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peakygirl1919 · 8 months ago

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Part 1: The Bloody Beginning

Summary: The Emperor is dying, but Geta takes matters into his own hands.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: no spoilers for the movie// angst// violence// death// implied past abuse// period typical warnings

It was silent in the Palatine; save for the rustle of silk and the moans of a dying man. Septimus Severus was dying. It was treason to say so: any, whether they be slave, servant or senator who mentioned it would be executed- but it was true.

Geta stared at the man he had looked up to all his life lying weak and emaciated on the bed. Death seemed to have shrunk him, his hair greasy and matted on his forehead and his beard coming away in patches. He had fallen ill while on a campaign in Britannica, an mild wound putrifying until it was grave enough to endanger the life of the emperor.

He was currently lurking behind a plinth in the Emperor’s bedchamber, his brother Caracalla crouched behind him, mild whimpers escaping from his mouth, his hand clenching Geta’s leg.

His father wasn’t lucid right now, and for that he was thankful. When the Praetorians carried him in, he was roaring with rage, spittle flying from his mouth. Geta could not believe his usually cool father could make such noises. His mother, Julia Domna had tried to placate the Emperor, but had received a strike to head in thanks. It was at that point Geta had retreated to the shadows of the chamber, thinking it would be best not to get in the way and somehow bring the familiar wrath upon his head.

More moans left his father’s dry and cracked lips, and a sheen of sweat lay over body. His mother had now taken up guard by his bedside, a delicate handkerchief pressed to cut on her cheek, despite the strong stench of death flowing from the man. Her eyes were empty as the cloth was stained red.

The oil lamps flickered and grew dim as the hours passed by. It was a clear night, and Geta could see the moon’s reflection over the city that stretched out before them. The news of the Emperor’s imminent departure to the next life had the citizens concerned; they knew the transfer of power was no sure thing. The vibrant stores that lined the Via Sacra were boarded up; no noises came from the pleasure houses and street food vendors absent. Silence fell over the great city- a collective breath holding.

The only place that showed evidence that people still remained in the city was the light that burst from the temples. Geta wished he could join the worshippers, and beg for favour from the Gods.

A whisper made its way across the room, and Geta instantly stiffened, the blood draining from his face and the hairs on his neck standing on edge. This was it.

‘Geta…, come, my son…’. His father was calling him over.

Caracalla’s whimpers turned into cries, and Geta reached down to smooth his hair trying to pretend they were still boys, playing hide and seek in many rooms in the palace.

His gold-trimmed sandals made no sound crossing the marble floor; he felt like he was floating.

The whisper of his name became more insistent, even in death his Father had no patience for him. He moved forward towards the imperial bed, and knelt down next to the edge. His Father already appeared corpse-like; his bloated skin taking already hanging from his bones.

He glanced pointedly at his mother, but she either did not notice or take heed from it. If she had, then perhaps her fate would have been different. Geta noted her disrespect and stored it in the back of his mind, he would deal with everyone once he had power.

Prior to the Emperor’s departure for his most recent and evidently final military campaign, he had been named co-augusti to rule in his stead alongside Caracalla. It would not do thinking what would occur if Caracalla had been left to rule on his own.

‘Geta, you are to listen to me carefully. My time is short, I know that, despite the sycophantic crowing from all that I will live. I am not a fool. You will reign, this I know,’

Geta sharply inhaled.

His father’s bloodshot eyes locked onto him with fervour, and Geta felt like the Gods themselves had plucked his thoughts from his head and planted them into his fathers.

‘You will reign alongside your brother,’

Geta began to protest, the madness that had been evident from his brother’s birth grew worse by the year, his lucid moments becoming further apart.

His father began to cough, blood and sputum flowing from his mouth like the Tiber. The Gods would claim his soon, Geta thought, not without a spark of anticipation. With clear effort, his father continued on.

‘You are as strong as your weakness, protect him, do not quarrel with him, it will be set against the other that you both shall fall’ The Emperor took a deep breath, his pale chest struggling to rise. He seemed panicked now, no longer so brave in the face of death. He spoke rapidly and breathlessly ‘Pay the soldiers, never allow a united senate and scorn all others.’

This last point was but an echo of a whisper, Geta felt the words imprint on his mind. Scorn alright. He would obliterate the others.

He felt his mother’s quiet gaze return to the floor, no doubt weighing in her calculating mind what her next advantageous play would be.

But the bubble of quiet reverence had been broken. Caracalla began to wail and scream, throwing himself to the floor in his fractured state. Geta looked at him and felt no pity, only acceptance. He had always been this way, still a child in many ways. Sometimes Geta envied him for his ignorance, but sometimes Geta hated him with a red fiery passion. How could it be fair that he was the younger brother taking on the mantle of the older. How could it be fair that he had to shoulder the responsibility for both of them? But whenever these thoughts struck him he reasoned the Gods must have placed him in this position for a reason. That reason was clear to Geta now.

It was the will of the Gods that Geta took his place on the throne. With Caracalla, technically by his side. But that was a minor detail. One that could be solved, if he so wished, but he did not. At least he knew where his brother’s loyalties lay.

He felt heat pool in his belly as he thought of the future. But he couldn’t ahead of himself. Not yet. His father was still in the realm of the living, his mother plotted against him, and the loyalty of the army and senate had not yet been secured. There was work to do.

Caracalla had moved on from simply harming himself and now began to tear the decorative hangings and tapestries off the wall; knocking over busts of Emperors past and topple furniture. Must he do everything in this family, Geta thought to himself.

He spoke with new-found authority to his mother, Julia Domna, ‘why don’t you see to my brother, ensure he does himself no harm. It is not good for my father the emperor to see him so distressed at this time,’. He tried to hide the excitement he felt at taking that tone with her, and still his racing heart.

He felt himself, be weighed, measured and found wanting by his mother. She made no reply as she stood up and went over to Caracalla. He clung to her robes and cried loudly into her stomach. Julia Domna stood with her arms at her side and held herself rigid, hands slack. She guided Caracalla away, back to his own chambers no doubt, where he could be comforted by whoever was warming his bed tonight. Geta turned back to face his father. He had no wish to see his mother’s empty platitudes.

Geta was finally alone with his father. The only noise was the death rattle of his chest as his body continued to fight the inevitable. Geta walked closer and closer to the bed, uncaringly stepping over the broken glass and wooden splinters littered over the floor.

The flecks of gold in Geta’s dark eyes flashed in the dim light as his face pressed close to his father’s face. He saw clearly that the Gods had renounced their favour and protection from the Emperor, with every passing breath his father seemed more man than immortal Emperor chosen by the gods.

He slipped a dagger from his belt. It was a small thing, for ceremonial use only. But he reasoned this was a ritual of sorts, and it felt fitting. The light weight of it felt heavy in his hands; the weight of consequence.

It had a golden hilt, with a careful depiction of the twin founders of Rome with the she-wolf standing protectively over them. Her eyes were set with winking rubies, and Geta felt their divine stare upon him.

His father did not see the metallic shine of steel in the moonlight; did not hear the grunt of effort as the blade was thrust into his chest; did not feel Geta’s fist bracing itself against his shoulder; did not taste the coppery salt of his blood dripping from his lips; did not smell Geta’s spice and incense scent as he leaned over to remove the knife.

No, his father would not notice anything anymore. Geta watched the red blood bloom against the pale of the sheets, as his father gurgled and turned translucent. The dagger was slick in his fingers, coated with blood.

He let it drop from his hands, the clatter it made on cool marble flooring obscene. Its purpose was served. He had prevailed. His father was dead. The emperor was dead.

He felt laughter bubble up inside him, but he knew the gods would not approve of humour at this most sacred of moments- when he had been made their vessel, through which their divine judgement had been rendered.

A high-pitch giggle broke the silence and Geta tensed, almost checking it was not him that made that noise. But it was his twin; his other-half. Caracalla must had wandered back into the room and had been standing there for Gods knows how long.

Geta didn’t know how to break the silence- and was about to speak when Caracalla said, ‘He’s dead,’ in a soft, airy voice. Geta nodded.

‘You did this for us? For both of us?,’. Geta nodded again, not trusting himself to remain emotionless if he answered using his voice.

‘Well, this will make things more interesting…’ Caracalla trailed off, as if not sure exactly how things would become more interesting, but certain in the knowledge that they would.

The brothers could have stayed there in that moment, forever. On the cusp between childhood and adulthood; the uncertain intake of breath before moving on from one stage of life to next. Caracalla was often happy to remain in this shapeless place, not concerning himself with reality, with the practicalities.

But Geta knew had to act to control the narrative, to seize control of the guards, to summon the senate, and to proclaim his divine authority- and to protect his brother.

Caracalla stalked over to the body of his father and gave his rapidly cooling body a poke in the stomach. His finger came away stained red. Geta turned away and reached over to a bell to summon a servant, letting the collected mask of his face fall, allowing his anxiety and nerves to rule him for a moment.

The slave drifted into the room silently, eyes cast downwards, not wishing to bring Geta’s rage upon his head.

Geta looked up and snapped his face back into one of cool arrogance and hard eyes. ‘Summon the senate, the first proclamation from their emperors is to be heard.’

The slaves hastily bowed and darted away.

During the exchange Caracalla had slipped beside him and grasped his hand, their father’s blood sealing their palms.

‘What do we do now?’, Caracalla asks hesitantly, glancing at Geta from lidded eyes.

Geta paused, before answering with a smirk on his face, ‘Whatever we want.’

A/N: well…. that was dramatic. Apologies to those looking for historical accuracy- I played around with the death of Septimus Severus (he didn’t make it back to Rome and died on a military campaign); and anything else wrong is my fault, sorry!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are encouraged and greatly appreciated.

Let me know if you would like this series to continue, and if so, what other snippets of Geta’s life you would like to see…

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#emperor geta #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla #emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #joseph quinn #jquinn #gladiator ii #geta

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tripthelightfandomtastic · 2 years ago

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Blood Moon- D.R.W

This idea came from this photo I found of Vamp!Danny and the fan interaction of Danny saying, "You think I'm scary? I promise I'm not." It's finally October, babes. It's time to get spooky.

This is just a little thing I had to get off my brain while I work on a separate fic but I wanted to give y'all something for this spooky season! No smut warnings here, just clean (bloody, scary, and semi horny) Halloween fun!

Warnings: Blood, hypnosis, and major character death. (Wow, the second thing I've ever written that isn't smut!)

It was fate that brought you up to this castle. It was a song in the wind, the promise of a warm bed. After trudging through the forest, frozen to the bone from the harsh rain that has soaked your clothes and the howl of the storm that's lightning flashes so bright, it could be the middle of the day. So bright but so wrong, it could only be day light, so stark and cold, empty and full of long shadows stretching across the trees in an upside down world under your feet. Maybe this isn't the land you knew. Maybe you were turned around off the path a long time ago. With no moon or stars to guide you home, you follow the light shining through stained glass of a castle on the hill.

It's the only beacon for miles around. You practically crawl up the door, mud covering your shoes and skirts. You don't even feel human, more animalistic than anything. Reduced to only your need to survive, the need for a warm fire.

Your hand slams the elaborate iron door knocker, hands so cold they could shatter like glass. A man rips the door open. His eyes terrify you for a moment, so dark you can only describe them as black, he looks as though you've intruded. No doubt you have, God only knows what time it is. "I-I'm sorry I-I was lost and I just followed the lights to your home, I-" "Dear child, look at the state of you." The man interrupts your nonsensical speech, you look at the rags your clothes have become, "No need to apologize, please, come inside. Let me take care of you." His voice is like velvet.

You nearly fall over your own feet, exhaustion taking hold of you now that you've stopped moving for the first time in miles. The strangers hands catch you, his hands are cold, warmer than yours but cold nonetheless. You look in his eyes, a deep darkness that you can practically see your own reflection like a scrying mirror. His skin is pallid white, dark curls cascading in his face as he's lowered to your level to keep you from falling. His grip on you is tight, your heart is hammering in your chest. He almost snaps out of a trance of sorts before loosening his grip, he looks around behind you before bringing you back to your feet. "You are so weak, let's get you in some warm clothes, I'll draw you a bath."

You sink in the tub, warm water thawing your frozen muscles, a robe is laid on the loveseat across the large bathroom near a vanity. The clawfoot tub with a view from the window that overlooks the castle grounds, acres of forest at the foot of this hill, and the storm rages on outside. The echo of the drips from the water faucet ring across the white marble floors. The house is more like a sprawling castle. It's ages old and seemingly empty. The master of the house is Daniel, the man who brought you in graciously from the cold. He's a strange man but kind and gentle.

You emerge from the water to dry, putting on a very fancy white silk robe. Your clothes are gone, off somewhere most likely to be washed, or replaced entirely, you think. You take the candle that sits burning on the countertop, walking out into the hall. You pad down the hallway, searching for Daniel. You make your way to the large fireplace, warming yourself. You sigh, closing your eyes as you soak in the heat of the fire. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest as you relax into your new surroundings.

Two cold hands come to your arms from behind. You nearly jump, turning around in fright only to find Daniel. "Did I startle you?" He asks, grinning at the state of your unrest. You never really noticed what he was wearing earlier. A long dark red velvet coat, black breeches, and strands upon strands of pearls a top of a sheer white linen button-down shirt. He looks so breathtaking, you've never met anyone like him before, and you think you never will again. You chuckle at your reaction. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in the room." You say anxiously. "My apologies, I wanted to ask if you enjoyed your bath." His voice soft and inquiring as he assesses your silk clad form. "I certainly did. Thank you so much, I would have frozen to death out there." You graciously thank your host. Daniel smiles, "Well, I couldn't have that, such a pretty thing out alone in the dark. Who knows what could have happened to you."

You look into his eyes again, they're pitch black, but with the glimmer of the fire, they nearly seem to have a red undertone. Surely not, you think. It's just your mind playing tricks. You take a step back, "I'm sorry, I'm just- you're a little scary." You whisper, a thought that you never meant to utter. His eyes only seem to light up at your comment, not the way you expected him to react. He smirks at your words. "I'm scary? I promise I'm not." Daniel's voice like a song in your ears, the way he smiles, his gentle voice assures.

His hand comes to your cheek, you lean into his palm, eyes growing tired all of a sudden. "My dear, you must be so tired. Come." He takes you by the hand, you follow him, almost as though you were a fawn, following after its kin in the meadow.

