#i am stuck on to resist or to yield or whatever that chapter is

[the-angel-ashe]

i drew them again !

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 20 - ao3 -

“Your brother has been acting strange,” Lan Yueheng said, his voice drifting in through the open door. 

He was crouched down in the dirt, happily gathering a small harvest from the plants he’d grown outside Lan Qiren’s window. Most of the materials he used for his alchemy experiments he obtained from the specialized fields in the Cloud Recesses, but there were some variants that the sect members in charge of those fields disfavored on account of certain pharmacological side effects associated with them. Lan Yueheng had prevailed on his friendship with Lan Qiren to beg, at some considerable length, that he be allowed to grow those variants in the area near Lan Qiren’s rooms – he’d argued that no one would ever think to check there on account of Lan Qiren’s rule-abiding reputation.

Lan Qiren had pointed out that there were no actual rules against growing those plants - they were only disfavored, not disallowed - thereby rendering the entire issue with people checking for it moot, but Lan Yueheng had insisted and eventually he’d yielded.

Let Lan Yueheng grow his nightmare plants wherever he liked. What did he care? He wasn’t using that patch of land for anything in particular, and it was nice to have a reason to see Lan Yueheng on a regular basis.

“Strange how?” Lan Qiren asked, finishing off the final stroke of a painting. He didn’t like it, but then again, he never liked any of the paintings he did for himself – they were too stiff and unfeeling, in his view, lacking spirit and movement no matter what he tried. His favorite painting was still the antique Wen Ruohan had left on his wall all that time ago, a lively little landscape with burnt edges suggesting that it had been hastily recovered from a fire at some point; he’d never replaced any of the things his sworn brother had gotten for him.

“I’m not sure how to describe it. Just strange,” Lan Yueheng said. “I don’t know how many people have noticed yet, him being pretty standoffish and above-it-all at the best of times, but it’s not the usual sort of thing for him.”

Lan Yueheng was like Lan Qiren; they were good at noticing patterns, however bad they were at figuring out the meanings behind it. If Lan Yueheng said it wasn’t normal, it probably wasn’t.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his forehead, suppressing the desire to go figure out the problem right away. “I don’t think I can help,” he said instead. “He doesn’t like to see me, remember?”

“He’s important to the sect,” Lan Yueheng said peaceably, and Lan Qiren loved him all over again for not saying he’s still your brother. “You might not like him, but you like the sect. So you have to help figure it out.”

Lan Qiren did not like it when Lan Yueheng was right about things. It gave him a strange itchy feeling of dissatisfaction.  

“Someone else could figure it out,” he argued. “He’s sect leader now, remember? His well-being is everyone’s responsibility.”

“But you’re the one who’s good at figuring out weird stuff.”

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren grumbled, but he still put away his things and went to see his brother – who wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Any of the places he was supposed to be.

That was strange.

Lan Qiren’s brother was talented and powerful, skilled and meticulous; he was too proud of his status and accomplishments to shirk work. Whatever had drawn him away must have been very compelling indeed – or so Lan Qiren thought.

He wasn’t expecting, when he finally tracked down his brother through a tracker spell utilized on an old comb, to find him walking through the forest alongside a young woman, sword at his side as if he were night-hunting.

“I am night-hunting,” he said when Lan Qiren asked him. “I’m escorting Mistress He.”

Lan Qiren turned to look at the girl.

She smiled at him in a perfunctory sort of fashion. She was beautiful in a way that reminded Lan Qiren a little of Cangse Sanren, though her looks were very different – more refined and elegant, more delicate and less down-to-earth, thoroughly lacking the vaguely unsettling undertones so characteristic of Baoshan Sanren’s disciple, but no less lovely in her own way. 

“Qingheng-jun was just showing me the lay of the land,” she said coolly. “If you need him to return, of course, I won’t keep him.”

“There’s nothing else I need to do,” he said at once, which was such a blatant lie that Lan Qiren’s jaw dropped.

The girl glanced over at him and looked amused, saluting briefly: “He Kexin, a rogue cultivator,” she introduced herself. She shouldn’t have needed to; per etiquette, Lan Qiren’s brother should have introduced them, but he was clearly too far into his own world to care for such niceties. “And you are…?”

“Gusu Lan sect’s Lan Qiren,” Lan Qiren said on automatic, returning the salute. “I’m – his brother.”

“Oh?” she said. “In that case, you must have plenty to talk about. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be much night-hunting here, so I’ll be leaving.”

Lan Qiren’s brother saluted deeply. “I hope to see you again soon, Mistress He.” His voice was gentler than Lan Qiren had ever heard it.

She waved a careless hand in half-hearted agreement as she went, but Lan Qiren’s brother stared after her departing figure until she was out of sight. Only when she was fully gone did he turn away, and when he did, he turned only in order to glare at Lan Qiren.

“Why did you interrupt us?” he asked, and his voice had gone back to its usual cold remove. “We were finally spending some time together alone, without those friends of hers crowding in and bothering us.”

Lan Qiren glanced in the direction that He Kexin had gone. “I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference,” he said hesitantly. “If you’re alone or with her friends, I mean. I don’t think – I don’t think that she likes you all that much.”

Lan Qiren had no natural social skills, not like his brother, who was charming enough to draw most people in despite or perhaps because of his cool and distant demeanor, but in sheer self-defense he had worked very hard to categorize and identify a variety of unspoken signals utilized by people in order to try to figure out logically what he couldn’t do intuitively. While he was still terrible at identifying indications of positive interest of any sort, as Cangse Sanren was always teasing him, he had gotten much better at detecting negative signs that indicated disinterest, indifference, or boredom.

“She likes me well enough,” his brother said, his tone oddly defensive. “She’s reserved, that’s all – you really can’t tell who she secretly likes or doesn’t. She’s a brilliant cultivator, sharp as a blade and clever as anything; it’s no wonder that she’s kind to others in equal measure as well…”

“But -”

“She makes me feel free,” his brother said, cutting him off. “She’s just - she’s smart and she’s talented and she’s fearless, unrestrained and untamed. There’s nothing weighing her down or holding her back. She bears no expectations and no pressure, and nothing has ever forced her, molded her development in this way or that; she lives her life just drifting on the breeze, complete untethered, and when I’m with her I feel the same, and I’ve never felt that way…”

He trailed off, eyes oddly dreamy, and then suddenly he seemed to come back to himself and remember to whom he was speaking. “Anyway, what do you know about women, Qiren? You’re as frigid as an icicle hanging in the window or a mountain lake in midwinter.”

Lan Qiren acknowledged the point, but he didn’t see its relevance. “If she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you,” he pointed out. “There’s nothing you can do about it –”

“Are you saying there’s nothing you actually wanted from me?” his brother interrupted, voice sharp now, almost angry. “Your presence is neither wanted nor needed here. Leave at once.”

“No, it’s just – you weren’t at the hanshi, and there’s work to be done.”

“So what? I’ll do it later.”

“You’re sect leader now. You have duties,” Lan Qiren said. “You can’t just go out night-hunting whenever you wish –”

“You said it yourself, I’m sect leader - me, and me alone!” his brother snapped. “From what I recall, that makes me the one who gives the orders, not you. Now get lost!”

Lan Qiren blinked, shocked at the fierceness of the rebuke, and watched as his brother strode away – in the direction He Kexin had gone, rather than back towards the Cloud Recesses.

This, he thought to himself, is a problem.

It was, too. His brother abandoned his duties more and more often, avid in his pursuit of He Kexin, who he had invited to stay for a while at the Cloud Recesses with the friends she was travelling with. She did, as he’d said, seem to like him well enough, but it seemed clear that her regard was far more cursory than his own - and not just to Lan Qiren, either.

Lan Qiren was roped in by the elders to help do some of the work his brother was neglecting, at first a little and then more. It got in the way of his own preparations, and started getting on his nerves, too.

“You don’t understand,” one of his teachers told him when he tried to resist the notion of spending a large chunk of his time on sect paperwork instead of practicing music. “Love, for our sect, is a powerful thing. When it comes unexpectedly, it is wild and irresistible, like a river bursting through a dam and overflowing its banks. It’s no surprise that your brother is so focused on winning his bride – and all for the best, too. He has to have heirs to inherit one day.”

Lan Qiren didn’t disagree with that, naturally. He certainly didn’t want to be stuck being his brother’s heir any longer than he had to. It was only…

“Just because he’s in love with her doesn’t mean she’s going to be his bride,” he said, and wondered a little spitefully why it was just assumed that he didn’t understand what it meant to love someone. Just because he didn’t feel it the same way as they did didn’t make his heart any less a Lan. “I don’t know why you’re all being so stubborn about this. A woman knows her own mind - just because he offers himself doesn’t mean she has to accept.”

“Stop saying such inauspicious things,” his teacher scolded. “You should be wishing your brother luck, instead.”

“He doesn’t need luck,” another teacher, the one for swordsmanship, put in. “He needs more of a backbone. Doesn’t she have a father he can talk to?”

That started up another debate on the relevance of the opinion of the young in setting their own marriages, an old classic, and Lan Qiren sighed and took his leave. He winced when he realized that his brother was not far away, standing with He Kexin in one of the nearby gardens – at his brother’s cultivation level, there was little chance he hadn’t heard the subject of their conversation, and indeed his glare indicated that he had. He Kexin wasn’t looking his way, but Lan Qiren suspected she might’ve heard some as well.

His suspicions were borne out the next day, much to his misfortune.

“Mistress He!” he exclaimed, groping around wildly for his clothing. He’d been humming his way through a new stanza while taking a bath, having taken a day off to wash his hair, only to turn around and see her standing there in the middle of his quarters. “What are you – I’m not dressed – these are my rooms!”

“I know,” she said, not moving.

Lan Qiren decided his dignity was more important than his health and reached out to yank his clothing into the bath with him, ignoring how they got heavy and soaked with water; he pulled on his inner robes and, once attired, he clambered out, rather annoyed. Just because He Kexin was a rogue cultivator didn’t excuse her from knowing manners, and just because she was his brother’s favorite, granted the freedom to wander wherever she would within the Cloud Recesses, didn’t give her the right to violate his privacy. “Mistress He –”

“You’re cute,” she said, and he stared at her, aghast. “Not quite as handsome as your brother, nowhere near as charming, and the way you drone on is rather annoying, but at least you have some respect for a woman’s wishes, and that face of yours isn’t bad. You’re not courting anyone at present, is that right?”

“I’m not,” he said, taken aback. “But what –”

“Good,” she said, and the next thing he knew she was in his arms, trying to kiss him. It was only through his quick reaction that he was able to turn his face away and avoid it.

“Mistress – Mistress He!”

“Keep your voice down,” she said, sounding amused even as she groped him in an intimate place. “It’s part of the plan, eventually, but it’d still be a pity for us to get caught before we get to the fun part.”

“I don’t – I’m not – I don’t want – let go of me!”

“Are you a virgin?” she laughed. “For shame, a man of your age. Just relax, you’ll like it soon enough –”

Lan Qiren’s brother had described He Kexin as a brilliant cultivator, and he’d been right; for all that she was a rogue cultivator, lacking the resources of a Great Sect, she was talented and promising, a powerful sword cultivator in her own right, and her grip on Lan Qiren’s body was relentless.

Lan Qiren tried first to get away from her without harming her, but she wouldn’t let go of him, pulling open his robes and even burying her teeth into his throat – that was the straw too far for him; he whistled a series of notes, short and sharp, the burst of qi shocking her grip loose, and then he threw her as far away from him as he could, knocking her into the opposite wall.

“Kexin!”

Lan Qiren turned: it was his brother rushing in through his door, falling down to his knees in front of her to examine her to make sure she wasn’t injured, and then turning to look at Lan Qiren, his eyes aflame with rage.

Lan Qiren glanced down at himself: robes askew and sopping wet, scratches on his chest and a bite on his neck.

“No,” he said, abruptly realizing how he must look, how they must look. Part of the plan, He Kexin had said; she must have known that her brother wouldn’t leave her alone for very long, and she’d clearly intended on using Lan Qiren as a means to get his brother to give up on his pursuit. Very few men would continue to chase a woman that spurned them for their own younger brother, especially one they didn’t much like. “It’s not – I didn’t –” Denial wasn’t going to help. “Do not succumb to rage!”

