#i liked curse of the blood ruby but it's been well over a decade since ive seen it plus i heard it's mid

[tigirl-and-co]

IM NOT ASKING YOUR ALL-TIME FAVE IM JUST ASKING YOUR FAVE OUT OF THESE

Most of these are considered 'top picks' in the fandom, with maybe one or two in here for personal bias haha

[dirt-cup-draco]

Bucky x Reader- Yours

a...ging stops at 18 until you find your soulmate so the two of you can grow old together.  d...amage done to a person also translates into their soulmate’s body (cuts, bruises and all) 

Thank you @starofthedawn! love our bucky boi :’)

Time had become something that simply passed you by. The decades skipped and hopped, one to another and you remained stuck in the body of a young woman that had aged far beyond her looks. The soulmates that aged, the ones that found one another, they watched you with pitying eyes as they saw the heavy weight behind your eyes. It was clear the excitement of waiting on someone meant just for you had taken it’s toll and you weren’t sure if you’d ever find that special someone to grow old with. 

It wasn’t just the time that had chipped at the hope you’d held onto in the 1940s when every one of your peers waited for their soulmate and your parents were hoping you’d find yours before even a week passed. Everyone was eager and you had been too. You had wanted to know everything about whoever was out there. At first you hadn’t wanted to, thinking them a troublemaker, but you were certain they were just clumsy. It’s why you always ended up with a nasty shiner that you had to try and ice down or a split lip your mother helped you nurse. 

When the war started gathering up every capable young man across the country you were certain that you’d lose your soulmate, whether by distance or warfare. It was something you feared once- never finding your soulmate. So you had done the only sane, or not so sane thing, you’d offered yourself up to help the soldiers as their nurse. Every night you went to bed relieved that your soulmate had escaped another day seemingly unharmed, besides the deep set ache in your bones but you had soon forgotten if it was his or yours. 

The war had ended and things from there grew more bleak. Surely you’d know if he had been one of the casualties, wouldn’t you? But doubt crept into your mind. You remember laying on your cot one evening when you found a moment to rest, mind gone foggy from the days constant movement and too little time to yourself. You felt like bricks laid out against the stiff cotton and it was a struggle to even twitch your finger. 

Suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs so forcefully youd choked out a cough just to remind yourself how to start breathing again. Your head began to ache terribly and your arm held a terrible weight to it. You tried to brush it off, you were just tired or maybe your other half was just feeling a bit lethargic that day- nothing serious. You had let your eyes fall shut but your rest was interupted with a vicious burning that made you scream aloud, eyes burning with tears as you clawed at the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

You shuddered, pulling your cardigan tighter around you as you remembered the night you’d felt unimaginable pain. You hadn’t really felt the same since. Disconnected, odd. Maybe it was a sign that he was gone, that you’d be stuck mourning and living out one existence after the other. You’d tried asking, the few willing to share, what it felt like to lose your soulmate whether it be before or after they’d met but no one could truly put the agony into words. 

Every so often you felt dull aches, a sore jaw from clenching too long, a sharp pain at the back of your skull... But it never lasted and as the world rocketed itself into a new age you believed that you were crazy and that these aches were just a phantom to remind you of a love you’d never get to experience. 

“Don’t look so glum,” Your boss Helen laughed, elbowing your side playfully and pulling you from your thoughts as you trudged through the back door. You tore your hat from your head, blowing a lose strand of hair from your eyes as you gave her a grim smile. 

“How could I look anything other than delighted when I know I’ll be in my lovely place of work for ten hours making grumpy people their caffeine fix for the day?” You teased back, a small grin working its way onto your face. Despite the decades spent wondering where half of your heart was, you had still found people and things to love. 

One of those people was Helen and one of those things was her lovely cafe. She’d employed you nearly three years ago and while you hadn’t aged a single day you were beginning to see the slight shift in her. A gray hair or two could be found in her amber locks, wrinkles at her mouth, eyes and forehead making her look...weathered in a way. Like a well loved book. She had stories full of excitement and happiness and more importantly, a soulmate. 

“You’re a brat but you’re my brat, now get out there and work your magic,” Helen commanded and you had to tear your eyes away from her. She was gorgeous, she was happy, she was loved, she was whole. 

The day went like clockwork, you clocked in at 6 and greeted the morning dump of sour sleepy people. The rush got you far enough along that by the time you were done cleaning your station your coworker James had punched in and you were set free to go on a fifteen minute break. It went too quickly and then you were half goofing off and half doing dishes until you took a lunch, your feet aching in your shoes but your mind gone pleasantly numb. 

Work kept you from the sink hole that had appeared in your chest. 

You hummed a tune, one always stuck at the back of your mind that played when you let yourself sink into the comfortable rhythm of cleaning the plates returned to you by customers who needed a nutritious or indulgent pick me up with their daily espresso or latte. The clouds had blanketed the sky and there was a familiar chill in the cafe that made the warm sink water lull you even further into your peace of mind. 

Now seven hours into your shift you were feeling eager to get home and kick up your feet but anxious to experience the dread that eventually seeped in. Your company had been enough for decades, or you had learned to let yourself be enough, but it didn’t end the longing of wanting someone there who knew you better than you knew yourself. 

“Y/N!” Came Jame’s clear as a bell voice, the echo of his tenor bumping against the glass wall you’d built in your mind to keep everything out. 

“Whatdya want?” You hollered to the front of the shop, drying off a mug as you took a few steps through the archway. James was at the back of the shop, cleaning up a spill and there was a customer hovering near the front counter. Their head was bent low and their shoulders hunched up to their shoulders. They wore a hoodie over their head and their hair cloaked their face, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger but realized the man at the front must be why James had called for your help.

 “Oh!” You exclaimed, setting the cleaned mug on the edge of the counter as you approached the register. “S-sorry, what can I get for you?” You stumbled over your words and had to shake your head. It seemed you’d gotten a little too lost in your thoughts as you had trouble coming back to the present. 

“Anything with caramel,” Came a voice that warmed you from the inside out. Your eyes snapped out and you found you were trapped by icy eyes that held nothing but a gentle shyness in them. The stranger was strong, his appearance almost intimidating, but behind the curtain of thick hair was an almost boyish face. But yet it was his eyes that you kept going back to as you tried to remember where you even were.

They were the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen, but they were the saddest you’d ever encountered. You didn’t think you’d ever see such a lost look on anyone other than your own reflection in the mirror. Your heart stuttered uncomfortably in your chest and you fumbled to take the man’s order on the register. You gave up completely and spun around on your heel once you realized you’d been staring too long. 

In your sudden movement though you had caught the edge of the already forgotten mug and it toppled to the ground. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, immediately dropping to the ground to pick up the shards. You felt too warm, your head foggy and body floating yet heavy. Your chest was tight and you couldn’t put a name on the feeling. Maybe you were having a heart attack. You’d gone too long without a soulmate and time had finally caught up to your ageless body. 

You were once again trapped in your mind as you fumbled with the sharp pieces, inhaling sharply as you cut yourself. 

“Double fuck!” You whined, squeezing your finger tight, trying to stop the flow of blood as you dropped the pieces back to the floor. 

“Jesus, Y/N, you feelin’ alright?” James asked, coming to your side. You simply nodded and popped your finger into your mouth. 

“H-he wants caramel,” you said airily, nodding back to the stranger but when you looked back at him his eyes had gone wide, hood pulled back from the top of his head. You were nearly about to ask if he’d seen a ghost but then you saw the liquid ruby gathering at the tip of his own finger. The same one you had cut. 

Your breath had been stolen from your lungs and your legs went out from under you as you sank against the counter behind you. 

“Y/N?” Helen asked, the commotion grabbing her attention all the way from her office. “Sweetheart what’s wrong have you eaten? Can I get you-”

“I- um just thinks she’s a little in shock,” Came that lovely voice once more and you felt a bit more grounded. He was much closer now, having come around the counter, brushing his cut finger against his jeans. It was only now you noticed one of his hands caught the light and revealed a prosthetic. 

Your shoulder suddenly ached with memories and your eyes welled up. “Where have you been?” You croaked, hands shaking and knees still weak. 

He sank down to kneel in front of you, ignoring both Helen and James’ protests to be mindful of the shattered mug. His calloused hands were large and gentle as they gathered yours up. His own eyes grew misty as he took you in. 

“I know I’m late, it’s a long story so why don’t I just start with a hello?” He asked, helping you to your feet. 

You laughed a bubbly and nearly hysterical laugh that made you feel lightheaded all over again but he just held on tighter to you and you never wanted to be let go again. “Maybe you could start with your name too,” You teased and you felt nearly as breathless as you’d been the night you’d only known pain. 

You supposed that was going to be a part of his long story and your heart ached already at the thought of him experiencing any of what you’d only felt a fraction of. 

“I’m Bucky, and what can I call a beautiful gal like you?” Bucky grinned, his flesh hand releasing your arm so he could brush his fingertips against your cheek in wonderment. 

“Yours, I’m all yours,” You choked out, a watery grin painted onto your face.

Time had become something that simply passed you by, but now you were ready to begin the rest of your life. 

[sugas-sweetheart]

Reincarnations || Sebastian Michaelis

A/N: IM SO SORRY I DELETED THE ASK BUT I HAD A SCREENSHOT BECAUSE I GET EXCITED WHEN PPL REQUEST BLACK BUTLER AND SHOW MY TWO FRIENDS - this is also a mix of both but I kinda tweaked it so that the reader doesn’t know Sebastian is their mate as it takes a little time for memories of their past lives to return once meeting him so that I could add a little more to it, I hope that’s okay! Enjoy! I’m also honoured to be the first person you sent an ask to 🥺 And I apologise for how long it took to write and it’s kind of shit oops ahdksnd I’m so so sorry

Request by: @samanthaambrosia

As you mention ‘She’ in the request I’ve made this a Fem! Reader so that I was also able to make her a maid

Upon your arrival at Phantomhive manner you could never have imagined how this would play out.

Entering the large mansion for the first time, you were greeted by the four other working staff; they welcomed you with open arms explaining that the young master and his butler were off on a business trip for the next few days. When the Queen sent you, one of her personal maids, to start working in Phantomhive manner, it confused you. You didn’t know what had prompted this, nor were you really in a position to question it. You thought that as her half angel, half demon maid, she wouldn’t let you stray very far away from her, but alas, here you were.

They gave you a tour of the grand mansion and stopped by your small living quarters to let you settle. Due to your supernatural nature, that they were unaware of, it wasn’t too hard to settle in, especially, after they had tested your reflexes to aid in “the Phantomhive welcome”.

You had been at the mansion for a couple of days now, the Lord himself and his butler were due to arrive anytime from last night. While you knew the Lord could be the tiniest bit caring, you still thought you ought to make a good impression sicne the Queen didn’t care to mention how long you would be here.

The sound of brisk knocking brought you out of your thoughtful daze as you finished buttoning up your shirt’s cuffs. The noise startled you as in your few days at the manor, you were the one to be awake and working before the others.

“Excuse me, may I come in?” A deep voice followed the knocking, which prompted you to step towards the door and open it for the individual outside.

A small gasp left the dark haired males lips as his eyes locked with yours and a sense of familiarity washed over you.

“Oh! Goodmorning, you must be Sebastian, the head butler. I’m Y/N, the maid sent by the Queen to serve the young Lord. It’s lovely to finally meet you, I’ll introduce myself to the Lord when he leaves his quarters.” A smile graced your face as you rambled on, not taking notice of his initial look of shock, and his alluring features studied you.

The familiarity and comfort his face brought you was confusing. Being fairly young compared to other angels and demons, surely you’d remember everyone you’ve met? He had a strange aura, almost definitely supernatural. You couldn’t quite place where you had seen him before and that was going to be on your mind the whole day.

“You are correct, I am Sebastian. Please come to me if you have any concerns or require help. You can continue with your daily duties then and I shall be seeing to the young master now” with a quick bow, he briskly started walking away.

There was a constant elegance to him; it kept your eyes trained on him until he rounded the corner. That feeling of familiarity still lingering within your heart.

Sebastian paused after he had turned the corner to make sure he was out of your view. You had always owned his heart, and you would forever more. The reincarnations of you kept him going through his endless demon life. In this life and the next you two were promised to each other, a constant that you both needed in lives that lasted as long as yours would.

It was just a shame that you were cursed to forget him until you crossed paths, and even then, it took time for you to recollect and gain all your previous memories. He had one item that he had gifted to you in your last existence together, he had to try jogging your memory, right?

As the day continued on, quick introductions were exchanged between you and the young Lord before you were due to get back to your usual tasks. Sebastian by his side sparing glances at you any moment he could get when he thought no one was looking. Unbeknownst to him, a certain Phantomhive was very observant of it all. So he did what anyone would do and asked him about you.

“Sebastian, what is your connection to the new maid?” Ciel questioned, pausing his musical studies briefly to peek up at his butler.

“I don’t seem to understand what you mean, my Lord” the raven haired male sent a quick glance back at the boy before continuing.

“You seemed very distracted by her this morning” the younger male mused before too continuing with his music.

Although Sebastian wouldn’t say it, Ciel was right. You had invaded his head space since his eyes gazed over you this morning and he only wished that you remembered him quicker.

Reaching into his tail coat pocket, he checked that he still had the pendent. He knew it was there, it was just a force of habit that he checked and now it mattered most. He had carried the crimson pendant since your last passing, almost fifty years ago now.

“She’s my mate, my lover. She loves me, and I her, for eternity…” it was only quiet, but Ciel heard it.

“Shouldn’t she be running into your arms then? That’s what most novels say isn’t it?” This situation had peaked Ciel’s interest more so than before, you had only given the butler a few glances when focusing on your formal introduction to the Lord. He would have expected more longing looks for what sounded like such a profound love.

“Not all love stories are that of novels, my lord. There was once a curse placed upon us, she may only regain her previous memories after meeting me again, and even then it must be prompted by something”

“Well? What are you going to do?”

“Ah, always a curious one aren’t you, my Lord? I shall deal with it later, for now you need to get back to your studies” And so he did. Sebastian decided he would confront you later, but now he just needed to figure out how. It’s not a very simple thing to spring upon someone you’ve just met. If you didn’t regain your memories then you’d probably think he was a lunatic, or just a very big flirt.

The day had passed and night was closing in. The raven haired demon had prepared himself for this moment; he had waited patiently for so many years. With his gloved hands tightly clutched around the vermillion pendent, he took cautious strides towards your figure. Your back was turned away from the rest of the room as you dusted a tall cabinet in the corner.

A light tap was detected on your left shoulder causing you to whip your head round and meet the striking blood coloured eyes of the man behind you.

“Excuse me, but I think this belongs to you” he uncurled his fingers as he spoke to reveal a ruby pendant necklace and a tight lipped smile grew on his face.

“I’m sorry, you must be wrong. But as a maid I could never own such a high value item” the very prominent apologetic tone was laced with disappointment, he could tell you were just as infatuated with the ruby as you were when he first gifted it to you those many years ago.

“Oh on the contrary, my love” he reached forward to lightly pull your hand closer to his, placing the chain into your palm.

The look of bewilderment was obvious in your face, he had just addressed you as “my love” whilst giving you a piece of jewellery no maid would own. As he closed your palm around the accessorie it was like a warm familiar feeling filled you. Short memories were unveiled and unlocked in your mind, memories of him.

You began to hesitantly move your free hand to his face to cup his cheek, you had spent decades apart and were finally reunited and it all felt too good to be true.

“Going by Sebastian I see? I could get used to that” a teasing smile broke out on you face and Sebastian’s smile widened as he saw your old self shining through.

He couldn’t wait a moment longer and pulled your face forwards to meet his lips.

You made a mental note to thank the Queen for sending you here, and hoped that you’d be by his side for eternity once more.

[adarlingwrites]

Taste

Summary: The blue bard is sickeningly sweet for Astarion's preferences, but he'll never forget her taste.

Author’s Notes: Taste is a collection of retellings of Astarion's scenes with the player character from the Baldur's Gate 3 early access, but with a little more embellishments. Plus, it has glimpses of my tiefling's backstory.

I had horrible, horrible artist's and writer's block and I needed to get this out of my system to get the creative juices flowing again. Please excuse any typos or lack of quality.

Larian give us the bard class pls I am begging of you

I - Blueberry Wine

The time for rest has come.

Bedrolls are strewn on the campgrounds, and most of its inhabitants are already asleep. Nothing can be heard save for the crackle of fire, the chirp of birds in the woods, and soft snoring.

If it wasn’t for their common goal of removing those damned illithid tadpoles from their heads before they undergo ceremorphosis, the members of this party wouldn’t even spend five minutes within each others’ presence. Now, they’re sleeping in one place. It takes some measure of trust for that.

The dreams of the tiefling in their ragtag group aren’t sweet tonight, to say the least.

Brows furrowed as another nightmare wormed into her psyche, the tiefling tosses and turns in her bedroll, a thin film of sweat giving her forehead a slight sheen in the firelight. Eyes shooting open, she choked back a gasp, lest she wake up her companions in the camp. The crackle of the campfire and the smell of burning wood gave her some semblance of comfort, at least, reminding her of distant memories.

A warm hearth, a kind face, the smell of freshly baked blueberry pie; simple comforts from her youth that she missed terribly.

The comfort that accompanied the nostalgia was enough to make her drift back to sleep. Woefully, it didn’t stop the nightmares from coming back, now centered around the tiefling’s early years.

Small, bare feet pitter-pattered on the wet pavement, frantic gasps escaped her dry mouth. Choking back a sob, more people went after her, shouting, hurling words that scraped her heart.

“Stop! Thief!”

“Devil!”

“Slay the demon!”

Lungs burning from exertion, the little tiefling whelp coughs, rasps for air, and slides under a cart. In the dark, she can see a narrow alleyway, which she scurries into. The men run past her hiding spot, cursing and muttering amongst themselves. Relief floods through her as their torchlights grew dim.

Safe, at last.

Her trembling arms had been holding on to precious cargo; a stale loaf of bread, wrapped in linen. It’s not a delectable morsel of steak, or rich bone marrow, but it’s better than the rocks she grinded with her sharp teeth for breakfast.

As she takes it out of the cloth, a stone drops in her stomach and horror twists on her young face. The tiefling isn’t holding a loaf of bread, but a severed head of a drow. A scream threatened to escape her throat and pierce the night air, but the tiefling maiden could only gasp as she felt a presence behind her.

Wine red eyes still heavy with sleep met with alert, ruby ones. She isn’t dreaming any longer.

In the dim firelight, she sees him. Astarion.

Truth be told, she doesn’t quite know what to feel about the posh elf. Astarion’s handsome face and fair curls are easy on the eyes, but it only reminded her of how hellish she looks in comparison due to her infernal ancestry. His sharp, calculating eyes puts her at unease, even when his gaze isn’t directed towards her. He has a way of making people feel beneath him, like vulnerable prey. Serenity is not exempt from that, despite her efforts to be pleasant to him. Not to mention, Astarion’s attitude and mannerisms reminded her of the uppity nobles she had the displeasure of encountering in her colorful past.

In short, he’s a handsome fellow with a revolting attitude, at least to Serenity’s standards. Lust and indignation battles with each other in the tiefling’s psyche.

It doesn’t help at all that the elf is fond of calling her pet names, such as “sweetheart” or “dear”. No one calls her such sweet things with genuine intent, not after she saw the drow’s head on a pike, and to hear them from his condescending mouth stirs something dark in her heart.

It especially inflames her whenever he calls her “darling”.

She wanted to pounce on him. However, she wasn’t sure what she wanted after that.

Tear his pretty face asunder with her nails and watch his handsome features contort in agony, perhaps? Or watch him writhe underneath her in a more… carnal manner as she takes out all of her frustration by mashing her ravenous mouth against his lovely lips?

