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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 3/11

So this is where things really start to shift from the original, and this is probably one of my favorite chapters. I probably worked harder on it than any other! This is also where Neverland mythology begins to come into play. Right before starting the rewrite-a-thon, I re-read J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan to my eight year old. The famous line “all children, except one, grow up” really hit me for the first time. Wait a second, all children except one? Every version of Neverland I had ever seen, from the cartoon, to Spielberg’s Hook, to Once, portray Neverland as a place where no one ages. But that’s not what the novel says!! Then, later on, the book casually mentions that the Lost Boys are constantly changing because some get killed in battle or - get this - Pan “thins them out” when they get too old. Umm . . . say WHAT? So here’s where my story gets dark with a super sadistic Pan . . . and I’m not sorry. At all. (mwhaha)

If you haven’t noticed, all chapter titles come from Peter Pan. They are either chapter titles in that book or phrases from the book. This one, mocking kisses, actually refers in the novel to Mrs. Darling who has a “mocking kiss conspicuously in the right hand corner of her mouth” which it says not even Mr. Darling or her children can get from her. There’s tons of interpretations for that, none of which have anything to do with how I’m using it here. Here, it has to do with growing up and awakening sexuality, and of course - you know - actual lip locks. So it’s not all dark in this chapter . . .

I’ll stop being an English Lit teacher and shut up now. Except to thank, once again, the incredible mods for the @captainswanbigbang and to my betas - @shippingtheswann , @optomisticgirl , and @distant-rose . This chapter especially deserves massive thanks to Ro for her pirate expertise! And be sure to follow the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon because ALL of the fics are incredible!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: A little over 7k in this chapter (all chapters will be rather lengthy from here on out)

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 16

Emma lies in bed, wide awake, staring at the wardrobe across the room. It looks eerily familiar, though she tries to tell herself that’s crazy.

Her new foster family seems incredibly nice. Even the two boys who are the couple’s real children seem excited to have her here instead of jealous. The mother even seemed embarrassed when she showed Emma her room, explaining that it used to be an office, so it didn’t have a closet. She hoped Emma liked the wardrobe she had found at an antique store.

Emma stares at the wardrobe now and thinks of Martha. Another kind foster mother and another wardrobe, almost identical to the other? Happy coincidences like that don’t happen. At least not to Emma Swan.

She huffs and rolls over on her side, and tries not to think about the little boy with the soulful blue eyes. He was just an imaginary friend. A figment of her hurt soul and bruised heart. Her hand hovers over her cheek, and she inwardly berates herself. It was just a peck on the cheek, and she was ten for heaven’s sake! Correction, there was no peck on the cheek because it wasn’t real.

Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually liked her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.

Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and that pair of blue eyes from her head.

She’s just drifting off when a familiar creak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock. It startles her so much, her hand seems to act on its own and she slaps him across the cheek - hard.

“Bloody hell, Emma what was that for?”

“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought . . . I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, you’re real?”

He smiles, even as he rubs his red cheek, and it lights her up inside. “Liam didn’t think you were real either when I finally told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in the captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”

Emma winces. “Sorry I slapped you.”

Killian shrugs. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.

“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”

He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf-like. They’re adorable.

He’s adorable.

He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”

Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll definitely be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Robby Eddleston.”

“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.

“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”

Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”

Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.

He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s a tough lass.”

They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”

“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”

Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”

Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know you said she was a good woman.”

Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”

“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.”

Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Davy Jones locker?” she asks. “People really say that where you’re from?”

Killian looks confused. “Seamen do.”

“Oh . . . “ she trails off, her brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the difference between his world and hers.

“Nevertheless,” he continues, “I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, how has this new home been?”

Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Sarah, until I found out she was crazy.”

“Crazy? How so?”

Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”

“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”

Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But me being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”

“Hermione who?”

Emma laughs as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, Harry Potter.” He just blinks in confusion. “Books. About wizards and witches.”

“Oh,” he says with a nod, but she can tell he’s still a bit confused, and no wonder. When they were ten, he didn’t even know what a movie was. Emma finds his confusion surprisingly endearing.

Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”

Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.

Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”

He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 17, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”

Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words remind her once again that their wardrobe connects two very different worlds. She also still wonders if Killian travels through both space AND time. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says it’s only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”

They both fall silent for a moment. Emma’s not sure what to make of their bizarre situation. Emma doesn’t want to contemplate what it means if he’s actually 300 years old or something and no longer living in the 20th century, so she decides to change the subject. She turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his.

“What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”

“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”

“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”

The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”

Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”

His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”

“What does that mean?”

He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”

Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.

“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.

Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.

A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“

“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”

Killian nods and brushes one more brief kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.

The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.

“They remind me of Martha’s forget-me-nots,” she thinks to herself, “but sad, too.”

Killian: Age 16

“Get up here, little brother!”

Killian grabs his naval jacket and dashes up the ladder to the deck, grumbling under his breath about it being “younger” brother not “little.” It especially bothers him when Liam is speaking as Lieutenant Jones and not just family. Yet it seems Liam isn’t the only one loose with naval order at the moment. When Killian climbs out of the hold, he finds the rest of the crew chattering excitedly, gazes tilted upward.

“Killian!” Liam calls, racing to his side. “You almost missed the excitement!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but the captain gave me a new sextant to plot our course, and it uses star charts I’ve never seen before.”

Killian’s eyes scan the ship’s deck, his eyes landing on the men wrestling to hoist an unusual sail. He blinks, thinking surely he must be seeing things, but as the sail rises, he finds it is, in fact, made of feathers. In the center of it is the symbol of a horse with wings.

“This sail,” Captain Roberts announces from his place on the quarter deck, “is made of feathers from the wings of the famous mythical horse Pegasus.”

“Captain!” the gunman shouts breathlessly. “Enemy ships off the port bow!”

The Captain ignores the announcement and turns to Liam Jones. “Lieutenant, plot our course!”

“Should we prep the canons, sir?” the gunman asks, confusion clear on his face.

“There will be no need,” Captain Roberts dismisses with a mysterious smile, “where we are headed, they can not follow.”

Killian glances at his brother, who heads for the ship’s wheel, but Liam looks just as confused as he. Killian rushes to the railing along with several other men of lower rank. They lean forward to watch the cannonballs from the enemy splash with a mighty roar into the water a safe distance away: warning shots.

Killian almost loses his balance as the Jewel of the Realm creaks and sways, his stomach dropping. His eyes widen as he sees the ocean fall away below. He and the rest of the men gasp as the reality sets in - the Jewel is airborne.

“Quit gaping and man your stations!” Captain Roberts shouts. “We’re heading to Neverland!”

There’s a quiet murmur after the announcement, even as the men scatter to their duties. Most have never heard of such a realm, while others whisper excitedly of a place they once visited in their dreams as children. The whispered tales seem far-fetched to Killian: a place where your dreams come true, where you can eat chocolate cake all day long, swim with mermaids, and even fly? Even at ten, he would never have believed it.

Of course, a magic wardrobe that takes you to the girl of your dreams seems far-fetched, he supposes. He grins as he remembers Emma’s lips on his, her soft cheeks beneath his calloused fingers, her silken hair tickling his jaw. He has to find a way to get back to her - hopefully tonight. He isn’t sure what this mysterious mission is all about, but surely the captain’s personal cabin boy won’t be needed for whatever it is. He only has to figure out a way to sneak into Captain Roberts’ quarters when the man isn’t there -

“Killian!”

He startles at the sound of his name, and Liam chuckles, clapping a hand to Killian’s shoulder. “Everyone else is mesmerized by our journey to the skies, yet here you are daydreaming.” Liam cocks his head as he regards his younger brother. “Oh no, it’s a lass, isn’t it?”

Killian blushes as he shrugs and returns to his work. “I’m just thinking.”

“If you say so,” Liam laughs as he tugs on Killian’s arm, “but don’t let your brooding cause you to miss this.”

Killian lets his brother drag him over to the railing. The ship cuts cleanly through the white, billowy clouds, with none of the swaying he’s become used to at sea. The air is crisp and a bit cold this high, and a particularly thick cloud suddenly envelopes them.

“Incredible,” Killian whispers.

“Brother, look,” Liam whispers back.

The clouds part, and the Jones brothers gasp as the world of blue and white becomes dark and gray. An island shimmers in the distance, surrounded by a blue-tinged glow. They lean further over the railing as the ship dips and begins its descent.

The Jewel of the Realm has arrived in Neverland.

******************************************

In front of Killian, over his brother’s shoulder, is an inviting beach with palm trees that sway in the warm breeze. Behind him, the Jewel of the Realm is shrouded in an unnatural fog.

“Don’t worry, little brother, it’s a simple mission.”

Killian doesn’t even bother correcting him on the “little” part. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious? A ship full of navy men, yet only two boys can fulfill this task?”

Liam narrows his eyes. “At eighteen I am hardly a boy.”

Killian chuckles. “You better hope you’re wrong if the superstitions of the rest of the crew are to be believed.”

Liam scoffs. “I think it has more to do with the simplicity of the task. We get the plant, row back to the ship, and we’re heroes.”

