#my precious ocean lads

[miss-ali-lawliet]

If I had a nickel for every time I fall in love with a character obsessed with the ocean and have a timid personality at times yet be so much more than that, I'd have two nickels. Which is a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice, right?

[john-get-the-salt]

Third Times A Charm (w/tyrion lannister)

Imagine: Two times Tyrion realized he was falling in love with you, and then the third time when he finally did something about it.

Contains: cute Tyrion moments, use of she/her pronouns, fem!reader, Bronn totally shipping his two besties, brief mentions of rated R activities but no actual acts, some lyrics from High Enough by K.Flay because i think they fit the way Tyrion would love so well

Warnings: none

Tyrion wasn't sure exactly when he began falling in love with you. There were plenty of instances that he longed for you, but he couldn't be sure when that feeling began.

Could it have begun that night you drank too much ale and accidentally shared some of your deepest secrets?

-

Tyrion and Bronn were hiding away from the world and drinking together, as they did any other night, when a knock at the door to Tyrion's chambers interrupted them.

"Yeeeees?" Tyrion called out. The door to his chambers creaked open and a familiar face popped in.

"I was walking past and couldn't help but overhear the two of you. Are you having fun without me?"

The men grinned at you.

As the daughter of a distant lord you'd been sent on your families behalf to King's Landing a few weeks ago to mend your people's relationship with the iron throne and according to your father, find a wealthy husband. Despite Tyrion's reputation you'd inexplicably befriended the man and his guard. Before long they were the few people in King's Landing that you trusted fully and vice versa.

"My lady!" Tyrion cheered.

You closed the door and plopped down at the table across from the two.

"Come on you two, share the goods."

They obeyed, opening a bottle and pouring out another glass of precious liquid. You took a hearty gulp, sighing as the liquid warmed your belly. "That's better. I'll tell you this, politics would be much more fun if everyone drank beforehand."

Bronn laughed. "That's what I've always said. Lads would start less wars if they had an ale in hand."

"And perhaps they would perform better....both on the battlefield and off!"

Tyrion shook his head fondly as he watched you and his guard giggle. He was so used to Bronn being a stubborn headed mule, but he treated you like a younger sister and you brought out the child in him.

Bronn wiped tears out of his eyes at his laughter died down. "And that's my cue, lass. Once I start laughing at your ridiculous jokes I know I've had too much to drink."

"Aw, but I've just started!"

"And I'm sure Tyrion would love nothin more than to continue drinking with you, my lady." He winked at the Lord, who was by then glaring at his guard. "But I take my leave." And with a nod goodbye Bronn was gone.

And then there were two. Lord Tyrion and yourself fell into easy conversation, swapping tales and laughing at each other's past misfortunes. He told you about the time he woke up hungover in a barn alongside goats and you told him of the time you accidentally started a fire after attempting to learn how to cook.

The night drew on, alcohol sipped and chugged down, and you two grew more and more inebriated. By time the alcohol was gone it was the middle of the night, and you were both lying on your backs on the floor rambling on about everything and nothing.

"Tyrion?" You asked at one point.

"My lady?”

"What would your dream life look like?"

"Do you not dream enough?"

You knocked his shoulder with yours, unable to withhold a giggle. "That's not what I mean, you buffoon. I mean if you could live anywhere, do whatever you wanted, what would you do?"

"That is a terribly deep question for a couple of intoxicated fools. What would you do?"

A sigh left your lips as your giggly mood slipped away. "I would live in the mountains, near the ocean. I'd tend to my garden and write and learn how to wield a bow and arrow. I'd set traps in the water and feast on seafood and fresh bread every night. And I'd have a husband who loved me even when I didn't love myself."

"Any children?"

You scrunched your nose. "No children. I mean, maybe one day, if my husband wanted. But I think I could be quite content with my world."

Tyrion was quiet as he thought about the question.

"I'd live somewhere far, far, away from Kings Landing. Far away from everybody, really. No neighbors. I would read every book I could get my hands on, sitting in a window where the sunlight hit just right. Not too far from the sea, so I could go feel the ocean breeze when I desired. And I would have my own apple trees, so I could make my own cider.

"That sounds nice," you murmured, eyelids beginning to droop. "I think I'll just sleep on your floor tonight, Ty. I'm much too tired to return to my own chambers."

"Here," he reached out a hand, pulling the blankets from of his bed and onto the floor. "We can at least stay warm."

Humming in thanks, you allowed yourself to be swathed in the warm furs. You curled closer to your friend, who always seemed to be radiating heat.

"Maybe in our dream lives we could neighbors." You whispered into the air as you began to fall asleep.

Tyrion smiled softly as he too began to succumb to the warmth inviting him to rest.

"Indeed."

•

If that hadn't been the time he began falling, was it when you saw right through the facade that fooled everyone else?

•

Tyrion sat amongst the lords and ladies, nursing a goblet of wine. The only reason he was allowed at these events was his family connections. No one discussed battle strategy, no one asked him to dance, and no one would even dare to attempt small talk.

And the prince was fine with that. That was what he always said, wasn't it? When faced with his harsh reality he would grin and snark and insist that he wouldn't be able to stand it even if someone tried. His sharp mouth protected his soft heart. And no one knew.

Tyrion caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, turning to see the only person stupid enough to approach him at a time like this. You.

"You foolish woman," Tyrion muttered as you settled at his side, your own cup in hand.

"I'm not going to deny it, but what have I done now?" Your voice came out smooth, the accent of silk brought out by the alcohol you'd no doubt been consuming.

"Your father told you to find a husband, and here you are during your best chance of that sitting with the pitiful dwarf."

He wasn't wrong. If you had any desire to find an advantageous match this was the time, as the King hosted lords from all across the continent. However, you had no such desire.

"I don't appreciate your lamenting tone. You know I care not for my father's wishes, I would much rather sit with my friend. These people are cruel to you, and thus I do not care for any of them.

"You know I care not what these people think of me, my lady. It no longer bothers me."

Yet even as Tyrion said that he could feel eyes on the two of you as you conversed, sharp as daggers.

"The world is a curse, Tyrion. It'll kill if you let it."

Tyrion turned to look at you. Your kept your gaze forward, eyes drinking in everything you could.

"Don't let it kill you."

•

Were either of those times the start? Tyrion couldn't be sure. But what he could be sure of, was the moment that he knew he needed to do something about it.

•

Of all your family, it was your younger sister who insisted you come home for an extended visit. She knew you planned to be at King's Landing for a long while but she missed you. More than that your father had allegedly began harping on her to find a husband the moment you left, and you couldn't stomach that. She was too young to worry of such things.

You obliged, after getting King Joffrey's blessing. You could not stand that petulant child, but all you had to do was bat your eyes and he usually allowed you to do as you wished. It helped that you tended to stay out of his way.

So for a few weeks you reunited with your family and homeland. Father was upset you hadn't managed to find a 'high ranking husband' but you were happy enough that he didn't press the issue. You told of the immature new king, dishing all the gossip of King's Landing. Your younger sisters, who'd never let the comforts of home, absorbed it all with childish wonder.

It was a comforting trip, but you found yourself missing King's Landing and a select few of it's inhabitants. You were quite relieved when it was time again to return. 

The throne room was full, in the middle of a day court, when the thick heavy doors swung open. A front guardsman apologized for the interruption before announcing your official return. You stepped into the room with your spine straight as a pin and head held high, accompanied by your guards.

The corset you wore tightly gave the illusion of a perfect hourglass and did wonders for your bust, no doubt noticed by the King as he gave you a disgusting grin. You knew everyone's eyes were on you. Your father raised you to know that if you presented yourself as if you belonged, others wouldn't question it. It was how you moved unnoticed, how you infiltrated royalty when in reality you had no business in it. It was how you survived.

However this time there was an added, unexpected reaction. Unlike the first time you arrived in King's Landing, Tyrion was now witness to your official entry.

The moment you stepped through the doors his eyes were glued to your form. The lord wasn't used to seeing you this way. He was used to pants and tunics while practicing swordsmanship, riding boots while flying around on horses, tight buns and loose jackets as you chased after Bronn.

He already thought you beautiful, even when wearing tough leather and shaking dust from your hair. But wrapped in silks and diamonds you looked dangerously divine, like the gods themselves had blessed you.

You fit right in, Tyrion thought as you approached the King. You could easily be a member of royalty, a high lady, a queen. And when your eyes glided over to meet his, the way you shifted, the Prince had to raise his fist and bite into it for fear he would say something crass.

You stopped in front of the Iron Throne, bowing your head. "My grace, I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to return to your castle."

The child grinned, staring unashamedly at your body. "Of course, a creature as gorgeous as you is welcome to come and go as much as she pleases. Have a good time with daddy, did you?"

You nodded, keeping your face neutral. "Yes your grace. My father sends his love and support for your rule on the iron throne."

Joffrey preened. "Good. You may be dismissed."

"Thank you your grace." You bowed your head once more, and as you turned to leave you paused to face Tyrion. His gaze was still glued to you.

"My lord," you said softly, bowing deeply before rising and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Murmurs broke throughout the room, the people shocked that anyone dare acknowledge the dwarf in the presence of the king, but before anyone object you picked up your skirts and glided out of the throne room. As the doors closed and you made your way to your old chambers you could hear nothing but the beating of your own heart. Tyrion had been staring at you with such fervor, such awe....it made your skin prickle.

You reached your chambers and with shaky hands let yourself in. However when you attempted to close the door behind you it stuck, and someone forced their way in before slamming it behind them.

You teetered on your heels, falling back onto your bed with an oof. Eyes wide and blinking in surprise, you stared at Lord Tyrion as he now stood in your chambers. It was utterly silent as he walked over to the bed where you sat still as a statue. He stopped just in front of you, only a breaths width away.

"You bow to me, in front of the king and his people, in that dress and then expect to vanish." He paused for long enough to take a shuddering breath. "Had I no self control I would have taken you right there the moment you rose," he finally whispered.

Your lips parted, eyes measuring his expression before meeting his gaze.

"And how’s your self control now....my lord?"

•

Tyrion chuckled to himself at the memory. That was a long night, and the official beginning of this angelic new life.

"Humoring yourself, my love?"

Speaking of angels...the lord turned to watch as you approached him. For his entire life before you, he was fighting. Fighting for his place in the world, fighting to be inspired. For what was life without inspiration, without reason, without drive? He used to like liquor to get him inspired, but you were his new supplier.

Tyrion held out his hand and you wordlessly took it as you joined him in overlooking the gardens. 

"Just reminiscing on the times we're shared, my dear. I was trying to decide when exactly I began falling in love with you, but for the life of me I can not seem to narrow it down."

You smiled sweetly. "I know the exact moment I began falling in love with you."

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue. 

Instead you shook your head. "That's for me to cherish, and for you to ponder."

The lord tsked. "I'll get you to tell me, mark my words."

You cheeks warmed as you gazed at him. "I'm sure you will....eventually."

Tyrion chuckled before he raised your hand in his, kissing your knuckles softly.

"I'm in no rush, my dear. After all-we have forever."

[somethingsomethingdrawing]

omg lore drop

Ssooo

Bout abunch if centuries ago, before Captain Jasper Cookie became a captain he was just a wee lad following around his father. Course he mostly swabbed the deck n' hosted the sail (Though he was quite frail at the time so it was quite difficult and someone else had to help him). Throughout the time being out at sea he's met quite a few cookies ofcourse, he eventually meets this odd octopus (Cough Cough LARIMAR COUGH) who offered to give him a prize "This little thing will be worth your while young sailor! All you gotta do is win my simple game!" Course it was a riddle game, though not too smart, Jasper Cookie managed to guess the right answer! "Well well well, looks like someone's finally won my game for once, that's a first.. Oh well! As promised, ya get your prize, now scram and enjoy the rest of your life" She said as she handed him the locket before slithering back to the black of the ocean. Course, Jasper wears the locket thinking nothing of it.

He returns to Abalone's ship and does his regular duty of swabbing the deck. And insert the mermaid's tale event happening, Abalone's ship is now SINKING thanks to black pearl (as she should) Jasper is still on the ship, hanging on whatever he can to not get soggy. Abalone is yelling for his son to help him (cuz why not) Of course it's his dad, Jasper wants to help him but something pulls him back, telling him to climb to the highest point of the sinking ship, he listens to whatever is filling his head and leaves his father to die. He gets to the highest point the ship of the ship and jumps, getting away from Black Pearl's raging vortex that swallows the ship (I can't remember if it was a vortex or not). Jasper swims away, looking back at the wails from the sinking ship. He feels guilty for leaving his father to die, but he kept swimming to shore.

After reaching shore, he plops onto the sand and processes the near death experience he went through. And after a long hard thought, he decided from that day forth he'd go on more dangerous adventures and eventually became a captain. During the adventures he found many a treasures, met new cookies and gained their trust, who which became part of his crew. Ofcourse over time he went on a CERTAIN journey with his crew, visiting the duskloom sea. Foolish sailors! People thought, watching as his ship and crew went sailing towards that deadly ocean. Eventually days go by, no sight of their return. Days turn into weeks, still no sign of ship. Weeks turn into months, months into a year. After twenty years of that ship going missing into the duskloom sea, everyone thought that the ship had sank and everyone abroad became soggy and succumb to their fate.

