#around in her chamber and had to be checked on and fixed up frequently

[arolesbianism]

I’ve been finally getting to working on design concepts for my iterator ocs from Slivers local group, so here’s Stars. She is sooooo normal (lying)

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 15

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 15: White Poppies

AO3 - Masterlist

Helaena’s chambers sprawled out before Daenera, ornate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting vivid scenes of nature and animals, a fitting reflection of Helaena’s personality. As Daenera entered the room, her gaze fell upon Helaena, engrossed in her embroidery of a moth. The wings of the moth were meticulously crafted, the eyes upon them shimmering with a hint of blue and violet, surrounded by a wreath of white poppy flowers . 

Admiring the artwork, Daenera approached Helaena, a note of appreciation in her voice. “That is truly beautiful.”

Helaena looked up, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Thank you.”

“I have brought a blend of vervain tea. Would you care for a cup?” In her hands, Daenera held a small pouch containing the blend. She raised it, presenting it to Helaena.

Helaena nodded her head gently and returned her attention to her embroidery. Daenera proceeded towards the hearth, requesting water from one of the maids to fill the heavy iron tea kettle. Once the tea kettle was filled, she allowed the pouch to sink into the warm water, releasing the fragrant aroma of dried herbs. The tea kettle was pushed over the flames and Daenera turned her focus back on Helaena. 

“Did you know that moths are masters of deception?” Helaena asked, voice light and musing. 

As Daenera stoked the fire with a cool, weighty fire poker, she listened intently. “No, I wasn’t aware.”

Helaena continued, her eyes fixed upon her embroidery. “Some moths imitate other insects or predators to avoid being preyed upon. They can mimic wasps or even praying mantises. It's rather tragic, isn’t it? To have to pretend to be something you’re not just to survive.”

Daenera pondered the notion, placing the fire poker back in its rightful place before moving closer to Helaena. The conversations with her always left Daenera with a sense of contemplation. “Perhaps moths don’t perceive their pretenses as tragic. It could be a natural instinct for them.”

Helaena raised her eyes from her works, a smile playing upon her lips. “You may be right.”

Daenera settled onto the settee, making herself comfortable, adopting an inconspicuous voice. “By the way, how is your brother?”

At the mention of her brother, Helaena’s brows furrowed, as if puzzled by the question. Familiarly, her expression shifted, slipping into a state of bewildered detachment, as if she were looking but not truly seeing. 

Helaena shrugged indifferently. “I haven’t seen him for a couple of days. I rarely know what Aegon is doing. He is most likely sleeping or drinking wine.”

Although Daenera had intended to inquire about Aemond, she assumed that Aegon was the one Helaena was asked about more frequently given that he was her husband. Alicent had made a mistake marrying Aegon to Helaena, he was undeserving of someone as gentle as her. Fleetingly, her thoughts wandered to the possibility of Helaena having married Aemond. Aemond would at least have treated Helaena with tenderness and the care she deserved…

Still, a knot formed in her stomach. 

“I meant Aemond,” Daenera clarified. 

Helaena’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Aemond? I don't know… Do you?”

Daenera's head shook in tandem with Helaena's, her expression mirroring the uncertainty. "I don't know either... Although, I have heard whispers of him having some difficulty remaining atop his steed."

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Helaena's lips, and a rare glint of mischief sparked in her eyes, momentarily breaking through the veil of melancholy that often enveloped her.

Daenera rose from her seat to check on the tea, lifting the heavy teakettle with a slight struggle. She huffed as she poured the steaming tea into two mugs before returning the kettle to the hook, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Your brothers are like persistent pebbles in my shoes, annoying and inconvenient.”

“If you’re not careful, those pebbles may turn into boulders.”

Daenera chuckled, holding one of the mugs in her hand and savoring its scorching warmth that made her palm prickle. “I highly doubt boulders would fit in my shoes.”

Helaena’s laugh filled the room. 

Daenera approached Helaena and placed one of the mugs on the table before her, while she kept the other in her hand, shifting it carefully to avoid the searing heat. As they settled, Helaena’s voice carried an air of mystery as she spoke, her gaze growing distant yet captivated. 

“ The stag that marries the flower shall find no love or comfort in her bloom, for she who thrives beneath the stars shall be cold of heart, full of poison, ” Helaena mused, her words echoing with a desperate longing to be understood. “And when the stag hunts the stag, the stars shall witness the stag’s fall–black, blue, and bleeding .”

In a rare moment of connection, Helaena reached out, grasping Daenera’s hand. “Flowers are not just pretty.”

Daenera met Helaena’s gaze, her eyes reflection both comprehension and a desire to offer solace. She could sense that there was more to Helaena’s musings, fragments of a larger tale that eluded her grasp, leaving her frustrated and confused. It was like witnessing a child attempt to retell a complex story, struggling to assemble the scattered pieces of a tattered tapestry. The frustration lay not only with Helaena’s inability to articulate herself, but also with the listener’s failure to fully grasp their meaning. 

It was an awful thing to be afflicted with. 

The chamber doors opened, revealing two maids who was struggling to contain two rambunctious children, their cheeks flushed and eye wide. The maids rushed forward, positioning themselves respectfully in front of the sitting area as the children squirmed to get free. 

“P–,” one of the maids began, only to be interrupted by a tiny hand accidentally smacking her in the face. 

“Princess Helaena,” the other maid continued, attempting to pry the child’s grip from her hair. “We apologize for the interruption, but the prince and princess have been demanding your presence.”

Daenera suspected the maids’ definition of ‘demanding’ referred to a full-blown tantrum. Surprisingly, Helaena seemed undisturbed by the children’s rowdy presence. “It’s fine, you may put them down.”

Obeying her command, the maids released their hold on the squirming children, and the prince and princess immediately ceased their uproar, toddeling towards their mother. Helaena set aside her embroidery and scooped up the little Princess Jaehaera, seating her on her lap. Prince Jaehaerys made his way around the table, using Daenera’s knee for support as he stood, his other hand clutching a delicately carved wooden dragon. 

“What do you have there?” Daenera inquired curiously. 

Jaehaerys beamed, holding up the crafted beast for Daenera to admire. “Dragon!”

Daenera smiled in response. “Does it have a name?”

“Vhagar,” Jaehaerys declared proudly.

Daenera couldn’t suppress her smile; the little prince was simply adorable with his wide eyes and rosy cheeks, their Targaryen lineage evident in their striking appearance. “Indeed, the biggest and oldest dragon of them all.”

Jaehaera piped up from her mother’s lap. “Aemond rides Vhagar.”

“That’s right,” Daenera affirmed, nodding. “And your mother rides Dreamfyre, a mighty she-dragon.”

“Dream-pire!” Jaehaerys exclaimed with excitement, bouncing up and down. 

“Dreamfyre,” Helaena gently corrected him, a tender smile reserved solely for her children gracing her lips. “I will take you to see her one day.”

“Do you know who your father rides?” Daenera inquired.

“Vhagar!” the two children chorused. 

“No, your father rides Sunfyre.”

“Aemond rides Vhagar!” Jaehaerys insisted. 

“Yes, and Aegon rides Sunfyre,” Daenera clarified. 

“Sunfyre,” Jaehaerys mused, his large eyes fixed on the wooden dragon in his hands, his tiny fingers tracing its contours. 

“Mhm, Sungyre, the most beautiful dragon in the world,” Daenera added. 

“Most beautiful…” Jaehaera echoed, lost in thought. 

Helaena kissed her daughter's temple, brushing the pale hair out of her face. “I think Dreamfyre is the most beautiful of all the dragons.”

While Dreamfyre was undeniably beautiful with its light blue to midnight blue scales, and the silver adornments. But there was no denying that Sunfyre reigned supreme in terms of beauty, with its golden scales, spiraling horns, and delicate pink wings. When Aegon had claimed Sunfyre, Daenera had been consumed by a sickening jealousy, resorting to slicing holes in all of his boots to ensure his feet would be soaked when it rained. It took weeks for them to realize it wasn’t just one pair but all of his shoes and boots that had holes in them. 

Daenera had been far more forgiving and understanding when Helaena had laid claim to Dreamfyre. 

“One day, I will claim a dragon,” Jaehaerys declared, pretending his wooden dragon was soaring through the air. “I want to fly.”

“You want to fly?” Daenera asked mischievously, then swiftly scooped the boy up under his arms and lifted him into the air. Jaehaerys squealed with delight, kicking his legs in exhilaration. Daenera moved away from the sitting area, creating more space. She swung Jaehaerys around, shaking him gently as he erupted into laughter. Jaehaera pushed herself off her mother’s lap and trailed after Daenera, mimicking her brother’s flight through the room. 

“What does a dragon say?”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let out roars, though one was far more of a high-pitched shriek than an actual roar. Daenera led them into the bedroom, playfully tossing Jaehaerys onto the bed. The little prince flew through the air, landing on the mattress with a small thud. By then, Jaehaera was clutching Daenera’s skirts, jumping up and down while pleading for her turn to fly. 

Daenera scooped up the princess, spinning around a few times before bouncing her through the air and tossing her onto the mattress as she had done her brother, then let out a roar of her own and grabbed their legs, pulling them closer to her so that she could tickle them. 

The room filled with joyful giggles, laughter, and more dragon roars. Jaehaerys steadied himself on the mattress, mustering an attack on Daenera, but she swiftly grabbed him and tossed him again, causing him to bounce on the bed in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. 

Daenera’s playful demeanor abruptly shifted as Aemond’s voice pierced through the lively atmosphere. Her head snapped towards him, finding him casually leaning against the stone pillar that marked the boundary between the sitting room and the bedchamber. His presence cast a shadow over the room, interjecting an undercurrent into the air. “I see you’ve decided to take your frustrations out on the little prince and princess.”

Her eyes narrowed. 

“Should you harm them, you’ll soon find yourself in the dungeons,” Aemond warned, his voice laced with an icy threat. 

In return, her voice was sharp and defiant as she retorted, “I am not the one capable of harming children.”

At the sound of their uncle’s voice, both the prince and princess hastily abandoned their game, scrambling off the bed and darting towards Aemond. With effortless ease, he bent down and gathered them both in his arms.

Daenera remained rooted by the bed, her chest heaving with exertion, strands of her hair escaping the intricate braids she wore. Tossing the prince and princess around has been akin to handling sacks of potatoes, an activity that was far from the usual for a princess. 

“One day,” Jaehaerys proclaimed with an enthusiastic twinkle in his eye, his small finger playfully twirling in his uncle’s long hair. “I will ride Vhagar!”

Daenera approached them, her fingers poised to tickle Jaehaerys’ side. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she pressed her fingers into the little prince’s ribs, causing him to squirm and giggle in Aemond’s firm grip. 

“I would certainly like to see that,” she teased, her words carrying a subtle hint of challenge. 

Aemond’s lips curled in a small smile, his amusement shining through. He shook his head in response to Daenera’s remark. 

If Jaehaerys were to ever claim Vhagar, it would mean his own demise. However, Aemond unfortunately appeared in good health, the only real threat to his well-being was his audacity. One day it would kill him. 

If only it would be today, Daenera mused quietly. 

Relinquishing his hold on the children, Aemond gently released them to let them dart to the blanket that had been spread out, adorned with an array of toys for them to play with. 

Daenera walked back to the settee, sitting down to take a sip of the still warm tea. Aemond sat down opposite her, much to her great annoyance, his eye prodding at her quietly. 

“You seem to have scuffed your chin,” Daenera remarked, plowing the steam away from the cup before taking a sip. 

It was true, there was a scrape along the bottom of his chin, the wound scabbed over, but still very much visible. His eye narrowed. 

“It seems my saddle strap had been worn through,” Aemond replied, his voice carrying a knowing tone. 

Her brows lifted as she feigned surprise and innocence. “How unfortunate.”

“Indeed.”

The doors swung open once again, and Aegon stumbled into the room, a cup of tine in his hand, looking disheveled and rumpled. His hair was tousled, his doublet unbuttoned, letting his white undershirt peek out from beneath. Aegon navigated his way towards them, merely managing to avoid tripping down the two steps that led to the sitting area, his balance teetering precariously. 

“Sweet niece!” Aegon greeted with a boisterous tone, plopping himself down on the settee beside Daenera and wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an awkward hug. “Have you come to share more of your lover's letters?”

Daenera instinctively leaned away, trying to create some space between them, and she remarked with a disgusted look contoringing her features. “You smell like a brothel.” 

Aegon responded with a sly grin, challenging her statement, “And how would you know what a brothel smells like?”

Sensing the growing tension, Aemond interjected, directing his words to the maids who appeared equally uncomfortable. “Why don’t you take the children to get some sweets?”

The unspoken words were there in his tone. So that they don’t have to see their drunken father make a fool of himself.

The twins' eyes lit up at the prospect of threats, and the two maids nodded in agreement, swiftly picking up the children. The young Targaryens waved enthusiastically at Aegon as they were carried past their father, oblivious to the tense atmosphere that Aemond and Helaena wanted to shield them from. 

As they passed, Aegon reached out and tugged at the red skirt of one of the young maids, as if teasing her. The maid curtseyed, then hurried away. 

“And take them to the gardens afterward,” Helaena added, her voice carrying a note of relief. “Thank you, Dayana and Lottie.”

Aegon reached for the wine flagon and refilled his cup. “It’s so kind of you to visit my poor, sweet sister. She doesn’t get much company other than her bugs.”

Helaena seemed to withdraw slightly, turning her body away from Aegon and towards Aemond. She focused on her nearly completed embroidery, her shoulders rising as she poured her concentration into her needlework. “ Spools of black, spools of green, spools of that which lies between… Hand turns the loom, spools of black, spools of green, spools of that which lies between. Fate is woven, strings are cut–weaving, woven, made and cut–destiny intertwined, a tapestry of past and future.. ”

“I apologize for my wife; she’s not all there,” Aegon interjected, pointing a finger to his own head. 

“And yet, she remains better company than you,” Daenera retorted curtly, her disdain for Aegon evident as she disliked his demeaning portrayal of Helaena. His wife was neither daft nor foolish. 

“I assure you, my company is far more exciting than that of my wife,” Aegon replied, trailing a finger down Daenera’s spine. She felt her whole body tense with revolt, her eyes darting towards Aemond, who appeared outwardly calm, but his clipped demeanor revealed his annoyance. His cool blue eye bore into Aegon. 

“And I assure you, Aegon, that I would rather keep company with a rat than a drunkard like you. Rats smell better,” Daenera fired back, slapping his hand away from her. 

Aegon pursed his lips, lifting the low neckline of his shirt to his nose, inhaling its scent. He made a face that suggested he found it acceptable.

Daenera shot Aemond a wide-eyed expression of disbelief, while a faint quirk formed at the corner of his lips, revealing his amusement at the situation. 

“The princess is right. I can smell you from here. Maybe you should take a bath and sleep it off,” Aemond interjected before Aegon could say anything else. 

“Trying to get rid of me, brother?” Aegon muttered, rising unsteadily to his feet. 

Instead of taking the simple path around the table and the settee, Aegon attempted to pass by Daenera, invading her personal space and causing her discomfort with his dirty and sweaty scent. Midway through, he had the brilliant idea to step onto the table and come down on the other side, where he threw himself to lounge on the settee beside his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Aemond’s expression shifted from discomfort to annoyance, his eye remaining on Daenera. 

“You see,” Aegon began in a conspiratorial tone. “I know you just got caught with a whore in your bed…”

Aemond's gaze turned sharp as he glared at Daenera, who pursed her lips, widening her eyes in an innocent guise. 

“To which I say ‘finally’! You’re far too up-tight. It’s good to release some pent-up energy once in a while,” Aegon continued in a mocking tone. “But I don’t think you’re ready to handle two women in bed, even if one of them is as impassive as a lifeless fish.”

“Spools of black, spools of green…” Helaena softly repeated under her breath, her eyes fixed on the embroidery, as if seeking solace in the repetitive chant.

Aemond brushed Aegon’s hand off his shoulder, but Aegon persisted, placing his hand there once again. 

“That’s why I suggest I take Princess Daenera, since I have more experience, and you can entertain my wife,” Aegon taunted, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I know you had a fondness for her in your youth, and you wished our mother had arranged a marriage between the two of you. Trust me, I share the same sentiment.”

The expression on Aemond’s face revealed the truth behind Aegon’s words. His hand stretched out and then clenched, his knuckles turning white. It was apparent the jape got to him as his jaw clenched and he swallowed. 

Daenera’s stomach churned, the revelation unsettling to her. She wondered if Aemond’s childhood affection for his sister persisted, or had it transformed into a brotherly love?

In a fleeting moment, the darkest and most vindictive part of her posed an idea. Could she use this against Aemond?

No, Daenera dismissed the thought, knowing she would never stoop so low as to exploit or harm Helaena in her pursuit of hurting Aemond. 

“Pity befalls Helaena,” Daenera interjected, cutting off Aemond’s impending retort. Both brothers looked towards her as she glared at Aegon. “To endure such blatant disrespect and insults from her husband, I pity her. I pity her for being married to you, a drunken fool who squandered his life drowning in the depths of a wine cup. Tell me, Aegon, does the wine soothe the pain of knowing that you’re nothing but a disappointment, incapable of fulfilling any purpose in this world?”

Stunned silence was what met her words, their eyes fixed upon Daenera.

Aegon’s taunting smile faltered, his expression contouring into a a grimace of defeat as he slumped into the settee, swirling the wine in his cup like a pouting child. “Your loss.”

Rising from the settee, Daenera maneuvered around the furniture and placed her hands on Helaena’s shoulders, planting a kiss on top of her head. “I believe it is time for me to depart.”

Helaena patted her hand gently. 

“As will I.” Aemond stood up, seemingly growing taller as he towered over Daenera, despite their height difference she glanced past him to Aegon, who drained his cup, lounging amidst the pillows on the settee with his feet propped up on the table. Her attention shifted back to Aemond. “Don’t you dare leave her alone with him.”

“He’s her husband.”

“And she’s your sister.”

Aemond dragged his eye from her and turned around, grasping Aegon’s arm firmly, compelling him to his feet. His brother swayed on his feet, an expression of confusion and betrayal knitting his brows together. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m not a child,” Aegon hissed, wrenching his arm free only to stumble backwards, his legs colliding with the seat of the settee, and subsequently fell to his ass on it. 

“The cease acting like one,” Aemond retorted sharply, once again assisting Aegon to his feet. This time, he managed to guide him away from any potential obstacles that could cause further mishaps, albeit the task proved to be arduous as he struggled with the steps leading to the door. 

Aegon grumbled incessantly throughout being led down the halls. 

“You know, you’d be much more likable if you drank,” Aegon remarked to his brother.

Daenera could envision Aemond rolling his eye. She trailed behind quietly.

“Why? It doesn’t make you more likable,” Aemond responded flatly, causing Daenera to bite her lip in an attempt to stifle her chuckle. 

“It actually does,” Aegon countered matter-of-factly. “And it makes the world less dull.”

Daenera turned down another corridor, distancing herself from the brothers.

For once, an encounter with Aemond hasn't resulted in disaster. It's a shame it wouldn’t last when everything had been put in place. 

Joyce met her at the end of the hall. “It’s been prepared.”

“Good.”

The Red Keep was abuzz with activity as lords and ladies from every corner of Westeros descended upon the capitol. The grand chambers and intimate rooms were now brimming with the presence of the esteemed guests, theri conversations intermingling to create a constant hum that reverberated through the corridors. The atmosphere was alive with anticipation, for it was the day before the start of the grand tourney, celebrating Viserys 25th year of rule. 

Within the bustling halls and the sprawling courtyards, the colorful tapestry of nobles unfolded. Most were women, ladies from houses great and small, staying in the comfort of the Red Keep while the men set up their tents at the tourney grounds.

Aemond was leaning against the wall of the tiltyard, watching two of Daenera’s guards, Ser Eddin Follard and Ser Kevan Mertyns, train. The tiltyard was filled with knights and lords training in preparation for the morrows competitions. A crowd gathered around to watch it all. 

Ser Eddin Follard swung his sword in a broad curve, letting it smash into Ser Kevan Mertyns shield, the wood splintering at the impact. Mertyns answered by thrusting his sword forward, narrowly missing Follards side. The crowd cheered at the display, and Daenera flashed Ser Fenrick Locke a wide smile as she said something to her guard. 

With a disapproving scowl etched upon his face, Ser Criston Cole strode over to stand beside Aemond, his arms folded across his chest. He surveyed the ongoing fight in the tiltyard, his gaze had and disparaging. 

“Seems there’s little competition to be found,” he remarked, his voice laced with disappointment. “These green knights swing their swords with little skill or purpose.”

Aemond nodded in agreement, his expression apathetic. “These tournaments have become nothing more than a spectacle of vanity and idle entertainment. The art of combat has become diluted.”

“None of them have witnessed the horrors of real battle,” Ser Criston added. 

Daenera’s voice drifted towards them, her tone infused with amusement. She turned to face Aemond and Ser Criston, her eyes gleaming mischievously with a touch of a challenge. At her side, Tris Caswell shifted restlessly, while Ser Fenrick Locke merely glanced back at his fellow guards, unimpressed by the conversation. 

“I dare say you’re not intimately acquainted with the reality of true battle either, One-eye,” Daenera taunted, her words cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. “You are in no position to judge.”

Ser Criston quickly intervened, coming to Aemond’s defense. “I can vouch for the prince’s skill. If he were to enter this farce of a competition, he would undoubtedly be crowned the winner.”

“Did you not once compete in a similar tourney, Ser Criston?” Ser Fenrick Locke questioned, his voice gruff and unyielding. He glanced towards Ser Criston with a disapproving expression. “It was after winning the tourney that you were granted the opportunity to join the esteemed Kingsguard, if memory serves. One would think you would recognize the hypocrisy of your own statements.”

A hint of a sneer crept onto Ser Criston’s face as he retorted, his words laden with haughtiness. “I earned my place in the Kingsguard because I was the sole participant who had truly experienced the harsh realities of battle…And I’ve been imparting that knowledge to the prince through our training.”

“Ser Criston places immense faith in your skill,” Daenera said with thinly veiled sarcasm. “It’s a shape you show little interest in displaying that skill in the competition.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aemond’s features as he responded to Daenera’s provocation. “Are you attempting to bait me, niece ?”

Daenera’s smirk widened as she continued. “Ser Criston may have imparted his knowledge to you, but he isn’t the only one here familiar with true battle. Why not put your skill to the test against someone who has no reason to inflate your ego? I’m certain Ser Fenrick would be more than willing to test your skill.”

It was a challenge, and Aemond could do nothing but accept it or be deemed a coward. Daenera had deftly backed him into a corner.

“Should I win, princess, I expect you to kiss this sword,” Aemond told her, unsheathing his sword with ease. 

Daenera’s smirk was sharp and she turned her eyes to the middle of the circle where they’d duel, speaking with surety. “That won’t happen.”

The crowd that had gathered in a tight circle around the two guards instinctively parted as Aemond stepped into the makeshift ring. He brandished his sword, performing flashy swings in the air while his long hair swayed with each motion. The anticipation in the air was palpable. On the other side, Ser Fenrick Locke remained calm and composed, gripping his sword with a steady hand, his unwavering gaze fixed upon Aemond. 

“In battle there’s no luxury for warm-ups,” Fenrick remade, his voice cutting through the onlookers.

Ser Criston Cole, standing at the sideline, couldn’t resist adding his dry commentary. “Fortunately, this isn’t true battle, otherwise I’d assure you that your head would soon to part from your neck.”

Aemond ceased his bouncing and focused his attention solely on the imminent clash of their swords. He rolled his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, and assumed a determined stance, tightly gripping the hilt of his blade. His eye darted across Ser Fenrick’s poised figure, analyzing the defensive posture he presented. 

Aemond boldly took the initiative, lunging forward with a forceful step and unleashing a wide swing of his sword. Ser Fenrick skillfully leaned back, allowing the place to slice through empty air, and in a swift motion, he retaliated with a precise thrust of his own. 

While Ser Fenrick’s style leaned towards defense, Aemond was the epitome of aggression and precision. Aemond deftly parried the thrust, redirecting the sword away from him. The clash reverberated through the air, the vibrations tingling in his palm, a sensation that felt both familiar and empowering. 

The thrill of the fight coursed through his body, his heart drumming within its cage, and his smirk twisted. 

Bracing himself, Fenrick prepared for Aemond’s next attack. The blades clashed once again, the resounding clash echoing with the unmistakable sound of steel meeting steel.

Aemond pressed on, following up with another swift swing. In the brief moment between the third and fourth strike, minuscule fragments of metal danced through the air, catching the light as they fell. Aemond had no time to react as the blade collided with Fenrick’s, and with a sharp snap, his sword shattered. Splinters scattered, tumbling to the ground and sinking into the muddy terrain. 

A perplexed frown creased Aemond’s brow as he glanced down at the hilt of his sword, now reduced to a mere fragment, the blade broken close to the crossguard. The realization of the sword's unexpected demise filled him with confusion. 

Pointing his sword at Aemond, Fenrick pressed the tip against his chest, right above his heart. “Yield.” 

“It seems your sword broke as quickly as you did, hm. What a shame.” Daenera couldn’t resist taunting him, a mocking smile dancing upon her lips. 

Aemond’s narrowed eyes locked onto Daenera, his irritation intensifying. 

“You may want to find yourself another smith, my prince. The one who forged this blade has crafted one of subpar quality,” Ser Fenrick commented, his words lacking the same taunting tone as Daenera’s. Yet, Aemond couldn’t help but wonder if they were intentionally chosen to undermine his ability to discern superior craftsmanship.

Rage and humiliation surged within his chest, burning in all the wrong ways. He had wielded his sword for years, meticulously maintaining its sharpness and caring for it. It had been made by the best smith in all of the kingdom and with the best materials. It should not have broken so easily. 

His grip tightened around the hilt. 

“I suppose your other eye possessed a better sense for craftsmanship. The one you have left seems to only have eye for women,” Daenera continued her relentless taunt, a sly smile etched upon her face. Her words earned some snickers from the crowd that was immediately silenced by Aemond’s cold and sharp glance. 

Daenera tilted her head. “Now you have a convenient excuse for your absence from the competitions.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he glared at Daenera, an undeniable certainty stirring deep within him – she had orchestrated this. The details of how and when were secondary to the burning question of why. He knew the answer to that. It was an act of retaliation for all that had transpired between them. 

He gritted his teeth and held out the hilt of his shattered sword. “Ser Criston, lend me your sword.” 

“I think we’ve had enough practice for today,” Ser Fenrick said, sheathing his sword, signaling that he would not continue. 

“Do you concede?” Aemond questioned, tone cold. 