Killian hopes his brother is right. Captain Roberts had Killian in mind all along to retrieve the plant, but it was supposed to be twelve year old Jim Hawkins in the row boat, not Liam. Unfortunately, the lad had broken his leg and had to be left behind at the last port. Killian tries to tell himself that the captain is just being cautious, like Liam said, tries to agree with his older brother that the tales about this place are just stories nursemaids tell to their charges at bedtime. Shadows that take you away to the island in your dreams, pixies who blow their dust on children to make them fly, mermaids that drag lazy children to their deaths - it’s all surely nonsense.

They beach the row boat, and Liam slings his satchel over his shoulder. Inside is a sketch of the plant they are looking for. Killian narrows his eyes at the shadowy jungle before them. How are they ever to find one single plant in all this vegetation?

He and Liam hear the movement at the same exact moment and spin as they draw their swords. Standing before them on the beach is a lad about Killian’s age, dressed in a tunic made of green leaves and breeches crudely made of animal skins. The smile he gives them is full of mischief and something a bit more sinister. Killian’s spine crackles with suspicion. He glances at Liam, and it’s clear his brother doesn’t see the boy as a threat at all as the elder Jones casually lowers his sword.

“Is there a king on this island, boy?”

The lad smirks. “Just me.”

Killian narrows his eyes, and the boy glances his way with a knowing grin. Liam pulls the sketch out of his satchel.

“We’re looking for this plant, do you know it?”

The boy’s eyes widen. “Dreamshade? Of course I know it. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with it. It’s the deadliest poison.”

Liam scoffs. “It isn’t poison, it’s medicine.”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Who told you that?”

“My captain.”

“He lied. This captain must be quite the ruthless killer. Nothing causes suffering like dreamshade.”

“What’s your name?” Killian asks.

“Killian, don’t waste your time, he’s just a child.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “I’m about his age. Am I just a child?”

“My name is Peter,” the boy tells them, a gleeful laugh spilling out of him, “and if you’re tired of them trying to turn you into men, you can come and play with me and my lost boys.”

“We don’t have time for games,” Liam mutters.

“Suit yourself,” Peter tells them with a shrug, “if it’s dreamshade you seek, then you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

Then, with a crowing laugh, and to the utter amazement of both Jones boys, Peter launches himself into the sky and speeds away upon the clouds back into the recesses of the forest.

“Okay,” Killian says slowly, “clearly that particular rumor was true.”

“Let’s just get this plant and get the bloody hell out of here.”

“I agree to the getting out of here part, but maybe we should proceed with caution about the plant.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Surely you don’t believe that boy over our own captain.”

Killian’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never trusted Captain Roberts completely, and besides, Peter is a native of this island. Perhaps we should -”

“Killian,” Liam cuts him off, “you don’t trust anyone.”

The smile his brother gives him softens the words, and Killian smiles back. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me in this,” Liam says with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Without order, without discipline to your superiors, this navy life won’t work.”

Killian wonders, not for the first time, if that’s the very reason this navy idea is a better fit for Liam than it is for him. Nevertheless, he sighs in resignation. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother, you know that.”

And with a nod of understanding and trust, the two of them plunge into the deep woods. The jungle is dark and damp, and Killian only has the trust in his brother’s navigational skills and his compass to find the way. Killian grips said compass in his sweaty hand, pushing aside the tendrils of fear that seek to grip his heart. There’s something ominous in this jungle, and he has the feeling they’re being watched.

Liam squints down at the sketch in his hand. “I thought the boy said this plant was abundant here.”

“Perhaps we’ve -”

Before Killian can finish his sentence, a crowing shout fills the air, and filthy boys drop from the branches above them and burst from the thick foliage on all sides. Some have arrows notched to the bows they carry, others have spears resting upon their shoulders, while still others grip daggers in their fists. All of them have smeared their faces with mud and are garbed in either bits and pieces of the nature around them or tattered remains of clothing. They snarl and gnash their teeth more like animals than humans. He and Liam pull out their swords, but they are completely surrounded. Some of the boys only reach as high as Killian’s hip, clearly only eight or nine at the most. The last thing he wants to do is kill children, even if they do appear savage. The circle of boys part to allow their leader through.

“May I introduce you to my lost boys,” Peter grins. “This island is ours with no grown ups to tell us what to do.”

Liam shakes his head. “All we want is the plant. We told you.”

Peter tilts his head as he steps closer. “You’ve already grown up.” He turns to Killian. “But you - you could join my crew. I can tell you like to play.”

For one, dreamlike moment, Killian wants to tell Peter yes. No expectations, no responsibilities - it sounds wonderful. Playing sounds nice, too. He hasn’t played since his mother passed, and when was that? How old was he? He can’t remember anymore. The parents who were supposed to be there for you and protect your innocence left, leaving you at the mercy of rough hands and sinister eyes. Grown ups were the people who stole your childhood, who tossed your plaything into the deep, dark sea. He thinks of the stuffed rabbit Emma gave him, pure white and soft, bobbing farther and farther away from him. His mind can almost see it, with that bright pink ribbon. His heart beats wildly, he sways where he stands, and -

Liam steps closer, his shoulder brushing up against Killian, and it’s that contact that snaps the sixteen year old out of it. Yes, his brother. He can’t let Liam down.

“Never.”

He expects Peter to scoff, get angry, or turn on him. Instead, his gaze takes him in and a slow, sinister smile plays across his face.

“We’ll see.”

Casually, Peter turns to one of his crew and takes the spear the lad holds. With a subtle gesture, he gives the boys a command, and they all relax their postures, holding their weapons loosely. Pan spins the spear playfully as he turns back to Lieutenant Jones.

“You still trust your captain, lieutenant?”

“Always,” Liam insists.

Peter lifts the spear and taps it gently against Liam’s chest. “Let’s test that, shall we? That plant you seek? The tip of this spear has been coated with its sap. Your captain says it is medicine, I say it’s poison. Who should you trust?”

“Liam,” Killian pleads.

Liam lifts his hand to still his brother. “I have no reason to trust you, boy.”

Peter’s eyes flash with a mixture of bloodlust and glee as he slashes the spear brutally across Liam’s chest. Liam cries out and stumbles to his knees, hand to his chest as blood stains his shirt. Killian shouts and falls to the ground beside his brother.

“Just a scratch,” Pan laughs, practically bouncing around them. The lost boys join in his revelry, spinning and giggling maniacally.

Liam groans and falls back, his body shaking. Killian catches him in his lap. Through the gash in his shirt, the wound on Liam’s chest is turning black around the edges and vines of black extend outward, spreading across his torso.

“What’s happening to him?” Killian shouts at Peter.

“Dreamshade poison. I told you. He’ll be dead in minutes.”

Killian goes pale as he looks at the boy in shock. It isn’t so much the casual way he spoke the words, but the spots of red in his eyes and the pleasure curling his lips.

“K-Killian,” Liam gasps, reaching towards his little brother with a trembling hand. Killian takes it and clasps it as tears stream down his face.

“Stay with me, brother,” Killian weeps, then he looks frantically at Peter. “Save him! Please!”

The boy shakes his head. “No one can be saved from dreamshade.”

“Killian,” Liam says again, wincing against the pain, “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sor-”

His voice cuts off and he goes limp in Killian’s arms, his hand slipping out of its hold and falling to the ground.

“No!” Killian screams. “No, no, no!”

He cradles Liam’s still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. Sobs wrack his body. He doesn’t know if the lost boys are still there or what they are doing. The whole world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really. I tried to warn him.”

Killian’s head snaps up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Anger fills his veins, but when he speaks, only despair colors his words. “He was all that I had.”

“I know,” Pan replies in a voice that almost sounds sympathetic. He crouches down next to where Killian still clutches his brother’s form. “And now that he’s gone, you finally have the look that all my lost boys share. The look of someone who is completely and utterly alone. An orphan.”

********************************************

Killian watches Pan through the flickering flames of the campfire. The branch of a sapling rests in Killian’s lap, and his fingers twist a vine around each end to make a bow. Pan plays a song on his pipes, and several of the lost boys dance about to its melody. The song calls Killian, urging him to cast aside his pain and join the dance.

But he won’t let himself.

He squints up at the sun. He guesses it’s been about thirty three hours and . . . around twenty minutes since the lost boys tossed Liam’s body into the sea. Thirty three hours and twenty minutes without Liam. His entire life, Liam has been there, and now he’s gone.

Yesterday at dawn, he snuck down to the beach. The rowboat was still there, but the Jewel of the Realm was no longer a hulking form shrouded in the fog. He had taken the rowboat out - not for long and not far - and the ship was nowhere near shore. Surely they hadn’t flown away on the Pegasus sail. Surely they would wait longer than that before giving up on the Jones brothers. He guessed they had simply sailed out of sight or found a cove to hide in. Yet despite his hopes, it’s obvious that his captain cares little for mere boys. No search party has been sent, and Killian doubts it ever will.

Peter reminds him often that Liam’s death is the captain’s fault. The fault of every grown up on that ship, actually. They never cared about you. They never believed in you. Did you really think they would let you be a hero? There’s truth to Pan’s words, Killian knows this, and he’d be lying if he said hatred for his captain didn’t burn within his breast. But he’ll also never forget that it was Pan who sliced the spear laced with dreamshade across his brother’s chest. He’ll never forget Pan’s gleeful smile of satisfaction or the spots of red in his eyes as Liam’s blood seeped his naval shirt.