But- What in the world!? What's that blinding light coming from the darkness of that deadly sea!? Why it's a sturdy ship shining bright with crystallized armor! Shining so bright almost as if it were the sun itself! Once the ship made it back to the docks, Captain Jasper Cookie hopped off and gave a hearty hello to the curious cookies who nearly surrounded the entire ship! They were amazed how Jasper hadn't aged a single bit since he left! Course, they also wondered where has he been for the past two decades? How did he survive? Why such a blinding ship? And where was his crew!? Before any of those were answered, he simple dropped a large chest full of precious treasures! Golds, jewelry, emeralds, you name it! Everyone simply became too distracted by the treasures and thanking him they forgot they're questions!

Course, even hundreds years later no one knows the answers except for him! Some rumors spread about, some saying he never went to the duskloom sea in the first place! Some say he abandoned his crew! Even some think he's a ghost due to the ships very pale colors! And the eerie shine it has at night.. Spooky! Though he found himself with a whole new crew! Some of which sharing the eerie shine with the ship! People thought this whole new crew were all ghosts of his previous crew! Such a silly rumor. There was a rumor of a shining cookie helping the sailors escape. What nonsense! A mere cooking saving a whole boat from the wraith of black pearl cookie? Now that's just silly! Some speculate it was the Shining Knight who's rarely ever seen, yet there's hardly any proof of their existence! Only a single carving on some stone of a shimmering light floating between the sea and sky!

Besides that  w e e  ramble

That silly locket Jasper carries with him everywhere seems to be getting eyed at more frequently.. Many of greedy cookies have tried to offer him many things for that locket. But he's declined every offer ever given to him. Quite a few cookies tried to threaten him to give it up, but he simply laughs at their faces and walks off! They've tried to snatch the locket, only to be met with a face plant into the wall or floor! He only laughs at their pathetic attempts to steal the locket and goes on with his day! After a day of threats and fights, he goes back to his ship and sails out with his glimmering crew. No one knows where he goes next, nor when he leaves. He and his crew are quite the mystery! Yet Jasper never aging always baffles cookies! Leaving them to ponder how he does it!

I am NOT good at writing stuff shdkd

I'm still drawing bros crew cuz I decided to make em look COMPLICATED cries

YA GET A P E E K at two of em u3u ✨

[peppermint-moss]

Who/what is your biggest inspo for poetry or art?

aagh i dont think i'll ever have one biggest inspo for poetry n art i just have a lot of lads which i like specific things about + those likes are still always ongoing and changing lol (which btw ty for askin bout poetry cause i LOVE it n i never get asked abt poetry hehe)

I have a big ol google doc where i have lines of fav poetry i write down when i come across them (usually when im just scrollin the internets) and atm I've been noticing that a lot of lines i keep enjoying are all by Mary Oliver even tho i've yet to read her collection of poetry!!! so that's on my to-do list C: other poets who's names keep poppin up in that google doc are ocean vuong, richard siken, chen chen and uhh flatsound? they do more music but they've done some spoken word stuff and their songs just feel close enough to the realm of poetry to me u know

Art stuff... lol which medium?? /lh I really like thomas jordan's photography (the COLOURS my DUDE) mmm shelia berger's kinetic sculptures and KICKASS "Bird Show" encaustic paintings (i watched the rlly short like 5 min documentary on her and i was enraptured) Spencer finch has got a lot of cool conceptual art stuff like i think CIE 529 418 (CANDLELIGHT) is rlly cool!! Holly warb and @/vchienart both got some lovely lovely illustrations/paintings with soft beautiful colours... @/emilienunez has some really pretty and elegant yet v cute ceramics!! and @/soonthemoon some really like cute warm n cozy ones... Oof there's so many digital artists i love ;-; and i keep finding new cool lads aghh @catnippackets has such a good grasp on like form n shape if that makes sense?? like drawin people in these rlly fluid poses in like silky lineart aaa i found @milkdudz 's art recently and i LOVE their art style and their cats are just. perfect balance of spiky and soft n very very Cat which is so good @everydaylouie u gotta know louie right ?? how can someone make such lovely 2d and 3d art and music and also know how to code n make lil games. that is too much power for one soul to possess nifty-senpai's art n animations and designs ofc!! are incredible!! and i REALLY love their concepts for what the wc clan territories look like (this moonpool are you kidding me???? gorgeous) @thunderc1an's lineless art style my beloved...... yall clammorin about my lineless art style u GOTTA check out theirs so good (also the everchanging never the same designs for wc characters is so good so freeing so interesting to look at!!) SmallButera's animations omg... literally speechless (also have u seen their series baman piderman?? its so precious it might be on indefinite hiatus im not too sure but its still my favourite thing) chadisms, Riley Ellis, Asha Phaedra and Cherrydusk also got some BANGIN animation skills and o my god this post got so long n theres still so many ppl ive gots to stop and do homework LOL

[ohlookanothercartoontofallinto]

Renegade Winds Part 1

Hi this is the first installment of my Vigilante Wind au, if you like to read it on Ao3 (Here). Also this must be stated! When imagining Linebeck please be imagining @smilesrobotlover literally kept looking back at her art while writing this. 

Anyways! Enjoy! 

The thunder cracked as the heavy winds caused the raindrops to pierce the skin like needles, as sirens busted his eardrums, yet he still ran. Breathing deep, gargled breaths while carrying the weight of three children. Two were attached to his neck for dear life, refusing to let go. The last cradled in his arms, gasping for air. 

His precious boy, his north star. How could he ever let that happen to him for so long? The man was an adult. He should have protected them better. He promised he would protect them now. 

A glimmer of hope shined in the distance. Headlights, they had made it. 

"Linebeck!" Jolene called, rushing to his side, trying to fight the rain. Followed by a group of four. 

"Makar!" A robust and sturdy man with green hair and a mustache rushed over with two shorter Kokiri by his side. 

"Papa! Fado! Saria!" The little forest boy cried, reaching for them. 

"Medli!" A Rito man took the young bird girl in his arms. 

"Uncle Quill!" She hugged him tightly. 

"Oh, may the goddesses bless you, Linebeck, for what you have done for us today!" Deku whispered, eyes filled with tears as he held his young son. 

"Don't thank me yet, lad, not until you've gotten away safely." Linebeck declared, making his way to a van. The other adults nodded, following his example, heading to different vehicles. 

"Wait!" Medli became distressed. "We're not staying together!" She frantically looked towards Makar and Wind. 

"Oh, little one…. it's safer for all of us if we part–" Quill tried to calm his niece down. 

"WILL I EVER GET TO SEE THEM AGAIN!" The rito girl attempted to escape from her loved one's grasp. 

"Will we…." Tears began to stream down Makar's face. Joined by the rainwater. 

"We'll figure out a way for you to see each other again, I promise!" Jolene spoke up. "It might be several years, but we'll work something out. However, it will never happen if we keep standing here like sitting ducks." Heading to the driver's side, forcing this show on the road. 

The children looked at one another, faces heartbroken more than one could possibly imagine. The adults hated doing this to them, but it was the safest opinion at the moment. 

Still, in a muggy state, Wind weakly lifted his arm out to his friends, his fellow prisoners, the ones sworn to protect. Linebeck obliged, bringing the boy closer to the other children. With the others joining. 

"I–I'm," Wind gasped for air. 

Medli grasped his hand gently. "Deep breaths, ocean boy…remember. Inhale, 1, 2, 3, Exhale, 4, 5, 6, Inhale, 1, 2, 3, Exhale, 4, 5, 6.” 

Makar placed his hand on top of the older two. Compassion filled his eyes as he watched his protector. Even at a young age, Makar knew Wind was the most damaged out of all three.

"Exhale, 4, 5, 6," The rito girl smiled shyly, now worried about what her friend would do without her. 

"I'm…okay." The Hylian boy said slowly. "I'm," tears began to fill his eyes. "I'm going to miss you…I–I love you both." 

Makar was the first to fall forward and wrap his arms around Wind's neck, followed by Medli. Forcing the parents to adjust their hold on them. 

"We love you, Ocean Boy," Medli whispered. Not wanting to let go. While Makar furiously rubbed his cheek against Winds. With one final squeeze, Medli and Makar slowly let go. 

"Take care of them," Linebeck demanded, taking a step back. 

Both families nodded before rushing to their cars. They all were going in different directions. Hopefully, that will be enough to shake the Yigus off. 

Linebeck quickly made his way to the van's side door. Slamming it open, and as gently as possible, placed Wind down on a stretcher mattress. He and Jolene had planned to have it for Wind. 

The man, not wanting to waste another second, looked over Wind. 

The boy looked awful. He was drenched from head to toe in rainwater and began shivering. This wouldn't do. He did not just bust his boy out of an experimental prison just for him to get sick. Linebeck carefully pulled the simple hospital gown off of Wind. It was the only thing the children were allowed to wear in that forsaken place. Launching the evil piece of cloth into the corner of the van. They burn it later. 

Then he wrapped his child in the warmest blankets before buckling him in. "You remember the plan, right?" He flashed his eyes over to Jolene. 

"Get the kid to safety, get him checked out by a medic, take him to the safe house, leave him with Gonzo, and come and pick you up at the spot." The women nodded, fully understanding. 

"Wait–pick you up?" Wind's head buzzed at the question. In a wrong way. "Y–you're not coming with us?" The young boy reached for Linebeck's arm, gripping it tight. "No–no, please come with us p–please." He couldn't do this without his dad. The air around him started to pick up. He was going to lose control. 

When hands cupped Wind's face, slowly massaging his temple, "shhhhhhh, it's going to be okay. They don't know it was me. If I go back now, I can get lost in the chaos, and they will never find out." 

The boy's body wanted to protest, but he was so exhausted, and Linebeck had figured out how to basically incapacitate his body. All he could do was cry and whimper, "nooooo." He sounded so far away. 

Linebeck smiled at the boy, carefully adjusting him one last time. When a bit of blue caught his eye. "Here," the man whispered, pulling a long navy blue trench coat over the boy. "It's my favorite coat. Take care of it for me until I get back, okay?" 

Wind could only twitch in response. 

"Once we're together again, I'll take you sailing, okay, lad? Just like we talked about, I'll be the captain, and you'll be my first mate. We'll be Sailors together." Linebeck stated, barely holding it together. He leaned forward and kissed the boy on the top of his head. "We'll be together again soon…I promise." With that, he closed the van door. 

Missing the one word that would have changed his mind. 

Wind lifted his fingers up, wanting to reach out for Linebeck. "D–dad…." 

Everything went dark. 

"WIND!" 

"AH!" The sailor jolted awake, sweating. Surrounded by pillows and blankets. 

"Good morning, ocean light! It's 3 p.m., time to fight the day!" The woman leaned against the doorframe. 

It took a second to register what was happening when he realized he flopped back down on his bed. "Joooooolllllleeennnneeee, PLEASE don't startle me awake like that!" 

"Ha, sorry about that sailor, but you know it brings me a bit of joy!" She laughed, waiting for the sailor to throw a pillow or insult back at her. He didn't, "oh…" she walked over to his bed and sat on the edge. The boy's eyes were watery. "Have that dream again…." 

Wind clutched a pillow and nodded. "It's been two years, Joe….what if he's really gone…." 

"Hey," Jolene fell back on top of his legs. "Don't talk like that, kiddo. Linebeck is still alive out there…somewhere. Trust me, he wouldn't die knowing you're out here waiting on him. We just have to keep looking." She smiled confidently. 

Wind stayed sad. 

"Listen, Wind, I promise you if Linebeck is really dead, I'll dive down to the underworld myself and drag him back. Man's not leaving me alone in this world without paying any child support. Come on now!" Jolene winked at the boy, watching as he tried to hold back a laugh, but he failed. "There we go." She lifted herself up. Throwing a shirt at the kid's face. "Now come on then, Gallow's is waiting for you to pick her up from her awful tower, and you need to actually put on clothes. Honestly, I do not understand you. You wear shorts in the winter and a hoodie in the summer with a scarf, but when you're sleeping, you like, 'hmmm yes, shirtless' what is that all about!" Jolene placed her hands on her hips. 

Wind, not even bothering to remove the shirt, answered. "Not everyone can understand my genius! Also, who's on duty tonight anyways?" 

Jolene chuckled, "Crimson Rider, Wild Card, and for once, actually Deity." 

"Oh! Heroes that actually like me! Wonderful!" Wind laughed, pulling the shirt off his face. 

"Yes, but be careful with Rider, you two share the skies, and he's extra protective of the princesses." Jolene smiled, making her way out. 

"Will do." 

[pitanesarecuteiguess]

I'm back on my Pitane introducing bs

sorta. Okay but all things considered there's like 16 Pikos and tbh I'm not expecting anyone to remember who tf everyone is so I might as well do that thing where I introduce them one at a time sorta. anyways 1-Waltz

I like how it took us this long to get to the pitane labeled *literally* "number 1" and he's the third one I really decided to talk about. [the refresher is I talked about 8-Etude/Piko and then 9-Prelude/Kuro who are electric cat and emo electric cat respectively] Ahem. mirror partner is #16 aka Ludwig but we're not going to talk about him for a while. Anyways onto waltz's origins sorta. He comes from a universe called Warallul which is a lil bit based on the victorian 'ish' period but with a few more technological inventions here and there because tanks exist. The more important part is the fact that all of the ocean is covered by a big sheet of never melting ice, there's a bunch of limb tearing riptides, and the ocean has magical fish people who call themselves something along the line of "wattera" and also the wattera people have their own culture and royal family. Which Waltz might've been part of (jk he totally was). I'm not going to go too in depth because mwahaha you'll have to ask about it if you want more c:< But onto current Waltz's personality: he's kind of a precious yet short ish man who perpetually asks *a lot of questions.* He's a little dense sometimes in asking *bad* questions, but he doesn't really mean much harm. Hobby wise he likes cotton candy and bridges and cute things, and he's the water elemental with anti-gravity water so he can make lil fishies float around and stuff!

like woook it's the lad c: Voice parameters are -10, -10, -10, -26 and he's a bit high and childish soundy while also being kinda pitch bendy if anyone has any idea what that means sjdfnKNDSFNsdf. ---- aha, what, do I have messages in my inbox? I'll get to that later on mwahaha, but that means you poor hypothetical suckers will deal with me rambling about 'le bois' a bit longer.

