#''the law is Just. just a whisper away. who knows how to measure rules? with a ruler! .. cruel rules. ''

[jekyll-doodles]

So yellow is the angry one

Red is the goofy one but sadistic (I wanna say like CB but I could be wrong)

Whites the chill one

And idk about black but I believe they could beat/kill someone

Don't let those masks fool you. They're all equally terrible and sadistic, just in different flavors.

From what I've read over (which doesn't mean much given the canon's fluidity) , to put it bluntly, Yellow is a cryptic virtuoso, Red is a horny drunkard (whos still pretty funny imo), White has A Complex, and Black is most likely scp 035. So your assumption about their ability to cause harm is entirely correct.

CB would probably have a blast in Alagadda. Be right at home. Probably the only character from stex that would like it there. The rest would probably find the many horrors to be, ya know, horrible.

[himegureisu]

4 | the Woman

Summary: There are times when cases need a woman's touch. This is where you finally introduce yourself to your brother-in-law. This is set at the end of S2 E1 A Scandal in Belgravia.

Pairing: Mycroft Holmes x Female Reader

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“There are people we can get into this,” Mycroft said,

“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try for six months,” she bragged, “Sherlock, dear, tell him what you uncovered through that x-ray of my phone,”

Irene Adler, professionally known as the Woman, a dominatrix of significant influence was obvious. Her only advantage was the fact she was playing against men.

Half a year, the Holmes men stumped at what to do. What a sight, however, it’s best to end their misery.

The Woman hands over her list of requests. However, that’s not going to happen, not on your watch.

“Oh, that’s a shame. Can’t I join in the fun?” you said.

Their eyes shifted as you entered the study in your battledress. Her exchange pauses as you stand behind Mycroft. Your brother-in-law quietly observes and thinks by the fireplace. His head towards the three of you.

“I did hope Sherlock would get this one,” you sighed, as you stretched your hand out to Irene, “May I?”

“Be my guest,” she offered.

“You’re rather transparent,” you twirl the mobile in your hands, “You don’t need a genius to unlock this. Just a woman that understands her kind,”

“Oh, do go on,” she stands, to sit on the edge of the table.

“There are times when women are affected by their interests. Others would say this is a disadvantage. Yours are the Holmes men, specifically, Sherlock. There was no other way to get to Sherlock without committing a crime except in your profession, you could pursue a different avenue,” Your eyes rest on Mycroft as they start to figure it out, “Two birds in one stone. Agitate the older brother, you get the younger. Women play a different kind of dirty and you played a game against men that was your advantage. God, did you pull their strings well but that ends tonight. The psychology of women, gentlemen, is that the most obvious is sometimes the most overlooked,”

“Craving the distraction of the game I sympathize entirely but sentiment?” Sherlock stands, walks over, and reaches out to you for the phone which you finally hand over, “Sentiment is a chemical element found on the losing side,”

Oh, Sherlock how wrong you are on that. Love and sentiment can be an advantage.

“When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait,” Sherlock mused, facing the Woman, “How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements, but this is far more intimate. This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head.”

“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” you interjected.

“Everything I said, it wasn’t real,” she whispered, silently pleading to Sherlock, “I was just playing the game,”

“This is just losing,”

I AM SHER LOCKED

“Thank you for the additional information,” he addressed you, “It was enlightening,”

“There you are, brother,” he passes the device to Mycroft, “I hope the contents may make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight,”

“I’m certain they will,” Mycroft assured. His brother started to stare out the window, “If you’re feeling kind, lock her up otherwise let her go,”

Willaim Sherlock Scott Holmes was nearly outsmarted by a woman. What a brilliant turn of events.

It wasn’t long until someone escorted the woman away leaving you to the Holmes men.

“I thought he wouldn’t get it,” you address Mycroft, sitting on the chair he previously occupied to observe Sherlock, “Then again if he knew where to look for the safe code, he would get it eventually,”

“Why are you here?” Mycroft said. You give a look and say, “You know why I’m here,”

“Who are you?” Sherlock asks.

“Do make a deduction, Mr. Holmes,” you challenged, standing up for a better view, “What can you say about me? Oh, I heard you’re quite good at this,”

His eyes quickly take a once over you. To the way you did your hair, makeup, and casual clothes. His brother, your husband, hovered on the other side of the table.

What will Sherlock say about you?

“On your dominant hand, your middle finger is calloused from how you hold your pen, suggesting office worker. In a high position, by the value of your shoes. Your makeup suggests you like to be presentable but not elaborate or gaudy. Your clothes are clean except for a few loose strands of hair. No pets. Your engagement and wedding rings, shiny and clean, happily married then. Your husband is successful in his career by the size of that diamond and…”

His ramble paused. His eyes meeting yours, you give a casual curious gaze. His senses were on overdrive, recognizing the particular scent of leather of a car that often escorted him to his brother.

“No, that’s not possible,” Sherlock withdrew, “Has my brother found himself a goldfish?”

“No, not a goldfish, brother mine,” Mycroft defends. His ring, matching yours, shines in the firelight, “No, she’s out of their league,”

“How long has that taken him?” you asked Mycroft, in front of you as Sherlock remained speechless, “A minute,”

“A good minute, yes,” he confirms, as he goes to stand by your side, “I do wonder why you decided to reveal yourself, my dear,”

“I was fed up. You two dancing in her tune for half the year,” you complained, “You ditched Christmas Morning traditions,”

“I promised to make it up to you, my dear,” Mycroft reminded, however, unable to act on his plans yet, “And I did return earlier than expected,”

“Six years, Myc! We never shirk on trad —”

Before you can finish your ramble, Mycroft leans in and presses his lips against yours in a tender kiss. It was a pleasant interruption.

One Sherlock didn’t appreciate.

Your eyes widen for a moment before you melt against him. Your arms wrap around his waist, returning the sentiment. Sherlock clears his throat, breaking the moment between you and Mycroft.

“Years?” he remarked, “I never knew the Iceman could melt,”

“No, just thaws from time to time,” you cheekily smile at Mycroft who rolled his eyes, “Are you two finished? I’d like to turn in before the sun comes out, ensures at least one of us gets sleep,”

“We are finished,” Mycroft affirmed, walking toward the door, “Do us a reprieve, brother mine, don’t take cases on the weekend. You don’t know what it does to our schedule,”

“It was nice meeting you, brother-in-law,” you teased, your smile caught him off guard, as you walked to Mycroft’s side. He didn’t remember the last time someone was pleased to meet him. They were often annoyed or irritated. “Have a good evening,”

His brother has been married for years, and he didn’t know. How could he not know?

“Shame I’d wanted to see the Woman in cuffs,” you comment, as you walk side by side through the halls, “It would have made for an interesting night,”

“Would you like that, my dear?” Mycroft asks.

“If you’re open to it,”

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[unprofessional-bard]

Cat and... Wolf?

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Request: hey! could you do a bigby wolf x shy but criminal reader? thank you!

+ shy criminal reader req anon here! i was thinking that the reader could be snooping around the office, trynna steal some High Profile folders and bigby is all 👀 gotcha now Bitch

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Reader

Warnings: Nothing really- this piece is for reader's of all genders!

Summary: It's a game of cat and mouse, but between you and Bigby? It's the same, only he's no mouse.

Word Count: 1.750

Author's Note: The reader is ought to be a fable, so what better fable could there be for this scenario, if not an actual cat? I made the reader into Puss in Boots, I know that the author is Straparola and not the Grimms, but bare with me! It fits so well 😖 I hope you like this, anon! and let's pretend Bigby's office has a window...

Enjoy!

"Oh look, a cat!" Snow White kneels beside your original form, completely unsuspecting and scratches the back of your head. You headbutt her palm and purr loudly, trying to appear as normal as any other cat. "How'd you end up here...?"

"I thought stray animals weren't allowed in," Bigby comments, sensing something in your scent, but then immediately realises the mistake he's made, before Snow gets up and smirks back.

"Really? Do pigs count? Wolves?" She smiles and Bigby sighs loudly. "It's okay, it probably got in because of the cold."

It's a snowy, cold December evening. They leave chatting, but Bigby gives you a final look over his shoulder -over the sleeve of his coat- before they exit the apartment. You stay there for another few minutes for good measure and once they're out of sight, you start making your way up the stairs, to the floor where his office is.

You were being paid very well, for doing this - stealing the criminal file of the man who hired you. It was extra risky, sneaking into the sheriff's office; you could possibly get ripped apart because of this, or thrown down the Witching Well, but he was planning on paying you so well...

You hear just one person walking around the floor as you quietly trot towards Bigby's office and that someone turns out to be Flycatcher. Tsk, too easy, you smirk to yourself; stretch, yawn and meow.

"Huh?" Flycatcher turns around and notices you clawing at Bigby's door. "Hey there, little fellow. You wanna go in there?" You almost nod, then remember you're not supposed to understand him, so you meow loudly instead, then rub against his legs. "Uh, I don't think I should let you in..."

You're practically screaming at him at this point, clawing more and more at the door and jumping up toward the knob; it takes him a while, but your cries finally work their magic as he groans: "Okay, okay! Just don't take your piss in there, the sheriff will kill me if he finds out I let you in..."

You purr loudly and headbutt the sides of his calf as he twists open the lock to Bigby's office. This is going pretty smoothly, you think to yourself and as soon as he opens the door, you run into the dark, cigarette-smelling room. Flycatcher's saying some stuff to you, but you're too busy figuring out where the sheriff keeps all the files of the fables with criminal records, that you don't listen to a single word he says.

Once you're curled up on top of his desk, closing your eyes to "sleep", Flycatcher feels less guilty because you're just a harmless cat who wants to sleep in Bigby's office, what could go wrong?

Tsk.

You hear him leave, but still wait like that for another minute... for good measure. Once he enters the elevator and the floor goes quiet, you transform into your human form. You quickly light Bigby's table lamp and move in front of the sets of drawers to your right, but then turn around and notice you hadn't found a way out yet. That proves easy too, fortunately, a window on the other side of the wall- a big one. Your grin grows wider as you slide open the window and check the height for your drop: It's a long one, but the large trees in the park should allow you to land smoothly. You walk back and immediately begin digging through the messy pile of documents.

"Ugh, typical," You sigh quietly, annoyed at how unorganised Bigby was. No alphabetical order, no proper placement: Just files on top of others.

You and him had a brief history. It's not exactly romantic per se, not on your aspect anyway, you'd like to think. You liked playing around with him, he seemed to have a soft spot for you and, maybe -just maybe- you had one for him, but not as obvious and strong as his. You two followed entirely different lifestyles: You everything you did was somehow always against the law and, well, Bigby is the law. It would never work anyway...

Your brows furrow, Focus!

After a few minutes, you finally find the file and raise it up in triumph after closing the drawer. You want to take a peek, see what the man had done- his file was very thin, what could've he possibly done, that made him ask such a risky thing of you?

Just as you're debating, you suddenly hear urgent steps walk out of the elevator and immediately recognize them.

Ah, fuck...

You quickly hide the file into your coat and turn around right before he opens the door. A vague smirk appears on your lips and Bigby crosses his arms: "Should'a known that was you."

"Hi, sheriff," Your expression is calm and somewhat shy, if not a little mischievous.

"What are you doing here?" He growls by the doorway, not moving an inch from his place while you slowly make your way to the window.

"I wanted to see you," You lie, voice quiet, then bite on your bottom lip. He made you feel a little too nervous for your liking, for many reasons... and he knew every single one of them.

"You always were good at lying," He sighs in defeat, going soft at the sight of your reddening cheeks. It takes him a while to separate your emotions, whether you're actually nervous or not - why you're nervous, because of lying or because of him? Both?

You can't help but feel a little offended at his words and he sees that, which in turn makes him feel a little guilty. "Well," You say, tone giving away how you were feeling, but also giving away your urgency to get out of there: "I was about to leave anyway."

"What's the hurry?" It's his turn to smirk as he slowly rounds the table. You both make your way to the window and it's a little unsettling, but you fight to not give it away.

"I said I was here to see you," You reply quietly. "I saw you, now I'm leaving."

"Hm?" He's toying with you and you realise he might've, with very low possibility, caught you this time. You still had tricks under your sleeve, though.

"You're clearly not happy to see me, no point on waiting around-" You sit yourself on the edge of the window, but he suddenly steps in front of you, looking down into your eyes and crossing his arms again.

"Oh, I don't think so," He grins. "I didn't say I wasn't happy to see you..."

"You sure looked like it," You pout a little. Exaggerating your mimics sometimes worked with him. Sometimes.

"I-" He huffs. "It's been a long day, (Y/N)."

The way he says your name like that, softly, almost makes you purr. You offer a small smile: "It's good to see you, Bigby."

"You too," He gives you a meaningful look. You almost wanted to give yourself up, return the file and somehow 'go back to the old days', but your prize and Bigby now working for Snow put too many things at risk. If only it were as simple as that...

You had to get out of there, fast.

You look up to him with your signature smile, the one that made his heart melt when you first met: It's vague, the message behind it is unclear, but it's a sweet little gesture: "I heard Snow took over, how are you handling that?"

He lights a cigarette and you impatiently wait for his reply, formulating your plan to get out of there- an exit: "Can't say I enjoy it to the core... Used to be easier when-"

"When you played by your own rules?" You grin at him and after putting his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, he walks back over to you.

"More or less," He scratches the back of his neck and stands to your left. "Look. Knowing you, there's always more to it than just I wanted to see you." His soft expression suddenly turns into one of worry: "Are you in trouble?"

"No, no," You reassure him. "Nothing of the sorts. Not yet, anyway..." You bite your lip again. "Well, I'm going to assume you were off to some place but I'm keeping you?"

He doesn't say anything, just sighs and you know you're right. He looks like he doesn't want you to leave, but he's also on alert. After your last encounter, he knows he can't give into you - he knows he shouldn't trust you and listen to Snow's warnings about how you're just a thief who's using him.

Most of it was true, but you still -after all your time with Bigby- cared about him. There were a lot of people who wanted to hurt the sheriff, even after he caught the Crooked Man and restored justice, somewhat; you made sure to stay away from those jobs - jobs that aimed to hurt Bigby, even in the slightest.

The disappearance of an unimportant, forgotten criminal record wasn't one of them, though.

"Call me sometime, sheriff," You get up to be on his level, boldly cupping his cheek and caressing it with your thumb. He seems enchanted- under your magic as he leans into your touch and slowly grabs your hand in his. After a moment of peace and quiet, when you hear the familiar footsteps of Snow White approaching, you lean in further and whisper: "Don't be a stranger."

You can't tell if it was him who leaned in or you, but you placed a shy, teasing kiss on his lips. You soon realise it doesn't matter who leaned in first, as he kisses you back with a little more yearning and urgency, his hands cupping the sides of your face.

Just then, you hear his door opening and you part immediately, his hands lingering in your hair. Snow probably- no, definitely saw you two share a kiss, but before she can say anything, you jump out of the window. Bigby's heart drops in panic, reaches to catch you, but soon realises you transformed to your normal form mid-air and sighs, a faint smile on his lips.

"Who was that? What's going on?" Snow inquires, hands on her hips, looking very displeased.

But Bigby's smile only grows as his fingertips trace his cheek, where you touched him seconds ago, then he finally replies: "An old friend."

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 13 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : mentions of brutality described in previous chapter, mentions of strained breathing, curse words. For future chapters, major character death(s).

words : 4.5k

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”                                  

or            

 “  curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

K.M 12

taglist : @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct @hyuckiesgf @theworld-accordingtocasey @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @minejungwoo @leesalts  @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl--ankhaeji @simplybree @ncttboo @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @bralessmermaid @minhoseyeliner

In the silent room, the sound of taeil's shoes reverberated as he paced back and forth. Of the seventeen men standing in the living room, most had their heads hung low while some paid side glances to Jaehyun and ten as they fell prey to Taeil's anger.

"Last time!" Fingers pointed in the air, taeil asked in a dangerously calm voice, "don't make me repeat myself. Who left the door open?"

Messing his hair, jaehyun began,

"We didn’t know she was still there in the basement. Usually she’s out by-

“just answer me already.” Taeil shouted in exasperation.

“we don’t clearly remember. Me and ten were busy interrogating him.'' Jaehyun's voice was barely above a mumble but it still managed to reach everyone in the parameter.

Taeil turned to ten, furiously rubbing his forehead, impliedly asking for a reply but he merely shrugged in shame.

“Since when you have been butchering people with doors ajar for everyone to see?” the volume of his voice sent shivers to each and every presence in the room. Taeil never lost his calm, this was, after all, his metier. But he knew when to let go of his usual demeanor and nobody plucked up the courage to question him either.

“we didn’t do it deliberately. It was a mistake. An accident. Why are you drawing this so much.” jaehyun daren’t raise his voice above a whisper but his words were alarming enough

“You all need to recall the rules we stand by. What if jisung had gone down? Would you throw the same lame excuses even then? Won’t you be sorry if he or chenle or sungchan had seen a human being cut open like that? you and ten are both equ-

“we are ready to apologise to her okay. I’m not running from responsibility here. Nobody i-”

“Accepting a mistake is not even the bare minimum. We don't need your hollow apology if you don’t mean it. just because she’s understanding doesn’t mean the blood would leave her head. There’s a reason those rooms are forbidden for some of us here.”

Jaehyun’s unexpected raspy chuckle earned multiple gasps from the room. Taeyong was about to reach him but taeil stopped him by a show of his palm.

Jaehyun pinched his nose before barking,

“when jisung and chenle are told not to enter forbidden areas, they actually do listen but your pretty sweet y/n never does that. she’s just reaping the fruit of her own reckless behaviour again. it’s not my mistake that she’s so damn nosy all the –

“WHAT IF IT WAS NARA AND NOT Y/N JUNG JAEHYUN? WOULD YOU HAVE SPILLED SAME BULLSHIT IF IT WAS HER?

Taeil knew he shouldn’t have said that. Jaehyun’s darkened eyes calmed Taeil instantly as he realised he too had crossed a line.

as he angrily took a step forward towards taeil, jaehyun was abruptly halted by johnny and taeyong as they kept the two men apart. The reason for the argument left Jaehyun's mind, the mere mention of nara was enough to blow his fuse. He was furious yet he didn’t resist the boys and let his sharp breathing convey his message to taeil.

“Stop it you both. Go back to your rooms everyone.” Johnny announced, hands still holding Jaehyun's arm and torso, almost hugging and shielding him from taeil. “let it go jae. Just calm down. Please.”

Everyone remained glued to their feet, too afraid to make any noise. Huffing loudly, Jaehyun pushed Johnny away. Jaw clenched, chest heaving in rage, he furthered himself and instead of going for taeil’s neck as everyone has thought, his hand reached for the vase and the very next moment, the beautiful curved glass met the ground, shattering into innumerable pieces, right where taeil stood.

“JAEHYUN”

Taeyong roared watching younger and the older staring each other down.

“never compare nara to her.never!” With a perilously low voice, jaehyun glowered at taeil. “measure them up on the same scale again and you won’t be alive to regret again!”

Jaehyun stormed out upstairs. Soon after, without saying or expressing anything, taeil left too, masking his emotions just like usual times.

“when are they going to talk this out. It’s been three years already.” Johnny mumbled more to himself but everyone heard him and each and every presence in the room understood him.

