#high cheekbones. menacing demeanor

[ben-the-hyena]

Given the numbers of characters who helped me build Meryamun and how I am excited over him, his family, friends and enemies and the lore and universe in which he is, I felt like it would be fun and was needed to be precised through a meme and explain. Source : https://www.deviantart.com/neoduelgx/art/My-Character-Inspiration-Meme-831348312

Zorglub : overall vibes, DILF/GDILF, classy with suits and a similar head and body shape, not evil but can act villainous/chaotic, good dad who means well

Iris : similar nose and head shape, same cold and menacing demeanor he can have with some, Ancient Egyptian, can hypnotize

Akeltonton : similar head shape, Ancient Egyptian, father figure who teaches and means well, not bad but can come out as cold and disdainful, has knowledge about magic and older arts

Gomez : goth aesthetic with morbid tastes and humor and shady morals, billionaire in suits who smokes, not really human, good caring dad to his son and daughter, good boss who's basically friends with his butler(s), kind of a DILF, ABSOLUTELY in love and horny for his wife

The Captain of the Dead : goth and undead background and aesthetic, DILF, great protective father figure, good boss who's protective of those who work for him, adores his wife and is heads of the house with her, reformed morally grey bastard who has blood on his hands

Kingdom of the Sun!Yzma : was nearly turned villainous at some point, hates the sun he blames for his curse and dreams to destroy it, adores a dark deity, a tad loves his looks and feels hot, ambitious and wants the empire, relishes on immortality, son of the royal mortician ; listening to Snuff out the Light and daydreaming AMVs/cinematics with him pre-Yumi/in an AU in which he never met her was what had me decide he grew to hate the sun/Ra for "taunting" him now he would burn under it and was the son of the guy who made mummies in the royal palace lol

Tso Lan : similar body and head shape and hair implantation, same wrinkled and high forehead, cold classy and collected, loves the moon, has knowkedge over older dark arts and wants to rule over his lost empire again with his family, the oldest around ; fun fact Tso Lan's Japanese name means vampire and it accidentally fits lol

Marge : great loving supportive spouse and parent and a great cook who really loves to cook and bake especially for his loved ones

Pinstripe Potoroo : same body shape and similar hair, shady (legal tho) business, tries to be classy and hot with suits

Mr Choc : mysterious to the public eye, billionaire who does shady business, classy cold and collected wearing suits and often seen smoking a cigarette holder, blood on his hands the pragmatic way

*EDIT*

OOOOPS I FORGOT 6 CHARACTERS ! YES 16 CHARACTERS INSPIRED ME TO BUILD HIM TO WHAT HE IS NOW IN MY HEAD

The Vampire King (yes I am aware it's someone in a costume) : vampire, and most importantly my voice claim for him just minus the reverberation

Wilhamena : vampire of color, supportive loving parent who can be embarrassing, friendly to his kids' friends, very in love with werewolf spouse

Ratigan : a discrete inspiration that I almost forgot but still was there during the early times ; smokes a cigarette holder, classy with suits, loves and spoils his female cat, tries to hide the murderous beast inside himself to distinguished, does shady business and used to be taunting/toying with his preys and nowadays enemies having a lot of fun terrorizing them, obviously killed and kills

Chancellor Bernard : similar eyebrows skinny cheeks aand higg cheekbones, same muzzle/nose shape and eye shape, wears kohl and black eyeshadow, not the same eye color but still just as vibrant and almost abnormal, used to be an ambitious éminenge grise manipulating the old senile king planning to take his place, relishes about immortality, knows old languages and magic/dark arts

Mr Cat : used to be borderline chaotic evil loving to terrorize and toy with people for fun which actually partially hid loneliness and an unability to socialize since he never had friends before all whilr being bitter and sour about life, LOVES big buff anthros in fact his first way to flirt with Yumi was to anger her so she would transform and they first had a tsundere rivalry him being the horny troll in the relationship, little by little became closer to her and her friends by getting more into teamwork/cohabitation rather than solo and better without becoming good either all of sudden

Cuphead Show!Calamaria : HOW COULD I ALMOST FORGET HER he had the EXACT SAME ANTAGONISTIC VIBES AS HER before meeting Yumi. An anthropophageous monster relishing on his dangerosity and proudly taunting sassily about it who is absolutely unimpressed by mortals coming to his lair to defy him or beg for mercy or these ones he seduced who are still alive and in love with him after he had seduced them with the aim to eat them afterward like he often does with the opposite sex but in the end couldn't but really he don't give a shit about them, but if you do kina amuse him he will give you 10 seconds to run perfectly confident he will get you anyway, morphs to his creepy form just as fluidly either all of sudden or little by little, and is a gourmet who can't say no to good quality food

#meme #link #moi #i made it myself #ocs #meryamun ankhkemet #the ankhkemets

[lucindarobinsonvevo]

RobSquared as Tumblr Text Posts 

Bonus: 

#neighboursedit #neighbourstv #robert robinson #mitziedits #neighbourspost #i for one think robert could have been a tumblr sexy man in the right climate. #hes got all the attributes. #high cheekbones. menacing demeanor #tragic backstory if you just take his word for it #daddy issues #big 'i could fix him' energy.... #if not for the fact that hes totally fully and irredeemably evil.

[yuedama]

of napalm and wine ; teaser

yelena x reader

synopsis : one of the many instances where you ask the gods how you ended up with such a bastard of a lover.

content : gun play, vaginal fingering, public sex, panty stealing (?)

notes : this all happened because of my mafia lena brainrot

the taste of gunpowder was bitter against your tongue as you sucked on the barrel of the gun yelena was currently pushing into your mouth. saliva dribbled down your chin as she kept the firearm in your warm cavern with one hand, the other slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“make a sound and i'll blow your brains out,” was the blonde's whisper as she stared lowly into your eyes, a threatening edge on her tone.

feeling a bit daring, you managed to jab at her. “you wouldn't.”

“darling,” the sweetness in her voice contrasted the way her fingers pinched your clit, hard and punishing, causing you to whimper. “have i ever lied to you?”

a strangled gasp left your lips as yelena roughly toyed with the bundle of nerves, the tight 8 figures she drew causing your legs to stutter. her face was adorned with a satisfied smile as she watched your writhing figure, mouth wrapped around her gun and slick glossing your thighs.

as you were busy keeping your sounds down in fear of someone hearing you, she suddenly inserted a finger in your aching hole. the intrusion caused you to grip her shoulder tighter and whine softly against her gun, gushy walls trying hard to accomodate her digits.

“always trying to talk big, but we both know you're all bark and no bite.” she chuckled against your ear before leaning back to watch your face contort into the most lewd of expressions.

the combined stimulation on your clit and inside your cunt caused the knot in your lower abdomen to tighten, eyes screwing shut and toes curling in your heels.

the cool metal of her rings kissed your folds with each thrust of her hand, furthering the pleasure you were experiencing. there was little that the gun could to keep your mewls down, your voice eventually ringing down the large (hopefully empty) hallway.

in a matter of minutes, you became far from presentable; tears on the verge of spilling and ruining your makeup, dress bunched up in a way that would surely leave creases, and hair sticking all over your sweaty skin. and to think there was only so much time left 'til the gala was going to start.

yelena was merciless.

your pleasure would always come at a cost, whether it be by being worked up for hours only to be denied your release, or by being placed in a humiliating situation where people could walk in on you anytime. you knew that much, and yet, you found yourself caving in each time. addicted to the thrill the dangerous blonde gave you.

you feel the coil in your stomach tighten with each grind of your hips down on her hand, yelena coupling your action with the bending of her fingers, delightfully massaging that spongy spot inside of you.

you let out a string of broken moans as your orgasm rips through you like a white flash, leaving you lightheaded and nothing short of a mess against the wall.

the mafioso busies herself by placing wet kisses on your neck, coaxing you down from your high.

“you're always so good for me,” she praises as you mutter her name weakly, putting your best effort to catch your breath, though the heavy metal resting on your mouth makes it difficult.

yelena pulls the gun from your mouth, wiping your saliva on your satin dress before shoving it in her blazer. you aren't even given the chance to catch your breath before she's shoving her long fingers into your mouth, coated in your essence. you suck on it eagerly despite the constricting of your throat and the warm tears flowing down your cheeks.

once you've rid her digits of the sticky fluids, she retracts her arm and gently wipes your cheekbones. you'd have thought she was being uncharacteristically soft with you tonight, but the proposition is countered when she steps back and the menacing look on her face returns.

“i'll give you a minute to freshen up,” she smooths your hair down a bit, pulling your dress down and patting your thighs. “we're heading back to the main hall whether you're ready or not.”

for a moment, you've forgotten where you were, the expensive paintings behind the woman serving as a reminder of the important business you still had to attend to.

you mentally cursed the blonde, never seeming to get used to her demeaning behavior. the wet patch in your underwear was uncomfortable, prompting you to walk in a weird manner.

“alright, take it off,” she turned around and extended her hand as if asking for something. a bit confused, you tilted your head up at her in a gesture asking her to repeat. “hand it over.”

she motioned her head downwards, the implication of her words making you gasp incredulously.

“you fucking bi—”

“don't be getting too full of yourself. i'm not done with you yet.” irritation was strong in her voice.

you could only seethe as you guided the damp cloth down your legs, your lower region exposed to the cold of the airconditioning unit.

as though to spite you even more, yelena took a long, shamesless whiff of the thong, a smirk creeping up her lips as she secured it in her pocket.

“tsk, you're too easy.”

if you weren't in this goddamn mansion you would've given her a piece of your mind— how could she expect you to even look people in the eye after what she's done? but you figured it would be best to keep your composure and save it for later in hopes of not ending up a nameless victim of an accident.

you bore holes into her back as her long legs carried her at a speedier pace, her complacent demeanor only making her the more unbearable.

“try to catch up, darling. you wouldn't want to make them wait.”

you grumbled, oh she was in for it.

#tw gun play #yelena x reader #yelena smut #yelena x reader smut #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #yelena brainrot #attack on titan x reader smut #snk.%!

[jojomugi]

hola. 😳 so, i’m a big h*etaro fan as you may know- could you possibly do a little scenario of the reader comforting him after the events of sdc? like my guy, there’s no way jotaro was just okay after all of that. nonono. i do not think for a minute he was. anyways, may i please get some (a bit angsty) soft comforting hours for jotaro? pls and thank you.

Ah yES!!!!

My apologies for the wait. I’ve never written Jotaro before, so this involved a lot of drafting. On the bright side, Jotaro is now another character I can write. I just hope it’s not too OOC. Honestly, we don’t get to see old Jotarhoe get into his feelings too often unless he’s pissed off. I hope you enjoy this though!! I put a lot of love into it just for you buddy 👀!!!

All aboard the angst train whoo whoo.

✨AU: N/A

✨Word Count: 2517

✨SFW?: Yes

✨Spoilers ahead for JJBA PART 3!!!! Read at your own risk!!

The pink petals of the cherry blossom tree outside your home fell like rain droplets from the sky. You were awaiting the arrival of a friend; A friend who on an emotional level was much more than that to you, but a friend nonetheless. Last time you had seen Jotaro Kujo was when you and the rest of the stand using crusaders all reached Egypt.

Quite frankly, the time you spent apart from each other would’ve been far shorter if it had not been for the incident leading up to your departure from the group. The long memory was still fresh in your mind like a new film on a camera roll. You wanted to stay and help, you consider him a friend and the rest of the group like a family to you. But that day when Kakyoin became visually impaired by N’doul’s stand Geb and upon Jotaro’s stern request, you went back home. But now all that crossed your mind was the outcome of those final days in Egypt. You knew Jotaro was obviously still alive, as today certainly wouldn’t have been planned out if he wasn’t. But what happened to everyone else? And was it true that the menacing DIO that by proxy haunted each step in that journey vanquished? 

You shook these thoughts from your mind, as your questions would all be answered shortly. You gave yourself one final look down in the mirror and adjusted your pleated skirt with a slight smile. 

‘Today is going to be a good day’ you silently reminded your reflection with a small nod. But before you had a chance to double-check your small shoulder bag, you were stopped in your tracks by a doorbell. 

“In a second!” You called out as your fast feet hurried down the hall like a rabbit. Like ice, your socks did not do much good with the traction on the floor as you hastily slid around on the smoothly polished wood base of your home to grab a few final things and your shoes. Once you finally got everything together at the speed of light, your perfect display you worked on all morning was now a wreck. You h/c hair now not as smooth from when you first brushed it, and your crew socks now at different lengths. Luckily for you, Joataro was one you could genuinely count on to not judge you for your slightly clumsy physical appearance. As he was a Joestar. And one thing you learned from those days of traveling was that no matter what kind of person they are, all Joestars have a righteous heart of gold.