Maybe both?

“Oh, Serenity. You have no need for that sort of… decadence,” she thinks to herself.

Alas, her body says otherwise.

“Shit,” he says upon meeting eyes with her, distracting the tiefling from her thoughts. Serenity didn’t expect such a vulgar word to come out of his pretty mouth, and she didn’t expect the gleaming fangs inside of it either.

How could she not see it the first few times?

The dead boar they found on the road, the fact that she had never seen him consume any food, and the wolfish way he eyes her neck when he thought she wasn’t looking should’ve given it away.

Astarion is a vampire. Worse, he's a vampire who’s intending to sink his teeth in Serenity’s neck.

Whatever terrible things she secretly wanted to do to him, she had no chance of enacting them in this situation. Hells, if anything, Astarion is the one with the capacity to do terrible things to her. The tiefling will be at his mercy, if she doesn’t act fast. So, why isn’t her body doing anything to move?

Heart racing, she needed to say something, at least.

“Stop,” Serenity warns him, voice low, baring her own sharp teeth. The tiefling had considered smashing her precious lute over his head as a last resort. Before the bard can lash out, he pulls back, alarmed.

“No no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” Astarion hastily blurts, panic evident in his voice. “ I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed- well, blood.”

The elf’s admission confirms it; Astarion is a vampire, a creature enslaved to sanguine hunger.

At that moment, an expression that Serenity hasn’t seen on the elf before twists his features: guilt. The vampire knew he’s betraying her trust, and it shows.

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?” Serenity asks, on guard now, but still sitting on her bedroll.

Eyes widening, Astarion’s tone becomes defensive. “I’ve never killed anyone!” he exclaims. Then, his expression turns grim. “Well, not for food. I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds! Whatever I can get.”

The lass feels slightly reassured that she’s not dealing with a blood-sucking serial killer, but the possibility of him lying puts her on edge again.

“But it’s not enough,” the pale elf speaks again. Serenity half expected him to say this, he did try to bite her after all. “Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

And there it was, the last thing she expected from him: vulnerability. His reluctance to show weakness was written all over his face. Perhaps it wounds his pride? Regardless of the doubt she has for him, it changed Serenity’s perception of the vampire ever so slightly.

“If I just had a bit of blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

Now this is a pleasant surprise. Astarion saying please? Is this a dream?

Still, the tiefling wanted to dig deeper at the truth. Brows knitting together in concentration, she knew better than to use the tadpole, but the damn thing established a psionic link with other infected individuals. 

Serenity pushes into the vampire’s mind to search for the truth.

“I- what’s this? What’s happening?” Astarion blurts, experiencing slight discomfort from the intrusion.

Pushing deep into the elf’s cracked and quivering memories, Serenity strains as she sifts through centuries worth of them, until she has reached its heart. There, she found herself in Astarion’s shoes; quite literally. She sees dark eyes that commanded her to feed, and instinctively, her body follows suit. Serenity, experiencing this through Astarion’s memory, opens her mouth, biting down, but not into a tender, pulsing neck. Though she wanted to recoil in disgust, there was no other choice; she couldn’t physically resist. The choice had been made for her- no, made for Astarion.

Astarion’s fangs pierce the twisting body of a rat - the only thing his master allows him to eat.

In return, Serenity’s own memories leak through the cracks of her psyche, and Astarion finds himself in the body of a wee girl with horns too big for her head. Ravenously, he inhales the sweet, buttery aroma of a freshly-baked pie resting on a windowsill. Astarion’s hands, now small and of bluish color, reach for the baked good with caution. A warm, ash-colored hand presses on his shoulder, and he sees the smiling face of a tall, drow man. Instead of hurting him for attempting to steal, the dark elf ushers him to a table, and offers him a slice with a compassionate smile. Serenity will never forget her first taste of the buttery pie crust, the sweet blueberries, and a hint of lemon and salt.

Now, Astarion will never forget that taste, either.

The connection between them severed, Serenity takes a moment to collect herself.

“You ate animals because you were forced to. Not because you wanted to,” she mumbles, eyebrows knitted together. Is it sympathy? Or perhaps his experiences reminded her of her own relationship with food?

Whatever it was, the tiefling’s perception of Astarion drastically shifted. On the surface, Astarion is a noble who turns up his nose at folks like her, but in truth, he suffered under the hands of a cruel master.

Being a pompous ass is a defense mechanism for him.

“I- yes,” Astarion says with resignation. “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So, you can see why I’m slow to trust you,” he continues, and Serenity swore the expression he wore on his face tugged a few strings in her heart.

“But I do trust you, and you can trust me,” Astarion tells her.

Serenity thinks it might not be fair for her not to. How can she say that she can’t, after she saw his past for herself, and he didn’t show any hostility towards her for intruding upon his darkest, most haunting memories?

“I do. I believe you,” the bard responds, and she can hear his relief when he mutters “Thank you.”

Perhaps Serenity had judged him too harshly in the past. The drow who took her in cultivated compassion in her heart, and it’s beckoning to her.

“Do you need blood?” Serenity asks him, and there is genuine surprise on his face.

“I was about to ask,” he tells her, expression shifting into something more pleasant. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

“As long as you don’t take a drop more than you need,” Serenity replies, loosening her clothing slightly, her smallclothes peeking through.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds almost eager.

“I- of course. Not one drop more.”

That damn vampire flashes her a smile that sends lightning rippling through her veins.

Astarion’s yearning eyes flicked to her exposed flesh, barely making out the purple tinge on her bluish skin as blood rushed from her chest to her face. Seeing where his eyes are roaming, Serenity feels her heart racing faster, and she swiftly lies down, back turned away from him. The tiefling bard is not about to let her companion see her flustered state.

Face inches away from her head, Astarion catches a whiff of the tiefling’s scent. He quietly thanked the gods that she didn’t smell of sulfur or rotting meat; instead, the bard smells of ash from freshly burned incense, laced with a warm, spiced scent.

The vampire holds her gently, delicately, until he strikes.

Astarion sinks deep, fangs like shards of ice piercing her neck. Serenity lets out a gasp, and her face contorts into an expression of pain and discomfort. Thankfully, the pain is quick and sharp, and as the vampire continues to feed, it fades gently into throbbing numbness. The bard feels her blood coursing through her body, into Astarion’s mouth, who sucked and slurped it hungrily.

He leans forward, one arm almost draping over the bard’s torso to support his weight, while the other still holds her head. Palm running through her short obsidian hair, he stops as they touch one of her horns, hand enclosing into a fist around it. Gently tugging, the elf tilts  her head for better access.

Astarion’s lips are wet from his meal’s blood and sweat, and his own saliva. They glided on the sensitive skin ever so slightly as he pursed them and sucked harder. Serenity found her breath catching in her throat from his actions, pulse quickening as her hand flew to grasp Astarion’s arm, filed fingernails turning white at the end.

In a figurative and literal sense, she’s holding on to dear life.

“Ah, Astarion, that’s enough,” she mewls, hand moving to grasp his hair, fingernails running through his scalp. Not enough to hurt, but enough for the vampire to snap out of it due to the sensation it produced.

The vampire moans, almost carnally, then it is followed by a surprised, questioning grunt. Serenity’s pleas, and the scrape of her fingernails took him from his trance-like state. Immediately, he removes himself from her neck, swallowing thickly.

“Oh. Of course.”

Serenity sits up as he pulls back, light-headed from the blood loss. She turns to the pale elf, her breathing ragged as her fingers gingerly pressed on her bite wound. The tiefling felt a blush creep on her face, neck, and pointy ears as she gazes upon Astarion’s face. In the firelight, she can see that his pupils are blown out in ecstasy, and blood is trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“That- that was amazing,” Astarion purrs, wiping off her blood and bringing his fingers to his mouth, savoring it to the last drop. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel…”

He pauses, and Serenity stopped breathing for a moment.

“Happy,” he continued, sighing in contentment as he gave her a gentle, genuine smile.

Serenity had to blink a few times to confirm that she wasn’t seeing things.

She clears her throat, hoping to dissipate the delicious tension between them. “I look forward to seeing you fight,” the bard says to him, drawing her knees to her chest.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing,” Astarion responds, bowing ever so slightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more… filling.”

The pale elf turns around and just like that, he is back to normal, snobbish self.

Serenity slumps back on her bedroll, exhaling slowly as her heart finally slows down. Her body crashes from the surge of adrenaline and the blood loss. Turning her head, she watches as the elf stalks towards the forest; stronger, more confident, and ready to hunt.

“This is a gift, you know,” Astarion tells her, back still turned from her, looking over his shoulder.

“I won’t forget it.”

Serenity won’t forget it either.

It didn’t take long before Astarion found a deer in the forest. As he drank the beast’s blood, he couldn’t help but compare the taste to Serenity’s blood. The animal is more filling indeed, but now? Nothing compares to the taste of the tiefling’s delicious blood.

She is the first humanoid he ever tasted, after all.

And how will he describe her taste?

The darling tiefling is bubbly, gentle, and sweet, much like her demeanor; almost sickeningly so, for his standards. It’s comparable to the Monastery of the Yellow Rose’s blueberry wine: a fragrant dessert wine he had the pleasure of consuming with delicate cheeses and light cakes back when he didn’t have any fangs.

Or perhaps he had associated her with the fruit due to her memories mingling with his.

Either way, when he said that he won’t forget it, he wasn’t just referring to the favor she did for him. Astarion was referring to Serenity’s taste as well.

Meanwhile, in the camp, Serenity draws her lute to her chest, plucking the strings softly in an attempt to lull herself to sleep. It doesn’t ease her into slumber like it usually does. Sighing, she squeezes her thighs together, heat pooling between them as she recalled the vampire’s lips on her pulsing neck. Perhaps it’s not the lute that she should be plucking at.

Reaching into the waistband of her trousers, the bard gives in to her secret desires.

At least there weren’t any more nightmares for the night.

[fireheartfaery]

Day 3: "Well I wasn't going to do that."

masterlist; my links

canon-compliant

CW: blood

Manon wakes up to darkness. She can feel a soft body, breathing gently, at her back and the itchy scrape of grass on her legs. They must have fallen asleep after their midday meal. Rubbing the late afternoon grogginess out of her eyes, she attempts to wake her beast up by gently stroking his belly. Abraxos purrs, snuggling deeper into himself and wrapping the protective wing around her tighter.

"Oh you big baby," She grumbles, and then pokes him in the side with a sharp iron nail. It's not enough to hurt, just to startle.

He wakes up with a yelp, growling at her. His own claws pierce the ground, as if to say 'I've also got some and I'm not afraid to use it'.

"I did try to wake you up gently," She raises a brow, "Don't look at me all betrayed."

He responds by huffing and unfurling his wing.

The world is bright, brighter than she would have expected at this time. The realization that summer is fast approaching the continent is not a welcome one. She prefers the cool nights and snowed terrain. But nonetheless the setting sun is beautiful, a tapestry of gold and red and purple. Her heart clenches ever so slightly at the thought that Asterin would have loved it, would have probably made them stop training or whatever they were doing and appreciate the glowing world.

She doesn't have time to think on it any further because Abraxos let's out a low growl, one she can feel through the ground. He's on guard. Someone's here.

Immediately her iron nails flick out, her teeth slicing at her gums as they protrude. Her wyvern bristles his wings, spikes catching broken shards of light, and stares unmoving at the cluster of trees before them.

She slips into a predators state, as lethal and terrifying as the beast beside her.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are?" Her voice is all witch, all killer.

There's a rustling, she takes a step closer. A branch cracks, Abraxos snarls. A string of curse words bounce around the forest, she frowns. And then a girl, as small as Elide, stumbles out, hopping on one foot, her bow tucked over her shoulder haphazardly.

There is a strange smell coming from her, like human... mostly. But under it, power. So much power. And it is ever changing. Like a river’s course. Abraxos smells it too because he sniffs curiously and starts padding towards the stranger.

They don't notice, too busy attending to their injured foot, which seems to be bleeding if the gods-awful stench of exposed blood is anything to go by.

The wyvern is right by their head, and he takes a long sniff, as if burying his nose in his precious flowers.

The girl screeches, falling onto the ground with a painful thud. The beast takes the chance to pounce, shoving his admittedly large, obviously lethal maw toward her much smaller, much softer body.

Manon can see the fear in her eyes.

"Can you call your monster off?" They stammer.

Abraxos takes the opportunity to open his mouth, as if to eat her whole. She watches the theatrics in amusement.

The girl, braver now, attempts to wriggle her way out, already reaching for her bow, which had been flung to the side when she fell.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Manon attempts to hide the feral grin threatening her lips.

"Then what exactly do you suggest I do?" The girl snaps.

She shrugs, as if she couldn't care less what the outcome of this little kerfuffle is, "Either your worst or your best."

The girl opens her mouth, blue eyes flaring with anger.

Manon releases her smile, "Although I suggest not doing your worst. He has very sharp teeth."

"Well I wasn't going to do that." She growls, "But thanks for the advice." She starts wiggling again, trying and failing, to remove herself from under a wyvern the size of a small village.

Abraxos pays no mind as he continues to explore this strange new person and their even stranger scent.

"What are you?"

"Excuse me?" The disbelief in their voice makes Manon laugh— an unusual rusty sound, but welcome all the same.

"You do not smell fully human," She frowns, moving slightly closer, "That is why he is sniffing you."

"I was born human but got turned fae when I died." She says it as if it's a question she's answered a million times. "Will you tell him to get off!" There is no patience in her expression. "My leg hurts and I need to make sure I'm not going to bleed out."

The witch makes a show of surveying her. "You're not."

And just when the girl looks like she's about to explode, eyes blazing, cheeks red as blood rubies, Manon strokes a hand down Abraxos' wing and mutters a command in his ear.

With a final whiff he shakes out his body and takes off to the skies.

"If it was that easy why didn't you do it in the first place?" She sits up, huffing.

"Since I no longer kill men for entertainment I've needed to find it elsewhere."

The glare she is given is enough to melt the Terassen snow. But a wince follows the heated expression and it tugs at something in Manon she hasn't felt in decades.

Crouching down she takes the girls leg in her arms and surveys the damage.

"What do you think you're doing?" She attempts to pull it back but the witch looks up, gold eyes narrowing.

Manon knows she didn't bring any supplies, this intending to be an afternoon trip only, so she resigns to tearing off strips of her undergarments hidden under her riding leathers to keep out the stubborn cold.

"What is your name?"

The girl is quiet for a beat, and Manon thinks she'd going to be stubborn about this too. But then she looks up and there's a curious look in those blue eyes.

"Feyre."

"Manon." She rips the linen. "Do you have water? Or better yet ale?"

The frown is back, and it is effort to stifle her laugh. "I was out hunting, I don't drink." She dumps some water over her leg, watching rivulets of blood flow down the skin and onto the ground.

"What were you hunting for?"

"Information."

Manon hums, tying the cloth around the cut. "Did you find it?"

The girl's— Feyre's skin is smooth, and cold to the touch.

"I found you," She says it as if she hasn't quite decided if that's worth something or not, "And your beast." She shudders.

"He is a wyvern."

"He is nosy."

The witch laughs at that, and it surprises her enough that she laughs harder. And when she looks to Feyre, expecting to see a scowl, she is pleasantly surprised with a soft, half smile. It makes her look so completely different. It makes her look beautiful.

A screech from above ricochets them back to reality, and they are stumbling to their feet, awkwardness and curiosity and embarrassment already pulling them to opposite sides of the clearing.

Abraxos lands with a soft thud, and proceeds to hunch down, as if waiting for Manon to get on.

"My stead demands we're off." She rolls her eyes.

"Thank you," Feyre gestures to her leg.

"I hope you find what you're looking for." She climbs on the wyvern.

Those blue eyes chase something untamable, as she picks up her bow and stares directly at her. "I think I already have."

Feyre disappears into the forest. And all Manon can think is maybe she’s found what she was looking for too.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know. all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01​

[ocegion]

I made this post some weeks ago and @sal-si-puedes was of the opinon that I should actually write it... So here it is. A bit late, but here it is.

______________________________________________________________

Nicolò walked through the dark as quietly as humanly possible, slow steps coming to a halt every time he thought he heard the slightest noise. He held his breathing in for nearly longer than his lungs could take, and his wide-open eyes resembled an owl. His heart was racing, but despite all of it, a slight smile was slowly making its way to his face.

His destiny was already within sight. Just a handful more steps and he’d be at the door.

He was alone, and if everything went according to plan, which it would, then no one else but Yusuf would ever know he’d been there in the first place. Andromache, for sure, couldn’t know; she was adamant that a minimum of a century had to pass before they even considered returning anywhere they’d been. So far neither of them had had any reason to doubt she knew what she was talking about.

This surely was no problem, though. No risk at all. All he needed was some discretion. Nicolò hummed happily to himself, already starting to look through his travel bag for the heavy metal keys. He only hoped the lock hadn’t rusted away too much.

Then, just as he was about to try and find the keyhole in the dark-

‘Who goes there? What do you want?’

Nicolò would start inwardly cursing everything within a few seconds, but for the time being all he could do was blink rapidly as the light coming from the just-opened next door blinded him and rendered him powerless to do anything but stand there like a goddamn idiot. He felt his throat dry up.

‘What are you doing here at these hours of the night? I swear, if you’re some filthy thief, you’re going to regret- oh.’

Nicolò remained silent. He stared into the face in front of him and, just as predicted, started to inwardly curse everything, himself first and foremost. The man blinked repeatedly at him.

‘Mister Nicolas, is that you?’

A surprised yelp came from the house, and a kind-looking woman, appearing about fifty-something years of age, rushed out the door, settling herself behind her husband, but poking out her head to curiously, meticulously examine Nicolò. Nicolò still said nothing, but he strongly suspected that his face said it all, if the muscles he felt pulling at his cheeks were any indication. He should, by all means, vanish into thin air to the best of his ability, but apparently, even after all these years, he was turned into an utter, useless fool the moment he was taken by surprise.

The woman yelled again - not so loud, Nicolò would have begged had his mouth not been so dry - and covered her mouth with her hands. A few more lights could be seen appearing in nearby windows, and Nicolò felt a knot forming in his throat, slowly suffocating him.

‘Mister Nicolas, it is you!’ she exclaimed, coming out of her poorly-deviced shelter and approaching him. She reached a hand out to his face, but when Nicolò instinctively leaned back, her hand fell. ‘How is it possible? Holy Mary, you haven’t aged a single day.’

He now managed to make some sound, although he didn’t quite get more than a few words stringer together. Luckily, arguably, he was interrupted before the silence became overbearing.

‘Could it be…?’ The man began, full of awe, but with a hint of fear, ‘Did you finally do it, Mister Flamel? Did you achieve the philosopher’s stone? Is that what this magic is?’

‘It’s not magic, it’s alchemy. Completely different things. Alchemy actually exists’ was what he finally blurted out, and yes, he most definitely was going to whip himself for that later on, because should that really be your priority right now? He had spent quite a few years learning all he could in the name of knowledge, but he really should be focusing on not making the mess he was already in even messier.

Too late. The couple in front of him, his neighbors from over two decades ago, were looking at him in utter wonder. A few more people, coming out of their houses to investigate the commotion, were whispering among themselves.

Under normal circumstances, he would be ashamed to admit he panicked, but he honestly didn’t believe he had any other choice. He shoved the key into the door, thanked God that it only took a bit of force to turn it, and slammed the door shut as soon as he was in.

He hid his face in his hands and groaned.

Andromache was going to make him wish he could die.

The muttering on the street not only didn’t die down, but it took strength as the minutes passed. Nicolò bit the inside of his lip, trying with all his might to figure something out. When he didn’t immediately come up with a solution, he just sighed and headed for the stairs. He might as well do what he had come to do.