He brings you to an elegant chaise, warm velvet under you, inviting you closer. You're so close to him, you hardly think how this man is a stranger to you, how uncomfortable you should be in this state of near undress. It's no way for a lady to behave, but he felt like a flame and you the moth. Like a moon to his celestial body, wanting to be ever closer. My God he is beautiful.

You can feel just how warm you are, a blush in your cheeks, eyes heavy as though you've consumed an entire bottle of wine. "I can see you're tired of running." His voice is soft, deep, and raspy. His hand comes to your hair, pulling you closer. You don't resist. You find a pang of fear deep inside of your heart, one you can nearly wave off, but yet it buzzes like a fly in your mind. You open your eyes to see him looking at you, his eyes scanning your form, "You are divine." He coos, his fingertips grazing your scalp, that feeling in your chest subsides.

You feel as though you're on the brink of sleep, trailing into a dream. Your eyes close, your hand weakly coming to the pearls on his chest, your fingers toying with them as you are entranced by the way he pulls you even closer until your head is resting against his shoulder. He smells like warm spices, pine, with a hint of smoke, so inviting and familiar. His hands bring you onto his lap, you can not help but comply. Your brain feels like it's melting as his hands run down your body. You want him. You want to give him everything. Anything.

His hand comes slowly up your body, and to your cheek, he brings you to face him. You can't resist. You don't want to resist. You look him in his eyes. They're a deep red, almost a cabernet red is the only way to describe them. You're utterly hypnotized by him, you should be afraid, completely terrified of him. But you want to be a part of him. Anything he has to offer, you want to take from him.

"Such a gorgeous creature." His voice dances in your mind, a drunken smile comes to your lips as he brings his hand to your jaw. His thumb is cold as he drags it along your bottom lip, it practically sets you on fire the way he touches you. "All yours." You whisper weakly. Daniel grins, sharp teeth protruding in his smile, fang like teeth you had never seen before now. You know not what this means, but it doesn't matter, not anymore anyway. "All mine." He smiles, eyes delighted as he pulls you to him in a kiss. It's magnetic, your hand tightens around the strands of pearls, as his fingers pull away your robe from your shoulder, your neck exposed as his other hand brings your hair to the side. His tongue grazes along your own, and you want nothing more than to surrender completely to him.

He kisses you one last time before looking at you, "Such a pity." He sighs. You know you should be frightened, screaming and clawing away, but you don't. You don't want to. "This world is far too cruel to beautiful things such as yourself. I'll show you a tender mercy." He rasps.

His arms are so strong they pull you to him, your neck to his lips. His teeth sinking into the artery of your neck. Your hands hold the strand of pearls, your eyes unable to stay open, as your body feels numb, warm and sleepy. You can feel your blood leaving your body, but you don't care. It's not even yours anymore, you want to give it away. To give it to him. You can feel your heart slowing, the pitterpatter turning into a distant drum.

The sound of Daniel's lips against your throat and the burning flame in your neck sounds like a lullaby as you begin to drift off to sleep. His hands feel hot on your skin, you relax into his frame, your hands slowly falling away from the now blood-soaked pearls. Like a lamb in the meadow, drawn away by a wolf.

Daniel kisses your cheek as he withdraws from your garishly bloody neck. He lays your body down against the velvet chaise. He stands above you, your eyes barely staying open to see before you, an angelic evil. Lips covered in your blood, dripping down his throat and on to the pearls you once held. "I told you there was nothing to be afraid of. Now get some rest, don't fight it, my love. Sleep well, angel." Daniel's voice fading as you give into that sweet sleep that's been pulling you in since you entered this place. His hand takes yours, he kisses the top of your hand, "Sweet dreams."

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#gvf fanfiction #gvf fan fiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fanfic #danny wagner fanfiction #danny wagner fanfic #vamp!danny #gvf #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #danny wagner #sam kiszka #jake gvf #josh gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf

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haeseolar · 2 years ago

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wrap me in a colour brighter than gold

royalty omegaverse au - kinnporsche / alpha!kinn, omega!porsche

rated T, 1.7k words

read on twitter

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Porsche has never felt so free in his life.

The music thrums through him, making his skin feel like it’s vibrating and alive, his feet dancing across the marble floor as he sways through the crowd, the bangles around his ankles jingling with each step. He’s not sure how he can even hear them considering the noise in the hall, but he can, as if it’s ringing directly in his ears.

His robes flow freely behind him like a breeze continuously follows him. The material is light and thin, barely covering anything as it leaves his chest bare and the sides of his legs open, the only thing keeping it together is the thick golden sash around his waist cinching him in. It’d been a gift from Kinn, and despite his fury at such an obscenely expensive courting gift, he’s grateful now to have it.

Everyone who he passes turns their heads to watch him until everyone but the man he wants is looking. His hands are lifted above his head, preciously holding a full wine glass in one and the other empty, his fingers stretched up towards the heavens. No gods hear him anymore, he realised, but the man sitting on the ornate golden throne before him does.

Porsche moves closer, desperate for attention, to be looked at and simultaneously hidden away at the same time, yearning for the familiar smell of musky vanilla and spice. He cuts through the crowd, not caring if his drink spills over the lip, trailing deep burgundy down his arms, staining the sleeves of his robes.

As he approaches the throne, he locks onto the dominating figure overseeing the court. Kinn lounges back, thighs spread wide, his dark eyes instantly finding Porsche. His blood simmers low in his stomach at the gaze, hot and heavy, weighted with each second that passes when Kinn takes in his appearance.

Kinn’s eyes start briefly at his face, skittering around the makeup and jewels adorning his throat, before moving further down. Each inch he takes in, lower and lower, leaves burning invisible marks against his skin. The alpha’s eyebrows furrow, his posture changing, morphing into something more alert. He no longer looks bored, but he doesn’t look happy, either.

As Kinn’s eyes reach the golden sash around his waist, there as nothing more than an accessory, not acceptance for his courting, his facial expression slackens. He looks charmingly young, eyes wide and lips parted as if he can’t quite believe that Porsche is wearing his gift. It makes Porsche’s heart thump louder in his chest, and as he comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps in front of the throne, all the noise in the room fades out.

Vanilla hits him, calming and inviting, making him want to crawl on all fours up the steps to reach Kinn’s lap, to drape himself over like an expensive rug, but Porsche holds himself back. He must first be invited up to the throne, as they are not yet wedded.

Kinn’s nostrils flare, clearly smelling Porsche’s heightened scent. “What is it, omega?”

Shivers work their way down Porsche’s spine, his knees threatening to give out at being addressed so dismissively. He’s not sure what’s in this wine, or what’s in the air tonight, but he wants.

“May I approach, alpha?” Porsche replies demurely, yet he never looks away, meeting Kinn’s gaze head-on.

Kinn pauses as if considering, despite Porsche smelling every single atom of need radiating off the alpha. It’s nothing more than keeping up appearances for the court, as every single important person in the kingdom has gathered tonight.

“You may,” Kinn finally acquiesces, gesturing to the empty space in front of him.

Porsche bends, at first looking as if he’s curtseying in front of the alpha king, before making it clear that he’s merely putting his glass down on the floor. Kinn’s eyes narrow on him at the blatant disrespect, but he doesn’t call him out on it as he climbs the steps, the red satin rug sinking between his toes.

Once he’s close enough that only people who can hear them talking are themselves, Porsche speaks:

“May I sit, alpha?”

Kinn seems confused, first glancing down at the floor, before looking back up again. There is only a single throne in this court, situated on top of a platform.

“Where -”

Porsche grins, his eyes curving and lips stretching languidly across his face as he spins around, flopping down on Kinn’s lap. The motion makes his robes catch underneath him, exposing the entirety of his legs and thighs, all the way up to his hip bones.

Porsche leans fully into Kinn’s strong frame, cushioning himself on his muscles, fitting his back against his chest and making sure his thighs match up perfectly with Kinn’s.

“Porsche!” Kinn splutters, every ounce of royalty gone, especially when his hands immediately come up to his waist, gripping tightly around to keep him still.

It doesn’t work as he wriggles, worming his way even farther back onto Kinn’s lap. The hold on his waist becomes bruising, painfully so, but the wine dims down his senses, all but the ones that are motivating him right now. He wants to be wrapped up in Kinn, held close, the only thing he can see and smell is the alpha. He wants everyone in the hall to leave, allowing them to be alone on the throne.

“What are you doing?” Kinn hisses in his ear.

Porsche giggles, arms coming up behind him to drape around Kinn’s neck. It’s not the comfiest of positions, and it makes his spine arch and chest push out, but it brings their faces closer. His fingers tangle in the small hairs at the nape of Kinn’s neck, resting his head on his shoulder.

“I wanted to see you,” Porsche replies coyly, his words slurring.

“You’re drunk,” Kinn accuses, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shove Porsche off his lap, doesn’t cast him back to the throngs of people in the hall who are all watching them.

Porsche’s eyelids flutter at the phantom attention. He hopes they all see that he can take what he wants from the alpha king, can do as he wishes and be as free as a bird, all while Kinn - their most savage and yet respected king - sits there and allows it.

“I can leave if you wish,” Porsche says simply, dangling the offer in front of Kinn.

“No,” Kinn barely lets Porsche finish, “You can stay.”

Porsche hums, nosing at the underside of Kinn’s jaw, inhaling deeply, “You smell good.”

“Porsche,” Kinn grits out.

The air between them becomes thick and cloying, shrouding them in a dense fog that only they can see. Porsche’s breath hitches, his lungs contracting and begging for air, to breathe in the alpha’s scent, his instincts screaming at him to bare his neck and offer himself up. Just with one word, his name, Kinn has Porsche pliant and fighting every urge in him to give in.

He won’t, and Kinn knows he won’t, but that’s what makes the game of cat and mouse between them so much more fun. It’s what makes Porsche’s mouth water, his navel tug, his senses light on fire and the world narrow down to just them. It doesn’t matter if hundreds of people watch him, want him, lust after him and wish that they could bed Porsche because none of them is Kinn. None of them are worth a dime, or worth a second of Porsche’s time, because the only one that matters is Kinn.

Kinn, his alpha, his king, who he can feel getting hard beneath him from nothing at all, merely just sitting on his lap. Power and arousal make him dizzy at that thought, that he’s barely done anything at all, and he’s got Kinn like this.

Porsche shifts, the soft material grazing against his sensitive skin, making him jolt and a whine almost leave his lips. It gets trapped in his throat, quiet enough that only he and Kinn can hear, but it’s enough.

“Are you trying to seduce me, omega?” Kinn questions, his whole body tense. His thighs feel like concrete beneath Porsche from how strained they are.

Porsche looks up at Kinn through his eyelashes, arms dropping down to his side, placing his palms over Kinn’s still on his waist. He presses them in harder, wanting to imprint the design of the sash into their skin, marking them both up for claim.

“I don’t need to try and do that, Kinn,” Porsche whispers, grinning smugly. They both know it’s true.

Their scents are completely entwined, mingling and swirling in the air, liquid hot and burning. If anyone wasn’t looking before, they definitely are now, fixated and entranced by the sight before them.

Their King and future Queen, wrapped around each other so brazenly, so openly, for all to see.

“Who allowed you to wear this?”

Porsche shivers, knowing that wearing such an outfit would be a risk. It was one he was willing to take - one that would entice people to look, but that he knew Kinn would adore and abhor at the same time.

“I picked it myself,” Porsche replies, glancing down at himself, glad that the folds of the material cover his hard cock. The outfit already leaves little to the imagination, but that’s one thing that he’d rather the population not see. “Do you like it?”

He feels more than hears Kinn’s sharp inhale, his chest withdrawing as quickly as it returns, “I want you to take it off and -”

“And what, alpha?” Porsche sits up, sliding off Kinn’s lap. The air away from him feels frigid and unbidden, alone and daunting, but he persists. The material drapes over his body once more, shifting back into place, “Get changed into something more appropriate, or…” Porsche smirks, his tongue coming out to dampen his dry bottom lip. He basks in the attention lavished on him by Kinn at such a simple act as if he’s in a trance.

Porsche leans forward, the robes gaping, letting Kinn have a clear look at his whole chest and stomach. “Or would you like to take it off me yourself?” Porsche asks quietly.

He doesn’t wait for the answer, turning on the balls of his feet to make his way back down the steps, leaving Kinn behind him, speechless and reeling.

Porsche bites his lip to stifle the laugh as he hears Kinn order everyone to get out and makes his way back to their bed chambers.

#kinnporsche #my writing #kinnporsche fic #kinnporsche the series #kpts

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sarafeyjp · 6 months ago

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Doflamingo's Forgotten Daughter

Summary :On a frozen island in the North Blue, Vesper has spent years waiting for the father who never came. When Doflamingo finally appears, he doesn’t recognize her—his memories of her and her mother erased. All he sees is a girl with a power he wants.

Taken into his crew, Vesper seethes with hatred, believing he abandoned them. But as she navigates the brutal world of pirates and secrets unravel, one question lingers—if Doflamingo ever remembers the truth, will it change anything?

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Chapter 1: Frozen Echoes

"You were not born to be forgotten, my little storm. The world will try to bury you beneath ice and silence, but you must never let it. Remember this: the cold can freeze flesh, but it cannot touch the fire in your blood."

— The Lost Letters of Lylithia

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The vision took her without warning, reality bleeding away like watercolors in the rain. One moment, Vesper was curled on her thin cot in the cave's damp darkness, and the next—cold crept through the palace's opulent halls like death's own breath, wrapping around her in tendrils of frost. Polished marble walls stretched skyward, their gilded columns and ornate tapestries a mockery of warmth as shadows danced across them with each flash of lightning. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, their frozen prisms casting fractured light across the scattered figures below.

Doflamingo's laughter rolled through the corridors like distant thunder, a sound that should have terrified her but instead left her hollow. Fear wasn't what gnawed at her anymore; that emotion had frozen solid long ago, replaced by something colder, sharper. The question that had carved itself into her heart: Why hadn't he come for them?

Before her stood Violet, caught mid-scream, her terror preserved in crystalline perfection. Ice crawled up her arms like living frost, each crack and spread bringing a sound like breaking glass. Vesper wanted to reach out, to stop the inevitable, but her body remained still, forced to watch as history repeated itself.