“Concede? I think not. It was your sword that shattered, not mine. Consider yourself fortunate it didn’t fail you in the midst of genuine battle,” Ser Fenrick answered. 

“Had his sword not shattered, I can assure you, it would be you who lost,” Ser Criston commented. 

Aemond gathered his composure, his jaw set and his back straightened with a determined resolve. With a final piercing glance directed at Daenera, he conveyed his unspoken resolve to repay her for this. Without uttering a word, he nonchalantly cast aside the remnants of his shattered sword, relinquishing it from his grip, and disdainfully flinging it away from him. With a deliberate stride, he turned his back on the tiltyard, leaving behind the echoes of his shattered pride among the pieces of his sword, silently plotting his retaliation. 

He knew Daenera would get back at him for his little visit, and this was just among one of the ways she had retaliated. There was the instance of the straps to his saddle having been cut, ensuring that he would fall. She had hid the rotting head of a fish within his chambers that forced him to have the servants search through the entirety of the apartments. And now this. It was a petty little way to get back at him. 

And Aemond would find that his day would get worse still. 

**White Poppy: Dreams, consolation, peace. **Vervain tea is said to help opening the mind to prophetic dreams

[miss-1ng]

Dimiclaude kiss prompt no. 55?

this turned out... longer than i intended lmao

also hope you're okay with a soulmate au, because this is the only idea i had for this lol! thanks for requesting <3 <3

(also a warning for spoilers about claude's backstory and maybe dimitri's a little bit but otherwise i'm pretty sure everything is spoiler-free!!)

--

His name is Khalid, is what Dimitri’s mind - wide awake from the searing sting of finally gaining his soulmark - says, barely a whisper while when Ingrid got hers, she screamed with joy the moment she found out her soulmate was Glenn.

That was a year ago, on the fourth of the Guardian Moon, precisely the day of her birth, which was celebrated with her family and friends.

It’s legend that you become of age to receive a soulmark from the day you turn twelve to the day you turn sixteen. Sylvain, two years older, had, unsurprisingly received his two years prior to Ingrid and Felix who both received theirs when they officially became of age.

Dimitri however, while not exactly a rare case, though not a complete normality, had received his a year later than which his childhood friends did, at age 13.

Her mark glistens a glittering gold on the inside of her left wrist, corresponding with Glenn’s which is on the inside of his right one. Dimitri remembers her gushing how when the first time they held hands, their marks shone when they touched.

He also remembers Felix gagging and glaring at the two lovebirds for the rest of the day, completely enraptured with one another and nothing else.

As of that day, their betrothal was made official, now that Ingrid had her mark to confirm the one Glenn owned.

That was a while back now, and today, an exact year later, is Dimitri’s birthday. The mark on his arm stings, but as his eyes really take in the word in beautiful script on his wrist, he begins to ignore the pain.

Exactly three hours later, he’s at the Felix and Glenn’s home, sitting outside on the grass with the two of them, having recently abandoned the wooden training swords. Glenn is a full four years older than all of them, except Sylvain, who is only two years older. Yet despite his age Glenn still treats them the same.

When Dimitri finally shows the two his soulmark after lots of nagging, he notices the way Felix bites his lip and averts his gaze.

But before he can question it, Felix teases “You’re going to have a boyfriend!” before bursting out into laughter.

Dimitri hadn’t even thought of that, fully focused on the fact that he has a soulmark and not on the fact that his soulmate has the name of a boy.

He… isn’t too sure what to feel about that.

“And you are too,” Glenn calls in a sing-song voice to his younger brother, only to get fiercely elbowed in the stomach. A scowl has found its way onto the bright-eyed boy’s face.

Dimitri doesn’t say a word. Felix has been oddly secretive about his soulmark ever since he got it a month after Ingrid’s, while she had been flouncing it around whenever she got the chance and wasn’t with Glenn. Though at the same time, even at thirteen, Felix has been secretive, spending more time by himself than with the group unless he was absolutely forced too.

“Shut up!” he snaps, folding his arms and pouting. “I hate you.”

“So kind, Fe,” Glenn teases with a grin, ruffling his younger brother’s hair.

Silently Dimitri wonders what it would be like if he was in Glenn’s shoes, and he had a little brother of his own.

The silence Dimitri’s indulged in gets broken with a familiar call, and Dimitri turns to see Sylvain, even taller than the last time he saw his friend, standing alongside Ingrid who immediately rushes to greet Dimitri with a hug before running over to Glenn.

“Happy birthday, Dimitri!” Sylvain hollers the second he closes the door, separating the kids from the adults indoors. He joins the group. “How does it feel to no longer be the only soulmate-less one?” He adds a wink as if the very phrase itself wasn’t terrible enough.

A collective group of groans reverberate around the circle they’ve formed.

“You’re an idiot,” Felix grumbles to the older teen, averting all eye contact and instead vouching for a heated glare at the grass. Oh, if looks could kill.

“Aww, I love you too, Fe,” Sylvain teases, still grinning merrily as if he nothing is wrong with the world.

Felix’s face flushes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Ingrid laughs. “I can say it too, if you’d like.” She clears her throat, as if beginning some long and important speech. “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”

“Now that’s left is Dimitri,” Glenn notes, looking at him.

The younger Fraldarius looks just about ready to bolt as Dimitri says “Aww, I love you too, Felix.”

Instead, he just mutters “It’s your birthday so I’ll take it. Just this once though.”

Sylvain leans close to Dimitri and whispers in a not-so-quiet voice “A little birdy told me you received your soulmark!” Bold black cursive writing stares up at him with non-existent eyes and he feels his heart start to thud.

Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

He doesn’t reply, instead peeling his sleeve a little higher above and shows Ingrid and Sylvain his soulmark.

The taller of the two squints at it, as if it’s hard to see. Ingrid’s reaction is more surprised, by the way her eyes widen, and her jaw goes a little slack. She fixes it when she sees his eyes on her with a small smile. “That’s great, Dimitri! It’s so pretty,” she gushes in a very un-Ingrid manner, but the twinkle in her eyes is all the same. “I wonder when you’ll meet your soulmate…”

“Khalid’s not a Fódlan name,” Sylvain offhandedly comments. Dimitri frowns at him, and he hastily continues. “I mean it’s not a Fódlan name I’ve heard. Who knows? You could get some hottie from Duscur or Brigid.”

“Of course, someone from Duscur or Brigid would come all the way over for our Prince,” Glenn drily says, pecking Ingrid on the cheek at her wide-eyed smile. “We’re not getting rid of him that easily.”

--

His soulmark was something Dimitri was very focused on for a while.

Then Duscur happened and everything seemed to fall apart.

His family, his friends… everything changed. The mark on Ingrid’s wrist faded to a black splotch, and the golden writing had completely disappeared.

Felix had shut himself off completely, not leaving his room unless he was training and not talking to anyone unless he was yelling at them.

Sylvain… seemed more closed off – more subdued. Dimitri saw him less and less as the months ebbed on.

And Dimitri… Dimitri couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, couldn’t even think. His dreams being haunted by the dead, his father begging for revenge, Glenn hissing in his ear, taunting him, his mother, crying at his feet.

“You should’ve saved us,” they hiss. “Kill them for us. Kill them all!”

It’s not the first time he wakes to a cold sweat, a scream hanging on the edge of his lips.

He’s sent to live, along with the Duscur boy he met, Dedue, at Rodrigue’s place, and there Dimitri finds it frequent where he gets the full brunt of Felix’s verbal abuse. He wants to talk back, to say it wasn’t his fault, but he can’t find the words, can’t even find the motivation to speak. Instead, he just nods, silent, and Dedue finds him, concern lingering in his gaze.

It’s like that for a while.

Then the rebellion happens, and Felix seems to hate him even more.

--

It’s almost a relief when he arrives to the Officers Academy.

There he meets Edelgard von Hresvelg (or reunites, perhaps, if his hunch is in fact correct), heir to the Empire, and Claude von Riegan, heir to House Riegan.

Claude is… well… Claude is a lot of things.

In their audience with Rhea, he is stiff and stoic-faced, though the second they’re released from the chamber, he introduces himself properly to Dimitri. “So, you’re the prince,” he says with a wink. “Nice to meet you.”

“It is good to meet you too,” says Dimitri in return, dipping his head. He offers a small smile.

It’s not the only time they talk. As the year ebbs on, Dimitri gets to know Claude, should it be through sparring together, or even tea times Claude has insisted on. Claude is… well, first of all he’s nice and he’s kind, and he’s also very funny. He seems to bring a smile to Dimitri’s face whenever he’s around, and not only that but he’s…

…he’s beautiful.

Maybe it’s his smile, Dimitri supposes, his genuine one, or maybe those piercing green eyes. He’s also been good looking.

Sometimes when they train, Dimitri catches himself staring, and Claude’s caught him too, offering a wink and a teasing comment without any heat.

Not only that but Dimitri’s heart flutters whenever he’s around Claude, and he has to remind himself constantly that this isn’t okay because Claude is not his soulmate. The mark on his wrist proves just that much.

“You’re staring, your Highness.”

Dimitri flinches, almost forgetting that Sylvain is opposite him, lazily twirling his lance. He smirks at his childhood friend. “Got your eyes on someone?”

It would be great if he was immune to Sylvain’s teasing, but he is only human, and heat rises to his cheeks. “No!” His voice sounds a few pitches higher than it usually is. He clears his throat, averting his gaze from Claude who turns away from Hilda who he’s sparring with (how he got her to do so remains a mystery to the school) to offer a questioning brow. “I mean, uh, no. Of course not.”

“Sure, sure.”

Sylvain doesn’t sound at all convinced. He leans closer, whispering in Dimitri’s ear, “I mean Riegan is pretty hot. I don’t think even your soulmate would blame you for checking him out.”

Dimitri splutters, “W-what?”

“I have to go,” Sylvain says. “Pick up some of the ladies- oh, hey, Fe!” He runs off towards the direction of Felix who enters the training ground, and Dimitri doesn’t stop him, staring into the distance as his cheeks turn redder and redder as the seconds pass.

--

Nevertheless, Dimitri still goes out of his way to spend his time with Claude, pointedly ignoring his soulmark whenever he does.

“Your princliness!” Claude calls, waving in greeting as he runs over to him. Dimitri tries not to blush when he yet again winks.

“Claude!” He tries his hardest not to sound too surprised. “What-what are you doing here?”

He looks amazing. Dressed in a sharp suit he’s seen many of the other students wearing, his hair tousled and falling in front of his eyes. “I think the proper question is what are you doing here? Dedue’s worried about you. Says you haven’t even showed up to the ball and-”

Dimitri’s brain seems to shut off, his mind not listening as he surges forwards, closing the distance between them with a kiss.

It lasts two seconds. Maybe three.

Because immediately after their lips touch Dimitri lets go, eyes wide. “I- that was out of line,” he rushes. “I’m sorry, Claude, I shouldn’t have done that-”

But Claude pulls him back in, and Dimitri feels the mark on his wrist burn and-

He stares down at it, watching the white handwriting shimmer to gold. “What…?”

“I have been waiting so long to do that,” Claude breathes, oblivious to Dimitri’s confusion. He raises an eyebrow, clutching his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong…?”

“Khalid,” Dimitri breathes. Claude’s eyes widen. “That’s your name?”

“I-” Claude pauses, before nodding. “Yes. It is.”

Dimitri pulls him close, arms wrapping around him. He kisses Claude – or is it Khalid? – again, and again, and again. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Mmhm.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Their night ends not in the ballroom, but outside under the moonlight, the memory of soft kisses and warm embraces never to leave Dimitri’s mind.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.33}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

They arrived in front of Morgan's private rooms a few minutes later, and it instantly sobered Robin up from her feelings of happiness and comfort that she had been able to cling onto ever since setting foot into the office earlier. If only life could always be as easy as it had seemed minutes ago, just Snape and her, and their relentless curiosity for magic and adoration for each other… But it wasn't, and both of them seemed to remember that as they stood in front of Morgan's door in silence. If they didn't find out about Morgan's reasons, didn't find out what this entire thing was about, there would be no life for Robin to lead at all.

She looked up at Snape next to her for a silent moment of gathering her wits, and his gaze spoke volumes of the same story. They could do this. They would find the bloody portrait, and then they would take the next step and the next and the next until this stupid mess was over with, until Morgan was no threat anymore. Whatever that might take. Even if it meant having to make Dumbledore their friend or enemy.

Upon a silent agreement that time was of essence, Robin got started on opening the door at last. It was warded rather heavily as she found, but that didn't stop her in the least, and on the contrary made things rather easy in return. Quite like paint that was applied in thick layers, she could peel them back and remove them all at once, even as thickly plastered as they were. A few minutes of quietly murmured spells and some trial and error later, the door swung open with a little squeaking noise and opened up the view of a perfectly ordinary, even if slightly ostentatious bed- and living room.

"I have to ask…" Robin spoke up quietly, once they had closed the door behind themselves and were now looking around the dark room with a lumos each. "Are you actually bad at breaking into places, or did you just pretend to be? Earlier today, I mean."

"I successfully worked as a spy in one of the worst wars known to wizarding history, and even beyond that, you have seen the neighborhood I grew up in. What do you think?" He asked in return, easily and without reproach, while yet he kept his focus on searching the room around them.

"Honestly, I think you could probably break into Azkaban unnoticed and back out again as well if you wanted to."

"That's perhaps a bit exaggerated, but the general sentiment is close enough."

"Then why did you want me to do it?" A small frown creased Robin's brows, as her eyes darted over the various pieces of luxurious furniture. "I'm sure you're far better at opening doors than I am."

"To humour you." Again, his reply came easily and with an almost graspable not-smirk engrained in his tone, and Robin inevitably had to smile as well while he went on. "In very much the same way you always do when you ask me to grab an item from the top shelves for you. You know as well as I do that you wouldn't even have to use your wand to collect it yourself, but instead you keep asking me to help you. Because you know how much it pleases me."

The smile on Robin's lips broadened, and finally her eyes found Snape on the other side of the room. "I had a vague idea that you knew I was doing it on purpose by now. Did you see that in my mind?"

"No. I simply know you well enough to know how well you know me."

"That's as confusing as it is amazing." She sighed with the same smile, then went back to searching the room with her eyes fixed on the shadowy corners and places. "And thank you, for humouring me. I needed it today."

For another ten minutes they searched the admittedly small chambers in well practiced collaboration, checking even the adjunct bathroom and the wardrobes, but they still came up empty handed. Robin ran a hand through her unruly hair in frustration, then looked up at Snape who was standing next to her in the open space in equal irritation. "The bloody portrait has to be here. It wasn't in the classroom nor in the office, so it just needs to be here. There's no other possibility!"

"Considering how… frequented Morgan's quarters are by visitors of various kinds, it would only seem logical that he hid it well enough to not be found by guests on accident, but close enough to retrieve for his private moments."

"Ugh…" Robin shuddered while pulling a face. "It's not your fault, but any way to phrase it just sounds disgusting to me."

"I try to ignore that as best as possible. But the facts remain as they are, and I believe he hid it in close reach. The question remains as to where."

"Let's see… Perhaps we have to think like Morgan if we want to find the stupid thing." She suggested, and upon Snape's attentive yet expectant expression, she elaborated as silently demanded. "If I was Morgan, a wizard of thirty something years who is obsessed with a girl who is my student and who I happen to have a painting of… I would put it in a place where I often see it. I would be a lazy arse, but clever enough to still get my way; which means I would hide it somewhere where I don't have to move it, only conceal it."

"Sounds reasonable."

"And if I was Morgan, I would put it in a place where I can enjoy it while following my daily routine, since I would always be short of time and everything else would be too much of a hassle."

"Still reasonable."

"So… where in my chambers would I spend a lot of time?" Robin frowned to herself, then started sauntering through the room once more. "The desk, perhaps. I would always be working here instead of my office."

"But would you, as Morgan, not choose a place to display it that doesn't demand a constant split of attention? Having the portrait near the desk would pose a terrible distraction from your work. And as much as I hate the man, he always finishes his grading and other work neatly and in time." Snape commented in return, and Robin found herself nodding along as she trailed away from the desk again.

"True, I wouldn't be able to focus if I was constantly tempted to look at something I am obsessed with. And I would be terrible at controlling my own impulses. So… where else would I spend a lot of time by myself? What would I like doing in my free time?" She sauntered over to the small sitting area in the far corner, frowning to herself in contemplation. "Reading, perhaps?"

"You really don't have the slightest idea about what goes on in the mind of the average male, regardless of age, do you?"

Robin turned back around to Snape with a scoff, a half smirk and one raised eyebrow. "But you do? I can hardly imagine that."

"I was unfortunate enough to live with a hoard of them back in my school days." He scoffed at the memory, rolling his eyes to himself before he continued on in obvious disdain for what he was saying. "Perhaps Morgan was taking a literal approach with his words about looking at the painting each morning and each night. Perhaps, he hid it in the very place where he spends his every morning and night indeed."

"You don't mean-... No. No…"

"I wish I could hope I'm wrong." The gravity of Snape's tone made Robin shudder a little, or perhaps it simply was the idea he was so subtly presenting, but she took a deep breath anyway and walked over to the large four-poster bed in determination. That same model seemed to be a staple for all staff rooms, and if Morgan had hidden the portrait there, she would find it.

Indeed, after a moment of pushing through the queasy and awkward feeling of searching the vile man's bed, Robin finally found what she was looking for. Hidden under the roof of the canopy, concealed and fixated in place with some subtle charms work, was the portrait that she had last laid eyes upon in her fourth year. The almost perfect image of herself, the eerie similarity that now was almost absolute, hidden in such a place for only Morgan's eyes to devour at his fancy. Robin felt sick at the thought, her stomach churning, and even the last hairs in her neck were standing upright now. Morgan really hadn't been joking about his literal need for her… she suppressed the need to gag, which was only followed by another unpleasant shiver. This was worse than any amount of blood had ever made her feel.

"I, uh… I found the portrait." She finally managed to speak out loud without the bile rising in her throat, and after another few seconds of staring at the bloody thing that still looked just like she remembered, she added, "The… other me really doesn't have earrings, just as we thought, but otherwise she could be my mirror image. Well, if I had lived a couple hundred years ago, that is."

Her words faded, but even after multiple moments of silence she still received no answer, nor did she hear Snape coming any closer to look at her findings for himself. With a confused frown, Robin turned to look through the open room behind her only to find him lingering by the desk now, a deep frown plastered on his own face as he inspected a dark brown wooden box in front of him in silence. Again, as so often, his expression and body language spoke volumes, this time of weariness and caution.

"Sev? What's wrong?" Robin couldn't keep the concern out of her voice as she skipped over to the other side of the room to stand beside him in an instant. For a moment she followed his gaze to the intricately decorated box on the tabletop. It was an intriguingly unique piece, even if Snape seemed to be rather lost in thought than to be studying the object itself, and she finally looked back up at him with unease written all over her features when he still didn't reply. "Talk to me. Please."

"I believe to have seen this very object in the headmaster's office before… Years ago, when I was a student, and again and again when I started teaching, but not any time recently. In one of the shelves in the far back of the room where all the important artefacts are stored, far out of everyone's reach." He answered at last, obviously lost in thought and consideration, which didn't do much to calm Robin's uproaring nervousness. If Snape was concerned, she should be double as much.

"Do you know what's inside?" She finally dared to ask, and while she wasn't sure if she even wanted to know the answer, she suddenly was very certain that whatever the box held would bring them closer to solving the mystery around Morgan and the Portrait. It had to, everything else just wouldn't make sense. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

"I have no idea." He mused, seconds before casting a detection charm for curses and dark magic over the object, only to have it come back negative. "But we should certainly take a look. Out of all the bizarre objects in Morgan's room, this is perhaps the second most curious after the portrait."

"Why do you think that?"

"Have you ever in the entire castle seen an object that required a key and not magic to unlock it?" He finally turned to Robin, then motioned to the box once more while his eyes stayed on her though. Frowning to herself, Robin leaned down closer towards the box and held her wand so that she could properly study the object in question with sufficient light. Indeed, there was a keyhole on the lid. Something she hadn't seen in use in the longest time. For a few minutes she tried every spell to open the box she had at her disposal, then however gave up in the light of her company's greater knowledge of such spellwork.

"That really is curious." She said as she straightened her back once more. "Do you want to try?"

"I already have."

"And?"

"There is nothing to be done without the corresponding key. It seems to be entirely unaffected by magic in general. And knowing who the box belonged to, it likely wouldn't do to simply break it open either."

"Pity." Robin sighed, stemming her hands into her hips as she thought. If the box really had been among the important artefacts in the headmaster's office for at least ten years and had still been there when Snape started teaching, then it must have not been in Morgan's possession much longer than the portrait. But if-...

"I can feel you thinking, Robin." Snape interrupted her thoughts before she really could get going deeper. "And usually that results in some brilliant revelation. Enlighten me, yes?"

"Right…" She breathed, nodding both to him and herself. "I was just thinking, if the box was in the headmaster's office from possibly before the time you started school until roughly when you started teaching, then it can't belong to Morgan and also can't have been in his possession for long."

"The latter is obvious, but what brings you to assume the former?"

"Well, when you started school at the tender age of eleven, then Morgan must've been like what, sixteen? Seventeen?" She reasoned, more guessing than knowing, but the point stood nonetheless. "Either way, as you previously pointed out, he is quite the ordinary male with an ordinary mind."

"That we have yet to determine for certain."

"I'm not talking about him going crazy over me, that's another issue entirely so let's just ignore that for a second. What I mean is that at whatever age he was when you started school, he was still a teenager. And how likely is it that a normal teenager possesses artifacts that are important enough to make the headmaster's top shelf?"

"I see your point." Snape mused, frowning to himself again for a moment. "In that case Dumbledore must have given it to him deliberately, at a point in time after I started teaching even though there does not seem to be an apparent reason for that particular timing. Which in return makes it highly unlikely that the contents of this box don't correlate to the portrait in some way."

"Precisely my line of thought."

"That makes it all the more important to find a way to open this crude thing now." He grumbled to himself and went back to studying the box intently. "Obviously Morgan will possess the key, but I sincerely doubt that Dumbledore doesn't still have one as well. He wouldn't part from anything of relevance without precautions."

"Wait, so there can be more than one key?" Robin's mind came to a sudden halt, then toppled over some more and finally changed direction. "I was under the impression that Morgan would logically have the only one."

"I see no reason why there couldn't be more than one. Creating them certainly must be a difficult procedure, but not impossible to replicate over and over again if desired."

"Oh gods…" Her voice grew shallow as her heartbeat sped up in an instant, followed by a cold rush of adrenaline while she mentally chastised herself. They had a lock without a key. She had a key without a lock. How stupid could she be not to make that connection sooner?!

"Minerva's key. Of course…" He came to the same conclusion as her then, eyes widening every so slightly as he watched Robin fumbling with her locket with slightly shaking hands. She had too much adrenaline in her body for anything else, was too exhausted and anxious… But this had to be the reason why McGonagall had given her a key for her birthday, and why she'd been so insistent on it that Robin kept it a secret. She had another key to this box, a key that wasn't supposed to exist.

"Fingers crossed…" Robin said under her breath as she finally put the small piece of metal to good use at last. It fit into the lock easily, and with a weary look up at Snape, Robin finally twisted it in one swift move. It obliged without resistance, and she pulled her hand back as if burnt when not one metallic clicking was heard from inside the box, but multiple in a row. Oh gods, hopefully she hadn't just set off some trap or self destruction or anything of the likes… But after a few seconds, the sounds faded, and the box sat still and innocently as ever on the desk before them.

"Do you wish to open it or shall I?" Snape asked quietly, but even he didn't dare to take his eyes off the box now.

"I'll open it, and you make sure that nothing jumps at me. Like always, yes?" She propositioned, nodding to herself to perhaps shake some of the fear out of her head. This was a good idea… she just needed to make herself believe that now. "We've been in plenty of situations like this before, haven't we? I go off to inspect some potentially dangerous thing, and you make sure I survive it. Isn't that what we always do when we go hunting for ingredients?"

"It is similar enough, yes."

"Good…" She took a deep breath, then placed her hand on top of the lid and looked over at Snape once more for a confirmation of what she was about to do. He motioned for her to go ahead, and after another second of hesitation, Robin finally had enough of herself and flipped the stupid box open with a start.

Nothing jumped at her, nor did she seem to have set off any kind of follow-up spells. It simply was a box, admittedly larger on the inside than the outside, but Robin barely took notice of that any longer, seeing how most of her own boxes and bags were graced with the same magic. What did surprise her however were the contents the box in front of her held now, in all their striking unspectacularity. A look at Snape confirmed that he shared that sentiment to the fullest. They had expected anything at this point… but not just a gigantic stack of parchments, ranging from literally ancient to almost modern.

"Well, at least we have something to look into now…" Robin sighed to herself as she frowned down at the pile of paper in front of her. "There has to be some kind of important information written on these, or nobody would've bothered hiding them that well. They will either give us answers, or leverage on Dumbledore who in return can give us answers."

"Indeed… However this is hardly the time nor place to look through an epos of loose leaf parchments." Snape said in argument with circumstance, which made Robin look up at him again while raising her eyebrows.

"Do you really think we should just take the box? Morgan will notice for sure, and then it won't be hard to guess for him who took it."

"I think we should take the parchments." He returned easily, then motioned to the object in front of them once more. "The lid had a thin layer of dust on it already, which means that Morgan likely knows the contents of these papers at this point and therefore has no need to open the box again any time soon. If we leave the box where it is, and with a bit of luck, he won't notice the papers' absence until we long have the information we need. Until we are ready to face him on equal grounds."

"Clever." Robin replied with a half smile. "As always."

Snape merely rolled his eyes in that exaggerated manner that humour her so much, then they finally went to gather up the papers into a portable pile in his arms. Half a minute later, Robin locked the box back up with her key, then hid the latter back inside her locket.

"What about the portrait?" She asked as they made for the door at last, after having spent decidedly too much time in Morgan's quarters already. "It feels wrong to leave it here, in that place… I know we have to, but it makes me feel sick nonetheless."

"As much as it bothers me, I'm afraid we have to leave it where it is indeed." He answered, then his voice turned into more of a growl than the rich silk it usually was. "But don't believe for even a second that I wouldn't gladly end his pathetic existence for lusting after you like this."

"Because I'm yours and only yours?" She couldn't help asking with a small smile, while she peeked out through the door into the empty hallways first before opening it further for him as well.

"Because you deserve better than that."

"But also because I'm yours."

"Yes."

"You really can't deny that you are quite territorial, you know…"

"I would rather call it protective than territorial."

"Same thing."

"Does it bother you?" He inquired calmly but in seriousness, looking down at Robin over the papers in his arms expectantly.