Sleep despised you. Even sleeping pills had turned their back on you. Sprawled on the bed, you prayed to some magical being to descend and help you but no matter how humbly you pleaded, there was no end to your misery.

"He was a drug supplier, one of the accomplice of importing life threatening drugs in korea. He had it coming when he refused to tell us about other handlers. What you need to know is we have done a favour by taking his life."

Taeyong's words were seeded into your head. Your fear was fine, he had told you. He also said you’d forget about it in no time but he couldn’t mark when the “no time” would end. The vision of what you witnessed was quite blurry by now but the awful feeling in the pit of your stomach chose not to leave you yet. From what taeyong explained, that man was a mere pawn. A hidden syndicate was exporting deleterious drugs and they were just trying to find out the people behind it.

The only thing you had gathered was that just like every normal entity, criminals like neos weren’t fond of any sort of competition. With a pack of sleeping pills given by xiaojun, meant to help you sleep through the night, you were dropped at your house by dear Mark who kept stuttering explanations while driving. They have never killed anyone innocent, Mark said and kept it repeating in different possible ways a sentence could be transformed into.

You weren’t sure if you believed him yet. But even the mere thought of getting used to the brutality was horrendous than what you had seen once.

Two days later, at black neos. 9: 50

“when do you want us to sue them y/n?” mr. jung questioned, rotating his walking stick by the wooden head.

Sitting on the sofa, just beside him, you wondered why you were always so conscious of all the eyes directed at you. or maybe you were distracting yourself from answering the man. Among all the things, his way of showing his care was not settling in.

one amusing revelation was that Jaehyun's father, mr. jung or senior jung, as hyuck called them, was the only person with the capacity of putting a noose around all the valiant necks that were ever present in the house. The wrinkles of old age held enough authority to shut each and every young mouth, including yours even though you kept your quiet.

And he adored everyone, johnny, yuta and haechan among his favourites of course. He was also persistent and you were struggling with coming up with an answer because of this very trait. He kept asking you and your eyes remained transfixed on the papers bunched up in your hands, that were shoved into your hands upon your arrival. They opened the chapters you always had doubt about but no corroboration.

You had no home, the reason you were sent into that orphanage in the first place. The little kid that witnessed her parent’s death in front of her eyes didn’t understand why her parents took so long to wake up or why they never did when she waited for so long hiding among strangers or despite having a home, why she was sent to a place where she knew no one. There was no answer to why you never saw your uncle and aunt again and why they never came to take you back. As you grew up, you gave up on them. the car crash had crushed every relation you had with the home you once dearly loved and now you were conflicted with the new information that was thrown your way. your uncle and aunt were under illegal possession of the house that allegedly belonged to your father and after his demise, to you. but what would you gain by going back? Bricks and cement could never compensate or alleviate the pain that you had learned to live with. Even with law on your side, tormenting them would be of no benefit to you. So you said what you had decided years ago.

“I-I don’t want to sue them.” you replied meekly, eyes still fixated on the thread holding the legal papers together.

A sound of disapproval caught your ears as mr. jung spoke against your decision,

“no y/n. Those leeches abandoned you to rot in an orphanage and are living comfortably with insurances and the house that belongs to you. all that money could have been used for your future. You don’t need to be afraid of them. kun would provide you the finest lawyers and within two hearings, they would be in jail for committing fraud and trespass. And as a lawyer yourself, you should know better than to let them go off like this.”

Everybody heard but no one spoke.

“no.” you raised your head to face him and swallowed hard before continuing, “I do not want to meet them”

“don’t you want to go back there? that’s your home.” Somewhere from your left, Johnny spoke.

“never.” You refused immediately. “the people who live there were never my family. They never wanted me a part of their family. I’m clearly not their blood. The people who adopted me are not alive anymore. Those who loved me left me years ago. For a ridiculous sum of money, they didn’t even say their goodbyes to me. I was left there thinking that maybe one day someone would come. But money wins over love. It always does. And i don’t give a shit about them. I have learned to live on my own. I never needed their love. And I certainly don’t want more of their hatred.”

Inhaling sharply, you spat your speech in a single breath. Your words weren’t emotionless still you didn’t feel them like others did.

“I think we should bury this matter.” this time your voice was polite.

They nodded.

Mr. jung, however, wasn’t done.

“Okay so no one would mention this but keep these papers with you. you never know when this might come handy. After all, you are the sole owner of those properties your father left. Now you see, we grease the palms of officers so we can escape the shit we create for ourselves but people like your family are worse than the devil hi-

Multiple coughs halted his train of words. His breather was immediately fished out of his pocket and handed over to him. once he regained his senses, he begin again,

“never mind. Family must be protected y/n and those who fail to do so slaps the most precious value away from them. it’s not necessary that you should cherish something when it’s really out of your reach. at least i can die peacefully knowing that you all would settle down finally. If yuta can leave his chaser personality to find love, there’s hope for everyone here and speaking of yuta, when he’s arriving?”

“in two hours”

Your eyes widened and a hiccup escaped your throat. You voiced out a hum of surprise, gathering everyone’s attention.

“You weren’t told?”

You football sized eyeballs told mr. jung that you certainly weren’t aware.

“I guess I just spoiled a surprise then. Forgive me, I'm old and I am also hungry. Show some courtesy to your guests and feed me and y/n.”

Hyuck jabbed at him before they all got up to run for their seats in the dining room. “You are old. Why do you even need to eat anymore. Go to himalayas, eat snow and acquire some peace. That’s what old people should do!”

Everyone seemed too occupied with their bickering to pay you any mind so you dragged a reluctant taeil to his room, demanding answers for the latest drama they had launched in your name.

"I'm so sorry about that. The day after reception at the office, uncle suddenly asked about your family and that got me curious too so I ended up searching in deep and that led me to this whole discovery. I swear i never meant to breach your privacy y/n." Taeil pleaded in a low whisper as he locked the knob.

"Why would he do that though?"

"He's just too sensitive when it comes to families. He even told me to find your real parents but I got no luck there because you were adopted from an open adoption center from a different country. I found no information on them but I'm sorry about that." His ramble was again reduced to a murmur..

Playing with your fingers, you signed heavily before replying,

"Thank you for your effort but you should have asked me first.”

"Did you perhaps know anything about their schemes?"

"Right since I learnt about the adoption laws. I couldn't have been adopted without a security registered under my name. Maybe that property was the house where they are living right now"

"I'm sor-

"When were you going to tell me about that little whiny bitch? He's coming back in a few hours? I have to live with him again? " Scrunching up your nose in disgust, you bellowed.

"Yeah. He and taeyong had a long love chat yesterday. He was indeed being dramatic so i wonder what happened between them that he agreed. But he's coming back yeah. It was inevitable anyway. I don't know how you want to approach this but I'd say don't choose conflict. Eventually you have to live together so why try to break each other's necks. I've said this before and I'd say it again he-

"He's not that bad? I don't understand how easily you forget that I'm in this predicament because of that man. How can you expect me to make peace with that fucking piece of shit who had his gun pointed to my head since very first day?"

"Are we that insufferable?"

"Don't change the topic"

"I'm not changing it.You said predicament. We are also part of it right. Do you really hate us that much?"

Your eyes softened, reflecting his tone. No, they were just mildly bearable. And no, there wasn't any need to admit it either.

"Taeil, you sound like the voice of reason here. Taeyong seems fishy too but he's too unpredictable. He's like a chameleon. Others don't seem to have any power in your stupid hierarchy I've come to notice so it's you right? You are the one who told taeyong to marry me to that poopface and spare my life. It is definitely you.” staring him right in the eye, you pointed your forefinger at him.

"Please do me a favour and don’t use your brain too much y/n. I already have too much on my plate. I don’t need another one. If you don’t want our uncle to die due to a heart attack caused by your and yuta’s actions, stay shut. Now let’s eat before they gobble down everything.”

Our uncle! Yeah sure, you thought.

14:00

Standing alone in the kitchen, fidgeting with your hands, you tried your best to eavesdrop but nothing coherent met your ears. You indeed expected the army of men to have a party when their estranged soldier would arrive but the welcome outside sounded more like a hue and cry. The screaming indicated anything but happiness.

Your dilemma ended when you heard your name being called, the voice belonging to senior jung. You couldn't understand why he loved shouting when clearly his lungs couldn't take anything in higher volume.

Walking into the living room, you saw everyone seated in a very civilian manner but their conversation was difficult to hear amidst the babble.

“Come sit” Mark, who had gone to fetch yuta from the airport, spoke.

As you took the seat next to taeil, your eyes fell on the raven haired man and met his own. If his blonde hair shrieked peril, the black softened all the darkness his previous hair projected. Mayhaps, it was the black rimmed glasses he wore. You didn’t even know he had eyesight issues. He looked different.

He might have looked non-barbaric for a few seconds but his intense eye roll with the twitched lips upon meeting your eyes caused you to scowl. That’s when you noticed the elbow crutch on his left arm leaning against his outstretched leg. Nothing seemed wrong. You sized up his both legs with a crease of confusion forming on your forehead. You might have been looking too hard for your unasked doubt was answered by none other than yuta himself.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

You scrunch your nose at the politeness that dripped from his lips, the honeyed words clearly in contrast from the uneasiness he felt while uttering them. Though the words were directed at you, he never regarded you directly and you weren’t sure how one was supposed to act in such a pretentious setting.

“No, definitely not a scratch.” Mr. Jung interrupted your internal unrest, interpreting your silence to be worry for the boy. “His left thigh is bandaged so it needs a lot of care. You might need to take some days off given how much movement hurt him. and you! I know you don’t want to worry her but lying around won’t work. she can’t tend to you unless she knows where you need care.”

He mildly instructed him as you found yourself staring at yuta’s brown cargo pants which hid whatever injury was being mentioned. The said words were dodged by your ears even before they’d have entered. The problem laid with the response that was expected of you. you couldn’t have possibly replied to him your true intentions that included ducking every wifey duties you were supposed to fulfil but like everyone else and as taeil had explained, you didn’t want the blood of an old man on your hands so you just played along.

“yes.”

That was enough for playing, you decided. Your quietness, for the first time won't be subjected to judgement as the dejection was expected.

“I think you both should go home now. I have some business to sort out here.” he got up and walked past you, not before petting your hair lovingly. He also smacked yuta on his head and mumbled something on the lines of how he should have enjoyed his last overseas trip and whatnot.

Once he, taeil and taeyong were out of sight, chatter started again. hovering over yuta, they dropped questions like he was in some interview and you remained seated, waiting for their next request they were possibly going to annoy you with.

“did you like france?”

“what the fuck! you didn’t tell me about the hair colour. Now I want to change mine too!” that was ten.

“why are you wearing pants if your thighs hurt?”

“I’m sorry for laughing at you earlier.”

Right when you thought you were specialising in drowning the sounds, Johnny's voice caused you to jerk your head towards them. Not the voice, maybe the question he asked!

“dude! Where did you exactly fall from? The room is on the ground floor and your work didn’t even require you to switch places. How can you break your leg while monitoring the local cells?”

Only two sentences were needed for the laughter to escape the confines of your stomach and the realisation that you actually thought about a bullet or a knife being the reason of the harm only elevated the amusement you felt. understandably, you became the center of their attention.

“who the fuck are you laughing at?” yuta sneered.

“you.”

The twisted bitter smirk on yuta's face told you that he still needed some good time getting used to your unfiltered tendencies but by the suppressed snickers that chenle and hyuck let out, their voices recognisable to you by now, you were sure at least a few of them were enjoying your jabs as much as you did.

"Fuck off." He finally barked, breaking the harsh eye contact.

"Happily!" You remarked, raising yourself from the cushioned seat.

"Where are you going y/n?" Intersected jungwoo.

"Home. Tell mr.jung that college called. It's Saturday so I've to visit the library anyway."

"Wait I'll drop you both."

Glaring at Johnny, you wordlessly challenged him to repeat what he said.

"Yes. You and him are not leaving alone. Uncle is still here. God forbid if he decides to stay the night, we won't have answers for him." He rather whispered to you.

"That sounds like a problem for you. My pact was over as soon as I saw that face. And I can guarantee you the feelings are more than mutual from that side too." Rolling your eyes towards yuta, you said.

"No no no! You can't do that yet!" Johnny came closer and continued his whispering, "please y/n. I promise he'd behave. Uncle did so much for you, can you help us this one last time? And yuta was returning anyway. If not today, then four days later. Please? You'd do that for me right?"

Sometime while talking, his fingers had found your hand and you weren't sure if he was aware of it or not.

But you were. And that had caused a little temperature problem in your whole body as you felt warmness enveloping your whole being.

And it seemed like your ears had stopped working too.

"Y/n! Are you hearing me?"

"Are you fine?"

His hand on your cheek broke your trance and your eyes darted away to look at his eyes, finding the same worry in them. Why was he so genuine, you thought.

"Are you sick?"

He questioned again, to which you only stuttered.

"No. I'm fine john. What were you saying though?"

"I said yuta needs to go back home. Please. He can't stay here even if we don't want him to be alone."

Somehow, you found yourself mindlessly nodding at his words. A cheeky contagious smile appeared on Johnny's lips, your own slightly curving on both sides. He backed away after caressing your face, the action more noticeable to others than he probably had intended.

"Let's get you home baby boy." Johnny snickered at yuta earning a slap from him.

"Fuck off bitch. At least feed me something before I leave. I'm hungry!" He screeched, hitting Johnny's leg with the end of his stick.

"What about the jjajangmyun you had in the car? How can you still be hungry?” Mark chirped up innocently.

"Oh come on. Don't make excuses.I'll bring some food in the evening." Johnny offered when yuta was busy giving a stink eye to mark.

"I too need some compensatory food john.”

“What the fuck do you mean compensatory? You live in that house because of me! Don’t imply yourself as the owner of that place!” you rolled your eyes for the nth time at yuta’s words, dismissing his words with the action.

“Why dont you donate your eyeballs to someone like me who can actually make better use of them. Instead of rolling them to the back all the time, I shall happily play tennis with them.”

“If my habits annoy you that much then why are you going back to breathe the same air as me. I’d be more than happy if i don't have to see your cursed face daily!”

“Stop you both.” Johnny's back shielded your view as he spoke. “He’s still here! Renjun, go and run a checkup for him and tell me how bad his leg is in actuality or is he just crying like a baby.”

In defeat, you sat down again. Fifteen minutes passed and despite being sleepy, you tried your best to listen to donghyuck’s ramble of something that jeno did the other day. All you heard was how jungwoo and jeno had a fight over piggyback rides and after that every word was transformed into a chant of word sleep as it hit your ears. Though it was early afternoon, the whole week had been nothing but tiring.

Once again your relaxation time was robbed off by none other than yuta. Maybe this was the end of your peaceful days.

Hopping off, you hurriedly whisked away before Johnny and Jungwoo could say anything to you. Two men were enough for towing the baggage.

As you stripped yourself off your jeans, an exhausted cackle left your lips when Johnny's words echoed in your head. During the car journey, he gave you some instructions in case of some emergency. That emergency being yuta! Not that you were going to put up with any of yuta’s demands, you listened to them anyway. Amusingly, yuta wasn't injured due to falling from stairs. He was getting drunk on the roof of a random building when he had launched himself into a sharp edge of a railing that gave him stitches all over his left thigh. Now he was as good as an exhausted car freshener.

As they settled him down, you didn’t bother going out even for a second. Choosing sleep over your much needed trip to the library, you tucked yourself into white sheets as the light breaths from air con lulled you to sleep.

17:00

Sitting in the library, your fountain pen ran along the plain pages like you were writing a well known story and not your thesis. The words were flowing like water and you felt no difficulty as you finished pages with the speed of light. Everything was going smoothly. You felt happy. And suddenly your hand stopped moving. It was glued to a single point, the nib leaking out on that spot. Next moment, your thoughts were muddled and a distant shuffling distracted you. The more you tried to move your wrist, the more forceful the noise became. Your breathing got heavier and your body jammed, the whole weight punching onto the weak muscles of the hand.

Your attempts never stopped but the noise did and it transformed into loud thumping coming right from your heart.

You tried to inhale but something stopped you.

Then you heard the calls of your name.

Rapid and loud.

Your body jerked forward and your breath finally returned as your eyes opened.

You had woken up from a dream. You were still in your room and the loud thumping was the loud banging on your door.

“y/n! Are you sleeping?”

Registering his words, you replied in a groggy voice.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Your phone. I left mine in the medical room. I need to call Mark right now.”

Whining loudly, you fell back on the bed. It was only due but flailing your arms and legs like a kid in a toy store, you let out a screech full of annoyance, cursing on your fate.

Were you really going to babysit him now?

****

Stay safe everyone. 2021 is just 2020 with a change of pajamas😑wear your mask and force others too🌝

[ohmightydevviepuu]

the part of a swan

for @cshistfic​ (an extension of one of my august prompts)

--

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination.  She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was--he's interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

AO3 part 1/? ~2.6k

--

Emma was twenty-eight years old when she stepped into a ballroom for the first time since she was ruined.  The first time she was present for the judging stares, the awkward silences.  For the public shaming and the elaborate ritual that surrounded it.

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination.  She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

Lady Emma Nolan—for that was who she was, though she barely deserved the descriptor and never claimed the surname—delighted in her ruination, and had done for years.  It had given her freedom.

It had given her Henry.

Emma had faded into the background as she was expected to after her fall, after her scandal—watched the man she thought she loved continue to live his life as the toast of the ton, the darling of his father, the scion of a powerful family—and swore to herself it was the last time she would do what society expected her to do.

Until tonight.

Emma stood before the crowd, acutely aware of all of the eyes upon her, assessing her, from the style of her coiffure—a ridiculous confection of curls and white feathers—to the tips of her shoes.  Surely, they were saying to themselves, surely it is her brother’s money that supports her.

Emma could read them as easily as if they were speaking.

But they were wrong, and that was her secret.

Still, they whispered to each other, muttered remarks hidden discreetly behind fans and glasses of Champagne, and their eyes followed her.  Judged her for her past.

And for her presence.

They knew why she was here, and they hated it.

(So did she.)

“Lady Emma.”

The voice was lush and warm with roughness at its edges.  Dry—acerbic—the syllables drawn out.  He seemed to appear out of nowhere and Emma could do nothing but hold his stare, watching him as he watched her.  Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones unfashionably marred by unshaven shadows.

It suited him.

“Sir,” she said.  “We have not been introduced.”  It was both a rebuke and a lie, for she knew who he was.  Killian Jones, the son of no one of name, who had made his career in the navy, nearly cashiered out of the service but not before making his fortune in captured prizes; now the writer of several prominent newspapers.

More importantly, a broker in the most potent currency of all—information.

“And you are lurking in the dark.”

“Then do allow me to rectify that on both counts,” he said, stepped forward and bending low over her hand.  His breath tickled her skin even through the elbow-length gloves as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

She pulled away.  “What need has Killian Jones for an introduction?”

His eyes glittered.  Blue, like the place on the horizon where the sky met the sea, made brilliant by sunlight; Emma held her breath and prayed he would not notice her slip.

Lady Emma Nolan was not the kind of woman who should know—or recognize—Killian Jones.

Finally, he said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Emma exhaled.  “Why should mine be the only one?”

He laughed, a short bark that seemed to escape him unwillingly, and Emma smiled.  It was a small, tight smile.  She gestured at the ballroom and said, “I should return to my sister-in-law.”  “How is the Duchess?”  His tone was conversational, his eyebrow raised.  “Not dancing, I hope?  In her condition?”

