#clearly not her first time peering at young men from a distance

[javelinbk]

The fans of Shea Stadium, 15th August 1965

The parents

The police/support staff

[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery

- Chapter 10 (ao3) -

tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 (interlude), part 9

-

In Lan Wangji’s view, the best part about the upcoming visit by Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen wasn’t the excuse to drag a tetchy and reluctant Jiang Cheng night-hunting, nor the chance to meet such interesting and swiftly famous cultivators, or even the vanishingly rare opportunity to learn more about Wei Wuxian by exploring his heritage on his mother’s side.

No – it was definitely the way the mere concept transformed Jiang Cheng into a stuttering teenaged admirer about to see their revered idol for the first time.

“You remember that they are both nearly ten years your junior?” he asked as Jiang Cheng fussed around, alternating between worrying himself sick for not being prepared to receive guests (for all that the Jiang sect had been receiving honored guests for years at this point) and bragging about the exploits of their soon-arriving guests to the fascinated flock of children dogging his heels.

“No more than seven or eight at most,” Jiang Cheng objected, and Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Anyway, that’s not the point. Look at how accomplished they both are! When I was that age, I hadn’t done anything!”

Lan Wangji didn’t think that was entirely right. When Jiang Cheng had been the age Xiao Xingcheng and Song Zichen were now, he’d endured the loss of his sect and rebuilt it from nothing, acting more or less singlehandedly while still finding time to fight the Wen sect shoulder-to-shoulder with the other Great Sects and also search for the missing Wei Wuxian with Lan Wangji.

He opted not to mention it.

Let Jiang Cheng keep his illusions and ignore the steady encroachment of time.

“You’re calling me old in your head,” Jiang Cheng said accusingly, and Lan Wangji pasted an innocent expression on his face as confirmation. “You are, you bastard! You know you’re older than me, right?”

Lan Wangji could get a great deal of out of an admission like that.

“That’s not what I meant! We’re peers, you…!” Jiang Cheng huffed. “Listen, you’d better be on your best behavior around our guests, all right? I don’t want them to be scared off just because it looks like you’re glowering whenever you think –”

“I’ll follow your example, then, and simply not think at all.”

“Go jump off a pier!”

The children all giggled.

“You’re all going to be on best behavior too,” Jiang Cheng told them, fierce as a hissing domestic cat and just as adorably toothless. “You hear me? All of you! A-Yuan, A-Ling, that means you’re going to be cute but not spoiled, while A-Yu can – actually, just do the same as them in an age-appropriate way, you’re cute enough –”

Mo Xuanyu beamed.

“Still, we don’t know what they’re like. Start by being a little reserved – not too loud –”

Lan Sizhui waved for attention as if they were in a classroom.

“…yes?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking vaguely resigned and grumpy in a way that was clearly meant to conceal how unbearably charming he found the gesture.

“Can I be called Sizhui this time?” Lan Sizhui asked eagerly. “I’m old enough!”

Jiang Cheng frowned a bit, and Lan Wangji understood. The Jiang sect generally didn’t use courtesy names until the child in question had mastered a full sword routine, usually age eight or nine, and close family almost never made the switch in full; from what Lan Wangji knew, Jiang Yanli had called Jiang Cheng ‘A-Cheng’ right up until the end of her life, not to mention referring routinely to Wei Wuxian, who she’d only met when he was already old enough to use his courtesy name, as ‘A-Xian’. The Lan sect, in contrast, started using courtesy names almost exclusively once a child was old enough to leave his parents, typically age three or four – Lan Wangji had been calling Lan Sizhui by name for years already, and had been needling Jiang Cheng to pick it up as well without success.

“I’ll introduce you,” Lan Wangji offered, saving Jiang Cheng the awkwardness of having to explain or decline or, worst of all for someone like Jiang Cheng, accidentally slip up and say something sappy like you’ll always be A-Yuan to me.

Lan Sizhui nodded, satisfied, and next to him, Jin Ling frowned. “What about me?” he asked. “Am I going to be Rulan?”

“The Jin sect is the last of the Great Sects in using courtesy names,” Jiang Cheng said, finally on more solid ground. “Not until you get your sword, and that’s not until you’re eleven. Or twelve!”

“But I already have a sword…”

“The age you would be if you were getting your own,” Lan Wangji interjected. “To make it fair to all the rest.”

That seemed to reassure Jin Ling, who nodded. “Good,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna be Rulan, anyway…jiujiu, when did you say these guests would be arriving?”

That, of course, sent Jiang Cheng back into a flurry of activity, and Lan Wangji shook his head, long-suffering. “You’ve hosted entire discussion conferences,” he pointed out to Jiang Cheng. “There are only two cultivators this time. It is far easier.”

“Is it?” Jiang Cheng shot back. “Is it really?”

In contrast to the expectation and build up leading up to it, the actual arrival of Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen was rather unremarkable. They arrived just as the sun was setting, two young men, one beautiful and the other handsome, both valiant heroes with faces that shone with kindness and righteousness. Xiao Xingchen’s face was curved in a gentle smile, Song Zichen set in a neutral expression. Both seemed sincere and respectful when they bowed deeply in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure and honor to host such heroes,” Jiang Cheng said, nodding his head regally in return. He really had at some point learned how to fake being a competent and confident sect leader, and it might have even had the effect he was going for if it wasn’t for the small gaggle of children very eagerly stealing peeks from next to him – but Lan Wangji wasn’t going to be the one to tell on them. “I’ve heard many stories of your adventures, and I have long looked forward to meeting you in person. My Lotus Pier is open to you for as long as you require.”

“Sect Leader Jiang is upright and straightforward, well known for his righteousness,” Xiao Xingchen said, and perhaps only Lan Wangji knew precisely why Jiang Cheng flushed with such pleasure at a compliment more commonly applied to Nie Mingjue. “We are happy to be here as your guests.”

Jiang Cheng nodded a second time, still a little stiff and wooden. “You have traveled quite a distance. Are you tired or hungry..?”

They shook their heads in refusal.

Jiang Cheng darted a glance at Lan Wangji, then turned back to them, finally relaxing out of the excess formality that suited Jin Guangshan far more than it did Jian Cheng. “In that case,” he said, his voice a little dry. “Upon the suggestion of certain of my advisors, would you prefer to cut the boring small talk and go out on a night-hunt instead?”

Xiao Xingchen’s face split into a genuine smile, and even Song Zichen’s severity seemed a little eased.

“What an excellent idea, Sect Leader Jiang,” Xiao Xingchen said warmly. “We’d be happy to. I was just telling Song Zichen not long ago that it seemed as though we hadn’t been on a proper hunt in far too long.”

“You think you have problems, try being a sect leader,” Jiang Cheng replied impulsively, then turned red when he realized how rude he’d just been. “That is, I mean – well, there’s not nearly as much free time, that’s all.”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. It gave Lan Wangji a good impression of him: light-hearted and lively, his demeanor kind and good-humored. Despite the lack of blood relation, Lan Wangji was reminded of Wei Wuxian – although perhaps that was just his wistful thinking.

“Well, there’s a reason Zichen and I haven’t started our own just yet,” he said mischievously. “There’s time for that later, after all. Youth is when you make a name for yourself! And speaking of which, I’ve heard plenty about your own prowess, Sandu Shengshou. I admit I’m looking forward to seeing Zidian in action.”

Jiang Cheng looked unbearably pleased at the compliment, clearly sincerely meant, and something in Lan Wangji’s heart that he hadn’t even known was tense finally eased.

He hadn’t realized that he himself was nervous about this meeting – less for his own sake, although he burned with curiosity to learn everything he could about Wei Wuxian, than for Jiang Cheng, who had longed for this meeting so much, cared so much. Lan Wangji found to his bemusement that he had even been a little afraid: afraid that the two strangers would be cold or arrogant, afraid that they’d reject Jiang Cheng tentative overtures of friendship – that Jiang Cheng would be disappointed.

Lan Wangji might enjoy teasing Jiang Cheng into a frenzy, but that was his prerogative. In fact, one could argue that it was only what he was due for having lived with and put up with the man for so long. He’d been the one who’d been there all this time, the one who’d put in so much effort to help rebuild him back into the man he could be rather than the wreck he had been; he’d earned the right to mock him.  

No one else was entitled to so much as touch the hem of his robes.

“I have heard much of your matchless skill as well, Hanguang-jun,” Song Zichen said, his voice unexpectedly deep, and Lan Wangji’s attention came back to him as he returned the man’s salute. They both had reputations for being closed-mouthed ice-blocks, and it seemed to Lan Wangji that Song Zichen was probably just reserved, like him, rather than truly standoffish.

“You’re in for a treat, then,” Jiang Cheng said with a faint smirk. “Whether in sword or music, few can match Hanguang-jun’s talents, and he never stints on displaying them.”

To the untried ear, perhaps Jiang Cheng sounded bitter or jealous, and given his competitive mania he probably was, a little, but to Lan Wangji he sounded more smug than anything else, as proud as if he were the one being praised.

With everything settled, they headed off at once.

The subject of the night-hunt was nothing terribly exciting – a troop of fierce corpses ravaging the countryside that someone had finally managed to divine the location of, with the only interesting aspect about them being that they were unusually fast-moving – so there was plenty of time for them to talk as they followed the trail.

Lan Wangji expected Jiang Cheng to start asking questions about the immortal mountain and Wei Wuxian’s mother at once – Jiang Cheng might be prideful and thin-faced, prone to shame and overthinking, but he’d been raised along Wei Wuxian, who was second to none in shamelessness, and Lan Wangji was well aware of how much he hungered for that knowledge.

Of course, probably as a direct result of Lan Wangji’s expectations, Jiang Cheng went for a completely different target.

“It’s said that we live in an age of young heroes,” he remarked, seemingly casual. “Of course, for most of us, that was simply the inevitable result of war – crisis demands the best from people, regardless of age. Without such necessity to spur us onwards, most of us probably would’ve been still kicking our heels even now, whereas you two became heroes as soon as you arrived…how old are you now, again?”

“We are both twenty-one,” Song Zichen said, and Lan Wangji used the moment to glare over at Jiang Cheng when he mouthed six years at him – was this really the time to quibble over something as pointless as the exact age gap between them, which he’d clearly inquired about for no other purpose than to prove Lan Wangji’s earlier assumption wrong? This was Wei Wuxian’s martial uncle here! They should be getting all the information out of him that they could!

(Lan Wangji had long ago decided that when it came to feuding over minor matters with Jiang Cheng, he would be as gracious in defeat as his opponent…which was to say, not at all.)

Jiang Cheng smirked at him, knowing what he was thinking, but then – finally – turned the subject onto the immortal mountain, or more specifically its former disciples.

This time it was Song Zichen’s turn to relax minutely, Lan Wangji noticed. A moment’s thought revealed the reason: they’d probably feared cultivators asking questions that were far more pointed than what they were getting from them – cultivators greedy for the secrets of immortality. No wonder they so assiduously avoided being hosted by the Great Sects, and had done so even before Lanling Jin had gotten in the way of their heroism.

Well, luckily for them, the interest Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji had was a little more…down to earth.

“Cangse Sanren was a talent to shake the ages,” Xiao Xingchen said, his eyes bright and expression enthusiastic. “It was as if anything she turned her mind to, she excelled at, and she turned her mind to all sorts of things without discrimination – painting, poetry, swordsmanship…” He paused, then firmed his shoulders. “I heard that her son was much the same..?”

Lan Wangji felt a smile want to come up to his lips.

It seemed that Xiao Xingchen was just as interested in finding out more about his martial nephew as they were in finding out more about Wei Wuxian’s martial uncle.

Jiang Cheng glanced over at Lan Wangji, who nodded very shallowly, indicating his approval. In his judgment, both of them seemed safe enough: trustworthy, and not like people who would spread gossip.

They could talk about Wei Wuxian.

Talk truly about him, praising his good points and speaking fondly of his faults…these two, Lan Wangji thought, wouldn’t judge them harshly for failing to condemn him, and they wouldn’t tell anyone else, either.

Later, after they’d finished dispatching the ghouls – and the Wei Wuxian portion of the conversation, for which Jiang Cheng had taken the lead and which a listening Lan Wangji had enjoyed tremendously, largely on account of Xiao Xingchen’s genuine enthusiasm for learning everything he could about the martial nephew he had only just barely missed meeting, fearsome Yiling Patriarch or not – Jiang Cheng finally and regretfully brought them back to the original subject.

“I heard that you two are collecting allies to go after Xue Yang,” he said, and pretended (just as Lan Wangji did) to ignore the way Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen suddenly glanced at each other. “I’ll support that, of course. From everything I’ve heard, he’s become a mad dog, trying to bite anyone he sees. Hasn’t he been launching all sorts of raids on sects left and right these past few years?”

They nodded.

“Rather pointless ones,” Song Zichen said, a deep frown on his face. “He runs in and causes chaos, then flees into the night – he barely even stops to kill people, and almost never steals treasures. At most he goes to make trouble by defacing the walls of some of the ancestral tombs…we can see no sense in it. The only explanation is that his demonic cultivation has in fact driven him mad.”

Demonic cultivation didn’t necessarily drive a person mad. That was something Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng had painfully learned over the years, much to Jiang Cheng’s distress. However, it certainly didn’t help maintain calmness or peace of mind; there was every chance that a delinquent like Xue Yang had had his temperament worsened by demonic cultivation, leading to his present circumstances.

“Indeed,” Jiang Cheng said noncommittally. “I really have only question for you, then.”

Knowing where this was going, Lan Wangji turned his gaze on their guests’ expression.

“Haven’t you been chasing him on your own for all these years now, trying to get him to go to trial for his crimes, refusing any offers of help?” Jiang Cheng asked, his voice suddenly pointed. “Why the sudden change in favor of asking for help now?”

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen shared another long look between them.

Finally, Xiao Xingchen cleared his throat. “In truth,” he said, “we spread that rumor as a smokescreen. We’re not looking for allies, generally speaking…we really only wanted a reason to ask for your help.”

Jiang Cheng stopped and stared, visibly surprised. Lan Wangji kept his expression more neutral, but privately he was just as taken aback; when they’d discussed this earlier, planning out this conversation in advance, that wasn’t even remotely one of the possibilities they’d considered.

“My help?” Jiang Cheng asked cautiously. “Or…?”

“Yours and Hanguang-jun,” Song Zichen said. “We weren’t sure who else to turn to.”

“What’s the issue?” Jiang Cheng asked, waving a hand to halt their forward progress. A good idea, in Lan Wangji’s view: it was the middle of the night, and they were in the middle of the forest in the back hills near the Lotus Pier, with no one around for a good distance except for trusted Jiang sect disciples – if there needed to be privacy for this discussion, this was the best place for it.

Another shared glance.

Lan Wangji slanted a glance of his own to Jiang Cheng, who returned it: they’d been right, there really was something unusual with this visit.

They stood in silence for a while.

Finally, Xiao Xingchen yielded. “Very well,” he said, and met Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “Sect Leader Jiang…can you tell us what you know about the Ghost General?”

Jiang Cheng stiffened, his fists clenching.

Lan Wangji’s heart felt just as stiff. He stepped forward.

“There are many people who can tell you about Wen Ning,” he said neutrally, watching them carefully. “Assuming that what you wish to know is how he fought or his transformation into a conscious fierce corpse. Is your concern that Xue Yang has replicated the technique and created his own ghost general?”

He didn’t think it would be that. As he’d said, everyone knew what Wen Ning had done once he’d become the Ghost General – the Jin sect would know far better than either of them how fearsome he was, since it was at Jinlin Tower that he had erupted in his final massacre. If they wanted to know about fierce corpses in general, they could go there.

To come here, to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji – the only two people who were known to have gone up to the Yiling Burial Mounds while Wei Wuxian lived there with Wen Ning at his side, the only living people who knew what the Ghost General was like when he wasn’t being a weapon, to know what Wen Ning was like as a person – suggested something different.

Something impossible.

Xiao Xingchen met his eyes. “It is not.”

“Wen Ning was destroyed,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice tight and unsteady. “He murdered my brother-in-law, my nephew’s father, and when Lanling Jin demanded his head as retribution, he and his sister went to them under pretense of surrender and murdered even more of them before they were taken down. He was destroyed.”

They said nothing.

“The former Sect Leader Jin was very interested in demonic cultivation,” Lan Wangji said slowly. “While Wei Wuxian lived, he sought to claim the Stygian Tiger Seal. When he died…”

He glanced at Jiang Cheng a second time. They had not discussed the subject of the Siege of the Burial Mounds in any detail, as it inevitably put Jiang Cheng into a terrible frame of mind, and Lan Wangji remembered with a shudder the state they had both been in at that fateful meeting – he didn’t want to remember it himself, much less bring back bad memories for Jiang Cheng.

They certainly hadn’t discussed the subject of spoils. The only thing that had ever brought it to mind was the silent presence of Chenqing lying in place of pride in the Jiang sect’s memorial hall as the substitute for the memorial tablet they could not afford to raise for Wei Wuxian.

It hadn’t seemed relevant.

It was now.

“Sect Leader Jin took it,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, his voice shaking a little. “The Stygian Tiger Seal was broken in two, and Wei Wuxian destroyed one of the halves – the Jin sect claimed the other, saying that they were going to destroy it. I think they took more than that, too…I know they took Suibian, but they also took all the papers that’d been left in the cave. I always suspected that that was why they were so protective of Xue Yang, who was a demonic cultivator himself – that Jin Guangshan wanted to squeeze him for information, or maybe even use him to figure out some of Wei Wuxian’s notes…”

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head furiously.

“Wen Ning was destroyed,” he insisted. “The Jin sect scattered his ashes! They – they…”

“They lied,” Song Zichen said.

Lan Wangji pressed his lips together. He had no particularly warm feelings towards Wen Ning, who had been Wei Wuxian’s shadow in that last year or so of life when Wei Wuxian had turned his back on the world – a position Lan Wangji would have given his left arm to have, and over which he had had all sorts of inappropriate feelings of envy and stifled, unjustified possessiveness – but Jiang Cheng took the man’s existence far more personally.

In Jiang Cheng’s view, it had been for Wen Ning that Wei Wuxian had stolen the Wen sect remnants, for Wen Ning that Wei Wuxian had abjured his relationship with the Jiang sect and Jiang Cheng himself, for Wen Ning that Wei Wuxian had given up everything, and yet simultaneously it had also been Wen Ning that had pushed him to the very brink and over. Wen Ning who had murdered Jin Zixuan – Wen Ning who Wei Wuxian had so brutally avenged in the massacre at the Nightless City, at which Jiang Yanli had died.

Wen Ning, who they thought had been destroyed.

“We believe that the former Sect Leader Jin hid Wen Ning away instead of destroying him, then gave Xue Yang access to him, just as he did with the Tiger Seal and Wei Wuxian’s notes,” Xiao Xingchen said, his face solemn. “We also believe that Xue Yang took Wen Ning away with him when he escaped Jinlin Tower once the former sect leader died and the current sect leader took over. We believe that he has been controlling him through demonic cultivation, using him as something of an – accomplice, or something of the sort.”

“Controlling him how?” Jiang Cheng asked. They paused, and he continued, “I’m not stupid. You’re very sure that Wen Ning’s not gone, which means you located him and saw something that made you think so. What was it?”

Lan Wangji nodded shallowly, approving of Jiang Cheng’s deduction – and of the self-mastery he was demonstrating in not exploding in rage on the spot.

“He had nails in his head,” Xiao Xingchen said. “He…the Ghost General was mindless and unthinking, but strong. Very strong. He…”

He trailed off, and shook his head, seeming a bit sad.

“What help do you require from us?” Lan Wangji said, suddenly sick of the tension, and he saw Jiang Cheng throw him a look full of relief for having raised the question.

“Hanguang-jun is right,” Jiang Cheng said, backing him up at once. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you need us for? You two are heroes, and half the cultivation world would sell their firstborn child for a chance to bring down the Ghost General to increase their fame – there’s no way you came here just to get our help in bringing him down. If that’s what you wanted, it wouldn’t have needed to be us, and there wouldn’t have needed to be a smokescreen. What do you want?”

“We want to heal him,” Xiao Xingchen said solemnly. “To bring back his consciousness and return his sanity. But we don’t know what he was like, before Xue Yang. The only ones that do are the two of you.”

“You do remember that he killed my brother-in-law?” Jiang Cheng asked, his voice sharp.

“At Wei Wuxian’s order,” Song Zichen responded, equally sharp. “You do not blame the sword for the men it kills.”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes briefly, in pain at the reminder. He took a breath, steadying himself, and then another.

He opened his eyes.

“We will help,” he said, and ignored the betrayed look Jiang Cheng shot his way. They would talk about it later, and he would help Jiang Cheng see that this was what they had to do, no matter how painful. “And we will not betray the secret of his existence.”

“Thank you,” Xiao Xingchen said, and saluted deeply; Song Zichen did as well. “And yet, we have more we would ask of you.”

“Spit it out, then,” Jiang Cheng growled.

“Finding Wen Ning had shown us that Xue Yang’s actions have gone truly beyond the pale, beyond redemption,” Song Zichen said, and his voice was fierce. That wasn’t surprising: it had been his childhood home, his master and fellow disciples, that Xue Yang had attacked. “He is, as you said, a mad dog, biting all that he can – I believe that Wen Ning was his only companion as he fled, chased by the whole cultivation world these past few years. I fear what Xue Yang will do now that his last connection to humanity is gone. He is capable of anything.”

“We must find him,” Xiao Xingchen agreed. “We must find Xue Yang, and we must stop him from doing – whatever it is that he will do next. I cannot even begin to imagine the atrocities he might perpetrate. And so we must ask…”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng said, and they both looked at him, surprised. “We’ll help you heal Wen Ning, and we’ll even help you hunt down Xue Yang. But this time, no excuses, no dragging your feet, no waiting for a proper trial, nothing like that. He dies, you hear me? Xue Yang is to be killed on sight!”

“I agree,” Lan Wangji said, folding his hands together behind his back. He had helped Jiang Cheng in pursuing and judging demonic cultivators before – there were those that could be granted mercy, and those for whom the only just answer was death; time and too many second chances had made inescapably clear that Xue Yang was the latter. “Each time you have sought to bring him to trial, he has taken advantage of your devotion to justice to escape.”

Xiao Xingchen looked at Song Zichen, who nodded firmly; a moment later, Xiao Xingchen sighed and nodded himself. “Agreed,” he said. “You will help us?”

“We will,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, and Lan Wangji nodded in full support. “It would be a pleasure to wipe that trash off the face of this earth.”

-

The town was full of mist and fog, choking the throat and making it hard to breathe or see; the feng shui of the entire valley was as bad as could be, and there was more miasma than there was air.

“You there, drunkard, what are you doing!” someone shouted at a figure lying halfway in the door of a house that was filled to the brim with coffins. “Don’t mock our livelihood! Just because it’s a coffin house doesn’t make it a good place to play dead!”

The figure stirred.

But I’m not playing dead, he thought, rubbing his aching head with one hand, noticing that he seemed to be missing his little finger. I actually was dead, wasn’t I?

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes.

[eugenesmorphine]

Hi! Can I request for some Ronald Speirs with a women from an enemy side,like a german nurse/prisoner smth like that😁

AN: I have returned. I know, from the hole of depression and school. I hope to be more active, so imagines will be coming out more. This one isn't my best since i'm trying to get back into the swing of things. But, regardless, I hope you enjoy.

First Sightings // A Ronald Speirs Imagine

Words: 2,365

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @ricksmorty @punkgeekcryptid !@hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @valterras @adamantiumdragonfly

It was early within the morning when Easy Company quietly invaded a small town overtaken by the German army. About three in the morning to be exact. Hiding beneath the cover of the darkened sky, the moonlight shining down dully between the trees and clouds.

The town had been converted into a small base, or headquarters for the Germans. Most of the homes were clearly not in use as the enemy had forced the remaining habitants out from their homes. Just a few homes were being used at barracks, and it seemed like the small town hall had been used as their aid station.

Four officers took a knee on a hill whilst using the brush as cover. Winters, Speirs, Nixon, and Compton all kneeled within a small line, close together, staring down their own scopes. Ronald Speirs pulled his scope down first and let out a scoff. Causing the three other Paratrooper officers to lower their scopes to turn towards the officer.

“Only a few guards posted out on a few balconies. For being such a “strong force”, they’re situational awareness seems to be at an all time low,” he whispered. Winters let out a quiet chuckle and turned back to the front. Bringing the scope back up to his eye. Peering over to what seemed to be their aid station. Small jeeps continued to pour in and out hourly to drop off wounded Nazi soldiers. Two nurses continued to rush in and out. Same two nurses each time. Blood covered the aprons and dresses they wore, along with their hands. It was clear even from a decent distance away.

“Looks like that aid station is quite busy. Just two nurses it seems though, got to be careful of them,” Winters stated quietly. To which Ronald just scoffed again.

“Why would they ever decide to side with them? To nurse those son’s of a bitches back to health just to come and kill our men?” Ronald asked. His eyes now steadying on the nurses in the distance. Nixon was the one to pipe up this time.

“A lot of them don’t make the choice themselves. Some of them don’t have a choice. Kind of like how we draft men. They’re people just like us. They don’t want to kill our men, the soldiers do. They merely just want to get home. Just like us,” he told him. Nixon was right. And Ronald knew that, but he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t going to, because he wasn’t that type of man. So instead, he didn’t.

“They all have a choice. Just like us,” Speirs responded. Keeping his opinion voiced. Gritting his teeth. Nixon went to sarcastically respond, but Winters clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back slightly. The location officer turned to look at his higher up. And Winters just shook his head. Knowing that his dear friend Ronald Spiers wouldn’t give up his opinion. Making the “come along” motion and quietly walking away. Nixon just sighed and followed his tail closely.

Speirs sat alone for a bit longer. His dark eyes staring down at that aid station.Watching the two nurses now standing outside as they washed blood soaked linens and bed sheets in old horse troughs filled with water. “Yeah, we all have a choice,” he repeated below his breath. Knowing no one would hear him. A small grunt came from his chapped lips and he stood up quietly. Grabbing his Thompson and turning around to follow his fellow officers back to their foxholes. They were to be invading soon, he just needed to prepare a bit.

///

It didn’t take long to take over the small base. Maybe an hour, and only minor wounds and just one fatal casualty. Speirs and the other officers had been working with the rest of the Paratroopers to take care of the prisoners and organize them to take them to the holding base.

Ronald had been hanging back a bit, just watching over the small process of everything they were doing. It was going smoothly. Until one thing popped into his mind. His back straightened and his head went up. He looked up at all the groups of captured Nazis, and even around at the bodies. They weren’t there. Where were the nurses?

In a flash he turned and began to briskly walk towards that aid station. He didn’t see their pale blue dresses and white aprons anywhere. Even as he searched while he walked. His eyes fell back towards the building where medical supplies had been being hauled out crate by crate. But still no nurses. He grumbled slightly and picked up his pace. Pushing past some soldiers and walking through the large wooden doors. Pausing when he saw a bunch of bodies laying down with sheets over their heads. Clearly the men the nurses were trying to save. He huffed and looked up. Seeing a group of men with their guns pointed at one of the nurses. The other one is still yet to be seen. The nurse with the soldiers around her all peered down at her. Her hands behind her head in surrender.

“Please, please let me see if I can help her,” she pleaded through a strong German accent. Ronald pursued closer. Wondering what she was bantering about. But as he walked closer, the officer was quick to understand. The other nurse, a pretty blonde woman, had been laying on her side. A pool of blood coming from her stomach. Ronald’s eyes widened. As much as he hated the Nazis, and what he had stated to the fellow officers, this was a war crime. And the sound of the other H/C nurse crying didn’t make him feel any better.

“Was this any of your bullets?” he asked sternly. Snapping his head towards the group of paratroopers, and weeping woman who still knelt on the wooden floor of the church. The woman was dead already, her body already beginning to turn ghost white, while the blood had stopped flooding from the wood. And her breath could not be heard. The downed nurse’s chest did not rise, nor fall.

The young paratroopers jumped at the menacing officer. Swallowing fast as they all shook their heads. One decided to finally speak up. “The woman was on the ground before we came in here, sir. We heard a gunshot and some German and rushed in here. The little lady was on the floor bleeding out, and a Kraut standing with a gun to this one’s head. He is over there,” he spoke, pointing to the dead German who was slumped against a wall. His head bent over, as he too was dead.

“They are speaking the truth, it was the German soldier that had shot her. I was next, they thought that we were the ones that had been giving information to you Americans when you first stormed here,” she paused as she tried to look away from her dead friend. Tears continued to pour down her face. “Please, I am not a threat. I had no choice but to be a nurse. I want nothing from this war. They would have killed me if I didn’t. Please, I do not want to die,” her English was broken. But so was her voice. Ronald stood there for a moment, wondering what he should do. She seemed sincere. And genuinely scared.

“I’ll bring her to Roe, he could probably use the help,” was all Speirs said. Leaving the men a little shocked. The woman slowly stood and wiped her eyes. Briskly walked past the corpses of her fellow nurse, and the rest of the bodies that were within the church. Following the paratrooper officer closely. Her flats hit the mud that was outside of the church, splashing up her legs and all over her shoes. She chose to ignore it for then, keeping silent as she walked behind the cold faced officer.

