#but is unnerved by the rubies on the clasp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucytara · 3 years

Note

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt.

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

#Anonymous #bumbleby #rwby fic prompts #rwby fic

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sunny-sings-sooth · 3 years

Text

Daphne

Words: 4.5k

TW: Sexual assault, abuse

Here's my retelling of the myth of Apollo and Daphne! Highly experimental, as I usually write in first person and not so poetically. Hope you enjoy, and if anything doesn't make sense lemme know and I will add some context here. (Also FYI some of the dialogues are pulled directly from Homer's narration)

_____________________________________________________________

Phoebus Apollonas had been alive too long.

He was young by god standards, barely over a millenia old, and still one of the youngest Olympians. And yet he had grown exhausted. He’d been suffering the curse of life long enough to see the boy he used to be -- Phoebus -- die. The demise of the boy began when, in attempt to protect his sister Artemis, he had committed his first murder and thereby lost her forever. The boy decayed further when he’d held the corpses of his sons in his arms. And he’d finally killed the boy with his own hands when he turned his grief-fueled wrath on mortals. Phoebus, the bright, the innocent, the golden prince of Olympus, was dead. All that remained was Apollonas, the destroyer, the terror, the monstrous god of plague.

Except he no longer wished to be Apollonas. Apollonas was addicted to alcohol, drowning himself in it so that he wouldn’t have to face the memories that had murdered Phoebus. Apollonas had struck his younger brother Hermes, the only friend he had left, in drunken rage. Apollonas was despicable and deserved death. He could never be Phoebus again; that he knew and had accepted. But perhaps he could rid himself of Apollonas and become just Apollo. That did not mean erasing Apollonas; he had too many crimes to pay for, and running away would be a dishonor to all those who had suffered at his hands. He would repent for everything he had done as Apollonas, and thereby recreate himself as Apollo.

The first thing he needed to do was to break alcohol’s hold on him, which meant distancing himself from Dionysus. He didn’t want to abandon his youngest brother, but the temptation to drink was too strong in his presence. He hoped Dionysus would understand, and that he would one day be strong enough to bridge the gap of his creation.

He had been clean for three whole days. It didn’t seem like much -- blink of an eye in the lengthy lives of gods -- but that alone had taken him all his willpower. In the absence of the gallons of drink he had been consuming daily, not only was he plagued by memories and sheer self-hatred, he suddenly became highly attuned to the gossip that trailed him. Every moment on Olympus, hundreds of eyes were trained on him, and the whispers never escaped his sharp ears. It wasn’t that he was not used to being the center of attention, but rather the harsh truth of their statements. Phoebus Apollonas is a murderer. He flayed Marsyas alive for daring to challenge him. He curses anyone who questions his authority. He has killed thousands with his plague arrows. He is a monster. He knew these were all true and that he deserved to be pierced by such words, but the anxiousness caused by his withdrawal made them unbearable, and he had to escape to the woods. Here he found solace. Here he could work to slowly put himself together again until he was strong enough to face those who he wronged.

If he hadn’t been so lost in thought, then perhaps he would’ve heard the flap of wings before Eros was standing before him. He nearly dropped the silver bow that he’d been restringing and looked up to meet the other god’s gaze. Eros was the only man Apollonas considered a possible competitor in terms of beauty; his fair skin was smooth as a pearl, his wings the color of one, his features the aspiration of every artist’s portrait. And yet there was something unnerving about the other god. Perhaps it was his hair that, while comparable to a young maiden’s blush, was also the same shade as blood. Perhaps it was the deep red hue of his eyes, made of crushed hearts and rubies. And perhaps it wasn’t his appearance at all, but the mystique that surrounded him; he was the fourth being to come into existence and was old as time itself, and that was one of the only two things Apollonas knew about him.

“Phoebus Apollona,” Eros stated in greeting, and Apollonas hated how wrong it sounded, though he couldn’t tell if it was the names themselves or simply the one who spoke them.

“What do you want?” He couldn’t hide his irritation. The other thing he knew about Eros was that he was the god of love, and love had only ever caused Apollonas pain. He had no reason to like the god nor felt the need to veil his displeasure. All he wanted was the solitude necessary to rework himself.

“I was simply admiring your bow, oh He Who Shoots From Afar.” There was no missing the mockery in Eros’s voice, and his eyes gleamed as he gazed at the weapon. “Why, your skill is almost comparable to my own! Perhaps with some effort, you can become the greatest archer in the land.”

“Are you implying that you are the greatest archer?” Eros nodded, and one glance at the winged god’s slim arms and the modest bow slung across his back sent Apollonas into a fit of laughter. It was many moments before he could calm himself enough to speak. “What have you to do with the arms of men, you feeble thing?”

“I am merely suggesting I may be god of archery as you are god of plague.” Apollonas’s head snapped up at the idea, and his hands curled into fists as he stood, towering over the shorter god. If Eros was a painter’s fantasy, then Apollonas was a sculptor’s. His toned body was the epitome of perfection, the ideal balance between strength and beauty. He was well aware of this fact, and though he rarely preferred to use his appearance for intimidation purposes, Eros’s insult necessitated such action.

“Do not lay claim to my honors,” he hissed, his sky blue eyes glinting with divine power. Archery was the one constant he could always rely on. With his bow and arrows, he could protect and punish, wound and save. It was the one part of him that stayed no matter if he was Phoebus or Apollonas or whoever, and he’d be damned if he allowed this worthless winged wretch to even suggest taking that from him.

“Let us put it to test, then,” Eros declared, unfazed by the archer’s anger. What would the ancient deity have to fear from the youth? He was well aware of his capability, and little did Apollonas know he was falling into another trap, his emotions and naivety deceiving him once more. He was but a pawn in Eros’s game. “What say you to a battle of skill?”

Apollonas did not grace the other with an answer, lifting his weapon and drawing an arrow from his golden quiver in response. The toned muscles of his back flexed as he pulled back the string and released, and the arrow had barely gone forth an inch before he sent forward another, and then yet another. His arms were but a blur as arrow after arrow went flying, striking the most minuscule of targets: the pupil of a fly’s eye, the thread of a spider’s web, the stem of a single olive. Apollonas did not stop until his quiver lay empty, and he took in the perfect shots before him that seemed almost artistic by his hand. No matter how low he may have descended in these past years, there was no denying the masterpiece he created from the most basic of weapons. This was his domain. He couldn’t keep his lips from curling in conceit as he turned to Eros.

“That gear becomes my shoulders best,” he declared, setting his bow back beside his quiver to draw emphasis to the weapons that had adorned him for centuries. “I wound my enemies; I wound wild beasts. My countless arrows slew the bloated Python, whose vast coils across so many acres spread their blight. You and your loves!” Apollonas couldn’t hold back his scoff at the mention of Eros’s inferior work. “You have your torch to light them. Let that content you. Never claim my fame!”

“Your bow, Phoebus Apollona, may vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you. As every creature yields to power divine, shall your glory yield to mine.” At Eros’s threat, an enraged response was making its way up Apollonas’s throat, but before it could spill off his tongue, the love god drew his own golden-tipped arrow. In the blink of an eye, he shot it forth right into the other god’s heart before taking flight.

Apollonas stumbled back, a gasp more of shock than pain escaping him as he clasped his hands over his chest, fingers fumbling for the arrow. However, it had already dissolved into him, its magic making its home in his body. He felt something ooze into his heart and bloodstream, shoot up his spine, ensnare his mind. He turned his attention inward, trying to identify the invader, but he could not locate it, nor could he compare it to anything he had ever felt before. What had Eros done? He lifted his head, searching for the god, but instead his gaze fell upon another figure altogether.

There, a few feet away, stood the sweet river nymph Daphne. He knew her -- he knew the names of many of the nymphs that resided in these woods -- but beyond a passing glance and a murmured greeting, she had never caught his attention. But now… he couldn’t seem to look away, his lips parting in awe as he stared at her, dumbfounded. Had she always been so breathtaking? How could he have missed such a beauty? Her dark locks flowed down like a waterfall of ink. What it would be to hold that silky hair between his fingers, to braid it and adorn it with flowers and beads! Her eyes were a startling shade of not blue, not green, but something between the two, and he could spend hours drowning in their depths. Her figure had the slightest curve to it, the outline of a river, and he imagined that her body had been crafted to fit against his perfectly. He saw her, loved her, wanted her.

“Daphne.” Apollonas whispered her name, marvelling at the nectar-like flavor that coated his tongue. If just her name was so sweet, then how must her lips taste? Looking was not enough. The urge to find out was unbearable, the earlier argument stolen from his mind entirely as he found himself tossing aside his bow and quiver. What did archery matter when he could master the bow of her lips instead? He would claim it, make it and the rest of her his and his alone. He took a step forth, a giddy smile alighting his features.

“St-stay back,” the nymph stammered, icy fear coiling in the depths of her stomach. She could read his intentions clearly on his face, from the crazed look in his eyes to the wolfish grin he wore to the way his hands reached towards her. Daphne knew all too well what this man planned to do with her, and that should she fall into his grasp, she would not be able to stop him from having his way. So when he took another step forward, she turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Apollonas gaped only a moment before rushing after her, an arrow released from its bow.

“Daphne, please wait! I am no foe! You don’t need to fear me!” he cried out after her. Daphne did not answer him, her thoughts only on escaping. Thorns and brambles tore at the bare skin of her calves, yet she refused to slow down. “You run as if I am a wolf and you a lamb, but that is not so! It is love that spurs me! Don’t fly so fast, lest you fall and wound yourself!”

“Leave me be, you horrid man!” she shrieked, not stopping even as her dress got caught on the surrounding plants and began to tear, revealing her to him little by little. Apollonas’s brows furrowed in worry at the sight of bloodied cuts on her legs. From within him a voice called out: What are you doing, Apollona? Why are you tormenting this poor girl? Leave her be! You will not have your way with her! But before the voice could say more, he caught a glimpse of the bare skin of her thigh, and everything left his mind. His conscience was once more bound and gagged by Eros’s power, forced to watch it all in horror. Speaking of the god of love, he also watched, flying unnoticed above them, yet he felt only amusement from the sight. The sheer terror that had contorted Daphne’s face and drawn panicked tears from her eyes made him smirk, and Apollonas’s frantic yelling drew out peals of laughter. They had both bent to his will so easily, and he was eager to see how this played out.

“You run because you do not know. I am no peasant, no shepherd!” Apollonas called out to her again. She was only afraid because he didn’t know who he was. He knew the moment she realized his true identity, she would stop and turn to him with a blessed smile. “I am the son of Zeus, prince of Olympus, lord of Delphi. By me things future, past and present are revealed. I shape the harmony of songs and strings. You will be happy as my bride, dear Daphne! I will see that your every wish is granted and that no desire goes unfulfilled. Please stay!”

“No! My only desire is to escape you!” Yet this would not be granted, as her body was beginning to fail her. Try as she might, she could not outrun Apollonas; he was strong from years of training and battle, and though she was swift and sure-footed, she had used up all her limited mortal strength. Her legs trembled with every step, her lungs two pits of fire in her chest. And so her traitorous body came to a stop as she gasped for breath, and Apollonas finally had her. He held her hip tightly, freezing her in place. Had he been in his senses and had control over his own body, he’d never have done this, and his conscience screamed within him. But he was deaf to it, the lust coursing through him silencing all else. His eyes soaked in her bare skin when he would’ve shielded them, his hands pulled her closer when he would’ve let her go, and he was ready to claim her when he would’ve done anything but this crime.

“My love.” His warm breath brushed against her ear as he leaned down, pressing his lips against the pale column of her neck. Daphne gasped and tried to pull herself away, but his grip was too strong, utterly unbreakable. How could she escape a god? She was helpless and frail, trapped and alone. There was no one to aid her, no one to stop Apollonas from running his hands down her body and forcing himself against her. And then he was turning her around, wishing to taste her lips, and a final plea escaped her.

“Help me, Peneus!” she screamed for her father. She knew her father could do nothing against an Olympian, but perhaps he could do something to her, and she would accept any escape from this fate. “Open the earth to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger! Let me be free of this man from this moment forward!”

Daphne’s prayer was answered, and she was changing.

A stiffness had taken over her body, the swiftness that had protected her for so long sacrificed to escape Apollonas. Her arms lifted of their own accord, her fingers elongating up and her feet rooting into the ground. The dark waterfall split into a hundred streams that lightened to a soft green. Her curved figure fell away as her body thinned into a single arc, her legs fusing and her hands reaching higher and higher. Bark was creeping up from her extremities, down what were now branches and up what had transformed into a trunk. It conquered her shoulders, her chest, her neck. A soft sigh, her last breath, escaped her just as her lips were encased.

Apollonas’s lips met rough bark that cut at his soft skin. With a small gasp, his eyes flew open and he looked straight into Daphne’s piercing eyes. The waves in them had finally calmed, as the storm that had tormented them could no longer ripple its waters. He stared into those beautiful orbs, breathing her name, and watched as they shut forever.

Apollonas couldn’t tear his gaze away, his mind still unable to process the transformation that had unfolded before him. His hand trembled as he raised it, placing flat against the trunk of the tree. A steady pulse graced his fingertips -- a heartbeat. Daphne’s heartbeat. She was this tree, this sorrowful laurel tree, lost from him forever. His legs gave out beneath him as he wept, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his head against her bark. And yet the lust hadn’t left him, and he was kissing the wood over and over, whispering her name and an endless string of apologies as the skin of his lips tore and blood dripped down his chin.

“Oh, Daphne. My Daphne,” he cried, yearning what could’ve been. He thought the image of her smiling sweetly at him, kissing his cheek and calling him ‘husband’, was a vision, a prophecy promising that he could be the source of her happiness until the end of time. But he was wrong. It had been a fantasy, a dream that had slipped out of his grasp. And now she was gone. His sobs doubled in intensity as grief wracked him, and he didn’t notice Eros approaching until he spoke.

“Isn’t this a beautiful sight?” the god of love asked, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Phoebus Apollonas, broken and filthy inside and out. A slave to his desires. Do you accept defeat, oh lustful one?”

Apollonas turned to the other god, and the grief in him sharpened to rage. His beautiful Daphne, the love of his life, had been stolen from him, snatched right out of his hands, and the cause of it all was simply standing there, taking amusement in his loss. He reached for his bow only to find it missing, and so he lunged forth and tackled Eros to the ground, wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s thin neck.

“You monster,” Apollonas growled, his sky blue eyes glowing with divine power. This horrid creature had taken his Daphne from him and deserved nothing less than death. Apollonas would deliver him to the gates of Tartarus himself if necessary. The man must pay for his crimes. He increased the pressure, causing the other god to choke under his iron grip. “You did this!”

“Oh no, Apollona. I merely gave you a nudge. The rest was all you,” Eros gasped out, managing to laugh even as his windpipe threatened to collapse altogether. The sun god’s brows furrowed at the statement, and Eros subtly waved his hand, calming the effects of his magic. “And who knows what you’ll do next if I keep nudging you forth? You’ll be giving your father quite the competition, won’t you?”

The spell finally broke, and Apollonas’s grip slackened as the lust drained out of him and the truth became clear. He had chased Daphne. He had chased Daphne with the intention to force himself on her. He had tried to kiss her and claim her as his own with no care for her terror. He pushed her so far that she thought it better to lose her humanity than to be his. Oh Fates, what had he done? You are the most wicked person to live, Phoebus Apollona. You are no better than your father. You did this to that poor girl. You ruined her.

“N-no,” he whispered, backing away from Eros and clamping his hands over his ears, but it was in vain. The voice came not from outside but from within, where his conscience was finally free to reclaim its owner. And so Apollonas relived the incident that had just taken place. He saw himself chase after her just as Python had chased him and his family, heard his plans to ruin her just as he believed Orion had intended with Artemis, felt himself force himself upon her just as Zeus did to his mother Leto. Never in his life had something been so achingly clear to him as this truth: while he had spent his whole life painting others as wicked, he had been the most terrible monster all along. Apollonas doubled over, spilling his insides onto the earth as though he could purge the maliciousness from his body. But alas, he could not; he was born the destroyer, and he had truly lived up to his name. He could not tell if his scream remained in his soul or ripped out of him. He didn’t know if it was tears or fire spilling from his eyes. All he knew was the terrible truth that he has been blind to all his life.

“You are weak, boy. But I can make you strong,” Eros declared, towering over the hysterical god. He wondered how Olympus would react to seeing their golden heir broken on the ground, sobbing like a spoiled child. He could only imagine they’d be just as entertained as he. Still, the time for games was over. Making sure to avoid the pool of vomit, he crouched down and placed a thin finger under Apollonas’s chin, forcing the young god to meet his gaze. “Here is my offer to you: vow to me on the river Styx that you will follow my every command, and I will save you from further humiliation and heartbreak.”

“What, so I can spend my life blind and deaf, a mindless slave to a heartless man?” A dry, humorless laugh slipped out of Apollonas’s lips. He had seen and tasted truth, and he would not give that up to become Eros’s puppet. He scowled and spat at the love god’s feet, glaring into those blood-red eyes. “That is what I think of your offer.”

“I expected the god of intellect to be wiser than this, but I now see the difference between you and Athena.” Eros sneered, wrinkling his nose at the sorry display. “Do not be hasty, godling, and ponder my words carefully. I am offering you invulnerability. I will harden your heart to stone so that none may hurt you. Without your greatest weakness, you will be unstoppable. You will never have to feel such pain again.”

Apollonas paused for a moment, considering Eros’s claim. To never feel this soul-tearing agony again? To be free of the organ that rebelled against his mind at every moment? Now that he contemplated it, the offer was quite tempting. Without his heart, he would only have to rely on his body and mind, both of which were immaculate. He would indeed be unstoppable, finally the golden heir of Olympus he was expected to be. And yet… his gaze moved to the laurel tree, and a single leaf drifted down before him. Apollonas caught it in the palm of his hand, carefully tracing its pale green veins. If he were to remove his heart, to lose his ability to feel, would that not be a dishonor to Daphne? After all he had put her through, did she not deserve to be mourned and remembered? And what about all the others, every mortal that had suffered at his hand? He would be spitting on their graves by choosing to run away from the pain that, in the face of what torment they had lived through, was nothing. And so Apollonas rose to his feet, stretching to full height and then kneeling down so that his face was merely inches from the love god’s. “Rot. In. Tartarus.”

“You really should have chosen the easy path,” Eros muttered, the smirk sliding off his face as he grit his teeth. Apollonas wanted to regret? Then he’d give him reason to regret. His hands flew to Apollonas’s temples, freezing the younger god in place. Eros’s eyes glowed, twin pits of lava, and his voice boomed as he invoked his ancient power. “I curse you, Phoebus Apollona. May love be your enemy and your heart a traitor. May you be powerless to control the whims of your desire, and may you be the cause of pain to those you love, over and over until the end of time itself.”

Apollonas fell to the ground once more, struggling as the curse rooted itself deep in his soul, at the very essence of his being. By the time his throat had grown too raw for him to continue screaming, Eros had already flown away, leaving behind nothing but punishment. He found himself crawling back to the laurel tree, to Daphne, leaning his forehead against her trunk as he wept. He wept for her, for those before her, and for those after her.

“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he whispered, holding on so tightly the bark dug into his skin and realizing how powerless he really was. “I’d change you back if I could, sweet nymph, but I cannot. Instead, I swear by the river Styx, I won’t let you be forgotten. I bless you so that your leaves are never shed and instead will be woven in wreaths that will become a symbol of honor, the very thing I tried to steal from you. Let mankind see me to be the monster I am if that means your memory will live on. And even if your name no longer forms on the lips of men, they will live on eternally upon my own. This I vow to you.”

With this, he lay one last touch upon the tree before turning away, trudging his leaden feet back to Olympus. He heard the whispers as he arrived in the city, but he paid them no mind and made way to his house. Barely moments after he entered, his fingers scurried over the wall until they found the loose brick that he yanked out and tossed aside. His hands trembled in a moment of hesitation before reaching in. He grasped the bottle of his poison, his secret, his solace. Apollonas lifted it to his lips, tears running down his face, and drank his worries away.

#Apollo #apollon #apollo deity #greek mythology #greek gods #greek myth #daphne

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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A new character you're working on you say?? I love the way you build your characters and would love a glimpse at it! 👀

Pls do tell us more about 'Ra’avia ideas' :D

*rubs hands together* Are you ready for some theories that may or may not have any substantial backing canonically? I hope you are because that's 100% what Ra'avia is meant to display! >:D

To start, a little glimpse into who Ra'avia is and how she interacts with the world!

Fane blinked in shock, all panic draining from his body as he took in the sight of the young Void-elf, who was currently being ‘beset’ upon by a wispy, blue cloud. Not a Qunari soldier. The nebulous form was swirling and twirling in the air in front of Ra’avia; a dance of curiosity and intrigue if he ever saw one. And in turn, Ra’avia reached out with her magic, summoning a blue essence of her own, the light of it making her ebony skin appear ashen and her ruby eyes glow a brilliant crimson. The wisp seemed to immediately perk up, ebbing up and down with a sensation of happiness, and once again, Ra’avia followed suit, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a soft laugh.

“It’s a spirit–a spirit!” Ra’avia chirped with glee, turning her head a bit to look back at him and not at all perturbed by how some of her raven hair followed both it and the wind’s movement. Ruby orbs sparkled with hidden shards of maroon. “Do you see it, Aterian? It’s blue like the sky is!”

Fane blinked again before letting out a gentle sigh, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He couldn’t even feel unnerved by that name right now. Not when such pure joy shone in crimson–a color he had long only associated with madness and insanity…

“I see it, Ra’avia. Hard not to when you’re pointing right at it,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head right after. “But, that isn’t a spirit.” His legs finally uprooted themselves upon the crumbling walkway, striding forward with unhurried steps to where the young elf was once again interacting with the friendly form. Always so trusting, this priestess was...

Ra’avia stilled, orbs going wide as she whipped her gaze upwards to his. Even the undulating wisp seemed to turn to him as he made it to the weathered balustrade, tilting back and forth as if it had a head. Observing him, more or less.

Wisps, curious and playful, indeed. Fane mused to himself, remembering that distant discussion from what felt like ages ago. He reached out with his marked hand to the benign essence and smirked a bit when it began to ‘bounce’ again. Excitable, too. Wonder why it's hovering around here...

“What? It isn’t?” Ra’avia asked him as she watched the exchange, curious and eager. “I thought that was all that dwelt within Elvhenan.” She paused, blinking frantically before appearing a tad sheepish. “Or, well, along with the Elvhen and dragons, of course…”

Fane glanced down and to his side, eyes landing upon brilliant rubies that begged for understanding. He smirked a bit more when the young woman seemed to…vibrate where she stood. It seemed the wisp wasn’t the only one prone to excitement. His own curiosity towards the wisp's choice of dwelling could wait, he supposed...

“Spirits created the foundation of Elvhenan, true. They were common, expected. Anywhere you turned your head, a spirit was there, whether it be the very air you breathed or not. My kin used to have a sort of…symbiotic relationship with them. Just like the Elvhen did, ” He kept his hand out, letting the expressive wisp weave itself around his hand, mixing blue and green to create a pale yellow. The magic made his stomach a little…queasy, but that was all. Fane’s gaze softened upon the dance before him, a feeling of calm encasing him. “But, just like you saw in our time traversing Antiva and Nevarra, there’s more than just one type of person. Variety upon variety, and the same holds true here...”

Ra’avia’s gaze shifted downwards, a look he recognized as her pondering over his words. Gloved hands came up to clasp themselves in front of a cloaked midsection, slender fingers lacing themselves together.

“More than one type...” she muttered before turning crimson irises back up and to the now golden ball of being. A soft gasp left her lips, “Ahh. It changed colors…”

Fane nodded, finally taking his hand away and watching with quiet fondness as the wisp began to spin and twirl, as if it rejoiced in having a piece of himself, of what he bore to carry and reflect.

“A wisp,” he murmured, immediately feeling two eyes on the side of his face, but he continued to watch the joyous essence of light, bob and weave like the water-lit lanterns along Rialto’s vast docks had. “--that’s what came to greet us with open arms. They’re oftentimes remnants of spirits or people, a memory of what they once were. They can’t shape the world around them or themselves like a spirit can.” He gave the joyous wisp a light tap, watching with amusement as it jumped in surprise. “Still, they’re just as unique as any spirit can be.”