"Fufufu... Everything is under control," Doflamingo's voice sliced through the stillness. His crimson glasses caught the lightning's glare, masking eyes that had once sailed past their island without a second glance. The same man who had left them—her and her mother—to weather their own storms.

The ice around Violet began to splinter, hairline fractures spreading like a web across her frozen form. The sound of cracking grew louder, drowning out even Doflamingo's laughter, until finally—

She shattered.

Ice shards scattered across the polished marble floor, each blood-stained piece catching the light like spilled rubies against the darkness. Doflamingo's laughter swelled, filling every corner of the palace, but Vesper didn't flinch. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle, but she forced herself to stand tall. The flame of anger in her chest burned hotter than any ice, fed by years of abandonment and unanswered questions.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the lavish surroundings with brutal clarity. Her mother's voice whispered through her memories, steady and sure: "He will come for us, my love. He always finds what belongs to him." The words twisted like knives now, bitter reminders of childhood faith misplaced. He was supposed to be their sun, their protector, their salvation. But the sun had never come, and the shadows had only grown longer with each passing year.

The vision began to fade, reality seeping back in at the edges, but the hollow ache in her chest remained constant—a wound that had scarred over but never truly healed. Standing in this frozen nightmare, Vesper felt the last remnants of her childhood faith crack and fall away, leaving behind something harder, colder—a determination forged in ice and tempered by betrayal.

She saw him clearly now: not the savior from her mother's stories, but a man who had forgotten them so completely that even now, with her standing before him, he didn't recognize what he had lost. Each time these visions came, the same question burned: Why hadn't he come for them? But perhaps the real question, the one that truly haunted her, was simpler and far more painful: Had he ever cared at all?

Vesper jolted awake, her small frame shaking as the vision released its hold. The opulent palace halls faded, replaced by the stark reality of the frozen forest. But the man's image lingered - tall and commanding, his pink feathered coat a stark contrast to the marble pillars that had surrounded him. His laugh still echoed in her mind, sharp and dangerous, yet somehow familiar.

She pressed her hands against her temples, trying to hold onto the details before they slipped away. The vision had shown her more than just a man in a palace - it had shown her someone important. Someone her mother used to whisper about in the dark. The vision felt immediate, present, yet there was something off about it - like looking at a reflection in troubled water. She couldn't tell if she was seeing something happening now, or something yet to come. The uncertainty made her head spin, adding to the gnawing ache in her empty stomach.

The frozen forest around her offered no comfort, its unnatural silence pressing in like a physical weight. Her rags did little against the biting cold that had claimed Spring Haven, turning what was once a peaceful island into an endless winter. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the warmth she'd glimpsed in that vision.

"Why did I see him?" she whispered, her voice rough from disuse. The sound seemed to disappear into the frost-laden air, swallowed by the emptiness around her. She'd never had a vision like this before - so vivid, so real. The man's presence had filled every corner of that marble hall, his power tangible even in her dreams.

Her stomach cramped sharply, pulling her from her thoughts. Days had passed since she'd last eaten - the strange, bitter roots from the shipwreck her only sustenance. Their taste still lingered on her tongue, along with a dull ache that seemed to spread through her whole body.

Forcing herself to stand on trembling legs, Vesper made her way to the cliff's edge. It was her sanctuary, the one place where the jagged rocks remained mysteriously warm beneath her bare feet, defying the ice that had consumed everything else on the island. The sea, however, stretched endlessly before her, dark and shifting, untouched by the frost that gripped the land.

A small body of water lay nearby, its surface reflecting her disheveled face. The ice covering it was slowly melting, cracks forming as droplets trickled into the pool below. She was just shy of eight years old but appeared even younger—dirty, frail, and unkempt. Her most striking feature was her emerald-green eyes, identical to her mother’s.

Her mother had once told her they were special. A key to something important. But what that meant had always eluded her.

She turned her gaze back to the sea. Its endless, restless expanse usually calmed her frayed nerves.

Then she saw it.

A ship.

Her breath caught in her throat as her wide eyes focused on the vibrant vessel cutting through the water. Its hull was painted a vivid pink from bow to stern, a flamboyant display that stood out against the dark sea. Black sails billowed in the wind, and a figurehead shaped like a flamingo jutted forward, wings spread wide.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as her gaze locked onto the name emblazoned across the largest sail: DONQUIXOTE.

Then, her eyes found him.

A figure stood at the railing, tall and unmissable. Wild blond hair caught the sunlight, unruly and untamed. His pink feathered coat flared dramatically in the breeze, the unmistakable symbol of a man who thrived on command. But it was his crimson-tinted glasses that sent a shiver through her. They reflected the light like fire, concealing his eyes but not his power.

It was him.

“Daddy?” The word slipped from her lips, so soft she barely heard it herself. It carried an ache she didn’t understand, a yearning that twisted uncomfortably in her chest.

The man’s body stiffened. Even from this distance, she saw it—the subtle shift in his posture as his head turned slightly in her direction. For one brief, breathless moment, their eyes met. Or at least, it felt that way.

But then, just as quickly, he turned away.

Her heart plummeted. He said something to a crewmate beside him, his attention already elsewhere. Without a second glance, he leaned back against the railing, exuding a casual, unbothered confidence.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t call out to her.

The ship continued its steady journey across the waves, its garish pink sails shrinking against the horizon.

Vesper stood frozen, confusion and anger tangling together in her chest. He had seen her. She knew he had. His body language had betrayed it, if only for a second. But he’d chosen to ignore her, to keep moving as if she were nothing more than another piece of ice on this cursed island.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable cutting like a blade: “He’ll come for us one day, my love. He always finds what belongs to him.”

But that wasn’t true.

She sank to her knees, the warm rocks beneath her doing nothing to ease the bitter chill spreading through her bones. He had seen her, and he had left her here to die.

Not a savior. Not a father. Just another figure in the endless winter.

The silence of Spider Miles consumed the room, thick and oppressive, pressing against the walls like a living thing. It coiled in the corners, folding into the shadows that stretched long and deep. Doflamingo lounged in an armchair that seemed more throne than furniture, the pink feathers of his coat rustling softly with his every movement. His fingers, long and deliberate, tapped against the carved wood of the armrest—a rhythmic beat that spoke of restless thoughts churning beneath his sharp grin.

The frozen island lingered in his mind like a specter. He had altered his route to see it, unable to ignore the rumors of a place trapped in ice despite the summer’s sun. The moment his ship neared its jagged cliffs, he’d felt it—the unnatural chill in the air, the eerie stillness that hung over the land like a curse. And then there was the child.

She had stood on the cliff’s edge, small and fragile, her wild green eyes meeting his across the impossible distance. Even now, he could see her clearly—her hair whipping in the wind, her frame dwarfed by the frozen expanse surrounding her. She wasn’t just a child. No, there had been something in her gaze, something fierce and untamed. Something familiar yet unknown.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp buzz of the Den Den Mushi. He reached for the receiver with a languid motion, his grin sharpening as he answered.

“Speak,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of command.

“Doffy,” Vergo’s voice crackled through, steady and professional. “I looked into the frozen island you mentioned. It’s called Frozen Hell now, but it was once known as Spring Haven.”

Doflamingo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp grin never faltering. “Go on.”

“There’s no official word on what caused the island to freeze,” Vergo continued. “But the Marines suspect the Hie Hie no Mi. Aokiji’s disappearance left a void they’ve been desperate to fill.”

Doflamingo’s laugh was low, a sound more akin to the growl of a predator than amusement. “Always chasing what they can’t control,” he murmured, his tone laced with disdain. But his thoughts didn’t linger on the fruit. Instead, his mind returned to her.

The girl.

Small, unyielding, standing against the ice as if it had been made for her. Their eyes had locked for only a moment, but in that fleeting second, he had felt something stir—a pull he hadn’t experienced in years. Untamed power. Not a child. Never just a child. A possibility. A weapon waiting to be forged.

“The girl,” he said, his voice soft but edged with steel. “What do you know about her?”

“Nothing yet,” Vergo replied immediately. “No records. No trace. It’s as if she doesn’t exist. Whoever she is, someone went to great lengths to hide her. Even the Marines have no leads.”

A slow smile curled across Doflamingo’s lips, predatory and deliberate. “Hidden things,” he said softly, “are meant to be found. Especially when they don’t want to be.”

The shadows in the room seemed to shift as he leaned back, drumming his fingers against the receiver in a calculated rhythm. Power, he knew, wasn’t just about control. It was about seeing the raw, unshaped potential in someone—or something—and knowing exactly how to mold it.

Her potential was wild and volatile, like a flame waiting for the right touch to become a blaze. He could still see the defiance burning in her green eyes, a fire that dared the world to extinguish it. But in the right hands, even fire could be directed.

His hands.

“Keep digging,” he commanded, his voice low but unyielding. Then, without waiting for a response, he slammed the receiver back into place.

The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of Spider Miles beyond the walls. Rising from his seat with a deliberate motion, Doflamingo swept his feathered coat over his shoulders. The garish plumage stood out against the dim light like blood against snow, a vivid declaration of his unapologetic presence.

He stood there for a moment, staring into the middle distance, the grin on his face sharp enough to cut. His thoughts drifted back to the girl on the cliff, to the raw, unshaped power that had stood before him.

“She’ll be mine,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise.

Some weapons, he mused, chose their wielder long before they were ever held. And this girl—this ghost with emerald eyes—would become his most exquisite creation yet.

The feathers of his coat rustled softly as he turned, the shadows shifting around him like an extension of his will. Outside, the port town’s restless energy buzzed on, but within these walls, Doflamingo’s ambition loomed larger than life.

The girl would be found. And when she was, there would be no question of her place.

She belonged to him.

She just didn’t know it yet.

The strings extended from Doflamingo's fingers like gossamer threads of fate, anchoring him to the clouds as he descended into the bitter sky. Below him, Frozen Hell sprawled like a broken mirror, its ice-glazed terrain reflecting the harsh sunlight in fragments of crystalline despair. His coat billowed in the biting wind, pink feathers stark against the endless white, but the cold barely registered against his skin. If anything, the chill only sharpened his focus, his crimson-tinted glasses scanning the frozen wasteland with predatory intensity.

The village revealed itself gradually—a masterpiece of frozen horror that drew his lips into a razor-sharp grin. People stood like macabre sculptures, their bodies encased in thick layers of ice, faces contorted in expressions of pure terror. Not the work of nature, he knew. This level of instantaneous freezing spoke of power—raw, uncontrolled, and deliciously rare.

His feet touched the frost-covered ground with deliberate grace, each step a silent declaration of authority. The crunch of ice beneath his shoes carried through the dead air as he approached the village's center, where an iron cage stood mounted on a crude platform. Unlike its surroundings, the cage remained unfrozen, its door hanging ajar with an almost mocking emptiness, squeaking faintly as the bitter wind pushed it back and forth.

"Fuffuffu..." The sound curled through the frigid air like smoke as he studied the empty cage. Curious, he thought.

His sharp gaze caught on a frozen figure nearby—a man locked mid-stride, his hand still gripping what appeared to be a rope. But the material's distinctive dark sheen betrayed its true nature. Doflamingo's smirk tightened as he recognized the distinct gleam of Kairoseki.

"Sea-Prism Stone," he murmured, voice dropping to a dangerous pitch. "Now that's interesting." His fingers twitched, sending invisible strings slicing through the air. The frozen figures shattered instantly, fragments of ice scattering across the ground like broken dreams. "Very interesting indeed."

The presence of Kairoseki in such a remote village raised questions that made his blood sing with anticipation. Such a heavily controlled substance didn't find its way to backwater islands by chance. Someone had been pulling strings in his territory—strings that weren't his own.

A sudden gasp shattered the deathly silence.

Doflamingo's head turned with serpentine grace, his grin widening as he caught a flash of movement at the village's edge. A small figure darting into the frozen forest, their footsteps desperate and uneven on the slick ice.

"Now, now," he purred, his voice carrying an edge of dark amusement. "Running only makes this more entertaining."

He moved unhurriedly, each step measured and precise. The ice-laden branches above him trembled, disturbed by the invisible network of strings he wove through the air. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath as he pursued his prey, the only sounds the faint scrape of bare feet on ice and his quiet laughter.

The girl was quick, he’d give her that. But in this frozen wasteland, every scuff of her bare feet against the ice left a mark—a faint skid, a fleeting trace. The ice itself betrayed her, cracking faintly under her weight and echoing her every move. Her path wound through the trees like a wounded animal’s, desperate but ultimately futile.

"Little Bird," he called, his voice dripping with mock tenderness, though the predatory edge beneath it remained sharp. "Did you think you could fly away?"

The scrape of her hurried footsteps faltered for just a moment—a hesitation that made his smirk sharpen. Fear was such a reliable tool, especially in one so young. He could practically taste her terror on the sharp, icy wind.

This hunt was already over, though his prey didn’t know it yet. His strings had been spreading since he first touched down, creating an invisible web that grew with every step she took. Soon, she would run right into his trap, and then...

"Fuffuffu..." His laughter echoed through the frozen trees, a sound that promised both salvation and damnation. "Let's see what kind of treasure you really are."

The hunt continued through the silent forest, predator and prey locked in a dance where every step had been choreographed long before the music began. After all, Doflamingo mused, the best games were the ones where he’d already won before they started.

The forest loomed like a twisted cathedral, its ice-laden branches reaching toward the colorless sky like gnarled fingers. Every tree seemed to lean inward, their frozen limbs creaking and groaning under the weight of endless ice. The dense maze of slick bark and jutting branches made each step treacherous, but Vesper pushed forward, her breath coming in desperate bursts that crystallized in the frigid air.

He wasn’t supposed to come back.

The thought pounded in her head with each frantic heartbeat. No one ever came back to Spring Haven—not after what had happened. The isolation had been her shield, her certainty. Until now.

The frozen ground bit into her bare feet as she stumbled through the undergrowth, but she barely felt it. Fear had a way of numbing everything else. Her foot caught on something—or nothing at all—and she pitched forward, catching herself just before her face hit the ice. She twisted around, looking for what had tripped her, but saw only smooth, unbroken ground. Must not have been paying attention, she thought, her heart hammering as she scrambled back to her feet. Her mind raced with questions she couldn’t answer: Why now? What changed? What does he want?

When she finally broke through to the familiar clearing—her makeshift home—she allowed herself only seconds to grab what mattered most. The books and letters lay where she’d left them on the old tree stump, their weathered edges a testament to how many times she’d flipped through their pages. She clutched them to her chest like armor, the paper crinkling against her racing heart as she darted toward the cave.

