#queen of being illiterate in reading the room

[lamportb]

The stitch up

Finally have a minute to re watch episode 4. Rambling below

Love Fagin and Jack covered in viscera in Gaines’ carriage with his wife. “My colleague and I were burying a cadaver” A+ excuse Jack, totally explains why you aren’t wearing pants.

I didn’t notice just how clear it is that Lady Jane is the real governor of the colony. Don’t love her as an obstacle to true love, but I Stan a powerful smart lady.

Hetty is a queen. “All right! Time to check your rose bushes” while she makes the rounds in the brothel, then single handedly loads Rotty in a cart to haul her to the hospital. Also ignores Sneed and gets Jack when it’s clear the first surgery didn’t work.

When Belle goes to observe the surgery Sneed suggests that the surgical theatre is too gory for her and that she should read to the patients instead “some of them can barely read”. Cue pointed look at Jack. I didn’t pick up on this the first time.

Belle also tells Jack that her father paid for Sneed’s medical training! Talk about having connections.

Jack is soooo baby soft when Belle offers to help him. His eyes change. It’s perfection.

despite hating Jack, Sneed still defends him when Gaines is looking for reasons to arrest him. More reason I love that pompous git.

Seriously, there’s not a filler scene anywhere in this series.

Gaines trashes Jack’s room and threatens him with handing and/or flogging to death. Jack has JUST had this very hopeful conversation with Belle and here he is on his bed holding the trampled remains of his signature top hat - the Dodge dilemma. How can he hang it up permanently, and does he want to?

“sniffly Sneed” 😂

dodger hat back on when sneaking around the governor’s yard to find Belle. “We don’t pay for cadavers. We just… borrow them”

11 o’clock cadaver date is the hottest thing Belle has ever heard.

I love Tim and I love how he loves Red.

Fanny is so excited by the idea that Sneed’s medical knowledge will make him a good lover. Yeah…

Jack the savant surgeon - eyes closed in concentration. Lovely.

Jack is illiterate clue 2: he is so unsettled at the idea of being found out he just nopes himself right out of the situation and leaves Belle in the operating theatre at presumably midnight or later. Lol.

“the white ghost who’s close to his grave” should be my new tag for Fagin

Red is so fucking cool

Feels like a very deliberate choice for Belle to let her hair down when she joins Jack in the surgery. Maybe because of the conversation with Fanny about going for it? (Finding love with Sneed?). Also how did Belle know to be there? Tim says they can do the second surgery because Sneed left the hospital. Did Jack just have her hiding on standby? Was it a coincidence? I don’t care - she looks gorgeous.

lots has already been mentioned about the Hetty/Jack/Belle situation but I appreciate the framing of this scene with the three of them - both women assisting in their own way, and both necessary to Jack’s success.

Belle seems genuinely taken aback when Jack is so abrupt with her when the surgery starts, but her relief when she helps him in the end and he smiles at her is so sweet. She is basking in that smile - I don’t think I realized how fast she fell for him. (Of course they start arguing about publication and the moment passes)

“I shall be turned around as a curiosity” - some more insight into Jack’s insecurities.

Lady Jane: “Have you been alone with the surgeon?” Belle: “There’s always another body in the room” 😂

What time is this dinner starting? 2pm? It’s so bright!

love Sneed and the prof arriving in a carriage while Jack walks up in his Navy uniform.

Note to self: research the siege of Sevastopol.

Ah! Jack describes his time as a naval surgeon as “nothing more than butchery” to Lady Jane. Those words sting all the more when she uses them against him later.

Fanny and Belle are both terrible at flirting. Belle can’t stop interrupting to talk up Jack and Fanny can’t stop staring. “I love soup”

I also love how Jack is SO UNCOMFORTABLE with Belle praising him at the table. She’s not lying, but her embellishments are so unnerving to him. “Really, it’s nothing” - but she just. Can’t. Stop.

Jack really is trying. He takes responsibility for Fagin not knowing what the plan is. He tries to fit in. Seems a bit harsh to snap at Belle but she was terrible at reading his cues - like this is her surgical theatre and he has to defer to her expertise. It’s too vulnerable for him.

“I AM rare!” Have i mentioned how much I love the ladies in this show??

Jack’s little voice crack when he blurts out “I CAN read!” And then a little softer “I can read, just not very well”

All her talk of teams and partnerships - she really did bet on him. All in.

”You can take the boy out of East London but you really shouldn’t”

”Belle will never speak to me again” right before taking Fagin’s share of the money and heading to the card table

whew! Gold star if you got this far.

[taskignored]

Archeon dynamic and the culture of the Humans

This is just a continuation of this post. Just some ideas I had to tweak the acotar world, at least on the human side of things.

So in canon the humans are matriarchal, they have queens. But this lil detail literally does nothing for canon, the only thing that is relevant to this detail is the queens who basically just show up, disagree, betray their kind, and are never really shown again (in any meaningful way iirc, it's been a hot minute since I read). Not to mention everything else is extremly patriarchal. First, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I think in the real world a matriarchal society would be more socialist. So that means a Kingdom Queendom is iffy. But this is fantasy and i reserve the right to have badass queens decked out in heavy armor roaring commands at their bloodthirsty warriors.

So instead a way this matriarchal culture can be emphasized is to first change the Archeon dynamic.

This means that mama Archeon would have been the bread winner and her husband could be some eccentric trophy husband who likes to build things (inventor if you will) and woodwork. A man who occasionally invites other fellow carpenters over to build and talk. And when he's not doing that he's talking to other wealthy men and trying to introduce their handsome sons to his very talented daughters. Nesta is still the apple of mama Archeon's eye, but instead of trying to catch a husband, she's being raised to inherent and manage the ridiculous wealth and estate of the Archeon family. Elain is a woman who is very popular and basically the socialite of the family, she sets up community gardens and was working to get a degree to show the youth how important the natural world is. Feyre was a professional child athlete, mostly in archery (surprise). As she got older she dabbled in a bit of competitive shooting with guns and had the hobby of painting, something she really enjoyed. All three daughters are very educated and older, so no illiterate baby Feyre venturing into the freezing cold (plus Feyre was/is a badass markswoman pro).

The Archeons are still a family that owns a very successful company that sells general supplies to woodsmen, only to fall on hard times when Mama Archeon makes a mistake and ends up going bankrupt. Alas, it was their lavish lifestyle that damned them, hate to see it. Anyway, Mama Archeon still gets sick after they lose the majority of their fortune leading them to lose the rest trying to treat her. They all still end up in a small, cramped house with three rooms total. Mama Archeon dies, but not before telling her children to look after eachother and to take care of their father. So now they are broke and trying to survive.

Nesta is the Head of the House being the eldest daughter. She still has connections though, so for now she works for her dear friend Clare Beddor. Elain works in a plant nursery and is a private tutor, she also still has friends and connections that don't evaporate into the aether after she and her family have fallen from grace. Feyre enters competitions to earn some money and teaches marksmanship to people who are willing to pay. The only time she hunts to survive is in the winter when times get tough. Their dad takes care of the house and occasionally takes commissions to build gizmos or fashion wood carvings for people. All of them are trying to save up to buy a new home that's a bit larger than what they are stuck in right now, no one is a slouch.

Okay, that's the Archeon situation. Now for the real stuff, which is human culture.

The humans in this au are very martial. War is almost all they know from centuries full of it.They place great importance on their warriors. Everyone is expected to know how to fight in some capacity, they should also know some of the basics of science since I think they'd be really reliant/proud of it.

Humans aren't stupid (in this instance), so I think they'd know why they have such an edge on the fairies. This would lead to them venerating iron, steel, science, and blood. And this brings up something that's really interesting, in my opinion at least. And that's culture, it shifts and changes as societies age, it's kind of it's own organism. So with that thought process, I figured that as the centuries churned past and the war dragged on, the humans changed from an enlightened race that was trying to protect their world from these aliens into these grim soldiers who almost always assume that war will always be there, waiting. They changed from a society that was focused on technology, the advancement of their race, and prosperity into one that is focused on churning out the next great general. The next innovator that'll make something to put those filthy abominations down when one crosses the wall, or when the war resumes in earnest. Since, to them, the war never really stopped, did it? They'd be surrounded by reminders in the form of their fortresses and war machines.

So how does one reflect that attitude in a society? The first idea that comes to mind is religion. They'd have churches built to the things they live with constantly, they'd have gods for these sorts of things. So there would be a god of blood, science, innovation, and war. All of these concepts have a great role in their lives which would lead to these gods being the four "major" ones, with the old ones being "forgotten" and "dead." An idea I had for this was, since they were a society that wanted prosperity for themselves in ages long past, they could see the gods of these venerated concepts as dead because the fairies killed them. These deities stopped having such a role in the publics' lives that they just kind of fell to the way side, there but gone. The priests and politicians would use the idea of these much beloved gods being dead as a way to stir the pot and rouse anger.

-The god of blood could have massive churches where they occasionally sacrifice an animal on this god's holy day or smthin. I'm just thinking of the massive cathedral in blood borne when I think of this. Basically blood is a big deal, it's the gift from the gods to protect the creatures and people of the old world from the fairy incursion. And no red blood should be spilt without a good reason. Good reasons include melting fairies and/or venerating this god via sacrifice (kinda brutal).

-The god of science could basically be the one who lobbies against magic. They teach people to learn as much as they can about the natural world, and anything magical is an insult to this god.

-The god of innovation would probably be the one to encourage experiments. If the god of science is a teacher, this one is the one applying those teachings. Think of their priests as that one chemistry teacher who seemed a little too excited to set something on fire. Unhinged scientist.

-And then the god of war. This one would mostly be associated with iron and steel, I think. Protect each other and the world. The battle priests' motto is "All's fair in war." And they take that literally, biting, scratching, kicking, it's all fair game to them. In war, I feel I should stress that.

Another way to express that attitude is to make hunters a thing. Hunters being humans who go out to cull any fairies that cross the wall. These people would be very respected, and recognized by the government as an official group/organization. They would probably venerate the god of blood and maybe an old god of the hunt.

The matriarchal angle could also be further emphasized by giving the slice of human territory that is on the island a baroness. The queens aren't going to bother with a tiny territory, they'd give it to someone else let's be fr. The territory could actually be called something. Idk what. The Halting Steps Barony since that was where Jurian made his final stand and the war halted? If someone has an idea for it pls tell me.

I'm half asleep rn so this might be edited later, just wanna post this real quick

[shyvioletcat]

Mermaid au pleeeeeease

 – The Calling - Masterlist  –

~~~~~

Aelin looked over at the two very handsome men gawking at her from the doorway. The one with the golden curls was probably the most beautiful human she had ever seen, he didn’t shy away from her intense gaze or the fact a killer creature was mere feet away from him. The other one though, her saviour with the silver hair and green eyes, she could see the flush on his cheeks as he adverted his eyes away from her.

She lent her arms on the edge of the tub, letting her claws and the otherworldly webbing between her fingers be on display, their eyes going wide as the sight. Aelin gave them another smile, a bearing of her pointed teeth more than anything, just to see them squirm. And squirm they did to her utter delight and Aelin let out a bright musical laugh allowing her siren voice to come out just a little, drawing the handsome men to her once more.

“I promise I won’t bite,” she said sweetly.

She bit at them in the air and that had them breaking out of their trance. Men, they were too easy.

The beautiful one turned to the handsome one. “Why is there a siren here?”

The handsome one gaped like a guppy. “The storm… it was washed up… I didn’t…”

The poor thing was floundering, she didn’t blame him, but she did take offence at being called an it.

“It is a she thank you very much. I washed up on the beach and my lovely eyed saviour over there brought me here,” Aelin explained with a wave of her webbed hand, both of them eyeing her sharp claws.

“What are you going to do with it?” The beautiful one asked, eyeing her again as if he couldn’t help but look.

Aelin flicked her tail in annoyance. “I don’t think it’s up to him,” she snarled. “I’m a sentient creature with my own wills a desires,” she softened her voice on the last word, and they were drawn to her again. She was like a cat playing two delicious mice. “I think I’ll decide what I am to do next.”

The golden one laughed. “You can’t stand on fins.”

Aelin flicked her eyes to the handsome one and gave him a terrifying smile as he flushed a beautiful shade of crimson.

“Fins, no. But legs…” Aelin lent her head back against the tub and pulled up on that well inside her. Her skin tingled and itched as she forced her transformation, her scales faded away and then she was waving two bare legs above the water. “You’ll find that my legs work very well.”

Her rescuer looked as though he was about to hurl up the contents of his stomach, the other one just gaped.

“Why don’t you ask me what I’d like to do?” She said sliding her legs back into the water and sitting up, coming dangerously close to exposing more than human sensibilities were accustomed too.

The green eyed one stepped forward and slammed the door, making Aelin cackle.

~~~~~

Rowan could feel the sweat on his hand as he gripped the door handle. He had brought a deadly creature into his house and now he didn’t know what to do with it.

“So when you found her on the beach, I’m assuming she was in human form?” Fenrys asked and Rowan nodded. “Completely naked?”

Rowan nodded again. What was he going to do?

Fenrys laughed, sitting on the edge of Rowan’s bed. “Mother’s tits. That thing is going to kill us.”

Fenrys wasn’t far from wrong, they were sailors she was a siren. How many men had she lured to dangerous seas and pulled beneath the waves to be drowned? On the most basic of levels they were enemies.

“What do I do?” Rowan asked.

Fenrys slapped his knees, “Well I guess we ask her what she wants, seeming as it’s not some illiterate fish that you’ve brought back. Shall we offer her some clothes and she if she wants to talk?”

“I don’t have anything for a woman here,” Rowan said. Fenrys gave him a look, it didn’t take long for Rowan to take his meaning. He went to his draws and pulled out a shirt and a towel then he went back to the bathroom door and knocked.

“Come in,” the siren’s voice sung out. Rowan felt himself being compelled, he fought against it, fought against the undeniable lure of her voice. But he couldn’t. How was he supposed to?

He opened the door and she looked at him with those stunning eyes.

“I’m glad to see that you’re not here to impale me,” she said with a sultry smile. Then she looked him over, her eyes roving over his entire body. “At least, not yet.”

Rowan’s clenched his jaw, feeling colour bloom on his cheeks under her appreciative gaze.

“Here’s a towel and something to wear. Dry yourself off and come out,” Rowan said as he set the items down.

The siren grinned at him then started to stand, not waiting for him to leave the room. As quick as he could Rowan ducked out the bathing room. He rubbed a hand over his face.

Fenrys stayed sitting on the bed while Rowan leaned against the back of the couch, watching the door. The siren was taking her time and his patience was wearing thin. She couldn’t stay here, she would have to go back to wherever she came from. Or the other option was to kill her… but Rowan was fairly certain that would do more harm than good. The door open and the siren strutted out as if she were wearing the finest clothing instead of his old shirt that barely brushed her thigh. Fenrys eyes went wide, Rowan felt his do the same. The siren all but preened are their attention. She’d smoothed back her damp hair from her face, showing off he beautiful face. God’s everything about her was beautiful…

Rowan shook his head. This allure was all just part of her magic he needed to ignore it, needed to keep his head.

Rowan spoke without looking her in case she try and bewitch him. “We’ll take you back down to the beach and you can —“

“No.”

Rowan looked up then, she was smiling, with human teeth this time. It had his heart stuttering for a heartbeat before he choked out, “No?”

