall bushes, eyes fixed entirely on whatever they were hiding. A sob nearly shook through her body at the sight—he was still alive. He still had a chance.

Feyre approached him silently, her bow strapped securely to her back as she kneeled beside him. “Tam—”

A large hand clamped her mouth shut as Tamlin whipped toward her, his gaze shining with alarm. Feyre’s breath quickened—his reaction could only mean one thing.

They were not alone.

Slowly, Tamlin released her face from his hold, his own finger pressed to his lips tightly, urging her to keep quiet. It was then that Feyre noticed a glimmer of silver near his feet—a piece of familiar fabric abandoned on the grass. Her brow arched in question.

Tamlin shook his head. Fine—he’d tell her later. Whatever it was the sponsors had sent him, it could apparently wait.

Feyre moved in closer toward him, reaching for the thin branches shielding her vision from view. She suppressed a hiss as a sharp pain shot through her finger, tearing the skin open at the tip. Thorns.

Tamlin’s gaze remained focused on the path ahead as she tried again, quietly opening a gap between the leaves to reveal whatever it was that commanded Tamlin’s full attention.

Her heart nearly froze at the sight.

They’d reached the Cornucopia.

She hadn’t seethe horn-like structure since the Games had begun, made of the same metal as the boxes sent from the Capitol and gleaming with its own, humming light. Feyre had forgotten just how large it was—just how much it could hide.

It was Brannagh’s whines that gave her away.

She sat on the east of the horn, back resting against the hardened walls, each one of her breaths falling flat. Feyre’s eyes widened—even the bushes seemed to go lethally still at the sight of the injured Career.

Brannagh’s hand laid pressed to somewhere near her stomach, her clothes bloodied slightly, though Feyre knew her well enough by now to know there was no telling if the blood was truly her own. There was no denying she was injured, though—perhaps injured enough to kill with enough ease.

This ruined her plans a bit.

Tamlin’s hand on her thigh snapped her back to their hiding spot. “We have to kill her,” Tamlin whispered, the sound barely audible on the midnight wind.

Feyre’s heart reset, stumbling over a beat. “Tamlin,” she breathed, “No—wait—”

“There’s no time, Feyre,” he urged. “We have to end this now.”

“Tamlin,” Feyre said, panic rising in her voice, “if we kill Brannagh, we’ll be the only two Tributes left.” She couldn’t kill him. She wouldn’t.

Once again, Tamlin’s face became stone. “We’ll have to deal with that later.”

“No,” she pressed. In the distance, Brannagh whined again—as though in confirmation. Even the wind seemed to pick up, howling somewhere in the distance. Could Feyre truly kill her like this? “There is another way. There has to be,” she said, more to herself now than him. What if—what if they could all get out of there alive. If they stood against the Capitol

“Feyre—”

“We’re not killers, Tamlin,” she pleaded. “We have to try. We can’t let them win.”

Don’t let the hunger win. Was that what Rhysand meant?

Surely, if we all refused to kill each other…I doubt they’d keep us trapped in here forever. Those were her own words, weren’t they? Spoken to Ressina shortly before her death. Perhaps that was why she’d dreamt of her earlier—perhaps the dream was her friend’s final message, her final lesson to keep Feyre alive.

She’d written off her death so easily, Feyre thought, a new sense of guilt washing over her at the realisation. She’d promised Elain to survive—she’d promised Ressina to bring the Capitol down after she did.

And Feyre would. She would make the Capitol pay for this—for all of this.

But first, the three of them were getting out of here alive.

Feyre stood abruptly and marched straight for the Cornucopia.

“FEYRE!” Tamlin roared behind her. Too late.

Brannagh, to her credit, shot to her feet instantly, a hiss managing its way past her lips with the movement. Not even her injury, it seemed, managed to keep the cruel smile off her face.

“Twelve,” she greeted, rising to her full height. “I’ve been waiting.” A look past Feyre’s shoulder, where Tamlin’s hurried steps now sounded. “And you’ve brought the traitor, too.”

“How did you know I’d be coming?” Feyre asked, her tone calm to her own surprise.

Brannagh shrugged, face twisting painfully—wrong move. What had the girl from Three done to her? “You’re the Star of the Capitol, aren’t you?” A raspy laugh. “Of course you’d want to have your moment to shine. Sorry to disappoint,” she added, “but even in my state, I can kill you right where you stand.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Tamlin said behind her.

Brannagh’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Stay out of this, flower boy. This is between us girls.” A smile at Feyre. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Feyre told her.

Now that seemed to throw her off. “What?”

“We can get out of here, Brannagh,” she told her the same thing she’d said to Tamlin. “All three of us—we can go home.”

Brannagh looked as though she’d gone insane.

Still, Feyre continued, “Please—please just hear me out. I know you don’t want this—I know you wouldn’t be this if it weren’t for the Games. We can all get out. If we stand our ground—if we refuse—”

Brannagh erupted in laughter.

The sound quickly turned into a cough—a flat, shuddering sound, her arms wrapping tighter around her sides.

“They got her,” Tamlin murmured, now a mere step behind Feyre. “It’s her liver, I think. Look at her hand.”

“You dumb bitch,” Brannagh laughed, “I knew you were crazy, but this has got to top it all.” Her dark gaze, now clearer than ever before, settled directly on Feyre’s. “You think you have a chance here? You think any of us do? Open your eyes, Twelve,” she hissed. “Only one of us is getting out of here tonight. And that someone is going to be me.”

“You’re dying,” Tamlin pointed out quietly. Somewhere in the distance, the sky rumbled loudly—enough to make all three of them flinch, as if in confirmation of his words. Was that a storm coming? 

It couldn’t be, Feyre thought. Not with the fire a few hours away.

Brannagh tore her gaze off the sky to face them once more. “The Capitol will take care of me the moment you two are dead.”

“You’re a fool if you think the Capitol is ever going to take care of you, Brannagh,” Feyre said.

Brannagh’s eyes widened at that—and, for a split second, Feyre believed they had a chance.

If only.

“I’m no bigger fool than you,” she said, and attacked.

Feyre had no idea how Brannagh managed to launch for her this quickly—or when, exactly, the daggers appeared in her bloodied hands. She could only see the two flashes of silver as the Career swung, inches away from her neck.

Tamlin’s hands on her waist pulled her back with a force so strong Feyre gasped out in surprise. She swayed, heels digging into the ground as she tried to regain her balance, Tamlin’s own weapon already in his hand and charging for his enemy.

Brannagh ducked just in time to avoid his sword slicing her in half, but the move cost her—the strain on her wound made a sharp cry slip past her throat as she fell, back hitting the hard, solid ground. Her scream was cut off as she choked on her own breath, eyes threatening to fall out of their orbits at the impact. Brannagh grasped at the weeds around her, her hands weaponless now with her daggers abandoned from the fall, then choked again as she realised—it was over.

Feyre stepped in closer until her boots covered Brannagh’s blades—better safe than sorry, she told herself. Even disarmed, she was still dangerous.

Tamlin hovered above her, the tip of his own blade pointed at the defeated Career. Brannagh closed her eyes.

“Wait,” Feyre told him. Tamlin’s head whipped toward her.

“What?”

“Brannagh,” she urged, not daring another look at Tamlin. “Please. You have a chance here.”

Lightning tore through the darkness with her words—as if the night sky itself was in agreement.

With her remaining strength, Brannagh shook her head. “Y-you,” she wheezed, body convulsing with the effort, “You don’t mean that, Twelve.”

“We’re more than just numbers, Brannagh,” she told her. The sky rumbled again.

“Go…” Brannagh coughed, “…go fuck yourself.”

“That’s enough,” Tamlin said, hands wrapping tighter around the hilt.

Feyre’s vision flashed with alarm. “Tamlin, wait—”

Brannagh did not get to close her eyes again as Tamlin drove his sword deep into her throat.

Her body slumped against the grass, so small now that the soul was gone from it entirely. Feyre looked away from the blood—from what seemed like a sea of it pooling around her, turning the lush green into crimson—and yet, no matter how far she seemed to avert her gaze, the red found her still. She saw it everywhere now—the grass, the walls of the Cornucopia, the bark of the trees at the edge of the forest. Her own hands, marked by it forever.

The cannon sounded with the first rainfall.

Beside her, Tamlin was panting, those emerald eyes fixed on Brannagh’s dead body. Feyre could see the blood in them now, too. The water would wash it away, she realised, watching as the rain dotted her skin. It would wash it away and make space for more to be spilled.

“Tamlin,” Feyre whispered, the sound drowned out by the howling wind. The rain intensified, accompanied by more thunder, closer and closer with every roar. “Tamlin!”

“We need to take shelter!” he called to her, his hair already wet and clinging to his neck. He motioned to the Cornucopia—and took off.

Feyre had no choice but to run after him, Brannagh’s body discarded for the storm to claim.

“Tamlin,” she tried again once they stood under the silvery roof. Yet another cave of the Capitol’s making.

“The fire isn’t coming,” he said, as if that was the answer she was seeking. “I’m not sure which one of these is worse.”

“Tamlin.”

Finally, finally, Tamlin looked at her, something like a shadow clouding his expression. Feyre exhaled shakily. “What do we do?”

His jaw tightened. “We can’t get out of here. Likely for the next twenty-four hours.”

Feyre couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Tamlin, I’m not talking about—”

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” he interrupted, something urgent in his eyes with the question. Something pleading.

He’d just killed Brannagh, Feyre understood. And, if they failed to oppose the Capitol…he’d have to kill her, too. 

She could give him one more minute.

“Okay,” Feyre breathed. “Okay.” She considered. “Since the spring day. But, like you said—we can’t go out.” Not with the storm raging by the minute.

Tamlin swallowed thickly. “I have food,” he said, then reached into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a shiny, silver box.

Feyre’s shoulders fell. It was decently sized that the two of them could share it, she supposed. “Is that what they’d sent you earlier?”

Tamlin nodded. “I’ve already had some before you found me—I’m sorry I didn’t go wake you. I thought she’d die on her own there.”

Feyre kept her eyes on the box. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Tamlin sighed. “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he said, then opened the lid.

The box was filled to the brim with something—fruit, Feyre realised, making out their small, round shapes in the semi-darkness of the Cornucopia. Berries. It wasn’t meat, but it would be enough to hold them over for some time—especially if they’d been sent from—

Feyre blinked.

I had a sister once, you know, Tamlin said, not looking her in the eye as the city lights twinkled in the distance. She died when we were little.

Feyre remembered Tamlin from back home. Tamlin Rosethorn, the florist’s son. They’d never spoken, but ever since she was old enough to roam the District streets, she would see him around, clinging to his mother’s leg. She remembered his brothers, too—older, working their days in the mines or fighting each other in the streets whenever they got the chance.

But a sister…

Are you doubting yourself, Tamlin? Amarantha’s syrupy voice poured into her head.

No. But I do wish there was another solution.

That was the night she’d overheard them after training.

Her name was Dalia, Tamlin had told her minutes after, stumbling over his words. She was a lot like you, I think.

Feyre stopped breathing.

Poor Tamlin, Amarantha had crooned after the interviews. Young love can be so heartbreaking.

Be careful who you trust, Feyre, Rhysand had told her moments later.

One day, my sister was going back from the mines through the forest, Tamlin’s voice sounded again. And she picked up some nightlock berries.

Don’t let the hunger win.

Feyre swallowed. Hard.

“Tamlin,” she started slowly, looking up to meet his gaze. “What was your sister’s name?”

Tamlin’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“Just…tell me. Please.”

“I…” he hesitated, his stare dropping to the berries, then back to Feyre—then to the berries again. “Lila,” he said slowly. “Her name was Lila.”

Feyre’s chest tightened.

We all have to survive somehow. Her own words, said to Isaac shortly before her life fell apart.

This, apparently, had been Tamlin’s way.

“Wrong answer,” Feyre whispered.

Tamlin took a step back. Then another, until she realised he was not backing away—no, Tamlin was adopting his stance.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Feyre begged, even as she knew he was already lost to her.

Tamlin shook his head. “I really wish you had chosen the berries, Feyre.”

And with that, he reached for his sword.

“There can only be one.”

He betrayed her.

He’d been betraying her since the very beginning.

I’ll always protect you, Feyre. Lie, lie, lie.

She could protect herself.

Ressina’s dagger found its way into her hand naturally—like an extension of her wrist, part of her own flesh.

The world slowed down as Feyre made herself count to three, the rain outside blurry as her vision sharpened on one, singular target with a sword in his hand and pain in his eyes.

One.

Two.

“Three,” Feyre said, then plunged the dagger right into Tamlin’s heart.

***

Rhysand sat on the edge of his bed, unaware of the storm hurling at his windows.

He could only see the storm in the arena, clear on the holo as if it was happening right in front of him. Could only see as Tamlin swayed back into the wall of hardened rain with the knife buried in his chest to the hilt.

He looked at Feyre, mouth agape, as though he would say something—anything. None of it would matter.

His sword fell a second before Tamlin, his body hitting the ground with a loud thud.

He did not move again.

A few feet away, Feyre watched as the last Tribute stilled into nothingness.

And then, she blinked.

The determination Rhys had seen on her face moments prior faded instantly, replaced by a panic so palpable he swore he felt it in his own chest. Her blue-grey eyes went wide, freezing in terror as she waited for Tamlin to rise, to take another breath. Rhysand knew—he remembered. Tamlin was lost.

And Feyre was alone.

Slowly, Feyre took a staggering step forward, her face as though in a haze. Then, she took another—and one more, until she reached Tamlin’s side at last.

Rhysand stood, feet carrying him to the holo as if they could reach her, stopping only when he faced the shimmering blue screen.

The camera zoomed in on its star, close enough to capture the tremor that shook through her body, the wobble of her knees as she realised there was no going back. As she, too, understood, just how alone they were in this world.

Her legs gave out.

Feyre fell to her knees beside Tamlin’s dead body, looked up to the storm-torn sky, and screamed.

Rhysand’s palm found the screen. As if to brush the tears off her face.

I understand, he wanted to say. I understand.

For the first time in ten years, Rhys let himself cry.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @foreverinelysian @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling @itisiyourfemur @to-read-or-to-read @bookish-dream @darling-archeron

[jessamine-rose]

⋆‧͙˚*✧•̩̩͙*˚  Fairytale  ˚*•̩̩͙✧*˚‧͙⋆

I thought that writing Herbarium would free me from the Capitano agenda. But I was wrong and now we have a side story + epilogue written from Capitano’s POV…….pls don’t expect much from this, as it’s just a collection of dark fluff and bonus scenes which take place throughout Herbarium. Also, three cheers for Sumeru update ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

To those who previously enjoyed Herbarium, I hope you enjoy this fic and don’t mind me tagging you. I will forever be grateful for your feedback!! And thank you once again to my dear friend @diodellet​ for peer-reviewing another self-indulgent fic :’>

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, violence, blood, murder, psychological trauma, mention of child abuse, mention of nsfw, spice, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader described as physically weak and smaller than Capitano, pre-release characterization of Capitano which will likely be obliterated by canon lore

♡ 3.3k words under the cut ♡

i. Once upon a time, an unlikely romance blossomed between a Monster and a Damsel.

The battlefield is a merciless place. A corner of the world nourished by violence and bloodshed, a place where only the strong could lay claim to honor and victory. For as long as he had been a Fatui Harbinger, Il Capitano had full control over this domain.

On the battlefield, there is no chance to appreciate the beauty of the natural surroundings, not when all would eventually be sullied by blood and death.

And yet here he is, standing in a peaceful meadow so far removed from the reality of the world. Having fallen victim to an opponent like no other, whose weapons take the form of melancholic glances and immortalized flowers.

“This is for you.”

She gives him flowers again. The dandelions are pressed between two sheets of parchment paper, puffy seeds flattened and denied of their promised liberation.

And just as he had done with that fateful bunch of windwheel asters, Capitano accepts her gift.

“The flowers are preserved this time,” he notes. “Are these from your personal collection?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t share my flowers. I picked these two weeks ago and pressed them for you.”

“And for what reason have you taken pains to offer this gift to me?”

She looks up, directly facing him. “You don’t seem to be the touristy type. I just thought that you might like a souvenir of Mondstadt to bring home. Or think of it as compensation for helping me read those Snezhnayan classics.”

How strange. Many a soldier have looked at him with fear or hatred, oftentimes as the light faded from their eyes. On the other hand, there is a sense of privilege to be felt in occupying ______’s gaze. The melancholy look in her eyes is a mystery which he has yet to uncover.

“Your gesture is greatly appreciated.” He keeps the parcel in his coat pocket, careful not to crumple the flowers. “I shall see to it that your gift is properly maintained.”

“That is good to hear.” She looks away, ending that brief moment of recognition. Then she sits down on the grass and opens her library book, quickly absorbed in her newest story.

For her to put herself in such a vulnerable position before him…he cannot tell if her trust is a matter of blind naivete or foolish courage. Had she met a lesser person, she would have quickly fallen prey to the cruelty of the world.

His appointment in the Goth Grand Hotel will begin in a few minutes. It is time to resume his mission.

Capitano walks over to the edge of the meadow, nodding at a hidden subordinate. They bow and run deeper into the forest to prepare his carriage.

He looks at ______ one last time. She is still staring at her book, completely apathetic to his departure. Among the flowers, she presents the perfect image of ethereal beauty.

It would astonish many to hear that the Captain had fallen victim to the charms of such a delicate little flower. But that was the reality of this battlefield.

ii. The Monster, having fallen under the spell of true love, sought to become the Damsel’s protector.

Procuring information had been child’s play.

“My lord, the Maier son was spotted leaving the Angel’s Share! He will arrive in an hour.”

The Fatui agent is careful not to step on the blood. The cleaners already have their fair share of evidence to dispose of.

Capitano is still standing inside the Maiers’ office. “Keep an eye on him henceforth. Should he ever suspect the involvement of the Fatui or ______, eliminate him at once.”

“Yes, my lord!”

They rush out of the room. Capitano glances at the bodies on the floor.

The Maier couple had been cowards to the very end. Up until their slaughter, they had begged for mercy and spoken ill of their former foster child.

“Lord Harbinger, it is all a misunderstanding!”

“That brat! What kind of lies has she been telling everyone?!”

To think that he even granted them the mercy of a quick death. The Tsaritsa would forgive him for turning their mere interrogation into a spontaneous massacre. The suffering of his soldiers is nothing compared to what his darling had been forced to endure.

“My lord!” Another agent appears, holding up a worn folder. “We were successful in obtaining all records of ______ from Mondstadt Orphanage. All available personal information is listed in this folder, with the exception of the adoption papers.”

“Has the orphanage been sworn to secrecy?”

“They promised to never speak of her moving forward.”

Another pathetic lot. For a safe haven to be easily silenced with bribery and threats…he is already aware that injustice flourishes beyond the battlefield.

Capitano wipes the blood off his gloves and opens the folder. By now, he already knows most of his darling’s past through earlier background checks and careful deductions. There is nothing romantic to be found in her melancholy; it is simply the byproduct of a tragic story.

-

NAME: ______

STATUS: Dismissed at the age of 18.

-

How pitiful. All her life, she has been a powerless damsel deprived of hope and a kind savior. She was only able to leave her prisons once her tormentors were done with her.

“My lord.” The agent is still bowing before him. “We have already completed our other task. The purchased books will be delivered to your home shortly.”

“Confirm that the books will arrive before my return. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!”

He can still recall the titles and stories of every book his darling had read in the meadow alongside him. She has a fondness for fairytales, from the classics to dark fantasies to creative subversions. It is easy to tell which archetype Capitano would be associated with.

He would never be regarded as her hero or knight in shining armor. To claim that his love is honorable and pure would be a falsehood.

But he would protect her. He would place her in a tower so high that it would be impossible for anyone else to reach her. And regardless of her feelings, his darling would never be exposed to the violence of the world ever again.

He only hopes that she will quickly adapt to the merciless winters of Snezhnaya. A flower does not take kindly to being uprooted from its natural environment. However, she has shown him that it is more efficient to claim ownership over a pressed flower.

“My lord.” The cleaner gives him a brief bow. “All evidence of your involvement has been erased. What should we do with the bodies?”

“Leave them as they are. Let their deaths become a public spectacle in Mondstadt.”

So she may know of his resolve to destroy all of the monsters in her story, with himself as the sole exception.

Capitano closes the folder and turns to his darling’s slain tormentors.

“Let the consequences of their dishonor be put on display."

iii. Following the Monster’s profession of love, the couple was married in a faraway land.

There is no grand proposal or wedding. A few weeks after their arrival in Snezhnaya, Capitano presents his darling with a simple ring crafted in the likeness of flowers.

She doesn’t resist. She simply allows him to slip the ring onto her finger, flinching at their brief skin contact. Following that short ceremony, he begins calling her his wife.

His darling has adjusted to her new prison but she remains a silent captive. She denies him of her flowers and friendliness, instead offering her obedience as the bare minimum. It is a futile strategy, but Capitano can respect her logic.

She knows that she is locked in a one-sided battle. Eventually, she will concede defeat.

On occasion, he is granted small victories. He often catches his darling polishing her wedding ring despite it being a dreaded mark of his ownership. At one point, she had even dared to inquire about his real name.

“I’m curious, that’s all,” she whispers. “I just want to know your surname.”

He only stares back at her. “For what reason? Do you intend to use my family name?”

“...Never mind. Forget that I asked.” She opens her notebook to the newest flowers. The white roses make a lovely addition to her collection, including the one that has been permanently stained with her blood. “Can we visit the woods later? I would like to pick more roses.”

Capitano’s mask hides any hint of his smile.

iv. The Monster, however, could only dream of the Damsel’s requited love.

Another stack of books is delivered to their manor.

His darling gives him a confused look. “You bought more books for me.”

Capitano is already unboxing them for her. “That is clear.”

“But why?”

Her confiscated book is still fresh in their memories. After that minor dispute, Capitano had limited his book purchases and her interlibrary loans to reserve his darling’s time and attention. His sudden bulk purchase only serves a similar purpose.

“Is it indecorous of me to support my wife’s hobby?” He sets the final book on her desk. “I trust that you will be reading these for your personal enjoyment and not as a means to avoid me.”

Her collection of books is steadily increasing. Perhaps he should set up a bookcase or even a personal library.

“...Of course.”

She uncaps her pen and opens each book, writing “Property of ______” on the front pages. Then she selects a leatherbound novel and flips to the next page.

Capitano remains in the bedroom.

He can already ascertain the moment she realizes his tactic.

The books are all printed in native Snezhnayan at a level far too advanced for her comprehension. Her dictionary would prove useless in translating the archaic words and figures of speech.

To her credit, his darling makes a noble attempt. She takes out her dictionary. She mutters words and phrases. She flips through the other books and does not even acknowledge his presence.

Her shield has become another weapon for him.

Her favorite books have served as an excellent source of psychoanalysis. Capitano’s new pastime of reading his book purchases beforehand has even equipped him with an arsenal of story spoilers. He wonders if his darling has noticed the recurring themes in his choices.

After an hour of her fruitless endeavor, she finally approaches him.

“Capitano.” She gives him the book. “Can you please read this to me?”

“Would you like me to start from the beginning?” He adjusts his sitting position in the armchair and pats his thigh.

She only sighs before taking a seat on his lap.

She is practically weightless to him. It would only take a tight embrace to crush her.

“Yes, please.” She stares ahead at the pages. “You…it has been a while since I last asked you to translate for me.”

The Snezhnayan classics have been untouched ever since she labeled them. Perhaps Capitano will reread those to her one day.

He does agree with the sentiments of the stories’ villains.

v. Yet he persisted in his efforts to win over the Damsel’s heart through priceless treasures and chivalrous acts.

The battlefield is red with dendrobiums this time.

The flowers bloom across the ravaged scenery, vermilion petals demanding the soldiers’ attention. Some survivors have taken the opportunity to rest and admire them.

“My lord, the Inazuman forces have retreated! A few survivors have been captured for interrogation. Shall we…?” The sergeant’s voice trails off.

Capitano picks the dendrobiums and stands up. He had chosen only the prettiest, most vibrant trio for his darling.

“Sergeant Agapov.” He holds up the flowers, careful not to get blood on the petals. “See to it that these flowers are safely transported to Snezhnaya along with my luggage. They are to be kept in fresh condition.”

“Yes, my lord!” They take the dendrobiums and rush to their tent.

Capitano turns around.

Two soldiers are staring. They look away immediately.

By now, he is already used to this. The Fatui headquarters is rampant with whispers of the Captain’s despondent darling and his punishments for minor offenders. Some even claim that she has cursed him with moments of weakness.

He has no response to those allegations. If not for his loyalty to the Tsaritsa, he would have left the battlefield ages ago to devote his strength to his ethereal flower.

Though a chat with those soldiers would effectively remind them of his earlier show of strength.

✿ ⚘  

“Sergeant Charon, your status report.”

The spy enters the tent and kneels. “My lord, you will be pleased to learn that your wife is in good spirits.”

Capitano looks up from his report. “Do elaborate on what you mean by ‘good spirits.’”

He had already expected his darling to act differently while he was away. If she has been eagerly awaiting news of his death, their reunion will be rather disappointing.

Charon shakes his head. “I…I was referring to her health! Your wife spends the majority of the time reading her books, and she rarely speaks to Sergeant Fames. She looks neither joyful nor sullen in your absence.”

“I see. You are dismissed.”

Charon leaves immediately.

So his darling seems unaffected by his absence, at least to outsiders.

He has only been gone for a week. He can still recall their conversation from the night before his departure.

-

“Will you miss me?”

In that moment, she had never looked more vulnerable.

She was beginning to show signs of defeat.

It had taken everything in Capitano not to abandon his position and swear his undying devotion to her. Instead, he had knelt before her and made a sacred promise.

“There is not a single moment when I do not think of you or your safety. Let these be your words of comfort until I return to you.”

His hand was caressing her cheek, the other clasping his darling’s own hand. And for once, she did not flinch from the contact.

“All right.” She averted her gaze. Her free hand wrapped around his wrist, but she made no move to remove his hand from her face.

Her touch was so delicate. A sensation so light and insubstantial that it left him wanting more.

“I’ll trust you on that.”

-

His collection of Mondstadt souvenirs is safely stored amongst his luggage. Capitano unlocks the box and takes out his preserved calla lilies.

vi. As the seasons passed, the Damsel slowly succumbed to the same curse that had befallen the Monster.

She welcomes him home this time around.

“Welcome back.” She closes her notebook and leaves her desk. “Ceres didn’t tell me that you had arrived. Has she left?”

Capitano enters the room. “Sergeant Fames was dismissed a few minutes ago.”

“I see.” She stands in front of him, head lowered. “How was your mission in Liyue?”

Liyue had greatly improved their military defense. What was originally a three-week mission had been extended to a full month apart from his darling.

The flowers of Liyue pale in comparison to the one he already has at home.

“Liyue boasts of a scenic landscape and unique flora.” He walks over to his closet and takes out a change of clothes. He has already removed his coat and armor. “Your souvenirs are in the living room. I was able to procure wild Glaze Lilies for you.”

“Thank you.”

He unbuttons his shirt.

A quiet gasp. “Are you hurt?”

The wound on his chest is only a scratch. But his darling is already rushing to his side to inspect the bandages.

She must have gone mad in his absence.

“The pain was only fleeting,” he assures her. “The wound will heal in time.”

“But it could leave a scar.” Her touch is gentle. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Capitano only shrugs. “A scar is but an everlasting reminder of the past.”

“Exactly. Do you…can you still remember the pain until now?”

She looks up.