The sanctuary hadn’t been discovered by accident. Her mother had carved it into the rocky hillside long ago, wielding magic Vesper still couldn’t comprehend. She remembered her mother’s soft voice, words spoken as though they were a sacred truth: "Only me and your father can find this sanctuary. If it ever gets too tough, just come here when you want to be alone."

Those words had always been a lifeline, a promise that this place would be hers and hers alone. No one else could reach it, no one else could touch it. Or so she had believed.

But now, Doflamingo was here. The man her mother had whispered about in both awe and fear, the one from her visions. Her father. His presence shattered every ounce of security the sanctuary once held. If only he and her mother could find this place, then what did that mean? Had he always known where she was? Had he been waiting all this time?

She ducked inside, pressing her back against the cold stone walls, her breath hitching in sharp bursts. The books trembled in her hands as panic clawed at her chest. The sound of his footsteps crunching through the ice grew closer, each step measured and unhurried. He knew he had her cornered. There was no need to rush.

When he reached the clearing, his movements were almost casual. He surveyed the space with the air of someone admiring a painting, his head tilted slightly as though appreciating the desolation. Then, with deliberate grace, he settled onto the remains of a fallen tree near the cave’s entrance.

For a moment, disappointment flickered across his sharp features, so fleeting it was almost imperceptible. He had hoped she would bolt straight into the carefully crafted web he’d woven through the forest—strings spread like an intricate trap just waiting to ensnare her. But instead, she had gone to ground here, in this hollowed-out cave, denying him the satisfaction of watching his prey fall into his snare.

Still, a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. It didn’t matter. In the end, she was his, no matter how the game had played out. His fingers twitched, and the intricate threads he had woven vanished without a trace, dissolving as though they had never existed.His shadow stretched across the ground like a dark promise, reaching toward her hiding place. The way he sat—legs crossed, shoulders relaxed—spoke of absolute confidence. This wasn’t a hunt anymore. It was a game, and he was savoring every moment.

"Fuffuffu..." His laugh curled through the frigid air like poison. "You’re not very good at hiding, are you?"

Vesper pressed herself further into the corner, her fingers digging into the worn covers of her books. How? How did he know exactly where she was?

"I can see you," Doflamingo said softly, his voice carrying an edge that made her blood run cold. "Every breath, every heartbeat—you might as well be standing in front of me."

Her stomach twisted as the truth sank in. There had never been any chance of escape. From the moment he’d appeared in the village, it was clear he had been toying with her, moving with a confidence that suggested he had planned every step of this encounter. She didn’t understand how, but it felt like he had been waiting for her to make exactly this move.

The worst part? Some small, traitorous part of her wondered if being found was better than being forgotten. After all, no one else had ever come back for her. Not even her mother.

And now, standing in the icy clearing with a casual smirk curling his lips, her father—the man who had haunted her visions and her mother’s whispers—had finally come for her.Vesper emerged from the cave’s shadows with careful, measured steps, her small frame trembling—not entirely from the cold. The books and letters clutched against her chest felt like a shield—fragile and ultimately useless, but all she had to protect herself from the towering figure waiting outside. The frozen air bit at her exposed skin, but she barely noticed it over the thundering of her own heart.

He was waiting for her.

Doflamingo sat on the fallen tree near the cave’s entrance, his figure commanding even in stillness. The garish coat draped over his shoulders like a mocking banner, and his crimson-tinted glasses reflected faint glints of light, concealing his eyes but not the sharp intensity behind them. His very presence seemed to consume the clearing, an oppressive force that bent the world around him, as though the air itself had shifted to accommodate his will.

“I wasn’t hiding,” she said, her voice thin but carrying a thread of defiance that startled even her. Her fingers clutched the books and letters tighter, as though they might shield her. “I just… wanted to see the man who’s been in my dreams.”

For a brief moment, surprise flickered across his face, though it vanished quickly beneath his sharp grin. Tilting his head slightly, he studied her with a dark amusement. Rising from the fallen tree with deliberate ease, his pink coat shifted like living fire, a sharp contrast to the icy void around them. Towering over her now, he made the clearing feel impossibly small, the air heavy with his presence.

Taking a slow, deliberate step forward, his movements exuded control, each step measured and purposeful, making her acutely aware of the size and power difference between them.

“Fuffuffu… smart girl,” he said, the sound curling through the frigid air like smoke. His gaze swept over her critically, lingering on her tattered clothes, hollow cheeks, and too-thin arms clutching the books like they could save her from him. There was no pity in his expression, only a spark of curiosity and something darker. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but there was a tension in them—a readiness, coiled and waiting.

“Tell me, little bird,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery, “what’s your name?”

She hesitated, the tremor in her legs spreading to her hands. The nausea that had plagued her earlier surged, twisting her insides into knots, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. She wouldn’t kneel. Not to him.

“One would think,” she said, her voice tight and uneven, “that it’s polite to give your name first before asking for someone else’s.”

She didn’t know why her words came out sharp, like a blade she didn’t know how to wield. Was it the loneliness? The villagers’ hatred, shaping her as much as the cold had? Or something worse—this aching, traitorous part of her that wanted to collapse into him. To feel the warmth of someone who wasn’t a cruel word or a judging stare.

The father she had waited for, even though he was too late.

Her knuckles whitened around the books, trembling with the effort to stay upright.

Doflamingo chuckled, low and rich, the sound curling through the clearing like smoke. 'Fuffuffu... even half-starved and freezing, you’ve got spirit.'" His grin curved like the blade of a scythe, cruel and cutting, as though her recognition was the punchline to a private joke. “Very well. My name is Doflamingo.”

The name hit her like a physical blow.

She froze, her breath catching as years of whispered stories and desperate prayers crashed over her at once. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, warm and full of longing: He’ll come for us one day. Your father will find us.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She had wanted him to say his name—to prove this was all a dream, that he wasn’t actually here. That she was still alone on the island, and he had sailed past like the time before.

“No...” The word slipped out, fragile and disbelieving. “It can’t—”

“Doflamingo,” he repeated, slower this time, savoring every syllable. His grin sharpened as though her recognition amused him. “You’ve heard of me, haven’t you, little bird?”

Her chest tightened, and the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The truth clawed at her chest, suffocating and heavy. The years of isolation had hollowed her out, leaving only questions and faint hopes that someone would find her. But now, standing before him, all that emptiness seemed to press down at once—an avalanche of too many lonely nights and unanswered prayers. Her legs wavered, the dizziness surging until it overwhelmed her.

“No...” The whisper came again, weaker now.

Her vision blurred, and the clearing distorted as nausea surged through her, as she staggered back, reaching for the cave wall for balance. The familiar stone—warm, unmarred by frost thanks to her mother’s magic—was her last anchor. But it wasn’t enough. Her strength gave out, and the books slipped from her trembling fingers, landing with a soft thud on the frost-covered ground.

Her legs buckled, the world tilting dangerously as unconsciousness claimed her. The sting of ice biting into her scraped palms was distant, drowned beneath the crushing weight of his name. It loomed over her, suffocating, as if the frozen air itself had conspired to force her to the ground.

Doflamingo’s steps were deliberate, each carving through the frost like a predator closing in on its prey. He loomed over her fallen form, his grin fixed and unyielding.

“Fuffuffu...” His laughter curled through the frozen air like a whip. “Looks like the little bird wasn’t ready to leave the nest after all.”

He crouched beside her, his coat flaring out as he studied her unconscious form. Sweat clung to her pale skin despite the bitter cold. Something about her tugged at a long-buried memory—a haunting familiarity he couldn’t quite pin down. It hovered just out of reach, teasing him with the promise of recognition.

“Well then,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of dark amusement. “Let’s see if you’re worth the wait… or if you’ll break like the rest.Either way, you’ll serve your purpose.”

Doflamingo crouched beside the unconscious girl, his sharp eyes dissecting every detail of her face. Up close, the contradiction of her existence became even more intriguing—a child who had endured the frozen wasteland and survived, yet lay here so small, so seemingly fragile. His gloved fingers brushed a strand of matted golden hair from her face, the motion deliberate and possessive. Her skin burned warm beneath his touch, stark against the bitter cold. Faint sweat glistened on her forehead, a testament to her body’s fight to endure where most would have failed hours ago.

His gaze shifted to the cave behind her. At first glance, it seemed unremarkable—just another hollow in the ice-scarred terrain—but the markings carved into its entrance caught his attention. Jagged lines and spirals etched into the stone pulsed faintly, an unnatural glow barely visible in the dim light. Something about them stirred a flicker of recognition in his mind, an itch he couldn’t scratch. The memory slipped away before he could catch it, leaving behind only an irritating void.

Stepping into the cave’s cramped interior, he took in the signs of desperate survival—a makeshift cot in the corner, its frayed blanket tucked with a precision that reeked of a child’s attempt at control in a chaotic world. Beside it, a rickety table stood uneven on frozen ground, its surface littered with fragments of a life she had clung to. Letters, bundled neatly with a faded ribbon, rested at its center, their edges softened by time but carefully preserved.

Doflamingo’s long fingers closed around the bundle, the delicate crackle of aged paper breaking the silence. A date scrawled on one of the envelopes caught his attention—three years prior. His grin sharpened, cruel understanding blooming behind his crimson-tinted glasses. Someone had left this girl here long before the ice had claimed the island. Abandoned her. Believed her unworthy of saving.

How wrong they’d been.

As he shifted the letters, one slipped free, drifting to the damp ground. The faded ink drew his attention, and he crouched to retrieve it, unfolding the page with an almost mocking curiosity.

"I’m sorry I had to leave and may never return. But you... you are stronger than I am. I will come back for you when it’s safe."

“Fuffuffu…” His laugh curled through the frigid air like smoke. “Empty promises from the weak. Typical.” His thumb brushed the edge of the letter before he folded it back into place and slid it into the bundle. The casual gesture crumpled it slightly, a quiet show of disdain—a reminder that even these precious fragments of her past now belonged to him.

He turned back to the girl. Her body was motionless, but her face told a different story. Even unconscious, there was a stubborn set to her jaw, a tension in her small frame. It spoke of someone who had learned to fight even in sleep. Fascinating.

The books she had clutched so tightly lay near the cave’s entrance, their damp pages curling slightly but otherwise intact. Even in collapse, she had protected them. That desperate grip, the need to hold onto these pieces of her past—it only made her more intriguing.

Doflamingo rose smoothly, his coat flaring out like wings. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You’ll make for an interesting puzzle, little bird.”

He leaned down, his hands moving with a predator’s care as he lifted her into his arms. She was almost weightless—like a sparrow with broken wings, too fragile to take flight. His coat settled over her limp form, a deliberate gesture, a silent claim.

As he stepped from the cave, pale sunlight broke through the thinning clouds above, casting a faint glow across the ice. He had to move quickly. His strings shot upward, pulling them into the air as the frozen wasteland shrank below—a monument to power untamed, now his.

On the horizon, a Marine warship cut through the icy waters, its pristine white sails stark against the desolation. Doflamingo’s smirk sharpened, though his crimson glasses concealed the faint annoyance flickering behind them. Of course they’d come sniffing—a frozen island and whispers of the Hie Hie no Mi were bait they couldn’t resist. But the island’s secrets—and this peculiar girl—were already his.

The girl stirred faintly, her head lolling against his chest, but she didn’t wake. His strings pulled taut, lifting them into the air. The land below shrank as they ascended into the thinning clouds, the cold wind tugging at his coat. Let the Marines search the ruins. Let them chase the ghosts he left behind. They would find nothing but ice and echoes.

There was something about her, a faint familiarity he couldn’t quite pin down. It wasn’t just her golden hair tangled against his chest or the stubborn tension in her small frame. It was her power—wild and unshaped—that whispered of something… important. Something his strings could twist into perfection.

The Marine warship vanished into the thinning clouds as Doflamingo ascended, his laughter curling like smoke through the frozen air.

“Let them sift through ruins,” he murmured, his crimson glasses catching the pale sunlight as his gaze dropped to the girl in his arms. A cruel smile tugged at his lips. “By the time they realize what they’ve lost, she’ll already be mine.”

The wind howled as he disappeared into the clouds, leaving nothing but silence below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60522799/chapters/154510915

#doflamingo #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece au #fanfiction #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #trafalgar law #original character #beta needed #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 link #fic writing

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v-era-18 · 2 years ago

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Sweven ( Apple Black x Demon Slayer )

(The characters of ‘Apple Black’ by Whyt Manga meets ‘Demon Slayer’ by Koyoharu Gotouge!)

In Taisho-era Japan, two partners by the names of Sano Bengote Tamashii and Opal Wantmore are content with their lives of slaying demons in order to avenge human lives that have fallen to their weak stomachs and horrendous nature.

Their lives are changed however after a mission to an Opera house, Sano runs into Kibujiski Muzan and is turned into a demon! Determined to turn her partner back to normal, Opal sets out to find answers to a cure in order to turn him back.

Embarking on her adventure for answers, she soon joins up with her other six friends to help aid her in her journey. Faced with even more challenging demons to have Opals and Sanos heads by orders of Muzan would normally be a setback; However how will these characters react once they find out Sano isn't the only demon to live a life without eating humans.

And the true reason Sano was turned into a demon rather than being killed in the first place.

Prologue : Toska

(n.) a dull ache of the soul, a sick pinning , a spiritual anguish

Despair, anguish, or tragedy. Opal couldn't find which word to describe the situation at hand. It seemed only an hour ago she was thrown against the tall stone pillar damning her unconscious. In her dazed state she inadvertently listened to the heart retching sounds of death and agony, before black dots consumed her vision. The girl remained on the marbled floor stained red with previous and new accounts of blood from fellow demon slayers listed on the mission inside the opera house.

Bodies continued to drop one after another, blood curdling screams and manic laughter filling the subconscious as if it was one horrible nightmare. A state of purgatory one might even argue, to hear and feel the pressure of the overwhelming chill knowing someone was being eaten, a fellow member trying to save humanity and her body couldn’t even move.

Weak, inexperienced, and fearful. So many of them didn’t have what it takes to wield a sword. But they give their hearts souls and minds for the corps, but at what cost? How long will it be before a pillar of hope arrives? How long will it be before half of the humans-teens risking their lives for peace will be eaten by demons they couldn’t finish off.