The siren glanced around the room then her turquoise eyes met his. “I think I’ll stay.”

~~~~~

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[honestsycrets]

His Saxon Whore

❛ pairing | Hvitserk x Saxon Whore!reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | having grown up in a world where there are no brothels, he finds them a mystery when he meets her in york. he comes to see her-- but its not always about sex. 

❛  warnings | prostitute!reader, vikings/saxons, slightly rude!hvitserk, mother whoring out daughter

❛ sy’s notes | if i left out a tag, i’m sorry.

They all told him his dick would fall off.

But he didn’t really care.

There were no brothels at home. Thralls? Yes. Plenty and plenty of warm pussies he could buy. But nothing was cheaper, and more worth his coin, than the little brothel he came upon in York one day. Quivering little bodies who explained, quite willingly, that they were meant for the sort of work Hvitserk came to take them for.

So yanking her leg out really wasn’t necessary. But as he found out, she preferred a man that knew what she liked. Not politely giving coin but, deliciously being chucked over his shoulder and swept off like a man from raid coming home. And really... that’s what this was.

“Who you here to see this time, sweetheart?”

Hvitserk’s eyes scan over the woman, whose sloppy skirts are picked up over the spider veins that run up her shapely legs. She’s seen him before, no doubt. The woman has a tendency to pick on men she deems as worthy targets. Baby boys looking for a mommie. But he’s never had mommie problems-- or, none that he couldn’t handle.

He turns his head from her small, meager little hut toward a thatched roof with soft planks of wood to support it. It bore an iron door. Mainly because after his last visit, he claimed that the do. It opens and a farmer skitters out hiding his face as he goes. Likely didn’t want to tell his misses the shillings he burned.

“(Y/N), like usual.”

Hvitserk says to the pimp whose husband was busy with other duties. She looks him up and down, the cloak over his head obscuring his eyes and the worth of his sword. She could likely charge a fair and healthy price-- fifteen shillings, maybe even twenty for a prince like him. But one look and she knew who he was, a vikingr and dangerous territory.

“Five shillings then,” she says. “My girl will treat you good again. Best one I bore.”

“Twenty for the night.” Hvitserk drops the shillings in her hand. She stands aside to allow him to duck into the home. This space you shared with your other sisters is far from private. It’s barely sectioned off into three different rooms by modest curtains. You sat in your section wiping down the wooden bed. Then after cleaning yourself, you chuck the cloth into a bucket of cool water.

Hvitserk draws the curtains shut.

“Princess,” he draws out your fitting title.

You sit more properly when you hear that heavy accent. A Vikingr, sure, but your Vikingr to be correct. The red veil you meant to wear is sloppily thrown on the ground.

“Oh!” you laugh, “I’m hardly decent.”

“I’ve been waiting,” Hvitserk lurches forward, tipping you back upon the bed. You reach out and pull the cloak off his honey brown hair, skidding your hands over his shoulders and tightening there as he devours your neck in soft kisses unlike the attention given by other men. With no clothes on, his greedy hand palms over your flesh. The mop of his long brown hair trails lower then, forcing you to keep in place with a firm hand forming a collar around your neck.

He brings his other hand around your breast and opens his mouth around your nipple. His mouth closes over the delicate flesh there, suckling your nipple with soft force. Then tugs slightly as to hear you cry out. Hvitserk tweaks your nipple as he pulls off. Catching your eyes, his hand migrates lower over the expanse of your stomach toward wiry curls hiding your well-abused pussy.

You reach out, tightening over his shoulder, and stop him. “It’s not decent.”

You’re an illiterate prostitute whose cunt at this point probably reflected the amount of soiling done to it, but he feels little seed there when he pushes his fingers in. Just a smooth silkiness to your well used walls. While ignoring you, he stretches you open around his fingers. In your protest, you shut your legs as well as you can.

“I have enough coin to do what I want,” he says. It sounds acrid off his tongue-- and yet, well intentioned. “Open your legs.”

You cautiously obey him, opening so that he might see. Hvitserk slides down, spreading your lips apart in order to thrust his fingers smoothly. As much as you don’t want him to, his tongue soothes the motion along your lips. Almost making you excited-- but when he pulls his fingers clean, its almost as if he’s checking a well baked cake for batter. He smoothes the blood over the forest green sleeve of his tunic.

“You’re torn,” he observes, almost wounded.

“It’s typical.”

Not typical for him to press on when his woman was in pain. At least not his free women. Hvitserk shoves your legs together and climbs back up to lay beside you. You savour his arm sneaking behind your back, pulling you in.

“The men. They are big here?” Hvitserk asks, curious if it was overuse, roughness, or perhaps your lack of excitement that drove you to tear.

You snort. “If only. They’re short, stupid and-- annoying. They come here to whine about their wives or of King Alfred while being good, wholesome Christians.”

“That sounds right.” Hvitserk laughs as you reach for your dinner. A simple dinner of roasted deer and bread. It became obvious that he wasn’t going to force sex tonight. Your sore pussy was glad for it… though, you did miss him.

“Aescwine though,” you jerk your head to the side. A man that had been waiting patiently for his attention. “He enjoys it when I stand on his dick and beat his balls.”

“Oh-- ahh! Why would he do that?”

Hvitserk reaches down, cupping his hand on top of his privates. You laugh at his expense. It’s almost too cute the way he immediately assumes he’s next. You’ve not done it to anyone else. You take a bite of the leg and lead it up against his lips. “Some men like it. You could--”

“No,” Hvitserk takes a bite, shifting back to set his arm around you. He lays down with his eyes closed and you wonder how comfortable his armour was to sleep in. You turn over against him, walking two fingers over the scruff of his jaw.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

“‘Bout you.” He answers. “How you never get pregnant.”

“I do,” you explain. “That’s what the pennyroyal is for.”

Then-- nothing.

Hvitserk takes some time to think on it. He’s asked you before how you came into this profession. Family business, you said. But a family business where your father and mother pimped their daughters out? Doesn’t seem right to him. But, again, Anglo-Saxon women weren’t free. They belonged to the men in the family more so than Norsemen.

It’s a great headache.

“You wanna learn to read again?”

And you smile behind greasy, roasted meat when he reaches back into his cloak, fetching the tablet and a small utensil used to scratch upon it.

“I’ve probably forgotten,” you smile. Hvitserk flips the tablet, offering it out to you. It’s his own language, but sometimes...

“So have I.”

“You’re so stupid,” you tease. But dropping your meat, you bring the tablet onto your lap and skim over what letters were already there. For a moment he admires the glitter in your eyes-- the delight you take in language. Even when you tear it apart.

“Ivar says that all the time.”

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[cynicalrainbows]

This is super random, so feel free to ignore, but I want to know- What six queen do you relate to the most? Also, what's your favorite headcanon regarding each queen?

I love this ask so thank you for sending it! :3

Cathy for sure- or at least, to be more exact, Cathy is the queen I find it easiest to project myself onto, and the one I like to write and read for most. Just something about the high intelligence-low wisdom vibe she gives off, the feeling of being on the edge of the group, the way in which her experience with Henry would (I imagine) give her such anxiety around whether she REALLY has read the room right.

But then again, there’s also stuff for all the queens that I relate to HARD: for Catalina, the fear of being passed over, rejected and left out, for Anne the using-humour-to-cope, for Jane the stress and pressure of being the Mum-friend, for Anna the sensitivity over appearance and for Kitty.... ok, maybe there’s less with Kitty that I relate to but I still love her character a LOT!

As to headcanons....oh god I have so many! I don’t know if I could narrow it down to just ONE for each queen but I’ll do my best....

Catalina: She’s a massive fan of trash tv, Love Island and Married At First Sight in particular. She also has massive anxiety over the idea of being replaced. Very much the Mum-friend of the group- very gentle, very caring and you can absolutely tell she was a mother the longest. 

Anne: HEELYS! But also the idea that she’s NOT just entirely chaotic and careless and thoughtless, that she’s actually very caring and sensitive and good at looking out for and after people, in a way that helps THEM (not just ‘I’m going to make you feel better by making you do something that helps ME’)

Jane: She’s functionally illiterate. She’s working on it but it’s something she’s very sensitive about. (Also a massive fan of Love Island- she and Catalina watch it together religiously.) Oh, and the idea that she absolutely hero-worshipped Catalina to a slightly awkward degree when they all came back, like just completely idolised her and would do anything to be like her.

Anna: Just completely fits in with everyone, no matter who they are or what they’re doing, and gets on SO well with people. Her relationship with Anne is a mix of banter and chaos mixed with genuine care- sometimes when Jane and Kitty and Cathy and Catalina are together, she and Anne making a point of getting together and hanging out.

Kitty: She’s young, she’s vulnerable....but she’s not a literal child, she’s not even a young teenager, she’s an adult, if a young one. So she’s more capable and competent than people think. She and Cathy share an almost sisterly friendship. Also absolutely one of Jane’s main supports when it comes to covering up her literacy issues.

Cathy: My favourite. The very definition of high intelligence- low wisdom with an absolutely atrocious sleep schedule. Sort of like a cat, actually. High anxiety around reading the room, and easily overwhelmed when it comes to sensory stuff. Can and will eat an entire bowl of raw cookie dough if left to herself.

I’m sure there are more but these were the ones I thought up first- thank you for the question anon! x

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 3: Light My Fire]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @blushingwueen @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo 

You open the front door and there he is: black button-up shirt, navy jeans, chic but not overdressed. His hair is neatly gelled back from his forehead. In his arms are a lug wrench, a car jack, and a brand new tire wrapped in an oversized, floppy red bow like a Christmas present.

“I think normal guys bring flowers,” you comment.

“I figured...since you’re automotively illiterate and all...you probably hadn’t gotten around to replacing the spare yet.” He shoots a glance at your Elantra, then announces victoriously: “I was right!”

“Mr. Hardy...Ben...I really can’t allow you to perform any more free labor.”

“Five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder as he trots to your car. He has trouble with one of the lug nuts, so it takes him six and a half.

“You can come inside,” you tell him once he’s finished. “I won’t be long, I just have to water my plants.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. It’s dark and rather undomesticated, yet endearing. “I feel like there must be better stalling tactics than that. If you’ve got cold feet, I can handle rejection.” But what he can’t do is disguise the way his shoulders slump, the way he bites the corner of his lower lip apprehensively.

“No, really, it’s totally stupid, but I’m really trying not to kill this batch and if I don’t water them now I’m going to be stressing about it until I get home, and I don’t want to be thinking about houseplants all night, I want to be thinking about...” You wave your hand towards Ben inarticulately. “You know. You.”

He smiles, showing his teeth, his eyes lit up like embers, flickering and radiant and warm. “Take your time, Martha Stewart.” 

“My parents give me so much hell for this,” you call back to him as you flutter around the living room, standing on your tiptoes and reaching around furniture to water your peace lilies and spider plants and devil’s ivy and one wilting ponytail palm. “They’re farmers. They’re professional life-givers. I’m lucky if I can keep the cactuses alive.”

You hear Ben rambling around the kitchen. “I hope your nurturing skills are at least marginally better with first graders.”

You laugh, nodding even though he can’t see you. “I’m alright with those. I’m just more of a rock person than a plant person. Gems and minerals and volcanic glass...fossils and bones and teeth...that’s where the magic is for me.”

“I can see that. Dinosaurs are well-represented in your extensive fridge magnet collection.” There are clicks and scrapes as he rearranges them: prehistoric animals and tiny planets, peace signs and alphabet letters and cross-sections of agate. “These are so cool!” he exclaims.  

You bustle back into the kitchen, place your watering can in the sink, and wipe your hands with a dishtowel patterned with cartoon brontosauruses. “Ready?” Your eyes flick to the refrigerator. He’s organized your magnets into a giant smiley face. It’s ridiculous, it’s juvenile; but you feel this liberatingly simple joy flooding through you like early autumn air. And the way Ben’s grinning at you—a little mischievous, a little proud—reminds you so much of Eli that your breath catches in your throat. You have no idea who Eli’s mother was, but her genetics were omnipotent; it’s almost impossible to find any of Ben in him at all. But every once in a while there’s an unconscious gesture, an off-kilter smile, and suddenly you can see the common threads that wove them into being like spiders’ webs.

“Ready,” Ben agrees.

You smooth your dress as you slip into the passenger’s seat of his Lexus, placing your purse between your feet, checking your hair and makeup in the sun visor mirror. Ben glances over at you as he shifts the car into reverse and roars out of your driveway. Your hands aren’t shaking, your heartbeat is hushed, there’s no hot rushing blood in your cheeks or ears; this shocks you. It’s eerie how inexplicably at ease you are.

“Find something good,” he says, pointing to the radio.

You seize the dial. “Uh oh. My first test?”

He smiles, his eyes on the road now. “Choose something lame and I abandon you at the nearest sketchy-looking gas station.”

You flip through stations until you find Somebody To Love. “I work hard, every day of my life, I work ‘til I ache in my bones...” “Okay, how I’d do?”

Ben steals a suspicious peek over at you. “Are you fucking with me?”

“What?” you ask, bewildered. “No, why?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. You definitely pass. You’re a Queen person?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely, I adore Queen. Most classic rock, actually.”

“So have you, uh...” He touches his chin thoughtfully, what you’re quickly realizing is a little nervous tic. It’s cute as hell. Goddammit, daddy demon, stop being so fucking perfect. “Did you ever see Bohemian Rhapsody?” But something gives you the impression he already knows you haven’t.

“Not yet,” you confess.

“Not interested?”

“It’s not that, I just...” You hesitate, trying to put it into words. “I know it did well and all. But I guess I’m skeptical of anyone trying to play Freddie Mercury. He was a legend, he was one of a kind. So are the rest of them. Those are massive shoes to fill. It seems like setting the actors up to pale in comparison.”

“I’ve heard it was pretty good,” Ben presses, almost teases.

“Yeah, maybe...”

“And Rami won the Oscar. So his portrayal must have been satisfactory.”

“Okay, oh my god, I’ll see it, are you happy now? Were you on the marketing team or what?”

You’re only half-serious, but Ben chuckles evasively. “So you like old rocks and old music,” he pivots. “But not old not-boyfriends. Except Jeff Goldblum.”

“This is news to me. I sincerely thought you were sixty.”

He laughs, a full gutsy laugh this time, a laugh that says he’s caught-off guard and thrilled about it. “That’s okay. I’m into old stuff too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Old music, classic rock, just like you. But old books too.”

“Gatsby?”

His eyebrows leap up; you’re watching his face as streetlamps illuminate the car in reiterating flashes like a spinning pulsar. God, he’s beautiful. “How’d you guess that?”

“Eli’s middle name is Fitzgerald. That’s not a common one.”

“Ah,” Ben says, and his full lips turn up at the edges into a smile, proudly, fondly.

“I really like it.” That’s the truth; Eli’s a handful and that’s a titanic understatement—though he has been better the last few days, the only blip on the upward trend being his attempt to convince Brayden to eat a live cricket by paying him in Oreos—but his name is classic and elegant and a few literary references here and there never hurt anyone.

“Yeah, that was me,” Ben reveals. “His mother insisted on choosing his first name, I think she heard Eli somewhere and just liked the sound of it. But she let me pick the middle name. And The Great Gatsby was always my favorite book...and The Beautiful and the Damned, and This Side of Paradise?! Freaking incredible. In my humble opinion F. Scott Fitzgerald is a certifiable genius. So...Eli Fitzgerald.” There’s a color in his voice you can’t quite read: the golden yellow of reminiscence, the murky blue of loss, the grey nothingness of depression, the bloody maroon of deep pain or resentment. Who was she, Ben? How did she hurt you? And could I ever fill those hollow places you’re carrying around like pocket change?

He asks how Eli is doing in class, and you tell him; you ask about his favorite classic rock bands, and he answers: Boston and AC/DC and The Stones and Queen. His Lexus cruises by your go-to dinner spots—the affordable chains like Noodles and Co. and Panera and Chipotle—then past the mid-level raw vegan and farm-to-table joints, and finally into the neighborhood reserved for fine dining establishments with three-figure price tags and reservations booked up months in advance.

“Uh...” you begin. “I don’t think we’re going to get a spot at a place down here.”

“Think again.” He parallel parks with absurd ease in front of an Italian-Japanese fusion restaurant called Nejire. There’s a line of people in suits and evening gowns waiting at the door. You feel like a minnow in a shark tank.

“Ben...”

He comes around to your side of the car, opens the door, and holds out his hand. “You trust me?”

Do I? You take his hand in yours like a life raft. “Don’t let me down, Mr. Hardy.”

Unpredictably, fantastically, he brings your knuckles to his lips. “You got it.”

He spirits you inside, past the line of waiting customers, past the hostess and waitresses; they glimpse up and nod at Ben as he draws you through the main dining room and back to a VIP table in a dimly-lit, quiet corner of the restaurant. Oh, you realize with awe and trepidation. He’s an important guy.

You take your seat and open a menu as waitresses array full glasses of water and wine across the table. There’s nothing under fifty dollars. You flip to the salad page, searching desperately.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks gently.

“Um, nothing, just browsing...”

“You’re not paying for any of this,” he says point-blankly.  

“That’s not very feminist of you,” you quip, but on the inside you’re sinking. This is too much, this is way too much. I can’t let him do this for me.

“I’ll explain later. Trust me, we’re good. Order something expensive or I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m a teacher, Ben. My idea of luxury is Olive Garden.”

He grins at you boldly, almost roguishly. “Oh we are going to have so much fun together, Miss Y/L/N.”

Orders are placed, wine is sipped, appetizers are ferried to the table. As you nibble on ahi tuna tartare and caprese sushi, you find yourself lost in how Ben motions wildly with his hands as he tells stories, how his large emerald-or-jade-or-malachite eyes gleam when he’s animated, how his voice is so rich and deep and yet mild, how it suddenly feels like you’ve known him your entire life. Oh no. Oh no, I like this guy a LOT.

Ben abruptly stops eating and cracks his knuckles. “So there’s something I need to tell you. Since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

Oh fuck. He’s married or something. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“It’s about my job.”

Whew. “Ah yes, your elusive profession. You can tell me the truth if you’re a dogwalker or a circus clown or something. It’s always nice to out-earn someone. Actually, dogwalkers in L.A. probably make more than me...”

“I’m an actor.”

“Oh,” you reply cautiously. “Like, for tv shows or independent films?”

“No,” he says, amused. “For major films.”

I knew he was too fucking gorgeous to be a normal person. What am I doing here? “Like what?”

“Well, recently, Bohemian Rhapsody.”

You choke on the white wine you’re drinking and cough and gasp into your cloth napkin.

“You okay?” Ben asks. “Don’t die. You can’t die yet. You haven’t tried their tempura crème brûlée.”

“You...” You cough once more. “You were in the movie that made $900 million dollars...?”

He grins toothily. “So you were keeping up with it!”

“It was hard to miss that tidbit. It was all over the news. BoRhap won the Golden Globe.” Your head is spinning. “You’re an actor,” you repeat.

“I played Roger Taylor.” The brilliant, obscenely good-looking drummer, the man who wrote Radio Ga Ga and These Are The Days Of Our Lives and A Kind Of Magic.

“Oh my god, Ben!”

“I mean, I’ve been in other things too—”

“Ben!”

“Look, relax, we’re cool. I’m not telling you this to freak you out, I’m just explaining that you don’t have to worry about dropping a few hundred bucks at dinner. You have a right to know who I am if we’re going to be...involved. And there’s something else.” He wrings his hands. “I have to be...discrete about my personal life. Try to stay under the radar.” But now that effortless comfort is strained somehow, weighted, ominous; Ben averts his eyes. There’s a presence in the room like a storm cloud, trapped pulsing lightening igniting the opacity from within.

“Sure,” you say, thinking that a life in the spotlight can’t always be easy. “Lowkey. I got it.”

“Awesome.” He’s relieved.