Everything remained exactly as they’d left it years ago, with a thick layer of dust covering every available surface and spider webs making it hard to make out the ceiling even with the light of the candle he lit. He hadn’t been sure whether he’d remember exactly how to navigate the house, but it was easy finding their old bedroom. He coughed a little when the intense closed-off smell hit him, and he briefly considered opening the window, but he cringed and stopped himself from it the moment he heard the people on the street. Better not risk it.

He went to the table by the bed, the sheets destroyed by moths and who knew what else. A cloud of dust jumped to his face as soon as he opened the drawer, but his eyes landed on what he was looking for and his lips formed a triumphant smile.

He reached in, swept his thumb across the surface, and a faint red glow appeared where he’d cleaned the dust. Even in the dim light, the ruby shone like it had light of his own. Nicolò felt warmth spreading through his chest and cheeks, and brought the gemstone to his lips to place a quick kiss on it before gingerly securing it on his bag.

He had given it to Yusuf on the day that marked the tenth year since they first shared their love, nearly two centuries ago now. They had been in India, and although Nicolò usually didn’t pay much attention to such kind of thing, he’d seen the stone in a pendant and felt the overwhelming urge to give Yusuf something worthy of his beauty.

He’d never forget the tender smile on his lover’s lips when he saw it, or the infinitely loving look in his eyes as he allowed Nicolò to place the silver chain around his neck.

‘It is the red of the blood we once drew from one another, and that we now ache to spill to protect each other’ he’d muttered before sealing his lips against his own. As usual, he’d been able to put words to what was a mere unformed thought in the back of Nicolò’s mind.

The necklace itself had been worn away with the decades, but Yusuf had kept the ruby everywhere he went. He said it made him feel like Nicolò was always by his side, even if they rarely ever parted for more than a handful hours.

Dear God, how he loved that man.

And then, of course, they’d had to leave it behind. Twenty five years ago, their little family had stayed some time in Paris, laying low and resting from the last war they’d mixed themselves into. Nicolas Flamel had peacefully spent his days in the city researching alchemy, his latest passion, along with his wife Perenelle. He’d conveniently lived in the same house as his sister Adrienne and her husband Joseph, a bit of a strange arrangement, but nothing that raised too many eyebrows. It had been a quiet, pleasant few years.

Until, of course, Quynh had decided to get involved in the overthrowing of some corrupt local nobleman, and the next thing any of them knew was that that they had participated in an assassination and they had to vanish from the city with nothing but what they were wearing.

He’d left his favorite sword behind. Nicolò yearningly looked at it, dull with lack of use, resting on the room corner. He had hoped to get it back too, but it was too big to carry and be able to sneak out, which was what he was going to have to do.

He had the ruby, though, which was what mattered. Yusuf had spent the last two and a half decades bemoaning its loss. They were spending a couple days in a small town just a couple hours of riding away from Paris, and Nicolò had thought he could ride there, grab the gem, and ride back all before the sunrise woke Yusuf up.

He, technically, hadn’t been wrong. He had plenty of time before the first light. He just hadn’t planned for this mess.

He quietly made his way downstairs after one last wistful look at his sword and a couple more belongings. Maybe in another few decades. He approached the door, sighing with relief when he heard no commotion outside. Maybe they’d all gone to bed. As soon as he opened the door, however, he was met with even more of his old neighbors, all turning their heads just in time to see him slam the door shut once again.

He groaned, louder than before.

He started considering the possibility of just spending the rest of eternity running from Andromache.

He climbed up the stairs again, but instead of entering his and Yusuf’s old room, he made his way into the one on the opposite side of the hallway. His eyes briefly went over Andromache and Quynh’s belongings, but he went to the window, silently opening it. He gauged the distance between himself and the roof in front of him. Surely, if he made a good jump, he could grab the ledge and prop himself up. It wouldn’t be the first time he did something like that.

He placed his foot on the windowsill, tested it, counted to three, and-

‘There he is!’

Nicolò, for the most part, kept profanity off his mouth. His sisters and husband had a dirty enough mouth without him adding to it. God, however, would understand that this warranted the loudest, angriest curse his lungs could muster, he hoped as he lost his footing and plummeted towards the ground.

He didn’t die, he didn’t think so, but he did lose consciousness for a couple seconds, because the next thing he knew was that he was hissing as he felt his bones snapping back together. He held a hand to his head where it’d landed. He was mildly aware that there were people gathering around him, the light of the torches making him wish his concussion would pass even faster. The first thing he did when he had command of his own body, however, was to take the ruby out and sigh in relief when he saw it was untouched. He’d never forgive himself if his foolishness had led to its shattering.

He saw a foot stepping into his line of sight, and with a tired sigh, raised his eyes to meet those of another of his old neighbors.

‘You have all seen it. He should have died from that’ the man said, looking at him with wide, wide eyes, but talking to the crowd around them. When had it become a crowd? Shouldn’t these people be sleeping? Surely they had hard work to do in the morning. ‘Is that… Is that it? Is that the stone?’ he added, eyes wide with awe and an undeniable amount of greed. 

Nicolò gritted his teeth as he stood up. He really wasn’t in the mood to have to fight anyone off the stone. He held the ruby high, clear for everyone to see. He projected a confidence he most certainly wasn’t currently feeling.

‘This stone has more powers than you can imagine. It’s kept me alive, but it can do many other things. Much worse things. Stand in my way, and you’ll discover what horrors made me leave it behind.’

God, was that him talking? He didn’t even know what he was saying. The circle around him widened as everyone took a step back, however, so at least there was that.

Nicolò took a step forward, wielding his most righteously furious look. More than a few people hesitated, eyes still fixed on the stone, but a second of meeting his eyes had them scrambling back. He wasn’t free of them, however, with the people following him from a distance until a couple streets over, where he got on his horse and rode away faster than he had in all his life.

Two hours later, he slammed open the door of the inn room he and Yusuf were renting. Andromache and Quynh, thank mercy, were currently on Persia, saving him from his leader’s fury for at least a couple months.

‘Yusuf. Wake up.’

The love of his life made a confused, half-asleep noise. Nicolò started getting their clothes and other belongings.

‘I said wake up.’

‘Nico, it’s not even morning. What’s gotten into you?’ He yawned, still not moving from the bed. He scowled. ‘Why are you wearing your riding clothes? Were you out?’

‘Just… Just get ready. We’re leaving.’

‘Nico, what have you done?’

‘Don’t ask any questions. Let’s just go. Please.’

‘My life, what the fuck have you done?’

‘I’ll tell you later, now just fucking go!’

__________

Nile blinks repeatedly, mouth hanging slightly open as she looks at Joe, who looks entirely too pleased with her reaction. She can tell he’s barely managing to fight off the urge to laugh out loud.

It still takes her a moment to collect her thoughts.

‘You’re kidding, right? You have to be kidding.’

Joe snickers. He makes a gesture to indicate her to stay put and exits the room, coming back a minute later. In his hand lies an old, worn down ruby which he gently places on Nile’s hands for her to inspect. She feels her face become a mix of incredulity and utter, insane amusement as she inspects the stone. The edges are worn down, but it still looks lovingly taken care of. She can, in fact, believe it’s a lover’s gift from nearly ten centuries ago.

'Behold, the renowned philosopher’s stone. Not much use to us, but it’s neat having it around.’

She still doesn’t quite manage to rein her expression in, which earns her a hearty laugh from Joe as the man reaches out to take the ruby back. His eyes are full of merry, but they also hold a fond warmth as he looks at the stony, gently caressing it with his thumb.

‘What’s so funny around here?’

Nile turns to look at Nicky, who just walked into the room and is casually leaning into the door frame, eyebrow raised curiously at them. Curiosity quickly turns into puzzlement when Nile just keeps staring.

‘Nicky, you’re in Harry Potter’ she finally says.

His expression immediately turns sour, like he’s licked a lemon. He presses his lips thinly together as he looks at Joe, eyes narrowed but somehow looking more devastated than pissed. Nile finally bursts into laughter, louder even than Joe.

‘Joe, you didn’t,’

‘He was livid when Harry Potter came out’ Joe explains with a carefree gesture of his hand. ‘It’s why he never liked it, even back when it was just the first book. I honestly don’t get it, it’s not like we ever let him live it down either way.’

‘The last thing I needed was a million children learning that name’ Nicky bemoans, cheeks taking a slightly red tinge. ‘It’s awful.’

‘You’re a legend, Nicky’ Nile muses, voice nearly cracking with the urge to laugh again. Joe hums good-naturedly, crossing his arms, eyes shining as he looks over at his distressed husband.

‘That he is, Nile. That he is.’

[carriagelamp]

September Book Roundup, back-to-school edition aka The Season Of Red apparently?

Here is a selection of the books I’ve read this month. Summer is over, so the little bit of brain power I had managed to scrape together is quickly disintegrating, so enjoying the hodge podge of stories.

Binti

This was probably my favourite book that I read this month. It’s a novella I first heard about hear on tumblr and went to find a copy in my library. I have since bought the collected trilogy so I can read book two and three at my leisure because it was honestly just that friggin cool. This is exactly my flavour of scifi and I tend to be very very picky about the scifi I consume. It’s about a girl named Binti, a member of the Himba people (a real group of indigenous people from Namibia). They are a people well known for their mathematical and technical prowess, but due to their strong connection to their homeland and the earth they choose not to travel through space like so many other humans do. However, when Binti secures a position at Oomza University, the greatest university in the galaxy, she chooses to go against her family’s wishes and traditions in order to set out into space to attend. Everything is ruined though when her spaceship is attacked by a hostile alien race and everyone is killed but Binti, who must rely on all her intellect and abilities if she wants any chance at survival.

A seriously cool book with great world building – it really successfully introduces readers not only to the fictional scifi world and races of the novel but also to the culture and traditions of the Himba people. It’s a quick read, and feels like a cross between Dead Space and Tamora Pierce. Would totally recommend a read.

Fake Blood

A Canadian graphic novel. It was a goofy cute read. It’s about an awkward group of friends in middle school, and one boy with a crush on one of the girls in his class. Knowing her love for vampire stories, AJ decides, like any self-respecting middle schooler, to try to pretend he’s a vampire. Naturally nothing goes right and some things go wrong in unexpected ways. It’s funny and cute. Nothing amazing but it was a cozy evening read.

The Last Book On The Left

I’ve been listening to this podcast a lot since my friend recommended it to me and finally decided to read their book. For those that don’t know, The Last Podcast On The Left is a immaculately researched comedy podcast that’s hosted by Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks, and Henry Zebrowski, and explores the darker realms of human nature. Ghosts, paranormal, aliens, cults, and of course serial killers. In this book they collected several of their biggest name serial killer series, did some renewed research, and put together a book that is both informative, irreverent, gross, and very funny, complete with some really amazing illustrations by Tom Neely. A very cool read (and listen, if you decide to check out the podcast instead), I really love how they tell these stories without idolizing or romanticizing the people they talk about. Their humour always makes sure you know exactly how much of a pathetic loser these people are. Fantastic true crime, from someone who has never really felt the need to read about true crime before.

Midnight Sun

I won’t harp on this one, everyone is already going to firmly have their opinions here. I grew up on Twilight, I was reading them as they came out, and I still love them. Were they dumb? Oh my god yes. Did they have problems? Sure, they came out in 2005 it was part and parcel. Were they also a really fun for a thirteen year old to read? Absolutely, I don’t regret it. Sometimes teenage girls should just to get like things without being mocked.

Anyway, I am off my soapbox now (can you tell this is still a raw spot for me?) I unironically loved this book! Getting to see Edward’s perspective was really cool, and since he can read minds it essentially let you get the perspective of everyone else around him too. The Cullens family is a great set of characters so it was really cool to see more of them, and I was very impressed by how Stephenie Meyers took a YA romance she wrote in 2005 and was able to make it feel updated and more appropriate for a 2020 audience even though she couldn’t actually change any of the events themselves. So fans of Twilight, don’t be ashamed, go read Midnight Sun and have the shameless fun you deserve. Is there anymore appropriate book for the bizarre ass year that was 2020 than a return to this goofy nonsense?

The Paperbag Princess

(and Up, Up, Down, and Robert Munsch in general)

I’m back in schools so I’m back to reading children’s book! And honestly, and of you that don’t occasionally sit down and read a kids book out loud don’t know what you’re missing. Anyway, Robert Munsch is a Canadian author, and one of my all-time favourite children’s authors. It surprised me to learn he isn’t as well known in the States apparently? I don’t know if that’s changed or not, but he is a Canadian staple for a good reason, his books have ridiculous premises, are specifically written to be fun to read out loud, and have beautiful, involved, and hilarious illustrations. The Paperbag Princess is one of my absolute favourites, and as a kid it was one of the first stories I had ever read where a princess is the one saving the prince… and then telling the prince to piss off when it turns out he’s a jerk. Up, Up, Down is another favourite I reread this month, because it’s just hilarious funny and makes a fantastic read aloud with kids. Some other Robert Munsch I reread this month include: Mmm, Cookies, More Pies, Ribbon Rescue, Just One Goal, and Andrew’s Loose Tooth. You just cannot go wrong, for kids or adults.

Pit Pony

Another Canadian staple while I was growing up. If you’re a young adult know who went through the Canadian elementary school system, you probably had your entire heart ripped out and stepped on by this chapter book. It’s a historical fiction that looks at the economic hardship, debt slavery, child labour, and animal abuse that was tied to coal mining in the Maritimes. Finding a copy was harder than I would have expected give how pervasive it was a decade or so back, but reading it again was a pure shot of nostalgia.

Seeking Refuge

A graphic novel written by a German-born Canadian about a Jewish girl who flees Nazi-occupied Austria by way of Kindertransport to become a child refuge in England. It follows her as she is moved from host family to host family as the war continues to pick up and gradually makes it’s way to the United Kingdom as well. It’s very poignant and the pencil-sketch illustrations are an interesting change to a lot of the graphic novels that are out right now. This story is still aimed at a younger audience, so it never gets too brutal but it still is a hard hitting story, especially with everything else going on right now.

Silver Spoon #9/10

I know I’ve talked about these books before, but my library got some more since I last read them, so I’m continuing my way through the series. It’s about a teenaged boy who, after having a breakdown from the pressure he was feeling to study and succeeded, decided not to attend an academic, urban high school, but rather to apply for an agricultural high school so he could live in the dorms, far away from his parents. The series just gets more and more heartwarming as it continues. It’s all about failure and overcoming and how worth can be measured in different ways, and about family and understanding each other and coming together… but also about the realities of farming which aren’t always very nice, especially when it comes to finances and survival. It’s written by the mangaka behind Fullmetal Alchemist but I’ll be honest… I think I like this series more. It is honestly one of my all time favourite manga series, it just has so much heart.

Ruby Finds A Worry

aka Ruby’s Worry apparently? I can’t figure out why this has more than one title. I actually read it in French not English, so for me it was Le Souci de Calie. Regardless, this was a nice little picture book for talking about worries and anxieties with children… especially with the amount of Covid stress a lot of kids are dealing with. It explains in a really nice way how talking about anxieties are often the best way to make them more manageable, and how pretending nothing is wrong can just let it grow bigger and bigger. A good explanation for kids and possible a good reminder for adults.

War of the Realms: Journey Into Mystery

I read this because the Mcelroy family wrote it so I figured Hey! Why not give it a go! And I’m glad I did. Their brand of humour was all over it, and it made the story a delight to read. I don’t follow all of Marvel’s weirdness, so I didn’t actually know most of the characters (Miles and Kate were actually the only two I was familiar with) but they do a great job of introducing the characters and making them all feel distinct and interesting. I absolutely adore the Dog of Gods (God of Dogs) who is a very very good boy. And Miles is absolutely always a delight so you can’t really lose. It’s a single book that I think is a part of a larger plotline that I have zero interest in. This book is a fine one to read though if you don’t mind jumping into the middle of the action and just getting swept along for the ride. Also Mcelroys!

Witcher Omnibus

Bleh. Absolutely not worth it. All the misogyny and Dumb Bullshit that I hate in the original books and from video games in general. Honestly, Witcher III did way better by its characters than most of these short stories. The only one worth reading in it is Curse Of Crows – that one was actually really enjoyable, probably because it was about Ciri and had an actual fucking woman on the writing team. (Seriously guys what were you thinking with Fox Children that’s literally just a story from Season of Storms but done worse. Fuck off.) If you like The Witcher, go read Curse of Crows and skip every other story in this book.

Billy Stuart: Les Zintrépides #1

Another French (Quebecois) book I read, though I believe you can get it in English as well (Billy Stuart and the Zintrepids). It’s a chapter book / graphic novel hybrid, and was honestly a fairly fun little read. It’s in a similar vein to Geronimo Stilton but done much better in my opinion. The humour was funnier, the characters felt less like caricatures, and while it still used stylized fonts it was also less intrusive and eye-strainy than the Stilton books. Also when the story suddenly pivots into the main adventure and mystery of the series? Fantastic. Was not expecting a hell-beast to appear part way through the story. Very interested in reading more.

Over all, it was cute and funny, and I can see it being a good next step when children have read their fill of the Stilton series and want something similar but possibly a bit more involved and coherent.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Terror 15?

Hello my favourite! Thank you for the prompt, it was DELIGHTFUL! And I cheated a bit and made this a Kingdom Collisions update👀 hopefully I did you well!

Masterlist; the piano song I imagine

This is a fic I'm writing to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing. I do not have pre-written chapters so updates will be sporadic. I hope you enjoy whatever is here!

Terror, 15: whatever you do do not open your eyes.

TW: blood, violence/death

Kingdom Collisions V

Percy Jackson sees the impending stone of Caelum Castle and he wants to escape to the sea. He wants to rush back to his cabin and bury himself in the sand where nobody will ever bother him. He has always hated this castle, hated it for its height and its morgue grey colour, and the way it looms over the world like a shadow of.... gods it seems inappropriate to say death.

Jason had been in some state of quiet distraught since yesterday evening and he can't blame him. It is fracturing to hear news like that, to not have anymore to go on. When Percy's guards had come to tell him the news he had buckled at the knees. They just managed to catch him. He demanded more information, anything else. They shook their heads, eyes heavy with heartache and said,

"The only thing we know Prince is that the King is safe."

Now the car eases onto the cobbled path that leads up to the castle and before it can come to a stop Crown Prince Jason Grace is frantically clicking at his seatbelt and hurtling himself out of the vehicle. Percy sees him race up the endless stairs and disappear through the foreboding wooden doors. He looks to his guards, questions as evident in his eyes as in theirs. When the car finally parks in whatever designated space they have he climbs out and prowls towards the castle, eyebrows scrunched as he looks for his husband.

Caelum Castle is as hollow on the inside as it looks from the out. Opulence drips from the crystal chandeliers. The smell of decadence emitting from the ivory-wood furniture and accompanying silk drapes make his head spin. He doesn't even bother to hide his wince as he steps through the diamond archways. He knows the king put them there because when the sun hits the room at just the right angle a kaleidoscope of colour fractures around the space. On the rare occasions he has come here he has never quite felt like the castle was lived in. It felt more like a decorative structure, a face for the people. But there is warmth emitting from the candlebrum in the entrance. And although the velvet red carpet layed under his feet looks like it got put down yesterday there is evidence of life in the tiny chip on the marble floor where Jason tried to hammer bubble-wrap, or the dent in the wooden panelling where a bunch of little guards in training were being chased by Monster Jason of the Sky and someone smacked straight into the wall.

