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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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The Eternal and Unseen (3 of 4)

SO yeah. The chapter count has grown. There’s a lot going on here. David has a backstory. Emma and Killian have a mission. IT’S A LOT and it needs more words.

CW: This chapter contains minor (and canon compliant) character death and a potentially distressing scene involving the accidental death of a child. It’s not graphic but it is emotional so be prepared.

As ever, thanks to @ohmightydevviepuu for plotting with me and @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for general amazingness and @optomisticgirl and @spartanguard for the prompts and the always-enthusiastic responses 😘

And @carpedzem for another absolutely stunning drawing. SEE BELOW.

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns

AO3 | tumblr part one | tumblr part two

(I MEAN. WHAT. SO PERFECT.)

PART THREE:

They returned to Andersen just as twilight was creeping across the sky and the moon rising into it, heavy and dark gold as it crested the forest trees. Emma watched it through the window of her room, where she and Killian and David had retreated to rest a bit and collect themselves before deciding on their next move. The others had also gone to their rooms rest and prepare, and now David sat on Emma’s bed with his hands clasped in his lap and his shoulders tight as Killian made Emma a cup of tea and she frowned at the moon.

David watched in silence as Killian approached Emma and offered her a steaming cup. She accepted it with a smile and a cheek turned up to meet the kiss he dropped on it, in a gesture so comfortable and natural it gave David’s heart a little twinge. He wondered how he could ever have thought they weren’t right for each other when the depth and intensity of their love was so very, very obvious.

But then he was becoming aware that there were in fact a great many obvious things in this world that he hadn’t been able to see. It was not a comfortable thought.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “I get that you’ve both got a lot of thinking to do right now. But could you—is there time for you just to explain a few things first? Like exactly what the hell is going on? I feel like everyone knows what’s happening here but me.”

“That shouldn’t be a new feeling for you,” remarked Killian with a smirk. David sighed.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair. I’m not sure how I missed so much of what was happening around me, but I see it now and I’d like to understand it.”

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance.

“What exactly have you seen?” Emma asked.

“Visions?” David said uncertainly. “Of the past? Killian made me drink something purple and then I started seeing things.”

“Something purple?” Emma frowned.

“Yeah. He put some grey powder and a crushed up leaf into a beaker full of something Victor gave him, and it turned purple. And started to smoke,” said David.

“You gave him purple willow bark?” Emma turned to Killian in alarm.

“Aye,” Killian replied. “Along with the sap from one of Jane’s leaves.”

“Oh.” Emma relaxed. “Well, that was the right choice of leaf at least.”

“I do listen when you talk about the plants, love.”

“Hmmm,” said Emma. “And how did you feel afterwards?” she asked David.

“I—kind of passed out.”

Emma nodded. “I’m not surprised. Purple willow packs a punch. Normally we blend a few herbs into the emulsifier to soften its effects, but there’s no way Killian could have known the correct ones. He did the best he could in the circumstances.” She gave Killian a smile that tried hard to be sardonic. “This time, though, I’ll give you the gentler version.”

David started. “This time?”

“Well, yeah,” said Emma. “It’s the easiest way to give you the information you need. We could explain, I suppose, but it’s really best if you see it for yourself. Especially if you want to know your own history.”

“My… own history?”

Emma nodded, her expression sorrowful and soft with sympathy. “Yeah. You’ve seen the history of the fae and the Guardians, now you need to understand where you fit into that.”

“Killian—” David cleared his throat. “Killian said I’m a—a Guardian? Like he is?”

“Yeah you are. But as you’ve probably guessed there’s more to it than that. Are you ready to See?”

David swallowed hard. Part of him still wanted to say no, to deny all of this and run, back to yesterday when things had made sense. But a bigger part of him knew he needed to know, and to understand why all these crazy things that were happening to him seemed less and less crazy the more he thought about them. The more he thought.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

It’s less abrupt this time, smoother, as though he’s drifting in a boat on a misty sea. The mist clears and the sea recedes and he is standing at the edge of a wood, with fields at his back and before him trees that reach up to the sky, tall and straight as in the forest of the fae council, only now they frame not an ancient round stone but a house. It’s a nice house if rather a small one, humble but homey, made of wood and fronted by a well-kept garden with a creek running through it. Something about the house tickles at David’s memory—though no, not his memory exactly, more a feeling… the sense that he has been here before.

He blinks and finds himself inside the house, in a cramped bedroom where a woman lies back against rumpled pillows, exhausted, cradling a tiny newborn baby in her arms. Slowly she traces the curve of the baby’s cheek with the tip of her finger, her eyes alight with wonder.

“James,” she whispers. “Your name is James.”

“And who is this one?” asks a voice. David turns to see another woman, plain and sturdy and with kind eyes, holding up another tiny bundle. This second bundle she places gently in the crook of the woman’s other arm.

“David,” says the woman on the bed. “This one is David.”

David gasps and his eyes fly to the woman, but before he can get a good look at her the scene is shifting and he sees the babies—himself and his brother—his brother—now toddlers, running through the woods behind the house. He knows, somehow, which is himself and which is James—though their faces are identical, James’s wears an expression of recklessness and mischief as he runs as fast as his young legs can take him to the edge of the creek that comes out from the woods to cut across the corner of their garden. Young David follows, his tiny face crumpling as he calls out to his brother, and David now can feel the terror of his younger self as he sees James slip on the slick rocks that border the creek, hears his brother’s cry, abruptly silenced as his head hits the stones… David sees his own young legs move as fast as they can—faster than they should—but still far too slowly. He hears a heartrending scream, feels the flurry of movement as his mother runs from the garden—she turned her back for the briefest moment—and David looks away. His toddler self is bawling and he cannot watch it, cannot listen to his mother’s broken sobs… this, he thinks, this must be why she never told him that he had a twin. Her cries are unearthly as she cradles James’s tiny form, and they echo in David’s aching chest as he squeezes his eyes shut and wills the scene to change.

It does, and when he looks again he’s back inside the house where it is clear that time has passed—though it cannot be much; David’s younger self is older now but by a few months or so, no more. He is in the bedroom again, where a man with a very familiar square chin and blond hair arms himself for battle, while David’s mother sits on the bed and pleads for him to stay.

“You know that I can’t, Ruth,” the man says, “The call has come, and my duty—”

“Oh, your duty!” Ruth cries. “You’re not even the chosen Guardian!”

“But I am a guardian,” he insists. “I must go to battle when called. And David—”

“David is a child!”

“A child with a bounden duty, the same as my own. You knew this when you married me.”

“I know. I know I did but I can’t bear it now,” sobs Ruth. “I can’t, Robert. Not so soon after James.”

Robert takes her face gently in his hands and kisses her. “I will return,” he says softly. “I promise, my love.”

But David knows, even without being shown by the vision, that he never did.

The scene shifts again. Very little time has passed, David can tell, but the change in his mother is heartbreaking. She is wan, gaunt, lying listlessly on the sofa with no expression in her eyes, and David can feel the worry of his toddler self as he makes a show of playing quietly on the floor, but with far more attention on his mother than his toys. She is weakened by despair and fragile from her losses, and young though he is, David is afraid for her.

There is a knock at the door but his mother makes move to answer or even acknowledge it. It’s David who toddles over and cries “Come in!”

The door opens to admit a woman, pale and blonde and green-eyed. Her face resembles Emma’s though considerably older, and she lacks the determined chin, the stubborn glint in the eye that Emma has.

His mother’s eyes flit briefly to the woman then away, and she makes no move to rise. “Princess Angharad,” she says flatly.

“Ruth,” replies the woman, coming to stand next to the sofa. Her stern expression softens in sympathy and, David thinks, a hint of pity. “I’m so very sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” sneers Ruth. “You lost a fine warrior, after all.”

David gapes—never in his life has he heard his mother speak so rudely. Angharad’s expression does not change.

“Your sacrifice has been great—” she begins, but Ruth interrupts her.

“Yes it has,” she says sharply. “And it won’t be any greater. I’m taking David and I am leaving this place.”

Angharad’s eyebrows rise then snap together in a frown. “Leaving!” she exclaims.

“Yes.”

“But—you know that David has been chosen as the Guardian for my granddaughter, Emma.”

“Yes I do.”

“His selection was a great honour.”

“Yes it was. And I refuse it. You can’t have him.”

“Ruth—”

“No!” There’s fire in Ruth’s eyes now, sparking dangerously as she sits up straight to glare at the princess. “You’ve taken my husband. I’ve lost my son. David is all I have left, you will not take him from me too!”

“But the Guardian—”

“Choose another.”

Angharad steps backwards and nearly stumbles into the armchair next to the sofa. She twists her hands together in her lap. “It is your right, as you know, to make this refusal on behalf of your minor child,” she says. “But I would urge you, strongly urge you to reconsider.”

“I won’t.” Ruth’s jaw is set. “My mind is made up.”

The princess’s own jaw is tight, her eyes troubled. “There is another who might do,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Closer in age to Emma than we generally prefer and with certain… troubling portents, but if you are truly adamant…” She darts a glance at Ruth.

“I am,” Ruth confirms. Angharad nods. She looks up again and this time holds Ruth’s gaze.

“And what is your intention, when you leave us?” she asks. “Where will you go?”

“Into the human world. I’m going to raise my son among his own kind, humans who have no obligation to the fae or any knowledge of darkness or covenants. He’ll grow up as far away from magic as I can get him.”

Angharad’s face is sorrowful now. “I cannot agree with this decision, as much as I sympathise with why you have taken it. This recent battle has brought great losses to many of our human allies. For that I am boundlessly sorry.”

“I don’t accept your apology,” says Ruth stiffly. “Although I do acknowledge it.”

