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aladaylessecondblog · 2 months

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Mousetrap pt. 3

Author's Note: There will probably be a reasonable amount of skipping over certain events--provided they go exactly as they would in a standard good run. If I skip over something I won't gloss over it entirely, but I won't be spending as much time detailing it.

Also I'm saving the hyena boy because 🥺

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Seven thousand souls.

Cazador was frightening at the best of times, but knowing he had sacrificed so many made him even more so. Seven thousand spawn, sacrificed so that he may finish this ascension, that was all Tav could think when she'd seen him crossing the path towards her - in broad daylight.

His last gathering had been his first to take place in the sun, and the pit in Tav's stomach that formed when he approached her in the gardens had only soured since.

"So pleasant to walk in the sun again," he'd said. "Isn't that so? After a long winter...one begins to forget that the sun exists."

"Of course, Lord Szarr. Perhaps now you've found a cure for your ailment, you will be less inclined to certain nightly activities?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I find that my unrestricted freedom grants me the opportunity to indulge where I was unable to do so before." A smirk crossed his face. "Is a man not entitled to take that which is within his grasp?"

"Not when it belongs to someone else."

"I find that point of view interesting, considering how you made use of my errant son."

"Does this conversation have a point, Lord Szarr?"

"The point, Lady Gortash," came Cazador's cutting reply, "Is that now I no longer need worry about weakness, I may find vengeance much easier to enact."

"If you think to threaten me--"

"Threaten you? Oh, my lady...were I to seek your downfall, you would never see it coming."

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

"Is this really necessary?" Astarion looked with no small amount of disdain on the hyena walking at Tav's side. "I can understand wanting a strong set of jaws, but..."

"They were going to take him back to the shadow-cursed lands," Tav replied quickly, reaching down to pat at the hyena's head. "And given how many of us there are to feed now, having a beast that can hunt as effectively as this little one will be helpful."

"Shouldn't we have gone straight for the grove?" Shadowheart asked. "Isn't that our goal?"

"It is, but there was someone I was looking for out here, someone who would've been helpful...I suppose they've gone."

Scratch, talked to. Owlbear mother, talked to. Karlach hadn't been where Tav thought she would be, and as they approached the Emerald Grove she tried not to panic. Suppose Karlach was the one to remember? She knew she'd get read the riot act if that was the case - how dare you think to call yourself my friend after falling in love with Gortash of all people, how dare you even speak to me after what you caused.

YOU were the one to cause all this, Tav thought miserably, You were so hung up on Gortash you forgot about Cazador.

But if she wasn't the one, then this anger would be directed at her for nothing. Still, it was hard to think of someone worse whom it could be...mortal, anyway. She feared what Ilmater or Silvanus might say if they knew what came before...

You're afraid of everything, aren't you, mouse?

She could almost hear the voice in her ear, as if Raphael were there whispering into it.

I just want to be prepared, she thought.

The hyena whimpered, and in a voice only she could hear, said, "Will you make me run into the dark too?"

"No, of course not," she replied, "If you feel you must repay me, I would appreciate your helping to hunt prey for us all to eat. Can you do that?"

"Oh yes, yes." It bobbed its head, "Not the big predators and things, at least not by myself, but deer I can do."

"Poor creature seems not to be feeling well. I hope we're not going to see a gnoll born today," Shadowheart said.

"Not if I can help it," Tav replied.

"You're just bursting with helpfulness, aren't you?" Astarion went on. "We don't have to stop to help every helpless thing we come across, you know."

"I stopped to help you, didn't I?"

That seemed to surprise him. "Touche, I suppose. Not that I'd call myself helpless, of course."

"Besides," Tav held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she squinted up the road ahead. "I'm in the business of helping people, it's what I did before I got taken by the nautiloid."

Not entirely a lie.

"Being taken advantage of, you mean," Astarion quipped, "That's all I ever see from Ilmatari. How lucky we managed to find you before some goblins did."

"The goblins," Cald protested, "They like her just fine."

"They're goblins, they don't like anyone."

"They--"

"Astarion, Cald! Stop arguing and--wait, look, that's the gate to the Grove up ahead."

They should be closing in soon...

As if on cue a horn of alarm sounded off.

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

The goblin fight ended exactly as expected. Astarion sniped one, stabbed another in the back. Shadowheart healed, and Tav wildshaped into an owlbear and tore through several herself. Cald mainly used his crossbow to keep at a distance, but when one got too close to him he reached up and with a strong jolt burned its eyes out.

The hyena when given permission rushed to devour two of the goblins, while Tav looked up at Zevlor, who was shouting.

"That was the last of them. All of you inside, more may follow! ...Open the gate!"

While Zevlor and the others were opening the gate or waiting for it, Tav busied herself with picking weapons off the goblins. Cald followed suit, and both had tucked things away in their bags by the time the gate opened enough to let them in.

Gale picked up a few things too. "I suppose they'll want kindling for firewood, if nothing else."

As they walked forward, the momentary peace was shattered.

"There are CHILDREN HERE, you fool!"

"We was running for our lives..."

"This isn't the time to be fighting, gentlemen," Tav took the tone with them she often did with Cald when he'd start misbehaving. "Knock. It. OFF. You're close enough to the goblin camp they'd have found you soon enough anyway. They've found you now, so--"

Zevlor and the other man seemed to deflate at that.

"I suppose you're right," he finally said, before wandering off.

Tav stepped forward.

"Ah...thank you for your help out there. I'm Zevlor."

"I'm Tav," she said, giving a slight nod of the head, "This is my son Cald. We're just trying to do a bit of business before--"

"Whatever your business, I'd handle it quickly," he replied, "The druids are forcing everyone out. There's been attacks by several kinds of monsters. Nobody's welcome..."

"I'm a druid, perhaps I can...do something about that."

She could almost feel the roll of Astarion's eyes.

"Or perhaps not...but...I can at least try. Hopefully I can at least buy you some time." Tav gave a slight smile.

"I don't know how well you can...they've started a ritual to cut the grove off from the outside."

She inquired about a healer a moment later, and was directed after a mention of Aradin's expedition and Halsin to the apprentice Nettie. Then she headed off and up the path.

"You move awfully quickly, have you been here before?" Gale asked.

"Oh, yes, several times," Tav replied, "Though I live far south from here...you might consider me a shut-in, in that regard."

"Trying to avoid someone?" Astarion quipped.

"Several someones." Tav gave a slight little laugh. It was all coming back now - over there, the smith, over here, the one shopkeeper. She bought a few supplies for herself, some for the others--crossbow bolts, potions. They'd need better armor later, but there was time to wait. All they were going to face initially was the goblins and their little camp, nothing they couldn't handle.

She stopped suddenly beside an indigo-flowering plant, and pulled out her alchemical bag. A moment later she was picking a few berries from the bush. Not too many, of course, but enough that she could make a good powder out of them with a mortar and pestle later.

"Something for medicine?" Shadowheart asked. "I don't recognize it."

"Chasteberry," Tav replied, "Some of those I've treated take it for ailments of the...womanly variety, as it tends to help soften the worst symptoms of their cycles. With so many women in the group, I thought...could be useful."

"Is it for nuns?" Astarion quipped. "What kind of a name is chasteberry? Sounds terribly boring."

"It also has a tendency to help those trying to maintain vows of chastity...tames down their desires."

She had used it herself to ease the pain of her cycles, but two winters ago the sole plant of it she had, had withered in the ground. Nothing could seem to save it.

"How terribly dull."

"Dullness is sometimes preferable," Tav said quietly, "Some find the lack of desire leaves one's nights free to pursue other things."

Would likely be beneficial to grow at least a small one in a pot in camp...or something like that. I don't remember any of the other women having trouble, but...

She closed her bag and moved on. There was the feeling she was forgetting something...

But it passed the instant she glanced down the ledge at the the idol of Silvanus. Fear moved through her like a shot, and she started walking more quickly, breaking into a run the closer she got to the idol.

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

"Bury the remains. Continue the rite."

Tav moved forward automatically, feeling an icy hollow in her chest at the sight of Arabella stumbling, falling, and going limp in quick succession.

The first time she'd seen this almost happen, had managed to stop it. Wanted to stop it because it was wrong for the girl to die. Yet seeing it happen here and now, seeing the small body on the ground, there was more than just mere anger that Kagha could think to do such a thing.

There was white-hot rage. The owlbear roared beneath her skin and only with a great effort did she restrain herself from wildshaping and tearing Kagha's throat out.

"You will not NOT," she growled, "Lay a hand on her and you will lose it."

Red in her eyes, anger, surging through every vein. Tav looked then to the snake.

"This was a child," she said, "A child--"

"Mind your tongue," Kagha said, "A fellow druid you may be, but that does not give you the right to interfere."

Tav ignored her, knelt over Arabella's body. She lifted it and bolted outside, laying it on the ground near the idol. The others followed along behind her--she was vaguely aware of Shadowheart kneeling beside her, Gale somewhere nearby, Astarion, saying something snarky, Cald, quietly standing and watching.

I have to try!

That the girl was in danger of dying had never even crossed her mind, and that opened a whole other world of possibility. If she had been too late to save Arabella, that meant...that meant anyone could--

It could just as easily have been Cald here, on the ground, in my arms.

She rifled through her bag, brought out one of her two scrolls of revivify, and started reading, offering a sudden vow to Silvanus and Ilmater in her mind as she spoke.

Please, let this work. Let her live, and I swear, by Silvanus and Ilmater both that the next person I see whose death I crave I will spare, no matter who they be.

The scroll began to glow, and then to burn. The embers fell onto Arabella's body. Tav lay one hand over the child's heart, and lifted her limp head with the other.

"Please," she pleaded, "Wake, Arabella, wake--"

A cough, and a groan. The child's previously lifeless eyes shifted slowly, and came to rest on her own, then widened in fear.

"It's okay," Tav said quickly, "You're alright, I saved you. How do you feel?"

"I...I feel...strange...where is the snake? The--"

"They're not going to be a problem, alright? Let's go back and find your parents."

"Can you stand up okay?" Cald suddenly spoke.

He and Tav both helped the girl to her shaky feet.

"Go on back to your parents," Tav finally said, "And stay far away from that Kagha, and the idol. I'm going to do what I can about the goblins but I know you don't want to feel all that again. Alright?"

Arabella only nodded, and dashed off.

"A breathtaking display of goodwill," Astarion spoke rather sarcastically, "You do realize that those scrolls are--"

"Astarion, if you're ever fortunate enough to sire your own children," Tav cut him off, "You will understand a little better why I did this. Until that point, do not judge me."

"So what are we to do now?" Shadowheart asked, "Do we speak to that apprentice?"

"No," Tav replied, "We go to the Goblin Camp."

She wanted to get moving. Didn't want to think about what she'd just seen, what she'd only just been able to prevent. Didn't want to pause long enough to think, because she knew if she did that she would find herself picturing Cald being the one dead on the ground.

A busy mind could not be an anxious one, and the terror of being in a campful of dangerous goblins and other beasts was more appealing than what happened in her own mind in silence.

The hyena, who had stayed quiet until then, perked up. "More food?"

"Yes, more food," she assured him.

"Perhaps there's a pack of sad orphans in there we can assist," Astarion said, "Or a damsel in distress."

"I was thinking more of Halsin," Tav replied, "You sound like you're eager to get to fighting, eager to see blood. We'll get plenty of it breaking him out."

There was a pause, and then a falsely genial shake of Astarion's head. She realized she'd forgotten how irritating she found his reluctance to help others when first he'd joined the party. Understanding why didn't make bearing with it any easier, though she managed to keep her expression positive. She had to stay polite at bare minimum, in order for him to stay, in order for him to live.

As they were leaving, Lae'zel returned.

"I have established a campsite for us nearby...some goblins had to be eliminated or I would have returned sooner. What have you discovered, besides the price of crossbow bolts?"

"The druid Halsin may be able to help us, but he's being held prisoner in the Goblin Camp to the west," Tav replied. "A potential ally, it sounds like...and the one most likely to be able to aid us in that matter of the tadpole."

"Chk. You insist on wasting time trying to heal what has never been possible to heal. But if ANY of us begins to turn, I will not hesitate to start cutting throats. To become ghaik--"

"Is a fate worse than death," Tav replied, "I know. Let's get moving before the druids decide we're as unwelcome as the tieflings."

"You threatened to cut off the druid lady's hand, mama, I don't think they'll like you anyway," Cald piped up.

"An astute observation," Gale suddenly said. "Though perhaps the goblin camp may not be suitable for a young man such as yourself either."

"A good point," Tav added suddenly. "Cald--"

"No!"

"Let the whelp taste battle," Lae'zel said.

"You have another scroll, do you not?" Shadowheart added, "Of the same sort you used to help that little girl. If anything goes wrong..."

"Nothing will go wrong," Tav replied, with an edge in her voice, before softening up again. She clenched at the hilt of her rapier, and took a deep, steadying breath. "We all go. And we all return. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

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It had been over a decade, and still Tav remember the Goblin Camp well. A little tower here, a cooking spit there. Walking in had been easy, convincing them of her being there to see Minthara as she had done the last time. No sight of the owlbear cub just yet...

"Looking for something?" Astarion asked. "I can't think there's anything the goblins have that you want."

