#bottom line is that hes wearing a mask of a moon child

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

Thought about what would happen if he put on a mask,

But then wondered if it was already wearing one.

[bimswritings]

Armorer x (Blacksmith) Reader 1/2

Warnings:Canon Typical violence

A/n: I had so much fun writing this! If anyone has fic recs for her send them my way! The next part of the Savage series and a new chapter of Our Way will come out next week!

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The Armorer had experienced more in her lifetime than anyone else would care to. She had watched the rise and fall of small rebellions, crushed under the foot of the Empire. Seen her people hunted and killed until their numbers weren’t even fractions of what the great tribe of warriors once was. Chaos and bloodshed, hiding and waiting, had become as normal as breathing to her. That’s not to say she missed the many good things that happened. 

The sounds of foundlings and young ones as they ran through the halls of the covert, not yet burdened by the responsibilities of adulthood, acted as a reminder that her people were still alive. And there was no greater sense of peace to be had then when they would all meet in the karyai and dine together like the family they were. 

Well, except for her forge. 

Her forge was a sacred place. Not only for her but for the others as well. It was here that the most important and private of discussions were held. Talks about individuals as well as the coven as a whole. Who would go out and hunt, what responsibilities would be given to who, and where they would go for their next supply run to get food and medicine. It was important that they never went to the same place too many times, least someone followed them back, and the amount always had to be different as to not let in on their numbers.

All these choices, all this planning, was run through her. Their Armorer. Their Alor. They trusted her with their lives, leaning on her as an elder would a walking stick. Despite the immense pressure put on her, she never let it show. Never asked for anything in return. Seeing her people happy was enough to keep her strong, and looking towards the future instead of the horrors of the past.

Besides, when she watched the bigger picture, it left the others able to focus on the smaller things. Namely the continuation of their tribe, which they were doing an outstanding job on if her current project was anything to go by.

The three pieces she was working on would fit together perfectly. Though each their own unique piece, they were all made from one base ore.

The mother would come to possess the intricate dagger currently sitting off to the side, being highly skilled in close quarter combat it would serve her well. The handle of the blade would slide smoothly in the bottom of her eagle-eyed riduur’s blaster, and make it even more dangerous than before. The weapon would have no weaknesses, each piece supporting the other, and be usable in any scenario. Of course they would still need a way to be locked in place. Something that would make the connection between the two weapons stronger. The insignia would be worn by the child until they died, and then given to their closest of kin, be it friend, lover, or child. It was of the mother’s clan, which they would all take the name of, and the metal ranicor already shone with a radiant pride as she pulled it from the blue flames, quenching it the basin of oil beside her.

It would fit at the juncture, locking the weapons in place with an unbreakable bond. 

The two adults would present each other with the weapons, a symbol of their promise to protect one another both in and out of battles. Then, together, they would tie the insignia to the child with a leather thread. The only addition would be a Mythosaur skull, which they would receive should they take up the creed of the Mandalorian. If not, they would still bear the mark of their clan and wear it with pride.

It was hard work, but the Armorer would do it all over again in a heartbeat. After all, the exchanging of vows between two Mandalorians was enough cause for a celebration, but for the same couple to have a claiming ceremony of a foundling at the same time? It had sent the enter tribe into a nest of bustling activity in preparation. The elders were particularly excited, constantly coming in to inform her of any updates or changes. 

It was one of them that she had expected when she heard footsteps enter her forge, not the young warrior she was faced with when she turned around.

“What can I help you with, child?” For a young Mandalorian such as himself to enter without invitation or a offering to the tribe, it must be of grave importance.

He remained kneeling as he spoke, head bowed in respect to his Alor.

“Alor, I have heard troubling news during my patrol. A matter I fear has to deal with the pride of the Mandalorian name.”

Underneath the helmet, her brows furrowed though he could not see it. From his tone, he seemed almost hesitant to deliver the news, and she waited silently for him to continue.

“There...there’s been word that another possess the armor of a Mandolrian a few parsecs over on the moon of Quilon.” He swallowed thickly, audible even through the modulator, before continuing. 

“Someone not of any tribe or clan, nor a foundling or anyone who claims our identity.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the Armorer couldn’t blame the heat rising within her on the fire she had been previously toiling over for so many hours without issue. Though she concealed it well, any who knew her, who could tell by the way her helmet tilted up or how her shoulders squared slightly, knew that she was absolutely furious.

“Then we must retrieve it immediately.” 

“Of course, Alor. Which of the warriors would you like me to retrieve so they may be briefed.”

“None.” She replied, hooking her tools into her belt, moving to grab her cloak from it’s hook, where it had been previously gathering dust.

“Alor?” He questioned. She had told him that they would retrieve it, but if she wanted none of the warriors then how would they?

“It is time that people are reminded of who we were. Who we are. Though we remain hidden in our covert, we are not weak. We bide our time until we once again rise.”

She tucked an extra blaster into her belt, though she knew the weapon would come second to her hammer. If it turned into an altercation of shots rather than strength, she would be prepared.

“I will retrieve it myself, and make an example of those that thought they could tarnish our name.”

With that she was gone, stalking down the maze of corridors on a warpath. Everyone who saw her coming was quick to jump out of the way. If there was one thing more dangerous than an angry Mandalorian, it was an enraged Armorer.

__________________________________

Landing the ship just outside the town, the Armorer followed the coordinates given to her before leaving. 

Just like every other planet in their system, Quilon was nothing special. Another small rock in space abandoned by the Empire and left to be overrun by bandits. Though their presence here was even more prevalent than on Nevarro. 

She paid no mind to the eyes that followed her from the shadows, hidden under masks and hats and behind drinks as she made a direct line to the center bar.

The man behind the counter was an aged Weequay, his already wrinkled skin dull but still showing the strength that lay in the muscle underneath. Though old, he was clearly someone who could still hold his own against any patron who had too many glasses of brandy.

He had no hesitance in walking up to her, despite clearly knowing who she was a part of.

“What can I do for you?”

She placed a stack of credits on the counter, gently sliding the pile over to him.

“I’ve heard that someone here has the armor of a Mandalorian. I wish to know where to find them so that we may...talk.”

The Weequay picked up the pile,clinking the metal as he tested the weight before looking back towards the Armorer.

“A matter of great importance for you, I’m sure. However, the person you seek is also of great importance.”

Silently, she reached into her pouch and retrieved a few more credits, the clinking sound they made as they were deposited with the others into his waiting hand causing a smile to stretch his face, revealing a number of missing teeth.

“You’ll find your person on the far west side of town. The shop will be located just a bit out. Had to relocate it with all the noise bothering the townsfolk.” He laughed, turning back to his other patrons as he deposited the money. “Just follow the cursing.”

Twenty minutes and another exchange of information later, the Armorer found herself in front of a shop reading ‘Galactic Metalworks’.

If she had been angry before, she was positively fuming now. For someone who was supposed to have an understanding and appreciation for all things forged, the fact that they would have Mandalorian beskar, undoubtedly knowing its importance and what is signified, was the ultimate insult.

She could only hope that they would have enough sense not to have tempered with the armor, else she would have to hold herself back from killing them too quickly.

She walked through the door, pulling the fabric flap aside as she stepped inside. Instantly she was greeted with the sight of a surprisingly organized space, with weapons of all kinds lining the walls and a case displaying more decorative items sitting just behind what she assumed was the front counter.

There was no one in sight, prompting her to move further into the shop. As she passed, she couldn’t help but admire the works as she went. Though more elegant than what she would have done with some, there was no doubt about the quality of each item. Every blade, trigger, and handle was carefully shaped and sharpened, each having a softness that one would not expect of such weapons. It seemed to be the artist's signature stamp, present in everything she saw.

He attention was drawn away from the shining metals as a loud, and rather brash, string of curses flowed from the back of the shop. Once again reminded of her reason for coming here. The Armorer walked past the counter and its items, following the sounds of metal being hammered around the corner to reveal an open aired forge. 

There you stood, in all your soot stained and sweaty glory, cursing like a Trandoshian pirate as you inspected the item before you. A crude imitation of a helmet, she realized, though the eyes were horrendously off center and uneven, and being far too long for any but a Kaminoan to wear without hitting their shoulders. 

Were you really the same person who had made all the items out front?

No. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She was here for business.

The intention was for her to take you by the element of surprise, leaving no room for a fight with the point of her hammer pressed into the vulnerable skin above your carotid. That was thrown out the window before she could even reach for the weapon as you quickly turned around, eyes locking onto her and going wide before frantically backpedaling. 

As luck would have it, the hammer you had been previously using was knocked from its stand and clattered to the floor, being stepped on and causing you to tumble.

Narrowly missing falling into the forge itself, your head still cracked painfully against its stand and your vision went black. By the time it cleared enough for you to stop seeing stars and your brain to process what had just happened, you found the very person who had startled you into such a state standing above you, feet on either side of your hips as a hammer was pointed dangerously at your face.

“H-hey!” You managed to stutter out, still dizzy and most likely concussed. “No need for that!”

Holding your hands up in an act of surrender and defense, should they still decide to attack, you balanced your weight onto your elbows despite the way it sent your head spinning.

They said nothing, only staring down through their owl-shaped visor as the golden shine of the helmet cast rays of brilliant light around the forge. Despite the situation, you could help but admire the stunning craftsmanship of the piece with envy. Each spike, every curve, was so beautifully done.

“I know you’re here for the armor, and I can get it for you! It’s right here!”

The Mandalorian remained still for a moment, contemplating, before moving back enough to let you get up, exchanging their hammer for a blaster, keeping it trained on your figure as you slowly rose and moved to the far wall.

Producing a key from beneath your apron, you moved one of the many boxes and unlocked a hatch hidden beneath. From there, you produced a chest that had yet another lock on it, setting it on your workbench and placing the key beside it. Backing away with your hands held up one again, the Mandalorian moved closer to the chest.

Hidden under the helmet, you couldn't see the way her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, laced with a hint of curiosity. You had gone through quite the effort of hiding it. Without your guide she might not have found the hatch, which had blended so well into the floor that when you had first moved the box she hadn’t seen it even with the filters of her visor. Why give it up so easily when you could have easily denied even having it in the first place, and no evidence to say otherwise?

Unlocking the box, she was even more surprised by what she found inside. While keeping a watch on where your figure had backed into the corner, she began shuffling through each item, peeling back layer after layer of fabric until she had constructed a full suit of beskar.  Not only was it stored with such care, the metal skillfully wrapped to prevent one item from damaging another if jostled around, but it appeared to have been freshly cleaned by a polish well known and used almost exclusively by smiths. It was meant to bring out the best shine and remove any scuff to increase the appeal and chances of someone buying the item.

“Where did you get this.” She put the items back in their case, closing it before turning back to where you were, blaster now lowered to her hip but ready to raise and fire in an instant.

“Bought it from some pirates who stopped by here to refuel.” You squeaked out. Despite knowing that all Mandalorians were warriors, you were still surprised to hear a woman's voice come from the helmet. The way she carried herself with such confidence and strength, you could only imagine the prestige and skill she had to back it up.

“I would have returned it sooner, but you guys are kind of hard to find.” You attempted to joke, letting out a nervous laugh as you shakily smiled. “I tried to keep it on the down low as much as I could to keep others from trying to come and take it. Paid a kid to let it slip when he saw one of you at a cantina you’re known to frequent.” 

The Armorer tilted her head slightly, still not believing you completely.

“Why not sell it, or melt it down for your own use?” She gestured to the space around you, at all the projects currently displayed or were waiting to be finished.

Your own brows knitted in confusion, as if you couldn’t believe why she was asking you that, and in reality you couldn’t.

“Well, I respect you too much.” Your shoulders shrugged lightly. “Growing up, my father told me all the stories of your culture, your people and what the armor meant to you. How it was more than just a piece of equipment, that it was like an extension of your own body and identity. Rather poetically, he would always put it.”

A small laugh made its way past your lips, taking the Armorer by surprise.

“If he could have met one of you and studied the armor he would have died of happiness. Probably would have even sworn an oath and donned the armor himself if he had the chance, no hesitation.”

Any thoughts of ill intention from before were reduced to nothing in the Armorer’s mind. The way you had spoken so fondly when describing your admiration for her culture, the same way you had when speaking of your father, was so gentle and sincere. Even if you had a helmet like hers she would have been able to tell just by your voice.

“You have my thanks for keeping it in such good condition until we were able to collect it. I know my people would share my sentiment if they were here.” She dipped her head in thanks, missing the blush that spread across your face at the action.

“It was no trouble at all, really! I hope you don’t mind but I did study it before hiding it away.” You nodded to the crude helmet she had found you swearing at when she had first entered. “As you can see, my attempts were less than successful. It’s like my father always said; If I could make armor the way I could make everything else, I would be far too dangerous.”

The Armorer silently agreed. If the display in the front of the shop was anything to go by, if you were able to make armor then you could potentially even give her a run for her credits.

“You are quite skilled in your craft. It would be a sight to see how you would interpret your own armor.”

“Rather poorly.” You laughed once again, and the Armorer found herself straining to hear its cheerful air, much to her own embarrassment.

It was time she left. She had gotten what she had come for, so there was no reason for her to stick around any longer. The more time she was away from the covert the more worried she became, mentally berating herself for being so ill-tempered and short sighted to have stormed here right away without thinking much of how the others would fare without her presence. Paz should keep a good handle on things, but it was still best not to be gone much longer.

Before she could excuse herself though, you had dropped the helmet you had previously been sourly glaring at and focused back on her, excitement evident as a bright gleam shone in your eyes. 

“You must have come quite a way to get here! Please, allow me to compensate you for having to come out to such a place.”

The Armorer tried to argue, to explain that it hadn't been a problem and that the beskar being back where it belonged was enough, but you wouldn’t listen, pushing her to the front of the store and practically demanding that she choose at least one of the items to take with her.

“They are all so well crafted. I could not even begin to know where to choose.”

Humming, you closed your eyes in thought before bounding back towards the forge, yelling over your shoulder for her to keep browsing while you went looking for something.

So she did, walking up and down and displays, taking in all the weapons and items as she duly noted that your leather work seemed to be just as good as your smithing if the wrapped handles and weapons holsters were anything to go by. Any choice that she made would make a fine addition to their armory, and Paz would be overjoyed with each item, though she made a mental note not to let him learn of your shop. The last thing she needed was him coming here and spending all the tribe’s money on your works, undoubtedly scarring you with his sheer size and gruffness as well.

It was in the middle of her browsing that a flash of color caught her eye. Many of the metals you worked with were the same shades of grey and black, even the occasional gold. But there, amongst the sea of cold steel in the display case, was the warmth of bronze. She moved closer despite knowing that nothing she would find there would be beneficial for the tribe. It was as if it were a magnet though, pulling her closer by the metal covering nearly every part of her.

The item was less flashy than those surrounding it, simple and to the point, if jewelry could be described that way. The charm was a small rectangle, no longer than an inch and less than a quarter of which thick. In elegant and delicately etched letters was the word ‘loyalty’. Nothing else.

“I never took you for someone to appreciate jewelry.”

She started, helmet looking up to see you coming back from your forge. In your hands was a cloth, wrapped around what could be anything.

“I was admiring the work. The detail is remarkably clean despite its size.”

“It's been here a while. Not many people come here looking for something other than weapons, and those who do usually want something a bit more eye catching. One of my favorite works though.”

Putting the item down, her attention turns to the bundle you’ve placed on the table. Carefully, you unwrap the fabric to reveal the blade underneath. The blade itself is silver, coming to a spearpoint tip without so much as a chip. It’s longer than a normal throwing knife but shorter than one would typically consider a dagger to be. 

“My own take on a vibroblade. Easier to throw but still small enough to be easily concealed.” You hold it out, prompting her to take it.

The handle fit in her palm like a glove, as if it were molded specifically for her. The weight was perfectly balanced, allowing her to switch into a reverse grip and back with ease. At just a glance she could tell that the ridge was perfectly straight, ensuring a smooth flight through the air to its target.

“From my own collection. I figured if a Mandalorian was going to use it, then nothing but my best work would suffice.” You took the blade back, wrapping and binding it before placing it in the chest alongside the armor.

“Your hospitality knows no bounds. I am glad our meeting can end on such terms.” 

Waving your hand, you brush away the compliment despite the burning of your cheeks. Something you blamed on the heat of the forge.

“It was the least I could do. If you’re ever out here again, don’t hesitate to stop by. It can get rather lonely out here.” The forlorn expression you took on despite your ever present smile pulled at something inside the Mandalorian. Something she had not felt in a long time.

“Though don’t expect another free weapon if you do. I have a business to run after all.”

“Of course.” She said, allowing you to lead her to the door, holding the fabric as she passed through.

The whole walk back, her mind was on you. Even after she had boarded her ship and set course for home, arriving much quicker than she expected, she was thinking of you. The fact that there were still those out there that thought of and revered her people as you had, it gave her hope that not all creatures in the universe were against them.

The others were eagerly waiting for her arrival when she returned, following as she made her way back to the forge where she would store the beskar until it was decided what to do with it.

“Did you kill them and take their weapon as well?” Paz questioned when she handed him the blade, immediately pulling it out to admire the item.

She didn’t answer, focused on putting away her haul and moving to clean up her space. Leaving so quickly had resulted in a cluttered mess for her to come back to, and she once again found herself cursing her temper. Traveling far distances was something she didn’t often do, and the experience had left her tired, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and rest. She had to make sure everything was in order before she did so though.

“What’s this?” 

She turned, facing Paz as he held something in between his large fingers. She walked closer, eyes locking on to the item with laser focus.

Its familiar bronze sheen shone with a new brightness in the dim light, the etched words now hardly visible. She didn’t know when you had snuck it in, nor how you had when she had been right there the entire time.

So, for the first time in years, the Armorer took something for herself.

Plucking the small charm from his hand, she dismissed him, pulling the shutters of her shop down and leaving her mind to wander back to you as she caressed the cool metal, which did nothing to dampen the sparking embers in her kar’ta beskar.

__________________________________________________

In all honesty, you hadn’t been expecting the golden helmed Mandalorian to return to your shop. After nearly a month and a half of seeing not even the faintest glimpse of beskar you had given up hope of ever seeing her again. Sure, you were still hopeful, but when you entered your shop for some late night smithing and found the silent warrior leaning against the outside wall you nearly screamed. If it hadn’t been for the light of the flames reflecting off her helmet you wouldn’t have even realized she was there.

“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise. I don’t get visitors this late.’’

She tilted her head, gesturing for you to continue her work and decline the offer for a seat. Nothing more was said as you got to work, soon shedding your long sleeves in favor of the cool night air that flowed in from the open wall, exposing your toned arms to the Mandalorian. It was something you had always been proud of, the muscle earned from years of bending and forming metal with precise blows from your hammer.

After a few minutes of watching, the woman began moving about the shop, taking her time to inspect every inch of the workspace. Your previous encounter hadn’t left much time for her to admire it. Even though it was far less sophisticated and more worn than her own, she still felt a sense of familiarity within its heat, finding herself wondering if you would have a familiar feeling in hers. 

The thought was banished almost as quickly as it appeared. After all, an outsider not only entering the covert, but the armory as well? One of the most pivotal places of their people? Preposterous. She didn’t even know why she was here in the first place. One moment she was relaxing in a rare moment of peace she was allowed, and the next she was aboard her ship, coordinates for your shop already typed in.

From the corner of your vision, you watched as she approached your latest project; the same armor you had been working on for weeks. A warmth rose to your cheeks when you saw her inspecting it, picking up the helmet and rotating it between her hands. 

The visor had been fixed a significant amount, she noted, but it was still shaky at best. Both sides were still uneven as they dipped down into a point at the chin, and anyone who wore it would have the top of their heads pinched by the too shallow curve of the top.

“Your work has improved.” She noted, voicing it more to herself than anything.

“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I know it's not very good.”

“Not good no.” She admitted, setting the heavy helmet down and moving closer to where you were and setting every nerve on edge. “But there has been improvement, which shows that you’re learning.’’

Watching as you bent a thin metal pipe into shape, sparks flying everywhere as you didn’t even flinch when they landed on bare skin, then quenching it before moving over to your workbench and beginning to assemble it with an array of other items. She admired the speed and confidence with which you worked. Leaning against the wall, she watched as the weapon began to take shape under your hands.

Hours later, you were finished, a new blaster sitting before you. Just as beautiful and dangerous as the ones out front, with intricate vines crawling up the hilt and along the barrel, soldered on by your skillful hands before her very eyes.

“So, what can I help you with?” Turning towards the Armorer, you were surprised at how close she had gotten since you started, now almost touching and forcing you to crane your neck back to look her in the face.

“As much as I enjoy the company, I doubt you would come here without a reason.”

She remains silent for a moment, simply staring back at your smiling face before reaching around you to pick up the newly constructed blaster. The soft leather of her arm brushed your skin, and your nose picked up the familiar scent of forge iron from her gloves, causing your breath to catch in your throat as she turned the weapon in her hands.

“I have a proposition for you.” Her visor locked onto you, and despite the slight shiver of fear you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

“You will make weapons for my people and repair any that need it. Should we need it, we will park our ships in your space and you will pick up anything we can not.”

Your brows rose as she rattled off the list. Though you would be glad to do anything involving the warriors, just for the simple fact of being able to see them up and close, you still had to question why she would choose you. There was no reason for them to trust you, even if you had returned the armor.

The Armorer took it a different way, thinking you were expecting a form of payment for your work, which only made sense.

“Of course, your efforts will be compensated. Should you ever need passage or protection, we would be more than willing to offer aid.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving a small device that she held out. Upon taking it, you discovered there were only two buttons on the disk. It might look like random scrap metal to someone else, but your trained mind recognized it as an old communications device. 

“Press the blue when items are done or you request a meeting. The green is for emergencies only. Life or death situations.” You nodded, turning to tuck the device on a higher shelf where it would be within reach but not have the risk of being accidentally pressed, and somewhat hidden should any unwelcome guest find their way back here.

“And,” she hesitated a moment, unsure of her next words. With just one visit, you had managed to lower the carefully raised walls she had constructed, penetrating its defenses in a way not even her own people had. But now, here with you in the peace of the forge, her tongue was loose and brain foggy, as if the heat was melting away every shred of common sense and survival instinct she had carefully honed.

“I will teach you how to make armor. One that will protect you. Under my guide as the Armorer of my tribe it will be nothing less than perfect. Though you must swear to never trade or sell it.”

Your eyes widened a fraction at her words, hardly believing what she had just said. Not only had you just learned a new fact about the stoic woman, that she was a smith just as yourself, but she was offering to teach you how to make some of the best armor in the galaxy. No, the universe.

“It...it would be an honor.” You tilted your head down in respect, only to have her leather clad gloves grab your chin, the worn material forcing your gaze up to meet hers. Though there was no way for you to truly see her eyes, you could almost feel the flames burning within them.

“Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.” 

__________________________________________________

If you had thought that your father had been harsh when he was first teaching you how to smith, then he had graced you with a mother’s love in comparison to the Armorer, a name she had given you to call her after multiple visits.

“It just feels kind of cold to keep calling you Mandalorian, especially with all the time we spend together.” You had told her when she questioned why you asked. There were other reasons too, namely being that she had her own name for you. Instead of calling you by the name you had given her, she had taken to calling you ‘goron’ or ‘tracinya’, in that unknown language of hers. You could only hope they weren’t insults.

She visited once a month, always arriving just before dusk and leaving at dawn, two to three weapons heavier and the occasional small trinket you had made between meetings. All night you would be bent over your forge under her watchful gaze, correcting your technique and giving the occasional tip when you were struggling more than normal.

At the end of the night you would offer your work to be inspected, glowing at any praise only to deflate with every critique, and she was nothing if not someone who was unafraid to express her opinion.

The entire time you talked with one another. Well, you did most of the talking, but it still felt nice to have someone other than the stray loth cat listen to your ramblings.

Every once in a while she would answer one question or another, though she never divulged too much information on her own tribe, apart from mentioning another Mandalorian in passing or treating you with one of her occasional stories from the covert. You respected her wishes nonetheless, and as much as you wanted to ask her about everything you resigned yourself to the fact that she would only tell you what she wanted you to know. Mandalorians were still very much sought after prizes, and the secrecy would only make sense, as it ensured their survival.

She also never picked up a tool, as much as you wanted to see her work. Her instructions were always verbal, with the occasional instance where she would place her hands over yours, moving them the correct way and never failing to send your cheeks ablaze. Thankfully you could blame the color on the heat of the flames and not your own growing feelings. Those were a different issue entirely.

You don’t know when it started, almost like it had always been there, building until they attacked with a snap. The fact of the matter was that you harbored feelings for the armored woman, and you couldn’t deny them, no matter how much you tried to push them down. Alone for the most part, she was the only person to regularly visit your empty residence. Ever since your father had died and left you the successor of his forge, both the shop itself and the small living quarters behind it had felt empty, haunted by his memories that couldn’t be chased away with any amount of plants you bought or how much time you spent working. 

The first time she had accepted your invitation for a drink after much begging was the first time the space felt complete in ages, though she simply sat on one of the only two chairs in the living room, drink remaining untouched in her hand.

You were content hiding your feelings. As long as it meant that she would come around, you would do anything. Though you feared your meetings may soon come to an end. While you were overjoyed with the progress you had made over the months, constructing enough armor for a single arm and leg, as well as a chest plate. Not much longer and you would have your armor complete, and her reason for coming around would be gone. No longer would she need to teach you, and there was no reason she couldn’t send someone else from the covert to collect weapons and drop off items for repair once a month. You remember her mentioning how their top heavy infantry warrior had asked to meet you, and as interested as you were in meeting other Mandalorians you didn’t want it to be at the expense of seeing her.

“What’s got you so distracted tonight, tracinya’ika?” she asked after you dropped your current project, a shoulder pauldron, for the third time that night.

“Nothing!” You managed to squeak out, only to feel her familiar presence behind you, growing closer until you felt her brush against your back, making you spin around only to be pinned against your forge. The heat burned your back, hardly noticed by your brain as you processed how close she was standing now, arms on either side of your body and helmet tilted to look you in the eye. 

“Tell me.” Her voice crooned, smooth even through the modulators and nearly causing your knees to give out.

Swallowing thickly, you struggled to get the words out.

“When...when you're done teaching me, will I ever see you again?” It sounded stupid to say it out loud. Needy, like a child wanting their mother. It made you feel foolish, believing she surely thought you weak and helpless now.

You were prepared for her to laugh or scoff, to chastise you for how foolish you were being about such emotional connections. 

She did none of those.

“Ni tracinya, as long as you still desire my presence, I will come. Until you give the word, and even after, our destiny will be intertwined.”

You didn’t, couldn’t, say anything after that. It was as if she had stolen every thought from your head, every word from your mouth, leaving you nothing but a gaping fool, staring at the powerful warrior before you as the sound of the spotted owls filtered in through the open wall from the cool night air beyond.

It was the Armorer who finally broke the trance, stepping back and pausing for a moment before collecting the prepackaged weapons from the table. She said nothing as she left, heading back hours before the sun had even begun to rise and leaving you with nothing to do but stare after her, wondering what you had done wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, the cause of the Armorers swift exit had not been your fault, but her own. The entire way back to the covert she berated herself for how foolishly she had acted, allowing her body to move before her mind yet again, putting you in a compromising position. Even while berating herself, the memory of being so close to you stuck in her mind. The way your hair stuck to your damp skin, practically glowing in the light of the flames as you stared up with large, innocent eyes.

She had wanted to take you into her arms then and there. Her kind hearted little smith. So gentle and warm despite the rough profession and living conditions in which you found yourself in. It made her feel all the more guilty about having allowed herself to grow so attached to you, bringing along all the dangers that came with being associated with a Mandalorian as well as the knowledge she provided.

With each visit the feeling only grew, and by this point her draw to protect you as she would one of her tribe was just as strong. You were a weakness. A chink in her armor that she would allow none to exploit. 

Unfortunately, she was just one Mandalorian, and there was a limit to her strength, as she would soon find out.

_______________________________

It had been a week since your last meeting with the Armorer. The way she had practically sprinted out played on repeat in your head, reviewing every second leading up until then in search of what you could have possibly done. Yet no matter what angle you looked at it from, you always drew a blank.

Well, what else were you expecting from a Mandalorian. As skilled as they were apt to run off without an explanation. On to whatever adventure was next. You could only hope that she would have some explanation the next time.

