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littlesimps · 3 years

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AYO ITS ME I FIGURED IT OUT AND I FIGURED THE ANONYMOUS THING OUT TOO LMAOOOOOO

So, first of all foolish but like obviously you need some backstory SO maybe the reader and foolish could be friends yaknow and like they do friend things and they could yaknow have a moment

BRUahHsjjjdjsjz

Your wish is my command. (:

<Warning> A little Angst

>Oneshot<

FoolishG x Fem! Reader

“Scared to lose you”

Third POV

As usual, war goes on, betrayals happen, and people simply minding their own business and trying to step down or just joining in on it all.

(Y/n) didn’t pick any sides, the one thing she last thing she wanted to deal with is death and it’s blaming. She knew if she ever got caught up in the middle of it, she’ll get strikes hard with pain. Mentally or Physically. Now, (Y/n) may seem alone if she doesn’t join into the war and such. But, she does have a certain friend she always visits every now and then. Which is Foolish himself, a person who’s a Totem of Undying. Being friends with the god for the past few years, before they both even joined the Dream Smp lands.

Walking down to the desert Foolish lived in, she started pondering in her thoughts.

'Wonder how he’s been doing..' (Y/n) stares at the ground ahead of her, thoughts wondering from one thing to another. He’s been a bit annoyed lately, due to Bad and his so called “Eggpire” coming after Foolish about some egg. She’s glad that Foolish was alright and she, herself avoided Bad after hearing about him acting odd for some time. Something about red vines spreading and the egg. It worried her a little, but she shrugged it off and wandered her thought to another thought. 'He’s been acting upset lately after what Bad said something to him..' (Y/n) recalled back to Foolish explaining what happened after she came to visit Foolish when Bad and his group left. She knew Foolish was gonna have to talk to her about it instead of just not talking about it.

Snapping back into reality, (Y/n) spots the familiar god on one of his knees, rummaging through his chest.

He wore his usual white shirt, and white pants tied with a rope to keep his pants up. His golden skin shining a little in the sun as it was littered with dark spots from him also being part shark. Foolish cheeks were littered with more dark spots to over the bride of his nose. His brown hair hidden under a shark hood (Y/n) made for him, giving it as a gift for being given a stack of enderpearls she needed by him one time.

(Y/n) soon stops admiring him once Foolish turns his head towards her, standing up and walking over to her in his smaller form.

“(Y/n)! It’s great to see you again.” Foolish smiled, but the joy that was coming from his mouth never reached his eyes. (Y/n) frowned for a split second before grinning up at the man.

“I’d say the same thing to you too, Foolish.” (Y/n) chuckled, putting her hands on both her hips.

“So, what brings you here?” Foolish questioned, tilting his head a little to the side. The corner of (Y/n) mouth twitched upwards a bit more before it stopped once she remember what she was gonna talk to him about. Not wanting to ruin the mood so quick, she offers him for a walk, in which he accepts without hesitation.

Both of the two walk around, passing old buildings and new buildings that were created by their friends. Few were destroyed big or small, others were rebuilt much better or just the same.

The duo fell into a calm silence, walking on the prime path.

(Y/n) couldn’t help their thoughts wonder, their (e/c), eye’s lowering to where it was pointed to the ground.

She was enjoy this, yet, confusion stirred in her.

She kept noticing Foolish eyes staring down at her for a few times, brushing his hand against hers, and that his large shark tail swayed a bit more faster than usual since the start of the walk.

“(Y/n)?” Foolish voice comes into her ears, waking her up from her confused little thoughts running around her head.

She hums, looking up at Foolish.

He halts, sitting down under the bride and near the water. (Y/n) complies when Foolish pats the ground next to him, sitting down and crossing her legs.

“I know you want to talk to something with me, (Y/n)..” Foolish grin falls down, a small frown taking over his golden face as he looks at (Y/n). (Y/n) stayed silent for a bit, sighing after a minute or two.

She knew that she wasn’t good at hiding certain things from Foolish.

“I’ve noticed that you’ve been upset lately, after what happened between you and Bad.” (Y/n) answers, fiddling with her fingers as she gazes at the water before her. Foolish noted that she always did this whenever she was nervous.

Foolish scooted a little closer to her, watching her relax a little.

“I wanted to ask..” (Y/n) trailed off into a mumble, making Foolish frown dampen a little more. “Wanted to ask what?” He asked, raising a brow just a tad bit as he tilts his head at the woman sat next to him. A sigh draws from (Y/n) mouth before she fully repeats. “I wanted to ask what did Bad also say that made you upset lately?” (Y/n) turns her head to Foolish, making eye contact with his emerald, colored, eyes.

Foolish goes stiff, remembering back to what Bad said to him.

“I..” He tries to utter out his explanation, except Foolish throat felt like a lump was stuck in it as he started to feel emotional. Foolish breaks away from (Y/n) gaze, his eyes being planted to the ground beneath the two of you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Foolish let’s it out quick, changing on what he was gonna say.

Standing up, he starts walking away without a goodbye. Although, (Y/n) wasn’t gonna let him off that easily. Quickly getting rising from the ground, she jogs over to Foolish and stops in front of him, keeping him from walking any further away. “(Y/n)—” He was instantly cut off by the said person. “Foolish. I understand that you don’t wanna talk about it, but it’s gonna get harder if you don’t tell me.” (Y/n) brows knit together, knowing this could’ve happened sense it was normal for him to sometimes try to shrug it off and avoid talking about things he’s upset about. “(Y/n)..you don’t need to know what Bad said. It’s none of your concern.” Foolish glares down at (Y/n), getting annoyed each second that pasts.

“It is my concern. I care about you, Foolish. You mean so much to me and I hate having to see you upset about something for a bit. So please..just let it out to me.” (Y/n) opens her arms to him, awaiting for the golden man to step into her arms and allow her to caress him, afraid to hurt him.

And so did Foolish did, taking a few steps forward and falling into (Y/n) arms. Trying to keep the tears in that pricked his eyes.

Foolish knew he couldn’t keep all his sadness away from her, she saw right through him like how he saw right through her. That’s what he loved about (Y/n). Foolish loves everything about her. He would do anything for her, no matter what. Heck, he would even die for her.

It made him happy that she was here for him.

“Bad..he—he said he was gonna hurt you...if I don’t join them. A-And I got scared, angered, and so many more at the thought of that.” Foolish voice cracked, giving up on keeping the salty tears in and allowing them to roll down his cheeks and onto (Y/n) shoulder.

“I’m scared to lose you...”

She rubbed his back, tangling her other hand in his brunette hair.

He sniffs, his arms tightening a little more around her waist. Wanting to feel closer to her than he already is. His thoughts now walking off to thoughts of her. Thoughts of (Y/n). The woman who’s been friends with him for years, the one he’s started loving for the past few months. The woman who’s always comforting him when he needs it.

Before he knew it, his mouth let out the words he’s always wanted to say to her ever since then.

“I love you, (Y/n)..”

(Y/n) hands stop moving, her body going tense. Foolish immediately realizes his mistake, hastily removing his head from her shoulder. “I-I didn’t—I’m so sorry—I don’t what I was thinking-” Foolish was cut short by a hand gently caressing his tear stained cheek. Slowly, he moves his emerald eyes over to (Y/n).

His body relaxes once he sees soft eyes staring at him, unreadable to know what (Y/n) eyes were showing besides them looking so kind and comforting.

Subconsciously, he leans his head into her hand. His hand leaving his side to caress (Y/n) hand.

“Foolish, don’t be sorry. It’s alright. Everything will be okay..and I love you, too.” (Y/n) beams up at Foolish, making him melt on the inside. He felt his cheeks heat up, he rubs his face into (Y/n) hand. Giving a small peck into her palm. Moving his head out of her hand after a moment of silence, he brings his other hand out, only using it to hold (Y/n) cheek. Foolish leans to her face, pausing to ask for permission. A small chuckle occurs from (Y/n), earning a nod as his only answer. He smiles before making his lips come in contact with hers.

A god being a mortals friend, to having a crush on her, and lastly..to becoming the person she’ll love always.

Hhhhhh man was it a little confusing to try and imagine how this should go, but this went pretty good then I expected tbh. Hope you enjoyed this by the way, dear friend!

#mcyt x you #dream smp x you #foolish x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

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~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat.

Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person.

Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier.

At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse.

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat.

The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing.

Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard.

It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is.

He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff.

“It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

“The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again.

It’ll be a long season.

~~~~

He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented.

Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy.

“Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

“You’re a brilliant cook.”

“Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

“Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.”

“That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.”

He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes.

They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair.

“It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

“Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?”

“Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

“Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

“You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?”

He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

~~~~

Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks.

Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high.

Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away.

He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result.

Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened.

Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves.

They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes.

They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much.

He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard.

“Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free.

She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off.

“Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten.

“Are you--”

“The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright.

“She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

“Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

“Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified.

“No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

“Killian!”

He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?”

“Is it hurting you?”

She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.”

They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks.

He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

“No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.”

He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere.

“I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

“Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.”

“I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.”

In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking.

She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her.

She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded.

Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want.

His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

“I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions.

“Take me. Take what you need, please.”

Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter.

“I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him.

He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

“Emma, fuck.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds.

She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache.

He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another.

Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said.

“You’re okay?” he asks in clarification.

“I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.”

“I’m always here.”

“Then I’m always okay.”

He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.”

With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.”

“Only because I love you very, very much.”

“I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.”

“You’re quite something.”

“Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

“It’s only four thirty.”

She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers.

“Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.”

He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.”

She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?”

He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.”

“When did you get so deep?”

“The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.”

He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else.

She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.”

He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…”

“I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was.

“I know,” he concedes.

“And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know.

“It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.”

There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish.

“They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.”

“Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?”

“Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.”

“I know, I just--”

“And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.”

He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?”

With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

“It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.”

Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him.

“You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.”

“Aye, I know.”

“And you love me more.”

He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.”

“And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly.

“Emma--”

“I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent.

Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things.

“Your life as a child who was, well--”

“An orphan,” she tells him firmly.

“An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug.

His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.”

She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs.

“We are.”

“Are you sure?”

With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.”

She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

“I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her.

“I love you more than everything.”

“Cheeky scoundrel, you are.”

“For you, babe.”

“When did you start calling me babe?”

She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here.

He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family.

~~~~

Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel.

When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was.

Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.”

Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?”

“My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?”

“No,” Leo laughs.

Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?”

“Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!”

“Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!”

“I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.”

“I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface.

“Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.”

Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.”

In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer.

“Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.”

“We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.”

She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back.

David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.”

Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.”

“I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

“We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down.

“We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.”

There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing.

“We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.”

It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him.

“I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.”

She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

~~~~

The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it.

“Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose.

“Hi babe.”

The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

“And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple.

“You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

“Those are my options?”

“Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.”

“Just like I told you.”

“Aye.”

“You should listen to your wife, Jones.”

“I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

“It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater.

“My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves.

“Aye, are you? Are you cold?”

“No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?”

With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.”

“And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice.

“Well, no one messed up my boat.”

She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.”

He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

“I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.”

She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

“Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.”

“Yeah.”

More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

“I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would.

“I love you, too, babe. More than anything.”

He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers.

She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat.

She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves.

Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard.

Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.”

He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.”

She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.”

He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

“Agreed.”

Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect.

The End

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza @captainswan21 @hookedmom @lostintheskyfaraway @undercaffinatednightmare @strangestarlighttree

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #overboard #rising tide #overboard ff #cs ff #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #cs modern au #cs smut #cs angst

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another-fantasy-world · 3 years

Text

Strings Pt. 2

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x Fem!OC

Summary: in which the true queen of vampires found love when she least expected.

Warnings: ...Light Angst? Slowburn and mentions of death,trauma and depression

Timeline: Breaking Dawn - Post-Twilight

Word count: 4, 200 words

!Extra long chapter!

GIF isn’t mine

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The witch couple somehow got Rosalie to agree to their terms, much to her distaste. She still doesn’t know what it is that irks her about the couple, she does not trust them, at all but, she trusts Carlisle. Plus, right now, they have more important matters to attend to.

Various thoughts run through Rosalie’s head, as she stands in the vast snow covered field. She may not show it, but she worries for her adoptive sister as Alice strides through the field handing Aro her hand for him to go through her thoughts and visions.

“Now you know. That’s your future, unless you decide on another course.” Alice states when Aro dropped her hand in shock

Rosalie stands rigid, observing silently as she glares and snarls at their “Royalty”, eyes pitch black. She knows in herself that she would do everything for her family, even if it costs her, her life. She stands there, watching as another hybrid walks into the field, she watches as they question him, She watches as Bella sags slightly in relief knowing that Renesmee is immortal and finally, she smiles knowing that they’ve won as the red-coated vampires blurs into the distance.

Joyous screams of victory rips through the air as she joins her family as they rejoice, happy that they did not have to fight the Volturi today. Together, they walk back to their house where their witnesses say their farewells and leaving.

“We won!” Maggie squeals are she rushed into Rosalie’s arms with Emmett trailing behind her

“Yeah, Yeah. Now I have to suffer an immortal life with the smell of wet dog wafting through the air.” Rosalie smirks

“Hey! I heard that!” Jacob complains

“Tsk. You were supposed to.” She retorts as she walks to Carlisle who was holding Esme in his arms.

But as she was walking, she was suddenly thrown into a void, cold, dark, and starry? She was confused as she looks around, panicking when she couldn’t move.

“What the fuck is going on?!” She tries to move her body but she couldn't, she then feels her body get thrown around like a rag doll.

“This is worse than being forced to ride that death machine. What was is called? Rollie? Roller coaster?” She grumbles in her head as she wills herself to not puke. She didn't even think vampires could still be nauseous.

That went on for what seemed to be hours before she was finally dropped into the ground. Opening her golden eyes, her orbs seemed to hyper focus on the gigantic trees and the creatures that live in it. Her ears then pick up the sound of groaning, turning her head, she sees the rest of her family sprawled all over the forest floor.

“Oh my God! Amore! You didn't have to paralyze them that hard!” Veronica thumps Amore in the head.

“I sincerely apologize for what she has done. We needed to take you far away from Forks, The Volturi Coven changed their minds and decided to ambush you and your witnesses. Fear not, your witnesses have been teleported to their homes safe and sound.” Veronica explains while still glaring at the pouting Amore.

“What was that anyways?” Edward groans as he sits up'

“Teleportation. I needed to paralyze you, that lowers the chance of you losing a limb.” Amore explains while Veronica cast a cloud of blue upon them, seemingly healing their “injuries”

“Cooooool. Can we do it again?” Emmett brightens like a child getting a puppy for the first time.

“No.” They all deadpanned at him making Veronica and Amore chuckle.

“Well, I suggest we get going now, even with our speed, it's still a long way to run.” Veronica dusts herself off as she and Amore help the family up and the still dazed shifters.

“Long way to run where?” Jacob asks, utterly confused.

“To the palace of course.” Veronica smiles

“It's high time you guys meet the Queen.” Amore smirks and winks as she speeds off, followed by Veronica then the Cullens and then the Black Pack.

Anastasia pinched her temples in pure stress, the Cullens were coming to visit and everything was in utter chaos. Mud was smeared all over the walls, broken dishes and glass cluttered the floor as little children run past her, screaming her ears off.

“Lance, darling. Clean this up before I rip someone's head off. Make sure this place is spotless before the guests arrive. Get the pups back to their mothers, the children back to the village and contact Maxine, there's a few shifters accompanying the Cullens. I'll be in my lab.” She orders her personal butler who scrambles around trying to get people to help him.

Anastasia ventures down, down until she reaches her own personal laboratory where she herself develops her own type of blood. She's repulsed by the thought of drinking from a clueless human no matter how annoying they are and disgusted at the thought of killing an innocent animal just so she could satiate her desire of drinking blood. And because of this artificial blood, her eyes slowly turn into the rich dark violet that it is now.

As she works, combining different substances and powders that vary colors, her mind drifts to a certain blonde girl. Anastasia for the life of her, cannot even think of what she would do where she faces the blonde beauty, not when her heart if filled with guilt.

1932 Rochester, New York

Anastasia roamed the streets as she keeps her eyes trained on the single glowing golden string attached to her, amongst the other colors. She was born this way, even when she was just a little human, she could always see strings. Of course her feeble mind at that time didn't understand what it was, but now she could. As a vampire, she practiced and willed her strings to be more color coded, since the mere chaos of tangled strings give her a headache. The strings connected each creature in this world, once you make an acquaintance, a blue string connects the two of you and that soon escalates into different colors, However, one color lets her see soulmates, and that's green, which is why she's now following this glowing gold string to wherever it may go. She was tempted to just yank the string as hard as she could and let the creature on the other side find her but somehow, something was holding her back.

As she walked the streets of New York, head held high, she also ignored the stares that she got while walking. She knew why of course, her Italian clothing much different from the posh American clothing everyone around her has, not to mention she was wearing clothes meant for “men” but she never was the one to abide to gender constructs. She also couldn't, for the life of her, think about what she would do when she meets the creature on the other end of the string. Should she kill it? Should she keep it? Should she protect it? Should she-

Her thoughts were then interrupted when her eyes suddenly tunnel visioned. There 'it' was, the 'creature' on the other end of her string, 'it' was actually a woman. An insanely attractive human, being fawned over by boys as she walks by and she was smiling at the small group girls crowding her. Anastasia could suddenly feel the emotions of the said woman: Happiness, Pride, and a little twinge of loneliness and sadness. Anastasia's heart (despite being half-dead) tightened in her chest, she wanted to do everything and anything to make the woman happy. She didn't even care that she just saw her mere minutes ago, she wanted her and only her. And that's when she realized, this woman, no, this angel was meant to be hers. But then again, Anastasia knew that the woman was too good for her, she doesn't deserve this life of pain and eternal suffering, seeing the people you once loved grow old and eventually die, yet she also knew that she cannot live without her, so she settled with being her protector.

“Mr. Lombardi? Did I pronounce that right?” Mr. Hale questioned her, she had managed to manipulate her looks to make her look like a man.

“Yes sir.” Anastasia answered, she named herself Gioele for the sake of her facade.

“And why should I let you protect my daughter?” Mr. Hale raised his eyebrows, staring at the 'guy' infront of him.

“With The Great Depression still happening, I believe your daughter might be in danger. You and your success may make you a target for those who are below you, poor unfortunate...” She trailed off, her moral compass preventing her from saying derogatory words but she knew she had to play by his personality and rules

“We do not talk about them.” Mr. Hale deadpanned

“Yes sir.” 'Gioele' agreed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Very well then. You have piqued my interest. One wrong move and you'll find yourself hanging on a rope by your neck.” He threatened just as someone entered.

“Father? Mother requested your presence.” Anastasia's eyes widen when she hears the soft, melodic voice right behind her.

“Rosalie! Perfect timing. This is Gioele Lombardi, he will be protecting you from those awful lowlifes scattered around the streets.” Mr. Hale introduces Anastasia to Rosalie who in turn looked at her.

“Rosalie. Rosalie Hale.” She introduces her self while Anastasia promply goes down on one knee and kisses her hand.

“My Pleasure.” She smiled, seeing the faint blush on Rosalie's cheeks.

Anastasia stood up, offering her arm to Rosalie who accepted and they both followed Mr. Hale outside, Anastasia holding up an umbrella to shield Rosalie and herself from the sun. She didn't sparkle as much as other vampires do but it would have been really suspicious when people see her faint sparkle as her marble like skin hits the rays of the sun.

And in that afternoon alone, Rosalie Hale became more popular, people talked about the attractive guard and of course Rosalie's beauty. Anastasia was annoyed at how people spoke about her and her mate, while they were walking around the city. Rosalie noticed and distracted her by asking her questions and answering questions directed to her as well.

Anastasia just felt herself fall even more as days pass by, She would sit by Rosalie's side while she reads her books, She would accompany her on walks and would help her pick flowers as well. She knew all about Rosalie but Rosalie only knew things Anastasia want her to, that doesn't include the fact that she's a woman and not a man and also the fact that she's an actual vampire. And that proved to be in her disadvantage later on.