The mission was supposed to be straightforward: head to the old abandoned opera house, bring their blades down upon the demons' heads, and look for survivors. However, they hadn’t anticipated each level to have three demons each, or that Kabusiki Muzan would be paying a visit. They worked so hard, only for them to die such a death at the hands of that monster. May the gods have mercy on their souls.

~*~

Five hours prior to the incident, two crows flew into view following a cobblestone path towards a wall surrounding the wisteria house appeared within their black hollow eyes. The building was surrounded by towering trees of protection, warding off any demons that dared to run across the premises.

The house's front gate was worn down, but kept seeming to be replaced every few years or so to provide the utmost protection for the slayers recovering from hard work from saving others from man eating oni. Passing from the gate two demon slayers exited the house following one of the house keepers. The keeper of the house's hair was tied up into a high pony cascading down to the middle of her back. She wore a purple and white kimono with a wisteria family crest with pride on the back. The young woman couldn’t be any older than her twenties.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality!” The black haired boy exclaimed with a wide smile stretched across his face.

The teen had a blue and white haori over his dark gray demon slayer uniform, the pattern resembled multiple circles with three lines running through reflecting the young boy's family crest. The arm he didn’t lift had an elongated sleeve covering up his well bandaged arm that remains with no invert inflicted . His hair was tied back, blue eyes holding wonder and joy reflecting the morning sky; a blue and white katana was strapped along his waist

A girl with a tangerine twin puffed fro bowed in respect with a soft smile, her rainbow dyed haori flowed slightly with the morning breeze with her black uniform. She had brown freckled skin, with bright orange eyes matching her colored hair. Black leather hand warmers were snug against her hands, the sword on her hip matched beautifully with the light green scabbard that withheld gold on the end just like the guard and buttcap. The girl stood up straight, the jewel attached to her hair shined brightly underneath the morning sun.

Two crows cawed over their heads, gaining the two demon slayers attention, “Kaw! Kaw! Sano Bengote Tamsii! Opal Wantmore! Report to the opera house to the north! Immediately!” The blue clothed crow cawed above the Tamasiis head, much to his dismay.

“Already?!” Sano sighed in exasperation, “We just recovered from our last mission! Not to mention the last demon we faced was horrific.”

Opal twisted her face in discomfort, displeased with the mention of the last demon they fought. Even though the mission occurred a month ago, it seemed only a few days since they last fought off the hysterical she-demon.

Apparently the demon wanted a baby so badly that they started stealing them from neighboring villages. She wondered if it was even possible for a demon to have a family; how would reproduction even occur under Muzans curse?

A chill ran down her spin; what would happen to the kids if they came out human? The demon they’d encountered two weeks ago was not motherly at all, it takes patience and love to raise a child happily and healthy. During the intense monolog the she-demon had placed Sano especially on edge hearing about her parenting methods to kids before she switched to babies that could barely even crawl. If the child acted out of line or ‘misbehaved’ well, let’s just say the demon had a snack.

Her stomach lurched and twisted remembering the chilling sight before her as she found one of the infants alive. The nursery was bloodied, the once white walls seemed to be stained pink with dried blood before gradient into a mature burgundy with fresh blood from twenty four hours before their arrival. And oh god, don’t even get her started on the cribs; it was almost as if she wanted a foster home but didn’t want the infants to grow and walk out the large pleasant doors that awaited their future.

Wouldn’t a parent hold their child and wish them the best of luck before their departure? To utter the words every child would love to hear, the praise, the acceptance, and overall bond they’d share between them as a whole.

It’s not like Opal would know the feeling, her parents died when she was around the age of five, they probably would’ve loved to know how it would feel; to sit and watch your kin grow into the next generation to surpass the old. Instead they had to watch from above without voicing their approval or dismay with each action she took as a swordsman or a growing woman.

Instead she had to remember the night her fathers crow sat in front of her older sister, her wails and pleas to the gods falling upon deaf ears. The two of them were left alone, Opal couldn't remember the last time her eldest sibling withheld a truthful smile.

“Let’s not talk about that one,” Opal lifted her hand up to her crow, it landed swiftly on her palm.

The crows name was Orion, after a while Opal decided it was best to give her new feathered guide a name to call it as they accompanied her on missions. The bird still had the gold beaded bracelet she made when she was younger, it was loosely around its neck. It still makes her smile a bit to know the crow hadn’t lost it, a silent loyalty. “I’m still not over the ‘nursery’.”

Sano waved his hands around panicked, “Sorry! I thought you’d be over it by now-not to say that you can’t take all the time you need in order to!,” his face became concerned, eyes laced with worry for her mental health. “Do you need a bit more time-”

“I’m fine Sano, I'd rather not think about anything that has to do with that demon who was a horrible excuse as a ‘mother’.” Her crow was now being fed birdseed along with the boy's crow, ‘Winswerth’ Sano decided to name it, landing on her forearm to join in on the meal. “I’m glad you finished her off quickly while I tended to the boy.”

“No problem, it was pretty easy! Although I’d have to be honest in all the demons I’ve killed so far, that one I couldn’ t have any remorse for. Even while she cried for her lover who she wanted to give an heir to so badly. I couldn’t help but think of the future the children never got to see.” Sanos words were soft, yet laced with guilt for the lives they couldn’t save.

Opal smiled, it was of the things she admired about her partner. Sano always thought of others as equals, demons and humans. In all her life she'd never heard or seen a demon slayer have sympathy for demons and compared them to humans. Oni that ate humans in order to grow stronger. She had to admit, after being beside her partner the past year and slaying demons together, and what she witnessed personally, she was torn.

Not all demons were bad. Some had turned and had no other choice but to kill in order to survive. The demon they faced last month was the same. A former human wife who couldn't conceive for her husband she adored.

However that didn’t excuse their nature and the part Opal loathed the most was from her own horrible experiences with them.

“The world we live in is complicated,” Sano began as they soon followed the two birds flying overhead towards their destination, “On one hand we control our fate, on the other we let others or our upbringing impact on how we live and our decisions.”

“The demon was no different. I’m sure she grew up in a loving household, her father or mother found her a well suited fiancé they thought was perfect for her and thought she’d be taken care of-“

He cut off, looking back towards the wisteria gate that soon faded from view. No doubt he was thinking about the husband and wife that ran the mansion with their two kids. It was an arranged marriage but they were happy, and even acted like friends. A warm family that devoted their lives to helping the corps for no doubt helping them from demons in the past.

“I see now not everyone is fortunate to have that dream. I should know better.”

Opal casted a woeful glance to her partner. Tamashii was an orphan, unlike her, he lost his whole family and clan within one night to a huge massacre from demons.

The last name Tamashii is well known throughout the corps. A man by the name of Sergo Abraham Tamashii was a famous demon slayer for his strength and mysterious breathing styles no tuskuo could copy no matter how hard they tried. The man was so strong he defeated several hashiras in a fight for training and guidance. He was feared by all demons, especially the upper moons themselves. The head of the demon slayer corps requested the highest honor to be given, the status of a hashira. He turned it down. Instead, it was rumored he headed back home to his clan and retired early. Devoting himself to his research and settling down.

The Tamashii clan was burned down to the ground eight years later.

“It doesn’t hurt to dream, to hope,” Opal began slowly, the breeze was cold and nipped at her chapped lips from jack frost's excitement for the last leaf to fall, “The world is cruel that we know, but it doesn’t matter your upbringing or how bad your beaten into oblivion. It matters how you change your future for the better, to grab onto that string of faith until you make it and see the light.”

Sano’s mouth was agape before shifting up into a bright smile, “Your right sorry to bring the mood down! We still have a long way to go before we finally have peace!”

He grabbed the girl's hands catching her off guard as they stood in the midst of the dirt road. Sano would have these sudden bursts of excitement here and there, although she has gotten used to it, it still startled her since she isn’t used to being touched often. Orion and Wiiwerth circled above, casted shadows above her and there from the warm sun.

“Opal I know the others think I’m crazy when I say this but, I’m sure of it! We can make peace with demons!” His face was determined and firm, unwavering as he looked at her. His blue eyes scanned her face for a reaction, what he received was a small smile. With another smile he released her.

“Alright! Let’s go finish the job so we can meet back up with Angelo-san!” The boy stormed off as the girl stood crossing her arms with a playful look.

“Tamashii.”

“Yes?”

“You’re heading back from when we came.”

It was hours before they arrived at the designated spot, Opal wondered how many demon slayers were assigned here since they couldn’t get the job done.

They would’ve been there two hours earlier if Sano didn’t keep getting lost on breaks. She doesn't call him ‘lost boy’ for nothing.

The exterior of the opera house was one to behold. The building was big as expected, however the windows were cracked and busted with age but any eye could see the golden dragon statues in front. They seemed to be tarnished with age on the stairs case, the steps were pure concrete with cracks infiltrated with moss and weeds.

“It’s a shame it was replaced in the city.” Sano muttered looking at the missing third pillar on the second floor in front . A wash of euphoria flowed through him for a minute as a familiar symphony filled his memory. “Are you a fan of music, Opal?”

“I appreciate it, it’s really beautiful when people put hard work into their craft. Why are you?” She asked, looking around the entrance to see if there was a discreet way to enter.

He walked over beside her, a soft look took over his features grabbing her attention. She knew the look too well and fell into the same expression, not out of pity, but a safe welcome for him to share.

“My mother, she used to play-“

An ear piercing scream cut him off as they gazed towards the building, the two of them drew their swords as a figure flew out the second floor cracked window.

Swathing his sword quickly Sano breathed before catching her mid air and landing on both feet safely. Opal moved towards them, it seemed like a girl two years older than them. Her mouth pooled out blood, her arm sliced clean off with eyes wide with despair.

“Sano lay her down.”

The boy did as instructed by a nearby tree, he laid the girl down comfortably as he could. Her gaze was cased over as she looked at him.

“Papa…..I’m sorry-could…come..home…”

Sano inhaled, his shoulders shaking as the girl cried believing the boy in front of her was her father she missed dearly.

One last tear fell, one last breath was taken, and one soul was gone.

Opal got on her knees and sent a quick prayer of respect, before getting back up and wafting her hand over the girl's eyes to close them.

“Opal.”

“I know. No more lives can be lost today.”

~*~

After it seemed like an eternity, the screams ceased. Amber eyes continued to open and close before widening at the sound of a large faint creak. The girl sat up with a pained whine, her tangerine tinted fro was drenched in blood. Brown skin littered in cuts from the scratches the demons she encountered earlier that month laid waste upon her body. Her rainbow died haori stained red, ripped and torn, her corps uniform didn’t look any better. Another creak sounded out, followed by a thump, then a low growl.

Opal’s head shot up with an attentive look, her eyes scanning around the room zoning back in on the situation at hand.

The entrance to the opera house's walls were a muddied maroon red, whereas the marbled floor and pillars added a nice royal touch. imagining how it would’ve been years before, the chandelier would be lit, along with the other candles posted along the walls and pillars would give the room more life. Soft maroon velvet carpet in the halls worn slightly by high quality soles of the rich enjoying the shows as the melodic symphony reached their ears . It was a shame so much wear and rot along the building took over the craft and beauty it had so many years ago.

Twelve other bodies laid waste upon the floor, six mizuno, four kanoto, and two kanoe. Looking around the old marbled blood drenched floor, she looked around for the signature white and indigo blue haori.

‘Sano?’ She pursed her lips, none of the uniforms or haori’s displayed her partners colors or the signature patterns she’d grown accustomed to. Letting out a pained groan she stood clutching her side, her eyes locked on the exit she remembered her partner leaving through in fury. ‘That idiot better be alive-‘ her thought was cut short as a sinking feeling entered her stomach.

Knowing Sano he should’ve been back by now; accessing their injuries and the situation at hand. She allowed her body to lumber out the room, trying to keep her groans and whimpers to a minimum. She could feel her ribs move slightly with each step, her ankle was most likely sprained, not to mention her keen sight was affected from the blunt force to her head.

The opera house halls were littered in dust, dim candles lit along the hall with an orange hue in its wake. Heading down the hall the smell of protruding ash would’ve been faint to an average human, but to a slayer it was very potent, if Opal guessed correctly seven demons died in the hall alone.

It took everything in her not to wheeze or gag due to how much ash had lifted into the air alone. It didn’t help there weren't any windows unless you were in a room, the halls weren’t cramped, yet they were just enough to fit two people walking side by side in an appropriate fashion, three if someone was trying to get by.

The growl and creaks grew louder as she turned a corner leading to what it would seem as a dining hall. The doors were off the hinges, the moon providing light in the dark room. She stepped inside releasing her teal gold sword from its scabbard ,withholding it in a tight grip. The center dining table was smashed right through the middle; large claw-like slashes penetrated the chipping old wallpaper all around the room. Broken glass, porcelain plates, and paintings were trashed and thrown all over the place.

The teen froze, amber eyes widening at the sight of the teen boy wearing blue and white haori. His hands gripped his head, eyes covered with bangs from his raven tied hair. She took in the scene a breath of relief leaving her lips, but soon a concerned look took place.

Don’t get her wrong she was happy to see her friend alive, but even she could see there wasn't something right with the scene displayed in front of her.

“Sano! Thank god you're okay-” Opal cut off as the boy lifted his head, sharp piercing blue eyes took her breath as he let out a low growl from his throat.

There was no way she was seeing what she thought she was seeing, her hands loosened on the sword trembling in her unsteady grip, backing slowly back to the wall. Sano took a step, then another lifting his head into the full moon light from the large dining window.

His eyes, the ones that reflected the sky, filled with hope and wonder, were now filled with hunger, sharp with blind rage; another way to simply describe them would be to a snake that was irritated by intruders. Primal incisors were bared in a snarl that didn’t suit the boy's kind nature. Opal couldn't help but feel her stomach drop at the sight, she lost so many people to demons, she never wanted to admit it to herself-.

The boy’s steps got faster, heading straight towards the entrance where she stood, fangs bared for a bite of his first meal as a demon. The moon seemed to freeze them in time as Sano leaped at her, her orbs filled with tears, rejecting the harsh reality, refusing to believe the boy who believed in peace would succumb to the evil that was thrusted upon him.

-She never wanted to admit that she couldn't stand losing anyone else to the fates laid out before them.