"Rather on the contrary." She replied with a small but affectionate smile. "It makes me feel almost too giddy with pride and adoration. I just wish you could show a little more of that in public too; would certainly keep the right people from bothering me. Oh well… I wish."

"Believe me, so do I." He sighed in return, then took another look inside Morgan's room once they both stood in the hallway. "Let us hope he will be too drunk upon his return to notice the traces we left."

"Or… I could turn back the time inside the room to before we arrived?" Robin suggested more than asked with a hopeful and pointedly innocent expression. "You know I can freeze objects in time… And I'm actually quite sure that I can turn time back in a limited space just as easily, as long as there are no people inside. That's way more difficult, or rather impossible without a timeturner."

"You are aware that technically tampering with time is forbidden in any regard, yes?"

"So is breaking into a professor's private chambers and stealing his papers."

For half a second Snape seemed to freeze in his protest, then a not-smirk tugged on his lips and he shrugged as far as his arms full of parchments allowed. "I ran out of arguments. Go ahead."

A mirroring smirk played on Robin's lips for a moment, then she took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. She'd read more about messing with time than she should probably admit, going through the entire restricted section of the library without anyone ever putting a stop to her efforts. Really, all the fun magic was in the restricted section anyway. Everything that was worth learning about. The part about potions and herbology she'd already finished years ago, then the dark arts had followed a long time prior as well, and now finally she had moved on to researching charms, also in regards to the still impending NEWTs.

It took two attempts to cast the difficult spell successfully, but then the room looked precisely how it had before they had entered. Even the layer of dust on the box was back in place and undisturbed by fingerprints. Content with her efforts, Robin finally closed the door and placed the same wards on it that she had removed upon their arrival.

"Do you know what truly is a shame?" Snape asked after a moment, while they quietly made their way back through the dark hallways and down a few stories.

"Quite many things, but please, do enlighten me."

"That neither Morgan nor Flitwick will ever know how ridiculously talented you are in their subjects."

Robin let out a humoured huff in replacement for a certainly too loud chuckle. "Oh, I think Morgan does know at this point. I managed to fend him and his best efforts off after all, even if just barely. Isn't that what defense class is about?"

"About fending off your crazy professor? I certainly hope not."

Now Robin did snort a little, even though the topic itself should have been rather depressing. "It's ironic that I have to defend myself against him with defenses that he himself has taught me. Or rather I would have to, if I hadn't read so much more about the dark arts in advance. What truly saved me today wasn't anything I learned in defense class… but rather the things I came up with myself, or what you showed me. Things Morgan didn't see coming."

"And therefore my point stands."

"How so?"

"Well, any idiot can learn the textbook by heart and master the school taught spells."

"Most idiots can't, in fact, as you very well know. They're far too narrow minded to even accomplish such a thing, and-..."

"Anyway…" He went on, in a manner that reminded Robin an awful lot of her own mannerisms, but she gave him that and let him go on. "What makes you such a brilliant witch and not just an outstanding student is that you don't even try to stay within the given boundaries. Most of the things you excel at are either straight out illegal for most people, or at least so far out of the school curriculum that your teachers will never know what you truly can do."

"I don't really mind." Robin shrugged in return. "It's a good thing that Morgan doesn't know me well enough to know what I can do. That's my only advantage over him."

"I certainly agree with that assessment. Perhaps once Morgan isn't an issue anymore we can see to it that you get the recognition you deserve."

"I just want to ace my NEWTs and move on to more interesting matters of study once and for all. I don't need anyone's recognition. The only person I ever actually tried to impress is you, and that seems to have worked out for me just fine." She replied with a small smirk, which earned her another of those lovely feignedly annoyed expressions in return. They both knew she was right though, she had impressed him so many times and likely always would, and it had indeed worked out in both their favour. And, almost needles to say at this point, Robin felt like they both were equally proud of that fact after all.

______________________________

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[maine-writes]

Vonvon's Space Adventure, Part 2

"When we heard that you needed to be sat upon, we were all so excited to offer our services." said White Diamond as she sat at her extremely large command seat.

Vonvon looked around at all the gems diligently working at their posts, operating the strange space vessel. A large screen on the front wall revealed the vast void of space, the silvery light of passing stars streaking through it like lines of bright paint. They were hoping that the Diamonds knew that they weren't supposed to literally sit on them, but was also hoping that they'd never have to explain why a certain weird Mayor of Beach City would leap at the opportunity to be "sat upon".

It wasn't long before they arrived on Homeworld, one of the perks of developing faster-than-light travel. The child marveled at the sight on the viewscreen; a glowing, alien world with two rings of satellites and crystalline fragments. Patches of green, pink, yellow, blue, and white illuminated the world. In Vonvon's eyes, the world seemed alive.

When they landed on a hovering, crystalline platform, Vonvon and White Diamond were greeted by the sight of a group of waving Quartz soldiers.

"Beginning with Era 3," White Diamond began, "All Gems were free to pursue whatever lives they desired, and we Diamonds nurtured and encouraged a sense of curiosity and self-worth in all Gems. Some chose to explore the greater universe, others were curious about the world called Earth, whilst others chose to remain on Homeworld to help it heal and grow."

As the pair approached the happy Quartz guards, Vonvon could hear a faint, but growing, yell in the distance. Zipping through the crowd, Spinel appeared.

"Vonvon!" cried the excited pink Gem as she wrapped her rubber hose arms around the small child. "It's been so long! How've you been? How's Steven? La gasp! How's Connie and Steven, about time they get some alone time together, huh?"

It was nice to see Spinel again.

"Now, now Spinel." White Diamond intervened, plucking the small Gem and seperating her from the suffocating child. "You will get your chance to catch up with Vonvon. But we must bring them to Blue and Yellow, after all, they worked so hard to make their stay as comfortable as possible."

"Right, right, right." Spinel yapped. "I'll bring them to them!"

"I'll make sure their chambers are prepared." said the Diamond.

"Will that be the nice chamber or the bad chamber?" Spinel asked.

"The newly refurbished chamber."

"Oh right, the old bad chamber. It's so nice."

Spinel led Vonvon down a yellow, crystalline road that floated over a sea of strange trees. Ahead of them was a large, yellow pyramid.

"What's with the trees?" inquired the child.

"Ever since things have started changing around here, the Gems here have been trying to fix the world." Spinel explained, "The Diamonds thought Homeworld was dead, but with the help of our favorite Peridot, we found that it was just sleeping."

"Does anything live down there?"

Spinel then grimly grabbed ahold of Vonvon's shoulders, peering into their soul with bloodshot eyes.

"Dark things lurk in among the trees, Vonnie." whispered the Gem. "It comes at night, stealing away unsuspecting Gems, leaving only dust and shards."

"Really?"

"Pfft! No!" Spinel laughed. "Kid, nothing can live down there. But we're looking into introducing wildlife from old colonies. There was one world your parents went to before you were born that we're looking at."

As they approached the giant pyramid, the outline of doors seemed to manifest in the outer wall, sliding apart to allow them inside.

"So this is where Yellow Diamond lives?" Vonvon wondered aloud.

"It's one of her estates." said Spinel. "She has a ton of them, but this was her old military command center. She's thinking of turning it into a bed-and-breakfast."

"I thought Gems don't eat." Vonvon noted.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Spinel asked.

"Nevermind."

Maybe it was best not to explain. Not yet.

The crystalline halls were frequented by a variety of Gems, each running a different errand. Vonvon noticed that most were carrying bags and picnic baskets, a strange sight on a world of sentient rocks that do not eat.

"Hey, XJ9!" Spinel called out to a passing Jasper. "Can ya tell Yellow we're here?"

The muscular soldier gave her a thumbs up before running through a crowd of exasperated Gems.

"What's up with everyone?" Vonvon asked.

"Oh, they're getting lunch ready."

"Lunch?"

Inside a former colony planning room, Yellow Diamond and an army of Gems frantically worked to prepare Vonvon's afternoon lunch and that evening's dinner. On the menu, for lunch, they had planned a simple chicken salad sandwich. However, they had no idea what a chicken, a salad, or a sandwich was.

"My Diamond!" Yellow Pearl cried, "It's the chickens!"

"I thought I sent a contingent of soldiers to capture them!" Yellow Diamond boomed, brushing the flour off her cheek.

"That's just it." The ever loyal Pearl continued to explain. "When we contacted them for an update, all we received as screaming and clucking."

Yellow Diamond sat in what was once the command seat, lowering her contemplative face behind her hands.

"So, it's war then."

Every Gem in the room stopped to turn to their Diamond, some even dropping whatever was in their hands.

"B-But my Diamond." Yellow Pearl began.

"No." Said the Diamond. "I know we promised to denounce our old ways with the beginning of Era 3. But this is for Steven's child. We. Will. Not. Fail."

"Yes, my Diamond." Yellow Pearl said, bowing with the old Diamond salute. The other Gems in the room followed suit.

"Looks like they have everything under control here." Spinel said. The pair were standing in the doorway, watching the militaristic scene of valor and dedication unfolding before them.

Then Yellow Diamond noticed them.

"Oh, hello Vonvon!" she said, waving over to them. "Lunch will be ready shortly."

She then turned her attention back to the matter at hand, ordering her Gems to prepare for war within her own pyramid. As if clockwork, the dozens of Gems split up into ordered groups, armed with whatever kitchen equipment they could get their hands on.

"Let's go check up on Blue." Spinel recommended.

They were now walking upon a blue road leading to a very blue pyramid. Vonvon thought about how easy it must be to get around, since everything was conveniently color coded.

"Blue Diamond's been researching human entertainment." explained the pink Gem. "That way, you won't be bored. I volunteered, but Blue thought it would be best that you enjoy some variety."

But as they approached the pyramid, a wave of blue color emanated from inside. When it flooded over Spinel, tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Ah, she's still at it." said the Gem, apparently unfazed by the sudden bout of crying.

"At what?"

Inside the pyramid, all was dark, save for the massive, flickering viewscreen on the upper part of a far wall. Dozens of Gems were watching the screen diligently, Blue Diamond included. On this screen was a scene from the somewhat recently released film, The Revengers 4: Finale.

The specific scene was near the end, with the death of the Armored Avenger, who sacrificed himself to save the world from the terrible Hades, the Inevitable God.

"You can rest now." Blue Diamond whispered, tears running down her face.

Vonvon noticed every Gem in the room was crying. They didn't know if this was because of Blue Diamond or not. Granted, they haven't met anyone yet who couldn't help but cry during this scene. Interestingly, their parents often argued about this scene. Connie found that the director missed the perfect opportunity to integrate a classic song about the Armored Avenger, whilst Steven thought that it would somehow ruin the mood.

Vonvon, on the other hand, had no opinion on the matter. They just found the scene moving.

"Oh, Vonvon." Blue Diamond sniffled, finally noticing the small human. "I think you'll find the entertainment we have planned most enjoyable. I certainly did."

"She's been working hard." Spinel whispered to Vonvon. "Watching cartoons and movies, listening to music, the whole deal."

"You've been listening to music?" Vonvon asked, curious as to what Blue had been listening to.

"And learning how to play instruments." The Diamond added.

"My Diamond is quite talented." Said the very quiet Blue Pearl, who suddenly appeared beside Vonvon.

"What do you play?"

The next she heard was the screeching, echoing sound of feedback as Blue Diamond plugged a gigantic electric guitar to an equally as gigantic amp, connected to a wall of massive loudspeakers.

"Oh boy." Vonvon muttered.

The shockwave that followed seemed to disrupt the very air, it shook the crystalline walls of the pyramid, and resonated through the core of Homeworld itself. It lifted Vonvon and Spinel off their feet, throwing them back against the wall. Luckily, Spinel cushioned the child, but it wasn't by choice. But through the cacophony, Vonvon noticed the notes coalescing into a familiar tune.

"Wait, this is Comet, by Mr. Universe!"

@artsycooky13

[alarawriting]

52 Project #36: Escape from Sonnebend

Trigger warnings: This is a story about Meg. (Supervillain protagonist of my WIP novel, and the main character of story #18, “Thirteen”.) It does not have as much triggering content as the last story about her did, but Meg herself is triggering content. Story contains mentions of rape and torture, bioengineered diseases and horrible deaths. Also, being a victim of awful things doesn’t stop Meg from being a terrible person.

Title is shit and I may change it later.

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

It’s been three days since anyone has ordered her to go anywhere, a week since she overhead two of the scientists talking about the future. Apparently Bush lost the election, and they expect Sonnebend to be shut down. Probably, the entire black ops agency that allows Sonnebend to exist will be shut down before Bill Clinton comes into power. She’d be eager to see it, except that she knows they’ll never let her go free. If Sonnebend is shut down, either they’ll send her to a different prison, keep her around to heal elderly politicians and work on their bioweapons… or they’ll kill her.

Activity has been winding down since mid-November. Now it’s mid-December and things are almost dead. High-powered researchers and administrators are taking their Christmas vacations. Meg doesn’t know if she’ll be alive when they come back. Are they moving their project to another location, or is it shutting down entirely? She doesn’t know if they know yet. She knows for a fact they’re not telling her.

Do they need to keep it open? They’ve got what they want.

She lays on the bed in her cell, because hiding under the bed doesn’t help. If she’s laying on the bed when the guards want to rape her, they’ll do it, and if she’s hiding under the bed, they’ll drag her out, beat her, and then do it. There’s no point to it. No point to trying to protect herself. No point in trying to protect anyone else.

Christmas is coming, but Meg strongly suspects she won’t live long enough to see it. Not like it matters. She remembers her last Christmas with David, the two of them in the tiny apartment on the 11th floor, a living tree that was heavy as fuck to carry but she’d gotten it up there with its pot and its soil, and she’d put it in the window so it would get sunshine, which meant they didn’t get any in the small common room because the tree was blocking it. David had experimented with chemical lights, blues and reds and greens and whites that ran on oxygen, slowly, and they’d covered the entire apartment with them, lights around every window they could see and lights around every door and lights criss-crossing the ceiling. She’d taken the drugs he was cooking up in order to test them, and as soon as she’d determined that they wouldn’t poison anyone, she’d let herself experience the high, giggling like the teenager she’d been as she lay back on the floor and pretended the ceiling lights were stars, making up fake constellations like The Butthole and Zeus’ Balls. All that December, she’d made cookies, pizzelle and horn cookies and Christmas-shaped iced sugar cookies and traditional New York black and white cookies, and eaten most of them because David had had a chronic low appetite and not much taste for sugar anyway. And then on Christmas she’d given him a Nintendo and a couple of games, and he’d given her a dozen CDs and Stuffy, a stuffed white and gray cat.

In August of the following year, the Special Service killed David, in his bedroom, unarmed. His blood ended up all over Stuffy. Meg never washed it out. His DNA embedded in her plush fur would comfort Meg when she cuddled Stuffy at night; it was a memorial no ordinary human would respond to, except perhaps in the abstract, but Meg could feel David’s DNA in the splatters of his blood. Slowly decaying – there wasn’t a lot of DNA in blood in the first place, since red blood cells don’t have nuclei, and it doesn’t last forever. But it was still there, the last time she saw Stuffy. In the townhome she shared with Tara, in her bedroom.  

Is Tara still there? Is any of her stuff still there? It’s December. She was kidnapped in April. The billing service would probably have continued to pay the rent, but if Tara had moved out, Meg’s checks wouldn’t be enough to keep the lease.

Does it matter? Does any of it matter? She’s never getting out of here alive, is she? She’ll never see Stuffy or any of her other things or Tara or the apartment again.

She wants to cry, but she can’t. There’s no safety here, nowhere they can’t see her.

Four diseases, two viruses and two deadly bacteria, tailored to strike only Proximas. They’ll breed in the presence of catalysine, or they’ll look for the Proxima gene and insert themselves into the DNA there, breaking it in a way that will slowly poison them. They gave her no choice, but that’s a lie, there are always choices. She could have found a way to kill herself. She could have forced them to trigger the bomb around her neck. She could have waited until they had her in the sealed room, with the collar off, tasked with healing some important old man… and she could have killed whichever man she was supposed to fix that day, and forced her captors to shoot her.

But Meg wants to live. She did something terrible because she wanted to live, and she didn’t want to be tortured. She made those diseases. They gave her no freedom to do anything but study, genetics and biology and chemistry, on top of her medical school training and the training David used to give her in neurobiochemistry, and she used that knowledge to do what they asked. Because she knew they would check.

She remembers the blue homeless man vomiting, over and over, until he had no electrolytes left in his body and he died. The prostitute who could make a light show dance over her body, shaking and seizing until she was dead. The old man whose power mitochondria went into impossibly high gear, burning up all the phosphate and magnesium in his body to make too much ATP, and then his telekinetic power going out of control and tearing him apart. The homeless teenager crying as the poisons built up in his body. All her fault, and there will be thousands more, maybe millions, if her captors release the diseases they made her make into the population.

She hates herself, but she wants desperately to live, because she knows how to undo them all. She can immunize her people. She can. If she can get out of here alive. But the collar that suppresses her powers has a bomb in it. If she were to leave this place with it still around her neck… it would be the last thing she ever did.

There’s a click in the lock. Meg doesn’t look. She has no power over what’s going to happen, and if she turns her head to look, if she sits or stands up, if she visibly braces herself… then they’ll know she cares. They’ll know they’re hurting her, they’re frightening her. And she won’t give them the satisfaction… not until she can’t help herself, anyway. Without access to her powers, she only has a normal human ability to control herself.

“Get up,” a harsh female voice says.

Well. Small mercies. This isn’t going to be a rape, most likely. And they don’t torture her much anymore, not since she started cooperating. Torture doesn’t really work to get information – she knows that well, having tried it several times when she was a teen thug working for drug lords – but it works very well to terrorize people into doing as they’re told. But she’s been doing as she’s told. So it probably won’t be that.

It could be the execution she’s been expecting, but even if it is, there’s nothing she can do about it.

Meg gets up. Slowly, but not so slowly that the guard will decide she’s being insolent and shock her. The collar suppresses her powers, and it keeps her from escaping because of the bomb, but it’s also got electroshock capabilities, that all the guards can trigger by remote any time they want to. Electroshock’s how they captured her the first time – they went after her with the Special Service, the cops in hardsuits that her powers can’t get through, and the Special Service shocked her over and over, until her powers couldn’t handle keeping her conscious, and then while she was unconscious they put the collar on her neck. Since then, they’ve been able to shock her any time they want to, and they use it, frequently. Especially when they think she’s not being deferential enough.

She’s a former street kid and assassin for gangsters. She was living on her own since the age of 17. She went to superhero school with people who hated her, who’d fought her – and lost—when she was a supervillain. And she’s from Brooklyn. None of this lends itself well to respecting anyone’s authority or being deferential; she gave that up when she was thirteen and traded in a life as a Catholic school girl for a life in the criminal underworld. So when she first got to Sonnebend, they shocked her a lot.

She’s learned, though. Meg keeps her hate and her rage and her desire to commit bloody murder out of her eyes, out of her body language. If she ever has the chance, everyone who works here will die… but she’ll never have the chance, and she knows it.

The guard’s a black woman, head shaved, muscular. What progress America has made, Meg thinks bitterly. Now you can be a government thug and torturer even if you’re female and black! The guard motions her out the door, where there’s a second guard, this one a generic bland-looking dark-haired white man like practically every other guard in this place. “Keep moving,” the black woman says.

“Where are you taking me?” Meg asks. “What’s going on?”

“Keep your mouth shut,” the black woman says, but doesn’t shock her.

They’re taking her to her execution. She’s sure of it. Two guards usually escort her when she is taken anywhere, but she doesn’t recognize either of these two, and they’re not walking her in the right direction to be going either to the labs or the chamber with the one-way glass where she heals powerful old men, collar off but guns trained on her outside the chamber where she can’t see.

For a moment, Meg considers the possibility of killing these two guards. Even without her powers, she can fight; the absurd things she can do when she has her powers, the power-jumps, extending her arms, making tentacles, all that kind of thing… those are icing on the cake. All she needed to do to learn martial arts at master level was to find a dojo where the sensei had advanced skills and the urethane on the wooden floor had worn away enough that she could reach into her sensei with her powers and copy what he was doing down to the level of specific nerves firing and muscles contracting, and now she’s an expert. She could, maybe, grab the white guy, use judo to throw him into the black woman, then kick both of them in the jaw hard enough to snap their necks.

But what good would it do? She sees no evidence that they’re carrying keys that could unlock the collar; usually only a couple of specific people carry those keys, which have a distinctive appearance and are too large to hide in a pocket, and they wait for her in the chamber rather than walking around the base with them. She can’t get out, and any one of the guards can trigger the electroshock remotely, without even being near her, so she can’t escape. And if escape isn’t possible, what’s the point to killing these guys? It might make her feel better, for a few moments, but their friends will blow up her head, so it won’t help.

So she walks, with the white guy in front and the black woman behind, down a corridor she’s never traveled before. And probably never will again.

There’s a checkpoint, right before a door outside. The guard at the checkpoint looks up. “Where’s she going?”

“Where you think?” the black woman says, and hands him a sheaf of paper.

The checkpoint guy – another generic white dude, with sandy blond hair instead of black – looks at the papers, and then chuckles. “So I guess Williams and Becker aren’t getting a piece tonight, huh,” he says, and confirms what Meg suspects. Those are her execution papers. The guards who rape her nearly every night aren’t going to have the chance to tonight, because she’ll be dead.

Once again she considers killing them all. It won’t save her life, but at least it’ll take down a few of them with her. Once again she lets it go. Maybe, if she has a chance while she’s outside, since it looks like they’re taking her outside to do it. But she wants to see the sun again. If they’re going to bring her outside to kill her… then at least she won’t die in this nightmare building, where she hasn’t seen so much as a window since she was captured.

Is there snow outside? She doesn’t even know where Sonnebend is; no one’s ever told her what state they’re in, and with no windows, she can’t look at the sun and plants and try to guess. It could be Texas. It could be Florida. It’s probably not either since there aren’t enough guards with Latino names, but maybe it’s North Dakota. Maybe it’s Indiana. She has no way to tell.

The white guy with her chuckles, just a second later than you’d expect, like he’s not a native speaker and took a moment to parse what was just said. The black woman doesn’t. Stone-faced, she takes back the sheaf of papers. “Get moving,” she says to Meg, motioning her toward the door.

Outside, they’re behind the building. There’s a dumpster, and a loading dock, a short distance away. The black woman makes Meg walk in the opposite direction, along a wall with no windows or doors in it, nothing but unbroken beige brick. It’s cold; Meg’s breath makes clouds in the air. But there’s no snow. In the distance there’s grass and trees, but where they’re walking, there’s nothing but concrete. Meg stares hungrily at the grass and trees, at the sun in the sky, at the clouds overhead and in front of her mouth, as if she can make up for eight months of never seeing them by looking at them really hard, right now.

“Kneel down,” the black woman orders, and the tears Meg hasn’t shed in months well up. Not for herself. She has this coming. She may have tried to reform – first by being a superhero, then by becoming a doctor – but she’s always been a terrible person. She murdered her father, and then she became a murderer for hire, and then she’d helped David design drugs, and then she’d been a murderer again. She’d been a vicious jealous bitch around her first boyfriend, and had seduced her second, a man three times her age, just so she could take him away from her mentor. And then she’d gone to medical school, she’d tried to be a better person, but they’d kidnapped her and made her make diseases and because she was too weak to stand up to torture, many, so many, people will die. She’ll never have a chance to undo what she had done, to protect the Proximas of the US, or the world, against the engineered plagues she was terrorized into creating.

“Oh, you gonna cry now?” the black woman said.

“Fuck you,” Meg snarled through the tears. “I know you’re gonna kill me, so just do it.”

The woman sighed like she was at the end of her patience. “Kneel down, girl.”

“No. Shoot me standing up. I’m not gonna kneel to any of you anymore.”

“Have it your way,” the woman says, and points her gun at Meg.

It goes off, a deafening sound, but nothing that happens after that makes any sense. Meg sees her own body topple backward behind her, turning in time to see it fall, but she hasn’t been hit. There’s no pain. Is she a ghost? There’s her own bloody, headless corpse on the ground, and the black woman and the white man dragging the body off, but the black woman is also still here, tapping her foot.

“What—”

“Figure it out yet?” the black woman asks, and turns blue. The azurin mutation. In a small percentage of Proximas, melanin converts to azurin instead, and the person ends up blue. White people turn pale blue, with blue or green or purple hair, and black people turn deep blue, with blue eyes and blue hair. The buzzcut vanishes, replaced by a bright blue Afro that in shape and fluffiness looks like it came straight out of Cleopatra Jones. The woman’s face also changes, subtly, small aspects of eye shape and cheekbone placement altering, so she looks similar to the woman she was before, but not the same. Like sisters, or cousins. Except that one of them’s blue. Which means Proxima.

“You’re a Proxima?” Meg asks. She can’t quite believe this is really happening. She can still see the brown woman with the buzzcut and the dark-haired white man dragging her own corpse toward the corner of the building. Is this like Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge or something?

“Sure fucking am,” the blue woman says, and puts out her hand. “Shadow. Illusionist. And you’re Megamorph, the bio-controller.”

Meg has never heard her power referred to as bio-control, but it makes sense. Any organic tissue she’s touching, she can do nearly anything to, and any organic tissue she can reach through an organic channel, like a wooden floor or a shaggy wool carpet, it’s the same as if she’s touching it. She takes Shadow’s hand, tentatively. “Why… if you’re an illusionist, couldn’t you have told me what you were doing to begin with?” The tears are still in her eyes. Angrily, she wipes them away.

“Conserving power. I have to create the illusion of what they expect to be happening, and hide what we’re actually doing. The more you move around, the harder it is. Now kneel down. I was serious about that part.”

“Why?”

“Hard to rescue you if you’re missing a head,” Shadow says, and pulls off her belt something that looks almost, but not exactly, like the keys that unlock Meg’s collar.

“Those don’t look right. Are you sure they’ll work?” Meg hates that she sounds plaintive, almost whiny… but if Shadow’s here to rescue her, she really doesn’t want to get her head blown up on the verge of freedom.

“Tested them already. They’ve got some collared corpses in the pit around the corner.”

There’s a pit around the corner full of dead bodies. This doesn’t surprise Meg in any way – it makes perfect sense – but it horrifies her, hitting her in a nerve she’d have thought burnt out by all the horror she’s endured. Her knees go out from under her, which she manages to make look as if she’s kneeling like Shadow told her to, rather than that she’s half collapsing.

Shadow puts the key to the collar. There’s a clicking sound. Meg holds her breath despite herself.

And then the collar falls to the ground.