“Do not engage in debauchery,” his brother snapped back, rising to his feet. “Do not break faith!”

Lan Qiren took a step back, and then another. “Do not make assumptions about others.”

His brother wasn’t listening, though, and Lan Qiren found himself slammed against his own wall, held up and strangled by his own collar, his favorite painting falling to the ground from the force of it.

“How dare you,” his brother hissed, his eyes red. “How dare you touch her –”

“I didn’t! She was the one who –”

The next slam of Lan Qiren’s body against the wall jarred his teeth so hard that he bit his tongue to bleeding, and knocked his brain all around his skull. His brother was still talking, he thought, but he couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. It belatedly occurred to him that using the same excuse as every rapist in history – she was asking for it, she was the one who initiated, it was all her – was probably not a good idea, even if in his case it was actually true.

He opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but his brother’s fist hit his stomach before he could speak, all the air knocking out of him.

“And then you – you hurt her –”

“Qingheng-jun, leave him be! It wasn’t him at all, you’re misunderstanding. I only wanted – ”

His brother threw him away, all his attention drawn away by his love, and Lan Qiren stumbled inelegantly on his way down, his feet slipping on the wet floor and tripping him up, and his head slammed hard against the corner of his bathtub as he fell down. As he sank to the floor, his vision going black, he thought blearily that the concussion he was undoubtedly going to have might even be worth it if only it meant that his brother would finally give up on his mad and hopeless pursuit of He Kexin already.

He did not.

[havenoffandoms]

Sweeter Than You (Eskel/Lambert, Modern AU)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating."

Pairing: Eskel/Lambert

Content Warning: Modern AU (lawyer Lambert, baker Eskel), implied sexual content at the end of the chapter (nothing graphic)

Read on AO3.

Lambert has had the shittiest day at work. 

First, he got stuck in downtown Novigrad traffic even though his traffic app told him that the roads were all clear, which in turn made him late for his 9am meeting. Real professional, great first impression. His client was understanding about the situation, but Lambert hates being late, especially when he’s trying to score new clients for his firm. The meeting went well despite his tardiness, and Lambert is convinced he’ll get the case settled in no time, but his day just kept getting shittier and shittier. He ended up spilling hot coffee on his brand new suit and the only spare he kept at the office was slightly too snug when he put it on. Great, he apparently put on weight, too. That has to be Eskel’s fault, what with all the treats he bakes for Lambert at the weekend. 

If the day wasn’t bad enough, Lambert’s car broke down on his way to lunch with an important client. It took the tow-truck a whole hour to get to him, which meant that Lambert had to cancel on his client and lose out on a potential settlement agreement. To add insult to injury, the sandwich Lambert ended up buying from a nearby bakery tasted of ass. Though admittedly Lambert’s taste buds have considerably developed since he started dating Eskel, because the man is a literal genius in the kitchen. Lambert can’t eat generic sandwiches anymore without comparing them to Eskel’s creations. 

When the tow-truck finally showed up, Lambert decided to call time of death on this generally miserable day. He called his secretary and told her to clear his diary for the day, which he knew that Essi would pull off. She’s hands down the best secretary in the whole of Novigrad, in Lambert’s eyes anyway, and well worth the considerable salary he pays her each month. After calling Essi, Lambert hailed down a taxi only to find that he left his wallet in his car, which was now being towed away to the nearest garage. Great. Just fantastic. 

Fuck this shit, fuck his car, fuck his job, and fuck the entire universe. 

Lambert just starts walking without a clear destination in mind. His suit is too tight and uncomfortable, but he can’t bring himself to care as he tries to work off the anxious energy bubbling in his chest. He wants to scream, or punch something, whatever yields the most satisfaction. Why is the world against him today? What did he do to deserve this? Lambert considers dialling Eskel, but he knows that his boyfriend won’t be able to hear the phone if he’s at work.

Oh, wait a second. 

Lambert looks around for the first time since storming off and he quickly realises that he’s not actually too far away from Eskel’s shop. The thought brightens his mood a little - if Lambert’s not able to go home and hide away from the world, at least he can spend the afternoon helping his boyfriend out in the bakery. Or just wait until Eskel has a minute to spare so Lambert can hug out all his frustrations in the backroom… or do other things in Eskel’s office. With a renewed spring in his step, Lambert makes haste towards Eskel’s shop. 

It doesn't take long for him to reach Lil Titbits, a quaint-looking shop just off the main street of Novigrad's business centre. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but Lambert knows just how hard Eskel worked to make the inside of his shop as inviting and cosy as humanly possible. As soon as Lambert steps inside the bakery, the heavenly smell of warm baked bread and freshly made coffee invades his nostrils. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend like he’s stepping inside his and Eskel’s home rather than his boyfriend’s shop. 

The little bell above the door chimes loudly, announcing his presence. Lambert instantly notices that the place is quiet - which is not unusual for a Wednesday afternoon, when most of Eskel’s customers are still either at work or at school. Lambert notices an elderly couple sitting in the booth by the window, enjoying a generous slice of lemon-meringue pie - oh fuck, Lambert loves Eskel’s lemon-meringue pies - between themselves. Lambert can’t fathom why anyone would share a slice of pie that good, especially since Eskel’s creations are by far the best fucking thing Lambert’s ever tasted. People are weird. 

Apart from those two customers, the place is empty. It doesn’t take long for Eskel to appear behind the counter, wearing his favourite apron, the one that reads “They Call Me Darth Baker” written in a white font on the black fabric. Geralt, Eskel’s brother, bought him that apron for Christmas, but Lambert never thought Eskel would actually wear it at work, for every customer to see, but that’s Eskel for you. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about what people think of him. Lambert has always admired that about him. 

“Hey babe,” Eskel greets him, his smile bright enough to rival the moon, stars, and the fucking sun.  The deep baritone of his boyfriend’s voice washes over Lambert in calming waves. “Bit early for you to be here. Everything alright?” 

Lambert’s legs move of their own volition, and before he knows it, he’s behind the counter burying himself in the warmth and safety of Eskel’s arms. “I am now,” he breathes, his tone just on that side of pouty, before rubbing his cheek against Eskel’s nerdy apron. He doesn’t give a shit if the customers at the back of the shop see them, nor does he care if he ends up with flour in his beard. He needs this, needs to feel Eskel close, because today’s been a shitty day and the only person who can make it better is his boyfriend. 

“Oh sweetheart, what’s up?” Eskel asks, his voice soft and reassuring like he’s talking to a spooked animal. Lambert only tightens his hold around Eskel, not ready to break the sweetness of the moment by reminiscing about his not-so-good-very-bad day. “Wanna move through to the kitchen?” 

That, in fact, sounds like a great fucking idea. Lambert almost whines when Eskel pulls away from him, but the urge quickly fades when Eskel laces their fingers together and drags Lambert through the back by the hand. Once they have regained a semblance of privacy, Lambert lets Eskel pull him into another soul-crushing hug. 

“I hate everything. And everyone. Well no, not everyone. I don’t hate you.”

“Mmh, good to know,” Eskel rumbles, sounding amused, “what happened, puppy?”

Lambert buries deeper in Eskel’s embrace as he replies, his words slightly muffled by the fabric of Eskel’s apron. 

“Got stuck in traffic this morning, then was late for my meeting, spilt coffee on my suit, my car broke down, I missed lunch with a potential client who’s worth a buttload of money, and I’m getting fat,” Lambert ends, his tone decidedly whiny when he’s reminded of just how snug his emergency suit feels. Damn Eskel and his ridiculously good treats. 

“Naw, hell Lamb,” Eskel shifts and grabs something resting on the working surface behind him. When Lambert looks up, he sees Eskel holding what looks to be a lemon and white chocolate muffin inches away from Lambert’s face. “Open up! My baking always cheers you up.” 

“Your baking is the reason why I’m getting fat!” Lambert grouses half-heartedly, his tongue poking out from between his lips to lick at the buttercream frosting covering the top of the muffin. “Mmmh, white chocolate! I knew it.” 

“Was gonna save it for you to celebrate your new client. Guess it can also be used as a consolatory muffin,” Eskel brings the treat closer to Lambert’s lips and offers a small, encouraging smile, “c’mon, take a bite. I promise you’ll feel better.” 

Lambert can’t resist Eskel’s pretty eyes anyway, so he happily lets his boyfriend feed him the muffin. Lambert takes a huge chunk out, the white chocolate and lemon flavours exploding on his tongue pulling an appreciative moan. Lambert’s eyes flutter shut as he savours his morsel, and when he opens them again, he sees Eskel’s smile has widened into a pleased grin. 

“Good?” he asks, like there’s any fucking doubt about how good his muffin tastes. 

“As always,” Lambert whispers in response, snatching the muffin out of Eskel’s hand and stuffing what’s left of it in his mouth. Eskel levels him with an unimpressed look, clicking his tongue in disapproval at his boyfriend’s actions. 

“You’re gonna choke one of these days,” Eskel tells him, trying not to laugh as Lambert tries to chew around the massive bite in his mouth, “look at your lil hamster cheeks. Adorable.” 

Lambert glares - the full effect of his scowl is probably lost on Eskel, though, with how Lambert is still struggling to swallow his treat - but the intention is there. Eskel shakes his head fondly before leaning in and catching Lambert’s lips in a chaste kiss which probably tastes sweet and lemony, but Eskel doesn’t seem to mind the taste of his dessert on Lambert’s lips. It takes Lambert a little while to swallow the food in his mouth, but when he does, he puckers his lips in a silent request for more of Eskel’s sweet kisses. 

“Yes?” Eskel teases, raising one eyebrow, “can I help you?” 

Lambert’s lower lip juts out into a sad pout at those words, an action that pulls a warm chuckle from deep within Eskel’s chest. He takes pity on Lambert and pulls him impossibly closer to his firm body, rubbing his nose against Lambert’s in a tender gesture. Lambert’s hands come to rest on Eskel’s hips, where he squeezes the soft flesh of his boyfriend’s puppy fat. Gods, but he loves absolutely everything about Eskel. 

“Can you close the shop early today and take me home?” Lambert asks, voice barely above a whisper, as he stretches up to capture Eskel’s mouth in a demanding kiss that leaves very little as to which kind of activity Lambert has in mind for their evening together. His hand squeezes Eskel’s hip more firmly, pulling a needy whine from his boyfriend in response.

“Minx,” Eskel growls under his breath, punctuating his statement with a final kiss, “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Eskel walks away, Lambert doesn’t miss the way his boyfriend has to readjust his pants which are now tenting at the front. Lambert leans back against the worktop of Eskel’s baking table, and first undoes the buttons of his suit jacket, then the top three buttons of his shirt. He, unlike Eskel, isn’t trying to hide the visible bulge forming in his far too tight pants, dammit. 

“You do what you have to do, sweetheart,” Lambert speaks in a sultry tone, the irritation brought on by a rather shitty start to the day long forgotten when he meets Eskel’s lust-blown eyes, “I’ll be right here, looking like a goddamn snack for you the whole time.” 

Eskel curses under his breath, pointedly looking away from Lambert. 

“Bastard. You just wait until we get home,” Eskel threatens half-heartedly before leaving the kitchen to empty the showcases and store the pastries in the refrigerators on the main shop floor. Lambert feels positively giddy with anticipation at the thought of how him and Eskel will spend the rest of the evening. 

Lambert’s day, in spite of everything, doesn’t seem so shitty in the end, not when he’s got Eskel to come home to. 

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 111 Thoughts

If this chapter doesn’t have forty pages of chibi Eren wandering through the woods asking where his nii-san is, what even is the point.

(The point is Drama.

Intrigue.

Fluid.)

Thanks, I hate it?

So yikes, we have a proper ballgame going and everything is awful leading into the ninth inning. It’s going to be extra innings with Paradis’ chief closer out of commission, up against their rival team. Truly one for the record books, people.

First thing is actually first, where the manga, in a fit of hysterics, gives me something I wanted: Numbers.

Over a hundred people have joined Eren’s side, deserting their posts. The suspicion is that they’ve done this out of the belief that the people with the power to rain down armageddon are maybe the safest shadows to hide under, and hey, with all the waffling their government has done about solving the problem of the whole world wanting them dead, why not?

