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momolady · 30 days

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Sleeping Beauty: Author's April #4

(This was intended to be the sequel to my Huntress in the Castle story. It would have been about them rescuing Nadine and solving the curse on the castle once and for all.)

One:

My brothers had thought life in the royal palace would be boring. They were used to doing what they wished, going wherever they pleased. In the palace they had certain restrictions, but outside they were given free run. Even among the knights, which is where they spent most of their time. They trained with the knights, challenging them to playful bouts.

Beyond the palace walls they mingled among the common people easily, after all that was who we were. They went to the sea, fishing and running about the docks. They traded amongst the shops and cobblers. And even within the palace their individual interests were met.

D’Arcy had become the royal physicians assistant, and was often found with the Queen’s apothecary. Craig took to the horse houses and the animals of the palace. The queen kept quite the menagerie in the garden. Finn was often either at sea or with the knights. Or causing trouble. But that was normal Finn. Peadar was the same as well, often keeping to himself, watching the others with a kindly eye. He would place himself in the gardens or in the kitchen where he could watch the comings and goings with ease. And the kitchen did feel more like home.

The only one who couldn’t seem to find his place was Niall. I tried to keep him company as much as I could, but he knew my place now was beside Vered, at the forefront of the royal family. And sure, he found pastimes to occupy him, but unlike the others, his nook in the new life hadn’t been chipped out yet.

“I’m sure once the castle in the forest is done, it’ll be easier.” Vered explained to him one evening. I was glad the two had gotten to know one another. And they were both similar in the regards that they both weren’t fitting in well.

“I do miss the village.” Niall sighed.

Vered smiled. “Why don’t we plan a hunting trip. Just us men.”

Niall laughed. “And leave Fianna alone? She would probably wreck something.”

Vered nodded. “That might be true. But she knows more than anyone that you need it.”

Niall sighed, shaking his head. “This is all I ever wanted for my family. Never wanting for anything. Never having to risk our necks for our next meal. But, I still feel so uncomfortable. Like I’m missing something.”

Vered nodded. “You haven’t found your fate yet.”

“What? Like my Gran’s stories?” Niall scoffed.

Vered laughed at him. “They worked out for your sister. Fantastically so.” He leaned against the railing of the veranda. “Didn’t Granny tell you boys any stories?”

“Some.” Niall answered with a shrug. “But we were boys, we didn’t listen. Fianna was the only one who paid her any mind, let alone believe her.”

Vered smirked. “Well, I bet you’ll listen now.”

“My Gran told me I’d slay a dragon.” Niall scoffed. “There are not such things. No such creatures.”

Vered slapped his palms to his chest. “And I was a horrible beast.”

Niall hesitated, doubting himself for just a moment.

Vered laughed then. “So what is to say you aren’t going to slay a dragon? You saw with your own eyes what is inside me. You saw your sister die and yet she lives.” His eyes narrowed on Niall. “I dare you to listen to Granny now. We’ll see what fate has for you, dragons and all.”

Niall felt shaken to his core. If she had been right about me all these years, imagine what else she was correct about. If Niall had remembered correctly and he was to slay a dragon…well good lord! That meant he was to slay a dragon.

It took Niall some time to actually go see Granny. He went to several others before actually going to see her. It wasn’t like Niall to get the straight answer right away. First, he came to see me and Peadar, since we were both in the library together.

“When Granny told you stories about Vered-”

I shook my head. “She never told me about Vered. She never told me about anything, except that there was an evil in the forest meant for me.”

Niall cocked a brow at me.

“It isn’t her place to reveal the future.” I said. “I wasn’t supposed to know what was going to happen to me.”

“You worried about what you didn’t listen to?” Peadar asked.

Niall scoffed. “And you actually listened to her stories?”

“I listened because she’s Granny. Believe it?” Peadar shrugged. “Up until I saw Vered I didn’t believe what she told me. Now, I’m starting to.”

Niall flaps his arms out, exasperated. “Oy, yeah? And what did she tell you?” He asked huffishly.

Peadar and I exchanged looks, he had been telling me some of the tales Granny had told him since we had gotten to the royal palace. We both smiled, laughing to ourselves.

“Granny told me to pay very close attention to women’s shoes.”

Niall’s mouth hung open. “And you are just going to believe her?”

I laughed, covering my mouth to keep from laughing to loud.

Peadar put his hand on the top of my head. “She told Fianna there was an evil meant for her. If all I have to do is study women’s fashion then so be it.” He chuckled.

“Do you even remember what Granny told you?” I asked.

Niall looked away, arms crossed tightly against his chest, bottom lip protruding farther out than usual.

“Oh come on!” Peadar scoffed.

Niall sighed, letting his arms slip back to his sides. “She told me…she told me I’d slay a dragon.”

Peader nudged me. “Well…excuse me and my shoes then.”

I furrowed my brow. “You should be talking to Granny, Niall.”

Niall sighed, rubbing his chin and looking out the window. “Yeah.” He sighed, turning on his heel and leaving us.

Peadar looked at me. “He’s avoiding it.” He explained. “I don’t think he wants to admit that he was wrong.”

I pursed my lips. “He won’t be able to avoid it for long.”

Niall found the twins and D’Arcy in the kitchen, eating fruit the serving girls sliced for them with giddy joy.

“I don’t remember what Gran told me.” Finn shrugged, biting into an apple.

D’Arcy rubbed his chin in thought. “I remember her saying something like…I will be surrounded by beautiful women.”

Finn and Craig busted out laughing.

“You can’t be serious?” Niall scoffed. “She told Peadar to keep an eye on women’s shoes!”

Craig cleared his throat. “Well, Gran always tells me to stay away from wolves. But I just thought that was common knowledge.”

Finn coughed and slapped his hands together. “I remember now! I remember!” He coughed again, almost choking on apple in his excitement. “Gran told me to listen to cats!”

Niall threw up his arms in frustration. “Shoes? Women? Wolves and cats? Is this woman really being serious?”

The three exchanged looks. “She was right about Fianna.” D’Arcy said. “Sure, her tales sound exaggerated, but I believe she’s right.”

“What’d Gran tell you?” Finn asked.

Niall sighed. “That I would have to slay a dragon.”

“Ooh!” Finn giggled. “Wanna trade for my cat?”

“Just go talk to Gran.” Craig sighed. “Get the straight answer from the source. Don’t keep trying to avoid it. Might turn out the dragon is a metaphor for something.”

“And my women are a metaphor for what then?” D’Arcy laughed.

“Madness?” Finn chuckled, winking at a serving girl as she walked by.

“Just go talk to Gran,” D’Arcy scoffed. “What? You afraid that she’s right? Don’t wanna hear what’s good for ya?”

Niall picked up an orange wedge. “How is hearing that I may get eaten by a dragon good for me?” He laughed, placing the orange wedge between his lips.

“It’s belly could be full of gold.” Finn retorted. “I’m sure if the thing is big enough, and it swallows ya whole-”

“Oh really, Finn.” Craig scoffed.

Niall sighed, rolling his eyes. “Guess there is no avoiding it.” He shrugged then and pursed his lips. “Gotta go talk to Gran.”

Granny was all but eager to finally talk to Niall. Most of the boys had come to her, just to double check if the stories she had been feeding them were true.

“I’m glad you finally came to me, Niall.” She said, tucking into the chair before him. “I was beginning to get afraid you would leave without being prepared.”

“Leave?” Niall asked.

Granny nodded. “Oh yes, Fianna and Vered are going to ask you to accompany them to view on the progress of the palace soon.”

Niall shook his head. “I haven’t heard of this.”

Granny’s hand whipped out, slapping his hand. “Of course not! They don’t even know yet. But a letter will arrive soon, and then you’ll go.”

“Go to what?” Niall gasped. “You always told Fianna she had an evil meant for her.” He brought his palms to his chest. “What is meant for me? You told me when I was young I would slay a dragon!”

Granny nodded knowingly, stroking her long braid. “Ah yes. I was excited with you. You being the eldest and having such an amazing journey ahead of you. I let too much slip there.”

Niall laughed. “You’re serious!” He exclaimed. “An actual dragon?”

Granny shook her head, clicking her tongue. “I shouldn’t say anything else on the matter.” She sighed. “But, since you know that bit already,” she reached out, gently holding Niall’s hand. “You are so important to this family Niall. You have always had to be the strongest. But sometimes, showing what makes you vulnerable is nothing to frown at. It is often in our darkest times, when we have nothing at all, that we show our true strength.”

Niall thought about me then. Remembering the night I had fought Vered. It hadn’t been my strength, or my blade that had defeated the monster. No. Niall could remember standing there seeing my bow before the beast, he thought he would never see me again, his last vision of me being that of my bloody death. Instead, he saw something remarkable, he saw me save us all.

Granny leaned closer to Niall, holding his face between her palms. “No matter how you fight it, you will need someone to take care of you sometimes.”

Niall nodded slowly. “But…what does that have to do with-” He stopped himself and laughed. “Thank you Granny.”

She smiled. “Good boy.

Niall leaned back in his chair, looking over into the fireplace. He and Granny sat in a peaceful quiet for a moment. Granny drank her tea and finished darning one of Finn’s socks. It was when she pulled out my veil that Niall began to feel eager about his fate.

“How come Peadar only has to worry about shoes?” Niall asked, a broad smile on his face.

Granny smiled up at him. “Oh believe me, you’re going to think dragons look pretty good when you see what your brothers have to deal with.” She laughed.

Niall reached out, holding onto the end of the sheer silk of my veil. Granny was working hard, making her fingers ache, to get the beading just right. The Queen had given her special beads made of this crystal with a mother of pearl like shimmer to them.

“When I was a young girl, I never would of dreamed of this.” Granny sighed. “I had never even seen a castle in my lifetime. And here I am, living in one.”

“You never foresaw this?” Niall asked.

Granny shook her head. “I don’t like poking around into my own future.” She plucked a bead from the tin. “Oh no. Too many problems come with that.” She clicked her tongue. “I did use it to make some money, back when I was young and when your grandfather passed.”

Niall knew Granny had always wanted to go back to being a fortune teller when his mother and father both died. But Niall wanted Granny to be comfortable, he wanted to earn the family’s bread. Granny had paid her way many a time, she deserved a respite.

“I haven’t gone very far in my life,” Granny continued. “But I have seen things that would make your eyes pop clear out of your head!” She said with a proud bob of her head.

“If looking into the future is so bad, Gran, how come you did it for us?” Niall asked, leaning towards her.

Granny smiled gently, knowingly. “Because you want to protect those you love. I wanted to make sure you brats turned out happy, safe. I’d do anything for you.”

Niall reached out, holding Granny’s hand for a moment, then released her to continue her beading work.

That night, Niall woke up from a sound sleep. The world was pitch black, save for the sliver of light coming through his curtains. For the split second his eyes were open, he saw something move, something faint. He closed his eyes again and then opened them wide in a flash, realizing what he had seen was a person.

He sat up with a jolt in bed, there was something pulling open the crutains. A pale, white hand stretching into the moonlight and smoothing their hand across the cold glass. Niall was stunned, he was frozen in place. What was this specter he was seeing.

The figure turned, face illuminated my the moonlight. She watched Niall with a curiosity, a small sigh escaped her and she sat on the windowsill, looking out over the castle.

“Excuse me.” Niall said.

The girl jumped, turning and looking at him with wide eyed fright. “Puh-pardon?” She gasped, her long auburn hair cascading off her shoulder.

“What are you doing in my room?” Niall scoffed.

The girl looked from side to side, wide blue windows of disbelief. She looked back at Niall, brow pursed. “You can see me?”

“As plan as day!” Niall snapped as he rose from bed.

“That…that can’t be.” She scoffed, standing herself. “Wait, aren’t you Fianna’s brother?”

“Do not change the subject.” Niall scoffed. “Who are you and what are doing in-” The woman’s hand went through Niall like a cold breeze. There was no substance to her, just shadow.

The woman watched, Niall slack jawed and stumbling back to his bed.

“You held me once.” The woman said. “You were the first man to ever hold me besides my father or brother.”

All Niall could do was stare up at her. A ghost!

“I’m Nadine.” The woman answered, folding her hands against her skirt.

“But…but they said you died.” Niall whispered.

Nadine shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” She shook her head. “I can’t figure it out. I don’t even know why I’m still here. You’re the first one who has even been aware of me.” She sat down on the windowsill again pulling her knees up to her chest.

Niall shook his head. “How long have you been here?”

Nadine shook her head. “I could not say. A day. A year. Forever? I have completely lost my sense of time or reasoning. One moment, I was dying. The next I am…wandering.” She turned her head, looking out.

Niall stood up, walking to the window and looking over Nadine. Her long, dark auburn hair, splayed out in a million soft waves down her back. Her skin, white and fragile as porcelain. But she had the strong, regal features that Vered did. There was no use arguing that they were related. They even had the same haunting, blue eyes.