“I have to keep it on the down-low too. I’m a pretty important person myself. A bunch of six-year-olds would lose their minds if they knew about my extracurricular activities. They would color such scandalous pictures in art class. Premarital dinner dates, maybe even handholding. Yikes.”

That makes Ben chuckle; the shadow is nearly lifted. “Keep drinking, Miss Y/L/N. I’m loving this.”

And it should feel weird or frightening or wrong that he’s using the word love this soon, this casually; but it doesn’t at all. It feels anything but wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your feet are on your kitchen floor, your palms empty. Ben’s fidgeting around, his hands in and out of his jean pockets; it seems like he’s trying to say goodbye, but maybe he’s not.

“So...” he ventures.

You wonder if he’ll touch you, if he’ll kiss you. You try to catch his eyes, but they’re everywhere except meeting yours. “Hold that thought.”

You dash down the hall to your bathroom to smooth your hair, touch up your makeup, swish some Listerine. On the way back to the kitchen, you stop in the living room to check on your plants. If it’s possible, they look a little perkier than they did when you left a few hours ago. You run your fingertips over the broad leaves of your peace lilies, smiling faintly to yourself. “Maybe we’re going to make it after all,” you whisper.

You hear the distinct clicking sound of iPhone texting. “Oh shit,” Ben mutters from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I gotta go, Y/N, okay? I gotta run. But I’ll call you. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, just a sec...” But by the time you rush into the kitchen to say goodbye, Ben is gone, the screen door swinging forlornly. Puzzled, you lock the door behind him as headlights flare to life in the driveway and swiftly retreat into the night. Then you turn around.

Your fridge magnets are rearranged again, this time in the shape of a heart.

[thefandomdirtymind]

Prince Damien : Born in a Sunbeam. Part 1

Fandom : Smosh 

Damien Haas x Reader 

Y/H/C = Your hair color   -  Y/E/C : Your eyes color

A/N:

Hi, here's the first part of my prince Damien fic. I don't know exactly how many parts it will have because my plot is already planned, but I always have a couple of ideas who's pop up. So, I hope you will like it. If you do, please let me a comment to let me know, it will mean a lot to me and let me know that you want more. Disclaim: English is my second language and I stop writing for a long time, so, it happens that my grammar or words weren't exact. I use of all the tools in my possession, but some mistakes can still happen.

----

The day the loved and cherished Queen of Ainsel give birth to her first child, a little boy, was one of those perfect days. You know, those mornings when the sky was so blue that even the cloud in contrast seem whiter. When the air, warmed by the bright sun, is so pure that it let you think that nothing today could go wrong.

The baby, prince Damien Haas, first in the succession list for the throne, but for now only a newly human. Take is truly first breath of air. At the same time, a golden sunbeam entering the room, giving to the scene a mystical aura who make talk the population for many years after the event.

In fact, another unusual thing happen that day, making almost secretly grow the legend. But, that part, on the contrary of the sunbeam situation, was only known by a small group of people.

It happened when the little prince, sleepy by the miraculous event of his own birth, embrace the warm and comforting breast of his mother. While his little eyes slowly close, the queen, in joy, tell for the first time his name, wishing him a good sleep.

If you listen to these people who's swear being in the holy secret. They will tell you that. At that moment, the little hair of the baby start to glow blue for a few seconds before coming back to normal. The king and the queen, after sharing a glance, decided it was a sign of the gods. And nobody tell them wrong.    

 ----Many years later----

Standing in front of his rivals, his arms lock on a defensive posture, his short sword heavy in his hands. The prince Damien was watching every move of his opponents. Around him, blowing into the trees, the wind was murmuring rumors about a late autumn.

Quickly stepping back, he raises his sword into the air, blocking the assault of the first man. Profiting of the energies of the impact of the two blade. He suddenly turns on his heels, taking the second man by surprise with an unpredictable attack, making him lose his own sword under the shock and fall on the dirt.

With now a smirk on his lips, Damien takes the second sword, changing with ease is strategy. Adapting his posture for is current double sword situation, he let escape a little laugh.

“ Looks like you need more training” The prince mock, watching his last adversary obviously trying to find a way to still win.

“ Shut up! I think”

Flipping in a smooth move both swords on his hands. He suddenly attack him, crossing the two blade in a scissor posture against the throat of the now defenseless man.

Around them, the noise of people clapping their hands and cheering for their winning champion, suddenly exploded.   

“ And that's why you always lose against me now Joven ” Damien proudly tell, removing his weapons from the breathing area of his friend.

“ Not always it was just easier when you were smaller and younger” Joven reply, giving his now useless sword to a young squire.

“ Or when only one sword was too much for you” The voice of his best friend Shayne said, still busy at removing the dirty dust of his pants.

Damien smile, precautionary giving the swords to his own squire before passing an arm around the neck of his best friend.

“ Come on guys, one day you will beat me for sure “

Now in his late twenty, the little boy born into a sunbeam grow up to be a strong and tall man, loved by his population and his proud parent. Well known for his kindness and his contagious smile, the prince of Ainsel was also known in the other countries for being wise and physically pleasant to the eyes.

If you ask the villagers, they will tell you that he also likes, from time to time, to escape the castle for an unofficial and secret visit. Wearing a basic set of clothes, he often sits near the fountain at the center of the market and read for the young children and illiterate people. It usually happens too, that, in those days, the pocket of some lucky people become heavier than before.

In a thankful and safety gesture, the villagers start to call him Cleverbones the reader, keeping in this way his secret and warn a possible abduction by a rival country.

An only thing was bothering the citizens and the royal family about the prince Damien. As much a gentleman he was, the man had made a clear estate about the fact that he didn't want to take a fiancée of a wife soon.

For a long time, kings and lords of every neighbor country had sent her daughters in visit. Hoping that he will fall for their delicate beauties or at least interesting personality. But, with a profound respect and a polite conversation, he had declined every princess and ladies they had sent to him.

Shayne Topp, son of the Swordmaster of the castle and best friend of Damien. Never fail to find in this matrimonial parade, a fun way to tease the poor prince struggling with the young womans in tears and the exasperating reactions of his parents.

“ What's the name of this girl who came last month” Ask Shayne, when Damien and him was leaving the practice yard.

“ Which one?” Damien asked, taking a shortcut and taking the path of the stable. “ The brunette, the blond or the so shy one that I had to not watch her directly? “

“ The blond girl” Shayne reply, following is friend between the box of the stable, often petting the head of a horse.

He didn't have to ask questions about the reason of their presence into the barn. After following Damien for so long, he already knew that the man needed a little sensation of liberty and planned to pay a visit to the villagers. Of course, as a good friend, the blondie was also ready to go with him and with luck find new interesting thing in the market.

“ Courtney” The brunette tell, his attention focus at closing the little metal clip of his old and used cloak. “ Ready?”

“Yes, her! What was wrong with her, she was really pretty“ Shayne reply, opening at the same time the secret passage they discovered few years earlier.

Leading to the back of an alley, the exit was giving to the boys the perfect way to escape the castle without being noticed. Outside, the wind was already caring to them the smell of fresh bread and vegetable.

“ Yes she was. But, I don't know, she was not ... I didn't feel it and that shouldn't be fair for her.” Damien respond. “ But, is dad is a lord, I think you could try your luck if you want”

The laugh of Shayne, loud like usual, make some people turn on their way.

“ Yeah sure, hey girls my royal friend turn you down but , how you're doing?! “ The exclamation was followed by a fun wave movement of Shayne eyebrow, making Damien laugh.

“ I wish my parents stop this ridiculous nonsense. I don't want to be married soon. I know it's my duty, but the more princesses and ladies I meet, the more I found them, identical, boring, nice, but not much.” The subject, already over talk making each time Damien anxious and tired.

“ Oh trust me, I will know it when I will meet...”

Suddenly escaping the shadow of an alley, a feminine silhouette cross their path, letting behind her a mysterious perfume and the flash of a long strand of (Y/H/C) hairs. Like the prettiest crescent moon, he only saw a small part of his perfect face, almost mask by the hood of his purple cloak. Walking fast she was pressing against his chest a couple of books, avoiding without any problem the dense crowd of the market.

The laugh Damien was about to produce died suddenly on his lips. “ the one...”

Reaching the other side of the market street, the girl slowed her pace giving a unique and fast glance around her. Meeting the gaze of Damien, she stay still for almost a minute, before turning his heels and engaging herself into a particular dark alley.

For the prince Damien, who a month ago didn’t believe in love at first sign. It was the start of many sleepless nights and daydream about some mysterious Y/E/C eyes.

[shytalia]

A Prince and a Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 4

Summary: When the future King and Queen of the Spade’s Kingdom come of age, a mark appears on their body. Alfred is the kind Prince of Spades, heir to the throne. Arthur is his fated husband, the future Queen. The only problem is, Arthur is one of the most infamous pirates to sail the seas, a wanted man in all four kingdoms, and he violently refuses his place in the castle.

No attempts at capturing him have been successful and he remains on the run, fulfilling his lust for defiance. Alfred, following his nineteenth birthday, decides to take the task of bringing Arthur home into his own hands.

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Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Chapter Four

Start at Chapter one here: https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

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Once again, Alfred found himself asleep on the soiled cot. He had waited patiently for the fiery Brit to return, but to no avail. It was hard to tell the passage of time without any windows, but he was certain he had been down there for at least two days now.

He was growing more anxious than before, the Brit’s words sinking deeper and deeper into his mind. He pictured countless things the notorious Arthur Kirkland could do to him.

And he didn’t even know he was The Spade Prince yet. Alfred couldn’t imagine that knowledge would go well for him.

Alfred let his mind wander, he had little else to do after all, but somewhere deep down he felt some strange sense of relief. Surely, as far as being caught by pirates go, this was not the worst it could be? He had heard many tales, especially considering who his divinely betrothed was, of bloody battles and sadistic games pirates played.

Yet, here he was, so far unscathed. Well, save for the bruises Arthur had left him from their fight in the bar, but he guessed he deserved those.

He stared up at the leaky ceiling above him, finding pictures in the shapes that formed them when he heard the familiar sound of The Hole’s door opening down the hall. He sat up, simply expecting them to be bringing him more food. They had been generous enough to spare him at least a little food while he was down here, so they weren’t trying to starve him to death. He guessed he had that going for him.

This time, however, it was not a tray of slops they brought, but rope. Alfred felt his blood run cold at the sight. For all his skill in fighting and sparring, he was little match for four men at once and was quickly bound with his hands behind his back.

He hissed in pain at it, the crude rope cutting into his skin slightly more with each step he took. His assailants held no pity, however, and shoved him forward each time he attempted to readjust into a more comfortable position.

He was led out of The Hole, a way he had been taken before but was too distracted to even pay attention to. Now that he was and he was out of the dim light of the makeshift dungeon, he was admittedly impressed by the ship. It was large, there was no doubt about it. But from on the inside, one could only dream of how many rooms it truly had.

The other regions of the ship were obviously better taken care of than the one he had been living in the last two days. The place was neatly swept and some walls even had pictures on them. It was almost like an actual home, save for the gentle rocking back and forth.

The mahogany floorboards were accompanied by a surprisingly intricate baseboard, lining the walls and floors with a touch of elegance unbeknownst to the rest of the world. Windows they passed were sometimes shielded with beautifully designed curtains and on some doors there were even had designs.

He was so preoccupied with taking everything in he completely forgot about his wrists, which were already a bright red from the rope that rubbed them raw.

He was escorted back out onto the docks, where for the first time he really got the chance to look around their surroundings. It was empty. A vast, terrifying, beautiful, deep blue skyline where water met nothing but a dim sky. There were no signs of land in sight and he couldn’t help but feel his heart beat faster as he realized he had no idea where they really were. Kirkland had a habit of keeping near the Spadian kingdom, the castle had only assumed because that is where he was from and thus, the most familiar with it. However, he was known to venture forth to the other kingdom’s waters and even there he proved to be a formidable enemy on the sea. There was a reason he was a wanted man in all four kingdoms, after all.

Besides the expanding ocean engulfing them in solitude, he finally noticed the busy crew members buzzing around the deck. Many stole glances in his direction, obviously curious about the crazy stranger who willingly boarded their ship and wanted to speak with their captain. They were also probably curious about his impending doom, the thought of which made Alfred gulp.

A couple of the crew members stopped their work entirely to send him a morbid grin. It made his brows furrow until said members were prompted scolded by a man with blindingly white hair and piercing red eyes. Nonetheless, he didn’t look all that scary really. Though for the men who mocked him, he quickly became an overly zealous corrector. Alfred imagined he was the one meant to keep everyone in line and working here on the docks and was seeing fit to it that the men did not idle.

Alfred considered their defeated faces a small victory and grinned himself this time before his eyes moved once more.

Eventually, he did notice one man in particular who stood out. He was not doing busy work or dressed nearly as rugged as most of the others. In fact, his clothing looked delicate and neat. It was a type of clothing Alfred knew well. Robed in an elegant white and grey, marked dutifully with the divine symbol of The Goddess and around his neck her symbol once more in the form of a necklace. He was a holy man of the gods, but what the hell was he doing here on a pirate ship?

The mysterious blonde watched him without failure, something Alfred himself noticed without question. He had heard rumors of a mage helping the crew rescue Arthur from his fate, but if he was truly a man of The Divine, why would he assist them? Should it not be his duty to help guide Arthur into his arms instead of away from him?

Alfred shifted against the rope around his arms at the thought of Arthur actually against him, holding him. To see those big, green eyes stare up at him and only him. Not with anger or resentment, but with genuine affection. Alfred felt a strange pull in his chest as he pictured it.

Quickly broken from his trance, he was once again inside of the ship. This opposite end was much like the other, shockingly elegant and regal. The irony of that was not lost on Alfred.

However, he noticed there were not as many shared bedrooms the further they went this way. In fact, some of the ones he managed to peer into looked more tactical. Maps were skewed about in one, along with mechanisms for evaluating distance and time. The recognized astronomy and star-reading tools along with them, a pass time he happened to enjoy himself.

In another room, he saw what looked like a surprisingly large library. Shelves upon shelves of books stacked the crowded spaces and a desk with papers and ink. He was half indecisive about that. Weren’t all pirates supposed to be illiterate? Perhaps not all, but surely it wasn’t a habit for one? Maybe the room was just for show. But then again, who would he be trying to show off to? Guests were an obvious rarity.

He didn’t have much time to ponder as he was pushed along.

Finally, at the end of a long hallway, Alfred was brought to a beautifully designed door. Carved into it were depictions of waves upon waves, solely occupied by a siren with thick, curly hair. She looked out into the sea, as if watching and waiting for something to happen. In her hand, idle, was a bow and arrow. It was the same woman from the figurehead at the front of the ship.

He had little time to dwell on it when he was suddenly being pushed forward again, one of the pirates escorting him having knocked on the door and received the alright to come in. As the door creaked open, Alfred couldn’t help but let out an audible gasp.

Arthur was there in front of him, sitting behind a large, wooden desk. Surrounding him were more shelves filled to their full extent with books, some so overpopulated there were novels stacked neatly on the floor beside them instead.

The wall was a warm, inviting color, despite everything else that told him it shouldn’t be. It was a sharp contrast to the array of blues they used in the castle, but of course they would use the color of their national symbol. Arthur did not, however, and Alfred’s eyes searched even further. There was a large window to one side, half covered by dark curtains that partially obscured the view of the ocean.

In one corner he noticed a smaller table, on it sat several items Alfred quickly identified as magical. He never had a knack for the arcane arts, always preferring a sword over a spell book. Many people feared what mages could do with their powers, despite many of them being healers or holy persons. Did Arthur know magic? He must, if this was in here.

Along the wall behind the Brit was a beautiful tapestry, clearly expensive and artfully designed. Again, it depicted a woman with a bow in the ocean. This time though, she was finally in color. Alfred dared to say her skin was as softly pale as Arthur’s, but her unruly hair was more orange in color and her blue dress flowed over her body, creating the very waves that crashed around her.

But even all of this, with its lovely embrace of almost familiar refinement, there was one aspect of the room he tried to ignore.

Across the generous space were reminders of death, no doubt a fate cast down by the fierce captain himself. Weapons, some still stained a dull, reddish-brown were on display. Guns of varying types were held up on the walls, some obviously well used and retired. But nothing was quite as striking as the bones set out for all to see in a large, glass case. Mostly there were skulls, staring at him with forlorn agony, and on some he could see were clearly killed to a blow to the head with the injuries the bones possessed. There were others, too, he swore he saw a hand with jagged ends, as if it had been purposely sawed from its owner. Alfred shivered at the thought, hoping that at the very least, the person it belonged to had been long dead before that act happened.

“Leave,” he heard Arthur say lowly, his emerald eyes never faltering. Vaguely, Alfred heard the pirates that brought him here turn and shut the door as they abandoned him here before their captain.

Under that intense, dark glare, Alfred’s body jolted with realization. This was Arthur’s throne room: this was where he led his crew, and where he ruled them. This was his sovereignty.

Here, Arthur was not the perfect, cardboard cutout Queen of Spades. No, here in this room and on this ship, he was the feared and respected Captain of The Siren’s Arrow, and he wanted Alfred to know it.

“Sit.” It was the second command out of Arthur’s mouth but Alfred felt like it was a punch to the gut. This was not the laughing man he had met in the bar. Alfred did as he was told, taking a seat in the empty chair facing Arthur on the other side of his desk.

Now, green eyes only bore into him more heavily. It made Alfred sweat and he was certain his discomfort was more than apparent. This did little to deter the smaller man from continuing.

“What is your name?”

Alfred blinked a few times before he registers the question. What was his name? Truly, he hadn’t noticed he never actually gave it to Arthur. He had been so caught up in finding out more about him that he completely forgot to even mention his own name. But now he felt twisted, should he really tell the truth? Arthur would no doubt know the name of the Spade Prince, even if he didn’t know his face by heart. He wouldn’t be the only Alfred in the world by any means, but it definitely would raise some flags with him.

“Um...Allen,”

“Do not lie to me.” Without hesitation or breaking eye contact, the blonde captain waited again. This time for the correct answer. He made it quite clear that he could tell when Alfred was lying.

The prince fidgeted in his seat, as much as he wished for this to end, he could not pull his eyes away from Arthur as he bore into him deeper. He bit his lip so hard he thought he might break the skin and his hesitation did not go unnoticed.

“My name is Alfred.” He finally answered, watching carefully for Arthur’s reaction.