They walked in silence for quite a bit. The young nurse felt as if she was in fact a prisoner. The stares of the other Americans, her eyes stayed focused in front of her. Staring at Speir’s back.

Speirs had gotten sick of the silence. He was one for it, but sometimes it was boring. And with this woman, he felt compelled to speak to her for some odd reason. Just an itch that he wanted to at least learn her name. “What is your name, little lady?” he asked bluntly. To which the nurse perked her head up nervously yet quickly.

“My name is Y/N L/N. May I ask you yours, Army Man?” She responded. Ronald nodded to himself. Taking in her words and taking a deep breath. Rounding a corner of one of the run down buildings, continuing to head towards the aid station where the other medics had been stationed.

“My name is Ronald Speirs, Captain Speirs is what you can call me,” he responded. Y/N sat there and practiced the name under her breath. Repeating it quietly until she had gotten it right.

“You have a nice name, Captain Speirs,” she complimented. Making Ronald’s ends of his lips quirk upwards with a smile. He didn’t even realize he did it. “I wanted to thank you, and your men. For not killing me. You must know that it wasn’t our-” she paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t my choice to be this way and help the Nazi party. Many people were trapped under the work of the Nazis. Many men and women did sign up for the role for the fatherland, but many were forced, sir,” she tried to explain. Y/N was merely afraid of the worst. To be sent away and jailed, or killed. “All I wanted was my family to be safe,” she finished.

Ronald stayed silent for a moment. He remembered what he said to Winters, Welsh, and Nixon. He knew the truth, and he was just an angry type of man. But with how this young woman said certain things, how scared she sounded, how she wept and begged when they first entered that church. It made his eyes open just a little bit.

“Are you hungry?” he asked bluntly. Y/N just lifted her head a little confused at the question. She had been thinking that she was a prisoner of sorts. She didn’t exactly know how she would be treated, but definitely not like this. To be asked if she was hungry, unlike when she worked for the Germans. They pretty much told her when she was to eat, sleep, drink, use the bathroom. It was odd hearing the question after a while of just being given so many orders she was forced to do.

The young nurse didn’t understand the truth of the Americans. She wished for liberation. Prayed for it even. She was still scared she would be arrested or killed. Much like what the Russians did to the German forces. But with the company of the rather quiet, intimidating officer gave her a bit of comfort. Especially from the looks of all the men that the two walked by. The hatred filled the eyes of some, who just screamed out to blame her for helping the Germans. Y/N merely tried to ignore it, just swallowing hard and looking forward. Continuing to step through the mud.

///

When Ronald had brought Y/N to Eugene , Eugene stared up at her with surprise. “Doc, this is Y/N, she is a nurse. She is going to help you out with the wounded for now. I’m going up to HQ to figure out if we are sending her with the other prisoners or not,” he reported. Eugene just gave a respectful nod towards the officer. Y/N took a few steps towards the medic.

“I wish to help. My English isn’t the best, but I am good with my hands. I promise,” she said softly. It seemed her voice was almost permanently soft due to the harsh cold that attacked all of the soldiers. No matter what side.

Eugene just nodded and outstretched his arm to jester to the few wounded men that sat around. Y/N didn’t hesitate, she went. Kneeling in the mud and aiding a soldier that had a large shrapnel wound across the thigh and down the leg. Muttering soft prayers within her language as she began to suppress and wrap the wound.

The Officer had found himself staring. His mind was a mess. He was a close minded, but very smart man at times. Very wise for his young age. He wanted to understand. But he knew everyone had a choice. Though, he wasn’t as angry, just wanting to understand why it made her want to protect her family in a way to help the people she hated. It was a question for another time. Ronald glanced at Roe and back to the female. “If you have any problems, let me know. But other than that, keep an eye on her,” The officer spoke to the medic. Roe gave a stiff nod and looked back at his patient. A man with a bullet wound in the shoulder. And Spiers turned around and began to walk off.

As he walked, he quickly began to feel frustration bubble within himself. The image of fear etched across Y/N’s face when he had first seen her within the church, had remained burned within his mind. This was the first time he felt genuine remorse. He couldn’t tell if it was from how pretty he had found her, or the sincerity in her begging for her life. Or was it both. He hated it. He didn’t like feeling soft. Only hard and just his normal intimidating stature of an officer in charge. He wanted to brush it off, but the remorse filled his stomach with an odd feeling. He thought he was sick at first. But instead, it was butterflies. He hated it. He didn’t know why he was feeling it. But he was.

A story of love at first sight. And he didn’t know it. And neither did she.

[brownandblackpearls]

📜 🖋 𝒞ourting with 𝒟r. 𝒟evorak (Julian x BlackReader) Pt.1

PART 1 SUMMARY:

You are a reputable, young beauty of means in Vesuvia, enjoying the winter courting season. An odd letter from an odd doctor finds its way to your door. You decide to respond.

─── Julian x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── regency/historical/fantasy, courtship rituals, wealthy! MC, love letters, drama, handsome redheads

☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

“Letters for you, Miss!” The scullery maid calls through the door.

You pause your writing, hesitating over your final line before turning to answer the call.

“Come in!”

The maid strides in with your daily mail on a silver platter. As expected, there is a heap of them from various suiters, all interested in seeking your hand. 

Some young, some old, some men, some women, some wealthy, and some positively blue-blooded, they are all voracious. Usually, your interest tends to wane after weeks and weeks of these greetings each season. The feeling especially set in after getting the particular suspicion that the lords, duchesses and dukes reaching out to you were having their own maids and butlers pen these letters, a copy of an inquiry to every potential young beauty in the region.

Consequently, many of the letters did not seem to genuine, remaining vague and distanced. Polite. 

Today, however, you find your lessons to be going slow. You decide to take a break and browse through the inquiries.

“Read through them for me, Delilah?” You call out the request as you lower your pen and clean your fingers in a warm, sudsy bowl of water on your desk. Drying your hands, you apply a spot of scented lotion on your fingers before smoothing it in and sliding your delicate gloves back on.

Delilah clears her throat, interested in the letters herself. 

You had no doubt the contents of the proposals would make waves throughout the household by sunset, but all of your staff were well-meaning. Just bored during these slow winter months. Honestly, you didn’t blame them for indulging in your courting dramas.

“Well,” Delilah begins, “Here is a letter from a Clarence Dunford Winthrop, hailing from Bremens County! He greets you and wishes you a very warm winter. ‘I am most pleased to write to you, Miss ------. I possess a healthy 34 years in me, and I seek the opportunity to meet and possibly enter the idea of courtship with you. Are the tales true that you are quite fine and b-buxom…? Goodness, how forward!”

You bite back a chuckle, allowing Delilah her scandalized looks and comments. After she’s thoroughly read Winthrop’s letter, she moves on to the next.

“This one,” she exclaims, “is from a young, Fiorentina Agosti, hailing from the Suthlands. She greets you amicably and wishes you a cozy winter. ‘Dear Miss ------, I am most delighted to write to you. I am a young woman of etiquette and good breeding. I am 23 years old, and yet for one so young, I am more certain of my passions and ambition than most grown adults. I seek the window of opportunity to introduce myself and my estate to you, as I am seeking to build my relationships with the nearby families of standing. I favor women only, as I’ll need a good, feminine eye to steer my estate towards a glorious future…what a boastful girl! I hear she is very attractive, though…”

Delilah goes on, examining letter after letter, reading aloud excitedly. Finally, she lands on a slightly ragged one, with a wax seal bearing no crest. Only a simple plant pattern with dried flowers and ferns trapped to the note.

“My,” Delilah wonders, flipping the envelope, “what a...humble introduction. Let’s hope that the contents are more splendid than the package they came in!”

Delilah adjusts the paper before her and begins.

“This one,” she explains, “is from a young…doctor…in the capital, near the palace. Oh, I think I recall this one? He is of great renown, but markedly odd. Hmm…He greets you fondly and asks if…if you have ‘seasonal allergies’...? He is more than happy to forward any herbs or teas that can help soothe inflammation…as a ‘show of good faith and possible friendship’—yes, very odd...He would like to know if you would be interested in accompanying him as an honored guest to his annual medical tools gala. There will be anatomical displays as well as guest surgeon speakers. Afterwards, he would like to take you to attend the opening night of a Vesuvian theatre drama, and then dinner. I—that sounds more exhausting than eventful. Goodness….“

Despite Delilah’s somewhat opinionated concerns, your interest perks at the oddness of the inquiry and the oddness of the planned date. You’re not so sure a medical gala will be of interest to you, as you’ve never attended one before, but you would like to try.  

“Delilah, please. No more commentary. What does the rest say...?”

Delilah harrumphs, moving on. “Well, he seems certain that you will find the engagement eventful and enlightening on his personage and he hopes to show you how good of a ‘provider he can be for a woman of your means’. He has ‘no grand heritage or acreages’, but he does have one of the ‘best practices in Vesuvia’ sporting several underling surgeons and plenty of business. New blood, instead of blue blood from the looks of it, if you ask me.”

You pause, thinking it over. 

The letter all sounded personally tailored and individualized for your reception, and clearly not something that was drafted up in the monotonous manner of house staff doing as ordered. 

The doctor seems very keen in meeting you... 

...You can’t help but feel the same.

“What is his name?”

Delilah levels you an uncertain look, noticing your choice, before sharing.

“The suitor signed off as a Dr. Julian Devorak.”

“Devorak,” you try out, rolling the name around in your mouth. 

It feels good.

“Thank you Delilah. You may place the letters in my box, save for the doctor’s. Please bring his to me, as well as my pen and good ink. I’ll also need the courting stationery.”

Delilah sours slightly before perking back up and doing as ordered quickly. She clearly does not approve of the choice but remembers her place, and knows that you are not one to be bossed. 

You wait until she delivers the stationery and retreats from your room before turning to your pen and paper, glancing at the letter from the doctor.

You perfume the parchment slightly, and use a fine, shimmering ink to dot the thick, French paper. You being to write, peering at your refined, swirling letters.

“Dear Sir…I take the first opportunity to acknowledge the flattering letter with which you have favored me…your discernment is of my deep interest, as well as your detailed plans for our hopeful outing. I consent to the date and time, and I look forward to your academic gala, as well as the theater and subsequent dinner. I implore that you arrive to chaperone me long before the sun is high in the sky, as we may need much time together that I am wont to spend with you. I will admit, I find you very curious and am interested to learn more of you. Warm Regards, ------.”

You finalize the paper with a neat calligraphy of your signature, before cleanly folding and pressing the letter. You choose a lovely envelope and seal it with wax before stamping and sending it off with Delilah to be mailed. 

“Hmm. Odd man,” you murmur to yourself, before moving on to send responses to the other requests of interest. 

The days pass by, eventful.

You go on several dates, some of note and some not so much. 

A few remain in your mind of potential. There was a beautiful countess seeking companionship after a split from her count…Nadia. Buxom and svelte, she was also the epitome of regality, and a brown-skinned beauty like yourself. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. 

There was also Asra, a mischievous but enchanting merchant king. You suspected a penchant for the occult on his end, but his beautiful face was too good of a distraction to focus on what may hide behind it. 

Then there was Muriel, a mysterious man with one of the largest claims of land in Vesuvia. He was fidgety and reserved, but you sensed a deep soul in him. 

Portia, the jeweler of the aristocracy, and her passionate stares paired with her down-to-earth jokes were enough to make you lower your guards and raise your spirits. 

Lastly,  Lucio. Oddly enough, he turned out to be the count that split with Nadia. You found his countenance alarming at first, only to later find a subtle charm in his passion for life, luxury and you.

All of them were far more interesting than the duds you’d went on dates with the past few weeks. 

Valdemar, the ambassador, had spilled soup all over your dress during a brunch while he spoke wildly about some conquest of his past. Then there’d been Volta, an odd little thing that insisted on trying all these unappealing, exotic dishes. There’d been Vlastomil, a weevil of a person who seemed more eager to gossip cruelly than to learn of you. And lastly...most memorably...there was Valdemar…you weren’t too sure what Valdemar did, but you were certain whatever it was, you wanted absolutely no part in it.

Weary from all the courting, you put your best face forward and hoped this day ended up being a delight instead of another disaster.

Foregoing flat-ironing, blowouts, presses, braids and twists this time, you decide to arrange for your servants to outfit you in lovely, long locs for the evening. You line them with fine silver trinkets, baubles, and rings before arranging your makeup to perfection and dressing in your finest, warm regards from the tailor.

Today was the day with the doctor, and you wanted to see exactly what kind of man he was. 

You donned a beautiful gown beneath your long, furred coat and lined your neck with a shining collar of diamonds. The winter snow would reflect stunningly off of them, as well as you.

Perfumed, plucked, and preened, you stand, assessing yourself in the mirror.

Vesuvia’s treasure.

You laugh, satisfied with the show stopping look, before leaving your room. You almost bump into a servant, rushing in to announce to you that the doctor has arrived with a carriage for you both.

“Let him in,” you say kindly, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a large, black carriage awaits. You lift your chest, square your shoulders, and raise your chin, allowing your lashes to lower and your aura to project.

You descend the stairs of your home into the grand hall, your eyes pinning the man that entered and awaited below, greeted politely by your staff.

‘Oh,’ you realize.

He’s gorgeous.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Tall, tousled, and terribly attractive, Julian Devorak watched you, open-mouthed, as if you are some sort of ethereal being that decided to grace his mortal existence. Descending the marble stairs, you feel him watch every step you take until you finally reach the landing.

You decide to close the distance and break the ice when he makes no move, still in awe of you. No need for those stars in his eyes, you think. You want him dazzled, not anxious or elevating you to something or someone that is inaccessible.

He is here in your home, after all. If you were inaccessible to him, he wouldn’t be.

“Hello Dr. Devorak,” you grace easily, smiling. “I’m ------. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“J-Julian, please, no need for extraneous titles,” he insists in a light stammer. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.”

‘Aaw,’ you think to yourself, looking fondly at him. You’ve heard the line so many times before, but somehow, the words sound so genuine coming off of his tongue. You also like the sound of his voice very much. He sounds like how he looks, you realize.

Julian mistakes your silence for something bad, and rushes to fill it.

“I-I can’t tell you how…how long I’ve anticipated today.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head in wonder. 

Were you the only one he was querying? That wasn’t possible. There had to be others. You respond pleasantly.

“I’m honored...’Julian’. But I’m sure an interesting man such as yourself is entertaining many acquaintances and possess many options.”

Julian blushes, surprising you. He shakes his head, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Not exactly,” he offers, leaving it there.

Your brow lifts in wonder. 

“Really...? But I loved your letter. I’ve reread it several times and am not afraid to say so. I find you quite striking.”

If possible, Julian blushes even harder at that, daring to hold your gaze. You see an odd sort of mask arise on him then, a false yet endearing bravado. You don’t call it out and simply watch as he does his best to disguise his rampant shyness.

“Ah...thank you madam! But not nearly so striking as one such as yourself! Why, I remember the feeling of when I first laid eyes on you. It was as if  lightning had struck me.”

Your eyes widen in pleasure, curious. 

“Such flattery! Where did this occur?”

Julian smiles triumphantly, happy to visibly pique your interest.

“The theater! I noticed you in your private box and it was then I decided that I must inquire to learn more about you.”

Your smile broadens, and you can’t help but step closer. Julian feels very comfortable and warm, even with the pomp.

“So that’s how you knew I’d enjoy the theater!” You exclaim. You had wondered about it since his letter first arrived. He could’ve invited you to any event, any activity, and yet he knew the theater was the right choice...

Julian tenses as you near, unsure of where to look. You can’t tell if he wants you closer or farther away. You decide to hold firm and give him time to sort it out for himself.

“I-uh…yes.” He swallows thickly. “Allow me to enlighten you of the day’s activities in the carriage…?”

You nod, realizing that your questioning is holding the both of you up from your date. You step back, cowed.

“Of course! My apologies.”

Julian swiftly holds out a broad, gloved hand for you to take. The gentleman’s escorting hold.

“No need to apologize,” Julian insists, guiding your offered palm gently, “I...I actually should be the one to apologize.” He bites his lip, thinking of some unknown err. 

You glance at him as the two of you step out the front door together, waved off by your staff.

“Whatever for…?”

Julian looks sheepish, rounding you both to the carriage door and opening it for you.

“I....well!”  He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth. “I was...told by a confidant very recently that the medical gala may have some things that are not...er, conducive for a romantic atmosphere. So I must ask...you’re not squeamish of leeches, are you?”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not copy, repost, or edit. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[sami-at-ciela]

Prompt 4: Baleful

Or: “MEN HAVE COOTIES. *Cooties not confirmed with certainty.”

Or: “Momma said there’d be days like this.”

Spoilers for Shadowbringers. Again. Because That’s where I am guys.

When Minfilia woke up that day, she was paralyzed by a feeling of dread, not even wanting to leave her bed due to a distinct hunch that terrible things were going to happen. Not extremely terrible, but terrible enough to make a girl not want to leave her room.

The group would move on eventually. This stop at the Crystarium was supposed to be brief. Terrified of the nebulous badness as she was, she knew she would have to leave her room eventually.

The first thing she did was open the door into Thancred’s face.

“Oh no, I-I’m sorry,” Minfilia stammered. Thancred wasn’t quite the type to explode into castigation, but sometimes the coldness she got from him was enough.

Thancred grumbled and rubbed his nose. “Maybe don’t open your door so fast next time?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. But how could I have known you were walking by?

“Fine.” Thancred dug into a pocket and dug out a bag of ammunition that had to be twice as large as usual. “Your homework for today.”

Minfilia accepted the bag and immediately noticed the heft. “How much is in here…?” she asked, even though she knew she shouldn’t have.

“Enough for the next mission,” Thancred said. “Go on.” With that, he walked off, looking stormy as ever.

Though the exchange hadn’t been completely negative, Minfilia couldn’t help but shudder. She was used to people being cold or thorny to her, sure, but the sting never quite dissipated completely. Shaking her head, she went to find a place to wait and imbue bullets for the next hour or so.

That place ended up being the stairs in front of the Ocular. It was a decent vantage point to people watch without being too distracted by commotion. Sighing, she took the first of many bullets out of the bag, called aether to her fingertips, and began to work.

Said work was swiftly interrupted by a racket from behind her. “You can’t throw me out of here! What’re you gonna do next time you want a private meeting? Look, you can’t even body block me, I could jump over your head!” The diatribe was followed by a shriek of “Who gave you permission to have me dragged out by security?!” and the slamming of the Ocular door.

Minfilia turned around to see Rhea still shouting insults at the Ocular door. “What, did you crap crystals out sideways this morning?!”

The door opened, the Exarch stuck his head out, said something that she couldn’t quite hear, and slammed the door again.

Rhea finally abandoned the Ocular door after a veritable roar of frustration, veritably fuming as she walked down the stairs, at least until she spotted Minfilia. “Oh, hi, Minfi. Sorry about the ruckus, but someone woke up with a crystal stick all the way up his-”

“Minfi?”

Calling out the nickname jarred Rhea out of her diatribe. “Er. Minfilia. Sorry. I just thought you deserved a cute nickname.”

Minfilia paused and mulled it over, a small smile coming to her face. The idea of a nickname was nice, a small bit of personalization for someone whose path was all laid out for her, even if that personalization was still from someone else. “I like it.”

“Good!” Rhea reached out to pat Minfilia on the head, and thought better of it. “Uh. I want to give you head pats, but do you even like them? I saw Thancred do it, but he too has a giant crystal stick somewhere unpleasant, so.”

“I don’t mind it.” Minfilia decided that was truthful; those occasional head pats from Thancred were something of a blessing. They felt nice, and for a brief moment, she wondered who else had been fortunate enough to receive a gentle touch from such warm hands.

“Fair. If I pat your head too hard, just let me know, okay?” Rhea administered two quick, measured pats.

“Oh!” Minfilia wasn’t expecting the pats even though she was. “Um, that wasn’t bad. Just different.”

“Also fair,” Rhea said. “I’ll give you better ones when I’m not contemplating blasting a hole in the Ocular door.”

“Why would you do that?”

Before Rhea explained, she peered in the distance and saw a familiar figure striding up to the stairs. “Hey, Alisaie, over here!” she called out with a wave.

Alisaie pivoted to face Rhea without missing a beat. With a remarkable quickness, she was in front of the duo on the stairs. “Rhea, Minfilia. Having a stair-sitting party today?”

Minfilia shrugged. “I thought it would be a nice place to work,” she said as she gestured with the bullet still in her hand.

Rhea gave a huff. “Yes. It’s in protest. The Exarch woke up cranky as crystal cat litter today, summoned me to argue about something stupid, and then kicked me out even though he started it. So he’s going to see nothing but my backside today.”

Alisaie snorted. “A lover’s quarrel?”

“What? No.” Rhea jolted, and the words fell out somewhat by accident. The truth was more complicated than a flat “no,” but she wasn’t going to go into that at this moment. “Maybe I should strip naked and dance in front of the door… except I think he might enjoy that, just a bit.”

“Right, lover’s quarrel it is then,” Alisaie said with a cheeky grin.

“Stoppat,” Rhea grunted, deliberately mashing the words together. She looked over to see Minfilia covering her mouth and obviously trying to hold back the giggles. “It’s okay, Minfi, someday you’ll find a man or woman or person in general who you want to punch but also smother in your bosom, just a little.”

“Minfi? Oh,” Alisaie said as she put two and two together. “You’re really not helping your case of it not being a lover’s quarrel, Rhea.”

“Stoooooop,” Rhea whined, reaching forward to teasingly pull Alisaie’s ponytail but thinking better of it because, while Alphinaud would whine and squirm, Alisaie would take her hand off. “Well, anyway, what brings you out here? I’ve explained myself, and I can only assume that Minfilia’s out here because Thancred is being extra Thancred-y today. Right?”

Minfilia looked down, ashamed. “I opened a door in his face today.”

“That’s okay. He’s being a jerk, especially to you, and I’m mad at him,” Rhea said. “You can be mad at him too, you know.”

Alisaie cut in with her explanation. “Alphinaud woke up all aflutter because he had a dream where he had to paint… someone. He wasn’t clear about it but he was clearly disturbed, so I left him to panic on his own.”

“Let me guess, a nude painting?” Rhea asked.

“How did you know? I do believe he mentioned that,” Alisaie mused, raising her hand to her chin in the Leveilleur twins’ signature thinking position.

“Aww, baby’s having his first smutty dreams,” Rhea said before bursting into cackles.

Alisaie scrunched her nose up. “Rhea, that’s my brother. Gross.”

“Oh, to be young,” Rhea said through a sigh. She looked over to see Minfilia scrunching her nose up too. “Sorry. Minfi. How old are you again? I’m afraid I lose all sense of scale when people are younger than 18…”

Alisaie exhaled heavily before taking a seat on the stairs next to Rhea. “So, it seems we’re all having trouble with the boys in our lives today.”

“Boys?” Rhea snickered. “Yeah, boys. The Exarch’s man license is revoked for today.” She paused, her teasing grin fading. “Which, I think, was part of the problem we were arguing over.”

“What did you do to him?” Alisaie asked. “Actually, no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

On the side, Minfilia sighed and put her still un-imbued bullet back in the bag. “Things really do get more complicated as you get older,” she muttered.

“It’s true,” Rhea said. “But there’s more opportunities, too.” A pause passed as all three women slipped into their own heads, at least until Rhea realized something. “Have either of you had breakfast? I haven’t.”

Minfilia shook her head. “That’s right… all I did was take the bullets from Thancred and come here.”

Alisaie did the same. “I woke up late and took a walk to get myself alert. No breakfast yet.”

Rhea looked at Minfilia, shocked. “That man didn’t even point you to breakfast? Ooooh, he is in for it when I see him next.” At last, she stood up, folding her arms. “That’s it. We’re having a Girls’ Morning. All three of us are going out to breakfast, and then to the markets to window shop, or actually shop depending on your preference.”

“That… sounds nice,” Minfilia said, smiling softly. It sounded like a slice of a normal life, where friends grouped up and enjoyed each other’s company, which made the idea all the more appealing.

“I agree, though I may pass on the markets,” Alisaie added.

“I hear there’s new armor in stock,” Rhea teased. “Or, as they’re calling it these days, ‘glam.’”

“Everyone knows the best ‘glam’ isn’t in stores,” Alisaie countered as she stood up. “Well? Shall we?”

Minfilia stood up in turn and followed Rhea and Alisaie, listening to the two bounce off each other. The sense of dread from her awakening had dissipated, replaced by curiosity and a tentative joy. The respite would be brief, but she would savor the moments.

[sunmoonandeddie]

the sins of the father

pairing: prince!bucky barnes x pirate!reader

word count: 10,095

summary: You were nothing more than the Siren, the She-Demon of the Seas.  At least, that’s what you thought.

warnings: POORLY WRITTEN SMUT PLEASE FORGIVE ME IDK WHAT I’M DOING.  AND BAD WORDS.

a/n:  So like. I’m real nervous about this one.  Let me know what you think.

“Captain!  Captain!”

Waves crashed up against the side of the ship, dark clouds covering the sky.  There was the promise of a storm on the wind, though it wouldn’t come for a few days, you were sure.

“It’s a perfect day for sailing, don’t you think?” You asked as you leaned against the railing of the ship, taking your spyglass away from your eye.

The footsteps that had been hurrying to you stopped a few feet away.  “Captain, there’s a ship on the horizon.  Royal Navy.”  From the voice, you could tell it was Peter.  Sweet, sweet Peter.

“Oh, really?” You said as you stared out towards the white caps.  “And which Royal Navy is it?”

“Ithair.”

Now that…  That piqued your interest.  “Ithair, you say?”

The large kingdom was one of the most powerful in the world currently.  Their Navy was tough.  It was up there alongside Sonia.

But not as tough as your men.

“They’re coming up on the port side,” Peter says, his feet nervously shuffling as he stands before you.

“Thank you, Peter,” you said as you fixed your jacket.  You knew he was waiting for orders, but you made him wait just an extra minute or two.  “Tell the men to get ready.  We’re taking this one.”

Your men were always thrown into a dither anytime you gave the order to get ready for an attack.  The excitement in the air was palpable.  From your spot on the stern, you could see the men on the other ship rushing around just as hurriedly, clearly worried by the sight of your flag flying high in the sky.

You were the most feared pirate in the seven seas.  And for good reason, too.  You took what you wanted with no apologies.  You were ruthless.

That wasn’t to say you were without honor, though.  You had rules.

No women.  No children.  If a man surrenders, allow him his life.  He’s already lost his dignity.

But the Royal Navy, well…  They didn’t allow women or children on board, and they didn’t tend to surrender.  They were stubborn like that.

“Get ready, men,” you shouted above the rabble as you unsheathed your jewel encrusted cutlass.  Your left hand touched the handle of your dagger that your kept strapped to your thigh, ensuring that it was there.

You’d never lost a fight before and you weren’t planning on it now.

As the fight began, you stood above it all, peering down at them like a merciless god.

Your men invaded their ship with ease, taking down any of those who would dare stand against them.  Navy men were relatively easy to take down.  They got big egos from wearing a uniform, as though wearing a blue coat with some fancy buttons made them better than anyone else.

You walked along the edge of the stern, frowning as your eyes caught on something rather peculiar.

A man not in a Navy uniform.  Interesting.

“Peter,” you called out to the young man, who had just finished off a man on the deck below.

He climbed up the stairs quickly, wiping the blood on his cutlass off on his breeches.  “Yes, Captain?”

“Who is that man?” You asked, pointing towards the dark-haired man you’d spotted.

Peter had spent many years at the Ithairian court before his parents and uncle died in a fire.  His Aunt May hadn’t been able to keep up with the running of the family estate, and the king had cast them out, making them peasants.  The young man had joined your crew soon after and sent all the money he made from you and your crew’s raids back to May.

He squinted as he looked at the man, before realization bloomed in his eyes.  “That’s Crown Prince James.”

“Oh, really?” You said as you eyed the man, lazily twirling the jeweled cutlass in your hand.  “And tell me, Peter…  How much do you think the King and Queen of Ithair would pay to get their precious son back?”

It didn’t take much to get the Navy ship to surrender.

Once they realized you were holding their precious prince captive, they became rather docile, actually.

You’d had Peter lure him over to your ship, playing as though he hadn’t a clue what he was doing, a poor clueless orphan that had been kidnapped by pirates and held aboard the infamous Medusa’s Revenge. 

The prince’s heart was too pure for his own good.

Once he was close enough, you’d snuck up behind, forcing him to his knees with a swift kick.  Both ships had gone silent once they realized you were holding a blade to his throat while Peter tied his hands.

“You tricked me,” Prince James spat at Peter, his face twisted in a scowl.

“I was simply following the Captain’s orders,” he said, which brought his attention to you.

You kept your sword to his throat, teasing the soft, smooth skin there with the dull side of the blade.  “RETURN TO YOUR KING,” you shouted to the Captain of the Navy ship, a man by the name of James Rhodes that was glaring daggers at you.  You deepened your voice in a way that you had rehearsed over and over.  “AND TELL HIM THAT HE MAY HAVE HIS PRECIOUS HEIR BACK ONCE I RECEIVE PAYMENT.”