Her gaze is clear. The listless veil has been replaced with pure concern. All that he can see in her eyes is his own singular reflection.

“Darling,” he tells her, “this pain is incomparable to what you inflict on me daily.”

He removes his mask and kisses her.

She has weakened him. How could he go a day without the blessing of her touch?

She is more responsive this time. She clutches his shirt and kisses back, careful not to touch his bandaged wound. She smells like flowers, the combination of different fragrances mixing into her own intoxicating scent.

Her hips still bear marks from their last night together.

Capitano touches one of the bruises. His darling whimpers and looks up at him.

Their first night of intimacy had been an enlightening experience. He quickly learned that it is much easier to garner noises and reactions from his darling during lovemaking. Her own scars had been covered up with his marks of affection.

When they are connected, neither does she fear his touch.

His own love bites had disappeared weeks ago. If he could choose his scars, he would willingly carve his darling’s marks into his skin.

“Capitano.” She steps away from him, head lowered. “You…shouldn’t you rest first? We don’t want to agitate your injury.”

He only laughs and tilts her head upwards, claiming her gaze once more. “My beloved flower, you truly underestimate my strength.”

vii. And so the Monster and the Damsel lived happily ever after.

The flowers of Sumeru are beautiful. Nilotpala Lotuses glowing in the dark, Padisarah with purple-tipped leaves, Kalpalata Lotuses blooming across treacherous cliffsides, fragrant Sumeru roses bereft of thorns. And beyond that region, there are still so many other flowers to admire in Teyvat.

Capitano still prefers his own ethereal flower.

“The Sumeru roses belong to a different family from the classic rose. They are just as lovely, aren’t they?”

His darling snips six purple flowers and presses them inside her notebook. Each rambler rose takes up two whole pages.

Capitano is standing beside her. “You already picked numerous Sumeru roses near the bookstore. For what reason do you desire such a bountiful collection?”

She merely faces him. “I told you before, didn’t I? I don’t share my flowers. These are for you.”

Her gaze is as mysterious as ever. Some claim that it has changed over the past year—that her eyes have become completely consumed by darkness and melancholy, only to light up whenever she looks at the Captain. She only sees him.

She has gracefully lost to him. But Capitano could argue that he had been defeated first.

He holds her wrist. “We should return to the hotel. The remainder of my time will be devoted to my mission at hand.”

She does not flinch this time. “Good luck with your negotiations. I’ll just be reading my new books in our room, I guess.”

“Do not even think of trying to sneak out,” he warns. “I have guards stationed all over the hotel. Until we find a suitable replacement for Sergeant Fames, you will rarely leave my side.”

Her pulse continues its steady rhythm.

“I know.” A small smile forms on her face. “If I ever run away, my husband will capture me immediately. Can you promise that?”

She has truly become his one and only weakness.

There are also rumors of the changes to Il Capitano, the Fatui Harbinger who dyes the battlefields with blood then proceeds to pick the loveliest flowers for his darling.

To the entire world, he may be nothing more than a monster. But in the eyes of his beloved flower, he is her loving protector and knight in shining armor.

“You have my word.”

♡

Author’s Note ๑ Epilogue 1 ๑ Epilogue 2

Askndkfnaddk I am very surprised with myself for completing Fairytale in just a little over 24 hours. I can’t say much about the quality of this addition to Capitano and Darling’s twisted story, as I only focused on fairytales as the primary theme. But it was worth it to write about Capitano’s yandere tactics and give him back his flower rights <3

Once again, thank you all for reading and I hope you liked my work Σ੧(❛□❛✿)

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @shumidehiro @dear-yandere @northcafe @dulcetthorns @nicebonescomrade @lambdrop @lolnoone @uhhhh-hi-im-sorry-for-this  @poetics-of-fuubutsu @p214ven @elixir-de-silence @loleah @springtidewaves @frostedclementine @literaree @the-dreaming-city @something-was-here @shadowthief78 @lyra-mew @siphite @blankussy​ @xreaderarchive

[isaksbestpillow]

The World Happiness Report is out, Finland is #1 at the top, why do you think that is from your perspective who grew up there?

Good question, but I'm not sure I have an answer to that. For whatever reason, year after year an average Finnish person seems to consider themselves more content with their life than an average person in other countries at least in this particular report. Every year when the report comes out, Finnish people are like this must be rigged lol. My personal relationship with Finland is a bit tumultuous at the moment because I feel like our current government is taking us to a dark place. We say on lottovoitto syntyä Suomeen, to be born in Finland is like winning the lottery, and we call our country lintukoto ('bird home', a mythical place in finnish folklore at the end of the world where everything is very small and safe), but I don't know how much truth there is to it anymore.

I'm not a sociologist, but many articles have been written about this report over the years, and the view here is that Finland has excellent infrastructure for a happy life. Finland is ranked as the freest and the most stable country in the world. Finnish people trust all institutions including the police. Finnish people are also the most trusting people in the world in general. Life is pretty safe and simple. Differences in income aren't as palpable as in some other countries. There is more room to fuck up and start over. We have very little hierarchy. History of bloodshed has cultivated a culture of compromise (which now seems to be changing with the introduction of far-right movements). Public services are accessible to everyone, including childcare that is considered the child's right. The mayor's kid and the sanitary worker's kid are in the same class in school. School meals are free. People work shorter hours than in many other countries. Most of the country is covered in forests, and people enjoy wandering and spending time in nature. Finnish people are some of the most active library users in the world. Superficial values are generally frowned upon, though I feel like with Instagram and Tiktok it has become less of a taboo to flaunt your wealth or looks or get cosmetic procedures. There isn't much to do or see outside of the few cities, but people enjoy a boring life. This became extremely clear to me about ten years ago in Japan when we went to a cottage near Mt. Fuji and there was a game center in the area, it was such a shock to me as a Finnish person.

Finland isn't a particularly glamorous country. The climate is dreadful, there aren't many historic sites because we were a remote piece of land ruled over by mightier powers, we've been preparing for a Russian invasion ever since the last one ended, the country is very sparsely populated, there is a lot of interpersonal violence, we have an increasing drug problem, a lot of racism, clannish attitudes, a mental health crisis among young people. So it's not an utopia, it's just a country, but having lived abroad, I do feel that the pace of life in Finland is slower and there is more room to breathe.

[defensivelee]

Six Lives Won't Make You Happy: Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

A dog fight, a mock trial, a humiliating execution: James certainly has his schedule full this time around! He has decided there can only be one winner in each of these, but Bentinck and Mary have other plans, and so do others he would not expect, clawing at the edges of his heart. Victory seems inevitable with his enemy finally kneeling before him, but that's where he makes his first mistake...

Of course, here is the AO3 link! Please enjoy this one, I think it's my favorite so far.

CW: explicit violence (more than usual), torture, murder, death, use of guns, drowning, fire, heavy drug use, addiction, smoking, drinking, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced child abuse, objectification, dehumanization, indoctrination, public humiliation, rape threats, sexual assault, normalization of rape/sexual assault, implied/referenced child sexual abuse, implied/referenced non-consensual incest, implied/referenced pregnancy from rape, mild necrophilia.

“You could never tell now, but your father used to fight in the arena, too.”

Mary looked to her uncle as he sat down beside her at the bar, his massive, striped horns catching the neon lights above him. He flicked his tail dismissively when the bartender came by; much to her surprise, he had not come here to drink.

“He did?” She pushed her hair from her face, sticking to her with sweat. In her drunken daze (though she had so far smoked more than she had swallowed any substance), she couldn’t remember if James had told her such a thing. She couldn’t imagine why anyone other than an Ally or a hostage would fight in an arena. It was fun but pointless bloodshed, the risk too high for the reward.

“Yes. In the Southern Kingdom, while we were in hiding.” Charles laughed. “He acts as if he’s ashamed of it. I hope he isn’t, because there’s nothing wrong with what he did there.”

“He killed people?” That wasn’t a surprise. He still did it all the time.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the part he worries about.” Charles curled his lip back to show his teeth, lifting a finger to tap at a canine. “Right here, Mary, he used to have tusks. Long, regal things, and rare, too.”

“He’s talked about them,” she said. She’d heard about them often, actually, when she was younger. The days were all blurred and incomprehensible in her head; even if she were sober, she could remember very little from that time, but she knew that in their games, he had liked to say that he was going to bite her. She would hold up her little hands to his mouth, and he’d snap his teeth, flashing the golden ones at her, and she’d fall back with a squeal.

Her mother said that he used to bite her all the time. She always teased him for it, said that he acted like he still had those big, glorious tusks of his. He said that he was glad they were gone, for he could speak and eat properly now, but sometimes Mary thought he was lying about that.

Everything was alright then, when her mother was still alive. When James still loved Mary because she was his daughter and nothing else. Now she had to give him reasons to love her, reasons justified in blood and devotion.

“Good, otherwise this would be a very awkward revelation,” Charles said, tapping his tail against her shoulder. “Anyway, they worked wonders in the fighting rings. King Louis had never had a human in his arena before, so he sent James in, expecting him to die...but he won, Mary! He had never bitten anyone before, but in that moment he tore right through a devil’s throat and became the first human in centuries to kill one of those divine beings.”

“And did you ever kill one?” Mary hoped she didn’t sound too accusatory. But she had to wonder, then, why James wasn’t the one leading the Disciples if he had managed to kill a devil before his brother.

“Yes, Mary, many times after,” Charles said, his yellow eyes widening slightly. “I’ve told the stories before.”

“Forgive me.”

He smiled and continued. “It wasn’t the last time James fought for the Sun King, and the ring certainly wasn’t the only place. Louis turned him into his little fighting champion. Those powerful tusks were the only reason James wasn’t immediately killed when he entered the Southern Kingdom.” He shook his head, lowering his voice. “They saved his life then. They secured victory after victory. And yet...what good was it for Louis?”

Mary shrugged. She knew little of that devil save for the spell that called him, and the protections he had extended to her father. And even that she could not make sense of.

“It was Louis who ripped them out,” Charles said. “But it wasn’t the end of the world. By then, James could defend himself without biting once. It was just as well; devil blood is disgusting. Have you ever tasted it? Slightly metallic, but more than that, it’s a stinking, bitter liquid, burns your throat like alcohol.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mary said. She stared listlessly ahead at the glowing clock on the wall, reading the Infernal on the walls. Or so she tried, but she hadn’t understood the written words in a very long time.

“Maybe to some people,” Charles said thoughtfully. He flung his tail over Mary and laughed again, and she laughed too. “The fight’s about to start; come, sit next to me! We could even bet on the winner. I say it’ll be that feisty little dwaallicht remnant we caught last month.”

“Oh, no, thank you, sir,” she said, getting up. “I’ll be with my father.”

Charles stood up with her, following her to the back, past the stages and the smiles, where she opened the door and heard the cheers from the ring below. It was the same as always, blood everywhere, the brothers smoking and cheering on the relentless death.

“I just- do I have to go?” she asked, looking back at Charles.

“I can cover for you,” he said. “If you’d like that.”

“Yes, please, I-” She stepped away. “It’s just the same thing every time, you know? It’s boring. Suffering needs a reason; that’s what makes it satisfying.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, perhaps with confusion, though she didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t understood what she said or simply didn’t believe it. But he shrugged and walked past her towards the stairs.

“I’ll just say you were a little more fucked up tonight,” he said. “Don’t talk to any strangers out there, Mary.”

“I won’t.”

“And who knows?” He waved a hand at her. “Maybe we’ll get an Ally in here soon. It won’t be so boring then, won’t it?”

She shook her head. “Not at all,” she said, and turned away, just about collapsing back into her seat.

🝰🝰🝰

The fight’s about to start.

The agitated cries of four hundred Disciples filled the room, all looking down to the arena and anticipating the fight and subsequent execution. Fights like these were held once a month when Charles was alive, maybe twice if James couldn’t wait any longer. Of course, he saw no reason to delay them any longer than his supposed mourning lasted, so here they were again, Mary sitting between her sister and father.

“I don’t know how he expects Marly to fight,” Anne said once James had turned away to speak to Maria. “Something happened yesterday—”

“Whatever it was, he’s an Ally.” Mary shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

Anne lowered her voice. “James stabbed him. In the fucking thigh. He could’ve hit an artery in there, do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Well, he didn’t, so Marly should have healed up nicely.”

“Have you ever cared about anybody that he’s hurt?” She leaned in towards Mary, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Even yourself?”

“If he’s hurting anyone, they deserve it.” Mary rolled her eyes and pushed her away. “We’ve talked about this, Anne. Everything we do here is for the sake of our future!”

“The sake of our future!” Anne mocked. “I’m not even going to be a fucking Overlifer, you’re the heir! Where would that leave me?”

“Um, my second-in-command?”

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I EVER WANT TO SERVE YOU?”

“Anne, will you stop yelling?” Maria leaned over and scowled at her stepdaughter. “You can argue about whatever it is later.” She gestured down at the arena. “We’re about to witness justice being served, your father doesn’t need the extra stress.”

“It’s an execution,” Anne said dryly.

“Which is still justice,” Maria said, looking back at James expectantly.

“That’s right, Anne, and you’ve caused enough trouble for me as it is.” James glared straight ahead at the arena. “You know what could have happened with Marly? He could have bled out, he could have been out for a while, and then who is going to bomb all those trains? It isn’t going to be me.”

“I’m not the one who stabbed him,” Anne said, it being her turn to roll her eyes.

“It was your fault!” James leaned over Mary, who ducked back in her seat, looking frantically between her sister and her father. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, you insolent, ungrateful girl! Come here-” He reached out towards Anne’s horns, and Anne shuffled to the side. “Stop moving!”

“James, by all the stars, enough!” Maria pulled back on his tail, and James turned to her with blazing eyes.

“Don’t tell me how to discipline my daughters,” he snapped.

“I- I’m not telling you to do anything,” she said, clearing her throat as he settled back down beside her. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you’re causing a scene and maybe we should get on with the fight. There’s four hundred of our people here, and they’re all looking at you.”

James snorted like a slighted bull. “You see, Anne? You see what you do?”

Anne sat back down with a huff, turned pointedly away from Mary, who realized she was breathing hard, her heart beating its way out of her chest. She looked down and buried her face in her hands.

Calm down. He’s not mad at you. Everything’s fine.

If anything, he’s pleased. He’s very pleased with you.

Why did Anne have to be like this? It was as if she searched for every opportunity to enrage James, to go under his nose and mock him and Maria behind his back like a true heretic. She knew what would happen, and still she did it anyway.

“Why can’t you just obey?” she asked out loud, her voice shaking. “Why don’t you understand how things are?” Then, slightly louder: “Is it true? You won’t serve me when- when James—” She couldn’t finish the sentence; losing Charles stung, losing her father was unthinkable.

Anne swallowed with what looked like great effort and focused her gaze ahead on the sands. Her tail came to a rest behind her. “I- do- do you really expect me to answer that right now?”

“I guess not. I’m sorry.” Mary looked back at James, who glanced down at her and took her hand, smiling as he adjusted the microphone over his mouth. In an instant, all kindness was gone from his eyes as he looked to his Disciples, his grin suddenly one of contempt.

“Hello, my dearest, beloved subjects,” he said, quieting down the last excited murmurs and whispers. “It’s been long since our last fight, hasn’t it? As a reward for waiting so patiently, I have made sure this one will be as exciting as it’s never been before. Most of you by now have heard of a dwaallicht spirit’s attempts on my divine lives, and both times we have beaten him, crushed him like the worthless dog he is!” He leaned back and waved his arm about triumphantly. “That’s right, today we have here the legendary Duke of Monmouth!”

The Disciples did not cheer as usual, instead looked on in disgust. From one end of the arena, the aforementioned spirit was dragged out onto the sand, his blank white eyes widening as he looked out at the audience. The chain was unclipped from his collar.

“Heretic!” cried Maria abruptly, her voice carrying nearly as well as James’ microphone did. “Look upon this heretic!”

At that the Disciples joined in on the chant, heretic, heretic, heretic, jeering and hissing, fangs bared and tails whipping in the air. James didn’t say a word, only watched through lidded eyes as Monmouth stumbled back and shook his head.

Mary, too, kept her mouth shut. She knew that if she joined in, it wouldn’t sound sincere.

This is going to be...unreal. Though she was sober today, it all still felt like a dream. It was a stupid hope, her wish to wake up before he had to die.

“Good girl,” her father murmured at Maria. Standing, he smiled at Monmouth and raised his voice once more. “We have no room for traitors like this spirit. Charles was too friendly with these little beasts, and I have tolerated it. But no longer! All his mistresses, all his half-bred children— they are not welcome here unless they serve us from their proper places beneath us.”

“And I can serve you!” Monmouth yelled over the noise of the audience. “You don’t have to kill me, you- sir, please, do you remember when I was a boy? You were the one who taught me how to use my powers to help you. I was named after you!” He reached his magnificent claws out as if he were about to call for his shadows, but a second glance around seemed to remind him that he couldn’t win a fight here. Instead he attempted to smile. “Sir, you- you can’t say this is what my father would have wanted.”

James snorted. “And what do you know of that? He was never your father, he was only my brother. Do you think he’d turn the whole world over to defend an insignificant little mutt spirit, all to go against me? His real blood, the only person he ever gave a fuck about?!” He shouted the last part out, then shook his head. “No. I will not spare you because you have deluded yourself into thinking that I ever loved you as a nephew. You only affirm that I am making the right decision with this insolence.”

Monmouth flicked his ears back in horror, and James looked back to the audience. “This is not just any fight. This is an execution that he cannot win his way out of. And his executioner we all know very well. My champion, my Ally, my most beloved John Churchill!”

Marly entered from the other side, resplendent in the small golden chains hanging off his shoulders and waist, and the shimmering green of his rings, earring and nails. As usual, most of his body was exposed to the audience, showing off the tattoos that James so loved; only his chest and crotch were covered by black and green silk. And around his face was strapped a traditional accessory of the Allies who fought in the arena of an Overlifer: a gold wire muzzle.

Despite this, he always sauntered out in the same way, so sure that he would win this fight like he had won all the others. Today he walked only with a slight limp, but Mary could see no wound on him; much of his thighs were covered by the chains and jewels. Other than that, he seemed fine, as she had guessed. Maybe his smile was even more annoying today.

Should have stabbed him harder! She rolled her eyes when James waved down at Marly, who knelt on the sand before him and bowed his head low.

“I have no reason to believe that he should fail today,” James said, and Mary recognized the slightest hint of a warning in his voice. “Remove the muzzle.”

Sarah hurried out behind Marly and began to gently pull the muzzle from his face, her tail twitching as she looked from him to James. The excitement buzzing in the air seemed to pause when she leaned in to kiss Marly, gripping his hand tightly. James only raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Sarah skipped up the seats to sit next to Anne.

“Your greatest honor is to die,” he went on instead.

There it is. Mary’s heart skipped a beat. It was about to begin.

“Today, I will refuse it,” Marly replied. He raised his hand in the air and called up a spear from out of the devils’ realm, and James sat back, his tail lashing forward once in satisfaction.

Monmouth held his hand out cautiously as Marly approached him. “Wait,” he said. “Marly, you- you and I, we’re—”

“We are nothing!” Marly stabbed his spear into the sand, and behind Monmouth, another one sprouted up from the ground, brushing by his tail. The spirit yelped and ran to the side, his wounded tail flying between his legs.

“Are you making this boring on purpose?” Marly narrowed his eyes. “Fight, damnit!”

“I’m not going to fight you after what happened last night,” Monmouth said firmly.

You have to at least try to survive! Mary clenched her fists on her legs.

Marly looked around at the Disciples, some of the front rows having grown quieter with curious whispers, all wondering out loud about what Monmouth could possibly be referring to. James seemed unaffected, merely tilting his head to the side when Marly looked up at him.

“It is not your place to mention that,” the Ally spat, glaring back at Monmouth. “You think I can’t fight now? You think anything can stop me? I have the power to destroy everyone here!” He threw the spear at the dog, barely missing him as he flew into the air, now a raven as he had been when Elizabeth shot him.

“Oh, you son of a—!” Marly called for the spear again as the bird flew frantically towards the exit. James stood up then, his eyes wide, but he had no need to worry as the spear melted in Marly’s hands to form a long chain. He threw it out at Monmouth, and it wrapped all around his wings just as he was flying out, pulling him back sharply. He fell to the sand with a dissatisfied caw.

“I thought you would have learned by now,” Marly said, dragging Monmouth back towards him. “I can only catch you easier in the sky.”

“Very good,” James muttered, sitting back down. He turned to Mary. “He better turn back before Marly kills him. Where’s the fun in killing a little bird?”

“It wouldn’t be a face we recognize,” Mary said.

“Yes, that’s exactly the problem.”

Mary sighed, looked back to the fight.

“You want a real fight, Marly?” Monmouth flapped his wings, trying and failing to shake the chains off of him. “Very well.” The shadows and ribbons around him began to draw closer to his body, his wings and feathers appearing to grow and grow until they were not feathers but fur. Sharper teeth glistened from a snarling black mouth, raised high in a powerful bark.

Mary’s eyes widened. A real dog.

And he’s huge!

“Shit, John, don’t waste time!” Sarah whispered frantically. “Kill him now!”

Monmouth ripped off the chains with a fierce growl, beginning to pace around Marly, a new confidence under his starry black pelt. “We haven’t had a real fight in a long time,” he said.

“You think I can’t handle an animal?” Marly pulled the chains back in, letting them wrap around his wrists.

Monmouth snarled again, leaping at Marly and throwing him back against the sand. The Ally rolled to the side as Monmouth brought his jaws down on his stomach, scoring wounds along his waist and thighs. The audience cheered as they had in the beginning, and James lit a cigarette, grinning down at Marly as he dragged himself out from under Monmouth, his blood dripping onto the sand.

“Maybe I shall be their champion after this,” the spirit said, stepping forward.

Marly slammed a hand down on the sand, and three spears drove upwards from the ground beneath Monmouth, digging into his belly. He let out a shriek, rearing up on his hind legs and tearing the spears out of his body. All save for one disappeared back into the sand, and Marly took the last one, pulling himself back up to his feet.

Monmouth was panting now, licking his whiskers, before running once more towards Marly, snapping his jaws in the air. Marly jumped to the side and onto Monmouth’s back, forcing his spear into him before the dog could manage to throw him off. Monmouth turned in a circle, desperately trying to shake Marly off, but the Ally only buried the spear deeper until it poked out through Monmouth’s chest.

“Too easy,” James remarked. Raising his voice, he shouted, “More, more, Marly!”

Marly smiled up at him, then pulled the spear out, eliciting a loud whine from Monmouth. He stumbled forward, unsteady on his feet, and Marly took hold of one of his ears, the spear shrinking down into a whip. He brought it down against Monmouth’s haunches, and the dog sprung forward, once again bucking in the air to throw Marly off. But he was too weak to thrash around any harder, only spinning around as Marly whipped him. The sound was familiar to Mary, sending a thrill through her.

At last Monmouth bowed his great head, his shaking body returning back to its usual humanoid state. Marly twisted the whip in his hands, turning it back into a spear and bringing it down through one of Monmouth’s folded ears. Monmouth cried out, his shivering slowly coming to a stop as Marly stepped off of him. He ripped the spear carelessly back out.

This heartless bitch! Mary swallowed hard, feeling James’ hand on her shoulder.

“What, can’t fight anymore?” Marly kicked Monmouth in the side. “Get up.”

Monmouth said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the ground in front of him, but he was not dead, Mary knew. No, this was Marly’s power that James loved so much, the ability to drain the movement from a person when he drew enough blood from them. It was rather useful, Mary supposed, to be able to end a fight quickly, but she imagined it as some kind of cheating, even though there were no rules.

“Kill him now!” Maria yelled beside James. “Now!”

This is what happens, Monmouth, you should have known. Mary narrowed her eyes as Marly turned his spear into an axe. He raised it slightly, as if in hesitation, but surely he knew it was too late for that now.

This is what happens when anyone defies James.

Marly brought the axe down on Monmouth’s neck, and the shadows engulfed him fully, pooling around the sand like blood. Marly waved them away, letting the axe fall into them and disappear back into the realm of the devils. When he stepped away, the body was gone, leaving nothing of the remnant.

He’s with Charles now, wherever that may be. Mary bowed her head. She didn’t care what James said; Monmouth had always been family, and she’d remember him as she liked. Oddly she wasn’t as upset as she thought she’d be. Maybe she just had to give it a few days.

Or maybe she had no problem with this after all, but she had no idea.

“The traitor is dead!” Maria called out, springing out of her seat and raising her tail and fist triumphantly in the air. “Long live our Overlifer, long live James Stewart!”

She was met with echoing sentiments from the Disciples, some of them even applauding their leader, and this time Mary joined in. James laughed with almost giddy delight like she’d never heard from him, flinging an arm over her and leaning in to kiss her face.

“You know I do this all to protect you,” he said, “though he really wouldn’t have ended up down here without you.” He lifted her head in his hands, and she looked into his glistening eyes. “I love you.”

“I- I love you too!” She attempted to smile, but he thankfully broke away from her and walked over to Anne, ruffling the hair between her horns.

“I forgive you for last night,” he said. “Just don’t do it again.”

Anne coughed, leaning away from James’ cigarette. “No- no, of course not.”

“You know I love you, Anne.”

“Yeah.” She stood up and began to follow Sarah down towards Marly, flicking her tail at her father. “I know very well.”

James sighed as he watched her go, turning to Maria. “Sometimes I wish she had stayed small. She was a lot sweeter. And a far better listener,” he added with a snort. “Nowadays it’s like I give her one order and she feels compelled to do the exact opposite.”

Maria shrugged. “Maybe you should let her live on her own. I mean, she’s been with you so long—”

“I would prefer to stay here, Maria,” Mary interrupted. “And I’m sure Anne would as well. We’re the heirs, we need to stay where our Overlifer is should anything happen.”

“Exactly,” James said. “They’re safer with me, Maria. The whole world would break them if given the chance.” He shook his head. “I have been protecting them since they were born, and I will do so until they die.”

He made it sound as if he would outlive them both. It was possible, Mary knew, and likely, even, with the way she went about things. She had already decided that that wouldn’t be so bad, either.

They were to host a very late dinner that night back home, much to Mary’s disappointment— she’d been looking forward to getting high again and streaming into the morning. But James said she had to be sober for the celebration, since it wouldn’t be just family.

She didn’t really care for any of the Disciples there, though, and she might as well have been drunk for the way she watched them laughing in the limo on the way back through her tired eyes. She fell asleep leaning on Anne, half-dreaming of the vicious dog still barking, with blood staining its teeth. It was Maria who woke her up a while later, gently adjusting the glasses back over her nose, and she followed everyone inside in something of a stupor.

She stopped by her room first to look for her lighter; everyone would be smoking there, so at the very least James would have to allow it for her, as well. When she stepped back out in the corridor, standing alone in the vast darkness, the booming, merry conversation below tempted her to retreat back into her room.

James’ voice was louder than everyone else’s, which was unusual— that had been the role of his brother’s. But she realized then that it was on the same floor she was on, coming from down the hall, where his room was. She headed toward the stairs first, but in the end she turned back to follow James’ voice. He had no reason to be up here if he had to entertain his guests.

“Well, heal it up quickly,” he was saying from behind the door. “I don’t want you bleeding out like that in front of everyone.”

“It’s not that fast,” answered Marly’s voice, and Mary stifled a sigh of relief that it was only him and no one else. “Besides, I was bleeding out in front of four hundred of your people and you said nothing then.”

“It’s the arena, you are in fact expected to bleed a little.”