There was none, not really. The Brit’s eyes narrowed at him, searching his form for any hint of lying but was unable to find any this time. He visibly stiffened at the sound of his name, whether from discomfort or from anger, Alfred found it hard to tell. But the discomfort was quickly discarded and his glare hardened once more.

“Alfred,” The captain repeated, the name rolling off his tongue in a way that made the younger man squirm yet again. “How unfortunate.” He muttered to himself and if the rest of the room hadn’t been eerily quiet, Alfred wouldn’t have heard it at all. “Tell me, Alfred, why did you follow my ship? Only a fool would do something like that.”

“I already told you, I want to talk to you.” Alfred didn’t know how he could convince Arthur that that was actually the truth.

The pirate’s reply was swift, and expected. “Shite.”

“It’s true!”

“Alright then, let’s say it is. What the bloody hell could you possibly want to talk to me about that is so important you risk your life for it?” Arthur openly challenged, eyes ever digging into the bound man before him. He thought and quickly added, “And I swear on the gods’ names that if you tell me it was to convince me to turn myself in to the castle, I will personally see your head on a pike.”

Well, shit.

Luckily for Alfred, that really hadn’t been the only reason. If he was being honest with himself, he had been curious about Arthur as a person too. Who wouldn’t be interested in learning more about their future spouse? He had heard countless horror stories and warnings, and just as many sympathetic apologies for his ‘bad fate’, about Arthur that didn’t quell his thirst for answers but actually sparked them.

It was the truth that when Alfred had first heard the news of Arthur’s capture and the mark on his back, he had laughed as if it were a joke. That humor, however, had quickly dissipated and he had lashed out. He didn’t want to marry Arthur! He was evil, disgusting, truly the worst human in the entire Spade’s kingdom and he was supposed to be his husband? What had he done to deserve such a punishment?

At the time, he had only been a young boy of about fifteen. His entire life was laid before him as glamorous and fulfilling, only to be sucker punched into reality when that stupid mark had been found on Arthur. He had wished, prayed to any god that may find some mercy in their heart to change his fate. Most queens came from humble backgrounds, some even turned out to be of noble houses already aware of proper etiquette and were well-educated. But none, never, in the history of their land had a king been cursed to wed a lawless pirate.

He was bitter about it, angry at the cards dealt to him. Then, it gave way to sadness. Had the gods left their kingdom? Left him? Had he failed his people before he even had a chance to rule? He had asked his father one day if he could marry an esteemed noble instead, since clearly Arthur was unfit to rule anyway. The idea had been shot down in the name of tradition and divine providence. Though even as his father said this, Alfred saw the worry and sorrow for his son in his eyes as well.

Finally, nearing his eighteenth birthday, something shifted in him. Like a string being drug from his chest, he found himself more drawn to Arthur’s past. Not much was known about him, he had simply sprung up from nowhere and grew in the ranks of the sea. Besides being from a small island, it seemed no one knew too much about him. The mystery was intoxicating.

So, here he was. Staring down said man in a room decorated with death. It was true he wanted to convince Arthur to leave this life behind and join him at the castle, but it would be just as true to say he simply wanted to know Arthur. Actually know him, who he was and who he had been, why he chose this life and not an easier one in the castle. That pull from his chest drew him here and to him, and he had hardly ignored his feelings before if they felt this true.

He let out a light laugh, something neither of them had expected. “I told you, I want to get to know you, Cap. For all the horrible stories people tell of you, they have never really felt like the whole truth.”

Once again, Arthur’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He really didn’t understand what Alfred was planning to gain from all this. But it didn’t really matter, did it? His life was over. The chances of him ever returning to the capital now that he was a prisoner were slim to none.

“Unfortunately for you, it is the only truth that matters.” Arthur told him, composing himself before he stood. Slowly he worked his way around the large desk, circling it until he was standing over his uninvited guest. “You, Alfred,” he said lowly as he leaned down to be closer, not failing to notice the way the boy froze still. “Will be my personal servant. You will do what I say, when I say it, and in return you will live. If you fail to do so, I will kill you. Is that understood?” The sentence ended with his lips softly grazing the outline of Alfred’s ear. The younger man shook at the contact.

Alfred’s blue eyes bore forward, not daring to indulge himself at the sight of Arthur so close beside him. Silence dragged on and he could feel those green orbs burning into him, awaiting his answer. Eventually, he was able to nod his head.

He could practically hear Arthur’s smirk. “Good boy.” He praised, finally distancing himself from his ear and allowing Alfred to finally breathe.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

[winkyjinki]

author asks 1-30 GO!

WHEW OK STRAP IN BUCKO (I already answered 1&29 uwu)

2. When you’re writing a new story, what is the one thing you need to know before you can start?

This is gonna sound so like “duh bitch” but I always need to know AT LEAST how I want it to end. Or like the almost-end. Bc it’s like if you know where you want to go then you can figure out how to build up to that moment. 

They always say it’s not abt the destination, but the journey. But like in this case, you need to know the destination to figure out the journey oop--

3. How do you know when a scene is “done”?

This is gonna sound so vague but like... when I feel like it’s complete? Like when I think it’s served its purpose in the fic.

In theatre, every single scene has a purpose in building up to the climax & resolution, so I always try to make sure that each scene has served its purpose in moving the plot along/gives you something for a later plot point.

4. How do you know when a chapter is “done”?

Ummm... I try to end it at a good point. Honestly this is the hardest for me because I always want to end it at a good point but also where it feels like the equivalent of a half-cadence in music (it doesn’t feel complete).

That’s like my best explanation.

5. How do you know when a story is “done”?

I think my story is done when I’ve neatly wrapped up the plot to my liking while also leaving as little loose ends as possible.

This is a boring answer lmao but it’s really my best explanation.

6. Where do your titles come from?

Most of my titles come from songs that my fics remind me of. I try to make it be like ~poetic~ bc I can’t come up w titles from the pits of my brain but I can def try to find the perfect song lyric LOL

7. How do you feel about prologues?

I feel like it’s really useful for setting some background info that you want to reference but don’t actually want to explain in the main story LOL but it’s def not necessary

8. How do you feel about epilogues?

Another thing that I feel is def not necessary but sometimes you want a little “what happens next?”...as a treat

9. Do you tend to have an external narrator or use one of the characters?

I like the idea of using a limited POV, so I like to use one of the characters for narration. Bc in my opinion it’s a little much when you’re like spending so much time being ~omniscient~ but that’s just my opinion.

10. Does your narrator move from character to character? 

Ummm honestly it depends for me. Like for me it’s like...if the story calls for it in my heart. 

I usually like to keep it to one character unless I’m planning a more complex story that calls for a lot of different POVs!

11. What punctuation do you love too much?

Bruh... Commas, semicolons and this bitch (–) are my holy grail I feel like I’m the queen of run-on sentences.

12. What punctuation do you hate with a passion?

Okay I don’t HATE them but I really don’t like the overuse!!!!! of exclamation points!!!!!! I use them a lot when I’m just posting about stuff I’m really passionate about like that’s cute I just am not too crazy about that in like prose & creative writing. I wouldn’t say it’s a pet peeve, per se, but it’s just not my cup of tea :/

13. What grammar tends to cause problems when you’re writing?

Idek what this means but like I guess I struggle with writing verbs in the right POV bc, like I said, I'm the queen of run on sentences so I tend to lose focus on what’s the subject of the sentence.

14. What’s the one word you can never spell/use properly, no matter how hard you try?

I am actually illiterate so I always end up misspelling words ALL the time just bc like my brain will turn off. I used to use the word “futile” incorrectly all the time but once I like actually found out how to use it correctly, I’ve been pretty good :0

15. How do you write a really good metaphor?

Bro when I figure it out I will SHARE

I don’t have a strategy--sometimes I just write good ones and idek how it happened oof--

16. What is your best piece of advice for writing angst scenes?

If you are HURTING by the time you’re done with it, you did it right. When I write angst, I know it’s good if my heart hurts by the end of it LOL

17. What is your best piece of advice for writing hurt/comfort scenes?

Kinda the same as 16, like it hurts but in a better way. This will probably also be the same as my answer for 22, but if it just makes you soft, you’re doing well.

Soft & hurt is the combo you need for that.

18. What is your best piece of advice for writing comedy scenes?

I like to share these scenes with people (beta readers, friends, etc.) and see how they receive them. Even if they don’t laugh like SUPER HARD, I think it’s worth keeping if they make positive comments and they say stuff like “That’s a mood.” or “I related to that hard.” bc in my humble opinion that’s good enough for me.

I’m working on a Trashmouth comedy special series, and I literally just read the skits to my friends and see what lands and what doesn’t.

I just like to treat any comedy scene as a comedy skit. Just see what lands !

19. What is your best piece of advice for writing action scenes?

Oh man, I don’t do a lot of those, so I don’t really have much advice for that :( maybe in like a year I’ll have something for that lollll

20. What is your best piece of advice for writing smut scenes?

Now I’m no expert on doing the dirty, but I did read up on how to write like...good sex scenes....and a lot of the sources say to (in my own words) overload on thought and emotion. 

Like honestly I don’t read smut for the sex (I mean like.... I get hype when my ship gets nasty but that’s beside the point), I read it to see how someone comes undone for their lover and I think that’s IMPORTANT. Tbh anyone can write sex, but like I need that connection.

21. What is your best piece of advice for writing romance scenes?

Overload on that thought and emotion, dude. Make your heart THROB. I like to make this a matter of building tension and setting the release. Like no I will not be giving you that kiss yet bc that’s too easy. Build it up a little bit.

Talk about slow burn

22. What is your best piece of advice for writing fluff scenes?

If you read it and you feel like you might explode from how much these characters love each other, you are doing amazing, sweetie.

23. How do you balance your characters in an ensemble story?

I like to list out the primary, secondary, and side characters and figure out where they come in the story, what the relationships are, what purpose they serve the plot, stuff like that.

In a theatre standpoint (obviously), any character in a play has their own purpose and without even one of them, you can’t wrap that story up neatly. Like in Ancient Greek plays, even the smallest part played an integral part in moving the plot along.

24. How do you balance your characters when there are only a two or three in a story?

I like to think about what purpose each character serves in the story. I also like to think about whether this story revolves around one character, or if it delves into each character’s story and they kind of intertwine. Maybe they’re family or a team or roommates, or maybe they’re strangers whose lives are connected in some way if you wanna take that route.

I think when there are so little characters, you get more room to make them their own people. And you have that possibility of making it a collection of stories that come together without making it so confusing.

I think about that in, like, a theatre standpoint obviously.

25. How do you create an original character?

AAA I’ve never really made an OC but honestly I like to think it’s like making a sim LOL I’m so sorry to EVERYONE who’s ever made an OC.

I don’t even remember was my OC building process was like when I wrote original stories in, like, middle school.

26. How do you go about world building?

Oof ok I’ve been writing fanfic for as long as I can remember so that’s kinda cheating a little bit LOL it’s self explanatory.

But in the few original stories I’ve written (and honestly even when I write for some AUs), I base a lot of things on my own reality. So like people I know, places I like to go to, events that have taken place in my lifetime, they’re like the template, and depending on the nature of this world (realistic, fantasy, modern, futuristic, etc), that’s like how I’ll mold it to be part of that world.

27. Do you try to do most of your research ahead of writing (when research is necessary) or do you do it as things come up?

Honestly, I research things as they come up because things are always gonna come up. I’m constantly coming up with little things I can add into my fics, and I like to try all my ideas to see if they work with the story. I don’t want to scrap an idea just bc it’s not in my archive of research.

I also think when you get too wrapped up in technicalities, you lose focus of the actual story, so I like to jump in and do all my fact-checking as I go along!

28. How do you make sure your plot points are there while also making them blend in with the story?

This is something that I’m still figuring out because I’m just now getting back into writing longer fics, but I think as long as you make them fit in a way that they serve the plot or they play into one of your characters’ motives then it’s a good plot point!

30. How do you edit your stories?

This is gonna sound so extra, but I rewrite ALL OF IT from the beginning. When I do this, it really helps me figure out how to write thing in a more efficient and effective manner.

And I cannot stress this enough, beta readers are SO useful. You can do all of the proofreading you want, but someone who’s reading your writing will probably catch more spelling and grammar mistakes honestly. Also, they can give you insight on what might need more development, what might not make as much sense, and what really isn’t that necessary.

[dazzlingphoenix]

Dragons of Lockra: The Shards of Dawn Light

Chapter 5: Now It’s a Dragon Hunt

     "That's not my egg.." Gamehna whispered, eyes wide as she stared at the darkened egg. Veneasha slowly reached her front talons inside the hole and lifted the egg out. She gently set it on the ground, looking closely at it.

    "Jiernaq," She called behind her, not breaking her gaze on the egg. "Can you come in here?" A quiet yip was followed by light claws trotting against the dusty ground. Jiernaq slowed as he saw the egg, his nose flaring as he tried to identify it. He slowly pointed a claw at the egg, then at Gamehna.

    "Yous," He said slowly, pointing back to the egg. Gamehna shook her head, and Veneasha could see tears threaten to fall from her copper orange eyes.

    "My egg is purple, like lavender," The mother said with a shaky breath. "This is not my egg."

    "Gamehna," Veneasha whispered softly. "I don't know what happened, but Jiernaq can smell that it's your egg." The pink dragon slowly approached the egg and set a talon on the top. With sorrow, Veneasha watched as the mother broke down into sobs and hugged the egg, wails of sadness echoing throughout the den. The princess turned outside and looked at Vroih.

    "Go get Fergjin and The Guard." She told him. He nodded and turned away, flapping his rosy wings. Veneasha looked back at Gamehna and brushed a wing over the mother to try and comfort her. She didn’t seem to notice the princess as he held the egg tightly.

    How could this happen? Veneasha asked herself as she waited for the guard to come. How can an egg just change color like that? Does it have to do with Nokin and those weird crystals?

    Could I have stopped this happening if I didn’t go to the Palace of Pearls? That realization made her chest tighten. She could’ve prevented this from happening. Her thoughts were interrupted by the thuds of talons on the ground outside. Veneasha turned her attention and saw Fergjin and four other guards land outside, the father pushing past and heading inside.

    “Gamehna?” Fergjin asked as he saw her sobbing figure. Veneasha stepped aside and let the father pass. She saw his face contort at the sight of the darkened egg. He wordlessly sat by his mate and pressed his head against hers. Veneasha watched for a few moments before gesturing for Jiernaq to follow her. She walked outside to greet the other guardsdragons.

    “A dragon named Nokin stole Gamehna’s egg,” She started to explain sternly. “And she somehow made the egg colored black as night. Searching the den we found five purple crystals, and a scroll addressed to Kin of Diamond. I would appreciate it if-”

    “Princess,” A guard cut her off. “Let us take care of this.” He turned to look at the other guards. “What is this, the fifth egg stolen and changed?”

    “Fifth egg?!” Veneasha asked in astonishment. Her bewildered expression seemed to confuse a few of the guards. “You mean to tell me that this has happened BEFORE?”

    “We thought you knew, princess,” Another said quietly. “Her Majesty had deemed it unimportant.”

    “Well I deem this SUPER IMPORTANT!!” Veneasha roared, scaring some passing dragons. "For all we know, the dragonets in those eggs could be dead!" The outcry from Gamehna made her regret shouting, but she kept her angry expression to the guards.

    "Princess, we've checked the black eggs already," A guard explained. "As far as we know the dragonets are healthy and unharmed."

    "Okay, then what about the Disyun forsaken scroll that talks about a ritual?!" Veneasha asked, turning back inside and grabbing the rolled parchment, then walking back to the guards. "It CLEARLY says something about a ritual and a separate colony! How have you cave brained dragons not realized that this is-"

    "Wait," The captain of the group interrupted her. "You can read the scroll?"

    "Yes, I can!" She told them sharply. "It's plain dragon scratch! Of course I can read it!" Veneasha unfurled the scroll and pointed at the words that would raise red flags for anyone who had read it. The guards squinted at the writing, looking back at the princess with confused expressions.

    "Your highness, no one's been able to read the scrolls," The captain explained. "No one except you, apparently."

    "We can DEAL with the scrolls LATER!" Veneasha yelled, throwing it to the ground. "Right NOW, YOU are going to track down Nokin and find out WHAT IN THE BLACKMOON IS HAPPENING!!" The lick of flames that escaped her mouth made the guards scurry away, flying back to their barracks as the princess glared after them.

    Vroih was behind them as they flew, being the only dragon remaining outside besides the princess. Veneasha stood there for awhile, breathing heavily from the shouting. Wordlessly, she rolled up the scroll carelessly and started to march away from the den.

    “Princess,” Vroih asked, worry wavering his voice. “Where are ya goin?”

    “I’m going to speak with my mother,” Veneasha growled. “Because APPARENTLY this ISN’T A BIG DEAL, when it CLEARLY IS!” She pushed past her friend and spread her wings.

    “Take Jiernaq and go back to the Reformation Center,” She told him without looking. “I don’t want you two getting into trouble.” With the last word the princess leapt into the air and pounded her wings against the winds.

    The fly back to the mountain was longer than she would’ve liked, but she flew the entire way with bursts of angry energy. When she landed by the entrance, she marched passed the guards who quickly pulled away from the door to let her through. Veneasha pushed the doors open and walked right up into the room where her mother sat upon her golden throne.

    “Veneasha,” The queen started, but her daughter cut her off with a harsh snap of her tail.

    “Why am I just now hearing about the problem with the black eggs?” The princess asked loudly, making it known to everyone in the room. Ruby shifted in her seat, sitting up taller and more imposingly. 

    “The eggs are healthy and fine,” Her mother spoke with a silent edge in her voice. “So I suggest you drop this matter if there’s nothing wrong.”

    “Nothing wrong?!” Veneasha yowled, her wings flaring out from her sides. “These eggs are being stolen and going through rituals to change their color, and you say there’s nothing wrong?!” She watched her mother’s eyes narrow down onto her, and she glared right back. Veneasha’s tail thrashed behind her, anger writhing inside her.

    “What do you mean by ritual.” Ruby said flatly. It wasn’t a question; It was a demand.

    “The scroll,” Veneasha responded with the same flat and angry tone. “It mentioned a ritual, as well as taking the egg back to a colony. How did this not raise red flags for you?” She asked, her voice rising with her confused anger.

    “How can you read the scroll?” Ruby asked, her tone shifting to curiosity. She turned to a guard and whispered an order to him. He nodded and got up, marching to a room behind the throne. “No one’s been able to.” She added, looking back at her daughter.

    “Why does EVERYONE keep asking that?” Veneasha groaned. “It’s in dragon scratch, clear and crisp as morning air! Is everyone suddenly illiterate?”

    “The scrolls are written in an ancient language no dragon has spoken in a thousand years.” Ruby explained. The guard returned with a case filled with four other scrolls. He bowed and held them up to the queen, who plucked a scroll from the wooden box. She gestured for Veneasha to walk forward. The princess did so, marching over with a sour look. Her mother unfurled a scroll and held it out to her.

    “What does this scroll say.” Ruby asked in her flat tone again.

