#Words of the Seneschal
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Inquisitor: How did you become viscount?
Varric: Turns out, if you put enough money into rebuilding a city, they give you just about the worst job they can think of.
Inquisitor: …
Varric: … and Hawke told the city nobles to go fuck themselves when they asked her when she was coming back.
Inquisitor: Ah.
#her exact words were “’I hope Kirkwall burns to the fucking ground and demons piss on the ashes’#marian hawke#seneschal bran: please viscount the princess of Starkhaven is threatening us with war if you don’t reply to the prince’s letters#Varric: pffft c’mon bran she wouldn’t do that#bran: …. wouldn’t she#Varric: ….. ah shit fine where’s my quill
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The words “blood hungry Sanguinius” in your announcement post activated all of my neurons at once. Anyway request time, lemme lay the scene. Sanguinius is in an established relationship, she’s a diplomat or his seneschal, somebody of great importance to him both personally and professionally. The planet they’re currently Crusading™ has put up enough of a fight to be troublesome but peace talks are finally happening, which our dear angel’s beloved is the head of. Except not everybody wants peace. Sanguinius has been waging war on this planet, not everybody is gonna be a fan but people also aren’t stupid enough to just pick a direct fight with the 10ft tall dude who could chuck a spear into space. So they aim smaller, where they know it’ll still hurt. An assassination attempt is made on his beloved. It fails, mind you, but it was too close for comfort. She was hurt and suddenly the great angel isn’t feeling so angelic. He wants cathartic visceral payback and his sons couldn’t agree more. Now that kind of adrenaline-fueled murder rampage will get anybody’s blood pumping so once he gets back he’s headed straight for their room. Obviously he’s relieved that she’s fine, patched up and everything at this point but she still smells like blood and sweat and he just desperately needs to know she’s okay. Needs to hear her voice crying out for him rather than in pain, feel her pulse against his lips. Needs to lick the blood off her. It’s precious after all, he’d hate for it to go to waste (and crucially of course he has to erase the traces of that attack, only he is allowed to draw blood from his beloved, nobody else gets to do that and live)
Do with these brain worms what you will, Misty. Go nuts ❤️
[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]
Author’s note: Thank you for the fucking FOOD, friend. I hope you enjoy it, I tweaked a tiny bit just to make it flow better in my head because it was going to keep getting longer if I didn’t stop send help
Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader
Warnings: NSFW, semi-graphic depictions of violence in the beginning, Blood drinking/licking/vampirey stuff, fingering, If you squinted you could consider this dubious consent because making out after a near death experience probably isn’t the best trauma response but it’s 40k so whatever, Slightly Yandere Sanguinus also to be honest
Sanguinus lets his perfect veneer fade for a moment, as he drifts off into thought. Tactical planning and logistics fade into the background, but Sanguinus can still comprehend it all and join back in a moment without anyone noticing.
She’s asleep right now, oh how I wish I could join her.
After a tense few weeks of failed diplomacy and eventual war, you needed rest; While Sanguinus needs such a thing much more rarely, he still wishes to join you. This whole debacle has been little more than aggravating to him.
While he is used to waging war like this, he knows you took this failed diplomacy as a failure for yourself. You’re still new to this, he knows it’ll fade with time but he wishes he could at least comfort you for a little while.
Though, this whole crusade has been less than what you all expected. Fierce electrical storms have made teleporting or even using Thunderhawks or smaller landers from the Red Tear to planet-side dangerous, so they’ve set up temporary base on solid ground while the war effort continues.
He hates the feeling of it; The nature of it being less secure. He knows you’re surrounded by Astartes, but these walls are old and they don’t know the landscape, or if this old fortress has anywhere to hide. This isn't their home territory, the safety of the cold, metal walls of the Red Tear and it's sister ship-
The door suddenly barges open, and in rush two blood Angels who's armor screeches as they freeze to a halt. It manages to startle Sanguinius somewhat, as his wings shift close to his body.
“Lord Sanguinus! Someone is attacking Our Lady!”
The sentence brings him to high alert even before they finish speaking and he’s already pushing past them to make his way towards you. He barely even notices the title they used for you, one that has only been said a handful of times as they slowly became used to your presence beside him.
Sanguinus is out of his armor at the moment, a rare time for him to stretch his wings and back after being in it for nearly a week straight, and the lessened weight makes his strides even faster as he races to you. His wings are tight to his body to avoid hitting anything or catching drag, and he hears the sound of bolters and ceramite plates crashing into weaker armor. He had them guarding the room at all hours, and as such was able to get alerted to the assassins- he assumes by their dark regalia and deftness- instantly.
“I want at least one alive! I want to know how they got past our perimeter!”
The first intruder he catches sight of has their shoulder blown away by a bolter shell before they could comprehend Sanguinus’ orders, and the second gets grabbed by an Astartes and yells in pain at the audible crack of bone. The third Sanguinus notices behind him and he batters him with the end of his wing, and an Astartes manages to obtain him by grabbing his neck. No matter how skilled they were, they stand absolutely no match to his sons. Even their advantage of surprise offered them nothing in the end.
Sanguinius eventually snags the last one and hands the wretch to his sons, and the lot are carried away.
They might be alive now, but once Sanguinus gets what he wants from them, they’ll wish they weren’t. Especially after he looks towards you.
Your sitting on the floor leaned against the wall, arms tight to yourself. He can see your thin nightdress is stained with blood at the neckline, and your arms also have small bits of blood. Your cheek has a small gash that’s growing a bruise around it, like it’s from a punch or slap.
You have an Astartes combat knife in your hands, blood soaking the blade. He knows you put up a fight despite the odds. It was probably you that alerted his sons.
He can hear them communicating amongst themselves, making sure the room and perimeter are clear. The assassins are removed and will probably get prodded around in by a curious techpriest in the future. He knew that a forward base such as this was a dangerous idea, and this only further cements it. Despite the meteorological issues.
Though his thoughts are on less immediate things, now that he knows you’re safe. His clears his throat slightly but the motion does nothing to distract him.
Something Sanguinius had learned in his younger years was that all blood is different; In taste, smell. Some of it is superior to others in those ways.
As while the room is soaked in blood, he can only smell yours.
“All of you check everywhere for any others. Leave us alone unless I call.”
The Blood Angels present hesitate to move, and their lieutenant speaks why. His helmet rests in his hands.
“Should we not stay to keep you both-“ Sanguinus turns to him and his voice is firm and unwavering.
“Go.”
The captain almost seems surprised, before placing his helmet back on. His men dip their heads for a moment and leave, closing the door and leaving the two of you alone.
The Primarch comes closer, lowering to his knee in front of you.
“You’re not hurt?” His hands grasp your shoulders, and you shake your head.
“No. Not badly enough to complain about at least.” Sanguinus lets out an audible sigh of relief.
He moves to let you stand, offering a hand you take for a moment. You move away to look into a mirror and splash some water on your face, wiping the blood away from it. It does nothing to cut the scent overwhelming the air that only he can parse.
“I’ve sent them to figure out how those men got in, and if there’s more.” You look up at him, before bending down to pick up one of his fallen feathers. He lost a few in the battle, as he does all the time. The Red Tear also has many strewn about in the places he frequents. You hold it in your hand and brush along the quill shaft, smoothing it. It’s a habit you’ve developed.
“Shouldn’t you go with them?” Sanguinus furrows his brow, confused.
“I want to stay with you, so I know you’re safe. And that you feel safe.”
The way you look up at him is worried; What could you possibly be worried about right now besides yourself? You were the one who was almost killed, because he was ignorant enough to bring you here, selfish because of his desire to keep you at his side. He kneels close to you, and tries to hold his breath as his mouth waters.
“What is it, my love?”
You look at him and continue holding his feather, seeing the way his eyes leer at you. You’ve seen it before, and it’s obvious why.
“Sanguinus, you’re hungry.”
How well you already know him, even after such a short period of time.
He gently cups a hand to the side of your face, before leaning inward.
“I’m sorry my love, I can’t help it, you’re like my own personal wine.”
His lips brush across your own, and he can suddenly taste the tiny droplet of blood from where your lip had split. You eagerly return his kiss and the desperation has you gripping him like a lifeline, as if your mind is finally catching up with what’s happened. He eagerly holds you back, his massive hands cupping your waist and swallowing most of it.
Before you know it, he has you in his arms, and he gently drops you onto the bed. It creaks and groans under the weight of him, but you’re little more than a feather to it.
He can see the cut across your collarbone; They must’ve tried to put a knife to your throat, and cut along below it instead. Your heart beat rushes just underneath it.
“Let me help you forget all of this ever happened,”
He whispers, half lost on the smell of your blood. You still feel almost stunned, like everything is a dream, but you’d never refuse him with how safe you always feel in his arms.
Sanguinus’ hands drift up your nightdress until it’s off of you, the stained fabric getting tossed aside.
He leans down to drag his lips along the cut of your collarbone, tongue sweeping away any traces of blood. The droplets that ran down your sternum get wisked away as well, his tongue traveling between your breasts.
He would hate to see it be wasted. The ones who spilled it and attempted to do worse will spill their secrets, and suffer for what they’ve done.
He’ll keep his head turned if they end up bloodless as well. His sons can sate their appetites on them and he’ll mind little.
Meanwhile you writhe underneath him, a hand on your shoulder holding you down while the other presses down close to your hip. Your free hand grasps at him, nails digging into his skin. He hears you saying his name, whispering it like a prayer, but he can barely hear it over the sound of your heart in his ears.
He can stay under control, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t test his willpower.
He loves to call you his wine; Though in some ways it’s almost as if you’re a drug he can never allow himself to have too much of, lest he get lost in it.
His left hand drifts closer and brushes over your hip, his massive palm dwarfing your smaller body. His fingers push between your thighs with ease, and he slips his fingers into your folds and hears the way you whimper at the soft touch. It isn’t long before they press against your entrance and slowly he teases one inside, before slipping in another once he’s readied you enough for it.
He feels the heat of your body as he presses his hand against you, all the while his face never leaves your neck. It’s an awkward angle for him at his overwhelming height, but he makes it work. His teeth ever so gently scrape across the pulsing vein of your neck where old scars from him lie, and he feels the way you shiver.
His fingers curl inside of you as his lips press hard against your neck, tasting every last little bit of blood until your skin is clear apart from the thin sliver of red.
He leans away and presses his lips to yours again, catching your bottom lip between his own. The cut on your lip had just stopped bleeding but his rougher kiss aggregates it enough to make it bleed just a tiny bit more, and you moan into his mouth as he tastes it.
Your hand desperately grasps at his own pressing against your shoulder, trying to grip his fingers and keep you grounded. He loves the way you writhe underneath him, earlier events completely forgotten.
He pulls way from your lips with a soft pop and his hot breath returns to your neck.
He wants to bite it so badly. It’s tormenting him, eating at him. But then he feels when he finally reach your peak, tightening around him and crying out to him in pleasure and not pain. It’s like music to his ears, after hearing your heart race so much in fear barely hours ago. To hear you call his name not to save you but to have him make you feel like this.
He pulls his lips away from your neck as you catch your breath. Another time.
His wings droop slightly, though even folded they take up so much space, shadowing so much more than just your body. They drop even more, and it almost feels like he’s trying to surround you with them and his body.
He gently pulls his hand from your folds but you feel his finger brush against your inner thigh, and the corners of his mouth twitch as you shiver and tense.
“I will never allow your life to ever be threatened again,”
He says, a part inside of him fuming at the fact it happened to begin with. He shouldn’t have been so presumptuous, careless, though deeper down he knows he did everything he could. He’ll do more now. His sons are becoming used to you, accepting of you, they’ll do it with no complaints.
You look up at him with soft, shining skin; Lips swollen. He wishes he could stay for longer, and take advantage of his time without his armor.
“Just don’t worry yourself into dropping feathers,” You joke and smile, voice slightly hoarse. He can still hear your heartbeat racing in his ears, but it’s calming down as you lay underneath him.
Sanguinus laughs and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. He swallows down his only partly sated hunger for another time.
“I’ll try not to.”
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Dragons Dogma 2 Spoilers
If you saw my previous post talking about the brilliance in Villainy that is Grigori then you know what the deal with Dragons are in this universe. But the TLDR is Dragons are Fallen Arisen made subject to the Will of their Universe. In the original game this was a benevolent role as Dragons found those of great Will to take the place of the previous Guardian of the Universe, The Seneschal.
However this is slightly different in DD2 The Dragons are still Arisen but their master isn’t the Seneschal nor does the Seneschal exist as Guardian. Instead the Dragons and the Universe are ruled by a Tyrant called The Pathfinder. Unlike the Seneschal Pathfinder doesn’t value Free Will and if anything it’s an enemy to its plans for the Universe.