It works by magnetic induction, suppressing the part of her brain that controls her body’s production of catalysine, and suppressing the part that allows her to perceive and control her powers. Stopping the magnetic induction doesn’t instantly replenish her body’s catalysine, and without the catalysine, she doesn’t yet have any powers to perceive and control. So she doesn’t feel any different. “My powers will come back, right?” she asks, knowing it’s a stupid question – she knows how the collar works, she knows how Proxima powers work probably better than anyone. She knows they’ll come back. But at the moment, she feels painfully young, and not like an expert on anything. She wants Shadow to reassure her the way a mother might reassure a child.

Shadow nods, her expression gentle. “Of course they will,” she says. She reaches a hand down and helps Meg to her feet. “We need to get out of here.”

“Wait.” Meg takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to admit to this, but she won’t let people die for her pride. “Do you know if… that pit, are there any of the victims there? The experimental subjects, of the bio-engineered diseases?”

“I figure that’s probably where they are, yeah,” Shadow says.

“I’m sorry, but… is there any way you can cover me to get in there? I… they made me make those diseases. I have to stop them, but I couldn’t keep samples. It’ll be a lot easier to inoculate people if I can get samples…”

Shadow grins. “Oh, yeah. We knew all about those diseases. That’s why the World Unity Collective decided to rescue you.”

World Unity Collective is Caesar Primus’ group, a supervillain gang dedicated to creating a world where the Proximas of the world unite and take over, which is supposed to bring about a utopia for everyone, Sapiens and Proxima alike. Meg thought it was a stupid idea when she first heard about it, training with Peace Force Tau, and she still thinks so. Proximas are different from Sapiens by exactly one gene, and there is absolutely no reason to think Proximas will treat the world any better than Sapiens have. But she doesn’t care anymore.

Over and over, in her prison, she called out in her mind, begging her mentor to hear her. Suri Chandrasekhar is the leader of the Peace Force, and an incredibly powerful telepath. Suri knew where Meg was going to medical school; if she was paying attention, if she cared, she would know Meg had been kidnapped, and with her powers she should have been able to find Meg… if she was looking. But she hadn’t. No rescue came from the Peace Force. And right now, Meg has reasons to hate Sapiens – reasons that are illogical, because there are billions of Sapiens and they cannot possibly all be responsible for the torments she’s suffered over the past eight months, but Meg’s reasons for hate are rarely all that logical anyway. If it’s Proxima supremacists who’ve rescued her, then yay for Proxima supremacy.

“I’ll ask you how you knew about the diseases later,” Meg says.

“Yeah. Let’s get this done quick.”

***

The pit’s covered with a tarp. As soon as she peels the tarp back, Meg has to shut off her sense of smell. She hasn’t eaten since the terrible cafeteria-grade scrambled eggs for breakfast, so there’s nothing in her stomach anymore – it’s all moved on to the intestines by now -- but if she had to smell this without her powers, she’d be puking up all of the nothing in her stomach over everything.

It’s not hard to find her diseases. There’s maybe twenty bodies in here, tangled together in a heap, most in a fairly advanced state of rot. All of them are infected. Or were, when they were alive. Apparently Sonnebend doesn’t kill lots and lots of people as a general rule. This isn’t a concentration camp; it’s a research facility, where part of the research is on how to kill people with diseases. And since the people had to be Proximas, that limited the supply; only one in ten thousand people has that one gene that differentiates Sapiens from Proximas. Can’t very well murder five thousand people in testing a disease if you have to screen fifty million to find them.

The viruses are easy. With the machinery of the cells stopped, they’re not replicating, but a lot of them are intact, easy to capture. The bacteria are harder. They’ve been dying since they killed their hosts. But there are a couple of subjects that still have live bacteria. Meg pulls them in and stores them in tiny nodules of fatty tissue in her breast, with no capillaries feeding them so they don’t have much chance to get out into her bloodstream. Not that it would matter; Meg’s powers automatically destroy any organic matter that would trigger an immune response. She can’t get sick. Even at Sonnebend, the fact that they removed her collar every few days so she could heal some politician or CEO or important donor meant that she couldn’t get sick; in the hour or so she had her powers, her body would destroy any potential source of infection. She’s going to have to be more careful to make sure her body doesn’t annihilate these infectious agents before she has a chance to engineer an inoculation or cure than she will to make sure they don’t actually infect her.

She climbs back out of the pit, with Shadow’s help. “I’m done. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here, okay?” Shadow says, and ten minutes later, they’re in a car parked outside the barbed wire fence, driving away.

“It’ll take them some time to figure out you’re not dead,” Shadow says, driving the car with a cigarette in her hand. “I took back the fake papers for your execution, so they’ll have a hard time figuring out who authorized it, or where I went, or who I even was. If they compare video feed of the outdoors to the indoors, they’ll see me and the fake guy I made walk back through the door but then never show up at the checkpoint right inside, and maybe that’ll give them a clue, but none of their video will have anything real.” She takes a deep drag from the cigarette. Meg wants to warn her about lung cancer and suggest she quit, but she looks up to Shadow too much to be her condescending prick doctor persona.

“What were you doing? Manipulating light?”

Shadow nods. “And sound, but fuck it’s hard. It’s so much easier for me if I just work on the brain. Altering myself and making another dude is almost the limit of what I can do with sound and light, whereas if I’m going in through the brain, I can make people see a full Hollywood spectacular. Aliens shooting laser guns all over the place. An army of Picts with bows and arrows. Whatever I want.”

“That’s really cool,” Meg says, somewhat awestruck. “Doesn’t that mean you really have two powers? Because a psionic illusion power and the ability to manipulate sound and light sounds like it’s two entirely different things.”

Shadow takes another drag on the cigarette. “Used to just be the psionic part. I got fixed up by a guy named Giovanni. Told him I wanted to be able to fool cameras. Closed-circuit cams were getting big around then. It was hard to pull a job when the security guys can see you on the cam, even if they can’t as soon as they get close enough to use their eyes.”

“Wait… this Giovanni guy can give people powers?”

“Yeah, though all he does is give Proximas new powers. He won’t give powers to a Sapien and he’s got some weird rule about what kind of powers he’ll give a Proxima, but what I wanted sounded to him like it’d work with what I already got. Gives me a motherfucking headache if I overuse it. I gonna need a whole fucking bottle of Tylenol tonight.” She laughs.

Meg puts her hand on Shadow’s shoulder. “No, you won’t,” she says. Her power can hurt when she invades people with it, unless she’s working to numb them or make them feel good, neither of which is safe to do while someone is driving… but it only takes a second, barely time for Shadow’s body to register that Meg’s power is inside it, to clear away the tension that’ll lead to a migraine.

Shadow turns her head. “What the fuck you doin’, girl?” she demands.

“I fixed it,” Meg says, beaming. “So you won’t get a migraine. I owe you a lot more than that, but that’s the least I can give back to you.”

For some reason Shadow does not look happy. She rolls her eyes and slumps slightly forward against the steering wheel, which is all right because they’re at a traffic light. “Listen, kid. I know you meant well, and I’m not mad. But you can’t just go doing things to people’s bodies without even telling them, let alone asking them. You gotta ask permission. If it’s a friend or an ally, anyway. I could give a shit, what you do to enemies and Sapiens, but with friends and allies you ask.”

“Oh.” Meg feels terrible. She’s overstepped a boundary she should have remembered, because in Peace Force Tau, Suri told her this, but she’s so excited to have her powers back and so grateful to Shadow and so desperate to show that gratitude, she forgot. “I’m sorry. I, I really should’ve known better, it’s just, I’ve been locked up so long… I’m really sorry…”

“Look, kiddo, forget it. S’alright. No harm done, and I do feel better. Just, remember next time. Ask.” She pronounces the word as “axe”. This makes Meg feel strangely nostalgic. One of her best friends from the days right after she got her powers, a teenage prostitute named Rhonda who was one of the most level-headed people Meg has ever known, used to talk that way. Most of the girls she’d known in those days had, actually. Whereas no one in the Peace Force or medical school would have used anything less than 100% proper English, like back in Catholic school.

***

It turns out Sonnebend is in Minnesota, near the Great Lakes. World Unity Collective headquarters is in Florida. They’re going to drive to Chicago to use something called a “transmat” to teleport to Florida, but lake-coast Minnesota to Chicago in Illinois is still what Shadow calls a “long-ass drive”. “We’d go faster if we had a boat,” Shadow jokes, and shows Meg the route on the map.

There are explanations. Shadow won’t tell her how she knew about the diseases – “you’re not cleared to know that, yet,” she says – but she explains eagerly why Meg was recruited. “We figured, since you created the bioweapons, you’d know how to stop them… and you might be able to stop others they come up with. Or create ones to threaten them with, if they keep pulling this kind of shit.”

“I don’t want to create bioweapons. Not against Proximas, not against Sapiens, not against anybody.”

“I hear you,” Shadow says. “You don’t have to. You do whatever you feel comfortable with, for the cause.”

Shadow talks a lot about the cause. Talks about being thrown out of her home for being a “devil child”, when she was 12 and turning from brown to blue. Talks about the Human Definition Amendment, a thing some conservative Senator has proposed that will define “human”, in the law, to mean “Sapien”, meaning Proximas will essentially legally be wild animals, with no legal protections whatsoever. Talks about Proximas being killed as “witches” in Africa, especially the ones with the azurin mutation, who couldn’t hide being Proximas, and being turned into weapons for the government in Russia and China and who knew where else.

Talks about the Special Service killing unarmed Proximas who are suspected of crimes, and that one hits hard, because that’s exactly what happened to David. His power was to see chemistry at the atomic level, completely useless for fighting, and he was a skinny twenty-something nerd and he wore coke-bottle glasses with a tint because he was photophobic, and he was unarmed, and they’d gunned him down in his apartment, and Meg had only lived because he’d sent her on an errand to find his lawyer. Because she’d assumed, when he said he’d need his lawyer after they arrested him, that of course, that was normal, that was how it worked. She was pretty sure he’d known they were coming to kill him, and had sent her on that errand because they’d have killed her too.

Caesar Primus – it means “Emperor First” and it’s pronounced the Latin way, like “Kaiser”, not like the salad – is, according to Shadow, the smartest and most experienced man on the planet. Meg assumes the experienced part is probably true, because apparently, he is somewhere around 2,000 years old, and was a gladiator in ancient Rome. She’s not so sure about smartest. The guy apparently still believes that Sapiens and Proximas are different species. A lot of people believe that, but mostly they are idiots, or at the very least, they know nothing of science.

He’s also bought into a lot of silly ideas about evolution, or claims he has and teaches them to his people. Shadow tells Meg that Proximas are the next evolution of humanity, superior because they are more evolved, destined to rule over humanity, and will survive instead of Sapiens because they are stronger. Meg can identify five errors in Shadow’s concepts of evolution off the top of her head, without any kind of deep dive, but she says nothing. If Shadow wants her to worship at the altar of Caesar Primus… Meg hasn’t done worship at an altar since she left Catholic school, not for anyone, but for Shadow’s sake, she’ll pretend.

And if it’s true, as Shadow implies, that Primus sent her to go rescue Meg, then she owes him as much for her freedom as she owes Shadow.

***

A transmat turns out to be a platform, where you put in some coordinates, step on the platform, and are instantly somewhere else, on a transmat platform elsewhere. It reminds Meg of Star Trek transporters, but makes more sense – she’d always wondered, how did the transporter beam know how to reassemble when it got where it was going?

The base is in a swamp, and the only ways out of the base are either to wade through alligator-infested waters, or take the transmat. Or fly, she supposes, for those that can do that. Wading would be annoying, but can’t hurt her; neither mosquitoes nor alligators, nor anything else in the water, can cause her any harm. But it’s obvious to her that that’s not going to be true for most people, and it bothers her a little. If the cause is so wonderful and important, why make it so hard to leave the base?

“It’s not to make it hard to leave,” Shadow explains. “It protects us from so-called superheroes, and it means that if you want to go anywhere, you have to take a risk. Keeps you strong.”

“But if you’re going by transmat that’s not a risk.”

“Yeah, but you can’t go anywhere by transmat unless Caesar agrees.”

The building’s far too much like Sonnebend. It’s made of concrete rather than bricks, a big brutalism box in the middle of a swamp, and there are windows all over the upper floors, but it goes down several floors underground. Sonnebend had linoleum tile and World Unity Collective headquarters has concrete flooring, like a warehouse, but either way there’s nothing alive, nothing for her powers to sense through her feet or the canvas shoes she makes herself from rubber and cotton. She’s not going to spend much time here, she can already tell.

“I need to go back to Baltimore,” she tells Shadow. “I don’t know what happened to anything I owned when I was kidnapped.”

Shadow is skeptical. “Do you really need any of that stuff, or do you just have a sentimental attachment to it?” she asks. “Revolutionaries have to be ready to break free of any material possessions, at any time. You can’t have sentiment. And here, your room and board are provided for, and I know with your powers you can make your own clothes whenever you want…”

“I want my medical textbooks,” Meg says. “I was trying to become a doctor when they kidnapped me.”

Now Shadow raises an eyebrow. “You think being a doctor is the best way to serve the cause?”

Meg smiles. That particular smile is the last thing some gangsters saw, once upon a time. “To heal, you need to know intimately how the body works and how everything fits together. That’s also what you need to know to be really creative about hurting people. You know, if it’s going to advance the cause to hurt someone in a particularly creative way.”

That makes Shadow laugh. “Oh yeah, I knew I was right about you. You’re gonna be a fantastic asset to the team, Meg.”

There’s no one else important in the base right now – Primus is apparently in DC, and his other top-ranked minions are away on various missions. No one here but Proximas with low power levels who work as grunts. Thugs, like she was once. The only person here to give permission for transmat use is Shadow, and she’s all in favor of Meg getting her medical textbooks once she understands what Meg can use them for.

Except that Meg’s read them all already. The term had been about to end when she was kidnapped. Her ability to directly sense bodies and how they worked had gotten her through med school in record time – she’d been there a year, and she’d learned two years’ worth in that time – and then Sonnebend had taught her more, because to create the diseases they wanted her to create, or heal the ailments of rich old men, she’d needed to know more. It’d been all she had to do that gave her any kind of pleasure in any way.

She’s not going back for medical textbooks. Shadow the true believer can give up material possessions and eliminate sentiment, if she wants. Meg believes in very little of this bullshit. She just worships Shadow for saving her.

World Unity Collective maintains a transmat in Grand Central Station, and Shadow’s able to advance Meg some cash, since of course she doesn’t currently have an ATM card, a credit card, or checks. Meg takes the subway from Grand Central to Penn Station, and from there the Amtrak to Baltimore, and then a cab to the Johns Hopkins medical school campus.

***

Meg walks down the street to the townhome she used to share with her roommate, breathing in the winter air. She can't stop looking at the buildings, the trees without their leaves, the sun behind the solid wall of white winter clouds. The people. There are so many people and they're so beautiful and they know nothing about the way the world really works, nothing at all. She wants to kill them, to save them, to tell them the truth. To take the men, at least, home and screw their brains out because she's free to choose not to, now. She doesn't do any of that.

She doesn't have the key to her old apartment any more, but the music inside tells her that her housemate Tara is there right now. Meg knocks, hard.

Tara opens the door. "Meg?" she asks, sounding shocked.

"Is my stuff still here?" Meg asks.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, of course. The landlady was just wondering where you were -- she says she's been getting your rent checks in the mail, but she sent us a note about the electric bill going up and you didn't increase the amount you were paying, and she was trying to get hold of you, but I had no idea where you were so I just paid it for you."

"I'll reimburse you." Meg walks into the apartment. She looks around the place. Everything is just as she left it. "Pack up my stuff for me and I'll have movers come get it. I'll pay the landlady for your share of the rent for the next two months."

"What happened to you, Meg? Where did you go?"

How does one explain that one was kidnapped by the government and has spent the past several months being raped, tortured and forced to work on biological weapons? One doesn't. "Something came up."

Stuffy is still sitting on her bed, David’s dried blood still all over her. Dried blood looks brown; she explained the stains on Stuffy as chocolate sauce to everyone in Peace Force Tau. Tara never went into Meg’s own bedroom, so she never had to make that explanation. Meg picks up Stuffy and puts her in her coat. She suddenly wants to cry, but badass supervillains don't cry, so she uses her powers to suppress the urge. She's going to have to figure out somewhere to put her. Obviously she can’t bring a stuffed animal back to a base full of supervillains.

"Meg, are you okay?"

She doesn't look at the Sapien who used to be her friend. "I'm fine," she says shortly, and thinks, No. Not even slightly.

Back on the street, it's cold and crisp and she can walk anywhere she wants. She can walk to a hot dog cart and get a hot dog. So she does. And ice cream. The whole time she was imprisoned she never had ice cream.

Tears sting her eyes again. Stupid that she has to keep using her powers for this. She should be tougher than this. She stopped crying after the first month in prison, never did it again until she thought Shadow was about to kill her. Why is she crying now?

When she was at Sonnebend, she never stopped wishing for her freedom, but she stopped believing or even hoping she would ever be able to walk around on a city street and buy a hot dog ever again. And then Shadow walked into Sonnebend and brought her out like Orpheus freeing Eurydice from Hades, except of course that Orpheus hadn't succeeded in the end. And Shadow did that because Caesar Primus had ordered her to. Most likely. She’d never specifically said, but Meg could read between the lines.

If Primus sent her to rescue Meg, Meg will do anything for him.

Meg knows his ideology is ridiculous. Right now she doesn't care. She'll burn the Sapiens' world down for what they did to her, and she'll enjoy herself doing it. Out of gratitude for the gift of her freedom, she will do anything for the people who saved her.

She’s got financial things to arrange – Meg has a lot of money. Being the most terrifying killer in New York City used to pay really well. She’ll reimburse Tara, get movers to take all her stuff to a storage unit. Buy some clothes – she doesn’t need new clothes, since her powers can reshape the ones she has, but she likes to shop for clothes. She likes to dress up in clothes that make every man around want to fuck her, and maybe she’ll pick some of them out and do it. She hasn’t had sex because she wanted to in eight months. Maybe she’ll fuck away some of the memories of Sonnebend before going back to Primus’ hideout.

And then she’s going to be the most vicious badass she can possibly be, with all the skills she acquired as a teenage assassin and all the knowledge she gained in Peace Force Tau, and Johns Hopkins medical school, and Sonnebend. She’s going to combine it all and she’s going to make Shadow proud of rescuing her, and Primus of telling her to do it. And she’s going to make humanity pay for what they did to her.

[rosierocks30]

Hidden: Ch.2

A/N: I don’t own Attack On Titan. 

Hidden

Chapter two: Unveiling the truth 

The party was successful. The guests left for their homes. The queen was already in her chamber getting ready to meet Levi tonight. Earlier, she kicked her maids and ladies-in-waiting from her room after they drew a bath for her. Now she was almost ready as Historia applied tint red lipstick to make her lips plumped. She got up to check the balcony to see if the guards were there. Huh? It looked like no one was there guarding. She goes back to fix her bed making it look like she was asleep. Once she turns off the lights, Historia goes to the balcony and uses her old ODM gear when she was a soldier. The queen set up around her. She made a double check to make sure there’s no errors. Once she saw it’s safe and ready to go, she flew off from the balcony and made her way to the location to meet Levi. 

Meanwhile Levi was waiting for his girlfriend. He saw a glimpse of a figure using the ODM gear. He smirked when his queen landed in front of him. “You know it’s not good for you to use the gear because of your condition.” Historia blushed embrassassly. Levi is right. She needed to be careful now. She undo strapped her gear then carried it as the queen followed him inside the new headquarter of the Survey Corps. There’s couple for each wall. The one at Wall Maria is under construction, but the others are ready to be used. He watched Historia place her gear on the table. She looked at him with a smile and went to him to hug. Levi hugged her back then looked at her to kiss her lips. Just as she kissed him back, a cough was heard. Both the Captain and the queen stopped to glance at the Commander of the Survey Corps smirking. “Well well Armin was right. You two are seeing each other. When did you two get together. Oh my god this is gold.” Hange was laughing just seeing these two looking shocked from being caught in the act. Historia felt embarrassed and shook. So much for planning on how to tell the Commander. Levi scoffed at his commander. “Are you done laughing your shitty ass off?” He was getting annoyed. Hange composed herself and looked at the both couple. “Sorry sorry, I was just still surprised from what Armin said to me of what he saw and now I saw it before my eyes. Let’s go to my office and discuss it.” The commander led the two of them into her office and closed the door. “Alright so how did you two end up being together in the first place?” Hange sat on her chair as she began to ask questions. Historia blushed when she remembered that day. “It was about 4 months ago. We were coming back from the betrayal of Reiner and Bertolt. I was still sad over Ymir leaving with them, and Captain Levi spotted me alone at the dining hall.” Levi looked at Historia as she explained the story.

(Flashback)

The captain heard a sobbing sound from the dining hall. As he walked towards the sound, Levi saw a familiar blonde girl crying quietly. “Brat, what’s with you?” Levi was not known to comfort people, but seeing his subordinate crying; it made him want to comfort her if he could do it without saying the wrong thing. Krista Lenez or now Historia Reiss looked up to glance at her superior coming towards her. “Oh, it’s nothing, sir.” Historia gave a faded smile which Levi doesn’t buy. “Tch, it doesn’t look like nothing to me. Come with me. I have a secret stash of wine bottles I saved over the years.” Historia wiped her tears then got up to follow the captain. Once they both enter a room, the female soldier notices the room looks clean, but this is Captain Levi who was known to be a neat-freak. “Sir, are we in your office or room?” She saw a desk with a chair and on to her left a bed neatly done was against the wall. “It’s both. I work here, I sleep here.” Levi goes to his desk to open his drawer and take out a bottle of wine. He opened another drawer to take out two glasses. Historia watched as her superior poured both glasses half full then he gave one of them to her. “Here, this will help. Try me.” He grabbed his glass to take a long sip. Historia holds the glass of wine and observes curiously. She sniffed the drink as the aroma was too strong for her liking. The blonde girl glanced up to see Levi already drinking his. She presses her lips on the rim of the glass and tilts more while the wine falls into her mouth. Her eyes widened at how gross it tasted to her. “Sir, I don’t mean being so disrespectful but this wine tastes gross. How do you endure drinking this?” Levi stared at Historia then placed his glass on the desk. “All wines taste like shit at first, but you’ll get used to it when you keep drinking.” He said. Historia nodded and tried again. As she had a flashback from what Ymir said to her earlier, a familiar pain consumed her. Instead sipping, she started gulping. It was too painful to think about what had happened. She missed Ymir so much. Now her wine is empty. She felt warmth spread in her chest as the alcohol slowly started taking effect. Levi scoffed when she finished her glass too fast. “Tch, don’t drink too fast. You’ll get drunk.” He warned the blue-eyed girl. “Sorry sir, I’ll try to slow down.” She grabbed the bottle to pour another round. This time she sips slow. It still won’t be that long she will get drunk since this is the first time she has tasted alcohol. 

After a few glasses of wine, Levi reached her level of drunkenness. Historia giggled but trying to conceal with her hand.  “I did warn you didn’t I?” Levi rolled his eyes. “I can’t help it, sir.” She was getting hiccups while trying to grab the now empty bottle. She pouted when there’s no wine. “Oh no we need more.” She slowly got up to go behind the desk. Levi raised his eyebrow from watching the blonde girl being in between him and the desk. He may be drunk, but he won’t let Historia grab another bottle. He got up to lean close to stop her. His hard tone body presses more against her back which causes unfamiliar butterflies in her stomach. His breath tickled her neck as goosebumps formed on her skin. A new sensation overcame Historia. Does the captain know what he’s doing to her? She never was this close to a man. Now that she thinks about it, Levi is an attractive man, but he’s deadly and strong when he faces the titans. Levi grabbed her hand and huskily whispered to her ear. “You had enough for now.” The chills brought her to her knees. Historia mischievously smirked as she pressed her ass on his crotch. Levi groaned as some of the blood rushed down between his legs. “What do you think you’re doing?” His huskily tone still hasn’t changed. “You’re stepping into a dangerous line, Historia.” Oh god, Ymir never made her feel like this. She loves Ymir, but not in the way Ymir wanted her too. She continued grinding on Levi. The captain gripped on her hip then stuck his tongue out to lick her neckline. Damn, she tasted so sweet and pure. 

Historia closed her eyes to let out a moan. “Oh captain…” Her moans were driving him crazy. “Call me Levi.” She quivered and nodded. “Mmm y-yes, Levi.” Levi kissed her neck then began to bite down to leave a mark. “Ah Levi, d-don’t s-stop please.” She pleaded for him to continue. One of his free hands made its way under her torn skirt which her knees and thighs were exposing. His hand played the hem of her panties then slid a finger in and rubbed her clit. A wave of pleasure struck into Historia. This feeling is amazing. Historia doesn’t care if this is wrong. Her and Levi are very different people. They have different status as he’s the captain and she’s the subordinate. They both could get into trouble, but as for now fuck the rules. Levi growled being drunk not just from the wine but lust as well. It’s been a long time since he touched a woman. The last time it was a woman he had a fling with during his Underground days as a thug. Yeah , it’s been years since he got laid. His lustful eyes wander all over her body. His finger made its way to her vaginal hole. Huh? What do you know? Her hymen is still intact. “Ymir didn’t take your virginity?” He said which Historia blushed and shook her head. “N-no, I’ve never been touched. You’re the first person...oh god Levi! I need you.” Her lips made a whimpering sound when his thumb rubbed her clit while his index finger into and out of her wet hole but not too deep yet.

“You want me? You better think carefully because once I take you, I claim you as mine. I hate sharing.” Historia’s mind was clouded with lust. She struggled to speak. “Y-yes claim me, claim me as yours.” Her moans increased. Levi felt his primal instincts took over and pulled out his hand from her soaked pussy. He turned her around to face him then picked her up to place her on his shoulder. He walked to his bed to throw her on the mattress. Historia was surprised by his action when she made a small squeal sound. Once she was on his bed, Levi climbed on his bed to hover over her body. His eyes gazed to her plump lips. He leaned into pressing his lips on hers. Both parties felt a spark sensation. Both of them begin to roughly take off each other's clothes as each article is dropped to the floor. Levi took his time to glance at her exposed body. Historia blushed in a way he was looking at her. She wasn’t innocent either when her eyes peek over his body. Oh Walls, not only his fighting skill is god-like but his body as well. Historia placed her hand on his toned chest to run up and down on his skin. Levi chuckled as he resumed kissing her, but down her body. As he goes down, Historia subconsciously spread her legs wide for him. He accepted her invitation by stroking her clit with his tongue. The blonde haired beauty arched her back as another wave of pleasure hit her. Her moans were frequent and Levi loves each sound coming from her. He widened her legs more to fit his face closer to her core. Levi begins eating her out. Historia covered her mouth with her hand when a loud whine had escaped. Shit, she hopes nobody is close to Levi’s room to hear it. Her other hand gripped tightly on his hair and pulled hard. 

