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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year

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banish every gaslight; let clarity shine - Part 4

I’ve been waiting to get to this stuff for a while you have no idea. It’s a little longer than the prior chapters, but it’s worth it.

Part 1 [FFN/AO3] - Part 2 [FFN/AO3] - Part 3 [FFN/AO3]

A pair of children, sick and alone, stumble into Spider Miles with hate in their hearts and their lives on a timer. Then, a surprising thing happens: they acquire a sister. [3136 words; AU where there is a Third Corazón, whose existence makes Law’s life hell]

Sixteen years earlier, in an entirely different ocean…

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Lami squeaked quietly as she tried to not cry. Her entire body hurt as she hid in the cart, feeling every bump in the cobblestone road shift the bodies above her. Law pressed two fingers to her lips—they had to be quiet. The little bit of light that filtered through to them was enough to hit his eyes and show how large and terrified they were; he was just as scared as she was, and they both needed to hold on a while longer. As they traveled, they could feel the ground beneath them shift to something softer before the cart finally came to a stop.

“Ah, shit, we’ve got to dig too?” came an irritated voice. It must have been one of the soldiers. “Breathing’s tough enough in these fucking masks.”

“We wanted to wear surgical masks, but no… it had to be rubber gas masks,” another soldier griped.

“Yeah, fuck this,” a third chimed in. “Let’s just ditch the cart and say we thought we didn’t need to dig—all in?” A small chorus of voices agreed and their heavy boots began to walk away into the distance.

Silence.

“A-are they g-gone…?” Lami whispered.

“I think so,” Law replied. He wiggled his way out of Lami’s sight and carefully—quietly—removed himself from the cart. After a quick look to make sure none of the soldiers were there, he found his sister’s ankles amongst the limbs in differing stages of Amber Lead and rigormortis and pulled her out, her shirt getting caught on someone’s hand that had long-ago calcified. She began to panic, but he deftly unhooked the fabric from the stiff fingers. “See? We’re good.”

“Law…? Where are we…?”

“It looks like the campgrounds,” he said, taking a better look around. There was a pile of shovels near one tree, along with a container that looked like fuel accelerant. The clearing across the way had several mounds of dirt that were too neat and orderly and large to be anything but fresh graves. He remembered how it looked in the cemetery when their neighbor passed away before the Amber Lead began to take its toll—that was supposed to be their fate next, burned and buried in a pit with everyone else from the cart. “We need to get out of here, and quickly.”

“…but where will we go?!” Lami asked, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She watched as her brother climbed back onto the cart and began tugging clothes off corpses. “Law?!”

“It’s only going to get colder, and they won’t miss them,” he claimed. He tossed down two thick cloaks, a coat, and a thick sweater before hopping back down to the ground, a pair of boots in-hand. They were not the correct size for Lami’s feet, but they would work, since she hadn’t put on shoes in months. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Where…?”

“Somewhere we can get them back,” he said darkly, taking her hand in his. “We need to first survive, but then… they’ll be sorry.”

The two children ran into the woods and did not look back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Bloody fucking hell… look at them,” Diamante smirked. He and Trebol towered over the pair of brats in the trash heap, having stumbled onto them eating moldy bread. The boy was a bit older than the girl and was holding a knife as though it would protect them. “…and what do you plan on doing with that, lad?”

“Don’t touch my sister,” the kid growled. “All we want is to die taking out as many people as possible, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let us be.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere like this,” Trebol snorted. He sucked some phlegm back up into his sinuses and chuckled. “You’re Flevench—how much time you got, kid?”

“Thirty-eight months,” the boy said. “My sister has thirty-six.”

“A doctor told you that?”

“Our parents did,” the girl said, trembling. “They were really, really great doctors! They were murdered by soldiers!”

“You two are little kids,” Diamante scoffed. ��How do you plan on taking out all these people?”

“We’re going to join the Doflamingo Pirates,” the boy stated. Diamante and Trebol both laughed. “You’ll see! We’ll join them so we can help cause as much destruction as possible!”

“Why do you think that the Young Master should waste his time on you, hm?” Trebol wondered. The boy swallowed hard and adjusted his grip on the knife. “We only take serious applicants.”

“We are serious,” the girl chirped.

“Yeah,” her brother agreed. “We won’t have peace during the three years that we have left, so why should anyone else get that luxury?”

The children waited with bated breath as the adults in front of them grew quiet. Diamante and Trebol both looked at one another and nodded before turning around and walking away.

“If you’re really that serious, then follow us,” Trebol chuckled. “If not, then have fun eating garbage for the rest of your lives.”

Law and Lami looked at one another and nodded—this was it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Flying through the air, Law grabbed onto Lami and did his best to land on his back, cushioning her fall. He glared at the man staring out the window at them, feeling just slightly vindicated when he caught himself on fire.

“Jackass,” he mumbled. He looked Lami over, seeing that she was shivering. “Hey… you alright…?”

“Yeah,” she whimpered, nodding into his shirt. “Law… I want Mom and Dad…”

“We’ll see them soon enough,” he said as he hugged her.

“Wow! You survived!” Lami and Law looked to see the two kids from the Donquixote Pirates—a large boy and a girl in a maid outfit—scurrying over to them. The girl helped them stand as Buffalo watched over his shoulder for the adults. “We thought you were dead for sure!”

“Law makes sure we don’t die,” Lami told the other girl. “He’s really smart and good at taking care of me.”

“If you’re so smart, then why do you need the Family’s help?” she deadpanned, turning her attention to Law. “They say smart kids are the ones who leave.”

“We need their help because we are not going down quietly,” Law hissed. “What’s it say about you that you’re still around?”

“I’m clever—that’s different,” the girl retorted. She then looked at Lami, her face brightening. “Finally, another girl! If you convince the Young Master to let you stay, then we are going to have the best time. Better than we got now at least.”

“I thought we already had another girl,” the boy mentioned. The girl punched him in the arm.

“Dellinger is a boy, you dummy,” she scolded. “He’s part Fish-man, so his junk hides like theirs, but he’s definitely a boy! You’d know that if you changed his diaper!”

“Then why’s Giolla acting like he’s a girl?”

“…because Giolla is also stupid and thinks she can just make him a girl because she wants to,” the girl sighed. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Law and Lami. “So, how about it? You gonna see if you have what it takes?”

“We know we do,” Law said. Seas, this girl wasn’t getting it. “Can you get us back in?”

“Mmm… I might be able to pull a few strings,” she said with a grin. She then stuck out her hand. “Name’s Baby 5.”

“Law.”

“Lami.”

“I’m Buffalo!”

“Those are weird names,” Lami noted quietly.

“That’s because they’re codenames,” Baby 5 scoffed. “Almost everyone in the group has them.”

“We’ll be dead soon from acute Amber Lead poisoning, so I don’t see the point,” Law shrugged. Baby 5 scowled at his answer, which made Lami giggle. Instead of chastising them, Law held out his hand, which Baby 5 looked at warily, then shook. “To all the chaos we’ll cause in the meantime.”

“To the chaos.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was somewhat easy to adjust to living on Spider Miles within the construct of the Donquixote Pirates. Law and Lami were able to eat good food every day as they tried to stay healthy enough to contribute. While Law studied and trained with the adult members of the Pirates, Lami was often laid up in bed and unable to do much of anything.

“This sucks,” she pouted. Baby 5 was setting a tray down on the bed next to her as the younger girl was very tempted to throw her book across the room. It was just the two of them that evening, as most of the crew had gone out on an assignment and would not be back for a couple days and baby 5 was assigned to watch over the younger, bedridden girl. “Why does my Amber Lead have to be so debilitating?!”

“Do you even know what that word means?” Baby 5 asked.

“Well, yeah; it means it makes it so I can’t do anything,” Lami replied. She tried to sit up against her pillows and the other girl jumped in to help. “Ow…! I hate this so much!”

“Law-nii’s working on trying to find a cure,” Baby 5 reminded her. She then handed her a hot chocolate, only to get a stare. “What…?”

“Why’d you call him that…?”

“Well, I’m two years older than you, and he’s two years older than me, so I decided we can be siblings,” Baby 5 reasoned.

“What about Buffalo and Dellinger?”

“Weird cousins…? I don’t know.” She sat down next to Lami with her own hot chocolate and the girls cuddled in close for warmth. Baby 5 looked at the book that was sitting on the blankets and tilted her head. “What are you reading?”

“Noland the Liar,” the younger girl replied. “I know it’s a little babyish, but I like it.”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah… but it’s weird.” Lami opened the book and flipped to a page towards the back. “The book we had when I was a baby showed him crying.”

“Crying…?” Baby 5 scrunched her nose. “Everyone knows Noland laughed at his death, like the Pirate King did.”

“Our book was our opa’s when he was little, and he got it from his opa, and all I know is that it was old and that old is also sometimes different.” She touched the illustration and frowned, seeing the large white patch on the back of her hand. “Bee…?”

“Yeah…?”

“If Law-nii doesn’t find a cure for us, you’ll remember us, right?”

“I’ll always remember you,” she promised. “Why do you ask?”

“I… I guess I’m just scared.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate, avoiding eye contact. “I guess that’s kind of babyish of me too, isn’t it?”

“No… I think it’s brave,” Baby 5 admitted. She put an arm around Lami’s shoulders and hugged her. “I’d be scared too if I were in your situation. Law-nii better find a cure for you both soon… I… I don’t want to be alone again.”

“…but you have Buffalo and Dellinger!”

“Yeah, but they’re not like you two. They’re not…” She sighed. “I dunno… it just seems right being with you and Law-nii… almost like… we can be a family… like I belong with someone… like I’m needed.”

“That’s silly—everyone’s needed by someone,” Lami decided. “That’s silly to think otherwise.”

“…really?”

“Really.” The girls sat there with their hot chocolate, staring at the book illustration, before Lami nodded her head decidedly. “Can I need you to be my big sister if you need me to be your little sister so you’re not alone?”

“Yeah. We can need each other to be sisters.”

…and that was the end of that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a few days before the rest of the crew came back from their mission, the Numancia Flamingo overflowing with money and treasure. Instead of helping to unload the ship, Law went directly to the balcony where Lami liked to read, hugging his baby sister tightly upon seeing her.

“It’s been so long!” Lami squeaked. She put down her book and pulled her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders to ward off the autumn chill. “You were gone for ages!”

“It wasn’t even a week, you silly thing,” he scoffed. “You make it sound like I can control how long we’re gone.”

“You could’ve stayed,” she pouted.

“I’ll stay when I’m not feeling good, so I got to make sure I get as much done when I can.” He exhaled heavily as she simply leaned against his chest and shoulder, forcing him to hug her. “Come on… it’s not that bad…”

“I still missed you.”

Figuring it was a good a time as any, Law dug into his pocket and hid something in his hand as they sat down together. “Here, hold still.” He took the clasp off Lami’s cloak and replaced it with a new one, which glittered in the evening sun. “Prefect.”

“What is it?” she wondered, looking at the clasp. It was an ornate brooch, with many intricate swirls and designs. “It looks familiar…”

“It was Oma’s,” he replied. She looked at him, confused, and his heart broke just a little. “I was looking for a souvenir for you after I looked at the coins and…” He brushed his fingers over the metal, the stars and large tree of the city’s old crest mocking him in its silence. “I remember this was one of her favorites—made before Amber Lead became a common addition to everything. Opa had gotten it for cheap because of it—they were just married and struggling. I remember her telling me—that’s how I recognized it. The soldiers must have cleaned out Flevance of all its non-contaminated valuables.”

“…and you know it’s hers for sure…?”

“It still has the inscription on the back from when Opa gave it to her.” He saw as she curled up and put his arm around her protectively. “I’m sure the lady running the shop didn’t know.”

“It’s still wrong.”

“It is, but it’s ours now, and it would have been ours before, so it’s with the right people again.” He tucked her head beneath his chin and sighed heavily. “One day the world will know.”

“We’ll make them pay,” she agreed, sniffling.

Except, what hope did they really have? They were just a pair of siblings, quite possibly the last known descendants of the White City, and the clock was ticking.

“Ah! There you are Law-nii!” The siblings looked and saw that Baby 5 was standing in the doorway looking very put-out. “Gladius said that you had brought something back!”

“Yeah, for my sister, not for you,” he fired back. Baby 5 went close to them and looked directly at the brooch that was now holding Lami’s cloak in place. “It was plundered from our grandparents’ house—it’s safe.”

“Oh, wow…” Baby 5 tilted her head curiously at the item, taking note of the design she knew she’d seen before, but only once or twice if that. “That’s so pretty! Lami, you’re so lucky!”

“I don’t have anything else from Oma, so yeah, I am!” She then pondered for a moment. “Except… her hair…? But hers was gray and mine isn’t…”

“Opa meant when Oma was younger her hair was your color… the brown parts, anyhow.” Law patted Lami’s head as she buried her face in his shoulder. He glared at Baby 5, a chill running down the girl’s spine, before she gathered herself up and scowled right back.

“Well…?” she asked accusingly. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s my present?”

“You’re not my sister,” he replied.

“Uh, yeah I am.” She watched as Lami sat upright and wiped tears from her eyes. “Tell him, Lami.”

“Bee and I decided we’re sisters while you were gone,” Lami said. “So she’s your sister now too.”

“You can’t just be sisters because you said so,” Law frowned, wrinkling his nose. “You never even met our parents.”

“So…? Young Master calls us all his family all the time, and we never met his mom and dad, and he never met ours!” Baby 5 folded her arms and made sure that her brother and sister were concentrating on her and not on being sad. “I’m your sister now whether you like it or not!”

“Why you gotta act so stupid?!”

“I’m clever, and clever people sometimes do smart things, like find family!”

“She’s right, Law-nii! She’s our sister now!”

“I can’t take care of two of you!” the lad protested. At that, Baby 5 lunged forward and threw her arms around him in a hug, which he tried to break out of before Lami joined in, the two girls trapping him against his will.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“RISE AND SHINE, LAW-NII!”

Groaning, Law turned over in bed and pulled his blanket up over his head. When the fabric was stolen from him in a chorus of giggles, he tried hiding under his pillow instead.

“Leave me alone!” he grumbled.

“…but Law-nii!” Lami whined. “It’s your birthday!”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, you should!” Baby 5 insisted. “We prepared a party and everything for you!”

The tween poked his nose out from the safety the pillow. “You did not.”

“We did too!” Lami said. “I told Bee-nee when your birthday is! You can’t hide in here all day!”

“I can and I will!” Law grabbed the blanket back from Baby 5 and wrapped it tightly around himself in and effort to create a cocoon to shield from his sister and… his sister…? Things were a little vague in that regard. Was Baby 5 his sister just because she and Lami decided so? He was too grumpy and emotionally-spent to even begin considering the idea… that they might have family outside of themselves… family after their parents…

“You’re mean!”

“Baby 5, go away.”

“Cora-san, can you help us?”

Before Law could react, he was being picked up and thrown out the window by a familiar set of hands. Thankful he at least had his pillow to help land on, he glared back up at the bedroom window once he was on the ground, Lami and Baby 5 giggling in the open pane while Corazón was walking away. He trudged back inside only to be assaulted by the two girls and pulled into a room where everyone from the Family was waiting for the party to begin. The decorations looked like Lami and Baby 5 made them, though they reminded him of how his classroom would get decorated when someone in school had a birthday. Tears stung his eyes and he had to swallow hard to prevent himself from breaking down in tears.

Only two more birthdays were coming his way, and shit did he hate it, but this…? This he almost liked. Not that he’d admit it, of course.

#One Piece #fan fiction #fanfiction #Trafalgar Law #Baby 5 #Flevance #Donquixote Pirates #now this is the good shit #I was gonna put this at the beginning of the fic and then went nah this is best served as flashbacks #and we're not done yet either so yay #Trafalgar D. Water Law #Trafalgar Lami #Trafalgar D. Water Lami

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pingutats · 3 years

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my dearest darling

in which you and harry spend a sunday morning having coffee & cake, and spontaneously decide to go engagement ring shopping together.

warnings: a little suggestive at the end. mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 3.4k

. . . . .

The little alleyway off the main street filled with café tables is a perfect place for you and Harry to sit unseen. In fact, in this little alcove, it’s easy to watch the world pass by the two of you. It’s a nice reprieve from the usual of the world watching Harry.

He’s wearing sunglasses anyway, just in case—despite the overcast weather.

You frown at him, resting your elbows on the table and lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on. “I really think that makes you more conspicuous.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Nah. Or at least, if people notice, they’re going to notice an odd bloke in sunnies, not me.”

“They’ll notice it’s you.”

He glances at the busy footpath. “‘S working so far, love.”

A young waitress rounds the corner from the cafe’s front entrance and sets your coffees down on the table. You move your elbows off the table politely to give her space.

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for his black coffee.

You smile at the waitress as you wrap your hands around the latte you ordered, warming up your freezing fingers. You notice the way she hesitates before she leaves, how she looks at Harry like she wants to say something before before quickly spinning on her heels and walking away. When she’s out of earshot, you look at Harry. “She knows.”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

The waitress reappears a minute later with the little cakes you ordered. This time, she’s braver. “I’m so sorry—are you Harry Styles?” she asks, saying his name in a voice that’s akin to a reverent whisper.

His eyes dart to you for a split second and he raises his eyebrow enough that only you’ll notice, conceding to you, then smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, what’s your name?”

You watch him navigate the encounter easily, like you’ve watched so many times. The girl asks for a photo and he politely declines, explaining that he doesn’t want to draw attention, but offers to sign a napkin for her instead. He a short message (nice to meet you, all my love) to her and draws a couple hearts after he signs his name, then passes it to her with a sweetly genuine thanks her for her support.

“Oh my gosh, no, thank you,” she says earnestly. “It was so, so nice to meet you.” She glances at you, then, and her cheeks go even pinker. “Thanks,” she says again, and then she’s gone.

You let a giggle free at the awkward way his fans treat you, like they don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk to you as well, and how they struggle to find something to say to you anyway. Once it might have bothered you. It’s just amusing to you now. You raise your brows at Harry. “All your love?” you tease, quoting the message he wrote on the napkin. “Where’s my share?”

He pouts from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t be like that.”

You kick his shin gently underneath the table. “I’m kidding around. She was sweet. I like watching you do that, you’re so good at it.”

His foot swings around to trap your ankle between his. “Trying to play footsie at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning? You little minx.”

You roll your eyes and wrench your foot free, rattling the table as you do so. He laughs—a sharp barking ha! that makes you smile through your embarrassment at causing a small commotion.

“Who’s conspicuous, sorry?” he asks.

You shake your head at him and stab your fork into your apple and cinnamon muffin. He keeps giggling as he slides his own plate with the carrot cake to his side of the table and picks up a fork himself.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says after he swallows his first bite. “Better than the one I make.”

“Well, baking isn’t known to be one of your talents.”

He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.” He leans over the table and skewers a piece of your muffin on his fork, dodging your attempts to swat his hand away with great agility. He pops it in his mouth triumphantly, cocking his head like he’s challenging you.

In return, you steal a piece of his cake.

“That was a much larger piece than what I took,” he accuses.

You shrug.

His phone, face down on the table, dings. He glances up at you.

“Check it,” you tell him. You know he only has alerts on for his closest friends—otherwise his phone would be ringing all day long. “I don’t mind.”

He bites his lip apologetically and flips the phone over, reading it. “Oh, it’s Tom. Hang on a sec.” He starts typing back.

You crane your neck around to read the message—something about Tom being free at the end of July, and Harry is giving a thumbs-up to that.

“Where are you off to?” you ask.

“France, maybe,” he replies. You’re aware that discovering this kind of information so suddenly would be jarring for most couples, enough to even incite a fight—but you and Harry aren’t exactly a normal couple, and international trips are just part and parcel of your relationship. Hell, he goes on world tours for months at a time. You’re lucky, you suppose, that you function just as well long-distance as you do when you’re living together.

“Lads’ trip?”

He sends the message and clicks his phone off, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. Taking you to Paris and getting down on m’knee in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, nodding sagely.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, Tom’s there to get the photos.” He shovels a forkful of the cake into his mouth and then points his fork in the general direction of a street busker playing a violin across the road. He swallows. “And I’m getting that guy to play a little tune, for the atmosphere,” he adds.

You raise your brows. “Oh, you’ve got budget for this, then.”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my dearest darling.”

You snort.

He carefully cuts a piece of cake with the edge of his fork. “Nah, we’re thinking of doing a trip down to his friend’s studio in—somewhere in France, I can’t remember really. Friends and family welcome too, if you want to come. Apparently it’s a real nice place.” He eats his mouthful and then lifts his sunnies to look at you with clear eyes. “We are getting married, though. I mean that.”

Your cheeks threaten to burst from how badly you want to smile, but you force yourself to assume a serious face, just to humour him. “Of course we are.”

Despite the butterflies it inspires, this conversation isn’t new. You’ve been with Harry a couple of years now and you both know you’re on the same page when it comes to your shared future. There are no hard plans, but the direction is set. You’re getting there someday.

He puffs his cheeks out. “I feel like you aren’t taking this as seriously as I am.”

You sigh melodramatically. “Well, sweetheart, I haven’t seen a ring yet.”

“A ring? You should have asked,” he drawls, then suddenly sits up straight and points a finger at you. “Don’t take that as a challenge. I want to be the one to ask.”

You shrug. “Can’t make any promises.”

His arm shoots forward to grab at your hand and you almost laugh out loud at the puppy-eyes he’s making at you. “No, please, baby, I swear you can do everything else, but let me do the proposing bit.”

In your heart, you’re happy he’s so insistent, because this is exactly how you want it to be too. In your mind, though, you really enjoy tormenting him.

“I’ll think about it,” you concede, and he groans.

“I’m buying a ring soon as I can, just to lock it in,” he tells you as he destroys what’s left of his carrot cake.

Once you’ve finished and Harry’s gone up to pay for the coffee and cake (he also took a moment to lean over the counter to snap a group selfie with the waitress who served you earlier and a couple others too) you walk back up the street in the general direction of your car that’s parked a few blocks down. The weather is pleasant today and the sun is even peeking out from behind the clouds now, justifying his sunglasses.

Your mind starts to drift (his arm wrapped loosely around your waist anchors you to the real world) as you think about how nice it is to be with Harry, how you’ve learned to appreciate each physical moment you have with him because they are so precious. After the tours, the promotional trips, the film sets, and all the little things in between, you understand how to be with Harry. You know not everyone can handle a life like this, and you’re sure that if it wasn’t Harry whose return you awaited, you wouldn’t be able to either. But he always returns.

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a shop window, gazing in. You’re nearly yanked off your feet as you keep trying to walk with your arm around him—he’s so steady that he doesn’t budge. You stand next to him and look into what you realise is a jewellery store.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Huh?”

He looks down, his arm squeezing around your shoulder. “Said I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What, today?”

“‘M not asking. Just preparing.”

You raise your eyebrows up at him. “That is… that is really a technicality.”

“Humour me,” he says. “C’mon.” He shepherds you into the store, steering you by your shoulders.

It’s small and pretty in here, the air from the fans cool against your sun-warmed skin. There are hardly any other customers at the moment, so you have some kind of valuable privacy. There are a couple of glass counters that run along either side of the store with meticulously placed themed displays inside them. You gravitate immediately to the closest thing, a cluster of rough amethysts hanging from necklaces.

“Aren’t these so cute?” you comment to Harry.

His arms wrap around you from behind and you reach up to grasp onto his crossed forearms resting against your chest. “Oh, yeah, they are.”

You stay there looking at the necklaces for a little too long—it’s not like you’re really that fascinated by the jewels, but more that you’re just enjoying Harry’s head leaning over your shoulder and his chest pressed to your back as you stand there. When your gaze meanders along the counter and you see something new, though, you shake free of his grip and follow your whims.