‘Or at least the decency to apologize for being rude.’ you huffed, slamming the door to the cupboard after retrieving a cup. You settled down with a mug of warm bantha milk and honey, still fuming. Hopeful a bit of reading would calm your nerves for now, ignited every time you thought back on the encounter. Hopefully you would be calm enough not to give her an earful when you saw her.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the only source of sound as you skimmed through the pages of the novel you had picked up. A cheesy romance that you wouldn’t be caught dead reading in public, highlighting a lowly dancer attracting the attention of a bounty hunter who bought them for their own operations, only for the two to inevitably fall in love.

The rough and brash nature of the bounty hunter in the story reminded you of your own Armored crush, and you found yourself daydreaming more than reading as you finished off your drink. 

If only real life could be like that. You were all too aware of how unlikely it was though. Such a warrior could never have feelings for a simple smith like yourself, no matter how much she admired your works. 

Still, there was no harm in dreaming, right?

That’s exactly what you allowed yourself to do, curled up on the seat with the book drooping just as low as your eyes. The warmth of the fire and a stomach full of warm bantha milk only helped the progression of sleep along, lulling you into a sense of security as the light humming outside grew.

That’s how the first shock wave found you, knocking you from content to the floor as it rattled the entire shop.

You scrambled to your knees, dazed and confused, unable to make sense of what had just happened before the next hit. This was much closer, rattling the windows and knocking items from the walls. Even from here you could hear the sound of metal clanging as weapons and trinkets were thrown from their shelves.

Above the ringing, just barely, you processed the sound of fighters as they blazed overhead.

The Empire, you realized with a chill. You had heard rumors of them doing this, decimating entire towns and villages in the dead of night while everyone slept. That was only for those who were suspected of housing rebels or acting as supply lines though! The most you ever got out here was the occasional ship stopping to refuel or gather supplies, which was done so quickly and infrequently you wouldn’t even know they had been here.

Now wasn’t the time to question why you had been targeted. Now was the time to act.

Stumbling to your feet, you ran to the only option of help you had. The shock wave of each sending another small tremor through the ground and causing you to stumble as dust rained down from the ceiling. Dimly, you could hear the shouts of the village as those still alive realized what was happening.

The transmission disk sat in the same place it always was, thankfully not knocked to the floor and hidden in one of the many small crevices of your now disastrous shop. Tools and metals of all types lay scattered about, creating a minefield across the floor for you to navigate and attempt to not trip.

She was the only one that could help you. There were no friends, no family. No one who visited outside of her. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting her to do. Take you to another planet that the Empire hadn’t marked for destruction? But what would you do once you got there. Your skills were that of a blacksmith. Even if she helped you to escape for now and come back, who would be left for you to sell to? As much as the thought of abandoning the forge you had grown up in hurt, there would be no profit in staying. If there was any place to stay at that is.

Still, you ripped the item from its shelf, frantically pressing the ill-fated green button and watching as a loading signal popped up. It jumped in small increments at an agonizingly slow pace, leaving you to watch helplessly as the distress signal transmitted.

Amidst the chaos and adrenaline, a flash caught your eye.

The armor you had been working on for the past few months sat openly displayed on the worktable, left over from when you had been tinkering with it earlier. It wasn’t yet finished, but there was no time better than now to test it out. They might have tie fighters in the sky, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any troops on the ground to ensure there were no survivors, and there was no way in hell you were going out without a fight.

So, while the message continued loading, you stumbled over and yanked on the equipment, cursing each time your hands fumbled with a strap or you dropped a piece. By the time you managed to get all of what you had finished on, as well as the half-worked pauldron and grabbing the closest weapon, the bar had only reached seventy two percent.

You watched with bated breath as it continued to climb, praying to the maker for it to finish already. You didn’t know how far away the Armorer was, but hopefully she would get here in time. To give your body a proper burial and out of the reach of scavengers if nothing else.

You never got to see it finish.

The agonizingly loud and now familiar scream of fighters your only warning before they unload their ammunition onto your home. It fell apart like paper, no match against the green energy beams as they took out whole sections of the ceiling and walls.

A flash of light, stars from the night sky now peering down from the open ceiling, before you were buried under the rubble. It pressed down with seemingly the weight of a moon, forcing every ounce of air from your lungs and preventing nearly any oxygen from entering as you desperately tried to pull in more air, only to choke on the thick dust that permeated and covered everything. Every movement brought a fresh wave of agony tearing through your body, and you could taste iron in the back of your throat. A sign of internal bleeding, if the stabbing pain in your side wasn’t enough. Your unarmored arm also hung limp and uselessly. Broken.

The chunk of rock that currently pinned and left you defenseless  was far too heavy to move with both arms, let alone one, leaving you scrambling nowhere to get out. The very building that had protected and provided you shelter, a place to work and thrive, had turned into your own personal death trap.

It was getting harder and harder to breath. Your movements became slower and weaker with every move until, finally, they slowed to a stop, left weakly grasping at the rubble around you. Everything had now gone silent. Not even the sound of fighter jets could be heard.

You were completely, utterly, alone. That’s how you were going to die.

Alone.

No tears escaped as you set your jaw, accepting your grim fate. You had no regrets in life. None that could be rectified by living any longer anyways. You had created a great deal of beautiful and skillful items. Whoever happened to stumble upon your shop's ruins would surely have themselves a treasure trove. 

The one thing you found yourself wishing was that there would be someone to mourn you when you were gone. To look upon memories and smile with fondness as you had with your own father’s passing.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Your name would fade into nothing, just as insignificant and unknown as a shout into the empty space of the stars above. Stars that you would never be able to see.

It became darker, black spots dancing across the edges of your vision and growing. With one last shuddering breath, your body gave out, succumbing to its injuries as your consciousness faded.

Mere feet away from your impromptu crypt, the cracked yet unbroken transmitter blinked weakly. Two words flash and flicker across its screen. 

‘Message Sent’

___________

Mandoa translations (Roughly. I did my best)

Baskar-armor

goron-blacksmith/metalworker

Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.- “I know you will not disappoint me, my blacksmith.”

kar’ta beskar.- Iron heart, center of their chest armor

Karyai- gathering place for relaxation/eating, center of the home

Tracinya-flame

Ika-little

[gojoscloset]

“Hello, I just read your writing d**k appointment and I like it very much. And suddenly, I saw that you open the request NSFW dialogue prompts. Would you please write prompt 60 “Looks like someone wants to be a dad/mom” with Gojo or Megumi please 🥺”

Bahaha omg I’m so sorry I’m late as hell I’ve been busy with a lot mentally cause I have the attention span of a goldfish.

Please please enjoy, thank you so much for requesting lol. I’m back on my bullshit ✨

60. “Looks like someone wants to be a mom/dad”

WARNINGS: N S F W

Reposted from previous account

Smut obvs.

Breeding kink???? (if you squint)

Cream pie

Mentions of Pregnancy

No proofread??

————-

“Looks like someone wants to be a mom.”

You didn’t dare look away from what you thought had to be one of the cutest pairs of baby shoes you have ever laid your eyes on.

“Hmm? What do you mean? I just thought they were cute!” you lifted the pair of shoes up and gave your boyfriend a grin.

But Satoru was no idiot.

You see, these past few months have been filled with nothing but waves of emotions and ideas that you would have never thought you would have contemplated this early in life, but a pregnancy scare earlier in the year shook your world and turned it on its axis.

Of course you had imagined a life with Satoru, possibly married in the later years, and a potential family way wayyy down the line. However, you were content with where you two stood. A strong and healthy relationship, 2 consenting adults in love. But you also had to remember you were 2 powerful sorcerers in love. So even with your line of work, kids at the moment seemed really out of the question. Hell, even being in a relationship with someone like Satoru was a blessing with the lives you two lived. So even the idea of bearing his child seemed like you were asking for a lot from the universe.

When your period came late, all your little fantasies and thoughts of having a family took a step closer to becoming reality, you melted at the idea of becoming a mother and all your fears and doubts were thrown out the window.

But alas, the joy left just as fast as it came you were back on your regular schedule the day before your doctor's appointment. Relieved of course, but things weren’t the same.

Day after day you caught yourself indulging more and more in the idea of what your life would be like with a child. Would your first child be a girl or a boy? Whose features would they take on the most? Oh how you prayed to the gods that they would look more like Satoru than anything.

Would you be a good mother? Would Satoru be a good father? There was no doubt in your mind that he would be.

Don’t even get started on the names.

Your gaze would linger when you would pass up children and their parents at a park. Or when you would pass up baby clothes at the shopping strip, you would stop in your tracks and imagine your future child wearing that outfit.

Secretly you would shop for clothes online just to ‘see what they look like’ Or secretly read first time mom forums on breddit just to ‘See how it feels’ but it was so much more than just a passing curiosity.

And of course, You weren’t the only one who noticed the change.

You and Satoru have been in the love game for a respectable amount of time, and have spent the seconds, hours,days,weeks,months,years, in each other's presence. He would absolutely be able to acknowledge when you’d turn your head in the kids section or when your gaze would linger on the little girls in princess dresses at the market, corners of your lips curling just a little.

Or when a toddler at the grocery store handed him a fake phone,in which he pretended to answer with such enthusiasm you would almost believe he was actually on the phone with someone,he could visibly see how your heart melted at the sight. You looked at him like you wanted to marry him on the spot for the rest of the day. A personal favorite memory of his.

Satoru was a dumbass, but he was not stupid.

You didn’t know how much he loved seeing these little things, the little changes in you. Behind his tinted shades and through his long lashes, he would carefully watch your duality go from powerful sorcerer to something maternal.Something you never did in all the time he has known you until after the scare.

It made him want to jump your bones on the spot and put a baby in you every time, but you never brought up the topic despite seeming to be interested in motherhood, and respectfully he left it alone. But you had been caught red handed almost always.

Satoru held himself back when he had various opportunities to talk about it, do you know how hard that is to do as Satoru?

He wanted to press on. He wanted to pry and ask you all kinds of questions regarding the sudden change, but he knew that there was a time and place for everything, and now was definitely not the time nor location.

“Hey, not bad!” He allowed his glasses to slip off the bridge if his nose ever so slightly to get a better view.

“I would wear these if they came in my size”

He joked, you smacked his arm playfully and laughed.

“Cmon lets g-“

You were about to place the shoes back on the rack but he stopped you before you did. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos of the shoes and tag.

“I was being serious” he stated plainly, earning another laugh from the both of you.

——

The rest of the day went on as normal, for the most part. The little interaction at the store replayed not only in your mind but Satoru’s as well.

‘Did I make it too obvious?’

‘Did I overdo it with the shoes?’

‘Is it time to talk about it?’

—-

‘Toru..’ you whined but that didn’t stop him from continuing to bend you like a pretzel while plowing into you.

“Don’t be shy now, you look so good like this. ...And those faces you make....” he licked his lips reaching out to grab your jaw, thumb running across your lip.

Even though you were whining about the embarrassing positions he kept putting you in, your body was on fire and didn’t want this to end.

With every position he managed to go deeper and deeper, hitting places only he knew how to hit. He utilized the curve of his dick just how you liked it, grazing your favorite spots with every thrust.

The way your walls fluttered and clenched against his made them his favorite spots too.

It was crazy to you how Satoru knew your body like nobody else did. He knew every curve, every dip, every corner. He knew what made you weak in the knees and what you disliked with a passion. He knew what made you cream, what made you wet, what made your back arch and your toes curl.

“You like that Hmm?” He bucked his hips, folding your legs up, pushing your knees as close to your chest as possible.

He gazed into your eyes, watching the way your face wrenched in pleasure. He needed that, he loved that. Being able to see your expression contour and twist because of him, god it got him off.

He looked down at you, his usually spiky hair now flattened with sweat, strands sticking to the side of his face. He bit his lip, and gripped your hips with force, bruises were guaranteed.

He brought you closer, you slowed your breathing to control the ride. You two had been fucking long enough to know the Cues, the way your body twitched and the little sounds you would make when you were close triggered the muscle memory and he moved in the way he knew would push you over the edge.

“D..Don't slow down!” You commanded, throwing your head back into the sheets, the familiar tingling sensation starting at your core, his pace picking up, hands trailing down your abdomen, fingers circling around your clit, wet with its own slick.

He couldn’t help but suck on his own bottom lip watching your body rock in rhythm with his, the way your breast bounced, he couldn’t help but grab a handful.

“That’s right baby….” he spoke softly, voice just above the lewd sounds you two we’re making. The squelching, skin slapping skin, the gasping sounds when he would thrust back into you.

He was getting carried away, letting the words just spill from his lips. “Mmmm fuck yeah baby, you feel so fucking good.” He groaned “fuck around and put a baby in you-“

You had been with this man for many many moons, had been through thick and thin, but nothing had prepared you two for that awkward moment.

All movements ceased the second he stopped talking. Both of you pulled away and just looked at each other, embarrassment demonstrated on both of your faces.

Both of you seemed to think about the Barget incident, and then every other incident which made the dirty talk hit different.

“Sorry” Quickly he spoke, in hopes of somehow saving his ass in case things went south.

“W-what for?” You continued to try and mask your feelings about the situation(s), but nothing could get past his eyes.

He was no idiot, you knew that, but you still tried him, because sometimes he lets your shit slide. But not this time.

“Please y/n, I’ve seen the change in you.”

The air was thick, momentarily, but the smile on his face gave you clarity.

“The lingering looks, the shoes at the store… I’ve noticed” his large hands cupped your face, thumb brushing calming shapes against your cheek.

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

He released you from your position and sat up straight.

“Toru…do you really wanna talk about this now?????” Sheepish under the circumstances

“Don’t give me that. We’ve been together too long for you to try and play this game with me.”

His hands found their way to you once again. Pulling you by the wrists, he sat you up and made you look at him as he continued to speak.

“Communication remember?” He was soft, yet stern.

“You haven’t been the same since the missed period incident.” Your jaw dropped, he was on it even with the timing.

There was no sense in hiding anything anymore, this man knows all, this man sees all.

“I’d be lying if I said you were wrong….you see..” you began to pour your heart out, trying your hardest to keep eye contact with him.

“The pregnancy scare heightened the want for a family with you, Satoru. I envision a lot of things, and you being in my future for a long long time is one of them...”

He held your gaze while looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. He listened intently like you were whispering the secrets of the universe to him.

“But I never brought up the topic of family because we’re-“

“Sorcerers” He finished the sentence for you, the small smile he held earlier now turned into a flat line.

The speed in which he did was almost enough to make you flinch. Bittersweet in a way,at least this confirmed that he too thought about a family with you at one point but considered the circumstances.

A“Exactly..” you continued. “And the scare made me realize what I want in life..with you. But it’s out of reach and it’s not something I wanted to project onto- “

His large hands placed themselves in either side of your face and Satoru showered you with kisses.

“I. Love. You. So. Much.” He spoke in between kisses.

“I love you too, but- AH!!! What are you doing??!”

Satoru pulled you by your ankles, placing himself in between your legs once again.

“Putting a baby in you, that's what.” He gave you such a sweet and loving look, it didn’t match the words that spewed from his lips.

“T-that’s not funny…” Quickly, you covered your entrance before he even thought about it.

“Exactly, because it wasn’t a joke sweetheart.”

“Wait, but what about-”

“We’ll be fine, i’m the strongest, remember?” he gave you a playful wink and grabbed your wrists, playfully prying your hands away, he wasn’t going to do anything though, not without your consent, but seeing how flustered he could make you fed the already enlarged ego he owned.

“Now tell me, do you want a boy or girl? Ooh, what about their names?”

“ Satoru… wait… are you sure? Don’t you wanna think about it a little more?”

He let out a playful laugh and pointed a finger dramatically at you, “Are you sure?”

Without missing a beat you nodded, you wanted this so bad, and by the looks of it, so did he.

“That’s all you had to say, let me take care of you, my pillow princess”

-------------

The sultry night was young.How many times have you came already? It didn’t matter.

His arms were wrapped around your entire body, holding you in place as he bounced you up and down his shaft.

“My pretty girl… my sweet sweet princess.” He whispered against your skin, tongue grazing from your collar bone up to your jaw, tasting your sweat. He wanted to breathe you in, and make you his air. The words replayed in his mind as he fucked you senseless.

“and you being in my future for a long long time is one of them...”

“Toru…” Your breathing hitched,, his praise made your walls twitch around him. He got the hint and immediately went to work. In a swift movement you were beneath his form. His skin glistening with a layer of sweat.

“ How do you want it?” he groaned, draping your leg over his shoulder while grabbing the other one, spreading you wider. You were grateful for the change of position, you have been wanting to touch him for a while now but the grip he had you in earlier was not letting it happen.

Your hands hungrily made his way to his chest and arms.

“As long...as I get it…” you managed to mutter through moans. His thrusts became erratic, a sign that he was coming undone as well.

“Look at me..tell me how you want it....tell me how you need it” he licked his lips with desire. You managed to look at him through half lidded eyes, giving him exactly what he wanted, he always did the same for you.

You lifted your hips up some, grinding harder against him, letting more of him fill you up, you could swear you felt his head kiss your cervix. You did a kegel, walls giving his dick a hug.

The actions earned you a breathy moan, he almost lost his cool, it threw off his pace momentarily but when he picked back up, the speed was doubled.

“You like to play dirty, hmm? “

“The only way I like to play…”

“Very well then” he said through grit teeth, finger moving to where you were connected, rubbing your clit in circles without mercy. You were pushed over the edge quickly, mouth Ajar, and body convulsing against him, his movements did not falter.

“That’s my good girl”

He lowered his body down mouth to cage you between his arms, droplets of sweat falling onto the sheets as he tried to avoid sweat falling into your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He asked once again, not moving an inch until you gave him the go.

You simply stared up at him, goofy grin he always carried on him plastered onto his handsome face.

You gave him the go once again and he bucked his hips.

This particular moment was sweet sweet bliss. Normally Satoru would be careless with his movements when it came to chasing his orgasm, but not this particular one. His touches would linger, fingertips burning themselves into your skin with passion, making their way from your hips to your hands, large fingers filling in the gaps between your own.

His kisses were oh so immaculate. Sweet and soft, but most importantly, abundant.

And the way he spoke your name. Only Satoru could make his words come out like they were coated in honey.

His hips snapped and he gave your hand a squeeze, face in the crook of your neck, the hot breath against your skin forced chills down your spine, with you

“I love you so much…” he groaned into your ear. With a few more bucks of his hips you felt his seed spill into you. You were running on fumes at this point, overkill with the overstim, but that’s how you liked it.

You felt your clit throb, your walls still fluttering against him from your previous climax like they were sucking every last drop of out of him.

He looked down at you silently, but the look on his face, the calm waters in his eyes said everything he needed to say. You couldn’t tear away your gaze, you were already high off the blue dream.

His eyes moved from yours to your lips, they looked needy to him. He bent his head down and planted a kiss, despite the scenario, it was chaste. Innocent. Refreshing.

“I love you.” He repeated, though he had no doubt you felt the same. “I know you do...there is not a single doubt in my mind...and I love you oh so very much, more than I could ever put in words.”

There was another comfortable silence, however, the small smile that was on your face quickly turned into a flustered look when he pulled out of you and spread your legs open, looking at the mess he made inside of you.

“W-what the fuck are you doing?!!”

You laughed nervously and tried closing your legs, but he held them open, too strong for you to try and fight against it.

“I just wanted to see the masterpiece I made. Plus-“ he positioned himself between your legs again

“I’m not done, I want to make sure I get the job done right.”

He gave you a wink, and immediately you knew you were in for a long night.

A very very long night.

[stan-joonies]

Unique Situation

[[MORE]]

Rosalie and Alice were flying through the forest, their dainty yet powerful legs carrying them quickly and effortlessly over rocks and hills and terrain.

Alice's brain still felt like it was spinning after being hit with a particularly strong vision. She had hit the floor, the impact sounding like a clap of thunder. Rosalie was at her side as soon as she realised, soothing her hair gently and whispering encouragement in her ear.

It was of Bella, surrounded by rouge vampires and being attacked, her blood splattered over their faces and fangs.

Edward had flew out the door, but he wouldn't be able to take them out alone. The rest of the Cullen's were far behind, Alice and Rosalie being two of the quickest.

They heard the faint echo of a scream and a familiar growl. Up ahead, obscurred by bushes to the human eyes, was a coven of red-eyed, thirsty vampires all surrounding a singular vegetarian vampire and his mate, who blood was rushing enticingly through her veins.

The blonde and brunette glanced at eachother before leaping with their powerful legs over the coven, landing next to Edward, who only gave them a glance.

The amount of vampires were overwhelming. They weren't brainless newborns either. They seemed to know their own way around a chase.

"Where are the others?" Edward growled through his teeth, glaring as the vampires stalked closer. His whole body was tensed and infront of Bella, yet the human was still horribly exposed.

"They wont take long. We just got to fend them off." Alice answered.

"I'm not really a fan of our chances," Rosalie snarled.

Suddenly, red eyes ripped themselves from the human they surrounded and instead focused on something behind them, on the large rock that towered over them.

"What're they looking at?" Rosalie hissed, not daring to take her eyes away from those infront of her.

Rosalie smacked Edward when he turned to look.

"Bella," she spat. "What're they looking at?"

But Bella didn't answer, she was rendered completely speechless.

Then, just as Rosalie was about to snap and launch herself into the rouges, a sharp, menacing howl broke through the tense air, cutting through the trees and wind.

A shadow jumped over them, a silhouette of a large man. The same man that ripped into every single of the rouges, nails dug deep into their porcelain skin and teeth burying into their useless jugulars.

It was brutal, screams and shouts drowned out by manic howls and feral grunts.

The coven that spiked unnatural, consuming fear into Bella were defeated in a matter of seconds by one man with his bare hands.

She was about to get up, but Alice put her hand on her shoulder and forced her back into her knees. Bella noticed with unease that they were even more tense now than they had been with the vampires.

The man turned. His skin was soiled with dirt and leaves and twigs, his hair was ruffled on his head and sticking up in all directions. His eyes were a deep black and completely feral.

Her turned, snarling hatefully at the group, taking a threatening step forward.

His eyes locked onto the two female vampires, a snarl readily building in his throat.

Then, a burning forced its way into his stomach, a raging fire residing there and making him break into an uncontrollable sweat.

Alice and Rosalie felt it too, their heart filling that empty place that they talked about over the years, a void that was cold and heartless.

He was quick. Sprinting towards them and roughly tugging them away from Edward, placing his feet firmly on the ground.

At that moment, the rest of the Cullens burst from the tree line, all crouching and snarling at him, only succeeding in making his breathing increase and his eyes to slowly bleed into red.

"Wait!" Alice cried, staying firmly in place. "He's not going to hurt anybody." They all glanced at her. "He's a werewolf, a child of the moon. He saved us. He's ok,"

Carlisle stared at Alice for awhile before his eyes floated towards the werewolf.

"Can you speak English?"

The man glared heatedly before swallowing spit and coughing.

"Course," it was raspy from lack of use and rough like sandpaper.

"What's your name?"

"Y/n l/n," He huffed, shoulders relaxing slightly. "Family?"

Carlisle nodded when he gestured to Alice and Rosalie.

"We're vampires, you know about us?"

"Your kind, yes," his eyes grew cold. "The volturi are not nice first impressions."

Emmett hid his snort behind his hand.

"Would you care to follow us to our house? We have plenty resources." Carlisle itched to speak to him. He was the only one of his kind left, the Volturi were hunting him. His thirst for knowledge consumed him.

"These stay by me," he gestured to Rosalie abd Alice with two dirty thumbs, taking them both by the hand.

The blonde doctor raised a questioning brow, shaking it off at Rosalie's glare.

"Very well, y/n. Follow behind."

-

Y/n was in the shower while the Cullens listened to Alice fill everyone in.

"So not only do you have another mate, but that mate happens to be a brooding, extinct werewolf who is being chased down by the volturi?" Emmett summarised, sighing when they nodded their heads.

"What are we gonna do? The volturi will rip us apart!" Emmett's mate exclaimed, panic not easing when Emmett laid a hand on her knee.

"Then we'll rip them apart first," Rosalie snarled, hands balling into fists.

"You think that would work?" Angie questioned, glaring. "They'll rip through us like a chainsaw through paper."

"But we have y/n," Rosalie reasoned, crossing her arms defiantly. "There's a reason he's survived this long."

"From hiding."

The two blondes hissed at eachother, being held back by their respective mates.

"They haven't tried to catch me in fifty years," came a hoarse voice.

Y/n stood at the bottom of the stairs, towel washing his h/c hair. Now he was wearing baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt. His skin was now clearly s/c and hos eyes were a sparkly e/c.

"I doubt they'll find me anytime soon,"

His eyes travelled to his two mates, smiling at them.

"Trust me, it's quite hard to kill me."

"But not impossible," Angie interrupted, chewing at her lip.

"Close enough to it," Rosalie scowled.

"Rose..." Alice hummed, rubbing her arm. "She's just worried about us."

Rosalie glared for a second longer before deflating.

"Right..."

Carlisle glanced to the trio.

"How have you survived this long?"

Y/n collapsed onto the sofa.

"It was hard at first, those stupid children are a pain in the backside. Once i realised hoe they kept finding me, that weird blonde guy, i started moving constantly. Then i came here, found out those puppies that play in the woods masked me from the volturi. I've been there eversince. I'm underground most of the time to stop myself ehen it's the full moon. I don't think I've spoken in couple years."

"You're away from them now, don't you think they'll find you?" Angie shrugged off Rosalie's glare.

"I've been living on their land for 45 years. I doubt their scent will go away quickly. Plus, I'm ceetain they must've gave up by now."

"So what now?" Angie asked, looking around. "He's here, he's Rosalie and Alice's mate. We can't kick him to the side of the road..."

"Easy," Alice grinned, skipping to y/n and linking their arms. "He's staying with us. Welcome to the family, y/n,"

A light kiss landed on his cheek, causing a blush to bloom across his face, only becoming brighter when Rosalie copied Alice on the other cheek.

"Welcome~"

[talesofsonicasura]

Stand Needed

Snatcher and Moonjumper contract a nasty undead illness. Luckily, Hat Kid knows someone who could help in exchange for a price. Too bad it's another weirdo on a whole other level.

Every creature can get sick. Dogs can contract illnesses, cats can get sick, rats can carry sickness and humans get sick from small colds or deadly diseases. Though no one ever thought the undead could contract an illness but it is possible especially for soul-devouring species.

There is an illness that can disturb the magic energy of powerful spirits, particularly those whose power grew greatly by consuming the life force of innocence more than the damned or vice versa. This causes their magic to malfunction, spells to fail or backfire, and if not treated in time that spirit in question will become stone.

The Subcon Forest, a dark and mysterious biological creature born from the ghostly energy that soaks deep in the soil. A fallen kingdom that's entire population was devastated in a single day by deadly frost and then revitalized into this maze of trees by powerful ghostly fire. Magic flows throughout the forest, haunted noose that come alive to snatch their victims, cherries that became crystalized then exploded when introduced to ghostly energies, swamps that drag treaders into the deep abyss and even bells that affect the spiritual plane.

Two types of inhabitants make this dead land their home under the laws of their ruler. Dwellers, spirits that are tied to the world by the masks they wear and capable of revealing the spiritual plane to others. And then there are the Subconites, dwellers whose spirits are given physical form through puppet bodies so they can interact with the world.

Both under the rule of the Snatcher, a powerful ghost that haunted the land. Trespassers he caught are forced to sign magical contracts with their souls as the price. All but one had made it out with their soul not getting devoured and bodies dumped like garbage. Another spirit did dwell within this ghostly forest and commanded the Dwellers that didn't want to be involved with the ghostly ruler.

This spirit known as Moonjumper also was a soul stealing entity that was at odds with the Snatcher. Clashes between both spirits were given and often depleted their magic to the point souls were required to replenish them. Snatcher fed on ones that belonged mostly to the innocent since they trespassed on his land more often and Moonjumper took those who were destined for hell as they fled to his part of the forest after performing dastardly deeds.

And this is where their problem all started. In a large tree lined with giant mushrooms and carved into with a jack o lantern was the dwelling for a particular specter. The Snatcher, a ghost around 20 ft long in size with a body similar to a serpent but covered completely in a mane of dark purple fur, a thick curly tip mane followed by glowing yellow eyes and mouth often found on a child's jack o' lantern with two fangs and spindly arms with two clawed fingers.

The spirit had a book in hand that's cover read 'Ghostly Magic and Illnesses' with eyes narrowed in annoyance and frowning in distaste. His powers had been acting finicky as late as last night. His warping magic left him in the wrong location than what he wanted, hands burst into flame without reason but the biggest sign was one of his contracts. The paper looked dead than it's pristine yellow cut.

Thus he delayed any new contracts and halted his duties to immediately find what was going on with his powers. A magical sickness wasn't what he expected. Especially as one as deadly to him like this. The Chaos Petrification, a sickness that manifests in soul eating entity's who had too much of innocent or damned energy in their appetite.