"Their weapons make good kindling," she replied in a whisper. "Or they will later, anyway."

She squinted slightly up ahead. Volo was there, but there was someone else too, a bald, head-scarred, pale figure she could only see from the back. Woman, from the looks of her, but--

"'Ey, who are you?"

"Here to see the drow," Tav said quickly, and without even thinking said, "We're True Souls, they told us to come talk to her."

"Ah, 'scuse me then," the goblin said, "Ain't seen too many of youse here, just her. 'Ey, before you go in, go and have a look at the bard. 'E's pretty dramatic to watch, especially when 'e's got a partner."

She knew she'd said too much, but thankfully--there were more important things to worry about. At the moment, anyway.

This was not how she remembered things.

The woman with the scarred bald head fell to the ground in mock death, and Volo walked briefly away, only to return a moment later.

"As calling home our exiled friends abroad, that fled the snares of watchful tyranny, producing forth the cruel ministers of this dead butcher and his fiendlike queen, who, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands took off her life!"

Tav, nearing with the rest of the party, began to to clap. His performance wasn't entirely good, but given the situation he was in it was as good as could be expected. Perhaps Volo WAS the one to remember? Perhaps that was why he wasn't using the same performance as before?

"Up, my dear, I think the goblins shall want something bloodier for the next bit. I shan't ask if you've ever read--"

A cheer went up, confirming his suspicion and drowning out his words.

The scarred woman stood and turned just slightly, just enough for her face to be seen.

Tav's blood ran cold for an instant. She clenched again at the hilt of her rapier, already imagining its use, already plotting how best to skewer the woman before her.

But, said a voice in the back of her mind, a voice certainly not her own, You promised, you vowed, that you would not harm the next person you dearly wanted to harm.

There, standing next to Volo, in the middle of the Goblin Camp, bald and scarred as if she had been through torture of the sort she must have found exciting--

--was Orin the Red.

#the emerald grove hits different now that tavs a mum #bg3 #tav #druid and cleric tav #emerald grove #hyena #cazador bg3 #fanfiction #lae'zel #astarion #shadowheart #drow oc #bg3 drow #goblins #arabella #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 orin #orin the red

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drofeilrah · 3 years

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It took awhile to update this one, mainly because I chose such a terribly difficult concept to write lmao. But there are some really nice moments in this chapter that I hope the whole thing in general goes over well. As always, here’s a little excerpt below:

Lucifer throws himself full swing into his work, giving out favors, fulfilling desires, calling in every price thereafter. Demons and damned alike wonder just what it was that made the Devil walk in Hell again, stoic and still in his throne for so long. But Lucifer pays them no mind, commanding the underworld, inflicting celestial justice for those who caused so much harm in their human lives. All in the hope that something might come along to distract him from the reality that one errant prayer has forever altered everything he’s ever been or will be.

But then too much time begins to pass. The warmth of her soul becomes little more than a soft memory, an experience that starts to feel like it belongs to someone else entirely. Lucifer attempts to convince himself that it is for the best, that light like hers should not be spent on someone like him. Even if she did pray to him again, he wouldn’t answer. That was resolute. It was a one-time thing, an impulse which merely served to itch a scratch he didn’t know he had. That’s all it was.

He would not answer her again, no matter what it might be that finally makes its way to him.

It was a laughably fragile resolve.

Because in all his imagination, all his deliberation over how she would come into his world again, Lucifer never thought she would ever pray a single, broken word that would be just a breath of her, gone before he could ever hope to hold onto it.

No, she prayed.

And it felt like she was screaming it out for the entire universe to hear. One word.

No.

#to whom do we pray #my writing #lucifer fanfic #lucifer #Lucifer Morningstar #chloe decker #deckerstar #prayer fic #i actually got a lil teary at some parts #which never happens #so pls enjoy

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mareenavee · 5 months

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Where I Failed, You Will Succeed

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @rhiannon1199!!! A Maormer ghost story for you, yes yes. Pre-World, and canon to Soggy!Teldryn's story hehe. (: I hope you like it. It was a joy to write.

Without further ado:

Where I Failed, You Will Succeed

26th of Sun’s Dusk 4E198

Teldryn Sero stood on an outcropping of rock that overlooked the frozen wasteland that was Northern Solstheim. Wind whipped around his face, dry snow collecting in the crevices of his chitin goggles. His scarf barely kept the sting of the weather from searing his skin. Bitter cold seeped through every layer of fur and chitin armor, numbing his fingers and feet. He stuck his hands under each armpit and wondered if it would ever be possible to warm up again.

Likely not.

This was not the first time he’d been trapped all the way out here by the hand of an errant blizzard. It was, however, the first time he’d glimpsed a ghost in the wastes. He’d tracked the odd blue-green glow of it, watching to be sure it wasn’t a Wisp or something worse, like a Wispmother on the prowl for souls—or whatever else in Oblivion those things were always after. But no. This one less floated and more morphed through the snow as if the huge drifts weren’t there at all. It left no trace as it went.

The figure looked strange—vaguely elven, though the ears were shaped differently. The eyes were white all the way through, and he couldn’t discern if it was blindness or otherwise. There was a shimmering texture to their skin when they turned into the light, too. The clothing looked as Skaal as was possible to look, though, which was certainly odd. Their blue-grey hair was plaited back tightly with a decorative comb placed just so. He’d not seen anyone like whoever this person used to be. He couldn’t help but wonder why they were haunting here of all places. Aside from their outfit, they didn’t look like they belonged at all.

He knew the feeling.

He scoffed and unfurled from himself to wander into the snowy wastes. He could have easily returned to the Skaal village, but instead he was going to stubbornly follow some ghost to see whatever it was that drew them. Typical, really. At least Geldis wouldn’t be able to say he’d wasted his whole week drinking. Not this time, at least. Though sujamma would, under normal circumstances, make this trek more tolerable. None to be had out in the middle of a blizzard, though. -> Read the rest on AO3

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

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6x05: Live Free or Twihard

Then:

Vampires are real

Now:

At a gothy bar, a girl shows an ID and starts looking around. She takes a drink and starts walking around. She bumps into her presumed date. Later, they’re really bonding --or well he’s pressuring her to reveal more about herself than she feels comfortable. She agrees to show him more of her poetry, and in the process of pulling the sheets out, she gets a papercut. The guy looks away TOTALLY not interested.

Actually, he’s more interested than he should be and takes off for her sake.

He comes back though, because he can’t stop thinking about her. He pulls out his best Edward line and tells her they can’t be together. Bella Kristin disagrees. He’s done BAD things, girl. But she’s 17! He shows her his fangs. It only excites her. He invites her to see his world. And a gross dude pops out of the alley to go to chow town on her neck.

Dean gives Lisa a call, seeing if she’d like him to visit. She misses him --of course.

Sam has a bunch of missing girls. They’ve got a case.

They head to interview a parent of one of the missing girls, Kristy. They check out her room to discover she’s REALLY into sparkly vampires. Dean’s little “wow” says it all. Sam finds the girl’s computer, while Dean entertains himself with reading the vamp books the girl was obsessed with.

They read the emails and find the location where the girl met her fate.

Meanwhile, a blood transport van is robbed.

Sam gets on the phone with Samuel. He confirms that they’re hunting vamps and they need to find the nest. Dean and Sam head inside the bar to scope the scene. They find three potential vamps (well, actually just two because one kisses another dude and Dean Bean, you don’t have to look so awkward.)

They split up to follow their respective vamp. Sam ends up in a storage area and slices his vamp’s head off easy peasy. Because Sam Fucking Winchester is Sam Super Fucking Winchester without a soul. Dean heads to the alley to break up a totally normal couple just making out. The dude wasn’t actually a vamp --he just pretends to be to get laid.

Dean gets jumped by the longhaired vamp. Sam rushes into the alley to watch the vamp beat up Dean. He has plenty of time to stop it --but just watches with a cruel and curious smile on his face. He watches the vamp feed Dean his blood. The vamp takes off (THANKFULLY) before Sam can kill him.

Dean’s a vampire, guys!

His transformation involves hypersensitivity to sound and light. He tells Sam that once Samuel gets there, he needs to kill him. He also wonders why Sam isn’t more freaked out. Sam just wants to know how he physically feels --cause that’s normal Samuel.

Dean heads to the bathroom to check on his little baby fangs. They’re coming in nicely!

Also, he totally runs away and heads to Lisa’s place. He acts cryptic but tells Lisa, “Thanks, for everything.” (Remember when Cas said those exact words to Dean when HE was being cryptic but knew he’d never see him again? I do.) Dean then tells Lisa he’s got to go --he’s not going to talk about it. He doesn’t want to bring it home. She gets closer and demands that he tell her what’s going on. Dean takes off, but not before waking Ben. He comes closer to Dean and Dean shoves him away--hard.

Later, Grandpa Campbell scolds Sam for losing track of his brother. But, surprise! Dean is lurking next to the refrigerator. He double pinky swears that he didn’t feed. “You can relax, I didn’t drink anyone. But...I came close.”

Dean begs for a quick ending, but Samuel reveals that he has a vampire cure - as long as Dean doesn’t drink any human juice boxes. There’s just one catch: he has to get blood from the vampire who turned him. Dean departs, armed with dead man’s blood and a can-do attitude!

Samuel spends a moment looking at Sam suspiciously. Apparently they both discussed the vampire cure months ago! So why didn’t Sam save his brother? WHY INDEED. Samuel implies that Sam did it solely to get a man on the inside and help them track the alpha vampire.

Dean encounters Edward Cullen in the grimy, dark hallways of the vampire lair. Sparklepants the Vampire Boy offers Dean a refreshing blood cooler before they sit down and watch Nickelodeon together. “I killed so many people on the way over here,” Dean boasts awkwardly, turning down the blood. He just can’t eat another bite! Dean gets the feature tour of the compound. He’s been tagged as a recruiter for the vamps, on account of his pretty face.

Dean encounters his sire. The vamp reveals his dirty scheme. He keeps the captured and turned women locked up until they’re “compliant” (EW) and then sets them out to catch hot guys, who in turn set out to catch hot girls. Etcetera! Ah, the circle of life.

The vamp leans in reeeeeeeaaaal close and asks Dean if he wants the “private tour.” GOOD GOD I am deceased.

Dean pulls out the vial of dead man’s blood, but one errant drop escapes the syringe and the game is over. They grapple for control, and Dean looks like he’s about to lose. But whispering descends from above. All the vampires collapse to the ground and in an instant, Dean follows. He dreams of a series of images - little girls and vampires and gothic country imagery. A man appears in the vision - the alpha vamp.

Dean swims to consciousness just as all the vamps try to ambush him. Heads meet the blood cannon.

Sam and Samuel pull up outside of the lair. A vamp breaks their windshield.

Dean continues to murder his way through an entire building of vampires while Sam and Samuel fight off windshield vamp. They head inside to see room after room of dead vampires. “Looks like your brother has some Campbell in him after all,” Samuel mutters. DAMN RIGHT HE DOES. (Some Mary Campbell, that is.) They finally find Dean sitting in contemplation with his boot resting gently on his sire’s severed head.

For Male Modeling Science:

Later, they prepare the cure. Sam demands to know what Dean saw of the nest - what visions did he have? Cold as ICE, Sam! Dean chokes down the cure. He vomits a truly next level amount of bile and his flashbacks go in reverse because, you see, HIS VAMPIRISM IS REVERSING. The last thing Dean remembers is the smirk on Sam’s face as he got turned.

He wakes, physically whole but mentally as scarred as ever! The next morning, Sam presses Dean again. He wants to know what Dean saw in the nest. WHAT GOTHIC COLLAGE?

Alone outside, Dean calls Lisa and then immediately chickens out on leaving a message. He checks in with Sam as they leave - he’ll always have his back, right? RIGHT????

The Sparkle Quotes of Doom:

These aren’t vampires. These are douchebags

You’re pretty!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 6x05 #live free or twihard #supernatural season 6 #et tu brute #the lolz

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bts-ficrecs · 4 years

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hey!! can you recommend a few series (any member)? thank you very much!

“a few” hAHAHAHA you’re really funny.

Bro, why’d u have you make ur request sooo broad 😂 i tried to reign in the crazy and failed. I decided I’m going to give you a list of series that are sitting impatiently on my to read list! Making this list makes me want to devour them all right now lol.

Feel free to go through my archive to find series that I have read, cause there are plenty of those too :”) So without further ado…

Note: please be aware several of the ongoing series are either on hiatus or discontinued or just haven’t been updated in 17392 years lol. I know some people can’t deal with that so do make sure to check if the writers are still active and/or when the last update was! And don’t pressure the writers about updates kthxbai ❤

ONGOING

Aristocrat by @itskimtaehyung

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 3/4

Summary: In which Namjoon pays you for your *ahem* services.

A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning by @therealredraven

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 4/? (discontinued)

Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia. Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.

Blood Princess by @mintchockookie

Genre: angst

Parts: 9/?

Summary: Choi Y/N is one of the most dangerous and feared members of Papa Choi gang. But she doesn’t want to be. Kim Nam Joon is the leader of the biggest gang in all South Korea and craves revenge for having his godfather being killed by Papa Choi. When their paths cross, nothing can hold them.