Emma’s smile tightened.  She shifted, uncomfortable in the ill-fitting corset her sister-in-law had pressed upon her, and started to walk away.

He followed her movement, his gaze traveling from her neck to her navel, and Emma blushed.

“Let’s not play games, Lady Emma,” he said.  “You’re here for a husband.  You’re here for your son.”

He leaned in, coming closer, and Emma held her breath.  Anywhere but here—now—she might have welcomed this battle, this back-and-forth—welcomed him, for he was devastatingly handsome—

But she had felt that way before, and fallen for it; left broken, and alone, though it had not been Neal who had destroyed her.  She had never said his name aloud since the day he’d left, never told anyone the identity of the man who had, however unwittingly, given her freedom.

Fathers’ sins, after all, never stuck.

It had been them—the gaggle, the gossips, the matrons.  The glittering ballrooms of the beau monde.  She had chosen not to play by their rules, and paid the price for it.  Emma’s scandal became both entertainment and a cautionary tale.  She’d been exiled by all save her brother and sister-in-law, the duke and duchess married in a scandal of their own, the stars of a different tale.

Love.

But even that had come at a cost:  The respect of their late father, and of the ton.

And now, ten years later, here she stood.  “Do not,” Emma said, stepping forward and nearly baring her teeth at him, “mention my son.”

He stepped back, slowly.  His eyes did not move, and neither did hers.  His tone did not change when he said, “Lady Emma, I understand your urgency.  With the duchess increasing—”

Emma did not answer, but she made no move to leave this time.

Because he was right, the perceptive bastard.

All of the joy she felt for her brother and sister-in-law did not assuage her suddenly urgent need to see that Henry was properly taken care of—by a father.  Someone with a title—someone who needed an heir, now that her brother no longer did.

“There are other dowries, Lady Emma,” he said.  “Why yours?”

Emma’s eyes widened.  Perceptive, and too clever by half.  Maybe that was she answered him honestly.  “There are none so large as mine.  And none that come with as much freedom.”

“Freedom?”  For an instant only he looked confused.  Then he spoke, softly.  “Ah.  You have no expectations.  No dreams of a convenient husband turning into a love match.  You’re awfully young to be so cynical.”  He chuckled, a sound utterly devoid of humor; his eyes once more took her measure.  “But then again, wounds made when you’re young do tend to linger.”

He, too, spoke honestly, as if he knew.  As if he, too, had wounds.  He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her again—and if he touched her, she was going to like it.

“No one has ever done what you’re about to do,” he said, his hand falling.  “And I wish for you to succeed.  In fact, I want to help you.”

Their eyes locked.

“You do?” Emma challenged him.  “Why?”

Some of the scandal sheets that had delighted in her fall had, after all, been his.

“My reasons are my own,” he said.  “There is little love between me and Society.”

She should end this conversation, Emma knew.  She’d been away from the crowd, and from Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law, long enough to be noticed.  Another black mark for the record-keepers.

But Emma stayed.  Said, “You keep them entertained.”

He smirked.  “And you, Lady Emma, are the entertainment in question.”

—

Killian Jones stood on the edge of the ballroom and watched them.  Watched her.

Emma Nolan was every inch an aristocrat, born and bred into this world; a true diamond of the first water.  Everyone in this room should be on their knees at her feet and instead they whispered, waiting to pounce—waiting to destroy her all over again.

He shouldn’t care.  He should stay focused.  

“You should not have flirted with the girl.”

Killian did not turn.  “What do you want with her?”

The answering chuckle was dry and unpleasant. “Let’s just say I’m keeping my eye on young Miss Nolan.”

“Lady Emma,” Killian corrected, only to be granted with another chuckle that had him biting back a curse.

“Of course.”  Robert Gold’s words were soft, delicate—silk wrapped around a knife.  

“What do you want with her?” Killian asked again.

Gold tutted.  “So cold a greeting from my oldest friend.”

Killian had known Gold—now Lord Boyle, Baron Ross, Earl of Glasgow—for almost fifteen years, and hated him for every moment of it; one of the King’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres that earned him close to thirty thousand pounds per annum.

The man was as rich as a fictional king, but that was never enough for him.

No amount of power was enough for him.

“I could kill you right here,” Killian said.

“You could,” Gold agreed.  “And you would hang for it.”

“At least it would be for a crime I actually committed.”

“Big words, Captain.  You and I both know that you are not in any position to move against me.”

Killian finally turned to face him, ignoring the shiver of fear that went through him as he did so; hating it.  “I won’t ask again.”

“And I won’t answer.  Your only concern is that she interests me.  It is so tiresome, having to threaten you.  You would do better to just accept our arrangement.  I command, you act.”

As though Killian could ever forget.

But Killian was not the only one with secrets—Gold had them, and deeper and darker than any one man should.  Secrets that would see Gold, not Killian, at the end of a rope.

If only Killian had proof.

Snarling, Killian backed away from the earl and made his way through the ballroom for the exit.

And found—

“We meet again, Mr. Jones,” said Lady Emma Nolan.  Her bright green eyes sparkled and her voice—somehow it brought light with it.  Killian was helpless to do naught but smile back as he inclined his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, and enjoyed the surprise in her eyes at the honorific.

The night was still young and they were the only two preparing to leave.  Emma’s maid stood discreetly behind and the duchess, her chaperone, was nowhere to be seen.  “Are you for home already?”

Her nod made the feathers in her coiffure tremble.  “Believe it or not, Mr. Jones, I am unaccustomed to this sort of evening.  I find myself quite exhausted.”

“I noticed you found the energy to dance,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

She had stood up for every dance, had played her part brilliantly; Killian had noticed several of her brother’s titled friends called in to do a set with her in the hopes that all of their combined wealth and power might blind Society to the lady’s sins.

She was all anyone talked about, but it was neither her brother’s chosen champions nor her beauty that fueled the whispers in the ballroom.

If Gold wanted her—

“Did you?” She adjusted her wrap around her shoulders but could not hide her smile.  “And yet you never thought to ask me?”

“Lady Emma,” he said, affecting shock, “when we have not even been introduced?”

Her laugh seemed to reverberate; as if the street lamps themselves would dance to her tune, and for a long moment there was silence between them, neither of them moving to break the moment.  The sound of approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels emerging from the neighboring mews was both an irritation and a welcome distraction as she made to leave him.

“The duchess does not accompany you?”

The feathers trembled again as she shook her head, still smiling.  “I’m for home, Mr. Jones.  I wonder, what shall you write about this evening for your Scandal Sheet?”

She meant the words to amuse, he was sure—a perfect combination of wit and boredom—but underneath it all, Killian heard something else.  Something, he thought, no one was meant to hear:  Sadness.  Loss.  Frustration.

“You don’t want it, do you?”

She watched him, weighing, calculating, as the carriage waited before them to take her away from this place and this life, if only for an evening.  If she was surprised by how easily he read her, she gave no sign of it.  “This is my bed, Mr. Jones.  I must lie in it.  And to do that—it seems I need you.”

The words landed, harder than she ever could have intended, his silly promise of social redemption echoing hollow.  It was cold comfort to know that the earl was already married and could have no designs on Emma’s dowry.

The man had a terrible track record when it came to his wives.

Killian thought that it must be her family—her brother—that interested him.  The young, golden-haired duke had clawed his way back from his sister’s scandal and his own marriage based, as best Killian could ascertain, solely on his charm.

“Lady Emma—” he began, but he did not know what else to say.

“Good night, Mr. Jones.”  She was already moving, down the steps to the waiting carriage.  

He watched her, the way she moved, fascinated by the way the pale fabric of her skirts seemed to swirl in the night air, the way her arm balanced as she smiled at the footman handing her in, a glimpse of ankle in a silver slipper before the door slammed shut and her outrider climbed onto his perch.

He imagined what he might write about her as his curricle pulled up to the mounting block and he took the reins, so lost in his thoughts of her that he did not realize he still followed the lady’s coach until they were well past the turn out of Mayfair and toward her brother’s town house.

He followed her down Bond Street toward Piccadilly and then St. James before he allowed his curricle to fall back, watching the lanterns on the carriage as they navigated the back alleyways behind Duke Street toward the men’s clubs of London.

Lady Emma Nolan, sister of a duke, with a dowry big enough to buy a palace, desperate for a restored reputation and a father for her son—that he had determined to secure for her—was in a parked curricle behind the most exclusive men’s club in Britain.  More than a club—the most expensive, high-class gaming hell in London.

Lady Emma Nolan, behind Killian’s own destination, behind his club, The Swan.  A club run by some of London’s darkest men on behalf of the club’s owner, who went only by the name Swan.  Killian had never seen nor spoken to Swan in spite of their years-long profitable relationship in the trade of information.

Of secrets.

Just the person, Killian had decided, to turn to in order to free himself from Gold’s yoke once and for all.  If anyone could access Gold’s secrets, it would be Swan, and Killian was willing to pay any price for what he desired.

Emma’s outrider—a giant of a man, Killian suddenly realized—was stood in front of the heavy steel door that marked The Swan’s back entrance, banging in a specific pattern to gain entry.

He should stop her.  He moved to, just as the carriage door opened and Killian strained for a glimpse of her pale slipper, her white skirts.

But that was not what he saw.

The slipper was high-heeled and dark—the skirts a silk the color of the purest red rose—a corseted bodice that put on display a décolletage of perfect proportions.  Painted lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a dark wig that hid every golden hair.

Killian Jones watched her disappear into the club’s back entrance and he smiled.

Here was a story.

And—just maybe—an answer to all of his problems.

--

@katie-dub @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @pirateherokillian @stahlop @onceratheart18 @kmomof4 @mariakov81 

[sxfik]

push and pull (II)

part I | part II

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: It's been a week since their incident in the courtroom, a week since her best friend, and crush, had kissed her. Despite her better instincts, Sol decides that it's best to test his feelings for her. After all, he's bound to get jealous right?

or: Sol riles him up and now she has to face the consequences.

request by anon: OP you are writing a sequel of push and pull? Right? Right? 🥺 As joon whipped pointed out, this isn't over. And as a prompt/ask for part 2 or a new drabble– like can yeseul find the hickey joonhwi definitely left from the neck kisses? Okayyy byeeee

PS peace is not known to man is alsooo amaze! All your fics are amaze!

a/n: AAA yes i was always planning to do a sequel to push and pull but anon you really gave me the BEST idea! thank you so much for sending something in <3 this honestly kinda got out of hand, i was not expecting it to be this spicy (don't worry, no smut yet lmao) but i really hope you guys like this!!

It's been a week since Kang Sol decided to practice her argument as the defense counsel. A week had passed since her best friend, and crush, Han Joon Hwi, had kissed her in the sacred court of law, and for a week everything was startlingly normal. It was like everything that went on between the two happened in another dimension, when he was just as in love with her as she was for him.

After leaving her confused and dazed outside the courtroom, they had gone back to normal life, into their regular routine. They would study together in the library, work on their case for the upcoming mock trial, and work at the legal clinic. The two of them shared lunches and all their classes together, and for a moment, she almost forgot that she kissed Han Joon Hwi. But what could a girl do, swamped with cases and professors who thought it'd be best to swamp them with assignments.

So since he didn't mention anything about that day, neither did she. For the most part, she was so distracted by her classes and the anxiety that followed with being a student at Hanguk Law School that she was able to act regularly around him. But it didn't erase the memory of how he had looked at her, from across that courtroom, eyes dark and heavy. It didn't erase how warm his hands were on her, how his hands tangled in her hair as he pulled her in, how soft his lips felt against hers as he pulled her into a bruising kiss. It didn't erase how right it felt, having him press against her and it certainly didn't erase how much her feelings had grown for him.

There were moments, when their hands brushed against each other while reaching for the same book, or the way his shoulder would press against hers as they sat in the hideout, where she was sure that she would never get over him. Or the smiles he would send her, only her, across the classroom that would make a certain satisfaction spread through her like wildfire. It was like her mind and body lit up each time he looked at her with so much as an expression of happiness.

But Joon Hwi? He was completely fine. He was still right by her side, smiling and teasing, spending time with her as if they hadn't broken the cardinal rule of friendship. It bothered her, how he could act so normal around her, like nothing ever happened between the two. The anger rose as the days passed by, at how he could kiss her like that, and then pretend like it was nothing.

Kang Sol was always one for action, never one to sit back and let things happen to her. Even with the chance that she could make the situation so much worse, she plotted with Ye-seul. Her best friend had known of course, way before Sol could even understand why or what she felt for the boy that had kept her company through her lowest moments. In fact, she was the one who suggested the brilliant plan of testing his feelings, trying to see for herself if she was just hallucinating or if Joon hwi actually did feel something for her.

Her solution came in the form of a boy,  Lee Min-seok. Min-seok was always a close friend of hers, one of the few students that didn’t shame her for her low scores. He knew about her crush on Han Joon Hwi, figuring it out after they got drunk together. Not that it was all that hard, considering Sol had basically wailed, asking why Joon hwi didn’t see her the way she saw him. Luckily for her, he also had someone he wanted to make jealous, a girl named Seo Ae Ri, who was in their constitutional codes lecture.

Ye-Seul, Min-Seok and her had put their heads together, planning to work together on their project for Professor Kim's class rather than working with Joon Hwi like Sol usually did. It was simple really: Sol would act nice with him, just like she did with Joon hwi and see if he would react. In case they needed extra measures, Ye-Seul would tease her, really testing him once and for all.

“You keep looking at him,” Min-Seok said to her, snapping her out of her thoughts and back to the project at hand.

“Hm?” She turned to look back to the boy sitting across from her at the tables in the main hall. She shot him an apologetic look. "Sorry, I was just-"

"I know," he smiled, before tilting his head towards a girl sitting a couple tables away from them, "I'm getting distracted too."

"This is a bad idea, isn't it?"

"Probably, but we're both desperate losers, aren't we?" he grinned, and Sol laughed, the statement way too accurate to describe the both of them.

Being friendly with Min-Seok was easy but flirting with him was much harder than she thought. Sol had worn her hair down today, in an attempt to look more like she’s on a date rather than working on a project with a friend. She dressed up slightly, upgrading from her Hanguk university sweatshirt to a regular beige sweater. Still, it was impossible for her to keep her eyes on the boy in front of her when the real guy she liked was sitting right behind him.

Min-seok would lightly touch her hand, grazing past her and she would laugh at his jokes as if they were the funniest thing she’d heard all day. She tried her best to keep her eyes off of the Joon hwi and her focus on Min-seok, both of them trying their best to appear as though they had something more than friendship. Both of them joked and worked, trying to let their gazes linger on each other rather than their crushes sitting a couple feet away from both of them. She was still laughing at his joke when she looked up and noticed the empty seat where Joon hwi once sat.

Her laughter died down slowly as Sol watched him disappear behind the marble pillars of the school, without even sparing her a glance. I guess this was for nothing... Her hands squeezed into a fist, the pain and disappointment growing in her chest. She turned back to Min-seok and smiled, trying to not let her disappointment choke her.

It was evening by the time she left the main hall, after grabbing something to eat with Ye-Seul and Bok-gi at the cafe. Even with the delicious food, her mind was still on Joon Hwi, the figure walking away from her that afternoon permanently pressed into her memory. Even though it was just a memory, it weighed down on her shoulders as if she was carrying something physically on her back.

She sighed, making her way back to the dorms, stepping out of the main hall when she felt a tug on her elbow. Before she could process what was happening, she was whisked away to the corridor between the stairwell and the main hall.

“Wha-” she attempted yelled out before a hand came to cover her mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Joon hwi was wide eyed, as he took his hand off her mouth after she saw it was him, letting her calm down. Her heart thundered in her chest, breathing fast from the shock.

“Yah!” she hit his chest lightly, “Why would you shock me like that? I almost had a heart attack.” She tried to slow her breathing down, closing her eyes to avoid his gaze on her. Silence stretched between them and slowly, she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. His head was tilted slightly, almost like he was trying to piece her together like a puzzle.

“Who was your partner for Professor Kim’s project?” he asked, his face still deep in thought.

“Oh, just Min-Seok,” she answered, trying to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible.

“Just Min-Seok?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes on her. She squirmed slightly, her mind racing to come up with an answer that’s not you kissed me and then didn’t talk about it so I needed to test if you liked me. He took a step closer to her as she stepped back, her back hitting the wall of the corridor. His eyes were the same shade they had been in the courtroom, impossibly dark and staring into hers. It was intoxicating and she found herself unable to look away or do anything except stare back.

"You just like watching me in misery, don't you sunbae?" His voice was taunting, much deeper than usual. The air was almost suffocating with tension, with his proximity. She swallowed as she met his eyes, watching as the passion and fire in his eyes made her body overheat. “Taunting me, making me watch that guy touch you and flirt with you like he knew you,” His head dipped in then, tilting slightly as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“Like he knows how you liked to be touched,” he said, teasing as he kept the distance, his hands cupping her jaw, tracing her skin lightly in a way that made her shiver. It sent her body into overdrive, every inch of her hyper aware of Joon Hwi, his intoxicating smell enveloping her senses. “Like he knows how you like to be kissed,” he whispered, and his lips were against hers, soft yet unyielding, before she could even register it. His kiss was like fire, threatening to burn her up, but she didn’t mind. Sol would burn and burn for him, if it meant a few more moments with his lips on her.

Her hands found his shirt, tugging him closer to her as he shifted his head, pulling her in deeper. His tongue brushed against hers, driving her insane with the need for more. His kisses were addicting, pulling her in for more and more. Her hands were then in his hair, pulling him in closer  against her as she kissed him with fevor, her tongue brushing against his lower lip enough to make him groan into her mouth. His body only pressed into her more, his warmth bleeding into hers. His hair was silky and soft against her fingertips, and the need and want for more, more, more, driving her.

He pulled away shortly, panting as he caught his breath. His lips were bright red from her kisses, his eyes darkened with lust and want for her. She was still pinned against the wall as he brought his fingers close to her throat, the pads of his fingers grazing the spot he once left bruising kisses on. She drew in a sharp breath, the delicate touch of his hands enough to clear her mind.

“Ah, Sol-ah, such a pity. The hickies I left have faded away,” Joon hwi smirked slightly, his voice gravelly from the kiss. God, he’s insufferable. “We can’t have that happening, can we?” he raised an eyebrow, then dipped his head closer to her throat. She tipped her head back, wanting, needing, but he paused, his warm breath against her neck, like he was waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” Sol gave in, her voice breathier than she’d care to admit, “Yes please.” He obliged, finally dipping his head fully to leave open-mouthed kisses along her throat. The feeling was torturous and delicious, his hand curving around her neck to adjust it as he pleased. His other hand found the edge of her shirt, his body pushed against her in a way that was designed to haunt her.

“Joonhwi-ah,” she moaned, her voice embarrassingly needy as his fingers grazed her waist, and then his warm hand pressed against her bare skin. His thumb grazed the edge of her bra as it rubbed soothing circles into her skin as he continued placing feverish, bruising kisses against the delicate skin of her neck.  Her mind was completely blank, with only his name and pleads for more leaving her lips. It was too much and too little at the same time, the sensations clouding her mind but her body only craving more.