Nadine looked up at him. “Or perhaps you are dreaming.” She retorted. “Perhaps this is all just a trick of your mind. Maybe your mind recreated me to help ease your ill-ease in the palace.”

Niall shook his head, breathless. “That must be it.”

Nadine laughed. “Oh wouldn’t that be a wonderful solution for us all.” She looked away from the window, folding her fingers under her sharp chin. “I haven’t talked to anyone besides my brother in so long.” She chuckled softly. “I barely talked to Fianna I admit. I was terrified of her.”

Niall chuckled at this. All his life, all he could remember doing was talking to me. From the moment I was born I was his.

“She talked about you a lot.” Nadine replied. “I didn’t realize one could love their family so much.”

“But you stayed with Vered all that time.”

Nadine shook her head slowly, almost not moving. “I had to. What I would of given to run away, to leave him behind and…and all alone.” Tears began to dribble down Nadine’s cheeks. “And then…then he changed, and that scared me more.”

Niall sat back in the window, opposite Nadine. “Siblings tend to do that. Like…I can remember when Finn was little. He was scared of his own shadow.” He laughed. “I see him now and wonder where that frightened little creature went.”

Nadine nodded softly. “And what about Fianna?”

Niall sighed, thinking about me as a little girl again. “She used to cling to me. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight, and when I did she just hollered.”

Nadine cracked a smile through her tears.

“And then one day…” Niall became distant for a moment. “One day I realized she didn’t need me. And that was when I began clinging to her.”

“And now?” Nadine’s voice a barely audible whisper.

Niall stared beyond sight, he looked inside, all around himself. “And now…it’s my turn to face my fate like she did. I can’t cling to my family anymore.”

Nadine was wiping at her face then and Niall held his hand out to her, presenting her with a handkerchief. “Don’t cry, please.”

Nadine took it gingerly from his fingers. “It has been a while since a man has offered his hand to me.” She murmured, looking at the handkerchief as if it were made of gold and jewels. “Thank you, Niall.”

“Niall.”

He bolted upright in bed, nearly half scaring me to death.

He looked at me in disbelief. The world around him was bright with morning light now, not midnight blue. “Fianna?”

I nod. “I came to get you, you slept clear through breakfast.”

“I did?” He gasped breathlessly.

“Yes.” I furrowed my brow at him, studying him closely. “Are you alright?”

He shakes his head. “I had the strangest of dreams.” His eyes wander back to the window where Nadine had been sitting. He could see her perfectly. How could that have been a dream?

“What was the dream?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” He lied. “There was a girl, and she was alone…I think she wanted a friend.”

I tilted my head onto my shoulder, watching Niall’s somewhat lost expression. I brushed the hair away from his forehead. “Are you sure you slept?” I slipped the pad of my finger across the dark circles under his eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept at all.” My hand falls back to my side. “Why don’t I bring you a small bite to eat and then you just try to get some rest?”

He shakes his head at me and begins to stand. “I promised to take the twins out to the sea today. They wanted to go fishing again.”

“They go fishing at least four times a week these days!” I easily shove Niall back into bed. Almost too easily. It scared me for a moment.

Niall chuckled. “You’ve gotten stronger.”

“I don’t like that, Niall. Stay in bed.” I commanded. “I’ll get D’Arcy or Vered to take the twins fishing. I’ll go myself if I have to. But I really do think you should stay in bed.”

Niall stood again. “I just need to get something to eat is all. Go on. I’ll be down in a few minuets.”

I didn’t like it, but I silently conceded and left his room. I went and found Vered, hoping his company could somehow ease my mind. I found him in the library, having taken his lunch and scurried off there were he felt more comfortable. He sat before the fire, a roll in one hand and a book in the other.

I slipped my arm around his waist and curled into him. He was reading another book filled with the language I couldn’t read.

“Something is wrong.” He said to me, setting down the book.

I shrug. “I’m sure it isn’t anything. It’s Niall.”

Vered lifts my hand and kisses the cup of my palm. He stalls for a moment and I hear him sniff.

“What?” I scoff at him.

He looks down at me confused and bewildered. “You smell like my sister.”

“Nadine?”

Vered smells my palm again. “It’s faint, but I can tell it is there. I could not mistake that scent.”

I turn and hold my palm to my nose. Of course, only Vered and his beastly senses could detect something so faint. “That can’t be possible. She vanished in the garden.”

Vered’s eyes were distant, hazy. “Yes but…where could that scent have come from?”

“I only touched Niall.” I say. “He held Nadine in the castle when we came to look for you. But that was ages ago.”

Vered shook his head. “I have not smelled it on him since either. It’s baffling me.”

Two:

She was there again, as if waiting on him to return from wherever he had gone. They didn’t speak at first, just acknowledged each other’s presence. The library was such a great, grand place, with so much to occupy yourself with. And Nadine seemed absorbed in a massive, old tome. She had it sat on the floor before her, the pages and her skin aglow in the light of the fireplace.

Niall sat up on the sofa, feeling pretty assured he had fallen asleep there while talking to me and Vered.

“Do you like poetry?” Nadine asked suddenly. She looked up at him and curled her legs under herself.

Niall shook his head slowly, still comprehending these strange encounters. “My mother used to read it to me when I was a child.” He looked down, seeing the ornate pages of the book spread open before Nadine. “But I’m afraid I haven’t encountered anymore since.”

“Your mother.” Nadine murmured softly. “Fianna didn’t speak much of her.”

I shook my head. “She died when Fianna was just a baby.” I put my forearms against my knees, leaning over. “All Fianna has known is Granny and us.”

“And how did that happen?” Nadine asked.

Niall chuckled. “And how did you happen?”

Nadine smiled softly, unsurely. “An accident.”

My brother nodded, fiddling his thumbs. “My father was an accident.” He said with a gentle nod. “He got gored by a wild boar.”

Nadine averted her eyes. “Oh…”

“I think that’s why D’Arcy took such an interest in medicine…because the doctor of our village couldn’t really do anything.” Niall’s dark eyes took the chance to scan over Nadine, her pale skin, fragile looking hands. The sharp outline of her face was what stuck out most to him. Her thin, pointed nose. Her small but shapely mouth. She reminded him of brambles and thorns. Thin and delicate, but he knew if he moved at her without caution, he would bleed.

“Fianna hadn’t even been born yet.” Niall then chuckled. “Actually, Fianna hadn’t even begun to show in mother yet. We only had Granny’s word to go on we had a sister coming.”

Nadine looked back up at Niall. “How old were you then?”

“Old enough, but still not old enough to take care of a family of six, soon to be seven.” Niall answered lowly. “We had to rely on Granny back then.”

“Her fortunes.” Nadine beamed.

Niall nodded. “Yes, her fortune telling.” He studied Nadine’s smile, so faint and sweet, and even baring the same color as the berries that grew just at the edge of the forest he loved so much. “Did Fianna talk that much about us?”

“Vered liked it when she did.” Nadine answered with a slight nod. “He liked the smile it brought to her face.”

Niall nodded slightly, leaning towards her. “You said Fianna scared you.”

Nadine sighed, a shy smile appearing on her face. “I just knew she was meant for Vered,” she murmured. “What else could of brought her to the castle? From the moment she forced herself inside, I knew. She was, is, so strong.”

“But…” Niall tried to pick his words carefully, “why afraid?”

Nadine’s smile vanished and she stared blankly into the fireplace. She smoothed her palm out, pressing into the spine of the book that was open in her lap. “I realized…that no one would come for me.” She avoided his suddenly sympathetic stare and shook her head. “That was my curse.”

“Then what am I?”

She shook her head again. “Who knows?” She laughed. “I still can’t figure out what I am.”

Niall reached out tentatively, placing his hand over hers. Nadine jerked, then shivered. She looked down at his hand, up his arm, and then into Niall’s eyes. “You scare me, too.”

Niall laughed softly. “Why?”

Nadine tried to avoid his gaze, but she couldn’t force herself to look away from him. She trembled under his hand. “Because I won’t be able to stay with you.” Her voice the flicker of a dying flame. “I can’t keep you.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “Nadine?”

She stood suddenly, the book slipped from her lap and bursting into dust. “I’m sorry. I can’t…” She then took off running, becoming a wind. A wind that blew out the fire, leaving Niall in shadows.

“Nadine!” Niall sat up shouting.

“Who?”

Niall turned, seeing D’Arcy sitting by himself at a table, books open before him. He turned, looking at the fireplace roaring, at the floor where the book had turned to dust, it was clean.

“Have a bad dream?” D’Arcy asked, shutting the book before him.

Niall ran his fingers through his hair. “No…” He stood up. “I need to see Vered.” He said as he began walking out of the library.

“He and Fianna are in the garden!” D’Arcy called after him.

Before Niall had even reached the garden Vered began to twitch. He turned his nose up to the wind and inhaled deeply.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked ahead, eyes wide, but brows cocked suspiciously. “I smell her again.”

My mouth hung open slightly. “You mean, Nadine?”

He turned abruptly, twisting around me and bracing himself towards the door as Niall came running out.

“Niall?” Vered and I echo each other.

#fairy tale retelling #fantasy writing #fairy tale #sleeping beauty retelling #fantasy romance #fairy tale romance #my writing #momolady monsters

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bloodandthestars · 1 year

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𝐋𝐄𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒.

❛ and i don’t mind you flirting, but honestly do you really wanna spend the whole night passing looks at me? ❜

— touchstarved. ais.

wc :: 2.7k

a/n : love that you guys like my first try at ais! hope you’ll enjoy this one just as much <3 a bit longer this time and idk fun? at least to write. i tried my hand at a few others this time. i feel like I may have gotten vere wrong so i definitely want opinions on that.

If the Wet Wick was ever empty, it’d be an entire crime. Luckily, if everyone was on their best behavior tonight, none would have to occur.

Your fingers are loose around a glass of gin. You intend for it to be your first and only glass of alcohol for the night. It was one of those rare nights where everyone was in one place— say for Mhin, who finds excuses in contracts to take care of in the night. “‘Better things to do than waste time with degenerates’— or something along those lines.” Leander shrugs his broad shoulders with a sip of his glass. He sets it on the bar counter. “It’s too bad, we all like-"

“Who is we-” Vere speaks with disgust in his emphasis.

“Some. Most. Most of us like their company.”

Vere scoffs, taking a sip of his flute. You let out a breathy laugh and Ais shrugs at Leander’s words, tasting his drink as well.

Background chatter fueled the ambiance of the tavern. Bloodhounds laugh and slam their drinks in various conversations behind you. Every now and then, you hear the wooden doors creak at the sign of a new person coming in and out of the busy space. Everyone has some kind of glass in their hand, say for Kuras, whose elegant voice speaks. “Mihn is a diligent person to be counted on.”

Leander’s lips break into his usual grin, with an arm swinging around the doctor's neck. Kuras doesn’t move an inch, as if used to such a gesture from the leader.

“See?” Leander says with a chip in his voice.

“We hear you, Leander.” Your voice chimes in

“We always do.” Ais places the rim of his glass to his lips.

Vere snickers, but Leander doesn’t take the teasing to a fault.

You hold your glass in the air with your hand. “We promise, we don’t dislike them.”

The mage is smiling still, even when Kuras steps away from his embrace. “Excuse me, but I must get back to work.”

“Aw, you sure?”

Kuras places his hands behind his back after adjusting his attire. He gives the room a nod of finality. You lift your glass as a motion of goodbye, Ais gives the same while Vere keeps his attention on his champagne. The doctor steps away, and you hear the wooden shutters open and close another time that night.

The silence between your four is entirely short with Leander around. He jumps over the counter from behind the bar, turning to address you and the others with another one of his grins. “Anyone up for trying one of my drinks?”

Vere rolls his eyes. “I don’t feel like it.” His voice flairs in its dramatics, placing a palm into his chin as he watches the bubbles in his drink dissipate. The fox’s elbow rests on the wooden counter where he sits next to Ais. “Besides,” His eyes narrow in his direction. “Who knows what you put in there.”

Leander’s smile grows wider. “But that's the best part.”

“Sure, for someone with nothing better to do.”

“Hey-!”

You watch the exchange, eyes going back and forth. You don’t notice the crimson eyes on you, at least not this time. He can hear the chatter next to him, sure. But why take notice of that?

Your gaze turns in his direction when you see Ais’s head nod in your way. “Gin again?”

Your eyes glance to the short glass resting in his hands. “Whiskey again?”

Ais gives you a faded smirk, making a motion with the drink before taking a sip. “That it is.”

“Then I’m not sure how you can comment on my personal taste.”

“That’s because you don’t have any.”

You frown at him, knowing all too well how he enjoys the sight. Your glass clinks onto the high table you’re leaning against when you sit it there. “I can have taste.”

“Sure you can.”

“I-”

“Gin or water. You get either or, every time.”

A scoff escapes you with a sarcastic undertone to your dialogue. “You have tasted the beer, right?”

“That one doesn’t count.”

“How so?”

“because everyone knows it's watered down and shit.”