[the-littlest-kojin]

The Madbloom And The Turtle

Floating on her back in the water, Shio dozes lightly, dreaming of oceans near and far.

Jolting awake suddenly to a sudden weight on her chest and a roll of laughter, she blinks blearily before her vision clears, her lips breaking into a smile immediately afterwards.

Quietly, the Kojin murmurs; "Isnae lad-m."

Giggling, the pixie adjusts themself upon her chest, wings fluttering slightly. "[What a kind thing my sapling is! Always quick with flattering words]."

Using her tail to keep herself from rolling and dumping the Fae in the water, Shio watches Feo Ul, contentment on her face. "[I only speak the truth, beautiful branch. What brings you here today?]"

"[I was noticing that my foolish, silly mortal was feeling down in the doldrums, so I decided that I was going to fix that!]"

Laughing to herself, the Warrior of Light shakes her head. "[I suppose I have, at that. I'm about to get up, okay? Don't let yourself fall in the water, beautiful little thing.]"

Watching as the pixie flutters into the air, Shio slowly pulls herself out of the pond, holding out her hand for Feo Ul to sit upon as she slowly walks up the stairs. "[I'm going to get myself something to eat upstairs, and then we can go to wherever my immaculate king wishes to take me.]"

Moving about her small kitchenette, watching Feo Ul kick their feet back and forth as they sit on her hand like a bench, Shio seats herself on the floor, chewing on the piece of fruit as her pixie beloved takes wing again and flutters in front of her face.