In the pit of her stomach it finally hit her, the rage and agitation with the curse that's been inflicted upon him. The sorrow and tears she wanted to spill wouldn’t fix this, how many people had to suffer due to Muzans past actions and tracery! So many people die, limbs being pulled, organs spilling out on the floor only for demons to devour them whole with no remorse, only concerns for their soul appetite. Opal loathed the world they were tossed in, she couldn't accept it no longer, Tamshii wasn’t them! He fought bravely to the very end each time they were together and away. The letters they exchanged, the memories of laughter and friendship was all she was going to have left of him?

No, to hell with fate!

Quickly with one swift motion, she threw her sword to the side still facing the approaching threat in front of her, grabbing his shoulders as he tried to take a bite, Opal twisted them onto the floor placing her on top.

Sano struggled and bucked, releasing one growl after another ; she pinned his arms over his head in one hand, using the other to grab a hold of the loose blue knitted scarf to thrust into his mouth, preventing any form of biting to take place.

“Sano! I know you're in there somewhere!” Opal started, her eyesight growing ever more fuzzy due to the tears threatening to spill over, “You got this, every trial we always face it together! We came so far….I'm not going home without you so please! Don’t give in!”

The blue eyed boy struggled harder, biting hard on the knitted scarf, in retaliation he started to grow in size. Amber eyes widened at the strength he grew under five seconds, that wasn’t all, it was the left arm the boy always hid underneath the blue elongated sleeve of his haori. ‘His arm is completely black?! And…. dare I say glowing?’

Tamasii always had his arm fully wrapped up from anyone’s sight, one of the many secrets that the boy withheld. But this wasn’t something she expected to be underneath the covering, she expected a burn scar from the fire his family died under, not a full black arm of mystery.

The boy slipped out of her hold, grabbing by her neck as she was lifted in the air, Opal struggled clawing at the tight grip he started to produce.

‘Damn it! I lost my focus’ She struggled to stay calm as she looked at the boy below her, tears streaming down her face as hop slowly slipped away with each breath that was lost. Opal placed her foot on the tall demon's chest in protest to the assault, attempting to pry herself from the tightening grip around her windpipe.

“Sa-no! P-please,” She wheezed, instinctively leaning her head back trying to gain more air, “d….don’t leave me too…”. Her vision seemed to be fading with each breath she failed to take in the room.

Opal closed her watered eyes, accepting the fact it was over, if anything she would at least die at the hands of someone she secretly adored and held close to her heart. She tried her best, that was a well known fact; now she would suffer the same fate many other fellow slayers have before. A flash of familiar faces filled with smiles filled her conscience, a certain black haired boy stood tall and proud with a raised cup, declaring a toast to a hopeful future filled with peace.

‘I wish I could've said goodbye to the others-’ Her thoughts of despair were cut off abruptly , with her falling to the floor with a hard ‘thump’.

Opal inhaled at last gasping air as if she'd never get the chance ever in her life, coughing as she looked up at the boy, inessail shock taking over her features as she took him in. A sobbed left from his lips as he looked down at his hands then back to her.

“Sa-” She coughed and wheezed again, trying to gain her bearings. A warm heavy weight enveloped her, arms wrapped around her frame, trembling. Opal looked to the side, seeing the familiar sight of black hair tied to the back, she wrapped her arms around him as well, a soft whimper leaving her lips. She can’t remember the last time she cried, gripping his hiori tighter as the girl sniffed.

“Hey lost boy? Can you understand me?” She hadn’t expected him to speak, he was still shaking.

Opal knew Sano treasured their friends and especially their friendship, it'll take him a while to get over the fact he tried to eat her after she tried talking to him. A simple nod is all she received, ‘Close enough’.

Her partner released her, his hand resting on the back of her neck, kneading it softly as if to get rid of the pain he inflicted earlier. His thick eyebrows furrowed, his lips frowned, his eyes still remained demonic but glossed over with tears. She offered a loose smile showing him that she was just glad he was somewhat alright.

A large bang could be heard through the house of music, startling the two. Voices were heard along with orders given. Opal looked at Sanos' predicament in alarm, realizing a crucial detail.

‘Sano is a demon now, even though he's showing emotions and hasn't killed anyone he would still be killed. It's against the corp’s rules to let him live!’.

She stood up in one go instantly regretting it as a wave of nausea and the condition of her injuries caught up with her. Opal wobbled on her feet, the dining room spinning. Her partner was there in a flash, throwing her arm over his shoulders to provide support they’d done so many times before.

“Sano,” She started with a low whisper, “You have to leave. Now.”

Looking over at the boy, she was met with an intense stare and frown. Knowing how stubborn Tamashii was, there was no hope for them splitting up due to her injuries. He simply moved her over near where her sword was thrown to the floor. He swiftly picked it up along with his scarf, making sure not to jostle Opal too much around his shoulder.

“We have no time to argue on this!,” Her tone was sharp, expressing the intense emotions that wound up in the depths of her mind, “Due to the situation a Hashira has most likely been sent here to help! You do know what that means don’t you-“

The girl was cut off by her partner throwing her over his shoulders onto his back. Opal was so hellbent on having her partner escape she didn’t even realize they had teleported a good way away from the house of music. It was a habit the boy had to let her ramble as he continued to use his breathing style in order to get them to their destination faster. He didn’t use it all the time though, just in case they ran into a demon unexpectedly one night without proper rest from their last mission.

Once the demon boy adjusted her as comfortably as possible, gripping her thighs for support he broke out into a sprint, although the girl would’ve laughed, fought, and pointed out how childish the ‘piggyback ride’ was; she simply didn’t have any more energy left. Opal wanted to question where they were going as they passed by streams, bushes and wide clearings they’d used to rest near after a mission. Her eyes could barely stay open, each breath she took led the world as she knew to become fuzzy and merged.

Sano must've noticed the girl's current state as he started to run faster, teleporting every now and then to make up for time. He moved his left shoulder in a jerk that her head laid upon, a silent ‘stay awake’ of an order.

Her partner knew she was trying, but she couldn’t anymore. The grip she once had around his shoulders loosened, soon falling at her sides, resulting in the boy leaning forward so she wouldn’t fall off. Opal glanced up at the moon, the night seemed so pretty even though a series of deaths for so many demon slayers happened every night without fail.

For a moment, as her eyelids closed, her breathing becoming shallow, the steps of her partner silent yet concentrated to get them to their destination.

‘I wonder if demons admire the beauty the night has to offer?’

#Apple Black #Sano Bengote Tamashii #Opal Wantmore #Whyt Manga #demon slayer #demon slayer universe

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behold-the-griffin · 1 year ago

Text

Ophelia slaps a clawed hand over her mouth as soon as the word exits it, the echo rolling around the extravagant and lifeless throne room that Balthazar holds court in.

He turns to her slowly, the bones in his neck snapping and twisting like rotten branches as he turns his pitch-dark eyes onto hers.

The heroes, bound like pigs for slaughter, shake in their armor.

She slow-blinks at him, unrepentant.

“A moment,” he hisses, the sound sibilant and menacing to anyone other than the girl he’s raised like a daughter, “with my apprentice, if you will.”

Ooooooh, that’s how she knows he mad. By now, after a couple years of this, she’s his colleague. Balthazar only demotes her when he’s pissed.

With a stomp of an emaciated hoof against marble flooring (mined with slave labor, of course, because a human life was worth less than a month of fair wages), the heroes vanish into a dark pit. Their screams cut off abruptly as it seals up behind them.

“Oh, bottomless pit trap!” Berrun, settled behind her like a massive scaly cat, cries out. Smoke begins to rise from his nostrils in irritation. “You couldn’t have done that thirty seconds ago, Darkwalker? I would’ve won!”

“But you diiidn’t,” sings Ophelia, before she can stop herself. A horrific gurgling noise makes her attention snap back to Balthazar, who is quite possibly foaming at the mouth from either rage or confusion.

She blinks at him again, this time innocently. The effect is somewhat ruined by her tail twitching in amusement.

Ophelia knows a lot of languages, but the noises Balthazar is currently making resemble none of them. -

“Bingo?” Balthazar finally manages weakly. “Why in the name of the Starry fucking Dark are you playing bingo right now?

Before Ophelia can even summon her twelve-point presentation on why Balthazar’s villain monologues aren’t effective, Berrun sums it up with dragonish bluntness.

“You’re getting predictable, Darkwalker.”

He partially rears and shakes his head in offense, his twenty-point crown of antlers nearly catching on the expensive-looking chandelier.

“Predicatable!” He nearly shouts. “How dare you! I am-”

“-wrath incarnated, darkness reborn. I am the lurking power that you’ve tried to convince yourself was not there but you never quite could-”

Balthazar falters at his sudden Greek Chorus of both Berrun and Ophelia, taken aback at their perfect word for word recall of his grand speech. Sure, it had been a month since he had come up with a new one, but surely-

“It’s been three, boss,” Ophelia drawls, stretching her wings. “I get it, we’ve been pretty busy, but there’s only so many games of tic-tac-toe me ‘n Berr can play before we get bored.”

Balthazar’s eyes flick down to the scorched and cracked marble. Suddenly, the charcoal marks on Ophelia’s fingers make sense.

“Look, it’s not like we don’t like listening to them-”

“Speak for yourself, Faeblood.”

“Shut up. Anyways, it’s just that the whole big bad evil monologue is kinda giving… evil vibes?”

It’s Balthazar’s turn to blink at her. “That’s the point,” he says, sounding a little lost. “Ophelia, we kill people.”

She flashes her fangs at him in a grisly smile, still tasting blood that isn’t hers in her mouth. “Yeah, but like, only if they deserve it.”

“I feel like I should be able to explain to you how that’s still wrong.”

Her ears twitch. She’s never been afraid of Balthazar, even on that day in the city, blood staining blue cloth maroon (gods, she’s never been more grateful for such a color before-), but a stellar and or stable moral compass has never quite been one of his possessions.

“You weren’t gonna kill those heroes, were you?” she challenges. “Just scare the loyalty out of them and set em free. That’s what you taught me. Catch and release.”

“Catch and release,” Balthazar echoes. “They don’t know who they follow. They never do.” He turns away from them, gaze empty and mournful. “You never do.”

Ophelia and Berrun share a look. Balthazar is spiraling.

“That’s stupid,” Berrun says bluntly.

Ophelia decides to be a bit more strategic.

“You’re the one who laid siege to a city full of rich assholes whose type was young and scared,” she says. “You’re the one who made friends who actively insulted you, called you terrible things just so you would stay humble. You’re the one who took in a Faeblood with a history of biting and a cartload of issues and you made her better.”

With every statement, she takes a step closer to Balthazar’s hulking and monstrous form. The smell of petrichor and rot and something uniquely Balthazar fills her nose as she lays one hand on his bony flank.

Ah, shit, he’s crying now. His tears in this form are thick and oily, and Ophelia only minds a little when one drips from his chin and into her hair.

“You’re my family, shithead,” she says, speaking past the lump in her throat, “and only I get to make you feel bad.”

Balthazar kneels so that he can better hug her. It’s not that great of a hug; his limbs are too long and his ribs are sharp and he does smell a little like death, but underneath of it all the connection between their magick sings.

“Maybe you should write the speeches from now on,” he mumbles, and Ophelia cackles.

“Not before we scare the shit outta those heroes, right?” she asks, a vicious glint in her eyes.

Balthazar’s started look tells her that he completely forgot about them in the first place. But he recovers wonderfully after only a second or two, and begins to cast the spell that will bring them back.

Ophelia returns to Berrun’s side. He nudges her side with his massive head.

“Sap,” he growls lightly as the heroes fall back into the throne room, still screaming their heads off.

And as Ophelia watches Balthazar bellow and bluster and generally make an ass of himself, she smiles slightly.

“Yeah,” she says, quiet enough that only Berrun could hear her, “I guess I am.”

You thought your minions were taking notes but when one of them yells "Bingo!" in the middle of one of your evil monologues to the captured Heroes, you're forced to re-evaluate things.

#idiot thoughts #blog post #long post #my writing #original writing #writing prompt #not fic #Ophelia Sungate #balthazar #Berrun #Samhain Skulls & Dragon Taming: A Faeblood’s Guide To Stealing A Family #holy shit this took longer than I wanted #also hello angst where did you come from???#yall they’re family and they love each other so so much #watch me obsess over them #Gotta let you guys know I was imagining the heroes as the guys from dungeon meshi #it never came up but senshi WAS there and taking notes

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authorceciliarose · 6 months ago

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Vows of Vengeance — Prologue

Prologue | Chapter One

Daria's POV

Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve this life.

My 18th birthday feels like a dream—an enchanted forest pulled straight from the pages of a fairytale. Twinkling lights weave through towering floral arches, wisteria cascading down in delicate streams, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. At the heart of it all, Papà and I sway in slow circles, his hand warm in mine.

“Is it everything you hoped for, tesorina mia?”

I smile and nod, because it was more than I could’ve ever imagined. Being the Don’s daughter had its downsides, but nights like this made them all worthwhile.

It couldn’t get any better.

“Yes, Papà,” I say, leaning my head against his hard shoulder. “Grazie di tutto.” Thank you for everything.

He leans his head on top of mine, the smile in his voice evident. “Qualsiasi cosa per te, amore mio.” Anything for you, my love.

I close my eyes, soaking up the moment. Mamma’s probably holding on to Damian right now, teary-eyed. This night is all we’ve talked about the last 6 months—and it's turned out perfectly.

Nothing could ruin it.

But then, the music falters, the melody stretching oddly before fading. A strange hush falls over the room, like the world has paused.

I finally open my eyes when Papà stiffens in front of me. His gaze is fixed on something—or someone—beyond me. I follow it, but before I can see, he spins us sharply, his body shielding mine as we hit the ground.

“All’armi!” He yells, the command ringing out just as a sound cuts through the silence—two gunshots, sudden and piercing.

This isn’t happening.

Screams and cries erupt, shattering the fairytale I’d crafted in my mind. Heels clatter against the marble floors as guests scatter. Papà’s arms hold me protectively until he shifts, reaching behind him to pull out his gun.

The cold weight of reality settles over me, thick and suffocating.

I can’t beathe.

I need to focus on something. On Papa’s words. "Trova tua sorella, vai alla macchina,” he says. Find your sister, get to the car.

I nod quickly, despite the unsettling pit in my stomach.

“Ti amo,” his lips graze my forehead before he disappears amongst the chaos, and I scramble to my feet.