“A wisp...” Ra’avia whispered, voice like air as she tested out the word. Fane watched with utter calmness as a slender finger of midnight reached out to a beacon of day just like his hand had. A smile stretched across the young girl’s face as their ‘host’ shone a bit brighter, projected more joy. “...It's happier than before. When it first came up, it was giving off a sense of sorrow, loneliness.” Ruby deepened in hue, a youthful visage holding serenity and sympathy as the nebulous cloud sank a bit, harboring a whisper of pale blue once more. “...We’re the first people you’ve seen in a long time, huh?"

So! As you can see, Ra'avia is Elvhen, but a different kind of Elvhen. Fane refers to her as a 'Void-elf' and that is by no means an insult; it's exactly what Ra'avia is. I have theories regarding the Void, of what it could have once been, or what could dwell within it. We all know Andruil traipsed into the Void and brought back weapons and utter madness, but how were those weapons created? That's what I'm exploring with Ra'avia. I believe the Void is more than just an empty space of corruption; it could for all intents and purposes have a civilization, a society of those that were once banished to its depths.

Next, you notice that Fane also refers to Ra'avia as a 'priestess'. This is also something Ra'avia is. I like to theorize that, once upon a time, the Elvhen revered dragons in some capacity (before the Evanuris were proclaimed and conceived to be gods). The people of the Void have kept this tradition, scorning those who had locked them away for minor transgressions or out of fear of being usurped. Ra'avia, specifically, delves into the dragon that was Aterian, or in other words, Fane. And as much as I would love to dive headfirst into even more of this world-building, I won't because it's for later~ >:3

However, this is Ra'avia's base as of right now. I'm still fleshing her out and getting a visual in my head of her, but just know that Fane ends up adoring her as if she were his daughter. As does Solas. They both give her a family she never got to experience and she comes to learn what light is. :3

#asks #oc: fane lavellan #oc: ra'avia #ra'avia is a very sweet girl X3 #she greets the 'light' world with so much joy and fane usually can't help but watch #ra'avia is obviously wary of solas at first but once fane encourages her and shows her who he actually is she warms up pretty quick :3 #say hello to my out of the box theories that may be so far fetched as to be ridiculous X'D #i just like to think about the void and the elvhen~ X3 #thank you for the ask! :D #dragon age

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eastertag · 4 years

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@fallenfurther gift for @willow-salix

Gizmo and Gadget

Prompt: Scott with a sugar glider

******

The seatbelt was barely containing Gordon and Scott was starting to feel a bit less comfortable with the idea of being responsible for the naughty thirteen-year-old. Scott’s eyes went back to the road, his grip on the steering wheel a little too tight as the seat squeaked beside him.

“Turn left, Scott! The Hamilton Centre is left!”

Scott sighed as he flipped the indicator. The navigation system was fully capable of getting them there on time. Dad was meant to have taken Gordon but something urgent had popped up and seeing as Scott had just turned eighteen, he now classed as an adult, so was sent to accompany Gordon in his place. How Dad thought Scott could keep Gordon out of trouble he didn’t know. He had tried to convince Dad to send Grandma but apparently that wasn’t going to happen either. So, it was Scott who had to take the teen to the animal centre. Trust Gordon to win first prize in the Discovery Channel’s kids competition. He was barely a kid now! Though you won’t know from his behaviour, or height. A smile crossed Scott’s lips as he stopped at a junction. Gordon was adamant he was going to have a major growth spurt now he was a teenager and would soon be able to look him in the eye. Scott couldn’t deny the fact that his brother was likely to grow, but part of him hoped he’d stay shorter. Scott couldn’t handle Gordon’s bragging at the best of times, let alone if he ended up taller than him. The entrance for the animal rehabilitation centre came into view and Scott caught the massive grin on Gordon’s face out the corner of his eye.

Scott parked up and they both climbed out his car. Gordon ran to the back and retrieved his bag from the trunk. Part of the prize was a swim with the dolphins which couldn’t be released, and Gordon was ecstatic. Heading into the reception they were met by two keepers, who welcomed them with excitement and smiles that rivalled Gordon’s. Scott tried not to put a downer on the situation as he signed the consent forms that were passed straight to him. A quick flash of his diving licence to confirm he was eighteen and that was all that was required from him. Their guides introduced themselves as Joyce and Martin. Joyce was going to give them the tour first and the swim was going to be done by Martin after lunch. Scott followed behind Joyce and Gordon, both animated in their discussion of their favourite animals. Joyce put most her focus into Gordon, which was perfectly fine for Scott, who was happy just to listen.

The centre was large, and there were many other employees going about caring for the animals. The tour took them through the main building which housed small mammals. Then they passed the various pools and enclosures where the larger water-based mammals were kept. Scott was surprised to see so many permanent residents, many of which had injuries which stopped them from being released. The smaller permanent animals were often trained to go out in public and be ambassadors for their species, used to educate people about proper animal care and habitat protection. There was a poorly beaver, and in the aviary, there was some recuperating birds of prey, including a California Condor and a Turkey vulture. Scott was impressed by the Bald Eagle, who had a broken wing that made it unable to fly. Scott was certain Joyce was taking pity on him when she offered to let him hold the bird. He smiled and accepted the offer. A thick leather glove was placed on his hand and he tried not to be unnerved by the dead baby chick that was placed between his finger and thumb. The great bird was then brought close to him. Joyce held his hand as the bird, called George, stepped onto the glove. Scott reacted quickly, tensing his muscles against the 9 ½ pounds of bird. Joyce slowly removed her hand until he was the only one supporting its weight. Scott was very thankful for his time in the gym, as the bird shifted. George’s amber eye studied Scott with an intensity Scott wasn’t expecting. Its head was held high, showing off its brilliant white feathers, and he had to admit he was in awe of the majestic creature. Gordon pulled out his phone and snapped a few shots. George must have considered Scott to be okay as the bird bent down and ripped the head off the chick. Gordon laughed and took more pictures of the bird eating. Once the chick was devoured Joyce took George from Scott.

“Can I hold him?” Gordon asked eagerly.

“Only adults can hold the large birds, but you can hold Ruby, our red-tailed hawk.”

There was a little disappointment from Gordon, but he accepted the hawk. Scott made sure to snap pictures every time Gordon held an animal so Dad, Grandma and Alan could see. He was sure Virgil and John will be shown the pictures whether they wanted to see them or not. After the aviary it was the reptile house. This started off fine, with beetles and cockroaches, and Gordon was okay around the snakes. However, the teen froze when they came face to face with the lizards. Scott could see his brother trembling and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Joyce thankfully picked up on Gordon’s change in mood, and only gave them a quick tour, naming the various species, before moving on to the amphibians, which were more to Gordon’s liking. This completed the tour, and they were taken to the staff room where lunch was laid out. Scott tucked in gratefully, while Gordon chatted with the keepers who were more than happy to share their knowledge and experience.

It was then time for Gordon to swim with the dolphins. Scott sat at the side of the pool, camera ready, as Gordon changed. The look on Gordon’s face when the first dolphin came up to him was priceless, and Scott had to admit he was enjoying seeing his younger brother so relaxed and in his element. Joyce sat beside Scott throughout the session, and they made pleasant small talk. She turned to him as Gordon waved goodbye to the dolphins.

“I need to go check up on some of the smaller animals, would you like to join me while Gordon changes and finishes up here with Martin?”

Scott glanced back at his brother. He was behaving himself, so he should be okay to leave him with Martin.

“I’d enjoy that.”

Scott followed Joyce back to the main building and was led down a corridor to one of the small mammal rooms. They hadn’t entered this one on the tour, so Scott was a little intrigued.

“We keep some of our nocturnal animals in this room.”

Joyce headed straight for metal cage, filled with ropes and soft pouches. It was so unlike the other cages they had seen, which contained habitats which mimicked the animal’s natural environment. This one appeared entirely man-made and artificial.

“I’ve built up quite the bond with two of the four sugar gliders we have here. They are all ex-pets that were abandoned and found in very poor condition. We use these guys to show what happens when you don’t give animals the right care.”

Scott stood back as Joyce opened the cage and picked out one of the pouches. She clutched the pouch carefully in her hands and brought it over to him. Scott put Joyce in her twenties, but her excited smile made her look younger. It was cute.

“This is Gadget and Gizmo.”

Two small faces peered up at him with the biggest eyes. Their eyes were so prominent but seemed to fit their little long faces. They both had a brown stripe that went over their head and down their face to their pink whiskered noses. A lopsided smile came to his face as Scott peered at the small creatures.

“These guys are brothers. The other two, Attenborough and Grylls, are the original two. Attenborough, Atty as we call him, is eleven years old, his mate Elisa passed away two years ago. So, when Grylls needed rescuing we tried putting them together and they got on, despite the fact that we think Grylls is only four years old. We only got these two last year, they were malnourished and are small for their age. They’ve been thriving since though. Hold out your arm and we see if they like you.”

Scott didn’t quite know what to expect but tentatively held out his arm. Joyce held the pouch to his wrist and gently squeezed the bottom. Suddenly a little creature jumped onto his sleeve. It was so small, its tail wrapping around his arm for security. The stripe on this one’s head continued down its back, fading into the paler fur. Scott could feel the sharp claws through the fabric of his shirt.

“That’s Gizmo.”

Gizmo suddenly climbed up Scott’s arm and paused on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but laugh. Who’d have thought he’d end up with a little glider on his shoulder! He turned and glanced at the mammal. He could almost feel its fur against his chin, it was so close to his face. As he studied Gizmo, Scott felt a weight and more claws in his arm. Obviously, Gadget didn’t want to stay in the pouch alone. A glance at his wrist and there was the other sugar glider, the same size but with a slightly different pattern to Gizmo. Scott held still, not knowing how to react to the small creatures. Could you stroke them? Or did they just sit there.

“Looks like they like you.” Joyce smiled. She came closer, a mealworm in her fingers. “Good boy, Gizmo.”

She offered the glider the mealworm, which it took in its small hands. It greedily ate it up, small flakes of the worm falling into his shirt. The claws that clasped the worm were so long that Scott wasn’t surprised he could feel them through the fabric of his shirt. A mealworm was given to Gadget, who made the same mess. While Scott was admiring Gizmo, the sugar glider decided to move. It darted behind Scott, climbing along his back. As Gizmo hung off Scott’s back Gadget clambered up his arm and climbed along his front. The sugar glider paused on his left pocket, one of his hands on the edge. Scott could imagine the glider looked like a living emblem from the front. Gadget then stuck his head in the pocket, before deciding it was safe and clambering in. Scott felt the little warm body shifting against his chest. Peering down, the little head looked up at him. Gadget appeared to be quite content in there.

Joyce had turned to Gizmo and Gadget’s cage, replacing food and doing some spot cleaning, so hadn’t seen Gadget’s antics. Scott watched as she moved to another cage while Gizmo moved across his back to his other shoulder. It hadn’t registered that he was still holding his arm out stiffly. Scott turned back to Gizmo only to be met with a close up of his furry behind and tail. Scott heard the click of a cage door from where Joyce was, however before he could turn his head, Gizmo jumped from his shoulder. Shocked, Scott turned, scared that he was about to lose the little creature. The sugar glider, however, was perfectly happy, clinging to the bars of another cage. Scott watched, still panicking, as the glider quickly climbed along and up the cage. Without knowing quite what to do, Scott cupped his hands together and tried to grab it. His hands clasped around its small body, only for it to slip through his fingers and clamber away. He kept at it, with each attempt failing, until he heard a chuckle from behind him. He froze, before twisting on the spot. The worry in him dissipated at the sight of Joyce laughing. There was a sugar glider clinging to her chest, while another looked on from the cage behind her.

“It’s okay, Scott. They will jump from cage to cage. They can’t get out the room and should be perfectly safe.”

Scot chuckled, and as if to prove a point, Gizmo jumped onto his head. The claws dug into his scalp as the glider moved to the top of his head. Scott winced a little, then sighed. The creature would have messed his hair up. Joyce was chortling now but managed to whip out her phone and point it at him.

“These guys are okay with hair gel, right?” Scott questioned, suddenly aware of how much he had massaged into his hair that morning. He’d hate the poor thing to get sick because it chose the wring head to jump on.

“I’ll give him a quick wipe over.”

Joyce came over and retrieved Gizmo. She took a cloth from the side, and gave him a quick rub down, causing a round of barks from the animal. Joyce let Gizmo cling to her, before she scooped up one of the others and placed him on Scott.

“This is Atty.”

Atty was a darker brown than the brothers and seemed quite happy to just hang from Scott. As he was admiring Atty, another glider jumped onto his arm and quickly ran up to his shoulder.

“That one is Grylls.”

Grylls didn’t stay on Scott’s shoulder for long, with Scott only just catching a glimpse of a tail, before feeling the glider climb down his back. He could feel the glider swinging against his back, on the edge of his shirt. Again, Scott was worried about the little guy falling, however, he soon felt Grylls climb back up before jumping onto the cage behind him. It was an odd feeling, the way the pressure on his back increased before the jump, then was gone suddenly. Scott peered over his shoulder in time to see Grylls jump to the next cage along. Joyce was quickly behind him, pouch in hand, and managed to coax him back into it.

“I think we’d better put these guys away and go find your brother.”

Joyce held the pouch containing Grylls up to Attenborough, who happily jumped into it, and snuggled up with the younger glider. They were put back in their cage. A small chase occurred with Gizmo, who was now climbing all over his own cage, but soon he too was safely back in his pouch. The last one left was Gadget. Scott peeked into his pocket and smiled at creature who still looked very content.

“Now, where did Gadget go?”

As if he knew he was being called, Gadget wiggled and poked his head out Scott’s pocket.

“Now that’s cute!” Joyce smile, retrieving her phone again and snapping a picture. “Mind if I use these for a presentation, I’m doing it in two weeks’ time? Also, what’s you email so I can forward them to you?”

“Sure.” Scott rattled off his email and Joyce put it in her phone, before offering the pouch to Gadget who happily joined his brother. The pouch was hung back in the cage and they left them to sleep. Scott followed Joyce back out of the main building and down the path towards the dolphin enclosure. They hadn’t got very far before a familiar voice called out.

“Scott! Scott! Look what I’ve got!”

Scott turned to his brother, who was grinning from ear to ear, and them followed the lead he was holding. At the end of the lead was a white fluffy three-legged animal, but it wasn’t a dog. A quizzical look crossed Scott’s face.

“That’s Miyuki, our Arctic fox. She had a broken leg that got infected. We had to amputate it, but she’s more than capable without it.”

“Isn’t she great, Scott? I’m walking a fox!”

Scott laughed and took a photo. Dad had been right when he told Scott that he was going to enjoy himself. Getting out with Gordon may not be on the top of Scott’s to do list, but this had been worth in. He swiped his message tab, located the email, and saved the photos. A smile crossed his face at the sight of Gizmo in his head. Walking to stand beside Gordon, Scott held out his phone for Gordon to see.

“I made friends with Gizmo.”

Gordon’s laugh filled the air and Scott couldn’t stop himself from joining in.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds tos #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #EasterTAG #submission

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serendipitioussurvival · 5 years

Text

They Call Her Alpha - Pt 1

Fem!Stiles/Peter Hale

<Next>

“They call her Mother, Destroyer… they call her Alpha.” she was supposed to instill fear into all who opposed her, hope in all that worshiped or called for her. She was supposed to be powerful, not this twig of a teenager giving him the most pitiful glare he’d ever received in his life. “They swear by her like she is a Goddess. She leaves no enemies alive, no records of her face or what she looks like, and all her people are unfalteringly loyal. The only vague description we’ve received of her looks is from the Oracle.” what, exactly, was so inspiring about the little sparkling in front of him?

She wasn’t too attractive - her hair had multiple hues of red, honey brown, black, and chestnut but was much too oily - though he did find himself sort of enthralled with mapping out the moles and freckles dotting the expanses of fair skin he could see.

“It’s not rare for scents to be shared.” he reasoned while turning to face his sister, completely dismissing the almost human in front of them. “She doesn’t exactly strike fear into me, sister dearest.” when she seemed unable to stop staring at the girl he let out a small, irritated growl that was quickly answered by a flash of her ruby red eyes.

“I would remember my place, brother.” she snapped dismissively then turned her attention back to the young woman in front of her. “Isaac,” a young man with cherubic features and curly blonde hair to match stepped forward, hands shaking ever so slightly as the only indication that he was nervous - much to Peter’s pride. “Take the tape off her mouth.”

Peter had severe doubts that this strange wannabe witchling was the dreaded spark they were looking for, those doubts all flew out the fucking window when Isaac moved into her personal space. Whiskey eyes turned almost beta gold, her anger simmered into something calming and comforting that had his inner wolf prowling from underneath his skin. When Isaac pulled the duct tape off of her lips he did so with steady hands and in a fluid motion that he quickly bowed his head in apology for. He blamed biology for paying close attention to the pink tongue that came out and wetted peach lips.

“Pretty sure Kidnapping is still illegal, declared or otherwise.” if his wolf was prowling before it was now right underneath his skin, ready to pounce so it could get closer to her. “Heard rumors that the new queen was a ‘were, guess this war has been beneficial to you and yours.” the few Enforcers of the Hale Pack stepped forward with claws extended the moment their Alpha Queen snarled, Isaac - still relatively new to the pack - and Scott - another new addition who was the same age as Isaac - both shrunk back. Peter did not miss the way the supposed ‘Mother, Destroyer’ glanced once towards them before settling back on his sister with a tight anger that he, strangely enough, understood.

“No war has been formally declared,” Talia reasoned after recollecting herself.

“Oh? Might want to tell the victims that then. Humans and traitors to both sides are the casualties of your ‘peace’ war with the Unseelie Queen and her geriatric psycho fuck Pappy.” a snort of amusement escaped him before he could even think to control it. “Oh?” her eyes centered directly on him, unnerving and pleasing at the same time. “Think the death of traitors and humans is funny, do you?” she tsk’ed and eyed him up and down, “Bad dog.”

“Then you are the ‘Alpha’?” Talia snarled while drawing her Enforcers back.

“Alpha? I’m no wolf,” she snorted and leaned back against the chair, “You mean The Mother, though, don’t you?” she sighed heavily and rolled her shoulders. “Might as well just kill me now then, won’t get anything useful out of me.” Peter sauntered forward, grinning wide when her attention focused back on him.

“Why’s that sweetling?” he actually laughed when she recoiled away from him in disgust.

“Ugh, okay Uncle Bad touch, let’s just keep you over that way.” she actually did a ‘shoo’ motion with her foot, “You could totally make Creeperwolf over here a torture method,” she remarked casually to his sister but centered her gaze directly on him when he took another step towards her. “No, go away, shoo.”

“You’re really not attracted to me,” he murmured, amazed, even as he leaned into her personal space to get a good whiff of her scent.

“Yeah, no dip Sherlock. Yo, Queeny, what the fuck? Can you tighten the leash or something on him, this is totally borderline sexual harassment.” She was amusing, no one - aside from powerful Dark Fae - ever spoke to his sister like that. For that alone it was almost worth keeping her alive.

“You will watch your tongue when you speak to the Seelie Queen, ant.” ah yes, cousin Andrew. How Peter adored the fanatic cousin that believed devotedly in his sister.

“Hmm, Ant, new one. Well, your ‘Oh, most powerful light fae, Seelie Queen, unmatched in lighty goodness’-” He had to turn away from her lest she see his grin. Little tart was a mouthy one wasn’t she? Damn, he was already half smitten. “What can this humble Spark in training do for you?”

“You’re the Alpha, the Mother.” she actually laughed for a spell before she realized that no one else was laughing with her.

“Oh my - okay, open your lil wolfy ears and hear me when I say; I am not the Mother, Alpha, or whatever the hell else you’re searching for.” that fact that her hummingbird heartbeat remained steady and that her scent remained clear of deceit had Talia deflating just a little. “There, okay, can I go? I know it may seem hard to believe but I’m not exactly overflowing in the friend department. I’ve only got one and we kinda got a codependency goin’ on, so if you don’t mind?” she wriggled so the chains keeping her confined to the chair would jingle. Peter liked her, mouthy brat she was.

“You were fighting a Strigoi from taking two Pup’s, why?” the girl sagged back into her chair and eyed Talia with a fatigue that dulled her vigor.

“Because they were full shift wolves and the bastard wanted to enslave them and sell them back to Psycho Bitch Barbie and her cult of meanies.” Peter couldn’t help his laughter even if he wanted to - which he definitely did not - when he registered that she was calling Kate Argent, current Queen of the Unseelie Court, a Psycho Bitch Barbie. That took balls, it took either a tremendous amount of stupidity or courage and this little sparkling didn’t seem all that stupid. Evidence to the contrary. “Is that why you thought I was the Alpha? ‘Cause I did a little whoop ass on the Dark side Jackasses?”

“You fit the description we’ve received, vague though it may be.” Peter’s warning growl for her at giving too much away was cut off by intrigue when she leaned forward, smelling of vanilla joy and curiosity.

“I did? Itty bitty badass me?” Talia’s eyebrows pinched in frustration. Either because of her or because of the case of mistaken identity, Peter couldn’t tell.

“We were clearly mistaken,” she shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts and murmured something to Scott. Nearly all watched as he left the room before they centered wearily on her. “Were you declared before?”

“Before I sided with the humans and those abandoned by both sides? No.” she settled back with a huff and kicked a single leg out to test the strength of the chains. He adored the way her grin was just a tad blood thirsty when Andrew growled warningly at her, Beta blues flashing as a warning.

“What is your name then, Spark?”

“Polish, you can’t say it.” She sighed and looked around, clearly bored with the current conversation. “Also an Orphan, so no known surname. Life’s a bitch, innit? You can call me Stiles, if you want to try niceties, but I’m not declaring Seelie.”

“It is an honor-” Andrew started vehemently, drawing twin eyerolls from both Peter and ‘Stiles’.

“And now I know that I will be avoiding you at the next siore.” he didn’t know what enticed him more, the fact that she said soire so perfectly or the fact that she could clearly speak multiple languages.

“So, French and English. What about Polish?” he crouched in front of her, knowing that his jeans hugged his thighs and ass just right when he did so. Little tart didn’t even glance.

“Well well, Uncle Bad Touch, you ain’t so bad at sleuthin’. So I got three languages under my belt, care to guess at which one is my native one?” he grinned and leaned in closer, ignoring his sister’s warning call of his name.

“I’d rather get under your belt myself,” she tsked again and sighed as if disappointed with him.

“As much as I like trading barbs with you, Uncle Bad Touch, I will have to gracefully decline. Her head tilted to the side, exposing her pretty neck and the trailing of moles that he wanted to trace.

With his tongue.

“You wound me,” he joked, hand clasped dramatically over his heart as he rocked back on his heels.

“I’d like to,” she glibly returned, eyes gleaming her joy and flooding the room with her vanilla pleasure.

“Enough!” Talia snapped, drawing him back to her side by his wolf. He hated when she did that, when she took his control and snapped it to achieve her own goals. “Enough. As an undeclared you are not bound by our laws. We will let you go,” she rose her hand to quell the disagreements that rose from her decision, “but we will be keeping an eye on you. If we so much as suspect that you play a bigger part than what you seem to then we will collect you again. Make no mistake, Spark, if you so much as move a foot in a direction I deem suspicious I will make you declare a side to either be punished or governed as seen fit.”

“You know,” the Spark mused as Scott began unlocking her confines. “You’re not so bad, Queeny, but you’re hopelessly misinformed about the actual state of things. I’m sure your Seelie losses have been big,” dainty fingers rubbed at the red indentations on her wrist, “If you were aware of the actual losses your ‘not-war’ has caused-” she trailed off as she got lost in her own thoughts. “Well, whatever. Can I get dropped off where you’re people kidnapped me from?” A better man wouldn’t have taken the time she was walking away to check out her ass, a better man would’ve probably felt sympathy for the sparkling. Peter was not a ‘good’ man, but he wasn’t a bad one either, so when she looked back at him from over her shoulder he tore his gaze from her tempestuous ass to wink at her. Of one thing he was certain, she was either on the cusp of her twentieth year or she soon would be. She was much too interesting to kill or enslave, he hoped she stayed that way.

“Peter, I want you to keep an eye on her.” sweet, sweet victory. “She’s hiding something but I feel we’ll have a better chance at finding out what when she thinks she’s not under scrutiny.”

“With pleasure, sister.”