Not another word falls from your lips. The oni wants a reaction as he usually did. And when you don’t give into it, a smirk creeps onto his face. “It’s alright, sparrow. I’m sure we still have plenty of time to fix that.”

You attempt to take your reaction to the minimum of rolling your eyes, to excuse him from ever giving him the satisfaction. God, how you wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face with every appearance at your dispense. No matter how much of a sight it was.

“Fix what?” Leander interjects with an ear to your conversation and your regard goes on him. You don’t notice the way the demon’s eyes dull behind another sip of his whiskey.

“Apparently, my taste in liquor.”

“At least someone said something about it,” Vere comments with a flick of his tail.

“You realize where we are, correct?” You wit back, earning a laugh from Leander that overshadows Ais’s huff of amusement.

“True,” Vere says primly with a final taste of his champagne disappearing past his lips. He looks over the counter to the usual suspects of wine bottles. Before he can pick out one to toy with, Leander quickly goes behind the counter and grabs the one he wants to properly pop it. The cork flies somewhere on the floor, disregarded in favor of refilling the fox’s glass. Vere gives Leander a sly smile of gratitude, with it disappearing as quickly as it comes. To battle a a bashful smile, the mage motions the bottle towards you and Ais. You both shake your heads at the offering.

“C’mon MC,” Leander shifts the bottle in your direction fully. “Might as well expand your palette now while we have the bottle open.”

Ais’s eyes dart off, lips falling to a flat line at his words. You consider the opportunity as you look into your own glass, ice diluting into whirls of purple liquid. You let out a sigh, a smile following after. “One sip.”

The ends of his lips quirk up into a large smile. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“As we’re all well aware.” Vere cunningly remarks, though his eyes are set on the shiny new wine glass placed on the counter.

You raise a brow. “Just a glass would’ve been fine.”

Vere groans. “You’re hopeless, dear.”

Leander puts the sentiment into kinder words. “It wouldn’t feel right. Besides, why waste the opportunity to make it special?”

Ais watches as you press your lips press together to resist a smile with narrow eyes. You watch as a dark red pours into the tall glass in a small amount. Leander shifts it across the counter, where you eye it in the Wick’s gold lighting. You push yourself off of the high table, grabbing the stem of the cup. The scent was strong, automatically hitting your nostrils with it so close to your face. The wine swirls in your study, before placing the rim to your lips. Leander watches with attentive eyes, and so does another.

The taste is stark, your brows furrowing at the bitterness that greets your first. But then it slowly transitions to flavors of fruit. The zest lingers on your tongue after a swallow. You shut your eyes to contemplate the drink before opening them back on the group. “Alright…I could get used to that.”

Even Vere slightly smiles at the discovery. Leander laughs heartily. “Not so bad. right?”

You shake your head. The mix of alcohol causes you to let out a soft laugh, a hand quick to hover over your mouth after it. “Not at all.”

The mage blinks at the sound, a warmth creeping up his ears. It goes unnoticed by you, who passes the rest of your drink to Vere. He pours the wine to combine into his own glass. As he swirls his drink, his pink eyes glance over to Ais. In the notice of his silence, Vere remains in his own, sensing something amiss.

“Now that we have you started on wine,” Leander places his forearms out. “You’ll just have to divulge in my artwork next.”

“You mean concoctions?” Ais snorts at your words, grabbing Vere’s attention. “I’ve tried a few.”

“And there’s many more where that came from.” His voice turns to sing-song in order to convince you. You give him a long stare. Leander is charming, there’s no denying that. He’s got a way with words, and his smile is infectious. You’ve found yourself drawn to his energy and his carefree nature, always finding ways for you to loosen up. You let out a sigh once again. “And how could I refuse you when you pull out those eyes on me?”

A soft pink tints the mage’s cheeks. Vere perceives the sight, pink eyes connecting to Ais next, looking down at his hand— now tight when nursing his drink. There’s a twitch in the fox’s eye. His tail begins to wag in a menacing manner with an amused smirk appearing on his features.

Vere drapes himself against the counter, eyes looking at you with an enlightened voice. “You know, speaking from experience, another district has gorgeous tastes in wine. Some of them have been curated for years.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Vere lets out a low hum. “You must try them sometime. Perhaps Leander and I can accompany you to such an activity.”

Leander’s eyes brighten at the prospect, nodding along. “I think that’d be-”

A sudden yelp comes from behind you. You turn your head over your shoulder, everyone’s eyes following in the direction of drunken roughnecks shoving each other. Leander pinches the bridge of his nose, heaving a heavy sigh. His hand wipes his face, attempting to put a smile back on it. “I’ll be right back.”

The mage hops over the bar counter once more to handle the rowdiness. You turn your eyes back onto Vere with a raised brow, who now looks bored all of a sudden. “That opportunity doesn’t come with you trying to leave me dead in an alley, does it?”

Vere sips his wine with a purr. “You remain on your best behavior and I’m sure it won’t be.”

You’re not sure if it's being used to Vere threatening you through innuendos or the alcohol that makes you retort. “If anyone is in need of good behavior, it’s certainly you.”

“Aw, that sounds like the beginning of an awfully good punishment.”

Taking that as a cue to finish the conversation, you shake your head with a slight laugh. You press off of the high table, walking off to the bathroom with a pair of eyes following after. The owner of that gaze finishes the rest of his whiskey. He’s walking through the crowd when Vere looks at the empty cup on the bar counter. A crack in the glass earns of soft snicker from him.

You find your way to the bathroom through a hall of draped fabrics. After finishing up inside, you shut the door behind you and turn to a mirror on the wall. Covered fingers press to your temple as you rub in circular motions. Your hands then go to pat your face to dry extra water from it after splashing some in the bathroom. A smokey scent greets you before he does.

“Troubled?”

You wipe your face, catching blood-red eyes in the reflection. Your brow raises. “Not at all, but you seem to be.”

You turn to face Ais, crossing your arms. The demon now looks at you with a raised brow. “Do I now?”

“You got awfully quiet.”

“Maybe I was busy.”

You tilt your head at him. “Doing what exactly?”

He falls to silence, eyes set on you despite that. You turn back to the mirror, making sure the water was fully dry on your face. it was quiet for a little while till the oni speaks again.

“Leander’s a bit too eager tonight. You’d think he was wasted already.”

Your movements stop at his words and he’s quick to notice. You press your lips together, eyelids going down in thought. “Eager? Or socializing?”

“Neither of them can be good when it comes from him.”

Your attention goes back to your reflection. “To you.”

His brows furrow at your tone. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

Your eyes go to him in the mirror. “Perhaps.”

“Then say it.”

Your posture straightens, turning back to fully face Ais. Your head motions with curiosity. “You seem…bothered at the prospect of Leander showing me things.“

His mouth remains shut at your words. Your back leans against the mirror. “I mean, did you really think I wasn’t aware of how you changed up?”

And it’s there where you get a reaction. A slight widening of his eyes allows you to further reach your conclusion. It was too hard to hide the flash of a smirk on your lips.

“I’m sure you didn’t plan on spending the whole night passing looks in my direction.”

He relaxes easily, so easily that it confuses you for a brief moment. His boots take steps towards you. A hand rests on his belts as the ends of his lips turn slightly upward. “You’d be surprised.”

You watch as he steps closer to you, eyes going up and down his stature till they reach his gaze. You study his expression, now being one you’re so used to— relaxed and confident even. You help close the space even further as you take your back off of the mirror. At this point, you’re about a foot away from each other, focused and quiet. His head leans down to take you in full, as he always does. Ais’s voice is low when he notes. “Are you implying that I’m jealous, sparrow? Of that desperate fool?”

Your lips part, such an easy target for him to capture. “Not sure.” You mutter. Your eyes scan his face, falling to his lips then back up to his eyes. “You tell me.”

It was strange to feel as though it was you getting a reaction out of him this time around. As you’re met with silence, your feet begin to move past him until you’re stopped by a hand on your forearm. His hold isn’t harsh, not pressing into your skin to cause you pain. It’s a simple grasp, keeping you next to him. You crane your neck a little to look up at him just as his head turns to the side to look down at you. You’re met with the sight of blood red, but never did you feel an ounce of fear from them. You knew by now, the demon would never hurt you. The intention would never cross his mind. So when you two remained still in that moment, your only thought went to what could possibly happen next—

“MC? MC, where’d you go?”

The voice is followed by the arrival of Leander. Both of you were barely able to fix yourselves to stand side by side instead.

“There you are!” He sets his hands on his waist. “I got worried for a second. Everything alright?”

You open your mouth to speak, and just as you do, you feel something warm against your lower back. Leander has no reaction, as he couldn’t see it. “Everything‘s fine, Leander. Just had to find the bathroom.”

Your smile reassures his concerned look, deferring it to Ais. The warmth on your back shifts, allowing you to recognize its shape: a hand.

The demon shrugs nonchalantly. “Had to go too.”

Leander’s nod is slow. Someone catches his attention with a shout of his name, turning to attend to the inquiry. You’re left alone with one another once again. You look up to find his eyes already on you, motionless in your presence. He can tell of the knowing look in your eyes, furrowing his brows at the thought. With the tiniest smile, you slip from his grasp. You head back to the bar, and he soon treads your heels. It seems words didn’t have to give you his answer.

#writing #ais #ais x reader #drabble #ais touchstarved x reader #touchstarved x reader #touchstarved game #touchstarved demo #oneshot #ais touchstarved #had to redo the whole post FUN #can we tell music is a big part of my process yet #yall got a mf kickin her feet over her characterization #ALSO CONGRATS ON THE KICKSTARTER WOOOOO

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therisingkings · 9 months

Text

All is Well

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Check it out on Ao3

The dungeons beneath the castle were unpleasant, to say the least. Since the castle was still less than three years old, there were hardly any prisoners. Just a handful of Akielons that had stirred up trouble in Delfeur and were awaiting trial, and the man who Damen faced now.

Upon closer inspection, he was native Veretain. His hair was fiery red, his eyes a dull gray. He wasn’t the one that had stabbed Laurent, but Damen was still instantly filled with rage at the sight of him.

“You will not speak to any of my men,” Damen said as he approached the bars. “But you will speak to me.”

The man looked up, rolling his head back against the cell wall. The right side of his face was swollen where Damen had punched him. He said in Veretain, “We stuck your bed boy good, didn’t we?”

The rage flared up again inside of Damen, and carefully, he managed it. “If you provide me with the details of your plan and the men you work with, I will spare your life.”

That got the man’s attention. “I expected an execution.”

“Then you stabbed the wrong King. Had it been me you stabbed, you would not have been given a shred of mercy.”

“But?”

It was difficult to say. “But I understand that you must have been put in a situation that compelled you to think that killing your King would make your life better. I intend to give you the means to get out of that situation and give you a chance to start your life new, if you provide me with the information I want.” Damen spread his hands, a Veretain gesture he’d learned from Laurent. “Think of it as an exchange.”

The man cocked his head. “And I have your word?”

“You have the word of a King.”

His boots scraped against the stone floor as he adjusted his position. “The Regent saved my family.”

Damen’s gaze flickered to where Nikandros picked his way towards him. He focused back on the assassin.

“It was a year or two after the King and Prince Auguste died. Our village’s trade routes to Patras were cut off when the Akielons took over Delfeur. My father went to plead for help and so the Regent did. He provided us with the funds and connections we needed to begin trading with Vask.

“The others all had similar stories. The Regent was a savior. He was a true King. That child on the throne never deserved his position. He didn’t lift a finger at the border until he was forced to. He is a petulant—”

The man stopped as Nikandros came to stand beside Damen, his arms crossed.

Damen let the silence push the man. It worked.

“I hope he’s dead. I hope he dies. I don’t care that you are his husband. You will be a better ruler for Vere than him.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Damen said through his teeth. “But I don’t care about your opinion. Are there more of your group?”

“No. We all had military experience. We thought— we knew it was a suicide mission.”

“How did you get onto the grounds?”

The man laughed. “That was the easy part. Don’t you Akielons say that all Veretains look the same? We left three of your scouts a mile out.”

“Are they alive?”

“Not anymore. We left them tied up to a couple boulders on the beach. The tide would have taken them by now.”

Beside Damen, Nikandros’ jaw flickered with tension. That was a cruel way to kill a man. To leave him lashed to a rock, unable to escape as the waves beat on him until he eventually drowned.

“Why did you kill them?”

The man shrugged. “Does it matter?”

It didn’t, really. They’d be dead whether the cause was justified or not.

Damen nodded to Nikandros as he stepped back. “I have all the information I need. Kill him.”

“What?” The man lunged for the bars. “You promised you’d let me go!”

Damen didn’t bother to look back as he said, “I lied.”

*****

The next few days were hard. Laurent’s fever climbed until he no longer recognized Damen.

That was the worst of it. Damen came into the room to find Laurent white in the face.

He said, “Please, tell uncle that I don’t want to do it anymore. Can I go back to my room?”