Slowly, he pulled away, his pupils still blown out from what they just did as he panted, trying to catch his breath. Sol was left dazed, still blinking at what had transpired between them. The air was still thick as they looked at each other, the silence enveloping the two. Sol looked at the man in front of her, but her brain was still catching up to the fact that Joon Hwi kissed me. His hair was a mess, and his lips were still red and swollen from their kisses. She was the first to crack a smile, unable to conceal her happiness at the fact that her plan worked.

“I should have done that earlier if I knew you’d kiss me like that,” she joked with him, the warmth and joy leaking out of every seam of her body. Joon Hwi narrowed his eyes at her, finally catching on to what she had pulled.

“You really riled me up on purpose?” His expression was slightly incredulous, but still adoring. His voice was still gravelly and deeper than usual, yet he was still the Joon hwi who she grew to love.

“You left me no choice! You kissed me in the courtroom and then you never addressed it,” her voice raised slightly, and he laughed in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the familiar way.

“I know, I’m sorry Sol-ah,” he looked down at the ground before looking up at her, sheepishly, “I wanted to give you time. I- i know that the last kiss came out of nowhere so I didn't want to rush you or push you too hard. I was going to talk to you about it today, and then well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she grinned at him. They stayed like that, just for a few moments, grinning as they looked at each other. He pulled back slightly, releasing her from the wall.

“Come on, Sol-ah, I’ll walk you back to your room,” Joon hwi grinned, her hand going out to hold hers as they made their way to her dorm room and to start a new chapter together.

bonus

The next morning arrived surprisingly fast, and Sol was happier than she had ever been. After the Joon Hwi had dropped her off at her room, leaving her with another kiss that would live in her dreams forever she had crashed, blissfully sleeping despite the eventful day she had.

Sol shuffled into the small kitchen area, stretching out her arms in a yawn. She was still clad in her hanguk university sweatshirt, her hair in her signature messy bun as she walked past Ye-Seul and Joon hwi, both sitting at the table looking at their phones and having some breakfast. She greeted both of them, her voice cracking slightly from disuse as she made herself coffee, needing the bitter taste to jumpstart her system before class.

She grinned at both of them before taking a seat next to Joon hwi, the three of them blissfully enjoying their mornings. Everything went by as normal, Joon hwi looking cuter than ever, Ye-Seul still soft and beautiful as ever. Though, as she drank her coffee, she noticed her best friend squint at her slightly, the younger girl’s head tilted inquisitively. But Sol was still on the high from yesterday and seeing Joon hwi in the morning only fueled it more so she didn’t pay the look much heed.

Almost 15 minutes passed before Ye-Seul stood up, making the move to clear her plate and wash her mug. She turned and cleared her throat, looking pointedly at Sol. “Unnie, you might want to use some concealer before you go to class today," she quipped and suddenly, Joon hwi sputtered, choking on the coffee. Sol patted his back soothingly, before she turned around to Ye-Seul in confusion, but the younger girl was gone, disappearing before she could ask what she meant. Joon hwi was still laughing, while Sol was left in utter confusion.

Sol pulled out her phone, switching to her camera to look at what exactly she needed to cover. Did she have a pimple? Did she break out?  But she gasped as she looked at herself in the camera, her eyes wide. Her neck, once pale and clear of any marks, were covered in dark bruises. Hickeys. They spotted all over her throat, the curve of her neck, everywhere.

“Yah, Han Joon hwi!” she turned to him, his laugh only getting louder as she berated him, “I’m going to have to wear a whole bottle of concealer to cover this up!” He grins at her in response, mischief and a certain look of pride tainting his expression and Sol doesn't know whether to kiss him or hit him over the head. But his laughter infected her, and despite all her better instincts to stay angry, she laughed along with him, knowing that she could never stay angry too long at the boy she finally had in her arms.

[kuroos-moon]

≪ the love that wrecks, and the one that mends ≫

pairing: atsumu x reader x suna

genre: sfw, angst

warning/s: toxic relationship, implied sex, minor swearing, prolly contains typos & grammatical errors (didn’t proofread)

wc: 2.3k

His breaths are ragged, thoughts a jumble. It couldn’t be true, lies spread far too easily and he knew that. But still, just to be sure—not that he believed a word at all—he’ll ask you. You, his haven and comfort, the thick blanket to his coldest days and the warm embrace piercing through his isolation. 

You, who filled his thoughts every night. What if he did this the next day or what if he had done that before bidding you goodbye after he walked you home? You, who had been there by his side all this time, he need not look to know that you’re there; you always will be. Through hurricanes of uncertainties and tides of pain, where every memory was precedented and followed by another misery for you both, you and him will not change. 

“This isn’t gonna be the last time we’ll cry because of each other, right?” 

His lips twitch up into a small smile as he tilts his head to the side, looking at you as if you were the prettiest sight. “Most likely not. Tell me, do ‘ya want it any other way though?” 

Eyes seeing through you, he already knows your answer. You only shake your head, chuckling, “as if there is another way with you.” 

That’s right, you can’t expect to have Atsumu in your life if you’re not willing to wet your pillow with tears before slumber, to break the rules—to lose yourself—to get hurt, to bleed, to yearn for more but accept the least. You can’t have it all, they say. Well, you always thought they were wrong. 

With Atsumu, you had it all. The thrill, the pleasure, the pain—him, your breathtaking Atsumu who would utter the most painful words and whisper the sweetest apologies. He knew it too, you were willing to go through hell and back. You befriend your demons and say goodbye to the light, you easily do so, without the faintest doubt—if it means a few seconds of intertwined fingers, a glimpse of his loving eyes, an echo of his laughter, you don’t care, it’s enough, it should be. 

But where the hell are you? You’re not at home, apparently you’re over at a friend’s place. He takes a moment to catch his breath as he arrives at his own home, exhausted, depressed and anxious. He could feel himself lose control of his thoughts, though he was only thinking of you. 

You, who would call him at the most random of times ‘just because’ and you, who had not talked to him properly ever since the last fight you had which was roughly three months ago. What the fight was about, he couldn’t even remember, what he does recall is how you uttered the words goodbye, Atsumu and not your usual see you, ‘tsum.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” there’s the subtlest smile on his lips, dark orbs finally trained on you after he had looked away from the screen. “What I’m looking at is so much better though,” you whisper, intoxicated by his scent and his embrace. 

“Really?” He asks, nonchalant but his tone dishonest. If anything, he wishes more than anything else for you to mean those words, yet it felt like they weren’t for him to hear. “Really.”

You’re an angel, badly hurt and wings clipped.

And it’s all okay. He’ll mend you and patch you up with what he could offer, though deep down he knows you still preferred pain than his solace. He’ll make you fly again, overlooking his true wishes that even with flight—even if you’ve healed enough to let Atsumu destroy you once more—you’ll pick him. It’s fine, he keeps reminding himself, even if you dive straight down to that hell again and abandon him. 

In a millisecond of staring back at your eyes, he had thought over a million ways for you to actually see through him. Words will not do justice for how deeply he had fallen for you, not by a long shot, so please, “y/n, see me,” he whispers into his dark and silent room while you lay facing each other. 

“I am looking at you, Rin,” you assure him, appreciatively running your fingers through his hair. Thank god for him, he’s a work of art.

“Then, do you know how much I love you?” He whispers, the agony of being someone who could only relieve your pain and not truly make you happy had his voice breaking and he hid it so well, but you heard, a tear already rolling down his cheek. 

Your heart falls, watching more tears fall from his beautiful, kind eyes. The very eyes that had seen you at your worst, the very ones that you catch already staring at you from across the room. 

“Y/n you said you see me, right?” He says, silent sobs forcing its way out of his throat and you pull him to yourself, peppering feather-like kisses on his skin and the heaven knows how far and desperately he truly wished that those kisses were out of love and not of pity. 

“I see you.” 

You don’t, he thought. You see a friend, a potential lover, a satisfactory replacement, it will always be Atsumu who’s rooted in the depths of your heart he could only dream of reaching. 

“I love you Rin, you have no clue, and I do know how much you love me.” Of course you know, how could you not know when he kisses your forehead before he heads off to practice? when he races to your side the first thing in the morning and wordlessly holds your hand, when he tells you he loves you every single day and night, whether it’s through the phone, or in person when he thought you were asleep. 

“But you wish he loved you this much instead of me,” he says, and as he’s always done, he puts you first and neglects his hurt, comforting you as you cry silent tears, pushing away the pain in his chest that’s commanding him to just breathe and let go. 

He’d rather suffer alone than have you shed tears with him though, regretting to let you see him cry. Like the miracle of peace amidst chaos, his lips find their way to yours, drowning your sobs as his thumb swipes across your cheeks to wipe your tears away.

Your hearts beat faster, and he was wrong to think he was insignificant to you, because if anything, he was your world, your lifeline. Not just because he kissed, hugged, and comforted all your pain away, but because Suna is the only person you’ll love and forever choose to love like this, like words couldn’t describe, and numbers could not measure. 

If your relationship with Atsumu was hell, you couldn’t even say Suna was heaven, not even close, heaven’s too flawed and unworthy to be compared to your lover. He’s just him, your cherished Suna Rintarou. The brunette you don’t have to break the rules for or cry over every other night, the gentle Suna who will never utter words he knows would hurt you, the beautiful Suna who with just a glimpse of him, all your troubles fade and love fills you. 

It was when you loved Suna Rintarou, that you truly knew what love was like or what love was supposed to be—for you, that is. After months together, you discovered that love for you was listening to your shared playlist as you walk home together with your hand in his inside his pocket, love for you was barging into his room while he was still asleep and waking him up with a kiss, love for you was not hurting yourself over and over, love for you was loving more and more each day, and after loving Suna, love for you is him and him alone. 

“Y/n?” The surprise is evident in his voice when you had pulled away only to glue your lips back together as you shift and now lay on top of him. He guiltily cannot peel his eyes away from you when you rid yourself of his hoodie, he had always known you were beautiful, it was common sense, he’d make it a law if need be, but tonight, he’s looking at you where his eyes had never seen or adored you yet before. 

“Do you see me, Rin?” You whisper, and he draws his hand to the side of your face, his love for you painfully too overwhelming brought by your small act of kissing the inside of his wrist. He’s drunk from your affection, addicted to it.  “I love you, only you, and it will always be you, okay? I’m sorry it took me a while to get to where I belong, to be here with you.” 

That night, tears were spilt as your lips met, confessions were whispered as love was made, again and again until early hours of dawn, until your head lays on his bare chest and his arm securely encloses you to him, a smile on his lips as he listens to your even breaths. 

Meanwhile, Atsumu suffered a sleepless, restless wake of dawn. It wasn’t confirmed to be true yet, but maybe it was because of the way he knew deep down that it is probable, and it made sense. Your love was toxic—unofficial even—while he had always been yours, he knew that he gave you one too many reasons to no longer be his. 

Yes, he was yours as you lay together on your bed that one night, endless conversations and sincere smiles. But no, he was no longer yours when he left your place and called one of his girls, apologizing for not showing up. 

He was yours, when he got jealous and possessive, claiming you his and holding you tightly close to him. But the moment you started asking for more again—for a relationship more certain—in his irritated eyes and discomforted language, in his small sigh and aversion of the topic, you knew once more that he isn’t and might never be yours. 

He’ll change from now on, he says to himself as he swallows his pride and picks up his phone, pressing your contact starred favorite, a red heart at the end of your name. In the first ring he wishes you’ll pick up on the next, on the second he hoped you were just asleep, and when you didn’t pick up, he looks at himself in the mirror and wondered why tears had already graced his cheeks. 

He calls again, you pick up on the second ring. 

“Atsumu.”

As if the coldest wind breezed through him, a shiver runs down his spine and he could feel his throat dry. He couldn’t speak, refusing to accept that the person who picked up your phone is the very person he begged the universe you weren’t with right now. 

“What?” 

“Where is she?” 

“She’s asleep, why would you even call at this hour.” 

There was silence on the line, and from the other end of the call, Suna was sitting up, gazing at your peaceful features as he covers your exposed arm with the blanket that had slightly gone astray. He caresses your cheek gently with the back of his hand, as if the reminder of Atsumu had him on guard with you, instincts kicking in as he wanted to make sure you feel loved and safe with him even though you were asleep.

“Then are ya really… Ya aren’t right? Y’know y/n’s mine.” 

Just like that, Suna’s eyes drop cold, his hand leaving the side of your face. “We’re going out, I wouldn’t really consider the things we’ve done together platonic.” 

Before he could respond he hears your voice, from the sound of it—after having heard it a thousand times when he used to stay over at yours—you just woke up, he bets you were barely even awake at all. 

“Rin? C’mere,” you mumble.

The sound of the mattress shifting and the fluffing of pillows as you sit up and snuggle into Suna’s chest left him a lot to imagine. Despite the wreck it was all making inside his head, he couldn’t even bring himself to end the call. 

Suna had already abandoned your phone, presuming it had already ended as he diverts his full attention to you, looking down affectionately with love behind his dark eyes.

“Did I wake you?” He says in a small voice, yet the kiss he planted atop your head was something Atsumu could still hear, fingers shaking as his grip tightens on his phone. 

“’sokay, let me just sleep here,” you smile, kissing the crook of his neck as you close your eyes once more, already feeling yourself succumb to slumber. This was peaceful, your heart had never felt this in tuned with someone else’s, yet here in his dark room, under the warmth of his covers and the serenity of his bare body against yours, you knew you had finally wound up to where you belong. 

“Rin?” 

He hums in response, tracing his hand across your back as he too starts to fall asleep in your embrace. 

“I love you.”

Those words meant the world to one and torment to the other. 

“I love you, ‘Tsum! You fucking know that! And if you don’t want to let me go, why can’t you just love me too?” 

“Are ya sayin I don’t love ya?” 

“Then do you?” 

Like every fight wherein you had him cornered, he left you unanswered that night. He bitterly smiles, regretful and anguished. With four last words before hanging up the phone, he welcomes the pain of his loss, the loss he knew was coming because he just couldn’t treat you right. 

“I love you, y/n.” 

[instasiswetrust]

In Glory, In Ruins (Part 9)

Previous || First || Next

----

Steves escorts Billy back to his chambers, back to the lonely tower, and at some point, while they were gone, the grubby handprints he left behind are all gone. Linens changed. Dressings too - the bed's covers, the curtains, the tapestries. All cleaned and new.

It's impressive.

It's unsettling.

"And I wait here for your Nancy to come get me for taming?" Billy drawls, easy and quiet, as he looks all around the room and tampers down his worry when he can't find the clothes he left by the fire. If they're lost to him, then what of his scant other belongings?

(His oldest friend? The panic feels like briers in his throat, twisting higher as it mounts.)

---

"She will want to talk with you about the instructors and how to navigate the castle. Introductory stuff, if you will." Steve explains, voice calm and measured, recognizing the mounting panic that builds up in Billy and mistaking it for something else. "On the daily, I'm much less available than I might've been today so if you ever need or want something, Nancy's the next best person to go to. Even if she seems a bit intense at first, I promise she means well.”

From the corner of his eye, he spies the gilded maroon tunic he had all but forgotten to put back on after their earlier mishap in the bathroom. It's neatly folded atop the dresser, and he assumes that's also where Billy's clothes must've been put too.

"The maids must've put your things inside the dresser and found my tunic while they cleaned the room." He comments, making no moves to retrieve the garment instead choosing to stay just outside the threshold of the door.

---

Billy really doubts that his old clothes are going to be tucked away in the lavishly carved dresser, but Steve speaks so sure of himself, so casual and calm, that Billy wants to believe.

It's then when his eyes spot the maroon tunic carefully folded, resting innocently on a corner of the dresser.

"Are you gonna get it or can I keep it?" This is an innocent question, one born of wild law and the solemn deals of children. Finders-keepers and whatnot fueling the laws of trade betwixt those that have had so little, it might as well be nothing.

To Billy, it's clothing. Valuable in its good state, even if he knows it won't fit. Perhaps he can find a way to send it off to Axel. They're just as broad in the shoulder, Steve and Axel. It would fit, probably.

But to Steve ... to Steve, it's a salacious notion, an offering for a nest if kept and brazen claim if worn.

---

For a second, the innocent question catches Steve off guard. Tradition and the rules that he's been groomed into make him leap to conclusions that are indecorous and brazen. He ought to say no, and he's about to before something else gives him pause.

Why would Billy be interested in something like that from him, when any previous displays of interest have been for the sake of the deal they have made?

It is Steve the one who's a blushing mess, heart in his throat as the smallest sign of approval or a laugh he was the cause of. He's the one with the mess of feelings after only a day at the most of knowing each other. It doesn't make sense.

"Why?" And he's not accusatory in the way he says it, just simply curious. If it's not a feelings thing, why would he want it?

The unerring, unmoving smile of the mask turns upon Steve in full. He cannot see Billy's expression beyond it, but he can imagine it. Build it from the sounds of his voice and the lines that compose him. That hold him up.

"It's clothing." Billy answers, voice calm, and head cocked to the side, confusion echoing in whispers. "Good condition. Probably real sturdy and warm."

He appears unsure how to explain it beyond that.

And now that makes more sense. It's something Steve can understand and it gives some insight into the way Billy views the world.

It doesn't feel as disappointing as he thought it would be.

"The royal emblem and colors on them are too obvious. They are not the types of clothes that can be passed down to someone else, not without the guards assuming it was stolen." Steve offers him an apologetic smile, walking over to put the tunic back on. "Jewelry, trinkets, and silverware are much easier. But the barracks always have extra clothes ordered that wouldn't be too noticeable if they went missing."

---

"The emblem's stitched on." Removable with a knife. Easy. There's a point with the colors, but give it a week, and it won't be a nameable color, never mind recognizable. "But alright."

The worrying part that Billy tries to bury, tries to kill, wonders if soldier clothes wouldn't make targets out of children for the same reason - perceived as stolen. Found as such.

"And I was already planning on small things," Billy says airily. He worries the stitching of the seed pearls upon the dress. He could collect them like grains of wheat. Tuck them into a little pouch, slip down the trellis and vines out his window, and make his way home -

Home.

He misses home.

It hasn't even been a day.

---

Steve's gaze softens then, the lines of Billy's body telling an incomplete story that he can somewhat guess. Blue eyes hide behind the scratched-up porcelain of an unnerving mask, and Steve is surprised to find that he already misses them. But this is not about him or how he's feeling anyway.

"Let the tailor know tomorrow if you wish for any extra clothes. Tell him it's on me, not the Queen. He will understand what it means." Like Nancy, and Robin. Hopper, Jonathan, and Joyce. They know, they understand. They agree.

"Oh, and a riding cape. I sneak into town at least twice a month. Thought you might want to come along." He shrugs, easy like he's just proposing they take a walk through the grounds.

If he talks anymore, he would be late to meet Robin and that would be awful. His mask — of skin and bones and paper-thin smiles, a stark contrast to the porcelain he stares at — goes back in place. Nonetheless, mirth shins in his eyes when he bows and presses a chaste kiss to the back of Billy's hand, promising he would see him again at dinner.

With that, he's gone.