    “Same thing as the other scroll found in Nokin’s den,” Veneasha explained. “Except it’s a different name.”

    “Read it.” Ruby ordered. Veneasha sighed and read the scroll.

    “Seeker of Stars, your task is not that simple. You shall acquire an egg and start the ritual. Others will arrive in three nights to examine it and take it back to the colony. Flee your home with this scroll afterwards to ensure no one can trace you back to the colony. We're counting on you, Seeker of Stars." When Veneasha finished, she looked back up at her mother to see surprise in her eyes.

    “This scroll and the egg were found in Starrak’s den,” Ruby explained, rolling the scroll back up and setting it into the case it came in. “Right after we saw him flee with angry dragons on his tail. They were Novait and Kite, and they said that Starrak had stolen their egg.”

    “That’s similar to Gamehna and Fergjin,” Veneasha said, losing her rage and acquiring curiosity. “Except Nokin got her mother to get the egg for her and managed to do the ritual and leave within a few hours.” She watched as the queen rose from her throne, every guard around her tensing up and preparing for orders.

    "Find all the dragons that had stolen the eggs," Ruby announced loudly. "Bring them back here to be jailed and questioned for eggnapping and conspiring against the Queen. Make sure this doesn't reach the other tribes yet."

    "Yes Your Majesty!" All guards bellowed in unison. With the flick of her tail, a captain started barking orders to guardsdragons and scribes. Ruby sat down and looked back at Veneasha.

    "Thank you, Veneasha," She said to her. "I'll summon you if anymore scrolls are found. In the meantime, please read the others to see if they contain important or different information."

    "Okay, mother." Veneasha said, heaving out a held breath. She trotted over to the dragon that held the case of scrolls and took it off of his talons. The princess looked at them and then back up at her mother.

    "Is it alright if I read these in my room?" She asked her reluctantly. Ruby glanced down at her then nodded, turning her gaze back to the working dragons in front of her. Veneasha smiled and flew to the staircase leading up to her room.

    She didn’t waste her time reading the murals again and trotted up the stairs quickly, eventually making it to her excessively pink and gold room. Finding the scroll she had already read, Veneasha began to write down the message on another blank scroll. Dipping an eagle feather into a jar of black ink, she translated the apparently ancient language into modern dragon scratch.

    When the first scroll was translated and signed by the princess, the sun was edging near the horizon, though not quite setting. With a sigh, Veneasha picked up another scroll. Eyes drooping, she read the next scroll under her breath.

    “Harbinger of Shadows, our task is the hardest of all,” She started to read, eyes narrowed at the new words. “You shall acquire an egg and start the ritual like the others. However, you shall pierce the shell with a crystal and let a shard enter the egg. This will initiate the transformation.

    “Get this egg to the other blackened ones and flee with this scroll. The new Prince of Feathers will arise in seven days time. We're counting on you the most, Harbinger of Shadows.” When Veneasha finished, her stomach was knotted tightly. She rubbed her eyes and read it again, silently hoping she had misread the entire thing. But when she reread it, the words didn’t change and the message was the same. Veneasha looked out the window to see the sun dipping behind the distant trees.

Ruby will want to know this, She said to herself. But she’d be asleep by now. Veneasha looked at the scroll, then at the door to the stairs. She trotted over to the door and placed the scroll at the bottom. The princess then meandered over to her bed and crawled under her blankets, hoping to wake up from the nightmare she was stuck in.

    The quiet creak of the door woke Veneasha from her light sleep. The sky beyond her window was inky black, dotted only with the faint glow of stars. The princess, looked over at the door to see the wisp of a tail brush by. Looking closer, the scroll was missing.

What?! Veneasha quickly got out of bed and looked around further. All the scrolls were missing. She opened the door and followed the figure she saw. The dragon was wearing a full body hood, and was walking surprisingly fast. Veneasha kept her pace, following intently but finding it hard to bite her tongue and stay quiet.

    The unknown dragon spread their wings and flew once they made it to the ground floor. By this time, Veneasha had had enough.

    “Guards,” She shouted, spooking the flying dragon. “Intruder, they stole the scrolls!” Quickly, armoured dragons clamoured out from their positions, chasing the hooded dragon down. She flew with them, loving the thrill of a chase.

    Veneasha hung to the back, which was hard considering her powerful wings, but she knew it would only distract the guards. Then she saw there they were heading.

    “They’re heading for the Talons of The Heros,” She called to them, glancing at the claw shaped mountains up ahead. “I’ll cut them off.” The princess tucked her wings and dove down, unfurling them and flying farther ahead. Veneasha flew close to the ground below her, avoiding the sharp rocks and jagged points in her way. When she was marginally farther ahead, Veneasha started her accent upwards.

They’re too far for me to fly to them in time, The princess realized, seeing the ground ramp upwards sharply. They’re going to escape. Unless.. Veneasha conflicted with herself but decided to go forth. Taking a deep inhale, she blew a blast of fire at the escaping dragon.

    The dragon’s cloak caught on fire, burning away at the edges. They panicked and hovered for a bit, trying to bat out the flames. Though it was too late, and the guardsdragons had caught up with them. Two grabbed onto them while the other took the familiar wooden box from their talons. A fourth dragon ripped the cloak off of the dragon, making some of the guards gasp.

    “A Thorn Runner?”

    “What were you doing in the Sunpeak Castle?!”

    “Be careful of his venom!”

    “Her Majesty is not going to like this..”

    A clasp was quickly placed on the thorn dragon’s muzzle and another checked his tail. The venomous needle was exposed, making the guard wary. Veneasha watched as they secured the tail and cuffed the dragon up. The guard with the box flew over to the princess.

    “The scrolls, your highness.” He said, handing them out to her. She graciously took them and nodded to him.

    “Thank you,” Veneasha said tiredly. “Now please lock this dragon up and alert the queen when she wakes up.”

    “Yes, your highness.” The guard bowed, flying back up to the other dragons. The princess didn’t waste any more time and flew back to her room, entering through the window. Stuffing the scrolls under her bed, she crawled back into her bed.

    What in the Blackmoon is happening to my tribe..?

[avis-writeshq]

Akaashi Keiji x Reader (Royal AU): You can’t marry a man you just met… unless it’s for the sake of your kingdom

Requested: No

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Fem!Reader (Royal AU)

Summary: “Your father and brother are dead." "Drat!" said the Prince Princess, "That means I shall have to get married.”

Nah, I’m kidding, that’s a rewritten quote from ‘The Princess Bride’. You were simply a princess engaged to a man you have never met. Little did you know, the prince was by far more charming than you had expected him to be.

Warnings: Fluff, and trash writing

Other: Am I selfish for being self-indulgent and writing for my own joy and satisfaction? I hope this doesn’t come off as a disappointment… also I may or may not have been watching clips of the Princess Bride as I wrote this </3

Word count: 2,700                                                                                          

 Things you probably wanna know, for all you ‘x reader’ illiterates:

(Y/N): Your Name

(H/C): Hair Colour / Color

(E/C): Eye Colour / Color

(N/N): Nickname

 ***

 “Chin up, (Y/N)! A princess never slouches,” Your mother snapped for the nth time as you sat sulkily in the royal carriage.

 “Even if I wanted to, the corset you forced on me makes it impossible to breathe, let alone slouch.” You grumbled, your arms beginning to ache as you held the book you were reading in front of your face.

 Your mother let out a sigh in frustration. “You ought to be on your best behaviour when we enter the Kingdom of Airiral. You should know that they were looking forward to your arrival.”

 “Well they should know that I’m not looking forward to meet them,” you said, not sparing her a glance.

 “(Y/N)!” Your mother scowled at your answer. “Put that book down right this instant young lady. What would your father think…”

 “If father was alive, I wouldn’t be in this situation,” Your heart ached at your own words and you delved deeper into your own imagination.

 A few hours later (you could have sworn it had only been a few minutes), the coachman had knocked on your side of the carriage. “Your majesties, we have arrived in the Kingdom or Airiral.”

 Gratefully taking the coachman’s hand, you climbed off the carriage. “Thank you.”

 You made your way towards the horses and gave them each a small pat on the head. As you did, you looked up to see the huge palace that stood before you. Even though you lived in a castle yourself, it was still a sight to see palaces of different kingdoms. Each palace and castle was made differently with different layouts and towers – this one was by far the most impressive.

 “The Kingdom of Airiral is famous for its grand architecture,” the coachman said from beside you. “I’ve been here a few times myself and I don’t think I can get enough of it.”

 “It’s straight out of a fantasy book,” you breathed, entranced by the limestone bricks that towered over you, and the dark coloured roof stood out against the brilliant blue sky. “You wouldn’t happen to know if it has a library, do you?”

 “Apparently, the royal library is the most brilliant in all the land,” he said, “but those are just rumours. I haven’t been inside myself!”

 You nodded, thanking him for the information, before catching up with your mother who was already well away from you. “You couldn’t have waited for a little moment?”

 “It is a royal’s priority to always be on time.”

 “Or in your case, always fashionably late,” you grumbled. “Anyway, who am I betrothed to again?”

 “His name is Akaashi Keiji. He’s a bright young man, I assure you.”

 You scoffed, “He can’t be worse than Suguru Daishou that slimy snake…”

 “(Y/N)! How many times have I told you to not talk about people like that?” Your mother let out yet another frustrated groan at your words and you cheekily stuck your tongue out.

 “It’s not my fault he is what he is. Besides, you didn’t care much for him either.”

 “We were wondering when you would be arriving!”

 You both looked up to see a kind man and woman standing at the palace gates, bright smiles on their faces.

 “Kenji, Miyoko, it’s great to see you again!” Your mother beamed. “How are you?”

 “We’re getting there,” Miyoko said, her brilliant blue eyes glistening in the sunlight. “This must be (Y/N)!”

 Her husband nodded from beside her, “Well, you are certainly a beautiful young lady. Please, come in! We’ll have the servants take your bags.”

 “Bags…?” You frowned, turning to your mother who had looked away guiltily. “Mother, I wasn’t aware that I will be staying here.”

 “It’s a tradition here,” Kenji cut in, “it gives the young bride and groom to get to know each other before the wedding.”

 You nodded, muttering quietly to yourself, “If there even is a wedding.”

 “Speaking of groom,” your mother began slowly, and Miyoko and Kenji’s eyes both lit up in realisation.

 “He should be here soon. He was training in the morning so I assume he’ll be getting ready.”

 As if it was staged, a tall man walked into the courtyard, brilliant blue eyes almost identical to his mother’s.

 “Mother, father, I apologise for my tardiness,” He did a bow in respect, and your brows rose at his politeness.

 “Oh, don’t worry about it, Keiji. As long as you’re here now, yes?” His father chuckled, clapping him on the back as he rose. “Now, this is (L/N) (Y/N) from the Aedurene Kingdom in the East.”

 You rolled your eyes, offering a half-assed curtsey much to your mother’s annoyance. You don’t miss the way the corners of Keiji’s lips rise in amusement. Ah, so he does have a sense of humour. In return, he sent a half-assed bow in your direction and you chuckled lightly.

 “Now that the formalities have been made… Aneko?”

 As soon as Miyoko said her name, a maid rushed into the courtyard, a bright smile on her face as she curtseyed to the queen and then to you. “Come, Princess, I shall escort you to your room.”

 “Oh, uh, right. Of course, thank you.” A gentle smile rested on your face because, well, etiquette is important right?

 “How was the ride here, your majesty?” Aneko asked carefully.

 You shook your head, “Please, drop the formalities. Just call me (Y/N), I really don’t mind. And the ride here was… uneventful. How is it working for the royal family?”

 “Average,” she shrugged, “I’ve been working here for years now to provide for my family.”

 “Do they pay well?”

 “Well enough.” After a few more turns, she stopped at an arced birch door. “This is your room! You should find that all of your bags are already inside and have been unpacked. Let me know if there are any changes you would like to be made, your majesty.”

 “(Y/N),” you corrected before nodding, “Thank you very much, Aneko.”

 You carefully closed the door behind you, and you let out a tired sigh. Well, you’re in a foreign kingdom engaged to a random prince that you know nothing about. You sat on the chair by the vanity set, loosening your corset so that it wasn’t crushing your body. Can the day get any worse?

 “Princess (Y/N)? Are you in there?”

 A groan left your lips. Apparently, it can.

 “No, this is the cat,” you responded sarcastically, opening your book to the bookmarked page.

 “Last I checked, I was engaged to a woman,” Akaashi responded, and you could hear the amusement in his voice. “May I enter?”

 “Sure,” You said offhandedly, not paying much attention to the man. “To what do I owe the honour, my prince?”

 “Please, call me Keiji. And I merely wanted to check that you have settled in well,” his gunmetal blue eyes looked over your figure. “I see you enjoy reading?”

 You looked up at him for a split second before turning your attention back to the book. “Is it that surprising that you have to question it?”

 “Most princesses that I have met would prefer to frolic around or stare at their reflection all day,” he admitted.

 “Well in that case, I am not like other princesses.”

 He was silent for a moment before asking, “What book are you reading?”

 “The Princess Bride,” you said, “one of my father’s favourite books. He used to read it to us when we were children.”

 “Oh?” He nodded, taking note to find the book later. “Perhaps you would like to visit our library.”

 At his words, you looked up at him, scanning his face for any cheek or sarcasm. You found that there was none.

 “Is it as grand as everyone believes it is?” You asked, putting your bookmark in and closing the book in your hands.

 “I didn’t take you one to believe rumours, Princess,” He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes. Of course, it was too good to be true.

 “Just call me (Y/N), Keiji,” You drawled, returning the smirk (you were quite sure you didn’t look half as good as he did, but it was worth a shot).

 He chuckled in amusement, and you let out a small laugh of your own. Rising from your chair, you sent him a smile. “Well? Are you still going to take me to the library?”

 ***

 You moved the soup in your bowl around with your spoon, watching as the white cream mixed with the orange of the pumpkin. To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement. Your mother was laughing and talking with the king and queen, leaving you to question just how much longer dinner will last.

 “Please, my daughter is probably the most troublesome princess out there,” Your mother chuckled as she took a small sip of her wine.

 The only thing you could do was shoot her an offended glare and pray that she wouldn’t say anything else. Unfortunately, the supreme deities would not listen to you.

 “She’s stubborn and ungraceful in all aspects of her life. She’s hard-headed, scoffs at tradition-”

 “If you keep talking, mother, perhaps they’ll call the engagement off,” you shot her a sly smile. “Please, do keep going.”

 Akaashi let out a small cough from beside you, and you weren’t sure if he choked on his water or if he was masking a laugh. His parents seemed to enjoy your little comment and let out little giggles of their own while your mother rolled her eye in amusement and frustration.

 “She’s witty,” Kenji chuckled, “at least she’s not boring, isn’t that right, love?”

 “Absolutely right, dear.”

 You inwardly groaned – your little comment had just sealed your fate.

 ***

You carefully flicked the pages of your book as you sat at your vanity. You had just escaped from that monstrosity of a royal dinner and you were tired enough. Sitting in your mellow pink night gown, you read in the gentle confines of your temporary room. Until a small knock at the door brought you out of your reverie.

 “Come in,” You said, just loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.

 “My Princess, I apologise for disturbing you,” Aneko bowed in her haste and you let out a small laugh.

 “No worries, Aneko, and didn’t I tell you to just call me (Y/N)?” You raised an eyebrow and she flushed pink.

 “Apologies, your high- (Y/N),” she offered a small smile. “I was sent to inform you that your mother would be leaving for home tomorrow at dawn.”

 Frowning at her words, you carefully closed your book. “She will not be staying?”

 “She has to be present in your kingdom, (Y/N).”

 “I see. Thank you, Aneko, for letting me know. You may leave.”

 “Thank you,” and with that, she left the room.

 A soft sigh left your lips as you thought everything over. Firstly, you were living in a foreign kingdom. Secondly, you were engaged to a man you know nothing about and from everything your mother spouted at dinner, you doubted he would ever want you to get to know him. Another point was the fact that your mother was leaving you to your own devices in the morning. That would be great if it was in your own kingdom, but while you were here, you didn’t know what there was to do or who everyone is.

 You stifled a groan, slumping backwards in your chair. Why weren’t you born as a normal girl?

 ***

  You were escorted to breakfast the next morning, wearing a pale pink day dress with a boned bodice. At least it was better than your murderous corset.

 “Ah, well if it isn’t the bride to be,” Queen Miyoko greeted you as you entered the breakfast hall.

 “Please, may I ask you to call me (Y/N)?” You responded as you took your seat.

 She nodded, “Of course, of course. In that case, I wish for you to call me ‘mother’.”

 You choked at her words, a brilliant red creeping up your cheeks. “I- I’m sorry?”

 “Mother, please, you’re embarrassing me before I have even said a word.”

 At the entrance of the breakfast hall was Keiji, amusement on his face as he saw your flushed one.

 “Oh, don’t be like that Keiji!” His mother let out a childish giggle. “Anyway, are there any plans for today?”

 “It’s your choice,” the prince said, turning to you. “Is there anything you would like to do?”

 “May I… visit the village?” You asked slowly, thinking over your words. “I might as well get to know the kingdom?”

 Miyoko clapped her hands at your words. “Oh, what a wonderful idea, (Y/N)! Please, Keiji, take her there, will you?”

 “Of course, mother.”

 “Alright, alright, that’s what I’m talking about!” A booming voice exclaimed upon its entry into the hall.

 All heads turned to see King Kenji who had the brightest smile on his face.

 “Father…” Keiji pinched the bridge of his nose.

 “Keiji, my boy! Eat quickly, now, the village waits! Isn’t that right, (Y/N)?” He grinned at the both of you, raising a toast with some apple juice in a wine glass.

 Leaning slightly towards you, Keiji whispered from the corner of his mouth, “I apologise, my father is quite… lively in the morning.”

 “It’s alright, it’s better than the silence back home,” you said. “Uh, let’s eat, I suppose?”

 ***

 After the eventful breakfast that left you in uncontrollable fits of laughter, you and Keiji made your way into the village.

 “Tell me, my prince, have you been in the village before?”

 “Of course I have, princess, it is my kingdom after all.” He nodded in respect at a salesman who bowed down.

 You merely shrugged, “But have you gotten to know them at all?”

 He was silent and you chuckled knowingly. As you did, you felt a small tug at your skirt. You looked down, only to see a little girl with braids on either side of her head.

 “Hello there,” you greeted, crouching down to meet her eyes. “What’s your name?”

 “Sakura,” she said quietly. “Are you a princess?”

 “That’s a pretty name. And yes, I am a princess.” You leaned in to whisper cheekily into her ear. “It’s not like the fairy tales.”

 She giggled at your words. “You’re really pretty.”

 You swore your heart was stabbed by her cuteness. “I think you’re beautiful.”

 “Really? But I don’t wear a tiara or wear a pretty dress…” she pouted and you laughed as you pat her head.

 “My dear, the only thing that’s important is to be kind and be fruitful. Looks change over time, don’t they? Stay innocent, stay kind, and you will be the most beautiful.”

 Her bright blue eyes lit up at your words and she nodded in promise. Rising from your crouch, you watched her run off to her mother who hugged her tightly.

 “You’re quite the noble character,” Akaashi noted as you both continued to walk.

 “Nobility is a rare trait, don’t you think?” You grinned, “Are you trying to say that I’m a rare one, my prince?”

 “I was simply trying to say that you have all the traits of a good queen.”

 You laughed, “I don’t think my mother would agree with you.”

 “Is it because you’re ‘stubborn and ungraceful in all aspects of your life’?” He asked, recalling your mother’s words and he watched as you rolled your eyes. Whether it be because you were amused or annoyed, he wasn’t sure, but at least you didn’t take too much offence.

 “Please don’t remind me,” you said, slightly joking but mostly serious. “I was never the perfect child.”

 “Well, I assure you that you are going to be a perfect queen.”

 “You flatter me for no reason, Keiji,” you responded.

 He shrugged, offering you his arm which you took as he said, “Well, you are my future wife. Isn’t it a husband’s job to flatter his wife?”

 “In that case, keep going, will you?” You shot him a teasing smile.

He chuckled at your words before nodding, “As you wish, Princess.”