For this room was befitting of a king, draped in blue and red. It was where the Regent would have stayed, had he still been alive.

Damen knelt beside the bed. Pascal had warned him about this. The fever combined with the sleeping drought Laurent had been taking could lead to confusion and temporary amnesia.

Damen lifted a hand and Laurent flinched away. He said, “Your uncle is dead, my love. You are King. This is your bedroom.”

Laurent just stared at him.

Sighing, Damen pushed to his feet. He mixed together some of the crushed willow bark and water Pascal had given to him. “Drink this. It will help you feel better.”

Laurent frowned at the glass. He was shaking slightly and the water sloshed.

Damen took his wrist, guiding the glass to his lips. To his surprise, Laurent took it, downing the glass slowly.

“Good,” Damen purred. “That’s it.”

Once he was done, Damen helped him lay back down. Lifting Laurent’s shirt, he found that the bandages were still clean, which was a good sign. He’d been worried Laurent might have opened his stitches when he sat up on his own.

Laurent caught his hand when he made to pull away, studying the lines of his palm. “You are… Akielon?”

Damen braced himself. “I am.”

“And you’re married?” Laurent traced his wedding band. “But rings are a Veretain tradition.”

Damen’s heart began to pound. His golden slave cuff was concealed by his sleeve just inches away from Laurent’s fingertips. Laurent’s own cuff was in plain sight, as well as his ring. Damen wasn’t sure what he remembered, and he didn’t want to freak him out. Laurent was already behaving surprisingly acquiescent, which either meant he didn’t recognize Damen, or didn’t remember that he killed his brother.

Damen said carefully, “I am married to a Veretain.”

Laurent’s eyes were wide and open. “There is peace, then?”

“Yes. Because of you.”

“Me?” Laurent glanced back down at their hands. A long finger traced the lines of Damen’s palm. “I think I… I think I remember now.”

“What do you remember?”

Laurent was silent for a moment, contemplative, and then he pulled back, pushing himself back up. Damen reached to help him, but Laurent practically exploded away from him. He scrambled across the bed, lunging for the knife on the opposite nightstand.

Damen cursed, but let him slip away. “Laurent,” he said steadily.

Laurent stood on the opposite side of the bed, brandishing the knife. “I don’t know how you got in here—”

“Laurent.”

“But do not expect to leave with your life.”

Damen rounded the bed slowly, hands up as if approaching a wild animal.

“Guards! Guards!” Laurent backed away as Jord burst into the room.

Damen flung out a hand. “He’s fine, Jord.”

Laurent tried to strike Damen with the knife as he neared, cursing at him.

Damen knocked the knife aside. “Do that, and we’ll have two incapacitated rulers.”

Laurent tried to hit him with his fist this time, but his strength failed him. Damen caught him before he could fall and Laurent beat weakly against his chest.

“Are you here to kill me too? One prince wasn’t enough?”

Damen closed his eyes, trapping Laurent in his arms. He said to Jord, “Please, go get Pascal.”

The door clicked shut and they were alone again.

Laurent thrashed. “Let me go. Let me go, you—”

“Laurent, sweetheart, you are going to hurt yourself.” Damen manhandled him as gently as he could back onto the bed, which was hardly gentle at all. He rested his head atop Laurent’s, sighing. “I am your husband.”

That didn’t help. Laurent spat curse words Damen had never even heard of and tried to bite Damen’s hand. After a few more moments of struggle, he stilled, panting. “What do you want from me?” he hissed.

“I want you to get better. You are not yourself.”

Laurent let out a noise that Damen suspected was supposed to be a laugh, but stopped halfway up his throat.

They sat in silence until Pascal came.

Pascal was angry. “You better not have torn your stitches, you foolish boy.”

Very few people in the two kingdoms could get away with calling King Laurent of Vere a foolish boy, but Pascal had reserved that right from caring for him for most of his life.

Laurent squinted at him. “You are just going to let this Akielon—”

“Silence. Lift his shirt.”

It was easier said than done. Laurent squirmed until Damen had had enough and called Jord back in to help.

Pascal scrutinized the wound. “You have torn your stitches, so we will have to redo them.”

“How the fuck do you expect that to happen?” Damen had narrowly avoided being headbutted more than once.

Pascal put his hands on his hips. “You will have to hold him. You did it before.”

“He didn’t want to kill me before!”

“Figure it out,” Paschal snapped. “I need to get my tools ready.”

Laurent looked at Damen like he was about to spit fire in his eyes.

“Don’t make this difficult,” Damen warned as he switched his grip.

Laurent took the opportunity to sink his teeth into Damen’s arm.

“Motherfucker!” Damen shouted, yanking his arm away. “Jord, help me!”

Together, they got Laurent under control and as still as possible. Damen had to put his knee on Laurent’s chest, using his weight to hold him down, and pinned his arms above his head while Jord held his legs.

Paschal muttered to himself as he pulled out the old stitches, making Laurent scream. Damen pressed down harder.

Thankfully, Paschal worked quickly. By the end of it, Laurent was crying, “Let me go. Let me go.”

Paschal and Jord pulled away, the latter with a pale face. Damen eased his weight off slowly and Laurent turned onto his good side, sobbing into his pillow.

“Maybe it’s best if you leave, Your Majesty.” Paschal packed his things into his bag. “His mind is in a very fragile state and your face likely isn’t helping.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Damen growled.

“Damen, look at him.” Jord put a hand on his shoulder.

Damen didn’t want to look. Once more, Laurent’s side was covered in blood and his body shook with his cries. Damen closed his eyes. “Fine, but I want someone to fetch me the moment he’s lucid.”

“Of course.”

Paschal said to Jord, “I’ll get him something to eat. Stay here.”

Damen went to the other side of the bed as Paschal left. He touched Laurent’s cheek, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “Will you let me kiss you goodbye?”

Laurent’s blue eyes were bright with fever and shining with tears. He hissed with a vicious coldness that Damen had not heard in a long time, “Do not touch me.”

Damen backed away, nodding to Jord. “I’m serious. You send for me the moment it’s safe.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Jord bowed his head.

Damen sighed and retreated from the room.

#captive prince fanfic #captive prince #prince's gambit #kings rising #laurent x damen #damen of akielos #damen x laurent #damianos of akielos #laurent #laurent of vere #c s pacat #my fanfiction #captive prince fanfiction

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mfingenius · 5 years

Note

Hi!! Going through your blog has been such a delight, drarry and lamen are my mine ships right now and you write them so beautifully. Would you be able to write something about soulemates lamen?

“Don’t,” Laurent warns, glaring at Auguste tightly.

Auguste grins at him from where he’s lying on Laurent’s bed, laced into clothes much looser than Laurent’s; his head is cocked and his blue eyes shining with mirth as he watches him finish tightenining the laces at his throat.

“I’m just saying, he’s your soulmate.” Auguste says. ”And he’s Akielon. You could bear to show a little more skin.”

“I am never showing him any more skin.” Laurent growls. He’s eighteen, and only about to meet his soulmate properly for the first time; it’s a little unusual. Soulmates usually meet when young, especially within royalty - with arranged meet-ups and courting - but Laurent’s circumstances had been - out of the ordinary, one could say.

They’d been at war with Akielos for three years by the time Laurent was born, and no one in the two kingdoms took it kindly when the second-born Veretian Prince was born with the Akielon Crown Prince’s name on his hipbone. Of course, Laurent’s name had already been over the Akielon’s heart by then, but no one had known who Laurent of Vere had been until then.

The war hadn’t ended until Laurent was eight.

That’s the only time Laurent has ever seen Damianos; across the battlefield, Damianos willing - and ready - to fight Auguste, uncaring of how much Laurent loved him. Until Damianos had seen him. The war had been over quickly, after that.

“We’ll see,” Auguste hums, practically giddy. He’s been waiting for this for nearly ten years now - and Laurent doesn’t understand how Auguste can just forget Damianos had been willing to fight him at Marlas - and nothing has been able stop him from talking about this for the last few days. It’s driving Laurent insane.

“How do I look?” Laurent asks, lips pursed.

“Like you’re ready for a funeral.” Auguste says.

“Good.”

The Akielons are late. Laurent should’ve expected it; he doesn’t think anything else could come from men such as them. By the time they arrive, Laurent’s been ready for hours, and he’s changed clothes twice now, because King Aleron caught a look of his clothes and had decreted that Laurent wouldn’t greet his soulmate like that.

He’s now wearing a loose, gauzy silk white shirt, unlaced at the neck, and laced, midnight blue pants that fit him tightly enough to be scandalous but not indecent. Laurent hates it. He hates the fact that his father had this outfit prepared even more.

If that weren’t enough, he’s hungry, because he hasn’t been allowed to eat yet, as it would be improper to start the feast without the special guests - not that Laurent could care less about the stupid fucking Akielons - and, when they finally arrive, Auguste forces him to come meet them at the door.

“King Aleron. Crown Prince Auguste. Prince Laurent.” Says King Theomedes.

Laurent swallows drily, eyes caught on a figure beside the King’s.

Damianos is big. Big big. He’s at least three times as wide as Laurent is, and the top of Laurent’s head is only up to his nipples - and Laurent would know, since he can see one of them because of the terribly scandalous chiton he is wearing, even if it’s probably traditional Akielon wear - and Laurent doesn’t think he’s ever been this attracted to someone in his life.

In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been attracted to anyone before.

Damn soulmate bond.

“Prince Damianos,” Auguste bows his head lightly, as the kings greet each other. “I welcome you to my home. This is my brother Laurent.”

“Crown Prince Auguste,” Damianos inclines his head. “Laurent.”

Laurent can feel his face getting red - and he knows both Damianos and Auguste notice it, because Auguste gives a shit-eating grin and Damianos frowns lightly - and he clears his throat.

“Prince Laurent.” He corrects pointedly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

The feast is hell. Damianos keeps trying to talk to him, Laurent keeps getting red, and he continues to try to avoid him.

“Wine?” Damianos offers.

“No.” Laurent leaves.

Ten days, he thinks desperately. I can do this for ten days.

It turns out Damianos is a hard man to avoid.

“Would you enjoy a dance, Prince Laurent?” Damianos asks, during the following day’s dinner.

“If I can step on your feet,” Laurent says sweetly, knowing that Auguste, his father, and King Theomedes are all watching closely.

Damianos shurgs. “Alright. You’re such a tiny thing I don’t think I would notice.”

Laurent steps on his feet on purpose while they dance.

“Do you not eat dessert, Prince Laurent?” Damianos asks, during a meal.

“I don’t eat.” Laurent says seriously. “I am hoping I will waste away before I am expected to go through with this marriage.”

Auguste chokes beside him.

Damianos’s bright smile doesn’t diminish.

“I was told you ride.” Damianos says. His stallion, like him, is absolutely huge. Laurent looks ridiculous in comparison.

“I don’t.” Laurent says, digging his heel into his horse, taking off in a full gallop.

“Wine?” It’s Laurent who offers this time, because Auguste had a ‘serious talk’ with him about being ‘polite’. “I poisoned it.”

“You’d be a terrible criminal, admitting me your crimes before they’re through.” Damianos takes the cup and drinks it in its entirety. He smiles at the taste, winks at Laurent, and says, “Whatever poison did you use? It’s quite sweet tasting.”

Laurent throws his hands up in defeat.

“This is unacceptable.” King Aleron is pacing in Laurent’s room and speaking as if Laurent actually gives a fuck what he thinks. “He is your soulmate and you will make this work.”

He leaves Laurent’s rooms after yelling at him, leaving Laurent feeling more trapped than before.

“You are not reading,” Laurent says bluntly.

“No,” Damianos admits.

Laurent fixes him with an icy glare.

“If you think we are fucking in the library, you’re wrong.”

“I don’t expect that of you.” Damianos says. He sounds like he means it.

Laurent goes back to his book for only a few minutes, before huffing and looking up again.

“Why did you pick the library as a place for our ‘date’ if you don’t like it?” He demands.

“I think it is your favorite place,” Damianos says. “And I would like you to enjoy yourself.”

Laurent is stunned into silence.

They go riding on their second date. Riding together, not like the first time, when Laurent all but abandoned Damianos in favor of riding alone.

Damianos is a good rider - not as good as Laurent, but good all the same - and as Laurent watches him feed his horse and stroke her mane, he cannot help but think that having this man as a soulmate might not be the end of the world.

“You seem to be slipping away at any given chance,” Damianos observes. Laurent begrudgingly notices that his Veretian is better than Laurent’s Akielon.

“Yes,” Laurent says sincerely. “Have you not taken the hint?”

Damianos laughs.

Laurent doesn’t know how this man’s mind works.

“I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable.” Damianos says. His voice is deeper than anyone’s Laurent’s heard, and he hates how it goes straight to his head. “You need only say the word and I’ll leave.”

Laurent doesn’t say the word. Instead, he swallows down a drink of water.

“Tell me something about yourself, Damianos.” He says.

“Such as?”