The World exists in Perfect Order and the Cycle of Arisen and Dragon keep that Order by their conflict instilling Fear and Awe. Rather than fight for themselves or the world they place their lives solely in the Arisen and wait like Sheep for the clash to happen time and time again. Looking for a new hero to command them. Pathfinder finds this favorable because everyone in their story has a part to play in how the world functions and those without purpose are removed.
It isn’t until you disrupt this tyrannical Order as Arisen, Slay the Dragon and then Slay Pathfinder for defying the Narrative they laid out for you. It is by strength of will you do this and by strength of will that you empower your Pawn and give them Free Will in turn. The final word of Pathfinder is “a new story has begun and I won’t be there to see it” the new story is The First Game. You overthrew the will of this universe with your own you’re the Arisen that defeated a God with the power of your Will. You are the first Seneschal.
Dragons Dogma 2 is a Prequel.
#story writing#dd2#dd2 pawns#dragon’s dogma 2 grigori#dragons dogma 2#dragons dogma pathfinder#dragons dogma 2 spoilers#dragons dogma seneschal#seneschal#grigori#dragons#arisen
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BG3 Withers dialogue writing resources
Withers seems to be one of the more difficult characters to write in fanfic because of his archaic way of speaking. But since he's pretty significant in the fanfic I'm working on, I've been going through the datamined game transcripts reviewing all of his lines in attempt to synthesize a Withers Style Guide:
Pronouns: "The Basics of Shakespeare Pronouns: Thee, Thy, Thou, Thine, Ye" explains it better than I can (caveat: Withers doesn't use "ye").
Contractions: He almost never uses them. The only examples I could find were I'd (1), ne'er (3), shan't (1), 'til (5), and upon't (1).
Auxiliary verbs: He seems to use them whenever grammatically possible, sometimes with modern spellings (am, are, be, is, must, shall, will) and sometimes with archaic spellings (canst, didst, dost, doth, hast, hast, hath, mayest, needeth, needst, shouldst, wilt, wouldst).
Verb conjugations: The game writers weren't terribly consistent with these, but he tends to conjugate second person singular verbs with -est/-st endings and the third person verbs with -eth/-th endings. He seems to use mostly modern conjugations when speaking in the first person.
Vocabulary: He peppers his speech with dated terminology like bosom companion, cleave, forsooth, pittance, proffer, seneschal, yoke, etc. (Google Books Ngram Viewer is a good tool for checking how dated a term is.)
Verbosity: Withers is generally quite terse. If the rule of thumb for writing Gale is use twice as many words as necessary, then the rule of thumb for writing Withers is to use as few words as possible (with the aforementioned exceptions of no contractions and lots of auxiliary verbs). Or simply have him refuse to elaborate as that is very in-character for him.
Complete corpus: I went through the datamined files and copypasted all of Withers' lines into a Google Doc because I personally find it useful to immerse myself in a single character's voice before attempting to write them. Please note that it includes cut content as well as MAJOR SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING because he narrates the epilogue. I included the file names as headers in case you want to refer back to the datamined dialogue for the context in which he says a particular line.
#BG3#Baldur's Gate 3#bg3 fanfic writing resources#Withers#Withers BG3#BG3 Withers#Jergal#Jergal BG3#BG3 Jergal#the autism won today
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“The Hound That Lies” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)
SUMMARY — The hour of the wolf comes and a certain chambermaid still cannot fall asleep. She goes out for a walk to cure her insomnia and runs into none other than the Hound. Drunken confessions and deep introspection ensue.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is the "Upstairs, Downstairs" of the Red Keep that nobody asked for. Told from the perspective of another person, but very Sandor-centric. It's mostly written due to my deep adoration for him as a character. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone.
WORD COUNT — 5,032
Masterlist
My days as a palace servant in King’s Landing started before dawn and stretched late into the night, sometimes well past the hour of the bat. The servants of the royal palace all had their place and duties and nobody stepped one toe out of line; not unless they wanted to be subject to strict punishments–or a fate even worse than that.
The royal household of king Robert Baratheon, first of his name, consisted of the usual army of servants. Aside from us, the household staff included the royal guard, the captains, the marshals, the grooms, the pages, and the Kingsguard. Those, however, stayed in the barracks and in their own palace quarters. Truth be told, we rarely saw them at all.
The army I belonged to was an army of another quality, though those in charge of it still drilled and ruled their subordinates in a way no lesser than the most sadistic of the captains.
The first layer of those closest to the king, and therefore to gods themselves, were the seneschals, the chaplains, the stewards, the cupbearers, and the chamberlains. Then there were the wardrobe masters and the raiment mistresses, who ruled the realms of the royal garments. Under them was the head maid, who held her own regiment of nearly a hundred chambermaids that scrubbed floors, mended clothes, stripped the beds of the dirty sheets, delivered sheets and clothing to and from the laundresses, and did everything else under the sun expected of the servants of the highest quality and the lowest breeding.
The kitchen staff I knew very little of and they equally knew very little of us, the waiting staff, but we all uniformly hated the lady’s maids. They were the nobility of the servants and rarely deigned to acknowledge us, the chambermaids, for anything more than lowly serfs.
Ever since I came to King’s Landing, there was hardly any disturbance in my daily routine. As the servants we had very little money and very little spare time to spend it. Most of us lived in the servants’ quarters in the lowest parts of the keep–those that had their own families and lived in the city were considered lucky.
Most nights, if I could allow myself the luxury, I tried to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. But that night, the night when I met Sandor Clegane, sleep just would not come to me. I tossed and turned until the hour of the wolf, when finally I was too fed up with myself and I went outside to the palace gardens to take a walk.
Most of the time, even the foulest of guards would leave us serving girls well enough alone, but still I took a sharp dagger with me and hid it beneath my skirts. As I wandered the gardens alone, I tried to be as silent as possible. Taking in the air as a cure was one thing, but being an airhead would be another. And I have lived too long to allow myself to be stupid.
“Walkin’ around at night, girl? Are ya that reckless or that stupid?” A gruff voice startled me and when I turned around, a half-burned face of Sandor Clegane was right there before me, looking down on me with a sneer.
I swallowed hard and my hand went straight to the hilt of my dagger. I felt it underneath the fingertips and it made me feel marginally safer. But the man in front of me was huge, at least two feet taller than me; his presence dark and frightful.
“Oh,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. “It’s just you.”
“Just me?” He scoffed and took one step closer. The smell of wine immediately hit my nose. He had a bottle with him and now paused to take a swig from it. “Now, I ain’t arguably the worst you can meet in those gardens at night, girl, but what in seven hells do ya mean by ‘just’?”
“I meant…”
“Hm?”
I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him right in the eye. The Hound and his menacing presence in the keep were just one of those things that one had to get used to while working for the royal family. The Baratheons and the Lannisters were united as one family now and all of us had to get used to the change of regime.
Not that serving under the Targaryens and the Mad King had been such a privilege.
But the fact of the matter was, I have served under the Mad King’s rule and survived. I was not about to let a Lannister dog push me around.
“Nothing. What are you doing here?” I asked.
Clegane scoffed again and for a second I thought he would try to hurt me, but then I noticed he was swaying a little and I exhaled. Most of the household staff knew that a drunk Sandor Clegane was much less menacing than a sober one. And because Clegane was never sober, usually he would release his anger in the training yard–not on the serving girls. Which was still more than what could be said about the noble Kingsguard.
“Same as you,” Clegane grumbled. “Can’t sleep. Too much to drink, too many voices, too many memories.” He looked away from me then and I thought that would be the end of our conversation, but it would seem we must have found each other on one of his chattier nights. “You get nightmares, girl?” he asked, his attention back to me.
“I do,” I replied before I could help myself.
But that was why I was there, wasn’t it? I doubted he would remember that conversation the next day, let alone in an hour, so I decided to talk to him a little. Maybe we would bore each other to tears and then I would finally fall asleep.
“What kind?” he asked.
“What?”
“The nightmares.”
“Oh,” I sighed, “Most nights I just lay awake, full of fear, before the nightmares even happen. So most nights I just take a walk instead.”
“Does it help?”
“No.”
He laughed at that, if his particular kind of bark could even be called a laughter, and nodded as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.
“So you go out and you find me here.” He looked at me more closely and leaned forward. I did my best not to cower before him. It was not his face that frightened me. It was the height and the sheer bulk of the man that did it. Even dressed in a lighter dark surcoat instead of his usual heavy armour, Clegane could strike fear into the hearts of men with little effort.
“What do your nightmares tell you, girl?” Clegane asked and I frowned at the forwardness.
“I do not wish to say,” I muttered. “I do not know you.”
What I meant was, I did not trust him at all. Just like the Grand Maester, Clegane was a Lannister creature. It was known. After what the palace household had lived through during the sack of King’s Landing, I would never trust a Lannister with anything.
“But that is my point, isn’t it?” Clegane took a long drink from his bottle. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. So. You can tell me anything. You have a secret,” he pointed to me, “I have a secret.” He touched his own chest, swaying a bit once more. “I won’t tell another soul, but I know you won’t, ‘cause I’ve seen you here before, girl. No one who’s lived in this bloody place half as long as you have could survive by spilling secrets.” His half-burned lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Or am I wrong?”
I thought about what he said and then I thought about what I saw after the sack. I only survived because I was small enough to hide in the cupboard in the pantry where the head maid stored the cleaning supplies. “Mouse” is what some of the other chambermaids called me, because I would scutter from place to place, always quick and always silent. Being a mouse had saved me that day. Mostly it saved me from the Mountain That Rides and his men.
But Sandor Clegane was not his brother, this much I knew. Just like the current king was not his horrible son. Most household staff avoided both, if they could help it–the crown prince and his horrible shadow were always together, but if you looked closely, you learned quickly that they couldn’t be further apart. I have never seen the younger Clegane hurt or kill a girl, but I have scrubbed the floors in the royal apartments where the Mountain did the unspeakable to the poor Princess Elia.
“You are not wrong,” I admitted. “I think… It sounds about right.”
I was grateful that the gardens were shrouded in darkness, because the memories of that day brought tears to my eyes that were now threatening to spill.
“So spit it out.” Somehow, Clegane’s voice made it easier to control myself. “Do ya want to sit?”
He walked past me then, quickly and remarkably quietly for a man of his size. He sat down on the grass and I followed his lead.
“The night is dark, girl. No one will see you, no one will see me, no one will hear us.”
My blood ran cold then and I scolded myself for being so foolish. Was he…?
My hand went back to my dagger. I looked at his neck, then to his armpit.
It must have shown in my face, what I was thinking of, because he sneered again and took another swig of his wine, before adding:
“I meant for a conversation, fuck’s sake. If I wanted to, I could’ve killed you ages ago. Why would I bother now?” He paused. “Oh. It ain’t the killin’ you’re thinkin’ of. No, I don’t do that either, girl. I’m no raper.”
‘Unlike my brother’ hung right there in the air above us, unsaid.
I sighed and I settled on the grass beside him. Clegane took another long drink from his bottle, then passed it to me.
“No, thank you. I must refuse.”
“You must?” He scoffed. “A proper little thing, ain’t ya…”
I pursed my lips in distaste at being called that. It felt too familiar for the chance acquaintances we were.
“I used to drink a lot,” I said, finally brave enough to make my tone as harsh as I really wanted it to sound. “But I do not, not anymore. I used to drink to hide my troubles. But the problem with drink is, your troubles remain just where you left them and they haunt you the next day.”
The Hound frowned and when he spoke next his voice was heavy with surprise, but devoid of judgement:
“You used to drink a lot?” He raised a dark brow. “I’d have never thought to picture that.”
“Why, because I’m not a soldier like you?”
I knew better than to call that man a knight, but I was tempted just to show my lack of regard for the Lannister dog.
“Nah, I suppose that doesn’t matter.” He looked away then. “So what stupid things did you do to finally make you shake the habit?”
I was surprised by the question; by the suggestion of kinship between us. But I realised there was one, whether I liked it or not.
“My mother,” I hesitated, and the Hound’s dark eyes were on me again. “My mother was a mean drunk. But when she did not drink, she was even meaner.”
Clegane looked at me then and I saw a glint of recognition in those dark, angry eyes. But then, the hour of the wolf was the darkest part of the night. I might have been mistaken.
“‘D ya fuck any strangers?”
“Not enough wine in this keep to make me fuck you, if that’s what you’re after.”
He let out a laugh. The hoarse sound of it was grating like a crunch of broken glass.