Percy isn't aware of these details, isn't aware of the life his husband had here. Instead he peers around corners and into room trying to find anyone. The castle seems to be empty, a mirage in an endless desert. He walks up the white marble staircase, looking at the portraits on the wall. They are full of grim faces and collared paint and he can't help but compare them to the portraits in his own castle, which are colours, and smiles, and joy. He wonders briefly if Jason's childhood was as happy as his; if Jason ever got to lick blue icing from the bowl the night before his birthday, or cuddle up next to his parents for movie night. Just then a shuffling from the end of the second floor grabs his attention and he's moving towards it, thoughts discarded.

"Prince Grace?" He pokes his head around a doorway, a room of silk and fire and music greeting him. A gorgeous, midnight black piano sits in the center of the space, white keys glistening in the candlelight. The room is almost sinister in its set up. Like someone had been playing only a few minutes ago and go called away briefly. He expects a person to come strolling around the corner, stepping to the piano and sitting down to play. He tears his eyes away from the glorious instrument, clasping his itching fingers, and looks at the rest of the room. It seemed almost normal, but then his eyes catch on the slouched figure in the corner and bile crawls up his throat. There are puddles of ruby surrounding the person and he knows with horrifying clarity that they aren't sleeping, aren't merely resting before the pianist comes back. His shock is interrupted by another sound, a broken sound.

"Jason!" And then he's sprinting towards the blood curling scream, towards the pain.

The wailing is endless like torture itself is finally learning to speak.

"JASON!" Percy is frantic now, he can't find his husband and there's so many doors and why the fuck is the scream echoing in his brain he can't hear anything, "JASON!"

He slams into the edge of a frame as he skids to a halt. There standing in front of a dark wood door, blue eyes blazing and tear streaks like stained death on his face, is the Crown Prince.

"What's the matter, what's wrong?" Percy is breathless, panicked.

"There's so much blood," The blonde chokes, looking down, "This was his room and there's so much blood."

"Who's room?" Green eyes widen at the pool of scarlet, "Prince, who's room?"

Jason falls forward, Percy barely managing to catch him, "There is— there's so much blood." Tears soak through their clothes.

"Do you want me to go in and check?"

The blonde looks like he's going to say no, looks like he's going to work up the courage to do it but his eyes catch the red stained marble and he nods once.

"Stay here, only come in when I say."

He nods again and then Percy is easing himself around his husband and opening the door.

At first there is nothing, just murky darkness and oddly shaped shadows. The furniture, some beds and couches, are aligned neatly in certain areas of the room but for the most part it is empty. Percy squints into the darkness, trying to find a light source. There is something hanging on the wall and he can't quite make it out. The smell in the room is enough to make him wish he hadn't eaten that slice of toast for breakfast.

"Can you see anything?" A call from the hallway.

"It's really dark do you know where the light is?"

"Yea just move towards your left, it should be on that wall."

"What do you mean should be? Do your lights move or something?"

"Shut up and find it." He hears a hiss near his ear and it takes everything in him not to yelp. But finally he locates the switch and with a soft click the room is ablaze in warm yellow light. He blinks at the harsh difference, letting his eyes adjust. And then Percy Jackson, Crown Prince of Mare spots the artwork on the wall and the blood in his veins become poison. He whips his head around, ready to warn Jason not to look only to see to see his eyes already squeezed shut.

"Whatever you do, do not open your eyes."

"What's wrong?" The blonde is breathing hard, hands twisting at his sides, "What happened?"

"Keep them closed Grace,"

Percy looks at the grotesque image on the wall, his stomach doing somersaults. He is hurtled back to a time when his own castle had been bathed in blood.

"Little One," Someone shook his shoulders, "Little One I need you to get up!"

"What's wrong Momma?" His voice was groggy with sleep, "Is it already time for breakfast?"

"No Little One. You're going to stay with Grover for a little while okay. There's big people stuff happening at the castle so you and Grover get to stay together."

"Is everything okay momma?"

His mother's ice blue eyes fractured, her lip trembling. His small hand reached up to touch her face, put his fingers to her cheek.

"What happened momma?"

She shook her head and gathered him in her arms and then they were racing through the palace. He will never forget the screaming he heard when they stepped into the halls. It was like nails on a chalkboard, like ventirloquated suffering. And the smell— iron and death. Those walls he called home seemed dark and dangerous, full of monsters.

"What's happening momma?" Tears pooled in his eyes.

"Some bad people Little One, but don't worry you will be safe with Grover."

"I don't want to go momma, I want to stay with you!"

"I'm sorry Little One,"

And then she was shoving him in a car and waving goodbye. The last thing he saw was his mom's broken gaze and the splattering of blood on her nightgown before the world faded.

"Just don't open your eyes, I'm going to guide you out." Percy says, wrapping his arms around his husband's shoulders and taking small steps in the direction of the door.

Jason walks backwards, wrapped in Percy's arms, eyes still shut tight, "Are we almost out?"

"Couple more steps," He mutters and then they're through and he's pulling the door closed.

Just before he can shut it the blonde opens his eyes. Crown Prince Jason Grace inhales sharply, turns around and throws up all over the floor.

"No, no, no, no, no—" He cries, sobs, chokes.

Percy wants to curse but instead he gathers the Prince in his arms and slams the door closed.

Jason is heaving, tears making rivers over his cheeks, "No, no, no, no, no—" He looks up at the wooden entrance and throws up again.

"I love him, no, no." He is screaming. "Bring him back! THIS ISN'T TRUE!"

Percy pulls them closer, ignores the fingernails cutting into his arm, the red marks marring his skin.

"I need to go in!" Jason heaves, trying to escape from their embrace.

"No!"

"Please, please, please," He's begging, lightning eyes are flashing, "I just need to see him! I love him I need him please."

"I can't I'm sorry."

"PLEASE!"

The world trembles, cracks, crumbles to dust under that request. Despair is a blanket over their shoulders, agony their final friend.

"Please Percy please," The blonde is sobbing into him, pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"I am sorry."

"We were supposed to run away, to live in the clouds, to become nomads of the sky. We were supposed to be together."

His heart clenches, twists in his chest for the person in his arms, at the sheer excruciation of the moment.

"You will meet again.*

"I need to see him!"

The black-haired Prince sits there on the floor, stroking his husband's back and blinking away the image he had seen.

For there, on the otherside of the door, hangs the Tapestry of Agony. A noose around his neck and daggers pinning his limbs to the wall, is a guard— tawny brown skin leeched of colour, once bouncy curls saturated with blood, and coffee brown eyes gazing endlessly at nothing.

Leo Valdez, Personal Guard and Secret Lover to the Crown Prince of Caelum, is dead.

Percy Jackson pulls his husband closer and closes his eyes to the world. Somewhere in the castle a piano starts playing.

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

This fic has built up quite the traction which makes me equal parts happy and surprised so i’m moving the taglist here.

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@leydiangelo

@sparkythunderstorm

@asami-sato-has-never-sinned

[kmomof4]

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates Ch. 2 Emma

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! Y’all’s reaction to the last chapter was everything that this writer’s heart could have asked for!! HUGE INTERNET HUGS FOR YOU ALL!!!

TREMENDOUS love and thanks and all the good things I can possibly give to @profdanglaisstuff​ for her beta services, @hollyethecurious​ for her encouragement and listening to me whine, the CSSNS and CSMM discord ladies for their encouragement and help with the title, and to @spartanguard​ for her PERFECT artwork!!!

Chapter Summary: Today we meet Emma for the first time, in 1650 London.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 4.4K of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Love’s Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

1650 London

With a final agonized scream, the raven haired woman collapsed against the pillows piled at the head of the bed as the cries of a newborn filled the room. Granny smiled down at the scrunched up face she held in her hands. The rest of the child’s body followed. “It’s a girl, Mary Margaret.”

The young woman laughed weakly as Granny held her daughter up for her to see. “You were right, Granny,” she breathed.

“Well of course, I was right,” she replied, indignant. With quick, efficient movements Granny cleaned the baby up and wrapped her in a soft blanket that she had just finished crocheting a few days before. “That charm has been handed down in my family for generations and it’s never been wrong.”

The strong blonde man who had been waiting outside came running into the room just as the old midwife handed a small bundle wrapped in the white blanket to the exhausted but smiling woman reclined against the pillows. Making his way over to the bed, he placed a tender kiss on her temple. He reached around her shoulders to draw her into his side and looked down into the cloudy gray eyes that stared back at him. “It’s a girl, David,” his wife whispered, smiling up at him.

Granny’s normally no nonsense exterior melted at the sight of the young family as she took in the tender moment. Mary Margaret sat reclined on the bed with her husband’s arm around her as he stroked the crown of the nursing baby.

“Oh look,” whispered David in surprise, “Look at the birthmark. On her neck.”

“It looks like a swan in flight,” Granny said, nodding. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a birthmark with as clear a shape as that.”

Mary Margaret raised herself slightly from the pillow to look down at her daughter before flopping back again, her eyes glazing over with weariness. “Wow,” she said on a breathy exhale as she lost her battle with fatigue.

“Certainly appropriate, with our name.” David chuckled then leaned in and again kissed his wife’s temple. “Thank you for everything Granny. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Granny scoffed, waving aside his sentiment. “You would have been fine, David,” she asserted, “You’ve got yourself a fine, strong woman there and a good, level head on your shoulders. You would have figured out something.” She came closer and watched fondly as the baby continued to suckle, oblivious to her worn out mother. “Now, the room is yours for as long as you need it.” She waved away his objection just as he was opening his mouth. “David, I have work for you that will more than adequately compensate me for your room and board. Mary Margaret needs to rest. It’s no easy feat to bring a child into this world.” She turned her attention to the dozing woman. “See?” she questioned him. “She’ll need to stay right there taking care of this little one for several days, at least. Once she’s up and around, I can use her too. I’m getting too old for this, and Ruby isn’t old enough to take over for me.”

David closed his mouth, stunned, as he realized exactly what Granny was offering him and his family. “Are you saying that we can stay here? Permanently?” he asked, incredulous.

“Of course, I am,” the matronly woman acknowledged with a smile. “Harold, God rest his soul, would never forgive me if I put your family out on the streets. Especially this little one.” She bent down and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

David’s shoulders slumped in relief and acceptance. “Thank you, Granny,” his voice caught with emotion, “I can’t tell you how much that means.”

“You just take care of your family,” the old woman gruffed, “That is payment enough.”

Granny looked fondly at the sleeping mother and baby before slipping out of the room.

~*~*~

Pirate captain Killian Jones entered his cabin, weariness hanging about him like a cloak. It was the first time in three days that he had seen the inside of his quarters. Ever since a storm the likes of which he had never seen came upon the ship that he had called home ever since Rumplestiltskin had murdered his brother and turned him into the cursed creature he was now. He had little doubt that the monster was behind the storm. The suddenness with which it blew up and the ferocity he and his men had battled for days all spoke to the magical, dark magical, attributes of the storm. Ever since Rumplestiltskin left him alone on the floor of this very cabin over 60 years before, he had delighted in returning every so often, taunting and tormenting him. The only reason Killian could come up with is that the monster just wanted to remind him of their connection and that, so far, he had failed in his vow to destroy him.

They had now, finally, left the storm behind them. Killian stripped down to just his leather pants, hanging his coat, waistcoat, and shirt on various furnishings in the cabin to dry. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled off his boots and socks. Once he sufficiently dried himself, he pulled down his logbook to record the battle with the storm. As he flipped to the next empty page, his eyes and thoughts skimmed over previous entries covering many years.

The attempt, at first, to hide his new nature from his crew, until the overwhelming bloodlust took over and he attacked and killed one of his men.

The mutiny that was spawned because of his lack of control. When faced with the anger, and yes, fear, of his once loyal crew, Killian’s rage at his helplessness against his fate and their perceived audacity completely filled him until he attacked them, leaving the entire crew dead at his feet.

Killian sneered as the next entry and memory paraded itself across his mind’s eye. Watching from afar as his parents frantically searched for not only their beloved sons, but also the Blue Fairy. He would assume, given her magic, that she was aware of what had happened to him and his brother. She apparently couldn’t reveal to the king and queen just how utterly and completely she had failed in her duty to protect the family from Rumpelstiltskin. So when she left their presence and saw what had happened to Liam and Killian, she disappeared as well.

Finally gaining enough control over the bloodlust that he was able to take on a new crew.

The ensuing decades that were his darkest, both as a pirate and as a vampire. He refused to feed on his crew, that could get expensive quickly, but his own self-loathing and impotence in the face of his nature were enough to unleash the, literally, bloodthirsty pirate that was always just under the surface, the bloodlust licking at his veins. When they captured merchant ships, Killian led his crew in wholesale slaughter, gorging himself on the still warm blood of their adversaries, as his men transferred the loot to the Jolly. Once he was sated, he used his powers of compulsion and persuasion to make his crew believe that when they were dumping the drained corpses overboard, they were simply disposing of rotted food.

Watching as his parents grew old with no heir until they passed and the throne went to the son of Brennan’s younger brother.

Finally turning to the last entry, his eyes drifted over lines that he knew he didn’t write.

The Dark’s minion’s downfall is foretold

When True Love’s Kiss doth unfold

Between soulmates unbound by time

The blue eyed prince and his golden haired Swan

Their True Love will break the hold

And Dark magic will be no more.

Killian’s brows furrowed as he read the lines again. Dark’s minion? Dark magic no more? Is it talking about Rumplestiltskin? The blue eyed prince and his golden haired Swan? Soulmates? What does all this mean? The confusion he felt as he pored over the words yet again continued to grow. Who wrote this? How did it get here? Would one of my crew dare to enter my cabin without my knowledge and permission, much less write in my logbook?

His last entry was from three days before. So someone had made this entry at some point during the storm. But no matter how many times he read the words or tried to figure out answers to his questions, he couldn’t make any sense of the entry in his journal. Shaking his head, he determined to put it out of his mind and concentrate on the recording of the storm.

Many hours later, while Captain Killian Jones slept, the Blue Fairy materialized in the cabin and waved her wand over the sleeping man. With the white magic that settled on him, she knew that when he woke, he would have no memory of the prophecy recorded in his journal. Not until the proper time. Not until the blue eyed prince met his golden haired Swan.

~*~*~

Killian Jones entered the inn and stamped his nearly frozen feet on the threshold as he shivered under his traveling cloak. Anger licked his veins as he made his way over to the blazing fire in the hearth to warm himself after his trek from the London Pool where his ship was docked. He was chasing down a lead that was supposed to give him information on a possible way to destroy Rumplestiltskin. Whispers and rumors had reached him about an instrument that might be capable of killing the monster and freeing him from the Darkness that coursed through him. Unfortunately, that lead had proved fruitless.

A young woman with sunshine in her hair hurried over to him at the hearth with a pint of ale. “May I take your cloak, sir,” she asked.

“Aye, lass,” he replied. “Thank you.” Too distracted to take real notice of the young woman, he handed her his cloak and sat down at a nearby table. She returned moments later with a bowl of hot stew that smelled divine. The months at a time being out to sea made fresh, hot food all the more welcome when making port.

He looked up into the girl’s face and was captivated by the green eyes that skittered away from his once he caught them. As she turned away from him and headed back towards the kitchen, something came over him. Something that he hadn’t experienced in decades. The bloodlust that he had under control for over 70 years completely took him by surprise. He felt his fangs snap into place and a red haze descended over his sight, telling him that his pupils were red as blood. He bowed his head toward his meal until he had himself under control again, eyes blue as the summer sky and fangs retracted.

He looked up again and scanned the room he found himself in. Just like every other tavern he’d ever frequented, he found a large and cheerful hearth keeping the frigid cold of the freak London snowstorm at bay. Over to his left, he saw stairs leading up to the rooms for rent for weary travelers. The door opened again with more pushing their way through, seeking the warmth the inn offered. To the right of the door, the counter with the kitchen behind was bustling with the girl going back and forth between the counter and the blonde man behind it and the tables that the newcomers settled at.

Unfortunately, they had settled only a single table away from him and every time the girl came to attend to them, the bloodlust washed over him again. He concentrated even harder on the meal set before him, wrestling himself back under control when she approached him again.

“Is everything alright, sir,” she asked, “Would you like some fresh bread to go with the stew? Granny is just taking some out of the oven…” she trailed away as his eyes met hers again. He was gratified to see that there was nothing but curiosity and openness in her gaze. He had obviously been successful in keeping his true nature hidden from her.

“Aye, lass,” he answered her, “that would be lovely.” She turned away from him and as she did, he noticed the swan birthmark on her neck. A swan in flight.

The blue eyed prince and his golden haired Swan

A completely forgotten line from a completely forgotten journal entry he had found many years ago. Could this girl be the golden haired Swan? And he could only conclude that he must be the blue eyed prince. He sat, completely gobsmacked as he watched the girl approach his table again with several hunks of freshly baked bread on the tray she carried. She stopped at the other occupied tables, lightening her load every time, before she carried on toward him. Arriving, he couldn’t help but take a deep inhale, noting the aroma of the bread as well as the scent of her, just to make sure that the bloodlust was firmly back under his control.

“Thank you again, lass,” he drawled. “Please conduct my sincere compliments to the cook of this delicious meal. Whom should I speak to about procuring lodging for the night? I’m not inclined to go back out into that until it clears up a bit.”

Her eyes shot toward the door as it swung open yet again, letting in the largest crowd yet, along with the blustery wind and snow. “That is very true, sir,” she acknowledged. “The weather is fit for neither man nor beast. My father is behind the counter. He’s the one you should speak to.”

“Thank you. I shall do that as soon as I finish my meal,” he declared, tucking into the food before him yet again.

He used the last bite of bread to soak up the last of the broth from the stew before rising from his table and making his way toward the counter with the blonde man behind it. “Good evening, sir,” Killian called as he approached.

“Good evening,” the man replied. “I hope you enjoyed my wife’s stew and Granny’s bread.”

“Undoubtedly, sir,” he rejoined, “It’s been many a month since I’ve partaken of a meal as satisfying as the one I just enjoyed.” He leaned across the counter with his hand extended toward the man. “Captain Killian Jones.”

“Ah,” the man exclaimed, taking Killian’s outstretched hand. “I wondered if perhaps you were a seafaring man. David Swan. How else may I help you?”

It was all he could do to keep his face from showing his complete and utter surprise at the confirmation of his earlier thoughts. “A pleasure to meet you, David,” he answered, pointing back toward the door of the inn. “I’d rather prefer to not have to leave until the weather clears up. Might you have a room available until it does?”

“We do indeed,” he affirmed. “Emma?”

“Yes, Papa,” the girl answered, approaching the counter again.

“Would you please see that room 2 is ready for Captain Jones here,” he asked his daughter.

Killian reached out toward Emma, palm up, in a gesture of invitation. She lay her own hand in his own before he lifted it to place a small kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you for the excellent service and meal tonight, Miss Emma. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yours as well, Captain,” she replied, with a slight curtsey, “I’ll just go see to your room. I’ll return shortly.”

Killian watched her walk away, his thoughts in complete turmoil. Shaking his head and returning his attention to her father, he scratched behind his ear as he took in David’s broad smile. “She’s nearly sixteen and would make a fine wife for a sea captain before too much longer.” David answered his unasked question.

Scratching furiously in nervousness, Killian repeated, “So, she’s 15, hmm?” He swallowed around the sizable lump in his throat as a petite black haired woman whose temples were just dusted with frost joined them at the counter.

She turned her eyes upon David with a slight reprimand in them before turning her gaze upon Killian. Green, just like Emma’s. Must be her mother. Killian extended his hand toward the woman, just as he had moments before with the young woman. Brushing his lips across her knuckles, he introduced himself again. “Captain Killian Jones, milady, at your service.”

“My wife, and Emma’s mother, Mary Margaret Swan,” David introduced them.

“It’s my honor,” Killian murmured, sincerely. “If I’m not mistaken, I have you to thank for the stew I partook of this evening?”