~~~

As You Wish - Masterlist

Full Masterlist

TAG LIST AND COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER:

Tag List (Send and ask or dm for removal or to be added!): 

@mrs-kuroojinguji @river-fics @kozumebri @nekomas-kuroo @akaashichigo @lovedanii @pleasemelafook-outta-ere @woah-there-cowboy-or-cowgirl

Copyright Disclaimer:

All characters except for the reader and my OC’s (listed below) are the work of Haruichi Furudate (古館春一). This is not part of the canon work by any means. I do not claim ownership over the characters or the Haikyuu storyline and plot. Without Furudate Sensei’s work, myself as well as many other writers are unable to create these stories.

My OC’s:

Fukuhara Aneko(福原あねこ)

Hasegawa Sakura (長谷川さくら)

Emiko Etsudo (えつどうえみこ)

Tachibana Reina (橘れいな)

[thwip--thwip]

This is iron_spider on main, lmao. For the fanfic ask meme! E for ‘the world is not kind’ H, K, L, M, T, V, Z

asdfghjkl oh boy hellooo!! <3 <3

E (the world is not kind): I think the only interesting sequel would be a companion piece from Peter or Ben’s point of view, as opposed to a continuation (because.....the MCU really loses traction for me after Endgame, and right now I still need to figure out what an FFH fix-it looks like!). But Ben’s POV in particular could be interesting because I really enjoyed exploring him-as-a-character from the outside, i.e., Tony’s perspective, but exploring Tony from Ben’s perspective might be cool. Getting a glimpse into his mind (and May’s, to an extent, because I probably wouldn’t be able to stop myself from exploring their similarities and differences) and what he takes from Peter being Spiderman and Tony stepping into Peter’s life.

H: bold of you to presume i have a writing style xD I think I usually try to find a specific character’s voice and POV to tell the story from. I’ve found that trying to write group pieces without one character as the ‘main’ just ends up turning into a formless mess, for me as a writer. It’s much easier for me to say, ‘well how would X see this happening? What would they notice about it? What would they connect it to, in their own life?’ than to try and be totally omniscient. I do break this often, however, to add authorial asides (it happens a lot in the world is not kind, because I added in details of things that weren’t actually happening in the scene). But I feel like that takes on more of a neutral narrator quality. Last but not least, I feel like sometimes I end up adding too much detail, but half the time I consider deleting it and then think, eh, even if no one else likes it, I think it’s interesting, and leave it in.

K: HMM tough to say. I think it would have to be either of these two ideas:

AU where Tony and Peter don’t meet in a cozy Queens apartment; they meet in the bowels of the Vault, a place for the lockdown of Hydra’s most valuable assets. Peter gets kidnapped by Hydra when they find out about his powers and Tony gets snatched sometime between Avengers and AOU. Lots of torture and surviving together, and Tony taking over the Yinsen role. (I have like 5k of this written in my drafts buuuut)

OR

A one-shot where Peter’s 35 when he bites the dust, which is longer than he’d thought he’d make it, if he’s being honest. He meets Tony in the afterlife, and they have an emotional talk where they’re equals (Peter has been training the Young Avengers with Miles and Kate, etc, and he knows now what Tony had to go through with him), before Tony leads Peter to the Beyond.

L: I was actually surprised to find that my non!powered-Peter-as-a-nurse AU was so uncommon, but apparently. I also think Source-Powered is an incredibly underrated AU in the MCU fandom (another thing I have like....3k words written on that will likely never see the light of day). Really dig the weird niche AU’s like climbed-in-the-wrong-window-at-3AM-and-you-hit-me-with-a-baseball-bat or a personal favorite, you’re-my-upstairs-neighbor-who-walks-super-loud-and-i-keep-banging-on-the-ceiling-but-one-day-i’ve-had-enough-so-i-go-upstairs-to-yell-at-you-and-turns-out-you’re-deaf.

Or a good Chef’s Competition AU, c’mon, Iron Chef??? Peter as the chef prodigy?? How amazing would that be.

M: I’ve got about four fics that I seriously need to write because they’re already planned out, but one of them is a Pepper-Tony relationship introspection in the same style as the world is not kind, where we look at them through the years. I dunno I was listening to Elton John and I got really soft for these two.

T: Thor being portrayed without the intelligence he has beneath the veneer. I think this was more of an issue before Ragnarok, since the movies were such a shitshow for his character - Ragnarok gave writers something concrete to build off of, but before that I feel like we clung to the pop tarts joke collectively as a fandom, and most people just either wrote him out, or wrote him as a pop-culture illiterate oaf.

V: Harry Osborn. I really really love Harry (blame @razor-bats, it’s entirely her fault), but with this new MCU wave I think people don’t use him as much or relegate him to the bad guy (partially a leftover TASM influence, since they fucked over Dane DeHaan’s portrayal so hard with that one). I think there’s more than enough room for both him and Ned, and I’d love to see what potential he could have with Holland’s Peter Parker.

Z: I’m so guilty, I read/write all of it. Most of the time it isn’t permanent though! I like angst with a happy ending. Funnily enough, the one character I don’t like dying is Aunt May. I feel like most of the time when she dies in a fic, it’s a means to achieve an end - and most of the time that end is Peter becoming an Avenger, or getting adopted by Tony. As though May’s an obstacle to overcome, and not the one person in the world that means more than anything to Peter. If you’re going to kill May in a fic where Peter’s already lost Ben, you better have a damn good reason (I’ve yet to see one).

[war-of--hearts]

Chapter One

Summary : 

Princess Valerie's got one goal– to survive her coronation with no problems. If she gets lucky, she intends to complete a few other objectives along the way: find a husband (against her own wishes), secure an alliance or two, and withstand the dreaded quadrille.

Her goal seems to be easily within reach– that is, only until she discovers one huge problem. And unfortunately for her, that problem is a very pretty, very mysterious girl named Casey.

After a week of flirtatious touches, time spent together that feels suspiciously date-like, and lots of conversations about lips, Valerie’s beginning to wonder why she ever considered finding a husband in the first place. She begins to fall deeper into her own desires, instead of following what her royal advisor says would be best for her people.

But the whirlwind romance seems too good to be true, and these dreamy escapades come with a catch. Unknown to the poor Princess, there’s a plot brewing to overthrow the aristocracy, and Casey is leading the chase, the front runner of a rebellion that's been building for years. But playing with love is never a victimless crime, and they both might just be next in line to be convicted.

Chapter One :

If there was one place that Casey belonged, it was the beach. It felt like home in her heart. The cool waves crashing against the shoreline reminded her of new beginnings as they brushed over the fresh footprints that decorated the sand. Looking out over the water and at the distant horizon forced her to remember that she was part of something bigger than herself, and it made her humble. Out of all the places in the world she could have been, she was here, on this tiny island of Atrina. Sunlight darted through the tall leaves of the palm trees and onto her skin, warming her whole body. She dug her toes into the wet sand and just took it all in. The cacophony of the tremulous waves, the refreshing foam washing across her feet. Then, over the peaceful white noise, she heard the rustling of leaves.

She trained her ear on the sound, pondering where it had come from. There wasn't even a gentle breeze today. Then, as Casey crept closer to the source of the noise, again, the foliage shook.

Peeking around the trunk of a rather large palm tree, she saw a young boy, who glanced around quickly before jumping up to grab another piece of fruit from a small orange tree along the path. He appeared rather skinny, even for his age, and was likely very hungry. Her heart broke as she saw a younger, hungrier version of herself in his same place, but that was so long ago. After watching him for some time, she decided there must be a way that she could lend a hand. She stepped out from behind her hiding spot and called out to him.

“Hey, you there!”

Casey winced, noticing that her tone had been sharper than she had intended. The boy looked at her with wide eyes for a moment, before quickly picking up the basket of oranges he had already collected and running off. Casey silently huffed and scolded herself for coming off so unintentionally mean. The boy had only wanted a meal, and there was no reason to deny that to him, especially since he was so thin. With that, she could almost feel the hunger pains that used to plague her, like she was that small village child begging for food once again.

Picking the leftover fruit up from the mossy ground, she decided to head home and do something to get her mind off of the guilt gnawing at her stomach. She walked along the worn path toward her house–or home, really. The trail was covered by trees dotted with all kinds of tropical fruit. Technically her brother, Andrew, and his wife owned them. Due to the surrounding circumstances, however, they were more than happy to feed their starving neighbors when they had an abundance. It was a peaceful and natural setting, disrupted only by the sight of the house, poking out from the thick treeline of the forest. It looked rather bland from the outside - just brown clay walls, a roof made from mud tiles, and a thin door made of fabric stretched over a wooden frame which did not do a great job of keeping the elements out during harsh weather.

Nobody out here had a lot. In fact, she had more than most- a family, a bed, and a decently stable source of food. Her house was significantly larger than most of her neighbors’, but was still only a simple main room - where she slept - and her brother’s room. In the corner of the main room, they had a large fireplace. Next to it, There were two chairs and a coffee table, all mismatched and misplaced, and scattered on the coffee table was an assortment of books she had found and collected over the years. The covers were all tattered and worn, and many had bent corners or even no corners at all. She kept her bedroll in the opposite corner, tucked away along with her latest read. She was currently invested in a large collection of classic Atrinan children’s fairy tales that she had picked up from a trash heap. She cracked open the book, scanning over the pages full of wicked stepmothers and ferocious dragons to figure out where she had left off. Ever since she got her hands on this novel, she dreamed of being a valiant knight, loved by the public, and ultimately a hero.

Then, she heard someone open the door, and quickly she set the book down and jumped to her feet, ready to defend herself if necessary. But it was only Claire, her brother's wife. She was carrying in a large wooden crate, splintering around the edges, while very heavily pregnant. Casey, growing concerned when she saw her carrying something so heavy, snatched it from her hands and carried it towards the fireplace.

“Claire! You're 8 months along! You cannot still be doing heavy labor, it's not good for you!”

“Casey, please. I'm fine, I swear.”

Casey rolled her eyes as she inspected the contents of the crate. Underneath the unexciting rations and fruit from the garden, something glimmered and caught her eye. Rifling through the contents, she curiously picked out the sparkling object that had captured her attention.

A necklace.

It looked expensive, the intricate silver chain catching the light, and she could imagine the large pink jewel strung around one link hanging tastefully between the collarbones of an Atrinan aristocrat. Casey whistled at the sight of it. Claire’s eyes widened for a moment, seeing that Casey had found what she had carefully buried under the rest of the supplies.

“Where did you find this?”

“Some junk pile. Someone must’ve thrown it out by accident. I figured it looked valuable so I picked it up.”

Casey had never seen something this expensive. How could someone lose such a valuable piece of jewelry? She let the question weigh on her for a moment before the answer hit her. Nobody had lost it, it had most likely been thrown out by someone within the walls. Where had Claire really gotten it? Rummaging through trash belonging to royalty could cost you your life. Why had she gone and done such a thing? Why did Claire lie?

“Hey, Claire?”

“Hm? What’s up?”

Her words were cut off by Andrew bursting through the door. His blond hair was windblown and sweaty, and he was gasping for breath. He was holding a small can tightly in one fist. Casey’s mind was inundated with questions.

“Claire! I got it, just in time!”