For the larger groups, everything makes a simple amount of sense.

Eren has power, so people gather behind him.

Eren has power, so Paradis will yield to it for the sake of survival.

It’s a bit of a horrifying story, and one that I always take some joy in seeing. There comes a point where individuals have so much power where the only thing stopping them from changing the world however they see fit is their own boundaries.

Whatever Eren’s boundaries are, they’ve changed. He’s willing to kill children for the sake of his mission.

He is the most powerful card Paradis has, and without him, they have nothing.

Leaving them stuck doing whatever he wants them to.

It’s a similar tactic to the one he uses to drag the Survey Corps into his massacre; they need Eren, so they have no choice but to come support him in the choices he’s made as an individual. Everything else falls away in the face of the power Eren wields.

Yeah, the head of their government has been assassinated by his cult. Along with several other lives.

So?

Does that fundamentally change anything?

Does Paradis somehow need the Founding Titan less now that their command is facing disarray?

For a story so often pointing out that if you don’t fight, you can’t win, it’s pretty damn... something that the main character has all but removed the ability of a party he’s allied with to fight. They can’t resist him, and he knows it, and he’s exploiting it at his convenience.

Putting Zeke’s location on the negotiating table is cute, and a nice stall tactic in theory, but for all that Pixis says it’s not submission, Paradis is powerless.

If they don’t conduct rumbling experiments, they have no protection against the world.

They can’t conduct rumbling experiments unless they let the Yeager Bros come into contact.

If the Yeager Bros come into contact, they can do whatever the hell they want.

Which they have already been doing, so picture all of this, only more.

Pixis’ decision is really the only one he can make if he doesn’t want their people at each other’s throats. They can’t publicize how their one and only hope is willing to dismantle their government. They can’t publicize that they can’t trust their military to be acting in the interests that the government puts forth.

There’s a delicate balance here, with the balance being a complete lie because security has already toppled off and discovered that there’s no net below.

Their only prayer is someone swooping in and placing a trampoline down below before the crushing fall is completed, and there’s no guarantee of even that much happening.

If Zeke and Eren don’t want to help, no one can actually force them.

Zeke is one of two living humans in the world who can power the Founding Titan.

Eren currently has the Founding Titan.

They can’t kill Eren outside of a controlled environment, or else the Founding Titan will go who knows where. With Eren’s pile of abilities he’s nommed, fighting to subdue him will be next to impossible. With the added limitation of doing everything they can to avoid killing him?

Armin brings it up as a point of faith; if Eren has the Founding Titan, it shouldn’t matter what Zeke wants out of it.

Eren now has a cult who doesn’t blink twice at assassinating key government officials. Even if it doesn’t matter what Zeke wants, what Eren wants, or is at least willing to put up with, is heavily alarming.

“No, no, we’re not submitting. We’re negotiating.

What do you mean the only thing we have is something we’d have to hand over anyway to get what we want.”

Like.

Hell, man, talk the good game all you want to keep morale up, but you people and your entire society now rise and fall at the whim of a man who has put no effort into making himself look trustworthy.

So, you know.

Ganbatte.

Other special numbers include thirty soldiers + Levi standing in between Eren and Zeke once Eren finds Zeke, Hange, and three unnamed soldiers who are either about to be very dead, very traitor, or the coolest NPC badasses ever.

Meanwhile, Eren still has a hundred.

Just trailing around after him.

With bombs.

Considering Eren could kill most all of those people (except Levi and Hange) without help, I repeat the theme of this post that Paradis is so beyond screwed it has actually become laughable.

Another fun thing of note that only I care about is that even if Eren can’t get to Zeke, he might be able to get to Historia, and Nile appears to be in charge of her security.

The reason only I care about this is because Nile is in charge of her security, and Nile has been fed the story of Historia and NPC Farmer Guy being totes in love 5evr.

(NPC Farmer Guy has no name and no face. I declare him Red Shirt-san, and also reallllllly fucking dead. Especially if my crack theory of the carriage from last chapter rushing off to Historia was correct, meaning that Pieck, theoretically having tracked the carriages, is going to pay the Queen a visit.

Bye Nate.

(his name’s Nate your canon is invalid))

Briefly defending my descent into self-interest, Historia getting zero panels and barely any hearsay about her is driving me nuts for all sorts of reasons.

Two people (count them, two), in the entire world, are capable of drawing out the power of the Founding Titan. One of them is an untrustworthy dick. The other is Historia.

Historia, when last seen under extreme emotional duress, was of the opinion of, “fuck humanity titans did nothing wrong.”

As we can plainly see from her expression at the end of 107, there is nothing but blue skies and happiness going through her boundless considerations of humanity now, and she is most assuredly, definitely on their side as all of her friends ditch her in the middle of the woods and never visit or mention any concern for her except that one guy who has taken up murdering children, and he possibly did that in active defiance of concern for what problems it might cause her.

What could possibly go wrong.

There are about three people who hold the fate of Eldia in their hands, and we know what none of them are thinking. They also all have a much more casual relationship with murder than most of the rest of the cast.

What I’m trying to say is that Paradis your politics are boring because your livelihood hinges on three catastrophically emotionally damaged people, and all of the story’s energy is going towards keeping those people away from thought bubbles or general illumination.

If Historia, Eren, and Zeke decide that you guys die............ you die.

You possibly should have invested more in strategies that weren’t so entirely dependent on renegade children following orders.

Okay okay, enough pointing and laughing at the futility of government in shounen. Mikasa! How you liking your entire page of dialogue! Does it feel good? Does it make up for the gaping hole Eren being a nutcase is causing?

Of course it does!

I don’t know how I feel about Kiyomi, but I am glad that her relationship with Mikasa is so obvious in its self-interest. Mikasa isn’t being yanked around; she knows this person caring about her blood hasn’t translated to caring about her people.

Whatever Mikasa’s genes, Paradis is her home, and she considers herself as Eldian as anyone on it.

What’s interesting in that conversation is that Hizuru is still doing what it can to avoid being an ally of Paradis. They’re letting this one clan mess around, but unless results can be produced, the whole scheme is dead to them.

...

You know. Paradis had better start hoping that there’s still some massive secret to the Titans, because with the current knowledge available, they are just... so incredibly screwed on so many different levels.

I’m inclined to think that Kiyomi wanting Mikasa safe is one of the few shreds of honesty she has left. I’m an optimist. A child connected to the days of honor long gone... hey, it’s a romantic concept, even conniving foxes can have one last hurrah in them.

But also, Mikasa just doesn’t deserve people piling more lies on her.

A promise to protect someone calls to her heart. I’m sure Mikasa has thought those words to herself many times; whatever happens to Paradis, her priority has always been her family. Not a blood family, like Kiyomi holds on to, but one bound to her with ties of steel.

Only now her family is at odds.

Mikasa might care more about her family than anything else, but in practice, she’s a compassionate, responsible young woman. She can’t turn her back on the world just because her family has. She’s going to bleed herself dry trying to do the best for both of them.

That’s not a happy thought, because even if Mikasa, with all her strength and ability, fights for anyone in this conflict with all her heart, the concept of winning is a far off dream. Her supernatural gifts don’t make the world turn. Her gifts simply mean she might survive when everything around her explodes.

Yuck.

And also hey, Connie, I love you man, but you turn those angry eyes away from Mikasa pronto.

Then we’ve got the many trials of Nicolo.

Featuring Gabi and Falco.

...

I don’t wanna. I can skip this part.

Uggghgghghhgh.

Hell, this is a lot faster than I thought this disaster would come out, and it’s a lot grimmer than I really want and in general just ow.

Nicolo is a prisoner of war. He is allowed to cook. He finds light in cooking for people like Sasha. He’s Marleyan, and Eldians are devils, but being around them, his heart softens to them, and his role becomes something more complicated.

As a soldier, fighting the demons of Paradis is just what you do.

As a person, fighting people like Sasha, Jean, and Connie...

With a heavy heart, he can hand off laced wine to their superiors. He can continue to operate as a soldier fighting against Paradis. But the very thought of Connie and Jean being caught up in that sends him into a panic, and he falls back on racist rhetoric to cover it up.

Rhetoric his heart isn’t even in anymore, because more than killing, Nicolo finds himself in cooking. In bringing people happiness.

And Gabi killed the person who shows him that. The person who gave him solace from the hell of war.

It doesn’t matter that she’s a child, or a Warrior Candidate, or anything but the person who killed Sasha.

She cares about Falco’s life. That comes to stand as another condemnation of her. She knows what it is to care about someone? She’s valued enough that this boy is willing to jump in front of a blow meant for her?

Did she think the person she killed wasn’t?

It’s destructive and awful, and Gabi finally has a defense for herself that isn’t just brainwashed rage at the island. That girl? The one she shot? That’s the girl who shot someone she knew. Guards who watched over Warrior Candidates training, in charge of penning up Eldians, but they were still people Gabi saw a home in.

She can’t justify the loss of Sasha, but she can justify shooting back, especially at someone who just clubbed Falco in the head.

But she’s still just a brainwashed child.

Sasha’s father watches two people, profoundly touched by his daughter, ripping each other apart because they’re in pain. Sasha changes Nicolo for the better. Sasha and her path in life is what’s breaking this child.

A child is calling his daughter a devil. She’s been brought into this conflict and all she sees is the enemy, and the good there must be in fighting that enemy.

Gabi doesn’t even try to fight back when Sasha’s father holds up the knife.

She’s bleeding and in tears, and for one of the only times, she isn’t reacting with violence. She’s just a stunned little kid, wondering if the people who’ve fed and housed her on this island of evil are about to kill her. Like she killed the daughter they loved so much.

Of course the man who raised Sasha doesn’t lay a finger on her.

Of course the man who has to physically hold down his child to try to force her to stop eating so she won’t die of starvation later understands how hard the world is.

Horrific things have happened.

He isn’t going to bring one more into this world.

And Gabi... from the very start, she’s been the most passionate about becoming a Warrior. She’s going to follow in her cousin’s footsteps. She’ll commit war crimes, she’ll take on a death sentence, she’ll do whatever it takes. She’s a Warrior.

She’s a kid.

She doesn’t want these kind people to hate her.

Kaya reacts the same way Gabi has to everything so far. She charges in with the only weapon she can find, trying to kill the problem because the emotional strain of what’s actually going on is too big for her young heart to take.

Kaya, who really has been kind. Who’s the reason they’re here. Who’s been trying to get her and Falco home.

Kaya’s in tears, and Falco’s unconscious and bleeding.

All because of what Gabi’s done.

Nicolo sees the same thing.

That’s why he comes clean.

The world is such a cruel place.

They’ve got to spare the beauty where they find it.

I’m not going to touch that plot bomb, because the manga can do it for me in future chapters. Zeke having a bunch of government officials drink his spinal fluid is honestly on par with every other thing he’s done, so. One more point to the Paradis Screwed column.

So last word goes to Mikasa.

I mentioned in the chapter where Louise and Mikasa talked that Louise had seen Mikasa’s strength impact her life, but completely missed the kindness behind that strength. Mikasa is terrifying as a soldier. She’s cold and relentless.

As a person, she will ask the child who killed her friends to see her wounds, and hold her close to keep another child from hurting her.

Mikasa is kind.

Gabi has met so many good people on this island, and all of them are in tears.

It’s funny and sad that Mikasa and Armin take her into the back room to calm down. For all their lives practically, they’ve been looking after a reckless wild child who gets into fights they have to finish for him.

Gabi is as driven and passionate and full of anguish as Eren as a child, and now she’s with two of the people who know that.

Armin and Mikasa might not know how to help Eren, but they can help this little girl.

And Mikasa can keep another little girl from knowing what it’s like to knife someone in the back because they killed someone you love.

Welcome to Emotions.

Where everything is absolutely awful except maybe the people feeling them.