You suddenly swung the door wide open as a sheepish grin plastered on your face. “My apologies Jotaro, I lost track of time.”

“Oi, y/n, it’s fine. I was 5 minutes early anyway.” He bluntly responded with a dip of the bill of his hat. Jotaro had always been a reserved man until he was poked to the point of utter annoyance, but today, right now, something seemed off about him. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in your intuition told you that he deeply troubled by something, more so than how he was during the trip to Egypt. However, you kept to the sideline, as you understood that he was also the type of person to talk when he was ready to. There was no point in forcing him and ruining what was supposed to be a good day for you two. Like a switch, you let out a blink of your e/c eyes and formed a now nonchalant like demeanor. “Oh! Well, it’s alright really. I need to work on my time management skills anyways.” 

Your words were quickly disregarded as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Yare yare. Are you ready?”

You let out a small nod as you stepped out to lock your door. You two finally departed to the sidewalk to make your way towards town. However, all the could be heard between you two were footsteps.

Crunchy. Melancholy. Footsteps.

Internally you just hoped that something interesting would come by the path you two took. Like maybe a cute dog, or an interesting butterfly. Anything to break the tense silence between you two. It was agonizingly awkward, even for Joatro’s standards of reservation.

But if fate wasn’t going to intervene, you had to come up with something on your own. You pondered hard on what to say, as you wouldn’t want to trigger any type of problems dwelling within his mind. You went with the safest route and asked a question you already had a vague idea of an answer to.

“How is your mother doing?”

The silence continued for a few moments more. You slid your hands into your cardigan pockets and waited patiently. 

“She’s better now.” 

The Kujo’s words were as blunt as an ancient knife. But even so, it deeply stung. Your hunch was correct there really was something wrong.

“I’m glad to hear. I was so worried about her. The day I flew back here I used what was left of my money to have a card and flowers sent to her.”

“I know.” 

And yet another insult to injury. Still, even with your sensitive emotions, you did your best not to take it personally. 

“She…really appreciated it. Thank you y/n.” He carefully added, as his step accidentally kicked a rock down the coated pink pathway. Your e/c eyes couldn’t help but soften at the sentiment. He was slowly but surely seeming close to his normal self. With the flip of your locks, you quickly turned your head up at him to press on.

“Well, I’m glad. And what about Mr.Joestar? How is he?”

A faint smile formed that hid behind the high collar of his coat. The only way you could tell he was even smiling was by the very slight movement of the male’s defined cheekbones. 

“Psh…Still a pain in my ass like before.”

A small irresistible giggle emitted from you. Jotaro’s ocean-like eyes glanced down at you for a moment, before steadily looking forward again. His look was now refined and sober once more.

“Oi, y/n, I’m getting tired of walking. Let’s go sit at the bench up the way.” He suggested with a point from his bold finger in the general direction of the bench that you two would soon be approaching. You complied with a nod and once you both got there, you sat on separate ends.

From the eyes of another, no one would even guess you two were even going to the same destination, that it was a mere coincidence you two just so happened to be sitting on the same bench. That was far from the case, but Jotaro was mentally distant and you were hesitant to step into that void of mental distress. Still, you felt as his friend, and how close he was in your heart, it was your duty to help him through whatever he was going through, or at least support and encourage him. You took in a deep inhale, and shortly freed a long sigh from your lips.

“What about Kakyoin? I’ve been worried about him too. Is he still able to see? I figured he would’ve called by now, especially since we live in the same-“

Those first words amongst your rambling…

‘What about Kakyoin.’ 

A tsunami of flashbacks washed over his already flood thoughts and emotions. The weight of guilt at that moment would have destroyed mountains if it was able to. Since that night, he couldn’t help but wonder what he could’ve done differently for him for Kakyoin to still be with them. He made a best friend in someone who thought he couldn’t trust in the beginning. As much as Jotaro’s Joestar legacy deemed him a hero for defeating DIO, in Joatro’s eyes, Kakyoin was a real hero for the final message he left them in those endmost moments of his life on what DIO’s stand really was. Deep down he knew its what Kakyoin would’ve wanted, vengeance for all those that DIO damaged, including himself. He knew that the fight would end with loss—But he could not shake the feeling that he could’ve done something to change the fate of his best friend.

He quickly straightened up with a snap.

“Damn it. Can you just shut up already?” The male gritted, retaining all the frustration and overwhelming emotions he wanted to release. He’d never inflict harm onto you, but he definitely wanted to punch something. But just as quick as he fractured to you, he instantly regretted his knee jerk reaction to you. Obviously, you would’ve had no clue on what was taunting him. The Kujo was at least that rational with his mind. “Just….”

A longingly defeated groan fell from his mouth as he bent forward, bracing his sharp elbows against his knees. You were struck in the heart by his harsh response. He was always quick to be agitated but not in this way. But if the mention of Kakyoin was enough to drive him to that, you only feared the worse, for Joatro was never one to get overly tied up in small, fixable, problems. You slanted towards his direction while still respecting his personal bubble. 

“Jotaro…are you alright?” You asked with a soft sort of caution. 

There was a long pause yet again. The male slid his cap off for a moment before sitting back up and placing it back upon its place. You deserved to know what happened to your form friends as well, just as much as he had the right to grieve over this loss in his own ways. What to say wasn’t hard to formulate, but translating the pain into spoken words was what tormented him.

“Kayoin…Didn’t make it.” He alas answered, trying his best to keep the sharp lump that he formed down. To not fall apart.

For a moment you were dumbfounded. You certainly did believe him, but how? How could such a talented stand user like him fall? Your lip twitched as it begged you to allow itself to quiver. As much as you yourself wanted to break down from this news, you remained strong. This time it was your turn to be the strong one for him. Jotaro truly needed you, for you were the remaining person who wasn’t far across in another continent that he knew he could confide in. He undeniably trusted you with his whole heart, which was truly a rarity for anyone he kept around.

“I’m…so sorry…” you shakenly stammered, as you placed a soft hand on to one of his broad shoulders closest to you. He sharply continued, almost as if you remained silently idle in the same place you were before. 

“Avdol and Iggy…they didn’t make it either. Old man shouldn’t even be here but he survived thanks to DIO’s stupidity.” He spoke in a begrudging manner. He hated that name. DIO. If it wasn’t for DIO, he wouldn’t have had to lose anyone, and no one would’ve been hurt, not even the people who blindly followed him in hopes of something in return. However…ironically enough, he wouldn’t have had the experiences he had that brought him and others together to form a bond that carried its way through even the afterlife. 

You remained silent as you awaited for him to continue if he wanted to continue that is. Your light fingertips gently grazed themselves across him back, leaving a reminder of your openness and reassurance you had to offer for Jojo.

While getting a grip on his composure, Jotaro continued. He hated apologizing in general, but in this instance, it would’ve been upright rude for him not to. “Listen, Y/n, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“Its fine, Jotaro. I don’t blame you once so ever.” You scooted closer towards him before proceeding on. “In fact, you seem to have a lot on your mind today.”

Jotaro let out a breath of air and leaned back in the wooden seat. That was the damn truth, he really did have a lot on his shoulders, even though everything was done and over with.

“I don’t want to admit it, but I’m dealing with a lot of emotions I don’t understand. Hell, it’s even more terrifying to confront them than it was to confront DIO. Even after defeating him, there is still a lega- no, a path he left behind that needs to be dealt with. He’s dead for good, but the consequences of his actions are still here leaving an impact on me and so many others.” 

“Unfortunately I don’t know if Star Platinum could beat up your emotions…But at least you can beat the crap out of DIO!” You nervously joked, hoping to not border onto the boundary of joking inappropriately. 

“Tch. True.”

One side of the Kujo’s lip halfheartedly curled at your honest yet funny commentary. He honestly needed to help combat with containing the deep-seated emotions that wanted to explode from within. 

As quick as your joke spilled, you shook your head to keep your focus back onto him. It was time to pour your honest intentions to him. Even though he was no longer facing DIO, he was now facing what some might even say was more mysterious and challenging than some century-old vampire. And that was the human mind and its complex rewiring after a traumatic event. You’d never discount your own feelings, but you’d also never leave someone you love to suffer alone. You calmly shut your eyes after you found the courage within you to say what you needed to say. And then you spoke.

“I’m not a therapist by any means but…They were my friends too. It already hurts to have them gone, but it hurts, even more to see you struggling alone with pain far greater than yours.” Your trailing hand froze back onto his shoulder.

“Jotaro. Take what I’m about to say as you will but….” Your body froze as your sudden pause drew his handsome blue eyes and attention back onto you. Yeah, this was a lot easier to say with his strong intimidating appearance not looking you dead in the eye. With a small swallow, you finally said it. “I love you, and I will always be there for you. It would be a disservice to how much we grew together during those weeks to not be there. Whenever you’re ready, and whenever you need me. Just call me and I’ll be there.” 

Jotaro’s eyes didn’t stray from yourself. He was clearly taking what you said into deep consideration. He took in a deep inhale and turned forward. You could feel a load of relief wash over you until suddenly, his large hand placed itself over your much more tinier one. 

“Y/n.”

“Y-yes?”

“Thank you.”

#jotaro x reader #JJBA SDC writing #JJBA #SDC #JJBA:SDC #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure stardust crusaders #jotaro kujo #jotaro jojo #jotaro cujoh #Part 3 spoilers

[hookedonapirate]

The Princess and Her Sultan

Summary: Crown princess Emma of Misthaven is second in line to the throne, her brother Leopold ll being the first, but her parents see her with a future as a great ruler. King Rumplestiltskin of neighboring land, strikes a deal with King David, promising to uphold the peace between the kingdoms if Emma marries Prince Baelfire. With the promise of his daughter becoming future queen of the Dark Kingdom, David accepts reluctantly.

Before her wedding day, the princess is kidnapped and taken overseas. She is sold as a slave to a palace where Crown Prince Killian of Neverland ascends his father’s throne and is sworn in as Sultan. Meanwhile, Killian’s mother pressures him to sire a prince and presents him with gifts for his birthday, one of them including a blonde princess from Misthaven. Dazzled by Emma’s charm, intelligence and beauty, he summons her to his bedchambers every night and eventually finds himself casting aside his harem and centuries of tradition.  

A/N: Your responses for the prologue have amazed and overwhelmed me, it was so unexpected to me! Thank you all so much!

Here is the first chapter. Trigger warnings include assault and a non-consensual kiss, but not between captain swan. They have yet to meet, and this will be a bit of a slow burn, but I hope to make it worth the wait. With that said, if you’re of a fan of Baelfire, this may not be a fic for you, unless you don’t mind some Baelfire/Neal bashing.

Thank you @ilovemesomekillianjones for your wonderful beta skills and @gingerchangeling for all of your suggestions and feedback! This story wouldn’t be the same without these lovely ladies.

Rated: Explicit

AO3 l FF.N I Prologue 

Chapter 1

Emma’s emerald green eyes glitter in the sun, long golden hair flowing behind her as she rides a horse with her brother and their guards.

Over the years, she had transformed from an adorable young girl to an elegant young woman. Her cheekbones are high and prominent, she has fair, ivory skin, and her beauty is only increasing with every day. Emma is growing into a fine young woman who’s loved by all of her people. She is growing too quickly for King David’s liking. He looks at her and sees the small baby he’d held in his arms merely fifteen years ago.

Emma is wise beyond her years, well behaved and proper, with a serious demeanor while her brother is a rambunctious young boy who can never stay still. King David smiles as he watches the two of them riding off from the stables, Leo asking her to slow down so he can catch up. He knows that over time, Leopold will take after his sister and will be competent and mature enough to make a great king.

While the prince and princess are gone, Snow and David receive a letter from King Rumplestiltskin. They are both surprised to learn that Rumple wishes to visit with their family and discuss the betrothal of his eldest son, Baelfire, and their daughter.

David is not sure how he feels about the idea, and honestly, he’s a bit perturbed and shocked King Rumplestiltskin would even propose this. He has no reason to find an ally in Misthaven.

Rumplestiltskin is a powerful king of unconquerable lands, but even the vastness of the Dark Kingdom over which he rules, is nothing in comparison with his pride. He was once a sweet, orphaned miller growing up in poor living conditions, but that all changed when he was taken in by a very powerful king who died of the plague years later. Rumor has it, however, that Rumplestiltskin had played a key role in the predecessor’s death, for he is very cunning and good at making the people bend to his will. It is believed and spoken across the lands that he has been possessed by a demon, because how else could an amiable young man turn into such a vile creature? The rumors eventually gave him his moniker, the Dark One, and once he had taken the throne, he was feared by all in the Dark Kingdom, which had only increased his power over time. So, he did not need the security of David’s friendship or an alliance with Misthaven, which leaves David mystified by Rumplestiltskin’s letter, and also skeptical.