Levi was too focused on tasting her honey nectar-like from her core she’s producing. Shit. he can’t get enough of her. The other woman in his Underground days can’t ever be compared to Historia. This petite woman made him lustful and addictive to her. His body felt like it was on fire being closed to Historia. His instincts drove him mad. To be frank, one of the reasons he rarely encountered this beauty because he felt another “awakening” but this one is different. A dark voice whispered to him. Claim her....she’s yours, always yours and no one else. He low key avoided her at first until now. He stopped devouring her sweet core as he started to position himself readying to take her as his. Historia glanced down to see his size is huge. She gulped nervously will it fit in her. “Brace yourself, beautiful.” He whispered to her. He inserts himself into her hole which she shut her eyes when the pain begins from her barrier being torn. It wasn't not that long the pain turned into pleasure as her walls clenched around his cock. He groaned again while his hips thrust deep into her. “Ahhh oh oh yes. faster, faster. Harder, harder.” She mumbled to him. Levi obeyed her command and started fucking her aggressively. Historia clawed her nails deep on his bare back and left scratch marks. Both of them were lost into this passionate, lustful sin for each other. Historia noticed his eyes looked when he goes on a rampage of killing titans, but instead titans it’s fucking Historia until she was unable to walk. The excitement in her made more butterflies-like sensation. An electric wave in both of them was felt. It’s like a bond was formed due to different bloodlines becoming one. Levi grunted. “I’m going to cum…” He quickly pulled out his cock to spill on her stomach. Historia is already going through her orgasm. “Ahhhh fuck!” She pants hard and checks on Levi when he falls on the other side of the bed. Historia was concerned but she also felt her body was exhausted. Darkness welcomes her. 

(End Flashback)

“So basically we got drunk and fucked. That’s how we end up being together.” Levi explained, but Historia was flustered with embarrassment. “Levi! You could’ve used a better wording.” Levi looked at his girlfriend and made a tch sound. Hange was amused by the dynamic between these two. “So what else is new for you lovebirds.” Hange, the commander of the Survey Corps teased the couple. “Um, we need a witness to be wed secretly.” Historia looked at her former commander. Hange leaned back on her chair. “Marriage? Wow Levi, you’re full of surprises. Of course, I would be honored to be one of the witnesses beside I have to be there to walk Levi down the aisle. Isn’t that right Levi?” Once again Hange teased the captain which he gave off a death glare at his commander. The commander laughed at his reaction. “Easy there Captain. I was teasing.” She made a surrender gesture but Historia already sooth him by rubbing his hand against hers. “Ok back to busy, so Armin and I will go to the chapel closest here and make sure I can bribe the priest to keep it to himself; but I’m curious why the rush now. I mean I understand that Captain Levi is always in  dangerous situations which you two leap in when opportunities come.” Levi was now lost in his thoughts. He will always put his life on the line not just for his comrades, but to his queen and their unborn child. He’ll slaughter anyone who endangered the people he cared for. Just like what he told Historia, he literally can’t live without her. Their bloodlines created a unique bond to solidify the union. His ancestors could now rest in peace as he and the queen had begun a new bloodline. 

“She’s pregnant.” Levi said bluntly. Hange was shaken then glanced at Historia’s stomach. “A royal child with the blood of an Ackerman; sounds something I was reading an old lore from the capital’s archive.” The commander was thinking about when she read it a couple days ago. “Do you still have it? This document that mentions our unborn.” Historia was concerned. She doesn’t want her child to be born with burdens. She wanted to give her or him the best childhood the baby will have. “Looks like we’ll go get them later.” Levi said. “By the way, I called dibs on being Levi jr. favorite auntie.” She grinned and already went to Historia and kneel to talk to the growing fetus. “Auntie Hange will happily teach you science!” Levi scoffed while he mumbled something incoherently. Historia smiled as this miracle is already saved and loved.  

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 22/32 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both? 

Loriel’s routine was by this point quite well-developed.

She woke at dawn, with the sun. Usually the light was enough to rouse her, but in case it wasn’t, she had a timed rune of frost under her bed set to go off half an hour after sunrise. On the rare occasions that she was inclined to laze in bed, it was enough to get her out of it.

Breakfast would be waiting for her, and it was never late. Loriel did not micromanage. Things in her Keep were done correctly the first time, or they were done by somebody else. Her breakfast varied little. One egg, hard-boiled; porridge, salty,  never sweet; fruit, whichever seasonal. She could draw some energy from the Fade, but repeated use of blood magic attenuated her connection to the Fade enough that she still needed to eat. Someday she would look into eliminating that need entirely, once her other obligations were met. She would eat on a balcony as the sun rose, less out of a desire to see the day begin, and more out of a removed knowledge that some sun was necessary for her health. Someday she would fix that flaw as well, but for now, if she had to waste time eating, she could at least get that out of the way while she was at it.

Within a quarter of an hour she would be at her desk. A stack of letters would be waiting there. She would skim them; few really required a personal response. The ones from Avernus, she put aside to deal with later.

When she finished with that, she would indicate for her seneschal to enter. Her name was Brigit; she was bright-eyed and fervent, relentlessly competent, utterly indispensable. She was most of the reason the Keep still functioned at all. She would be waiting outside the door, a cup of tea in hand. The tea—bitter, biting, oversteeped—was Loriel’s one indulgence. She would drink it and listen to the daily report. Brigit respected Loriel’s time, and began with what Loriel cared about—first, had there been any sign of the Architect? Second, had any Wardens begun to hear the Calling?  And third, had any been killed?

There was never any sign of the Architect. Most of the Wardens at Vigil’s Keep were far too new for the Calling. But every once in a while, there would be deaths. Loriel would ask for their names. She forgot them as soon as she heard them, but it was important she hear them.

The rest of the half-hour was an abbreviated exchange of questions and instructions. If there was anything that absolutely needed Loriel’s personal attention, Brigit would ask for it—but few things did. People needed or wanted the entity known as the Commander of the Grey, or the Arlessa of Amaranthine, or the Hero of Ferelden. Loriel held those titles by an accident of history; she had no personal characteristic that suited her for them.

Then Loriel would hand off any letters that needed replying to. Brigit could mimic her hand and her signature easily enough, and Loriel received far too much correspondence to deal with it all herself.

With the business of rulership out of the way, Loriel would descend to her underground chambers. She would work for ten or twelve or fifteen hours. If she tired early, she would sit and read. She avoided falling asleep underground—it was too disorienting. Each day she ascended, changed into the clothes left for her freshly laundered well in advance, cleaned her teeth, and slept. Once a week, she would bathe, whether she needed it or not—the alternative was to forget to bathe entirely. She did not bother to fall asleep naturally—there was a simple spell for that, and she saw no reason not to use it.

Her research went slowly. But it went.

And so the clockwork of her life ticked on.

tck

The work itself was going better than it had. 

Her methodology was much like her daily routine—plodding, relentless, as bland as it was efficient. She followed procedure, did what needed to be done, even if she had no appetite to do it. Her reams of close-written notes were meticulous to the point of exhaustion. She lived and breathed rigor. Almost everything she tried failed, and each failure was a step closer to success.

Eventually—something would work. 

A dim awareness fluttered in her mind that the bright scalpel of her mind was now little more than a crude cudgel, but what did it matter that she wasn’t brilliant? The work still got done. 

Her underground lab had grown from a single rough chamber to a warren of interconnected tunnels and specialized chambers. The Underkeep stretched nearly as far as the Keep above. In one room, the vastly expanded lab space, tables of glass devices and cabinets of reagents. In another, her library, swollen with tomes both common and rare, with her own notes and manuscripts and diagrams. Another room stood lined with cages holding dozens of creatures subject to her experiments—rats, it turned out, reacted very much like elves and humans to the Blight, and they bred fast. Lines of entropy enchantments lined their cages, keeping them in stasis until it was time for them to be of use. An underground stream provided water, wrested from the depths of the earth and channeled through pipes of stone. All of it climate controlled with her elegant runes. It was never too hot or too cold, never too wet or dry; no mold, no pests, no sunlight, save that which she made herself. 

And below that, another tunnel, deeper than the other, longer, and layered with more protections; it lead to the Deep Roads. She ventured there; sometimes for some purpose—to collect a sample, to check for deliveries from her friends beneath the earth—but most often simply to sit in the dark, to feel the miles of stone pressing down on her, and be empty of thought and of feeling and being. 

tck

One of the few reliable reasons that Loriel ever left her Keep was when she went to see Avernus. Letters passed between them frequently, almost entirely of a technical nature—what reagent could be used to evoke such and such reaction? What were the best ways to keep blighted flesh preserved for study? Where were the most promising leads to follow up on to search for lost Tevinter literature on the subject?—But often letters weren’t enough. So once or twice a year, Loriel would gear up and make the journey to Soldier’s Peak. She would stay there for a handful of weeks, making aggressive collaborative progress with Avernus until both their tolerances for other people dried up and Loriel returned to her Underkeep.

“I see you are still being unreasonable about human subjects,” Avernus sniffed on one such occasion, while they both watched a cauldron boil in silence. 

This was a frequent subject of complaints in his letters. “I see no reason in deliberately poisoning a well. Do you imagine the work would go faster if I was driven from my fortress with torches and pitchforks?

“Torches and pitchforks, hmph! As though peasants with torches and pitchforks are any threat to you.”

“Peasants, no. A Chantry army of Templars? A new Exalted March?”

“Do not tell me you still fear Templars. If that were truly your chief concern, you would not have let so many join your Order. ”

He was baiting her, and it wasn’t going to work. “I do not need to fear them to understand what is prudent, what is necessary, and what is not. The work will continue as it has.”

“And in the meanwhile, your Wardens will continue to die, because of what amounts to self-interest, hm? Because you fear the consequences of a little risk? Because you do not like to think of yourself the way you think of me?”

Bait. This was bait. She was too good to fall for bait. But Maker, Avernus could be really irritating in person. 

“I am working with you to cure the Calling,” Loriel said evenly. “To save my wardens from a terrible fate. What sense would it make to sacrifice their lives in order to save them?” 

Avernus snorted. “Very well, child, suit yourself. At your age I felt much the same.”

Something in the way he said child— not a word he often used for her, a word he clearly used now because he knew it would enrage her—sounded so much like Irving that she nearly lost control of herself. Who in the void did he think he was? If not for her grace, his desiccated corpse would be enriching the soil by now. She could have killed him when they’d first met. She could kill him now, if she wanted.

The old bastard watched her with a defiant, mocking eye, daring her to try. She could, couldn’t she? She was younger, faster, and yes, stronger. For all his experience, she had the more raw power to throw around. They had both seen battle, but his battles were a century old while hers were fresh and bleeding—and she’d bested him before. Granted, she hadn’t been alone then...but she was stronger now. Yes, she could kill him—

But the old blood mage was all she had.

“My title,” she said crisply, turning her eyes back to the slowly boiling cauldron, “is Commander.”

He rolled his eyes at her, and asked how her experiments with draconic gall had gone, and they spoke no more of it that day.

Avernus wasn’t all bad. He could be a cantankerous, amoral, belittling bastard, but he was clever, and not the worst to talk to. Sometimes he would be taken aback by her original ideas, rendered silent and thoughtful by her insights. Sometimes she would make a remark that seemed to her perfectly obvious, but which would send him consulting his notes and tomes, muttering under his breath. Each such instance left her smug and glowing for hours. Avernus never rendered praise—which she preferred—but this was better.

Pathetic, that she cared what he thought of her. And she did care. Commander or not, intellectual equal or not, she was his pupil. Avernus had plumbed depths of magic yet unknown to her, and his mind held secrets it would take her years to extract. And whatever his faults, he never lied, not about anything.

How badly she had wanted to please First Enchanter Irving as a child. How much she had lived for his praise, for his assurance that she was so bright, so special, so different from the other children. How pathetic he had looked when she had saved him from the Fade, how much she had hated his mealy-mouthed supplications to his Templar master. Each time she remembered it, she coated the memory with a fresh layer of poison.

Loriel was no fool, and she had no love for self-deception. She knew exactly what Avernus was, and what he was to her. But he, at least, was honest.

tck

Before she’d found Brigit, Loriel had managed intelligence of her keep with a network of enchanted crystals. Padding invisibly around her own Keep like a thief in te night would never have served for long. The crystals studded the halls of the Keep in unassuming braziers and in decorative sconces, transmitting everything that they saw and heard to a circle of polished silver in a dedicated chamber in the Underkeep. Crystals had special properties of resonance and purity that made them excellent for conveying sound. The real challenge had been getting crystals in a size and index that suited her. They didn’t occur naturally often enough to be worth harvesting, so she had had to figure out how to make them herself, with heated water and powdered minerals and careful spells of entropy to control their growth. It was finicky business; large enough to work, small enough to not be noticed, of just the right purity. The key was blood—her blood, connecting the network to the mirror and to herself. 

The next problem was how to limit the flow of information. The Keep was just too busy to monitor all at once. She’d had the thought to fix it by keying the crystal network to particular activation words, to keep from picking up on discussion of that evening’s dinner—but even then, it was too much. Loriel had lost hours to the mirror, hypnotized by every irrelevant word and image it sent. On bad days, it was all she did.

Three chief things Loriel learned from her mirror:

First: The kitchen girl she’d so thoughtlessly forced to forget her on the first day of her new life was never quite the same afterward. She often cried for no reason, couldn’t remember whole weeks of her life, and she didn’t know why. Her dearest friend—a scullery maid—would comfort her, let her weep into her shoulder, assure her that no, she wasn’t mad, that she needn’t give herself over to the mercy of the Chantry, that surely the Maker would send relief soon. 

Loriel regretted making her forget. She would not have done it, had she known it would break her mind. But neither did she indulge her guilt and shame. What a waste that would have been. Of course Loriel had hurt her—was that not entirely expected?

She knew perfectly well what she was. 

Second: Nearly everyone in the Keep she ruled feared her. Some hated her, some revered her, some loved her, but everyone feared her. 

That Loriel was a maleficar was not exactly an open secret. The new recruits didn’t know, and the old recruits weren’t sure or bold enough to tell them outright.

But oh, there were rumors.

Some seemed convinced that she had died long ago—that her seneschal had killed her, usurped her position, and only pretended to take her directives (after all, how long had it been since anyone had seen her? On these occasions Loriel occasionally made a point to appear briefly in the great hall). Others asserted that Loriel was the usurper, that the old commander had grown too popular and beloved and had planned to betray her, and so Loriel had betrayed and killed her first. Another version had it that Loriel kept the old commander imprisoned somewhere in the depths, chained up and tormented with blood magic. And that was well related to—

Third:   People still spoke of the old commander. Anytime something went wrong— the old commander never would have allowed this. The old commander would never have allowed the patrol schedule to change so inconveniently. The old commander never would have stood for substandard breakfast offerings. The old commander wouldn’t have tolerated this. The old commander would have kept us safe. The old commander cared. Many in the Keep were very confident on what exactly the old commander thought and felt about any subject on the sun you could care to name.

The first of Vigil’s Keep wardens were the worst about it. They gathered together some nights to play cards and drink, just the three of them, and the old commander would come up. Anytime the three of them met, Loriel would be there, too, invisible, intangible, unwanted. It was almost an addiction. Oghren would tell embarrassing stories from back during the Blight, and insist that he’d taught her everything she knew about fighting. Velanna always looked vaguely angry when this happened, but she listened anyway, and even asked questions, and many times Loriel caught her suppressing a genuine laugh. They’d wonder where she was, what she was doing. Sigrun would crack a forced smile and say, probably having a great time without us. They’d laugh. They’d miss her.

Loriel had never heard anything so insulting in her life.

In the end, the crystals turned out to be a mistake. It had been a fun project, but a wasteful one. One day she shattered the viewing mirror. If she really needed it, she could always make a new one, but for now, she was done. 

You couldn’t spend your life entranced by what you couldn’t have. You just couldn’t.

Anyway—she'd found Brigit by then. Brigit ran things better than Loriel could ever hope to. If Brigit made a popular decision, the Wardens all agreed that perhaps they were on the right track after all, with the Hero of Ferelden at the helm and all. If Brigit made an unpopular decision, the Wardens muttered that the old commander would never have stood for it, and if the Hero of Ferelden knew what was happening she would surely put an end to it.

Loriel herself rarely thought of the old commander. She had too much work to do.

tck

The first to go was Oghren. It had been for his own good. The Wardens had only ever been an escape for him, an excuse to wallow in his own refuse and avoid the wife and child he had been too weak to face. Well, no more. Loriel waited until he was sober, or as close as he ever came to it, to break the news.

“Go home, Oghren,” she’d told him. “Or don’t. Lay down in the gutter and finally drink yourself to death, if that’s what you really want. You can go wherever you want, but you can’t stay here.”

He’d sputtered, protested. Demanded to know why, and why now . Weren’t the Wardens supposed to take any old sod? Didn’t she have any respect for their long friendship? He’d kept an eye on her since she was naive little mageling fresh out of the Circle (now that was a funny joke) and now she was really just going to get rid of him? Just like that?

"Just like that," she confirmed, unmoved. “You don’t belong here. You have a family.”

He swore at her, so luridly that she was almost impressed. And then he calmed down. He called her a sodding waste of space, but his heart wasn’t in it. 

She made arrangements to have him taken care of. Supplies, escorts, whatever he needed. She wasn't a monster. She tried to be good to her people, when she could. She hoped he really did go back to his wife and child, though both their names escaped her at the moment. Of course she hoped for the best for him.

But she never did end up following up, and whatever became of Oghren Kondrat, Loriel never learned it.

tck

What was really surprising was how long Sigrun stuck around.

Loriel had assumed for years that Sigrun’s presence in her life was just on the verge of ending. They hadn’t been on good terms since the Dragonbone Wastes, and these days Loriel was not on good terms with anyone at all.

And even if Sigrun was too loyal and true to simply desert, she was foolhardy. She fought like she didn’t care if she died, because she didn’t. Each morning when Brigit recited the names of the dead, Loriel waited and waited to hear Sigrun’s name. That she’d died saving a fellow Warden, or charging a group of darkspawn to give the rest of her squad time, or that she’d simply not returned.

But Sigrun was still here.

How fitting for a dead woman to haunt her Keep, one who continued not to die. If Loriel didn’t know any better, she might have even thought that Sigrun missed Oghren, though Maker only knew why. If Loriel didn’t know any better, she might have even thought that Sigrun missed her, in some strange way. Of the original Wardens of the Keep, Sigrun was the only one who occasionally knocked on Loriel’s chamber doors, tentatively calling out her name and even waiting a few minutes before giving up. 

As though Loriel would tolerate her pity.

She hated to think of her. Hated to remember that she was still there at all, accusing Loriel of wrongdoing just by existing, even though she had no right at all to judge her. Hated to remember how much of herself she saw in the dwarf when she first saw sunlight.

Finally Loriel could take it no longer, and had Sigrun transferred to the Warden fortress in Orlais. Sigrun made only a cursory attempt to say goodbye, and within a blessed month, she was gone. 

tck

Velanna was the last to go.

Velanna was not her friend. She had never liked her, and tolerated her solely because Loriel represented something that Velanna wanted—justification for what had happened to her sister. But she had understood her, in her own way. For that reason alone Loriel half-expected her loyalty.

Even so, it was not altogether surprising when it happened.

Unlike the last time, Velanna did not succeed in barging through the door. The weave of enchantments on the door was far stronger than before. And Brigit was there to intercept her.

“I said, let me through. I know for a fact that she’s in there—you were just about to go in yourself. You go in there every day, I’ve noticed.”

“I am sorry, Warden, but the Commander expressly forbids visitors who have not been cleared beforehand. If you like, I can make your request today during my daily report.”

“I don’t think so.” A burst of unfamiliar magic rattled the door. Loriel was mildly impressed. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to get the job done, but that she had managed to affect it at all was impressive.

“Alright, fine. You don’t need to let me in but I know that you can hear me, so you are going to listen, whether there is a door in the way or not.” A furious inhale. “Has some demon taken your mind and driven you mad? You are not the woman I agreed to follow.” False. Velanna had never agreed to follow her at all.

“For what purpose do you exile your friends and surround yourself with enemies? Are you ignorant or foolhardy that this Keep is now full of Chantry fools and their attack dogs?” True, but flawed. Yes, the Vigil had a great deal more Chantry-faithful, as well as former Templars, in its employ, than before. But all Ferelden was full of Chantry fools and their attack dogs. All Loriel did was permit them the opportunity to die in the name of some higher calling.

“You aren’t doing any of this for us. You care nothing for us, if you ever did. Are you even trying to cure the Blight? Perhaps you are not!”

False. Loriel was trying. Of course she was trying.

“And if I am wrong—if a lick of what I have said is not true—then open this door and call me a liar to my face, you wretched cowardly betrayef." A beat.“Well?”

It sounded like Velanna really expected her to respond to any of that.

Loriel heard a final frustrated slam against the door, hammering footsteps, and then silence.

After a time, Brigit entered, trembling and hiding it. She alone had the enchanted, invisible ring which allowed the wearer to enter.

“I apologise deeply, Commander,” she whispered. “She overpowered me with magic. I was paralyzed.”

“I’m very sorry you had to experience that, Brigit,” Loriel said flatly, not looking up from the letter she was reading. “No lasting harm done, I trust?”

Brigit collected herself and inclined her head. “No harm done.”

“Good. Then, if you might proceed with your morning report…”

Velanna disappeared that day, and didn’t return. When no one had seen her in days and it became obvious that she had deserted, Brigit pressed the issue during the morning briefing. “Do you wish her hunted down and brought to justice?”

By the ever-so-delicate crease between her eyes, Loriel guessed that this was certainly what Brigit wished.

“No. It won’t be necessary.” She paused, considering. "But if she ever tries to return, do not let her."

[myst-ical]

It had been eight years since Ann had first come to D’ni. Eight years of wandering the city occupied by some couple thousand lone adventurers with her friends, and the Ages beyond.

On the remnants of the DRC, the company Hart’s parents had once worked for, a few old D’ni neighborhoods thrived. Some members, like Ann for the time, were what the community called “Stonebirds,” coming to visit for only a portion of the year, something now far more feasible for the community of explorers with the mysteriously left Book in the Cleft, and its matching Book in the city to return to the surface.

Ann was, however, officially done with her Stonebird days after her graduation the last winter. Her apartment in D’ni was filled with everything she figured worth bringing down from the surface: a hundred or so books, a laptop that occasionally had signal to the surface, posters that seemed out of place in the relic of the house she had, and a whole wardrobe with clothes prepared for exploring all kinds of biomes.

It was this wardrobe Ann shifted through now, pulling a box down from the shelf at the top. A small lock jangled as she brought the little safe to her bedroom desk. Easily enough, the lock came off with a key Ann produced, the lid opening to a pile of documents that were safer this far underground than back home with her parents. She added a few more documents to the pile, though she doubted she would ever need her diploma as long as she was living in D’ni.

From the box she took two items: a leather bound journal tied with a simple cord and a stone looking watch. The first she set on her desk, ready to compare her notes from the last year with her theories while she had been on the surface wrapping up her business there, before she closed the lock box and returned it to the shelf.

The second she pulled off of its protective sleeve and rested it around her wrist. Explorers would be hard pressed to find much in the way of news around D’ni without the subterranean version of the Internet at their disposal. KIs like the one Ann had were vital to staying up to date with news across all Ages, something that made it more reliable than wifi to be certain, even if its uses were mostly for communication at the moment.

Running her hand over the flat surface, Ann watched as a panel reached out and formed a wall of interactive light. She flicked through the panels, remembering how to navigate the old interface again as she searched through messages.

Messengers Guild - Monthly BBQ Updates

Jean (4 new messages)

Hector ( 1 new message)

Viv

Makenna (2 new messages, 1 attachment)

Travis (7 new messages)

Age Alerts

Finally, the one she was really searching for, Hart. Ann tapped her friend’s name, typing into the KI on its holographic screen. “You back yet?” 

The message joined the log from the last fall as Ann switched to review a few of the other messages. New Ages being stabilized, others have new instabilities, updated from the Guilds about Cavern events, a few congratulations about restored sections of the city or births. There was even a note about her recent graduation, which made her smile as she read over the well wishes beneath the listing.

Ann opened the log for Hector, quickly sending, “Did you tell the Messengers about my graduation?”

The reply was almost instant. “My Stonebirds are coming back! Come visit once you’re unpacked.”

Ann smiled wider, a warm feeling of family returning as she thought of all the days spent with Hector in his family’s home. He and his wife Isabell were the heart of their neighborhood, and ever since Ann had decided she wanted to move and live in D’ni, they had been with her every step of the way to her “citizenship” here.

“Checking in with Hart, will visit soon,” Ann sent back.

“Tell them we can fix the hole in their stomach before they can fix the hole between the Books, alright, Bird?”

“Will do.”

Ann switched back to her messages with Hart, a little upset when she didn’t see a reply. That wasn’t uncommon. When Hart was in D’ni, they were usually fairly lost in their work and Ann was used to hunting them down to make sure they ate. Still, it would nice to not have to spend her first day in D’ni on a goose hunt.

Quickly, Ann sent a few arrival messages to her other friends, though she knew Hector would have passed the news around already for an evening potluck for the summer Stonebirds’ return. 

Ann pulled the door to on her little one floor home, turning the newly installed lock shut before making her way down the winding street out through the half finished repaired alleyways. A few residents were out walking between the streets, passing through the general store down the street where surface supplies and orders were hauled in, heading to work on some repair job, or working with the few reestablished Guilds who organized their community as a whole. Ann waved with a bright smile on her face, the excitement of being back in D’ni, of being home at last, finally setting in as she walked down the street towards the harbor.

In so many ways, D’ni was silent. There was nothing like the sound of bird song or wind between the stones or even the sounds of a city like Ann had grown up in. She was fairly certain they hardly qualified even as a small city, between their low population and the fact that they were building on ruins to make this community. Maybe during the summer when more people returned and explorers were more likely to venture into the city, but the rest of the year hardly.

And yet, Ann walked through the streets feeling it brimming with life. She passed under shattered archways and by split buildings and could imagine them filled with people in their glory days. Even as a ghost of a civilization, the city was humming with stories and legacies that Ann wanted to hunt down. 

As she came out around the narrow paths and onto the main thoroughfare, Ann stopped. The worn stone beneath was polished smooth from millenia of travelers across the stones being tread again by this new settlement, and beyond it was the vibrant orange sea that lit much of the cavern. No matter how many times Ann got a clear look at the coastline, she was still blown away by the magnitude of it, and how small the spot where she was standing was compared to the vastness of D’ni itself.