Untold Stories by @interludemoonchild

Genre: fluff

Parts: 8/?

Summary: A series of drabbles based on Namjoon owning a bookshop in a small town.

What Am I To You? by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: To Namjoon, she could make the salt taste like sugar on her hands. But in the end, she isn’t as sweet as he believed her to be.

COMPLETE

Best Friend!Namjoon by @lamourche

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: “I locked the keys in the car.”

Passionfruit by @joonbird

Genre: smut

Parts: 4/4

Summary: To you, matters of the heart have always been simple. You’ve always lived by three rules: you don’t do emotions, you don’t do attachment, and you don’t do love. That is, until you meet the enigma that is Kim Namjoon- a man who shakes your entire world upside down.

Piercings by @personawife

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/2 + 1 (feat. Yoongi)

Summary: “What’s that sticking through your shirt?”

Rumor Has It by @jjungkookislife

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/2 + drabble

Summary: After hearing a rumor about your best friend, it's all you can think about.

Tear by @polaritae

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: Getting the attention of your crush seems impossible. Good thing your best friend is always willing to help out!

ONGOING

Dame-De-La-Nuit by @cyphahobi

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: First night on the job turns into a week long adventure of business and pleasure. Landing business man, Kim Seokjin as your first client, turns your whole world upside down.

Evanescent by @jinletgo

Genre:angst, smut

Parts: 1/?

Summary: You’re a journalist-aspiring secretary to Kim Namjoon, the CEO of Telescope, a leading lifestyle and culture magazine. One night with a handsome and charismatic stranger ignites a passion and excitement that you didn’t know you had. When that stranger turns out to be Kim Seokjin, the print journalist of a rival magazine, the simple life you take for granted and dream career you’d been working towards are left in jeopardy…

King of Hearts by @thecozywhaleshark

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 9/10

Summary: You are a famous writer who can’t exactly show up to an event alone… so you hire an escort… his name is Jin.

The City Comes Alive by @minflix

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 1/2

Summary: Being a street performer, Kim Seokjin sees many nameless and forgettable faces each and everyday. But there is this one girl that he can’t seem to forget. Maybe it’s because his heart seems to fall in love with her a little more each time she passes him by.

COMPLETE

Aperitivo by @bangtanbetchfics

Genre: smut, feat Jungkook

Parts: 2/2

Summary: On the heels of a breakup, you fall hopelessly in lust with two pastry chefs on your vacation in Venice.

Burden by @neonlights92

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 8/8

Summary: After the death of his wife during childbirth Kim Seokjin is unable to hold his baby daughter without grief taking control. Just three weeks after the love of his life is taken from him so suddenly, Jin is expected to marry somebody new. You are foolish and have spent your whole life pining after Kim Seokjin from afar, even after he marries your best friend, Seul. But suddenly Seul is gone and you are expected to marry Jin and raise his child. You know your heart is already in it, but what about his?

Alt. Summary: A marriage to Kim Seokjin was all you ever wanted. But not at the cost of your best friend’s life.

Don’t Wanna Fall by @9uk

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 4/4

Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you, you are in need of company. Strangely enough, you get more company than you had initially wanted.

Alt. summary: His world revolves around wealth, power and most importantly—women. He’d spoil every one of them by his side or on his bed, with limited edition bags and expensive heels. So why is the CEO of kim corporations currently buying you a pet bunny?

In The Bleak Midwinter by @pcyheartgirlx

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 25/25 + 2 different endings

Summary: We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.

Peach Parfait by @jamaisjoons

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: You and Seokjin have always been at odds as the top two chefs at Big Hit Academy of Culinary Arts.

The Devil Wears Armani by @floralseokjin

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 5/5 + drabbles

Summary: You never imagined accidentally attempting to sell your soul to the devil would lead to this…

ONGOING

Addicted by @yoongiandchiminie

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 4/?

Summary: Suga, the Stealth and Weapons guy of Bangtan meets his Soulmate with a bang. He’d grown up believing in the idea of finding the person he was destined to be with and won’t let her get away. Even if she’s addicted, he’s determined to help her. He just wants to save his Blue girl.

Choices by @btsiguess

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 4/?

Summary: You didn’t think that when you woke up this morning you were going to go out and buy a hybrid. But really, ending up with this stupid cat might be the best thing that ever happened to you. Much to both you and Yoongi’s chagrin.

Grey Area by @blushoseoks

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 13/?

Summary: And just like that, your fate was sealed - because min yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

Reputation by @mindayss

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 1/?

Summary: Min Yoongi’s got quite a reputation. As do you.

COMPLETE

Di piano e forte by @justoneday-namjoonii

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 6/6

Summary: Piano; A keyboard of cypress, played with soft and loud. Was it the ivory and onyx keys that let you escape from your reality…Or was it the man with sable hair and ivory skin.

Errantes by @cno-inbminor

Genre: fluff

Parts: 2/2 + Epilogue

Summary: Yoongi accidentally gets spiked pumpkin juice, but it’s not by alcohol. More like it was spiked by a Love Potion – Beguiling Bubbles, to be exact – and Sora may or may not have had a hand in this. The point is, she’s hoping Yoongi will never find out and she’ll be alive to take her N.E.W.T.’s.

Fragility by @writtenyoongi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: “There are a lot of fucked up things about me, you know? And there’s a lot of fucked up things that have happened. But when I’m with you all of those things, yeah they still exist but it’s like they’re a lot further away, I don’t feel as if they’re eating me alive.”

Long Time Coming by @an-exotic-writer

Genre: fluff, angst (?)

Parts: 6/6 + drabble

Summary: In which it’s been a long time coming since you’re meeting Min Yoongi once more.

Private Lessons by @baeseoul

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: “I have an idea,” Once he saw how you straightened in your seat, your gaze flaring with aggravation, he continued quickly, “For every question I get right, you tell me something about yourself.”

Skin Deep by @aquaminwrites

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 10/10

Summary: Yoongi has never—and presumably will never—like tattoos.

ONGOING

Bygones Of The Sun by @scriptaed

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/?

Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the rises sun has gone into hiding- because perhaps its shadows have out-shines its own radiance.

Euphuistic by @guksthighs

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: Hoseok’s delivery of flowers does not go as planned when it starts raining and someone mysertious gives him an umbrella.

Plant A Kiss On These Tulips by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: fluff

Parts: 2/?

Summary: After your boss, Jisu–head wedding planner at Ornate Events–develops a ragweed allergy, you are put in charge of working with the florist company In Bloom. But instead of their top-notch flower arrangements, their incredibly radiant owner Jung Hoseok proves to be what catches your eye over the course of the months that follow.

Salted Caramel by @your-miss-right

Genre: fluff

Parts: 9/?

Summary: She liked him…a lot and she just wanted to get the point across. Too bad the wrong guy got it. Note to self: Check orders before writing little notes to the wrong customer!

Starfire by @readyplayerhobi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 6/?

Summary: The schism that broke the galaxy began, as it usually does, over a disagreement. The resultant civil war has raged for hundreds of years. When a ragtag group of travellers discovers something that could turn the tide of war, for good or for worse, the bonds of friendship and love will be tested.

Note: ok but basically just read all of Tali’s Hoseok series sdjfakjaf

Wall to Wall by @winetae

Genre: smut

Parts: 1/4

Summary: Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman. Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

COMPLETE

By Its Cover by @crystaljins

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 8/8

Summary: Your annoying little brother Jimin accepts a dare and summons a demon into your living room. There are multiple problems with this. 1) Demons are the most hated species on earth. 2) That demon happens to be Jung Hoseok, the most popular guy on campus 3) The fact that Jung Hoseok is a demon is his biggest secret and 4) Jung Hoseok hates your guts. You’re in for a wild ride.

Life in the Fast Lane by @sugaxjpg

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 1/3

Summary: Hoseok was not someone who expected to find love, even less under the conditions he met you—bleeding to death in an alley, unable to go to an hospital without being recognized by the ones who did such thing to him. Though, he would soon learn that the best things in life are the unplanned, kind ones. Especially the kind ones.

The Black Book by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: smut

Parts: 9/-- (discontinued)

Summary: Being personal assistant involves doing a lot of different tasks for your boss Jung Hoseok–including setting up his rendezvous with his black book clientele.

The Gentlemen’s Club by @brookelegend

Genre: smut

Parts: 15/15 + Epilogue + author’s note + drabbles

Summary: You’ve been in a dating drought, more specifically, a sex drought. Your best friend has the perfect remedy for your problem: The Gentlemen’s Club.

ONGOING

Contraband by @leadermon

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 11/?

Summary: If you had known what you had known now, would you have gone? If you knew who you would meet, the boy with the bright orange hair, and how getting wrapped up in him would tear all your brother had built to the ground, would you have gone?

Crossroads by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 4/?

Summary: You summon Park Jimin, the crossroads demon who rather than taking your soul and granting you wish, wants to become an extremely annoying life companion.

induratize by @hobiwonder

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 5/?

Summary: Prince Jimin had grown up despising people from your empire and vice versa. When your father weds you to the crowned Prince of Haelyra, your kingdom’s sworn enemies, as a form of alliance to fight a greater evil, you struggle to make sense of your new life as the future Queen to be and deal with a husband who cannot stand you.

Jealousy Games by @avveh

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/?

Summary: You decide to play a game of push and pull with your ex Jungkook, bringing Jimin along for the ride.

COMPLETE

Handyman by @drquinzelharleen

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 5/5

Summary: Jimin is your landlord’s son. After one stressful day he comes to fix your shower for you. You find yourself constantly thinking about him. Could he be the perfect submissive?

I’ll Never Be Her by @anon-luv

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 5/5 + Epilogue + drabbles

Summary: You loved him with all your heart, but he could only give you half of his. Jimin was the love of your life, your night in shining armor when she wasn’t around. She was his ex girlfriend, his first love, actually she was his many firsts and she kept coming back. He had warned you she was his weakness, but you didn’t listen, because to you having him even if it was only partially was better than not having him at all. At least for now.

Neighbors by @jkeuphoriadreamland

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 7/7 + Epilogue

Summary: Finally achieving your successes in life you never expected the distraction that came with your new hot neighbor. He however, had been trying to get your attention for a much different reason.

Nine One One by @yminie

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: When murder and crime threaten the city of Seoul, there’s a team in place to help keep the public safe, but just what do you do when all your training is to help others, and the one that needs help is actually you?

Limerence by @jiminscenarios

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 14/14 + Epilogue

Summary: He was a coldhearted asshole and the leader of South Korea’s most wanted gang, whereas she was an innocent and kind college student. They were polar opposites, yet he was so infatuated with her. But opposites are supposed to attract after all, aren’t they?

Love Yourself Trilogy by @threeletterslife

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 3/3

Summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda… but when life throws you curveballs, it is what it fucking is.

ONGOING

Begin Again by @writtenyoongi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 4/?

Summary: Things had been tough since your divorce from yoongi, you were still heartbroken over losing him whilst trying to balance being a single mother and providing the best you could for your daughter. When Kim Taehyung enters your life you start to learn how to love again, but the beautiful man is not without his own source of heartbreak.

The Client by @jungkookiebus

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: Your services applied to many types of people and you were good at what you did, delivering sexual fantasies. This particular client happens to be your personal favorite for more reasons than one.

Van Gogh by @btsjeonjazz

Genre: smut

Parts: 1/?

Summary: Who would have guessed that Kim Taehyung, honorable student and your tutor, had some dark secrets?

V2 by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 9/12

Summary: This series is reader-insert revolving around Taehyung and his long-term surreptitious relationship with Y/N.

When You Least Expect It by @johobi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 12/15 + drabble

Summary: You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

COMPLETE

Change by @junghelioseok

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 9/9 + Epilogue

Summary: A kind, handsome stranger makes you question your deteriorating relationship.

One Good Purr (Deserves Another) by @jinpire

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 4/4

Summary: Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to visit Taehyung just before your heat. (Or to ask if his best friend was available.)

Summer Love by @analovegirl

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: It was Summer when he lost his whole world, his family and his identity. And it’s summer again when he comes across the girl he swore was his enemy. Join Taehyung, as he tries to find his true identity– as a human and as a merman, along with the mystery of his parent’s demise.

The Chrysanthemum Effect by @rosaetae

Genre: angst

Parts: 10/10 + Epilogue

Summary: Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it’s already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you’re not willing to accept them?

Yarn by @dreamhimcloser

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: The mere idea that someone will kiss you while you slept made you shiver with disgust, but your educators promised you time and time again that this is exactly how you reach true love.

ONGOING

Block Party by @minlucent

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: Moving into your new apartment brings back memories of your biggest mistake.

Employee Perks by @chiminiemoans

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 3/?

Summary: Sure, the employee perks at your job were bonuses, life insurance, sick leave, health benefits etc. etc., but the best employee perk of all was working with a man known as Jeon Jungkook.

In Debt by @ichirakukpop

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 2/?

Summary: All your life you’ve been taken care of by your rich father and his money, but when a someone named Jungkook barges into your home demanding for his money back, your life is turned upside down.

Serendipity by @rohobi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 10/13

Summary: The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. After forgetting to click out of his pornhub incognito tab last night, you find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook at 3am watching the rest of it.