Uniting the two kingdoms will certainly avert a war between them and undoubtedly make them a great superpower, there’s no denying it, but Emma has never even met the neighboring prince. David had made a promise to her she would only marry for love, not obligation. But if he refuses the wishes of Rumpelstiltskin, David fears he will incur the wrath of the Dark One.

~*~

The sound of galloping hooves along the dirt-covered forest floor gives Emma a rush as she grips the reins tightly in her fists. She loves riding in the Enchanted Forest; she enjoys leaving the castle for a short time, feeling the wind in her hair and the thrill of racing through the woods with her brother by her side. It relaxes and calms her like nothing else, and when they occasionally ride on the shore of the beach, with the view of the sea and the taste of the salt water on her tongue, she longs to see what is beyond. She has read and heard many stories, and her studies of politics, public affairs and history have taught her what goes on in the world, but her father forbids her from venturing out into it. He’s so protective, wanting to keep her from harm’s way in any manner he can. And while she loves him dearly and abides by him, she wishes for just one day, she could be normal. Not a Princess. She can’t even fathom what that would be like.

Emma and Leo head home before twilight, returning their horses to the stables.

Upon entering the throne room in high spirits and laughing with her brother, she witnesses the change in her father’s face compared to when she and her brother had left. Both parents look distraught. Had Emma and Leo been away too long for their liking?

“I’m sorry Mother and Father, we lost track of time.”

David sighs deeply, concern etched in his features as he approaches his daughter. “Your timeliness or lack thereof is not what worries us, you have returned home before your curfew.”

Emma’s brows furrow. “Then what is it?”

He pulls out a letter and opens it up, reading it aloud.

~*~

On the sixth of the midwinter month, the feast day that celebrates gift giving, Emma is sitting up straight in her chair and glaring at Baelfire with those luminous green eyes. David had seen the seventeen-year-old prince and his younger half-brother, Gideon’s, gaping mouths and wide eyes as they had drooled at the mere sight of her from the moment they’d entered the throne room and saw Princess Emma. With a glance at Baelfire, David sees him return her devil stare with that of a dangerous smirk. The king’s stomach churns at the way the Prince drinks in her figure. She is only fifteen and already men and boys alike can’t keep their eyes off of her. She steals the hearts of all knights and noblemen who look at her. Of course, impeccable Emma isn’t aware what those looks mean, nor the intentions behind them, but David can see right through them.

She turns away from Prince Baelfire and responds to Queen Belle when asked a question, no longer paying attention to the prince as he continues to admire her beauty. She is not happy about the circumstances, but she understands the importance of her betrothal to Baelfire and had agreed to meet him. Her parents want to give her the chance to get to know the prince before the wedding so Emma has a chance to grow fond of Baelfire.

King David however, does not like the looks of him. The prince has an unfavorable reputation. He’s heard stories of Prince Baelfire gambling and drinking at the tavern and spending his nights with sordid women. David has a bad taste in his mouth at the mere thought of Baelfire putting his paws on the beloved Princess of Misthaven.

The prince may have his work cut out for him, though, as she obviously does not reciprocate any feelings he expresses for her.

When King David dismisses everyone from the hall, he moves swiftly to his quarters with King Rumplestiltskin following behind him, leaving their queens to chat among themselves.

“How old is Princess Emma?” the Dark One asks him after David settles in his chair, quickly getting down to business.

“She is fifteen.”

“And she is not betrothed yet?”

“No, she is not.”

King Rumplestiltskin nods and appears to be in thoughtful contemplation. “My son is quite taken by your daughter, and not to be blamed. She is of great beauty and intelligence, and as I had spoken in my letter, I’d like to arrange a betrothal,” he says.

David has a feeling the statement is not a request, but more of a demand. David eyes him warily, not wanting to refuse him, but he has to think of his daughter at the same time. “With all due respect, Prince Baelfire has quite the reputation, does he not?”

“He does.” The king slowly paces in front of David, a troubled expression on his face. “And that is what worries me. Baelfire is first in line for the throne, but I’m afraid he will not uphold my legacy when I’m gone. He has often been caught at the tavern drinking and doting with lowlife peasants. He is impudent and doesn’t take his crown seriously. I’m afraid he may not be suitable or habile enough to take the throne and uphold the reputation of the kingdom. It appears Princess Emma, however, is properly groomed for the throne, I believe she will have great influence on Baelfire and can turn him into a prince who will make me proud.” He stops and turns to meet David’s eye. “If your daughter were to marry my son, she will be an outstanding ruler and queen one day.”

“She will be, but what other interest is to be gained from marrying your son if she does not love him?”

“There has been peace between our lands, and if your highness agrees to the betrothal of Prince Bae and Princess Emma, I can guarantee peace for the foreseeable future.” Rumple’s lips curl up into a menacing smirk. “If you deny my request, I will be your worst enemy,” he says with a patronizing grin, his eyes daring the other king to refute him.

King David stands, seething with anger. “You threaten me in my own castle?” The audacity! He’s tempted to retrieve his father’s sword from above the mantel behind him.

Rumple shows no remorse. “If you don’t accept my proposal, your castle and your kingdom will ultimately be mine, I’ll make sure of that,” he promises, standing so close, King David can smell his strong breath, the unpleasant stench passing through David’s flaring nostrils.

As insulted as he feels, David does not want to wage a war against the powerful king.

~*~

“But David, we made a promise to Emma,” Snow shrieks when David reveals Rumplestiltskin’s deal. She storms out to the balcony, looking out over the sea, and he follows behind her. An unseasonably warm breeze sweeps over them as they decide the fate of their daughter—of their kingdom.

David comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around his wife, but she doesn’t melt into him like she normally does. “We did when she was a baby, but if we agree to the marriage, our kingdom will be secured,” he coos in a soothing voice, caressing her arms over the sleeves of her nightgown.

Snow White turns around in his hold and looks up him, her eyes full of worry and concern for their daughter. “But, is this really the best choice? Rumplestiltskin said it himself, Baelfire is not fit for our princess. She is too special to be given away to some rogue who will only seek another’s company after the marriage is consummated.”

David cringes at the idea; he doesn’t wish this kind of future for his daughter. “Perhaps we can give him a chance. He’s still young. This arrangement may change him. We can announce the betrothal, but the wedding doesn’t have to take place immediately. Rumplestiltskin has promised to give us time. Emma is not to marry until her eighteenth birthday.”

“And what if Baelfire doesn’t change? What if Emma doesn’t grow to love him? If we break off the betrothal, Rumplestiltskin will never tolerate such an affront.”

David sighs, knowing she’s right. “Then we have to hope Emma will love him. We can let them spend time together before the wedding.” He caresses his wife’s cheek to calm her nerves, and she finally succumbs, letting her eyes fall shut at his touch. “What if we left it up to our daughter to do the right thing? If after their time together, she chooses not to marry Baelfire, then we’ll suffer the consequences. We’ll do it for Emma.”

Snow nods and opens her eyes. “Emma is wise enough to make the right decision, for herself and for the kingdom.”

David smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, she is. It will all work out, my dear, I just know it.”

They discuss Rumple’s proposal with Emma and, at first, she is not happy and argues with her parents regarding the issue. Emma is very skeptical about the Prince’s character and potential to run a kingdom. She and Baelfire do not even have the same interests, which she had discovered immediately upon meeting him, but eventually, she caves. Knowing it’s best for her kingdom, she agrees to the betrothal for her parents and for her brother’s future as king of Misthaven.

With her parent’s trust in Emma’s hands, a treaty of peace is signed between King David of Mishaven and King Rumplestiltskin of the Dark Kingdom. The Dark One also agrees to wait until Emma’s eighteen birthday for the marriage, for her parents feel she is too young to wed and her body is not ready to bear children.

The news of the agreement travels quickly, and while some are excited for the union of the kingdoms, there is one person in particular who is greatly angered by this. Lady Maleficent slams her fist on the table, full of rage. It was supposed to have been her daughter to marry the prince! Lily was supposed to be Queen of the Dark Kingdom; Maleficent has waited years for this. Their children had been betrothed at birth, and in her eyes, the betrothal is still valid. Forbye, she has been a loyal countess and friend to the king and now he has arranged the betrothal between his son and a Misthavian?! Well, she will see about that. There cannot be a marriage if the princess isn’t present at the wedding. Her scowl quickly transforms into a devilish look at the thought, and she calls on one of her henchmen. Both kingdoms will pay for its treachery against her.

~*~

“Sister, for heaven’s sake, can’t you hurry up?” Leo asks impatiently as she sits on her bed cross-legged in her riding leathers, weaving her long, golden hair into a braid. “You’ve kept Bae waiting for nearly an hour.”

“Let him wait.”

“But, Em—” he starts to whine before she cuts him off.

“Patience, Leo, or you will not be allowed to ride with us.”

Leopold climbs up on the bed, next to Emma, giving her his best pout. “Why must you choose him over me anyway?”

She looks over him under long, dark lashes as her eyes widen in surprise. “What do you mean? You’re my brother, I would never choose anyone over you.”

“But you spend all of your time with Baelfire instead of me,” he sulks sadly, looking down to avoid her gaze.

Emma’s heart breaks at her brother’s words and the look on his face. She has spent a lot of time with the prince now that she is betrothed to him. “Oh, dear brother, that’s not true. You are always welcome to come with us, you know that, but it’s my duty to spend time with Prince Baelfire. He and I are betrothed.”

“But you do not love him, do you?” her brother questions.

She silently condemns Leo for his perceptive mind; he’s becoming too much like her. “Not yet, but eventually,” she assures him. “I shall grow to love him and become queen of his kingdom, but no matter what happens, you will always be my little brother, got it?”

“Promise?”

Emma laughs and drops a kiss to the crown of his head before ruffling a hand through his curly, brown hair. “Promise. Now, let’s go riding, shall we?”

A big smile lights up his face and he jumps off the bed, racing for the door. “I’ll beat you to the stables!”

Emma launches from the bed and runs after her brother, both giggling through the halls of the castle and getting scolded by the guards and servants along the way.

~*~

The next day, Emma challenges Baelfire to a game of chess. She loves chess and knows if the man she is to marry does not have the same affection for the game, then she will never love him. Although it is not really a game to her, it’s a passion, for it challenges her mind, unlike most people she encounters, and it’s very therapeutic. Her late uncle, whom she’d never met also had a love for the game, and there is a chess piece, a white knight, David had swiped after James was taken from his village and killed by slavers. David had carried it with him so he could carry a piece of his brother wherever he went. He had passed it on to Emma once he discovered her love for chess; she was merely five years old at the time.

When she presents the game to Baelfire, however, judging by the puzzled look on his face, she realizes she may have her work cut out for her if she is to teach chess to him.

“What is this game you speak of?”

It turns out the prince has never heard of chess, nor played it, so Emma takes him to her chess board and tries to explain the game of strategy to him, but he becomes more and more confused and eventually grows frustrated.  

“This game is pointless!” he shouts angrily and throws one of the pieces to the floor, causing it to break in two as he tips the chessboard over, letting it crash on top of the fallen chess pieces.

Emma’s eyes widen as she kneels to the floor to pick the two halves of her favorite chess piece. “You broke the white knight!”

“Who cares? It’s just a stupid game piece,” he scoffs.

“This was my uncle’s! It’s all I had left of him!” she cries out furiously, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re a pig!” She dashes away and runs up to her room, but he follows behind her.

“Princess, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Please forgive me, Your Majesty,” he pleads with her. “I was intimidated because you are smart and beautiful, how can I ever live up to your expectations?”

She whirls around to see if he’s telling her the truth, but the insincerity is written all over his face. He may be as dumb as a brick, but he is cunning, she’ll give him that. He grabs her hand and pulls her to a secluded part of the hall, away from the eyes of her guards, pressing her against the wall.

“You have my heart Ems, and I fear I will disappoint you as a husband,” he claims softly and lifts a hand to caress her tear-stained cheek.

Emma stiffens and moves her head away from his touch. “Do not refer to me as such,” she snaps.

This angers Baelfire, and she can see his eyes brewing with rage as he grabs her arms.

“Unhand me this instant, you brute!” she cries out.

He doesn’t abide by her request and instead forces her to him, pressing his mouth to hers and ravaging her lips. Emma’s eyes widen in horror, and she tries to push him away, but to no avail; he is much stronger than she. Strengthening his grip around her with one arm, he fondles her breast with the other hand and plunders her mouth with his tongue, reveling in her taste and perfection. The intrusion is far from welcomed.

Emma bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood and wrenches her body away from Baelfire. She raises a hand to his face, slapping him hard. He cries out in pain and slips his finger into his mouth, drawing it over his tongue where she’d injured him, and the blood seeps around his fingertip as he touches his cheek with his other hand.