#Peter Hale #female stiles #rule 63 stiles #spark stiles #Teen Wolf Au #Seelie #Unseelie #Kind of like Lost Girl #Only with a different twist #Eventual Steter #steter #Stiles Stilinski #eventual BAMFStiles #Queen Talia Hale #Hale Family is alive #inspired by a song #not a song fic though #Alpha-little destroyer

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jarienn972 · 5 years

Text

A Simple Spell - Chapter Two

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

Tonight, I’m bringing you Chapter Two of my @cssns story. This chapter is a brief flashback to Emma’s actions that will set the rest of the actions into play and I’m going to preface it with a quick disclaimer that the witchcraft portrayed in this story is entirely fictional and is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of Wiccan practices. I've adapted the depiction of magic and spells strictly to fit this narrative. Also, please forgive me if the Latin phrases presented are a little off. I tried my best to ensure the correct translation of the phrases in the spell presented but I'm a little rusty.

Again, I have to give a huge amount of thank yous to the creators of this event for allowing me to stretch my creativity and to my beta, @lassluna for helping me keep this all flowing correctly! Last, but not least, thank you to @cocohook38 for her incredible artwork!

I hope you enjoy Chapter Two!

Also on AO3 and FF.net Chapter One

The Previous Evening

Emma had, from her first visit with the Mills sisters, found it a tad morbid that their coven gatherings were held in a vault deep beneath the crypt of their parents' mausoleum. She could still recall Regina leading her down this path through the fog-obscured graveyard - when it appeared as though Emma was about to be on the receiving end of a very bad practical joke. She'd kept a tight grip on her service weapon as she'd followed the mayor down a carved stone stairway until they reached the faintly illuminated room hidden below.

After several months of meetings here, visiting for various lessons or to simply bear witness the Wiccan rituals, Emma was growing accustomed to the eerie surroundings. There was always a hint of unease in the pit of her stomach when she descended below the land of the dead but it just didn't nauseate her as much now as it used to.

Tonight, she'd trekked through the cemetery after work, running just a little late for the 8pm conjuring practice session that Zelena had planned. Emma was heading into the night a little half-heartedly after nagging memories plagued her all day. Memories that continued to haunt her as she descended deeper into the earth. Sure, making a ball of flames appear out of the palm of your hand was cool and all, but it truly wasn't where Emma's thoughts lay tonight.

She allowed herself to slink down the steps, hoping she'd arrived unnoticed, but as she turned the corner at the vault's entrance, she was met by Regina's disdainful glare.

"You're late, Miss Swan," was the greeting that spewed from the Mayor's tongue.

"Sorry," Emma stammered. "I had some paperwork to finish up before I could leave the office but I got here as quickly as I could." It was mostly a lie, but Regina didn't need to know that she'd actually been contemplating not even showing up tonight.

"Well, we were just about to don our robes. Hurry up and join us in the circle," Regina instructed as she thrust a jet black, hooded brocade robe into Emma's hands. The student accepted the garment from her instructor with a nod of thanks while quickly shedding her crimson leather jacket. She tossed her jacket haphazardly over a wooden armchair as she tugged the robe over her shoulders before proceeding into the main chamber. She was immediately reminded how claustrophobic the vault could be when their entire coven was present.

Theirs was currently a coven of five. As Emma saw it, there was one member for each point of the pentacle inlaid within the marble circle that adorned the vault's floor. The Mills sisters were, by far, the most active and the most powerful practitioners of the group, but they were joined by Ruby Lucas, the waitress at Granny's diner - whom Emma suspected might have a few other hidden powers, and Ingrid, an older witch of the prior generation whose methods and ideals quite often clashed with the Mills sisters. Ingrid was the last remaining member of the original coven, having practiced alongside Regina and Zelena's late mother, Cora, but that was all Emma knew. No one really talked about the old guard much, but Emma knew they'd been a formidable group of sorceresses.

Emma made her way into formation as Regina's flame-haired older sister, Zelena, lit the candles positioned within the circle with a mere flick of the ebony wand clutched in her hand. Emma found some of the rituals a bit unnerving, but like being twenty feet beneath a tomb, she was growing used to the feeling. Her mind was just wandering a bit more tonight than normal.

Today had been an auspicious anniversary for her and the only reason she'd even made the decision to come was that she absolutely didn't want to be sitting around the loft with her overly-positive sister-in-law. She'd decided that a coven gathering in the crypt was preferable to drowning her sorrows down at the Rabbit Hole - and a lot less expensive. Plus, the vault gave her access to collections of books and scrolls that might help her find something useful should she be given permission to search them. She just needed something to keep herself distracted for a little while. Something to prevent her from falling back into any of her old, desolate traps - because tonight was the anniversary of the day she'd had her heart crushed into a million pieces - a story she'd not yet shared with anyone here in Storybrooke.

That heartbreak had become the catalyst that really kicked off her quest to discover her family and the history her mother had hidden from her. She'd believed that solving her own personal mysteries would be the best way to heal after being abandoned by the man she'd thought she'd loved - the man she'd given her heart and soul to. When things had gotten too difficult, he'd bolted, never even saying goodbye and even after a decade, it still stung. His betrayal hurt as deeply as losing her beloved mother only months before he'd run away - and as bitterly as the miscarriage she'd suffered alone. All combined together in such a short amount of time had left her feeling utterly alone. She was now striving to push beyond those losses, determined to reconnect with the family she still had, and then maybe, just maybe, she could find someone to help mend her broken heart. And if magic could help her fill those voids, she was determined to try.

But at this moment in time, she knew she was simply going through the motions as she recited her ritual incantations and completed the mundane tasks asked of her. It wasn't hard for anyone else to see her lack of conviction either. Her heart simply wasn't in it, and as her lackluster attitude caught Zelena's attention, her mentor decided to cut the evening's lessons short rather than keep going with an inattentive student.

"How about we pick things up again on Friday?" Emma heard Zelena ask as the redhead brushed back her hood. Emma heard what she was saying but didn't completely comprehend the words.

"Huh?" Emma replied, startled by the query that pulled her back from her reminiscing.

"I was asking if we should pick this up again on Friday," Zelena repeated with a hint of irritation in her voice. "Weren't you listening to anything I said tonight?"

"Sorry… I'm a little distracted tonight and I guess I'm not feeling particularly well…," Emma fibbed in a feeble attempt to cover her obvious disconnect.

"Why don't you head home and get some rest then?" Regina suggested. "Friday's full moon will allow us to try out some new spells too."

"Actually, if you don't mind, Regina, I'd like to take a look through some of the potion books to see if I can locate a remedy for this lingering tiredness I've been experiencing. Would you mind?"

Regina thought about the idea for a moment, but granted permission. "Just stick to the newer potion books on the shelf under the mirror. Most of those ones are either already written in English or have already been translated from the original text. Most of the older books are written in Latin, Greek, Elvish - you get the idea? Your study of ancient languages hasn't advanced enough for proper translation yet so stick to the ones you can read, okay? Oh, and lock up when you leave."

"I can do that," Emma smiled graciously. "And I promise I won't stay too long, and I'll be sure to clean up and lock everything away."

"See that you do, Miss Swan," Regina stated as she undid the clasp on her robe and allowed the garment to slide off of her shoulders. She draped the robe over her forearm as she gathered her belongings from the desktop beside her apothecary cabinet. "Have a good evening, Deputy."

"Good night, your Highness," Emma quipped as Regina ascended the stairway towards the crypt above. Zelena smirked at the nickname as she followed her sister out of the vault and soon, both Ruby and Ingrid made their exit as well, leaving Emma alone in the creepy confines.

Hearing only the tap of her own footsteps echoing off of the slate floor, Emma made her way over to the towering shelves, teeming with an expansive collection of books ranging from spellbooks to recipe books to a weathered, and likely very dated, set of encyclopedias. She quickly figured out the filing system that Regina utilized and began scanning for a specific volume. Her eyes darted back and forth across the third shelf up from the bottom trying to find a book that Zelena had shown her a few weeks earlier when they'd practiced a few basic potions. She remembered looking at a sleeping potion, a memory potion and even one that was rumored to improve the mood of even the crankiest Storybrooke resident, but Emma wasn't actually interested in potions right now.

While Zelena had been busy preparing the ingredients for one of the potions, Emma had flipped through a few of the yellowed vellum pages, glancing over random potion recipes and spells handwritten in flowing Latin. She was still learning the basics of the language, understanding a few words and phrases that appeared frequently. Words that were unfamiliar were easily translated with an app on her iPhone, although she did know that just having the translation of the words didn't always help as figuring out the grammar could be awkward. She was determined to try anyway.

She located the correct, ornately decorated spine and carefully lifted the gilded book from the shelf, carrying it to the podium the Mills sisters had installed in the center of the vault, directly beneath the chandelier - one of the few nods to modern conveniences down here (although Emma had yet to figure out exactly where the electricity came from as there were no visible power lines around the mausoleum). She took extreme care in opening the cover, turning the pages gently as she sought the specific spell she'd seen before.

Nervousness began to overcome her, causing her to repeatedly glance back toward the stairs as she flipped through the ancient pages. She feared that someone might return to interrupt her and discover that she was perusing books that weren't in the officially-approved collections. She was taking a huge risk that could destroy the trust she'd built within the coven but right now, she had a singular focus.

It took a few minutes in the dimly lit vault to locate the spell she wanted but once she did, she picked up the crystal candlestick with its nearly fully melted ruby red taper from atop the desk and brought it closer to the podium to get a better view as her fingertip dusted across the flowing script. Her excitement and anxiety both increased exponentially as she stared at the spell she hoped might change her life.

Her brain immediately began translating the Latin text, beginning with the instructions preceding the spell itself. Succensa - set alight. Sapiens - sage. Roris marini - rosemary. She recognized the herbs and knew she needed to light them on fire as the smoke from burning them would cleanse the air prior to her reciting the incantation. She retrieved sprigs of both herbs from the apothecary cabinet and dropped them into a charred marble bowl then ignited them with the flame from the candle.

As the fragrant herbs burned, filling the small, subterranean room with their aroma, Emma continued translating the remaining text as well as she could. Verus amor - true love. That was her goal - to find her own true love and fill the void within her heart that she'd struggled with for so many years. Since the moment she'd stumbled across this spell, she'd been determined to cast it when the time was right. She had to. Why else would she have been gifted with these supernatural abilities if it wasn't meant to bring her some semblance of happiness? She wanted the type of love that her brother shared with Mary Margaret - that close companionship that just wasn't going to be found in friendship or familial relationships. She just wanted to be loved and have someone to love in return.

Alone in the vault, she began to recite the Latin phrases from the page.

Verus amor occurant - encounter true love.

Verus amor reveles - discover true love.

Those phrases she translated easily, but there were others she wasn't as certain of.

Verus amor agnocis. She didn't know what agnocis meant, but in the context of the words she understood, it had to be another part of finding true love, which led into the last phrase - Confirmare verus amor - confirm true love.

Once completed, she sealed the spell by pricking the tip of her finger with a needle and allowing three minute drops of her blood to fall atop the smoldering herbs. One for her, one for the love she sought and the third to unite them. Now, all she had to do was wait to see if it all worked - and get everything cleaned up, put away and locked up before anyone became suspicious.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff au #cs ff #cs au ff #witch emma #a simple spell

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thedeevirus · 5 years

Note

If you’re accepting prompts, perhaps a AU where Mr. Penn manages to fire the gun at Oswald in 5x08 and Ed jumps in front of him!

Hope everyone can see this!

Enjoy!

***

Oswaldfelt bones break beneath the force of his knuckles. Something popped in an eyesocket and something else, warm and wet, splattered against his cheek. Heignored it. Just as he had ignored Penn’s desperate pleading when Oswald hadlunged at him. As Oswald had shattered his fingers to get him to drop the gun. AsOswald had begun to murder him with his bare hands.

As Oswald exacted revenge, a familiar tranquillity settled upon him as his bodywent through the also all too familiar motions of killing. It felt as naturalas breathing. He could see the life draining from Penn as his blood ran acrossthe floor, as his last breaths escaped through his broken teeth as rubycoloured bubbles. The dummy was clutched to his chest like a child’s toy, Penn’sfingers white as he clasped the dummy desperately as it were a shield.

As Ed had been for Oswald.

Oswald could sense Ed’s body lying behind him where he had fallen. After he hadshoved Oswald out of the way as Penn had pulled the trigger. Oswald had watchedthe bullet tear into Ed’s chest as if in slow motion and immediately attackedPenn with a screech of sheer, primal fury. He vaguely wondered how long agothat had been. Looking at the mushy remains of Penn’s face it struck Oswaldthat it had probably been a while.He felt tears building in his eyes because of the painful lump in his throat. Hishands were sore and his jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching his teeth. Butit still wasn’t enough.It would never be enough!

Untilhe felt a firm hand on his shoulder.Oswald whirled, ready to face the new attacker. Only to find Ed looking down at him, shaking his head. Oswald stopped dead and rose slowly. He reached out with shaking fingers and openeda button on Ed’s boiler suit. Beneath it was a solid, packed layer. A bulletproof vest.Ed coughed from the soft pressure and peeled back the opening, showing Oswaldthe bullet lodged in the fabric.Oswald helped Ed into a nearby chair. Ed coughed and took deep breaths as hesettled. Once he was sure Ed was comfortable, Oswald immediately smacked him onthe head with a rolled up blueprint.

‘Youidiot!’ Oswald yelled, slamming the now crinkled blueprint back on the desk, ‘Whatif he’d shot you in the head?!’

‘I’mtaller than you, I knew he’d hit me in the chest’, Ed said obviously.

Hereached into his pocket and offered Oswald a clean rag.

‘Youhave something on your face’, he said, ‘Or someone’.

Oswaldtouched his cheek and blinked at the gore that stained his fingers. Their eyesmet and both men burst out laughing. Oswald wiped his face, taking advantage ofhis face being hidden to wipe away the tears of relief threatening to spilldown his cheeks.

‘Imeant what I said you know’, Oswald sniffed, casting the bloodied rag aside, ‘Ihaven’t been a good friend to you’.

‘Don’tget sentimental on me’, Ed said, gesturing to an array of mechanical parts on anearby workbench, ‘We, or rather, I still have a lot of work to do’.

Edtried to rise but Oswald placed a hand on his shoulder. Ed sat back down.

‘I’m justconfused’, Oswald said, ‘You could have just let him kill me and taken all thetreasure for yourself’.

‘Ididn’t think of that’, Ed said, hand straying to the impact in his chest.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

Ed’s owndumbfounded expression showed he could barely believe it.

‘It’strue’, Ed said, disbelievingly, ‘It…really doesn’t matter to me’.

‘Thenwhy are you helping me? Why protect me?’

‘Becauseyou matter to me. I accept you forwho you are just as you accept me for the cold logician I am’.

Despitethe way his heart was hammering at Ed’s sincere words, Oswald couldn’t help butlaugh.

‘Cold logician?’ he chuckled, ‘Ed, you’re the most melodramaticperson I know. And this is Gotham’.

‘Thepoint is’, Ed emphasised without heat, ‘When I’m with you I can be myself. It’sthe only time I feel…’

Hetrailed off. Oswald could see Ed searching his voluminous vocabulary for theright word and offered one of his own.

‘Complete’.

‘Correct’.

‘Whywere you wearing a bullet proof vest in the first place?’ Oswald asked.

‘Yousaid it yourself, this is Gotham’, Ed shrugged, ‘It should be standard issuefor all citizens’.

‘Soyou weren’t wearing it because you thought I would-‘

‘Not before I finish your submarine at least’.

‘Forthe record, I hadn’t planned to shoot you at all’.

‘I suppose pummelling me to death would be a change of pace-‘ Edsaid, eyes drifting to Penn’s mutilated body.

‘Ed, why would I break the laws of nature and have youresurrected just to kill you?!’ Oswald demanded, incredulous.

‘Thatreminds me, why did you resurrect me in the first place?’

‘Thesame reason you just jumped in front of a bullet for me’.

‘Whichis?’

‘Pleasedon’t make me say it’.

‘Areyou afraid?’

‘No’.

‘Then,why?’

‘Becausethe last time I did, I lost you! I can’t lose you again!’

Oswald’sjaw shut so quickly Ed was reminded of a bear trap’s steel jaws clamping. Oswaldinhaled and exhaled shakily then spoke again in a voice laced with exhaustion.

‘Ineed you to build this submarine‘, Oswald sighed, shoulders slumping.

Edseized Oswald’s face. His lean fingers traced Oswald’s cheek bones as hestudied the myriad shades of green in Oswald’s widened eyes. His dark eyelashesfluttered as Ed drew close.

‘Andyou say I’m melodramatic’, Ed said, smiling gently, ‘It’s not the first time I’vejumped between you and a gun. Remember?’

Ed frozeas Oswald placed a hand on his. As Ed felt warmth suffuse his flesh, he wonderedat the sensation. How long had it been since he had experienced physical contactwith another person? How long since he had felt so at peace? So safe?

‘PerhapsEdward’, Oswald said with a bashful smile, ‘We really are meant for each other’.

Heraised his head and leant in. The tip of his nose nuzzled Ed’s neck and Edcouldn’t help but shiver at the ticklish sensation of Oswald’s breath. His headlolled back as he exposed his neck further. Oswald understood and drew closer,pressing their bodies flush.

‘Perhaps’,Ed said, looking back down at Oswald.

Thehungry gaze in his eyes shattered any lingering doubts in Ed’s mind.

Oswald’seyes closed as Ed’s lips made contact with his, the surrender to the trust hehad in Ed making the longed for kiss all the more intoxicating. The kiss was everythinghe had ever wanted.

Ed marvelledat the shock akin to electricity that coursed through him as the kiss deepened.A kiss had never felt like this before. So new and exciting. He felt Oswaldmelt into him and mirrored Oswald’s hand on the back of his neck.

Oswaldmoaned as Ed’s fingers traced up into his hair and gripped it, locking him inplace. His lips parted and Ed’s tongue slipped inside. Oswald’s heart leapt atthe unexpected yet not unwelcome intrusion and his own tongue flicked at Ed’steasingly, enticing him to continue.

A suddenthud broke the spell, making both men start in alarm.

Scarfacehad fallen from Penn’s body. The dummy stared at them with blank yet somehowaccusing eyes in its bloodstained face.

Edand Oswald shared an unnerved look. They extricated themselves from each otherslowly as if facing down an aggressive dog. Ed cleared his throat while Oswald adjustedhis collar.

‘I’ve, uh, been meaning to say we should test the propeller’, Edsaid, pushing his glasses up, ‘As soon as possible’.

‘No time like the present’, Oswald agreed uneasily as Scarface’seye rotated slowly in its socket.

#reply to asks #nygmobblepot ficlet #nygmobblepot #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot #mr penn #scarface

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megalony · 5 years

Text

Before the lies- Part 1

I’ve decided to do a prequel series to my Roger Taylor series Liar which gained a lot of lovely feedback which I am very thankful for. I hope everyone will like this new series.

Permanent taglist: @marshmallowmae @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly

Series taglist: @caborhapch @im-just-a-musical-prostitute @scarsout @luckytrashgooprebel

Summary: Before Roger meets (Y/n), before he tells the band about his history of abuse, before all of the lies he created began, there was Sarah. When Roger is just starting out as the drummer of Queen at the age of nineteen, he meets a friend’s sister who changes everything, but not for the better.

Liar masterlist

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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

The cigarette clasped between the brunette's index and middle fingers was swirled between them as if it was his drumstick. The action allowed the boy to glance around the bar he was sitting in, just waiting for his friend to turn up so the evening could begin.

The guitarist was somewhere in the bar currently talking to the manager to try and get their band a gig here.

Roger had never frequented this bar before, it was hidden around the back of a main street right in a little nook that could be completely missed if you weren't looking for it. It wasn't a bad place, rather the opposite. The bar wasn't full of splatters of beer, vodka and whatever other condiments went sliding across the wooden surface. There was no bad smell in the air that warded you away and no drunks hammering out the wrong lyrics to the song that was playing from the jukebox. The crowd wasn't nearly as rowdy as the last pub that the band had frequented to try and gain some business.

The beer wasn't the best but the atmosphere made up for the difference in taste compared to the other bars around London.

Truth be told the drummer hadn't been out that much lately, the moment he came to London for university Roger hadn't gone scouting around the streets. He had acquainted himself with the few local bars near his university, made a few friends and gotten to know the streets of his accommodation but he hadn't been moving around much until Brian came along. The skilled guitarist taking astrophysics at a close-by university had lived around these streets all his life so he knew the best places to find a gig when they formed a band. Since then Roger had been getting to know the area more as well as travelling with the band to go to gigs and drive their friends up and down too.

Of course, everything about the band was on the down-low to Roger's parents. He had dropped the dentistry course to take a major in biology and that had not gone down well when he told his parents. Although it was a good study that would provide qualifications and Roger was enjoying it, they were not happy because it didn't give him the kind of profession they wanted for him. It didn't let him go straight into a good profession like the dentistry course did. They wanted the best for Roger, they wanted him to make a success of himself and music was not going to do that for him. If they knew he was in a band they wouldn't be amazed. Hid mother could just about handle him doing music on the side but his father could not.

"Need a light?" Roger didn't recognise the sultry voice that asked him the question. Well, he presumed it was being asked to him since the voice was very close to his ear.

His head turned to the right, his brows raising as his eyes widened just that little bit more. His pupils blowing up causing the baby blue of his iris' to shorten. Roger didn't know who the lady now sitting on the barstool next to him was but either she knew him or she seemed to want to know him. The way she bit the inside of her ruby red lower lip to pull it between her teeth made Roger's insides flip. Surely he wouldn't have forgotten her if they had met before.

Roger took a moment longer than he should to notice the sea-green lighter clasped between her fingers. Her right elbow propped neatly on the bar as she flicked the end of the lighter with her thumb to indicate her point. Nodding her head towards the cigarette clasped between his fingers that had stopped spinning through his digits. All movements ceased the moment she came into his line of sight.

Blinking a few times to focus himself, Roger shakily moved his hand towards hers, watching the flame spark against the end of his cigarette and burn a dark orange before turning the end of the cigarette black. The grey swirls of smoke delicately floating from the end as Roger brought the nicotine to his lips. Taking a long drag to try and calm himself down, the calming smoke flowing through his lungs before releasing into the atmosphere around them. Roger moved his left hand to brush the short brunette strands of hair from framing around his eyes.

"Thanks." Roger breathed through the word the redhead could barely hear over the others around the bar and sitting at tables behind them. Fumbling with his left hand, Roger shakily pulled out the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Holding it out to her in gesture since she didn't have one and yet she had a lighter on her.

Beneath her eyes seemed to crinkle and push upwards just a little as her head tilted to the right. Her blood-red nails delicately accepting the offer, clasping the nicotine between her ruby lips as she lit the end alight. Her head nodding in thanks to the stranger she seemed to have taken a liking to.

He couldn't place it but Roger knew there was something familiar about the woman sitting beside him. There was something about the frame of her nose and how it pointed just a little at the end. Or the way that her features were rather thin, her cheekbones more prominent as well as her jawline which stood out in a particular way that resembled someone else to Roger. He could see something else in the way that her red hair was obviously straightened as it reached just below her shoulders. The strands deadly straight as if her hair was standing on end, but there were very small, delicate waves to them that showed she held naturally curly hair that she specifically wanted rid of.

"D-do I know you?" The way Roger asked showed he wasn't trying to be rude or get rid of her, quite the opposite.

The way this stranger was looking at him should have given him warning signals but it simply made Roger feel a rush of adrenaline that mixed with the two beers he had already had whilst waiting for his friend to turn up. Her head was leaning on her right hand as she switched to hold the cigarette with her left. Lips curving into a smile around the bad habit between her lips as she raised her chin just a little.

It was clear that Roger was younger than she was, this was not a situation that Roger was used to. He had only been out with a few girls before and they were all his own age, an older girl hadn't seemed interested in him before now. Roger didn't exactly look much older than a teenager, he didn't even look his age. His hair was cut into a short bob which he was trying to grow out, his smile was practically boyish and his height was not that tall. His eyes seemed to have a way about them as well, they sparkled in the light but looked like a child's eyes.