Finishing off the small piece of citrus, Shio puts her hands down on the floor by her sides, and hums in happiness as the scarlet pixie floats closer, planting a kiss on her forehead.

~~~

Atop the brickwork, Shio leans against Titania, watching the sunlight play upon the water and plants below.

"Drom," murmurs Shio.

A large hand cards through her hair, accompanied by a tinkle of laughter. "[Precious, indeed. The Kingdom of Rainbows is precious, as are you, marvellous sapling.]"

Closing her eyes and shifting for comfort against Titania's body, Shio feels sleep start to claim her, and doesn't fight it. "[Now who is flattering, your Majesty?]"

Before Titania can respond, Shio starts to snore gently. A gentle smile on their face, the Faerie King gently strokes her back, content to let her rest.

~

Slowly stirring and returning to wakefulness, Shio starts to stammer an apology, only for Titania to gently cut her off with a finger on her lips.

Smiling, Shio silently gets on her knees, taking Titania's face in her hands and pressing a soft kiss to their forehead.

((Photographer today is the immaculately skilled @the-song-of-the-swan! Thank you very much for your help getting these concepts out!))

[daddywright]

I have only recently got into the ace attorney fandom, and this story was the first story I read, and I feel spoiled! I absolutely loved every chapter, so I'm gonna word vomit here and tell you everything I love about this!

"She offers him a smile. It’s small, tentative, but it possesses a strength that makes a hidden part of him twist and burn with quiet envy." the first time we see nick's wish to be as strong as mia!

Considering the fact that nick didn't have any prominent figure in his life, it makes sense that he would look up to gregory so much

"Phoenix looks up, and starts walking towards Mia Fey

He doesn't stop for two years."

THE RELATIONSHIP THAT MIA AND NICK HAD WAS PRECIOUS AND DESERVES MORE THAN WHAT THE FANDOM GIVES THEM

"Larry’s arms wrap around him, squeezing almost too tight" People forget that Larry and Phoenix were good friends too, and Larry would help his best friend

"Nobody believed him, nobody but Mia" Maya is what Phoenix is to Mia and I adore that

"He wishes, desperately, that he’d said it while she was still alive. I loved you. For everything you did." Not you absolutely breaking my fucking heart

Also the first AA game felt unnatural in the sense of how seemingly unaffected Phoenix seemed at Mia's murder so I'm really glad you wrote it this way

"Expensive. Thoughtful. Too much." SHUT UP NICK YOU DESERVE ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING

Also quick break to mention how I absolutely fucking love your writing style and i wish I was literally half as talented as you cuz the last time I read something that made me feel this multitude of emotions was ocean vuong. And I practically worship Ocean Vuong. So now I worship you too

"You're a stranger to me // When will I stop hoping?" I never really realised just how badly nick musta been hurt by good ol' bratworth before this fic, but now that I have read it, it would have hurt him so bad

"Is this why you never answered my letters? Because I was a reminder? Because it hurt too much?" Honestly what happened to miles and phoenix's friendship hurts so much because it should have never happened, and miles didn't deserve that.

"Maybe Miles Edgeworth is not the man he thought he’d be, either." yo when I tell you this hurt I mean this huRT

Fun fact! My birthday is on the same day as DL-6 anniversary. Gregory Edgeworth died on my birthday. I feel horrible now

"monster. You were nine years old and he's a monster. " No one has made me feel this much emotion for what happened to Miles in a single sentence other than you. I commend you for that

"I love you," he says quietly. He has never said those words to anyone, except for Dahlia Hawthorne.

Maya sniffs in his ear, crushing him tight. "I love you, too."

He has never heard them back.

PHOENIX HAS NEVER HEARD THE WORDS " I LOVE YOU" COME BACK TO HIM ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME WHY NOW I'M SAD

"Tell me everything. Every detail—" Miles is worried bout nick and why wouldn't he? gods you're so gay miles but tbf if I knew someone like nick irl i'd go ballistic too

"He determined the motive for his own assault...with amnesia. Naturally." My man's smart af and he is king

"Is that what she thinks of me? That I'm like that? That I don't care about who the bad guys really are?" Gumshoe noooo you're hella precious! Also this particular chapter was so well written! loved this soo much!

Also taking a minute to appreciate the pacing! Rarely do I ever come across an author who just hits that sweet spot of perfect pacing and you did! so thank you!

Alright so here are a few thoughts that I felt capcom needed to do which you did for us!

no. 1 - Address the trauma phoenix faced with not only dahlia but also with mia's death

no. 2 - Actually fucking flesh out a good relationship dynamic between larry and phoenix

no. 3 - actually! have! phoenix! be hurt! in bridge to turnabout! istg my man would not have dropped from a burning bridge to a freezing river only to have a cold

AUNT FRANZY AND PEARLS MAN!

THEY CUTE

ok so I have a LOT of feelings for bridge to turnabout and HOO BOY BUCKLE UP

So I always thought that in this fic, miles must have felt fucking awful! I mean he very clearly hates who he was and what that has led to but that must have been doubled over with this case! Phoenix would have died if not for mia and it would have been indirectly miles's fault. I think about that alot

Like he said that he very much regrets whatever he did as bratworth in the phone call with gumshoe but i don't think he anticipated this. poor edgeworth

Also I think this was the final nail in the coffin for miles. Phoenix forgave him, after all the fucked up shit miles did, and that made that man go "how is this guy so fucking compassionate awwwww shit I'm in fucking love with this idiotic brave man".

my main thoughts were "holy shit phoenix must have been feeling awful." like to learn that you were in love with a person who turned out to be a murderer but then not a murderer cuz everything you felt about that was real and just...... it must have hurt. He never fell in love with dahlia. it was iris, always. and WHAT ABOUT MILES DURING THIS!!! Like to learn that the man you love was falsely led to believe that he was in love with a person he rarely met and then learn that his ex who is not murderous might still be in love with him because "that was real. that part was real." like damn. people just gloss over this

also I feel terrible for iris F in the chat for iris lads.

Dahlia literally haunting that courtroom scene. I felt mia's power. I felt her desperation. I felt everything and I am once again in awe of the absolute power your writing holds.

also godsdamn pearls had to go through all that shit huh. also FRANMAYAAAAAA THANK YOUUUU

I too, am a hoe confused as to what I should feel towards diego.

Ok anyways we jump to disbarment now

"He just winks at her and says Maya has other talents, and if Mystic Maya overhears, she puffs up at him like the fish from the aquarium she saw once, the one with all the spikes and silly eyes."

you know what constantly amazes me? your ability to change tones so effortlessly. When writing from edgey's pov, the language is sophisticated. precise. when writing from pearly's pov your language is simplistic, child-like. from phoenix's pov it's natural. grounded

"She never knew anybody who made faces like him, growing up in Kurain, and it’s one of the things that makes him special." Yo phoenix is the most amazing uncle ever and we all know it ok he's brilliant

I'M RUNNING OUT OF CHARACTER LIMITS

PEARLY CALLING EDGEY AT FIRST SIGN OF TROUBLE I'M SOFFFFTTTT

“I think I did something really bad." trucy baby no it's not your fault

pearl and trucy bonding supremacy. my girls would fuck shit up

"She’d meant to do this properly, one day." Thank you for giving importance to maya's feelings. thank you for treating her like a real human being. thank you

“Everything that happened...for what? It’s only gotten people hurt. Pearly. Our mother.” Me. Me." I felt so bad for maya here. I wish I could tell you in precise words about how this exact framing of the sentence is what broke me. "me. me" maya deserved more, but mia did all she could

"What do scared kids need? ...Food." not you breaking my godsdamn heart again. phoenix just knows what's it like being a helpless child, and he'll be damned if he ever lets anyone face that again

“‘Course, Pearls,” he says reflexively, before frowning. “What for?” reflexively. if every man in the world could be like phoenix wright then the world would be worthy of the gods

"Another one?" give it 2 years edgey she'll be your daughter too

"after countless hours creating the man’s living space in his mind from the background snatches he’d seen in the man’s ridiculous video calls." NOT ONLY DO THEY VC FOR NO PARTICULAR REASON BUT ALSO MILES ACTUALLY SPENDS TIME TRYING TO RECREATE HIS ROOM?? BECAUSE HE WOULD ONE DAY LIKE TO BE IN IT??? good gods these bitches gay. good for them

"because just as day is light and night is dark, Phoenix Wright is an honorable man." damn straight. you love to see it (it being a 27+ year old man pining for another 27+ year old man)

also hey miles! how do you feel about the fact that the man you love changed his fucking major and degrees halfway through college just so he could see you again only for you to be incredibly rude to him and make him end up in jail! (i bully edgeworth cuz i love him)

"Wright finishes, shrugging like it’s nothing, like his commitment and belief isn’t the most extraordinary thing that Miles has ever faced." it's more than pining at this point. it's incredible faith and trust. Miles had someone who cared about him even after all those years despite him having changed so drastically, ofc he would be surprised. Miles loves phoenix and so do i.

also HOT DAMN YOU WRITING IS JUST * MWAH *

Also the whole segment where they kiss is just !!!!! miles wants! it's beautiful! THEY'RE IN LOVEEE

receiving poisonous bottles which your ex tried to kill you with. My man can't get a break huh

Miles being chivalrous and protective and absolutely stealing my godsdamn heart (and phoenix's too)!

Klavier being the absolute king that he is we stan

The hostage situation section? gods miles must have been terrified.

Phoenix not being able to promise pearly that he'd always come back home and miles hearing it and like... ouch. my heart. you didn't need to do that (but i love your for it)

GODS THE CLIMAX WITH KRISTOPH WAS SOOO SATISFYING AND LIKE MY MAN PHOENIX REALLY PUNCHED THAT BITCH HUH

klavier baby I am so sorry

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL!

and thus my comment ends. I believe I have almost used up all of my commenting limits and i leave with these few parting words : HOLY SHIT YOUR AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU!

also I made a playlist on spotify for this fic! here's the link : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3k8lRHiO8ZXQDLpiTUL7SN?si=fc3b35b4ab064867

gods this was long huh

GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY....WHERE DO I BEGIN...THE FACT THAT YOU BROKE THE CHARACTER LIMIT ON AO3 AND MADE A PLAYLIST? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?

thank you so much for all the amazing things you said....i am crying on a Wednesday morning knowing my writing was appreciated this much. thank you!

[yandere-wishes]

In The Streets Of London (Twisted Wonderland X Reader

Victorian Au)

Part one of a series, let me know in the comments who you think the killer is!

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Ghastly murder in the east end dreadful mutilation of a woman by the man known as the leather apron

"He killed another woman last night, father! How can you sit so idly by!"

The onyx skirt brushed up against the young girl's legs as she passed to and for across the room. Her leather gloves racked her (h/c) locks from her face, pulling them back in hopes that the thuggish feeling would simulate her frozen brain. "It a fifteen puzzle (1) even for Scotland yard!" she bellowed.  "Than what in the devil's name do you think you and I could do about it, darling!" Her father turned to her, his grey eyes caging annoyance and misery. His tone was right above irritated...her father was never a delight went he became irritated. Divus Crewel, known to most of England as the finest mind in chemistry and alchemy in the 19th century. His daughter (y/n) Crewel was allegedly following in her father's footsteps in hopes of one day becoming a female fetal in chemistry herself. Of course, that's what all of England thought, the truth of the matter was rather was quite different. (y/n) harbored no interest in becoming a chemist nor an alchemist, the young lady found her interest in a more macabre filed, the field of forensic medicine to be precise. Prying secrets from the dead had become her little habit and due to Lord Crewel's rather negligent parenting, the girl had begun to study her precious cadavers full time, taking classes three times a weak in Night Raven College's medical and criminal department. For her it was exhilarating! Having to dress as a boy and sneak her way around the dreary campus was just as exciting as tea parties at the queen's palace were for "regular ladies". 

"I bet he wore a Gigglemug (2) as he slashed their throats open!" (Y/n) the loud voice reverberated off the walls, it's heavy decibels hitting Divus right on his two-colored head. 

"Love of my life, sunshine to my trepidation, NO ONE CARES! God dame that stupid sociopath, he's making my life miserable by occupying your grisly mind!"

(Y/N) ignored her father's outburst, her short heels clicking across the wooden floor of her father's laboratory. Her brain tried to envisage the infamous East-End to no avail, all she could picture was filth littered grey streets with a woman's corpse lying in her own ichor. Even the killer was hard to presume, there was no bloody way in hell that that monster could be human! No living being could do such heinous deeds, it must have been the devil himself! No no, such thought where for the uneducated, the people with simple minds, no she...she was a lords daughter one who was enrolled -illegally mind you- at one of the most prestigious schools in all of London--NO England! If anyone could find his monster it was going to be HER!

"I wonder if he'll--" A loud tapping came from the closed wooden door on the far end of the underground chamber. "Oh thank the all mighty himself!" Divus professed, lifting his occupied arms to the invisible sky, spilling some magenta liquid onto the table. Carelessly tossing the beacons aside, Divus rushed to the door a chip little prep in his usually professional step. Swinging the door open with as much force as a child ripping Christmas gifts.

(Y/n) remained behind, slumping tiredly in her father's chair. Her untrained eyes scanned the chemicals boredly, wishing that the half-rat (3)  liquids would turn into tiny figurines, performing the event of the night of the crime. However, her bewildered thoughts where shortly heckled, by a pleasant young voice along with the ringing of her father's vexatious smoky voice. "Ah, Commander Ashengrotto and Chief Superintendent Shroud what do we own the pleasure of this unexpected visit." from the distance (y/n) heard some shuffling, abruptly jumping to her feet and straightening out her skirts. Her eyes followed the three men that trailed down the steps. Her father walking past to stand by her as Commander Ashengrotto and Chief Superintendent Shroud stood in front of her. Or in the case of Mr. Shroud, attempted to hide behind his superior officer. The grey-haired man, bowed politely, lightly taking hold of miss Crewel's hand in his leather-bound one and placing a fleet, feather-like kiss atop the back of her hand. Azul glared at Idia, the former's elbow digging sharply into the later’s side. Hesitantly Idia, folded into a clumsy half-bow before straightening back up, during the whole endeavor one could clearly hear the loud cracking over every bone in this spine. "Well..." Your father started, clearly annoyed at the murky silence. "out with it lads, what are you lot doing here?" Azul's ocean colored eyes stared as straight as an arrow into Divus's grey ones. "Professor Crewel, it may be best to send your lovely daughter out? I wouldn't want to taint her stunning innocence with this ghastly talk about gore and murder." His eyes spared a gaze at you, roaming over your figure with an amused glint. Before your father could answer you proclaimed loudly."I, my dear Ashengrotto, am not as innocent as you fancy me! I will choose to stay IF I SO DESIRE." From the side, you could practically feel your father roll his eyes. "Allow her to stay" Your father mumbled tiredly "The sudden shock of it all may knock some sense into this senseless girl." "As you wish" with that the detective became talking:

"We have reason to believe that...this Ripper or well "Leather Apron" as the news has begun to call him, is, in fact, one of the nobl--" (Y/n) gasped, her eyes widening with excitement. "REALLY! He could be living right in our neighborhood!!" A forceful smack hitting her head, it's vibrations sending waves of pain through her body. "Try and bot sound so excited darling daughter of mine. My apologies Commander, care to continue?" Azul coughed into his fist, clearly killing a laugh. "Yes, quite alright my lord. As I said we so believe the murder to be of noble heritage. As you may know, the Al-Asims are hosting a Nobleman's ball tomorrow evening I trust you have been invited." He paused in his speech looking from (y/n) to her father. Divus gave a court nod in the inspector's direction becoming him to continue. "Perfect! Well since you shall be in attendance I would greatly love for your daughter to ...how do I word this...Play bait?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT" Mr. Crewel screeched, "I shall not have my daughter mafficking (4) in the streets as a wannabe prostitute to help capture a deranged and rather vexing murderer!" Azul took a step backward, his back pressing smugly against Idia's chest. Even (y/n) sted half an inch away from her father. "Professor Crewel please relax, I simply mean that during the party (y/n) could slip out with an officer, who will be heavily armed. This may cause the ripper, who appears to have a warped sense of justice, to follow them. Once he decides to attack the officer will shoot at him and that will be the end of the Ripper's reign of terror over London." Divus rolled his eyes "marvelous plan detective...except what if the ripper chooses to not attack then? And go after my daughter once she is alone, asleep in her bed! Or outside shopping with some absent-minded servants? What then?" Azul lips knitted into a tight frown, his voice dying in this throat long before it reached his tongue. The professor did make a compelling point. 