Glaring at the princess who dared harm him, he grins unexpectedly. “You are a vixen.”

Fury burns under her skin. “We may have an arranged marriage, but you will not lay your hands or lips on me without my permission! And if you try to again, I can guarantee you will never be able to again, as I will cut off your tongue and both hands with my grandfather’s sword!”

He appears to be challenged and further roused by her fierceness, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

Fear races through her and she scurries away, rounding a corner and running directly into a solid form. Looking up, she sees her newly hired guard, Graham Humbert who eyes her in concern.

“Is everything alright, Your Highness?”

“I’m fine,” Emma pants. “Please do not allow anyone in my chambers after me,” she commands, looking behind her to make sure Baelfire isn’t chasing after her.

“Very well.”

Emma heads for her room and furiously slams the door behind her. She vows to herself she will never love Baelfire, though it has nothing to do with his disdain for chess, how he had broken her favorite chess piece or how she no longer has anything left of her Uncle James. No, the loathing she feels for Baelfire supersedes that. She is a princess, not a prized possession to be touched or ravished when he pleases, nor will she ever be.

She cannot breathe a word to her parents though. If they find out, they will certainly break the contract with Rumplestiltskin, as they would never agree to a marriage between their daughter and a man who would put his hands on Emma without her consent. But first, David would cut off Baelfire’s hands and tongue himself, and have them delivered to Rumplestiltskin’s doorstep. Then the Dark One will assuredly make them all pay for their disloyalty and betrayal against him. While Snow and David would gladly risk their lives for their children, Emma does not wish to put them or Misthaven in danger.

~*~

Prince Killian sits up in his bed, staring blankly into space. “You may take your leave,” he commands coldly, his face showing no emotion.

“Yes, my lord.” The maiden slips out of the prince’s bed and quickly dresses into the white gown she’d entered with, her head down as she backs away towards the door her knuckles gently tapping on the surface. When it opens, she’s escorted to the women’s quarters, leaving Prince Killian to his thoughts.

He remains in bed, his heart emptier than it has ever been. Jasmine had given herself to him willingly as they always do, but he curses himself for summoning her in the first place. She has long ebony hair, a lovely caramel skin tone and a sweet face—her physical beauty is why he had called upon her for the evening—but she is not Milah.

Killian sighs deeply and closes his eyes. He has grown tired of the customs of his people, but he must abide by them. He has a great responsibility on his shoulders, as his father is Sultan and Killian his heir. It will only be a matter of time before he is left with his father’s role and is further pressured to sire a prince.

But without his lost love, what is left? Only a darkened heart and a deep ache for her and their unborn child who’d never had a chance to breathe in the Neverland air. Since their tragic deaths, Killian has refused to find another woman to bear his prince. He refuses to bed a concubine until they’ve taken a potion which makes them sterile, for the thought of history repeating itself is just too much to bear.

He tries to sleep but is restless, so he gets out of bed and slips into a wool robe and leather slippers before opening the door and calling a slave to bring him his most trusted advisor and confidant. This man was once a slave, but Killian had spent part of his childhood with him and has grown to see him as part of the family—as a second brother. Liam was his blood and Killian has longed for him since he’d died in battle, but this other man is also someone who has been by his side through all the treachery and despair in Killian’s life.

He walks out onto the terrace of his private garden where he breathes in the cool air and studies the sea, the night sky glittered with stars and a silvery moon reflecting off the water. It’s very calming and peaceful.

“My lord, I thought you had gone to rest.”

The sound of the man’s voice causes Killian to whirl around, and he sees the blue-eyed falconer entering the terrace, his hands joined together in front of him.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

The other man’s face clouds with concern. “What weighs on your mind, my lord?”

“It’s nothing, I think some time away from the palace is overdue. Perhaps a hunting trip is in our near future.”

“Of course. Anything you wish,” he answers compliantly.

The trip will help Killian clear his mind while escaping the everyday monotony of his life in the palace. He strides across the terrace and takes a seat in a chair, using the light of the fire from the mounted torches to aide his sight. There is one other thing that always makes him feel better. “Care for a game?”

His friend quickly makes his way over, sitting across from the prince. Between them is a chess board where all the pieces stand, ready to be played. They have a mutual love for the game and play every opportunity they can afford.

“Always.” James Nolan of Misthaven grins as he ponders his first move. “You need not ask twice, my lord.”

Here is the tag list, including everyone who has asked to be tagged, but if I missed you, please let me know:

@teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @snowbellewells @ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @lovepurplepumpkins @kiwistreetswan @therooksshiningknight @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree @superchocovian @emeraldwitches 

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #early modern era #princess emma #sultan killian #royalty #the princess and her sultan #my fic

[fireintheforest]

Negotiations

Ganra should be here by now, Saufinril mused, making his anxiety and excitement increase. He’d rented a private room at an inn, where he was at right now. The only furniture in it was the table and chairs and the big window that allowed him to see the side of the inn (probably a room for private reunions), the docks and the people walking around Anvil. Whenever he thought he saw a glimpse of golden blond hair, he’d stand up from his seat and sharpened his gaze to see if it was Ganra. It never was. What would he look like, anyways? The last time he saw him he was 19, and on the same night he finally left his house. It’s not like he was going to change his face completely. But he was still curious.

Footsteps approached the room and the voice of the innkeeper came along. Saufinril turned to the sound of the noises, was it heading his direction?

They were, oh Mara they were. He could feel his heartbeat increase drastically. And that’s when the door opened. A grown mer’s voice with Saufinril’s same accent thanked whoever had guided him, and that’s when Ganra stepped in the room. The Imperial lady left them alone, Ganra closed the door behind him as Saufinril stood up. Neither brother moved while they took in how much their sibling had changed in 32 years.

He was so…buff. And taller than him for some 2 or 3 inches. He still had the elegance of the race, but he also had the straight back and neutral demeanor of a Warrior, which undoubtedly all the men here saw. For Altmer standards, his brother had developed a lot of muscle. But the heart shaped face that was their father’s was still there, as were the eyes everyone said were like his, emerald green, but for him had always been a dark yellow. Ganra looked older, definitely freshly turned 51. The goatee was new, and the hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen him, but it was him. It was his little brother. The first thing that escaped Saufinril was a smile, imitated by his brother, then both went to each other.

“Look at you!” Ganra exclaimed with a voice deeper than the last time Saufinril had heard him as they hugged (too tightly but the years called for it). Ganra lifted Saufinril some inches from the ground while still embracing him, “You’re so thin!”

“Hey hey, ground. Ground. I’m your older brother, come on.” Saufinril protested. Ganra put him back down and they both broke the hug. Saufinril looked up to Ganra and smiled again, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It is! Look at you, how have you been? Where have you been this whole time?” both brothers headed to the table where the wine and food awaited.

“Hoo, where do you want me to start?” Saufinril asked, serving Ganra, “I’m good, I’ve been living between Skyrim and Valenwood for a while.”

“You mentioned you were heading to Valenwood after today. What even is there?”

“My patron, his business. I travel back and forth with him. I did have to ask him for a day here to meet, and afterwards I continue south. But look at you, you enlisted? When? How did they even let you come?”

“I did, last year. Not too long ago. It’s been going well, mother and Mithras are very happy with this choice, and I am too.” Ganra watched as Saufinril pressed his lips lightly and passed the drink to him before serving himself, “Thank you. Well, what is this patron? What does he do?...why are you not spouting ice randomly?”

“Because I grew up. I wasn’t going to be the same little Finn that one day couldn’t do magic and the next was setting the kitchen table on fire.”

“You’re not my brother. The real Saufinril is a menace with his magika.”

“Fuck off, I’m 52. I had to control that sometime.”

“How did you control it?”

“Eh,” Saufinril waved his hand vaguely, as if it was an insignificant detail, “a lot of practice, reading endless amounts of tomes at night, day, during slow business hours, a lot of times where I thought I had it right and then electrocuted someone. I think being busy helped. It stopped happening around the time I was 30.”

“That’s good.”

“Thanks.” The silence fell between the brothers for some seconds before Ganra asked, “So, this patron. You didn’t answer me, what does he do?”

“Mm.” Saufinril finished the sip of wine and swallowed, “He has business in Skyrim and Valenwood. A store and a bar, respectively. He’s like a tutor to me.”

“Since when?” the tone of Ganra’s voice made Saufinril turn to look at him.

“Hm?”

“Since when is he a tutor? You had tutors back home. And you had Mithras. Why is he the one that helped?”

“I don’t know, Ganra.” Saufinril lied, “I just know it did. He has a lot of experience, he’s travelled Tamriel, he’s seen and lived a lot.”

“So?”

“So, he has knowledge that maybe those tutors or Graywatch didn’t have.”

“At the time.”

“Or at all.”

Ganra observed his brother take another drink. He observed their mother’s factions in him: the high cheekbones, the narrow jaw, the overall face structure so similar to Kusunna’s, the effect broken only by the blond hair and the emerald green eyes.

“Now that your magic is…stable. Will you come back?”

Saufinril immediately began to choke on the wine, putting the wine glass down and coughing. Ganra rolled his eyes but patted Saufinril’s back.

“It’s not that bad, come on. Your patron will understand. What do you do with him, anyways? Whatever you do, you can get a much better position in the Isles. You can enlist to train as a Battlemage, even, like Gilan. You can-” Saufinril held a hand up, stabilizing again before turning to his brother.

“Gunny,” he cleared his throat, “one is not returning to the Isles.”

“What? Why not?”

“Why would one? One is happy here.”

“Because it’s not your home. Your home is in the Isles. And don’t talk to me with ‘one’, I’m your brother, not some stranger.”

“Well, I think I know where my home is. And it’s here.”

“Not with your brother?” Ganra asked, looking and sounding genuinely hurt, “Or your mother or Mithras?”

“It’s not that, Ganra,-”

“Then why don’t you return?”

“Bec-”

“What is there here that you don’t want to be with your family? Do you not love us?”

“Ganra, of course I love you. You’re my brother.”

“Then why is it so hard for you to come back?” Ganra demanded, slamming an open hand at the table. The glasses clinked and Saufinril involuntarily tensed up, then glared at Ganra, who was glaring back.

“Keep your fucking goblin antics down.” Saufinril hissed, “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Mine. That’s what they are.”

“What could possibly be more important than us? Is it this tutor, this patron?”

“I-partly, yes.” Saufinril admitted, “There’s not much back there for me. Listen, here I make good money, I have a job, I have my social circle, my patron-”

“Everything you described, Saufinril, you have back in Cloudrest. Your old friends? Remember them? They’re back in Cloudrest. You can get a better job, you can get more money, you can find a wife and get married and have children,” Saufinril avoided Ganra’s gaze and shuffled in his seat, “Like I said, you can enlist and become a Battlemage. You can have your own business and not work for some patron. You can be back with your family. Us. Mother, Mithras, me.”

“Ganra, I said no. I am not returning to the isles.” Saufinril stated.  Ganra leaned back.

“This is unbelievable. After everything that’s happened with mother and Mithras, everything they went through and everything you put us through, you won’t come back? After everything both mother and Mithras did for us?”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Why? I was there, I saw it.”

“You didn’t see anything, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“You’re just so comfortable living in Cyrodiil, right? Having everything handed to you,” Ganra stood up, slamming his hands at the table again, “You’re so selfish. You didn’t have to watch Mithras lose nights of sleep trying to figure out how to prevent the invasion from killing everyone in your hometown, you weren’t there when we all thought he was going to die and mother couldn’t handle losing another husband.”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“Unbelievable, you never even visited or-or contact our parents! You weren’t there, you weren’t there for me! You have no filial duty, you don’t care!”

“I could say the same about you!” Saufinril now stood up, “Why are you only coming over here after thirty-two years? Huh? And what about mother? She could’ve come. So much for being my ‘family’.” He air-quoted the last part, “You all are a bunch of hypocrites that only care about what others will say, so don’t come to me talking about family when you don’t know what that means! Mother hardly knows what that means!”

“You just don’t want to take any responsibility. You’re ungrateful and a coward! A vagabond! You have no respect for all that your own people, your own family, has gone through! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come back to your family if you really loved us!”

“Is that so? You’re delusional, Ganra. You choose to call an egomaniac control freak your father when we both know we’re not his sons and our real father would’ve never done anything that he’s done! You’re an ignorant and an idiot! But go! Keep your fucking cult to Graywatch.”

“You’re pathetic, did you know that?”

“Oh, fuck off Ganra. Do you even know what kind of mer he is?”

“Yes I do, because we grew up together, Saufinril. I thought that meant something to you.”

“I thought the same.”