“Yeah, that ain’t what I’m after, don’t flatter yourself.”
“Well, I am glad to hear we understand each other.”
“That what you were looking for when drinking, little one? Understanding?”
“Sometimes.” I sighed. “Sometimes I drank just to feel something. You know how it is. Everyone is drunk in a tavern, everyone pretends to be each other’s friend. But that isn’t so. Strangers are not your friends, they could not be farther from it.”
“Aye, they care about nothin’ and no one other than themselves.” The Hound nodded. “Drink and pleasure, little one. That’s what the world is to ya when you ain’t careful.” He took another swig from the bottle. The smell of wine hit me again and I turned my head away.
“And you said awful things, too, did ya?” he asked.
“Hateful things,” I whispered. “That is why I stopped. It did me no good.”
“Hateful things…” The big man rolled the words on his tongue like he was curious. “Pretty little thing like you, eh?”
“Pretty things can still be poison.”
He smirked darkly at that.
“Yes, they can. You have the truth of it, girl.”
He was silent for a while and I turned my head towards him to check if he was still there. He was. He was looking at the guard standing beside the closest entry to the garden. The guard looked young and utterly exhausted. He swayed from time to time and Clegane seemed very amused by that.
“Yeah, usually it’s knights and us soldiers drinkin’ to forget.” He pointed at the guard. “Like him there. The men that drink too much and go around lookin’ for fights. We drink our cheap wine and our ale and then we go around lookin’ for nothin’ but trouble. Sometimes fightin’ people we’re not supposed to. Sometimes… Other things.” He took another swig.
“Sometimes I would even lay with strangers to feel better. To feel something.”
I did not know why I said that, but that got me his attention, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and say it all:
“To feel something other than my feelings. Other than dread and sadness. But that did not happen. In the morning, my nightmares were still present.”
“I understand,” he replied and it was my turn to be shocked. “Wantin’ to feel the warmth of someone’s touch.” He said that so bitterly that I almost felt the bile in my own throat. But there was sympathy in his voice, even though it was hard to read his face, half-covered with the burn scars.
“Aye, someone to take away your pain, even if for a night.”
“Yes,” I said, surprised. “That… That was it. How…?” But then I hesitated. Of course he would understand what that was like. He wore the worst thing that had happened to him right out there on his face. There was no hiding from it, no covering it. He had to wear it every day and live with others looking upon it always.
I felt like a fool for even asking, but the question hung there in the open. Finally, Clegane spoke:
“I know it. You thought someone would care about you, keep you warm, but in the end they never did. Did they?”
“No.” This time my answer came easier. “They never did.”
“Aye, nobody cares about people like us, little one. We are the servants. We’re here to serve.” He chuckled darkly and pushed the empty bottle away. “People don’t care a lick for ya, only for what you can give them. And when you give it… Well, then you’re no better than those slaves in Essos.”
“Is that how it feels for you?”
He turned to me so quickly that I flinched and for a second I was afraid he would attack me. But all he did was look into my own eyes; long and intently. His eyes were ones that must have seen much, but mine own had turned hard over the years, too. They no longer belonged to the girl who came to King’s Landing with songs in her head.
“Yeah.” Finally, he leaned back. “What of your family? Do they care so little about you?”
I was not always a palace maid and I had not always worked in a household as grand as the royal palace. I was born as a Rivers, in a poor hovel in the Riverlands; a ghastly place north of another village that most likely no longer existed. My mother was a drunkard, a local busty tavern wench, and due to her reputation I also had two older half-sisters. They despised me as much as I despised them.
Scrubbing floors and mending clothes had been my daily bread since the moment I could walk and take care of my own needs–that was the day I finally became useful. That usefulness took me out of that gods’ forsaken village, until little by little I travelled from the Riverlands to the Crownlands, moved from house to house in search of my own destiny, and from dusk till dawn I scrubbed and cleaned the nobles’ messes. From a lowly laundry maid at the age of seven, I worked my way up on my hands and knees, until the skin of my hands perpetually blistered and cracked from soap and lye.
“No,” I replied, my tone harsher. “There is no one.”
The Hound still looked at me like he was trying to read my face for lies. But there were none. I had no reason to lie to him. I told myself once more that he would not remember we ever had this conversation come morning.
“I have no family either,” he said grimly. “No family to speak of.”
I knew the Mountain was not dead, otherwise we all at the palace would have heard of it long ago. To now hear the admission from Clegane’s own mouth that the brothers despised each other was striking.
“So no one cares whether we live or die,” I concluded. “I imagine that is why we accept whatever people give us. It is either that, or…” I think on it. “That, or the emptiness.”
“Aye.” His voice was softer now. “But people do bad things all the time. It ain’t the end of the fuckin’ world. Not even the end of your life. So you’re still allowed to want things.”
I frowned, trying to piece together the confusing shreds of that thought. The wine must have finally run to his head.
“Are you saying even monsters deserve to be loved?”
He laughed darkly and there was little joy in that bitter sound.
“Aye, little one. Mayhaps you are a bad person, I don’t know ya. But all of us are, in a way.”
The truths he gave me struck something within me.
“By the gods, you are honest.” I sigh.
“I’m a lot of things, girl. Honest, for all my faults, is one of them.” He paused briefly. “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face.”
We sat in silence a while, but then the big man had more questions for me:
“Don’t you ever have any desire to drink again? There must be a time when you think to yourself, just one, just to forget, just to numb the pain, just for tonight?”
I considered that. Then decided to remain truthful:
“Yes. I do sometimes, yes. But then I remember how miserable wine made me feel the next day and how much pain it caused me. And how much shame it brought me. The things I did… Remembering helped me not to drink again.”
I looked up and there was a strange, wistful look in Clegane’s eyes, as though he were remembering something.
“But it did feel good while it lasted, did it not? At least, for a time, you had no aches, no hurts, you did not feel. You could forget your pain for a while, did that not feel good?”
“Ah,” I smiled sadly. “But that is why the drink is so treacherous.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a smirk. “A cruel mistress.”
I nodded.
“But it did make me forget,” I admitted. “Then I felt ashamed I forgot. And then it ruined me and I had let it, gladly. But in the moment, when you drink, yes, that is true. You forget the bad things. That does feel good. It is a perfect poison for those in pain and misery.”
I realised then that it was the sense of no judgement I was getting from conversing with the Hound that really drew me into this talk. He did not judge and he repaid me with honesty. That was so much more to offer than the monstrous kinds of misplaced affection I had found in King’s Landing over the years.
“Is it too much to ask that you tell me your name, girl?”
The way he asked seemed like a taunt, but there was a strange tenderness in that scarred face that made me feel at ease, even as his dark eyes studied me so intently.
“Laina Rivers.”
“Laina Rivers.” He seemed amused by that, a faint smile playing on his scarred lips. “A pretty name for a bastard.”
I gave him a sharp look.
“There is a sad irony in that,” he said, obviously not afraid of my silent threats in the slightest.
He smiled and there was no humour in that half smile, but the anger in him had settled at least.
“So who was your father?” he asked. “What great lord fathered you and left you in the world to fend for yourself?”
“I do not know.” I stumbled through my words a little, because his bluntness struck me once more. “But I hate him sometimes. For doing so.”
The Hound nodded and then the anger resurfaced in the unburnt half of his face. The other still showed nothing. But there was another layer to his anger now; as though there was just a touch of sadness underneath it.
“You never sought after him? You don’t even know who he is?”
“No.” I shook my head. “My mother told me very little. And she was always angry when I asked. So I stopped asking. I was a skittish child, always desperate for her to love me. I wanted to please her, to be a good daughter. Especially since I had two sisters to compete with.”
“And did it work?” He sneered. “Did your mother love you?”
“Not the way I wanted her to,” I replied, my voice barely louder than a whisper. What was that strange power he possessed that made me want to confess to him so easily?
“She loved me in her own way, I believe. But she was not kind. I think she despised having bastard daughters, despised us for being bastards. Even though that was not our fault.”
“No, it is not your fault,” he agreed and hearing that almost brought the tears back to my eyes.
There was sadness in his voice, I could hear it for true. The masks were starting to come off.
“It is never the fault of the child,” he continued. “Yet they have to suffer. That just shows how this fuckin’ world is, ain’t it?”
I remained silent, but he still expected me to say something. And I was too interested in the conversation to leave now.
“What about your own parents? Did they love you?”
For a long moment, Clegane remained silent, as though he wanted to give me a different answer; considered it, to avoid giving the real one. But it did not seem like his heart was in it. Finally, he spoke, with some hesitation:
“No, my father did not love me. And my mother, well – I do not know if she hated me, loved me, or just did not bother to see that I existed at all.”
It was so hard to hear that I could not speak for a long while.
“When did you get these scars?” I asked carefully.
“I was seven.”
He knew I knew then, or at least that I suspected, and now had my suspicions confirmed. I straightened my back and he waited for me to say something, but I would not. I would not intentionally harm him with my words now, I refused. Even if he was a Lannister creature.
“But you are true-born, are you not?” I said instead, frowning, and tried to reconcile what he said with my own conviction.
His laugh was like snarling dogs in a pit.
“That does not guarantee a parent’s love, little one. My father was a lord, you know. And a cruel, bitter man.”
That was not the moment to remark on his own bitterness and so I held my tongue.
“No, I suppose being a lord’s son does not guarantee it,” I muttered. “But for the longest time I thought… I thought that if only I had a real name, if I was true-born then maybe my mother would be kinder. Maybe she–”
“No, if she cared, she would have loved you no matter what.” The Hound sighed. My mouth nearly gaped at that answer.
“There are many bastards who are not high-born and who still have good parents,” he said. “It is not about your name or birthright. It is about whether there is hatred in a person’s heart. And by your account, your mother did not have much love in hers.”
I sat there in shock at the profound truth that came from this man’s mouth.
“I misjudged you,” I admitted and immediately felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.
“Aye.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am used to it.”
“But,” I said, “that is also why I left the Riverlands. I went from place to place, finding work and getting good at being a maid. I was looking for something to replace that love. And when I came to King’s Landing… Well, now I work in the palace.” I laughed bitterly. “A lot of fucking good it got me.”
He laughed then with me, a deep and harsh guffaw.
“Aye, King’s Landing. The place where every man and woman goes when they think their talents would amount to something. So many people lie and die in this stinking hell, so many more become lordlings and queens and kings… Aye, they all think they’re something special. Something more.” He pauses and looks at me with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “Did you fall for their lies, too?”
“I did.” I nodded. I felt ashamed for having been so naive.
“You are not alone,” he said, almost like he was mocking both of us. “This place chews people up and spits them out like they are nothing. It’s the worst of men, the biggest of fools, the lowest of scum that the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. All gathered here for the pleasure of the royals.”
I wondered then how come he was not afraid to say what he thought; why did he said it so openly. All my life I had obeyed every rule and strict guidance of my superiors. I received a lashing once and I still bore the scars of it on my back. I vowed never to let my tongue waggle ever again.
Any palace chambermaid found gossiping, or behaving in a way unbecoming of a decent lady, would be punished–or worse, thrown out and left without income, forced to leave His Grace’s employment with a stained reputation and no way to fend for herself.
So I decided to ask:
“How is it that you are not afraid to just speak your mind? This place is crawling with whisperers. Don’t you have a lord or a master that would punish you for speaking so?”
The Hound smiled, almost as though he was amused at the thought.
“Why should I be afraid? They are all afraid of me.” He shrugged. “Who cares what these nobles think? The people who know me already know I speak my mind, and the ones who don’t have heard stories. And as for my master, I have none. I have no one to answer to besides the king, and he doesn’t care a lick about the likes of me.”
“I think I have heard the stories,” I admit.
“Aye. A famous man, me.” He leaned towards me, his voice hard again. “You know why they call me the Hound?”
I shook my head, though my eyes went to his chest where the sigil of his house was plain as day on his surcoat – three black snarling dogs on a yellow field.
“It is because I hunt down their prey for them. Anyone they ask me to, I ride them down. Criminals, traitors, even children… I have cut down many in my life and only some of them were monsters.”
We were silent then, until he spoke again:
“Many different names they call me, but I mislike that one the most.”
“I understand.”
“Do you now?”
“I do. Of course I do. A hound is a dog used for hunting and it is an animal, not a person. The man sitting here with me is just that, a man. Not a dog.”
He is rendered speechless after that and we look at each other for the longest moment.
“How old are you, girl?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You speak with the knowledge of someone older, yet you are small and slight and so I wonder…” He reached towards me and I forced myself to stay in place. For some reason, I knew he would not harm me.
Clegane touched my shoulder and it was as if to check that I was real.