“This is outrageous!” Rhodes shouted back at you.  His blue Navy coat and white shirt was splattered in blood.  “You can’t make demands of the King!”

“Oh, really?” You said, a sadistic grin tugging at your lips.  “If you won’t tell him of my demand, then you can tell him why his only heir’s blood is spilled all over my deck and why his body was tossed to the waves.”

He kept his dark eyes narrowed on you, as though he was expecting you to back down.

You narrowed yours in return, the playful teasing disappearing as you snarled, “Try me, Captain.”

The air was heavy as the others waited for his response.  Finally, he gritted his teeth and asked, “How much?”

“£50,000.”

Rhodes choked on air as he stared at you in disbelief.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” you said as you bent low, your cheek pressed to the prince’s, who squirmed.  “I’ll be at the Rimora port in a month.  Some of my men will meet you there to collect the money before we release the prince to you.  Come alone, or you’ll be getting a head.”

The man had no choice but to agree.  He nodded stiffly, before ordering his remaining men back to the Navy vessel.

They couldn’t win the battle even before you captured the prince.

You waited until the Navy ship was sailing back to Ithair to remove your cutlass from Prince James’s throat.  “Please accept my most sincere apology, Your Highness,” you said with only a tinge of sarcasm, sheathing your sword.  “I didn’t have to fight in this battle, so at least I didn’t drip blood all over your fine silk shirt.”

“How kind of you,” he said, fixing his startling blue eyes on you.

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” you said as you took off your hat with a flourish, curtsying.  You had piled your hair atop your head to tuck under the cap and flattened your chest with a specially made corset.  From a distance, you appeared to be a man.  Up close, your gender was more obvious, but you could still pass as a rather feminine man.  You gave him your name, before quickly adding, “I’m the Captain of this fine vessel.”

Prince James’s eyes widened as he stared at you.  “You’re the Siren,” he whispered.  “You’re her.”

Raising your eyebrows, you glanced over at your first mate, Sam, who shrugged.  “The Siren?” You said, turning back to the prince.  “What kind of fucking name is that?”

“The Siren,” he said, as though it were obvious.  “The She-Pirate.  The She-Demon of the Seas.  You lure men to their deaths with a bat of your eyelashes.”

“She-Demon?” You repeated, pursing your lower lip.  Facing Sam, you fake pouted.  “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“You and I both know you’re much worse, Captain.”

You couldn’t stop the sly smile from creeping up on your face, though your heart twisted.  “I do quite like that name though.  The Siren.  It’s fitting, don’t you think?”  You placed your hat back on your head, already walking away from your new prisoner.  “Tie him to the mast,” you called back.  “I’ll decide what to do with him later.”

Later turned out to be three days.

Prince James stayed tied to the mast, refusing to talk to anyone.  When you would approach to speak to him, he’d simply pretend you weren’t there, looking out at the waves.  The only person he would even slightly acknowledge was Peter, and that’s because you’d send him to the prince three times a day with food and water.

It was also kind of hard to ignore the boy, with how much he talked.

“Are you always this rude to hosts, Your Highness?” You asked at one point on the second day.

Though he didn’t look at you, his jaw had clenched so tightly that you were sure his teeth would shatter.

“Some prince you are,” you said mockingly, curtsying before returning to your perch at the wheel.

But then the storm you had predicted the day you’d first captured him arrived.

It was the worst one you’d seen in months, sheets of rain coming down hard.  Waves crashed into the bow of the ship as you steered into them.  Luckily you had a pretty heavy cargo underneath, making it harder for the wind to knock you over and you’d managed to get the sails secured in time, which made your job a whole lot easier.

You were no stranger to surviving storms.

Your heart jumped in your throat as you realized that the prince was still tied to the mast, soaking wet and unable to move.  “Fuck,” you swore as you searched for a crew member who wasn’t doing their best to keep water off the deck.  “PETER!”

The boy looked up from where he’d been using a bucket to toss some of the collected water overboard.

“UNTIE HIM!”

He knew who you were talking about immediately, running to the main mast and untying the prince.

Your hair stuck to your skin, salt water stinging your eyes as you shouted, “GET HIM BELOW DECK!”

You didn’t see the prince again until hours later, when the storm had died down.  You and your men were utterly exhausted.  You’d been at the helm the entire duration of the storm, and your arms were aching, despite your years of experience.

Sam had offered to take over for you, allowing you the rest you so desperately needed.

You dragged yourself to your quarters, ready to change into a set of dry clothes and collapse into bed.

But when you entered your office, you were surprised to find Prince James on the chaise lounge that you’d acquired on one of your raids.  He was half asleep, his arm hanging off the side.

You cleared your throat, frowning when he didn’t stir.  You did it again, a little louder.

Nothing.

Fed up, you shoved his leg, glaring down at him as he jerked awake.  “What the hell are you doing in my office, Your Highness?”  You spat his name out at him like it was an insult.

“This is where Peter told me to stay until after the storm was done,” he said, glaring right back.

“Did you lay all over my nice chaise in your soaking wet clothes?  Or did you at least wait until you were dry?” You asked, rolling your eyes.

Prince James scoffed.  “Of course, I did.  I’m not a heathen, unlike someone.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” you said, mocking him with an over-exaggerated bow.  “What ever can I do to make your stay more pleasurable?”

“Are you always like this?” He asked as he watched you move around the office.

Stripping off your overcoat, you tossed it on the chair.  “Like what?”

“Overly sardonic?”

Your white shirt was sticking to your skin and your corset underneath.  God, you wanted nothing more to get out of the restricting piece of clothing.  You’d been in it for hours, since before the storm began, but you couldn’t do that with him there.  You had to wait until you were really ready to retire to your bedroom for the night.

“Are…”  Prince James paused, his brows furrowing.  “Are you wearing a corset?”

“And here I thought you were unobservant,” you said as you grabbed the journal you kept from the center drawer.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you wear a corset?”

Sighing, you dabbed your feather ink pen on the tip of your tongue before dipping it in the ink pot.  Truthfully, you could wait to do your journal entry until the morning–you’d actually been planning to, since you were so exhausted–but for some reason, you just kept stalling.  You could simply go to your room and lock the door, avoiding the prince’s company and his subsequent questions, but you didn’t.  “If we run into new ships, it’s better for them to think me a man, so I had a few corsets specially made,” you said softly, biting your lip as you scribbled down details of the storm.  You’d take inventory of what all had been damaged in the morning.

“Why?”

Huffing, you snapped, “Maybe your parents won’t pay the ransom just so they can get away from your endless questions.”

“They’re not nearly as interesting.”

Startled, your eyes flickered up to meet his, your cheeks hot.  You quickly turned your gaze back to the journal, shaking your head.  “Royalty rarely is these days.”

“So?” He prodded.  “The corset?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, signing off on the journal entry.  “Men don’t respect women.  I don’t want them to underestimate me just because I was born with a pair of tits and a cunt.”  You slapped the journal shut, shoving it back in the drawer.  “Besides, women are considered bad luck on ships.  It took my crew a while to stop believing in the superstition and accept me as their Captain.”

“That superstition only came about because people believe sailors will get distracted from their duties by a woman’s beauty,” Prince James said, watching you curiously.  In his exhausted state, he seemed to forget his filter as he added, “Though I can’t imagine how anyone can not be distracted by you.”

“Who wouldn’t get distracted by the She-Demon of the Seas?” You bit back, a sarcastic smile on your lips.  Before he could respond, you headed for the door that stood behind your desk, leading to your bedroom.  “You may sleep there until one of the bunks opens up.  Or your parents pay your ransom.”  Standing in the doorway, you turned back to look at him.  The light coming in from the setting sun cast a glow upon his face.  He looked like an angel straight out of a stained glass window in a cathedral.

You shut the door, a soft, “Goodnight, Captain,” coming from the other side of wood as you flipped the lock.

Prince James stayed on your chaise for two weeks, and it didn’t seem like he would be leaving anytime soon.  All the other bunks on the ship were taken, filled with your crew.

And you weren’t so cruel to force him to go back to sleeping outside, tied to the mast.

Even though sometimes he was so annoying that you seriously considered it.

You’d stopped by a small port town and while none of your men had abandoned ship and opened up a bunk for him, you did grab him a few sets of clothing, a few pillows, and an extra blanket.

Thankfully, he didn’t make any comments on how they weren’t up to his royal standards, because otherwise you probably would’ve fed him to the sharks.

Then again, he hadn’t made any comments like that after the first few days.  In fact, he’d been rather… sweet.  His demeanor had swiftly changed after you’d allowed him to be untied from the mast.  It wasn’t like he could go anywhere, after all.

Other than the depths of the sea, and you didn’t think he loathed your company enough to drown himself.

Maybe.

“You like him,” Sam said as he passed you a mug of mead, the liquid frothing over the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said as you took a long swig, glancing around the deck.  It was a calm night at sea, there was no sign of ships on the horizon.

It was a good night to let loose and live a little.  Usually, you’d allow the men their drink but wouldn’t partake in it.  You’d retire to your quarters before they got too rowdy, though you always heard the music they played late into the night.

James had started joining them a few nights after the storm, when you stopped tying him up.

Some nights, he came to your quarters so late that you were already in your bedroom, though you never could sleep before you were sure that he was on the chaise for the night.  You’d lie awake in bed, your corset off, and listen for the tell-tale opening and closing of the door.

Most nights, though, you’d still be sitting at your desk.  Whether you were flipping through papers and maps, writing in your journal, or reading from your massive collection of books, it didn’t matter.  He’d sit with you and talk.  Whether it was for a few minutes or sometimes hours, you’d talk and talk, and you would laugh.

And sometimes, you even felt like a woman.  The way his eyes would sparkle in the dim light of the candles sometimes made you think he saw you as more than a captain of a pirate ship.

But that was impossible.  Because he was a prince, the heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world, and you were nothing but a She-Demon.

“Don’t play coy,” Sam said as he nudged your shoulder.  He wasn’t blind to the way you were watching James joke around with your crew.  He was laughing at some joke that Scott made, his head throne back.

“I’m not,” you said sternly.  Suddenly, the mead in your cup seemed even less appealing than poison.  You handed it to Sam as you stood, brushing off your breeches.  “I’m going to turn in.  Goodnight.”

Your first mate called after you, though you didn’t turn around.  You needed to get away.  You needed to get away from Sam and James and the rest of the crew and maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to get away from the feelings that had been blooming in your chest the last two weeks.

You were so stupid.  James would never like you, never want you the way you wanted him.  You were so stupid for trying to twist your hair into the latest fashions or buying skirts to wear around the ship.  You were wearing one now, the loose fabric ending at your shins.  Even though it wasn’t nearly as formal as the skirts most ladies wore–especially the ladies at court that James was most used to–it was still a skirt.  Even Peter had made a comment that was also sort of a compliment.

But it didn’t matter.  It was impractical for a Captain of a pirate ship, and you were stupid for it.

He wouldn’t ever see you as you wanted him to.

Your quarters felt so empty without James there.  There were little signs of him all over the room.  The two pillows on the chaise, the fur blankets that rested half on, half off.  The little stack of his clothing that you’d bought for him.  He’d been reading one of your books lately and had left it on the small table by the chaise, a hair ribbon that you’d given him tucked between the pages as a bookmark.  It was a new one, Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, that you’d picked up the same stop you’d gotten his things at.

God, your desk was a mess.  Maybe that’s what you could do, you could organize your papers instead of thinking about the way your heart skipped a beat every time you saw the dark-haired prince.

“Captain?”

Speak of the devil.

You turned to see James standing there in the doorway, his fair features illuminated by the candle light.  The white shirt he donned was left open, revealing dark hair splattered across his chest.  Clearing your throat, you turned your eyes back to the papers on your desk.  Your hands were shaking as you tried to organize them, doing your best to ignore how your heart pounded.  “Shouldn’t you be drinking with the men and making merry?”

“I have their company every night, they can do without me for a while,” he said, chuckling a little.  But when you didn’t laugh with him, he grew quiet.  “Captain?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Don’t do that,” he said, taking slow, measured steps towards you.

“Don’t do what?”

He stopped by the edge of your desk, his fingers trailing along the dark wood.  “Don’t shut me out.  Please.”

Your conversation with Sam from earlier rang loud and clear in your mind.  “I’m not shutting you out, Your Highness,” you said sternly, avoiding his gaze as you shuffled through the papers.  “Do you wish to get ready for bed?  If you do, I can be out of your way in just a moment.”

“No.”

The silence between you was tense as you finally looked up at him.  “What do you want, Your Highness?”  You asked, hoping he didn’t notice the way your voice wavered.

“You.”

A stunned silence filled the room, your mind going completely blank.

“Surely you can’t be serious,” you said finally as you finally looked up at him, your brows furrowed and your lips twisted in a frown.

“I am.”  His blue eyes still shone as bright as the moon reflecting off the sea in the dim light.  He whispered your name as he came closer.  “Please…”

Shaking your head, you grabbed the papers and turned to shove them in a random drawer, your heart beating against your rib cage like a drum.  You were terrified that if he were to look you in the eyes, he’d be able to see the things you felt for him.  You’d be done for.  A laughing stock.  Forget being the Siren, the She-Pirate, the She-Demon of the Seas, you’d just be another woman whose name wouldn’t be uttered without being attached to a man’s.  The history books would simply remember you as a prince’s pirate whore, an anecdote before moving onto the story of whatever princess he’d end up marrying.

You jumped in surprise as he came up behind you, his chest pressed to your back.  “Your Highness–”

“Please,” he said, his breath hot against your ear.  “Don’t run from me.”  His hands gently covered yours where they rested desk, his fingertips trailing ever so gently from your wrists up to your shoulder.  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.  He spoke your name like a prayer, like it was the one thing that might grant him the grace of whatever god was looking down upon the two of you.

You weren’t sure you were breathing.  Your heart had jumped into your throat and taken residence there and oh, his touch felt like fire on your skin.

“Say my name?”  He pressed a kiss to your hair, his right hand toying with the loose sleeve of your shirt.  “Please.”

He didn’t order you the way a prince would, the way he would’ve when he was first brought onto your ship.  No.  He asked.  And more than that, he asked kindly.  He asked as though it would sincerely bring him joy to hear his name falling from your lips.

“James,” you said, your lips curling around the unfamiliar letters as you said his name for the first time.

He let out a content sigh as your loose sleeve fell, exposing soft skin.  “Again,” he said as his head dropped to press sweet, almost innocent kisses to your shoulder.  His left hand moved to your hip as his lips traced the freckles he found.

“James, please.”  Your eyes fluttered shut as your head lolled to the side, granting him access to the smooth expanse of your neck.

“Please, what?”

“Please touch me.”

A growl reverberated in his throat as his hand slowly bunched up your damned skirts, exposing your bare thighs to the cool air, his calloused fingers tickling your soft skin.  You could feel a smirk against your neck as he found you bare underneath.  “Oh, darling,” he murmured.

“J-James,” you stammered, your knuckles white as you gripped the desk.

“Yes, love?” He asked, one finger daring to tease your folds.  “Fuck, you’re already so wet.  Is that for me?  Huh?  Is that for me?”

“Yes.  Yes.  All for you.”  Your breath was already so labored as you felt your knees go weak.

He reached down, and with one swoop, scooped you up into his arms.  “Not here,” he said when you looked at him in surprise.  “There will be time to take you on your desk later, Captain, but not now.”  He kicked the door that led to your private chambers open, his mouth finding yours as he carried you inside.  Moonlight filtered in through the portholes that lined the wall, illuminating the small room.  He laid you down on your unmade bed as though you were made of porcelain, his hand cradling your head as he laid it on the pillow.

You’d never been treated so gently, touched as though you might break.

You were not a delicate woman, after all.  You were made of the harshest storms, the highest waves, of salt and brine.  You held your own when it came to battle.  Your crew, your men, loved and respected you.  You fought for that.

But fuck, if being treated so softly didn’t bring tears to your eyes.

James stood before you as you leaned on your elbows, watching as he stripped off his loose white shirt, revealing miles of tanned skin and that smattering of dark curls on his chest that had teasing you just a few minutes before.

You breathed out his name as he kicked off his boots, his eyes never leaving your face.

He stood before you in just his breeches, breathing heavily as he looked at you.  “I’m going to take my time with you,” he said as he kneeled on the edge of the bed, crawling towards you.

“Oh?” You said as you swallowed around the lump in your throat.  You were still trying to process how he could look at you like you were the most precious gem in the world.

James unlaced your boots, letting them fall off the bed.  “I’m going to spend all night worshiping you,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss  to the inside of your ankle.  The beard that he’d grown while on your ship tickled your skin as he trailed his lips up your calf.  “My darling girl.  My sweet angel.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire as he kissed up your leg, getting closer and closer to the place you so desperately needed.

He stopped at your knee.  “May I?” He asked as he tugged on your linen skirt, his eyes smoldering in the dim light.  He waited until after you nodded to strip you down, leaving you bare on the bed.  When you moved to cover yourself, face hot from the heat of his gaze, he stopped you, grabbing your wrists and holding them back.  “Don’t hide yourself from me, my darling.”

With a surge of urgency, you pushed yourself up, your lips crashing into his.

James melted into you, his hand moving to cradle your head as he kissed you.  His free hand cupped your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

It took you a moment to realize that the whimpering was coming from you.

He broke away to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, to the valley of your breasts.  “Fuck,” he said as he swirled his tongue around the nipple that wasn’t being teased by his fingers.  He nipped at it lightly before moving to the other, not stopping until both were hard.

You were even more shocked when he licked a stripe down the center of your stomach, stopping when he reached the patch of curls between your legs.  “Wh-What are you doing?” You asked, propping yourself up against the pillows.

“Has no one ever touched you like this?” He asked, blue eyes meeting yours.  When you shook your head, cheeks flushed, he frowned.  “When’s…  When’s the last time you were touched at all?”

Shrugging, you tried to close your legs, but he kept them parted.  “A while,” you murmured, trying to hide how embarrassed you were.

In truth, it had been more than a year.  And it hadn’t exactly been good.  Just a one night tryst in a little port town with a man who thought he was better than he actually was.

None of your experiences with men had made you too eager to go out and try to find your pleasure.  They all seemed so… selfish.

“Men don’t really like women that are more powerful than them,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

His index finger hooked under your chin, and he tilted your head up so your eyes met his.  “I’ve never desired someone more than I do you,” he breathed.  His nose nudged yours before stealing another soft kiss.  Before you could stop to think, he was back down between your legs, nosing at your curls.  His hot breath tickled your most private area before his tongue swiped through your folds.

You jerked in surprise, eyes blown wide.  “James!”

“Shh,” he said as he coaxed you back down.  Using two fingers, he revealed yourself to him.  “You’re so pretty…”  Using a flat tongue, he lapped at the wetness he found, eyes closing.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you sat up on one elbow, determined to watch him.  You’d never had a man… taste you like he was.  “O-Oh…”

There was a slight sting as he sunk one finger into your heat, carefully curling it.  It had been much too long since you’d been touched.

It had been a long time since you’d lost your virtue, but you certainly felt like a virgin again.

“I’ve gotta get you opened up for me,” he said before finding your tiny bundle of nerves and sucking hard.

You saw stars as your jerked in his grip, feeling yourself growing closer and closer to something but not quite knowing what.  Wonton moans dripped from your lips as you crept along the edge.  You weren’t sure what you needed other than James.

“That’s it, darling,” he said, slipping another finger in and carefully scissoring you open.  “That’s it.  You’re doing so perfect for me.”

His tender words, mixed with the feeling of his thick fingers inside you and his tongue and how long it had been sent you over the precipice.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, watching with hooded eyes as James slowly withdrew his fingers.  The wet digits sparkled in the light as he brought them to his mouth, sucking them off with a moan.

As he pushed his breeches down, you were suddenly hyper aware of just why he needed to prepare you so thoroughly.

He was thick.  Long, sure, but it was the girth of him that made you pause.  You’d had men before, but none of them quite as gifted.

“Is…  Is that going to fit?” You asked, swallowing around the lump that had jumped in your throat.

“Yes,” he said as he crawled between your legs, dropping open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your stomach.  “Don’t worry, my dear.  I’ll go slow.”

You drew him into a kiss, sloppy and deep and hoping it would convey the words that you were too afraid to say.

His cock teased the slick folds of your cunt before carefully sinking in inch by inch.

“James,” you moaned as you clutched onto him, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his back.  The stretch you felt around his cock was painful, but pleasant.

Yeah, it had definitely been too long.

“That’s it, darling, relax,” he said, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.  “I’ve got you.  I’ve got you.”

You bit your bottom lip so harshly you could taste iron.  Your breath mingled with his as he sank in to the hilt, his nose nudging yours.  You were almost kissing.  But instead, he teased you, keeping his rose petal lips just out of reach.

He rested there for a moment, the both of you adjusting.  The waves crashed up against the side of the ship, providing a rather pleasant underscoring to the labored breaths that filled the air.

When you were finally ready, you experimentally rolled your hips up against his, causing his icy blue eyes to pop open.

“Damn it, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moaned as he carefully pulled out before pushing all the way back in.  He kept his thrusts slow and deep, relishing in the feeling of you squeezing around him.  “You were made for me, weren’t you, darling?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him close as your fingers threaded into his hair.  “Don’t tease me,” you said, pulling him into a kiss.

“As you wish,” he said, picking up the pace.

His deep, raspy moans mixed with yours, creating an unheard symphony as the two of you collided.  Bass and soprano.  Man and woman.  Lover and lover.

There was no doubt in your mind that your crew knew what was happening behind closed doors, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he rocked into you.  Their raucous laughter was nothing but static in the back of your mind.

You felt like you were on fire.  Every part of you was alight.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent underneath him.  Time was completely lost between sweet kisses and soft murmurs, things he whispered to you but couldn’t quite make out.  Sometimes you would catch a glimpse of the moon through one of the portholes as it rose higher and higher in the clear night sky.

You saw stars as he pushed you over the edge yet again, leaving you gasping his name.

You clenched around him and James groaned, his nails digging into the soft skin of your back.  “I’m gonna…  I’m gonna–”  He broke off as he pulled out of you just in time for thick, creamy white ribbons to decorate your stomach and thighs.  He stayed bent over you, his forehead resting against yours, as he fought to catch his breath.

A giggle escaped your lips, your chest heaving as you stole a kiss.

Even after what you’d just done, it still made you nervous.  It was so… intimate.

A slow smile tugged at his face as he returned the affection.  “I love you, my angel,” he whispered into the soft skin of your neck.

Three little words.  All it took was three little words to jolt your system.

You pushed him off of you, your heart pounding as you grabbed the closest shirt you could find, throwing it on.  It was definitely his, judging by how it hung off of you.  “Don’t mock me,” you snapped, glaring at him.

This was all a mistake.  He had seen it in your face, how you felt about him.  You had become what you always feared you would be, just a silly girl who wouldn’t be anything more than a prince’s pirate whore.

His blue eyes were wide with surprise as he watched you.  “What in Heaven’s name are you going on about?” He asked, trying to step towards you.  He was still completely bare, and it took everything in you not to give in and go to him.

But you wouldn’t be made a fool.

“You got what you wanted,” you said, a snarl on your lips.  “Go.  Leave me be.  You may tell all the men of the court that you bedded the She-Demon of the Seas.  You don’t have to dig the knife in anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes, grabbing his breeches.  “Is that what you think of me?”  He let out a harsh laugh that was more of a cry than anything.  “Do you truly think me so horrid that I would bed you for the sheer novelty of it?”

“Men are all the same.”  You threw one of his boots at him, feeling very much like a feral cat backed into a corner.  “You say all the things you know I want to hear just so you can get between my legs.”

You were lashing out.  You knew.  You weren’t stupid.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to be so… hysterical.  You would lose the respect of your men, your crew, if they knew that you were throwing a fit.

You willed yourself to go flat, your eyes cold and your lips pressed into a thin line.  You would be composed, collected.  “Get out of my room,” you bit out.

James stood there, looking a little lost.  He held his breeches to his chest like an anchor.  “What?”

“Get out of my room,” you repeated.  “Before I have one of my men throw you out.”

You wouldn’t let any of them see you so naked, but he didn’t need to know that.  As far as he knew, you were willing to let every single crew member see you naked if it meant he would be out.

He swallowed, leaving the room with a stiff nod.  “Fine.” 

The door shut behind him, and you quickly brought your hand to your mouth.  Your teeth clamped around your fingers as you tried to muffle the sob that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t do this.  You couldn’t be so weak.

This is what you got for letting him in, for letting him see you.

You quickly dressed, wiping away the dried remnants of him left on your body.  You pulled on your breeches, making a mental note to toss those stupid fucking skirts overboard the first chance you got.

Taking a glance in the mirror, you wiped at your eyes.  Thankfully, they weren’t too puffy.

You could cry later.

You came out of your room, appearing very much unbothered.

James had redressed, though he had a new shirt since his old one was in the corner of your room.  He stepped forward, his lips moving as though to speak your name.

Before he could make a sound, you were crossing the room, opening the door.  You were greeted with the lively sounds of music and laughter from the men still enjoying their night.  “Sam,” you called out, catching your First Mate’s attention.

“Captain!” He said with a joyous laugh, waggling his eyebrows.  “I didn’t expect to see you out of your quarters again tonight!”

“Gather the money needed for a horse,” you said, your tone causing the smile to drop from his face.  “We will dock in Marolan in two days.  We will give His Highness a horse to get back to his people.”

“What?” Sam said, his brown eyes wide.  “Why?  What about…”  He trailed off, thinking better about what he was going to say.  “What about the ransom money?”

You breezed past him, heading for the stern.  You had a feeling you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, and it would be better to be at the helm and let the salty sea air calm you than toss and turn in your bed for hours.  “There are easier ways to get that kind of money than dealing with a prince.”

James called your name, having followed you out of your quarters.  “Don’t do this,” he said.

The rest of the crew went quiet, having noticed that something was going down.  The music that had rung through the air dissipated.

“I’m not doing anything, Your Highness,” you said as you took your place at the helm.  There was an ache between your thighs that you prayed would go away quickly.

It wouldn’t do to think of him anytime you so much as took a single step.

“YOU ARE CASTING ME OUT BECAUSE YOU ARE TERRIFIED OF YOUR OWN FEELINGS!”

Waves crashed against the side of the ship, the only sound amidst the deafening silence.

James was pissed.  Perhaps even more so than he had been the first day you’d captured him.  His hands were fisted at his sides as he started to climb the steps that led up to the stern.  “I love you.  And I’m willing to bet all of Ithair that you love me, too.”

“You feel the triumph of a false conquest,” you hissed, standing your ground.  “You think me to be a creature you have tamed.”

“I think nothing of the sort,” he said, holding onto the rails.  The wind whipped his long, dark locks around his face.  “You have me mind, body, and soul, my angel, my darling, my love.  Please…”

Your heart was racing.  There was a war inside of yourself.  You wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and allow him to hold you, to comfort you.  But your head was telling you that this was nothing more than a dirty trick.

The men were watching unabashedly as he came closer.  His hand reached for yours, but you snatched it out of his grasp.  “I will give you everything,” he said, blue eyes searching yours desperately.  “I will give you a throne, a kingdom… me.”

“A She-Demon cannot sit upon a throne,” you spat, taking a step back.  “You will marry some princess, someone raised for that life.”

James shook his head, grabbing your hand despite your protests.  “I don’t care about some old rule.  I don’t want a princess. I want you.  I will speak with my father, and–”

Smack.

The slap resounded throughout the air.  The prince looked at you in shock, his hand reaching up to hold his cheek.

“Do not touch me,” you said, gritting your teeth.  “And it’s your father’s fault that I’m a pirate in the first place.  He is the reason for me becoming the She-Demon you hear tavern tales about.”

“What?” He asked, still holding his reddening cheek.

You felt a little bad about slapping him, but you’d made it clear that you didn’t want him touching you and then he did.

“Your father allowed his soldiers to destroy my village,” you said, fury boiling in your veins.  “I was fifteen when they came, ransacking our homes, killing our men, kidnapping our women and children.  We had nothing to do with his war with our king, but he didn’t care.”  Blood trickled from your hands, where your nails had dug so deep into your palms that they’d cut through the tender skin.  “More than one of your soldiers attempted to carry me off.  I was lucky to make it out alive.”

James had gone silent by now, shock and sorrow written across his face plain as day.

“One of your men chased me all the way to the docks.  The only reason I survived was because I made it onto a pirate ship that had docked there.”  Most of your men knew your story.  You hadn’t tried to hide it, though it wasn’t something that was openly discussed.  “The Captain found me and took me under his wing,” you said.  “He gave me this ship, but your father is the reason why I’m the She-Demon you speak of.”

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, swallowing down the lump that had lodged in his throat.  “I swear to you, my angel, I didn’t know.”  He reached out for you again, but thought better of it.  “I was only eighteen when the war happened.  I didn’t know.  He didn’t tell me all the soldiers did.”

“Because you didn’t ask,” you said.  “Because we were poor, and the king doesn’t give a damn unless you have a title.”  You turned back to the helm, your hands resting on the wheel.  “You will get off my ship at Marolan.  Speak of me how you wish.  The words of a royal mean nothing to me.”