[dirtycccat]

things that remind you of them w the demon bros+ (un)dateables

highkey tw for some unhealthy behaviors and uhhhhh maybe sensitive stuff idk just keep that in mind

lucifer

an impromptu orchestra concert in an abandoned church. a forgotten off key piano found at the back of an antique shop. tradition worth more than luxury. 

the crackling of fire. glittering glasses of wine. changing a vinyl with naked hands, brushing the dust off its hard body. a cold hand touching  the back of your neck in passing. whispered words of affection in the ear of your sleeping beloved.

running on air. falling with your lungs full of fire. trying to rebel against fate, against the inevitable moment the ground will break your bones for trying to cheat the laws of nature and its gods.

the heavy weight of perfection bending you backwards. counting down the moments until it will finally break you. measuring your worth in work, in being good at, in being useful, in being needed.

sticking up with family, with rules, with loyalty despite your own desires. acting like you’re the first but always putting yourself second. 

being afraid to dare to be selfish and to love. being scared of your own devouring passions. waiting for your beloved to take the first step and running the whole way to finally meet them.

mammon

the fluttering of wings in the silence of a white september afternoon. a sea of crows watching your every move from atop a nearby building. finding a black feather on the ground and keeping it in your pocket for good luck.

the friction between leather seats and leather jackets. heavy cologne mixed with the scent of sweat and leather. the purr of a motor. finding a half empty pack of cigarettes in the pocket of your old jacket.

winning second place so many times you’ve given up on first. still dreaming of clawing your way onto the top of the podium sometimes. 

the heavy burden of capitalism of having your worth monetized. having to constantly show the word you’re worth something. selling your soul for value. 

wanting everything you could never have before. overspending, oversharing, overwhelming. being too much but also never enough. 

finally being someone’s number one. strong arms holding you while you cry. a reassuring presence, a constant in your life 

leviathan

imposter syndrome. feeling like you’ll never fit in, like you’ll never be good enough.

replacing real life with dreams. looking at life from the outside. living inside your head.

playing games until 3 am on a school/work night. letting your passions consume you. still feeling guilty of not doing anything measured in money or public approval. calling all your hobbies guilty pleasures because you still care about what others think despite appearances.

finding comfort in the solace of the ocean. sitting at the bottom of the pool holding in your breath and your tears. crying in the shower. letting the water wash you clean and reborn. 

letting someone in. being accepted for what you are and the little you can offer. vast depths hidden by shallow waters.

satan

rage. pure unfiltered rage. the desire to stand up to authority figures.  clenched fists, heavy calming breaths, tightly closed eyes. tears of anger, of not being right, of never being good enough or smart enough.

subtle jabs. heavy sarcasm. veiled ironies. cruel eyes and bloody smiles.

putting your nose in a cat’s fur and smelling home. holding a small being full of love and feeling fulfilled. finally feeling like you want to protect and not just destroy.

having to put a book down after reading a certain line that perfectly described that unknown feeling you’ve had all your life. rereading the same line again and again and feeling the knot in your heart and stomach loosening. knowledge as power turned into knowledge as a way of truly becoming yourself turned into a shelter of understanding guarding you from the anger.

swearing in other languages under your breath. reciting poetry aloud by candlelight while drunk on wine and desire. heavy whispers full of hot meanings in the ear of your lover during dinner in languages spoken only by you two.

finally getting the happy ending you’ve always read about. finding your anchor. being a better you for your beloved. improving and helping each other with their shortcomings. balancing each other.

asmodeus

perfectly done make up that had you wake up 2 hours earlier than the others. using concealer to hide a pimple or any imperfection. pants too tight to walk in. the sound of heels in an empty hallway. 

caressing your desire while taking a hot bath. focusing on carnal needs, on your senses, on what you feel, on the present. drunk kisses. flirting with strangers at moonlit bars. red lipstick stains on blushing necks.  

drinking a glass too many despite the warning in your head. drinking to forget yourself. drinking to escape your fears, your inhibitions, your shortcomings. drinking to become the perfect you the others always expect to see you as. but also drinking to be selfish and feel good for yourself and yourself only.

the sad knowledge you’ll never be the best ever again. being compared to others and ending up comparing yourself to them. knowing your worst enemy is yourself, but trying to hide that fact with mean jokes and confident airs. feeling afraid of being known, but even more afraid of having no one knowing the real you.

beauty at a price. happiness sold for beauty. cruel beauty that devours its worshippers. 

the reassuring hands of a stranger holding your hair as you let it all out, the alcohol and the guilt. crying with your head on the cool toilet porcelain after you came home from a party that you thought would help you escape. 

help and love coming from where you least expect it. noticing the little things. noticing the person behind the character.

beelzebub 

an unknown hunger gnawing at your insides. trying to fill the empty inside but always choosing the wrong meal.

feeling satisfied after a good meal on a good day, feeling bursting on a bad one. devouring until you can’t. still feeling empty, still needing to fill yourself up but knowing it is useless.

feeling breathless and weightless after a run. being high on adrenaline and feeling like you can do anything. the smell of a sweaty used gym and leather boxing gloves. 

falling in love so slow and easy it feels like a meeting in the middle of an already drawn path.  

belphegor

living just to pass the time. living for others. living but forgetting how to live. being told to do better, to be better, to just get up and do something.

sleeping in. falling asleep at 6 am after a night of insomnia. hearing the world wake outside when inside you’re just going to bed.

strong emotions with no release. feeling full without escape.  dark humor. saying too much, revealing too much, being to much so you hide.

getting away with shit because you’re the smallest and feeling no guilt. 

the feel of fresh bedsheets. being covered in a blanket just right. feeling warm and protected in the comfort of your room.

love that comes like a question and an answer. love that feels heavy despite it’s light.

diavolo

a commanding tone bringing silence to a room. respect earned justifying the respect you were born with.

luck of birth. being born with a silver spoon. being sheltered, being always different, being untouched by the world outside and its people. 

being born with a burden. accepting your prescribed fate. believing in legends and asking yourself if you’re the hero or the villain of your own story. realizing that life is more complicated than fairytales.

abandoned castles. ivy walls and moss floor. a lit figure at the window of an empty mansion. the creaking of old staircases at night when you’re home alone. feeling like you’re from another time.

a strong hand squeezing your thigh under the table. the reassuring warmth of your lover’s presence in a time of need. being loved and not just desired. finally being touched where it matters.

barbatos

unwavering loyalty. living to serve. giving up on your individuality.

a shadow following you at night while you walk back home. sharp eyes locked onto yours from across the room. 

passive aggressiveness. hiding behind a smile. an impenetrable facade of public politeness.

the ennui of knowing too much, of living the same day, of being hungry  for a breakthrough. knowledge as a burden but also as a gift.

knowing everything about others but no one knowing anything about you. making small thoughtful gestures that remind others of your deep knowledge of their habits and wants.

finally being noticed and seen for yourself alone. getting the surprise you were craving. being taken care of.

simeon

living different lifetimes through your writing and through books.

the smile of a pretty stranger in the train that will forever visit your dreams.

a handwritten message in cursive on the fridge. a hastily written poem on the back of a receipt.

being the outsider. the watcher. being the director of the play of your life and not the actor.

tea that s just hot enough to warm your insides. falling asleep on an armchair with a book in your hand. sunkissed skin. the softness of summer. the fluttering of invisible wings.

ageless wisdom.

rewriting a cursed tale of history. going against tradition. trying to carve your happy ending. succeeding.

solomon

knowledge coming at the price of youth and life.

a thirst to know. devouring books. staying up until 5 am reading. eyes burning dry. feeling like you’re still not doing enough. head full of little nothings. feeling like you will never know anything however much you try read or learn.

notes in the margins of a book you took from the public library. wondering who is the person behind the words. fleeting attachments to the wrong people for the wrong reasons.

being the outcast. the kid at the back of your class reading a russian novel in the original language underneath the table during math class.

a house in the middle of the woods with smoke coming from its chimney. rituals in the dark. wet moss on your soles, the moon lighting up your eyes. the silence of night on a full moon. 

whispering prayers and praises to the earth under your breath as you go. feeling drunk on fire. noticing the magic around you. kissing the earth. finally grasping the knowledge you sold your soul for. asking yourself if it was really worth it and having no answer.

love as an adventure. finally feeling and not thinking. giving up on reason and embracing your heart’s guidance.

[limen-lime]

how does the rest of the move in go?

"This is a box of my very personal belongings," Hazel told Tristan as she put the box in question into his hands. "If you peek inside or drop it, I will kill you, got it?"

Tristan, whose usual chipper nature was dampened by mourning for his lost sunglasses and general fatigue, said only, "Got it. What if it's just a little peek, though?"

Hazel, who was already fond of Tristan beyond measure, pointed a finger directly at his nose. "Instant death."

In the dining room, Jack helped Iris sort silverware, stack plates, and break down empty cardboard boxes into flat cardboard pancakes. Tristan watched them with a look of a child peering into a toy shop window just before Christmas.

Hazel noted this and felt a flood of jealousy. She was always competing for attention when her mother was present, and Iris was reigning champion. Even Hazel hated being jealous of her. She was just that nice.

"Do you want to meet our bees?" Hazel asked and knew it was a silly thing to try to bribe someone with.

Thankfully, Tristan was just the sort to fall for it. "Woah, can I?"

They snuck out the backdoor where the old wood floor had been replaced with carpet that would not creak and betray their escape. Shutting the door softly behind them, Hazel caught the conspiratorial look that Tristan gave to her, and she tucked it away in her pocket for later.

Three steps down and they were up to their waists in overgrown grass and weeds. Hazel trailed her fingers through it as she led Tristan around to where her mother parked the trailer. The white box stood alone now in the back, buzzing with life. Tristan's eyes sparkled.

"Bees," he whispered.

Hazel nodded and stepped up to the back of the trailer. Tristan gasped, "Don't you need a suit or something? At least one of those hat things?"

"Only if the bees don't know you," Hazel replied and relished the blend of confusion and wonderment on Tristan's face. "They built their hive in our old attic first. Our landlord wanted to call in an exterminator, but I chained myself to the attic door until Mom convinced him to hire a person to safely remove the hive instead. But by then we were attached, so we kept them."

Tristan nodded. “Hazel Espinosa, Demolisher of motels, Protector of bees.”

“The roof fell in,” Hazel corrected him, but Tristan had a look in his eyes like he knew, or that he was, at least, a very good guesser. She peered down at the hive instead.

A few brave bees had already begun to crawl onto the ledge of the box and spread their wings. They took flight, little wonders of nature, and buzzed around her head before setting off to find more edible things. Hazel reached slowly for the lid. Tristan held his breath, whether he realized it or not.

“They’re a very docile hive. Mom says she can sense their emotions kind of like people’s only,” here Hazel paused as a bee lit on her hand, “simpler, I guess.”

The bee crawled around, and Hazel remembered how she used to cringe when they would land on her, awaiting the sting. But if her mother had taught her anything, it’s that you usually got what you went looking for. So instead, she watched and allowed the tiny creature to explore, before it flew off again.

“Your mom sees people’s emotions,” Tristan said to her, but she could sense the question beneath the statement.

“She always knows when you’re lying. It’s what makes her so good at her other job, the one with the contracts.” Hazel inspected the hive. She slipped sections of honeycomb from the box to make sure nothing had been broken during the drive. “She’s tried to explain it before, how it works, what it looks like. But I think it’s different for every person.”

“It must have been a difficult skill to master.” He said this like he knew from experience. “What’s your skill?”

In Hazel’s experience, magic was a wild thing. In the same way that scientists made laws for physics that applied until they didn’t, witches made rules for magic. Rules, like it was a dog that could be taught to obey if offered a treat.

They tried to define and classify types of magic, put them in groups. Family, genus, species. Witch was the general term, the family, those who could touch magic. Or maybe those touched by it. Things like psychic or necromancer or shapeshifter, the genus. Below that, witches usually leaned into a specific skill, a talent or “gift,” as if magic was a fat man in a red suit handing out wrapped presents.

If magic was Santa Claus, Hazel had been handed a lump of coal, an explosive one at that.

“Dream interpretation,” Hazel answered because it was what her mother told her to say whenever people asked. It was simple enough that most would accept it but also boring enough that they wouldn’t ask further questions.

Tristan nodded his head. “So that’s why you asked about other witches who dealt in dreams. Are you looking for a sensei?”

“Something like that,” Hazel said and carefully replaced the lid on the box so as not to squish any of the tiny occupants. Then she brushed off her hands and stepped off the back of the trailer. “What about you? What do you do?”

Here Tristan grimaced, as if he’d been expecting the question but he still wished he could dodge it. He said, “I think I hear your mom calling us.”

“You do not. Answer the question.” She poked a finger into his chest.

Tristan fell back a few steps as if he’d been struck and sighed heavily. “Fine, I can...” He paused and, looking behind her, his eyes widened. “Hazel, look.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “I am not falling for that, Emrys.”

“No, seriously.” He reached for her shoulders and turned her around. “Look.”

At first Hazel didn’t see anything remarkable. Just the yard, the overgrown vegetable garden, the forest. But then the slightest movement caught her eye, something small and brown. It sniffed at the over ripe tomatoes, their skin broken in the summer heat, and then it turned its head towards her as Hazel gasped.

Its eyes were black as night, fur a familiar grayish brown. It angled its long, black-tipped ears at her and bared its yellow teeth. The two antlers protruding from its head were like a great, unruly crown, twisting and curling, unnaturally supernatural.

Iris opened the front door of the house and leaned out. “Are you two slacking?”

At the sound of her voice, the creature vanished. So fast that Hazel couldn’t even trace where it had gone. She and Tristan stared at each other for a moment, and Iris placed her hands on her hips.

“What? Did I miss something?”

Previous and Next

[kidhawks]

WAHHGUHFH.. FANTASY HAWKS.. I LOVE UR DESIGN FOR HIM AGHH!! and do u have stuff to say abt him bcos i would LOVE to hear it

YAY i’m glad u like him :’) fantasy au time hehe 😈 it’s still a work in progress but yes.. a few thoughts. i’m just spitballing here so if anyone has ideas of their own i’d love to hear them <3

hawks “”works”” for the commission (aka is owned by them) who still get to be a shady organisation whose goal is to maintain peace and order across kingdoms, which r probably ruled by important characters like endeavor, all might, all for one etc. no one likes the commission because they’re always sticking their nose in other people’s business lmao. they’ve controlled things from the shadows for a loooong time, assassinating leaders who get too power hungry, quashing rebellions before they can begin etc. they want things to stay exactly as they are, always, and so far they’ve mostly succeeded

quirks still exist but mutant discrimination is more pronounced—they only recently got equal rights in all kingdoms. it’s what allowed hawks to be basically enslaved the way he is. now the freedom laws are passed he could technically leave the commission but for a multitude of Reasons he stays. eg, his priority is also maintaining peace not because he thinks society is perfect how it is—far from it—but because upset peace means civilian death. he wants to see change but if innocents die for it then it’s not worth it. his goals align with the commission’s enough that he’ll continue to help them. however, other people, especially other mutants, can’t understand why he’d stay and he’s viewed with a mixture of “dirty commission dog too loyal for his own good” and “poor thing was raised to love the hand that hit it and can’t fathom the idea of freedom, so sad”

similarly to canon, hawks was sold to the commission when he was young and trained into a spy/assassin hehe (what’s the point of an au if it isn’t self indulgent?). the tattoos are added to with achievements. the diamond on his chest was immediately inked on him when he arrived, while the lines are added for things like significant kills, successful missions. i’m toying with the idea of them being a way of controlling him, like they cause pain if he disobeys, but i’m also fond of them just being a symbolic representation of ownership... hmm. oh!! maybe they give him power while also hurting him if he disobeys? i’ll have to think more abt how that works lol, i want him to be able to disobey at times, but knowing hawks he’ll find ways to sneakily work around orders while still technically obeying

his job consists of flying around the kingdoms and knowing everything that’s going on at any given time. there isn’t a rumour he hasn’t heard, whether from frequenting underground fighting rings or influential nobles’ bedrooms if he has to. for discretion’s purpose the tattoos can be made invisible for periods of time but never truly removed—everyone knows him now anyway, the commission’s pet with the bright red wings, so the tattoos are rarely concealed anymore. everyone thinks they can avoid letting slip any information to him but jokes on them because his wings don’t miss a whisper and he’s a charmer to the point that you don’t know what you’ve said until he’s saying “thanks, that was really helpful! great chat! bye!”

he’s also basically a messenger pigeon between kingdoms since he can travel so quickly. the commission “kindly” offered his services but everyone knows it’s a method of planting him in every castle to hear them juicy deets, and you don’t refuse the commission because you want to keep your head, thanks. so hawks is familiar with each ruler and their castle staff for good measure, and probably a fair few commoners too... he was one of them once after all. he’s originally from endeavor’s kingdom but the guy doesn’t need to know that

all might thinks he’s a charming young man but hawks is weirdly creeped out by the constant smile and actually prefers the grump endeavor who shoos him like a pigeon. all for one is terrifying and hawks knows he’s after war but he can’t prove it. if it comes down to it he might have to resort to assassination, but if done wrong that could cause more problems than it solves (plus, killing, bleaugh). he hates afo’s castle and leaves as soon as he’s delivered a message, though he enjoys bothering afo’s heir shigaraki first (hawks was eighteen when he first spotted shigaraki, fifteen, sulking around the castle like he didn’t have a friend in the world. well, maybe hawks could change that and get some info while he was at it... unfortunately shigs is surprisingly tight lipped but he’s good for board games)

i’m thinking of making other top-ten heroes into rulers of their own kingdoms? queen miruko would be awesome, imagine!! the first animal mutant queen who’s loved for not being a passive leader but a fighter with a passionate love for her people. hawks doesn’t like how unpredictable she is, it makes his job harder, while she thinks he lets himself be walked all over and it pisses her off, but i think they could be great pals if they got to know each other. edgeshot the ninja king. jeanist is a peaceful, pragmatic leader who hawks actually gets along with. sorry, pb, i have no idea how to fit wash in. washing machines don’t exist in my self indulgent fantasy AU.

if i wrote this i’d probably have afo wage war after all and hawks kicking himself for not doing better in preventing it. shigaraki is at the head of the war, but after afo is killed/arrested like in canon, shigaraki labels it as more of a rebellion with his new generals by his side, one of whom is a powerful man called dabi who hawks has never heard of, and he’s meant to hear everything. it’s not a good time for hawks knowing he wasn’t enough to stop this. if he had tried harder to sway shigaraki away from afo’s ideals... it hurts seeing the lonely kid he once knew declare his desire for complete destruction. hawks doesn’t have “friends” but he cares for people—the commission didn’t take his heart, just chained it

anyway it’s basically canon but fantasy because fantasy is sexy and cool (it would deviate a lot from canon though i don’t want it to be a carbon copy lmao)

[jaskiersvalley]

honestly, your ability to come up with so many amazing stories/au's/ficlets/etc is astounding and i am so grateful for you and your words

People like you are the ones who make fandom such a pleasure! It’s been a little while since I’ve answered asks and this is one of the oldest messages that’s been sat in my inbox. Hopefully you’re still in the fandom and may enjoy some wedding shenanigans with an additional dose of everyone is poly.

Wedding Bells

Politics was nothing more than absolute bullshit. Why the world at large felt the need to force Jaskier into a marriage was beyond him. He had a very loving relationship with all his partners, why the law mandated that he must marry one and only one in order to fulfill some silly rule about inheritance and governing, it was beyond him. So now he was faced with a tough choice. And, quite possibly, a betting pool to win that Yennefer was organising.