“I am old enough,” I said, slightly amused. “And I hope to talk to you again sometime. But it will dawn soon and I must go back to my duties.”
“Aye.” Clegane smiled at that and I smiled back. “Fare-thee-well, Laina Rivers.”
“Fare-you-well, Sandor Clegane.”
#Sandor Clegane fic#Sandor Clegane x reader#Sandor Clegane fics#Sandor Clegane fanfic#asoiaf fanfic#Sandor Clegane x ofc#Sandor Clegane x original characters#game of thrones fanfic#game of thrones fic#sandor clegane fanfiction
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the thing i believe about morphienne (in any iteration, canon-edge, au, whatever you like) is this. it takes them absolutely fucking forever to say the string of words "i love you" to each other and that's if they even get around to it. because they just don't see the UTILITY of it. why the fuck would you say something as trite and limiting as "i love you" when you have this intense and all-encompassing and deeply intimate connection-slash-entanglement that defies linguistic classification? it's almost insulting to pin a ridiculous little word like "love" on a relationship like the one they have. which is not to say it's not romantic, sexual, etc, it's just, they're both aware on a molecular level of how much their relationship matters to each other and to themselves, and how many more layers to their relationship there are than just lover/lover (god/supplicant. king/seneschal. right brain/left brain. chaos/order. and so forth). it feels a little like going around saying "the sky is blue" or "you need to breathe to live" all day to them. like. they know. they both know. and as far as they're concerned, what could be more beautiful and terrible than just knowing and being known?
the thing i believe about dannyluce (again in any iteration) is that more or less fresh out the fuckin' oven danny says "i love you. no you don't have to have a response to that. i just wanted to say it, because i think it matters" (or the equivalent) (because he was made to be better. and part of better from the morpheus perspective is loves more easily or is easier to love). and it scares lucienne absolutely shitless because oh. shit. oh shit wait i love you actually can mean something profound if you let it. and you can just say it. without it being a whole Production. it means Everything and you can just say it and that doesn't keep it from meaning Everything. okay one second have to lock myself in the hermetically sealed chamber and Scream for a bit
and that ALSO does not preclude a deep, genuine, and romantic love between the two of them it's just. well. it's an adjustment!
also danny is a hands talker and does strange elbow motions sometimes. but we've been through this before.
#f: mansand#chatter#morphienne#dream of the endless#lucienne the librarian#this one is for my dreamluce girlies (gender neutral) please refrain from ''well i think it's platonic''-ing on this post thank yew!
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Seneschal || jjk (Part 1)
➥Pairing: vampire!jungkook/reader, former prince!jungkook/reader
➥Summary: Having been burned by the rest of the world, Jungkook was content to watch it go up in flames. Or, at least, he was until you gave him hope for something new. As plans are set in motion to unite your rival kingdoms, unforeseen circumstances arise. In the midst of the chaos, Jungkook is sure of one thing: he’d be damned if he let you get burned, too.
➥Genre: strangers to lovers, angst, slow burn, (eventual) fluff, (eventual) smut, royalty au, supernatural au
➥Rating: 18+
➥Words: ~6k
➥Content Warnings: a bit of angst, no smut in the first part but there is a little bit of nudity mentioned, blood and violence are mentioned, vampire lore(?), swearing, this is more of an intro chapter than anything else so there isn’t a whole lot that happens
A/N: so uh…it’s been a while, yeah? I haven’t updated any of my BTS fics on this blog in over a year due to a lot of life things (you can read here if you’re curious as to why), but I finally had a little time to sit down and dedicate to this idea I teased back in November 2021. As mentioned in the content warnings, this is more of an intro chapter so there isn’t a whole lot going on…definitely will be more happening later.
Anyways all that to say thank you to everyone who has supported/is still supporting me and my writing even during my hiatus. It means the absolute world to me 💜
(Also special shout-out to @dntaewithluv for listening to me ramble off idea about this for a literal year, I love you so much and appreciate you immensely ❤️)
seneschal [sen-uh-shuhl] (noun) an officer having full charge of domestic arrangements, ceremonies, the administration of justice, etc., in the household of a medieval prince or dignitary; steward.
Otherwise known as Jungkook’s consolation prize when he was coerced to step down from the throne.
It had been 2 years since the…incident occurred, but Jungkook could still remember it as if it had just happened.
Which is exactly what he was reflecting on as a vial was being thrust into his vision.
He blinked rapidly a few times before staring up at the person holding the vial out for him, their face a mixture of excitement and mild impatience.
“Well? We don’t have all day. Drink up, Jeon.”
Jungkook glared.
“My apologies, please drink the potion, Mr. Jeon.”
“Jimin, you know how I feel about you and formalities-”
“It just so happens that my manners come out more as my patience grows thin.” Jimin teased. “So,” he tried once more, “drink it.”
Jungkook sighed and shook his head, knowing it was better to leave well enough alone.
“Are you sure this is safe,” Jungkook asked as he stared hesitantly at the vial filled with blue liquid just inches away from his face.
Jimin rolled his eyes before grabbing Jungkook’s hand and closing it around the vial. “Yes, for the billionth time I wouldn’t give you something I thought might harm you.” He took a step back and crossed him arms, waiting patiently for Jungkook to do something.
With a sigh Jungkook carefully brought the vial to his lips, swallowing the liquid without putting too much thought into it. The taste was bitter, but not wholly unpleasant, and a few more moments passed before either of them spoke.
“And the verdict is?” The genuine curiosity in Jimin’s voice was something Jungkook had always found to be endearing.
Jungkook chuckled. Jimin may have still been a wizard in training, but he always had Jungkook’s best interest at heart.
“How am I supposed to know if anything happened? You tell me.”
Jimin blinked before the realization set in. “Oh, right.” He stepped forward once more, peering into Jungkook’s eyes as best he could in the dim lighting of the room.
Jungkook already knew the results before Jimin could confirm them. The way his face dropped said it all.
“They’re still red. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, I’m following all the rules-”
“Jimin.”
“Maybe the spellbook is outdated, you know? This is the only one I’ve ever seen anyone else use, it must be centuries old at this point-”
“Jimin,” Jungkook stated more firmly this time, clapping his hand on the other’s shoulder to keep him from pacing around more. “It’s fine.”
Jimin groaned. “But it’s not fine, what kind of a supposed ‘wizard’ am I if I can’t even do a simple eye color changing spell.”
“You’re one that’s trying and that’s what matters.”
“Yeah, but,” Jimin broke off, pout prominent on his face. “you shouldn’t have to wear contacts all the time.”
Jungkook offered a gentle smile to his downtrodden friend. “There’s lots of things I shouldn’t have to do, but I do them anyway. It’s only a slight inconvenience, not a big deal.”
Jimin didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know why you need to wear them in the first place, does it really matter if people see-”
“Yes,” Jungkook cut him off with a tone of finality. “We’ve been over this. It’s best for everyone if they don’t figure it out.”
“So you’re honestly fine with everyone thinking you did something horrible enough to make you step down from the throne? You’re ok with letting people drag your name through the mud constantly?”
Jungkook shrugged. “It’s just better this way.”
Jungkook could swear he heard Jimin growl. “It’s not right and you know it. You’re just too set in your ways about not wanting to bring dishonor on your family. Which, by the way, not sure if you noticed but they aren’t the most honorable people.”
“Don’t.” Another statement with a stern tone. This time, Jimin obeyed.
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, letting the dark curls fall at their own leisure. “I need to get going or I’ll be late.”
If he left now he had just enough time to stop by his room and grab his contacts he’d left behind on his way to see Jimin, as per Jimin’s request.
“I’ve got it all figured out, so you won’t even need them this time!” Jimin had promised.
Jungkook had hope that one of these days Jimin would be victorious in all of his spellcasting endeavors, and he’d be there to support him the whole way through.
Right now, however, he had bigger matters to attend to.
On his way back to his chambers he saw Seokjin, who he figured was en route to go check on Jimin, seeing as he was the appointed court wizard and Jimin was his apprentice.
Jungkook nodded at him as they passed by each other, but Seokjin calling out for him had him turning around.
“Yes?”
It was then that Jungkook could see just how tired Seokjin looked. “Lord Jeon requests your presence before your meeting with the king.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Did he now? He bother to tell you what it was about?”
Seokjin shook his head, brows somewhat furrowed. Jungkook sensed that he seemed tense overall, and Jungkook didn’t like it.
“He didn’t. He just said it was important and had to be done as soon as possible.”
With a deep sigh, Jungkook relented, mumbling a thank you to Seokjin as he changed the direction he was walking. His brother’s chambers were located in a completely different wing of the castle, but he still had enough time to stop by his own room afterwards if he played his cards right.
He could hear the noises before he even approached the door, faint enough to go unnoticed by other passerby, but due to his heightened senses he had the unfortunate luck of not being able to remain oblivious. Jungkook knocked on the door despite the urge to just barge in; protocol was a big thing here and it was best for him to keep that in mind.
When he got no answer, he knocked once more before he squared his shoulders and turned the knob to open the door.
Without waiting for a greeting, he walked in, fully prepared for what he might find, seeing as it’d happened before.
Sure enough, the sight he was met with was exactly what he expected.
“Ah, so you finally came,” a snarky voice called out to him, slightly muffled. Jungkook rolled his eyes as he waited for the other party to get situated.
“What do you want, Yoongi?”
The blonde man in the bed not far from Jungkook smiled as the sheets fell around his waist. The woman next to him had even less shame, not bothering to cover her naked torso.
It wasn’t like Jungkook had never seen it before, anyway-
“Now is that anyway to address your superior?”
Jungkook gritted his teeth. “It is when my ‘superior’ is my younger brother.”
Yoongi tutted disapprovingly. “If you recall, you’re still only 24 years old-”
“Yoongi.”
“Which makes me the older brother now since I just turned 25.” he flashed a grin and the woman beside him snuggled up to his arm, still not completely covering her breasts. Jungkook looked away.
“So,” Yoongi continued, “you care to try that again?”
“I don’t, thanks. What do you want?”
Yoongi huffed, clearly unamused. “What I want is for you to tell our father what my requests are for the event we’re holding.”
This intrigued Jungkook enough to turn his sights back to his brother. “You’re not attending?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Yoongi feigned remorse. “I have more important matters to attend to.”
Jungkook watched in disgust as Yoongi grabbed a hold of the woman’s chin to turn her face so that he could kiss her. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.
“So you’re not coming then?”
“Oh he’s not, but he will be,” the woman ran her hand up Yoongi’s arm. Long, teal hair covered her shoulders, reminding Jungkook of when it was first dyed. He’d been there with her after all, so of course he’d remember it.
She giggled at her own joke while Yoongi laughed boisterously, 2 sounds Jungkook wished he’d never have to hear again.
He’d never been that lucky.
“I don’t have time for this,” was his only remark before he turned on his heel to exit the room.
Jungkook ignored Yoongi’s calls for him to come back, instead taking longer than necessary strides to put as much room between him and his brother as possible.
A low growl died in his throat as he pulled on the edge of his chain dangling from his neck. It looked like an ordinary chain necklace to the untrained eye, but it was long enough to where the end of it could fit in Jungkook’s pocket. From his neck, the rest of the chain disappeared beneath his shirt, covering the length of his chest.
It was a safety measure more than anything, something Seokjin and Jimin had helped him come up with following the ‘incident.’
⊱─────✧༺✧༻✧─────⊰
“Silver has been known to cause excruciating pain to vampires,” Seokjin had explained, “but this is a special chain, charmed with a spell that dulls that effect.”
“It doesn’t get rid of it completely?” Jimin’s confusion was evident alongside his concern for his friend.
Seokjin shook his head. “It won’t, only because that was Jungkook’s request.”
Jimin’s worried stare shifted to Jungkook, who was sitting on one of the tables in Seokjin’s chambers. His shirt was shredded, and his chest was stained scarlet: souvenirs of his most recent outing.
He went out to feed, traveling several towns over, and ended up failing miserably. Jungkook maybe got a few seconds of satisfaction before he was being ripped away from his willing victim and promptly beaten by 3 other men.
He absolutely could’ve taken them, but he was already ashamed of what he was doing in the first place. He figured that this was punishment that he had coming in one way or another.
That night when he stumbled into Seokjin’s room, bloodied and defeated, they put together a plan straight away.
Jimin asked to sit in and observe, since he was still unfamiliar with certain spells, but he missed that part of the conversation when he was fetching supplies.
“I don’t understand, why do you want the chain to still be able to cause pain?”
Jungkook sighed, wrapping part of it around his fist and noticing instantly the slight burn the metal singed his skin with. “Because the pain will hopefully be enough to stop me.”