You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, as though wishing you’d turn back to him and say it had all been a jest.  But you didn’t.  You kept your eyes ahead as you set the course for the port city.

“Whatever you wish, Captain,” he said, the words half lost in the wind.

You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay as you heard him go back down the stairs to the main deck before disappearing into your quarters.

It didn’t matter.

You’d be at the helm all night.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and you knew it was Sam without even looking.  “What do you need?” You asked, your voice cracking despite your attempt to sound tough.

He stood at your side, his arms crossed over his chest.  “Are you going to punish the son for the sins of the father?”

“He has his own sins to atone for,” you said softly, “Just like his father, just like me.”

“Is that what this is?  Self punishment?”

“You heard him.”  You gripped the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white.  “I am but a She-Demon.”

Sam glanced down to the deck, the men not-so-subtly taking glances at you.  “He never called you that, if I remember correctly.  He simply said that’s what others have called you.  But he never did.”

You didn’t reply, choosing to stay silent as you stared ahead.

If you opened your mouth, all that would come out were broken sobs.

You didn’t speak for James for the last two days he spent on your ship.  You stayed out of your quarters during the night, and when he finally awoke and left your office, you snuck in and locked your bedroom door.

You stood atop the stern, looking down at the tiny port town that you had docked at.  Your men took the chance to explore some of the shops since this was an unplanned stop.

James stood at the top of the ramp that led down to the dock.  You’d had Sam give him enough gold to pay for a horse and then some.

The sun gleamed off his dark hair, tied back with the green silk ribbon that he’d been using as a bookmark.  He looked like a man from a romance novel, one of those Shakespearean heroes.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes startling even as far away as he was.  “Goodbye, Captain,” he said, his voice barely audible.

You swallowed, looking away.  “Goodbye, Your Highness.”

Hot tears pricked your eyes as he walked down the ramp, the sound of the gold clinking in his pocket fading as he got further and further away.  Ignoring the men still on the ship, you stormed down the stairs and into your quarters, slamming the door to your office shut and locking it.

It was only once you were alone that you allowed yourself to collapse.  You fell to your knees as sobs wracked your body.  The feelings you’d been fighting had fought their way to the surface, breaking through your glass exterior.

How had he done it?  How had the prince wormed his way into your heart?  He had slipped through the bars of its rib cage prison and sunk his teeth into what you thought had been a frozen chunk of ice.

You rubbed your face, trying to contain yourself to no avail.

But something caught your eye.

There, on the chaise, was a folded piece of parchment.

You crawled over to it, feeling no shame at how pathetic it was.  Your hand covered your mouth to muffle another sob as you recognized James’s handwriting.  Some of the letters were runny, misshapen from the tear stains that littered the paper.

My darling angel,

If you’re reading this, it means that I’m gone.  You’ve cast me off your ship and out of your heart.

But I can’t let you think that I was simply trying to conquer you.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left without telling you, and you won’t even look in my direction, which is why I have taken to paper and pen.

I meant what I said that night.  I love you with all of my soul.  You surprised me with your wit, your strength.  I never dreamed that I would meet a woman like you, and I mean that in the best way possible.  If you would allow me to, I would make you my wife, my queen.

It is not hard to guess that you think I couldn’t see you as anything more than a pirate, but you’re wrong.  The softness that you try to hide calls to me.  I want to take you in my arms and show you that the world will not always be cruel to you.

My father was wrong to allow his soldiers to do what they did.  It was not your war.  You were innocent.  If there was a way for me to turn back the clock and stop it all from happening, I would.  I would give you your village back, your family back.

Alas, I am incapable of doing so, despite how badly I long to.  So I must do the next best thing.

I will be a better king than my father.  I will do my best to ensure that there are no more innocent people punished by cruel, battle hungry men.

I won’t allow any more little girls to be sentenced to running from grown men who should know better.

I wish I could give you back your girlhood, my love.  I wish I could see you with daisies in your hair, untouched by the horrors of the world.

If you will not allow me to love you up close, then this is how I shall love you from far away.  I will do better than my father, in your name.

Is it peculiar of me to say that I miss you already?  You are simply above deck, and yet, my hands long to hold yours, my lips feel like winter ice.  Must you really leave me alone?

I am fearful that when I leave the Medusa’s Revenge, I shall never see you again.

I haven’t slept in the past two nights, but my nightmares invade my daydreams and make me see visions of a life without you, the life I am facing ahead of me.

How is it that I have fallen so deeply in love with you in such a short amount of time?

Perhaps, if I am lucky, and if you are feeling so gracious, I will hear your voice one last time before I go.  Is it so greedy of me to wish to hear my name falling from your lips one last time?  To feel you gaze upon my face, even if it is with scorn?

When I am back in my castle in Ithair, I shall pace the royal gardens and lament that the red roses the gardeners so painstakingly tend to cannot compare to thy sweet lips.  I shall cry each night that the furs that line my bed are not as warm as your embrace.

Will you miss me as I miss you?  It may be wrong of me to hope so, but I do.  I shall miss you ‘til my dying breath, and perhaps even beyond then.

Will your siren’s song call to me beyond the grave?  I suppose I shall have to wait and find out.

I will speak of you fondly, lovingly, for you were never the She-Demon the bastards tried to make you out to be.

Forever yours, my love,

James Buchanan Barnes

If any of your crew noticed that your eyes were swollen and glassy when they came back, ready to set off, they didn’t mention it.

Almost two years had passed.

Two years, and yet you were still crying yourself to sleep most nights.

Prince James had truly done his damage in the short amount of time he spent on your ship.

Well, he wasn’t a prince anymore.

When you’d docked in Genia about four months ago, you’d been given the news that his father, King George IX, had died, and King James II had been coronated.

You’d avoided docking at any of Ithair’s ports since letting him go.  You refused to risk seeing any sign of him.

Your heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

You kept his goodbye letter close to you at all times.  When you went into battle, the tear stained parchment was tucked inside of your corset, right over your heart.

You read it every night before you went to sleep, the parchment soft from how often it was unfolded and refolded.

“Captain,” Peter called to you from the deck.  The boy had grown so much in the time since James had left.  He was no longer the lowest member of the crew.  He’d been given more responsibilities, and if you were being honest, was the person you trusted most on your crew, behind Sam, of course.

“Yes, Peter?”  You had one hand on the wheel, and you were half lost in a daydream.

“There’s a ship coming up on the starboard side,” he said.

Frowning, you turned to your right, and sure enough, there was a ship much closer than you first thought it’d be.

Had you really been so deep within your own thoughts?

“Do you know whose ship?”

“Ithair.  Navy.”

Ice ran through your veins as you turned back to the helm.  “Tell the men to ready themselves, but we are not planning on fighting.  We’re going to avoid them if we can.”  Your hands were shaking as you turned the wheel, planning on making a sharp left and avoiding them completely.  “Get Sam,” you said after a moment as your hands refused to stop trembling.

Your First Mate was there within seconds, taking over.  “I’ve got this,” he said, ushering you away.  He knew how you were feeling with just a look.  “If we really need you, I’ll send Peter.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you went to your quarters, shutting the door before you began to pace.

It couldn’t be him… could it?

Surely he wouldn’t taunt you with his presence like that.  After all, it would be cruel.  There was no way he didn’t have some princess waiting for him.

But then again, wouldn’t you have heard of a royal engagement when you heard of his coronation if that were the case?

No.  You couldn’t think like that.

Besides, he most likely wasn’t on the ship.

A king had better things to do.

You grabbed your jewel encrusted dagger from your desk, sliding it into its sheath.  Your cutlass was already ready at your side, just in case.

But when you opened the door to step out onto the deck, you were caught by surprise.

Your ship hadn’t been steered away as you’d wanted it to.  The Ithairian Navy ship was right alongside yours, a plank connecting the two.  And more than that, there was no fight going on.

King James stood before you, grinning as Peter rambled onto him about all that had happened since he left.

A board creaked under your foot, and his head snapped in your direction.  Your breath caught in your throat as his eyes met yours.

He looked older, more worn.  Maybe a little tired.  There were shadows under his eyes, and his hair was longer.

It was tied back out of his face with a green silk ribbon.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at him, not daring to move any closer.  “Have you come to kill the Siren?” You asked, though you didn’t bother to reach for your cutlass.

If he truly wished to gut you, you would allow him to.  It would hurt less than living with the pain of knowing that he wanted you dead.

“No,” he said, his voice soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.  “I’ve come to wed her.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart constricting.  “Do you now?” You asked slowly.  The letter that was pressed to your chest felt like it was burning your skin.

“Well, I truly hope so,” he said as he came a few steps closer, his hands behind his back.  From what you could see, he had no weapon.

Perhaps he truly wasn’t here to hurt you.

“You see, you’re not exactly an easy person to track down,” he said, stopping a few feet away.  “Especially since you haven’t docked at any Ithairian ports in almost two years.”  He reached inside his coat, pulling out a small box.

“Your Majesty–”  Your voice cracked as you snuck a glance at the people watching you.  Your crew and his were staring, grins on their faces as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

James ignored your question, looking at the ring with a soft smile.  “It took Sam sending me a letter from the last place you’d been docked at, telling me where you were heading, to find you.”

The man in question had the decency to look a little sheepish.  “It’s time for something new,” he said, leaning against the railing of the steps that led up to the stern.  “You haven’t been happy with this life ever since James left.”

He wasn’t wrong, per say, but you thought you’d hidden it better than you apparently had.

“Well…”  You turned to look back at James, shaking your head.  “You…  You can’t marry a pirate.  Or even just a commoner.”

“Why not, my love?” He asked as he got down on one knee, holding the ring up for you to see.  It sparkled in the late afternoon sun.  “I thought that the point of being king was that I made the rules.”

Your heart was racing faster than it ever had before.  “I…  I keep your letter on me,” you blurted out, stumbling over your words like a newborn foal.  Your fingers trembled as you reached through the neckline of your shirt, into your corset, before pulling out the worn piece of paper.  “I read it every n-night before I go to sleep.”  You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt a tear hit your hand.

“Have you missed me as I’ve missed you, my angel?” He asked, not moving.  His own eyes were glassy, his speech thick from emotion.  “I’ve dreamed of you every moment, waking and asleep.”

“I have.  I have, James,” you gasped out, your chest heaving against the corset.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

His hand reached for your left, grasping it softly and bringing it to his lips.  “Will you marry me?”  He looked up at you with pleading blue eyes.  “Please, my angel?  I shall never ask for anything more if you say yes.”

You fell to your knees in front of him, your hands grasping his face as you pulled him in for a kiss.  “Yes,” you whispered against his lips.  The salt from both of your tears lingered in your mouth, but you didn’t care as you pulled him into another kiss.  “Yes, I will marry you.”

The ring somehow found your left finger, sliding on with ease.

“I love you,” you said as you pulled away for air, resting your forehead against his.  “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I was too afraid to say it then.”

“Shh,” he said, caressing your face.  “You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling.”  He stole another kiss, a smile creeping up on his face.  “And I love you, too, my siren.”

“James?” You said, your nose nudging his.  His breath mingled with yours in the most delicious way.  Your chest was pressed against his, your arms wrapping around his neck.  It felt so good to have him in your arms again after two years.

You’d thought you’d only get this in your dreams.

“Yes, my angel?”

“Does this mean I have to wear dresses?”

[nimsajlove]

road to recovery (II/?)

Second part, I dont really know WHAT this is. But it still ended up here, so you jugde it.

Ao3     Brothers-AU          Part I , Part III

*~*

„That's it for today, let's set up the camp.“, Cody instructed over the com, general relief and approval got back to him and the men crashed down, right where they were standing. The few shinys they had with them were careful to set up the tents immediately. The older clones watched them for a few seconds, amused, and Cody finally took pity on them. „Put that stuff away and sit down for a moment. This is not going to be rated by anyone.“, he instructed the younger ones and reluctantly they let go of their tasks.

Cody watched with a smile as the men gathered in groups to take a few minutes to breath, he was about to do the same and had just put his backpack down when his communicator flashed. Huh, so was the cruiser back? Unusual, the Admiral had planned to stay away for at least two more rotations. He took the call, an unexpected voice greeted him. „Commander Cody, I hope it's going well with the new men.“ It sounded like Plo Koon was smiling. Cody was never quite sure about that, the General rarely sounded worried or restless. He always seemed to be at peace. „General Plo Koon, what can I do for you?“, Cody answered and decided that he could sit down despite the conversation. „Nothing for me Commander, but I'm here to do a favor for Ahsoka.“, Plo Koon admitted. Ah, things got a little clearer now. Cody didn't know much about what Ahsoka had to do in the Jedi Temple. But he knew she hadn't left the temple walls in weeks. A message from Rex, full of concern for the young woman, had also made Cody thoughtful. „She convinced the council to send Kenobi back to you. The shuttle is just getting ready to take off.“, Plo Koon explained when Cody didn't react immediately.

That was good! Even if this was more of an enjoyable hunt than a battlefield, the presence of the General would lift the spirits of the men even further. Hardly thought through, a fine drizzle set in and sullenly Cody glanced up at the darkening sky, which peered through the canopy of leaves. In a short period of time, the rain would continue to pick up and guaranteed not to stop at night. It made the nights on that moon surprisingly cold. The men around him began to pitch the tents and Cody remembered the blank look General Kenobi had had when he left a few days ago. „Is there anything I and the men should watch out for?“, Cody asked and he heard a low murmur on the other end, was that Wolffe? „I think you will know best how to handle him, that is all.“, Plo Koon replied. „Got it, General.“, Cody muttered thoughtfully and cut the connection. That was... not particularly helpful. So was Kenobi's condition unchanged?

Cody was about to take off his helmet when a message appeared. Cody fixed the little icon and it opened.

‚The General is not sure himself. Tano seems to be the only one to know whats going on.‘

So Wolffe was there after all! It was disturbing that the Jedi could not assess the condition of one of their own. On the other hand, it was kind of nothing new after so many suicide missions they had sent Kenobi on... If Kenobi was still as moody and slow as he was a few days ago, then Cody had to keep as much stress away from him as possible . He looked around, took off his helmet and put it next to his backpack. Then he went to help with the tents.

*~*

The last tent was up, the rain had gotten heavier and pattered relentlessly on Cody's helmet. Even though he was leaning directly against a tree. He wondered briefly if he should wait outside any longer, when a noise caught his attention. He looked up hastily and took a few steps away from the tree, a shuttle flew over the camp and landed in the small clearing on the edge of which Cody was standing. As soon as it touched down, the door opened and the ramp extended.

Kenobi wasn't the first figure Cody saw. In fact, it was a different, familiar face. Echo took a step forward on the ramp before waiting and looking back. The Jedi appeared behind him, Cody saw at first glance that his condition had only worsened. He moved slowly, his shoulders pulled forward and his hands hanging limply by his sides. Kenobi followed Echo and as he approached, Cody saw the deep shadows under the Jedi's eyes. „General.“, Cody greeted him carefully and Kenobi nodded once. Echo approached Cody and handed him a datapad, so was he just a messenger? „Wolffe had asked me to accompany him, and on the occasion Ahsoka thought I would give you all the information about the enemy positions that she could find here.“, the ARC explainedand although his calm voice sounded forced. There was deep concern in his eyes. It was clear that Kenobi's condition had caught his eye too. „Thanks, I'll take care of everything.“, Cody muttered, taking another look at his General, Echo nodded and turned back. Cody waited until he disappeared into the shuttle and took off again. Only then did he fully turn to Kenobi.

On closer inspection, the General didn't just look tired. His cheeks looked thinner than a few weeks ago. A development that he had been watching concerned for some time. And nothing seemed to have improved in his absence! The reddish hair stuck close to Kenobis skull, the rain had soaked the General in no time. An annoying quirk of the place, Cody liked it less and less. Maybe he should just make sure that Kenobi got dry as soon as possible... „Sir, we've set up a place to sleep for you.“, Cody started carefully and when the Jedi slowly nodded, he waited. But instead of answering, he just pulled a stiff hand from the folds of his cloak and told Cody to go ahead. He did so hesitantly, every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. The General didn't walk right next to him, as usual. No, he trudged a few steps behind Cody, placing his feet so unevenly that Cody feared he would fall. Where was the great General Kenobi? This was worse than any injury, any period of insomnia Kenobi had had during the war. And Cody knew exactly when the Jedi was sleeping and when not! He had spent an eternity studying Obi Wan Kenobi and knew the difference between a wakeful look and the soft shadows that did not disappear even after long meditation.

Kenobi didn't even look like he was meditating at the moment. He was just... empty. From the glassy gaze that was dull on the floor to the sagging shoulders. Oh, thank the maker that the men were already in their tents. Cody himself probably wouldn't sleep that night, he had sacrificed his tent for his General and would just make sure that the Jedi would actually sleep. Then he would find a nice tree for himself, hide from the rain, and study Ahsoka's plans. This was exactly how the evening would go and no different!

Cody quickly threw these plans overboard when he opend the entry of the tent and Kenobi looked at him confused. „This is not my tent.“, stated the Jedi, so he was still mentally present after all. Impressive. „Right Sir, this is mine. We don't have yours with us, so you will stay here.“, Cody explained and when Kenobi still looked at him confused, without moving, he reconsidered his judgment on the General's condition. His eyes seemed even more glassy than a few moments ago. And he was still wet. Sighing, Cody put a hand on the Jedi's shoulder and pushed him into the tent, then locked the entrance behind him. There was a soft splash and Cody whirled around, Kenobi was sitting on the floor in his wet clothes and didn't seem to notice that he was shaking.

Great, Plo Koon could have mentioned that Kenobi's condition had gotten worse. A little uncertainly, Cody took off his helmet and put it on the floor next to the entrance so that he wouldn't forget it later. Kenobi shifted a bit and whatever he was trying to do, it seemed to cost energy. The tremors got worse, if Cody didn't intervene... „Sir, we put a set of Blacks aside for you.“, Cody muttered and approached his General, he had noticed that Kenobi was traveling without luggage. Again. Cody would contact the Admiral at the earliest opportunity to get some things from Kenobi's quarters. Kenobi didn't react, so he put a hand on the Jedi's shoulder and squeezed lightly, he looked up. At least something! „It's okay, I just have to keep an eye on her...“, the Jedi muttered. Cody didn't understand any of it. Wow, something new. Couldn't the Jedi speak clearly? But this was HIS Jedi, so it would be worth a try… „Her?“, Cody asked carefully and crouched down so he brought himself to Kenobi's eye level. The General's gaze seemed far away. „Ahsoka.“ So that was the simple answer, Kenobi wanted to keep protecting her despite the huge distance between him and Ahsoka Tano? There was no longer any reason to do so, the war was over and Ahsoka was bound to new duties in the temple. At least for now. Besides, the girl was great at taking care of herself!

Cody sent a quick prayer to whoever and asked for a little more patience, this would probably be his job for quite some time. Taking care of his lost Jedi. He had to admit there were worse things than getting your own General back on his feet. But there was something in him that didn't like it when Kenobi looked at him blankly. It almost hurt. He knew the feeling, mostly it occurred when Kenobi was floating in a bacta tank for more than 24 hours and Cody had no choice but to trust the technology and medics. Maybe it was the helplessness that always came over him. Maybe not. There were more important puzzles to be solved now. For example, whether the death of Skywalker really had grown such strong fear of loss in Kenobi. Cody eyed his General one more time and decided, yes. „She is in the temple, safe. As soon as she moves, Rex knows it.“, Cody tried to get rid of the fear. Chaos in his head, infinite calm in his voice. He had always been able to do that. Kenobi still didn't move, okay. Fine. Then Cody would have to resort to good old trooper methods now. “I'm sorry Sir, you are not a shiny. But you act like one, so…”, Cody muttered, reaching with his hands under Kenobi's arms, heaving him back onto his feet. The Jedi swayed briefly, then caught himself and rubbed his face with one hand. That was still soaking wet! Kriff.

With one hand, Cody supported Kenobi at the elbow, he didn't trust the Jedi's legs, with the other he grabbed the clothes that he had put aside for the General. Ah, a medic had been so free to contribute a towel. Very nice. "Change, now.", instructed Cody and indeed his command tone seemed to get through to Kenobi. With still stiff hands the Jedi tried to open the outer robe, no chance. Cody knew that since an injury on such a stupid chunk of ice of planet, Kenobi's hands had been reluctant to cooperate on bad days. Today was a bad day, and Cody dared to say the worst of them all. Sighing, he put the things on the nearby bunk before he began to help the Jedi with quick fingers. If another member of the Order entered this tent now, he would find himself in serious need of explanation as a Commander. But, luckily for him, Kenobi was the only Jedi around in the system. So it was easy to get him out of his layered robes quickly. Hey, the undershirt was dry. That was at least something. Cody quickly took the black top from the bunk, held it open with his hands and held it so that Kenobi only had to stick his arms and head into it. He looked up briefly and when he met the confused and tired gaze of the Jedi, Cody's thoughts suddenly smoothed out. How many of his men had looked at him like that at least once? He never thought that it would be his own General's turn at some point. Even though he was taller than Cody, he looked so small and confused. „It's okay, I'll help you. Okay?“, Cody muttered, this time his gentle tone echoing the tenor of his thoughts. This was perhaps more familiar to him than he had initially thought. Kenobi slowly reached out his hands and Cody helped him into the top with a gentle smile. Well, that looked a lot better than the wet robes. Cody was glad that Kenobi wasn't that much bigger than the clones, otherwise they would have had serious problems finding clothes.

When Kenobi's head came back into his visual he blinked a few times and his eyes seemed clearer. „I am sorry Commander.“, he muttered, and Cody felt a small flicker of pride. He had made part of the way, Kenobi sought contact with him on his own initiative. That was good, for Cody it was a sign that the initial shock had been overcome. Well, better late than never. Right? „It's okay.“, he muttered and directed Kenobi to the bunk, there he pressed the black pants into the Jedi's hand. „You can do that?“, he asked and couldn't hide the slightly teasing tone. Kenobi nodded, satisfied Cody straightened up again and began to dispose of all weapons, carefully stacking them next to his helmet. Because no matter how calm and familiar the whole thing was, watching his General was definitely not appropriate. Only when Kenobi sat down again with a sigh, Cody glanced back and smiled contentedly, he came back over to the bunk and grabbed the towel. And while Kenobi stared a little annoyed at his unruly hands, Cody began carefully to dry the Jedi's wet hair. Well, as good as possible with a towel. „Cody?“, Kenobi asked softly. „Mhm?“ „Why did that happen?“ Ah, at this point they have been allready a few weeks ago, the Jedi seemed to keep spinning in circles. And Cody followed, of course, and was ready to have that conversation again. Until Kenobi would break out of this cycle. „Because Sidius planned it that way.“, he muttered his answer, waiting and knowing Kenobi would ponder Sidius now. About the failure of the Jedi. He had done that the last couple of times. „Was I a bad master?“ Cody paused, that was a different question than usual. He had no pre-planned answer for this one! Kriff. His pause seemed to prompt Kenobi to just keep babbling. „I should have saved him...“ „Sir...“ „Why was I so blind?“ „General?“ „I was his master and I betrayed him, like I left down Ahsoka before.“ „General Kenobi.“ „It was my fau-“ „Obi Wan!“

Cody grumpily took the towel down and stared at the Jedi, he had finally managed to break through Kenobi's senseless talk. He looked up at Cody with sad blue eyes. Cody wasn't exactly sure what he was up to. But gently straightening Obi Wan Kenobi's head seemed like a good option. „You are an excellent master. Ahsoka survived this war because she watched you just like she watched Skywalker. It's not your fault that your padawan chose a path, where you can't follow him.” Obi Wan blinked slowly, then looked down. Had Cody ruined today's little progress? He hoped not, to start all over again might get his patience to snap for today. But well... had there ever been anything Cody hadn't done for his General? Okay, maybe he would be able to start all over again, should it be necessary.

„Sorry.“, Obi Wan muttered into his beard and sighing, Cody put the towel aside. „It's okay, neither you nor I can help it.“, he tried to calm down and although Obi Wan nodded, Cody could not fail to see that he had started to shiver again. However, this could also come from the cold and exhaustion. Because Cody was sure Obi Wan wasn't crying. Not yet at least, this phase would definitely come. „How about some sleep?“, Cody suggested, sitting on the bunk next to Obi Wan. He had never dropped formality with his General. But tonight was sure to be okay, Obi Wan needed a friend, not a Commander.

„Can‘t.“ Obi Wan sounded as exhausted and empty as he looked. The Jedi tapped his temple with one hand. „Too loud.“ Then he let his head fall to one side, landing on Cody's shoulder. That was okay too. Reluctantly, he raised a hand and ran his fingers through Obi Wan's hair, slid up to the inclined temple and began to massage it in gentle circular movements. Despite the armor, he could feel the tension leaving Obi Wan's body. „Better?“, he asked anyway and got a weak sound of approval. Well then, he probably wouldn't leave this tent today after all. „Sleep, I'll stay here.“

*~*

The rain outside was pounding heavily on the tent, the temperature was cool and the air was uncomfortably wet. But Cody made no move to at least keep the cold away. Instead, he wrapped the thin blanket from his backpack a little tighter around his shoulders, reached into his helmet, which was lying next to him, and found the regulator for the usually very helpful warming function of his armor. That would keep his legs warm, the upper part of the armor he had piled next to the bunk.

Like that he sat slightly bent forward on the foot end of the bunk and while his left hand rested on Obi Wan's lower leg, he used the data pad on his knees with his right. Beside him Obi Wan was shaking, despite the thick blanket and insulating blacks, and Cody Thumb ran reassuring circles over the Jedi's lower leg. They urgently needed to get rations, preferably the red ones for high energy needs. If his body was supplied with enough energy, Obi Wan wouldn't suffer from the cold too much... For a moment he heard the footsteps of the two troopers on guard outside, then they fell silent again. He turned his attention to the datapad, a file at the top of the list could only have been written by Ahsoka. It was handwritten, kriff that girl had a bad hand. Sighing, he concentrated to decipher the sentences.

A brief account of how she organized Kenobi's trip. That she had personally chosen Echo to go with him. That she hoped it would help the Jedi.

‚He's very attached to you and if I'm right and you reciprocate those feelings, then I'm confident things will turn out better. I entrust you with its wellbeing.

P.S. Ask your men about the red ration bars. I gave them a few more shortly before you left. I had the feeling that they could be unsefull.‘

Well done, Ahs‘ika. She must have been one step ahead of him then. Maybe two. Cody glanced at the sleeping figure of Obi Wan, the light from the datapad just enough to see his face. Cody leaned forward carefully and pulled the covers a little higher until they almost touched Obi Wan's chin. The Sith should get him if he wouldn't help his Jedi. Ahsoka could rely on Cody.

[thetudorslovers]

"She endured with great composure and patience,and without grumbling,the well-known love affairs and dalliances of her absent husband ,because she understood that he truly loved and respected her above all women.But while her husband was alive,she safeguarded her chastity,than which nothing in a woman can be more becoming-with great strenght and keenness of mind. Even now,though bereft of him, she was fenced it in with garrisons of religious observances and watchfulness.

Distinguished and elegant scholarship shines forth in her to the admiration of men. From a tender age she cultivated an enormous desire for learning in nearly all fields,so that philosophers praise her argumentation and writing:theologians are thrilled as they listen to her; and poets and men of letters admire her without reservation,since they believe that she has not acquired her many great thoughts from attentive reading, but rather from divine inspiration. Consider her Tuscan poems,which are in circulation despite her bashful resistance and absolute unwillingness that this should be so. Then there are her almost innumerable letters: what authority,what manly decorum,and what charm these display, written as they are to the loftiest and most learned men and to the greatest kings? These accomplishments merit immortal praise. The scholarship that so many and such great virtues have placed in the control of this one divine woman shines forth in such a way that it is certainly very like those massive fires which are stirred up by Egyptian kings at the summit of pyramids. "

-This passage is an extract from "The Notable Men and Women of our Time", written in the late 1520s by Paolo Giovio,an italian man of letters.

Vittoria Colonna, certainly the most renowned and successful woman writer of her age in Italy, was widely admired by her peers for her impeccable Petrarchan verses and her public image of unimpeachable chastity and piety. Her work went through numerous sixteenth-century editions, but these tailed off after the 1560s and subsequent editorial neglect belies her status at the forefront of literary production by secular women in the Renaissance.

•Born into the powerful Roman Colonna clan in 1490 (some sources say 1492), second child of Fabrizio Colonna and Agnese di Montefeltro, Colonna was betrothed at a very young age to Francesco Ferrante D'Avalos, the Marquis of Pescara, in a political manoeuvre that established an alliance between the Colonna and the Spanish throne of King Ferdinand D'Aragona. The marriage was celebrated in 1509 on the island of Ischia, off the coast of Naples, and the couple briefly resided together in the Neapolitan countryside before D'Avalos left on the first of the many military campaigns against the French that were to occupy him for the rest of his life. Colonna herself returned to Ischia, to the court presided over by her aunt by marriage, Costanza D'Avalos, where the well-stocked library and lively court environment probably helped to encourage her own literary aspirations. A single poetic 'Epistle' to her husband, written during his imprisonment by the French in 1512, is all that survives of Colonna's poetry from this early period, but she is cited with enough frequency by contemporary Neapolitan writers to suggest that her work was already enjoying some significant scribal publication in and around Naples, if not further afield.

