#( milady kept clinging to the hope )

[crimsonrae]

Drowned Desires

Summary: Pirates plunder wasn’t always jewels and gold. Sometimes their bounty was flesh. Captain Cavill had found his treasure in the shape of a feral woman.

Pirate!HenryxOFC

Warning: Kidnapping, coercion, trapped, spanking, ultimatums, dry humping, masturbation. Dark Themes below. read at your own risk.

A/N: I have written and rewritten sections of this several times, but it took nearly deleting it all by accident to get me to post. I hope you all enjoyed. 

Drowned Desires

Wooden planks whined and groaned as waves licked and lapped at the ship's underbelly. It was a familiar tune, as much as the heavy thumps of feet upon the deck, the clash of swords, and the cries of men – so familiar that the Captain heard none of it as he perused the papers and trinkets hidden away in the desk of his now fallen counterpart.  

His men never understood his predilection for ship diaries and official correspondence, not when there were shinier prizes at hand. Yet, he understood what they did not...information would always fetch a far higher price than any piece of jewelry – not that he didn’t take his share of that too.    

A faint smirk spread lazily across his lips as he drew his finger across beautifully inked letters that denoted the mark of nobility. His mind already hungered for the letter's contents – for what could nobility want in the Caribbean wild?  

“Captain!” Sapphire-iced eyes flicked to the cabin door with disinterest before returning to his venture, “Captain!”  

With a roaring slam, the door flew open to reveal his first mate, but he was not alone. A wild maelstrom of silk impressively blocked the large man from view as guttural grunts and screams filled the cabin.  

Henry raised an innocuous brow as he watched the virulent struggle, silently amused by the brief glimpses of frustration on Brooks’s face as he maintained his hold on what Henry could only assume was a feral girl.  

“Be quiet!” Brooks barked, finally having enough as he shoved the girl to the ground. His bulky frame took up the entirety of the cabin’s exit as he glared almost mutinously at his captain.  

Henry licked his lip and smirked before peering curiously over the edge of the wide desk to the sprawled form below. A mass of hair flipped back to reveal a startlingly beautiful and mature face. Unbidden, lust stirred within his veins.  

Not a girl, then. A woman.  

A very angry woman, Henry mused as he sat back and stared at his first mate, “Is there a reason why she’s not locked in the stores with the others?”  

“She ripped Thatcher’s ear clear off, Captain. He’s demanding recompense.” Brooks intoned wearily as he kept a watchful eye on the now oddly quiet woman.

Henry’s brow arched higher, if possible, as again he leaned over the desk to take in the fallen woman. She was paying him no mind, having come to her knees. Her eyes shifted about the room as if looking for an exit or a weapon. It was then that Henry was able to note the faint glimpse of red staining her skin – not on her hands, but her neck and mouth. It wasn’t hard to deduce what Thatcher had attempted that had cost him his ear.  

“I take it young Mr. Thatcher, is currently being attended to which is why he’s not here to plead his case.” Henry murmured, as he took in the long line of her throat and the gentle swells that teased the hem of her bodice. Blood had stained her flesh here too, but he found his cock twitching despite her dishevelment. He could see why Thatcher had chosen her.  

“Aye, Captain.”  

“And what say you, woman?” Henry queried lightly, smirking as her gaze finally alighted on him. Wariness, fury, and a touch of fear – but not as much as he expected, “Should I let Thatcher have his pound of flesh?”  

She said nothing, her fine eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. It made him want to grin. How had Thatcher missed the fire she emanated? But then, the deckhand was not the brightest of his crew.  

Henry tilted his head, “Oh, don’t play mute now. Not after the ruckus of your entry.”  

He barely had the words out when something wet hit his cheek. If it were possible the entire cabin stilled, even the creaking of the ship had quieted. The captain’s amusement with the situation had disappeared as he stoically wiped the spittle from his person.  

“I suppose I should be grateful to still have my ear.” He muttered with deceptive gentleness as he leveled a cold stare onto the woman. She stiffened in preparation of an attack, but none came as his attention turned back to his first mate, “Leave us.”  

There was a moment of hesitation before the cabin door swung shut with as decorous a roar as it had been opened. To the woman still kneeled on the floor, it was almost like hearing a nail pounded into her coffin. There was little point in trying to leave. She would merely end up on the deck with the savage crew that had taken the ship hostage. If she were lucky then she might make it to the water, but that was only a slower death.  

“What’s your name?” His words were measured and deliberate, “And do not spit at me again lest you wish to feel the back of my hand.”  