The awe waned and the moment passed. Ann tapped at her KI for a moment before resuming her walk down towards the harbor. She took a picture of the sea, before swiping back through to her messages. There was nothing new, at least, nothing from people she wanted to hear from.

“Hart, come on,” Ann muttered, closing out of the display.

It was possible of course that Hart hadn’t gotten back to D’ni yet. With their studies, Ann certainly wouldn’t be surprised if they had been held up with some last minute assignment from one of the doctors they were working under. But considering Hart’s second “major” they were pursuing in D’ni and could only pursue in D’ni, Ann had never known them not to be back before her to continue practicing at it.

Down at the harbor was where the sounds of water overpowered the steady drone of the machines running in the distant walls of the cavern. It was also where it was easier to escape away from the life brimming around D’ni’s small populace when you could take out one of the recovered stone boats onto the water.

However, it wasn’t out on the water where Ann would find Hart. They had often come down to the remains of what must have once been a regular stop for dock workers when they needed a moment from exploring along the shore when they’d first started making regular trips to D’ni. Hart and Jean had found it mostly intact and structurally sound enough to frequent the place, something Jean had gone out of her way to check.

Now it was their little secret, a quiet workspace by the coast. Perhaps not entirely a secret, Hector knew about it for safety reasons, but it was at least observed as a space just for their little collection of high school friends and not as a hot spot for other explorers. In a city as big and empty as D’ni though, most people had such a space somewhere.

Crawling in through the half cover, half support crack in the wall entrance, Ann pulled her way along her back until she came out into a small stone public house. Shelves had been filled with books, split sources from the surface and from the Cavern, along with a well stocked bar, both with drinks and food of the long shelf life variety. On the other side of the chamber, all of the tables and chairs had been pushed away for a scattering of stars hung from the ceiling, papers spread over the floor as Hart sat bent over the piles in the center of the floor.

“Coming in,” Ann called as she pulled herself the last few scoots into the bar. Her voice hung in the air, and she watched it not even registering with her friend as she stood up and brushed herself off for a moment. “Hart, you with us?”

Finally, Hart pulled their attention away from the book, blinking for a moment before finally recognition began to show in their eyes. “Oh, Ann. I’m glad you’re back.”

Carefully navigating the papers, Ann came to sit down beside Hart. “You sound absolutely thrilled to see me.”

But Hart was already buried back in their work, jumping between three different open notebooks and more than twice as many reference books. They muttered, “Sorry.”

Ann leaned against her friend’s side, rubbing a hand against their back as she tried to look over the materials and see if she could figure out what Hart was working through. The notes were a smattering of sources, one written entirely in D’ni, a language Ann was still struggling with herself. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess what it was about based on the blank book in Hart’s lap.

“Hector invited us over to eat,” Ann said, pressing her hand on Hart’s far shoulder.

“In a bit,” Hart muttered.

“You’re not going to solve this in a day, Hart.” Ann pulled the other open book towards her. There was something about wormholes, though most of it admittedly went over Ann’s head even if she could read the text. Not her field. “You’re really looking into this?”

Hart looked up from their journal, leaning over to read the book. “Yeah, might as well rule it out.”

Ann grinned a little. “My stupid high school crack theory worthy of being test against the D’ni, huh?”

“Maybe not a crack theory. It’s like that...that book you told me about, the one about the kids going through a bunch of dimensions—”

“A Wrinkle In Time?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The folding the napkin thing. That’s what the Books are right?”

Ann set the book down again. “But even in that book they only went between dimensions, which is the same as the Books too.”

“But what if, what if—” Hart got up and pulled out a loose piece of paper. They drew a dot on each of the far corners and folded them together. “This is how we picture the Books, it links two points in infinite universes.”

“Yeah, I follow that.” Ann leaned back, resting her cheek on her hand.

Hart unfolded the paper, scribbling something in the middle. “But what if someone figured out how to redirect that without having to go to a Nexus.” They folded the paper again into a trifold, pointing to the middle fold. “What if the Book we found in the Cleft could bring us here because we were linked to another Age and then immediately redirected again to D’ni?”

“Why not just link us to the Nexus?” Ann asked, taking the trifold from them.

“We couldn’t use the Nexus. We would have been trapped in there until someone with a KI came in,” Hart answered, before tapping the center of the folded paper. “This would speed everything up, people could get here in mass. I think someone wants more people coming down to D’ni. Someone who knows a lot about the Art.”

Ann held the paper up, quirking a brow. “You think someone would figure out how to make like a double layered wormhole just to bring more people to D’ni?”

“I think it’s possible.” Hart shrugged, nodding.

“Who would— No, wait, I came to get you for dinner.” Ann handed the paper back to Hart and then stood up. “Food first and then we can bounce it between each other.”

“Ann, I’m so—”

Ann put up her hand. “Nope, food. If you could figure it out now, you can figure it out later and faster with food in your stomach. Come on, before Hector starts calling.” She took her hand and held it out to Hart.

With a heavy sigh, Hart closed the journal in their lap and moved to close the other books. Collecting the pile, Hart took Ann’s hand and stood up. They grabbed a bag leaning against the side of the tables before returning the other books to the shelves. “Alright, alright, tell Hector we’re coming.”

“Will do,” Ann replied, opening up her KI again. She set out the message to Hector that they were on their way, hesitating to close the display as Hart started making their way out of the crack. A new message was sitting at the top of the display that left Hart’s comments tumbling in her mind as her stomach turned in knots.

“Guild Presentation Approved For Panel: Guild of Ambassadors.”

[the-omni-princess]

Frozen Heart [Chapter 8]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary:  After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

Word Count: 5.2K

Pairing: King!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Royalty Au!)

Warnings:  Absolute and utter fluff!, badass!reader, mild language, a self-harm mention (not reader), Nudity but no smut

A/N:

I’m back! With so much fluff you’ll cry!

So, I have legit like four chapters done so if it all goes well I’ll be posting one a day, plus some one-shots I did!

No smut yet, but I got a one-shot smut Im posting tomorrow and then this series getting smutty :D but 18+ only or you’ll be getting blocked

-

[Series Masterlist]  [Masterlist]

----

Light flooded the once dark room as Natasha opened the curtains. You groaned, turning to your side and pulling a pillow over your eyes. "Five more minutes!" You cried out, your voice gruff with sleep.

Wanda poked her head out of the bathroom to speak, "Rise and shine! You need a bit of a pick-me-up so here I am, your bath is already drawn, and I'll be washing and braiding your hair."

You took a peek from underneath your pillow that sheltered you from the harsh morning light. "With the oils and perfume Pietro brought over?" You asked in a whisper, still desperate for sleep, but slowly being coaxed out of bed.

Wanda nodded, "One time offer so hurry up!"

"I'm coming!" You conceded, stretching your back, and letting the pillow fall off your face.

Five minutes later you were laying in the bath, Wanda washing your hair, her nails scratching your scalp as she shampooed your strands. You groaned softly, melting into her palms as you sipped on your coffee.

"So, y/n," Natasha, who was sitting beside the tub, doing your nails on your free hand, started to say. "How's the King treating you?"

You sighed softly, "I should have known you two were up to something, this sort of pampering only comes before events or when you're buttering me up," you teased. It had been about three months since you had moved up North with Bucky, and the seasons had shifted to autumn, the mountains already had more snow on top of them, bringing the cold to you. Bucky was swept up in work, busy trying to make sure the kingdom had enough in storage to last the winter. In the morning he would rush to meetings, and in the evenings when he could, he would find you around the castle. You were slowly familiarizing yourself in the halls, the passageways had a lot of wrong turns that could throw someone off, which just reminded you of your garden maze back in the South.

So far Bucky had been spoiling you rotten, and despite the multitude of interruptions, he was trying his hardest to spend time with you. He had managed to sneak himself away to give you a silver constellation necklace on a small golden chain, the constellation his birth was tied to, a necklace that never left your neck. He was still working on the greenhouse, but with his help, you managed to fix up the library, including a new window seat with pillows and fur-lined blankets.

You still remember the day you had found his personal study, the place he mentioned he destroyed during a rampage when he first came back from the War. It was an utter mess, books and maps littered the floor, the desk had splintered, and one wall had a hole in it, left behind most likely by his metal arm punching it. You immediately started to clean up the room, and that's how he found you that night, asleep, curled up against the desk, clutching a map of the Southern and Northern Kingdoms, the room mostly cleaned up. He had picked you up and tried to tuck you into bed, but you only buried yourself deeper into his arms, happy for the extra warmth.

You had also begun to bring warmth to the castle, one that you had heard the maids whispering about once. Naturally grown flowers from the nearby village were found in multiple rooms, scented candles from the lovely old lady two villages down the mountain, even representatives from other nations had mentioned the life seeping into the palace. You even had constellation lights added into your chambers, a fact only a select few people knew, and a new book on Morse code since you found out Bucky and Steve learned it in the War.

You had also frequently checked in with Steve, who sent Scott with you since he only trusted a few personal guards with your life, and Scott already knew the Northern Kingdom since his daughter Cassie lived with her mom and stepdad in the North. Steve was also doing perfectly fine as King, making you prouder than ever, and finally had a date with the Lady in court he had been eyeing.

Yet despite the many attempts you had of making this new home, well homely, something always felt missing. Love. Bucky. Always busy, always tiring himself out, wearing himself out too thin, he put the needs of the people and you above his own. You told as much to Natasha and Wanda, the latter having moved on to conditioning your hair now.

"I love him, gods, I absolutely adore him, but he needs to think of himself every once in a while. He has too many duties, taking on everything at once, and I have a feeling that's why you two are currently pampering me," you looked towards Natasha, who had a smirk on her face.

"You're reading my mind, y/n/n," she teased. "A King needs a Queen, henceforth, we are making you one. He has a meeting with his advisors today about increasing the storage for the grains to survive the winter. We both know you have been working on a plan, a good one, but you're too scared to tell him outright."

Wanda combed out your hair, massaging oils into your scalp as she spoke next. "Show everyone you will be a magnificent queen. Today, you're not going to just look like a queen, you're going to act like one. They won't respect you until you show them you're not some show pony princess from the south."

You smiled faintly, "You two are always scheming behind my back, but it is a good idea. Finally, be heard, be in charge, pull some of the weight of the duties off of Bucky, spend more time with him," you sighed and melted against Wanda's magical hands again. "Let's be a Queen." You whispered softly.

You let the two do their utter best, and by the end of it, you looked absolutely regal. A simple pink lace evening dress, and a tiara made of crystals on your head, you held back a proud smirk when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The tiara was made of rose gold, which caught the light when you moved, just enough to catch people's attention without being flashy. You finished the look with the constellation necklace Bucky had given you, which shone brightly against the pink lace.

You pushed your shoulders back, and held your head up high, deciding to use your best regal look, one you had perfected over the years. You entered the strategy room, all eyes going towards you. Advisors circled the table, maps, and plans along the table, with Bucky at the head of the table. Everyone was standing and considering the red faces of more than one advisor, you had interrupted a rather heated fight. You locked eyes with Bucky, who instantly smiled as he saw you, the cold expression he had when you walked in had melted just at the sight of you.

You took your time walking towards his side of the table, standing towards his left as you would if you were seated on thrones, taking your time to address the table. "Good afternoon, my Love," you happily kissed Bucky's now clean shave cheek. He had decided to go for the haircut and shaved after all, with hair just long enough for you to get your hands through it. You then turned to the advisors, "Good afternoon everyone, I have decided to join you all." You smiled warmly, leaving no room for disagreement, full well knowing you would still get some. Bucky looked at you a bit confused but also in awe, taking in the new order in stride, trusting you fully.

His advisors, however, weren't as welcome. "With all due respect, princess, we are speaking about a matter that does not concern you," a white-haired official spoke up, you recognized as Baron Ross. Despite Bucky's surprise of your presence, he knew Natasha and Scott had been teaching you everything to know about Northern Politics, including all the nobles and advisors in court, and who to be wary of.

"Well, Baron Ross, it does concern me. I may have been born in the Southern Kingdom, but the people of the Northern Kingdom will be my people soon enough. Unless you are saying that feeding said people is a topic that should not concern the leader of the people, I should and will be here." You kept your head held up high, determined not to show the fear in your heart that they wouldn't like you. It doesn't matter what they think, you reminded yourself, Bucky chose you and that's all that matters.

Another representative, one you couldn't see, spoke up. "Then what do you suppose you could do about the problem at hand? What could you possibly know about the situation?"

You bit back the growl growing in the back of your throat, Bucky wasn't as suppressed, you could see him tense, no doubt about to lash out at the man who questioned your ability. You gently placed your hand on top of his metal hand that was gripping the table. He visibly relaxed, as the metal had sensors to fire into his nerves, something you had asked Shuri once, and your very touch soothed him.

"Well, I know you have all been bickering about the food storage for the past month. Quarreling like children will only hinder the people instead of yourselves as we all know the Royal and Noble silos have been full for months. Besides, I've been working on a solution that will help the people that all parties should benefit from." You effectively shut the rest of the table up, and all eyes were on you as you explained your idea. Halfway through, Bucky had intertwined your hands together, letting you take charge of the room with his silent support. By the time they closed for the day, you had a fully functional plan and agreement in place that suited everyone's needs while also helping the kingdom.

You walked hand in hand with Bucky, who was in complete awe of you. "You were absolutely amazing, My Love! You going to be a magnificent Queen, you practically already are one!" He gushed, making you blush.

"Took a little push from my ladies but they were right, it's time I help ease the burden upon your shoulders, My Love," you kissed his cheek playfully, glancing behind you towards the personal guards flanking you, new ones you noticed. "What shall we do with our new free time?"

His face lit up, no doubt a grand idea forming in his head. "Follow me, it's time I introduce you to somebody," he sounded excited, already tugging you outside to where the Royal animals were kept.

He whistled once inside, his grip on your hand faltering as he took a step forward. A flash of pure white bounded towards the two of you, jumping into Bucky and knocking him backward. You yelped as his hand was ripped away from you, but all you could hear was his laughter as he wrestled with the white fur on top of him. It took you a moment to realize it was a pure white wolf attacking Bucky with kisses. He finally managed to sit up, and your heart melted at the sight before you. The juvenile wolf was still nipping at him, kissing his face, and yipping happily as he rubbed her ears and muzzle. A breathless Bucky looked up towards you, the bundle of fur managing to tire herself out, now curled up in his lap, definitely too big to fit there but managing to crush him anyway. "This is Aurora, my wolf, she's still a pup but she's already fiercely loyal, and ball of energy," he cooed at the wolf pup, who just whined and nuzzled into the hand scratching her ear.

You knelt beside the two, noticing how the wolf bared her teeth towards you as you got closer to Bucky. "She's absolutely beautiful," you said softly. Bucky gently took your hand in his own, presenting it to the wolf. She sniffed at you warily before nudging your palm with her muzzle. Bucky led your hand, gently brushing the wolf's fur. She was softer than most of the furs in your bed, and soon she closed her eyes, trusting that Bucky wouldn't let you hurt her. She whined softly, and as Bucky let your hand go, she relaxed against your hand, happily letting you scratch behind her ears. Bucky couldn't help but smile, overjoyed Aurora loved you. You sat beside him, Aurora nudging herself onto your lap to enjoy your affection. You cooed at the wolf, "You're such a good girl, aren't you? Such a good Wolfie, so soft and pretty!" The wolf in question melted against you, practically purring in your arms.

Bucky whistled, and her ears perked, but she stayed contentedly in your arms. "She loves you more than me!" He accused dramatically.

You laughed, shrugging, "I'm just that amazing," you teased, giving Bucky a toothy grin.

He chuckled, standing up, "There's someone else you need to meet," when you looked up, you noticed how nervous he was. He tried whistling again, a different tone, and Aurora slowly got up, still looking towards you with her golden eyes. She curled into a ball beside you but now off of your lap, causing Bucky to groan. "Yep, you're definitely the favorite."

You giggled, running your fingers through her fur as she whimpered happily. "So, who is this new person I need to meet?" You asked happily, grinning up at him.

He smiled bashfully, "Wait here, close your eyes, My Love," he leaned over and kissed your temple just as you closed your eyes. You had your hands on your lap, hearing him shuffling around, and the voice of one of the animal keepers. He came back towards you and placed something small and furry in your arms before taking a step back. "Open your eyes, My Queen," he whispered into your ear, goosebumps raising, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You looked down, gasping softly at the small bundle of grey and black fur, a tiny wolf pup in your arms. You cooed, the pup looking up at you with bright blue eyes, which were just a shade lighter than Bucky's eyes. "Aw! You're the sweetest little thing!" You kept cooing, happily holding the pup close. She whined softly, relaxing into your arms, making you smile warmly at the pup. "What's her name?" You looked up at Bucky who was currently taking a picture of you and the pup, his own heart melting as he saw the bundle of fur curl into your body warmth. "Raine," he said with a grin, already putting his phone away and sitting beside you again. "It means Queen. This cutie was born four months ago, and we were waiting for her eyes to open so she could meet you. In another month, she starts her training and before you know it, she'll be attached to your hip like Aura is to me." He was smiling proudly, and the pup whined softly, diverting your attention to the pup.

"You precious pup!" You kissed the wolf's head, who just whimpered, nudging her muzzle into your cheek. You showered the pups with kisses and affection, practically purring loving words towards them. Both wolves eagerly soaked up your affection.

"Technically, she's supposed to be a wedding gift, but I could help myself." Bucky tenderly pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling warmly towards you.

You launched at him, hugging him and kissing him gently, careful of the wolf pup in your arms. "Thank you! A million times, thank you, Bucky. She's absolutely precious! I love her so much, and I love Aurora so much, and most of all I love you so much!" You gushed, grinning at him.

He gave you a goofy smile, absolutely enamored by you, and he noticed the wolf pup yawning in your arms. "I believe it's this little one's bedtime," he kissed your temple once you two broke apart, and you stood gingerly, still clinging to the pup, walking beside him to put the pup to bed, Aurora staying close to your legs. "And you're welcome, My Moon and Stars," you grinned at the new pet name, your smile making him melt. You put the pup into the fur bed, Aurora curling herself around the pup protectively. "Aura practically adopted her," Bucky explained, taking your hand in his, smiling as the two of you walked back into the castle.

"They are absolutely gorgeous," you grinned up at him, holding yourself close to him. "What should we do now, My Love," you said softly, following him towards his chambers.

"How about a movie? We can finally watch that other movie you wanted me to watch, Moana, and I made sure that we both have tomorrow off." You said goodnight to the guards posted at the door to his chambers, grinning as the doors closed behind the two of you.

"So, an entire day with you all to myself?" You teased him, pressing yourself against the ornate wooden doors. "Sleep in, relax all day, kiss all day," he followed suit, leaning against you, your chests pressed together.

He tenderly laid his forehead against yours, your lips ghosting past each other. "I have a picnic I want to take you on, on this beautiful spot I think you'll adore."

Your lips curled up in a smile, "I'd love that," your hands ran up his chest, mapping his muscles out. "Kiss me, Bucky," you whispered softly, locking eyes.

He tilted your chin up, moving the inch closer to your lips, your lips melding against his. He pressed against you harder as you deepened the kiss; you sucked on his bottom lip, smirking at his resulting groan. His hands wrapped around your wrists, pinning them against the door, making your heart skip a beat.

You broke the kiss, taking a deep gulp of air, your chest heaving against him. Your corset wasn't really helping matters, the restrictive material making it hard to breathe. Bucky noticed, yelping as he took a step back, letting your arms go. "Shit, you can't breathe!" He fussed, his hands freezing right above the lace of your dress.

You nodded, "It's okay, help me out of this thing, before you try taking my breath away again," you teased. You walked a bit into the room, turning and shifting your hair to the side to expose the strings of the dress and corset underneath. You looked over your shoulder, Bucky standing there, frozen in place, unsure what to do. "It's okay Buck, I trust you," you encouraged him.

He stepped closer, but still didn't grab the strings. "I don't want to make you think you have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," he spoke in a meek voice.

"Like I said, My Love, I trust you. If I want you to stop anything, I'll tell you. If you think it's too far, just ask me and I'll answer," you gently led his arms to the edge of the strings. He nodded, tugging the beginning of the strings loose, you let out a harsh breath, instantly feeling better.

"May I kiss your skin, My Moon and Stars?" He whispered softly, his breath hot against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You managed a weak "yes," your body ready to relax against him in total trust. You felt his lips against your neck, just against your pulse point. You moaned softly, the gentle touches lighting your skin on fire. As he tugged more strings loose, he lightly kissed your neck and shoulders. Your eyes fluttered close, melting against him. "Tell me more about courting traditions," you murmured softly.

Bucky chuckled behind you, a bit confused by the complicated corset, but getting the hang of it. "Well, a courting starts with a silent promise written down. The person being courted can only read that promise during their wedding ritual. Any gender can start it towards any other gender and technically at any age, but it typically is done when they are both of age. Courting can take months, or years, or longer. Like how Dum Dum and his wife started courting when they were thirteen, and they married when he came back from the war." He loosened the last few strings of the dress, and you let it fall, now only in the corset and your panties.

"Keep going," you whispered softly. You felt Bucky nuzzle into your neck, kissing any skin he could find while he continued loosening the corset and speaking.

"The person doing the courting spoils the courted person, proving to them and to others that they can provide for them, physically, spiritually, mentally," he paused, kissing right below your ear on your soft spot, making you purr beneath him. "Sexually," he finished the corset strings, which had just enough give to stay on your body.

"Care for a bath instead of a movie? We don't have to do anything," you quickly added, letting your hand slip into his hair, gently carding through the strands. "You could tell me more about the rituals," you mumbled before noticing how silent he was at your idea. "What's wrong, My Love?" You asked softly, turning and quickly holding his face in your hands, running your thumbs across his cheeks soothingly.

He melted against your palms with a small sigh. "You won't like what you see when I am not clothed," he whispered softly. It didn't take a genius to realize he was ashamed of his scars.

"Nonsense, I love you, not for your looks but for your heart," you pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. "We don't have to, this isn't just about my comfort, it's also about yours. Let me hold you close, all of you," he looked down towards you, smiling faintly before nodding.

"I trust you," he whispered softly. Your heart melted, you knew he didn't give out his trust freely, as his trust was more guarded than his heart. You two had made your way to the bathroom, and you turned on the water to the bathtub, turning back towards him as it filled.

You kissed his nose playfully, "No hanky panky," you teased, unbuttoning his shirt.

He chuckled, nodding, "No hanky panky," he mumbled.

You smiled warmly, already letting your hands gently push back his shirt. He visibly tensed as you exposed his left shoulder. The scars where metal met flesh were angry and red, and months of watching the healers patch up others could tell you it was partially self-inflicted. You kissed the scar gently, gauging his reaction. He relaxed just a smidge as he closed his eyes, surrendering fully to you. You let the shirt fall to the floor, kissing every scar along his shoulders and collarbones. His chest was an array of multiple scars and burns; you didn't stop to think about what caused all of them, it was all in the past.

"These scars aren't ugly, My Love. They are your own constellations. They are a map of your past. They mean that you are strong, and you survived terrible things, that you are a warrior." You saw him start to relax as you kiss more scars, practically whimpering as you kissed his skin. His body was well sculpted, made from the gods, is all you could think. Pure muscle, toned, golden skin; you let your hands happily explore his chest and stomach, lightly mapping him out.

Eventually, he melted against you, accepting that you weren't running away or scared. His hands found their way to your hips, running up your back and tugging at the strings of your corset. "May I see you as well, My Love?" he murmured softly against at the shell of your ear. You nodded, biting your lip as he tugged the last string free, letting the corset fall, leaving you in only your panties and the constellation necklace around your neck.

You were a bit insecure, your arms crossing against your chest as you looked away. Bucky's hands stopped you, gently moving your arms away before tilting your face up to see him. "You're absolutely beautiful, doll," he spoke softly. Your nipples hardened from the cold air, a small shiver running down your spine as goosebumps raised on your skin. He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, "Absolutely perfect," he mumbled. You whimpered softly, your eyes fluttering close at his touch. He ran his hands down your body, before they found their way to your hips, tugging you in as Bucky pressed his lips against your own. That was heaven, you decided. Soft lips of velvet and a faint taste of coffee and vanilla, you loved kissing Bucky.

Your hands stopped the water in the bath, before blindly tugging at his pants as you kissed him, his hands curling against the band of your panties. A few moments later you both stood naked in front of each other, unknowingly both nervous about what the other would think. You locked eyes with Bucky, gently taking his hand and leading him to the bath. He sat in the warm waters first, leading you in the tub. You sat between his legs, happily leaning against his chest, your fingers already tracing patterns into both of his arms.

Nothing about what you two were doing was sexual, both of you needed the intimacy with each other, reassuring the other was really there. "Tell me more about courting," you whispered softly, leaning your head on Bucky's shoulder.

He smiled warmly behind you, wrapping his arms around your stomach to keep you close. "Well, there are cases of mutual courtship, where both parties spoil each other," he spoke softly, one of his hands leaving your stomach to run through your hair.

"There is?! Why didn't you tell me? I would love to spoil you," you whisper-yelled, turning in his arms.

He chuckled, nuzzling his nose into your neck. "Your very presence spoils me. You're my Northern Star, Doll," he whispered softly.

"I never got the chance to ask you what that means," you carded your fingers through his hair, unknowingly soothing him, his eyes closing.

"There's a part of my story I haven't told you yet, My Love," he kissed your exposed neck, smiling faintly as you purred beneath him. "I've been in love with you since we were younger, the beautiful princess I couldn't get enough of. I had a lot of flings when we were younger because I thought you could never be mine, even engaged I thought you'd only see me as your husband out of necessity and not love. During the war, once Steve rescued me I sat for a month, waiting, healing. During that month I read through every letter you had sent me during the time I was gone, and Stevie even let me read his, all of his mentioned me in some way. It took me the middle of a war, already losing everything, to realize you loved me the way I loved you. After the war and multiple mental breaks, all Steve had to do was mention you and it set me right again. You, doll, guide me back home just by existing, you're my Northern Star." You practically melted into his arms as he spoke, gently curling his hair around your fingers. "Sometimes I believe the reason the crown fell onto my head was so that it may also fall upon yours. The kind yet fierce, loyal and brave, intelligent and beautiful Princess. The woman who was born to be a Queen," he murmured into your neck, goosebumps raising where his breath fanned across. "The sexiest woman in the world, the woman who owns my heart."