Having absolutely no idea what they were talking about, Casey’s eyes darted between them, grasping for any sorts of clues. She cocked her head and sent her brother a questioning glare.

“Got what?”

In his hand was a can of temporary silver hair dye. What did all of this mean?

“Casey, I have a big favor to ask you.”

•●•

“Why do you want me to do this?”

“Casey, look around you. People are dying at the hands of these tyrannical royals. Look at the people outside the walls, Casey. Just look at them! They're hungry, they're sick, and they're illiterate.”

“So it's not for personal gain?”

“No, of course not. I want to protect you, and Claire, and our child. I want them to grow up without having to go hungry, or watching the ones they love and care about die from a perfectly preventable disease. Just like how we had to watch Mom and Dad suffer, because the stupid king didn’t do a damned thing to help them.”

Casey looked him in the eye, trying to make sure that he wasn't lying. He was staring at the ground, his eyes brimmed with tears. He’d always been emotional when talking about their parents. This was obviously something very close to his heart. Casey sighed, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“Okay.”

“You’ll do it?”

Casey smiled at the small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yeah, anything for my family. Plus, the plan is easy enough.”

“Just attend the ball, scope out the castle, and on the last day, cause some chaos so the way is paved, and the revolution can commence.”

•●•

And just like that, Casey was now Anastasia - a Duchess from some far-off land that she'd never heard of, and wasn't even sure existed at all - now standing before the grand entrance to the ballroom. Glancing at herself in the sheet of water near the large entrance of the castle, she could barely recognize who was looking back. She was wearing a sleek dress of black velvet that was complemented by golden shimmer in the skirt. She wore simple jewelry, simple shoes, simple makeup. Her glimmering silver hair was slicked back, and the color brought out her hazel eyes, which were made sharp and cat-like with deep black eyeliner. Anastasia was ready to take on the ball.

She walked into the grand ballroom with the confidence of the queens she'd read about in fairy tales, but inside she was cowering, sure she would be caught. In the room filled with flamboyant gowns and suits, Casey felt small in her simple, almost plain, black dress, even though it was the most expensive thing she’d ever worn.

As she mingled and wandered about the room, she quickly became nauseous. The decadence dripping from every gem could nearly feed a family in the village for a year. The names of the food sounded foreign, but the tropical flavors tasted familiar. Every crumb of food was covered in all kinds of expensive garnishes, not a single one out of place. The ballgowns and the suits were tailored at every inch, perfectly suited to match the wearer. She almost laughed at all the absurd hair colors - bright blue ponytails, orange curls, green braids - as those of royal blood flitted around the ballroom and past her.

Casey lazily mingled among the royals for some time, picking up bits and pieces of gossip, usually something trivial, like a dress worn twice, or less than top dollar shoes. She spent most of that time hovering in the corner, sipping exotic drinks and trying the foods waiters had placed so orderly on trays. However, even while keeping to herself, she still remained very cautious. She had kept her back pressed against the wall for much of the night, so she probably jumped at least a mile high when someone manage to sneak behind her and tap on her right shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

Casey turned around to see a boy who looked really young but was also incredibly tall. His bright blue hair was unkempt, not slicked back like most of the other royals. She turned her body to face him, poised to speak.

“Just a little jumpy today is all, no worries.”

Her words were smooth but her heart was pounding. For a moment he looked at her with curious, dark eyes, then put the bright smile back on his face.

“I'm Prince Jax, from the neighboring kingdom of Realia. I don't think we've ever met.”

“My name is Anastasia, Duchess of Samara. Nice to meet you, your highness.”

“Ah, yes! Samara sounds fami– I'm not going to lie, I have no idea where Samara is.”

Casey almost had to giggle, because she had no idea where it was either.

“It’s a small kingdom in Russia. Being here in the Atrinan heat is a nice break from our long winter.”

“Is it your first time here in Atrina?”

“Yes, it is. By any chance, do you know much about the culture here? I'm rather curious about traditions and customs for this coronation ceremony.”

The lies slipped so effortlessly, Casey worried that she might be a little too good at this. Pulling information from Prince Jax was as easy as taking candy from a baby.

“Oh, it's a very interesting tradition. It began with the very first people here, who anointed their first king after he led a successful hunt. They feasted and danced and had a huge party which lasted a week, ending with the coronation of their new leader. Each of the days is symbolic. Today represents Alliance, meaning most of the activities today involve socializing and dancing. Tomorrow is Prosperity, then Health, Fortune, Fertility, Power, and finally, Peace.”

How ironic, starting a war on the day of peace.

“So why are all these foreign diplomats here, then? If this is a tradition of the Atrinan people?”

“The purpose has turned from a celebration, even though it is such a momentous occasion. People are searching for a marriage alliance with Princess Valerie. She’s young and impressionable, easy to grab power from. She's just turned of coronation age - and right on time, since her sister only recently renounced the throne. ”

Casey almost felt bad for the Princess. Emphasis on almost.

“What can you tell me about that? I haven't kept up with Atrinan politics.”

“Oh, it's quite the story! Valerie's older sister, former Queen Arietta, was really young when she started to rule. She was such a beautiful Princess, the envy of most other Princesses on her coronation week. The tensions were high, the Atrinan economy was booming, and everyone wanted to stake a claim.”

It was almost like he was knew exactly what she wanted to hear. He pulled out all the facts she would need to reveal the corruption of this royal life and fuel the rebellion even further.

“Under so much societal pressure to have a king, so that there could be an eventual heir to the throne, she married a suitor from the ball. The new king was horrible. He embezzled funds from the treasury to build his own kingdom a military, and used it to attack nearby allies and part of Atrina itself. Queen Arietta was in ruins. She paid him a large sum to keep him quiet and get a peaceful divorce. Then with no allies and no money left in the treasury, she fled the kingdom by sea, leaving a note that she was renouncing the throne, and bidding good luck to her dear sister, Valerie, who had finally come of age to inherit the throne.”

“Goodness, how tragic. Poor Princess Valerie.”

“If anyone can fix this, it's Va– Oh! There she is now.”

Casey turned her head to the grand staircase, and atop the curving flight of stairs, there she stood, shining like a beacon of hope. She gracefully descended the steps, sparkling silver heels visible underneath the large ball gown. When she hit the main floor, she parted the seas as she walked, those around her being sure not to touch her large ball gown. It took Casey a moment to recognize her - Princess Valerie.

She hadn't seen her on a broadcast in a while, but the Princess had grown up well. Her face was still childlike, her cheeks a little thinner, but still just as rosy, and she kept a brilliant smile on her face almost constantly. And now that she had matured, she was also breathtakingly beautiful. Her hands were covered now by silver gloves that reflected the light, and her pastel pink hair was up in a tasteful bun, curls framing her round face. The silver circlet around her head, a symbol of her status, nicely complimented her tan skin. And her dress, a large seafoam gown with many laces and ruffles, looked absolutely stunning on her. It was sleeveless, and Casey almost drooled over the way it showed off her arms, strong and defined but somehow still delicate.

Casey stood entranced as Valerie made her way across the floor. The Princess was smiling and greeting everyone along her path, returning every one of their bows and curtseys. Her eyes crinkled with laughter and Casey couldn't look away.

But this. This was her enemy. This was who she was set out to destroy.

So she dragged her eyes away, breaking her trance. She grabbed another flute of champagne from a nearby waiter, who she was convinced was wearing more expensive clothing than her, to calm her nerves. Then she turned to continue a conversation with a tall,vaguely unimportant man, some Duke or Archduke or other important person, that she had been absentmindedly talking to earlier. She hadn’t even noticed Prince Jax leave her side to go talk to Valerie, until he was halfway across the ballroom and she cursed herself for being so distracted by the Princess.

After rolling her head back in laughter at a bad joke, as she had seen many others around her do, she finally found herself face-to-face with the princess. Princess Valerie’s green eyes sparkled, rivaling the glittering silver she was dressed in. She smiled and Casey felt as though she couldn't breathe.

“Hello, I'm not sure we've met. My name is Valerie. Welcome to the kingdom of Atrina.”

With that, Casey was afraid that her heart might explode. Her voice sounded like honey, something she could listen to for hours without getting bored. In her wonder, she almost forgot to respond with her own introduction. She exhaled and put on a graceful smile, which she was sure didn't match her very obvious blush.

“Anastasia, the pleasure is mine. Such a lovely ball you’ve put together. Congratulations on your coronation, your future majesty.”

She put a hand over her chest as if to stifle the sound of her pounding heart. She watched as Princess Valerie’s eyes followed the movement. Then she opened her mouth to speak.

“May I?”

Princess Valerie held out a poised hand as though it were an offering. Holding her breath, Casey placed her rather shaky hand in Valerie’s, and the young Princess drew it up to her lips, pressing a kiss against Casey’s knuckle.

Casey was sure her face was incredibly red, and she had stopped breathing a long time ago.

This is your enemy, don't be disarmed. She's surely got evil intentions.

The mantra repeated itself in her mind, and she composed herself, cooly drawing her hand out of the Princess's grasp.

“How gracious of you, Princess.”

“Please, call me Valerie. Princess sounds much too stuffy. Enjoy the ball, and I hope your stay in Atrina is wonderful.”

After a very sly wink, the Princess turned heel and walked to greet more guests. Casey steadied her breathing and slowly brushed her fingers down her face, pausing them at her lips for a fleeting moment, deciding then that she truly hadn't had enough champagne for this.

[britneyshakespeare]

lately i keep thinking about the similarities between american comic books and theater, probably my two favorite modes of story telling, i think because i’ve been reading 60s spider-man and sophocles’ oedipus trilogy at the same time.

they’re visual mediums, but in a way that they’re not visually relatable. special effects are mostly limited on the stage, just as a drawing of a scene can only depict a still image, yet very much feel like there is constant motion in how one panel relates to the next. an audience member, must focus on the stage so entirely that they believe they’re looking at a very natural sequence of an events where no one is capable of turning 180 degrees away from your seat, because an actor in that position wouldn’t be able to project their voice. a simple set with no fourth wall is supposed to be a fully realized room. a reader, must look so fully into the art of the book that they believe they are looking into a living, breathing setting of the story depicted, so that they can fill in the empty space in their mind as they go along.

they’re collaborative efforts, too. there’s one person who writes the script, the story line and the dialogue, but there’s also a director, or an artist, or actors, or inkers, letterers, set designers, costume designers. it takes a team to decide what the final product should look like. it’s never just one person’s singular vision; or, almost never. there are exceptions. one-man shows and independent comics by people who write both the story and draw the panels themselves, but those are exceptional because they’re so rare.

they’re both HIGHLY campy, historically. i guess they don’t have to be, inherently, but, like, come on brah. the sense of that meaning of “camp” is almost ALWAYS likened to theatricality in definition, and yet, when you think of golden and silver age stories from marvel or dc, what would else would you call them, immediately? they’re bright and colorful, they tell fantastic stories for which you must suspend your disbelief, they’re deliberately larger-than-life escapism as well as they’re subversions of the idea that you’d wanna live any of these people’s lives. hamlet teaches you that you don’t wanna be a danish prince if it leads to such devastating rifts between your family members, as much as peter parker teaches you that you don’t want to have incredible power and abilities if it costs you any stability in your life, relationships, living situations, and that you have to keep everything amazing about yourself a secret, for the safety of yourself and everyone you love, even though, well, you can’t catch a break for being who you are beneath the mask (and sometimes, for who you are with the mask).

and it seems like in recent phases of the two mediums, that inherent campiness has kind of been tried to be sucked out of it. they both have had hard times being taken seriously as proper literature, and not just idle pastimes for poor, uneducated, illiterate people (though it’s been a long time since anyone thought that about theater, and broadway plays are so esteemed and inaccessible to general audiences now. the modern equivalent of that could probably be film/television, because what are those if not recorded plays that can be later edited?). musical theater aside, most plays are not as extreme and speculative as they used to be. there isn’t as much magic or quarreling with the gods, people speak in plain prose and not a fixed verse and rhyme, like they did for so many centuries. some of the postmodernist metaphysical theater from the likes of samuel beckett could be considered as boundary-pushing as something like alan moore’s legendary watchmen series, in that they subvert all of the staples of those mediums in an inimitable way. and it seems like in the post-80s watchmen era, not all, but a lot of popular comics have tried to be edgier, and more humorless, despite the fact that they’re comic books. it’s started to turn around but it was especially bad in the 90s.

and for visual mediums, the older the story, the more it seems to break the show-don’t-tell rule of visual story-telling. in early and mid-twentieth century comics, to keep up w the story from issue to issue, there’s a LOT of exposition in the text itself, and even things that are happening in the issue tend to move so quickly. though these happen for different reasons. sophocles doesn’t actually show us the scene where oedipus stabs his eyes out and goes blind, because that would require an actor to be able to make that look realistic, so it happens offstage. in the first issue of wonder woman, an american wwii pilot washes up on paradise island, we get the whole backstory of how these immortal women live on a no-males-allowed island and the crimes of hercules, we get to see the american pilot nursed back to health ready to return home, we see an olympian competition to find the most capable member of the island to go into “man’s world” (the united states) to ally against the nazis, and see that the queen’s daughter wins it. and that all happens in, like, 20 pages. so it’s more for the purpose of being concise. so dialogue had to give a lot of information for the audience member or reader to be able to keep up.

i can probably stop naming similarities by now, i’ve made my point. but if i tried for even longer i might be able to come up w more. i have no sweeping grand thesis about these parallels, i just think they’re neat. alright. if you read all of this you probably deserve some sort of prize for putting up w my inane rambling for way too long.

[everything-person]

Taken

This is my Once Upon A Time crescendo and my Big Bang for my fanfiction. I have been a closet fanfic write since I started watching and now I feel a good way to keep Once Upon A Time alive would be to share my fanfiction (even if no one reads it).

Also I’m typing this on my phone because I don’t have access to a computer so if their are mistakes please ignore

Summary: The children of Storybrooke are being taken. Taking place anywhere before season 7 after season 6. Robin is alive and the merry men and Roland are still in Storybrooke. Zelena lives in the farm house shares custody of baby Robyn with Regina and Robin. Gideon is a baby. This fic contains Snowing, Captain Swan, Outlaw Queen, Rumbelle, and single Zelena. I own nothing but the villain.

Masterlist

Chapter 1

One day the eldest lost boy came into the sheriffs station, looking rather nervous. Emma was sitting at her desk when he came in.

“Can I help you?”

“Um yeah. I…we…. someone is missing.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, not sure what to make of this. “Ok who’s missing and how long have they been gone?”

“The youngest of us is missing. We haven’t seen him all morning.” The teenager stated fidgeting around clearly uncomfortable. But what he was so uncomfortable about Emma had no idea.

“That’s hardly missing. Have you checked at school, or the park. Maybe he wandered off.”

He rolled his eyes at that, shaking his head. “No it’s not like that. We lost boys stick together look out for each other. He wouldn’t go anywhere without someone let alone without telling someone.”

“Look kid I understand but some times kids like to wander off sometimes without them even knowing they are doing it.”

“And I’m telling you he wouldn’t do that. Not Tootles.”

Emma could tell by his tone he was serious, he really thought his friend was missing. “Okay,” she said calmly, “if you say he’s missing then he’s missing. Can you tell me the last time you saw him?”

The guy nodded. “We all saw him last night. We all ate together then went to sleep. I saw him crawl into his cot and go to sleep. I wake up and he was gone.”

“Alright that’s a start. Can you write?” Emma asked, knowing most of the lost boys were illiterate when they came to Storybrooke.

“Yeah not a lot but I can.”

“Ok well me and you need to fill something out just saying that you are asking me to look for him then I will.”

The boy visibly relaxed as he walked closer to the desk. “Thank you. You know for an adult your not so bad.”

Emma chuckled “Thanks your not so bad for a lost boy.”

He left after the paperwork was done bumping into David as he got back from patrol.

“What was that about?” David asked from Emma’s doorway.

“One of the lost boys is missing. Probably just a run away. I’m gonna go on patrol and see if I can find anything.”

“Ok. I’ll hold down the fort here. Good luck.”

“Thanks dad.” Emma called back as she left the sheriff station.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week went by of nothing. No sign of the littlest lost boy anywhere. Then a woman came in the sheriff station claiming her child has gone missing.

“Me and my husband have looked everywhere we can think of. We can’t find them anywhere. I don’t know where they could’ve run off to.”

“Don’t worry. We will do everything in our power to help you find your child.” David assured the woman.

“Thank you.”

Another week of nothing and another kid gone missing.

“Ok twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.” Emma said after the parents of the third child missing left. Looking over the reports again.

“So you think there’s another villain in town going around taking kids.” David stated more than asked.

Emma picked up her head to look at her father across the sheriff station. “It’s not the craziest idea. In Storybrooke anything is possible.”

David gave a nod in agreement. “Alight new villain in town. Where do you want to start?”

“Well this one is more discreet than the rest of them. That’s for sure.”

“We were looking for the kids as runaways but now we are looking at them as kidnappings.”

“Meaning we need to start over. Talking to parents, go through their rooms, see if we can find anything.” Emma cleared as David put on his jacket, grabbing the keys to the cruiser.

“Let’s go talk to the lost boys.”

“We should probably stop calling them that.”

They pulled up to the shelter that was made after their return from Neverland. Nibs came out to greet the sheriffs. “Did you find Tootles yet?” He asks with hope written on his face.