A year pass by quickly with Anastasia enjoying every single second she spends with her soulmate, she could feel Rosalie radiating happiness whenever she's around, but of course, Rosalie was getting suspicious as well. It may be because of that one time where they were caught in the rain and their umbrella was much too small for 2 persons so Anastasia insist on Rosalie using it, leaving her wet, making her clothes stick to her body, and even under the dim light, Rosalie could make out a feminine body, toned but still feminine and that left her thinking if she truly knew her guard as well as she thought she did.

One day, Rosalie was sent on an errand to deliver her father's 'forgotten' lunch, and Anastasia knew it was a bunch of shit. She heard the couple discussing their plans to hopefully attract the attention of Royce King II and they succeeded, she had to watch as Rosalie and Royce flirt with each other, with her silently seething, forgotten. She had to hide her growls and snarls whenever flowers would be delivered at the Hale Household, but she couldn't do anything, Rosalie deserved someone who could grow old with her, and not a half-ling abomination like her. So she accepted the fate she wished upon herself and made the hardest decision of her life.

The day Rosalie was engaged, she packed her bags and set to leave but unfortunately, Rosalie caught her. And what she did that day, she still regrets up until now.

“Gioele? You are leaving.” Rosalie states, stunned.

“Don't. Don't stop me Ms. Hale. Or should I say Mrs. King?” Anastasia spat out, and she internally flinched when she saw the pain in Rosalie's eyes.

“Where did this come from Gio?” Gio, Rosalie's nickname for her alter ego. She couldn't handle it anymore and looked around before gently dragging Rosalie into an empty room in their house.

“Look, my name's not Gioele.” Anastasia removes the glamour she placed on herself and watched as Rosalie stare at her in shock.

“It's Anastasia. And yes. I am leaving. You are to be married to Royce King II and I cannot get in between that.” She stares at Rosalie's eyes, hoping to relay her feelings, but Rosalie was still much too hurt from her best friend lying to her.

“You lied. You broke two of your promises Lombardi. Is that even your real surname? It is not, is it? God. Why must I be so stupid! Go! Leave! Find some other woman to lie to!” Rosalie walks away from her

“Rosalie! Wait!” She tried to chase after her but Rosalie just turned around and slapped her, she was shocked, not only because the love of her life slapped her, it's also because Rosalie managed to crack the base of her neck. She lifted her hand to cover the cracks that were covering the base of her marble like neck.

“Rose...” She stared at Rosalie.

“Leave.” Rosalie glared, and Anastasia knew that this was her chance... to let go of her soulmate... in the most painful way possible.

“Fine...” She growled out “...I never liked you anyways, You self-centered, smug woman who only lives to please her father and the people around you. I hope you and your cold heart enjoy your loveless marriage!” She grabs her bags and walks away, not bothering to turn back, knowing that if she sees Rosalie's face and the raw emotions in her eyes, she'll just turn back and beg for forgiveness.

But of course, she couldn't stay away, no matter how hard she tried, she just can't so she lingered, hiding herself in the shadows, watching as Rosalie walked the paths they used to walk on, with Royce accompanying her, his arm hooked on hers as they chatted happily. It took everything in Anastasia to not rip off Royce's head whenever she knew he was making Rosalie uncomfortable and It took everything in her to not steal Rosalie away from him.

She was lingering around Vera's house, Rosalie was in there, cradling the baby boy in her arms as she cooed at him. Anastasia smiled as she saw her mate being all cute, she longed to have that with her, but alas she couldn't.

She was just enjoying herself when suddenly a body slammed into her, they fought for the upper hand as they kept tumbling around. Anastasia would straddle the man and he would flip her as well, she knew he was a vampire and didn't bother to pull her punches, cracking his marble like skin while he, in turn would also punch her face. The only difference they had was, Anastasia is actually bleeding. After what went on like hours, something snapped, Anastasia knew something was wrong with her mate so her eyes glowed a bright red, she threw the man off her and tied him with her strings. She growled at him before speeding off, following the slowly fading golden string. She ran as fast as she could, but she was too late.

“Rose?” she stared in horror as the body of her beloved, sprawled on the sidewalk, bleeding out.

“Stasia?” She turned her head and saw Carlisle standing behind her.

“Carlisle! I beg of you, Please save her. Turn her Carlisle please!” Anastasia begged Carlisle

“What happened? I smelt the blood.” Carlisle knelt beside the barely alive Rosalie.

“Turn her first then I'll explain.” Anastasia choked out as she closed her eyes just in time for Carlisle's teeth sinking into Rosalie's skin

She shook with anger and decided that she'll chase after whoever did this to her, her ears hyper focused, trying to find whoever did it. And that's when she heard it: Royce King II.

“I need to find a new fiancee now.” He laughed as his friends expressed their joy in letting them-

Anastasia let out a loud guttural growl as she prepared to speed away but Carlisle held her back.

“Don't. She needs you first.” Carlisle motioned to Rosalie who's writhing in pain. She immediately scooped her mate into her arms and followed Carlisle's mate string, which led her to a two floor house, she barged in with Carlisle hot on her heels.

“Lay her here.” He instructed the distressed Queen.

“Will she be okay Carlisle?” She asked the doctor as he kissed his mate in her forehead.

“Yes. Give it a couple of days, Your Highness.” Carlisle reassured her as she swallowed back her sobs.

“Very well. Uh. My apologies, I barged in without your permission. My name is Anastasia. You must be Carlisle's lover?” She offered her hand to the older woman who in turn just gave her a hug.

“It's fine. Really. You are welcome here. Carlisle told me all about you.” Esme smiled and Anastasia just smirked at Carlisle.

“Still thinking about me Cullen?” Anastasia teased, taking Rosalie's hand into hers and gripping it, calming her nerves.

“He talks about you everyday.” Esme smiled at her.

Anastasia was about to reply when the doors opened and in came...

“You.” Anastasia growled and lunged at the man. He dodged but she caught his arm and used her momentum to flip him over, throwing him through the wall and into the backyard, making him land flat on his back. The man coughed as Anastasia straddled him, planting her foot to the ground, her strings glowing a bright red as they wrap around him as she slowly ripped his head off.

“Anastasia! He's my son!” Carlisle cried out as Anastasia snapped at him, eyes widening in surprise.

“He's yours?” Anastasia's eyes glowed a bright red and Carlisle felt his entire body shiver.

“Y-Yes.” Carlisle stuttered, the murderous aura surrounding Anastasia triggering his fight or flight.

“He is the reason why I didn't get to my mate fast enough. He lunged at me for no reason, leaving my mate in a vulnerable position AND LOOK WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW! SHE'S FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE CARLISLE!” Anastasia's body shook in anger

Carlisle could see the cracks growing on Edward's skin, and he slowly approached the furious queen. He managed to calm Anastasia down by sending calming waves into his strings, decades of working alongside the queen was proven to be useful in this moment. The ropes that were once wrapped around Edward slowly loosened until they retreated back into her body.

Edward wheezed as he moved away from her while Anastasia composed herself.

“Teach your son better manner s, Carlisle or the next time we meet, you'll see his decapitated head decorating the Volturi Walls.” Anastasia threatened as she walks calmly back into the house through the wall that she made and sat beside her unconscious mate. She noticed the golden string slowly go back to it's natural glow, which made her sigh in relief.

A couple of hours pass by and Anastasia was feeling hungry, she asked for Carlisle's help in looking for food in the forest and he told her where the majority of the animals lived and she set off. While she was hunting, she couldn't help but feel like she failed Rosalie. She let her become something that she protected her from. A Vampire.

Once she had her fill, she slowly walked back to where Carlisle lives, delaying her arrival as much as possible, dreading the fact that she knew Rosalie was awake. She could feel it. She took a deep breath and opened the door, making everyone's head snap towards her. Her eyes caught Rosalie's and instantly, they connected, more so than before, which means that Anastasia feels what Rosalie feels 100 times more than before. Pain, Sadness, Longing and Hatred. And that's when she knew, she knew that Rosalie hated her. Her soulmate hated her. The thought weighed on top of her, slowly crushing her heart, she physically gasped for breath as she could feel Rosalie's anger increased tenfold.

“Rose. Let me-”

“Don't Anastasia. Do what you do best, leave.” Rosalie answered her, putting emphasis on her real name. She tried to move closer but Rosalie only moved and sped out of the house, with Carlisle trailing after the newborn.

She was about to follow as well when Edward stopped her.

“I apologize for my actions earlier, I truly believed that you were preying on them, that's why I attacked you, but you should really trust me when I say that you shouldn't follow her. She's angry.” Edward quickly explained

“And how do you know that?” She asked.

“I can read minds.” Edward simply states, nodding at her.

Anastasia nodded, defeated and sat on a chair with Esme right beside her.

“Give her some time.” Esme advises, rubbing the girl's back.

She gritted her teeth when she felt Rosalie's pain. Not physical, emotional. And she has the power to take it away. But with a great price. A price she was willing to take.

When the Cullen family was complete, with Rosalie, Anastasia quickly worked her gift. Wrapping her strings around them and re-writing their memories, without her in it. Except for Carlisle's, she left some memories of him working alongside her while in the Volturi. Once she finished, she quickly speeds away and forces herself to leave the memories and pain she just took into the back of her mind as she wiped her bleeding nose, her body collapsing under a big tree due to the exhaustion.

She was pulled back into reality when the beaker she was holding in her hand exploded, drenching her in artificial blood. She gritted her teeth, there were two things that could've happened. One, she mixed the wrong chemicals while day dreaming or two, Amore decided to switch the labels again.

She checked everything, and then found out the second one was the truth, she stormed out of her lab, blood dripping from every inch of her body. Her annoyance clouded her brain, forgetting that she sent Amore to pick up the Cullens and if she was here, then so were The Cullens.

She spotted Amore from afar and sped towards her, slamming her against the brick walls of her “castle” . She hated that term.

“What did I tell you about switching my labels Lewis?! Look at me! Blood is in every crevice in my body! There's blood in parts that I didn't even knew were exposed!” She growled out

“Well, to be f-fair, You aren't wearing your usual lab attire so that's partially your fault.” Amore choked out. Anastasia just growls in response.

“Stasia, calm yourself. First impressions are important.” Veronica waves her hand and Anastasia's clothes were back to normal, dry and there was no trace of blood anywhere.

First Impressions? Anastasia then mentally facepalmed herself. She had forgotten the Cullen Family. She releases Amore, then turned to the family, recalling her speech, she started to talk.

“Hello. Sorry you had to see that, but you should really get used to it. My name is Anastasia...” She drifted off as her violet orbs met golden ones. In her brief moment of surprise, she unknowingly let down her guard, causing her previously cast spell break. She knew that her mate would be there and she mentally prepared herself but turns out, she wasn’t prepared at all. When she recovered from her shock, she could feel that her spell had been broken. The entire coven looked at her with various emotions: Happiness, Confusion, Longing and Familiarity. She may or may not have met all the members before and also wiped their memories.

“Gio...” Rosalie whispered.

“Shit...” Anastasia cursed, she somehow knew this would happen, just not this soon.

“Rose...” She stared at her mate for what seemed like years before Rosalie glared at her with so much anger she didn't know it was possible, and stormed off. Again.

'She always does that.' Anastasia sighs.

“Well, that secret's out. I'll escort you to you ro-”

“We'll do it. Chase after her.” Veronica pats her back before escorting the Family to their respective chambers, but Carlisle stayed behind.

“That... was messed up Anastasiarine.” Carlisle expressed his disappointment before pulling the girl in a brief hug.

“I missed you too Cullen.” She whispered before letting go to chase after her mate.

“I'm sorry. Please forgive me.” She sent that thought to the Cullen Family, including Rosalie and went back to what she did 75 years ago.

She was once again, chasing the glowing gold string.

#rosalie hale #rosalie hale x oc #jasper hale x alice cullen #edward cullen x bella swan #carlisle x esme #olympic coven #cullen clan #the cullens #cullen family #the volturi #rosalie cullen #rosalie hale x fem oc #platonic carlisle x oc #The Cullens x OC #The Volturi x OC #rosalie twilight #rosalie #rosalie hale x reader #rosalie lillian hale

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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years

Text

headcanon that Dick is part veela.

Haly’s Circus traveled all around the world, picking strays and turning them into family along the way. One cold, dreary day in Europe, a couple showed up at the circus tent. Bedraggled, exhausted, and clutching each others hands, they were still the most beautiful people Haly had ever seen. Of course, he couldn’t very well leave them like that, so he invited them to stay, just for the night.

One night was all it took for them to charm their way into the heart of the circus. The other members could tell there was something off, something not quite human about them. It was in the way John, or so he said his name was, stayed in the air a little longer than normal when flipping from a trapeze. It was in the way Mary, or so she said her name was, tumbled down a silk before catching her foot in a lock a little to gracefully. It was in the way their skin seemed to shimmer under the limelight and the way their voices cut through the gloom of the night brighter than sunbeams when they laughed and the way they clutched at each other, fingers tangling and rarely letting go, as if they were being hunted. But they were also good and kind. John, or so he said his name was, joked around with the rest of the crew, his smile instantly putting them at ease. Mary, or so she said her name was, gave hugs warmer than the campfire and gave kisses on cheeks lighter than a butterfly. The two of them were part of the crew by morning.

A couple years later, when the crew was in northern India, Mary announced she was pregnant, with glowing cheeks and a delicate hand on her stomach. John was so shocked, he choked on his stew and upended the water pitcher. Then he ran over the Mary, a little faster than what passed for normal, and lifted her up in the air with an easy that not even Clayton the strongman could manage, and peppered her face with kisses. The rest of the crew turned a blind eye, as they always did, and congratulated the happy couple. After all, by now, they were family.

The troop took a small rest in a small village in Punjab when Mary was close to delivery. She spent her days laughing with the children as the women of the village taught the people in the circus to dance. A few weeks later, Richard John Grayson was born, or so they said his name was, and his gorgeous face became instantly beloved by the entire crew. But no one could deny that when just talking to little Dick, when they believed they were out of earshot, John and Mary lovingly called Dick by another name, one that seemed a little to quick and a little to ethereal to be able to pronounce. Dick spent his first couple of years in that small town in Punjab, doing flips and tricks from the moment he could stand. Ionana the Contortionist learned new skills and taught them to the village children, Fedir the Juggler learned about fifty new dishes to try, Bao the Swordsmaster grew so talented with her blade, not a single person could match her, and Haly added Punjabi to his ever growing list of languages. And when Dick turned four, the circus packed up and left the town in the dust, leaving nothing but memories behind.

After the pregnancy, John and Mary seemed to dull a bit. Not in terms of enthusiasm and personality, no. They were still the cheerful, loving couple they had always been. But the crew noticed how their flips became a little messier, their skin glowed a little less, their voices cracked and became a little more human. The inhuman talent they had on the trapeze was gone, replaced by a normal brand of extraordinary. It seemed that most every drop of whatever was in their blood that made them so unique had been transferred over to Dick. He was instantly a natural at performing. Perhaps a little too good. Not a single circus member missed the way the audience’s eyes drew to him, almost as if they couldn’t help themselves. They never missed the way, no matter how far up Dick seemed to fall from, he never got hurt. They never missed the way the animals came to him unprompted, the way he could almost talk to them (Zitka the elephant in particular). They never missed the way his lilting voice and golden laugh to the crowd right before his performance sent a wave of life and light rushing through everyone there. They never missed the sheer power that sparked in his eyes every time he leapt off the platform, and they never missed the way he floated in the air, more at home up there than he ever was at home. They never missed his beauty, the way his perfect little face and big doe eyes had people scrambling to give him anything he wanted. (They also never missed the way he abused this ruthlessly, gaining sweets and chocolate from the audience with one pout.) And this led them to believe that the Graysons were unstoppable. But before they knew it, John and Mary, if those even were their real names, were dead on the ground, and Dick had been whisked away, and just like that town in Punjab that raised him, left nothing but memories behind.

Now, the problem was that this was how Dick had been all his life. The light inside him, the way the air moved almost lifelike around him, this had all been normal to him. He never suspected he was anything less than human.

Bruce had his suspicions. No human. could quadruple flip into a roundhouse kick strong enough to take out a meta. No human could balance seamlessly on a rope the size of a string while being blasted with cold air at that speed. No human could catch a socialite’s eye at a party and convince them to reveal every one of their safely-guarded secrets with only a few flutters of the eyes and well chosen words. Yet all of these things came as naturally to Dick as breathing.

So Bruce had his suspicions, of course he did. He kept track of every time Dick tried to teach another Robin a move during training that was physically impossible for everyone except him. He kept track of the way Dick could talk Jason down from an explosive rage the way no one else could. He kept track of the way Dick could bring a smile out of Tim on his worst days, the shaky quirk of the lips a pale imitation of Dick’s sun gold grin, but there. He kept track of the way Dick could communicate with Cass nonverbally, seemingly having entire complex conversations with only a few movements and gestures. He kept track of the way Dick could almost read Damian’s mind, know exactly what the boy needed at any given time, despite the way his mind changed fast enough to give you whiplash. (He didn’t think to notice that Dick was the only person who could get him to stop, take a break, to rest.)

Bruce also kept track of the way pure fear soaked into anyone surrounding him the minute anger flared in Dick’s eyes. He kept track of Dick’s temper, more explosive than his and Jason’s combined. He kept track of the graceful ruthlessness telegraphed in every move of Dick’s body, keeping it in check through years of training. He kept track of the way Dick claimed every single person in the family for himself, along with a couple of the Titans and other friends, and the way everyone seemed to know innately know about his possessiveness. He kept track of the way Dick could easily seduce anyone he put his mind to, the way Dick became unnaturally beautiful out of the corner of his eye.

Bruce never brought this up to Dick. He let him carry on as always, believing him oblivious to his touch of something a little more than humanity. And for the most part, Dick didn’t know. He laughed with chuckle of pure light and sang with a voice that carried the depths of the oceans and danced with a grace more flowing than air and loved with a burning flame fiercer than a wildfire.

But every so often, Dick looked at a couple old pictures he had of his parents, salvaged from the circus. On the back, it was scribbled John and Mary Grayson, Haly’s Circus, along with a couple small anecdotes of what was happening in the photograph. But as Dick held the picture that never seemed to fade and touched their faces with fingertips that either seemed to brush right over things or press with a force stronger than Superman’s, a frown tugged at his face as he recalled his parent’s loving words, a little too light and a little too graceful to come from a human throat. He remembered them calling him something, something other than Dick, something that fit the tips of his soul the way the name Richard never seemed to.

John and Mary Grayson. But were those really their names?

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eugene-not-flynn · 3 years

Text

chanteur depths

title: chanteur depths

word count: 1762

Warnings: drowning and peril (or the belief that someone is), siren-like creatures, eugene cries, almost throwing yourself overboard, Varian angst/emotional whump, Eugene angst/emotional whump, unedited.

Summary: Eugene had heard rumors and stories. None of them prepared him for what he’d hear sailing through the Chanteur Depths. He has a strong will. He also has a breaking point. Eugene-centric New Dream fic (with some platonic Team Awesome + Lance content in the beginning).

A/N: this was supposed to be a short textpost and then my brain went “hey, lets make it a fic right this very moment”. So have this. I wrote it in one sitting in an unexpected burst of inspiration and did not edit it. I may go back and edit it, but that day was not today. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

The wood of the ship creaks with the waves, and Eugene squints up at the darkening sky. Slate gray clouds block the early evening sun from view so effectively it’s nearly dark, and the ship tilts with the crest of an angry wave. Eugene’s hands tighten around the rope he’s holding to keep the sail steady, his gut rolling with discomfort.

He was not a sailor by trade, but he’d been on a ship or two in his lifetime. By his best calculations, he knew they had to be approaching the Chanteur Depths and the thought makes his stomach squirm. The rumors and stories he’d heard all those years ago had been enough to make his skin crawl. Eugene wasn’t much for superstition, but he knew enough about reading people to tell, most of the time, when someone was making something up.

The haunted, shaken look in those sailors’ eyes hadn’t been fabricated.

They draw you in, kid, one sailor had told him years before he’d met Rapunzel. She’d looked a little green as she’d said it. You think your will is strong but then you sail into Chanteur Depths and… well. I’ll never forget those sounds.

When Varian mentioned needing a rare mineral that could only be found, based on his extensive research, on in island just past the Chanteur Depths, Eugene had actually laughed. It was just their luck, really. Eugene had explained what he knew, and Varian and Rapunzel had set to work on pursuing their own research. There wasn’t much information about the Chanteur Depths, and it didn’t take them long to learn it was because few ever come back from it. Still, despite this, they set off together with Lance in tow.