[bobasheebaby]

Bed of Lies-Crimson Rain chapter 7

Pairing: Bastien x Liza; Liam x Raven Written for @badthingshappenbingo Fandom: Choices (The Royal Romance Book) Square filled: Intubation Word count: 3,191 Warnings: angst, hospital setting Summary: Liam finds out some news that makes him turn to an old friend. Present time he finds out something that will change everything. A/N: @katurrade and @zaffrenotes kept pushing me to do a Mobster AU. Beta’d by my patient husband who is completely hooked. A special thank you to @stopforamoment for helping me figure out how to make the double flashback work as one so dialogue didn’t repeat. Also thank you for listening to me while I talked out my muse’s newest twist. Oops.  Series warnings: Mobster AU, there will be violence, and death. NSFW content to come. Possibly dark. If you ask to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist. Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, I’m simply borrowing them for a bit.

Two years ago; Trenton, New Jersey- Liam (Raven): Liam was stunned, shocked really. He stared across the mahogany desk at his father, his mouth gaping, unsure what to say, how to react. Liam quickly snapped his mouth shut, not wanting to be reprimanded for showing an emotion other than anger. He knew the second his father uttered the words lung cancer that he would have no choice but to finally bite the bullet and marry who his father wanted, Madeline. Liam’s jaw clenched, his hands balling up into fists, fingernails digging into his palms at the thought of being forever bound to Madeline. He had resisted his father’s efforts for years. While officially she wore a ring, not the ring—the one that was his mother’s, he refused to acknowledge the engagement he was forced into. He didn’t care that Madeline was groomed to be his partner, that she knew the business inside and out, had grace and poise that rivaled any other woman while remaining tough and rigid, a perfect supportive yet yielding wife any mobster would dream of marrying. These qualities made Madeline perfect in his father’s eyes, but it was these exact qualities that made Liam loathe the idea of being married to her. Madeline’s upbringing made her cold and unfeeling. She had stated more than once that she was willing to turn a blind eye to any indiscretions as long as she was the only one to bear any children. Children, the biggest reason Liam detested the thought of marrying Madeline. He may have lost his mother when he was only eight years old, but he still remembered the warmth, love and compassion her chestnut brown eyes held whenever she looked at him. He remembered the feeling of being wrapped in her loving embrace as she read to him, how he always felt safe, happy and loved while wrapped up in her arms. The sparkle in her eyes as she played pretend with him, the sadness they held whenever his father brought up his training for his birthright. The way she cared for all the children in the family as if they were her own. He longed for a wife, a partner who held the same kindness and compassion, a woman who showed love like his mother had. Liam wanted someone who would ground him, give his children the kind of childhood he had until Bastien had stolen it from him. A wife who would guide him on his path to vengeance, but keep him from going too far. The thought of marrying Madeline made Liam feel hollow and empty. He refused to be confined in a loveless marriage. He had spent years coming up with reason after reason why he needed to postpone the wedding. He kept holding out hope that he might meet someone who made him feel strong and whole, like he could take on the world, instead of the hollow empty feeling he carried with him now. He feared his father’s news would be what finally forced him to do the one thing he dreaded. Liam’s head spun with thoughts of her as he maneuvered through the widespread house back to his room, his sanctuary. It had been six years since he saw her, really truly saw her, more than in mere passing when she visited from college. He envied her freedom, the choice she had in what it was her future held. He hated he was destined to one thing, a business he didn’t really want any part of except to exact revenge on the man who took his mother from him. He never wanted this life, but it was the one he was born into. He once dreamed of escaping the life with her, the dream vanishing when his mother was murdered in what they assumed to be cold-blood. He had allowed himself to slowly drift apart from one of his closest friends when she left for Chicago for college to live her life away from the life, away from the family, away from him. She deserved to live the life she wanted, and that life wasn’t there, wasn’t with him. He had hated to admit it, but once she was gone he realized how much she really meant to him. He noticed that she was on his mind more than she should have been. He bit his tongue, keeping the truth from her, he couldn’t make her question her own dreams. He hated to lose her, but he knew it was for the best, he needed to let her go and let her live her own best life, at least then one of them wouldn’t be stuck in the life. The only relief he felt was that she was free, even if it meant she was free of him too. Back in his room Liam nervously chewed on his bottom lip as he stared at his phone. He hesitated as his finger hovered over her name a moment before finally pressing call. What am I doing? She got out, she’s happy in Chicago! His breath caught in his throat, heart beating rapidly as the phone rang waiting for her voice to break through the line. I should just let her live her life! He contemplated hanging up before she could answer, knowing the friend she was growing up he knew she would drop everything and come home if he asked. Is it fair of me to ask? He heard the click of the phone being picked up. For the first time in his life he hoped he reached her voice mail, he couldn’t upend her life no matter how much he needed her level headedness in this moment. Raven’s heart stopped in her chest when she saw his name pop up on her phone. She hadn’t spoken to him except in passing in the last six years. No no no! Her heart plummeted to her stomach at the realization that he could only be calling her for one reason. Oh please no! Her hand shook, heart racing as she pushed answer. She hesitantly brought the phone to her ear, not ready to hear the news he had called to give her. “Liam? Please tell me my mom is safe!” Raven begged, her voice broke with emotion, voice raised in panic, as hot tears stung her eyes, not even caring about proper phone etiquette in that moment. Liam felt his heart clench at the sound of the fear and panic in her voice. “Raven, no she’s fine I promise!” Liam replied, taking a deep breath, “that’s not why I called.” Never before had he felt so bad, he just needed her support and instead he made her panic. Why did I call? This was a terrible idea! What the fuck was I  thinking?! Raven sighed in relief, the weight around her heart releasing slightly, putting her more at ease than she felt since she saw his name pop up on her phone. “Okay, then why did you call?” She questioned, fear giving way to confusion. Liam sighed, knowing as soon as he uttered the words they would slip back into their old roles. She would try to make him feel like he had control over his life, like he had a choice in what became of his life when he knew that was the farthest thing from the truth. He knew she’d be ready to come and offer him whatever comfort she could, putting her entire life on hold for him. Can I really take her chance from her? He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. It’s too late, I can’t turn back now. His heart clenched knowing she would be ready to fly back the next day if he asked, I never should have called her! “It’s my dad, he has lung cancer.” Raven’s heart broke for Liam, the fear she had felt just seeing his name come up, the fear of what might have happened couldn’t compare to the multitude of emotions she knew he had to be feeling in this moment. She couldn’t imagine losing both parents, one to someone they had trusted and now knowing that his father would soon be dying by an uncontrollable force. She couldn’t help but think what a cruel joke it was that someone so kind would go through so much pain and hurt, be forced into such a terrible life, and all before he was even thirty. She glanced around her living room, a picture of them at her graduation gracing her wall, she made a life here, but it was missing him. Could she stay here and let him go through this on his own? She shook her head, she knew she needed to go and be there for him, even if he’d only ever look at her as the younger annoying friend. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t try to talk me out of of coming!” She declared, pushing end call before he could try to convince her to stay. Her heart clenched again, this time in pain instead of fear, she knew it wouldn’t be easy being around him being nothing more than a friend. She shoved the pain aside, he needed her, just like he needed her eighteen years ago. She could do this, she could handle just being his friend, for him. Liam sighed, his phone dropping to his bed, his head dropping into his hands. Why did have I bother her? He shouldn’t have told her, he shouldn’t have called her. She deserves better than me! She shouldn’t be shackled to a life she never wanted, the life she’d live in Trenton by his side. Who am I kidding she doesn’t like me like that! He mentally chastised himself for thinking someone as perfect as Raven could ever have feelings for him. The only person he’d ever have by his side would be cold, cruel, and unfeeling. He would never find a way out of his forced marriage to Madeline, he knew that now, only he made things worse by pulling the one person he thought he might be happy with back into the life. God what was I thinking?! He should have known better than telling her what was going on with his father, he knew she would drop everything for him, that was just the type of friend she was. Liam needed to come to terms with the marriage he would have no choice but going into, and now he had to figure out how to show Raven he was fine and she could return to her life. The thought of lying to her, and saying goodbye to a future with anyone but Madeline all at once made his heart ache in a way he thought it might not ever stop. He needed to pull himself together, he would soon be in charge, far before when they ever thought he would, he needed to act like the man he needed to be, the man his father expected him to be. He needed to leave behind his childhood fantasies and do what was expected of him, he needed to let go any hopes of having a life with her.

Present day; Trenton, New Jersey:

Liam sorted through the stack of mail on his desk, pausing when he saw one with a return address for a nearby nursing home. Confusion overtook him as he opened the envelope, pulling out what was most certainly a bill. Why was he paying a nursing home? He picked up the phone, punching in the number, needing to get to the bottom of the bill. Perhaps it’s a mistake. He glanced at the name, clear as day ‘Constantine Rhys’ printed as payee, no other information given. He drummed his fingers against the mahogany desk as he waited for the phone to be answered. New questions coming up every second that passed as he waited. 

“Royal Pines, Katherine speaking.” “Hello Katherine, I was going through my mail and found a bill for your facilities and was hoping you might be able to tell me what it was for. My father has passed and the bill is in his name.” Liam replied. “I’m so sorry for your loss. If you give me the information I should be able to help you.” Liam relayed the needed information, his heart racing in his chest as he waited as she typed into the computer. “It looks like your father has been graciously paying for Jane Doe’s treatment for the last twenty years.” Liam’s head was spinning. Jane Doe? Twenty years? Why on earth was his father paying for someone’s care for twenty years? Could she possibly have survived? His heart raced in his chest at the thought, the hope that maybe somehow Bastien failed. “Mister Rhys, do you want to stop paying for her care? Her daughter would be upset, but there is no signs of her getting any better.” “No, I’ll continue to pay.” He muttered, phone slipping through his fingers. He stomach twisted into knots. His father was paying for someone’s care, someone with a child. Could it be her? He shook the thought from his head, he refused to get his hopes up. The only thing was clear that he needed to uncover who Jane Doe was and why his father would cover her care for twenty years. *** Liam pushed open the door to Royal Pines, his mind filling with doubt. Maybe I should have waited until they could speak to the family. That part puzzled him more than anything, how could she have family and still be considered a Jane Doe? He couldn’t wait he needed answers, like who Jane Doe was, and why his father would be paying her medical bills for the past twenty years. He knew he wasn’t going to find out who she was, she was a Jane Doe, but maybe he could uncover why his father felt the need to cover her bills for so long. Maybe he could discover why she why she was still unclaimed if they had next of kin the needed to contact. He walked up to the reception desk, giving them his name and requesting to speak to Jane Doe’s Doctor. He turned leaning against the reception desk as he looked around the expansive reception area as he waited on the Doctor. A short, grey haired woman, in a white lab coat came out. “Mr Rhys I presume?” She asked receiving a nod in return. “I’m Dr Linda Casey, I’ve been in charge of Jane Doe’s care for the last twenty years. We are very thankful to your family for their paying for her care, but I’m afraid I can’t give you any information about her medical history without the approval of her next of kin.” Liam nodded, he expected as much, yet he needed to try. He needed to understand what would possess his father to care for a woman with no name for twenty years. His heart froze in his chest as a young woman the spitting image of his mother walked up to them. “Linda, is this the man I have to thank for taking care of my mother?” She questioned. “Hope, I’d like you to meet Liam, the son of the man who maintained care of your mother. Mr Rhys, this is Hope Casey.” Dr Casey replied introducing the young woman to him. Hope turned to him smiling, where he expected his mother’s brown eyes he was met with steel grey. He felt his blood begin to boil, he bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. That bastard! That’s why Bastien had killed, no attempted to kill his mother. She survived? His heart soared at the thought that she somehow survived, Plummer’s back down to earth realizing his father had to have known. If she was alive why was I told she was dead? Why was she a Jane Doe if his father could so easily identify her? Why would my father keep this from me? The questions swam in his head making him dizzy. One thing was clear, Bastien Lykel needed to be stopped before he did anymore damage to anymore lives.