•Her husband's almost constant absence from home, as well as his reputation for valour and heroism in battle, appear to have provided Colonna with the necessary contexts of loss and longing required by the Petrarchan format. This was reinforced in 1525, when D'Avalos died from injuries sustained at the battle of Pavia, and it is no accident that Colonna's activity and fame as a poet grew exponentially from this date. Widowed, independently wealthy, and childless, she retreated into a convent in Rome as a secular guest and resisted all attempts by her family and the pope to arrange a second marriage. The emphasis in her work on spirituality and the contemplative life was reinforced by the chaste and pious persona she promoted publicly, and aided no doubt by her wealth and aristocratic status, she was able to formulate a literary voice which commanded considerable respect whilst preserving the necessary gender decorum.

Colonna's poetry is stylistically impeccable, drawing on the Petrarchan linguistic and imitative models recommended by Pietro Bembo and others in the period, but also, particularly in the more mature work, rich, sensuous and innovative in ways that may surprise the uninitiated reader. Although the earlier, so-called 'amorous' poems are more traditionally Petrarchan in their emphasis on loss and longing for the deceased consort, later 'spiritual' sonnets embrace instead a far more positive celebration of divine love for Christ which is flavoured significantly by the poet's personal interest in the ideas and doctrines of reform.

•A first edition of Colonna's Rime was published in 1538, and was followed by twelve further published editions before the poet's death in 1547. A particular feature of this publication history is Colonna's personal distance from all editions of her work that appeared during her lifetime, so that she was able to maintain that her writing was in no way related to any desire for personal fame or acclaim (although this claim is perhaps undermined by the large number of manuscript collections of the sonnets that were also in circulation during the period). A further nine editions of the Rime were published before the end of the sixteenth century, when interest in the genre and its practitioners waned. Since then, attention to the poetry has been sporadic, and serious critical consideration has often been undermined by the tendency towards overly biographical readings of these highly stylised and complex verses.

•Colonna's published work is not limited to poetry. She also composed prose works on religious themes, initially as letters, but which were later published in collections of prose meditations and in separate editions. These prose writings demonstrate clearly her interest in religious reform, as well as a concerted attempt to define a role for the secular literary female that draws on the examples of the female 'apostles' who appear in the New Testament and in traditional hagiographies, most significantly the examples of Mary Magdalene, Catherine of Alexandria and the Virgin Mary.

Source:https://www.lib.uchicago.edu/efts/IWW/BIOS/A0011.html

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [61]

iii. sleeping giants

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: violence, bleeding, injuries, explosions, torture.

Summary: You, Clarke, and Madi finally get the chance to confront your enemies, and you quickly learn that you’re up against more than you bargained for.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You, Clarke, and Madi are crouched low along the ridgeline, and you and Clarke each have your rifles propped up on the large rocks in front of you, focused on the man you trapped in the clearing. He’s still crying out in pain, and you can see the blood on his clothes, bright red against his tan jumpsuit. Madi has watched on in silence since you arrived, but she finally breaks now, looking over at you and Clarke, clearly upset. “This isn't right.”

Clarke looks away from her scope to look at Madi, sympathetic. “Madi, I know, but this is our home, your home.”

“And they want to take it from us.”

Clarke nods, “That's right.”

She’s quiet for a second before she asks, “But he doesn't have to suffer. We can kill him now, right?”

Clarke’s expression hardens, her jaw sets, and she turns back to her weapon, peering down at the man again. “Not yet.”

You follow suit, the conversation seemingly over, watching as the man screams out again. Suddenly, there’s movement in the trees around the clearing, and seconds later prisoners start to creep out towards the man, led by the woman you saw earlier. She motions for the group to stop and watch, but a few of the men around her ignore her, walking past her and right into the kill zone you and Clarke established. You whisper, “I’ve got left.”

“I’ve got right.”

You and Clarke each fire off a shot, one immediately after the next, killing the two closest men. Everyone else in the group drops down, looking around for you, and you and Clarke reload before peering through the scope again. Unfortunately, you set your sights on the group just in time to see one of the men stand up, a large weapon in his hand, pointed right at you. You and Clarke see it at the same time, letting out a soft gasp, unable to do anything else before the blast hits the ridgeline in front of you. 

The blast knocks all three of you away, and you hear Madi let out a scream before your body lands on the ground with a hard thud. You groan in pain, a high pitched ringing in your ears, and you hear Clarke’s muffled voice calling your name through the haze in your head. You look up, meeting her eyes, and she grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We have to run!”

You nod your head, crouching low and following her and Madi from the ridgeline and into the trees. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and the cotton in your head to clear, but when it finally does, you feel a rush of anxiety, aware of the danger the three of you now face. Your anxiety only grows when you realize Clarke is gasping, quietly fighting back pain. You pull her to a stop, and Madi whispers, “We can make it to the north cave, come on!”

You ignore her and search Clarke over, pulling her hand away from her ribs and staring down at the black blood covering her hand. “You’re hurt.”

A look of fear passes over Clarke’s face and she turns to Madi, “We have to hide you.”

She looks around until she finds a cut out in a tree nearby, and she starts to urge Madi towards it. “You need to get in here.”

“Not without you.”

You glare at Clarke, blood still dripping from beneath her shirt. “Clarke, you can’t go on like this.”

“I have to keep Madi safe!”

You grab her shoulders, forcing her to look at you, “But who will keep you safe?”

You push both of them towards the hole, just large enough to hide Clarke and Madi. “You both need to hide, I’ll lead them away.”

“But-”

“Clarke there’s no time to argue about this! Get in here, stay hidden.” They both climb into the hole, looking up at you in fear, both reluctant to let you go. You smile down at them and Clarke whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you both.” You pass Madi your knife, wrapping her fingers around it. “Stay safe.”

And then you grab trees and branches from nearby, covering them both up, tucking them out of sight. You turn and run off, leading them away from your family, making sure to be loud enough that they follow you instead. You can hear the prisoners in the woods behind you, yelling updates to each other every time they catch a glimpse of you, and it only pushes you faster, trying to put as much distance as you can between you and the prisoners at your back. Unfortunately, you don't expect them to shoot at you, and you hear the sound of gunshot pop through the air seconds before a bullet tears through your left shoulder. You let out a cry of pain, the injury surprising you and knocking you off your feet. You stumble and roll down a small hill, groaning as you reach the bottom.  You hear footsteps approaching from behind you, and you start to jump to your feet when you feel a boot press down into your back, pinning you in place. 

You try to fight against them until you feel a hand press into the bullethole, making you scream out in pain, choked and broken. You hear a radio to your left, the voice of a woman coming through. “McCreary, we heard gunfire, report. I said report, McCreary.”

“Relax, Colonel. I told you we'd get her, and we did.” Someone grabs your hair, using it to tug your head up and back, and you sneer at the man who drops onto his knees in front of you. He reaches up to stroke a finger down your face, and you rear back and spit at him, watching the blob land in his beard near his mouth. He smacks you across the face, hard, snapping your head to the side, the movement tugging at your hair, and you bite back your sound of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He lifts his radio again and adds, “She's a feisty one. Pretty, too.”

“Good work. Bring her to me, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

You are yanked to your feet by the man, McCreary, and he holds you tight by the shirt around your neck, limiting your movement. He half drags, half pushes you the whole way back to the village, and you try to keep an eye on your surroundings as you move, looking for any sight of Madi or Clarke. You’re relieved when you don’t see them in the village, still out there, still free, but your relief is short lived when you are shoved into the center of the village, surrounded by prisoners on all sides. The woman from before calls out, “Let me see her face.”

Your head is again yanked back by your hair, and you hold back a grunt of pain as your eyes land on the woman in front of you. You're surprised to see that she’s young. Definitely older than you, but also younger than your mother, her face relatively smooth of any lines or signs of aging. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, giving you a small view of the jagged scar that runs across the front of her neck. You shudder at the sight of it, not sure you want to know how she got it and survived, and you move your eyes from her to the man at her side. He’s younger than her, closer in age to you, and he’s handsome. His eyes seem kinder than the others, and he’s dressed differently, his clothes all black instead of tan. He looks at you suspiciously, before his eyes fall on McCreary behind you. “You only caught one?”

“We only saw one.” McCreary lets go of your hair, pushing your head down and into the grass. You pull yourself to your knees and then look up at the people surrounding you, watching as the handsome guy whispers, “I highly doubt she was alone.”

“How many others in the woods?”

You look up at the woman, mind running through what to do, until you remember Lincoln. Silent, steady, warrior with a heart, who didn't say a word the entire time he was in your camp. None of you even knew he spoke English until Octavia told you later. You quietly decide to say nothing, hide your reactions, and you make your face blank and set your jaw as you look up at them, silent. The woman looks at McCreary, who smacks you across the face for a second time, the skin on your right cheek throbbing in pain. He drops down in front of you, and grinds out, “Answer the question.”

You stare up at him, still silent, and he lifts his arm and grabs your head before raising his fist, ready to punch you. You flinch a little, waiting for the blow, but the woman stops him in his tracks. “Not yet. First we pray.”

McCreary pulls you to your feet and drags you to the church, as the woman yells to the other prisoners, “Secure the perimeter. Her people will come for her, be ready!”

You are led straight inside of your home, and your lip curls up in disgust when you see that the prisoners have already made themselves at home. McCreary grabs a chair and tosses you into it, before snatching up a bit of rope and securing you in place. When he finishes, he stares at you for a long second, and you glare back, not letting him intimidate you. He glares back at you, before rising to his full height and punching you across the face. You grunt in pain, his hit landing in the same place as his last two, and you’re sure a bruise is already forming along your right cheek and eye.

The handsome man from before runs over and grabs McCreary before he can hit you again, yelling, “Hey, hey, stop! We need her.”

They both grab each other, McCreary hands reaching for the man’s neck, and the woman runs over to break up the spat. “Hey! Enough!”

“He's not one of us. We lose four men, and he doesn't even care.”

The woman glares at McCreary, snapping back, “He is one of us. None of us is here without Shaw.”

Shaw. The handsome man is Shaw, the man all too eager to hit you is McCreary. Shaw is different from the others, evident by McCreary’s “not one of us” comments, but you still aren’t sure how he’s different. You tuck all of the information away for later, in case you need it. The two men release each other as McCreary counters, “None of us is here without me, either. You remember that.”

The woman glares at him, grabbing him by the front of his uniform, her voice low and threatening. “We all have a role to play, and we're all upset about the loss of our men. Take a team and sweep the woods for her friends.”

She releases him and he stares at her for a long second, before he nods and walks away, bumping Shaw on the way out. Shaw turns to glare at him, but makes no move towards him, and the woman walks closer to you, eyes scanning you. You see her gaze drop to the floor, onto a puddle of black blood near your feet, dripping from the bullethole in your shoulder. She turns to Shaw, pointing at the puddle. “You see this?”

He walks over to your chair and runs his finger through your blood, rubbing it between his fingers as he peers down at it. “Blood alteration like they had on the Eligius III. Two suns, no sunscreen needed.”

Two suns? Eligius III? Though the comment confuses you, you are careful to keep your expression blank, adding the information to the list of things that might be useful to you later.

“Must be how they survived down here.” The woman lifts her radio and mutters, “Bring me a med kit. Over.”

The request sends some hope, some relief through you, because captors rarely bandage up their prisoners if they’re just going to kill them in the end. For now, your survival seems likely, meaning you're still useful to them. Something you can work with. The woman pulls up a chair across from you, sitting down into it, threading her fingers together. “We got off on the wrong foot, you and I. We had no idea that there was anyone alive down here. How could we have? We were just trying to get back home. Imagine our surprise when we found that there was no home to get back to, and then your people started killing mine. Surely you can understand why I'm upset, just like you were upset when we took your village. I don't blame you. When a fascist government tried to take my home, I wanted blood, too. And I got it. Nobody else has to die today, just tell me what I need to know, and we can come up with an arrangement that works for all of us. Sound like a plan?”

You sift through the information she’s given you, filing parts of it away for later, careful to keep your expression neutral and unreadable. Shaw, convinced by your show, muses, “Maybe she doesn't speak English.”

The woman doesn't get to answer, because the door to your home suddenly bursts open, and a large man drags someone inside. “Colonel Diyoza, we found this one lurking in the woods outside.”

Your stomach drops as your eyes land on a head full of blonde hair, streaked with red, and she looks up and meets your eyes, looking worried. You see her eyes scan your face, landing on the forming bruise, before she takes notice of the blood dripping from your shoulder onto the ground. You see her worry deepen, but you send her a silent message with your eyes, letting her know you’re okay. You scan her body for additional injuries, relieved to find none as the woman, Diyoza, stands from the chair she was sitting in and slides it next to you, motioning towards it. “Tie her up next to the other one.”

As soon as Clarke is pushed down into the chair beside you, you turn her way and whisper, “No gonasleng. Weron deimeka?”

No English. Where’s the sun? She nods, understanding your command and your question. “Klir. Kamp daun oso sontam honen graun.”

Safe. Near our summer hunting grounds. You nod before you look away, Clarke now tied up beside you. When you do, your eyes land on Shaw and Diyoza, who clearly heard your whispered conversation. Shaw turns to Diyoza, “So, no English then.”

The radio at Diyoza’s side crackles to life with McCreary’s voice, updating everyone on their search. You see Clarke perk up from the corner of your eye, and Diyoza must see it too, because she smirks as she pulls up another chair. “They speak English, they just want us to think they don’t so we'll speak freely and reveal something they can use against us.”

The radio crackles with another update, Clarke clearly listening in, and you resist the urge to shake your head, wondering how someone so careful is now so obvious, her mama bear instincts overriding her warrior instincts. “Every time the patrol checks in this one looks at this. She's tracking our movements, that's all she cares about.”

Clarke freezes, not meaning to give either of you up, and Diyoza looks over to you, seeing if you're going to change your mind and answer any of her earlier inquiries. When you make no move to, she leans back in her chair, appraising you both. “You don't want to talk, that's fine, don't talk. But we'll see how you feel when we find whoever it is you're protecting.”

She lifts her radio, her eyes never leaving Clarke as she delivers the news. “Change of plans, ladies and gentlemen. No more prisoners, shoot to kill.”

Your blood runs cold, and you and Clarke share a look, but she manages to keep her cool, though you know she’s eager to kill everyone in this room and get back to Madi. Diyoza stands, watching you both, waiting for you to react, and when you don’t she sighs and puts the radio down on the table beside her. She grabs the medkit and walks over to you, but you shake your head, nodding over at Clarke. Her brows pull together but she moves to your twin instead, finding the injury they gave her when they blasted the three of you on the ridgeline. As she works, she calls out, “Shaw, they’re both bleeding, gimme a hand.”

She passes some supplies to Shaw before he walks over to you, searching your body for an injury. He finally finds the bullethole in your shoulder, and when he checks the front of your body, he sighs when he doesn't see an exit wound. “The bullet is still in your shoulder, I’m going to have to free one of your hands so I can get your jacket off to get a better look. Are you going to behave?”

You stare at him, trying to decide what to do, before ultimately you give him a single nod, knowing that Clarke already alerted them about your ability to understand, and that bleeding out as a prisoner is not how you want to go out. Shaw frees your left hand and then helps you shrug out of the arm of your jacket before he tugs down the neck of your shirt to get a better look. As he does, you feel his finger pass over the jagged scar on your shoulder, the one Clarke gave you when she cauterized your arrow wound on Luna’s rig. His face pops back into view again, giving you a strange look before he reaches for a pair of surgical pliers. “This is going to hurt.”

You give him no reaction and he takes that as a sign to continue, digging the pliers into the hole in your shoulder, searching for the bullet. Your jaw clenches, biting back a scream of pain, trying to keep up your show of strength. He digs around for an agonizingly long second before you feel the pliers slide out of the wound. A second later he grabs your hand and drops the bullet into it, glinting in the light beneath your black blood. He grabs a suture kit and stitches you up, your mind distracted from the pain as you roll the bullet around in your hand. Shaw finishes quickly, bandages your wound, and helps you back into your jacket before he restrains your hand again and steps away from you. You tuck the bullet into your pocket, a reminder to you on what you’re dealing with here. Diyoza finishes up on Clarke, both of you now bandaged, and the two of them walk away from you and your twin, leaving you to contemplate the mess you’re in.

Hours pass, and slowly day turns to night as your captivity continues. The sporadic updates from McCreary leave you and Clarke with hope, no mention of them finding Madi, leaving at least one of you safe. Sometime after dark, Shaw grabs a canteen and offers Clarke and then you a sip of water, before he settles into the seat across from you, his voice soft and pleading. “Come on, what harm can come from telling me your name?”

He watches you, waiting for you to answer, but when you don’t he leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, believe it or not, this is the best conversation I've had in over a hundred years. I was an altar boy in a church just like this. Saginaw, about two hours outside Detroit. On my Harley, I'd make it in one. God, I miss that bike...more than I miss most of the people.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but McCreary’s voice comes through the radio, sounding excited. “Someone just ran out of that cave. Harris, Falk, watch your six. Fast little thing, we can cut her off at the lake. Go west. Wait, scratch that. She's turning North, I got a shot.”

You and Clarke exchange a look of fear, and she immediately breaks her silence. “No! She's just a child.”

Diyoza turns to face her, surprised. “She speaks.”

“Please.”

She stalks towards Clarke, her voice hard. “How many others are in the woods?”

“None. It's just the three of us. I am begging you, tell him not to shoot!”

“Fire at will.”

Clarke looks over at you, terrified at the thought of losing Madi, her daughter, her family, and you look at Diyoza. “I know where they are, over near our summer hunting grounds. She's leading them into a trap. If they don't stop right now, those men will die.”

Diyoza looks at you, unconvinced, but Shaw turns to her, looking sincere. “I believe her.”

You silently thank the kind hearted man as Clarke backs you up, “It's the truth. If you let her go, we'll tell you everything.”

Diyoza stares at you both, considering this offer, before she lifts the radio again. “All units: stand down. Falk, if McCreary disobeys, shoot him in the leg. Harris, if Falk disobeys, shoot him in the head. There may be traps near your position. Check it out and report back, over.”

It only takes a minute for them to come back on the radio, sounding shocked. “Son of a bitch, another bear trap. Almost stepped right in it.”

“Report to base camp. Over and out.”

Clarke looks up at the woman, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling the truth. As long as you keep doing that, your friend in the woods will stay alive, and so will the two of you. Do we understand each other?”

You and Clarke both answer, “Yes.”

“Good, then let's begin. Start with how the world ended.”

You and Clarke share a knowing look, before you lean back in your chair, your voice serious, “Which time?”

“There was more than one?”

“Two, actually.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Clarke takes over, beginning the history lesson, as McCreary and a few others step inside your home, listening in. “On the Ark, they taught us that the war started as a Chinese first strike, but they were wrong. It was started by an AI called Alie. Her intention was to reduce the popu-”

She’s cut off by someone’s voice coming in over the radio. “Colonel, we have five more hostiles. At least one is armed, are we still playing nice?”

Everyone in the room cuts a glare over at you and Clarke, but the two of you share a look, utterly and completely bewildered. There’s no way. Diyoza grabs her radio, “Stand by.” 

She points to the others in the room. “Find out where they are and reinforce their position. Not you, McCreary.”

She comes to stand in front of you and Clarke, absolutely fuming. “What did I tell you would happen if you lied to me?”

“We didn’t-”

“Everyone else is locked-”

Diyoza cuts you both off, hitting Clarke across the face, and then you. You bite back a yell of pain, sure that your cheek is bruised at this point. “Take them outside. Use the collar.”

Your eyes widen in alarm, not liking the sound of that, and the reactions of the two men around you only increase your worry. McCreary grins, already walking towards you. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Shaw stands from his seat, looking worried. “Colonel...they’re cooperating.”

“Which is why they’ll live. Their friends, on the other hand…” She lifts the radio, finally deciding on her plans. “Four of ours are dead. It's time to even the score.”

McCreary snaps a thick collar around your neck as another prisoner puts one on Clarke, and you are both pulled to your feet and dragged to the door, fighting the entire time. McCreary tosses you down the stairs, and you roll, hitting your shoulder on the way down. You hold back your scream, letting out a quiet groan of pain as Clarke is tossed down beside you. You pull yourself to your knees, your hands desperately clutching at the collar, and McCreary comes down the stairs and stops in front of you, two remotes in his hand. He tsks, “I wouldn't do that if I was you, you might burn your fingers.”

You pull your fingers away just in time, because seconds later a pulse of electricity moves from the collar, through your body. Little sounds of pain slip past your lips as you convulse, the shock worse than anything you’ve ever felt from the batons, and you can hear Clarke somewhere nearby, making similar sounds of pain. All around you prisoners start to cheer, gathering in a circle to watch, and you start to crawl away, hoping that you can outrun the pain that radiates through your body. Clarke groans out, “Please, we weren’t lying!”

“Hit them again.”

He hits you both again, both of you crying out in pain as the shock electrifies every cell in your body, tearing you apart, piece by piece. When the pain finally stops, you convulse for a second, your body trying to shake the pain off, and McCreary drops down in front of you, grinning. You weakly mutter, “We don't know who that was.”

“I guess you made your point.”

You’re grateful for Shaw, still trying to defend you and your twin, but Diyoza is less impressed. “You might be right. But just in case, hit them again.”

He electrifies you again, your whole body shaking from the force of it, and you can feel yourself growing weaker as the pulse moves through you. The pain stops abruptly, but it takes a second for your senses to return, and when you do, you realize you and Clarke are side by side, sitting in the path of a bright light. Diyoza yells, “Hold, and fire on my command.”

You and Clarke crawl towards each other, staring at the rover in front of you, as Clarke whispers, “Madi, no.”

Diyoza yells, “Come out with your hands high!”

You hear the rover door open and close, and you peer towards it, blinded by the bright lights. A figure approaches slowly, much taller than Madi, and your stomach drops, not sure what you’re seeing. Before their face comes into view, you hear their voice, washing over you and leaving you shocked. “I’m unarmed. Just want to talk.”

He comes closer, stepping into the path of the light, his face now coming into view. 

Bellamy. 

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, falling down your cheeks at the sight of him. He’s older, but he looks good, really good, facial hair now covering the lower half of his face. His hair is still long, curls bouncing around his face. You have to resist every cell in your body, screaming at you to run to him and jump in his arms. Instead, you pull yourself to your knees, your eyes locked on him, watching as he looks at all the prisoners pointing a gun his way. 

“Talk. Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand.”

Bellamy’s voice is full of leadership as he looks at Diyoza, “How about I give you 283? That's how many of your people are gonna die if you and I can't make a deal.”

He holds up a cup in his hand, and it must mean something to Diyoza because she freezes in place, an unreadable expression passing over her face. She nods, and Bellamy holds up a hand, signaling for the rover to back up and drive away. You hear Clarke sigh beside you, relieved that Madi is still safe. Diyoza glances back at you and your twin, before turning her focus on Bellamy. “283 lives for two. They must be pretty important to you.”

For the first time, Bellamy’s eyes finally find yours, surprised to see you on the ground, clearly in pain. Clarke is now on her knees beside you, looking at Bellamy in shock, and you see a look of pain pass over Bellamy’s face as he looks you over, taking in your appearance. He answers Diyoza, his eyes locked solely on you. “They are.”

You feel a rush of tears fall down your face again, fully crying as you look at the love of your life, back on Earth, standing in front of you. You can feel your muscles tense, wanting to run to him, but the collar shifts on your neck, reminding you of its presence, so you don’t. You just sit there, eyes locked on Bellamy, his eyes locked on yours, reminding you of all the love, memories, and history that the two of you share. 

Diyoza turns to Shaw, her expression serious. “Assemble a team and head back to the transport, check on our people.”

Shaw starts to walk away, but Diyoza grabs him. ��Take the girls with you. Anything goes wrong, kill them both.”

Shaw nods once, and McCreary pulls you to your feet while someone else grabs Clarke. They start to pull you away, away from Bellamy, and any self restraint you held onto goes out the window, threatened with the thought of never seeing Bellamy again. You start to fight, pulling against McCreary’s hold on you, wiggling in his grip. You call out for Bellamy, finally getting yourself free from your captor, and you take off towards him, Bellamy’s arms already opening, ready to grab you in a hug. You smile, overcome with relief, but you never make it to him. Halfway across the space someone activates your collar, sending electricity pulsing through you, more powerful than before. You hit the ground, convulsing and twitching, your body focused on nothing other than the shockwaves that pulse through you. You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to think of anything other than the electricity that invades your body and destroys you.

You’re relieved when the pain finally stops, but your body is exhausted, unable to handle the last hit of electricity, and you feel yourself start to slip into unconsciousness. You hear Shaw yelling at someone, and Bellamy saying your name, and you try to fight the darkness that engulfs you, wanting to get back to him, but it’s too strong. It grabs your body, wrapping you up, before the darkness takes the plunge, bringing you with it. 

-

next chapter

[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Eleven: Green-eyed

AN: You know how people say, “wow, this turned dark fast,”  well this chapter is the embodiment of that. So, warning this chapter is dark. Thanks to everyone who has followed this story!

Word Count: 3.3k

Trigger Warnings: racism, hate crimes, violence

Taglist: @nerds4life246 @leahnicole1219​

Chapter Twelve:  A Macabre Rite of Passage

Sabine became aware of the morning when she felt the heat of the sun beating down on her face. Her eyes fluttered open, but immediately shut again as the bright rays of the morning sun stung her irises. Sabine raised her hand to shield the blinding light enough for her to see. Sabine vocalized her disapproval as a grunt that melted into a groan, forgetting how inadequate her curtains proved to be at times. She went to roll over, but felt a weight across her waist, glancing down she saw a tanned arm wrapped around her.

Sabine smiled to herself now feeling the mustache tickling the back of her neck.

"Bastien," she thought.

Carefully, Sabine shifted herself around to be able to face Bastien, admiring at how peaceful he looked as he slept. He was sporting a bad case of bed-head, but she didn't care, it added charm to him. Her eyes scanned over him, being this close to Bastien she could see the softness in the lines of his face a lot more clearly. She could almost see the youthfulness he once possessed. Sabine propped her head up before reaching her finger out and letting it softly trail down the bridge of his nose, then tracing the curves of his lips.

"Is that entertaining you?"

The sound of Bastien's hoarse voice startled her causing Sabine to jerk her hand back as he opened his eyes.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked breathlessly, trying to get heartbeat under control.

"Since you went to roll over," he answered, mirroring her position. "But I decided to let myself be showered in your attention," he explained, the bed sheet that covered him sliding off his chest.

An involuntary shiver ran down Sabine's spine as the chilly air around them nipped at the naked skin of shoulders and thighs.

She rolled her eyes, "You're unbelievable," she remarked, shaking her head.

"I don't think so," he disagreed. "Who wouldn't want your attention?" he asked, dragging her closer to him, warmth emanating from his body.

Sabine grinned, "I could name a few, but they wouldn't come close to how you make me feel," she said, letting her arms rest above her head.

Bastien laughed softly and rolled on top of her, careful not to crush her with his full weight. Sabine's heartbeat increased again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He leaned in slowly until his mouth touched hers, caressing her lips. Sabine's fingers found themselves entangled in Bastien's hair as he pulled her closer, his kisses more ardent. A small moan from Sabine spilled into Bastien's mouth at the sensation of his fingers skimming up her thigh before hooking it over his hip in a bruising grip. Bastien's lips slowly curved upward at the contented noises coming from beneath him.

The two of them pulled apart, trying to catch their breaths with their foreheads pressed together.

"Shh," Bastien hushed playfully. "Any louder and you'll wake the whole house. These walls are thin you know," he joked, and nipped at her chin.

She laughed warmly, "As if they don't know what happened already from you dragging me away to the house last night," she retorted, which turned into a high pitch gasp because of his ministrations.

Bastien smiled against her neck at her reaction, planting another open mouth kiss at her nape. It made her shiver and tingle. The soft breaths coming from him tickled her neck as his mouth traveled lower and lower, nipping and sucking at the sensitive area of her collarbone. Sabine slid her hands from his hair and to his jaw, pulling him up for a deep kiss. Her tongue swept across his lower lip and the vibrations of the groan that Bastien let out reverberated through her body. Breaking away with a soft smack of their lips, Bastien's breathing matching hers.

A cheeky grin made its way onto her face, feeling him stir against her thigh.

"I think someone's happy to see me," Sabine quipped, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Very happy," he retorted, rolling his hips against hers.

Her eyes rolled backwards, "Sebasti-" Sabine breathed sharply, before his mouth covered her own, swallowing the moan that almost came out.

Sabine felt his muscles flex and tense under the tips of her fingers, lifting his head slightly, Bastien's lips hovered over hers. His hands came up to her side to grip her waist, tracing patterns against her ribs with his thumbs. Sabine's heart thrummed in her chest as their noses bumped against each other. A faint clanking sound from the den caused her eyes to dart off to her door.

"I think Andy is awake," she murmured, her lips brushing his. "Fun time is over," she commented

"Says who?" he questioned, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. "I didn't hear anything," he objected, placing languid kisses up and down the area.