The odds were quite startling, and betting pool wider than imaginable. Almost everyone in Lettenhove and beyond had an opinion about who Jaskier should marry and why.

As expected, Geralt was the front runner, he was the White Wolf, Jaskier’s first witcher. He was well known around the Continent, would bring a new gravitas to the Pankratz name and nobody would dare cross Jaskier when the White Wolf was by his side.

An unexpected second favourite was Eskel. The voice and reason of the group - at least, that was what the population at large believed. They didn’t need to know about the succubus and fisstech or any of Eskel’s other adventures. As far as the public was concerned, he was the calm one, the one who held everything together. He would be kind and fair, honest and hard working. Definitely a good balance to Jaskier’s more extravagant side.

Interestingly, Cahir was a dark horse pulling ahead. As the other human in their relationship, people who were keen on believing witchers to be beasts and unable to rule, they opted to favour Cahir. Plus, a marriage with Nilfgaard’s finest would definitely bring a certain amount of safety and peace to those living in Lettenhove. The security Cahir would bring with him as the husband of the Viscount (soon to be Count) de Lettenhove was definitely popular with Jaskier’s subjects.

Aiden was the fun choice. He was personable, so very easy to like and fun. He and Jaskier were often seen gallivanting around the lands, laughing and making friendly with the locals. If there was a troublemaker with charm in the group, it was most definitely Aiden. With him at Jaskier’s side, Lettenhove would be chaotic, non-stop party.

Last, and probably least, was Lambert. Sour, grouchy and almost always scowling if out and about. People were scared of him. The few who put money on him were doing it either as a joke or because they thought his demeanour would frighten off anyone nosing around Lettenhove with bad intent. Without a doubt, Lambert would not tolerate any kind of tomfoolery or malice from anyone.

It was a topic of great discussion amongst the group. Jaskier only sat in on one of their late night ponderings. He would have laughed if his heart didn’t bleed because they were all touting each other’s virtues and why anyone but them would make for a good ruler alongside Jaskier.

“You do realise,” Jaskier had cut in, “that just because of a piece of paper, I won’t love one of you more than the others, right? This isn’t me picking favourites. And if I could, I would marry you all in a heartbeat.”

Thankfully, it moved the conversation from Jaskier’s impending wedding to one of them to the logistics of a private ceremony for the six of them. While legally not recognised, it was enough for them to declare their love and commitment in front of friends and family.

The identity of Jaskier’s wedding partner was kept secret until the very day. Rumours were rife, talks of ceremonial witcher armour and Nilfgaardian wedding outfits were bandied around. Plus, everyone was placing last minute bets on who it could actually be. Finally, the ceremony was starting. Everyone sat in their seats, craning their necks to see what was going on. Assumptions had been that Jaskier would walk down the aisle.

First murmurs went up when Jaskier walked in from the side, Geralt and Cahir at his side as best men. They took up their spots at the front and turned to the back of the hall as the music started. The doors opened and the first two through the door were Aiden and Eskel as joint maids of honour. They even snickered as they scattered petals for the happy bride to walk down.

Behind them, calm, measured and only a little teary, Vesemir was walking Lambert down the aisle. He wasn’t prepared to give away his youngest pup even though he knew this was all towards a path of happiness for everyone. Next to him, Lambert beamed, wearing a white dress, bouquet of flowers in his hand and a traditional veil atop his head. Murmurs whipped around the hall as guests whispered about losing bets and how good Lambert actually looked.

Getting to the top of the hall took a bit of time, Lambert far too into the whole thing. As he took up his spot, Vesemir finally let his arm go and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m so proud of you.”

For the first time, the shit eating grin fell from Lambert’s face and he looked vulnerable, hopeful and so painfully young under everything.

The official wedding was over in a timely manner. There was no pomp or grandiose declarations. An exchange of rings, some simple vows and a kiss. And thus, Lettenhove had two Counts and four Count Consorts. It was after the ceremony that those who mattered gathered in the gardens where the six of them actually exchanged the vows they meant, six hands were fastened together amidst some giggling and tears.

People often wondered why Lambert had been picked out of the group. To Jaskier and the others, it was quite painfully obvious once they discussed it. Of them all, Lambert had been the one who resented The Path the most, had raged against the hand destiny had dealt him. This was his way out, a way to stick both middle fingers up at fate and do good on his own terms. He’d been through all the shit of families not having enough, of barely surviving. His ‘escape’ had been Kaer Morhen which he despised with a vengeance. Now, he could stray from The Path, could actually help his people while the others went off on their journeys. Jaskier could follow Geralt, Eskel and Cahir ventured out together and Aiden had a base to return to when things got tough. Even Vesemir had a new household to keep in order. He’d wrangled witchers long enough, a house of humans couldn’t be worse. Lambert, it was decided by the history books, was one of the best, most humble and kind Counts the lands had ever seen.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Her Brother's Blood is on His Hands

(Originally written for @heart-pirates-week for Ikkaku’s day with the prompt “Family” but ended up being delayed until now. Inspired by discussions with @shambledsurgeon and @medicus-mortem)

Ikkaku awoke slowly, the persistent beeping of a heart monitor resembling that of a particularly slow but annoying alarm clock. She tried to sit up but a sharp pain in her side dissuaded her, so she was forced to remain on her back, looking around at the sterile walls of the infirmary. She was hooked up to an IV, there were several machines monitoring her vitals, and she could feel the pressure of tightly-wound bandages around her torso and arms.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Law said from the chair at her bedside, putting down the medical book he’d been reading. The circles under his eyes appeared darker than usual, but his grin was comforting and sure. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to resort to drastic measures to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

“Law?” she asked weakly, grimacing at how hoarse she sounded due to the dryness of her throat. “The fuck happened?”

“Gonna have to be more specific,” he stated as he carefully helped prop her up enough that she could safely drink some water. “Do you mean how did you end up here? Maybe the extent of your wounds? Or how about what, exactly, I did to the fucker who hurt you?”

Her eyes widened as she recalled what had happened. She’d been taking a walk with Jean Bart, venting about how much she hated that they were now government dogs because Law’d insisted on handing the Navy one hundred hearts. They’d run into a squad of Marines. Her brother’s squad, to be exact. Ushi had decided it was pointless trying to climb the Navy ranks the normal way, and thus had come up with the idea of sucking up to the Celestial Dragons. And what better way to do so than to return to Saint Rosward his wayward slave?

Heart clenching at the thought of her shipmate being handed back over to those bastards, she asked, “Is Jean—”

“He’s fine. Discharged yesterday,” Law promised, nodding towards the empty bed on the other side of the room. He picked up a chart, studying it as he continued, “Needed a lot of stitches for the lacerations across his back and arms, but nothing life-threatening.”

“Good,” she sighed in relief. He hadn’t been killed or taken. Jean Bart would continue to live as a free man for a while longer. He deserved that much.

“Was quite the sight, seeing him charging towards the ship, covered in blood, carrying you like a baby while you bled out from a stab wound,” he commented, voice even, though there was an unmistakable tightness in his jaw. “I’m just glad he managed to tell me who’d done this to you two before he passed out.”

White teeth sank into her bottom lip, guilt pulsing through her. That’s right. It hadn’t exactly been a victory. They’d managed to take down most of the Marines, but Ushi had managed to get behind her, and then there’d been excruciating pain as he’d driven a knife deep into her side…

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she whispered, black curls hiding her face as she hung her head in shame.

“The hell are you apologizing for?” he asked, gold eyes flicking up from the clipboard and narrowing in displeasure.

She wrung her hands, anxious and guilty. “Jean Bart got hurt because of my family baggage.”

“He got hurt because of an opportunistic asshole who decided that Jean being under the protection of a shichibukai didn’t matter,” he snapped. Pausing, he took a deep breath to compose himself. “The fact that said asshole came out of the same uterus as you is irrelevant.”

“We both know that’s not true,” she countered, refusing to look at him. “He targeted the Hearts because of me. He always has. And he wouldn’t have been able to go after Jean Bart if I’d let you kill him years ago. Or killed him myself. You deserve a subordinate with the stones to kill her own brother.”

Internally, she berated herself for that last part. None of this would be a problem if she’d just toughened up and put an end to that bastard. Why did she always seem to stop herself? Morality? Because she knew how heartbroken her parents would be? Because even years later, she was still scared of her childhood boogeyman?

Her thoughts were disturbed by the clipboard lightly smacking her on the head in reproach. It didn’t hurt, but Ikkaku rubbed her head anyway, frowning up at her captain. “You trying to knock me unconscious again?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to stop talking bullshit,” he retorted. He glared at her for a moment before letting out a sigh, a tattooed hand falling heavily on her shoulder. “Ikkaku,” Law stated, tone brokering no argument, “what I deserve is a subordinate with the stones to stand up to a power-hungry bastard looking to sell her nakama to a bunch of delusional inbred freaks, which that’s exactly what I’ve got. And what you deserve is to not get stabbed in the spleen by your own blood.”

Well. It was hard to argue that logic. “I guess. But next time—”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You don’t know that.”

The hand on her shoulder fell away to flip through the pages of her chart. “Ikkaku, you nearly bled out before you even got to the sub. You’re lucky Shachi and Penguin share your blood type and were basically tripping over themselves to donate. I had to replace your spleen and left kidney, and if that knife had gone in at a slightly different angle, he could have punctured your stomach or lung. In other words, this bastard nearly cost me my engineer. You’ve known me for goin’ on five years now; do you really think that once you were stable I just sat around twiddling my thumbs while I waited for you to wake up?”

Dark eyes widened in realization. “Did you kill him?”

“Would you be mad if I said I had?”

No. Not at him at least, but she still felt like she’d let him down by not being able to do it herself. “He shouldn’t have been your problem to solve.”

“You’re right. He shouldn’t have been a problem,” he replied harshly. Before Ikkaku could internally berate herself further, though, Law ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and there was a spark of guilt in his eyes. “No Marine should have even touched you guys. That’s supposed to be one of the fucking perks of being a shichibukai. I told you when I took this damn title that you be safe and look how that turned out.”

Yes, that had been a major argument between them, hadn’t it? For Ikkaku, not wanting to be affiliated with the World Government hadn’t just been a matter of pride or general hatred for the bastards who ran the world – she’d been afraid. Terrified that her brother would be waiting for her around every corner. That he’d find a way to get her alone, to finish the job he’d started when she was seven, to finally get her out of his hair. Law had promised she’d be safe, that he wouldn’t let him so much as breath near her. Eventually, she’d come to believe him, but things hadn’t gone to plan.

“You can’t blame yourself for Ushi not following the rules, Law,” she insisted. Yeah, she could have berated him for not listening to her, but in reality, Law’s logic had been sound; Ushi shouldn’t have dared to try anything. Ikkaku didn’t just have the Hearts protecting her anymore – the Navy itself had become another obstacle in his way. She should have been safe.

However, even she hadn’t fully considered why Ushi would go this far, but in hindsight, it made sense. Last she’d checked, he hadn’t been promoted in a while. Hadn’t advanced as quickly as he wanted or earned any accolades for heroism like everyone back home had been expecting. He was a commodore still – not even a rear-admiral, and his name didn’t strike fear into the hearts of pirates like Smoker’s did.

Because he��d been put on a pedestal, her brother had always gotten away with everything, which had only enforced his cruel and abusive nature. The whole island had believed that he’d become a famous Marine and boost their reputation, which was why they’d been willing to overlook the bruises that littered his sister’s arms, or the fact that she’d gone missing for three days while under his care.

If he’d come home a failure, everyone would have to finally admit he was nothing but a twisted, cruel bully. And instead of accepting the blame for enabling, they’d likely make him answer for his crimes.

But more than that, he’d be forced to accept that he was never that special to begin with, and she knew a man as arrogant as him wouldn’t be able to bear that.

Shaking her head, she almost felt pity for him. “Ushi was desperate, and desperate men are unpredictable as fuck. You couldn’t have known he’d be crazy enough to try to suck up to the Celestial Dragons.”

“Neither of us could have known, but I still could have protected you better,” Law retorted, crossing his arms. He still didn’t look fully convinced of his own absolution, but he declared quite plainly, “The fact is, brothers shouldn’t murder their younger siblings, or even try to.”

Well, not even Ikkaku could argue that.

But actions had consequences, and there was still a strong chance Law’s retaliation, justified or not, would bite him in the ass.

“Ushi might have been no one special, but the Navy’s not going to be happy about you killing one of their own,” she said, genuinely worried. Even if Ushi had been going against orders, shichibukai weren’t supposed to attack their Marine allies. What if they decided to strip Law of his new title? Sure, she hated that he was a government dog, but it was a vital part of his plan to take down Joker, and if that had been stripped away because he’d recklessly pursued revenge on her behalf…

The way he smirked at her belied that he didn’t share even a fraction of her concern. “The Navy’ll have a hell of a time pinning a murder on me when there’s no evidence. It’s unlikely he was ordered to attack you and Jean Bart, so there’s no paper trail. The man was obsessed with advancing up the ladder, so likely only a select few are even aware you’re related, thus no one knows of his unfortunate connection to the Heart Pirates. And unless they plan on gutting a bunch of Sea Kings and piecing together chunks of half-digested flesh, I doubt they’ll find enough of his body to even determine his cause of death.”

“You fed him to Sea Kings?”

“His remains, at least. As for how I killed him…well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

It was highly doubtful what he’d done could be described as boring, but Ikkaku decided not to press him. Knowing Law, it had been slow, painful, and had probably involved dissection. “You didn’t have to do all that for me, Captain.”

He dismissed her concerns with a casual wave of his hand. “Of course I did. You’re family. Besides, if I hadn’t, the rest of the crew would have gone after him themselves, and they wouldn’t have done as good a job covering their tracks. Or made him scream quite as loud. No offense to them, but conventional torture methods just can’t match the agony of having your heart slowly crushed to a pulp.”

Was she a bad person for not feeling sick at the thought of her oldest brother—her own blood—being subjected to the Surgeon of Death’s sadism? That instead of anger or disgust, she felt relieved? Sure, he was a massive piece of shit who deserved to die for everything he’d done to her, her other brothers, and who knows what else, but he was still family, wasn’t he?

No. The Hearts were family. Law was family. He was right – Ushi was blood, but he wasn’t her brother.

Law’s brow furrowed with concern and he reached forward, cupping her cheeks and wiping tears away with his thumbs. Ikkaku hadn’t even realized she was crying.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely guilty. “I shouldn’t have overstepped like that. I should have at least waited until you were awake and asked—”

Though she was tired and weak and it took far more effort than she’d like, Ikkaku lifted her arm and flicked Law squarely in the forehead. He didn’t quite flinch back, but he did give her an annoyed grunt, but his brow did smooth out when he saw her bright smile.

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks streaked with tears but voice warm with love and affection and gratitude. It might take a while for her to fully accept that Ushi was no longer laying in wait at every Marine base, but for now, she could breath a little easier. The monster from her childhood had finally been vanquished.

Trafalgar Law might not have been a knight in shining armor, but he was something better. He was the big brother she’d always wished for.

Relieved that she wasn’t angry, Law gave her a tiny but sincere grin back. His engineer was alive, safe, and giving him that sunny smile that could light up a room. Well worth the blood on his hands, and quietly, he vowed to keep her, and the rest of his Hearts, safe from whatever hell might come their way.

They were a loyal bunch of fools, but they were his family. He’d set the world on fire before allowing anything to happen to them.

A hand adorned with the word DEATH retreated from Ikkaku’s cheek to ruffle her hair. “Don’t mention it.”

[mythandlaur]

So I have this weird thing I like to do with characters who have magic. It’s a little hard to explain, but I like to describe a character’s magical “aura” in a very aesthetic and metaphorical sort of way, kind of how their power “feels” both to themself and to others who might try to sense that power, or describing stuff I think evokes those feelings.

As expected, I’ve done this with several Puyo characters. Some of my friends liked the ones I showed them so I figured I may as well share. Several more under the cut!

-

Amitie has difficulty with her magic not because she isn't powerful or capable, but because controlling her magic is like trying to grasp a wisp of flickering flame in your hand. In fact, her power resembles all of the kinder sides of fire; bright and warm and playfully dancing about, not intending to hurt but fully capable of doing a lot of harm if ignored--or desired. Eventually, this power will grow into a blaze, a beacon of light and comfort for others, but for now it shimmers, ephemeral, just out of her grasp, like the pale rays of sunrise and the dust motes that dance in them, tingling a little too brilliantly on her fingertips before fizzling out as if laughing at her attempts to contain it.

Sig's magic feels like water lazily flowing through a creek, or perhaps something thicker--honey? Either way, it moves slow, steady, eating away at the earth around it at its own pace. A cool breeze, like sitting under the shade of a tree, or running your hand through the stream. Soothing. Clear. Quiet. And yet...there's something more underneath it. Harsher currents run under the stream, the bottom solid and powerful and...oddly warm. There is something more there, a storm that can be whipped into a destructive frenzy, but...it really doesn't want to do that. It does not want to destroy. It would rather carry on slowly, a pleasant tenor hum over a much stronger, but quieter, indescribable bass that gives it substance.

Klug's magic feels the way fizzy candy or carbonation does on your tongue; bright and sharp and sparkling and tingly. Like the way the end of a sparkler showers both light and sound into a hot summer night, or how a bottle rocket cracks and explodes with a brilliant flash. It's high-energy, vivid colors, wanting to burst out--but it's restrained. Carefully contained, perhaps more than it should be, in sharp lines and harsh angles. A wood block shaped to perfectly fit in a hole, a logical pattern. But it still burns at the ends of his fingers, still wild and still new, seeking to zip around the room until it completely exhausts itself. There's always a feeling of waiting for something more.

Strange Klug is limited to what power is already in Klug's body, so their two magics have some similarities; both are bright and angular and sparkling. But when possessed, his power takes on a darker tinge, and there is a well of pure rage fueling it. It's overpowering, suffocating, liable to knock you flat, and that's by design; it's something that takes you by the shoulders and shakes you and screams alongside a wailing siren, long and loud, demanding to be witnessed. It has the foreboding of the proverbial red sky at morning, of smelling smoke and not knowing exactly where it's coming from, and it is a desperate thing that pushes far past reasonable limits, panic and flashing red light and barely controlled with fingers digging and scrambling for purchase and refusing to let go.

Through no fault of his own, Lemres' power has grown from a bed of gnarled roots and wicked thorns that do all they can to block out the light, and sometimes you can feel a biting edge in his magic; a prick, a sting of acid, of poison, deep under the surface, especially when he is trying to hide the thornier parts of himself. But with time and care, flowers have bloomed, floaty, carefree-seeming petals and a bright gold-green like summer light through spring leaves. Lemres' magic burns not like fire, but stubborn sunlight that grew something from the depths of the dark, seeking to warm others but still wise to have a healthy respect for. It is strong, steady, and above all determined to shine.

Ringo's magic is odd. It's new, curious, clear, the sound of a tinkling bell above a shop door. It's your hair standing on end and goosebumps racing across your skin. And it grows like a brewing storm, giving and taking away in equal measure, not to be trifled with or dismissed by those on either side of it. It's taking a deep breath of crisp air at the top of a rollercoaster before plunging down and screaming with excitement at the top of your lungs. It's the sound an apple makes when you bite into it, that clean and crunchy sort of sound where you can feel the juice spraying out. It's on your tiptoes, on the cusp of something great, on the precipice. It's waiting for the gun to go off signaling the start of the race. Where it ends up, who can say?

