#this was simply me wanting to draw the view of white gold tower after like a 5h obliv sesh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

earliebirb · 3 years

Text

i’ll save you a seat

steve/tony, established relationship, canon divergence, 1673 words

(inspired by this deleted scene from the avengers [2012])

“Waiting on the big guy?”

“Ma’am?” Steve looks up from his sketchbook, eyes squinting against the sunlight.

He meets the gaze of one of the waitresses working at the café. Her long blond hair flows down to her chest and she is dressed in the café’s signature uniform: pastel orange blouse, black skirt, and a white half apron tied around her waist.

“Iron Man,” the waitress clarifies, lips quirked up in a knowing smile. “A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by.”

“Right,” Steve says, lips twitching at their inside joke. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a familiar silhouette in the distance catches his eye and breaks his train of thought. “Uh, actually…”

He nods at the sky. The waitress follows his gaze.

The object grows larger, approaching at a high speed. It morphs into a blur of red and gold that streaks across the blue sky right above them, sending a gust of wind that ruffles the waitress’ blond locks. The figure lands a short distance away from the café with a distinct metallic thunk — the sound of gold-titanium alloy hitting concrete.

All around him, people begin to whisper among themselves with excitement, some even taking out their phones to document the spectacle. Although Steve can’t really say he enjoys the attention, warmth still blooms in his chest as he observes the approaching figure. He finds himself hiding an involuntary grin behind his hand.

“Always a dramatic entrance, huh?” The waitress chuckles.

“You know it.” Steve sighs with fond exasperation. All eyes are on Tony as he walks toward the outdoor area of the café, the nanotech suit peeling away from his body. The excited murmurs and whispers increase in volume.

When Tony finally arrives at the table, he bends down to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Good morning, beloved.”

“Mr. Stark-Rogers,” the kind waitress greets with a smile. “The usual?”

“Please, Beth. I told you to call me Tony.” Tony reaches up to slide his sunglasses a few inches down the bridge of his nose, giving her a disapproving look that makes her chuckle. “And yes, please. Thank you.”

“Table’s yours as long as you like,” she says before disappearing into the indoor part of the café to relay the order. Steve knows she means it, too. She’ll make sure of it, just like she always has for the past few years.

The café had been Steve’s favorite café, at first. He visited the place often, especially during his first few weeks in the twenty-first century. He developed a fondness for their sesame seed bagels and the lovely view of Stark Tower from his favorite outdoor table, although the latter is a fact Steve would never admit to Tony even on pain of death.

However, the café quickly became Steve and Tony’s favorite café when their reluctant camaraderie bloomed into friendship all those years ago. Even before they started dating, Steve and Tony already established a weekly ritual of having brunch at the café whenever their schedules aligned.

Tony did eventually admit to Steve that he found the café’s coffee to be subpar. He did, however, insist that the café was his favorite, albeit for reasons different from Steve’s. Not for the bagels, not for the exceptional view of Stark Tower, and definitely not for the coffee, but because the café was a place full of memories. His memories of the two of them, his memories of Steve:

“That café was where I first made you laugh. Like, really laugh. I’d seen you smile or chuckle before, but that kind of full-body laughter? That was a first. And I remember thinking that… I really, really liked the way you laughed.”

It has been seven years since Steve first sat at this very table and sketched the figure of Stark Tower looming before him. Beth is still working at the café, having made her way through the ranks. Now a co-owner of the café, she has developed a friendship of sorts with Steve and Tony — both of whom she claims to be her favorite regulars. Tony likes to joke about how she probably says that to all of her regulars, something Beth always denies vehemently.

Steve turns his attention back to Tony, who has taken off and folded his sunglasses, letting them hang from the collar of his shirt.

“Would it kill you to take the elevator and walk?”

“It’s not like I do this every single time. Besides, why take the elevator when you have a flying suit? That’s just ineffective.” Tony makes a face as he pulls his chair out.

“‘S good exercise.”

“I exercise plenty.” Tony sits down on the chair across from him, scooting closer to the table. Under the table, his ankle brushes Steve’s. “Besides, we just engaged in a vigorous workout session this morning.” Tony bites his lower lip, giving Steve a lascivious wink.

“Tony,” Steve reprimands, but finds himself unable to say anything further, not when the back of his neck is heating up at the memory of what they were up to just a few hours ago. While Steve immediately showered afterward and headed straight to the café, Tony decided he wanted to sleep for a few more hours, promising to join Steve later.

Tony grins before leaning forward on his elbows to peer at Steve’s sketch.

“Which lucky building are you sketching today, honeybunch?”

He squints and frowns when instead of a building he finds a rough and nondescript sketch of a person’s face.

It could be anyone to the untrained eye, but Steve’s pen strokes are sure and confident, having rendered the same jawline countless of times.

Every single time, Tony’s figure never fails to fascinate him. Always so beautiful from every angle, in every light. Steve knows it well enough by now to be able to sketch him simply from an image in his mind’s eye.

Still, nothing beats the real thing. Steve takes in the sweep of Tony’s dark lashes and his coffee brown eyes as he appraises the drawing.

“It’s not a building,” Steve says instead.

Tony hums noncommittally, tilting his head at the sketch and giving it one last look before leaning back in his seat. “How was your morning run?”

“Uneventful.”

“Really?” Tony says distractedly, his attention on Beth who is once again approaching their table with his cup of coffee, black as midnight.

Tony engages in more small talk with Beth as she sets the cup and saucer on the table, asking after her husband and kids. There is an easy and carefree smile on his face, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

All the while, his fingers are fiddling with two sugar packets Steve knows he will only use one of. He is always buzzing with energy, parts of him always in a state of perpetual motion, finding it near impossible to stay still.

Steve also knows that he won’t finish the coffee because it wasn’t made by Steve or himself.

These little idiosyncrasies are details that make up Tony, the little quirks that only Steve knows.

The little things that make you mine, Steve thinks privately. He feels something inside him softening at the thought.

“Sorry, honey,” Tony says when Beth eventually leaves to take another table’s orders, his smile soft and affectionate. “You were saying? Running was uneventful?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, “nothing really interesting.” He admires the way sunlight turns the tips of Tony’s dark hair into a lighter shade of brown. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re still the highlight of my morning.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes, but his lips curve up into a pleased smile and his brown eyes are warm with affection as he meets Steve’s gaze. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The band of vibranium around his husband’s ring finger gleams in the late morning sunlight.

“I better be, after waking you up with one hell of a—”

“Tony!” Steve exclaims, knocking his ankle against Tony’s in warning. “Stop it.”

“What? It’s the truth! You really did enjoy it when I—”

“There are children around,” Steve hisses, casting a furtive glance at a nearby table occupied by a family of four.

Tony laughs softly, his shoulders shaking with it. Still holding his gaze, he brings Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing two feather-light kisses to the back of his hand. He continues holding Steve’s hand against his mouth, and when he speaks Steve feels his lips and the bristles of his goatee brushing his skin.

“Sorry, baby, I can’t help it.” Tony hides a smile against Steve’s knuckles. “You’re just so pretty when you blush.”

Steve looks down, avoiding Tony’s eyes in favor of staring at the cookie crumbs next to his half-full cup of coffee that has long since gone cold. His cheeks are still burning, and Tony’s words are not helping.

“See?” Tony says, before planting a kiss to his knuckles. “So pretty.”

Steve shuts his eyes with a defeated sigh. “Please just drink your coffee.”

Tony chuckles again but Steve hears the clink of ceramic, a cup being lifted from its saucer. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

He only allows himself to open his eyes when Tony gets distracted by some pigeons, immediately launching into a spiel about the one time he was attacked by a pigeon who was apparently really determined to steal his sandwich.

Steve nods along dutifully, reacting at appropriate times throughout the story, but all he can think of is that sitting there, at a café’s outdoor table on Park Avenue on a bright Sunday morning, his husband sat in front of him talking a mile a minute, is that there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

His gaze falls down to where Tony’s hand is still holding his, even when his other hand is gesturing animatedly as he tells his story.

Yes. Steve thinks, smiling helplessly at the twinkle in Tony’s eyes — the one that appears whenever he gets excited. I’m home.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

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Welcome to Faerieland - Fan Fic (last chapters)

Here we go! Last chapters of Welcome to Faerieland.

Link to full story on AO3 here.

*****

Dru and Ash landed a mile or so away from their destination, in order to avoid drawing attention to the location. As soon as their feet touched the ground, the two rocs turned around and disappeared above the treetops.

“I can walk,” Dru said and Ash offered his arm to steady her while she limped toward the general direction of the cottage. She knew it pretty well, it had sort of become a Blackthorns’ country home.

“So how do you know this place?”

“My eldest brother is dating the King of the Unseelie Court, and that’s where they meet sometimes.”

Ash whistled.

“One of your brothers is King Kieran’s lover? I think I heard about him.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty serious, although they won’t ever be able to be official about it. I guess you know what the rules are about faerie royalty’s consorts?”

“I do,” he averted his gaze and brushed a hand through his hair, in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. Dru realized it was the first time Ash had looked uncomfortable about a subject.

“A lot of rules need to be changed,” he said abruptly. “Don’t you agree?” His green eyes bore into her as he said it, as if he was desperate for her approval.

“Well, King Kieran has already been carrying out a lot of changes since he came to power. It’s just that… sometimes, it takes time. You can’t change the world overnight.”

Ash kicked a pebble. “You could, if you didn’t insist on everything being consensual. Maybe King Kieran cares too much about what people think of him... or, you know, in general.” He shrugged but there was a predatory glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and it almost made her cringe.

“You know, Ash, if what you are looking for in a sovereign is arbitrary decisions and a bitchy attitude, we have the Seelie Queen for that.”

She had expected Ash to laugh, his free, careless laugh - God, she loved it when he did that - but he seemed lost in thought.

She had to admit she had been a bit harsh. She knew the Seelie and Unseelie Courts were in much better terms now that King Arawn was dead. The Queen had appointed the Unseelie Prince Adaon as her most trusted advisor and the two of them and King Kieran met regularly to reinforce the bonds and cooperation between both realms.

Dru started humming a song and Ash paused, his green eyes widening. “Are you singing… Royals ?”

“Yeah, I love that song. Do you know it?”

“I do,” he answered, suppressing a smile.

As they walked, she sang louder - she knew the lyrics by heart - and he watched her with glittering eyes, clearly entertained.

“And we'll never be royals It don't run in our blood That kind of luxe just ain't for us We crave a different kind of buzz Let me be your ruler You can call me queen bee”

“Maybe I will,” he whispered in her ear as he tickled her, and she elbowed him playfully.

He sang along with her then - he had a beautiful tenor voice - both of them throwing their heads back at the same time to howl at the sky “And baby, I'll rule - I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule” , like a pair of wolves. They roared with laughter, Dru holding her ribs and leaning against Ash for support. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she marvelled at the fact that she had found a new friend in such a short time.

At the Academy, people either feared her because she was a Blackthorn or wanted to be friends with her simply for that same reason. Or both. She was almost a celebrity, despite herself. Only because of her last name and her eldest brothers’ hand in ending the Cold Peace in the most spectacular way. And of course, there were always the loud-mouthed bigots and moralists who were baffled by the Blackthorns’ ties with the Fair Folk and their so-called “sexual and moral depravity”. The Rosales, of course, suffered the same criticism, and Jaime had always been a comforting shoulder and reliable friend to Dru in those moments where she felt she had had too much to deal with.

She didn’t want to worry Julian, Emma, Mark or even Helen with her troubles making friends at the Academy.

She couldn’t confide in Ty, because he didn’t care at all what people thought, and was content with sticking to his close friends, Livvy and Anush. His teachers, especially Ragnor Fell and Catarina Loss were absolute fans - even if Fell would never admit it - and everyone at the Scholomance was too impressed by his obvious academic superiority - and maybe, the Carpathian lynx tailing him - to dare bother him anyway.

Ash seemed to be far away from all of this, as if he had been living as a hermit in a remote tower, which was probably close to the truth.

He was the only one outside her siblings, with the exception of Jaime of course, to treat her like an ordinary girl.

And maybe, maybe someday Ash could become more than a friend. He was nice, definitely fun, absolutely gorgeous and he had kissed her after all, even though she knew it could be meaningless where faeries were concerned. She had been waiting for Jaime to figure things out for so long, and Ash had appeared out of nowhere and had shown interest without a moment’s hesitation.

She was interrupted in her thoughts as a broad-shouldered silhouette falling from the sky dropped on the ground before them. Dru released Ash’s arm to clap both her hands on her mouth, relief washing over her. Kit, looking as angelic as ever with his bright blue eyes and tousled blond hair, fluttered his white wings tipped with gold as he advanced gleefully to greet Dru.

The reunion was cut short as he was suddenly thrown back by a figure shooting straight into him like a cannonball and from one moment to the next, Kit disappeared into a ball of black and white feathers, rolling on the grass.

It took Dru a moment to realize that Ash had disappeared from her side and that he was actually the one who had attacked Kit. She ran to separate them but soon they were shooting up, caught in a wrestling match a few feet above ground, moving so swiftly they were a blur.

Dru let out a heavy sigh before she put two fingers between her lips and whistled as loud as she could. The two figures froze - they were still grappling each other - and looked down.

“ASH! KIT! Both of you. Get down here! NOW.”

They both looked at each other.

“ASH! What the hell is wrong with you, this is my brother’s boyfriend !” Dru continued, gesturing frantically toward Kit.

Ash released Kit first, grudgingly, and they both landed softly on the floor. There was a long gash across Ash’s cheek but he was grinning like the Cheshire cat, his eyes glittering in excitement. He winked at Dru as he wiped blood from his mouth. Kit was rearranging his hair, looking pissed, and Dru realized that his knuckles were bloody and that there was a small cut on his eyebrow. Both of them seemed otherwise unharmed.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Batman ?” Kit said, glaring at Ash.

“Sorry,” Ash replied, wiping dirt from his shirt. “I took you for a psychopathic jerk who nearly killed me a few years ago. He literally kicked me and my uncle out of the place we used to live in. You look exactly like him.”

“Well, it can’t have been me since last night was the first time I ever saw you,” Kit replied sharply, wiping his bloody knuckles over his shirt.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I figured that out pretty fast. You fight like a pussy compared to him.”

“Want to say that again?” Kit lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Boys, could you please stop comparing the sizes of your dicks, so we can move on?”

Ash and Kit complied, arguing over which Batman movie was best the entire way, until the cottage came into view, a few feet away. The door opened and Jaime came out of it, running toward them.

“Dru,” he cried out. He caught up to her, and threw his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. She lost herself in his familiar and comforting scent and pressed her cheek against his torso. “Mi corazón,” he whispered softly. "We were worried sick. Cómo estás?”

Jaime brushed his hands through Dru’s hair and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She swiftly pulled back, her eyes darting to where Ash was leaning against a tree, talking to Kit, his arms crossed. He was smiling indulgently at her, as if he didn’t mind.

“I am fine, thanks to Ash,” she said, and pulled Jaime over to where Ash and Kit were standing. “Jaime, this is Ash. Ash, this is Jaime,” she introduced, waving her hand awkwardly between the two of them.

“Thank you for taking care of our precious Dru,” Jaime said, extending his hand. “We owe you one.”

“No hay de qué!” Ash replied, shaking his hand.

“Hablas español?” Jaime asked, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Solo a hombres con un excelente gusto en mujeres.” He gave Jaime a wicked grin and looked pointedly at Dru. Jaime’s face fell.

A high-pitched shriek had them whip their heads up in time to see a majestic roc land on the ground, a few feet away. Ty hopped gracefully from the giant bird and walked immediately to Dru. He was pale - even more so than usual - with deep dark circles under his gray eyes, and Dru marvelled at how gorgeous her brother was anyway, whatever state he was in. She sometimes wished she had inherited the same stunningly sharp features. Without a word, Ty knelt in front of Dru and started inspecting her wound.

“Ash, this is my brother Ty,” Dru announced proudly.

Ash started to extend his hand but Dru shook her head at him. He let it fall by his side.

“Ty, this is Ash.”

Tiberius nodded without lifting his gaze.

“Who tended to the wound?”

“I did,” Ash answered.

Ty finally stood - and Dru realized Ash was almost as tall as Ty, which was saying something, since Ty was very tall - and glanced at Ash for the first time, his gray eyes looking down under his long eyelashes and not lifting up from a spot on Ash’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said curtly.

Hesitantly, Ty put his arms around Dru in one of the rare hugs he had ever granted her. It was awkward and short, but Dru knew it meant Ty had been truly terrified of losing her.

After they released each other, Ty whirled and started walking toward the cottage. He paused after a few steps and glanced over his shoulder. The four of them had just been standing there, staring at him. “Are you coming?”

They all hurried after Ty, Dru having one arm around Ash’s, and the other around Jaime’s.

“So, tell me. Are all your brothers this handsome?” Ash asked her, as he looked Ty up and down appreciatively.

“EXCUSE ME? “ Kit interjected. His whole face had gone bright red in an instant and he started cracking his bloody knuckles. He looked poised for a second round.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Ash did not seem in the least bit concerned by Kit’s reaction.

“It’s my boyfriend you are talking about.”

“And I just said I found him attractive. Is that in any way offensive?”

Dru laughed. “No,” she said. “I am sure you were simply stating your opinion and not trying to steal Kit’s boyfriend.”

“I am not trying to steal anyone’s lover,” Ash concurred, gazing wistfully at Dru. ”I just admire beauty when I see it”.

“But he would definitely be up for sex if Ty wanted to,” Jaime muttered sarcastically under his breath.

Ash shot him a puzzled look. “Of course, I would. Why not? Kit would be welcome as well, the more the merrier.”

Kit opened his mouth but seemed too much in a shock for a witty comeback. That was a first.

Oddly enough, Dru realized she didn’t feel jealous or baffled by Ash’s statement. He was like an untamed bird breaking out of a cage, unwilling to bend to any rules of propriety. She guessed part of it was due to his fey heritage.

“Mark is the Unseelie King’s lover, the Seelie Queen keeps trying to get into Julian’s pants and now you two,” Jaime said eventually, looking over at Ty and Dru. “What is it with the Blackthorns and the Fair Folk anyway?”

“Probably the exact same thing there is with Blackthorns and any other species,” Ash said evenly.

Everyone turned a questioning look at him.

“They are hot,” he said simply, and shrugged.

Everyone laughed at that.

*****

They were all starving so they decided to have breakfast in the cottage before heading back home.

Kit, wearing an apron that had "Doughnut sandwiches are a proper meal” printed on it (and that probably belonged to Mark Blackthorn), was in the kitchen, scrambling a huge portion of eggs in a large pan with a wooden spoon. He somehow managed to make it look totally hot.

“Eggs?” Ty asked Kit as he came to stand next to him and put a hand on the small of Kit’s back.

“Yeah, I would have cooked pancakes, but we are missing a few ingredients to do that. So it will be eggs. Eggs and fruits. God knows there are plenty of fruits here.”

“You know how to cook pancakes?” Ty asked, his gray eyes widening in surprise.

Kit shot him a shy glance.

“Yeah, I… I asked Julian for his recipe. You know, in case one day I needed to cook for you…r family.”

Kit and Ty both exchanged a look that was so intimate, Jaime had to glance away. He found Ash leaning casually against the fridge, his arms crossed, and gazing at him with a smirk on his face. He looked like he owned the place and hadn’t just popped uninvited into the home of strangers. When Jaime raised a questioning eyebrow at him, Ash unfolded his arms to draw the shape of a heart in the air in front of him. Jaime rolled his eyes. He definitely didn’t like this guy.

They set the table, while Dru was in the bedroom looking for clothes.

Kit and Ty sat next to each other, their fingers intertwined under the table and their backs to the kitchen counter, which left Ash to sit across from Ty and Jaime to sit across from Kit. They had left a spot at the head of the table for Drusilla, who would have Ash on her left and Ty on her right when she came back.

Ty only had fruits on his plate, and he was eyeing Kit gulping his eggs down, as if he was reconsidering having some himself.

“Want to try?” Ash brought his fork to Ty, who flinched as if he had been stabbed.

Kit grabbed Ash’s wrist and pushed the fork away from Ty.

“Ty can use my fork if he wants to try it. He is my boyfriend, after all.”

Ash shrugged. “Yeah, no worries, I think I got that. You can tattoo it on your forehead, it will spare you from having to repeat it to every living soul you encounter on Earth.”

Ash glanced at Jaime, and said in a lower voice, directed only at him. “And it will keep other people from pining for someone they can’t have.”

“Excuse me?” Jaime turned to whisper in Ash’s ear. “What does it have to do with Dru and me?”

“I was not talking about Dru,” Ash whispered back.

They both jerked their heads up, as Dru swooped in from the bedroom then, wearing a beautiful red dress that Jaime remembered having seen on Cristina. It was much tighter on Dru, clinging to her curves and emphasizing her cleavage. Jaime swallowed. He couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on in his head.

Ash immediately stood to draw Dru’s chair and she nodded by way of thanking him. She sat on it as if it was a throne, her chin up.

Jaime glanced over at Ash, who seemed so free about his sexuality, and felt a pang of envy.

“So, what’s your deal, Ash?” Jaime blurted. Ash raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Are you…” Jaime cleared his throat. “Bixesual?”

A slow grin spread across Ash’s face. “We’ve just met and you’re already trying to fill your fact sheet about me and tick one of your little boxes?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Jaime said, feeling uncomfortable.

“I know you didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I am not offended by your question,” Ash continued in a gentler voice. “It’s just that… not everyone can fit into little boxes.” He swiftly glanced at Ty when he said it. It was a flicker movement, but lynx-eyed Ty caught it immediately.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tiberius said. “I am definitely gay.” He slipped half a banana inside his mouth then, totally oblivious of the gesture. Kit and Ash weren’t though. Kit made a noise between a snort and a chuckle and spilled the water he was drinking through his nose and all over his shirt, while Ash almost fell off his chair roaring with laughter. Dru looked at the boys with motherly affection.

Jaime stood and hurried to the kitchen to get a towel to clean the mess. When he turned, Kit was already there, leaning against the kitchen counter, extending his hand and looking at Jaime with a genuine smile that lit up his gorgeous face.

“Thanks, Jaime,” he said, as he grabbed the towel and started padding his shirt with it. The planes of his muscles stood out and could be seen right through the wet fabric.

“No problem,” Jaime mumbled, feeling his heartbeat increasing inside his chest.

He averted his gaze, past Kit, to the table, where Ty and Dru had their heads bent together, caught in a deep conversation.

Ash was peering around Ty, watching Jaime with amusement. When he caught Jaime gazing back, he stuck his tongue inside his cheek, and started moving his fist back and forth in front of his mouth, miming a blowjob.

Jaime resisted the urge to flip him the finger.

****

When breakfast was over, Dru lay sprawled on a sofa, her leg propped on Jaime’s lap, and Ash was examining the sound system, so he could put music on.

Kit and Ty had disappeared. God only knew where.

“So, what was that demon attack in the middle of Faerie about?” Jaime asked.

“Ty has a theory. And you won’t like it,” Dru replied. “He believes the Unseelie prince who held us hostage has made an alliance with a Greater Demon… probably a Prince of Hell.”

Jaime tensed. If Ty believed this, it was very bad news indeed. “So why send an army of demons to attack an ally?”

Dru twirled a lock of her dark brown hair as she replied. “Two options. Either the Prince of Hell discovered that his ally had been exposed and wanted to silence him. Or… or we will soon be caught in the middle of an internal war between the Princes of Hell.”

“You mean… there might be more than one involved?”

“To quote Ty, evidence makes it more likely than not,” Dru replied, imitating her brother’s voice. Jaime felt dread wash over him.

He gently put Dru’s leg on an armrest and excused himself.

Sometimes, he felt so anxious it was all he could do not to curl up in a corner and wait for his chest pain and dizziness to fade. The mission he had carried out a few years back, where he had to stay hidden all the time, never staying in one place, had made him jumpy, poised for any threat. He didn’t want Dru to see that side of him. For her, he could only be the calm and reliable friend she was used to.

He decided to scout the rest of the cottage for an empty room. There was a corridor - leading to a bathroom? more bedrooms maybe? - on the left side of the main suite’s door.

He went through and just as he turned around a corner... stopped short.

Halfway down the corridor, Ty was leaning with his back against the wall and Kit had his hands propped on either side of him, trapping Ty in a cage of his arms… and they were kissing.

Jaime had never seen two men kissing before and he was surprised to see how tender and sweet it looked. Ty was running his long pale fingers in Kit’s blond hair while the other hand rested on the small of Kit’s back, half of it concealed under Kit’s waistband.

Kit was naked from the waist up and Jaime could see all the tanned muscles in his back contract as he deepened the kiss, eliciting soft moans from the Blackthorn boy.

They were beautiful together, two opposites inevitably drawn to each other, their bodies fitting perfectly like yin and yang.

Jaime felt his whole body react, with a familiar flutter around his stomach and heat rushing up his cheeks. He knew he should not be watching, but he couldn’t get himself to tear his gaze away.

Kit broke the kiss to trace the dark Marks swirling up Ty’s neck with the tip of his tongue. Ty’s gray eyes fluttered open and he caught sight of Jaime. His intense gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t even seem surprised or angry. He simply raised an eyebrow at Jaime as if to say Can I help you with something ?

Jaime hastily retreated to the living room.

He found Ash’s lean figure perched on the wide low table at the center of the room, dancing to the blasting sound of Beyoncé’s Single Ladies and singing along. “If you like it, you should have put a ring on it,” actually sounded very good in his velvety voice. He was twisting, hands on his hips, and throwing his legs up like a professional, while making dramatic faces at Dru, who was sprawled on the sofa, howling with laughter. As he brushed his lips with his finger, licking it and started caressing his torso while throwing his head back, shaking his beautiful silvery hair, he managed to make it look erotic and not ridiculous at all. Jaime had to admit… His moves were perfect, fluid, coordinated and he totally… pulled it off. Annoying jerk.

“Having fun without me?” Kit burst into the room - he was, fortunately, wearing a shirt this time - and immediately hopped on the table to join Ash and one could not imagine they had been wrestling less than an hour before.

When Dru caught Jaime watching them, she patted the spot on the sofa next to her and he moved to drop beside her, throwing his arm around her shoulders.

The music had changed to Rihanna’s S&M and Ash and Kit were dancing together as if they had rehearsed for hours, their dance steps coordinated and smooth. They looked like two lifelong best buddies who could guess each other’s moves. They were pulsing with energy, although obviously neither of them had slept the previous night. Ash made a show of licking Kit’s cheek, and Kit pushed him away, grimacing. When Ash arched his back to rub his buttocks against Kit’s crotch and Kit spanked him, Dru wiped tears from her eyes. Jaime imagined what it would be like to go to a nightclub with the both of them. They would most likely steal the show.

As if on cue, the next song was… Stole the show, by Kygo. As they danced close together in perfect synchrony, Jaime noticed for the first time the similarities between Ash and Kit. Though Ash was all pale, white blond hair and alabaster skin, and Kit was all golden hair and tanned muscles, there was something about their facial features, the planes of their cheeks, the lines of their jaws… They did not look like brothers, but they could easily pass for cousins.

Jaime grabbed a Hot Shadowhunters calendar that had been left on the side table and started flipping through the pages. Looking at the January page featuring Jace Herondale, he wondered why everyone said Kit was like a mini Jace when Jaime could clearly see there was a difference, now that Kit had grown into more adult features. At least to Jaime, Kit’s fey heritage was plain.

When the music changed to Charlie Puth’s Marvin Gaye, Jaime turned his head to find Ty leaning against the kitchen counter and watching the two dancers with a bemused expression, his arms crossed over his chest.

He eventually caught Kit’s eye, lifted a questioning eyebrow, and jerked his head toward the bedroom door. Kit stumbled from the table in his hurry to join Ty and followed him out of the living room and through the main bedroom door, which shut behind them.

*****

Kit jumped on the huge threesome bed as soon as they were inside the bedroom. He felt exhilarated, full of adrenaline and restless energy, and he wanted Ty so much that he was certain he would spontaneously combust if they didn’t share their bodies within the next minute.

He shot Ty a smoldering look as he lounged on the thick mattress, twisting his shoulders seductively while singing along to Charlie Puth’s Marvin Gaye, which was blasting through the thin walls.

“We got this king-size to ourselves Don't have to share with no one else Don't keep your secrets to yourself It's Kama Sutra show and tell, yeah”

Ty had folded his arms against his chest and was shaking his head, as if he didn’t know what to make of this misbehaving boy.

“Kit, you interrupted me earlier when I was trying to have a serious conversation. Will you please let me finish this time?”

"I'm in trouble." Kit continued, clapping a hand over his mouth in a dramatic oops gesture. "But I'd love to be in trouble with you."

Ty rolled his eyes. He didn’t seem ready to play along with Kit, so Kit finally stood and grabbed Ty's upper arms, forcing him to back up until he had him pinned against the wall. He started wiggling his hips, rubbing against Ty, his body swaying to the music.

“You've got to give it up to me I'm screaming, "Mercy, mercy, please!" Just like they say it in the song Until the dawn, let's Marvin Gaye and get it on.”

Kit slipped a hand under Ty’s waistband, straight into his boxer shorts, and whispered “Hello there” as he brushed his lips against Ty’s ear.

“Kit…” Ty said sharply, as a warning, though Kit could hear his breathing was uneven.

“Ty,” Kit replied with all the seriousness he could muster. “When I saw you riding that Shinigami demon carrying a crossbow, I was so turned on it was all I could do not to jump your bones there and then.”

Ty laughed softly. “It appears you have a kink involving me wielding dangerous weapons. Maybe I should bring a claymore to bed next time and threaten you with it.”

“Honey, you know that, as far as I am concerned, you carry the deadliest weapon around with you at all times,” Kit started stroking Ty’s length as if to illustrate his point. It hardened under his touch. Good, we’re heading somewhere. "I was talking about your brain of course," Kit added.

“Kit, listen to me.” Ty grabbed Kit’s wrist and pulled it out of his pants. Kit groaned. “Haven’t you noticed anything strange about Ash?”

That caught Kit’s attention. He had not expected Ash to be the subject of their conversation. He had actually hoped to avoid any kind of conversation altogether. For a little while at least.

“Well, I noticed he is an amazing fighter and dancer. I am totally up for challenging him again, either in a training room or on a dancefloor.” There was something about Ash and him fighting and dancing together, a raw yet steady energy, not like the restlessness and all consuming love he felt around Ty, but something grounding him, making him even more focused. As if he had found a kindred warrior spirit.

“He probably has no effect on you, but… I think spells have been worked on him to render him… likeable. People are inevitably drawn to him, want to protect and follow him.”

Kit swallowed, suddenly deadly serious. “Does this… work on you?”

“No. And I have several theories about that. First… Well, I am a bit different. My brain doesn’t work the same way others’ do. Second, the Blackthorns have a bit of Greater Demon blood, even if it is quite diluted. I do believe Dru genuinely likes him.”

“You mean from your ancestor Lucie Herondale?”

Ty nodded. “And the third and most important explanation is… you. You have my full loyalty.” He rested his forehead against Kit’s. “There is no way in hell I am following him, when I could follow you. ”

Kit brushed his lips over Ty’s.

“What about Jaime? He seems to dislike Ash.”

“I am still trying to figure this out. But it may be one of the reasons I am immune to it, myself.”