“Surprise me.” Laurent seriously doubts he can.

Laurent expects him to brag about his military achievements, or even his conquests in bed; most men do, and Laurent has heard enough of it about the Crown Prince to be sure that he has Damianos figured out. He’ll probably tell Laurent about the time he spent seven hours in bed with a fellow soldier.

If he talks of neither of those, he’ll probably play his own kindness up to make Laurent believe that he could care for him, that he would treat him kindly, as if Laurent isn’t being forced into this union anyway, whether Damianos treats him well or not.

Auguste would go to war for Laurent, but, until he is king, nothing would be done.

“I like to garden.” Damianos says.

Laurent blinks, and then looks up at Damianos.

“Pardon?”

“I like to garden.” Damianos repeats. “My mother grew beautiful gardens, and though we have servants to take care of them, I like to do it myself once in a while.”

“That’s… not what I was expecting.” Laurent admits.

Damianos laughs. “I know what you were expecting. You were expecting me to only know how to talk about military strategies and my stamina in bed. I assure you, neither of those are conversations I intend to have with you on our evenings spent together.”

“Not on the evenings?” Laurent asks, swallowing.

Damianos smiles blindingly. “You’re my soulmate, Laurent. I would give you my evenings, my mornings, and my nights. Every last one of them.”

Laurent is dizzy, and his head is pounding, and he can’t see straight. All he knows is that there are hands on his body and he does not want them there, yet he cannot do anything to remove them.

Of course, it is, in the end, Damianos who saves him. His pants are being unlaced when Damianos barges into the room, and Laurent doesn’t know what happens next to the man who was touching him.

Wha he does know is that there are new, strong, not entirely unwelcome arms wrapped around him, and, instead of carrying him to his bed, Damianos carries him to the safety of Auguste’s room, and Laurent sleeps it off until the morning.

The man is sentenced to death at the post. Ever since he was a child, Laurent could never stomach watching it. His first execution, he only barely made it to Auguste’s before he vomited, and it has only marginally gotten easier since then.

Damianos squeezes his hand the entire time, and then strokes his back gently and whispers sweet nothings into his ear when Laurent doesn’t get out of bed for the rest of the afternoon.

It makes Laurent feel safe.

“Come to Ios with me.” Damianos says.

“What?” Laurent asks.

Damianos is braiding his hair - one of the pets taught him, and Damianos has spent a lot of his free time practicing on Laurent - and he kisses the back of Laurent’s hair, running his fingers lovingly through the finished braid.

“Come to Ios with me,” he repeats, pulling him into his lap.

It’s not uncomfortable.

“I will… consider it.” Laurent says finally.

He agrees.

———————————————-

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#lamen #captive prince #fanfic #mine

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winteringinrome · 4 years

Text

Warning for a bit of a self-indulgent post ahead, but I recently wrote a Gentleman Jack story where Anne tells Ann about her previous relationships (but in like a sexy, romantic way…? I hope) and the little snippets she gives Ann on each woman were inspired by real entries I’d read in Anne’s diaries (either from the published excepts, or from the amazing #AnneListerCodeBreakers or from stuff I read myself).

If anyone is interested I’m going to go through, over the next few days, and set out which entries inspired which chapters...

Up first is Vere Hobart.

In Past Scrapes, Anne tells Ann:

"I made a fool of myself for far too long. I used to hang over her as she played the piano and sing – try to sing. Good Lord, you must never let me sing, Ann – but it was worth the humiliation for it meant I could watch her hands...

“Other evenings she would fall asleep with her head in my lap.” Anne laughs. “Can you imagine? It was intolerable. I would sit there, pretending to read the paper and not see a single word. All I could think of was the weight of her in my lap. I would feel her cheek pressed against my upper thigh and her breath hot on my skirts. I would think, if she would just move a little, or if I were to move a little... I never did, of course. I just sat there – in exquisite torment."

The vague theme for that chapter was ~unrequited love in the parlour~. From what I read, Anne did a lot of fruitless sweet-talking by the fire, a lot of sitting too close to Vere on the sofa, a lot of listening longingly to her playing sentimental songs on the piano. And a lot of getting absolutely nowhere.

13 Oct 1829 - SH:7/ML/E/12/0096:

Miss H– playing and singing to me till after 12 – looked pretty and sang prettily … She said while singing [that] my thoughts were far away – I denied it – she asked if I heard the words – I simply, but significantly and gravely, answered, yes, they were pretty love ballads and I felt in love.

28 Dec 1831 - SH:7/ML/E/14/0170:

Hearing Miss Hobart sing, went downstairs for above half an hour…she would have my candle put out. The dim firelight only made the darkness visible. The songs were sentimental. She ceased for a moment and came and kissed me gently, as I sat leaning over my chair and, somehow, I could not stand it – I think she did not perceive this and, not choosing to await the glare of candles, I rather hurried off without lighting my own, just before she had done her song, and came up – my eyes brim-full and more.

10 Feb 1831 - SH:7/ML/E/15/0024:

She had bit her lips till sore – said I, you know the punishment and must submit. I got up to kiss her lips, but she squalled etc. good humouredly, and I desisted. Immediately after dinner, she sat down on the sofa – I asked her to put her feet up – ‘yes, if you will put them up’ – and I did. I stood by her and, after looking for a moment as if I intended the thing, took the kiss, to which she made no resistance, and I pressed her lips thrice – once with mine rather open.

12 Apr 1832 - SH:7/ML/E/15/0051:

Sat by her on the sofa… when I rallied her this morning about not letting me have my kiss last night, she said, at last – she liked me to long for it and not get it.

Also when Anne tells Ann that Vere married some “dolt of a Scotsman. You should have seen him. He had the thinnest arms.” that was based on the following incident which Anne made sure to recount in her diary…

15 Apr 1832 - SH:7/ML/E/15/0052:

Odd enough, we had scarcely gone out of the house this afternoon when we [came] along [a] small man at a distance before us and she said ‘how very far that man's arms are from his sides’ (one saw the light between the upper arm and side) ‘I don’t like that’ – when, who should it be but Captain Cameron.

Oop at Vere accidentally negging her future betrothed.

#gentleman jack #anne lister #vere hobart #anne lister's diaries #the real anne lister #the real vere hobart #annelistercodebreaker #wir:gentlemanjack #wir:diaryshenanigans #wir:annelisterdiarytranscription

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is-i-halloween-yet · 5 years

Text

Too Afraid to Forget Saturday

(Antisepticeye X Reader)

Request: anon asked= Could you do an antisepticeye x reader based on the song Remembering Sunday by All Time Low?

Warning: I took the song my way. It may not be the right way. But is what I felt. Also it is dark and sad. And very short. But it’s a thinker. So get that thinking cap on.

(AN:

Anti paced, around his room, something he had done fairly often since moving back with the Septic Egos in Chase’s new house. The others knew how much he was hurting, but if they were honest they didn’t know how to stop him. They just let him pace, the ever echoing footsteps keeping them up at night.

“He fucking asked if they needed to call Jack? If I needed to be put on medication?” Anti murmured angrily as he fought the urge to glitch, “This is why I haven't left the room.”

“Henrik was only trying to help.” Y/N smiled at him from her spot sitting on his bed, “He’s your brother. He was worried.”

Anti paused, looking at their figure for a moment before beginning to pace again, “Your right, as always.” Y/N smiled, standing so Anti could wrap his arms around their waist, placing their feet on top of his as the two swayed gently to the beat of Anti’s rapid heartbeat, “Shit.” He cursed, pressing their forehead to theirs, “Now I have to fucking apologies.”

“It’s two words. I think you can handle that.”

“It will be enough to catch um off guard.” Anti mused with a small humph, kissing the figures nose, “They’ll think I am planning to stab them in the back. I’ll get away with anything for a week. Again you are brilliant doll.”

Y/N chuckled at this, pecking Anti’s lips gently, Anti deepening it, though he groaned when they pulled away, now only holding his hand as they backed up slowly. “I think you should be nicer to your brothers.”

“Well I think you shouldn’t tease.” Anti smirked, pining them to the wall, stopping as a single finger is pressed to his lip, the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs filling the house, “Are you fucking-”

Y/N chuckled, pecking his cheek before sneaking under his arms, “Have a serious talk with him. I’m gonna shower.”

And like that, they were gone, sneaking into Anti’s bathroom as they were replaced by a knock at his door, Anti glitching onto his bed as he rolled his eyes, A small “Come in.” leaving his mouth while he crossed his arms and looked out the window as footsteps entered and closed the door, “Look Henrik I’m fucking sorry. But you’ve got to-”

“I will be sure to let Henrik know, though I am sure he would love to hear it from you.” An American voice called back, surprising Anti as the weight on his bed dipped “How are you?”

Anti chuckled, looking to the father with a roll of his eyes, “So we are speaking now?” Another laugh, as he hands fell, one to his hair and the other to his leg, “Who sent you in? And what kind of fucking aneurism are they having?”

“Look we haven't seen eye to eye-”

“That’s the fucking understatement of the year.” Anti spat back, moving to stand but pausing when Chase raised a hand to touch his shoulder, both pausing in motion before Anti reluctantly sat back down, looking away from his brother, “What do you want Chase.”

The father flinched at the harsh phrasing of what should have been a question but he sighed, hiding his fear as he stood so he was face-to-face with the hell fire eyes, a strange familiarity hidden beneath the green irises that brought the shiver back. “I... Uh... Shit man...”

“Just spit it out.” Anti spat, though his voice was numb of emotion. “I don’t have all day.”

Chase didn’t know what to say. All original intention fading away into the suppressed anger he’d tucked away since he had given his blessing for the glitch to move in. “Fuck man. I don't know what your problem is.” He chuckled bitterly, “No I do. You think you are so above everyone else that you don't deserve any of this. You think that just because something bad happened to you that you can storm in here and demand shelter. Expect all just to be handed to you on a gold plate Do you even have sympathy for what you did? Do you even realize how wrong everything you’ve done is?”

“I don’t-”

“You killed Jack! Several times! You tried to kill Henrik! You cut out JJ’s vocal chords and kept him like puppet! You hid Marvin and Jackie! You-” Chase stopped, turning away, not wanting Anti to see him cry, though he knew that all efforts were pointless, “You kidnapped my children. And you have no remorse. So I don’t know why you would want something as simple as comfort.”

Anti glitched, at this, echoing Chase’s prior laughter as he vanished in front of him, eyes fully a glow, growling and snarling at the father, “I don’t need comfort. Especially not from the likes of any of you. Y/N and I don’t need this home. We can get one of our own. We just needed a place to stay.”

The hairs on Chase’s arm stood up, all other emotion leaving him, “Y/N? What-”

“Yeah. The fucking partner I have that no one acknowledges.” Anti got into Chase’s face, glitching hands shoving him against the closed door, “That’s just as fucked as any of the things you listed.”

“Ignoring? Anti-” Chase was stuttering now, but not because of the death grip Anti had on his shoulders, but rather of a block in his mind. “Anti...”

Anti’s attack only deepened, shoving him further as his head filled with static, head glitching back and forth such to the point he almost failed to hear the bathroom door reopen, Y/N entering, a sad look on the scene in front of them. Anti noticed and dropped Chase, instantly going over to them, grabbing their arm, “You tell this dumb father Y/N. Tell him how much it hurts you.”

But Y/N did not respond. They only shook their head, blinking away tears.

“What the fuck have you done.”

Anti jumped at the feeling of Chase’s hand on his shoulder, instantly glaring at him as he shoved it off, “Don’t fucking touch me.” Turning to Y/N, he grabbed both of Y/N’s hands, though all they could do was look beyond, eyes and mouth agape, “Tell him Y/N.”

Nothing.

Nothing but Chase’s surprisingly strong arms pulling him to the ground, “No... No...”

“They are gone Anti.... They’ve been gone-”

“You are lying.” He choked out, exhaustion filling him, “They are right there.”

“Henrik! Get in here!” Chase yelled, pinning Anti down as he glitched beneath him, “Anti-“

But they glitch couldn’t speak, his eyes falling on the figure that hadn’t moved from the spot, only looked beyond, repeating, “What the fuck have you done?”

“Y/N...”

But it was too late, a prick in the back of his neck causing him to hiss before passing out in the fathers arms.

“What the fuck have you done.”

The voice of Y/N called, but echoed strangely as though there was a barrier between us.

And there was.

I was lying on the couch of our old apartment, Y/N sitting on the kitchen counter, eyes staring blankly at me as I sat up, a shiny clear.... thing separating us. “Y/N?”

“And how you treated Chase? And Henrik?” They chuckled, jumping down and shaking their head as they paced, stopping suddenly as they chuckled bitterly, “ You were doing so much better.”

”I am! I am!” I ran, hitting the barrier harshly as it send me flying to the ground. “What the- Y/N.. Let me through.”

In turn, Y/N scoffed, grabbing a stool and dragging it towards the void as they spoke numbly, “You aren’t ready. It’s not your time.”