“That is fair.” Angharad nods. She straightens her shoulders and looks at Ruth again. “Before I go and with your permission, I would bestow on you one final gift.”

Ruth’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What sort of gift?”

Angharad looks at young David, still playing on the floor and listening, older David is certain, to every word. “The human world is not like ours but there is still magic there, and David with his heritage and the distinction that should have been his will find himself drawn to it,” she explains. “I can—close his mind, as it were, to the perception of that magic, make it far more difficult for him to see and easier to rationalise if he does see it.”

“You want to mess with my son’s head,” says Ruth flatly.

“In a manner of speaking,” Angharad concedes. “It’s not normally something I would do especially to a child so young, but understand me well, Ruth—underestimating the pull of his heritage, of two hundred generations of Guardians, would be a grave mistake. Even with this spell upon him he may still find himself drawn by magic. You cannot keep him from it by your will alone.”

“Fine,” Ruth spits. “Do what you like.”

Angharad approaches young David with a kind smile and kneels beside him.

“What’s that you’re playing with?” she asks.

“Lego!” he exclaims. “It’s a castle!”

“And a very fine one too,” Angharad murmurs, with such sadness in her eyes David’s heart aches. She brushes the hair from his forehead then lets her hand rest there as she murmurs a few words. David feels his younger mind blur and shift and resettle. The toddler’s eyes go hazy and he blinks them slowly, and when the princess removes her hand he returns to his toys, blithely building his castle as though she were not even there.

Angharad rises to her feet. “I shall take the sword now,” she says briskly.

Ruth gets up from the sofa and disappears through the bedroom door. When she returns she is carrying a long sword—the same sword David last saw belted around his father’s waist. The one that is now in his own possession.

“What will you do with it?” Ruth asks, thrusting the sword at Angharad.

“Keep it safe,” she replies. “It rightfully belongs to your son, and to his descendants. One day perhaps one of them might wish to claim it.”

“I hope not,” says Ruth. “With every fibre of my being I hope it.”

“That is your right, and your prerogative,” replies Angharad. “As it is mine to hope that despite everything that has come to pass, one day David may take it up again, and find his way back to us.”

Emma sat in her armchair with her legs curled beneath her and a cup of tea steaming gently in her hand, watching the images flickering in her scrying mirror. David was lying in her bed, his eyes moving frantically beneath closed lids and his limbs twitching as he re-lived his history. Killian and Harriet both sat at his beside, ready to react should anything go wrong. Emma cast a glance at them, smiling fondly at the sight of one of Harriet’s fronds curled gently around Killian’s neck, stroking the nape of it as Emma herself liked to do. Killian gave a little hum at the tickling caress but did not look up from the book that lay open in his lap.

Emma turned her attention back to the mirror. The images it revealed confirmed her suspicions, but something about the whole business still troubled her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She frowned as she went back over some of the images, playing them again, willing herself to see what she was missing.

Harriet unfurled one of her vines—not the one standing ready to protect David or the one fondling Killian (Harriet was an excellent multi-tasker) and with the closest thing to a long-suffering sigh a plant can muster tapped the tip of a leaf against one of the posters Emma had blu-tacked to the wall. The one that outlined the lunar cycles of the year 2020. Another leaf gestured emphatically at the window, where the golden moon was still rising in the sky.

“Of course,” breathed Emma. “That’s it.”

Killian looked up from his book. “That’s what, love?”

“I’ve just figured out what’s been bothering me about this whole thing,” Emma exclaimed. Harriet huffed and folded her vine as a person might fold their arms across their chest. “Okay, okay,” laughed Emma, “it was Harriet who figured it out.”

“Naturally.” Killian gave Harriet a little scratch behind her leaf.

“But it all makes sense now,” Emma continued. “Things I couldn’t find a good explanation for, like why those women would kidnap me and why my instincts would tell me they were deadly dangerous when every other sign indicates that they’re really, really not.” She set her teacup down on her desk and leapt to her feet, dropping an absent kiss on Killian’s cheek as she headed for the door. “You stay here until David wakes up, okay? It should only be a few more minutes. I need to go talk to Belle.”

Angharad’s final words echo in his ears as the scene shifts around her, and though her face appears unchanged David senses she is now some years older. This seems confirmed by the young woman seated in front of her, a blonde and green-eyed fae that is, finally, Emma.

She’s so young, David thinks, with a small twinge beneath his heart, though this cannot be more than a few years in the past. Emma’s face is rounder and her hair less styled, though he can see the seeds of the woman he knows in the stubborn set to her girlish jaw and the wilful spark in her eyes. She’s dressed in a long split skirt and a fitted leather jerkin in her trademark red, which even with his limited knowledge from these visions David recognises as a traditional fae style, updated for the modern world, and he is not surprised that this is something young Emma might choose to wear. She sits on a wide, cushioned seat in a large room where the walls appear to be formed of tightly twisted tree branches with tall windows and a wooden door set into them. David reflects for a moment how a mere twenty-four hours ago such decor would have astonished him, then returns his attention to Angharad and to Emma.

“Now that you are about to come of age,” the elder fae is saying, “it’s high time you met your Guardian.”

“Ugh. Do I have to?”

Emma manages not to whine but David can tell it’s a near thing. She crosses her arms over her chest and it’s plain to see her lower lip wants badly to pout.

“Don’t you want to?” Angharad looks shocked.

“No, actually,” Emma retorts. “I don’t need a man to take care of me.”

“He is not a man, he’s your Guardian,” her grandmother scolds, “and his job is not to ‘take care of you.’ It is to protect you.”

“I don’t need that either!”

Angharad’s expression says plainly that she is holding tight to her patience. “Emma, the most recent battles are within your lifetime—”

“Barely,” Emma mutters.

“—and despite your gifts for scrying you cannot predict with certainty when there might be another. After the loss of both your parents and so many of our kind we simply cannot afford to be without our Guardians should we find ourselves again under attack. Without their aid fae kind would have been lost thousands of years ago, and indeed as the covenants say—”

“All right, all right,” groans Emma. “For the love of the goddess, don’t start quoting the covenants. I’ll accept this Guardian and do what is required of me. But you canNOT make me need him!”

“I will pray that you never do,” says Angharad, now with a twinkle of humour behind her stern expression.

A knock sounds at the door, and she goes to open it. A young man enters the room, mid-twenties at David’s estimate and moving with a distinct stiffness in his right leg. “Ah, good day to you, Captain Jones,” Angharad greets him warmly. “Do come in. But where is your brother?”

“Outside looking at your horses,” says the man with a sigh. He continues to speak but David doesn’t hear his words—he has noticed Emma slip quietly from the room and he follows her. She creeps down a narrow hallway and through a door at the back of the dwelling. Once outside she darts through a sparse scattering of trees, heading for a long, low building that David gathers to be the stables. Just as she approaches the broad stable door it flies open and a boy strides through it, colliding with Emma and barely managing to catch her before she can fall.

“Oh!” she cries and the boy grunts, blinking startled blue eyes as he gazes down at her. Her own eyes widen and for a moment they stand frozen, his arms around her waist and her hands on his chest, staring at each other in helpless fascination—until the boy blinks rapidly and clears his throat as he steps back.

Killian—because of course it’s he—scratches nervously behind his ear.

“Um,” he says, “er... ah…”

“Eloquent,” teases Emma, who has by all appearance regained her composure—though David notes the bright flush in her cheeks and the breathiness of her voice. “You must be Killian Jones.”

“Aye,” he replies, collecting his wits and giving her a hesitant smile. “And you are of course the princess Emma.”

“I am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, lass.”

“The pleasure is all yours,” retorts Emma. Killian looks first startled, then affronted, then captivated, all within a few blinks of an eye. A delighted grin spreads across his face, with just a hint of the smirk he will perfect in years to come.

Emma herself blinks at that grin, and the flush on her cheeks deepens. “You should know from the start that I don’t need a Guardian,” she declares, attempting to cover her discomfiture with a haughty glare. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh yes,” says Killian. His gaze travels slowly down her form and back up again. “I don’t doubt that you can.”

“Oh.” Emma scowls at his easy acquiescence and also, David imagines, at the way he’s looking at her—as though she’s the most brilliant thing he’s ever seen. She shifts uncomfortably as Killian moves closer.

“But however capable you may be, Your Highness,” he says, his voice dropping lower and his expression hardening, “and regardless of whether or not you want one, you’ve got a Guardian. Me.” He leans in closer still and David can hear Emma’s breath catch. “And I intend to take my duties very, very seriously.”

“But I don’t need you!” Emma snaps. There’s frustration in her tone and temper in her eyes, though she doesn’t, David notices, back away.

“And I don’t care.”

They are so close now their noses are nearly touching and the air crackles with the tension between them. David is all too familiar with these battles of wills of theirs, having witnessed many firsthand in the dorm, but this one, the first one, is the most intense of all. He holds his own breath as he watches them take the measure of each other, notes the rapid rise and fall of their chests and the way their eyes are locked, how Killian’s hand curls around Emma’s hip and hers slides up his chest without either of them noticing. He begins to feel as though he should look away—this moment is too intimate for him to witness—but then Angharad’s voice cries “Emma!” from the direction of the house and she and Killian wrench themselves apart.

They stare at each other for a moment as they attempt to catch their breaths, then Emma gives her hair a toss.

“Well,” she huffs, “have it your way, I guess. You can follow me around if you like, I can’t stop you, but you’re going to look pretty stupid when you show up to save me and find I’ve already saved myself.”

Killian laughs, loud and bright. “I’m prepared to take that chance, princess,” he says.