COMPLETE

Anima Meaology by @arckook

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 4/4 + Epilogue

Summary: Your best friend was never supposed to know that his name was on your wrist.

Falling Skies by @fortunexkookie

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 6/6 + drabbles + spinoff oneshot

Summary: Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely.

Goldilocks by @perpetually-jungshook

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 10/10 + drabble

Summary: After getting evicted, your two best friends Jimin and Taehyung offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet. Needless to say, with a part time job and a mountain of student debt, that’s not happening any time soon. Eventually, they DO become really fond of having you around, helping with chores and even splitting rent. So when you come home one day to find someone has been sleeping in your couch-bed, well… it’s something you won’t take lightly.

Oath by @bangtan-yeonghon

Genre: angst

Parts: 33/33

Summary: What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow?

Watch Me Babygirl by @lunarimagines

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 20/20

Summary: Jungkook is your brother’s annoying best friend. You can’t stand him but he just can’t resist teasing you. How far will he actually go?

Will You? by @jungee

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 2/2

Summary: Jungkook + you = prom dates??

ONGOING

Bangtan Crossing by @mintedmango

Genre: fluff

Parts: 4/?

Summary: You step off the train in the quiet of dusk with a relieved sigh, just looking at the awakening of some stars and the bottoms of trees of this countryside town in awe. It was so different from the city, so dark at night, not lit up by thousands of street lamps and buildings turned on in the wee hours of the evening.

Lifeline by @forgottenpasta

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 6/?

Summary: What happens when a witch curses seven vampires to share one fated mate between them?

Lueur De Lune by faery_kth (AO3)

Genre: fluff

Parts: 5/?

Summary: Your recent move has caused a lot of stress and you decide to take a stroll by the little lake behind your house only to find the moon and her fallen star.

Over the Moon by @threeletterslife

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 6/8

Summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you’re left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You’re not ready for that alone. Are you?

Potions, Magic, And Otherworldly Charmers by agentlemanshat (AO3)

Genre: fluff

Parts: 3/7

Summary: Have you ever imagined Namjoon as a high-end witch? Jungkook as a werewolf or Jimin as a merman? And a magical world full of possibilities? Well, look no further! Because here is where it happens.

Twisted Tails by @kmseokjins

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 4/?

Summary: After the death of your older sister, you're suddenly entrusted with her two hybrids. Who knew that following your sister's wishes would eventually turn your life upside down.

Void by @btssavedmylifeblr

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 6/?

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

COMPLETE

A Fairy Tale’s End by @bangtan-dreamland

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 8/8 + Epilogue

Summary: You wanted, for once, to be someone important, someone needed- to be wanted and appreciated, to love and be loved. Well, you should be careful what you wish for.

College by @btslibrary

Genre: smut

Parts: 7/7

Summary: A 7-part BTS smut series.

Hybrid House by @hollyhomburg

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3 + Epilogue

Summary: To Seokjin, Home consists of his human partners Namjoon and Hoseok as well as their Hybrids; the pups- named Taehyung and Jimin, their black cat- called Yoongi, and their foxboy- called Jungkook. Together they have the happiest family possible, everyone loves everyone equally. So what happens when Namjoon finds you? A cat hybrid, beaten close to death left alone in an alleyway on the coldest night of the year? He takes you home, shows you his family, and together they teach you what love can be like.

congratulations you made it to the end....lol. enjoy all these fics and give the authors lots of love, okay? 🧡

#bts fan fic #bts fic recs #namjoon fluff #jungkook fluff #yoongi fluff #taehyung fluff #seokjin fluff #hoseok fluff #jimin fluff #g recs #g replies #anon

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count-v-dracula · 2 years

Text

{ meme } | selectively accepting ;••••; @suresha asked▬

“ even morsels of affection are like feasts to a starved soul. ” ( from aido )

“You have a soul?” He spoke in a low current of dark silk as his brow pushed up, unamused. “You think yourself worthy of mere morsels? What a low opinion you have of yourself...” Dracula added as his mouth dared to spread out into a mirthless grin. “Do you think the world cares what is on the table of your heart No. Of course it doesn’t. I wouldn’t sit at the table and wait for crumbs to fall and to be licked up, like some dog; use what’s been given to you to take what you want.”

The vampire adjusted himself in his seat and brushed those ever-errant strands of black out from his face, “Do not expect me to say more. My years and experience are not open archives one may comb through and leave as freely as what is given and taken.”

#v; undetermined #suresha #answered #[ kept the details vague so if there is a type of verse of yours you want to use then feel free! ]

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Text

Heat Without Warmth, Light Without Sight

This fic is for the @tma-valentines-exchange and was written for @barnabasbennett (pretty sure, at least!) AO3 link is in the source! Based on the prompt: rewrite episode 159 to feature Tim and Archivist!Sasha.

I’ve been waiting SO LONG to post this! I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter One: Embers

The archives are quiet. So quiet. Sasha can hear the tick of the clock on her desk and the hum of the radiator she had brought in so many months ago, back when her biggest concern was how cold her Archivist office was. Before the idea of heat reminded her of Tim in oh-so-many painful ways.

The Unknowing had been…bad. Daisy had been imprisoned in The Choke, Sasha left unconscious and Basira forever changed. She had seen it, she told Sasha later, the way Tim had stood amidst the rubble of plastic mannequins and brick and mortar, unscathed as smoke billowed into the sky, silhouetted in greys and blacks. It was terrifying, she said, in a completely different way than the Unknowing had been. Basira described Tim as unstoppable in that moment, a train bulleting towards destruction and revenge, a rage in his eyes that only intensified when he saw the unconscious form of Sasha James, bruised and lying in the rubble.

In Sasha’s six-month coma, she had missed a lot. Martin had explained things to her; a sad compassion in his eyes as he stirred sugar into tea. Tim had fallen to the Desolation, The Cult of The Lightless Flame calling him home after they had heard about his sudden resilience to heat and flame. It made sense. Tim had experienced so much loss and destruction in his life, losing Danny and Jon (and, temporarily, Sasha) due to the machinations of The Stranger. His connection to the Desolation had probably been growing when none of them, not even Tim, had noticed. Sasha tried reaching out to him; Tim was still employed by the Magnus Institute after all, but he was sullen at his desk, the air around him smelling faintly of burnt hair and the iced coffees he used to love now simmering slightly in his mug. Sasha didn’t think he could’ve been any more withdrawn than he had been in the ramp up to stopping the Stranger. But here he was, prickly and cold and altogether uninterested in Sasha’s attempts to reconnect with him.

Sasha unfolds the letter, singed at the corners. She must have just missed him. Again. Her heart pounds in her chest as she reads the words, written the slanted, neat print she knew so well.

Sasha,

If nothing else, I will miss you. But that loss is essential, Jude says, to feeding the spark that binds us all. They think Agnes Montague’s spark passed to me when I decided my loss of life was more important than the survival of The Stranger and their ritual. Something about total commitment to pain, self-destruction, etc. There is some satisfaction in knowing how unhappy they are about it, especially Jude. I think she really wanted to be special. You’d hate her. Maybe it’s cliché, but I don’t think I’m coming back from this. It all began, and it all must end. Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally be able to quit.

I You are truly unforgettable, boss,

Tim.

Sasha had seen so many of the people she loved fall to the fears of this world in which they find themselves trapped. The loss of Jon had come first, when the thing that Was Certainly Not Jon had stolen him away under their noses. This discovery had come with the loss of the heart of their office: Martin. Realizing he had been in love with a lie had broken something in him, and while Sasha did her best to show him compassion, she couldn’t imagine going through it all in his place. The nature of Gertrude’s death had shocked her; Sasha had known her, had seen such a strong woman she had been. To see (or rather hear) her death reduced to a few cowardly gunshots felt…inadequate. Daisy had become softer after surviving the Buried, kinder to Sasha, but there the Hunt was still there, deep in her. Basira and Melanie were fine, but evasive, suspicious, too eager to wield a knife. And now?

Sasha had no friends, no one she could truly trust, no one left besides Tim. She hadn’t stopped trying to care for him, to make herself available, but she refused to keep her heart open for someone so clearly eager to move away from it all, even if that was motivated by a cult of fire and destruction and pain. But that love she had for Timothy Stoker was still there, the idiot who took her out for drinks and dressed up as her once for April Fool’s and had them all over for Guy Fawkes Day (should she had guessed it then, his eyes illuminated by the pyre, drinking in the light and heat of the flames?) and insisted he cook for everyone whenever he got the chance.

Eyes sweeping over the letter over and over, she read the words, trying to hear each of them in his voice, feeling something in her gut twist as she read her name is his handwriting, in his voice, over and over. Tim had said it so many ways: with mirth, frustration, exhaustion, and warmth. There was still so much left to say. There were so many more ways for him to say her name, and Sasha wanted to hear them all.

This letter? This would not be the last time he said her name. Sasha James, the Archivist, would make damn sure of that.

Sasha is hurrying through the Institute when she almost collides with Elias Bouchard. His hair is unkempt, shaggy from his time in prison, but he is dressed immaculately, black dress shirt rolled to his elbows and a tie that seemed to shimmer yellow-green when it catches the light.

“You-Elias, what the hell?” Sasha takes an involuntary step back, hand ghosting to the letter opener she had instinctively tucked into her waistband.

“Save the effort, Archivist. I’m only here to help, after all. My sources say Tim has left?”

“Sources?” Sasha spits the word, fingers resting against the mottled blue handle of the blade. “Please. There’s no need to hide what you are anymore, Elias.”

“Hmm, very well.” His fingers drum patiently on his jaw, one elbow elegantly balanced on the opposite wrist. He looks too calm, too relaxed for the anxiety and anger thrumming its way through Sasha’s chest. “So, you don’t want to know where he’s gone?” Fuck. Elias’s eyebrow arches expectantly, eyes staring past her as he focused on what she could now recognize as what she called the Knowledge.

“Elias Bouchard, t̶̡̟̲͓̩̜̣͕͇̟̱͉̹̽̋̑̑̅̊͒́̔̂͠ͅe̶̝͍̜̲̘̙̤̰̬̞͒͗l̴̛͕̜̟̟̰͑̿̎̎́͛͌̽̆͆̓̋̾l̴̟̤͚͉͔̼̄̈́̆̌̏̇͝ ̷͖̙̠͕̜̮̬̟̝̰̫͍̆ṁ̶̨̗̮͍̖͍͖̱̟̍̽͜͝e̴̗̩͒̈́͛̊̽́̿ ̷̧̨̡̦̻̙͎̬̪̞͕͙͖̓͂͂͂͂̊̔̊̕̚͜w̴͈̖̦̒̾̀̽͑̓̑̎̂̇͗̂͒ḩ̸̩̺͎̤̳̰̘̱̣̍ę̵̫͚̖́̇͜r̷̢̘͍̣͚̠͚̫̦̭͌ͅͅͅẻ̵͓͖̆̀̒ ̵͇͕̱̬̻̖͔̲͇͇͊̓͊́̽̍̋̓̈́̎̿̆̕͘͝h̷̨̡̧̨̻̝̲̱̬̻͙̻͋́͒̈͆͛͛̒͂̉̈́̎͜e̴̡̪͓̘̳͇͙̪̠̳͈͔̳͕͗̓̉̎ ̵̢̡̟͍̬͖͔͎̹͇̞͗̓́́i̶̲̬̰͙̖̘̮̠̘̜̙̗̍̈́̀̌̔͌̊͋́̍͌̑̚͝s̶̞̱̥͚̽̔̏͠͝.”

Her voice echoes with persuasion, the smooth words rolling off her tongue before she could consider it. Elias sighs, seeming almost tired with her. “He’s in the Desolation.” Elias sighs, seeming almost tired with her. “Honestly, Sasha, I would have told you without you needing to ask like that.”

She tunes him out, her own Knowing searching for Tim and landing her only with a burning inside her skull. She hisses her pain through her teeth and focuses back on Elias, who seems almost amused.

God, what a bastard. “Ȟ̶̡̱͈̖̱̱̱̤̮̖̳̬̆̿͐͛̾́͗͠͝͝ͅͅo̷̡͎̙̓͗̋̂͊̏̏̅̚͘͝ẅ̶̢̨̧̝̖͚̦̱̟̹̼͕͌͌͌̋̒̆͑̈́̓͛͠ ̶̱̩̜̖̫̼̰̐d̴̢͈͍̗̱̀̉̽͋o̷̢̡̫͈̼̺̹̩̥͕͕͘̕ ̵̢̭̦͍̬͖̪̹͍̬̝͝I̶͕̥̱̤̽̿̃̃̂͐̔͒̒̇̆͗̚̕ ̴̛̞̜̘̥͓̙̗̫̰̙̼̝̀͗͋̊́̕ḡ̴͈͈̗̜̦̇͐̏̿̾̅́̆̎̂̊̕͠e̷̡̡̲̘̞̟̤̗͓̺̱̣̘͐̆̈́̔̎̃͋́ṯ̶̨̺̜̪̺̼̼̟̽̽̍̾̊́͊́̒̕͘ ̵̢͔̟͈̘͚̫̩̭͑̃͘ͅt̸̪̊͛̽̀͒h̴̘̫̖̤̜͕̻̺̯̼̦̟͔̋̍̋̈̌̃͐̈́̍̋e̶̢̛͚͉͕͓̪̖̘͖͇͇̫̲͉̐̀̈́̋̄̃̆̽̃̍͊̓ͅr̵̨͍͖̜͕͈̱̤̤̭͈̳̯̜͈̆͒̾̎̓̓̀̐̈̀̂̉̕͠e̴̦̱̺͓̝͕̥͔̮̓͐͛̚?̸̛̝̞̦͈̦̿͐͌̂̌̆͂̆̔̋͗͒̊”

“Honestly, Sasha, you’re wearing yourself out. Timothy and Jude just left. They were in the library; I’m sure you can follow them. Let your mind follow theirs. Find the right string, if the Mother will pardon my analogy, and pull it. I’m sure they left the door open for you.” He winks, as if enjoying a private joke, and turns on a polished leather shoe, striding towards the Archives with purpose.