Killian eyes Pan across the fire now. The dance has reached a feverish pitch, and Killian already knows, in just thirty three hours as a lost boy, that the dance will soon fall apart into a wrestling match. Killian also knows that his only hope for survival is to play the part of a lost boy. Yet despite the naval blue ripped at the knees, despite the way he crowed when they set his naval jacket on fire, despite the mud smeared across his cheeks, Killian will never stop hating Peter Pan.

“Has Peter showed you how to lace that with dreamshade?”

Killian turns to the boy who has plopped down next to him. They all have names, but he can’t remember this one. His black hair is curled tightly against his head, his teeth seem white despite their filthiness against his dark skin. Freckles are barely visible across the bridge of his nose, and his brown eyes seem different somehow from the other boys.

“You forgot my name already didn’t, you?” he chuckles. “It’s Starkey.”

“Right,” Killian mutters, biting off the end of the vine that holds the arrowhead in place.

“There’s a trick to the dreamshade so you don’t nick yourself,” Starkey continues despite Killian’s unfriendliness. “Pan doesn’t always warn the boys. Thinks it’s funny.”

Killian casts a curious glance Starkey’s way. There’s definitely something in those mahogany eyes . . .

“He’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?” Starkey asks, and Killian gets the impression he’s testing the waters somehow. The lad swallows, glancing nervously to where Peter is crowing over the inevitable wrestling match. “All boys but one grow up,” Starkey almost whispers.

Killian’s heart beats faster as he stares into the flames. “You mean,” he whispers back, not looking at his companion, “the others do?”

“I’m near thinning time,” Starkey replies, “so are Nibs and . Some are oblivious though. Ruffio, for example, he’ll no doubt stay faithful to the bitter end. I hate the look in their eyes when we turn on them.”

Killian turns his head in shock, but Starkey is slipping away into the jungle already. Starkey has obviously told him these things for a reason. But why?

As the next few weeks go by, he and Starkey have more whispered conversations, and Killian is surprised how quickly they become friends. Starkey’s tale is similar to his own, having spent time as a slave on a schooner. The only difference is that his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped, a trauma that Killian is sadly able to imagine now that Liam bled out in his arms.

Slowly, as the days go by, Starkey brings more boys into his confidence: Nibs, first, then Jooks, Noodler, Cecco, and Curly.

A hunting crew returns with a boar to roast, and that night there is a feast and a wild rumpus to follow. Though there is no alcohol, the whole thing reminds Killian of how he used to act when he’d drink too much rum. Killian feasts, he dances, even plasters a smile upon his face, but it’s all a show for Peter Pan. He can’t stop thinking of his brother for one, but there’s also Starkey’s cryptic words : thinning time.

Killian plops down, exhausted, and grabs a coconut to guzzle some of its milk. As he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, he sees Pan at his side, leaning forward and scrutinizing his face. It takes all of Killian’s willpower not to startle back. For a long moment Peter studies him, and it causes a chill to run down Killian’s spine. When Pan finally speaks, his voice holds barely contained anger and a trace of shock.

“You have a mocking kiss in the corner of your mouth.”

Killian blinks. “Wh-what are you talking about?” His mind goes to Emma, of course, not that she is ever far from his thoughts. Especially now with Liam gone, he longs for the wardrobe in Captain Roberts’ cabin and fears he may never see it again.

“There,” Pan accuses, pointing with a dirty finger, “perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. How did I not see it before?”

Killian glances around nervously as the party noises have gone silent. Several lost boys have drawn closer, concern furrowing their brows.

“He has a kiss, Peter?” one of the boys asks.

“Kisses are dangerous!” another one gasps.

“Yes,” Peter answers, his eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of red, “a mocking kiss, and one he’s very fond of too.”

Killian swallows hard as he rises to his feet. The lost boys seem to be closing the noose around him, and he looks around frantically. There seems to be no choice but to fess up, hope for mercy, though Peter doesn’t seem the merciful type.

“So I’ve kissed lasses. So what? I’m 16!”

“No,” Pan hisses, “not lasses. One lass. A special lass.”

Killian clenches both fists, his face flushing at the way Pan spits out the words. Emma is special, and he won’t deny it. Ever.

“We don’t like girls,” Peter snarls, “they fancy themselves your mother, making you wash before meals and putting you to bed at a proper time.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Um . . . I think you’re a bit confused.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t help his sass, has rarely been able to help it.

“Your brother was obvious. He’d already chosen to grow up. But you, you tricked me. You can’t be a lost boy with that kiss always mocking me.”

Killian knows a heartbeat before it happens that the lost boys will fall upon him. What he doesn’t expect is to find his old naval sword in his hand or for Starkey, Nibs, and several others to fall in line just behind him. He glances at Starkey right before the two sides clash, and the other boy winks at him knowingly.

Those on Killian’s side are all older, but they are fewer in number. And Starkey was right, not all the other boys close to thinning time are willing to turn on their leader. Rufio is the oldest and fiercest fighter, his loyalty to Pan clear in his gaze and his willingness to die. Killian guesses he is seventeen, and he’s broader and taller than Killian. Nevertheless, Killian has naval training with a sword. He holds back, however, unwilling to slaughter little boys, no matter the situation. Yet when he finds himself face to face, blade to blade, with Rufio, something shifts. Pan may not want his boys to grow up, but Rufio fights like a man. Unrefined and a bit desperate, but with strength and muscle behind it.

All skirmishes cease as the sound of the blades clashing draws everyone’s attention. Ruffio fights dirty while Killian has been taught to fight like a gentleman. At first, Rufio’s style seems to be winning when he trips Killian then flings sand in his face. Yet Killian’s training has given him muscle memory, and even with his eyes burning, he acts instinctively.

Killian’s blade pierces Rufio’s heart. The boy’s eyes widen in shock before he hits the ground, blood spreading quickly across his chest. The lost boys are silent. Chest heaving, Killian turns towards Pan, lifting his blood-stained sword.

“I have a crew of my own now,” he tells the demon child, “and we’re leaving.”

Pan narrows his eyes, and before Killian can register what’s happening, he’s taken flight and making circles around him. Pan lands just behind Killian and startles him when he speaks.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow mutiny in my ranks.”

Killian turns to face Pan, ready for a fight, but is unprepared when Peter plunges his hand into his chest. Killian gasps and chokes as Pan squeezes. Then he tugs and with a sharp pain, yanks Killian’s heart out. Killian’s mouth hangs open in shock as he presses his hand to his chest. There’s no blood. How is there no blood?

Pan lifts a glowing red object and holds it in Killian’s face - his heart. It pulses, bright red, with tiny swirls of dark flitting through it.

“Look at this, Killian Jones, you have a touch of darkness in your heart.”

Killian doesn’t know what to do, he can scarcely comprehend what is happening. He’s heard rumors of witches and warlocks who could steal a man’s heart. He never expected it of this boy, however. Killian drops to his knees as Pan squeezes his heart.

“I could crush it right now and end you,” Pan mocks gleefully, “but since you attempted to steal my crew, I’m thinking of a more fitting punishment.”

Pan leans forward and slams Killian’s heart back into his chest. In the same moment, Peter’s other hand snatches Killian’s abandoned sword and he brings it down upon Killian’s wrist, slicing off his left hand. Killian screams in pain, holding his severed appendage to his chest as he falls backwards. Starkey catches him and helps him to his feet, Nibs supports him on the other side.

Pan kicks at the lifeless hand where it lies upon the ground. “They say a vein runs from the heart right down to the tip of your left hand. Fitting don’t you think?”

Pan and his loyal followers melt into the jungle, and Killian doubles over in pain. “Leave me,” he grits out to Starkey and Nibs.

But the two former lost boys in addition to the few others who had stood at Killian’s back refuse to leave him. They drag him through the jungle in the opposite direction of the rest of Pan’s crew.

***************************************

Killian Jones stands at the top of the highest peak in Neverland. The last month has been a time of healing for him. Healing from losing his hand. Healing from the loss of his brother.

But the thirst for revenge? That hasn’t waned.

Killian looks down at the curve of metal at the end of his left arm. His jaw clenches as he gazes upon it, then back out to sea. His new crew had taken him to a couple of fairies - Tinker Bell and Tiger Lily. They had enough pixie dust between them to help him heal, though it was still a long, slow process. No amount of light magic, however, could give him back his hand.

“Hook?”

Killian turns to where Starkey stands further down the hill. That’s what his crew calls him now: Hook. His blue eyes gaze back out to sea at a familiar speck of white on the horizon.

“Get the crew together,” he tells his faithful friend. “We have ourselves a ship.”

**********************************************

For only the second time in his life, Killian Jones has bloodied his sword. Killing Rufio had been largely in self defense, and he had felt sick as he watched the boy’s life blood stain the ground. He doesn’t feel sick now as he strides amongst the naval crew he used to be a part of. He and his new crew had fought ruthlessly, and now their remaining enemies have been tied and gagged.

“If you don’t want to die today,” Killian announces, “you can pledge allegiance to me, Captain Hook.”

A choking laugh escapes the gagged mouth of the Jewel of the Realm’s captain. Killian’s eyes flash when he hears it, and he strides to Captain Roberts. He leans down and yanks the gag from the man’s mouth with his hook.