"...The only cure is the energy from a being with an immense fighting spirit. A soul whose willpower is so powerful that they can bring their inner being to life. By consuming some of this energy, the sick spirit's powers will return to proper balance. These souls are very rare and the illness will take four days to permanently petrify the spirit. What the peck?!" He shut the book with a huff.

"How the peck am I supposed to find a soul with an immense fighting spirit? What does that even mean by willpower that can come to life?!" He exclaimed with his animalistic rough growl mixed alongside the mischievous jovial balanced tone of his voice echoing through the forest. This wasn't something that needed to happen. You can't rule over a forest if you are a stone statue.

"Guess I'm not the only in this same predicament." A much softer male voice with an echo made the Snatcher's frown turn into an annoyed snarl. Turning around to bore holes into the head of the corpse possessing spirit at his home's doorway. The spirit was much smaller than him, around the size of a human man if he was missing his legs.

Their head was a pale blue moon shaped mask flipped on its back, red stripes going down the bottom side of the mouth, two eyes of slightly different sizes with red stripes or star spots in them, the fangs making the mask bear an aura of madness, his spindly body covered in torn remains of a prince attire consisting of a white ascot and red coat but manacles with broken chains around his wrists.

"Moonjumper, how did you get here? Have you forgotten you are banned from this part of my forest?" Snatcher growled whilst looking at this intruder with aggravation. "Trust me, I wouldn't have impeded on your land if it wasn't for good reason. I believe Chaos Petrification being both our problems." Those words were enough for the violet ghost to drop the book an instant.

"You have it too? This is really bad. Magic is the only thing keeping that witch's frost from eating the whole forest. And I really don't want her anywhere near that pecking border." The spirit shivered upon the thought of the ice witch that dwelled in a small section of the forest. All three of them were at odds but neither of the two males hated the other more than the female demon by their borders.

"As much as you hate me, neither of us wants our land to become frozen over with ghostly ice. We need each other to keep her at bay. From what I overheard is that the cure is the energy of a soul with a powerful inner will?" Moonjumper said, picking up the dropped book and opened it back to the page the other specter had it on.

The page in question held a person shaped hieroglyph and multiple wisps around them with a giant wisp at the center. Underneath the image was a scrap of text that seemed unreadable. With a flick of his fingers, red string manifested on that tiny part of the page. It covered the area before they vanished upon burrowing into the pages as restored text that read 'Stand User' in its place.

"Stand User? A bizarre name but much better than nothing. Though it's the first I heard of it." Moonjumper hummed looking at those two words that were the key to their salvation. "Maybe the kid might know. She may be a weirdo but she's a weirdo from space so the Hat Brat might have a clue." As if on signal by the violet ghost, a soft thump was heard by his tree alongside a childish girl saying Tada.

Then walked in a little girl who seemed to be around 8 years old in age, hair a chocolate brown ponytail and bright blue eyes wearing a purple top hat with a gold ribbon, a purple Victorian looking shirt, white pants, black shoes and a violet umbrella decorated in stickers. "Hey Snatcher! And Moonjumper you here too?! Bowie was wondering where you were!" The child who was known as Hat Kid said with honest surprise.

Both ghosts decided to inform the young child about their current predicament. The girl may be young but her actions in the past showed she was a force to be reckoned and a good source of help. After all, no one had ever bested Snatcher in a fight or escaped the manor of the Subcon's Ice Queen alive.

"A Stand User? Don't know what that is but I think my new friend might know!" That caught the attention of the two specters. Hat Kid has a habit of making friends with very interesting individuals. These very people were often useful to Snatcher in particular considering his special contacts known as Death Wishes.

"Really? Who's this new friend of yours and where are they now?" Snatcher questioned nearly getting into the kid's face. "Her name is Jodie Joestar and I met her in Mafia Town! She looked extremely lost and said something about a Stand thingy that took her from her friends! In fact she's waiting on my ship right now since I said you guys might know a way for her to get back!" Hat Kid exclaimed, both ghosts were quite pleased to hear this.

It shouldn't be so hard to ask the woman about it. Though even if the Snatcher wouldn't think or much less admit it, Moonjumper was quite curious on what kind of person was this Jodie Joestar. A question he was glad to ask Hat Kid about on their way to her ship.

"What kind of person Jodie is like? She's quite cool and very nice! Her hair is blue and the surprising thing is that it's completely natural! Jodie also knows some cool tricks I could do with my hat and apparently loves to sing. I plan on asking her if she wants to hang out later and show me these special comics she has called Manga! Oh and she has a lot of siblings, like 7 brothers and one sister! One of her brothers is her twin too!"

Snatcher could only do a small dry cackle in his head. This Jodie sounded like another weirdo. They had to be crazy to stand the little purple hat wearing alien girl known as Hat Kid. Plus having 8 siblings was guaranteed to drive someone up the wall with madness. Then again, might be another soul that could be a new contractor. His forest did need some maintenance that didn't involve the kid.

Hat Kid's spaceship could be described as very colorful and imaginative to anyone who goes inside. Various rooms with bright color carpets, different setups being connected by various sized tunnels which most were crawlspaces to any adult guests, displays with the subjects of each one floating in midair or the massive pile of pillows that could be found in the bedroom.

Each room contains a telescope, a type of transporter that took others to certain parts of the planet that it was locked on to. Funnily, the telescope in her room leads straight to Subcon Forest which was also the same place the trio arrived in. Though they weren't exactly counting on the sound of music above them.

This music sounded very strange. It was like a flute with a higher pitch mixed with the tone of a harmonica and light notes found in an ocarina. The song itself was very soothing despite it's somber tune and all three of them had different thoughts upon it. To Hat Kid, it sounded like something that could be heard from a fairytale. There was this sort of magic to it that you would only find from unexplained wonders.

For Moonjumper, it was very calming to him. It reminded him of whenever he was stargazing, his inner turmoils were quelled and he could feel himself at peace despite his cursed afterlife. And for Snatcher, the tune reminded him of home. Before Subcon had become the haunted forest it was now. Where children were playing, the sun was shining and everything was filled with peaceful life. The time he was truly happy and had a better honest outlook of the world.

They all looked to see the source of that melody on top of the pillow mountain. It was a young woman with slightly long curly blue hair and the music was coming from a leaf she had pressed to her mouth. She appeared to be around 5'10 in height with light peach skin and her body completely covered in a peculiar style of clothing.

It consisted of a black long sleeve kimono to the point that it completely swallowed her arms and legs, a torn sleeveless white long coat with seagreen bottom starting from halfway, a long blue sash like harness around her waist and brown hiking boots. This had to be the girl that Hat Kid was talking about, Jodie Joestar.

From her closed eyes and no reaction to their arrival, it was clear she didn't notice them yet. 'She's quite talented if she can create such music with a simple leaf. And cute…' Moonjumper immediately shoved that last thought in the back of his mind. No ogling a human girl especially one you don't know nothing about.

Jodie opened her eyes and immediately spotted the little girl alongside the two ghostly guests. She then placed the small plant piece in her pocket before sliding down the pillow mountain. "Welcome back Hattie-san! I see you brought guests too! Konnichiwa!" Her voice was light, peppy and had a soft energy to it as she bowed to the two ghosts much to their surprise.

"Konnichi-what? Sorry girlie but I don't speak alien or bow to random strangers." Snatcher snarked but the young woman didn't let it bother her much. "Sorry about that. Konnichiwa means Hello in Japanese and bowing to someone you first meet is a sign of respect from Japan as well." Jodie explained, her voice riddled with modest honesty.

"Quite an interesting custom. Sorry for not introducing ourselves. I am Moonjumper and the large fellow beside me is Snatcher. You must be Jodie Joestar?" The chained ghost's question was met with a small nod. "Correct. Hattie-san said you could be of assistance with my particular situation." That's right, Hat Kid did say she was stranded but how bad could it be?

"It depends on how bad it is and what you can give in return, kiddo. Nothing in this world is free." Snatcher had slithered around her side before his face got up close and personal to the woman with a finger to her face. She merely moved his finger aside much to the specter's surprise. "It's rude to put your fingers in someone's face Snatcher. You wouldn't want someone to do the same to you." And then she booped him on the area where his nose would be if the ghost had one.

Hat Kid giggled and Moonjumper had put his own down seeing the flustered face of Snatcher as Jodie walked over to Hat's bed and sat at the end. He clearly was having trouble processing the fact that some random stranger booped him, Snatcher the Ruler of Subcon, on his face in pure nonchalance. The sound of the kid's laughter and Moonjumper's amused look had him push it to the side as he glared at the two then Jodie.

The bluenette wasn't even a bit fazed as she spoke once more. "To put it simply, this isn't my world. I was sent here by the power of an enemy Stand, I believe he called it 'When They Come For Me'. Stands are the manifestation of a person's fighting spirit and each one is different from the other. They come in many shapes, types and forms. Some are named after the tarot deck and lately music or songs."

It had to be another world. He had to jinx himself. Moonjumper had to resist facepalming for that one. "Stand Users have a habit of attracting other Stand Users and some aren't really nice learning that." The violet ghost decided to butt in. "I guess that means you're a Stand User too since 'Stand Users have a habit of attracting other Stand Users.'" Jodie ignored his snarky interruption with a placid face.

Snatcher really was trying to aggravate her but he wasn't going to be easily satisfied. "Very astute. I am a Stand User but lucky for you is that I'm one of the friendlier and more rational ones. If you would've asked someone else that then they would attack or in a worse case scenario kill you in very gruesome ways. Trust me when I say you don't want to make an enemy of someone who could erase you from existence or turn you into a living bomb with a single touch."

And the peaceful ambient mood immediately shriveled up and died from Jodie's words. 'Erase someone from existence? That peck neck kid could've got us destroyed in an instant if she brought some fool capable of that on board! I may be powerful but I'm not stupid. Though I had to applaud her for killing the mood so quickly.' Snatcher had to reluctantly admit that last bit in his head.

Jodie then continued. "Don't worry though if there are any other nasty Stand Users then I can easily handle them. It's sort of my job to keep the bad nuts under control with my Stand: What's Up Danger!" Almost on cue something large and white had appeared in front of the bluenette causing the two ghosts and child to jump back in surprise.

Standing proudly before then was a white lion/dog hybrid beast with a ragged green and red bowtie on their chest around a good 12 ft in size, a seagreen underbelly alongside horn like ears and sharp bladed claws of that same color, a mouth of oversized monstrous fangs and tusks that looked like something from a horror movie, two eye sockets filled with various colored eyes than just one, dark blue bladed spikes on each side of the back, and a blue tail ending with a plush viper head that had blue bunny ears alongside a stitched mouth.

"That is a big freakish cat. And seriously 'What's Up Danger?' At least some fool knows what they're getting into once that comes out." The beast or What's Up Danger rolled their eyes at the violet specter's snark. "Kitty!" Then Hat Kid just pounced on the large feline with a big hug much to everyone's surprise. Jodie immediately became as flustered as her Stand who clearly was not used to random hugs.

"Hattie-san, you are one of a kind because no one has ever called Danger a kitty and hugged her." The woman couldn't help but chuckle as the feline plucked the child off her leg and settled the little girl on her back with her tail. Moonjumper merely looked at the peculiar creature with a curious gaze. It's not everyday a ghostly demonic feline jumps out of someone.

He then noticed Jodie giving the two ghosts a look that clearly read: 'You can get closer if you want.' Moonjumper came closer with no issue while Snatcher held back a groan and settled with a skeptical look before begrudgingly coming over. Danger merely sat down and watched them making it clear she had no problem with what they did. Especially since Hat Kid was petting her much to the feline's pleasure.

"So you said you were looking for my assistance but for what?" Filling her in on the situation was apparently easier than they expected. "Turning to stone sounds really awful. If you need some of my Stand Energy then take what you need. Danger and I have no problem with it. Right, girl?" A soft mew confirmed the feline's answer to her partner.

"Thank you very much Jodie. You are a 'lifesaver' I believe what people say these days. Please hold out your hand or paw." The duo followed Moonjumper's instruction and pulled out their respective left limb. Snatcher had cautiously taken Jodie's while Moonjumper took Danger's. he vast difference in size was made clear as the violet ghost and feline practically overshadowed their respective partner's hand.

Both females felt a large prick at the center of their being that vanished as fast it came, a flu shot being the closest to compare the feeling. The reactions of the two ghosts were instant once they let go. A large burst of blue flame ignited from Snatcher's hand before manifesting as a pristine gold contract paper with a large bright smile and strings whipped from Moonjumper's in an elegant controlled fashion.

"I'm back in business! Maybe even better than ever since my contracts never had such a perfect pristine look to them." The specter couldn't help but admire the elegant masterful craftsmanship of the calligraphy and detailed fabric/paper of the very item in his claws. "My magic feels much better as well. It has been some time to be able to manipulate my strings like this after escaping the Horizon. You have an incredible spirit Miss Joestar."

Jodie and Danger couldn't help the big smile on their beaming faces at the Moonjumper's praise and the sorta gratitude from Snatcher. "Now to get you home! You know the telescopes on my ship, the ones that I use to travel on different parts of the planet." Hat Kid's inquiry earned a round of nods from the room's occupants.

"I was thinking that we can power up one of the telescopes so it can send you back! And the best ones for the job was Snatcher and Moonjumper." That didn't sound like a bad idea. All of them had seen how the strange objects worked, most of them even used it, they were very accurate on where they warped to and from.

"Doesn't sound too hard considering we got a sample of the kiddo's soul. It'll act like a guide to her planet and last location before ending up in that stupidity infested town. The telescope used for my forest will boost our chances since it's linked to the realm of yours truly." A larger smug smile grew on the specter's face that earned him an eye roll from the other ghost.

With a simple spell, the telescope to Subcon had undergone a significant change. It was now larger with the brown cover replaced with a deep violet marked by red spirals, a second notch by the lenses marked with a J, and a mechanism that changed the lense for a bright sea green one. "There we go. Now the telescope can warp to your world and not just Subcon Forest with a turn of the notch." Moonjumper didn't expect the sudden hug from the woman and Snatcher didn't expect her to hug him next. Hat Kid's hug wasn't a surprise.

What's Up Danger vanished as Jodie recalled the being back into her own soul. "Thank you guys! I hope we can meet again in the future someday but for now this is goodbye. My family is probably worried or on a crusade for that Stand User so best to put out the flaming torches and put down any Stand Rushes quickly as possible. Sayonara and Arigato." With a smile on her face, the girl vanished in the light of the telescope.

Snatcher and Moonjumper stared at the object a bit longer before instinctively looking at Hat Kid. She had a very familiar disaster impending smile on her face. "You're going to follow her, aren't you?" The chained specter was answered by the smug look in the child's eyes. "At least give her three days. I want to see what kind of face she makes when we pop up. Plus there's a book of spells that might come in handy."

An impossible thing to knock about Snatcher and Hat Kid. When you grab their interest expect to follow you with every chance they get. And prepare for the impending mayhem to follow. Ghosts and children always tend to cause mischievous mishaps after all.

This is another Hat in Time crossover but instead I used Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. Hat Kid here is a bit more chatty because I want to practice all sorts of interactions especially with two diverse sets of characters from two different franchises.

While Unappreciated Hunter was exploration in its style, this is more of how these very unique series interact with another when you take into consideration how vastly different they are. Kind of like a melting pot as characters handle brand new situations and the oddities provided.

This is all my first attempt at writing Moonjumper so I hope I did good. Until next time folks!

This is Jodie Joestar and her Stand What's Up Danger! Alongside the song that her name comes from.

[elliemarchetti]

The Scam (part 3)

Previous chapters

Words: 1453

Breakfast was nothing special: Mare was escorted to the women's room wearing Gisa’s umpteenth creation made following Cal’s advices, and found waiting for her only the queen and the Queenstrial’s favorite, a hateful and snob girl that even Elara didn’t seem to like that much. As Cal had predicted, she was invited to take part in the gala lunch and if that morning, although reluctantly, she felt foolish, wandering around the city covered in lace, she was now grateful that she had worn something that launched an incredibly specific message: she was a noblewoman old enough to get engaged but too young to marry. Moreover, although she immediately hated her etiquette teacher and after the first lesson, which lasted three and a half hours because, according to Cal, a noble who hasn’t yet been presented in society has no more important commitment or greater desire than to please the royals, she had returned home with back pain for posture lessons on how to sit, stand, walk and even sleep -even though she was sure she would never have slept if she laid on her back with her arms stiff at her sides- she had to admit that they hadn't been completely useless, especially the part about court rules -who would’ve thought there was a specific order for walking!- and on the various names; she was slowly beginning to understand the hierarchy between the various families and yet she was sure that she would make a mess anyway. Talking about her “father’s family” history was easy since nobody wanted to remember the insurrection that occurred during the reign of Caesar II, nor how the Titanos family had to rise from their ashes during the reign of Julias II and III, therefore Mare had been able to know very little about what had happened before 151 N.E. but if the topic shifted to the Nolles the situation became more complicated and with Cal’s family was nearly impossible to don't get confused and mix all the names in an explosive cocktail for her scam. Of course some slips in the first period would’ve been forgiven, after all it would’ve made sense if she hadn't been updated on the Silver affairs, given where she had grown up, but it would’ve made her unsuitable to reign when, although she never would’ve sitting on the throne, she and Cal had to convince everyone otherwise, which was reminded her on the glass terrace where the lunch was held, on the lower floor than the women’s room, at the end of the longest corridor she ever seen. Once she crossed the threshold Mare was hit by a fresh breeze; with the hot sun on her face, if only he could’ve closed her eyes, he could’ve pretended that she had never accepted Cal's proposal and that she was again only Mare and not Mareena but it wasn't like that and the decorations, all purple and silver, were enough to remind her. So really that would’ve been the day of her debut. How many things would’ve changed? Many. Too many, a small voice coming from the bottom of her heart corrected her, which she stifled promptly, trying to concentrate on the glass roof that refracted the sunlight in a rainbow of colors that danced combined with the guests’ clothes, supported by transparent columns masterfully carved and decorated with silver bows. Gisa would’ve been over the moon there and her heart ached at the thought that she would never be able to see it in its full splendor. But perhaps it was better that way: she didn't want her surrounded by Silvers, not after what had happened in Summerton, it didn't matter that Cal had solved the situation because it didn't erase what had been done to her. The Silvers, unlike the Reds, were used to not having to suffer the consequences of their actions and to forget them when someone else remedied them but even if she had to pretend, and he would’ve to do it all her life, Mare wouldn’t have become like them. Silver in the mind, Red in the heart. In that period of visits to the palace it was something she had often repeated herself.

"There aren't many places like this where you come from, I guess." said a female voice that made her jump. It was a girl in a dark blue and red dress, that placed her in the Iral family, who spoke, sporting a fake and cold smile, although behind the mask a pride that not all of them sported was clearly visible, which made her an obstacle for her plan and a danger for her safety. If she was even a bit ruthless like Evangeline she had to find a way to eliminate her, just like her friend, a shadow of house Haven, judging by the black dress, with pale skin and bright red hair braided in a crown. Yes, if she had been forced to participate in the Queenstrial they must’ve been out of the game.

"It’s certainly a pleasant welcome." Mare commented, showing off in turn a sharp smile that she hoped was enough to hide her suspicious gaze.

"Kind of you to notice my little thought." commented the queen behind her. The two girls bowed deeply but Elara didn’t look at them: she wanted that it was she who accompanied her on stage for the official announcement, so Mare followed her and stopped next to Cal.

"We all remember our beacon of hope in the darkness brought by war, our captain and friend, General Ethan Titanos." the king began, speaking to the crowd. A moved buzz arose in the room and even house Samos’ patriarch bowed his head in respect.

"He led the Iron Legion to victory and pushed back the enemy lines that had endured for nearly a century. The Lakelanders feared him, our soldiers loved him," continued Elara, and although Mare doubted highly that a Red soldier could love his own General Silver she would grant the dead man who they wanted to pass off as her father the benefit of the doubt.

"The Lakelands spies murdered our dear friend, sneaked among us and trampled on the only hope for peace we had." resumed the king, another lie that Mare had managed to unmask as soon as she had access to some more reliable source than the Reds’ history books as it was evident that the war continued only as a method of population control. Although that information was public domain among the Silvers, if someone had questioned the topic to such an extent that they could connect the dots and see the general design they hadn’t bothered to put an end to it, also because it certainly doesn’t concerned their people. Or, and that was a completely different option, which made the royalty much more dangerous than she had calculated before agreeing to help Cal, the Calores were willing to get rid of their opponents even if they were their people. Seeing it from that point of view it was difficult to imagine that the Lakelanders were suddenly able to penetrate the impenetrable defenses of a Silver general and simpler to suppose that the royal family wanted to get rid of a sharp mind that, over time, would’ve managed to put an end to that farce. But also to kill his wife, an innocent woman, in order to achieve their goal? No Silver was really innocent and their own knew it well. Not that it made any difference to her: the king's poignant words about the dead Titanos benefited her and the queen's feigned tears only validated her cause in front of the Queenstrial girls and their families.

"My friends, we are delighted to welcome Mareena Titanos, daughter of Ethan Titanos and Nora Nolle.”

Those present forcedly applauded and Cal took her hand. It was just a small sacrifice, giving up on herself to save her family. The king told the twist of her dramatic story built by her and Cal then announced that he intended to reward her father and her family for the enormous contribution made to their kingdom by announcing the union of their families. At that point, Mare turned pale: they couldn’t have gone so far, not so fast, but a quick glance at Cal, stretched like a violin string, told her that she was wrong, that she shouldn’t have taken that chance so lightly. So Cal spoke the ritual words, which must have been taught him when he was still a child and Mare couldn’t help but accept, slamming the rest of her life out the door when she was introduced as the future queen of Norta, the first, and probably last, Red queen.

[sapphiresterreart]

Misery Loves Company: KaiShin Idea

KaiShin would’ve happen eventually in this idea, but I lost steam towards the end, so. Conan might seem a bit...OOC? But well, I was aiming for angst so, anyway. This is all I got.

Summary: An almost-kidnapping. A heartbreak. And a little bit of magic.

Misery Loves Company

There was something…odd about KID tonight. Maybe it was his posture: stiff and rigid unlike the usual fluid movements. Maybe it was his smile: a little too wide and a little too strained. Or maybe it was the fact he wouldn’t meet his gaze. Whatever it was, Conan hoped it wasn’t too serious. The lack of their usual friendly banter was unnerving. Still, he gave chase.

Conan burst onto the rooftop. “Kaitou–” he blinked. “…KID?”

There was no one there. Nothing but the wide open space of an empty rooftop under a full moons light. He strode to the edge. Nothing. No sign of KID ever being up there. Had he fallen for one of the thief’s tricks? He gazed at the cityscape below a beat longer before he turned.

A leather texture slapped over his mouth. Instinct ripped a scream from his throat and he flailed for his watch. KID didn’t wear leather gloves. There was no one else on the rooftop. So who the–

“Shut it, brat.” A deep but smooth voice snapped.

Relief flared. Not Gin. The other arm manhandled him until it was snaked around his stomach with his arms pinned to his sides. He wriggled, kicking anything within reach. He managed to score a few hits in what felt like someone’s chest before the man (it had to be a man, women didn’t have such large hands) shook him. He screamed harder. The hand on his mouth tightened to a painful degree.

“Behave.” The stranger growled. Amidst the loud rustling of fabric in his ears, his captor stood and twisted him till his face was smashed against the stranger’s chest. Now he was held in place by just one arm. Damnit. And his left wrist was still pinned.

The man walked. The movements were jarring. Weight shifting heavily on one side. So was the man injured? Limping? Or was it an old injury? The weight shifted. Definitely the left side. If he could get down, then he could smash a soccer-ball into the jerk’s leg. But what did the man even want? Was he after him? Or KID? Part of a larger group or just an average thug? Couldn’t be the organization, They wouldn’t attack so openly or let him live. So then…?

The wind whipped his hair. An engine revved. The sound of whirring blades neared. He swallowed. Helicopter? If this person had an accomplice driving the helicopter then the police wouldn’t have a chance to–Damn. Guess he think fast.

He lifted his leg, intending to grab the knob on his shoe and clock the guy in the stomach, when something whizzed by his ear. The man cursed, hold loosening, but didn’t drop him. Conan took the chance.  He cranked the knob, reared his foot, and snapped it forwards. The hold dropped and he tumbled backwards to the floor.

“Shit!” A dark patch colored the attacker’s shoulder.

The stranger reached for him but a card indented the concrete between the two. Conan scuttled backwards, straight into a waiting thief’s arms. Or at least I hope it’s– He craned his neck to see a familiar monocle and exhaled.

He leveled a glare at his savior. “Mind telling me why–”

“Later!” KID leapt to the side as a gunshot rang.

Oh. “Okay.”

KID sprinted for the edge. “Hang on.”

Quickly, he latched onto the arm around his waist. Small fingers curled into the white fabric. KID used his free limb to shoot at their attackers. A thrill shot up his spine as they free fell. From what little he could see, apparently whatever he shot involved pink gas or smoke. Maybe paint? No, probably sleeping gas. Hopefully Nakamori-keibu had noticed the sounds.

White erupted above them as the hang-glider opened. KID banked around the building. Catching an updraft, he soared back above the building and regained the helicopter’s attention if the roaring sound of blades whipping nearby was any indication. The phantom thief swerved left and right, purposely evading any aimed shots. Conan studied the skyscrapers below him.

He spotted an approaching building. “Hey!” He called over the rushing wind and jerked a finger. “Drop me off there!”

“And let them grab you again?” KID shouted back.

He scowled. “Just–!”

“Nah,” The thief tightened the hold and jerked as a wayward breeze sent them higher. “There’s no lakes nearby. Where will the helicopter crash?”

“Then at least the police station!”

“And let them grab me? No thanks.”

Conan groaned. Shoulda brought my parachute-backpack. The thief twisted, the hang-glider rolled upside-down, and he shot another card. A boom echoed behind them and he wiggled just enough to see white smoke before they toppled right side-up. With the haze behind them, KID jerked and they curved down and into a street. The choppers grew fainter and he sighed. Somehow, KID was able to lose them.

They continued to fly, weaving between streets, until a familiar building came into view. Mouri Agency. They alighted atop the roof and KID let him loose. Conan pivoted but the thief was already walking away.

“Hey!” He ran after. “Don’t ignore me! Why–”

“Sorry ‘bout that, Tantei-kun.” The airy dismissal only riled him up. “Do take care, hmm?”

“Whoa, you can’t just–”

“Do me a favor and return this to Nakamori-keibu, won’t you?” A glittering blue light soared towards him and he hastily stopped to catch it. “Bye!”

Little legs were too short to reach the jumping thief. Just as Conan reached the edge, KID was gone. He exhaled. “Damn thief…”

He ventured to the rooftop exit, huffing. Just who were those guys? Why did they grab him? Did they know who he was? No…they would’ve killed him right away, right? Or…He was at a KID heist, after all. Known as the KID Killer to boot. So then…then they had to be after that damn thief. Did they think they could use him against the phantom? The criminal did have that ‘no-one-gets-hurt’ rule. But then…?

His phone buzzed as he walked down the steps. He checked the device. Shinichi’s phone? From Ran? He fished his bow-tie out of his pockets and adjusted the dials.

He pivoted to head up the stairs. Best not be caught by accidental eavesdroppers. “Ah, Ran?”

“Shinichi?”

Wow her voice didn’t sound good. What happened?

“Yeah?”

Static crackled on the other end of the line. His childhood friend sucked in air and spoke in a rush, too quick to hear. He opened the door and stepped into the moonlight.

“What? Sorry, you spoke too fast.”

Ran repeated herself, slowly and shakily. His heart dropped into his chest. The door clicked shut behind him. Time seemed to stand still. It couldn’t be true.

“…what?”

It couldn’t be true.

“I’ve waited long enough.” His best-friend, his potential girlfriend, sobbed. “It’s time I moved on.”

“What? Ran, where is this–”

“Three years.” Her voice trembled. “It’s been three years since you vanished. Three years since I’ve spent more than one day with you. Three years since you’ve gone to school. Three years since… Three years since you were here.” She slowed, quieting. “I’ve put my life on hold for three years. Please…don’t ask me to wait anymore, Sh-Kudo-kun.”

And just like that his world fell apart. He dropped his eyes. Dropped to the ground. He curled into a ball against the door, studied his too small palm curling into a fist, and sighed.