Eugene was beginning to wonder if maybe it was a huge mistake. It didn’t matter though. It was too late to turn back now.

They had agreed to plug their ears with wax, just in case. It had been Rapunzel’s idea, based on Eugene’s recounting of what he’d heard. Through the torrential downpour of rain that drenches the ship’s deck in the raging storm, Eugene sees Lance shove wax into his own ears and Rapunzel disappear down below to retrieve more for Varian and Eugene.

And then, so suddenly that Eugene nearly slips, everything stills.

The rocking waves are abruptly—unnaturally—still. The rain stops, and Eugene flips his sopping wet hair out of his eyes. The sky is still overcast, but everything is calm and still and it should, by all accounts, relax him. Instead, it sets his teeth on edge.

He locks eyes with Lance across the ship, matching his frown. He knew his friend well enough to recognize the look. Lance was suspicious too. He cocks an eyebrow at Eugene, who sets his mouth in a grim line. I don’t trust it. Lance gives a single nod. His grip around the helm flexes.

Still, without the wind buffeting the sails, Eugene lets his grip on the ropes go a little lax, if only to get circulation back into his fingers. He takes a deep breath of salt and brine, letting his gaze flit over the rest of the sailing vessel quickly. His brow knits together when he sees Varian, standing in the middle of the deck, staring out at the horizon line.

For a moment, Eugene is struck by just how young Varian is. The kid is sixteen and he looks every bit of it, with his sopping wet clothes hanging off his lanky frame and hair falling into his eyes despite the goggles on his head. Then Varian’s head tilts, and Eugene frowns at the weird, clouded look in his eyes.

When the kid takes a faltering step forward, Eugene moves on nothing but instinct.

“Varian!”

Varian breaks into a run for the edge of the ship but Eugene is a few steps ahead of him. He lunges at the same time Varian does. They land hard against the wood of the ship and the wind is knocked out of him. Eugene blindly grabs onto the messy tangle of limbs, tasting copper when a sharp elbow makes contact with his jaw.

“Varian--!”

“I’m coming, Dad!” Varian’s voice is strangled and desperate. “I’m coming! Eugene, let go—”

“Kid, you can’t—”

“Let go!”

Eugene squeezes tighter as Varian nearly slips from his grasp, yanking the kid back and trying to roll on top of him. Varian was slippery and quick, but Eugene was heavier and stronger. Varian makes a noise that doesn’t sound fully human—something almost like a broken sob—and there’s movement in the corner of Eugene’s eyes that is just enough warning for him to block the wide swing of a fist.

“It’s not real, Varian,” Eugene grits out as he manages to wrestle Varian’s weight to the ground. “Whatever you’re hearing, it’s not—”

“I do!” Varian shouts over to the ocean, thrashing against Eugene’s grip, and it’s then that Eugene sees tears beginning to form in the corner of the teen’s eyes. “I do, Dad! I want to—I’m coming! Don’t—”

But the deck is wet with rain and Eugene’s hands are slippery and Varian wrestles away. Eugene grabs for him blindly and his fist closes around air.

“Wait--!”

“Oh no you don’t, kid.”

Eugene sees Lance intercept Varian and coughs a breath in relief as he manages to get Varian into a firmer hold. Eugene rolls from his back to his hands and knees, taking a second to catch his breath. He tries to pretend he can’t hear Varian’s desperate shouting for his father, or Lance muttering something to him under his breath.

“Eugene.”

Eugene’s mouth twitches in a soft, relieved smile. He knew that voice. Rapunzel was back from below deck with the wax.

“Hey, Sunshine.” He looks up, sitting back on his heels and freezes. Rapunzel was nowhere to be seen.

“Eugene, I’m over here.”

Eugene glances in the direction of the sound. Portside. From the ocean? His blood turns cold, and he pushes himself to his feet. He manages a weak laugh.

“Yeah, nice try,” he says with a bravado that feels flimsy. “Look, I don’t know what you are, but I know Rapunzel is—”

But then there’s that laugh. That soft little giggle that always made that odd swooping feeling in his stomach, and Eugene finds his voice faltering for just a moment.

“The water is really nice, Eugene,” says Rapunzel’s voice. “Come join me. Just for a quick swim.”

Eugene blinks hard and shakes his head. Not real. It wasn’t real. Rapunzel was below deck.

“Please, Eugene?” the voice continues. “I just wanted to get a moment alone with you. A moment with just you and me. The water is so nice, Eugene.”

Eugene clenches his jaw. Crosses his arms over his chest. He breathes deeply. Not real. “No dice, mysterious disembodied voice,” Eugene quips. “But—”

“EUGENE!” The voice is still Rapunzel’s, this time closer to the stern. Eugene is moving before he’s even thinking about it, the raw fear in her voice palpable. Eugene lurches towards the sound a few steps before his foot slips. The sudden balance shift is enough to jolt him back to awareness.

That…. That’s not Rapunzel either. Right?

“Eugene, please!” Rapunzel’s voice echoes from that same direction, strained and terrified. Eugene’s stomach rolls. “Please, I can’t—please, Eugene. I’m—” Her voice cuts off and there’s the sound of splashing water and Eugene falters in his steps again.

Rapunzel… where was Rapunzel again?

Another splash. Her voice, higher and more panicked. A wordless, throaty scream.

Not real, not real, not real— The reminder repeats like a mantra in Eugene’s head but it is hard to listen to it when the sound of Rapunzel drowning and begging for him seems to ricochet in the air. It makes the air itself hard to breathe.

Eugene squeezes his eyes shut, and when he hears her broken, gurgling gasp for air that chokes off with the sound of his name, he nearly leaps over the edge. He clamps his hands firmly over his ears. It’s not real, it’s not her, it’s not real, it’s not her—

But it sounds like her, so crystal clear that it hits like a hammer against the caving feeling in Eugene’s chest and he can’t quite contain the pained noise in the back of his throat as he curls around himself (when did he drop to his knees? He doesn’t know). He’s listening to Rapunzel drown and he’s not doing anything, why isn’t he doing anything—

Suddenly there’s warmth covering his shivering hands on his head, trying to pry them away and Eugene instinctively flinches away from the touch, his gaze flying up as he rears back.

His eyes lock onto green ones, wide and worried under a furrowed brow. Her short brown hair is wet with rain and a windswept mess, but Eugene meets those beautiful green eyes and suddenly can’t look away. A part of him is afraid to, as if this is just one more hallucination or trick.

“Sunshine?” he manages weakly.

Rapunzel’s gaze flit over him and she reaches out again for the hands that are still clamped around Eugene’s ears. The contact is just as jarring—and just as warm—as it had been a moment ago, but Eugene lets her pry his hands off of him and hold them in her own. It’s not until Rapunzel’s grip tightens that he realizes he’s trembling a little.

A second later, Eugene realizes everything is silent again. He’s distantly aware of the sound of Varian sobbing.

Eugene opens his mouth to say something, but his throat closes and he just shakes his head and shrugs a shoulder at Rapunzel’s searching gaze. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t have the words right now.

Rapunzel moves closer, slowly like she’s afraid of startling him again. When she cups Eugene’s face in her hands, Eugene sinks into the touch. Real. Grounding.

“Eugene,” she whispers, and that’s her voice, her real voice, and Eugene inhales sharply at the sound. The softness with which she says his name is such a stark contrast to the strangled, desperate way the echoes of it had been calling to him from the water that he finds his vision blurring with sudden tears.

Rapunzel presses her forehead to Eugene’s. When he blinks, Rapunzel’s thumb brushes the tears off his cheek. Eugene grips her forearm for a moment before pulling her into a closer embrace. Eugene buries his face into her neck. Warm, real, here, safe. She’s safe.

None of them move for a long time.

#tangled #tts #tangled fanficton #eugene fitzherbert #new dream #new dream fanfiction #eugene angst #angst #drowning #sirens #but like a twist on sirens #varian #varian angst #peril #please let me know if more things should be dropped in these tags #heed warnings

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king-finnigan · 3 years

Text

wingless thing

this is a oneshot that i was planning on turning into a full series at some point, but i never really had any ideas for the main storyline. so here it is, now; it’s an AU where everyone on the continent is born with wings. the only people who don’t have them are witchers.

Geralt sighs as he looks up at the tavern, built into the side of the mountain. There is no path up, no way to get there other than flying. Which wouldn’t be an issue for anyone else.

But unfortunately, Geralt isn’t anyone else.

He lets out an annoyed huff and Roach bristles softly, pushing at his shoulder with her nose. He pats the side of her neck, tangling his fingers through her brown mane. “Sorry, girl,” he mutters. “Gonna have to sleep outside again tonight.”

He doesn’t really know what he expected. Posada is full of mountains, of course people are going to build as high up as they can to get away from the creatures and monsters on the ground. Still, he’d been looking forward to a proper meal and a soft bed for the night, but it looks like he’ll have to make do with his bedroll and some dried meat. He always does.

He takes the saddle and reigns off of Roach and starts setting up camp – laying down his bedroll, gathering wood for a fire, checking his dwindling supplies. He counts his coin, finds out he’s still low on it and gold hasn’t magically appeared in his pouch since he looked this morning.

It’s the reason why he came here in the first place. Usually, he doesn’t venture this close to the mountains – the buildings always high up and only accessible from the air – but there haven’t been a lot of monsters in the plains and forests lately, so he had no other choice but to head east.

He looks up as he hears wings flapping, watches with a barely-hidden scowl when a young man descends from the air, softly lowering himself on one of the branches of a tree at the edge of the clearing. His feathers are a light shade of brown, almost golden in the late afternoon light, interspersed by darker ones painting long stripes across his wings. The young man cocks his head, keen, blue eyes taking in the sight of Geralt sitting on the ground, wingless.

“What are you doing down here?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, his already thin patience running out quickly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Setting up camp.” Apparently this young man either doesn’t know what a rhetorical question is, or he’s unable to pick up on them. “But why down here?”

Geralt glares at him, narrowing his eyes at those golden-brown wings. The young man merely raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. Geralt sighs. “I can’t get up there.”

“Up where? The inn?” Geralt nods, and the stranger finally seems to get it, his eyes flicking to where Geralt’s wings should be, his mouth falling open in a soft ‘O’. He appears to figure out a lot of things in the next few seconds, his face going from confusion to realization back to confusion numerous times.

Geralt sighs, lighting the fire with a quick Igni, the blissful quiet stretching out between them.

“You’re the Witcher,” the young man says eventually. “Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken.” Geralt resists the urge to growl at the mention of that cursed town, his mind unhelpfully providing him with the memories of Renfri, of her blood coating his hands, of Stregobor cutting off her grey-and-white wings while the entire town chased Geralt away. He shakes his head to rid himself of the images.

Finally, the young man comes down from the tree, the tips of his wings dragging in the dirt behind him as he walks towards Geralt, extending his hand. Geralt doesn’t take it and looks away. Eventually, the young man gives up and sits down on the other side of the fire, big, blue eyes taking Geralt in, his brown feathers trembling slightly in excitement.

“I’m Jaskier, by the way.” Geralt doesn’t respond, but the young man continues regardless. “You know, I’m a bard. My lute is still up at the inn-“ he jabs his thumb up at the side of the mountain “-so you’ll just have to take my word for it, but it seems to me that you’ve got a bit of an image problem, Witcher. You know, I could be your barker-“

“No.”

“-spreading the tales of- of… Geralt of Rivia, the…” He seems to think for a few seconds, chin in his hand. “The White Wolf!” he finally exclaims, spreading his wings and arms dramatically, nearly knocking into Roach, who bristles angrily, taking a few steps away from the annoying and expressive bard.

Geralt looks at Jaskier for a few moments. “The White Wolf?” he eventually asks, voice flat.

Jaskier nods excitedly. “Yes! Because your hair is white and you don’t have any wings! I saw you pacing around here before I arrived, and I thought to myself ‘wow, this guy looks just like a wolf stalking its prey’, so there you have it! White Wolf! Do you like it?”

“No. Go away.” What the fuck does he need a barker for? He’s perfectly fine on his own. He’s managed seventy years alone on the path without wings, and he’ll manage a thousand more, thank you very much. Now all he needs is for this guy to fuck off and let him be so he can get some much-needed sleep. He’ll set out early again tomorrow.

Jaskier pouts a bit but gets up, luckily. “Alright, aright. I’ll leave you to it, then. Bye, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Bye.” He doesn’t look up from the fire, sees the flames dance in front of him as Jaskier flaps his wings and starts running, eventually taking off, up and up into the sky, towards the inn built into the mountainside. Once the sound of wings flapping has faded away, Geralt lets himself relax and eats a meagre meal of dried meat and a crust of stale bread. He falls into a restless sleep after that, his dreams plagued by black and white wings, speckled with blood.

---

He sets out early the next day, towards Dol Blathanna. A goat farmer had approached him in the morning, offering a hundred coins for a demon that kept stealing his goats. Geralt highly doubts that it’s a demon, but a job’s a job, and no matter how little money a hundred coins is, it’s better than nothing.

He saddles Roach and heads to the east. Before long though, he hears the sound of wings, someone flying towards him.

“Geralt! Hi!” Jaskier lands next to him, using his momentum to fall into step next to Geralt, Roach too slow and the branches too low to keep flying. He’s a bit out of breath, but his entire face is lit up with a smile that easily rivals the morning sun. There’s a lute hanging against his hip, Geralt notices.

“So, what are we hunting?”

Geralt scoffs. “We aren’t hunting anything. Fuck off.”

Jaskier pouts. “You know, you should really work on your people skills. I bet you’d get more contracts, then, though of course my songs will help. I mean, I’m almost getting the impression that you want me to leave!”

Geralt throws him an apprehensive look. “I do want you to leave. Go away.”

Jaskier huffs, his feathers puffing up slightly in annoyance. “No! No, you need my help, Geralt of Rivia. Unless, of course, you want to be forever known as the Butcher of Blaviken and a wingless monster.”

Geralt scoffs. “I am.”

“What? The Butcher of Blaviken or a wingless monster?”

“Both.”

Jaskier gasps, hand dramatically laying over his chest, wings stretching out, the tips bending forward a bit in shock. “You are most certainly not!”

“Well, I’m not a white wolf, either.”

Jaskier laughs softly, his wings folding behind his back again. “I assure you that you are. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you agree?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but feels something soft unfurl in his chest. “Hmm.”

The bard grins. “So you do agree! Of course you do. I’m right, after all.”

It continues on like that for a while, Jaskier chatting on and on, his wings almost equally as expressive as his hands, and he almost slaps an increasingly disgruntled Roach with them several times. Meanwhile, Geralt keeps quiet, only giving monosyllabic answers from time to time, keeping an eye out for this so-called ‘demon’. Eventually, he dismounts Roach, leaving her behind at one of the only trees visible in the plain of yellowed grass, the rich mountains no more than a silhouette behind his back. He continues on foot, Jaskier following closely behind, still chattering.

“Sorry, what are we looking for again?”

“Blessed silence.”

“… Yeah, don’t really go in for that.”

Something rustles in the grass, and Geralt barely has time to turn around before something hits Jaskier square between the eyes. The bard collapses onto the ground, and the witcher walks towards him, finds a small, metal ball on the ground. He looks up when he hears footsteps, registers the dark silhouette of a person against the bright sunlight, and is promptly struck against the back of the head, his vision fading to black rather abruptly and violently.

---

He wakes up in a cave, hands bound by his side, something soft and firm and trembling pressed to his back. He frowns, confused, until he moves his head a bit and feels feathers tickling against his cheeks, the wings behind him puffed up in fear – except they aren’t his wings. Of course they’re not; he lost his a long time ago.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Jaskier says behind him.

Geralt grunts, starts struggling against the ropes that bind his wrists by his side.

“This is the part where we escape!” Jaskier exclaims, wings fluttering a bit in excitement, as if this is all just some big adventure.

“This is the part where they kill us,” he growls, still struggling against the bonds.

“Who’s they?” Jaskier’s wings contract in pain against Geralt’s back when a she-elf kicks the bard in the stomach.

Everything is a bit of a blur after that, getting his and the bard’s life threatened by the elves – easily identified as elves by their iridescent dragonfly wings – Jaskier’s lute getting destroyed, the elven king talking about the atrocities committed against them, and eventually letting the bard and the witcher go, even giving Jaskier a new, elven lute, the wood as shimmery and iridescent as their wings.

And before long, they’re headed back to Posada. Jaskier walks in front of him, strumming his new lute, singing a song of which only three words are true, give or take, his wings puffed up to let the soft breeze ruffle through the feathers.

Back in Posada, Jaskier offers Geralt to carry him up to the inn, which he resolutely refuses. There is a certain shame in having to stay on the ground while everyone else flies past, his differences pointedly underlined by his obvious lack of wings, but there’s something else entirely revolting about having to be carried up by a scrawny, little bard.

But instead of going back up to the inn alone, Jaskier stays on the ground with Geralt, practically stealing the Witcher’s spare bedroll.

“So,” Jaskier says, gently plucking away at the strings of his new lute. “What’s the deal with-“ he gestures at Geralt “-you know.”

He rolls his eyes. He’d much rather go to sleep right now than listen to the bard make redundant statements and ask vague questions. “No, I don’t know.”

Jaskier seems to hesitate, biting his bottom lip gently. “The wings,” he eventually half-whispers, as if it’s something Geralt’s sensitive about. Which he is, but he’d never show anyone that. “Where are they?”

“None of your business.” The light of the flames burns his eyes as he stares into the fire, and for a moment, he could swear he sees black and white feathers between the logs. For a moment, he’s still a boy at Kaer Morhen, looking on helplessly as they burn part of him, the barely-healed wounds in his back a constant, agonizing reminder of what he’s lost.

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums, plucking a few notes on his lute. “I suppose not. But there are rumours, you know? Like that you have to eat your own wings to become a Witcher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Jaskier scrunches his nose. “Yeah, figured that one wasn’t real. Also heard a rumour that it’s what gives you your magic-“

“We don’t have magic.”

“-but my nan’s friend’s uncle’s brother’s teacher lost one wing during the war, and he didn’t get any magic powers, so I suppose that one’s a lie as well. I also heard a rumour-“

“Go to sleep, bard.”

Jaskier pouts at him for a second but Geralt doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he lies down on his bedroll, turning his back to the bard.

After a few seconds, he hears the faint rustling of clothes, the quiet thud of the elven lute being placed into the old, worn case, the clicking of locks being closed. He waits, watching the light of the fire dance across the trees around them, as Jaskier’s breathing grows slower and deeper.

Only when he’s sure that the bard’s asleep, does he let himself relax slightly, wincing when he shifts- the motion pulling at scars he can never truly forget. No matter how many nights have passed since that day so many decades ago, the ache in his back never fades.

He slips into a restless sleep.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #wings au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #if anyone wants to know #jaskier's wings are that of a tawny owl #renfri's are a shrike's #and geralt's used to be a downy woodpecker's #anyways i never really knew what to do with this au past this point so #guess this is where it ends lmao #if you wanna use it that's fine by me as long as you tag me so i can see lmao #title ofc from TAD

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poormeowmeowcollector · 3 years

Text

Let me give you my life

Pairing: Loki x Tesseract

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism

Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.

Chapter 4: Bridge and Chorus

Chapter summary: the aftermath

Chapter warnings: Odin, Major Character Death, suicide

Chapter note: this chapter is dedicated to @lucywrites02 because she pretended to be a bad bitch yesterday.

Previous chapter AO3

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

The shackles sing as Loki walks towards the throne, fighting back a grin. Odin, on the other hand, sits on his high quality chair, believing to be intimidating.

"You have committed a grave crime against the-" Odin tries to speak, but Loki chuckles.

"I know what I have done, Odin. No need to repeat yourself," they interrupt, using a voice they've been hiding in their throat since they learned how to speak.

And it has so much to say…

"Has your mother taught you no respect for your king?" They yell, their favourite way of speaking to Loki. In all these years, Loki cowarded away at this voice, scared of a physical expression of the anger. This time, he laughs at it.

"Not my mother, and I have no king but myself," they smile, watching a new wave of anger flashing in the old charlatan's face.