“Dav!” I shout, desperately pushing through bodies to find her. “Davina!”

I look every which way, my heart beating faster with every passing second until I hear her voice.“Dar!” She throws herself into my arms, trembling.

Relief washes over me, until I pull away slightly and get the chance to really look at her. There are tears in her eyes and a lot of red—on her hands, on her dress. On my dress.

“Dar, I— I don’t know what happened, I— I was jus—,” she’s frantic and shaking, barely able to form words as tears stream down her face.

I reach out to wipe them away and try to calm her down. “Hey, hey, hey. Breathe, piccolina.”

“No, no, you don’t—“ she shakes her head, then takes a deep breath, just long enough to form the words. “It’s Mamma.”

My mind doesn’t register them at first.

No.

It can’t be.

Not her.

Suddenly, the crowd parts like the sea, revealing a sight that makes my legs buckle beneath me. Straight ahead, Damian kneels on the floor with his suit stained dark red, cradling Mamma’s lifeless body in his arms. Her once-warm face is now ghostly pale, her chest soaked with blood.

So.

Much.

Blood.

His sobs echo in my ears, drowning out the chaos as my own breath catches in my throat, sharp and burning. Everything slows, and my vision turns hazy, tears brimming along my bottom lashes.

“Dar!” A voice calls my name but it’s distant, like it’s coming from another life. “Daria!”

“Mamma!” I jerk awake and sit up, gasping for air as my heart pounds against my chest.

My skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, and in the darkness of my bedroom, I catch a glint of those all too familiar blue-grey eyes in the moonlight seeping in from my window.

Theo.

“I heard you from the hallway,” his voice is quiet, laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

I sigh, suddenly aware of the way his cold hand on my arm sends shivers down my spine. The door is wide open.

I pull away from his touch and wrap my arms around myself. “I’m fine.”

A small scoff falls from his lips as he glances down. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” I shrug, wanting nothing more than to avoid the subject. “I’m fine.”

“When’d the nightmares come back?”

They never stopped. No amount of therapy could ever undo that trauma—not that I actually went to any of those sessions. They were pointless. “Talking it out” wasn’t going to halter the thoughts that consumed me.

Though, there was a time when they didn’t feel so suffocating. When Theo was there. For a while, his arms had been the safest place I’d known, his steady presence anchoring me whenever my mind dragged me back to that night.

But things are different now. The warmth of his touch, the comfort of his whispered reassurances—they’re not mine to lean on anymore. I’m not his responsibility, and I‘m the only one who lost someone that night. He had his own demons to fight.

“They’re not back,” I lie through my teeth, eyes locking with his. “I’ve just been stressed.”

Which is true. I’ve been handling Mamma’s responsibilities for almost two years now—ever since I turned 21—but that on top of starting law school is proving to be a lot. Especially since a royal engagement was announced, and the royal families are hosting a gala at the Plaza next week. Papà already told us over dinner last night that our attendance is mandatory. Something about “keeping up appearances”—as if we didn’t already know.

Theo narrows his eyes at me. He doesn’t buy it. “Sicura?” You sure?

I tilt my head, wishing that he’d just drop it, but that’s not his style. “Lo prometto.” I promise.

His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer as if waiting for me to crack. When I don’t, he sighs.

“If you say so,” he shrugs, offering a small smile before reluctantly standing up from my bed.

Why does it feel so empty now?

Theo pauses at the door, turning back briefly. “Buona notte, luna.” Good night, moon.

“Night,” I reply, my voice quieter than I intend.

The door clicks shut and the silence presses in, as I close my eyes and run my thumb along the tiny crescent moon tattoo above my elbow—Theo had the sun above his. Not that you could really tell. It blended into the rest of his sleeve now.

I groan and lie back on my pillow.

I’m not sure what bothers me more—the never-ending nightmares of Mamma’s death or the emptiness caused by Theo’s absence.

#revenge #mafia romance #new book #debut novel #writer #writing #second chance #exes to lovers #angst #yearning #longing #mafia

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charlenasaxen · 11 months ago

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OUABH Fave Quotes pt. 1

“Bells have excellent hearing, but this little chime didn’t need any particular skill”

“the gaudy pocket-watch chain at this young man’s hip”

“Unfortunately, this girl, who believed in hope and fairytales and love at first sight, often misinterpreted”

“the way her voice affected an excited edge as she spoke to the young man”

“The door to the Prince of Hearts’ church has disappeared”

“her mother had been from the Magnificent North, where there was no difference between fairytales and history”

“And, above all, never fall in love with a Fate”

“I know you’re a clever little thing. But you allowed me to find you. Let me in.”

“slightly sweet and metallic: apples and blood”

“Wild locks of golden hair hung across his face as his head bowed”

“depicted the Fate as tragically handsome, with vivid blue eyes crying tears that matched the blood forever staining the corner of his sulky mouth”

“The prince’s marble lips twisted into a perfect smirk”

“there was a hint of softness to his slightly fuller lower lip—it pouted out like a deadly invitation”

“This was what she’d come here for.

She pressed her finger to the tip of the blade. Sharp marble pierced her skin”

“Dear—Prince,” she started haltingly. She’d never prayed”

“I’m here because my parents are dead.”

Evangeline cringed.”

“The lifeless statue hadn’t changed. She knew statues didn’t generally move. Yet she couldn’t help but think that it should have done something.”

“Now, that was a pathetic speech.” Two slow claps followed the indolent voice”

“She didn’t expect to see him—the young man who’d been tearing his clothes”

“he must have ripped away his pain along with the sleeves of his jacket”

“He sat on the dais steps, lazily leaning against one of the pillars with his long, lean legs stretched out”

“His hair was golden and messy, his too-bright blue eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth twitched at the corner”

He looked bored and rich and cruel.

“Would you like me to stand up and turn around so that you can take in the rest of me?” he taunted.

“Dark red juice dripped from the fruit to his long, pale fingers and then onto the pristine marble steps”

“Evangeline imagined the stranger taking her lips”

“You’re staring again,” he purred

lifeless compared to this vicious young man.

“Personally, I think I’m far more handsome.”

“This close, he was undeniably attractive. He gave her a real smile, revealing a pair of dimples.”

“She could picture him flashing those deceptive dimples as he tricked an angel into losing its wings just so he could play with the feathers”

“It’s you,” she whispered. “You’re the Prince of Hearts.”

The Prince of Hearts took a final bite of his apple before it dropped to the floor and spattered everything with red. “People who don’t like me call me Jacks.”

“Evangeline wanted to say that she didn’t dislike him, that he’d always been her favorite Fate. But this was not the lovesick Prince of Hearts she’d imagined.”

“Jacks folded his hands behind his golden head, leaned back against the statue of himself, and grinned”

“not to be deceived by his dimpled smile or the torn clothes. This was the most dangerous being she’d ever met.”

“one of her mother’s old gowns, covered in a stitched pattern of pale purple thistles, tiny yellow flowers, and little foxes”

He waved vaguely toward her curls.

“It’s rose gold,” she answered brightly.

“She missed the way her mother winked and her father teased. She missed everything about them.”

Jacks’s brows slashed down. “You don’t know where you were born?”

“Jacks scratched his sharp jaw, looking doubtful”

“I don’t know if I can fix your broken heart, but you can take mine because it’s already yours.”

“I’ll stop the wedding in exchange for three kisses.” Jacks’s eyes took on an entertained gleam.

“It’s not a real kiss if there isn’t any tongue.”

The blush she’d been fighting burned hotter.

“So, your Luc is a hideous kisser?”

Jacks looked disappointed. “Not even your stepsister?”

“No!”

“victory glimmered in Jacks’s eyes, then he captured her wrist and brought it up to his cold mouth”

“His lips brushed over the delicate underside of her wrist. Once. Twice. Three times. It was barely a touch.”

“think of the other stories that said his kisses might have been fatal, but they were worth dying for”

“Three thin white scars, shaped like tiny broken hearts, lined the underside of her wrist. One for each kiss.”

“laughably sad that Evangeline now had that proof, but she didn’t have him”

“all she could see was the gleam dancing in Jacks’s eyes as he’d taken her wrist”

“Evangeline’s knees went weak.

There had never been statues in this garden before. But there were nine of them now, all holding goblets.”

“Jacks had stopped the wedding by turning everyone to stone”

“It hurt to breathe when Evangeline faced Luc’s statue”

“as stone, his face was frozen in alarm”

“there was the unfortunate marriage minister, who’d picked the wrong union to officiate”

“Jacks flashed both dimples as if he really had done her a favor”

“She saw it as a horror, but Jacks saw it as helpful”

“Heroes don’t get happy endings. They give them to other people. Is that what you really want?”

“Jacks was wrong.

She’d done the right thing.

Someone would save her.”

“Evangeline even thought that Jacks might come to her rescue”

“she knew the Prince of Hearts wasn’t a savior. He was the one people needed saving from.”

“And then … Evangeline felt something that was not heartbreak or regret”

“fight the pull—Jacks will only lead to your destruction.”

“Evangeline was friendly with many from her father’s curiosity shop, and it seemed as if every one of them was there to welcome her back”

“Evangeline was cocooned in hugs and kisses”

“But as soon as Marisol spied Evangeline, her grin widened until it was as bright as the beautiful cake”

“layers of sugarbelle cream, a frosting bow, and an oversize shortbread gift tag that read: Welcome back, sister!”

“He wore a flowing white silk shirt with a lacy jabot that cascaded down to a pair of black leather pants so tight she was surprised he could move”

“It was so exciting! It started right after you were turned to stone.”

“Luc and I decided we’d try to get married again.”

They tried to get married again when she was still stone?”

“largest animals it had were dogs, followed by the feral cats that prowled the docks”

“threw her arms around Evangeline, hugging her the way Evangeline always imagined that real sisters hugged”

“But hope is a difficult thing to kill”

“His third shop was a secret, even from Evangeline”

“She missed the walls her mother had painted, the shelves packed with her father’s finds, the bell—”

“If Jacks had been there”

“She still wanted Luc, but what she really wanted was the life and all the love that she’d lost”

“she wondered if he’d been right when he’d said, If he loved you back, he wouldn’t be marrying someone else”

“caught a hint of its fruit-sweet scent, she’d think of Jacks and the debt she owed, and her heart would race”

“Some tales couldn’t be written down without bursting into flames”

“the young archer who loved her, but was cursed with the need to hunt her down”

“if the archer kissed his fox-girl and they lived happily together forever, or if he killed the fox-girl, ending their story in death”

“It was the feel of candlelight at twilight, paper dust caught in the air”

“expensive red paper accented with whirls of gold leaf and sealed with a red wax symbol”

“But Marisol was still the nearest thing Evangeline had to family”

“a different heir to the throne: a young man nicknamed His Handsomeness”

“the Fates had made their reappearance known to the public by murdering this unlucky royal”

“welcoming her into a garden full of fairy-green trees dripping coral, pink, and peach-colored flowers”

“every type of tea.” The princess waved a hand toward a tiered tower of colorful teapots”

“Evangeline thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. Secret ballrooms were built for it in forests where fallen stars had once landed”

“there were special kinds of magic that only existed in the North, and not even memories of this magic could pass”

“pet-size dragons that turned to smoke if they tried to fly south”

“No matter how much Evangeline tried not to think about Jacks, he was always tucked away in the back of her thoughts”

“But she was far more uneasy about the three broken heart scars on her wrist that had suddenly started to burn”

“She didn’t seem capable of stealing a book, let alone a boy. But it was hard not to wonder.”

“what if Evangeline found love again in the North and Marisol took it once more?”

“Marisol might have needed it even more. Evangeline couldn’t believe she’d considered not asking her.”

“Evangeline had shared some of her mother’s tales, including her warnings about entering the North”

“Marisol, look, tiny dragons!”

“a tiny pepper-black dragon about the size of a chipmunk shot out streams of red fire to sear a fish stick at a nearby stall”

“the adorable little beasts appeared to be as common as squirrels”

“Evangeline was delighted to spy tiny blue dragons sitting on shoulders”

“make sure her feet were still on the ground and that she hadn’t taken flight, for parts of her were soaring”

“didn’t know how to respond other than insisting on paying the girl twice as much”

“it was a little different, as if it were another one of her mother’s Northern tales”

“she’d liked the idea of convincing this southern stranger that she was a magic water sprite”

“Evangeline couldn’t shake the unnerving idea that it wasn’t other girls she’d need to worry about tonight”

“Fortuna’s Fantastically Flavored Waters”

“white skirt like veins of marbled stone”

“branches stretching, trunks thickening, and leaves turning to real gold. They shone like dragon treasure in the candlelight”

“if one gold leaf was taken before all of them turned, then the entire tree would burst into flames”

“no young men with apples, cruel faces, and torn clothes”

“dressed in an arresting dragon-scale gown the color of burning rubies”

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned.” Evangeline took sips from both of her goblets before offering one.

“He was high up in the tree, in a wooded balcony, lounging daringly sideways across the rail”

“There, a painter appeared to be capturing the prince’s dramatic arrangement with fevered brush strokes”

“He always does these poses with his shirt off.”

“It was rather exciting when his younger brother, Tiberius, used to taunt him by shooting arrows, or releasing herds of kittens upon him.”

“she would have bet her life that the Prince of Hearts had just entered the party”

“Don’t turn around.

Don’t turn around.

Don’t—

Evangeline only meant to look for a second.”

“Her eyes went toward the arch first. Jacks was just beyond it.”

“But she was like the tide drawn by the tremendous force of the moon”

“no wonder waves were always crashing; they must have hated the pull as much as she did”

“Jacks was still cutting through the party, all cold-blooded grace”

“same dark color as the fur-lined half cape casually slung over one of his straight shoulders”

“the buttons on his shirt weren’t even all done”

“There are rumors he’s recovering from a great heartbreak.”

“What if Apollo really was her chance at a happily ever after, and she ran away because of a different what-if named Jacks?”

“she’d forgotten about her other threat until she nearly smacked into his solid chest”

“What are you doing here?” He tossed a burnished gold apple with one hand.”

“I’ve never had anyone mauled by a wolf. That’s incredibly messy.”

“she planned to do just that, hopefully with a very different prince from the one standing before her”

“Oh no, Little Fox. We have unfinished business.” Jacks dropped his apple and took her neck”

“the scandalous way Jacks was holding her”

“Jacks, I told you I’d kiss three other people, not you.”