The scene shimmers and resolves into two figures walking through the woods. One is Killian and the other his brother, the man whom Angharad addressed earlier as Captain Jones. His limp is more pronounced now, a halting gait caused by the stiff way he holds his right leg and his clear reluctance to put weight on it, as though the knee cannot be fully trusted. The two of them emerge from the trees and out onto a narrow road where a car is parked. David notes the way Killian moderates his own pace to match his brother’s, unconsciously, walking slowly despite the buzz of nervous energy that is rolling off him in waves.

They approach the car and Killian removes a set of keys from his pocket to unlock it, then gets behind the wheel while his brother with effort eases himself into the passenger seat. There’s a scowl on Killian’s face and his movements are jerky as he puts the car in gear; his brother has been lecturing him and he is clearly displeased. David hasn’t been listening to their words but he concentrates on them now, just in time to hear Killian snap “Bloody hell, Liam—”

“Language!”

“—I only met her today! We spoke for less than five minutes! Don’t you think it’s a bit premature to be warning me away from her!”

“I wish it were,” Liam mutters. “Sometimes five minutes is all it takes.”

Killian grips the steering wheel hard with one hand and jams the key into the ignition with the other. “What the devil are you on about?” he grumbles, though the look on his face makes David suspect that he knows full well what Liam is ‘on about’, and that it worries him too.

Liam sighs. “Look, just—just be careful, little brother.”

“When am I not careful, and it’s younger brother, if you don’t mind.”

“Killian.” Liam’s face is intensely solemn, with genuine fear behind his eyes. “You can’t fall in love with her.”

Killian shoots his brother a glare as he twists the key and the car’s engine roars to life. “I know that,” he snaps, “and I don’t intend to.”

David nearly laughs. If that’s what has Liam so concerned, his warning’s come far too late. Killian is halfway in love already, and his feelings are a tide that cannot be turned.

“Well.” Liam shifts uncomfortably in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. “See that you don’t, then.”

Killian twists the wheel and he car peels away. David doesn’t follow it. He can feel the potion thinning in his veins, the visions receding along with the car’s taillights, leaving him standing in the fading forest wondering what on earth could make the prospect of Killian and Emma falling in love strike such fear into a man like Liam Jones.

David came awake slowly, drifting back to consciousness in that boat on the misty sea. When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on Emma’s bed wrapped in some sort of blanket, warm and quite comfortable and with Killian beside him in a chair, a book open in his lap. He shut the book when he sensed David’s gaze on him, set it aside and offered a smile.

“How are you feeling, mate?” he asked.

“Good,” said David, then paused to clear the croak from his voice. “Hell of a lot better than I did after the potion you gave me.”

“Aye, I don’t doubt it.” Killian chuckled. “ I’m pretty much the furthest thing imaginable from an expert on magic. It was all I could do to remember the basic elements of the potion Angharad gave me when I accepted my Guardian duties.”

“So you—saw what I did? The visions?”

“I saw what you did the first time,” said Killian. “The fae histories and the origin of the Guardians. That knowledge is given to all of us. These latest visions, though, were for you alone.”

David moved to sit up only to discover that he couldn’t. What he had taken for a blanket turned out, upon closer examination, to be an enormous, glossy green leaf wrapped tightly around him.

“What the—” he sputtered.

“Oh, that’s Harriet,” said Killian, blithely, as though leaves the size of blankets were a thing one found oneself wrapped in as a matter of course. “Don’t worry, she’s friendly. Most of the time.”

Another leaf appeared in front of David’s face, this one far smaller and with tiny green fronds curling at its base. He could swear it was waving at him.

“Say hello,” Killian encouraged.

“Um, hello, uh, Harriet,” said David. The leaf gave a nod. “Um, what’s it—er, she doing here?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“Oh. Er. Sure. Thanks?”

The leaf nodded graciously, then curled around his face and patted him on the head.

“You see?” said Killian. “She’s a sweetheart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

“Um. Why?”

Killian grinned. “Show him, Harriet.”

The leaf released David’s head and reappeared in front of his face. As he watched, it gave a sudden flex and thorns appeared across its surface, close-set and a good inch long, sharp as daggers. David gulped. “Oh.”

“Aye. But don’t worry, she likes you. She generally likes the people Emma likes.”

“Well that’s, um, good.”

“That it is.” Killian gave Harriet a pat. “Let him up, now, love.”

Harriet unfurled her leaf and slid it out from under him. David sat up, groaning and flexing his aching muscles. “Is it normal to feel this sore?” he asked.

“Oh yes. The visions take quite a lot out of you. But here, Emma left you this.” He held out a cup of a dark and steaming liquid. David accepted it warily, and gave it a sniff. It smelled earthy and sweet, like nothing he’d encountered before, and when he chanced a tentative sip it was delicious.

“What is this?” he asked, taking a larger drink.

“Infusion of the lesser burdock root,” said Killian.

“Oh, well that doesn’t sound too—”

“Fermented in wild boar dung.”

David choked and spat out his mouthful of liquid, wheezing and coughing as Killian laughed and clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, it’s thoroughly washed before they infuse it,” he said.

“Yea, that’s not really all that comforting.”

“Drink it up anyway, mate, it’ll soothe the muscle aches and calm your nerves. Just don’t think too hard about it.”

David squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down the brew as quickly as he could. Within moments his muscles relaxed and his heart rate slowed. He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, then opened his eyes.

“Better?” inquired Killian.

“Yeah.” He paused, then added “Physically at least.”

Killian nodded, and sat back in his chair. “You have questions,” he observed.

“One or two.”

“Anything you care to ask, I’ll do my best to answer.”

David rubbed a hand over his face. There was so much to process in what he’d seen, so much about himself that he had never known. He wondered what Killian knew, wondered how the younger man had managed to identify him as a fellow Guardian. How could he possibly have known? Unless… “How much did you see of… of what I saw today?” he asked.

“I saw none of it, not in visions. I told you, that’s your history and yours alone. But I knew the basic details, about your brother and your father, and the reason your mother took you away from the tribe.”

“Angharad told you.”

“Aye.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to be Emma’s Guardian.”

Killian shook his head. “No. I wasn’t. Originally it was meant to be my brother Liam.”

David considered Captain Liam Jones, and his stiff gait. “But he was too badly injured,” he murmured.

“Yes. In the battle that killed your father.”

David looked up sharply. “But he must have been just a child!”

“He was ten.” Killian swallowed hard, and when he spoke again his voice was strained. “Too young to fight, but not to young to come under attack. Raiders invaded our house, in search of my father. When Liam told them he had fled, they attacked the both of us. I was barely a year old. Liam shielded me, he wouldn’t let me go no matter what they did to him. Even when they smashed his kneecap beyond repair.”

David recalled the tiny boy who shared his face, racing towards the creek. It seemed he and Killian had more in common then he’d known. “Why were they after you?” he asked gruffly. “And who’s they?”

“We don’t know,” said Killian wryly. “They didn’t exactly stick around to effect introductions. We only know that they were humans, enemies of the fae, trying to eliminate a Guardian and his sons.”

“Your father’s a Guardian?”

“He was,” Killian spat. “Before he ran away and abandoned us. I don’t know if he’s even alive anymore. I don’t care.” He did care though, David thought. The pain of his father’s betrayal remained sharp, even after so many years. But he said nothing, and Killian continued. “At any rate, Liam was left unable to guard the princess, and so the mantle was passed to you.”

“And when my mother took me away—”

“It came to me, aye. As the very last of last resorts.” He attempted a laugh. “But it must be said that Angharad was never entirely comfortable with me as Emma’s Guardian. She’s highly gifted with Sight and I think she must have known that there was”—he flushed a bright pink and David bit back a smirk—“the potential for deeper feelings between us. But she had, very literally, no other choice.”

“Are deeper feelings not allowed? Is that why your brother warned you not to fall in love with Emma?”

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear. “You saw that, did you? Did you also see—”

“Your and Emma’s first meeting?” David did smirk this time. “Yeah.”

Killian’s flush deepened. “Aye, she, uh, mentioned she might show that to you.”

“I’m glad she did, actually,” said David. “It was sweet, really, seeing you nearly swallow your own tongue after one look at her.”

“I didn’t—” Killian began, then caught David’s sardonic expression. “Well, okay, maybe I did,” he conceded. “That’s not the reason she showed you, though.”

“It’s because you weren’t supposed to get involved with each other,” said David, just a bit smugly. “And she wanted me to understand why in spite of that, you did. Isn’t that it?”

“You know, I like you better now that you’re not so bloody dense,” Killian retorted, “but it’s also kind of annoying, you actually seeing the things right in front of your face.”

“Just answer the question, Jones.”

“Yes,” said Killian shortly. “You’re right. For a Guardian and his charge to fall in love is expressly forbidden. I could be executed for it.”

“Executed!”

Killian shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“And yet you don’t seem very worried.”

Killian leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “Those histories you saw, the war against the Black Fairy and the Guardian alliances,” he said, “they happened over four thousand years ago.”

“Four thousand!”

“Indeed. So as you might imagine, a lot has changed since then. The fae population has steadily dwindled while the human one has surged. Magic is no longer widely used or even known, and much of fae history has been wiped from official records. Up to and including the original name of this very building.”

H.C. Andersen, David thinks. Teller of fairy tales. Because what better way to lessen the fear of something than to turn it into a children’s story?

“Meanwhile,” continued Killian, “the Guardians also have been whittled away to almost nothing. My brother out of commission and our father gone. Your father and brother both killed and you taken away. And that’s just in these past twenty years. Of the twelve fae tribes four have retreated entirely from human contact and refuse to have Guardians, and the eight who remain have only twenty-one active Guardians among them. A century ago there were hundreds of us. A millennium ago, thousands.”