"Than we will send heavily armed guards around both you and your daughter until the ripper is caught." A dead, monotone voice cracked. For the first time since walking into the house either of the residences had heard Idia speak. His voice was so brittle and fragile that (y/n) though it would visibly shatter if any of them dared to respond. Even her father seemed too nervous to speak...an odd this for such a powerful man. It was Azul, who decided to speak first, unlike before his voice was low and decile no longer laced with that regal elegance. "Yes...as my partner just...um just...mentioned. If our plan does -by some unearthly phenomena- fail we will have guards circling you and your daughter until the ripper is caught and brought to justice."

It took the longest while before your father agreed. Of course, he placed some very strict requirements before officially "sending you to your doom" as he worded it. As the two detectives left you could hear the Shroud boy mumbling a string of "do I also have to attend?"

and "can't you catch him yourself?" as he left the house. "Peculiar man ain't her, father?" Your eyes tuned to your only parent, "yes yes, quite bizarre." His gloved fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist dragging you along up the stairs. "We have much to do if we are to prepare you for the Al-Asim ball"

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There was an unspoken tension amongst presumably every guest in the ballroom. all that swayed and danced, flaunting their pricey dresses and custom made suits, harbored a form of dark secret within their souls...no one in England was innocent but tonight, just for tonight there was one man who's guilt outshined the rest, one man how's hands where permanently panted with the blood of three innocent women.

(Y/n)'s back was pressed against the cool tiles of a stark white pillar. Her eyes darted from person to person, trying to memorize as much as possible about all of them. "Shouldn't a young noblewoman such as yourself be out there dancing?" ripples of dread and annoyance bounced inside the spoiled girl, who dared to speak to her in such a manner? She turned furiously ready to shout at whoever had just talked, only to stop short when she came face to face with the tall bored-looking butler holding a tray of drink parallel to his head. His grey eyes seemed to hold a dreaded looking, eyeing her curiously. Was this the officer who was meant to take her outside? Figuring it best to play (y/n) puffed up her chest a bit and leaned in close. "Do you have the money?" she whispered. The butler's face remained stoic, he simply sighed and muttered something to himself. "Madam if I had any money I certainly wouldn't be wasting in on the likes of you." He plucked a sparkling drink from the tray and reached to pass it to the young women. "Feather more I would highly recommend having a more subtle way of distinguishing your clients if you aren't too careful rumors may spiral and that chap...what was his name Jack the apron? May come to get you in your sleep." (Y/n)'s eyes widen as she gripped the drink 'It was him!' she thought, he was the killer! Before the girl could phantom out a reply the butler was already well on his way. She had to find someone! To tell someone quickly! She turned frantically trying to find her father or one of the detectives. "Hey, girly..." A low voice echoed from the shadows under the stairs. That must be the detective (y/n) thought to herself, she lifted her skirts and quickly marched over to the darkness hiding the owner of the voice. 

Something grabbed (y/n)'s wrist, it was practically cutting off circulation. "W-who are you?" the girl struggled to form a coherent question. The man's face was mostly masked by the dimness but his emerald-like eyes shown like train's headlights. "Are you just like one of those three gals? The whores that died out on the street?" (Y/n) heartbeat began to quicken, she was wrong that butler wasn't the killer, this man was. When she looked at his eyes again they were molded into a sharp glare.  All of a sudden the man let go of her wrist "Doesn't matter.." he murmured "I got other things to take care of...." His deep voice kept fading like it too was getting swept up in the darkest parts of the ballroom. "Do me a favor if anyone asks where Kingscholar is, come up with some good lie to tell them. Just make sure you don't say anything about me going outside. Aright dame?" With that the darkness seemed to swallow him whole, even his footsteps couldn't be heard as he walked away, only the absence of his suffocating aura. 'He had to be the killer' she thought to herself as she stepped back into the light of the lively ballroom.

Tiredly (y/n) wondered to the dessert table,  her brain occupied, questions married questions, and gave birth to theories. Which one was it? The butler, lord Kingscholar? Neither may be, although that would just mean that you were only on edge rightfully, although you wished to keep your cool exterior. At the dessert table, every single surgery treat seemed to glisten. Their frosting's danced in the bright light of the thousands upon thousands of candles. (Y/n)'s mouth watered as she reached for a particular red tart in the corner of the desk. As she outstretched her hand it came to gently stroke up against another's hand. Her eyes darted upwards coming into contact with a smiling young man with clover colored hair. "My apologies my lady" He announced as he dipped into a bow. Automatically (y/n) gathered her skirts before curtsying herself. "Would you like the first piece" he offered, (y/n) nodded as the man cut a perfect slice and swiftly offered the plate to her before cutting one for himself. "I do adore cherry tarts" he spoke, "My family owns a bakery on the border of the upper west and east end. I personally stayed late last night just to finish this tart." (y/n) eyes began to shimmer as she placed the tart on the table. "So you must have heard the girl who was killed there!" she proclaimed. The man's eyes went wide, nervous beads of sweat dripped down his scalp. "Why miss, I don't know what your...implying." His once upbeat voice dropped an octave, his bright eyes seemed to get darker. For a second (y/n) contemplated what to do, was he acting so bizarrely because he had witnessed the murder? Or had he committed the murder? Before the young lady could ask him anything further a pair of boys, one short with a nest of blond unkempt hair and the other quite tall and muscular with snowy white hair came dashing towards them. "Have either of you seen leo- err, um" the blond one started

"The younger lord Kingscholar?" the white-haired boy started.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I...I saw him head to the dance floor with a young lady..." Her tone fluctuated, her face compressed into an emotionless look, prying to any who would listen that her lie would not be called out. The two boys exchanged a worried glance, their eyes as wide as plates. "He's probably with Ferona's wife again" the blond one spoke, nervous giggles leaping from his mouth. The taller boy quickly bowed, before running towards the host of dancers, his companion soon following his lead. When (y/n) turned back ready to speak with the grass haired young man, she noticed that he was nowhere in sight. Vanished like the magicians in the traveling circus.

For the third time that night, (y/n) could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The treat of a killer loomed at every corner of this mansion, every man here seemed to -in some way- resemble the faceless killer. And worst of all her "personal guard" was nowhere in sight! Not to mention her father was most likely off with some nobleman's wife or daughter doing lord knows what. Tears of frustration threatened to spill from her eyes. Everything was going wrong, she was no inspector, she could barely keep her composure during such a time of ease.

"Miss Crewel" A tiny bird-like voice, shook the girl from her misery. Turning her head she saw a young boy no older than 10. His blue hair and golden eyes were carbon copies of inspector Shrouds. "Where is my bother?" it took a moment for (y/n) to comprehend the question. "If you are talking about Mr. Shroud than I do not know...did he even attend tonight" the question came out more haughty than she had hoped, the last thing she wanted was to appear as a rude wrench to such a young child. "Well..." the boy's voice trailed off "He was supposed to meet you. You are the bait, aren't you? He was the officer entrusted with playing the role of your client." The young boy's eyes dropped his cheery pure nature slowly morphed into one as similar to his brothers, gloomy and dead.

"He hasn't been himself lately, the matter has only gotten worst when Scotland yard began investigating the killer....he's so tense about the matter, almost as if the case was perso--"

"THERE'S BEEN A MURDER! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE QUICK!" From the front of the ballroom two boys, one with red hair and the other with ebony hair stood. There faces where distraught sweat flew down their cheeks. For a fraction of a second silence flew over the crowd....only to veer into screams of terror and the ramped running of both lords and ladies. During the midst of the anarchy, you searched the entire chamber...there was no sign of Idia, nor Lord Kingscholar, nor the green-haired boy, nor the rude butler....all those you had suspected where gone...

Following the crowd, you and Ortho ran outside into the gardens. Sure enough, laying in a pool of her own blood with a torn stomach and guts pulled out, was a young lady no older than you where and right around her bleeding kneck a parchment note was pinned.....

Who do you guys think the killer is?

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@ghostiebabey @delusional-obsessions @succubus-lair​ @themarchinghare​ @permanentlyexhaustedowl​ @twst-diana​ @yuoritsu​ @pumpkiethepie​ @ladyy-grimm​ @xwildskullx​

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me - Chapter Three

After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

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“Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!” 

“One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!” 

He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man. This very handsome man, she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.

She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out. 

———

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters. What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens. His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself. Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall. 

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard, thank you very much. The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world. 

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before. The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. She shook her head and started the tap. Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet. She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182. We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock! 

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat. He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this. 

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number? Why didn’t I get his number?! Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived. 

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner. 

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geillis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

———

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to an worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips. 

The boys -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge: 

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?” 

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?” 

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform. 

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.” 

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.” 

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.” 

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything. 

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran. Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is. While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To Claire. Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name. Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her. 

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever. 

She was there, in his shop. His place. Claire. God, his Claire. 

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary.

[safebubblebycyg]

trans! sirius and nonbinary! regulus because screw jkr:

☆ they definitely both have pins with their pronouns on them

☆ regulus didnt come out to their parents but sirius did

☆ "i mean, they already hate me, im not all too worried"

☆ reg helped sirius pick his name

☆ sirius tells people he's named after a star because he is one

☆ regulus constantly has to deal with professors telling them that they/them is plural and that its incorrect

☆ regulus often threatens people who deadname sirius

☆ sirius does the same, except...its not really threats...more actions.....

☆ "DID YOU JUST CALL MY LITTLE SIBLING A BOY? MY PRECIOUS NONBINARY SIBLING? JAMES, HELP ME HEX A LAD REAL QUICK"

☆ sirius has had his fair share of detentions for that reason

☆ regulus has hexed a couple kids, but doesnt really get caught

☆ james calls regulus "baby black" instead of his previous "baby bro black" after regulus came out

☆ james being an absolute simp for reg

☆ "good godric, if anymore drool comes out of your mouth while staring at reg, youll have an entire ocean on your desk"

☆ james asked them out in his 6th year

☆ sirius lost a fat bet to remus, banking on regulus working up the guts to fess up to james first

☆ regulus couldnt figure out for the life of them why sirius wasnt talking to them or remus, but would gladly talk to james

☆ sirius did help regulus win a bet though

☆ you see...the black's are all bottom bitch babies™

☆ so regulus bet james 20 galleons (yEs 20 whole galleons), that remus would ask out sirius first

☆ because the two were madly in love with each other, despite the things that made them a little different

☆ and you bet your biscuits that remus asked first

☆ james was so pissed, he didnt talk to sirius for a month and refused to kiss regulus for that same month

☆ sirius ran away after fifth year, leaving baby reg at home, which he hated

☆ "dear sirius, YOU ABSOLUTE BITCH, COME BACK, IF I HEAR THE WORD HE USED FOR ME ONE MORE TIME IM GOING TO ASK KREACHER TO BRING ME POISON"

☆ in regulus' fifth year (sirius' seventh), they spent every holiday, even the summer!, with the potters

☆ they could have cried

☆ "JAMES CAN WE GET MARRIED RIGHT NOW SO YOUR MOM CAN BE MY MOM AND CALL ME BY MY PRONOUNS ALL THE TIME AND I NEVER HAVE TO LEAVE"

☆ at one point, sirius asked regulus to actually not go home

☆ "you're so much happier here, please reg"

☆ regulus denied, knowing their parents would go bonkers

☆ BUT BOY, WAS THAT CHRISTMAS A BLAST

☆ regulus and sirius had both accidentally gotten each other the same gift, a sweater that said "gender? we dont know her"

☆ james almost peed himself when the two opened their gifts at the same time

☆ remus had to resist the urge to make them take a picture together

☆ james gave sirius a binder and he cried, and he gave regulus a locket that said "i am valid", they cried too

☆ remus gave sirius a leather jacket that had the words "trans and you can catch these hands painted on the back" to which sirius let out a high pitched squeal, and then gave regulus a pair of vans that was in the same colours of the nonbinary flag, reg started crying when they put them on

☆ james' parents got the four boys pride flags: james got a pan flag, sirius got a trans flag, regulus got a nonbinary flag, and remus got a bi flag

☆ NONE OF THEM CAN DENY THE TEARS ON THIS ONE

☆ and regulus and sirius were just some happy kids with boyfriends can you really be mad?

☆ oh, and professor mcgonagall was their #1 supporter, she gifted the brothers each with a custom 'coupon'; sirius had a get out of detention free card and regulus got a get out of being late to class because i was 'busy' free card

SORRY IF THIS WAS CHAOTIC BUT LIKE- I HAVENT SLEPT AND I THOUGHT IT WAS KINDA CUTE, OKAY THATS ALL BYE

[cfs-melkire]

Soul

I open my mind's eye and find myself aboard the galleon again.

This is not because I am a seafaring spirit. I am no true sailor, but to be so near to the water is a precious thing and a vessel such as this holds meaning. The galleon is a symbol of Limsa Lominsa and of Vylbrand by extension. The galleon carries valuables and weapons alike, and so too have I throughout the course of my life. The galleon represents movement, as I am a child of Oschon and therefore neither port nor shore would suffice.

The galleon is me, and that which is held or kept aboard the galleon is held or kept within me.

I walk the deck. I run my hand along the starboard rail. I inspect the rigging, the sheets and braces. Once upon a time, this was no fine galleon meant for wares and warfare. Once upon a time, this was a mean ill-kept sloop suited for nothing better than piracy.

Take a man from his home, aye, but you'll never take the home from the man. It is a part of him, a lens through which the rest of his existence is cast.

There were more men here, once, sailors to man each station and each man a fighter to boot. These men manned the galleon because I had sundered myself, cut out a piece of me for each period of my life, segregated the innocent child from the bloodthirsty bastard and more so that I would not have to reconcile the lad I'd been with the man I had become. The crew was me, and I was the crew. 

There was the Child, from before we lost Tabitha and Da; there was Rings, the mask of gutterborn thief which I donned in order to cope; there was Dirk Problemsolver, the persona of remorseless assassin into which I plunged and lost myself therein; there was the Sergeant, a man given a second chance to do right by the people through military works; there was the Beast, awakened by confrontation with the Ala Mhigan who had taken Tabitha from us and shackled in the brig, released only when there was need for greater violence than the problemsolver could provide; and there was the Helmsman, ostensibly the sum total of my logic and my ethics, to whom was given the task of setting the course most natural and instinctive to me.

Then there was myself: Osric, the Captain. The decisions were mine, the responsibilities mine, the actions mine… save for when passions soared and I could not, together with those parts of me more rational than emotional, restrain myself from lashing out on behalf of a period of my life long since behind me, so far aft as to have disappeared on the horizon. Often the wounded party was Rings, when I felt most wrong and most childishly impotent, or Dirk, when I felt most rebellious and wont to have my own way. On rare occasion, the Beast would burst forth from his gaol cell, and there would be no reasoning with me.