“So they can expect it again now.”

“Ah, John,” James sighed. “You know, I do love that about you...”

Mary didn’t hear the rest as she backed away. Whatever happened between the two was none of her business, but it certainly was Maria’s.

“I think James is done looking at you for the night,” Mary said as she sat down at the table, quiet enough so as not to arouse the attention of the Disciple guests, but loud enough so that Maria could still hear her over them.

Maria sighed. “You know it’s always like this for a while after every fight. Both in and out of the arena.”

“An Ally doesn’t deserve to have such attention showered on him by an Overlifer,” Mary grumbled.

“No.” Maria glanced up as James walked in with Marly at his side. “He doesn’t.”

Mary had no idea why her father wanted her sober; as the night went on, everyone around her drank to the point of what might have been death had Marly not quietly slipped their glasses away from them and told them to get a grip on themselves. It was the worst thing about him, the worst thing about the whole circle of Sarah, Anne, and a few others— they thought they were so much better than everyone else here.

But it wasn’t even close. She was the heir, and Marly was an Ally, a sycophantic, sickening Ally kissing James right in front of the latter’s wife. She had hated him before, but she hated him more now for all he had done tonight. James returned every little kiss and touch until it would have been voyeuristic for Mary to stay any longer. She nudged Maria and murmured that she was going back upstairs.

As she stood she heard someone knock on the front door, and she rolled her eyes. Whoever it was, they were lucky James was too drunk to notice anyone new; he would have had their head for coming this late to his celebration. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Mary, baby, hello!” Elizabeth Villiers wagged her tail at the sight of her. “Is your father in?”

“Um, yes, but he’s—”

“Perfect! Bring him in, Anne!” Elizabeth turned to the side, and then the aforementioned sister pushed past Mary, shoving forward the furious, wiggling body of William Henry Nassau, letting him fall hard to the ground.

Mary stumbled back in shock. “You- you actually got him.” His hands were tied rather messily behind his back, his face obscured by a tight blindfold and gag. Around his horns, ropes had been woven in and tangled like webs, and it was from their excess that Anne pulled him back up on his knees, forcing his head up towards her.

“I followed your orders,” she said, glowering down at William with a cold satisfaction Mary had never seen from her before. “If you had known half of the shit he’s done to Hans, it would have been much easier to capture him. Trust me.”

“Is that so?” Mary laughed nervously. “Ah, well, great job.” She had drank very little tonight, but she thought she might be sicker than anyone else now.

Anne looked up, the cruelty in her eyes replaced with the usual concern Mary had come to associate with her. “This is what you wanted, right?”

Mary swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m not- not mad, I just didn’t expect it, I mean—” She stared at William’s tail, lashing with indignance. “You really did it. You might have just saved the Disciples.”

“Have I?” Anne looked down at the floor, and Mary took her hand.

“Yes. Thank you, dear, it means everything to me.” She pushed the hair from Anne’s face and smiled at her. “James is going to be very happy.”

“I know.” Anne still didn’t look up.

Mary hurried back to James, who was coughing in the midst of his laughter, another cigarette lit in his hand. Marly sat on the table in front of him, one of his legs on the Overlifer’s shoulder, and they both glared at her when she tapped at her father’s tail.

“Forgive me,” she said, bowing her head at her father, “but the Villiers sisters have returned. They have William with them.” “Are you serious?” James stood up, looking around at his guests.

“Yes. He’s by the door.”

“Marly—” James coughed again, then handed his cigarette to Marly, waving his hand. “Tell everyone! Go, go! Meet me there.” Turning to Mary, he took her hand. “Take me to them.”

Elizabeth was tying the ropes around William’s horns into somehow even more elaborate knots, an increasingly difficult task as William bucked his head up and down like a displeased horse. She stood up when she saw James, and Anne brought her foot down on William’s back, forcing his head down on the floor.

“Well, well, he looks much nicer like that, it must be said,” James said, running his tail over William’s spine. “You see, Lilli? You’re much prettier when you keep your mouth shut.”

William clenched his fists. Behind them, a few of the Disciples guests, led by Marly, came warily out of the dining room, their eyes wide as they stared down at the rival Overlifer.

“And hopefully we never will have to hear you speak again,” James said. He nudged William’s horn with a foot. “How many lives do you have left? Five, at least, right? Nevermind, I’ll ask you later. Then we can figure out how many executions I need to plan. Oh, Mary, we are about to have so much fun—” He looked back at his Disciples watching. “And once we get rid of their leader, dealing with the fuckin’ Devils will be much easier. That Ally, too, the fuck was his name? Ah, Bentinck...loyal Hansi.”

Anne’s grip seemed to tighten around the rope she held, her gaze fixed on William before her. James turned to her and Elizabeth with a lopsided smile.

“Such good girls,” he purred. “I ought to reward you; what are you thinking? Perhaps you would like the greatest gift of all, the divine touch of an Overlifer such as I...” He ran his tail under Anne’s chin, lifting her head up, but she pushed it away, shaking her head rapidly.

“Money would do just fine,” she said.

“Are you sure? I can make you-”

“I’m very sure. Both of us.”

James glanced uneasily at Mary, then flicked his tail at Anne. “Your loss, ladies. One last thing— take our prisoner to one of the smaller arenas outside of the city, with Mr. Spencer, and make absolutely certain that he does not escape.”

“We can’t leave him here?” Anne asked.

“Fuck no, that’s like rescuing, say, a wounded bear, and bringing it into your house just for it to tear you apart later.” James shook his head firmly. “I’ll look at him tomorrow. We have a great trial planned for you, William, you hear that?”

“Trial?” Mary said. “For what? We know everything he’s done, don’t we? Nothing is going to stop us from killing him.” At these words, William curled his tail in closer, and Mary wondered then if this was the last glimpse she would catch of him before his executions. It was a cruel wish of hers, but she wanted to say goodbye, at least, thank you for the hope but I didn’t need it anyway.

“It’s more of a ceremony than anything.” James shrugged. “It’s new for everyone here, nobody has seen an Overlifer’s execution before, like how they used to do it in our oldest days.” He lifted his tail at Anne, who stepped off of William and pulled him back up to a sitting position. James then took William’s chin in his hand, wiping at the drool from underneath the gag. “Tomorrow I’ll set things right with you. Tomorrow.” He pushed William’s head back, spitting down onto his face, and the Disciples laughed as James walked back over to them.

“If he escapes,” he went on, staring at the Villiers sisters, “after all this, I will seriously fucking kill you.”

As soon as he was gone, Mary cleaned William’s face up with her sleeve. “Alright, keep a close eye on him. Knock him out if you have to.” She drew back when William tried to twine his tail around her leg.

“He’s perfectly safe with us,” Elizabeth said, patting William on the head. “Besides, I’m sure he has enough of a concussion from the beating Anne gave him.”

“What? Anne did it?”

“He deserved it,” Anne muttered, looking away. “He’s no better than your father.”

“He’s far worse than him, actually,” Elizabeth said with a pointed look at her sister. “Alright, William, let’s go!” She tugged at the rope in a manner not unlike that of a loving master to their dog, but William did not stand, instead jerked his head from side to side, pulling himself towards Mary.

Oh, William. Mary turned away, began walking up the stairs to her room. “Just go with them,” she called. Deepening her voice and thickening her accent, she added, “Tomorrow I’ll set things right with you.” She heard laughter behind her from the sisters, and smiled to herself as she went into her room, collapsing on the bed.

Her followers had been expecting a stream tonight. She knew some of the younger ones would be worried about her, and she’d seen enough theories about her role in her father’s supposed terrorist group (which, impressively, were all correct) to know that there would be speculation about this if she didn’t apologize and come up with an excuse in some hasty post. But she couldn’t even bring herself to do that. Despite all the noise downstairs, she fell asleep.

It was the sound of her door opening that woke her up later that night, or rather in the earliest hours of the morning. She noticed that everything had fallen nearly silent now, the only sound being the footsteps approaching her. She looked up, saw that it was only Maria.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Nothing.” Maria looked around the room with wide eyes as she closed the door and sat down beside Mary. “Marly’s just taken my place on the bed again, and I’m not listening to that. Do you mind if I- if I sleep here, with you?”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t mind.” She stared up at the ceiling as Maria got under the blankets next to her, wrapping an arm and her tail around her. The embrace was as warm and protective as it had been when she was younger, and she leaned into it, giggling when Maria pushed strands of hair away from her face.

“I heard about William,” Maria said.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it is?”

Mary turned away. “I guess I’m supposed to.”

“Right.” The two were silent for a while, long enough that Mary thought Maria had fallen asleep, until she spoke up again. “There’s more devils in here than usual.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mary was too tired to pull Maria away from her tormented little world tonight. Sometimes it was fun to play along with the delusions, the hallucinations, though James never saw the sense in encouraging it.

“Yes.” Maria shuffled closer to Mary, glaring out at some unseen enemy in the darkness. “I don’t know why they’re so angry at you tonight. They’re usually very quiet here.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ll protect you, alright?”

“You sure will.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve done enough.” Mary smiled over at her. “I don’t trust anybody else with the devils. Go get them, girl.”

Maria smiled back, but in the way that Mary knew meant she saw right through the supposed sincerity and found amusement instead. She was tired of it; well, so was Mary. Her stepmother turned away with a sigh, and Mary let her hand fall from the bed, praying for the devils to take it and drag her down to their realm.

🝰🝰🝰

The sun glared through a hole in the wooden roof, on occasion blinking down at William when a wispy cloud passed over it. He only knew this because the light over his closed eyes would go away for a moment, and then he’d open one eye and it’d be just a little darker where he sat.

His body felt much too stiff now, and every little movement from where his hands were tied, high above him on a pole, sent an angry spark down to his shoulders, his back, all the way to the base of his tail. It was coiled around the same pole, tied higher than even his hands so that the tip dangled just over his head. He wanted to look down, shoot daggers with his eyes at all the Disciples here, but in the position his head was forced up in, the only thing he could see was the sun, on his knees before it like a servant of the Southern Kingdom.

Fucking Anne. It was all he could think in the midst of what might have been delirium or some kind of fever. He felt sweat fall from his hair to his neck, and yet he was freezing, his spine pressed against the cold metal behind him. Having stared at the sky since last night, he thought he was perhaps still caught in a dream.

Damned Villiers girl. Fucking Anne. Fucking Hansi.

Ooh, that was new. Was he seriously going to be mad at Bentinck?

Yes, he decided. In fact, for all he knew his Ally had betrayed him, whether he had intended to or not. He couldn’t believe that of Bentinck, but when he shut his eyes again, all he saw was the way that lovely blue gaze had fixed on Anne. And he knew that Bentinck would die for her, would kill for her.

Was I never enough? I gave you what you wanted. What does she have that’s so much better?

William bit into the gag, hearing his own breaths heavy around it. Bentinck wasn’t stupid. And yet, this was the second time he’d been left behind, left alone so Bentinck could fulfill his private little ambitions with a Disciple he either hated or loved. Did he think William could wait for him to finish?

Bentinck would come for him. He had to, or William would know then that, yes, this was all real, intentional, and that yes, Bentinck was willing to betray everything he’d ever known for one Disciple lover. And he didn’t want to know that.

In the meantime, in his mind he was thinking of all the ways he was going to kill the Villiers girls, but especially Anne for the utter humiliation she had forced him through with the gun. And then he’d get James, and then Mary—

Poor Mary! She had sounded shaken when they brought him in, and he had wanted to stay with her. But, if he remembered correctly what Anne said, it’d been her orders. What did she want from him?

She’ll save me like she did the first time. He’d known, when he was younger, that if there was one thing he would not let his father take from him, it was going to be Bentinck. That was what set him free. And if Mary was anything like him, she would do the same; she would realize that there was no blood family in the world worth losing him for. For all he had shown her, she owed him everything.

He didn’t know why everyone had such a problem with it. This romance shit was easy.

He heard someone yell ahead of him, over the voices of the working Disciples. Out here in the tiny arena, what looked more like an arena for dog fights, all they had been doing was herding dwaallicht spirits back into cages. They would slap spells onto the bars that the spirits would occasionally slip through with enough power, and then the Disciples had to go chasing after them. He saw one run past him out of the corner of his eye, kicking sand up towards him.

“Ugh, I’m sick of doing this shit,” he heard another Disciple say, kicking a spirit back into its cage and throwing it into the truck. “Back at the club, the spirits never escape, and James doesn’t even use any spells!”

“It’s because they’re so scared of him,” one replied. “That’s what I’m thinking. They smell the six lives on him. And it was the same with Charles too, Ferocity rest his soul.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? So feared and respected you just can’t be bothered?”

“Sounds kind of lonely.”

“We have an Overlifer right here, why don’t we ask him?”

“No, you fools.” It was a deeper voice, speaking with its own streak of authority. “The Villiers ladies said not to take off his gag. They said he had even managed to cast the Louis spell once with no trouble at all.”

“That’s fucked. He can just call up the ruler of the Southern Kingdom at any time, no big deal.”

Yeah, real fucked, isn’t it? William straightened himself up against the pole, and he heard the Disciples gasp as if they expected him to call Louis up with nothing but his fucking eyes.

“I really appreciate it, Mr. Spencer, but I don’t see why James would trust us with, you know, the only other Overlifer in the world,” said the first one that had spoken once they had all seemed to recover from their brief fright. “He’s not going to escape, but like, what if he does?”

“He won’t,” came the self-assured voice again, so-called Mr. Spencer. “We brought him to the very edge of a fine society for a reason. If he slips out, we’ll catch him quickly, like we’ve caught all the spirits.”

Try me. William huffed through the gag.

“Man, I’m bored,” another stranger piped up. “You guys want to call snake’s eye for an eye?”

William froze. They wouldn’t do that here, would they?

Hurry up, Hans! He tugged frantically against the ropes, trying to snap the ones tying his legs down, and a Disciple walked over to him, swinging a cattle prod around on his gleaming red tail. His eyes were not malicious, but curious as he pressed the cattle prod to William’s side.

William jolted, his whole body tensing as the Disciple leaned in, smiling in a sort of disinterested way. It was worse than any smug triumph, but all he could do about it was glare defiantly back at him, biting as hard as he could into the gag to stifle his gasp.

“Boring,” the man remarked, stepping away, and William realized it was Spencer. He let himself fall limp, the tip of his tail twitching furiously as Spencer smiled back at him. “I don’t think he would take very kindly to it.”

“But it’s an Overlifer...”

“When will we ever get a chance like this?”

“Enough,” Spencer snapped, his gaze darkening. “We don’t have James’ permission. If any of you lays a finger on him, I’ll cut it off. Get back to work.”

The Disciples obeyed, grumbling, and William stared at the man in front of him. His dull, pink hair was obscured by a hood of black and red silk, like the ones that Ally servants usually wore, but he didn’t have the rest of the usual attire save for the black gloves. They were, however, marked with red pierced mullets all along his arm, meaning that at the very least he was some sort of spirit handler. His horns were striped in the usual Eastern, black-and-white manner, decorated with rings and chains dangling between them.

“Don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Spencer asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag from it with the smile back on his face. “Heard you have asthma, among other things. This fresh air must be nice, hm?” He brushed his tail against William’s cheek. “My name’s Robert, but dwaallicht spirits call me Master Spencer.”

Oh, great. William winced, trying to shift his head away from the tail.

“James will be here for you before it’s dark,” Spencer went on. “I have no idea what he plans to do to you. He still has us torture people for information, but...” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone, I just think he wants to do it for fun. It doesn’t work, does it? I mean, it never has for me. Anyway, just be aware you might not be coming out of here in one piece.”

As if he hadn’t already guessed!

The sun was setting when the Disciples began to leave, leaving only Spencer behind. By then William’s breaths were coming out in raspy gasps, and the aching all over his body had faded into the background, though he knew it would return with a vengeance once he was free. More than anything, though, he was bored, and only found entertainment in all the ways he was imagining he was going to yell at Bentinck.

Spencer stepped out of the arena, his gaze fixed on something beyond William. The Overlifer was still for a moment before realizing he was alone here, and he began to toss his head back, trying to use his horns to rip through the ropes. All the while he pulled down on the ropes binding his wrists above him. It burned, and he paused for a moment before feeling the cattle prod shock his tail.

“Ah—!” His eyes widened, and then Spencer was walking around him, flanked by James and Mary.

Mary! William tried to pull his head down to look at her. She stepped behind James, who smiled down at him.

“Finally got a noise out of you,” Spencer said with a shrug. “We’re getting there.”

“It’ll be much more than that when I’m done with him,” James said. “Leave us, Spencer.” His vassal having obeyed him, he walked over to William, his horns blocking the sky above them. “Good afternoon, William. How are you today?” He reached down to stroke William’s horn. “Please don’t be so upset about this. You already know that you should have never been born. I’m sure you heard it many times when you were young, but it only holds more truth now. You were never meant to lead the Devils of Orange-Nassau, and you were never meant to challenge me.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “And now, your fate is to die. Your father really was a fool, but then, so was your mother, for not strangling you before you even took your first breath.” He lashed his tail, and Mary stepped forward, slicing the ropes from William’s wrists and tail and shoving him to the ground.

Now, get up! Fight! But as William lifted his head, his body seemed to lock in place, burning with every breath he took. More than that, he was dizzy with both hunger and a headache, and he let his head fall. Here was a chance to escape, but, miserably, he knew he couldn’t take it.

“Fucking weak,” James spat. “Look at me, up here. Look at me.”

William kept his gaze on the ground, and he was met with James’ foot slamming down on his horn, forcing his head on its side. He tried to kick out as Mary stepped onto his tail and began to tie his hands behind him again. He glared up at the grinning figure standing over him.

“Charles and I saved you, you ungrateful little brat,” James said coldly. “And all we asked was that you never receive your six lives. I truly thought for the longest time after your father died that you still had some sense of honor, that you respected the promise you made to your mother. For that I still held some respect for you, for still fighting me despite knowing that you had only one life to lose.”

You never respected me. William tried to wrench his head free. Certainly, he had made that promise, but it was in the midst of a delusion, a frantic hope, on a day when he thought he was destined to be anything less than an Overlifer. He hadn’t expected James to think he would actually keep it. Even back then, sitting in the car with tears in his eyes, he hadn’t believed it of himself.

“Maybe I would have taken you in,” James went on. “Maybe I could have loved you. Your mother meant a great deal to me, more than even a sister— I would have proudly helped her with her child after all we had been through together. But it was you your father came for; he shot Mary because he had you.”

No. He never cared for me. William’s eyes widened as James leaned in. There was a frightening expression on his face, a hungry enthusiasm he remembered from that horrible night, the last night his mother was alive. When they had fled to James and Charles in the hopes that they could finally escape William’s father. Knowing they would only make him angrier and still going anyway.

“It was you who killed her,” James said, lifting William by his shirt collar and pulling him up. “I still see her in your eyes, the way she would glare at me when she would tell me she wished I was better. The way she looked at me before telling me she was getting married to a man who had raped her just to create you!”

William stared back in horror. How could he bring that up now?

James smiled back at him. “Even before your birth, all you did was hurt her. I know she loved you, and even if I can’t fathom why, I will kill you and fulfill what she would have wanted.” He leaned in to whisper. “She would rather see you dead than fighting me. She was an Easterner, through and through, and only realized her mistake when your father murdered her.”

“No!” he cried out through the gag, and James laughed, throwing him back down on the sand. A shudder ran through William’s body as he landed, his tail twisting inwards in pain.

“Her last words to you made that much clear,” James said. “You know, I can never get that out of my head. How she looked at me, and then at you...a scared little boy...poor little one.” He kicked William in the side, and William clenched his fists so hard that he felt his nails begin to draw blood from his palm.

Her last words. He didn’t remember them. He knew he had heard, and yet the moment he saw her bleeding out in James’ arms, his father staring ahead with those empty eyes of his...all of it had faded. He forgot how to speak, how to understand.

“She was right.” James knelt down to pull William’s head up by his hair. “It should have been you.”

So that was what she had used her dying breath for. To tell him that she wished he was in her place.

He had called her traitor all this time, traitor for trying to escape; he couldn’t say that now. He glowered at James, trying to blink back his tears that came as if he had just lost her all over again.

“Crying already?” James shoved him back and stood up again. “It isn’t even your trial yet. Pathetic.”

William lifted his head defiantly. Behind James, he saw Mary staring in silence. Staring at him. It might have been with pity or horror or both, something so kind as that. And he had no idea why; for all he knew, she had it far worse with someone like the monster before him.

“Well, I hope your father taught you a little something about defeat,” James said. “It’ll pay off now.” He shrugged his shoulders back and smiled. “I look upon you with the eyes of a serpent.”

No! William shuffled back in terror, only allowed to shake his head to express his refusal. In the back of his mind, he realized he had been waiting for this moment with the heaviest dread; he could not let it happen again. Not to him.

He fought desperately against the ropes, holding his tail out towards James to keep him away. He heard his rival laugh above him, and he looked up at Mary as if she could stop him. He knew she couldn’t.

But James merely shook his head, still laughing. “Oh, William. You think I’m serious?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’d rather die than touch you. That’s an honor you don’t even deserve.”

Good, because it’s an honor I don’t want. William brought his head down, trying not to let the terror show on his face. He wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t be, James was leaving him alone. It was fine.

So why was he shaking?

“Spencer,” James called, looking away. “I’m done with him. Do what you like.” He flicked his tail dismissively down at William. “I’m excited to hear much more from you at the trial, and then the execution. Maybe the first one won’t be so much to you, but you can only die so many times before it starts driving you mad.”

“That’s what it did to Charles,” Mary said, and James nodded.

“That was just his problem,” he said. He glanced back at William one last time before walking away, motioning with his tail for Mary to follow him. But she merely watched him go, sitting down beside William as soon as he was gone.

“Don’t say anything crazy,” she said, reaching behind his head to take off the gag. “William.”

“Mary,” he breathed, licking at his lips. He hadn’t realized he’d been drooling so much. He shut his mouth, swallowing gratefully, finding that he had nothing to say after all. He just wanted to sleep.

“I- I had no idea he was going to do any of that,” Mary said. She looked around before leaning in to push the hair from his face. “I don’t know anything about what he just said!”

“It’s nothing...”

“Well, it has to be something!” She helped him sit up, drawing back as if in fear before kissing him. William winced but returned the kiss.

“What are you going to do about all of this?” he asked as he pulled away. “You’re going to have to kill your father.”

“What?” Mary stared blankly at him, and he coughed.

“I mean, that’s what I did. When he threatened to kill Bentinck...” He trailed off, realizing Mary was glaring at him.

“You killed your father?” she said. “By all the stars, William, that’s- I’m not doing that just to save you!”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t I worth more than an abusive piece of shit who-”

“He’s not abusive!” Mary cried. “Devils below, you sound like Anne! Both of them! He- he loves me, and I’m sorry if your parents didn’t, but not everyone is like that.”

“My mother did love me. She was just afraid.”

“Really? Wishing you were dead was love?”

“She thought it was better than the way I lived,” he let out in a rush. He had never said it before, not even to himself nor in his head, as if he had never realized it, but he knew now. “She was wrong, but she didn’t say it because she hated me.” He lowered his voice and looked down as Mary reached out to hold his face. “If- if she did hate me, though...I would not— blame her.” He gasped, realizing he was crying, and Mary wrapped her arms around him.

“Mary, look,” William began, shifting back. “I- I lived through all of that, and I’m here now, where I’ve always wanted to be. You’re already older than I was when I killed my father.”

“Don’t start with this again,” Mary warned.

“I couldn’t have imagined it, either,” he said. “I didn’t have anyone to save me, but you- you have me.”

Well, there was always de Witt. But that was someone no one could ever know about. He swallowed at the memory of the execution and tried to smile at Mary, who now looked at him with disgust.

“You think you’re my savior?”

“I just want to help,” he insisted. “I think everyday of living under my father, and how you live, and I- I hate to imagine it. Mary, you need to get out, I don’t want to have to fight you—”

“Oh, so you just want to eliminate an enemy, is that it?” She only gave him a sad smile this time. “What gave you the right to stay, then?”

“I- I had to lead them—”

“So you don’t think I’ll take over the Disciples after my father dies?” she asked. “Fine, I don’t either. But I love him, and he loves me, and I intend to serve him until the day I die. I’m going to finish what you never could.” She stood over him, and as he looked up at her, his breath caught painfully in his throat.

Ferocity help me!

“I’m going to fulfill my father’s destiny,” she said. “Not rip it away from him. And if that means you have to die, then so be it. I’m sorry, William, I’m really glad I met you.” She smiled at him, her eyes glistening under the rising moon. “I think so, anyway. You and I— did you ever think it was anything worth fighting for? I killed you.”

“You’re not going to save me?”

“You will be saved.” Mary stepped away. “Goodbye. I’ll try to keep an eye on Bentinck for you after you’re dead.”

No! William wanted to call out, but he didn’t want to bring James here; that would only give her trouble. So he watched her go, still searching for something to say, anything that would convince her, before Spencer stepped out under the darkness.

“I feel like I heard more of that than I was supposed to,” he said, and William’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you dare tell her father, you-” He was cut off when Spencer pushed the gag back in his mouth.

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I won’t. I have my own secrets.” He laughed in a sort of dismissive, exhausted way as he knelt down to pull the ropes off of William’s legs. “We all do here. If Mary wants to leave, fine by me.”

William was brought inside into the barn full of screeching, hissing spirits. Some of the more humanoid ones were covering their ears, but perked them up when they saw William pass by.

As uncomfortable as it was to lie on the hay in one of the larger cells, where many smaller spirits were sleeping, he greatly preferred it to staying outside in that arena, stinking of blood and death without dignity. He only wished he was untied so he could stretch out; the pain was all the same.

“Try to sleep,” Spencer said, hopping on top of one of the cages. “You’ll want to be wide awake for your trial tomorrow.”

🝰🝰🝰

“My lord, are you in there?” A servant knocked on the door. “It’s almost time and you’re not even downstairs. Do you need help?”

Bentinck groaned and lifted his head from his hands. He might have needed help doing his makeup again, now that he was looking into the mirror, but he couldn’t let anyone see him like this. Then they might ask why, and then he had to explain that he’d just lost the only two people in the world who mattered.

“No,” he said. “I’ll be out in a second, hold off the visitors for a little while.”

“If you say so...” He heard the servant step away, leaving nothing but the sound of rippling water to soothe him. He closed his eyes.

He was fine. He was fine, of course, at least his head was, though everyone had thought it was such a horrible shock that one of their beloved Allies was injured, which was the dumbest, fakest thing he’d ever seen. Only Govert Bidloo, William’s ridiculous doctor and spy, had brushed off his injuries, saying he’d be fine the next day, like always— and, much to Bentinck’s annoyance, he was right.

If anything, he had asked more for William, who was definitively not fine. Bentinck had hesitated to tell him, knowing very well how Bidloo would react.

“You left him alone with a Disciple?!”

“Well, I was alone with one too-”

“Both of you, idiots! Unbelievable! I can’t believe this is the man destined to rule the world!”

“I’m going to go get him, and then I’m going to kill those Villiers girls.”

“Oh, that would be very nice, our facility really needs new bodies.”

It had offended him in the moment, but the way Bidloo was speaking to him made him feel something of a whipped dog; he had no inclination to defend William in front of him. For the longest time Bidloo had been the only one able to speak that way about their leader, and no one had said anything about it.

The worst thing was that, once again, he was right. What an idiot Bentinck had been! To believe that these Disciples had ever had anything beyond James on their mind, to ever dare to love one— it was worse than treason! He knew William would forgive him, as in all things, but it was more than he deserved.