“What the fuck-”

“You need to remember.” They scoffed, more sadly then angry, “Why can’t you remember?”

I reached my hand out, hitting the void, chuckling bitterly though I tried again. And again and again and I-

“It’s not your time yet.”

“This is just a joke right?” I chuckled bitterly, standing up, beginning to glitch in attempts to go through, only to fall back on the couch in failure. “Y/N whatever prank you are playing with Marvin it isn’t fucking funny anymore.”

Y/N chuckled, but a tint of sadness was visible in their eyes and they put there hand out onto the void, looking to me with heartbreak, “It never was Anti... Please stop.. And remember.. for me.”

I complied to her first wish, placing my hand over theirs, but then grabbed it, pulling it out of the void only to whine at how freezing it was, “Fuck...”

“Don’t do this to yourself Anti. Not anymore.” They sighed, clutching their hand as tears fell down their face. “You couldn’t have done anything... It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault.”

“Fuck... Y/N...”

They chuckled tearfully, reaching a hand to the void once more, “I am sorry... I am sorry I had leave you and have to once more. I will wait fore you my love... ”

Y/N was turning around, leaving me... No... Not again.

Without thinking I grabbed her, trying desperately to pull her back or to get her to pull me in but to no avail.

“Let me go with you.” I pleaded, unable to control my sobs, “Please.. I will do anything. Pleas-”

But Y/N only chuckled, shaking their head before reaching out their cold hand to brush my cheek, but only for a moment to comfort me. Just enough. “I love you... I will never stop.”

It was all happening too fast, but I remained, tensing, as they turned away from me with one last smile.

“I will never stop either, Y/N.... I love-”

“You vere out for a very long time. Longer than I intend, I apologize. Though by the judge of your vitals you needed the sleep.”

The German voice was that which pulled Anti from his heaeven like dream, harsh reality being the bitter hangover that followed, the glitch sitting up on the metal slab to clutch his head with a harsh hiss. Still, his other hand he held the table’s edge harshly to fight a glitch from over taking. “What... What happened.”

“Why don't you tell us that?” The father’s voice startled the glitch to the point he leapt into the air. Glaring knifes at him before quickly taking a deep breath, staring at the magician and mute at the door way far from the scene.

It made Anti chuckle bitterly.

“Hah.... Is this some group therapy session?” He rolled his eyes, “It’s long over do.”

The sound of the door clicking and the magician, zombie, mute, and hero entering the room, shortly followed by the survival hunter, someone he did not expect to see back so soon, but it startled Anti to hear his brother’s lock the door behind them.

“You do know I can glitch out right?”

The magician smirked, pulling a flask from behind him, a strange blue liquid inside, “You were out while you still had an IV in. So I made this baby. Welcome to the powerless world, brother.”

“So let’s talk.”

The car moved quickly, trying to get to the destination and leave. Not wanting to linger for too long and not for the usual fear of Jack’s community.

It was distressing... It was... painful. Way too painful. Not just to the glitch, but also to the doctor and the father. The magician and the mute. Everyone. Each and every Septic felt the glitches anguish.

And yours...

The site was lovely, her particular spot lined with all sorts of flowers, even a month after the burial, six months after their death.

They all expected Anti to weep upon seeing the sight, but to their surprise, the glitch only pulled away from his siblings, kneeling down onto the ground, pressing his head to the stone, his free hand setting the white flowers ontop of the stone.

And without a single tear his kissed the stone, standing, turning to his brothers leaving the grave behind as he tucked his hands into his pocket.

“Let’s go home.”

#anti #anti imagines #anti imagine #anti x reader #antisepticeye #antisepticeye x reader #antisepticeye imagine #antisepticeye imagines #jacksepticegos #septic egos #jse egos #jse community #JSE #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye community

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caravanslost · 6 years

Text

4 - Loyalty

Characters: Nikandros; Laurent; and Damen (mention).

Tags: Post-canon; I just want Laurent and Nik to be friends so BAD goddamn; can you imagine how happy it would make Damen; can you imagine how happy it would make me. Written for @capri-month.

Laurent says, “I have been negotiating tariffs all morning. My temple feels fit to burst. Will you walk with me, Nikandros?”

Nikandros had been training with members of the Veretian guard when the young page interrupted him.

Damen had ordered him to the garrison that morning, where seven young men were waiting for him. They stood in a perfect line, their backs rigid with a canny imitation of confidence. They could not have been older than 13.

They were recent recruits, hand-picked by Laurent himself, who had demonstrated enough raw skill with a weapon to be plucked from the horde. They were to receive the privilege of a few hours of training from the Kyros of Ios. Nikandros walked up and down the line a few times, pausing before each recruit for a few moments at uncomfortably close quarters, just to see whether any of them would flinch.

None did. He was forced to admit, begrudgingly, that Laurent had picked a good bunch.

Nikandros went to the farthest wall and selected two swords. He returned to the group, and stood in front of the boy on the far left.

“You, boy. What’s your name?”

“Éduin, Excellency.” He says, his tongue heavy around the last word, delivered in clumsy Akielon.

He was the smallest of the bunch, but his approximation of confidence was the most convincing. Nikandros had trained enough soldiers in his short lifetime to read the unassailable ambition that burned in the rare recruit. He could read it in this boy’s steady gaze ahead, the taut muscles of his neck, and the stillness of his body like marble.

“Éduin.” Nikandros says, and offers him the second of the two swords. “Step forward. Let me see what you can do.”

It takes three strikes for Nikandros to disarm him. Éduin immediately picks up the sword off the ground and resumes his position, the steel in his eyes intractable. The laughter of the other boys peals around them, and Nikandros gives them a look. Silence falls like a curtain on the garrison.

He turns his attention back to Éduin. “You can do better. Try again.”

The next time, it takes a little longer to disarm the boy, and the time after that, a little longer still. He puts him through enough motions to tire a more experienced soldier, but Éduin does not show his exhaustion. He manages to hold onto his sword for almost a minute by the time Nikandros is done with him. Impressed, Nikandros allows him a break and turns his attention to terrorising someone else – Tristan, who had been the first to laugh.

The training falls into a pleasing rhythm of fighting, disarming, and barking instructions about posture and technique. Nikandros has missed the simple pleasure of being outdoors, and fighting. A Kyros spends too much time inside.

The revelry is interrupted several hours later by another young boy. He arrives dressed in the brilliant blue of Laurent’s Pages, a golden starburst emblazoned on the centre of his chest. The boy wears more fabric on one sleeve than Nikandros does on his whole body.

He falls into a deep bow. “Your excellency,” he says. “His Majesty the King has sent for you.”

“Thank you. There are two of them.” He says, and a corner of his mouth quirks when colour flares into the boy’s cheeks. “Which one?”

“King Laurent, Excellency.”

Strange, he thinks. Nikandros signals for one of the servants in the wings of the garrison, who rushes over and relieves him of the sword, offering a damp washcloth in its place. He wipes the sweat off his brow, his throat, the back of his neck.

All the while, his mind sits uneasy. He feels as though he has been summonsed by a parent - and that perhaps, he is in trouble.

“Did his Majesty specify what he needed?”

“Your humble servant did not ask, Excellency. I beg your forgiveness.”

In hindsight, it had been a stupid question.

“Never mind.” He says. “Thank you. Lead the way.”

The Akielon delegation had been in Arles for eight days. His ability to navigate the palace had not improved in that time. There seemed to be three ways from any one point to another, and he found himself walking familiar routes only to end up in corridors he did not recognize. Everything in Vere, it seemed, was duplicitous. Nikandros yearned for Ios.

The young page that had fetched him walked a few steps ahead. Nikandros allowed himself to be led through one grand hallway after another, past galleries and colonnades and atria. No two spaces looked alike. The shock of colour in each space, the tessellated tile-work and the multi-foil arches in the ceiling, made his head hurt.

They stop in one of the many courtyards branching off the palace. Laurent is gazing out at the gardens, hands leaning on the white balustrades, his back straight enough to measure by. He is wearing a circlet instead of his crown, but his hair catches the sunlight so brightly that there is little need for gold.

When he hears the approach of their footsteps, he turns. His expression is characteristically unreadable, and Nikandros knows better than to try and decipher it.

He immediately takes a knee before the King and bows his head. He realizes suddenly that this is his first time alone in Laurent’s company since the Akielon delegation arrived in Vere. He still cannot banish the suspicion that he is in trouble, and wonders mildly how Damen sleeps at night.

“Exal—forgive me. Your Majesty.”

“Rise, Nikandros.” Laurent says, and when Nikandros looks up, he is met with a brief smile. Laurent turns his attention to the page. “Thank you, Henri. You may leave us.”

The page gives a deep bow, and disappears back into the palace.

Laurent turns his attention back to Nikandros. His gaze is sharp, but the hostility of their first few meetings is long gone. A slow and hesitant trust has developed between them, under the mollifying influence of Damen’s company. They had not progressed further than formal civility, but that was good enough.

Laurent says, “I have been negotiating tariffs and importation quotas for grain all morning. My temple feels fit to burst. Will you walk with me?”

Nikandros bows again. “If it pleases your Majesty.”

“You may dispense with some of the formalities, Nikandros.”

Nikandros looks up, and measures a softer look on Laurent’s face. The effect it has at close range is startling.

Choosing his words carefully, he says, “I would hate to overstep the mark.”

Laurent smiles properly, and begins walking. Nikandros falls into step next to him. He leads them down a wide path, flanked by two large rectangular pools, leading out to the first parterre.

“If you overstep the mark, I would spare you.” Laurent says, and then, with a suppressed smile, adds, “But only for Damen’s sake.”

“I think he would forgive you anything. Even my homicide.”

“Intriguing theory.” Laurent says, “But I don’t intend to test it today. Tell me news of Ios.”

This, at least, is more familiar territory. They wind through greener pastures, walls of shrubbery tamed into latticework. Nikandros speaks to him of the justice reforms he has planned, and asks him about the Veretian practice of specialist courts.

Laurent is a natural scholar, and an attentive listener in matters of state—more so than Damen, if Nikandros is an honest man. Laurent solves problems reflexively. He proposes that Nikandros should send Akielon envoys to observe the Courts in Vere, and that when reforms are ultimately implemented, Veretian delegates can be made available to assist. He even rattles off three or four names that immediately spring to his mind, and offers to summon them to the Palace the following day.

For a supposed break, Laurent has achieved a lot, but he seems energized by the conversation. They walk in silence for a while thereafter.

Eventually, Laurent says, “You were wasted on Delpha. Ios is lucky to have you.”

Nikandros does not respond immediately.

But eventually: “I know it was your idea, to barter Ios for my loyalty. Perhaps I should thank you.”

“No. You shouldn’t. It was a means to an end at the time.” Laurent says. “But I have never regretted it, and you have risen to the challenge admirably. Damen is very lucky to count you in his service.”

“Your Majesty.”

“I understand that your first loyalty will always lie with him, as it rightfully should,” Laurent says, and then he stops, and looks very seriously at Nikandros. “But you must feel free to correspond with me. I care to know about Ios. I want to help you, how I can. If you will let me.”

They have reached the topiary, and they are alone. Laurent watches him with an intensity befitting his offer. Nikandros thinks to himself that it feels overwhelming, to be trusted by this man.

“I’m grateful, Laurent.”

The acceptance of the offer – and strangely, even the familiarity with which Nikandros has addressed him – seems to please Laurent.

“Good. You will find,” Laurent says, eyes dancing once more, “that Damen chose me for more than my blonde hair and blue eyes.”

Nikandros flushes to the heavens.

“Gods, is there anything he doesn’t tell you?”

#captive prince #caprimonth #captiveprincemonth #nikandros #laurent

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just-themys · 7 years

Text

baby Smaurent and Damen hcs

Inspired from convos with @verebrothers and @randomstufffromotherblogs (as well as @twicehalfblood

AU where Laurent and Damen meet each other when they’re respectively 5 and 10, while the Akielon royal family went in Vere for alliance talk (some drawings in a thread to go with it, I’ll post them on tumblr once they’re clean…)

Smaurent is really intrigued by Damen, and touch his hair a lot

He asks him questions, things like “why is your skin a different color ? what is this hole in your cheek ?”

Damen explains that his skin is darker because there’s a lot of sun in Akielos so it protects him

Later, Auguste finds Laurent covered in coal. When he asks him why, Laurent explain that it’s to protect himself from the sun “for when I’ll go in Akielos to play with Damen”

Auguste finds it adorable, but he now has a really dirty little prince to have bathed

Less cute, but later, Auguste and Damen walks in on Smaurent in front of a mirror, about to pierce his face with a needle they use for their ears. They scare him because they freak out and stops him, and all crying, he tells that he just wanted a “hole in his cheek” (the dimple) like Damen…

They explain to him that he can’t make one, and that Damen was born with it…

Smaurent is sad because he wants to be like Damen, so Damen tells him how you can just learn to love things in the other, even if you can’t have them for you.