“Stop you from doing what?”
Jungkook slowly raised his eyes to look at Jimin, a small, sorrowful smile stretched across his face.
“Something I regret.”
⊱─────✧༺✧༻✧─────⊰
The familiar sting of the chain branded the inside of his palm with invisible marks, and he kept it curled inside his hand until he was in front of his own chamber doors. He was really pushing time now, close to being late for his advisory meeting, but he’d risk a slight delay in the start of the meeting versus having to explain why his eyes were crimson colored.
Once he had his contacts fixed, he all but jogged to the large meeting room down the hall. A few guards and his father were already there, waiting on him as it seemed he was the last to show up.
“You’re late,” the king greeted, a hint of disappointment in his tone.
Jungkook was used to that by now.
“Sorry, Your Majesty, I had to run a few errands first. Shall we start?”
The king cleared his throat and nodded, holding out his hand to the guard nearest him. A scroll was placed into his large palm before he quickly unraveled it.
Jungkook watched his eyes flit across the parchment, and when he deemed it satisfactory, the king handed it back to the guard so he could pass it down to Jungkook.
“You’ll find the agenda there for tomorrow’s event. I’m entrusting you, as usual, with all the planning so you can make sure everything is taken care of.”
Jungkook hummed as he read through everything. It all looked to be in order: designated time for the other guests to arrive, instructions for what catering needed to be prepared, an outline of what was required for Yoongi’s meeting with the princess-
Jungkook read that line again. And another time. He ground his teeth together as he looked back up at the king whose eyebrow was raised as he waited.
“Well? Is something the matter? You look perturbed.”
“Father-”
“This is an official meeting, boy. No informal titles allowed.”
Jungkook’s jaw was clenched. “Your Majesty,” he tried again, “what is this last portion here about a meeting with a princess?”
“Ah yes, that.” The nonchalant answer made Jungkook’s anger rise even further. “The meeting between their princess and our prince is what will be the defining moment for the entire event.”
Jungkook had known there was some sort of event happening that was supposed to – hopefully – demolish the rivalry between the two neighboring kingdoms. There had been bad blood for far too long, and it sometimes made it difficult to retrieve supplies from other areas without conflict arising.
Jungkook had been tasked with planning everything for the guests arrival, as his job required him to do. Despite being kicked from the royal lineage, he was allowed to stay a part of the royal court and act as a steward of sorts. It wasn’t always the best, but he figured it beat being exiled from the kingdom entirely.
He worked tirelessly over the last several months to ensure that all boxes were checked for this gathering. But this new information blindsided him, and now it suddenly made sense why his father and Yoongi both seemed so cocky and sure that this would work.
“And no one thought it pertinent enough to tell me that this would be happening?”
Of all things he could’ve done in that moment, the king had the audacity to shrug. “You won’t be present for that bit of it, so we didn’t feel it was necessary to tell you.”
“Then why isn’t Yoongi here for this instead of me,” Jungkook tried to keep his tone respectful, but even he couldn’t stop some of the malice from slipping through.
“The prince” the king put heavy emphasis on the title, “is busy carrying out other affairs, so it didn’t seem important to bother him with this.”
“Yeah, affair is certainly one way to put it,” he mumbled, crossing his arms as he looked to the side.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jungkook exhaled through his nose. “Nothing, Your Majesty.”
The king stared at Jungkook for a few more moments before he dismissed the other guards in the room.
“Gentleman, if you’d kindly take your leave for a moment – I need to have a discussion with my son. Two of you may remain posted at the door in case you’re needed.”
The guards obeyed quickly, bowing as they exited.
Jungkook scoffed. “So now I’m your ‘son?’ I’m surprised that word still exists in your vocabulary where I’m concerned.”
“Jungkook, be quiet!” The king raised his voice as a warning and slammed his fist against the table, stopping Jungkook’s jabs in their tracks.
“Regardless of your faults and any heinous acts you may have committed, you are still my son. Whether I like it or not.”
Jungkook hated how those words caused a dull ache in his chest.
“And because you are my son, that is why you are still allowed to be here in the first place. Do you ever think about how easy it would’ve been to toss you on the street like some mere commoner,” the king spat, his own outward frustration mirroring what Jungkook felt on the inside.
“You only tell me every chance you get, how could I not?”
“Watch your tone with me, boy. I am not above throwing you in the dungeon for insubordination.”
Jungkook was well aware. At this rate, he had his own personal cell with how often his father (and more so his brother) felt the need to send him there.
“Can we go back to what this ‘meeting’ is supposed to entail? Why is their princess involved?”
The king squared his shoulders and smiled. “They’ve offered a marriage proposal.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, a what?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. The king’s eldest daughter, Princess Mina, is being offered as a marriage candidate for Prince Yoongi.”
“And Yoongi agreed to this?”
The king frowned at Jungkook’s continued lack of formality before he nodded. “He’s been preparing for it for a while now.”
Jungkook clenched his fist under the table.
“Fucking unbelievable,” Jungkook muttered, a few seconds from leaving the meeting altogether in order to give the prince a piece of his mind.
“Language,” the king reminded him sternly.
“Look, fa- Your Majesty. With all due respect to you, I think this is a terrible idea.”
“Please do enlighten me as to why you feel that way.”
Jungkook sighed as he rubbed his temples. “Arranged marriages amongst royals never seem to work out well from what I’ve seen. Arranged marriages amongst anyone just seems like a poor idea.”
“Your mother and I married as part of an arrangement, and we turned out fine.”
Jungkook would beg to differ, but that was an entirely different conversation for some other time.
“I just think it’s odd that he would accept this proposal when he’s already involved with someone else.”
Finally, it was the king’s turn to look taken aback. “Whatever do you mean?”
‘He doesn’t know,’ Jungkook realized.
“Don’t worry about it, I just assumed he already had someone in mind is all.”
“Unlike you, the prince seems to be able to keep his mind off of finding love amongst the common rabble outside the castle walls.”
Jungkook winced.
“Additionally, if he did already have someone in mind, I’m sure I would’ve heard about it by now.”
“You know better than I would,” Jungkook lied. He knew that Yoongi kept many, many secrets from their parents, which is why he’d always been the favorite. They never got a glimpse of his true nature, but unfortunately for Jungkook, he got to see all of it.
“Indeed,” the king said with finality, marking the end of that conversation. “Now, back to the preparations for the event-”
“I’ll handle it,” Jungkook sounded much more deflated than when he entered the room. Animosity exhausted him.
“Good. I expect nothing less of you. I don’t expect much from you to start with, but I at least anticipate you will do your job.”
Another mindless insult. Jungkook stopped keeping count of how many times his father shamed him years ago after the scandal first broke.
If anyone asked him, he’d even go so far as to say his father’s love for him died the same day his human life ended.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, the queen and I have other matters to attend to before tomorrow.” The king got up from the table and walked off, not even bothering to see if Jungkook would also make way to leave. Before he exited through the door, he turned back one last time to look at Jungkook.
“Don’t make me regret letting you stay here. This is the most important thing the kingdom has faced since you were a child, and if you mess it up somehow, being exiled will be the least of your worries.”
Jungkook received the threat with a solemn stare, no more words spoken as he was then left alone in the large room.
On the way back to his chambers, Jungkook had a lapse in judgment. He turned and let his feet carry him to his new destination, landing three hard knocks on the door before it opened quickly.
“What?” An annoyed tone filtered through the open doorway. “Oh – it’s just you.”
Yoongi’s hair was less disheveled than it had been earlier, but it was clear he was now trying to get himself ready for later activities in the day.
“What do you want?” Yoongi crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe, not allowing Jungkook any space to enter the room.
Not that he really wanted to, anyway. He just needed to know one thing.
“Does she know?”
Yoongi blinked in confusion. “Does who know about what? You gotta be more specific, I can’t read your mind-”
“Does she know,” Jungkook interrupted, more sternly this time. “What’s happening tomorrow. Does she know?”
He had to ask. As much as he loathed her now, he still thought she deserved better than to be cheated on and discarded like she was nothing.
Even if that’s exactly what she’d done to him.
Jungkook watched as Yoongi’s eyes sparked with amusement when he finally understood. “Aeris? Yeah, she knows. She actually just left by the way; sorry you didn’t get to see her again.”
Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed.
“So she knows and she’s fine with it?”
“Yeah, I mean – she gets it a ‘thing’ I have to do. It’s completely transactional and I’m only doing it for the betterment of the kingdom.”
Yoongi was lying through his teeth and Jungkook wanted to wipe his smug grin off his face. His entire life Yoongi had been selfish and only looked out for himself, so this idea that he was doing it to help the people living in the kingdom?
Absolutely preposterous.
Jungkook needed a fucking break. He needed to get away, clear his head before he had to come back and deal with everything else tomorrow.
He walked off without another word, something he knew Yoongi hated – which is most of the reason why he’d done it.
“You know,” Yoongi shouted after him, “I think bitterness suits you. It’s a good look since it matches the rest of your miserable demeanor!”
Jungkook ignored him and continued walking, not stopping until he reached his favorite spot in the entire castle.
He would often come up to the highest balcony, somewhere he could be alone with his thoughts and not have the added stress of other’s opinions for a short while.
The balcony was all but abandoned as he was the only one to frequent it. The only crime he’d ever say he committed was stealing the key to the door that granted access up here. After a while, everyone else forgot about it, so he was able to keep this spot hidden. A place of his own, where he didn’t have to worry about being found.
A place of his own where his thoughts could run wild. A place of his own where his demons continued to follow him despite his best efforts.
A place of his own where he could just be alone.
After all, that’s what was best for everyone, right?
Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder, as he’d done many times before, what his life would be like now if he hadn’t been attacked. His entire life – as a prince, as an official royal family member, as a living, breathing human – was cut short in the blink of an eye. His humanity as he knew it was gone in an instant.
If it hadn’t happened, though, where would he be now? Would it be him getting ready to marry someone for political gain instead of his brother?
He shook his head as he let out a humorless chuckle. He knew he’d fight that decision with everything he had, and for he first time since it had been stripped away from him, he was relieved he wasn’t in that kind of position anymore.
The thought of sharing his life with someone he didn’t truly care about, whether it was for the greater good or not, just didn’t seem right, nor did it seem fair. Not to mention the fact that it didn’t just include him: someone’s else’s life would be affected just as much as his.
It dawned on him then that he was standing here, genuinely putting thought into how he would handle such a situation. He wasn’t some cold, heartless being. He still had the ability to care for others, and that alone gave him some sort of hope.
He looked up at the moon, admiring how the light spilled through the branches of the tree overhead.
“Maybe I still have some humanity left after all.”
lady-in-waiting (noun) a woman of noble birth who serves a female monarch as a member of the royal household.
“Please hold still, Your Highness,” you huffed with thinly veiled frustration as you tried to lace up the corset you were currently working on.
You made a mental note to go shopping later in order to find better dresses for the princess. They still would be ones that were just as extravagant, but hopefully didn’t give you a blood pressure spike to assist with.
“Oh please, what’s with the formal treatment? It’s just us right now, you don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Yes, but,” you tugged once more, finally letting out a sigh of relief when the strings worked how you wanted them to. “With the event happening soon, it’s better for me to get back into the habit.”
Being best friends with the princess granted you some privileges that you were grateful for. When it was just the two of you, you didn’t have to uphold this extra formal, fancy attitude and instead you both got to be much more laid-back. You knew she appreciated it just as much as - if not more than - you, since she was held to a higher standard and scrutinized more heavily.
However, by the kingdom’s definition, you were first and foremost her lady-in-waiting, which ranked above any and all other duties you had in the royal court. Which, unfortunately, meant that at certain times your role took precedence over your friendship, and that was just the way it had to be.
“Ugh, I can’t wait for all this stupid royal relations stuff to be over.”
“Mina-”
She held up a hand. “Let me get it out, then you can scold.”
You waited patiently, fixing the other parts of the dress while she rambled on for the umpteenth time about her dislike for the event happening soon.
“…I mean this is a rival kingdom, we don’t even like them, so why bother. You know?”
“Mhm,” you hummed as you agreed honestly. It did seem like a stretch for your kingdom to try and force relations with one who had been a long-standing rival. The way you saw it, if after all these years and prior failed attempts had yet to work, what made the king think this would be any different?
Of course, there was now the added factor of a new bargaining chip: the king and queen were offering one of their daughters as a potential marriage candidate for the other kingdom’s prince.
Mina, being the oldest princess in line, begrudgingly accepted for the sake of the kingdom.
The plan had been set in motion months prior, but it was all finally happening tomorrow – both you and Mina were on edge, anticipating the worst but hoping for the best.