The galleon is quiet now. I reconciled the pieces of my life long ago. I am whole in a way that I have not been since I crept into that dockyard warehouse to find my father hanging from the rafters.

There are signs, here and there, of the man I have become. The lanterns that line the rails are of a style consistent with my own making, for I had turned to goldsmithing and glassblowing and lapidary for my coin. A wooden striking man, below decks, to keep me in practice where the Art was concerned. Little string decorations and pastel paintings hang in the captain's quarters, an ever present reminder of my daughters.

The ring on my finger never leaves me. Though I often wear it on a chain or else put it aside so as to not risk its loss, on the galleon in my mind's eye the band's presence is forever.

Sometimes the waves are brisk. Other times, the ocean is still. On occasion, there comes and goes a storm.

This is my soul. This is where I find myself most often when I meditate. I am content with the galleon, with its state and with its keeping.

We make port often. The galleon is not ready for retirement and neither am I. There are voyages. Journeys. Adventures. Perhaps there will come a time when we cannot make port, to allow the vessel to sink or else to scuttle the galleon myself, to go down with the ship. Perhaps I run too great a risk too often.

I have not sunk yet.

I am still here.

[victorsandvanquishers]

Rang de Basanti about Asta and Yuno... revolutionary gays....

Anon, please take these revolutionary gays from the perspective of their revolutionary father, one Orsi Orfai, featuring Ralph Niaflem. Enjoy! (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

And as previously noted, Bollywood Prompts are now closed! Four more stories left to be posted for the year! Thank you for reading. (~˘▾˘)~

*

“I had a feeling he would grow up to become someone regardless of where he was raised,” Ralph Niaflem said softly, eyes fixed on the lukewarm tea in his lap. “Our king and queen, my father... we all put our faith in him that night. We knew that one day, he would grow up to be a hero – our hero.”

“I'm sure they did,” Orsi Orfai replied with a sad smile. Unlike the former who's eyes were still on his teacup, Orsi looked at the figure still recovering in his home, a man who claimed to be a loyal retainer of his son Yuno.

His son Yuno, who apparently had a name and a history now.

“He was destined for greatness when he came into this world,” Ralph Niaflem continued with a touch of reverence. “We built the Resistance on the hope that he would return to us one day.” The younger man sighed and rubbed one of his wet eyes. “We couldn't raise him ourselves because we were scared the Dark Triad would find out and kill him, so my father...” Ralph Niaflem's eyes suddenly shot up from his cup and looked to Orsi who was sitting on the opposite end of the small room. “You have to understand, we had no choice! My father, he-” Ralph Niaflem's words hitched in his throat and he choked back a sob. “He...”

“He did what he had to do,” Orsi finished for the younger man. Somehow, he found it in himself not to snap at the bedridden man that his Yuno, his son Yuno, was much more than the castaway of a royal family from a distant land, that he too loved and was loved, and that if the younger man's father hadn't brought Yuno to the church that freezing night, then Yuno would never have met his one great love.

Orsi found himself grinning. “I've never once regretted taking him in,” he sniffed with a wet smile. “Neither him nor Asta. They're my precious sons, and they'll always be welcome here. This village,” Orsi threw up his hands and gestured to the small room, “this church – this is their home.”

Something seemed to click in Ralph Niaflem's eyes. “Asta... was that the other child the nun was speaking of?”

“That's him!” Orsi blurted a bit too quickly, but found himself laughing heartily anyway, the tears that were just beginning to pool in his eyes already dried and forgotten. “I always assumed the same person had left the children, but judging from your stories, your father left only one baby at our doorstep.”

Ralph nodded, and the distant look in his eyes only grew heavier. “Many of the other children, sons and daughters of loyal retainers, they either fled underground or to remote regions of the nation. I and some of the others who were a bit older, we were left in the hands of the Resistance. The others...” Ralph toyed with the cup of cold tea in his hand. “... Let's just say that we have quite a few mountains the Dark Triad has yet to overcome.”

“Your land lives in perpetual winter, does it not?” Orsi asked carefully.

Ralph blinked. “Ah, yes. Snow...” Finally, a small smile began to play on the younger man's lips. “We have four different mountain ranges, and the largest of them border the sea. You've probably heard the stories...”

“The coldest sea in the world,” Orsi nodded. “Is that...” Orsi swallowed the pain in his throat. “Is that where Yuno was born?”

“No,” Ralph smiled halfheartedly. “He was born in the capital. Our city is far, far away from the sea. It's true our lands are forever trapped in snow, but there's beauty in the light after a snowstorm. It's the clearest sky you'll ever see in your life, and it's even clearer by the ocean. When Prince Yuno comes ho-”

“-Yuno's home is right where you're sitting,” Orsi interrupted abruptly.

Ralph Niaflem gaped. “I-I didn't mean...”

Orsi sighed and chuckled dryly. “I know exactly what you meant, but it would behoove you to remember that Yuno didn't join the Magic Knights to become your ruler. He became a Magic Knight...” Orsi found that he couldn't finish the sentence, when Yuno himself had never finished the sentence.

Ralph Niaflem seemed to find his composure again. “Why did Prince Yuno join your military?”

Orsi remembered a church where once upon a time, few prayed within its walls, and even fewer slept near its hearth. He remembered it before the gaggle of children who scurried from one end of the church to the other. He remembered it before it'd been painted with laughter and joy.

He remembered it before he took in two little children, freezing in the cold with no one to keep them safe.

“Out of love,” Orsi finished curtly. “He joined for love. Love of country, love of family – our Yuno, he's always been a sensible lad. Has a great sense of honor, and cares deeply for his family. He's our pride, that one. And...”

Orsi remembered those years before the rest of the children arrived, remembered watching Asta and Yuno grow together, like vines that accidentally entangled in infancy, but so reverent of each other that they found a way to grow around each other while anchoring one another. He remembered when the other children came into his arms, and when the church became a orphanage, and not just a church where an old man raised a pair of orphans. He remembered when their world blossomed around them, and love came in different forms, both through spoken word and immediate action.

“And?” Ralph Niaflem inquired from his place on the old bed.

Orsi remembered a little boy with eyes that seemed to be perpetually dipped in equal parts gold and grief. That little boy never strayed from the other little boy's side, the one that bore unruly ash grey hair and a pair of eyes that glistened like the verdant forests that surrounded their beautiful little village.

Orsi remembered a little boy who fell in love before he even knew what the word meant.

“And he has someone,” Orsi enunciated clearly. “His home is here, sir, and so is his heart.”

Ralph seemed taken aback. “He has a girlfriend?”

“N-now, wait a minute, who said anything about a girl!?” Orsi sputtered, a deep blush blooming on his face.

“Oh,” Ralph said dryly. “I see... I mean, I shouldn't be surprised. He's young, popular, it would be expected, wouldn't it? To experiment with these things.”

Orsi didn't know why, but he felt vaguely disgusted that the other man would frame it in such a way. Orsi had never expected to watch a child fall in love with his best friend, but love was love, wasn't it? He never expected to have to pretend that he didn't see Yuno's gaze follow every little step Asta took towards the future, and he never expected to be the one to say out loud what Yuno himself had never once admitted in his life.

And yet, Orsi found that he couldn't lie to the man who'd crawled out of the past to come claim one of Orsi's sons as his own. Orsi couldn't allow that, not when Yuno was Asta's other half.

“His heart is set on a particular individual,” Orsi said firmly, “and I'll have you know that I plan to invite the entire town to their wedding!”

“Oh... I see...”

“If it's a king you need, then you won't find him here,” Orsi stated, cutting to the chase. “Yuno's home is here in Hage, and so is his beloved. Those are bonds not even blood can tear apart.”

“And despite those bonds, he is Prince Yuno of House Grinberryall, heir to the Spade Kingdom's throne,” Ralph reminded him with a curt look. “He'll have to acknowledge the truth, even if he can't accept it.”

Orsi thought about the little boy who fell in love every day of his life, always with the same person, always wearing his heart on his sleeve as he followed that person all the way into the Magic Knights, a person who also grew up to be a hero of his people, a hero named Asta.

Orsi found that he couldn't stop the smile from blooming on his face. “He doesn't have to. Yuno has his heart. When it comes time for him to choose, he'll choose who he's always chosen.”

“And who is that?” Ralph challenged.

“You'll know, eventually.” Orsi Orfai retorted with a soft chuckle. “I'd like to see you try, sir. A word of advice from an old man like me? It's not worth standing in the way of true love. Only the truly blessed can experience it in their lifetime. Yuno has experienced it, and he's worked hard for it. No kingdom is worth the price of separation, I'll have you know. He couldn't even stop himself from going after the Wizard King because of that boy! What makes you think he'll leave him behind for your castle and skies? His past may have been in your hands, but his future is in another's. Don't take it to heart, sir, but that is the truth. What is a king to a mortal in love? Nothing. A king is nothing, not when one's beloved is right beside them. Just you wait, you'll know his name one day, the boy who has our Yuno's heart, and you'll understand. You'll understand.”

And Orsi knew that, that day would come soon, and that when it arrived, they'd all rejoice.

After all, what better ending could a father hope for?

*

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (5/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 | 6.1k words

A/N: Brace yourself for some feelz, friends; that’s all I can say about this chapter. (There’s just...a LOT of emotion. You’ll see ;) ) Eternal thanks, as always, to @optomisticgirl​​​​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​​​​ for her amazing art (LOOK AT THAT AHHHHHHH); and to @kmomof4​​​​ and @cssns​​​​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

if you’ve ever seen AVPM/S, I’d like you to imagine Draco Malfoy singing the Anita part and that’s what my high school’s production of West Side Story was like

part five: tonight, there will be no morning star

The skyscraper was a wonderful invention; a marvel of modern engineering. The ability to construct a building all the way into the clouds was one of the many things Gold was glad he had lived long enough to see. He’d been impressed enough when the Equitable Life Building opened in 1870; the balcony he stood on now was at least five times higher in the sky.

It was a good thing his sense of vertigo was long-dead, else he might not be able to spend as much time out here, looking down on the city, as he did. It made him feel like some modern monarch, surveying his kingdom from on high. In reality, it was much more complicated than that, though he’d spent long enough building his empire that it wasn’t far-fetched to call it a dynasty.

He sometimes lamented that his efforts would never be documented in history books; how he’d spent centuries working away right under the noses of the mortals, and they remained oblivious. Maybe he’d make that his next project. Surely there was some suffering, underappreciated writer he could bribe with immortality...ah, but not tonight. There’d be time for that later. First, he had to weather whatever was coming.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something in the air was different tonight; a sense of anticipation was floating on the wind, carried along by the brine of the ocean. He tapped his fingers on the rail of the balcony but was unable to tap down on what it was precisely.

“Hello, Rumple,” a voice he’d never be able to forget said from somewhere above.

Ah, perhaps that was it then; he always had a sense for when she was around. “I thought I smelled betrayal and cheap wine on the breeze. Good evening, Cora.”

The woman dropped from the roof above, landing gracefully on the terrace without even wrinkling her pantsuit. Her style had always edged on sharp, though this seemed surprisingly simple for her; he recalled bigger shoulder pads the last time he’d seen her—what was it, ‘85?

 “You seem awfully calm considering what’s about to happen tonight,” she said, ignoring the jibe. Ah well, it was worth a shot; he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of her since 1621, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

He scoffed. “What, a minor scuffle? Two lads having it out over a couple blocks of territory? Seems to me it’s far more personal than anything that would actually mean something.” He’d had to restrain himself from chuckling when Jones told him about the fight; they had no idea.

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown so dense that you don’t realize what this means,” she preened.

He wanted to call her bluff, but if there was one thing he’d learned in over 400 years of dealing with Cora, is that she rarely did. “Enlighten me.”

“It means your underlings are growing restless and tired of this. Mine too. And I’d rather not have this end the way it did last time that happened.” ‘Last time’ being a bloody war; they were able to hide it from the mortals within the confines of the American Revolution but it was a near miss. He’d began rebuilding his ranks immediately; she’d taken her time. And here they were now.

“Chaos has always been my friend, dearie; I can’t say I’d be too upset if it broke out now.”

“While I wouldn't mind it either, I’d be watching your back a bit more closely. Didn’t Jones bring up something...rather interesting earlier?”

Somehow, a chill ran down his unfeeling spine—not just at what Jones had asked about, but the fact that she seemed to know about it as well. “It’s nothing; just a myth. It’s not possible.”

“Please. Think of everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve been through together. Nothing is impossible.”

“I’ve made sure of it.”

“Have you?”

She was always good at poking his buttons. And he was done with it.

“Go. And never come back.”

She had to obey, at least, and he took a small thrill in the way she involuntarily started to climb over the balcony’s railing. “Fine. I just thought I was doing you a favor, but I see it’s not wanted. See you in another 30 years, Rumple.”

She let go and fell back; he didn’t watch to see what happened when she hit the ground. He wouldn’t put it past her to frame him for murder, but she had a different angle this time.

Even though she’d left, that sense of apprehension lingered. Something was indeed coming, something that would change things in his world—but what?

And why did he get the sense Jones was involved?

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The sun wasn’t even below the horizon before Emma left home, shouting a quick “goodbye and good luck” over her shoulder as she headed out into the evening. If she were in her normal skip-tracing clothes (aka her normal clothes), she’d be running across rooftops to get to Granny’s in no time flat. But no, this was a honeypot, so she had to walk, lest she break the only pair of heels she could actually move in without pain. (That was one thing she’d been dismayed to discover: heels still hurt, even if she recovered faster.)

Still, she powerwalked to Granny’s in record time. “Evening, Emma,” the old wolf called out. “The usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, slipping onto her normal stool at the fairly empty counter. It was weird—for a place known to so many, it always seemed to be fairly empty. She had to guess that last night’s meeting was the most crowded it had been in ages. Or maybe that was just part of the magic of the diner.

If she had to guess, the guy at the booth on the other side of the room was a werewolf, based on scent alone; and there was what looked like a fairy bachelorette party at the large booth in the corner. (Not to be confused with fae—she made that mistake once and only once.) Being the only vampire, it was kind of nice to feel like the odd person out for a change. Though she hoped that changed soon.

“Order up!” Granny was suddenly in front of her with a plate of one of the few things on the menu Emma could eat: onion rings. (Onions that had been soaked in blood overnight, mind you, but that was enough for her to be able to stomach them.)

“Thank you so much, Granny,” she effused, and then moaned as she bit into one. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius?”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice. When does lover boy get here?”

As incredible as it was, Emma almost spat out the bite. “Excuse me?”

“Girl, you think I didn’t smell you all over him last night? He covered it up well enough for the others not to notice, but I know better.”

First Zelena, now Granny; they were both going to have to invest in industrial-strength body spray if they were going to keep this under wraps for the time being.

“Calm down; I won’t tell.” But she leaned in across the counter and lowered her voice. “But if you need a place to meet in secret, you know I have rooms upstairs. And I promise not to listen too close.”

“Thanks; I’ll, uh, keep it in mind,” Emma stammered, then hid her embarrassment in another bloody onion ring. Granny, unsurprisingly, cackled and walked away.

It would take more than a voyeuristic wolf to keep her from enjoying fried deliciousness, though, and she savored every bite—being glad she was wearing a red dress in case of drips (Deadpool totally stole that from her, as far as she was concerned)—until there were just two left: the most perfect, juicy, crispiest ones of the bunch. But suddenly, there was only one. And she also wasn’t alone at the counter anymore.

Two seats away, Killian sat with one of her onion rings, taking a slow bite that had her mouth watering in other ways; the way his tongue swiped away the bit of blood that escaped his lips was almost arousing enough to overlook the theft. Almost.

“All those manners and no one taught you to ask nicely?”

“I told you I was a pirate,” he tossed back, taking another bite. “Not a whole lot of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ going on there.”