"I take it you're Roger?" One of the most devilish, informative laughs Roger had ever heard passed through her lips at the sight of shock on his features as if he thought she had read his mind. The laugh wasn't frightening but it was rather authoritative as if she were letting him know who was in charge here. It radiated bursts of energy that Roger couldn't comprehend as she moved to put her lighter in her bag before reaching for the cocktail set out in front of her. Their eyes never breaking contact when her lips wrapped around the rim of the glass, the cigarette clamped between her index and middle fingers which were holding the glass. A look so exquisite Roger simply had to learn to do it.

A hum of acknowledgement passed through Roger's lips as he managed to nod in response. Trying his best not to choke on the beer he brought to his lips before taking a drag of the almost forgotten cigarette between his fingers.

"I'm Sarah. Brian speaks very highly of his new drummer."

Recognition finally lit up in Roger's eyes as he nodded, his jaw slack as he now realised who was sitting in front of him. Brian's older sister who Roger had been informed now lived close by. The guitarist had told Roger that he was very close to his older sister, but since she was older than Brian by two years and he was older than Roger by three it meant she was five years Roger's senior.

Roger hadn't been told very much about the woman sitting in front of him but he knew she was more outgoing than Brian was. The guitarist wasn't as boisterous as the woman sitting in front of him and Roger highly doubted Brian would look at people he just met in the way she was looking at him.

The drummer looked at the redhead about an hour later when she stood to her feet. Slinging her bag over her right shoulder as she stubbed out the last of her recently lit cigarette. She had waited until the pair got chatting to inform him that her brother was not going to be able to make it tonight although he had managed to get them a booking at another pub. The reason why she had turned up to talk to the drummer was to inform him of this and yet she had stayed for little over an hour to talk to Roger.

The brunette was always more confident when he was the one doing the chatting up and saying the pickup lines. It showed him that he was in control and that he wasn't misreading the situation. But with Sarah, she was the one resting her hand on his shoulder, down his arm and then trailing her hand up and down his thigh. She was the one to flirt shamelessly with Roger. She was the one who seemed to be showing an interest in him, not the other way around which unnerved Roger because she was older than he was. She could just be playing around or winding him up to see if he was desperate or not. And yet, Roger couldn't seem to find it in himself to care, all he wanted was to get to know the redhead even more than he had done this past hour.

Just as Roger was about to speak up and ask if they could see one another again soon, Sarah seemed to read his mind and cut him off before he had even begun.

"So, your place or mine?" Her question took Roger by surprise as he stumbled from the barstool to his feet. Steadying himself even though he wasn't drunk, simply high on the rush of adrenaline that hadn't disappeared since she had sat down next to him and decided to talk to him. Roger couldn't seem to find it in himself to answer, he couldn't work out if she was messing around or not.

After all, Roger was Sarah's brother's friend, they were in a band together for Christ sake. Why would she be interested in going home with Roger? He was a teenager, he was a student he didn't have a proper job yet only working down the market with his friend Freddie. Roger had a shitty apartment that you couldn't swing a cat around in, he had a lot of studies and a band that wasn't really going anywhere yet. She could find someone older than he was, someone her age who had a job and more time and was more mature.

Why was she going for him?

"Don't you want to come back with me?" Her lips pursed as she pouted, her chin tilting down just a little as her head leaned to the side. Eyes widening if that were even possible so she looked innocent but something about her told Roger she was far from it.

"Yes- no- my place?" Fumbling over his words, Roger internally screamed at himself. He didn't want to come across as desperate or overeager but he seemed to do just that. He was like a lost puppy that was just begging for Sarah to adopt him and take him home. From what he had heard, Sarah had a flatmate and although her flat would most likely be bigger and neater and well placed than his own, Roger lived alone. Surely that was better for talking rather than being at risk of someone overhearing them?

A great sense of relief swelled through Roger when Sarah showed no feelings of being annoyed at him for his eagerness nor was she rolling her eyes at him or showing a display of uninterest. Instead, the elder girl simply let out another one of her melodical laughs that had a hint of something in it that Roger couldn't place. Her laugh wasn't the best sound in the world because there was just something that sounded off or even wrong but all the same it was a sound that let him breathe at ease.

"Come on, drummer boy. I'm not done with you yet."

Roger could taste the gin from her drink as it coated both of their lips when they met. He could feel her lipstick rubbing off on his slightly chapped lips as her hand tugged at his collar to pull him closer making Roger feel vulnerable in a way that he wasn't sure was good or bad. She held more height over him especially in her heels which added to the sense of vulnerability that Roger felt but that was washed away by the feeling of her lips on his own.

Maybe he should voice that he hadn't had much experience in this department. Roger could kiss a girl with ease but anything else left him feeling a bit uneasy because he'd only been intimate with one girl before.

But as the woman in front of him took his hand in her own to guide him out of the bar, maybe he wouldn't after all.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger x reader #imagine #queen band #freddie mercury #Brian May #john deacon #liar #before the lies

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roman-writing · 6 years

Text

Increments of Longing (epilogue)

Fandom: Warcraft III / World of Warcraft

Pairing: Sylvanas Windrunner / Jaina Proudmoore

Rating: Explicit

Summary: The war is over, and finally things are coming together. An epilogue from Sylvanas' POV.

Author's Note: This story has been great fun to write. Thank you all for a good time!

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

The girl was tall for a human and stocky for a mage. It was the first thought Sylvanas had: that she should have been a homey farmer’s daughter, not the sole Heir to one of the world’s foremost naval powers. It didn't take Sylvanas long to realise her first impression of Jaina Proudmoore had been staggeringly off the mark. In fact, it took less than the length of a single conversation.

For all her quick wit and cleverness, her veneer of bumbling, Jaina was tenacious and grave-eyed. She moved her face and body remarkably little, as if every hint of expression had to be carefully prised into view, as if she were trained to sit in place and be still while others talked around her. Worst of all, she had the unnerving ability of giving someone her full attention, as though she were disassembling them with her gaze, each segment labelled and arrayed in perfect detail at her feet.

Living with her that first year had been terrifying. It only got better slowly, piece by piece. Everything she did, everywhere she went, Sylvanas could feel that dismantling gaze upon her. Living with Jaina Proudmoore was like trying to hide behind a pane of glass that magnified every feature, every minute flaw. She would give away nothing of herself without it being wrenched from her hands. She watched like the audience of a surgical gallery, white-aproned and impassive and always taking copious notes.

There was no telling what her reactions would be. There was no telling what would make her smile or laugh, but then again Sylvanas never could resist a challenge.

Sylvanas found herself ignoring the opulence around her in favour of watching Jaina across the Court ballroom. Keeping an eye on her. Nothing more. As much as she might have wished to be standing at her side, engaged in conversation, Sylvanas sat, alone, none brave enough to approach her as she was now.

They had erected a throne for the Regent Lord at the very head of the triumphal procession. A gaudy thing -- gaudier even than the procession itself through Silvermoon -- all carved ivory and gold and rubies and garnets, and all together nothing Sylvanas would have been caught dead sitting on in a thousand years. Except apparently for today.

She did not sit on the throne so much as she splayed, leaning an elbow upon one of the ornate wing-shaped armrests, chin propped on her hand. Her other hand, tipped in an unwieldy clawed gauntlet, tapped an irate rhythm against the other armrest. Her ceremonial armour had been outfitted with heavy gold pauldrons and a velvet red cloak that dragged heavily behind her whenever she tried to walk. She had almost tripped on it four times today, and Jaina’s calm insistence was the only reason why it wasn’t in shreds back on the floor of Goldenbough. Sylvanas shrugged against the weight of the pauldrons with a faint grimace of discomfort.

Liveried servants paraded throughout the grandeur of the Court of the Sun, bearing golden trays that were laden with food. Sylvanas eyed one of the platters as it passed. Earlier she had tried eating the bite-sized portions to disastrous results, her clawed gauntlets restricting her from handling anything smaller than a goblet, and even then she had to take utmost care not to spill all over herself and paint herself a fool in front of an entire triumphal procession.

Someone broke away from the mingling crowd to walk towards her, and one of Sylvanas’ ears twitched. Kael'thas was dressed in attire no less ornate than his usual fare, but for his current lack of titles. He wore his ornately armoured robes with the same graceful foppery that always made Sylvanas’ lip curl in mild distaste.

He was holding a cut crystal glass in one hand, and when he came to a halt before her throne he sipped at his wine. “Why, don't you look grand, Regent Lord! And what a party! Though I do hope it didn't cost too much. Our privy purse has been injured during this war too, you know.”

Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas tried to sound as graceful as she could manage, “Thank you. I was only as grand as decorum allowed.”

“But of course,” Kael’thas flashed her one of his signature smiles, all syrupy charm that left a sour taste in her mouth. “I’m not complaining. Not at all! In fact,” he lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder, “I feel positively wicked being here at all. Do you know how long I've been dying to attend one of your little parties?”

“A lifetime, I'm sure,” Sylvanas drawled.

“Yes. My lifetime, in fact. And I must say: you have not disappointed.” As if in a toast he raised his glass to her, then took a dainty sip.

She smiled in a way that revealed too many teeth, but which only seemed to amuse him all the more. “I’m sure there is no shortage of people to lick your shoes even when you technically have no titles.”

“Oh, I’ve been keeping myself plenty busy these last two months, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” He even made a gesture towards her head as if he were going to give her a patronising pat, and her ears pinned back in silent dangerous warning. He only rolled his eyes and continued talking, “You’d be amazed at how much you can get done without tripping over silly things like titles and decorum every other second.”

Eyes narrowing, Sylvanas asked with slow suspicion, “What kind of things?”

“Well, what with your sister’s great military triumph -- truly spectacular, by the way, truly -- the Zandalari and Amani alliance is in tatters. You and the Lady Proudmoore have them on the run. You’ve expanded our borders south. You’ve ensured our people’s safety for the next thousand years. You’ve -”

“Get to the point,” Sylvanas growled. “What. Things.”

If anything, his smile seemed to widen at her irritation. “Why, the only thing that really matters, my most august Regent Lord: money.”

Sylvanas blinked. “Money?”

He nodded and took another sip of wine. With his free hand, he motioned to the throne upon which she sat. “War is so expensive! You know that better than anyone, what with the two of us constantly at each other’s throats over funding from the privy purse, an endless push pull between civic and military duties.” Kael’thas continued in a delighted croon, “Don’t you know how pleased people are to hear that -- now that the war is all but over -- the military budget can be pruned back? Why, I had a Marquess in tears the other day. Tears of joy, of course.”

The sharp claws of Sylvanas’ gauntlets curled against the solid gold armrests of her throne. “We’re not finished yet,” she said through grit teeth. “We’re still creating buffer zones. And the navy -”

“Is now under the control of your new pet, Admiral Lor’themar,” Kael’thas finished for her. “An excellent choice, by the way. Though it’s such a pity the Lady Proudmoore didn’t want to keep that position herself. It would have been an excellent symbol to both our nations.” Then he added in a low voice partially mumbled around his wine glass, “Not to mention all the money we could have saved.”

“As much as I hate to agree with you, I admit I said something very similar. She is -” Sylvanas paused, finding Jaina again in the crowd strewn below her dais. “- a far greater leader than she gives herself credit.”

Kael’thas looked over his shoulder, his gaze immediately alighting upon Jaina. With a contemplative hum, he said, “In my experience, young people don’t tend to have the best sense of self-awareness. Give her time.”

“She’s a human. How much time could she possibly have?” Sylvanas muttered under her breath. The moment the words left her mouth, she sat up a little straighter, darting a hard look in Kael’thas’ direction as if daring him to comment.

If anything, he was watching her -- and Sylvanas couldn’t quite believe it -- with a kind of softness. Not the pitying kind, and not with his usual superficial flair. And when he spoke it was the most earnest she had ever heard him sound, “She’s a mage, Sylvanas. And a powerful one, too. She’ll have a few centuries on this earth yet.”

Sylvanas stared at him. She had to shake her head slightly before croaking out, “What?”

He chuckled at her shocked expression, and lifted his near empty glass for another sip of wine, murmuring around the rim of cut crystal, “I had wondered if the rumours about you two were true. How romantic.”

She wasn’t listening. Her stunned gaze had gone back to Jaina, who was now surrounded by a group of Magisters, including Headmistress Elosai. Jaina kept her hands solemnly clasped before her while she spoke, and even from here Sylvanas could see a few of the other Magisters exchanging puzzled glances and straining to get a read on her.

Centuries. The word turned in Sylvanas’ head, over and over, until it lost all meaning, until she began to doubt Kael’thas had even said it at all. Centuries. A few centuries. How many was a few? She would have to corroborate this new information. If Kael’thas were lying for a laugh, then so help her -

Centuries.

And here Sylvanas had thought she would be picking out a mourning veil within sixty years.

Beside her, Kael’thas had returned to his usual air of smug self-assurance that never failed to irritate her. “I never dreamed you and the Lady Proudmoore would be so well suited, but I am absolutely thrilled to see how wrong I was. I’m looking forward to a few centuries of good solid peace.”

Tearing her gaze away from Jaina, she shot him an exasperated look. “And here I thought you’d still be pining after her, Kael’thas.”

He sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Whatever gave you that idea?”

She smiled, a sharp cutting smile. “Only that I know you propositioned her, and she shot you down like a lame pheasant.”

“As is any lady’s right.” Kael’thas returned the smile, though his expression appeared forced. “What a pleasure it’s been catching up with you, Regent Lord. I hope you enjoy your last three weeks on that throne.”

Frowning, Sylvanas asked, “What do you mean ‘three weeks’? You should know better than anyone that I’m abdicating next week.”

“Of course. Of course!” his smile broadened, but his eyes remained cold. “But you already know that it takes an additional week to file the proper paperwork, and that all official documentation being pushed through the Court will have to wait for due processing until the treasury budget is completed. Luckily for you, I already took it upon myself to finalise the numbers before your ascension, which means all you have to do is oversee all relevant administration of civic funding and committee hearings.”

A slow horror crept into Sylvanas’ stomach as he spoke. He tilted his head as if in a bow, but used the opportunity to whisper to her as if to a confidante, “You may want to bring a pillow to sit upon. Those hearings take hours. ”

As he finished, Kael’thas straightened, his expression suffused with a barely constrained glee at the look on her face. He pointed to a passing liveried servant and said, “Oh, canapés!” and left her gaping after him.

Her face faded from horrified to thunderous. Her hands clenched into fists atop the golden armrests, and Sylvanas glowered from her place atop the throne. She took note of how many royal guardsmen lined the halls, counting them and wondering how many would object to her killing their prince on the spot.

She was still brooding when Vereesa climbed the dais to approach her. Before Vereesa could open her mouth, Sylvanas asked, “Do you think the Rangers would support me in a military coup if I shot Kael’thas in the eye right now?”

Vereesa’s eyebrows rose, and she sent a surreptitious glance towards Thas’Dorah leaning against the side of the throne. She looked almost as resplendent as Sylvanas in her own armour, wearing a crown of golden leaves in her silver hair, and a triumphal cloth-of-gold cloak trailing from her shoulders. “I think they might have one or two objections,” Vereesa answered dryly.

“I like those odds.”

Rolling her eyes, Vereesa said, “Can you maybe hold back on the coup until after my triumph is over?”

“But it’s so traditional,” Sylvanas said, still glaring at the back of Kael’thas head, where he was entertaining a coterie of simpering nobles. “Don’t you want to be in the history books?”

“We’re already in the history books.”

“You’re such a killjoy, Vereesa. How are we related?”

“That’s a question I ask myself every morning when I wake up.”

Their banter was interrupted by Jaina breaking away from the group of Magisters and walking up the dais steps. Jaina’s warm gaze lingered on Sylvanas a moment before turning to Vereesa and greeting her, “Hello, Vereesa. Congratulations on the triumph. It was spectacular.”

“I feel like the procession should have included you in some sense,” Vereesa said, switching into Common.

Jaina waved her flattery away and continued to speak in Thalassian, “Oh, definitely not. I would have been so uncomfortable up on a chariot like that, paraded through the whole city. No, thank you. I’ll let you and Sylvanas soak up everyone’s attention.”

Vereesa blinked, taken aback. Sylvanas had to bite back a small smile at Jaina’s Thalassian. Neither she nor Ithedis had the heart to tell Jaina that her Thalassian -- while improving by the day at a truly mind-boggling rate -- was interspersed with rough slang that she had unwittingly picked up from her Novices.

It appeared Vereesa didn’t have the heart to tell her either, for she recovered quickly and replied, “I think if Sylvanas soaks up any more attention her head won’t fit on her shoulders.”

Without changing her facial expression, Sylvanas made a rude gesture with her fingers at her sister.

“Why are you so cranky today?” Vereesa asked. “Apart from the usual, I mean?”

Sylvanas bared her teeth. “You’re here. Do I need another reason?”

Before Vereesa could open her mouth to deliver a retort, Jaina cleared her throat and gave Sylvanas a disapproving glance. Sylvanas shrugged at her, but leaned back upon the throne. Her stomach growled, and she grimaced.

“Vereesa, can you stand here for a moment?” Jaina asked, pointing to a space directly in front of Sylvanas.

Frowning in confusion, Vereesa asked warily, “Why?”

When Jaina shot her an imploring look, Vereesa sighed and did as asked. It brought the two of them standing side by side before the lavish throne, so that Sylvanas was all but hidden from view. Then, with a sly wink, Jaina held out one hand. She snapped her fingers, and a few of those coveted canapés appeared, balanced in her palm. They were somewhat scrunched together, but otherwise perfectly edible.

Sylvanas gaze honed in on the offering. She reached out to snatch up one of the canapés, only to stop with a glare at her ridiculously clawed gauntlets.

“Here,” Jaina said softly, checking over her shoulder to make sure nobody could see before holding out a piece of food between her own fingers.

Sylvanas hesitated for just a moment, during which time her stomach gave an audible grumble. Then she leaned forward and ate the piece whole. They were only scraps, but Jaina hand fed her the lot, and afterwards Sylvanas sighed as she tried to wipe at her own chin, only for the pauldrons to restrict her movements so much she could barely reach.

Vereesa stared between the two of them, her eyes wide.

Sylvanas very pointedly ignored her, and instead said to Jaina, “Thank you.”

With a warm smile just for her, Jaina swooped down for a quick kiss -- no more than a peck on her lips -- before she straightened and said, “I’m going to pop out for a bit to have another chat with Elosai about implementing a permanent portal system directly between Silvermoon and Boralus, but I’ll be back in just a tick. Save a dance for me?”

Waving her away with an airy gesture, Sylvanas watched her go. When Vereesa cleared her throat, Sylvanas glanced up at her.

“What was that?” Vereesa pointed after Jaina.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sylvanas replied dryly.

“Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easy.” Glowering, Vereesa loomed over her, and with every word her face darkened. “I have to learn by official notice on the front that you’ve declared yourself Regent Lord? You leave me to clean up the mess out east, so you can go sailing off to Kul Tiras and destroy half the enemy fleet on a whim? And now to top it all off, you’re smitten with your wife?”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes and leaned back to sprawl on the throne once more. “Don’t be so overdramatic.”

Pointing at her indignantly, Vereesa hissed, “Just look at yourself! You’re literally draped in gold and scarlet like a minaret ornament! I could use you as a lure for dragonhawks!”

“You’re welcome for the triumph, by the way,” Sylvanas drawled. “It’s not like I could have put any idiot in charge, and they could have captured Zul’Aman. Oh, wait!”

“Don’t you dare change the subject,” Vereesa warned.

Sylvanas pretended to search the crowd. “Don’t you have a husband and children? Can’t you go bother them instead?”

“We are not finished with this conversation, Sylvanas. Not by any stretch of the imagination.”

“What goes on in my bedroom is none of anybody else’s business.”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s not just happening in your bedroom.”

Sylvanas bared her teeth. She reached up and tugged at the high collar of her armour to reveal the heavy bruising along her neck. “Fine. You’re right. Everything you heard is true, and more. Shall I go into greater detail for you?”

Immediately, Vereesa made a face and leaned back. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure?” Sylvanas sneered. “You were so keen to know all about what goes on between a married couple. For a moment I was worried you may not know, but then I remembered you have kids.”

“Alright. Yes. I get it,” Vereesa snapped. She sighed and rubbed at her brow. “When did this all start? The last thing I remember, you two could hardly stand to hold hands without either your little mage spontaneously combusting, or you threatening to court-martial me. Whichever came first.”

“I’m still leaning towards a court-martial, personally.”

“Sylvanas.”

“What’s the point of being Regent Lord, if there aren’t a few perks of the job?”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to use your title?”

“You’re not. I am. And I’m inscribing it in law tomorrow after all my torture sessions are finished.”

“More committee meetings?”

“Worse,” Sylvanas said. “Accountants.”

“By the Sun, I don't envy you. What happened to abdicating?”

Sylvanas shot her a dark look. “You don’t want to know.”

With a snort of wry laughter, Vereesa shook her head. She glanced to the side and did not look away, something else suddenly holding her attention. Sylvanas followed her gaze to find Jaina re-entering the main Court ballroom through one of the side entrances on the far side of the room. She moved in such a manner that the crowd parted around her, people making way for the Scion of the Fleet without even consciously understanding they were doing so.

Something about the shoulders, Sylvanas thought. Or perhaps the eyes. Jaina always could arrest a room just by entering it. How dignified. How utterly unreadable. It had taken Sylvanas months to figure out that Jaina’s expressions were comprised of the smallest details -- a tightening around her eyes, a twitch at the corners of her mouth -- and then finally to understand them.

It was almost amusing. Jaina would constantly complain about people staring wherever she went, and yet she never realised why.

“She looks -” Vereesa started to say, but had to stop and frown, looking back to Sylvanas. “- I want to say ‘happy’ but I honestly can’t tell right now. Happier, in any case. She is happy, isn’t she?”

“We’re fine,” Sylvanas answered. She had to tear her gaze away to look back at her sister instead.

“I know you’re fine. You look like the cat that caught the canary. Far too well fed, to be honest.”

Glaring, Sylvanas replied, “She’s fine.”

“Sounds like marital bliss,” Vereesa quipped.

Jaina was talking to Ithedis and his eldest daughter, now. The brigadier’s chest flashed with medals, one of which Sylvanas had bestowed upon her just earlier that afternoon during the triumph. An award for exceptional bravery in the face of danger while assaulting Zul’Aman.

“Really now. Be honest.” Vereesa angled herself in such a way that Sylvanas’ view was cut off, forcing Sylvanas to look up at her. “Is everything alright? Do I need to worry about national security because you two had a spat about rain or whatever that was all about?”

Just the mention of that time made Sylvanas have to shrug off a faint chill running down her spine. Sylvanas had spent the first six months of their marriage wishing that Jaina would show some sort of emotion, only to regret it the moment Jaina finally cracked.

It wasn’t perfect now. But it was a far cry from that day.

Realising that she had been gazing thoughtfully up at her sister and not answering, Sylvanas finally said, “It’s getting better.”

Vereesa’s eyebrows rose. “Now, that just sounds ominous.”

With a soft laugh, Sylvanas smiled. She tilted her head to look around Vereesa and instead continue to watch Jaina across the room. “No. Not at all. With her, it’s always getting better.”

For a moment, Vereesa said nothing. Sylvanas could feel her sister’s scrutiny, but did not care. Then, Vereesa sighed, “By the sun, you really are smitten.”

In a hidden alcove on the second-floor landing overlooking the Court ballroom, the sounds of musicians tuning their instruments hummed as the orchestra geared up for the first dance. Immediately, people began to clear the centre of the floor, revealing a sunburst mosaic in gold and white tiles, the tesserae glittering in a slant of sunlight through the tall windows.

The crowd parted, and Ithedis’ eldest daughter gave Jaina a gentle shove towards the dancefloor. Ithedis scolded his daughter, but she ignored him in favour of grinning at Jaina and shooing her towards the throne, where Sylvanas sat.

Vereesa stepped back with a bow and a smirk for added measure. “Looks like your dance partner is waiting, Regent Lord.”

Rising to her feet and sweeping back the heavy velvet of her cloak, Sylvanas growled, “Don’t call me that.”

By the time of their second anniversary, Sylvanas had finally rid herself of the title and was once again comfortably the Ranger-General of Silvermoon. To make a point, she arrived in Boralus by ship wearing only her casual leathers, and requesting that their docking be absent any fanfare. If she had to sit through one more obnoxious ceremony, she would scream.

Katherine was more than amenable, though she did make a note of it when Sylvanas and Jaina disembarked with only Ithedis trailing after them. After greeting them alone at the docks and hugging her daughter with one arm, the Lord Admiral turned to Sylvanas and remarked, “I almost didn’t recognise you without all that gaudy shit you usually wear.”