“Then why aren’t you pulling away?” he taunted.

“dragging his fingers up and down over the frantic beat-beat-beat”

“he stalked forward until her thighs met the hard table”

“He leaned in closer. He didn’t touch her, but someone watching from afar might have thought they were on the verge of kissing”

“intentional way he angled his body and canted his head”

“But now that I’ve noticed you, there will be no disappearing.”

“Dark red blood glittered with impossible flecks of gold”

“it was more like a feeling than a flavor, drops of sunshine falling like rain”

“Then he strolled back toward the rest of the party”

“wooden figurines of tiny dragons all displaying names. Jacks’s name had been placed beside hers.”

“part of her was slightly intrigued by the idea—who wouldn’t want to kiss a prince?”

“head tipped back, blue hair tumbling over one eye, and giving the impression he’d been waiting for her”

“I wouldn’t be climbing these stairs with you.” Jacks wrapped the arm she’d just refused around hers.”

“she could feel his skin, cool and rock solid. The contact covered Evangeline’s flesh with tiny unwanted bumps as he brought her closer to his side.”

“There’s no point in having another person commit murder if you’re going to be in the room with them.”

Jacks’s chilling gaze went to her lips. “You do know how to kiss, right?”

“I’m not going to tell you to trust me, because that’s a terrible idea.”

She darted Jacks a panicked look.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered.

“but not as impossibly attractive as Jacks”

“Jacks told you about me?” Evangeline didn’t even try to hide her shock.

“I’m not accustomed to ladies coming up here and asking about other young men.”

“Perhaps he and Jacks were more rivals than friends?”

“Evangeline lifted her eyes, seeking his lips, but somehow her gaze drifted over Apollo’s broad shoulder to Jacks”

“The corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly, and he continued flipping the coin as he silently mouthed”

“Her cheeks heated at the thought that Jacks was watching the embrace”

“destroying the curls Jacks had already mussed”

A cold hand clamped on her shoulder and wrenched her free of the prince’s grasp. “I think it’s time we go.”

Jacks pulled her toward the balcony stairs.

“she was tucked underneath Jacks’s hard arm, pressed close to his cool side”

“Evangeline Fox was seen wrapped in a wicked embrace with one of the prince’s close friends”

“it seems I was right when I called her a risky bet”

“surrounded by fantastic sights, and about to enjoy a dragon-roasted apple”

“I read she kissed one of Prince Apollo’s friends last night—”

“She had been seen in a scandalous position with Jacks”

“Her mother used to say that dragon fire made everything sweeter”

“But first he’d have to catch her, and this evening, she did not plan on being caught by him”

“making her dreams of imported salts come true”

“still sparking with dragon fire. The outside of the apple was the caramelized color of gold.”

“it tasted like hot, searing sweetness and Jacks—”

“A pair of stray speckled blue dragons flew about her hands, and she gave them her treat”

“It had been such a thrill to spy the book”

“Thank you.” Evangeline would have hugged her stepsister, but she didn’t want to wrinkle her.

“a quick waterfall braid, which she decorated with the silken flowers she’d purchased earlier that day”

“her dress was designed to mimic the flower trellis in her mother’s garden”

“nude silk, making her look as if she were wrapped in nothing but the crisscrossing cream-velvet ribbons”

“pastel flowers began to appear, growing denser until every inch of her lower skirts were covered in a brilliant clash of silk violets, jeweled peonies, tulle lilie”

“There were five purple threads poking out. Thick threads that should not have broken easily.

Could Marisol have torn the flower on purpose?”

“The happiness felt touchable, the magic in the air was tasteable”

“she imagined she could have sliced into that night as if it were a cake”

“bride carving shifted so that she looked like whichever girl was about to step through next”

“the air turned spicy with the scent of mulled cider and possibilities”

“she didn’t see any painfully handsome young men”

“played a type of chess where the human pieces kissed one another instead of kicking each other from the board.”

“the slit of her skirt flickered around her exposed leg as if it were aflame”

“You look marvelous!” Evangeline said. “Candles all over the world must be jealous of you tonight.”

“afraid of the kiss or afraid that the girl might change her mind”

“until a pair decides that they’d rather kiss each other than anyone else.”

“Evangeline stole a moment to look about the ball, scanning for a different prince”

“Her eyes darted from gentleman to gentleman, cutting across the bustling ballroom until—Jacks.

Her heart leaped over a beat.”

“He looked like a bad decision some unfortunate person was about to make”

“his sable half cape was rakishly crooked, hanging over one shoulder”

“as if the vision before her might shift and she’d see Jacks conversing with the pink fountain of punch instead”

“Jacks turned his mouth into a tempting twist”

“Of all the young men that her stepsister could have met at Nocte Neverending, why did it have to be Jacks?”

“door labeled Majesty flew open, and Crown Prince Apollo Acadian rode into the ballroom on a thundering golden horse”

“his eyes burned with the same level of intensity they’d had when he’d watched her leave”

she squealed, “You must be his Fox.”

“He’s not trying to re-create the tale. He’s making a romantic gesture!”

“She was tempted to look for the Prince of Hearts again”

“This evening, I only wish to dance with one girl.” His dark eyes finally locked onto Evangeline’s.

“Self-pity doesn’t look good on you, Little Fox.

Evangeline froze.”

“he looked down on her with a smile that was a little shier”

“I’d hoped that after last night, you’d just call me Apollo.” He took her hand to his lips.

“He appeared to be at a loss for words. Nervous. She was making the prince who’d draped himself across a balcony last night nervous.”

“I wouldn’t get through an entire dance before doing this.”

Apollo went down on one knee.

“Evangeline didn’t spy Jacks, but she wondered what he was thinking”

“I want you to be my wife and my princess and my queen. Marry me, Evangeline.”

“it was as if the rest of the celebration didn’t exist. His eyes said a thousand exquisite words.”

“Apollo wanted her more than anyone else in the ballroom.

No one had ever looked at Evangeline like this before.”

if a royal prince were to propose to them in the middle of an enchanted ballroom. “Yes.”

“As soon as Evangeline squeaked out her yes, the trumpeters above released a brassy cheer”

“Apollo gallantly scooped her up into his arms.

His grin was pure joy.”

“Weren’t Fates supposed to be jealous?”

“This was her chance at a happy ending. And when she pushed aside her doubts, Evangeline did feel happy.”

“She’d wished for love at first, and a chance with the prince, and now it was hers”

“His lips were soft, but the kiss was flowers falling”

“shocked sighs from the crowd as he picked her up and spun her around and kissed and kissed and kissed her”

“the sort of kiss fever dreams were made of, a blur of dizzying heat and touch, and this time Jacks didn’t end it”

“All she heard were Apollo’s murmurs promising her everything she could ever want was about to be hers”

“But now, waking up felt like dreaming. A little unreal and a little wonderful.”

“But Valenda was half a world away, and soon she would never be alone again”

“and she was engaged to a prince!”

“Evangeline couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face or the giggle”

“they’d practically collapsed inside of their carriage and then slept the entire way back to the inn”

“That’s how I feel, as if I missed my chance at a chair and now I’ve been tossed out of the game.”

“slid across her bed, and hugged Marisol tightly”

“Evangeline could already imagine setting up a match for her stepsister with every eligible young man”

“Both girls quickly leaped from the bed, spilling more tea”

“Open it!” Marisol urged her. It’s the prince.

“My heart, you’re safe!” He took her in his arms. His chest was heaving.

“I should never have let you leave last night.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Crown Prince Apollo Acadian proposed to everyone’s favorite southern wild card, Evangeline Fox”

“Prince Apollo and Miss Evangeline Fox are to wed in one week’s time—that is, if no one harms her first”

“But the longer Evangeline looked up at him, the more he seemed to soften”

“Then I’ll make sure it’s done. But I need a favor from you.” Apollo cupped Evangeline’s cheek.

“I want you to move into Wolf Hall with me, where you’ll be safe from any type of threat.”

“every romantic courtyard, and every secret passage of the castle as a wedding gift to his bride”

“it has been confirmed that Miss Tourmaline will remain here as part of the Northern royal court after the wedding”

“The following day, the wedding dress arrived. Evangeline found it spread across her princess bed.”

“Forever your truest love,

Apollo”

“My dearest Evangeline,

You deserve to be bathed in jewels.”

“Then it was an entire stable of horses. The steeds were gleaming white and adorned with rose-gold saddles.”

“So that we can ride off into the sunset together,” Apollo said. His eyes were full of adoration.

“Her fingers felt small in his warm grip, but they were starting to fit”

“I’d give you the world if I could. The moon, the stars, and all the suns in the universe. Anything for you, my heart.”

“It was all more than Evangeline could have dreamed of or wished for. The last few days had been a whirlwind of wonderful.”

“Her royal suite was covered in colorful gowns and flowers and gifts. Even Empress Scarlett had sent her something.”

“Something was not as it should have been”

“Evangeline Fox and Prince Apollo Acadian have been engaged less than one week, and already people are writing songs about them and saying that theirs is the greatest love story the Magnificent North has ever seen”

“tattoo of a pair of swords curved to form a heart that contained one name: Evangeline”

“the crown prince has been completely bewitched by his bride-to-be. I’ve never seen anyone as in love as Prince Apollo.”

“sadly, she feared that Kristof was right when he called her betrothed bewitched”

“Like the work of a spell or a curse—or a Fate.

Like Jacks.”

“She didn’t want to go back to Agnes’s house or return to Valenda, where the best part of her day was when a bell rang”

“Dear Jacks,

I was hoping you and I might have a chance to speak about an important matter”

“I don’t have time to tromp through the woods with you”

“before sneaking out to meet Jacks”

“Jacks looked like a debauched stable boy”

“He lounged across one side of the carriage, one scuffed leather boot propped carelessly up”

“him in a linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves and half-done buttons. Evangeline caught a hint of a rough scar on his chest.”

“Do you stare at everyone like that, or just me?” Jacks looked up. Vivid blue eyes met hers.

“It shouldn’t have made her blood rush”

“What’s the matter?” Slice. “Has he hurt you?”

Jacks’s sullen mouth settled somewhere between a frown and a laugh. “When you first came to my church, you’d lost your love. Now I’ve given you a new one.”

Jacks’s eyes met hers, returning to ice. “Leave, Little Fox. Go back to your prince and your happily ever after, and don’t ask me that question again.”

“everything she’d thought was stardust was really just the burning embers of a wicked spell. Apollo didn’t love her.”

“Wrong and right are so subjective.” Jacks sighed.

“She wanted to be someone’s love, not their curse”

Jacks smirked. “You’re not going to break an engagement with a prince.”

“Jacks clenched his jaw.

She smiled, triumphant.”

“Evangeline clutched the cushions to keep from falling forward into Jacks’s lap”

“And she was engaged, at least for now.

Jacks’s blue eyes twinkled as if he found her worry amusing.”

“Do that, and you’ll be the one destroying him, not me.”

“as if the idea of leaving someone forever brokenhearted put him in a better mood”

“except maybe heartless or depraved or rotten”

“The apple in his hand probably possessed more sympathy than he did”

“This was not the same young man who’d practically bled heartbreak”

“Are you feeling sorry for me?” Jacks laughed, harsh

“Jacks shot across the carriage and pressed the bloody tip of the dagger to the center of her mouth”

“Evangeline might have gasped if she’d not feared he’d slip the blade between her lips”

“His blue eyes were back to bright as he taunted her with the blade, pressing it to her”

“So, I will give you a wedding gift. I promise to restore the prince after you marry him.”

“The only person who’d truly win would be Jacks.

Cautiously, she leaned back until Jacks’s knife was no longer at her lips.”

“She felt as if she’d taste it forever”

“I don’t think you and I have the same definition of hurt.”

“Be thankful for that, Little Fox.”

A drop of blood fell from the corner of his mouth, and something godforsaken washed over his expression. “Hurt is what made me.”

“But she immediately thought the words storybook castle as she stepped out of Jacks’s carriage”

“sparkling purple bricks, gabled blue roofs, and pink-lined windows with golden light blazing through”

“Jacks glared at the castle, eyes like daggers, as he started down the cobbled path”

“Little Fox.” Jacks brought a cool finger to her mouth, quieting her protests with more gentleness.

“Let’s skip the part where we argue.”

“Everyone is replaceable.” He stroked her lower lip.

“But she also couldn’t forget the way Jacks had walked away when she’d turned to stone”

“they’d stop whispering about how mysterious you are and talk about how much they can’t stand you.”

Jacks speared her with a sideways glance. “Meanness doesn’t suit you, Little Fox.”

“Jacks’s lips curved like a crescent blade”

“She could have continued fighting with Jacks until the end of Time. Luckily for Time”

“Jacks took the cherub’s ring and gave it two quick raps.

Evangeline swore the knocker frowned, and she understood how it felt.”

“a fluffy snow cat pounced after a merry blue dragon laughing sparks”

“watched her with shameless intent”

“Jacks sighed, dramatic as his pose”

“People who lived in sparkly purple castles didn’t threaten to feed guests to their dogs”

“Evangeline was actually thankful for Jacks’s magic”

“Jacks laughed and covered it up with a cough”

“Jacks shoved off from the fireplace and sauntered to Evangeline’s side with insouciant grace”

“Evangeline hugged her arms to her chest”

“they didn’t hide his eyes. They were wide, broken star-bright, and full of something that looked a lot like hope”

“Evangeline felt as if she shouldn’t stare so blatantly, but she couldn’t turn away. The look in his eyes had softened some of his sharp edges”

“all tragically handsome and heartsick”

“Jacks cocked his head, surprised”

“If you wouldn’t mind, young man.”

“another rasping whisper came from the stones: You could have unlocked me as well”

“surprised and unnerved to see that Jacks was watching her instead”

“What is it, Little Fox?” His voice was friendly.

“she was not about to let Jacks know they had been talking to her”

“didn’t spare them more than a cursory glance. Not that she thought he was after a recipe book.”

“She continued to scrutinize his every move”

“The Prince of Hearts’ mouth became more sullen”

“the matriarch pointed Evangeline toward a shelf of ancient dragon eggs”

“Not having fun?” Evangeline needled.

“I feel as if I’m backstage at a bad magic show,” Jacks grumbled.

“Let me help you,” Evangeline whispered, hoping to finally coax an answer

“Coward,” she coughed.

#quotes #ouabh #jacks

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