“I highly doubt you ever pillaged anything as precious as those, though.” She started to stand up to close the distance between them, but he threw her a warning look out of the corner of his eye that made her pause. 

“We’re in public,” he muttered with his mouth full. Damn, he was right; even if no one from either coven was here now, that could easily change. Which was really annoying because as good as his rum-flavored kisses tasted last night, she liked onion rings even more. And, you know, they probably had some business to discuss—like whatever Zelena had been talking about.

As if on cue, Granny slipped past again, but this time tossing a key (with a rather ostentatious keyring) onto the counter in front of her as she went to address her new customer. There was a room number written on it in Sharpie; Emma memorized the number and slipped the key into her lap as she sat back down. (While also making a mental note to try to find some sexy dresses with pockets.) 

The appeal of her last onion ring waned given that there was something far more delicious-smelling a few feet away, so she scarfed it down, threw some cash on the counter, and then headed to the hallway that led upstairs. Granny definitely did better business in the diner than her inn, and it wasn’t anything special, but it was clean, which Emma couldn’t say about a lot of other places she’d been; her skps really loved the city’s roach motels. (Something told Emma the very nature of her host kept most vermin far from the premises.)

Room 305 was simple, sparse, but had a decent-sized mattress with a sturdy frame, and a clean bathroom. All she needed was the privacy, though.

She’d hardly tossed her purse and the key on the room’s table when a soft knock fell on the door; she wouldn’t have heard it if she was still human. She turned back and, out of habit, glanced through the room’s peephole; she was already getting a whiff of spicy and salty air through the door, but this was still the city and you couldn’t be too careful. But of course it was Killian on the other side, peering up at the door through his crazy long lashes.

She didn’t wait any longer to pull it open, and nearly as soon as she had, he was on top of her, claiming her lips with his and damn, she was right—onion rings tasted as good on his lips as they did on her tongue. (But his tongue tasted even better.)

Somehow, the door was shut behind them and while she wasn’t quite sure who was leading, they pressed together from tip to toe until they fell against the plush—and noisy—mattress, sinking in with a loud squeak of ancient steel.

“Should have known Granny would want to hear something like that,” he chuckled. “Saucy old wolf.”

“Eh, let her listen.” Emma’s own arousal was climbing too fast for her to care, and she pounced on Killian again, wrapping a leg around him and pressing her core against his. He was definitely eager, too, she could tell; it was kind of funny how, out of all the bodily functions that ended when a person transitioned to a vampire, arousal was the one that remained unchanged. She’d had her fair share of flings in her afterlife, but no one had her as keyed up as Killian did with so little effort.

His hand wandered down her side, squeezing her waist and then pulling her rear impossibly closer, before toying with the hem of her dress. “I thought last night’s dress was rather demure for you,” he said between kisses, “but this one is positively sinful.”

“Good. Means work will go fast tonight. Horny bond skips usually fall for it pretty fast.”

“I can see why. I’d tell you to be careful, but I feel like it would be better to warn your prey.”

“Emma Swan always gets her man.”

“What a lovely motto.”

“True so far. And that includes right now.” She sucked a line of kisses down his sharp jaw to the juncture of his neck, drawing a delicious moan from him. “Do you have one?”

“Aye,” he breathed, eyes squinted shut as if trying to regain his thoughts. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

“And what is it you want?”

He opened his eyes—clear blue even in the dingy yellow light. “You, love. Just you.”

How could she do anything but kiss him within an inch of his afterlife?

Everything that followed was a rush of sensation rather than any coherent thought:

The brush of his beard against her neck, the firmness of his chest beneath her hands (as well as that of his ass), each graze of his fingers against her thigh as they moved her dress up. 

The way his weight settled above her in a way that was both oppressive and comforting, the dance of fingers as they undid his fly (she wasn’t even sure whose all were involved in that), the bob of his cock as it sprang free from denim confines.

How something so hard could feel so soft in her hand—nearly enough to make him come undone on touch alone, but she’d be damned if she let that happen. (Or, well, damned more than she probably already was going to be.) How, for the first time in 15 years, she genuinely felt flushed.

It was all she could do to shove her lace panties aside and guide him home, and oh—she didn’t have the words for what that felt like: to be filled so perfectly it could have brought tears to her eyes (you know, if her tear ducts still worked). 

And then he moved and—holy shit. Her fangs dropped down on their own accord again but she couldn’t be bothered to care this time; hell, all she wanted to do was sink her teeth into him, but she’d have to settle with using a heel to press him back in.

“You feel incredible, darling,” he murmured, slightly lisping—his fangs had dropped too. Maybe she hadn’t learned all there was to know about vampire biology. But that could be dealt with later; right now, she just needed him, and to find the release that was inching closer painfully slowly.

“So do you,” she whispered. “But it feels amazing when you move.”

“As you wish,” he said into her ear, his breath somehow feeling hot on it, and he complied. They started slow, careful presses in and out to find their rhythm, then picking up speed and power. She really hoped the bed frame would hold up (Twilight did get that part right) and was sure Granny was getting a good show, but she put any other wonderings into finding his lips again, the play of teeth and tongues and lips coinciding with the meeting of other body parts.

It felt like a slow climb—something she was used to in post-mortem relations—but then the precipice came out of nowhere and she was suddenly falling, gasping into Killian’s mouth as her release carried her away, though she held his shoulders with an iron grip to keep from floating too far.

He wasn’t far behind, she felt, and his fingers would have left imprints on her side were they still capable of being bruised. She felt his release spill inside her as his movements stuttered until he was done, slipping out and falling next to her on his back.

It was probably some long-buried instinct that left them feeling out of breath after sex, but Emma was pretty sure she was sweating. Dead or alive, that had been one of the greatest orgasms of her life—and, honestly, sex was so much easier while undead, what with the whole not needing birth control or being worried about STIs. But this—this was something else.

“I do have to admit, that wasn’t my initial aim in following you up here,” Killian said, pulling her into his side. “But I’m not complaining.”

“I think we’d have some issues if you were. You seemed very enthusiastic about it.”

“And how could I not be?” he smirked, turning to look at her. But then his smile fell, and he pressed his thumb against her lips; it came back red. “Apologies, love; did I hurt you?”

She licked her lips and tasted the copper. “No; I hadn’t even noticed. It might have been self-inflicted,” she said, pressing her tongue against her own still-exposed canines. “I wish I knew why that kept happening.”

“It’s just the effect I have on you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Her normal MO when flirting was to refute a statement like that, but...why lie? “I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”

“I can tell.” She lightly slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled at the reaction. “I felt the same way; I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“A day is a lot less than 15 years. It dragged but I managed. Thank you for not murdering my dad last night.”

“That wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly. And if anyone was going to do any assassination last night, it would have been Graham killing me.”

Ugh, of course he would; she groaned. “Sorry; he can’t take a hint. You make out with a guy once twelve years ago and apparently he keeps a flame lit for the next decade.”

“I can hardly blame him, especially knowing how you kiss.” His thumb again traced her lips, which had healed by now, and god, the reverence in that gentle gesture was nearly as overwhelming as her orgasm. But then his brow furrowed. “You don’t suppose true love’s kiss is real, do you?”

Emma blinked, confused; where had that come from? “No, probably not, though I wouldn't dare say that around my mom—she most likely believes in it. Why?”

“Granny mentioned something to me last night after the meeting, and I did some research today...were you also aware the prophecies were real?”

“No, I was not.” Though surprised, she listened as Killian told her about Gold and his powers—actual, honest-to-god, dark magical powers—and the prophecy that spelled his end. She wasn’t too surprised that it was kept under wraps, especially given what she’d learned from Zelena last night (which Killian somehow did not know, which made her feel like less of a newb for once).

But most shocking was the fact that Kililan thought she was the one the prophecy talked about. “Fuck.”

“That’s a succinct way of putting it.”

“I don’t word good, so the fewer, the better.” Quips aside, she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the whole thing. “So I might be the only person that can kill Gold and end this whole feud? That’s….a lot.”

“I know, but I want you to know it’s not a burden you carry alone.”

And then the other half hit her: true love. Did that mean…? “So...that’s us? That means we’re—”

“Maybe,” he said softly, probably sensing her panic. She couldn’t deny that she had deep feelings for Killian, but true love? That was...that was her parents, that was fairy tales; that didn’t happen to her.

“I don’t want all that,” she whispered. “I just want to be with you; I don’t want to be responsible for ending some centuries-long feud.” 

“I know, love,” he murmured, and pulled her close; she was nestled into the crook of his neck and other than her dad’s patented hugs, she’s never felt so safe. “It’s not for certain; just a theory, and you’re under no obligation to act on it. But if you choose to, know that I’m here beside you each step of the way.”

“Or we can just run off; go hide in the woods upstate or something. Or Maine—or even Canada; they’d never find us there.”

“Not likely, no,” he chuckled; she could feel the vibration of it through his collarbone onto her cheek. “Maybe a cottage by the seaside somewhere? Some remote little beach?”

“Mm, sounds perfect.” Her parents would understand, right? And even if they didn’t….well, they could deal. “Let’s just do that right now. Let me go catch this skip, and then I’ll pack my bags and we can go.”

She felt more than saw his smile. “As much as I’d love that, I’m afraid I have some other things to attend to this evening.”

Oh right, the fight—how could she forget? “I guess that brawl is kind of pointless then, isn’t it?”

“Aye; perhaps why Gold seemed unperturbed by the idea.”

“Then what’s the point in letting it happen? Do you think you can stop it?” It was probably because she was fairly young and hadn’t been fully indoctrinated to the cause, but the thought of an inconsequential fight that had even a slight chance of becoming something worse—because, with the way tensions ran, that was alway a possibility—made her really nervous.

“I’ll certainly try; I agree, I don’t like the thought of unnecessary fighting, either.” And he’d probably seen more than his fair share of it. “Whatever happens, I’ll come find you when it’s all done—I promise.”

“I will hunt you down if you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

She kissed him again, slower and sweeter than before. “Ugh, I don’t want to go, but this skip will pay rent for a month.”

“I don’t want you to go, but it’d be ungentlemanly to make you late for work.”

“Do you always have to be one?”

“Yes.” 

She sighed. “Fine.”

Thankfully, they had enough time for one more make out, and she was already making a mental note to hit a drug store later for some perfume; his scent was probably embedded in her pores at this point. (She also mentioned he might want to do the same; he said he’d stop by his apartment before heading to the fight.)

Eventually, they righted themselves and made their way out of the room, pausing for one last, slow kiss in the hallway after locking the door.

“Not a moment will go by I don’t think of you,” Killian murmured, but he may as well have shouted it for as hard as it hit her. 

“Good,” she replied, hoping he heard how much she meant the same thing back.

With one final peck, she dashed out the back door and into the night, off to whatever seedy bar she was finding the scumbag-of-the-week. Hopefully, this would be a quick one—she already missed Killian.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

For a moment after Emma left, Killian stood stock still in the hallway, Emma’s scent lingering around him as his fingers traced the feel of her lips on his. That was not at all how he anticipated this encounter to go—he was fairly old fashioned in some senses, especially when it came to someone he wanted to court properly—but any complaint had died before he could give it voice. In a way, they were just making up for lost time, he supposed. 

And he would see to it that they weren’t limited in that regard ahead. 

Granny gave a lascivious wink when he placed the key on the counter in the diner, and he was sure she’d have more to say were the evening crowd (as it were) not filling up the place. He used that to his advantage and took his leave, even though he still had a few hours until he was due anywhere.

He spent a bit of time at the docks, mulling over how they’d changed over the years (and eyeing the ships for sale; he’d had to sell his last one and was in the market for something new, especially if a quick getaway might be needed at some point), before keeping his promise to Emma and stopping at his apartment for some fresh cologne to cover her scent. How no one had noticed it the night before was a mild miracle, but adrenaline would be running strong tonight and senses would be on high alert.

(He so loathed to erase the evidence of her on his person, though.)

There was still time to kill, so he walked slowly (well, for him) in the direction of the lot, even patiently waiting for crossing lights to indicate the all clear rather than dart out early like most New Yorkers did. He should probably find a snack, since he didn’t get to finish his drink at Granny’s; a hunger-like pang was stirring within, but there wasn’t enough time for that now.

The lot was mostly empty when he arrived, and the street oddly quiet; at least that boded well for this rendezvous—and perhaps he’d be able to maintain the peace.

As he got closer, a pinprick of light burned out of the darkness; it took but a millisecond for his eyes to adjust and see that Robin was waiting, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“You’ll smoke yourself into an early grave,” Killian scolded lightly, as he’d done many times before.

“Tis a pity I never got the chance, then, aye?” Robin tossed back. He and his wife had been emigrating to America in the mid-1800s when scarlet fever broke out on their ship; his wife and unborn child didn’t make it, but somehow, Gold had been aboard, and turned Robin before the disease claimed him as well. 

In life, Robin had never had the money to maintain a tobacco habit, but once he found himself with unlimited time—and lungs that would never damage—he’d taken it up with gusto. 

“Just don’t let me catch you vaporizing, or whatever it is,” Killian teased.

“Vaping, and no, never.”

They waited in companionable silence as Robin finished his cigarette and started on another. That caught Killian’s interest; while smoking might be a favored hobby for Robin, he’d never been known to indulge in chain smoking—unless he was nervous.

Footsteps on the other end of the lot drew their attention; David, Graham, and the others (though thankfully not Zelena) stepped from the shadows. At the sight, the twisting in his gut coiled again, and an ancient feeling washed over him: trepidation. He hadn’t felt that since...god, not since Yorktown.

And that clearly ended well. (He thought to himself, sarcastically.)

He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his sense of dread; it was certainly not the first time the two teams had gone head-to-head (even if he hoped it might be the last). He couldn’t count the number of lives lost to the feud over the centuries—thankfully few innocent ones, but the number of siblings-in-arms sacrificed to the cause was far too high.

He’d never been nervous before any of those encounters. So why was this one giving him anxiety?

(Because so much was riding on this. Because he didn’t want to let Emma down.)

Will and Henry appeared out of nowhere, suddenly behind them, and if it was possible for the scene to get even more silent, it did. The men were lined up shoulder to shoulder in two opposing lines; it was like the standoff in a terrible spaghetti western, but without the benefit of a Morricone score.

The tension was palpable as they all stood stone-still, waiting for the other side to make any sort of move. It would have been the perfect time for Killian to intervene—convince them all to back down—but he was too worried that even so much as a pin drop would make waves.

In the end, it turned out to be the drop of cigarette ash that sent things into motion; Robin’s burnt end had barely hit the ground before he and Graham were on top of each other, snarling and slashing in the middle of the carpark.

An outsider would have thought it was some strange dance, or possibly performance art, with the way they clamored at each other but never seemed to land any blows. But Killian’s keen eyes could see each dodge of a body from a clawing limb, their extended fangs thirsting for blood, and the way Graham curled inward when Robin landed a first, firm punch on the other man’s stomach; that finally drew Killian from his stupor.

“No; that’s enough!” he shouted, then put himself between them. “We don’t need to do this.”

Despite his advanced age, he didn’t have as much an advantage over the two of them as he thought he did; they simply jumped away and continued. Before he could step in again, a firm hand had him by the shoulder.

“Hey, this was your idea; what kind of power grab is this?” David growled; his other hand was curled into a fist. Should have known he’d be itching for a fight, too.

“You really think this will solve anything?” Killian spat. “Our bosses don’t care; this goes way beyond us, mate.”