“Is something funny?” he snaps.

“You are still nothing but a boy.”

Killian leans close to the man’s ear and speaks to him in a whisper. “Really? Is that why you sent my brother and I like lambs to the slaughter? You sent mere boys to retrieve your poison?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the navy.” Roberts turns and spits in Killian’s face.

Behind Hook, his new crew of former lost boys gasp in shock. Their new leader stands erect, calmly wiping the spittle away with his handkerchief.

“What about loyalty, Roberts? When my brother and I didn’t promptly return, you sailed away and left us.” Killian clenches his jaw. “I see Hawkins is back on board. Were you returning to send him to this accursed island? Still a coward?”

Killian doesn’t need the man to answer; he knows it to be true. Hawkins stands behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Starkey, his arms crossed as he coldly assesses his captain. Killian catches the boy’s eye and Jim nods his approval before Killian hefts his sword and plunges it into Captain Robert’s shoulder. The man flings his head back and screams. Seeing the blood spill upon the deck as he pulls the sword back reminds Killian of Liam, and filled with rage, he stabs the man in the other shoulder. Whimpers color the man’s grunts of pain.

“What do you want?” he manages to choke out.

Killian raises his hook and plunges it into the man’s chest. “I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.” He twists his hook viciously before yanking it out, and the man’s lifeless body crumples to the deck.

Silence reigns on the deck as Captain Hook calmly straightens, wiping his bloody hook clean on his handkerchief. “Raise the black flag!” he shouts to Starkey. “This ship is now the Jolly Roger!”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #soul mates #childhood sweethearts #angst #slow burn

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ladyramora · 4 years

Text

Together again

Shadowbringers spoilers.

Submitted by: @lolzwaitwhat

Ramora and Y'shtola walked deeper into Rak'tika Greatwood, following a path of bright blue flowers that glowed in the shadows of the trees towards Yx'Maja, the taller of the duo scanning the area while the shorter stroked at the medallion that was to help them gain safe passage, her eyes searching for a people who had cut off all contact to the outside world centuries ago.

Thancred, Minfillia and Urianger hung farther back, their eyes searching through the wood as well, although as to what they were keeping their eyes open for, Ramora could only guess.

Since coming to this world, she had found that the one who had brought her here hadn’t realized they had pulled another warrior of light through and had no idea where she was. He knew where everyone else had popped up, as he had many people looking out for them as well as letting the Scions here know if one of their friends had slipped into the world as well and could look for them, but he had no idea where Lolz was.

She and the others had been searching for her while killing the light wardens that plagued these lands, but had not seen her anywhere. Y'shtola assured her that those who entered this part of the forest without permission or proof that they were trustworthy were often killed on sight, so it would be highly unlikely that Lolz would have stayed, even if this had been where she had arrived, but Ramora had a feeling deep in her gut that the last of her lost companions was close as they continued forward.

Suddenly they heard arrows and she and the nimble Miqo'te leapt backwards to avoid them, the heavy heads landing with powerful thuds into the ground where they had just been.

“‘twould seem we have found them.” Y'shtola purred, pleased that they had found the group they had been looking for, her head held high to look up at three armed vii wearing a sort of uniform armor. The one in the middle held a bow, most likely the one who had given them their warm welcome, the one on her right had a staff and the one on her left welded a spear.

“You tresspass on sacred grounds.” The one in the middle said, her tone powerful with a hint of an accent that made Ramora perk up a bit, a bit enamored as the vii ordered them to “Begone!” As she unleashed a volley of arrows into the air.

Ramora didn’t even have the time to be impressed with her ability to shoot so many arrows at once when she felt her stomach tense at the sight of so many arrows falling towards them and quickly grabbed at her weapon.

Only to watch as something pink flew towards the arrows from behind them and knocked them away before standing, revealing a female with a short stature, pink hair and a lack of bunny ears stand between their group and the vii, wearing the same armor as the bunny girls in the tree, a fan in each hand and no staff to be seen.

“Is-is that?” Thancred began.

“Lolz?” Ramora murmured, stiff with shock.

The figured turned and then gave them a sweet smile, “You’re fucking late again, Rammy."Lolz told her.

"TRAITOR!” The one with the spear bellowed at their savior, “THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US AFTER WE TOOK YOU IN AS OUR SISTER?!”

“Well, to be fair.” Lolz said as she lowered her stance, “These guys became like family to me before you guys did.”

the one with the spear let out a roar before leaping to the ground before charging at them.

“Wait, we did not come to-!” Y'shtola began, only for the Vii to knock her off of her feet and for Lolz to began to fight her one on one, fans verses spear.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Lolz fights with anything other than magic!” Thancred laughed as he used his sword to stop more incoming arrows from striking him or Minfillia.

“Indeed.” Urianger agreed, his tone light and somewhat amused, “If I recall, you have often said that in a battle, you prefer magic over might.”

“that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fight without magic!” she blurted, somewhat annoyed at their shock as she fought, “I just like magic better!”

Y'shtola looked up at the two other Vii still standing in the tree, “Please, we mean you no harm!” And then held up the medallion to them.

The vii with the spear stop mid strike and stared at it in awe as Y'shtola told them that they were allied with the kingdom of Ronka and that they carried the seal of the emperor.

The vii on the ground began dashing around her squinting at it at all angles.

“For the love of-” Lolz groaned, “Just ask her if you can take a closer look already!"

The vii stiffened at the command before sheepishly motioning to the medallion, Y'shtola handed it to her and she began doing a proper inspection.

Ramora finally managed to take a few steps towards her no longer lost friend, "You’re-you’re okay…”

“It appears to be GENUINE!” The spear one cried happily.

Ramora heard muffled voices from above as she took another step closer, her eyes watering as she did so.

“Are you okay?” she asked, “Because Your eyes are all shiny and it’s not the happy 'I’m gonna ride tonight’ kinda shiny…” Ramora pulled her tiny friend into a big, tight hug before she could say anymore and started to cry.

Lolz looked towards the others, who seemed to mirror her shock before she sighed and rubbed her back, “Glad you guys are okay too-” she then paused and looked to the others, “Wait a bloody second here, aren’t you three supposed to be out for the count?!” she cried, her free hand moving to point at the three who, last she saw, had been souless husks in rooms back at their base.

But before anyone could answer, the archer of the trio called out, “We acknowledge your seal, but we must be certain of it’s authenticity! Follow the azure flowers to our village, there we will judge if you are friend or foe.” She then seemed to narrow her eyes on the non-vii wearing their armor, “That goes for you too, Lolz.”

“That’s fair.” She complied, “Need me to pick up any extra food for tonight on the way back?”

The archer let out a huff, “You seem confident that your deeds will be forgiven. Or are you trying to bribe us?”

“Confident.” She replied, “Vii aren’t the kind who can be swayed with bribes.”

The archer gave her a small smile before motioning for the other two to join her and then they left. The group waited a beat before Ramora finally let go of her friend and wiped at her face as she regained her composure.

“And how, dare I ask, do you know what kind of people the Vii are?” Y'shtola asked.

“Oh, the village elder back home is a Viera, she used to babysit me all the time when I was little. I used to make her all sorts of little accessories and stuff and she’d teach me about Viera culture and how to fight with fans and basic self defense.” Lolz explained, then rubbed at her shoulder, “She’s also the reason I prefer magic to might, harder to get your ass handed to you when you’re sending blasts of magic at your enemy from a distance.”

“Couldn’t an archer attack from a distance as well?” Minfilla asked her.

“Arrows and bullets can be sent back to the source if you know how to do it.” she mumbled, then motioned towards the path of glowing flowers, “come on, the village isn’t too far and I helped the little ones hunt for a bit this morning, so there should be plenty to eat when we get there, even if we don’t see anything on the way.”

“I must say, you must have quite a diverse culture on this island of yours.” Y'shtola chuckled.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” She replied, making them chuckle.

Ramora watched in rapt attention as the last friend she’d lost led the way to the vii village, the words their group spoke seeming to be lost to the sounds of the forest and the glow of the flowers, her heart feeling light (no pun intended)

She would probably bombard Lolz with questions later and had no doubt she had questions of her own, but for now, it was just nice having all her friends back.

Lolz note: Yay! Rammy has all her friends back now!

I kinda felt bad about how I made Ramora cry in alone and when I learned she had abandonment issues… so yeah, I kept trying to think of how I could have them reunite. Then while I was playing the main story of Shadowbringers I was watching the scene where we meet the vii, I was like, hmmm, yeah, Lolz would have the kind of luck where she’d get stuck with the antisocial bunny girls who try to kill anyone who ends up in their forest without any armor or weapons… or clothes for that matter.

Also, I headcanon that Lolz had no idea she was in an entirely different world until Y'shtola explains it to her.

Why is that? Well, she woke up naked and without her bag or weapons and figured the possessed Zenos stole all her stuff and stripped her and left her in some far off place to either die or to keep her busy enough to pull a Thancred so he could do as he pleased without her interfering and upseting Ramora in the process. When she saw Vii running around, she knew she was far away from where she had been, although not much else than that, and threw a shit fit about how she was going to fucking kill the next Ascian she saw for this, but she had no idea she was in the First and not the Source since Vii and Viera have such similar cultures. And as for the Lighteaters, she just figured they were just dangerous and unfortunately common place monsters in the area as her old Viera babysitter never told her about the local monsters she dealt with growing up.