Mary Margaret’s cheeks tinged a light pink. “Oh, it was nothing, Captain,” she deflected, “I’m so pleased you enjoyed it.”

“I truly did,” he affirmed. “I was just telling your husband that after many months at sea, a hot, fresh meal is greatly appreciated.”

Emma approached the counter again. “Your room is ready, Captain Jones. If you’ll follow me please.”

With a slight bow to David and Mary Margaret and wishes from both sides for a pleasant evening, Killian followed Emma to his room.

~*~*~

It was nearly a fortnight later before the snow had melted enough for Killian to leave the inn. During the time he had spent with them, he had become quite good friends with the Swan family. He was careful to keep the rapidity with which he was losing his head over Emma hidden as he became her constant companion in her leisure time. Which admittedly, wasn’t much. David and Mary Margaret didn’t have any objection to his obvious affinity for their daughter, and he had even managed to win over the matriarch of the family, Granny. Being in such close quarters with Emma was an exercise in self control such that he had never had to endure before. But, in the end, he had been successful in keeping his true nature from the happy family. The puzzling questions concerning the journal entry still plagued him, but he thought that perhaps, with his new certainty of who Emma was, he might be able to figure out what the rest of it meant.

Entering his cabin, Killian immediately pulled down his logbook and flipped to the page containing the riddle. He hadn’t thought of it since the evening after the storm, fifteen years before. Right about the time Emma would have been born, he thought. But upon seeing her birthmark and introducing himself to David, it had never been far from his mind. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to recall most of the words, so as soon as the snow was melted sufficiently, he rushed to the Jolly to look at the journal again.

The Dark’s minion’s downfall is foretold

When True Love’s Kiss doth unfold

Between soulmates unbound by time

The blue eyed prince and his golden haired Swan

Their True Love will break the hold

And Dark magic will be no more.

Killian stared at the words before him, wrestling with them in his mind, trying to make sense out of them.

The Dark’s minion’s downfall is foretold

Foretold, that means prophecy. The Dark. The Darkness? The Darkness that makes him, makes me, what I am? The Dark’s minion? If the Darkness is what makes us, then Rumplestiltskin must be its minion. Downfall is foretold. He will fall when True Love’s Kiss occurs between soulmates, the blue eyed prince and his golden haired Swan. Me and Emma. Unbound by time. What does that mean? Killian shook his head. He hadn’t a clue. Their True Love will break the hold and Dark magic will be no more. That sounds like True Love’s Kiss between me and Emma will destroy the Darkness. Then Rumplestiltskin can be destroyed. A sinister smile broke across his face. At last our tales will again intertwine. Revenge will be mine.

He could feel the anger and hatred rising within him, nearly triggering a blood frenzy within him. There was no way he could return to the inn with the bloodlust this close to the surface. He closed his eyes and willed himself back under control. He needed to get word to his crew and get as far away from here as he could. If Emma was his True Love, and the two of them were needed to destroy the Darkness and Rumplestiltskin, he had to get as far away from Emma as possible if he wanted to keep her and her family safe. If Rumplestiltskin were to find out about her, find out about her family, he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy them. He had to keep her safe. Safe from him. And safe from him. He’d come back for brief visits in the future, until she was a little bit older and ready for him to court and marry her.  A sudden certainty came over him that if he wanted to court her, if he wanted to be worthy of her, his days of slaughter on the high seas and persuasion and compulsion on his crew were at an end. He couldn’t continue to take their free will from them as his sire had taken his. Satisfied with his plans, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and began penning a missive to Emma and her family.

~*~*~

Six months later

Killian made his way through the streets of London with an arm raised to his face, trying to block the putrid smell that came from the devastating effects of the Black Death that was ravaging the continent and had made its way to England’s shores. He could only hope and pray that Emma and her family had not suffered any loss due to the epidemic. The heat mingled with the stench of death made for a rancid bouquet that was causing his last meal to roll within him, wanting to revolt. He finally reached the inn and made his way inside. Getting out of the blazing heat of the sun overhead and the stink from the rampant disease was such a relief, that he wanted to weep. But before he could collapse, his eyes caught the gaze of his friend behind the counter. A gaze that held unspeakable despair and immense pain. Killian’s greeting and smile died on his lips before he could utter a word.

He knew his Swan’s family had not been spared.

Emma’s birthday had come and gone while he’d been at sea, and he now felt that the time was right to formally court her and make her his bride.

That hope for the future was shattered, however when David’s head slowly shook from side to side. He knew who Killian would be most anxious to see upon his arrival, but it was plain to see that he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. David came around the counter to embrace his friend. A wail of misery that came from the depths of his being threatened to consume him, but he clenched his jaw against it.

“When?” he gritted out.

“Nine days.” David’s voice broke on a whisper. Drawing away from him, Killian tried to curl himself into a ball as the wail continued to try and break free.

David reached around his shoulders and drew him upright again as he led him toward the back of the inn. Pushing through the door back into the heat, dizziness overtook him as he looked at the three graves just a few feet from the door.

“Granny went first. She died in April,” David choked out. “We thought that we’d been spared, since no one else came down with it right away.” Killian could feel the blood tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He kept his focus on the ground before him as David continued to speak. “Mary Margaret became ill seventeen days ago, and almost the same hour that I lost her, Emma was stricken. I couldn’t bear to leave my beautiful Mary Margaret to decay, so I dug her grave next to Granny. Granny was the only mother my Mary Margaret ever knew.”

Killian chanced a brief glance at the grieving man beside him. The anguish painted there, left his skin with a grey pallor.

“Did I ever tell you our story?” David pressed on, without waiting for his answer. “I came from a family of shepherds. My mother passed when my youngest sister was born. I was seven. Mary Margaret lived in the nearby village and had always been kind to me when I came into town. But the man she called Father, was the most despicable of men. He was a slave to drink. Never satisfied with the work she did to maintain their household, constantly harassing her, beating her for no reason. She had finally worked up the courage to leave his house when he collapsed with wracking coughs. He was dead within days. She was sixteen. For some reason, she came to me. I could never understand why. She said it was because I made her feel safe. That when he would beat her, she’d picture my face and she’d be able to endure it.” He paused, shaking his head. “But, why me? Wouldn’t anyone else have helped her? I didn’t do anything anybody else wouldn’t have done…” He shook himself from his rambling memories and continued their story. “After knowing each other most of our lives, it didn’t take us long to fall in love. When we couldn’t hide Mary Margaret’s pregnancy anymore, my father kicked us out. We came to London to try to find a better life and Granny took us in. Only three weeks before Emma was born. Granny delivered her. It seemed only fitting that they should all be together in death.”

David fell silent. Killian could no longer hold back his tears. He collapsed to the ground, desperate to hide his face and the blood pouring down his cheeks from his friend, gasping sobs breaking free. David stood beside him, silent tears coursing down his own cheeks, letting Killian’s grief find a safe outlet that wouldn’t be contained or interrupted. When the barking sobs subsided to quiet weeping, David patted his friend on the shoulder.

“I’ll go prepare your room. Stay out here as long as you need.” He turned toward the door and disappeared inside.

Finally alone, Killian raised his blood streaked face to look at the graves before him. His golden haired Swan was gone. The woman he loved, his soulmate, was gone. What am I going to do now?

[gigilalaka]

The Deage Troll Au. Update and Chapter 1

So, this was supposed to tell you all that want to read my still in progress deage au, that chapter 1 was out on my ao3 account. Well its not. I can’t get access to it on my pc and I’ve tried a couple of other methods as well. Now I’m just waiting for they guys and girls that run ao3 to find whats wrong. However I want people to at least read the first chapter so here it is. We will see what happends in the coming days but for now enjoy!

*for thought

‘for speak

Chapter 1 “ Good days gone bad”

Poppy looks out of one of her windows that she got installed barely 3 weeks ago, its soft rain that gos pit patter on them tonight and normaly she would hum to the soft sound but she can’t find the strengt nor heart to do it. Her mind is filled with worry and guilt over the small body thats currently sleeping in a small borrowed bed that Smidge had been so kind to give her. * What am I do to now?* the words keeps runing around her head as she hears a small whimper coming from the bed. She truns around to look at them and walks over with soft steps and just stops at bedside, the little thing looks like they are not haveing the best of dreams. She could not blame them, she bet shes haveing them tonight as well once she finally finds sleep herself.

She slowly stroke the little things face, tears silent runing out of both closed eyes. One out of lost another out worry the next out of fear. A small boyish voice filled with sadness and longing asking for the one person thats never going to be able to anwser back ‘ grandma, where are you?’ It breaks her heart just hearing it.

‘Oh Branch, I’m so so sorry. I should’t have brought that stupid flower to the bunker, we should’t have.’ she says as she looks at her boyfriend, now in a body of a 6 year old, his skin grey as dark ash, hair black as coal and a fearfull frown onpond his little sleeping face. It still amazed her how bad everything had gotten just within 5 days, and it all started when he asked her a favor of just getting some stuff from the deep forest. How she just wish she’d could stop her past self from taking that damn flower or just give it to the herbalist before she and Hickory went to visit him. Maybe then neither of them wouldn’t feel so bad like they do now.

‘I’m so so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry’ she keeps saying, tears anew starts run out her eyes again, while her mind drifts back 5 days ago, where it all started.

‘So let me see if I get this right?’ Hickory begins while he helps his brother over a giant fallen log with a rope around him and Dickory, while said brother is cursing up and down and to the high heavens for gifting him with this damn body and how he wish he’d have moveing hair like the pops have. It would sure make this a lot faster! Poppy stops to look at the bounty hunter, the half open basked strapped on her and one on each bounty hunters backs moveing a little showing herbs, barks, flowers and berries, a small smile froming on her face when Hickory nearly let loose the rope thats currently the only thing thats keeping his brother from falling several feet down, again. The small yodleller looking at the other one with a glare. Dareing his little brother loose his grip again on the rope, or else theres going to be hell to pay.

‘Branch is missing or gone out of several herbs and a type of moss thats used for a variety of diffrent meds and skin tonics? And he ask you to get them for him while he fixses something down in the bunker thats gone badly out of whack?’ For the past 4 months, Hickory and Dickory has been residents of said bunker while they are here helping the pop trolls build up their villiage again. Its part of the deal they have with Delta on the amount of charity works they need to get done with the country trolls and for what they did Poppy and Branch. First they had to help fixing some the homes and buildings back in Lonesome Flats, before they were sent to what remaind of the Pop villiage to help fix things there as well. Though to be honest, untill more of the trees and plants recover some more, theres little they can fix. Many a troll are still living in the undergrund bunker the resident grump live and build up, till some of their home trees are ready to take them in again. Though said grump was getting a little antsy with all the other trolls hyper-go-lucky energy. And endless will to party hard and as loud as possible.

Both he and Dickory had been very supriesed and shocked on how one troll had build something this lagre by the age of 15, get it so well stocked and maintain all alone for well over a decade. It was not for nothing that the other pop trolls called him the most prepared troll of the Pop villiage. *Though to be honest, we should have figured that out with how he was so prepared for just about everything on the journey* Hickory thought while putting the rope in his basket, Dickory finally on safe ground. He’s very sure that if they meet another log like that again, his big bro is just gonna swallow his pride and ask the queen for a ride over instead. It was getting very tiring getting past these forsaken logs for the both of them.

‘Yep’ the queen say, the ‘p’ poping as she said it.’ The Ruby moss is the most improtent one along with the Silver Drop Rose. They are used for some very serious bruns tonics and blood loss meds that I think even the funk trolls have never seen. Branch said that even if we only get a few of each of them, it still be enough to treat several dozen patients, but it would really help him and the doctors to have a bundle or two of each instead. They only bloom for the brief period between these 2 weeks. The rainstrom season is coming soon and they are going to be washed away soon when the first storm hits. Oooh look some more Dede berries! Miss Flourens going to be so happy that we gotten some of them, they hard to find this time of the year. Now she wont have to worry so much about the flu season’ The berries looks nice where they are hanging from their bush, a rich maroon colour with what looks like a golden stripe going around the oval shaped fruit. Poppy takes out a few small clay jars to store them in from her basket. She notes that she’s running out of room to store things. She take out a book from the basket she’d taken with her in her hair, incase she found any other herbs she’s not sure about. One of the many useful gifts Branch have given her the past 2 years.

‘So why did you take us with you girly? You know how that boy of yours don’t like us very much’ Dickory asked, it was a bit of a understatment, Branch had been rageing mad at them when he found out the their lie. Had it not been for the fact that Poppy's other friends was holding him down, Dickory is very sure he and his bro would not be walking at all. Its a bit better now, but non of the yodeller brothers wants to overstep themself the frail peace they have right now. Though he still wounders what the less colour full troll meant with ‘ this is just like what happened almost 2 years ago!’. He did not like the sound of it, not at all.

‘Mostly to give you guys some breathing room really.’ Dickory gets back, the queen is still getting some of the last berries in the jar. Then give them to him for storage in his basket. ‘Also, I know for a fact that since your both bounty hunters you guys was the better choice to take on this little trip when it comes to protection. Which I know mister grumpy is not going argue against, beside I’d rather take you guy over the other one thats avaialble.’ * The less said about Creek the better off I am* Poppy thinks, not wanting to take that guru on this trip today, lately the purple troll was trying to get them alone very often and that scared her.

The three continue their journey, stoping every now and then for a breather or a brief lunch, when they come to a area that has the herbs they are looking for. Its not easy to get to them though. The roses blooms on a small cliff thats very close to a river that has some very sharp stones jutting out and the moss prefer to be on the ceilings in a cave that is home some nasty creeps and crawls that no sane troll would want crawling in their pants. However, when they took a break near a tree, they a get a glimps of a snow white petals that seems to shimer in the light behinde another tree and some bushes a little father ahead of them. Hickory and Dickory is not sure if it is safe to go there, but Poppy is insistent that they at least check it out.

They come onpond a small clearing with a pond near the middle of it, a single flower blooming from the north side of the pond. Its white as snow that shimer in the sun light, with what looks like golden, amethyst and royal coalbolt blue bands around the base of the pastals forming a lovely small pattern of rings together. Its shaped like a tulip, if a tulip had slightly longer pastals and curly torns that is. They can smell a faint hint of sweet yet lightly bitter smell coming for it.

‘Now what in blues hell is this? Poppy do you know what this flower is?’ Hickory ask as he looks at the plant. Its very nice to look at and would make a wounderfull gift to a loved one, but dose not go near it. Neither he nor Dickory knew if it was safe to go anywere near it. No doubt that something had to be wrong if only the flower was the only thing to bloom in that pond. He dose not get a anwser for a while, the queen busy with her herb book to see what they have stumblot onpond.

‘Thats very strange. Its not in the book.’ the pink troll say with a mumble. She looks at the two and ask ‘ are there any sticks or stones near bye that we can throw? We need to check that its not a pond lucker. Those things are rightout nasty to deal with and I rather like to keep my arms or legs intact.’ A shiver gos down her spine when she think what happened to the last party group that went out to gather stuff from the deepest part of the forest. From a 35 group to only 14 coming back, almost half of them missing limbs thanks only to dose things. Was it not for that 2 of them had realy good aim, more would have been lost.

‘I think a saw some over there by the river. Gimme a min’ Dickory say as he runs there to get some. When he comes back the three of them each choice a spot to hit, but noting happens. They to it a few more times, just to be sure but is just a normal pond. Relief settels in a bit, but they move slowly near the flower. Once they are near enough, Poppy takes a few minutes to look at it, than take out a pair of gloves, a sturdy looking glass jar and a small spade.

‘Don’t tell me your gonna take that flower with you?!’ Dickory almost shouts. ‘It can’t be safe if it is the only thing that living in this damn pond!’

‘I have to. This area is the closest to the villiage when it comes to get these types of herbs. The others can take weeks to go to and fro. Finding a plant that we know nothing about so close here, I have to take this to our herbalists to find out what it is. For all we know it might do more harm than good to this area’ Poppy anwser back, most of her focus on the plant, not knowing how true her words would become.

Once she got it in the jar, she looks at them and says ‘Its best we go now. We don’t need to be here any longer’ the hunters agree with both of them tur-

‘WAAAAAA’ a scream comes out of Branch traped yet again in another nightmare that he can’t wake up from, sending Poppy out of her thoughts and chair like a rocket crash and running to him. She hugs him while the trolling continue to scream his heart out, his fear clear as day, small fists hitting her chest every now and then. His not stoping and his sob aren’t getting better either.

*My poor poor Branch. Why do you have to suffer more of this?* rings in her head, well aware that her boyfriend haven’t had this kind of nightmare in a long time. It seems fate still wanted to give the troll some more grief. All she can do now is hold him tight, whisper sweet nothings and patt his back.

Slowly but surely Branch began to calm down, and slowly Poppy sings whatever her tried mind can come up with right now not careing if they fit with the song whats so ever.

Sweet baby mine don’t cry

The moons here to sing you a lullaby

And am here to sing with stars

Sweet baby mine don’t cry

We are all here to make you smile

She continues to sing as Branch slowly starts falling to a peacefull slumber, but Poppy know its not over yet. She lays him back to bed makeing sure not to wake him. Once she sure his going to sleep a bit more she drags herself to her own bed try to get some rest before Branch wakes with another scream.

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Swallowed Pride

Summary: You and Natasha Romanoff go way back.  Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader Warning(s): Smut 18+, Cheating, Lying, Secret relationship, Bisexual reader Word Count: 1,577 Notes: This is my first fic with all female smut. Definitely a work in progress. Cheating is bad, I don’t condone it. This song just always had that sort of tone and mood for me when I listened to it. Sorry Laur (@fvckingavengers​) for this being like uber uber late. Your challenge said no deadlines and I legit just didn’t even put a note on my document of when I started this. It got lost in the shuffle. Please ignore the poorly translated Russian. Любимая моя= my love, не останавливайся = don’t stop Prompt: “The lies that tied your tongue in knots – Are the words that grew to hit my spots – So filthy, dialed desire – Swallowed pride but spit out fire – Liars turn me on” (Bounce - The Cab) Moodboard Image Credit: Photo credit for the moodboard goes in the following order left to right. All photos acquired from Unsplash. Maëliss Demaison, Aleksander Borzenets, Nihal Demirci , Leonardo Sanches, Richard Brutyo

St. Petersburg:

The first time it happens is in a shitty flat on the south bank of the Moyka River. The two of you had run there; stilettos clicking on the night washed cobblestones. You smirk remembering the chorus of screams and sirens behind the redhead and her accomplice. The next morning the papers would describe a silent assassination at the St. Petersburg's Mariinsky ballet; so perfectly coordinated it shocked the world. The two of you would have already left the country before ink hits paper.

In the dingy flat, she hushed your brazen giggles. Back then you always got drunk off a job well done, before honest work had slapped some humbleness and morals into you. You’d always gotten drunk as well. She preferred vodka while you guzzled bourbon. The honey sweet burn of the alcohol and then high of bloodshed fueling you.

The safehouse apartment had a crap bed and worse heat. That’s what you tell yourself now. More catalysts pushing you to an inevitable conclusion; out of your hands.

The two of you slipped off jewels, emeralds for you and rubies for her. The fine silk dresses now thrown unceremoniously across a chair in the corner; only panties and brassieres left separating skin. Such delicate little things. Watching Natasha disrobe set you aflame. Each click of her gun’s safeties seemed to ramp you closer to danger. You loved watching the dangerous woman disarming herself. A one woman militia. She did it with meticulous precision, the blood red nail polish clicking on cold metal weapons.

“Come to bed, Любимая моя. We have an early morning.”

You never went to sleep that night. Years later it was easier to blame the drinking or the cold, but it was a lie. It was more accurate to blame on the milky curve of her collar bone or the way she wears a knife strapped to her ankle… even to bed.