You practically whimpered in his arms. You were right, you most definitely would not survive lovemaking with him. He kept his metal hand firm on your lower stomach, dangerously close to your core, which sent heat directly towards it. You tensed, feeling his right hand at your rib, just a hair below your breast. "I promised not to try anything," he whispered softly, both hands freezing, "I just want to hold you."

His voice soothed you, and you relaxed against him. "I trust you, truly I do, I've just never... I haven't..." You fumbled for words. Your cultures were very different from each other. In the Southern Kingdom, practically every one of Noble birth waited until marriage, while in the North it wasn't expected of Nobles to do as such, in fact, most didn't.

"You've never had sex before. I understand, doll," he reassured softly. "I will wait for you. Whether it's on our wedding night or even afterward, I'll wait an eternity for you. I'll never push you to do something you don't want to."

You felt hot tears build up in your eyes, you quickly blinked them away, feeling nothing but absolutely loved. Every time you thought you were at the peak of your love for Bucky, he proved you wrong, you couldn't stop loving this man and he kept proving he absolutely adored you. "I want to, and I want you, wholly and fully. I just don't want my first time in a bathtub." You teased lightly, a yawn almost breaking your words. You nuzzled closer to him, your eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

He chuckled behind you, the vibrations sending warmth throughout your body. "Rest, My Love, I'll tuck you in bed, and we have tomorrow off, remember? All the sleep you want," he kissed your temple lovingly, reaching over and tugging the drain loose.

He stood, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you, picking you up bridal style. Your eyes closed, content in his arms, quickly approaching sleep. "What clothes would you like, My Love?" you hummed in acknowledgment but smiled playfully, tucking yourself deeper into his arms and not answering. He sighed softly, "You little troublemaker," he teased, slowly placing you under the covers of his bed. You whined when he pulled away, much to his amusement. He kissed your hair, smiling as he smelled your lavender shampoo, "I'll be right back, promise," he whispered softly.

He quickly dried off, tossing on a pair of boxers before joining you in bed. You quickly found his body warmth, snuggling closer to him, letting the blanket between you get pushed away. You weren't scared to be completely naked in his arms, fully trusting he wouldn't try anything, you just weren't quite ready (well frankly have the energy) to do anything tonight.

He pulled blankets and furs above the two of you, elated to wrap his arms around you. He kissed your temple, making you purr in your dazed state. He chuckled, thinking you looked positively adorable. "Goodnight and sweet dreams, My Northern Star," he whispered softly, his voice luring you into a restful sleep.

-

TAGS:

Frozen Heart Tags:

@jsmith509 / @lumar014 / @littlemissporter / @kaylaphantomhive  

@damnbuckyishot / @aveatquevale- / @booksbeforebois  

@marvelgirl7 / @minetticatinwonderland  

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings  / @darkness-doughter / @novaddictx

(Striked out means it wouldn't tag you)

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

[biasedwriting]

God Save the King ||20||

Find all parts here

TW: Fever dreams

Yes, I am back and rusty as ever!

Minseok eyed the two Queens sitting quietly by the king’s bed. The moment the doctor had announced that there didn’t seem to be any particular cause for the seizure and he would have to check back for possible poisoning a silence had filled the room. Minseok himself had rushed to the King’s Quarters almost as soon as the news reached him, finding the younger queen standing calmly by the bed next to the doctor while the Queen mother was almost in tears. He couldn’t blame the Queen mother, King Daesuk had suffered through the last few months of his life in a similar manner.

He eyed the absolute lack of expression on Queen Minah’s face as she watched the King sleep. The advisor could see her mind was rushing even though her eyes were focused on the man on the bed. Joonmyun slipped into place beside him and took a sip of water from the glass in his hands. 

“I suppose we’ll need to launch an investigation into this as soon as his majesty regains consciousness.”

“The sooner we begin, the better,” Minseok replied, tone hushed, watching the new Queen draw a handkerchief from her sleeve and hand it to Queen Eunjeong whose tears finally made their appearance, rolling down her cheeks. “What was the last thing his majesty consumed?”

“The maid tells me that the queen had ordered for a cup of warm milk sweetened with honey for his majesty. He retired to his chambers when I arrived at the quarters. The Queen’s dog started barking which alerted us of the King’s condition...”

“The dog that despises you?” Minseok quirked his eyebrow at his fellow advisor before looking around the room for the canine.

“The queen’s assistant came to retrieve him, I had accompanied her out and just returned.” Joonmyun shrugged, making Minseok frown.

“The girl off the street?” 

“Yes, precisely the one.”

Minseok turned back to the young Queen who was now looking at the two of them. Sighing, she stood up from her seat and walked over to the members of the small council.

“If I may suggest something,” she began, voice low but still clear “it is best if whatever his majesty is consuming is controlled and checked on by us so as to ensure that his condition does not exacerbate.” she shifted her glance to the king when he turned in his sleep "if necessary, I will prepare his meals myself."

"We will be doing just that, and running an investigation into the kitchen staff. Whoever did this will not go unpunished, your majesty." The eldest advisor replied while Joonmyun nodded in agreement.

"It is best you keep the Queen mother company as she doesn't seem in good spirits. We will handle this. Please do not worry."

Minah nodded to them and returned to her spot beside Eunjeong who shot her a pained smile. The younger Queen turned to her husband, lifting the cold towel off his forehead and checking his temperature, pursing her lips, before soaking the fabric in the basin of water beside the bed, wringing it and placing it back on him.

“We shall take your leave,” Joonmyun bowed to the Queens while nudging Minseok who bowed along with him “we shall be looking into this matter and getting in touch with Lord Zhang to  increase security around his majesty’s chambers.”

Minah nodded to the two as she sat back down as Taekwoon turned in his sleep, sighing and tugging the blankets closer to him.

"The fever isn’t coming down.” she mumbled as Eunjeong stood up to sit next to her son and brush back the hair on his head and sighed when he turned towards the touch, eyes opening, bleary and unfocused. He sat up, looking at his mother. Minah stood up at the sight, alert to his every move. 

“Are my children alright?” he asked weakly, making Minah freeze. Children? She looked at the Queen mother with wide eyes. Eunjeong looked at her son with as much of a straight face as she could keep. 

“Yes, your children are alright…” Eunjeong whispered, easing her son back into the bed, his unfocused eyes gaped at her in worry.

“What about my wife?”

“She’s right here, son.” the Queen mother replied as Taekwoon’s eyes fixed themselves on Minah before he took a deep breath, his eyes sliding shut again as he fell back asleep. Eunjeong sighed, picking up the wet cloth now on his sheets and placing it back on his forehead. 

“Fever dreams are a part and parcel of being ill in the Jung family,” the Queen mother’s voice shook as she looked at her daughter-in-law, unshed tears in her eyes “Taekwoon has always wanted a family.... His fever dreams have always been about his wife and children being in danger.” Eunjeong looked back at her son “I don’t know...if he’ll have a chance.”

Minah bit down on her lower lip, feeling guilty. _________________________________________________________

“The investigations with the Yun Province need to be put on hold now,” Joonmyun sighed, pouring out wine into two glasses. The last two days had been hectic. While the king was now awake, he was still weak and recovering under the constant watch of his wife, mother, and the doctors. Handing one of the glasses over to Minseok he scrubbed his face with his hand “I’m starting to think Kwanghee is involved in this to keep the heat off him.”

“Is Kwanghee even aware of us looking into the matter?” Minseok asked, eyeing his fellow advisor, before picking up his glass of wine. 

“If I were him I’d be cautious too, keep as many eyes on the court as much as I can,” Joonmyun shrugged, sipping at the red liquid sloshing in his glass. His eyes looked tired as he sat down in the seat in front of Minseok heavily. 

“But such a drastic act against the king? Would Kwanghee stoop down to treason?” the elder exclaimed. Joonmyun frowned at the man sitting across him.

“He’s siphoning all the resources of the land as is, it would be much easier for him if we had no King. The chaos in our kingdom helped his cause and he’d want that to last for as long as it can.”

Minseok frowned back at Joonmyun as silence reigned over the room. The two took deep drinks of their wine. Minseok was deep in thought and Joonmyun could tell there was something brewing in his mind. He watched the elder over the rim of his glass, trying to figure out what he was thinking about. 

“You have another theory,” Joonmyun broke the silence as Minseok frowned, still staying silent. Joonmyun raised his eyebrow at him. 

“I do...but.”

“It is a theory, this is a space you can share it.” Joonmyun waved to the council room in which they were seated. 

“Do you think she did it?” Minseok wondered aloud as Joonmyun picked up the crystal flask to refill the glasses.

Who did it?” Joonmyun picked up his own glass with a frown.

“Queen Minah.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“What doesn’t make me say that?” Minseok said, retrieving a paper from his pockets and tossing it at Joonmyun who picked it up and read it with a frown.

“She sent a letter to King Hakyeon? What were the contents of the letter?”

Minseok sighed, taking another sip of his wine “that is what my informant managed to tell me, she insisted that it be sent out as soon as possible and in utmost secrecy.” he said through gritted teeth. “ Did you manage to get anything out of that girl?” he asked, nodding at Joonmyun who shook his head.

“Momo doesn’t tell me much about the Queen’s activities other than taking care of the King.” Joonmyun’s frown deepened. She was supposed to be his eyes into the Queen’s quarters, but clearly some decisions were too important for a lowly girl from the streets. “But the letter to King Hakyeon is most unusual.”

“Of course it is unusual, I think their interactions at her wedding were unusual, as did you” Minseok snapped "the West is known for their poisons, you know very well. Our King has been poisoned. There is clearly a connection."

“There have been rumours about her frequently visiting the servants quarters,” Joonmyun hummed thoughtfully “along with the other rumour that she turned down the King’s advances.”

“Everything seems to be pointing to the Queen, Lord Joonmyun. The King has been behaving differently since they arrived together to the capital. She spends every evening with him. The last thing he drank was something she had given him. Why, she’d even offered to cook for the king to ensure that there was no threat to him!” 

Joonmyun rose from his seat, pacing around the room. “Do you understand what you’re implying, Minseok?” he hissed as the elder nodded.

“I know exactly what I’m implying. I think we need to put a hold on all investigations and look into the Queen’s activities and ensure the safety of the King.”

___________________________________________________

Jiyeon hurried towards her quarters. She had just been returning from the library with books she needed. She would have to pack up as quickly as she could and leave the place. She exhaled heavily as she pushed the doors open only to be thrown off to see Yixing sitting in the waiting area, black robes fluttering as he sprung out of his seat. 

Yixing had been introduced to the court as Prince Taekwoon's good friend and advisor. With his skill and knowledge, he had quickly climbed up the political ladder to become the chief  military advisor for the Kingdom having supported the King in quelling several of the rebellions far North. The only reason he wasn't on the Small Council was due to the fact that Joonmyun and Minseok carried their positions from King Daesuk's rule and the new King barely had the time to appoint anyone new.

Jiyeon's own interactions with Yixing had begun when her father had put Yixing in charge of escorting her back to her home in the Dang Province . She was to travel alone, but as Lord Zhang was going the same way, he had offered to extend his protection over her. 

Their friendship had only bloomed from there and perhaps, they had a soft spot for one another, but neither had said very much over the years that they knew each other.

So, seeing him in her quarters, she knew exactly what to expect. 

“Are you absolutely crazy?!” he hissed as her eyes widened at his tone. Curling her fingers around his wrist, she yanked him further into her chambers.

“Mind your tone Lord Zhang, people can hear you” she replied, dropping his hand and holding her books closer to her.

“You are heading off to the Yun Province under the Queen’s orders and without the Council’s knowledge?” Yixing glared at the woman before him which she returned. Turning, she set her books on the console table outside her bed chambers, suddenly feeling very crowded. Taking a deep breath, she whirled to face the King’s advisor.

“Yes, I am. Why, are you asking me to go against the wishes of the Queen?” she cocked her eyebrow at him “or do you think I can’t do it?”

Yixing’s face dropped and lips thinned “Jang Jiyeon…”

“Just say it, Zhang Yixing. You don’t think I can do this.” Jiyeon crossed her arms at him and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’d be a fool to say that,” he said, beseechingly. There was no way he thought she couldn’t do it. Jang Jiyeon was a woman of many traits and talents, but her strong headed rebelliousness was what had always drawn Yixing to her, even when she was introduced to the court. 

“The Queen thinks I can do it, Yixing,” Jiyeon finally slipped into her informal tone “she has faith in me and that says a lot given that not many have had in this court.” She snapped as Yixing caught her hand to prevent her from moving.

“I know you can do it. You are the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known, but there is a risk involved that I’m not comfortable with. Your safety is at stake and I don’t think I am ready to let you go traipsing off into dangerous territories with no guard to protect you. A rebellion could erupt at any time and you going in there to investigate could be the cause for it. We’ll need to ensure there is some military in there...now with the King being bed-ridden….”

Jiyeon slipped her hand out of his grasp and shot him a pitiful smile “I’m not entirely without tact, Yixing. I just think you underestimate the power of negotiation.”

“I just want you to be safe,” Yixing whispered, stepping close to her, eyes pleading.

“I think you’ve trained me in enough self-defence to take care of myself. You had put me in charge of the Queen not just to educate her, but to protect her with my skills. I can’t say that many women in this kingdom can wield two daggers...let alone one” Jiyeon shrugged as Yixing found himself shaking his head in defeat.

“You’re incorrigible. As much as I wish I could come along with you, I am not to know about your absence. I was told that you were leaving the palace to return to your province by some of the maids, but that didn’t make an ounce of sense to me.”

"And that is exactly what you'll be telling everyone," Jiyeon replied as Yixing caught her hands and pulled her closer, meeting her eyes. Jiyeon's breath caught in her throat. Zhang Yixing was always a sight to behold with his charming features and deep dimples. But to Jiyeon, this serious side of his, pleading with her was even more charming.

"Promise me you will leave if things get dangerous," he whispered, his breath caressing her face "promise me you will write to me."

"I promise, please don't worry."

"I always worry when it's you, Jang Jiyeon. It's like sending a piece of my heart into war." Yixing admitted.

 Jiyeon tried her best to suppress the heat creeping up her cheeks. Squeezing his hands in hers, she shot him a soft smile.

"I'll keep that piece of your heart safe, Zhang Yixing.."

____________________

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[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 25

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 25 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 25/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

They made it to the laboratory and the Doctor sealed the door. “Elliot, you and your dad keep your eyes on that screen. Let me know if we get company”. The Doctor tossed the stopwatch to Amy. “Amy, keep reminding me how much time I haven't got”.

“Okay. Um, er, twelve minutes till drill impact”, Amy told him.

The Doctor walked up to Tony. “Tony Mack. Sweaty forehead, dilated pupils. What are you hiding?”

Tony opened his shirt to reveal green veins crawling up his neck.

“Tony, what happened?” Nasreen asked.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pressed it to the veins, scanning them.

“Alaya's sting. She said there's no cure. I'm dying, aren't I?” Tony asked.

The Doctor transferred the results to the machine in front of him. “You're not dying, you're mutating”.

“How can I stop it?”

“Decontamination program. Might work. Don't know. Eldane, can you run the program on Tony?” Eldane nodded and helped Tony into one of the decontamination pods.

“Doctor, shedload of those creatures coming our way. We're surrounded in here”, Mo told him.

“So, question is, how we do stop the drill given we can't get there in time? Plus, also, how do we get out, given that we're surrounded? Nasreen, how do you feel about an energy pulse channeled up through the tunnels to the base of the drill?”

“To blow up my life's work?”

“Yes. Sorry. No nice way of putting that”.

“Right, well, you're going to have to do it before the drill hits the city, in…”

“Eleven minutes forty seconds”, Amy supplied.

“Yes. Squeaky bum time!” the Doctor said, running over to the controls.

“Yes, but the explosion is going to cave in all the surrounding tunnels, so we have to be out and on the surface by then”, Nasreen told him.

“But we can't get past Restac's troops”, Rory reminded them.

“I can help with that. Toxic Fumigation. An emergency failsafe meant to protect my species from infection. A warning signal to occupy cryo-chambers. After that, citywide fumigation by toxic gas. Then the city shuts down”, Eldane said.

The Doctor turned away from him and ran a hand through his hair.

“You could end up killing your own people”, Amy told him.

“Only those foolish enough to follow Restac”.

Elise walked over to the Doctor and took his hand in hers. He gave her a soft smile. She was so innocent and didn’t understand. He was the one who had killed the Timelords. Her family. Her. He’d have to tell her eventually.

“Eldane, are you sure about this?” he asked. Someone else was about to make the same decision he did.

“My priority is my race's survival. The Earth isn't ready for us to return yet”.

“No”.

“Ten minutes, Doctor”, Amy told him.

“But maybe it should be. So, here's a deal. Everybody listening. Eldane, you activate shutdown. I'll amend the system, set your alarm for a thousand years time. A thousand years to sort the planet out. To be ready. Pass it on. As legend, or prophesy, or religion, but somehow make it known. This planet is to be shared”.

“Yeah. I get you”, Elliot told him.

“Nine minutes, seven seconds”, Amy said.

The Doctor rushed over to the controls. “Yes. Fluid controls, my favorite. Energy pulse. Timed, primed and set. Before we go, energy barricade. Need to cancel it out quickly”. He soniced the controls.

“Fumigation pre-launching”, Eldane said.

“There's not much time for us to get from here to the surface, Doctor”, Rory told him.

“Ah ha, super-squeaky bum time. Get ready to run for your lives. Now”.

“But the decontamination program on your friend hasn't started yet”, Eldane said.

“Well, go. All of you, go”, Tony told them.

“No, we're not leaving you here”, Ambrose said.

“Granddad!” Elliot yelled, running to him.

“Eight minutes ten seconds”, Amy said.

The small family said their goodbyes as the toxic fumigation started.

Amy checked the screen. “They're going. We're clear”.

“Okay, everyone follow Nasreen. Look for a blue box. Get ready to run”, the Doctor told them. He soniced the door and it opened. “I’m sorry”, the Doctor told Eldane.

“I thought for a moment, our race and the humans…”

“Yeah, me too”.

“Doctor, we’ve got less than six minutes”, Amy told him.

“Go. Go! I’m right behind you!”

Elise wanted to wait for her father, but Rory grabbed her arm.

“He’s coming. Come on”, he said.

Elise nodded and took Rory’s hand as they ran for the TARDIS.

“Toxic fumigation is about to commence. Immediate evacuation”.

They finally made it to the TARDIS and the Doctor unlocked the door. “No questions, just get in. And yes, I know, it's big. Ambrose, sickbay up the stairs, left, then left again, Get yourself fixed up”.

Mo, Elliot, and Ambrose ran inside.

The Doctor turned and they saw a crack in the wall.

The one that had been following them around the universe.

“Not here. Not now. It's getting wider”, the Doctor said.

“The crack on my bedroom wall”.

“And the Byzantium. All through the universe, rips in the continuum. Some sort of space-time cataclysm. An explosion, maybe. Big enough to put cracks in the universe. But what?”

Amy checked the stopwatch. “Four minutes fifty. We have to go”.

“The Angels laughed when I didn't know. Prisoner Zero knew. Everybody knows except me”.

“Doctor, just leave it”.

“But where there's an explosion, there's shrapnel”. He pulled out a red handkerchief and ran over to the crack.

“Doctor, you can't put your hand in there!” Rory told him, holding Elise back.

“Why not?” The Doctor stuck his hand in the crack immediately cried out in pain.

Elise tried to run towards her father, but Amy grabbed her other arm.

“Argh. I've got something!” the Doctor yelled.

“What is it?” Amy asked.

He pulled his arm out, the piece of shrapnel in the handkerchief. “I don't know”.

“Doctor?” Rory asked.

They turned and saw Restac crawling towards them.

“She was there when the gas started. She must have been poisoned”, Amy said.

“You”, Restac said, trying to lift her gun.

“Okay, get in the TARDIS, all three of you”, the Doctor told them.

“You did this”, Restac hissed. She raised her gun to shoot the Doctor.

“Doctor!” Rory yelled. He pushed the Doctor out of the way and got hit.

“Rory!” Amy screamed, dropping to her knees beside him.

The Doctor knelt on the other side of him. “Rory, can you hear me?” he asked.

“I don't understand”, Rory said.

“Shush. Don't talk. Doctor, is he okay?” Amy asked, “We have to get him onto the TARDIS”.

“We were on the hill. I can't die here”.

Elise sat down next to her father and grabbed Rory’s hand. “Rrrry”, she said. It had been so long since she had spoken that she couldn’t make her mouth form the rest of the letters. “Rrrry”.

“Don’t say that”, Amy told him.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry”.

With that, Rory took his last breath and stopped moving.

“Doctor, help him”, Amy said.

The light from the crack crept towards Rory’s feet.

“Amy, Elise, move away from the light. If it touches you, you'll be wiped from history. Amy, move away now”, the Doctor told her.

“No! I am not leaving him! We have to help him!”

“The light's already around him. We can't help him”.

“I am not leaving him”.

“We have to”.

“No!”

“I'm sorry”. The Doctor grabbed Amy and pulled her away from Rory.

“Get off me!” Amy screamed through her tears.

The Doctor dragged Amy to the TARDIS, Elise following.

“No!” Amy yelled as the Doctor closed the door, sonicing the lock. Amy continued to scream as she pounded on the door. “No! No! No! No! Let me out. Please let me out. I need to get to Rory. That light. If his body's absorbed, I'll forget him. He'll never have existed. You can't let that happen”.

The Doctor pulled a lever and the TARDIS engines started up.

Amy ran up to the platform. “What are you doing? Doctor, no! No! No! No!”

The Doctor grabbed the hysterical woman and pulled her away from the console. If the Doctor hadn’t been so worried about Amy, he would have noticed how Elise was staring at the TARDIS door with a blank look on her face.

In the future, it would be something that frequently happened when she was unable to process what she was feeling. She would just space out until someone brought her back to the present.

The TARDIS landed roughly, knocking the three of them to the floor.

“What were you saying?” Amy asked.

Mo and Elliot came down the stairs. “I have seen some things today, but this is beyond mad”, Mo said.

Amy grabbed the stopwatch. “Doctor. Five seconds till it all goes up”.

They all ran outside in time to see the drilling machine explode.

“All Nasreen's work just erased”, Amy said as they walked back to the church.

“Good thing she's not here to see it. She's going to give Tony hell when they wake up”, Mo said.

Amy nudged Elise towards Elliot.

Elise walked up to the boy.

“You’re going then?” Elliot asked.

Elise nodded.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back?” he asked.

Elise shrugged.

“Goodbye then”, he said. He leaned forward and kissed Elise on the cheek, causing the young Timelord to blush.

She walked back over to Amy who teased her, “Aww. Elise has a crush!”

The Doctor walked up to the two of them and picked Elise up. She nuzzled his neck with her face and grabbed onto his bowtie as they walked back to the TARDIS.

“You're very quiet”, Amy told the Doctor.

Across the hill there stood only one figure, unlike earlier.

“Oh. Hey, look. There I am again. Hello, me”, Amy said, waving. She then got very sad.

“Are you okay?” the Doctor asked.

“I thought I saw someone else there for a second. I need a holiday. Didn't we talk about Rio?”

The Doctor set Elise down. “You two go in. Just fix this lock. Keeps jamming”, he said, pretending to have trouble opening the door.

“You boys and your locksmithery”, Amy said, entering the TARDIS.

Elise looked at her father for a second. He was hiding something, but what, she didn’t know.

“Go on”, he told her.

She entered the TARDIS and went to her room, where she finally allowed herself to cry and mourn for Rory. She had just started to like him and now he was gone. She had many questions, but her number one was this: Would it always hurt like this?

[annelixa]

Trust Chapter 4

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Can also be read on AO3

Summary: Cassandra seeks Varian shortly after she stole the Moonstone so that she can use his intellectual gifts. Lucky for her, no one seems to be telling him what happened at the Dark Kingdom and he still sees her as the wise and trusted person he always knew. Utilizing that image of herself, she takes him for herself while under the guise of protection.

Fandom: Tangled the Series

The sun had risen several hours ago and Varian had been busy. He had already unpacked the books from his bag and carefully placed them on the shelves in his room as well as a few small trinkets that had been stored inside as well. A glass bird from Rapunzel, a small dagger from Eugene, and a thick and well used journal from his father now all rested delicately between the many books. His bed was made and presentable and he had stored his bag underneath it for the time being. In all the time he had been working, he hadn’t heard a sound from the other resident of the small cottage. Curious, he had attempted to locate where Cass was and found an empty bedroom that he had assumed was hers. What he hadn’t found was the woman in question.

Not sure what to do, he had returned to his own room and started journaling in a new notebook. So much had happened the previous day and he didn’t want to forget any of it so he wrote about the entire day, including every detail and word said between the two meticulously.

He knew that Cass had said that he was free to wander but it didn’t seem right to do so until after he had received the tour she had spoken of the night before.

Eventually, he heard the sound of rocks sliding against each other and hurried out to wait by the entrance. Light shone into the dark room around the form of the one he had been waiting for all morning.

“Cass!” he greeted cheerfully. He wondered where she had been all morning but pushed it aside.

“Good morning, Varian,” she replied warmly, dragging a heavy bag inside. “I brought supplies. Grab a bag.” Wanting to help, he rushed forward and grabbed one of the many bags sitting just outside the cottage. He quickly helped drag them in as well before the opening sealed. “Thanks. Come on, they go in the kitchen.” Once again, he followed the warrior. This time it was down a hall and into another dark room where he tossed the bags onto what appeared to be a table. From inside he pulled out a variety of fruits and nuts as well as other fresh food. It was all soon stored safely on shelves in the room where it was easily accessible. “One more thing.”

Pulling the last bag off of her back, Cass opened it carefully and something gray and furry flew at him. Surprised, Varian stumbled back but caught the object without thinking. He peered down at it and a wide grin grew on his face.

“Ruddiger!” he cried happily, stroking the fur of his loyal companion. He hadn’t realized how much he was longing to see the raccoon or how complete things felt now that he was back. “I missed you, bud!”

“I thought you might want him with you,” Cass explained, tossing the now empty bag onto the table as well. “He was looking for you and wanted to come with me to find you.” She smiled. “But I believe I told you that I would show you around today.”

“Thanks, Cass!”

Nodding in excitement, Varian let the raccoon climb onto his shoulders and stepped beside Cassandra. She walked through the small cottage and explained what the few rooms were intended for which he greatly appreciated. With everything composed of the black rocks, it was rather dark even with the thin windows they encountered frequently. Not only that, but it was difficult to tell what each piece in a room was meant for when it all blended together. The cottage had only a few rooms: chambers for both residents with washrooms, a kitchen, and the lab Varian was currently exploring.

There was plenty of space for him to work on whatever he decided and places for him to store his supplies with care. The previous night Cass had brought the bag he had packed before their sudden trip into this room for him. He was grateful once again, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to drag the heavy bag all the way to the room. At least not with everything still in one piece afterward.