“…I understand, Ra-Mouri-chan.” His own voice cracked. “You’ve waited long enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

He hung up. This…wasn’t how he wanted the night to end. He flipped the phone closed and dragged a palm down his face, fighting the urge to cry. Three years. He held on for three years in hopes his old life was waiting for him. But now…?

What was waiting now?

Nothing but broken hearts.

He sighed and forced himself to stand. He needed time. But he didn’t have time. He ran out of that three years ago. He needed space. He needed to think. He needed…

He needed a friend.

“Damnit.” He kicked at the ground and spat. “You’re on your own, Kudo-kun. Always have been…”

He exhaled. Damnit. He didn’t have time for thoughts like this! He didn’t have– he halted. What didn’t he have? He didn’t… He didn’t have his life back.

Anger rushed through him. It wasn’t fair! And damn if he didn’t feel like a petulant child but– Three years! Three years! Three years of being in the wrong body. Of holding hands and fake smiles. Of leading adults to answers because he couldn’t say the truth without being believed. Of being picked up and hauled anywhere someone bigger than him pleased. Of–of–of…

Lies. Sorrow cooled the anger. ‘Conan’ was nothing more than a massive lie.

“One truth prevails, huh?” Conan laughed bitterly. “Only one truth…” It took him a moment to realize it, but his pants were damp. “Ah…”

His cheeks were thoroughly soaked. He needed to change. But to do so would mean facing Ran and–well, that wasn’t an option. Forcing himself to breathe, he stood. Alright. Fine. Maybe he didn’t have his life back. Maybe he’d never get his life back. But he could still be a detective. He could still… What else was there besides being a detective? Soccer?

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, finding Ran calling Conan. Probably asking where he was. She wouldn’t find him tonight, though. Conan needed a break. For just a little while he needed to be…whoever the hell he was without a mask.

He opened the rooftop door and crept down the stairs. Quick glances confirmed no one was in the stair well and he hurried down the steps as quickly and as quietly as he could. He knew it was cruel not to tell anyone he was fine. He knew they cared. He knew they thought he was only a 10 year old child. He knew a lot of things. But what did he ever know, really? He was living a lie, after all.

He was at the bottom of the steps, almost home free, when a door opened. He turned just enough to see a tear-stained Ran spotting him and he was out. He flung himself along the sidewalk, running fast. She would no doubt follow. So he checked the street and crossed. He ran. A feminine yell followed his retreat but he ran until he couldn’t hear her footsteps. He ran until he found himself standing in front of familiar gates. Right now, Suburu was somewhere in there. Right now, he needed somewhere to hide. Somewhere no one could find him.

So he ran.

It wasn’t until his lungs burned and his legs ached and the streets had changed did he stop. He scanned the street-lit area. His phone buzzed. A rundown shopping center, empty of people. Perfect. Judging by the condition of the shops and the “remodeling” signs, no one had been around for awhile. So. His phone buzzed. He was alone. The buzzing continued.

Absently, he pulled out both phones and turned them off. Tucking them away, he set to clambering up the chicken-wire gates on one closed building. When he reached the top, he curled on the concrete and sighed.

It was late. He was tired. He’d probably get a cold from the night air. For just once, he didn’t want to think.

He closed his eyes.

It was a long night. He didn’t sleep until the sun rose and warmed the air. It was uncomfortable and his body ached but at least it was warm. Nightmares plagued him and he woke several times. Still, he tried to return to sleep. He’d rather face nightmares of his own mind than the one he was living. He kept his phones off. He just…needed a break.

It wasn’t until he realized that his glasses, Detective Badge, and phones had trackers in them did he remember he couldn’t get a break.

“Conan-kun!” The Shounen Tantei called, followed by Ran’s voice. “Conan-kun?”

He couldn’t stop a groan and rolled over. Let him be miserable in peace. Petulantly, he muttered to himself. “Go ‘way…”

They continued to call until Mitsuhiko raised his voice. “It says he’s here. Is he in one of these buildings?”

The group quieted and Haibara idly commented. “Or on?”

Damn you. He growled because nope. Not today. Not playing child today. Ran wouldn’t let him out her sight and then he’d have to pretend and fake and lie, lie, lie. He pushed himself upright and headed for the back of the building. He scaled down the walls as Ayumi exclaimed “he’s moving!” before he took off.

The group hurried into the same street. “Conan-kun!?!”

“Leave me alone!” He called back, putting on speed. “Go away!”

They gave chase. He checked the area and hurried to the nearest crowded area. He wove between legs, Ran hot on his heels, and dove for for the underground subway. He sprinted down the steps, skipping several, and hopped into the first train about to leave. His heart hammered.

“C’mon…” he chanted.

Ran appeared amongst the crowd.

“C’mon…”

The doors shut on her anguished face.

He averted his gaze and sighed. He climbed into an empty seat and let the train take him to wherever. Vaguely, he heard something about ‘Ekoda final stop’ but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Vibrations hummed in the air as the train glided along the tracks. Idly, he watched as the train emerged above ground and the scenery blurred past him.

He must have dozed because when he woke it was to bustle of a large crowd standing at once. He blinked, dazedly realizing the LED sign in the train interior stated ‘Ekoda’ and he followed the crowd out of the underground and back into open air.

He wandered the unfamiliar streets. Eventually he found himself following the sound of faint excited cheering. It brought him to the center of a local park. His curiosity piqued, he wandered along the path, letting it take him to a clearing where a crowd of children and adults alike sat on the grass before a stage. There, on the raised platform, was none other than–

Huh?

A Kudo Shinichi lookalike performed magic tricks on the stage. But the stranger couldn’t have been impersonating him. The hair was too wild, the grin too wide. So then, who…?

Regardless, the mystery pulled him forwards and he blended into the edge of the audience. He settled on the grass.

The stranger showered the audience with flower petals. The man plucked some from the air and chewed. Conan grinned as he grasped one of the petals, surprised to find it real. He looked back to find the man staggering as his stomach seemed to grow. How–?

“Uh oh…” the man groaned. “It seems I ate too many petals..”

Conan lurched forwards, worried, when the man sneezed and  doves erupted out of the man’s button down shirt. Conan laughed despite himself. Feathers swirled around them and the man yelled as if surprised.

“Where did–Hey! Come back here!” The doves cooed and spiraled through the air. They dipped and dived and flew together. It was beautiful. It was entrancing. It was mysterious. Just who was this guy?

The performer whipped off his silk tie and spun it around until it became a makeshift loop. “I’ll catch you!”

He flipped off his empty top hat. Then, one by one he looped the doves by their beck and feigned a massive struggle, as if the doves were strongly resisting the leash. When he brought them close, he scooped them up in the top hat, twisted it in his hold, and revealed an empty top hat. Conan’s eyes widened. Where did the dove–?

There was only one dove left but it was one the magician couldn’t catch. The dove cooed, as if laughing, as it dodged every attempt. The man wiped his brow, as if exhausted, when the bird flared its wings and drifted into the audience…right onto one small head.

Conan snorted on a laugh, watching the bird preen, and stayed still. The dove settled as if his hair were a nest. He looked to the magician only to find the stranger staring at him with an unreadable gaze. He shifted, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, before a wounded expression shadowed the man’s face.

“Tama-chan!” The man feigned offense. “Don’t you love me?”

The bird ducked her head into feathers.

“Ta-ma-chan!” The stranger whined and let his whole body droop. The audience laughed. He faked a sniffle. “Traitor, I say!” A wild smile lit the face as the man tossed out his arms. “But just you wait! My next trick will absolutely dazzle you.”

And fireworks zipped out from the man’s sleeves. The man continued the antics with an upbeat grin and silly jokes. Conan found himself lost in the magic, just letting himself enjoy the show without analyzing every move. (Not to say he didn’t analyze anything. But his brain needed a break. Just for a bit. Just for now. Let the magic be magical. Just for now)

The untamed energy was infectious. When it came time for the magician’s final bow, he actually found himself disappointed the show was over. Still, a welcome break was a welcome break. And the bird was still on his head.

After the most of the crowd cleared, he made his way towards the stage where a line of children waited. Many begged for an autograph and so he settled in line. Some of the children tried to touch the bird atop his head but he dodged the efforts with a reminder than “Tama-chan isn’t mine. You have to ask Magician-san if you can pet her.”

And so they clambered to the front but the magician herded them back into line. Once it was his turn, the man held out his hand but the bird didn’t move. Huh. Conan reached up and gently plucked the bird into his arms.

Just as he reached to return the bird, the magician commented. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Oh!” He blinked as the dove pecked his grassy palm. Absently, he stroked the delicate head. “Yes! Thank you, Magician-san. It was…” incredible. “…I needed it.”

The look-alike to his older self studied his face for a beat before he patted his head. “Glad to hear it. Now, looks like your friends are here!”

He tilted his head and turned to look and– “Conan-kun!” Ran and the kiddos approached. “You had us worried sick!”

“Oh, sorry!” He lied through his teeth. “I just wanted to watch…” he turned to introduce the magician only to find him gone. “…the show.”

Ah, well. He had his break. He offered a smile, a genuine one this time. “Let’s head home, okay?”

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch III - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Read on AO3 here.

Ch 3 / ?? - in which women befuddled the Darkness in various ways

Emma woke up to bright spring sun and the smell of baking bread all around her. She could hear the sound of laughter and voices coming from downstairs; it was rather disconcerting, considering the circumstances of their arrival. Looking at her state of dress, she was glad to discover something had been put out for her. She slipped out of her muddy shift, folding the now stiff fabric as small as she could. The clothing laid out was bizarre; a woolen tunic split down the front with large buttons in a dark shade of magenta, and a soft blue dress made of several fabrics she couldn’t place. Emma felt exposed without the proper undergarments, but in this case she was more happy that she had clothes than she was worried. She hoped whoever had provided them could arrange a bath to be drawn later. When no servants arrived to bring her a tray or announce breakfast, Emma shrugged it off; not all households had servants in them. 

Heading down the stairs and vaguely remembering the layout from the night before, she was brought to a landing where a glass door led to a storefront and more stairs led down to a living space. Nearing the bottom she heard a man’s low laugh. Turning the corner, she was shocked to see Killian smiling slightly, laughing at something one of the women across from him was saying. A woman with white-blonde hair in a braid sat next to an auburn haired woman. They were obviously related, sharing the same eyes and nose, but the auburn haired woman had her hair arranged in a braided crown and looked significantly more carefree. When Killian saw her, his smile faded, his eyes looking down at the cup in front of him. The two women followed his previous line of sight, turning to look at Emma. The blonde scowled, eyes narrowing and face becoming a harsh, icy, mask of anger. Emma took a step back, shocked by her reaction. The auburn haired woman put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, and smiled grimly at Emma. 

“Good morning.”

Emma let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Good morning. I’m sorry to intrude, I’ll just -”

Killian let out a grunt, still looking down at his cup, and the blonde stood to sit next to him. Emma wondered if this was a lover of his, with the way she possessively took his forearm, shooting daggers of ice towards Emma. 

The auburn haired woman watched as the blonde moved away, and then smiled back towards Emma. 

“Come join us for breakfast, please. I’m Anna, and this is my sister Elsa.” She motioned Emma over to sit next to her, as Elsa stiffened. “Ingrid will be over in a minute, she’s just finishing up bread for the day. We open in a bit.” 

“Oh no, I couldn’t -” Emma started, before Ingrid flew in, wearing a blue checkered apron covered in flour. 

“Couldn’t what? Join us for breakfast? Nonsense, Emma, I baked some danishes just for you and Killian.” She motioned Emma over to the seat next to Anna with a smile on her face. Emma sat and Anna offered her another warm smile. The blonde woman sat diagonally to her right, Killian right across from her. “Would you like some coffee or tea, my dear? Maybe some juice?” 

“Tea would be lovely.” Emma felt her body start to loosen, her shoulders growing less tight as Anna and Ingrid started chatting about the weather outside. Ingrid placed a tea service, plates, a pitcher of juice, and a plate of pastries on the table. She rushed away for a moment longer as Anna handed out plates, grabbing a small kettle for Killian. Emma was astonished to see him smile at the woman pleasantly without a hint of arrogance, hatred, or spite. Anna and Ingrid kept the chatter pleasant, even teasing the man in front of her as if he wasn’t a murderer. Emma’s eyes wandered as she was excluded from the conversation, even with Ingrid and Anna’s many attempts to try to include her. The conversation was stilted and awkward without her commentary. 

“Oh!” Emma exclaimed, catching sight of a familiar face in the portraits on the wall as the mood stayed light. She spoke more out of surprise, words coming that she could not bottle even as Anna’s eyes flicked to her in distaste. “I recognize him. Captain Liam, right? He looks so happy here! We have a portrait of him up in one of the hallways, in full uniform, looking very serious. I used to talk to him while playing with my dolls or sing to him to make him happy. He - well, my pretend version of him I guess - even gave me advice.”

The room was silent as Emma looked back at the table. Killian’s jaw muscles were so tight, she could see them ticking in time with the clock. Ingrid and Anna were both casting horrified glances at Elsa, who was trembling with a rage that made her previous glares look tame.

“I’m sorry if I said something that -” Emma started, not knowing what had caused the mood to turn hostile.

Killian stood, and left the room without a word, and Elsa trailed behind, casting one last glare at Emma. Emma realized she could see wetness in the woman’s eyes. The room fell silent again, both Ingrid and Anna looking at the doorway the others had left through.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know - I mean, I knew he had passed but -” Emma stammered, trying to make sense of the situation.

Ingrid sighed, sad and tired. She laid her head in her hands. “Liam… Liam was Killian’s brother.” Emma realized too quickly why Killian’s eyes had seemed so familiar, why she felt compelled to trust him against her mother’s warning. Her emotions turned to a stone in her stomach, and she sank heavily into her seat. For the first time in many years, she felt a twisting feeling. Shame. Ashamed of the war that took so many nameless brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers from their families in the name of peace between the realms. 

“And Elsa - Elsa and Liam were courting.” Anna spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. “They were so happy, he and Elsa. Killian had met a beauty himself and was courting her, but Elsa and Liam…” she paused trailing off, still gazing after her sister. “They were so in love. It was barely a courtship even by today’s standards. They just knew. He gave her a ring, and said he’d be back soon. No one expected the Goblins or the Darkness to…”

Ingrid coughed softly, and Anna looked down at her lap. Emma felt the air change, long swept away sadness and anger emerging from disused corners. Regina had drilled history lessons into her brain about how her parents had married and peace was won. Or so she had thought. The history had been clear, but now it was murky with a new understanding of long past events. 

The Goblins, in a last move of madness, had resorted to blood magic - tearing two brothers from people they cared about without mercy and creating the Darkness they sought, unaware it would choose a vessel like Killian Jones. Unaware of the events that would transpire. 

Milah, stolen away with hundreds of other women of all realms to keep their blood magic strong as they controlled the Darkness against the will of its vessel. 

Liam, lying dead in red-stained waters with his entire armada as destruction rained down in time with barked commands. 

The dagger,  broken by the power of her parents’ True Love, taken from the Goblins as the Dark One raged in torment. The last moments of a united council sealing away the Goblins in a contained territory, and Killian in a dark cell for as long as needed. 

Killian, forced for centuries to remember that he had lost everything. Or almost everything, the flicker of hope never quite going out. 

Emma swallowed hard. Everything that her parents had done, everything Emma possessed, everything she was, her entire existence in this world and her own was an attack on the memories that Killian, Elsa, Anna and Ingrid buried, trying to forget. She’d ruined quiet peace with her imagined conversations, as Liam told her stories of the sea, and sang with her in gruff baritone from an imagined place in her mind. After falling into their lives with all the gentleness of a rockslide, how would she fix the impact of what she was, and what she represented? There was no way. Guilt and fear weighed as heavy and new emotions on her shoulders. 

“I know - I know there is nothing I can say or do to make this right,” Emma whispered, “but please let me help you with anything I can?”

Ingrid nodded, a hesitant smile creeping onto her face. “Alright then. Let’s get you a shower and an apron.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Working in the bakery was tedious in its methodology and precision, mixing powders, eggs, and milk in large vats that stirred with mechanical innards. It reminded her of alchemy, and took her mind from her fears as she focused. Emma had a new found respect for Granny and any kitchen workers after the first few hours, especially since her clumsiness meant much more work was left to be done. At least she could try the shower again if she became nervous and made a mess; her hands still hadn’t stopped trembling from shock and leftover adrenaline. 

“Why did you leave the realms?” Emma asked quietly, digging a scoop into a bowl labeled ‘C. chip cookies’. Scooping out a large portion, Anna all but ran over to stop her and show her the proper amount. 

“They get bigger, they grow in the oven. Gosh, to think you’ve never cooked before.” Anna looked at Emma contemplatively for a moment before laughing gently.  “I guess that’s part of it. My sister, Ingrid, and I - well. We come from a long line of Scandinavian Fae, Brownies, Trolls and Ice Folk. We were ladies of the court in the old northern palace for some time. It was located maybe three hundred kilometers from here, up on top of the mountains.” Anna flashed a toothy grin at Ingrid, who was smiling while mixing. “Then the war took our parents, our younger brother Olaf, our Uncle Nemo, our cousins, Liam… It destroyed my friends, destroyed our ancestral home. For me, I needed to stay where my memories were strongest. This was Uncle Nemo’s mill and we had fond memories summering here as well. Auntie, what about you?”

“There isn’t much to say. There was nothing left there for us. The magic was gone, metaphorically and literally. With very little magic, the kingdom falling from the peaks of snowy mountains to the earth, the ice of our towers cracking - we couldn’t rebuild without an unlimited supply of power again.” Ingrid shrugged, smoothing out dough in front of her with a rolling pin. She spread a thick brown filling over it with one hand, the other hand rolling it into a complex braid. “After I lost Nemo… This was a way to feel his presence. I feel him here so much, even now. He built our room to look over my mountains, while he could see his harbor. I still struggle looking at the sea. I miss his laugh, and I never thought I’d say it, but I miss his hunger.” Ingrid smiled, her voice wistful while completing several braids with different fillings. Emma could only continue shaping what would be cookies into uneven lumps. 

Anna carried a metal tray past on one shoulder, correcting her scoop size once more before scurrying to the ovens and sliding it inside. “We put a glamor up for humans, so we look as though we’re aging and a new generation takes over, but we have been here long enough to watch the town become a city, and the city become a tourist destination. It’s something. We have purpose.” Pounding the dough, Anna worked fluidly, unstoppable in her routine as she sped through her tasks in an unending stream of movement. 

Emma huffed in annoyance at her failure, plopping down more cookies on her first tray, glancing back to Ingrid who was now creating heart shaped tartlets, and Anna who weaved lattice over pies in less than a minute. 

“Don’t get discouraged now, Princess!” Anna giggled. “We do this every day. You’ll be making the perfect sized cookies for us in no time.” Her positivity was sweet, considering how especially awful Emma was at every task set before her. 

The work became easier as both women showed her techniques, and Emma cut shapes in pastry dough or kneaded loaves of bread. Kneading was becoming her fast favorite, her hands and occasionally forearm or elbow pushing air out of the round ball, pushing her frustration out as well. It was cathartic - and wonderful. 

When the loaves were beaten into submission, Anna showed her how to make frostings or where they were in the cold box they kept, and this turned fortuitous. Emma was a natural immediately. Icing with delicate brocade or ethereal lace, Ingrid gasped at the cookies she laid out. Stained glass, something Ingrid referred to as “similar to Art Nouveau”, geometric patterns, and stunning jewel tones rested on trays in carefully placed positions. A wedding cake initially gave Emma pause, but she painted it in a tapestry of unicorns and peacocks, the rich, velvety, colors so realistic one could almost feel the loom’s weave. Bright flowers in the miniscule were easy and like home, unlike the designs Ingrid had pointed out in glossy paper picture books, named strange things like ‘Tartan’, ‘Paisley’, and 'Plaid’. 

Elsa returned to see a beautiful pearl white and pale blue cake in three tiers, adorned with rock candy in a variety of watercolored hues piled high and topped with a light dusting of sugar. The effect was stunning, mimicking a frozen waterfall cascading over river boulders. 

“Do… Do you like it?” Emma stepped timidly from where she had been standing, watching Elsa take in her work. 

Elsa nodded, but said nothing else as she fled to her room. 

Killian looked in briefly when he returned, but was more interested in the croissant he plucked from the display case with an aloof nod. 

“Enjoying the commoner’s life, Princess?” he smirked, chewing his croissant. “Take care, or you may enjoy it too much and want to stay.” His back was to her, so she gave a slight cough to grab his attention with a frown. Carefully sliding a plate towards him over the case’s counter, Emma crossed her arms and stepped back to lean against the wall, as far from his presence as she could be. 

“I don’t think life on the run and being separated from my family would provide me enjoyment. Ingrid asked if I wanted to make you something. I didn’t, but I felt I could not refuse. So, there’s that. Think of it as a thank you.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A tan piece of what possibly was cheesecake sat in front of Killian,  covered in a dark brown sauce that dripped off the top of the slice and down the sides. Chuckling lightly, he looked, picked up the spoon, and spun it between his fingers before touching it to his lips. “Is that all your gratitude is worth?“

Emma stared at him with cold hatred. “A jest, love.” He leaned forward with eyes trained on her face, pleased he could feel her annoyance. ”If you’re interested in enjoyment, I’m sure we can find something suitable for your royal standards.” 

“I am not your love, as I’ve told you.” The warning in her tone made him laugh again, her eyes only slits of frosted clover. “And I won’t be teased about my heritage and duty -”

“You know, if this is poisoned, I won’t die. Which is good because we know full well now that if I were to fall, your enjoyment would be in grave danger. You’d bore any unwitting night cap to death with your long winded explanations of decorum.”

Emma’s cheeks turned a bright red, and Killian’s smirk grew wider as the Darkness tittered. Her jaw set, and she let out a contemptuous huff. 

“Shut up and eat your cake,” Anna said, rushing through to grab some pastries for a basket, the strange clear paper it was wrapped in crinkling. “You ungrateful prat.”

Emma slumped back against the wall, her face sour, and Killian turned towards the dessert. Torturing her was less fun today, especially when one of the other women lurked closeby to chastise him. 

“I don’t even like sweets,” he mumbled. Emma snorted in derision, sending a flare of irritation at the dismissal through him. Grumbling, he scooped up a bite, more than ready to tell her how awful it was.

The first bite was sublime. 

Dark chocolate and coffee married bittersweetness to a tangy sweet burn of the sauce, which Killian recognized immediately for its flavor. Rum, the spice and molasses possibly mixed with caramel.

Emma was gone when he looked up in surprise, but Anna was back with another tray. Sliding it into place as he took another bite, she smirked. 

"She worked hard to make that. I realize your issues with her family, but considering that you both are harbored here, maybe you could try understanding that she is in a place very like yours. Waiting and hoping that her loved ones are safe." 

He felt hot anger at her comparison, but as she stared back at him, it fizzled. Anna was quiet but a brilliant debater, constructing arguments in quick succession that were almost impossible to dodge. A war of words with her was not something he wanted. Luckily, Anna turned to take her leave after a moment more. Taking another bite of cake, he considered her thinking. There was a small sliver of truth in her words. 

In a strange way, Killian wished that they could all stay like this, held in this happy oblivion forever more - 

A time capsule moment where this could be a new normal, and he could forget everything that he had lost; the peace he might find if the pale memory of Milah’s hand in his or Liam’s roar of laughter over dinner faded away. Instead, four uneasy pairs of eyes watched him as if he were a bomb, ready to explode at any time. The jade pair bore into him with glassy loathing, but behind that lay fear and a frustrating penchant for sarcastic, annoying, ridiculously genuine kindness. Kindness he did not deserve, and she should not be giving, even if she was an innocent. 

She’s not innocent. She is as guilty as her family, as everyone who let the war take - 

"I know,” Killian replied, rubbing at his temple. There wasn’t surety in his words, the women adding another layer of distraction in his thinking. The Darkness, Ingrid’s calculated stare, Anna’s sharp tongue and Elsa being all around icy on top of the princess’s presence was akin to sticking his head in a vice. 

You only want to forget to make it easier for yourself. Are you so selfish and cowardly that you would forego your revenge on their murderers? You deserve no penance. 

“I know." 

The whispered hiss echoed around the quiet shopfront, the creeping shadow around Killian feasting on his shame and the absolute truth in his reply.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

By the eighth day of their confinement, Killian was sure that being in such close quarters as these women was his own personal hell. The princess refused to do much more than spend all day in tasks that she could exhaust herself doing, her eyes going glassy when pressed on any sort of strategy or allies her parents may had mentioned in passing. The Darkness seemed to be at odds with itself when she was around, skittish and curious as it twisted words to toy with her.

She was quick witted and bitingly sarcastic if need be, especially under the provocation they provided. Killian found lewdness to be effective in getting her to quiet, while the Darkness was much more insidious. If they weren’t tormenting her, it was a torment in and of itself to be in the quiet alone with the nonstop voice. It moaned and hissed, screeching out complaints that felt like spikes through both temples, his forehead pulsing with effort to quiet it. 

Useless! We will be under the thumb of some idiotic master again if you don’t act, if you don’t acquiesce - 

His teeth set, fingers scrubbing against his jaw. For her part, Emma avoided him as much as possible, seemingly aware of how he scrutinized her at every turn while she did the same to him. It didn’t help matters that she had won the hearts of the women, letting them feed her advantageous information all while they consistently berated him for his vitriol. It had begun to feel like a game of chess where both players simply chased each other with no pieces to speak of. 

They were your family, and now they betray you. Punish them for their insolence -  

"No. No .”

In truth, they were all sympathetic to his plight. He had food, hot tea, salvaged books from Nemo’s library, and their caring questions that he refused to acknowledge. He had Milah’s locket, which he refused to look at. 

This is not a holiday, they will be killed if you dither. We have the princess, get one of those chattering women to steal the shard -

“No. They would be at risk of getting hurt then, too-" 

And? You could heal them when they return our power, our legacy - 

~~ A flash of an old smile under blue eyes, the same color as Elsa’s paired with the same faintly colored hair. Elsa looks more like Olaf’s mother than older sister, the little boy’s grin missing teeth when she tickles him. He can so clearly see Olaf laughing as Liam tosses him in the air with Elsa braiding them crowns of forget me nots, Nemo chuckling as he smokes a long pipe, and Milah dancing barefoot over dusk touched rose petals. There’s nothing but happiness when Ingrid and her sister carrying heaps of food with Anna and Ingrid’s brother in law not far behind. It would be strange dining with the Duke and Duchess of Arendelle so casually if they were not so casual themselves. Barefoot, with rolled pantcuffs, there is a game of kicking a ball when the ale is drunk and so are the men. The Duchess may be making wet smacking noises on her son’s belly as his sisters help, calling him their little snow troll. 

Nemo toasts with wine from golden summer grapes and sunshine reflected on sea waves, his voice booming off the tiles. 

"To our family. A legacy, a lasting legacy for all of us!" 

There is conversation over dinner, and later, quietly over drinks: Liam’s hushed voice telling him that he loves seeing Olaf, because when the war is over he wants a life with Elsa and a legacy, an heir to Blackwater. 

The only person who makes Killian feel that same sense of hope, of wonder, is Milah. ~~

The Darkness groaned in frustration, scoffing as it tore apart the memory. 

Are your ghosts loud tonight, weakling? The courtyard is empty. They’re long gone, and we’d have our revenge if you would -  

"And, I have already told you. You will never hurt my family again. They will never play a part in whatever devious scheme you try and force them into. I hold my brother’s death upon my shoulders, and I will not shoulder another!”

Always the pretender, you sniveling coward. Fine. We’ll follow your line in the sand, vessel of mine - but should the time come where my schemes could have kept your loved ones from being hurt… Well. You’ll just add another name to that long, long list of yours, won’t you? 

Sitting in the dark of the patio, the Darkness whispered incessantly, even as Killian refused to answer it. It wound around him tighter and tighter, staining his mood. Slithering through his thoughts like some great and poisonous snake, it laughed its reedy giggle as the endless night turned into endless day. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian did not join them for breakfast the next few mornings, Ingrid giving a shaky smile as she pointed out to the stone veranda that turned into the outdoor area. “He’s been out there since I went to bed on Sunday night, pacing like some caged animal. It’s like time stands still for him, out there for hours at a time, or disappearing to who knows where. Today I started the baking, made myself a bit of tea, and made him a pot - he’s still out there muttering.”

Emma nodded absently, pushing food around her plate. 