“What? You think the Rosales have Greater Demon blood as well?”

“Maybe. But that’s not what I was referring to.”

They were both interrupted when they heard voices raising in the living room. Jaime’s voice was the loudest. And he sounded totally pissed.

Ty hurried toward the door, and Kit followed.

****

As soon as Kit and Ty had disappeared behind the bedroom door, Ash jumped over Dru and Jaime’s heads to land behind the sofa and stole the Hot Shadowhunters calendar from Jaime’s hands. “Hey!” Jaime cried out.

Ash circled back and dropped himself next to Dru, which left her crammed between him and Jaime. As he flipped to the first page, the January page, Ash froze. He was gaping at the picture of Jace Herondale, as if he could not quite believe his eyes.

Falling for Jace Herondale, already? What a surprise.

But oddly, Ash didn’t smile or make a sarcastic comment, as Jaime would have expected. He had a sorrowful expression and a faraway look.

“This is Jace Herondale,” Dru said softly. “Surely, even you have heard of him ?”

Ash swallowed. “Yeah,” he said absently. “Yeah, I have. He looks… happy.”

“Well, of course, he is happy. He has it all, hasn’t he?” Jaime said. “War hero. Married to the love of his life. The Consul as faithful parabatai.” Ash flinched, as if each word was a needle to his skin.

“Ash, is everything okay?”

Ash shook his head as if to clear it.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just thinking about… the butterfly effect. How a single human being’s existence… or absence, can change the course of things… can change the whole world.”

Where the hell did that come from? Jaime wondered.

Ash lifted his gaze to stare at the door where Kit and Ty had disappeared. “Take Kit for instance. Who knew it would only take a hot boyfriend to turn a ruthless, bloodthirsty ruler into a harmless kitten.”

“Er- Ash, I am not sure I am following you,” Dru said gently. “What do you mean?”

Ash let out a heavy sigh and slumped back, crossing his long arms behind his head, the Hot Shadowhunters calendar left at the January page on his lap.

“Nothing, I am rambling.” It looked like he was lost in his thoughts again.

Jaime seized the opportunity to whisper in Dru’s ear. “Dru, can we find some place private to… talk?”

Dru gazed at him with a puzzled look on her face. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

Jaime didn’t get a chance to answer as the entrance door rattled at that moment and they both whipped their heads in the direction of the noise.

The door opened and Mark Blackthorn, all tousled blond hair, pointy ears and flushed cheeks, erupted inside the cottage, wearing ragged jeans and a white shirt with a message that stated, “All good things come in threes”. He paused, as if he didn’t really expect to see so many people in his living room.

Jaime immediately withdrew his arm from Dru’s shoulders and stood, but soon registered that Mark was not looking at him… He was staring at Ash who had, from one moment to the next, leapt on the table in front of them and was crouched on top of it, ready to pounce, a dangerous glint in his ice green eyes. He had moved to protect Dru from a potential threat, Jaime realized. And there was no trace of the Ash that had been goofing around with Kit a moment before. The feeling that he had been played like a fool until then hit Jaime like a freight train. They had all fallen for Ash’s laid-back, good guy act. In one instant, Ash had revealed his true, predatory nature…

“Mark!” Dru waved from the sofa, unfazed. “You already know Jaime of course and this is Ash,” she introduced. “Ash… this is my brother Mark.”

Ash relaxed from his stance and leapt off the table, flashing a bright smile and wearing his cool guy mask back on. As if he hadn’t been ready to rip Mark’s throat a second before. The abrupt change in Ash's behaviour almost gave Jaime a whiplash.

“Have we… met before?” Mark asked, looking at Ash with his brows furrowed as he closed the door.

“In any event, I wish to be properly introduced,” Ash said, evading the question. “I am Dru’s boyfriend.”

“Excuse me?” Dru interjected at the same time Jaime exclaimed “WHAT?”

Ash shrugged. “I thought our make out session had settled it.”

Jaime felt heat rush up his face. He whirled on Dru. “We’ve known each other for three years and you’ve known this guy for what? Less than twelve hours? And you’ve already kissed him?”

“To be fair, I am the one who kissed her ,” Ash said in a calm voice. “She didn’t tell me to stop, though.” He paused, his long fingers stroking his delicate chin as he pondered. “Then again, how could she have, what with my tongue being down her throat and all?”

“Ash, don’t intervene,” Dru said, her already white complexion growing paler by the second. “This is not between us.”

“Really?” Ash answered in a fake shocked expression. “I could have sworn it was my tongue down your throat.”

“What’s going on here?” Ty asked as he came out of the bedroom, followed by Kit.

“GREAT!” Jaime said. “That’s just my luck! We’re just missing Julian and…”

“And?” Julian asked, his tall broad-shouldered figure appearing in the entrance. He froze in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, his face a mask of shock as his blue-green eyes swept across the room.

“... And all my worst nightmares are reunited in the same room. OK, let’s be done with it.”

Jaime took a deep breath and caught each of the Blackthorn brothers’ gaze, one after the other.

“I. FANCY. DRU. OKAY? I like her. I know she’s sixteen, but we are good together and I want her to be my girlfriend.”

*Cough* “ Too late.” *Cough* That was Ash. Dru turned to glare at him.

“Well, that’s not even relevant anymore, is it? Since apparently… She prefers Legolas, here.” Jaime continued, waving his hand toward Ash.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I don’t even look like him.”

“Lego-who?” Ty asked, puzzled.

“He’s talking about Ash. Don’t worry honey, I’ll explain,” Kit said, speaking for the first time.

“And what the hell are you doing here?” Julian asked, turning toward Kit, a flicker of panic crossing his features.

“He just came out of the bedroom with Ty,” Mark said.

Kit lifted both his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t having sex with him,” he blurted. “I mean… not this time.” His face went red. “I mean- I am out of here. If anyone’s looking for me, I’m in the bedroom.” He whirled and paused in front of the bedroom door, his hand on the knob. “Not having sex with anyone...” he specified before he disappeared behind it.

Julian heaved a sigh and turned his gaze back to Ash.

Ash gulped. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, his green eyes wide.

“This is not the end of it. But first things first. Can anyone tell me what the hell Ash Morgenstern is doing here?”

They had barely registered the question, when a sharp cry from behind Julian had them all jump. A slender figure peered around him, red hair like flames flowing over a green velvet dress embroidered with gold. Jaime had seen enough drawings and pictures of her to recognize her instantly. The Seelie Queen.

She pushed Julian aside and ran to Ash, throwing her thin pale arms around him and burying her face in his chest, the golden circlet around her head tipping to the side as she did. “Where were you last night? I came to the house, and it was empty . I have been looking for you everywhere since!”

Dru was staring at Ash open-mouthed. He shot her an apologetic look.

“Mom, let me introduce you to Dru. Dru…” Ash cleared his throat. “Meet my mom.”

*****

Tagging @gabtapia ❤️ Hope you'll enjoy it and, of course, don't hesitate to correct my spanish ;)

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pretchatta · 3 years

Text

swoon june day 29: (ballroom) dancing

continued from day 21: fake/pretend relationship

rating: general; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 1350 words

---

The gala was in full swing around them. A band played from one end of the huge ballroom as gowns of all colours swirled over the dancefloor, precious gemstones glittering under the soft lights. Guests who weren’t dancing were talking and mingling around the edges of the room, taking every opportunity to make important connections or simply show off their wealth. It was a sickening display of the extreme inequality that was not just present but practically encouraged by the Empire.

Kanan stood with Hera to one side, each holding a drink and surveying the room. Ignoring the fact that the event could have housed and fed one of the many small villages displaced by the Emperor’s demands for more land, it was a magnificent affair. Towering columns of pale blue stone held up the arched ceiling over the curved white dancefloor. All around it, small hovering droids threaded their way through the crowd, each mounted with a gold-edged white tray. Some carried drinks or canapés, while others collected empty glasses.

So far, none of the guests present were the person they were here for. Kanan didn’t have a description of their target, but Hera had told him they would have a golden sunburst emblem displayed prominently on their outfit. The riot of colour made spotting something that would normally be distinctive difficult, but they had made a few laps of the room and were yet to see the sunburst.

“Let’s dance,” Hera said suddenly.

Kanan turned to her in surprise. “What?”

She was still scanning the room anxiously. “Everyone else seems to have had at least one, and I don’t want to stand out. Plus, I’ll have a better view of the entrance from the dancefloor.” She dumped her empty glass onto a passing droid-table and grabbed his hand. “Come on!”

Kanan barely had a moment to put down his own half-finished drink before she was dragging him towards the dancefloor.

“But I don’t know how to dance!” he protested after her.

It earned him a sceptical look over her shoulder. “How can you not know how to dance? It’s easy, just follow my lead.”

She found them a space amongst the twirling couples and turned to him, still holding his hand in one of her own. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and through the thin material of his shirt he could feel her fingers were still cool from where they’d been holding her drink. He didn’t know what to do with his other hand, and in his indecision it hovered awkwardly.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Here,” she told him, placing it on her waist. His fingers brushed the soft, bare skin of her back.

“Now try to follow my feet with yours.”

It took Kanan a few moments to register her words. Hera’s sudden closeness was very distracting. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating through the thin silks of their clothes, and the sweet smell of her perfume filled his nose. Her breath tickled his neck. It was almost too much; he was drowning in her.

Hera started to dance, and Kanan took drastic action. He reached for the Force. Its calm tranquility filled him and fortified him, drawing him out of the crowded ballroom slightly and enabling him to focus again. He followed the movement of Hera’s feet, trying to stay in time with them without getting underneath the sharp heels. The steps were simple, and it wasn’t long before they settled into a rhythm.

Kanan managed to hold himself together as they slowly traversed the dancefloor. Between his focus on the Force and on Hera’s steps he was unable to pay the slightest bit of attention to the room around him. The contact could have been dancing right next to them and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Once Hera saw that he was keeping up with her, she experimented with something different. She released his shoulder and spun away, still holding his hand, before twirling back into his arms. Her dress flared out around her calves as she moved, revealing more of her smooth, slender legs. She looked up at him with eyes that sparkled with the joy of the dance. Kanan’s heart skipped a beat; she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Kanan continued to draw from the Force and its unending serenity as they resumed their dance. He was starting to feel like the old teachings were coming back to him; with practise, he might even be able to do this with the ease he did as a child.

“I still can’t see the target,” Hera murmured in his ear, and it was enough to break his concentration. Fortunately, his feet seemed to have memorised the steps and didn’t need his brain to continue moving. It was taking everything he had to keep his voice steady as he replied.

“Maybe they’re not coming.”

“No, this contact has never let me down before. They’ll be here.” She sounded confident in her assertion, and Kanan really wasn’t in a position to argue.

The song wound down to its end, and Kanan felt relief. Being so close to Hera like this was simultaneously electrifying and agonising.

“Let’s go sit back down,” he said as the final cadence played. He started to take a step back from her, but her grip on him tightened.

“No – wait – I think that’s them!”

Her arms were suddenly steel, holding him in place as she craned her head over his shoulder.

“Where?” He tried to turn to see for himself.

“Don’t look, just keep dancing,” she hissed. “I’ll try to move us closer.”

The band started up the next song, a slower one with a different beat. Hera let go of his hand to place both of hers on his shoulders.

“Put your hands on my back,” she murmured, her lips barely an inch from his ear. “Keep following my steps.”

He did as he was told, both hands splayed against her bare skin. It was warm under his palms and he resisted the urge to stroke his fingers along her spine. She moved closer to him so that her chin rested on his shoulder and her chest pressed against his. The silk did nothing to hide the curves of her body; combined with the touch of her bare skin, it would be easy to imagine there were no clothes between them at all.

Don’t think about that, he told himself sternly. He wondered if Hera could tell he was feeling a lot warmer than usual. He reached for the Force again, trying to find comfort in its cool tranquility.

Hera led him in the new dance, slightly easier than the previous one. It was slower and had fewer steps, and it wasn’t long before Kanan could let his feet continue for him. There were more distractions with this one, however; as well as Hera being much closer, every now and then the tips of her lekku would brush the backs of his hands. Whenever that happened it was like the light touch was igniting sparks over his skin.

“I’ve got eyes on her,” Hera whispered. Kanan felt her breath over his earlobe.

His concentration faltered.

“Her?”

“Mikkian, middle-aged, blue skin. She’s got the golden sunburst on her shoulder; she’s definitely our target.”

He felt Hera slightly change the angle of their movement, guiding them across the dancefloor. The steps lengthened and Kanan needed to focus harder to follow them. If anything, the distraction helped.

The song reached its final cadence and Kanan found himself desperately hoping that Hera would let them stop dancing. Maybe even step outside for a minute. Fresh air would be good.

“She’s slipping out. This is our chance!”

A moment later Hera had slipped out of his arms and was moving away. It took his mind a few moments to catch up, and by then she’d taken his hand again and was leading him off the dancefloor.

They were now on the job: hunting an Imperial for tactical data.

This, he could do.

---

To be continued...

#kanera #swoonjune2021 #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #sw rebels #sw fic #star wars rebels #star wars: rebels #star wars fic #pretchwritta #fic #swoon june

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maleficarfic · 3 years

Text

Empress

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent

Summary: Fen'Harel sweeps across the nations like vengeance, and all that will stop him is Ellana Lavellan as his wife.

On AO3: Link

He had razed Halamshiral and built in its place a palace of crystal spires that speared the heavens with their glory. Sunlight glittering off balustrades and parapets and reflecting off towers and arches blinded the devout and the apathetic alike. It was a castle meant to inspire wonder and awe, and it did those things well. It also inspired fear. Bone-deep, icy fear that clawed at the spine and twisted the stomach, and as Ellana stepped from her carriage and regarded the magnificent work of his magic, she felt that fear.

That terror.

Magic had built this castle. The magic of the ancients, once lost and now resurrected. By the man she’d called Solas. The man who was Fen’Harel.

That one name was enough to bring out a host of feelings in her, and fear was the least of them. Her emotions roiled inside of her, a confusing mass of sensation that left her dizzy and weak, and she hated feeling weak. If only she had time to sort through her thoughts.

Time.

He tantalized her with promises of time, coming to her in dreams as he swept across Thedas with his armies. If she would just give in to him, if she would come to him, if she would love him once again, he would give her immortality. He held her in her dreams, possessed of a strength she hadn’t seen in him before, and he’d stroked her hips, her back, her breasts. “Come to me, vhenan’ara, give yourself to me, and I will give you immortality and freedom and a heritage of pride.”

She’d spat in his face. “Look what pride has wrought,” she had snarled, and that dream had dissolved.

But he was nothing if not persistent. Night after night, he had slipped into her dreams, sometimes to whisper promises, sometimes to tease her body to the point of madness, and sometimes to gloat over all he’d done. How Fen’Harel had brought nations to their knees, causing mighty Tevinter to crumble and proud Ferelden to fracture. Orlais, he promised, was next. Unless…

Unless.

Ellana lifted her chin, set her expression into one of stony indifference. She refused to be cowed by his glory, even if she had, at last, agreed to his terms. Her hand in return for peace. She was bartering her body and soul for all of Thedas.

And some dark, awful part of her delighted in it. Her body thrilled to the knowledge that he wanted her so desperately that he would stop his tireless march in exchange for her. The death would stop because she was giving herself over to him. A god desired her beyond all other things.

She took a shuddering breath, horrified at the ache between her legs. It was Fen’Harel who wanted her, the architect of her people’s destruction and, now, the vehicle for their salvation.

Closing her eyes, she took a minute to compose herself.

She was alone, without any of her companions to offer council. She hadn’t dared bring them when she finally gave into his summons. She knew what they thought of him. Half of them wanted to crush him and were still dedicated to resisting him at every turn. The other half simply despised him.

“God or no god,” Vivienne had said with fury lacing her tone, “I will not bow to him.”

A hand touched her elbow, reminding her that she wasn’t truly alone. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy, that the hand belonged to Cassandra. Cassandra would murmur a line from the Chant, tell her she was strong, tell her she was making the right choice. But it wasn’t Cassandra’s hand. The hand’s owner was the only person Ellana’s honor guard.

Once the Hero of Ferelden, now Fen’Harel’s general.

Exerting a subtle pressure, General Mahariel urged her forward. Opening her eyes, forward she went.

In their traveling together, the General hadn’t spoken a single word to her. There were stories that spoke of the Hero as a quiet soul, so Ellana hadn’t expected great amounts of conversations. Maybe a few traded pleasantries. Instead, she hadn’t even received a hello.

Mahariel guided her into the great palace. Its insides were as grand as its outsides, all glittering and glimmering and, quite frankly, breathtaking. Overwhelming. The vaulted ceilings were so high she half expected to see clouds gathered at their peaks. Instead, the ceilings were painted to look like the sky, and starlight glittered in their far reaches.

Magic crackled over her skin. Even a warrior like her could feel it. It pressed all around her, a static force. It tickled her naked arms, ghosted up her legs, curled against her thighs. She stopped walking abruptly, taking long, slow breaths to steady herself. The magic felt like his. She knew well what it felt like when he touched her with the Fade, when he bent the Veil around her to caress her and leave her gasping. How many times had he done that to her in dreams? How many times had he sat, just watching, as he brought her to quaking orgasms with nothing more than the force of his will.

She swallowed a whimper, and still Mahariel said nothing.

So she straightened her back. She took a deep breath, inhaling sharply through her nose and ignoring the spice of his magic on the air. Lacing her fingers before her – ostensibly to appear composed, but truthfully to hide their shaking – she strode forward to meet her destiny.

Destiny, it turned out, was even more breathtaking than she could have imagined. Some part of her expected his throne room to be gaudy to better show off his power. It was not. It was simple, understated, made of white marble threaded through with rich veins of emerald. Golden mosaics on the walls were inspired by those they’d seen in the Temple of Mythal but were clearly crafted by Orlesian hands. They depicted scenes of elven liberation and magic. They depicted him, in his glory. But nothing about the mosaics was tacky. Nothing about any of it was tacky.

All around the throne room, conversations died. The words simply dried up, turning to ash that floated away on a cold wind. Just like her freedom. But this was the duty of a Keeper, and Ellana had no illusions about who and what she was. She was no mage, but she was Thedas’s Keeper now, and Keepers stood between the Dread Wolf and their people. She stood between him and Thedas.

As her eyes swept over the people, her heart broke. There was Tevinter’s once might Archon, now a trembling, broken man. There were rings of scars all over his body, as though someone had tried to flay him. Across from him, the King and Queen of Ferelden. They watched her with hollow eyes. Accusing eyes. If you had done this sooner, they seemed to say, our people would not have suffered and died.

She had failed.

Worst of all was the sight of Celene. Because when Ellana saw Celene, she realized that Orlais was not the last bastion of a dying world. Orlais had fallen long ago, and Celene… Celene was a shell of herself. Gone was the mighty, assured Empress. In her place stood a woman who wore the trappings of royalty without any of the power.

Briala stood beside his throne in the position of a favored retainer, and Ellana had a moment of clarity. Briala had been the first.

Finally, Ellana’s gaze shifted to him. Once Solas, now Fen’Harel, and her breath caught in her throat. He had turned from a missive held in Briala’s hands, straightening slowly. His every motion was grace given physical form. Power dripped from him, distorting the air around him. Gone was the unassuming apostate. The man on the ironwood throne, wearing cloth of gold and a cloak of midnight, crowned with flame, was a god.

His expression didn’t change from one of mild interest as he rose.

All around her, the court went to its knees. Ellana’s eyes darted from face to face, finding rage and hatred on some and devout reverence on others.

“Welcome home, my queen,” he said, striding down the dais. He stopped when he stood an arm’s length from her and extended his hand.

For Thedas, she reminded herself, but she was unable to keep her face as blank as his. He regarded her with the same kind of curiosity one reserved for ants. She felt her expression twist into one of pain.

She hated him. She loved him. She craved him. She despised him.

For Thedas.

She put her hand in his.

His eyes softened with heat and longing, and he drew her close. With barely any space between them, his magic curled around her like a palpable force. It swept over her skin, caressing her cheeks, her throat, the daring neckline of her gown. He’d give her the dress. She’d worn it as a sign of her submission, but she detested it.

“Andaran atish’an, vhenan’ara,” Fen’Harel said to her in a voice so low it rumbled between them. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the swells of her breasts.

“You summoned me,” she returned, trying not to stiffen at his greeting. Trying not to melt.

His brows rose. “Ah. I see it is to be like this between us.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing her knuckles across his lips. His tongue flicked against her skin and she ground her teeth together, ignoring the flood of wet heat between her legs. “It need not be, ma vhenan.”

“You made it this way,” she said tightly, “when you abandoned me only to come sweeping across Thedas, killing everyone who stood in your way.”

“An act of justice for our people.”

“Murder.” She whispered the word, sharing it with no one except him. “Murderer.”

A grin tipped up his lips, but it was not kind. “You see yourself as Thedas’s Keeper though you are not a mage. You view this as a failing. You did not fail, vhenan’ara, this was as inevitable as the changing of the tides.” His thumb brushed over her palm, drawing circles against her flesh, and she shuddered at the prickling heat he conjured beneath her skin.

“You crushing Thedas beneath your heel? Doing to the humans what they did to us?”

“No,” he said, nonplussed. He leaned forward, into her space. The magic that wreathed him curled around her breasts, stroking her nipples through the thin fabric, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She strangled a whimper in the back of her throat as the fingers of his freehand brushed over her cheek. “You coming to me.” He chuckled lightly, softly. “And, soon, for me. I have long dreamed of this day.”

Drawing away from her but not releasing her hand, leaving her trembling and all but panting, he turned to his court. “Let us celebrate,” he called. “Let us feast, for our empress has come at last.” And then, shifting close to her, he murmured, “Come, vhenan’ara.”

Fire washed through her, fierce and sudden, and his magic pressed between her legs. She would have stumbled if he hadn’t taken her arm. Gasping, she clung to him as an orgasm tore through her, sudden and impossible to hold out against.

She lifted her eyes to him, not sure if she should be starting at him with fury or lust, and she found him gazing back with barely concealed lust. “Come,” he said again, gently, and an echo of the pleasure rolled through her, making her legs tremble as he brought her to his throne.

Throughout the wedding, which was vaguely Dalish, and the feast, which was also vaguely Dalish, he toyed with her. He fed her from his own fingers, leaned close to whisper filthy promises in her ear, and used his magic to stroke and caress every inch of her body. She could barely lift her goblet of wine she shook so badly, and when he noticed, he plucked the glass from her hands.

“Allow me,” he murmured, and he lifted it to her lips.

She despised his proprietary behavior, as if he had the right to bring her food and drink. What made it worse was that, now, bound to him, he did have the right. It was his right and his right alone, and there wasn’t a single person in the throne room who would stop him.

“Why do you tremble so?” he asked her as he brushed his thumb over the corner of her lip. His long-fingered hand curled around the back of her neck. Slid between her shoulders. The gown he’d chosen had no back, so his caress fell on naked skin.

“Fuck you,” she breathed, arching away from his touch.

Something like a tongue licked her inner thigh. Fingers of magic caught the crotch of her smallclothes, pushing inside to stroke through the swollen, wet lips of her cunt.

“I plan to.” His voice was so steady. So assured. As if he wasn’t using his magic to wring pleasure from every inch of her body. In public. Where his defeated enemies watched. “Slowly, Ellana.” It was the first time he’d spoken her name. “So very slowly.” He brushed his lips over her ear. “Ellana.”

She went rigid, clenching her hands into fists in her lap. The tongue licking her thigh turned inward. Apparently cloth was no barrier for magic because the tongue swept through her folds without any hindrance, and she gasped softly, all her muscles tightening even more.

“Ellana.”

“Enough,” she spat. “I’m your wife, your empress, at least treat me with respect.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he drew away from her. His hand lingered on her back, but the magic pressing against her cunt withdrew. “You are right, Empress,” he murmured, and he lifted a fruit from her plate, offering it to her.

After a second’s hesitation, she closed her lips around his fingers. Tit for tat, she figured, tucking the fruit to one side of her mouth. Her tongue swept over the tips of his fingers. Her teeth grazed his skin. When she released his fingers to bite into the fruit, he was watching her with wolf-like intensity, his eyes hooded. “Do not tempt me,” he said softly.

The remainder of the feast passed slowly for her, dragging by in agonizingly slow measures. His hand never left her back, and instead of being a comfort it gave her a sense of dread. Soon enough, that hand would be on her hips, her breasts. Between her legs. Before he’d returned, before he’d left her, he’d teased her mercilessly in the Fade, touching her until she screamed for him. But never once had he done anything but kiss her in the physical world.

No one had done anything more than kiss her in the physical world.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to bed someone. In the Clan, there had never been time, and then once she became Inquisitor, it had always been him, and he had always been very strict about where they drew the line for physical intimacy. After him, she’d had Cullen and Blackwall both being incredibly solicitous, but she could never bring herself to do more than kiss either of them. It just seemed wrong.

And now he was leading her down a shimmering hallway into a room draped with fluttering strips of cloth, a room where the light came from the walls themselves. There were no windows, only gorgeous, vaulted arches, and though it the night was chill, warmth seeped from the very stones beneath their feet.

Neither of them, she realized with a start, were wearing shoes.

He led her to the massive bed in the center of the room. Circular, it had no head or foot, but was laden with sumptuous blankets, pillows made from silk and velvet with gilded fringe.

For Thedas, she reminded herself as he stopped beside the bed.

He released her, lifting his hands to her face. Tilting her head back, he gazed at her with a soul-shaking tenderness, his eyes soft and gentle. He was so much taller than she was, towering over her.

The wicked part of her mind whispered, For you, Ellana.

Beside him, she was so small, so vulnerable. She once thought she was physically stronger than him, but she doubted that was true. He had magical and physical strength, the wisdom of ages, and she had nothing.

“You are terrified,” he observed, and she was.

With him staring down at her, she already felt naked. Her limbs trembled, feeling weak in a way she’d never felt weak before. Even standing before Corypheus, she hadn’t felt like this. Like she was giving away part of herself. It was for the greater good, everything she did was for the greater good. Part of her would die in this room, in his arms, so that everyone else could live. So the fighting would end.

Life was a series of sacrifices. Either you sacrificed yourself or someone else, but in the end, someone had to go to the knife. All she could hope for was a quick death.

Withdrawing his hands, he stepped away from her. She watched him, swallowing hard, trembling as her stomach twisted and turned. All the food he’d fed her burned the back of her throat, but she forced it back down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her throw up. Then she thought maybe she should. Maybe it would turn him off her.

But she didn’t want to turn him off her. She just wanted things to go back to how they were before all of this, back to the times when he slipped into her dreams. When he—

All the breath left her. He had dropped his midnight cloak and shrugged out of his golden tunic revealing a body that could only be described as perfect. Seeing him in the Fade was one thing. In the Fade, things could be manipulated. He could manipulate them. Reality was… She licked her lips.

How was she supposed to hate him when he was everything she wanted?

“Ask me questions, ma vhenan,” he said as he settled on a padded bench. He didn’t look at her, but she didn’t feel as though he were being dismissive. Rather, as he unwound the lacing around his ankles and calves, he was offering her privacy. Or keeping his. “Let us relearn one another.”

She bit back a waspish first question. Demanding to know why he razed half of Thedas wouldn’t do either of them any favors. Instead, she asked, “How much older than me are you, then?”

He paused, his fingers hovering over his calves. Then he straightened, turning to her with a look of dry amusement. “I make many mountain ranges look young.”

“Cradle robber,” she muttered.

The most miraculous thing happened. He threw back his head and he laughed, a full, rich sound that made colors ripple through the air. She tasted those colors on her tongue, bursts of bright citrus, and felt them like silk against her naked arms and chest. Heat unfurled in her belly, a warm rush of need and want that had her panting.

“Was there ever any doubt?” he asked her when his laughter subsided.

She was still too stunned to answer.

He rose from his chair, naked except for his trousers, and he passed her, moving toward one of the walls. A mural covered it. A living mural of a great forest that stretched for miles, so real she thought she might be able to step into it. He touched it, brushing his fingers over the wall, and the scent of pine filled the room.

“Another question, perhaps,” he said, and he turned back to her, padding slowly toward her. He moved… simply. Still elegant, but not predatory. It was a man’s walk, not a god’s. It set her at ease.

“Do I call you Solas or Fen’Harel?”

“Are you asking who I am or which I prefer?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Solas was a mask you wore to bear your shame,” she said softly.

“Just so,” he agreed.

The setting sun poured scarlet and violet light across the room, across him, painting him in fire and midnight. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if his skin burned or froze, but she was afraid to. Afraid of what she might feel if she did. She wanted him, desperately, but he was still the Dread Wolf. She was Thedas’s Keeper. By that logic, she really should just give in to him.

“Fen’Harel,” she breathed, testing the name.

He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin. This time, when their gazes met, his was full of hunger. Desire. Heat flared in her in response, and he inhaled sharply. “Let me show you that it will not be such a burden to be my wife,” he murmured, his fingers sliding over her jaw, along the length of her ear. She shivered, allowing him to draw closer. “My Empress.”

She licked her lips, a flick of her tongue over dry skin, and he groaned softly. It was a sound of need, of weakness, of helplessness, and it made more of that delicious, electric heat crackle through her. A god wanted her. She made a god weak.

“Allow me to taste you, vhenan’ara.”

He’d moved so close that his chest brushed the tips of her breasts, a tantalizing tease. “Yes,” she whispered, hating herself for giving in. A Keeper stood against the Dread Wolf, and here she was giving in to him in the most primal and elemental way.

His mouth brushed over hers. It was hardly a kiss at all, just a simple caress. A strangled sound escaped her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and drag him against her. She’d never had the patience for these sorts of kisses, these light, teasing, ephemeral things. When she kissed someone, she liked fire and heat, passion and torment. She wanted his arms banded around her like iron, wanted him to crush her to his body as he pressed her to the bed, parted her legs, and—

Wrenching back, gasping, she pressed a hand to her chest, staring at him. Such a light touching of lips should not inspire such a conflagration. But more than that, the ferocious depths of her desire terrified her more than he did. She wanted him beyond reason, with all the strength of her spirit, and it made her shudder with uncertainty and fear.

“Ma vhenan, my Empress,” he said, so gently, so kindly.

“I…” She choked on the words. “You…” She’d faced dragons and darkspawn and terrors untold, and the simple act of going to bed with a man frightened her more than all of them.

Because he wasn’t just a man. He was a god, the one she had been taught to respect and fear more than any other. And he was the man – the god – that she loved. With everything she was, she loved him, and that should make this easier. That should make giving herself to him simple. But there was all the hurt, all the pain, and the deep, yawning stretch of the unknown.

“What frightens you so?” he asked softly. He hadn’t put his hands on her yet. Though he stood achingly close to her, if she stepped back, his arms wouldn’t cage her. His eyes searched her face, bright with wisdom, and then he let out a quiet sound of comprehension. Of wonder. “Virgin.” He uttered the word with no small measure of awe.

Balking, she turned away from him, even though she was acutely aware of how close they were. How every breath brushed her breasts against his chest. How their breath mingled in the space between their bodies. “It doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t…” She choked on the words. She hadn’t been saving herself for him. Before he left, she had fully intended on him being her first, but after that she just hadn’t wanted anyone else. It hadn’t seemed right.

One of his hands cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. He turned her gaze back to his, and his eyes were full of banked heat. Of want. Of predatory desire. She began to tremble.