Twenty years ago; Trenton, New Jersey- Constantine: Constantine downed the remainder of his Scotch, he threw the empty tumbler against the wall, the glass shattering upon impact. The sheer incompetence! He knew something was going on between them, the audacity she had to go behind his back! He thought he could rid his life, his organization of all traitors easily. Of course he would refuse to kill his lover, what was I thinking? He thought he had it handled, he thought surely she could handle a simple hit. Why am I surprised? Of course she would survive, they reacted too quickly. His only saving grace was that everyone thought she was dead, he just needed to keep that illusion. Of course she would be pregnant. No one could know she survived. No one could learn of the pregnancy, especially not him. Thankfully she was in bad condition. Perhaps she won’t make it. As he stood there, seeing the woman he had once loved, had trusted with so many machines hooked up to her small frame. A tube down her throat connected to a ventilator, the only thing helping her breathe, keeping her alive. Oh how easy it would be to end it, just a flip of a switch, but he couldn’t, of course he couldn’t. I can’t believe I was so weak! Constantine’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he remembered how weak he had been when he viewed her hooked up to the ventilator. He had felt a twinge in his heart looking at her laying in the bed unmoving, she looked so small and weak, her slight frame looked even smaller, almost childlike  in the large hospital bed. Her right side of her head covered in thick white bandages, jet black hair fanned out around the left side of her pale, gaunt face, a stark contrast to the white hospital sheets. He was disappointed in himself, he hated that she still made his heart skip a beat after all she did, all she planned to do. How could he still be under her spell, unable to harm her? She made him feel, made him weak. His fist slammed down on the mahogany desk, he should have been able to end it, finish her off himself. It had been so hard to remove himself, pretend he didn’t know who she was. It’s what needed to be done! The only way he could make this work was if everyone continued to think she was dead. He needed to play the grieving widower, make them feel for him, feel for his son, he could never let the truth come to light. Maybe the swelling in her brain will get worse. Maybe she’ll get an infection from the gunshot and subsequent surgery. He just hoped the situation would resolve itself, and soon.

A/N: My muse has been pushing for the one surprise and well she’s won, and of course she had to make it much more interesting. Scream and yell, I can take it. *Goes to deal with the mess cursing under breath at muse*

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Tags: @imafictosexual @speedyoperarascalparty @liamxs-world @annekebbphotography @tanyaschoices @hopefulmoonobject @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @riseandshinelittleblossom @cocomaxley @ao719 @blackwidow2721 @katurrade @leelee10898 @stopforamoment  @akrenich @gardeningourmet @bella-ca @carabeth @bobbersb-fanficfun  @endlessflame @innerpostmentality @imma-winchester-addict @tornbetween2loves @cora-nova@indiacater @traeumerinwitzhelden @blackcatkita @darley1101 @choiceslife @alexpottrechoices  @lolablackwrites @daniv2278 @sleepwalkingelite @gibbles82 @kadencantarella

[arcadenemesis]

So I guess I managed to update this monster...

Laws of The Universe 

[ao3 link]  words: 6k, ch: 2/6

Chapter 2: Matter

“What do you think happens to us when we die?”

Shiro stilled, looking up from his entrance essay. After a moment, he placed his pen down and leaned forward. At the desk across from him, Keith kept his gaze unflinchingly on his physics textbook, reading in the lamp light.

“Where's this coming from?”

He knew. It had been years since Shiro had found him alone, just a small boy crying for the loss of his father. But he knew just as well that spectres of the past never truly vanished. They would always linger, itching at the edge of his existence with little relief. Sometimes it was best to ignore it and allow the sensation to fade on its own. But other times, like now, it seemed that leaving it unaddressed only aggravated it more.

“... It's nothing.”

Shiro's bracelet tightened around his wrist immediately. He resisted the urge to rub at it when he saw Keith’s eyes dart to his hand briefly. The younger boy knew he was caught and his lips drew a tight grimace. Shiro saw no point in voicing the fact out loud.

Keith’s shoulders hunched up to his ears when Shiro’s chair dragged across the cheap linoleum as he stood. But he didn't push the older boy away when he leaned his forearms on the table next to him. Shiro glanced over the complicated notes spread out on its surface, mountains of equations and strangely artistic diagrams of trajectories. Keith had never been short on motivation, but as the launch of the HAT-1 rocket loomed, his work rate had increased to frightening levels. He was well on his way to chasing his dream of joining the space program at the Garrison Centre, and was determined to join Kolivan on his next mission whenever it would come.

On the notebook in front of Shiro, a calculation had been written, rewritten, crossed out and messily scrubbed at in frustration. The paper had been crumpled and re-smoothed, and under the mess in Keith’s neat cursive, he had written a short phrase before continuing the workings again.

        Patience yields focus.

The little happy face drawn next to the final, correct answer - complete with undercut - was hopelessly endearing.

“When does the meteor shower start?”

Keith glanced at his watch.

“About 35 minutes. But it won't peak for another 90 at least— hey!”

Shiro ignored his protest as he plucked the textbook from his hands, carefully bookmarking the page before setting it down on his other notebooks.

“Let's get a head start then. I don't know about you, but there's only so much I can write about ethics in lawmaking before my eyes want to fall out. Besides, gotta make sure we get the best spot.”

Keith rolled his eyes sourly. “No one ever comes to our spot.”

“And wouldn't it be such a shame if tonight was the first night they did,” Shiro replied with a grin.

He leaned down into Keith’s line of vision, tilting his head so it almost rested on the table in front of him.

“Come on,” he goaded, flashing what he hoped was a good attempt at puppy dog eyes. He was determined to fish Keith out of whatever mental dip he had found himself in. And nothing cheered him up more than stargazing, pointing out planets and constellations as Shiro listened on beside him. He watched Keith stare him down, ears turning pink before his expression relaxed in resignation.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But if you fall asleep out there, I'm not waking you up this time.”

Shiro looked wounded.

“That was just once! You try staying awake past midnight after three exams on completely unrelated areas of law in one day.”

Keith finally laughed and Shiro felt his chest grow warm.

“Good thing you're going to be the attorney and not me then,” he teased as he stood, swiping up his jacket.

The walk to the little abandoned shack overlooking the Garrison Space Centre was punctuated by Shiro talking about his worries about being accepted for his Juris Doctor next year. Keith listened dutifully, breaking his silence only to offer words of support and encouragement when needed. This was what their friendship had always been, helping each other chase their wildly different dreams and sharing in each other's trials and jubilations along the way. They kept each other focused and on track, and so despite the lack of specialist schools and private tutors, both had made significant headway into reaching their goals while they were still quite young. Shiro could hardly believe he was looking at fast tracking his path to becoming a defence attorney by the time he would turn 23. At 18, the end was still far away, but in sight nonetheless.  

“And I mean, I guess writing about how sociology and the law are intrinsically linked isn't as exciting as working out how to fly a rocket, but I'm actually really enjoying it.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Keith grinned, throwing himself unceremoniously onto the grass. “I find the idea of having my own attorney an incredibly thrilling concept.”

“Just what are you planning that involves having your own attorney?” Shiro eyed him with mock-suspicion, lowering himself a little more carefully to lay on his back. “Besides, who said I was going defend your shady dealings in court?”

Keith smiled, pulling his knee up to his chest.

“You'd never abandon me.”

The words came out surprisingly serious, his voice soft but confident. Shiro blinked at the sudden shift, struggling to form a reply, and Keith’s watch blipped quietly before his brain could catch up.

“It's about to start,” the younger boy said, casting his eyes up.

Shiro tucked his palm under his head, the very first of the lights streaking across the atmosphere above them. Watching the meteor showers was much more for Keith’s benefit than his. But the time spent together was precious to Shiro in a way he couldn't put into words. And it didn't matter if he didn't want to chase his dreams into space like Keith. Away from the light pollution, the night sky was objectively magnificent. He didn't have to be a budding astronaut to appreciate that. And the time away from his books helped refresh his perspective too. A thought came to him as he recalled Keith’s question earlier that evening.

“The stars sure look beautiful tonight,” he mused as nonchalantly as possible. Keith just hummed his agreement unsuspectingly.

“You know what else is beautiful?”

He felt Keith flinch beside him slightly, but focused on staring right ahead and trying not to crack a grin. He missed the dusting of pink that spread across the other boy's cheeks in the dark.

“L. A. Hart’s concept of legal positivism and his philosophy of social influence on authority.”

There was a pause, then suddenly a fist thumped against his shoulder.

“Idiot,” Keith muttered as Shiro laughed, turning his face away.

Shiro sat up to fling his arms around the other boy’s hunched shoulders, scruffing his hair. Keith yelped his protest but didn't shove him off, and when Shiro settled one arm around him, he leaned ever so slightly into the hold.

“You asked me what I think happens after we’re gone?” Shiro asked, turning his face back up to the sky, where their personal light show was ramping up. "Maybe we turn into stars. And maybe some of us can't stay away. Which is why this happens.”

“Corny, even for you,” Keith scoffed. “How can we turn into stars when our bodies are stuck on the earth?”

Shiro laughed, squeezing him to his side. "Good question. I guess don't know the answer... But I don't think it's the end. We’ll see them again, I'm sure.”

Shiro pretended not to hear Keith sniff, his response coming at a delay.

“Promise?”

Shiro rested his head on Keith's with a smile.

“Promise.”

Pidge was the first to look up when Shiro arrived late in the afternoon, round glasses exaggerating the surprise in her eyes.

“Shiro?!”

Allura’s head shot up, and immediately she abandoned the evidence list on her desk. She stood, smoothing the material of her pink pencil skirt. “What do you think you're doing here, Shiro?” she admonished, unable to conceal her concern. “You should be in a hospital bed.”

Shiro pulled the jacket draped over his shoulders a little closer. “No… I couldn't stay there, doing nothing. Not while…” He grit his teeth, looking down.

“You need to rest!” Pidge cut in. “Leave Kolivan’s case to us. We’ll take it from here.”

Shiro's eyes hardened, still staring at the ground. “Thanks… but that's not an option. Not for me.”

Allura looked troubled, pausing as she moved around her desk, placing a hand on the tabletop. “Shiro… your injuries.” Her voice was gentle and even, but it still grated against Shiro's raw nerve endings nonetheless. "You're putting your health in danger by being here.”

“I'm fine. The hospital provided me with everything I needed. I was just wasting a bed there.” He avoided the disbelieving looks from his colleagues. “Now that Shay has been cleared, the court has let Kolivan’s trial recommence, right? Tell me how the case is going. What progress have you made?”

Allura exchanged a glance with Pidge, but his junior partner seemed to decide keeping him informed was best, no matter what Allura was trying to silently communicate.

“We have a witness that claims a suspicious figure was spotted in the lounge just after the explosion at the launch pad. But the description doesn't match Kolivan. It has to be the real killer!”

Despite her enthusiasm, Shiro remained thoughtfully quiet.

“I thought you'd be happy to hear that,” Allura interjected gently after a moment, sitting on the corner of her desk.

“Mm?” Shiro snapped out of his reverie. “I… I am. And I'm going to make sure Keith's murderer is brought to justice.” His voice went cold. “Nothing in this universe will get in the way of that.”

Allura was solemn as she spoke. “Keith meant a lot to you…”

“He meant…” Shiro tried desperately to unfurl his phantom fist, the throb of pain starting to work its way up his arm. “He meant everything.”

“What was he like?” Pidge asked, chewing on her lip.

Shiro’s smile was bittersweet, because how did anyone begin to describe the enigma that was Keith Kogane: orphan, dreamer, astronaut, friend... much more. “He was focused. Passionate. If he set his mind to something, he would achieve it in the end. But never at the expense of anyone else. On the outside he could seem distant to those who didn't know him well enough, but his heart was always open just below the surface. Nothing was worth the pain of a loved one to Keith. He would sooner…” Shiro stopped, swallowing hard.

“And now he's gone.”

Allura’s shoulders tensed and Shiro knew she was fighting between her professionalism as his boss and her desire to comfort him as a friend.

“Shiro, about that jacket…”

“... It's Keith’s. It was given to him after he was selected for the HAT-2 mission. I remember how happy he was when he came home wearing it for the first time. He'd finally achieved his dream… and then…” he started to crack, “then…”

His fist connected to the wall behind him with a crack, making Pidge jump.

“It's not fair!”

Allura took a step forward as he drew a shaky breath, but stopped short when he squared his shoulders a schooled his expression back into something more neutral.

“I'll never forgive the person who took his dream from him.”

“I know,” Allura said softly. “Shiro, the way you feel… it's natural. You've been through a lot. Just… don't forget that as attorneys, our first and foremost task is to save our client, not avenge the victim.