This store isn’t labelled out front with a massive brand. You’re pretty sure it’s an independent jeweller, judging by the neat description cards that accompany each small collection, explaining the theme in a lively and personal manner. This is what makes you really fall in love with the place and feel sure that this is where you’ll find the perfect ring. You know Harry could afford any ring from any famous brand, the heaviest jewels imaginable, easily worthy of a feature article in Vogue magazine. He could probably organise to have a diamond dug up fresh specifically to go on your finger.

It’s the fact that Harry could give you anything in the world that makes you not want it at all. Special, to the two of you, isn’t something that you’ll find in wealth or the crowds that adore him.

It’s found in a day like this.

“Oh, my god, H, look at this one,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

He bends over the counter, his gaze following the line of your pointing finger. “Oh, that is pretty,” he says.

It’s a simple gold band with a small, neatly carved diamond fixed to it. It isn’t flashy at all, which is what drew you to it. You knew he’d like it too. Despite the decadence of his performances, he can be a different man behind closed doors and you love that part of him. The secret part, the one that only you know so well.

“I’m in love with it,” you tell him.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

You never doubted that he would agree, but his assent sends a bolt of excitement up your spine. It’s all so real, suddenly, and you can’t wait to see him on his knee for you, to see that ring on your finger. You know your ring size off by heart (how could you not, being in a relationship with the jewellery connoisseur that Harry is), so there’ll be no need for you to try it on today. You’re left with only the raw anticipation of the day he’ll slide it onto your finger.

His hands come down to rest on your hips as you both stare at the ring. You imagine you can hear his heart, knowing that it’ll be beating erratically because his excitement must match yours—you know how he feels about the idea of marriage.

He spins you around to face him, leaving his hands on your hips. He looks at you very seriously. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head now, pushing back his curls and revealing his green eyes and furrowed brow to you.

“You know, if we’re seen buying an engagement ring…” he begins, trailing off. He shrugs. “Just want to think about that.”

You screw up your nose. “According to some magazines we got married last week, and also six months ago. Just being in here is probably going to spark something.” You glance behind you, as if you’ll see journalists scribbling away on their theories, then flatten your palms against his chest, smoothing out his shirt. “I’m happy to ignore it. I want to just do our thing, H.”

He nods, pursing his lips, and gradually the crease in his forehead disappears. “Okay. Good.” Twin smiles spread over your faces and you have the feeling of being two giddy kids, high-schoolers about to have their first kiss. Something new, unknown, exciting, that the two of you are going into together. His eyes are practically sparkling at you. If this was a cartoon, you think his pupils would be shaped like hearts right now. Something is starting to bud and you can feel it growing up inside you and between you, preparing to bloom.

“Alright,” you say, breaking the insulating silence to draw you both back to the real world.

He blinks a couple of times as if he’s just waking up. “Alright,” he echoes. “Let’s get it.”

He waves over a man drifting through the store in a neat suit and points at the ring. “Excuse me, can we please have a look at this one?”

The two of you watch the man unlock the cabinet and slide the plate of rings out, placing it on the counter. He picks up the one Harry pointed out. “It’s a lovely one, sir.”

“It is,” Harry says. His hand finds yours and squeezes your fingers. “What size is it?”

The man checks the price and tells you, and your mouth drops open. Surely there is something supernaturally perfect going on, because it’s exactly your size. You and Harry look at each other incredulously.

The man seems to notice your unspoken conversation, because he helpfully adds, “We can resize it if you need.”

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s perfect. I think…” he trails off, looking at you. “What do you think?”

You nod at him, grinning. You rub your thumb over the back of his palm as he tells the man, “Thank you. We’d like this one, please.”

You stand slightly behind him as he pays for it, flexing your hands and wringing them in front of you. You know it’s all in your head, but your left ring finger is tingling as if it senses that it’s missing a piece. You really just want to wear the ring at this minute, but when the man selling it to you offers, Harry shakes his head quickly.

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” he says. He accepts the little box from the man and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Enjoy it, and congratulations to the two of you.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist as you walk back out to the street. His hips knock against you as he squeezes you into his side, and you can feel the little box in his pocket. You can’t help the grin that takes over your whole face. You worry you look like an idiot, smiling so widely at nothing, but when you glance up at Harry, he looks exactly the same.

Your car is parked down a quieter road and you get to relax a little once you’re away from the crowds of the main shopping strip. You can walk a little more slowly and Harry loosens up a bit. His hyper-vigilance starts to strip away. You can see the tension in his shoulders dissolving and here’s your Harry, emerging from his defensive layers. Most people wouldn’t notice this change, but you do. You feel how he adjusts the grip of his hand on your hip, how he leans into you a little more as you walk. In your closeness, you can smell his cologne and you think of how you watched him spray it on this morning—and how you’re going to be watching him do that for the rest of your lives.

He glances over his shoulder and you copy him. The narrow street behind you is empty, but you don’t get a moment to really register this before you feel his arms tighten around your waist and you’re swept off your feet for a second as he crashes his lips into yours.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss envelop all your senses. The sweetness of the cake’s icing lingering on his lips; his arms locked around your waist, holding you up; the rapid beating of your heart. He pulls away slowly and your eyes flutter open. His face is just inches from yours and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel naked. Not for the first time, you’re in awe of how impossibly green his eyes are; you could make a palette from every forest in the world, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you see in front of you right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He cracks a grin. “I’m so fucking happy.”

Your reply is simply to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Your hand tangles in his hair and you feel his tongue running along your bottom lip before he pulls away again quickly.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding lost for breath. “Need to stop before I make a fool of m’self in public.” He even physically takes a step back from you, his eyes comically wide.

You giggle. Your gaze travels down his body and you notice the indent of the box in his pocket. “Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He shakes his head at you. “You’ve gone all giddy. ‘M getting you home right now and then we’re celebrating properly.” He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his long legs carrying him faster than you can keep up.

Your stomach flutters imagining what his idea of celebrating might be. Suddenly, the only thing on your mind is getting back to your house as soon as humanly possible. You run after Harry, skipping around in front of him and jogging backwards as you waggle your fingers in his face. “So, when are you going to pop the question?” you ask.

“Oh, honey,” he says, patting his pocket with the ring. He grins. “It’s going to be when you least expect it, I’ll promise you that.”

. . . . .

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, a reblog or a message is really encouraging and lovely for me to see!! the title is taken from the song by etta james.

this fic is the first part of a series called “here we are in heaven,” and i’m really really excited about it. you can read my earlier fic, at last!, if you want to see where this will end up, but there will be more parts to fill the in-between. plus blurbs and stuff! let’s chat about it!

my masterlist can be found here. have a beautiful day!

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #fiance harry #fic #here we are in heaven

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

Text

The Dig

You can read this on ao3 // HERE //

Suffolk, England

1939

“What's going on in Sutton Hoo, then that has you in such a hurry?”

James Fsaser reluctantly looked up from where his head had been braced on his leather satchel, clutched atop his knees, and gave the old ferryman a one-eyed stare.

“I've a job. Digging,” he swallowed, trying mightily to keep himself from retching as the wee boat he was in bobbed up and down like a mad carousel.

“You came all the way from Scotland to dig like a dog?” He laughed hoarsely, hawking up a wad of phlegm into the murky river water as he swung his oars.

“Ipswich,” Fraser muttered, turning a bit more green.

Ipswich Museum to be exact.

He'd been hired to help excavate a centuries old burial site located at a rural estate in Sutton Hoo, overseen by the archeologist, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. A woman much admired (or envied depending on the man) for her keen mind and boundless curiosity (and unrivaled stubbornness that often spiraled into outright defiance according to those same particular men) that had her uprooting half of Great Britain in pursuit of the secrets hidden beneath the mossy plains. And more often than not her instincts were right and another antiquity would be dusted off to be reborn again.

Fraser wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the right to work by her side but Christ, he wouldn't question how lucky he was.

The boat then suddenly coasted to an abrupt stop against the rivers side.

“Here we are, Mr. Fraser. All in one piece. And I thank you for keeping me boat and boots tidy,” said the old ferryman with a wink.

Fraser didn't bother with a retort, he was just happy that the world had blessedly stopped spinning and hopped onto wonderfully solid land.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his attire and fixing his father's old grey cap atop his head (taking special care to tuck in his dark ginger curls that always peeked out from just under the rim), he made his way down the brambled path that the old man said led to the big house. After a brief introduction with the owner of the estate, he was then directed to where he'd be working, and trotted past the trees and sprawling country green to an open field.

From afar, Fraser could see three burial mounds jutting from the earth, grassy topped with yellow dandelions sprouting all over.

But what made his breath catch was the sight of the woman he'd been so eager to meet.

She was surveying the site with her hands on her trousered waist looking like a general on the cusp of conquest. Sensing his approach, she turned away from her prize and future glory, her short curls bouncing and gleaming a rich shade of earth in the dewy sunlight, and met his gaze with her own.

Sharp with intelligence. Kindled with mirth. Shimmering like molten gold.

"A Dhia," Fraser whispered to the fragrant spring air, and took off his cap, twisting it between his hands that ached to trace and memorize every curve of the archeologist's face.

She waved him over seeing him linger and a terrible heat sprang to the young lad's face at having been caught staring at the beauty like a halfwit, and forced his legs to move. Prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

"Hullo there," she greeted, and clasped her small hand to his, but there was nothing dainty about its grasp. Fraser could feel the years of hard-earned experience chiseled in her palm that held his hand firmly, letting him know exactly who he'd be working for.

It sent a thrill down his spine.

"I'm Dr. Claire Beauchamp. And you must be the very late Mr. Fraser I've been waiting for."

"Aye, and I beg yer pardon for that, ma’am," Fraser replied in earnest, detecting a subtle spike of irritation in her voice, seeing the annoyed flick of her brow. "The morning train was running late.” By three hours! “ Then I had to wait for the ferryman to take me across the river -" He'd been taking his "tea" in the pub " - all a lousy excuse, I ken, but I promise ye it willna happen again."

Beauchamp crossed her arms and tipped her head to the side giving Fraser a scrutinizing once over that made his throat bob and the blood in his heart to palpitate.

"Good," she smirked, nodding her approval from his noticeable discomfort. "If you're anything like how the stiffs at Ipswich Museum described we'll get along well."

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the museum, the cantankerous men who worked there. Especially a certain Dr. Randall, who valued a good cigar over the work of a “farm boy”.

"And what do they say of me, if I may ask?"

Beauchamp bit her full bottom lip (wonderfully pink Fraser bashfully noted), quirking wryly.

“Quite a lot depending on who you ask. From what I've gathered you're hardworking, painfully intelligent and have an innate knack for reading the earth. But that you're also highly unorthodox, difficult and the most insufferable Scotsman ever to step foot in Ipswich. So naturally I had to work with you."

He let out a tightly held breath and chuckled softly.

"Weel, who am I to argue wi' a reference like that. I'm passionate about my work and little else, apart from food and kin. And while I've never been disrespectful to reason, I haven't the patience for men who think a title is deserving of my unquestionable fealty."

"And why should you? The conviction of a Viking is something to be admired not belittled,” she praised, making Fraser glow. "I only wish I could've been there to witness how you earned the ire of half the museum.”

“I'm merely in the right and they the wrong, more often than not,” he shrugged.

“I'm just as terrible,” she proudly grinned. ”But I know we'll make a good team. We'll have to if we want to tackle this lot.”

She motioned her head at the site looming tall, brimming with excitement that spoke to Fraser's own spirit.

"If that's so then it'll be an honor working wi' ye, ma'am."

He shook her hand once more and thought he felt her thumb move against his knuckle, light and curious as a brush stroke.

Working with two assistants from her previous digs (the studious Jeremy Foster and the wide-eyed youth Elias Pound), Fraser and Beauchamp made great strides in plowing the core of the mound that was the larger of the three, even when logic argued that the dip in the middle meant thieves of the past had already plundered it's horde.

But Fraser's gut and bones told him that there was something different about this one.

Beauchamp had thought so too.

"There's something grand and marvelous here begging to be found. Don't you think? Can't you feel it?"

The deeper they dug only intensified that feeling.

As had his attraction to the irrepressibly brilliant Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

However, after a fortuitous streak of good weather, the air started to blow with the sweet scent of rain and the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the lush clearing turned toward the skies, parched and longing.

"We have some time, I think, before the rain comes," said Beauchamp, gauging the skies westward still clear of thunderclouds.

Fraser leaned against his shovel in the hollow of earth he stood in, his dirt stained sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and could see the mad impulse to defy mother nature flash in her eyes.

"Usually I'd agree wi' ye, ma’am, but yer hair -" his mouth flicked upward in unbridled appreciation. "Is curling like a tumbleweed."

She pressed a dirt-flecked hand near her temple and felt the wild frizzy pushback of flyaway curls fallen loose from her twisted bun, springing around her face like a mane.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she huffed. “Have I been like this all morning, Fraser?”

"Pretty much," he grinned, enjoying how her usual regal self pinked across her freckled cheeks and the wee scrunch of her nose.

But Fraser's smile faltered, catching himself for a fool, and averted his attention down to the soil where his heart had fallen. Writhed. Burrowed with the worms and roots.

For what use was it for a man like him to yearn for a woman like her?

He swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.

"Shall we go for lunch then, wait for the weather to clear?"

Hearing the word lunch, Foster and Pound looked up from their own end of the excavation with hunger in their eyes.

"Did that on purpose did you?" said Beauchamp, throwing an accusatory glance at the ginger lad while trying to gather her wayward curls back to partial respectability.

He gave her a half smile.

"The Almighty is the one making it rain, ma’am. Take it up wi' him."

She sighed and her hands fell to her waist as she took one last disappointing glance above.

"I would if He ever bothered to listen,” she frowned, then gave the other men a nod that made them hoot and holler.

“Numpties,” she mumbled, though did so fondly, and puffed at a rebellious forelock flirting with the wind.

After covering the ditch with a tarp secured to the ground, the men headed for the local pub raucously singing an old drinking song with a few choice words changed.

Our Lady must have been an Admiral, a Sultan or a Queen

And to her praises we shall always sing

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp who fills us up with cheer

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp . . .

Their lady laughed and rolled her eyes, before waving the lads off with a promise to catch up to gather her things, and headed to the shepherd's hut that had been provided by the estate.

Fraser glanced back watching her go, and after a moment's hesitation where he reasoned it would be rude to leave without her, he too told the others he'd forgotten something and went after Beauchamp.

Cursing himself an "EEJIT!" every step of the way.

Inside the hut was a small curtained window softly lighting the room from the back and two wooden scuffed chairs positioned along the side wall with a table snugly fit between them. Beauchamp herself was crouched by the table legs where Fraser had left his satchel but it was now laid open on its side, contents spilled over.

At his unexpected appearance that shadowed the doorway, she turned his way with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just grabbing my bag when I tipped yours over and . . ."

She held up his small green fieldbook opened at the first page.

And white-hot panic flooded Fraser's veins.

"The writing caught my eye," she continued on, seemingly unaware that the poor lad was gripping the doorway for support. "I didn't know you spoke gaelic beyond the odd phrase here and there. That you can even write it too is something of a feat,” she said, impressed by the words secreted on the page.

“Aye,” he managed to breathe, relieved that she hadn't seen a thing. Not a thing! “I don't get much practice living away from home so I speak it in my mind and heart, write letters to my family when I can.”

“You've spoken of a sister, if I'm not mistaken. Older or younger?" She prodded, as if he were a new discovery, and he answered in hopes to distract her from what she still held in her hands.

Felt a fluttering warmth overtake him that she recalled him having a sister.

"Jenny,” he said, as he moved to kneel down beside her to stuff his scant belongings back in his bag. “She's older and feels the need to remind me of that fact whenever we see one another.”

“And you're the brat aren't you?”

Despite his predicament, Fraser couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"I was the devil's spawn, aye, but Jen was no angel. We once got into a terrible stramash about our chores on the farm, the way wee bairns do, and I ended up telling her she had a face uglier than a coo, smelled worse than one too. Next I knew, I was being tackled to the ground wi' my face shoved into a ripe pile of coo shite and my sister above me laughing her wicked wee arse off.”

Beauchamp broke into laughter and it made his stomach do a flip.

“I'm sorry, that must've been awful for you, but I think I may love your sister for that.”

“Everybody says so. Not sure it was worth it in the end myself . . .” said Fraser, his voice suddenly trailing off at the end seeing her attention turn back to the page.

His mind spiraled into action.

"But we really should get going before the rain catches us. It looks to be a downpour, a terrible one.”

“Well it's a good thing we're under a roof then isn't it?” She countered, eyes sparkling through her long lashes. “ Besides I'd rather have an impromptu lesson in gaelic on what,” she paused, squinting down at the book opened on her knees. “Baa-mia-’bruu -” means.”

“Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr,” he begrudgingly corrected, wondering how rude it would be to just snatch his own fieldbook away. But then Beauchamp smiled as if charmed by his voice and echoed back his words with near perfect silky inflections, looking pleased as punch as she did so.

Endearing herself even more to the young Scot's already smitten heart.

“Verra good,” he hummed softly.

“Absolute luck,” she grinned, tapping her fingers atop his writing. “Now tell me what does it all mean?”

He shook his head embarrassed. "You'll think me daft, ma’am."

"I promise I won't."

She said it in such an earnest way, Jamie knew she spoke true. But then a deep rumble of thunder sliced through the air, enough to give Beauchamp a jolt that made her forefinger on the page slip and Fraser's stomach to rip and plummet to the old wood floor.

There, drawn on the page, was Beauchamp's face staring back at her.

“It’s nothing but some wee scribbles,” he stammered to explain, reaching for the book only for her to angle it away.

“You're right about that,” she agreed, her fine brows furrowing as she traced a slim finger to her pencil drawn cheek. “You've made one of my eyes bigger than the other, my nose a dash too long and -"

Her eyes went comically round as she pressed the pages to her chest, a sudden thought coming to her.

"You don't have anyone posed in the nude here do you?"

"O-Of course not! I'd never. I- I'd -"

"Breathe Fraser, I was only teasing you," she nearly giggled, but then her face softened with regret seeing his own face take on the horrible color of a split beet left to shrivel in the sun.

“But really, why bother with me?”

He had no answer but the one that pounded from his heart, a noise like a thousand drums that all struck the same adoring note. She could see it beaming from his face and a hushed silence fell between them as the rain finally came down, hitting the rooftop in a pitter-patter that enveloped her quietly spoken -

“Oh.”

That single utterance had Jamie wishing the rain would flood and swallow him up but it was now or never to speak his heart. No matter that hers would never be his to cherish.

Looking down at his hands, anxiously wringing the strap of his satchel, he spoke.

“There was never any helping it, me liking you. I'd never seen a sight sae fair as you, stubborn as you, nor wonderful as you. And I could never get ye out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried, but ye were always there like the sun and air."

He lifted his gaze to her likeness on the page.

"And then I just started filling my fieldbook wi' pictures of you if only to have something to remind me of you for when the job ends and we part ways. But I'm none so good as ye can see. I never could capture the grit and fire of yer spirit, the way yer curls bristle in excitement or the way yer eyes glow like a match to a candlewick . . . "

His heart tightened as his words faltered while Beauchamp remained quiet. Then like a blow to his chest she flipped through the small book once more, her face unreadable as stone. She looked through his sketches, one of her curls drawn like the ripples of the tide, another of her hands digging through the earth, and of her lush determined mouth curved into a beaming smile, bitten with impatience, beneath a perfect speckled nose.

And threaded between her gestures, her features were more bits of gaelic.

A bòidhchead . . .

Tha pian orm . . .

Tha cho teann sa tha a ’bhriogais gam iomain

"I told you I was no good. I ken I should just rip up the pages -” Fraser began to miserably say, but Beauchamp hushed him by taking his hand in hers and softly stroked her thumb against the work-hardened skin.

"You have a fine hand, Fraser. Especially for making my nose look as delicate as Garbo’s,” she smiled, cheeks touched lovely in pink.

Then in a moment that made it hard for Fraser to breathe, she simply said . . .

“Ask me for a drink.”

He blinked, thinking he misheard her, mouth agape. But there was no mistaking what brightened her eyes to shine like whisky.

“Ask me,” she repeated impatiently, almost laughing, as she squeezed his hand.

Fraser inhaled sharply and tentatively squeezed her small hand back.

“Will ye join me for a pint, ma’am?”

“Claire,” she grinned, and coyly tilted her head . “And of course I will. Took you long enough to ask,” she winked, making Fraser stare at her in charmed disbelief.

And then Beauchamp closed the distance between them, hand light as a feather against his chest.

“But first you ought to kiss me, Fraser. It's still raining and I might catch a chill from all this waiting."

Still staring at her mesmerized, with questions that could wait another day flitting through his mind, Fraser wove an errant bonnie curl around his fingers and smoothed it behind her ear. Letting his thumb drag against her cheek.

“It's Jamie,” he murmured, in a brush of his lips to hers.

And on and on it went.

Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . .

I dreamt about the mourning. The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us. They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave. But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

A/N: This had a ton of notes and explanations so you can read all those on ao3. But for sure I’ll say here this is very loosely based on the movie The Dig.

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

90 notes · View notes

lemonjoonah · 4 years

Text

Blood Bounty - Part 3 (M) - Finale

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, ft. Seokjin x Namjoon Word Count: 15.5K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings (CONTAINS SPOILERS): Dub-con (consent is freely given but the context is dubious), non-con vampire feeding, non-con kiss, unprotected sex, light bondage, oral sex (f. rec.), cum eating, pain during intercourse (don’t be like the OC here in the beginning and try to conceal it, you should tell your partner if something hurts), somewhat antiquated thoughts on virginity, virgin reader (it’s a flashback and there’s a small amount of blood...), death of major and minor characters, drugging (with vampire blood), murder, violence, blood, gore, sexism, blood slavery, kidnapping, captivity, forced marriage, manipulation, gaslighting, once again it’s some pretty dark shit, consider yourself warned.

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this mini-series. I truly hope you enjoy the end of this tale (and the hints to another separate series in the works 😉).

...

Your new stead is surprisingly responsive to your commands, possibly desiring to get as far away from the predators as you. Taking you down the road to the kingdom at a startling pace, causing several branches to whip painfully in your direction. When a stinging blow inevitably lands on your brow, enough to draw a spot of blood, you pull back on the speed of your mount. You are not so far now that you worry about making it back before nightfall.

The route home becomes more populated the closer you get. For the first time in years you are among people like you again. Those who see you as just another person passing by, not a temping entree, nor a traveller to rob. Some even nod to you as they cross your path, you respond in kind, but keep your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak.

Your first few paces inside the town comes as quite a shock. The notable gathering spots are even more vacant than they were during your nighttime strolls. With the stalls of the market bare, and so many businesses closed, the only well occupied space appears to be the mounted boards on the end of every other street. You stop at one littered with official orders for curfews, new regulations, and missing souls. The most notable of all to you is the obituary detailing your brothers passing.

You swallow back your grief, and proceed to examine the document claiming that he had died of a devastating injury and no more. It seems your parents will still not admit to any weakness that might carry in the family's blood. But with each stamped flyer, there’s been an addition made, one that was obviously not approved by the crown.

‘The crown prince is dead, and our princess lost. If we let them rule any longer we will be next!’

You are stunned by the note, fearing how bad the circumstances must have become in your absence. Backing away from the board you prod your stead onward and in the direction of the public stables. Hoping to find the mount it’s own new home, while you return to yours.

“Three pence for a night,” The master grunts, looking up from his work as you dismount near the entrance to the paddock.

“I have no coin, but-”

“No coin, no stall. Don’t waste my time and move along.” He interrupts before returning to shovelling the pungent manure.

You wrinkle your nose at the odour and persist in your efforts. “I was going to offer for you to take ownership of him instead. I have no use for him now.”

“Keep him? Tell me, how did you come to own this stead? Is it truly yours? ” He leers down, placing you beneath his scrutinous glare. “People don’t just give up a worthy horse. How can I know that there is not someone out there who will come looking for it and will blame me for their loss?”