Also, Lolz has another shit fit after finding out she’s been in another world this whole time and is pissed that she couldn’t have come into this world with at least some clothes. “I HAD TO MAKE CLOTHES OUT OF DEER SKIN AND POISON IVY! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG A POISON IVY RASH LASTS, RAMMY?!”

“I’m honestly more curious where you got the rash.”

“NONE OF YOUR BLOODY BUSINESS!!”

You don’t have to post this one, I just wanted to give you a follow up story that has a happy ending after making Ramora cry in Alone. sorry if it’s not as good as the last one but I really wanted to share this with you.

#lolzwaitwhat writes #Lolz and Ram #the scions of the seventh dawn #Ryne #Lolz #yeah Ram and her abandonment issues #blame her crappy family #At least they have their friends back #ffxiv shadowbringers spoilers #ffxiv shadowbringers #shadowbringers #submission

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lemonietrinket · 5 years

Text

King and Lionheart ||| King!Jungwoo x RoyalKnight!Reader

Part One

Genres: Fantasy, some Fluff, Angst but has a happy ending! Word Count: 2533 Warnings: Grisly ideas with a lot of death but no severe descriptions of it Theme Song: King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men

AN: Based kind of closely to the lyrics of the song? It’s really good! And I didn’t intend for this to be a two-parter, but yeah it turned out that way and I’m really sorry. Hopefully, it won’t be too long until Part Two is up. Thanks for reading!

~~~

The sky was an oil painting, vast brushstrokes of emerald steadily cloaking the azure-tinted clouds that graced the night. Stars speckled the deep blue silk as if a thousand ghosts were peering down at the horror that had unfurled at the foot of the fear-stacked mountains—thistle hued rock gashes in the snow.

The streets were crowded with translucent spirits, their bodies chained in silver to their spots. Their eyes were piercing, staring into the souls of those still attached to the mortal plane, filled with sorrow and the ferocity of dry anger.

But though it should have been, their fury was not aimed at you.

The two of you picked your way through the street. Jungwoo stumbled, his eyes meeting those of the lost, the slow tears refusing to halt. A neverending cascade, striking trails across his mottled cheeks. Trembling lips were silent, the only exception being his hushed breaths that collided with the air and froze.

You watched him carefully as you stepped over rubble from the ceremonial grounds, eyes never leaving his wavering features. Golden flags were torn and muddied with charred remains at his feet, as he came to a stop at a mother’s spirit hovering at the lengths of her restraints. A fragile, swallowed whimper left his body. It felt as if it carried his whole body behind it, yet was so quiet you almost missed it.

You took to his side, standing between him and the wayward figure. Your hand cradled his shoulder, leading him away from the remnants and into the middle of the abandoned street.

You had aimed only to talk to him, but he broke, pressing his head into the furs at your neck and crying openly. His sobs remained to be the worst sound you had heard, and you had heard many things.

Creatures built like towers made of scales fashioned of the carcasses they feasted upon, whose screams grasped at the depths of your heart. Abominations crafted of salt that tore at their own injuries as they battled, forcing bloodcurdling roars so grating that you could not believe they could emanate from something that was once human. The guttural clicks from the bone crusted maws of a beast you never did fully lay eyes upon, and you praise the deities above that made that so, daily.

None of it compared to the wound his sadness inflicted.

And there he was, his eyes as warm as summer nights where a blanket was no longer needed, his voice as sweet and smooth as butternut, his smile as bright and beautiful as the moon... he was the kindest soul. He greeted magpies no matter their number, and left food grown in the royal gardens for the deer of the forest.

He was your King, and you were his lionheart. You’d fight whatever came his way—and it wasn’t simply because of the job anymore, it had moved beyond that level a long time ago—and you’d protect him no matter the cost.

You held is larger frame in your arms, a thick glove easing his hood rimmed with ermine, pure and speckled with onyx, over his light hair. As he trembled, you felt your heart twist.

None of this was his fault. If you had not opened the gate, after hearing his ‘voice’, had thought rationally about the logistics of the height of the wall and how, in the spontaneous game, he could have gotten over to the other side to call your name, everything would have been fine.

You had a hand in the disaster, meanwhile, he played no part. And yet he blamed himself.

“Don’t look at them, Woo,” you whispered reassuringly, “they may be angry, but it is not aimed at you—it never will be.”

He whined, clutching at your padded coat as he clung even closer to you.

It was a lie. It was aimed at him. Though not rightly.

He’d inherited a tumultuous throne that he hadn’t been raised for, had faced three onslaughts and the threat of war at least once, all of which caused by bad decisions on the behalf of his predecessor, his childless, wreckless cousin. The people were angry before the fourth invasion arrived, though they had mostly kept it to themselves.

It wouldn’t have a chance to outpour, at least when they were alive. Now their spirits inhabited the streets linked to their chains, and they had the chance to show their anger in their cursed form of the afterlife.

It wasn’t his fault.

Even a country with the strongest army and all the resources of the world and preparation time leaking into months could not have withstood what had massacred the city.

They called themselves the Jotun but it was foul play to call themselves by that name, as even a true Jotun would not have been able to do what they did. Their attacks left people in pain long after death, as they stole everything, including the bodies of the people left unguarded.

It was fair to say there were no survivors, besides the two of you.

Just the King and Lionheart, heading south to seek help.

Your eyes scoured the busy streets, every stall, every face, every shadow, every crevice. You saw no danger, but you could not find him anywhere. You jumped in a poor attempt to see over the heads of the masses. But his bunny smile and his long white coat were nowhere to be seen.

You’d left for the best part of an hour, waiting to see the King of the realm of Aldworth. After attempting to be granted an audience with the three previous dominions that you had passed through to no avail, the King—a lady nearly as tall as the doors she had built with her own hands—had given you the opportunity to speak.

Your King had been left outside. You knew it would have been better for him to be the one that performed the speech—the plea for aid and forces to relinquish his kingdom from the control of the Jotun—but as soon as the words had come to your lips you recognised the dimmed glow his eyes and changed your mind.

The King had let you leave as she worked with her advisors to decide, but now, yours was missing.

Crowds of people scurried from left and right, then round and round and back again. Their bodies melded and waned, shades of brown to black, like the warm earth of ice-moult. Their lungs made weak clouds, that amalgamated into one thin mist, their voices carrying like the war cry of a long-slumbered deity of thunder, and their smiles narrowed into deceit.

And then a weight smashed into your back, very nearly knocking you off-guard.

Your hand flicked upwards out of instinct, to find no hilt.

It was then you realised that the arms at your neck were not malicious, and fit snugly at your collarbones, as a certain pair had always done.

“I’m sorry!” the man exclaimed, but there was the familiar lilt of mischief in his voice.

You gazed back, feeling your back unfurl and tendons relax, to see a huge grin on his face. “Jungwoo! Where were—? What did you do?”

“Nothing!” he cried, just as he always did whenever he had something to hide.

You sighed. “Your Majesty, I’ve known you since we were children, I think I know when you’re lying to me. Now—”

He suddenly let go, swinging round to look at you, face to face.

That was something you could never quite face confidently, his intense stare. Deep irises of earth, when the ice-melt had washed away and left the ground umber in the place of pristine. Everything else you showed no fear, but with him, you felt your iron shell melt. He’d gotten them from his mother.

“I hid, because I wondered what you would do if I didn’t turn up,” he admitted, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands entwined behind his back, “but then I felt too bad, and I was scared you’d throw a man into the ocean again, so I came straight back.”

“Is that all?” You frowned, ignoring the subtle dig.

He nodded enthusiastically, whispering an apology in a tone a thread away from serious.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling. “Honestly, Your Majesty—”

“Woo! You always call me Woo, why aren’t you calling me Woo now?” he interjected, forcing his lip to quiver.

You pursed your own. “Because we are in public and it is not etiquette to refer to a monarch by nickname, and you know that, Your Majesty, now please—”

“But I like being called Woo!” he exclaimed. A few merchants sent the two of you a few unnerved glances as they passed. You responded with a glare, and it had the desired effect, as they scuttled off towards the docks.

Jungwoo seemed to go into deep thought for a brief moment, eyes wandering about somewhat vacantly before he managed to reach a conclusion. “Wait! If I order you to call me Woo, doesn’t that mean you have to?”

You opened your mouth to begin, before you halted yourself. Though it was an unexpected conclusion, Jungwoo wasn’t exactly wrong. And with his beautiful eyes glittering in the knowledge that he’d won, you had half a mind to give in. Luckily rationality kicked in, and you swiftly decided it was safer to attempt to move on.

“As I was saying, Your Majesty, I expected so much worse than you merely hiding, and so please refrain from minor tricks—”

“Oh!”

You huffed. Being held by hierarchical convention really did take the pinch of salt sometimes.

Jungwoo smiled that radiant grin that rivalled the sun as he continued. “And I bought this with the savings money!”

You were about to request as calmly as you could manage to let you finish when he unclasped his hands from behind his back to reveal a hulking great sword gripped feebly between his fingers.

It had a hilt made of what looked to be pure gold, engraved with a series of runes and pictographs, telling something of a great hero slaying an ineffable beast from the oceans. Its edge was so clear and gleaming that even you had no idea what it was fashioned of—only that it could perhaps cleave bone in two, and that it had the appearance of costing the entire lot of your savings.

Words tumbled from your tongue, quivering and broken. “What is—? Jungwoo?!”

“Look it’s alright! You needed a new one after your old one broke and this one is pretty and the seller said it was magic so—”

“Jungwoo!”

“Y/N!” he said mock-sternly, though his expression seemed to be tinted with a seriousness you rarely got to see. “You are my holy, royal, sacred, personal knight! I can’t allow you to be under-resourced. That would make me a bad king, right?” He paused, and you originally expected that it was in an effort to await your affirmation. However, it dawned on you quickly that it was worse than that. His face fell, the smile that had the power to turn even the strongest hearts to putty dissipating on his features, until you were left with only an expression of emptiness before you.

“Who am I kidding, Y/N... I’m already a bad king,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried to hold the threads of his voice together, “and not giving you a sword to help you do your job—the job that I gave you, that you didn’t ask for... that would make me the worst king known.”

His words left you stunned, a condition you hadn’t felt in so long that you couldn’t place the last time you had experienced the loss of words, the swimming of your thoughts, the lack of clarity and solutions.

When you remained unbudged, lips agape and eyes wide and concerned, he continued, “You’ve gotten me through so much, Y/N. You’re my best advisor, my oldest and closest friend, my... my only friend... you’re the last survivor of my kingdom, besides myself. You deserve much more than this, but... this is all I can give you.”

You felt your throat tighten, breath staggered. You knew you should accept the sword, but your hands stuck by your side.

The wind slowly picked up, toying with the crimson flags of the street as the people of the marketplace seemed to fade into alleyways and nowhere.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice nearly so low the breeze almost carried it away, his lip trembling as his gentle face crumpled.

It was at his unnecessary words that something snapped in your brain.

“No apologies,” you stated bluntly, swinging into gear after buffering and taking the sword swiftly in one hand, “not to me at least. We will get the kingdom back, your people back, we’ll get everything back—no matter the cost.” You weighed the weapon in your palms, scarred from numerous grapples and close encounters with the old acquaintance of Death, and raised the blade where you could see the reflections of the sky, watery and pale. “When this sword and I are done, there will not be a single Jotun left.”

“Promise me...” he began.

You lowered the sword, to meet the gaze of his watery eyes, only to find his head still bowed. “Your Majesty?”

There was a wavering exhale, as he worked up the effort to speak rather carefully, “Promise me that the cost will not be you.”

You paused. Even if you’d known him for as long as your memory allowed you to know, this man was always full of surprises. Or perhaps your ignorance had stunted your awareness to see this one coming.

“Is that what you would prefer?” you enquired clearly, turning your head to try and get a better view of his expression. “Over your sacred duties to the throne and the guilt of losing the people?”

Jungwoo didn’t move. He remained still for the longest time, beyond the point that you began to worry. You could almost hear the thoughts, whistling through his mind at the speeds of a gale, crashing like an avalanche through a village against the walls of his mind.

You were about to call his name when he finally lifted his head. His features were stone, firm-set yet saddened.

He nodded once, and you were left stunned.

“Even if the cost of my life was the only way to bring them all...?”

He nodded again, with more clarity, a determination in his eyes that you knew would not fade, no matter the words you spent. You’d only seen it once before, on the day that he asked you to be his knight, his guard for his life. You had been completely unable to turn his words down then too, if you had even wanted to.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “you are my King, Woo.” You divulged in a final glance of your reflection in the blade, before adjusting the old sheath that had remained upon your back. “And so, your word shall be done.”

The sword slotted into the leather as if it destiny was made in those pure seconds alone.