Killian threw him off and made for the other two, who were now wrapped in what he guessed was some sort of wrestling move, arms gripped on the other’s shoulders. But before he got all the way there, David jumped in front of him.

“I’m not your mate.” David was glaring and trying to use his height advantage to intimidate, but Killian wouldn’t dare hurt the father of his love, even if he was his opponent at the moment.

“Fine, but I’m not your enemy either; you don’t even know what you’re fighting for.”

“You think I don’t know?” Now he was moving toward Killian—though, over his shoulder, he could see that Robin had landed another punch, this time on Graham’s chest. “Aurum turned me and my wife against our will. Aurum made our daughter grow up without her parents. You just take and take, and do whatever you want without facing the consequences. And now, what—you think you can get out of them because you might lose?” The irony in that statement, of course, being that Robin had now hit Graham in the jaw, who had paused to cradle his sore chin.

“But you have her now; doesn’t that count for anything?” Killian pleaded.

He realized as soon as he said it that he’d made a grave error. David stopped, taken aback. “How did you know that?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Killian didn’t take the time to answer; with any luck, that would be explained later. He jumped on the opportunity presented and dashed toward Robin and Graham again, pushing Robin away as he was about to make what would likely be the winning blow. 

“Bloody hell, mate,” Robin sputtered, and Killian was about to reply, except he was suddenly face down on the pavement after something that felt vaguely like a foot hit him in the back.

“What game are you playing, Jones?” David yelled from above, giving Killian a good idea of who had attacked him. He was back on his feet in an instant, and so were the rest of the gangs, all around them. Fuck; so much for not bringing anyone else in.

It was Robin’s turn to step in front of Killian. “Are you trying to start a rumble, Nolan?”

“I didn’t start anything, but I will if that’s what you want.” Next to him, Graham pulled a suspiciously long, slender object from a pocket, and the subsequent swish of the weapon confirmed: he had a switchblade.

And a second later, Robin had pulled his own out. 

They were immediately back on top of each other, with the others egging them on— “Right in the heart, Robin!” “Go for the neck, Graham!”

Killian’s lone attempt to pull Graham back (he was the closest to him at the time) ended with him also being pulled away by Jefferson; he and David restrained Killian and while he might have been able to shake off one of them, the two of them together were too much. He had to watch helplessly as the two in the center continued to swipe at each other, blades glinting dangerously in the murky streetlights.

It was still only until first blood, right? And that was bound to happen faster now that sharp edges were involved.

Almost in slow motion, he watched as the tip of Robin’s blade sliced at Graham’s cheek, leaving behind a thin line of red. He sighed in relief, little as he needed that breath; that was it—it was done.

David and Jefferson loosened their grip on him and he shook them off, not withholding a glare in David’s direction. He then turned to face Robin, to get him—all of them—out of there as quickly as possible, but his voice got stuck in his throat.

While Robin had barely relaxed, let down his guard for the briefest of seconds, Graham lunged at him and sank his blade into Robin’s chest.

Into Robin’s heart.

The world stood still for a moment as everyone stared in shock, and the reality of what just happened washed over Killian. It wasn’t until Graham jerked the blade free, dripping blood—Robin’s blood—on the ground, that he was jolted enough from his stupor to move.

“No!” Killian screamed, then ran to his friend just as he collapsed. “No, no, no,” he muttered, pressing a hand against Robin’s wound, but there was no use for it—a vampire was just as susceptible to that kind of stabbing as a mortal was.

Robin was gasping for air, useless as it was, as his lifeblood spilled out onto the asphalt below him, quite literally draining the life from him; little would be left in a few moments but ash and memories. If Killian could cry, he’d have been sobbing.

“Tell—tell ‘gina—” Robin stammered, but was quickly losing energy.

He knew what he was asking, anyways. “I’ll tell Regina,” he promised.

With his last bit of strength, Robin wrapped his hand around Killian’s and squeezed, smiling, as death finally came for him. It was fast—too fast, but wounds like that always led to a quick death.  It wasn’t the first time Killian had held another person as they disintegrated in his hold, but it was by far the most painful. And the most unwarranted.

The dust that had been Robin settled in the air around him, landing on his hand where blood was still fresh. In more ways than one, Killian began to see red.

Without thinking, he grabbed Robin’s abandoned switchblade and in one swift moment, stood and shoved it at Graham, instinctively finding his most vulnerable spot.

Graham stammered back, pulling the weapon out—and hastening his own demise. All too quickly, he collapsed on his knees, his team gathering around him, and a moment later, he too was ash.

A sharp wind off the ocean blew Graham’s remains toward Killian, bringing with them the realization of what he had done:

He’d killed a member of Emma’s coven—practically her family.

And he’d done nothing to end the feud; if anything, he escalated it.

Bloody fuck, what had he done?

And what could he do now?

He stared in horror at the blood around him, trying to formulate a plan, when Will blessedly broke the fragile silence.

“Rozzers!” he shouted, then began to run, only to see no one else move. “Cops?” he translated into American English, which got the reaction he was looking for; everyone hopped to their feet and ran. No one wanted to explain this scene to mortal police.

Everyone but Killian. He wondered if his feet had become concrete, he was so rooted in place. It wasn’t until Will was in his face, urging him to move, that he did.

“Do you have somewhere to lay low? I don’t think Coroza is gonna let this one go,” he asked as they dashed from the lot.

His thoughts immediately turned to Emma, suicidal as that likely was. Could he drag her into this? Or would that be the least likely place they’d look?

He’d have to risk it. “Aye, I do.”

“Alright, then go; the less I know the better. Good luck, mate,” Will told him, then ran in another direction; belatedly, Killian realized, headed toward where Belle lived. 

There was no time to dwell on that, though, and he changed course to head uptown. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he knew one thing: whatever it was, he wanted Emma at his side.

(Assuming, that is, she forgave him.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @lfh1226-linda​

[talesofealdancynedom]

Electra, grown, with her selkie furs.

Tale 31: If We Lost The Sea Wives (chapter 3 - Electra’s coat  3/5 ) part 7. Stories of Magic Forests

no warings

              Fey are made by The Beast Kings, and thus magic itself. They know no time, feel no hate, take no side, and cannot form judgement. They are unable to age, and are stuck in an immature state. But that’s their charm. Fey are both very human, but distinctly not. Neither animal, nor person. Their humanness is why people love them, and requite fey affection on occasion. This is the only way a fey can have parents; Instead of being formed by magic itself, fey can breed if they know true love. The child will always be the same fey as it’s fey parent, but will also always be raised like a human.

              Saturn Firepot and his selkie wife, Iearda were expecting a baby. She did not comprehend the array of emotional human responses, or even notice she was with child. But Saturn of coarse, was excitemed. The cabin freshly finished, and in the fire of love, his life felt like it couldn’t get any better. He had graduated with his specialist degree, and had begun his own research. Saturn felt like he was in his prime. In fact, his glasses were a little too rosy. Due seeing fey as human, Saturn forgot his one and only was a fish fey; And thus if the baby was a girl, she too would be a selkie. A daughter would need to be fully submerged to turn into a seal, in order to survive. A son would just be a regular human boy. Nowhere in the other ten lands, was not knowing the gender of your baby, been so stressful. Worse yet, the home birthing culture was intense, due to the commonality of men marrying and reproducing with sea wives. Selkies were known to bite in such stressful times, and partially still had their seal teeth. A blood wound was nothing, compared to the fact Saturn was too ashamed of his predicament to do it all properly. He bought a tub to fill with sea water at their beach, and relied on the fact that fey don’t get birth complications; Because their made of magic, not biology.

              Once the drama was over, and Firepot’s sea wife sat by the tide; Recovering without a clue what just happened. Meanwhile, Saturn bathed his daughter in the tub. Only Northland Sea water was good enough for his child. The adorable ross seal pup, starred up at him, barely able to swim. The baby just turned into a seal upon touching the water. While Saturn was distracted,  someone entered the beach house. As grey mist suddenly settled, it felt like it was going to rain. Saturn took the pup out of the water to cradle her, as unease set in. When he looked at his new daughter, she was now a baby swaddled in a little white fur coat.

“She needs a name. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.” An ethereal woman’s voice chimed. Saturn looked up to see a large woman of his people, with long wavy ginger hair, eyes of the sea, and a large spiked crown; the Fish King, in all her beauty. Men however, become entranced upon seeing her land form, and Saturn was reduced into a catatonic state while the Fish King named the girl.

“Her name is Electrid. As her father, you get to know that. It’s ok if I tell you. I trust as a seer, you know the importance of a fey’s name.” The Fish King said, leaving through the glass sliding doors. The thin curtains blew, as a light salty breeze waved in. When Saturn came out of his trance, his daughter was crying, and the beach was empty. His selkie love had gone back to the sea. Saturn was left clutching his fey daughter, completely alone. He began rocking and sobbing with her, on his knees on the cabin floor. He had no local family, or friends. It was just him in a cabin, by a magic ocean, on an abandoned beach, looking into the infinite misty ocean. Heartbroken.

              Saturn was destroyed that his one true love would put on her skin, and leave. She seemed so content the year and a half. It made Saturn feel secure. He wasn’t forcing her to stay however. Ierna’s coat always hung on the hat stand, by the porch. Fey often have no logical reason for their actions. As a seer of fey, he knew this. It is possible, that she may forget about him with time. Ierna had been away from the sea for so long, perhaps she missed it and wanted an extended vacation. Either way, Saturn decided he would never have it happen again. He took off his daughter’s snowy Selkie coat, and stuffed it in a trunk at the foot of his bed. Then he the girl in human baby clothes.

Without her skin, she was a normal baby girl; Normal enough to convince the local hospital to give her a birth certificate, and his last name. Human bottles, human food, human clothes, human language, and human books. He went the extra mile, to make sure no one knew Electra was anything but a regular daughter. He told lie after lie, to affirm he was a single parent. Any time Electra gazed into the sea, or couldn’t relate to the other children, Saturn would say everyone is different, and distract her with affection. Anything to prevent the most precious thing to him, form returning to the ocean forever. It had been years, and Ierna was still gone. Saturn had now become the cooky village wizard, living alone on a beach.

               It is fair to say, that Saturn was so good at hiding Electra’s feyness, that everyone was fooled, including her. His apt knowledge of fey behaviour, from his job, meant he knew how to raise and teach her to be more like a person. The teeth were a little hard to explain sometimes; As mentioned, selkies have slightly seal like teeth, even in human form. All things considered, fey or not, both father and daughter got joy and fulfillment with only each other to love. Exclusive cuddle rights, fish pie, and Welsh cakes. Listening to radio shows, while playing on the beach with the other fey. Saturn had told all of them long ago, not to tell Electra or any other human, that she was a selkie. They loved him so much by then, they obliged without question. Each dragon, fairy, and fish, did not understand why a human would desire such a simple favour, but it was no problem as they have little to say to most common men.

Saturn became so lost in raising Electra, and keeping up the lie, that he forgot she would grow up. Without understanding human emotions. Electra often made assumptions about life stages, and appropriate social etiquette. Electra, shortly after graduating secondary school, came home with a young lad one afternoon. She had just gone out for cabbage, but also decided to pick up a boy she thought was cute as well.

“Daddy! Can he join us for dinner? I offered to show him our beach house and quiet bay. He said yes! He is so charming, and he dyed his hair orchid to match his kilt. It looks gleaming in traditional knots; and brings out his grey eyes! Oh, and he makes me smile, as everything he says is so sweet!” Electra ranted, starring at the man, like she was consumed by his essence. The boy seemed a bit rattled, and Saturn, as an overprotective father, was livid.

“Excuse me; Who are you? What are you doing with my daughter?” he said firmly.

“I’m Jasper of house Nix. She... She’s the local girl who wears the flowy dresses, and stares at me often; Oh, and she brings me daisies.” He responded. “I approached her, to ask why she was acting all odd; Then she asked if I wanted to go to the beach, and I said yes! She is by far, the most adorable maiden in town, and she looks just like you, I do say! Down to the grey eyes and ginger hair, she does!  You must be her father?”

“Aye…” Saturn said. It was worse than he thought. Electra had become infatuated with an idiot. As the village of Isfisceard was used to magic, and mundane ladies of beauty swooning, it could blur together. The lad had no clue, Electra was a selkie. He assumed she was just charismatic and flirty.

“You built this beach house? It’s homey. I love the yellow and white cabin aesthetic, on the amber wood. This place smells of the ocean and my favourite black tea. Oh, and just look at the enchanting view!” Jasper said, looking into the sea. For once, Electra wasn’t looking into the ocean; She was looking at Jasper. Saturn shrugged, and offered him a beach-side picnic. He was indeed a very sweet boy. Jasper helped clean up, danced with Electra, spouted nothing but positivity, and may have been too stupid to know malice. He reminded Saturn of himself. It made him continue the lie, and preserve their innocent love. He could tell by the look on Electra’s face, she was more then just fond of him. Electra wouldn’t love again in his lifetime; Fey can’t become infatuated again, until their previous obsession dies, or they succumb to grief with the passing of the one who loved them back. This made Saturn invested in the pair. He wanted his little girl to be happy, and see their happily ever after, as his was so brief.

              After almost a year of regular dating, Jasper requited her love, and moved into the beach house. They all shared black coffee, that mixed with the salty temperate breeze. They listened to the hum of the storms, gulls, and the sea shell wind chimes. Jasper and Saturn would sing together, for the sea fey, making Electra’s day. For all sea daughters love song. Everything seemed perfect again. Then Saturn got a job offer, in The Grand West. As a fey expert, and professor at an academy; He was being promoted. Assured his cabin, beach, and darling daughter was safe with Jasper, he accepted the offer. Like the call of a second chance, he was eager to take. Saturn took Electra’s coat with him, and continued to tell everyone his beautiful little girl, with a sort of inhuman beauty, was one hundred percent human. Anything to keep her happy, safe, and on land. Anything to make sure that when he returned, his baby girl would be there.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV|21-13. Oneirophrenia. Sonorous River.)

Three sennights at sea so far. Three sennights of the vast salt-desert stretching before the cargo vessel. River felt as nervous as the Nuhayr’s chocobos in the hold below; they, too, did not trust this unwalkable expanse, did not like being at the mercy of such ruthless nature. The chocobos, at least, were able to keep their greens and fresh water within their bellies; the Hellsguard musician was not so fortunate. He was unable to separate facts at sea (waves full of innumerable glowing creatures the other night) from fiction (lost moogles flitting amongst the clouds above). For a man that had the unenviable trait of quickly becoming lost even with a clear, well-annotated map right in front of him, this new method of travel felt like being in the hands of some great, terrifying child, running and skipping with him in erratic circles.

“C’mon, lad. Ye’ve got tae keep at least a wee bit o’ fresh water down, or ye’ll go mad as a new-branded buffalo.” The Sea Wolf man---ocean-forged cousins of his mountain-forged kind, his mother had said---grinned wide, trying to tempt the trader with a cut-glass goblet of fresh clear water.

River narrowed his eyes, parsing the man’s strange words. The Hellsguard spoke Common, of course, but wasn’t as fluent in it as Hannish or Hingan. “I am guessing, I, that you are wanting me to be of,” he paused, attempting to wet his lips with a dry tongue, “to drink this, yes? But it is sitting like rotten liver in my stomach. I cannot do it, I.”

The Sea Wolf---Lluantoum, he was called, some sort of former  pirate sworn to the straight and narrow, according to Meandering River---likewise took a moment to understand his mountainborn kin. “Och, lad. I’m no’ deliverin’ ye lit’ a sack o’...tha’ is.” He slowed his words, enunciating clearly. “Wee sips. Little ones. Bit by bit.”

River did as he was told, though he wanted to drink glass after glass of the precious, salt-free water. Like a sabotender, he told himself, sipping at the rain before it can dance in the monsoon. Across the great, endless blue, he saw the strange little seedkin pop up, shooting their needles down into the depths, dancing across the waves, bedecked in lurid, hairy blossoms. Sonorous River accepted this; the sight was no stranger than aught else he’d seen so far. Might as well enjoy the show.