“I can assure you the last owner will not come to retrieve him. Now do you want the horse or should I go find another who is willing to take my offer? Maybe that nice family there.” You point to a couple making their way into a nearby building.

Your bluff calls his, leading the man to grimace and huff, “Fine. I will take it, now be gone with you.”

With the horse now tended to, you start to walk away, passing the entrance to the tavern, the door the mentioned pair just walked into. It’s hard not to take note of its current occupancy, for it is packed with people, all shouting and trying to have their say. With the entryway cracked open an inch you are able to catch several snippets of the debate.

“We can’t wait any longer. They are changing the narrative as we speak! Now stating they hold out hope for the princess’s return.”

“And what if she does?” A familiar man stands in argument. “Would you have us send the kingdom into turmoil when hope still exists? I would not be as I stand before you today without the surgeon she sent to us. A blacksmith cannot work without a hand. My wife and I would have been out on the street before long.”

“Can you not see what they are doing for what it is?” The first speaks again to counter his point. “It’s a convenient ploy! With an heir lost, only the promise of another, with more favour than them will quell our anger. If she was still alive they would have found her by now.” He pauses to pat the smith on the shoulder. “I mourn her loss too my good friend, but we can’t wait for a small sliver of hope when we continue to live the way we do. Taxed within an inch of our livelihoods, while the list of missing continues to grow and those who are in charge hide behind their walls, keeping secrets that affect us all. If she returns we can offer her a good standing among us. But their rule must end.”

You edge closer and closer to the door trying to get a better view of the meeting in progress, when a throat clears and grunts, “Run along lad...” Nearly jumping from the fright you turn around to find the stable master having come up from behind. Bowing your head you comply, thankful that he had not realized the gravity of what you overheard.

What had truly happened in the time you were gone? This isn’t just contempt but a full blown revolution building. Your people think you dead, and understandably so, but if they see that you are alive and well, maybe a better path can be found than one that will surely end in blood.

When considering your options you know there will be no way in through the front gates, your parents have always kept them heavily guarded, and no one will believe you are the child of the king and queen dressed as you are now. Rather than stir up trouble, you proceed to your fastest route in, the trap door hidden on the perimeter.

In your absence it appears to have remained unused. The roots of the hedge have grown over, needing to be tugged out of place until the hinges and wood are freed from their grasp. You drop down into the passage, closing the hatch behind. With no light, nor lantern you are left to navigate the abandoned hall in the dark. The palm of your hand brushes against the damp stone wall, crossing cobwebs and critters on it’s trek to lead you to the portrait door. You try your best not to think of the time spent in this place, and the company you are now left without, but the sound of your steps resonates around you. Tricking your ear into thinking it a whisper of the past, as if his promises still remain locked away down here, echoing off the bedrock for you to claim.

You are grateful when you finally reach the castle's interior, although for the time of day even the palace appears deserted and cold, you slip about the halls feeling like a stranger in your own home. Hoping to return to your old bedroom before you find anyone else, so you can at least reclaim another part of what you once were. But when you find the door and step inside someone is already there, crying at the foot of your bed. It’s too late to back away for they look up, just as startled as you. It’s your former lady’s maid who steps back from shock at your appearance, followed by a baffled stare when she catches a glimpse of your face.

“My word...” She gasps as tears continue to roll down her cheeks, “I never thought I’d see you again. He brought you back, I can’t believe he brought you back.” She runs forward wrapping her arms around you, a blubbering speech follows. “I’m so sorry, your b-brother... he’s gone. After everything that happened, everything you did, he’s still gone. An-and the threats to the crown, ever since his death everyone has been in an uproar. I haven’t dared to leave the grounds out of fear that someone will know I work here.” “It’ll be okay. We will figure this out.” You attempt to calm the maid you can only remember fragments of. She must have thought you had run off with Yoongi that night, but now is not the time to correct her with actual horrors you endured.

“Having you back now will surely pull the king and queen from their stupor. They have been pleading and praying for your return.” She looks down at your clothes with apprehension. “Court is in session right now. They are locked away until a matter is settled, but we can ready you to meet with them once they are finished.” You nod prompting her to seek out your wardrobe. “I’ve been keeping them well looked after in case of your return.” She pulls out a dark dress, a sign of mourning for your brother. “I believe this will still fit. You don’t look to have changed much.”

As she laces you in you can feel the garment tug on your ribs and chest. Maybe a little too small, but it will have to do for the time being. Once finished she escorts you to the dining room, while you continue to marvel at the empty halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Much has changed... your parents' fears have grown in the time you’ve been gone. They feel they can trust far fewer than they have before, and so, many of the staff were let go. If anyone ever even asked about you they too were sent away.” She stops at the set of double doors and urges you inside. “If you remain here and I will go and have the King and Queen informed as soon as the proceedings let out.”

“Wait, don’t leave...” You were going to ask her more questions to address the gaps in your past, hoping you might stir more than a few moments you have of her and your life here, but she has already closed the door and departed.

You are left in the dining hall, waiting only with the excessive spread of your parents forthcoming dinner. The feel of the room compared to the passage below is unfamiliar, unlike the dark narrow tunnel this place is void of memory and the feelings that come with it. You pray that such a disconnect will not last long.

Mounted up on the back wall you find your family’s portrait. Staring at it at the faces and details, you remain so until slivers of the painting's creation surfaces in your mind. You hated that gown, for its rigid seams and heavy fabric took quite a toll as you stood there for hours behind your brother. He was seated due to his condition but you were told to stand and remain still, while the prince takes the forefront of the picture.

It had been made not long before you disappeared from the kingdom. You can recall dwelling on how little blood you had left, while the painter took your likeness. Your parents look so happy in the portrait, thinking their son to be healing and ready to take on the throne, while you spent the whole time daydreaming of Yoongi’s return.

Your anger spikes as you think of him now, it is beyond doubt that he has noticed your absence. You will have to warn your parents and their guard of his possible travel to the kingdom to claim you for his clan. The secret passage will have to be sealed, taking with it your hopes to ever leave again.

Grabbing one of the many decanters and with a shaking hand pour yourself a goblet of wine. Seeking to soothe your trepidation of meeting your parents, you sip on the bitter drink while picking at the food of the central spread.

The hours pass while you take your fill, until finally, when the sky has long been dark your mother hurries first. Looking exactly the same as she once did in your memories, frantic and worried. “Thank heavens you are back. You are safe, we are safe.” She looks down at you, her face unchanged with time, and the skin of the arms which clutch you... you stare at them for a moment, perfect and untouched, but you remember... you recall deep gashes and blood, so much blood pouring down your fingers. Disturbed by the thought you shake yourself from your horrific vision and smile back at her. Expecting her to launch into a flurry of questions but to your surprise, both her and your father pose no queries.

“We knew he would find you again,” your mother cries with happiness. “We knew he would bring you back. The people, they will be so thrilled to hear of your return. The threats, the violence it will all be over soon.”

“You knew him? You asked him to find me?” The facts of her statement confuse you greatly, had they been privy to information your maid had not? For if she thought you were with him... what did your parents believe?

“My dear, are you well? Of course we did.” Your gaze once again focuses on the flesh of her forearms, as if entranced to the spot, while she brushes at your unkempt hair. Upon following your sight she pulls at the shawl of her dress in an awkward fashion, covering the length of her exposed skin. “Think not of what happened at our parting. All is well.” A painted grin plasters your mother's face. “We made all the changes necessary, you my darling, are to be next in line, not your children, but you. Your father had to work so hard to gain the approval of his lords, they thought it pointless to change the law in your absence, but here you are! Once your consort holds up the rest of his bargain your father will sign and you will be heir to the throne.”

This is all too much, you trying to keep hold of all the information while more is poured on to you. Unable to focus on anything other than their knowledge of Yoongi. Did they really meet him and make the request of him to bring you home? But to what bargain are they referring? “He did but I fear his clan has plans to remove me once again. We have to guard the old passage too, it’s already been nightfall for some time and I fear he won’t be far behind.”

“My poor girl... are you sure you are not ill?” Your mother’s head tilts in confusion. “He is already here, he has been for some time... you fled from his estate when he was just about to send for your return.”

You step away from your parents as fear tightens and grips your chest. “No, you can not mean. Not him, please not him-”

But your greatest nightmare returns to join you, with Taehyung waltzing through the double doors as if your parents castle is his own. “Princess, so good of you to join us. You shouldn’t have run off like that, you had your parents worried.” He approaches, inciting you to back into a wall in an attempt to keep your distance. Your parents don’t react with shock or fear at his sudden advancement on you, surely it is just a dream or vision then? One you are bound to wake up from soon. “But I knew you couldn’t run from me... only towards. Isn’t that right my sweet princess?” Though when his breath comes to find your ear you know him to be real. “I would have gone to find you myself, and take you back sooner, but your parents have been a rather large thorn in my side. Refusing to let me go until I-”

“And what of the other part of our bargain?” Your father calls from behind Taehyung, who grimaces and rolls his eyes at the interruption.

“They will be here shortly. My kin are acting on my behalf tonight, for I could wait no longer when I heard news of her arrival.”

“You have short changed us before,” the king admonishes. “I will not sign until I am certain the problem is dealt with.”

Taehyung turns from you entirely, the accusation leading him to snap back in anger. “That was your own doing, not mine, human. I gave you what you asked and you chose to squander it.”

With Taehyung now focused on your father, you are ready to run, to seek anything you might use against him, but your mother catches you before you can take two steps.

Shouting and jeering can be heard from just outside of the room, along with the heavy footfalls of several men, far too loud for what should be expected of the staff and guard. The procession outside bursts into the dinning hall. Your father’s lip curls ever so slightly as several men are pushed to their knees in front of him, muzzled and chained by the vampiric clan that restrains them.

Taehyung introduces them with a proud and theatrical air, as he takes a seat at the head of the table. “As you requested my liege, the leaders of the now failed rebellion.”

You recognize many of them from the tavern earlier, even the blacksmith whose hand Yoongi saved long ago. Your father after taking stock, waves them away, ordering them to be held out of his sight, until a public execution can be arranged.

You open your mouth to argue and condemn such brutal tactics when you are pushed down in the chair beside the monstrous vampire by your own mother. “You will sit still, be quiet, and do your duty for the family.” Despite her insistence your nails claw at her hold trying to free yourself from his side. As blood breaches her skin, so too does the memory of your first meeting with the vampire lord.

...

-Five years ago-

You look through the streets for hours hoping to catch even a glimpse or a whisper of Yoongi. Asking several people who pass you by, but no one knows of his whereabouts, nor has seen the distinguished surgeon in months.

With the sun ready to rise, you retire from town for the night. Stripping from the simple dress, you toss it to the side and return to bed for the hour you have left to sleep. When forced awake by duty, your day ultimately passes with you a hollow shell. Barely able to keep your eyes open from lack of rest, with a gnawing disappointment taking root in your stomach, distracting you from much else. You tell your maid of your plans to venture out again to find him, but she looks concerned by the prospect.

“You can hardly stand! What if, as a result of your current state, you cannot find him tonight? Your brother needs this and if you should fail... maybe we should tell the king and queen and let them put out a search for him?”

“No, I must do this on my own. He would not want them to be aware of his kind.” You go to take the plain gown but your maid grabs it first.

“I understand that you feel you must go. But please take an hour or two to sleep before you journey out. You look dead on your feet.” She does not relent, prodding and scolding until you are between the covers of your bed. “I will wake you once the castle is quiet enough for you to leave without being spotted.”

Nodding in agreement you submit to the coma of slumber rather quickly while she sits in the seat across from your bed. You wake hours later not by the hand of your staff, but from the hammering of rain pelting at your window.

You rise and call out, confused as to why she did not wake you earlier, but no answer responds. Lighting the candle on your bedside you find the chair empty of both her and the dress. You jump from your bed, in only your dressing gown and slippers reach for the door. When she bursts through it first, wearing the dress you intended to wear on the street.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you-”

“Princess, I found him!” Your lady’s maid exclaims happily, despite being absolutely drenched from the weather outside. “I went in your place so you could have more time to rest, and I found your friend, or I should say he found me.”

“You found him?” You breathe a sigh of relief, your brother is now safe and your plans with Yoongi can come to fruition. “Where is he now?”

“He’s with the king and queen.”

“My parents?”

“He wished to see them, mentioned something about desiring their permission. He’s already healed your brother, your mother and father couldn’t believe it.” She grabs hold of your hand and pulls you from the room, not caring that you don only your bed attire. “Come! They are waiting for you.”

Still half asleep and only semi-coherent you allow yourself to be ushered along to your father’s den. There he sits behind a desk quill pen in hand, your mother hanging over his shoulder, and settled across from them both is... someone who is not your vampire, someone who is not Yoongi.

The stranger smiles, showing off his sharp teeth as he gets up from his seat to deliver a sweeping bow. “Lord Kim Taehyung, at your service princess.”

You take a step back upon hearing the name that Yoongi warned you of so many times. “W-why are you here?” With concern immediately drifting to your lost vampire, for if his enemy has found you what could have befallen him.

Your mother scolds your response, “This man has offered his assistance, to aid in your brother's care, you will show him your respect.”

“It’s no matter,” Taehyung shakes his head at your mother. “Though I must ask, why do you look so scared princess? Your maid was looking for one of my kind, were you not seeking my help?”

“Is this true?” Your mother interjects, glaring at you. “You knew of people like him, those who could help your brother and you told us nothing?”

“I was looking for another,” you attempt to explain. “One who had been helping us in the past without your knowledge, he forbade me from revealing his kind to you.”

“What did this other tell you of me?” The lord smiles. “I should like to set my story straight, because you, princess, looked ready to flee the moment you heard my name.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask again. If he refuses to answer your question why should you obey his own. “I thought your kind did not wish to reveal their existence to humans.”

“When the situation is as important as this, exceptions can be made.” The vampire justifies, a crooked grin refusing to leave his mouth. “I am only here to offer my services to your family.”

“We already have the services of another. He was doing so for years before you came here, he will help my brother should he need it in the future.”

“Then where is he now?” Taehyung asks the dreaded question which stabs at your heart.

“He will be back...” You retort, hoping it to be the honest truth. “We do not require your help.”

Your father silences you with the stern call of your name and the hammer of his fist on his desk, before he too jumps into the argument. “I will overlook the concealment of your past acquaintances, along with the fact that you gave your brother treatment without our knowledge and consent. But I will not have you demean this man who just saved his life.”

“He is not a man!” You shout back at your king and father. “He is a monster. I have been told of his misdeeds, of his ethics. We can not trust him-”

“We have no choice! Without an heir the whole kingdom will become a place of ruin, an unclear line of descent will lead to chaos.”

“Then we wait. We wait for the one I can trust. He will be back soon, I know it.” Certain at least in this instance you know better than your parents, you plead for them both to listen.

“This is not a discussion.” Your father clarifies while the vampire takes out a bag, pulling from it two large corked bottles filled with a fluid far thicker than wine. “We called you here merely to inform you that we have accepted his services.”

“This should be enough to keep him healthy for a long span of human life. It will heal most ailments, and injuries, and when enough is consumed will even slow the course of ageing.” You watch as the vampire's attention falls on your mother during his explanation, his lip curls even further when her eyes brighten in interest over the properties of the cure.

You go to her, grabbing her arms so that she will focus on you alone, trying to convince her of the vampire's true nature. “This is a trick it must be. You can’t accept this, he will bring only ruin.”

“All that remains is the payment.” The Lord Taehyung adds, ignoring your plight.

Your gaze snaps back to him, when you hear of his charge. “What payment? What did you ask of them?”

“The cost for such a bounty of blood requires an equal sacrifice on your family's part.” The vampire beams with delight. “The blood needed for his life, in exchange for the blood of yours.��

Your stomach drops when you see your father dip his head in confirmation. They already knew the cost and still they bartered you off without much thought. Your hands continue to grip your mother’s arm. “Please... please listen to me. It doesn’t have to be like this. There’s another way, there has to be.”

“There is no other way.” She responds, her tone cold enough to match her words. “It is time you stop living in your dreams dear girl, those books you cling to, those maps you draw, they will bring us nothing in the end. You have scorned numerous suitors in the past few months alone, leaving your father and I at wits’ end trying to secure a noble future for you. If you will not have that duty, you will take this. Better to have your hands stained with blood than ink if it will at least save our prince.”

As she starts to push you towards your new fate, your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her arm, desperate to try and keep hold of your past life. Taehyung takes you by the waist and pulls you towards him leaving long lacerations down your mother’s skin as you continue to sob and beg for her to stop this. The thumb of your captor crosses your lips, bringing with it a metallic taste to your tongue. There’s a hushed order whispered in your ear to be quiet and complacent, and you do just that. Relaxing into Taehyung's arms while he carries you out and into a waiting carriage in the dark and drenched courtyard.

Once out from the castle walls his slick smile falls. He may have taken your ability to speak, but not your tears will to flow. Pulling out a kerchief, he cleans your hands of your mother's blood. After removing every spot he lifts the fabric to his nose, and winces at the smell. “It is still amazing to me that one like yourself could be born of such soiled stock.” He then tosses the cloth out the window of the carriage. “That’s better.” His hand lifts up to the stream that continues down your cheeks. “Do not weep my princess. They may not see the same value in you that I do, but I promise we will prove it to them soon.”

Angered by his declaration, you look away to the door, not wanting to give Yoongi’s adversary the satisfaction of your gaze. You knew you always weighed less in your parents mind. For you were second in their hearts even before your brother was conceived, second to the mere hope of a son. Swaying their love even a fraction in your favour was and is an impossible feat, a battle you could never win.

“I know you wished to leave them, my kin intercepted a letter addressed to a royal who was willing to abscond with a vampire.” You look back at him with eager eyes. A letter? Yoongi must have sent word and this lord stopped it from reaching you. “I see that I have your attention now do I?” Taehyung scoffs and sits back in the carriage clearly enjoying your regard. “I knew of a woman much like you before I became what I am. I once travelled the land with a troupe. Entertaining both the nobles and the masses, while dressed in simple white garments, with only a tapestry as a backdrop, and the floor as our stage. It was invigorating, the life that came from holding the eye of the courts, and one lady... one princess in particular.”

Taehyung pauses to look back at your castle before continuing his tale. You can do nothing but sit there and listen, his blood and previous demands continuing to hold you in his custody.

“She too was not content with the possible suitors before her, they could not offer her the multitude of lives she wished to live, but through narratives and plays I fulfilled that need. We could become whatever she or I wished ourselves to be. I was sure to see her as often as I could, but when her parents learned of our tryst, my group was banished, and she, to the bed of a neighbouring prince.” The vampire sighs as the story takes a darker turn. “I promised I would return to her when I could offer her a better home, but my cast and I, we ran afoul of a beast one night. When another caught the scent of our tragedy and found only me hanging by a thread, he took pity and made me one of them. I was so fearful to return to her at first, it took me several years to work up the courage and restraint before I could send her a letter begging to call on her again.”

Now engrossed in the tale and the comparison of his story to yours. You stop an attempt to fight his will, too curious of the outcome.

“She agreed to meet, stealing away from the castle at night to find me at a nearby inn. It was my intent to flee with her that evening, to give her not only all the lives she had desired, but an endless supply of existence. What I did not expect was for her to deny my proposal. In the time I had gone she bore the prince a child, and no longer desired to part with her new role. I was not willing to accept her answer... lost in the heat of my anger and hunger for her, I took the princess with me. Draining her of life, I added her blood to mine.”

You stiffen in your seat wondering if this too will be your end, recalling a cautionary tale your mother used to tell you. The story of a noble lady, who was bled dry by the parasitic and sinful world outside. You thought back then it was her way to scare you into not leaving the protection of the castle walls, never did you consider it to be real, nor that she would be the one to give you to the monster of the fable.

“The smell and taste, I have not had anything quite like her since... until this night, when I caught wind of your own scent upon your maid's dress. I was already on my way to see you, but she made it so much easier, for she spoke on my behalf to gain my entrance. Such a sweet girl, and so very much in love with your brother isn’t she? A shame that she will likely feel the same pain as I once did, a love that crosses classes only to end in death.”

Seething with rage at his confession, you wish to fight back and escape from his carriage but your own body will still not comply. You knew it, you knew he never intended to save your brother, he only wanted a bargain that would play in his favour. There is still a catch that remains unseen by you and your family, one that will result in the prince’s demise.

“They’ve hitched their kingdom to a dying horse, keeping it alive by selling off their only hope.” His finger follows the path of a tear down your jaw and falling to your collar. “I can promise you I will have far more roles and lives for you to play, more than you ever would have had with them. And you, you who have so much to give in return.” He opens his mouth, his breathing heavy as he leans towards your throat. “It's been so long since I’ve had someone of your calibre... I plan to savour you for far longer than the last.” Pushing you down, until you lie on the seat of the carriage, his teeth latch on, piercing the skin of your neck.

...

You drop your mother’s arms, leaning back upon remembering the part she had to play in giving you away. “You forced me into his custody? You are the reason I was made to endure his torture.”

“We had no choice. Your brother, he was dying.”

“And where is he now?” You shout back at them, all decorum vanished from the room. “You were given the cure, so why is my brother still dead?”

With that Taehyung smiles bringing light to the answer. “It would seem the temptation was too great for their own vanity. Even your lovely parting gift to her, erased by my remedy.”

The marks that should be on your mother's arms from your own assault, the ageing that should have become apparent since your last moment with them, none of it is there. All wiped away by the blood that would have given your brother a longer span of life. “You-you used it didn’t you... I should have known. It’s always been about appearances with you. Playing the strong hand to keep both me and your people in line. And when you ran out... you asked for more didn’t you?”

“He said he would keep our prince alive!” Your mother replies shaking from the accusation, but not denying it.

“I told you that what I gave you would be enough. It is not my fault that you chose to waste it.” Taehyung counters with a wicked grin, pleased by their faults and presumptions. “They let your brother die, not I.”

“Then why return now? Why come if you already received what you wanted out of the deal?” You question fearing his answer, for what more could he want.

“I promised I would one day make them see the value in you.” Taehyung explains. “And there is always another bargain to be made.”

“With your brother dead and you gone we needed an heir.” Your father sets out his quill and ink on the table along with a rolled document he’s been clinging to. “It is as we feared what might happen. Our rivals at court have been stoking the fires of our people, without any official descendant they grow discontent and worried about the security of the country's future, we need you back.”

“Though you still belong to me as per the first agreement,” Taehyung interjects. “So you will return, the law will be changed, and you will become the next in line instead of any child you might have produced. With me by your side, living as husband and wife, the future rulers of this kingdom.

“I won’t allow this.” You shake your head aghast by the thought of such a deal. “First you give him me, and now your people?”

“Those people are currently rallied against us, they would see the end of us if they could. You witnessed the proof.” The king gestures to the floor where the captured were held just a moment ago. “We need assistance in controlling them.”

“Because you’ve given them nothing to stand behind! Instead your first instinct is to feed them to a beast. Why do you still trust this monster? He will double cross you, my brother, your son is already dead, don’t let him take any more!”

There’s a knock on the door with the return of Taehyung’s vampire kin having stowed away the prisoners. He bids them to enter, while your father looks on somewhat ruffled by the impermanence of the lord’s comfort in his own home. “My part of the deal has already been given, they cannot back out now. Unless they would like those rebels to return to their people?”

The king shakes his head. Dipping the feathered pen he signs the parchment, and hands it off to the vampire lord.

“Thank you for your cooperation my liege...” Taehyung bows his head as he takes the paper, passing it off to one of his clan, before returning his unwanted attention to you again. “Your parents will live out the remainder of their lives as king and queen. As long as I can assure that their people will not revolt while they live. The throne will pass to us, and your people to mine.” He tilts up your chin, his thumb crossing over the small scratch on your forehead from your travels. Dipping his finger in your goblet of wine he touches the cut again. The familiar itch of healing skin crosses the surface of your brow. Your stomach turns with the knowledge of what you unintentionally consumed. “It’s a shame for them though...They won’t live long enough to see the benefits of my work here.” With the brush of his hand he gives the order to his clan, “Kill them.”