What was supposed to happen seemed simple enough: the king would accompany the princess on her visit to the other kingdom, escorted heavily by guards and with you at her side, as you always were. She would meet the prince officially for the first time, and both kings would try to strike up some sort of arrangement.
You figured this would actually be more beneficial for them, seeing as their kingdom was still recovering from a huge scandal that happened a few years ago. You remembered it vividly, taking note of how the abruptness of it all never sat right with you.
The eldest prince stepped down from his position as next in line for the throne, following some sort of act that was only described as ‘utterly disgraceful’ and never really elaborated on in the public news.
Before the news broke, the kingdom was well known for its power and influence all over the land, and the downfall from it all landed a huge blow to their standing. It aided your own kingdom in rising above them in their rivalry, but it appeared that now your own monarchs wanted to put everything behind them and unite for…whatever reason.
You tried not to get too deeply involved in the politics. Your duty was to serve Mina, and the royal family as a whole – this didn’t leave you much room to voice your own opinions.
Mina’s soft calling of your name pulled you out of your thoughts.
“Yes?”
Any frustration you had left from the dress fiasco quickly evaporated when you saw her face. She was biting her lip, and in that moment she looked very meek, small. Very unlike the exuberant, confident young woman you knew.
“I’m scared.”
You sighed at that, pulling her into a hug that she gratefully accepted. This was this first time she had outright said it, but you could tell she was terrified from the moment she was first told about this arrangement months ago.
“I know,” you patted her back. You wanted to tell her everything would be alright, that it would all work out, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
Lying to someone to provide them comfort was never something you could get behind, and you didn’t plan to start now.
“I promise you, though, that whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.” You didn’t feel bad saying that because it was the truth; you were ready to face anything when it came to Mina, and you’d do anything for her.
She was basically the most important person in your life, and you’d be damned if you let anything bad happen to her.
Well…anything short of letting her go through with a marriage to a man she’d never met.
Just as your duty to her came first, her duty to her kingdom came first. You knew it and respected it, even if you didn’t always like it.
Mina giggled, her frame shaking slightly in your hold. “It almost sounds like you’re the one I’m supposed to be marrying,” she teased.
You joined in her laughter. “I mean, I don’t think it would yield quite the same results-”
“We both know we’d be arrested before we could even say ‘I do.’” Mina joked, despite her dark attempt at humor having a level of truth to it.
“A princess marrying her lady-in-waiting?” You covered your heart and pretended to be appalled. “Imagine the scandal!”
Mina shoved you lightheartedly, her laughter echoing off the walls. She looked miles happier than she’d been a few minutes prior, and you were relieved to see it.
“C’mon, help me with my hair or we’re gonna be late.” Mina collected her hairbow from her dresser and handed it to you so you could tie up her hair in the back. When you were done, she glanced quickly in the mirror and nodded, pleased with the result.
“Is there anything else you need to do?”
You gave yourself a once-over in the mirror as well and decided that your outfit would have to do. It wasn’t bad by any means, but if you had a little more time, you probably could’ve spruced it up some more.
“All good here. After you, my Lady.” You made a grand gesture out of letting her go first, which earned you another light shove.
“Cut that out! We still have a few minutes of freedom left before we have to be formal.”
You chuckled. “You got it.”
✧───────⊱✧⊰───────✧
You accompanied Mina to her final etiquette training before the big day. Everything she learned was more of a refresher than new material, but her nervousness kept her from doing her best, which led to her being reprimanded by the queen.
“How can you expect to marry someone if you can’t play the part of a prim and proper princess?”
Mina bit her tongue, as she usually did with her mother, and you expected to get an earful from her later about the situation. To your surprise, instead of venting, she was quiet and calm upon returning to her chambers.
Before she was ready to sleep for the night, you checked in one her one last time. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
With a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she responded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
✧───────⊱✧⊰───────✧
You had never woken up more stressed out in your entire life.
All your training had culminated in this moment. You were to make sure that the princess arrived safely along with her appointed guards, and it was also up to you to make sure that everything went off without a hitch.
Such a small responsibility, right? What could possibly go wrong?
Well, for starters-
The castle you found yourself in was much larger than you anticipated, which was saying a lot considering the castle you lived in was already rather large.
Also, you weren’t the best with directions, but as long as you and Mina didn’t get separated, that shouldn’t be a problem.
And it wasn’t a problem…until it came time for her to meet the prince.
“We’re sorry, miss, but only high-ranking royal officials can be present for this meeting.” A guard held out his arm, blocking you from following Mina into the room. She frowned and tried to protest on your behalf, but her father wasn’t having any of it.
“She’ll be fine, we need to get a move on.” He grabbed a hold of her elbow and ushered her along, and you got one last look at her worried countenance before the doors closed.
Now was when the panic set in.
“I-I need water. Or just- something.” You said it aloud but didn’t really know if anyone would hear you or help you for that matter.
Thankfully, the guard who had just cut you off was kind enough to give you directions to the kitchen and dining area. You’d been there not too long ago when everyone was eating the meal that had been prepared, so surely – you thought – it wouldn’t be an issue to stop by and get a drink to calm your nerves.
That plan worked for all of about ten minutes before you re-entered the hallway from the dining room only to find nobody was around. No guards, no passerby, nothing.
It didn’t help that, from what you had seen, most hallways looked nearly identical.
You were officially lost. Alone, panicking, and lost in a castle you’d never been to before with no one in sight to help. Unsure of what else to do, since walking around aimlessly definitely did not seem like a good idea, you did what any normal person would do.
You sat down on the floor and wrapped your arms around your legs, resting your head on top of your knees.
This had to be your worst nightmare. You were separated from Mina, the one person other than yourself who you were responsible for taking care of, and you were also stuck in unfamiliar territory which was one of your biggest fears.
None of your training ever prepared you for this-
“Are you alright, miss?”
A soft voice filtered through your thoughts, making your head snap up. Your breath got caught in your throat.
There was a man kneeling down in front of you, his hand extended as he offered you a gentle smile.
Suddenly, your situation didn’t seem like such a nightmare anymore.
A/N: thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
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fic taglist: @veronawrites @thisartemisnevermisses @outro-kook @cravingforhotchocolate
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Cardan’s letters pov
Part 6: Jude
A/n: i wish holly hadve just had Asha put the letters in like a drawer and not burnt them because cardan really put his heart and soul into these letters
Part 5
I’d gone through an entire bottle of wine in the past hour. Plus whatever I’d had at dinner. I’d sworn I would drink as much after I became king.
The bomb had had one glass.
She looked at me with so much pity in her eyes I knew I must look like shit.
Another week had gone by with no correspondence from Jude. Not even a threat or anything to tell me she wasn’t coming back.
Just… nothing.
And it was killing me.
The bomb had been doing her usual routine spying from the rafters, keeping a special eye out for the ghost and anyone who worked for Madoc.
And upon seeing me absolutely wasted she’d taken me back to my room, where I’d proceeded to open another bottle.
“Why won’t she come home?” God I sounded pathetic.
She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You’re her friend. You know how she works.”
“And so do you. You’re her… whatever.” Husband. The word meant nothing if no one but us knew. “You’ve known her longer than I have.”
And yet, I didn’t know why she stayed away.
“I just want her back.”
The bomb’s gaze softened, just a bit. “Maybe you shouldn’t’ve exiled her.”
“She killed my brother.”
“And yet you still want her back.”
“I don’t care about the brother part, it’s that if I hadn’t, Orlagh could’ve demanded a much higher price.” I took another gulp of the wine. “Her life.”
The bomb grabbed the glass from my hand. “No more of this. Don’t look at me like that, can’t have Jude back if you drink yourself to death.”
As much as I hated to admit it, she was right.
“You should get some sleep.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because you are my king, and I can’t have you acting like this.”
“You never cared before.” I leaned back on the couch and surveyed the spy.
“Jude was here before.”
“My every minute of existence does not revolve around her.”
She looked at me, as though I had found a way to lie. But it wasn’t a lie, otherwise I couldn’t have said it. My sleeping minutes didn’t revolve around her. Technicalities.
“You keep telling yourself that. The denial is so strong you can even convince yourself that’s true.”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned forward, forearms on her knees. “You, High King Cardan, in love with your mortal seneschal, Jude Duarte.”
She was good. And right. I couldn’t deny it, and the bomb knew that judging by the massive smile on her face.
“What do you know of love?”
“More than you’d think.” There was a sorrow in her voice. “But I do know you stare at Jude when you think no one is looking, you have been miserable since she left. You yearn for her presence, for her to be with you and it kills you that she’s not here.”
Damn.
“What about you and the roach?”
Her smile dropped a fraction. “That is none of your concern.”
“Well then my relationships shouldn’t be any of yours.”
There was a pause, she sighed. “Look at us, the king of elfhame and his spy, sharing our miserable lives full of unrequited love.”
I sat up. “You think she doesn’t feel the same?”
She shrugged and took a sip from the wine glass she’d removed from me. “Jude’s mind works in strange ways, but then again so does yours.” She laughed. “Exile the woman you love, great idea, what could possibly go wrong?”
I scowled and she laughed again. “You can’t even deny you love her.”
“We’ve established that.”
“That’s what makes it funny.”
“Not to me.”
She shrugged again. “She definitely feels something for you, I saw the hurt in her eyes that day on the beach. Probably would’ve pained her less had you stabbed her in the stomach.”
Screw it. “We’re ma-”
There was a knock on the door. And the bomb got up to answer it.
I couldn’t hear the hushed words exchanged. I’d been so close to telling her the truth. Jude was queen. Her queen. My queen. And my wife.
The bomb came back and grabbed her cloak, calling over her shoulder. “There’s been an issue with some of our spies, I have to go take care of it. Don’t drink anymore.”
As if I would listen to her.
Everyone said alcohol was bad for you, but I was the high king, I was stronger and more powerful than the average faerie. And it numbed the pain.
That’s what I told myself as I went through another bottle.
I woke up, head pounding and wanting to throw up. How much did I drink?
At least I was in my bed, nothing but a pair of pants on.
There were three empty bottles on the table outside my bed chamber. So I’d had two once the bomb left. Not as many as I feared.
There was a note on the table, from the bomb?
No, it was in my handwriting.
One word.
Over and over again.
Until it got to the second last, which was different.
JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE JUDE
please Jude.
There were a few ink splatters on the page. Giving the intention drunk me had pressed too hard with the quill.
Seeing it brought back the memory of when we’d been in the court of shadows after the coronation.
When she’d questioned me about finding it in my room.
I didn’t ask how she’d found it, or why she’d been in my room. I didn’t care. And I didn’t care now. I just cared that she wasn’t here.
I didn’t even put on a shirt as I walked out of my room.
“This letter gets to Jude Duarte, or I will personally see your demise.”
The man looked at me, fear in his eyes as he took me in. Mad gilt in my eyes, no shirt, undoubtedly smelling of wine. He grabbed the letter and ran off.
I went back to my room.
I’d barely slammed the door shut before I’d collapsed against it, head in my hands.
How had I gotten here?
Someone knocked on the door.
A deep rumbling voice reached me, muffled through the door. “Your majesty.”
“Go away.” I hissed.
“I’m afraid it’s urgent.” The fool didn’t even hesitate.
“It. Can. Wait.”
“Taryn Duarte is here to see you.”
“She can wait too.”
“She says her husband is dead.”
I flung open the door.
“What?”
I’m done!!
I’m not sure if I should write the trial from Cardan’s pov?
Or do smth manorian
Idk
Give me ideas
#cardans letters pov#the cruel prince#cardan greenbriar#the queen of nothing#queen of nothing#jude duarte#jurdan#jurdan fanfic#the folk of the air#folk of the air
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fanfic friday: tfota edition
The Sticky Ficky by skye_42
Summary:
Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, discovers a brand new way to annoy his Seneschal. War is coming to Elfhame, or at least to these two.
Tags: Crack, literally just a crack fic, im here for laughs, Cardan Greenbriar discovers sticky hands, starts post TCP pre TWK, imma lure y’all into a false sense of security, then hit you with angst when you least expect, I know the name is terrible but it’s what I call it on tumblr, and I’m actually a fan of it, The Great Sticky Hands War, Smut, Fluff and Smut, yes I literally put sticky hand induced smut, im sorry, no I’m not, ok maybe yes I am, Angst, theres the angst, im feeding myself so motherfucking well yall, Oh shit now we have ~healing~, this was never anything but self indulgent
Words: 17823
Chapters: 10/?
this is actually one of the best fics i've ever read in my life. hands down. i love it so much. its unfinished but do not let that stop you because the words in this thing are put together very nicely and they make you feel emotion and wowowowow. read it!!