“No, no,” he murmured, settling one hand on her hip. In spite of all the lust in his gaze, his touch wasn’t heavy. It was possessive, but not caging. He would let her run if she so chose.

Of course, he would probably chase her. And like it. She knew better than to run from a predator, from a wolf, so she remained in his hold, still like a deer.

“I’m not who I have or haven’t slept with,” she finally said, her voice strangled. She fisted her hands in the gauzy fabric of her skirt, twisting it, wringing it.

His teeth flashed. A feral grin. Animalistic. Unnatural. So much more than elven. “You are mine,” he growled, and he bent his face to hers, brushing his lips against hers in another of those wispy, ephemeral kisses. His gazed fixed on her own eyes, and she released her skirts to brace her hands against his chest.

He felt like fire against her palms. Fire fierce and deadly, like the sun had taken up residence in his form.

“People don’t belong to people,” she whispered against his mouth, shocked that she was arguing with a god.

“My Empress,” he returned, his voice like gravel, rough-edged and jagged. He stepped closed, into her, and she felt the hard line of his cock against her body.

Suddenly, she was in a memory, in the Fade, with him wrapped around her, kissing her, whispering the sweetest things against the point of one ear. His heart, his love, the breath in his lungs, the light by which he saw. His hope, his joy, his relief, his succor. He rubbed against her in that memory, her legs around his waist, their clothes a flimsy barrier between them. And then she was back with him, truly with him, in his arms. His lips were hot on hers, tongue tracing the line of her mouth.

She opened for him, needing that kiss to quench the fire he stoked inside her. Her arms slid around his neck, drawing him to her, against her, and it was all too much and not enough. She thought she might sob with relief that she was holding him again. That he was holding her. That it was real.

The minute his tongue touched hers, he changed. He all but dragged her against him, wrapping one arm around the small of her back so she couldn’t escape. She felt the strength in his embrace, so much greater than any man’s had a right to be, and her body answered it with a flood of wet heat and burning need. He snarled softly into the kiss, the sound one of delight not violence, and he moved her, pushed her, crowded her until her legs hit his massive bed.

Together, wrapped around one another, they tumbled down. He twisted to take the brunt of the fall, landing on his back with her on his chest, and still he kissed her. He devoured her. His tongue swept into her mouth and consumed her with a passion that stole her breath. With him, she didn’t need to breathe. He was all the air she needed.

She was trembling when he finally drew away from the kiss, his hand still in her hair, and it wasn’t from fear or uncertainty. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, because he looked at her like there was no one else alive in Thedas. Like it was just the two of them. Like there was no such thing as time or conflict or anything else.

“I need to see you,” he said, and though it was a god’s command it sounded like the plea of a desperate man.

It gave her strength. Not the kind of strength it took to swing a sword or lift a shield, but the strength that women held over men, a sexual power of mystery and allure. The power of pleasure promised by the hollows of her body.

Straddling him, she pushed herself up, freezing when the motion brought her into contact with his cock. There were still his trousers and her smalls between them, but that pressure, that rub, arrested her entirely. She gasped, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Slowly, carefully, she rocked against his cock, like she had in so many dreams, and a little moan escaped her.

“Later, ma vhenan,” he said roughly, grasping her hips and stilling her.

“Now,” she insisted, trying to move in spite of his hands and not succeeding in the slightest. He was too strong, too firm, too everything.

“Later,” he said again, rising, trapping her against his chest. “Your gown. Remove it.”

She shot him what she hoped was a venomous look as she started shrugging out of the dress. The sleeves were just caps on her arms, there was no back so there were no buttons. It was a gown for an elven queen, something he’d commissioned and sent to her. Truthfully, it seemed made for slipping into, and out of, easily.

“No.” He stilled her with gentle hands, but his expression was intense. Intent. “You have me in your power, my Empress.” He leaned close, tipping his head to the side and kissing her softly, lingering for a moment. “Kill me with it,” he breathed against her mouth.

She was panting when he drew back, a little dazed by his words. Then, slowly, she rolled her shoulder and drew one of the straps down her arm.

A quiet groan escaped him, and his eyes followed the path of the sleeve. Watched her arm pull free. Fixed on the place her scandalous décolletage started to gape and sag. His lips parted as though he were about to speak, but he didn’t. He simply turned his gaze to her other arm and waited.

There again was that feeling of power. Of control.

Emboldened by his rapt attention, she pushed lightly on his chest. “Down,” she said. He gave her an arch look, and though it pained her, she added, “Please.”

“As my Empress asks,” he murmured, and he stretched himself across the bed, still watching her fixedly. Hungrily.

Astride him still, she felt the hardness of his cock rubbing between her legs, and she had to steel herself against the faint, burgeoning pleasure of it.

Slowly, she stroked her hand over her shoulder, dragging the sleeve with it, her fingertips trailing along her skin. She gasped softly, back arching, surprised by how her own touch sent pleasure feathering through her. When she released the fabric, her bodice sagged, falling away from her breasts. They were firm and high but terribly small, and she’d always been self conscious about them.

He stared at her breasts like they were the humans’ Golden City, like they were the most beautiful things he’d ever beheld. So she lifted her arms above her head, struggling against shyness, and arched her back.

A string of Elvish she couldn’t understand flowed from his mouth, and then his mouth was on her, on her breast, sucking her deep. She cried out, stunned by the shock of pleasure that tore through her, by the sudden fire that burst in her veins. Her body curled toward his, her head bowing over his own, and she shuddered as he suckled her, as his teeth worried one hardened nub. He bit her, just hard enough to hurt, then soothed the pain with a stroke of his tongue, and she was panting, gasping, barely capable of breathing.

“Fen’Harel.” She whispered his name, and he groaned against her breast, turning to the other. His hands swept up her side, lifting her breasts for his teeth and tongue and kisses. His hips shifted under hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him. Rubbing over him. The motions were instinctive, needy, and felt so damn good.

Reality exceeded everything he’d ever done to her in the Fade. Which, admittedly, hadn’t been much. Their clothes had never come off. He’d never seen her. Never touched her like this.

His arms came around her, and he bore her gently down to the bed. Then he rose over her, staring, taking her in. The shyness overcame her then, and she started to cross her arms over her breasts.

“No,” he said firmly, catching her wrists in his hands. “Don’t hide from me, ma vhenan, my Empress.” He paused, briefly, before adding, “If you do, I will bind you to my bed. Let me drink in your beauty. Let me feast on the sight of your body.”

Her body flushed with heat at the same time her mind suddenly screamed protests at her. This was Fen’Harel. This was the man who slaughtered his way to his throne. Who had betrayed her. Who loved her, the forgiving part of her whispered. “Who talks like that?” she said aloud, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

He arched a brow. “I do. Hmm.” He ran his palm over one of her breasts, and she arched into the touch mindlessly, already addicted to the reality of him. “Hands above your head, Empress.”

She hesitated for just a moment before obeying, lifting her arms and dropping them above her head as commanded. His eyes swept over her, over her breasts and the toned musculature of her stomach. His fingers followed his eyes, dipping into the valley between her breasts and then following those lines of muscle. “You were always magnificent,” he murmured. “You still are.”

His fingers dug into the fabric of her gown and he pulled it down her legs in a single motion, pulling her smalls with the dress, and he tossed both aside. Leaving her naked. She cried out in surprise, feeling suddenly, terribly vulnerable. But instead of leaning back to stare at her, he stretched over her, curling her against him, and he kissed her.

He kissed her for what felt like hours. The tension in her melted away, replaced by sweet fire. Her body pressed against his, molded itself to his form, and he laughed into her mouth. She whimpered in response. One of his hands curled over her naked hip, pulling her leg over his, spreading her, opening her, and it didn’t frighten her. Instead, she arched against him as he ran his tongue over her lips, into her mouth. She moved sinuously against his body, his cock trapped hard and hot between them, and she moaned softly, eagerly.

“Please,” she whispered into their kiss, the fire inside her becoming too much. Too strong.

“Ah, my sweet Empress, what need have we to rush?” he asked, but he urged her onto her back, settling between her legs. Open-mouthed kissed scalded her neck, her chest. He laved her nipples with a rough tongue, and she shivered against him, whimpering. His hands swept over her sides, curling around her hips, and he rubbed himself against her, the friction of his clothing almost unbearable against her sensitive cunt.

His tongue traced the lines of her muscles. His teeth bit the arch of her hipbone. Then he drew back. He looked at her, splayed and open before him, and there was nothing but desire in his eyes. Hot, hungry desire, and she was too fascinated by it to be ashamed of her nakedness, of her openness.

One of his knuckles brushed over the outside of her sex, stroking her, and the electric pleasure of it bowed her back. She cried out, feeling as though she’d come out of her skin, and anxiety, sharp and terrible, replaced pleasure. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Release me, ma vhenan,” he said so softly she nearly missed the words.

Her eyes flew to his, and she realized she was pushing him. She didn’t want to push him. Well, that was a lie. She wanted to shove back against him. Maybe grasp his cock and stroke it to repay him for that caress between her legs. She wanted more power. More control. With his every touch, he stripped control from her even as he gave her power. Power over him.

“I…” How could she tell him the intensity of this was overwhelming her? Subsuming her? She felt like she was drowning, and it was wonderful and terrible at the same time. “I can’t.”

“This is no different from the Fade,” he said, prying her hand off his wrist. He kissed the tip of each of her fingers and then set her hand aside.

“I wasn’t naked there,” she whispered breathlessly, staring at his face like he was a solid anchor.

He slipped off the bed, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or bereft. But then his hands were at the sash holding up his trousers, pulling the knot free. He tossed the red slash of fabric aside, and she stared as he began stepping out of his trousers. Then she turned away, but not before she saw his cock, hard between his legs.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus on breathing. But breathing was next to impossible. She wanted him but was afraid of him, she loved him but she detested what he’d done. No, no! She was giving herself to him to save Thedas, not because she cared. Not because she wanted. Not because she desired.

She certainly didn’t want to see him naked.

What a lie that was.

She felt him settle beside her, felt his naked skin on hers. “Now we’re both naked,” he murmured. “Does that help?”

“No.”

His mouth found her ear, and she shivered as he traced the shell of it with his tongue. He took the point of it into his mouth, sucking lightly, and she whimpered. At the same time, his hand settled on her belly, and her eyes flew open as it crept lower. But curiosity kept her silent.

“I dreamed of touching you,” he murmured as he released her ear, as he kissed the tip. “Of dipping my fingers between your legs and finding you wet with your need for me.” She trembled as his fingers curled over her mound, slipping between the swollen lips of her sex. “I have often wondered what I would do to find you—” He broke off with a growl. “Wet,” he hissed, and she moaned as his fingers stroked her, teased her.

“Wonder no more,” she said breathlessly as he began a ruthless perusal of her body.

“Indeed.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Look at me, my Empress. Let me see your face.”

Shaking, she obeyed him as his fingers stroked her, caressed her, traversed every inch of her. He was meticulous but not dispassionate. Every time he coaxed a quiet moan or whimper from her, a restless, needy sound broke from him. His brows drew together, his lips parting. She bit hers, not to hold sound in or for any logical reason. Just because. It made him growl.

Then he slipped one finger inside her. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders hard enough to bruise, her nails digging crescents into his skin, and he snarled, dragging her against his chest. His finger curled inside her, moving hard and fast against tender, sensitive flesh, and she cried out again, her head falling back as her eyes drifted shut. All she could feel was the pleasure, the burning intensity of it, of him.

He whispered to her in Elvish as he stroked her, caressed her, as he burned her with that single finger inside her. She didn’t know the words, but she didn’t need to. She understood his intent. Either he was complimenting her or speaking filth, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was how he was touching her. It was so much more than having her own fingers inside her, so different. So surprising. He did things she’d never tried, stirring her, pressing against her, curling that finger against one spot that made her scream.

“Fen’Harel!”

He snarled against her neck, slipping another finger into her. His fingers stretched her, and there was a shocking, obscene pleasure to that. She let out a keening wail that transformed into his name and then into senseless pleas for more.

She thought he’d bring her to a swift completion.

Wrong. She was so wrong.

He tormented her, thrusting into her and building the pressure but never letting it overwhelm her. She was drowning in it, swept up in it, suffocating in it, but it was wonderful. He was wonderful, and she’d never known. She hadn’t guessed she would find this in the Dread Wolf’s arms, this pleasure, this mindless, aching need.

As he worked her body over, as she arched and twisted and begged senselessly for him to give her completion, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Beautiful,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Indescribably beautiful. You are perfection, vhenan’ara, my Empress, my wife, and you are mine.” He snarled the word. “No one else shall ever have you. No one else will touch you, taste you, fill you. You belong to me.”

“Yes, yes,” she chanted, beyond any sense of arguing with him.

“My name, Ellana.” He all but purred her name, dragging it out with sinfully rounded vowels. Her body rippled around him, and he laughed, the sound delighted. “My name, and I will give you everything.”

Arching into his hand, trying desperately to get him to touch some nameless place inside her, she whispered, “Fen’Harel.”

His thumb brushed over her clit, his fingers curled, and she came with a shattered, broken cry. Pleasure coursed through her, burned her, scalded her. It devoured her body and left her empty and formless, a piece of clay for him to remake.

Before her orgasm died, he was between her legs, spreading them wide with his hands and dipping his head. She tried to stop him, to tell him not to, but then his tongue touched her, and she was lost. Oh, she was lost to everything except him, except his touch, except the sheer agony of him.

He consumed. He devoured. His tongue ran over every part of her sex until she was shuddering and trembling beneath him, until she was barely sensible. Every thought of resisting him was gone, replaced by the singular need to have him. To be had by him.

She reached out blindly, her back bowed as she gasped his name, and he laced his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing the scar of the Anchor on her palm. She cried out, gasping, for that simple touch made her burn brighter, hotter. He laughed against her, and the sound resonated inside her, shattering her, breaking her into a thousand little pieces as she came undone for him again and again, until she lost all sense of anything but the endless pleasure.

It was dark when he slid up her body, still holding her hand. It was midnight when he finally eased into her. “Ar lath ma, vhenan’ara,” he whispered against her mouth, and she drank in the words, unable to repeat them for her murmurs of more. More of him, more of his pleasure, more of everything he could possibly give her.

There was no pain when he was finally inside her, no discomfort. Only glorious, impossible fullness. She rolled her hips against him to test the feeling, gasping with delight at the pleasure that sparked through her. Her revelation of ecstasy made him laugh again, and his laughter delighted her. She’d never seen him so pleased, so happy. But his eyes shone as he braced himself above her and thrust slowly into her, taking his time taking her.

He brought her hand to his cheek, nuzzling against her palm, and then he kissed the green slash of light. It flickered, crackled. Then he licked the mark, and she whimpered, staring at him.

Releasing her, he bent his head to her lips, teasing her with promises of kisses but making good on none of them. She chased him as he thrust into her, his pace even and steady, until the friction of his cock in her became too much to ignore. Then she wrapped herself around him and pleaded for more, for something, for some end to their dance.

“Do you want it to end?” he asked her, his lips brushing her ear again. “I could make love to you until the sun rose over the mountains and bathed us in its light. I could make love to you until days turned to weeks, my Empress.”

She gasped, straining beneath him. Sweat slicked their bodies, and they slid together so sweetly, so perfectly, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want…”

“What do you want?”

She wanted to come with his cock inside her, but he was denying her that, keeping her on the edge. She wanted him as mindless as she was.

So she did the only thing that seemed logical. She bit him, digging her teeth into the unyielding flesh of his shoulder, and he howled. Her name echoed through his room, and then he was moving against her, driving into her, his hands on her hips to hold her.

Elvish words spilled from his lips, and she understood some of them, more of them than she expected. He spoke of filling her, of completing her, of branding her with his essence. He snarled softly and dragged her mouth to his, murmuring more words into their kisses as one hand slid between them to find her clit.

He touched her, and with that touch, he ended her. Her world dissolved, and she drowned in the shattered pieces of it, crying out his name as her body clenched around him, rippled around him, grasped at him with greedy pulls to drag him deeper. And again he laughed, the god and the man jubilant and victorious.

“You are magnificent when you come,” he told her, still moving inside her, but now his thrusts were harried instead of measured. “Your sweet cunt squeezing me, your back arching, your gasps and moans.” A groan escaped him, then another. Then his hand closed hard on her hip and he jerked into her, his head falling back and his lips parting. He breathed her name as he came, as he spilled hot jets of his seed into her pliant, open body.

Her fingers curled over his shoulders, brushed over the base of his neck. “Yes, yes,” she whispered, awed by his face, by his pleasure, by the look of utter freedom and contentment he wore.

When he was finished, he dropped his forehead to hers, and for a time they stayed like that, still wrapped around each other. Their gazes locked, they simply breathed.

Then, softly, as if the words might break her if spoken to loud, he murmured, “I have waited ages for you, vhenan’ara. You are the heart that beats outside of my chest.”

She smiled at him tentatively, and because the world and its troubles seemed so far away, she said, simply, “You are everything.”

#Female Lavellan/Solas #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age: inquisition fic #fanfic #female lavellan #solas #dai

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Stronger Than Blood (7)

Chapter 7: Unlikely Prize | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

Also tagging @ayamenimthiriel

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cal charted a course back to Zeffo.

“Why’d you wanna go back there?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have a good look of the place,” Cal shifts in his seat as he reasons out, sneaking a side glance at Greez to watch out for his reaction. “Because I blacked out after being caught into a stasis detonator.”

“Oh…” Greez moaned with guilt in stringing along his words.

You made yourself comfortable while the newly-patched up ship zooms through hyperspace. From the couch at the holotable, you watch the crew busy themselves with their dashboards and computers, while you’re stuck to staring at the planet’s map projection, though you didn’t mind—it felt nice to have everything staying still and quiet for a change.

The silence, the engine hum, and the faint chirps of the dashboard computers—altogether, it was nostalgic.

You were so used to the sparks of welding guns and blaster fire that the silence was completely foreign yet comforting. You allowed your back to slump against the smooth leather cushion, the engine hum lulled you to sleep like a lullaby, and the blue light glared back at your eyes, making it feel heavier by the second.

However, the latter was immediately cut off by Cal stepping into the room with you.

“Hey, how you holding up?”

“I’m okay, just exhausted from all of… this.” you gestured at everything, referring to the skirmish back at Nalima and even repairing the Mantis did a number on your strength.

Cal sat down next to you, but he didn’t initiate a conversation. Unmoving, you examined his features: his freckles gave him a certain charm, your eyes trailed along the waving locks of his hair—the blue glow oddly mixed well with his ginger head—but what really catches you is the awkward motions he does with himself such as slouching against the couch, shaking his knee, or fiddling with the chipping of his glove.

Both of you know perfectly well that there is that one topic that’s been crawling at the back of your minds. Either of you were just waiting for the other to bring it up. Cal was too shy to bring it up. As for you, the topic was an odd conversation starter—especially if you’ve only known the guy for only a few hours.

“Back at Melgu’s place,” Cal finally started. “He called you a Serennian.”

“Yeah, I am one,”

“How’d you end up in Nalima?”

“It’s long a story,” you sighed, lightly combing your scalp with your fingers, staring at the holotable with blank eyes to avoid looking back into Cal.

Sensing that it was a bit of a hard topic for you to open up. He decided on another question.

“Were you…” he trailed off, that was enough to draw your attention back to him. “Were you ever a Jedi?”

You shake your head, “No, but… they tell me that I’m strong with the Force. I’ve only known so little about it that I honestly don’t grasp the concept in full, really.”

“Who taught you about it?”

“My mother, but she wasn’t like me. I was told that I was more sensitive, for some reason that I don’t know or can’t explain or don’t understand at all. I only knew one other person who was like me… but I don’t want to be associated with him.”

The voices, the exchanges, the words—they all rang back into your head. The conversations of your parents that you overheard, they were mostly about politics—a subject you couldn’t comprehend for your age that time.

“Apparently, that one person who is like me is a Separatist leader,” you scoffed, resenting him. Fully remembering his name from the hushed, private whispers of your mother; never has she said his first name, only his title in full—with the original family name—or simply the title alone. “And he’s no ordinary Separatist leader. He wielded a weapon like yours. A lightsaber, as you call it.”

In an instant, he put two and two together.

Cal reminisces way back to the Clone Wars, he had heard of the name from various conferences where he tagged along with his master back in the Jedi Temple. Although he and Master Tapal never had the opportunity to face him whether in combat or in a diplomatic negotiation, this particular lightsaber-wielding Separatist leader often found himself the talk of the town amongst the Senate and Jedi Council alike.

The mere recitation of his name stoked the embers of hate and anger that you have always carried for him. Your conviction that he was the one behind the murder of your mother remained unwavering all these years—her death may not be by his blade, but her blood spilled into his hands anyway.

“All my life, the only name I knew and carried was [Y/N] Moorken. I believed it to be my family’s name, but when he said our name was altered, I realized that my mother was dissociating us—my father and I—from him. I remember her telling him that I was better off never knowing him at all. I’ve heard everything—what he’s done, especially back in the Clone Wars, and I promised myself that I won’t turn out like him.”

You pull your legs to your chest, hugging your shins with your arms and resting your chin over your knees; you couldn’t maintain eye contact with Cal, your mind dwelled on the memories of those heated exchanges, the spitting of words, until it reached to the point where the sight of the shuttle exploding—with your mother in it and perhaps the assassin as well—forced you to conclude your flashbacks.

Cal noticed your flinching, but both of you sat in silence. For one, he was relieved that you had told him sooner; you had your reasons—one of them being that you sensed Cal that he was trustworthy enough, it was a combination of intuition and the Force trying to guide you in baby steps.

“Does this change anything on how you think of me?”

Your straightforwardness took Cal aback. It took a lot of guts from you to speak so bluntly like that, despite it being quite a heavy topic for you to disclose. He couldn’t imagine why you would think that he—or any of the crew—would shun you for who you are… or were, at least.

That was the only time you looked back into his eyes, playing into a turquoise to teal hue from the illumination of the holotable. You hate yourself for bringing up more detail, although you couldn’t help it; you have been looking for an outlet—such as someone to open up to—and you simply let loose. A sigh concluded your piece, half-expecting Cal to react and the other half expecting him to say nothing.

He shakes his head, “No, it doesn’t. Though, it just… rather adds up to my perspective of you.”

“Right…”

The two of you remained in your seats, a quake that signaled the Mantis’s landing, it prompted the two of you to stride towards the door. The entry ramp opened and a cold gust of wind greeted you. A few droplets of the rain carried by the clouds riddled your cheeks, as if that’s the planet’s way of kissing you welcome. Goosebumps pelted your skin due to the abrupt change of temperature—from Nalima’s warm and temperate climate to the gusty windstorm of Zeffo.

“I’ll be away in a few minutes, this shouldn’t take long,”

“Where will you go?”

Cal points to his north.

“I won’t be long there, unless of course I end up winding into the wrong way,”

You chuckle, “I doubt it.”

“Are you coming with?”

You stammered at the beginning, “I just might take a look around this part. I wouldn’t wanna end up too far away.”

Cal ended the exchange with a curt “Alright then” and headed off. When he was gone, you had the space of the hangar to yourself. You walk to the west part of the platform and you had a full view of the waterfalls cascading with one another, their water black yet their foam white as clouds—as if the night sky had become the floor of this planet until the true evening falls.

Your shoulders jumped when a roaring TIE Fighter zooms past the horizon above the waterfall plateau. You watched it come and go like a comet in the gray skies until it disappeared into the mountain’s backside.

“Huh, no surprise there,” you thought out loud.

You turned around and sprinted towards the derelict hangar. It was devoid of life, but for a scavenger this may as well have been a gold mine! Crates upon crates towered over your height, some were flimsily blanketed with tarps that weren’t long enough to fully conceal them, exposing the Empire’s sigil tattooed in white paint on the boxes’ faces beside the label of its contents.

Using the hem of a tarp to wipe off the dust that’s collected on one side of a crate, you reveal the white Aurebesh label beneath the grime, the label reads: PROJECT AUGUR – RESOURCES.

The first two words were intriguing. You pulled away the tarp that covers its lid, you opened to find a medley of parts that were of great variety. Picking each one up to examine them and then returning them when they didn’t attract you that much, you went on rummaging through the crates for something that you could use. After all, it’s not like the Stormtroopers will notice.

“Do they even keep a track list of these stuff?” you scoffed, examining an odd-looking part that somehow resembled a piston but you knew full well that it wasn’t.

You didn’t notice the rust-colored blast door at the other end of the hangar until it resounded loud enough for its echoes to bounce across the natural stone walls. You jolted in response. The feeling of the unknown behind that door made your heart wild.

Out of the blue, it would’ve appeared that the wind had gained a voice—an incoherent yet audible sound fluttered with the stale wind. The air hummed—hollow and foreboding—but something about that door gravitated you to it, luring you closer until your fingertips touch the controls. The pads of your first two fingers rested on the button, you hesitate, that is until the air whispered to you again—you could’ve sworn you heard your name.

“Darling…? My darling [y/n]?”

You abruptly twirled to your back, eyes wide and frantic as they search the empty hangar. The voice uttered your name again, this time you turned to the door, hoping to find the face of that voice.

“Mom?”

You pawed the blast door, hoping that she’d call again; you finally pressed the button, the door whizzes open but you’re met with an empty corridor. Unbeknownst to you, the path and hallway laid out to you was not the real one. It was the Force testing your senses and perhaps your mental willpower.

“Darling, where are you?” Jezria’s melodic voice sounded almost too ghostly, but you didn’t notice. You’re too caught up with the idea of reuniting with your mother—even if she had been dead for years.

The illusion was so surreal, too enticing even, that you lost track of things—perhaps even your senses as well—in the expense of seeing your mother another time. You spot her, but she continued to go ahead of you, a gaping distance divided mother and child.

“Wait! Mom, wait for me!” you cracked. Chasing her through the long hallway that doesn’t seem to cease in length.

Jezria, of the shell of her anyway, kept on walking. Her back to you as she continued forward.

“I’m almost there!” you announced, though unsure whether you’re announcing it for your mother or coaxing yourself to keep on.

You came upon another door, thankfully the end of the tunnel, but as you opened the second door, the next place that you reached made your small yet eager smile dissolve.

You stand in the midst of a manor’s hallway. In a single glance, you easily identified that the architecture was of Serennian make. The gray marble floors, the finely embroidered drapes along the tall windows, and the expensive-looking deep purple wallpaper with light wooden paneling that was glossy to the touch. You know this interior even with your eyes closed.

It’s your house.

“Home?” your eyebrows furrowed so much that your forehead wrinkled. You surveyed the area, and then behind your back, the same rust-colored door remained. “I don’t get it…”

Nevertheless, you strode through the hallway, following your mother’s trail.

“Foolish child…” a faceless voice hummed along the walls.

“Who’s there?!” you violently spun.

“What weak resolve,” it continued.

“Where are you!?”

“Like mother… like daughter,”

You clenched your jaw and fists, slowly turning around while surveying the entirety of the hallway.

“Show yourself!” you snarled.

“Had you been surrendered to me, then things would have been significantly different. Your mother and father would still be alive. You’d have so much power in your hands that—not even in your current age—could fathom its real meaning down to its last fiber.”

“No, you’re wrong!”

A figure appeared from the curb around the end of the hallway. It was him.

“Count Dooku.”

Even for an apparition, he seemed satisfied to hear you utter his name. He took it as a greeting and bowed curtly with a smile making his white beard more angular.

“So, you finally decided to speak my name. No matter how many times my idiot sister tried to eradicate my very existence from your life.”

You reached for your staff and immediately drew it out to its full length. Count Dooku’s apparition chuckled, amused by your naïve courage.

“Oh, child, you do not understand what is right in front of you, don’t you?”

“Does it matter? I’ll destroy you either way. You had my mother killed!”

“Puh!” Dooku harrumphed, the aristocratic air loomed around him that it’s basically his aura. “Jezria was weak. Always trying to put a façade that she can never hold up! Incapable of protecting herself and ultimately her own daughter!”

“Stop it! Shut up! You don’t know anything about her—neither do you know anything about me!”

“I don’t need to. Once the Emperor has you in his grasp, with my mission complete, I have granted him a prize: my own niece, strong and powerful in the Dark Side of the Force!”

“I am nothing like you!” you roared. “I WILL NEVER BE LIKE YOU!!!”

——————————————————–

In the middle of his roaming, something piqued within Cal enough to stop him in his tracks. From the cliffside, the cold gale muffled out the abrupt, rhythmic thunder of the pulverizers, but that windstorm didn’t do much to stunt Cal’s senses with the Force. Peering over the black waterfalls below, he tried to reach out, albeit briefly, just so he could pinpoint whatever’s troubling him.

“Bee-chirp?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, just… had a feeling. Got worried for a second,”

Cal continued his way to the Imperial headquarters, upon his entry, all of the Stormtropers had their backs turned to him—whether facing the way ahead or keeping their noses stuck to their computers. He slipped into the elevator and slammed the up button. He got to the upper level, he prowled through the ventilation shafts. The Stormtrooper’s idle banter revolved around the subject of complaining that they got nothing to do in the planet and wanted to be assigned to another, where there ought to be action.

“Did you hear that?”

Both Stormtroopers’ heads panned across the room, searching for the source of the sound—which was Cal landing on the balls of his feet against the metal grates.

“Probably just those typical exhaust bursts from the fans,”

“Shouldn’t we report that? I mean, won’t that blow up?”

“Nah.”

Cal continued to stalk in the shadows, away from the enemies’ sight, just when he had his chance to strike, their hands immediately jerked up and pressed against the ear area of their helmets. He thought he had been spotted, but he stood corrected.

“Still, it’s better if we—wait, I’m getting a radio call here!”

“Me too! What the… Jedi?!”

The young redhead’s eyes widened upon hearing the words. He knew whom they’re talking about.

“She doesn’t have a saber though!”

“So, she isn’t Jedi?! Then what?”

“It’s the fugitive from Nalima! But we’re being called as reinforcements at the caves,”

“Ugh hate that place!”

Cal watched the enemies depart via elevator, en route to the ice caves.

“[y/n]…!” he exclaimed under his breath.

Luckily for him, Cal knew the shortcut—he just needed to pass through that Purge Trooper with a rifle.

Meanwhile you were facing off the swarms of Stormtroopers coming wave after wave on you. Thanks to that delusion, you didn’t realize that you’ve wandered off into the abandoned village. But your outburst at the end has caused another energy wave exploding out of you, disorienting and alarming the stationed Stormtroopers in that very area.

So far, you were able to fare quite well against them even with just your techstaff; with the adrenaline of the outburst, you felt like you could do this all day, not once did you feel tired. The voice of Dooku in your head—as much as you hated it to hear him—coaxed you with every move, distortedly affirming and encouraging your every attack.

“That anger is your best weapon. Show no mercy! Let the Dark Side of the Force give you the power you so deserve!”

“Get out of my head!” you snarled as you fought, not caring whether or not the Stormtroopers heard you.

As for those troopers with blasters, you evaded them—utilizing both the self-defense skills you’ve learned through the years, amplified by the Force with which you couldn’t harmoniously bend to your will yet.

Eventually, the soldiers in white armor have stopped pouring in, but their horde was replaced by a singular Purge Trooper wielding twin batons. This enemy’s body may be lithe, but here was a lethality that he imposed upon the way he projects himself to his victim.

“Well,” he snarled. “You’re no Jedi, but you are a prize for the Emperor!”