~~~

Part Two - coming soon

Masterlist

[edited: 2/04/2020]

#jungwoo #jungwoo nct #jungwoo x reader #jungwoo angst #jungwoo fic #jungwoo multiparter #nct x reader #nct imagine #jungwoo imagine #jungwoo x reader imagine #jungwoo x reader adventure #jungwoo fantasy au #jungwoo royal au #nct angst #jungwoo x reader angst #nct x reader angst

31 notes · View notes

zblackiez · 6 years

Text

A Solution Imperfect

A cool breeze.

No, a warm breeze.

No, a cool one.

He decided on in-between—a wave of pleasantness that kissed his skin all over.

The tender laughter of children swirled into his eardrums, forcing his leaden eyelids to finally lift and his world of dreams to crumble into the abyss. Light poured into his pupils, overflowed his retinas.

Huh? he wondered as he stared up at a beautiful azure sky. Marshmallowy giants of white roamed past, giving the graceful birds that soared kind company. In the center of it all hung the brilliant sun.

Like a lover, fatigue clung to him, and he couldn’t muster the courage to break her heart. So, he stayed lying on the flat surface, languid like a zombie.

Where am I?

He looked around. A mixture of grass and stone pathways showed all around him, along with humans who indulged in their existence; some relaxed on the green, feasting from picnic baskets, while others happily strolled along, hand-in-hand with a special someone. Children wore rosy cheeks and bright smiles as they played and played.

A park? he asked. The comfortableness of the wood beneath him dwindled rather fleetly. That would explain the bench.

Enough with the relationship. His consideration to beg for forgiveness zero, he cut ties with the tiredness of his bones and sat up. The sun roared for his attention, and he had to shield his eyes for a second. Soft chatter embraced him from many angles.

No one gave him even a wink of attention.

At the fountain in the grass’s center, he gazed.

What am I doing here?

He cranked the gears of his mind, hoping to open the door to his vault of memories. Locked.

“Yo,” a voice said.

He jumped a bit. And here he thought his invisibility had no rate of failure.

He turned his head to spot a teenage boy standing beside him. Age seventeen, or somewhere around there. Frame thin but not scrawny. Short. Clear skin, colored white like fresh snow. Of that same shade, a neat comb over that matched well with the emeraldness of his irises. The clothing of the mystery boy consisted of a white button-up shirt with a black vest to cover, a bowtie, dark cargo shorts, and low-top shoes.

“I see you’ve finally found your senses,” the mystery boy said politely.

“My senses?” the boy of the bench asked. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“Odigía,” the mystery boy answered.

Weird name, thought the boy of the bench.

“What’s your name?” Odigía asked.

“My name?” It rolled on the tip of his tongue, teasing him. “I . . . I don’t really remember.”

“You know, there's a trick to remembering things; doesn't work all the time, but it's better than nothing.”

“And what trick would that be?”

Odigía balled up his hand and clenched tightly.

“Make a fist,” he suggested, “then squeeze as hard as you can. Dunno the exact science behind it, but I’m pretty convinced it works. Has plenty of times for me.”

A little reluctant, the boy of the bench complied and curled his fingers.

Huh?

This familiarity. This sour nostalgia.

Why does it feel like I've done this before? A lot of times before, actually.

He decided to toss the odd curiosity aside, since the combination of letters arrived to his mind’s barren festival, one piece of text at a time.

“I’m . . .” he began. “I'm Leonardo. Leonardo Far.”

“Leonardo?” Odigía asked. “Sounds like a nice name. Your parents have good taste.”

My parents. The pictures of Leonardo’s mother and father, too, could not be fished out from his lake of memories. Only blurs and pixels would define their features.

“Why does it feel like they're so distant?” he wondered. “I could've sworn I just saw them.”

Odigía frowned. “It looks like you're forgetting some pretty important things. Are you okay?”

“Honestly, I don't know. I mean, I randomly woke up in this park, so the norm is definitely out the window.”

“Do you at least recognize this park?”

Leonardo’s eyes bounced around his surroundings.

“A little,” he answered. “I remember that fountain vaguely, but that's about it.”

A smile from Odigía. “Well, considering that that’s the only landmark here, I’d say you’re on the right track.”

“I didn’t even know I was on a track.”

From afar, a family burst out in laughter. Smiles all around.

“I have an idea,” Odigía said. “How about we walk around for a little while? Since you can remember this park, if only barely, maybe strolling around town will help jog your memory.”

Leonardo considered the idea. Whereas his mind leaned towards the journey, his limbs, heavy as steel, urged him to think long and hard before deciding.

Ultimately, he followed what others could never see.

“Okay,” he said. “Anything’s better than just sitting here.”

Odigía grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

To the best of his ability, Leonardo fought with gravity and lifted himself to his feet. His body whined, but only for a slim time, soon accepting his choice to move forward.

“Lead the way,” he said to his new companion.

“You got it.” Odigía began to saunter down a pathway of cobblestone, and Leonardo tailed close behind. The crisp air swirled into their nostrils with every step they took.

She skipped past, a little girl holding a plush bunny.

Giving his best awkward smile, Leonardo waved.

Ignored.

“Don’t feel bad,” Odigía said after hearing his partner’s sigh. “At least you tried. That counts for something.”

“If only I could feel that something,” Leonardo groaned.

The duo made their way beyond the park’s entrance, and after some turns here and some detours there, they wound up on a street belonging to a neighborhood. Modest houses stood on either side of them, boxed in by towering wooden fences.