"We can't stay in bed for the whole day Bastien," Sabine stated, shuddering at the sensation of his lips on her ear.

"I don't know," Bastien responded, his fingers traveling up to the sides of her breasts. "We could give it a try," he suggested, and Sabine could envision the smile on his face.

She chuckled with a shake of her head, "I have errands to run," she said, dragging her fingers up Bastien's back. "Chores to do," she continued, gently cupping his face. "Another time perhaps?"

Bastien's mouth flipped up into a tiny smirk, "Only if we finished what we started," he proposed, with a gleam in his eyes.

"Five minutes Bastien,"

He arched his brow, "Five?" he repeated. "Now that is a bit insulting Sabine," he stated, smirking at her.

Sabine rolled her eyes, "Ten," she remarked, feeling herself smile.

Bastien grinned down at her and lowered his face towards hers, capturing her lips again in a soft yet demanding kiss.

~~~x~~~

One lonesome cowboy rode without a care in the world on her horse. All the while whistling the tune of "Darling Nelly Gray", with only the trees and bushes of the woods as her audience. A faint smile adorned her face, in a way she felt terrible, the song was about a slave's wife being sold and taken from him. On the other hand, the verses were beautifully sad and resonated deeply with Sabine, it was a marker of how far she's come in life. After all, it wasn't that long ago she was in the same position that the song is about, the only difference is that the roles were reversed.

Henry.

During the war she often thought about her first love, where he was, what he might be doing, or if he was even alive. The former she liked to ignore, instead she wanted to believe that he managed to escape from his bondage and went North to freedom and started a new family, living happily ever after. However, Sabine knew that such fairy-tale endings were never meant for folks like her. Her husband was most likely dead, leaving Sabine to believe she would never know happiness again.

But once she got settled into her newfound immortal life, Sabine allowed herself to entertain the idea of romance once more. Sabine was by no definition the most open woman, as one could imagine she kept her heart guarded after watching her husband be sold on a whim. She was very particular with the men she engaged with. They couldn't be too ugly, too demanding, or too sex-driven. They had to pique her interest in some sort of fashion.

"With those incredibly high standards Sabine, you just eliminated 99% of potential partners," Josef quipped.

It had been some time since she had finally opened up as she did. And it felt so good to do so for the first time in awhile. How she felt this morning with Bastien, it reminded Sabine of her first moments meeting Henry.

"Miss Vance?" a boy called.

Her whistling stopped abruptly and she snapped out of her musing. Turning her head to the owner of the voice, she found herself staring at a young boy riding beside her, his brown eyes wide and glassy.

Well, she wasn't completely alone, Bonnie and her brother tagged along for a morning ride.

"Yes, Solomon," Sabine responded.

"You kill people, right?"

"Solomon!" Bonnie hissed.

Sabine knew if Bonnie didn't have the reins in her hands, she would've reached behind her and choked her younger brother.

She chuckled and bit, "It's alright Bonnie," she assured. "It's not like it's a secret," she pointed out with a shrug.

The three of them rode past the meadow, Sabine happened to glance off to her right and see something off in the distance. She tugged on the reins ordering Freedom to come to a halt. She just sat on her horse, brown eyes peering out from under the brim of her brown duster, her mouth set in a frown.

"Something wrong Corinna?" Bonnie asked, as she closed the distance between her and Sabine.

Sabine frowned, narrowing her eyes slightly at a figure swaying back and forth.

"Stay behind me," she ordered. "But a keep distance," she added.

Sabine dug her heels into the sides of her horse and Freedom bore down at a furious pace down the grassy plains. Her heart was beating fast, filled with dread of what she thought she saw. Freedom let out a frustrated snort as she slowed her pace slightly. Sabine placed her hand on the horse's neck, as if the gesture would be enough to keep the animal going.

And in the distance, she saw it, the lone tree.

Hanging on the higher branches, was the silhouette of a black man, stripped down to only his nightshirt. His face in a gruesome contortion of pain.

"C-Corinna, is that what I-" Bonnie began.

"Stay back!" Sabine snapped, looking over her shoulder.

Bringing her horse to halt, Sabine dismounted carefully and approached the body hanging from the tree, but stopped once her eyes landed on the pool of blood beneath the man. She followed the path of the crimson liquid and slowly raised her hand to her mouth. The blood was dripping down from his legs.

"My god," Sabine whispered, paralyzed in horror.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the lifeless black body that was lynched, his body hanging like a torn carcass in a butcher's shop.

~~~x~~~

A day had passed since the funeral for the poor soul of Irving, the man that Sabine found lynched from a tree. Three days since the gruesome discovery. She tried to purge the memory from her head so she could sleep, but it was futile to do so. Every time her eyes slid shut, all she could see was the dead, tortured face of Irving staring back at her. The emptiness and sorrow she felt inside had slightly subsided since his funeral, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the feelings would return.

Probably stronger than before.

Sabine remembered telling the news to the grieving widow on that horrible day.

The front door flung open and the hopeful grin of the wife shattered almost immediately at the sight of Sabine's grim expression.

"I am so sorry miss," she said, and the woman knows she means it.

A small, soft wail rushed past the woman's lips and expired in the air before she caught herself on the door frame.

The little breakfast Sabine had that morning found its way into the bottom of a wooden bucket.

"Has she left her room at all today?"

"No,"

Sabine laid in her bed in the dark, her curtains drawn close, listening to Josef and Bastien conversing quietly outside her door. She could only imagine the worried expressions etched on their faces. She was full of thirst and didn't notice it. She hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday and barely any rest. But she didn't care. Sabine had woke up with a slight headache that would throb sharply at her temples every once in awhile, but yet again, she didn't care.

"Sabine," Bastien called gently. "May I come in?" he asked, maintaining the same tone.

She didn't respond.

A sigh escaped him, "I'm going to come in now, okay?" he called out.

When the door opened, her back was facing him, she's sure that Bastien can hear her uneven breathing, but for a few seconds after he closed the door he doesn't say anything. A sliver of sunlight slipped into her room through the curtains and shone down on her foot. Sabine focused on it, waiting for him to say something. His footsteps echoed in her room before he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, a safe distance from her.

"I-I can't erase that man's mutilated body from my memory," Sabine spoke finally, her voice hoarse. "His lifeless eyes-" she went on, choking back a sob.

She rolled her body over to face Bastien, tears streaking down her cheeks. He moved himself closer to Sabine, a concerned look on his face as he positioned himself by her side. Bastien reached out, softly wiping the tears from her face with the calloused pad of his thumb.

He exhaled heavily, "Come here," he ordered softly.

Sabine rose from her bed, kicking off her covers and crawled over to him, nestling herself into his lap. Bastien embraced her, pressing a kiss on top of her head. Wrapping her arms around him, Sabine took in his warmth as she began crying softly into his shoulder, her tears staining his shirt.

"Shh, you're okay. Shh, you're okay," he repeated, rubbing her back soothingly.

Finding the man's body evoked unpleasant memories for Sabine. She was seventeen when it happened.

Her and Genevieve had returned from the French Quarter after doing some dress shopping for the older woman. Traveling down the path to the Martin House all Sabine could see was slaves hard at work, laboring before dawn. Hundreds of black bodies hunched over in the fields, others tending to cattle and cleaning up manure, and some working the stables. Just as she went to face forward, something had caught her eye.

The Whipping Tree.

And from one of the branches, a runaway slave hanging from it.

His body was surrounded by a rowdy bunch, the overseers, who always seemed ready to go after any slave that attempted to escape. Almost excited one would say. They always had their larges, vicious dogs straining at their leashes to sink their teeth into the flesh of slaves. As the carriage grew closer to the tree, Sabine could see bite marks littered on both his legs.

She could feel her stomach begin to twist itself in knots.

"I'm sorry you had to see such brutality," Bastien murmured into her hair. "I should have never let you leave this bed that morning," he continued, letting his fingers run through her locks.

Sabine stirred, slightly lifting her head from his shoulder, "Who knows how long before someone found his body if it weren't for me coming across it," she replied, in a hushed tone, no longer shedding any tears. "His body would've been left the to the elements and vultures," she went on. "He was already tortured and then murdered, his body didn't deserve any further desecration," she finished,

He sighed loudly, "You're right," Bastien agreed, nodding his head. "This whole ordeal is just...awful," he breathed.

"My biggest regret is that Solomon and Bonnie were apart of my discovery," Sabine stated, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, it is a macabre rite of passage that all colored folks go through," she informed mirthlessly. "Something like this happening to them was inevitable," she added, leaning her forehead against his.

Bastien used the back of his finger to stroke her cheek, "You shouldn't have to though," he responded, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"America says otherwise," Sabine retorted, removing her forehead

"We could move to the city," Bastien suggested. "Live somewhere on the east coast," he guessed, now running his fingers up and down her thigh.

"We?" Sabine echoed, slightly quirking her eyebrow. "You mean just the two of us?" she questioned. "A colored woman and a white man living together. That will raise more red flags than the fact that we can't die or age,"

Bastien's mouth curved upward, "I meant all of us Sabine, somewhere like New York," he clarified. "You've always said you wanted to live there,"

"New York is still in this country Bash," Sabine pointed out. "Living in cities doesn't safeguard you from potentially being lynched,"

"But it's a significant improvement compared to living out here," he remarked, and all Sabine could do was hum. "We could use a change of scenery, couldn't we?"

"Going from the beautiful frontier to endless rows of brick buildings and the air smelling like sewage," Sabine commented sarcastically. "Sounds like a dream,"

"But cities have electricity," Bastien replied, grinning at her.

"I do miss hot running water," Sabine said wistfully.

Bastien pulled back from her slightly, "Sabine," he began, his large, strong hands clutching her head. "Wherever we end up, I want you to know that I will do everything to keep you safe and protect you from anyone who wishes you harm," he declared gently, his thumbs caressing her cheeks.

"My very own knight in shining armor," she chuckled.

"Yes, exactly that," he answered, smiling himself.

Slowly he bent down, resting his lips first on her forehead, then her nose, and finally coming to a halt as his lips met hers. Sabine inhaled sharply before relaxing into his the kiss and once she did the whole world and all its worries seemed to melt away. Her arms looped themselves around his neck as her body moved closer and closer to his until they were perfectly molded against each other, nothing could get between them. Sabine happily embraced the overwhelming warmth that grew from the pit of her stomach, spreading through the rest of her body like a blanket that had been wrapped tightly around her.

Bastien's lips were a bit rough and chapped against her own, but Sabine didn't care. The way he delicately held her, the way he carefully pressed his lips against hers making Sabine burn with delight. All she could feel at the moment was blissful happiness. Finally, the two pulled away, slightly panting and a shared pause of silence fell between Sabine and Bastien, the two of them simply staring at each other.

He brushed strands of hair from her face, "I'll let you get some rest," Bastien said, tucking it behind her ear and gently depositing her back onto her bed.

As he rose up, Sabine grabbed his hand. It felt so warm and in hers.

"No, I would very much prefer it if you stayed," she argued softly, looking at him with tired, red eyes.

"Of course," he said, nodding his head.

Bastien climbed back onto her bed, positioning himself with his back against the wall and grabbing the thick blanket that had been discarded to the side. Sabine scooted over to where he was sitting and curled up on her side, placing her head on his lap. The feeling of a blanket being thrown on top of her soon followed afterwards. Bastien began rubbing circular motions on her back, helping her relax for the first time in days. Even better, it was coaxing her to sleep. Sabine's eyelids felt heavy and she quickly found it hard to keep them open as they drooped lower and lower. The sound of her door opening didn't even bother her as Bastien let out a soft 'shh' to whoever it was.

“Sweet dreams Sabine,”

Chapter Thirteen: A Simple Lover’s Quarrel

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter three! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @ladynightmare913 ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves.

Especially since this chapter includes some of her own ocs in addition to my own! There’s a lot of new faces to join us! All credit for creation goes to each other for our respective characters because we’ve both worked so hard to create our ocs and I wouldn’t dare want to take credit away from her.

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however, it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter!

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy!

If you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist for this story Secrets of the Darkened Seas 🧜🏻‍♀️

Small warning at the start here, there is a minor character death included in this chapter.

.

Chapter 3: A Sea of Fireworks

Three years passed as The Dragon’s Pearl sailed the seven seas. There had been many fierce battles and grand adventures as Remus learned the ways of the sword from both Captain Hua and First mate Sandoval. During the past few years, Remus found a particular fondness for literature that grew further than when he was younger. Along the way, there have been many new companions to join the shipmates, and the secrets of a certain young man were revealed. A year on his own at sea taught Remus many things, but he couldn’t help but miss the company of those upon The Dragons’ Pearl. 

Now at seventeen summers old, the once young boy has grown into a fine young man. 

Under the sea, there was a mythical creature with bright shimmering amber scales, varying in shades of accent tones from the top of his tail, to his fluke. The moonlight breached the surface of the darkened sea, the light reflected off of his amber eyes, as if they began to shine and glow under the moon’s pale beauty. His medium length tawny colored hair flowed around him in the cool waters. The mer turned down before his arms moved forwards as he dived down deeper into the sea. The deeper he went, the darker it became. 

As he reached the seafloor, he swam at a leisurely pace, brushing a clawed hand against the seagrass. Looking up, the seagrass became littered with life, crabs, small, fish, seahorses, an octopus, and coral. He chuckled to himself as the fish scattered when he swam near them, a green sea turtle by his side seemed to follow him, wherever he went. It had felt too long since he had last been in the sea. 

Remus’ head turned sharply upwards as he picked up the sound of a muffled screeching noise coming from the surface. Then a muted bang before a flash of scattered gold light. With a strong flick of his tail, the floor beneath him vanished from sight as he neared the surface. 

Breaching from the water, he looks up to the familiar ship with concern, “Opal! What’s happening?!” He yells up to the deck. 

In an instant, a tall beautiful greek woman, around the age of twenty-three, with long light brown hair, hazel green eyes, lightly tanned skin peered over the railing of the deck to respond. She was dressed in a sea-blue off the shoulder long-sleeved shirt that was tucked into her light brown pants, with a black corset vest on top, and black boots. At her hip was a wide sword with a dark blue sheath, and its hilt had the detailing of a trident. 

“Min-Jun received a letter! We have to make port in Portland! The Blacks and Greyback were spotted off the coast of Dorset!” She lowers the rope ladder and opens the small gate, “Get your tail up here!”

Remus catches the ladder with ease and pulls himself up onto it, “What’s the sudden hurry? We’re currently off the coast of Dorset ourselves.” He comments, looking back up to his friend. 

“Quinn’s family lives in Portland, he thinks they’ll be going after them!” Opal replies, tossing down a blanket for Remus to dry his scales with.

Remus winces as the blanket lands upon his head, frowning as it blocks his view. Pulling the soft cloth from his head, he sets to work on drying himself and his scales, “But why would they go after his family?” He yells out. 

Opal pauses, a somber look upon her face as she watches Remus make his way up the rope ladder with his two legs, scales now nowhere to be seen. She shakes her head as he reaches the deck, “I don’t know. But I think something’s wrong.”

Two-quarters of an hour pass with The Dragon’s Pearl sailing at full speed to Portland. The sea seemed to be at their side that night, the sound of cannon fire reached the members of the crew. The lifeboats were lowered with First mate Sandoval and Remus inside one of the boats. 

Remus’ eyes widened when he saw the pitch-black sails of The Ophiuchus which could barely be seen from a distance. The ship’s colors had a black flag with a white skull with a snake coming out of an eye socket. The Blacks. The ancient pirate ship passed down from generation to generation of Blacks. Rumors and tales continuously traveled from sailors aboard many ships about the family, the ship gaining the nickname of Grimmauld amongst the gossiping sailors. Remus had heard many tales himself in the past. 

The Blacks were ruthless in their pliage for gold, leaving no survivors. There were tales of The Ophiuchus battling The Dragon’s Pearl when Captain Orion Black attempted to steal the other Captain’s ship. Although Captain Hua was young, he forced the Blacks to flee when their ship suffered too much damage. The Captain of The Dragon’s Pearl had given them a warning years ago that should he ever see them again, he would kill the Captain of The Ophiuchus.

The boats reached the docks before everyone ran up to the small town of Portland. Quinn cut down any pirate who foolishly stood in his way. Remus followed close behind, sword drawn at the ready, and cut down any pirate who tried to go after Quinn whilst the man’s back was turned. Remus had grown used to the occasional battle, but hardly ever were the stakes this high. Opal and Captain Hua had stayed on the ship with a skeleton crew, while the other sailors joined Remus and Quinn to shore. 

Remus stopped in his tracks when one of the pirates was running straight for him. With the sword in his hand, Remus quickly stabbed the pirate in the abdomen before pulling his sword free and running to catch up with Quinn. Who was running up a hill towards the Lighthouse faster than Remus had ever seen the man move. 

Up close the lighthouse was rather beautiful for its old age, time had been kind to it, yet the years have clearly made their marks all throughout the house. The lighthouse more than likely had many stories to tell. Standing tall with red and white patterns, a small quaint cottage at the base of the lighthouse became visible as Remus neared the property. The house was alight with shadows dancing across the windows as pirates breached the door, the sound of clanging swords could be heard coming from inside the house. Quinn cut down pirates until he finally managed to enter the house. 

Quinn’s eyes widened as he surveyed the state of the house, there were countless pirates from both the Black’s and Greyback’s sailors engaged in sword fights. There was hardly a break as he entered the fray of battle, cutting down unsuspecting men from behind and never letting his guard down.

A middle-aged woman with black hair tied into a messy bun, bright brown eyes, fair skin, and rosy lips gripped the rapier in her hand tightly as she slashed down another pirate. She twirled expertly, her white nightgown and dark robe twirling with her, to dodge a blow from another pirate before she stabs them, she pulls the sword free before she raises it to the man who just entered the cottage, freezing as her eyes widen in surprise. “Quinn!” She exclaimed before her eyes darted to a pirate behind him who began to stir awake. 

He smiles at the exclamation before following her line of sight, turning behind him he sees the pirate that began to stir awake. Flipping the hilt of his sword in hand, he stabs the newly conscious pirate in the chest before turning back to the woman, “Mother are you alright?” He looked over the cottage, objects just laying scatter on the floor before he looked back to his mother. 

“I’m perfectly alright, it’s your father I’m worried about, that blasted Greyback cornered him to the basement!” The woman turned her gaze to the young man who just reached the door, quickly assessing him before offering him a small nod. “And you must be Remus.”  

Remus nods in return, “I am. How did you-” He cuts himself off as the answer was obvious and gives his First mate a pointed look, “Quinn. You’ve told them about me haven’t you?”

“Remus. Who do you take me for? Of course, I did.” Quinn mirrors the same pointed look back, “How else do you think Min-Jun and I were able to help you as a child?” He looks back to his mother, “We better move quickly. Hopefully, father is using the basement to his advantage.”

“Quinn, this is your father, of course, he is.” The woman turns to a door that leads to a staircase to the basement. Quickly lifting her skirt the woman rushed down the stairs. 

The three rush down the stairs and into the large dimly lit basement, which could only be described as a very large study with storage. Bookshelves lined the walls and the shelves themselves were stacked with a variety of mythical things one would only believe to be within the tales. Color bottles and vials littered the shelves of the room, various plants were in every corner of the room. In the center of the basement, a large man with a cutlass scoured the room with a harsh glare for the man who was hiding. 

The man wielding the cutlass was large, nearly the height of Min-Jun and Quinn, he had a vicious looking face, with very long matted grey hair in dreads, a scar going across his right eye, the iris pale compared to its twin which was pitch black. His left ear had a gold hoop earring, his teeth were visible as he sneered at others who interrupted his dual. 

Remus’ eyes could only widen as he looked upon the large man, his breathing quickening and grip tightening on his sword. Every part of him grew defensive and fearful, his instincts screaming at him to get out. To run. He’s heard of this man before, Fenrir Greyback, a notorious and ruthless hunter of mers alike, capturing and selling mers for profit, or simply to just experiment on them. Other times he’d simply slaughter any merfolk he could find.

Greyback’s knuckles looked raw and battered with blood as he gripped his weapon tightly, his long yellowish nails were easily spotted as his right hand pressed against his chest, a wound with fresh blood seeping through his grey shirt. “This isn’t over.” He snarled before he ran out the basement door. 

Hidden behind a bookcase, was a middle-aged man with tousled red-brown hair with long bangs parted to the left, light-colored skin, and blue eyes. He wore a simple navy blue shirt underneath a grey robe, light brown pants, and dark brown boots. Eyes trained as he watched the burly man closely, sword drawn at the ready to continue the duel. He made no motion to move as Greyback snarled in warning, back pressed flush against the wood until he could hear the pounding footsteps a safe distance away. 

Relaxing marginally, he exits his retreat behind the bookcase and sighs, “That man is repulsive.” He mutters under his breath.

“You’re not wrong about that father.” Quinn chuckles as he gently pats his father’s shoulder. 

“Why would Greyback come all the way out here? Why would he attack you?” Remus looked at the older man.

“Probably because my husband has something he wants.” The older woman looks to her husband. “Are you alright?”  

The older man looks to his wife and nods, “I’m alright. If anything Greyback’s in much worse shape. That wound is going to leave quite a scar if untreated.”

“What was he after?” Remus looked between the older couple. 

“Something no one should know exists.” The woman looked around the room. Muttering under her breath at the state of the room. “But rumors are a powerful thing, especially when they hold truths.” 

“And especially if it makes you incredibly well known in the nautical world.” The man continued with a sigh. Moving aside his robe, he pulls free a rather thick leather book from an inner pocket and looks down at it. “He’d be a fool to think I’d just leave it lying about.”

Remus’ eyes looked over the leather book. At first glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary, but Remus knew better than to judge a book by its cover. It was what’s inside the book that Greyback took a slash to the chest in order to obtain. And failed. Whatever information that was contained inside the book was important. Why else would such a siege upon this small home occur? Enough to bring both Greyback and the Blacks themselves here. 

“This book is the only one in existence.”  The woman looked at Remus as she stood beside her husband. “It’s about your kind.” Gently taking the book from her husbands’ hands, she holds the book to Remus. “My husband wrote everything he learned about the magical creatures of the sea.” She smiles as she encourages Remus to take the book. 

“About my kind…” He repeats at a whisper before a realization comes to mind, amber eyes widening at the thought, “That’s why he wanted the book. To hunt more merfolk.” A cold shudder runs down his spine at the thought of Greyback getting his hands upon this book. No wonder the older man fought to protect it with his life. Mers alike would be in even more danger than in the past. And after seeing the man in person, Remus felt as though the rumors didn’t give any accurate insight as to how gruesome the pirate actually appeared, and the snarling tone of his voice would most likely echo in his mind for days. 

At the older man’s nod in confirmation, he looked back at him. “How long have you been working on this?” Remus asked as he took the book, with careful hands.

“Many years. I was a bit younger than you when I first started writing the beginning pages.”

Remus looks down to the worn leather book and opens to a well-kept page, Fantastic Nautical Creatures, by Newt Scamander. Remus’ eyes widen at the title and familiar name, pausing mid-turn of a page. Wait. Remus looks at Quinn with wide eyes, before he looks back to the older couple. 

“You’re Newt Scamander,” He looks to the woman, “And you’re Porpetina Scamander!” 

“Please, call me Tina dear.” She rubs Remus’ arm in a comforting manner. 

Remus looks to Quinn, an unreadable expression upon his face. Quinn had called them mother and father. That means… “You’re their son?!” 

“Quinton Scamander is my real name,” Quinn answered with a simple shrug. “Sandoval was the first thing I could come up with when you asked for my name. I’m not exactly used to keeping an alias.” He looks at his parents. “Why couldn’t you have just kept it at Quinn?” 

“And leave the Scamander tradition of giving horrible names? I couldn’t possibly.” Tina chuckled.

“Oh, you wound me, mother. What a way to keep tradition.” Quinn replies with a wince. 

“It’s not like my family did any better.” Tina retorts just as the sound of cannon fire boomed, echoing throughout the basement. Tensing, everyone turned their heads to the back door, and with a nod from Newt, they exited the damaged basement and headed to the cliffs.

As the group ran back towards the shoreline, Remus could see The Dragon’s Pearl exchanging cannon fire with The Ophiuchus. The ships both suffered blows from the other, only the Dragon’s Pearl wasn’t on fire. And what appeared to be Min-Jun, swinging on a rope, from the Ophiuchus back to the Dragon’s Pearl.

Quinn only groaned at the sight. “And he gives me lectures about swinging from a rope.” Hypocrite. “Why are you like this…” He mumbled under his breath.

Tina and Newt only chuckled as their son scowled at the captain. They ran to the docks just as the Ophiuchus began to make their retreat, and the Dragon’s Pearl making its way to the loading docks. Opal was the first rush down to welcome Quinn and Remus back. 

Quinn had a strange feeling, one that he couldn’t place as he looked over Opal. Relieved that the woman wasn’t injured in the crossfire, although he was well aware that she could easily handle herself. “Ti synévi?” What happened? he had asked.

“To shorten it: Min-Jun snuck onto Greyback’s ship and found two gorgónes. Mermaids. Brought them back to The Dragon’s Pearl, then snuck onto the Ophiuchus, rescued the second Black heir and brought him back as well.” Opal said with a shake of her head, “How that was possible, I have no idea.” 

“Sounds about right,” Newt replied with a chuckle.

The older couple looked at their son, who had never told them he learned and spoke greek. Newt and Tina looked at each other before sharing a knowing smile. Tina looked to the woman with the greek accent. “I’m Tina Scamander, Quinn’s mother. I wonder why my dear son would fail to mention a lovely lady such as yourself in his letters?” She turns her head slowly to glare at Quinn, who found the sea far more interesting at the moment. Tina looked back to the young woman. “What is your name dear?” 

Opal watched Quinn’s gaze quickly turn to the sea in embarrassment. Oh this awkward man. She fought the urge to tease the poor man, there was time to mess with him another time. Not in front of his parents. She smiled as she looked at Tina. “Opal Teresi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Remus looked to Quinn with a teasing smirk, “Really? You mention me in your letters but not Opal?” 

“Shut. Up.” Quinn says with wide eyes that seemed to promise pain with an unnaturally wide smile.

“You’ll have to write to me dear, Quinn hardly ever writes what’s going on in his life. I have to rely on Min-Jun for that.” She tsks she pats Opal’s hand affectionately.  

“I will,” Opal replies with a nod. 

“May I see them?” Newt asks the young woman. “The mermaids.” 

The young woman pauses for a moment and looks to Newt, “They’re terrified, so please. If there’s any way you could help.”

“Maybe I can get them to calm down?” Remus suggests looking to Opal and Newt. 

“That may be for the best.” Opal agrees, “We better hurry, Min-Jun wants to leave as soon as possible. Before the Blacks notice their son is missing.”  

Opal leads the group to the cabins, walking past many doors until they finally stop at one door with a circular window. Remus peered inside and froze when a pair of glaring eyes locked to his. Inside the room, there was a tall beautiful Asian woman with wet long dark brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin, and bright red lips. She looked to be about Opal’s age. Her tail was a dazzling array of soft blue scales that looked like misshapen spots, with white scales as the base, her fluke was nearly a translucent shimmery white. Her skin was pale, her arms were wrapped tightly around the smaller mer. Her tail coiled around them protectively. Remus nearly gasped. The mermaid only clutched the child tighter, her glare never leaving Remus’ face.

The mer in her arms was tiny. A child, who couldn’t have been older than four. The mer child had short soft silky black hair that was in disarray, brown eyes, light sun-kissed skin. The child clung tightly to the older mermaid's neck, their tail had pale teal and shimmery white scales with the same patterns as the older mermaid, safely tucked under her arms. The mer child’s shoulders were shaking, pearls littered the blankets beneath them. Tears. They sat alone in the room, laying on top of a few spare blankets for the cabin beds.

Remus’ gaze was pulled away at the sound of running footsteps, a sailor running past them in haste, to the infirmary. On impulse, Remus followed the sailor as they walked through the door. 

There Min-Jun sat on a chair, looming over a deathly still figure, his face pale. Min-Jun was holding the still figure’s hand. 

Remus gulped, scared to find out who the figure was. “Who…” 

Min-Jun looked up to see Remus. With pained eyes he looked back down to the figure. Gently putting the cold hand to rest on their chest. 

“Ethan’s dead.” 

.

Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

@sunflowerfox87

@spookypotato​

[gothgirlmahi]

Prize

Dark!Thor x reader

Summary: You’re found by a hunting party in the woods. The king wants to take you as a trophy. Warnings: Non con, dub con, Thor’s huge...hammer

The bindings dug into you, leaving angry red marks of blood and bruises across your skin. Sharp edges of tree bark cut into your back any time you tried to move and even when you didn’t. You had no idea how long you’d been there. The only direction you could see was up, to the tops of trees and the sky above. Your throat was dry and aching from rope burn and thirst. The darkening sky stared down at you, mocking your pitiful situation.

A virgin sacrifice. That’s what they called it. Your people were religious, perhaps overly so. The rainy season had come and gone without much rain. This year’s harvest was minimal and people were starving. So they picked up a time honored tradition to kill two birds with one stone. A sacrifice would appease the gods and give them one less mouth to feed. And it had to be you.