And now he had to go save him, killing as many of those damned Disciples as he could on the way there. If he could, he’d kill James and Marly, the arrogant snakes, but it was Elizabeth he was looking forward to strangling the life out of. Treacherous viper!

Then there was Anne, whom he couldn’t do anything to.

He knew she had loved him. It hadn’t been enough, apparently, but she had loved him, of that he had no doubt. And he had loved her too; no, he did love her, despite all the attempts he had made to hate her now, to try to think of how furious William must be and all the things James was doing to him.

What she’d done was unforgivable, and here he was, trying to fix his makeup and go meet his followers, all while realizing that he couldn’t kill the Disciple who had done this. It was pathetic, it was betrayal.

“Ferocity,” he breathed out, stumbling back into the little stream of water in his room. The heat had never made him dizzy, but today it did, and he sat down in the water, looking down at his reflection, blotted out by the dim lights over his head.

There was yet another knock on the door, and Bentinck clenched his teeth. “I’ll be right down there!” he yelled.

“Well, your thoughts are very loud, could you perhaps quiet them down a little?” came the voice.

Ally George! Bentinck swallowed, forcing himself to think of nothing but the water flowing past his fingers. He only realized he hadn’t answered when George opened the door, looking around the room in wonder.

“Oh, it’s beautiful in here,” he said. He walked over to push aside the vines and flowers falling from the walls, examining the posters of old brand deals and photoshoots hidden under them. “Ooh, that one’s pretty— oh, alright, that’s nudity- um-” He stepped away, glancing at himself in the vanity mirror, before stopping beside the flowing stream, running his fingers through the small waterfall spilling over the wall. “Wow. It looks so much nicer in your room.”

“Thank you,” Bentinck said. “Can you leave now, please?”

“You sound very troubled,” George said sympathetically. “I love a Disciple too, you know. Her name is Anne, but this one’s Stewart, not Villiers.”

“I believe I noticed when you first came here,” Bentinck said, sitting back up on the ground. “How much did you hear?” Nosy bitch, he added silently, at which George made a visible effort to ignore.

“I’ve only been up here for a few minutes,” he said. “But when you’re sitting by the waterfall, it dims it a little. I couldn’t hear it from where I was, but the water seems to quiet you down, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.” Bentinck shifted uncomfortably. He’d never thought of it that way.

“So, James has your master? William?”

“Um—”

“Anne told me about it yesterday!” George said, his eyes brightening. “Oh, it sounds like they’re going to have a lot of fun over there. I mean, not fun for William,” he added apologetically, “nor very fun for your Anne, if her love for you is real.”

“It’s real!” Bentinck insisted.

“I don’t doubt it, but it’s hard to tell just through your thoughts,” George said. He shrugged. “I mean, loyalty to the Disciples is a very difficult thing, from what I hear. No one there is happy anymore, not under James— some never were happy. But you stay anyway, you know? It’s so hard to walk away.”

“I would have run from James a long time ago,” Bentinck said, finally letting all his thoughts back out into the open. Everything he tried to hide, he was sure George knew, either through James’ daughter or Marly or through his own observations. And out of everyone who could have had this power, perhaps George was the best choice, after all.

He’s not...technically an enemy. Bentinck sighed.

“No,” George said. “I could never be a Disciple, after everything James has done to Anne.” He leaned in and smiled down at Bentinck. “See, maybe you could run from them. But could you run from William?”

“Of course not, he’s my friend.” Bentinck shook his head, glared back up at George. “How many times do I have to say it to people? He’s not like James!”

“And if he were?”

“Then I wouldn’t love him like I do. It’s not that hard.” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s very easy to say you would leave,” George said. “But you didn’t grow up there. You didn’t see James as a younger man, you didn’t see the lengths he went to protect his daughters, you didn’t hear the promises he made to Marly and Maria. You didn’t hear the promises he made to everybody.”

“You think I don’t know how a cult works?” Bentinck asked.

“One would expect a better understanding from someone who’s in one.”

“The law may say we’re a cult,” Bentinck said, standing up again, “but we know what we really are. We are the protectors of the new faith, a new world that we’ll bring forth when all of you Allies are dead and the Disciples are defeated.” He stepped towards George, who backed away, his eyes widening. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“Yes- yes, very- ah, very well,” George stammered. “But you can’t say any of this is-”

“What? Is what?”

“I’ve looked deep into the minds of both Disciple and Devil.” He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know how any of you can think like this. I don’t know how you can call yourselves good.”

“Must look that way to an outsider,” Bentinck said, watching with satisfaction as George seemed to melt back into the wall. “But James is the only true evil here.”

“Yes.” George swallowed. “Yes, he is.”

“I’m glad we can agree on that.” Bentinck turned away, splashing George with a flick of his fingers through the waterfall. “Maybe we can agree on something else.”

“Please don’t finish that thought.”

“We’ve both lost someone to James.”

“Anne isn’t dead.”

“Not yet, but-”

“Oh.” George’s eyes widened. “Your father.”

What? Bentinck looked at him with bewilderment before realizing who he’d been thinking about mere seconds before, the face that had come to his mind before he’d even known it.

No, it’s not him! That was a long time ago! But the images came anyway.

The flick of a blade in the air, a raised tail, horns gleaming with blood—

There’s so much of it.

A hand running through his hair—

It was all his fault.

Lies woven through promises, told through endlessly black eyes.

Stop listening- I know you’re there— ENOUGH!

George flinched back, and Bentinck looked to the waterfall, focusing on the sound until he thought the blood on his hands had washed away with the water.

“You’re right,” George said gently. “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

“James can’t take William too.” Bentinck thought of nothing but his tongue forming the words. He would not lose William; he wouldn’t even dare imagine it.

“Truly, I would help you if I could. But I can’t say I condemn what James does and then turn around and align myself with William.” At the corner of his vision, George smiled. “I’m only here for Anne, no one else.” Bentinck heard him open the door. “You should probably go down there. Your followers are waiting for you.”

Damn them all, Bentinck wanted to say. Damn them if Anne is not among them any longer.

🝰🝰🝰

Mary wagged a finger at the camera as she spoke, addressing the thirty thousand people watching her. Sometimes, it was hard to love her followers, knowing that many would die when James ruled the nation, and that she deceived them, but having smoked enough tonight from her glass pipe, right now she loved them all equally. And she knew she meant more to them than any Ally. Whatever she said, they would respect her and listen, and slowly, they would find themselves under the world of the Disciples without even realizing.

That’s how we make them ours, James.

“Let me tell you something before I go, chat,” she said, leaning back on her chair. Glancing at the window, she saw that James was getting into one of his cars with Maria at his side, the sun setting over them. There was a strange pang in her chest as she watched them go, but it was only for a second, and then she was smiling back at the screen.

“I worry about the state of Altos Diablos, honestly. I don’t really like to talk about politics on stream, but you hear about the bombings and the assassination attempts...” She sighed at the thought, at how often she’d been at the heart of them. “And you just wonder, will it ever be safe? Grand Cabaret is becoming more and more openly hostile, and it’s looking like it might be war. Real war. And we haven’t had real war on this planet for a very long time.”

She flicked her eyes to the chat. Good, it was working; many said the same thing. A war was coming.

“Alright, I’ll be clear, then.” Now that I have you.

She leaned in from her chair, pushing the stuffed tigers and rabbits and wolves to the side, all of them gifts from either her fans or her father. Her followers adored them, had even helped name them, but there was no room for them now. “I don’t think it’s heresy to criticize our government,” she began. “Allies are chosen to lead us, so why is Master Lucky proving again and again that the devils might have been wrong?”

Yes, yes, yes, this was it— much of her chat was confused, but one by one they began to tentatively agree. She didn’t care if they said it just to please her, it did please her!

“Some Allies are better suited to other things with their fame,” she said. “For example, we would never say Ally Marly is qualified to lead us, right? Just because he’s an Ally?”

Devils below, can you imagine, she saw one message say as it flashed by, and she laughed.

“No, no, it’s unimaginable,” she said. “Lucky should have stuck with his position in the army. Such a military-minded man can’t lead a nation wanting peace! Here’s my idea!” She slammed her hand down on the table. “We get the devils back in charge! Bring back the Four Kingdoms! Summon them like the ancients used to do, get them to solve our problems for us! You know, I hear good things about the Hanoverian devils of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Are you okay? asked a donation as it popped up on the screen.

“Me? I’m great! Why would you ever ask that?” Mary shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, you know, I shouldn’t even answer! That’s not for you to know! I’m perfectly fine!”

They’re going to make you apologize for this later, said another subscriber.

“What? Who the fuck is they? The Allies? The devils?” Mary narrowed her eyes. “You guys? ‘Cause I’m not taking any of this back. Just because my daddy’s controversial doesn’t mean I have to be!” She groaned and leaned back against her chair again, pushing her hair from her face. She was sweating, she realized, and the pounding of her heart was agitating her.

“Just think about what I’m saying!” she yelled as she sat up. “It’s not radical to say the devils would do better! Because they would!”

Now they were getting worried; she was losing them. Some of them liked to see when she was high on stream, others not so much. It seemed like there were a lot of the “not so much” crowd here tonight.

“You’re all going to see one day, and you’ll be grateful for it,” she said. “Good night! I’ll be live later this week, maybe on Friday. Pretend this never happened.” With that, she ended the stream and started to laugh, picking up one of the wolves that had fallen to the floor. She held it close and laughed even harder.

It’s not long now, not long at all. James would fix everything. All the kids who had watched her when she started five years ago were now nearly adults, forming their own opinions of the world around them— and some of them would turn to her father for answers.

It was all going as he had intended. And who could ever suspect her, he liked to say.

“They love you more than I do.”

“By all the stars, Mary, what the fuck are you doing in there?” Her sister’s voice came from outside the door. “Are you high again?”

Mary nodded but didn’t answer. She spun herself around on her chair, humming as she pet the wolf.

“Damnit, Mary,” she heard Anne say. “Hurry up, I need to talk to you about something. Quickly, now that James isn’t here!”

“Ugh, fine, what is it?”

Anne opened the door, and Mary tossed the wolf at her face. Anne caught it rather clumsily, setting it back on the desk and walking over to lean against the window. Her tail closed the blinds behind her.

“You shouldn’t get high in front of so many people,” she said, glowering over at Mary as she searched through the files on her computer. “Are you listening? It’s already caused enough of a scandal!”

“And I’ll have you remember that that’s what got me so many followers,” Mary said, fanning herself playfully. “What do you want, anyway? You never come here. If you wanted to join in on the stream, it’s too late, and if you want drugs, you have to wait for James—”

“I don’t care about your stream or your crack, or whatever it was this time,” Anne snapped. “It’s about Monmouth.”

“Oh.” Mary laughed without meaning to. There was sickness at the back of her throat. “Pretty good fight, huh?”

“No,” Anne said, raising an eyebrow. “Not at all. I don’t care about the fight. I mean, I do, but-” She paused, making an effort to swallow. “But it’s over now. Monmouth is dead, our last hope is- he’s dead.”

“Last hope?” Mary shook her head. “That’s James. They may have the same name, but don’t confuse them with each other. Now that’s just insulting.”

“Our last hope to escape James, I mean!” Anne cried. “I wouldn’t want to see Monmouth rule either, but at least he wouldn’t have kept us here.”

“Escape?” Mary looked over at her, bewildered. “Come on, Anne, why on earth would you want to escape? We’re happy here! We’re safe! We’re going to inherit the world when James dies, and we’ll lead everyone to peace and prosperity, and they’re going to love us— we’ll be their saviors.” She waved her hand about as she spoke. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I’ve never said I wanted that. And neither have you.” Anne flicked her tail dismissively. “Besides, you don’t just make people love you. You have to earn it. And you’ve done very little to earn it from this nation.”

“They’ll be grateful when they realize,” Mary murmured. She lifted her nails to her lips and nipped absently at them, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, it sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Anne said. “Ruling by fear?”

“No one’s afraid of us.”

“They should fear you.”

“Me?” Mary let out a shaky sigh. “They have nothing to fear from the Disciples as long as they obey.”

“And it’s the same with us,” Anne said. Her eyes were bright in the gathering darkness. “James is fine until he isn’t. You want to call living with him safe? You want to say we’re happy?”

“I’m very happy,” Mary said. She was drawing blood from her nails now; it hurt so bad.

“Mary, quit doing that,” Anne said, walking back over to her. “I know we- we have a destiny. But it could have been fulfilled without everything James has done to us. It could have been fulfilled without fear and pain.”

“No,” Mary breathed out. “Never. It was all necessary. Every drop of blood.”

“Even Charles?” Anne lashed her tail with frustration. “Don’t you see where this religious war got us? We’re losing people, everyone is losing people—”

“Charles was the most necessary death of all.”

“What? Yeah, maybe- maybe to you.” Anne stepped back as Mary stood up. “You’ve always wanted to see James in power.” She hesitated before adding, “He killed him, Mary. James killed his brother. You and I, we’ve always known it.”

“Oh, have we?” Mary laughed. “Why does everyone always say that?”

“Because it’s true. You know it is.”

“Maybe,” she said, glancing to the side towards the drawers under her desk. “But no one knows him like I do. Killing is a great thrill to him, but it all changes when you bring his brother into the equation. Of course he wanted Charles dead. He’d lost his mind, Anne, do you remember that? And he wasn’t even that old! Well, as it was, James saw that the Disciples needed a stronger leader, right? Someone more certain in where their destiny lay.”

“So he killed him,” Anne said. “We all know how it ends.”

“No, no, no, no!” Mary said, clapping her hands. “No, this is where it gets better. He loved Charles, you see. He always did! I mean, I can never understand that— if I had to kill you, I would.”

“What?”

“No, there’s no time!” Mary went on. “What was I saying? Ah, yes, I mean, no. James did not kill Charles! But he did tell me, one lovely night, that he was worried for his brother and for the Disciples. He told me he was so very, very concerned, that something had to pass...”

“He told you about this?” Anne’s eyes widened.

“Oh, he didn’t just tell me. He gave me one fascinating order, just one, but by far the greatest I have ever received—”

“You killed him.”

Mary nodded ruefully. “Should have seen the look on his face. Poor thing.”

“Mary, you-” Anne raised her voice. “You killed him—!”

“Yes. So, you know, in the end, I guess James and I did betray him.” Mary opened a drawer and dug through the tangled wires. “It was out of love, or whatever you want the excuse to be today.”

“You’re heartless,” Anne whispered. “Did you see the state of his body?”

“Of course I did, I’m the one who left it like that.” Mary found what she was looking for and turned to Anne. “So what now?”

“What now?”

“Well, you know, James kind of told me to...kill anyone who found out?” Mary pulled one of her knives out from the wires, twisting it in her fingers and lifting it up towards Anne. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know why I told you any of this. I guess I thought it would be kind of funny, but now you have to die, so...not really.”

“You’re going to kill me?” Anne stumbled back, holding her hand out defensively. “Right now?”

“Yeah, when else do you want me to do it? When I’m sober?” With that, Mary lunged at Anne, shoving her back against the wall and raising the knife over her head.

Anne gasped and caught Mary’s hand by the wrist, lifting a leg to kick her in the stomach. Mary grunted sharply and fell back, and Anne tossed her head back as hard as she could, her horns shattering the window behind her.

“Fuck, you’re paying for that!” Mary shouted. Frantically, as Anne ducked out of the window, Mary drove the knife forward, managing to pin the tip of Anne’s tail to the wall. She heard the scream come from outside at the same time she heard a snap, and then she was staring at nothing but broken glass and the fluffy, decorated tip of her sister’s tail.

She’ll bleed out! Mary pulled the knife out and thoughtlessly followed Anne through the window, letting out a yelp as she landed hard on her feet, pausing to catch her breath. She saw Anne’s tail disappear through the trees ahead, and Mary ran after her. She hadn’t expected to kill someone today, but she wasn’t complaining.

She wasn’t tired yet, simply winded; she thought she could run forever. Anne certainly couldn’t, Mary thought as she advanced on the lashing tail. 

Just as it came within reach, as her fingers brushed the bloody fur, her foot halted under her, running into what might have been a branch or a lifted root. She let out a cry as she fell forward, managing to catch herself before she landed on her face.

By the stars. She propped herself up against the tree behind her, realizing how loud she was panting. It was the only thing breaking the silence here; sometimes it would be the screams of James’ prisoners, but no one would ever find them here. Anne had already disappeared.

“Oh,” Mary gasped, lifting her head to the sky. She had almost caught up. And then what?

Even if I loved you once...

Of course, she should have guessed. James hadn’t been able to kill Charles, either.

🝰🝰🝰

He was woken by Spencer after a fitful night of sleep, a boot’s heel slamming into the tip of his tail. He bit into the gag and hissed like he had when he was a child, but Spencer wasn’t fazed. He took hold of one of William’s horns and lifted his aching head up, tying a blindfold over his eyes, and then tugged at the rope around William’s wrists, forcing him to stand.

He was pushed back onto a wooden stool, where Spencer tilted his head up with the slightest of touches. He felt something fitted around his neck— a collar. It was made of leather, William could tell. It seemed to tighten around his neck when something was clipped onto it from the front, a chain judging by the rattling sound.

“That will do very well,” Spencer murmured as he pushed the hair out from under the collar, brushing it back with what might have been a comb.

There was the sound of something else clicking and jingling, and William realized there were horn bands being clipped around his horns, the gold chains and assorted gems being spread between them. Then he heard something like scraping above him, his head being jerked back. His horns were being trimmed, but to what extent, he could not guess.

He felt the chain go taut, forcing his head to tilt slightly upwards. The gag was slipped out of his mouth, and he let out a relieved gasp, taking deep breaths.

“What- what’s all this for?” he asked.

There was silence on Spencer’s end save for footsteps heard a distance away. William lashed his tail indignantly. “You do not get to ignore an Overlifer. Is this for the trial?”

“I don’t like it when dogs bark senselessly at me,” Spencer said, his voice coming closer. “Open.”

“For what?”

He was met with a backhanded slap to the face. He stumbled to the side, nearly falling off the stool if it weren’t for Spencer pulling him back up by the chain. The sting became a burn when he felt a gloved hand cup around his cheek, the thumb forcing itself past his lips. William huffed and bit down as hard as he could.

“Fuck—!” Spencer sprung back. “See, this is the thing about all Western spirits. They all bite.”

“Call me a spirit again and it’ll be your throat next,” William growled.

Again, Spencer did not answer. Instead, he felt fingers dig into his hair, pulling him out of the stool and then slamming his face against the wall. William’s teeth came down on his tongue, and as he stumbled back he tasted blood over his lips as well, falling from his nose. He thought he could have fainted. The hanging gems rattled by his ears.

“Oh, James isn’t going to like that look,” Spencer said, the wince evident from his tone. “But I have a feeling the hot stick wouldn’t have worked on you, anyway. Will you behave now?”

“You- you really think—”

William was cut off by his tail being suddenly twisted at the base, where the sharp bend was. He let out a fierce hiss through clenched teeth, and Spencer’s free hand came around his neck, pinning his head back on the Disciple’s shoulder.

“We cannot have a trial and execution without obedience and discipline,” Spencer said. “Count the seconds I hold your tail this way or it will only get worse.” As he spoke, he coiled the tail around and around his wrist, and William gasped, kicking fiercely at Spencer’s legs behind him.

“I will kill you myself—!”

“Common, easy threat,” Spencer said. “But a false one. You will not get out of here to kill anyone ever again. Count for me, little one.”

Little one! William tried to think of any spells that would work without any slip of paper, but that was an ability reserved for Allies and his six life. A life that, if all went horribly wrong here, he would reach soon.

He tried to kick again, but Spencer curled his own tail around William’s legs. His breath was warm beside William’s cheek.

“Go on,” he said. “Just count. It’s so easy.”

“Fuck you,” William snapped.

“So it shall be this way,” Spencer said. He brought his hand back up to William’s hair and pushed his body down against the floor. William winced as his chin came down on it, dust rising up beside him.

Not now! He inhaled sharply and coughed, feeling Spencer’s heel on his back as he tried to sit back up on his legs.

He felt his tail bent over something like a ledge, what might have been a cell door. “Same as before,” he heard Spencer say. “Just say it.” He began to press William’s tail down over the ledge with one hand, the other pulling back on the tip.

William coughed again, a shudder running through his body. He would not count, he would not do anything these Disciples told him to do. Yet it was taking a greater and greater effort to keep his mouth shut, whimpers beginning to form along with his wheezes.

No, no, no, don’t make a sound.

He felt something snap at his tail where Spencer was holding it. He bit his lip hard, failing to muffle a shriek, but Spencer did not stop.

“That’s just a few bones,” he said. “There’s more where that came from. I will go until all of this tail is broken, if I have to.”

“One—!” William cried hurriedly. “Two. Three. Four.”

“Very good. Until ten.”

“Five. Six.” Tears came to William’s eyes as Spencer squeezed his fist around the broken bones. “S-Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten, now let go!”

Spencer dropped the tail, and William curled it in with much effort, trying to catch his breath. He was forced up to his knees by the chain on his collar, cutting away yet more air.

“Now,” Spencer said, “that looks good.” There was another gag shoved into his open mouth, but this time his lips did not close around it. It was his bloody tongue hanging out instead, leaving his jaws open, drool forming there relentlessly. The blood was cleaned from his face, his shirt unbuttoned so his saliva would not stain it. At this he turned away with a grunt of displeasure.

There was the sound of a phone ringing, and Spencer dropped back. “Good morning, sir,” William heard him say, “did you sleep well?”

There was a pause, and then Spencer laughed. “I was just asking. Yes, he’s still here.”

Is he talking to James? William tugged at the ropes around his wrists. He tried to push his tail in between the knots, but the force of it would send a sharp pain from the bottom of his spine all the way to his horns. He shuddered and tried to swallow back a groan.

“Yes, I’ve been doing- yes, I know,” Spencer was saying. “But he’s given me quite a challenge, I-” He stopped, then sighed. “Yes, he will be there. I broke his tail, and maybe his nose, too- oh, please—” There was the sound of something whipping the air; an irritated tail, no doubt. “It’ll be difficult to get him to hold still. I’ve just made it easier for you. No, I haven’t- he’s not dead— fine, give me a moment. I’ll be there soon.”

William jerked his head back in the chain, only for it to pull him forward onto the ground. It was in something of a daze that he realized Spencer was pulling his hair again, dragging him outside, the approving hisses of the spirits fading behind him.

Maybe I will die here. It came to him like a thunderbolt. He should have fought like one, but then—

He recognized the motion all over again, the roughness of being shoved into the trunk of a car. He tried to kick out at Spencer, but his movements felt too sluggish, his head pounding like he was high all over again. But there was no peace here, only a dim sensation of panic as he felt a hand run through his hair.

“I see now why you were granted six lives,” Spencer said.

What? William’s face flushed as he felt the saliva wiped away from his chin again. He heard Spencer step back, and the door was shut over him.

At least his mouth was open this time. With the movement of the car, though, he felt something else begin to drag him below, where the devils lay. They wanted him now. In a dizzying moment he came to the conclusion that his father was among them, and that he had to fight, but he did not want to...the darkness became absolute; what a waste.

🝰🝰🝰

Bentinck’s phone was ringing again, late into the night. He felt as if he’d been on calls for most of the day, scolding the Madams and the bombers and the dealers for their insolence to their Overlifer, who was perfectly fine, thank you very much, he will get back to you in a few days, now stop calling; he’s very busy. Nobody needed to know William had been captured and that he wasn’t back yet.

Well, he would be back tonight, Bentinck had decided, before anyone found out. He wasn’t sure where William was, but maybe stopping by some of the Stewarts’ many residences would give him a clue. Or, better yet, he was already there.

Right now, however, he had to answer this last call. He picked up the phone, his sigh becoming a groan when he saw who it was.

He answered and placed it on the table as he worked on loading his gun. “Hello, Bidloo,” he said. Of course, the one man who William would trust with this information was also the most annoying.

“I’m outside,” Bidloo said.

“What?”

“Outside...your house. Open up.” “I’m sure William would appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for you to come in,” Bentinck said, laughing nervously. He shrugged off the tension on his shoulders and tried to remember what some of the Infernal spells were, in particular the ones spoken in the dialect of the Southern Kingdom. Those were the most useful, but the most elusive.

“I will bomb the place if I must,” Bidloo said. “What are you doing this time? How many men are in there?”

“It’s- it’s just me, Bidloo,” Bentinck said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re planning to go get him by yourself, aren’t you?”

“Well, who else is going to?”

“I could do it. Easily.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Bentinck snapped. “Look, you’re welcome to try, but you know you were never very good at the spells, nor protecting yourself from them. And they all know you well, especially James— he’s got a reason to want vengeance, after all the Disciples you’ve institutionalized.”

“Oh, yes,” Bidloo said, as if he were remembering a fun day of his childhood and not the countless sessions of torture.

“Well, here’s something you don’t know,” Bentinck said. “You don’t care about death. It’s all impersonal to you, isn’t it? Doctor.”

“Oh, you know, it puts food on the table.”

“It would be a waste to let you go out there and kill everyone who stands in your way,” Bentinck went on, “because it would mean nothing. Meanwhile, I have something I need to do over there. Right now, they’ve taken my friend, and when I was a boy, you know James-”

“Murdered my father,” Bidloo interrupted. He barked out a laugh. “So you think only you can kill him. You think it’s only fair.”

“No, William has to do that, but...maybe just one life.”

“You don’t make the death of a person right by killing someone else,” Bidloo said. “You’re just killing more people. Revenge is just a concept, Hansi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bentinck said, his face flushing.

“In any case, sounds like you’ll get way too caught up in other things that don’t pertain to the mission. Like your emotions.” Bidloo lowered his voice. “You’ll need someone there to orient you. With your power, you could become a truly threatening force to the Disciples. You just need to focus.”

“I’m not going to let you come with me.”

“Why not? I have something that you know you need. You can’t go out there without it.”

“Really? You?” Bentinck snorted. “And what the fuck could that be?”

“Some doll named Anne Villiers,” Bidloo said, yawning as he said the name. “The spy who deceived you. You, Bentinck, she deceived you. Someone who should have seen the motivations of the Disciples in her long before they came to fruition. Alas...your emotions were quite a distraction, weren’t they?”

“You—!” Bentinck jolted. “You have her?”

“She came to our facility, yes,” Bidloo said. “She was asking for you. Silly girl, I took care of her for you, don’t worry.”

Bentinck hung up and walked outside, past his gardens and past his gate, where Bidloo was waiting in his car, poking his cat-like face out of the window. His rather jarring appearance was illuminated by the fluorescent street lamp above; while one horn was huge, striped, curling in towards Bidloo’s head in the typical Northern manner, the other was cut short near the base, the remains of it unevenly spiked.

“Did you kill her?” He felt as if his heart had frozen in his chest, tensing for the answer.

“No, she has valuable information, I’m sure,” Bidloo said. “But she refuses to share it with me. She said she needed to speak to you outside of your meeting hours, but didn’t know where to look— save for our facility, of course, seeing as there’s a Devil running around the place.” He pointed a finger at himself with a chuckle. “She showed me the R and said she could do dreadful things to me if I didn’t help her.”

“She threatened you?”

Bidloo shrugged and rolled down one of the back windows. “Ask her yourself.”

He looked up, refusing to believe that he saw her then, sitting behind Bidloo, her eyes wide as she brought a hand up to adjust the hair around her face. It was that movement that convinced him; it was Anne.