Your parents both stand in alarm, attempting to reason with the monster before you. “No, you swore-”

“That I would keep you safe from your people, not that you are protected from myself or my kind.” He addresses his fellow vampires once again, “If you insist on feeding on them do not do it here. I find their smell distasteful and I would rather not lose my appetite.”

His progenies take hold of your parents, dragging them away. They scream for their guards, but when no one comes to their rescue they call for you next. Pleading with you so that you might speak up on their behalf, with all dignity lost while they come to face their own mortality. You remain silent, any words frozen inside out of fear and hate. Your last duty to them would be what they always asked of you, to be quiet and still, until their screaming comes to an abrupt halt as they meet their end.

Now alone Taehyung rises from his chair and lifts you up onto the dining table, locking you in with his arms on either side. “I told you I could give you so much more than them, didn’t I promise you that? Do you remember?”

“I never said I wanted it from you.” Your furry has reached a new level, overwhelmed with contempt towards Taehyung, your parents, and yourself for not remembering sooner. “You believe their deaths will give you the kingdom? You forget that you had them sign it off to me. I will never consent to marrying you, and we both know your blood will not force me into such a binding contract. It's why you had to make deals with my parents is it not? Compulsion will not work when it comes to such bonds in ink, and you have nothing left to play in order to sway me.”

“Such a smart girl,” Taehyung coos, while brushing the side of your face. “However, it is not I who has forgotten but you, for I have already won that battle too. Here...” He takes a swig of the wine, and firmly grasps the back of your neck. Pushing more of the drink between your lips with his, Taehyung forces you to choke it back and drown in your own past. “Let me help you remember, my princess... my bride...”

...

- 4 years ago -

You open your eyes, to be greeted by unfamiliar surroundings. A soft bed beneath you, lying between warmed sheets with a handsome yet concerned looking man sitting at your side.

“Thank heavens you’re awake. You took quite a fall.”

You lift a hand to your head trying to dull a sharp ache in your temple. The man leans in closer without hesitation, an action which surely indicates a close tie with you, but you have no memory of him. His hands are cool yet you welcome them on the side of your face, for they diminish the pain. “I don’t remember-”

“It’s okay my princess. I'm glad you are saved from the trauma of reliving that event.” He comforts you with a boxy smile, that doesn’t quite reach the sadness of his eyes.

“No, not just that, I mean I don’t remember... I don’t remember you, where I am, nor why I am here.” You strain to recall your most recent past, everything seems so long ago. There are glimpses and fragments of moments and people which you manage to pull forth, your parents and their rule, your brother and his suffering, your castle and it’s cold walls that once surrounded you. The loneliness of your past brings a tear to your eye for it is all you can recall. Everything about this man before you seems to have vanished from your mind.

“No, no, no, don’t cry.” His expression falls, as his hand shifts to wipe beneath your eyes, he swallows his shaking breath in clear distress over your loss. “I promised that I would look after you, that I would treat you well. Your parents, what will I tell them? They will rightfully blame me for letting you get hurt like this.”

The fear and sadness strewn across his handsome face is more than you can bear. You reach out a hand to his to comfort him back. “Could you remind me of your name sir?”

“Taehyung, and please don’t be so formal. There’s no need with me.”

“Then our relationship to each other...”

He takes your hand, tracing your fingers with his, before planting a kiss on your fourth digit. “We have been promised to one another. Your parents agreed to let you leave your own kingdom to be with me.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry... I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything. I can’t-”

“It’s okay my princess. It’s not your fault, but mine. You were hurt under my care. I’ll help you to rebuild what we have. We’ll start from the beginning, if we have to. I just can’t endure the thought of losing you entirely. Please just tell me what you need, whatever I can do, it will be done. I will help you to fall for me over and over, if it means I can continue to be with you.”

...

Taehyung spends the nights alongside you tending to your every desire, reciting poetry and plays to keep you entertained while you remain on bed rest for your injury. You feel bound by his kindness, and so guilty for not being able to recall your own past together.

During the day he is forced away from your side. He has a demanding role filled with travel and responsibilities, your only hope is that when he deems you well enough, you will spend that time together too. That you will be able fulfill this building desire within, to go out and journey for his role together.

But the weeks pass with no change in your situation.

Until one night when it all becomes too much to conceal. When left by his caretakers to bathe, you dissolve into sorrow over the fact that your loss of memory is holding you back. Your wedding to him was to be days from now, but he has called it off until you can recover what you lost. Your wracking sobs echo through the empty room as you commiserate alone. Questioning what you could possibly do to dispel this suffering.

You did not expect the sound to summon Taehyung, who comes bursting in without thought to your current state of dress. “Princess I-I...” He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel, shielding his eyes from your nude form. “Forgive me, I was not made aware that you were bathing.”

You press yourself to the side of the tub. Shy at first but when you find him more so, you beckon him over, just as he is about to reach for the door. “No wait, don’t leave. If you go I fear I will only feel more guilt over our situation.”

“Guilt? To what shame are you referring? Have I not made you comfortable here? Do you not have everything you need?” Taehyung abides by your call, joining you beside the tub, and swallowing as he glimpses you in the water.

“I do, and that is the issue. I remember nothing other than your care and kindness. You have given me everything you can, and I have nothing to grant you in return.”

“That’s not true-”

You press a damp finger to his lips, urging him to let you finish. “Despite not having a memory of our past, there is this need inside me... it’s difficult to express, but it calls out for someone like you. I do not wish to continue this cautionary stance, waiting and hoping for something that might not return. I do not want to hold us back. I think we should still marry, for I cannot see my life in any other way.”

Taehyung gives you a small smile along with a kiss to your hand which still lingers near his mouth. While his own reaches into the tub, his fingers twirling in the water just above your leg. “There is still much you don’t know about me.”

“Then I will learn it as it comes. Please, I long to move past this. I cannot and will not remain in this present, with you restraining yourself because of me. I truly believe that moving forward with the original plan is the best course of action.”

“If that is what you desire,” He the tips of his fingers submerge further until they draw against your thigh. “I will resume the plans between you and I.”

...

The ceremony is modest, with only you and Taehyung reciting your vows under the night sky. After signing a document to confirm your ties, he whisks you off to the bedroom to consummate the new promise between you.

The strength of the man before you comes as quite a shock as he rips the laces of your gown in his eager hunt to find the flesh beneath, until your best dress soon lays in tatters on the floor. His hunger for you appears to reach a new level, with his mouth nipping and devouring every inch he has exposed. Your situation has held you both back for so long, but at least now you will both get to revel in the path forward together.

Once bare he flips you on to your stomach and disrobes himself. His taut legs come to straddle your hips, while his hands run up your back and down your arms. Taking your wrists he pins them over top of your head. “Just a precaution my princess,” He chuckles your ear as his leather belt wraps around. Tightening them together before the strap loops the headboard and is once again threaded through the buckle, wittingly securing you to the bed. “For if I am worried over the possibility of you fleeing, I might lose myself, and consume too much of you.”

“I have no plans to run.” You muse, giggling at his passion.“But I will concede to your bondage if it satisfies you.”

“I was hoping you would agree.” He teases his index along your slit, drenching your sensitive skin, and preparing you for his swollen cock. You raise your hips eagerly towards him and he takes the hint. Laying down over top of you he guides himself in with one hand while the other loops your waist.

You gasp from the stretch before gritting your teeth trying to hide the brief moment of pain. Taehyung swears as his forehead comes to rest on your shoulder, his breath shaking as much as yours while he inhales deeply. A growl echoes in his throat which he promptly clears. “Princess, am I... am I your first?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice, but you can not understand why that would be so.

“If I was promised to you... I can not see why I would have laid with another.” You answer somewhat hurt by the notion that he thinks you would have been unfaithful in the past. Your memories might be limited, but you can not believe that would be the kind of person you are, to be unfaithful to one so kind would make you a monster.

“Yes, of course.” He sighs, “I just, I had not...” He empties his throat again. Hugging you tightly as he pushes his cock in further. “My dear princess, so good to trust me with such a gift.”

You exhale with a confirmation. “I am all yours.”

With Taehyung resting deep inside he pauses for another moment. His fingers trapped between you and the bed shift down to your mound where they press and cause you to buck back onto him. “Forget the pain for now...” He whispers in your ear while the deep circles he rubs shift you from discomfort to pleasure. Your twitching responses beguile him as you clench down on his shaft. The growl in his voice returns and grows deeper, he thrusts along with you. A need inside your start to build, your breathing stutters while he continues on. “...And come for me.” Your nerves reach their peak at his words, holding you in place until the tension inside you finally releases and the warm waves run from head to toe.

As you ride out your climax Taehyung pushes forward with his own. His cock continues to swell, demanding more of you, until he comes to his end and collapses twitching with content. With a groan he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles your back, while you remain trapped beneath him.

You tug on his belt wanting to touch him and hold him as he does to you. But even once he has come himself, he does not appear to be fully parted from his lustful needs. He shifts down so that his face can be found between your thighs. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you inquire for him. “Taehyung, please-”

“Don’t fret my princess, I just- I just want to- there was some blood drawn in my haste to have you, I would like to kiss it better.” He chuckles before his tongue comes to find your folds. The beastly sounds from him become far greater than before as he laps at the spot. Your hesitation is cast aside as you soon delve into pleasure once again.

His fingers clamp down on your legs as he feeds from your cunt with an even stronger resolve. “I must- I must have more.” He begs of you.

“I am yours to take.” You respond, eager to indulge more from his affectionate appetite.

But as soon as your permission is granted an unimaginable pain pierces the skin and muscle of your thigh. His mouth latches onto the source of such misery, and draws on the wound taking deep drafts. “Taehyung?” You cry out in confusion, pulling the bonds he left you in.

Your lord and husband suspends the act. Rising up to release you from the headboard, he takes your restraints in his hand. Flipping you back over and pinning you back down beneath him. You find your groom smiling while his mouth drips with blood. He chuckles lightly at your horror, taking in your fear. “Did you have a change of heart my princess? I’m sorry to have brought such a swift end to our happy scene, but tomorrow we may start over... once I’ve had my fill.”

...

After the first Taehyung proceeds to push upon you several moments wrought in passion and pain. The concealment of his identity to become your love, and of course the times when he chose purely to torture you as your captor.

You come to understand that your past with Taehyung is a series of tales, with him portraying the villain, or the hero. Going from captor, to suitor, to husband, only to break you by becoming your captor once again. He’s crippled you countless times, in so many different ways, choosing whichever act suits him in the moment, gorging himself off your emotional defeat the same way he feeds your blood, in the most painful way possible.

“A small sample of our time together, but you see princess, you are already bound to me in matrimony. I have what I need for my clan. My followers will have access to any house, any dwelling on our kingdom’s land once I give them my consent to enter.”

“Y-you have no right to do that!” You stutter, trying to push down the past to focus on the present.

“Oh but I do as your husband, as the new king I now have partial claim. My men will be able to feed within the safety of your peoples homes. Hunting them in their beds will be far easier than being restricted to the streets.”

“They are not cattle for you to feed upon!”

“How is that any different than your family's rule?” Taehyung scoffs, looking to the ornate room around you both. “Your parents in their vanity and greed bleed them dry, to the point where they were begging for a change, even if it was the rule of a young man who had barely stepped into adulthood. They will be grateful for the passing of the king and queen, and for the new rule. Remembering the vampires who will now stalk them while they sleep only as a passing nightmare.”

“That does not make what you are doing any better.” You argue, though you know it to be pointless.

“Not in your eyes, but my people will at least benefit from the sacrifice of your own. They trust me to do right by them. Can yours say the same about you? Will you bear the pain of your suffering and theirs? All that’s left is for us to choose which story we should play next. Would you like to forget it all again? To have me return to the role of doting lover and husband? Or would you prefer to recall that which has brought you pain? Your parents, your brother, and myself, knowing that soon my people will feast on yours.”

To remember would be the only chance you have in finding a weakness to him, any attempt to remove him from his position will require your knowledge of what happened in the past and what is happening in the present. Who knows what story he would otherwise weave next, but he will no doubt pull the wool over your eyes if you let him.

“I will give you until the end of this night to choose, if you don’t I will do so for you. But I am so very ready to return to our routine. These past few weeks have been a torment without you to entertain and fulfil me.” His finger traces an x on your neck, marking the spot he intends to bite. “I will never again allow us to be parted for so long.” The point of his teeth make contact with your skin, when the door opens and one of his keepers calls for him. “What?!” Taehyung shouts back in frustration. “What could possibly be so important that you must interrupt my dinner?”

“There is a hunter demanding entrance at the gate.” The vampire informs, looking rather shaken for having displeased his lord. “Says he won’t leave until he sees proof that you received your princess. It seems that he was trying to deliver her when she ran off in the daylight earlier today.”

“So someone did find you... that would explain...” His hands soften on your neck running his fingers over the previously tortured flesh. He then turns to the vampire waiting for his answer. “What is the hunter’s name?”

“Agust, my lord.”

Your head snaps up with your eyes wide. Yoongi is here, and he knew to call himself Agust? That can only mean, the secrets kept from him by his clan, the truth that would break you, it was the knowledge of Taehyung’s presence here.

“Is this the case my princess? Did this Agust find you and intend to bring you here?” You bite your tongue but he pushes his power over you again. “Tell me the truth of this matter.”

“He did.” You can’t be sure of what Yoongi intends to do once inside, but at least your forced honesty did not betray his cover.

“He has my permission to enter. Bring him to me now, I owe him my gratitude for taking such good care of my princess.” The vampire guard leaves to grant the other access.

Taehyung traces his teeth with his tongue. Appearing unusually happy despite the fact that his meal was disturbed. “You will remain seated and quiet, while I reward this hunter for his deeds, is that understood princess?” You reluctantly nod, submitting to his compulsion.

Yoongi, accompanied by four of Taehyung's kin, enters the dinning hall and promptly bows. “My lord.”

“Agust... I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking before have we?”

“No my lord, I’ve dealt only with your keepers. But it was my honour to retrieve your princess as requested.” You meet his eye when they flicker in your direction trying to decipher his plan, but are unable to see a way out that could have possessed him to take such a risk.

“Yes, I must thank you for bringing her most of the way. I am surprised that you knew to find me here though, I thought that was kept confidential from the hunters.”

“It was my lord but I learned of your occupation here only recently, such a large group of vampires in a human city does not go unnoticed for long.”

“Then I commend you, for doing what many of my other hunters could not.” Taehyung smirks at his own kin’s expense. “Tell me who was your maker, from which line do you descend?

“Your caretaker Egan, my lord.” Yoongi offers, his tone flat and even. “Though I don’t know if he would recall me, I am one of many.”

“Egan you say?” Taehyung pauses, with a raised brow and pout, which soon fades into a smile after a moment's hesitation. “He has created a fair few hasn’t he?” He chuckles. “Now you were not able to finish my task to completion, but I will still grant you the reward of becoming a keeper if you can complete just one other challenge.”

“Of course my lord.” Yoongi promises, watching adamantly with his hand twitching at his side.

“There is someone I need you to find, one who has been haunting me for quite some time. Before my princess met me she fell in love with another of our kind. A vampire who works for Lord Hoseok, and goes by the name Min Yoongi. It took me a year to find the full extent of the boundaries in her memory that relate to him, I needed to empty her of love for that fool, and take it for myself. I was successful in the end of course.” He tips your chin with his finger delighting in the pained expression you bear at the thought. “But I would like to see the end of him, and purge anything that might hope to take her from me.”

“I understand...” Yoongi responds through a clenched jaw. Peeking a concerned glance at you when Taehyung's back turns to him.

“I think she might be able to help you start your quest. You know where to find this Yoongi, do you not my princess?”

You dip your head, as a tear slips from your cheek and falls to your lap. You bite your tongue in an attempt to hold back your answer but Taehyung presses again with the compulsion of his blood. “You will answer me, out loud.”

“Yes,” you confirm, your eyes meeting with Yoongi’s again, pleading for him to go now, and escape before you reveal anything else.

“Do you think it will be an easy task for this vampire Agust to find him?”

“I do.” You utter with a reply stolen from your lips.

Taehyung mutters in your ear for his final question. “Is he the one who stands before us now my princess?” Panic instantly seizes you, with every function of your body coming to a halt, wondering how he could have found out. The moment your mouth starts to open, Yoongi launches himself at Taehyung, but his attack is quickly brought to a halt by the vampire lord who draws his own stake. Shoving Yoongi across the room and into the arms of his guard.

“You thought you could fool me after so many of your brethren tried and failed?” The cruel lord chides with a low chuckle. “There have been too many errors on your part, the greatest of which was the name of your false creator.” He approaches his new prisoner dragging the point of the stake along Yoongi’s chest while he is held in place. “A misstep of Egan’s allowed for her to escape, and so I sent the order for him to be disposed of. I knew the deed was done mere hours ago when I watched a progeny of his wither away before my eyes. If you were of his blood you too would have perished.” Taehyung explains before he paces away twirling the stake between his fingers. “What a wicked curse we must endure is it not? Though it does have its advantages... I wonder how many will I wipe out with your death?” Your heart beats wildly in your chest longing to run forward and prevent such an event. “It will come soon, of that there is no question, but not before I take every ounce of information you hold about Hoseok’s current plans.”

“You will get nothing from me unless you let her go,” Yoongi growls.

“Let go of my own bride?” The restrained vampire flinches at the comment as Taehyung grins and prods further. “I suppose you didn’t know. You must forgive her for not informing you, she couldn’t recall it herself until a few minutes ago. Regardless, I have no plans to free her, for I believe the closer I am to your beloved the more I will get from you.” Taehyung joins you at your side again. “What do you think princess? Would you like an admirer for our performance? I’m sure even the steadfast Min Yoongi would bend to my will if he witnesses you in my favourite roles.”

Taehyung’s attention is drawn away from the pair of you when more of his keepers enter the room greeting him with a nod. “Alas the show will have to wait. I have permissions to grant, and a story to feed your staff,” The vampire lord sighs and acquiesces to their needs, grabbing the decanter from which you took a glass. “The rest of your people will come after.”

Taehyung gestures to one of his men. “He will take you to your room, and you will remain there until I return. I look forward to having a more fulfilling reunion between you and I come dawn.” His fingers brush against your cheek one last time before addressing the vampires holding Yoongi. “Keep him locked up along with the revolutionaries for now. I will call upon him later.”

Yoongi continues to lash out as you are both dragged in opposite directions. Barring his fangs at those who hold him, but he is soon subdued with the addition of another clan member and carried out of sight.

Your own escort doesn’t say a word as he takes you through the empty halls, and staircases with one hand grappling your upper arm. Any attempt to pull it from him is met with a snarl and tighter hold. As you pass the rooms of the hall you wonder where Taehyung has the remaining staff kept and despite the lies forced down their throat you hope they will remain untouched.

The guard opens a door and pushes you in, sending you to the ground before locking it behind. The dimly lit room is unfortunately not your own, consisting only of a bed, washstand, and shuttered windows. Rising from the timber floor you find a stain on your hands and dress originating from the spot on which you landed, a spill, red enough to be the remnants of a vampire's meal. You start heaving at the thought, running to the filled basin desperate to remove the sticky scarlet substance. With hands shaking as they are submerged in water, your entirety follows suit, quaking in fear of what has just transpired and what is left to come.

Your parents are lost, they dug their own grave, but your fellow citizens, and Yoongi... you have to find him, before he too is lost and your people are reduced to a mere spattering on the floor.

You pull on the shutters of the window, releasing them to peer out and see if there is any hope to scale out of this one too. The height from the ground might be manageable, but a pair of glowing eyes looking up to you from the garden stops your attempt. The gaze from below continues to watch until you retract and close the space between you again. Taehyung's caretakers and keepers are as eager to keep and feed on you as he is. Visions of past attacks start to flood your mind, making you regret your venture to look out. You tried to escape so many times in your past captivity. Each one with the exception of the last was foiled by his keepers or caretakers, some brought you straight back to your room, while others... others were swiftly intercepted by the lord of the fortress, but only after they landed their first bite.

Retreating to the corner of the room, you set yourself down at the furthest point from the door and window. Left alone to stare at the crimson puddle, as you wait for Taehyung’s return. There is no question that you have to bear the weight of your memories as painful as they are, you can not afford to forget the past. Not now, not with Yoongi nor your people in jeopardy. You wonder if Taehyung will strike such a deal with you. If you promise to abide by his command without his blood, will that be enough to buy at the very least Yoongi’s safety?

The minutes pass while you consider your options, distracted only when there comes a thump from the shutters. You rise from your spot and move closer to the door. The boards made to conceal the daylight shatter inward with another hit, knocking over the solitary candle and casting you into darkness. The shadowy intruder leaps in, their gleaming eyes holding you in their sights.

Figuring it to be one of the Taehyung’s progeny’s come for a taste, you draw breath to scream. Until the vampire collides with you, holding you down, and covering your mouth.

“I told you to stay in the room.” The hushed tones of Yoongi greet you to your immense relief. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you run?” He waits there for a moment, removing his hand only when you finally relax beneath him.

“Yoongi...” You gasp in relief. “I overheard you and Seokjin. When I saw you give into the demands... I-I didn’t know, I didn’t realize-”

There’s a knock interrupting your explanation, the vampiric guard no doubt alarmed by the commotion. You both fall silent, but that does not seem to satisfy the sentry, who proceeds to unlock the door. Yoongi jumps up ready to meet him with a stake. As the barrier opens, the vampire tries to step inside, making it only far enough in for the wooden weapon to reach his heart. Yoongi grabs the enemies throat in the last moments, committing him to silence until death before tossing the corpse to the side. Treating the newly dead as nothing more than a bothersome distraction.

Yoongi turns back to you but keeps his distance, a growl rattling in his throat as he takes deep breaths. “I told you before, I would never take you there. I had no wish to abide by the request from my lord. I could not tell Seokjin of my plans to disobey while we remained in his house. I was going to take you as far away as I could after learning the whole truth behind your capture, but your stunt put everything in jeopardy, including yourself.”

You start to sob upon hearing his deception, you should have guessed that with such a reveal from his own clan he would try to deceive them too, like the others he dealt with on your behalf. He closes the gap between you, pulling you in close, allowing your tears to fall on his chest. “How-how did you escape just now? I thought for certain he had us both in his grasp.”

“I kept hold of the tainted blood, and those holding me were in desperate need of a drink. One sip and they were at my mercy instead.” He lips grace the top of your head with a kiss as you cling to him. “We’re going to get you out of here okay? We’ll go down to the passage. I have already released those he captured, if he has a mob on his hands, we might slip out undetected.”

“I can’t leave, not yet-”

“Why, because he compelled you to stay?” Yoongi questions, attempting to dismiss your concern. “I will carry you out if your own volition fails to do so.”

“It is not that alone... he was not lying when he told you I was his-his-” You stall on the word unable to say it yourself. “In those five years, he played with my mind, he made me forget you and desire him instead, a-and I fell for it. It is because of me he now has a claim to every home in the town. This is my error to fix. I will not leave those who dwell here to feed his own.”

“You are not to blame for his actions.” He counters, his own voice cracking in desperation. “Your remaining here will not change that.”

“I only wish to remain so I can bring an end to him, to kill him.” You promise. “Either way, whether successful or not I will not exist here long.

“No, I am not letting you near him again. If we must do this then let him be mine to kill.”

“He thinks me in here unarmed and broken to his will,” You open Yoongi’s jacket to find another stake that he must have stolen from Taehyung’s followers. “I will have a better chance. It would be better for you to ensure that his clan has not brought harm to anyone else.”