You remember the cold steel pressing into your vulnerable skin as you came; rutting against her ginger curls, cursing some Russian she taught you with your shoulder length opera gloves still on.

Berlin:

Over the course of the next few years the two of you fucking became part of the friendship. Some missions finished in girl talk; drinking wine and painting your nails a similar shade as the vintage. Others finished with you acting as wingwomen for each other in some crowded nightclub in whatever seedy corner of the world your work had taken you to. She’d smirk at you knowingly while you took a cab one direction and she did the same in another. But always, you’d bounce back to one another.

You loved her.

You remember Berlin, after nearly a year apart, the longest spanse of time between seeing her. She’d been different. Marked. Mentally and physically. You press your fingers deeper into flesh, tracing long memorized but deeply missed softness and feel the raised skin over her left hip bone. You knew how she got it. It was one of so many scars she’d acquired without you there to watch her back.

“Not soft all over anymore.” Her vulnerable eyes found yours in the dark before you thumb gentle circles on her clit. She sets her jaw; ever so stubborn and refuses to close her eyes.

“Still feels soft to me.”

Instead of words she responds by slipping two deadly fingers into your wet heat, pushing and pressing at the spots that make you keen.

That night you’d fallen asleep to her tracing all yours scars, gentle opera played in the background.

You loved her.

New York:

You loved your boyfriend (in a way).

Nearly a decade later the two of you had gone straight, joining up with the Avengers. It took her months to convince you to leave your old life behind. You wouldn’t have done it for anyone but her.

You remember telling her, “Honest work doesn’t suit me.”

The boyfriend knew about your line of work… vaguely. He knew you traveled a lot (for business). He knew if he asked you questions about your work besides what you’d already labeled as “safe” it’d start a fight. He thought you lived together. After dating a year, he’d presented you with a shiny freshly cut silver key. What he didn’t know was you’d kept your loft across town; the one two blocks down the street from Nat’s.

You can't bring yourself to feel horrible. A life of deceit and mistrust had warped you like a book left in the rain; only the most trained of eyes capable of deciphering it.

“Honesty doesn’t suit me,” you mutter to yourself.

The relationship wasn’t worthless. With him, for the first time in a long time, you had a place to come home to that didn’t feel like a glorified suitcase. He helped you learn to survive on more than takeout and boxed mac n’ cheese. You actually enjoyed cooking when your hips pressed against his at the cutting board. You felt like honest work felt a little less like work when you were trying to go on the straight and narrow for him.

You saw Natasha less since he’d come into your life. She was an anchor back into that old life even if she’d been the one to pull you into the present. You wondered if she had any new scars. You wondered if she still kept her favorite knife on her ankle as she undressed for bed. You wonder what your boyfriend would say if he knew you kept your favorite pistol under the mattress and at least one perfectly sharp blade in the bedside table.

Old habits die hard.

**************************************************************************************************

The warm glow of candlelight makes his eyes sparkle. It’s your anniversary and he’s twitching and flushed. You’re focusing on taking the next bite of your steak wellington; ignoring it’s turned to sawdust in your mouth and no amount of unseemly gulps of wine can push it past  the welling lump in your throat.

“Darling! Любимая моя!” a familiar voice calls across the restaurant.

There she is; all silk and black leather accented with a flash of her flame red hair. She exchanges pleasantries with him.

You stand awkwardly only able to mutter a pathetic, “Bathroom.”

You brace your hands on the cool tile of the sink. Your two worlds were never supposed to collide. The room is twirling, and you can’t catch your breath. You search for an exit; perhaps some window when the door opens.

“There’s no exit.” She stares at you like a cat who’s caught a mouse. “Closest exit is out the kitchen to the alley. You should know that, Любимая моя.”

“Why are you here, Nat?”

“A better question could be why is he about to propose to someone with the last name Miller.”

“Fuck.” The curse is almost silent, muttered into the back of your hand your rage swirls fast and burning below the surface.

“He doesn’t know your last name! He doesn’t know what you do! What we do!” The double meaning doesn’t fail to hit home. “Were you ever going to tell him, or just let to poor bastard propose to a stranger?”

“Why are you here!?” you challenge her again.

“The lies that tied your tongue in knots – Are the words that grew to hit my spot. It burned away at me. I can’t let you live this secret fucked up lie. We gave that up when we joined the Avengers.”

“No. You did.”

You click the lock closed before pouncing on her. It’s so filthy; dialed desire pent up after how long of trying to fake a normal life.

“Let me taste you, Natalia. I’ve missed you.”

She sinks her teeth into your neck; already devouring your feeble attempt at domination. The black widow was in charge. She pushes you back onto the sink, yanking your dress up around your middle. Her manicured nails don’t bother to take your panties off, opting to rip them to the side before her soft mouth is on your core.

“не останавливайся! You pant and writhe as she forces your legs further apart. She drinks you down like vodka.

With your release sparkling on her lips and chin, the two of you run through the kitchen and out the backdoor.

**************************************************************************************************

“You don’t need him,” she says cool and calm between drags off her cigarette.

You’ve spent the past ten minutes toying with the cardboard box containing the rest of them. It’s some Russian brand with red and yellow packaging. The heady tobacco smoke mixes with telltale musk soaked into the black cotton sheets in Natasha’s bedroom.

“Why are we here, Nat?”

“Liars turn me on.”

She still manages to hold the smoldering stick while you chase her across the bed and dive once more into her fiery curls; soaked and creamy from her last release.

That’s how the night continues.

She doesn’t dress. Neither do you. The two of you keep your skin out in the open, on show for one another. It’s a constantly tussle of bodies in motion fighting to give pleasure because otherwise you have to stop and fight to deliver pain onto one another. Swallowed pride only to spit out fire. It’s as if each lie the two of you have told over the years for one another fuels you both; turns you on.

After her last shuddering release, muscles stretching like a tawny cat, she asks you, “Let’s go to the opera tomorrow?”

[youcantkillamutant]

The Advocate: Three Weeks Before Finals

Author: youcantkillamutant

Fandom: Marvel (Black Panther)

Pairing: Erik Stevens/Killmonger x Black!OC

Summary: Lex is just trying to get through senior year without failing anything massive, so when she sees a lamb on her running route she ignores it, mostly.

Warnings: Cursing, Mention of Death (Human & Animal)

Words: 3K+

A/N: Hi….Remember me? Yeah. I’m still here, this time with a God!Erik AU. *shrug*. I only own my original characters of course, Marvel don’t sue me I’m broke.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

3 Weeks Before Finals

“Get out!”

“I am. I just wanted to check my—” Flashcards. One can never over-prepare. Right?

“No. Non. Nope. No m’am.” Ruby turned Lex by her shoulders. “You promised last week that you would relax. Pinky promised! So go have your weird picnic.”

“But—”

“No buts! I’m leaving you a bath bomb by the tub, and you better use it when you get back.” Lex felt a wave of affection for Ruby. Over the years she had surpassed roommate status and built herself a home in Lex’s heart. Lex opened her mouth to thank Ruby, but Ruby had already opened the door.

“I know, I’m the absolute best and you love me most. Now go!” With a shove, Lex was out the door and Ruby slammed, screaming a muffled ‘love ya!’ through the wood.

“Love you too Ru.” Shaking her head, Lex made her way to the stairs, sliding on a pair of cat eye sunnies and adjusting the basket on her arm. Today is going to be a nice, wonderful even, but most importantly relaxing, day. Hopefully.

*^*

“So how exactly are you getting out of this Cousin?” Erik was sat in the dungeons of Eko, where the sky meets the earth in a clash of thunder and splash of waves. It’s probably the closest he’s been to the earth below in a few dozen decades. Glossy and clean, the cell wasn’t uncomfortable, especially not for a God, but it was annoying. His prank was harmless, and suddenly the Elders are yelling at him about ‘disrespect’ and ‘ineptitude’.

“First of all, this is ridiculous. It was one prank!”

“One out of a billion.” Shuri noted sharply.

“Exactly! What makes this one so special? Why are the Elders mad about this? They hardly pay attention to us nowadays. Since when are they sticklers for the rules Shu?”

“It is…strange that they’re truly upset with you.”

“See! You know I’m right. Something is going on.”

“You may be right, but you can hardly prove it.”

“Yet. I can’t prove it yet.” Erik’s face had twisted into something fierce and contemplative. Shuri shook her head.

“You know, your scheming is what got you into this mess in the first place. Besides, mother and I have a plan for you. One that the Elders have already approved.” Shuri handed him a file. Erik’s eyebrows shot up, They hadn’t bothered with paper in a few dozen centuries. Then he opened the file.

It had the picture of a girl, cute, but unknown to Erik. She had a warm smile and dark circles under her eyes, wide lips and a button nose. Her name was on the next file, along with her date of birth, age, height, blood type, lineage and even her weight. Apparently, she was a student descended from good stock. If Erik thought back hard enough, he might have remembered fighting with the girl’s great-great-grandfather in some unholy war.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Your Advocate.” Shuri shrugged when Erik recoiled.

“She’s human. She doesn’t even have a degree. Or a drop of godly blood.”

“Actually we’re still running the tests on that one, but that’s not the point. She doesn’t know much about us, but she’s smart and fair. The Elders have approved her. They believe she’ll be unbiased with…everything.”

“Everything? What do you mean everything?”Erik figured he’d be out in a years time, five at most. No longer than a blink for a god his age. The Elders rarely bothered to hold grudges with Gods like him. He was too important for the balance to be indisposed for too long.

“There’s to be a trial.” Shuri could literally see Erik’s anger as veins of gold rose up his arms, trailing towards his neck. “Before you get upset! It was either a trial or immediate exile.” Shuri had expected this to blow the wind out of his sails, but Erik only grew angrier.

“So my only chance of coming out of this is a little human? I’ve never even met the girl!” He pounded on the bars of his cell annoyed that he was beginning to feel the chill of vibranium bars.

“Exactly. I’ve convinced the Elders that if you can convince the Advocate to help you, you deserve a trial. Led by Wakandan law and defended by her of course.” It was actually the most she could get the Elders to agree to. Even as she sat pleading on her knees, the Elders merely raised a brow and nodded in irritated acquiescence.

“Well where is she?” Erik looked around Shuri, but knew his ‘Advocate’ wasn’t around. He would have noticed a human on Eko. He wasn’t the Gatekeeper, but he knew energies.

“Erik, you don’t actually think the Elders would allow her into Eko without you convincing her first.” Erik rolled his eyes ad let his head fall against the wall.

“Now how am I supposed to do that from a cell Shuri?”

“You and I both know you can be resourceful. Pranking is not your only skill.” Erik stared up at the ceiling as Shuri walked away, wishing for the first tie since his imprisonment that his father was still around. At least he could give him some strength. Unfortunately, Erik would have to bolster himself.

“Good luck Cousin!” She didn’t bother saying anything else as she exited the cell. If Erik couldn’t get his Advocate on his side, then those might be the last words she ever said to him. Better to keep them jaunty rather than grave.

*^*

It was hot. Not unbearable, but not ideal either. The sun wasn’t shy today, finally breaking through the clouds that had been hanging over town. Still Lex trundled her way towards her favorite running path on campus. Huge shades covered her eyes, lips pursing in the heat and a wicker basket swinging on her arm. She’d borrowed the basket from the only pair of her friends that she classified as adults: Tom and Lucie. Though they were all around the same age, the couple had a nice little apartment, and emanated an air of togetherness that Lex couldn’t imagine having as a scattered grad student.

Lex pulled out her phone to share her location with Ruby at the entrance to the running path. Nothing had ever happened to her, but plenty of people had plenty of stories. The path was attached to some National Park and so long as you had your university ID, you could get into the thick of it for free.

On a running day, Lex found herself going ten or so miles, but today she just wanted to make it to her favorite little meadow. She wasn’t completely stressed, and so she didn’t need the run to get rid of excess energy pulsing through her. Today was a day to relax. Wiggling her toes in her shoes, Lex set off along the path.

It took nearly an hour, but she made it. By now, sweat made her skin sticky and the breeze came and went every now and then wrapping her tight and releasing her to the relentless heat of the sun. The meadow was just as nice as it always is, quiet and simple. A bed of grass dotted with toadstools, wildflowers and shrouded in peeling sycamores. The sun filtered through the leaves and the wind enticed them to dance, like a nature-made disco ball.

There was a vignette of three old tree trunks, stripped white and smooth. There was one in the center, nearly half her height, and some days, Lex could see bunnies and birds flitting around the area. Not today it seems. She shrugged, pushing away the irrational sadness at not seeing her usual gaggle of woodland creatures today, and shook out her blanket.

Lex kept her head low while pulling out her lunch letting the sun warm her neck for a bit. Remnants of fresh brie cheese were wrapped in kente printed beeswax, water crackers, a freshly chopped apple and another for the road. A turkey and swiss stacked with tomatoes, onions and lettuce on beautifully brown rye bread; fresh bread being one of the only things Lex splurges on weekly. A bottle of tea completed the setting, glass bottle winking in the sunshine.

Lex sank into the blanket, feeling a few blades of grass poking through the soft blanket as the tree roots cradled her. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, letting the exhale force any tension out of her body. When she blinked her eyes open, ready to eat, there was a brown lamb next to the tree stump, not even a breath away.

*^*

“I suppose you’ve heard the news Auntie. I’m to convince an ‘Advocate’ to help me.” Erik let out a bark of a laugh. “Can you imagine, the life of a God in the hands of a human. A tragedy for the storybooks, huh?”

“As far as I remember, you’re meant to be convincing that human to help you, so instead of belittling her, why don’t you get to work?”

“I already have. I’m just waiting to see if she bites.” And to see if she’s as ‘fair’ as Shuri says.

Ramonda raised her left brow tempted to ask more of her nephew. Did he not see that his place in the Godly court was at stake? Instead he lazes around in his cell waiting for a human to what? Rise to his bait? Briefly she wondered if this was something he learned from his time in the human world. They had lost track of him when he was small; Chaos and Kindness searched high and low for the little God. Still it took them a decade or so to find him and when they did…Ramonda shook the thought from her head as Erik spoke.

“What are you doing here, my dear Auntie?”

“Since you asked Nephew, I’m here because the Advocate was my idea. And I fear I would be remiss in my duties as your family if I did not help.”

“You’re helping me?” As the Goddess of Order, Ramonda had curled her lip at Ertumke the day he was born. A child born of Chaos and Kindness was never bound to be her favorite. Still she did her duties as a Godmother, not that the child seemed to care.

“Contrary to popular belief I do care about you Ertumke. You’re my nephew. Though irritating and often ridiculously dramatic, you are family. And you were the first to put a smile on T’Challa’s face when his father left.” There was a wave of silence as the sentence settled, but Ramonda breathed life into her body again in an instant. “Shuri did the hard work of getting the Elders’ approval. Now I’m happy to induct the girl but please Ertumke, no games.”

He seemed to think about this for a while, tapping his chin and studying his Aunt. They’d never been particularly close, Erik had always favored Shuri out of the lot of them, but then again, Ramonda had never done him harm. Even now she looked uncomfortable in his presence, but I suppose that makes sense. He is the child of Chaos. Order never sat well with him.

“I asked for Shuri and they sent you.” Erik had clanked an empty cup against the glass of his cage, barked a few orders at a Dora and waited. He should have known they weren’t going to get Shuri. Those demigods never get anything right.

“She’s been in the lab for a while, I wouldn’t want to break her concentration.” Ramonda knew just about everything of Shuri’s life except what happened in her lab. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t her business, or her speed. She’d much rather influence a few architects than spend her time trying to understand Shuri’s latest invention for the world below.

“Oh, Shuri couldn’t help her big cousin cause she’s in the middle of an invention orgy? Good for her.” Erik smirked and stroked his chin.

“That is my daughter you’re speaking about Ertumke.”

Erik shrugged. It’s not like he was actually talking about sex, which would have actually been normal for Gods like him. No, Shuri spent hours and hours in a lab, inventing and came out looking like she had just rolled through sheets with some of Eko’s finest. Still, he said nothing more on the subject, knowing that he should be grateful anyone came down to the dungeons at all. It was such an odd temperature here for Gods. Nearly cold enough to raise goosebumps.

“I would greatly appreciate your help Auntie.” Erik’s voice was more of s rumble than a clear sentence, and Ramonda’s mouth fell open in shock. There is a first time for everything she supposed. Even Ertumke asking another for help.

“Would you like some water? I thought you were choking on your pride for a moment there.” Erik cut his eyes her way with a minimal amount of heat and she laughed.

“I wish you had called for us earlier. You’ve already sent out your, bait?” Erik nodded though Ramonda barely paid him any mind, releasing a heavy sigh. “I’ll be late.” this time Erik really did choke on a laugh.

“You’re worried about being late? You’re a God. We invented time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being prompt Erik. Especially in a situation like this.” Besides, the Goddess of Order absolutely despised tardiness.

*^*

The lamb merely blinked at Lex. She froze, wondering what the hell was going on. Sure she’d seen rabbits and a few deer on the running path, it was a national park after all, but she’d never seen a lamb. She’d actually never really seen a lamb outside of a petting zoo, and that was ages ago.

This lamb, brown and unmoving, glowed gold in the sun. It’s fur had hints of red and curled like hers, in tiny kinky knots. It’s ear twitched as Lex exhaled and she froze again. The next time she breathed out, it tilted its head towards her.

“Uh…hi.” An ear twitched at the sound of her voice, but that was it. Still, she couldn’t pick up her sandwich, not while that little lamb sat there, looking at her.

Scooping the extra apple out of her basket, Lex approached the tree stumps. The lamb gazed on, black eyes unblinking. She’d taken off her shoes and socks and the grass beneath her feet was warm. The weeds circling the stump of the tree gave way the Lex’s knees as she knelt down to drop the apple before the lamb.

When she glanced up, just for a second, she saw the lamb dripping golden ichor from a crown of black thistles. Surrounded by torches and granite, the lamb was on an alter. But then she blinked, and the image was gone. Shaking her head, Lex wandered back to her blanket and ate her lunch. She was probably imagining things anyways, breakfast had slipped through the cracks in favor of another few hours of studying before Ruby woke up and berated her for it.

Lunch was delicious, the bread and brie especially. As she ate, Lex could feel tension slipping from her shoulders. She’d been coming on this path for years, and there was nothing like sitting out here. The natural sounds coaxed her worries away, and her eyes slipped closed under the sun.

When she woke an hour or so later, the apple was gone along with the beautiful brown lamb.

*^*

“Hallelujah!”

“Ruby, Jesus!”

“You look relaxed! You actually chilled out!” Ruby let out a whoop in Lex’s ear. “Though I see you haven’t used the bath bomb yet.” Ruby leaned into her neck for a whiff. “And you really should.”

“God okay, I just got back Ru.”

“I know, I know. Okay,” She plucked the basket from Lex’s arm and turned her towards the bathroom. “Go take a bath and soak in all of the serenity you found today. I’m ordering us takeout and then we’re watching crap TV!” Lex rolled her eyes as she stumbled to the bathroom.

The sunny day had taken more out of her than she imagined. She could still feel the heat on her skin as she undressed, and couldn’t stop thinking about that lamb. Sure she’d seen bunnies on the trail before, but never a lamb. Turning the hot water on, she let the tub fill as she grabbed her speaker and phone.

Light synth beats and soft piano chords filled the bathroom along with the steam, and Lex twisted the water off. Sitting on the floor, leaning over the edge of the tub, she let the bath bomb plop into the water. Closing her eyes as the bomb fizzed away, her mind drifted. She slipped into the glossy purple water absentmindedly relishing in the heat that prickled every inch of her skin.