“Hans!” She leaned out the window, accidentally kicking Bidloo as she did so. “I- I thought he was lying, and he was going to kill me, or something— like he has with everyone else. He was kind of rough, I mean—” She paused, looking up at Bentinck’s stunned face. “Oh...”

“Anne,” he breathed. “You did come back.”

She hesitated before opening the door and leaping into his arms, squeezing her own around his neck as if she’d been waiting for it. “I love you, Hans, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” Her voice broke, and she seemed to become smaller, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You know I would always forgive you.” Bentinck stroked at her hair, surprising himself with the truth. “From the moment I realized, I forgave you.”

“No...” She looked up again. “But that’s what made it so easy, Hans.”

“It was worth it.”

“You- you know, I didn’t want to leave you.” She let out a bitter sigh. “I didn’t want to lie to you, either, but Mary ordered it of me, and James, he- well, you know James.”

“Too well,” Bentinck growled. “This is all his doing, Anne.”

“The truth is, I didn’t do it just for him,” Anne said, her gaze hardening over. “I mean, for Mary, of course I would do anything for her. But after everything you’ve told me about William...I thought that maybe you would-” She stopped as Bentinck leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“You think I would be better off without him,” he said.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Hans.”

“He’s my friend, Anne, for the last time—”

“If Mary treated me like William treats you, I would have already left the Disciples,” Anne cut in. “And come to you. But there’s a reason I’ve stayed.”

“If William treated me like how you say he does, I would have already left, too,” Bentinck said firmly. “I know you mean the best, but- but he’s my friend, and I love him, and now he is in danger because you- because you thought it was good for me.” He turned towards Bidloo, trying and failing to blink away his tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.”

“I’m sorry. I knew it would be this way.” Anne’s hand slipped into his.

“Just don’t- don’t get caught up in things that don’t concern you.” He ran his thumb over her hand, though he intended mostly to soothe himself. He felt scars there, near her wrist.

“One last time, then?”

“What?” He turned his head back to her.

“Tonight is William’s trial,” she said, “and his first execution. It may have already started. That’s why I had to find you again. I don’t like him, but things would only get worse if we let this happen.”

“What?” Bidloo spat from the front. “And you didn’t think to tell me that first?”

“Why would I tell you anything? You kind of kidnapped me.” Anne waved him off. “We have to go, Hans.”

“Yes- yes, let’s go.” Bentinck started to step away, but then glanced back at Bidloo. “And I suppose you’d like to take us there.”

Bidloo turned his icy gaze to the Ally. “Why, thank you for the invitation.”

🝰🝰🝰

A hand came down on his head, pulling at his hair and jolting him out of his uneasy sleep. He was still breathing hard, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, becoming more dizzy with every sharp wheeze of his. He deliriously wondered if he had lost a life, and now the cold air that he was breathing in was from the realm of the devils.

“William. Hello, darling.”

No devil could speak like this. He turned his head to the side, and a thumb suddenly shoved itself into his mouth, forcing his tongue down with a sharp nail. He gasped, heard laughing from above.

“He looks like a mess,” came the voice. It was James, William realized, and it made the reality before him more certain. He had to escape or he would die.

No one is coming to save you!

He kicked a leg out, trying to sit up, and the chain on his neck was pulled hard, forcing him up on his knees. He lashed his tail behind him, letting out a heavy sigh at the renewed pain there. He had almost forgotten.

“Come on out, step lively! You’ve been sleeping all day.” That was Spencer’s voice, the voice of a snake as cheerful as ever. There was a gloved hand on one arm, a firmer one on the other, helping him stand with deceitful kindness. He swayed on his feet, wondering if he should run now, but the chain remained taut. He wouldn’t get far.

Or I’ll just fall on my nose. He looked up, trying to make anything out through the blindfold.

“You know, it’s kind of nice, this silence from you,” James said, his voice making William’s head seem heavier. Like a venomous lullaby. “It’s nothing at all, really, but it’s a sound that few are blessed to hear.” The hand came back around William’s head, another one on his cheek, the same one that had been in his mouth seconds before. He recognized the movement, his heart speeding up.

He jerked his head back, but James brought him closer still, slipping his tongue into William’s mouth. It wasn’t a kiss; no, this was the first taste of many that would undoubtedly come later, and some would venture further than others. He stifled a cry, trying to lift his head as James ran his tongue along the roof of William’s mouth, down to his teeth, and finally his lips, where the tongue lapped away William’s drool and replaced it with its own.

Devils below. He shuddered as James stepped back, his breath leaving him when he bent forward and began to retch, the tip of his tail shaking. He might have fallen if it weren’t for the hand buried in his hair keeping him up. He wasn’t sure if anything came out of him, but he could taste nothing at the back of his throat.

“I thought your father would have taught you better than that,” James said, the disapproval evident in his voice. “Well, Spencer, bring him in. I have to make sure everything is ready. I can trust you to watch him again, yes?”

“It’s been my great pleasure, sir.”

What was this place? The heat as Spencer pushed him inside convinced William it was a Hoerenkast, a strange choice for an execution. These places meant nothing to Overlifers, and it would surely be noticed if someone was brought to die here, especially someone like William.

They were all watching, he thought, and laughing. No one cared. He’d kill them all when he got free.

“We’re coming to some stairs,” Spencer said into his ear. “Be careful. We have time.”

Stairs? William could hardly keep himself up when he was still. His legs shook as he was pulled up the steps, his tail held out stiffly behind him in an instinctual attempt to keep him balanced despite the sharp pains near both the base and the tip. Spencer still held on to him, though William was tempted to bat him off. He didn’t need help for this.

He fell to his knees once they made it to the top and he heard a door close behind him, his head still forced up by the chain. The collar felt as if it were choking him, cutting off the air he had already so desperately needed. He hoped he wouldn’t have another attack— Spencer was not the sort to help him.

“Oh, little one,” he heard Spencer say, a tail running under his chin, “we can’t have you passing out in front of everyone. Would you like some water?”

Please! William nodded rapidly. His throat had been increasingly dry these past few days; he had been given nothing to eat nor drink. Eating very little he was used to, often skipping meals since he was a boy, but the pangs in his stomach could hardly go unnoticed now, and water he could not go without. Certainly he couldn’t escape like this.

“I know where I can find your weakness,” Spencer said, his voice low behind William. “You’re very easy, you know.” A sharp heel dug into William’s back then, pushing him down so that his chin rested on the floor. Before him, he could hear the gentle running of water, and realized that they must have been by one of the Hoerenkast’s streams.

“There’s your water,” Spencer said. “Drink.”

This was the water he was offering William? From the warm stream, where countless Allies had sat before? He shook his head, trying to lift himself back up again, but Spencer brought his heel down on his head next, sending a fire down William’s spine. He grunted and narrowed his eyes under his blindfold.

This will be the first and last time you treat an Overlifer this way. Who did Spencer think he was, treating William like a common spirit? Even rival Overlifers deserved respect.

He doesn’t believe in me. He felt his face warming up, whether it was from anger or embarrassment he couldn’t say, but he heard Spencer sigh.

“Are you going to make me regret this? Drink.”

Like a fucking dog? William took a shaky breath, but obeyed, bowing his head further to lap from the stream. It was bitter, bringing no relief with its warmth, and then he realized he couldn’t even swallow with his mouth forced open. He tried again, lapping up more, but he only coughed once it reached his throat, feeling it drip back out of his mouth.

You sly fucking rat. He shuddered as the heel pressed down harder on his head. What had he looked like to Spencer? Like the obedient little spirit the Disciple wanted?

Well, he would never be that. He paused, then sprung up, throwing Spencer’s heel off of him. He turned his head around wildly, when he felt a hand grip his hair hard, forcing his head up until tears came to his eyes.

“Behave,” Spencer said simply, and then his head was pushed into the water. William gasped involuntarily, water filling his throat until he choked on it, his open mouth still refusing to swallow it. He stiffened, spasms running down his back to his tail. His nose was burning; he thought the water might have been boiling—

“Had enough of a drink?” Spencer asked as he brought William back up again.

William was still gasping, coughing with water running from his nose and lips. Inexplicably, he was trying to swallow, but it only made him choke more, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

He heard the door open, a stern, familiar voice say, “Is he ready? James is about to make the announcement.” It was Ally Marly, and even in the midst of this shitshow William felt the fur on his tail stand straight up at the sound. “What are you doing to him?”

“He wanted a drink,” Spencer replied, “so I gave him one.”

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” The chain on William’s collar was pulled upwards, his hair being tugged along with it, and he stumbled to his feet, too stunned to do anything but follow the two Disciples. “James isn’t going to be happy with how you made such a mess of his hair.”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

Marly snorted. “Sure.”

He was going to die for the third time. He couldn’t say it scared him, but with every step his body only shook more, the emptiness in his stomach growing.

🝰🝰🝰

Only the most trusted of Disciples were allowed to watch the execution of their greatest enemy, only the most useful. They were all here, all people Mary knew and hardly liked, just as she despised the looming presence of the Tenth Honor Hoerenkast. She supposed it was all a very symbolic, triumphant thing, to kill an Overlifer in the temple of their most obnoxious rivals, but she couldn’t stand the devils that were watching from the stained glass or the tapestries. At least it was only them, and no one else— Marly had asked all the servants and other Allies to leave the place to him today, for an “event.”

Stupid, obedient Disciples. Everybody here, standing in the largest meeting room where Marly usually met with his starry-eyed followers, waiting for their glorious Overlifer to begin speaking. She didn’t know why, but today, she hated them all.

James was sitting on Marly’s throne, smoking as always, his head leaning on Maria’s shoulder as she stood beside him. They were speaking to each other, and though Mary was closest to them she couldn’t make out anything. It was only when Maria looked up and beckoned for her to come that she heard what James was complaining about.

“Where is your sister, Mary? We can’t start if everyone isn’t here.” He twitched his tail furiously with annoyance. “She’s always doing this shit.”

“I don’t know,” Mary said honestly. She hadn’t seen Anne since she had fled yesterday. She had kind of expected her to return at some point, which made no sense, now that she thought about it. Coming back wouldn’t mean she would be spared, especially if James knew now.

But he didn’t know. Mary had decided not to tell him— she could handle Anne on her own, and when she was dead she could tell James all about it and watch his eyes light up with pride. For now, though, he didn’t have to know, because then Anne didn’t have to die just yet; there was no clock ticking for Mary, urging her to do it now, now, now, kill your sister.

She could do it whenever she liked. She could decide all on her own. It wasn’t deceit or treason, surely, as long as she still did it.

She would do it, of course. She wasn’t like James. For now, she just had to deal with the displeasure on his face as he looked around the room, then sank back into the throne with a sigh, lifting his cigarette to his lips. “She’ll hear about this when she gets back,” he muttered, “I’ll drill it right into her fucking skull.” Oh, Anne. Mary sighed. Always making things worse for yourself.

“And your little Villiers friends?” James asked. “I see Elizabeth, but where is Anne?”

“That...I don’t know, either.” That was a little bit more worrying, though at least this Anne had the advantage of having actually pleased James immensely a few days back. He couldn’t be too harsh on her, could he? She was the reason they were all here.

“I’m starting to suspect treason from your sister,” James said, “and insolence from your friend. Tame that girl, Mary, or I’ll have to do it myself. As I must do all things around here,” he added with a yawn.

I’m sorry, you’ll have to remind me who captured William and who didn’t, came the tempting retort in Mary’s mind, but she only smiled and bowed her head.

“Yes, sir.”

“James, please, today is supposed to be a happy day,” Maria said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Mary could see that she was already tense, the tip of her tail stiffly twitching behind her. “Don’t stress too much about it, you’ll make your nose bleed again.”

“I’m not stressed,” James snapped, batting her off. “But can you blame me for wanting my daughter here to witness this victory? This is the longest she’s been out of my sight, and it is at the worst possible time.”

“It’s barely been a day,” Maria said. She reached down to take his hand, lifting it to her lips to kiss it. “She’ll come back. Just get on with it, before William finds a way to escape. The longer we wait, the less time we have before someone inevitably comes and tries to rescue him.”

“We don’t have to wait for them,” Mary added.

James paused, then stood up, kissing Maria on the cheek as he did so. “Very well,” he said. “We shall begin.”

Finally. Mary stepped back, taking her place back beside Elizabeth. She had no regrets over this, none at all; she only wished she could have been the one to capture and kill William, as had been the original plan for years. It was a simpler way for him to go, the way Charles would have liked, without ceremony nor honor. But Charles was dead, and now his brother...

Well, he’s a little different, isn’t he? She took a deep breath and looked up at her father. And William was never meant to go out so easily, by the hands of someone like—

You.

“Welcome, all Disciples, to the first of many trials for our captured Overlifer,” James began. “This is an ancient ceremony, one that hasn’t been performed for centuries. However, today I’d like to bring it back as a celebration of our victory. Our enemies are now on the verge of defeat. We have their leader.”

No one else deserves him. Mary held her hand over her heart. It was going too fast for all the nothing that was going on. So do it, James.

Kill him.

“The Overlifer must answer for his crimes,” James went on. “He must admit that what he did to us was wrong, and that his existence, in reality, holds no meaning. He must acknowledge me as the true authority of humanity. He must beg for my forgiveness.” His eyes glinted, and the Disciples all leaned in with interest. “But it will not be granted.”

At that, the curtains flew open behind the audience, and they all looked back to see William himself, dragged in by Ally Marly and the spirit handler Robert Spencer. At the sight of him the Disciples began to cheer and roar, jeering at him as he walked by each of them.

“Fucking snake! Look at him drool!”

“Half-drowned mouse!”

“We got Spencer on this guy? He must be pretty damn weak!”

“Call snake’s eye for an eye, sir, let him service us!”

“Bring him down!”

“Let him kneel!”

Devils below. Mary’s eyes widened as William came by her. He was in an even worse state now, wheezing through his open mouth as water dripped down his face and hair. The tip of his tail was strangely twisted, his shirt ruffled and torn open at his chest, a blindfold tied around his head. His horns, however, were trimmed into sharper and neater points than Mary remembered, with chains of gold tied in between them.

“Kneel before James Stewart, animal,” Marly said, slamming his heel down on William’s tail. William jumped, hissing under his breath, and Marly pulled on the chain on his collar, bringing him down before the stream running in front of the throne. Spencer bowed towards James, then ducked back into the crowd of Disciples, his eyes flashing as he watched William.

What’s he looking at him that way for? Mary shook herself with disgust.

“Wasted no time,” she heard James say as Marly handed him the chain. “Good boy.”

Marly made no comment, merely sat beside James on the armrest of the throne and smiled down at William.

Self-satisfied cunt. Mary rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze on William. Under the dim light of the candles above he was beautiful, a figure at its finest when it was bound, his wet locks gleaming like his eyes would have had it not been for the blindfold. With his head forced up, he looked as if he were defying James.

“Look at that,” Elizabeth muttered beside her.

“I’m looking.”

James cleared his throat, and the whole room fell silent. They all watched their Overlifer stand, his eyes no longer anything but cold, his lips letting loose gray smoke. He brought the chain closer and stepped over the stream..

“Look upon this blasphemer, this criminal,” he said. “William Henry Nassau; our most persistent enemy, and the most convincing of liars. I shudder to think what deceit he infects his Devils with to ensure their loyalty to the wrong Overlifer.”

Really? Mary could almost laugh.

“When he is dead, the Devils will come under my control, under the right Overlifer,” James continued. He stepped forward, pulling the chain up until William was forced to lift himself off his legs. “They shall never remember you, William. You, who were born through evil, and have led the life that your father wrote out for you from the moment you were born.” He curled his lip back in disgust. “It’s pathetic to watch. You’re just like your mother.”

Why bring that up now? Mary swallowed. He just had to get it over with!

William’s only response was a wide lash of his tail. James glanced at the audience, then pressed his cigarette down on William’s tongue.

The shriek that came from him was what broke the spell; as he fell back, crying out and shaking his head, the Disciples began to laugh again, some of them clapping their hands. Maria’s eyes widened behind James, but she said nothing.

“Our glorious leader has finally gotten a scream out of the imperturbable Defender of the Faith!” Marly yelled, invoking the ancient name for the leader of the Devils of Orange-Nassau. “Long live James Stewart, long live the Restoration!”

The Disciples echoed his call, Elizabeth joining in with much enthusiasm. Mary hesitated, then lifted her head to take up the cry, watching William furiously pull back on the chain. James did not look up, kept his gaze frozen there, upon William. The only indication of life from him was his tail swaying slowly behind him in satisfaction.

He raised his hand, and the Disciples eagerly shut up again in no time at all. James brought his hand down to lift William’s head, untying the gag and pulling it out of his mouth. There was a pause as William swallowed, closing his mouth and then opening it once more, this time to spit at James, “Fuck you!”

Oh, William. Mary shook her head, the gasps of the Disciples audible around her.

“Is that all you can say?” James asked. “Nothing to defend yourself?”

“I don’t- I don’t have to defend anything that I-” William cut himself off with a cough. “That I have ever done. I know who the real Overlifer is here. It’s not you, you- you fucking fraud! Do you think you have any right to treat me this way? If I would ever kill you, th-there would be no ceremony! You don’t fucking deserve it, you piece of shit, fucking creep—”

“Do you realize from where you’re talking right now?” James tilted his head to the side. “I can make your death so much more painful than it has to be.”

“Ha!” William laughed viciously. “You were already planning on that. Sadistic bitch!”

“What was that?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? I knew you were getting old, but you’re hardly in your fifties!” William laughed again. “But you did hear! I called you a bitch and a sadist, both, even—”

James drove his knee upward, striking right under William’s chin, sending him flying back against the floor. He let out a hiss as his head landed, and James snorted, circling him with a flicking tail.

“Had your fill?” he asked. “Insolent brat.”

Mary’s breath hitched as William sat up again. “Never,” he said. “Lying, cheating, arrogant viper, relying on your daughter to do everything for you! Lazy, apathetic—”

It was James’ turn to hiss like a primitive devil. He took William by the neck and forced his head under the water at the stream, bringing his heel down onto it again and again. He took William’s flailing tail and twisted it around his wrist.

“Holy shit,” Elizabeth snorted.

Now he’s really mad. Mary looked down at the floor, her vision blurring before her. It was just as it had been at the fight— this sick uncertainty in her, even without her father’s eyes on her. But they would turn towards her soon, she was sure of it.

“Are you alright?” she heard Elizabeth ask. “Mary, pay attention.”

“I- I know.” Mary inhaled sharply. “It’s just- just the drugs again.” She looked up again, realized with horror that her father was looking straight at her.

“You do not get to say anything about my family,” James growled, nodding once at Mary and then glaring back down at William. “What do you think you would know? Hm?” He pulled William back out, kicking him in the side as he bowed his head, coughing and taking in raspy breaths. Surprisingly, he managed to bite back any noise this time, though he shuddered at the impact.

“Nothing to say now?” James smiled back at the stunned audience, as pleasant as he had been at the beginning. “Very well. Let the trial begin. Like the fight from before, it can only end in one way— death, as many times as it must come to him.” He brought William’s head back up by the chain, speaking over the hacking coughs. “William Henry Nassau is charged with the following crimes—”

“You- you and your fucking theatrics!” William cut in with evident effort. “Flashy bitch! That’s why you have- you’ve got your wife on one arm and an Ally on the other! An affair with an Ally, now that’s fucking rich from an- an Overlifer who claims he’s valid!”

Shut up, William, by the stars! What did he think he could do from this position?

Maria narrowed her eyes and glared at Marly, flicking her tail dismissively at him. James looked between the both of them, then turned back to William, his eyes bright with rage.

“Oh, you never know when to shut up, do you?” he snarled. He lifted William up by his collar and stepped over the water, throwing him back against the throne. “Then let us go through your crimes this way, shall we?”

“I plead guilty to all of them.” William curled his lip back in a sneer, his tail twitching erratically.

“So you admit it,” James said. “That you did send assassins after me, my brother, and my most valuable Disciples.” As he spoke, he drove his fist into William’s face, hard enough for William’s head to bounce back and blood to begin dribbling out of his mouth and nose.

“Yes,” William gasped out. He still bared his teeth.

“That you did kidnap, torture, and execute hostages you promised to return to us unharmed.” James dug his fingers into William’s hair and shoved him back to the ground, keeping his hold on William’s head to land another blow on it.

“Yes.” William bit hard into his lip, making a sound like he was trying to swallow, and James let him fall.

“That you did cause the death of my people in your terrorist attacks all throughout the nation, whether it was intentional or not.” He landed another vicious kick in William’s ribs, then his neck, and finally his head, where a startling crack was heard from his horns.

“Yes.” From where Mary was standing, she could not see his face as he answered.

James took the chain from William’s collar and swung it carelessly around in his hands. This time he did not pull William up, rather he let him stay on the ground, and instead raised the chain behind him and then brought it down against William’s back.

“AUGH—!” William roared, his whole body jolting, and the Disciples leaned in with renewed fascination.

“That you did intercept our lines of weapons, narcotics, Westerners and Northerners, whatever it may be, and caused us a great loss in profit.” James folded the length of the chain in, bringing it down again with more force.

William’s answer came in his scream. “Yes—!”

“That you did disrespect me and my divine authority.” James held his foot over the tip of William’s tail and did the same as before. Mary swore the screams were louder this time.

“Yes!”

James didn’t pause anymore, not beyond a few seconds between each lash of the chain. “That you did murder your mother as a boy.” His voice seemed to grow quieter with every accusation, as if in a nervous anticipation.

“Yes, by the stars— yes!” William was still quick to answer, though Mary thought he might have been choking on his own blood, dizzy with agony even she couldn’t imagine.

“Murdered his mother? What’s all that about?” Elizabeth murmured.

Mary shook her head helplessly. To James, it must have looked that way, and he must have believed in it; therefore he was correct.

“That you did break the promise you made to her before her death,” he went on. He kicked William again, knocking him back down as he tried to right himself under the relentless whipping. The chain made a lovely, unfamiliar sound as it came down.

William let out a long, breathless shriek, breaking off with a retching cough. “YES!”

“That you did murder my brother,” James finished, pulling William closer by the chain and lifting him in the air by his neck. He really was so small. “Three times over.”

William did not answer, and James smiled as he lifted the blindfold from his eyes, revealing the many bruises underneath. But those very eyes were still narrowed in defiance and hatred as they raked over James.

“I-”

“It’s a yes or no question, William, don’t make this difficult for us,” James said, squeezing his fingers tighter around his throat. “It’s the same as all the other ones.”

I’m so sorry, Mary thought, involuntarily, then cursed herself for it. But she saw William’s eyes roll back, heard his breaths begin to quiet down, and thought right then of how needless it all was, every drop of blood spilled to arrive at this moment, every breath stolen away. She wasn’t satisfied at all.

And you, William? Would you do the same? She focused on his quivering lips. He wanted to say something. Of course he did.

“You’re asking the wrong person, sir,” came a firm voice from behind the audience.

Mary turned, along with all the rest of the Disciples, and recognized her sister there, illuminated by the numerous candles near the entrance. Her eyes shone as she lifted her head, and Mary realized that behind her stood what must have been an Ally, if she could guess from his dark eyes. Ally George, she remembered now. A new Ally of New Amsterdam, the one who could read minds.

Does she know him? She winced when his gaze passed over her. Ah, don’t look at me—!

“Anne, my princess, you’re just in time,” James cooed, letting go of William. The latter fell to the ground, gasping sharply, and Marly called a spear from the devils, holding it over William as if to guard him.

“Don’t call me that,” Anne spat. “Liar.”

James raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that? It’s a lot coming from someone who disappeared without notice right before this momentous execution. You missed the best part.” His eyes widened when he saw the Ally standing behind her. “And who is this you brought us?” He twitched the tip of his tail at Maria, whose hand drifted to her gun.

“Why does it matter to you?” Anne asked.

Don’t make him mad again! Mary ducked her head as James stepped over the water, his tail lashing slowly like that of a cat poised to pounce. Indeed, his eyes were the same way— focused on nothing else at all.

“If you bring an enemy right before me, then of course it matters to me,” he said. “Unless this Ally wants to join us.”

“Nobody would want to join you after all you’ve done.” Anne turned her gaze to all the rest of the Disciples. “Your crimes, even as an Overlifer, are excessive. But I’ll only name the one that everyone here cares about. Ferocity knows nobody gives a shit about how you’ve treated us.”

“What are you going on about now?” James rolled his eyes. “Anne, come in here. Step aside from the Ally.”

Anne edged closer to George, and Mary swallowed. Oh, they do know each other. A little too well.

“I confronted Mary a few days ago,” Anne began, and Mary’s heart stopped. “She confirmed something I had already suspected, from the moment I saw our late Overlifer’s body. That James Stewart is responsible for the death of his brother.”

“What?” James turned to glare at Mary.

“I- I wasn’t—” Mary didn’t know what to say that would keep James’ secret any longer. There wasn’t any excuse she could offer other than she was high, but even that made no sense to her. She couldn’t fathom herself, her own reasons, her own life.

The Disciples were staring at Anne with an angry sort of confusion, like they didn’t quite believe her yet, even with the lack of any denial on James’ part— not until she said the next thing.

“Ah, responsible, yes,” Anne said, “but not quite the assassin. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that it was Mary who murdered him, under his orders. She told me this herself with the utmost honesty. But, in case you still don’t believe me, I’ve brought us a mindreader.” She looked to George expectantly. “What’s my father thinking now?”

“He’s wondering what to say to convince them all that you’re lying, or crazy, or both,” he said, rather pleasantly. “I think you’re neither.”

The Disciples recoiled like swiped flies, letting out shocked hisses and whispers, their frantic gazes darting between Mary and James and then back to Anne. James’ eyes widened, but he said nothing to defend himself.

“Without any remorse,” Anne continued, “it was the both of them that carried out this plan, and they succeeded because none of you could be bothered to look within our own ranks, towards our so-called leader. Do you think evil knows any limits?” She lifted her tail, the once-beautiful tip now bandaged and bloodied. “Do you think James would have been content to die without the glory of his brother? No, he is greater than one life.”

“So he needed six,” a furious voice muttered from within the audience. Mary couldn’t tell who it was, but that was what pushed the quiet Disciples over the edge, finally allowing them to set free their outraged, horrified cries.

“Say it isn’t true! What’s your defense, sir?”

“Mary told her this? How do we know she was telling the truth?”

“How do we know Anne is telling the truth?”

“That’s Ally George, isn’t it? His powers aren’t a lie!”

“Was Monmouth right, then?”

“Did you do it, sir? Did you kill your brother?”

“We can’t be too hasty—”

“Mary, is it true?”

That last one was Elizabeth, watching Mary back away fearfully. There was not hatred nor suspicion there, only a cold certainty.

“I- I must follow his orders,” was the only thing she could manage.

In all of this, James remained silent. He was staring at Anne with something unreadable in his eyes. She stared back, lifting her head as if to challenge him.

“It was William, wasn’t it?” Marly asked behind him, keeping his spear over William. “You loved your brother, you- you wouldn’t have.” He reached out towards James, then drew back when he received no answer.

“You still think Anne would lie?” Sarah hopped over the stream to stand at his side, and he sighed bitterly, looking back down at William.

As he did so, Maria ran over to Mary, taking her by the shoulders. “Mary!” she cried. “I- I told you James had killed Charles, he told me himself, he was so proud of it, but- if you knew, Mary, that it was you— why didn’t you tell me, did you think-” She took a shuddering breath, her eyes filling with tears. “How could you do this?”

“Did you expect me to disobey?” Mary’s voice broke; she was crying, too.