David considered this. “But doesn’t that just make it even more reckless for you and Emma to give in to—um—”

“Our lustful desires?” Killian mocked.

“Well, er—”

“Aye, you might well imagine it would,” Killian replied, dropping the mockery with a sigh. “Except that there’s no one left to pass judgement on us. A ruling of execution would have to be proposed and carried by the Fae Council, which hasn’t been convened for centuries. I’m not sure anyone would even know how to convene it if they wanted to. The covenants that we follow are thousands of years old, made in and for a different time. They no longer suit the needs of anyone, fae or human, but of course only the Fae Council has the power to amend them.”

“Of course,” murmured David, though he found it rather comforting that fae bureaucracy was apparently as useless as the human version.

“Something has to change,” said Killian, “but no one knows exactly what or how or who is going to change it. So Emma and I decided that we would. Who better than the protector of the tywyll stone and her Guardian to make the decisions that need making? No one has more authority than we do, and we intend to use it. That’s why we’re not afraid anymore to make our relationship known. We’ll face whatever consequences may come and we’ll fight for each other. We’re prepared to do whatever is necessary to build a world where we can be together and be happy.”

He spoke so calmly and with such assurance, David thought, like there was no doubt in his mind of his feelings or of Emma’s. David thought of Snow—her face as always bright and beautiful and at the forefront of his mind—and a twisty tangle of yearning tightened in his chest.

“Well, I’m on your side,” he said. “For whatever that’s worth.”

Killian smiled. “It’s worth quite a lot, mate. For us personally but also because you’re a Guardian. That’s a heritage that can’t be erased; even though you didn’t grow up with it, it’s still yours. Your sword recognised you. You recognised Emma. And Snow, who, by the way, is also a fae princess. You know, just in case you were interested.” His eyes twinkled with mischief as David shot him a sharp look.

“Does—” David cleared his throat. “Does she have a Guardian?”

“She does. Chap by the name of Lance. Big fellow, many muscles.”

“I see. But he’s not, er, here?”

“He’s nearby,” said Killian. “Ready to respond in an instant if he’s called. Guardians don’t actually have to live so close to their charges as Emma and I do, but—well—”

“You wanted to be near each other.”

“Aye.”

David had so many more questions, dozens of them clamouring for his attention, but before he could ask any the door swung open and Emma appeared.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, yeah,” David replied. “I think so.”

“Good, because I think I know what’s going on here. Everyone’s meeting in the common room in five.”

Despite the chill of the night the common room was warm, lit by a bright and crackling fire. David sat on the wide sofa across from the hearth, with Ruby next to him and Graham on her other side. August lounged in the armchair in the corner and Killian in the one next to the fireplace, while Victor leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma stood in front of the fire with Belle hovering at her side, just visible in the orange light of the flames. Snow wasn’t there—she had volunteered to stay back in the forest to guard the women in their tree-branch prison. David wished she hadn’t—there were things he desperately wanted to tell her, though he knew that, as she would say, now was not the time.

Emma was silent for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “So as you all now know, I’m the one who has the tywyll stone,” she said finally, and everyone nodded. “It’s been in my family since the beginning, and it was my ancestor Arianrhod who locked the Black Fairy’s magic into the stone in the first place. All my life I’ve been raised knowing that I would be the stone’s protector and I never once questioned that. It was my heritage, and it was decreed by the covenants. I never questioned any of it, until recently.” She cast a glance at Killian, who gave her a smile and an encouraging nod. “I also didn’t question the instinct that told me to leave the stone behind when those women took me,” she continued. “The instinct that told me that I couldn’t allow the stone to fall into their hands. It wasn’t until I got back home this afternoon that it occurred to me to wonder why. Why would my instincts react so dramatically when those women were so easy to defeat? It troubled me, and the most troubling thing was that I couldn’t figure out why it was troubling. But now I know. It’s their timing.”

“Timing?” said Ruby. “What do you mean?”

“Okay,” Emma replied, “here’s the deal, everything I was Shown in the scrying mirror. There are three of them, a mother and two daughters. The mother, Cora, she’s human. She’s got no magic and her knowledge of it seems limited to what’s contained in the standard scrolls—the versions of the histories that are available in any human library. She wouldn’t have access to any of the actual fae histories, and if she raised her daughters among humans it’s unlikely they would either.”

“Sorry,” said David. “But what do you mean by the actual fae histories?”

“The fae store our history in trees,” explained Emma. “Like the purple willow whose bark gave you your visions. The scrolls tell the broad story, but they hold none of the details you get from seeing the events unfold yourself.”

“So—all of you have seen these visions?”

“We’ve all seen a version of them,” said Graham. “The ones involving our own ancestors. But the location of the tywyll stone needed to remain secret, so for obvious reasons we weren’t shown the part involving the trapping of the magic.”

“But then why was I shown that?”

“Guardians are all shown what you saw,” Killian replied. “We are all descended from Cynbel, the warrior who captured the Black Fairy’s wand.”

“What, all of us?”

“All of us. Cousin.” Killian smirked at him. “Cynbel’s tale is the origin of all Guardians, and so we have the right to see it.”

“So all Guardians know who has the ti—er, the stone?”

“Yes, and part of our vows include protecting the secret of its location with our lives.”

“Everything was always about keeping the stone a secret,” said Emma. “So that even if someone did figure out a way to release the Black Fairy’s magic, they wouldn’t know where to look for it.”

“But somehow this Cora and her daughters figured out where to look for it,” said Ruby.

“So it seems. But the thing is they don’t actually know what they’re looking for. They don’t even seem to know that the magic is stored in a stone. They only know it’s stored somewhere, and that I have it.”

“So then they can’t possibly know how to release it,” Ruby cried.

“Or how to control it even if they did,” Graham pointed out.

“That’s what it looks like,” agreed Emma.

“But then why?” Ruby held up her hands in frustration. “Why would she move against you when she’s so unprepared?”

“That’s exactly what was troubling me,” said Emma. “It didn’t seem to make any sense. She’s so completely unable to do what she plans and yet she’s so confident. Why? And why did my instincts tell me to do whatever I had to in order to keep the stone out of her hands?”

“Well?” Ruby prodded. “Why?”

Just then there came the sound of footsteps in the corridor. The door swung open and Snow appeared, rushing into the room followed by a young woman with long, dark hair and bloody scratches covering a face that wore a look of deep apprehension.

Emma stiffened and threw up her hands, magic sparking and crackling at her fingertips. “What is she doing here?” she snapped.

“She’s—” began Snow, but Killian was already on his feet.

“Who is she?” he demanded.

“One of the women from the forest,” said Emma, and before the words were even fully out of her mouth, the room whirled in a blur of motion. August leapt from his chair as his eyes flared red and his fangs extended. Ruby and Graham’s bodies twisted, fur sprouting from their skin and claws from their fingers, faces elongating into snouts lined with sharp and dripping teeth. Killian drew his sword so fast it was a blur to David’s eyes as he swung it at the woman, stopping a hair’s breadth from her neck. Even Victor stood tense and ready, fingering a razor-honed scalpel he’d retrieved from the goddess knew where, as madness sparked in his eyes.

“Stop it,” Snow cried, whirling around as she tried to defend against everyone at once. “She’s here as a friend.”

“She tried to kill me!” snarled Emma, and Killian pressed the edge of his sword against the woman’s skin. She gasped and blinked as a small line of blood appeared beneath it.

“I—I didn’t,” she stuttered. “I did my best to save you.”

“That’s not what it sounded like from where I was standing,” retorted Emma. “Or from where I’d been flung on the ground, to be more precise.”

“You don’t know my mother.” The woman’s tone, despite the sword at her throat and the snarling wolves and the mad scientist, the witch and the freaking vampire, was dry and heavy with irony, and David found himself impressed despite himself by her aplomb. “It’s… unwise to act directly against her,” she continued. “But she can be influenced by suggestion.”

David could see the gears begin to turn behind Emma’s eyes as she regarded the woman with a probing stare.

“Killian,” she said quietly, and with no more instruction than this her Guardian lowered his sword, though he remained, David noticed, tense and alert.

“Stand down, chaps,” he instructed.

In a flash August’s eyes were blue again and his teeth a more expected length. Ruby and August shifted back to their usual forms, and Victor—well, he still looked mad, but at least he put his scalpel away.

Emma was frowning thoughtfully at the woman. “Snow,” she said. “Why did you bring her here?”

“She’s my kin,” replied Snow. “Look.”

She pulled back the sleeve of her jacket to reveal the image of a tree brach curling around her wrist. David had seen the branch before, many times, but had always taken it for a tattoo. Now, though, he watched as it began to move, to wave as though caught in a summer’s breeze, and a bird appeared from out of nowhere to perch upon it. The woman pulled up her own sleeve to reveal the same branch and a very similar bird, and when the two women held their wrists together their branches intertwined and the birds began to sing.

“Llwyth daear,” said Emma. “Earth tribe. I suppose I should have seen that.”

“You had other things on your mind,” said Snow. “But I saw it right away. Regina is my uncle’s daughter. My uncle who left the tribe when he fell in love with a human woman. We never heard from him again.”

“He died,” said the woman—Regina—shortly.

“Oh.” Snow’s fingers reached out to curl around Regina’s. “I’m sorry.”

Regina smiled. “Thank you.”

“Well this is a touching reunion,” drawled August. “But it doesn’t explain why you brought her back here.”

“For the information, of course,” said Emma, fixing Regina with a pointed look. “She’s here to tell us all about her mother. Aren’t you, Regina.”

Regina nodded. “I am.”

—

#csssns #cssns20 #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #supernatural beings #college au #kinda sorta #captain swan #and a whole lot of other stuff #like a whole lot more #profdanglaisstuff #the eternal and unseen #carpedzem

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crazyyanderefangirlfan · 6 months

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Have to ask for Halloween, do the brothers do any couples costumes with their girlfriends? Would Zuri and Dante do a costume for giggles??