Sasha redirects her course and hurries to the library. Is this a trap? Almost definitely. But honestly, she doesn’t care. Rosie, head of the institute while Elias had been “previously occupied," had been the last to leave the Institute, Sasha Knew as she ran, clocking out at 18:02. The librarians and assistants were gone. It was just her. Well, she and Elias, certainly. She was already a pawn in this fourteen-way game of chess; she may as well take down some bishops if this was going to be her end. She has never met Jude Perry, but Tim was right about one thing: she certainly already hated her.

In the library, Sasha halts in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her. The heat is excruciating on her cheeks as she sees a blazed trail of singed books, paper, and manuscripts. The burning in her face and soul is caused not by any fire, but by the sheer anger that someone dared mar her memories of this library, where she had met so many of the people she loves. Loved. No, loves, she decided with certainty. Jon is gone, the true memory of him lost to everything but the errant polaroid, Martin is all but gone, a shell of the warm man they had known, and Tim is just out of reach. But despite all this, maybe in sheer spite of everything they’ve been through, Sasha still present-tense loves each of them.

It is that love, she thinks, that guides her now, more so than the omniscient Eye that paves her way to the Desolation, the scar on reality widening and opening for her before it swallows her whole, the library crumbling into ash around her.

One way or another, she was going to end this.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #tma valentines exchange 2021 #timsasha #archivist sasha #desolation tim #fanfic #sasha james #tim stoker #fanfic to a tea

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xiakha · 3 years

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FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #13 - Oneirophrenia

The Scions did not return to the Crystarium alone. Well, the bally whole world also had to get back from the outing to Scree and Amity, and the residents of the Crystarium were no different, but there was another rumor.

Something else stalked those returning to the Crystarium. Whispers of something on the edges, a shape at the corner of the eye, an errant rustle in the stillness. The two day's travel was condensed into a day of forced marching. With the Light returned and so many of the Crystarium outside its protective walls, the chance that irreparable damage could be done to its personnel was too much of a risk.

But whatever it was followed them, somehow, across the sea despite each ferry being checked and triple checked for both stragglers and unwanted hitchhikers.

Was it paranoia because the grand scheme went awry? Was it simply exhaustion from sleepless days imbuing and doing hard labor?

It wasn't a sin eater. Even Lightwardens, as intelligent as they may have been, could not resist the lure of so much living aether to sup. They would have been attacked while organizing for the lift back down or while on the shore waiting for the ferry.

Ghost was the word passed around. An old concept from before the Flood when there was enough darkness to half see apparitions in. It enjoyed a new heyday with the return of the Night, but a ghost in the brightness, that strange contradiction, was in a way perhaps even more unnerving. Everyone needed to rest. In the confines of the Crystarium, so guarded for a full century without a breach in the walls, rest would come easier.

At least, for those not burdened with the truth. For those that didn't have a bellglass in their heads, the sands dropping one by one. If they tarried too long, never mind a breach in the walls, the Lightwarden, or worse, would be born within those walls. The Flood would complete its ruin, and the Calamity that the Exarch and so many others had worked centuries to prevent would happen anyway.

So rather than rest, they poured themselves into research.

Without the coming and going of the night, the constant brightness made days feel like bells. How long had it been since she had gotten any shuteye? She looked at Thancred, resting his head on his chin, hands crossed but still holding onto a mothbitten scroll. The man was hardly an academic, but the skills had come back to him after some practice. Alphinaud by her side, splayed across the table, a priceless ancient tome for a pillow. Urianger had left to peruse the archive in the Ocular, how long ago? Was it a bell? Three bells? A day? Her tea had long gone cold and the biscuits were all eaten. She looked at the pile of books in their reshelve pile. They had raided half the Cabinet of Curiosity and Moren would undoubtedly throw a fit whenever he would next check up on him. The next day? What day was it. Y'shtola was aware of the feeling of needing to remember a bellglass. They were working against time... for what?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as the gate to the forbidden section that she and the Scions had inhabited for at least a day. Perhaps three.

"Alisaie, is that you? Have you brought us poor trapped souls more tea?"

Silence.

Alisaie didn't have the patience to sit and scour tomes. She and Ryne were running over all of Nordvandt to look for solutions. Y'shtola tried to focus. Perhaps they could be back from the Inn at Journey's Head by now.

But Alisaie was not very good at being silent, especially when addressed. Nor did she usually carry something heavy enough to drag behind her. The scrape and clang of metal on metal steps made Y'shtola glance at the two men at the same table with her aethersight, not turning her head from the stairs. No they didn't seem to rouse despite the sound. Was she dreaming? Was this a dream?

The thoughts of the ghost returned to her. Didn't they say it looked like a knight? Didn't it whisper something? "Run.." "Where..." and "Stolen..." were the repeated sentiments, reportedly.

Y'shtola prepared for the worst. She raised the tome she had been reading from defensively and wished she had brought her staff down here.

As the figure came into view, her mind's eye was overwhelmed with brilliant light.

Y'shtola turned and threw an arm up in an attempt to shield from the light instinctively before remembering that her sight didn't work that way. She willed herself to shut off her aethersight and was shocked to see even then some Light leaking into her head.

It was certainly in the shape of a knight, she recognized the armor to be of Ishgardian make, not in a remote way similar to the armored knights of the First. It dragged behind a large block of steel that could maybe pass for a greatsword. This was the ghost all right. And Y'shtola put a few things together quickly, even as sleep deprived as she was.

"Why, you must be Fray."

"Shtola..."

Despite her present circumstances, she clicked her tongue in irritation, "You know better than to call me that," Even if this was a dream, she had standards. She lowered the book and placed it back on the table. Shtola, stolen, ah.

"Where..."

It occurred to her that there was something wrong. Fray was dressed in black armor, Xiao had told her. Not the gleaming white, dripping with astral aether here in front of her.

"Shtola... run..."

Y'shtola pinched herself. Definitely not dreaming here.

"Absolutely not. Besides where shall we run? Shall we run to the ends of Nordvandt and have you destroy the First from there? Shall we run back to the Source and wreak all sorts of ruin there? Jumpstart the next Calamity there and now? I think not."

"Where..."

For that, she had no response. The Warrior of Light was a bomb now. No different from the firekin that traversed Vylbrand, mayhap with but a little more self control. Y'shtola questioned for a moment how much control the bombs had to contain their explosions. Or was it all down to one errant slip?

"...Where is Xiao? Well, let's go bring you back to her, shall we?"

* * *

Her hand went numb. As if with the cold, but Fray's gauntlet wasn't cold. Jolts of fuzzy pain went up her arm like she had fallen asleep in an awkward pose and had compressed it under her body. She tried not to think about what her hand must look like.

As luck would have it, it was past clock midnight, meaning the rest of the Crystarium was largely asleep. Few people would see her escorting the ghost trailing and dripping with light aether to the Pendants. And even then, the Sorceress from Rak'tika aiding a ghost? Better her than them. She kept her aethersight on and gripped her mostly unfeeling hand harder to avoid looking back at what was a small sun in her mind's eye. The amount of aether cast strange shadows in the Musica Universalis.

The Manager of the Pendants of course was awake, but if he was surprised by the ghost that Y'shtola led by the hand, the Elf did not show it.

"You'll be headed to Mistress Longbao's room, I presume?"

Y'shtola nodded, now aware that her arm was completely numb to the elbow and somehow the numbness radiated to the small of her back. The manager went ahead to unlock the door and ushered the two, and the sword, in. Discretion was perhaps his greatest strength.

Xiao was in bed, seemingly slumbering, her expression troubled. Y'shtola, Ryne, and Alisaie had stripped her from her armor to her smallclothes and wiped the raw light aether from her body before doing another sealing of the Light and covering her with a blanket. The rags were burnt afterwards but Y'shtola remembered how stiff and brittle the cloth became. She wondered what was happening within the Warrior of Light.

"Shtola... Where..." The voice came from both Fray and Xiao simultaneously.

Letting go of Fray's gauntlet, Y'shtola kneeled by the bed and grasped Xiao's hand, entwining her fingers delicately and kissing the coarse, battleworn knuckles. Xiao did not squeeze back, but the troubled expression lessened. Her hand was still warm, warmer than Y'shtola's as usual, And if anything, the numbing that holding on to Fray's (or the thing that resembled Fray, Y'shtola there was none of the snide eloquence that Xiao had previously described) hand caused lessened.

Y'shtola still couldn't look at her directly with her aethersight, however. She was still far too bright, brimming with Light.

"Urianger found poetry in the Oculuar. Did you know they wrote poems and songs about us? The Warrior of Light and her Sweet? Apparently I die in your arms and you follow not long after. Very tragic. Very touching."

She placed her head on Xiao's chest, listening to her breathing, still deep, not shallow or pained. She didn't let go of Xiao's hand.

"Unfortunately I do not aim to be immortalized in sappy poetry anytime soon, so no dying in my arms, you hear?" Y'shtola said to Xiao's slumbering form.

She must have stayed there for quite a while, fingers locked with the other Miqo'te, for when she awoke again the specter of Fray had disappeared, whether it wandered off or returned to whence it came, she could not tell. Despite the awkward position in which she slept, she was refreshed, at least in the mind. Her back and knees were killing her.

Xiao also looked much more at peace, her brow was light and her mouth seemed curled in a slight smile. Y'shtola extracted her hand, all feeling returned, and left quietly. She needed more tea and biscuits and another tome to devour.

The bellglass in her head was righted and the sands began to slip once more.

#ffxiv #FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #story #wordvomit #horny'shtola #misc fic

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wangxianfics · 4 years

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Title: 💙 splendor in the heart and glory in love ❤️

Author: LunaChi_KuroShihone

Universe: Canon Divergence - Gods AU

Status: Complete

Rating: General

Lenght: Epic (10+K)

Summary:

Lan Wangji was barely seventeen the day he became a god, his eyes burning with molten gold while his gaze never left Lan Xichen's, a silent promise passing between them. . .. . Lan Zhan was barely six when he had sat at the steps of his mother's confinement and had stared silently into the night, heard the whispers of his seniors around him, their sorrowful and hungry gazes. He had been seven when the elders had told him, as it is your elder brother's fate to be sect leader one day, Lan Zhan, so it is your fate to be a sect god.

And here is the thing: many cultivators -- most of the Lan sect elders and disciples included -- see it as a great honor, to be made into a god. Wen Ruohan proclaimed himself one, his age and powerful cultivation lending credit to the ruse, but this close to being one himself, Lan Wangji could see that it was not quite true. Could see that he was mortal still, and he'd told Lan Xichen as much, that they had a chance to defeat the sun if only they rallied together.

But the truth is, Lan Wangji didn't see himself as much of a god, and felt no happiness at being turned into one, just as Lan Xichen felt no happiness losing the only brother he's ever had.

Recommended by: @shamelesswngxian

Comments:

"The truth is, if he could, he'd grab Wei Wuxian's hand and would make a run for it, far away from the sects and their strife, and would live a simple life as a mortal man with rabbits and maybe a husband. The truth is also this: Lan Wangji has never known how to live for anything but his sect, his wings clipped since the day he was born, his voice lost in a sea of hope and fear."

...

"Wei Wuxian became a godly entity in the mind of the people. But what is a god without a temple, if not a wandering, errant soul?"

What would happen if LWJ became a God and WWX lived on without him until his death? This fic first breaks your heart and then, piece by piece, puts it back together again. Even though I’ve read this a while ago, this fic stays with you.

First, Wangxian get separated but don’t despair. They find their way back to each other again. This is a fic where the Yiling Patriarch gets a huge LGBT following and becomes the patron of their ancient cut-sleeve community. MXY lives, he and WWX are friends, and Songxiao get their happy ending too.

If you love amazing plot twists and a dash of angst with a happy ending, this fic is for you.

#mdzs #theuntamed #complete #general #epic #canondivergence #au:gods #god!LWJ #god!WWX #hurtcomfort #humor #lansizhui #moxuanyu #author:lunachi_kuroshihone

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

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Gilded

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: A Monthly Rumbelling March 2020 (Once Upon a Time), A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time), Not Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant, Work That One Out If You Can, it will all make sense, I promise

Summary: Belle fears she is to become trapped in a gilded cage of her father, and Lord Gaston's making, with no relief and no way to be herself... until she meets the enigmatic little man trapped in the darkest, shadowed corner of the castle's library... Written for the March 2020 Monthly Rumbelling.