You didn’t exactly grasp what he meant by that, though it didn’t matter—your survival did.

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aph-honk-kong · 4 years

Text

Fanged and Fair

When two equally-matched beings meet up for afternoon tea. [There’s really heavy making out please proceed with caution]

A fairy does not only invite one over for tea.

There is always an ulterior motive, the hope that they may ensnare their unsuspecting guest and steal all that they have, or subject them to a fate even worse. There is no rejecting the invitation, either, especially if you are one of the night folk.

When Aleksander finds the gilded card on his mantlepiece, sent by a fair one named Stellan, he is almost certain he will die. Many of the night folk who visit a fairy never return. But maybe he will change that. Maybe he will drain this fairy of his blood and plunge iron into his flesh, ridding the world of another of their kind. He will dodge the stakes and hide from the sun, and he will win.

He dresses in preparation, hiding every inch of his skin with his ebony-black robes and covering his face with a veil. The sun cannot touch any inch of him if he plans to leave the fairy’s house alive.

Just as an extra precaution, he slides an iron knife into one of his coat’s many pockets. One can never be too careful when dealing with fairies.

Aleksander reads up on the rules of etiquette while walking to Stellan’s house. If he violates even one of them, his fairy host is then allowed to punish him as he sees fit, which usually means killing him. He has salt in his pocket to counteract the effects of fairy food before it can magick away any rational thought.

He arrives at Stellan’s house, a pretty little thing painted beige with a forget-me-not blue roof. The porch is trimmed with pots of hyacinth. Aleksander steels his nerves and knocks.

The door swings open almost at once, revealing a young man too beautiful to be a killer. His sheer, pastel-blue blouse and shorts swirl as though in water, kept on his body only by the hyacinth blossoms around his wrists and ankles. Cornsilk hair falls into his eyes, and his blue-violet eyes are alight with dark glee. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” Aleksander bows, mustering a smile when the fairy bows back. “I take you’re Stellan?”

“Yes, that is what you may call me.” Stellan holds out a hand. “May I have your name?”

Many a night-folk has died here. They gave their true name to the fairy, and in the process gave their life away too. He will not fall for the same trick. “You may not. But you may refer to me as Aleksander.”

The vibrant blue morpho wings on Stellan’s back flutter in agitation, but their owner shows nothing. “Very well. You may come in, Aleksander.”

He dips his head in thanks before stepping over the doorway and into the house. The living room smells of lavender, and the furniture he can see is plain and pale. It certainly does not have the frivolous flamboyity that fae homes are usually known for.

Stellan’s hands are on his shoulders before he knows it, finger drawing circles in the thick dark fabric. “May I take your coat?”

Aleksander glances back briefly; the fairy has a pretty silver ring on his fourth finger, one that’s far more beautiful than his own jewelled weapon. “No, thank you,” he responds. “It’s a bit chilly today, and I would rather not risk falling ill.”

Those eyes, lined sultrily with silver ink, narrow. But he does not insist. “Please wait in the sitting room while I set the table.”

How easy it would be, to lunge while Stellan’s back is turned. It would take no effort at all to pin him down, to drive his knife deep into his neck with the power that an explicit invitation gifts him. But he cannot. Not yet, at least.

He goes to sit down at the soft sofa. The sitting room happens to have two ceiling-to-floor windows, and Aleksander is suddenly very grateful for his veil. He stares at the assortment of items on the tea-table, at books and needles and blocks of resin. They all look too normal to be owned by someone so wicked.

Stellan is humming, and he can be heard even beneath the sound of clinking cutlery. Aleksander reaches into his pocket and touches his knife for good luck.

There is suddenly a soft fluttering of wings, and Stellan lands right behind him. “Tea is ready,” he announces in his soft, hypnotic voice.

He follows him to the dining room, watching the soft, fluid sway of his hips. He follows this floaty, pretty fellow to the most dangerous meal of his life.

The dining table, he observes, is set with a teapot, flower-painted teacups and a gilded, silver tea-tower. If it weren’t holding food with the ability to kill him, Aleksander would find it pretty.

“I spent so much time preparing for this afternoon,” Stellan wisps. His gossamery clothes flutter in the gentle breeze, long sleeves flapping at him as though trying to reel him in. “I hope you will like the food.”

He sits down in a chair the fairy pulls out for him, keeping his eyes trained on him. Stellan takes his seat across him and lifts up the teapot with long-fingered hands. “I brewed some rose tea for us today.” He pours Aleksander a cup. The cloying scent of the golden tea is nauseating. “The fae type, of course.”

The fae’s inability to lie comes in handy again — now he knows he will need salt to counteract whatever effects the fae food has. But he cannot simply whip out the pouch of salt he has in his pocket, not when Stellan is watching with those mad periwinkle eyes. So Aleksander slips his hand into the pouch and takes a pinch, then nonchalantly passes his hand over his teacup while reaching for the sugar pot. The salt falls in, thankfully escaping his host's scrutiny.

“Here.” Stellan places a canapé of sorts onto his plate. It is glistening with brown sauce; the puff pastry is glossy.

“Thank you,” Aleksander says. He cannot sprinkle salt on the pastry where it will clearly be visible, so he goes for the next best thing. He casually picks up his teacup and saucer, wetting the tip of his index finger while he drinks the tea. It is heavy and bittersweet, and he’d be long-gone if not for the salt inside. He then slips his hand back inside the pouch and picks up a few grains of salt with his wet fingertip. The canapé goes down harmlessly.

Stellan is watching him as he chews. Aleksander swallows and smiles behind his veil. “It is excellent.”

“I am glad to hear that.” He retrieves a tart from the bottom layer and nibbles at it. “Please, take more.”

To refuse would be a death sentence. Aleksander takes a dainty, cheese-filled choux pastry next, and wets his finger again under the guise of wiping his mouth. He manages to eat that without getting into trouble, but his veil catches a few crumbs. Swiftly, before Stellan can say anything about it, he brushes them away.

He must start a conversation soon, lest silence reign for too long and he is declared inhospitable. Aleksander wipes his fingers on his napkin and looks up, saying, “your cooking is truly phenomenal. I have never tasted anything like it.”

“Thank you.” Stellan bows his head in acknowledgement. His light, fluffy, white-gold hair glows in the abhorrent sunlight and resembles a halo about his head. “They do say that fae food has downright enchanting effects on the eater, after all.” He smiles, showing his pointed teeth from behind those pale rosy lips. “But one must be very careful with seasoning when working with them. Just a tiny bit of salt is enough to ruin the taste.”

Aleksander notices how his eyes linger on the tea. At least he can’t say anything about it. “If even somebody with such an uncultured palate as myself can appreciate this, it is most definitely good.”

His long eyelashes flutter coquettishly; those manic eyes seem to pierce right through him. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Some would consider you as a man who is quite well-versed with the gourmet. After all, I believe you are here for the most enticing type of fae food?”

He knows, he knows, he knows. But he must play the part of the polite host and cannot directly trap him. Stellan is fully aware of this, surely. Aleksander shrugs, feeling light-headed. He sneaks himself another grain of salt. “I’m not sure which type you speak of.”

“You don’t know? I’m talking about fairy’s blood. It is incredibly sought-after, especially by those who roam in darkness.”

“By those like me, you mean.”

“Yes.” Stellan grits his teeth; still he cannot lie. Grudgingly, he continues, “I do not know why they want it so badly when us fae cannot even be turned.”

“Some say that fairy blood has healing properties, but that’s not true.” Aleksander runs a thumb over the iron ring he has on — his only defence lest his host stop being amicable. “There are many rumours surrounding it and it’s difficult to know which is true and which is not.”

He drinks from his cup, lips shiny with enchanted tea. “Well, what do you think? You are one of those dark things, surely you must know the truth.”

Dark things. Not another of the folk, but a mere thing. And they wonder why the night folk despise the pretentious fae. This is his chance. “I do not know, for I have never had fairy blood before.”

“Really?” Stellan tilts his head, gazes at him from behind those long eyelashes. He brushes his hair away and exposes his neck, creamy and flawless. Though he has not yet tasted it, Aleksander knows that it will be more delicious and deadly than any of the foodstuffs on the tea-tower. “Well, you have a fairy right in front of you, and permission to taste their blood.”

It is so tempting. He cannot tear his eyes away from Stellan, baring himself so unabashedly. Every cell in Aleksander’s body screams at him to attack, to pin him against the wall and sink his fangs into his neck.

Stellan removes his silver ring and places it on the table in plain view, blinking placidly at him in a convincing image of surrender. “Go on,” he purrs, “you know you want to.”

Goodness, he does. The rowan berries around his neck protect him from the glamour of the offer, but the mere tone in which it’s said, magical or not, is almost enough to convince him. His velvety voice envelopes Aleksander, makes his heart race. Heat pulsing through his very being, he stands up before he can stop himself. He hides his hands behind his back and slips off his gloves.

The closer he gets to Stellan, the harder it is to hold back. His pretty pink lips are smirking softly; his eyes gleam. Aleksander drops the gloves onto the floor and reaches out to take ahold of his chin.

He strikes.

Grabbing his wrist, Stellan prevents the iron ring from making contact with his skin at the last moment. Fixing Aleksander with a frenzied glare, he takes his ring finger into his mouth and tears the ring away with his teeth, spitting it out onto the table. “You won’t take me that easily, night-folk,” he sneers.

“But I will have you.” Aleksander twists his wrist free and grabs his shoulder, pressing his fingers into the soft fabric of his blouse. He grabs Stellan’s chin with his other hand, hissing, “I will have you, and you will yield to me.”

“Will I?” His other hand is on Aleksander’s arm, nails digging in in an attempt to free the bruising grip on his face. That courteous host is long-gone.

Shaking his hand off, Aleksander pushes Stellan against the wall of the dining room. He bares his teeth and bites his neck, probing the marks with his tongue as he does so. He breathes him in deeply, all the while trying to keep Stellan pinned against the wall.

He’s writhing underneath him, trembling and teary-eyed. Aleksander feels him press against him beseechingly, as though he wanted to be bitten all this time. He bites him a second time, just to hear him gasp. When he pulls away, he’s light-headed too, panting against Stellan’s pierced neck. His fangs graze lightly against his skin.

Mere seconds after the bite, Aleksander’s vision begins to blur. His mind, which was running a mile a minute with a plan on just when to pull his knife out, goes fuzzy. He feels warm and floaty, as though he’s had one too many glasses of good wine. His arms slacken.

Losing control, he leans in and nips Stellan, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to sting. He sighs, tilting his head back to show more of his neck. The floaty fabric of his blouse yields to Aleksander’s insistent fingers. He cannot tell if he intended to bite and suck along his foe’s collarbone, leaving the tiniest pink marks along the pristine skin, but the sensation feels amazing. Aleksander trails them down to his sternum, relishing every twitch with every nibble.

Stellan is clearly as intoxicated as him, high on his bite just as Aleksander is high on the aphrodisiac that is fae blood. Stellan releases his piercing grip on his arm and twists his fingers in his hair, pulling him in until their lips brush together. He tilts his head slightly in question.

Aleksander smashes their lips together, tasting tea and sugar as he kisses him. He groans, butterfly wings fluttering lightning-fast. Stellan traces his bottom lip with his tongue. Heat seems to pulse from them both, setting them aflame with hatred that has miraculously transformed into desire.

He can hardly breathe when he pulls away, arms covered in the red crescents his foe’s nails left behind and lips stinging. Stellan looks downright ruined, with bite-marks all over his neck and collarbone and swollen lips. His eyes are glazed over. With dark satisfaction, Aleksander notices that his blouse has been pulled away to expose one of his slight shoulders.

They stay like that for a while, panting and delirious against the wall. Aleksander is the first to speak, breathlessly announcing, “if fae blood can make a night-folk do this, I am not surprised that many want it so badly.”

“You seem to be a peculiar exception, for most night-folk strong enough to taste fae blood never leave the fairy alive.” He smooths down his ruffled hair, trying in vain to cover the marks left by their passionate duel. “In any case, since you have managed to survive this afternoon, I see no reason why you may not come again.”

“To risk my life once more?”

He shakes his head. “No, to have more of this.” Stellan gestures at his bruised neck. “Though if you would like to be kissed within an inch of your life again, I would not be against it.”

“Neither would I,” Aleksander says. He cups his cheek gently, running his thumb over a mark at the corner of his mouth. “So when I arrive tomorrow, I expect I’ll be served un-enchanted food, and be guaranteed to leave here alive?”

“Tomorrow?” He smirks. “Certainly, Aleksander. I will be waiting tomorrow afternoon, with treats far more delicious than the ones served today.” He pecks him on the nose. “I will be looking forward to it.”

He bends down to pick his gloves up and slides them back on. “Until then.”

He must be the first of his kind, to not only survive afternoon tea with a fairy, but take their blood and nearly bed them. Aleksander leaves the cottage with a grin, already anticipating tomorrow’s thrill.

#aph romnor #aph romania #aph norway #aph fanfiction #my writing #owowo #never written romnor before but this was fun

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aj-ortega · 3 years

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Blizzard-Born

Much to the surprise of no one, I drew the shortest stick. Ill luck has been my steadfast companion since the night my mother gave birth to me during a blizzard. She wrapped me in her cloak and shielded me with her body. When the sun rose, only one of us still drew breath. I was found by the wandering wizard, Tafari Phoenix-Talon, who brought me up as his son. We both share dark brown skin, so people tend to assume that I am his grandson.

Tafari has always admonished me to ignore my ill fortunes, but it is difficult to ignore that which clings to you like a shadow. Even now, as I ride off to be fitted for my molten armour by the mermen of the Boiled Sea, I cannot help dreading what fate has in store for me in the Wildlands.

All legends, no matter how fantastic, contain grains of truth. And although no one has seen the Dragon of the Wildlands in over five centuries, I have an inkling that he is still there.

I simply wish I hadn't been chosen for this task.

***

I take the road through the Desert of Parehn to test the warmth of my armour. A smile graces my face as the biting, frigid wind makes the runes on my breastplate glow gold. In an instant, all the metal on my body warms me like a piping cup of ginger root tea. Rayo's armour also appears to be keeping out the cold—if the toasty saddle warming my buns is any indication.

At least we won't be completely frozen when we die.

The snow-dusted sand mounds give way to the vast forests of the Wildlands. The evergreen trees are weighed down by thick layers of fluffy snow. Rayo's gallop would have slowed to a crawl if he hadn't those runic horseshoes which melt the snow with steaming hisses.

I pull on the reigns, and the black stallion halts his advance. My eyes scan our surroundings. There is no sign that any deer, fox or rabbit inhabit this place. The snow-covered terrain is devoid of any tracks save for Rayo's. I hold my breath to listen. An eerie silence hangs in the air—not even the song of the frost-billed nightingale can be heard.

Fear of the creature likely hiding under this wintry cloak has driven them from this land. But we must press on.

The further we go, the more the wind howls. I narrow my eyes, straining through the slit in my helmet under the snowy deluge. The weather breaks suddenly; all becomes clear. A frozen lake appears on my left. On its far shore looms the cave that duty and honour compel me to check; the sinking pit in my bowels says otherwise.

Rayo chops along the lake's edge; his enchanted horseshoes make crossing the icy surface a deadly risk that could also betray our approach. Eventually, we arrive at the mouth of the cave. A deep growl emanates from within, prickling my flesh. I leap off Rayo's back; my feet hit the snow with a crunch. I pull the shield off my back and yank my sword from its sheath.

"I tasted your entrance to my realm on the air," rumbles the dragon. "Your weapons might as well be twigs and thistles for the good they'll do."

"Show yourself and let my heated blade decide," I say.

He chuckles. "Smells like wizardry: equally useless."

The ground quakes as booming footsteps grow louder and louder. A mountain-size head protrudes from the shadowy cave, attached to a neck that dwarfs the Bison River. Snow falls off the silvery, white scales of the dragon while his sapphire-blue underbelly shimmers like diamonds in the sun. Every bone within me is rattling.

Well, as I suspected, the dragon's still here. God, I detest being right sometimes.

The beast looks down at me with a wide grin that shows jagged teeth. "A knight from Solenmere; how quaint. After I'm done devouring you and your horse, I think I'll go pay your king a visit; his ancestors and I go a long ways back," the dragon laughs with frosted air spilling out of his nostrils.

"Rayo!" I yell. "Run!"

But my steed simply neighs and shakes its head.

"Stubborn fool—now's not the time to show that you're part ass," I huff. "Leave!"

"Don't bother," growls the dragon, outstretching his wings that all but block out the sun. "He won't get far."

A battle cry erupts from my chest as I charge the overgrown snake with my sword and shield at the ready. The dragon inhales, and a roar of frigid air strikes me with the force of a hurricane. My arms and feet are numb and stiff. Piercing shards of ice approach my heart. Day melts into night.

Snowy winds whip and wail as a woman's tender voice sings to me. The language is foreign, but somehow...I grasp its meaning:

Beloved child of blizzard's birth You are my heart, my hope, my joy. Hear now this mystic song of mirth; Become one with winter, blest boy. Turn bone to ice, change skin to snow. Let bleak blood flow to chill you thrice.

The cold within me recedes. But, still, the dragon's booming breath fills my ears. My heart drums in my chest as fluidity returns to my limps. The freezing air washes over my body like crisp waters from a roaring waterfall. I stand firm as he who has become one with ice and snow. My true name has dawned: Malik Blizzard-Born.

The dragon's icy breath halts its gusting like the calm following a storm. Frosted mists swirl around me. As they clear, the ground is shown to be solid ice.

"Impossible," the dragon's arrogant demeanour drains from his face. "Unless...no—Ancient Magic is gone from the world."

"Evidently not," I smirk, resuming my stance. "And this sword is more than capable of piercing your hide now that you can't keep me at a distance with that chilly breath of yours." I aim my blade at the beast. "I have no trouble lopping off your head to have Rayo drag it back to Solenmere to be hung from the castle tower. But, I can be persuaded to show mercy."

"Is that so," says the dragon with an air of sarcasm. "And what does this mercy entail?"

With the tip of my sword, I draw a circle with four triangles, signifying the cardinal points in the ice. Vapours rise as my sketch widens and grows into a massive, silver collar.

The dragon snorts. "A taming band."

"Discerning," I nod. "Now, what say you?"

The beast stares at me as if trying to learn my character. "I will accept on one condition," he finally says.

I tilt my head. "Which is?"

"You must agree to live here, in the Wildlands; I prefer the cold to the perpetual heat of the south."

A smile crosses my face. "I've always preferred the north winds myself. And I'm sure your wings will make all journeys more expedient."

"Then it is done," the beast says, breathing out a frosted breath.

I sheath my sword, return the shield on my back and slide off my helmet as the dragon lowers its head to the ground. Bending down, I retrieve the collar and place it around the beast's neck. The taming band snaps shut and fades out of sight. The ring on my left thumb tightens, confirming our bond.

"What will you name me?" asks the dragon.

I rub my chin, pondering something fitting. "How does Frolohn sound?"

"Fierce," he flashes a wide smile.

"Wonderful," I grin. "Now, Frolohn."

"Yes, master—"

"No," I wave my hand. "You may call me Malik."

"Malik," Frolohn raises his head.

"My friend," I begin. "Would you be up for a flight to the city?"

He flaps his wings with a thunderous clap. " Yes, but will that not frighten the inhabitants?"

"Perhaps. But it will also make for a riotous laugh," I smirk.

He chuckles. "Very well. Climb aboard," Frolohn swings his head towards his back. "And what of the horse?"

"Rayo can decide if he'd like to follow us or wait for our return," I say, mounting Frolohn's back. For now, let us go to the south."

And with one swift snap of his wings, Frolohn blows the snow off dozens of trees and takes us to the sky. I grip the spikes on his back for dear life, cheering and savouring the sight of the world from a dragon's point of view. ***** I wrote this story based on a Wattpad Aim to Engage 2020 prompt: Everyone wants to hunt a dragon, but what happens when you’re tasked to find a one of a kind beast that only exists in legend?

#short story #poetry #original prose #original writing #my writing #fantasy prompts #fantasy #magic #dragon #wattpad #diversity #Story Time #fiction

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peter-pan-on-neverland · 4 years

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Master plan

Request: Felix has to go on a mission and pan wants y/n to go with him, so when Felix wants to go to tell her, he accidentally walks in when she changes into her night clothes and he is instantly turned on but also embarrassed. Of course Y/N will react shocked and pushes him out but afterwards both start to think about each other a lot and and things will get less akward bc they are alone. Maybe they start making out and Felix takes her against a tree.

Pairing: Felix x reader

Warning: suggestive

*I'm making two part of this*

Night fell on the small, magical island, dotting the dark navy blue sky with bright, twinkling stars. Once again the notorious Pan was tucked away in his wooden tree house, researching, plotting, trying to come up with a master plan in order to become immortal. The king of Neverland grinned from ear to ear as his eyes shrinked to the size of slits, he finally had an answer to the question he had been asking himself for so long, how to freeze the hour glass.

Tightly gripped in his hands was the ancient pages of the oldest book in all the realms, squiggly black writing stared back at him, giving him all the knowledge he needed. Discarding the "true loves kiss" part, that seemed to be written out neatly in every book he had read so far, there was an alternative, another way. The heart of the truest believer, a person with a soul as pure as gold and a mind full of imagination, that was what he needed. To Pan's surprise there was a tea stained page dangling helplessly from the spine of the old book, deciding to take the poor thing out of its misery the boy wrapped his fingers around it before giving a light tug. It fell out with ease, flipping it over to reveal what was on the other side. Evergreen eyes dance over the page, taking in the features of the dark haired boy that seemed to be scribbled on it.

Cogs slowly started to turn in the leaders head, the only thing on the page was a drawing and a date, 15.8.01. He racked his brain for answers, what did this mean? And that's when it all clicked, the boys birthday was neatly written out under his portrait, now Pan knew who he was looking for and when he was born, perfect.

"Felix!" Pans voiced boomed through camp as he came flying out of his tree house at the speed of light, scaring off any animal or creature that dared to step foot near his domain while he searched for his second in command.

Silently, Felix stalked over to his boss, clutching his wooden club between his rough hands. Stormy blue eyes met emerald green ones as the leaders blonde counterpart towered over his body like a sky scraper.

“There’s something I need you to do for me.” A menacing smirk crawled onto the Kings lips, meanwhile the second in command awaited to hear what news his friend had to tell him.

“What is it?” The lost boys quite, low voice inquired.

As Pan explained his idea to him a sinister grin started to form on Felix’s pink lips, his messy blonde hair whipped about in the refreshing wind as his listened with interest.

“There’s just one thing.” The leader trailed off, “Y/n will need to come with you, she is more experienced when it comes to realms with no magic.”

The golden glow that painted Felix’s sharp features hid his blush well at the sound of your name, he was surprised that just the thought of their one and only lost girl could make him feel butterfly's. For a while the boy had contemplated over and over again what it was he truly felt for you, was it just some stupid little crush that would leave as quickly as it came, or was it something more? As the days stretched into months the lost boy came to the conclusion that he, in fact, liked you, a lot.

But alas, Felix had a reputation to uphold, not just for Pan’s sake, but for your sake too. Pan had always told the boys that love is weakness, and they were not weak, if Hook caught wind of Felix’s little crush, you were sure to be in danger.

"I'll go and let her know." The lost boy spoke in his usual monotone voice before making his way over to your tree house.

Silently, he climbed the rickety ladder, banging his knuckles against the wooden door before wrapping his fingers around the door knob, the cold metal sending an uncomfortable shiver through Felix's hand as he pushed the wooden slab open.

"Hey Y/n, Pan wants-" He froze in place as his sharp features turned as white as paper.

There you were, beautiful as ever and the most exposed Felix had ever seen you. Your flesh was on display whilst his eyes wondered over your body, drinking up the sight of your collarbone, boobs, stomach, all the way down to your lacy panties that clung to you ass nicely.

The boy would be lying if he said he wasn't hard right now, imagining all the things he could do to you. Smirking to himself he imagined what you would look like beneath him, the way you would cry out in pleasure because of his actions. Shaking his head, the lost boy snapped out of his trance, those thoughts were stored in the back of his mind, for now.

The lonely candle in the corner of the room illuminated your tiny cabin, casting everything in a burnt orange glow as it painted your skin. Your red cheeks had not been covered up by the candle light, instead the soft honey colour seemed to make your brick dusted face pop.

Desperately, you fumbled around the room, rushing to pick up the daisy coloured night gown which had fallen on the floor the minute the blonde, lost boy barged in.

"S-sorry! I-I didn't-" Felix tried his absolute hardest to tear his icy eyes away from your wonderful body, forcing himself to look away, yet somehow he always found his eyes floating back to you as you impatiently threw the dress on your exposed flesh.

"You can look now." Your quiet voice soured through the air before tunneling into his ears.

Turning to face you he couldn't help but picture what you looked like just mere seconds before.

Awkwardly shuffling, your eyes were glued to your feet, too embarrassed to meet the boys gaze, meanwhile he was struggling to keep his off you, as your finger nails trailed up and down your arm.

"So, anyways" Felix let out an awkward cough, "As I was saying, Pan wants you to come on a mission with me."

Your e/c eyes widened in shock at his words, your head snapped up meeting the second in commands gaze as if you were challenging him.

"He-he wants me to come with you?" You asked, almost sounding afraid, but Felix couldn't quite understand why.

"Um, yeah." He shrugged simply, "were leaving tomorrow, so pack up everything you need."

With that the second in command swiftly exited your humble abode, rushing out of the door before closing it quietly behind him.

Lurking in the dark part of Felix's mind the sound of your moans filled his ears, he wanted you so bad, but he couldn't have you. Suddenly he found himself becoming more and more excited for this trip of yours.

Morning came quicker than you would've liked, all night you had been shamefully pleasing yourself after that little run in with Pan's most trusted lost boy, which had left you all hot and bothered. The though of facing him made your stomach churn guilt-fully, was it wrong to think if him like that? You had been friends for years and you had came to terms with the fact that you liked him, but you had never done anything like that before.

"All packed to go?" Pan's haunting voice popped up out of no where, causing you to jump out of your skin.

Silently, you nodded as his best friend came into view, your once normal cheeks flashed red. The pair exchanged some parting words while the leader placed a forest green jelly bean into Felix's hand, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Its a magic bean." The two boy's laughed at your reaction, what do we need a magic bean for?

Without saying a word the lost boy dropped it on the floor, the ground started to swirl, all kinds of wonderful colours blended together as the wind violently whipped around us. Howling filled your ears as your hair was permanently stuck in front of your face.

"You ready?" The tall boy checked and you nodded in reply before jumping in.

Everything went black, you couldn't feel anything as your soul was plunged into darkness before your e/c eyes opened once again. You brain pounded against your skull, the sound of zooming cars filled you ears as your eyes snapped open, taking in your surroundings.

"Are we?" You asked the tall blonde boy who sat beside you.

"In your world, yes." He confirmed your suspicions.

"Pan has some... friends here, they can help us." A sinister tone masked his voice on the word 'friends' as you begin to grow worried, who exactly were these people?

With a screech of tires and an array of smoke, a cherry red convertible car halted before the tow of you, the harsh beam of the headlights made your head spin as your eyes adjusted to the light . Unfamiliar characters sat in the front seats, the taller of the two was driving. His glasses sat on his slightly crooked nose while his bronze coloured hair swooped across his chocolate eyes. The other was shorter, his brown eyes stared into your e/c ones intently as his short, dark brown hair whipped around in the air.

Without opening his tightly shut mouth, Felix climbed into the car, you awkwardly followed his lead, still not entirely sure why you were here.

Revving filled the air as you spun off down the road, instinctively holding onto the blonde boy next to you. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped onto him for dear life, if it weren't for the wind forcing his hair in his face you would've seen the light pink tint on his cheeks as your hand found his.

The feeling of your skin on his causing the boys to have a whirl wind of emotions. The only thought that consumed his mind was you, the way you looked when he had accidentally walked in your cabin without a second thought, and oh boy is Felix glad he made that mistake. All night and all day you were you were the only thing that played on his mind, it was no lie that the lost boy found you attractive, that much was evident from his boner, which he was unaware was sticking through his trousers, but his feelings for you went a little deeper than that. Yes, he wanted to touch and please you like no one else had done before, he wanted to tie you down and make you scream but he also wanted to make you smile and hear you melodic laugh. You didn't know it yet and Felix didn't know it ether, but you are each others worlds.

Thankfully that car ride was short and sweet, coming to a stop rather quickly as a grand house came into view. The Victorian styled building looked like it was a relic frozen in time, lush green vines scaled up the red bricked walls while white, laced trimming clung to the roof. Golden lights were switched on in almost every room, making the house feel like one gigantic doll house to play with until your hearts content.

The strange men stepped out of the car, not saying a word as their keys clicked together before opening the old door. Although the exterior of the house was looked ancient the interior was modern and sleek, not fitting in with the ear of the house at all.

"I'll take you to your room." The taller ones deep voice bounced off the walls.

"Room?" You inquired, suddenly you felt your face grow hot at the idea of shearing a room with the second in command, especially after last night.

Swiftly turning around on his heel the strangers honey coloured eyes sought out your e/c one, "Yes, room." He confirmed before rushing off up the stairs, you and Felix trying you best to keep up with the fast moving boy.

By the time the two of you traveled up to the top at such a fast pace you were out of breath, lightly panting as the wooden door of your room creaked open.

The room was small, but lovely, a large white window sat on the right hand wall, allowing the street light to flood into the room. A double bed sat along the back wall, little side table standing ether side of it while a large oak wood wardrobe was sat in the corner of the room. With a flick of a switch the room became flooded with soft honey coloured light, comfortably reminding you of your candles back in Neverland.

“I’ll leave you two it.” The tall man spoke, his monotone voice lingered in the air as he walked away, leaving you and Felix alone in the little room.

“I...I guess we should get some sleep.” The boy stated, his hot breath traveled down your neck, tickling the hairs as they stood tall and proud.

You found yourself speechless, no words managed to fall past your lips, slowly you raised your head, peering into the boys eyes before giving a slight nod.

His footstep echoed through the room as he went to close the curtains, but you found yourself stuck in place, unable to move but not sure why. e/c orbs were glued to Felix, the way he moved around the room before turning his back on you whilst he undid his cloak, letting it fall to the floor. Pink dust coated your cheeks as you watched him, but you still weren’t able to look away. Neck, he lifted his arms high above is head in an act to remove this shirt, his muscly back was slowly revealed to you as though his shirt there the curtain at a theater.

“It’s rude to stare.” The lost boy joked, while you jumped back, surprised, embarrassed and shocked, how did he know?

Turning to face you, you couldn’t keep your eyes off his bare chest no matter how hard you tried, “S-sorry, I... I didn’t mean-”

The second in command smiled to himself as you stumbled over your words, oh how the tables have turned, he thought.

“Relax.” He spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder, the slight contact made you melt under his touch whilst your body instantly relaxed, “Let’s just get some sleep.”

Still as hot as you had ever been you found yourself climbing into bed with the second in command before he turned out the lights, wrapping yourself up in the warm covers as if to make a mini barrier from him, but you would be a fool if you though that was going to stop him.

The feeling of his skin touching yours as he lay down lit a fire inside you, the blush on your cheeks got worse and worse as time went by.

“I need some covers too you know.” Felix chuckled.