Ecolo's magic is unknowable, in as much as it well and truly defies all the rules and laws of the world. It's a non-Newtonian fluid, a huge orb of something thick and oozy but quick and bouncy at the same time. It commands attention, but not in the way someone like Satan might--it's a chaotic barrage, an absolute, overwhelming assault on all of the senses, seeking not awe and fear, but rather any reaction at all. It's large, and strong, and it's easy to tell that much, but it's harder to tell the more cunning edge that runs underneath. A gelatinous cube waiting to consume an unsuspecting target who mistakes its shape for weakness. It's captivating, in a way, because it's so incomprehensible; the mind struggles to make some sense out of it, but it's all bright light and keening sounds and the feeling of balloon skin and colorful little rubber bands--though the potential for the latter to snap back and sting like nothing else should not for a moment be forgotten.

Satan has magic that is steady and powerful, honed over thousands and thousands of years like ancient stone cliffs. It's half as subtle and twice as dense as a mountain, demanding awe at its majesty. He casts spells as if he were a master artisan carving a grand, perhaps somewhat overly ostentatious statue that may last almost as long as he has. Stone and earth, sturdy and precise, yet with the sense of being very, very overbearing, like you are terribly small and insignificant next to it. And yet, events he will not speak of that no one else remembers has left a bitter tinge to his power, like coffee taken death black and the burnt ends of toast. Perhaps that only adds to the aesthetic. Perhaps he will pretend that's all it is.

He may not have as much innate magic as the others, but Lagnus' (Madou Saturn ver.) power is gold-painted steel shimmering blue, strong and durable and almost too shiny, enough to blind someone if he's not careful with it. But it isn't just pomp and circumstance, either; it's the sound your feet make on a well-worn trail and it's a mess of callouses, and even after Satan wiped the slate clean, there are whispers of old darkness, of the endless curses Lagnus took, giving up parts of himself for others. Underneath all the gold, it's warm the way a fireplace in an inn is, or a noble horse's coat in the sun. It is good not because of naivete, it is good because its wielder is determined to keep it in that shape even in spite of all that has happened--determined to keep it a healing, guiding light.

Ajisai (my version of the original book demon) had a power that was methodical and playful in equal measure, burning majestic like crimson-violet sunsets. It’s like satin ribbon dancing about with a flourish of the hand, a seemingly errant shower of sparks that's actually choreographed in a careful display. It's crisp and sharp and full, but gives the impression of having more running underneath it than meets the eye. An elegant thing, rich mahogany and old leather, but with an undercurrent of mischief that keeps it from being too terribly intimidating. It's when that impish, whimsical quality is completely absent that one should fear for their life.

[freddiesaysalright]

Part of Your World - Chapter 1

Ben!Prince Eric x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Prince Ben is trying to escape an arranged marriage. A young mermaid wants to escape the sea. Their paths cross and they may just be what the other is looking for. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me​, @mirkwoodshewolf​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The second installment of my fairy tale/Disney AUs! I hope y’all enjoy Ben in the role of Prince Eric, with a twist on the story you know :)

Warning(s): None!

Moodboard

Chapter 1 here we go!!!

Ben ran. His heart pounded and his lungs ached as he sprinted through the market toward the harbor. This was his last chance. Princess Dana was the last eligible match for him and he didn’t like her. And he took his father’s threat - “So help me, if you don’t like this one, I will choose a woman for you!” - very seriously. So, his only choice was to escape.

He leapt over a cart of cabbages and skidded to a halt. 

“Watch it!” the cabbage merchant warned.

“Sorry,” Ben said.

He wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to so harshly, but he had disguised himself well. He was in his worst clothes, with no jewelry, and had mussed up his hair. He didn’t look anything like a prince. He glanced back the way he came, and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t being followed.

He took a moment to scan the harbor and find out which ships were leaving. It didn’t matter where they were going, he was getting on it. He spotted a ship at the very end of the row which was being loaded by several men that appeared to be crew members. Ben looked back once more for good measure. With dread, he saw palace guards.

“Damn,” he hissed, and took off toward the ship, hoping they hadn’t caught sight of him.

He approached slowly. He couldn’t reveal himself to be a runaway or they might not take him. The first crewman he saw was actually not a crewman at all. It was a woman. She was strong and tall, but with a soft, delicate face, tanned from the sunny days at sea.

“Excuse me,” Ben began, and she faced. “Is there room on your ship for one more?”

She looked him up and down. 

“No,” she said flatly.

Ben winced and looked over his shoulder. The guards were getting closer.

“Please,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be permanent, I just need a ride out of here.”

“Ari, is this guy bothering you?” said another crewman as they approached. 

Ben quickly realized he was mistaken before. All the people loading this ship were women.

The woman he first spoke to - Ari - shrugged. “Not really. Just needs a ride. No need to fret, Kay.”

Kay was short and thin, with her hair cropped almost to her scalp. She put her wide brimmed hat on and glared suspiciously at Ben.

“We don’t take men on our ship,” she said sternly. “It’s bad luck.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. He had always heard the opposite. But then again, that was from ships with crews of men. Perhaps having a mixed ship at all was what brought bad luck. 

“As I told your friend here, it wouldn’t be permanent,” he said. “I really just need to get away from these shores.”

He looked back again at the steadily approaching guards. They were buying him time since they were stopping to ask so many people. Ari and Kay exchanged a look.

“Are you in trouble for something?” Ari asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Ben said hesitantly. “You’re the only ship that’s leaving this morning. Please.”

“Now that’s something we understand,” Ari said. “Come on, let’s go speak to the captain.”

“Ari!” Kay cried in protest. “He - he’s - he’s a he!”

“I know, but he’s in a pinch,” Ari said. “We may be pirates, but we’re not heartless.”

Ben stopped dead. “Hold on. Pirates?!”

“Duh,” Kay said, rolling her eyes. She pointed to the mast. “Black sails, genius.”

Ben followed the direction of her finger and saw that she was right. He had totally missed the black sails. It seemed foolish now since they stuck out against the bright blue sky. But this was his only chance.

“Hope you’re not scared,” Kay mocked.

He shot her a glare. “I’m not scared!”

“Prove it,” she returned.

He straightened his shoulders and followed Ari. Kay walked behind him, and he could feel her smirking. He braced himself for whoever this captain may be. He knew now that it would be a woman, but what would she be like? Probably unlike any woman he had ever met before.

As he boarded, everyone on deck turned eyes on him. He gulped. These women looked fierce. Mean, even. Especially with the myriad of weapons hanging off each person. He was intimidated. They began to whisper as he passed.

Ari led him over to the captain’s quarters. He took a deep breath to calm himself while she knocked three times on the hard, wooden door.

“Yes?” came a smoky voice from within.

“Captain Behati?” Ari said. “We need your approval for something.”

“Can it wait?” the captain returned. “I’m busy.”

“Unfortunately, there’s a time limit,” Ari replied.

Ben was startled at how quickly the door was snatched open. There stood a tall, beautiful woman, with deep, dark skin. Her hair was twisted into locks that trailed all the way down to the small of her back. Her eyes were a rich brown that reminded Ben of cocoa. Her demeanor was regal and commanding. When she spotted him, he took a step back.

“What is this?” she snapped. “A man on my ship?”

“He’s in trouble with the law,” Ari said. “Could we give him a lift?”

Behati looked intently at him. “A lift where?”

“Dunno,” Ben shrugged. “Just anywhere but here.”

“Give me a reason to help you,” she said.

“I’ve got gold,” he told her. “Lots of it.”

“Now you’re speaking my language, boy,” she laughed. It was a pleasant sound, and he relaxed. “How much do you have on you?”

He dug his coin pouch out of his knapsack and tossed it to her. “Take as much as you like.”

Her eyes roved over him skeptically. “You’re awfully confident - and careless - with your money.”

“Money doesn’t matter much to me,” he said.

In truth, Ben fully intended to find his way back to his home. He just needed his parents to understand - he couldn’t marry someone he didn’t love. Especially these princesses who were duller than sand and had no sense of adventure. They all droned on about being ready to settle down and have children, but that wasn’t what Ben wanted right now. He wanted a partner, who would travel the world with him, who wanted to see more beyond the society she already knew.

He looked back to the harbor and saw the approaching guards.

“Really need a decision here, Captain,” he said.

She glanced over and saw them as well. “The gold will do. Hide below deck.”

He hurried to obey, led by Ari. It was much darker down there, since the only light came from the sun peeking through the cracks between the boards. But it also meant he could listen. He heard the guards march up onto the ship and come to a short stop.

“We’re looking for someone,” said a guard. “A young man. He’s needed for duties at home.”

“There are no men allowed on my ship,” Behati spat back. “I suggest you disembark as well.”

“You haven’t seen anyone?” the guard pressed. 

“No, now remove yourself,” she ordered. “Before I change my mind about killing you.”

“Y-you wouldn’t dare,” the guard returned.

Ben heard the swish of a sword being drawn. He guessed it was Behati’s since he heard the heavy boots of the soldiers shuffle backward.

“You can’t even imagine the things I’d dare to do, soldier,” she said. “Get off my ship. We’re leaving.”

There was a moment’s hesitation and then they all paraded off. When the last of the steps started to die down, Ben went to poke his head out. Behati grabbed his face and forced him back down.

“Stay there until we’re out of sight, fool,” she hissed. “They may be watching.”

Ben frowned, but did as she said. 

He heard the crew women putting everything in order for the departure. It was still another half hour before they were moving, though. It was a slow, steady pace to get out of the harbor. Ben peeked out from the canon holes to see their progress. With a twinge of fear, they were away from the harbor, and he was outside of his father’s rule. On the other hand, it also meant he was outside of his father’s protection.

Ari retrieved him when he was permitted to emerge. The sun was bright and the breeze was cooling. The salty sea air whipped his hair and coat around.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Ari asked politely.

“Um, it’s Eric,” he lied. 

The last thing he needed to do was reveal his true name to a bunch of pirates. He’d become a ransom so fast his head would spin.

“Okay, Eric,” she said. “Why were palace guards looking for you?”

“Am I really to be subjected to interrogations from pirates?” he challenged. “It’s my business.”

She put her hands up innocently and raised her eyebrows. “Just making conversation.”

With that, she walked away, going to help Kay with some of her work. Ben went to the starboard side, toward the bow, and rested his elbows on the ledge, looking out. The open water, with nothing around for miles, looked like freedom to him.

“Hey, boy!” Behati called, and he turned to face her. She pushed some rope into his hands. “If you’re staying, you’re working. We’re not a cruise ship.”

He smiled. “Yeah, alright.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “Just get started.”

“Can I ask you something?” he wondered.

“You can, but I’m under no obligation to answer you,” she returned with a smirk. 

“Fair,” he conceded. “But, where exactly are we going?”

“Where we’re always going,” she said. “To find the sea witch.”

Ben blinked. “I’m sorry - the sea witch?!”

***

“Come on, Lorelai, don’t be such a guppy!” you teased.

She swam on behind you and frowned when she caught your eye.

“I’m not a guppy!” she insisted, tail flicking with indignation. “I just don’t see why you’re so obsessed with shipwrecks.”

“They’re the only exciting things that happen here!” you said. “What else do we do?”

“Plenty!” she insisted. “Most of it safely away from human nonsense!”

“You sound like my father,” you groaned, rolling your eyes.

“Well, King Triton is a smart man, Y/N, maybe you should listen to him.”

You ignored her and kept swimming. This shipwreck was fairly new, but it was close to the shore, which made it dangerous. At least for you. For the humans aboard, it usually meant they survived and returned to land safely. For you to approach it meant it was easier for humans to spot you.

As you and Lorelai got closer, you reverted to sign language. All merpeople followed this practice when approaching shallow waters. To avoid detection by humans, remaining silent was necessary. Especially around a shipwreck. Treasure hunters lingered, and a real live mermaid would be viewed as a greater treasure than all the gold in the world.

You swam through one of the portholes and into the ship. There was rarely anything of interest on the deck of an old ship. Mostly just split wood. The humans always kept their things below. You went first to a pile of things that shone. You had a few friends who had interacted with humans before, and you sometimes asked them to identify things for you. According to them, humans used these utensils to eat. 

Fascinating! You signed to Lorelai.

It was her turn to roll her eyes.

You moved on together after you stuffed one of the items in your bag.

The next thing you found was what appeared to be jewelry. It was a necklace, but it wasn’t made from anything you had ever seen before. All your jewelry was made from pearls, but this gem was shinier. It was completely reflective, like glass. But it wasn’t see-through. 

What do you suppose this is? You signed.

You looked up to see Lorelai’s expression. She wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were turned upward, where a shadow was approaching. The wide shape with the pointed end was all you needed to know. A ship was coming. And that meant you had to get out of here fast.

Lorelai started out, heading back the way you had entered. She flinched back when something whizzed past her and lodged into the ocean floor beneath the ship. A thick rope was in front of her, taut. She shot you a terrified glance. Humans were here. 

You both swam hard back toward the porthole, racing for the safety of deeper water. Only, another harpoon came hurtling down. You watched with horror as it snagged Lorelai’s braid, pinning her down. You flew to her side and tried to tug the weapon free, to no avail. 

“Y/N!” she cried, panic making her forget the sign language protocol. “Go get something to cut me free!”

“Right!” you returned, and bolted back inside. 

You returned to the utensils and looked wildly around. There had to be something strong enough to cut rope down here. You grinned when you spotted a dagger - still sheathed - in the corner of the room. Snatching it up, you hurried back to Lorelai. 

You came back in time just to hear her scream as the harpoon was being drawn back up toward the surface. You swam determinedly to her, faster than the harpoon was moving. Whipping out the dagger, you brought it down hard against the rope.

That didn’t work. It bounced, forcing your arm back much to your surprise. You looked between the dagger and the rope, astonished.

“Y/N, hurry!” Lorelai urged.

“I’ll have to cut your hair!” you cried.

“I don’t care, just get me out of here, we’re almost to the surface!”

It was a struggle to keep swimming and grab her braid in one hand with the dagger in the other. You brought the sharp end to the side of her braid and began sawing at the strands. It was a bit sad - Lorelai had such beautiful turquoise hair - but you couldn’t think about that now. Hair could grow back. If a fisherman caught her, she would be gone forever. 

“Y/N!” she sobbed as you began rapidly approaching the surface.

If you broke through, it would mean trouble.

“I’m almost done!” you assured her.

You could feel the heat of the sun. You pushed hard with the knife through the final strands of the braid and the tension broke. She was free.

You couldn’t celebrate just yet. Taking her hand, you tugged her back down into the depths with you. As fast as you could go, you hurried away from the ship. Fisherman had all sorts of contraptions beyond harpoons, and you weren’t sure you’d be so lucky again. So, you weren’t waiting around. You and Lorelei swam and swam and swam until your abdomens ached with the effort. There was no sign of the fishermens’ ship.

You came to a stop, panting. Lorelai still had tears in her wide eyes. Without a word, you embraced each other and let out your relief. You held her as she cried. It was such a close call, you understood her fear. You were just as afraid, but you wanted to be strong for her.

“Do you see why they’re so dangerous, Y/N?” she sniffled. “Humans just want to hurt us.”

“Be fair, Lo,” you replied gently. “There are good ones. Like Captain Behati.”

“She’s just a legend!” Lorelai snapped. “I know it’s all interesting to you but look what almost happened! I could have been caught!”

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly. “But I just think if we all understood each other, we could co-exist!”

She narrowed her eyes at you. 

“If that wasn’t a wake up call, Y/N, then I don’t even know what to do with you,” she said.

With that, she turned tail and stormed off. You watched her fins disappear around a reef with a sigh. 

In all honesty, you didn’t believe most humans to be these evil creatures on the hunt for merpeople. Fishermen were usually just looking for fish. Lorelai was just - quite literally - caught in the crossfire. In fairness to Lorelai, she wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for you insisting she come with you to explore. You headed home, prepared to apologize. 

On your way, you stopped by your cove. It was the place you kept all the human stuff you found. The only people who knew about it were you and Lorelai. As your best friend, she had vowed to keep your secret, even if she didn’t understand. 

This was the one place you felt free. Free to be yourself and explore your interests. Surrounded by all these human artifacts - books, utensils, figurines, and so much more - was where you were authentically you. 

Your favorite thing to do was tinker. Human objects did such wondrous things. You weren’t sure how everything worked, and plenty of things were damaged beyond repair, but every time you made a discovery, it sent such a thrill of joy through you that made you do flips. How could humans be so bad if they made things that created such joy?

You spent a few hours in your solace before returning to the palace. Lorelai needed time to cool off before she would be able to accept your apology. Plus, you were certain word had gotten out about what happened, and you had to mentally prepare yourself for the lecture you were going to get from your father.

You went willingly to the throne room first. You peered around the corner through the door and spotted your father already seated there. He was twirling his trident between his fingers, which you knew to be a sign of irritation. He must know. You decided to play dumb anyway.

“Hello, Father,” you greeted brightly as you swam up. “I’m looking for Lorelai. Have you see-”

“Y/N, what is wrong with you?!” he cried, exasperated. “Why must you always go looking for trouble?”

“I - what do you mean?” you returned innocently.

“You know very well what I mean, young lady!” he shouted. “You took Lorelai to that shipwreck and nearly got her captured by humans!”

You sighed. 

“In fairness, I didn’t know the fishermen would show up,” you said.

“That’s your argument?!” he returned. “Are you serious, Y/N?!”

“But I -”

“I don't want to hear any more out of you!” he cut across you. “You know the rules. Only those with permission to do so may make contact with humans. And only out of necessity! And last time I checked, you’re not on that list! You are forbidden from going to any more shipwrecks!”

You folded your arms across your chest defiantly.

“I didn’t make contact on purpose!” you argued. “Besides, we got away! Everything was fine! You can’t punish me for a close call!”

“Oh, yes I can!”

“No you can’t!” you insisted. “I’m a grown woman now, Father! I don’t have to take your orders if I don’t want to!”

“Well, then, if you will not respect my authority as your father, perhaps you will understand the law of the sea,” he warned. “No one is to approach shipwrecks as long as they live under my ocean! And no one has permission to contact humans under ANY circumstances! You may be my daughter, but you are also my subject, so the laws still apply to you!” 

Your mouth fell open.

“That’s not fair, I -”

“It is perfectly fair!” he interrupted again. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my merpeople safe! I will not have another incident like today!”

“But nothing -”

“Nothing happened this time!” he said. “It is unlikely we will be that fortunate again! Now, leave me! You have a friend you owe an apology to.”

You huffed and turned your back to him. You swam out and toward Lorelai’s house. Your father was right about that last part. The rest of it, you absolutely did not agree with. It felt like he was throwing his weight around as king to punish you. You knew that going to shipwrecks was risky, but it wasn’t inherently bad, nor did it always mean interaction with humans. In fact, today was the only time you had experienced that, and you’d been going through shipwrecks for years.

You knocked softly on Lorelai’s door. 

“Lo?” you said. “It’s me.”

The door swung open and she appeared there. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Look, I’m so sorry about earlier,” you said. “I should never have put you in danger like that, and I feel terrible about it. Are you okay?”

She nodded as a small smile claimed her lips. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Still a little shaken, but I’m alright. If you hadn’t been there, I would have been a goner.”