Read on AO3

Gilded

If ever she needed proof that the marriage her father intended for her was little more than a gilded cage, she had only to look at the vanity, with it’s delicate lace runner, on which a golden hand mirror was obscured by a brush and comb of burnished gold. She hadn’t touched them, any of them - preferring always to use her own things, not the things that were provided for her. Her own things gave her the comfort of remembering her mother, and it was a comfort… her only comfort, besides her books, and her dreams of adventure.

Belle wished for relief; she wished for release.

He knew, no, hoped that sooner or later she would find her way to him, to his lair, though not truly a lair in the exact sense of the word, rather… his shadowed corner of the library. So, he waited.

He had enchanted the items that his lordship had left for her in the chambers meant as her cage. In hindsight, if she were half the woman he thought her to be, it was a waste of time and magic. She would no more accept such gifts from the man who would be her master than she would accept the man himself; not without coercion. He seethed at the thought.

The Dark One wished for retribution; he wished for release.

The dream from which Belle woke the first night stayed with her mere moments, except for the final words, the compulsion that sat in the front of her mind, whispering over and over… Find me. She was certain that if she could have remembered more of the dream, she would have been more sure of who needed, or wanted to be found, but she could not, so spent the day - in the guise of getting to know her away around her future home - searching the castle for someone, anyone who looked lost or out of place.

She had no idea why it was so important to her, because it had just been a dream after all, but she’d had such dreams before and they had turned out to be insights into a hidden truth or a problem to be solved. Her mother always told her that it was her mind’s way of bringing her perception to the fore; things that she had noticed unconsciously, and which wanted her attention, and not any kind of second sight, or supernatural knowledge. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to ignore it. What if someone else were in trouble, some other poor soul taken from their home and put to work in a place they did not wish to be? Yet the servants - while not exactly happy - did not seem to be in any kind of enforced servitude.

The second morning, when she woke, there was a book resting on the bed beside her pillow. With a frown, she sat up and reached for the tome, pulling it onto her lap and flipping open the cover. Her eyes lit up with delight. The book was of ancient languages; languages older even than her father’s library contained.

Intrigued, she lost herself in the book, only looking up when her maids came in, worrying after her health, since she was still abed. With her nose in the book she allowed them to lead her to her dressing room, dress her and fix her hair. It was in near panic, therefore, that she flicked her head up from the book when they told her that his lordship wished to walk with her in the gardens.

“What? No… I… I can’t, I--”

“My lady, he’s to be your husband,” the oldest of her maids protested.

“And I have no wish to walk,” Belle protested, lifting her head, and tucking the heavy tome under her arm. “Is your lord the kind of man that would force a woman to do something against her will?”

The maids shifted uncomfortably, and so Belle pressed, “Well…? Out with it?”

“It’s just that… well, Lord Gaston is used to getting what he wants,” a maid answered, still fidgeting and all but wringing her hands.

“Then he’ll just have to get unused to it,” Belle declared with a nod, stamping down her own disquiet with determination. Then, she stalked away from the fussing maids, sat down in her drawing room, and opened up the book once more, losing herself to the hours.

“She denied me!”

“Oh, how tragic,” Rumplestiltskin answered Gaston’s roar of anger with the lilting bite of his sarcasm as the man stalked back and forth across the library carpet, blustering with more hot air, presumably, at the Dark One’s lack of response. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

There was an accented lilt to his impish voice, as he waved a hand flamboyantly waiting for the fat-headed ox to turn his irritation and blame to him, as though he had been the cause of Belle’s refusal to meet with the spoiled nobleman. He did not have to wait long.

“You know full well what I want from you, Dark One,” Gaston bellowed. “You will make her come to me, and you will make her mine!”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice lowered to a growl, a mere whisper of danger, as he said, “And I told you that there are things that magic cannot do and as much as you—”

“You forget—” Gaston interrupted, drawing breath against the eruption that was awaiting inside of the Dark One.

“I forget nothing,” he snarled, and dared a small step outside of the shadow in the corner of the room, his fists clenched at his sides and Gaston stiffened as though steel bars were wrapped around him, fighting for balance and for breath. “You may have command over me in this… for the moment, but nothing lasts forever, and the Dark One’s memory is very. Long. Indeed… Dearie.”

For all that she avoided the walk in the garden - though a walk in the garden was something she would dearly have loved, just not with her would-be jailer - there was little she could do to avoid dinner that day, or breakfast the following, and dinner again on the evening of the nest day. She committed, however, to non-commitment, refusing to allow herself to be drawn into speaking by Gaston or any other he brought to the table. She would decide when to engage in conversation and about what, so to Gaston, his father, noblewomen of the kingdom she remained polite, but distant. After each evening, she would respectfully excuse herself and retire to her rooms, dismissing her maids and leaning on her door after she closed it behind them almost with relief.

Only when she was certain she would be undisturbed, would she take out the book from where she had hidden it and continue reading, letting her fascination with the ancient languages; with the arcane tongues, and with Fairy in particular sweep her away to other places; other times.

He missed his wheel and the peace it brought to his unquiet mind. Without it there was nothing to keep his thoughts away, nothing to keep the sight from driving him to the brink of madness with uncertain futures, and knotted strands of would-be possibilities; nothing to keep the memories from returning, all of them. No one came to speak with him after his little demonstration of the folly in attempting to control the Dark One - certainly not Gaston, thank the gods - and the maids that brought the bowls of gruel and cups of water to his shadowy corner were barely there long enough to drop the tray, turn tail and run, lest they catch sight of the ‘evil monster’ in the library.

Neither had Belle succumbed to the natural charm of the book - oh, not magic of any real kind, only that he knew of her love of books, and of her cleverness and worldly knowledge. It was a marvel, he thought, just what one could glean from an oh-so-willing supplicant as Gaston. He growled then in remembrance of the infernal interference that had disadvantaged him and left him in his current predicament. Trapped in the shadows, to do the bidding of the greedy, errant lordling.

Damn her hide! His thoughts turned from Belle to the one responsible for it all, though as angry as he was, he couldn’t complain too much, because it seemed he was managing to turn matters to his advantage - find the loopholes, and lay the ground for the future. Still, damn her hide for her annoying interference.

Curling up into the most lightless part of the room he let go of his hard won control, and allowed himself to see…

The fall of a cup - the snip of scissors at the stem of a rose - the spinning of a wheel - mirrors… mirrors everywhere… a woven basket full of child and a dark night road - a warm burning fire in a stone hearth - the gentle brush of fingers through his hair.

“Um… hello?”

Rumplestiltskin startled out of his trance, spun on the spot even as he uncurled from the fetal ball into which he had curled himself, and dared to begin to unwind as the voice came again.

“Hello?”

Belle though she heard a sob followed by a soft moan as she crept into the library… find me… the words, half remembered now, filtered through her mind. Why hadn’t she thought to look there, in the library. She had looked everywhere else. She sensed movement from the corner of the room, where the light held little sway, and moved slowly toward the darkened space, half afraid that she would frighten whomever was there, and half afraid for herself; for what she might find there.

“Are you all right?” she called out softly as she approached.

“All right…” the echo came from the corner she approached, softly sing-song and accented strangely, almost crooning. “Yes, yes… quite all right.”

She stopped a little way away from the speaker, peering into the shadow to make out the shape - a wiry little man, from what she could see, which wasn’t much. It seemed as if the light shied away from him, or the darkness gathered to cloak him from sight.

“Was it—?” Belle started to ask, but then stopped herself.

“Go on,” the man prompted. “You can ask.” Then, with a chuckle, added, “I won’t bite, Dearie.”

Belle did - her lip anyway, drawing it between her teeth as she tried to work out anything she could about the person to whom she was speaking, and longing but not daring to ask who he was. Instead she finished the question that seemed the most important in her mind.

“Was it you that brought me the book?”

“Brought it? Brought it, no, but…” he giggle softly, and there was a sound as though he were clapping his hands, “but sent it. Sent it, yes. Clever girl. Clever, clever girl. Found me out, you did.”

Belle joined him, chuckling a little as he let out a sound of pure mirth, but as the laughter faded, founder herself asking, “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed, as though the question confused him, and in a shifting accent, and with a shuffled half step forward until she could see him more clearly than a mere silhouette, answered with a flourish of his arms, “Because I wanted you to read it, of course!”

“But,” Belle faltered, surprised, and then asked, “Why?”

“Because.” He answered, sounding rather peevish.

“Because what?” Belle pressed in spite of his apparent annoyance with her questions. “And who are you? And why are you hiding in the shadows?”

“What, who… why?” he repeated. “So many question. Questions, questions, questions. Why do you want to know?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped, her answer hanging in the air between then like a tangible thing; a cord ready to bind them. She remembered the voice she had heard in her head, the ending of her dream, and she held her breath as she and the strange little man spoke together.

“Because…”

“Yes…?”

“…you said to find you… and… and I… want to know you.”

Even as she answered, she surprised herself to discover that it was true. She did want to know this strange man who had sent her such a wonderful book to read; who seemed so strange, with behavior so bizarre and yet, even in the short amount of time she had spent with him - mere minutes - was strangely enticing.

He let out his impish little giggle, accompanied by the light sound of his clapping hands, and she heard the shuffle of feet and the silhouette in the darkness moved toward the light.

“Want to know me, hmmm?” he crooned, “The monster that lives in the dark. The beast.”

Belle gasped as the man stepped into the dim light at the edge of the shadow, one step… then two… to stand before her. Her head tipped in curiosity, taking in his strangely snakelike gold-flecked skin, his wavy hair; blackened teeth and nails, and golden eyes that held all the menace and darkness the world possessed. She saw, though, that they also held sadness, sadness and hope and longing. Compassion flooded her heart.

He held his breath as he stepped into towards light, almost faltered at her gasp, but took several, almost free steps into the room, no longer confined to the deepest dark - no longer in pain from the light. He held very still as her small hand reached out, steadily, to touch the skin of his cheek with her fingertips. His eyes closed. Never… never had he been touched like that, her fingers like feathers against his skin. Warm… welcome…

“Hardly a monster,” she said, and her voice was soft and filled with a kind of curious wonder as her fingers tentatively moved from his skin to take a strand of his hair between her fingers, as though feeling its softness.

He allowed it as long as he could stand, before the fingers of his own hand curled around her wrist, lifting her hand away from touching him, feeling the absence of her touch almost immediately.

“Oh, but I can be, Dearie,” he answered in a low, rumbling tone, and felt her shiver; watched as her skin pebbled with tiny goose bumps, and took a breath, his own responding as he felt the bonds of his geas beginning to loosen. If only…

“You sent me the book,” she whispered, and he tipped his head to the side, curious as to where she was going with the thought. “Why? Are there others?”

He chuckled. He knew full well what she meant, but wasn’t ready to test her yet - to really, truly test her. He was almost too afraid to be disappointed.

“This is a library,” he said as he let go of her and spread his arms, turning around in a circle. “What do you think?”

“You know what I meant!” she accused softly, and he took in a deeper breath and dropping all pretense at playfulness looked her deeply in the eyes answered her softly.

“Many, and I can let you see them, if…”

“If?” she questioned, and, he noted, shifting a little uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.

He leaned toward her then, almost nose to nose, and said softly, “If you’ll agree to visit with me… just a little time each day.”

“Agree, I…” she moistened her lip with a furtive sweep of her tongue, causing him to pull back; to fuss with his lace cravat for a moment, his eyes downcast. His heart lurched, fearing she’d turn him down; that the curse under which he was trapped in the darkest corner of Lord Legume’s castle would never be broken. Yet, when she began again, it was relief that flowed through him as he let his eyes rove over the dusty and neglected titles lying abandoned on even dustier shelves. That a place of learning such as this should be as neglected as it was in a castle full of thick headed lummoxes who were trying to attract the daughter of such an educated woman as Collette of Avonlea - in spite of such a matching attitude in her father - was not lost on him.

“Agree? I’d be delighted!” Belle said, and he looked up to find himself as trapped as he was by the geas set upon him, by the brightness of her beautiful smile. He remembered himself moments later, and flustered stepped away a little, for a time not even realizing that he had almost been standing in the light, and turned, almost dancing in circles with the sheer joy of her response, until her musical giggle reached his ears and he stopped.

“What?” he asked, as if bemused.

“For a moment there I thought I’d done something wrong, with the way you were staring at me,” she said, “but now…?”

She gestured at him in a way, he realized, that was meant to convey his expression of happiness.

“Yes, well,” he said as archly as he could, “Don’t get used to it, Dearie. I’m very serious. Yes, as serious as they come, now…” he wrinkled his nose, tipped his head to one side and asked, “Where were we?”

“You had just agreed to let me see the other books, like the one you sent to me, if I will visit with you daily,” she reminded him. “And I said I’d like that.”

He let out another gleeful giggle and clapped his hands together soundlessly.

“So,” she went on, “when do we begin?”

“Such eagerness,” he purred. “So very keen.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” she said earnestly, then he saw her frown as his expression became serious once more.

“Oh, but alas,” he began, “you must go and prepare for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Her frown deepened.

“Yes,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “With the young lord.”

“With Gaston?” she said, her voice high in pitch.

“Yes. You were, after all, invited, were you not?”