Not a single word tumbled past your lips, not a single one, as you slyly moved over to the other side, allowing him access to the quilt. You didn’t realize how much room he had taken up until you felt his chest flush up against your back.

Turning around in the covers your eyes sought out his, peering deep into them. No words were exchanged as you looked into each others eyes, you felt his hand on your chin, bringing your face closer and closer to his.

You were stuck in a trance, a blissful daze as his lips met yours and you found yourself kissing back, you had wanted this for so long and so did he. You seemed to get lost in the kiss, not being able to pull yourself away.

In one smooth motion the second in command bought you on top of him, all the while never breaking the kiss that the two of you shared. The rest of the night was spent with the two of you between the sheets, clothes long since forgotten as you got lost in each others bodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I got it up! I'm sorry if you dont think it's as good as my stories usually are, the ending was a little rushed (sorry)!

I hope you enjoyed it! 🥰❤😍 xxxxx

@nevereverlandboys @lady-of-lies @lonesome-loser @celestial-neverland

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 21: A Bloodlust Seduction

Cora signed the contract, and they did indeed get right to work. They didn't have much choice. It was after midnight, and he felt very confident that the moment the sun rose, the King would be banging on the door demanding his gold or Cora's head. He'd anticipated having enough time to allow himself to spin a room full of straw into gold, but now he had no choice but to teach Cora to do it herself.

There was a lot of straw in the room, it covered the walls, but he didn't panic, for he knew that the King was no fool. If Cora could prove that she could do as she said, then she didn't need to transform all of it. If she could just transform one piece of it, it would be enough. The King would be foolish to toss away the life of someone who could spin money for him just because she didn't spin an entire roomful. Cora held more power in this than she thought, but he wouldn't tell her that, not yet. After watching her all day, he knew that the last thing he needed at a moment like this was for her to be at ease.

So they began with the basics. She was, up until this day, only a miller's daughter. She'd spent her life working around a mill not a spinning wheel and so they began much the same way that his aunts had taught him to spin, just introducing her to the machine. He didn't go into details, of course. He didn't name parts or explain what their part was in making ropes of straw, there was no need, in his mind, for her to know what made up a Mother-of-All or Flyer Assembly because if she failed this task then she'd be dead, and if she succeeded, well she'd become a Princess, not a spinner. If the King demanded more golden straw from her in the future, they could get to all that later. For now, she just needed to know that the peddle worked the wheel, which braided the straw that was fed into the little cup. It took her all of a half hour to learn. It was the next part that wasn't easy.

"You simply must push your magic into the machine, your desire to make straw into gold, combined with what's already in you, is enough to make the spell work.

"How do I know what's inside of me! I've never used magic before!" she countered. He only smiled, dropping all pretense of an act as he recalled all he'd seen earlier in the day.

"There is something inside of you," he explained, moving around her. "Something that demands it's freedom and takes it when you are not looking. I've already seen it once today."

"You were watching me," she commented plainly. No accusation was in her voice, no hint of anger or fear that so many others would have. It was just a casual observation to her. What a good thing to keep in mind.

"Let's call it 'getting to know you'."

Cora smirked and sat forward on her stool a bit more. "And what, pray tell, did you learn?"

It was a challenge, disguised as an inquiry. She was looking for ruthlessness, for honesty. Had he seen her take the dress? Chastise her father? Talk back at the bar? Yes, yes, he'd seen all of that. But he'd seen more than that too. And if anyone knew how to play intimidation, it was him.

He leaned forward over the wheel, so they were nearly face to face. "I learned that there is more to you than meets the eye," he muttered. "There is magic inside of you. Powerful, strong magic lashing against your very skin for freedom. I learned that you have all the power you need to do this…you just need to know how to use it."

She closed her eyes as he'd whispered to her, she sat back and confronted the wheel before letting out a shiver that had him smiling.

"You can feel it now, can't you?" he questioned, standing up tall and moving around her once more. "The way it crawls just below the surface, tickling that pristine flesh, urging you to use it the way it was meant to be used…"

"They say my mother was a witch," she commented suddenly, opening her eyes and looking over the wheel in front of her. "But my father said witches were evil and tried to beat it out of her."

He let out a sharp giggle that drew her eyes right back to him and out of whatever past she'd been imagining. "Well, you can't beat the magic out of those who have it, dearie! And no one is one thing or the other outright. You have to choose how you use your magic. So…how do you choose to use it, miller's daughter?"

He'd addressed her to rile her up to get a response. And he got it. A small fire caught in her eyes as she stared him down. "I'd be content to save my skin and get far away from that wretch man people call my father."

Perfect.

"Then tell me…when did you first feel the magic inside of you?"

She knew. Now that she had the identity of what she'd been feeling all her life, he could tell that she could recognize what it had been and all the times she'd felt it. That was the reason she didn't pull her gaze off of him when he'd asked the question or take long to answer. She knew.

"When I watched my father beat my mother to death," she commented as casually as if they were discussing the weather. "I was only six, he thought I was asleep."

"And you wanted to save her," he assumed.

"At first…" she practically growled. There it was. It was the emotion of anger. That was the emotion that made the spark in her come alive, and as her stare bored into him, he had a feeling she could feel it as well. "But when I sensed that I had magic too, I wanted to hide lest he come after me too."

"Use that!" he encouraged, stepping forward and placing his hands on her shoulders so that she sat back and looked at the wheel before her. "Draw from it. See before you the task at hand, and then drag that feeling to the surface, push it into your work, and let yourself have what you need."

She took a breath as he stepped away from her, then put some straw in the cup, and moved her foot. She stopped after a few seconds to examine her work. Nothing, from here, even with his back to the fireplace, he could see it was nothing.

"Again," he urged. "Focus."

Again she let out a frustrated breath and got back to the spinning. Frustration was fine. Frustration could lead to anger, which was exactly why time and time again when she stopped to look at what she'd done, to see if she'd accomplished her goal, he kept egging her on. "Again…" he said. "Again…again…again…again…again…"

"Stop repeating yourself and-"

Behind him, before her voice could rise entirely, he felt heat swell that distracted them both. The fireplace. The dying fire inside of it had flared to engulf practically the entire thing and was now blazing and strong again. Impressive…though…

"Not quite what I was expecting," he commented.

"You didn't do that?" she questioned with shock.

"No," he answered. "I believe that was you." Frustration and anger were going to be key for her, but a little confidence boost obviously hadn't hurt either. Before he could utter the words "try again" she'd already turned back to the wheel and was moving her foot over the treadle with determination.

He, on the other hand, was trying desperately not to show his own emotions, not to show how excited he was that it was working, that he was capable of teaching those he met the craft he'd dedicated his life to studying all for his son. He was trying not to watch her with admiration in his own eyes lest her gift of perception catch him. And he was trying most of all to ignore the feeling that wanted him to sit down, take her in his arms and confess just how impressed he was with what she could do. That would be a mistake, he acknowledged. But at the same time, every time the top of her white foot came into view working the treadle, he had to admit that perhaps admiration of her had gone too far.

He was staring at her again. Her shoulders were delicate and perfect for a miller's daughter, not a single flaw on her skin. Perhaps it was the magic within her, he theorized, perhaps she'd been using it all these years to keep herself beautiful since she'd never known how to manifest it before. The more he stared at her, the fire he felt in his own soul kindled in a way it hadn't before. Ever.

"Ugh!" she cried hours later, bringing his eyes back to her and not her shoulders. He had to, that that cry the magical flare he'd been feeling dissipate inside of her finally died. "It's not happening."

No. It wasn't. He had to acknowledge that. And there were many reasons for that. The tower was cold, the situation was stressful, and she was slow. Obviously, she wasn't as gifted with the wheel as he was at such a young age, or even as gifted as Baelfire and Milah had been, but even Milah had some working knowledge of spinning when he'd taught her. Still, she was getting the wheel to work, the problem wasn't in getting the straw to twine together, her problem was that she wasn't using her magic right. She felt it inside of her, but she wasn't pushing it out of herself, she was savoring it, holding on to it, when what she needed to do was let it go entirely. The more she tried the less she succeeded. The less she succeeded, the more frustrated she became. The more frustrated she became, the more she tried and on and on the cycle repeated itself. And besides that, they were running into another problem.

She was exhausting herself. Using magic, even for the most experienced of witches and wizards, could take a toll. Using it this much all at once was draining her, and besides that, it was past three in the morning. There were only a couple of hours left until sunrise, she'd been up nearly all night, and that made her tired, on top of using the magic. He'd noticed it just in the last half hour or so, the way she wobbled on her stool. She was practically falling asleep at her chair.

The power he'd seen throughout her the previous day was still there, but its glow was only that of an ember now. She'd never succeed like this. The memory of the day the magic had made itself known to her wasn't strong enough. There had to be a way to wake her up, spark her power back to life again, to give her more energy…to fuel her anger.

"You just need to stop thinking about it," he urged. He never thought about what he was doing, and it worked for him. It would work for her too as soon as she tapped into the emotion she'd had earlier in the day! But her tired eyes stared up at him now reminding him far more of a doe than a dragon. That wouldn't do. He needed the dragon he'd seen earlier. He wanted that dragon. "Magic is about emotion. Summon up that moment that made you so angry…you would've killed if you could."

There was a long pause as she stared up at him, the sleep disappeared from her eyes little by little, and he felt as though he could see her mind working. On what, he wondered.

"You do that?" she questioned. Her voice was filled with curiosity. Curiosity about him. But…for a question like that, he would have expected a woman to question him with fear, not with something like…like fascination.

"I do," he admitted quietly, with a gentle smile, suddenly feeling there was no need to impress or scare the girl. She was already looking at him with eyes like…like…like he'd never seen before. Not lusty, like so many of the barmaids he'd met, not fearfully like so many he made deals with. It was a hungry gaze. It was…it was wanted. And it stirred him up in a way he hadn't for near a hundred years.

"What's your moment?" she asked next with an interest that made him want to grin. It made him need to grin.

In truth, there were many times since he'd become the Dark One that made him so angry he wanted to kill. Ripping Milah's heart from her chest and crushing it after she'd told him she never loved him was a particularly delightful memory. But it wouldn't do, simply because while it had made him angry, the fulfillment of his anger meant it wasn't quite right. The nasty Blue Fairy telling him he'd never find his son was another terrible memory, but he had confidence that he'd deal with her in his own time. Then there was that time he'd realized the Captian, Captain Hook, as he supposed he was now, had tricked him out of his bean…another rivalry had been born that day, but it wasn't what he thought about. There were so many wonderful, beautiful memories that made him want to kill, but only one that stuck out to him because he'd never acted on the moment. There was only truly one of those moments before he became the Dark One that still made him want to murder to this day. It was the only memory that grated against him because he hadn't had the power to act on it at that moment.

"Once…a man made me kiss his boots in front of my son," he admitted in a low whisper. "Now, in my mind, I go back, and I rip out his throat…and I crunch his veins with my teeth…and that, dearie, is how magic is made." He been graphic on purpose, more vulgar than necessary at first just to see how she responded, but when he saw her smile, her interest in his story he'd wanted to continue just to please her. If her gaze was any indication now, she was pleased.

"Bloodlust…" she muttered in a deep husky voice that had him breathing rough. That was an excellent way to look at it. And at the moment, he certainly had a new respect for it. Thinking back on that day, looking at a captive audience who almost seemed happy at his wishes…bloodlust was certainly something he felt in certain parts of his body. "I like the phrase…" His fingers were twitching, itching, like they did when he needed to spin, but this time it wasn't wool he was dying to get his hands on. And if he was correctly interpreting her gaze, he wasn't the only one…

"Let me help you…" he muttered, despite the little voice in the back of his head that told him to stay far away. She was just too delectable! And he…he couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to touch a woman who wanted him to touch her. Not since he'd become the Dark One. But now, he put his hands on her shoulders, and instead of the tension he'd so clearly felt when he touched Milah, he felt the opposite.

She softened. She leaned back ever so slightly so that her skin was pressed into his palms, and suddenly he understood what if felt like to be a fish on a lure. The stool they'd given her to sit upon wasn't big, but she sat so far forward on it that if he moved his body right up next to her own, pressed her legs against her own, her back against his belly and her bottom against his groin…they fit together upon that stool, just barely, but only if they continued to sit this close together.

He arms moved then, beginning to spin again, and he moved his hands up and down her arms feeling smooth, soft skin, remarkably unmarred by the life she'd led. And despite her work, her nerves and stress she smelled…she smelled too amazing not to put his nose down over her shoulder and sniff. He was so close he could kiss that it of flesh. In fact, if pressed…he could put his mouth to all of it, and make the growing throb he felt between them content.

"They made me kneel," she muttered in a low voice as her hands continued to move and his mouth…it had been too long, and he just couldn't resist the urge to kiss her. Oh, it had been so long! "I didn't do anything wrong, but they made me apologize…to a child!"

Oh, there it was. She was reliving the events of earlier in the day, and with it, what he felt suddenly went beyond physical and into mystical. Her power, it was shivering, quivering inside of her body, seeping out through her skin and her breath. It filled the room. And he was so close it tickled in all the right places that had seemed dead until this moment.

"I realized, no matter how good I was, or how hard I worked… I was never going to be more than I am now."

Yes…but she was more…could be so, so much more.

"What do you want to do to them?" he urged, whispering the words in her ear and wondering if her neck would taste the same as her shoulder did.

"I want to make them bow," she whispered as her magic flared. "I want their kneecaps…to crack and freeze on the stones. I want their necks to break from bending."

Oh…bloodlust indeed. He couldn't have kept his hands off of her if he tried, not with her bending into him and pushing so much magic into their space that…

The thought of pushing magic had him glancing up to check on the wheel. What he saw there, he knew, would make her nearly as happy as it made him. He only prayed it wasn't enough to make her want to stop.

"Look," he muttered in her ear, letting just a few of her curls fall over his face. Her hair smelled just as good as her skin did.

Cora tensed for a moment, the softening of her muscles died as she glanced at the wheel, and he saw a smile, far different from her look of bloodlust grace her face. "I did it," she wondered. "I'm going to live."

And have a baby that would get him to Baelfire…and if the magic he'd felt in her was any indication, it was only the beginning. He should have known. It wasn't anger that motivated her. It was revenge. Her trigger emotion was the same as his own.

"You're going to do much more than that, dearie. Don't stop…until they are on their knees!" he hissed in her ear. And with that, she fell back into him as she had been, leaned into his chest, into his touch, and sighed.

"Let's keep going…." she whispered, turning back to her work.

He continued to do his own.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Cora #Golden Heart #fanfic #ouat

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mikotyzini · 6 years

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Living Fiction - Ch. 7 - First Kiss

As Bumblebee Week is drawing to a close, we have only one chapter left after this. Let’s make the best of it!

Intro Chapter Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

The environment solidified around them, but the first thing Blake noticed about this new chapter was that she and Yang were still holding hands - their fingers still intertwined, with Yang seeming to have no intention of changing that anytime soon. Rather, she was looking around while tall walls replaced the gazebo, and they found themselves standing in the massive entryway of what appeared to be an exquisitely decorated palace.

The ceilings must be three stories above their head and were painted with classical images of royalty. There was a wide staircase to their right, covered in a thick red carpet and splitting off in two directions towards the upper levels. The white marble floor gleamed with fresh polish. The gold trim adorning majestic marble columns shimmered under the light of a strikingly-beautiful chandelier hanging above their heads.

On any other day, the palace itself would be the most remarkable sight to behold, but today it was the people stealing much of the attention.

The palace staff was rushing in all directions, coming and going and speaking excitedly amongst themselves as they went. Some were cleaning, some were carrying vases of flowers or platters piled with food, and some were just rushing - as if they didn't know precisely what to do, but knew they needed to do something.

Turning in a slow circle, Yang’s eyes drank in as many details as possible before her gaze landed on Blake.

“What's going on?” she asked, her eyes flitting to the side as a maid rushed past them.

“They’re preparing for a celebration.”

While Blake spoke, she nodded towards two butlers hurrying towards the front doors. These particular doors towered over any man, made of solid wood and appearing exceptionally heavy by the way one of the men tugged heartily in order to pull it open.

The sound of cheers and many, many voices burst through as soon as the door was opened an inch. Curious about the noise, Yang stepped closer to Blake and looked through the doorway while the butlers rushed outside and disappeared from view.

The palace grounds were filled with people. Everyone was laughing, cheering, talking - a celebration already underway while they waited for the main event.

“I knew you liked to party,” Yang joked, nodding outside with a grin.

“Probably a different kind of party than you're used to.”

“Eh…” Yang shrugged and turned back to Blake after a third butler shoved the door shut and cut the crowds from view. “To be honest, I'm having a much better time here with you than I’ve had at any party.”

Between Yang’s words, her prior admission, and the way she was looking at Blake right now, Blake felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and happiness. She had no idea why Yang might like her, but over the course of these chapters, they'd grown impossibly close - close enough that the discomfort she’d once felt had almost completely disappeared. Not only was it easy to spend time with Yang, but it was also enjoyable - it was something she wanted to do. And it seemed borderline miraculous that Yang felt the same.

“I'm glad you’re having a good time here, with me,” Blake replied in a soft whisper as her cheeks grew hotter. There was a chance the words would be swallowed up in the hustle and bustle surrounding them, but Yang heard them clearly - and smiled so brightly Blake wouldn’t dare look away.

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m enjoying this so much?” Yang asked, taking a step closer and making Blake’s heart pound in anticipation. At this minimal distance, Blake had to tilt her head up to meet Yang's eyes...

“No,” she answered, never turning away from Yang’s gaze. “I felt the same way the first time. And every time since then...”

When Yang laughed, Blake smiled and soaked in the feeling of warmth emanating from the person in front of her.

“Totally wish I could’ve seen that,” Yang admitted, her eyes sparkling joyfully at the idea. And, when another thought popped into her head, her smile grew. “You know, it feels like we’ve known each other a really long time.”

“It does,” Blake replied, agreeing with the statement wholeheartedly.

Though they started this journey as acquaintances, at best, the experiences they shared had broken down the walls of unfamiliarity. They might not know everything about each other just yet, but she was confident that was a trivial barrier that could be lowered over time. If she had questions, all she had to do was ask - and she could ask, she was sure of that now.

Reaching out, Yang gently pushed a strand of hair out of Blake’s eyes, making her unwittingly shiver when fingertips lightly grazed her temple.

“You're really pretty, you know?”

Whether or not Blake believed that statement, it was impossible to disagree with Yang's eyes right now. They were filled with certainty and determination, along with a great deal of anticipation and a dash of nerves mixed in.

When Yang took a half step closer, the two of them now close enough that Blake could feel warm breaths brushing across her cheek, she was positive her eyes reflected the same expectation and nerves - especially when Yang smiled and leaned closer.

“Hello, Sir -”

“Good morning, Sir -”

The sudden chorus of respectful greetings caused Yang's eyes to drift, and that moment - whatever it had been - faded away. Released from the magic of lilac eyes, Blake turned around and found a tall, well-dressed man making his way through the slew of workers buzzing about the palace floor. His pants were smartly creased at the sides; his jacket was neatly pressed and adorned with an array of colors symbolizing various titles. Every person he passed paused to greet him and dipped their heads in respect before hurrying on to their next task.

He gave each person a nod in return, but never faltered in his path towards the staircase that would lead him to the second level of the palace. There was a clear limp in his gait that implied a recent injury not yet fully healed, but the pain seemed to bother him little. If anything, it was nothing but a minor hindrance preventing him from reaching his destination as fast as possible.

“Now that’s our character,” Yang said before looking to Blake for confirmation. “Right?”

“You’re getting pretty good at this,” Blake replied with a nod. When Yang laughed, Blake smiled - still silently thrilled that Yang was having so much fun figuring out the course of these chapters.

The next second, Blake’s heart jumped in surprise when - without an ounce of hesitation - Yang slid her hand down to Blake's and led them after the man.

“Alexander!”

They’d almost made it to the staircase when the voice cut above the noise of the palace and stopped the man in his tracks - which stopped Yang, and therefore Blake as well. Sighing at the sound of his name, the man threw on a smile while turning towards the sharply-dressed man navigating through the workers to catch up with him.

“Yes, Everett?”

“Where are you going?” Everett demanded, stalking right up to Alexander with purpose earned through years of service.

“I'm going upstairs to get ready. You'd prefer me to be early than late, wouldn't you?”

With a pleasant smile, Alexander knew that the question trapped the over-organized head-of-state in a philosophical quagmire. Of course, Everett wasn’t naive enough to fall for Alexander’s thought-out explanation - not anymore, at least.

But before a response (or an order) could be issued, a third man ran up to them - although he was less of a man and more of boy. Out of breath from whatever distance he’d just crossed, he slouched over as he delivered his news.

“Sir! There's a bit of a problem - with the salute.”

The words caught Everett's full attention.

“What do you mean, a problem with the salute?” he snapped. “What problem could there possibly be with a salute?”

When the younger boy simply shrugged - the answers to those questions clearly out of his scope of responsibilities - Everett sighed and shot a stern look at Alexander. “I'll see you upstairs,” he said before rushing off with the messenger to solve this latest problem.

As soon as the pair disappeared from the room, Alexander smiled to himself. One problem out of the way, he continued on his original path leading upstairs.

“Ohhh he totally planned that, didn't he?” Yang remarked, practically bouncing up the royal red steps to the second floor. “Look at him - he's all smug about it too!”

“He’s trying to do something he’s not supposed to,” Blake explained while they followed Alexander up the stairs. Like all of the other palace workers, he knew exactly where he was going - up the stairs, to the left, and to the left again. The directions led them towards the front of the building on the second story, while still walking on clean marble that reflected light from the decorative sconces placed every few feet.

“Lemme guess - that Everett guy is always making him follow the rules?”

“Or trying to,” Blake replied as they trailed their character at his slow gait down the hall. Turning to the side, she looked at Yang - whose perfect waves of golden hair and bright smile seemed to fit in these halls. “You know, this place suits you.”

“You mean it suits us,” Yang replied, sending that blinding smile Blake’s way - along with a good dose of sincerity. “I’d like to think we deserve it after what we’ve been through,” she added, playfully nudging Blake’s shoulder when they slowed to a stop at the end of the hall. Feeling Yang’s fingers intertwined with her own, Blake gave them a short squeeze - at the same time strangely comfortable with the gesture while wondering if her heart would ever stop beating so quickly when they held hands.

Alexander made it to the very last room on the right-hand side of the hall, which would be easy to find due to the two guards stationed outside - one standing at attention on either side of the door.

“Test number two,” Blake commented, watching Alexander walk right up to the door. As expected, both guards immediately stepped forward to prevent him from moving any closer.

“Sorry, Sir. We were given strict orders not to let you pass.”

Another sigh slipped out while Alexander surveyed the two men standing between him and the mission he was determined to see through to the very end.

“He really put you up to this?” he asked, likely referring to the hard-nosed steward he thought he’d distracted downstairs.

“It's tradition -”

“Screw tradition,” Alexander interrupted, for the first time sounding moderately annoyed at being kept from his goal. Sighing again when he heard the tone of voice, he shook his head and found a small smile.

“Today's supposed to be a celebration,” he said, his warm brown eyes imploring them to understand. “I haven't seen her in two days, and I'd just like to talk to her before we're bound for eternity. Is that really too much to ask?”

The two guards shared a look while they debated his words, their resolve clearly weakening.

“Besides - Everett might be upset, but I can assure you that she'll be plenty happy.” Gesturing towards the door, Alexander grinned. “And who would you rather make happy today - that old stick-in-the-mud or your new queen?”

The appeal to reason worked, as the two men shared another long look before glancing down the hall in every direction to see if anyone else was around. Finding the hallways currently empty of witnesses (besides Blake and Yang, of course), they finally stepped out of the way and turned their backs so they couldn't see the door. Smiling in success, Alexander opened it and slipped through.

“I need to take some smooth-talking lessons from this dude,” Yang said, quickly following Alexander into a room that was just as opulent as the foyer downstairs. The furniture was traced in gold, there was another chandelier hanging from the ceiling - a smaller version of the one downstairs - and every wall from floor-to-ceiling sparkled majestically.

But, unlike the frenetic activity being carried out elsewhere in the palace, this room was quiet, still, and empty - save for a woman sitting at the large window overlooking the palace grounds. She was dressed all in white - an exquisite white gown that sparkled with rows and rows of tiny diamonds. Her dark brown hair was pinned up in a refined bun - on which a tiara sat, adding more diamonds and more sparkles to her already glowing persona.

Upon seeing her guest, she stood and rushed over to give him a big hug - one that he returned willingly, embracing her warmly.

“You made it,” she said, the words coming out like a sigh of relief. When she stepped away, she held onto both of his hands, content to maintain their constant connection.

“Of course I did. I promised you, didn’t I?”

“But the guards -”

“Were hardly any trouble,” he finished, squeezing both of her hands while looking at her dress. “Cecilia…” he breathed out, meeting her eyes and smiling. “You look beautiful.”

“Me?” she asked in return, placing one hand on her collar before shaking her head. “What about you?”

“Well, I know I'm beautiful. Wouldn't have caught your eye otherwise.”

The grin he wore only grew when she laughed at his joke.

“That's true,” she agreed. “I am incredibly vain, you know.”

“You’re anything but,” he replied, pulling her close and leaning down to kiss her on the lips. The kiss was chaste and sweet, but when they pulled apart she sighed happily and leaned into his chest.

“Can you believe we made it through everything in one piece?”

“Almost in one piece,” he added, reaching down and patting his leg.

Glancing to the side, Blake found that Yang was watching the interaction with a silly smile on her lips - clearly delighted by the conversation. Her expression made Blake inexplicably happy because...without knowing it, she’d managed to find another chapter that Yang really enjoyed. And this was their happy ending - just like Yang wished for.

“Your parents would be really proud,” Alexander said, but the comment earned him an amused look.

“What about your parents?” Cecilia countered with a partial grin, reaching up to straighten his collar. “I'm sure they never expected their ornery son to become a hero.”

“l never expected that either,” he answered. “But then I met you.”

“Oh bull,” she immediately replied, sounding not at all princess-like while she playfully shoved his shoulder. “You were every bit a hero when I met you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Reaching out, Alexander tickled Cecilia’s sides, grinning all the while as she laughed and tried to escape his grasp.

“God, they're so cute,” Yang said, turning to Blake and smiling. “I could listen to them tease each other forever.”

“Should I leave you here then?” Blake asked, playfully motioning towards the door and taking a step in that direction. She was stopped by their still-joined hands, as Yang gently tugged her close again.

“Don’t you dare - this wouldn’t be half as enjoyable without you.”

The comment made Blake blush, especially as she felt Yang’s warmth seeping into her side and shoulder - the two of them standing so close that it wouldn’t be much of a leap for Yang to wrap her arms around Blake right now.

It was unbelievable that Blake thought it could actually happen, too - that they were that close now, and that there was a small voice in her head willing Yang to do it.

“I do wonder what the world has in store for us next,” Cecilia asked, looking up into Alexander’s eyes with unconcealed hesitation.

“Whatever it is, we’ll conquer it together,” he assured her.

A double-knock landed on the door then, drawing their attention away from each other. No one entered the room, but the signal was enough to let them know that it was time to leave this sanctuary behind. It was time for them to get back to the rest of the story - and the rest of their lives.

Looking away from the door, Alexander smiled once again.

“Are you ready?” he asked, extending one hand to the girl of his dreams, the love of his life, and his soon-to-be wife. After looking at his hand for a second, she smiled up at him as she took it.

“I’m ready if you are.”

Hand-in-hand, the two of them walked towards their happy ending.

“By the way,” Alexander commented before opening the door. “There are two guards outside who are probably deserving of a promotion.”

Laughing at the comment, Cecilia shook her head, smiling all the while as he opened the door and bowed her through first.

“We aren't even married yet and you're already handing out promotions?”

“Anything for the opportunity to see you a few minutes sooner.”

On the other side of the door, the two guards bowed as Cecilia walked out. Pausing for a moment, she dipped her head to them in return.

“l greatly appreciate your use of discretion,” she said with a smile. “It may not be tradition...but it might be time for some changes around here.”

With that said, she smiled again and continued away from the room - her head held high even though her stomach was still filled with butterflies.

“Yang,” Blake said, pulling them out of the room and trailing the regal couple towards a gathering of people directly ahead. Turning to her right, she smiled at Yang’s slightly confused, yet expectant expression.

“Are you ready?” Blake asked, her own excitement building at the impending end of this story. Even unknowing what was coming next, Yang responded with a bright smile.

“You know it.”

The answer lifted Blake’s heart as the two of them stopped near the group of people standing in front of a large pair of double doors in what was the center of the building. Several high-ranking palace staff and guards stood at attention while the princess and her hero joined them. Their hands were still linked - the two of them ready and willing to face this next chapter of their lives together.

A prominent member of this group was the man who’d tried and failed to stall Alexander downstairs - and, as Everett watched the two of them approach together, he looked very much like he was sucking on a lemon.

“Everett, do drop the sour look," Cecilia said teasingly. Her words lacked any form of command, but Everett immediately complied.

“My apologies, Your Highness," he replied with a bow. “l shouldn't be surprised that you want to do this your way - you’ve insisted upon breaking with tradition ever since you were a little girl.”

“And you’ve been there to make sure I knew which traditions needed to stay,” she replied, reaching out and pulling him into a loving hug that he returned. For a brief moment, he lowered his constant professionalism and smiled before letting her go and resuming his rigid posture.

“Now then,” he said, straightening his jacket as if that gesture had meant nothing to him. But when he turned back to Cecilia, it was with caring eyes. “Are you ready?”

Before answering the question Cecilia looked up at Alexander, who smiled down at her. Taking Alexander’s hand once more, Cecilia turned to Everett and nodded.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

At some invisible cue, two of the palace staff reached out and took hold of the polished brass door handles in front of them. In practiced unison, the double doors were pulled open at the exact same moment, and sunlight streamed into the hallway as the sound of cheers filled their ears.

There was a large, white balcony outside that overlooked the palace grounds and, further in the distance, the sprawling city leading down to a shimmering bay. Today, the view was of a sea of people filling the courtyards and beyond, stretching nearly as far as the eye could see.

Taking one last look to her right, Cecilia smiled up at her companion before the two of them stepped out onto the wide balcony together.

“Come on,” Blake whispered, pulling Yang through the doors right after the couple - just in time to catch the crowd erupting into applause upon seeing their new rulers approach the railing. When the princess raised her free hand and waved, the cheers grew louder. Whistles punctuated the sound as a series of horns sounded from somewhere nearby - the perfect salute to the young woman on her impending wedding.

The energy was infectious. The celebration reached deep inside and lifted Blake’s heart on a swell of joyful emotions - because here, from atop the balcony, it was almost believable that the crowd was cheering for her...for her and Yang. It was as if, by completing these seven chapters together, they were being congratulated in their own way. For their ability to overcome their initial fear of the unknown and learn to embrace the opportunities they were given, and for learning a thing or two along the way about what it meant to be bold and willing to fight for something or someone they believed in.

Leaving the crowd behind, Blake turned her full attention to Yang - being much more interested in Yang’s reaction than in soaking in the feeling of victory. And Yang’s eyes were currently sweeping across the overjoyed masses, moving back and forth while her mouth hung open in either surprise or amazement or both.

“After this, they’ll go to the chapel -” Blake explained, nodding towards the beautiful white building nestled amongst the city streets across the way. “That’s where they’ll be married.”