He also tells him how pretty he thinks he is, even without a dimple, that his smile is blinding, and that he has the prettiest blue eyes and blond hair

It makes Smaurent fall in love (damn Laurent you’re 5… Damen stops being flirty you’re 10 everyone calm down)

Laurent: “I will marry Damen, so there won’t be war and we can play”

Damen likes the idea

The parents / big bros find it funny at first, before being like “Well… that definitively could be a good way to ally our countries…”

That’s how they end up in an arranged marriage

Laurent taking Damen’s chiton (the one he intended to wear) and running in the castle wearing it. Damen (naked) running after him

Eventually, Laurent trips on the hem of the chiton and falls face first, and starts to cry like that

Damen takes him in his arms and starts to comfort him, blowing raspberries in his hands to make him laugh

A servant is like “Exalted you’re naked” Damen: I don’t care HE’S CRYING

When Damen has to go back in Akielos, Laurent is crying all he can, and ends up giving him his favorite horse toy, telling him to give it back to him when he comes back, and making him promise

Damen does

And he gives it to Laurent each time he comes back, and each time he leaves, Laurent gives him to him again.

Last time Damen gives it to Laurent is before their wedding.

#captive prince #laurent of vere #smaurent #damianos of akielos #lamen #baby lamen

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schattenmagier · 5 years

Note

✘ Describe your first kill?

[ Tell the truth! // Accepting! // 3/10 ]

“Oh…”

She hadn’t expected that question. Mostly because she was always like, or at least said it, that killing isn’t that much of a big deal most of the time. It’s not the truth. It is a big deal. And the first person she killed… it’s not a memory she is fond of. It… wasn’t even her fault actually! It was an… accident!

It wasn’t really her doingShe didn’t knew…

“Fine…”

A sigh is given, and she tries to explain it as apathetic and uncaring as she can.

“So I vas like… valking vith… someone. And ve vanted to take a shortcut or something to our h- to zhe place ve vanted to go. And zhe shortcut vas zhrough an alley. A rather dark one. Also yeah it vas pretty dumb of us going zhrough zhere… Ve vere very young back zhen…”

The mage stops then for a moment in her explanaiton, thinkinh for a moment while looking away. How old was she again then? Nothing more than a teen. Basically still a kid.

“Sixteen… I vas sixteen. Ugh. Also ve didn’t noticed zhat someone vas following us until ve vere literally trapped by zhem. Two men. It vere two men. Mages even. I noticed because one of zhem used his magic to trap my… zhe person I vas vith.”

She obviously didn’t wanted to say who that person was. That didn’t mattered anyway, and it wasn’t the question.

“I tried to fight back but zhe other man punched me in zhe face hard enough to make me all dizzy and shit, and almost knocked me completely out. Zhey zhen said something to each other, I don’t know vhat given zhat… you know? I just got punched in zhe fucking face? Vasn’t even able to stand up…”

Lilli laughed lightly at that, trying to… probably lift her own mood a little while telling that story. It didn’t really worked. Her laugh sounded more… sad than anything.

“And zhen… I just see zhat zhe man in front of me… takes out a knife… Veird, given zhat he surely could have used his magic if he intended to kill me or something. Vhich, yes, he vanted to.”

She speaks, and takes a small pause again. Thinking how to get over the last part. The worst part.

“And he… comes closer. I got scared. Of course I did. I vas just a kid. He raises zhe knife… and boom. Zhrough his body goes one of my shadows. Impaling zhe guy. And… zhere is blood everywhere. Spilling on zhe floor. Spilling on me vhile sitting on zhe floor, pressed against zhe vall… Unable to understand vhat just happened… And I kind of… blacked out I guess? Because I have barely an idea zhat happened after zhat… Zhe other guy apparenty ran away, scared shitless. At least zhat’s vhat zhe other person told me, and… yeah.”

And there Lilli goes silent again, remember that moment in much to many details than she wanted. She just wanted to forget it already. It wasn’t a good moment. And she surely wasn’t proud of that, even though it was just self defence.

“… It vas my first time using magic… Realizing zhat I could use zhat… And even zhough it vas unintentional…. It still vas my first kill…”

She isn’t very good at describing things…

#ask #tw blood #I gUESS?#Anonymous #;; ˢʰᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ʰᵉʳ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷ [main verse]#;; ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷ ᵐᵃᵍᵉ [ic]

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josselinkohl · 7 years

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Previous parts: one, two, three, four

Past Laurent becomes more agreeable and stops actively trying to kill Damen though he continues to show his claws and Damen continues to be helplessly charmed. Laurent begins taking swordfighting lessons from the man he’s intending to fight; this makes sense in his own head, how better to prepare? And he has a discrepancy now, in his head, between Damen (who he has met here in the future), and Damianos (who killed his brother). If he spoke of this to Damen, Damen would tell him he is one and the same, but Laurent does not speak of it.

Other things begin to make a bit of sense. The whole premise is still magical and confusing but other pieces fall into place. Isander, who has been serving Laurent, confesses to Paschal that Laurent does not have all of the scars he used to have, and this matches Damen’s assessment from fighting him that eighteen-year-old Laurent’s body is different from the Laurent that he knew.

No one can offer an explanation for why past Laurent has appeared, though.

Then, one day, a rider approaches the camp. And Damen comes to look over the ridge at the road, and past-Laurent trails behind him, and Damen’s watching the rider carefully with his eyes narrowed, and then suddenly Damen is laughing and running down from the ridge toward the road. Nikandros is swearing and trying to give Damen a weapon and yelling at the king’s guard to follow him.

Past-Laurent follows also, and so past-Laurent is able to watch as the rider slows to a stop, the figure on the horse turns out to be him, and the second Laurent dismounts the horse and throws himself gratefully into Damen’s waiting arms.

There is chaos. Damen and Laurent refuse to let go of each other and go through the next few minutes alternately squeezing each other and staring at each other with helpless smiles, talking over each other and listening to no one.

Nikandros is lecturing Damen about how foolish he is, and hasn’t he learned that not everyone is as they seem, and what if this had been one of the Laurents who was trying to kill him? He might be dead and it would be his own fault.

The second Laurent finally focuses on Nikandros’s words, makes a face about how nonsensical they are, and is like, “Laurents who are trying to kill him?” and then his gaze lands on past-Laurent and second-Laurent’s eyes widen and he trails off.

The second Laurent seems to process all of this more rapidly than would seem possible, looking the other Laurent up and down and then saying, “Is this why you suddenly left the Summer Palace for Vere?” and Damen squeezes him again and nods and Laurent is nodding like that makes sense and he says “It took me extra days to catch up with you, I could not understand why you would leave for Vere without me.”

Damen starts asking what happened, as though Laurent could explain that, but the second Laurent has ducked out of Damen’s embrace and walked over to his counterpart.

“Seventeen?” Second Laurent says.

Past Laurent swallows. “Eighteen.”

Second Laurent nods, looking him over again.

Past Laurent says, “So, I suppose all of the things he has been telling me are true after all.”

Second Laurent laughs. “I do not know what he has told you, but yes, yes, undoubtedly so.” Second Laurent throws his arm over past-Laurent’s shoulders now (past-Laurent stiffens) and the second Laurent leans his face in close to past Laurent’s ear as though confiding a secret but speaks loudly enough that Damen and Nikandros can hear him clearly: “After all, he is terrible at deception.”

#captive prince #Laurent time travels AU fic idea #two laurents is extremely confusing to write about #fic idea #my fic

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dawnofthursday · 7 years

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mafia au

[part two]

Damen was in a meeting when he was told the news, whispered softly into his ear by one his men. He inclined his head slightly without taking his eyes off of his current business adversary, and nodded to indicate he’d heard, signaling for the man to leave so the meeting could continue. He shuffled the information to the back of his mind, and carried on, ignoring the curious look Nikandros sent him. He made himself not react as he faced the golden-haired man in front of him.

“Something the matter?” Auguste asked from across the conference table, looking squarely at Damen.

Damen shook his head, allowing an easy smile to grace his features. “No, nothing of import.”

Sharing none of their emotions, they carried on with the negotiations.

Afterwards, Damen watched Auguste carefully until he could see outside the conference room windows that he had gotten into his car – alone – and had left the premises. He waved for Nikandros to follow him as he got into the elevator and pushed for the basement levels.

As soon as the doors were securely closed, Nikandros turned to him, his eyes narrowed.

“It was a ploy,” Damen said, answering the unasked question. “The little brother, Laurent, was caught sneaking around the top floors.”

“Then Auguste will know we have him, when Laurent does not return.”

“If Auguste does that he’ll have to admit Laurent was sneaking around.”

Nikandros made a sound of annoyance, and shook his head as if batting away a fly. “What does that matter, when Auguste turns his full force on us to get his little brother back? You should release him immediately.”

Damen smirked, his eyes shining with mirth. “What? Before we have some fun with him?”

Nikandros’s face emptied of emotion. “It is too risky, Damen.”

“Are we supposed to simply let this slight go unpunished? Auguste called for the meeting so Laurent could sneak around for information. As far as I’m concerned, that makes this fair game.”

Damen and Nikandros walked out of the elevator down a long, steel grey hallway, turned two corners, then took a left, and stood before a nondescript door. Damen stood to let his eye be scanned, and the door unlocked, then allowed his hand to imprinted, before the second door unlocked.

Damen nodded to the guards standing alert outside of another locked door. Just as Damen was about to enter it, he felt Nikandros’s hand on his arm, a light pressure holding him back.

“Laurent of Vere is not known to make mistakes,” Nikandros warned. “It is likely his capture is part of his plan.”

Damen rolled his eyes. “Do you have any more blatantly obvious information you wish to relay to me?”

“Yes,” Nikandros said. “He is cunning and beautiful and it is probable he knows his own appeal to you.” Damen winked, and Nikandros balked. “Damen, I am serious. This is not a good idea.”

“Go back upstairs. Tell no one else we have him. Contain the information, and get men on the look-out for Auguste.”

It was a direct order, and Nikandros nodded before following it, his face still clearly expressing his disagreement with this ordeal.

Then Damen unlocked the door with his keycard, stepped inside, and shut it quickly behind him. It was another grey room, with concrete floors and no windows. The room was bare, except for two chairs, one of which was bolted to the floor. Sitting in that chair was another blonde male, with lighter coloring than his brother, like a sun-faded copy of the golden original. This brother was known to be deceptive and cunning where the other was forthright. Damen knew how to work with Auguste; had done so for years, but had never dealt with Laurent before. Damen could see how it worked between them as a tag-team, and with chagrin recognized they’d attempted to play him: Auguste, talking honesty and outright, while the younger snuck around doing the dirty work.

As soon as the door snapped shut behind him, the man raised his head to attention, his ears practically perking. His eyes were covered by a dark blindfold, making his other feature stand out; his sharp cheekbones and full lips, pressed tightly together in what Damen could tell was barely contained rage. His arms were tied behind him to the chair he was sitting on. As Damen walked around to inspect him, he could tell Laurent had struggled. There were ugly, red marks around his wrists, which would more than likely bruise his too fair skin.

Damen knew the danger he was in, remembering Nikandros’ words as his eyes lingered too long on pink lips, his fingers inching to follow the trail his eyes made down Laurent’s neck. He wondered, briefly, how soft the long hair was, and thought about sinking his hands into it.

“If you are done checking me out,” the man snapped, “you can let me go.”

Damen chuckled. “Who said I was done checking you out?”

As soon as Laurent heard Damen speak, he smirked. “Damianos. I wondered when you’d be here.”

“You didn’t know? I was preoccupied, meeting with your brother. I’m surprised to hear you missed us on your way to my private offices.”

Laurent turned his head to where Damen was standing, on his left. “It’s not what you think.”

Damen was leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. “And what is it that I think?”

“You mean, besides how you want to fuck me?”

Damen laughed, but watched Laurent carefully as he approached him. He relieved the itch by stroking a single finger down Laurent’s cheek. Laurent jerked back immediately from the touch and put as much distance as he could between them. It wasn’t much, confined as he was.

“Don’t touch me,” Laurent hissed, his voice cutting and sharp like ice.

It was the response he predicted, and Damen was tired of playing games.

“Contrary, aren’t you?” he muttered as he took a small step back and reached out behind him for his gun. Laurent set up straighter as he heard the safety click, and stilled completely when the muzzle touched his forehead. “Since you’re not in the mood to play,” Damen said, “we’ll get right to it. What were you doing in my offices while your brother spoke with me?”

Laurent spoken calmly, his still figure the only indication he knew the danger he was in. “If you’re going to kill me, I’d at least like to see my murderer.”

“Answer the questions to my liking and you won’t die at all,” Damen answered easily.

Laurent’s appeal to him would only greatly increase if Damen had to look him in the eye. He didn’t intend to remove the blindfold.

Laurent snorted. “Stop posturing. You aren’t going to kill me.”

Damen pressed the gun harder against Laurent’s head, forcing his head back. He was met with surprising resistance. “Is that so?”