“You wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t nagged you into coming along,” you returned. “The point is, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Apology accepted,” she said. “How’d your father handle it?”

“It was terrible!” you told her. 

You explained what he said and the new rules. She looked sympathetically at you.

“I know it’s hard, Y/N, but honestly it’s for the best,” she said. “Everyone will be much safer if we keep to ourselves.”

You decided it was better not to argue. You said goodbye and promised to stop by the next day to check on her. She really did seem okay. Frustrated and annoyed, you headed back to your collection cove. You needed to cool down after so much arguing. 

Relieved to be alone and in your happy place, you relaxed against the center stone that served as your chair. You looked around at your glittering collection. Yes, you had plenty of things here, but you wanted more. There was so much still to learn and explore. There was still room on the shelves for human things. There was still something missing.

You looked up toward the surface. A whole world existed up there. Something foreign and intriguing and adventurous. So much more out there than what you had in the familiar corners of the ocean. You had to see it somehow. 

The cove had a tunnel that led all the way up to the surface. You liked to watch the waves rise and fall and reflect the sunlight. Looking up there always made you so hopeful. Even though your father had made these silly rules, you still hoped that someday you would find your way to the human world and experience it for yourself. 

As you watched the water, another shadow appeared. A ship. Something was different about this one. It gave you a new feeling, something stronger than any other ship you had seen before - not that there were many. Curiosity, as well as defiance of your father, drove you to push yourself upward and start swimming toward the forbidden free air. Your tail pushed the water and you began to leave the sea behind. 

When you broke the surface, you sucked in a mouthful of air. You liked the air more than most merfolk. It was liberating to you to leave the water. 

You realized you were mistaken earlier about the reflection on the water. The sun had gone down and the moon was hanging low in the sky. A ship with black sails was gliding through the waves. You followed it. 

You saw the low lights from the ship shining on the inky water, and considered how mysterious the depths of it must be to the humans aboard. You swam closer, but stopped when you heard a shout from someone on deck. Holding your breath, you waited for something to happen. When you saw them dropping the anchor, you heaved a sigh of relief. They had not seen you. 

Taking your life into your hands, you went even closer. You could hear them speaking now. You took hold of one of the ropes hanging down the side and began to climb it. There was a ledge where you could sit and peek through an opening. You bit your lip to keep yourself from grunting as you heaved yourself up. 

It was the first time you had ever completely been out of water. It felt odd to be so dry, but you were excited. Your heart pounded, even faster than it had earlier during the attack with the harpoons. This was not something you were afraid of. It was thrilling. 

You carefully took a seat on the ledge and slid as close as you dared. Turning slowly, you peered in, observing the group of humans gathered on the deck. 

To your surprise, they were all women, except one. The man’s appearance struck you. He was beautiful to look at, with a strong jaw, a wide smile, and bright blonde hair. You watched him take a seat beside a tall woman, who had her arm around the thin one beside her. 

“So, why does Captain Behati want to hunt the sea witch?” asked the man. “I didn’t think people believed in things like that.”

“If you’re going to be at sea, you better understand that believing in those things is a part of life,” said the tall woman. “Captain Behati hunts the sea witch because she must.”

“Why?” the man pressed. “What’s so important about it?”

“To break the curse,” the small woman answered. “You see, the captain was taken from her home by slavers, who were taking her to some foreign land, to sell her to people she had never seen.” 

“She made a daring escape,” the tall woman continued. “Only, she was still in chains, and couldn’t swim. She was sinking slowly, slowly, until she saw...her.” 

“Who?” the man asked. 

“The sea witch,” the small woman said irritably. “Sycoria.”

“Sycoria told Behati she would give her the freedom she so desperately desired,” the tall one added. “But it came with a price. The captain could never set foot on land again. If she does, she will turn to dust, and her soul will belong to Sycoria.” 

The man blinked with surprise. You were also a bit shocked at the story. You knew of Sycoria and the games she played with people’s lives, how she prayed on desperation, but you had no idea the legendary Captain Behati was one of her victims. Captain Behati was something of a myth among merpeople. Some claimed to have seen her and interacted with her, but officially, she was just a rumor. To realize you were on her ship was unbelievable. And you almost cursed because you could never tell anyone you had done this. 

“That’s terrible,” the man said. 

You liked the sound of his voice. It was deep and smooth. It reminded you of sunsets.

“That’s why we hunt her,” the tall woman said. “Kill the witch, and the spell is broken.”

“But why even return to land?” the man wondered. “Won’t she just be taken again?”

The women all laughed. 

“Oh, you silly boy,” said the small one. “I’d like to see a man try to take Captain Behati prisoner now. She will kill him before he can even speak.”

Even though you still had not seen Captain Behati, you liked her. She clearly had the respect of her crew, and she was a force to be reckoned with. As powerful as the ocean herself. 

Suddenly, there was a loud BANG. A flash appeared from a ways down the water. Another ship was nearing. Were you about to be caught in a much more serious crossfire?

[astraeagreengrass]

The Queen's Husband [8/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 3.020

Warnings: angst, I'm evil, very brief mentions of violent acts

A/N: f you're interested, I posted some visuals for this story here and here. Many, many, many thanks to @xbuchananbarnes​ for helping me with this chapter. I hope you like it ♡

Series masterlist

“The man that stabbed your uncle, Baron Zemo. He said something before he killed himself: Hail Hydra. I’ve heard these words before, Your Grace. I’ve heard them from the mouth of Joseph Rogers, the Duke of Arvenia and King Steven’s father.”

“What?” you gasped.

“It’s true, Your Grace. I swear on my uncle's grave! I would never lie to you, especially not about something this serious,” Peter quickly assured. The harsh wind and the deep purple shadows under his eyes made him appear much older than his budding years.

“I don’t doubt your honor, Peter,” you said. “But perhaps you were mistaken about the man you saw?”

The boy shook his head.

“As much as he tries, Lord Rogers is not very discreet, Your Grace. It was him, lurking in the shadows of the Keep. I know what I saw.”

Peter’s words were half a confession, half a desperate plea for you to believe them. You never trusted Lord Rogers - he was pompous and greedy - but he was your husband’s father. That made him your family.

Of course you knew there was at least a small amount of conspiracy in your Court - especially when it came to West Ergonans - but to think of an entire treasonous plot lead by your very own in-law? It was preposterous.

“He mentioned your mother, Your Grace,” Peter whispered.

You turned to him so fast the joints in your neck cracked.

“My mother?”

“Yes. He said a man named Sitwell,” Peter visibly flinched, and not from the cold, “stabbed her. In Geotach. And apparently Lord Rogers was the one to convince your father to announce her death as suicide, because no one would believe otherwise.”

An agonized scream rose from your larynx, spilling past your vocal cords. It nearly escaped from your throat, but you bit your tongue, coating your mouth in pungent, metallic blood. It made your stomach queasy.

Your mother’s death was discredited and you were ruled as a grieving girl, spinning tales to fill the void her absence left. It was told that you were sent to live in Foghar because the memories of Albeon were too much for you to bear, but in reality, it was exile: your father never forgave you for running away that night.

“You were supposed to die, Y/N. Not her!”

He passed without ever speaking to you again, leaving you his throne and his ghosts.

Not many knew the truth of your mother’s murder. Even less fully believed in you. This secret was kept under lock and key, in a vault safer than those beneath the dungeons of the Keep, and not one person would risk your trust by sharing it - not even with a good boy like Peter Parker.

Your uncle held his squire in very high regards, but not even that was enough to divulge your privacy.

“Who would Lord Rogers meet?” you mumbled tentatively. In your mind's eye, the words came out of your lips vermillion-colored.

“Thrice he met with Lord Pierce, the Marquess of Gormes. And in one occasion he met with a man I couldn’t recognize. He was white and dark-haired and visited the Keep in November.”

Your stomach churned with sickness and you desperately wanted to puke from sheer despair. You slapped a hand across your mouth, holding back a gag.

Lord Pierce was repugnant with his sleazy ways and sexist remarks, but unfortunately that was the normality rather than the exception. Gormes was very close to Arvenia as well, so it made sense that him and Lord Rogers were always together. But still...

Your heart screamed inside your ribcage for you to trust Peter. To storm the Keep to the ground as you scavenged for answers, overturning every stone and every rock. You wanted to take the clay from the bricks and shape them with your bare hands to the form of Rogers and Pierce, just so that you could tear them apart the way they did to you. Yet, your reason - the guiding voice of your reign, trained from an early age to be rational - warned you that there was no actual evidence.

It sounded you so much like your father, haunting your mind like the waves that nearly drowned you.

You wanted it to drown. And your enemies alongside it.

“Peter, I have a mission for you,” you declared. “Ride to the sacred city of Kamar-Taj. Find the Ancient One, tell her everything you just told me. Ride at full speed and stop for nothing. Wear the crown’s colors and hoist the dragon banner - it will ensure you safety on the road. Once you get there, the masters will provide you with food and shelter. If anyone asks, say you're on a special assignment given by Lord Stark before his accident.”

The boy's soft brown irises widened.

"Your Grace, I’m just a squire," he stuttered. "Only knights are allowed to hoist the dragon banner.”

You lowered the hood of your cape. The gale was still blowing fiercely and some pieces of hail slashed your cheekbone, yet you supposed it was more respectful this way.

"Give me your sword, Peter," you asked in the gentlest voice you could muster.

It was no more than a dress sword, more for decoration than anything. Peter was loyal, committed and diligent, but young. Too young. You sent a prayer to the Gods that he didn't pay for the sin you were about to commit.

With a flick of your hand, you mentioned for him to kneel. Natasha and Wanda stopped pretending they weren't paying attention to the conversation and turned, mouths agape with stupefaction.

You touched the sword to Peter's left shoulder, then his right, then his left again, and announced:

"Arise, Sir Peter Parker, Knight of the crown of Ergona," Mother, Maiden and Crone, please protect this boy. "Be safe."

You stood by the window until Peter’s horse disappeared in the foggy wastelands of the surrounding fields. The blood dried in your mouth and in your face, though your gums still tasted sour. There was no sundown, but rather just the sooty grey sky turning inky, as if the death of this day shouldn’t be granted even the simplest of ceremonials.

When night came, you returned to your chambers. People greeted you on your path, bowed their heads in respect, yet the hallways never looked more like a prison than they did then. At some point, Natasha held on to your elbow. Or perhaps it was Wanda. Maybe it was another one of your demons.

“Should we call for the King?” you heard one of them say.

“After what we’ve heard today, do you think the King can be trusted?” the other replied.

Above the fireplace, the Dragon on the tapestry mocked you.

Steve entered without knocking. His hair was longer, almost reaching his chin. He said he had no time for a haircut, but you knew he kept it that way because you liked it. Or so you thought.

He could be a liar.

He could be a traitor.

“Ladies” he greeted, his small smile thinning when he noticed your distress. “My Queen.”

Steve kneeled before you, just like that first afternoon in the rose courtyard. The sight of him made you miss summer and the simplicity of falling in love.

I love you, Steve, you wanted to confess. I love you but that’s not enough anymore.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he whispered and you knew you’d suffer in ways that not even Hydra could conceive if Steve’s love turned out to be a lie.

“We need to talk.”

A bang on his chamber door startled Sam Wilson awake.

In a flash, he grabbed the knife he kept under his pillow and rose, tiptoeing from the bed to the entrance.

“Who is it?” he asked in the most severe voice he could muster.

“It’s Wanda.”

He quickly twisted the lock, sighing when he came face to face with your handmaiden. The candle she was holding made her auburn hair look as if it was painted by the flames of a forest fire. She was hauntingly beautiful.

“You scared me.”

“My apologies, Sir Wilson,” she said. “But the Queen is summoning you.”

Sam nodded.

"I will make myself presentable. Should I meet her at her chambers?"

"No, sir. The Queen requested that you dress appropriately for the weather, and meet her at the stables. She has also commanded you to bring whatever weapons you can carry."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Did something happen?"

"These were my only instructions, sir. Please don't be long."

Wanda turned and rushed down the dark hallway before Sam could ask her anything else. The clock on his mantel told him it was a little past two in the morning. He'd gone to bed a mere four hours earlier, having spent all day reunited with the King and the Council going over the assassination attempt on Lord Stark. You hadn't joined them, but that was expected considering your bond with your uncle - Sam supposed you wouldn't leave Tony's side bedside until he was fully healed.

It wasn't the first time you called for Sam in the middle of the night. He was the Captain of your Queen's Guard and the Queen hardly worked regular hours. But the request for warm clothes and weapons was unexpected, if not suspicious. Still, Sam was fast to dress himself, tucking two daggers inside his boots for good measure before following the path Wanda took.

The Dragon Keep at night was an eerie, unwelcoming place. He didn't believe the legends surrounding your ancestors, but whenever he roamed the fortress at night Sam thought it might have actually been built out of dragon fire, if only for how hostile the hallways were - as hostile as a dragon's mouth, it seemed.

"It's meant to be a stronghold, not a home," you once said, and he wondered if you thought of that yourself or if you were paraphrasing your father.

Sam didn't encounter anyone on his way to the stables but a few wandering rats, yet when he got there he was surprised to see Clint Barton fixing the harnesses of four Thoroughbreds, attached to a black, inconspicuous carriage. In the corner, you, Natasha and Wanda whispered with your heads together. They looked up when he arrived.

"Finally," you said. "I thought I was going to have to come get you myself."

You were trying to be funny, but Sam could only stare at your tired face and sad-looking eyes. You looked stunning as always, in leather breeches and a cloak as dark as the night that waited beyond the gates, but forlorn, distant. As if your lips had never tasted joy and your spirit never roamed freely under sunlight.

"What is this, Y/N?" he asked. "Where is the King?"

Behind you, Natasha and Wanda glanced at each other.

"The King won't be joining us, Sam," you explained. "I need to go on a journey, and I need my best friend to come with me. My crown won't protect us where we're going, in fact, I don't know if it will be worthy of anything at all after tonight. So if you chose to stay I will understand."

Sam shook his head.

"This doesn't make any sense."

"I know," you whispered. "But I can't tell you anything else right now."

Sam Wilson was your first friend. He'd throw pebbles at the window to get your attention while you were studying at Arauta, the Duke of Foghar's ancestral home.

"How come you never play, just study?"

You told him then that you were the princess, and you had to be prepared for the day your father, the King, commanded you to return to the Capital. He giggled then, such a cheerful, melodic blast of glee that you were the trees still remembered it, and cherished the sound of his happiness.

"Yeah, right," he'd snickered. "If you're the princess, then where's your crown?"

When the crown came, Sam stood by you, as a comrade and Knight. And you couldn't help but feel like you were once again asking too much of him.

"Of course I'll go with you, Y/N,” he exhaled, past and present blending together in the space of his breath. "Someone has to look after your royal ass."

He hardly ever saw you cry, but you did when you hugged Natasha goodbye, whispering her a quiet be safe before the entering the coach. The Master of Whispers soon disappeared as the horses started their gallop.

The carriage was way past the city gates when your tears stopped.

The following morning, Bucky Barnes found the King slumped on an armchair by the fireplace of the royal chambers.

The knight was heading to the Armory when Steve’s valet intercepted him, babbling nonsense about the King being in shock and the Queen being nowhere to be found. At first, Bucky was doubtful. All was as it was in the Dragon Keep and perhaps the only thing out of the ordinary was the heavy snow that fell overnight, covering the lands and roads in a thick icy blanket. The staff was still spooked by the attempt on Lord Stark’s life, but the assurance that he would survive soothed their nerves a bit. Yet, the valet had such a haunted look in his eyes that Bucky caved, turning around and following the man to your quarters.

His first knock was light, and so was the second and third. When the fourth knock returned without even a muffled response, he turned the knob slowly, finding the door unlocked.

“Your Majesties?” Bucky announced his presence before entering. He couldn’t see the bed from the entrance, but, even so, he didn’t want to accidentally catch you in a compromised position.

Instead, he saw Steve, wearing the same clothes as the night before, turning your engagement ring on his hand. There was no sign of you.

Bucky mentioned for the valet to leave, before shutting the door. Whatever had happened, it was a conversation he didn’t need to hear.

“Steve?” he said, softer this time, approaching the King as one would an animal.

There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his face was puffy from crying. His hair was disheveled, rumpled like the linen shirt stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. The sparkling blue Sapphire of the ring was the only somehow still managed the catch the light in the dull room.

“Steve?” Bucky repeated, finally standing face to face with this best friend. “What happened?”

“She’s gone,” Steve croaked.

“What?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Who’s gone? The Queen?”

Steve nodded, still not looking up from the ring.

“She said she wanted some time away from the Capital. That what happened to Stark put ‘things in perspective’ for her and that she needed to think about us.”

“But… Where did she go?” the knight stuttered.

“Foghar,” Steve replied. “Sam and Barton escorted her. Her handmaiden went as well.”

Bucky was speechless. He’d bet his sword - hell, his sword and his armor - that you were as in love with Steve as he was with you. You weren’t friends, but after months living in Albeon and watching you interact with various lords and politicians, Bucky could understand why you were so guarded. A Queen’s life was full of hardships and loneliness. Yet, from his conversations with Steve - and how overjoyed he was with your seemingly growing affections - it seemed like your relationship was progressing well. Bucky never expected you to just leave.

“Did she say when she’s returning?” he asked, even though the answer was clear as day on Steve’s desolate face.

The King shook his head.

“I think I was wrong about Y/N, Bucky,” he sniffed. “And I think she was wrong about me, as well.”

“No pal, you can’t mean that,” Bucky exclaimed, leaning forward and gripping Steve’s shoulder. “Perhaps the attempt on Stark’s life scared her. He is very dear to her and maybe she thought it could’ve been you. I don’t know! But you can’t possibly think she doesn’t love you.”

“How can I not think that? She never said it. I gave her everything and at the first hardship she just… Runs.” Steve barked, his voice failing at the end.

He was broken. A thousand battles couldn’t ruin him, but you could.

Another knock came, and Lady Natasha entered.

“Your Grace,” she announced. “Lord Stark is awake. He calls for you.”

Steve gave her an affirmative nod and cleared his throat.

“I’ll see to him right away,” he turned to Bucky. “What are you doing today?”

“I was on my way to see Hill at the Armory. Maybe she can help identify the silver dagger Zemo used to stab Stark.”

For a few seconds, Steve was quiet. Natasha was still waiting by the door, implacable and impassive.

“I need you to do something for me,” the King said. “I need to you ride to Arvenia and escort my father to Court. Leave as soon as possible. I’ll send him a raven explaining that he should expect you.”

It was Bucky’s turn to frown.

“Your father?” he asked, puzzled. “Why?”

“Stark still has months of bed rest,” Steve explained as he laced his boots. “My father was once the Master of Coin. I could use his help.”

It made no sense. Steve’s relationship with his father was strained, to say the least. As far as Bucky knew - and he knew quite a bit when it came to the King - Joseph Rogers was far from being father of the year.

He wouldn't say so as Lady Natasha was still present, but he couldn't help the nagging sensation that this was Steve's way of getting back at you for leaving. And it was a shitty way.

Still, he bowed.

"Anything else, my King?"

Steve looked up, and his handsome face was still flushed and puffy from crying. He was so far from the man that Bucky always knew that it brought a cold dread to his heart.

"No," he replied. "Safe travels, my friend."

Bucky nodded and left the room, without hugging Steve goodbye.