“No, I’m sorry not yet.” Nibs deflates at the news. “We are actually here, hoping, to talk to all of you guys about the night he went missing.” David explained.

“Um yeah sure.” Nibs lead them inside. After rounding everyone up, the questions started, but it was the same he was asleep in his cot then the next morning he was gone.

“Is there anything of his we can see? A blanket, toy, anything special to him?” Emma asked grasping for anything now.

“Yeah he has a stuffed skunk that never leaves his side. I’ll go look for it.” One of the heavier set boys offered.

After fifteen minutes go by he comes back. A confused look on his face. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Curly, your so dense you wouldn’t see a bus if it hit you. I’ll go get it.” Stated another, running off to go find this elusive toy.

Another fifteen minutes goes by and he also comes back empty handed. “The bears right. It’s gone.”

Emma and David dismiss the lost boys with a thank you and a promise to find their missing friend. “You think it’s a coincidence the toy went missing with the kid?” David asked his daughter.

“No but why? Why take the toy?”

“Why take the kid?” David asked in response.

It was same for the other kids too. They were there one day and the next gone. One of the kids had a jacket they bought all by themselves from money they earned, the other had a blanket from when they were a baby.

“Okay so we have someone coming in the middle of the night taking kids and their favorite thing.” Emma recapped, after they got back to the station.

David nodded having nothing to add.

“We might have to ask Granny and Ruby to keep an eye out for new faces or suspicious behavior.” Emma said not knowing where to go from here.

“We might be able to use them to track down the kids.” David suggested.

“Might be worth a try since we can’t use a locator spell.”

“What’s worth a try?” They heard making them turn to see Snow standing there holding Neil. “Sorry to interrupt I just thought you guys might want some lunch.” Snow said walking into the station, baby in one arm and a bag from Granny’s in the other.

David moved to greet his wife and youngest child, taking his son.

“Hey. Thanks mom.” Emma smiled accepting the onion rings being handed to her as her mother started taking food out of the bag.

“Find the run aways yet?” She asks after they settled down to eat.

“No but we have a lead we are following up on.” Emma answered smoothly not sure how much she wants to share with her. Mom shouldn’t worry about anyone coming after Neil.

“How’s house hunting?” Emma asked changing the subject.

“Great!” David responded as he feeds Neil a fry. “We found a farm house just outside of town. We just need to seal the deal.”

“That’s awesome. Tell me when it’s done, we’ll come over and help you pack.” Emma mumbled with her mouthed full of grilled cheese. Their lunch continued, talking about everyday Storybrooke even after the food was gone. When Neil started nodding off Snow left so he could have his nap and Emma and David could go back to the curious case of the missing children.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma walked in her front door to a welcoming smell of food.

“Hey what’s cooking?” She called as she took off her shoes and jacket.

“Some fish and potatoes.” Responded her husband from the kitchen.

Emma followed the smell to find Killian crouched down checking on their dinner. Killian stood after he was satisfied with the progress the food was making. Smiling at his wife as he turned to greet her.

“Hello love.” He welcomed as he approached her giving her a kiss. “How was the station? You find those runaways yet?”

Emma sighed “No and we got another kid missing. I don’t think these are runaways.”

Killians brow furrowed trying to understand what his wife was telling him. “You think someone is taking the children of Storybrooke?”

“That’s what me and dad are trying to figure out. We talked to the families again and all the kids missing, their favorite thing is gone too.”

“Why would they take them?”

“I don’t know but we’re going to find out. Before the school runs out of kids.”

A ding was heard, signaling the food was done. “Well,” Killian said as he turned around to get their dinner before it burned. “I’ll be at the station tomorrow to help you figure this out but in the mean time let’s relax and enjoy our dinner.”

He plated their meal then placed one in front of Emma and the other for himself.

“Mmm maybe after dinner I’ll do dessert.” Emma said with a suggestive smile. Killian smiled sitting down across from his wife. “Now that’s an idea.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hidden away in Storybrooke. Children sit in a large room filled with blankets and pillows, toys and games, TVs and books. All sitting in front of one TV watching an animated film half awake. In the back of the room sits a hooded figure watching the confused sheriff makes plans to find them.

“Poor clueless Sheriff Swan. You have no idea what is beginning.”

It was one of the childrens crying that pulled the hooded figure away from the mirror. The picture of the sheriff faded for its glass.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think of it. I’m always open to constructive criticism and hatred. Sorry for crappy title I’ll probably change it when I think of something better.

Chapter 2

[welcometojoelsvoid]

Short Hair and Flower Crowns | Retold!AU

Another AU involving Lotus and @hoehoehoelt ‘s wonderful Danem’misaan Lavellan.

This AU’s basic storyline is that neither Lotus nor Denny had been forced into slavery and are living their own normal lives with their family and because their dads are friends they meet and becomes friends too. Also, they’re like 7 years old in this.

Name: Short hair and flower crowns 

Words: 2608

Characters: Lotus Draqon (creator: me), Danem’misaan Lavellan (creator: That Hoe Over There), Keilma and Eerik Draqon (creator: me),  Caelynn and Soveliss Lavellan (creator: feiwygadhhhhhhoe)

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Warnings/Additional tags: This is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever written, platonic soulmates meet for the first time, kids being adorable, mentions of racism/discrimination, there’s a really cute drawing in there somewhere so prepare yourself, also I pretty much let me ADD run free in this because I felt like it fit since this is from very young Lotus’ POV k thanks byyyyeee

Author’s Note: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

((apologies for any typos or grammar mistakes, my dyslexic ass is feeling extra illiterate today and my grammar app doesn’t always pick up all the mistakes, try to enjoy regardless and also ily hoe slay like a bitch ass queen woof))

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The Draqon family was known for their kindness and moral value, a wealthy household of a humble man, his family and staff. The name itself didn’t have further meaning than that, at least in the beginning. A small baby, not older than a few months, had been left at their doorstep with a bouquet of lotus flowers. Lady Draqon had always wanted a child and this provided the perfect opportunity. This child, however, was not a usual one. With purple scales, claws, tail, red horns and a magenta eye to match the family name. For the time being, the lady of the house called the baby her lotus flower since no actual name had yet to be given. They tried many names for their new family member but nothing seemed to feel right, so Lady Draqon had set the nickname she gave the baby in stone; he would be known as Lotus. 

The Draqon household was located in Saimvinmaa, just about a 4-day boat trip from Thedas. Saimvinmaa is a lush place in a colder climate with beautiful forests and lakes and even more beautiful towns and cities. The head of the household, Lord Draqon, went on a business trip to Thedas and on his journey he met an amusing fellow, the father of the Lavellan family. Draqon had invited Lavellan over to his home when his trip was coming to an end and, after finding out about Lavellan having his own family, encouraged him to take his child and wife along.

Lotus and his mother had gotten a letter from Lord Draqon about the arrival of him and his guests, Lotus' mother had immediately begun preparations; cleaning, preparing the guestrooms, going out to buy more food supply. Meanwhile, Lotus didn’t seem too excited, rather nervous actually, never before really properly met other people or even befriended other kids. The language wasn’t an issue, he knew common just fine, he was just very awkward with social situations. Growing up different was a challenge, yes, everyone is different but being the way Lotus is is beyond the lines of too different. He’s gotten used to the looks he gets when he walks around town, it doesn’t bother him as much anymore. He just wished they’d have the courtesy to even try to hide it. Ever since he was old enough to understand words his mother warned him about intolerant people and reminded him of his family’s love for him. It got him thinking, how would his father’s new friends react to him? Did they know? Would his father really bring intolerant people into their house? He had mentioned, in his letter, that the Lavellans were farmers, they lived with animals and took care of them. Lotus always wanted a pet, like a cat or a dog, but he could never get too close to a cow or a horse. In truth, he was scared of horses, they’re big and loud and freak out easily. He didn’t like horses.

It was too late to worry about it now, the horse carriage carrying his father and his guests was already in view as it approached the front doors of the manor. Lotus and his mother were waiting for them side by side along with a few maids. As the carriage stopped in front of them and the doors were opened, the maids went for the luggage and excused themselves, while Lady Draqon went to greet her husband with hug and kiss, letting him introduce her to the Lavellans.

"And this is my son Lotus; my pride and my joy." Lord Draqon smiled as he put his hand on Lotus' shoulder, his mother petting his hair gently. Lotus regarded the elven couple with caution. The mother approached him slowly and crouched down to his level, still at a comfortable arm's reach, she had long, braided auburn hair and markings covering her face like the father did but had freckles underneath and kind blue eyes. "Hello there, Lotus! My, what lovely hair you have! It's very nice to meet you," she said, speaking calmly as to not startle him. She smiled as Lotus muttered out a quiet thank you, standing up and straightening her clothes. "Your father has told a lot about you, Lotus. He says you're quite the artist." The father looked to be younger than his own with medium-length, brown hair styled in a ponytail and neatly trimmed facial hair, his eyes were hazel. Lotus nodded and his eyes wandered to the child standing beside the eleven man, clutching his hand. The boy looked like his father but had freckles and blue eyes like his mother. "This is Danem'misaan, he's rather shy as well. Spends most of his time reading outside. Do you read, Lotus?" Another nod. "Ma reads to me most of the time, I like the ones where they go on adventures," he said, a little more at ease. His mother patted his hair again and smiled, "Shall we go in? You must be tired from your trip. Dinner will be ready in a few moments," she said, welcoming the visitors into their home, telling her husband to show them around while she goes to assist the kitchen staff. Lotus' father guided the guests around till they reached the living room, offering them a seat and ushering the kids to go play.

Lotus exited the room through the open glass doors that led outside, halting to see if the other was following. He led them to the backyard. It had large patches of grass with a fountain and platforms, a lake, a forest and it was filled with different flowers. The silence was awkward as they walked beside each other. What were they supposed to talk about? What did kids talk about with each other? Lotus often hang around the kitchen and talked to the maids about what they were doing, asked what they were making, if he could have a taste of the pie. He didn't know what he's supposed to say.

"Are your scales real?" Lotus side-eyed the other, brows furrowed, "What?" "What about your horns?" He asked again, "Are they real? Can I touch them?" The boy reached his hand to touch one of the small horns on Lotus' head but was stopped by him dodging. "S-stop that!" He yelled and hopped back as the boy tried again. "Yes, they're real but you can't touch!' Lotus glared at the other. "Sorry, your horns are just really cool," he said as he lowered his head, rubbing his arm. Lotus was taken aback. Cool? No one had ever called his horns cool. Most people whispered behind his back about it being a shame he looks the way he does. Compliments and reassurance about his looks came mostly from his family. "It's fine, just- just don't do it again." The boy nodded and they continued walking till they reached a patch of grass with a bunch of white flowers blossoming on it and sat down next to each other. "Your name is Lotus, right? Like the flower?" The boy asked, squinting as the sun shone brightly in the sky. "Yeah. I can't remember your name." He raked his claws through the grass, picking at the flowers. "It's Danem'misaan," the boy said, picking a few flowers himself. "You have a long name," Lotus commented, twirling a flower between his fingers as he watched curiously as to what the other boy was up to. "People call me Danem sometimes." He mused, twisting the flowers together, not paying much mind to Lotus following the movements of his hands with his own. "Can I call you Denny?" He nodded with a quiet 'sure', more focused on the flowers in his hands.

Lotus watched intensely as Denny worked, trying to copy what he was doing but not succeeding as well. Lotus looked at his own creation, comparing it to Denny's, who's honestly looked much better. He huffed, "No fair! How do you do that so easily?" 

He whined as he set down the poor excuse of a flower crown on the ground. Denny laughed as he told about it taking a lot of time to get right and how many times he couldn't do it either. He walked Lotus through the process slowly, guiding his hands and reminding him to be aware of his claws and not to pull too harshly. The two continued in pleasant silence as they crafted their crowns, enjoying the decent weather.

A moment passed before Lotus spoke up again, thinking his words through. "Do you know what heriviö means?" He asked, tilting his head to look at the other, who in turn shook his head. "It means monster in Saimvi. I've heard people call me that, especially the other kids. They never want to play with me because I'm scary and weird." His voice was hushed as he spoke slowly, fidgeting with the decent but still scratched flower crown in his hands. "I don't think you're scary and weird. I think you're cool." A compliment; simple words that meant something more, words Lotus wasn't used to, words that were hard to accept. Words that somehow needed more proof than insults. “The people here talk about me a lot,” Lotus said, “They talk about how my clothes are dirty, how I act weird and how my hair is tangled. and messy.” “Do you think that’s true?” Denny regarded his flower crown, carefully made and pretty. Lotus shook his head, “No. At least not all of it. My hair isn’t messy, it’s just hard to keep it not so messy looking.” His hand played with the two small braids of hair. “My Ma says my hair is really fluffy and thick, that that’s why it looks like this.” Denny looked up at the sky in thought, “You could cut it short, like really short,” he suggested. Lotus looked at him as if he said something revolutionary. “I-I could?” He pawned at his own hair. The other boy nodded and shrugged, “Sure, why not?” He looked back at his flower crown and reached over to put in on Lotus’ head. “Whatever you decide, I think it’s pretty.” Lotus continued to stare at Denny, his face pink. He looked away at the blue sky, “Why not...” he repeated under his breath.

The hours went by quickly, after dinner Lotus, Denny and their mothers went on a walk around town. The weather was warmer and the sky was clear, so a small trip ought to be nice.

“You know Caelynn, my mother lived on a farm when she was a young girl.” “Oh, really?” “Yes! Mother was quite the woman, she was crazy about archery and was rather great at it too.” Lotus’ mother’s family came from Räive, a countryside area in Eastern-Saimvinmaa, and she had always been proud of her roots. She often told Lotus stories of his grandmother, Mijakki-Laera, who was known in her time as a very adventurous young lady who eventually stole the heart of a nobleman, Eerik. They travelled to Tymijärne where they settle down in Draqon estate and started a family. “Me and my sisters, Lietso and Herji, were a group of troublemakers in our youth.” she laughed as she told stories of her childhood and how she was quite the heartbreaker until she finally fell in love with the young, reckless son of a fellow noble family who shared her father's name. “You truly are a peach, Keilma!” Both mothers laughed and shared stories as their sons walked in front of them. Lotus and Denny were walking side by side, Lotus answering the various questions Denny had about the town, albeit most of the answers were along the lines of “I don’t know” and “I can’t remember”. The group walked for a while more before turning back, surely Eerik and Soveliss were already missing their presence.

The rest of the day they spent chatting and telling stories, they ate supper outside in the garden, drinking tea, ale and milk and eating fish, potatoes and bread. They laughed, joked and smiled, enjoying their time together, toasting to a beautiful, blooming friendship and bond between families. Eventually, the sun set behind the horizon and Lady Draqon ushered everyone to their rooms, tucking Lotus and Denny into their beds and bidding goodnights. Lotus’ room wasn’t huge, but it was bigger than Denny’s and very pretty too. He had many stuffed animals, books, wooden carvings, clothing and the walls had beautifully painted murals. Lotus told him the murals were painted by his mother a few years ago and he had helped and painted some himself, which showed. He wasn’t bad but there was a difference between Lotus’ and his mother’s work. She had been really proud of him that day, Lotus clearly showed signs of having a creative artist’s mind. She herself painted as a hobby and also cooked, baked and sewed. His father was a good cook as well and was very poetic.

The morning came and the Lavellan family was packing their belongings, Denny and Lotus spent the last few hours of their time connected at the hip, not ready to say goodbye just yet. The two children were lying in the same patch of grass as the day before, looking up at the fluffy clouds in the sky. “I don’t want you to go yet,” Lotus said after a moment of peaceful quiet. “Yeah,” Denny sighed. “Me neither.” The silence prolonged and turned into minutes until Lotus sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. “We’re best friends... right?” Denny followed suit, tilting his head. “Yeah, of course.” Lotus turned his head to look at the other, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were piercing, “And we’ll continue being friends even if we’re far apart?” Denny nodded as the atmosphere around them changed, it wasn’t one of sorrow anymore, it was one of determined hearts and minds; a promise of forever between young souls. “Danem, Love, your mother is asking for you!” Lotus’ mother called out from the back door and approached Lotus as the other child bid his thank yous and farewells, turning to say goodbye to Lotus as well. Keilma sat down next to her son on the grass, hand petting at his hair, bringing him into a hug as she rocked him back and forth. Small sniffles could be heard coming from the child. “Goodbyes are always difficult, I know, Love, I know.” She kissed the top of his head before gently taking the child’s small face into her hand, wiping the tears away with her thumb. “You’ll get to see him again someday. It may take a while, but you will.” Lotus jerked away from his mother, “I forgot!” He yelled out, standing up in a hurry, his mother giving him a questioning look. “I need to tell Denny something important!” He said before bolting towards the front yard, not wanting to waste time finding his way out through the halls of his house. The Lavellans were boarding the carriage at the gates. “Denny!” Lotus yelled out with his hands cupped around his mouth, “Denny!!” The boy in question turned his head towards the sound just as he was about to climb in. “I wanted to let you know that- that the next time we meet I’ll have short hair!!” He was smiling through his words and waved at his friend who returned the smile with his own and held up his thumb. “You can keep the flower crown! Wear it a lot cuz you look really pretty in it!” Denny yelled back and disappeared into the carriage with his family. Lotus was joined by his mother and father, all waving their new friends goodbye. 

Lotus couldn’t wait to get his hair cut.