I'll keep it short

Malachite and Elodie would be Christine and The Phantom from Phantom of the Opera. They would just dress for the occasion and just watch movies

Vince and Stephanie would dressed as cats. They just wore black clothes slapped a pair of cats ears on their heads, both were busy and this was the best they could do, they also watched movies

Joe and Misty would be a pair of zombies, Misty said the costume was perfect cause he looked like a zombie when he didn't have his coffee. They both accompanied Jack and Roxy to a party but like watching over them

Jack and Roxy would be Jessie and James from Pokemon, they'll go to Halloween parties to just to prank others.

Dante and Zuri were Finn and Jake for laughs. Zuri was a special guest in J&V's Halloween special

#villain recruiters #disney villain recruiters #malachite kemonohito #vince kemonohito #joe kemonohito #jack kemonohito #zuri kemonohito #dante mcquinn #elodie perrault #stephanie grimm #misty andersen #roxy carroll

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 2 years

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May I please ask for headcanons for King Triton and Aurora’s parents reacting to Misty and Elodie please

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Misty's basically Ariel before she got married so he's rather happy with her

He already learned to be patient and respectful for his daughters since the whole ordeal so he makes it fun when she came by

He didn't fully like her and Joe at first but then he sees her being so taken cared of he calmed down and was happy

Like Triton, I feel like Stephan has grown a bit since the whole ordeal, defiantly learned to not be so high and mighty

He and his wife shower Elodie with affection to the point I feel like she's slightly uncomfortable

Then he gets wind of Malachite-

Ooooooh-ho-boy-

He straight up yelled the lad when he came to give her something she forgot, blinded at the idea it's his daughter and Maleficent's minion, not to mention he blames Mal whole on the Gossip thing

This led to Elodie blowing up at him

He's chill now but he still doesn't fully like Malachite and Malfie has apologize to his lookalike even though he has nothing to do with it

#disney villain recruiters #disney villain recruiter au #misty andersen #elodie perrault #king triton #king staphan #aurora's dad

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goalie-interference · 4 years

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goalies.

Y E S !!!

I love the misty vibe this ask has but I get it! goalies, right?!

I’m missing my fave big brick walls and their marshmello apparel.

We should talk about them more. Like their masks and the million reasons behind the design. LIKE do you remember Juuse's mask? THE ONE WITH PEKKA ON THE SIDE? Bitch I still cry about it today. Freddie's mask for the ASG WITH MITCH AND AM ON THE SIDES DMSMDMD AAAAAA and LIKE Dobby's mask? FUCKING ART!!!

Or like the miraculous saves??? Flower with the save that put Babcock OUT OF TORONTO? hmmm I loved every second of it and I'M A LEAFS FAN. Every Cahtah haht save bc ??? kid's just STUNNING.

We could talk about all the magic they store inside all that gear!!! The intricate pre game rituals!!!

We could talk about the last goalie fight we had at the battle of alberta!!! Or we could talk abt how much we all love Holtby you know?!

OR LIKE HOW IMPRESSED WE BECAME WITH THATCH AND HALÁK AND DOBBY AND ANDREI FKN VASILEVSKIY?

I won't say a word abt freddie andersen bc y'all know he owns my whole will of living.

But like. Pekka's goal against the hawks? how we got to know after the game that a lot of goalies around the league were ecstatic for him???

marky and how he's a fucking sunshine on and off the ice? price and the fact that he's so feared on ice but then you see him with kids and he's a total sweetheart? ben bishop's smile and that time when we all could relate with him watching the game from the stands?

or we could talk about that video of a lil goalie going totally feral on the bench with his amazing dance moves.

JUST LOOK

I have a lot of feelings toward goalies. I didn't even talk abt grubi or frankie or the time rask wielded a fkn BLADE!!! or like the LEGEND that henrik lundqvist is. I'll end here but you can talk to me abt them and anything ANYTIME YOU WANT!!!

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azgedaspy · 3 years

Photo

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

not pictured: farmer dayton kom azgedakru ( 000 ) killed 2134 by trikru raiders. face: rodrigo santoro. echo’s late father

not pictured: farmer diana kom azgedakru ( 000 ) killed 2134 by trikru raiders. face: alyssa sutherland. echo’s late mother

not pictured: warrior akron kom azgedakru ( 000 ) killed 2134 by trikru raiders. face: travis fimmel. echo’s late father

warrior kairo kom azgedakru ( 000-513 ) alive; absorbed into wonkru. face: alex høgh andersen. echo’s ex-lover

warrior gwinn kom azgedakru ( 000 ) killed 2134-2149. face: kathryn winnick. echo’s former mentor

warrior andria kom trigedakru ( 000-305 ) killed 2150 by pike’s people. face: christian serratos. echo’s late ex-lover

warrior reed kom azgedakru ( 000-513 ) alive; absorbed into wonkru. face: nathan parsons. echo’s friend

names i’d like to use:

azgedakru: reed, lima, fort, wayne, kendal, adrian, sandusky, perry, elyria, kent, canton, marion, bucyrus, saint marys, bellefontaine, jackson, flint, sterling, erie, clair, sarnia, vernon, elkhart, mason, florence, maysville, lexi, zanes, parker, pomeroy, athens, frank, charlevoix, atlanta, alpena, oscoda, au sable, tawas, rose, harrison, kalkaska, interlochen, newaygo, norton, meridian, lapeer, imlay, gwinn

nature (f): autumn, blossom, breeze/breezy, cascade, clementine, clove/clover, coral, dawn, dove, evening, fauna, fawn, fern, flora, gaia, galaxy, gale, hazel, holly, ivy, maple, meadow, misty, nova, petal, prairie, season, solstice, sparrow, sunny, tempest, terra/tierra, venus, willow, windy, wren, windy

nature (m): bear, birch, cliff, cloud, field, flint, forrest, glenn, grove, hawk/hawke, leaf/leif, land, leo, north, orion, ridge, rock, wolf/wolfe, wood/woods/woody

nature (f/m): ash, aspen, basil, bay, berry, blaze, brook/brooke, cedar, clay, cove, dale, dusty, ember, lake, lark, linden, lotus, ocean, olive, rain/raine, reed, river, roan, sage, sky/skye, star/starr, storm/stormy, stone, tree, west, winter

#003. family ‚ is love a salve or just a deeper kind of wound ?#000. edits ‚ okay to reblog !#003. kairo ‚ you’re not the one‚ but i am so cold and a fire is a fire.#003. andria ‚ i wish i could save you.#003. reed ‚ we have been trying to go home all our lives.#save.#npc.#dayton.#akron.#diana.#gwinn.

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grailfinders · 4 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #34: William Shakespeare

Welcome back to Fate and Phantasms, where today we’re making the most famous playwright ever in D&D. To no one’s surprise, the eloquent bard is an eloquence bard, abusing creatures’ wisdom saves almost as badly as Petruchio abused Katherina.

As always, there’s a spreadsheet for this build over here, and a level-by-level breakdown below the cut!

Race and Background

Shakespeare is definitely Human, but he’s definitely unusual to count as a Variant. This gives him +1 to Charisma and Wisdom, proficiency in Performance, and the Actor feat. This adds one point to Charisma, advantage on deception and performance checks to act (shocking) as a different person, and listening to someone for 1 minute lets you copy their voice. People listening to you can make an insight check against one of your deception checks to try and figure that out.

Shakespeare’s also a Guild Artisan, giving him proficiency in Insight and Persuasion.

Stats

Put your highest score in Charisma; Shakespeare’s one of the most famous writers in existence, of course this is going to be high. Next is Intelligence: the Bard may have invented some 1,700 words and made Julius Caesar look good, neither of which are small feats. Wisdom is third, you can’t write about the human condition if you don’t know the human condition. Fourth is Constitution, you’re healthy enough to survive a couple all-nighters, at least. Last is Dexterity, followed by Strength. Unlike Shakespearicles, Shakespeare is not known for his physical prowess.

Class Levels

1. The Bard is a Bard, giving him proficiency in Deception to fill out the skills needed to be the face of the party, as well as History and Arcana to gain a wider range of subjects for your plays. You also get proficiency in Dexterity and Charisma saving throws. First level bards learn Spellcasting using charisma as your spellcasting ability, and gain Bardic Inspiration, some d6 you can throw at people who aren’t performing at your expectations which come back on long rests.

First level bards learn a bunch of spells, and yours include Friends and Charm Person, to help quarrelsome NPC realize their issues are Much Ado About Nothing; Minor Illusion, the first of many illusions; Disguise Self, in case you have to fill a role here or there; Sleep to keep things quiet during intermission; and Comprehend Languages to make sure everyone’s on the same page when you give them stage directions.

2. Second level bards become a Jack of All Trades, adding half their proficiency bonus to checks that don’t otherwise use it. You also learn a Song (Sonnet) of Rest, adding an extra d6 to healing done over short rests. For this level’s spell, grab Heroism to make some protagonists.

3. Shakespeare gains Expertise in two skills of your choice (here they’re Persuasion and Deception), and also graduates from Theros’ prestigious College of Eloquence. Upon graduation, eloquence bards have a Silver Tongue, meaning they can’t roll lower than a 10 on persuasion and deception checks. Combined with the expertise you also just got, your minimum deception roll is now a 17, which is pretty silly at level 3. Maybe if you told Hamlet to kill his uncle he’d listen, instead of dallying for a full play. You also can throw out Unsettling Words, burning a use of inspiration and a bonus action to roll an inspiration die and subtract that from a creature’s next saving throw. This also would have been a great ability for Andersen, but frankly there’s already enough thematic overlap between the two without sharing a subclass.