This is always the best part of a bath. When the day is done, chores and homework taken care of, and you have to do is let the water ground you. Any movement, even your breath creates a soft current in the tub, encouraging the water to lap at your skin in a continuous embrace. Lex loved this moment, letting her head fall back as her eyes drifted shut.

When she blinked her eyes open, the album was drifting to a close and the lamb was back. In her apartment. In her bathroom. Lex jumped and water sloshed over the tub, crawling towards the lamb. She thought the steam was crafting illusions, but when she rubbed her eyes and blinked them open again, the lamb was still there. Steam swirled through the air as the lamb stood unblinking.

On a whim, Lex reached out a hand, palm open, water dripping from her fingers onto the mess on the floor. There was no way this was actually happening. Ruby would have noticed a lamb walking through the apartment, right?  

“Hey, little one. What are you doing here?” Just like earlier, the lamb cocked its head at her words. Then it stooped down and licked a bit of water from the tiles. When Lex blinked again, the lamb was gone. Lex sat back gazing at the ceiling and wondering what the hell was happening.

It must be the heat. After napping out in the sun, and then a warm bath, she must just be experiencing some extreme heat exhaustion. Or some—

“Lex!” Ruby’s voice was higher than she’d ever heard it before, which raised an alarm. Ruby hated sounding shrill, she said it reminded her too much of her mom. Wrapping herself in a towel Lex hustled out of the bathroom and stopped short. Ruby was sitting on the couch in front of a woman. A woman in glowing robes.

“Um…hi?”

“Hello, Alexandra. I trust you are well.”

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

A/N: *peaking out from behind a luscious palm* Hi everyone! I hope you’re all doing well! I never meant to leave things this long, but I got distracted with building stuff to redo my room and then starting a new job just as Rona got her feet on the ground. 

I’ll admit I’m pretty nervous about posting this story. After being away for so long, it feels like I should just dip my feet back in and start slow. I’ll be honest I haven’t written in a WHILE. I’m kind of afraid I forgot how to write? lol *yikes* I’d love to know what y’all think, and I’m going to try to be a little more active in posting this story. 

As I said before, I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a year and some change now (I think), and I was inspired by Champion by killmongersgurl.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off the taglist :)

Taglist: @princessstevens @muse-of-mbaku @k-michaelis@queenamaniii@dreadedphilosphy@killmongurl@thelovelyliterary@elaindeereads @thedom223 @muse-of-mbaku@bidibidibombaclaat@panthergoddessbast @writingmarvellousimagines@someareblindtoitsbeauty@jozigrrl@iamrheaspeaks @purple-apricots@thadelightfulone@janelledarling @killmongersgurl

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 1/?

Happy birthday, @teamhook​ ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.

You told me this Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorites that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called a Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook​. I hope you enjoy it!

Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says​ for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?

Side note: Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and both Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook@kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree​@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @winterbaby89​ @distant-rose@shireness-says​ @xhookswenchx​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @branlovestowrite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​

Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the mountain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide.

The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back.

Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song.

She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse.

Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.”

“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway.

It was a cost benefit analysis, really.

God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station.

Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving.

And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . .

Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow.

There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out.

A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass-

Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.

“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”

“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”

“So can I have one?”

“No, you have to share with Alice.”

“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”

“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”

Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”

Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”

“They are good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”

Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy.

“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”

That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity.

After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least.

“Are you okay?”

She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this.

“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I - am?” she whispered back.

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”

“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.

“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”

“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse.

**********************************************************

She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.

“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”

She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?

“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”

“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”

“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.

A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.

“What happened to me?”

“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”

“You’re a doctor?”

He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”

“The roads?”

“We’re snowed in.”

She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry.

“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”

She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”

“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”

“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!

“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”

The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”

“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”

Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.

His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”

“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”

“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”

She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?

“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root.

Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from.

[vintagesewingmachine]

The Shadowsinger - Azriel - 2/?

Azriel struggles to contain his feelings- for Elain, for Mor, and for himself- and a jewel thief is running around Velaris, causing confusion. With Cassian in Illyria, Azriel feels alone with his darkness. Into this mess waltzes a stranger, an enigma who calls herself Amuten with a mysterious past and connection to Amren.

Warnings: angst, depressed thoughts, dark Azriel, cold Azriel, No worry, there is happy Az too. My OC is pretty important too (not really a warning just a side note)

<<Previous -- Next>>

   Azriel quietly picked at his breakfast as familiar voices chattered away. Mor had spent the night somewhere else. He ignored the old pang of rejection and self-loathing. 

     “So, Az, what were you doing last night that prevented you from coming out with us?” Rhys raised a dark eyebrow. 

     Azriel leveled a blank stare at him before turning back to his toast. “Is it mandatory that you know where I was last night?”

     Before anyone could reply, Elain rushed through the door. 

     “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. She was wearing a soft green dress with pale yellow embroidery. 

     Azriel immediately brightened. Elain, with all of her flowery bright goodness, made him feel less... well, less. 

     “Hello, Elain,” Azriel said softly. 

     “Good morning Azriel,” she replied brightly. 

      She took a seat across from him and smiled, serving herself a muffin and some fruit. His shadows retreated a bit, something similar to amusement and affection emanating from them. To clarify, the amusement was directed towards Azriel and the affection towards Elain. Azriel joined in the conversation more readily with Elain. 

     “Some new flowers have bloomed in my greenhouse. Would you like to see them?” Elain asked Azriel shyly. 

     Azriel smiled. “Of course.”

*****

A solitary male sat in a secluded section of Velaris’s library, flipping through old tomes covered in dust. It had been a week since he met Amuten. He had spent a few days with Elain, showing her shops in Velaris or helping her garden. The rest of the time he was doing spymaster stuff. Last evening and today, however, he had put some effort into figuring out what Amuten meant. He had found a mention of a powerful, mysterious female in an ancient tome from what seemed like another world. Which had led him here. But he and his shadows had yet to find anything more substantial. 

     Azriel squinted at the cramped writing on the page. It was in another language, one that had a lot of small pictures. But it looked like someone had written some notes at the bottom. With the name Amuten. It was from thousands of years ago. Azriel sighed. He probably would have better luck tracking the mysterious female down and asking her. 

     Fun. 

     He shut the book, stood up and stretched, extending his full wingspan (he does have the biggest after all, wink wink) which made his wingtips brush the bookshelves. 

     Yeah, he has a large wingspan.

     Snapping his wings shut, he strode down the hall, smiling and nodding to the priestesses. He liked the library. It was quiet and had a lot of shadows, and contained centuries and centuries of knowledge. 

     A shadow curled up to his ear. The High Lord just received an interesting letter signed by several shop-owners. 

     Azriel immediately winnowed into Rhys’s office. 

     Rhys looked up, looking only mildly surprised to see his spymaster. He offered Azriel the letter, which the shadowsinger proceeded to scan.

      Most Esteemed High Lord and Lady,

A situation regarding the Palace of Jewels in Velaris has become out of hand, pushing us to ask your help. If it weren’t so serious, we would have never disturbed you and your mate. But several shops, mostly jewelry shops, have been robbed of their most prized jewels recently. The strangest thing is that the first shop to be stolen from have had the large ruby and gold necklace returned, in the exact spot it had been before. We await to see if the thief returns the other stolen items. We do, however, wish your investigation. Thank you for your time. 

     Sincerely, (Bunch of shop owner names im too lazy to make up)

      Azriel looked back at his High Lord with raised brows. “A jewel thief? In Velaris? That returns the stolen items?”

     Rhys shrugged. “It would seem so. Care to take a look around?”

     Azriel nodded affirmative and vanished into darkness. 

*****

Sweat poured down Azriel’s body as a clash rang through the training area. He and Rhysand were stuck in a violent dance, involving sharp weapons. They had been going at it for a while now, and both had removed their shirts. 

     Rhys swung his blade at Azriel’s legs, and he jumped, but instead of landing he winnowed behind his brother and tackled him from behind, forcing Rhys to abandon his weapon. They wrestled on the ground for a bit before Azriel won by rolling onto his back with Rhysand on top of him, but facing up, with a dagger against his throat. Both breathed heavily for a moment before they jumped up in surprise.

     “Oh!” 

     Elain was standing in the entryway, blushing as she took in the two male, shirtless bodies, glistening with sweat in the morning light. 

     “Elain,” was Azriel’s startled response. His shadows hadn’t warned him. They seem to make a game of not warning him when Elain was near. 

     “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Elain said, now blushing furiously as she looked at Azriel, stubbornly keeping her eyes fixed on his face.

     A small part of him took satisfaction in the fact that she was flustered by his bare torso. 

     He immediately responded with, “No, you weren’t interrupting anything,” and took an involuntary step forward. Now Azriel was blushing. Why was he blushing? 

     Rhys snickered at the two blushing persons. Azriel shot him a glare and turned around to his shirt, shrugging it back on and then taking a long drink from his water. He drank for an abnormal amount of time to distract himself from the suddenly-thick atmosphere. He grew uncomfortably warm as he realized Elain was not-so-subtly staring at him as his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Rhys watched in amused silence.

     This went on for waaaaaaaaay too long. 

     Like, Azriel drained his water, and then panicked without an excuse not to say anything, too long, before Rhys finally broke the awkward silence. Azriel cursed him for waiting so long. 

     “So, what can I do for you, Elain?”

     “Oh, um, I was just looking for Feyre, but she’s not here, so...” More awkward silence. 

     Fun. 

     “Well, I’ll be going then,” Elain breathed, flustered, and hurried out of the room. 

     Azriel couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. Rhys swaggered up to him, smirking. 

     “Little flustered there, Az?”

     “Shut-up,” the shadowsinger muttered. 

     Rhysand chuckled. “You know, she spent the entire time staring, wide-eyed, at you drinking that water. Apparently, you drink water rather erotically.”

     Azriel choked, making Rhysand laugh harder. His brother patted him on the back heartily. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he whispered before winnowing away. 

     Azriel took a deep breath to cool down and wipe the embarrassment away, leaving a clean, cold slate. After centuries of keeping his emotions locked up tight, and wearing an inscrutable, unreadable mask, it had gotten to the point where most of the time he had to consciously remember and draw the emotion on his slate of a face. 

     All that was thrown out the window where Elain was involved. Even with Mor he was able to disguise his true feelings. He shook himself from his reverie. He had no business with having feelings about Elain. He had no emotions. He repeated this in his head whenever he felt something. 

     He never considered how depressing that mantra was, poor guy. 

******

That night, he returned to his clearing. Another nightmare had torn him from sleep. This one was full of Cassian being brutally murdered, wings shredded, guts hanging out. The images were actually memories. It was the not-surviving part that fictitious.  

     He stared up at the cloud-covered sky from his customary spot underneath the cedar tree, not bothering to try and soothe the swirling dark emotions inside. Guilt. He should have been able to prevent those horrid things from happening to his brother. Fear. What if it happened again? Self-loathing. How weak did you have to be to be unable to save your own brother? 

     His eyes glazed over. Soon, he was in a never-ending cycle of those three feelings. Mor. Why did she constantly reject him? Was he not good enough? Is something wrong with him? Of course somethings wrong with him. He clenched his scarred hands together. Cassian. Did his brother hate him for not being able to be more helpful when he was being shredded? Of course not. Cassian was too good of a person for that. If Azriel was in his place, he would hate himself. Because he wasn’t a good person. How could he be, with so much blood on his hands?

     His shadows became anxious, closing in on him, uncertain what to do about their singer’s roiling emotions that were as dark as the clouded night. Tonight, there were no stars, no light to help him. Just darkness. Soon the darkness was becoming too much, too much like that basement so long ago. Darkness surrounded him. His shadows reflected his fear and how pathetic and weak he was. They didn’t know how to help, and ended up making it worse. Azriel started breathing heavily, started rocking back and forth. Painful memories flashed behind his eyes. 

     The first time he interrogated someone for information. How many had he tortured? He had lost count decades ago. 

     Fifty years of his brother and High Lord trapped Under the Mountain. Why hadn’t he been able to help? He was too pathetic.

     Broken.

     Weak.

     Pathetic. 

     Guilty.

     The list went on, like a broken record inside his mind. Finally he snapped, with a shout, and the shadows fled in fear and confusion. He couldn't help the tears the streamed down his face as he spiraled down, and down, and down .

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

Rules & Regulations (1/4)

I’m thrilled to present my contribution to the @cssns project! This got both longer and sillier than originally intended, and I hope you all enjoy it. 

Beta’d by the glorious @wingedlioness and with lovely artwork (including the banner!) done by @eastwesthomeisbest.

Rated T, for violence, language, and annoying bureaucracy. Also on AO3. ~3000 words.

He was a vamp, she was a witch; can I make it any more obvious?

&&&

He wasn’t a heathen.

Well, okay, he was, but that was just part and parcel of being a vampire.

At least vampires weren’t the soulless, lurking-in-the-night creatures of popular imagination. No, they had their souls. (Unless they’d sold it to the Devil, a demon, or witch, but any Tom, Dick, or Harry might do that.)

Killian was in possession of his soul, but he might well have lost his mind.

Emma Swan was driving him well and truly crazy.

He was just doing his best, doing what was required of him to fill the void on the Supernatural and Paranormal Beings and Creatures Council (S.P.B.C.C. for short, though it was still a mouthful) since he had killed Rumplestiltskin.

He was following the rules in a way he hadn’t since 1789, and it…chafed. If you were responsible for the death of a S.P.B.C.C. member, you had to make sure their people—or creatures, whatever--were still represented. As Rumplestiltskin was some unknown kind of imp who seemed unique in his essence in this world, there was no one left to represent, but his seat needed to be filled. Some had argued that Killian’s presence on the Council was just giving the vampires more than their share of voices, but that was rubbish.

For starters, Killian couldn’t stand the lot of them. They were old sticks in the mud, mostly traditionalists who went around wearing capes and talking about bloodlines. The others were Reform Vampires—poncy idiots who went on about better unliving through various serums and who were always on social media trying to manage perception of vampires in the non-magical world.

And for his part, Killian was content to reside somewhere between the two. He was here for some good, old-fashioned vengeance and violence, but one had to be practical as well. It was easier to come by coconut water than find someone’s blood to drink, even with the requisite sodium supplements he had to take. After all, leaving a swath of dead people tended to garner the wrong kind of attention.

And that was the other thing—he wanted to be left in peace to live his unlife, drinking his coconut water and from the occasional willing volunteer (gods, but he’d put on a few pounds during the Twilight craze).

He hadn’t wanted a position on the S.P.B.C.C., hadn’t wanted anything to do with it. But then Swan had descended from the sky like the terrifying bird of her namesake (he was disappointed to learn about the missed opportunity for a pun in her name, as she was in fact not a shapeshifter) and harangued him about “murdering” Rumplestiltskin and having to pay his dues.

Which meant sitting on that bloody council.

Okay, fine, he was a bit at loose ends these days. Having fulfilled his centuries-old grudge and finally offed His Glitteriness Rumplestiltskin might have left something of a void. And sure, sometimes he saw eternity stretching out before him like an unending circle of emptiness, but it was fine.

A voice cut through his musings and he jolted to attention. “Jones? Councilmember Jones? Killian Jones? Captain Hook? Do you have any fucking input for once, or are you too busy thinking about bloodbaths to pay attention to us today?” Emma Swan sounded cranky and irritable and a little like she was considering coming over and introducing a motion to punch him.

He smirked. “Sorry, love, I’m afraid you’ll have to repeat the initial question. I was rather dozing, as it is in fact daytime.”

“Not your love, Councilmember Jones. And for the love, come see me or Granny Lucas after the session,” she said, her golden hair cascading over her hands as she rubbed her temples in exasperation.

Maybe there was still some fun to be had after all.

&&&

Emma was going to murder him. Killian Jones might technically be dead already, but she would happily test out different levels of deadness.

He was impossible.

She was just trying to keep this stupid council with its stupid acronyms and stupid councilmembers running smoothly.

She hadn’t wanted this job, this position. She just wanted to work on her spells and occasional potions, help some people, and pay her bills.

But no, she’d had to go and help people a little too well. Now it was Savior This and Savior That, all for breaking a measly curse and talking a witch queen off the ledge and reuniting her with her love.

She had been going about her life much as she had since she had accidentally teleported away from a crime scene (now that was a tale) where an ex had left her literally and figuratively holding the bag. Emma certainly hadn’t intended the escape she’d made, but she could hardly complain, either. And she’d been curious about how she’d done it, to put it mildly.

A lot of internet searches, the fortunate discovery of a coven that met for a weekly book club at her local library, and maybe-not-coincidental of the discovery of a talking kitten named Henry later, she knew what she was—a witch.

Fast forward a few years, and she’d found a home of sorts up in Storybrooke, and the three of them had opened a little shop selling various magicks and magical items.

To her surprise, Emma had found she gravitated toward light magic, especially of the healing variety, though she was good with technological stuff too. And Henry, once he was grown, was very helpful. He still occasionally knocked over things on her work table, which could be problematic—he was a cat, after all—but his advice was usually sound.

She really hadn’t intended to get drawn into anything more than her perfectly satisfactory life. But then Ruby, werewolf, customer, and sometimes friend, had asked her for help. Unless someone stopped it, there would be a curse enacted.

Regina, Queen of Misthaven, had come to power 28 years before, after deposing the previous queen and her husband, cursing them to eternal sleep. Eternal sleep was eternal in the way that vampires were immortal; it could be interrupted—by death or the rupture of the curse—but would continue until something came along and meddled.

It seemed that becoming queen and cursing her former rival wasn’t enough for Regina, though. Her unhappiness increased, compounded by her magical subjects’ dislike and the distance of the other S.P.B.C.C. members kept from her. She had decided to enact a spell to doom them, all her subjects, to go back in time and live lives of medieval drudgery.

Ruby had no interest in that. To begin with, her girlfriend wouldn’t approve, and she would miss the whole voting thing. Aside from that, saying goodbye to Netflix and electricity was just unacceptable. And Ruby was far from the only concerned party.

Emma was stumped. After all, what could she do? She’d known she was a witch for a decade, and stronger people than her had attempted to do something.

Most people trying to deal with the situation, though, hadn’t had the benefit of being raised non-magically.

Sure, magic could solve a lot of problems (and create them just as easily, but that wasn’t the point). But sometimes? The best solution was good, old-fashioned, and non-magical. In this case, it meant using her investigative skills to find a dragon that had been hiding from the magical world and who was supposedly powerful enough to help.

Well, it turned out that the dragon was an ex-girlfriend of Regina’s, and reuniting the two of them had done wonders. Regina backed down from evil world domination and had even been amenable to the equally non-magical suggestion of therapy.

Maybe there was something to the whole love thing after all.

Once Regina had thawed a bit due to Maleficent’s calming presence, she had tried to break the curse of eternal sleep she had put on Queen Snow and King David...all to no avail. The only spells capable of waking them required a blood relative—a living, breathing, and awake one—and both of them were the only ones left from their families, their only child having disappeared as a baby (another unfortunate result of one of Regina’s spells).

So imagine Emma’s surprise, when, as Regina was attempting show Emma one of the spells that wasn’t working, Henry jumped on her—Emma, not Regina—and clawed her.

She scolded him, not noticing right away that blood was welling up from the gash he’d left on her hand. She didn’t notice when the blood dripped right in the pathway of the spell Regina was casting, or how her eyes widened.

Regina noticed, though. They all noticed when this spell, instead of doing nothing like the previous attempts, woke up Snow and David.

And that was how Emma learned that she was their long-lost child, the missing child of the queen and king.

It had been awkward, to be sure. Finding family you didn’t know you had, accompanied by the weight of royal expectation, took a lot to adjust to. That was to say nothing of having parents who looked the same age as Emma and had last interacted with the world in the ‘80s. (There had been a shoulder pads intervention, fortunately.)