The sun kept its shine.

“So,” Leonardo said, “what’s your story?”

“How do you mean?” Odigía asked.

“I mean, why were you there when I woke up? It looked like you were waiting for me.”

The mysterious boy fell quiet for a moment. “Let’s just say, I like being a guidance. You looked kinda out of place just laying there on that bench, so I figured I might be able to help you out.”

Leonardo looked at his partner for the oddity he made himself to be.

“You have a weird way of making friends,” he said.

“You say weird, I say different,” Odigía countered. “Everyone has their own take on what they consider normal. For me, it’s actively looking for someone to help. I like doing that.”

“To each his own, I guess.” Leonardo studied all around them. No hint of familiarity would show itself.

“Now, my question for you,” Odigía said. “Do you remember anything more?”

“Not really,” the boy of the bench answered. “I’m drawing blanks.”

A weak sigh from the guidance. “I shouldn’t have assumed something small like this would help start you back up. I guess I didn’t think hard enough.” He muttered to himself; something about being “fresh on the job.”

Is this normal for him too? Leonardo wondered.

Odigía’s face lit up.

“I know,” he said. “I have another idea.”

“I’m all ears,” Leonardo said.

“Just follow me.”

Isn’t . . . Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?

Keeping up with the rather repetitive request, the boy of no memories complied.

Eventually, he and his guidance arrived at a massive building complex made up of metal hued sapphire. Skywalks connected structures. Rows of windows allowed for limited view into the space. A parking lot, packed with a vast collection of vehicles, surrounded the whole of the building.

It tapped him on the shoulder, then flicked him in the forehead—the sprinkling of recognition.

“I . . . I remember this place,” Leonardo said softly. The routine unraveled in his head: wake up before the crack of dawn, scramble to finish assignments while scarfing down waffles, then jog to the jungle of wolf packs and misfits. “Isn’t this . . . ?”

On the face of the building, the bold letters revealed themselves: New Hope High School.

Yeah, he thought. Yeah, I’m not wrong here.

Odigía stepped forward, towards the entrance of glass doors. Leonardo followed.

“Hi, Leonardo!” someone would cheer.

“My man, Leo!” another would holler.

Sometimes I’d have bread sticking out my mouth, so they couldn’t catch my reply, Leonardo thought. But I appreciated the time they took to just notice me; I made sure they knew that.

When they reached the entrance, he braced himself. The conversation that fluttered around like birds did always manage to get his heart racing.

On the stage the boy stood, always tense before the imaginary audience.

Odigía pulled the door open, and they entered.

Silence.

No jokes being told. No person going buddy-buddy with their best friends. Only a stillness that had everyone on a leash. The cafeteria that Odigía and Leonardo walked into housed a decent crowd—a crowd that wore faces of the sorrow. No one smiled, as if the nature of joy had grown extinct, as if the Reaper roamed the halls, punishing any who dared break his atmosphere of death.

This isn’t what I remember, Leonardo thought. It isn’t supposed to be like this.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Odigía dodged the question. “Do you remember anything?”

“This is my school. Or at least, it was. Why does everyone look so sad? This place is usually as lively as could be, but right now . . .”

“Maybe something happened?” Odigía offered.

Leonardo looked around. Saw two girls holding each other tightly, sobbing into one another’s shoulders. Another, a boy, wore a torn heart on his sleeve as he drew something.

Then, it saw Leonardo. Saw right through him. A colorful poster, taped up on the wall, displaying an image of two people hugging each other. Above their heads showed the message, Everyone Has Their Battles.

His heart dropped to his stomach. His intestines twisted into intricate knots. As smooth as his own thoughts, whispers began to play in his head—sinister calls that had been birthed by Evil itself.

You’re so . . .

So . . .

Such a . . .

Why won’t they finish? the boy wondered. I know what they’re gonna say, so why won’t they say it?

The whispers ceased, gone with the wind to come back another day.

Leonardo bolted out of the school, back into the outside world.

Back to where the sun kept its shine.

His breaths refused to relax.

Odigía appeared behind Leonardo only seconds later.

“You okay, Leonardo?” he asked.

“No,” Leonardo said. “No, I’m not. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I’m not having any of it.” He swiveled his body to start walking away. “If you’re not gonna help me remember, then I’ll do it myself. I don’t need your help.”

“Leonardo, wait.”

He did.

“I’m sorry,” Odigía said. “I’m new at this, so I don’t really know how to go about helping you; not exactly, anyway.”

“‘New at this’?” Leonardo turned back around to face him. “What are you talking about?”

Odigía hesitated.

“One more place,” he finally said. “Let me take you to one more place. If that doesn’t bring you back your memories, then I’ll leave you alone. For good.”

Despite the waste of time his guidance handed to him, Leonardo found it difficult to not believe Odigía’s words. He had his messages dipped in sincerity and honesty.

“Okay,” Leonardo said, frowning. “One more place.”

Odigía smiled. “Thank you.”

Leonardo let his guidance lead him away; far, far away from the place that didn’t shine beautiful joy quite like the lost boy remembered. They strolled back into the neighborhood’s streets, then took a turn down a dirt path. At its end, there was a house—a small wooden shack that couldn’t have been bigger than an apartment room. Drapes covered the closed windows, keeping unwanted eyes from peering inside.

The memory flickered.

Leonardo gasped softly. “This is . . . ?”

Odigía approached the front door, and with a simple twist of the knob, he pushed forward and entered the home.

The boy of no memories followed.

A mess lived in the residence: smashed pots scattered across the wooden floorboard; tables had been flipped. Little light paid visit.

“What happened?” Leonardo asked.

“Why him, George? Why him?” A female’s voice—a voice that always managed to warm up his insides, always willing to dig him out of his hole, if only by an inch.

Leonardo looked towards it. There, he saw two individuals sitting against the wall: a man and a woman.

The man had a beefy build and a beard that made him look like a lumberjack. So it came as a bit of a shock when the wetness of his face showed. His eyes drowned in redness, spilling rivulets of tears.

The woman had a more slender figure but no weaknesses to fall to. Her tears dribbled down her cheeks as she clung to the beefy man with all her might. She looked like she hadn’t experienced the bliss of sleep in ages.

“He was so young, George,” she whispered. “So young.”

“I know, baby,” the man choked. “I know.”

The words slipped past Leonardo’s lips before he could even realize he had them.

“Mom? Dad?”

“You know them,” he heard Odigía point out.

“Of course I know them! They’re my mom and dad. But why are they . . . ?”

Leonardo plummeted to a world of no noise when he stared at himself—at the small portrait of him that sat right beside his sobbing mother. Two candles wearing gentle flames stood on either side of it.

“Why?” he asked. “Why are they crying? I’m right here, Mom. I’m standing right here, Dad. I’m—”

“Okay,” the gatekeeper of his memories said, “the time’s here.”

Remembrance, like a flood washing into his veins.

Dangling feet. Deprivation of oxygen. Blurriness that crept into his vision as he clawed at his throat.

The way out.

A single tear rolled down Leonardo’s cheek.

“Odigía,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“I’m dead . . . aren’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

“And the one who ended me . . .” He slowly rubbed the neck. The fangs of the noose could still be felt deep in his skin. “. . . was me?”

“I’m sorry, Leonardo,” Odigía said. “Yesterday morning, you committed suicide.”

“But why would I . . . ?”

The whispers returned to caress his ears, holding nothing back.

You’re so alone.

So worthless.

Such a waste of space.

Right, Leonardo thought, crying like a lost child. It was to get away from them. I thought that if I left here, they would finally leave me alone.

I thought that was the only way out.

“Why?” he asked. “Why is everyone else sad? Nothing was supposed to change if I disappeared. My death wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t.”

“And for some, that’s true.” Odigía said. “With or without you, Leonardo, the sun will continue to rise and fall. That little girl with the plushie will continue to laugh like it’s her last day on Earth. But to some people, you were the center of their universe, whether you realized it or not. You thought that by ridding yourself from the world, you’d erase that sadness, that emptiness, that ate away at your heart. Truth is, all you did was spread that sorrow around to the ones you love.”

“That’s not what I wanted,” Leonardo choked. “I just wanted to be happy.”

“That’s what they all say.” Odigía gave a tiny smile. “That’s even what I said. But this path does not lead to happiness; only regret.

“This is the imperfect solution.”

Leonardo stepped closer to his mother and father and crouched down to hug them as tight as he could. So warm. So loving. A feeling he’ll never forget so long as he knows his own existence.

“I’m sorry, Mom, Dad,” he said softly. “I was so selfish. I never meant to hurt you guys.”

“You’re not selfish,” Odigía promised. “You’re not weak. You’re not a coward. You’ve been fighting your monsters for so long. You held on for so long. Always, you tried your best to make others happy, even when you never were. No one can take that away from you, Leonardo, not even yourself.

“Your battle was just too much for you. I think the One Above was expecting too much. Leonardo Far, I’ll say this again: You are no coward. You are a fallen soldier, and the fallen will always be recognized as heroes.”

A closer squeeze on the two who would always inspire the boy.

“I wish I could go back,” he said.

“If I could, I’d let you,” Odigía said. “But I don’t make the rules.”

“I know. I guess all I can do now is move forward.”