Maria hesitated, as if she were about to say something else, but then James raised his hand, calling for silence. Miraculously, he was obeyed, though Mary guessed it was no longer out of respect, but impatience. They wanted to hear his explanation, his excuse, more of his lies that they would happily swallow up if it meant they could go back to hating the true enemy— William, still lying breathlessly before Marly.

But, for once, he did not lie. “Yes, I ordered Mary to kill Charles,” he said simply. “And she did very well. I never expected her to reveal this information, much less so easily,” he added, in a tone that sent dread through Mary, “but it’s out now. What will you do about it?”

The Disciples did not reply, frozen in terror. James raised his voice.

“I ask you, what will you do?” he shouted. “What do you think you can do to me? I have my six lives now. I was chosen by those trembling devils, scared of my power! Do you hear that? My power! They knew what I had done when I came to them, and they didn’t care. They know an Overlifer must do anything to forward his destiny.” He shook his head slowly, lapping at the blood that had started to run from his nose with his tongue. “Charles had lost his mind. He was not fit to lead us any longer; I freed him, and I freed you. Ungrateful little rats.”

“You really expect nothing to come out of this?” Anne blurted. “He’s a traitor, everyone! Do something!”

James laughed, even as the blood ran into his mouth, staining his golden teeth. “What?” he asked. “What are they supposed to do? As long as I have my six lives, they’re mine and they know it. Their loyalty cannot waver. They realize now that this was not the act of a traitor— this was an act of love.”

Love. Love. What is all this, love? Mary couldn’t even pretend to believe it anymore.

It was a moment before Maria pulled away from Mary to stand beside her husband. “I stand beside James Stewart,” she announced, “always.”

And then, much to even Mary’s shock, the rest of the Disciples began to relent, echoing her promise, bowing their heads as they did so. Elizabeth did the same, and Mary soon followed, hoping it was real enough for James. She didn’t know if it was real enough for her.

Marly was the last one to speak. “I follow James Stewart.” He did not look at the Overlifer.

James grinned at Anne, who looked around at the Disciples in bewilderment.

“Love,” she whispered, then, louder, “love! If that’s your definition, then I love you, too, sir.” With that, she took the gun from her belt and shot her father in the head.

“James—!” Maria caught him before he fell, his body convulsing in her arms. Mary ran to help her as the shouting Disciples rushed beside her, crowding around their leader— desperate to do anything, but knowing they could do nothing when they saw the blood pouring from his shattered face. He was already dead, his first life spilling all over Maria.

Mary reached out to take her father’s hand. She waited for the fingers to squeeze around her wrist, to bring her closer. She heard Maria crying out his name, holding him to her chest protectively as the Disciples leaned in.

You’ll come back. Mary let go of his hand with some difficulty, stepping away as the candlelight swam and blurred around her. She let out an involuntary sob and covered her mouth. 

Just do it soon.

Someone had to die for this, and she knew who. Looking over the crowd, she looked up towards the entrance, towards her sister.

She was speaking to Sarah, Marly at her side, nodding as if he were listening. Anne held a spell out towards him, and he seemed to read it over before nodding once more. Then she looked behind her shoulder, meeting Mary’s gaze.

You killed our father, Mary wanted to scream. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull out her gun.

And I’ll do it again, Anne seemed to respond with her sneer. She turned decisively away with Sarah and George, dropping the spell on the floor. Her lashing tail knocked over two of the candles by the curtains as she left.

What did she—?

The flames of the candles brushed against the curtains, and the fire started slowly...burning away at the stars...flickering over the slip of paper on the ground...and then Mary realized what the spell was for.

“Louis help me!” she uttered in horror before taking one of her own spells from her pocket, praying it was the right one. Slamming it on the floor, she screamed, “Louis le Grand, délivre-nous du tout mal!”

The shadows came up at the same time as the explosion, shielding all of the Disciples. It had never once worked for her before, but now they seemed to embrace her with their protection, as if they’d been waiting for her and not the other way around. It was a strange sensation, and she wagged her finger in a circle almost too eagerly, letting the shadows retreat again.

Thank you, Your Majesty, she thought as she looked around the room, though there wasn’t much to see aside from the smoke, rising high over the flames that surrounded her. Her eyes stung at the heat, and she bowed her head, running back towards Maria.

“What- what is all this?” Maria yelled over the panicked exclamations of the Disciples.

“Fucking Anne! And-”

“Western fire spell, it looks like,” Marly interrupted as he ran up beside them, kneeling down beside Maria to brush James’ hair from his face.

“A whole spell was used?” Maria’s eyes widened. “We have to get out, now!” She lifted James in her arms, and Marly began to help her; remarkably, she hissed at him to back away.

That’s right, traitor. Now there was something Mary would have to tell James when he came back. Perhaps Marly had even known what Anne was here to do. Sarah undoubtedly had.

“Up here!” she heard Spencer cry out. She looked back and saw him shooting one of the stained glass windows, the faces of the devils falling before them. He shot out two more and looked expectantly back at the Disciples, gesturing with his tail to follow him out.

William! Mary remembered. She had to get to him before the inevitable stampede did, pushing past her to escape.

“Oh, it’s so hot in here,” Maria panted beside her. “I think I’m going to faint.”

“That would be a really bad idea,” Mary said unhelpfully. “I’m taking William.”

“What? Why not just let him die here?” Maria asked. She looked smaller than ever beneath the towering flames, with her husband slumped in her arms. “We don’t have time to waste on him!”

“Maybe you don’t.” Mary ran ahead to the throne, where, perhaps worryingly, William still lay. The fire was drawing ever closer, she realized, clawing at the windows as if it wanted to follow the Disciples out. She saw tails getting singed on their way out.

It’ll be more than that if we don’t hurry. With the windows shot out, who knew how long it was until flashover?

“William,” she said as she crouched beside the body lying before her, turned away from her with only a twitching tail to indicate its terror. “I’m here.” She lifted him in her arms, perhaps a little rougher than Maria would have.

He was still alive, thankfully, and conscious, though he looked like he was on the way out, his eyes drifting open and shut and his chest heaving rapidly. Mary untied his hands and stood up, grunting at him to hold on to her neck. He had enough strength to obey, but not very well.

“You- you said goodbye to me,” he whispered against her cheek.

“You’re not leaving after this,” she said, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“No. Neither of us...”

Nearly all the Disciples had emptied out, leaving only Maria dragging James out of the window. Marly helped her up, precariously balancing over the windowsill. It was a little higher than what a normal human could jump to.

“Mary, hurry if you’re going to take him!” Maria called. “I’m not leaving here without you.” She hesitated before jumping back down, running to Mary’s side. “Is he heavy?”

“Not- not at all.” Mary was breathing hard; she wondered if it was the smoke she was breathing in. She had to keep her head low.

“Marly, take William,” Maria ordered, taking William in her arms and pushing him up towards Marly. “I’ll help Mary up.”

Marly shook his head. “I have to take James first. William can afford to lose this life.”

“But we can’t!” Maria said. She gasped as the flames seemed to fly at her face, and she stepped back, holding her tail over Mary. “Hurry up, Ally, or we’ll burn alive in here!”

“Just...hold on a second. I’ll be right back.” 

“What?” Maria raised her voice. “Get us up there or so help me James!”

“Our leader cannot die,” Marly said. With that, he took James by his shirt collar and hopped outside, dragging his master with him.

“Fucking Allies!” Maria looked around the room frantically, and Mary held William tighter. The fire rose higher before them, blocking out their last three hopes with its heat and what must have surely been its anger.

“You should have- have left without me,” William said. “You only have one—” He broke off, his body shaking all over with the force of his coughs.

Oh, that was right. She was going to die here. It wasn’t such a bad way to go, but oh, so woefully dishonorable, at the hands of traitors.

Traitors like Marly. He wasn’t going to come back, of that she was certain.

“We don’t have time to wait!” Maria pressed closer to Mary, her tail flicking with terror. “Do you have any protection spells left?”

“Not ones that can stop fire.”

“Oh, no,” Maria breathed, looking up at the ceiling. “Even the devils are fleeing. No...”

“Now’s not the time, Maria.” Mary only wished she could make this death less painful for William. She didn’t know what was worse; being beheaded or burning alive.

“Mary.” She felt Maria’s hand on her wrist. “Please- please don’t be afraid.”

“What?” “The only thing that scares me more than this is losing you.” Maria blinked, and her eyes seemed to flicker through the smoke, the only soft light among the flames and darkness. “When faced with that, you’ll see this is nothing at all.” She raised her voice, and shaking as it was Mary only felt more afraid.

“Maria—”

Maria screamed something in an ancient tongue Mary didn’t know, wrapping her arms around both her stepdaughter and William. Mary closed her eyes as the heat all around them might have killed them, when the darkness was lit by the endless blaze tenfold.

But she realized she could still think, she was still awake, and when she looked up she saw Maria still holding her, the massive white wings from her back being the only thing shielding them all from certain death.

  🝰🝰🝰

There was smoke in the distance, Bentinck noted as he rested his head against the window of the car. Bidloo was driving rather recklessly at this point, cursing drivers under his breath, but all of Bentinck’s thoughts were on William, now that Anne was back with him.

“Is that the Hoerenkast?” he heard her ask from behind them.

“Why would they burn anything for an execution?” Bentinck turned his head sharply towards her. “Are they—?”

“The first execution wouldn’t be so brutal,” Anne rushed to reassure him. “James said that he’d drag out the suffering even more each time. Maybe...maybe it’s something else.”

“What would a first execution look like?” Bentinck knew that was the wrong question to ask, but he couldn’t look away. He had to know what he was facing, what would happen if they were too late.

“Just the usual, I think,” Anne said. “Slit his throat. Let him bleed out.”

Well, we’ve seen countless of those, haven’t we? He’d seen how the blood ran out, how the prisoners choked on it, how their eyes widened when they saw their life spilling on the ground.

But, of course, neither William nor Bentinck had ever been on the receiving end.

He had already convinced himself that it wasn’t the Hoerenkast that was on fire, so when they stopped in front of the building and saw the smoke rising from the windows, from the open balconies, it felt as if his breath had been knocked out of him.

Like William’s breath surely would be if he was in there. He began to open the door, but Bidloo held a hand over his shoulder.

“Are you trying to get hit? We’re still on the street!”

“You’re not seriously asking me to wait!” Bentinck argued. “William is in there!”

“Nobody knows that,” Bidloo said. “So at least try to look calm, alright?” He hesitated before adding, “I’ll let you off here, just don’t do anything stupid. But get out now, we’re causing traffic!” He shoved Bentinck towards the door, and the Ally opened the door and stepped out into the street. He looked back as he crossed, realizing Anne was following him.

“I didn’t even have to ask.” He smiled down at her as he stepped onto the sidewalk. “I knew you’d be with me.”

“And I knew you were going to attempt something stupid,” Anne said. She looked up at the Hoerenkast, speaking over the distant sirens approaching. “Back here again, huh? Well, you’re not going in there this time, Hans.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Bentinck shook his head. “You know that nobody in there is going to save him!” He began to walk towards the entrance, where it didn’t look like the fire had reached yet, but Anne took his hand.

“Mary- Mary might.”

“You’d risk his lives for might?”

“You’d risk your life for William?” Anne glared at him, pulling him towards her. “You’re powerful, but you’re not invulnerable. You can’t just walk through fire.”

“Maybe the fire hasn’t even reached him yet,” Bentinck said. “Anne, I have to do this. I’ve explained to you before how much I need him, and how much he needs— me.”

“You don’t need anyone in your life, Hans, you just think you do.” Anne lifted a hand to cup Bentinck’s cheek, taking a sharp breath. “But I want you to be happy.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t be happy if you’re dead. So just—” She kissed him then, and he shut his eyes, nearly forgetting everything else. He couldn’t allow himself to, but he let her warmth slow his heart, ground him in this reality, where he could have her and William and they could all be happy.

“I trust you to survive,” she said as she backed away. “I know you won’t let me go with you, so at least take that.”

“With pleasure,” Bentinck said. He looked up, realized with alarm that there were Disciples he recognized crowding the sidewalk, some of them with singed tails or horns, most of them coughing. They were coming from the back of the Hoerenkast, glaring up at it as if they were questioning the audacity this heretic structure had to dare to burn with them inside of it. And yet...among them, he could not see James, he could not see Marly nor Mary, and, most importantly, he could not see William.

“Go with them,” Bentinck said to Anne. “Don’t let them see you with me.”

“I love you,” she said, turning away from him.

And I love you. He didn’t need to say it out loud to know that she knew. Ducking away from the crowd, he waited until they were all looking either at each other or at the street to dart inside the building, shutting the door behind him.

It was remarkably calm here at the lobby, where a servant was usually there to greet him. He wondered if Marly had the place cleared for the execution; he had the authority to do so, and no one would have questioned him for it. It would just be an event for the pleasure of the devils, surely. William had Bentinck do it all the time for his own events.

They really don’t even have fire alarms in here? Bentinck looked up, seeing faint wisps of smoke on the ceiling. It was the oldest Hoerenkast in the city, yes, but there had to be some sensible upgrades made along the decades.

He knelt on the floor, sending his senses out everywhere around him, letting himself melt into the distant sounds and smells. He was the smoke, he was the flame, he was the aura—

Who’s there?!

He jolted out of his focus, his head jerking up in terror. Never once had he heard a voice interrupt him. But he recognized it, knew where it was coming from, and that was enough for him to go on ahead, the air becoming lighter and hotter around him as he advanced through the winding halls.

As he turned a corner he found the source of the fire; one of the meeting rooms, the largest one here, where Ally Marly always met with his followers. The whole of that hall was beginning to catch on fire as well, with the tapestries hanging on the walls burning away. It was through the haze of smoke that Bentinck saw the aforementioned figure step forward.

“It was you,” he said to Marly as he approached. “I thought you would have left with your Disciples by now.”

“I had to come back in,” Marly hissed. “Trying to hurry this shit along.”

“So you want this place to burn down?” Bentinck asked. “It seems needlessly dangerous to do it while everyone is inside.”

“Makes it more believable,” Marly said. “Just another one of those terrorist attacks.” He yawned, and that was when Bentinck saw that he dragged a limp body in one hand, dangerously close to the flames spreading around them.

William? He leaned in with narrowed eyes, only for a spear to come up in front of him, nearly slicing through his eye had he not jumped back at the last second.

“Why does he matter to you?” Marly held the body up. The head, torn open and bloody, was nearly unrecognizable, but the jagged horns convinced Bentinck of its identity.

“James,” he breathed. “He’s dead.”

“Once, maybe.”

“Did William do this?”

“William! Ha!” Marly grinned. “He is already dead as well.”

“What?” Bentinck shifted his glare back to him. “Where is he? Is he in that room there?”

“You’re not going there.”

So he is! Bentinck bared his fangs, raising his hand to call the claws of the devils to help him. They came to him like they never had when he was a boy, and as he brought his hand back down he shot them forward, glowing little blades heading towards Marly’s neck.

Marly leaped up with impressive speed, high above Bentinck, still holding James. He landed on one of the windowsills and tore a tapestry down easily, with strength that Bentinck thought might have failed him in this heat. He waved it in the air, the subsequent winds fanning the flames back, letting them move faster towards Bentinck.

Go now! Before it gets worse! He would not stay here to fight Marly, not this time. He ran forward, jumping as high as he could over the flames, waving the smoke away with minor Northern wind spells and keeping his head bowed. He could breathe in smoke like the devils could, but he didn’t know for how long, and that didn’t stop his eyes from stinging both at the brightness and the ever-increasing heat.

He heard glass shatter once, twice. Marly was breaking more windows, more oxygen was being let through. He stepped forward, trying to make anything out through the smoke, only for something to burn at his legs.

“Ah—!” He sprung back, but stopped short when he felt heat touch him there too. He could not move from his place. Were his clothes on fire already? He rolled back on the ground, kicking his legs out to try to put it out.

Oh, shit. He looked up desperately, seeing glowing eyes glinting at him through the smoke, a flippant hand waving it away as simply as if it were a bird. There was Marly, walking through fire, now holding James in both arms with more care than Bentinck thought that man deserved.

“There will always be someone more than you,” Marly said. “The devils have chosen me.”

“They chose me too!” Bentinck cried, his breath hitching and breaking off with a cough.

“Ah, Lord Portland, dripping poison onto everything he touched,” Marly went on. “A fearful beast in his time. But Lord Marlborough bested them all; the commander of fire and thunder and power ruined every devil that came his way! You’ll have no such privilege.” He looked almost manic, with his wide, red eyes and the sweat dripping down his hair. “My lord.”

“You think you’re the only one who can survive this?!” Bentinck spat. “You’re not any more powerful than all the other Allies.”

“With James at my side, I think I rather am.” Marly lifted the limp head in his arms, leaning in so that he almost kissed the bloodstained lips. “I didn’t want this to happen. I wish I could be happy with him. I wish I didn’t—” He paused, his voice breaking. “I wish I didn’t feel like I could hate him everyday. Like I could kill him. How can you be happy with him?”

With him? Bentinck began to crawl forward, muttering the wind spells again. It was a very narrow path to drag himself through, and he had to curl in on himself as the fire would begin again behind him. He bowed his head, praying he knew where he was going.

“I wish I could just let him die. And you can do that so easily right now. So why don’t you?”

“I have never known fear like you, my lord.”

“I hope all four of you die here,” Marly said at length, and then there was silence behind Bentinck, nothing but the roaring of the fire to fill Bentinck’s ears.

All four of you? Well, who were the other three? He looked up dizzily.

“William!” he called. “William— please!” He didn’t know what he was begging for. He knew he was in the room when the darkness was replaced by nothing but orange, orange, orange, everywhere around him, where even the wind spells couldn’t help him.

I can’t go in there like this! He could call King Louis, the only spell that could protect him now— if the king decided to listen. And nine times out of ten, he never did, even to the most skilled of Allies.

I have to try. He rested his head on the ground, shutting his eyes and pounding his fist on the floor.

Louis le Grand, délivre-nous du tout mal.

He didn’t dare believe, but then he felt the heat begin to draw away from him. He could still hear crackling, wood creaking; had it worked? William said everything was silent among the shadows. He cautiously looked up and gasped.

It was not shadows, but James’ wife, Maria Beatrice, with that blinding aura of hers. Maybe she was someone whom Bentinck should have feared, but she never joined the fights, never went out to kill. She was always beside James, his quiet, perfect little love.

Now she stared down at him with majestic, feathered wings held up defensively over his body to keep the flames away. Clinging to her was Mary, swaying like she were about to fall (and indeed she might have, seeing the exhaustion and confusion on her face), and in her arms she held William.

William! His head lay against Mary’s chest, his tail and arms hanging limp.

“No,” Bentinck blurted, stumbling to his feet. Maria watched him warily as he leaned in towards William.

“I knew you would be here,” Mary said simply. “Do you want him?”

“That’s not even a question,” Bentinck snapped. He held his arms out for William, and Mary handed him over as she leaned back on Maria’s wings. Bentinck didn’t know of any spell that gave anyone wings as big as these, especially ones that rendered Maria impervious to fire, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask right now.

“William,” he said, his voice shaking as he moved the hair from William’s bruised face. There was blood all over it, still falling from his nose and lips. It had made a mess over his neck, where there was a curious collar strapped there. “What did he do to you?”

William didn’t answer. He was wheezing sharply, and dangerously, and Bentinck decided that talk could wait until later.

“I don’t suppose you’ll walk me out,” he said to Maria.

“James would be so very, very happy if you died here,” she said. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“N-No, not really.”

Maria hummed thoughtfully. “I let you go the first time Mary killed him, and he didn’t even look my way. You know, there always has to be someone to stop him.”

“Yes.” Bentinck bowed his head. He had no idea where she was going with this, but maybe if he agreed with her they could hurry this along. William wouldn’t last long here.

If he has lasted at all. William had grown eerily quiet in his arms.

“We’re not letting him go after this,” Mary coughed beside Maria. “We can’t, not now that we have him after all this time.”

“There can only be a proper confrontation between them at the end of the world, when the trumpets of the apocalypse sound at last,” Maria said. “It’s no good trying to force an execution. No, both Overlifers are greater than that.” She nodded at Bentinck. “Stay under my wings.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He still didn’t know what she meant, but followed her as she walked through the fire, as unbothered by it as Marly had been. Perhaps she was an Ally too, albeit one that James had kept secret, but Bentinck couldn’t see black in her eyes.

“What apocalypse? What the fuck are you talking about, Maria?” Mary was hissing. “I’ve tried to be nice about it, but you know how James feels about letting your delusions affect the way we do things. If you let him go because of this, he’s going to kill you. And I don’t want that for you.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Maria asked.

“No, but—”

“Then we have nothing to worry about. Trust me...he’ll be pleased when the time comes.”

They ran into the firefighters on their way out, who were rather startled to see the generally unharmed group, especially Maria, who had not even a hint of soot on her face like the others. She folded her wings in behind her as they stepped outside.

“Is everyone okay? Somehow?” asked the one firefighter that had followed them out. “What spell did you use, my lady? It might be useful for us inside.”

“It’s not a spell anyone else could use,” Maria said. “I’m sorry. I wrote it myself.”

She did what? Bentinck turned his head sharply towards her.

“Oh- well—” The stranger glanced back at Bentinck through his mask, then stepped towards William in alarm. “What about him? Is he conscious? Come, let me take a look at him.”

“That- that won’t be necessary,” Bentinck said, backing away and holding William closer.

“What? But look at him, my lord, he’s not—”

“I’ll take him to a hospital myself, thank you.”

“But he needs to be checked over now.”

“It isn’t necessary,” Bentinck insisted again. “I promise, I know what deadly looks like, and this isn’t it. He’s under my- my divine protection and preference. He’ll be fine, at least for a little longer.” It was bullshit, but most people seemed to fall for it. He hoped this man was also most people.

The man paused, then bowed his head. “Very well. But I advise you to make it quick, my lord. It looks like he inhaled a lot of smoke.”

“I’ll be going now, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He could tell he hadn’t made an entirely convincing argument, but what else was he to do? He was right, after all; checking over William wasn’t necessary, and nobody could look at him now without revealing the dangerous secret.

Because you’re already dead.

He nudged William’s horns, watching the head roll slightly to the side against his chest. He hadn’t imagined it; the labored breaths had stopped.

Aren’t you?

“Hans!” That was Anne calling for him. He turned away as she approached, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “You actually got him.”

“Thanks to Maria,” Bentinck muttered. “No one else.” Could he have saved this life if only Marly hadn’t been there to stop him? Or was William already losing this one when he got inside?

He must have known. He must have thought I left him there. He ran his fingers through William’s matted hair, strangely wet and dry at the same time. He could smell the blood all over him, and he tried to imagine what it was that had caused him to bleed so much, what kind of pain he’d felt before he died.

“I’ve never wanted to do anything else but save you,” he said, trying to smile down at the body. “I’m sorry.” He blinked rapidly, but he let his tears fall once Anne wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing up close behind him.

“He lost a life?” she asked.

“His third,” he said, finally allowing himself a sob. “Already his fucking third. Six lives are supposed to last you, Anne, but everyone- everyone wants him dead. He must have been afraid. He must have been so afraid.” He took a shaky breath and bowed his head, burying it in William’s neck. “I would have lost him that first time.”

“He would have lost more if you hadn’t come for him,” he heard Anne say into his ear.

He didn’t have to lose any at all. If it weren’t for the deceit of the Villiers sisters—

No. He looked up, turned towards Anne. She had to follow orders. She was afraid.

“I- I suppose it had to happen,” he said.

She nodded. “And he’ll be all the more powerful for it. You were very brave to go in there, Hans.” She lifted a hand towards his face, then drew back with a nervous laugh. “But you need to get cleaned up, seriously.”

“Bentinck!”

They both looked up then, seeing Bidloo run towards them with his head bowed, like a charging bull. Under the red lights of the fire trucks, he looked more like a vengeful spirit as he approached, peering down at William in Bentinck’s arms.

“Why aren’t you getting him checked over?” he asked. “What if he-”

“He’s dead, sir,” Anne cut in. “There’s nothing more we can do for him. And there’s nothing we should do for him— we can’t make it known to anyone else here.”

“Dead?” Bidloo stumbled back, his eyes widening. “What- but you— no, Bentinck, let me look at him.”

“I’m sorry, Bidloo, I tried,” Bentinck said. “But it was too late, he couldn’t breathe—”

“It’s always too late for you!” Bidloo shouted, startling the Ally. “You can never get to him on time, you can never be at his side when he needs you— why do we even have an Ally if he’s fucking useless to us? His power means nothing! You put yourself through this for nothing!” He glared at Bentinck for a moment, then turned away with a huff.

“Come on,” he said as he walked away, his voice ominously low. “I’ll drive him to your place.”

Bentinck swallowed and turned his head up to the sky. He couldn’t make himself follow, not yet.

“He’s right about that last part, though,” Anne said.

“Not helping.”

“Maybe if you—” She cut herself off, and Bentinck looked down again to see both Elizabeth and Mary walking over to them.

“What now?” He glared pointedly at Elizabeth, who laughed and waved at him.

“You will remember that Maria saved your life,” Mary said.

“She did?” Anne asked. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t even know how she did it,” Bentinck said, shaking his head helplessly.

“I wish she hadn’t,” Elizabeth said with a dismissive flick of her tail. “Anne, have you been with this guy all day? I was waiting for you at the execution! Why haven’t you just knocked him out and taken William back yet?” Her eyes glittered. “It worked well enough the first time.”

Bentinck opened his mouth, an excuse for her ready in his mind, but Anne held her hand up to silence him.

“I’m going with him,” she said. “I’m not coming back here. I’m done with James, and you and Mary, especially Mary— you should be, too.”

“You are?” Bentinck couldn’t stop the delight from springing onto his voice. “Anne—!”

Elizabeth’s tail furiously whipped the air behind her. “I said he wouldn’t love you.”

“Even if he didn’t, I would have left, anyway,” Anne said firmly. “I didn’t know where I would go without him, but I know now. I’m not going to serve the man who has abused his whole family, my best friend—”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Mary said, clearing her throat, and Anne turned to her, her gaze softening.

“Mary, please,” she said. “Come with me. I don’t want to leave if I don’t know that- that you’ll be safe.” She reached out and took Mary’s hand, squeezing it in her own.

“Trying to steal the princess away right from under our noses!” Elizabeth hissed. “I don’t care what happens to you, Anne; James will be hearing about this.”

“You will not be telling him, Elizabeth,” Mary said, batting her on the shoulder. “That’s an order.”

“You’re just letting him go? Letting both of them go?” Elizabeth gestured at William. “We are so close, Mary. Do you want to make your father furious when he comes back?”

“When he comes back— is he dead?” Anne asked, her eyes widening slightly.

“Yes, for a little while, anyway.” Mary shrugged like she was pushing off the memory of however her father had died. Bentinck wondered if it had been in the fire as well. “You can go, Anne. Watch over William for me.”

“You’re not coming?” Anne tilted her head to the side. “Mary—”

“I just can’t,” Mary said with a bitter sigh. “He doesn’t need to lose two daughters in one night. I have to stay, I have to believe that things can get better. I’ll never be safer than I am with him.”

Does she really believe that? Bentinck couldn’t imagine William ever saying that about his own father.

Anne glanced at Bentinck, then ran into Mary’s arms, refusing to let her out of the embrace.

“I don’t want to fight you,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking.

“They’ll never make us enemies,” Mary promised. “Neither William nor James.”

“I love you. Please take care of my sister and- and yourself.” Anne pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

“I’ll do my best.” Mary turned towards Bentinck, though she kept her gaze on William. “You can take him now. Just remember what Maria said— he can’t keep running forever.”