“Girls. One of us will need to talk to him, and I thought it should be Emma this time. You seem to spur him into action with your attitude toward each other -" 

"I’m sorry Ingrid, but I cannot today. I can't…” Emma started, but when the words stuck in her throat, she stood quickly and didn’t even bother to excuse herself, etiquette be damned. Running to her small makeshift quarters, she hiccuped as she locked the door behind herself and ignored the other women’s pleas. Not today. She could not do it today when concern for her family tore her to shreds. Not when her parents, her friends and family could be… Nil’s face came to mind, his complete indifference to her discomfort filling her with dread. 

Not today. Emma was used to sacrifice, used to the idea of danger and the wolf at the gate. She recognized the size, shape, habitat, and behavior that presented danger. Here, however, with its hot breath burning her, being in the mouth of the wolf was too much, it was all too much without having someone who knew how much she missed the wonderful people that made up her family. 

Sobbing into her pillow, she barely heard when Anna came in with a small tray and sat next to her. 

“Do you want to talk to me?” Anna asked, and when Emma shook her head, she nodded quietly. “Would you like some tea?" 

Emma sat up, surprised at how late it had gotten since she had excused herself. She nodded, accepting the offered cup from Anna. 

"I knew your mom, you know.” Emma’s eyes widened infinitesimally, her interest captured. Anna continued shyly. “We weren’t close, or anything by any means, but… We talked, we knew each other." 

"What was she like?" 

"Your mom and I used to do etiquette classes together, but she’d always skip out. She hated the court, hated procedure and politics. Wanted to make a decision and be done with it, run in with arrow drawn to face the problem. We went to a ball in the Sacred Forest far north, and she wanted to leave until she saw a sword fighting contest. Her date caught wind of her desire and forbade her from joining - that is, until her protests won out.” Anna smiled a fond smile.“I had an awful date as well, a chosen match for me that was truly dreadful. Your mother’s was even worse than 'Handsy Hans’: your father’s twin, rest his soul. He was not kind to your mom. He bet a ring of Dav-, of your father’s, that he could beat her and suggested if he won he’d take her to a marriage bed with or without her consent.”

Emma winced. 

“When he lost and your mom beat the bloody pulp out of him, David refused to give the ring to her. He claimed that it was his, and his brother had no right to take it. They fought until Snow took it and we all tried to make our way back. Your father, the persistent man he presumably still is, chased her. They fought constantly, but he challenged her. It was a whirlwind romance. James eventually met Princess Jacqueline of the Giants, and changed his ways completely. I heard The Airie and Beanstalk fell in the war, but did not want to believe that all of the Giants were lost.”

“I guess I never knew. My father doesn’t talk about Uncle James or Aunt Jacques. I only know of them through the brief correspondences they sent before the war took a turn. Well, that and their sculpture in our garden.”

“There are shame and secrets in every family. Your father called a vote on whether or not the Giants would receive a kingdom in the United Realms. James argued that not allowing them a seat at the table was forgetting their contributions to the cause. They had grown magic beans at one time, and Jacqueline was positive they could do it again. Instead, when the vote took place,they were denied, and then attacked by the Goblins. The Goblins had full control over the Darkness by that point, and…” Her eyes flickered down to her feet, like she was unable to look Emma in the eye as she continued. 

“Sometimes the people we love the most are the easiest to make excuses for, but I believe Killian when he says he has to follow that ghastly dagger’s commands. He would never otherwise, I swear it.” Anna didn’t look up as the silence stretched between them. 

“And… What was he like before?” Emma finally asked, watching as Anna’s eyes flicked up. 

“Killian? Oh, he was a ladies’ man, a charmer in many ways but sincere in most. Milah made him tie himself up in knots." 

"Was he kind?” Emma asked quietly. 

“Yes. Too much sometimes, even. Gentle too. He could read people like no one else. He was sensitive, and had a way with words that was incomparable. I had a crush on him as a child, but we saw each other more like siblings after his mother’s death." 

Emma cleared her throat. "It’s hard to believe he was ever kind.”

“We’re not talking about a person who is gone, or impossible to change, Emma.” Anna took Emma’s hand in her own, gently taking away the empty tea cup. “People have to want to change, to make changes, and to be a better person. You can’t change someone, but you can provide every chance for them to be better. You can see the good in them. Please don’t forget that there is good in him.” In pleading tones, Anna squeezed Emma’s hand. “At least not before I do,” she tried to joke, but it fell flat, the waver clear in her tone as she trailed off. 

Emma swallowed hard, her throat suddenly raw despite the tea she had just drank. She had to destroy him, her mother was clear on that, and yet…

“I’ll try. Tell me more about back then, if you would?” Emma asked, her voice uneven. 

Anna recounted tale after tale, and Emma’s mood started recovering from the slump she had left breakfast in. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

As the noonday sun moved quickly into evening, Anna returned with an empty tray from Emma’s room, washing the dishes as Ingrid sipped a cup of tea herself. The older woman’s eyes were trained on the long shadow made by the man prowling their terrace, his low voice sometimes coming into hearing, just low enough where words could not be discerned. Ingrid’s mouth turned downward at the edges, and she turned to Anna.

“How is she?” Ingrid took another sip of her tea, listening to Anna’s sigh. “About as well as you’d expect. She’s struggling, and doesn’t understand how to struggle. She’s stuck in the normal status quo we used to be in, where if you’re sad, you bottle it up and smile, look pretty, nod your head, and don’t dare to let any of the nobility see any weakness. The problem is, we’re all nobility, and he’s a -”

“He’s a broody idiot, and she’s an airhead,” Elsa supplied from the doorway. Taking a seat next to Ingrid, they shared a look, Anna letting out a snort. “I don’t know who you want to sort him out, Aunt Ingrid, but I’d rather eat shards of a mirror. It’s no wonder Emma all but fled for the hills when you asked that of her this morning; you proposed sending a lamb to the wolf. I mean for God’s sake, it’s the 60’s; he can’t talk to women that way, but she’s also going to have to toughen up a little.” She gestured a hand dismissively at the terrace.

Anna let out a noise of shock, sitting down beside her sister. “You can’t mean that, Els. I promise if you get to know her, you’ll see -”

“See what? That she’s not some vapid, spoiled, castle-coddled waif? Anna, you are too sympathetic to her. It’s -”

Ingrid slammed a fist down on the table, sending Elsa’s teacup rattling. “Elsa. That’s quite enough. The girl is…” She searched for the words, nodding her head sideways in thought. “She’s trying. She’s very smart, picks up things quickly. And she’s survived this long with… With him. I think we can all agree that that is impressive.”

Elsa rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together until they were thin lines. “He’s still our Killian, he’s just angry. Hell, I’m angry! I can’t imagine how he feels. And so what if she’s hiding her feelings, tell her to join the guild. I have to pretend I like her.” “You are acting very much like a spoiled princess for one criticizing another for the same - a woman who has tried nothing but to be nice to you,” Anna muttered. Elsa looked taken aback, but Ingrid laughed.

Standing up with a groan and letting her knees pop, she dusted off her apron and smiled gently at the two women shooting eye daggers at each other. “I guess since you two will be busy, it’s up to me, then.”

The chorus of sniping comments from the sisters followed her out into the night air, muffling as she closed the door behind her. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian sat on a stone bench, still muttering but in a strange staggered way, a grunt of acknowledgement and then silence when Ingrid came nearer to sit. The buzzing of the Darkness and its whine that put his body on edge grew with her close proximity, a punishment for denying its dark whims of violence. “You never come out here unless you want me to come inside and be around the princess. What have I done now to deserve such punishment?” There was no joke in his sentence, the sourness of his tone layered as if an adder’s poison coated his tongue. Ingrid gave a small shiver despite herself, much to his satisfaction.

“She’s a lovely girl, truly kind. Could do with a bit of learning, especially on how humans act or how to do a day’s labor, though.” Ingrid sat next to him, and he tried to ignore her. The Darkness hated her, and hated how she ignored its presence. It snapped its jaws and demanded deference. “She’s a pitiful idiot with a royal pedigree. I hope you didn’t give her blisters on her royal palms,” he growled sarcastically and Ingrid rolled her eyes. The Darkness seethed.

“Killian Brennan Jones.” The tone in the older woman’s voice was forceful. “You owe me hundreds of favors, or as that leech of a creature calls them, ‘deals’. You will be kind to that woman, and take her out to calm her fears. She is the daughter of a dear friend of our family, and I will not have you in my home if she is a panicked mess worrying about them. We all have given parts of ourselves to the war, but she does not hold the blame. Be a gentleman, like the you I remember.”

Kill her, snap her neck, end this! She doesn’t respect us, we must demand respect! the Darkness squirmed and whined. 

“I’m always a gentleman, Ingrid, and the leech is me and I am the leech, regardless of your memory. Have Anna take her shopping. They like each other,” Killian droned. He didn’t deserve respect, and Ingrid was right. The Darkness howled.

“No, you’ll go. She’s your charge, and holds your freedom.” At his quick eyebrow raise and ticking jaw, her eyes twinkled. “If you want to be free, you should be using honey, not vinegar.”

Killian grunted noncommittally.

“It’s settled then. I’ll lay out an outfit for her. Take her to the park, the big one in town by the sea.” Ingrid continued to babble on as the Darkness bit at him under his skin, desperately seeking vengeance. His firm line held true, though; he would never again hurt his family, no matter how the fanged monster tried. When the Darkness had settled to a normal skitter after licking its wounds, it chewed on the words Ingrid had spoken. 

The silly woman might have a point. 

Honey over vinegar. 

[spoopyghostgirl]

So I'm just gonna post a character thing for my Mass Effect OC Hades

Name: Hades Alexandria Demetriou

Title: Commander, Spectre, Princess

Nickname(s): Charming, Hey Hey, Hot Head, Star Dust, Super Nova Girl

Gender: Female

Age: 26781 years old

Birthday: August 18th

Previous Homeworld: Olympus

Current Homeworld: Olympus

Sexual Orientation: Panexual

Race: Celestial

Voice: Asami Sato

Personality: Hades is a shameless flirt with a short temper and sociopathic tendencies. She tries to be a good person but isn't always the best at it. She is playful and light, commonly being asked if she "takes anything seriously", which can be a good thing when winning people over and a stressful thing when someone's already mad at her. She smiles constantly, being the child of an ambassador and is use to pretending to like people she doesn't. Good for diplomacy, to a point. Will throw hands in necessary. Big into giving nicknames.

Family or Relatives:

• Brother (twin): Poseidon Alexander Demetriou

• Sister: Artemis Emilie Demetriou

• Brother: Apollo Leoni Demetriou

• Brother: Aries Emanates Demetriou

• Brother: Zeus Aniello Demetriou

• Mother: Rhea Alexandria Demetriou

• Father: Kronos Emilio Demetriou

Morality: Chaotic Evil

Pre-Service History: Hades was born around 26781 years ago. She was born on Earth, though she isn't human. She was born during the period her parents were on Earth, parading around as Gods to those who were less evolved. For awhile things were great, until her father and his siblings decided to run tests on the humans. She and her two older brothers, Poseidon and Zeus turned against them, banishing them from Earth and taking over as the big three. For a time, there was peace, the trio restoring what their parents destroyed and helping guide the humans down more peaceful paths. Soon, the humans began to war amongst themselves in the name of the god they most supported. This was what ended the Elementals time on Earth. They left, returning to their home planet. When they returned, they discovered that their mother had founded a new government and led their people to peace. Several smaller "Gods" took to the moons around the planet, making them their homes, and beginning colonies while her mother and father ruled as the King and Queen of Gods. It wasn't long after when her parents were approached to join the council and the other races of aliens. Her father was ambassador for awhile before he decided to take time off, offering the position to Hades. Thankfully, the council, having her of Hades skills and abilities, was chosen to become a Spectre while her older brother, Zeus, became the ambassador. This all happened within 2000 years of the series starting.

Psychological Profile: Ruthless

Addictions: None particularly, partially an adrenaline junky

Role model(s): Her father, a powerful leader. Her mother for her kind heart and ability to charm just about anyone.

Beliefs: None

Habits: Running in the morning. Practicing both hand to hand combat and her shooting skills. Talks with her hands and has problems standing/sitting still.

Hobbies: Enjoys listening to music and art. Has a large garden of flowers on her home planet that she had originally planted and maintained to impress a girl. Likes to paint and sketch.

Source of Anger/Hatred: Some of her siblings (Aries). Anyone who is stupid or intentionally hurtful. Those who would threaten those she loves. Idiots. People who can't see what's in front of their faces. People who talk down to her or people she cares about.

Source of Sadness/Sorrow: Nothing really.

Source of Fear/Phobia: Fear of spiders and heights.

Likes: Books. Music. Art. Cats. Being physical. Tattoos.

Dislikes: Spiders. Idiots.

Weight: 120lbs

Height: 5'7

Build: Lean Muscular

Scar(s): One, center of her bottom lip. Faint scar from all the times shes split it open.

Tattoo(s): Floral tattoos on both arms around shoulder to bicep. They're of flowers that she grew in her garden with Persephone. They took the flowers to the tattoo shop and had them dipped in ink and then Persephone pressed them to her skin in an intricate pattern which was then tattooed over. They're cobalt blue and black on her left arm and a deep violet and burgundy on her right.

Skin Tone: Hades is fair, tending to spend most of her time in her armor.

Facial Features: Full lips, with a pouty lower lip. Small, Roman nose. High cheek bones. Dark arched brows. Large almond shaped eyes and long dark lashes. A small freckle under the other corner of her right eye. Small scar on the center of her lower lip.

Hair  Style:

ME1: Short and white, buzzed on the sides, long on top

ME2 and 3: Long and wave, goes pass shoulder blades. Lilac in color and buzzed short on the right side.

Hair color: White. Later, Lilac.

Eye color: Yellow/Red/Black

Eye Style: Hades, along with all of her people, have black sclera. Her irises are red around the pupil and yellow in the rest.

Helmet: Death Mask

Chest Armor: Kestrel Torso Sheath

Shoulder Piece: Kestrel Shoulder Piece

Gauntlet Armor Piece: Kestrel Arm Sheathing

Leg Armor Piece: Kestrel Power Pack

Primary Colour: Black

Secondary Colour: Burgundy

Tertiary Colour: Navy blue

Casual Clothing: Hades wears a black crop top and leather skinny jeans. Over her black crop top she wears a silk off the shoulder crop top that is red with gold trim. Hades wears red silky half skirt that is clipped into place by two gold clasps on each side of her hips. She wears a pair of black knee high boots.

Faction/Occupation/Affiliation: Council, Spectre, Cerberus (ME2), Council/Spectre (ME3)

Artificial intelligence: Cerberus, unrelated to the human organization

Allies/Friends: Several.

Rivals/Frienemies: None.

Nemesis/Enemies: Seran, Aries, Cerberus, Reapers, Geth

Class: Adept/Solider

Category Threat Level: 12

Rank: Commander, Spectre

Standard/Modified Weapons: 

1. Diamond Back X Assault Rifle

2.M-98 Widow Anti-Material Rifle

3. Cobra X line pistol

Genetic Augmentation: Hades was created to be the perfect solider by her father. As an infant (given that she wasn't naturally birthed and was instead made in a pod) she is super human, with super strength, increased speed, increased healing abilities, and perfect vision.

Supernatural Powers: Hades has the ability to manipulate fire and space. Can become a mass of fire shaped like herself and teleport short distances.

Skills/Specialization: Immensely skilled with pistols and assault rifles. Is the person who runs ahead and pops off enemies. Is skilled in hand to hand combat.

[petitprincess1]

How To Torture Your Heroes

Summary: Demencia and Clem teach the gross cockroaches of the world how to properly obtain and torture your enemy better than some nerdboy could!

Words: 2,454

Characters: Demencia, Flug, Clemencia, and Black Hat (briefly)

Warnings: A bit of torture, but nothing too bad.

I had too much fun with this

Demencia sat at the metallic table with her arms crossed and glaring at the shaking Cam-Bot and Flug, who was clearly smirking underneath his bag. She just narrowed her eyes at him, while, at the same time, erratic noises and lights that were going on beside her. She then slowly glanced over to her side at seeing Clemencia strapped up in a chair, wrapped in a straitjacket, and her mouth covered by a mask. The unicorn witch was currently vibrating in the chair, hearts in her eyes changing various of colors, and her powers were sparking from her horn. She was also making many high-pitched squeaking sounds and they only became louder the moment Dem’s eyes were on her.

Demencia’s stare went back to Flug, who was setting up Cam-Bot and ordering, “Alright, remember that Black Hat wants you to do this. Honestly, I wouldn’t care and the only commercials I would have you do is one for rabies vaccinations or one where we send you off to space.”

Flug was expecting Demencia to make a “witty” comeback like her becoming queen of the moon-people or something that idiotically implausible, but she just kept glaring at him. He just rolled his eyes and then looked as Cam-Bot’s recording light come on, saying, while holding up cards for her to speak off of, “Okay, Cam-Bot is recording. Go, Demencia.”

Demencia narrowed her eyes further at him before speaking in an even, annoyed tone, “Welcome, you bottom feeders, are you sick and tired of using the same old methods to capture and torture heroes? Do they always get away from your clutches? Always stealing your shit-” “Demencia, stick to the cards.” “Ugh! Always stealing your equipment,” she mocked in an obnoxiously nerdy voice by plugging her nose and then continued, “and leaving a mess everywhere? Then, fear not, for- this is so fucking stupid! Couldn’t you at least have tried to make the script sound like me, instead of your disgusting, lameass nerd language!?”

Flug pinched at where the bridge of his nose would be and then spoke in a professional manner, “You know, I really did try to, Demencia. However, you must understand that it is quite difficult to translate caveman speak to our natural, everyday colloquialism.”

Dem slammed her hands down on the table and shouted at him, “Say that to my face, punching bag!”

“You’re literally a few feet in front of me! How is this not saying it to your fa-” “Because it isn’t, chicken shit! If you were brave enough, you would say it right here, instead of-” The two began bickering over one another. Flug giving out the most intellectual disses the world has ever known, while Demencia resorted to “colorful” language, gory descriptions of Flug’s demise, and the occasional, never defeated “bleh bleh bleh” method. 

Meanwhile, Clem watched the two fight amongst one another like a child watching their parents argue. She casually shimmied out of her straitjacket, unbuckled the straps, and took off the mask. Skipping over to Flug, she looked down at the cards in his hands and asked, “Can I see those?”

“Yeah, sure,” Flug said absentmindedly, as he just went back to quarreling with Demencia like the goof that he is. Clemencia just went back to her seat and sat down, reading over the cue cards. Cam-Bot turned off its recording for a few seconds to look in-between the two villains and shook its ‘head’, wondering how it hasn’t short-circuited from all this madness. The only thing that was able to break them out of their squabble was Clemencia shouting, “Whaaaaaat!? Dangle them over hydrochloric acid? Painful injections? Lead them to you with what they love? What is this absolute crap? I thought you were supposed to be the best in the business, Flug!”

Flug immediately put a hand to his chest, feeling absolutely offended, while Demencia snatched at the cards and started reading them over. The scientist shouted, “Okay, listen here you randomly generated Tumblr OC, I don’t need someone like you telling me that-”

“I'm gonna stop you right there because you clearly do! None of this would truly work! It's, dare I say, old hat! I mean, who dangles people over acid anymore?” Clemencia asked, while Demencia finished reading and winced, “As much as I hate to agree with sparkles over here, I think she's got a point.”

Flug crossed his arms, scoffing and sputtering, before taking a deep breath and giving in, “You know what? Fine! I'll let you both take over, see how well you do, but I'm not gonna be responsible for how Black Hat reacts!”

The two multicolored women weren't even listening to him, as the two were writing down suggestions and even making some pictures on their garbage writ- er…“script”. Clemencia then pulled down a large, long projection screen out of nowhere and the two hid behind the screen. Clem whispered, “Aaaaaaaannnndddd...action!”

Cam-Bot just shook its head and then rewound the footage before starting it back up again. Suddenly, an image of a half lizard and half unicorn skull crying out rainbows in front of heart that had nails all over it appeared on the screen. The two magically poofed in front of the screen. Demencia was holding a bloodied baseball bat that had nails all over it and Clemencia held a pink and gold axe that had hearts within the blade and pink bows along the handle. Flug groaned, as he sat down with a mug in his hand that...possibly held coffee, “Oh boy.”

Demencia greeted, “Welcome, you gross boils of the underworld, it's your ruthless, badass Demencia to teach you scrubs about how to truly capture and torture your victims, whether they be a hero or a disgusting, useless, sidekick, nerdboy!”

Flug gave loud sigh, but didn't say anything. The lizard woman pointed to Clemencia and introduced, “And who better to check over such methods than with- Gah!”

Clemencia suddenly brought her into a spine-crushing hug and lifted her off of the ground, exclaiming, “Than with her no-as-equally-but-pretty-dang-close-at-least-hope-so-or-I’ll-cry-in-the-tub-again-tonight gorgeous girlfriend, Clemencia!”

Dem growled, as she hit her over head with the bat, “I'm not your girlfriend, dumb broad!”

Each hit that she made just made a squeaky toy noise. Flug blinked at the both of them and then cleared his throat. The two stared at him before going back to their normal poses and Dem went on like nothing happened, “Than with this horrible excuse of a hero over here!”

The unicorn witch smiled and giggled, while her horn made random sparks of pink magic. The screen then changed while Dem continued, “Now, some idiots would give you stupid little ideas that you can lead your victim by using things that they love,” a drawing of Clemencia had her being led to a trap by a Demencia doll on a string, “or being hung over acid,” another image of Clem being hung over acid that she just changed into jello with a confused, smelly Flug, “or, even lamer, with injections,” and then the final was another Flug with the words “gross nerd” over his head poking a confused hero in the eye with a syringe.

Clemencia then quickly added in, “Well, I never thought they were lame or anything, just that I know you can do it a bit better with that big boy brain of yours, Fluggy~!”

Flug corrected, “That’s Dr. Flug Slys to you.”

“Ya got it, Flug-bug!” Clemencia smiled with a cute little wink afterwards, making Flug just take bigger gulps of his “coffee”. Demencia put a finger to her mouth, fake gagging, and asked in an annoyed tone, “Are you two done being weird?”

Clem mumbled, looking slightly concerned, “...I-I was being…” and then a fully forced smile came across her face and she said cheerfully, “Yes, I am, my wonderful savior! ...Um,” she then levitated Flug’s mug to herself, grabbed it, and then tossed it right into his face with a blank expression. The mug spilt all over Flug upon impact and he fell back with a loud thud, shouting, “WHYYYYY!?”

Demencia blinked at the whole and then went back to the commercial, “Anyway, a little help from Dem and Clem will get your ass back in line with these three easy options! Number one: Don’t go for all that complicated garbage! Your own body should be plenty to attract those dumb heroes.”

The image on the screen changed to a drawing of a hero cornering Demencia in an alleyway, while she was wearing chainmail armor lingerie that had a the Black Hat logo on her panties. Clemencia’s eyes turned into hearts, despite one of them twitching at the “dumb heroes” comment, and added in, “Which should be plenty easy, if you’re as sexy as Demencia! However, if you’re not- which a good majority of you aren’t -then this second option is for you! Number two: As much as we heroes love kicking your butts from here to Atreno City,” a Clem drawing had her kicking villains, while they’re curled up on the ground, like Flamme, Mother Poltergeist, Mawrasite, and, of course, Flug, “there’s nothing we love more than peaceful agreements.”

Next was a copy-and-pasted picture of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, but they had a bunch of villains’ and heroes’ faces drawn poorly over all the political figures’ faces with Clem and Dem sharing Thomas Jefferson’s face. The actual document was scribbled with Demencia’s crayon and Clemencia’s sparkly marker writing that read: “Blah blah blah,” “Dem for president,” “Clem was here <3,” and a signature “Flug the virgin.” Clemencia went on, “However, we also have a high sense of smell to know when there's bullshit afoot, so try to at least seem a bit more genuine than what you’re actually doing,” a picture of an annoyed Vanity appeared at a dinner table with Dark Phantom in a suit, who was looking extremely nervous and holding a ray gun behind his back.

Demencia then said, “And, finally, the torture! The fun part! Now that you’ve clearly used the first method to capture your foe because the second one is for complete morons-”

Clemencia shifted on her and chuckled nervously, “Heehee...right…”

The lizard hybrid then went on, “The best way that you can torture your hero is by causing them the slowest amount of pain possible and that their screams are filling your entire lair!”

The image on the screen showed a hero tied up to a chair, looking absolutely terrified, while Demencia was doing various tactics on them like using thumb-screws to drill through their fingers, using a red hot iron rod to brand their skin, or reading bad fanfiction. All the while the hero seemed to be in extreme anguish. Demencia then added, “However, if the hero is somehow resilient, you can also do the same to the sidekick or family,” the drawings changed to her doing the same to those people, instead of the hero.

“Whichever one you do, the hero should be able to do whatever you wish after a whole 24 hours of torture, but if you’re as good as me, you’ll have it done in less than 30 minutes. Heroes are absolutely traumatized afterwards though, so make sure to throw them out afterwards,” drawing Dem was throwing the hero into the incinerator, “Although, that may be hard because most heroes are stupid and useless already to begin with. Right, Clemencia? ….Right!?”

…

Dem growled as she sharply turned to her, only to stop at seeing Clem holding onto herself and also shivering. Clemencia started tearing up and she stuttered, “I-I’m...I’m n-not useless….o-or….stupid...r-right?”

The lizard hybrid just bit her lip and looked away, causing Clem to whimper and then teleport out of there. Right as soon as she did, Flug came back into the lab, holding a cloth covered ice pack on his bagged face, and asked, looking around, “Hey, where did the poster child for insulin shots go to?”

He then noticed Demencia looking somewhat saddened and guilty, as if she made a mistake. Flug was about to reach out to her and ask if she was alright, but then suddenly the projector caught alight by red flames, as Black Hat rose from the flames. His eye completely black with a red, slitted pupil and his form shifting and changing as eyes, mouths, and tentacles appeared. The tentacles squeezed around the two, strangling them, and Cam-Bot quickly ran out out of there before it got taken. Black snarled at the two, “What is going on here!?”

Demencia made a stupid comment about Black Hat always taking her breath away, while Flug made his famous dying seal squeaks.

At White Hat’s manor, as the moon was rising, Clemencia hung half her torso off of the balcony connected to her room, sighing at all that Demencia said and wondering where exactly she went wrong. She messed with the bow on her ponytail, while her unicorn hoodie’s eyes started tearing up. She mumbled to herself, “Maybe I’m just too bubbly at times...and I doubt myself too much...and...I eat too much cake! Ugh! I need to change my ways! I need to get tough and more wild like Demmie!”

She then lifted up her body back up to the top and the moment that she did, she felt lips press against her cheek, as well as catching the scent of roses, spray paint, and raw meat. Clem summoned a large mallet and shouted, “How dare you steal Demencia’s scent!?”

She then looked around and saw nobody there, but did see a note placed onto the railing of the balcony. She tilted her head as she placed the mallet back into her hair and grabbed onto the note to see what it said: “I wasn’t talking about you being useless or anything like that, dum-dum! You’re pretty...alright. I just gotta keep up an image, ya know? Now stop being so emotional or else I’ll have to cuddle you! >:3c”

Clemencia blinked at the letter before her eyes turned into hearts and a dopey smile grew across her face, while hugging the paper close to her chest. Yeah, it wasn’t anything all that poetic, but it was absolutely beautiful in her eyes. She then looked down at at her balcony and noticed some red and green paint that was on the railing of where the note was. She turned the note around and saw red and green painted words that read: “By the way, got ya a surprise! Turn around!”

The unicorn witch spun around with a bright smile and saw a bomb with “Dem waz here” spray-painted onto it, making Clem coo, “Awwww, Demmie!!!”

I’ll probably make some fanfic about the other two...uh...*looks at hand* Shite Bat and Plug

[anorakofavalon]

Another Way

Reveal AU -- 3x02 -- The Tears of Uther Pendgragon Part 2

Merlin x Morgana

My little twist on it is where the reveal took place. I tried to seek a very terribly timed but still somewhat thematically appropriate place to place a reveal, and I decided on early-to-mid season 3. Because here Morgana is definitely edgier and a little more evil, but still has the potential for good. Idk, I think it’s an interesting line to walk. I hope you enjoy! I might make a couple more based off of this one if the response is good :)

“I thought… because she has magic, I thought we were the same”

“In some ways you are.”

“No. I will never be like her.”

“You have learnt an important lesson, Merlin. Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing. But I fear that your futures are now joined forever. She is the darkness to your light, the hatred to your love.”

He felt the darkness course through the roots, the very foundations of Camelot. It spread its way through the Earth, the soil of the city, and up through his body. His head lashed back of its own accord. It clawed up the walls, rumbling in its wake, and then the towers. He felt it reach the sky and thunder roared.