“And leave you here to face him? If he falls so do his own progenies, which includes most if not all of his keepers. There will be no point in my leaving to dispose of them, if your main goal is to defeat him.”

“If he sees you he will be instantly aware. When he is as strong as you say then even you won’t be able to defeat him without catching him off guard.”

“I am not leaving you alone with him even if you are armed, and that is final.” Yoongi takes his firm stance, while grabbing at the stake in your hand. “I will not lose you again...”

You look down at the deceased on your floor, fearing the same fate for Yoongi should he remain here with you. Taehyung has proven time and time again that none can fool him for long, not Yoongi, not his clan members, even those who disobeyed him attempting to draw blood from you were cast aside... with Taehyung throwing himself between you and them. “If you will not leave then... I need you to bite me.”

Yoongi follows your gaze in confusion, “What is it you are plotting your highness?”

“He will no doubt come running if he smells my spilt blood. He has before. If he thinks I am in danger from his own, I will be able to get close with his guard down.” You take the stake back from him while he considers your plan, gripping it in your fist behind your back. “All you have to do is play the threat.”

“Will you not wait for another alternative? My clan could be here in a day to deal with them.”

“He is hungry, and all too confident of victory.” You plead with your vampire. “If we wait-”

“If we wait he will be more likely to catch on...” Yoongi growls confirming your thoughts, as he begrudgingly bends down to take the cloak of the defeated guard. Tying it around he pulls the hood over his head. “This is unbelievably reckless you know. I should just take you from here this instant.”

“But you won’t.” You reply with a sad smile reaching up to touch his cheek with your hand, and press a kiss to his lips. “You long for an end to this as much as I.”

With his back to the door he takes you into his arms. When hunched over you Taehyung should not know who he is until it is too late. Yoongi places his mouth ready to sink into your neck. “Are you sure you want to be the one to-”

“I have to.” You cut him off before he can even try to change your mind again.

With a deep sigh his teeth pierce your skin, the blood starts to flood from the wound and Yoongi lets out a low pained groan as he resists the urge to feed. For the more blood that escapes and is left to the air, the sooner that Taehyung will come running to investigate your situation. After a minute passes, you start to feel light headed and grip your weapon tighter.

“If he doesn't come soon I will have to put a stop to this.”

“He will come,” you gasp. “Just wait.”

Right on cue there comes a shout from down the hall along with the thunder of footsteps. Your door crashes open to reveal the ferocious monster.

Yoongi is thrown to the wall, and promptly disregarded in the moment by Taehyung, whose immediate attention is more occupied with you spilling out before him. “She is mine,” he seethes looking ravenous after not feeding on you for weeks. His hunger distracting him from the arm you have tucked behind your back. While pulling you closer to take a taste himself, you draw your own weapon, stabbing him through his heart with the stake.

He looks down to injury with a sobering disbelief, his words heavy on his lips with a low chuckle as he forces out his final thoughts before his demise. “Well played princess... you had me thinking I was to be your hero again.”

“You were never my hero, only my assailant.” You shove the stake deeper into his chest. “And now my fatality.”

Taehyung gasps and delivers one last cruel smile. “A fitting end, though I can think of one better. Why part here, when you can join me in death.” He launches at your throat ready to strike and bleed you further, when his actions are cut short by another.

With the stake pulled from the other vampire, Yoongi pierces him through the back, and takes hold from behind preventing Taehyung’s last threat. The vampire lord's eyes go wide showing a brief moment of fear before he finally succumbs to death. Pulling yourself from his clutches you take a deep breath and rejoice in the freedom, though the feeling doesn’t last long.

Already dizzy from the loss of blood you are in no way prepared for the surge of memories that flood back. With Taehyung dead his physical hold on you diminished, but the pain of his manipulation, the trauma and loss he has inflicted on you hits as a wave, and pulls you under.

Yoongi is there to heal the wound on your neck, he calls to you repeatedly though his voice along with your vision of him are clouded amongst your thoughts. Your heart pounds and head races as it continues to try and register the influx of everything you lost.

There’s a soft touch to your temple, as a whisper from him finally makes it through. “Be strong my love, you can conquer this too.”

You can feel yourself being lifted as the room moves around you. Clinging to his coat you utter your wish to leave, unwilling to spend another moment in this castle. Fully slipping as he draws you in closer.

...

When the haze lifts you come to find yourself in another bed. Not one of the castle’s no, it seems Yoongi had observed that request, but the location is still worrisome for it is the same room you had shared with him in Seokjin’s house. You immediately sit up, panicking over your last memory of this place, and fearful of Yoongi’s clan’s intent.

Your vampire sleeps on a chair beside you, though his head and chest are slumped over on the mattress and his hand encasing yours. Stirring the second your grip leaves his and you attempt to get from the bed. He grabs at your shoulder pushing you back down with ease, “What do you think you are doing? You are in no state to be running off.”

“Yoongi... why are we here? If Seokjin-”

“This was the only safe place I could think to bring you. You have nothing to fear here now. Seokjin will not do anything, he knows he was in the wrong to suggest such compulsion, and Namjoon has promised retribution on your behalf if he continues such behaviour.” Yoongi briefly smirks at the thought of the pair, though his expression soon darkens as his hand brushes your hair from your face as you relax back into the bed. “I thought- I was worried I lost you back there.”

“I-I couldn’t control it, there was so much that I had lost and most of it difficult to bear again...” You grimace at the pain of it, prompting Yoongi to lean in to kiss your blow and pull a small smile from you again. “I should never have returned. I should have trusted you more, I’m so sorry for putting you in danger like that.”

“It was not your fault. You had every reason to doubt me given your past and what you knew. I can’t imagine what it was like, but...” He looks down avoiding your eyes as he rubs your hands, the words that follow are just as tentative and soft. “If you should- I don’t know if- if you need me to help you discard any memories I will do so. Doesn’t have to be now or ever, but if you ever need me to... don’t feel like you have to carry the weight of it alone.”

You nod your eyes tearing up with gratitude for his offer. “Thank you, there will be some moments that I- that I will be glad to be rid of.” Yoongi’s warm smile comes with his arms to wrap around you in a tight hug. You wince as your muscles stain to return the affection, feeling as though they have seized from lack of use. “How long have I been under?”

“The longest two nights of my existence.”

“Two nights?” You exclaim pulling out of the embrace in shock. “What has happened since? Was anyone else hurt before I-I-”

“No one else, but the castle,” Yoongi sighs looking hesitant to tell you the rest. “The castle was set aflame in an act of defiance. It was sentenced to burn once the staff and resistance had cleared it of everything of value.”

“Good,” you whisper.

“There is more... Seokjin has been keeping a close eye on the situation.” Yoongi discloses. “But, when word spread that you returned only to vanish again, many believed your appearance to be that of an imposter rather than their former princess. They thought you a tool of the mysterious lord attempting to gain power.”

“And their plans to create a new form of rule?” You ask, the focus of your question leading Yoongi to tilt his head in confusion.

“Going forward without much backlash, but-”

“Then they have every right to think so. I am very different from their lost princess.” You smile to Yoongi’s surprise. “I am a threat to them now, a threat to the future governance they plan to install. Any version of me might sow the seeds of discord in progress if I was to return. If this story of me being a deceiver will help them to rebuild, then let them think it. I will make no plans to return.”

Yoongi nods in understanding, though his expression still holds regret. “I am sorry I was not able to deliver you home as promised.”

“That place was not my home for so long, not since you-”

A loud knock comes from the front door of the small home, reaching you all the way in your upstairs room. Yoongi stiffens in the seat next to you as muffled voices are soon heard too. Your vampire stands going to the door where Seokjin appears a moment later with news. “It’s Lord Hoseok. He’s here, and he wants to see you.”

“Don’t you dare let him in.” Yoongi pushes back. “Not with her here, not now.”

“I can’t exactly deny him entrance,” Seokjin scoffs. “This is his house-”

“Fine, then I will.”

Seokjin puts a hand on Yoongi’s chest and prevents him from storming off into a confrontation. “You know you can’t stop him. If he wishes to see her he will, but right now I think his main concern is you. Do not anger him if there is no reason to. See what he wants then come to a judgement.”

The same loud knock you heard below then arrives at your bedroom door, breaking off the disagreement between the two vampires.The guest you know not to require permission, but it seems that he would rather enter on your terms rather than his own.

“Yoongi?” You call to him, witnessing the dread in his face when he turns to look at you. “I should like to speak to him too.”

Yoongi’s reluctant hand turns the lever, letting his lord inside. Your own vampire stands between the two of you preventing you from getting a good look as the first words are exchanged.

“My Lord.”

“Tell me it is so, that it is true. Is Taehyung- ” The vampire lord immediately launches into the heart of the matter. The weight of his tone sends shivers to even you.

“Dead, my lord.”

“Thank you Yoongi, I am in your debt.” The tension in his voice quickly falls away.

“It was not I alone who defeated him sir. The credit also goes to the woman who you thought you would contain to your fortress.” Yoongi mutters with malice.

“I app-” His lord steps further in, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of you. He pauses for a moment as he takes you in, his mouth hangs open and a single word falls in greeting, “Mansin?”

Though the word is foreign to you Yoongi reacts in an instant, returning to your side, he growls and his superior in defiance while positioned in your defence. “She is not-”

Lord Hoseok seems to catch himself and apologises. “A mistake Yoongi, an honest mistake, I see that she is bound to you. You must forgive me,” He whispers while giving a sad smile in penance. “Something in your expression reminded me of someone I once knew.” He politely touches upon his error, but leaves you with no reason for Yoongi’s reception. “I must give my thanks to you as well then, for you saved me the pain of having to kill my own creation.”

Alarmed by the confession you try to stand but Yoongi’s hand once again comes down to your shoulder. “Then Taehyung was yours? You created that monster?!”

“It was not my intention to have him turn out in such a way.” The vampire lord growls at the censure, causing Yoongi to grow ridged next to you. “I found him as an innocent young man dying, whispering the name of the one he loved, the one he was bound to. I took pity on him, would you not have done the same?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow as he throws his choice back at you.

You swallow and nod in response. “I suppose I would have.” The swift changes in mood of the vampire lord keep you on guard, intimidating in one moment and considerate in the next. It’s easy to see why Yoongi might be wary of him around you.

“I chose to banish him from the clan when he killed his former mate, your ancestor, for I could no longer trust him. He sought revenge on both your family and mine, and it is my fault alone. I knew that Yoongi would prefer to keep you as far away as possible, but Taehyung would likely have tracked you down sooner or later. I wanted to make up for that by offering you a safe place at my fortress but I can see that it was misconstrued.”

“Thankfully your assistance with my residence is no longer required.” You convey, hoping that he has abandoned the notion, since the threat is no longer stalking you.

“Yes... thankfully.” Lord Hoseok reiterates with a weak grin.

“If you are in our debt as you say then I would like to make a request of you.” You ask much to Yoongi’s surprise, resulting in his head snapping in your direction.

“A request?” Hoseok blinks, a grin twitching in his lips. He grabs the chair from the desk, turning it to face you before taking his seat. “What have you to ask of me?”

“My old kingdom, I want to ensure the health of the people. I ask that if your clan goes there to feed they use the tactics that Yoongi has been operating under.” Yoongi finally exhales and relaxes, as you explain your wish, a small smile crosses his lips with what looks to be pride.

“I understand your position, and would agree immediately if there were to be no recourse, but to put such limitations on my clan without any amendments or accommodations to offer in return... many would turn rogue.” Hoseok shakes his head. “No, if I ordered that, we might find ourselves in another situation like before.”

You consider what you have left to give with nothing left from your family to offer, you have only what you may have acquired through matrimonial bonds. “Tell me when a vampire dies, what happens to the ownership of their residences.”

“It will go to whomever they deemed a second who was not created by their own lineage. Yoongi was once my own. I don’t know if Taehyung- ”

“But if they had taken a wife who survived them?” You ask.

“They would be yours...” Yoongi mutters beside you in understanding.

You nod grimacing at the prospect of owning his land. “I want no part of them. But if they will help you to convince your clan to adjust their feedings and continue to help those of my former kingdom they are yours.” You offer to Hoseok. “Every fortress, waypoint and house that belonged to him will all be transferred to your own clan. ”

“Then I accept your terms,” Hoseok nods in agreement. “But where will you go?”

You look to Yoongi to give the answer. Caught off guard he pauses before responding with the simple direction of, “East, we plan to head east.”

...

...Two months later...

Yoongi stops the horse and dismounts beside an overgrown field, looking at the land with a deep contented sigh. “This is it.” He lights a lantern for you before treading into the long grass, in search of the foundation of his old home.

He was right, there is little left, but regardless of that fact you help him by clearing the roughage from any remains you can find. Pausing only when he does, while uncovering what seems to be a rotting wooden board laying on the ground. Upon further inspection you find it to shield a substantial cavern below with steps leading into the darkness.

“If that’s the cellar... Then that must mean.” Yoongi mutters, before taking a few steps away, counting his paces as he goes. Hunching down over a higher patch of ground, he tears away the long weeds, until a stone hearth reveals itself. He takes the rotting wooden board, and breaks it apart into several pieces. Building them up before he sets them alight with the fire of the lantern.

He lowers himself to sit in front of the burning wood and beckons for your hand, kissing you knuckles, raw from the cold wind of your journey as you take a seat next to him. Despite the lack of walls and roof, you are overwhelmed by Yoongi’s peace as he looks into the fire, feeling that same comfort and warmth within yourself. “I never thought I’d see this place again, but now, it feels right to return. Perhaps-” He meets your eye before expressing the rest of his tentative question. “Perhaps we could stay here for a while?”

“I would like that.” You answer with a nod, prompting him to beam back at you.

While Yoongi moves to lay on the grass relaxing in the light of the flame you pull out the new map you’ve been working on since the start of your journey east. The other still remains, not entirely forgotten, but of little use in this region. The fresh start on parchment comes as a much needed reprieve, the chance to begin again.

“You are marking this place down for me?” Yoongi asks as you draw with your quill pen.

“For us,” you correct him.

Looking down at the new point on the map now labelled with your description, he smiles at the sight of the single word you had written. “Have I fulfilled my duty to you then? Should we part ways here?” He jests pushing to rise up until you tug him back down by his long coat.

“You have,” Shaking your head at his joke, you explain your true feelings behind the word. “But if you leave, this place ceases to be so. It only exists as such when I am with you.”

“Then I must stay by your side, or risk breaking another promise?” He continues to tease you, with a twitch to the corner of his lip.

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to conceal his eagerness. “So it would seem. How long do you think you can keep your vow?”

“For eternity.” Yoongi whispers, leaning in to kiss you over the setting ink of, ‘Home.’

...

-The End-

...

#bts smut #taehyung smut #yandere bts #yoongi smut #taehyung x reader #yoongi x reader #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts thriller au #bts fanfic #bts vampire au #yandere taehyung #min yoongi #kim taehyung #bts blood bounty

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esther-dot · 3 years

Note

The blood oranges have appeared many times in books. Arya throwing blood orange on Sansa staining her hand and Sansa dress, blood oranges falling on water garden,Doran eating half ripe blood orange, LF and Alayne eating blood orange, Cersei and Tommen having breakfast eating blood oranges. What exactly blood orange fruit symbolised?

I'm going to focus on the Sansa scene first. I think the big takeaway is the ivory dress being stained red. As in, bloodied innocents. I mentioned in this post that Sansa is directly tied into the idea of the innocent/the smallfolk suffering during war, so that’s the first thing that comes to mind. And, she is physically abused later, so this imagery becomes reality in that way.

Another way of looking at it is a picture of her journey. Her story involves the very deliberate unraveling of her naivete, her innocence, her understanding of the world, so this scene is evocative of her experience as a whole.

Think about this moment:

The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

After they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled dirt over the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts resumed. (AGOT, Sansa II)

There is an ugly reality to what the songs don’t include, the brutality of her world, that destruction of life, is covered over in front of her literally, and it’s simultaneously being pointed out to the reader that all of that has also been figuratively hidden away by songs/stories which romanticize everything. Just as the blood of a man is covered over above, Sansa does a similar thing to her dress when she later dyes it.

Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had them dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. (AGOT, Sansa V)

There’s a whole motif of covering up blood/violence (talk about that and cloaks some here). From the crimson cloak to hide the blood of Elia’s children, to the cloaks draped over Sansa after she’s abused, to how she tries to hide her bruises and look pretty in KL….it goes on and on. The ugliness must be hidden away. It’s the contrast between innocence and violence, purity and guilt.

So, I think one interpretation is that blood oranges represent exactly what you'd expect: blood, violence. Sansa is always on the receiving end of that which makes this instruction on how to eat a blood orange very interesting:

"Did I say that?" Lord Petyr cut the blood orange in two with his dagger and offered half to Sansa. "The lads are far too treacherous to be part of any such scheme . . . and Osmund has become especially unreliable since he joined the Kingsguard. That white cloak does things to a man, I find. Even a man like him." He tilted his chin back and squeezed the blood orange, so the juice ran down into his mouth. "I love the juice but I loathe the sticky fingers," he complained, wiping his hands. "Clean hands, Sansa. Whatever you do, make certain your hands are clean."

Sansa spooned up some juice from her own orange. "But if it wasn't the Kettleblacks and it wasn't Ser Dontos . . . you weren't even in the city, and it couldn't have been Tyrion . . ." (ASOS, Sansa VI)

So, I assume this foreshadows when Sansa will engage in a little violence herself and oversee LF’s comeuppance, his death, but does it ever so neatly, no sticky fingers, just as he would have wanted. 😇

I think this interpretation of blood oranges makes these quotes pretty self explanatory:

But there are other ways to interpret them, and we can take a totally different angle and think of the fruit itself and the (remote?) possibility that it relates to Sansa specifically.

(via wikipedia)

Sansa’s rise to political power may not happen until after the Long Night, but whether it’s before or after, this idea of moderate temperature necessary for ripening strikes me as a reference to Sansa’s journey. While heartbreaking to read at times, it doesn’t involve the fantasy elements/thrilling adventures that other characters experience. It isn’t as exciting or extreme, instead, it’s moderate. She’s dealing with people and politics, and her story is unassuming as is her character. She is on a slow climb to understanding, maturation, power. This actually ties into that first scene because Sansa symbolically receives a “third eye” ie knowledge.

I have several more takes in the works because I think the imagery of that initial scene in which there is juice that looks like blood dripping down Sansa’s face is deliberate as tears of blood is mentioned many times in the series. There is also much more to be said about the colors of the oranges, but all of that takes me far afield, so I’ll save the rest for follow-up posts. I’ll write them this time, really! 😬

Thank you for the message, anon!

#ask dot #sansa stark #anti littlefinger #deadfinger 😈#asoiaf #asoiaf food symbolism

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houseboatisland · 3 years

Text

Henry’s Day Out

***

The driver tapped despairingly at the murky pressure gauge.

“Come on, old boy!” he coaxed, “Try harder!”

The tapping reverberated through the smokey gloom of the shed, even overcoming the din of the other engines slowly sizzling to life themselves. The fireman bitterly wiped a ticklish bead of sweat off the tip of his nose, and dug noisily down into the tender for yet another shovelful of coal.

“Ohh, it’s no use, I’m shattered,” moaned Henry, “I’m not fit to boil a pot of tea...”

“Not talking rot like that, you won’t!” his driver scolded, but the encouragement behind his words was clear, “You’re my engine, and no one can put’cha down, least of all yourself!”

The skinny brown needle twitched behind the greasy glass, almost shyly.

“That’s right, more of that!” he ordered, and feverishly wiped the face of the gauge with a yellowing rag, “Y’know why they call it ‘The Early Bird,’ dont’cha boy?”

Henry rolled his eyes. So did the exhausted fireman, raking the coal fastidiously with his shovel tip for a lump of coal just the right size.

“Because the Early Bird gets the worm, and it’s the first train of the day, and we are out for a worm of our own,” Henry replied mechanically, like all the other times.

“There’s a good lad, I knew you hadn’t given up on me, yet!” The driver’s teeth were pearly against the soot and smut on his face.

A corner of Henry’s mouth quivered hesitantly, but he quickly let the smile flourish.

“No, Theodore,” he hummed tepidly, “I haven’t, and I won’t.”

“Let’s ease you out into the sun, there’s still a bit’ta time before we need to be coupled, yet,” Ted patted his side of the cab, and peered his grease top cap out down the yard, “I want the whole railway to admire my engine! He’s gotta be SEEN to be believed!”

With conservative little whooshes of steam from his cylinder drain cocks, Henry tiptoed gently out of the shed, and drew to a stop.

The waxing light of dawn caught his blue paintwork and red boiler bands, and he seemed to radiate light of his own where he sat. His princely copper chimney cap still sparkled even after all the coal they had burned. He wasn’t an ugly engine by any means. With sweeping frames, tall driving wheels, and a tender of The Fat Director’s own design, any run of the mill passenger or porter would even call him handsome. Several had. Henry didn’t look too far removed from the engines on posters advertising nonstop expresses to Scotland, or boat trains in and out of Southampton.

But that was just the trouble.

“Try not to lose too much steam sitting,” groused the fireman, chucking his second cigarette into the firebox and shutting the door snappily behind it, “At some point, all the coal against the tubeplate’s more trouble than its worth!”

Theodore glared.

“You know and I know the boy can’t help it,” he practically murmured, “If he needs coal, he needs coal.”

“I need arms like an Olympian, feeding him,” the fireman pressed on, “They ought to give me two-and-six for each pound of coal I put on, then maybe it’d be worth it!”

Henry stayed silent. It was better to pretend not to have heard.

“Just leave us a minute and get two pots from Oil Issues, and come back with a smile,” Theodore ordered darkly.

The fireman hopped down, and dusted off his overalls.

“Sure and I will, for two-and-six,” Henry clearly heard him, before feeling him disappear.

Henry gulped.

“I’m... I’m sorry, Mr. Robbins, sir,” he quavered.

“You call me ‘Theodore,’” harrumphed the driver, absentmindedly wiping between the various gauges and handles on the backplate, “It’s that shifty little sod that just went for our oilpots that oughtta call me ‘Mr. Robbins.’”

Henry didn’t laugh, or even try to.

“You know I can’t help the way I am?...”

“Of course I know, boy.”

“And you’re not upset?”

“Bless you, no, boy.”

Henry sniffed. The sun was rising fast and strong now. The rails felt warmer. Vicarstown Station’s all-over glass roof twinkled and glistened in the distance, like a mountain of diamonds. Horses trotted, and their carts squeaked and banged. Somewhere, a policeman blew his whistle. The streets behind the retaining wall were coming alive with throngs of people chattering. The church bells gonged, meaning it was six o’clock. Not long now till coupling.

“...I can pull that train, can’t I, Theodore?”

Theodore firmly held his hand onto the regulator, twisting himself back for a sign of the fireman approaching.

“You what, lad? O-Oh, yes, sure ya can, and I’ll be right here to see to it. It’d be swell if that blasted fireman could get back, though. If I find out he’s knocking about the canteen again, I’ll make him eat your shovel for supper.”

Henry choked. He could feel the time slipping away. The crowds of people, really quite far away from where he stood, seemed to become louder and louder by the second. He needed to go, he needed to go, he wanted to cry. If only he could be allowed to go. Even if he were to need a pilot halfway down the line, even if he needed to be taken off the train altogether, he could bear more than to keep sitting here. He felt so helpless, so trapped by a million forces pushing down on him in that moment from every angle.

It was so unfair.

#ttte #ttte henry #ttte ficlet #houseboat's writing

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tiarnanabhfainni · 3 years

Text

alright lads i have written spn fic about the family of deanna campbell, path dependency, kansas coal mining and generational misery. also dean mirrors because that’s what this whole industry runs on. it was heavily inspired by this insane post by tumblr-user @uhuraha. you can also find it under the cut

blood and bone is the price of coal

There’s a concept in social science known as path dependency. The gist is this: the decisions you will be faced with in the future are heavily dependent on the choices you make now. Human trajectories are resistant to change. Once a family enters the mines it becomes nearly impossible for them to dig their way out.