Bentinck gave her a slight nod. “William will be the last one standing. Thank you, and...thank Maria some more for me, too.”

“She doesn’t want to hear it,” Mary said. She whisked away, back towards the Disciples, but Elizabeth stayed longer, her gaze becoming harder by the moment.

“I’ll kill you both myself,” was all she said before she turned to follow Mary.

The ride to Bentinck’s house was mostly quiet, with Bentinck trying to shake the soot and ash off his hair, face, and clothes. William could get cleaned up later— certainly he didn’t mind waiting at the moment. He noticed Anne staring at him with an amused glint in her eye, visible even in the darkness.

Bidloo was the one who carried William inside, setting him on Bentinck’s bed, which Bentinck suspected was intentional. But he didn’t object, instead sitting down beside William and fiddling with the burnt tail. He noticed it was twisted unnaturally near the tip.

“I still wonder what they did to him,” he said. “This is broken.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell us himself when he wakes up,” Bidloo said, keeping his gaze on the ground.

If he wakes up, Bentinck added to himself, though he knew William would. It was only his third life. And then he would be on his fourth...three more deaths and then Bentinck could really say his friend would never wake up again.

And he lost the first three so quickly...

“Don’t let him die again,” Bidloo said, as if he’d just been thinking the same thing. “He’s burning through these lives.”

“I know.” Somehow Bidloo saying it out loud made it more real.

“I can’t- I don’t want to deal with that.”

“I’m going to protect him, Bidloo, I promise.” Bentinck reached a hand towards Bidloo’s shoulder. “Nothing else will come first. I failed before, but- it won’t happen again. No Disciples will ever get their hands on him after this.”

Bidloo snorted. “Some promise.” He glanced at Anne.

She had stayed quiet this whole time, staring at William with an unreadable expression. The white light trickling in through the windows shone upon her tiny horns, her glossy, dark hair, giving her the appearance of a woman made of ice with how still she lay beside Bentinck.

She looked like she could shatter, he realized. There had always been danger with the Disciples, certainly, but there was no one more wanted in the world than a traitor.

🝰🝰🝰

No one could know who had died.

No one could know he was dead.

It was a hope of nonsense, a hope that would be disappointed by morning. But it was still there, as heavy as the body that Marly dragged along with him.

He had to take it to Anne. Or he had to tear James apart himself. And then that hope would be reality.

But “reality” is so boring.

He saw the car waiting in the distance. There was no one else here, watching him from the shadows. It was just him and James. Him and his— master. The love of his life.

A lie. She was only up ahead.

John, don’t do this to me.

He was imagining it.

I gave you everything.

That didn’t make that any less true.

He lifted the body up, bringing it towards his face so that the head came to lean against him. He felt the lips press to his neck, like they always did. The only difference was that James did not sigh against him.

Is that it, sir? Do I take your breath away? Marly leaned back, smiled up at the empty eye. One seemed to have been shot out, or there was too much blood to see it; no matter, there was still the other one left, sightless and beautiful.

He bowed his head and met James in a kiss. How many times had James kissed him awake, he thought wryly; how many times had he lay there in a petrified daze and James had kissed him anyway?

In the end he turned away. He could have left him to die here, but—

I have never known fear like you.

[psychedelic-ink]

bound for carnage (i)

pairing: dave york x plus size fem!reader

genre: smut, romance, angst

word count: 4.4k

summary: Dave lost everything: His divorce has been finalized. He sees his daughters only on the weekends. He has nothing except for the horrific job he keeps on doing just so he can give his children the best life that he can in such conditions.

But then, well, he meets you.

He tells himself it's nothing serious. It's clear that you like him and he flirts a little, some harmless fun. Never once did he think of taking you back to his place, he knows that if you seep through the cracks of his armor he's as good as gone.

But what happens when the little paper he receives has your name written inside of it instead of someone else?

chapter warnings: dave kidnaps reader (reader is blindfolded and tied up for a while) canon typical violence, +18 themes, nothing explicit in this chapter, dave having dark thoughts, POV switch, swearing, dave pressing a gun to readers head (but he doesn't harm reader or anything)

requests open for pedro pascal characters, moon knight & peter parker 💌

main masterlist | playlist | read on ao3 | series masterlist

prev / next

Dave doesn’t allow himself many things. 

Where many people with a similar lifestyle as him would indulge, he didn’t. He likes to think that this particular habit he has sets him apart from the rest. It makes his life easier, and makes him better at his job. When he’s having a bad day, Dave doesn’t try to find the solution at the end of a bottle, he doesn’t go to have his favorite meal just to put a smile on his face.  He does none of that. He never had. Not even when his wife left him, and not even when he lost custody of his daughters to only see them on weekends. He endured it all. The only thing that Dave did allow himself was his apology to Carol but that was more for the sake of her rather than his. 

But after a year of loneliness, a year of gazing into the eyes of death over and over again, his armor begins to crack. 

Dave allows himself his favorite meal. He allows himself a drink or two, maybe even the whole bottle if he feels like it. He allows himself to fuck the women that seem interested in him. He decides that he isn’t human anymore. He’s an incarnation of evil and everything rotten in the world. The grim reaper in the flesh. He assumes that this is his punishment for everything he’s done and now, he’s cursed to live an empty life. 

He thought about quitting his job a couple of times. Leaving this world of bloodshed behind in order to get a normal job, something that pays enough to put both her daughters into a decent enough college. Some naive part of him believed that if he did quit, his life would return to normal. He could have his family again. The job he had at the CIA had a decent enough pay.

But, like many things in life, it isn’t that simple. 

Dave needs the money. He needs it to pay child support, which he does happily, his daughters deserve the best but that means he can’t quit. 

So he continues to do what he does best, killing whoever was written on that tiny piece of paper. 

The only thing that brings his life some form of normalcy is when he gets his morning coffee from a coffee house near to his apartment. The coffee is subpar, he’s positive that he can make a better one at home, but the average testing beverage isn’t why he goes there. 

He goes there to see you. 

You’re ridiculously kind to him, having his coffee ready before he even arrives. You talk to him, laugh at his jokes– which, he thought, were a bit too dark to make the first thing in the morning but he enjoys hearing your laughter nonetheless. You just make his day a little bit better with just being in it. When he talks to you he remembers what it's like to be human, he remembers the thrill of conversing with another person that’s unaware of his many many flaws. 

After months of seeing each other every morning, his conversations with you goes from one minute to ten. When there’s no one else behind him, he allows himself to listen to your worries, your dreams, the things you want to accomplish– You’re full of life. It’s a complete contrast from those who beg him for their lives, he enjoys this change in atmosphere.

But after a while Dave notices the change in your attitude. You start to look at him differently, your eyes glassy and dazed. He catches your shy looks while you prepare his coffee, he feels the lingering touches against his skin, he sees the way your chest stutters when he walks through the door. Sometimes you put a chocolate croissant in his tray, saying that it’s on the house, which he takes with a smile of gratitude. 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in it. 

In return, Dave teases you constantly. He watches like a hawk as you fluster at his flirtatious jokes, he reels at the way you frown when he talks about his late night endeavors with others. It’s all a game for him. This, he indulges in. Dave’s confident that this harms no one: You get an adrenaline rush when talking to him and he gets a nice ego boost first thing in the morning. It’s an innocent transaction. He never actually gave you any signs that this relationship was anything other than friendly, a mere customer employee relation. 

Dave was always a good liar. It's as easy as breathing, and if he laces enough truth into them, anyone would believe him, even himself. When he stares at his reflection in the morning, beads of water mixed with facewash dripping down the frame of his face, threatening to burn his eyes, he tells himself that this is nothing other than innocent fun, and he believes it. Dave goes there only to have his fill of attention, he never intends on doing anything with you, not even a casual fuck. He thinks that it would be cruel for him to do that. You deserve better. 

He only realizes his lie as night falls, when the only thing brightening up his bedroom is the lights of the city. It’s a horrific truth he discerns when he’s stroking his cock, thoughts of your sweet pussy and plush tighs wrapped around him invade his tortured mind. 

Dave comes with your name falling from his lips. 

The next day he forgets– Or rather he doesn’t think about it. Dave brews his coffee at home that morning and heads for the door, he sighs upon seeing an envelope laying idly on his doormat that says “Go Away” with an annoyed looking cat. He smiles everytime he sees it, reminded of the time his daughter’s gifted to him on father’s day. Dave’s smile wavers, however, when he picks the letter up and closes the door with the push of his heel, heading back to the kitchen he peels it open. Pulling out the piece of paper, his eyes quickly glances over the name. His eyes go wide and his mouth becomes incredibly dry. 

You’re his next victim. 

You don’t remember much. 

You remember it being night, you remember your speedy steps as you tried to arrive at your apartment as soon as possible, but the rest is lost to you. Thickly swallowing around the knot in your throat, you wiggle your arms and legs. The harsh material of the ropes digs into your skin and a silent sob escapes your parched lips. Your vision has also been taken away from you, a blindfold snug around your damp eyes. Usually you’re careful after a late night shift. You don't listen to music and you always have your keys sticking out from between your knuckles. When someone follows you, you could feel the unwanted gazes crawling up your spine and act accordingly, either taking shelter in a gas station or calling up a friend. But this time…this time you felt nothing. You didn’t even see anyone. The mystery only adds to your fear and confusion, you want to go home. 

A door creaks open, the sound makes your heart nearly leap out from your throat. Your palms are sweaty. Fear coates your tongue as the taste of bile. Your head turns towards the source of the noise and hoping that the ropes had loosen up, you tug at them again. Much to your disappointment, they hadn’t. 

Heavy footsteps inch closer and closer, you push back the chair along with yourself. The wood skimmed across the surface of the floor, the sound makes your skin crawl. 

Your journey is short lived, however, when a wall stops you from moving further back. 

The steps come to a halt right in front of you. The man’s warmth overwhelms you, his presence sending jolts of fear even if you can’t see him. He smells like pine and cinnamon. His knees brush against your own as he stoops down, you gasp when his knuckles come in contact with your skin. They skate along the frame of your face, goosebumps rising across your skin as he presses a thumb against your bottom lip. The tenderness confuses you. If this was any other situation you would think that this person cared for you. Adrenaline rushing through your veins, you violently shake your head to remove his hand from your skin. 

“Who are you?” you’re startled by your own question, you look down but see only darkness thanks to the blindfold. “Please let me go,” 

The man doesn’t say a word, instead he stands up, moving away from you. Your cheek feels cold. His silence unnerves you. 

“I have…money,” You don’t. “Just– I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

Complete silence. 

You want him– No, you need him to speak. You’re scared, a tremble raking across your body as a tear gets caught by the blindfold, the fabric soaking up the wetness. You’re in a state of loss. Was he going to kill you? Rape you? Who was he? A customer? A random person in the street? You still have so much you want to do. Shit– 

You think about what else to say. His gaze burns into your skin, your heart trembles. Why won’t he react? Pressing your knees together, you think about the people that might take notice of your absence and go to the police. You just moved so you didn’t know a lot of people, your coworkers would only notice that you’re gone in the morning. Your eyes widen underneath the blindfold as another name pops into your mind. 

“Dave…” 

You said it silently. It was barely audible to your own ears. But he hears you. The air lays thick against your shivering skin, something changes in the atmosphere. You can’t quite pinpoint what it is and you’re not sure if you want to find out. 

The eerie silence continues and you rest the back of your head against the wall, breathing heavily. It was human nature to fear the unknown. You want to know what’s going to happen to you, you hope that knowing will calm your nerves but whoever this person is, he didn’t seem like the talkative type. Fear still thrums in your ears and as a response your mind drifts off to things that eases you, one of those things being Dave York. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time and it took you an equally short amount of it to grow attached to him. You realize that you hadn’t seen him this morning. Now you wish that you have, you will probably never see him again. 

“Please let me go,” you beg again. “I won’t tell anyone, really. If you don’t you’ll have to deal with the police, my friends won’t let this go you know, they’ll be looking for me,” 

He scoffs. Actually scoffs. Your blood freezes. This man is toying with you. He had probably watched you for days, he knew you basically had no one which made you a perfect target. A sob makes its way out of your throat, your head falls, defeated. 

“Please,” you repeat. “Please, please, please–” 

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up already–” 

A shallow scream rips from your throat as you feel the blunt tip of a gun pressing against your forehead. You didn’t even hear him move, just how high up in the food chain was he?

He presses the gun further into your skin and tears fill your eyes, your bottom lip trembles. The cold metal stings as it leaves a circular mark. Chest heaving, a whimper follows. He’s going to kill you. You can feel the claws of death curling around your shoulders, it surrounds your very being. 

“Why did it have to be you?” he sneers, sounding almost hurt. “Why, among the seven-fucking-billion people on earth did it have to be you?” 

So this person did know you. 

You part your lips to speak but only a dry, choked out noise follows. You’re too scared. The gun weighs heavy against your damp skin, you’re unbelievably cold. He sounded so angry, but beneath that anger you could hear hurt. Closing your lips, your nostrils flare as the gears in your head begin to turn. This man knows you so this must mean you know him too. He says nothing else, only breathes heavily. His scent floods your nostrils, what was it again? Pine and cinnamon. It’s a scent that you’re familiar with and you follow it. 

Ignoring the threat of death biting into your skin, you imagine an open door and walk through it. The scent guides you to the coffee house, looking up you see that the sun has barely risen. Noticing a hurried movement, your eyes shift back down. You see yourself rushing to open up the shop. You feel as if floating above the concrete as you follow a past image of yourself. Hands placed on the glass, you watch. Soon customers begin to arrive and you see Dave, he talks to you, smiles at you. 

Suddenly you’re behind the cashier register, talking to him, smiling as you think if he likes you back or not. For a moment you forget everything, it’s only you and him. You look up, but as a familiar scent brings you back to your senses your eyes go wide. Everything narrows down. The fear is back. Your head spins but you’re frozen in place. He stares you up and down with a raise of an eyebrow. 

“Are you alright?” 

His voice. Despite lacking the anger, the sweet tremor of it is familiar. Your lips part as you look up to him, the background has faded into a blur, the scent pushes you down into a sense of unspeakable darkness. 

“It’s you,” 

You’re not aware that you’ve actually muttered the words out loud until the gun disappears from your skin. You count two steps and assume that he’s backing away. 

“Dave?” you call out just to be sure, voice weak and clipped. “Is it really you?” 

“It is,” 

“You– You kidnapped me?” 

You sound more surprised than afraid. The air crackles between the two of you. Signs of a storm approaching. You hear him breathe in and out, you imagine him counting to five before speaking. When he does, he talks softly, slowly, as if he’s afraid that you’ll run, even if it’s impossible at this given moment. 

“Yes,” 

“Why?” 

“It’s…complicated,” 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

The silence confirms to you that he is. The fear comes crawling back, it sinks into your skin and circulates your heart, your breath falters. 

“Look,” his voice pulls you back. “I’m going to untie you now, just…stay calm so I can explain. Can you promise me that?” 

You nod, thinking that this is your chance. Again, without making a sound, he approaches you and tugs off the blindfold. He kneels down before you can lay your eyes upon him. He starts to untie the ropes around your ankles. At first your vision is blurry, rapidly blinking, you wait for it to return to normal. Dave moves to your back, you feel his fingers grazing against the exposed skin around your wrists. Your pulse quickens. Before you’re free you quickly examine your surroundings. You expected to be in a dungeon, or a dark basement that you’ve seen multiple times in horror films. Instead, you realize that you’re in his living room. He owns a simple decor, nothing fancy or extra. You take notes of the dark green plastic chair you’re currently sitting on, the vase on top of a coffee table with sharp edges, the red comfortable looking couch. 

The ropes fall to the carpeted part floor and with that, you spring into action. Heart racing in your chest, adrenaline ringing in your ears, you grab the vase and point it to him. He doesn’t seem surprised, only disappointed. 

“I told you to stay calm,” his tone is threateningly low, enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You promised,” 

“I didn’t, I nodded,” 

He takes a step forward and without even thinking you smash the vase against the table. The sound gets absorbed by the carpet, glass shards flying everywhere, leaving you with a decent enough weapon. Your brows pull together when he doesn’t even flinch. Dave only stares, an amused glint shimmering in his eyes. Your stomach rolls, he looks like he’s holding back a chuckle.

“Smart girl,” he hums, stopping in his tracks. He tilts his head. “That’s an oddly fast reaction for someone who doesn’t know what’s going on,” 

You raise the broken vase, the sharp edges directed to his neck. Tears flood your eyes as your chest lurches. There was a reason why you knew you had to move fast, a reason you weren’t inclined to tell a man who’s planning on killing you. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says as if reading your mind. “Just put the vase down and we can talk about it. I’m actually trying to help you out,” 

“You’re lying,” you hiss between clenched teeth. “Why should I trust you?” 

“Because you know me,” 

The softness in his voice lulls you in a false sense of security, you take a sharp breath. 

“But I don’t. Not really,” 

“Yes you do,” he replies, raising his hands. “You know that my name is Dave. You know I’ve been through a divorce. You know I have two daughters: Molly and Alice.” A sudden chuckle falls from his lips. Your eyes follow as he takes a step forward. “You know how I like my coffee. You know where I live. You know me–” 

It’s only a split second. You lower your guard, the hand that holds the vase starting to shake. It only lasts a second before you attempt to recover but that second is all that he needs. 

Dave lunges forward, his hand quickly immobilizing yours as he gets behind you. The vase falls, the rest of it shattering. He has you in a chokehold loose enough that it allows you to breathe, but the pressure is still there. You fear that if you make any sudden movements he’ll strangle you right then and there. His chest is flushed against your back, face pressed against the side of yours. Your breathing comes in quick, shallow pants, you feel death lurking at the same place Dave is. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he repeats. “But the people who hired me want you dead.” 

“Then why didn’t you just refuse the job?” your voice is meak, heart beating fast and short. 

“Because,” his lips move against the side of your chin. “If I hadn’t accepted it someone else would and they– Well needless to say, they would kill you,” 

You shudder. The thought of someone else other than Dave being here with you terrifies you to the core. His lips burn your skin and your stomach rolls with anxiety. Slowly you nod, deciding that you don’t have much of a choice other than to trust him. 

“I’m not going to try anything else,” you whisper. “You can let me go,” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

He laughs, his breath warm and wet against your skin. 

“You said it this time. If you try anything I won’t be as nice,” 

Tight-lipped, you take a deep breath. His voice is like molten caramel, it intoxicates you. Dave doesn’t release you right away, his lips still ghosting over your warm skin. You feel your stomach dipping at the sensation. His grip around your neck suffocates you, but despite all of that you can’t help but feel the excitement of having him so close. His chest is solid behind you, arms strong around your body. Your ears ring. 

Then he let’s go and the world around you, somewhat, returns to normal. 

You stumble forward, barely catching yourself before you fall. When you meet his gaze, Dave gestures towards the couch. You obediently take a seat but he remains standing with his arms crossed against his broad chest. 

“What now?” you ask, hugging yourself. 

This is a nightmare, it has to be. 

Dave knows he can’t complete the assignment when you utter his name. It’s so silent, barely audible, but he hears you anyway. According to you, these are your last moments, and what do you do? 

Call out for him. 

He already had his reservations about what to do with you. His mind became a mess as soon as he saw your name written on the paper with the most fancy cursive he’s ever laid his eyes on. Killing random people was easy. He didn’t know them, therefore, he lacked the emotional capacity to actually care when they cried out for their loved ones, or begged for his mercy.

However, this isn’t the case when it comes to you. It breaks his heart to see you so afraid, but also, a sick thrill strikes it at the same time. He feels elevated, yet, disgusted by what he feels watching you cowering in front of him. 

Dave’s rage comes out of nowhere. He knows that this anger is mostly directed at himself and not you. Sadly, you can’t read minds so you have no idea. To you, he’s a crazy person pressing a gun to your head. 

Ironically enough his role in your story quickly changes from crazy kidnapper to possible hero. 

He winces at the thought. He’s not a hero. Heroes didn’t think about the millions of possible ways to hurt the people that wanted you dead. Only villains did that. 

While you take a seat, his eyes linger at the shards of glass. Quick thinking indeed. This certainly isn’t your first life and death experience. His darkness grows behind him, standing tall as his shadow. The thought of what might’ve happened to you in your past makes this darkness flicker violently like an uncontrollable flame. Vivid images of hurting the people who hurt you flashes before his eyes a second time today. It feeds the fire.

“Well, we don’t have much of an option,” Dave replies nonchalantly. He became an expert in clogging up the holes in his voice so that his emotions wouldn’t show. “Do you have any idea who might want to get you killed?” 

He grits his teeth, skin taut around his cheek bones. Again, anger fills his gut. Inhaling, he forces his face to be as stoic as possible. 

You shake your head, “No…I mean, sure I probably pissed a couple of people off but I don’t think any of them would go to the lengths of hiring a hitman– You are a hitman right?” 

“More of a freelance assassin but sure basically a hitman,” 

Shit, he shouldn’t have said that. Dave sees the way terror comes rushing back with the way your eyes go wide. To calm you, he comes down to his knees, hands hovering right above your kneecaps. He meets your gaze before placing them, hoping that the gesture assures you that he doesn’t have the intention of harming you. With a sigh, Dave begins to draw languid circles with his thumbs. The way you fill your lungs up with air doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess this isn’t the time to be technical when it comes to terms. So, you know no one that might want to harm you. That makes my job a bit more difficult but we’ll find a way around it,” 

“I thought your job was to kill me?” 

The air between the two chills. He perceives it ghosting across his skin, the distrust you feel towards him envelopes his very being and forces him to move his hands away. However, he remains kneeling, his gaze searching yours for any hints that might indicate that you’re lying. Dave doesn’t find any but he’s positive you’re not being completely honest with him. 

“Right now my job is to protect you,” he answers, voice low as he gets up. 

“Why?” 

Dave looks down at you with a raise of an eyebrow. The tone you use for him constantly shifts between sudden bursts of bravado and brokenness. He examines your form, plush thighs pressed against one another as you look down, your breasts rising up which every long breath you take. A rush of arousal spikes from the depths of his stomach. Swallowing, he forcefully pushes the tainted thoughts back. 

“Because you’re nice and you make a decent enough cup of coffee,” 

His heart skips a beat when the living room lights up with your bittersweet laughter. For a moment, he thought he would never be able to hear that sound again. A smile tugs at his lips. Dave’s joy is short lived, however, when your laughter dies down and the chill returns. He really should crank up the metaphorical heat. 

“So what do we do now? Just wait for your employer to ask about me?” 

“That’s not quite how it works sweetheart,” he grins when your eyes widen at the nickname. “Usually I send them proof. I’ve never actually had a job gone bad so I’m not sure what happens after. I assume they send in another assassin to finish off you and the first person they hired– These people don’t exactly brief us on how all of this works.” 

“You’re a target now too then, because of me,” 

“Don’t worry yourself, this is my doing. Though, we should probably change locations. I have a safehouse up in the mountains. It’s pretty remote, especially designed for a scenario like this, so we’ll be safe there for a while. It’ll give us time to figure out who hired me. We’ll head out–” he eyes the clock on the wall. It’s 12 AM. “–Around seven. And hey, maybe something will jog your memory on the way? Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

He keeps his tone deliberately light hearted, it’s his way of telling you that he knows that you’re keeping something from him. That he knows you don’t trust him. You must’ve picked up on the message because he notices the slight hollow in your left cheek, you’re probably gnawing it raw on the inside. 

“Alright,” you reply, not being able to hide the tremble in your voice.

“Seven it is.” 

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @psychedeliclibrary and turn on notifications✨

[roselyn-writing]

When a rose turns black chapter 13

“True south”

Author’s note: pic isn’t mine I found it on pinterest. Also this chapter include gore and blood! You are warned!

It is a peaceful morning, with a gentle breeze carrying enticing aromas from ports and bakeries. It is one of those normal days in Al-Mahmudah City. One of the most beautiful, ancient, and revered cities in Virginia.

 

Sire Kilam walks around the city to make sure that no evil-doer is lurking there to plan something malicious. As every other superior is walking around the cities to guard it and help anyone in need.

 

Mahmuddah City is a special place in Sire Kilam’s heart; it is his home and everything. As a boy, he always sneaked out of the house to walk for a while and enjoy the magical atmosphere of this beautiful city. The people are happy. The city is colourful and peaceful, as if they are in a paradise or something similar to it.

 

Mahmuddah City has always been a strategic place in times of war; it is one of the most important and ancient cities in Virginia.

 

Mahmuddah City is a unique strategic place; it is near the jungle of Tor’ama and the wells of Varenciya. He remembered when the northern nation attacked the west side of Virginia.

 

King Guivara Abraham rallied his unstoppable army and took Mahmuddah City as his capital in the war to defend the other cities from Ivern and Averitna claims. That was when the two latter took siege of Immortal Mandavora. Guivara’s first achievement was on the north side of Virginia, near the Iverynica Kingdom.

 

Then they knew that it was their final mistake when they couldn’t lay their hands on Mahumddah City before Guivara’s arrival.

 

Sire Kilam was but a child back there. He remembered that Aham was defending the other cities when Averitna and Ivern of the Iverynica Kingdom started the war against Virginia.

 

After the war ended, King Guivara was maddened with bloodlust, so he attacked the Iverynica Kingdom in retaliation and added it to Virginia to become one of many of Virginia’s cities.

 

Furthermore, He remembered the sky turning ugly colours of grey and scarlet because of the unspeakable violence and bloodshed that occurred on that day.

 

Sire Kilam breathed heavily to calm his soul from the painful and brutal memories of the past. He stood to look at a monument to a fallen superior. He looked at the statue with saddened eyes. As he remembers him and how he died, His face is graceful and polished gold with reverence. He looked at the statue’s hand as if he were inviting him to come to him and talk to him.

 

That was Sire Miran, the first winged aspect of justice. The first predecessor of all aspects of justice are the winged protectors of light.

 

and the counterpart to the dark ones���the aspect of darkness, the patron of darkness.

 

Light and dark are eternal beings that were destined to fight each other. Everyone knows that the light came first! But is it powerful enough to kill the darkness?

 

Two aspects are different, like day and night or good and evil. But both are important aspects. Or, superiors.

 

Sire Kilam had enough of looking at the statue, so he left for a calmer place. Although being near a noble place and a more revered person or statue of the person is kind of calming, To a superior, this is how they pay their respects.

 

On the left side of the city, there is a similar statue, but this time a dark one. Legends say that this statue is the statue of Sire Derkaām.

 

The first aspect of darkness is the aspect that turned the tables against the beings of the dark dimension, the beings of the Black dead.

 

These beings are ruthless killers; they feed on life and its essence. They feed on anything alive. People, animals, and plants.

 

Sire Derkaām sacrificed himself to stop these beings from devouring Virginia and its people. This was a noble cause that rarely has a dark side. To this day, some people pay their respects to his old, withering statue.

 

Sire Kilam wasn’t there to witness this whole ordeal, but he trusted Sire Aham's words. Sire Kilam came near the statue. With saddened eyes and a heavy heart, he saluted the statue with the superior salute, putting his arm on his heart and slightly bending his back.

 

"If it weren’t for you, we would be dead," He muttered.

 

He gracefully turned his head up and gave a warm smile to the jet-black, withering statue. He doesn’t care what the other aspects say about Sir Derkaām; He is a hero.

 

He is saddened because Sire Derkaām's legacy is just a myth nowadays. Some day, all will know the truth. He made a sacrifice so others could flourish.