Merlin grimaced and began to run. The dead had risen, and he knew very well who did it.

~{(0)}~

He turned a corner, taking his pained breathing as yet further inspiration to get to his destination quickly. Every footfall took more from his reserves than any spell ever did.

“There are times, Merlin, when you display a sort of... I don't know what it is. I don't want to say... it's not wisdom. But, yes. That's what it is.”

It was a tad bit ironic, given what he was about to do. Arthur wouldn’t be all too happy, probably. But still... He flung his arm out and pulverized a skeleton, and another when it moved to block his path. He took a distinct, twisted pleasure in launching one out of a window. He would have to apologize to Arthur’s ancestors later.

“I don't have time. I need to get back to Camelot. The kingdom is in danger and...it's my fault. I should've listened to you. Should never have trusted Morgana.”

“You did what you felt was right, and that shows great courage, but trust is a double edged sword.”

He stood before the entrance to the catacombs. The gates were flung open, shredded by a force he knew to be magic. It lingered in the air, thick as the darkness he descended into. Merlin’s eyes were golden as he calmly took the steps down. There were skeletons hidden in the darkness but he did not bother with his hands. His magic tore them apart as he passed them.

There was light as he reached the bottom. It was unearthly, pale, a shadow of the sun’s own rays. The magic was putrid and foul and older than Kilgharrah himself. Merlin unsheathed his blade, useless as it would be. His steps were quiet as he turned the corner and saw her standing there. She was bathed in the light of shadows, a vision of twisted beauty. He knew whose fault that was.

He noted the wooden staff in the center of the room, from which the light had been birthed. Its form was as twisted as Morgana’s smile when her head turned to him. He knew from her eyes that she was beginning to comprehend just how significant he was, in the scheme of things. She was beginning to comprehend that he would never stop trying to stop her. She would be right.

Still, her old confidence hadn’t left her, warped as it had begun to become. “You should leave, while you still can.”

The castle rumbled in distress. Lightning’s light striking at the illumination of the moon. Brighter, angrier, more vicious. He thought, briefly, of Nimueh. Was he the lightning? Or was Morgana? Was she the moon and he the sky? The sky thundered, and his heart did too.

“Morgana, please. I beg you. Women and children are dying. The city will fall.” ��

She didn’t falter much. “Good.”

Merlin wanted to huff, but that would hardly make things better. She was bluffing and he knew it. But still, his voice wavered. “No, you don’t mean that.”

She faltered then. “I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me and everyone like me. Why should I feel any differently about him?”

It was strange that she was seeking validation from him, pleading in her own way. Not that she knew what that was like. Morgana had never had to beg for a thing in her life.

“You of all people could change Uther’s mind, but doing this? Using magic like this will only harden his heart.”

Her eyes narrowed in frustration. “You don’t have magic, Merlin. How could you even hope to understand?”

And there it was, the moment of truth. She would hate him, if he told her the truth. If she didn’t already. Merlin wondered if she had truly forgiven him for poisoning her. Did she understand? Would she have done the same?  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Kilgharrah and Gaius weighed heavily on his mind. She would tell Uther, or worse still, Arthur.

“I do understand, believe me. If I had your gifts, I would harness them for good. That’s what magic should be for. That’s why you were born with these powers.”

She could scream in frustration, he could tell. He probably could scream in frustration too, but she couldn’t tell. He had been wearing a mask for longer.

She fumed. “You don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider. To be ashamed of how you were born, to have to hide who you are. Do you think I deserve to be executed because of who I am?”

His first memories were of being caressed and cuddled and coddled by his mother Hunith. She was a sweet woman who worked hard and gave him everything she could. His second memories were of his delight when he could summon toys to his hand, when he made candles glow. His third memories were of being called a bastard and not knowing what it meant, except that it made his mother cry.

He remembered being called a demon child. The other children told him he was born in a lightning storm, that he was evil. And when he cried, when he wailed because the things they said hurt, the skies would darken, and rain would fall, and the other children would run to their own families. And lightning would hammer the earth.

They got bolder as they got older though, and Merlin meeker. They would hurt him. They’d push him, punch him. They would throw things at him, too. Sometimes they made him bleed and he wanted nothing more than to hurt them in return but he wouldn’t. Because he was desperate to prove that he wasn’t a monster. He was just a normal boy.

But he wasn’t and he never would be. And he hid his magic, as best he could. But it was never enough. It always slipped from his tight, white-knuckled grasp. It struck out when he most desperately wished that it wouldn’t. And everytime the villagers became more suspicious. Not just resentful of him, but his own mother as well, for spawning a demon.

And his only reprieve from that pain had been Will, who joked him through it. Who took the blame for some of the mischief that Merlin’s magic caused. Will never treated him differently. He never lied to Merlin. Will had died for Merlin. If Merlin didn’t have a friend like Will, who risked a lot and risked it often for his sake, then Merlin would never have made it to Camelot.

Morgana never had that. He could have been that, but he was afraid. He was a coward, Merlin knew as much. Will wouldn’t have poisoned his friend. He would have found another way. But Merlin didn’t. He betrayed Morgana when she had put her entire life in his hand, and he crushed it.

The rumbling brought his attention back. Her eyes were studying his own. Her pupils were dilated and searching him for the truth. For once in his life, the truth. He would give it to her.

His voice cracked. “No, Morgana, you don’t deserve to be executed for who you are. No one does.”

Her eyes widened slightly. He had caught her completely off guard. She had expected him to condemn her for having magic. Is that what he had become?

He continued. “But it doesn’t have to be like this.” He stepped closer. “We can find another way.”

They stared at each other for a moment. For one brief second, a minute, a breath, they hoped that what he said was true.

“There is no other way.” Her voice was soft, but heavy with conviction.

He nodded at her words, and stepped back. She knew he wouldn’t give up. He made a move for the rowan staff, just to get her on the defensive. She had a sword raised quickly, and he did as well. He tapped his blade to hers and the fighting began. It was a bit of a performance on both their parts. He wasn’t aiming to harm her, and for some reason she wasn’t either.

Merlin smirked a little bit. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

Morgana got a little competitive, but she was amused. “You don’t think I can?”

They struck at each other strongly, but not as strong as either of them should have. The crack of thunder outside dispelled any of Morgana’s hesitations or distractions. She struck her first true blow, and he blocked it. They weren’t playing anymore.

He went on the offensive, striking at her head from above, she blocked it and took advantage of his close proximity. She twisted her body around and moved to strike at his abdomen. Merlin jumped back, but the tip cut at his shirt and grazed his skin.

Morgana showed surprise. “You’ve gotten handy with a sword since I’ve been gone, Merlin.”

He pointed at the cut. “Not handy enough.”

She grinned despite herself. But not for long. She tacked on a little grimace and decided to bite at him. “Awfully good with poison though, I’ll tell you that.”

His face flickered as if she had struck him with the sword. It was the worst possible time for a conversation. The castle was under siege, Arthur could have been hurt. But Merlin felt it in his heart.

He dropped his sword. “I didn’t want to. You were my friend. You are still my friend, Morgana.”

She gaped at his dropped sword. He was clearly full of surprises. But she wouldn’t allow him the chance to blindside her. “So what happened Merlin? Couldn’t find another way? Or maybe you just wanted me to die because I had magic.”

He frowned. “Is that what you think of me, Morgana?”

“It’s what you’ve shown to me. Friend.”

She moved forward with her blade aimed at his throat. He didn’t move.

“If you’re going to kill me, make it quick.”

She was puzzled once more, but she didn’t show it this time.

“Why should I?”

The blade was touching his skin now.

“Because if you don’t I will stop you.”

“And just how do you plan on doing that, Merlin? You’re useless even with a sword.”

She was baiting Merlin, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He nudged the blade away from his throat and began to move forward.

“Because I do know what it’s like to be an outsider. I do know what it’s like to be ashamed of how I was born. And I already do have to hide who I am every day. Every. Single. Day.”

He was a step away from her, and she was looking up at him, startled but entranced by the way he spoke. This was no serving boy speaking.

“I can’t let anybody else get hurt Morgana. I’m a protector. I protected you too, once. I’m sorry that you made me hurt you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a good friend to you. But I can’t let this go on.”

She moved to stab him but he knocked her away with a flash of his eyes. Not very much, not very hard, but enough that she was at a safe distance.

Her eyes didn’t turn gold in return. She was as stuck in place as the staff in the center of the room, staring at him. The room felt different. The magic shifted, and the torches became lit all at once, contrasting the pale light of the moon with a fiery hue. Merlin stood straighter, as if he was at last being honest with himself, admitting to a heritage older than time.

He locked a look with her, and gave her a moment to sear the gold of his eyes in her memory for all of time. He reached towards the rowan staff from where he stood, and pulled it towards him with magic. It flew to him with little hesitation, as if it had always been his servant. He took it in his hands firmly, and something gave in the atmosphere. The dark magic bristled, afraid of what was to come, but powerless to do anything about it, like Morgana herself.

Merlin raised a knee and slammed the staff to it, and with a spark, he tore it in half. Morgana recalled the sheer power of the staff. When Morgause gave it to her it hummed in her hands, prickling at where she held it like a thousand needles.

“I’m not powerful enough to wield this, Morgause.”

“Do not worry my dear, that staff was crafted from the Rowan tree in the center of the Isle of the Blessed. It carries its own power. None have laid eyes on it except for our kind, the High Priestesses, and the blood god that planted it.”

Her disbelief was immense as the darkness receded from the sky. She and he both felt it retreat from the towers and the walls of the castle. They felt it abandon the undead it had summoned. They felt it rush down through the soiled soil and into the catacombs, to attack Merlin.

Wind rushed through, the only sign of the physical manifestation of the evil Morgana had summoned. And yet, somehow, Merlin stood calmly in the center, and with his glowing eyes silenced it once and for all, without moving or flinching.

It was dreadfully quiet, and Morgana hated it because she was certain that even he could hear her heart pumping. Could sense her fear. And still his eyes were glowing, as if mocking her and apologizing all at once. As he stood before her, the flames of the torches framing his figure, she wondered if he  had planted the rowan tree himself.

But her awe at his power was short-lived as the gold receded from his eyes and he looked more like Merlin and less like Death. When he stared at her with those insufferably blue eyes, when he moved to help her up, only then could she bring herself to burn with the anger that she was feeling.

Merlin had magic.

Merlin had magic, and he killed her.

She trusted him, and he did not trust her. The betrayal pulled at her throat more than the hemlock ever could have.

Her eyes water and she stood up, still holding the sword at him. It was useless of course, they both knew it. Even her magic would have been useless. But she held it up against him anyways.

“How many?” She demanded. Her voice was raw with anger. “How many of our kin did you betray? How many have you sacrificed to Uther’s hatred Merlin?”

Merlin flinched. “Just you.”

That had hurt her in ways she was not prepared for.

“How many have you killed for his sake?”

“Too many Morgana. But not for Uther’s sake. Never for Uther’s sake.”

“Then for who? Arthur?”

Merlin nodded. “He is destined to bring magic back to Camelot, Morgana. I have to protect him. He’s my friend.”

She reeled. “So was I.”

Merlin couldn’t respond to that. His heart was thudding in his chest. His throat was constricted. This was a terrible idea, but Morgana had to know.

“You’re a monster Merlin.”

His face crumpled. “I didn’t want to poison you, Morgana.”

“That’s not what this is about Merlin!” She screamed. “You knew. You knew I had magic. You could have helped me and you-you...” She glared at him. “You pawned me off for the druids to deal with. And you got them all killed. You did that Merlin. That was you. I’ve lived with it for years but it was never my guilt to hold.”

She was up close and personal now, pounding her fist on his chest with every accusation.

He let her. What she said was nothing new. “Yes, Morgana. I’ve done terrible things, I know that. But I’m trying. I’m trying really hard to change things.”

He could feel the heat of her tears as they dripped down her face. “How could you do this, Merlin?”

She stared at him, desperate for an answer for the sake of her own sanity.

“I-” Merlin did not like how he was at a loss for words. Arthur and the knights were probably still fighting. He decided he needed to sit.

He moved towards one of the tombs and sat on it, his hands clasped together. Her eyes followed him, brows knit together.

“I would say...” he began carefully, “that it wasn’t my choice. But that’s not true. It has been my choice.”

She began to open her mouth to say something but Merlin cut her off. “I’m not talking about poisoning you Morgana. I really did have no choice then. If I didn’t do it, Morgause wouldn’t have stopped the siege of the city.”

She offered nothing to that, which he supposed was a sort of permission to continue.

“I have been able to do magic since I was a baby. I did magic while still in a cradle. I could make things fly, or light up candles.”

Tears had stopped streaming down her face, and now she was listening. Guarded, but curious. If anyone deserved an explanation it was her.

“I was always told that I was a monster, Morgana. You’re just another person in a long line of people. I had to leave Ealdor when I was nineteen because if I didn’t, bad things would happen...” He let that hang in the air. “My mother sent me to Gaius. He’s her uncle, and a good friend. She sent me here to Camelot because I needed to learn to control my magic and nobody else could teach me. Let alone in Ealdor.”

He thought, for a moment, that her eyes softened. Her face resolved to neutrality soon enough.

He tapped the tomb with his fingers. “When I stepped through the gates the first person I met was Gwen. She was so kind. As we entered the citadel, do you know what the first thing I saw was Morgana? I saw you, looking down at the execution of Thomas Collins. For having magic.”

He huffed. “I came from a place where having magic made me a demon, and waltzed into the heart of a kingdom where having magic made me a dead man instead. Gaius told me as much. I saved his life with magic, and the very first thing he did was tell me off.”

Merlin laughed to himself. “He still does that. But he’s not the only one… On my first night, a voice called my name. I went down to the caverns and I met a dragon.”

She gasped, her first reaction. “It was you, you released the dragon while I was away. Gwen told me about it.”

Merlin nodded. “That was a mistake.” He looked at her intently. “One of very many of my mistakes, Morgana. But that first night he told me I was destined to bring magic back to the land. But he told me I could only do it through Arthur. If I was to fulfill my destiny, I needed to protect Arthur.”

He sighed. “And so I did. Not only because it was my destiny, but because Arthur became a friend. And despite everything, sometime I see him and I just know that… he is the king we’ve been waiting for.”

“He’s Uther’s son, Merlin.” Morgana snapped.

“He’s much more than that Morgana. And you know it.”

She changed the pace. “And what else did the lizard happen to say?”

Merlin quirked a quick smirk at hearing Kilgharrah called a lizard, but he answered her. “He answered my questions mostly, and sometimes he warned me about things… and he was wrong.”

Morgana watched him warily. “Like not telling me about my magic. That was his directive, I presume?”

“No.” Merlin said. “His directive was for me to kill you. Or to let you die.”

Her mouth opened at that but she didn’t say anything.

“He told me, Morgana, that you were destined for darkness. I told him you had a good heart.”

Merlin stood up and approached her. She didn’t move. “It wasn’t only until you began to meet with Morgause that I suspected maybe he wasn’t wrong.”

Morgana glared at him. “Oh? I’m the evil one? It seems to me that I was just making your job easier. By killing Uther, Arthur could be king.”

Merlin shook his head. “If you killed Uther, Morgana, if you did it with magic… Arthur would never accept it. He would become just like his father. Arthur has made great strides but he’s not ready to become king yet.”

“So you’re just going to wait until Uther dies of old age? You’re going to let our people suffer for that long in order to preserve Arthur’s innocence? I thought you were a coward but it turns out you were just a fool. You went to a dragon for advice and listened. Like a puppy.”

“I listened to you, too,” he shrugged “whenever you had a vision, I acted on it.”

She was brought up short for a moment but brought it around to the offensive. “And yet you couldn’t tell me about your magic.”

“Don’t you think I wanted to Morgana?”

“Clearly not all that much if the fact that it took me raising an army of the undead is any indication.”

Merlin groaned. “Morgana I’ve been alone all of my life. Nobody to tell my secret to. Nobody to share myself with. I had Will, and my mother before, but they didn’t have magic they couldn’t understand. Gaius doesn’t practice anymore. And anybody else just...died. For my sake. Or because of a curse. Or because I had to stop them from hurting Arthur.”

He looked up at her. “But then there you were with your visions. I suspected, I hoped, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe. Until that night that you told me what you suspected. And suddenly I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Because you were my friend Morgana. You risked your life going to Ealdor to fight for me, a servant. And you had magic.”

There wasn’t any particular emotion on Morgana’s face, except for perhaps the shadow of a smile that flickered on her lips as she recalled the day she went to Ealdor.

“I wanted to tell you so badly, but… Well, my excuse was, is, that all my life I had been told not to tell anyone. Since I was a small child. I have always lived in fear. It’s...it’s not an easy thing to admit for me. And you’re the king’s ward, Morgana. Add that to the fact that the dragon insisted you were evil and I...”

He motioned to her. “I failed as a friend, and I chose not to tell you. And I’m sorry. But I’m telling you now. You’re the first person from Camelot I’ve willingly told.”

She stared at him evenly for a few moments. “So what now, Merlin? I can’t stop. I’m too far gone. And I don’t think you will stop protecting Arthur either.”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you tell me this?”

“Because you deserve it, Morgana. You’re still good. You trusted me and I hurt you. So now I’m trusting you.”

“You’re an idiot Merlin.” She bit. “If I tell Arthur, you will be executed or exiled. Do you think he will forgive you? You just gave me the key to winning Camelot. What will she do without its protector?”

“Arthur wouldn’t kill me. He would be hurt that I haven’t told him. Conflicted. But he wouldn’t kill me. Just know, Camelot will always have my protection.”

Morgana bristled, working herself up again. “What has this kingdom done for you that I haven’t? Why do they deserve your help anymore than I do?”

Merlin didn’t answer her question, choosing to answer the unaired one instead. “I told you about my magic because we could find another way, Morgana. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

She sheathed her sword. “They’ll be looking for me.”

Merlin nodded.

They assessed one another until Merlin spoke.”Will you tell Morgause?”

“I don’t know.” Morgana said.

Merlin nodded, and decided to grin, despite his rapidly beating heart. “Just remember, if Arthur banishes me, there will be no one to help him put on his night shift or keep his figure trim. The last time I was gone for more than twenty four hours he couldn’t even find his sock drawer.”

Morgana stared at him incredulously as he suddenly disappeared, taking the torchlight with him. She almost couldn’t help the giggle that came out of her mouth. She was horrified and confused, and very much in need of a nap.  But she did wonder just how much Merlin had given up for Camelot. What was his play? Why would he tell her about his magic?

Arthur burst into the catacombs in a panic with wild eyes, and she startled. When he saw her the relief on his face was somewhat… heartwarming.

“Morgana! You’re safe!” His eyes wandered around the room and landed on the rowan staff. Her heart leapt up in panic, but he came to a different assumption than what she feared. “Did… did you stop the undead? With… that?” His eyes went to her sword.

She couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Is it so surprising? I used to beat you in fights all the time when we were younger.”

He shook his head disbelievingly. “Okay, uh, we have to tell father about this.”

She nodded, clenching her jaw.

Arthur began to turn around towards the stairs but stopped and said something unexpected. “Morgana? Good job. I’m glad to have you back.”

Her face made a humble smile, and she felt a small rush of affection for her brother. “I’m glad to be back.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Right, well, you wouldn’t have happened to have seen my idiot manservant would you? He’s always in the most unlikely of places after these sorts of things. Wouldn’t have been surprised if he had tripped his way down here.”

Morgana froze a little. She could have told him then and there Merlin’s secret. Even blamed the staff on him. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She had to strategize.

She laughed. “Not that I noticed.”

They began to head up the stairs. Morgana knew only one thing. She would be sharing some more words with Merlin.

For better or worse, this was far from over. But maybe… maybe they could find another way.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

In Dreams

This was my half of an art trade I did with @scharoux! thanks for trading with me! Features Rhaella Lavellan and Solas :)

He traces her lips with the pad of his thumb. It’s a dance they have often partaken in since the kiss on her balcony. In the dance so often done, they steal away for a moment alone to indulge in fevered kisses and sometimes more— but not quite more. It’s all Rhaella and Solas in the dance, all the more precious because they have to be something other than themselves and wear masks any other time. Rhaella especially. She’s the Inquisitor, the Herald. More symbol than woman, but he makes her feel more like Rhaella.

The soft butterfly kiss but not kiss of his delicate fingers against her bottom lip entices her to open her mouth. He kisses her open mouth by encasing her bottom lip with his, while long fingers weave themselves through her hair. She wonders if this is a dream, but feels her feet rooted the earth, feels the soft wool of his shirt and warmth of his fingers against her cheek. It is real. She’s obsessed with all of his kisses, but clings to the ones that happen in waking life.

They part and she holds onto him still. He laughs and mentions a scout, or worse, one of her companions will find the two of them huddled behind the Herald’s Rest. They’re lucky enough already that Cassandra hasn’t come back yet, as she can usually be found nearby training or reading. But they have had some luck of late.

Rhaella chances the breadth of Lady Luck, (she owes her after everything anyway.) and pulls Solas in for another kiss. They haven’t had the luxury to be alone in some time. She wants to take the moment, draw it out into a thousand moments. The feverish kisses in the fade he sometimes bestows upon her, they can only satiate her so much.

“Let’s sneak away.”

A brow lifts and he studies her with no small measurement of curiosity, innate within his being, not something he thinks is found in others. She has intrigued him. She’s in no small amounts, thrilled.

“Sneak away?” he repeats.

“Yes,” she says. “Let’s sneak away, you and me. There’s a small grove just outside of Skyhold. Or we could go somewhere else. Maybe—”

“Sneak away,” he says again, amused. “How romantic.”

“You’re rather romantic yourself,” she points out. “Do you remember the Winter Palace? You were so happy to dance with me.”

“And what a fine partner you were,” he says with a grin, before the grin fades. “Rhaella, is it—”

“I’m not sure how much longer it will be before the March to Adamant,” she says, knowing what lines he will use about duty and responsibility. Cullen’s report estimated three weeks’ time for the army to march to the Approach, and Rhaella heeds his advice to wait until there is more training, wait until Harritt has time to assemble more pieces of armor. They have time. It is the perfect time for the two of them to sneak away.

“Ah,” Solas says, understanding. “Rhaella—”

“Solas. Kiss me again.”

He more than obeys. His lips pressed against hers are warm and real. It tastes different when he kisses her in the fade that night. In her waking life his lips are earthy and pliant, soft. In the fade his lips taste less like earth and more like air, though they are still pliant and soft and Solas. There are other differences as well when they are in the fade. Sometimes the colors aren’t as vibrant. It’s blurred and disoriented, like Haven was when he took her there—but never Solas—and she is not as rooted to the earth. She floats.

It’s blurry to start with in dreams. Even Solas appears as if through rain, dissolved almost until the lines sharpen. His face is all sharp angles, and even in the fade she’s mesmerized by the line of his jaw and dimple in his chin. She caresses it with light, airy fingers. He laughs and it fills the empty space.  

“See?” he says, and he takes her hands in his. “We’ve snuck away.”

His lips are there against her forehead, though not as present as they would be in waking life.

“Where?” she asks.

“Where would you like to go?”

She has no answer, and Solas laughs. She laughs too, for she knows it was her idea in the first place, and she didn’t think it through enough to come up with the most basic of things to conjure: where exactly they would sneak off too.

“Name a place,” he begins, “Any place.”

“That’s broad.”

“A place that meant something to you,” he amends, smiling and conceding.

She doesn’t have to think far, because it hits her suddenly, a memory of sneaking away as a young girl, her clan wandering the Eastern Forests. There was a meadow, littered with flowers of purple, yellow, blue, red, and so many colors between.

“There was a field of flowers once,” Rhaella says, “and…”

And they are there. They stand in the purples, yellows and all the other colors and it’s as vibrant and as much as like colors spilled from a paint box as it was when she was a little girl, filled with wonder at the sights before her. She had seen magic before that day, but she had never walked through it, lived through it.

Solas and she, they recreate that wonder of the day, and it’s all the better, because is here to live it with her, even if it is through dreams. He picks a blue bloom that matches her eyes, and he tucks it behind her ear. He dances with her like he danced with her at the Winter Palace, and the petals and blooms are their symphony. They’re not sneaking away, but they’re reveling. He kisses her, and then—

She wakes.

***

The advisors call her away from his side the next day. They prepare for Adamant and then Harritt talks of the necessary precautions made. 

But he isn’t there when she can finally go to him.

She falls. She wanted to dance again, and the dancing at the Herald’s Rest isn’t the type of dancing she wanted. She wanted it slow and soft, not frantic and noisy like it is there. She should have known he was up to something then.

She is, however, in the tavern when he finds her. She’s with Sera and they’re trying to learn Wicked Grace with Bull and Dorian when his graceful hand touches her waist, and fingers splay across. He’s not one for public kisses, but his hands entice. They are more than enough.

“Rhaella,” he whispers. “Let’s sneak away.”

Her companions say nothing as she slips away with him hand in hand, and though she’s too much enthralled, she notices their snickers. Solas doesn’t say anything but he takes her outside of Skyhold’s grounds, and he tells her to close her eyes. He has some place secret he wished to take her to. For him, because she trusts him, and that fact almost frightens her, she does close her eyes. She never has to worry with him.

When it seems as though he’s been guiding her for too long and they’re about to march to Adamant, he stops her. She doesn’t open her eyes yet, but from behind her he moves until his hands are covering her eyes.

“Alright,” he says, “We’ve snuck away. Now…”

He uncovers her eyes. She’s in dreams. She’s convinced she’s in dreams, surrounded by colorful flowers as she is. They are everywhere. Even the tree of Skyhold’s grove she mentioned the previous day is lined with the purples, the reds, the blues, and the yellows. There’s more colors too, the emerald green of the stems, the soft pinks of other blooms. He’s created that spot she stowed away to once as a child, but he has made it more.

There is more, he says. He moves his hand with one graceful motion, and they sparkle like stars under the stars and moon. He’s taken the fade and he’s made it real—and yes, she knows it’s real—for her feet are rooted to the earth, it’s vibrant and bright, she can see him perfectly clear. Oh, Solas. He is perfect with his verdant eyes and what he did for her, taken her in a waking dream.

She rushes to his arms. They fall in the flowers. He toys with her long strands of hair as she kisses him in dreams but not dreams.

“For you,” he says. “Rhaella. You’ve brought the fade to waking life.”

[cyanciela]

Royal Au- kl

Something I scrapped, so take what I have ^^

There was no place, on any land traveled by the foot of man that could ever do justice to the charm that his kingdom possessed; although some would like to believe that it was possible to get close. He’d heard the tales, from those within the castle walls, all different in their weirdly specific direction. 

If you were smart, you’d know to go during the darkest hour, one says, and if you were lucky, and the moon is out, you are able to see all the way until the ocean, out past her great expanse until the horizon. You’d see the moonlit ocean kiss the shores of home, but only with patience you’ll hear the gentle singing of their union.

It’s all very romantic, and so, Lance becomes preserving, if not precise, in planning his trips there. It wasn't exactly easy tricking several trained professionals, of which it was their job to watch him, into all believing he was somewhere he wasn't. Two outside his door, another two in the gardens below his window, even more in varying locations, none of which are ever the same. Consequently, not easy.

But not impossible.

The idea is to familiarize himself as much as he can with every single detail that does not change. The guards may change, the positions may change, but the times in which they switch out do not, this was important.

Really, they were hardly necessary, the palace gardens were not even the real world. The plants may be, and it was technically an open space, without a roof, but it never felt like going anywhere. Going into the city was nice occasionally, there was certainly enough to do, but yet again, he felt like he was watching from the outside in, except this time being watched not only by the royal guard but the regular citizen.

He wishes he could say there was even a memory of normalcy to miss, but his entire life has been based off of his identity, and that wasn't changing anytime soon.

Being able to find a way to step outside that identity, even if it was for a night, was something to cherish. This meant that being absolute in no one founding out, was a part of the deal. If they did, the flaw in security would certainly be fixed, and his taste of freedom would be over before it began.

He’s successful in working his way out of his room, because of course he is, he’s successful in working his way over the walls, past the ever present guards, all the way. He makes his way to his horse, finds a way to the forest, and finds the damned spot that everyone in the royal court can't seem to silence themselves about.

If he were being honest, his expectation for whatever romantic fantasy the people of Altea had managed to plant inside his head was not the reason he even decided to take such a risk and venture out. All he wanted was the security of knowing he’d been able to do it. Although, the view still takes his breath away.

He feels himself longing for a life of this, absolute freedom and what feels like reckless abandon. He holds the feeling tightly, just for a second, for a moment, he grips it possessively and pulls it to the pounding he hears inside his chest-- and lets it go. 