The Winchester and Campbell names have long pedigrees. Two families whose history goes back as long as humans have records. In fact, their traditions are as old as angels can remember. The Winchesters. Men of Letters. Generations upon generations of knowledge of the arcane passed from mouth to pen to typewriter. The Campbells. Hunters. Parents, siblings, and cousins standing shoulder to shoulder in the endless bloody fight against the monsters under the bed.

Deanna Campbell née Foster had no such pedigree.

See, her family had a somewhat different history than that of the Campbells or the Winchesters. Deanna was the first of her family to be drawn into the shadowy world of the supernatural. Her death at the hands of a demon was not the result of centuries of angelic influence on her family line. That cooling body on the kitchen tiles was not preordained by fate. A fluke. A woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and as a result crossed paths with a demon. There really could have been any woman sitting at that kitchen table with Dean Winchester in 1973 and the apocalypse would have gone ahead.

Because the Foster family business was not hunting things or saving people. It was coal mining. Generations of men lining up to take their place in the cavernous tunnels. Hauling their shovels and pickaxes far below the surface to obtain the precious black stone hiding under Kansas soil.

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

Jacob Foster was one such miner who toiled below the packed earth almost a century before an angel placed Dean Winchester in the perfect place to witness the damnation of his family to a life of misery and revenge.

It’s hard to determine the exact relationship between Jacob and Deanna. He was not a cosmically important man. As a result, there aren’t many records of his life that survived. He could have been her grand-uncle or maybe some distant cousin. It doesn’t really matter in the end because either way he worked in the coal mines like everyone else in the family. Like his father before him.

Jacob’s life was a small one. His family had been poor as long as he’d known them. A family life that might have sounded familiar to hundreds around the country. An exploited, overworked drunk of a father and a mother wasting away at the kitchen counter, bent over with exhaustion.

The wages from his father’s long hours were barely enough to cover the food on the table and yet still most of it found its way into the pockets of the men who owned the local taverns and bars. His mother did her best with what she was given.

She put as much food on the table as she could with the means available to her. Not once did she confront Jacob’s father about the money he spent on drink nor did she ask for a larger cut of his paycheck for use on groceries.

Sometimes Jacob felt that her fear had more of a presence in the house than she did.

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

Dean’s life shrank the night his mother burned alive on the ceiling. His childhood shaped itself to fit inside broken, dirty apartments and cheap motel rooms. The overpowering stench of a man blackout drunk on bourbon and beer became more familiar to him than that of home cooked meals.

He did his best with the scraps of approval he was given and never asked for more.

His father was grieving, overworked, and doing his best and what could Dean do but take what he could get.

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

The lack of records makes it hard to be precise about what age Jacob was when he first went down under the shifting earth to search for precious black fuel in the pits. The family stories are confused on this point. Historians agree that the youngest boys in that particular mine were thirteen years old. But Deanna’s aunt always insisted that Jacob’s mother was fearful for her child’s safety and so she wheedled a year or two of reprieve from his father.

But regardless of his mother’s concern there was no other job open to her son and so - some time before his sixteenth birthday - Jacob’s father put a shovel in his hand and placed a cap on his head and walked him down the dirt tracks to the mine

In another life maybe Jacob could have been something else.

Maybe if his father was a butcher, he could have studied book-keeping and gone to work in an airy office rather than a dark airless hole in the ground. If the miner’s union was stronger in those days, maybe his father could have earned money enough to get his son into trade. But instead, the mine-owners underpaid their workers with little organised protest against them and Jacob worked where he was always destined to. Carefully extracting the bedrock of industrial expansion. Digging up coal that would keep other homes warm.

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

John Winchester first put a gun in his eldest son’s hand at six years old, brought him down to the woods and had him fire at cans. He looked his little boy in the eyes and handed him the tools to the trade that his mother had sacrificed so much to keep him out of.

Before he turned 16, Dean wasn’t allowed on any other hunts other than salt ‘n burns. But it was fitting in a way. Dean Winchester, grandson to Deanna Campbell née Foster, digging his shovel into hard-packed earth. The bruises on his face warmed up by the crackling flames in the open grave, earned while protecting someone else’s home.

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

In his early years down in the shafts of a Kansas coal mine, Jacob was careful to save as much from his paychecks as he could. He handed this money over to his mother as she wrung her hands over the kitchen counter.

But every year the hours got longer, the pit got deeper and his paychecks grew slimmer. The siren call of the bourbon behind the barman’s back grew ever stronger.

Can we grow beyond our parents? Every tool that Jacob had was handed to him by his father. His leather workman’s boots, his dusty cap, the shovel he used to break his own back. And his father’s oldest and deepest friend, the whiskey he drank to numb himself to the grinding misery and exploitation that defined his life.

Path dependency means that the past matters. Every option that lies before us was predetermined by choices made long before their consequences would be felt. Once a man enters the mines, can his sons ever dig their way out?

By his twentieth birthday Jacob was leaving all of his paycheck on the barman’s lowest shelf.

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

The hunting life is founded on revenge.

Supernatural forces cut a life short, and husbands, wives, mothers, brothers, and daughters dive headfirst into miserable, bitter, and transitory lives where their only options are dying young or dying alone.

In 1983, John Winchester’s marriage and home went up in smoke and the ground shifted beneath him. He packed his car with a hunter’s basics, - a shovel, some shotguns, whiskey - and dragged his family down into the mine.

Dean Winchester only ever got out of the life once. After his brother threw himself into the pit.

But it’s hard to live on the surface when you know what lurks underneath and every tool Dean had, he got from his father.

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

The rules of Jacob’s mine stated that no more than five pounds of black powder explosive could be taken into the mines by a miner at one time. But inspections were rare, and miners rarely took time to remember the rules by hour six in the pits.

The explosion that killed Jacob and his father also took out three of his cousins, five 13-year-old runners and a group of newly arrived Italian immigrants to the town who barely spoke a word of English. The local undertaker was put to hard work in the following days. 43 closed pine coffins lowered slowly underground. Maybe in another life Jacob could have been a painter, a baker, a steel mill worker.

Instead, he died as he lived. Smothered by coal dust.

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

Dean Winchester looked heaven, fate and God in the eyes and told them all to go fuck themselves. He taught an angel free will, cancelled the apocalypse and stripped the cosmic author of all of his power.

Dean Winchester died choking on blood in a barn in Kansas hunting a monster that his father failed to kill. He couldn’t dig his way out.

#spn #dean winchester #john winchester #fic tag #so yep #i have notes on research on the ao3 link but i am not bothered to transcribe #basically listen to springhill mining disaster by luke kelly #the reason i left mullingar #and navigator by the pogues to get a feel for the mood i was in while writing this lmao

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spideymarvelws · 4 years

Text

one true love.

Dark!Peter Parker x Dark!GN!Reader

Main Masterlist

Summary : Peter will go threw everything to keep you safe, protected and most importantly always his. He saw you as the person he observed and watched for the past few months, the sweet, kind girl that stopped to pet stray dogs or smiled at everyone who needed it. But somethings he never took notice of, some things that would’ve made him love you even more.

Warnings : THIS IS A DARK FIC! I am not responsible for your media consumption but if any of these topics or just dark fics on a whole trigger you please do not read! cursing, murders, blood, violence, mention of sexual assault, death, stalking, graphic description of a dead body, homicide, fluffy if you squint, use of guns and knifes.

A/n : If any description throughout the one shot does not pertain to a gender neutral reader please let me know :-) also if i missed anything in the warnings.

Word Count : 1.8k

...

The definition of love is something that never stays constant as its experienced from person to person. Even to that very being, the meaning changes every year, month, day even hour, from what that individual may feel in that moment. In some cases, it may be the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to someone, changing there life in ways they could never even imagine.

In other cases, it could break a person whole, bit by bit, tearing down at who they once were. Emotions like guilt and regret, jealously and remorse running through there veins, thinking that love is only made to destroy the ones foolish enough to believe it exists.

Then you have the rare case of love at first sight.

Now, some may argue that this concept that only seems to show up in movies and TV shows is complete bullshit, that it doesn’t exist.

��You can’t look at someone and automatically know they’re the one for you,” Ned said to him one day, pulling his head out of his chemistry book,“What if they’re an awful person? What if they do something constantly that you don’t like? Seriously, looking at someone and knowing there the one is just basing It of there’s looks or something,”

Peter didn’t respond, afraid that he might lash out at the only friend he’s managed to keep throughout the years. He thought about the last statement a lot, wondering if all he ever really felt was the physical attraction.

But no, that pull you feel when you look at someone for the fist time, watching there movements with whatever tasks they’re doing at the moment, even if it’s nothing at all. Falling entranced with there every gesture, taking in every curve and colour, memorising every feature.

It wasn’t just looking at their appearance, it was taking note of how they moved, how they acted, how they laughed, god there laugh is like music to your ears. It was watching and observing, that’s what Ned missed in his little speech.

Then of course you have the people who don’t believe in love, which was something he could understand.

Before he saw you.

For Peter, love was not a strong enough word to describe what he felt for his one true love. The way you made his heart stop with one smile, his face red with one touch, his hands sweat with one word. In your eyes, he found his entire world.

And he destined for you to be his.

The countess nights he spent dreaming of you, laying besides him. He longed to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to mark you with his love. He shocked himself with the self control he had to maintain around you especially when it came to the people you hung out with.

The amount of times he wanted to run out of hiding and crack the skull of some idiot who decided to talk to you or dare even look at you in any suggestive matter. The thought make him gag every time, but he’d like to think that you already knew that he was looking over you, that you belonged to him. That’s why you never took any of them on, that’s why you turned them down.

He couldn’t blame them for trying, but they had no chance since they would be gone the next day.

Which is why he hoped you could forgive him for what he did, for what he had to do.

The body laid in the back seat, wrapped tightly in a bag. There was no blood spilled, sadly, only the indents of his hands on the base of his neck.

It was fun, watching the life drain from his eyes as he listed off every bad thing he’s ever done, mainly to you, but he threw in a few more ex’s just to spice things up a bit more. Maybe he shouldn’t have killed him, maybe he should’ve just let him walk free with the threats he shoved down his throat.

But then he had to call you a bitch, from that point he knew his life would just be a waste of oxygen.

Peter let out a chuckle at the memory, at the fake confidence he showed, struggling in his hold. It truly was a sight to behold, one that made his realise why he enjoyed being Spiderman so much.

Seeing people suffer for there terrible mistakes and knowing that he had the power to punish them.

The drive was long and quiet, one of his hands was on top the steering wheel, tapping to an imaginary beat while the other settled on the arm rest. The streets were rather empty at this hour to Peter’s surprise, making him smirk that he would get away with the murder.

Maybe he could’ve stolen a better car.

But he was doing everyone a favour and he was keeping you safe.

He took a right into a dense forest, his car moving with with the bumps on the course road. When he felt like he was deep enough down the path, he hit the breaks, cringing at the squeaking noise it made.

Regardless, the exited the vehicle, opening the trunk to grab a shovel. He knew that there were a number of more efficient ways to get rid of the body, one that could’ve used his position in the avengers to his advantage, but his old techniques started to grow repetitive.

It didn’t take him as long as he thought though, the hole he dug was around eight feet deep and hopefully the right size to fit the body. Dropping the shovel to the floor, he walked back to the car not to worried about his surroundings knowing that no one ever visited this part of the forest.

He grabbed the body from the back seat, throwing it over his shoulder carrying it to the hole and tossing it inside without care. He smiled at the bag as he filled the hole a quarter of the way.

“Time to find an animal now shall we?” He whispered to himself, pulling out the hunters knife from the back of his pants along with a flash light, “Just incase,”

As he walked threw the trees and bushes, keeping look out for any movements he heard a gun shot cut threw the air. He gripped his knife, walking carefully towards the noise.

Oh how he was sorry for the poor lad that decided to be here this night, but he had too do what had to be done.

Suddenly he was sent back by a force jumping on his back. He fell to the floor with a thud, his body forcefully turned over with a gun pointed directly between his eyes.

“Y/n?” He froze, his breath becoming heavier at how close your face was to his. Now he understood why his spider senses didn’t alert him, because you weren’t a threat to him, you could never be.

“Peter,” you whispered, lowering your gun, scrambling off of his body much to his dismay, “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” He asked back, still shocked at you proximity to him, talking with him, breathing the same air as him.

“You answer first,” you said quickly.

“No you,” Peter said back, crossing his arms.

“I-,” you started, but looked down, trying to hide your bashfulness, but it only drew attention to the blood dripping from your hair.

“Baby,” Peter whispered, walking up to you to grab your face, any sense of self control left his body after seeing the state you were in, “What happened,”

Peter thought it was some attack on you and judging by the amount of blood covering your skin, you had to defend yourself. He expected you to look up with the innocent eyes he’s studied for so long, finally getting a chance to get a closer look.

But instead, you raised your head with a sinister smile gracing your feature, you stepped out of his embrace, taking his hand in yours.

“Let me show you,” you whispered, in an almost sultry voice sending shivers down his spine.

You pulled him to a tree, taking the flashlight held in his fingers and pointed the light to the base of the trunk. Peter stared confused at the sight, walking forward slightly to inspect the slumped body. It was tied down tightly with rope around the waist and mouth, cutting threw the skin deeply showing signs of struggle. There was multiple stab wounds in the stomach, words carved in there legs that he couldn’t make out with the dirt and blood covering them. He did however notice his name on her forehead and the bullet wound in the middle.

The streaks of blond in the hair falling in front of the face told him that this body belonged to Gwen Stacy.

“When she started talking to you I could see how uncomfortable she made you,” you started, looking to the floor while playing with the dirt with the sole of your shoe, “I- I didn’t like how close she got to you, and- and since she bothered you too I- I thought we were doing us both a favour,”

Peter stood back up, looking back at you. He wondered how somebody so insane could hide it so well. Even with the evidence painted over you, he still saw you as incapable of ever doing anything like this.

The thought made him laugh loudly, walking up to you and grabbing your face.

“I fucking love you,” he laughed more, making you smile brightly as he put his forehead against yours, “You’re perfect I swear,”

You laughed along with him, putting away your gun in your pack pocket, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’ve- I’ve so long for this,” you giggled, pressing your nose into his neck, basking in his sick scent, “But, what are you doing here?”

Peter giggled as well, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “Same reason at you my love,”

Your eyes widened, you placed your hand on his cheek, bringing his lips back into yours. It was longer and sloppier than the first, both of you getting use to the movements but also desperate for the feeling.

Peter backed you up against another tree, pressing his body against yours, his deluded mind not reregistering how fucked up the situation was, but he loved every second. His lips moved down to your neck, sucking and bitting at the skin, drawing out delicious moans from your mouth.

“Fuck,” you sputtered, biting your lip and tangling your fingers in his hair, both of you not paying mind to the blood, sweat and dirt, “I’ve- I’ve wanted this for so long Peter,”

“Me too baby,” he said, tightening his hold on your waist, “Me too, now how about we hide these bodies together hmm?” He tickled your sides lightly, grinning at the giggle you let out, “Then I’m gonna take you home and make up for lost time,”

...

--->Interested in more? check out my other Dark!Peter fic<---

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Taglist: @jadegill @joyleenl @ietss

#peter parker #dark!peter parker #dark!peter #dark!peter parker x reader #dark!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x gn!reader #dark!peter parker x dark!reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #yandere!peter parker

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jlsadphoenix · 3 years

Text

a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)

The evolution of Emma and Killian’s thoughts for each other, told through the early events of their lives together. | 1/2 | AO3

EMMA

KILLIAN

because she took his hand and painted a future in brilliant colours, colours beyond the red of blood and vengeance he had lost himself in for centuries.

completely and utterly — he’d say hopelessly, except nothing gives him more hope than Emma Swan

Tagging: @teamhook @lillpon @ownedbycaptainswan @inwordsthatnobodyknows1121

“Hey! Hey, there’s someone under there!”

And hands are pulling him free from the pile of bodies he’d crawled under. Keeping his frightened mask on, Killian briefly glances about at his ‘saviors’, falling last on the beautiful blonde in unfamiliar clothes peering down at him with confusion and suspicion.

He could work with that.

Later he’s sitting at the table, telling his false tale. It’s played to perfection, Killian thinks to himself with pleasure. The right amount of faltering and trembling. The four women are eating it up, the concern, the sympathetic smile the blonde shoots him as his voice trembles, it was all I could do to survive, before she disappears behind him. Everything’s going right, and Killian is starting to relax. The other women are starting to relax, too, and he’s leaping at the first opportunity to present itself — I can guide you—

Then someone grabs his hair, jerking his head back and presses a knife to his throat.

Well shit, he thought wildly, now what?

Then Killian is tied up to a tree.

How the fuck did this happen?

He’s holding onto his ruse as best he can, I’m just a blacksmith, desperate and pleading. The others seem doubtful of tying him up, but the blonde stands firm.

And then she’s whistling sharply, bringing the ogres’ attention to them. And then she’s walking away.

She can’t be serious, can she?

She can.

Dammit.

“Good for you!” is called out with equal parts irritation and grudging respect. Killian will speak to her. Lies will not work so he’ll bargain. So he focuses on her, clearly the leader, the one to watch out for, and offers her his services, genuine this time, I’ll help you obtain it before she does, and she puts a knife to his throat once again in response.

That respect for this woman who’s seen through his ruse within mere moments, tied him to a tree, and put a knife to his throat twice is growing, so he responds with the honesty she deserves and quite honestly, has won. He stares dead into her eyes, unblinking, face clear of deception.

“To exact revenge on the man who took my hand— Rumplestiltskin.”

Well, the important things he can keep to himself, now.

Killian’s growing impatient.

He’s never been good with waiting, really. This was one of the first lessons he had learned in servitude — the wait in between each lash was worse than the pain itself, and that impatience had carried on to almost everything else.

And yet the four continued to argue on as time ran, as the sun moved, as the giant was doing who knows what, as Cora likely grew closer to coming suspicious.

Their voices raised, and his ears perk up as Emma mentions a Henry, and, soon they seem to quiet down.

Oh, please be her.

She and the warrior (Mulan, was it?) shuffles off to the side, and they speak in low tones, exchanging a bag, and continue to speak quietly, a grim look on Emma’s face.

Finally, his patience runs out, and he calls out to them, barely keeping the irritation in check, “Ladies, in this world we are slaves to time; in other words, tik-tok.”

They all share brief glances, and, please please be her, he has to know more about this woman who managed to best him, who has the look of a Lost One in her eyes, who is desperate to return to — not home, no, but this Henry. Her boy, most likely (and he can’t help the way his thoughts drift briefly over to another who wanted desperately to be reunited with her lad), and he tries to hide his pleased expression as she moves to him.

He’s sure he fails spectacularly, so continuing in the spirit of honesty with her — not like there’s any point to lying to her, anyhow — he reaches for her hand to rest on his shoulder, I was hoping it would be you, and continues to speak, delighted curiosity undeterred by her disinterest.

And up they climb.

They jump off the ledge at the top of the beanstalk, and Killian glances down in her direction, red catching his eye, and he’s calling out to her, let me help you, but she pulls away.

“No, it’s not,” he insists, catching Emma’s wrist with his hook, and stepping closer. He really doesn’t know what’s possessing him to do this, yet he reaches for his rum anyway as she rolls her eyes at him.

“And I’m always a gentleman,” he responds to her. Why does he care? He’s a gentleman, it’s simply good form, he repeats to himself. That, and he doesn’t need unnecessary injury to his ride to Storybrooke. Yes that’s it, he thinks to himself as he bends to catch the scarf with his mouth in order to tie it properly. Nothing to do with whatever connection he may have felt to her as they talked during their climb.

He glances up at her, catching her eyes as he ties the scarf, and her green eyes darken minutely, he noticed, pleased. “And then?” she asks him, voice barely coming above a murmur.

“Then we run like hell,”

“I don’t have time to wait for a giant to fall asleep,” she refuses, and suggests the powder made from poppies. Well that’s riskier, he thinks, and says so after a moment, even as he continues to consider her plan.

“Than waiting for a giant to fall asleep when we need him to?”

“Point taken,” he grins. She just keeps impressing him, and he wonders that she seems surprised he agreed so fast. Did she expect him to argue more? Why would he argue with the admittedly better — and more importantly faster plan? “You’re a tough lass. You’d make a hell of a pirate,” he’ll just ignore the look, he decides, offering up the powder to her.

“Who’s Milah, on the tattoo?” she asks instead, and Killian’s heart clenches, any cheer he had been feeling drowned by the cold of grief, of rage, drowned by ashes in the wind and the echo of fingertips brushing his cheek, drowned by I love you and even demons can be killed. It really was all he could do not to jerk his arm away, instead letting it fall to his side and giving it a small shake to make certain his sleeve covers the tattoo.

But she continues to stare, undeterred by his closed off expression. After a long moment, he can tell she simply won’t let it go, and so, someone from long ago, slips grimly from his mouth, and he walks off towards the home of the giants even as Emma continues to press.

“She’s gone,” he replies flatly without turning back, and it hurts, hurts to think about her, the reminder has the image of her heart turning to dust playing in his head again, has I love you whispered in his ear, and phantom touches cradling his cheek has him clenching his jaw and —

“Gold.”

Killian stops.

Emma continues.

“Rumplestiltskin. He took more than your hand from you, didn’t he? That’s why you wanna kill him.” And it’s clear she’s less asking, and more speaking aloud her realizations, but Killian doesn’t need her pity, her sympathy, so he bites back, for someone who’s never been in love, you’re quite perceptive, aren’t you, and he’s completely still from keeping his frustration in check as he turns to face her once more.

“Maybe I was, once,” she admits.

And something changes between them, an understanding formed. She’s returning the favor, he realizes. He showed her a sliver past his own walls and now she’s letting him see a tiny bit in return.

There’s no pity in her eyes.

And so he relaxes just a bit more around her.

“Hook!” she’s calling out, reaching for him, and he’s giddy, delighted. They’d done it. He can’t help the laugh that slips out, you are bloody brilliant, amazing, and he laughs again. He’s staring down at the compass, even more beautiful than legend, and really, the success is getting to his head.

He’s out from under Cora’s thumb now, he has his path to vengeance, to Milah’s murderer in sight, and he’s traveling with someone who is not only gorgeous, but intrigues him like no one else in centuries, traveling with someone he can easily see becoming someone important to him, and for the first time in centuries, he’s —

It has him reaching for the compass in awe, and Killian is far too delighted to be disappointed all that much when Emma pulls it away. It’s alright, he thinks, after all, he’ll have plenty of time to prove himself, to gain her trust.

So he offers up his hand, thinking nothing of the doubting look on Emma’s face. She takes it, and his heart pounds, and for the first time in a long, long, time, he can see — he might just —

And then she’s locking shackles around his wrist.

What?

What is she— “What are you doing?” he asks, rising to his feet, blood running cold as she hastily steps away from him.

“Hook, I—“

“Emma, look at me,” he tries, desperately keeping his voice calm, “have I told you a lie?”

“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you. I’m sorry,”

Wrong?

Sorry?

There’s a roaring in his ears, and he’s simultaneously extremely aware of everything he feels and extremely detached from what’s happening.

Is he—

Is she—?

Why is she walking away, she can’t be walking away—

But he’s still chained as she continues on, never looking back, and he’s helpless as he yells after her, the betrayal and abandonment and frustration burning him, boiling his blood, and really he’s still so lost, because —

Because why?

Frustration tears a noise from his throat, as his hacking away at the chains prove useless, as is attempting to pick the lock, and he’s left to sit doing nothing but stew because she—

Because —

(Because for the split second she grabbed his hand, before she chained — abandoned — him, he could envision someday letting go of Milah, of finally grieving her properly, like he’s never let himself do, because she took his hand and painted a future in brilliant colours, colours beyond the red of blood and vengeance he had lost himself in for centuries, because —)

Everything hurts.