Eyebrows rising, Sylvanas looked at Jaina. “I see where you got your foul mouth from as well. Did you inherit anything from your father?”

“Good taste in women,” Jaina said primly as she took her mother’s good arm and began to walk towards the Keep.

Sylvanas snorted with laughter, and followed. Katherine shot her an amused glance over the top of Jaina’s head, but said nothing further on the matter.

During their last visit, the two of them had only spoken alone at breakfast on the last morning. Sylvanas remembered their conversation -- purposefully light and steering clear of heavier topics. Throughout the entire thing however, Sylvanas had the distinct impression Katherine was weighing every word, every expression with the kind of cold calculation that Sylvanas had come to expect of Jaina, but where her daughter only ever gave anything her full attention, Katherine Proudmoore had the facsimile of curbing her scrutiny. Like wearing an oiled cloak to combat the rain; the rain was still unavoidably present, eventually permeating everything, but momentarily stymied.

Even then, Katherine had probed for details about the ‘lengths of their relationship’ under the guise of friendly banter about her own marriage. At the time Sylvanas had carefully circumnavigated the conversation so as not to reveal anything -- not that there had been anything to reveal apart from one searing kiss, which Sylvanas had been desperately trying to not think about ever since its occurrence.

There could be no doubt in Katherine’s mind now, however. Not with Jaina strolling down the docks towards Proudmoore Keep, talking about setting up a summer home for them in Kul Tiras.

“The contract was clear: two years in Quel’Thalas. I don’t want to move permanently from Goldenbough. I quite like it actually. Which reminds me,” Jaina gave her mother’s arm a squeeze. “You should come visit now that the war is over.”

A smile still played across Katherine’s lips. “I’d like that, though the ocean will freeze over before you get me in Quel’Thalas during summer.”

“It’s too cold here in winter for some of us,” Jaina pointed out with a sympathetic smile at Sylvanas, who inclined her head, and over her shoulder to Ithedis, who stoically pretended to not feel the same chill that dug into Sylvanas’ skin even through an enchanted cloak. “And far too hot in Quel’Thalas for others.”

Katherine hummed, allowing her daughter to lead the three of them along past the various dock workers. “So, you wish to purchase a property in Kul Tiras.” When Jaina nodded, Katherine thought for a moment before saying, “Does it have to be in Boralus?”

“Would you prefer us not to be in Boralus?” Sylvanas asked.

With a dismissive shake of her head, Katherine said, “Not at all. I still have an old estate in Fletcher’s Hollow tied to my family’s inheritance. It’s mostly productive farmland, but the manor itself isn’t in use. I could air the place out and have it prepared as a summer home, if that would suit?”

“That would be perfect.” Jaina gave her mother's cheek a peck. “Oh! Can we see it while we're here?”

Katherine scrunched up her nose. “Only if you want to see a great deal of dust and cobwebs, my dear.”

“I hear those are the essentials of country charm,” Sylvanas drawled.

Both Katherine and Jaina shot her identical looks of exasperated disapproval that only made her grin.

“There's also excellent hunting down that way,” Jaina pointed out, adding, “And very little chance of any elven nobles trying to bother you.”

At that, Sylvanas’ ears pricked forwards. “I think that definitely warrants a visit.”

“I thought you might,” Jaina muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes when Sylvanas winked in her direction.

Even now, getting Jaina to smile or laugh felt like earning a hard-won prize.

Katherine watched the two of them without a word, striding along through the bustling streets of Boralus, nodding solemnly towards citizens who hailed them with hearty waves or cheers. As the docks faded behind them, she asked, “And how is that new Admiral of yours settling in? The dashing elf?”

“Lor’themar?” Jaina asked with a blink of surprise. “He's doing very well. Though there's not much for him to do, now that the war is over, to be honest.”

“Is that so? How interesting. If you ever find he needs more officer training, do send him my way. That craftsman exchange has been nothing but a godsend.”

“I hope you're not trying to poach him again, mother.”

Sylvanas lowered her voice in a pantomime of furtiveness, but not enough that Katherine couldn't hear, “I believe the Lord Admiral was asking about other matters regarding his -- how shall we say? -- availability.”

Katherine glowered, Jaina looked shocked, and Sylvanas could feel Ithedis’ reproachful stare. Both sent a thrill rushing through Sylvanas for entirely different reasons; the former due to a rush of adrenaline at the wild thought that Katherine might draw a pistol on her right there in the street; and the latter due to a rush of triumph at making Jaina's eyes widen that way. Any ensuing duel and diplomatic incident would just be an added bonus.

“Has anyone ever told you,” Katherine said, “that you're an incorrigible ass, Ranger-General?”

Masking herself in her most sombre expression, Sylvanas replied, “My sister. With every breath.” Then, because she never could get a firm grasp on the concept of self-preservation, she added, “And I think my wife already has an elven father figure in her life. Isn't that right, Ithedis?”

With delight, she looked over her shoulder to see Ithedis’ eyes narrow and his mouth thin behind his winged helm.

“Anyway!” Jaina tugged her mother along and quickened her stride towards the towering bulk of Proudmoore Keep rising above the streets. “Fletcher's Hollow! That sounds wonderful! We should go! Immediately.”

“I'll arrange a ferry,” Katherine growled, though Sylvanas could have sworn she saw the corner of Katherine's mouth twitch when she grinned at her over the top of Jaina's head.

They stopped at Proudmoore Keep just long enough to drop off their things, and for Katherine to arrange for a ferry to Fletcher's Hollow. While Jaina was talking to Ithedis back at one of the minor docks as they waited for the ferry to arrive, Katherine turned to Sylvanas.

Katherine reached around to fumble at a pouch on her belt with one hand, and Sylvanas was overcome with the irrational thought she might actually have to grapple a pistol from her mother-in-law's fist. When Katherine held out her hand however, she was offering a small package wrapped in oiled brown paper and twine.

Curious, Sylvanas took it but did not immediately open it. “What's this?”

“An anniversary gift. I heard you liked that whiskey I gave you last time.” Katherine hoisted up an amused eyebrow at Sylvanas’ sudden wariness. “Don't be such a little shit, and just open it.”

With a snort of laughter, Sylvanas began to tug on the strings. “I did like the whiskey, yes. It tasted like smoke and fire. You should consider importing it to Quel’Thalas. You would make a fortune.”

“Already in the works, my dear.”

Sylvanas paused. That was the first time Katherine had ever called her 'my dear.’ Sylvanas may have been tempted to believe it was a mere slip of the tongue, but Katherine gave the impression of always saying exactly what she intended.

Unwrapping the package, Sylvanas blinked down at its contents. A pair of simple yet elegant leather gloves, appropriate for travel and matching her casual attire.

“They’re lined in cashmere, and very warm,” Katherine announced airily, turning her gaze towards the water. “Last time I thought you were going to freeze to death.”

A crisp wind cut through the gaps in Sylvanas’ cloak. She immediately tossed the packaging aside and began pulling the gloves on. They were indeed very warm. Flexing her knuckles against the leather, Sylvanas said, “Thank you.”

Katherine hummed but did not turn to look at her again. “Normally I would have embroidered them myself. I used to enjoy a spot of needlepoint before my arm decided it liked swimming in the ocean more than it liked being attached to the rest of me.”

“I hear limbs can be fickle like that. Though in my field, it's normally the legs.”

That earned her a wry huff of laughter. It was followed swiftly by a dark glare. “If you're making a footman joke, I swear I will push you into the water.”

“Me?” Sylvanas feigned outrage. “After you've given me such a lovely gift, no less.”

With a roll of her eyes, Katherine turned back towards the harbour. “I see why my daughter is so smitten with you. She never could resist a good joke. Just like her father, that way.”

Sylvanas’ smile softened. She glanced around Katherine's back to look at Jaina, who had wandered off to a nearby stall to purchase roasted hazelnuts with Ithedis. Jaina was chatting with the stall owner, while Ithedis snuck a bite through the flanges of his helm when he thought she wasn't paying attention, only for Jaina to hold out the little bag of treats in his direction without pausing to look at him.

“I'm glad the feeling is mutual,” Sylvanas murmured.

When she turned back it was to find Katherine studying her from the corner of her eye. “As am I.” Katherine nodded towards the water's edge. “Come along. The ferry's arrived.”

The second anniversary celebrations went much as the first had. They greeted guests at the entrance. They walked around the room, speaking with key members of state. They sat at the fore of the congregation and were approached by family members as though by doting courtiers. Sylvanas forgot the names of every one of Jaina's many cousins the moment she shook their hands, so that Jaina had to whisper in her ear to remind her.

This time however, there were slight differences. More elves dotted the Grand Hall of Proudmoore Keep, their fair heads standing out above a sea of their shorter, stouter human counterparts. Vereesa was among them, talking animatedly to one of Jaina's distant cousins who had served as a Captain during the last four years of war. Her husband smiled alongside her, sneaking charmed glanced at his wife while their two children -- red-headed devils the way only half-elves could be -- snuck as many sweets as their pockets could carry from the buffet table.

Lady Ashvane was still there, looking thwarted and sour as she drank wine in a corner by the great fireplace. Jaina was the one to nudge Sylvanas’ elbow and point her out with a satisfied little smirk that Sylvanas wanted to kiss regardless of how many people were watching.

That was also new. Plotting how to drag Jaina somewhere private, not just to escape the dull party, but to indulge themselves in other ways they would not have a year ago. Jaina looked particularly striking tonight. Her sharp-lined military coat the colour of the night sky, bound in a green sash representing her House colours. Her grave-eyed gaze dissecting the room, only to soften when she glanced over at her wife. The near imperceptible twitch of her smile. The warm press of her fingers as she squeezed Sylvanas’ knee beneath the table.

When Jaina spotted someone standing nearby however, she pulled her hand away and stood. “Lord Stormsong! I'm so glad you could attend. I was hoping to have a quick word with you.”

Rather than wait alone and watch Jaina go, Sylvanas rose and trailed after her. Jaina shot her a puzzled look, to which Sylvanas simply smiled, offering her arm. Slowly, as if convinced Sylvanas were up to no good -- which was completely unreasonable, really -- Jaina took her arm and together they approached Lord Stormsong.

Dark-eyed and sombre, he gave the appearance of being tall but only because of his ridiculous hat, which Sylvanas was partially tempted to swat from his head just to see how short he really was. He bowed low at the waist, and had to adjust his hat as he straightened. “Lady Proudmoore. How may I be of assistance?”

“I understand you've been overseeing the exchange of Tidesages to Silvermoon, and providing accommodation for the elven Magisters here in Boralus, is that correct?” Jaina asked.

“It is,” he confirmed, clasping his hands together in the wide sleeves of his robes. “They have been living at the Monastery during their stay.”

Jaina's expression grew keen and sharp, as if honed to an edge by the slate of their conversation. “Yes, the Monastery would be perfect as an anchor, too.”

Somewhat bemused by that statement, Lord Stormsong glanced between the two of them, hoping that Sylvanas might give him more to work on -- she didn't.

“An anchor?” he repeated.

With a nod, Jaina explained, “For a permanent portal system between Boralus and Silvermoon. We need an anchor point for that kind of long-distance teleportation. Would we be able to set aside a spare room in the Monastery for that?”

Mulling that over, Lord Stormsong reached up to smooth down his moustache with one hand in a contemplative gesture. “Perhaps. We would need to realign the tidal runes protecting the city to allow for perpetual access. It may take a few weeks.”

“Eighteen and a half days, actually,” Jaina supplied helpfully, and her face grew bright, the way it always did when she spoke about a topic that aligned with her peculiar interests. “Provided we use a force of two Tidesages and two Magisters on each side. Half that time again, if we double our numbers.”

His head jerked back in surprise, and he had to reach up to stop his tall hat from falling off again. Clearing his throat, Lord Stormsong replied, “Yes, Lady Proudmoore. In which case, I see no reason why we can't implement this facility. Provided we acquire the proper consents first, of course.”

She waved that concern aside. “Oh, I've already drawn up the paperwork. Don't worry. So, can we start tomorrow?”

He blinked. “I was under the impression you and your wife would be returning to Quel'Thalas within a few days.”

At that, Sylvanas grasped Jaina's hand where it lay upon her forearm and said, “We can extend our visit as long as we need. It would give me a good opportunity to help the Lord Admiral prepare our second home in Fletcher's Hollow.”

“Of course.” He bowed again. “If you'll excuse me a moment, I see the Lady Waycrest is -”

“In the interest of conserving parchment,” Sylvanas interrupted before Lord Stormsong could depart. “Might I suggest an automatic renewal clause? Every new House Lord must give individual approval to such matters, isn't that right?”

“It is,” he answered with an even more confused frown than before.

“And when might that be?” Sylvanas pressed. “I understand that yours is a House of great mages, including yourself.”

“I'm not sure what it's like for your kind, being long-lived already, but human practitioners of magic tend to have lifespans extended beyond their kin. So, for this contract -?” He paused to think, before saying with a shrug. “Perhaps another two hundred years?”

With a smile, Sylvanas replied in a voice like honey, “Perfect. Thank you for being so generous with your time, Lord Stormsong.”

As he left, she could feel Jaina's eyes upon her, watching her with an odd expression.

“What was that about?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas began to lead them across the room to make another send of rounds. “Am I not supposed to support your very important diplomatic endeavours?”

Eyes narrowing fractionally, Jaina said, “You are. It was just very specific.”

“What can I say?” Sylvanas leaned in close to whisper, “I'm a stickler for details.”

“You once told me that details were for infantry and big pictures were for generals.”

“I believe the expression goes: ‘Soldiers have an excellent view of the grass.’”

Jaina jabbed her finger against Sylvanas’ flank, making her grunt. “Yes. That, exactly.”

Catching Jaina's offending hand and giving it a squeeze, Sylvanas let go again. “Would you say you're a more powerful mage than Lord Stormsong?”

At that, Jaina stopped walking. With their arms still looped together, it brought Sylvanas to a halt as well. She cast a furtive glance at the people around them, before guiding Sylvanas quickly to a less crowded area along one of the tapestry-lined walls.

Jaina lowered her voice so as not to be overheard. “Why are you asking me this?”

Whereas Jaina kept checking to see if they had any eavesdroppers, Sylvanas could not have cared less about anyone else in that moment. The rest of the room might well not have existed. In the candlelight, Jaina appeared gilded, a glimmer of fire caught on the twist of her braid, on the epaulettes down her shoulders, on the smoothness of her cheek. Even grave-eyed and saturnine, she was still so young.

“I want to know how much time I have with you,” Sylvanas admitted, and Jaina's eyes widened.

“That's -” Jaina swallowed and continued in a mutter, “That's awfully morbid of you.”

“I'm being serious.”

“I know. And that scares me.” Jaina gave her a weak smile. “When are you ever serious? It's our anniversary.”

“Yes. It is.”

Realisation dawned, just a flicker across Jaina's eyes -- though that may have been the flicker of candlelight in a draught. Old castles like this were always so draughty.

Jaina hesitated, then placed her hand on Sylvanas’ shoulder in such a way she could smooth her thumb over the gleaming sapphire cravat pin at her neck. “It's not an exact science, you know. I can't -” She toyed with the pin as if pretending that they had ducked into this space so she could fix Sylvanas’ cravat away from prying eyes. “I can't give you the answer you want.”

Still, Sylvanas pressed, “Two hundred years?”

Jaina shook her head.

“Three hundred?”

“Sylvanas, I don't -” With a sigh, Jaina smoothed her palms across the lapels of Sylvanas’ formal Kul Tiran jacket. “How long has this been troubling you?”

Since I almost watched you drown and had to drag you from the sea, she thought.

“Long enough,” she said.

Jaina's expression hardened, her jaw squaring. She lifted her chin and said, “Well, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.”

For a long moment, Sylvanas searched Jaina's face. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the clink of glass. Both of them looked up to find Katherine standing in the centre of the room. Ithedis stood at her side, tapping a knife against a wine glass at her behest.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Katherine said. She waited for the murmuring buzz of a hundred different conversations to die down, before she nodded her head in thanks to Ithedis, who bowed and fell back a step behind her. When she spoke, she did not have to raise her voice for everyone to listen. “First of all I would like to thank everyone for attending. This celebration is far more than a wedding anniversary. It is a triumph. A symbol of our perseverance in the face of daunting times, and of alliances -- new and old -- which have brought us all here today.

That being said: it is still an anniversary first and foremost. And so it is with great pleasure that I invite our honoured couple to lead us in the first dance of a new era -- an era of peace.”

As Katherine gestured towards where Sylvanas and Jaina stood, the gathered crowd clapped. The applause was a mix of raucous and polite, the Kul Tirans and dwarven ambassadors bringing their hands heartily together, while the elves tapped fingertips to palms.

Beside her, Sylvanas could sense Jaina's discomfort, the way her shoulders caved inwards slightly in a stoop, the way her eyes darted about as if searching for an escape. Gently, Sylvanas laced their fingers together. “How do I look?”

Jaina barely spared her a glance before muttering, “Like you always do.”

“Unbearably snobbish? Perfect. That's exactly what I was hoping to achieve.”

Despite herself Jaina snorted with laughter. She shook her head and allowed Sylvanas to lead her through the crowd.

Together they walked towards the cleared space acting as a dancefloor. The small group of musicians in the far corner were plucking their stringed instruments and piecing together the silvery ends of their flutes, one balancing an enormous harp and strumming it to tune the others. Taking their positions on the dancefloor, Sylvanas slipped one hand to Jaina's waist, holding the other out to the side. They waited for the music to start.

“I hate this,” Jaina mumbled under her breath, shifting her feet under the weight of every stare in the hall.

With a sympathetic hum, Sylvanas said, “Just one dance, and we can disappear for the night.”

An unmistakable twitch straightened Jaina's shoulders, and she shot Sylvanas a heated look. “Is that a promise?”

Sylvanas’ only answer was a sly grin, and the music began to play. They danced. Sylvanas led them through a series of steps that took them around the outskirts of the floor. Some people weren't paying much attention at all, talking amongst themselves, drinking wine and beer while waiting for their own turn to join the dancefloor.

Jaina did not stumble once, though she would glance down at their feet every now and then as though afraid of just that. Every time she did, Sylvanas would tighten her grip at Jaina's waist or murmur a dry comment about someone in the crowd, anything to get Jaina's attention away from self-conscious avenues. Eventually, they moved seamlessly together, talking softly, Jaina rolling her eyes at one of Sylvanas’ more inane remarks, but always with a slight smile playing about her lips.

Sylvanas couldn't look away. She could feel hundreds of eyes upon her, but that only strengthened the urge to do something brash. Slowing their steps somewhat Sylvanas leaned forward to murmur in Jaina's ear, “Shall we create another diversion?”

Unable to repress a shiver at the brush of lips against her cheek, Jaina asked, “What did you have in mind this time?”

“Nothing they haven't seen before.”

The song began to wind down, and they circled round to the last refrain. As the musicians played the final chords, Sylvanas stopped Jaina in the centre of the dancefloor and kissed her.

Jaina grabbed the lapels of Sylvanas’ formal jacket and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Her eyes slid shut when Sylvanas cupped the back of her neck, whimpering a soft noise into her mouth when Sylvanas pressed them flush together. Hazily, Sylvanas heard the sound of more applause, a few of the less than sober of Jaina's cousins whistling and laughing. When Sylvanas pulled back, Jaina's gaze was hooded and dark, her hands still fisted around the fine cloth of Sylvanas’ jacket.

The musicians began to play another song, and members of the crowd eagerly joined them on the dancefloor. Through the groups of people, Sylvanas could see Vereesa shaking her head and muttering something to her husband, doubtlessly unimpressed with her sister's public display. Meanwhile Katherine was hiding a look of dry amusement behind the wine glass Ithedis had handed back to her; she looked to be trying to encourage him to relax and have a drink as well, which he would be declining. Predictable.

As everyone else began to dance around them, nobody had eyes for the two of them anymore. Grabbing a firm hold of Sylvanas' hand, Jaina tugged her towards a set of spiral staircases hidden behind a broad pillar. “Let's go.”

The moment the door to Jaina’s old room at Proudmoore Keep was closed behind them, Jaina was upon her. She turned to pin Sylvanas against the wall directly beside the door, and Sylvanas had to fight back a shiver at the press of cold stone against her back even through the thick layers of clothing. The Kul Tiran styled formal wear may have been designed to combat the cool clime, but it offered no resistance to Jaina’s hands as she tugged at buttons and stripped off Sylvanas’ formal jacket.

With the jacket discarded on the floor, Jaina turned her attention next to the white silk cravat tied high along Sylvanas’ throat. Sylvanas pulled her up for a kiss, and though Jaina made a soft noise in the back of her throat, the kiss did little to distract her. She fumbled at the cravat while Sylvanas undid the many clasps holding together that damned admiralty greatcoat.

By the time Sylvanas managed to get the greatcoat off and Jaina’s shirt beneath mostly unbuttoned, Jaina had unwound the cravat. She leaned forward and began to kiss at Sylvanas’ neck, open-mouthed kisses that soon turned to teeth. Sylvanas could feel her own breathing quicken. She had to stifle a gasp when Jaina bit down, leaving a trail of bruises along Sylvanas’ neck to rival the ones on her own.

Sylvanas tilted her head back. Jaina tugged at Sylvanas’ shirt forcefully enough that one of the buttons tore free.

“I liked that shirt,” Sylvanas said.

“Sorry,” Jaina mumbled against her throat. It did not stop her from continuing to undo Sylvanas’ shirt with trembling hands, pulling it from where it was tucked into her high-waisted breeches.

With a chuckle, Sylvanas kissed her cheek. “I was teasing.”

“That’s good,” Jaina said breathlessly even as she yanked the shirt from Sylvanas’ shoulders and down her arms until she could drop it to the floor atop her now crumpled formal jacket. “Tides, I want you.”

Something constricted, tight, in Sylvanas’ chest. Jaina kissed her, and the feeling only worsened, winding itself inwards like silk spun round a spool. She grabbed a fistful of Jaina’s hair with one hand and kissed her until she whimpered into Sylvanas’ mouth. She got Jaina’s shirt off, and ran her fingers beneath the hemline of her breeches until she could feel Jaina tense against her. When Sylvanas reached down to rake her nails against Jaina’s inner thigh, Jaina had to break the kiss with a gasp.

Movements rushed, Jaina started to unlace Sylvanas’ breeches, but froze. Her eyes opened wide, and she glanced down between them.

“Are you -?” Her hand explored the edges of an unexpected bulge in Sylvanas’ breeches.

Sylvanas studied Jaina’s expression carefully -- something bordering on curiosity and fascination. “You asked about this a few times, and we discussed you wanting to try it.”

“Yes, I -” Clearing her throat, Jaina’s fingers hesitated at the laces of her breeches before she began to tug them loose. “I remember.”

Stepping away from the wall, Sylvanas herded Jaina across the room. While Jaina fumbled with the laces, Sylvanas distracted her with intermittent kisses, ducking her head to mouth at Jaina’s neck and chest, pulling her braid free of its ties and combing it loose, pushing Jaina’s breeches down her legs so she could step out of them -- almost tripping on the way.

With a huff of laughter, Sylvanas caught her, arms around Jaina’s waist. She could feel Jaina smiling into the next kiss, and she took the opportunity to run her fingers along the slickness between Jaina’s thighs until Jaina’s hands were trembling so badly she had to close her eyes and break the kiss to gather herself. Sylvanas circled around her clit, and Jaina’s hips jerked.

Jaina traced the waistband of Sylvanas’ breeches and asked breathlessly, “Can I take these off?”

Removing her own hand from between Jaina’s legs, Sylvanas nodded. She sat on the edge of the bed, feet splayed, and looked up at Jaina with an expectant expression. Jaina had to bend over to pull the breeches down Sylvanas’ legs, the dark cloth far more sombre than anything Sylvanas would have worn in Quel’Thalas, but which made her appear at home in the dreary castle halls of Proudmoore Keep. Kul Tiran formal dress always felt so restrictive, though not nearly as much as her Regent Lord attire, which Sylvanas had given back to the Council the moment she was able.

Holding Sylvanas’ breeches in her hands, Jaina looked down at her. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw the size of the toy, but Jaina appeared more inquisitive than anything else. She studied the harness that looped around Sylvanas’ waist and upper thighs as if the first thing she were going to want was for Sylvanas to take it off just to show her how it worked.