He may not even be of age yet, still several years off (not even the first in line)-- but he understands why he's not allowed to be where he stands, and as much as he would love to metaphorically or literally run away to stand at the edge of a cliff, he is a prince. He loves his kingdom, feels a devotion and unending loyalty to the people who gawk when he enters towns, and knows that beneath the face of a boy, is the weight of responsibility.

That responsibility however, does not stop him from coming back. He takes the same amount of precautions the tenth time as the first, and no-one is the wiser for it. He knows he isn't being followed, and he knows he is alone. There wasn't exactly a high visitation amount in the dead of night.

Understandably, seeing someone-- a very strange, unknown someone-- at his spot, may have startled him. Somewhat.

Being held at knife point by a very strange, unknown someone (at his spot), may have absolutely scared the life out of him.

He’d arrived as he would any other night. Quietly and ensured that he was alone, or at least, was alone, he’d hoped off Blue, and he’d made his way up what was becoming a path. There was no sound, and certainly no warning of someone who must’ve been watching him.

There is a brief, hair-raising, moment of absolute terror that takes over his body, where even the instincts that years of training have given him aren't enough to defend himself. It was then that he becomes paralyzed and unable to think, absolutely anything, as to how this had happened or how to make it stop happening. He can’t even scream, not that it would make a difference, because whoever is holding a knife to his throat, has managed to have also secured a hold over his mouth.

He can still see, so maybe he’ll get to see the face of whoever is about to either hurt or kill him, and he’ll be able to feel angry at someone other than himself for his own death.

He feels his stomach bottom out in fear, not for the first time tonight, when his attacker’s face nears his own from behind, neither hand moving in position or firmness.

“I am going to give you a chance to tell me who you are and how you've found me. If you cooperate and answer correctly, maybe I will spare your life.”

The voice of his attacker is surprisingly high, not feminine, nor one of a child, obviously, but not precisely adult either. If Lance had to guess, whoever he was, wasn't much older than himself. He’s not sure if the flush that takes over his face is from embarrassment or rage. His attention is quickly diverted through, when he feels the blades sharp edge dig ever so delicately into his flesh.

“I’m going to release the hand on your mouth. You try and escape, I kill you. Understand?”

Lance breathes harshly out of his nose, shutting his eyes once again to nod. A moment passes and the hand begins to loosen until it moves away.

“How did you find me?” The words are out before he even has to think about them, the sound of his voice conveying just how terrified he felt.

“I didn't.” The reply is short as it is surprising. Attacker sounds incredulous, but Lance doesn't give him the chance to elaborate further, if he had even planned to.

“They’ll have you killed. They will find you, surely you'll be executed for crimes against Altea.”

Attacker wastes no time in changing their position, where they were once both facing the same direction, the know stand facing each other, and Lance needs a moment to adjust for the whiplash.

“Who on Earth do you believe to be? You’ll be lucky if you aren't ki-” The stranger stops, his hold on Lance and the knife against his throat loosen.

Lance wishes he could read the others expression and figure out why, but the lighting is near none, coupled with the fact Attacker has some kind of covering around the bottom half of his face.

“Who are you?” He asks suddenly, and unlike everything else he’s said, it comes out surprisingly soft, almost scared.

“My- My name is Lance, Prince of Altea.”

Silence. Attacker seems to have fallen into a state of shock, and Lance sieges the opportunity to grab hold of the arm that is holding the knife to his throat. He’s released, and wastes no time in stepping away, mindful of the drop off behind him.

“Wait-” The man--boy, really--seems to have gathered his wits, and lowers his weapon; Lance eyes it warily.

“Are you- do you have evidence? How would the prince, if you are even-?”

Lance pushes the cloak he has round the front of his body away, showing off the clothing he was wearing. It was indeed royal fabrics, royal colors, and if that wasn't enough evidence, he had his necklace on him. The necklace only someone like he could have; it gleams dully in the moonlight.

Lance watches in apprehension-turned-shock as the other looks down, very suddenly falling to one knee, he’s... “My sincerest apologies, your royal highness.”

“I mean you no harm- I thought you were following me or- please forgive me, I take full responsibility for my actions.” Attacker, or Former Attacker seems to be shaking with nerves, and Lance uses the moment to size the other up, now that he isn't paralyzed with fear, or, being threatened with a knife. 

He looks somewhat small in stature, he thinks irritably, but there is something about his attire that rings a bell.

“I-I suppose we could speak, as long as you promise not to hold me hostage again.”

The other remains in place, shaking his head as he continues to look down, “I cannot express my embarrassment-”

Lance cuts him off, suddenly very tired and annoyed,  “Perhaps you should introduce yourself, since you are--well, it is only fair, at this point..” 

The other peaks up from where his eyes are rooted to the ground, it lasts a second, before he looks away, “Sir Kogane, of Daibazaal.”

Lance feels the turning of gears in his head, “Daibazaal… I have heard of you, you're-” His eyes widen, “You are a part of the Galran nobility, a duke.”

It begins to make sense, why Keith would assume someone was following him, why he’s so-- deadly, even more so than Lance, why he recognized those garments. What doesn't make sense is why he's still-

“Duke, it is an insult to me that you kneel so. You rank higher than I, please, stand up.” Lance begins to plead, feeling increasingly more flustered. What was a member of the Galran nobility doing on Altean soil? At this hour?

Finally, Keith stands, wasting no time in removing the mask around his mouth, “Forgive me.”

“Why are you dressed like that?” Lance belts. The disgust in his voice barely disguised, he almost slaps a hand over his own mouth.

Keith luckily takes it in stride, dusting himself off, “This is typical for a royal guard, especially for those in training Sir.”

Lance doesn't know much about Galran tradition, but surely they could do with better attire.

“And why are you here? I haven't heard of any scheduled visits for at least a few more weeks.” he questions.

“I’m not here on visitation, I’m here as a part of my training. I was meant to arrive at dawn.”

Lance hums in response, staring off for a moment. His plans were ruined for the night, but a minute ago he was preparing to die, perhaps it wasn't all bad. 

He takes another moment to admire the view before turning back towards the duke, “Hmm, It is unfortunate we had to meet this way. I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you for finding me here.”

Keith glances towards him, and Lance takes a moment to admire the raw emotion his eyes seemed to expression, they were so-- captivating.

“It is but a joke, Sir. Forgive me.” Lance fights back his laughter upon seeing the duke’s distressed expression.

He sighs loudly, sulking and still very tired. He normally gets to stay for at least an hour or two, but he wasn’t in the mood, after that. “Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed being threatened, I should get going.”

To his surprise, Keith stops him, calling out, “Wait! If you would not mind me asking-- why are you here?” He asks tentatively, now the one looking out to the horizon, the: you certainly are not allowed to be, is implied.

“I wanted to meet a mysterious stranger. I didn't anticipate the charm.” Lance remarks casually, surprised again upon seeing the duke’s bashful expression.

Keith composes himself, standing tall, “You shouldn't be out here alone.You could've gotten hurt.”

Lance huffs, “Three’s a crowd. Haven't you enjoyed the privacy I’ve so graciously given us?”

The dukes dark eyes gleam in the low light, but his face remains unchanged, “Perhaps one day you’ll employ someone as skilled as I. You certainly wouldn’t be able to sneak past me.”

Lance looks down from where he’s begun to mount Blue, matching the others smile, “If only I were to be so lucky. Safe travels Sir.”

Keith watches as he turns, quickly disappearing behind a mass of trees. He wonders if all Alteans were so brazen. Shaking it off, he sits by the cliff’s edge; Shiro should be catching up with him any minute now.

Not sure if I wanna upload to Ao3 but?? hope u liked the little bit i wrote.

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 10

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, rape mention, blood, death

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

The stone ground of Venice clicked under their heels. Around them buildings rose from the floor, some old and cracked while others remained fine and proud. It was beautiful, with arches of all kind cut out from stone and marble, with channels and gondolas, green plants in window sills, marble statues. It was a whole other world than what she knew.

Michael had held out his arm for her to take and like that they walked over the stone, backs held straight, following the black wings in the sky that soared through the air. Tourists and inhabitants took pictures of them and why wouldn’t they when the two matched so perfectly, so out of place with their clothe that resembled something more fit for the runway than a walk through a tourist attraction. Michael wore a deep emerald green velvet jacket with a black shirt underneath, a fine black vest over it to keep the onyx tie in its place. On the tie were small silver specks, barely visible to the eye. His shoes were fine and polished with silver tips. In all honesty, he looked like a young god.

When she first saw him she stood still in silent admiration of his angelic look that turned something darker by the serpent gleam in his eyes. At the inner corner of his eyelids were the same emerald green that matched his jacket. That matched her.

Oya’s dress were black, the fabric thin and all too showy for casual wear. It showed the soft skin of her breasts covered in tyl that drew all the way up around her neck and only two strips went through the see through fabric covering up her nipples. The sleeves were puffy, with small silver specks. Her black hair waved over her shoulders, covering up heavy emerald earrings shaped as snakes.

This was what they wore, their war attire, their war paint. It was showing the best side of themselves, cover up insecurities and instead make them sharp weapons to be used ruthlessly against their enemies. And this was the exact reason why their pictures were taken.

They walked towards what looked like a cathedral, the roof in high bows, with spires shooting up from the fine stone, reaching towards the sky. Statues were carved out of marble, all of old deities and gods, none of which Oya recognized. Columns held it up, thick and round, with patterns carved finely into them just like the carvings on the walls. Outside the heavy wooden door, dark against the sandy walls, stood guards. They kept the tourists from entering, they stood as the first line of defence.

Oya’s crows landed on the roof, basking their wings and crowing. Craw, craw, craw. An omen of death. As they approached the crows landed at the stone floor, watching the guards look at each other before walking towards them.

“The cathedral is closed to the public, you’ll have to return another day,” one of the guards voiced first in italian and then in english. Oya and Michael continued towards them. “I said-,”

“We heard you,” Michael voiced, elegantly moving a finger through the air. The guards stiffened with their backs completely straight, eyes blank. They turned around and walked back to their spot by the door. Oya slipped her hand from his arm, walking further towards the cathedral, hand stretched out in from of her, moving it softly through the air as if she were moving it through water.

The spell put up were intricate but not unbreakable, it was to keep mortals and other witches out, it was to keep her out more specifically. Now that her chains had been broken her power had grown, flourished in the release and with Michaels guidance controlled. She crouched down and started to draw on the marble floor, a half circle resembling the sun with four spikes running through it, in each compartment she drew different sigils and outside a square. Her crows jumped closer curious of her movements and when she suddenly stood they violently bashed their wings in surprise.

She wanted to the antique door, disregarding the old wood and what the chalk might do to it and began drawing a square on it, each side given a symbol. Michael came up behind her, intertwining his fingers with hers when she finally finished drawing. The chalk discarded over her shoulder to break against the stone floor. Their powers laced together, humming at their fingertips. Words that had not been spoken for centuries left her mouth soon to be replicated by Michael who followed her lead.

He didn’t question her methodes, he didn’t correct her or think that he knew better, that his way was better, instead he allowed her to do this her way, it was her revenge and he would not stand in the way of that.

There was a part of him that wanted to tear down every column, every statue, every fucking stone and see it sunk to the bottom of the ocean for what they did to her, the pain they had caused her. But he knew just how much revenge was worth and how much it meant, she needed to be the one to do that, not him. He was there as a spectator, a witness, support.

The chalk seared itself into the door, glowing embers following the pattern, edged and still burning. The spell was destroyed, the defence fallen. With a groan the door was opened by the guards that closed it behind them as they entered.

The inside of the cathedral was all marble, arches cut from stone, statues with a dead gaze staring after them. The arched ceiling were covered in paintings, trimmed with gold and safferic blue. It was beautiful and old, a reminder of a different time. The air was still and cold, the only warmth coming from the candles.

Oya and Michael walked further in, passing rows of dark wooden benches all faced towards the magnificent alter and the circle of chairs all manned by witches and a few warlocks. They watched silently as the two of them approached, some panicked while others kept a mask of stone on their face resembling the statues. The seat with its back towards the altar, the single tallest chair, were manned by none other than her mother, dressed in a fine tailored suit that matched her surroundings. Her hair was pinned up in a tight bun, not a single hair out of order.

Obsidian eyes ran over the two intruders with a cold glance. “We knew you’d come.” It was strange the way her voice carried through the room, distant and cold but somehow striking. It had always been like that, devoid of warmth especially towards her oldest daughter.

“You think your little protection spell would keep me out?” Oya questioned and found her voice just as cold as hers. She entered the circle, all eyes on them. Michael stood a few paces behind her, hands calmly held behind his back while he observed with mild indifference towards them.

“No,” Haesoo spoke calmly. “You’d find a way to get in regardless of the spell.”

Oya glanced to her sister that stood a total opposite of her own form, embraced by golden sunlight, catching her blond hair that fell in soft curls down around her shoulders, lips fine pink and skin pale and soft. She wore a dress of white fabric, stars and suns and moons cut into the fabric. Darkness met with light.

“We wondered who it was that released you, who could be powerful enough to do that without our involvement,” Haesoo stood from her chair. With her mother standing it was as if it send ripples through the room, the rest of her coven moving in their seats ready for a fight. Michael wasn’t having it, he clenched his fist in the air and brought it down with a harsh swing to his side, nailing every single member to their seat, unable to move. The only one he let go was her direct blood, her mother and sister.

The sound of her mother's steps rang out into the silent room, echoing over the marble floor, climbed the arches and walls, filling it up with one step at the time. Oya remained a statue of stoic nature, calm beneath her mother's hardened gaze. The sound of flesh hitting flesh replaced the sound of her steps. It screamed in the cold room, making the flesh of her cheek red with scolding, the bite of her mother’s palm a familiar sting. Michael moved behind her, she felt his anger through the tethers of magic around him but he contained it to a poisonous glare.

“I knew I should have left you to the wolves when you were born.”

Oya rolled her head back in place, eyes black orbs fixed on her mother with a cold anger Michael couldn’t help but be proud of. Hidden beneath the stoic mask, the child that wanted nothing more than her parents approval cried. No matter what ones parents did to their child, there would always be a part of them, a tiny part hidden beneath layers of emotions, that wished for their parents acceptance, their love. She was no different.

“I was weak, you were my flesh and blood, my first born. How could I do such a thing?” Haesoo’s voice wavered if just a little. Softly she brushed the hand that had stuck her daughter over her burning cheek and it broke something within Oya. She flinched away from her mother's touch, anger burning in her eyes, tearing up her throat.

“You had me raped,” she hissed out venomously. “You had me raped and left bound to that fucking place for centuries!” Her voice echoed through the chapel, climbed the sacred walls and made home under the arching dome, painted gold and blue. The magic in her lashed out, every flame rising to critical levels with a hiss and the many rows of benches screeched over the floor.

“You slaughtered a village did you really think that would be forgiven? I made sure we weren't all hunted and killed, I made sure the world thought it be poisoned water and not magic,” Haesoo exclaimed at her daughter. “For that I should have bound you to a cave never to be found. But I was your mother and I could not do that. I loved you, in my own way, and your sister begged for you to have a life, a proper one.”

“You never loved me. You hated me since I was born,” Oya said with a deep and hoarse voice. “Lies won't save you.”

“You never did believe me, regardless of my words.”  Haesoo smiled with sharp lips, eyes still as cold as ice. “But I did love you in a way. And you, my dear child, wanted to be loved so bad.”

“Years of imprisonment made sure that need were snuffed out. The moment you tore my powers from me, the moment he raped me, that need for you love died. You killed the girl and created something far more dangerous.” It was a wonder how her voice fell into a sneering drawl. For a moment she saw her mother’s eyes flash in fear, for just a moment. Haesoo had put everything into her entrapment, the spell draining every drop of magic in her blood. Oya could feel it, the void of it, the lack of magic around her mother's presence. There were nothing she could do, nothing she could protect herself with, she stood defenceless in front of a goddess and stared her dead in the eye. No one could deny she was brave in the face of death.

“If I knew you would break the spell, I would have killed you instead.”

“And now you’re without powers to defend yourself.”

“I’m without powers, yes. But I’m far from defenceless.” At this her sister rose in all her glory. Her magic radiated off of her with a pulsating glow, the feeling of sun climbing along Oya’s skin. It was strange how her sister had become the complete opposite, her magic being light and full of life while her own were dark and with a whisper of death.

“Oya,” her sister spoke, brows lifted in sympathy. She couldn’t get used to the blue in her sisters eyes, the color of clear angelite, beautiful. They matched with Michaels. Oya could feel him behind her, silently watching, his familiar tendrils climbing along her back with a soft caress, telling her that he was right there with her. His powers never wavered, never withdrew from her but instead luled her with its touch.

“You can still change. You’re my sister and I love you, please you don’t have to do this.”

The laugh that left her mouth were cynical and sharp. “I will do this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be betrayed by the ones who should have loved you unconditionally! I trusted you and you held be down as I was raped and stripped of parts of me I didn’t think I could regain. And for that you will all pay.”

With a harsh flick of her hand Haesoo and Ina flew backwards over the floor, planting themselves firmly in their chairs, hands gripping so tightly at the armrests their knuckles turned white. She took over the iron grip Michael had held on the circle. Glass smashed above them, coloured pieces breaking in to much smaller speckles when they hit the floor. Her crows soared in and landed on her sisters chair, croaking and basking their wings at her magic.

She lifted one hand and watched as the coven did the same, forced to replicate her movements. They froze in position, some crying while others cursed, when their palms were forced to face up. The goddess looked over at Michael who stalked to her side, lifting his jacket to pull out a long thin dagger, the same one her mother had used during the ritual. He placed the shaft gently in her palm, letting his fingers trace the skin of her inner wrist. It was a sweet caress that stilled the nerves within her body.

“Don’t do this!” Ina managed to cry out.

“Please don't kill us,” someone else croaked at the same time.

“Oh, I’m not killing you. Most of you have done nothing but associate with the wrong person, the ones present at my binding died long ago, you’re just very unlucky. How you managed to stay alive all these years did surprise me, Mother.”

“I had to make sure you were never released.”

“You failed.” Haesoo looked at Michael, her face unreadable but eyes burning with anger Oya had seen so many times before when she was but a child. It was burning with disdain.

“Are you the one who took down the New Orleans coven?” Haesoo spoke. Her question halted her daughters ritual, who looked up at Michael. His face remained the same, the smug glinse in his eyes and a satisfied tug at his lips. There wasn’t a single hair out of place. He didn’t even blink at her question. Power, raw and unadulterated, emanated from every fiber of his being. In the face of this accusation, she couldn’t help the flutter in her heart.

“Yes.”

“Oya,” the fear was evident in her voice. “This man is far more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. He’s using you for your power. He will be your destruction.”

“This man released me, he didn’t tremble in fear of my power, he taught me control.”

“He is-,”

“I know who he is!” She screamed and let her power flicker out in the form of cracks climbing up the columns. The blade bit into her palm, drawing blood forth. It burned and stung, the pain nothing compared to the anger that was ignited inside of her. Did she really think so little of her own daughter that she wouldn't be aware of the circumstances? If Michael was using her then so fucking be it but she would not for one second let him destroy her, regardless of her feelings towards him. If he were her destruction she would be his.

Every palm held upwards now bleed, the steams of it running from the wounds and onto the marble, staining it red with blood. Michael took the knife from her and walked over to one of the coven members, her white shirt now ruined by the blade. He dried it off in her fabric before placing it in the pocket he had taken it from. One of her crows took wind under its wings and flew to land on her arm. It screeched as she picked feathers from its body, its claws biting into her skin and tearing at her dress.

“I will not kill you,” she voiced, placing a feather inside the wound and careful guided their palms shut around the feather. Some signed in relief and she couldn’t help but smirk at their naivety. “Instead I show you the future.” She when on to the next member and replicated the ritual she had just performed, placing the feather in the wound and closing their hand around it. Most of them shook, she didn’t know if it was out of fear or straining against her magic or just maybe it was at the prospect of facing of against a goddess of the underworld. There are no vengeance that can compare to a goddesses. “You will see and you will know. That is your punishment, knowledge of what the future will bring and how utterly insignificant your actions to prevent it will be.” Now every single wound were sealed with a feather. She let her tendrils grow, wrap around their fragile human from, go under their skin and reach into their very being. All eyes turned white, clouded by the vision of the future, the very vision she herself had experienced. It unfolded before them, the cries of billions, the bombs falling, the fear leaking into their souls. When they returned, their eyes were wide with horror.

“You will end the world because you weren't loved enough as a child!” Haesoo roared, trying with all her might to break free of her daughters hold over her body. Ina silently stared into the floor.

Oya walked to her mother, placing a hand upon her chest and forcing her back against the spine of the chair. Her mother clenched her hands, her wound bleeding in an endless stream while the other held the chair in a breaking grip. “I will burn this fucking world down because I can and you will all know what is coming but can do absolutely nothing about it. You are burdened with knowing and will never be able to tell anyone about it, not in any way.” She let her mother go, stepping backwards into the circle until her back were met with Michael’s chest. There in the middle the two stood, a pair of darkness. “I curse you with that but it is not the only curse. If you use magic, any form of magic, you will kill the people you love. For every flick of the wrist, for every spell, for every curse or blessing, whatever magic you use, you will kill someone in your circle, the more you use the more you kill.”

The feather burned in their palms, some screaming in pain, tears staining their cheeks in spite of wanting to remain as passive as possibly. The broke in the wake of her power digging into their very being. What they felt were a fraction of the pain she felt but the fear, the fear was a far greater weapon that caused so much more dispare than pain.

The feather grew into their flest and with black webs it climbed up their arms, under their skin until it settled in their hearts and only then the black webs disappeared. Her tendrils retracted, releasing them from their bindings. Ina gasped and fell to her knees on the ground, fingers gripping at the stone as if to steady herself in reality. Her mother weren’t so docile, she stood with force removing a carved out piece of the chairs arms producing a knife. She created a monster and she would do anything to make up for that mistake. With an angry howl she moved through the room, slicing through the air in an attempt to end her daughters life, to remove from the world what she brought into it.

Michael wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back out of the way of the biting blade. The utter madness in her mother's eyes struck her, the desperate look of a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Oya stopped her, the anger burning through her skin, climbing over the floor with cracks to the marble. It climbed her mother’s pale flesh, blood pouring from the wounds that split open her skin, tearing through the fabric of her cloth with invisible claws. The noise she made, an inhumane sound caught between a wail and a blood curdling scream, echoed in the cathedral. The air seemed to vibrate the same way it does just before a thunderstorm, electricity knitting through the air.

“He will never love you, he cannot love,” she managed to utter as her eyes turned red and blood claimed the trail of her tears. There was a sound of ripping, of something being torn from her mother, yet she remained in one bloodied piece and fell the the floor lifeless. Her pupils had ruptured, exploded into the obsidian and ruby coloured eyes.  

Oya felt Michael beside her, his presence calming. It was strange how her skin tickles with the touch of power, she felt her blood course through her and heart beat with impressive force within her chest. Every part of her were electric. In this moment she felt the world gravel at her feet and she loved every second of it. She was drunk on power and smirked when her sister screamed at the sight of her mother’s body.

Michael let her turn in his arms so that she could look upon him. The fire in his eyes send vibrations down her spin and lit up a fire inside of her, the fumes from her powers igniting just by the look in his piercing eyes. There were no other words to describe it other than desire, unrefined and in its purest form. Their bloodlust had been satisfied, her vengeance taken with out most pleasure and now they longed for something other, a more carnal satisfaction.

“Lets go home,” she said and took his arm. Behind her she listened to the coven members mourn their leader, lose their minds in the face of annihilation and most of all her sisters cries. Ina had been the good daughter, the one who loved the most and were loved the most, the prodigy. She had lost her sister long ago but never accepted that she was dark to the fullest. And now, sitting by her mother’s dead body, the woman she loved the most in the world, she felt herself hate her sister.

Oya’s crows left the same way the came in, with a haunting laugh leaving them as they flew through the broken window, a mocking of the life that had been taken. They carried the soul of her mother, the messengers of death, their wings carrying death with them.

Vengeance were a virus, it spread and spread until there were nothing left.

[artistic-writer]

Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 8

Title: Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer   artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Chapter Word Count: 5414

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 -

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Ch 8 is here, with art of our villain, Walsh! Thank you all for your patience in the delay of this chapter - and thank you all for your good wishes for my hubs <3  @hollyethecurious helped me a lot with David in this chapter, because I was a good child and never snuck out to go see my werewolf boyfriend, so has never actually been on the receiving end of an angry parent - thanks mom! Massive thanks to my wonderful betas, @hookedonapirate who has done a fantastic job keeping my rabble in line, and @kmomof4 to whom this fic is also gifted.  Without your constant encouragement, I would have probably given up on this fic already.  Thank you to my crew, @hollyethecurious  @resident-of-storybrooke @courtorderedcake  and special thanks to @killian-whump @killianmesmalls and @sherlockianwhovian for how they helped later on. And to @flipperbrain who drew THIS piece of art for this fic in December, before it was even written!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala@cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz@therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld  @chinawoodfan  @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver   @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate

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If Emma really sat and thought about it, she hadn’t missed Misthaven at all. She had missed her parents, that much she could admit, but her home was not what drew her back. It was her guilt. Graham had been right. Running out on an alpha was a poor choice to make, especially when that alpha was your father, and there was no way you could run forever. If an alpha wanted you found, you would be found.

Emma had showered and made her way back to her truck. It had taken her almost a day to drive home from God only knows where, and the second she heard the crunch of gravel under her tires, and the huge manor house looming into view, she could practically hear her father’s disapproval from the bottom of the mile long driveway. With a sigh, she slowed her truck to a crawl, dragging out the time it would take her to reach the house.

There was no doubt about it; Emma would have to first apologize, and then try to reason with her father regarding her fated marriage to Graham. Maybe she could negotiate? Maybe if her father just met Killian, he would see how much she liked him? Maybe she could explain her dream and how she felt they were connected in some way? Maybe she could talk to her mother first, or maybe she could have her mother present when she talked to her father?

Emma didn’t like maybes. There were too many variables.

The house was seemingly empty when she stopped the truck at the side, the engine clicking as it cooled down in the shadow of the nearby barn. Emma peered out of the windshield but there were was no movement in any of the windows, which she thought odd. Misthaven was more than just her family home. It was where the pack spent most of their time, planning, talking and arranging things, and Emma was not used to seeing the place so empty.

She pulled the brittle plastic handle on the inside of her truck door, letting it spring back with a thud as she pushed the door open. The scent of her father hit her instantly, wafting into the cab of the truck on a downwind that made her gulp with anticipation. Emma had been gone for nearly four days and that was more than enough time for her fate to have been decided by the council who governed Misthaven politics, but luckily for her, she could only find faint traces of them in the breeze, which meant they hadn’t been here recently.

Even though Emma was practically royalty, she was not immune to pack law. She only hoped that her father had seen her anger and outburst, which included running away, as a child like tantrum and nothing else. She had meant no disrespect to the pack by leaving, but Graham’s words played over and over in her head the longer she took to reach the house and Emma couldn’t help but feel like she might be about to be punished.

Werewolf children were not punished in the same way human children were. They were stronger, more robust, and it was not unheard of for werewolf parents to be seriously injured during a temper tantrum as they tried to corral their wildling cub into a safe place. Were kids were unpredictable at best, neither understanding or embracing their abilities in the correct way, which Emma remembered too fondly. Her father had a cage in the basement intended for interrogations of mongrels, but it wasn’t above him to use it as a time out for his spitfire of a child.

It was one of the reasons why Were kids had their own school system and were kept from human kids until they could control their heightened rage and quell the beast within them. As teenagers, most Werewolves had experienced many years of changes and knew how to control their shift, using the popular ruse of ‘just moved to the area’ to explain their sudden appearance in high school. Whilst werewolves lived life by the Chronicle, they still needed to learn the human ways in order to blend in more easily.

Emma reached the back door of the house, the white frame window on the top half of the door framed by some cozy curtains on the inside. They were for her mother’s privacy and because she was a homemaker, but they had always been there and reminded Emma of her childhood, even half expecting her mother to peer out between the floral bunches at any second and call her and Graham for their dinner.

With a deep breath, Emma twisted the doorknob, and the door swung open with a creak she knew everyone heard. Heightened hearing was one of the many werewolf traits, and in an attempt to lessen her presence, Emma toed off her shoes at the door and was left to pad barefoot across the kitchen. There was no noise around the lower level of the house which made Emma wary, only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall as she made her way to the staircase.

“Emma,” David murmured, his voice low and deep, but laced with a hint of relief that made Emma relax. He was her dad right now, and she could tell that just by the way he had uttered her name.