“You and I both know that if you kill me, my brother will stop at nothing to avenge me,” Laurent said. “He would tear this place to the ground.”

“And you think we’d stand for that?”

“My brother would not care what happened to him,” Laurent answered.

“So who wants you both dead?” Damen asked, the question mostly rhetorical.

But Laurent answered, “Our uncle.”

Damen made a sound of frustration at the misdirection, and pressed the gun even harder into Laurent’s head. Laurent was good at talking. “What were you doing in my offices?” he growled.

Laurent gave a breathless laugh. “What if I were waiting for you to return,” he began, his voice low. “For you to sit down at your desk, so I could reach out from where I’d be hiding underneath, and slowly run my hands up your legs, over your thighs, then I’d begin to undo the buttons of your pants. Your legs would naturally spread for me as I pulled out your–”

“Are you having fun?” Damen interrupted, shifting a little.

“Are you?” Laurent countered.

“No,” Damen lied. Bluffing, he added, “Do you want to see?” Damen thought after his words how counterproductive it would be to drag Laurent’s hand to his crouch.

“I would, in fact, like to see,” Laurent answered. “There is something charming about seeing for yourself the man who has a gun to your head.”

Damen slowed his words, and punctured each with a push of his gun. “Why were you in my offices?"

"Fine,” Laurent said smartly. “There’s a rat in your inner circle who is working for my uncle against all of us. I was looking for confirmation."

Damen felt a swelling of anger at the accusation against his family, and pulled back to slap Laurent across the face with the gun. Laurent’s face grotesquely swerved to the side with the force of Damen’s swing. His face reddened, and he was bleeding in the corner of his mouth. Damen would get to see for himself how long it took for that milkmaid skin to purple.

"Stop lying,” Damen said.

Laurent licked the corner of his mouth, where he was cut. “If you left a mark on my face, you will not enjoy the consequences."

Damen gave a broken laugh. "That is what you are concerned about now? Your pretty face?"

Laurent turned his face forward again. "My ‘pretty face’ is obviously of great concern to me, as it is apparently powerful enough to you that you cannot even bear to look me in the eye."

Damen knew what Laurent was doing and still felt himself tearing the blindfold off of him with a frustrated sound. Laurent slowly blinked against the onslaught of sudden brightness, but soon his vision cleared and he looked at Damen with triumph in his blue eyes.

It had been a mistake to undo the blindfold.

"Will you believe me now?” Laurent asked. “I am not lying."

"Do not play games with me, Laurent,” Damen said. “Pretty face or not, I will not hesitate to show you what happens to those who lie to me.” As if to prove his words, and to distract himself from blue eyes staring at him, Damen gave into another urge and tightly grabbed hold of a fistful of Laurent’s hair. It was soft.

Laurent hissed in pain. “Must you, barbarian?”

Damen fingers tightened as he leaned in close. “You sure are mouthy for someone tied up in a chair.”

Laurent’s cool eyes turned on Damen. He sneered, as if this were all beneath him. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

Damen’s hand went lax as his touch turned soothing, the hand holding his gun hanging by his side. Laurent’s eyes lidded and his mouth opened as Damen came closer. “You should be,” Damen whispered against his lips.

Laurent snapped his eyes to meet Damen’s, his mouth thinning, as if knocked from trance. “I thought you were more honorable than that,” he said, attempting at a mocking, careless tone, but Damen could practically feel the tension in his body.

Damen smirked, but nonetheless stood up and put distance between them. “What other stories have you heard about me?”

Laurent’s eyes flashed. “That you are foolish and far too trusting. That you still haven’t figured out who killed your father.”

Damen froze at his words, cool rage building in him at Laurent’s insolence.

“I met with your brother in good faith,” Damen said, his voice raising, “to find out mid-way through that his slippery little brother was caught in my office, trying to hack into my computer, and now you sit here, in front of me, and accuse my friends – my family – of treason against me, and insinuate that someone in my own circle killed my father.”

“Yes,” Laurent said heatedly. “Because while I care little for your life, I care a great deal for mine and my brother’s, and what happened to your father is part of a larger plot against us.”

“I will not stand to hear more of your lies,” Damen said. “You may think I am afraid of Auguste, but it is widely known there is only one person he cares about, and I now have that person tied up in my basement. Thank you, for that.”

“Don’t you at least wish to hear the name of the person I am accusing?” Laurent asked.

Damen was about to answer in the negative, that he had no intention of entertaining Laurent any further, when the door knocked. Securing the gun in his hand, he opened it to find Nikandros on the other side. Nikandros simply held up Damen’s personal cell phone, where he had a missed call from Auguste and a text message that read: I know you’ve captured him, now let him go.

When Damen turned around, Laurent was smirking.

#captive prince #tw: violence #lamen #mafia au

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themalhambird · 7 years

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In Which The Duke of Aumerle Contrives to hide the deposed Richard In his Bedchamber Without The Knowledge of his Father, Mother, Their Servants and Most Notably His Cousin Bolingbroke (part 9 /19)

“This is Richard’s.” It wasn’t a question, and the fury in his father’s voice made Aumerle shrink. He fought to come up with a suitable excuse but his mind was a blank; there was nothing except for the chain cutting in to the back of his neck as his father pulled the locket towards him. “I…” “Are you hiding him boy?”

No, of course not. That was absurd. The lock of hair was old “I can explain-“ Aumerle heard his mouth say while his brain was still coming up with excuses. “Villain! Traitor-!” Aumerle choked as his father’s fist closed around the locket’s chain and he was hauled to his feet. “Where is he, where did you send him?” Aumerle’s heart pounded against his ribcage as his father shook him violently. “Tell me boy! You tell me this instant, and pray that when the King arrives it’s only Richard I thrown to him and not you as well!” And Aumerle found himself laughing hysterically—as if he had any interest in outliving Richard- though that wasn’t strictly true of course, the thought of being executed filled him with terror. Dying- he didn’t wish to, but then he didn’t want Richard to die either- He fell to his father’s feet and clutched at his robes. “You can’t tell the King, please, father, please, you can’t- Richard- father, he’s – he’s not- I don’t – this isn’t- we don’t – Richard- father, I wanted him safe, I wanted him somewhere where Henry couldn’t make him just- disappear, and father, Richard doesn’t want the throne back; he doesn’t intend to threaten the king. Father, please, you cannot tell the King he is here-“ “He is here?” Aumerle fell sideways as his father kicked him away, anger clear in his voice. “You have an escaped prisoner sheltered beneath my roof?” Shit. “Where is he, exactly?” His father demanded. Aumerle cringed down and stared at the dirt. “My chamber?” “Your chamber. You’ve been hiding a deposed King in your BEDCHAMER?” The shade of puce his father was turning would be amusing if Aumerle wasn’t the cause of it and his ire was directed at some other unfortunate. As it was, the vein in his father’s temple was throbbing furiously: Aumerle had never seen him this angry before and hoped fervently never to see him this angry again. “Where in your bedchamber, pray? The linin chest?” Aumerle bit his lip and said nothing. “Get on your horse,” his father ordered. Aumerle climbed unsteadily to his feet and did as he was told. “We are going home.” *** His father marched inside. At a loss of what else to do, Aumerle followed him. His father continued to march right up the stairs and towards Aumerle’s chambers. “Father?” Aumerle asked, working to keep up. “For the time being, you forfeit the right to call me that boy, I will not have a traitor for a son.” He marched in to Aumerle’s chambers and slammed the door shut behind him as Aumerle slipped through. For a moment, the room appeared empty. And then Richard unfurled himself from the window seat, bare feet touching the floor. He had dressed- Aumerle’s trousers skimmed just above his ankles and the sleeves of his too-baggy shirt skimmed just below half way down his forearms and somehow, as Richard stood, at seemingly perfect ease as he faced the Duke of York, he managed to look regal. Richard’s regal gaze flickered briefly over to Aumerle, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a reassuring smile. And then he bowed to York, a graceful bending of one leg and his waist. “My Lord Uncle. I’m pleased to see you again. I never thought I would, after you allowed your other nephew to depose me.” His eyes flicked to Aumerle again and he frowned. “Are you hurt, dear heart?” Aumerle started, and realised he was rubbing his elbow. “I’m fine, I fell from my horse an hour or so ago-“ Richard was by his side in an instant, taking Aumerle’s hand and gently pushing his sleeve up. “It is not broken?” “My Lord- “ York began “No not anymore, not ever again now hush I wish to make sure my Edward is not hurt.” “Your Edward?” York asked, at the same time as Aumerle said “I’m fine, Richard”, and Richard gently kissed Aumerle’s elbow. “Oh, Christ have mercy on you both.” Aumerle’s father whispered, a tortured expression on his face as he looked at them, the way they leant towards each other- as Richard and Robert de Vere had once leant towards one another. Richard straightened to look at York. “Christ? Aye, in time but for the now, I’m more concerned about you, uncle? Will you have mercy on us both? Or will you throw me to my cousin and your son along with me? Or will you have mercy on your son and simply tell the King your men caught me hiding in a haystack somewhere?” York frowned. “That depends,” he said slowly. “On what?” “On two things. First, do you intend to reclaim the crown from Henry?” Richard gave a light, bitter laugh. “Oh, uncle. All the waters of the rough rude sea cannot wash the balm from an anointed King, and I have already expended an ocean’s worth of tears un-kinging myself. Un-kinging Bolingbroke likewise would take far too much effort. Besides which- were you not listening? The crown is a well. A deep, deep, deep well- Harry can keep it; if I am in luck he will drown in it- and if he doesn’t drown in the well, but in fact does well with it- well then. That is well for England, is it not? And as I still love England well, though she did not love me well then no, York, I don’t intend to reclaim the crown. It was made perfectly clear to me by you and others that it fitted ill upon my head. What is your second query?” “Do you love my son, or have you just been sodomising him because you’ve been bored stuck in this room?” Whatever Richard had been expecting this clearly wasn’t it; he stopped short. Aumerle himself felt as if the air had been punched from his lungs; York glared fiercely at Richard in silent demand for an answer. Richard exhaled through his teeth. “I love your son,” he ground out, and Aumerle felt his heart skip a beat as Richard continued. “I have always loved your son, in one way or another; I have known myself to be in love with him since we kissed at Flint Castle, when I fell in love I cannot say, but I hope that answers your question satisfactorily.” Aumerle looked between Richard and his father, hope fluttering in his chest. There was a chance that all was not lost then, that his father wouldn’t turn Richard over to Henry- “You told me your intention in having Richard brought here was primarily to keep him safe,” York asked. Aumerle startled as he realised his father was addressing him. “Yes, sir,” he replied after a moment’s pause, wherein he recalled the garbled pleas he had made to his father earlier. “I knew of a plot being formed to place Richard back on the throne; in principle I supported it- “– he pressed on despite the look of outrage that crossed his father’s face- “my concern was what would become of Richard if the plot was uncovered before it could become successful. Henry usurped the throne, you can’t get around that. And while Richard is alive, he’s a reminder that Henry usurped the throne. Henry can’t possibly have been planning to let Richard live all that long anyway, he would certainly have had him killed if he caught wind of a conspiracy around him. I wasn’t rebelling against Henry so much as I was saving Richard.” York harrumphed. Richard whispered: “That’s not much of a distinction”. “Aumerle whispered back: “Shut up you’re not helping.” “The King is coming here,” York said slowly. Richard’s eyes widened. “Then I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ll leave, immediately- “ “Don’t be foolish,” York snapped. “You won’t make it out of Yorkshire; my men are combing the pale looking for you and you’re bound to be caught be someone. No, the garret in the South Tower flooded a few years back, the room hasn’t been repaired yet and no one goes up there, not even the servants. You can hide up there until he’s gone and been persuaded that you’re lost. After that, we’ll work out what to do with you.” Aumerle felt a grin spread across his face. Richard nodded his head. “Thank you, uncle,” he said softly. “And- I’m sorry. For any and all pains I’ve put to you.” York looked at him, and Richard held his gaze. The silence between them was charged with gravitas, and Aumerle looked away from them both, feeling he was trespassing on something important. Finally, York harrumphed again. “Get yourself settled in that tower tonight,” he instructed. “And for goodness sake, Edward, if you must wear that locket, keep it tucked beneath your shirt and don’t get yourself flung from any horses.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him with a thud, leaving Richard and Aumerle to stare at each other. “Well,” Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” Aumerle agreed. “You didn’t want to correct him then?” Edward frowned. “Correct him about what?” “His assertion that I sodomise you,” Richard said, mouth curling in to a mischievous smirk as he turned towards the bed. “As far as I can recall from last night, you were the one sodomising me.”

#Richard ii #fic #richardxaumerle #brief moments of period typical homophobia #Edward has no brain to mouth filter #cannot lie on the spot to save his (boyfriend's) life #and is in massive trouble with his father #Richard meanwhile #uses the word well far too many times and with far too many different meanings in one paragraph. monloguey thing.#York is so done

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