Another bout of silence fell. They both kept the hard stares on the other until Ganra shook his head and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Saufinril asked.

“Far from you. I’m going back home. I don’t need this.” Ganra turned to Saufinril, “I don’t need to hear you disrespecting my parents and everything they’ve done for their country and their children. Especially for someone that wants a mediocre life, and that clearly doesn’t want to be around me.”

No. No this couldn’t end like this. He hadn’t seen his little brother in 32 years, was he going to let this meeting end like this? All the anger he was feeling melted. That’s not true, Ganra. He wanted to follow him, to pull him into a hug and say he was sorry, that he was going home if it made him happy, that he never meant any ill to happen to him after all these years, that he just wanted to stop feeling so trapped and alone… but his ego was what planted him in place and shut his mouth. Ganra opened the door and left. Saufinril sighed and passed a hand through his hair.

#third era sau #altmer #tes #tesblr #in which Sau realizes he totally forgot to come out of the closet to his family #in which Ganra and Sau both think they're grown because they hit the 50 year mark #no you're not #you're not as mature as you think you are #that's so sweet #I can see 700 ways this conversation could've gone smoother but neither of y'all did #dumb elves #Ganra gonna return fuming and disappointed to the isles #and Sau will return the same way to Valenwood #y'all are a prize aren't ya #your father is facepalming on the other world

[reddeadtrash]

Ghosts

Summary: There is something strange about the woman they find in the winter wilderness. She is cold, unwavering, and strangely menacing. Arthur Morgan finds himself pulled in by that vivacity. Unbeknownst to him, she knows many things that elude this cowboy. Like magnet to metal, no matter how far he throws her away, he always finds himself going back.

GHOSTS MASTERLIST

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC

Rating: M

Word count: 4022

CHAPTER FIVE: A DIFFERENT KIND OF LONELY

I bow down to pray I try to make the worst seem better Lord, show me the way To cut through all his worn out leather

As soon as they had made it back to Horseshoe Overlook, Arya was rushing across camp. Arthur hot on her heels, following her, couldn’t keep the smile off his face. She went straight to Hosea, who was bent over a few pieces of paper.

“Hosea!” Her voice was filled with joy and something that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Eagerness.

The young woman and Hosea had been quite the pair ever since her arrival within the gang. She was curious and asked a lot of questions. He was happy to teach and loved her eager demeanor. Often, she would spend the night curled into herself, perched beside Hosea, listening to whatever story he had in store for her. Sometimes he’d show her photographs. Other times, he’d show her maps.

“Hosea, I think we’ve got something good!”

When the man lifted his head, he was met with her smile; bright and enthusiastic. The sun was setting behind him – orange and bright – and as he got to his feet, the light behind him seemed to shift along with him.

“What is it?” he asked.

Arya beamed. It had been so long since she felt on the cusp of something this big. She didn’t mind that she was smiling so long and so fully. She didn’t mind that Arthur was staring. She cared even less that Hosea seemed astonished to see the pair of them together like this.

“I think we discovered something good in Valentine,” the girl went on. “The clerk at the Hotel – Miles – is harboring some big fancy boys from Saint Denis, who will be trafficking oil.”

Hosea scratched the bottom of his chin, a gesture that resembled Arthur’s way of contemplating. “You want to do a scam?” Hosea asked, blue eyes down to slits in concentration.

“I know we need to work out the details,” Arya answered. “But this sounds good, right?”

Hosea looked over at Arthur. The former seemed to be gaging just how good the entire ordeal was by Arthur’s facial expression. After a second of silent observation, Arthur just shrugged. “She’s onto something,” he grumbled.

“That man, from Saint Denis,” she eagerly pressed, “he said that his men and their wives will be coming by in three weeks. They’ll stay for a week, and once they have the oil, they’ll ride down to the docks on the Saint Denis coast. That’s where the money will be.”

Hosea’s entire face lit up. Wrinkles split at his eyes and creased around his mouth, but despite his old age, he looked stunning against the orange backdrop of the sky. “A good ol’ fashion money scam,” he beamed. “You guys will need me to work out some details before, and to ask around those I know in Valentine. You should also assemble a team. We need people to be those fake oil receivers in Saint Denis. We also need to know to who they are selling the oil to.”

Arya’s heart was hammering. Her cheeks hurt with smiling so hard, and the insides of her palms itched with anticipation. “So this could work?”

Hosea laughed. “This is definitely goin’ to work.”

She nodded so hard she feared her head would spin off her body. “Thank you,” she breathed. Hosea shook his head and waved her off, sitting back down at his table.

Later that night, she found herself sitting at the edge of the cliff. A small fire crackled at her feet, her legs outstretched towards the warmth, her back pressed against the trunk of a tree. Beside her, on each side respectively, was Sadie and Arthur. Above them, stars sprinkled like salt along the darkness of the sky. In front of them, the vastness of the world, the drop of the cliff, and the sweet breath of the wind.

They had shared some stew. They had shared some quiet and quick jokes. Arya was content with them both at her side. She wasn’t one to express fondness, but she would gladly say that their company made her feel safe.

Arthur grumbled as he got to his feet.

“Old man’s goin’ to bed,” Sadie joked. She was stretched out on her side, leaning on her elbow.

“I ain’t even that old,” Arthur answered, his voice deep in his chest. In the darkness, with the soft glow of the flames, he looked young. Arya stole a glance at his face; shadow of a beard, sharp jawline, high cheekbones. He had the rare wrinkle around his eyes, but his sun-reddened skin didn’t have any evidence of old age.

“Says the man who grumbles as hard as Hosea to get to his feet,” Sadie mocked again, throwing her head back to laugh. Arya smiled, picturing Hosea as he always was, grumbling about painful knees.

“I’m just grumblin’ because I’m tired!” Arthur protested. When he saw that both women were having none of his shit tonight, he shook his head. “Ah, leave me alone.”

Arya laughed. Arthur’s eyes snapped to hers quickly, and she caught the look of curiousness that crossed his features. “Just admit you’re an old man, Mr. Morgan,” she chuckled.

“I’ll admit it when I’m dead,” he fussed. Arya watched him wobble on his feet slightly, readjust his hat, and wave. “You ladies have yourselves a good night now.”

Sadie scoffed. “Sleep well, Arthur.”

“Night,” Arya mumbled.

His retreating footsteps were the sounds of scrunched leaves under boots. Arya kept pace with his breathing until it disappeared in the darkness, in his tent.

“You know he likes you, right?”

Arya’s head snapped to the side, black eyes meeting Sadie. The latter was now curled into herself, staring right into the flames. “What?” Arya asked, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“He’s sweet on you,” Sadie added, meeting the other woman’s eyes with a wicked grin.

“Arthur?” Disbelief made Arya’s voice sound high-pitched.

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Who else?” The fire crackled as silence took over for an instant. “He definitely fancies you.”

Arya shook her head, an elfish grin on her lips. “We’re friends,” she tried to justify.

“I don’t think he knows that,” Sadie answered bluntly.

Arya shrugged. Shook her head. Curled her legs in defensively. Sadie was one of the only people that she trusted among Arthur and Hosea. Everyone else… well, she knew.

Sadie and Arya being friends didn’t mean that Arya liked having someone poke around her life, nonetheless, her romantic life.

“I think he’s just lonely,” she whispered, avoiding Sadie’s glare. “If you weren’t a widow, he’d probably fancy you too.”

“He might be lonely,” Sadie answered after waving the other girl off. “But lonely men think with what hangs between their legs. They only come to you when they don’t want to be alone. And usually, that leads to some sort of physical contact. But Arthur’s loneliness is different. He… he longs.”

Arya could feel heat bloom in her chest. Anger. Fear. It mixed like mud, and her breathing became ragged, and the more she thought about it, about him, the more she saw it. The longing. The yearning.

“He’s a sad man,” she said, her voice sounding like a dead end. A conclusion.

Sadie scoffed. “He ain’t sad when he’s with you.”

Day break was like any other. John, Bill, and Arthur had gone hunting for the midday stew. Grimshaw and some ladies were fussing around for chores. Pearson had some leftover meat he was hanging to dry. Dutch and Molly hadn’t left their tent yet. Abigail was sitting on a log by the edge of the cliff, Jack hanging on her knees as she tried to give his hair a good brush. Lice tended to spread fast in these parts.

Everything was normal. Everything was quiet.

Arya was in her tent when she heard the first yells. They weren’t screams of help or alarm. They were screams of astonishment and fear.

The girl rose from her bed, where she’d been reading, enjoying the morning coolness before the heat came in. She rushed out, dressed in black pants and a matching black union shirt. Her eyes, as dark as night, searched the grounds around her.

Pearson had stopped hanging the meats and was wobbling strangely away from his wagon. At the entrance to camp, where Pearson was headed, three horses stood away from their usual spot. Arya saw Abigail, wailing, with Grimshaw holding Jack back from whatever had happened. Beside them, on every side, was everyone else.

“John, you idiot!” Abigail yelled, and Arya saw her hand fly and land, the sound of skin on skin echoing.

Javier burst out laughing.

“It ain’t his fault, Abigail!” Bill came crashing out of the crowd, front of his checkered shit bloodied. Dried crimson cracked on his neck and hands.

Someone was hurt.

For a brief, a very brief instant, Arya’s eyes searched for Arthur. She couldn’t find him, what with everyone crowding around the horses.

The smell of blood had the horses whinnying and stamping their hooves harshly onto the grassland. Arya’s first instinct was to get everyone out of their way.

“Move away!” she ordered, and the ease with which she slid into this role, of leader, felt almost foreign. She pushed people out of the way, out of the horses’ way, and found Arthur. He was holding John up by the waist, the latter looking sickly and deathly pale. One look, a once over, brought Arya to the conclusion of what the hell was going on.

John’s hand was covered in blood. Crimson oozed out and dribbled onto the grass at his feet. Arthur’s own hands, up to his wrist, were smeared in red. The front of his shirt was speckled, as if he’d been in the very near vicinity of what had happened to John.

“What happened?” Arya asked, stepping forward to examine the wound. John’s hand was mangled, as if bitten, but none of his fingers looked badly hurt.

“The idiot decided to have a hand-to-hand combat with a bear,” Arthur grumbled.

“Yeah, an idiot, that’s what you are, John Marston!” Abigail cried from behind.

Arya turned. Stonefaced and calm, she said, “I’m going to need you all to move back. We have to get him somewhere warm and quiet. All this fussing isn’t going to help him.” Abigail seemed to be personally vexed by the young woman’s statement. She fumed, picked up Jack, and scrambled away.

“The boy don’t need to see just how much of a fool his father is!” she screamed.

John, in his state, didn’t seem to care at all. His head of dark and messy hair hung low, his chin grazing his chest. Form all the blood loss, Arya didn’t know just how long he had.

Quickly, she undid the scarf around her neck. She tied it tightly around John’s affected wrist.

“Let’s get him to lie down,” she ordered to Arthur. “Miss Grimshaw, I need a bucket of clean and warm water. I need clean cloth and keep it coming. No one is bothering me, okay?”

Grimshaw, frowning, said, “Who put you in charge?”

“Does anyone know how to fix John’s mangled hand?” Arya challenged back. “Does anyone here know how to make sure he can use his hand and his fingers again? Didn’t think so. I got this.”

Dutch appeared suddenly, while Grimshaw scurried off to pertain to Arya’s many requests. Dutch seemed out of his wits. He tried cajoling John, but the latter was in and out of consciousness, leaning heavily on Arthur.

“Oh, dear boy,” Dutch mumbled. “What can I do to help?”

Arya wrapped one of her arms around John’s waist to help Arthur carry the injured man to her tent. “Have someone bring me small wooden sticks and a sewing kit.”

Dutch grumbled something, but Arya didn’t hear. John was heavier than he looked and carrying him was harder than she thought.

When they got to her tent, she made Arthur lay her newest patient onto her bed. She unrolled the flaps and closed them, so no one could see in and she could have all the peace she needed.

“Arthur,” she commanded, “bring me a stool.”

He left without a word, and for the first time, she was alone with John. She could asses his wound properly.

The center of his hand was bitten through and through. She had no idea if the bones had been touched, moved, or crushed. She hoped not the latter, because that meant John would never recuperate fully. His fingers were mangled, but it looked mostly like claw marks. Thick gashes, the meat red and burning, the bone opened and exposed. His wrist was bruised and bloodied with a few marks, but she suspected it was more a sprain than a broken wrist.

She had a lot of work.

Arthur came back with the stool. She sat beside John and waited. Grimshaw came and went a few times. She brought first the cloth, then the water, and lastly, she brought a needle and a roll of thread. She left without a word.

Arthur was the only one that Arya allowed to stay.

“How are you going to fix it?” he asked, as he watched the girl examine the wound.