Sylvanas moved back along the bed until she was resting against the headboard, reaching behind herself to arrange a few pillows. She heard Jaina drop the breeches to the ground just as she settled herself back into place.

“It looks -” Jaina snorted, covering her mouth with one hand. “- I’m sorry. It’s a bit ridiculous.”

“No offense taken.”

As if to make a point, Sylvanas laced her fingers behind her head, resting comfortably against the pillows. When she bent one of her knees out at an angle to sprawl, the toy curved back until its tip was resting almost against her stomach. Jaina’s eyes followed the movement, and Sylvanas could see her throat work as she swallowed.

Softening her voice, Sylvanas reminded her, “If you’re uncomfortable, I am more than happy to get rid of it and do something that you’re actually comfortable with.”

At that, Jaina’s gaze hardened and she met Sylvanas’ eyes with a look of fierce determination. “No, I want to try. I’m always willing to try something once to see if I like it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then at least I know, and I’ve paid for a new experience,” Jaina said, very matter of fact about the whole affair, as if explaining one of her complex mathematics problems.

Sylvanas smiled. “Fair enough.”

For a moment Jaina said nothing. She took off her pendant and set it aside. Her eyes would drift down Sylvanas’ naked body, stop at the toy with curiosity, and then move on, but always returning to the new addition. Finally, she said, “You’ll tell me what to do?”

“If you’d like.” Holding out one hand Sylvanas pointed, “There’s a vial in that case over there. Grab it for me, won’t you?”

Jaina did so, turning over the glass vial in her hands as she returned to the bed. “Lubricant? I don’t think we’ll need this,” she said, then glanced at the harness with a considering expression. “Not too much, anyway.”

“You’ll need it.” Sylvanas crooked her fingers and motioned Jaina forward. “Come here.”

Hesitating just for a second, Jaina crawled across the mattress. She knelt beside Sylvanas, handing her the vial while she continued to study the harness. She pulled one of the straps back, trying to peek at the rest of the contraption. “Is it inside of you, too?”

Sylvanas unstoppered the vial. “No. Though there are designs that allow for that.”

“Hmm.” Jaina pulled back her hand and tapped at her chin. “You know, I could probably find a way to conduct increased feeling across a design like that. A spirit rune, perhaps? Needs more substance, though. Mixed with a druidic life-transference ward? That might work. Oh! Can I do that?”

Pausing, Sylvanas looked up to realise that Jaina was pointing at the opened vial. With a wordless shrug, she handed it over to Jaina, who poured a generous amount of lubricant into the palm of her hand before giving the vial back. Sylvanas stoppered it and set it aside, leaning over to place it on one of the bedside tables.

“Does this go on there or -?” Jaina pointed at herself.

With a small smile, Sylvanas answered, “Yes.”

Shaking her head with a huff of laughter, Jaina reached down to smear the toy with lubricant. She measured it with one hand, wrapping her fingers around the shaft and moving up to circle its tip, pausing to brush her thumb against bumps and ridges set into the design for a touch of realism. Sylvanas knew that it would still be warm to the touch from wearing it against her skin all night, its material firm yet giving almost like real flesh.

For a moment Sylvanas watched the movements of Jaina’s slick fingers, her mouth going dry, before she ran her hand up Jaina’s arm. “Kiss me.”

Swinging one leg over to straddle her waist first, Jaina leaned forward for a kiss. Her cheeks were already flushed in anticipation, her mouth warm as Sylvanas kissed her. A needy whimper escaped Jaina when the length of the toy pressed against her inner thigh, and she pulled back slightly to inhale a shaky breath when Sylvanas palmed her breast. Sylvanas watched fixedly as Jaina reached down and faltered only for a moment as she positioned the tip of the toy against her entrance before lowering herself upon it.

“Take it slow,” Sylvanas murmured, studying every flicker in Jaina’s expression.

Jaina’s eyes flashed with that spark of tenacity again, as if a particularly challenging mental puzzle had been left in her path and she could not help but solve it. Sylvanas placed her hands on Jaina’s waist as she sank down fully, only for her brows to knit at the new sensation in a wince.

Sylvanas tightened her hold on Jaina’s waist. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jaina breathed. She adjusted herself before sinking down once more with a sigh. “That’s better.”

Sylvanas remained propped against the headboard. She tilted her head back, searching Jaina’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“I’m not going to break,” Jaina said.

“I know,” Sylvanas murmured.

For a second Jaina seemed at a loss for what to do with her hands, and Sylvanas said, “You can put them on my shoulders.”

Jaina started to do so, but paused to wipe her sticky hand on the sheet beneath them. Then she steadied herself on Sylvanas’ shoulders, brushing back some of her pale gold hair to reveal the bruises along Sylvanas’ neck. She seemed to admire her handiwork, trailing her fingertips around the blemishes. Sylvanas shifted beneath her, just enough to drag Jaina’s attention back to herself instead.

Jaina’s eyelids fluttered, and she gripped Sylvanas’ shoulders more firmly. Experimentally, Jaina rocked forward on her knees, then lowered herself back down until she was seated on Sylvanas’ lap, spread by the girth of the toy again and again. Sylvanas forced herself to be still, to let Jaina set the pace. She had to tamp down the urge to do anything more than gently grasp Jaina’s waist and whisper a word or two of encouragement.

The first motion she made was to lean up and kiss Jaina’s bared throat, and Jaina tipped her head to the side. When Jaina rocked forward again, Sylvanas pulled at her hips, urging the movement on, so that she could feel the gasp beneath her mouth. She branded Jaina’s neck and chest with small bites before sitting back.

“Having fun?” Sylvanas asked, allowing herself a grin at the way Jaina's eyes had glazed over.

Biting her lower lip to stifle a whimper when she rolled her hips again, Jaina nodded.

“Excellent. You're beautiful like this, you know.”

Sylvanas trailed one hand up the soft skin of Jaina's stomach, between her breasts, then to her chin, stroking the pad of her thumb against Jaina's lower lip until her mouth parted in a sigh. Her own breath caught when Jaina ran her tongue against her fingers before nipping at them.

In retaliation, Sylvanas shifted her feet, flexed her calves and ground her hips up so that Jaina rocked against her with a jolt. A soft moan escaped Jaina at that, and she ducked her head to grip Sylvanas’ shoulders tighter, fingers digging into golden skin.

“Can you do that again, please?” Jaina asked, sounding winded, as if she had just run up a flight of stairs.

“Slowly,” Sylvanas reminded her. “I don't want this to be over too soon.”

Jaina's answer was to grind herself down harder into Sylvanas’ lap. She grabbed the back of Sylvanas’ neck with one hand and brought their mouths together for a desperate kiss, whining into it when Sylvanas thrust up into her again.

“Please,” Jaina mumbled against her lips, her eyes squeezed shut. “Oh, please please please -”

Reaching down between them, Sylvanas dragged her hand up one thigh until she stroked her thumb against Jaina's clit. Jaina dropped her forehead to one of Sylvanas’ shoulders. She panted when Sylvanas drew circles with her thumb timed along to their movements, bucking her hips with a whimper every time the shaft was hilted inside of her. Fingernails clawed at Sylvanas’ back, drawing a hiss from her. The bed creaked, and Jaina muffled a cry into Sylvanas’ shoulder, shuddering to a halt.

Wrapping her arms around Jaina's waist, Sylvanas held her close. She kissed the space just beneath her ear. She ignored the furnace burning in the cradle of her own hips, and instead traced senseless soothing patterns across Jaina's lower back, waiting for her to stop shaking.

It happened far more quickly than she had been expecting. Jaina recovered, but did not get off of her or pull the toy free. Rather, she leaned back, pausing to kiss Sylvanas as she did so. Then she began to comb her fingers through Sylvanas’ hair.

“Sorry about your back,” Jaina said softly.

Sylvanas sat low against the headboard, allowing her legs to sprawl a bit without dislodging Jaina from where she sat. “Trust me, I did not mind. Far from it.”

“I'd -” Jaina cleared her throat, and Sylvanas watched in fascination as a flush spread briefly across her face. “I'd like you to go harder next time.” Her eyes flashed. “I told you: I won't break.”

Eyebrows rising, Sylvanas smoothed her palms from the tops of Jaina's thighs to her knees and back again. “Next time, then.”

For a long moment, Jaina said nothing. She studied Sylvanas with another one of her myriad inscrutable expressions, as if trying to peel back Sylvanas’ skin to see all the sinews that held her together.

“Do you remember our last visit to Boralus?” Jaina asked without preamble, and as she did so she cupped Sylvanas’ breast.

She circled Sylvanas’ nipple with her thumb, then dragged her hand down Sylvanas’ stomach, lightly scratching with her blunted fingernails. Sylvanas’ stomach twitched away from the feeling. She watched, rapt, as Jaina continued to move her hand down until she traced the lines of the harness against her bare skin, roving from Sylvanas’ hip to the rough patch of pubic hair between her legs. There, the harness trapped between them was coated in a pool of wetness that had dripped from Jaina just earlier.

Sylvanas’ voice sounded hoarse to her own ears as she replied, “I do.”

Lifting the harness away just enough to stroke her fingers between it at Sylvanas’ skin, Jaina said, “I didn’t know what to do with myself after you left that night. I went to bed but couldn't stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I tried. What did you do?”

“I -”

Sylvanas had to pause to swallow, when Jaina worked just the tips of a few fingers down to stroke against her. It could not have been a comfortable angle with her hand turned like that, but she managed to graze against the slickness between Sylvanas’ thighs. It was just enough contact -- the ghost of a touch -- that Sylvanas tensed and grit her teeth.

“I went downstairs,” Sylvanas finally answered. When Jaina stroked her fingers again, Sylvanas had to close her eyes and bite back a gasp. “I waited for hours in one of the side rooms with a dying fire until I was sure you would be asleep.”

It was not a lie. Not wholly. Sylvanas did not have the courage to tell Jaina how she had touched herself, muffling sounds behind clenched teeth, in that moment desperately wanting and desperate to be wanted, but unable to satisfy either.

The omission did not seem to pass Jaina by, for her eyes flickered across Sylvanas’ face, dissecting the information from her with that same old surgical precision. She leaned down until she was crouching over Sylvanas, until she could nudge back Sylvanas’ chin and rake her teeth across a bared throat, until Sylvanas groaned and ground up into her.

In response, Jaina gripped her hands into fists, the sheets spilling between her fingers. She turned her head to murmur in Sylvanas’ ear, “Probably for the best. I would have let you do anything to me that night.”

She nipped at Sylvanas’ ear, and Sylvanas went rigid. Jaina started to lean away, but Sylvanas grabbed her by the back of her neck to yank her back down for a kiss that was all teeth and fire. Jaina inhaled sharply in momentary shock, but returned the kiss with as much fervour as she could muster.

Sitting up, Sylvanas tore her mouth away and growled, “Tell me if it's too much.”

She waited for Jaina's nod of understanding and assent. Then, she hooked her leg around and rolled Jaina to the side in a surge of movement. Briefly she saw Jaina's eyes widen as Sylvanas slipped out from beneath her and pressed her against the sheets, face down.

She had fantasised about this and any number of obscenities she could imagine that night exactly a year ago. Crowding Jaina into a dark corner of the Keep and clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle her as guardsmen patrolled around a nearby corner. Pushing her onto one of the chairs by the fire and kneeling at her feet while the flames warmed her back and Jaina tugged at her hair. Having Jaina descend into a writhing sobbing mess beneath her, only to ask for more. Thinking that it would never happen, knowing that anything between them at that time would only be regretted and resented later.

Nudging apart Jaina's legs with her knees, Sylvanas positioned herself behind her. Jaina tensed and grabbed one of the pillows, while Sylvanas slid the shaft back inside her. There was no resistance; Jaina was drenched. There was no word for her to stop either, though Sylvanas was waiting for it with bated breath. Jaina only groaned a wordless curse as Sylvanas buried the shaft to the hilt in a single motion.

Sylvanas repeated the motion, forcing noises from Jaina with every thrust. She gripped Jaina's thighs tightly enough to bruise, and brought their hips together hard enough that she was pressed against the mattress. Bearing down over her, Sylvanas sank her teeth into the curve of Jaina's shoulder. Every cry spurred on another merciless thrust until Jaina was shivering and sweating, until Sylvanas was snarling into the crook of her neck, fangs bared.

“Stop.”

The single word was gasped into a pillow. Immediately, Sylvanas froze. Jaina had her eyes squeezed shut, and was panting into the pillow clenched in her fists. Sylvanas started to pull back, but Jaina grabbed her hand.

“I didn't say pull out, I just -” Jaina drew in a shuddering breath. “I just need a moment.”

“Sorry,” Sylvanas rasped, going as still as she was able.

She held herself crouched over Jaina, her arms trembling. Bowing her head Sylvanas gently kissed where she had bitten before, brushing her lips across bruised skin, across Jaina's shoulders and the back of her neck.

After a while of tense silence broken only by the sound of their harsh breathing, Jaina let go of Sylvanas’ hand and said, “Ok. Can you -?” She paused to swallow. “- Can you start off slow and then build up again?”

Sylvanas nodded against Jaina's back. She kissed along the ridge of Jaina's spine as she pushed herself further upright. Grasping Jaina by the waist, she brought them flush together, filling Jaina once more. She could feel Jaina go tense beneath her, could hear the hitch of breath.

Sylvanas rubbed a soothing hand at the small of Jaina's back. “Keep going?”

Jaina nodded, shifting slightly so that she was propped up on her elbows. The movement meant she pressed back, and Sylvanas readjusted her own knees for better leverage.

Starting off slow, Sylvanas steadied herself with her hands at Jaina's waist. She pulled back until the length of the shaft nearly slipped out, then rocked forward in a smooth motion that made Jaina choke on a low moan. Again, and Jaina gripped the sheets in a white-knuckled grasp. Again, and she leaned back to meet the steady thrust of Sylvanas’ hips.

The rhythm built between them. At first it was a conscious thing -- Sylvanas carefully measuring each stroke, listening and watching for cues, for little whimpers, and for the furrow in Jaina's brow when she turned her head against the pillow. With every encouraging gasp and muttered curse however, Sylvanas found the rhythm taking on a life of its own, reaching up between them and seizing hold.

Despite the cool air, Sylvanas could feel a bead of sweat trail between her shoulder blades. A ripple of muscle as Jaina’s entire back seemed to flex and a noise escaped her that Sylvanas had never heard her make. Sylvanas slowed, but before she could ask if everything was alright, Jaina gasped, “Gods, you feel good. Don’t -” She rocked back. “Don’t stop.”

Placing one hand between Jaina’s shoulders, Sylvanas pushed down, while with the other she pulled Jaina’s hips further up. She canted her own hips down and drove every stroke at an angle, hard enough that the mattress beneath them gave a dangerous creak, and the headboard lurched against the stone wall behind it. One of Sylvanas’ ears flicked when she heard Jaina muffle a keening whine into the pillow; it sent a dizzying haze winding up her own spine.

Sylvanas tightened her hold at Jaina’s waist and growled through grit teeth, “Touch yourself.”

Jaina reached down with trembling fingers, and bucked against the sensation. Sylvanas kept her pace -- short choppy thrusts -- watching, spellbound, as Jaina began to unravel beneath her. Jaina’s free hand scrambled at the headboard for purchase, and soon her movements grew erratic. Sylvanas focused on nothing but wringing every last hoarse cry from Jaina’s throat, ignoring the twinge in her knees and thighs, until Jaina ground down against her own hand with a deep-seated shudder.

Sylvanas brought her down gradually, each steady roll of their hips eliciting a gasp and trembling aftershock, until Jaina could barely keep herself upright. She pulled out, the toy dripping, and Jaina all but collapsed onto the mattress. Sylvanas leaned back on her heels, her calves and thighs aching, and unhooked the harness to toss it onto the floor for proper cleaning up later.

Jaina was breathing heavily, face buried into the pillow. Gently, Sylvanas placed a hand on Jaina’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at her. “Are you alright? Do you need anything? A towel? Water?”

Jaina shook her head and mumbled, “No, m’good.” Then after a moment, she rolled onto her side and amended, “Actually -- uh -- a towel would be nice.”

Sylvanas took a moment to stroke the backs of her fingers against Jaina’s still flushed cheeks before sliding off the bed. She stood, only to realise she had not planned this far ahead in the evening and there were, in fact, no towels. With a sigh, she made do with a clean shirt from one of their travelling trunks.

Returning to the bed, Sylvanas climbed in beside Jaina and handed it to her. Jaina took it without complaint and wiped between her legs with an embarrassed clearing of her throat. “We’re going to need to wash the sheets. I made a bit of a mess.”

Sylvanas hummed and traced a lazy pattern around Jaina’s breasts. “Do you hear me complaining?”

Jaina narrowed her eyes at Sylvanas’ smug grin, then tossed the shirt onto the ground as well. “We should do that again. Not now, obviously. But sometime.” Jaina’s face brightened, and she asked, “Can I try it on you next time?”

Smiling, Sylvanas brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from Jaina’s braid. “If that’s what you want.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “You’re always harping on about me telling you what I want. Sometimes, I want to know what you want, too.”

Sylvanas kissed her and murmured, “Then, yes. I would like that very much.”

“Good. That’s good,” Jaina said, still sounding a bit dazed. Then, she blinked, pulling her head back. “I still haven’t gotten you. Unless you -?”

Sylvanas shook her head. She could feel a heady flare of heat coiled tightly beneath her stomach, a desire that had been thrumming through her ever since Jaina had her pinned against the wall.

“You don't have to -” Sylvanas started to say, but Jaina cut her off with a kiss and a glare.

“Shut up. I want to,” Jaina said, and for all the force of her words, her touch was soft against Sylvanas’ cheek. “Haven’t you noticed I want you? Haven't you noticed I -”

Whatever Jaina had been about to say died in her throat. Her eyes widened, and she stared at Sylvanas as if caught with her hand in a jar of honey. She started to withdraw, her expression going stony as though she were carved from marble, intractable as the walls of her ancestral home.

Sylvanas reached out to cup Jaina's face between her hands. “Don't do that. Don't hide from me. Please -” She choked back the desperate note from her voice, and took a moment before continuing. “I don't want you just for a few hundred years. That's why I've been asking. Because it's not enough.”

“I would have thought you'd be sick of me by then,” Jaina tried to joke; for once she was the one trying to lighten the mood, when Sylvanas would have none of it.

“I could never be tired of you.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“You must know by now,” Sylvanas murmured, running her fingers through Jaina's hair. “Aren’t I so transparent?”

Jaina stared at her, searching Sylvanas’ face. Always, Sylvanas had waited -- though perhaps not always with patience -- coaxing Jaina forward step by step, trying to read her thoughts until it drove her half mad. And now Jaina held her breath, watching Sylvanas as though she held the world in her hands, waiting to see what she would do with it.

“I've loved you for months now.” Sylvanas stroked her thumb across Jaina's cheek. “And you never even noticed?”

Jaina's eyes were wide, and when she spoke she sounded breathless. “But you -- You didn't say anything.”

“How could I? You had enough on your mind. You didn't need -” Sylvanas swallowed back all those old self doubts, and her gaze brightened in intensity. “I'm saying it now. The war is over. We won. And I love you.”

A silence followed that statement, so deafening Sylvanas could hear the rapid bruit of her own heart, like the beating of war drums rising once more in the distance.

Jaina opened her mouth, and breathed, “Oh.”

In that moment the world seemed to drop away. Sylvanas blinked. She pulled her hand back as if recoiling, trying to fight the nauseating feeling that clutched at her gut like the icy plunge of a blade digging deep. “I - I did not mean to be too forward -”

Panic flashed across Jaina's face, raw and open as a wound. She lunged forward to capture Sylvanas’ wrist in her hand, and gasp, “No! That's not -! That's not what I meant! You need to let me try again -!”

“It's fine,” Sylvanas lied, looking anywhere but at her, unable to bear the thought of it. “My feelings are my own, and shouldn't impact your -”

In an abrupt flurry of movement, Jaina sat up in bed. She pushed Sylvanas back and crouched over her with pure determination burning in her gaze. “Shut up! I'm trying to say it back, and you keep interrupting me!”

Sylvanas went very still. She could scarcely draw breath when Jaina placed hands on either side of her face and all but glared down at her.

“I love you, too,” Jaina announced, fiercely, as if pledging her service to a sovereign. “There. That's what I meant.”

Sylvanas tried to speak, but had to swallow first. “Are you sure -?”

“Shut up, and kiss me again.”

Sylvanas was only too happy to oblige.

#sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #increments of longing #roman writes #IT'S DONE LADS #WOOO #I actually finished this a few days ago and posted on AO3 #but I've been away from home for work and sick to boot so I didn't upload it here

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xeocx13 · 6 years

Text

The Feeling of Home

The first time Violet had asked Minnie to dance with her, her heart drooped like a flower longing to see the sun.

While Violet had known Minnie most of her life, the aspect of dating was still a huge adjustment yet one she could get behind. Finally, she found someone she could confide to; share her deep secrets to, and to able to rely on. So many people had left her that finding someone who was stable and trustworthy was hard to come across and couldn’t be more happy or grateful.

It was late morning when Violet strode into the twin’s bedroom, holding some coloring supplies in one hand. Minnie was sitting on her bed, strapping on her boots. The sight made Violet smile. She closed the door behind her.

“Hi,” Violet started quietly.

“I’m going out hunting with Brody. Can you even believe this?” Minnie said, smashing her foot into the boot and adjusting the strap.

Violet walked to the twins’ desk and dropped the art supplies.

“What’s wrong with hunting?” she asked.

Minnie scoffed, full attention on tightening her boots. “Of course you don’t get it. You like hunting. It’s so vile.”

Violet frowned. “Minnie. I could switch with you—“

“No, no, don’t bother. Marlon hates it when we swap shifts.”

Violet was quiet as Minnie finished getting ready and stood from her bed. She noticed the staring and frowned slightly at the shorter girl.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Minnie scoffed. “Don’t bullshit me, Vi. What’s going on?”

Minnie could read her so easily. Nothing ever got past her and if it did, it never went far. Minnie was always one step ahead of her. Even as little girls before Ericson was in the picture, Minnie called decided for her sister and Violet where they were going, what they would eat. She seemed to have an innate ability to read a situation and see what would be best for them. While intimidating, Violet was in awe, even as a child. The clip in pocket suddenly felt heavy as Minnie stared her down. It was unnerving.

“Minnie, it’s nothing,” Violet smiled quietly. Approaching the taller girl, she suddenly felt smaller than what she already was.

She grabbed Minnie’s hand. “Just make it back safe, okay?”

Minnie rolled her eyes. “Vi, you’re such a sap. I’ll be fine.” Minnie dropped Violet’s hand. “Now, if you aren’t going to what’s bother you, I’m going to leave.”

“I didn’t know you were in such a rush,” Violet quietly teased.

Minnie sighed. “Vi—“

“I wanna try something.”

This stopped the taller girl. She blinked at her outburst and stood up straighter. “Oh. Okay.”

Violet took a deep breath. “Remember that spring formal? Back before the outbreak?”

Minnie groaned as a small smile tugged across her face. “Oh god! The one where Andre was trying to grope every girl he could spot?”

“Yep,” Violet smiled, “And Shelly punched him so hard it broke his braces?”

“Poor Shelly. I think she might’ve broken her wrist from that. Andre was fucking predator though,” Minnie replied, a nostalgic look on her face as she looked up at the room covered in Sophie and Tenn’s drawing. Violet wrung her hands together.

“If I had known any better, I would’ve asked you,” Violet said, taking another step to the ginger. Minnie raised a brow in question.

“Asked what?”

“To dance.”

The room suddenly stilled, the breeze from the battered window stopped momentarily as if someone had ceased a breath. When did the room get so small?

“Vi—“

“I know we’ve only been dating for a few months but—“

Minnie shook her head. “No, no. It has nothing to do with that.” She sighed and dragged a hand across her face, like a mother dealing with an intolerant child.

“Vi, do you even know how to dance? I mean, that’s not you! That’s not us!”

Minnie sighed again when she Violet shrink into herself again, hands digging into her pockets. She brought a freckly hand across her face and swept away from stray blond bangs.

“Look, you’re cute and all. But Violet, you know that’s not you. Don’t be a sap. We can make out later if you want, if I’m up to it.”

Violet’s eyes lit up slightly as Minnie’s lips ghosted a kiss across her cheek.