Moving, breathing, smiling, laughing. Everything hurts, hurts like nothing else since those feverish days after he had lost his hand, when he was half mad and half drunk on pain, grief, rage, and rum.

Emma Swan stands over him, gorgeous as ever, with a grim look.

Everything hurts, but there is a grim satisfaction in him, and just like those days, he feels have drunk on the pain and some strange sense of loss.

“Hey, beautiful,” he calls out instead, and his words rattle his ribs, his lungs ache, Killian thinks he can taste blood, but he is so so lost, because he has gotten his revenge, but he is still alive, and nothing feels right, nothing feels at all, really, and this wasn’t supposed to feel like this, but no, he will not think of that.

It is easy enough to focus on the grim concern on Emma Swan’s face. Maybe he’ll wonder about that concern when he can think right, but right now, she bends down to check on his injuries, and he hasn’t seen her since he threw their fight at Lake Nostos, and she truly does look beautiful, “And here I didn’t think you’d noticed —“

Pain.

She had gently pressed her hand to his side, but even that slightest pressure burned. She tells him his ribs are broken, and he laughs regardless of the pain, because he feels wrong wrong wrong why does he feel so hollow, so he fixates on the Crocodile, did you see his face, he thinks wildly, pushing himself up, and he doesn’t even know if he’s speaking aloud or not, but he has to laugh, has to see the damage he has done, see the Crocodile faced with the loss of his love, see him with his love ripped from him in a single moment, “Just like Milah!”, because that must be why he feels so empty, because he hasn’t had a moment to truly appreciate the look on the Crocodile’s face.

He keeps fixated on him as he approaches, and is he speaking? He’s saying something about Milah, but it’s taking everything to simply stay conscious, and everything hurts, and why is he still alive? Never once did he imagine living after getting revenge, he knew full well this was a suicide mission, and his arm trembles under his weight, and Killian doesn’t —

A foot slams into his face, and there is a cane pressing down his throat.

Ah, Killian thinks, I’m going to die now.

Distantly, he hears Emma trying to pull the Crocodile off of him, vague sounds of raised voices, and some loud ringing.

The weight is off his throat, and he can breathe again, but his life’s mission is done, he can rest a bit, can’t he? Perhaps he’ll see Milah again. If he does, he hopes she forgives him for the person he’s become, for what he has done in her name. Maybe he’ll even see Liam, but he’ll have to figure out how to look his brother in the eye.

(Captain Nemo was right. He should’ve taken his word for it.)

Killian wakes up.

Everything hurts. Someone has changed his clothes, his left arm feels empty, the weight of his hook missing. Each breath rattles against his ribs.

Emma Swan sits on the bed he lays in, watching him carefully.

“Where’s Cora?” is the first thing he hears.

What?

Killian suddenly feels very awake, and rapidly goes over the list of things he noticed once more. His hook and brace were missing. His clothes were changed, Emma was the only other person in the room, he had shot the Crocodile’s heart over the line, and everything hurts.

Oh, and he was, once again, chained.

“Again?” he asks Emma, and he’d laugh if it wouldn’t hurt so much, “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

He moved up — attempted to, anyway, damn, that hurts, and Emma simply stands over him and reminds him of his cracked ribs. “Where’s Cora?”

Who cares about Cora?

He hasn’t seen Emma since Lake Nostos, not including whatever the hell happened after that metal contraption slammed into him. He was so drunk on pain, exhilaration, bloodlust, and loss that he — loss? Why would he —

“You look good, I must say. All ‘where’s Cora’ in a commanding voice — chills.” He says instead. You have all sorts of sore places I an make you hurt, and he only smiles blandly, entirely too distracted on —

Fuck what the fuck why —

“I have no idea where Cora is,” he grounds out, and fucking seven hells, but Emma only gives him a smile that is somehow both smug and bland at the same time, so instead he asks after his hook.

“You’re awfully chipper for a guy who just failed to kill his enemy, then got hit by a car,” says Emma dryly, and ah, is that what those metal contraptions are called, cars, strange name, but everything else is still intact, Killian drawls, but more importantly:

“Plus, I did some quality damage to my foe,”

“You hurt Belle,” Emma says incredulously, but no, that’s not the point.

“I hurt his heart,” he corrected fiercely, “Belle’s just where he keeps it.” After all, the Crocodile tore out Milah’s heart and crushed it to ash as punishment for her daring to not love him, for daring to choose Killian over him, then took the thieving hand as though people can be owned and bought and sold and stolen as objects, left him with nothing but Milah’s cooling body, ash and blood on the deck, a shattered heart, and nothing but vengeance to keep him going. He killed my love; I know the feeling, he smiles, sarcastic edge to it.

Then Emma leans forward, falsely sympathetic smile plastered onto her face, bringing her head more level to Killian’s, and unbidden, his heart jumps as the memory of their first meeting rises in his head, the exact same smile she had given him then right before she put a knife to his throat and demanded the truth from him, the first moment he gained respect for this woman.

“Keep smiling, buddy. You’re chained down, he’s on his feet, immortal, has magic, and you hurt his girl. If I were to pick dead guy of the year? I’d pick you.”

He returns her smile, equally false and sarcastic, forcing down the wave of bitterness as she walks away leaving him behind in chains once more.

He’s left all alone with his thoughts and no escape or distraction from the hollowness in his chest, no hiding from that empty, lost sensation.

What now?

I spent decades hunting down the men responsible for what happened. Why was he thinking of him now? No, he tries rationalizing, no, it must not be enough. The Crocodile is still alive, that must be why he still feels so unsatisfied. The metal of his cuffs are cold around his wrist, and the bitterness is still tight in his throat, and very suddenly, he remembered the warm hand taking his, the doubtful look, the giddiness as he thought of a future he had never once seen. And when I was finished? All I was left with was an empty heart and a bloodstained harpoon.

His mission must not be done yet. It must not be enough to hurt the Crocodile’s heart, Killian has to kill him, maybe — maybe then he’ll be sated, maybe then he can find peace, can stop drowning in this hollowness and —

Start? Revenge is no start, it’s an end, he’s always known this. But there is still the hollowness, the bitterness, the dissatisfaction.

And then what?

He thought of her hand taking his, the first time he felt like Killian Jones in centuries, even as she called him Hook, thought of the brief moment he imagined one day letting Milah go, of a future where he can leave revenge behind him.

Thought of the shackles closing around his wrist.

This is your chance, Killian. You don’t have to swim the dark waters any longer.

Killian twisted around, ignoring the stabs of pain from his ribs as he looks for something to pick the lock around these new shackles on his wrist.

“The map is working, we know where Henry is!” Emma rushes over to give him the map and Killian is quick to take it and explain where they are, and more importantly, where the lad is. The prince, surprisingly, backs him when he tells off Regina for being too rash, impatient, as does Emma, clearly already done and frustrated with Pan’s peculiar sense of humor.

“And if I disagree?” Regina, ever the queen. Killian is starting to think she’s doing this simply to get on Emma’s nerves.

“Go ahead, but I think you know that our best chance is together.”

And because it’s clear Regina has no other plans, and was likely disagreeing for the sake of it, she relents quickly enough, with only a muttered you’d better be right.

She’s brilliant, really, the way she still keeps calm and patient despite the constant doubting Regina lays into her, the way she manages to stay strong and focused despite the loss and worry the loss of her son clearly weighs on her. He simply cannot help but be in awe of Emma Swan, and he sees no reason to hold back his admiration, because so far, she is the only one who has not constantly doubted him and his motives, who has not fought his suggestions or advice at every turn, and she deserves to see some semblance of faith, some mirror of the faith she has placed on him.

“Excellent show of patience, love,” he smiles at her as the others begin to disperse, and he pulls out his flask to offer it up in celebration. “And that, is what defeats a nasty little boy.”

“I hope so,” she murmurs absently before shaking her head and laughing at the flask he offers. “Is rum your solution to everything?”

It certainly doesn’t hurt, he shrugs, taking a swig, before silently offering it up to her once more.

She takes the flask and drinks.

But, as ever when it comes to her, he is curious, endlessly curious, he wants to learn more, take whatever she gives him, beginnings, middles, ends, whatever she will let him see. So just how did you unlock the map, he tries, but she merely smiles, deflects with a “Wouldn’t you like to know,” and it’s clear she means for him to laugh as well, for them to brush it off casually before following the others to prepare and plan for whatever Pan has except —

Except he has wanted to know who she truly is since she pulled him from a pile of bodies, caught him in a bald-faced lie, put a dagger to his throat, and tied him to a tree. He has wanted to know her since they climbed the beanstalk and he had called her an open book, because despite what he says of open books, he sees only the summary, only the passages echoed in his own story, only the pages just now being written, but none of the early chapters. He has wanted to know more since she put a shackle around his wrist and left him behind, and he locked her in a cell and left her in return, since she came at him with a sword, plainly inexperienced and reckless but making up for it in endless bravery and love for her son, and he couldn’t bear to get in her way, simply throwing the fight as subtly as he can so she could get back to her boy without Cora raising a fuss. He has wanted to know more since he was crumpled in pain in the mud and she stood over him, and he couldn’t help but call her beautiful, and he started thinking of what lay for him in the future, since she stood before him, asking for the bean and telling him that he could once again, be a part of something.

“Perhaps I would,” he says instead, and he couldn’t help the mild disappointment when she only holds his gaze for a moment before walking away, and couldn’t help the disappointment because that was the answer he had expected from her.

Killian wasn’t expecting the prince to just come out and acknowledge him like that.

Really, this whole day has been hard on him, harder than the usual day in Neverland, what with the constant memories of Liam threatening to resurface, and Pan’s deal. But the acknowledgement, the thanks —

It has him shifting uncomfortably, and he can hardly meet any of their eyes, and it feels good, no matter how wrong it feels settling on his chest. After all, he hardly deserves it, all he did was prolong the inevitable death sentence (Liam rarely ever says sorry, says he was wrong, and it was one of the last things he said, and now Killian is cradling his brother’s limp body, all because he had goaded him into testing the dreamshade, and now he’s all alone, lost like nothing since his father sold him —).

But the gratitude in David’s eyes is genuine, even if the tale he spins is not, and Regina is looking torn between surprised and impressed, and Emma — Emma looks like she doesn’t know what to think.

(Emma looks like she’s seeing him.)

She drinks his rum, toasting to him, and he can’t look at her, forcing down the bitter, guilty feeling that he had just sentenced her father to either a life in Neverland or a funeral with his family grieving over him the moment the Jolly Roger settles in Storybrooke, the same way he had Liam.

He and Emma are alone now. It is silent for several beats, before “Did you really save his life?”

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, genuinely curious. What kind of man does she think he is? Judging by her tone when he had asked about his story in her world, she had nothing particularly good or interesting to think about regarding him before they had met. But after... what does she think?

“Well, you and David weren’t exactly — how do you say it? Mates.”

Her attempt at his accent should make him laugh, but instead he turns to face her properly, pouring every ounce of sincerity he can into his voice, doesn’t mean I’d leave your father to perish, because as much as David will still die, as much as he is undeserving of their gratitude, he can, at the very least, claim that he has pushed back David’s death to give him some more time, time to come clean, time to say his goodbyes.

Thank you, she returns his sincerity, and it twists at his heart. So Killian shifts gears, easily slipping back into his pirate persona, letting a sly smile spread on his lips. “Perhaps gratitude is in order now,”

His tone is light and playful, and her own smile slowly starts to spread, and it makes his heart skip a beat, because oh, it chases away the shadows of his mind, pulls him away from the cabin cradling Liam in his arms as he is helpless. That’s what the thank you was for, is amused and teasing, and oh, he is in this for real now, no longer some charade to mask whatever grief and guilt was haunting him.

She smiles at him like she can see Killian Jones beneath Captain Hook.

He thinks it could be very easy for someone to fall in love with her as he continues to tease, is that all your father’s life is worth to you, and her smile only spreads, shakes her head, tells him that he couldn’t handle it. (All Killian can think is he can handle anything so long as she smiles at him like that.)

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” and they only stare at each other after, and Killian can’t completely squash his smile, no matter how much he’s going for daring, for tempting, but it wouldn’t matter regardless, because at any moment, she’ll laugh him off before walking away from him once more —

She reaches for his coat and drags him forward, and she kisses him, and oh.

His hand comes up to her hair, and he’s dimly aware of her own hand in his hair, but she is kissing him, and all he can think is oh. It takes him a moment to even register it, to respond, and he can taste his rum on her lips, and he has to breathe in, and he gives back as much as he can, gives back to this woman who keeps challenging him and pushing him, makes him want to become a part of something once more, become that honorable man he once was, even if he could never reach her, her, who is taking the rotten, shattered pieces of his heart and is starting to put them back into place in a single breath, and oh, his future has never seemed so clear.

She kisses him like he can someday be Killian Jones once more.

They separate, but they stay pressed together, and they are breathing the same air, and he has no words, is at a complete loss, all he can think is, “That was —“

“A one-time thing,” she says, pushing away from him, and what? But she is turning and walking away from him once more, tells him not to follow her, and he realizes that there is no way he can deny her anything she wants, as you wish, spilling from his mouth with half a bow that she doesn’t even see, and he turns away, but his lips burn.

A one-time thing? Not once since Milah had he been kissed like that, had he felt like that, no number of tavern wenches or prostitutes, no number of the men or women he had fucked had ever once come close to even the echo of healing his heart, of thinking that he could find another, of letting go, not like this single kiss had. The brief flashes and feelings he had gotten from her up on that beanstalk was nothing compared to that. And this was a one-time thing?

(She had kissed him like he might already be Killian Jones.)

(He thinks maybe he really couldn’t handle it.)

Bae sat in a cage across a massive chasm, and he cried out to Emma.

Behind him, Killian could hear Emma murmur Neal’s name, a strange tone to it that Killian was to distracted to try and consider. David and Snow White begin speaking quietly, considering ways to make it to Baelfire, but “I told you what needs to be done. Consider this the moment of truth, literally,”

He has no desire to speak the secrets of his heart, no desire to dig up all the crimes he’s committed yet kept secret, no desire to bring back his long, long past.

Somehow, he feels they wouldn’t work anyway, not with the way thoughts of Milah no longer bring that burn of pain and grief and rage.

“So what,” Emma asks doubtfully, “someone tells their secret and they sprout wings?”

“I don’t know the particulars, only what I’ve been told,”

“How do you know it’ll work?” David asks, far less hostile than Killian is used to from the prince.

He turns away from them, considering the distance between him and Bae, thinks of the boy he had taken in, taught to sail, to fight, thinks of the boy he once thought could be family, as Milah once wanted. Only one way to find out, I suppose, he sighs. He thinks of the look of betrayal on Baelfire’s face as he confronted him about Milah, demanded to leave, the look of horror as Killian lashed out by selling him off to Pan in exchange for himself and his crew, thinks of the way he had stood at the deck of his ship that day with the last bean, staring down the scratched out symbols for port and starboard, he just lost his father, ringing in his ears.

He could give any secret. He certainly has an abundance of them, lived far too long, committed far too many sordid crimes that he buried deep in his mind in an attempt to escape the guilt and shame building up in him. But he has always been far more free with his acts.

And he has always kept his heart close, hidden from view, sometimes even from himself.

Killian knows what needs to be done.

“I kissed Emma,” he turns, and Emma rolls her eyes as David starts to complain, but he has no care for them, only has eyes for her, even as she says she already told her mother, and it was just a kiss, and how is that your darkest secret.

“It’s what the kiss exposed,”

Perhaps it was just a kiss for her. But he had never felt as right as when she had kissed him, never felt so at peace with himself, and she walked away with one-time thing but all he could think of was all the thoughts and feelings he had been burying since he had met her, the thoughts of a future, thoughts of how pointless his quest for vengeance had seemed next to her, the feeling that he was lost, that he was drowning, lost in darkness until she had pulled him out of it when she pulled him free of bodies, when she took his hand on the beanstalk, when she told him he could be a part of something.

She had kissed him and breathed air in his drowning lungs, she took his hand and painted a future beyond the reds of blood and vengeance, he called her an open book and she returned the favor with we understand each other, and he hadn’t felt such fear in so long as when she lay on the deck of his ship, still, drowned, not breathing. It’s the way she smiled at him, thanked him, kissed him, the way Milah’s name brings him the ache of a love lost, wound scabbed over, now, no longer open and raw, and the way he wants to become worthy of all these things.

He speaks the words he always stops himself from speaking, cuts himself off from thinking, because his heart was far to broken, rotten, shattered for him to think it could feel this way again, thinks perhaps maybe his heart still works, “I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah, to believe that I could find someone else.”

He doesn’t look away from Emma. He doesn’t think he could, anyway, not with the memory of the beanstalk and the first time he had felt like Killian Jones and not Captain Hook, not with the memory of the way she had dragged him in, the memory of her kiss, not with the way she’s looking at him now.

That is, until I met you.

He doesn’t need the rumbling of the Echo Caves to know this is his truth, the truth he had been trying and failing to bury down, and he thinks maybe his heart is starting to heal when Emma approaches him hesitantly, mouth open as though to speak, hand reaching out to him, before getting distracted by David and Snow’s confessions. Each shattering confession builds the bridge, each confession clearly tearing at Emma more, until she starts to cross the bridge to Bae.

He thinks maybe his heart is starting to break when Emma glances back at him briefly before reaching and releasing Bae, and the two embrace tightly.

10.

Emma, you have to go.

Killian watches as Emma holds back her tears, as she says goodbye, goodby to her parents, to Neal, to Regina.

You’ve touched the lives of everyone here.

He can’t quite think of what he wants to say to her except that he doesn’t want her to leave. She has walked away from him, left him behind so many times he stopped trying to keep count, and it seems she will do so one more time.

One last time.

He has to say goodbye.

He catches her as she moves away, moves towards her bright yellow car, and he leaps at the nearest thing to say, and if this is to be their last conversation, he wants her to smile at him, wants to remember the way she smiles at him, that’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan, and she manages a weak smile to his relief, but her eyes are watery, and he will never see her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh or feel the brush of her fingers as she reaches for his rum.

He was drowning and lost when they had met. He was focused solely on his revenge, not caring for whether he survived or not, not caring for whatever may lie ahead beyond that.

She gave him direction for the first time in such a long time, and she hadn’t even meant to do so.

And now she was leaving him one last time.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” Killian swears, because it’s true. He’s in love with her, he realizes with sudden clarity — completely and utterly — he’d say hopelessly in love, except nothing gives him more hope than Emma Swan, even as he says goodbye.

He doesn’t know what she will say to him, doesn’t truly know what she thought of about whatever was building between them, doesn’t particularly know if she would have chosen him, wanted him.

“Good,” she smiles at him.

He is helpless to smile back. He’s in love with her, he thinks again, helplessly. They’ve always had a connection, always understood one another, were always open books to one another.

She is leaving him with a single word, but he can satisfy himself with this, with the knowledge that — that maybe — maybe some other life —

Whatever it was that was building, it can never happen, they could never figure it out, but — but — but she was open to it, to him.

He stares as she gets into her car, as she drives away as Regina alters the curse engulfing them, and his heart is broken.

She had shown him that his heart still worked, could still love, could still care about someone other than himself, could still be a part of something, could still break, and all he has is good, and Killian thinks there is nothing for him with these heroes, in the forest, thinks maybe the Jolly Roger, the open seas and endless adventure and piracy could help him heal his heart, could help fill the hole left by another love lost, could distract from the fact that he feels very much like Killian Jones, and not Captain Hook.

(He thinks, deep down, he already knows the answer to that.)

11.

Killian’s heart pounds as loud as his pounding on the door in front of him. The loss of the Jolly Roger is still fresh, but it is nothing to the hope of seeing her again, seeing her safe, happy, of bringing her back to her family. The door swings open, and she’s got a polite confusion on her face, and his heart feels whole again.

She is more beautiful than he remembers.

“Swan,” he breathes, “at last,” he took a step forward, but she holds up a hand to stop him in his tracks, and she stares back, bewildered, confused, suspicious, and do I know you stings, but it doesn’t matter, he knew this, expected this, and he is far too happy to care about the pain, because she’s here, and he starts talking about her family, and Killian is sure he sounds like a madman to her, and she demands to know who he is.

“An old friend,” is all he can say, “Look, I know you can’t remember me, but —“ this is a terrible idea, he thinks to himself, a terrible, terrible idea that most certainly will not work, but the hope and joy he hasn’t felt in a year is building and he’s feeling reckless and impulsive, and so he says “I can make you,” and he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips to hers, and for the briefest moment, he lets himself hope, before —

Her knee jerks forward, and his groin bursts in pain, and he’s being pushed backwards to the wall of the hallway, cursing his own stupidity and this damn memory curse on her as she cries out what are you doing, and he answers honestly, as he always does with her, because there’s never any point in lying to Emma Swan, not that he would want to anyway, “A long shot,” he groans out, “I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did.”

“All you’re gonna feel is handcuffs when I call the cops,” she snaps back, retreating, but Killian has to stop her, has to make her listen, get her to believe him, to trust him, and dammit she kneed him hard.

“Look, I know this seems crazy,” he starts desperately, “but you have to listen to me, you have to remem-“

The door slams shut in his face.

Well, good going, Jones, he thinks furiously, you’ve gone and fucked that up, too.

Now what?

Apparently, now he’s following her to some restaurant, watching her greet another man with a smile and a kiss, and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter, his feelings don’t matter, not as long as Emma’s in danger, her family needs her, and as long as she seems happy with this man. Bae’s old address is written down on a piece of paper he managed to nick, he remembered it from last year when he had followed Emma and Gold to New York in a desperate attempt to kill his enemy.

Except even back then he’d already been questioning himself, his quest, questioned just how much he’d wasted of himself, his life, time, soul, for the briefest moment of satisfaction that came with blood spilled.

Even back then, Emma Swan had already gotten to his head.

Now, Emma’s — lover? — had gotten up to leave, and Killian leapt at the chance, I can explain, already spilling from his lips the moment Emma looks up to see him. “You are a stalker —“ she accuses him, but he’s already imploring her, don’t scream, just hear me out, and he’s apologizing to her, “For trying to kiss me?” she questions, and she picks up the table knife, and Killian has to swallow a remark at that, because damn now this is starting to remind him of their first meeting.

“I was merely trying to jog your memory,” he explains.

“It’s time for you to go, now,” she demands, but he can’t because —

“Your parents are in great danger,”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” her voice is cold, understandably so. Because you think you’re an orphan, ‘cause that’s haunted you your whole life, because he knows, knows in the way the mere thought of being under someone’s control, ordered about without a choice to refuse, being a slave once more, sends shivers up his spine, the same way loss of love, of being abandoned by death or choice still haunts him.

“You don’t know me,” she dismisses him.

“Alas, I know you better than you know yourself,” he knows this for sure at this moment, when she still has false memories, still has no recollection of the abundance of people who’s lives she has touched, who she has loved, has wanted, no recollection of being touched, loved, and wanted in return. She has no recollection of their connection, their easy camaraderie, those moments they shared on his ship and in Neverland, their kiss and the way he bore his heart to her in the Echo Caves, or on the way to Dark Hallow, or at the town line, when she has no recollection of ‘good’.

“I have proof,” he pulls out Neal’s address, slides it over to her, “Take a gander. Here’s an address. If you wanna know who you really are, who your parents are, go there.” Please, he thinks, try something new.

“Leave. Now,” but Killian presses on, you’ve been there before, back when he was still on the wrong side, when he still opposed her, still refused to let go of his revenge, refused to admit what he had begun feeling for her.

“A year ago I was in Boston,” Emma insists, spinning a tale about a fire, and Regina really did a number on you, “You’re a crazy person, or a liar — or both,” she scowls.