"Silence! You never knew how to shut this mouth of yours!" Odin raises his voice, hoping to see the now natural cowering of Loki. The only answer is another laugh.

"Do you really want me to start speaking, Odin? To see who is truly guilty, with all these good dicks and whores listening?" Loki asks, a glow in his eyes as he gestures around as wide as the shackles allow. The harshness of their tongue makes the nobles who watch the "trial" gasp.

"Who taught you this language?" The old man spits, narrowing one eye.

"Apart from your anger? And that old warrior you ordered to teach Thor and me how to survive in a forest? And there are the guards, I can name a few but stitching is a worse crime than murder…" he mutters, acting if like he's chatting with a cup of tea other than being on a trial for murder.

There's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

"Enough with your games! Why did you murder Lord Gæirasson in cold blood?" Odin asks the "big question", as if the right answer will lift the charges from Loki's name.

"Because… one, because he was a racist and offended me, to which the punishment is death. Two, because he started a war-"

"You started a war, Loki," Thor interrupts, taking Odin's side, like every time.

"A war had been started. Let's not blame people, Thor. Now where were I? Oh, yeah, at how Gæirasson started a war. Also, he refused to pay his taxes and you know how seriously I took my responsibility of being in charge of the palace's finances. Did war crimes against my people, father would be proud the son of a bitch is dead. And lastly, but definitely not least, a dreadful sense of fashion. Have you seen what his grooms wear? I think I threw up in my mouth when I saw it…" they finish with the rumbling, not even thinking of answering seriously. Odin will execute him anyways, would some fun be so bad?

"I said, enough with the games!" Odin basically screeches, their face going red.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

"For the murder of a lord, cause of a war and disrespect towards the throne, I Odin Allfather sentence you to a life in the dungeons," he decides.

"Dungeons? Not axe? Did Frigga's ghost or this moron talk you out of killing me?" Loki questions, taking their turn to narrow their eyes.

"If you keep talking, I might change my mind," Odin sighs, rubbing his temple.

"And get rid of this perfect pawn to hold King Laufey from the balls? A shame, really," Loki poutes and shrugs, pretending awfully that he cares.

"I will not stand your disrespect any longer! I had granted you your life, Loki, more than once! You will learn to respect me for it! Take them to the dungeons!" Odin speaks the final order. Four guards grab the chains that lead to Loki's shackles and push him away, forcing him to walk with them

Only then I am human / only then I am free

On the way to the dungeons, Thor stops the guards and demands to speak to Loki.

"Just tell me why, brother. Please. What didn't we give you to make you care so little?" they ask, grabbing Loki's shoulder, just like they always used to do.

"A family. That's what you didn't give me. And that's what I've earned," Loki answers, staring right into his no-brother's eyes, the blue in them and the pale lines that resemble his lightning. They know they won't see Thor from this close ever again, and they deserve a proper last memory.

"Then, I'm sorry. It's late, I know, but remember this, please… I shall visit, whenever I can, Loki. I swear. You shouldn't be in prison all alone," Thor promises. Loki gives only a nod, enough to make Thor dismiss the guards and let them keep walking Loki to his future and last chamber.

The only sign of emotions they allow themselves to show is a sigh, only out of sympathy.

For he knows that his freedom just begins.

Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

The moment the guards put Loki back into the white vacant cell and take their eyes off them, they cast an illusion of them settling on the floor and staring at nothing. The real Loki is walking up and down the room, waiting for the Tesseract to speak.

"Now?" he asks, feeling it close.

"Now, you need to learn who your family is. Not Odin, not Laufey, your true family, Entropy," they answer.

"What with this name? After all this, can't you call me by my name?" Loki groans.

"I am. You have many names. Entropy, the Chaos Stone, the Death Stone, the Knot… the last one, actually, is the name you're most familiar with, translated to Old Jötunn tongue," they speak, all matter-of-factly.

"You're lying, the Chaos stone is a myth," Loki brushes off the answer.

"It does exist. A black gem, created by billions of ropes, strings and threads tangled together. The hardest one to wield and command and impossible to find. The Jötnar had found it and worshipped it. And when Laufey found out that his son is nothing but a dead baby, he sacrificed the infant for the infant. And Odin found the baby crying in the altar, the gem gone,"

"So I own my life to an imaginary stone, apart from an old piece of shit. What a surprise…" Loki throws their hands in the air.

"No. You are the imaginary stone. In order to give life, the Chaos gem entered your body and never left. You are the flesh of a corpse and the mind of an infinity stone. And it's time to leave the corpse and join us,"

The aimless walking stops, and Loki's heart skips a beat

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

"You made me kill a man, for this?" he asks, glaring at nothing. They don't answer.

"You made me kill a man! Just so I could die!" boiling hot tears streaming down their eyes and slither into their shirt as burning red eyes stare at the empty room for something. "I trusted you! You promised me a family!" he yells between his sobs.

Their feet cannot support them, and they kneel down, turned into a crying sobbing and yelling mess. A hand, created by mist, grabs his shoulder, trying to provide comfort.

"I hate you," they spit, flaring their nose drills as they stare into the blue eyes of the illusion they use to pretend they're close to them.

"I'm sorry, hurting you was… if I could prevent it…" the stone says and gives him a small squeeze. And they mean it. If there was a way to do it without any pain, they would. But it's too late, Loki is already hurt…

Offer me that deathless death

Loki throws themselves into the tightest embrace they ever had, weeping like a baby. "I don't want to die. Please, I don't wanna die. Anything but this, anything, please!" he whispers, diving his head into their shoulder without a thought of holding back the tears.

"Shhhh, you won't die. Not truly. Your mind is the stone, as long as it exists you exist. And the body will stay intact until you need it again. You will be fine, I promise," they whisper, hoping of making them feel better.

"I'm scared, Tessie. I'm so scared, I can't," for a prince, Loki sounds so small, almost like the small child they used to be. Tessie starts playing with his hair, hoping to calm him down, even for a bit.

"It's alright. Everything will be fine, no matter if you do it or not," they shush them.

"If I do it or not?" Loki repeats, sniffing quietly and breaking the hug only to look at the misty blue eyes of Tessie.

"I… you're in so much pain… if you decide that you had enough, you'll be left alone," they explain. Loki nods, still quivering from the crying, but determined.

"No. We got so far. I-I-I'm not giving up," he lets his voice get louder, and then stands up. "What do I do?" they ask, collected once again.

"Get comfortable in a position. And once you're ready, make the ropes appear and let them wash over you," Tessie explains, holding this sympathetic voice. Loki nods and sits back down against the white wall, moving to get comfortable.

Then, with just a thought, the ropes appear and fill him with this calming sensation. Tessie walks closer and cups their cheeks. "See you on the other side, Loki," they smile and kiss their forehead before vanishing.

Loki takes a deep breath, and looks around the cage. He remembers a field day he had when little, a good day. Odin was sleeping on a bench and Frigga was yelling at them and Thor to not get into trouble as Thor dragged Loki, who was just above six, on an expiration of the forest around a castle in Vanaheim. Of course, they returned after the sun was down, with scraped up knees and dirty clothes and Loki had traces of tears in his cheeks because a bug scared him. But it had been, and still is, the best time they ever had with Thor.

He holds tight into the memory as he lets the ropes cover him and closes his eyes.

Good God, let me give you my life

The guards don't know how this happened. One moment, Loki was gazing at nothing and the next…

How does one say this to the Allfather?

The healers walk out of the cage when Thor storms in the dungeons, on the verge of panicking. "Is he alive?" It's all they ask.

The healers won't answer, it's enough to know.

Thor walks in and sits beside what used to be Loki, holding their cold and deformed hand and letting tears run down his face.

Loki doesn't respond, how could he?

He's a statue, as if made from black stone, and his hands covered in stone black ropes, with a faint glow where his heart should be being the only sign that there was once life there.

Loki's face doesn't have the signature smirk, and there's no gleam in their closed eyes. But he does wear a peaceful smile. A smile Thor regrets he had to see this body in order to know that his brother knows finally peace.

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donteattheappleshook · 4 years

Text

She Came from the Water Chapter 1/?

Summary

Between his dissatisfying job, a constant battle to keep seeing his daughter, and a history of mistakes, losses, and broken dreams, Killian Jones has no place for magic in his life. But when he pulls in his fishing nets one evening only to find a woman caught in them, his life becomes infinitely more complicated. Is she a siren, a selkie, like his daughter believes, or just another lost soul like himself? Suddenly, his life is a thing of fairytales; beautiful women hidden away in cottages, selkie husbands coming back to claim them, and, just maybe, a chance at happily ever after.

A Captain Swan AU based on the film Ondine (2009) for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Rated M for eventual smut.

Read it on Ao3

Huge, gigantic, enormous, (I wish I had more synonyms), amazingly big thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for her amazing work and help as beta for this fic. Thanks for putting up with all my last minute writing and procrastination. You're a superhero.

Chapter 1

Killian shivers. He’s cold. Cold and damp - the kind of damp that sinks into his bones and chills him so much that he thinks he’ll never feel warm again - the kind that shakes him from the inside no matter how many layers or jumpers he wears. It’s grey today. It’s always grey, the clouds blanketing the sky and a constant drizzle mixing in with the water splashing off the side of the boat. Not a ship - a boat. That’s what it is. Maybe once he’d dreamed of being on a ship, of sailing around the world, of feeling the ocean air and the sun on his face rather than the wind and the wetness that turns the bits of water in his beard to ice on the particularly cold days. He’d had a lot of dreams once, but one after the other those had slowly slipped away, one mistake after another, one drink after another, one death after another.

Even now he wishes he had a bottle with him, one that would warm his blood and make the hours passing more bearable. But the trade off isn’t worth it. That’s what he tells himself anyway - every day for the last seven years. He shakes his head and then his hands that still hold that slight tremor after all this time and tries to focus on the task at hand. That’s the problem with this line of work: too much time alone staring out at the grey sky and the grey sea. Too much time to let melancholy in and to let hope slip away until his thoughts match the horizon.

He tugs his knit cap down further over his ears and rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the wet and the sleep and the boredom from them as he tries to focus on the water, to spot his traps among the dozens that litter the surface. He hasn’t caught lobster in weeks but still he checks them every day. He hasn’t caught much of anything in weeks, really. That’s the other problem with choosing fishing as a line of work. One bad day, one bad week can mean the difference between keeping the lights on in his dingy little cottage, or spending another night huddled up by the old wood fireplace trying to dry the cold that seems to live under his skin. And Killian’s had many bad weeks now.

He pulls up the first trap, wincing as his fingers brush the icy surface. It’ll be winter soon - not that summer lasts very long on this little island. They get three, maybe four weeks of sunshine if they’re lucky, the rain giving just enough respite for the grassy noles to be overrun by flowers and birds before they skitter back off into their hiding places and the world goes back to the usual grey and faded green landscape he’s spent his whole life in.

That was always his mother’s favorite time of year. It had been his too when he was a child but now he hates it - hates how it teases of warmth and happy days that are here to stay before it rips it away and plunges him back into the reality of his life. When she left, she took his love of sunny days with her. He wishes he hadn’t been born here - wishes he hadn’t been born at all most days - wishes he hadn’t stayed, that he’d left when he’d had the chance. He wants to leave now. But he can’t leave. Alice is here. And wherever she is is where he will be. Always. Even if that place is a miserable, damp, cold island off the coast of nowhere.

The trap is empty. So is the next one, and the one after that. He swears under his breath though there's no reason to. It’s not like there was anyone who could hear him this far out on the water. He looks out at the vastness before him and thinks, as he does every day, about pointing his little boat in one direction and floating off until he can’t go any further. Maybe he’d find somewhere better, maybe he’d die out there. It brings a small smile to his face even as he throws the last empty trap back into the water.

Pushing back the layers of wool and nylon on his wrist, he wipes the droplets from the face of his old, scuffed watch. It’s getting late. The sun will be going down soon and it isn’t safe to be out on the water at night. He smiles a little again. Alice would insist it’s because that’s when the sea creatures come to life, mermaids and sirens looking to lure nice fishermen like him to a watery grave - he doesn’t want to ask where she learned the term ‘watery grave’. In reality, it’s the roughness of the waves, the lack of guiding lights, and the rocky shores of the island. Sometimes, he prefers Alice’s version.

The light is dimming from the sky, turning it from the pale grey of daytime to the foggy grey of twilight. He needs to get to the fishery and turn in his meager catches before they close. He sets about pulling up his nets, switching the lever and watching, listening to the familiar wiring sound of the mechanism as it slowly rolls the net in, out of the dark water. But, as more and more of it is pulled up, Killian grows more discouraged, its weight clearly light and therefore, likely empty - or mostly empty.

He pulls his hat off his head in frustration and runs a hand through his too-long hair. He can’t afford another bad day. He’s nearing the end of his meager savings and if he was ever going to have any hope of getting custody - Killian freezes. The hand that’s been rubbing at the back of his neck stops as his skin turns icy under his touch. He feels the blood drain from his face and settle in his stomach as dread washes over him.

A hand. There’s a hand reaching out of the water, pale and nearly blue with cold or - Killian doesn’t want to think it - death. He watches, unable to move for fear of his legs giving out from under him, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. He watches as more pale skin is exposed, the fingers tangled in the netting, as though they’d been clutching at the rope at some point and Killian has a horrific vision of someone being dragged along underwater after his boat.

The clanking sound of the engine coming to a sharp halt when the net is fully reeled in, is drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears as the body inside jolts lifelessly. It’s a woman. He can see the narrow shoulders and slight frame curled up in the bottom of the net. The thin dress she wears is soaked through, exposing more blue skin, raw from salt and cold. Her light hair sticks to her face and shoulders in wet ropes and hides her eyes from his view. Killian doesn’t know how, but he can tell she’d been under the waves for a long time. Too long for someone to have survived. He’s glad he can’t see her face. He’s seen enough dead, expressionless eyes in his lifetime. He doesn’t need to see any more.

Shit. Shit. What’s he supposed to do? Call the police? Bring her into shore? There hadn’t been a training day for this - on what to do if you find a dead body in the water. How had she gotten here? She looks young and healthy. Had she been killed? Had she swam out too far and drowned? Gotten caught in the undertow? Had she drowned herself? More and more horrific, unwelcome images flash through his mind.

The fingers in the net twitch.

“Oh bloody hell,” he gasps. “You’re alive!”

Killian nearly trips over his own feet in his desperate attempt to rush across the deck and pull the net over the side of the boat. His shaking fingers numb as he struggles to loosen the knot at the bottom that opens the net. He swears again when it won’t come loose and then once more in relief when it finally does. He tries his best to catch her, to prevent her body from falling the few feet to the hard wood of the deck.

He manages to soften the blow to her head by placing a hand under it, hunches over her, holding her lips up to his ear to listen for breath and then pressing his ear to her chest when there isn’t any. He waits. There’s a moment before he hears it, a faint, weak heartbeat. She’s alive. He lowers her down onto the floor among the few fish that had been caught along with her in the net. Taking a deep breath and hoping to god he’s remembering this right, he covers her mouth with his own, releasing the breath into her lungs. He does it twice more before jerking back as her whole body convulses beneath him, coughing violently as water forces its way out of her lungs. Sitting her up frantically, he presses his chest to her back and pulls his fists in against her diaphragm. She coughs again, spitting more water onto the deck and gasping desperately for air. Finally, her eyes open and she looks around in panic.

“What happened?” she demands between heaving, ragged breaths. Her voice rough like she’d swallowed sand along with the salt.

“I don’t know,” he tells her honestly as she continued coughing and gasping, retching on her hands and knees. “I - I think you drowned.” Bloody hell. He did it. She’s alive. He did it.

He can feel her pulling away from him and he doesn’t let her go quickly enough. He feels her elbow collide with his stomach and gasps, doubling over and watching as she crawls across the deck and puts her back up against the edge of the boat. She looks at him with panicked eyes, darting around to take in her surroundings despite the fact that she can still barely hold her head up.

“Where. Am. I?” she asks, each word a struggle to push through her raw throat but he can hear her accent. American. She’s a long way from home. He waits until he has his breath back to answer, still holding his stomach.

“You’re on my boat,” he answers slowly, afraid to scare her any more.

“Who. Are. You?” she demands warily. He can see the fear in her eyes.

“Killian. My name’s Killian. I pulled you up in my net.” He gestures weakly at the net he’d hauled her out of not five minutes ago. She looks to the mesh and then back at him, her breathing still ragged and panting but more from the prolonged lack of oxygen than from her panic now.

“I died,” she whispers and the way she met his eyes he feels like she was asking him to confirm it, like she can’t understand how she’s sitting in front of him now with air in her lungs.

“Aye,” he concedes. “But you’re alive now. You’re safe.”

“Why?” she asks, the doubt still in her eyes and it makes him pause. He doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why life like the sea swallows some people up and spits others out. Why it swallowed his mother and Liam but refused to take him or his father.

“Maybe the land’s not done with you yet.”

He waits as she watches him wearily for a moment before finally nodding her head. As her breathing settles, he notices the goosebumps start to spread over her skin and the shivers wrack her body as the wind whips at her thin dress. She’s soaked through and her skin is still far too blue.

Shrugging out of his heavy rain jacket, he stands and crosses the space between them, hesitating when she flinches and then continuing when she calms. He kneels before her, draping the jacket over her shoulders and wrapping it tightly around her, rubbing at her arms to try and bring some warmth to her icy skin.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

Something he can’t place washes over her and she looks out over the edge of the boat, avoiding his eyes, before answering. “I don’t know.”

“You lost your memory in the water?” he asks, trying to get a look at her head to check for blood.

“Maybe,” she says, pulling the jacket tighter around herself as more shivers wrack her body.

Killian nods, not sure he believes her but there are more pressing issues than her memory. Like the fact that she’s a few minutes away from freezing to death and needs medical attention. Her secrets are hers and he has no right to demand them. Standing again, he heads into the small cabin to find the emergency radio.

“What are you doing?” the woman demands as he picks it up.

“Calling for help. You need a hospital.”

“No!” she insists with more vehemence and life than he’s seen from her since he’s brought her back. “No hospitals. I don’t want to be seen.”

“You don’t want to be seen?” Killian repeats, frowning. She shakes her head, her hand coming up to worry a pendant around her neck. “I’ve seen you,” he points out. This woman is going to kill him. He’s torn between his need to help her and his desire to do as she wants. And the way she looks at him now makes his heart stutter.

She turns to him again, shrugs. “I don’t mind being seen by you.”

“You don’t mind being seen by me?” he repeats again. He has to stop repeating everything she says back to her but he still hasn’t fully convinced himself she’s real, that she’s here, that she was in his net. It feels like a fairytale, like something out of a storybook and if there’s one thing Killian’s life is not, it’s the stuff of stories and happily ever afters.

She shakes her head. “You pulled me from the water.”

She smiles weakly at him and Killian is surprised at how strongly the small turn of her lips affect him. He looks at her now, properly for the first time since he’d found her. She’s small, with thin limbs and a thin frame but the set of her shoulders and the way she holds her jaw betrays an obvious strength despite her size. He’s seen that defiance in someone’s face before, a smaller one. Her skin is pale and damp and there are dark circles under her large eyes, the long hair around her face slowly starting to dry and lighten as it curls.

She’s beautiful, like one of the sirens from Alice’s books, and she doesn’t mind him seeing her. It’s been a long time since a woman hadn’t minded him being around and he feels a tightness in his chest at the same time as he feels warmth bloom in his stomach as she looks at him with trust in her wide green eyes. His gaze drifts down to the long bare legs stretched out in front of her.

He clears his throat, trying to cast away the feelings she’s stirring in him. Here she is, terrified and clearly vulnerable and he’s looking at her like some sort of lecher. The last thing she needs is to be ogled by him. She needs help. She needs to feel safe. And if that means not wanting to be seen by anyone for whatever reason, then he’ll respect that. He sighs, hangs up the radio, and the look of relief on her face makes his heart hurt. What is she so afraid of? Just who is she?

“Do you remember anything at all?” he asks, crouching down beside her. She shakes her head, her mouth setting into a hard line and he fears that perhaps, whatever she’s forgotten was forgotten on purpose. He doesn’t want to think of what could have happened to her for her to end up in that water. He can’t blame her for not wanting to think about it either. A fierce desire to protect her from whatever she’s left behind overwhelms him. Perhaps she is a siren. Perhaps she’s cast some spell over him.