“Now get your ass in gear, those plants aren’t gonna grow themselves.”

“Well, they kind of do.”

“Shut up.”

The raid was over, their friends taken, and everyone was looking to fight back. The courtyard was a disaster as Willy mourned over his friend’s corpse. Rosie would occasionally catch a scent, Ruby trying to clear up the clutter and put out the fires.

Violet helped all she could, finally emerging from the basement after she helped AJ drag Abel and tie him up. She frowned when the boy insisted that he stay until Abel woke up or when Clementine came to see him.

Clementine was taking time for herself, processing the events from last night and was nowhere to be found. As much as Violet ached to see her. . .girlfriend(?), she knew that if Clementine wanted to talk to her, she’d seek her. Still, that did not stop her from going to Tenn’s room and asking for his art supplies and disappearing for the next few hours.

She found herself at Clem and AJ’s shared bedroom a few hours after they returned from scouting out the boat. She raised a fist to knock on the door before it suddenly burst open and AJ sprint past her.

“What’s with AJ?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

Clementine sighed and raised a hand to her face in distress. “He just…needs some space.”

The two chatted for a bit, Violet quietly admitting her confusion over reuniting with Minnie in the woods and though how much she despised Louis, she missed his presence.

“We will get them back, Vi. Louis, Aasim, all of them. I promise you,” Clementine said, bringing a hand up and resting it on her shoulder. Violet shuddered at the younger girl’s touch and felt the pin tap the inside of her rib. She shrank a little and took a step back.

“Um, I, uh, made you this,” Violet said quietly, reaching into her pocket and holding out the pin for the girl. She didn’t look at Clem but felt the pin be removed her palm.

She smiled and chuckled under breath. “Stars?”

“Yeah, so you, you know, never forget the night,” Violet finished awkwardly, finally looking up to the girl who was admiring the pin. She watched as Clementine moved her fingers across the pattern. She gasp quietly but didn’t look away when Clementine caught her eye and smiled.

“I never will.” And she clasped the pin on her jacket.

Violet continue to stand there awkwardly and looked down at her feet. She had asked Minnie this before and was shot down, almost immediately. Why wouldn’t Clem do the same? Minnie was right in some way; dancing was vulnerable and intimate, two traits Violet never actively expressed.

“Vi?”

She looked up as Clem watched steadily, smiling still. God, she was so pretty…

“What is it?”

Violet sighed and awkwardly fiddled with her hands. Here goes nothing…

“I wanna try something. And you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I mean, because it’s a really stupid idea now that I think about it, and—“

“Vi.”

Violet stopped and held her breath, scared that if she let go, Clementine would not catch her. She had not left yet so that meant something, considering her nonsensical rambling. She reluctantly held out a hand and took a step back, braving herself to meet the younger girl’s eyes

“Do you wanna dance? You know, with me?”

The room suddenly stilled. Violet felt everything slow down and suck back up into her head, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. All of it was too fast, too similar to when she had asked Minnie the very same question a little over a year ago. She didn’t, couldn’t, admit it then but Minnie’s stare and scoff at the offer hurt more than she had thought. Clementine and Minnie were so very much alike and yet, so very different. Clem searched her eyes as if not believing what she was hearing yet behind the brown hazel pools bloomed into something powerful, intense even.

Her blank and intense stare that only might’ve lasted a moment disappeared as a smile etched across her face. Stepping forward, clasping the blonde girl’s grimy hand, and drawing in close. Violet felt Clem’s hands settle naturally at her hips as her own hands rested on her shoulders, the two began to sway in sync.

It was daunting, seeing and feeling Clementine this close. She could see every mark, every scar and speck across the girl’s face, almost like a painting. Her eyes dropped down to the girl’s lips for a moment, remembering the previous night. This feeling, Clementine’s smiling face and eyes, the way her hands would adjust every so often on her hips as if wanting to feel the shape of Violet, it was overwhelming perfect. So this is what it’s like…

Violet smiled back at the girl, now causing Clementine to look away almost bashfully. It was only for a moment before she decided to return the smile back in full force.

It wasn’t enough though. Violet, feeling brave all of a sudden, drew in close and engulfed the girl in a warm embrace, continuing to sway back and forth. The way their bodies almost slipped into each other as easily and perfectly as a puzzle piece.

This, this, felt like home. Finally, here was someone she rely on and count on. The disbelief and awe that shook Violet to her core when Clementine returned the next day after they kicked both her and AJ from their school. Though her heart ached for Minnie every so often, seeing the girl in such a skewed state of mind and now, feeling Clementine pull Violet even closer, the starry night sky pin brushing against her skin, none of it seemed to matter.

The first time Violet had asked Clementine to dance with her, her heart swelled like a flower in full bloom.

#twdg violentine #violet and clementine #twdg violet #the walking dead game final season #twdg clementine #thewalkingdeadgame

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dontshootmespence · 6 years

Text

Enjoy The Show

Summary: Lilith is under extreme pressure to free Lucifer from the Cage and Ruby is taking a little too long keeping up her end of the bargain. With frustrations growing in both, Lilith finds a way to kill to birds with one stone - make her point known and give them both what they need.

Pairing: Lilith (Katherine Boecher) x Ruby

Word Count: 1,372

Warnings: Voyeurism, public sex, humiliation kink, flogging, bondage, squirting, mentions of blood but no blood kink, BDSM relationship.

A/N: For those of you 18 and over! Heed the fucking warnings. Fulfills my Lilith x Ruby @spnkinkbingo square.

------

She was doing her best, but Sam was reluctant to embrace his true power and Dean kept inserting himself where he didn’t belong. Both Winchesters had to believe she was on their side and that took time, finesse. That’s what Lilith didn’t want to understand.

As she approached the innocuous looking building, red brick walls hiding the debased and depraved, she swallowed back the uncertainty. Lilith could ask her for anything and Ruby would give it, but Lilith was unpredictable - no matter the vessel. That unpredictability always unnerved her in the best way.

Outside, men and women went about their business, going to and from work, taking care of their families, none the wiser to what was happening within these four walls. She inhaled the thick scent of sex and relaxed. All around her, others that frequented this place stepped into rooms, ready to indulge in whatever seemingly deviant activity they couldn’t in the company of the highest and mightiest of humanity.

Turning the corner, she saw the blonde vessel of her lover - the innocent beachy waves so contrary to the demon underneath - and immediately she could feel the heat pool in her panties. “Hello, Mistress.”

“You’re late, pet.”

“I know, Mistress. I’ve been trying to convince Sam of my loyalty. It’s been harder than anticipated.”

“So it seems.”

Ruby didn’t dare look up. When she walked inside walls like these, she wasn’t to even speak without Lilith’s permission.

“Do you need some encouragement to complete your objective in a more timely manner?”

She nodded and inhaled sharply when Lilith’s mouth came up against the shell of her ear, the whisper crawling up her spin. “Once Lucifer is free, I will be his second hand. And you will be mine. I’m going to give you a reminder of who you belong too.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Ruby whispered.

Lilith clasped Ruby’s hand and brought her toward the room she’d booked with the owners of the establishment, knowing full well that Ruby wouldn’t look up until she was told to do so.

Numerous pairs of feet passed her eyeline as they walked and Ruby’s mouth went dry. It had always just been them. What did Lilith have in mind?

“Look up, pet.”

Ruby’s mouth dropped open at the sight before her. Rows and rows of chairs. They were standing on a stage. “You’ll do anything for me, pet, right?”

“Yes,” she replied, biting her lip so hard she almost tasted blood.

“Then strip,” she said, popping the end of the word as she gestured to the people around her. “We have an audience. And I have quite a show planned for them.”

Body-wise she wasn’t ashamed at all - it wasn’t hers, it was her vessels, but she’d be bearing her soul in front of random strangers, that’s where the fear crept in - along with the anticipation. As she slipped off each item of clothing, she could feel more and more eyes on her, but no one hollered or catcalled; they just sat with rapt attention - both men and women. Once she was completely naked, Lilith motioned toward the contraption in middle of the stage. Essentially it looked like a short balance beam like those use for gymnastics, covered in leather and with shackles attached. Four to be exact. She was going to be bound and spread open for everyone to see.

Without needing to be told, Ruby stepped toward the beam and bent over, hissing as the cool leather touch her skin. She spread her arms out and watched Lilith as she clasped the shackles down on her wrists.

“You’re already wet? How desperate are you?”

Her leg trembled when Lilith crouched down to fasten the cuffs around her ankles, spread a comfortable width apart. “Answer me.”

“I’m very desperate, Mistress.”

“Louder. Our audience can’t hear you.” “I’m very desperate,” she repeated, louder this time.

“Let’s show the whole room what a desperate little slut you are.” What Ruby hadn’t realized was that the apparatus she was bound to was movable.

Lilith spun it around so that Ruby’s pretty little cunt was on full display. “Isn’t she so pretty? It’s perfect, but I think we need to make that ass that same color as her pretty, pink pussy. Count them, pet.”

Leather cut through the air before landing on her taut skin. “One!” She cried out. A second and third came in quick succession, the sting of the leather building quickly and making her legs quake with need.

“Four!” She yelled as the strands of leather hit her again. “Oh fuck!”

Lilith dragged the flogger up Ruby’s slit, gathering the wetness that gathered there before showing it to her. “This is from four smacks with a flogger. I’ve barely touched you. I’ve barely done anything and this is how you react. Clean it up.”

Ruby dragged her tongue against the smooth leather, her desperation evident in action and taste. “I think I’ll turn you around so you can look them in the eyes while I turn you beautiful ass a nice shade of red.”

When the next hit rattled her skin, she said nothing, crying out in pain but desperate for more.

“You didn’t say five. I was only planning on 20, but you’ve earned yourself another five.”

Ruby glanced up, looking for permission to speak to say she was sorry, but was denied. Lilith got all the way up to 15 before showing the audience the evidence of her arousal.

Even those in the back row could see the marks left upon such pristine skin, pinkish stripes highlighted against the untouched. By the looks in their eyes, Lilith could tell that many of them were wishing they were on the giving or receiving end of the show before them. Unfortunately for them, Ruby belonged to her and she would never share such a gift with the peons of humanity. “Mistress?”

“Yes, pet?”

“May I come?” For a long while, Ruby hated admitting how much the pain and pleasure mixed - how the harder she was hit, the more aroused she became - but as time passed, she cared less and less. Each hit, each sting of pain, brought her closer and closer to crying out, but she dared not come without permission.

“No, but good girl for asking. If you can handle the next 10 as I see fit I will allow you to come.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The gleam in Lilith’s eyes told Ruby all she needed to know. It was reiterated every time they were together. Sex meant very little. It was the power she craved more than anything else - no matter the facet of her life.

After 20 lashes with the flogger, Ruby was shaking, her mouth hanging open as the spit dropped onto the ground. Behind her, she couldn’t tell whether the liquid trickling down her legs was blood or her slickness, but she didn’t care. “Five more, pet.”

“Twenty one!”

It hurt.

“Twenty two!” She couldn’t help but scream each number.

“Twenty three!”

It hurt so good. Only two more.

“Twenty four! Twenty five!” The last two came in quick succession and she bit her lip so hard she felt the skin break. It had taken everything in her to not come with the final lash.

“You did well, pet. For that I’ll give you a reward.” Bending down to her eye level, Lilith whispered in her ear. “I’m going to finger fuck that pretty pussy until you come. You’ll squirt for me because I demand it. Right?”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I hope you’ve all enjoyed the show,” she said to the audience, stepping to Ruby’s side. “We’ll leave you with a little parting gift.” With one hand on the small of her back, Lilith slipped two fingers into Ruby’s entrance, meeting no resistance whatsoever. She quickly found her g-spot and thrusted against the spot until Ruby cried out, her legs trembling as liquid sluiced onto Lilith’s hand and the stage below. “Good girl,” she whispered.

Shortly after, the audience began to dissipate, leaving the two women alone once more. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“You’re welcome, pet. Are you ready to continue your mission?”

“Yes, Mistress. Anything you need.”

#spnkinkbingo #nicole tackles the kink #lilith/ruby #lilith x ruby #smut #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #femslash #supernatural femslash #dontshootmespence #enjoy the show

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sweetdeathwrites · 5 years

Text

puppy love

Pairing: Reader / Tsuna / Gokudera / Yamamoto

Summary: There's nothing quite like spending time with friends— especially if you happen to have a little crush on... well, all of them!

Warning: (is this poly??) it’s poly, death by fluff, lots of flirting, warning for a super old fic–– my first on Luna, so oof...! If you think of 2010′s-indulgent-anime-fanfic, nothing here would surprise you, use of the [Name] bracket system....wowza..

Word Count: 1,781

~Dedicated to GuardianAngel07 on Luna!~

(posted from my AO3 and Luna. Original A/N below)

(aaaa~ Luna is up and running! I'm so happy! I've been a fan of this site for many years but I never had the chance to submit anything until now (not to mention how terrible my writing used to be...yikes)... Well, anyway, this is my first post on Luna! Sorry it's short, I'm trying to push myself to write longer pieces soon!! Hope you enjoy! It's been YEARS since I've used [name] blanks for the reader... Usually I just stick to avoiding using names and just stick with gender neutral pronouns (they, them). Since I'm on Luna now, I decided to indulge myself and use all those fun [name] blanks I used to read in fics from middle school~ This is also my first time writing for KHR! It's my favorite anime and I always felt like I would ruin it's legacy if I ever contributed to the fandom... but someone very special helped me change my mind about that... Naturally, I would like to dedicate that person who is very special to me... in fact, she dedicated a fic to me first! I'm just returning her generosity! So here we go— GuardianAngel07 ! I've been such a big fan of you for so long! I'm sure I've told you this through comments MANY times, but you truly inspire me! Not only in writing, but in art and in trying to better myself! I see how you have such big dreams on your Luna profile and I know that you can ABSOLUTELY make them come true! I look forward to the day I see you post an update with your name in the credits of a Disney film! You really mean the world to me and I'm so happy that my comments were able to make you feel happy too! I really hope we can interact again in the future... I have some more KHR fics in the works, one nearly done, that I hope you will read as well! I also have one VERY special one that I used to dream about when I was younger... It was heavily inspired by your It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World fic! But don't worry, I've changed a lot since it was originally planned and I assure you, I've made sure that it goes in a very different direction compared to your fic!! I'm not going to give a lot away at the moment, but I used to daydream (and I still do!) about the events happening in your fic and through the years those daydreams turned into creations of OCs and plot developments based off of the manga and.... I've said too much!! Anyway, I am SO GLAD and GRATEFUL for all you've done for me, not just for the fics, but for all the happiness, inspiration, and hope that I've gotten from them and from your profile! I really hope you enjoy this fic! Haha, I'm so excited~)

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“Hey!” A loud, annoying voice called out to you. You ignored it. “So, Tsu-kun, what’re you doing after school? Wanna go on a date with me? I’ll pay,” you mused, leaning on his desk and playing with the poor boy’s hair in your free hand, “I’ll pay for whatever you want to eat...How’s a salisbury steak sound?” “I-I-” Tsuna started, but was quickly interrupted by his righthand man yanking you away from him. Some of your classmates were paying attention- mostly the girls- but everyone was already used to the shenanigans that seemed to always occur whenever Sawada Tsunayoshi was around. “Get away from Juudaime, you evil succubus!” Gokudera growled in your face. You tutted and cupped his face with a gentle hand. He felt warm and you couldn’t help but admire the way the sun glittered off of his emerald green eyes. You hoped your small classroom’s open window would help to cool his temper. “Aw, fret not, Haya-chan, there’s more than enough of me to go around~” you winked at him and Gokudera dropped you quickly and covered his red face. You landed on the ground more roughly than you would’ve preferred, but you didn’t lose your composure. If you wanted to get anywhere with these boys you would have to try much harder! Smoothing out your now ruffled shirt, you took longer than you needed to in order to make absolutely sure that Tsuna and Gokudera were looking at you. Geez, it’s like these boys have never been flirted with… you thought, then realised Tsuna’s probably never been on the receiving end of a playful compliment. You decided to change that. “Hey, Tsu-kun.” You caught his attention, voice flat with none of the giddiness that you felt leaked through. “Y-Yes?” Tsuna sat stiffly on his chair and his hands were clenched so tightly on his desk that his knuckles were ghostly white. You darted over to him and laced one hand with Tsuna’s and cradled the back of his neck with your other. “Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are? You’ve got doe eyes, Tsu-kun, sweet as chocolate.” Your gaze kept his eyes locked on yours and Tsuna let out a strangled whine. “Hey!” Gokudera yelled again, this time noticeably shakier. “I told you not to harass Juudaime!” Turning to glance at Gokudera, you pouted. The silver haired boy still had a hand clasped over his face and, despite his threats, didn’t make a single move to remove you from Tsuna. “I’m not harassing Tsuna!” Your eyes burned holes in Gokudera. “I’m not harassing you, am I, Tsu-kun?” you asked sweetly. Tsuna sputtered a variety words but none of them made cohesive sense or had any relation to each other. “Tsuna’s right, Gokudera,” a small yet commanding voice came from somewhere in the classroom. You looked around but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just as you were going to turn your attention back to Tsuna, a panel slid open on the classroom wall and a small baby stepped out of it. He wore a suit and tie and a small lizard perched on his hat. “Hey, Reborn,” you greeted him, smiling brightly and not relinquishing your hold on poor Tsuna. Reborn nodded slightly in your direction. “Gokudera, it’s very rude to harass Tsuna’s future spouse. Act as a proper right hand man and devote yourself to their happiness.” “EEH?” Tsuna shrieked and toppled off his chair, landing in a heap on the ground. “Sp-Spouse?” No matter how ruby red a tomato or deep a fiery sunset, nothing could have come even close to comparing to the scarlet blush that burned Tsuna’s cheeks. Even his neck and shaking hands were flushed! “W-What?! But-” “What’s wrong, Gokudera? Would you rather take Tsuna’s future spouse for your own? Then Tsuna could get married to Haru-chan or Kyoko-chan. Or maybe-” “Yo!” Yamamoto burst in the class in full baseball gear. Some girls squealed in delight upon seeing him and you couldn’t blame them. Baseball pants made his butt look fine. Then his mocha eyes settled on you standing over Tsuna and Takeshi’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “-you would rather Yamamoto to be their husband?” Takeshi walked over to you and swung a muscular arm around your neck and pulled you close; he smelled earthy, sweet, and spicy, just like freshly ground cloves. His white shirt was crumpled and he was hot from baseball practice. Being pulled so close under his arm, you could feel the hard muscles of his stomach and lining his ribcage underneath the thin barrier of cloth. Nice. “Who’s going to get married?” he looked around for any visual cues that could help him piece together this mystery… Tsuna collapsed on the ground, Gokudera rooted to his spot with his face buried in his hands, Reborn dominating the conversation… Everything looked normal to him. “Are we playing a marriage game?” “Yamamoto, would you marry [Name]-chan?” Reborn asked, his coal black eyes as unnerving and omniscient as ever. Yamamoto turned to you examined you thoroughly. His eyes traveled over your soft features and, you noticed, tried to discreetly examine the rest of you. His rough hands held you firmly by the waist. Not that you wanted to get away from him, but now it was nearly impossible to move; if you did, you would end up being dipped, with Yamamoto’s hand at the small of your back and he’d hold your face gently and lean in and- “Of course I’d marry [Name]-chan! Who wouldn’t?” Yamamoto laughed and he sounded like wind chimes on a pleasant summer day. Your heart fluttered like a caged bird at that and you tried to laugh off the light flush that creeped up your neck. Gokudera noticed. “H-Hey, bastard, quit it! Don’t say stupid things like that, baseball freak!” Gokudera lowered his hands to shout at Yamamoto, furious for reasons unknown to him. “Haha, why not? It’s true, isn’t it!” Yamamoto hugged you close and rested his chin atop your head. He hummed happily and you felt it resound deep within your chest. Sunlight dappled the floors and lockers in the back of the room and you felt totally at peace. You could barely hear yourself think over the usual bickering between Gokudera and Yamamoto, but that was just fine. Basking in the moment, you made sure to never forget what was happening right now. You were alive. You were breathing the sweet, crisp air that flowed from your classroom’s open window, surrounded by your classmate’s, in the midst of embarrassing and adoring your beloved friends (and crushes). Joy bubbled in your stomach at the simple pleasure you gained from the moment. Then the moment was over. You spun yourself out of Yamamoto’s embrace and was swiftly blinded by the sun’s glare, being just the right height for the window’s wrath. Yamamoto yelped and caught you- look at that, he was dipping you! Looks like dreams do come true. But you had places to be. “Sorry, Take-kun, but I gotta go!” You winked at him and his mouth twitched in shy grin. Some girls murmured in jealousy, wishing they were in your place, wishing they could make Yamamoto blush the way you could. Your shoes padded across the floor to Tsuna’s still reclined form. Kneeling, you tapped Tsuna on the shoulder. His honey eyes looked up at you and you nearly screamed. What a cutie! Tsuna was nothing but a shy, lovesick puppy and that special side of him made you weak in the knees. “I’ll see you later, baby!” You leaned in and planted an adoring kiss on Tsuna’s cheek. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and he was talking again, unable to stop himself. “[Name]-chan! Oh my god, why did you do that, why would you want to do that to me! I’m No-Good Tsuna! Aah, I can’t believe you did that, I mean, it’s not like that was a bad thing! I’m not complaining! What I mean is why, why, oh my god, that was so- I don’t? I mean-” you giggled at his struggle and kissed his other cheek for good measure. “Don’t worry about it, Tsu-kun! I’ve got so much more in store for you later!” and Tsuna just about died in your arms. You could practically see his ghost coming out of his body. He just melted in your embrace. What a pure guy. “J-Juudaime! You wretch! How dare you wound Juudaime like this! I’ll make you pay!” Gokudera charged at you but you didn’t flinch. In fact, when he came close enough, you reached out and trailed your hand along his neck. Gokudera stopped dead in his tracks at your touch and his breath caught in his chest. “Silly little Haya-chan…” you teased, running your fingers across his jaw, “Think you can beat me? Nothing can beat the power of love, sweetie.” Somehow, Gokudera simultaneously paled and flushed. He nearly swooned at the playful mirth in your eyes when you blew him a kiss. Then he did swoon, falling backwards and scrambling away from you hurriedly. “Y-You devil!” Gokudera clutched his chest, heart undoubtedly beating wildly. “What magic have you cursed me with?!” You laughed and carded your hands through your hair, slightly unsure if you should really announce why you were torturing the three boys so much. ‘Screw it,’ you thought, and opened your mouth to speak. “You know,” you began, “I’m beginning to wonder what magic you three have cursed me with. Don’t you know what you do to me?” And with that, you waltzed out of the classroom, giving a knowing nod to Reborn along the way. The baby smirked and ignored Tsuna’s desperate questioning, Yamamoto’s confused laughs, and Gokudera’s outraged and shaky demands for you to come back and explain yourself. As you passed the threshold of the classroom into your school’s open air hallway, you couldn’t help but glance up at the clear sky and see how clouds floated airily across that wide, blue stretch, how the birds flew and cawed in pursuit of each other. With a bounce in your step and your heart fluttering, you jumped and spun and laughed, happy to have told them. Your mind buzzed with all the borderline-naughty things you could say to them tomorrow.

#sawada tsuna #sawada tsunayoshi #reborn tsuna #khr #reborn #gokudera hayato #gokudera #yamamoto takeshi #reborn yamamoto #reborn fanfic #khr fanfic #katekyo hitman reborn

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snowbellewells · 6 years

Text

Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)

by: @snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

So, I realize I’m coming in at the wire this week, but it is still Friday. This chapter fills in some gaps for the supporting characters and jumps here and there to various settings more than previous chapters have done. I’ve had a really fulfilling experience working with them this time around, and I hope all of you will enjoy reading it as well!

chapter four ~ a fragile moment’s peace

Some 28 years ago in the Enchanted Forest

In the horrible, stark emptiness of her high tower cell, breaking the maddening silence that was most often her only companion, Belle French flinched in surprise at the echoing sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs up to her prison. She did not know how many flights above the ground in the Evil Queen’s fortress she was; it hardly seemed to matter as Belle had begun to fear she might never make her way back down again, nor see anymore of the outside world - the one she had longed to travel and adventure in - than could be glimpsed from the high, barred windows of her cell.