Conflict constricted Shiro’s ribs tightly. “I-I understand that,” he said, trying not to let desperation bleed into his voice. “That's why—"

His voice failed him completely. Allura finally abandoned professionalism to close the distance, reaching up to touch his face. Shiro caught her hand though, gently redirecting it away. Up close, he could see his tired face mirrored in concerned blue eyes.

“Sorry Allura, but I'll be taking a leave of absence.”

Beside them, Pidge looked stricken. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Shiro, I could understand if you were taking the time to heal,” Allura said softly, “but clearly that's not the case here. I can see the files in your bag and I know you don't want to give up this investigation. Can you at give me a reason why you don't want to work with the Voltron Offices?”

Shiro turned his face away, unable to look Allura in the eye. There was no way he could tell her. That his reason was borne of the seed of doubt in his mind. That the roots of distrust and suspicion had spread and grounded themselves deep into his stomach. He had always trusted his intuition. And it told him now that he needed to do this alone.

“When I put on Keith's jacket, it was my promise to him. I'm going to catch his killer myself.”

“But that's our goal too!” Pidge insisted.

Allura glanced to the junior attorney, trying to offer her split-second reassurance. “Pidge is right. We should find the truth together.”

Shiro knew she was trying to watch out for him. It had always been this way since she had first recruited him, fresh from law school after the bar. She had given him his start and he would always be grateful for that. But right now…

“The truth…” He released her wrist, stepping away. “What if the truths we seek turn out to be different though?”

“What could you possibly mean, Shiro?” Allura sounded exasperated and horrified all at once.

“I'm going to find the monster who took Keith's life, my own way.” His tone was finite, turning away. He paused when he opened the office door, his hand on the handle. “Take good care of Kolivan. It's what Keith would have wanted.”

“Goodbye.”

"That's time, Keith. Pens down.”

Keith let out a long sigh as he sat back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair where it had been getting a little longer at the back. He turned a tired smile up to his companion.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on the clock. I know you have better things to be doing than watch me take another practice exam.”

Shiro waved him off. “I got a pretty big chunk of my torts essay done, so I'm not complaining. That's the last one, right?”

Keith nodded, fishing for a red pen and an answer key. “Then it's the real deal tomorrow,” he said, looking a little green.

Shiro tsked disapprovingly. “You’re fine, Keith. Say it.”

Keith sighed again, but replied obediently. “Keith Kogane is fine.”

Shiro attempted to channel all of his encouragement into a warm smile. “You've done the hard work and it's just one last hurdle. And what's your average score right now? Ninety-five?”

“Ninety-six,” Keith corrected, trying - and failing - not to look smug.

Shiro laughed.   “Why the hell am I being your cheerleader then? You don't need me.”

“Not true,” he rebutted immediately, eyes focused on his paper as he started marking his answers. After all this time, his determination still shone through as strong as ever, undeterred even in the face of the news of HAT-1’s disastrous launch a year ago.

Shiro watched as his brow creased in concentration, and the way he chewed on the end of his pen as he read. His boots tapped out an anxious rhythm on the floor, but Shiro found himself unbothered by the distraction. If anything, it was a little charming, watching his nervous habits on display all at once.

“You don't have to wait,” Keith said suddenly, without looking up.

Shiro felt strangely startled, as if caught out. Just how long had he been sitting there, staring, essay abandoned at his elbow? He cleared his throat.

“I was thinking we could go to the Space Centre after you finish marking. One last time for good luck before your exam. My treat.”  

Keith’s eyes shot up, violet and eager and Shiro felt his heart give an odd thump.

“Yeah?”

Shiro swallowed and nodded, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. The smile that spread across Keith’s lips at the gesture sent him into a spin. Shiro had to stop himself from reaching up to hold his head as he finally looked back down to his essay again. He tried to focus intently, but the words refused to sink in. Paragraphs sat idle on the pages in front of him and letters threatened to blur out of comprehension. Was he sick? Had he not had enough to eat before he agreed to join Keith as his adjudicator this morning?

He risked a glance up to the boy in question again, where he was marking his test with renewed vigor. Between questions, he twirled his pen between his fingers in an absent flourish. His mouth quirked at the corners with every answer he got right and he alternated between chewing his bottom lip raw and soothing it with a quick flick of his tongue. When he paused to blow his fringe out of his eyes, Shiro felt his insides flip over.

Okay, so he wasn't ill. It was far worse.

Takashi Shirogane had inexplicably fallen in love with his best friend.

[alchemistc]

The Price 7/?

Summary: The Swan and Regina seem unconcerned about the possibility of war coming once more to Misthaven. Killian experiments with magic to slightly less disastrous effects than the last time he was left unsupervised.

Chapter List: One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six

ao3

tagging @jadeddiva, @artielu, @wheres-your-rum, @kmomof4, @dreadpirateemma, @the-captains-ayebrows, and @thearmorstaysoff

Chapter Seven

It doesn’t take him long to discover there is tension between the two sorceresses he finds himself stuck with in this derelict castle. He rarely sees them in a room together where whatever conversation they’re having doesn’t devolve to an argument, and even away from each other, they seem eager to point out the faults of the other. The Swan is more civil about it, preferring to sway the conversation elsewhere the moment Regina is brought up, but Regina herself seems to hold no such qualms, and Killian finds himself, more often than not, defending the Swan, regardless of whether or not she should be defended.

It’s strange - Regina has quite clearly known her far longer than Killian, and yet, even the qualities which drive Killian to annoyance on a daily basis, when being dissected by this interloper in the castle, are met with a stubborn wall of resistance.

More odd, though, than Killian’s inability to keep himself from fighting against any and all (completely valid) complaints about the Swan, is the fact that neither of the women seems to find any sort of urgency in the notion that the country is soon to be at war. In the two weeks Regina has been here, they’ve barely spoken a word of the impending likelihood of an attack. At least, not in his presence.

The Swan, however, has doubled her efforts to train him in whatever magic she can drudge up from her library, the Regina has taken to giving him unnecessary and certainly not sought after pointers, whether he struggles with the magic or not. He soon comes to realize that where the Swan is more concerned with the outcome, Regina is more critical of the process.

“There are theories to every spell known to us, methods of honing it, making it work to your advantage,” she tells him one day, while he sits in the kitchens, a chicken roasting over the fire while he huddles over a book. “She hasn’t shown you any of that, has she?” There is something in the way she says it that makes him wonder at their relationship, at the childish insolence in her voice.

“I am perfectly capable of reading all about methods,” he tells her, not bothering to look up from the book: a compendium of spells meant for helping crops along in dry seasons. There is writing all along the edges of this book, small, cramped words that tell a story of their own. Most of it is useless to him - he’s no use for farming, and the last time he’d attempted to help a sapling along in the yard he’d ended up forcing the thing through five seasons of growth before he had the spell under control, watching it’s blossoms spread wide into leaves, the trunk of the tree widening, branches spreading, until the leaves grew orange and red, withering and dying on the branch, drying up around the circle of the tree, only to blossom again as Killian reigned in the magic. The annotations spoke of pressing spellwork into the earth, rather than the growth, of building life in the roots. He remembered, as a boy, hearing of a rumor spread in their village by the sea. Misthaven had been in a terrible drought, that summer, and it looked to be a difficult harvest. Their village had prepared for the worst, knowing that without the normal yield from the farms closest to them, they’d have to resort to paying twice as much from merchants coming from ports far away.

But when harvest came, farmers across the kingdom had come to markets with twice their usual load, and whispered of a man who’d visited them after the spring rains had failed to come, and muttered words over their wells, and wandered their fields, and spent a time with their livestock before disappearing the same way he’d come.

Killian wis now quite certain that the hand that had written these annotations to the book had saved the harvest for Misthaven that year, and he understands then, what the Swan had meant about the other Chosen. None of them had been useless, but they’d all had a focus. Killian could not seem to find a single focus, no reason for his magic at all.

The own cresting wave of his power cared little for the process, taking the journey as it pleased, with only the destination in mind. Most days, it felt like catching the sheets in a good wind, and following the stars.

He’d told Regina just that, two days before, and she’d rolled her eyes and muttered about poetic fools and whimsical magic.

His magic feels far from whimsical.

She’s a strange presence, in their castle, breaking up the routine he’d begun to get used to, over the course of the half-year he’s been here.

Still, she’s not quite unwelcome company. He has found that she irritates him quite as well as he has managed to irk the Swan, but, perhaps over eager for company of any kind, he finds himself enjoying her barbed words and her wide range of facial expressions.

What he enjoys less is her determination to see his magic at work.

The Swan had, since the beginning, set boundaries between them, made certain to let their magic mingle but never truly cross, save that night in the storm. Regina holds no such compunctions, and spends nearly every waking moment over the next week trying to rile his magic into working with her own.

She isn’t shy about it, either.

Her magic, twisting and spitting, curls against the barrier of his own, pressing and prodding like his had done to try and feel her out, the night she’d arrived. The unseen flames lick at his skin, and he presses back, dousing the fire as best he can. She does it often, trying, in her own, sneaky way, to figure him out, but it feels nothing like the gentle weaving of elements between his own magic and the Swans. This is intrusive, and difficult to manage, and even as he presses back with waves against the flame he can tell that their powers aren’t meant to work in harmony.

He tells her so, after glaring at her for a long moment only to realize that, unlike the Swan, she seems not to be able to read his thoughts. It’s a relief, and a strange curiosity, the understanding that though they each share a common thread of magic, their tapestries are all three wildly different.

“They don’t have to work in harmony, boy,” she tells him, and his hackles raise. She’s called him that more than once, now, and he feels none of the same gentle ribbing in her tone as he always had when Liam called him ‘little brother’.  The twenty odd years he’s spent on this earth are hardly what he’d deem inconsequential. “Magic doesn’t work like that.”

He wants to argue that, wants to tell her about the way the Swans magic had hooked into his own, had steadied his thoughts, had cleared the way for something more grand and powerful. Something makes him pause, though, unsure, untrusting of this woman and her priorities.

One morning, as he works at blanketing a ballroom in a fine mist of fog, she struts her way into the hall and spends a moment watching the way his power shifts and rolls. “Cheap tricks won’t get you very far,” she tells him, and the fog rolls darkly with his mood, electricity crackling from the midst of it.

Her eyes gleam.

“I see we’ve not yet fine tuned your control,” she remarks, and he turns a hard glare on her over his shoulder. There is something particularly pointed in her words, overly critical of the way he’s been taught to use his gift, and though he manages to bite back the barbed response he means to aim at her, he can see in the victorious glint of her gaze that she knows she’s riled him.

------

Killian doesn’t see much of the two of them together, and after a while begins to believe it to be by design. When he enters a room they are both in, their conversation jolts to a stop, and on more than one occasion he’s crossed a threshold to feel a lick of fire race up his spine, and find Regina walking swiftly away from whatever room the Swan happened to be in.

It comes to a head one morning as he’s heading to the library. Regina seems to have forgotten to put up the warning ward she’s begun to use, and he finds himself at the door to the library, their voices both dropped to near a whisper.

“...deserves to know the truth, Emma!”

“What do you know of it?”

“I know you’re hiding things, and I know eventually you’ll regret it.”

“And how, exactly, do you know that?”

“Are you dim, or have you really forgotten what you did to me?”

“Don’t you dare -.”

Suddenly, they both go quiet, and Killian realizes with a start that he’s been using the door as leverage to lean in closer in order to hear their conversation, and it’s decided, just at that moment, to creak forward.

He slides into the room a moment later, attempting to look inconspicuous, and Regina shoots the Swan an indecipherable look before turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

The Swan seems to be lost in her thoughts, still, and doesn’t quite meet his gaze as he crosses the room. He replaces his book on a shelf to the right of her normal chair, and uses the action to glance at her, out of the corner of his eye, where she is slowly shuffling papers on her desk, her gaze far off and distant, her shoulders stooped in on themselves, her hands shaking just enough for him to notice.

He opens his mouth, ready to ask her what she means to practice at, today, and she cuts across him. “No lessons today,” she says, and despite her flummoxed expression, her voice is flat and steady. “We shall resume tomorrow.”

She drops the papers she’d been arranging, or at least pretending to arrange, and Killian watches her turn away from him and stride out the door without another word.