“What should I call you then?” he asks, giving her a small smile when she frowns. “I need to call you something besides the girl I pulled up in my net,” he pushes.

“Do you name all the fish you catch?” she asks and he barks out a surprised laugh.

“No, only the ones who sucker-punch me.”

She smiles, looking a little embarrassed as she toys with the pendant in her hand again as she frowns, clearly trying to remember something, then she pauses and looks down at the little piece of silver she's rolling between her fingers. He follows her gaze, noticing the intricate and delicately etched bird in the center.

“Swan,” she says, looking up at him again. “You can call me Swan.”

He smiles at her and feels the warmth spread through him again when she returns it, even if it is a small shadow of a thing. It suits her, beautiful and elegant and fierce.

“Alright then, Swan, let’s get you somewhere safe.” He thinks for a moment, trying to figure out where he could bring her but finally realising he really only has one option. “I can take you to my place if you like. It’s not much, but there’s dry clothes and I can make a fire.” He starts rambling when she doesn't answer right away. “It’s pretty remote. People don’t go up there so you don’t have to worry about being seen by anyone. I can stay on the boat if you like.” She looks at him in surprise.

“You’d give up your house?”

He sighs. “I’d really like to get you somewhere where you can warm up and not die of hypothermia. I brought you back to life once but I don’t think I could do it a second time.” He gives her a little, self-deprecating laugh. “So yes, if it means keeping you alive, I’m happy to spend a few nights on the water.” She looks at him incredulously but the hard stance she’s held since waking up relaxes slightly. “You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal, love. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

He smiles again. He can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this much with anyone except Alice. He stands, holding out his hand and she takes it, her fingers like little icicles in his own, and lets him pull her to her feet. She stumbles a bit, her legs unsteady and he wraps an arm around her waist, holding her to his side as he helps her walk the few steps into the cabin.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your sea legs soon enough,” he teases and tries to ignore how her laugh makes his whole chest feel lighter. “You alright?” he asks as he settles her down onto a bench, finding another blanket and draping it over her lap.

“Yeah.” She pulls his jacket around herself. He nods, heading over to the wheel across the cabin and turning back to shore. “Killian,” she speaks after a long, stretched out silence. He jumps, surprised by the sound of his name on her lips, at how much he likes it and he turns to her. “Thank you.”

He flushes, nods, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He’s not used to being thanked, to being appreciated or wanted or seen as anything but who he’s become. It leaves him unsettled.

"You don't need to thank me for that, love," he tells her, coughing awkwardly. "It's what anyone would have done."

"No," she whispers so low he barely hears it. When he turns to her, he recognizes the look in her eye. It’s one he'd seen in his brother's, in his own, one too many times. "It's not," she finishes.

Nearly half an hour later they’re rounding the bend of a small bay, one that’s hidden among the rocks and small islands that litter the surface of the water. He navigates his way through them with practiced ease, anchoring his boat and helping his passenger down into the dinghy that takes them to shore.

They make their way silently to the little cottage further up on the rocks. The door creaks open and Killian winces when he takes in the state of the place. He hadn’t been expecting guests. He never has guests - apart from Alice and she’s not one for being indoors. The space that serves as the entranceway, kitchen and living room is littered with bits and pieces of fishing equipment. Netting on the sofa, hooks and bait on the table, and there are an embarrassing amount of unwashed mugs and dishes filling his sink and blanketing his counter.

“Like I said, it’s not much,” he reminds her, feeling his cheeks going red. The cottage is really just one room with a small bedroom and a bathroom off of the back wall. When Alice is over he has her sleep in his room and he takes the couch. Damn, Alice. He was supposed to meet her after sunset. She wanted to go see the fairies by the glen. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her they’re lightning bugs. Maybe, he’s the one who told her they were fairies in the first place.

“Right,” he says and she turns from looking around the room to face him. “There’s a bathroom through there,” he points. “You should probably take a hot bath to warm up and there are clean towels inside. You can sleep in the bedroom if you’re tired and you’ll find clean clothes in there too. There might be a trunk in the closet with some of my mum’s old things. Take whatever you like.” He reaches into his bag, pulls out a sandwich and hands it to her.

“Here,” he says and feels his ears burn as she looks him over before carefully looking over the offered food. With all the commotion he’d forgotten to eat. “You must be starving.” She takes it, nodding her thanks. “I’ll be back later,” he tells her and she turns wide, surprised eyes on him. “I can stay on the boat like I said but I’ll need to grab a few things.”

“You’re not staying?” she asks. He tells himself he must be imagining it. She looks disappointed.

“No, I have somewhere I need to be.”

She nods, that flicker of disappointment still in her eye. There’s an awkward silence between them as they both wait for him to leave. He can’t bring himself too just yet. He needs some kind of assurance that she’ll still be here when he gets back. That he hasn’t made her up and she’ll vanish when he turns his back. After a moment her stomach growls and she laughs, opening the sandwich and taking a bite.

“I expected fish,” she says and it’s his turn to laugh. What the bloody hell has become of his life?

Killian heads for the door, stepping through it when he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. When he faces her she’s not looking at him.

“You’ll come back?” she asks, still refusing to meet his eye, focused on the floor and her bare feet as she shivers slightly under his jacket. He glances down at the fingers that are gripping his sleeve. After a moment, he covers them with his own. He feels her tense but she doesn’t pull away.

“Aye, Swan, I’ll come back.” And he means it. If only to know that she’ll still be here when he does.

#captain swan #cs #csmm #captain swan movie marathon #captain swan au #cs au #ondine #captain swan fanfiction #cs fanfiction

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middleinthenight21 · 4 years

Text

Damirae week 2020- Day 2

Royalty AU

Warning: Adult content.

The kingdom of Nanda Parbat is in the heart of the mountains, separated from society with a small population. However, they have a powerful army, whose warriors are so efficient that each could fight with six men at the same time. The leader calls himself "The Demon's Head", a strict and rigid old man who had reigned for more than fifty years.

Recently, his grandson had assumed the role. A young man who followed in the footsteps of the previous leader and made it his priority to enrich his kingdom through the war. He had obtained an expansion to the north, as he had investigated the new lands that brought a fruitful business in cultivation rice and control of trade routes with neighboring countries.

She pretends to be interested in the information about Nanda Parbat written on the parchment when one of her tutors’ flits around the small room they use to teach her. They had tried to instruct her in politics, history, she had an Arabic lesson for three hours a day and they were trying to teach her religion, all of this with blows.

The teacher's bar gently taps his hands and gives her a sharp look, as if reminding her of what could happen to her if she doesn't cooperate.

Raven is not well regarded in the harem of the palace; she is a foreigner who was brought from revolutionary France in a conquest. She had a background involved in rebel groups in her land conspiring for the fall of the despotic and corrupt monarch. She was not raised by her customs, does not worship the gods themselves (she is not even sure she believes in one), does not speak Arabic fluently, does not possess the traits considered attractive in women in Narba Parbat, and does not have the character or behavior that amass in young ladies from an early age.

Her first day in Nanda Parbat had been sad and confusing. She walked from her country handcuffed by soldiers who hardly gave her sidelong glances and murmured in another language when they first observed her. She was afraid that they would do something to her, and she already misses her friends, they were fine, she knew it in her heart and that brings relief. The monarch had fallen, Richard and the rebel grouping would build something better, it was a matter of time before the demon's head was removed and they could rise from the ashes.

She's just mad that she wasn't there to see that.

When she first observed the kingdom, she thought that she truly was no longer in her land. There was no smoke from the chimneys, nor the vast expanses of forest, there are no abusive noble lords to answer to and that green moss that is impossible to pull off the walls. Everything is very clean, tidy, even the climate is a subordinate, since it is warm, and her clothing made from the wool of the sheep begins to weigh on her body. A drop of sweat falls from her forehead.

She was dragged, tied by ropes around her hands. Held by a soldier dressed all in black, from whom only his slit eyes distinguish, she is forced to walk when the men get into a carriage pushed by a donkey.

Her feet hurt; she feels the pain of two days of walking without rest. She is poorly nourished and the dirt forms as a layer on her body.

She felt like she was about to pass out when her head is boiled by the rays of the sun.

"It would be nice if they gave me water," she asks.

The men gathered in the carriage look at her, some look away without caring about her request, others tilt their heads without understanding what she is saying. Raven repeats her words, but this time she mimics simulating clasping her hands together and drinking water.

No one listens to her.

"Why are you looking away? I am a person asking for something as basic as water. "

Raven knows that it is not because they do not understand, she is aware of the treatment that is given to women in some countries, France had not been the exception, however, the illustration and the books had penetrated deep into her soul. In her land women had been an important part of the revolution. They had united in arms when these soldiers invaded the kingdom and attacked the palace, the people had taken advantage of venting their anger towards the monarchy and bourgeoisie. It was the people who gave victory to the kingdom of the demon's head.

Perhaps she had grown too accustomed to raising her voice and being heard.

The one who she sensed was the captain leaned forward on his horse and hit her on the back with the hilt, silencing her. Raven writhed in pain, her teeth colliding with each other and her hands trembled at her sides, when she looked up the old man was looking at her with satisfaction. She looked at him with rancor and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Shaytan," he growled.

What did that mean?

The captain threw a leather bag at her feet, it is like a horn and from the sound he knows it contains water. She runs to the water, her throat feels dry as if it were made of sandpaper, she realizes that the entire caravan has stopped and there are dozens of eyes on her.

The old man on the horse is watching.

Raven's senses are activated.

She takes a small portion of water, holds it in his mouth for a few minutes trying to take small drinks and her throat thanks her. However, she takes note of the sweet taste, it is fresh as if just brought from a cold spring. She holds it in her slightly puffed cheeks so the soldiers wouldn't notice.

When there is no danger, she swallows the contents of the horn without decorum. The water that falls from her mouth she uses to moisten her body and the warm crown of her head where the sun's rays hit hardest.

"Thank you," she says to the old man, bowing her head in a kind of bow. She thinks that, if it were not for the fact that she was taken from her land, she could come to admire the man, since she had seen him worried about the health of his soldiers and distributing the supplies.

The captain raises his eyebrows, surprised.

He contemplates the empty bowl of water in his hands and looks at his soldiers "Shaytan dhaki."

Raven frowns, confused.

The next thing she remembers is being dragged towards the entrance to the city of Narba Parbat. The city has a rough beauty, the palace is a whitish construction like those foreign paintings of the eastern palaces with straight lines and the towers look like small houses stacked in earth tones. She had thought of Nanda Parbat as a city made of sand in the middle of the desert, but it has a deep oriental inspiration.

Nanba Parbat is surrounded by a wall made of stone.

The captain grabbed the rope when they reached the city gates and veered off in another direction. Her legs tangle with each other, she struggles to keep up with the gracefully trotting horse, and nearly falls several times.

She hasn't eaten anything in days and her feet are pounding. Her head begs her to stay alert, she doesn't know where this shoulder was taking her, she is a foreign girl and nobody would worry if she appears dead in the distance, she has no one to claim her and she needs to defend herself if necessary.

"Where are you taking me? "

The man turns his back on his horse.

They enter the city through another entrance, almost sighing in relief because at least more people would see if something would happen to her, even with all that, she is still a foreign girl.

They pass through a market. People stroll in robes, street vendors shout the prices of their products, there is music in the air somewhat like a flute. Large fabrics work like a makeshift ceiling, everything is cool in the market and there is a powerful smell of spices and incense in the air.

She is impressed by the colors, smells and textures.

In France there is nothing like this.

The women look at her, look scandalized, and some who walk with their children cover their eyes and take them away from her.

What is wrong with her clothing?

The captain pulls the rope, they continue to cross the market until they reach a house that is close to the royal palace. She thinks that perhaps he is going to hand her over to the authorities and they will execute her, but they deviate towards a small construction from which they see young people enter wearing elegant clothes. They are not the dresses that she is accustomed to seeing in the bourgeoisie, but soft fabrics in green and gold tones, their hair is dark, long to their back and their skin is golden or dark.

These women are delicate, like flowers and care about their appearance. She feels dirty and insignificant compared to them.

Raven frowns.

A woman opens the doors, she is plump, and a green veil covers her hair, her face covered in wrinkles, and when her gaze falls on her mouth twists down. She gives her a look from head to toe, to finally look at the man and from her mouth come a series of words that she does not understand, but surely, they are repudiation. She can feel it, she was always an intuitive person and she knows that she would not have the sympathy of this woman.

The captain responds and pulls on the rope, pulling her body forward.

The woman strides over to her and takes her hard by the chin, examining her face and touching her dirty hair. She claps her on the ribs, growling a sentence, and grimaces. She touches her hair again, pulling the strands as if she thinks the color is false, with fingers she from rubs and gem with the other hand and finds no pigment.

Raven pulls away, but her grip on her cheeks is like a hawk's claws on her prey.

The lady continues to touch the dress checking her body under the fabric, when she lifts her skirt Raven grimaces and instinctively kicks her to get away, she screams and hits her in the face. The slap is loud and leaves her cheek burning for a few seconds. She takes her face, digging her nails into her chin, yells at the captain who now looks funny, and pushes her away, as if wanting her to get as far away as possible.

"Shaytan," she growls.

Again, what does that mean?

The captain says something, and the woman looks her directly in the eyes, her mouth opens and closes for a few minutes. Finally, she grabs her arm and takes her into the room.

She doesn't have time to think about anything.

Raven screams and tries to get her to release her several times, but she is weak from walking, dehydration, lack of food and sleep, and the woman is much heavier than she is. That does not prevent her from giving up, she does not want to enter that place and she struggles with all her strength to release her. With a little luck she could escape from the city, but the woman whistles and more people are joining to take her inside.

She quickly learns what can happen for not obeying, she spends more than a month between lessons, flower baths and new clothes, she is forced to visit mosques and meet their gods, however, she does not believe that any entity comes to save her. She learns that ´´Shaytan´´ means demon in Arabic, she earns that nickname for her apparent rebellion against the authorities and the attitude that they disapprove of. She also learns that she is in a harem and that they were preparing to serve the demon head.

She shows no interest.

She is not interested in what they have to say about the leader, nor does she want to please him in any way. She has other things to worry about.

She doesn't make friends inside the harem, with every lawsuit that forms around her. Like when they tried to recite a prayer out loud and he refused, or when she escaped through a small window one night and was caught in the middle of the river in a boat. The gossip spread like wildfire and the women moved further away from her side.

A guard chases her everywhere after her frustrated escape attempt.

Raven just wants to go back to her land, she has no interest in satisfying the leader, in looking beautiful to him and ducking her head when it will happen, she doesn't want to be reminded every day that she is inferior and that her life is wrapped around a thread that supports the demon's head. She does not belong to him.

She walks through the local market pretending to be interested in fabrics and spices, she had invented an excuse ´´I need new perfume and more dresses´´ and they believed her, so they gave her a bag of gold coins to spend, while the guard walked behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye is a merchant who works in the port.

On her first getaway, she traded a handful of coins for a small pot but was unsuccessful as he was in plain sight and soon to be made aware of her absence from the harem. The merchant was famous for helping unfortunate political prisoners or lovers to flee. He bought bribes from certain authorities and infiltrated you in such a way that no one had managed to find one of his clients.

She needed to talk to him, with the coins she had she could buy her way back to her country.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she says to the guard.

The man raises his eyebrows and looks away. Raven hides behind a tent and runs away as fast as she can.

The merchant had turned to the right and when she reached him, she pulls him by the clothes so hard that he almost falls off. The man would be in his forties, of course she wouldn't be scared of a nineteen-year-old, but she is with him.

"Ah, it's you." He shakes his robes from the dust.

She gasps looking everywhere "I needed to go."

He raises one of his graying eyebrows. The language is hard on her tongue, not used to talking to others, she needs practice, Raven does not waste time and puts the bag with the coins in his hands, and the merchants feel it, as if with that she could check how much it was worth.

"No. "

What?

"Why not? "

He winces indifferently "It's very little. "

"They are gold coins."

"Listen, I know you want to abandon your life of luxury in the palace, but what I do is not legal and I risk my head every time someone important is taken out of this kingdom" he answers, as if he was explaining a subject to a little boy. "The Demon’s Head is known for his indulgence and does not like his treasures fleeing to other countries" he looks at her from head to toe.

"I don't belong to him," she spits.

"Think what you want." He rolled his eyes. He puts the bag of coins in her hands, and leaves. "Bring more gold or please your lord, shaytan. "

Raven sighs.

***

She is in the harem garden. Sitting reading on the grass regardless of whether she soils her purple dress.

The old Zaira, the director of the harem, had sent them to make different dresses for Raven, since green or gold does not go with her pale skin and would not be attractive to her lord, so they choose purple, red and blue tones. She does not the fabrics as well as the other girls. She doesn't mind getting his clothes dirty.

"I saw him." There is a murmur in the garden. The young concubines gathered among the flowers to chat with their group of friends. Raven is hidden behind a bush where she had buried a book, since she is prohibited from reading anything else that is not authorized by Zaira. "He is very handsome and young" they laugh.

She put her back against the bush wanting to hear better.

"Did he look at you? "

"He was very busy training with one of his instructors" she says, her voice is low and disappointed ", but Zaira told me that the leader has not looked at any concubine" now she sounds more animated. "He has been heavily involved in politics to have time for women. I heard one of the ministers talk about developing a new map. "

"He's so committed," another sighs.

She rolls her eyes.

"We'll dance for him next week," reports one. There is a group gasp. "Zaira confessed to me that the girl who dances best will spend a night with him, in addition to that on that night she will have access to the royal treasure and will make us choose any jewel as a gift."

Jewel?

She remembers the merchant's words; she needs a gem to secure her exit from this harem and palace which is a true nightmare.

He almost visualizes the faces of her friends, her mother tongue in her mouth and the flavors of her tender native.

She needs that gem.

***

"I want to dance. "

Raven stands in front of Zaira, the woman is giving lessons to the young women who would dance for the Demon's Head and she not included in the list.

"Who are you to demand such a thing?" She gives her a contemptuous look. "Why the sudden interest in the Lord? "

She sighs "I want to know how he is. "

A simple answer.

Raven had had experience lying, being a rebel during the revolution. She grew up on the streets, not like these women who came from wealthy families, are the daughters of soldiers and were made with a gold chisel.

"You are lucky, shaytan" with a gesture the young women open leaving a space for her to enter the group. Before she can put herself in her place, Zaira takes her arm, stopping her. "If you weren't so unusual, I would have let you go a long time ago. I did not accept you out of courtesy, but by the lord. If you make one of your numbers, I will personally see to it that you disappear from this palace."

She smiles sweetly at her. "Don't worry. I matured, I am dedicated to faith now and I understood that I owe everything to the Demon’s Head."

During her time as a rebel she was not a lone player, she was happy to surround herself with a group and find others who would fight for the same thing, the common good above all. She did not expect to find her rebels here, maybe if not they will threaten her so much could look at them well.

Zaira released her arm giving him a suspicious look, but she settled with a smile between the concubines and pretended that the woman's words meant nothing. She had managed to become one of the concubines who would dance for the Demon's Head, now she had to get his attention and win that night where he would give her the most expensive jewel that would ensure her exit from this cursed kingdom.

***

When the night came when they would appear in the Demon's Head’s room, the leader would be sitting on a throne with his back to the doors of his room and when he chose one of the concubines everything would stop, the unselected women would return to the harem where they would not go out, unless the selected one was not liked by the leader and that is a humiliation. The selected one would be chosen not only for her beauty, but for her way of dancing and as it pleases the Lord. When she is chosen, she would make her way through the room and announce herself, as tradition dictates.

Raven had been enlisting all day among scented baths, fragrances, worthless little jewels, and elaborate dresses. She decides again with the dressmaker that there wouldn't be a green dress for her, instead she has a blue dress with gold accents and thinks that's enough.

They are not allowed to show their faces, so they emphasize their eyes with black eyeliner, and she thinks she looks like a blue cat.

"We want the color of your eyes to stand out the most," the woman says with a brush.

She did not know why these people are so obsessed with the color of her eyes and her short hair that is dark, it is supposed to be because she are foreign.