Your fear picked up as night fell. They had truly left you here to die. There were no gods in the forest. The only end for you was a slow death, either from starvation or an animal happening upon you. You laid there for hours, shaking from the cold in your flimsy white gown and hoping, praying for a swift death.

When the sky was black and tear drops wetted your cold cheeks, you heard a noise in the forest. The rustling of leaves, the breaking of twigs...the whinny of horses? You didn’t know hunters came to this forest. To be fair, you hardly knew there was anything on the planet other than this forest as you had never been anywhere else.

The bindings didn’t allow you much room to move your neck, so you couldn’t see where they were. It seemed that they were approaching from somewhere behind you. You couldn’t tell how many there were, but there were several voices speaking amongst each other jovially. Maybe they weren’t hunters. They were much too loud to be. 

You were caught in what you should do. Perhaps call out for help and possibly be rescued? At the same time, that posed heavy risk. A group of men out at night, coming upon a virgin woman tied to a tree? Some might take it as an invitation. They could take turns violating you and kill you anyway to cover their tracks. The risk was too likely. You knew no one out at this time made it a habit of saving waylaid maidens. Your best option was to stay quiet and hope they didn’t see you.

As they got closer, your heart pounded in your chest. It seemed they were still headed in your direction. Out of all the ways they could take through this gods forsaken forest, it had to be the path that led directly to you. You tried to still yourself from shivering against the cold, not wanting to make any movement that could alert them, but your body was aching, sore and you were so hungry. Maybe you could barter with them. You supposed your virtue wasn’t worth slowly starving to death.

“Help,” you tried to call out. Your voice was faint and you could scarcely hear it yourself. You tried a few times more, getting louder with each call and you heard their conversation stop. Their horses got closer to you and as they rounded the tree, you could look down and see their faces, the tops of their heads and armor. The blond one in front, strong and handsome, was staring at you curiously. There were four men on horses behind him, looking confused and intrigued.

“What do we have here?” The blond asked, smiling a bit. One behind him scoffed, a black haired man that looked indifferent the whole situation.

“A sacrifice perhaps. Virgin. Boring.”

Boring? You could be boring. You would be whatever got you out of these restraints.

The blonde laughed before dismounting his horse and disappearing from your view.

“Don’t be so mean. Clearly this young lady has had a rough night,” he said from somewhere below you.

“Please. Help,” you repeated.

“Hush, now. I’m only getting my knife.” You heard him unsheathe the knife and felt him move closer. He cut the rope around your neck first, letting your head fall forward and you cried out in pain. Now you were able to look down as he cut the rest of the ropes. You were caught between staring at his hair, his elegant armor and the way his strong hands let the knife glide through your bindings. By the time he had untied you, you had hardly recognized that you were falling.

You screeched, thinking you would tumble to the unforgiving forest floor but instead you were caught and pulled into his warm chest. When his hands touched your skin he frowned.

“You’ll freeze to death like this.” He laid you down on the ground and you nearly cried from the pain and numbness of the cold. Then you saw him taking his cloak off. He picked you up gently again and wrapped you in his furs. The warmth relaxed you immeasurably though you were still scared of what would happen. 

“Thor, can we move this along? We do have a schedule to keep.”

You were starting to not like the black haired one.

“Loki, shut up,” the blonde chided before picking you up and setting you on his horse. He got on in front of you and urged you to put your arms around him. You did so weakly and the party marched on. The horse was quick, quick enough to make you feel a bit ill but you tried to distract yourself from your nausea. Your distraction came in the form of your own exhaustion as you fell asleep, holding tightly to the man in front of you.

After riding for a while you were in a half sleep state and noticed lights in the darkness. When you looked up, your eyes were drawn to a shimmering palace in the distance. You thought for a moment it was a figment of your unconscious mind and didn’t think further as sleep caught you once more.

You woke up again after hearing voices.

“What’s this?” A man asked. You still didn’t look up, just kept your head buried in the fur of the cloak. Thor shifted slightly in front of you.

“A prize. Half dead but a lot prettier than a buck. No complaints from me.”

A prize. You were his prize. 

You all rode a bit further before stopping again. Thor dismounted the horse and pulled you off as well. He didn’t even let you attempt to stand, just pulled you over his shoulder and started hauling you away. You looked around, noticing you were in a stable. Stable hands scurried around, taking the horses of the men and tending to them. Thor was taking long strides and soon you were out of the building and into another. You passed through an ornately decorated but empty corridor.

Finally Thor stopped at a door and peered in.

“Excuse me,” he announced his presence. You couldn’t see as you were slung over his shoulder and your head was bouncing around near his back, brushing his armor.

“Good evening, your majesty. May I assist?”

“Yes. Take this woman and bathe her, dress her well and bring her to my table. Can you do this?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

“Treat her well.”

“I will, your majesty. You can put her on the bed and I will bring her to you.”

Thor walked across the room and gently put you down on a soft surface. You basically collapsed from exhaustion and sprawled on the bed. He leaned down to kiss your cheek before rubbing his cloak between his fingers.

“Take care of this for me?”

You nodded. He patted your shoulder and left. You turned and noticed the older woman next to you, looking very stately in her lavender gown and intricate hairstyle. She looked at you disapprovingly. 

“I’ll run your bath. You smell like the woods. You’ll be a proper woman in no time.”

And she was right. She very roughly cleaned you, enough that parts of your skin were raw. You were doused in oils and perfumes. You hair was washed and styled. The woman dressed you in a deep red gown, with a neckline much lower than you would ever be comfortable with. You stood in the mirror awkwardly admiring how beautiful you looked but being uncomfortable at the same time. Before you could ruminate on your appearance further, she was dragging you out of the room by your arm. The quick movements had you dizzy and unsteady on your feet but you kept pace with her. You approached a set of doors and she stopped abruptly.

“You will dine with the king. He likes red so I do hope this appeases him.”

She pushed open the doors to a sensory overload. The golden chamber was filled with people talking, laughing and drinking. A bard danced about in the corner playing a song. At the center of the room was a large table covered in things you could never even imagine. A bountiful table filled with food. Meats you had never seen.  Vegetables that couldn’t even be grown in your stupid village. And there was just so much of it. To think people lived like this as you spent years starving somehow made you even less hungry than you were. 

Across the room, you caught sight of Thor and headed towards him. The drunken masses paid you no mind as you traversed the chamber. Thor’s eyes met yours and he gave you a smile, beckoning you over with a hand wave. You hurried your gait until you were no more than a foot in front of him.

“Oh, my sweet flower. Don’t you look good enough to eat. Though I suppose I should save that for later. Take a seat and dine with me.”

Thor pulled you down on his lap and pulled his plate to you.

“Eat,” he commanded. You listened, inspecting your choices and picking through. Thor seemed content enough to watch as you ate. You had to admit you were starting to feel a bit better. Even before being left to starve in the forest you were still hungry.

You ate until you couldn’t anymore and Thor laughed when you groaned, putting a firm hand on your thigh. There wasn’t a time you could recall being full. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation, but you liked it better than being hungry. Your eyes were drawn to the bard and his song.

“Drink,” Thor said, close enough that you could feel his breath in your ear. You nodded again, taking down some of the bitter liquid in his tankard. Warmth pooled in your belly and you sighed at the sensation. Thor’s hand wandered further down and below your gown. You tensed. He ignored your reaction and trailed up your leg slowly, stopping when he got between your thighs.

“Don’t stop feasting on my account,” he whispered, placing a finger on your clit. You gasped and tried to clasp your thighs together but Thor pulled them apart. His fingers gently rubbed at you and you could feel your arousal growing. Your cheeks burned in humiliation but no one seemed to be paying attention to you anyway. Everyone was concerned with their own entertainment.

His hand dipped lower, pushing into you slightly and gathering some of your juices. He pulled back up to rub against your clit and you moaned, holding onto the edge of the table. The only person who had ever touched you like that was yourself and here was this stranger doing it better than you ever could.

You ground into his hand and he quickened his movements.

“So docile. Compliant. Innocent and sweet. When I take you, you’ll scream for me. Scream for your king. But for now I’ll make you come on my hand. Because you’re that desperate for it. Because it’s what you need.”

You were close, panting and your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. Stars exploded in your vision and before you could scream, Thor’s hand was over your mouth muffling it. You thrust against his hand, twitching and shaking as you rode out your orgasm against him. He kissed your neck before pulling his hand from under your gown.

“I think I’m ready for bed. Aren’t you, little one?”

The trip to his chambers was a blur. He pulled you over his shoulder again before walking out of the room. A quick goodbye was said by a few but there was mostly no reaction to his hasty departure.

He threw you on the bed and started to undress himself.

“From the moment I saw you, I’ve wanted to take you. A perfect maiden, left out for me to find.”

You were panicked and teary eyed as he pulled his trousers down, revealing his manhood. There was never a point you imagined losing your virginity like this. Maybe with your husband. Maybe even a lover you chose. But to a man who found you in the forest? A man who didn’t even know your name.

He undressed you just as quickly. You made attempt to cover yourself but he laughed and pulled your arms away. Thor stepped off the bed and pulled you with him, forcing you to kneel in front of him. 

As you became eye level with his cock, you wanted to scream. You had never seen a man like this before. You weren’t even sure how that thing could fit inside you. There was just too much of him. 

“Come here, sweetling. Give it a kiss.”

You crawled over to him, clumsy and shaking. He smiled. Your hands set carefully on his hips and you stared up at him.

“Put it in your mouth. Be careful with your teeth.”

Your hands shook as you held him, but you opened your mouth and went down until you could feel him hit the back of your throat. His length was immense in your mouth and you were sure you could only fit about half of him.

He moaned, sliding back and forth between your lips for a while while you tried to avoid hurting him with your teeth. He grabbed the back of your head and tried to push you further. When he went past your throat you struggled, trying to push against him but he kept going until you were choking and sputtering around his length. He stopped when he was mostly down your throat and held you sternly.

“Stop. Breathe through your nose. Relax.”

You tried to comply and it got a bit better, allowing him to slide the rest of himself down your throat. His hips were at your face, blocking even the air you got through your nose. Before you could panic, he was sliding out again. You took the opportunity to breathe before he slammed back in roughly, finding a quick pace to fuck your face.

Both of his hands held the back of your head as he fucked your throat. The moans tearing from him were sinful and the noises of his pleasure spurred your own. You were already wet from him playing with you at dinner so this only added to your arousal. You knew you shouldn’t have been turned on by it but the raw power of him was enticing. 

A mixture of saliva and tears glided down your face and neck as you let him use you.

He stopped abruptly and pulled out. His face was flush with pleasure but he looked frustrated as he picked you up from the floor and threw you on the bed again.

“As much as I love your mouth, that’s not where I intend to cum. I want to leave my seed deep inside you.”

His words stirred something inside you. You laid back compliantly, legs open, waiting for him to act on his desire. 

His eyes strayed to your unblemished thighs and the virtue held between them. You were his gift, given to him and he intended to make full use of you. You trembled as he approached and stroked down your calves gently. When he got to your ankle he tugged and pulled you closer to him. He was laid in front of you between your thighs, just staring. If you weren’t so aroused, you were sure you’d be mortified to have this god of a man staring at your soaked core. 

He gave a few kitten licks to your clit and you instinctively pulled him closer by his long hair.

“Thor, please,” you pleaded. He looked up at you, smiling as he used his thumb to rub at your clit. 

“You don’t have to beg, kitten. I’ll let you have your release. Just not with my mouth. I think it’s time we solved the issue of your maidenhood.”

He pushed himself to kneel between your thighs, stroking at his length as he stared down at you. You unconsciously held your breath waiting for him to move. Tears were still running steadily down your face.

Thor slammed into you completely, his hips meeting yours and you screamed like you were being murdered. It felt like you were being killed, anyway. Being split in half. Being impaled by this man. You cried and screamed but Thor pet you gently and whispered soft words in attempt to calm you. When you regained your sense, you pushed at him. All you wanted was him out of you. It hurt too much.

Thor took both your hands in one of his and pushed them above you.

“Shh. I know it hurts. It’s better to just get through with it than prolong the pain. I promise it will be better soon.”

You whimpered and shook in pain for what seemed like hours and Thor patiently waited for your sins to subside. When they did, he pulled out and thrusted in again gently. He did it until you stopped crying out and picked up a rhythm. His hands released yours and went to your hips, grabbing tightly enough to bruise. He drove into you like a man possessed and moaned his own pleasure.

“So fucking tight around me. Perfect. A perfect woman. My woman. You’re mine. You belong to me and I’m keeping you.”

One of his thrusts had your eyes rolling back. He repeated it when you groaned in pleasure.

“Oh, is that it? Do not worry, your king is generous and will provide for you.”

He kept pushing into you from that angle and brushed his thumb against your clit. Your back arched and you squirmed around, honestly not knowing if you wanted to get away from him or get closer. It just felt so good. You could feel your climax quickly approaching.

Thor pushed one of your legs over his shoulder and pushed himself even deeper into you while groaning into your skin.

“Dirty girl. You won’t be so innocent soon. Not after you come on my cock. Not after I fill you with my seed. I can’t wait to see you, growing with my heirs inside you. Breeding your tight cunt night after night.”

You were delirious, babbling his name and spasming around his cock as you came. The pleasure had your legs shaking and back arched so your chests were firmly pressed against each other. Thor groped one of your breasts and bit into your leg gently.

“Your cunt is squeezing me so tight. Such a good girl for your king. Such a pretty little prize I found.”

He groaned again and you were filled with his hot seed, so much that it spilled out around your thighs and onto the bed. Thor pulled you on top of him without pulling out of you. Your sweat soaked skin stuck to his and you squirmed in discomfort from the ache in your lower regions.

“You’ve done well, sweet girl. You’ve served your king well.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

- Chapter 4 -

Meng Yao learned all the same things as Nie Mingjue, clearly being groomed to for position as Nie Mingjue’s counselor along with several of Nie Mingjue’s cousins – a great honor, he supposed.

Still, it meant that he knew what a Discussion Conference was, and knew to fear its imminent arrival.

Everything was going so well, after all.

His mother was dressing properly now, settling slowly into acting like a proper lady no matter that she was only a concubine – she’d even started to warm up to Nie Huaisang, taking the small child into her arms and singing to him the way she used to sing to Meng Yao, spoiling him a little out of what Meng Yao suspected might even be guilt at her initial plans for him, finally recognizing what Meng Yao had long ago realized: that he was good luck, not bad. A person, her son, and not merely a tool.  

Best of all, Meng Yao’s little schemes on her behalf seemed to have been rather effective: Lao Nie had grown quite fond of buying Meng Shi little trinkets whenever he returned home from travel, burnished combs from Gusu, golden earrings from Lanling, even a hairpiece adorned with the Yunmeng pearls that Meng Yao knew she’d always envied.  Her courtyard did not go unvisited, and the household begrudgingly unbent enough to let her give orders, the servants and retainers expressing through their service, through their willingness to overlook her origins, their appreciation of how her skillful playing and witty conversation helped ease the worst strains of Lao Nie’s vicious temper.

But now the time had come for the Discussion Conference to be held at Qinghe.

It was one thing when the conferences were held elsewhere, like the one in Yunping that had brought Nie Mingjue into Meng Yao’s life and Lao Nie into Meng Shi’s, because in those situations Meng Shi could be safely left behind at home – but not in Qinghe.

For the first time, Meng Yao almost wished that Lao Nie did not like his mother so much. After all, as a general rule, concubines were not allowed to host strange men, not even on their husband’s behalf, but when the concubine was favored, as Meng Shi was, when there was no first wife available to run the kitchen and do the welcoming, to greet the guests…

For anyone but Meng Shi to do it would be an affront to her dignity, and it would never occur to Lao Nie to be ashamed of her like that, even with her having been a prostitute before. It made perfect sense – and if she were anyone but herself, it would be fine.

A compliment, even; a willingness of Lao Nie’s part to show her off to his peers.

But Meng Yao knew, as Meng Shi knew, that there was a pit waiting for them.

After all, a Discussion Conference would bring in all the leaders of the major and minor sects – there was no way that Jin Guangshan, Sect Leader Jin, would miss it, and he had visited Meng Shi often enough through the years that there was no way he would fail to recognize her.

Asking Lao Nie to ignore that Meng Shi was a prostitute was one thing; men since time immemorial had taken on prostitutes as concubines, even those that had borne sons for other men. But to ask him to ignore that she had borne a son for one of his political rivals, for a man he despised as a cringing coward, for him to be exposed as raising one of what Meng Yao now knew the entire cultivation world snidely called the Jin bastards…

Meng Yao worried.

Nie Mingjue didn’t understand why Meng Yao was so worried, of course, but how could he? He’d never been told the details; Meng Yao would have said, trusting his discretion enough, but Meng Shi had stopped him each time.

And so Nie Mingjue thought it was only nervousness ahead of Meng Yao’s first Conference – he himself had skipped the last two Discussion Conferences, despite being old enough to usually have no choice but to come along, on the excuse that he had to care for Nie Huaisang, now a lively if lazy toddler whose favorite words were “da-ge”, “er-ge”, and “no”.

“If you don’t feel comfortable, you can go back to rest after the welcoming ceremony,” Nie Mingjue assured Meng Yao, earnest and well-meaning as always. “You don’t even have to stay for the banquet if you don’t want. I have to stay since I’m the heir, but that’s not applicable to you. If you’re worried about face, don’t be; you can take Huaisang with you – that’d be a good excuse, no one would question it.”

Meng Yao dredged up a smile for him. “I may do that,” he said, but knew that by that point it would be too late.

If they’d been better people, they would have warned Lao Nie of what to expect – but for all that he seemed to be a good man, he still had that unpredictable, explosive temper that was the Nie family inheritance as much as all the rest of it, and Meng Shi was determined that Meng Yao get as much of a cultivator’s education as possible before they were cast out – and she was sure they’d be cast out, no matter how well things had gone so far.

Meng Yao had argued with her that the few months extra he got weren’t worth the Nie sect’s loss of face, that they were better off telling him in private lest he be taken by surprise, that if he knew he could take measures to protect them both, but she had refused.

(Meng Yao loved his mother, but sometimes he thought all her cunning got in the way of being smart. He’d never thought that before Qinghe, before he realized there were more ways to do things, to move people, than by playing tricks – before he realized that the truth about the tricks you played coming out might cost you everything you had gained and more.)

The worst of it, though, was that he still had hope.

Hope for his own sake – hope for Jin Guangshan, hope that wouldn’t go away no matter how he tried to quash it.

It wasn’t like he was still the naïve child he’d been before, dreaming of a rescue – he’d gotten that! – but only the hope of every fatherless son that the man who sired him was worth something, that his blood was an inheritance he could be proud of.

A swiftly fading hope, given everything he learned from the teachers about the way the cultivation world worked. As a future counselor to a sect leader, he was privy to all the gossip, all the stories, the judgements on personality and proposed solutions on how to deal with them, none of which were very kind in their analysis of Jin Guangshan – and yet.

And yet.

Qinghe Nie had a tense relationship with Lanling Jin, owing both to personality clashes between their sect leaders and historical precedent, for all that they’d recently become closer allies given the aggression of Qishan Wen; Meng Yao knew that there would still inevitably a negative slant to what he learned, ancient prejudice influencing their judgment. And so he still hoped –

It was not a hope that lasted long.

Sect Leader Jin looked impressive from a distance, in his gold robes and golden adornments, but once he drew near the hints of dissipation on his face were obvious to a boy that had grown up in a brothel: the sort of man that liked women and drink too much, the sort that was a good mark because and not in spite of how inconstant he was.

His eyes skimmed over Meng Yao as if he were nothing, despite there being at least three or four points of similarity between them – Meng Yao resembled his mother more, but not entirely – and stopped at Meng Shi. A brief moment of surprise, and then his lips curled up into the disdainful smirk of knowing something that others did not; his eyes flickered over the crowd and this time landed on Meng Yao directly. Their eyes met for a moment that seemed to last forever, but in truth it was only a few heartbeats before Jin Guangshan’s smirk widened and he turned to whisper something into his aide’s ear, and then that man laughed…

Meng Yao felt a rush of shame fill him from head to toe.

It had been a while since he’d felt that familiar feeling, pain and hurt and rage all mixed together. It wasn’t that Qinghe was some paradise that forgot about birth, there were plenty of people who would sneer at a prostitute’s son, who would refuse to deal with him or call him names – fewer, since Lao Nie had started allowing Meng Shi to help run things in his name, letting her act almost as if she was the first wife – but he hadn’t felt shame about it in a while.

At the beginning, when it happened, Lao Nie told him that people would undoubtedly talk cruelly about him all his life but that good conduct would let him ignore them. It wasn’t especially helpful advice, though Nie Mingjue seemed to believe it (they had names for him too, for all that he was the heir, and not all of them appreciative), but perhaps it would be something he’d understand when he was older.

Certainly Nie Mingjue cited the folly of his youth for why he repaid each insult against Meng Yao with a beating, if the offenders were in his generation, or a beating for their sons if they were older. Folly of youth or not, though, Nie Mingjue’s beatings had reduced the incidents more than any of Lao Nie’s words and Meng Yao had been able to hold his head up high and proud.

Not so now.

In a single instant, he was no longer the second young master of Qinghe, Lao Nie’s ward; Jin Guangshan’s haughty look and laughter reduced him back to being nothing more than gutter trash, a prostitute’s mistake, the leavings of a sect master so high above him as to not even bother to redeem the mother of what, to him, was merely yet another son.

He hated it.

For the first time, it occurred to him that it might have been Jin Guangshan himself that sent his mother to Lao Nie’s bed all that time ago – that he’d been playing a nasty joke on a man he hated, a man he knew hated him in turn, by getting him so drunk that he wouldn’t be able to tell that the woman he had taken to bed was Jin Guangshan’s former lover, no matter how obviously she was throwing herself at him. It would make sense, Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan each wanting Lao Nie out of the way for their own reasons…

He hated it.

(He hated even more that even after this humiliation he still somehow wanted the man’s approval, wanted to show him that he was wrong about him, wanted to be taken home by him the way he should have been all along, to seen as critical and necessary and important – but how could that ever be, now that he’d already sworn loyalty to another sect?)

The welcome ceremony was quickly poisoned, whispers spreading and a growing frown on Lao Nie’s face – that explosive temper again – and Meng Yao didn’t need the pointed glance from one of the sect deputies to know it was time for him to leave, using Nie Huaisang (who was being perfectly well behaved) as an excuse for why he had to go.

Nie Mingjue gave him an encouraging nod, because of course he did, oblivious as he was to most social undercurrents, and Meng Yao wondered as he left how long it would take for the whispers to reach him – how long before Nie Mingjue knew that Meng Yao and his mother had lied to them, albeit by omission, that they’d deliberately hidden the truth and made them lose face in front of everyone.

He wondered how Nie Mingjue would react to that.

At least Nie Huaisang was too young for any of this, babbling away happily in something half intelligible and half fragmented pieces of thought that made no sense to anyone, clutching at Meng Yao’s hair as if he was considering trying to eat it again the way he had when he was younger.  

In his anxiety, Meng Yao put him down for bed earlier than he would normally, and true to form Nie Huaisang woke up deep into the night crying for a snack. Meng Yao gave him some dried fruit from the stash he always kept in his pocket and promised to get him something more substantive from the kitchens, and Nie Huaisang snuggled contentedly back into bed (Meng Yao’s bed, which was probably his actual goal the entire time, the devious brat).

Even though Nie Huaisang would probably be fast asleep by the time he returned, Meng Yao still turned his feet towards the kitchens. A Nie kept his promises, no matter how small, and at least for the moment he was still a prospective junior disciple of the Nie sect, ward of the Nie sect leader and responsible for upholding his honor – even if he might not be so tomorrow.

The banquet was still going, though presumably it was finally reaching its tail end, and Meng Yao couldn’t help but wander over in that direction on his way to the kitchens to see if people were still talking about it. About him, him and his mother…

A figure stumbled out of the main hall into the unlit corridors, and two years of familiarity allowed Meng Yao to identify Nie Mingjue at once even before he staggered back against the wall for support, moonlight shining on his face. His eyes were strangely vacant, his mouth slack – was he drunk?

It seemed bizarre to even think it. For all that Qinghe Nie spoke big about how picking up your saber was the step into adulthood, no one would ever allow a boy of Nie Mingjue’s age to drink enough wine to become intoxicated, much less to such a degree. He shouldn’t have even had wine served to his place setting, and previous experiments had revealed that stealing a single cup wasn’t enough to cause any effect on Nie Mingjue’s top-rate constitution. So why..?

Meng Yao hesitated, wondering if he should go and help him. Yesterday he would have done it without thinking, but that had been before the events of the day…

A shadow covered the face of the moon, casting Nie Mingjue’s face into darkness.

No, he was wrong – it was only that there was a man in the hallway, standing now between Nie Mingjue and the open window, and he stepped forward to catch Nie Mingjue in his arms, helping him stand once more.

Someone else had gotten there first, it seemed, and Meng Yao was about to leave when the man smiled, a glint of teeth, and suddenly he recognized him, for all that he’d only seen him briefly years before.

Wen Ruohan.

Sect Leader Wen, the only thing that could make Jin Guangshan and Lao Nie forget their enmity for each other – a poisonous snake, a terrifying tyrant, a pestilence on the cultivation world that constantly tested Qinghe Nie’s borders and tried to lure away its affiliated sects, all the while smiling and denying that it was doing any such thing.

The man who had once chased Nie Mingjue into hiding himself in a brothel, and thereby changed Meng Yao’s life forever.

Meng Yao did not feel especially grateful to him for it. The scene before him suddenly took on new light: Nie Mingjue was no longer merely drunk, leaning on a friendly hand for support and making a nuisance of himself as he did – he was frowning almost as if he were having trouble realizing what was happening, trying to push Wen Ruohan’s hands away but with fingers too weak to put up much resistance, and Wen Ruohan smiling all the while. Meng Yao knew that the brothel had had drugs like that, dizzying intoxicants that sapped the body’s power and the mind’s stability; the owners used them on vulnerable women who tried to resist their offers, knowing that after they had lost their virtue once it would be easier to coax them into giving it away again.

If he’s disgraced, your brother is the heir, something deep inside him whispered, sounding almost like his mother. Lao Nie can’t cast out the mother of his heir, not the way he could a concubine and her shu son, and it’s not as if you have to do anything. You were already in bed, and no one would ever know that you saw anything –

He’d know, though. Wen Ruohan would probably be able to figure it out, too, with his high cultivation, and he could use it against him in the future.

So what? Even if you did see something, what could they expect you to do? It’s not as if you can do anything. Who do you think you are, some whore’s trash son that doesn’t even have a saber yet? You’d never be able to stop the mighty Sect Leader Wen who strikes fear even into the heart of the likes of Lao Nie. Better to just let it happen…

Nie Mingjue made a small sound, a tiny whimper that was barely audible and soon muffled by the fingers Wen Ruohan put on his tongue; the older man had pressed him against the wall, a leg pushed in between Nie Mingjue’s thighs, Nie Mingjue’s weak attempts to push him away translating as little more than gentle tugs on his robes. Using his body to keep Nie Mingjue pinned in place, Wen Ruohan’s free hand slipped down –

Meng Yao gritted his teeth and went away.

The kitchens still had lanterns lit, and skewers to carry a flame from one place to another – it hurt Meng Yao deeply to set fire to a store of rice, knowing it would have been enough to feed him and his mother for an entire season without going hungry, but it didn’t hurt as much as the thought of a future in which all those slandering tongues treated Nie Mingjue as if he’d never been anything better than Wen Ruohan’s whore.

“Fire!” he shouted once it has spread enough to be a threat. “Fire!”

One of the kitchen servants rushed in and saw, immediately joining his cry to Meng Yao’s, and soon enough everyone was rushing around frantically, more and more people drawn over by the noise. In the frenzy, Meng Yao slipped out and with a strong pinch made his eyes fill with tears.

“Da-ge!” he cried, throwing himself into Nie Mingjue’s arms the second he saw him – Wen Ruohan would never have feared discovery by a single person, easily discredited, but when all the sect leaders in the main hall had started coming over to see what was happening he had had no choice but to step away. “Da-ge, I went to get some snacks for Huaisang and there was a fire!”

Even drugged and assaulted, Nie Mingjue’s first instinct was to comfort; he awkwardly patted Meng Yao’s shoulders and back, slurring out an “it’s okay, Meng Yao” that barely sounded anything like it.

Meng Yao pulled back away from him and allowed disgust to twist his face, all the disgust and disdain and hatred that had been churning in his gut the entire evening – how dare they all judge him, those sect leaders who’d never known a day of hardship in their lives, how dare they say things about his mother, as if they knew anything about her simply because of the role she was forced to play…

“Meng Yao, is it?” Wen Ruohan said, and Meng Yao widened his eyes in a burst of panic as if he hadn’t realized anyone was there, hadn’t intended for the feelings on his face to be seen by anyone.

“Sect Leader Wen!” he said. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you there – please forgive my shixiong, I don’t know how he’s managed to get this drunk, to shame himself like this…”

“Think nothing of it. He’s still young, after all,” Wen Ruohan said generously, as if he had nothing to do with it. “You’re – the ward, yes? The concubine’s son?”