------

They do not resume the next day, or for the following few, and Killian is left to wander again. Whatever had transpired between the two women, it has forced the Swan into hiding, or so it seems to him, for no matter where he searches, he cannot find a trace of her. In his annoyance, he reaches out tendrils of his magic throughout the castle, letting it whisper through corridors and trickle down staircases, and though he can feel her magic present in the castle itself, it does not push back, or curl against his own.

She’s left the boundary of this place, and some deep part of him wonders if it is because of him. He dashes the thought away in a hurry. Though they haven’t shown any true signs of worry about the armies gathering near their borders, he assumes they must be working to prevent what he’s seen in his dreams.

He contemplates returning to the broken tower, now that he’s begun to learn how to unweave warding spells, but the magic there is thick and powerful, and there is a part of him that understands the Swan’s need for privacy.

He tries to return to his routine before the storm, but the books in the library bore him, without the caustic words of the Swan to tether his wild reach and their debates to help him understand how to use it, and left to his own devices he’s a bit terrified he’ll find a book at least half as dangerous as Merlin’s.

He finds Regina in the gardens one afternoon, and watches her release the spell she’d been working when she hears his approach. The hedgerows she’d been attempting to work into a maze fall still and silent, the working half finished.

“How do you know her?” He doesn’t bother with preamble. Regina is blunt by design, and he can imagine she has a little time as he for small talk.

Still, he is surprised when she carefully considers his words, instead of immediately responding, and still more surprised when she sighs, and tilts her head, motioning to a crumbling marble bench half devoured by the vines that have overtaken the garden.

He waves a hand dismissively at the bench, and Regina watches with a curious gleam in her eye as the bench leaps back into order, the vines curling away as the crumbling rock mends itself.

She sits, softly, at first, experimentally, but Killian knows the magic is sound, and after a moment, she gestures carefully to the seat beside her.

He watches the side of her face as she gazes into the distance, her eyes on some distant point, far beyond what he can see, as though the far off horizon is where she is able to pull the memories from their depths.

“This was a great castle, once,” she tells him, and as she glances over the gardens, he can almost see what it had once been - see the people milling about in the hedges, see great fountains and fine dresses, hear the whispers of courtesans and spies, smell the sweet scent of middlemist. “The people of Misthaven were welcome, beyond its gates, and the Swan was known to entertain commoners and royalty alike, amongst the hedgerows, and in her great ballrooms. They loved her, long before she became their savior.

“She was kind, and beautiful, and generous. With everything. Her time, her magic, her favor, her knowledge. I was always a bit jealous of her.”

His gaze shifts to stare at her in surprise, now, and she smiles, a wry, distant smile. “You’ll learn, soon enough, that your magic will create many problems for you. Extension of life is merely one of your burdens to bear.

Not bothering to give him a moment to let that new and startling fact sink in, she continues. “As a child, just learning the abilities I possessed, I was so certain that the knowledge she gave me would help me surpass her. It was all I wanted. To prove how capable I was, to prove that I was… worth something.”

He listens silently as she weaves him a tale, speaking softly of the family who had left her behind when she proved to be less than useful to them, and of the Swan finding her, and taking her in. The resentment she’d felt to this woman who was so easily loved.

But he knows that isn’t quite right. He’s seen, in small bits and pieces, that the Swan has lost much, as well.

“There were fifteen of us, all under her tutelage, all hungry to learn what she had to teach, and she never treated us any differently than any other.”

Regina shakes her head, the gems in her hair glistening in the sunlight. “I hated it. I knew I was better than all the rest of them. Knew I had more to offer than all of them combined.” There is a twist to her lips, and it gives Killian pause. He’s learned more about her here in the gardens than he’s gleaned in weeks, and this self-loathing is another facet he hadn’t expected from her. Between the long lost parents, and this, he’s beginning to realize how very similar they could be. “Then the Darkness came.”

She describes the fear, and the paranoia that descended over them all, but she skips things, leaves out details he wants to ask her about, but he’s certain he won’t get the answers, not from her. The abridged story, far from giving him an understanding of what they might soon be up against once more, leaves him more uncertain than ever of his role in this.

Toying idly with a rose creeping through the bushes beside her, she continues on with her story. It’s as frustrating as it is fascinating, the way she weaves the tale, names and places left to the imagining as she describes the way the kingdom, and the realm, fell into chaos. He’s heard bits and pieces of this story, over the years, always embellished, always differing in the details. Peace with their neighboring countries had been lost, as it’s rulers learned of the power of the Darkness, until they were all corrupted by it. Camelot, a far stronger country than Misthaven at the time, had declared all out war, and their armies had burned whole villages to the ground in their reach for the power of the Darkness.

And yet, none of them had understood it, really. Even now, knowing what he knew of it, he could not say for certain he could explain what this corruption truly was.

“The battle finally reached our castle. By then Emma had given us every bit of knowledge she could, but we were young, and inexperienced, and eager to please her. Eager to make names of ourselves, to stand proudly beside her as protectors of the realm. To decimate our enemy and emerge victorious from the ashes.

“It was what the Darkness wanted. It wanted us to destroy each other. Emma was the only one among us who really understood that, and she’d tried, over the course of those months of battles, to reach a peace with Camelot. She tried to reason with the king, attempted to speak with the sorcerers who held sway over him, but they were all too drunk on the idea of the power they might obtain.”

Killian is suddenly quite sure he does not want to hear the end of this tale, but he sits still and silent beside her, and forces himself to listen. There is a reason she is telling him this. Perhaps it is a warning, perhaps a lesson; with the threat of another war with Camelot upon them, there is a reason for this tale.

“Camelot, of course, had their own magicians - none so powerful as Merlin had been, but powerful all the same, and with the strength of the Darkness’ corruption in them, they were merciless. We’d gathered in the great hall, warding the doors, all of us ready to finish this battle and begin anew.”

He thinks, now, of the gaping maw of the stone floor, of the burn marks along the walls, of the chandelier barely hanging on, broken, from the high ceiling. A terrible wash of understanding settles over him.

“They didn’t even need to open the doors. Their power, combined, was greater than all of the Swan’s disciples could withstand.”

“Except for you.”

Her gaze turns sharply to meet his own, and though she sheds no tears, he can see the gleam of loss in it, all the same.

“I wasn’t there,” she admits, softly, and he knows in an instant that whatever piece she’s leaving out is one of great importance. Her story, however, is at an end. They sit in silence, for a long time, while Killian thinks of all this place must have been, once. It is difficult to imagine the woman beside him, young and ambitious; difficult to imagine the people of this kingdom enjoying their time here; but most difficult of all is to imagine the Swan welcoming the people of Misthaven with open arms, of taking children with magic under her wing.

It must have been an extraordinary sight.

Now he stares at the misshapen gardens, the crumbling battlements, the wood crowding in through the main archway of the walls surrounding it all, and imagines that as the Swan had let this happen to the castle, she’d instead constructed towers and moats and walls around herself.

------

Regina spends little time with him, regardless of her desire to see his magic at work. She disappears down the staircase to the laboratory often, her heels clicking against the stone as her firelight fades from view, and she finds the library to be stuffy and encroaching. Not that they would often meet there, either. Without the Swan in the castle he dreads the place, and goes out of his way to avoid it when possible, instead using his empty afternoons to walk the yard and the battlements, patching holes in the walls and walkways where he can, summoning up heavy riptides to bring order to the chaos of the gardens.

He can’t imagine the Swan will appreciate his efforts, when she returns, but that only makes him more eager to do it, if only to see the way her chest heaves when she sighs at him.

If someone had told him, his first few weeks in the tower, that he’d avoid new company and desire little more than the Swan’s biting words, he’d have laughed in their face, but he does not dwell on this new facet of his opinion of the woman.

He will need her, in the months to come, just as surely as she will need him. If, indeed, there is to be a war, he has no doubt she will be able to teach him far more than Regina could.

The dreams do not stop. Regina had offered to brew him a potion for dreamless sleep, and though he’d taken her up on it, since she’d finished it it has sat at his bedside, untouched. The Swan had made clear that his dreams were not set in stone, and yet, scenes come to him in flashes so real he feels the wind on his face and the beat of the sun on his back, and perhaps, if he sees enough, he will be able to piece together a story.

It gives him little comfort. Since the night of Regina’s arrival, he has seen battles, and storms, and bracing winds, he has seen men he does not know dying in fields he has never been, seen shining bright castle walls and flickering firelight bouncing off of faces he has no recollection of, but he has not seen Liam again.

He’s been away from Liam before, of course. They’ve taken places on different ships, in times past, without the surety of knowing when they would see each other again, but the unease creeps deeper and deeper into his heart now, the longer he is away from his brother.

The dreams are not always of some nebulous future, either. There are times he’ll open his eyes in his dark room, his mothers laughter still ringing in his ears, feeling the brush of brambles against his fingers as he rustles through the forest of his childhood, a smile that is familiar around the edges of a face he can never quite see. On occasion he’s seen flashes of places and people he thinks he should know, only to have the shape of them float away the moment he awakens.

He wakes from these dreams with a sense of loss, and a confusing frustration.

As always, in his vexation, he turns to books, first in his study, and then, finding nothing useful there, in the library.

It’s two days before he finds anything worth his time. A small book, tucked in behind a dark and grim looking beastiary, written in a whimsical hand, speaks of dreamwalking, of tethering the waking mind to the walkabouts of his slumbering thoughts. (It speaks warningly of the need for a partner to use such a spell, so as not to get lost, but he ignores it against his better judgement, and waits until Regina has retired for the evening to scrounge up the supplies for it in the laboratory.)

He lays the valerian root, peppermint, devil’s weed, and mugwort all out on the table in his study, and sets about preparing himself for bed, stripping to his shift, pulling the curtains closed around his windows, settling his moonlight lamps around the edges of his bed, sending his tide spell over the side of the tower, before returning once more to them. The book had suggested if he used any single one of the plants in a tea they would allow him some control over his mind as he slept, but each of them had offered slightly different variations on the kind of lucid dreaming he could do, and the Swan’s stores had been missing the one plant that might offer him a more clear view of his dreams, so instead he’d chosen to use all the ones she had available.

Rather than stirring them all into a tea, the book had noted that he might use them in a medicine bag - just tie them off together and tuck the mixture under his pillow, and they’d work just as he wanted them to. He couldn’t imagine any amount of peppermint could mask the heavy odor and thus the foul taste of the other plants, so medicine bag it was.

When he is done, he takes a final look around his rooms, before waving his hand to the door, watching the fine lines of the warding he’d been working on seep into the wood, and tucking the tied together leaves and flowers beneath his feather pillow, he pulls the coverlet up over his shoulders and closes his eyes.

------

The world around him shimmers, glistening at the edges, like waking to the sun in his eyes, and he blinks, hoping to adjust to the strangeness of it, but it does not abate. Still, there is a strange sense of understanding here; he is in his own mind, and aware of it.

Time moves strangely, here, taking him from place to place, memory to memory, with no real care for the journey to get there, and images flash before him - the slatted roof over his head as a child waking from sleep, the glimmer of sunlight shifting through a window, the heavy odor of fish at the market, the curl of Liam’s smile and the sound of Killian’s own name, spoken soft and warm from his mothers lips, the pleasant drift and tangle of the Swan’s earthen magic settling beneath the swell of his own, the unpleasant burn of Silver’s rum passing his lips for the first time, the sight of blood on his hands as a blade clatters to the deck.

Killian blinks, attempting to banish the sight, and when he opens his eyes again he is standing in a clearing.

The Swan is staring back at him. It is dark in the forest where they stand, but in the glimmering edges of his periphery he can see a field of flowers.

“I didn’t abandon you,” he hears, as though from a distance, and he can see her face fall, see her open her mouth to respond but -

He is aboard Liam’s ship, and the men are all laughing, while Killian stands beside his brother, but it is all wrong, Liam is wearing all blue, and -

His mothers breath comes in sharp and quick, her face pale and her voice soft as she whispers along to the song being sung below them, and he can feel his magic being sapped from him, can see the hazy image of a woman on the other side of mothers bed, and he knows if he tries hard enough, he can save her, can save the person who loves him more than anything else in this world, but he is so weak and -

“Emma!” he hears, and it is the same as before, echoing and distant, but this time he recognizes his own voice. He cannot see her, though, and casts about wildly, terrified -

There is a boy at the edge of the stream, and beside him the Swan. She holds a small flower in her hand, reaching it out towards him, and with a small grin in her direction he rolls his hand over the blossom and watches its petals close in on themselves, and then whirl open again. The boy barks out delighted laughter, and the Swan smiles, her eyes glistening.