For your spell, grab Phantasmal Force. That isn’t a dagger they see before them, but it will do a bit of damage.

4. At fourth level, bards get their first ASI. You’ve written enough about the Seelie court to be Fey Touched, adding 1 to your charisma, as well as giving you a free copy of Misty Step and Command, either of which can be cast for free once per long rest, using charisma as your casting ability. You can then continue casting them with spell slots as normal.

For your other spells, grab Vicious Mockery for what is literally the most offensive spell you’ll get all game, and Enthrall to make sure your audience is paying attention to the fourth soliloquy you jammed into Hamlet.

5. Your Inspiration begins using d8s, and you become a Font of Inspiration, regaining your dice on short rests instead of long ones. For your spell, grab Enemies Abound, turning a well-organized formation into a tragedy waiting to happen.

6. At sixth level, your plays become so enrapturing they become Countercharms, preventing allies from being charmed by people other than you. As an eloquence bard, you also gain the amazing Unfailing Inspiration, meaning if your inspiration die is used and the roll still fails, whoever used it gets to hang onto it. This means your inspiration is now harder to kill than Macbeth, and your party can use inspiration in more daring ways. You also learn Universal Speech, meaning you spend an action to make a number of creatures up to your charisma modifier able to understand you for an hour. It’s one-way, but you’re the one telling them what to do, so that shouldn’t be an issue. You can use this once per long rest, or by burning a spell slot.

For your spell this level, grab Hypnotic Pattern to add some spectacle to your performances.

7. So far your plays have consisted entirely of humanoids. This level’s spell fixes this issue by being Charm Monster, letting you turn any living thing into the star of your show. Or the villain, or even the comic relief-you’re the writer here, not me.

8. Use your next ASI to maximize your Charisma for more inspiration, tougher spell saves, and more people you can make understand you at once. For your spell this level, grab Hallucinatory Terrain to instantly set the stage, as long as your play doesn’t take place in a city. Defeating a lich by making it perform an accurate rendition of Romeo and Juliet would be cool, but we’re not there yet.

9. Your Sonnet of Rest increases to a d8, and you can now Dominate Person, turning one lucky sod into your star performer. Since you’ll basically be taking over a person’s body, the actor feat may come in handy here.

10. At tenth level, your Inspiration dice become d10s and you gain another round of Expertise. This time you’re improving your Performance and History for better and more varied plays. You also learn Magical Secrets, grabbing spells from any class.

Firstly, you learn the Prestidigitation cantrip, because you can’t go wrong with a little stage magic. You also learn to Modify Memory to cover up all that dominating you’re doing and Dream, because nothing’s more Shakespearean than an ominous portent delivered by sleep.

11. Eleventh level bards learn a sixth level spell, and yours is Mass Suggestion. Your plays aren’t just one-person productions, so lets add in some crowd scenes! The spell lasts for 24 hours, so handing out scripts and telling them to literally perform a play isn’t out of the question.

12. You’re not great at not dying, so lets try and fix that as best we can with the remaining ASI. This time, bump up your Dexterity for a better AC.

13. Your Sonnet of Rest becomes a d10, and you learn how to Mislead opponents for dramatic escapes, or if you just want to be mouthy at an enemy without being filled with arrows.

14. You learn another round of Magical Secrets and your plays become so potent they have Infectious Inspiration. When a creature within 60′ of you succeeds on a roll because of your inspiration, you can use your reaction to give another creature (who isn’t you) within 60′ of you inspiration for free. You can make this reaction a number of times equal to your charisma modifier per long rest. To recap: failing a roll doesn’t destroy your inspiration, and succeeding a roll now passes it to someone else.

For your secrets, you can now make a Mental Prison far more literal than in your tragedies. You can also enchant Magic Weapons for other people to use. Fighting things yourself really isn’t your style.

15. Your inspiration is boosted one last time, now using d12. You also learn your first eighth level spell, Dominate Monster. A hydra sleeping peacefully in a swamp? Passe. The real drama is if it’s attacking a town somewhere. With this spell, you can make that happen.

16. Not much happens at this level, but thanks to an ASI your Dexterity goes up again for hopefully less getting hit!

17. Your Sonnet of Rest finally reaches d12 as well, and you could learn a ninth level spell, but instead we’re going for Mirage Arcane. finally, proper stagework!

18. With your last Magical Secrets you learn Globe (heh heh) of Invulnerability to keep yourself safe when people realize you’re behind that “hydra” thing and Control Weather to set the perfect Dramatic Confrontation conditions.

19. Your final ASI is going towards Constitution for more health and better concentration. You’ll need both if there’s an angry mob after you (there should be an angry mob after you).

20. Your capstone ability is Superior Inspiration, giving you even more inspiration to use if you start a fight without any.

Pros: You have very good face skills, and they become very good early on. By the time you’re level 20, you literally can’t roll below a 27 when persuading or deceiving people. Your inspiration also lasts you a long time, and can be used to destroy an enemy’s saving throw against your spells.

Cons: Most of your spells require concentration, and you’re not good at that. Fortunately, most of them are best used out of combat, so picking a spell to use shouldn’t be an issue in the heat of things. Your entire kit is stopped by anything immune to charms though, and that includes a lot of higher end enemies. If you end up fighting one of them, you’ll find your damage dealing capabilities really aren’t there, with your best attack being Vicious Mockery.

That’s just par for the course of being Shakespeare, though. At the end of the day, you’re here to cause problems on purpose and then run away from the consequences.

#fgo #fate grand order #Fate and Phantasms #William Shakespeare #dnd 5e

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Vikings Season 6 Part Two Review (Spoiler-Free)

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This Vikings season 6 part two review is based on all 10 episodes and contains no spoilers.

Vikings has always been Ragnar Lothbrok’s (Travis Fimmel) story. First, we witnessed the rise of the man himself from farmer to visionary to earl to king to legend. Post-Ragnar, the show became an exploration of how Ragnar’s legend suffused and inhabited his sons, and the consequences of its interpretation upon enemies, frenemies, kith, kin and Kings the world over. And, now, the saga comes to an end with the second half of Vikings swansong sixth season, ten episodes that drip with all the blood, battles, tears, seers, fears, and philosophy you’ve come to expect from the History Channel’s flagship show (though this season will premiere on Amazon).

It’s tough to write a spoiler-free review of a show like Vikings, especially here at the show’s conclusion where it won’t be surprising to learn that the blood flows like wine. Who lives, who dies? Who returns, who stays away? Even acknowledging the presence or absence of a surprise within a certain context could constitute a massive spoiler. As a consequence, much of this review will read like the ravings of the show’s very own seer, a web of insinuations and mystical mumbo jumbo designed only to make sense once the prophecy has been made flesh.

Early in the season, Gunnhild (Ragga Ragnars) remarks: “Perhaps the Golden Age of the Vikings is gone.” This is a perfect distillation of the thematic ground covered by this half season. Here we have the fall of an empire, the erosion and sometimes amputation of the old ways, and the savage geo-surgery of a flailing world in flux. Absolute power corrupts absolutely; only the truly mad would seek to be king. The battle between paganism and Christianity, always at the forefront of the series, reaches its culmination here, and the episodes are awash with rich religious imagery and symbolism. There is also an answer, of sorts, to the question of which of Ragnar’s sons best embodies and encapsulates his legacy. Each of them carries a chunk of their father distilled within them: Ivar (Alex Høgh Andersen), his wrath, his thirst to conquer; Bjorn (Alexander Ludwig), his galvanizing spirit, his authority, his legend; Hvitserk (Marco Ilsø) , his pain, confusion and predilection for self-destruction; and Ubbe (Jordan Patrick Smith), his sense of adventure, his vision. Series creator and showrunner Michael Hirst knows that you come to these final episodes laden with ideas and expectations surrounding this philosophical set-to, and does a sterling job subverting or confirming them. His skill is in making the surprising seem inevitable, and the inevitable seem surprising.

Most of the Vikings’ world is bathed in blue and grey, an endless twilight of death and despair. Within these grim parameters the direction and cinematography never fails to evoke the beautiful, misty emptiness of the world: the howling of the wind on desolate hills; silence, smooth and dark, stretching towards the pale horizon. There are lots of sweeping aerial shots, which cast you, the audience, as Gods looking down on the action from above. The emotional distance this creates, especially above battlefields, reinforces the absurdity and futility of the bloodshed, something we’ve been encouraged to feel in every season, but never moreso than now.

The season is front-loaded with some thrilling sequences (including a suitably chilling use of CGI), and at least one moment that will make the hairs stand up on your neck, and hot tears fall from your eyes. The mechanisms of plot necessarily predominate in the early episodes, as machination piles upon machination, twist upon turn, and the pieces of the tragedies and double-dealings to come are moved into place upon fate’s great chess-board: a broken Bjorn has tough choices to consider following his people’s defeat at the hands of the Rus; Ubbe embarks on a westward quest in search of the promised land; Ivar and Hvitserk continue their uneasy alliance with each other within the fraught principality of the maladjusted, half-mad Oleg (Danila Koslovsky).

An accusation often leveled at Vikings is that it became a lesser show once divorced from Ragnar��s immediate orbit; that when he died, so too did the interest of many of the audience, who never quite took to his sons with the same level of enthusiasm. I can understand the hole that Ragnar’s exit left in the hearts of fans. He was a compelling, larger-than-life character, channeled with great charisma and presence by Travis Fimmel. But although this series is ostensibly about Ragnar, the story is also far, far bigger than him, a point this final season doesn’t fail to ram home. In fact, it’s the whole point. Besides, the performances of Alexander Ludwig, Jordan Patrick Smith, Marco Ilsø, and Alex Høgh Andersen have always been uniformly excellent, generating more than enough presence, individually and collectively, to carry the show in Ragnar’s name.