The footsteps paused outside her door before she then heard the clank of metal as someone began to slide the bolt before it could swing outward to admit him. She steeled herself, squaring her thin shoulders, made even more delicate by the pittance of unappetizing food Regina allotted her, clenching her small fists and watching warily. There was never any certainty which guard, which of the hideous Black Knights, would enter with her morning and evening meal, or simply to check on her. No knowing whether they would jeer and taunt, simply do their business and leave, or perchance even move to harm her further. In truth, the loss of her freedom and the slow dying of her hope, the lack of mental stimulation or company, were the worst punishments of her captivity, but it made Belle no less on her guard - never sure what might be coming next.

However, her bearing relaxed slightly upon seeing the figure who slipped through the doorway and closed the portal quickly behind him. Though dressed in the garb of Regina’s guards, her visitor had already removed the unnerving, seemingly-faceless helmet to reveal a riot of honey-colored curls atop his head and the kind, soulful eyes full of regret meeting her own. This particular guard with his gentle manner and soft, lilting voice was the one Belle hoped for whenever her door was opened. True, one of the Black Knights he might be, but not by choice or from any cruelty or thirst for power. This man - once a huntsman living wild with a wolf his only companion in the open forest - was as much a prisoner as she. He had shared his story with her long ago, as she had shared her own with him. Once, many years past, the man before her had spared the life of their outlaw princess Snow White, and for that merciful action he had paid dearly. Regina had taken his heart and held him here amid these halls and chambers far from his beloved woods and glens. He could not flee her grasp however he might wish it, but in moments such as these, when she was not making her whims or orders directly known, his true nature showed through.

Belle believed that she might have gone truly insane by now in her isolation if not for stolen conversations with this brave, compassionate man - the only time she could gain any news, any companionship and joy, at all.

“How are you, Belle?” he whispered, the words tripping in his warm, thick brogue with gentle care for her well-being as he held out the questionable looking stew and murky water rationed for her evening meal.

“As well as ever, I suppose,” she answered mildly, as always, a bit afraid that they might be overheard, that her sole advocate might have been suspected, followed, and that their conversation overheard might see him punished for his secreted bits of kindness to her, the rogue few moments of cheer she could look for, taken from her.

“Nay Lass, worry not,” he grinned boyishly, small and fleeting but infinitely endearing. “I took care and was not followed.”

Belle ducked her head, shaking it with a chuckle at how well he had read her thoughts and known what worried her. “Very well, I’ll take your word for it,” she demurred.

Her friend stepped closer - not crowding her, never making her feel threatened or more trapped as his compatriots did - and held out one more offering, hidden until now, wrapped in clean, white cloth. “Here,” he urged, waiting until she took it in her own hand. “I brought you something.”

Belle’s eyes went wide as her fingers closed around the morsel, discovering it to be soft and warm. Unwrapping it revealed a piece of fresh baked bread, butter mouth-wateringly melted into it nooks and crannies. Looking back up at him gratefully, she stammered over her stunned query, “How did you?... Why?”

He shrugged carelessly, blushing slightly at her pleased reaction and genuinely bashful at the emotion a simple bit of his own much more appealing supper had caused. “Twas nothing,” he shrugged, waving away any further question or concern over it. “You should have something actually pleasant to eat when I can manage it.”

Grasping that he didn’t want praise, and in fact sensing that it somehow made him almost uneasy, Belle merely nodded, though a smile peeked out for him all the same. “Thank you,” she offered simply, needing him to know that his risk did mean something to her at least.

A bell tolled somewhere below, and Belle read his unease clearly as every line of his body tightened to wary attention. “I must go,” he murmured, stepping back quickly. Then he paused, reaching inside of his uniform to pull out an extra gift. “And here, take this as well,” he glanced over his shoulder, eyes anxious and guarded, but hopeful too. “Just don’t let it be found on you.”

A small gasp of excitement escaped her when the sight of deep burgundy binding and ornate gold lettering on an actual book met her eyes. It had been far too long since she had been afforded her most treasured past time, and she took the tome from him with reverence, gathering it close to her chest.

“Until next time,” he bid her in farewell. And as swiftly as he had appeared, her rebel knight and sole ally was gone…

Storybrooke Hospital basement, present day

“Graham!” Ruby hissed, her whisper persistent and not nearly quiet enough for her foster brother’s liking. “Where are we going? This is the hospital basement. It’s just storage, isn’t it?”

Graham shook his head resolutely, pausing at the foot of the stairs they had just descended and wishing they could remain in the darkened stairwell rather than step out into the brightly lit hall beyond. His mouth pressed into a thin, hard line, and he held up a hand to stay Ruby’s questions, listening intently to determine if they had been detected or followed.

When no such hints came, he turned to his sister and tried to explain as much as he could quickly and keep them moving forward. “I’m not so sure, Rue,” he stated under his breath, the teenage shortening of her name only he had ever used warming her heart slightly even in their cold and dreary surroundings. She couldn’t understand how she hadn’t missed him all these years; her sibling by nature and by species - by heart if not by blood. The only possible reason she could come up with was that she had been missing herself as well, unaware of her own being, much less the people she belonged with and cared for most. “It’s a hunch, mind you, but Regina seemed to come down here more often than necessary - or at least I thought so from what I can recall. Something always distracted me, took my mind elsewhere when I would start to look into it.... Before…” He swallowed reflexively, glancing down at his hands clenching and unclenching anxiously at his sides, but then pushed forward. “But there’s staff down here as well. I’ve seen them coming and going. And why would all the way down here need key-in entry locks?”

Ruby paused his words when they became faster and more agitated as he continued, by reaching out to take his hand in hers and clasping it tightly, the same way she had when she’d pulled the scrawny, dirt-smudged younger version of him home with her to Granny to be fed and fussed over all those years ago. “Hey, hey, Graham...it’s okay,” she blurted in an equally intense, hoarse whisper. “I believe you, okay? Let’s check it out. I’m right behind you.”

He gave her a tight but grateful half-smile and pushed through the heavy swinging door that led into what looked like a gloomy, dim version of the corresponding space above. If Graham hadn’t known better, it could almost seem as though they had stumbled into the Evil Queen’s dungeon back in their home realm. The empty hopelessness of the corridor that stretched out before them evoked that strong a reaction, making Graham wish he hadn’t brought Ruby along at all - or that he could still send her back and she would actually go. A shudder ran through him involuntarily as he made himself put one foot in front of the other, despite the repressed memories surfacing. There was no other way now but forward.

Moving onward, it was clear that while this basement level might be sterile, blank, and eerily quiet, it wasn’t empty. There were doors on both sides all the way down the hall they’d entered, along with first initial, last name labeled placards on nearly every door. They were heavy, windowless iron, with only a strange slot in them at roughly eye level, but something held Graham back from peering through each one. He knew all too well it was dread at what he might see.

“These can’t be patient rooms all the way down here, right?” Ruby asked, her voice trembling with concern. It might have sounded shaky to someone who didn’t know her well, but Graham could already sense the anger beneath her immediate worry. “Is there even anyone on call? It’s like they’ve been hidden away and - and - just forgotten,” she continued aghast, her mouth quivering with fervent emotion at the very idea.

“That’s exactly what happened,” he answered grimly, hating that he’d known it was true as soon as he had seen the doors with their vague, nondescript nameplates. Anger at himself grew at the guilt of knowing he’d had a sense something wasn’t right but never fully explored it. In doing so, he had allowed these people to be locked away for far too long. “They’re people she needed rid of,” he spat, not even wanting say Regina’s name just then, “or that she needed to have under her control once they became useful to her. These people are probably those who were prisoners back in her castle in our land. Rumplestiltskin’s maid was certainly one of them - so she… Belle was her name… must be behind one of these doors. It’s the Queen’s real world, no magic version of a dungeon; a hidden asylum with no treatment and no escape.”

Ruby’s wide dark eyes pooled with unshed tears at such needless cruelty and pain, even as her full lips pressed together tightly with determined resolve. Graham knew she was just as determined as he that Belle would be leaving here as soon as they found her, as would everyone else in this cursed hall. And people thought his kind were the monsters! Wolves - neither natural nor Were - would never torment other living things, even their prey, for sheer joy in the suffering or simply because they could.

Shaking his head of such sickening contemplation - it never led anywhere he was ready to dwell - he pressed on, nodding to Ruby that they were indeed freeing these poor souls, but that he had a plan, so that she wouldn’t simply turn and tear the place apart, possibly hurting herself and terrifying those they aimed to save in the process. His sister was fiery, impulsive - and he loved her for it- but right now there was too much at stake, her safety included. It was but another minute before they reached the end of the corridor where it opened out slightly into a nook which passed as some macabre version of a nurse’s station or reception desk.

The space was deserted; luckily for them, though it again spoke to the lack of basic care for human dignity. Had the curse broken and the people trapped within these walls simply been left behind when their captors abandoned their posts? If so, it spoke to their Mayor’s twisted ability to select followers with even fewer scruples than herself to carry out her bidding.

Once again, with grim determination Graham plowed forward, unable to stop; this reckoning had been more than long enough in coming. Pulling out the middle drawer of the large desk shoved into a corner of the scant open space, he rifled around quickly, until moments later emerging victorious with two sets of keys clenched in his fist. Handing one to Ruby, he motioned her forward and to the right with a brusque, “You take this side, and I’ll get the other. Unlock every door and tell them they’re free, to go up the stairs and out to find their families and loved ones. Unless they aren’t able or well, just have them get as far away from here as possible, at least for now…. They’ve already lost too much time.” He looked down once more, unable to meet her knowing, sympathetic gaze, until Ruby reached forward and twined her fingers with his, pressing their clasped hands to her chest.

He looked up slowly, knowing she wouldn’t move on until he met her eyes. Ruby’s voice was firm, measured; her knowing face studying his shamed one. “Listen to me, Graham,” she ordered seriously. “This is not your fault.”

He nodded half heartedly, not at all convinced, but she wasn’t finished.

Shaking her head, his sister pressed on, a solemn vow in her words that would not be doubted or turned away. “I’m serious, okay? You might not have been in a physical cell, but you were every bit as trapped. I don’t need to know everything to see how badly you were wounded too. But, you survived… and now you’re strong enough to free them. We will make this right.”

She turned quickly once he had given her a nod of more certainty, her long, red-streaked hair whipping in an arc behind her as she did, and moved hurriedly to the first door on her side, quickly inserting the key and pulling the barrier open. The face of a grateful elderly gentleman creased into an overwhelmed smile as he stepped from captivity at last. Ruby quickly explained, gave him directions, and ushered him along as she moved to the next.

Graham blinked back the overwhelmed film of emotional tears behind his eyelids and shook his head free of stunned observation where he stood. Moving along the passageway as swiftly and quietly as possible, he saw both unknown faces and painfully familiar ones as each metal panel was swung free and yet one more sufferer stepped forth, at last escaping the waking nightmare that had swallowed and stolen their lives. He felt a weight he had not even been fully aware of carrying lift from his shoulders with each new release; it was one small strike back against all that they had suffered, and fragments of his own pain were briefly alleviated too as they made some sort of dent in the many wrongs done.

However, be all that as it might, there was a sinking feeling resting in his gut as Graham reached the final door and had still seen no sign of his former friend, the petite beauty who had granted him some solace and peace in that fortress of cruelty they’d both weathered long ago. Had he been wrong? Would Regina have hidden her somewhere else even more remote and secure? Worse still, had she somehow not been brought over to this land at all? His mind flinched away from that possibility; unwilling and unable to contemplate the gentle soul he had snuck warm bread and stories of adventure to having long since met her end wasting away to nothing or going completely mad.

His hand shook as he slid the strange skeleton key into the final lock, turned it with bated breath, and fought the impulse to close his eyes, to shield his own psyche from disappointment (or showing such to whatever poor soul he did release) if it was not her. Pushing aside the door, he stepped inside the tiny, bare room, feeling Ruby at his back anxiously, having already finished her similar task. His eyes rose to the cot fastened to the far wall, and then every muscle within him seemed to freeze. Matted, dull, and disheveled brown hair fell to the side of a pale, sunken face as the silent figure curled up on the bed lifted their curious stars to face the intruder head on.

But what nearly stopped his heart, was the rapid indrawn breath which met with the spark returned to the listless blue eyes that had first blinked into awareness. It was her, and she knew him. The tiniest of fragile smiles quavered on her delicate lips as she spoke in a small voice raspy with disuse. “Huntsman?” she asked in a tone of awed disbelief, wonderment and fear in equal measure seeming to warn that she had long since ceased to trust in her own eyes. “Is it really you?”

Graham merely nodded, the pooling tears finally too much and stealing down his cheeks in silent paths. “Yes, Belle, it’s me. I’ve come to take you home.”

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

Woods outside Storybrooke, present day

Killian had run until the shift took over; booted feet pounding on pavement, then loamy soil, then the needle-littered forest floor. It was as old and natural as breathing when the feel of the roughened ground beneath his feet became more direct and intense as he body stretched and lengthened, falling to all fours, feet and hands widening to furred paws as he galloped on with barely a hitch in his stride. Certainly there was still discomfort, but it was a familiar and fleeting one; hardly phasing him after the many times he had felt it before and the current sharp pain in his chest that was unrelated though must worse.

The wind now rushed through coarse, cobalt fur rather than rustling through the hair of his head alone or whipping against flushed cheeks. No longer did branches slap against human skin and break the surface in searing pain, but instead slipped along a sinuous, lean body much lower to the ground and with infinitely more grace than any human form could grant.

Though he hadn’t lived in Storybrooke long, Killian had not hesitated to locate the nearest forest and find that it proved, as always, the best place for time to calm himself and regain equilibrium. As it had always been, there was solace beneath the overhanging shade of the trees and the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves and branches, seeming to whisper comfort in his pricked ears. The darkly furred apertures perched atop his head took in birdsong, the skittering of smaller creatures, and his own panting breaths around his pink tongue, lolling from the run he had just taken. Ears swiveling and straining, Killian took a moment to be certain nothing was out of the ordinary, that no sounds which did not belong met his keen lupine hearing, before he flopped down onto his haunches and eventually stretched out on his stomach against the rain-softened dirt of the forest floor, head propped on his front paws.

It was hard not to be hurt, despite knowing they meant it in his best interest that Emma and the others of his own kind seemed not to want or need him in their mission to thwart Gold’s plans. He knew the old imp better than most after centuries of studying, plotting, and working to effect his downfall, and though he had not succeeded yet, could he not still prove a worthwhile resource? The entire reason for his being here at all was to see his Crocodile finally pay for Milah’s untimely demise along with his own maiming.

A low, guttural whine escaped his throat as he craned his neck forward to lick at the pads of the somewhat twisted and immobile left front paw. The appendage was not rendered useless; certainly his running gait was aided in balance by its presence more than if it had been taken clean off. However, the paw did pain him if he went any sort of distance, or on rough terrain or at an accelerated speed. Not to mention that each twinge, every prick of pain, made him think of his lost love, and every time it ached anew, the anger and thirst for vengeance had swelled once more.

Until he had laid eyes on Emma Swan.

Watching her since his arrival in town - with Cora, he hated to admit, his wolf form letting out a canine snort of displeasure and shaking his ruffed head and neck as if to rid himself of the memory - he had been entranced. Both man and beast yearned to be near her, even if it were merely to trot at her hip like a protective, four legged shadow. Stepping into the little local diner that morning, he had nearly been stunned, blinded, by her beauty. The sunlight through the large front windows glancing off the fall of her golden hair and sending beaming light over her face, her laughing son, and the whole interior of the otherwise rather shabby and ordinary establishment. Up until then, Killian had been contenting himself with chance glimpses, watching her from afar and simply following unseen to see that such a lovely creature was safe and well. However, she had so transfixed him in her simple, happy outing with her boy that he’d had to get closer, to meet her at last.

Some facet of her being spoke to him, in a way he couldn’t understand and had never experienced before. It calmed the anger, the pain, and the loneliness that had alternated in haunting him for most of his life. The tempting idea that he might not have to continue on alone for however long his werewolf makeup allowed beyond natural human years was one of the brightest spots to calm the storm in his soul and break through the darkness that he had ever yet encountered. Killian couldn’t say that he completely understood, but he was not about to fight it or turn away either.

With those calming thoughts easing the turmoil his mind had been in - and the rush of adrenaline also coursing through his system between an arrest, an accusation, an attack, plus Emma’s nearness and their argument - ebbing away, he found the wolf’s grip on him lessening from the near takeover it had held on him when he’d fled for the cover and safety of the woods. As a born wolf, he could shift from his human and animal forms at will, though it was always closer to the surface on a full moon, and even if the whirlwind he had weathered in the past couple hours had made his four legged form seem more appealing, he wasn’t trapped in it until morning as many people who knew only myths and legends might believe. Ambling back to the edge of the wooded tree line, Killian looked down the soft rise toward the town square he had vacated not so long ago, his tail switching from side to side at his hocks, even though he saw nothing yet. She was down there...Emma...and if a canine mouth could smile, he was, at the mere thought of seeing her again soon. His still rational mind shied away from what his instincts whispered...his mate...But he couldn’t fight the instinct to go back to her, whether she wanted him there or not. Pulled like a magnet by his will, Killian had to return to his golden-haired deputy and offer his help once again. He couldn’t stand the thought of her going up against the Dark One without every bit of strength on her side she could possess - and he couldn’t stay away either, not even if he truly tried.

Mind made up, a short yelp of discomfort, followed by a groan and second rearranging of bone and sinew as he became man once more was not far behind. Long past the crushing press of embarrassment at his nakedness upon regaining human form, Killian merely set out with as much stealth as possible on the course he had already mapped out from the woods to his ship at the dock, which would take him by as few who might see him as possible. Usually, he stilled possessed the presence of mind to rid himself of clothing before the transformation into wolf began; however, the height of his emotion at the shift he had just completed - feeling shunned, rejected, and unneeded by those he had just found, who like himself and whom he had hoped to stand with, not to mention a beguiling woman he wanted to pull close and hold tightly to shield from a similar fate to what his Milah had suffered long ago - had made such forethought slip his mind until his clothes had already lain shredded among the roots and fallen leaves. Fortunately, the day now moved toward the dinner hour as he slipped closer to the quaint harbor and docks and his ship’s berth where new clothing could be found, and fewer people were about to see him in his state of undress.

A thankful breath escaped Killian’s lungs as he managed to sneak aboard the Jolly Roger and below her decks without any signs of human detection. Quickly and efficiently, he located new undergarments, jeans, dark patterned shirt, and spare jacket, and pulled them on with purposeful haste, now that his mind was made up and his course decided. His intention now to find Swan and her compatriots and once more offer his aid, making clear the benefit of experience he could lend to their mission, lent speed to his actions. He spared only a moment to ruefully run his good hand over the worn soft dark leather of the spare jacket he’d donned, making note to himself that he would need to be more careful with this one to avoid an unnecessary shopping trip - his wardrobe was not an unending supply.

He had already put one booted foot on the ladder back up to the deck, when he heard the thump of someone landing almost right over his head, followed by the rush of unknown, trespassing, footsteps hurrying across the wooden planks. Killian’s hand clenched at his side, realizing his cutlass had been left above, not having much everyday use abroad in a modern-day, non-magical town, tucked in near his ship’s wheel should need of it arrive. Nevertheless, he could handle whoever might come aboard his ship; he did after all have intimate knowledge of the vessel upon which he made his home, and the element of surprise on his side as well.

Mounting to the deck with swiftly agile and silent steps, Killian paused before lifting the hatch from his cabin and emerging topside, to gather himself for battle.

The sight which greeted his warily sharp eyes upon emerging once more in the fading evening shadows and setting sun made him ache to do anything but attack however. There, poised in mid-step, clearly startled and struck motionless by his abrupt re-emergence from below was none other than Emma Swan. Her green eyes were wide open and looking slightly guilty at being caught on his ship without any sort of welcome or permission. She seemed to know enough about either sailors or pirates to be aware that such trespass was not usually taken lightly.

Killian’s tense posture immediately eased upon seeing that his ship was under no threat, and he stood straight once more, tucking his thumb into a belt loop with a much more relaxed and insouciant pose instead as she huffed and regained her normal stance as well, crossing her arms over her chest defensively for good measure, as if knowing she was caught, but unwilling to admit it.

“Well, well, Swan,” he drawled, letting his tongue emerge to trace lightly across his lower lip and raising his eyebrow in devilish mischief. “To what do I owe the pleasure? You seemed quite glad to be rid of me earlier today.”

“Please,” Emma scoffed grumpily, rolling her eyes at him in a way that, though he had only known her a number of hours, Killian was coming to recognize as endearing habit. Sounding more disgruntled than she actually was, the fiery blonde before him pressed on before he could tease her further. “Look, you and I both know I jumped down your throat earlier, for no good reason other than that I was freaking out. So, I’m sorry - alright?”

Killian dropped the mocking bravado almost immediately upon sensing that she was indeed sincere beneath the agitation and discomfort she was outwardly exhibiting. “Aye,” he agreed softly, dipping his head to catch her lowered eyes and holding them with his own, “of course, Lass. It’s already forgotten.”

“Thank you,” she replied, her mumble soft and almost lost on the brisk air over the choppy waves. She stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her deliciously tight denim breeches, drawing Killian’s hungry eyes to her long, supple legs, despite his most gentlemanly efforts.

He could tell she still had something else on her mind however, both by the way she shuffled awkwardly before him, even taking a hesitant step closer rather than beating a hasty retreat. “Was that all, Swan?” he finally queried, aiming to keep his voice gentle, soothing, in hopes of coaxing her further concerns from her rather than spooking his flighty Swan. It already seemed somehow as if he had summoned her here merely by wishing it, perhaps it would also prove that she had come to the same conclusion about facing Gold together as he had done.

Emma shook her head vigorously, wetting her own lips before rolling her shoulders and finally speaking up again. “You said before that you know Gold better than most, that you’ve studied him a long time, right?”

This time it was Killian who gave the brusque nod, before gesturing that she continue, not wanting to interrupt.

“Well, I was thinking - and Graham and Ruby agreed - that maybe you should come with us after all...if you’re still willing. It couldn’t hurt to have someone with us who really knows Gold’s motivations, his strengths and weaknesses, his mannerisms. You might get a sense at least if he means to double cross us.” Emma’s speech dwindled and she bit her lip uncertainly; daring a glance back up to his face again hopefully.

Killian couldn’t resist a small, playful smile as he closed the distance between them to no more than a single step. Impishly reaching out a finger to lightly brush her nose, he had to ask. “And you came to this realization all by yourself, did you Swan?” he prodded.

To this, she shrugged sheepishly, cracking an awkward half-smile herself before finally admitting, “No, not quite. It was Henry. He found your story in his book…” at Killian’s puzzled look she waved her hands between them, shaking her head wearily. “Never mind, I’ll explain that later. Anyway, he swore we needed to let you help. We couldn’t succeed without you. And that...that you were meant to be a hero.” She smiled with more warmth at that, finally closing the gap between them completely and reaching out to catch his stunted hand, the immobile one that most people tried to avoid or wouldn’t even look at, with her own. “That we needed to give you the chance for your redemption.”

Killian blinked, taken aback and profoundly affected to the touch to his neglected, maimed limb. He had to swallow hard, and his voice was still hoarse when he responded. “That sounds as though it was quite passionate, Swan.”

She shrugged along with her half smile and certainly still looked more than a little embarrassed. “Yeah well, maybe it was,” she allowed, “but he was right too.” She tugged his hand lightly to emphasize her words. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, Killian. Will you come with us?”

Killian’s smile warmed her fully from the inside out, even as she could see her openness and her invitation had done for him. Raising their joined hands to brush an errantly blown strand of her hair back over her shoulder, his eyes practically crackled at her with enthusiasm and joy. “Truth be told, Swan, I was just coming to demand you allow me to accompany you. So, needless to say, your wish is my command.”

He waggled his brows at her for effect, and Emma pursed her lips consideringly, making Killian want to hungrily claim and kiss them until they both lost their breath, before she tossed back her saucy reply. “Good,” she smirked, eyes full of a mischief all their own, “because I’m not done with you yet.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @spartanguard @wingedlioness @jennjenn615 @allofdafandoms-blog @therooksshiningknight @kday426 @revanmeetra87 @quicksilvermad @capswantrue @linda8084 @branlovesouat @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89

#cssns #cs au mc #cs werewolf au #belle #graham #ruby #run to me (in the dead of night)#chapter four

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