She froze, one hand on the huge oak staircase bannister as she turned around slowly, a sheepish smile spreading across her face. “Dad…”

“Where have you been?” David demanded, his hands balling into fists inside the pockets of his jeans, something Emma keenly noticed with a flicker of her gaze.

“Where’s Mom?” Emma asked nervously, trying to avoid his question. She accented the last word, almost calling it up the stairs as if her mother could come and save her from her father’s wrath.

“Where did you go?” David repeated firmly, taking in Emma’s disheveled appearance. She was, thankfully, no longer wearing the red dress but her now dried clothes were wrinkled beyond comprehension, smeared in dried dirt and littered with tiny specks of stone from where she had discarded them so hastily in the rain. “Have you been sleeping rough?”

For a second, Emma recognized the tone of worry in his voice and was tempted to lie to him. For a second, she forgot the kind of trouble that could get her into. And even worse, for more than a second, she had forgotten about the keen sense of smell all werewolves had until she saw David tilt his head backward and narrow his eyes at her.

“Dad, don't smell me,” she blushed, turning towards the stairs once more. All she had to do was make it up the stairs. All she had to do was make it to her room where her scent would overwhelm her body and hide what she had so idiotically forgotten to mask. “It’s weird,” Emma threw in casually, taking a step onto the stairs.

“Stop,” David commanded darkly, his voice now that of her alpha. He pulled his hands from his pockets and held his hand up to her, halting her excuses and her movement. Emma sagged on the first step of the stairs, looking down at her bare feet.

“Dad, I can explain,” Emma began but David closed his splayed palm into a tight fist to silence her, extending a finger to her as he let out an angry breath. Emma saw his jaw clench, the muscle along his face twitching under the grey of his stubble and he pinched his eyes closed in an attempt to calm himself. “Dad…”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” David bit out through a clenched jaw. “Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” Emma said softly, her cheeks reddening under his stare. It wasn’t a million miles from the truth. She didn’t actually know if she could point out where she had been on a map, only noticing a few town signs between here and there, but she knew she had at least crossed state lines.

“Okay,” David said with an eerie calmness. “Let’s try this one.” He took a step forward, watching his feet as he advanced on her, arms crossing over the rock hard muscles on his chest that, even at his age, spoke volumes of his power and strength. “Who have you been with?”

Emma’s face paled instantly, the rosy tint to her cheeks fading away instantly when her throat went dry and her entire body buzzed with anticipation. She knew he could smell Killian on her, there was no denying he had left his mark on every inch of her body, and Emma couldn’t even stop the next words falling from her mouth in a mumble. “No one.”

“Dammit, Emma! Don’t lie to me!” David’s voice boomed through the empty hall and the chimes in the old grandfather clock vibrated low in the casing. Emma jumped, her whole body turning rigid and her fingernails turned white as she clutched the railing harder, the back of her neck turning clammy with sweat.

“He’s a good wolf,” Emma grumbled, her heart pounding in her chest, the rush of blood in her ears almost deafening.

“Oh,” David mocked. “He’s a good wolf.” His face was unmoved, stony and a mixture of anger and disappointment that cut Emma deep. “If he is such a good wolf, why don’t you tell me his name?”

“What, so you can hunt him down and have him killed?”

David looked at her sternly, like she was reading a very open book, his thoughts out there for all to see.

“I don’t think so,” Emma laughed with a shake of her head.

“I thought you said he was a good wolf?” David arched his brow at her, watching her squirm.

“I’m not telling you,” Emma said firmly, staring at her father with the darkened stare of her inner wolf, her lips curling a little at his trickery.

“Yes. You will. You think I can't smell him on you?” David stepped forward again, his nose wrinkling up as he inhaled the foreign scent covering his daughter. “If you've spent time with another wolf I have a right to know about him and his pack.”

“As my father or as my alpha?” Emma said spitefully, her own anger bubbling to the surface.

“Both,” David growled. “I am both.” David pulled his arms tighter across his chest with his aggravation, his stare piercing right into Emma’s. They were both as stubborn as the other, and she did not look away. “Emma, you forget your place,” David snarled with a knowing glare, direct eye contact often a challenge from another wolf. If Emma were any other wolf, David would have ripped her throat out by now, but his daughter knew her rank and looked away quickly.

“I don’t know about his pack,” Emma muttered to her chest, her head tipped downwards in submission. “It never came up.”

“What about ours, Emma?” David chastised gruffly. “Does he know of your pack? Does he know who you are?”

Emma gave David a guilty, sideways glance like she used to as a puppy that gave him his answer.

“Of course he doesn’t.” David rolled his eyes, moving his hands to his hips. “He wouldn’t have touched you if he had known where you belong.”

“Where I belong?” Emma spat, the tears beginning to burn at her eyelids. An unwelcome lump formed in her throat, constricting her breathing, and she tried to swallow it down. David was the only person who could make her cry, but she wasn’t crying because of sadness; it was because she knew he was right. “I don’t want to marry Graham,” she sobbed softly, the hot sting of tears drawing lines down her face.

“I know you feel that way now, but in time you'll see the rightness of such a match.” David nodded, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile that Emma grimaced at.

“Don’t you think it’s time to break tradition?” Emma’s breath hitched in her throat. “I don’t love Graham. I can’t love Graham.”

Her voice was small and almost a whisper, her mind conjuring images of the black wolf she might never get to see again. Emma knew she would have to make a choice; Graham or Killian. The black wolf from her dreams, or the grey wolf from her reality that her father had promised her to. There was no choice that wouldn’t end in some sort of heartache, or worse still, someone getting hurt, exiled or killed.

“Tradition protects us. You know that. Without tradition what would become of our way of life?” David paused, inviting Emma to answer, but she did not, instead scraping her fingernail across the polished wood of the banister with a frustrated pout. “You're only refusing to love Graham because of some latent need to rebel. That's all this fling with the other wolf was; rebellion. Plain and simple.”

“It’s not that!” Emma cried. “You don’t know him like I do! Maybe if you met him…” Emma’s desperate words were cut off by David again, his voice echoing through the entire house as his ire grew.

“I won't have it, Emma! I won't have my daughter cavorting with some filthy wolf when there is a strong, noble wolf worthy of you and the position within the pack.”

“Filthy wolf?” Emma repeated his words with disgust, her teeth grinding together and her watery green eyes fixed on his in an absolute challenge of dominance. Emma didn’t care that he was her father. She didn’t care that he was her alpha. All she cared about was Killian because when she was with him, he never made her feel like this. Emma felt small and used, like a lamb to slaughter, the prized meat at a banquet that only the worthy could indulge in. “I hate you, and I hate this pack!” Emma screamed, feet pounding against the old oak steps as she ran upstairs. She was just inside her bedroom door when she saw the flash of her father’s figure through the crack reaching the top of the staircase, a scowl on his face and his cheeks prickled with red.

“Emma!” David shouted, her name lost in the slam of the door.

“What’s going on?” Snow called out, rushing out of the main bedroom in just a towel, her skin still tinged with pink from the scalding shower she had just taken. “Why are you shouting?” She panted, hurriedly walking barefoot down the hall toward David who turned to look at her with a grunt.

“Our daughter has been…” He paused, pressing his lips together and pounding a balled fist against Emma’s door. He couldn’t say the words out loud. It was hard enough knowing that his daughter was fighting his every intention, but to know that she was doing so with a strange, unknown werewolf really made his inner wolf snarl with fury. “Emma!”

“Hey!” Snow soothed quickly, grabbing David’s forearm and halting his assault on the white, wooden door. “Calm down and talk to me,” she pleaded lovingly when she felt him relax at her touch.

“There is a wolf,” David ground his jaws together tightly, the words leaving a foul taste on the tip of his tongue. “He’s defiled our daughter.”

“A wolf? He did what?” Snow gasped, now realising what the foreign tang in the back of her nostrils was. The scent must have wafted from Emma as she entered her room, strong and musky, lingering in the hall. “Did she tell you that?” Snow asked worried, casting a glance to the door in front of them. “Is Emma okay?”

A million thoughts crossed Snow’s mind in that exact moment. With the information she had been given, she immediately assumed Emma had been attacked, and some worthless mongrels who knew who she was, had decided to overpower her and have their way. It was a fear she lived with daily. Emma was a strong wolf, but what made her strong was her pack, and without them she was so vulnerable to the wannabe purebloods who hated the Misthaven pack.

“Emma?” Snow called out tentatively against the wood, her breath fogging back in her face. She could hear Emma sobbing behind the door, probably into her pillow, the sounds of her cries muffled. “Its Mom, can I come in?”

There was a sudden silence when Emma’s sobbing stopped and Snow looked at David with a worried expression. They barely had time to register each other's features before they heard the scraping noise of furniture against the wooden floor and then the thud of the dresser hitting the door. Snow frowned, her short, cropped hairstyle that was dusted with long grey hairs still wet and dripping onto her shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Graham’s Irish tones called down the hall. He had been sleeping, his t-shirt twisted around his torso as he emerged from his own quarters rubbing a finger against his eye socket.

“Emma!” David shouted, grabbing the brass knob of the door and almost headbutting it when it failed to move.

“Emma?” Graham repeated worriedly, his face flushed at her name said with such distress.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Snow squealed, slapping David’s arm. “Break the door down!”

“What’s happening?” Graham was suddenly more awake, rushing to David’s side as his alpha braced himself for impact and slammed his shoulder into the solid mass in front of him. Graham didn’t get an answer, only a knowing look that told him to shut up and help. Graham’s bare feet slipped against the dusty wooden floor on the landing as he stood next to David and counted to three, both of them propelling all their weight against the door in tandem.

The door gave way on the third try, the hinges groaning as the door lock broke open and it swung open just an inch. Emma had pushed her dresser in front of the doorway, stopping the door from opening fully, but as David slid his head through the narrow crack he could see Emma swinging her legs out of the second story window and looking over her shoulder at him, sorrow in her eyes, as she pushed herself from the ledge.

“Emma!” David grunted, his head stuck in the doorway. He clenched his jaw and pushed with all his might, his arms shaking and a vein throbbing prominently on his forehead. Finally, the dresser gave in and moved, the grind of wood against wood echoing through the house. David and Graham burst into the room, reaching the window with stabbing pains in their shoulders that they ignored as Emma’s truck left a trail of dust in its wake, flicking stones out behind the tires as she sped from Misthaven once more.

“She’s going to him,” David mumbled darkly.

“Who?” Graham asked, panicked. He studied his alpha’s profile for a second before turning back to the distant speck that was Emma’s beat up red pickup.

“The wolf,” David snarled, annoyed that he didn’t know the wolf’s name or where he was from. So many variables posed a very real risk to his pack and it seemed Emma was the most volatile.

“Track her,” David commanded, fingers flexing at his side. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the conflict of his choice clearly weighing heavy on his mind. “Find her. Find him. Bring her home.” David’s voice was grave and Graham knew, because he had heard it before, he had more intentions.

“And the wolf?” Graham whispered gruffly, shooting a glance over to the doorway where Mary Margaret was studying the broken lock with a sigh. David turned to him, fire in his eyes and his lip curling back in a wolfish snarl.

“Kill him.”

--

Killian walks through the glenn, the grass under his feet soft but dewy, the glint of the water droplets silvery under the light of the moon. There is always a full moon and it hangs silently in the night, unobstructed by clouds, and as bright as the sun. The pull of the moon to werewolves is a myth, but there is something about his dream that has Killian yearning to return time and time again. It isn’t the moon that draws him though, but the sound of his companion as she stalks him through the woods.

She never leaves his side, always hidden behind the copse, but she can't ever hide the emerald glow of her eyes as they peer at him through the thicket. She pants softly behind the brush, ears on a swivel and golden tipped hairs like embers in the night. Killian’s sensitive hearing always hears her when she steps on a position revealing twig that snaps under her weight. He can smell her, the lady-wolf scent invading his human nostrils and coating his tongue in her musk - something that has his skin buzzing with excitement.

“I know you’re there,” Killian whispers through his smile, his eyes flicking to the ground beside his feet. She appears there, at his side like a trusty follower, exiting the trees and making herself known with a soft, wolf whine. “Come out, love,” he encourages with a sideways nod of his head, his hand itching at his side to feel the softness of her fur.

Her shadow looms across the clearing, the short grass littered with tiny flowers that are crushed silently under her massive paw pads temporarily before springing back into position when she lifts her feet. Killian can hear her approaching, the bristle of her fur in the gentle cool breeze making him smile to himself as he awaits her presence at his side. Each night they walk together, side by side, and Killian feels more connected to her than anyone he has ever known in the real world.

“There you are,” Killian smiles, sinking down onto one knee and extending his arm out to her. The green of her eyes cut through him, right to his soul, and at that moment Killian feels like she is the missing piece of his life. He feels like this is the wolf who has been sent to guide him, to show him how to be a werewolf, not the human he is expected to be. “Who are you?” he asks softly, his fingertips inches from the leather of her nose.

The she-wolf sits, the multi-coloured layers of her fur visible as the breeze picks up and tousles her fur in a swirl. The canopy overhead is shaken by the wind and there is a lingering smell of fragrant flowers that have yet to break through the surface soil, mixed with an approaching rainfall Killian has yet to witness in his reverie. The she-wolf lets out a high pitched whine, and her ears droop a little, her melancholy cry of loss hitting Killian with a chill.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, stepping closer. The wolf leans around his frame which blocks her vision. When he places his hands tentatively on her head, his fingers disappearing into the softness of her agouti fur, he feels her sigh. His touch doesn’t move her, only makes her emit a louder whine, her maw falling open as she pants excitedly, eager to show him something. With a frown, Killian follows her gaze, turning on the spot so he is standing beside her and his huge hand is lost in the mass of fur between her ears.

What Killian sees stops his blood in his veins. His heart skips a beat, the panic taking the air from his lungs so suddenly, his face pales. His fingers curl into the wolf’s fur, the slightly longer hairs on the scruff of her neck coarser to his touch, but it’s all he has to anchor himself to something that makes him feel guarded. He sees a tombstone, the edges nicked and damaged by the elements, and bright yellow and white lichen have taken up residence around the name etched into the stone, but he can still see it clear as day, even in the twilight.

Jones. The name is Jones.

Through his shock, Killian has not even registered the loss of the warmth around his fingertips, the rough hairs of the she-wolf turning into the warm flesh of skin as a hand grips his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. He looks up from their hands, half expecting to see his father comforting him because his name is on the gravestone and he has been searching for him for so long. It makes sense his father is dead, but instead, he sees the one person he feels like he knows more intimately than he knows himself. For the first time since he’d seen the she-wolf, she has transformed into the woman he has become infatuated with.

Emma.

Killian is confused, when a single tear rolls down Emma’s face, the salty droplet glinting in the light of the moon against the shadow of her perfect profile. She turns, sorrow etched across her face as a sob hitches in the back of her throat.

“He’s gone,” she whimpers, her voice cracking with emotion. “It’s over,” she adds, her voice fading away as a resonant bang echoes through the forest, sleeping birds flocking from the treetops, the moon becoming so bright it blinds him.

The same loud, thunderous bang shook Killian from his bed and he almost toppled out of it because he had been sleeping so close to the edge. The banging rang out again, his ears straining to pinpoint the source of the disturbance as he groggily threw the covers back and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Killian rubbed the back of his neck, yawning lazily as he heard the noise again and in a moment of clarity, finally realised someone was trying to bash his door in.

With a growl, Killian pushed himself to his feet and stalked out of his room and across the minimalist apartment to the front door. Maybe his brother forgot his key? No, Liam wasn’t due back for a few more days and he would know where the spare one was. The soles of his feet stuck to the hardwood floor as he made his way to the door, his hand lazily scratching through the hairs on his chest and another yawn escaping his mouth.

“Alright!” Killian yelled, mumbling under his breath to whoever was so adamant on removing his front door from their hinges in the early hours. As he reached for the door handle, a familiar scent wafted under the door and he quickly yanked the door open, unsure if he was still dreaming. “Emma?”

“Hi,” she said shakily, her fingers laced together where she was wringing them nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Killian frowned at her, confused.

“You were clearly sleeping,” Emma said, waving at him to indicate his semi naked appearance. Killian was dressed in only his dark blue boxers and Emma had to fight her gaze from lingering for too long over his body in the semi lit hallway of his apartment building. “And I am breaking all sorts of rules coming here.” She began pacing back and forth outside of his front door, her hands resuming their fidgeting.

“Are you alright?” Killian pressed, but she responded so quickly, his concern was lost in her rant.

“It’s a massive invasion of territory to just turn up like this,” Emma rambled, shaking her head at herself. It was considered rude to turn up at another wolf’s house uninvited, and some would take it as a challenge for territory, but it hadn’t crossed Emma’s mind until this exact moment.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assured her with a soft smile. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather invade my territory.” Emma turned on the spot, pacing back in front of him, and Killian could smell the forest on her, the scent of freshly broken tree stems and the night air overwhelming him. “Have you been running?” He asked gently, reaching out for her and stopping her with a hand on her bare forearm that was covered in dried mud and debris.

“Yeah,” Emma said with a shake in her voice. She looked up at him finally, her eyes watery from the tears that were about to spill from her eyelids. There was a smudge of red across her cheek, probably where she had hit a branch while running, and her skin had opened up, but it had stopped bleeding and was already half healed.

“It didn’t help this time, did it?” Killian whispered sadly. Emma shook her head and the dam broke, her hot, wet tears streaming lines into her face as she cried. She didn’t know how he knew her so well, or why she felt so drawn to him as if they were connected by an invisible string, but her only thought was getting back to him, so when her run hadn’t cleared her mind, she had run straight to him with only his scent in the wind to guide her.

“I don’t even remember where I left my truck,” Emma sobbed and Killian pulled her into his arms, cradling the back of her head in his hand and running his fingers through the warmth of her golden locks. Emma crossed the threshold of his apartment and felt instant relief, his manly scent invading her senses as she buried her face into his chest and clutched onto his arm.

“I’ll help you find it tomorrow,” Killian promised, his hand caressing the small of her back. He walked them back into his apartment and pushed the door closed with a soft click. The apartment was dark, but Killian could navigate perfectly, so he guided them to the couch and encouraged Emma to sit. When he joined her, Emma threw herself into his arms once more, tucking her head under his chin and absorbing the warmth of his chest through the side of her face.

“I’m sorry again,” Emma sniffed, her fingers raking through his chest hair in front of her face.

“It’s alright, love, honestly,” Killian assured her, turning his head and pressing his lips to her forehead. Emma heaved a sob, and Killian clutched her tighter to his frame, wrapping his arms around her with a protective instinct he had only ever felt for his own mother. Emma meant more to him than he cared to admit, and he was sure he was willing to die for the she-wolf in his arms without question. “I’m not going to ask you why you were running, but just know you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Can you hide me forever?” Emma laughed weakly, blushing as soon as the words left her mouth.

“If that’s what you need, Emma.” Killian pulled back from their embrace, hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face so he was looking into her eyes. The usual spark behind her eyes was dulled and she looked tired, so tired, and his heart yearned to take away her conflict. Killian brushed his thumb over the crown of her cheek, drying away her tears with his touch, and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll give you forever. I promise.”

[pocketseizure]

The Legend of the Princess, Chapter Nineteen

The Two Princesses

In which Zelda greets the Zora princess Ruto, who finally arrives to the Hylian court in a gorgeous swirl of bright smiles and shining fins.

(Chapter Nineteen on AO3) (Story Tag on Tumblr) (Cover Illustration)

* * * * *

“You need to find the truth about my mother,” Ganondorf told her, and Link seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Zelda was more than a little annoyed with both of them for not simply telling her what she needed to know. Either the truth was too terrible to be spoken aloud, or neither of them really knew anything. Zelda regularly dealt with intrigue over the course of her daily administrative duties and didn’t have much patience for conspiracy theories, and she suspected the latter. Nevertheless, she knew exactly what the silver key Link had given her would unlock, and she had every intention of using it. Even with her considerable skill, however, it wouldn’t be easy to sneak into her father’s private study. Thankfully, she now had an ally at court.

Ruto had arrived late in the evening, her standard-bearers preceding her by mere hours. One of the many qualities Zelda admired about Ruto was her decisiveness; she seemed to feel a complete absence of guilt for doing whatever she wanted whenever she felt it was necessary to do it. If Ruto no longer felt the need to trouble herself over Jabun, then there was nothing stopping her from traveling to Hyrule, and she so did without wasting any additional time.

Zelda was struck giddy with the anticipation of seeing her dear friend in person again. She remained at court much later than usual as she awaited Ruto’s arrival, and she enjoyed herself to such an extent that Impa felt the need to appear at her side at occasional intervals to limit her alcohol consumption.

When Ruto finally made her appearance, she was beautiful and magnificent, her scales shining like the moon over the sea and her lithe form accentuated by a shimmering violet gown. She was not disheveled in the slightest from her journey across Hyrule, nor did she show any fatigue. She offered warm smiles and kind words to all the nobles and courtiers who approached her after her arrival was formally announced. When she was finally able to make her way to the king, she allowed Daphnes to sweep her up into a bear hug. All through the night she caught Zelda’s gaze and winked meaningfully, as if to say Look at me, I’m so good at this, I’m so good at being a princess, which had been a private joke between them when they were much younger.

Ruto’s company was in such high demand that Zelda realized she would have to use the privilege of her position to push her way to the front of the crowd. When she made her greeting to the visiting princess she couched it in such flowery language that Ruto could only listen to her for a minute before bursting into laughter. As the two princesses clasped arms and grinned at one another, a tuning note from the lead violin of the orchestra cut through the chatter of the gathering, and before Zelda knew what was happening Ruto had pulled her into the center of the floor. Zelda giggled as she allowed herself to be led in a dance, her skirts swirling alongside Ruto’s.

After the final notes of the orchestral prelude faded, other couples joined them on the floor, which Zelda interpreted as an opportunity to take Ruto by the crook of her arm and shepherd her to a secluded area. As they were walking with their arms linked toward one of the shaded corners behind the hall’s pillars, they were accosted by Darunia, who clasped his huge hands on their shoulders from behind.

“You two are a sight for sore eyes,” he proclaimed in his booming voice. “The court is getting more gorgeous by the day! My girl, your coronation is going to sparkle like nothing I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I know shiny,” he continued, slapping Zelda on the back. Zelda stumbled from the force of the blow, and Ruto caught her, grinning merrily all the while.

“Excuse me,” a small voice spoke up from just beside them. Zelda looked down and saw the most handsome child she’d ever encountered. He had silky autumn-gold hair and piercing green eyes to match, and he was clad in a long feathery tunic resembling interlocking leaves of various shades of umber and olive.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met, Your Highness, but I am Makar,” the boy introduced himself.

Zelda blinked and experienced a moment of double sight. There was a boy standing beside her and offering his hand to be taken in greeting, but also something entirely different – a slim and willowy creature with mottled bark wearing a leaf as a mask cut with a pattern of triangles in an off-center approximation of a face. So this is a Korok, Zelda realized.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Zelda said, extending her fingers, and then the Korok’s twiggy branch was once again a plump and rosy-skinned Hylian hand. “You must forgive me for not seeking your acquaintance earlier, sir.”

The boy gave a good-natured laugh and shook Zelda’s hand in both of his. “I’m actually sexed as female,” he said. “We all are, but I prefer to take a male form. And you can call me Makar; it’s just as much of a name as it is a title.” He nodded at her and then turned to Ruto. “It’s an honor to meet you as well, Your Highness. I arrived this evening right behind you, just a moment ago.”

“Why didn’t you announce yourself properly?” Ruto asked, never one to hold back on bluntly inquiring after what she wanted to know.

Makar cocked his chin at Darunia, who was beaming down at him with a full set of teeth. “I didn’t want this big lug to know I was here yet,” he replied, answering Darunia’s wide smile with one of his own. Zelda was amused to note that there was a slight gap between his front teeth. It was charming, and Zelda appreciated how much effort must have put into the illusion he was maintaining for her benefit.

“I hope you brought your fiddle, little buddy, because I’m in the mood to dance tonight. Let’s take you over to Daphnes and show that old lion how to get this party started!”

“I think this is a good opportunity for us to leave,” Ruto whispered to Zelda. Without giving her time to excuse herself politely, Ruto grabbed Zelda’s hand and practically dragged her through the great hall.

By the time they were in the corridor outside they were practically running.

“I’ll race you, ninja girl,” Ruto challenged her, and then they were running, their feet moving so quickly that their heels barely made a sound.

Ruto led Zelda on a mad chase through the castle to the quarters assigned to the Zora dignitaries. There were two tall and muscular Zora guards stationed outside the suite with silver spears at the ready, and Ruto flirtatiously kissed both of them on their cheeks as Zelda paused to catch her breath. The guards shook their heads at Ruto’s brazenness and gave slight bows to Zelda as they opened the doors for the two women.

As soon as they were inside, Ruto kicked off her shoes and pulled her dress over her head without bothering to unlace it. The Zora didn’t usually bother with Hylian fashion, which they found cumbersome, and Ruto sighed with contentment as she unlatched the jewelry at her neck and wrists.

Zelda knew Ruto was headed straight for the large pool of water in the suite, so she began undressing as well. A Zora attendant appeared to help her out of her formal gown, while another collected Ruto’s cast-off finery from the floor where she’d left it laying.

“Don’t touch her hair,” Ruto ordered her attendants. “That’s my job.” She winked at Zelda. “Now let’s get wet. I feel so dehydrated… I could soak for days.”

Zelda allowed one of the Zora attendants to wrap her in a towel to preserve her modesty before she followed Ruto into the bathing chamber, and she only discarded it after she stepped into the warm water. She knew that the Zora generally cared nothing for Hylian nakedness, but she was still a bit embarrassed to be seen completely in the nude.

The pool, whose bottom extended into the castle’s basement, was fairly deep, and Zelda had to swim to join Ruto on one of the tiled lounging shelves extending from its sides.

“You swim like a frog,” Ruto teased.

“Yeah, well, you run like a fish,” Zelda shot back.

“You know what goes well with a good bath?” Ruto asked her. “Sparkling wine. And wouldn’t you know it, I see some heading this way right now.”

Zelda blushed fiercely and suppressed an urge to cover herself as a Zora groom approached them with a serving tray bearing two finely shaped glass vessels filled with fizzing pale liquid.

Ruto rose gracefully to the surface of the water and took both of them. “These glasses are Gerudo-made, you know,” she remarked as she passed one to Zelda. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked rhetorically before taking a sip.

At mention of the word “Gerudo,” Zelda blushed an even deeper shade of pink, and it gave her a secret thrill of pleasure to touch her lips to the rim of the glass. She knew she shouldn’t have more than just a taste, especially not this late at night, and especially not while soaking in such warm water, but the wine was heavenly, delicately flavored but not too sweet.

Meanwhile, Ruto had already finished her glass. She scooted over to sit next to Zelda.

“Let me play with your hair,” she commanded.

“Only if you tell me about Jabun,” Zelda countered, emboldened by the alcohol.

“Oh, I will. Girl, you are never going to hear the end of it if you get me started,” she said as she began unhooking the pins holding Zelda’s hair in a braided bun. “But if you know about Jabun, then you probably know a few other things too. I wonder… Just how much do you know? Before I tell you about Jabun, why don’t you tell me about Ganondorf?”

Zelda tensed at the mention of his name, and Ruto laughed. “Come on, friend, dish it. I know he’s had his eyes on you.”

Zelda drained her glass, and perhaps the alcohol had gone to her head, for her next words surprised her. “I don’t know what to make of him,” she said. “He’s like spiced wine, something that’s so delicious but so potent that it makes me leave this world just for an instant. He’s like an oasis in all the mundane nonsense of my life, a fountain with the moon inside, and I want to reach inside and touch it…”

Ruto raised her facial fins dramatically.

“Oh blessed Nayru, I don’t know what I’m saying,” Zelda apologized, laughing.

“I know exactly what you’re saying. You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” Ruto shook her head, still grinning as she continued to unpin Zelda’s hair. “Not that I can say I blame you. He’s a handsome one, all right, and he certainly has his charms. Unfortunately…” Ruto trailed off, and one of the corners of her mouth twitched before she continued. “I don’t think ‘charms’ are all he has. You know that boy is dangerous, right?”

“Trust me, I know. Better than anyone, probably,” Zelda leaned back into Ruto’s cool embrace. She could feel herself growing drowsy, but she still had things she needed to say while she had an opportunity to speak to Ruto in relative privacy. “That’s why I want to talk with you about Jabun, and also… There’s something I need you to do for me tomorrow night.”

( Link to Chapter Twenty: The Two Queens )