“Let’s go home,” the Swan says, but Killian does not see the Swan, he sees Emma, Emma, who he knew before, Emma who lead him through the woods and took him on adventures and understood him and -

“Please,” he says, and the Swan shakes her head, tears in her eyes, a hand reaching out to touch his face -

Swirling darkness surrounds him, spinning and whipping, lashing at his skin, and he can’t tell where it is, where it’s going, what it’s purpose is, only -

“Killian!” Liam cries, blood on his hands and shock in his gaze, as Killian presses the sword deeper into his brothers flesh.

He wakes with a gasp.

“If I didn’t think you’d enjoy the challenge too much, I’d lock you in a dungeon cell every time I had to leave this place for more than an hour,” the Swan says as she stares dourly at him, holding the bundle of herbs up for him to see. She’s drawn a curtain open, letting in soft moonlight and a bracing breeze, and though she looks pale and drawn, she sits rigid-backed and annoyed.

“Liam -!”

“Your brother is fine. I’ve been to see him.”

Killian blinks, unsure how to react to such news. Why hadn’t she taken him with her? What if she had taken him with her? Would his vision have come to pass?

“It wasn’t my intent to seek him out. I had more pressing matters, as you well know. But in the interest of your continued sanity, I made an extra stop. He bid me give you this,” she tells him, and he presses himself up against the headboard, reaching for the scroll she holds out. She is careful not to touch him as the scroll passes hands.

The dream is still vivid in his mind, his brothers warm blood still burning his hands as he curls a fist around the scroll to hide his shaking.

She sighs, holding his gaze carefully. “What book did you take this idiocy from?” she asks, after a beat, and Killian wonders why he’d ever for a moment missed her.

She’s maddening.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“There’s a reason the suggested method of use is a tea. Using only one of these plants. It wasn’t prophecy you saw. It was hallucinations.”

He wants to disagree, wants to tell her that they felt like memory, but her expression will brook no argument from him. And frankly, he wishes he could take her at her word, if only to get that last vision out of his mind.

“Take some time with your brothers words, and get some sleep. We have much to do in the morning.”

She unfurls and stands, vanishing the chair she’d been sitting on as she does, and stands for a moment, unsure, beside his bed, looking down at him as though preparing to speak.

Instead she shakes her head and bids him goodnight before vanishing in a plume of smoke. Apparently they are done pretending she has any use for doors.

He unrolls the parchment in his hands with still shaking limbs, and lets one of his lamps hover close above his head before beginning to read, swallowing heavily at the sight of his brothers messy hand.

Killian -

There is much I wish I could say, but not nearly enough time to do so, so I will be brief. Though I know it means little to you, I am proud to say my brother has found a place in the Swan’s tower. The crew is well, though certainly more rambunctious without you to keep them in check.

The Swan has recommended we abandon Murtagh’s business ventures, and though I cannot see why she should find a simple business transaction with Camelot to be an issue, she gave us a new bearing, and a different purpose. She informs me you will understand the reasoning, and that is enough for me.

I remain as dashing and humble as ever.

Liam

P.S. I will expect the safe return of mothers ring, when the time comes. And the return of my little brother too, of course.

Killian rereads the letter more times than he can count, basking in the words, in the way he can hear his brothers voice in every line. He spares a moment to be thankful for the Swan, who, for some reason, has seen fit to draw The Jewel away from impending war, and who seemed to understand the importance of this small act.

Eventually, his body loosens, the anxious sweat of the dream cooling on his skin, and he falls into a light slumber, waking only as the sun crests the edge of his window sill, far above the horizon.

[agent-7-at-your-service]

Future Plot: Project Titanomachy - Chapter 18

((Camille belongs to @inklingleesquidly​

Cassandra and Calypsoe belong to me))

To be honest, I don't really know what was going to be in there that will show us why the Titans came.

Titans' Origins - Mount Othrys - 5:15 PM

The platform stops to reveal a passageway to a cavern within Mount Othrys. Its halls are decorated with images retelling how Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Demeter, and Hestia fought the Titans for reign over the known universe.

Cassandra manages to scavenge the place even though she kept her eyes closed at all times. She finds a lantern and some dried up resin. Calypso lights it and they get a better look at the walls.

It appears the fight between the Olympians and Titans is not the only war. There was a war against the giants lead by a Greek primordial. They attacked Mount Olympus in the same way as the Titans, only to fail like them.

Next to that image is Zeus fighting alone against a hydra-like being. The monster has heads of snakes, eyes of amber, fangs of obsidian, and tongues of purple ink. But one of the head stood out from the rest, a massive king cobra with a heart in the shape of a lady adorned in fool's gold. Camille felt something uncomfortable about that image.

Camille, Calypso, and Cassandra continue walking down the hall.

"We already have the Titans, the Giants, and a horde bound to this Typhon. What that monster on the painting him?" Camille asked.

"That's him..." Calypso has already figured out the lady within the monster. "And that's Eurynome... the dancing goddess that created the world."

Cassandra decided to explain for Calypso. "Eurynome was born the most powerful among the other children of the Primordials. Her dances were so strong she created Ophion, her snake husband--"

"Her snake husband?" Camille can't help but laugh.

"Ophion and her helped created the world until Ophion demanded more credit only to be banished to Tartarus." Cassandra points to the end of the hall where a python and a cobra are entwined around the lady called Eurynome. "And he dragged her with him, becoming Typhon."

At the end was a chamber with walls made of snake carvings. It's filled with bones of snakes and puddles of venom. Camille, Calypso, and Cassandra are being careful as they walk through this chamber. A few fragments of 12 titans scattered all over the floor.

"It was said that Zeus imprisoned Typhon on Mount Etna, puffing up smoke and lava out of rage." Calypso walks past them. She then noticed a body. "..... Someone was here."

Camille noticed how old the body was. "Yeah, a long time ago." She walks over to the body and kicks it over.

It was all bones and slowly rotting flesh, but the tunic and ornaments showed that this person was an Olympian. Cassandra walks over to kneel down.

"...It's Heracles..." Cassandra touched the corpse. "..... He came all this way after the Fall of Olympus. He died here."

Camille has no time for this.

A voice echoed through the chambers: a Titaness.

"My dear sister foresaw this," the Titaness began, "Come, there's a path to Mt. Etna awaiting."

A wall collapses and a mining cart was prepared for Camille and her party.

Did Phoebe set up this meeting? I don't even know.

Typhon's Prison - Mount Etna, Greece - 5:50 PM

The party took the passage and reach a volcanic prison. The platform is a sculpture of a coiled up snake, and bridges were snake bones. Calypso and Cassandra hesitated to get on and encouraged Camille to enter.

"Well, this is your specialty: killing Titans." Calypso steps back.

"And I thought you two were like my mom and Tia Marie." Camille rolls her eyes and twirls Athena's spear. She then flies to the platform with her owl wings and lands perfectly. "Alright, show yourself!"

Red curtains appear and a tall Titaness in white robes and a opera mask steps towards her. She was carrying a few orbs of amber and a flower. She was not in her Original Titan size, preferring to comfort her guest with an adult inkling size.

"I am Mnemosyne, Titaness of Memories and the Mother of the Muses." She bowed. "My sister, Phoebe told me you would come."

"Well, I killed her." Camille took out the Medusa Shield. "And what's up with the mask."

"Do you really want to know?" Mnemosyne circles her. She took off the mask and her face was mutilated with burns and cuts. Parasites were already coming out of the opening; this didn't terrify Camille. The Titaness put her mask back on.

Camille had a few questions about the Titans but wanted to ask about Rhea.

"Why did Rhea kill Sapphire?" Camille demanded.

"It was Typhon's doing, and Rhea couldn't resist his order," Mnemosyne answered, "It is Typhon you want."

Camille then remembered Phoebe. "Do you also want to be rid of Typhon's influence?"

"Yes, but the only way to do that is through Thanatos, or what you mortals call Death." Mnemosyne shook her head. "Phoebe and I know how Rhea feels."

Camille shakes her head. "So am I supposed to kill you too or what?"

"Yes. Kill me and I'll reward you. The Titaness showed an amulet of an amethyst eye. "Once you have it, Phoebe's Book will be readable."

"The let's fight. I could use some practice!" Camille's already pumped up.

Mnemosyne soon bows again and started choking. She got on her hands and knee and began wheezing; she looked up and glared at Camille with yellow-amber eyes and a broken mask. The mask is stuck to the face and forms a terrifying doll face with jagged teeth. The white robe soon became the pelts of a beast and her hair was now the mane of a lion. A tail formed with a spiked glass ball at the end. Pitch black ink oozed out of her mouth and on the floor.

Camille kept her spear aimed at the Typhonian Horror and use the Gorgon on her shield to petrify her. However, Mnemosyne knocks it away and delivered numerous swipes.

Camille was moving back and dodging the swipes. She would try to roll to the side to avoid Mnemosyne from pouncing on her.

But there was one time the Titaness found Camille exposed, and once pinned, Mnemosyne tried to maul her face, but Camille uses her spear to keep her jaws away from her. Some of the pitch-black ink ended up landing on her face, and it stung like a bee.

"Calypso! Help!" Camille shouted.

Calypso took out her brush-charger hybrid and fired at Mnemosyne. The horror turned to stare at the distraction and began to get off the platform. Camille got back up, retrieved her Gorgon Shield and throws it at the beast like a disc. The impact made Mnemosyne collapse.

Camille took the chance to get on it and impale her spear into the hide. She held onto the spear tight as Mnemosyne got back up and try to shake her off.

This lasted until Mnemosyne yields. Camille let out all her rage and stabbed the Typhonian Horror relentlessly, turning the beast into a corpse covered in holes. A pool of pitch black ink formed around Mnemosyne. The eye amulet was around the beast's neck and Camille pulled it out.

Camille could've sworn she heard Mnemosyne whisper, "thank you," but she is nothing more than corpse now.

She examined the amethyst amulet and puts it away. "Whatever it takes to end this."

The remaining Titans now are Cronus, Rhea, Hyperion, Oceanus, Coeus, and Theia.

We came back to Mount Othrys and the amulet glowed. I took it out and found something. The Truth about the Titans and Typhon was clear to me.

Titans' Origins - Mount Othrys - 6:25 PM

Camille was looking at violet writings that covered the walls. Calypso and Cassandra decided to read it for Camille.

"'Beware of the child of Discordia, Strife," Cassandra began, "...For their mother has set them free."

"'And she will retell an old prophecy, and bring death to thee' -- Heracles" Calypso then noticed the Typhon statue. It had an ominous spiral pattern behind it.

Camille decided to use Phoebe's book and take time skimming through until she got to the part about Typhon. She stepped towards the statue a bit.

"What does a living thing become once bound to him?" Camille asked. She already knew the answer. "A monster..." She looked up. "And where in Tartarus.......No." She realizes something. "They way it's designed..... Tartarus is not just a place, it looks like a... a..."

"A black hole," Cassandra finished Camille's sentence.

Calypso looked closely at the statue and the patterns. "By the gods..."

"So whether the Titans or the Olympians win this war..... Typhon will just come to consume everything anyway... starting with Earth." Cassandra hypothesized. "Typhon was preparing his meal."

"We need to prepare not just for Titans then... but for the Typhonian End." Calypso adjusts her goggles.

Camille then noticed a Silver stone in the Typhon statues. She decided to take it. While it was in her hands, ghost whispered things to her: "Omphalos Stone."

"I got to tell the others..." Camille puts the amulet away and made haste. "You two get back to Inkopolis and tell Seven about this!"

The party exits Mt. Othrys and went their separate ways for now. Camille, still in Olympian form, flies off to return to Olympus.

I had to tell my friends fast... but I first I need to apologize to Nebula.