“Do you have whiskey on you?” she asked. After a few moments, Arthur handed her a half-filled bottle. She took it graciously, took a swig, and poured a generous amount of it all over John’s mangled hand.

The injured man woke with a howl of pain so great that it resonated painfully in Arya’s ears. “There he is,” Arthur grumbled, taking the bottle from Arya’s hands and having a taste of it as well.

“What the hell!” John screamed. He was trying to curl his hand in defensively, but Arya held it down.

“I’m going to help you,” she was saying, but John was shaking, tears of pain in the corner of his eyes, his entire face contorted in effort.

Arthur came around and held John down by the shoulders.

“John!” Arya demanded her patient’s attention. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, but I’m going to fix you. You need to stay still.

By then, John’s entire body was trembling. He was white and weak from blood loss, and Arya didn’t doubt that sooner or later, he would lose consciousness again.

“Arthur, put this between his teeth,” she said, handing the man a wad of cloth. Arthur frowned, seemed puzzled, but when he saw Arya begin to toy with John’s hand, he stuffed the wad into John’s mouth.

The girl, bent over in concentration, blood sticky on her fingers, uncurled John’s fingers. He screamed behind his gag, thrashed under Arthur’s hold. She picked up some more cloth, damped it in warm water, and slowly began washing the wound.

Against the sharp screams of John, Arya explained what she was doing to Arthur. “I’m going to wash the wound,” she said. “I used the alcohol to sterilize it and my hands. I’m going to do by best to sew him back up, but I’m not sure if the bones in his hand, here, are crushed or unaffected. I would need… never mind. Then I’m going to use some sticks to make sure the bones, if crushed or broken, heal in their right place. My priority right now is to stop the bleeding. Once he’s all sewn up and I’m all done with the sticks, the key is to keep him fed and hydrated.”

By then, she had washed most of his wound. John was still bleeding badly, but she had gotten the dirt and grass out of his injury. She poured more whiskey onto it, and with that, John was out like a light.

Arthur relaxed and walked back to where he’d been before; behind Arya, watching over her head.

Slowly, painfully, she started to sow John’s hand back. She’d swab at it with a damp cloth sometimes, or alcohol, and then go right back in. She was so concentrated that she didn’t even notice the whispers outside of her tent, or the growing darkness around her, or the heavy hunger in her stomach. Dark, swan eyes were focused solely on the bleeding and horrible gash. Her mind was a haze of medicine. She didn’t even feel anything around or in her.

She carefully placed his fingers and hand upside down to sew his palm up. Then she spread his hand over a small pillow and began working with the sticks. Arya placed them each side of John’s fingers and tied them with rope. She used more cloth as cautionary measure on his sprained wrist, which had turned black and purple – most likely just a big bruise.

She gave the overall wound a good wash before settling back in her seat.

The silence seemed to fill her as she stared at John’s hand. It wasn’t pretty. Dried blood still crusted the sewn-up gashes, and the thread itself was hard from blood, and was a sharp contrast against the pale skin. The hand was slightly swollen and red, but nothing alarming to the young woman.

“I’m done,” she said. Her voice seemed foreign after all this time.

“Is he goin’ to be alright?” Arthur asked. The sound of his voice, for a short moment, was comforting.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Go get Abigail, will you?”

Not long after, Abigail shuffled in. Her eyes were red with tears, swollen, and her face was splotchy. She wore a thick cotton gown and a thicker shawl over her shoulders. Her usually spotless black hair was tousled into a bun at the base of her neck.

“Is he okay?” she hiccupped.

Arya nodded sternly, grabbed the woman’s hand, and said, “If he starts to tremble, to have chills, nausea, or he starts to get really hot, you come find me. If he starts to hallucinate or vomit or to sweat profusely, you come find me. If his wound becomes black or blood red or if puss starts to come out of it, you come find me, understand?”

The dark-haired woman looked confused. She staggered on her feet, sat on the edge of the bed, and wept. “What’s puss?” she asked.

“White, creamy substance,” Arya answered patiently.

“Why would his hand go black?” Abigail continued, still weeping, her face in her hands.

“That would be gangrene.”

“Gangrene?”

“Listen, Abigail,” Arya said, going to her knees. “If anything appears out of the ordinary, you come find me.” She was holding the older woman by the shoulders soothingly, something Arya rarely did.

“O-okay,” Abigail answered, sniffing and wiping her tears.

“The important thing is that you keep him fed and hydrated,” Arya counseled. “He needs to eat and drink water. Not alcohol. Water.”

Abigail nodded. Lowly, she murmured, “Thank you.”

“I’ll come back to check on him tomorrow morning,” Arya assured, still on her knees, still holding the other woman. “I’ll make sure he’s able to use his hand again.”

Again, Abigail nodded. She shifted away from Arya and closer to her husband.

Arya stood, and when she left the tent to breathe in the cold night air, that’s when the exhaustion hit her. Hunger growled in her stomach and she could feel the dried walls of her throat aching for water.

Arthur stepped out to join her. “You can have my tent for the night,” he offered. “You and Sadie.”

Arya smiled tiredly. “That’s kind of you.”

They got stew together and walked around camp assuring everyone that John was going to be fine. Dutch asked about the mobility of his hand. In truth, Arya was scared that John would never fully recover the use of his hand, but she confidently told Dutch that she’d work towards full mobility. Grimshaw and Karen, stoneface and cold, asked about the well being of John, but beneath their demeanor, Arya could see the worry on their faces.

Arya and Arthur spent most of the night reassuring their friends. Bill felt guilty for not killing the bear, but Arthur took the blame right off his shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me exactly what happened,” Arya asked, sitting – finaly! – on a stump in front of a dying fire. Arthur sat on the ground beside her, finished his stew, and let the bowl clink beside him.

“Went chasin’ after a bear,” he started. “I was on my horse, lookin’ for clues. Bill was wandering around on the rocks for some reason. Then I hear this big roar and sound, like somethin’ crashin’ through the trees. I go runnin’. Then John’s screamin’, and when I get to him, he’s squarin’ up like he wants to fight the thing. Obviously, get’s wrecked. Bill shoots at it, and the thing just runs away.”

Arya smiled and huffed, “There’s only John to square up to a bear.”

Arthur laughed through his nose, but then his face went cold as he stared into the fire. Arya saw the shift and wondered why her own chest ached. “I thought he was goin’ to die,” he admitted lowly.

“But he didn’t,” Arya said.

“Yeah, because of Bill.”

“It’s not your fault, Arthur.”

“I know,” he said awkwardly. “It’s just… I just stood there, you know?”

Arya’s eyes glazed in empathy. “Sometimes shock takes away your ability to make decisions.”

“But that never happened to me before,” Arthur objected. “I’ve always had my finger on the trigger. I never hesitated. Never. And then, when it comes to savin’ John’s life, a moment more important than many I’ve had to fire my weapon for, I can’t.”

Arya nodded in understanding. She shifted on her log awkwardly. Sentimental conversations were not her forte. “You… you love John,” she mumbled. “Moments of quick action, crisis moments, change when it involves someone you’re afraid of losing.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment. The young woman stared at the fire but was very aware of Arthur’s presence beside her. After a pause, he said, “You’re right.”

A sigh left the woman’s lips. “You’re a good man, Arthur,” she mumbled.

He grumbled, groaned something, and then sighed. “How do you know all this doctor stuff anyway?”

“You think I’m a witch?” she joked.

Arthur laughed and the sound was music to Arya’s ears after all this silence. “If I had a right mind, I’d think so,” Arthur mused. “But I ain’t gonna burn you at the stake, young lady.”

Smiling, Arya offered, “I learned from my mother. She was a doctor.”

Frowning, Arthur turned his blue gaze onto Arya’s profile. “A woman doctor?”

“Uh- no, I mean, yes, but uh-,” Arya stammered, pushed her hair behind her ears. “She was – uh – a healer. You know. A herbalist. But she knew about surgery.”

Arthur huffed. He didn’t seem convinced by her answer. “You said a lot of words back there that I don’t know,” he grumbled, returning his eyes to the fire. “Your mother must have been a hell of a doctor then.”

“She was.”

The crackling of the fire took precedence. Arya’s mind was whirling. Images swooping in to disturb the peace she was staggeringly trying to keep. The faces of her mother and father oozed in and out of memory, but just like her brother, they were fading.

“You never told me what happened in Delaware,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. “Why you left. Why it was just you and your brother.”

Arya stiffened and suddenly, she was cold. She wanted to leave. The drying blood on her hands was not John’s but another man’s. Her throat was closing up.

“It’s not something I discuss,” she all but choked out.

Under the watchful and curious stare of Arthur, the brunette got to her feet and scurried away. The night cloaked the rising tears in her eyes and the way she curled into herself protectively. When she burst into Arthur’s tent, she flopped onto the bed. The smell of him – pinewood, fire smoke, and river water – made her mind burn with too many thoughts. Tears welled and poured over her cheeks. She curled into a ball.

The last thing she was conscious of before she fell asleep was the deep smell of Arthur Morgan all around her.

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[crlese]

Not gonna lie, I'm kinda in love with your Hakyona fanfic. It's so accurate to the characters and I was thoroughly entertained by every line. Do you take prompts? If you ever have time, I'd love to see a fic about Hak (or Yona) in formal attire :)

Oh, thank you so much! Ah, this means so much. Of course, I take prompts! I love them (less work in thinking of plot, haha). Here it is, I hope you enjoy

The mansion was huge.

Almost every item in the place seemed to be monumental; glimmering with its significance. People were chattering, women and men held glasses in their hands. Their sips were of eloquence and movements graceful. Even though all the guests were visibly oozing with a cultivated demeanor – their faces were hidden behind a mask. The only facial features that were seen were the lips, nose and their high cheekbones.

“Ah…” A melodic voice muttered. Jae-Ha held a hand to his heart while his face prowled the area. His mask was embroidered with sparkling red gems and sleek fabric. “Look at all these gorgeous women and men. I think my heart’s going to burst – I can’t take all the beauty. But I’m glad you all agreed to come. Especially you, Yona-dear.”

Yona only shared half of his enthusiasm. Despite her upbringing, she started to become a lot more reluctant when it came to these kinds of events. Especially when she had to throw on an expensive gown. However, what made her lips quirk downwards was the fact that Hak was nowhere to be seen. They never managed to catch a glimpse of him; not even before their departure to this masquerade ball.  

“Hmm, how irresponsible of Hak for not showing up,” Kija said, as if reading her thoughts. His silver hair was untucked from the tight hairband he always wore; and instead it glided down the length of his back. The mask he wore slightly rose when his nose scrunched. “Actually, I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s late. Maybe he gave up.”

Yona sighed. “I wonder what’s taking him so long.”

Yoon placed a hand on her shoulder. “I wonder why, too. Who would miss an opportunity like this? It’s a day like this when you flaunt what you got. Especially a pretty boy like me.”

Yona laughed at his comment.

“And Zeno,” Zeno included, his steps bounced as he made his way towards them. His cheeks were bulging from the food in his mouth, but it didn’t stop him from emitting a toothy grin. His usual unruly blonde hair was matted with gel that he applied himself – it was obvious, because he did a poor job. Yona stifled a giggle when she saw him. A few strands were sticking out, but he paid no heed. He wore a frilly white shirt which contrasted with his gaudy mask. “Actually, Zeno saw Hak at the back, he was glaring at his shoes.”

“What?” Jae-Ha exclaimed. “He’s here? When? Why didn’t you bring him? I want to see that half-hidden handsome face of his.” Then grinned. “Oh, and his body.”

Yona suddenly flushed at the thought of seeing Hak in his formal attire. The usual image Yona connected to Hak was his masculinity and ferociousness… to see him so tamed and sophisticated… well, that brought colour to her cheeks. She shook the thoughts away; her neck warming up from embarrassment. Yoon was scrutinizing the area, donning on a slight smile. He seemed to be enjoying the décor and overall atmosphere. This brought happiness to Yona.

At least he’s enjoying himself, she thought. That’s all that matters.

It wasn’t only him who was fascinated with the whole setting. Shin-ah was dragging his feet; curiously surveying the people, chairs, tables, everything really. He really stood out among the crowd, because the mask he always wore was quite unusual. Yona and the others tried getting him into a suit, but he quickly rebuffed the idea with a rapid shake of his head. All he wore was his normal clothes and a confused pout planted on his lips.  

“Hak,” Yoon suddenly yelled, waving his arms. A couple of people looked his way due to the disturbance. Noticing his loud tone, Yoon blushed and bowed his head in shame. He quickly peeked his eyes upwards and mouthed angrily for Hak to come over. Yona adjusted her shoulders and narrowed her eyes – ready to scold Hak for his tardiness. However, when she swiveled her face around, the words she was going to utter quickly died on her lips.