 

Sire Kilam left to drink a cup of tea. To calm himself from the pain and sad memories. Being a superior is a burden, but he has to do his duties dutifully. He knows that someday his time will come and he will fall. For the cycle to continue, there must be fallen ones and new ones.

 

He won’t take his status for granted; he will protect, save, and help people. He will have his legacy. Like many other superiors who have fallen, he will be no exception.

 

as the current aspect of twilight—the aspect of healing and new chances. He will provide other chances for people who have sinned in their lives and make a new life for them, A life dedicated to light and truth only.

 

He looks proudly at the previous aspect of Twilight, Mistress Saliena; the second aspect of Twilight is the lady of dreams, chance, and beauty.

 

The one who saved countless lives in the battle of Amara’Dkan With her steadfast determination and unwavering power, she easily drove all the enemies away from Virginia, trapping them at a fixed point in space. Where they can no longer kill or destroy anything.

 

But alas, she was killed by the aspect of darkness, Amotrapa, who killed her because he wanted her powers.

 

She was ambushed and slaughtered mercilessly by him. Dark and deadly, she was struck down with remorseless blasts of darkness. Such a fate was cruel for a benevolent, selfless, and merciful woman.

 

He remembered that the roads in Virginia were crowded due to the number of people who were mourning her death. Her favourite music venue was filled with sad violins and sad piano music.  Even the animals shared their sorrow for her, as the other beings did too. 

The flowers withered, the wind was quiet to give them solace and serenity, and the moon was full for a fortnight. To lighten their darkened nights and give them hope for what’s coming to them.

 

Saliena was an icon of hope and inspiration; she was named after a Virginian moon.

 

Her portraits were veiled by a sparkle cloth, as this was the aspect of a twilight wish after they died.

 

Sire Aham did his mourning ritual for the fallen Saliena, where they snuffed out their candles that were burning when they were alive.

 

Because of this, Sire Kilam grew distant and cold towards the new dark ones because of what Amotrapa did. As for the latter, he discovered he could not just take any other aspect’s powers away, and he was killed by a man called Anzir.

 

Who became the next dark one; because the dark one is the only one when killed, their powers are transferred to their killers.

 

Though Sire Kilam is a bit disgruntled because he didn’t kill Amotrapa personally, He understands that he can’t be driven by vengeance. It isn’t a noble cause.

 

Sire Kilam entered a beautiful place where they served tea, coffee, and other delights.

 

"Sire Kilam!" The owner of the place began brightly.

 

"Hello," Sire Kilam said with a warm smile.

 

"What can I get you?" The owner asked.

 

“Tea," uttered Sire Kilam.

 

The owner began to prepare tea for Sir Kilam. He chose the best tea and herbs for him. With a unique blend of their homeland, Verna, he held the cup and gently offered it to Sire Kilam.

 

Sire Kilam smiled and said, "Thank you!"

 

The exquisite smell of the tea had entered Sire Kilam’s nostrils and made him smile bigger.

 

He knew that this tea was well-made and special. He slowly took a sip of the tea, which made him hum in satisfaction.

 

He didn’t want it to down the drink. He wants to savour this tea. It is delicious and special.

 

He sat in the most quiet part of the tea house, although he longed for some people's voices or quiet conversations, To sweeten his mood while drinking the tea. Cherishing the moments before he falls.

 

In his mind’s eye, he always thinks of Saliena. His idol was Sire Aham, and he always wished he could’ve known more of her. But time wasn’t on his side at all. And that’s where the cursed Amotrapa came and took her life unjustly.

 

Every time he remembers this, There is a burning feeling that he wishes he had turned back time to kill Amotrapa before getting the chance to kill Saliena.

 

Maybe in another life, he and Saliena know each other—or maybe they are close? Who knows!

 

Thinking about her shakes his core and makes him feel bad about himself for having her replaced by him, she was the second-best aspect of Twilight.

 

He can see her, and he can feel her aura around him. Her spirit, as the first aspect of twilight, is there to guide him. The previous aspects can be with the current ones spiritually, only to guide and help them.

 

Their bodies perished, but they are with him spiritually. He is the only one who can see them. He can hear them telling him that everything is going to be alright and that he is their successor.

 

"Don’t feel bad," Saliena told him in her soothing voice.

 

"That’s not helpful," Kilam sobbed quietly, His tears are threatening to fall. But he hastily took a napkin and wiped them.

 

"I know how you feel, lad," the first aspect of Twilight muttered with his calming tone and smile.

 

"Again, not helpful," Kilam repeated.

 

He can’t afford to cry in this situation; the place is filled with people, and he can’t make himself look weak in front of the people. As a superior, he must be stoic, calm, and humble.

 

The atmosphere became heavy for Kilam, but he continued to drink his tea so it wouldn’t get cold. The tea helped him calm down a bit, as it also helped his dry throat.

 

He couldn’t give in to sorrow and pain. He is a stoic man, a superior. He can’t let these emotions get the best of him. He breathed deeply to steady his nerves.

 

Instead, he focused on the good memories, on Saliena, and on the first aspect of Twilight's achievements, their victories and successes.

 

He can learn from them, and he can let others learn from him. He smiled when he remembered good memories of his past and Saliena.

 

He downed his tea instead of savouring it as he wanted, but there is no time. Sire Aham needs him, and he must leave at once. He goes to the register and pays for the tea.

 

"Thank you for the tea!" Sire Kilam beamed.

 

"You’re welcome!" The owner replied with the same positivity that Kilam radiated.

 

Despite what happened and what Kilam had been through, He is still positive, no matter what.

 

He must also believe in himself and others. Friends, Superiors, humans, and reformed people.

In a dark room, a figure stood. He is demonic.

a raven-haired man with red eyes and huge bat wings. This time, he isn’t angry or anything.

 

It is Raqoul, the demon of desolation. Despite Barhout’s Revenants failure to bring him the desolation he craves, he isn’t mad or anything.

 

He is planning on doing something more sinister and malicious, something fitting his nature.

 

He is torn between killing Lucifer’s children and killing his siblings. He doesn’t like them at all.

 

He sees them as incompetent idiots. No one is worthy of his time or his rivalry.

 

Except for Lucifer, who is his enemy and rival, He would be damned if he grew soft towards him.

 

He can’t afford to lose this chance to kill the one who killed Souma.

 

Raqoul splays his demonic claws on the mirror before him. It is a relic that he stole from a powerful mage in Omenvalley. The mirror is his sole source of power and information. He heavily depends on it, as he can’t trust or depend on the wolves around him.

 

The mirror shows him what Lucifer has been up to, although, in all honesty, Lucifer has no time to waste on Raqoul. He knows that Raqoul has beef with him. He is the new leader, and he doesn’t give a darn about the other demons or what they think of him.

 

That alone hit a nerve in Raqoul and made him more hostile to Lucifer than before. Vamonessyia enjoys quarrels between these two. She is waiting patiently to know who will win in the end. Is it Raqoul? or Lucifer?

 

The mirror flashed three times as a warning sign for Raqoul to see; this caught Raqoul’s attention to look at the mirror. The mirror showed a gathering of mages in Omenvalley. Raqoul knows who they are, but why does the mirror show him such a thing? Is it a warning?

 

Raqoul focused his eyes on the mirror to see what was happening in the mage gathering. He could hear the magic language they were speaking. until one of the mages spoke.

 

"This is a special spell to trap the demon of desolation in a void!" one of the mage said.

 

Raqoul twitched his eyes in shock. They were planning to trap him somewhere else. He isn’t scared; he can’t be scared of a bunch of losers.

 

"Bunch of imbeciles!" Raqoul commented, "Well, I’ll just have to kill them one by one!"

 

Raqoul took action immediately; he walked to his balcony and flew to Omenvalley before they had the chance to complete the spell.

 

Once Raqoul arrived, he saw the mages stop doing the spell for a reason. He exploited this moment to leap on one of the mages, mauling him and killing him in the process. Raqoul took the mage's voice so he wouldn’t scream.

 

Sometimes, Raqoul fights with his claws, not just his magic. With the main mage gone, Raqoul can easily go freely and kill the others without doubting that they will do the spell with ease.

 

He has four mages left to kill, Ashure and Bōrem are gone for a while.

 

Nevertheless, he will enjoy killing these wretched mages The second mage was guarding the spell book when Raqoul easily sneaked behind him and slit his throat. His blood splashed into the walls and Raqoul’s hands.

 

Raqoul took this moment to savour licking the blood on his hands. He will kill all the mages, a warning to those who want to pick a fight with him.

 

He found the last two mages in the main room of the mansion. They were talking about Ashure and Bōrem, who left them to grab something "magical".

 

"Oh yeah, I see," one of them retorted.

 

Raqoul used his scarlet energy blast and fired it on one of the mages. It left a huge gorey gap on his chest, as he fell on the ground dead.

 

The other mage squirmed in fear and said, "Please, please spare me!"

 

"I don’t spare cowards!" Raqoul sneered at him.

 

Raqoul conjured a scarlet energy ball in his hands and shoved it into the mage's mouth. He held the mage’s mouth closed with his hand until the mage’s head exploded with brain matter and blood.

 

"Ah! Gorey, as I like it," Raqoul murmured to himself.

 

With that, he left the scene and went to his castle to see what would happen next.

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: guess who sucks at action scenes? me! my apologies for this. but i hope you all enjoy anyways!!

warning: mentions of death, violence, gore, blood, fire, death, incest, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Thirty Nine- The Meaning of Fire

—-

You only know the aftermath of war.

You know the marks on your stomach, the widening of your hips is evidence of your battle in the childbed.

You see the same in Rhaenyra. You also see the way she holds her herself- that reserved thing so unlike the princess you used to know- marred and changed by the war that was losing her mother, brother, and best friend.

You grace the scars on Daemon’s body with your hands, your mouth, your eyes. You pour over each arrow wound, each slash of a sword, demanding to know the story behind each one. He tells you of battle, of war, of death and pain. Before, you admit, it scared you a little.

But then you fought your own battles- your first marriage, child birth, your kidnapping- and you suddenly were not scared any longer. As you dive into battle, you think of your children.

—-

As Cannibal soars over the army of House Staunton, of Rook’s Rest, you feel fear for the first time.

You wonder what your children will do without you, what your husband and wife will do. You know you are not a queen, your brow is adorned with no crown, but you almost feel a possessiveness to the Realm, as well. A protectiveness. And while perhaps you will not do the most of the protecting, the simple fact is you hold Daemon and Rhaenyra’s heart in your hands.

It is simple, for them, to give you everything you want. (Except for permission to put yourself in danger, of course.) A million chocolate cakes will be made upon your word, a thousand men will die if you so choose, and you know you could spend your entire days wrapped up in blankets and pillows, entertained by books and songs, waiting until your dragons returned from their duties. (You think they would prefer the last option, but you are a dragon like them. There is fire in you, fire that they made, and they would do well not to forget it.)

The men below you cheer, the men in front of you cower. You are so close to them- only a few more seconds.

Aemond is most likely hiding, waiting until Cannibal and Meleys have tired themsleves, but he underestimates you.

He kidnapped you, isolated you, watched as a man died in your arms. He disrespected you, forced you to kill a man and feel the blood on your hands. He caused such strife for your family, and then men who serve him would do the same.

Your eyes narrow, your resolve hardens.

You are the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms. You will have your revenge, just as your paramours do.

Legs bent, looking out over the enemy, the endless ranks of men, it only takes a second for you to say it.

“Dracarys.”

It is one of the first words you learned in High Valyrian. Everyone who hears it knows death will soon be upon them.

Rhaenyra once said that the realm would know the meaning of fire. Instead, you teach it now, uttering your lesson over the sound of men screaming and fire roaring. You ride a dragon, you are a dragon, and you fade into one with the beast below you.

Your fears fade, replaced by the freedom of flying. You feel powerful, drunk on blood, on fire, and you think that now, more than you ever have been, you are truly a Targaryen.

Barely giving the fire time to douse, the Black forces charge, through the fire, through the bloodshed, through to the disarrayed forces of the Greens.

They do not care about the Realm, about their soldiers. When the Blacks send men to their deaths, they do so with remorse and the promise that dragons will be there, so at least the place of their death will be remembered. The Greens let their men burn.

Some of the Green forces remain intact, the sections not burning or bombarded upon by the soldiers you fight with, and you see they ready your weapons as you and Rhaenys circle each other. It is almost foolish that weapons should be able to reach you. Now when you are this high, not when you are closer to gods than men. Not when you are Targaryens.

The arrows and spears come, but Cannibal and Meleys are too large for it to be more than pinpricks. You almost laugh, thinking this is too easy. You would fight everyday if it felt like this. Like freedom, like power.

Vhagar roars, and you can feel Cannibal tense.

“Gīda, Cannibal, gīda.” You coo, and the dragon huffs but heeds your command. (Calm, Cannibal, Calm.)

To him, it is simple. He lost you, and Vhagar was there when you were taken. To him, revenge is easy. Second nature.

It is starting to become like that to you as well.

You feel the heat of fire rise, growing by the second as Meleys breathes more- most likely annoyed by the arrows- you look out to the horizon.

Vhagar rides toward you, Aemond atop her, the sun to his back. If you were not a dragon yourself (with each passing moment, each pained scream, each roar of fire, you become more and more comfortable with that fact) you might be scared.

Instead, you huff, feel Cannibal reel beneath you, practically salivating for your command. You do not even have to say it- he is shooting forward through the sky, forward, forward, forward until you can clearly see Aemond.

You cannot see his expression- but you hope he is scared. You hope his Hightower blood is strong, and he remembers that while he is a dragon- at his core, it is only a lantern that burns. Your viens are practically overfilling with fire, and the red benewth your skin is no longer just blood. It is dragonblood. Your skin is dragonscales, your teeth are dragonteeth, you are fire, fire, fire.

Cannibal stretches his wings, and you are so close to them now, and when you look up you see Aemond’s eye fixed on you.

Vhagar screeches as the tip of Cannibal’s spiked wing trails across her stomach.

You turn, sharply, quickly, facing them. You know better than to turn your back to a dragon. Vhagar does the same, and suddenly you are careening towards the old dragon, so fast you can feel the wind whistling in your ears. Vhagar breathes a puff of fire, but you are coming too fast, and it is a weak plume, a last ditch attempt, and you fleeting think that it will finally happen.

Cannibal will rip out Vhagar’s throat, and Aemond would fall to the ground with her. The Greens would lose their biggest advantage. Rhaenyra and Daemon would forgive you- would have to forgive you, because you are the Queen and it is not a crime to protect your realm, protect Rhaenyra’s crown.

Even as you willing fly towards Vhagar, you are still thinking of them. Still hoping they forgive you. Still hoping they see your side.

You can just make out Aemond’s face, but not the expression on it, when suddenly Cannibal roars and dives down, toward the ground, and you suddenly realize it is you who will die.

You are foolish, thinking you could win a battle, thinking you could do anything other than be a pretty face with a meaningless crown on your heard, anything more than a womb and something for them to take their frustrations out on.

But you don’t die.

Instead, Cannibal lifts up and turns, and you are met with Vhagar, lazy in her turn, and…

Sunfyre.

You gasp, look around anxiously for Rhaenys, knowing that in this fight, you stand no chance. But she is beside you, suddenly, and Meleys is hissing and clicking. Cannibal roars again, and you look over your shoulder to see a bite mark in his leg.

Suddenly, the fire inside is raging, swirling and roaring, and you are bracing yourself and looking at Rhaenys. You can barely make out her hand raising before you are urging Cannibal forward, cutting through the wind.

The two traitors wait for you, making you come for them, and it only makes your brow furrow and your bottom lip curl in pure anger. They will know the meaning of fire.

“Dracarys!” You scream just as you reach them, and they are both bathed in flame for one precious moment, before it falls and it is your opening. They are disoriented, blinded by the blast, and you slam into Vhagar so fast you cannot even blink.

Cannibal bites into the meat of her shoulder, and she howls, and you almost feel bad, but then you remember that if you do not kill her, she will kill you.

Vhagar throws her head back, just as the force of Meleys and Sunfyre collide into the two of you. And suddenly you are all falling, wings of dragons flapping wildly, the sound of screaming, of various shouts in High Valyrian, the wind whistling in your ears, when suddenly Cannibal manages to unfurl his wings, and the pure surface area of them slows your descent just that much.

The mess of dragons is falling below you know, only yards from the ground, when Meleys suddenly throws herself to the side and the two brothers are left to slam to the ground on their own.

Meleys slams to the ground next, and you follow on Cannibal, ash in your hair and your face, the slam of him under you causing your grip to slip, but you just manage to hang on.

You do not know if Aegon and Aemond are dead. Of Sunfyre and Vhagar are. You do not even know if Rhaenys and Meleys are alive.

You see a red dragon circle above you, but the neck is too long to be Meleys. Caraxes has come for you, and so has his rider.

—-

taglist:

@wondergal2001 @akiraquote @a-lil-bit-nuts @anginoguera @thatkinkylesgirl1 @stitchattacks @honeypillowsblog @kaloafd @blackhoodlea @softtina @wallace02sblog @tetgod @hotd-fanfic @rxscpctals @iramagnus

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Damian Wayne (DC)

Y'all Hate Teens Propaganda

(See also: previous tourney propaganda)

This child was grown in a lab and raised to be an assassin, indoctrinated from infancy with what his role and fate will be as Batman's predecessor. His attitude of self-importance and use of bloodshed as a coping mechanisms can be completely attributed to his upbringing. Violence was all he was taught and he was never given any room to not be the best and most important person. So when confronted with people who are shown love and leniency, despite being weaker than him, it makes sense that he doesn't know how to handle it. But he begins to grow. He experiences the loss of his father and unconditional love from his mentor/brother. He shows vulnerability and weakness. He enjoys creating art. He is compassionate towards animals and cares deeply for his friends. In every well-written run, he is shown to be becoming a person of integrity and true strength, and in my opinion, the best potential future batman who is not emotionally constipated and who makes room for other things in his life. And then DC will drop a shittily written cash grab where he's depicted as a terrorist and people will run with that to say how awful of a character he is. He's just a traumatized kid and one with infinite potential for growth. I love all the Robin's, but Damian gets the worst fandom hate and I'll always defend him.

[liminalpebble]

(Here's the first chapter. More are being uploaded to the Archive of Our Own link, but it might take me a bit to post them here as well. Enjoy, I hope!)

The Refugee

Masterlist link

Summary:

In a timeline where Loki, the prodigal prince of Asgard, struck out to establish his vast and powerful Laufeyson Empire, he stumbles upon Lenora, a refugee scarred by his bloodshed. One of the few surviving Morhari, she is captured and forced to use her considerable intelligence in service to the fearful warlord who destroyed her nation and her life. Will the peasant turned captive asset find her way to freedom and her own power, and will the cruel and scheming god of mischief discover that he can be more than a villain?

Notes:

Hello all 3's of you who are probably reading this. : ) This is my first fanfic and I'm incredibly nervous to post it, so please be polite and constructive in your critiques. I have many chapters already finished (or mostly finished, bar some perfectionistic tweaking and polishing) so I plan to post regularly if this goes over well. Also, be aware that I am playing very fast and loose with a lot of aspects of the original material and canon for the sake of the story, so please take it with a grain of salt, for example the Morhari are obviously a fictional nationality.

P.S. I mention sex work and sex workers but I intend to do so with respect and positivity towards their profession. I have tried to avoid any problematic words or descriptions, but please let me know if any exist and I will do my best to fix it.

On who I would cast for the major roles: Loki is obviously the Hiddleston Loki of the MCU. Magnus (original character) is very specifically Domhnall Gleeson in my mind. I imagine Queen Nadia (original character) as Lashana Lynch. Have yet to settle on casting for Lenora herself or Beatrice (OC).

CW: Non/dubious consent. slow burn to eventual smut. violence and torture. Loki is very unambiguously bad, morally complex but bad, and does bad things.

-----------

Chapter 1

Lenora (Lea to her friends, or those struggling to pronounce her name) blinked groggily as the sun peaked through her curtains, bathing her simple but tidy quarters in the light of another cold autumn morning. As she shivered into her layers of blankets, she wondered if her body would ever adjust itself to the biting cold of this land. She sat up in bed, (unwilling to relinquish her duvet just yet) to brush and pull her long dark hair into a practical braid down her back. Finally, sighing at the inevitable chill, she got up, washed, and dressed herself quickly. She tugged the final layer (a rough gray bar apron) swiftly around her hips, and stuffed a few books into the deep pockets. Hearing movement downstairs at the tavern she pattered down the steps to start her shift.

“Good morning, Lea my Love!” called Madame Beatrice from where she was still setting out the chairs and restocking the ale behind the counter.

“Morning, Miss Beatrice!” she said with a smile, sliding deftly behind the bar to help with the barrels as Bea struggled, wincing slightly.

“Is it your back again?”

“Yes child, I'm not as limber as I used to be.”

“Ah come on! You talk as if you're ancient. ”

“Darling...hard work ages a woman.” she sighed.

Lea nodded knowingly. This place couldn't be easy to keep up. Beatrice's Boarding House was the one stop for hospitality in a snowy village on the outskirts of the kingdom. Bea had to anticipate every need of the weary traveler, providing food, drink, lodging, and entertainment. Most importantly to Bea herself, she was responsible to pay, protect, and care for the many ladies here as they worked the oldest profession. Beatrice was a madame, yes, but she treated all of her employed women with dignity, and the ladies were grateful for this unusually beneficial arrangement. Lea respected this about Beatrice and felt silent gratitude for her yet again as she gazed at her calloused hands.

Still groggy, Lea settled in behind the bar, fishing out the books from her apron to make a small pile in the back corner, away from the guests. Mornings were slow except for some sad regulars and their liquid breakfasts, or the odd traveler in need of lodging and a morning meal, so Lea took the opportunity to indulge her curiosity and addiction to books.

Lost in the pages, she jumped as sharp series of knocks hit the polished wooden counter. Her big dark eyes flicked up, round cheeks blushing in embarrassment at her distraction from her work. Before her was a tall, regal looking man, with large expressive eyes the pale aquamarine of sea glass and a head full of thick blond curls. She fumbled a little sliding her book face-down on the bar to save her place and quickly asked, “Y..Yes sir, my apologies. How might I help you?”, small plump lips lifting into a kind, if awkward, smile.

His angular face looked startlingly serious for a beat, but then he broke into the widest, brightest smile she had ever seen. It made her exhale with relief.

His deep voice spoke crisply in a High Asgardian accent. She thought to herself that he must be some kind of nobility. Then what was he doing in a humble place like this? On the edge of the world?

“Good day, Miss...” he extended a hand and a quizzical look toward her as he paused to learn her name.

“Lenora...ah...Lea if you like,” she stammered, reaching her hand out in what she assumed would be a handshake of greeting (something Bea assured her is the usual greeting in Asgardian culture). She was surprised however when the stranger, took her hand gently by the fingertips and kissed her knuckles with a tiny bow of his head.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lenora,” he said with another blinding smile. “I would like... What book is that you're reading?”

“Ah my apologies, sir. I shouldn't be leaving them on the bar.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That doesn't answer my question.”

“Right...it's called Hamlet...a Midgardian play...it's about a...”

“Yes I'm quite familiar with it, however, not many are. So tell me...” He paused to lean down on the bar and make eye contact with her. “What is a barmaid, at a tavern in the middle of nowhere, doing with a book like that...and those?” he added, eyes traveling to the little tower of books on the far counter behind her, in several languages on a variety of topics.

“ Well,” she said looking down a bit shyly, “I'm afraid that's a rather long story Mr....I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?”

He chuckled with genuine amusement. “I didn't,” he said with a single wink.

Just as she was about to melt into the floor from embarrassment, Madame Bea came to the rescue in perfect time. She had a smile and a look of recognition in her eyes as she turned to greet the stranger. He gave Beatrice the same greeting, kissing her hand and nodding.

“Well, hello again,” she said to him wearing her most courteous but oddly conciliatory expression. She turned to Lea and said “Lea, be a dear and let us chat will you? There are some gentlemen up front who seem a bit thirsty so let's see to them, eh?”.

Lea gave her a tiny, curious twitch, before remembering that Beatrice was a woman of many dealings and secrets and this was probably yet another. “Yes ma'am, of course. And pleased to meet you, sir” she said with a little polite nod and a scurry of escape.

Bea and the stranger both leaned against the bar looking out across the tavern as Lea's small form glided between tables. Bea turned her head with a knowing smirk and a sigh towards the stranger. “What is it now, Loki?”

@lokisprettygirl

[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

Basic Information:

Name: Cassata Magnani (Brando) Name in Katakana: カサタ・マニャーニ (ブランドー) Name in Romaji: Kasāta Mānyāni (Burandō) Nicknames: [TBD] Stand: [TBD] Age: 15 Birthday: April 16, 1985 Zodiac Sign: Aries Chinese Zodiac: Ox Date of Death: N/A Gender: Female Height: 5’6” Weight: Unknown Blood Type: AB Nationally: Genetically British, but raised and identifies as Italian Hair Color: Dark Indigo Eye Color: Gold

.

Personality:

Like her father in his earlier years, Cassata has a manipulative and violently domineering personality, repeatedly showing a lack of conscience and empathy. She displays a boundless ambition and a need for power. Cassata became involved in the mafia in her early teens, being taken in by La Squadra due to her advanced skill set and use of her stand. With this increase in mafioso status, Cassata’s ego would be boosted, resulting in her setting incredibly high standards for herself going forward. Using either manipulation, seduction, or plain violence, Cassata constantly seeks out to become more and more powerful. Like her brother, Giorno, the idea of overthrowing the Boss crosses her mind and becomes a secret goal of her’s. She is easily irritated when someone has the confidence to stand up to her, similarly to her father, and bottles up internal rage whenever this possibility crosses her mind. Like her father, Cassata will always attempt to manipulate those she interacts with, hoping to sway them to her side with the use of feigned veneer and gentleness. Her natural arrogance, however, often leads her to openly insult and belittle her enemies, notably disparaging their insignificant strength before her own Stand power. She will approach any and all obstacles and problems in a number of ways depending on the situation and her mood. Cassata is, essentially, a contrast to her brother, Giorno. While he displays traits that lean far closer to the Joestar ideals, Cassata leans closer to that of the Brando ideals. This sort of behavior from Cassata provides her father, Dio, an insight into his past behavior and serves as a way to further change his ways and personally attempt to get his daughter on a better path, as well. 

.

Quote(s):

1). “Enough whining already, you worthless pig.” --When annoyed at enemies and underlings. 2). “I have no brother. I was an only child who grew up in the mafia, nothing more and nothing less. Do not judge, let alone hold me to, those closed-minded, goody two-shoes standards of your’s.” --Confronting her family upon meeting them for the first time. 3). “Wait, so you’re telling me that you both are vampires? Like, the undead, blood drinking childhood stories? …Well fuck, that would explain why I enjoy the smell of bloodshed, then…” --To her mother and father after joining Passione. 4). “...If you knew that Giorno was out there and put effort into looking for him, then why didn’t you bother looking for me?! To hell with the hospital losing the records, there had to be someone who knew where I had been placed, what family I had been given to!!” --Cassata confronts her mother about how she sought to find Giorno while she was left as an afterthought. 5). "Tch… I guess we think the same, then… Children shouldn’t be sold this trash, whereas an adult is free to throw their life away as they please." --Upon joining Giorno and the rest of Passione in their cause to overthrow the Boss. 6). "...You really were planning such a bullshit event, huh Padre? I guess… I really do lean closer to your side of the family, then… it sounds like something I’d have tried." --To Dio as the Heaven Plan is explained to the family.