When they walk to the hall where the ceremony would take place, she realizes that she is nervous, her hands itch and she feels like a prey in her dress. The color of her dress draws the attention of the other concubines, since they chose colors such as green and the gold that is used by the Demon's Head, not a bright blue.

The interior of the palace is luxurious, with its gleaming floors and gold trim. The air has a scent of essences and incense, distinguishes small lighted bowls whose smoke perfumes the corridors.

"I don't think the Demon's Head is fixed on the French one."

She knows that she is not appreciated within the harem for her behavior, although she had calmed down in the past few days as she is focused on getting that gem. These girls did not have to worry about her, because she would get the jewel and disappear forever, it would be as if she had never arrived.

Doors open and she stiffens.

"Don't raise your head. Don't look him in the eye unless you are selected” Zaira instructs in a harsh voice.

She feels his eyes on her body, and Raven smiles to herself.

When they enter, they form a perfect circle in the center just as they had rehearsed. Raven turns her back on the throne but knows it's there. The musicians are positioned to the side, their instruments in their hands ready for the signal from the Demon's Head, and they begin to play.

She takes the group's hands; they make a round, tracing patterns with their feet to the rhythm of the music. The typical music of these areas is different from that of her land, Zaira had said that her hips were rough, and she needs to balance them to the sound of the songs, it is like holding an instrument only with her hips. It's very strange.

The others follow the choreography without difficulty, but have trouble keeping up and think this is boring.

The same routine: they hold hands, turn, move their feet and hips, make waves with their hands, hold hands, and they would follow the process.

Zaira said that this dance represents femininity and fertility, an act of seduction, but this is tedious and she does not imagine what it is to have to witness one of these dances once a week, it is not surprising that the man had not decided on anyone.

She decides to look up a bit and is surprised by the youth of the demon's head, he would be about twenty years old, golden skin and green eyes. He had on a jade green robe that revealed a muscular torso, high black pants and there is a ring with a large diamond on his index finger.

He is not even looking; he is concentrating on his sword listening to Zaira who probably talks to him about the concubines because of the way her head glances at each one.

The Demon's Head is a handsome and rich man, with a ring on his finger, if she earned it she would have her ticket paid to her land.

Compared to these girls, she had nothing to lose.

She leaves the dance, the musicians freeze, the concubines stop and look down, Zaira is red with anger and her teeth clench so hard that she is sure to have some chipped teeth.

The leader leans forward following her movements, carrying a sword in his hand that he is not using, so she does not think he considers her as a threat. He looks impartial, his expression is blank, and it is difficult for Raven to know what he is thinking, perhaps he does not consider her prank so funny. There is no way back.

Raven positions herself in front of the concubines, bows her head in reverence, and walks back with her head down; the other women make way for her and step aside. She can feel her anger up to here.

The musicians begin to play a different, softer tune and try to follow her. She is not good at moving her hips like the natives, but she knows her own charm and tries to show it. She raises her arms allowing her wide sleeves to reveal skin up to her elbows.

It is forbidden to show skin.

The harem director is scandalized.

She turns and takes off her shoes, leaving her feet bare. She does not know where she gets so much daring, especially in the face of a society as conservative as that of Nanda Parbat, but the man in front of her has been in battles, contemplating deaths and his army is known as the league of assassins, it´s not like he is a saint.

Her dress had an opening, it is almost invisible, it would only reveal up to the knees, she knows that Zaira has not seen it and it reveals the skin of her leg almost by accident. She is aware that her features are strange, people whispering for her pale tone and servants would try to make her take on a more attractive shade sunbathing, but it has not worked and she does not look cute when the sun hurts her skin giving it a red tone, like a shrimp.

One of the musicians drops his instrument and has to run to pick it up.

He still hadn't killed her or screamed for her daring, that's good.

She raises her eyes, sees how an eyebrow rises when their gazes intertwine, and she has never seen a more beautiful and masculine face like his. Tradition says that concubines should wear veils that cover their hair, face and waist, but they had already broken a rule, why not two?

She had been a rebel in her country, here too.

She takes out the scarf that she keeps around her waist, caresses her face with the fabric, as well as her torso until she reaches her waist, he remains as neutral as ever, but follows the path of the scarf and it is a good sign. She smiles under the scarf that covers her nose and mouth; it is a true smile.

She approaches turning to where the leader is, the handkerchief in her hands flies and moves her hips, letting him see her bare feet and legs, crouches back in strides allowing him to see her cleavage and now he gulps.

Her hair is tied under a veil in a transparent blue shade, she caresses her hair looking at the man directly in the eyes, her hands go down her collarbone, between her breasts and her stomach.

Raven smiles at him as one of her hands quickly goes up to her face cupping her left cheek. She feels the evil, mischief and lust within her intertwined in this dance, it's like a statement.

When the music ends, she is sitting on the floor bowing with a smile on her face. She is tired, but something inside her jumps with happiness to get his attention, she thinks it would be fun to see how far this man would let her go.

"Who are you? "

She feels the tension in his voice and closes her eyes tight. Shit, maybe she was wrong, and her breach of tradition was stronger than she thought.

"She is a foreigner, sir. I'll get her out of here, if ... "

"Did I ask you, Zaira?" He interrupts her.

Raven sighs.

"I asked you a question." Raven shuddered at the harsh sound in the man's voice. "Look me in the eye when I speak to you. "

She looks up, their eyes meet, and she feels a tug in her insides, he probably also felt it because the man recoils a few inches on his throne. Perhaps the maid who had made her up was right and her eyes did stand out through the makeup, it makes her look mysterious and more feline.

She remembers that even with the cold tone of this man, he is still the one who followed the path of the scarf over her figure.

"They call me shaytan, my lord."

"That can't be your real name."

"I have abandoned my old name. Embraced the customs of Nanda Parbat along with my new name."

Zaira shakes her head and narrows her eyes in her direction.

A smile formed on the lips of the Demon's Head "You were noticed when you interrupted the dance of the concubines. Did you know that it is a tradition that takes more than a hundred years? "

The concubines exchanged a look of alert, since the leader had not given them a sideways glance and is conversing with the foreigner.

"I thought you needed entertainment, my lord." She trailed off the nickname justifying the accent and her intermediate command of Arabic. The Demon's Head realized.

The leader observed Zaira and whispered something in her ear, the woman grimaced in disgust and ordered those present to leave.

What did this mean?

Raven looked down again, as the room emptied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concubines open their eyes in surprise, some of them trying to hide their anger and glancing hatefully towards her.

Zaira grimaces, just by seeing her she can see the promise of revenge in her eyes.

The room was completely empty.

Had she succeeded?

She was chosen?

The Demon's Head stood up, the sword is now in its scabbard, and his green cloak rippled through the air as it followed. He opens the doors behind the throne, they lead to a dark room whose only lights are lighted metal fountains, a polished wood floor, the windows are open. She has a view of the entire kingdom that is represented in small lights, there is a bed in the center of the room and small furniture where there is a pile of parchments in different positions.

Sheets hang from the ceiling, swaying to the rhythm of the warm wind. Where they come from, they would not think of having the windows open day and night, since it was always very cold.

The room is beautiful.

"Come in," he orders.

Now his voice has a boring note, as if he had experienced this before and had the predicted ending. Raven's life was never fun, she had a difficult childhood with an abusive father and ran away when she was just a girl. Preferring to live on the streets where she found friends, she had a reason to fight and now she is here in front of a ruler; but his life was written in stone, marked by traditions and customs. What a disappointing life.

He sits on the edge of the bed and leaves the sword on a piece of furniture.

"Take off your veils and clothes."

Is this what this would be like?

Raven is not someone with a sex life as active as Richard or Kory, she had had a short list of loves that had not led to anything important, however, she was not supposed to start a sexual relationship this way. She wonders how little fun this relationship must have been for this man; she surely has a protocol to follow when it comes to these things and she thinks it's horrible.

Not that she is an expert, in fact her experience is limited.

He is now looking at her, as if she had no objections. Raven raises a hand to the scarf that covers her hair, but her hands get tangled and it's a lie.

"I can't take off my scarf."

She realizes that she is nervous, but still needs to make a good impression and leave him so happy that he would guarantee a gem.

Pretend a face of innocence "Can you help me, my lord? "

He sighs and gestures for her to come closer. Raven listens to him, but does not do exactly what he wants, but turns her back on him.

"Are you making fun of me?" He says, undoing the scarf over his hair, there is still one more that covers half her face.

"I never would, my lord."

But he is laughing.

His hands are warm, and he stays longer than necessary at the nape of her neck and traces a path to the clavicle and down to her chest. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she were something soft, and she sighed under his hands, stopping the rapid advance, took his hands stopping him on purpose and gave him a kiss on the palm.

Not yet.

He freezes.

Raven turns around, looks him directly in the eye. His eyes are green like jade, it looks like river water or the color of moss that is born from humidity.

She runs a hand through her hair, her short hair caresses her shoulders and one of her hands buries her buds feeling the texture and the smell of flowers they used to bathe her.

"I've never seen hair this color before," he whispers. He caresses her hair feeling the softness, he looks into her eyes, his eyes are deep, and they leave her breathless. "Where did you come from, shaytan? "

A malicious smile springs from her lips. The protocol of visits to the demon's head had been explained to her, only he could touch and ask to be pleased, the concubine existed to give pleasure, not to receive it.

"Perhaps from a nightmare, sir," she replies.

Raven caresses her chest, feels his bare skin, it’s covered with small scars and tenses when there is skin-to-skin contact, but he doesn't push away. He’s warm, just as she expected, and her thumb traces a scar across his ribs, he gasps and stands up.

"You don't look like a nightmare."

"Oh, I can teach you what I can do, and it will change your mind," she replies. With the back of her hand, she runs through his muscles until it sits on the clavicle, where she traces the protruding bone and notices the scars.

The Demon's Head does nothing.

She thinks she has done something wrong, that he would kick her out, but instead he just looks at her.

He is taller than she, he has a tall head and has to tilt his head to look her in the eye. Violet meets green, Raven could drown in his eyes and die, suddenly she is afraid of being rejected, because he will call someone else and live thinking about what she might have.

He advances, his hands traveling to the veil that covers her nose and mouth, a small dagger in his hand breaks the fabric with agility and it falls to the ground.

He gasps when he looks at her face.

He looks without fabrics to separate them for the first time and Raven feels like they've gotten rid of a wall. Her hands tremble at the sides of her body, her legs are two branches shaken by the wind and the heat settles at the base of the stomach, it is like fire and she doesn't mind burning herself.

He looks like a statue, static, but she feels how his eyes make her feverish, she imagines herself touching and how the most powerful man in the Middle East melts under her palms; she is sure that he is thinking the same. Zaira's voice is strong in her head:

If he chooses you, I don't think so, shaytan. You are not allowed to take the first step, the head of the devil as the supreme leader of your life and the empire must be who determines what the act will be like. No games.

They endorse each other, when their lips meet it is an uncomfortable kiss because it is a collapse of teeth and a fight for whoever has control over the other's lips, and they cannot find a position that accommodates them, but soon he tilts his head and it is much more functional. His hands are all over the place, he touches her torso through the corset, her waist and hip to her rear where his hands stop.

Raven gasps loudly, letting the sound sweep through the room without worrying about being heard; He runs his hands over her torso enjoying the firm skin under the pads of his fingers and runs a hand down her smooth back through the fabric. Sure, the cloth is there and it's annoying, she has to take it off. He throws the robe to the ground without caring about how he does it, the fabric falls apart into threads, leaving half torn in place.

He is kissing her hard and Raven laces his hands around her neck to help wrap her legs around his torso. The openings in the dress don't allow her to do this, but he slides a dagger to break the skirt and ends with two slits down to the hips.

Raven laughs against his mouth, but quickly stops doing it as he shifts his attention to her neck, placing butterfly kisses on her skin until he goes down to her collarbone and is too excited to feel anything else.

Sighs.

He tightens her hair, and feels her tense, now he runs his tongue over her neck to her ear. Raven writhes like a worm.

To punish him she pushes her hips against the base of his stomach, dangerously close to his crotch. The man now stops and watches her, as if she had done something very wrong.

The burning fire plays with his face and Raven gives him a look of innocence deciding to ignore his erection through his pants. This is the same man who had observed her with a neutral face while dancing.

There is a knife in his hands, and he is tearing the dress. The knife comes down through the ribbons on her back and the corset is out, left in a plain dress that falls square in a pale blue hue.

"You destroyed a dressmaker's job, sir," but she's already raising her arms for him to take off her dress.

He has a better idea because he draws her to his body, wraps his arms around her waist, and his hands intertwine at the start of her butt.

"I'll have another one made for you." He kisses her so hard she leans back.

There is a smile on her lips. In her life she has seen beautiful men, she can sit down to contemplate some faces and bodies, but this man is on another level, it seems that he was made by an angel who wants to replicate the most beautiful thing he has seen in an individual.

"Anyway, they did me to take it away from you."

The next time they meet they are slower but want to touch each other. Raven lets him have her entire body exposed like no other man in her life, he may have a kingdom, but her resides within these four walls.

In the tradition it is dictated that the man should always be on top, it is not allowed that the woman is the one who rode him, but they experience everything, and they do not care about customs.

He squeezes her breasts and Raven sighs increasing speed. She would kiss him hard, biting and finding his tongue, the Demon's Head looks like a moldable object under her hands and it's fun, but she’s also slipping.

She gives herself to him and if he asked her for anything, she would do it without thinking.

"Called me Damian," he confesses between kisses, when they are exhausted and sweat drips down their bodies. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths. "That's my name. "

She looks at him askance. Her body is sore, she is sure she has more than love bite on her neck, stomach and breasts, her hair is a sweaty mess, she cannot even brush it with her fingers due to the number of knots, she feels irritation on her thigh where He had bitten her, it would leave a scar, and her lips are swollen and aching.

"So, you're not called Demon Head, Damian?" mocks.

He clicks his tongue and winces when he turns to look at her. A sheet covers part of his body, but he is naked; looking at his sculpted torso there are scratches, bites and bruises, she does not want to see the chaos that is his back.

Did she do that?

"What about you, Shaytan?"

She grimaces as she looks out, the mountain range looms in the distance and the lights of the kingdom are dimming, welcoming a new dawn.

"I had it somewhere else," she sighs. "When I lived on my land, I had a name, but I discarded it. Now I don't know what to think. "

She drops onto the bed, the mattress is soft, and the sheets are made of a delicate material, it's like butter. Her head does not touch the pillows, the bed is too big for two people to cover the entire space, she is sure that it is made for him, he will invite more than one lover to his rooms.

She wonders how many people have touched him the way she had.

It is now her life, dancing and trying to attract the attention of a man who has at his disposal a multitude of lovers. Maybe she had enjoyed it so much that she held on too soon.

"Do you want me to keep calling you Shaytan?"

She looked at the ceiling. The bed has a ceiling made of carved wood covered by fabrics in golden patterns that fall down the sides, just like the veil that he had torn from her face with his dagger.

Maybe if he hadn't been so permissive with her ...

Could she answer a name nicknamed by others for your attitude?

"They call me Raven," she confesses. Her voice is monotonous, devoid of all humor, and in the bed of the leader of the nation who had ripped her from her land, she realizes that perhaps she had not completely left her name, but she is still a demon. "Can we keep it as our secret, sir? " She watches him.

He focuses his gaze on the ceiling, meditates for a few minutes, and nods.

Raven smiles.

She takes the sheet from him and rises from the bed muttering a complaint about the pain in a certain area, and searches the floor for her clothes, but finds her dress cut. She is not willing to walk to the harem in a torn, dirty and stained dress.

"Where are you going? "

She looks at him.

When she sees him, she thinks that maybe they were too abrupt, since Damian's eyes are swollen and red, as well as his mouth and scratches on his arms, red marks on his neck and torso, as well as pieces of cloth on the bed.

"Isn't it just for one night?" The question. Zaira told her that the selected one would only stay one night with the demon's head, and after a time she would be called, only if she pleased her lord.

"Stay another day."

Raven contemplates the idea, has no objection.

"I have no clothes."

"You don't need them."

Okay, so maybe she could get used to this faster than she thinks.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

Calling your name, the only language I can speak

(FanFiction soon)

#damirae week 2020 #damirae #raven #Damian Wayne #damian al ghul #DC animated universe

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mychemicallyimbalancedromantic · 3 years

Text

it was always you

summary: ray is in love with chris. suddenly, he can't take it. but what does chris think? title taken from always by panic! at the disco. rating: teen fandom: life on mars pairing: ray/chris

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sometimes, ray thought as he entered the fifth hour of surveillance, christopher skelton was insufferable. of course, he was a great person- smarter than he thought, always ready to go along with any plan, an infectious positive force. for all that and more, ray loved him- which was precisely the problem. ray loved chris far more than he should, and was being quite painfully reminded of it as chris tossed his head back in his full, beautiful laugh- so much more unrestrained than his typical mannerisms. his heart twisted and his own, far less musical, laughter stopped.

noticing that ray was quiet, though not picking up on why, chris suppressed his giggles long enough to ask what had happened next. jumping slightly, ray blinked like he’d been pulled from deep thought and muttered “that’s it, really.” typically, chris couldn’t be accused of being overly observant, but he knew ray well enough to notice a difference between this closed-off murmur and his previous jovial tone. he turned, serious now, to ask what was wrong, but before he could say anything, ray opened his door and stepped out hurriedly, throwing out some excuse about buying cigarettes. chris was left wondering what he’d missed as he stared at the half-full packet of cigarettes visible in ray’s jacket pocket through the open window.

when he thought ray had been gone for a disproportionate amount of time, chris decided to go and look for him. he picked up the keys to their unmarked car and a radio, then headed towards the small shop around the corner. realistically, he knew ray wouldn’t have gone there, but he still asked the shopkeeper if she’d seen him. she hadn’t, so chris returned to the car and set off in the opposite direction.

sure enough, when chris rounded the corner he saw ray leaning against a brick wall with a cigarette between his lips and the evidence of several more scattered around his feet. not sure how to approach, chris cleared his throat to make ray look over at him. “alright, mate?” he started, desperately trying to keep it light though the red tinge around ray’s blue eyes told him that wouldn’t last long. “you can smoke in the car, y’know.” ray smirked sadly. “i know.”