The book never described the details of the actual ceremony, opting instead to inform the reader of the impending nuptials but end the story at this moment - where the main characters were lifted up by the very people they’d sacrificed so much for. But to anyone standing here, feeling this moment, it was very clearly a ‘happily ever after.’ There was no other way to describe the crescendo of emotions other than joy and relief bubbling over.

Even though Blake hadn’t participated in their war, she could partake in their triumph. At this moment, it felt as genuine and real as any victory she’d known - and she was extremely grateful that she wasn’t experiencing it alone.

Eventually, Yang turned to Blake with that shocked expression still in place.

“Blake...this is incredible.”

Smiling at the perfect summation, Blake squeezed Yang’s hand as her heart did a happy somersault in her chest.

“It is,” she agreed, allowing the jubilation to sweep through her as the cheers of the crowd suddenly multiplied - a surprised fervor filling the air. Turning to the side, she smiled when she saw that Alexander was pressing a loving kiss to Cecilia’s lips - another tradition broken in front of thousands of onlookers, and a clear statement that change was on the horizon. But after the past few years of turmoil, change was probably for the better.

“He’s not supposed to do that either,” Blake said with a light laugh. When she turned back to Yang, she found eyes filled with marvel.

“This is incredible,” Yang repeated, looking out over the crowds. “This entire thing...being here with you...it’s incredible.”

While Yang stared at the people in wonder, Blake watched with a smile.

The way Yang appreciated these adventures made it immensely rewarding to share them with her. Not only did she appreciate them, but she experienced them in ways Blake had never even considered before.

“Can I do this with you again?” Yang suddenly asked, turning away from the balcony as the main characters shared another kiss and sent even more fervor through the crowds. Ignoring them, Yang picked up Blake’s other hand and pulled her close, staring down into her eyes all the while. “Can we do this again?”

Before today, if Blake had been forced to choose one person to share this secret with, it probably wouldn’t have been Yang. But, after sharing this adventure together, she doubted anyone else would have been as enjoyable to spend this time with. She doubted anyone else could have made what was already a wonderful experience...even more wonderful.

“Absolutely,” she replied, smiling as she nodded. “I’d love to.”

The positive answer made Yang grin, and Blake’s heart did a double beat while the two of them shared in that feeling of elation and...intimacy. The longer they stood there, so close together, a bubble of yearning grew in Blake’s chest - a feeling that boiled over when Yang leaned forward.

The cue was silent, yet Blake felt it all the same - and she met Yang’s lips halfway for a kiss.

The horns sounded again, three long salutes to the triumphant prince and princess, and the crowd cheered in jubilation when the wedding procession finally began. But Blake’s happiness was no longer stemming from them - it was coming from Yang, whose lips were soft and warm as they pressed against her own, expressing a rush of emotions to Blake through action rather than words. A hand appeared on her lower back, pulling her closer as she reached up and wove one hand through Yang’s hair.

Admittedly, Blake had daydreamed about what it would be like to kiss Yang. Experiencing it in real life...was far better than she’d ever imagined, as her heart pounded in her chest and her skin tingled with excitement.

When they finally broke apart, with Yang’s hands still resting on Blake’s hips and Blake’s hand falling to Yang’s shoulder, they laughed - both of them probably feeling equally surprised at how unexpected and amazing that had just been.

“I, uh…” Yang started to say before another delighted laugh slipped out. “I’m sorry, I just - god, I’ve wanted to do that forever.”

The comment caught Blake off guard, as did the way Yang reached up and twirled a lock of Blake’s hair around one finger.

“You have?”

“Yeah. Basically since...since that macro econ class our first year.”

Shocked by the revelation, Blake briefly glanced to the side - as their main characters shared one last, long kiss - before looking back into Yang’s eyes.

“Then I hope...it was ok?” she asked, suddenly more embarrassed at what they’d just done. At least, she would have felt embarrassed had it not been for Yang’s beaming smile and reassuring lilac eyes.

“That was way more than ok…”

At that moment, the characters in the story disappeared and, with them, the sound of the crowd as well. Left alone on the balcony, Yang looked around the suddenly quiet space and then took Blake’s hands in her own, intertwining their fingers together.

“Would it be lame if I wanted to kiss you again?” she asked, staring at their joined hands before finally meeting Blake’s eyes.

“No.” With a slight shake of her head, Blake stepped closer. Her heart was pounding again - even louder this time because she knew to expect what was to come. “That wouldn’t be lame at all.”

“Then...can I kiss you again?”

What reason could Blake possibly have to say ‘no’ to that question? This wasn’t supposed to happen, because they’d fallen into this adventure together by mistake? They’d hardly spoken before this secret had been revealed? They belonged in different social circles, had different friends, or any of the other excuses Blake had used to explain her lack of courage in trying to forge a relationship?

None of those reasons actually mattered, which was why her heart had already made a decision.

“Yes,” she answered, her breath catching when Yang smiled.

The environment began to blur, but neither of them was paying attention to it any longer. When Yang leaned forward, Blake tilted her head up to accept the kiss. When her eyes fluttered shut and excitement buzzed through her veins, it ceased to matter if they were standing outside of a royal palace, on a war-torn battlefield, or out in the middle of a snowy field - as long as Yang was here with her.

She couldn’t say she’d ever thought about what it might be like to kiss someone in the midst of a romance...but it was absolutely incredible.

@bmblbweek

#bumblebyweek #bmblbweek #bumblebee #bumbleby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #living fiction

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writersblock2point0 · 6 years

Text

I Am Project Six. Part 4

Summary: The beauty of Christmas and a bomb at the mall?

“It’s so white.” A soft voice came from behind Tony as he fiddled with his toys, and he raised an eyebrow before peering out the window. New York was covered in snow; the white power pristine and unblemished as fresh puffs fell from the sky in a thick haze.

“Yup.” Tony replies, peeking over his shoulder to see Six was looking out the window, eyes flickering over the different falling snow flakes. “It’s called snow.” The sarcasm was faint in his words, and he didn’t miss the small look Bruce shot him. Tony shrugged, rolling his eyes before listening as Bruce turned back to Six.

“Okay, this won’t hurt much, but it will pinch.” Bruce gives her a small shot before starting to patch her up. During a rather rough training session Bucky managed to snag her in the forearm with his blade. He was obviously upset about it; however, it was more over how she took the pain. Her expression was stoic, and she didn’t even cry as blood spilled from the large gash. She simply took her shirt off and wrapped it, looking up at him for orders. Once he was done Bruce told her to rest her arm and take pain medicine responsibly. Standing, Bruce said that Bucky was waiting outside for her.

She walked out with her arm wrapped and a new shirt on. When the doors open, Bucky looks up. His hair was a mess, clear finger patterns weaved in as his eyes remained conflicted. Six stood still, unsure if she should say something. She knew he was upset, it was obvious with how much he apologized. She was fine. The pain was barely there, and she wondered why he was so sorry. Why? It was her fault, she did not block him, did not see it happen.

Shifting in awkward silence, Bucky finally sighs.

“I’m so sorry doll.” Six looks down, wanting to say it was her fault, but she knew it would not serve her any good. He would still feel the way he does.

“I am fine.” She mutters quietly, and he rubs his eyes. Standing, he towers over her. She looks up at him with wide eyes. “Are we going to continue our training?”

“No. It’s enough for today.” He answers, and she frowns. Six didn’t understand, she trained all day, almost every day. Why stop because of an injury? Six never let an injury hinder her. She pushed through. Bucky sees the gears in her head turning, “C’mon.” He starts walking to his own personal courters of the tower. She follows without hesitation, her pace even with his as she made sure not to walk beside him or in front of him, but behind. Bucky took quick note of that, after she never equaled herself or put herself ahead of any of them.

She closed his door after walking in. Bucky had a large, spacious apartment. Walking in, there was a large living area with a black leather couch, glass table, a black leather chair, and a large flat screen sitting across from the couch. A door of the right side of the tv lead to a large kitchen. A door to the right of the couch lead to a large bedroom with a bathroom. The wall across from the door, and to the left couch was all glass. It gave a beautiful view of the snow outside. It caught Six’s interest immediately. She timidly inched her way to the window, keeping an eye on Bucky as he disappeared into the kitchen. She looked down, watching cars and people. They were so small from up here, it was almost making her dizzy. She snapped her head to see Bucky standing in the kitchen door way with two steaming mugs.

He gave her a small smile, “You can’t enjoy snow without hot chocolate.” She takes it, feeling the heat of the mug and goes to take a sip. “Wait, it’s really hot.” Bucky blows on his drink and she watches him before doing the same. Copying his movements to perfection. The drink is indeed hot, but not unsettling. The taste is unlike anything she has had before. She can feel the hot liquid travel down her throat and stomach, and the sweetness lasts on her tongue longer than she expected. She takes a bigger sip the next time. Again, she feels it everywhere in her body and relishes in the sweet nectar. Six takes a breath, she really likes hot chocolate.

“Tony is throwing a party for Christmas. He says you can come if you want, but if you would rather stay inside your room that is fine too.” Bucky comments, and Six furrows her brow.

“I do not know what Christmas is.” She shakes her head, blinking as Bucky goes to sit down. She stands, glancing out the window every few seconds. She thought about the party. She knew a party was a gathering of friends, perhaps with music and dances of different kinds, she suspected it would be about Christmas. She didn’t know if she would attend. It was not her place. Perhaps she would stay in her room, and draw. Bucky told her about the YouTube, videos for free for anyone. It sounded interesting.

“I was hoping you would go to the party. I think it would be good for you.” Bucky states, setting his mug down before she was already finished with hers. Bucky hides a smile, she liked the hot chocolate. He notes how she seems to tense at his words. “Of course, it is your choice. I’ll be there with you if you would like to go.” She nods, not uttering a show as she continues to look out the window. Bucky noticed she did that often. With a small sigh, Bucky stands. Six never spoke much, but Bucky didn’t need her to speak. He was able to pick up on a lot of things just by assessing her person.

He followed her gaze, seeing she was looking at the sky. It was dark, grey and the snow flakes were falling in heavy heaps. She would follow one, before it hit the ground, then she’d turn to the sky and pick another. “Would you like to go to the roof?” She turns to him, a confused frown on her face.

Bucky leads her up, opening the door to the outside. He props it open with a cement block and notes how deep the snow has gathered on the roof. It stops just under his knee. Six looks out, attentively stepping into the snow. She was barefoot, but her body heat kept her from getting frost bite. The magic of mutants. She takes a few more steps, and Bucky notices how the snow around her wilted, as if being a few inches was too much for it to stand. It was melting.

She made a path right to the edge of the building, looking down before looking up. Snow stuck to her hair, but quickly melted. She didn’t even seem to get wet, just stayed dry.

“Have you ever seen snow before?” Bucky asks, curious to why she seemed so entranced with it.

“Yes.” She answers. “A lot. I could withstand temperatures that most life could not. I did not need survival gear. I did not require shelter or fire for warmth. My body was able to keep me alive in the most frigid waters and air. I just love the snow.”

Bucky hums, standing beside her. He could feel the cold, but it did not affect him much. “Why do you like it?”

“I was sent on a mission to kill a whole family in Northern Russia. It was snowing that night. It was one I enjoyed. The solitude and quiet. I did that mission on my own. My first ever solo.” She comments and turns to him. “Do you remember the freezer?”

Bucky looks down, his jaw setting firmly before he looks up. “Yes. Though I try not to.”

Six smiles, “Well, I think of it fondly. Though the doctor was not please when he learned it would not freeze my body. It was used as a isolation punishment. Though I never let on that it served as…peace.” Bucky looks out into the night, thinking how ironic that the same experiences impacted each of them differently. The freezer was hell, he hated it. But for her, it was heaven on earth. She was alone, peaceful, and safe inside of it. While Bucky would never step foot in one on his own free will again, he had no doubt that she would seek out a similar place as a makeshift getaway.

“Do you have fond memories?” Her voice was small, as if she was scared to ask. “Of before?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, and then decides that while there where times when it was not as dark, no. He did not. “No.”

“Is it bad that I do?” She rebuttals quickly, concern in her eyes.

“No. I think it is human to see good things in dark situations.” Bucky states and watches as she leans over the edge, watching cars slowly make their way by. The city was lit up like a Christmas tree, some flickering off, others coming on. Bucky wanted to help her, to guide her into a new life. Bucky was grateful for Steve, but if he hadn’t been there, then Bucky wouldn’t have had anyone. Steve and Bucky were best friends before the war, even during the war. Six had no one. She was given up by her own parents. He wanted to help her, because he knew how it was in Hydra, and he also knew if you had someone to lean on, it was possible to over come it all.

The next morning, Six emerged from her room. It was on the same floor as Bucky and Sam’s. It was a few days until Christmas, at least that was what she was told. The tower was decorated in red, green, and white. Along door ways was these bright white lights with red ribbons and fake green plants. Six wondered why red? But there was a pleasing aesthetic to it that she liked. It felt warm, not temperature wise, but inviting. Six passes the large living room where she often heard the team gather for drinks and conversation. She never joined them, but she could often hear their laughter from a hall away. What made her stop was the large fat tree beside the window. It was wrapped with lights, blinking and colorful There was large glass ornaments hanging from its branches, some were gold and others were different. There was deer, a large man wearing red, three white circles stack on one another with a black hat and a smile, and a few others. Six stared at it, titling her head and wondered why it was here.

“It’s a Christmas tree.” A voice from behind her said, and Six spun around. Steve was standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the door. He smiles at her, “It’s tradition.”

Six nods before looking back at it and noticing colorful boxes underneath. “And the boxes?”

“Presents.” Sam says, rounding the corner and putting on his jacket. Sam gives Six a large smile, “You ready?”

Six frowns, “For what?”

Six stands in the large mall, watching people bustle around, carrying bags and bags of different items for others and themselves. She wondered why it was so traditional for someone to buy things for another. Was it to retrieve something in return? An eye for an eye? A favor? Six watched as a small boy held a large stuffed black cat as he held hands with an older woman. She was speaking on the phone, and he was looking around with an anxious expression; one that mirrored her own.

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Hey, hey.” Sam’s voice came through the noisy lobby. “You ready to help me pick things out?” Six hesitantly nods, her eyes wide as she looks at all the passing people. Sam is beside her, pulling out a folded paper and looking at all the things on the list. “Okay, I need you to take this-“ He handed her a card. She looked at it in confusion as he explained, “Use it as debit, and get everything below here. The stores in which you can find them are right next to them in parentheses.” He looked her in the eyes, “Can you do that?”

She finds herself nodding before she can consult with herself and suddenly she’s alone. She didn’t see where he went, the crowds were too large. She sighs, okay, she can do this. She’s learning to read, granted she doesn’t quite understand the whole grammar too much yet but she knows what each of these words are. She gets herself to a small kid store. It was stuffed with large and small animals. Somewhere more accurate in looks while others were just plain comical. She steps in, eying the different animals and candies. She clears her throat and looks down at the list.

‘A large stuffed stitch for niece.’ A Stitch? What was a Stitch? Her mind instantly went to a large sown up wound, but as a stuffed animal. She looked around, turning in a slow and painful circle as she tried to figure out what a Stitch is. She stood staring at a large set of shelves that seemed too big for the store. Perhaps she was getting shorter? Did that happen?

“Excuse me,” A small feminine voice came from beside Six. Almost dropping the card and note in her hand, she turned to see the mother with the little boy. The women had blond hair, cut short to her shoulders with blue eyes that didn’t even rival Steve or Bucky’s. The smile was warm and inviting. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business-but do you need help?”

Six swallows around the lump in her throat. ‘This is good for you.’ Sam’s voice echoed in her head and she felt like she had to do this. Nodding, she turns her eyes to the woman, “Yes, I do.”

The woman smiles, “I thought so. You looked very lost.”

Six breathes out a small laugh. Her should tense but she tries to calm the beating of her heart. “Thank you.”

“I’m Pipher, and this is Jack.” Pipher holds the boy’s hand as she looks down at him with a proud grin. The small boy has thick dirty blond curls, and dark round eyes that reminded her of that one movie with the girl and the button eyes…what was it called again? His cheeks were chubby as he didn’t even seem to look at her, hiding half his face in the large cat.

“My friends call me Six.” Six answers, glancing to the side. “It’s a um, r-running joke?” She questions, wondering if that was the correct term to use. She’s been given lots and lots of lessons from Tony Stark on terms and phrases.

“Well, Six, I would love to help you.” Pipher smiles and Six looks down at her list.

“I need a large stuffed Stitch…I don’t know what a Stitch is.”

Pipher is then laughing and Six feels her face grow hot. “Oh my, come with me.” She leads Six around the store, showing her a blue alien that is named Stitch. A popular children’s show, movie character, and all-around alien. Picking up one that was very big, almost too large for Six to see around, she helped Six pay. Showing her how to use the card correctly.

“Thank you, not a lot of people are patient.”

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Pipher tilts her head, still holding Jack’s hand. She then pulls out a pen and takes the paper. “Listen, if you need anything or just want to hang out-this is my number.”

Six watches with large eyes, and stares at the set of numbers in the corner of the paper. “Um, okay…Thank you.” Pipher waves, walking to the left and Six looks around, holding a large Stitch and wondering where Barnes & Noble was. “Wait!” She calls out to Pipher, and the woman spins around. Six feels her throat close for a moment, before she stood taller as the woman came closer. “Do you know where Barnes and Noble is?”

Pipher smiles, the corners of her mouth pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Well, I think you may be following me.” Six’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head, going to protest and explain but Pipher is laughing and snatching the list before Six can even think of stopping her. She turns and looks over her shoulder. “This way.” Her voice was nothing short of a song and Six follows with quick steps as she adjusted the Stitch at her side.

They’d been inside the book store for only a few moments when they heard it. A large boom, then the building was shaking. People were running, in all directions. Six turns to Pipher and hands her the large Stitch, telling her to get out through the doors at the end of the hall.

“I can’t! Jack is inside in the kid’s section!”

Six’s jaw clenches before she turns Pipher towards the exit, “I will get him, you go.”

“No! I need-“

Six cuts her off, “Jack needs you alive, and I cannot keep the both of you safe. Now get out.” Six watches the mother nod and run to the exit, holding their bags as Six turns back into the store. It was empty, and Six could see why. The ceiling was falling. She hurried through, getting lost in which way the kid’s section was in the store. A loud scream broke through the corruption and Six rounded a shelf to see him on the floor half way under a fallen book case. Books were around him, heavy hard backs and flopped over paper backs.

He was crying and Six didn’t have time to wonder if he was hurt or not. Grabbing him by the arms, she tugs him out, and sees he was not injured. The fall just scared him. He was shaking and holding onto her as if he needed her to breathe. She goes to pick him up, but a series of cracks and groans hit her, and she looked up, seeing the ceiling was two seconds away from falling. Quickly placing him on the floor, she covered him with her body as the walls and ceiling collapsed.

Tags:

@lilulo-12 @stuck-as-me @themeanestlittlewitch

#Marvel Universe #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Steve rogers #Avengers #Avengers imagines #short story #I Am Project Six #Oc #oc character

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imagine-that-one-thing · 6 years

Text

Styles’ Towers. ||

S.O.S

|| previous ||

While I lean on a pillar and do my best to stay away from conversations with everyone, essentially because I’m sick of getting pried for information on various matters, such as when Harry will be signing the new contracts, when the Christmas bonuses go out and when Harry will notify some of the staff they’re fired. I had to assure two women that their husbands were not being fired and that they need to stop fretting.

I much preferred these things when I was merely a girlfriend and wife, not the fucking business Gooroo who just happens to be CAO and espoused to the CEO. If I had my time again I probably wouldn’t have accepted working at Harry’s company. It is becoming to be too much of a strain and hassle. I don’t know how he has managed to deal with everything for so many years, it’s no wonder he’s cranky and a dick most the time.

A waiter endeavours me a smile as he displays a tray of champagne flutes, “ma’am, this is for you,” he delivers me a white card, “from the man over there,” he gestures towards Harry and I nod while I open the card to read it.

“Elise, meet me in room 21 on the 12th floor, I love you, darling. — Harry xx”

Perhaps this is his way of apologising for being an outright ass to me and not considering anyone else’s feelings but his own. I was complaining to him that my back was giving me hell and he quite literally said, “Elise, you don’t know hell until you’ve had shards of glass piercing into your skin while you’re gasping for air. Take something for the pain and bugger off.” He was an inconsiderate prick today, I guess not sleeping too well after last night has something to do with it.

All the broken pieces of the room still rest in the positions Harry left them in, I’m waiting for him to undividedly calm down and become level-headed before insinuating that he cleans it up.

I contemplate meeting him, he has been an ass and now isn't a time to whisk us away for him to apologise. I glance over to Harry, he's still at the bar on his own, watching and keeping to himself. We lock eyes and hold our stare for a moment before I take a breath and break our stare.

When I lose Harry in the area, I make way through everyone and exit through the heavy gold trim doors and into the marbled hallway.

*** ***

The elevator doors open and I step out into the carpeted hallway before I make my way down the corridor. I hear my name swiftly echo the walls' around me and I halt in my tracks and turn around to witness Anastasia.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I question, taking note as she seems just as equally as stunned to observe me here.

"I'm meeting Niall," her voice is low and delicate as she shifts a strand of hair behind her ear and I frown for a moment.

"Room twenty-one?"

Anastasia nods, staring at me with innocent and bewildered eyes; I presume the boys' are in this together. I am not sure what they are concocting, I can only assume I won't be getting that apology like I had anticipated.

I stand in front of the door and I hesitate for a moment. I chew on my bottom lip and glance towards Anastasia. I discover myself unsure of whether to open the door and wander in or to simply go back downstairs. Since this clearly isn’t a one on one encounter with Harry and me, I don’t foresee I will sustain the justification that he owes me.

I take a breath and shake away my thoughts, shaking them off as me being overly problematic and somewhat overly emotional.

I pull down on the handle and find it unlocked before I shift the door open.

My world freezes as my eyes meet the same tormenting rust-coloured eyes that I once stared into while pinned against a brick wall with a hand clamped to my mouth to keep me quiet.

I observe every inch of my body become paralyzed, every single vein and fibre of my being feels numb, the breath feels hitched in my throat as the devilish eyes intrude my skin. I swallow hard, striving to regain the air that has managed to become knocked out of me.

“Well, well, well, is that all it takes for you two broads to stumble in here? A letter from your lovers? This is almost like stealing candy from a baby,” the man who appears familiar chuckles with an uncanny, nerve-rattling voice, “I expected it from doe-eyed Anastasia, but Elise, not from you,” he clarifies with a grin that I perilously wish I could knock off his face with the back of my hand.

I turn around and clasp my hand to the door but my heart quickens as the handle refuses to shed a little bit of light on this disaster, it’s locked.

“You can’t leave without this special little key, you see, I scouted this entire building the best I could and I found that this is the only room with a faulty handle. Your very rich husband should presumably fix that, soon.”

“Who are you and what do you even want?” Anastasia is the first one to speak between us.

My breaths are still appearing to succumb somewhere deep down in me. I seem to have disremembered how to even speak at this point.

It’s when the man steps closer and I feel his touch caress to my skin that I sense as though my knees want to buckle and my whole body crumbles internally. His stroke brings nothing but invalidating fluctuations of revulsion, contempt and horror.

I shrug his touch away and his chuckle infuriates me beyond belief, “Elise knows who I am, don’t you sweetheart?” My body shudders at his voice, “Jack is the name. I had the pleasure to meet this lovely lady at an event that ended up with me being fired because she,” Jack points to me as he looks at Anastasia, “just had to be a bitch and have Prince Charming swoop in and save her from having one bloody drink,” … “jus’ one drink was all I demanded, couldn’t even give me that,” Jack laments before his scrutinizing eyes are penetrating back into me, searing into my skin. “Such a pretty face,” his hand reaches up and I flinch out of anxiousness, the constant fear of not knowing what this man will do flows my mind. “Not going to hurt you,” Jack murmurs before his fingers grace over my shoulder and towards my neck.

I mildly shove his hand away from grazing my skin which appears to abruptly unleash the shameful beast inside him, “don’t,” he raises his voice, as his fingers clasp the chain of my diamond necklace, he tugs on it which draws me closer to his repugnant body. I cock my head to the side, not wanting to glance at the repulsive man. “Defiant, as usual,” he yanks on the necklace, tearing the chain before granting the diamonds to plummet to the floor. “Listen carefully. The two of you are going to give me what I want otherwise your two little lovers won’t see daybreak.” Jack's voice threatens Anastasia and I. “Now, what will it be, my darlings? Sink or swim.”

I take a breath and look towards Anastasia who views as though she has observed a ghost. She’s gazing at Jack, shocked and unmoved. “Anastasia, sweetheart, did the cat suddenly get your tongue?”

“Leave her alone, Jack,” I steadfastly instruct, taking note of the fact that her hands are trembling as they stay beside her and there’s no doubt in my mind she’s inwardly panicking. I am too. But Jack is the classification of a man who thrives off of the fear of others. The more fear he sustains the more dynamism he receives.

“Your little leprechaun won’t be bouncing with pleasure when I’m done.”

“Leave her out of this Jack…” … “Anastasia he’s bluffing,” I mutter in an attempt to reassure her.

Jack laughs a loathing roar, it is revolting and the type you wish you could just strike away, “you and I both know the damage I can do. If he wasn’t for Logan that day there’s no telling how many bruises I could have left on you.“

“Leave her out of it.”

“Why? Because she’d do anything for Niall just like you’d do anything for Harry? Why do you think you’re both here?” … “you’re smart Elise, I’m sure you can figure out that you’re just bait. Harry will go berserk when he discovers you missing. We all know he’d give his life for you.”

“What do you want, Jack?” I challenge as he advances towards Anastasia but I intervene whatever his fingers were going to do, “leave her, she’s innocent in this.”

“You don’t get a say in this.”

“I do considering what you want is what I probably have access to,” I respond, narrowing my eyes to him, “I’m sure you want the access code to the vault. Just like I’m sure you want to know where the vault is.”

“Yes, where?”

“Why would I give it up so simply?”

“Don’t fucking play games,” he elevates his voice and goes to raise his hands to me.

“Uh-ah,” I chime, “there are only two people who can give you what you want, me and Harry. Hurting any of us won’t get you what you require.” I inform Jack and he promptly launches his hands to his side while his jaw clenches in exasperation.

Defeat isn’t something that appears to suit him.

“Let her go, she has nothing to do with this,” I gesture to Anastasia who is presumably regretting ever becoming Harry’s assistant, no amount of salary is enough to make up for the fact she somehow got dragged into this fuckery.

I don’t even know how Harry and I got into it and why these people, Jack, Charles and god knows whoever else is determined to destroy us. Literally.

Unless Harry has done shady things, which to my knowledge, is astonishingly absurd, it just doesn’t make sense.

“She isn’t going anywhere. Tick tock, time is wasting and I’m not a patient man, Elise.” … “one word and your husband is free game, this isn’t a one-man show, darling. Don’t forget I never work alone.” Jack informs me with his vindictive tone of voice.

I think for a moment, unsure of what the hell I'm meant to do. I can gamble screaming, but it’s unpromising that it will benefit us, it’ll only enrage Jack. I don’t think I can play him at his own mind games. At the end of the day, I know deep down he isn’t bluffing when he alludes to harm with Harry.

I’m not naive.

Enough hell has occurred in the last few months that I’m quite aware of the misery, anguish and destruct Jack and his mates can produce.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jack who managed to devise the accident with Harry. The accident that almost caused him his life. The accident that I thought consumed me until Harry came back to us.

“Why do you want the vault? Haven’t you done enough?”

“That’s up to be boss to decide.”

“Boss?” I challenge, cocking my head to the side, now there’s a boss?

What is this? The fucking Godfather remake?

“The vault, Elise. Tell me. I’m getting impatient,” his hand wraps around my wrist like it did when I was propelled against the wall that one day.

I take a breath and nod, giving in.

I surrender.

If Jack gets what he wants, everybody is left unscathed.

“You’ll have to let us out so I can take you.”

“No.”

“The only way to access the vault is with my thumbprint,” I inform Jack and his eyes abruptly ignite at the perception of getting what he has had his eyes on.

Anastasia and I convince Jack to allow the two of us to walk with him.

I lead down one of the numerous hallways and lure Jack to the main offices.

I make eye contact with Anastasia and narrow my eyes towards her desk, she’s intelligent, she knows what to do.

“It’s in here, Jack,” I distract him as I shift open Niall’s office, the only one I know is unlocked. Jack treads inside Niall’s office and glances around, “all you need is in the drawer, my thumbprint was only needed in the elevator,” I lie, striving to keep Jack occupied for a few extra seconds. He nods and shuffles towards the drawers Niall has neatly set up on the left. As he opens the drawers, I take the time to step outside of the office as the shuffling of feet become known.

Thank the heavens.

Security make their way in as Anastasia and I step back and watch, our nerves calming down.

Who would have thought Jack would be so easy to mislead? Amateur.

My eyes catch Harry as he barges his way around the corner, Niall, right behind him as they both strike their feet against the flooring to reach us.

The first thing Harry does is bring me into an embrace, he holds me tighter than a conventional squeeze and longer, too. I hold onto him, the tips of my fingers engraving into the fabric of his suit jacket as I inhale his scent. Despite everything and our dissimilarity, mainly his lack of care and love towards me recently, I’m content to be safe in his arms. And to have him flawlessly fine.

When I married him I had no idea our worlds would collide and become this chaotic mess. I knew the honeymoon phase would end, as they all do, but I didn't expect for all this to happen. We were so happy, we were doing well, then everything just started to fall apart and all at once we kept going downhill.

I didn’t sign up for this division of aversions. I didn’t sign up to become apart of scandal after scandal, it seems like there’s just a layer of secrets and unexplained circumstances.

I tear away and glance at the man that I fell in love with, the man that I don't think I know anymore. When I gaze into his eyes, I don't recognize the tender loving care that used to grace my stare, I don't really perceive anything anymore.

He hasn't been the same since the accident, I understand why, but I am not sure this is something I can get used to.

If this is how my life is going to be, launched into a business world of secrets, desolation, instability and a man who isn't who he was when I married him... then I am not sure I want it anymore.

“What’s wrong? Did he hurt you?” Harry cocks his head to the side as he glances into my eyes in an attempt to read me.

I shake my head, “I’d like to just go home,” I respond as his arms stay draped around me.

His arms have always been my safe haven, but now I am not sure if I have just deluded myself to believe he is my safe haven or if he sincerely is. It seems like the more I am in his arms the more serious things occur.

Harry nods, “I’m going to finish up a few things.”

I clear my throat before I begin to speak, “Harry, I want to go home.”

“Elise, I have things to finish up, then we can go. Just thirty minutes.” Harry’s voice is polite and considerate but he’s just not getting it.

“Harry, I want to go home, I’m done for the night.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “go do what you need to do. I’m going to the penthouse. You go home whenever you’re ready.”

There are somethings some people never learn, perhaps he will never learn how to disconnect himself from the business world long enough to realise the business isn’t the only thing disintegrating.

Harry profoundly sighs as though I am hindering him and inconveniencing him. “Are you going to be like that? I’ll meet you in the penthouse when I’m done.”

“Whatever.” I respond bitterly— I’m not going to fight him on something he should already have figured out by now.

“Don’t be like this.”

“Go tend to everyone else and everything else.”