Yona all but froze.

Handsome. Absolutely handsome. That was the first word that erupted in her mind, and followed by many others. A navy-blue suit jacket clung onto his muscular body; his large shoulders and biceps were silhouetted underneath the smooth woven fabric. A white collared shirt peeked from the space that his jacket didn’t cover. White buttons lined the middle ridges of the shirt; everything perfectly fitted with his sinewy physique. His pants embraced his well-built thighs and narrowed at his slim waist. Although his face was partly hidden, the rough edges of his jaw and thin nose made Yona’s eyes widen. His mask was black and plain, hugging onto the tips of his cheekbones.

However, what didn’t change was the rowdiness of his hair; they looked soft and messy as they sat on top of his head. Yona felt the urge to walk up to him and thread her fingers through the strands. One of his hands were in his pocket, and it bulged from where it rested. Hak was walking towards them, with a scowl on his face; but it was different from his usual strut. It was alight with this different type of swagger; stylish, professional but also a bit daunting.

“Hak,” Jae-Ha sang, slugging his arm over his friend’s shoulder once Hak was in front of the others; his jaw tight as he toed the floor. Jae-Ha leaned in closer, giving him a salacious grin. “Why were you hiding your beautiful body away from us? You look wonderful.”

Hak gave him a menacing glare. “I suggest you shut up, Droopy-Eyes. Before I do it for you.”

Jae-Ha’s flirtatious smile widened. “Oooh, I hope your way of shutting me up is with your mouth.”

Hak started a retort, but when his eyes flickered over to Yona, he quickly became silent. His eyes were wide as they followed down her body; a blush rose on his cheeks. Yona cocked her head. “Hak? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, princess,” Hak responded; his voice was breathless. “You just look different, that’s all. Just scared me a little.”

Yona suddenly felt self-conscious. She tugged an edge of her gown. “Scared you? Does it look bad?” The thought of Hak hating it made Yona’s heart tug.

“No!” Hak yelled, his deep voice piercing into the air. The people around him stopped and looked at him in confusion. Yona’s lips parted in surprise at the sudden change of tone, wondering if she said something wrong. Kija was looking at him with a knowing stare, much to Yona’s perplexed state. Hak coughed and looked away, scratching his nape. His black hair was a curtain over his features, but the flush of his neck was visible. “Uh, you, um look fine.”

“More than fine,” Yoon interrupted. “She looks beautiful, right Hak?”

Yona felt her face heat up, not daring to look at Hak. But she was also curious to hear his answer. He’s probably just going to make fun of –

“Yes.” His voice suddenly serious.

Then their eyes met and it’s as if time stopped. His dark eyes gazed at her in such a way that made heat pool inside her stomach. He walked closer to her; his nose barely touching hers. Everyone seemingly disappeared at that moment – and it almost seemed like it was just the two of them. The right sleeve of his suit rustled as he brought his palm towards her cheek. Once it made contact, she felt heat spread through her face. Yona was confused, mesmerized and attracted to this new Hak. Music started playing through the area; it filled her ears with a soft melody, humming and moving. Suddenly, her face was tilted back and Hak’s nose brushed hers. Yona’s eyes stared up at Hak’s shadowed face, his eyes boring into her from underneath his eyelashes. The intensity of his look poured onto Yona like waves of energy.

“Yona?” His voice was deeper than usual.

“Yes?” Her response was a whisper; both her eyes were scanning his face, her eyebrows furrowed. Trying to piece together what he was thinking.

“I…” Hak started, then paused. His lips were parted, but he closed it and scrunched his eyes. Yona tilted her face, her forehead still wrinkled with confusion. After a moment, he opened his eyes and held out his elbow – giving her a genuine but cheeky grin. An emotion flickered in his gaze, but it quickly disappeared. He swooped Yona’s petite form into his broad one, not waiting for her to loop her elbow into his. Hak pressed his lips against her ear. 

“Let’s dance.”

#hakyona #hakyona fanfic #akayona #akayona fanfic #hakyona fanfics #hakyona fanfiction #akayona fanfics #akayona fanfiction #hakyona fanfictions #akayona fanfictions #hak x yona #hak x yona fanfic #hak x yona fanfiction #hak x yona fanfictions #hak x yona fanfics #akatsuki no yona #akatsuki no yona fanfics #akatsuki no yona fanfiction #akatsuki no yona fanfictions #akatsuki no yona fanfic #yona of the dawn #yona of the dawn fanfics #yona of the dawn fanfiction #akatsuki no yona prompt #hakyona prompt #akayona prompt #hakyona prompts

[purestxblood]

Always Okay • Justin Foley

Justin Foley x Reader

Prompt: Justin takes out his anger on you when you accuse him of cheating, then does all he can to make it up to you with his affection.

Warning: This one shot contains mature themes such as abuse, substance intake, and sexual content.

1,931 words x

The smell of smoke filled the air, hovering from the living room to the bedroom in the back corner. Scrunching your nose you pulled the blankets over your chin, covering your face to block out the scent from rising into your nose.

Sighing you pried your eyes open, squinting to adjust your eyesight at the clock blinking 3:32 AM in bright neon green digits. It was nearly two hours later from the time you and Justin fell asleep, and you weren’t planning on waking until after lunch. To say the last few days were beyond crazy wasn’t an understatement; with the constant parties Justin decided to throw, since thankfully your mom was out of town on a conference call, havoc was everywhere throughout your home.

Rolling over towards the other side of the mattress your eyes narrowed on the empty space beside you. You pulled your hand out from underneath the sheet and touched the space, feeling nothing but coldness; knowing Justin must have gotten up out of bed hours ago. To think of it, he probably waited for you to fall asleep to leave. He had been doing this much more recently – ever since Hannah’s death, there had been a change in him within a course of months.

You scoffed rolling your eyes at the thought of Justin leaving you high and dry once you faded into a slumber before sitting up and letting the sheet fall from your body.

Goosebumps popped up on your forearms as the air in the room tickled your exposed skin. Running your feet on the bottom edge of the bed, you used your toes to search for your underwear before pulling them back up your legs until they were in their rightful spot. Forcing yourself out of bed, you grabbed Justin’s shirt off the wood floor and pulled it over your head as you walked out of your room, heading to the living room.

All the lights were dim while the television played music videos on mute. Sniffing the air you followed the smell of burning papers until you stood in front of the coffee table. You sighed looking down at the beat down table and crossed your arms. The table was burnt and had scratches left and right while being covered in empty beer bottles, ashes, and buds of cigarette and marijuana joints. How you were going to explain the ruined coffee table to your mother, you had no idea.

You shook your head in disgust and held your breath as you began gathering the bottles in hand, disposing the contents into the kitchen trash bin. Taking a wrinkled napkin off the floor, you scooped up all the buds and followed suit, placing them into the bin.

“Babe! You’re awake!” Justin yelled as he strolled into the house, harshly shutting the front door behind him. Ignoring his statement, you continued to clean up the mess he left behind before he could muster the guys to trash the room again and sneak back out for the night. Lucky for you, if he did happen to do so, your mom was due to return in another three days so you still had time to fix the damage.

“What are you doing?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind while nuzzling the back of your neck. Normally, you’d fall to your knees underneath his fingers but instead, your body tensed while your hands pried his arms off your body. His body stained the smell of alcohol and weed, a mix you didn’t tend to enjoy much of. “Cleaning your mess,” you mumbled as you walked into the kitchen to dispose the rest of the clutter. Justin followed and trailed your every move, “you didn’t have to do that.”

Stopping in place you turned around and glared at him, your nose hovering a few inches away from his face, “where were you?” Justin chuckled and smiled a cheeky grin, “just out,” he said stepping aside and pulling a beer out of the fridge. Crossing your arms over your chest you sighed, “were you with Jessica?” Justin raised his brows, huffing out a laugh while he popped the cap off the bottle and took a swig, “really, why would I be with Jess?” You bit the inside of your cheek as he shortened her name. Taking your gaze off Justin, you focused your eyes on the box of tea sitting on the edge of the counter, “I don’t know,” you shrugged, deciding to stop before you created an argument.

Justin, however, was barely getting started.

Placing the bottle on the counter, Justin stalked towards you, pushing your hips backwards until you were pressed against the center island. “Why Jessica?” he tilted his head.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, “really Justin, that’s not a question.” He let out a heavy sigh while his eyes glared into yours, his hands gripping the island, trapping you in between them. The tan of his knuckles turned white as he dug his fingers into the edge, not caring that his anger was about to pop. His eyes were now focused on the wall behind you instead of you while his teeth nipped at the center of his bottom lip. Something he grew accustomed to doing whenever he was angry or turned on; the second option wasn’t the case.

Your eyes stayed glued to Justin’s face, watching his facial expressions as they traveled the speed of a roller coaster. If it wasn’t for the tightness of his clenched jaw and his nose only a few inches away from your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to tell he was even pissed. However, as his breath grew heavier and quickened into puffs; his breath batting against our skin, you knew you were pushing his buttons.

“Does Alex know how much time you guys spend together?” your brows raised while your lips formed a small smirk. You were teasing him and testing his patience. Justin and Alex were oddly close – and although he was considered to be his best friend, you and Alex both had found it strange your partners were spending lots of time together despite their pairing for sport walks. Justin knew of your accusations and he made you well aware of it by his harsh actions – still, deep down you knew his words were no good no matter how close him and Alex were and how many times he said I love you.

Justin’s attention refocused to you, his eyes red from anger but mostly the high he was on. You whimpered at the touch of his hand grabbing your chin, holding it tightly in his hand. He pulled your chin upward to look him in the eye, holding your face so you couldn’t pry it away. His grasp tightened on your chin causing your skin to form a patch of whiteness similar to the tone of his knuckles.

“I love you,” he stated, his voice monotone as he narrowed his pleading eyes. Justin’s face was now hovering in front of yours, his lips inches away from your own just slightly brushing against the other. “I fucking love you, you know that?”

His grip on your chin tightened causing another whimper to echo in your throat. You breathed out heavily through your nose as you looked him in the eye, blurs of tears forming in the corner. “You know that,” Justin repeated in reassurance, more so for himself rather than you. His eyes flattened between anger and sadness, and you closed yours, willing yourself to blink back tears before opening them and nodding slowly in response.

You occasionally found yourself in this position, normally with Justin’s hands tightened around one of your limbs – sometimes with his palm pressed against your cheek. The first time he hit you, he almost lost himself completely while you were too stunned to comprehend you’d have to find a way to conceal the purple and brown bruise underneath your cheekbone. He had broken down in front of you, holding you tightly as he pressed his lips to your cheek, smothering you in kisses while he repeatedly cried apologies. You were frozen in shock, distant from the lips trying to mend you.

The second time you found yourself under his wrath, you weren’t stunned nor terrified. If anything you were sad, forgiving him just as you had the first time; because after all, the only love Justin had ever grew up with were neglect from his mother and her boyfriend’s hands around his throat.

It wasn’t Justin’s fault he couldn’t control his anger, that’s how he was raised. That’s what you kept telling yourself. You loved Justin, and you were going to love him through all his flaws, even if it meant there were times you would sport a bruise.

“I know,” you forced yourself to say, as you struggled to speak with his grip upon your face. Justin’s demeanor changed instantly and he grinned, “good,” he sighed, then pulled your chin closer to his face to connect his lips to yours, immediately parting your lips to deepen the kiss.

The moment his lips met yours and his tongue began to massage yours; you instantly forgot the grip he held upon your face, the taste of him overpowering your emotions.

Your hands fisted the collar of his jean jacket the snaked around his neck, your fingers playing and tugging at the ends of his hair. His hand moved from your chin to the back of your head, holding your face in place as he dominated the kiss. A small moan echoed in the back of your throat while his free hand went under the big shirt you were wearing, his hands slowly running up and down your inner thigh. His fingers continued to soothe your skin in circles and strides on the inside of your thigh until he came to the lace of your underwear. You gasped quietly as his index finger snuggled under the lacy edge, rubbing back and forth between the material and your skin.

You could feel Justin smirking into the kiss, enjoying the way your body responded to his teasing and menacing touch. Your hands tightened their grip around his neck and pulled his face closer, while your legs wrapped around his waist, your ankles locked behind him as his hands went to hold you at your butt. A moan vibrated the back of Justin’s throat, sending motions into your connecting bodies. Your tongues continued to battle and dominate the other while his pelvis pressed up against you, his hard on standing tall.

Justin tightened his grip on your cheeks and pushed your butt forward while he rocked his pelvis against your mound. You lips parted from his in a gasp while his lips began trailing kisses down your jawline to below your earlobe.