“Demanded, more like,” she snapped and began pacing back and for in front of him, throwing the occasional look of angry disparagement in his direction before she added, “And I have no desire to attend him. I already told him that. Several times!”

“Oh, I know all that,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice reflecting his lazy boredom with the lord of the castle’s desires and demands. “But, just for the sake of argument, what if one little dinner with him meant that you could spend… longer in the library - undisturbed?”

“Really?” she asked, and he could hear the hopeful excitement in her voice.

“I can make sure of it,” he told her in a singsong voice, gesturing wildly with a hand held up, finger pointed to the ceiling as though the source of all their woes were above, the other arm across his chest. She stopped pacing and stepped into the edge of the shadow, and reached out to grasp his arm in excitement.

“You’re absolutely sure he’ll leave me alone?”

“Yes,” he hissed the words between his teeth. He was certain, because if the young lordling didn’t…? The threat was silent, and only in his head, but while he might be confined to the shadowy corner of the library, his magic was not. He did so love a good loophole.

“All right then,” she said, and began to turn away, but he caught her arm to hold her in place

Leaning close then, he murmured softly against the shell of her ear, “But let’s make this our little secret…” He felt her shiver again, before she nodded, and then he let her turn and walk away, and he retreated to his shadowy corner, humming quietly to himself.

Belle was awake almost with the cock crow the following morning. Dinner had been a dull and dreary occasion - boring, filled with talk of hunting and martial prowess, and not at all the deep and engaging conversation for which she longed. She rose and dressed quickly, almost before her maids had arrived. Now that she had found the library, and the strange little man with his promise of ancient texts, she was anxious to get there, spend time there; read the books he promised.

As soon as she was able, she hurried to the room and let herself in. There, she stopped suddenly and drew in a breath of surprise, wondering for several moments whether she had found her way to the wrong room. Gone was the dust, and the dank dreary darkness - all apart from the furthest corner; the one that hid the strange little man, but otherwise the drapes were open, there was a fire in the hearth to take away the chill in the air, and on a table near to the fireplace was set a silver tea service, and a plate with fruit and cheese, bread and honey.

“No need to stand on ceremony.” His voice came out of the shadows as it had the day before. “You’re letting in a draught.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, came into the room and closed the door behind her. Turning back to address the shadow, she asked, “There. Better?”

“Much,” he answered. “Now come. Eat your breakfast, and take some tea.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?” she accused softly, though in a tone of amusement.

“I thought you wanted to read these books of mine,” he said.

“I do,” she said, and crossed to the chair beside the little table, and began to pour herself some tea. “But that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Dearie.”

Before she sat, she turned the chair so that she could see the dark shadows in the corner of the room, and if she peered hard enough, could just about see the shape of the man within. She searched the tray for a second cup and finding none, frowned.

“Won’t you join me?” she asked.

“Can’t,” he barked.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he repeated.

“Whyever not?” she frowned in confusion and picked up a piece of cheese to nibble at, and a single round grape.

“Too much light.”

Belle frowned. “But yesterday you left your dark corner.”

“It was sunset,” he reminded her, and she heard a hint of sarcasm, before he declared, overly dramatic, “Not much light then.”

She harrumphed, and set down her tea, starting to cross the room towards the window as she said, “Then we’ll make some shadow, because if I’m going to spend any length of time with you, I won’t be talking to a corner of the room.”

She heard him giggle his strange little sound that made her smile without her ever intending to, and as soon as she reached the window she took hold of the drapes closest to his shadowed little corner, and tugged them closed, extending the shadow from the corner, out past the little table where the tea and the food sat awaiting her attention.

“Now,” she said, turning to face into the corner and gesturing to the shadowed table. “It’s no lighter than it was yesterday afternoon, so please, come and take tea with me.”

His giggle dissolved into the beginnings of a first word as he spoke. “I’d be delighted,” he said, echoing her words of the day before, and she returned to her place by the fire and, with barely concealed surprise, turned a second cup, which had not been there before, right-side-up and poured him a cup of tea as he shuffled closer.

He watched her curiously out of the corner of his eye, sipping his tea from the china cup, his little finger extended and straight, playful and yet serious, both at the same time. The closed drape provided just the right amount of shadow to allow him to extend his freedom almost the entire first third of the room, and in her presence he began to feel the effects of his confinement waning. Setting down his cup, he rose once more from the seat he had taken and stalked around his new demesne while Belle finished her breakfast and then daintily wiped her hands clean on a soft cotton cloth.

She turned first one way, and then another as if to find him, and he leaned down, around the high back of the chair to murmur almost into her ear as she looked the opposite way.

“Still here, Dearie,” he teased. “So, ready to begin?”

“Quite ready,” she said, a little breathlessly from where he’d startled her.

“Then let’s try…” he trailed off, miming as though he were searching through an unseen bookshelf and then suddenly made a face of great excitement, speaking more to himself than to Belle as he said, “Oh, yes! This one. You’ll like this one, I’m sure of it.”

From out of thin air in a drift of purple smoke, a large, thick tome appeared in his hands, drawing a gasp of surprise from Belle, and with a brief caress to the book’s deep brown cover, he opened it, and set it almost tenderly into Belle’s lap.

“So, you’re a sorcerer then?” she asked.

“Of a sort,” he said, and then before she could ask further of him added, almost crooning, “Take your time. I think you’ll find this one is full of surprises.”

He practically sang the last three words, then moved away to watch as Belle ran the caress of her eyes over the pages of the book, sometimes flicking back and forth between pages, but always with a look of wonder on her face.

He mused that it might not take as long as he had feared to find his freedom with her help, and found he had mixed feelings. On the one hand he could not stand being confined in this rotten place; locked in the only place in the entire castle where none of the muscle-bounds idiots ever came, unless of course they wanted something from him, and he longed for his freedom. Not only did he want to get away and back to his own Dark Castle, but he also wanted to show that annoying little gnat just how foolish she had been to act against the Dark One; how futile and dangerous her actions. On the other hand, even as little time as they had spent together so far, he enjoyed Belle’s company and now, too, enjoyed watching the expression of sheer joy upon her face as she read. It was also that joy that he must capture, to release the first strand of the geas that bound him. The impossible trinity of joy, sorrow, and trust; with the fourth and most impossible of them all - acceptance.

Each day she came, they did the same; danced the same, metaphorical dance, but he felt himself drawn closer to her somehow, and sensed the same in her. She would come in, and even before sitting down to take tea she closed the drape closes to his corner and teased, with some soft phrase or another, then head to the table where the tea was set beside her breakfast of bread and honey, fruit and cheese. The ritual of it, the happiness with which she entered the library and did all of those things was beginning to rub off on him.

The last day of the week dawned, and he found himself watching as the edge of sunlight crept closer and nearer to his shadowed corner, and he held his breath, not in anticipation of the pain the light brought him, but of the happiness he would feel the moment Belle came into the library.

Not a moment beyond the time he anticipated, the library door opened, and he heard her rapid footsteps heading toward the window as always, to close the drapes. They were half way shut, her hand grasping the heavy fabric once more, ready to pull it the rest of the way, when he finally called out, “Wait!”

She stopped at once and turned to face him in his not-quite-so-dark corner, and gave him a frown that was heavy with concern.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he answered calmly, though in a soft sing-song voice. “It’s just… I think that will be enough for today. No need to close it all the way.”

“But I…” she faltered, then began again. “I though you said the light hurt you.”

“I did,” he said. “It did.”

“Then—” she grasped the curtain again, meaning to pull it closed.

“But not now, see?” he stepped forward into the better lit, though still dimly shadowed part of the room beyond his darkest of dark corners. “I think you cured me of that.”

“What?” she asked, but he could feel the breathless hope trembling in her. “How?”

“Quite simple really, Belle,” he said “Seeing your happiness at reading my books is… freeing me from my shadows.”

A bolt of almost pure joy ran through her like lightning at his words, and before she knew what she was doing, she had crossed the space between the curtain and where he stood and threw her arms around his shoulders. She hugged him tightly, oblivious to his sudden awkwardness until the soft pat pat pat of his touch fell hesitantly on her back.

She drew back, though she still held on to his elbows.

“Oh,” she said, her face beaming with joy, “this is wonderful!”

He chuckled, and she laughed with him, and then taking his hand she tugged him toward the table so they could share their morning tea.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” he said as she steered him toward a chair and reached for the tea pot.

She glanced up at him then, taking in the site of his burnished skin, with his green-gold scales that so fascinated her. They caught her attention even more now that she could see him in the better light. She shook her head.

“I’ve had a lifetime of being served, and frankly I’ve had enough of it. It’s little enough I can do for all the joy you’ve given to me in letting me read your books. A small price to pay.”

She handed him his tea, and he accepted it with a chuckle and said darkly dramatic, “You might feel differently if ya knew who it was ya served.”

She sat back, her own tea balanced against her thigh as she asked, “Why? Who are you anyway?”

He frowned, and then spent very many minutes looking at her as though he thought she’d lost her mind.

“You really don’t know?” he asked, and tipped his head to the side.

“Don’t know, and don’t care,” she answered in a clipped tone, before taking a sip of her tea. “Though it might make it easier to know what to call you.”

She met his golden eyes as he appeared to study her, as if weighing up however she might react to the revelation of his name. Eventually he broke their gaze and took a sip from the teacup he held in his hands, and said softly, “You may call me… Rumplestiltskin.”

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered softly once, and again, the sound of it, the syllables making light dance behind her suddenly closed eyes.

“Careful, Dearie,” he teased, and she started, opening her eyes again, and giving him an apologetic smile as he said, “Too much of a good thing…”

He studied the blush that rose in her cheeks at his admonition, found it endearing, and surprised he studied her more deeply, allowing hope to flare in his chest. Could it be possible? Dare he try? Sharing her joy with him was easy; easy for them both, for what man wouldn’t want to bring joy to a beautiful woman? But sorrow after such joy - how could he ever earn her trust with such hurt?

Still, he had to try.

She sipped her tea, the blush alive on her cheeks, watching him and he could see a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, and she set down her teacup.

“May I ask you a question, Rumplestiltskin?”

“Oh, you can always ask,” he sang in answer, burying his thoughts of moments before in the necessity of the present; of having to forge this bond between them, even knowing what he would have to do in the end.

“Yes, but would you answer truthfully if I asked?”

“Well that’s the question, isn’t it?” He tipped his head. “Will the beast answer true, and if he says no he won’t, or yes he will, is he true in his answer?”

“You’re trying to confuse me,” she told him, though she smiled as she spoke, “And you’re not a beast.”

“Oh, but I am.” He rose from his seat, circling around behind hers, reaching over the ornate backrest to settle his hands on her shoulders. “All this time you’ve been coming, all the books I’ve shared, all this time we’ve spent together, and for what…?”

“Because it’s what I wanted,” she interjected even as he went on.

“…to take your joy and make it my own…”

“We shared.”

“…and now—” he stopped suddenly, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘we shared’?”

“We were both happy. So we shared the feeling.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but any retort he might have made dissolved in her gaze as she turned beneath his touch, because he knew she was right.

“We… did.” He said, coming around the side of the chair to perch on the footstool by her feet. He dared. He had to dare. “Would you… would you read something to me?”

Belle blinked, surprise showing on her face. “You… want me to read to you?” she asked, her voice echoing that surprise.

“Yes.”

“One of your books?”

“Yes.”

“Another about magic?”

“No,” he said, “Not this one. This one is a story of many years in the lives of its protagonists. It tells of their love. It tells of their loss; their attempts to find one another… through time.”

“If you know what’s in the tale, why do you want me to read it to you?” she asked, obviously curious.

Hesitantly, he reached out to take her soft fingers into his hand, expecting she would pull away. She did not, though the blush returned to her cheeks, even as she leaned a little closer to him, her expression concentration, her eyes roving his face.

“Because… I know the tale, but not the book,” he said, lowering his voice with each word he spoke, and she leaned closer. “And… I don’t know another that could read it to me. Not… the way… I need.”

He reached out with the fingertips of his other hand to caress her soft, pink cheek; held his breath lest she pull away, but again she did not. Instead, she caught his hand beneath hers, leaned in to his touch, so close their foreheads were almost together.

“I will read your book,” she said, her voice almost as quiet as his whisper had been, “if… you will promise to answer my question truthfully.”

“But how do I know, if I don’t know the question?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?” she said, “Your story for my question.”

Belle didn’t know from where the impulse came to trap his hand, to lean so close, to breathe him in, but she could not stop herself; didn’t want to. She found that she felt more for this strange little man after only a week than she thought she could ever feel for Gaston. He clearly respected her for her mind. He indulged her curiosity; allowed her to read his strange and wonderful books, and conversed with her on many topics, rather than dismiss her as a woman. It set a strange and lonely ache inside of her. She held her breath as she watched him obviously considering her words.

Finally, he closed that narrow gap between their heads, his eyes meeting hers as he said, soft and low, “Deal.”

They seemed frozen in time, held in the moment, until in a swirl of wild purple, like the deepest of hillside heathers, she suddenly felt the weight of a book in her lap, and Rumplestiltskin slowly pulled away.

“Ask your question.”

“You are a sorcerer…”

“Not a question.”

“…So, how come you were trapped here, in the dark corner?”