Quickly emptying the bag, he placed everything where he thought best for his workspace before stepping back and looking around him happily once more. He could already feel his head filling with dozens of ideas he wanted to try out. Would he be allowed to experiment on the black rocks?

An image of his dad in the amber flashed before his eyes and he flinched.

“I wish my dad could see me now,” he whispered, the smile slipping off his face into a scowl. “Trying to do good to fix everything I’ve done wrong. But I guess he won’t be able to know what I’m doing until it’s all over.”

Walking closer, Cass put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He would be proud of you,” she responded sincerely. “He would know that you were doing the right thing.” A thought crossed her mind suddenly. “And you can let him know a little. Enough to keep him from worrying.”

Confused, the alchemist looked up at her.

“How?”

“You can write him a letter. You can tell him how you’re working on a very important, top secret job for Corona and that you will be away for a while until it is finished.”

“Great idea!” he cheered, hurrying off to his chambers to write the letter.

Watching him go, Cassandra grinned.

Perfect.

Quirin was the only one that Varian saw consistently and the only one who would notice he was missing. At least for a few weeks. She doubted that Rapunzel or Eugene checked in on him very often but when they finally would, they would see the message she had left on the wall and let the subject drop.

Well, until she let them know about his disappearance herself by attacking Corona directly with the weapons he would create for her.

[pigeontheoneandonly]

The Rescue

A Dragon Age / Mass Effect crossover, because that’s apparently what my brain wanted to work on today. (Part 2)

Kaidan Alenko was twenty-two years old when he started awake to the rattling of the iron window frame nearest his bed, one of several in the mage barracks of Kinloch Hold. Though less than thirty feet above the ground, it was rare for anything more than the breeze to trouble it; once, shortly after he first moved to this room, a bird flew into the panes and he hadn’t been able to sleep for a week.

But now something scrabbled at it.  He reached for his staff, trying not to make a sound.  The cords supporting his straw-stuffed mattress creaked as he sat up. Wishing for a fleeting moment he had his full robes on, instead of only the linen chemise, feeling defenseless without the layers of wool.  But that was ridiculous.  Not a stitch of it was enchanted.  The only item he owned that had such expensive work was the wooden staff.  He carved it himself and affixed the lyrium-inscribed crystal, issued with great solemnity from the senior enchanter’s stores a few years after his Harrowing.  All mages were entitled to a staff, if only because they couldn’t do the Circle’s work without one.

Kaidan held it now, pointed at the window, unable to see more than a flicker of a dark form in the night beyond its glass.  Waiting.

The lock snicked. The window swung inward.  He gripped the wood tightly, a spell rising on his lips—

A face appeared. Brown and weathered, blue eyes bright even in the faint torchlight from the hall, lockpicks in its mouth and a flag of red hair tied up in a scarf.  

“Mmmph!” it said, eyes widening at the sight of the staff.

Kaidan half-strangled himself pulling back the magic.  Still holding the staff out in shock.  More than a dozen years, and somehow he still knew her instantly.  It shouldn’t be possible.  They’d been children.

She saw his flicker of recognition, and relaxed into a smile, levering herself into the room and spitting out her tools so she could talk.  “Excellent, this is the right room.  For what I paid the information should’ve been good, but you never know with templar types—”

“Nathaly?” A hoarse whisper.  Not believing what he saw, and not wanting any of the other mages sleeping nearby to notice regardless of whether this was real. Much less the templar guard half-dozing beyond the doorway.  

She padded into the room, enough to peer out beyond the walls of his cubby, checking to see if anyone else had noticed her arrival.  Her clothes had changed.  No more the coarse homespun of a herder’s daughter; she wore well-fitted leather armor over dyed shirt and leggings, the brightness of their colors telling the expense, and carried a sword and bow on her back with all evidence of frequent use. He stared at her back, disconcerted.

Nathaly returned, her voice low.  “Nobody’s heard us.  Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

He finally managed to lower his staff. Stammering to his feet.  “I— what— you—”

She flashed him a broad smile, smug and almost giddy.  His stomach fluttered.  “I promised I’d come and get you out.  Just took a little longer than I planned, is all.”

They’d been eight and and nine, respectively.  Fetching water in the village.  She’d attacked the templars who grabbed him, bashing her fists bloody against their armor because futility only encouraged her.  Jumping up one’s back after they brushed her aside and hanging onto his hair like a burr.  It took both of the others to remove her, and the baker and his wife to restrain her so they could leave.  He remembered it well because it was the last nice thing anyone had done for him.  His own parents hadn’t fought; in a village that size, the Chantry’s orders might as well be the word of the Maker Himself.

And she had screamed reassurances, as the templars loaded him onto a horse and carried him off. Just sit tight, I’m coming.  

He never believed it.  And yet here she was.

Nathaly touched his shoulder, gave him a shake.  “Kaidan, we have to go.  It’s not safe here.”

Not safe here. A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat.  He clamped a hand over his mouth.  She couldn’t know the half of it.  “It’s not safe out there, either.  They steal children, but they kill apostates.”

Her brow furrowed. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Some apostate in Kirkwall blew up their Chantry.  Not the little ones down in the districts— the big one, gilded up by the high mucks.”  She took a breath.  “It’s all going to come apart, sooner rather than later.  I’m not leaving you here to twist in the wind.”

Kaidan’s knees failed him and he sat back on the bed, heavily enough to make her wince at the noise.  Her hand straying to a dagger on her belt as she glanced again at the other cubbies. If that was true… if the Chantry decided mages were an active threat rather than a mere danger… But apostates would find no refuge anywhere.  There wouldn’t be an option to come back and face whatever punishment awaited. Sleeping in various chambers on this floor and one above it were the only people he’d known for most of his life, and if he did this, he’d never see any of them again.

The indecision must have shown on his face, because Nathaly crouched in front of him, and took both his hands in hers.  Her face nearly level squatting on the floor, she’d gotten so tall.  “Kaidan, I will protect you.  I’ll take you out of Ferelden, or to Tevinter, or across the Amaranthine Ocean if I have to.  If this tower is what you want, I’ll go, but if you want more than this… Do you trust me?”

He stared into her eyes.  On the Circle’s best days, he’d never wanted this.  And in the face of all sanity, he believed her, every word, because even at eight years old Nathaly was still the strongest person he’d ever known, strong enough to keep an impossible vow across more than a decade.  “I trust you.”

“Then let’s go. We don’t have much time.  I have a boat waiting, but we have to be across before the moon rises.”

“Right.”  He pulled his robe off its hook and over his head, and then found his cloak in the trunk.  He’d rarely needed it and it remained like new, deep blue wool lacking all insignia, a small blessing.  Belting on a pouch with his meager stash of coin and throwing a handful of useful or sentimental items into a knapsack, and then at last grabbed his staff, because he was damned if he was leaving his only real defense behind.  “My phylactery—”

“A friend’s taking care of it.  Owes me a favor.  We’ll give the signal when we’re clear.”

He wanted to ask how, but realized it didn’t matter.  His mind was made up.  “I don’t know how I’m getting down.”

“I’ve got a rope.” Again that smile. “All you have to do is hang on.  Then I’ll untie it up here and climb down to you.”

The next bell had just started to ring when she dropped lightly onto the grass beside him, and took his arm.  “Come on. It’s this way.”

They stole across the open field surrounding the Circle Tower.  Kaidan’s shoulders itched, as if he could feel a hundred templar eyes fixed on him through the stone walls.  So distracted he found the boat with his shins and had to stop himself from cursing aloud.  

It sloshed gently in the water.  A tall, spare man reached out to help him in.  “Easy there.  So, you’re Kaidan, huh?”

“Yes?”  The man talked as if he recognized him, but Kaidan never saw him before in his life.

“We can do introductions later,” Nathaly interrupted, grasping the rowboat by its prow and pushing off from the shore.  “Garrus.”

“I’ve got it.” He stood up straight and cupped his hands around his mouth.  A sound emerged, a birdcall, nothing native to this area.  So loud that Kaidan cringed down into the boat.

Her hand rubbed his back.  And he was almost more surprised by that small act of thoughtless comfort than the noise. “It’s just the signal.  Telling our friends we’re ready.”

“Do we wait for them, or…?”  

She shook her head and swung herself into the boat, boots soaked.  “They’re getting out another way.  Our part here’s done.  We’ll meet them at the rendezvous in Crestwood in three days.”  Then, catching his expression, “Don’t worry.  We’re not going into the village proper.  Or at least, you’re not and they’re not. Garrus and I will go for supplies and hear the news.  That’ll decide what we do next.”

They settled in the boat, Garrus drawing a paddle out from beneath the seats and cutting into the surface with barely a ripple.  Tonight, Lake Calenhad was smooth as glass, and quiet as a graveyard.  Kaidan glanced at the stars.  “We’re not headed towards the mainland docks.”

Nathaly nodded. “We’ll take the coast on foot and range north until we reach the Imperial Highway.  From there, we’ll be another group of travelers.  We’ve got clothes stashed for you on the shore.  I had to guess the sizing, but they’ll do for now.”

“Quiet,” Garrus said.  For the first time, Kaidan noticed the massive compound bow under his cloak, and the way his drab brown-gray clothes melded into the dark.  “Night like this, voices carry.”

Good sense prevailed, and they made the rest of the journey in silence.  At some point, Nathaly reached over and took his hand. He clung to her fingers and watched the tower and his life of thirteen years grow small on the horizon until the night swallowed them both.

[melodicrunes]

Vigil

Here’s another Star Wars AU, for @madasthesea. You can check it out on my ao3 here!

Peter silently climbed the remaining steps of the Tranquility Spire. He reached the room at the top and had to push with more strength than he thought necessary to open the door. 

Huh. Guess it hasn’t been used in a while, he thought. 

And if truth be told, he was right. Not many had been knighted during the war with Thanos, the Infinity War, people were calling it now. 

Peter pushed the thought away and knelt in the center of the darkening room, the stone chilled beneath his knees. He settled his hands in his lap, bowed his head, closed his eyes and...waited. He was supposed to keep a silent vigil until dawn, when the Council and Master Tony would arrive for the formal knighting ceremony. But what was he supposed to meditate on, exactly? 

His thoughts drifted to his yearmate, Shuri, another padawan who’s participation in the Infinity War and final battle against Thanos had earned her a knighthood. Shuri’s ceremony had been the previous morning and he had only just left his friends and their celebrations. Earlier in the evening, she had spotted him hiding out in a corner of hers and Master T’Challa’s living quarters. 

“Ah, young Padawan Parker. Still brooding,” she laughed, and the Force rolled off her in childish delight. 

“What,” he laughed. “I’m not ...I’m not brooding. Brooding is forbidden by the Code.” 

“A lot of things are forbidden by the code, brother. That does not mean we do not partake in them anyway,” she replied wisely. 

“Well, Knighthood certainly becomes you. You’re smarter already.” His retort earned him a punch on the arm. “Hey! I’m just being honest!” 

The two laughed before the Force settled around them, Peter’s anxieties peeking out from his mental shields despite his best efforts at hiding them. 

“Ah. Of course, you are brooding over the ceremony,” she gave him a half smile. “Alright. Ask away.” 

“What? I can’t; it’s-” 

“Forbidden, yes I know. So I won’t tell you everything. What do you want to know?” 

Peter looked into her deep chocolate eyes and sighed. “It’s...it’s the...the vigil,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t...I don’t know, uh...what to meditate on or-or about or…” 

She smiled sadly, understanding flooding the air between them. “You are afraid,” she asked quietly, “Of what you’ll see?” 

“Of what I’ll remember,” he whispered. 

“Perhaps that is what the vigil is for; to remember...and to forget to move forward.” 

Peter grounded himself in the present moment, focused intently on just how cold the stones beneath his knees were. He took several long, deep breaths. 

Remember to forget. Remember...in order to forget. 

He sank deep into the Force, reaching out warily with his mind. He wasn’t sure what he’d find waiting for him nor if he’d like what it had to offer. 

He didn’t have to wait long. The Force appeared to him in a form that bore a striking resemblance to his first Master, Master Ben. Peter had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting out. This was supposed to be a silent exercise, after all. 

“Peter,” Ben said warmly. “How you’ve grown.” 

I missed you! Everyday I missed you, he willed the Force ghost to understand. 

“And I, you, young one. But we will be reunited once again, in time.” 

Tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks. My fault. All my fault! Master, I’m so sorry!

“No, Peter. It could never be your fault. You have been carrying that burden, my burden, around for far too long. Let me go,” he said gently. 

No! I can’t! I can’t forget you! What if-what I forget what you taught me? 

Images swam before them, and Peter watched as a much younger version of himself loped behind a grinning Ben. The image quickly changed to a young Peter with his lightsaber, Ben guiding his hands into the correct position. The image changed again. Ben meditating with him their first night as Master and Padawan. Ben teaching Peter the proper way to tie his belt and tabards. Ben adding to his Padawan braid. 

Peter looked up at the floating Ben in front of him, cheeks still wet with tears. 

“These are your memories, Peter, safe and secure in the Force. As am I. Have you forgotten these things I’ve taught you?” 

Peter shook his head no. 

“Then you will not forget me. Release me to the keeping and protection of the Force. Remember...in order to forget and move forward.” 

Ben faded away and Peter was left panting. He quickly scrubbed at his eyes with the hem of his sleeve and tried to steady his breathing. He centered himself again, grounded by the still cold stones beneath him, and sank into the Force once more. 

This time, Master Tony appeared, beaten and bloodied as he had been after the final battle with Thanos. But in this vision, Master Tony didn’t stagger toward him and throw his one good arm around his shoulders as he had in reality. No, this time, Master Tony didn’t get up at all. Peter watched, as he had watched frequently in his dreams since the battle, as Master Tony breathed his last breath, hand falling limply to the bloodied dirt. 

NO! Master, no!

Fresh tears were falling down his cheeks now. 

Why are you showing me this?! 

“This is your greatest fear, is it not?” 

Peter whipped his head to the side at the sound of that voice. It couldn’t be. Master Tony was real and alive right now, several floors below him with the other Masters preparing for the ceremony. But he was also in front of Peter in a twisted playback of his latest nightmare. And yet he stood beside him? Three Tonys? The galaxy was not prepared. 

“I am the Living Force,” Tony chuckled. “I can appear to you however and whenever I wish.” 

Oh. That makes sense, I guess. 

“This is your greatest fear, is it not?” The question rang and reverberated throughout Peter’s skull. 

Yes, of course, it’s my greatest fear, Peter snapped to himself. I’ve already seen one Master die in my arms. I can’t bear to lose another one!

Force Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter’s thoughts. 

F-forgive me, I…I...that wasn’t directed at you…

“You cannot hide yourself from me, young one,” he replied as he sat down next to Peter. “Hmm. The floor is cold. Do you want me to fix that?” 

I...what?  

“The. Floor. Is. Cold,” Force Tony spoke as if he were speaking with an infant. 

Peter rolled his eyes, forgetting that he wasn’t speaking with the real Tony. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve fixed it. Back to the topic at hand, shall we?” 

Peter felt a delightful warmth surround him as if he were sitting in the early morning sunshine. He smiled a little in spite of himself and looked back up at the scene suspended before them. 

Tony. Dead. 

Peter’s heart nearly skipped a beat. 

I...I...I can’t. I can’t do this. 

“Remember to forget.” 

But I can’t forget! It nearly happened! He nearly died in the Healer's ward afterward! 

“But did he?” 

...no...But he will one day...And I can’t...I can’t…

“You are a part of the Force, of Me, as is every other Jedi. Including Ben.” 

Peter gulped. 

“Including Tony.” 

Peter examined his hands intently. 

I can’t give him up, came the small reply. I…

“Love him, perhaps? Like a son loves his father?” 

I don’t remember my parents. I have no concept of a father. And attachment is against the Code.

“I am not bound by words on a page, young one. I am the Lifespring that holds everything together. It was my will that you and Tony end up together as Master and Padawan.” 

But what if...what if he...dies?

“Then I will take care of you. And him.” 

Peter stared with wide eyes. The thought had never occurred to him before, that Tony would be looked after, cared for, without Peter. 

Force Tony chuckled. “I’ve been looking out for Masters and Padawans for ages, young one. You are not the first pair to care deeply for each other, and you certainly won’t be the last. Promise me this.” 

I promise.

“No, that’s not how a promise works,” he sighed in a perfect imitation of the real Tony’s exasperation. “You don’t know what you’re promising yourself to. Listen!” 

Peter sat quietly, hands in his lap, and waited. 

“Promise me this, young one: Let me take care of Tony. And let me take care of you.” 

...Ok. I promise…

Force Tony smirked over at Peter and raised his hand to Peter’s forehead. Peter was instantly compelled to sleep and his chin dropped down to his chest. He didn’t wake until the door to the meditation chamber scraped open. 

He jerked himself awake in an instant, thoughts of Master Ben and talks with Master Tony rolling around in his recent memory. The Council filed in, followed by Master Tony and Master Rhodey. As one, they lit their ‘sabers and cast a ghostly shadow around the room. Master Yoda approached, emerald green ‘saber held high. Peter kept his head bowed. 

“By right of the Council, by will of the Force, dub thee a Knight of the Republic, I do.”  A flash of green appeared over his right shoulder and before Peter knew it, his Padawan braid fell to the floor. “Stand, you will, Jedi Knight.” 

Peter slowly got to his feet and bowed before Yoda and the Council. 

Several Council members patted him on the shoulder or head in a silent congratulations as they made their way out of the chamber. 

“I think this belongs to you,” Tony said as he offered Peter his ‘saber back. Peter gratefully accepted it and slowly clipped it onto his belt. Most everyone else had left; it was just him, Tony, and Rhodey now. Without hesitation, Peter flung his arms around Tony’s neck. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled into his mentor’s shoulder. “For everything.” He felt Tony chuckle. 

“Congratulations, youngling. You earned it.” 

“Come on, Pete. I think you better see to those friends of yours before they tear Tony’s quarter’s to shreds,” Rhodey called. 

“Oh, yeah! Coming Master Rhodey,” Peter called after him. He turned to Tony and mumbled, “Do I get to call everyone by their first names now? That’ll be weird. Should he be James and you, Anthony?” 

“If you ever call me Anthony, you will deeply regret it,” Tony deadpanned. 

Peter chuckled as he followed his former Master down the spiral stairs. “Hey,” he exclaimed and grabbed his padawan braid from Tony’s mechanical hand. “Are you really gonna keep this?” 

“So what if I do? You have no use for it anymore. And don’t pretend that you didn’t steal my old, battered cloak to sleep in.” 

“I did no such thing,” Peter said and pretended to look offended. 

“The droids told me.” 

“Droids don’t speak.” 

“You’re right. The droids showed me, as in, I have holographic evidence of your precious little baby face sticking out from the corner of my ratty old cloak while you sleep.”

Peter rolled his eyes as his braid floated out of his grip and into Tony’s. “It’s just a braid, Master.” 

“It’s just a cloak, Peter,” Tony smirked. 

Peter humphed, arms crossed over his chest, as they made their way to their shared living quarters and the party that awaited them. 

[mrs-pissoff]

Your eyes (Reader x Thane)

(the title is pretty much a placeholder because I have no idea what else to call this lmao) 3rd person POV, Reader is referred to as she/her

A/N: So first of all, I usually don't know what the unholy crap I'm doing when it comes to writing. I'm also not a native English speaker. There may be a part 2 coming but I can't promise cuz once I do promise something it's surely not going to happen, ever. Nonetheless, please enjoy.

Introduction: You're whoever you are, and you've joined Shepard's crew aboard the SR-2 to stop the Collectors. You've become something of a close friend to Commander Shepard and may have caught spicy spicy feelings for them. Unfortunately for you, Shepard has eyes for a certain turian vigilante, but hey, this story isn't about them. It's about you and our favorite assassin.

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware.

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An unusual stillness fell over the empty kitchen of the SR-2. The crew were all tucked away in their chambers, resting or talking about the day’s events. Even the lights of the Med Bay were dimmed, indicating that not even Dr. Chakwas was at her station.

She was glad no one could see her in such a state. Puffy eyes, hair and clothes in complete disarray. A mess, really. She didn’t need the looks of pity or the unnecessary and painful question ‘What’s wrong?’. No. She only needed a glass of cold water and some time. Some time to sort things out. Alone. That part was easy at least, since she thought no one knew how she felt. She kept it hidden, locked away. Out of sight, out of mind. Except when the feelings would resurface violently and erupt like a volcano. Like right now.

Head bowed and quietly sobbing into the sink, both hands resting beside the edges of it, she doesn't hear the silent footsteps approaching her. Too preoccupied with her spiraling thoughts of Shepard and her own confusing feelings. The footsteps of the cautiously approaching Thane Krios cease, as he stands frozen in place. The woman before him is the one that judged him for all his wrongdoings the day he stopped his son from stepping on the path of sin. Her once fiery gaze was now drowned in tears, head hung low and heavy with sorrow.

She's been feeling on edge lately, making careful but not very covert snide remarks to Garrus Vakarian and politely pushing away everyone who questioned her sour mood. She only smiled when Shepard asked, the storm clouds hanging over her head evaporating at the sight of the Commander as her face relaxed. And with a beaming gaze and the hint of a smile, she'd tell Shepard how everything was fine and she just needed some rest. That a nap would fix her up. A white lie to avoid worrying the Commander. He saw how her eyes lost their spark and how her legs would carry her around the ship without purpose. Only in battle she seemed alive. A raging whirlwind sweeping through enemies. A most unsettling change in behavior. He knew the reason behind it all.

Suddenly becoming painfully aware of his presence, her head shot up and a startled gasp left her lips. She pushed herself away from the sink in a swift motion and turned her gaze away from him, wiping the tears from her face. Desperately trying to make it seem like they weren't there to begin with.

"Damn, you're quiet. You should make more noise or you’ll give someone a heart attack."

Her tone had a slight bite to it and an uncertain shake she tried to mask. He could still hear it though. This was a moment of weakness she wished no one would witness. Much less him. He knew what she thought about him. She called him a gutless coward and a poor excuse of a father while still wishing him success to save his son, though not for his own sake, but simply because Kolyat deserved better. He had to agree with her, he told himself all of these things and more. It was nothing new. And yet, hearing someone else utter those words aloud cut even deeper. The look she gave him that day sent a jolt of shock down his spine. Her eyes filled with scorching ire, blame and so, so many questions. He felt small even if he was standing taller than her. Even though her mind seemed occupied and uncertain at the moment, he could still sense that she'd have preferred anyone but him finding her like this.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Of course she did, he thought, but the words left his mouth before he could rephrase the question.

"No."

Her reply came almost too quickly as she washed her tear-stained hands and turned around, ready to leave without drying them. He knew she carried a great many burdens, and not all of them her own. She was much like him, and didn't leave her room frequently to socialize with others, but he knew that Shepard visited her just like the rest of them. Shepard always made sure to check on everyone, to talk to them and ease their solitude, but sometimes people forgot to do the same for the Commander. She didn't. She told him and Vakarian that Shepard had a tendency to hold onto everything, and rather than adding to Shepard's emotional cargo further, she preferred to ask and listen to everything the Commander had to say. No doubt a roundabout way of telling the two to do the same every once in a while. He wondered whether she herself shared her thoughts with anyone.

"If you need someone to talk to-" but he couldn't finish. She looked back at him and began speaking quietly, her tone now withdrawn and empty. 

"Perhaps you should focus your energy on your son to make things right, and mind your own business. I'll do the same as well." Ah, he knew she'd push away, but he still had to ask. He wished she'd at least talk to Shepard, but knew that she won't.

"Sometimes strength isn't about holding our emotions at bay, but sharing our weakness with others, however difficult it may be." His words seemed to catch her attention as she raised one eyebrow at him questioningly.

"True, but I don't see why you would bother."

Her statement was expected. They weren't on the friendliest terms after all. Of course there was no ongoing animosity between them, she simply voiced her opinion of him and they never talked about it anymore. Few words were exchanged between them even before Kolyat's attempt at assassination - aside from the usual pleasantries that is - , even less afterwards. He was aware of her presence and they passed each other aboard the Normandy more than once, but neither spared as much as a second glance. Both too lost in their own thoughts to notice the other. That was until he was caught in her eyes like a trapped varren, desperate to escape. He felt as if he was standing underneath a spotlight, all of his shame on display for everyone to see. It was then and there, where he truly saw her for the first time and began paying more attention to her unconsciously.

On rare occasions when she was having her meals at the same time he was, he'd find himself observing her closely, listening to her talking with others. He'd seen the pang of jealousy in her eyes as Garrus recalled all the time he spent with Shepard years ago and when he would ask specific things about human relationships once he and the Commander became closer. She would deflect his clumsy questions half-heartedly and leave shortly after, her initial friendly disposition towards the turian dissipated and a polite tolerance took its place. Garrus was none the wiser to see this change, such nuance seemed to be lost on him. Perhaps that was for the better. She couldn't blame either of them for falling for each other. Garrus has been there for Shepard for far longer than her.

During shuttle rides Thane could see how she tried to be casual and disciplined while Shepard spoke, careful to contain herself and not let anything slip even if her eyes had a playful and longing glint to them.

He came to adore those eyes. They told him everything she was hiding so carefully. The eyes truly were a window to the soul.

Sometimes he was also lucky enough to catch her in a conversation where she voiced her point of view on certain things, mostly concerning Cerberus whom she did not trust in the slightest. A sentiment many other squadmates shared. Surprisingly, she didn't let her negative opinion extend to Miranda and Jacob, or the rest of the crew wearing Cerberus colors. Short and reserved debates between them were apparently not uncommon. On her better days he could even hear her joking about with Zaeed and Jack. A wide and playful smile spreading on her face with every witty little comment she shared with them.

He's never realized just how aware of her he was until now. He wanted to let her know, but-

"You intrigue me."

The words escaped him once more.

His body tensed as he watched her carefully. Her eyes found the floor as a thoughtful expression crossed her face. She seemed unsure and deep in thought, and he began to wonder whether it was a mistake to speak his mind. A few agonizing seconds later she met his eyes again seemingly ready to respond, but deciding against it in the end. She gave him one last incredulous look before turning around and heading for the elevator without a word, leaving him in the dimly lit kitchen.

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So, here. I hope it was enjoyable? I honestly don’t know how to write Thane so he may be severly OOC. Hopefully not.

It’s just that I’ve been adding more dialogues to the custom Thane follower I have in Skyrim and I got inspired so I was like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever, I’ll post it.

And I already have another scenario running in my head. A possible continuation to this, but this thing took me the better half of today to write. We’ll see. Feel free to let me know what you think.