“We’re okay right?” he whispered into your ear in between kisses and bites while you both thrust towards each other in synchronization, moaning as his erection met you.

His question fluttered to the back of your mind as your center grew wet with each thrust of his shaft connecting your folds. The only thing on your mind was losing the thin material of your underwear and the boxers underneath Justin’s jeans, to give you both the release you desired.

You sighed in pleasure as Justin sucked on the sweet spot above your collar bone while you rocked into his hips. You nodded your head slightly as you gasped another moan, “mhm, we’re okay,” you said breathlessly. That’s how it always was. You were okay. Always okay.

#Justin Foley #Justin Foley x Reader #13 Reasons Why #Justin Foley One Shot #Justin Foley imagine #13 Reasons Why One Shot #thirteen reasons why #purexblood #my work

[andiestories]

The Pianist, Byron Bay (Chapter 1)

The sunlight reflected in the crystal blue water. Sitting on the surfboard, Aimee inhales the salty air and looks towards the vast ocean. Up in the distance, the perfect wave starts to peak, and she starts paddling ahead to position herself to catch the ride. Suddenly, another surfboard paddles just inches away from her and claims the peak, "Oi!", she yells at the surfer, "Get out of my wave!" The surfer ignores her and performs a bottom turn gaining speed in her direction. The aggressive maneuver prompts Aimee to rush her pop-up. With her stance unsteady, the wave wipes her feet from beneath her and pushes her to the rolling thunder of the current. Aimee feels the pull of her board dragging her right feet to the depths of the ocean until she manages to regain control and swim back up. She grabs her board, climbs back up, and paddles furiously back to land.

Callum that has seen the whole incident from the sandy beach runs towards her. "Are you ok?"

Aimee picks up her board and angrily pierces it in the sand. "Did you see that guy? He cut me off!" She stares at the surfer that is still in the water. "Freaking asshole!" she screams at the top of her lungs.

Callum smiles at his sister's overwhelming emotional response. "Come on, fighter cock", his pet name for her, "let's go back to uncle's house. Enough beach for one day."

Aimee still has her eyes on the water and curses under her breath. "Fine. This wouldn't happen in Portugal."

Callum sighs, "Aimes, we are going to be here for six months, just please..."

Aimee stares at Callum's pleading eyes with a hardened look. This trip to Australia wasn't her idea or plan, but she knows he needs this. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself of the promise she made to their father. "Sorry, you're right. We have only been here for two weeks and I'm already losing it.", she rolls her eyes annoyed at herself, "I'm a true nincompoop." Callum laughs, "I'm going to change. Meet you in the car in five?" Callum grabs his backpack, the longboard that lays on the sand, and heads towards the car.

Aimee starts peeling her wetsuit from her body while gazing at the rolling waves, her mind transported to a simpler time. "The trip will do you guys some good" their father, Paulo, said to her three weeks before their trip. "Callum needs this but so do you. You can't keep burying your feelings."

Aimee and Callum were raised by Justin and Paulo, a couple that adopted the twins when they were honeymooning in Justin's homeland. They were taken as toddlers to England, and never returned to their birthplace. "Pai, what if he finds her?" Paulo sits down on the sofa and strokes gently her long hair. Aimee rests her head on his shoulder.  "That is his right, the same way that it's yours to decline to meet with her if that time comes.", he looks up at the family picture hanging on the bedroom wall, "Our story with her is a complicated one, but nonetheless you have the right to know about it."

Aimee's heart was cut open with Justin's death and uncovered truths that her twin brother was determined to follow through. She followed him to Australia in an attempt to lick her own wounds, and help her brother to heal his own, however, it's hard to unveil unwanted truths. Aimee takes her eyes off the ocean and grabs her board and walks back to the car park where Callum is waiting.  Aimee wonders if her Australian father ever chased the waves at this beach. She misses him dearly and a distant past back in London.

Aimee never felt the need to have a mother, she had two wonderful fathers that loved her and Callum unconditionally, and that had always been sufficient in her eyes. However, Callum's view clearly differed from her own, as here she is in New South Wales, Australia, a land that she has no recollection of, reconnecting to an uncle they only met once, and in search for a mother they never met. Her thoughts are shaken away by a vociferous voice. "You there!" she looks up and sees a six-foot man approaching her. He has platinum blonde hair and a scruffy beard to match, he sports a rugged look with his wetsuit hung by his hips and he carries, underneath his right underarm, a blue and white surfboard. Aimee's gaze hardens at the sight of the board that crossed her own path, just moments ago. "What the hell do you think you were doing out there?" his brassy tone and his ruthless light blue eyes complimented the message professed from his mouth.

"What I was doing? What the hell do you think you're doing? You snaked me back there!"

The man releases a menacing chortle, "Of course you had to be a Pommie!"

Aimee frowns at the unknown term. "What did you just called me?"

He looks away, clearly amused, "No worries, lassie. Nothing for you to worry about."

Aimee's face reddens, "You're an asshole!"

His piercing blue eyes turn to her once again, this time matching her own rage, "What did you just call me?"

Aimee is cut off by the Callum that runs towards her, accompanied by Josie, their cousin. "What's happening here?" Callum asks.

The man glares at the siblings and through clenched teeth redirects his attention to Josie. "You know these people?"

Josie nods. "They're my cousins, Liam, from England. Go easy on them. They just arrived."

"But, he..." Aimee attempts to protest but is cut off.

"Just keep them in their lane next time. This is no place for newbies." Liam says pointedly ignoring Aimee's attempts at rebuttal.

Josie nods, "Will surely do."

Liam walks away stomping in anger, he places his surfboard in the back of his car and drives furiously away. "What the hell was that? He cut me off!" Aimee stares at her incredulously.

"Were you on his spot?" Aimee shrugs questioning Josie's words. "You can't take some surf lessons for a few days and expect not to irritate locals. Liam has been surfing here for the past 20 years, every day. Him and his brothers, so you need to stay out of his way."

Aimee rolls her eyes at her cousin, "You must be joking."

Callum laughs, "I knew you taking surfing would end up badly. It almost ended up with me getting the beating of my life from that guy." Callum takes the surfboard from her hands and places it in the back of the pickup truck.

"You?" Aimee cocks an eyebrow at her brother. Callum is a calm human being,  the complete contrast of his twin sibling, that thunders with the smallest misstep. Their father, Paulo, always says that Callum is the calm ocean that stands before and after the Aimee storm. Even though the siblings contrast in demeanor, skill, and disposition, their facial features are uncanny. Both sport light brown hair, and green eyes. Both have high cheekbones, something they always assumed belongs to their birth mother. They are siblings second, best friends first, that always stand together against the hindrance that is life.

Callum takes the car keys from his pocket. "He wasn't going to hit you, but you were getting on his nerves, which would mean I would have to intervene and get punched in the process."

Josie laughs and sits on the passenger seat. "I'm glad I had to stop by. But, part of me would have like to have seen Callum getting his ass kicked by Liam."

Callum slides to the driver's seat, "Did you see his size?"

Aimee sits in the backseat. "Don't exaggerate." She looks at her cousin that is now occupied in changing the radio channel, "Why were you looking for us?"

Josie looks at Aimee through the rearview mirror, "My dad needs your help." Callum starts the car and drives away.

Jack Adams is the proud owner of the Fig Tree restaurant. The restaurant is located in one of the most secluded places in Byron Bay. Jack renovated the old farmhouse that is adorned by an orchard, a vineyard, and an iconic view of the lighthouse. The venue is the perfect setting for celebrations and since Aimee and Callum arrived, there hasn't been a day where there isn't a hustle and bustle about the place. As soon as Callum parks the car, the three can see Jack busy commanding the troops for a last-minute event. Jack hears the roar of the engine and makes his way to greet his only daughter and nephew and niece. His smile is uncanny to the one Justin used to sport. "Hey, children. How were the waves?"

Callum takes Josie's longboard and the rented surfboard that Aimee used from the back of the truck. "Rocky at best," he smirks, "I need to drop the surfboard back to the rental place."

Jack waves at one of the boys helping to trim the garden. "Emilio can do that for you. I'm sorry to cut your fun short, but I really need your help." The boy named Emilio approaches and takes the board from Callum. "Milio, take it back to Sunita's." Emilio nods and disappears in a flash. "You know if you are serious about surfing, we need to get you your own board." he winks at Aimee.

"After today, I sincerely doubt that I'll be stepping in, any time soon, on a surfboard." Aimee kicks her feet on the ground, still bothered about the earlier confrontation.

He walks over to Aimee and Callum and leans his arm over Callum's shoulder. "What happened?"

Callum laughs, "She pissed off some local." Aimee rolls her eyes and Jack chuckles.

They walk back inside the farmhouse and it's clear there is an event taking place. Tables are being organized and adorned with white lilies and roses from the garden. "I thought you didn't have an event tonight."

Jack inspects one table, carefully sorting carefully the cutlery arrangement on the table. "Just got the request. Can't say no to the Forsyth clan."

Aimee snickers, "Forsythe clan?"

"The wealthiest family in Byron Bay, and one of the most powerful in the whole of Australia.", he walks over to another table and starts inspecting the cleanliness of each glass. "I need all hands on deck tonight. We are expecting an intimate gathering of forty people but the last-minute request has left me short-handed."

"How can we help?"

"Callum, perhaps you can help out in the kitchen?" Unlike his sister, Callum struggled in school until he found his calling as a chef. Until three months back he was the sous-chef in Mandarin Oriental, London, and he loved every second of his job. Nothing gives him more pleasure than to be back in the kitchen.

"And, me? Do you want me to tend to some tables? I often would host in a restaurant back home..."

Jack smiles openly. "My dear Aimee, I could not dream to put you in such a position when you have such a marvelous gift."

Aimee's face falters at his request. "Do you mean?" Jack points at the piano that is in the backdrop of the room. Aimee takes two steps back. "I can't... I'm sorry." Her face is drained of the blood supply that tinges her cheeks. Aimee stares at the piano but doesn't dare to approach it, as if touching its surface would mean touching a poisonous plant. Aimee shakes her head and runs outside.

"Aimee!", Jack calls to her in vain. "Callum, can you please persuade her to play something tonight? One hour, only, I promise."

"You know that she hasn't played since..." he says hesitantly.

Jack lowers his eyes to the wooden floor, pain flaring in his heart, "I know. I wouldn't ask if... if I wasn't so desperate." Callum softens with his uncle's words. "Please, just try to convince her."

"I'll give it a go." Callum walks outside to catch up with his sister.

"Sarah wasn't available?" Josie asks.

"She was." Jack's eyes are impassive staring at Callum's exit.

"This is not a good idea."

"Maybe not, but I have to try."

Aimee takes a deep breath once outside. She leans against a car and closes her eyes, her heart palpitating outside of her mouth. "Sis," Callum calls, "he didn't mean to upset you." She takes another deep breath. "Do you want me to take you for a spin?" She shakes her head. "Can I hang out here with you for a bit?" Aimee drags her limp body to the floor and Callum joins her with both their back resting on the car. "Aimes, you can't keep avoiding it. It's in your blood. I don't remember a time when you weren't playing...", she darts a knowing glance at him "apart from now... All I'm saying is that..." she gets up abruptly.

"I can't perform in front of an audience."

Callum also gets up, approaching Aimee and embracing her tenderly. "You wouldn't be." Aimee opens her eyes at her brother, releases from his embrace, and walks few steps away, "I mean, a party is not an audience." Callum kicks some rocks around, fiddling with words in his head to avoid the wrong sentences in his mouth, "Not really if you think about it. You'll be background noise, they will be entertaining themselves. No one pays attention to the background music in a family gathering.", he lies. "Besides is for like one hour during the appetizers. Once dinner is served, you'll be off the hook, and I guarantee you that no one will have even noticed you. Well, except for me. But, that is just me. You've played for me thousands of times." Aimee wavers glancing towards the farmhouse and back to the ground. Her back turned away from her brother. Callum walks towards her and faces his sister, "He has opened his house to us for the next six months with no questions asked. We barely know the guy but the last two weeks he and Josie, they made us feel really comfortable here." Aimee nods thoughtfully. The twins only met Jack from that one time when he stopped by London, on a layover flight from New York back to Australia. He had some hours to kill and decided to call his only brother, Justin. The twins were only 7 years old and were more concerned about wreaking havoc in the house than in discovering their only surviving link to their father. Yet, he opened his arms once Callum contacted him and informed him they were to spend the next six months in Australia. No questions asked. "Don't you think we owe him the courtesy of doing him this favor?"

Aimee hated when her brother was right. "Tell him, I'm going home to shower and change my clothes so I don't smell of the ocean, and I'll be back to tune the piano. One hour only."

Callum embraces his sister and places a kiss on her temple. "Will do."

#wattpad #thepianist #romance #australia