“Ah, that,” he said, and pressed his fingertips together, watching her watch him as she waited for his answer and she could almost see the thoughts whirling around behind his eyes. “I lost my temper, and made a foolish mistake. One that I shall not make again, I assure you.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said with a sigh.

“Then you should have asked the right question,” he answered, but with such a silly expression on his face that she couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“All right, you trickster,” she shook her head, hoping that her tone took the sting from her name calling, “but I will get it out of you.”

“All in good time, Dearie. All in good time,” he teased, and then pointed to the book. “Now read.”

Chuckling, and still shaking her head, she opened the book, and translating the ancient tome as she read, began the tale.

It was a labor of many, many days, but not one that she minded. At first, they kept their place beside the fire. Sometimes as she read, they would share tea, and sit across the small table from one another, and after those first few, uncertain days, he returned to the place he had taken before the story began, perched childlike on the footstool at her feet, gazing up at her in rapt concentration.

As more time passed, as he sat at her feet, he began to close his eyes, resting his folded arms atop her skirts and rested his head there on his arms. It startled her at first, but only for a moment. Afterwards, she took comfort in the weight of his head on her knees, for the tale took a dark and lonely turn, and his nearness helped to keep the sorrow from overtaking her, at least for a time.

And then the first of her tears fell.

It was unexpected. It wasn’t even one of the passages that held as much sadness as some of the others she had read and yet, without warning, a word, or a sentence, maybe even the sense of the passage struck like a knife to the heart. Her voice cracked, heat flooded her eyes, and her breath hitched in her chest, Without the shadow of a doubt she knew - somehow she just knew - that her mother’s time was coming to an end. With her there, with Gaston and his family rather than at home, she would never see her mother again.

One moment he was resting, lost in the story, at relative peace. His arms were on her knees, his head resting on his arms, and though he was certain she hadn’t yet realized what she was doing, her fingertips brushed softly at the edge of his wild, curly hair. It brought him comfort; let him forget that he was the Dark One, and all the things that he had done; had had little choice but to do anything else. Her quiet voice and gentle touch was like his wheel. He lost himself in the touch much as he had in the story. The next moment, the peace dissolved and a torrent of sudden grief swept through him, over him, so hard and fast that he couldn’t breathe.

It was the splash of her tear on the back of one hand that made him remember himself, and he sat up, as suddenly as the emotion had come. It still came, relentless. It kindled in him the memory, the sure and certain knowledge of himself as an orphan, a lost and lonely, abandoned child, and tears rose unshed in his own eyes, as he met the brimming blue that overflowed onto Belle’s suddenly pale cheeks.

“Belle, my Belle,” he murmured without thought, and reached out to cup her cheeks as gently as he would a small bird. “Whatever is it? Whatever’s wrong…?

“She’s dying,” she wept. “She’s going to die… m-mother…!”

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered softly, and barely had the presence of mind to catch her when she threw herself from the chair and into his arms. He cradled her close; ran his fingers into her hair to guide her head to rest on his shoulder. His own captive tears found freedom and a track over his cheeks as he whispered, “Everything ends… we were all born to die.” She sobbed against him at his words. “Cold comfort, or none at all, I’m sure, but your mother,” he drew her back until he could look into her eyes, and she to his, “…she loves you, and has loved you since first she knew of you. She gave you everything, everything you need to guide you through your life to come, and it will serve you well.”

“Rumple…” her voice hitched in a sob, mid word, “…stiltskin…”

“Hush now, Belle… and rest…”

He wiped away her tears, and slowly fluttered his fingers in front of her face, trailing gentle magic… soothing magic, as she relaxed her desperate grasp on him, and slipped quietly into sleep. He lifted her then, carried her across the room to the chaise lounge in the lee of the window, set her down and tenderly covered her with a blanket he conjured from the air. Then he lifted one of her hands to plant a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“Forgive me, sweetheart. I didn’t want to make you see. I didn’t want to be the cause of this for you.”

He retreated to the chairs by the fire, turned one of them so that he could watch over her from afar, brooding over all of those who suffered at the hands and spells of those so-called guardians of all that was light and good. It was only as the sun that had begun its descent toward night when everything had begun had fully set, that he realized with growing wonder, trembling with badly contained excitement at the realization, that she had shared her sorrow with him, that he had felt it… shared her joy, and now her sorrow too.

When Belle awoke, it was still night. The candles in the library had burned down low, but the fire remained warm in the hearth, and before it, sat silent and unmoving, Rumplestiltskin gazed her way. Her guardian. She sat up slowly, keeping the blanket around her shoulders as she stood and approached him. This time it was her turn to sit at his feet. To lower herself to the footstool and look up at him, still unmoving as though lost in meditation. She laid her hands on his knees and softly called his name, and only then he blinked and turned his face, and a confused smile, her way.

“Belle,” he said softly, “You woke.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Just now. You… you watched over me.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I brought this on you, Belle. All this sorrow and fear.”

“No,” she murmured. “The world brought this upon me… and upon you.”

He reached out to cup her cheek, and she leaned freely into his touch as he shook his head in wonder, his gold-flecked thumb idly and tenderly caressing her soft skin.

“How can you trust me,” he asked, “after all I have put you through; taken from you?”

“Shared with me,” she corrected him. “Rumplestiltskin, don’t you know? You have and always have had my trust.”

She felt him stiffen then, just slightly, and only for a moment, before his other hand came up to cup the other side of her face and draw her closer to press a firm but gentle kiss to the middle of her forehead.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed against the damp spot before he pulled back and she could see him again. She reached up to trace the pattern of gold scales on his cheek as he continued, “My dear young woman, you cannot know what a gift you have given me with those words. To be trusted, knowing who I am and what I have done - even if you do not know - is beyond words that I can find to say. And all of this you have given freely.”

“What other way is there to give it?” she asked, confused as she sat back down on the stool and took his hands in hers, caressing his skin, soft in spite of the scales, as she asked, “To be confined within a gilded cage such as this one, and expected to give it?”

“No,” he said, “Not that… never that.”

“But tell me,” she craved, “I asked you once, and you gave me an answer that was no answer at all. Tell me true, my Rumplestiltskin, what happened that you were confined here, in the shadows, in the dark?”

“A long and sorry tale, of a boy abandoned by his father as a child, betrayed by his wife, and tricked into taking a path he did not truly understand in order to save his son, who was then lost to him through the interference of a fairy,” he said sadly.

“So you are the Dark One,” she breathed as all the pieces of her reading fell into place and she recognized the bones of his tale from what she understood of the powerful and most feared sorcerer in all the realms.

“Yes,” he admitted, and released her hands, taking a breath, which hitched as though he expected her to run.

She frowned softly, and reached out to take his hands again, wanting to show him that it made not one breath of a difference to her who he was. To her he was a man; a man that had shown her nothing but kindness and empathy, and if that was the worse the Dark One was to be to her, then she would accept him with all her heart and soul. He deserved better.

“What did she do to you?” she asked softly. “You said you were foolish, lost your temper. What happened?”

And so she listened as he told her the tale of how the Blue Fairy had given his son a magic bean; of a promise he made, and a promise he broke to the boy he loved more than anything in all the worlds, and how, because of that, and because of the interference of the fairy, with her bean, how he had lost his son - perhaps forever, though she sensed in him that he would never stop searching for his Baelfire.

Rumplestiltskin felt the final bonds break fast, one after the other as she spoke of her trust for him, and when she then reached out to take his hands in hers as he released her, after confessing his identity to her.

She didn’t care.

She accepted him for who he was.

Acceptance, the final key.

“I know you’ll find him,” she said softly, rising to her feet, as he came to his own, and tenderly took her in his arms.

“Yes,” he said simply, trying not to let himself be overcome with sorrow. He would like nothing more than to keep her light in his life now that he was free, but he could not - would not - confine her in a place she did not wish to be, and he expected she would not wish to be in his Dark Castle any more than she wanted to be where she was then, with Lord Gaston in the cage the lordling had gilded for her. He made a promise to himself though, there and then, that if what Belle had seen, as he tricked her into reading the enchanted Book of Sorrow, came to pass as she feared it would, then he would somehow save her from an obviously uncaring world, and from those who did not deserve her.

“Yes,” he repeated, “And now you must go.”

“Go?” she asked, confusion in her tone.

“Yes, go,” he said. “Go home from here, to the mother that loves you… and you must forget.”

“Forget? Forget you? I don’t understand.”

“Yes,” he said again, “Forget.”

He cupped her face again then in his hands, and before she could respond, stole for himself a single brief moment. He pressed his lips to hers, and after but a heartbeat felt hers soften beneath the press of his, part to admit him, and he moaned as their tongues caressed, sharing breath, even as the deep purple swirl of his magic began to spiral up to surround her, to take her memories of her time at Castle Legume, her memories of him, and all the fears that she had confessed, and then to spirit her away.

It was a harder and longer task to steal the memories of all the people in the castle just the same, but by morning he was done, and as the first rays of sun lit the path to the forest, he closed the doors to the castle behind him and set off for his home, casting his magic mid stride, and setting a watch-ward over the kingdom of Avonlea.

He need not have.

Barely a year later, a message came to him from Avonlea. The Ogre Wars had flared again and the kingdom was under attack. He gathered all that he could to understand what had driven them to war again after the price of their survival in the first Ogre Wars had been that they leave human kingdoms alone, and through following a certain magical thread to to the Mirror of Souls, he found his answer.

He could not blame the Ogres.

Magic took him to the castle of Maurice of Avonlea as flawlessly as it always did, but it wasn’t enough, not then. He had to make an impression - an entrance - to be sure the memories he had taken from Belle had not returned, that any decision she would make would be her own, and not based upon what had grown between then as she had unbound him from the Blue Fairy’s geas.

He sent a magical knock to sound upon the doors, while appearing behind all in the room, occupying none other than Lord Maurice’s throne. She was clinging to her father’s arm, dressed in a glowing golden gown. The color suited her. Like the sun.

“Well that was a bit of a let-down.”

They turned to face him, and while he tried to keep his eyes on the men in the room, he could not help but take in the sight of Belle and the way she was looking at him, in cautious curiosity, but with no hint of recognition in her eyes.

“You sent me a message,” he went on as the great lummox Gaston approached him with a naked sword. He smothered his rising temper in feigned boredom. “Something about um… ‘Help, help! We’re dying. Can you save us?’ Well the answer is…” He rose to his feet and slapped Gaston’s weapon down, giving the man a wicked glance for barely a second, before he added, “Yes, I can. I can protect your little town… for a price.”

He circled the room, coming finally to stand, finger extended and pointing at Maurice as the robed elder walked quickly his way.

“We sent you a promise of gold,” Maurice said urgently.

“Ah,” he purred, “Now you see um… I um… make gold?” he spread his hands, as though to mime the fall of gold from his open hands, shifting his gaze among those gathered in the room, flicking his gaze back and forth between the men and Belle. His heart began to beat a little more quickly as she still showed no sign of recognition, no foreknowledge whatsoever.

“What I want,” he kept his voice low, looking to Maurice again, “is something a bit more… special.” He kept his eyes fixed on the Lord of Avonlea, while pointing flawlessly over Marice’s shoulder as he finished, “My price… is her.”

She frowned, and the fool Gaston pressed an arm across her body as if trying to push her behind him.

“No,” Marice refused him.

“The young lady is engaged,” Gaston added. “To me.”

Feigning incredulity, Rumplestiltskin gestured grandly and in high pitched astonishment at Gaston’s idiocy said, “I wasn’t asking if she was engaged. I’m not looking for… love.” He was thankful his back was to all of them in that moment, not wanting to see their expressions while he gathered himself. “I’m looking for a caretaker,” he continued, turning back to them. His eyes on Belle, remembering what she had said to him about being tired of being served her whole life. “For my rather large… estate.”

Still gesturing grandly, now trying hard to jog anything within Belle that would cause her to remember him - to be sure of her own free will, he pointed and said, “It’s her… or no deal.”

“Get out,” Maurice ordered, growling after pointing at the open doorway, “Leave!”

Inwardly, Rumplestiltskin growled as Gaston pushed Belle out of the way, behind himself, and Belle quite obviously objected to his manhandling her.

“As you wish,” he said calmly, slowly walking between them all and feeling her eyes on him.

“No, wait!” she finally spoke, and he smiled, and turned back to her. In the back of his mind knowing that he couldn’t have simply walked away and left her there even if she had said nothing; even if the rest of Avonlea was to be razed to the ground, her would save her. She extricated herself from Gaston’s restraint, and approached him, frowning but fearless. She looked him up and down, and then said firmly, “I will go with him.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his heart soar, and he let out a sound of delight, clapping his hands together in glee.

“I forbid it!” Gaston exclaimed, while her father gasped her name, but Belle turned to them, like the determined young and beautiful woman he knew her to be.

“No one decides my fate but me,” she said. “I shall go.”

“It’s forever, Dearie,” he warned her, pointed joined fingers in her direction.

“My family, my friends, they will all live?” she demanded.

“You have my word,” he told her softly, and with a bow.

“Then you have mine,” she said. “I will go… with you… forever.”

#rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #amr #enchanted forest #non-cannon #cannon compliant #it makes sense honest #curse

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