“I prefer dashing rapscallion,” he quips, because he just can’t quite resist it anymore, and he really does miss those eye rolls and flat, unimpressed looks she gives him when she’s trying to hide the fact that she finds them funny. Yes, that same one she’s giving him now, and even without her memory, it makes him want to smile, “Scoundrel?” he offers again.

“Give me one reason not to punch you in the face,” she snaps at him lowly, because of course it wouldn’t be this easy. Fine then, he’s got one more card to pull anyway, try using your superpower, and she stares back, see that I’m telling the truth, he looks back at her earnestly.

Just because you believe something is true doesn’t make it real, and he has to agree, but still, “I know you, Swan, you sense something’s off,” and he tries once more, desperately hoping she’ll trust him, take that leap of faith, or at the very least, is curious enough to go, “don’t do it for me, or you. Do it for your family,” and he knows there is nothing left he can say to convince her until she goes, until she meets him again, so he leaves.

The next day he is pacing at Central Park, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting, doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have to wait, but he will wait however long it takes.

He sees her approach, and all he can feel is relief, even as she looks furious. She ignores his words, getting straight to the point, “Why didn't you tell me that was Neal’s place?”

“I think the tone of your voice answers that quite clearly,” because he may not know the full story, but he can certainly glean enough from what she and Neal let slip, from the way she had acted around him, from maybe I was, once. But the more Emma presses him, just a bit more afraid than angry has him wondering just how far Neal’s abandonment of her goes.

“I already told you, I’m not here because of Neal,” he interrupts cautiously, but Emma is staring back at him like he’s mad, my parents, their kingdom, a curse, do you know what you sound like, and Killian can only sigh defeatedly, “Like a madman, I’m sure,” but he has nothing left except to plead, to ask her to trust him, to take a baseless leap of faith on the madman dressed strangely prattling on about kingdoms and curses and the family of someone who believes she’s an orphan. “If you don’t believe me at all, why did you come here?”

“Because Neal,” she starts furiously, digging something out of her bag, “has a camera with my son’s name on it. How?”

And Killian feels another swell of hope, because “Don’t you see, that is proof of what I’m saying,” he urged, “Henry must have left that there in the apartment when you were in New York last year,”

“Not good enough,” and Killian is getting desperate, clinging to the bits of hope he has. “I want answers, real ones,” her voice has a flatness he recognizes, and knows he can go no further, knows there’s nothing else he can say to convince her, and all he has left is the potion.

“There’s only one way you’ll get those,” he holds it out to her, and he’s reminded of all the times he’s offered her a drink, offered her his flask, all the times she’ll take it with a laugh or a smile or a roll of the eyes, or even just a quiet thanks. “Drink this,”

“Drink the thing the crazy guy just offered me?” she demands incredulously, and yes, he can see how she could take this, but it’s all he has left, it will help you remember all that you’ve lost, but she’s still staring back doubtfully.

“If one small part of you senses that, don’t you owe it to yourself to find out if I’m right? What do you say, love? Take a leap of faith,” he pleads.

He stares back at her, pleading and open, earnest, and she looks down at the potion doubtfully.

And she’s closing handcuffs around his wrist.

Dammit, not again, he thinks with growing despair as he calls for officers and chains him to a bench, and “Swan, what are you doing?” because bloody hell when he was thinking about similarities with their first meeting, he certainly did not mean for it to be exact, and he certainly does not want to be helplessly chained in place, calling after her retreating back ever again.

And now he’s stuck in some brig, being given some disgusting bologna that somehow passes for food in this realm, and they are trying to speak to him but all he can think is surely Emma wouldn’t let him rot here, wouldn’t keep him trapped here, and he misses his hook, misses the Jolly Roger, misses the way Emma looked at him when she knew who he was, even when they had stood on opposite sides, misses the smell of the sea, the wind in his hair.

But Emma does not trust him, does not look at him like he is more than just a pirate, like she can see the man of honor he tried so hard to go back to.

Even as he gave up the Jolly Roger to Blackbeard’s mocking laugh in exchange for the bean, he knew this would not be easy, knew he would be lucky even finding Emma, much less getting her to trust him, get her memories back.

The irony had not been lost on him. He had been sold, he and Liam had the combined worth of an old rowboat, his freedom sold for his father’s desperate attempt at his. Killian had fallen in love with the Jolly Roger when he had first laid eyes on her, back when she was the Jewel of the Realm, when he had his first taste of freedom in so long, coughing up water as Liam presents the Eye of the Storm to the Naval officers.

And then he had sold the ship that gave him his freedom centuries later to reach a woman who did not even remember him, did not believe in magic, or believe that she had a family, believe that she was loved and wanted.

And then he’s being released.

He hears Emma call out to him, and the relief nearly has him sagging, because she came back for him, he’s approaching her but she came back, and “I knew you wouldn’t let me rot in that cage,” he barely holds back his laugh, “I’ve been in my fair share of brigs, but none as barbaric as that — they force-fed me something called bologna,” and gods, even it’s name is ridiculous.

Emma is shuffling papers in her hand, and shows them to him, demanding “What the hell are these? We never lived in a town called Storybrooke, never took a flight from Boston to New York, we never did any of this,”

“So you believe me, then,” he asks cautiously, but she’s clearly still so confused, and he can hardly blame her with the way he had turned up from nowhere with no rational explanation, turning everything she knows upside down with half-deranged ramblings, and I don’t know, you could’ve photoshopped these, she says desperately.

But, “If you think these are forgeries, then why did you spring me from the brig?” she has no answer for him, but he rarely ever needed her to speak to know what she thinks, “Because as much as you deny it, deep down you know something’s wrong, deep down you know that I’m right,” but she is still denying it, denying him, but he is close he knows he’s close.

So he pulls out the potion one more time. Offers it up to her, one more time.

“It’s real,” she insists, “And it’s pretty good! I have Henry, a job, a guy I love!”

“Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost,” it slips from him, only really half considering what he’s revealing to her. He wonders how many times she will break his heart. He wonders how many more times he will let her. (He knows even being in her presence is enough for him.) “Regardless,” he manages to cover up, “If you wanna find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies? You know this isn’t right, trust your gut, Swan, it will tell you what to do.”

She is staring back at him, and he can only hope, hope she can find it in her to take a leap of faith, to trust him, to trust herself, and Henry always says that, is said almost absently, and he is so close, it’s been too long, and right now, more than anything, he just wants to see her look back at him with recognition in her eyes. “Then if you won’t listen to me, listen to your boy,” and he’s staring back at her, pleading, earnest, and he just misses the way she had smiled at him before they had kissed, the way she had confided in him about her doubts, inadvertently or not, misses the way she had smiled back at him when she told him, good.

(He wonders if she would have missed him, had she remembered, wonders if one can miss something they never knew they had lost, wonders if she’ll be happy to see him if she takes the potion.)

She takes the potion and drinks.

She says his name, and everything feels all right again.

12.

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

But as he stared out at the sea, the horizon that would so often bring him peace, he felt nothing but the burn and ache of guilt.

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Killian was right, he had to be. He’s doing Ariel a favor, he repeats to himself. He did her a favor all those months ago, and he’s doing her one now by keeping quiet, right?

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Except... except it was his fault, wasn’t it? Her prince now lost because he refused to give up his ship, refused to swallow his pride, for her all those months ago.

It’s getting dark.

And the guilt that kept a grip on his heart from the moment he laid eyes on Ariel once again just grew tighter. He has to make this right.

He’s turning, chasing after her, and the next thing he knows, his confession is spilling from his lips, Because I was too ashamed, I sacrificed saving your prince for my ship, I am so sorry, Ariel.

She slaps him again, just like last time.

And just like last time, he keeps still, taking what he deserves.

“You’re a coward,” she accuses him, “and a monster. You let a man die for your ship? What kind of person does that?”

“The kind who’s empty,” he answers, voice hollow. “Who believes a ship can fill a void left by a broken heart.” As if that’s some kind of excuse, his mind spits back at him, and Ariel echoes this.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says vehemently. “I would give anything, to take it back, to make things right!”

He would, he truly would. He’s a villain, and nothing he does could possibly right his wrongs, could make him deserve a happy ending, but perhaps, perhaps, if even just one could find some way to forgive him, then maybe his soul isn’t lost, heart isn’t completely rotten, then maybe he could find the path he has to take to become the man Liam once thought he could be, become the man of honor he once was.

But — “How am I supposed to trust a man who no longer believes in love?”

Love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

“I still do.”

“Then swear to me on it. This woman? Who broke your heart? You still love her?”

He thinks back to the bird warning him of the curse, the hope fluttering in his chest as the note had instructed him to find Emma, and the way he sought after Blackbeard and never thought twice about giving up the Jolly Roger for the bean. He thinks back to New York, the unbridled joy that had swelled up in his heart when the door opened beneath his fist, and saw Emma Swan’s confused eyes peering back at him. He thinks back to Neverland, the way she found the broken pieces of his heart and started to help rebuild it in a single breath, and leaving him completely wrecked in the next as she left him behind with nothing but a one-time thing, and good, and thinks of the way she had been the first in so long to see him beneath Hook. He thinks back to the beanstalk, where they had seen through each other’s walls like they were nothing, where she took his hand and for the briefest moment before it all came crashing down, he could see a future once more.

He thinks, again, to New York, trying so hard to convince her to try something new, to trust him and take that leap, a guy I love, and the way perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost, had simply slipped from his mouth, and the way she found it in herself to trust him and drink the potion despite her memories. He thinks of the way she calls him by his name, calls him Killian in a way that makes him believe he could be Killian Jones once more, makes him believe he could someday leave Captain Hook behind, thinks of the way she smiles at him, the treasured moments in which she confides in him, thinks of the way she laughs, the way she stays so strong despite the weight of all those expectations upon her, thinks of the way she trusts him to keep her boy safe.

He doesn’t know when he fell in love with her. Perhaps it was the kiss, perhaps Echo Caves, where the feelings he had been trying to bury had been forced to the light, perhaps Dark Hollow, when she called out his name, worried for him, perhaps it was when she left him with nothing but “Good,” and a shaky smile, and the image of her yellow vehicle driving away from him as the curse engulfed him. Killian hadn’t even known he had started falling for her in earnest until he crashed, completely and utterly gone.

You still love her?

How could he not?

I swear on Emma Swan.

The brief moment of relief he gets as his yes and his vow lifts some weight off his shoulders, off his heart, is very quickly drowned by horror and panic as his lips sting and Ariel turns into Zelena.

(Later, when he has to lie to Emma, the look of pride and wonder and joy and the smile she gifts him has his heart weighing heavier than it ever did when he was all alone on the Jolly Roger, hopeless and heartbroken and aimless, and he wonders how he ever thought he could be someday be worthy of winning her heart.)

(And after, she tells him she doesn’t care about what he’s hiding, doesn’t want to live in the past anymore, all he can say is “I know how you feel”, and he can still feel her stare as he leaves, feel the concern, concern for him, and he has never felt less worthy of being in her presence.)

13.

She’s smiling. Emma’s turned away from him, leaning against the doorway as she watches her parents and brother, and she’s smiling, bright, wide, pure joy, and Killian thinks she is gorgeous, thinks she is breathtaking like this, (he’d certainly know what breathtaking feels like, he scoffs at himself), but “Never thought I’d see one of those,” he calls out to her because he can’t resist, because her cheer is infectious.

“It’s called a baby,” and his heart lightens even more, how could it not, when she’s looking at him with that smile, when she teases him lightly, when she moves over towards him.

“No, Swan — a smile,” and her grin only widens, eyes only brighten, we won, tone so pleased, and Killian wants to keep seeing this smile, this delighted Emma, wants to stay by her side as long as he can, but he has put her son in danger, put her in danger, has put her in a position to sacrifice her magic, forced her to choose between her magic or his life, and he can’t help but wonder if she made the right choice.

“With all the chaos, I never got a chance to say thank you,” he says, and she tilts her head, looks back confused, you really think I’d let you drown, but he has endangered her and her family, he had been turned into just another tool to harm her, and she was right to be furious with him, his inability to fix his own mistakes, thinks of all the times he bore his heart, thinks of all the times she had walked away from him, thinks maybe someday she might not come back, and, “Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain?” he keeps his smile up, keeps his tone light, tries to cover up his doubts.

It must work because she laughs a bit. “Has your power returned, now that Zelena’s been defeated?” her smile fades just a bit, no, is said without much emotion, but Killian feels that stab of guilt again, can’t help but wonder, again, if she had made the right choice, “I’m sorry, love,” is all he can offer her, because she had given her magic up for him, to save his life.

“It’s okay,” she shrugs, smiling at him again, “I won’t need it in New York,”

And Killian’s heart sinks, and he stares as Emma calls Henry to meet his uncle, stares as they join the rest of their family, and he stands at the doorway, outsider looking in, but he can no longer feel the cheer Emma had started to bring out in him, can no longer scrounge up much more than an incredibly weak, false smile, because she’s standing there, happy with her family, but she’s going to leave again, leave her parents, leave her brother, leave this town, leave him.

He doesn’t want her to leave him anymore.

He doesn’t want to keep calling after her retreating back.

He wants her to stay, wants to stay by her side, wants her to let him stay at her side, wants her to want him at her side, wants her to be a part of something.

Killian watches them, outsider standing alone by the door, watches them celebrate, coo at the newborn, wide smiles and bright eyes, watches them happy and together, and thinks he wouldn’t deserve it.

14.

“So you just keep running,” Killian finishes, and it makes sense, in some way, except Killian doesn’t want her to leave, doesn’t want her to run.

“I learned something a long time ago, Hook,” and he voice is quiet, gentle, tired, maybe even just a bit apologetic, “Home is a place, when you leave, you just miss it. So yeah, I’m gonna keep running until I feel that,”

He doesn’t want her to leave. He knows she doesn’t want to leave, either. He saw her smile back at the hospital with her family, remembers her a year ago at the town line, in tears because she was being forced to leave. He didn’t imagine the look on her face when she realized she had to leave, didn’t imagine the relieved set to her shoulders when her parents remembered who she was, didn’t imagine the way she had smiled at him at the town line last year, when he had promised her everyday.

He hadn’t imagined the way her thumb brushed his jaw, the way her hand cradled his head when she chose to save him over keeping her magic.

“So you’re just gonna leave your parents, then. Don’t you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

Perhaps he did imagine it. Perhaps he had been seeing things that weren’t there, perhaps the near-death experience managed to scrounge up those sensations. But still, he can’t get her smile out of his head, so bright and wide and happy, standing by her family’s side looking down at her brother, the smile of someone completely at peace with her place.

And Emma is looking back at him, like she can see right through his words, like she can see every doubt writing itself in his head, see just how much her talk of running to find a place to miss has him thinking of all the times she ran from him, all the times he had to chase after her, all the times he had missed her.

“Of course I care,” she insists gently, “I just have to do what’s right for me, and Henry, and —“

Then they’re up and running towards some beacon of light because they can never get a quiet moment to just breathe and speak, always another crisis on the horizon, and dammit, he’s just going to have to enjoy these minutes of peace, won’t he?

They’re at the barn again, and whatever is happening has absolutely no chance of being good, and Emma’s saying that Zelena’s death must have triggered it. The doors are rattling, planks look moments away from flying lose, and the light hanging above the door is swinging wildly, and Emma is running towards it what is she doing —

“Wait!” he caught her arm hastily, “We have to get out of here.”

“Not until we find a way to close it!” she protests.

“You’ve got your magic back?” he questioned sharply, eyes flickering between her and the rattling doors, barely waiting for her answer before his fear for her safety wins out, “Then we’re not bloody well messing with any of this, let’s go!”

Too late.

The doors swung open inwards, and the force of the portal has them slamming to the ground, getting dragged in, and Emma he thought wildly, she’s twisting, reaching for him, and the moment he feels her hand grip his, he twists and slams his hook into the ground, but Emma’s too close, and she has to hold on, he’s holding onto her as tight as he can, begging her to hold on as tight as she can, but she’s screaming, but her hand is slipping and, I can’t, and the sound of the sleeve of his coat ripping sounds infinitely louder than the chaos of the portal, of the barn, and —

He stares as she disappears, as she falls into the portal.

How many times was this now?

“Oh, one of these days I’m gonna stop chasing this woman,” he curses, and even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie, knows he’d go anywhere for her, to the ends of the world (or time), would follow her anywhere so long as she let him stay by her side, because he’s still safe but Emma is gone, because his heart is in his throat, fear and horror as her hand had slipped from his.

So he twists, releases his hook and lets himself fall through the portal, and he doesn’t know where they’ll end up, doesn’t know when, doesn’t even know if they’ll fall out together, but all he can think of is getting to Emma, and the fall is painful, but he sees Emma’s red leather jacket just beside him, and all he can feel is relief that she’s all right.

15.

“Mary Margaret and David are always going on about this ball and that ball — what’s the big deal about these things?” she whispers to him, and Killian remembers the first time he attended a ball when he was still in the Navy, remembers his own awe, remembers Emma, just before they fell through the portal, calling these fairytales and stories and how she couldn’t reconcile her own life to this.

He can’t answer her, not when he doesn’t want to miss her reaction.

She’s staring, stunned, enraptured, lips parted, and Killian cannot help but grin at her, cannot help but feel so blessed to be the one to see this, see her like this, and he leans close to whisper “You were saying?” and she still looks stunned as he takes her hand what am I supposed to do, as if Killian would ever pass up this opportunity, pass up the chance to see her smile and laugh and dance and embrace being a princess. He had wanted quiet moments, moments without crises, without the shadow of a lurking threat, not traipsing around some manner of forest courting danger.

They’re on a mission, yes. But for just one dance, Killian does not want to court danger. For just one dance, he wants to court only her.

So he leads her across the room into the crowd of dancers, and she doesn’t seem to believe him, are you saying you know how to do whatever this is, and Killian just moves her hand to the right places, steps just a bit closer, rests his hand on her waist, and he doesn’t know if he can fall any deeper in love with her, because for as long as they’ve known each other, he had always been the one to follow her lead, to put his faith in her and her knowledge of her world, but now — now she’s putting her faith in him, following his lead through his world, and she trusts him enough to not lead her astray. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing,”

She is beautiful, an absolute natural, a grace and regality to her movements that makes Killian’s heart swell, all because she’s smiling at him like that, (like maybe she’s —) she may not think she’s a princess, may not think she belongs anywhere near this world, but the way she moves says otherwise, “I’m not mocking you, Swan, just thinking about what you said in Storybrooke, about not being a princess,”

He has sworn off royalty, has declared was on his own kingdom, declared war against a whole navy, has never had good relationships with royalty he meets after, not Poseidon and Ursula, not Regina, not Cora, there isn’t much more he distrusts more than monarchs, very little he hates more than a corrupt crown — but he would swear fealty to Emma Swan, would lay his cutlass at her feet and follow her into battle, into portals, into different realms, anywhere she would let him.

“Really? You get my first dance at my first royal ball, and all you can say is I told you so?”

“I believe what I’m trying to say, your Highness, is that you appear to be a natural,”

They are good together, they’ve always made quite a team, and Killian thinks he has never felt as good as when she is looking at him like this, never felt as right as when she is smiling at him like this, never felt as whole as when they are together, and right now, she is all he can focus on, all he sees, because they are good together and he’s completely in love, and she’s looking at him like maybe —

16.

Killian doesn’t expect Emma to come looking for him, doesn’t know why she came looking for him. “So,” she asks lightly, settling into the seat next to his, “do you think Rumplestiltskin is right? I’m in the Book now. He said everything besides our little adventure would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right,” because Killian has spent the night scrounging his memory for her, for golden hair and green eyes, and for the way she looks at him, for the way she kisses him, but the only kisses he has are from Neverland and his attempt at a True Love’s Kiss in New York, “Otherwise I’d remember that damn bar wench I kissed.”

“How would that prove anything?”

“I know how you kiss,” he reminds her, remembers Neverland, remembers the way he always feels like Killian Jones with her, even when he was very much Captain Hook, because she had been the first in centuries to kiss him like that, and, past or present, memories or not, Killian or Hook, he’d have followed her anywhere. “I’d have gone after her. But I didn’t. My life went on exactly the same as before,”

“Must’ve been the rum,” she murmurs, and she is staring at him, and he wonders what she sees, wonders what she thinks.

“Everything’s back to normal. You’re a bloody hero, Swan,”

“So are you,” she returns, and Killian scoffs a little at that, because all he did was follow her, all he did was do what he’s already been doing for some time now. “I wanted to thank you, Killian,” makes him look up at her, makes him look her in the eyes because he can’t think of what — “For going back for me in the first place in New York. If you hadn’t —”

But it’s hardly something to praise about, he was simply doing the right thing, anyone else could have easily taken his place.

“How did you do it?” she asks, and Killian’s heart sinks. He had wondered how long it would take her to ask, had wondered how long he could keep deflecting, “How did you get to me?”

There’s no more running.

“Well, the curse was coming,” he keeps his tone light, keeps it as even as possible so Emma can drop the subject, can think it’s nothing all that important, “I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.”

“You outran a curse?”

“I’m a hell of a captain,” a hell of a captain who had a hell of a ship, “and once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between the worlds was possible again, all I needed was a magic bean.”

“Those are not easy to come by,”

No. Not if you didn’t know where to look, not if you didn’t know the right people, didn't have access to the right prices, if you weren’t willing to pay that price. But Killian had had no problem with the price, had no problem tracking down Blackbeard, as loudly as he gloats about being in possession of a stash of beans, and he certainly had the leverage.

“They are if you’ve got something of... value to trade,” he can’t look at her right, doesn’t know how she’d react, doesn’t know what she’d think, and he misses the Jolly Roger, misses the scratched out symbols for port and starboard, misses his cabin, misses that little plank of wood that he can never get set right.

“And what was that?” she asks, laughing a bit, likely thinking of jewels or gold.

He doesn’t want to tell her, doesn’t want her to feel some sort of debt to him, but he doesn’t want to lie to her, either.

So Killian forces up a smile, puts on his most nonchalant voice, “Why, the Jolly Roger, of course,”

It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t work, not with her, and she’s staring at him like she did when she had thought he helped Ariel, staring with surprise and awe and disbelief, and you traded your ship for me, and he can’t keep up the act anymore, can’t pretend that the Jolly Roger had meant nothing to him, not when Emma clearly sees how much it had meant to him.

“Aye.”

She’s leaning in to him, slowly, and Killian doesn’t move, wants to let her do as she wishes to kiss him or change her mind and walk away, to take the blackened heart he’s offering up to her, to let her break it should she wish, wants her.

Killian just wants her.

And she’s kissing him, and he can feel everything she isn’t saying. He can feel the gratitude in it, can feel that this is more than just thank you, this is her telling him she’s ready, ready to let him in, ready to lower her walls, to let him love her, to let him be a part of her life, and he wants it, loves her so much his heart is swelling with it, and they separate and she is smiling at him, smiling like she feels that everything is okay, that this is okay, that this is perfect and she wants it too, and as ever, her joy is infectious, building on his own, and this time he is the one to lean in, and she responds enthusiastically.

Killian does not have the Jolly Roger, but he can find his home here with her, because she was the first to see Killian Jones, because she had brought back Killian Jones, and he was so lost without her, had been lost in rage and vengeance, then lost in his own heartbreak, but he wants to do better, wants to become worthy of what she sees in him, of the privilege of being let past her walls, wants to become a better man for her.

She had managed to find her way past his masks and his own walls and find the heart he didn't think could still work, could still love or care for or break. She is kissing him and he has never felt so free, so at peace.

He thinks he could someday be worthy of it.

#ouat #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs ff #my fanfic #j’s stuffs #a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)#title from Sleeping At Last’s ‘Eight’#introspective as all hell #this is basically analysis headcanons and metas disguised as fic #a nearly irresponsible amount of italics #it’s literally my first time writing a fic id love some feedback #for if ever I keep it up I know how to improve

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