If there is a mote of truth in the accusation it’s probably attributable, in part at least, to the challenges of satisfying such a sprawling ensemble. One of the beneficial things about the show having shed so many characters over the past few seasons is that the sons now have proper time to grow, develop and, ultimately, crystallize. In particular Hvitserk, who was always the sketchiest and most ill-defined of the brothers, finally coalesces into something greater than the sum of his parts. Even his unhealthy attachment to Ivar begins to make sense, and comes to play an instrumental part in much of what makes the final stretch work so well.

Ivar himself has always been a joy to watch – surely one of the greatest small-screen monsters – but occasionally he could be one-note, albeit largely thanks to his predilection for painting himself into a corner and then having to fight his way out again. Ivar’s relationship with, and to, the young Rus heir Igor (Oran Glynn O’Donovan) helps to humanize him, allowing him to recreate the better aspects of his own relationship with Ragnar, this time sans grand, King-busting plan. Ivar even demonstrates, from time to time, something approaching humility, which can’t be easy for a self-proclaimed God. Plus there’s a moment between Ivar and Katia (Alicia Agneson) that’ll have you punching the air in triumph, and then thinking strangely of yourself for having fist pumped such a thing.

Why Vikings Is Ending

By Michael Ahr

Once the heavy gears of plot have cranked into place, the season dips into ennui, as characters drift, break down and take stock. This can make the season a slog to get through, especially if you’re binge-watching; like mainlining misery directly into your blood-stream. Even knowing that this was undoubtedly a deliberate structural choice – to make you feel the characters’ helplessness, heartache, angst and boredom; to understand what drives them to do what they do when Gods and men fall silent – you’re unlikely to emerge from the middle-to-end section brimming with vim and good cheer. Here, another central question is tackled: is there any escape from the seemingly endless cycle of death, destruction and revenge in which Viking society finds itself mired? What hope have Ragnar’s sons of escape when Ragnar himself, the most vocal advocate for a new way of doing things, ultimately perpetuated the cycle by posthumously siccing his sons on his enemies?

The final act makes everything worthwhile. Think of the middle act like purgatory before Heaven (or should that be Valhalla)? While not every storyline feels like it has an equal place and weight in the pay-off – the latter sections in Kattegat, especially, feel perfunctory and will probably struggle to elicit much interest – most of the series’ overarching narrative and thematic threads come together perfectly in the end, giving a deeply satisfying sense of simultaneous closure and open-endedness.

There are many surface similarities between Vikings and Game of Thrones, in terms of their stock-in-trade themes, settings, cast-counts, body-counts and bundles of R-rated violence. Where they differ significantly is in Vikings sticking the landing, and not just with the final episode – which is beautiful, elegiac and haunting – but over and throughout the whole final half of the season (give or take a few minor missteps).

Game of Thrones’ once stellar reputation will perhaps forever be sullied by an ending, and a final season that many felt was flat, rushed and cack-handed. This is not the fate that will befall Vikings, which, although it never attained critical, commercial or pop-culture success on anything like the same scale as Game of Thrones, now joins the pantheon of shows whose exemplary endings have cemented their legacies. Vikings can hold its head high among such luminaries as Rectify, The Affair, The Deuce, The Wire, The Sopranos (divisive as its ending proved), The Shield and Breaking Bad (pre El Camino, at least), having offered up a finale that is so resonant, dream-like, and profound that it serves retroactively to render all of the good things about the series better, and wash away any and all misgivings and doubts. It’s a gorgeous ending that will stick in your soul for a long time.

Bon voyage, Vikings. It’s been emotional.

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huariqueje · 5 years

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View from Spodsbjerg over the fjord. Misty day - Laurits Andersen Ring, 1901.

Danish, 1854-1933

Oil on canvas, 19 x 24 cm. 7.4 x 9.4 in.

#Laurits Andersen Ring #danish artist #Fjord Landscape

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mapleleafstrash · 6 years

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New Years - Frederik Andersen (SMUT)

A/N: Hey guys! So I didn’t really do much last night and I’ve been having major Freddie Andersen feels lately so I decided to write a one-shot. This is my fist time posting like “descriptive/graphic” smut, so I hope you enjoy it! I tried my best and hopefully it makes sense / sounds good! Let me know if you think I should write like this more!

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Frederik Andersen

Words: 3,145

Warnings: Language, Mention of Alcohol, Sexual Content

Flicking off the television, you sighed in slight aggravation, your disappointment swirling within you.

“Ah well, they tried,”

Flicking your eyes towards Sydney, you grimaced inwardly when the sounds of agreement echoed from the other Leafs girlfriends littered around the room. Rather than agree, you just shifted in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Cold Y/N?” Alannah, Zach’s girlfriend, asked you from her spot next to you.

You shook your head, but sighed, “Freddie’s going to be so upset,”

“He played well though, most of those goals weren’t even his fault,” Alannah tried, but you brushed her off.

Frederik Andersen was never happy. Well, with his play at least. He always had something to critique about his game, regardless of the outcome. You knew after tonight’s game he’d be livid. You’d tried to be supportive towards your boyfriend countless times, but he’d always just brush your sentiments away, often saying you were biased in your opinion. Those comments would hurt sometimes, but you knew it was best just to leave Freddie alone, especially after loses like this one. His teammates were also slowly learning to follow your lead and needless to say, it was going be a long, silent plane ride home for the Leafs.

Staring out the large bay window, small white snowflakes began to make their way down from the dark, cloud covered sky. You could see the New Years festivities the city of Toronto was putting on due to the loud crowds in the streets below. It made your heart whimper slightly, as you had hoped to one day be able to participate in those activities with Freddie as well. It was weird not being able to ring in the New Year with him.

You were pulled from your thoughts once you began to hear the girls all around you chatting happily to one another. But rather than join in, you couldn’t shake your feelings of concern for your boyfriend. You knew Freddie took losses like this very seriously, and you couldn’t help but think he’d been beyond angry.

The blonde sat next to you however, knew exactly what you were thinking. Alannah had been one of the few Lady Leafs you’d learned to confide in. You both often vented your grievances about being in a relationship with a professional athlete to one another, and had become quite close over the last year.

“Maybe text him Y/N?”

Pursing your lips, you then nodded, realizing you’d feel better if you at least tried to communicate with your boyfriend. Pulling out your phone, you sent Freddie a simple text, one that he’d hopefully see before they boarded.

Stay positive Freddie, I love you.

Your phone quickly buzzed afterwards, as Freddie was obviously looking through his phone.

I love you too, see you soon princess.

Your lips curved upwards slightly from his message. Alannah sent you a knowing look before she elbowed you playfully.

“Well, who wants some champagne?!"’

Looking up, you and Alannah both laughed once Sydney enthusiastically popped open the first of many champagne bottles for the night, causing everyone in the room to cheer.

A few hours later, and after you’d watched the ball drop in New York and had celebrated the beginning of the New Year, you made sure to say your goodbyes to everyone before you made your way back to Freddie’s apartment, as you’d both previously agreed you’d be staying the night to spend New Year’s Day together.

Making sure to leave the front foyer’s lights on for Freddie’s incoming arrival once you walked in, you took your boots off and hung your coat before you padded your way down to his bedroom.

Pulling out a nightie you’d kept stashed away in Freddie’s dresser’s top drawer, you quickly got changed before heading into his large bathroom. Washing off the nights makeup and making sure to brush your teeth for twice as long as normal, you finally tied your long hair back up into a messy bun before you headed back into the large master bedroom

.Slipping underneath the warm duvet, you snuggled into the large king size mattress. You turned on Freddie’s mounted flat screen television that faced you from across the room and turned it to the local twenty-four hour news channel. After turning the volume down to its lowest possible setting before it was muted, you kept your eye on the constantly moving clock in the top right corner of the screen before you slowly began to fall asleep.

In what felt like your dream, you swore to yourself that you could hear Freddie walking around the apartment. The sound of the front door slamming shut, the noise of him padding down the hardwood floor, and you even thought you felt him enter the bedroom, with the feeling of his lips leaving a lasting sensation on your forehead.

The sound of the shower suddenly running from the next room over then finally snapped your eyes open. Looking up, you realized it was now quarter past three. Since the guys had left Vegas close to nine, it made sense that Freddie would be home now.

Noticing Freddie’s duffle bag now on his dresser, and his suit jacket hanging off the far chair, your vision followed the strewn away clothing of his white dress shirt and dark dress pants on the hardwood floor leading towards the closed bathroom door.

Pursing your lips in thought, the idea of joining the Danish goaltender suddenly popped into your head. You honestly felt like you needed a quick rinse, as you could smell the lingering scent of alcohol on you, and you felt that the warm spray could heat up your cold bones. You also figured joining Freddie would lighten his spirit. After all, it had been over a week since you last saw one another.

Deciding to go through with your quickly hatched plan, you stumbled out of bed and made you way towards the steamy bathroom. Quietly opening the door, you immediately spotted your broad boyfriend, his back turned to you while the water sprayed his nude form. His pale skin contrasted brightly from the dark charcoal marble that decorated the elaborate glass-enclosed shower.

Closing the door silently, you leaned up against the wooden door while you watched Freddie scrub his hair, his back muscles contorting with every move. The steam had enveloped the room, leaving a misty haze and a warm presence. Biting your lip, your body suddenly ached with need. You had missed Freddie, in more ways than one, and you couldn’t wait to get your hands on him.