Harry benevolently grasps my wrist, “Elle, please don’t do this." Harry whispers and I tenderly draw my wrist away from his grip.

“Just once I wish there wouldn’t be an excuse or something else you have to tend to.”

“Elise, this is my job, I can’t drop everything at your demand.”

“Well, your job is what got me stuck with psycho, to begin with,” I gesture towards security who are currently hauling Jack towards the elevator, “your business is what is straining our relationship, your career is what’s going to get you fucking killed and you’re okay with it because you don’t know any better.”

Harry stares at me for a moment, his lip twitching as he keeps his mouth sealed. He has something to say, it’s rattling around in that brain of his but he’s holding back. He clears his throat, “you don’t get to do this, you don’t get to blame this on me. This isn’t my fault, I never asked for it so don’t damn well blame me.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Harry questions. “Don’t you think you’re being a brat? I have shit to do and you’re pissed I won’t go home with you.”

I shake my head, “it’s not just that,” I murmur with a sigh. I don’t think he’s going to understand that I don’t recognize the Harry I fell in love with. I perceive a man who can’t draw a line between business and family. I see a man that has become broken. “Goodnight, Harry.”

This isn’t about the fact he won’t leave with me, it’s about the fact that he didn’t think twice about choosing to finish up a few things, once again putting business before anyone else.

Harry shakes his head, he isn't ready to just let me go upstairs. "No." His voice is firm but low enough to keep the word spoken between the two of us. "Tell me what it is."

"You're not going to fuckin' listen so there is no point."

"Tell me."

I feel like I am not going to get anywhere with him if I speak my thoughts right now, but he is demanding it, so be it. "When I married you, this was meant to be me and you, not me, you and your business. When I married you, you didn't tell me about this shit. When I married you, you promised to give your all to me... I get a half-assed Harry now." — "You have a choice to make, it is me or this business. I'm not going to continue with this, it is dangerous. If you want work to kill you — fine — but I am not raising a kid with all this tragedy. You tried so hard not to be your father, look in the mirror... you're becoming him in certain ways. I love you more than anything but I can't watch this all be the end of us."

He is becoming like his father to a certain extent, cynical and ruthless. He is changing. It's harsh, I know- but I don't think I have it in me to watch him turn into someone I don't know. I don't have it in me to continue this vicious course of danger where I don't know whether a note is from my husband or from enemies who seem to want his head on a platter.

"Elle-"

I cut him off promptly while shaking my head. "No. You used to say, 'even when you think you have it all—you don’t.' Well, harry, you can’t have everything."

*** ***

I make my way down the corridor I have toured numerous times before I reach the door of the penthouse. I unlock the door and step inside, somewhat relieved to finally be able to crawl into bed and sleep until I no longer feel drained from tonight. I kick my heels off and enable them to fall under the small table by the door before I make my way towards the bed, my bed.

There he is, resting on the bed with a Cheshire grin, “well hello, darling,” his voice is similar to nails on a chalkboard or the sound of squealing tires when the brakes are hit too hard.

I gulp, my hand squeezing my phone in my hand out of retaliation. “Huh, not much of a talker, huh?” He questions while staring at me with malevolent eyes that feel as though they’re seeking to take the soul from my body.

I grant him a soft and faked smile while my hand subtly unlocks my phone and calls Harry, “hello, how did you get in here?” I softly question, unsure of how in the world people are managing to get into locked rooms in this building. Harry has always had this building locked down with every security measure possible taken.

The man shrugs, “you know, you can change the locks but it’s useless if you keep the same locksmith,” the man responds as he continues to relax on the bed as though it is his.

“I don’t understand,” I clear my throat, anxiously calling Harry again since the first call went to voicemail.

“Never mind how I got in here. I’m assuming nitwit failed his task?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jack. Since you’re here and not held captive with him, I assume he failed?” … “of course he did, good fo’ nothing moron. Well, I was hoping the final show would be of Harry, but two’s a crowd, right?”

“Two’s company, three’s a crowd,” I mutter, correcting this moron on the statement. “Why are you here?” I challenge, attempting to call Harry’s phone once again in a subtle manner.

“Been waitin’ on Harry... What are you doing?” He abruptly growls as he catches me while I send Harry ‘Help, SOS’ in a simple text.

I bounce back as my heart races at the movements of him lunging forward at me. He snatches the phone from my hands and hurls it to the wall before it hits the flooring. I can only assume it’s shattered by now.

“Do you think you’re going to run, Sweetheart? Do you think you can get away from me like you did Jack?” The man cocks his head to the side, his vindictive voice sending me into a state of internal panic. “You’re such a sweet, innocent one. I have no idea why the hell you married Harry, the boy never knew his head from his ass.” … “stupid, stupid girl you were to marry him, now you’re stuck in the family circle of hell. Welcome to the inauguration, dear.” He, Harry’s father, pulls a gun.

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killianmesmalls · 6 years

Text

A Tether to the World, Ch. 2

I have never been so lost in a pairing as I have been the last two days with KnightRook. I was supposed to be editing something else. Send help. Or don’t. Please don’t.

Chapter: 2/?

Warnings: Very mild, brief mention of past child abuse.

Synopsis: Alice is restless and Hook is at a loss. How can he give his daughter an adventure when she’s trapped?

Gods above, she was antsy. He couldn’t blame her. Spending weeks, even months at a time at sea had shown him his fair share of cabin fever. However, the Jolly Roger was a fair bit larger than this tower; even as a cabin boy he had more room to move around than his poor, darling six-year-old daughter did.

So, he couldn’t really blame her for her fidgety, irritable behavior. Usually he was able to curtail it with a game of some sort or an hour or so of pretend that would leave their living space in ruins. But, she was getting bigger, more aware that Papa could leave but Alice had to sit at home by her lonesome, likely with some chore or homeschooling assignment he had given her. She was bored and lonely, simple as that.

Even if he had caved to giving her a rabbit… and would likely cave again whatever other pet her heart desired because heaven help his conscience if he said no. Today even the white lop couldn’t distract his Alice, who kicked at her makeshift school desk in frustration.

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” she snapped.

The captain in him struggled to demand order and obedience, but the father in him crumbled at what he knew was an unavoidable bout of well-deserved frustration. The sun was out in the first warm day of spring, sending the scents of dewy grass and lavender all the way up through their tower window. He had hoped having her draw star maps of various worlds would both educate and entertain her, but anything short of tearing down the damn tower was sending her spinning toward a tantrum.

“Alice,” he said, an edge of authority in his tone before it softened, “I understand that you’re—”

“No you don’t!” yelled Alice. “You get to do whatever you please! You don’t understand at all!”

“Alice Jones,” he started, his captain’s voice inching in enough to give her pause. They both knew it was nothing more than a sign he, too, was nearing his last nerve. After the way he was raised, after what he had endured and the scars he had suffered as a child sold into servitude, there were certain lines he would never cross. Not with his Alice. At worst his captain tone with his bright child meant an evening without sweets or only one bedtime story. Luckily it rarely came to that—the thought of her father ever being disappointed in her sent a sharp pain through Alice’s heart any time she entertained it.

Well, most times. This may have been heading toward a Jones family first. Before she could descend further into madness, Killian stepped toward her, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to ask you to do something, and I am going to ask for you to trust me.”

Her shoulders slumped a little in his hands and she craned her neck to look back at him. “Do what, Papa?”

“I want you to rest for a few hours. Try to sleep. I know you haven’t been sleeping well the last few days. If you can’t sleep, pick a book and read as much as you can, but I’d really like for you to do all you can to get a few moments of rest. I am going to get a few things and I’ll be back as soon as I can. If all goes well, and if you do this for me, then we’ll have quite an evening ahead of us. I promise you.”

He felt her tense for but a moment, preparing to argue, then the fight left as quick as it rose through her. She slumped the rest of the way and gave a short nod. “Yes, Papa.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, kissing her soft, blond curls again before grabbing his leather duster. “And please remember to clean up after Mary Ann. I don’t want to step on more rabbit leavings when I come home.”

She giggled mischievously, the sound sending his heart fluttering. “Yes, Papa.”

“Oh, and one more thing—where would you like to go?”

Alice’s eyebrows knit together. “Go?”

“Yes, love. Tell me a world and I will bring it to you.”

A wide, almost rabbit-like smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Can we go to Agrabah? Somewhere far away.”

Killian gave her a firm nod, his eyebrow rising as his own signature smirk flashed. “Agrabah it is. Now, off to rest. And don’t come back out until I call for you. I need to work some magic first.”

The climb down was always the hardest. Not simply because it was more difficult to get the grip he needed, but the thought of leaving his daughter always sent a boulder rolling in his stomach. The nearest village was nearly an hour’s walk away, and each step felt like it took him an eternity away from her. Thankfully, in the years since he had departed from his beloved Jolly Roger, his loyal first mate (Captain, now, he reminded himself) continued to send Hook what Smee felt was his rightful sum of gold after each adventure the crew went on without him. Though his heart ached for the spray of the ocean and the thrill of other worlds, the years had given Hook a deeper appreciation for the old rat’s steadfast friendship.

Killian had most recently been able to acquire a horse and pay for it to be kept in the nearby village stables. It was only fair for the beast to have more companionship than he could offer from the foot of their tower, and it was only fair to Alice to not have the neighing taunt her as another reminder of something she couldn’t see or touch.

The stables were only a fifteen-minute trek down a grassy path. He had been careful over the years to keep it from wearing too much, to prevent others from knowing about their hidden tower. He suspected the kind stable owner knew it somewhat, but she paid him no mind so long as he paid her in gold. From the stables, it was a fast gallop to get where he needed, and his mind ran with what he could possibly get to soothe his daughter’s fitful, adventurous soul. Exotic spices, expensive in a foreign realm but well worth it for his girl, were the first items that came to mind. After that, he was lost.

That is, until the third tent in the street market came into view. “Star Lamps and Fairy Lights” the sign advertised. Curiosity piqued, he stepped inside and marveled at an array of various-sized crystal balls, all colored a velvety blackish blue with small, clear speckles dotting each one. He approached one, taking in the label beneath it.

“Neverland,” it said. He raised the ball closer, immediately recognizing the speckles formed familiar shapes, ones he had memorized a thousand times over from his years trapped with the demon, Pan. His eyes scanned the other crystal pieces, catching miniaturized constellations he had navigated under for centuries.

“Would you like to see how it works?” a voice croaked behind him. Killian turned to see a withered man whose wild eyebrows adorned sparkling blue eyes. In his surprise, he simply nodded and watched as the man closed the tent cover, blocking all signs of the spring afternoon. The only light left was a small fire in a strange brass lantern. The elderly man shuffled toward the device, placing the ball labeled “Neverland” atop its setting. Instantly, the tent filled with a night sky Killain was so acquainted with it took his breath away.

Sure, the images were a little distorted around the corners of the tent, but gods it was as close as he could ever imagine getting without a magic bean. “It’s brilliant,” he breathed out. “How many realms do you have?”

“Dozens. Is there one in particular you’re looking for?”

“Agrabah, if you have it. I’ll take as many as I can carry, though.”

An exuberant fire lit in Killian’s heart as he made his way out of the market. His bag was heavier than he anticipated, now packed full of foreign foodstuffs, incense, four of some silly ‘calming’ water mechanism he hoped would do the trick, and as many starry crystals as he could fit with their accompanying lantern. Climbing back up that tower would be a magnificent challenge, but it would be well worth it.

It was when he spotted the small wagon wheel cast aside in the road that he knew it would be more than one climb, but he’d climb as much as he needed to bring his daughter a minute of happiness. A minute of pretend. A minute of freedom. His every muscle burned by the time he and all his loot had made it back inside their home, the tell-tale signs of sunset creating an orange glow over the quiet tower.

True to her word, Alice had kept to her room. Killian chanced a peek in on her and was relieved to see her spread like a starfish over her bed, covers half twisted and a book open at her side. Every minute he thought he couldn’t love her more was a minute he was proven wrong.

Pulling himself away from the sight, he got to work. Sheets and rope first, his years of tying masts doing him a wealth of good as he worked in as much quiet as he could manage. He thanked the gods Alice, when she could sleep, slept like the dead. Moving furniture along the hardwood floor wasn’t the most silent of tasks, but he caught her stir only once before she settled.

Next, he cleaned the wagon wheel and pierced a hole dead center of their wooden counter, fastening it to as close to a steering mechanism as he could manage with such limited tools. It wasn’t perfect, but he hoped his six-year-old would get the gist. From his mock-helm, he looked out over the living room area, now converted into a facsimile of the Jolly Roger. At least, as close to it as he could hope to make without real magic at his disposal. Pulling out the silly water toys that had been advertised for “tranquility” and to “reduce stress”—a lost idea to him since he acquired the constant worry of parenthood—he filled them with water and spaced them evenly around the fake ship, activating their mechanics so a mild sloshing sound could be heard around him. It was by no means the sea, but it could work in a pinch.

He moved to light the incense, the scent of sea-salt and seaweed lifting into the air after the initial burnt sulfur died away. Finally, he set himself up in the kitchen, going to work on the few recipes he could remember from his limited times in Agrabah. The mostly-desert world wasn’t one he had grown too accustomed to, but he would bloody well do everything he could to recreate the sense of its coastline now.

Go figure, it was the smell of food that stirred his Alice awake. He could imagine Liam teasing that she was just like him.

“Papa?” she called, her voice light and a little croaky from sleep. “Can I come out now?”

Rushing to set up the lantern, he placed Agrabah’s constellations across the ceiling of their tower, careful to adjust it so the stars were in their rightful places for the time of year. “You can come out, love,” he finally called back.

At the first sight of their living room area, Alice’s eyes widened, her gaze moving through every inch of what her father had created. He chose then to sweep over to her, letting food simmer over a low flame. “Would you like to step aboard, m’lady?”

“W-where are we?” she asked.

“Why, the Jolly Roger, of course.”

She moved with him in a daze toward the “helm” of the ship, senses assaulted with the smells of a mixture of sea air, cooking dishes from the bazaar, the sound of waves lopping around them, and the night sky glittering above.

“Oh, Papa…” she started, her eyes welling with more emotions than she could grasp. “It’s so… I…”

He knelt down beside her, wrapping his arms around her middle in a tight hug from behind, his scruffy cheek resting against hers. “Darling, I can’t imagine how you must feel each day being trapped in here. But I swear on my life, I will do whatever it takes to break this curse. And, until I do, I will do everything in my power to bring the realms to you.”

He held her for a long stretch, the pair letting the mimicked world around them work its magic, letting little Alice forget just a little that she was a prisoner. For now, even just a little while, she was a free sailor in a new world with her papa, the best captain in all the realms, at her side.

As if reading her mind, he guided her hands to the wagon wheel. “Now, would you like to show me what you know already? Let’s test out that sea in your blood, eh?”

She looked up, chewing her lips as she tried to get her bearings with the constellations dancing above her head. She named a few she recognized from the maps he had given her to study, and together they sailed this new world. His hands rested on her sides, mimicking the rocking of the ship to help give her, her sea legs for when they did finally leave this wretched tower.

If she closed her eyes for long enough, if she let him work what magic he had, she could almost feel like they were there.

#knightrook #alice jones #killian jones #wish hook #ouat spoilers

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black-strike-otp · 7 years

Text

part 64

♫♪ You are a blinding light. A darkness courses through my veins but somehow you chose me, and I refuse to let you down. So come here a little closer. I love you past the breaking point. You’re what I never wanted, but now I have never wanted something more~ ♫♪

Excuse me I just have to- //stabs myself repeatedly//

Lights adjusted to a dim, lovely setting? Check. Open scenery of the cosmos stretching out for who knew how far out from the open viewing window? Check. Cleaning supplies for themselves and repair items for weapons put away properly? Check.

This was as far as he knew to go. All the blasted, sickening theatrics and poetry, all the performances he ever read and Megatronous’ own wordplay, this seemed romantic. He wished he’d paid more attention to all those plays and stories back when he was a younger mech. Some of it still stuck to him, but less than he’d liked.

Primus, he never felt so uncertain in his life. Everything before this had been so easy in comparison. Fighting in the Gladiator Pits of Kaon? A learning curve, but something he picked up on steadily and as Guard had pointed out, his size had helped him along the way. Becoming a Decepticon? Simple, he trusted at the time a capable Megatron to lead them to victory and a new beginning for Cybertron. Killing bots, destroying his enemies, making his way above being simply a slave but a mech of strength and courage? Easy.

Telling the femme who breathed life and light into him that she meant everything to him? Not so easy.

Blackout drummed his digits on the berth he sat upon. All he could do was wait.

Leaving work behind, Novastrike felt like a royal mess. Blotted with oils and dusted with dirt from whatever else, she looked filthy. Usually she liked her white armor; clean and pristine it glowed like the stars in the sky and like the shine of a sun hitting a lunar rock, but in this case she simply looked terrible. Nothing made for an indecent frame like a white-armored one. A single speck of discoloration and the whole look was thrown.

She decided that some recharge first and a shower later would be best. Some quality rest could do her some good after the day she’d had. Going from ship to ship, wrangling bots, keeping the order, biting back and forth with Neutroboost earlier and dealing with his steely silence later in the evening that threw her off, it’d been a long day. And that was just the start of the day; climbing through the mechanics of weapons system on Rising Star and on the Revenge II, fetching items for bots, running errands, helping the medic briefly, speaking with Guard over comm’s while breaking up a fight between a bot meant to be keeping watch over the pirates that decided clobbering one would silence the mech...

Frankly it was a whirlwind. She wondered if Blackout’s work had been this crazy prior to being put off duty so he could rest. As far as she’d known from their conversations, hadn’t exactly had to beat anyone down recently. Well, any Rising Star crewman, anyway.

Running her servo over her faceplate, the small femme groaned softly as she turned off the short extended hallway to the private captain’s quarters. She pinged the activation code up to the doorway as she dropped her servo and emitted a static-filled yawn.

That’s strange. The lights usually grew bright the moment the door opened.

Moving her sapphire blue optics around, she spotted Blackout’s glowing red optics standing out before she realized his dark silhouette was truly there.

With a smile, she placed her a servo on one of her hips and gestured to him. “Look at you, out of the medic’s caretake rooms. Did you leave of your own accord, or did she let you go?”

A quiet chuckle flowed out of the mech; a mythical sound of cheer. “I was released jours ago, actually.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Nova sighed heavily as she sauntered in the room. The door hissed faintly as it shut behind her. Her optics blinked rapidly, adjusting with an inaudible whir to the darkness as her pupils grew slightly wider and the glowing, shimmering lights played out from her gaze.

“What are you doing sitting in the dark anyway?” she asked, glancing around. “Isn’t it a bit, dim in here?”

As she swept her glance up to the formidable darker than ink mech’s faceplate again she watched as his shoulder stiffened and raised slightly. Her own polite smile wavered a touch at his anxiety. What in Primus’ name had him so stirred up?

Tapping the berth beside him, Blackout emitted a cough with his vents. “Join me?”

Suspiciously narrowing her optics, Nova gave a curiously puzzled smile. “Alright,” she cautiously agreed.

Strolling further into the room, the femme leaped up to join Blackout on the berth. The stiffness in his posture was still there, and he couldn’t seem to keep his optics on her. For a moment he’d look to her, and then gaze slightly towards the viewing panel to look outside of the ship.

“Something pressing on your thoughts, dear?” she teased, reaching over to caress his armor.

Ebbs of tension seemed to drain out of him. Not all of it, but at least his shoulders dropped. After a lengthy drag of air in and a slow exhale, the mech turned his optics back towards her. She noted how unusually luminous they appeared. The glow coming off of them was stronger than usual, adding almost a haze over his faceplate that dusted over shadows that usually fell in certain areas of his faceplate from his helm and making it light enough to really take in his softened expression and gentle smile.

Novastrike’s spark flopped in her chassis. It was entirely too unfair for a mech to be so attractive.

“You could say that,” he roughly commented.

“Hmm,” she drawled, drawing slow circles against his obsidian frame. “Anything I can fix?” she pondered aloud, leaning in to press a kiss against his side.

A shudder raced through Blackout. Sometimes she picked up on the tremors, but this time it was physically visible as well as leaving a sensation through her digits. Twitching her ears forward, she tilted her helm back to gaze with a confused look to the mech.

“You know, you’re the only individual of any bot, any species, anyone to ever look at me and instantly seem terrified. Even with the Autobot’s, the first time you laid your optics on me I remember so vividly seeing the defiance in your optics and the anger you had to your own factionmates as they beat me. You weren’t scared in the least being in the same room as a towering murderer. You didn’t even act scared when I kidnapped you to help myself escape; in fact you yelled at me, cursed me, told me that I was an aft and got even more furious.”

“I may have been hiding some of my terror at the time well,” Nova admitted with a slight laugh. “I do remember thinking you were probably going to hand me over to the nearest Decepticon you saw.”

Offering a wanted smile, Blackout tilted his helm slightly at the comment. “You didn’t think I was going to hurt you?”

“No. You would have done it sooner if you’d wanted to,” she stated with a shrug.

“Perceptive,” he hummed thoughtfully.

Where was he going with this? Nova rubbed her servo lightly over his side as she met his gaze, trying to decipher the look he had about him. Sure he appeared as charming as ever but he looked like he was struggling with something. Something was bothering him. She wished he’d just get to it; she didn’t like seeing the conflicted flickers in his crimson gaze.

Clearing his vocalizer, he continued: “My past, my struggles, my insufficiency, even my attitude and violent mannerisms, you set that all aside to speak with me. You Scorponok and I the moment we came together to rescue you. You didn’t give up on me.”

“You sound a bit awed,” the femme breathlessly giggled. “Of course I never gave up on you. You’re deserving of happiness and second chances just like the rest of us.”

A grimace briefly married Blackout’s face. “I’ve been given more than enough second chances. Your handed me probably a dozen in of itself.”

“You didn’t prove me wrong,” she reminded him with a sweet smile.

Blackout’s optics widened a fraction. For a moment his mouth opened, just slightly agape. It was a humorous dumbfounded look, but more adorable than anything else.

“You remember how I was telling you about how brave, strong, compassionate, determined, gorgeous-”

“That’s lovely handsome but I’m filthy and-”

Giving a firm shake of his helm, Blackout raised a servo. Extending a digit, he lightly placed the tip against Nova’s lips. She looked from his servo back up to him, and the gentle complexion of his faceplate.

“I wasn’t finished,” he stated softly, losing all undertones so that the depth and baritone of his voice ran like a pool of raw smelted gold.

Novastrike shivered lightly in response and gave a numb nod. As Blackout drew his servo away, she shyly pressed a kiss against the tip of his extended pointer.

A pleasant warble escaped Blackout’s chassis in response. Nova turned her helm sharply up towards the mech. He appeared slightly embarrassed, but didn’t sheepishly try to quiet the sound of his spark playing its dark melody.

Light flourished in Novastrike’s ears as her spark slammed into overdrive. Each pulse stronger than the last as the rhythm of his tune orchestrated an ominous song both beautifully enchanting and haunting. She could swear her spark was trying to either lodge itself in her ears from the thunderous roar it created, or bust out of its chamber and through her chassis.

There was a slight hesitancy from Blackout, and then he began to speak in that same gentle voice: “You are breathtaking in all of your elegance and fair angelic marvelous beauty. I’ve witnessed your grace with ever confident stride, saw you fend off Decepticons and insane former Decepticons. Even when you might be afraid, you weld your inner will and your strengths and you fight with the heroism and valor. And when you smile and laugh, I swear it makes the gods that may be filled with envy and jealousy. There is nothing more exquisite than your joy; pure and overwhelming and as splendid and overwhelmingly divine just as you are.”

Swallowing hard, the small femme allowed her servo to still upon Blackout’s frame. The other, she gradually brought up to her chassis as if it would stop it from it’s erratic beating.

“That way you light up,” Blackout chuckled, shaking his helm. “Primus I just lose every care, every thought, every worry. All I care about is that moment spent in the aura of your light and your happiness; enveloped in it, soaking it it like you’re the rays twinkling in the darkness and guiding me somewhere far better than where I’ve been.”

Allowing his words to sink in, Blackout reached out for her. Nova’s optics briefly moved from his faceplate to his servo as it moved closer. His digit gently, so painfully gently Primus she knew he was taking every inch of caution and care not to hurt her, brushed along her cheek.

She couldn’t help herself from beaming. Smiling wide, a faint giggle briefly emitting from her as she looked back up to the mech who stole every desire and dream she ever had and made them in comparison seem small and insignificant to the world of possibilities he brought to her.

“Novastrike,” he said her name slowly; rolling it off his glossia as though speaking her name was like that of summoning a goddess and he, a sinner, deserved no such honor. “I’ve done a long of wrong in my life. A lot of wrong that I haven’t deserved to be forgiven for, that should never have put someone so heavenly and wonderful in my life. You’re the one thing in my life that is right though, in every way. You bring out the best parts of myself, you’ve taught me things about myself I never thought existed, you... you’re very patient with me, and very good to me, despite my faults and flaws.”

“We all have those,” Nova gently reminded him, her voice hardly a whisper.

“I know, darling, I know,” he agreed softly. “But Novastrike, you are the most precious individual in my life. Your affection, your warmth, your tenderness and your consideration- it’s far more than I should deserve yet here you are. Always here for me.”

“I- I uh... I-” Blackout stuttered, clearing his vocalizer and trying again still in that delicate voice, “I’m afraid of losing you,” he admitted, “of ruining our friendship, but I need to be honest about something.”

Primus, she couldn’t breathe.

“I love you, Novastrike.”

The light from the femme’s optics grew brighter as sparkling reflections glanced off like stars in twilight. She inhaled sharply, spark fluttering in her chassis as her ears flooded with light, illuminating the entire area around her.

Self-conscious, Blackout continued in a slightly more hurried voice: “I should have told you this a million times already; I should have told you this years ago like you deserved to hear. I’m a mess. I have an unclean past; I didn’t even know what love was, what it felt like, until I met you and I realized how much I fragging cared. I don’t expect you to... I know you deserve a Pit of a lot better than anything I can provide to you. But I’ve come to realize one thing and that is that there is nothing, nothing in the universe that I’ve ever wanted so badly as I do you, at my side.”

Novastrike sucked in a strangled breath and let it out slowly. Through her servo that still was placed upon Blackout, she could feel him stiffen up again.

Dear Primus, he was actually afraid she was going to reject him, wasn’t he?

It only made her spark beat a little stronger, a little harder. This poor, sweet, sappy mech was scared of revealing his feelings to her. And here she’d been swallowing her own feelings for so long, desperately convinced there was no way he could possibly love her. She hoped, she mused, she considered maybe but love was not a word you simply threw around, it simply didn’t seem to be part of Blackout’s regular vocabulary.

By the Well of Allsparks, he loved her.

That made this easy.

Placing her servo over Blackout’s digit that rested upon her face, Novastrike nuzzled her cheek against the callous armor. She kept her optics on his, smiling ever so faintly as she pressed her lips against his digit.

The warbling sound of his spark seemed to hitch and grew louder as he took in a shaky breath.

“I love you too, Blackout,” she whispered softly.

Relief sank into his face quickly. The hard lines set in his shoulders dropped fast, and the edge of his smile that had been twitching anxiously vanished as he smiled warmly.

“With all my spark,” she added, her voice growing louder to speak over the sudden wave of music that escaped her chassis as her spark began to sing a spell of harmonious affection that mashed in a curious union with the sound of Blackout’s own spark-song.

“For me, its always been you,” she admitted timidly, optics flickering as she stared up to him with an adoring glance.

With a suddenness that caused her to yelp with some alarm, Blackout picked her up in a blur of motion and the next thing she was aware of, she was pressed gently against his chassis, right over his spark.

It was only after the fact that Blackout seemed keenly aware of his actions.

“I- I’m sorry, I should have asked,” he feverishly rambled.

Nova let out a breathless giggle, rubbing her servos eagerly over his armor. “Don’t worry about it handsome devil, you’re fine,” she insisted, peppering his frame with kisses.

Rumbling with relief, Blackout’s digits lightly brushed along her spinalstrut, just the way she liked it. Novastrike quivered from the tips of her ears to the tip of her pedes in response as she wrapped her tail around one of Blackout’s digits.

“Happy to hear that, love,” he vented lightly.

Love? She could get used to that.

“Mmmm,” she purred, snuggling into his warm frame. It meant a little more to her knowing he was purposefully warming himself up to be a cozy temperature for her.

“You know,” Nova murmured softly, “I’ve loved you since waaayyy back on Giohizmut. Seeing your stupid faceplate after all that time, I don’t know, it gave me chills. And then you left and I just sorta felt... empty and alone. I desperately had wanted you to stay.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about me going anywhere, Nova, not without you,” he echoed in a playful growl, stroking his digits along her back. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Softie,” she murmured against his chassis as she kissed him once more.

“Only for you,” he chuckled softly in response.

“Guess that makes me pretty special, doesn’t it beloved?” Nova teased.

“More than just special,” Blackout affirmed in a more serious tone, leaning in to press a kiss to the crown of her helm. “The most most special, remarkable, unique femme I’ve ever known.”

Listening to the sound of their sparks playing off each other and bouncing notes to and fro, Blackout wasn’t terribly surprised when Novastrike lulled off to recharge on his chassis. He felt a little guilty for having kept her from the shower racks, but he figured he’d make it up to her tomorrow helping her clean up at least.

As always, she stunned him with her beauty. Curled up, looking so innocent as she rested so peacefully on his armor. The essence of a celestial deity herself recharging on his armor; armor that had been splattered with blood-energon and the gore of those he murdered.

She could do a million times better with so much ease. Any bot on this vessel would be lucky just to have her glance in their direction, let alone have her sharing their berth and snuggling up against them.

Nova was purely a sight to behold. Even grimy, she looked heaven-sent. He couldn’t recharge. Even if he actually felt exhausted, he wasn’t sure he was. It was simply all too much in the best way possible. Her smile, her allure, her charm, the fact that he was not a one-sided hopeless fool in his romance. She’d said she loved him. Fearless as always.

In all his years that came and went, this was something worth fighting for. And he’d do so, till his last day until the fates came upon him he would protect her and this love they shared with every inch of his strength and will, to his final rattled breath and the stars descended and his spark imploded and returned to the dust of the galaxy.

Pressing a kiss to his digits, Blackout pressed it gingerly against the small femme’s helm. A lazy smile pulled on the corner of her lips even in sleep just slightly in response.

Grinning stupidly despite himself, the mech’s spark hummed a little louder as he sighed, silently going back to taking in the view of perfection that lay upon him as he settled himself in hopes of getting a little recharge tonight.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #Cute OTP

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greetings-from-the-suffer-puppet · 7 years

Note

heLL YEAH ID LOVE YOUR URSULA BASED LITTLE MERMAID STORY BRING IT TO ME I CANT WAIT TO PRAISE YOUR AWESOME WORDWORKS

heY YO YOU AWESOME ANON I LIKE YOU V MUCH AND JUST FOR YOU I WILL POST THE WHOLE DAMN THING IN ONE FUCKING GO

HERE HAVE A LOT OF TRASH IN A STYLE THAT CHANGED HALFWAY THROUGH AND PROBABLY FAILS AT BEING BOTH A RETELLING AND AN ORIGINAL PIECE

HOPE YOU LIKE IT

(Warnings: ...none? other than my shitty shitty writing??? i mean there’s cheating and like,,, disney-canon-typical villain slayage so,,,, also kidnapping i guess? oh and,, like,, mindrape? whatever the fuck you call the part of the movie where ursula puts a love spell on eric.)