“And watch over the ones who you inspired, Leonardo. There’s a bunch more people who looked up to you than you realized.”

He let go of his parents.

He let go of everything.

He joined Odigía.

“Ready to go?” Odigía asked.

Leonardo wiped his eyes. “Yeah.”

His guidance snapped his fingers to forge a glass staircase that ascended to a golden glow at the world’s roof.

“Up?” Leonardo asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be going down?”

Odigía frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I’m horrible. That’s what they always told me—the voices in my head. I couldn’t even look myself in the mirror.” Shame devoured his pupils. “I couldn’t even accept myself.”

From his guidance, a kind expression.

“The monsters in our heads,” he said, “they’re wrong. They’re nothing more than disgusting creatures who feed on our despair. Whatever you tell yourself, they deny it. In actuality, though, the only thoughts that matter are your own. What do you think, Leonardo?”

“Me? Honestly, I thought I was pretty okay.”

“And that was good enough.” Odigía started up the stairs.

Leonardo managed a small smile. I don’t want to leave this world, but I guess that’s on me.

He joined his friend, and together, they headed up to his new home.

#short story #depression #original #Mr. No Word Good #writing

4 notes · View notes

vorepizza · 7 years

Text

SHORT BIOS!

Hey there! I redid my old bios cause I wasn't satisfied with most of what I wrote. Give these new ones a read!

GEN-TEC SCIENCE SQUAD:

Robin: The cyborg scientist in formerly in charge of their Beast Handling Division, now demoted to an Unconventional Testing Outpost in Boudreaux. With her experiments split between a small laboratory and a juice bar, Robin is in charge of four clone assistants, two defective Multiflora, and a Meridian security guard. She hopes to return to her former department along with the rest of her team. Except Amber.

Epsilon: One of Robin’s first assistants, Epsilon is a tropical screech owl harpy. She runs the Aqua de Vita juice bar alongside her partner, Delta. She greets every customer with a smile, and always gets them to take part of whatever special event is happening in the bar. Alpha and Beta are absolutely enamored with her.

Delta: Robin’s other original assistant, A maine coon catgirl, with a penchant for roughhousing. She takes charge of the main setup for the special public testing events Robin instructs them to perform, as well as bartering for juice from Amber. She really likes hunting, and cowboys

Beta: An albino bunny girl, Beta was assigned to Robin’s lab after the scientist’s reassignment. There’s always a smile on her face, and she tries her best to help Robin and the others however she can. She spends a lot of time with Alpha, and the two have become very close, though this often makes them the target of one of Delta’s hunts.

Alpha: Alpha is the latest of Robin’s assistants, a naga/lamia with a disproportionately long tail compared to her smaller human half. She’s chipper and eager to please, but her naivete and impish nature have gotten her into trouble on many occasions. She was sent to Robin’s new lab from the same department as Amber and Ginger after the three of them pulled a prank on their creator.

Amber: Amber is a nectar Multiflora, a variation of the species with the ability to produce a nutritious juice from the many fruits she grows on her body. While her nectar is delicious (and slightly addictive), she refuses to give it out without compensation, which evolved into a habit of hoarding. She always gets peoples’ names and turns of phrase wrong, no matter how many times they correct her.

Ginger: A carnivorous multiflora, Ginger can grow any fruit on her body after consuming meat. She’s threatened and tried to eat Robin’s assistants and security guard many times, but being the size of a houseplant and stuck in a pot make it hard for her to back it up.

Millie: A crossover hire from Meridian Securities, Millie is a dog girl who serves as Robin’s guard. Her soft hearted nature makes her often the subject of bullying and teasing from Delta and Amber. Robin mainly has her take care of Alpha and Beta, but she’ll also be recalled for odd jobs from Meridian now and then.

LAST OF THE CRIMSON CORSAIRS:

Lavina: Lavina is an angelic Seraph who excels at cooking, partly thanks to her abilities with fire and heat. She lives on Boudreaux’s island lighthouse along with Irin and Gaige, but travels to the mainland daily to bake at her café, Seraph Sweets. Centuries ago in the Crimson Corsairs, she served as the Guele Gourmand, finding many tasty and exotic meals in her time on the high seas.

Irin: A demonic Seraph who can induce sleep and influence dreams, Irin mainly spends her time helping Lavina in her bakery, mixing up batter, infusing treats with a spell, or serving dine-in customers. While normally curt with most people, she’s recently taken interest in a particular recurring diner, and offers to take her on a charter cruise whenever she comes in, a hobby left over from her time as the Hibiscus Helmsdemon.

Gaige: Gaige is a human witch particularly skilled in enchantments, often being hired by museums and universities to identify what an artifact or relic is imbued with. Aside from this, she also acts as a representative for Lavina or Irin, especially for dubious meetings in The Siren’s Den. She was the Inceppamento Incantatore long ago, after the Corsairs rescued her from a ritual by the Voidskull Cult.

Umbra: Formerly part of The Penumbral Terror, a cursed Celestial worshipped by the Voidskull Cult, Umbra is the essence trapped inside of Gaige after an interrupted ritual. Being severed from the Terror granted Umbra independent sentience, as well as multiplying Gaige's lifetime, but takes over Gaige's body from time to time as a consequence. She had a habit of getting them into more trouble than out of it, but now she’s just a minor nuisance.

AURELIA GAMING:

Lorelei: A silver-scaled Iridescent Shieldtail lamia with a fascination for fantasy, Lorelei runs the Enchanted Forest side of her family’s gaming store. She and Reva are close friends, and run campaigns with Alex, Amber, and occasionally Trish. She loves to fight in real-life gladiator battles, and always has her gear at the ready.

Ophelia: A black-scaled Iridescent Shieldtail lamia with a fixation on science fiction, Ophelia runs the Black Hole side of her family’s gaming store. She prefers playing paintball or laser tag with Katie and Harley instead, but since they all work together, she finds ways to have fun. She has a habit of vanishing suddenly, sometimes even mid conversation.

Reva: The golden orb weaver dridder who works in the Aurelia Gaming store. She always plays a thief to Lorelei’s gladiator, but she loves teasing her coworkers when they aren't in a campaign, especially those in the Black Hole. After an after-hours game, she's been known to frequent The Siren’s Den.

Katie: Katie is just a human trying to live her life, but often finds herself the target of misfortune. She and Alex were deeply in love, but a series of tribulations resulted in Alex losing her memories and Katie being indebted to a Celestial. Whenever she can, she tries to drown her sorrows at Aqua de Vita.

Alex: Alex is a mute dog girl who had a near death experience that struck her with amnesia. The only things she could remember were her step-sister Millie, and that she lives with the Aurelia twins. Her cheery attitude makes her a delight to her friends, but she gets uncomfortable whenever Katie pays her too much attention, an unfortunately all-too-often experience.

Harley: Often found dozing around the Aurelia Gaming store, Seraph Sweets, and Aqua de Vita, Harley is an incredibly sleepy fox girl. Whenever she's awake, or at least less tired, she's fidgety, feverish, and/or focused. Under one such spell, she teleported herself and Katie right into the Siren’s office, and almost lost her soul. Katie’s kept a wary eye on her roommate ever since, but still lets her handle snack runs.

THE SIREN’S DEN

Libra: Libra is a courier for the mysterious, enigmatic, and infamous captain known as the Siren. She keeps a bandana wrapped around her mouth, and her backpack is covered in cat stickers. The half-covered Meridian logo suggests she has a history with the company.

The Amazing Trish: A half-tiger magician who was desperate for work after losing her gig at the Azure Apex, Trish was brought into the Den as an entertainer by her girlfriend Soleil. When she plays solo, she usually does tricks with fire or cards, but she's recently been training in partner performances, expanding her repertoire to juggling, hypnotism, and escape acts. She loves tabletop gaming and visits the Aurelias whenever she has time to spare.

Soleil: A dullahan who works partly as an entertainer, enforcer, and bartender for The Siren. Soleil is in charge of the Den whenever her employer is out, which often leads to her using the club for a private romantic get-together with Trish. She isn't fond of Libra, and always makes sure there's some odd job to send her away on.

Pepper: Known as one of the fastest drivers in the city, Pepper is often hired as a getaway driver by patrons in the Den, and sometimes The Siren herself. For her day job, she works deliveries for both Pizza Port, and her sister Lavina. Her gluttonous appetite has required Lavina to bake a separate batch of treats for Pepper to eat instead of the intended delivery.

ILENA’S OASIS

Ilena: A Celestial who make plants bloom and water flow just by digging her hands into the earth. She created a grand Oasis when she landed on the planet, and was worshipped by many surrounded villages, who she'd either grace with her bounty or curse with a drought at her whims. Several centuries passed and she became largely forgotten, so she decided to travel the world and pick worshippers on her own, her most recent choice a Seraph from the Azure Apex, and a lamia from a store in Boudreaux.

Lyra: Lyra was a masseuse at the famous mountain temple-turned-resort Azure Apex, but was spirited away by Ilena to serve her instead. The angelic Seraph accepted this with an excessively fervid glee, instantly smitten with her Celestial patron and pledging to stay at her side. She regards Ophelia with great disdain, preferring herself as the only apple of Ilena’s eye, and starting a fight almost every time Ilena summons the lamia.

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