(p.s. i think this author is on tumblr but i cant find them, so if y'all know who they are i would greatly appreciate it <3)
#fanfic friday#fanfic friday: tfota edition#jude duarte#cardan greenbriar#jurdan#jude x cardan#tfota#the folk of the air#holly black
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Abelard is used to the Rogue Trader’s… eccentricities. It isn't heretical to simply enjoy tighter spaces… but it certainly is odd that the man is often curled up–fingers silently flipping through some tome or another–high up in a crevice of the ship’s walls where he could, potentially, listen in to the goings on of his retinue.
Abelard has learned to scan the upper lines of the ship’s walls when searching for the Rogue Trader, but has also taken to doing so idlely, just to see if the oddly dexterous operator has found somewhere new to inhabit.
He doesn't do this to hide, he is easily spotted if one knows where to look. Most don't bother looking up.
Odd indeed. But right now, it is some measure of very, very humorous.
Garion von Valancius is lounged in the intricate mechanics of the ship like some feline beast on some jungle tree branch watching and listening to the ongoing bickering between Marazhai and Argenta. Abelard has taken to standing aside, noticing that Argenta–having been around the Lord Captain as long as he has–has also spotted him, throwing glances upward at the man every few seconds to glare at him for finding amusement in this. Marazhai, on the other hand, has just made a scathing comment about the Lord Captain, using that insulting word to refer to the Rogue Trader.
“I believe I instructed you not to call me mon’keigh, Aezyrraesh.”
The drukhari jolted with all the grace of shattering glass, whipping around to look for where the voice came from. Argenta just laughed, and Abelard quietly chuckled into his hand.
“Up here.”
The dark eldar finally looked up, his face suddenly flush with fury and embarrassment, at a loss for words for a moment. Garion smirked down at him, the stretch of his cheeks distorting the warp-burn scar on the side of his face, patiently waiting the stunned xenos’ expression out. Finally, something came out of that fanged mouth, “What are you doing up there?”
“You haven't apologized–” Garion’s head tilts to the side, “–for your blatant disregard for my orders.”
Marazhai flinched, his eyes looking hard to one side, reminding Abelard of a spurned canine. He bowed his head ever so slightly, “My… apologies, Lord Captain…”
The Rogue Trader laughs openly, the metal claws of his replaced arm tapping along the metal he reclines on. “How obedient... You should behave even when you think I'm not around. Farris learned that lesson decades ago.” Abelard would swear an almost… hungry look crossed the drukhari’s face, but he promptly ignores it.
Garion clicks his tongue, the taunting grin falling away from his face, “However, as I've told the rest of my retinue; I am from a Forge World, I am far more comfortable in the recesses of machinery and cable than the open spaces. Out there,” he motions to the hallway, “I am exposed from many angles. Here, I am exposed from only one. Much of my idle time is spent in places like this.”
The drukhari considers that, head tilting to one side, “How interesting. Yet you're cornered there, not exposed and yet trapped. And what of your large open throne and Cathedral?”
“I despise the openness of both, but they are expected of me.” The smirk does not drop from the Rogue Trader's face, “Do you really think I am trapped, Aezyrraesh? Do you plan to attack me? With a sister of battle and my loyal Seneschal behind you?”
“No, but–”
“I am not trapped.” The interruption comes with a tone of finality, “And even were they gone and you with every intent to kill or torture me…” Fabric shifts, and the man draws a long blade previously sheathed in his sleeve, “You would swiftly find that I carry as many weapons as you have spikes in your armor.” The blade is hidden again, “Are you satisfied?”
A snicker and a sneer, “Never.”
Argenta makes a disgusted noise and the argument starts anew. Garion and Abelard share a glance, a simple look that simply said ‘don't let them kill one another’ before the Rogue Trader rolled from his side onto his back in the small space and drawing his datapad back up.
Abelard walks over, leaning against the wall below his Lord Captain, “Should I stop their bickering?”
“They can handle themselves against one another. Just make sure they don't stain my carpets or waste their lives on one another if they draw their weapons.” A small ‘beep’ from the datapad as the man has fully tuned out the argument once again, “Ones with passion such as theirs should have the opportunity to deal it out with one another. The battlefield will be more tolerable if they settle themselves now.”
Abelard tilts his head back. He forgets, often, that this is not, in fact, the Lord Captain's first time commanding such a large group, he still seems so young, and yet he handles the rabble with astonishing grace. He had once been a Crime Lord, had a council beneath him of valuable assets as likely to stab him in the back as they are to be doggedly loyal. He supposes someone like Marazhai may even be more familiar to him than someone like himself.
“Will you openly spar with him as you have the rest of us?”
This seems to make the trader pause. Abelard can only guess what is on his mind in the silence that draws out after it–from Garion, anyway. Did a drukhari, of all xenos, deserve the tradition of the von Valancius flagship? Much less the same one that had antagonized them for so long? At least, that is the line of thought he assumes.
“...Yes. I simply have to finish recovering from Commorragh.” The barely-audible murmur was followed by another small beep. A quiet admission that his oldest wounds still scream at him from being back in the blackened city.
A nod, “I will have the observation deck prepared as soon as you are ready.”
The two warriors huff at one another and part ways, finally. Marazhai shoots a curious look towards the Lord Captain before making his way down the hall.
#agoraphobia oneshot#warhammer 40k: rogue trader#rogue trader fan fiction#abelard werserian#marazhai aezyrraesh#sister argenta#garion von valancius#crime lord scum is actually an iconiclast who knew#coughcough hesahereticactually coughcough#eventually ill get to garion/marzi#eventually#i have to lay out Garion's story first#i gotta have convoluted world building or its not me lmao#ress writes
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Thank you for answering my questions!
... I have more.
Oops?
---
I get the Lord/Lady/Wix alternatives, but I was wondering if there was a non-binary alternative to the Heir/Heiress title specifically. Like if Heir Harry Potter realised he was non-binary, would he/they remain 'Heir', or is there a neutral equivalent title he/they could use instead?
What pronouns can non-binary wixen use? Is it just they/them or can they use binary he/she pronouns and neopronouns too?
Can cis or trans witches and wizards, who identify as either male or female, use neopronouns?
Do genderfluid wixen exist? How do they signal their current gender/pronouns?
If above is true, how do they store their magic?
Is the base etiquette the same internationally? (Regarding international relations/Are the basics common between countries/societies?)
Could Hogwarts be described as in Avalon but tethered to Magical Britain/a Scottish area? (SuperCarlinBrothers on yt found a likely real-world location for Hogwarts in Scotland, could it realistically be tethered there?)
"That was just Chaos’s second son deciding a school needed to happen and dragging the other Oligarchy into it." Are there any other major historical events in magical society that can be described similarly?
Can oaths be sworn to Chaos, similar to Covenants?
Are there any day-to-day traditions, actions, etc. required or undertaken in accordance with the worship of Mother Magic and Chaos?
"Oligarchy family magic goes dormant instead of … dying, for lack of a better word, because the deity that started the bloodline still lives..." Which deities started which Ogliarchy bloodlines?
What is the youngest someone can take over being the head of the family and running the duchy, in the event of all other main branch family members dying? (I.e. shards of memory 'verse, Harriet inheriting the Ladyship at 15, could she have inherited the Ladyship at a younger age if her parents and grandparents had died when she was 11/12/13/14?)
If the Heir/Heiress is too young, who would run the duchy in their place? Their godparents, their Vassals, or a Seneschal?
What is a Seneschal?
Could a New Blood who gets Magically Twinned with a pureblood take on their Twin's surname? (Like if Harry and Hermione were twins, could she be known as Hermione Potter?)
Are Magical Twins purely platonic? If not, could they, theoretically, Bond? Or is that similar to incest like what the Gaunts did?
How common are Gifts from deities?
Are the Weasleys Blood Traitors in the Pureblood Culture 'verse? You've said the Weasleys we know are from a branch line, so is it just their branch or is it the entire family?
1. I was wondering if there was a non-binary alternative to the Heir/Heiress title specifically?
Apologies for the confusion. They would also use “Wixen” as they have the right to the Lord/Lady First Name title.
2. What pronouns can non-binary wixen use?
Whatever ones they want. This is true for any person.
3. Do genderfluid wixen exist? If above is true, how do they store their magic?
Yes. Their magical storage would convert from their hair, to a signet ring, cuff bracelet, etc., and back automatically.
4. Is the base etiquette the same internationally?
Yes. The very basics of etiquette are consistent internationally. (I have not and will not be creating etiquette for other magical nations.)
5. Could Hogwarts be described as in Avalon but tethered to Magical Britain/a Scottish area?
It's in both. It has tethers to both. It can, if necessary, be pulled entirely into Avalon and cut off from Magical Britain. The same is not true in reverse. The wardstones, etc., laid by the Founders are in Avalon.
6. "That was just Chaos’s second son deciding a school needed to happen and dragging the other Oligarchy into it." Are there any other major historical events in magical society that can be described similarly?
Probably. But I can't think of any off the top of my head. 😂
7. Can oaths be sworn to Chaos, similar to Covenants?
Chaos is a deity. Covenants can occur with any deity, Chaos included.
8. Are there any day-to-day traditions, actions, etc. required or undertaken in accordance with the worship of Mother Magic and Chaos?
Required? No. Though, many magicals offer thanks via prayers or burning a thread of magic in sacrifice as an offering.
9. Which deities started which Oligarchy bloodlines?
Chaos founded the Just and Most Olde House of Slytherin.
Death founded the Hallowed and Most Olde House of Peverell
I've never decided for Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.
And I'm absolutely blanking on whether I said Fate founded the Gryffindor or Pendragon line. 😅
10. What is the youngest someone can take over being the head of the family?
From birth, if necessary. A baby could be born Lord/Lady/Wixen TITLE. Though, obviously, they wouldn't be expected to manage the estate.
11. If the Heir/Heiress is too young, who would run the duchy in their place?
Either Vassals or a Seneschal, if there's one appointed. This is true regardless of title (baronies, earldoms, etc.).
12. What is a Seneschal?
The steward of a Magical House who has sworn an Unbreakable Vow to never betray the bloodline and oversee all duties responsibly.
I've yet to write one into a fic, so I don't have any examples.
13. Could a New Blood who gets Magically Twinned with a pureblood take on their Twin's surname?
Only if they become twins via the Death-Blood Twin Adoption Ritual. If Mother Magic Twins them magically, they aren't actually blood-related.
14. Are Magical Twins purely platonic?
Yes. They could bond with the same person—share a spouse—but not romantically bond with each other.
15. How common are Gifts from deities?
Not very.
16. Are the Weasleys Blood Traitors in the Pureblood Culture 'verse?
No. But it is part of my Pureblood Culture 'Verse canon that they're Blood Feuding with the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy.
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I ended up in a discussion with a friend about OC/Canon children and ended up writing enough that I figured it was worth posting lol.
Valerius & Camellia —
Princess Mirela Daciana Camelia Dragavei (she/her, born 15 Rova 4725 AR, dhampir) – the youngest of Prince Valerius and Lady Camellia; she transitioned in her teenaged years. Quiet and unsettling, Mirela much prefers studying the properties of her family’s blood and anatomy to politics and religion; she is more than content to leave those responsibilities to her father and sister, and could often be found in the labs in the depths of the old ziggurat. Cruromancer wizard / vivisectionist alchemist mix.
Princess Violeta Valeria Andrada Dragavei (she/her, born 15 Rova 4725 AR, dhampir) – the eldest and heir of Prince Valerius and Lady Camellia by scant minutes and she never fails to remind her sister Mirela of it. Spoiled and hot-tempered, demanding, and she absolutely let being the heir get to her head. Still, she has a soft spot for her twin and her father, but has a very strained relationship with her mother as a result of being a shaman. Bones Shaman.
Magni Aeducan —
Ser Gorim Magni Aeducan (he/him, born 9:30 Dragon, mother: Mardy) – conceived on the last night that Magni Aeducan was a Prince with their favoured noble hunter Mardy, by the time Gorim was born, his noble parent was an exiled kinslayer, sentenced to walk the Deep Roads. By the time Magni learned of Gorim’s birth upon their return to Orzammar, they arranged for Bhelen to sponsor the child on their behalf. No Aeducan child would be left in the gutter. Gorim grew up with a distant parent who often preferred to remain topside, but idolised them anyway – wanting to be a hero too. Named after their parent’s second and now Seneschal of House Magni, Gorim - “the most honourable dwarf [Magni] knew”
Kieran (he/him, born 9:31 Dragon, mother: Morrigan) – Magni’s tempestuous affair with the Witch of the Wilds was always going to end in heartbreak. Though they broke off the relationship after negotiating an engagement with Queen Anora of Ferelden, Magni and Morrigan spent one last night together, conceiving Kieran in a ritual. After the final battle, Morrigan disappeared to raise their child on her own. Kieran has only met his father a handful of times and both parents prefer to keep it that way so Kieran does not get caught up in Fereldan, Orlesian or Orzammar politics.