Meng Yao nodded, putting his best version of a coward’s smile on his face – the one that was gentle, the way he preferred to be, but with shades of weakness that brought out disdain and condescension in stronger men. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you any longer, Sect Leader,” he said sweetly, making it obvious that he was trying to pander. “I know you’re far too busy to be dealing with the stupidity of youth…”

Stupid, rather than foolish – meaning he thought that this reflected a judgment on Nie Mingjue’s character, rather than a momentary lapse. A cruel thing for a shidi to say, and to say that to a stranger, to Qinghe’s rival, was positively unpolitic; it would absolutely be a loss of face if it was called out.

But when such obvious weakness was displayed before a predator, it could also be seen as something else: an opportunity.

Wen Ruohan looked intrigued, as Meng Yao had hoped he would be – what would-be conqueror didn’t like the idea of recruiting a spy in another sect’s camp, especially one so highly placed? Especially one placed so near to something he wanted.

With a glance at the crowd that was growing rather than shrinking, he made his decision.

“Take him back to bed,” he told Meng Yao, who nodded eagerly. “And come see me tomorrow – you seem like a bright boy.”

“Of course!” Meng Yao chirped, looking as if he were overwhelmed by the extremity of Wen Ruohan’s favor, as if he could be bought with some pretty words and a little bit of resentment. He’d go, too, the next morning when the Unclean Realm was bustling with servants and a single shout could bring them running; he’d play up his young age, greedily gobble up the treats Wen Ruohan was sure to set out, and complain about how no one respected him, how everyone sneered at him, Jin Guangshan’s bastard – he’d whisper his fears about how Lao Nie would react – he’d puff himself up when Wen Ruohan inevitably flattered him.

It’d be easy enough to convince Wen Ruohan that he was weak, conniving, and greedy, the sort of person could be easily bought. The sort of person who would be happy to help a stranger sneak into his brother’s bed just to make himself feel better about being born the son of a whore.

If Wen Ruohan believed that that was who he was, what he was like, he would try to use Meng Yao to achieve his aims next time, and that would in turn mean that Meng Yao would be properly position next time to stop him – by accident, of course, or while trying to help him avoid notice, or whatever. Men like Wen Ruohan never really paid attention to their pawns after the initial coaxing period: once they considered someone to be theirs, once they’d judged someone too afraid to ever betray them, they got lazy and put down their wariness.

Meng Yao had met plenty such people in the brothel.

He carted Nie Mingjue off to bed – his bed, not Nie Mingjue’s, to reduce the danger – and Nie Huaisang (who was woken up by all the fuss) didn’t even notice the absence of the snack he’d been promised when it meant that he could sleep the rest of the night between his two brothers, his favorite place in the world to be.

He slept, and Nie Mingjue slept, and on the cold edge of his side of the bed, Meng Yao spent the rest of the night planning how to convince Lao Nie to let him and his mother stay. He had to stay, because if he left, if he left and Nie Mingjue had no one by his side, no one but Nie Huaisang who was too young –

Meng Yao didn’t know how long his da-ge��s carefree generosity could last in this cruel world, but he was determined to find out.

In the morning, as he’d hoped and feared, Nie Mingjue woke with no memory of the events of the night before.

It was good, because it meant that Meng Yao didn’t have to explain; bad, because who knew whether Wen Ruohan had tried a similar trick before with more success. The thought left a bitter taste in Meng Yao’s mouth, and it spilled from his mouth like poison when Nie Mingjue tried to ask him how he was feeling – “Don’t you know what they’re saying about me? All of them – my father.”

Nie Mingjue fell silent. “Meng Yao…”

“What? Can you stop their tongues? No one can change the facts of their birth, and yet I’m the one who keeps having to pay for it.”

“Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue said, and his eyes were hurting. Good – let him hurt, let him feel one iota of what Meng Yao had always suffered, let him – “If I could make your father love you, I would.”

Meng Yao’s breath caught in his throat.

“If I could force him to honor you,” Nie Mingjue continued, voice solemn. “I would send you with him gladly, although I would miss you very much. I know it doesn’t mean anything just for me to say it, but…I would.”

It did, though. It meant quite a lot to know that the hurt in Nie Mingjue’s eyes had been for him, not from him. To know that he had heard all the stories, all the whispers, and in the end his only priority had been to think of how Meng Yao might feel.

To be angry, because Meng Yao wasn’t getting something he though Meng Yao should.

No, Meng Yao decided – no matter who he had to fight, whether Wen Ruohan or his own mother, he would find a way to stay by Nie Mingjue’s side.

(That was when he realized that he’d messed up his mother’s instructions even more than he’d meant, because he was never supposed to be the one that fell in love.)

[rpf-bat]

Have You Heard The News That You’re Dead?

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Horror

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 23.  Prompt: “Afterlife”. 

You’re a cancer patient. You’ve travelled to Hawaii, for an operation, that you hope will save your life. But, while you’re in the hospital, your nurse tells you the story of the Night Marchers. Legend has it, that anyone who sees their parade, will die. When you begin hearing phantom marching-band sounds at night, you start to wonder if the legend could be true. 

It had been a year now, since you were first diagnosed with stage three leukemia. Chemotherapy alone had not slowed the disease down. So, you had travelled to a hospital in Honolulu, for a transplant procedure, that you hoped would save your life. You’d been receiving radiation conditioning for a week now, to prepare your body, to receive the donor’s stem cells. 

Today, your favorite nurse was on duty. Her name was Leilani. 

“Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani smiled, as she entered the hospital room, to bring you your daily dose of busulfan. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Tired,” you said sleepily. “The drums kept me awake last night.”

“Drums?” Leilani repeated curiously. 

“Yeah, I could hear music, outside my window, all night,” you explained. “Was there a concert, or a luau, going on in town, or something?” 

“Maybe the sound that you heard was the Night Marchers,” Leilani said mysteriously. 

“What are the Night Marchers?” you asked, eyes wide. 

“Oh, it’s an old Kanaka Maoli legend,” Leilani chuckled. “There were these warriors, who served the chief, in ancient times. They say that after sunset, they rise from their graves, and march through the streets, towards the site of the battle they once fought.” 

“Ghost warriors?” you blinked. “Now, that would be interesting to see.”

“Oh, no, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “You do not want to see them. Legend says, that anyone who watches the Night Marchers, parading through town, will die.” 

“I...I would die?” you gulped. Just for looking at a ghost?

“That’s how the story goes, anyway,” Leilani shrugged. “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes. But, it’s only a folktale, so don’t worry about it. Give me your hand, and take this pill, okay?” 

“....Okay,” you frowned. Something about this folktale, made you very nervous. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

That night, you tried your best to fall asleep. You knew you needed your rest, but the hospital bed was so uncomfortable. What was worse, your illness had left you in severe pain. Leilani had gone home for the night, and you didn’t feel like calling the other nurse, for a dose of painkillers. You tossed and turned, trying to just be still. 

Then, you heard the sound again, in the distance. A drumbeat, outside your window. 

Could it really be a parade of ghosts? you wondered, staring up at the ceiling. No way - it’s probably just some street performer. 

The bed creaked, as you turned away from the window. The drums grew louder, and, if you were not mistaken, you could hear trumpets joining them. Seriously - what the hell was that?

Your curiosity overwhelmed you, and you gingerly stood up from the bed. You padded over to the window, and peered through the blinds. You gasped at what you saw. 

It really was a parade. But, these were no grass-skirted warriors. They looked like a high school marching band. From the second story window, you could just barely make out their black and silver jackets. The leader, in front, had short-cropped white hair. You were too high up, to see his facial features. Who the hell was he?

You watched, fascinated, as the band marched past a stop sign. Your blood froze, as the parade leader phased, intangibly, right through the sign post.

“A...a ghost?!” you gasped. Were these really the Night Marchers, after all?

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit you, and you felt faint. Your vision faded to black. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You woke up the next morning, in your hospital bed. Leilani was standing at your bedside, adjusting your IV bag. 

“Leilani!” you gasped. “I saw them last night!” 

“Saw who?” Leilani frowned. 

“The Night Marchers!” you shuddered. “They’re real!” 

“You must have had a bad dream, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “I’m sorry that my stories frightened you.” 

“B-but…,” you protested. 

“Ssh,” Leilani interrupted. “You have bigger things to concern yourself with, right, Miss Y/N? Your transplant surgery is today.”

“That’s right,” you realized. Today, you would finally be infused with the bone marrow, that would hopefully send your cancer into remission. You were lucky that a donor had been found for you. You knew that many people succumbed to the disease, without ever making it to the top of the waitlist. 

“The doctors here at Hawaii Cancer Care are very skilled, Miss Y/N,” Leilani assured you. “I’ve watched their surgeries save many lives.” 

“You think that the surgery will be successful?” you gulped. The truth was, that you were still nervous. 

“I’m sure of it,” Leilani said positively. “You have nothing to worry about.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

That night, after the surgery, you once again found yourself struggling to sleep. Your time in the hospital was not yet at its end. The doctors needed to observe you, a little longer, to make sure the procedure had done what they hoped. And your body, of course, still ached. 

Suddenly, you heard a noise. This time, it was not coming from outside your window. The music sounded like it was emanating from the hallway, outside your door. But, the military-ish drumbeat was unmistakable. It was the ghostly marching band again. 

You stood up, leaning on your IV pole for support. You felt unsteady on your feet. You knew it was unwise, to be moving around, so soon after your procedure. But, you couldn’t shake the compulsion to look. 

You shuffled over to the edge of the room, and hesitantly opened the door. You poked your head out, and that was when you saw them. 

A whole parade of specters was marching through the hospital corridor! There were phantoms in masks, at the back. But, the five men at the front, caught your attention. Their faces were uncovered, and they were playing instruments, as they stepped forward in time. 

The one in front, with the pale, white hair, clearly seemed to be the leader. He raised his baton in the air. The phantoms followed him. 

Was this real? you wondered, shaking. Or, were you dreaming? 

Your IV pole rolled away from you, as you accidentally released it from your grip. The wheels made a skittering sound, on the linoleum floor. 

The marching band leader’s head snapped up, and he turned around, seeking the direction of the sound. 

You dropped to the floor, remembering Leilani’s warning: “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes.”

You trembled with fear, as you covered your eyes with your hands. 

Don’t see me, you pleaded, heart pounding, as you lay as still as possible in the doorway. Don’t see me…..please don’t see me…..

“Miss Y/N!” gasped a familiar voice. “What are you doing out of bed?”

You opened your eyes. The parade of ghosts was gone. There was only Leilani, looking down at you with a concerned expression. 

Am I going crazy? you wondered, eyes wide. Did I hallucinate that whole thing?

This didn’t seem possible. The blonde man’s piercing gaze had felt all too real. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You opened your eyes, hours later, and saw someone standing at the foot of your hospital bed. It wasn’t Leilani. It wasn’t any of your nurses. It was the blonde man, who had appeared to you in the night. 

You screamed. 

“It’s alright, Y/N,” the man whispered. 

“H-how do you know my name?” you gasped. “Who are you?!”

“I’m Gerard,” the man introduced himself. 

“I mean, what are you?” you demanded. “Are you a Night Marcher?”

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I am the captain of the Black Parade.”

“What do you want with me?!” you asked, shaking. 

“We’ve come to guide you to the afterlife,” Gerard explained. 

“What?” your eyes widened. “You’re saying….I’m dying?” 

“Yes,” Gerard nodded. “I’m afraid that you’re fated to die of a stroke tonight.”

“There’s no way that I’m going to have a stroke!” you denied. 

“I’m afraid that you’re already having one right now, in your sleep,” Gerard revealed.

“No!” you cried. “If this is a dream, then, I have to wake up right now!” 

“You won’t,” Gerard said calmly. “It is your time.” 

“But...that doesn’t make any sense!” you argued. “I just had a bone marrow transplant! It’s supposed to cure my cancer!” 

“You’ve developed what’s called graft versus host disease,” Gerard explained. “The donor’s cells see your body’s tissues as something foreign. They’re attacking them.”

“So…..you’re some sort of Grim Reaper?” you realized. “Where’s your scythe? Aren’t you supposed to look like a skeleton?” 

“I took this form, in hopes that I would not frighten you, Y/N,” Gerard explained. “Do you not find it comely?”

The truth was, you found the phantom’s appearance, extremely handsome. You could see his strong-looking arms beneath his black jacket. Above the jacket’s high collar, he had a beautiful, almost angelic-looking face. 

But, he’s an angel of death, you reminded yourself grimly. You wanted to cry. 

“I...I can’t die yet,” you stammered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m still so young. There’s so many things I haven’t done yet. I’ve never even fallen in love.”

“A surprise, and a tragedy,” Gerard said softly, gently stroking your cheek with this thumb, and wiping away your tears. “For such a beautiful woman.”

“You...you think I’m beautiful?” you sniffled. 

“I do,” Gerard confessed. “I’m sorry, that the powers that be, have given you such a short time on this earth. It is not for me to decide. My job is simply to walk with you, to your destination.”

“You mean, the afterlife,” you guessed. 

“Yes.” 

“What’s going to happen?” you wondered, feeling scared. “Are you just going to drop me off in some limbo, a-and leave me there?”

“No,” Gerard promised, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. “Y/N, I will stay by your side, as long as you need me.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you sobbed. You found yourself clinging to the specter, holding onto him tightly and sobbing into his chest.

He stroked your hair gently. “Sssh,” he consoled you. “It’s alright. You’re not alone. My marching band is waiting for you, just outside this room. We’ll all walk with you, to the Other Side. You will have as many friends there, as you wish.” 

“You want to be my friend?” you asked, staring up at him, with wide eyes. 

“I want a great many things from you, Y/N,” Gerard confessed.  Suddenly, he grabbed the collar of your hospital gown, and pulled you into a kiss. His lips were warm, and soft, like a living person’s. There was no coldness of the grave, in his touch. 

You kissed him back, soothed that, at least, someone was by your side, until the very end. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The heart monitors screamed, as Leilani ran into the room. The flatline on the screen, told her that her favorite patient was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she stared down, at the woman’s terribly still form. 

“A-Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani sobbed. A word that could mean both hello, and goodbye. 

There was one small comfort, as she pulled the sheet over Y/N’s head. Her final expression was a smile of bliss, as if she’d just received a pleasant surprise.

[primasveraas-writing]

Finnpoe Modern AU- Single Dad!Poe- PART 2

Lmao so Part 2 was supposed to be focused on Finn and Poe’s relationship but that didn’t happen as planned so. yknow. Now there’s a Part 3 on the way where more things actually happen, Finnpoe-wise, and that should explain more about their relationship. It is also very possible that a Part 4 may happen, but all of this is for after finals end next week ANYWAY

Thank you again to Eliane, who had the original idea for this headcanon!

Part One l Part Two l Part Three

XXX

BB makes it through preschool and starts kindergarten the next year

He's nearly a year older than his classmates, but Poe is still terrified on the first day of school

He's less scared than the first first day, and now BB is comfortable enough to stick his tongue out at his dad when he catches Poe wiping tears out of the corner of his eye

But BB still allows a hug, long and tight, when it's time to say goodbye

He signs goodbye! with ease, and pride and bittersweet sorrow swell in Poe's chest

BB has a group of friends by the end of the week

BB has a lot to say, Poe hears from their parents, and Poe chuckles to himself at that

By now, Poe feels more secure in being a single parent, but he remembers Shara's fire and how that was balanced so readily but Kes's calm demeanor

It seems that BB is inheriting all of Poe's sass and spirit, totally untempered

(He doesn't mind in the slightest, though he fears the day BB realizes he can out-sarcasm his father)

Sometimes, BB complains that his Deaf friends can sign better than him, and Poe feels a pang of guilt. They've been learning together, and after a year, they've come a long way, but there are still hurdles

On top of his other classes, BB spends his afternoons in the special education classroom

They find a sense of community there; children and parents who have had similar experiences

It's easier then, better than the year before. The father and son have settled in somewhat, even though Poe dreads the end of the year- BB will switch buildings and teachers and everything will be new again

Despite the impending change, BB thrives. He can write a few shaky words and he's nearly entirely fluent in ASL by the time kindergarten ends

The summer flies by: BB is six already, losing teeth, joining the soccer team

He plays #8 on the team. He's fiercely into it, which isn't entirely helped by Poe screaming his support on the sidelines

Jess, Karé, and Snap all yell too; Kes is the only one who shows his enthusiasm at normal volumes, although Poe can never quite forget the game when BB got fouled and Kes sulked about it the entire night

They meet BB's new teachers in August, a couple of weeks before the start of school

Poe's prepared for this now. He knows what to advocate for, how to navigate the reactions to BB and the calm, placating smiles from people who look lost when they first meet his son

BB's teachers are kind, at the very least. Poe had been a public school kid, but with some financial help from Kes, he'd managed to get BB into a slightly more controlled environment- it's a private school, still a relatively big one, but Poe chose it for its positive reputation and special needs programs

His boss, Leia, had endorsed the decision- her twin brother worked in the district, and if nothing else, Poe trusts Leia’s judgment

But most of all, BB was happy there in both preschool and kindergarten, and that’s all that truly matters

They end up at the special education classroom last on the tour of the new building- Poe nods at a few familiar faces before an older-looking man introduces himself as Luke. He shakes Poe's hand firmly and signs hello back at BB, who's staring up at him, unabashed

I'm Luke, he signs, and doesn't even raise an eyebrow when BB tells him to call me BB

“I work with your sister, I think- Leia Organa,” Poe says because Luke seems all-too-familiar, and Luke nods quickly

“My little sister, yes. She’s mentioned you. She says she reminds you of her husband when he was younger.” Luke raises an eyebrow. “You’re not a troublemaker, are you?”

“No,” Poe says automatically, at the same time BB signs yes!

You’re a troublemaker, too, Poe reminds the boy, ruffling BB’s hair. His son snorts, shaking his head, and peers around Luke to see the rest of the room

“Leia likes troublemakers. She’s the best one of all,” Luke says matter-of-factly, then grins. "But- you'll want to meet the rest of our staff," Luke says, signing as he speaks and peering around the room

"There's Mr. C, and there's Finn. He's new this year, too"

Poe's stomach twists at the words- he's all for giving the benefit of the doubt, but he'd hoped for someone with a little more experience

That's his first impression of Finn- the second is that Finn is-

-well, Finn is hot. Nicely fitting jeans and a gratuitous v-neck, accompanied by a winning smile that flashes before the two men's eyes meet

Finn's eyes are warm and brown and it melts Poe on the spot

BB has already abandoned him, tearing across the room and offering his hand to Finn. Poe blinks, trying to get his thoughts in order, and introduces himself to Finn

The young man is right out of grad school (he came highly recommended, and they had to fight to get him, Luke chimes in, while Finn studies his feet), but he's always wanted to teach, even if he had a brief military stint that ended poorly

My abuela was Air Force, BB supplies

She must have been talented, Finn answers. I think I'd get scared all the way up there

I wouldn't! BB replies at lightning speed, and oh no, Finn's laugh is just as delightful as every other aspect of him

They talk for a few minutes more before Finn is stolen away by other parents and Poe decides to talk to other teachers

(I’ll be seeing you, Finn,” Poe says, and Finn just smiles back, but Poe can’t help but sneak glances at the other man, even with distance now between them

Finn catches him just once, and grins at Poe widely)

Poe doesn’t see BB’s teachers too often- there are stories from his son, occasional phone calls, and parent-teacher conferences, but he runs into Finn fairly often outside of BB-related happenings

The younger man has an apartment within a mile of Poe’s, and Luke and Leia seem somewhat determined to drag their protégés out once in a while

Dinners on a few occasions is one thing, but Poe also discovers that he and Finn frequent the same bars

(Frequent, Poe thinks, is a liberal term for a teacher and a single dad, but he does to find a free night once in a blue moon)

(It makes sense, Poe also realizes, that he would run into a man who wears sensible v-necks at the only gay bar in town)

Poe is nursing a whisky, scanning the room for anyone as tired and old as he is, when he spots Finn half hiding in a booth near the back of the room, a young brunette woman slumped next to him

They look slightly out of place, and Poe is debating if he should go say hi or not when the woman looks up at him, her gaze piercing. Poe looks away, the tips of his ears burning, but he can see her whispering to Finn out of the corner of his eye

Poe is staring determinedly at the melting ice in his drink when he hears slight scuffling behind him, then a voice says “Hi Poe, good to see you.”

Finn’s tone is somewhere between the one he uses on conference night and a clearly forced effort to sound casual, so Poe musters his best smile

“Hey Finn,” he says, friendly, then his mind goes blank

“I didn’t realize I would see you here,” Finn blurts, and his eyes go wide. His companion gives a huffy sigh before nudging Finn’s side with her elbow and retreating back to their booth

“I didn’t know you were- that you go to-” Poe is just as flustered, and neither he nor Finn can meet the other’s eyes. “-that you go to gay bars,” he finishes lamely

“I do,” Finn says, voice soft as he stares at the ground. “Well, not too often but Rey-” he jerks his head back to indicate the woman conspicuously watching them from her seat- “has been stressed lately and I wanted her to have a good night.”

Poe takes a sip of his drink. “She your girlfriend?”

There’s no hope of any sort of recovery now- Poe is vaguely tipsy, a lightweight after his son changed all his evening plans for the past two years, and Finn seems beyond flustered, but this conversation started badly, anyways

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Finn says firmly. “We’re gay- I mean she’s gay- well, I’m bi, but she’s gay- a lesbian. We only kissed once and it was real bad. We’re both single and not dating each other.”

“Good to know.” Poe says mildly, at risk of embarrassing Finn even more. Then:

“Can I buy you a drink?”

[local-paranoid-cryptid]

SBI ft reader part 1

ya’ll didnt think I was gonna post the entire thing right? anyway, the reader is based off of mother nature and in this techno is gonna be a family friend (so no cannon family)

tw: none that I can remember :)

word count in this chapter:1661

status: unedited

It was a warm spring day, Phil scouted the area around the castle. He was the best at spotting and hunting people down, after all he was hand picked by the king himself out of almost 300 men and women.

Phil was a young man, around his early 20s, with sharp eyes and massive wings. He earned himself the nickname "Angel of Death" because of his scarily amazing combat skills and his ability to attack without a sound, but unsuprisingly he had little to no friends or mutuals due to his intimidating reputation and apperence.

Thats when he met a boy, about 9, maybe 10, stealing bread from the local bakery. Phil caught him, of corse, but when he saw the state of the boy, clearly malnourished and tired, he didn't make him return the food, instead Phil paid for it and watched the boy scamper away into alley. He later learned that the boys name was Wilbur and it wasn’t uncommon to see the boy stealing or getting into large street fights for money. Phil had offered him food, and of course he didn’t pass up an offer for food, but by the time Phil opened his mouth to ask him something he was gone.

One day Phil runs into the boy again, but not in a way you’d expect. Phil had finished doing his usual patrols around the castle when he feels something tug at his sleeve. Looking down he sees a small boy in a large dirtied shirt with holes, bright blue eyes, and blonde hair with bits of mud stuck in it. He must have been about 5 or 6 because he spoke in a fast and nervous voice, too fast for Phil to process. Next thing he knew though was that he was being dragged by the sleeve by a dirt swearing child, to see Wilbur thrashing against police hold. “Is there a problem here?” He asks the police, they explain that Wilbur was under arrest for assault and theft. The kid grunts, seeing the blonde boy behind Phil, “Tommy what the fuck?! I told you to run!!” He yells, seeming less angry and more frustrated. “These kids are with me, unless you have a problem with that, mate.” He spreads his wings threateningly, the police knew who he was and let Wilbur off with a warning. And that was how Phil adopted two kids off the street.

3 years had passed, Wilbur was now 12 while Tommy was 8. Phil was happy with the way things were, but eventually there were rumors of a new, powerful material deep in the hellscape they called the nether. The material was said to be a dark ashy black, and so powerful that it doesn’t burn in even the hottest of fires of the nether. That was the reason for its name, Netherite. Phil wanted to set out and look for the metal but we was worried for his kids so he found a babysitter that also happened to be his only friend from work, Captain “Sparkles” Jordan.

“Are you sure there gonna be fine mate?” Phil asks nervously with a backpack of supplies slung over his shoulder. Jordan assured his friend that the children would be fine, and with that Phil headed off to the nether.

To say the nether was hot was an understatement, it was a raging, blistering feeling when entering. The sudden change in temperature causes your head to spin and your body to feel a wave of overwhelming amounts of nausea.

Phil stared out in the horizon of at a group of striders, aww-ing at the babies and how they rode of the parents back. His eye caught on to a large black monument, a bastion.

He flew over the colossal lava ocean and landed softly on the ground. Phil’s eyes scan for any danger, but seeing nothing, and although he was grateful he was also uneasy about the situation. He looks through each chest and managed to find a lodestone, some iron and golden nuggets, and a golden pair of boots. Nothing too interesting, though he did find a disc in one of the chest. Phil decided to take this items and go on his way to find netherite.

A few hours of mining had passed and phil had manage to find 3 scraps. It was a bit disappointing in his opinion, he’s running low on water and his wings began drooping down to maintain coolness. Phil almost heads back to the portal when he sees something pink and black. He decided to take a look around the surrounding blue forest. After a few minutes of looking he spots what looks like a child with matted curly dusty pink hair, blood-red eyes, tusks pointing out the corners of his mouth, pink floppy ears atop his head, a thin build, pink bipedal legs, hooved feet, and a pink boar tail twitching lowly. not to mention the boy was soaked in blood, yet no visible signs of any injuries. Phil hears the boy clicking his teeth, a common warning amongst both piglins and domestic pigs.

There was something about the kid that tells him that the kid was dangerous, but nevertheless he pursued. He takes a step, slowly reaching into his bag. He pulls out a  baked potato, one of the many he brought for this expedition. Phil slowly reached his hand out, beckoning the hybrid to take it. It didn’t, and instead left. Phil leaves the vegetable on the floor and walks away, sitting cross legged about 15 feet away. He watched as the hybrid peaked around a blue tree, cautiously sneaking to the vegetable. He picked it up and scurried back to the trees.

This exchange continued for about a week, Phil enters the nether, puts a baked potato on the floor for the boy, sat and watched him from a distance as he grew more and more comfortable with Phil. So Phil was allowed to sit closer and closer, but the hybrid always scurried behind the same blue tree. Phil began talking to him, nothing specific, just what ever was on his mind, and the boy listened.

One day Phil brought the boy a carrot instead of a potato, the boy didn’t eat it or even touch the root. That’s when Phil grew more and more curious about him. He brought a variety of foods for the kid to try, a golden carrot, an apple, and three types of stew.

“He seemed to favor the suspicious soup and the golden carrots.” He spoke out loud  as he wrote in his leather-bound journal. His back was turned to the boy as he ate. The boy tilted his head and walked to the man, glancing over his shoulder at what he was writing. There he was a drawn picture of himself. Phil froze as he sees the boys shadow peer over him, but he continued writing, “likes apple, did not like rabbit or mushroom stew.”

Eventully Phil was allowed to sit next to the boy as he ate, giving him paper to write and doodle. that's how Phil found out his name, "technoblade".

One day, the boy just wasn't there, so phil left. after a week, the boy still hadn't turned up. He assumed that he'd left to his family, and left it at that.

Years past and the memories of the boy faded but were never completely gone. It was the first day of SMP earth, so Phil had a lot on his mind, but out of the corner of his eye he sees a man, about Phils height, but more muscular. He had an unreadable expression, peony pink hair, blood-red eyes, tusks poking out the corner of his mouth, scared floppy ears atop his head, bipedal legs, and a pink boar tail twitching lowly. His outfit was plain, a white button up top, black pants, and knee length gray boots. He looked familiar, but now Phil was too distracted by him and his sons parting ways to their own expeditions in conquest.

Technoblade watches the man hug his family, he recognizes him as soon as he saw the green and white striped bucket hat and those massive gray wings.

Techno turned his attention to someone else though, a girl whom he knew little about. There was just something about her that radiates both happiness and fear into people, not him of corse. He was the blood gods vessel! Feared by many, both powerful and powerless! yea..

When techno arrives onto Africa for resources he didn’t expect to see the girl. He’d managed to get a good view of her as she reached out to a trees branch, the tree leaned into their touch, miraculously bearing fruit for them.

The girl wore a long brown corduroy coat, a green knit turtleneck tucked into a long black skirt, several tattered green fabrics layered over her skirt, and a black belt tied around her waist to keep it all in place, and oddly enough, no shoes. she had messy hair with an array of sticks and flowers crafted into some sort of crown. She tucked the fruit away gently into her bag and went on her way. Techno watched her leave into the woods and left without a sound to the volcano.

When Phil stepped out of his boat onto the crunchy snow he assumed there was no one there, until he sees footprints. When his blue eyes followed to trail of foot prints it led to the pink haired man he spotted in the entrance, and a girl he didn’t recognize. Phil flew to a level edge of the mountain, but techno hears the flapping of wings and moves in front of the girl protectively, sword in hand. Their defensive stances were tense until techno lowers his sword and his eyes soften, “Phil..?” Said man looked confused until he realized that he was standing in front of the same hybrid Piglin from years ago. “Technoblade?”