“so what’s wrong?” as chris smiled encouragingly, ray felt like he had to close his eyes; chris’ smile was like seeing the sun after a long, dark night. though it had never occurred to him to describe anyone who wasn’t a woman as pretty, that word hit him like a slap to the face, seeing chris lit up in that golden afternoon glow.

suddenly, ray was struck with a strange feeling, like he had nothing to lose. before the feeling could fade, he squeezed his eyes shut to completely block out chris’ face, took a deep breath, and just started talking. “i’m in love with you, chris,” he started. easily, the sentence could have stopped there, but when ray started talking he found himself unable to stop. “i really love you. it’s almost impossible to be around you sometimes- i look at you and it just hits me, and i feel like i have to get away before it kills me.” finally, ray dared to open his eyes, then immediately wished he hadn’t. he didn’t know what he’d expected to see on chris’ face, but that completely baffled look, like he wore when translating sam’s monologues into proper english, wasn’t it. eventually, watching and waiting for chris’ face to show any signs of processing what he’d said became too painful, so ray turned and fled with hardly a thought spared to how he would get home (and it had to be home- the detectives he worked with would doubtless ask why he was crying, and ‘i’m in love with a fellow male officer’ wouldn’t be well received).

chris knew he had fucked up. he hadn’t reacted properly- or at all- to ray’s confession, which must have taken more guts than chris had, and so ray had left, bringing years of friendship with him. the whole way back to the unmarked car and then towards the station, chris tried desperately to think of something, anything he could have said, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. words and fragments of sentences swirled around in his head, refusing to form full sentences. how did he feel about this? chris had never considered a relationship with ray- or any other man, for that matter. he wasn’t homophobic; his issues with sam and gene’s relationship stemming more from their obsession with kissing in the guv’s office without locking the door, but hadn’t thought he’d ever have that kind of relationship- wouldn’t he know if he was gay? maybe not though- he wouldn’t have assumed gene or ray were. stopped at a traffic light, chris let himself consider the possibility of being with another man- taking his hand, holding him, kissing him. he was surprised to find that he wasn’t that opposed to it, but there wasn’t that discernible click, the spark sam had mentioned when drunkenly talking about gene. then, he changed tactics and imagined those things with ray. suddenly, he felt the same as he did at the end of a case, when all the puzzle pieces slotted into place- like this was so undeniably right that he couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. chris was in love with ray. probably had been for a long time, without ever realising. he swung the car around, aiming for ray’s flat before it was too late.

as if he were deliberating, ray ran the rope through his fingers. for quite some time, he’d struggled to reconcile himself with the understanding that this was likely to be his ending. chris (just thinking that name made ray’s heart twist sharply) had tried to help when he’d found out, but ray couldn’t see an alternative. he’d ruined everything. chris would never want to talk to him again. he had no other close friends, gene had always been his superior so there was a power imbalance, and he didn’t talk to anyone else at the station outside of necessity, missing chris’ good nature that made him so easy to get along with. cid only ran smoothly when everyone could work together well, and ray had never been good at setting aside his differences to work with other people, as working with sam showed. ultimately, either ray or chris would have to leave the station, the way ray saw it as he mapped out the next several months of his hypothetical life. as the super didn’t know most of the team, he’d leave the decision to their closer colleagues. there wouldn’t be any competition, ray knew. chris was much better to get along with, more willing to learn, had much more potential than ray. maybe gene, having known ray for longer, would make a case for him, but sam obviously vastly preferred chris, and had a knack for twisting the guv’s iron resolve- he’d make sure chris stayed. no, ray thought, it was better if he just took himself out of the equation now.

caution thrown to the wind, chris disregarded the speed limit all the way to ray’s flat. this revelation was too important. he kept up this speed out of the car, into ray’s building and up the stairs with a confession on his lips, only stopping when he flung the door open and flew into ray’s sparsely furnished living room. for, on the table, head just in front of a rope hanging from the ceiling, stood ray, clear blue eyes red and watery. “ray!” chris yelped, throat constricting. he’d feared that this might happen, but, ever the optimist, had hoped it wouldn’t. “ray, please, come down.” voice as hollow as his eyes indicated it would be, ray muttered, “just go, chris. leave me here. it’s better, trust me.” chris couldn’t bring himself to answer for a moment, fear and shock and desperation swirling through his mind and spilling down his cheeks. “how could this possibly be better, a life without you? please come down. i’m sorry i didn’t say anything, but i do love you. have for a while. i just didn’t realise- i should have. please, ray.” ray stared at chris, unblinking. “you’re just saying that. don’t feel like you have to. please just go.” the fragmented, monotonous sentences and flat voice terrified and saddened chris. “i mean it,” he added, trying to inject as much meaning into his voice as possible. “i really do, ray, i love you and i don’t know what i’d do if you… did this.” a glimmer of hope hit chris as ray’s eyes seemed to light back up. “you seem like you really mean that,” he said tentatively. chris nodded. “i do. please come down, ray, i don’t know what i’d do without you.” chris’ heart was in his mouth as ray paused a moment, then stepped back from the noose and down from the table. cautiously, as if approaching a wild, injured animal, chris moved towards ray. ray closed the gap between them and tangled his hands in chris’. for a few moments, the two just stood there, staring into each other’s eyes as if trying to commit them to memory. then, after what simultaneously felt like seconds and an eternity, ray leaned in and gently brushed his lips against chris’. this, he thought as chris kissed back, was worth staying alive for.

#juno writes #life on mars #life on mars bbc #ray carling #chris skelton #ray/chris #ray x chris #fanfic

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dobbysmaster · 3 years

Text

Some prongsfoot, along with Sirius taking care of accidentally turned baby regulus :)

It was supposed to be a good day. The sun was out, the birds were singing, it was Friday, the classes flew by like a breeze. But not all good things last. All the students were currently eating dinner in the great hall, nobody noticed that professor mcgonagall, professor slughorn, dumbledore were missing and they certainly didn’t notice the few slytherin students missing.

Sirius was talking with his boyfriend, James potter, when the missing professors came through the double doors in the great hall. Mcgonagall, slughorn and dumbledore stood there, with two slytherin fifth years behind them. But something was wrong. In mcgonagall’s arms there was a baby, he looked one and a half years old. Maybe older. But he was there, kicking, thrashing and crying. The screams coming from the infant were so loud that the whole great hall became silent, all their attention on the baby boy.

Mcgonagall was trying to calm the child down but nothing seemed to work. Ms. Pomfrey came rushing down from her seat at the teachers table to help calm the screaming baby, but nothing worked. If anything he started to cry louder, much to the discomfort of everyone in the great hall. Giving up on calming the boy, the professors start walking to the slytherin table, with the two guilty looking boys trailing behind them. They stoped in between the gryffindor table and the slytherin table, so Sirius didn’t have to strain to hear. Well no one did, it was deathly silent everyone could hear what mcgonagall said to the slytherins.

“Does anyone know how to calm down young mr.Black?” She pulled her pale lips in a thin line, expressing her disappointment.

Sirius’s ears perked up when he heard mr.Black, who could she possibly be addressing? The only blacks at Hogwarts were him and regulus- wait REGULUS, shit please don’t tell me this is want I think it is, Sirius thought.

“Mr.black? What do you mean mr.black?”

Mcgonagall turned at the sound of his voice. As she turned he got a clear view of the still crying baby. He had thin black hair on his small head, grey eyes filled with tears waiting to spill. It was him, Sirius recognized the baby. Hell if he didn’t, he practically raised regulus. As children their mother couldn’t give two fuckes about regulus, so Sirius took care of him. Fed him, played with him, sung to him, gave him baths, changed his shitty diapers, stayed up with him when he was sick, was there during the nightmares about the shadow in the closet, got him toys, listened to regulus baby blabber about trains and the colour blue.

“Reggie?” It came out a question, but he knew the answer to it.

Almost immediately baby regulus stops crying, he turns his head to the all too familiar voice (deeper, but familiar nonetheless) he vaguely recognizes the teen siting in front of him. But he knew it was his big brother, no matter how big he had gotten he was still his brother. His big brother who always saves him from everything, and he’ll do it this times. He gonna save me from these scary people, baby regulus thought.

Regulus starts to reach for his brother, the proceeds to try to fling himself out of mcgonagall grasp when she tightened it. Sirius quickly gets up, and round the table to his now baby brother.

He reaches to grab regulus only for him to be pulled away.

“And what do you think you’re doing Mr.Black?”

“ well no offence professor but my brother doesn’t seem to like you that much. So if you don’t mind I’ll take him.” Sirius says impatiently.

She huffs but let’s him take regulus into his arms. The affects were immediately, regulus calmed down. The students look at the pair, observing, it had just became a lot more interesting.

Regulus was patting sirius’s chest, looking for something. Well more like feeling for something. Not finding anything he slowly looks up to his older brothers face. With a confused look on his small face, he ask in a small voice that everyone could hear because of the silence.

“Wher’ is it, Siri?”

James heart melts at the cute nickname, he had called Sirius that a couple times but he always got uncomfortable when he used the nickname. So he settled with just calling him “love” while Sirius called him “Jamie”. Now he knew why he got uncomfortable, it was the nickname his little brother gave him.

“Where’s what,Reggie?” Sirius ask in a soft voice. The students are shocked, that was a big difference from the usually loud and outgoing Sirius.

“Necklace.”

Regulus answers, now looking at sirius’s neck.

Slowly Sirius pulls a necklace out from underneath his shirt. It has thin black rope with a small, beautiful, green crystal attached to the end. Regulus’s chubby hand clasped around it and he sets his head against sirius’s chest, deeming it safe to sleep now that his brother was here. Beside Regulus Sirius looked like a giant.

(Sirius is taller than James in this btw)

The toddler closes his eyes and burries his head in the 16 years olds chest.

Sirius smiles softly at his baby brother then looks at the three adults.

“What happened to him?” It wasn’t exactly a question, it was a demand for an answer.

“There, uh, was an uh incident with a potion in class.” Answers professor slughorn.

“When will you be able to change him back?”

“Well mr. black, it will take a month to find all the ingredients and brew the potion.”

“What! That’s too long! Do you expect him to be a baby for a whole month? Who’s gonna take care of him? Snivellus?” Sirius sneers.

“I was thinking you would take care of him, Sirius” answers dumbledore, a tinkle in his eye.

“Oh” Sirius honestly didn’t think of that.

“Alright”

Looking down at the now sleeping child in his arms, he makes a decision to go to the common room and put him to bed.

He turns around and leaves. He hears footsteps behind him but doesn’t bother to turn around, he bows who it is.

“Jamie” he acknowledges.

He gets a shy “hi” in response.

James follows him all the way up to their dorm, and sits down. He watches silently as Sirius grabs a pair of his sweatpants, t-shirt and boxer briefs and with a flick of his wand he does a wordless spell and the clothes are the size of regulus. He watches as he gently changes his brothers clothes carefully not to wake him up. He watches as Sirius tucks him into bed and put a pillow on each side of him. He would be a great dad one day, with that though James ducks his head and starts to blush.

He looks up at the sound of a sign, and sees Sirius looking down at the small figure in the bed. James walks up to his boyfriend pulls him away from the bed into the middle of the room. James wraps sirius’s arms around his waist and puts his arms around sirius’s neck in a hug. Sirius usually doesn’t know how to start physical contact when he wants it, nor does he know how to say he needs it. But James has always know when he wants it and does it for him.

He feels Sirius relax against him and starts playing with his black hair.

“Are you alright with me having a toddler attached to my hip for a whole month?”

“Of course, padfoot. I don’t mind, though I might get jealous. Are you still going to give me your attention, you know how clingy I am.” James jokes.

Sirius smiles against his boyfriends neck.

He pulls back and presses a kiss to James’ soft lips. Their lips move as one, slowly fighting for dominance. James knew he was going to lose, he always did, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. “I love you” is muttered against his lips, then his bottom lip is getting pulled in between sirius’s teeth. They pull back for air then their kissing again. But it’s rough, James’s hands are tangled in sirius’s hair and sirius’s hands are just about everywhere on him. On his hips, around his waist, in his hair, then it lowers to his ass. Sirius’s hand are squeezing the flesh in his hands and pulling away as soon as he hears James moan. That stupid tease, James thinks.

Soon they’re pulling away to breathe, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing each other’s as they try to get air in their lungs, eyes locked on each other.

“Shower?” James suggests excitedly, he could feel his pants tightening.

“Fuck yes” the black heir breaths out.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

James laughs as Sirius picks him up by thighs, and wraps his legs around his hips.

James was excited, he knew Sirius would stick to his words. And god did he.

#james potter #sirius black #james potter x sirius black

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the-daily-multi-fandom-post · 4 years

Text

Your cold, in Georgia?

Requested by anon.

Based of 1/3 of this request (request link).

“Daryl x reader where reader becomes hypothermic and daryl freaks a little and warms them up.”

Dear anon,

Thank you for requesting! I’m so sorry that It has taken me so long to post this. My internet isn’t working. (Which is a sorry excuse). Request are still opens and I hope you enjoy this request. I’m working on the other two now. I’ll post when I can. 🥺🥺❤️🖤

It was my fought I was catching hypothermia. It was, no matter how much I’d like to blame it on someone else. It was my own fought.

It was the wee hours of the morning. The sun hadn’t even came up yet. The frogs and crickets were still singing their nightly songs. Y/n could hear the whistle of the whip-pour-will in a near by tree. She loved living in the country. She enjoyed listening to all birds singing, and she enjoyed the crickets and frogs during a warm summer night.

“Daryl, you ready?” Y/n asked as she tied her boots.

Y/n and Daryl planes on leaving early in the morning to go hunting. They needed the food to supply their whole camp. Which was quite a few people.

Y/n and Daryl knew each other for years before the outbreak. Y/n went to the same school he did and they always hung around each other. They were both introverts, but they also had a temper. While Daryl was both introverted and had a hot temper. Y/n was outspoken, not in a bad way, but in a good way.

“I’m ready, got all your stuff?” He questioned as she put a couple bottles of clean water in the book bag and an empty jug to feel to get water from the creek.

“Yup!” She said popping the ‘p’ making the youngest Dixon brother smile.

“‘ight, then let’s get goin.” Y/n followed beside Daryl as they walked through the woods finding a good stop to get their food.

They walked for a mile or so. Shooting some squirrels and rabbits that crossed their paths. But as the time went in the sun slowly started to rise. The sky was pink, making everything seem to have a pink filter.

Y/n held her bow in her hand. A arrow already notched so when she needed to shoot all she needed to do was pull back, aim, and fire. They were crossing the small stream and followed the foot prints of a deer.

They followed the deer prints to a small lake. Looking around the opening both Y/n and Daryl seem two deer. Both a reasonable size. Daryl loaded a bolt and crouched down. Y/n doing the same as she watched the deer.

“I’ll go for the one on the left you go for the one on the right. If we get both of them it’ll give us enough food for a long time.” Y/n explained looking at Daryl waiting for him to either agree or disagree.

He nodded as moved over to the left.

“We both need to shoot at the same time. If we go at two different times. One will get away.” Y/n nodded as she pulled back her black compound bow. Her arrow was notched and she was aiming for the doe on the right.

“Ready, one, two,” and on three they let go and pulled the trigger. Both deers hit the ground. Y/n smiled happily as she and Daryl high fives each other. Happy they’re providing a meals for their group.

“Alright, we need to get em back to camp.” Y/n nodded looking Daryl waiting for what his plan was.

“We gotta drag ‘em or carry ‘em. We didn’t bring a vehicle.” Y/n nodded as she grabbed a hand full or rope from her bag.

“Good thing I always come prepared.” Y/n was going to the deer she had shot and tried to pull the arrow out. But it was stuck. She tried to jerk it out , but it seemed to be stuck. With one more jerk it came out quickly. Making Y/n fall backwards into the deep water of the lake.

She gasped as she fell backwards into the water. The water was freezing. I mean, it felt like ice could’ve been floating in the water. She tried to swim up to the surface, but something was holding her down.

Looking down the lake water stung her eyes. She seen something was holding her down but couldn’t really tell what it was. She blinked her eyes a couple times and seen a rope of some kind was holding her down.

She tried to move her feet to get untangled from the water, but it was no use. She just kept getting tangled.

Grabbing her knife from her hip Y/n leaned down cutting the rope as fast as she could. Her lungs were aching for air and her body was freezing cold.

She finally freed herself from the rope and swam up to the surface.

“There you are!” Daryl grabbed her arm pulling her to the land.

“I couldn’t see you in the water!” Daryl pulled her by her arm out the water and onto the ground.

“You okay?” He asked noting her pale face and Lips turning blue.

Y/n nodded as she shivered.

“I’m fine, we need to get the deer back to the camp.” She told him as she tried to stand up.

“Forget about the deer your gonna catch hympsthermia.” Daryl shook his head as he watched her stand up.

“Look, Daryl. I love you, but we need to get these deer to the camp so everyone has food. Then we can worry about me, okay?!” Dayrl shook his head as he called her stubborn. Following her as she grabbed the rope and started pulling the deer.

It was about an hour later when they got back to the camp. Daryl noticed how Y/n was shivering and her lips were a tinted blue. Her skin was pale and cold.

He looked around frantically, trying to find a clean, dry blanket for her.

He noticed she had already changed her wet clothes, but she was still cold.

“Here.” He said as she held out a thick blanket. She breathed out a thank you as she took the blanket and pulled it around her tightly.

“You worry me sometimes. I mean, I understand wantin to feed the camp, but sometimes you have to take care of yourself.”

She nodded while Daryl pulled her into his side. Sharing his body heat.

“I love you, Daryl. I hope you know I meant it when I said it earlier.” She looked into his baby blue eyes.

He nodded as he kissed her forehead.

“I know, I love you too.”

Tags: asked me to tag you in my post!!

@thanossexual

#the walking dead #the walking dead dayro dixon #the walking dead dayrl dixon x reader #twd #twd dayrl dixon #twd dayrl dixon x reader #twd x reader #request asked #request answered

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

Text

Core Drive (intro)

A/N: Once upon a time, @malionnes asked me what I would write if I could write any story for one of my characters. And this AU is the result. Logan Delos is much more than the sum of his flaws, and he is determined to prove that.

Warning: this series will deal with drug use, depression, addiction, violence and other such topics.

Word Count: 3,113

“Will it help?” You shocked yourself by asking the question in an even tone despite the way your chest was clenching and your throat tightening. Watching him struggle to remove the plastic band from around his wrist - thin...he’s so thin now…- you felt your bottom lip tremble and you pressed them together to stop it. Reaching out, you placed a hand on his arm and he froze, looking up at you. Oh... His eyes, always so bright and full of life now looked lost, the light in them dull, barely a flicker, and the darkness hit you like a sucker punch to the heart. You sucked in an involuntary breath, but swallowed it down, slipping your fingers beneath the band he wore. Giving a quick yank, you easily snapped it, letting it fall to the floor. He muttered a thank you under his breath, pulling his wrist away slowly, encircling it with the fingers of his other hand. Yours dropped to your lap and the second that it did you felt a distance start to form; a slow but strong undercurrent pulling you away from him. He hadn’t answered you, so as one last attempt to throw out a life vest- for him or for me?- you asked again. “Logan? Is that…” Don’t ask if it’s what he wants. Ask the question that matters. “Will it help?”

It was all you’d been trying to do since he’d been released from the hospital after his last trip to Westworld; help him find a way through it. You’d thought he was joking the night before he left for his trip, when he told you that he’d updated his park profile to make you his emergency contact. He’d said it through a smirk, lips crawling up your neck, tongue sweeping across your sweat slicked skin as his hands roamed your body and his hips rolled against yours. You’d smacked his arm playfully, drawing a chuckle from him that tickled behind your ear. “No you didn’t, Delos,” you challenged. There was no reason for him to list you as any kind of contact, emergency or otherwise. You and Logan had been enjoying several months of unlabeled fun, and you knew that he’d been seeing other people during that time. You had, too, though it had been a few weeks since you’d seen anyone but him. And he’s the only one I’m sleeping with. “Besides, I thought Juliet was your emergency contact.” You twisted beneath him, turning your head to look in his eyes, your fingers going up to brush a few strands of his long chocolate brown hair away from them.

“She was,” he answered, tilting his head to lean into your palm. “But William needed to list someone and park rules state that two guests can’t have the same emergency contact.” He rolled his eyes and sat up, moving so that he was next to you. Reaching over, he pulled you by the hips into his lap, the feel of his skin on yours better than any high thread count cotton you’d ever experienced.

You hummed as he returned his lips to your neck, his touch trailing down between your breasts and over your abdomen. Fuck that feels amazing. Letting your head fall back onto his shoulder, you reached one hand up behind him to tangle your fingers in his hair where it curled near the base of his skull. “You excited to get back to the desert, cowboy?” You’d heard about Logan’s escapades in the wild west, knew that he enjoyed blowing off steam by channeling his inner outlaw. It’s a nice visual, too. You scratched your nails down over his scalp, smiling as he let out a groan, just like you knew he would.

“Fuck, that feels…” Amazing? Yeah, Logan, I know. He released a throaty breath as his fingers flexed against your body to press you closer, your spine flush to his chest. “I always have fun when I go,” he said in answer to your question. “Know how to make my own fun no matter who I’m stuck with.” He’d been expressing his distaste for William since the man had proposed to Juliet and Logan realized that he could be stuck with him for a lot longer than a week’s vacation to a prairie full of robots. “But I wish I was gonna be stuck with you instead.” You sucked in a breath as he took your earlobe between his teeth.

Your heart had been racing since before the two of you had fallen onto the mattress, shedding clothing and claiming each new inch of skin with lips and hands as though it were the first and not the fiftieth time you’d done so. But the way he’d said that he’d rather be stuck with you, the way he was clutching you close, the way you could feel the rise of his breathing against the blade of your shoulder brought you to another level. Too much, it’s not… this isn’t… You took a steadying breath and leaned forward, separating yourself from him and turning to face him. “Oh, come on, Logan, you don’t want me around ruining your chances with…” you tapped your chin in mock thought. “What’s her name? The one you told me about at the Mariposa? Peach?” He cocked his head to the side and gave you an exasperated glare, his hands falling to the tops of your thighs. “No, wait, Clementine, that’s it,” you winked and his glare melted into a grin. “Knew it was a fruit.” You scrunched your nose and laughed as he surged forward and caught you in his arms again, lips covering yours as he tackled you back onto the bed, his heart racing just as hard as yours was as it knocked against your chest. You kissed him back, arms winding around his shoulders and one leg thrown around his waist.