Princess Amgarra Aeducan Mac Tir (she/her, born 9:43, mother: Anora) – often referred to as a little miracle, Amgarra was an unexpected surprise for Queen Anora and her consort. With Anora in her 40s, the rarity of half-dwarves and the taint inside Magni, it should not have been possible. But still, it happened, after 13 years of marriage and Magni having found a cure for the Darkspawn corruption inside them. Amgarra comes from the dwarven word amgarrak, or ‘victory.’ She very much favours her grandfathers Endrin and Loghain in different ways: the classic Mac Tir nose and piercing eyes and the famous wiles of the late King Endrin. When she is of age, no doubt she will be a strong successor to Queen Anora – and a frightening prospect to Orzammar, as she has blood claims to both countries.
Ser Valdan Magni Aeducan (he/him, born 9:32 Dragon, mother: Mardy) – the second son born by Mardy. After the events of Awakening and Amaranthine had burned to the ground, Magni was advised to take a ‘diplomatic leave’ from the Fereldan court and his post as Commander of the Grey, and returned to Orzammar for a year, during which Valdan was conceived. Similarly to Gorim, he grew up with not much contact with his topside parent, but unlike Gorim, he resented his father for it.
Byron & Viconia —
Vala DeVir (she/her, date of birth unknown) – the only child of the Bhaalspawn Byron and the Sharran drow Viconia DeVir, Vala grew up sequestered in the cloisters of a Sharran temple alongside her parents. However, her relationship with her parents – especially her mother – grew strained the older she got and the more she longed to have a life outside of the temple. Against her mother’s wishes, but with her father’s blessing, she set out on her own the night she became of age – becoming an explorer of the Underdark and gaining a trusty giant spider as her companion. She never returned to her parents until her father was on his deathbed, and by the time she arrived, he’d already passed away in his sleep. Gloomstalker ranger.
Leto & Cassia —
Lady Cassandra Visteria van Mynaard von Valancius af Dargonus (she/her, date of birth unknown) – the only child and heir of Rogue Trader Leto van Mynaard von Valancius, born via surrogacy with a member of House Werserian after it became apparent that Lady Cassia was unable to bear a living child due to her Navigator genes. She was allowed to have a proper childhood at the insistence of Cassia, who never got to have one – and it was only when she hit her teen years that Cassandra’s education in the von Valancius dynasty began in earnest. After Cassia left the public eye and retired to Janus following her mutations becoming more grotesque, Cassandra was devastated by her mother’s absence and her grief was compounded by her father’s increasingly apparent madness from his diviner abilities. She comes to rely heavily on her great-grandfather Abelard after she is forced to take up the mantle of Rogue Trader too young.
#the archdemon works hard but magni's blighted balls work harder apparently#oc: magni#oc: byron#oc: leto#oc: valerius#pair: valerius x camellia#pair: leto x cassia#pair: byron x viconia#pair: magni x anora#pair: magni x morrigan
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For the bird asks: 🦜🐧🦩
Thank you kindly!💕
🦜 a pretty quote (you like the prose, or symbolism, or it's poetic, or you just like how it feels/the word choice!)
"Do you not think this is enough!"
Voice carries well in the hills around Mandos. Fingon's own echoes back to him even as he pushes on.
"Maedhros!" he cries, for all that any could hear. "I have spent a lifetime watching you bound to an oath from which you have long wanted to be free! Am I to spend another lifetime watching you bound again?"
The quiet around the misty hills is all that answers him.
"Maitimo..."
The old name escapes him, one Maedhros has shunned since his torment, but one Fingon has ever kept in his heart, buried, but used fondly still, in the secrets of his mind whenever he thinks of the other. For despite the irreversible marks and scars of Thangorodrim, Maedhros was still the most beautiful to him.
🐧 a funny quote (silly! laughs! jokes! puns!)
"My High King Fingon," said the seneschal who greeted him. "What a surprise. To what do we owe this unannounced pleasure—again?"
The High King grinned up from where he was standing at the foot of the stairs in Himring. "Erestor, old friend, you would not believe this. We were out hunting, as you do, but I seem to have lost my hunting party."
"Deliberately?"
"Dear heavens, no. What in Arda would make you think that?"
"Ah, then, I beg your pardon, Sire. If I may ask, how is it that you have strayed this far from Hithlum?"
"My party and I were hunting for elks."
"There are no elks in Hithlum?"
"There is better game here, obviously."
"Obviously." A long pause. A sigh. "I shall inform Lord Maedhros that you are here.”
🦩dealer's choice (choose any quote at all! or the summary / ao3 tags thing! whatever! wild card!).
"You have got to be kidding me."
Glorfindel smiled an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid not," he said. "Being called suddenly is not unusual. I have spent many moons in Lothlórien like this before."
"Yes, but… now?" Surely, he must know. “Glorfindel. You do realise that you are leaving me with— with—”
“Erestor?”
“Your husband!”
Glorfindel tipped his head and glanced behind Ecthelion, to where the man in question was still asleep—in Ecthelion's bed. “Shall I take him back to our rooms? Although I must warn you, he will not like that. He did always say he needs to sleep in after a thorough fu—”
“Glorfindel.” Ecthelion took a deep breath. “Last night happened—with the three of us. Yes? I think this day it should be us three still. Alcohol was involved, you see, which unfortunately passes the next day as many good things do. What am I to do when he wakes? As recent as the day before, we have been at each other's throats!”
“Oh, you were at each other's throats, all right.”
“Glorfindel!”
"Ecthelion!” Glorfindel laughed. He leaned over and patted Ecthelion's shoulder in a way that is not at all reaassuring. "You'll be fine.”
#thank you for the ask!#bird wip ask game#the ships here were all over the place lol#ask game#wips#russingon#glorestor#Glorfindel/Ecthelion/Erestor#needs a ship name
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hoho! 47, RT/Calligos for kiss prompts!
#47: ...out of spite.
Ten trade deals offered and ten trade deals dashed. The woman before him might have been the mother of one of his children, but he'd be damned if he walked away from this table without something! He banged his hand on the table.
An angry fantasy flitted through his mind. Right there, in plain view of their seneschals and trade advisors, he could pinch her chin between his fingers, turn her face towards him, and kiss her. It didn't have to be a pretty or polite thing as he pressed his lips to hers. Kisses between husbands and wives took many forms; let the advisors see them for what they truly were. Her property was his property, and he'd damn well have it by any means necessary, even if it meant breaking this farce!
Steady gray eyes looked down at his hand, then up to his face. The sound of his fist had awoken the babe dozing in the silken wrap she'd slung over the front of her body. A fussy wail pierced the air and the fog in Calligos's head. Hot shame lanced through him.
"Let's use our words," Aurelia said to the girl, though her eyes never left Calligos's, and so there was no doubt as to who the true recipient of her words was.
Calligos set aside the vengeful fantasy. "I'll use my words if you give me something to damned well work with," he groused.
Aurelia sighed and leaned towards Abelard. "I think we'll need some more tea."
Calligos winced, more tea? This would take all karking night.
#rogue trader#ask prompts#kiss prompts#calligos winterscale#aurelia von valancius#aelia von valancius#writing#drabbles
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Nice things for an Abandoned Quest
Rewrote an old assignment and it held up surprisingly well. This picks up after Kay tried to kill that dog
597 words
Though incredibly biased, Bedivere genuinely thinks that Kay deserves more credit. After all, the man has been at the King’s side since they were children, he fought his first battle for him at sixteen. Not once has he tried to usurp Arthur or undermine him, and that’s saying a lot for a king’s brother these days. Lord knows he has enough work as a seneschal on top of being a knight. But that didn’t mean that everyone in Camelot was mistaken. No, Kay was often less than honorable, though then again, honor seemed like it was in short supply these days.
“How did you fare?” Bedivere asked Kay when he returned from his quest not even half an hour after he left. He’s soaking wet, and everyone was giving him a wide berth, trying to avoid his temper. Bedivere didn’t worry about it, let him yell himself hoarse, he was going to make sure he wasn’t hurt at the very least.
“I lost the dog.” Kay said simply, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
“No, you did not.” Bedivere said, taking Kay's sword and shield so he could have his hands free. Kay huffed.
“Well, it is a ridiculous quest anyway. Why must I follow a dog? What would that lady even want with the foot of a hart anyway?” He complained, “I hate getting wet.”
What happened on that quest, Bedivere had no actual idea. He just knew Kay was a habitual liar, especially when he’s this upset.
“The dog returned.” Bedivere said as he helped Kay with his cloak. Kay grunted, used his magic to warm his hands and rubbed at his face. “It is all wet too. Would you mind telling me how that happened?”
“I did not try to drown the dog, and that is the truth.” Kay said, “I returned because I felt sick.” Bedivere guessed that the second statement was a lie, but as for the first, he had no reason to disbelieve him. Kay shrugged off his chainmail, laying down on his bed.
“I suppose Gawain will attempt the quest now.” Kay continued, “What an auspicious start, by mocking me. He is sure to succeed, it seems no punishment ever touches him. No fear of anything short term, much less eternal perdition.
“Not Gawain; Lancelot will.” Bedivere said, idly folding Kay’s cloak, “And you know that to be untrue. You remember the Green Chapel?”
“He got let off easy and you know it.”
“He girds to this day.”
“Don’t care.” Kay sighed, sitting up slightly, “He has an unseemly easy tendency towards diplomacy.”
“You say that like it devalues his character.”
“It does when he does it.” Kay said, “And Lancelot has a similarly uncontrolled tendency towards violence. You would think it would be the other way around.”
Bedivere tossed the cloak onto Kay’s chair, “Are you done?”
Kay paused, considering the question. Bedivere could almost see his thought process, searching for something else to complain about before Bedivere leaves.
“You’re too kind.” Kay says finally, smiling slightly, “By the hand of my friend, you tolerate too much.”
“Are you done now?” Bedivere asked again after a moment. Kay scoffed, looked up at the ceiling of their room.
“I’m insulted that you’re leaving me to go do God knows what.”
“I won’t stay and lick your wounds.” Bedivere smirked, and Kay bristled. For a moment Bedivere thought he was going to send him away.
“Will you stay and talk to me?” Kay paused, considering, “We can talk about something nice. I can do that.”
“We can do that.”
#the hart with the white foot#arthuriana#kay#bedivere#bedikay#not super explicitly but it is okay? oaky
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I can’t decide if it’s better for Justice to hate swears, or to initially use them like any other word because he doesn’t know they’re bad, like a little kid picking up all the words.
I imagine he had a period of being a word sponge, but on finding out words are swears he’s mortified and never says them again.
Some people keep teaching him swears. Oghren and Anders have a rare point of commonality in doing this. Others try to stop this by telling him that’s a swear immediately. Velanna’s one of them. Nathaniel also tries to stop it, but doesn’t want to admit he sometimes finds it funny. Not sure if Sigrun is on team swear or team ‘Noooo he’s baby you’re corrupting himmm’
Then after he drops one in front of some visiting noble the seneschal gives him a list of words he cannot say, and the fun is over
Then begins the campaign of convincing him that certain regular words are swears. Someone says “hey where are the plates” and Justice is like *GASP!* “You can’t say that!”
Velanna once again stops this. “Those knuckleheads are messing with you again. If they tell you a word is bad, you come to me and I’ll give you the actual answer.”
“I will, Velanna. You have never led me astray.”
He becomes grumpy at everyone except Velanna and they all apologise to him and promise to stop. Oghren tries again after a week and everyone’s “Hey, how could you! We promised him!” Oghren stops only because Justice may never speak to him again if he continues.
Also, giving Justice the Grievous Insult ability in Awakening 🤣
Him never swearing ever except in battle specifically, and when he does being so vulgar it enrages the goddamn darkspawn
The crew saying “woah, Justice dropped some major curse bombs today. I almost feel bad for the spawn.” And Oghren’s reaction is “While I was away? Come on! I always miss the best parts!”
Someone swearing at base afterwards, Justice going “hey, language” and them saying “you’re one to talk”
#yes I know he probably would understand swears#especially with the kristoff memories#but it’s still funny#dammit oghren#learn boundaries#dragon age#dragon age awakening#justice dragon age#oghren#swearing#velanna#anders#nathaniel howe#sigrun
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