Once upon a time, there was a young princess. She lived in a castle atop a cliff overlooking the sea with her parents, the king and queen, and her three brothers.

One brother abdicated to experience the life of the poor; they received news, years later, that he had died, but his son- settled many towns over- had climbed into the clouds and battled giants for their treasure.

One brother went on a hunting trip in the woods; the princess ventured in one day, weeks after his disappearance, and met a great brown bear with the same eyes as her brother. He spoke to her, told her to leave him to his fate: she cried for him and stroked his muzzle, and then she picked up her skirts and went back to her castle.

The third brother, youngest but for the princess herself, was made heir to the throne. He did not leave the kingdom, instead growing into a strong man with wise blue eyes and sympathy in his heart. He was content with his lot, and vowed to be as great a king as his father when the time came.

His sister was less happy. She loved her brothers, and she mourned the loss of the eldest two. She longed for a life beyond the castle walls; she did not wish to die, like the eldest, or be transformed and cursed, like the second, but she wished for adventure.

She loved the sea beneath their castle. They had many fishermen, and they traded the goods of the sea with other kingdoms, for the ocean had blessed her kingdom. She spent long hours on the beaches, skin growing gold and firm, chestnut hair streaked cornsilk-pale with the sunlight. Her parents, while very protective with the loss of their eldest sons, trusted their people to watch over their daughter while she was on the beaches.

One evening, the princess stayed on the beaches later than usual to watch the sun go down. The last of the fishermen wished her a good night and straggled off, leaving her alone on the sand.

Once the ocean had lost its pink and copper gilding from the sunset, the princess rose and brushed sand off her dress. She was about to leave, but she heard a splash, very close to where she stood, and instead of leaving, she turned around.

She was met with a pair of bright green eyes.

A man was in the water, covered up to his waist. He was staring at her like he’d never before seen a woman, and she stared at him, as well, for he looked like no man she’d ever seen: his skin shimmered in the moonlight like the silvery scales of the fish she ate at dinner; he had slashes in the sides of his neck that did not bleed, but flapped like those of the fish the seamen brought in; his hair was long, and bound back from his face by a length of red seaweed.

She stepped closer to him, into the damp sand. The tide washed over her bare feet as she whispered, “Who are you?”

The man turned away, diving into the surf and disappearing.

The princess returned to the castle, resolving to come back and meet the mysterious man again.

The princess returned to the beach every evening, staying out after sundown, watching the moonlight dapple against the waves and waiting for the man to return. For three days, nothing happened. The princess told her parents and brother that she merely enjoyed looking at the waves at night, and that the view was simply inferior from her window.

On the fourth night, the princess stood and called out over the waves. She asked to be met, and if she was not, she would not return.

The man emerged from the waves. He came closer, but he was not walking: he struggled up close to her, and she saw that he had a scaled tail instead of legs, one that shone green in the moonlight.

“I am Nereus,” he said to the princess. “I am of the sea.”

She stepped closer, entranced. Water ran over her feet and legs; her dress grew damp, but she cared not.

She reached out to touch the merman, to confirm to herself that he was real. Her hand made contact with his cheek: it was cool and wet, and he smiled at her.

“I am Vanessa,” she told him. “I am princess of this land.”

“What would you do with me, princess Vanessa?” Nereus asked her.

She smiled at him gently. “I would ask to kiss you, if you are amenable.”

He kissed her. His arms were wet and strong around her waist.

Nereus and princess Vanessa met every four days under the moonlight. They talked and kissed and smiled, and slowly, the two grew closer. Vanessa’s heart grew faint whenever she left him, for she wished for them to never be parted; and on the third night of the third month of their acquaintance, she voiced her desires to him.

“I wish to stay with you,” Vanessa whispered, drawing patterns against her merman’s tail. “I wish to see your kingdom.”

“Only by magic could we remain together,” Nereus told her, “for I cannot walk and you cannot swim.”

Vanessa kissed him and stood, walking back to shore. “We shall see about that.”

There were many gifted with magic in Vanessa’s kingdom. Most were mere hedge-witches or healers, not able to do much but able to do something.

There were, however, those much more talented. Warlock Martin and Warlock Sage, for example, lived together in a tower in the far south. But Vanessa was not going to see the warlocks.

She was going to see a witch.

The most famous witch in Vanessa’s kingdom was one no one was entirely sure existed. They called her many names, but the most common was the ‘corner-witch’, for it was said she lurked in dark crannies and came out only when summoned.

Vanessa traveled to town, spending hours looking through shops but buying little. When the dying sun spread red and pink streaks across the sky, she slipped away from her guards down an alleyway and whispered into the wind, “Corner-witch, I summon thee.”

“What do you wish of me, child?”

An old woman stood at the other end of the alley, draped in black cloth and stooped over a stick. Her skin was blue as the sky, and her eyes were pink as roses.

“My heart is in the sea,” Vanessa replied. “I wish to join him.”

“It will not be easy,” the corner-witch warned. “You will be tested, and your love may fail. The sea is not kind to land-dwellers.”

Vanessa raised her chin. “I love him,” she said stubbornly. “I will be with him. I can withstand these tests.”

“So be it,” the corner-witch said, and raised her hand. “Join your heart, but if you fail, blame no one but yourself.”

Vanessa blinked, and in the space between opening and closing her eyes, she was on the beach under her castle, in the waves. Her skirt was in tatters, and her legs burned. She cried out as her legs fused together and grew a thick, sharp skin of scales, and as her neck split open to form the gills she needed to breathe. Her tail was black as the night sky on a moonless night, and Vanessa cried with the pain of it.

She crawled forward into the ocean on her hands, and when she finally submerged fully, she felt the touch of the waves as the glancing blows of frigid knives. But her love was before her, somewhere, and she must find him and join him.

Vanessa found her love, but she found him in a palace made of gold and pearl on the seafloor, hand-in-hand with another mermaid. They floated before a man with a long white beard and a crown- the Sea-King- and he pronounced them married forevermore.

Vanessa’s heart shattered, and she screamed at Nereus. She cursed him, cursed his heart to bleed whenever he looked at his new wife and for his tail to rot if ever he came close to Vanessa herself.

Then she swam away, sobbing, as the pieces of her broken heart reformed themselves into something much sharper.

Vanessa traveled far through the dark depths, searching for something she did not yet understand. She stayed so long in the dark that her lovely golden skin faded into white, and the grime in the water began to stain it green and gray. She was still inexperienced with her tail, so she traveled slowly, but she was determined to find something of worth in the sea she’d given her life up for.

Eventually, Vanessa found a grotto tucked into the side of an underwater mountain. The entrance was half-hidden by tall, waving plants she had never seen before, and an unnatural light shone from within. She peeked inside cautiously, curiosity getting the better of her.

There was a woman there, a mermaid- but instead of a fish tail, she had tentacles, like those of the octopus Vanessa’s brother once ate on his birthday, though the woman’s tentacles had barbs along with suckers. The woman turned to look at Vanessa: Vanessa put her hands up to show that she was unarmed, and asked the woman her name.

“They call me the Sea-Witch,” the woman said. “Who are you, and why do you come here?”

“I am Vanessa,” the mermaid replied, “and I am here because I have nowhere else to go.”

The Sea-Witch smiled at Vanessa. “Come in, child,” she said kindly. “You have a place here, should you want it.”

“I want it,” Vanessa said, and swam inside.

Vanessa’s heart had grown cold and dark, so the Sea-Witch taught her dark magics, the magic of the deal and the trick and the lie. She taught her how to always emerge victorious and how to play all those she met like puppets. Vanessa’s power grew and grew, and years passed in the dark grotto under the sea. The Sea-Witch grew older and taught Vanessa other things; the best manner of swimming, how to change one’s form with the least amount of pain, the traditions of the Sea-Witches who came before.

“Our name is Ursula,” the Sea-Witch told Vanessa. “I was not always the Sea-Witch, but I am now, and thus Ursula is my name until I die.” She patted Vanessa’s gray-skinned shoulder. “Should you take my place, it will be yours as well.”

Vanessa smiled at the Sea-Witch. “It is a good name,” she said.

The Sea-Witch and Vanessa often swam among the wrecked ships at the seafloor; they could gather valuable supplies there that they would not get anywhere else. As the years passed, Vanessa began going alone: she had grown confident in herself and her power.

She ventured out on one of these trips one day, a few hours after a severe storm. A ship had drifted down through the dark, angry waves, the edge of a cliff piercing the bow and holding it in place. She swam inside, looking for anything useful or interesting, and came face-to-face with a body.

She jerked back in surprise. The body was of a young woman, olive-skinned and flaxen-haired; her eyes were shut, mouth open. She wore a green dress that swirled around her legs in the current.

Vanessa bit her lip and reached out, brushing her fingers across the maiden’s icy cheek. Black sparks followed in their path.

“You are young, unfortunate one,” she whispered, and thought of the wind and currents, the crash of waves and the color of the ocean. “You have a life yet to live. Awake, poor soul, and regain the life stolen from you.”

The maiden’s eyes opened. Her mouth opened wide, perhaps to scream or perhaps to breathe: gills gashed open her neck and her legs simmered together, fusing into a silvery tail. The maiden put her hands to her neck, her mouth; she looked around and then at Vanessa, dark eyes questioning.

“Your ship capsized,” Vanessa explained calmly. “You died. I revived you.”

The woman flinched. “You are powerful indeed, madam.”

“Vanessa,” she corrected. “Would you like to stay with me?”

The woman considered it.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I am Morgana, and I thank you for your kindness.”

Vanessa’s smile was akin to the slash of a blade. “It was no trouble. I know quite a bit about lives cut short.”

She brought Morgana back to the Sea-Witch’s grotto, and the Sea-Witch welcomed the young mermaid with open arms. “She will be your trainee,” the Sea-Witch whispered to Vanessa, “to take your place when you follow me.”

Vanessa brushed her tail against the Sea-Witch’s tentacles. “We shall make you proud.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” the Sea-Witch smiled.

The Sea-Witch grew steadily weaker, and she passed onward into the dark beyond ten years past Vanessa’s plunge into the depths. Vanessa held the Sea-Witch’s hand as the old mermaid breathed her last, and as she died, Vanessa’s own heart began to speed up. She gasped as the Sea-Witch’s corpse dissolved into sea foam, and cried out when the foam flew into her eyes: her heart grew heavy with power, and her black fishtail split into eight dark tentacles. Her brown hair bleached into ivory. Vanessa threw back her head, laughing at the surge of magic, as she became the Sea-Witch.

Morgana entered the death chamber cautiously. “My lady?”

“Ursula, child,” the Sea-Witch said, looking at her apprentice. “I am Ursula now.”

Many years passed in the grotto under the sea. Ursula taught Morgana all that her sea-mother had taught her, and she continued the legacy. When merpeople needed magic, they came to her, and she delivered- though she always claimed her price. She would give nothing away for free, not even advice or kindness. She cared not for altruism.

She found two baby eels and brought them back to her grotto. Morgana named them Flotsam and Jetsam, as they had been discovered in the wreck of a ship. Ursula kept them as pets instead of spell ingredients.

As the years stretched on, Ursula’s heart grew yet colder. The only beings she had any love for were her apprentice and her pets, and even with them, she was not kind. She treated everyone roughly and cared not for wounded hearts.

And then the youngest daughter of the Sea-King fell in love with a human.

The king was as stubborn and stone-blunt as ever. The little princess would never be allowed to follow her heart under his eyes.

And so the princess searched elsewhere, and as all desperate souls do, eventually she came down into the darkness to bargain for her desires.

“I love a human,” the little princess said, as blunt as her father. “Can you help me go to him?”

Ursula’s cold, cracked heart stirred. She thought of Vanessa, and she knew that she must do what the corner-witch had not. She must test this girl’s love, and the human’s love in return. She would accept nothing less than devotion from both parties to allow their relationship to flourish. No more girls would follow Vanessa’s footsteps.

Ursula sighed gently, the magic of the deal swirling faster in her heart. “Oh, of course, poor dear one,” she said, and began gathering ingredients. “Poor unfortunate soul,” she said, and gave the little princes the courtesan smile she’d perfected when she herself had legs. “But you must give me something in exchange.”

“I know,” the little princess replied. Her hair floated out around her face, a halo of fire. “The stories are very specific about that.”

Ursula laughed. “Clever girl,” she said. “Not quite so poor after all, are you?”

The princess did not reply.

“But then,” Ursula said, dropping ingredients into her cauldron and watching it glow and bubble, “love makes us all poor, and mad to boot.”

The princess’ eyes were fixed upon the cauldron. Ursula snapped her fingers; the contract popped into her hand, shimmering quill held carefully in two fingers of the other. “Now, unfortunate one,” she said. The princess raised her gaze with effort, focusing on the magic paper. “I hereby agree to give you the means to win your heart, if you will swear to pay me the price I ask.”

The princess hesitated, and for a moment Ursula hoped. The little princess seemed smart, unafraid to speak her mind; perhaps she may yet avoid her fate?

“Give me the quill,” the princess said, and Ursula’s icy heart sank.

“Sign here,” she said, her voice steady. “Good.”

The quill and contract disappeared as soon as the princess finished her signature. The magic filled Ursula with bubbling heat and she roared with laughter, her cauldron surging and the princess cringing.

“As the sea flaps and crashes, so does your tail,” the Sea-Witch called. “As the earth scrapes and breaks, so shall your feet.” Her eyes were wild as she looked at the princess, full of white fire and green lightning. “Sing, dear one! Sing, and he shall be yours to claim!”

The princess sang. It was a lovely sound, clear as a bell and bright as gold.

Soon enough, the sound was swallowed by Ursula’s laughter. The princess clutched at her throat: the Sea-Witch clutched at the golden clamshell that still emitted muffled notes.

“You have three days to seek your heart,” Ursula called. “Good riddance to him if you fail!”

She waved her hand, and the princess thrashed as her tail began to split apart at the bottom. Ursula waved her hand once more, and the princess rocketed toward the surface of the ocean as her gills closed.

She didn’t want the girl dead, after all. It was only her suitor that needed to die.

Ursula gave the princess one day of solitude, one day of uninhibited time to catch her lover. On the dawn of the second morning, Ursula waved her hand to create a glittering bubble, in the surface of which she watched the mute little princess stumble into a dress and wait faithfully at the prince’s table for him to join her.

Ursula was surprised. The princess worked fast, apparently - or her suitor was just that biddable. If it was the latter…

Ursula smiled. Her white fangs glinted in the low light of her grotto.

If it was the latter, then perhaps Ursula could sway the deal in her favor and get the princess back into the ocean with her heart intact.

“Morgana!” she called. “Watch over the cave until I return. I have a price to collect.”

It was not exactly the truth, but Ursula had never claimed to be the Truth-Witch.

It was a simpler spell to turn Ursula human than it was to give the princess legs. The poor little princess had always been a mermaid; giving her legs and lungs and all the messy little land-dweller bits was like taking a doll and replacing half its parts without instructions.

Ursula, however, had once been Vanessa. All the Sea-Witch had to do was reach back to the dark-haired princess of years past and pull on the skin she had shed all those years past. It was like slipping into a familiar dress, old and worn but still comfortable, still the right size.

Vanessa surfaced beneath the cliffside. The castle had changed, but the beach was the same - though, it was noon, and all the fishing-boats were out on the waves, too far to see the woman suddenly appearing on the beach.

Vanessa tapped a long fingernail against the humming golden shell hanging round her neck. “With a voice so captivating as this,” she decided, “only the truest and strongest heart could resist.”

The princess slept in her little bed, and Vanessa visited the prince in his room. She hummed soft music to him and stroked his hair, and he turned his face into her touch and smiled. She smiled too, her magic wrapping as a net around the sleeping prince, the threads reaching through the castle to ensnare his staff.

Only the princess and her pets would know something had changed. Now to see if the princess believed her prince still loved her, or if she would turn back and return to the kingdom she belonged in. Her heart may break, but it would heal. She was young and alone in a strange place. It shouldn’t take much to send her back, cracked but alive. She would live on, as Vanessa had not.

Vanessa did not sleep beside her entranced prince that night. Instead, she wandered the halls of the castle, taking in what had changed and what had not. She knew not how long she had spent in the ocean, but only the architecture of the palace was familiar to her. Surely many generations had gone by. Perhaps the bloodline Vanessa hailed from was entirely gone now. Perhaps that would be for the best - only one brother had remained royal, and he was long dead. Who could say if his descendents were any good at ruling?

No, Vanessa decided. The prince caught in her web could not be of her brother’s line. His mind was far too easy to ensnare. No one of her brother’s blood would be so weak.

Besides, he looked nothing like any of the family Vanessa had known.

Dawn broke over Vanessa sitting at the breakfast table, looking at the waves. Perhaps land was her birthplace and two-legged her natural state, but the air was cold against her pale skin and she missed her eight prehensile limbs. Morgana had not woken her with a smile or story today, and whatever mischief Flotsam and Jetsam were getting into, she was not there to see.

It was no matter, Vanessa told herself. This was the dawn of the third day, the final day of the princess’ deal. The prince’s heart was Vanessa’s and so the princess would go home tonight, hurt but better for the lesson.

The prince fawned over her, paying her more attention than the wedding plans Vanessa had planted in his mind (what greater show of devotion was there, after all?). The red-haired princess, Vanessa noted, stood in corners with wet eyes and trembling lips.

Vanessa shot the princess a smug grin, but there was no joy in her heart. She was doing a job, nothing more. She had no desire for this weak-willed prince or his dry, windy kingdom. All she wanted was to send the princess home before the land caught her up in its claws.

So she endured the prince’s soft words and warm glances with only the merest of shudders. She parried his touches with words of propriety, replacing the disgust she truly felt. Vanessa belonged to no man, and never would.

The wedding was to be held on the grandest ship in the kingdom’s fleet, and the vows were meant to be completed as the sun went down. Ridiculously romantic, but it served Vanessa’s purposes. On sundown of the third day, the princess’ deal was off, and she’d be a daughter of the sea once more. Ursula would return and take the princess with her back into the waves. The spell on the prince would break, and the kingdom would return to normal. No permanent damage, other than perhaps to Ursula’s reputation as a heartless, merciless dealmaker. But she could make that back up easily enough. There are always hapless merfolk looking for help on the wrong side of the kelp.

The breezes on the ship was laden with the smell of salt. It soothed Vanessa’s harried nerves, allowing her to smile at the silly prince next to her. The priest who would read the vows was a short man whose glasses kept slipping down his nose. Vanessa tuned out his droning voice and the prince’s dull eyes by wondering if Morgana’d had to turn away any customers in her absence, and whether Flotsam or Jetsam had gotten into her stash of candied shrimp again.

The necklace around Vanessa’s neck was unnaturally warm, the faint hum of the princess’ stolen voice keeping the prince nicely in line. A token of a bound heart’s true beloved always strengthened such a spell as Vanessa had caught the prince in.

The priest was winding down. The sun was sinking. Just a little more time, Vanessa reminded herself. Just a few more minutes, and she could go home and the little princess would be safe.

“I do,” the prince said, and Vanessa’s hands shook.

The priest turned to her. She couldn’t hear his voice over the ringing in her ears. She’d thought the deal would come before this. She could not say it. She could not.

The priest’s mouth stopped moving. She stood, still and silent. The prince frowned at her. The priest looked concerned.

A bird landed on the priest’s tall, ridiculous hat.

Vanessa jerked back from it, startled. It was a mangy, ruffled thing, half its feathers out of place and long orange legs grimy. The priest shouted, hopping about and flapping his hands, but the bird was off his head nearly as soon as it landed. Instead, it flew at Vanessa.

On instinct, her hands went up to guard her head. That was her mistake.

The bird was not aiming for her head. It was aiming for her necklace.

The string holding the golden shell around her neck snapped as the bird pulled away. Vanessa gasped, reaching to grab the bird before it ruined everything, but it was faster than she. It swept away, to the cabin of the ship, and dropped the necklace to the deck.

Directly in front of the bare, scraped feet of the princess.

She met Vanessa’s eyes. Struck mute by the crumbling of her plan, Vanessa only shook her head, knowing the gesture was useless.

The princess slammed her heel down on the gold shell, not flinching as it cracked apart against her delicate skin.

The lovely, bewitching voice surged free of its prison, flowing back into the princess’ throat. She cried out for her prince, and Vanessa watched his eyes come alive.

He stumbled away from her, looking toward the princess.

All inconsequential. The deal wasn’t sealed yet.

Vanessa looked to the horizon, where the sun was a thin slice of molten gold. She smiled.

The little princess could still be saved.

Vanessa raised her arms. The breeze picked up, a cold wind rustling the fancy clothes of the wedding party and the long hair away from Vanessa’s shoulders. She felt the sea, far beneath her feet, and thought of her grotto.

Vanessa’s skin tore apart like paper, fading into dust motes as Ursula ripped free, limbs sprawling across the deck. The people screamed and ran. The daring little princess grabbed her prince’s arm and stared Ursula down.

“I won!” she yelled. “I won! Go away!”

Ursula cackled and slid toward the two of them. The prince stood strong with his love’s grip on him. Hmm. Perhaps Ursula had underestimated his devotion. Her magic was so terribly strong, after all, and his mind was so terribly weak...

“You haven’t sealed the deal, darling,” Ursula purred. “And look at the horizon.”

The last sliver of the sun disappearing under the waves was reflected in the princess’ horrified eyes.

“Sundown of the third day, poor dear,” Ursula cooed, one tentacle curling around the princess’ bare ankle. “And the deal is unfulfilled.”

“No!” the princess screamed. The prince reached for her free hand, but she fell quicker than he could move, legs melting together and taking her whole body down to the deck. She flopped and gasped as her gills opened back up, unprepared for a sudden new source of oxygen - one that wouldn’t work properly until the little princess was back under the waves.

Ursula dragged the coughing princess closer with the grip around her tail. “Goodbye, princey!” she yelled, laughing. “Love is a fickle mistress indeed!”

And she dove back into the ocean with the princess tangled in her coils.

The princess fought her, but she was young and single-tailed, disoriented and readjusting to life without legs. Ursula was the Sea-Witch. There was no fight the princess could win against her.

Morgana greeted Ursula at the entrance to the grotto, Flotsam and Jetsam curled around her arms. She said nothing; the weeping princess tangled in Ursula’s tentacles told the story without unnecessary chatter. Instead, she swept the kelp curtain back to allow Ursula and the princess entrance to her cavern.

“Hush, princess,” Ursula sighed, releasing her grip. Morgana closed the kelp curtain but remained in front of it, effectively guarding the princess’ only escape route.

“Why?” the little princess whispered, curling in on herself.

Ursula crossed her arms. “I always carry through on my deals, dearie. Isn’t that why you came to me?”

“No!” The princess’ eyes were a cold, cold blue. “You- this was a technicality! He loved me! And you interfered! You bewitched him! How was that fair?!”

“It wasn’t,” Ursula admitted calmly. Her deals were never kind and rarely fair. They were always in her favor. It was hardly her fault none of the merpeople knew how to haggle. “It was never meant to be fair.”

The princess stared at her.

“Why so shocked? I’m the Sea-Witch, dear. You saw my garden outside. How many stories of the deals going as their makers expected have you heard?”

Shame flushed the princess’ pale cheeks as she ducked away from Ursula’s mocking gaze.

“Go home, little princess. Live in your father’s court and find a nice merman to marry someday, or never marry at all - one of your sisters can take the throne, I’m sure.” Ursula shrugged, the motion carrying through her tentacles. “Never give your heart to a man of another world. Nothing good will come of it.”

The princess looked at Ursula with her mouth open, seemingly about to argue.

Then something impacted with the top of Ursula’s grotto and sent a shockwave through the rock.

Morgana darted outside. Ursula, with a final glance at the stony-faced princess, followed her apprentice. She’d told the girl to go home. There was no purpose to continue her imprisonment.

She began to reconsider when she saw the source of the shockwave.

The wedding ship - or another from the royal fleet, all ship bottoms looked the same - was floating right above them, and a volley of harpoons had just sunk into the top of her grotto.

“Morgana,” Ursula said, perfectly calm. “Take the eels and go.”

“What?”

“The Sea-Witch must live. The prince won’t stop until I’m dead or he is, and the princess will bring the wrath of the Sea-King down upon my head if I kill him. He has no quarrel with you. Go.”

Morgana gave her a silent, searching look. Ursula held firm. Her apprentice nodded, holding Flotsam and Jetsam against her chest, and swam swiftly away.

Ursula heard the princess come out of the cave behind her. “Your suitor has come for you,” she said, not looking back.

“He loves me,” the little princess said.

“You’re certain?” Ursula prodded. “I did not lie, poor dear princess. Love between the land and the sea never lasts.”

The princess demanded, “How would you know?” She crossed her arms. Her hair floated out around her head, a scarlet sun shining behind a pale moon.

��A long time ago,” Ursula said, turning away to watch another volley of harpoons slam into her home, “a princess of your heart’s kingdom fell in love with a man of the waves. She gave up her legs and her crown for him, but his heart belonged to another. The princess came to the ocean seeking him, and still he married that other girl. The princess was left alone and forgotten.”

Ursula did not turn back to see the little princess’ expression. It was a story she had never told another soul, and some details she would take to her grave. “If another silly young princess is going to give her heart away,” she said, and allowed her magic to spark thick and black between her fingers, “I will make sure it is to a worthy man.”

She rocketed up to the surface, eight limbs propelling her far faster than a single-tailed mermaid could ever go. She burst through the waves and did not stop: her magic crackled like lightning under her skin, and she swelled larger and larger until she towered over the little ship bobbing in the waves, her limbs brushing the ocean floor and her hair parting the low-hanging stormclouds.

She recalled the old stories she’d read in her bedroom, about gods and mountains and thunderstorms. She laughed, the sound booming louder than a thunderclap. She raised her hand and drew her fingers through the clouds, gathering the electricity in her palm.

“HELLO, LITTLE PRINCE!” she called, and threw it.

The stern of the ship cracked right off, bobbing and sinking slowly in the churning waves. If there were any crewman on that ship, they didn’t stand a chance against the sea’s wrath.

She could still see a little figure dressed in white at the wheel. That wouldn’t last long.

Ursula plucked the prince right out of his ship with her tentacle, bringing him up to her face to see her target more clearly. If she was going to truly kill a man… well. Even a sandy-legged man like him deserved a witness, even if she was also his murderer.

He looked up at her. He had wide blue eyes that almost matched the princess’s, and the black of his hair almost matched the black of Ursula’s tentacles.

She felt, very suddenly, that this was a man who did not deserve to die.

The prince struggled and swatted at her, though it was obvious that he couldn’t kill her and if she dropped him, he’d likely die anyway. Certainly a tenacious one.

“HEY!”

Ursula turned. The ship had drifted closer, tossed by the waves, and a familiar shape was flopped across the deck. It would seem the princess had learned how to coordinate her two sets of respirators.

“Let him go!” the princess shouted. Her tail flapped weakly against the wooden boards of the deck, but she’d hauled herself up with a firm grip on the ship’s wheel to get a proper view of the Sea-Witch and her captive.

“AND WHY SHOULD I DO THAT?” Ursula asked, truly curious. Would the little princess truly put her life on the line for this prince? What had she seen in so little time to entrance her so?

“I love him!” the princess screamed. “And I don’t care if you think he’s not worthy, I do!”

Ursula paused, thinking. It was the princess’s heart, after all. It ought to be her choice to give it away or keep it safe.

But... if someone else had seen Vanessa’s infatuation... if someone else had stepped in and saved her…

No. A mind in love was a mind clouded. The princess couldn’t be trusted to make her own decisions about this prince.

“OH, LITTLE PRINCESS,” Ursula said. “IF ONLY YOU COULD PROVE IT.”

The prince looked Ursula directly in her massive eye and said, almost inaudible over the winds, “Who are you to say I don’t love her?”

Ursula looked right back. “THE PROOF.”

She loosened her grip on him, wanting to watch his fear as he dropped. Sure enough, as the only thing keeping him from falling to his death began to give way, he started vainly clutching at the smooth surface of her tentacle despite his hatred for her.

She laughed. “GO AHEAD, LITTLE PRINCE. IT WON’T SAVE YOU.”

The prince’s eyes were very wide. Ursula could see herself in them, her shock of pale hair and her glittering sharp teeth and the lightning crackling around her head.

“No,” he said, fingers relaxing. “But she will.”

Ursula frowned in confusion for a moment. Then his meaning hit her - literally.

The ship’s broken, sharp bow rammed into her side, digging through her flesh and burying itself in her guts. She felt bone snap against the heavy wood, and felt the pulse of her heart pushing blood out of the gaping hole in her side.

She dropped the prince.

He fell, but not to the sea. He bounced off her tentacle and slid down the curling, twitching mess of her limbs, dropping into the roiling waves with only bruises.

The princess cried his name and dove off the ship after him.

Left alone, Ursula gasped. She could already feel herself fading, the blood bubbling from her wound turning to foam as soon as it left her body.

“Morgana,” she whispered.

She pushed feebly away from the ship. Already damaged, the bow broke from the rest of the ship and remained stuck inside her.

Ursula fell. The waves crashed back from her impact, and she looked dully up at the sky as her body continued to dissolve.

The clouds were thick and gray. She could still see the lightning crackling, waiting to be unleashed.

She closed her eyes and let the sea claim her.

A good distance away, hiding in the thick kelp gardens by the Sea-King’s palace, Morgana gasped and shook as a current of sea foam collided with her, carrying in its wake a sudden, burning rush of power that lit her up from the inside. Her silver tail split into eight and her eyes glowed. Flotsam and Jetsam moved away from their new mistress, wary.

She calmed, and reached out for them again. “It’s alright,” she said. “I am Ursula. You know me.”

The eels accompanied Ursula to her hidden watching-place a week later, where they spied upon Ariel, princess of the sea, receiving her father’s blessing and running into her prince’s arms.

Ursula climbed the hull of the rebuilt flagship to observe the wedding of Ariel and Prince Eric. Their eyes hardly left the other, and they smiled with no trace of falsehood.

It would seem her predecessor was wrong about this prince.

Ursula took up the mantle of Sea-Witch, as she had promised. She made fair deals and did not lie to her customers about their chances.

Times changed, and so the Sea-Witch changed with them.

Ariel and Prince Eric had several children and lived a happy life in their kingdom, ruling their lands and keeping up diplomatic relations with the Sea-King next door. The kingdom flourished under their rule, and continued to flourish when they left the throne to their youngest, Melody - their only choice of heir, after their elder sons and other daughter had all went off on adventures to other kingdoms.

The Sea-Witch lived on under the waves, the title and magic switching hands and hearts for as long as life thrived in the sea. There were more disputes with the royal family, but none lead to death again.

And so, at least someone lived happily ever after.

#asks #replies #writing #adrian speaks #my writing #adrian wrote a thing #little mermaid rewrite #twisted fairy tales #fairy tale remix #this may or may not be the first in a series of remixes/retellings i'm working on #if you have any questions about the.... implications i left in the story go ahead and ask!!#(if you're wondering i did put both of vanessa's brothers into actual fairytales)#morgana is named morgana bc that was the name of ursula's 'sister' in the shitty shitty sequel #if anyone wants The Tales Of The Merkiddos i will 100% write them for you #Anonymous

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