You’d kissed Logan countless times in the past few months, but this one had been different. You felt him slow it down, pressing his body down on top of yours with intention as one hand cupped the side of your face and the other threaded through your hair, loose and spread out over the well-worked sheets. His tongue entered your mouth, yours blindly following his lead as you breathed together, your thoughts completely unraveling. When he finally broke apart he pulled away just enough so that you could see his eyes, a bright gleam in their nearly onyx depths. He shook his head and spoke your name, his voice taking on a low gravelly tone that set your blood on fire. “You really think I’d rather have one’a those dolls when I can have you?”

Your breathing was heavy and uneven from his kiss, small puffs of air leaving your lips to meet his. Have me? Does he… He doesn’t mean… You closed your eyes and willed your heart to stop hammering at your ribs. He just means like this, not...nothing more. Swallowing hard, you opened your eyes to see that he hadn’t taken his off of you, still looking at you with that disarming clarity. “You have me right now, Logan,” you barely got the words out, your voice dissolving as you spoke. You can always have me.

His eyes narrowed as he took a breath through his nose, his chest pressed to yours as his lungs expanded. “Yeah, I do.” He nodded, leaning in until his lips found yours again, this time leaving a quick kiss before trailing up your jaw to your ear. “And I’m gonna want you as soon as I get back, too.” You felt his biceps tightening as his arms wound around you.

That makes two of us. You let him crush your body beneath his own, your palms pressing into the warm skin of his back. “I’ll be right here,” you told him, lips close to his ear.

And you were.

The call woke you up at 2:28 am, jarring you from your dreams as you bolted upright and grabbed for your phone. What’s… oh… Your confusion turned to worry as you read the caller ID. The number was restricted, but the entry came up as Delos Destinations INC. Your hands shook as you fumbled to answer. The voice on the other end greeted you with your name in the form of a question.

“Yes,” you spoke the word into your phone, a slow sensation of dread spreading through your veins.

“We’re calling on behalf of Logan Delos.” You held your breath in the dark, head spinning. Why can’t he call on his own behalf? “There’s been an incident in the park and Mr. Delos required… medical extraction. He’s being closely monitored and I’m told his condition has been downgraded from critical to stable.” You gasped his name, a fear you’d never felt before filling your heart. “At this time ma’am we are only required to inform you of Mr. Delos’ status, you are not obligated to come out to the facility or-”

“I’m coming.” You tore the blankets from your legs and stood, cutting off the too-calm employee on the phone. Your entire being was vibrating with nerves and you could feel your pulse behind your eyes. There’s no way I’m leaving him alone. He’d made you his contact because he trusted you. He’d asked you to stay with him that last night before his trip, asked you to stay with him, in his bed, in his place, because he wanted you. “I’m coming, I’ll be there.” You got dressed as you listened for flight information, hands still shaking uncontrollably as you ended the call and headed for the door.

They continued to shake as you drove to the airport, dizzy from the rapid, shallow breaths you’d been taking between sobs. You’d been given a little more information on Logan’s condition, and while again you were told that he was stable, you felt no better. You stared at your fingers, laced together in your lap. They didn’t stop shaking at any point during the flight.

Your hands didn’t stop shaking until they clutched the railing at his bedside, knuckles white and threatening to poke through your skin from how tight your grip was. Oh my god. “Logan…” Tears ran silently down your cheeks as you lowered yourself into the chair that had been provided for you. Bandages covered various portions of his body, where the burn was most severe; his wrists and palms- according to the medical team, these areas were worsened by adding the chafing of thick, coarse rope- the tops of his shoulders, where the sun was the most unrelenting, even on his cheek, where you were told he’d been given a shallow slash wound. Any exposed skin on his arms, neck or face was a deep purplish red color, peeling in patches on his nose and lips, and even while he slept he looked like he was in agony. His legs and torso were covered by the thin sheet, but you could only imagine that it was more of the same. Jesus, Logan, how did this… you felt a hollow ache as he flinched and mumbled in his sleep. Without realizing that you’d moved, you looked down to see that you’d placed your hand on his chest, desperate to give him any amount of comfort that you could. “I’m here, Logan, it’s okay, it's…”

His eyes flew open, and for a few seconds he didn’t seem to see or hear you, his chest heaving as he gulped at the air, and you didn’t have to guess to know where he’d been in his dreams. Three days, they’d told you. He’d been out there for three days, naked, alone, dehydrated and without food, hands bound and left for dead. Three days of cooking in the scorching sun, two nights of frigid, silver moonlight. Host Malfunction, they’d said, telling you that Logan had joined some war narrative near the edges of the park, and one of the blood thirsty robots had taken things off script. It matched the story that William had told when he alerted park officials that Logan had gone missing. He’d turned up looking fairly rough himself, you were told, slightly dehydrated and sunburned. Your eyes roved over Logan’s weakened frame as he blinked and finally registered your presence. But not like this.

“Hey, it’s okay, Logan, it’s okay,” You kept your hand on his chest as you spoke softly to him, fighting to keep from sobbing at the hurt in his eyes. He looked down to where you were touching him, tears gathering in his own eyes as he brought one bandaged hand up to cover yours.

“You’re here.” The tips of his fingers were free over the top of the gauze wrapped around his palms, and they found their way between yours.

You nodded, leaning in to get closer to him without hurting him. “Of course I am, I…” I think I’m falling in love with you. “I care about you Logan…”

He’d broken down into tears then, both of his hands holding yours in place above his terrified heart.

The weeks and months that followed were dark ones, the torture that he’d endured replaying on a relentless loop in his mind day and night. He hadn’t wanted to talk much, and you didn’t press him on it, trying only to be there for him in whatever way he wanted or needed you to be. I’m gonna want you when I get back, he’d said, and it was true- he wanted you to distract him from his waking nightmares, wanted to bury himself in you so he could bury the memories. You have me, Logan, however you want me.

But it wasn’t enough of a distraction, and he soon found a much stronger way to dull the pain, which is how you ended up where you were now, sitting across from him in his apartment after he’d been released from the emergency room, still too weak to even snap the plastic band around his wrist. It was the second time you’d found him passed out with a needle in his hand and a strangled moan rattling in his throat, and the third time that you feared that you might lose him. You ached for him in ways you never thought possible when you first met, in ways that wouldn’t have made sense for the carefree fling you’d started. But there was one thing that was certain, and that was that you loved Logan Delos. You were even fairly certain that he loved you, too. You just couldn’t have had worse timing in realizing that.

After the second overdose he made the decision that he needed to check into a rehab program. Your heart flipped and your eyes welled with tears, ecstatic that he’d come to that conclusion on his own, that he valued his own life enough to try to save it. You told him that you’d be there for him however you could, no matter what he needed. He hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been eating, and knowing that he wanted to do something about it was enough to give you the hope that he could be happy again, whole again, even if it wasn’t with you. “I’ll be here for you, Logan, when you get back.”

He looked down then and shook his head. “I can’t…can’t ask you to do that” He didn’t try to hide the pained wince that creased his forehead, or the way his voice had snapped, becoming brittle and dry. You felt the bottom drop out of your chest as he turned his face back towards yours, his cheeks gone hollow and his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Oh, Logan… He shook his head again, unruly strands of hair falling over his eyes. It was longer than it had ever been, his beard, too, looked scruffy and unkempt. He looks like he did after the desert. All that was missing was the burn. Your breath caught in your throat as he continued. “What I’m doin’ isn’t… working. I can’t,” He tilted his head to the side, swallowing as a salty droplet fell from his eye. “Can’t do this to you again, and I…” He swore, the word wavering as it left his lips. Another few tears fell free as he blinked, his long lashes wet as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. The skin beneath them was sunken and dark, highlighting how pale he was, how fragile. That’s not you, Logan. “I won’t let you sit there, watching, waitin’ for me to…” His eyes opened again and they were as clear as they’d been in weeks, catching you off guard. “I don’t want you here just so I can lash out at you when things get hard and…”

That’s when you’d asked him if it would help, taking time apart. His answer was a strained yes, and you could tell how badly he wanted it to be anything but yes. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but you nodded. “Whatever you need…if it will help.” Even if that isn’t me. Though it hurt like a dagger to the heart to hear him tell you that he needed you to leave, there was nothing you wouldn’t do to help him heal, and seeing him like this was a pain that you both knew you couldn’t endure much more of. You wrapped your arms around him one last time, holding him close as he kissed you, slow and meaningful like the night before his trip, full of all the things neither of you had ever said. I love you, too. “Take care of yourself, Logan, you deserve to be happy.” You left him with those words, whispered against his cheek.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

You deserve to be happy.

That’s what you’d told him, and he was determined to prove you right.

It’s like you’re programmed for fucking failure, Logan.

How many times had he heard that from his father? Enough that I started to believe it. But of the two lines that stuck with him, yours was stronger. His father believed that everything in life could be broken down to codes and algorithms, simulations and predetermined pathways. I’m writing my own code, Dad, fuck yours.

He read over the form one final time before clicking submit, the screen redirecting him to a new page thanking him for his application to Stanford School of Law. Like he’d tried to show William, there was a fundamental difference between the hyper realistic robots that populated the parks and a flesh and blood human. Choices, not codes, were what made a man, and Logan was making the choice to fight for himself.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @lexxierave @belladonnarey @ymariejp @obscurilicious @songtoyou @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @drinix @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman @malionnes

(i just used the same tag list from my other Logan series, so if you would like to be added or removed please let me know!)

#core drive #CD #Logan Delos #Logan Delos AU #westworld logan #logan delos x you #logan delos x reader #logan delos deserved better #law school logan au

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Part 5

Previous Chapter

An Edolas Hermit Story (AU Belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

A stranger has been found in the forests of Edolas, unconscious and unanswering to the questions the Edolas Hermits have. Who is he, and why does he look like a friend they lost long ago? Why is he so badly wounded? Why does he have a broken clock?

Why has the ocean stopped taking Zed and Tango’s wishes?

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Part five is my favorite part- I’ll tell you that. Finally reaching edolas, and getting to have fun with the wacky characters that Red has come up with! And, since Edolas is a world of opposite hermits, we decided that yes- Jellie is a dog. A good girl.

Warning: This story contains general dark elements and language

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“Jellie! Come here girl!” Scar whistles, clapping his hands together as he continues along the dirt trail through the forests of Edolas. Tall, cozy spruce trees offer a fresh pine scent, the detritus beneath Scar’s shoes a tangle of soft needles and bark. The dark wood offers a muted, calming sensation for Scar.

Jellie barks off in the distance, but doesn’t return to her owner’s side. That’s unusual...Jellie almost always comes when called. The only time she doesn’t is when food is on her mind. Scar hops off the path, following the barking through the winding maze of trees. He picks up the pace as Jellie’s barks turn into a whine.

“What’s wrong, pretty lady?” Scar whispers as soon as he spots the dark coated dog. Scar’s next sentence falters in his throat as he sees the body. Face down in the dirt, surrounded by stones, an unmoving figure lays. White bandages, fraying and bloody, wrap around his arm. Brown, wispy hair is dirty with grass and mud, caking down the remnants of a white buttonup shirt. Black trousers are torn and covered with dirt, one leg bloody both on the fabric and skin. In one hand, a busted clock is still firmly held onto- even with the person obviously not conscious or even alive. Scar sighs. “Xisuma needs to stop dumping bodies in the woods.”

Scar reaches out to pull Jellie away from the corpse, but she plants her paws into the dirt and refuses to leave the side of the person. It’s not until Scar is forced to get closer that he realizes why- it’s not a corpse. He’s still breathing. Holy shit he’s still alive. Scar begins to panic, unsure who to turn to. This isn’t exactly his expertise, dealing with something like this. Who is?

Scar calls the only person he can think of at this moment in time. Cub. He starts to pace around the clearing, too afraid to get close to the body. Jellie stays near instead, laying her head gently on the boy’s back. Keeping his body warm, her fur comforting. Finally, after 3 times going to voicemail, Cub picks up the phone. “Is everything alright, buddy?”

“No, everything isn’t ‘alright’. Things are super fucking weird, Cub.” Scar can’t help but snap, looking back at the form still laying in the dirt. “I...I found something.”

“Something? What kind of something?” Cub’s voice is calm and soothing, a fatherly tone that Scar has come to rely on so much.

“I...it’s a person. He’s still alive, but...I dunno, I think this is some sort of cult thing. He’s wearing some really nice trousers and shirt, but they’re torn to hell and back. He’s got bandages, and surrounded by rocks and theres a clock and…” Scar doesn’t know what else to say. This is too odd, too much for him all to take in.

“Take a deep breath, Scar. I’ll get some others to come out, and we’ll take a look at what you found. Just...make sure he stays alive.” Cub hangs up, leaving Scar to the silence of the forest and the occasional whimper of Jellie. The boy’s chest continues to rise and fall, but Scar doesn’t dare reach out and push him onto his back.

Thankfully, he wasn’t far from the others. Cub, Keralis, and Bdubs appear in the clearing, all stopping dead as they see the body. Bdubs shrinks behind the others, peeking over Keralis’s shoulder. “Oh my god…”

Cub stoops low, taking a gentle hold of the boy’s unharmed arm and checking his vitals. His pulse is steady. “Let’s get this kid to the infirmary. Looks like he needs it.”

Keralis helps Cub gather the boy in his arms. Scar can’t help but watch with Bdubs, both a little too shocked as the others roll over the body and see his face. It’s covered in dirt, caked with sweat and a little bit of blood. But it looks exactly like the face of a person they thought was long gone. No, that’s not right. It’s just coincidence, people look the same all the time. Scar won’t entertain that idea any further. They just need to focus on getting to the infirmary.

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Wind blusters across the sea, white capped waves pounding against Zedaph and Tango’s bare legs. Behind them, sand whips and scratches at anyone who dares to be in it’s path.

But no amount of wind, not hell or high water will stop the duo from their daily ritual. When even Zed’s beliefs change, this is still constant. A tradition, no matter what else is going on around them. Tango’s elegant, cursive writing is slipped into the clear glass bottle that Zed had brought. Tango opens a single, white feathered wing to protect his friend from the angry sand behind them, daring to blister their skin from the beach. He stays silent as Zed whispers out the same wish every single day. “Please, bring him back.”

Salty tears fall from Zed’s eyes, mixing with the ocean around them, just another drop in the sea awash with their pain. They’ve been doing this for years, but every time it still feels as fresh as the day they lost him. Zed caps the bottle, and throws it out with all his might. Beyond the angry turmoil of the surf.

The two remain ankle deep in the ocean, silent and staring. Searching for some sign, any sign that their prayers have been answered. They know it’s impossible, but they still do it. They saw him sink, trapped in the ropes and sails. A gentle smile as he assured them everything would be alright.

But it’s not alright. Tango and Zed are without their best friend, left with a hole in both their hearts. A bed empty in their shared apartment. Zed rubs his tearstained face into Tango’s shoulder, comforted only by his large white wings as they wrap around Zed. The two are about to return to shore, until Zed feels something brush up against his foot.

The bottle. It returned to them. Zed picks it back up, and throws the bottle again. Beyond the surf once more. “No, no. You go out to sea.”

“It’s never done that before.” Tango breathes. He feels sick to his stomach as the bottle returns again, carried on the white waves back to rest at his feet. He stoops low, plucking the bottle as it brushes against his legs. It has to go out to sea. Every single time Impulse showed them this tradition, he said the sea would take their wish. And grant it. He takes off, flying well past the waves, dropping the bottle into the sea.

But by the time he returns to Zedaph, the bottle is back in his friend’s hands. Zed’s anger grows, grabbing the glass bottle. What was once something the two teased to Impulse, was now their only lifeline, their only way to process and grieve his loss. “Take the fucking wish!” Zed screams, reeling back and throwing the bottle as far as he can. He stumbles into the sea, collapsing to his hands and knees. “Take the god damn wish and give us our friend back!”

Tango pulls Zed back to his feet, careful to be sure he doesn’t get a mouthful of water and drown. Drown like Impulse did. Zed’s cries turn into quiet prayers, angry curses at the gods who won’t listen and desperate pleas to those that will. Wishing for a miracle they know will never happen, but still desperately beg for.

The two retreat, grabbing their shoes and rolling their pants back down. Fighting the heavy wind and stinging sand, neither look back. Because they know it’s sitting there again. Spit back out by the ocean.

It’s a quiet walk back to the guild, back to town. It always is quiet, both lost in thoughts and memories. Of easier days, warmer days. When the sun was warmer and shone through their best friend’s smile. When laughter filled their apartment so loud that their neighbors- even Cleo- would yell back for them to shut up.

Zed is the first to notice that things are busy with the guild. Joe nearly knocks Tango over, running to the infirmary with a handful of bandages. Zedaph looks at Tango, both sharing confused looks, before following after the mercenary. Inside the infirmary, most of their friends are there too. Talking in small groups, trading information in whispers and passing papers.

Tango grabs Mumbo as he makes his way towards the exit, fingers wrapping into the leather of Mumbo’s jacket. “Mumbo...what’s going on?”

Mumbo turns, smoothing out his mustache and hair. He’s the only one that doesn’t seem at all frazzled. “Eh, Scar found a body out in the forest- turns out the body is still working. Now they’re trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. Stuff way beyond my capacity, dude.”

“A person?” Zed echoes, frowning.

Mumbo shrugs. “Yeah… though he kinda reminds me of Impulse. Looks exactly like him.”

Zed and Tango share shocked glances, and Tango immediately lets go of Mumbo as they sprint past the others, ignoring the shouts. Mumbo simply shrugs, walking out and sauntering to the nearest bar. Not the strangest thing to happen to him.

"Should've known you two would come." Cub states as the two barge into the room.

"Is it really him?" Zed's voice betrays his disbelief. He wants it to be true, for all those gods he's dedicated himself to finally be answering his prayers. Tango flutters closer, peeking around the blinds to see.

"I...I truly doubt its Impulse. He just looks like him." Cub sighs, watching the hope on the two's faces collapse. They creep closer all the same, getting a good look at the stranger in the hospital bed.

Dark brown hair, wispy and unruly, frames a pale and weak face. Even unconscious, the stranger's brows are furrowed together as if he's thinking through some complex problem. He's wearing a torn up white shirt, the buttons lost or in the wrong hole and the tail of the shirt untucked. His hips and legs disappear under the bed's covers, but one foot has been pulled out. White bandages wrap around his ankle, spots of red slowly growing.

And then there's his arm. Opposite of the arm that the stranger's IV is protruding from, red and black catch the pair's attention. Underneath a slick coat of medicinal salve, angry red skin and dark burns surround a series of letters and numbers tattooed under the skin. Zed points to the arm opposite of him. "What is all that?"

"We...aren't really sure." Ren whispers, setting his quill down from taking notes. "Scar thinks its some kind of cult thing, Xisuma says maybe an experiment of sorts. But without him awake, we won't be able to tell for sure."

But while Zed is focused on the tattoo, Tango can't take his eyes off of the stranger's neck. Black, blue, and purple marks ring around the skin, the surrounding area inflamed. The bruises are tight against the person's neck, nestled at the juncture of jaw to spine. Right on his trachea.

Cub notices Tango’s gaze. "Someone else did that, poor kid. Someone tried to kill him. And nearly succeeded."

For Tango and Zed, its like seeing a ghost. It looks exactly like Impulse, from his hair all the way to the dirt under his fingernails. But it can't be true. This isn't really Impulse. Just someone who looks like him. But how much they both want it to be real.

Tango looks up, seeing fluorescent light glinting off of something on the bed stand. It’s not like anything else in the infirmary- dirty brass against the sterile white and silver of the room. Tango flits over the bed, picking up the item. It’s dented, with the clock face ripped open. Trapped at twilight hour, not quite daylight and not quite nighttime. “Was this with him?”

Cub nods. “I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t let go of it. Even unconscious, we had to pry his fingers off it.”

Zed peeks over Tango’s shoulder and wings, violet eyes taking in the damage. It’s quite broken- but not destroyed. The two look at each other, then the stranger, and finally the clock. “We… let’s see if we can do something with this.”

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