While keeping a close eye on your boyfriend, you carefully made your way towards the shower, while allowing your thin nightie to slip away from your figure. Taking a quick breath, you slowly opened the glass door, the heat hitting you immediately. Hearing the door open, Freddie turned slightly, his eyebrow raised, until his lips curved upwards upon seeing you.

"Hi,” you mumbled, as you wrapped your arms around his middle, and you pressed your body up against your boyfriends back.

Freddie immediately melted into you, as he turned around fully to engulf you in his arms. You smiled as you felt him press his lips against the top of your head.

“Did I wake you?” He then asked, a hint of concern evident in his voice.

You shook your head, “I just missed you,”

He hummed in response. Looking up into his brown eyes, you quickly popped up onto your tippy toes before you latched your lips onto his.

Pulling away gently, Freddie moved a side to let you enjoy some of the warm spray, effectively wetting your hair and warming your body up

.“Wash me?” You then suddenly asked, as you held up the bottle of your shampoo. Freddie smiled lazily, before he took the bottle from you and coaxed you into turning around for him.

He’d never fully admit it, but your boyfriend truly enjoyed washing your hair and cleaning you up. He enjoyed the feeling of taking care of you and also would never complain about having you naked and getting to scrub you down with his own hands.

Feeling Freddie begin to gently massage your scalp put you at ease. You knew he was probably still sour from his recent loss, but you hoped this was at least soothing him. Turning around and staring at Freddie while the shower spray washed away the remnants of your shampoo, you decided to ask him about his flight.

“How was the plane ride home?”

He shrugged before reaching out to help scrub out the fizzy bubbles from your damp hair. “Most of the guys just slept or kept to themselves,”

“Did you?” You then asked. Freddie nodded, “just listened to music, couldn’t sleep,”

Turning you back around, Freddie then applied your conditioner, and took his time while he combed his fingers through your hair, making sure not to leave any knots behind. You jumped slightly when Freddie peppered a few kisses onto your shoulder blade, causing your much taller boyfriend to smirk to himself.

"I just kept thinking about coming home to you,”

Feeling your cheeks heat up slightly, you bit your lip while Freddie continued to knead through your hair. Finally happy with his work, the Dane then spun you back around, staring deep into your eyes while the water rinsed you off.

“Happy New Year Freddie,” you then said, mentioning the fact that it was now technically 2018.

He smirked, before leaning down towards you, “Happy New Year Y/N,”

Hopping up, you pressed your lips against his and Freddie immediately circled your wet, naked frame into his arms. Kissing him slowly at first, you took your time as your hands began to wander the Dane’s toned body. You could feel how tense Freddie was, his muscles no doubt still tight from his game. Freddie’s hands then gripped your hips tight, as he tried to intensify the kiss, but you refused, trying to tease your boyfriend. Smirking as you felt him get frustrated with your antics, you giggled when he pulled away slightly.

Giving you a look, Freddie then growled low before you heard him mutter, “okay, enough of this,”

You were then caught off guard when Freddie suddenly bit your bottom lip and pushed you up against the cold marble wall. As you gasped, he took the opportunity to deepen your kiss, his hot tongue meeting yours. Quickly responding, you did your best to follow his pace, and you smirked inwardly once you felt something hard press against your lower stomach.

“Y/N,” Freddie moaned as he pulled away, his eyes staring into yours when you suddenly gripped his hard length.

Pumping your hand slowly, you could feel Freddie’s body begin to convulse in pleasure. Using your thumb, you stroked the top of his shaft, easily wiping away the pre-cum that had already formed, and using your other hand to begin massaging his balls. Hearing him grunt and moan out of pure ecstasy was turning you on beyond belief, and you quickly tightened your thighs up against one another to try and soothe your aching core. Taking a quick peak back upwards, you noticed Freddie had closed his eyes and was biting his lip.

Taking this as the perfect opportunity, you fell to your knees and took him into your mouth. Bobbing your head, Freddie groaned out once again as you continuously pumped up and down his shaft with your hands, and you sucked on his swelling tip. Freddie’s hands then found your damp hair, and he tightened his grip, trying to lead you and urge you on. Placing your one hand back down to his balls, you began to once again play with his most sensitive area, and then used your tongue to swirl around Freddie’s length, making sure to lick the juices clean from his tip.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, his brown eyes looking skyward, while you continued to pleasure him.

Moaning out as your boyfriend began to thrust upwards, you placed both your hands down onto Freddie’s large thighs, and opened your mouth as wide as you could while he began to shove himself as deep into your mouth as possible. Freddie loved to face fuck you, and you’d become accustomed to his long, thick cock. Trying your best not to gag, Freddie quickly began to thrust in and out of your mouth, with his hands tightening more and more within your hair. You hoped this would alleviate some of his lingering stress and pent up anger from his game. Sounds of pleasure and explicit words fell from Freddie’s lips as your hot mouth continued to edge him on.

“Baby I’m close,” he rasped out, letting you know his end was near. Hearing this, you purposely placed your tongue upwards, so that Freddie would feel it’s pressure each time he’d thrust back into your mouth. Feeling this, Freddie groaned out again, and quickened his pace one last time. Making sure to look up at him, your Y/E/C coloured eyes met his and helped to finally send him over the edge.

As Freddie moaned out, your mouth was suddenly filled with a sticky, salt-tasting substance. Waiting until he was finished, you continuously licked up and down his cock, making sure to get every last drop of your boyfriends cum.

Hearing Freddie breathing in and out raggedly, you pulled away from his length before standing back up. You were caught off guard once again when Freddie pinned you up against the black-marbled wall and pressed his lips up against you hard. You gasped in surprise when you felt two of Freddie’s fingers swiftly enter you. Looking up at him in shock, Freddie just smirked, “oh we’re far from finished princess, you know I was always take care of my girl,”

Taking a deep breath, you shuddered as your boyfriend trailed his fingers up and down your slick slit, before once again entering your core with his two fingers. “You’re soaked for me baby,” he proudly stated, as he began to pump in and out of you, causing you to mew out.

“What do you want princess? Do you want me to take you right here, or do I take you back to fuck you on my bed?” He asked, while not only pleasuring you, but using his other hand to begin pumping his cock again, getting ready for you.

You opened your mouth to answer, put the feeling of Freddie’s skilled fingers pleasuring you caused you to cry out instead, as his ministrations quickened within you. “Freddie,” you moaned out.

“You have to tell me what you want baby girl,” Freddie replied, his cock quickly hardening from the sight and sounds coming from you.

“Fuck me Freddie, please,” you were then finally able to get out, as your body shook with pleasure from getting fingered.

“That’s my girl,” he then uttered before he bent down to kiss you deeply, his tongue swiftly entering your mouth.Rather than turn you around and bend you over like normal, you were surprised when Freddie pulled his hand away from you and instead gripped your hips tightly, effectively lifting you up.

Kicking the shower door open, Freddie took you to the large bathroom vanity and placed you down onto the counter. Pressing his lips against yours once more, Freddie lifted your left leg into the air and placed your calf down onto his broad shoulder. Using his finger to slide down your slit, Freddie then guided his hard cock into your entrance, causing the both of you to moan out in sync.

As he began thrusting, Freddie placed his skilled fingers down onto your clit, causing you to cry out. Your breathing became heavy as Freddie fucked you hard, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his body enveloped yours. Leaning down, Freddie encircled your right nipple with his lips, sucking hard and nibbling gently onto your sensitive bud while he continued to thrust into you.

“Fuck Freddie, fuck,” you cried out, as you body once again began to shake in pleasure. God you’d missed him.

He groaned out himself as you placed your hands into his red-coloured hair and tugged and pulled, urging him on. You knew he wouldn’t last as long as normal, but that didn’t matter. Freddie would have you undone in moments.

“Oh my god,” you cried out, your hands trailing down to scratch your boyfriends shoulder blades as he continued to thrust into you, fucking you as hard as he could. You could feel the bubble within you growing, knowing how close you were.

“Baby I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, causing Freddie to pull away from your breast and instead lean up to press his lips against yours. Kissing you passionately as he administered his final thrusts, you pulled away to cry out as you finally came, the waves of pleasure hitting your body as you felt Freddie twitch within you, with his warm, thick cum filling you.

Taking a deep breath, you lulled your head back, while Freddie’s forehead landed on your shoulder, the both of you now exhausted. Letting your leg fall, Freddie then reached over to grab a face cloth that had been sitting on the bathroom counter and kindly cleaned you up. After wiping himself down as well, Freddie kissed you gently before lifting you back up and walking you out and towards his bedroom.

Taking you to the far side of the bed, Freddie placed you down onto the plush mattress delicately, and reached across to pull his sheets and duvet up and over your tired body. Leaning back down to kiss your forehead, Freddie then made his way around to his side of the mattress, before following suit.

Pulling you tightly into him, Freddie held you close and placed his chin down onto the top of your head while he soothingly stroked your back. You curled into your boyfriend’s embrace and snuggled yourself into his hard chest, feeling the warmth from his body surround you. You were finally content. You had your boyfriend laying next to you, and you knew he was okay. You’d also been able to have some extra fun, which was always a bonus, and you felt as close to Freddie as ever. It was the perfect way to start the new year off right.

But as you laid in bed with Freddie, his warmth and your previous activity was finally starting to catch up to you. Your eyes began to flutter as your exhaustion was finally settling in. Sensing this, Freddie pulled you in closer, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of this day in bed beside the woman he loved.

“I love you Y/N,” Freddie whispered to you, as he kissed the top of your head once more. “Happy New Year,”

“Happy New Year Freddie,” you mumbled out as sleep finally overtook you.

#hockey imagines #nhl imagines #my writing #frederik andersen #frederik andersen imagine #leafs imagines #freddie andersen #freddie andersen imagine #nhl smut #hockey smut

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