It was...hard. After a life lived on her own and having grown up in the foster care system, Emma wasn’t exactly one for opening up and sharing. But seeing how hard Snow and David were trying to reach out to her, she was willing to try to meet them halfway.

After some negotiating with her parents, they had worked out that in light of Regina’s resignation (and she swore a blood oath to live peaceably with Maleficent all her days, but the fact remained that it left an open S.P.B.C.C. seat), Emma would stand in at the council meetings. And she didn’t have to wear nearly as many poofy robes and old-fashioned witches’ hats as her mother had originally wanted.

Her mother had originally been offered the position, but she had turned it down, citing a desire to catch up on everything she’d missed. To her parents’ glee, Emma accepted the seat when it was offered to her in her mother’s stead. Not only did it give her a way to connect with them, it gave her parents time to connect with each other and the world again, as a lot had changed over the past thirty years. That was a lot of Netflix to binge.

Honestly, it wasn’t the worst. Some days, Emma even enjoyed her work with the Supernatural and Paranormal Beings and Creatures Council. She had put a lot into it, and eventually she’d been elected Speaker for the council, which was pretty miraculous given the tensions between witches/warlocks and vampires.

It hadn’t taken Emma long in the supernatural world to learn about the longstanding enmity between her people and the vampires.

If the non-magical world was to be believed, the real beef was between werewolves and vampires. (But maybe that was the issue—the werewolves were content with the beef, while most vampires didn’t care for cow blood or other byproducts.)

In reality, it was trickier. Sure, there were some tensions between werewolves and vampires—there were between most of the different supernatural and paranormal groups and species—but they mostly got along. In fact, they often played emissary between the vampires and witches, as they had common sociopolitical aims with both.

Emma shook her head—she didn’t have time to get side-tracked musing over her own damn life story and the history of a low-grade feud between magical beings right now. She had council business to attend to.

Council business that, unfortunately, included Killian Jones.

She scowled. That vampire had been a pain in her ass since the first whisper of him she’d heard. He was just...ugh.

On some level, she could accept that in the magical world, he had a right to be on the council as the one who had defeated Rumplestiltskin. The magical world had a convoluted law that boiled down to stating that anyone who defeated another supernatural being in combat could—and should—assume their posts and responsibilities. As an American, she was appalled. It was a lot to take in and reconcile.

And that was to say nothing of the man—or man-pire, as Angel would have said—himself. He didn’t want to be there, that was clear. He was obviously just there to avoid negative legal repercussions of having taken revenge on Rumplestiltskin (for what, Emma was fuzzy on the details). He didn’t much care for the other vampires or anyone else there.

Unfortunately, that made him one hell of a swing vote. He was unpredictable and didn’t follow traditional vampire allegiances, which made his presence on the council...interesting.

Not that she was interested.

She held in a sigh. The council was trying to get some work done on a law that would regulate different supplement vendors and how they could market to supernatural and magical beings, but they were running into all kinds of issues with the different vendors.

Truthfully, Emma found it incredibly dull, but something had to be done to break up the gridlock, and Jones was one of the most likely to be able to swing the vote. It galled her, especially when he couldn’t put on his professional pants and be the grown-up he was. God, he had to be at least 250, so couldn’t he act like it?

She motioned Granny Lucas over. They approached him where he stood talking to one of the faeries, and Emma cleared her throat.

He turned around and smiled. “I was hoping it would be you, luv.”

&&&

Gods, but it was so delightful and delightfully easy to rile Swan. The way her cheeks flushed and her fist clenched...it did things to him.

He was bad man. Or vampire, whatever.

Quite frankly, Killian couldn’t care less about the whether one clan of gnomes or another received the bid or contract to produce supplements. He wasn’t even sure that’s what this session was about, but he knew it was something of that sort. Probably.

Even if he had paid attention, it was worth it to rile Emma. He would say she was delicious, but that had connotations he didn’t intend. He didn’t want to drain her, for Christ’s sake.

There was just something about the reddening of her skin that had him wanting to bite her...just not in a vampire way.

He’d had lovers since Milah died. It had been over two centuries, after all, and he wasn’t a monk. While he’d treated them with the respect due to them as people (or faeries or witches, etc.), none of those relationships had been particularly lengthy or meaningful to him.

And if he could seduce Emma, he didn’t figure she would be either, even if she was a spitfire. Hell, she kept him plenty interested as it was, and he’d only ever seen her remove her jacket once. (It had been to punch one of his fellow fanged ones on the council, and he’d loved every moment of it.)

Whatever transpired, it would be fun.

&&&

“Is something funny, Hook? Are we entertaining enough for you?” Emma bit out.

She was tired. She wanted to go home and curl up in her chair, and have Henry come purr next to her. Or sass her and tell her to feed him, which was probably more likely. Either was better than this.

And then this asshole whose vote mattered had to be the way he was.

She knew he hadn’t listened to her. It wasn’t her fault the minutiae of supernatural government was boring, and 142 other people had done okay with listening.

He wasn’t an idiot. He had survived a long-ass time. As a pirate for most of it, no less. And he’d killed Rumple-fucking-stiltskin. So he had to have a brain in there.

Which meant that his lack of listening was due to boredom, even if he had started smiling during the last bit of her speech—a distant, predatory thing that she knew had nothing to do with supplements.

Her head was pounding. She couldn’t afford to have a loose cannon on the council; she needed him to be invested.

“Look, Jones, what’s it going to take to get you to give a fuck?” she asked, shoulders slumped.

Granny looked at her in surprise. Killian did too, eyes widening before he pasted his signature smirk onto his face.

That stupid side of his mouth quirked up, and he bit his lip in a way Emma knew he knew was lascivious. Bastard. “Depends, luv, on what you’re willing to give.”

Granny snorted and said, “Well, I’ll let you two work this out between you,” and walked away.

Traitor.

She forced herself to roll her eyes. “Nothing you’re implying, buddy.”

“Me? Implying things? Swan, I would never say anything that has a double meaning,” he said, after a very fake and dramatic gasp.

“That’s because they have triple meanings,” she muttered under her breath.

“Sorry, what?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

She smiled innocently at him, “I said, we need to discuss your leanings. For the council.”

He gave her a long, considering look. “Dinner. Invite me over for dinner—” at this, he picked up her hand, turned it over, and pressed a lingering kiss to her wrist, “—and we can discuss whatever you’d like.”

Ignoring the burning where his lips had touched her skin, she pulled her hand away. “Seriously?”

“As the supplement discussions, luv.”

“Fine. Come over at seven tomorrow. I’ll text you the directions,” Emma said, huffing.

He scratched behind his ear, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I...I actually don’t have a cell phone.”

“Uh, okay. Do you have a...landline?”

“I do. And email,” he blurted.

She gave a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’ll email you the address later.”

Thank god she didn’t have to actually talk on the phone.

[ladywinchester1967]

Mr. and Mrs. Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Female Character

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Female (Dean’s Wife)

Warnings: Language, SMUT, quickie sex, robbery (for a good reason). 

A/N: Based on THIS POST it’s a continuation of my comment, but I changed a couple of things around so that it was cohesive and made sense. Unbeta’d, as usual, all mistakes are mine. Pictures and gifs are NOT, I found them on Pinterest and tumblr. 

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

This was one of those stakeouts I knew we were dreading, but in our line of work, it was a necessary evil.

The Winchester Brothers and I had been tracking a cursed necklace. Made of opals that had been soaked in the blood of virgins, it promised to grant the wearer immense wealth and power, but as with most things, no one ever reads the fine print. The wearer was cursed to die in horrific ways. The horrid history of the necklace was well documented, which of course meant it attracted a wealthy clientele to it. Jody Mills, a Sheriff in Sioux Falls that we were close with, had tipped us off to the necklace’s whereabouts so we decided to put on our best outfits and bid for the necklace so we could get rid of it or lock it away in one of our boxes.

Sam; dressed in a snappy navy blue suit with his chestnut brown hair perfectly combed, went ahead of Dean and I. Dean looked as dashing as ever; the grey suit with matching tie and crisp white shirt he wore perfectly brought out his green eyes and set well against his tanned skin.

His grip tightened on my hand as I took a misstep in the heels I was wearing.

“You okay there?” He chided me gently.

“I’m fine,” I insisted “these are a little higher than what I’m used to.”

I had on a pair of black stilettos, where I was normally more comfortable in wedge heels. The wine red dress with lace overlay perfectly accentuated my skin and matched the blood red lipstick I wore.

I’d gone bold and wore black, winged eyeliner and styled my hair in curls.

“Gotta say,” Dean muttered in my ear as we flashed the fake invitations Sam had crafted for us and we strode into the party like we owned the place “I easily have the best looking date in this place.”

I looked around, most of the people attending were decades older than we were. I already looked young and had been mistaken for a teenager more times than I cared to count.

“We’re married,” I told him, a blush rising on my cheeks “you’re supposed to say that.”

“I only tell you the truth.” He said and planted a kiss on my cheek as we made our way to the bar. Sam made an appearance a minute later, after Dean secured a beer for himself and a glass of wine for me.

“No sign of the necklace yet.” Sam said

“Probably keeping it locked up until it’s time to bid.” I pointed out as a man handed each of us a booklet showing us the items up for auction that night.

“So we bid for the necklace, get it and that’s it?” Dean asked “Seems a little too easy when the bidding prices start at fifty thousand dollars.” He pointed to a tiara in the booklet that had once belonged to Mary Tudor.

“We don’t actually have to cough up fifty thousand dollars,” I reminded him “I’ll bid for it and when I win; one of you creates a diversion while the other grabs the necklace and then it’s a hop, skip and an Impala ride back to the bunker.”

“It’s solid, but we still have to plan for the unexpected.” Sam countered

“Which is why I distract with my womanly assets, if you catch my drift.”

My dress showed off JUST enough of my cleavage and legs, plus the boys always teased that I could flirt my way to world power if really wanted to. Dean chuckled as the three of us moved into the main room of the mansion, on display were some of the items up for auction. Next to the tiara, was a hat worn by Napoleon, a piece of music handwritten by Beethoven; the list seemed to read off like a “who’s who” of history all in one room.

“And these people will pay THROUGH THE NOSE for it.” I told Dean as we came up to a ruby and emerald encrusted bracelet. He hummed in agreement as I admired the bracelet, his hand lightly brushing my hip. I felt the corners of my mouth slide upward as his hand snaked around to my lower back and he leaned into my ear.

“All this money and fancy shit in this room,” he practically growled, his fingertips running over the small of my back “and all I can think about is getting you outta that dress and naked under me.”

I nearly spit out my wine, such brazen words in close proximity to people who probably hadn’t thought about sex since hoop skirts were in fashion! I gingerly wiped the corners of my mouth and looked up at him, he was grinning ear to ear, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With a jaw line sharp enough to cut glass, JUST the right amount of scruff and those green eyes set, I struggled to maintain my composure.

“That look,” I thought “he could make me come just by staring at me like that.”

His hand barely brushed my backside before a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine.

“May I help you?” I asked, my mouth going into a grin.

His fingers ran up my back, barely grazing my skin; the only barrier being the thin lace overlay that covered my shoulder.

“Oh, I think I can help myself JUST fine.” He said. His tone was gravely but there was no hesitation in it as he gave me the legendary Winchester smirk. The one that made a girl’s knees turn to jelly and turned them into a writhing mess.

“Can’t keep your hands off me, can you Mr. Winchester?” I asked, taking a sip of my wine. I reached forward with my free hand, catching his jacket in my hand. He leaned into my ear and said

“No, Mrs. Winchester, I can’t.”

Damn him, he had me eating out of the palm of his hand!

I flashed my eyes up at him and gave him a grin.

“You wanna get out of here?” I asked, nodding elsewhere into the house.

He tipped the last of his beer into his mouth, droplets of it lingering on his gorgeous mouth.

“Hell yeah.” He said

I knocked back the rest of my wine in a very unladylike fashion and said

“Let’s go then handsome.”

We gave our glass and bottle to a passing waiter who offered to take them for us as we walked back to the bar. It was mostly empty by this point and I spied a staircase. I squeezed Dean’s left wrist and nodded up the stairs. He looked and then his eyes met mine, giving me a subtle nod. My hand briefly brushed over the back of his, my fingers grazing the thin band on his fourth finger, making me grin like a fool. I sauntered up the stairs, putting an extra sway in my hips, knowing full well that his eyes were glued to my ass. Once I reached the top of the stairs, I went straight down a hallway and looked for an unlocked room. It took some doing, but by my fifth attempt, a door popped open and I stepped inside. I felt around for a light switch and found one; this room looked like it was used for storage, as there were shelves full of banker’s boxes on them. I quickly texted Dean my location and I waited. I was practically bouncing with anticipation when the door easily and quietly opened and he slid inside, quickly shoving a chair under the handle and shutting the light off.

“What happened?!” I hissed as I felt around for him in the dark.

I felt his hands grab mine and he said

“Got caught looking for you,” in my ear “had to make a security guard go night night.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.” I teased as my lips found his, warm and soft; always eagerly waiting to kiss mine.

“Shoulda known that from the start.” He said breathlessly as we wrapped our arms around each other, wrapping into another heated kiss. My tongue pressed and swirled with his, making a connection that was both familiar and exciting at the same time as his fingers dug into my ass.

“I wanna take my time,” he moaned “but we’re on the clock.”

“A quickie this round,” I told him as I pulled back and then unbuckled his belt “then you can ravage me later.”

I heard him chuckle as he hiked my dress up over my hips.

“Oh, I plan on it.” He told me as we furiously kissed, our hands and mouths seeming to cover every inch of skin we could get to. He backed me into a shelf, his mouth attacking my neck as I pushed his jacket down off of his broad shoulders. He hiked my dress up, the fabric bunching up around my chest, I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then turned around, grinding my ass into his hardened length.

“Mh,” he said and gripped the meat of my backside “just like that.”

I yanked my dress up a little higher as he pulled my panties down and I heard the familiar drop of his pants hitting the ground. I spread my legs a little wider and his substantial length slid inside me, both of us sighing. He gripped my hips and fully sheathed himself, hitting my sweet spot. I cried out and snapped a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out too loudly.

“Fuck,” he said quietly “so fucking wet sweetheart.”

He started to pound into me, the sound of his skin cracking against mine and the rustling of fabric coursing through the small room.

“Oh fuck!” I moaned as I gripped the shelf hard, it felt like being consumed by fire, the heat from between my legs filled the rest of my body while his grunts in my ear and breathless promises of what he was going to do to me later only added fuel to the fire.

“Dean, oh god Dean!” I cried out

He pulled out and spun me around. In one fluid motion, he picked me up and slammed back inside me, my back against the shelf. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he kissed me, nailing my sweet spot with such accuracy, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“That’s it,” he moaned against my chest as my thighs clenched around him and my nails dug into his shoulders “fuck sweetheart, you’re so fucking sexy.” His hands held my face as I snapped my hips into him and I could feel him smiling as he kissed me “so eager, you wanna come sweetheart?”

“Please,” I begged as I kissed him “please Dean, make me come.”

“Mh,” he said between another blistering kiss “you know how much I love it when you beg for me.”

“Please Mr. Winchester?” I asked, pulling out the last stop I could think of. That was one of the sentences I KNEW would get him good and fired up. It was like a switch flipped and he pounded into me hard as he moaned into my mouth. I was right there at the edge, squirming and moving my hips with his as best as I could. I slipped my hand between our bodies and furiously rubbed my clit as I felt his movements falter and he cried out against my mouth, spilling into me as he gripped me hard. I let go, biting his lip as I exploded around him. Our labored breathing filled the room as we heard what sounded like a troop of people walk past the door.

“Did you see which way he went?” One voice asked

“No, but I know exactly what he looks like!” The second voice shouted.

“Can’t have gone far, search every room in the house if you have to!” The first voice instructed.

We waited until it sounded like they were gone before either of us spoke.

“I think that’s our cue to get the hell out of here.” Dean said as he pulled out of me.

“This is exactly why I can’t take you anywhere.” I told him as we put ourselves back together. For the first time, I noticed a blueish glow in the darkened room and I asked “Is your phone ringing or something?”

I heard him reach in his pocket and grab his phone. He switched on the flashlight and said “No, why?”

His face had a thin sheen of sweat on it and red smudges of my lipstick all over his mouth and cheeks.

“Cut that light off.” I told him and he did. Once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness again, I followed the blue light to the back of the room and saw it was coming from a very small crack in the floor. “Dean, look at this.” I said and pointed it out. I crouched down and felt around until I found a tab with my fingers and pulled up. Inside was a glass case that held the necklace. Encrusted with black diamonds and nine dark opals ranging in size; I could practically feel the dark energy rolling off of it. I reached for the handle to the case when we heard the door to the room rattle.

“Fuck.” Dean swore as someone furiously jiggled the handle.

I quickly opened the case and shoved the necklace into my purse.

“Got it?” Dean asked and I nodded. “Window.” He told me and we rushed further back into the room toward a window as the door got kicked in. Dean quickly shattered the window, glass raining down on the floor, making an alarm sound. He jumped down a few feet before opening his arms to me. I glanced back as two guys twice my size ran toward me. I secured my purse and jumped out of the window and safely into his arms. Once I hit the ground, I took my shoes off and we ran for the back of the property. We tore through a grove of trees, roots and brambles scraped and cut my feet, before hanging a sharp right and jumping a low, stone wall into the next yard. Dean grabbed my shoulder and motioned toward the road where his Impala was parked.

“They’re not gonna let up,” he told me “we have to move.”

“What about Sam?!” I hissed as we heard thunderous footsteps approach.

Dean quickly scooped me up and we hid in the shadow of a large oak tree.

We heard a low whistle that sounded like a bird and we waited as the footsteps came to a stop. I knew that whistle and looked up at Dean, who answered with a whistle of his own.

Another pause, and the same whistle answered and I peeked around the trunk of the tree to see a familiar outline in the shadows. I sharply tapped the back of Dean’s hand with my fingernail and signaled for him to look. He did and hissed

“Sam?!”

The tell tale crunch of leaves followed Sam’s face showing in the moonlight.

“That alarm went off so I’m assuming you got the necklace.” Sam said in his sassiest tone.

“Correction, I got the necklace.” I said and held up my purse “let’s get the hell out of here before someone finds us.”

As soon as the sentence left my mouth. We heard more people walking and shouting things at each other.

“Hop on Thumbelina!” Dean said and turned his back to me.

I jumped on him, piggy back style, and held on as he as Sam navigated down the hill and back to the Impala. Once we were inside and down the road, I threw the necklace into a warded box and locked it tightly.

“There!” I said triumphantly “We lock this away in the bunker or one of our lock ups and we’re solid.”

“Great work back there everyone.” Dean said as he pulled on to the highway.

“Dean, what’s all over your face?” Sam asked, finally getting a good look at Dean. Sam swiped a finger across a red smudge in’s Dean’s face and Dean grinned when Sam showed him his finger.

“My wife’s lipstick.” He said proudly.

From the back seat, she laughed and Sam groaned loudly.

“I’m never going on a stakeout with you two again!” He exclaimed.

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

How was that?! Are you guys okay?!

Kind feedback is always appreciated and welcomed. Please share, like and follow (pretty please?!) as always; all my boxes are open and I do requests!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @ain-t-bovvered @mrswhozeewhatsis @girlborninstorms @dacleverfox @emoryhemsworth @bobasheebaby @salvachester @myinconnelly1 @mogaruke @imma-winchester-addict @theworldiscolorful @dean-winchesters-bacon

Tag Team Champions:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @carryonmytardisjohn @missjenniferb @mirandaaustin93 @sis-tafics @kittenofdoomage @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @impala-dreamer