“...Mary.” She muttered after a moment.  

Henry snorted, her pause had given her away, “Too pious a name for you. Try again.”  

She huffed indignantly, but acquiesced, “Elowyn. Elowyn O’Dara.”

There was a faint lilt to her voice that agreed with her name, though even this moniker seemed too tame for her spirit, “Ms. O’Dara, why aren’t you locked in the stores with the other passengers?”  

If eyes were daggers, he’d be dead as her glare became pointed, “Your man already told you.”  

“Surely, you don’t simply have a predilection for tearing off ears – or shall I say a taste.” He prodded, wanting his suspicions confirmed, “What exactly provoked you?”  

“He looked at me funny.” Elowyn hissed bitingly.  

Henry pursed his lips, a reproach on the tip of his tongue when better sense prevailed him. Despite the grand silks she wore, her gown was ill-fitted. The sleeve came within a breath of falling off her shoulder and her speech while refined was far blunter than any gentlewoman. He had a new suspicion about his little spitfire.  

“Is that all it takes?” Henry taunted as he towered over her. Well aware that her dangerous mouth was aligned to an appendage far more valuable than an ear. In fact, it was the image of her mouth and that appendage which enticed him to draw closer still, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and avoid undue embarrassment. He swore that he could feel her breath even through the thick leather of his trousers.  

Elowyn growled, though the flush of her cheeks belied any indifference, “Why should it take more?”  

“I think it would take more.” He stated quietly. His finger curled under her chin and urged her to stand. He wanted the full measure of her. Not the defiant victim she had curled herself into.  

The fabric of her gown swished and whispered as it draped around her body like a protective cloak. Her eyes sparkled wildly at him, warily – like twin pillar flames of a candelabra. He had no doubt that she would attack him as fervently as she had his man if he were to push his luck. He was tempted to try anyway...but a greater desire lurked in his heart.  

She would bend to him first.  

He let his finger trail down the line of her throat as he kept his gaze locked with hers, taking in every twitch and tremble that she tried so valiantly to hide. His touch smoothed across her shoulder, warm and chafing against her delicate flesh until, at last, he reached that clinging hem.  

Almost thoughtfully, he traced that strained neckline, “Tell me, did your mistress press you into her dress to hide, or have you been trying to pass yourself off as a gentle lady for your voyage? Graces and airs do open many doors.”  

Elowyn stilled as his words took home, “I’ve no idea of what you speak.”  

“I’m sure you don’t.” Henry hummed knowingly, “A good liar you are not, Ms. O’Dara. Which makes me inclined to think you were pressed into this gown. However, like recognizes like and I think I’ve merely unsettled you.”  

“The devil would be unsettled by you.” She murmured; heat resonated through her bosom as his fingers hovered over her swells, but he didn’t touch... just teased.  

He grinned roguishly, amused by her scorn, “Either way... it does beg the question, how are you going to keep yourself from ruin? Even if you leave my presence – and that of my crew’s untouched – you’re still caught in something of a predicament, lass.”  

Confusion furrowed her brow at his words and only deepened as he stepped away from her to lean against the ornate desk behind him. Smug and insufferable it galled her to ask after his meaning, “The only predicament I’ll have is giving the navy a name for the swine that dared board this ship.”  

Henry barked a sharp laugh before giving a mocking bow, “Why Captain Henry Cavill at your service, milady? But do you honestly think that if I were to return you to the stores below that assumptions wouldn’t be made?”  

Elowyn’s lips pursed, a silent refusal to entertain his inquiry. It only delighted him.

“You’ve been gone too long, lass. They know why Ole Thatch took you. Probably already assume that you’re dead. And let’s say you were pressed into this gown by your mistress... Loyal though you were, what use does she have for a spoiled maid? Best to send you on your way. And if you are a gentlewoman, word of your ruin will reach all and sundry before the ship is even done being berthed. No hoity-toity wealthy gentleman will look at you twice. All your prospects gone.”

Her cheeks were scarlet with humiliation, and she gritted her teeth as she scolded him, “Does this please you? These cruel games? I demand to be taken back to the stores.”  

His eyes twinkled mirthfully, “Oh that’s it, Luv. Not bad for a gentlewoman, but you should tremble a little more to sell it.”

She barely bit back a snarl, even as her body moved without permission. To the surprise of both Henry and Elowyn, her slim hand snatched the pistol tucked into his belt and had it pressed under his chin before either could blink.  

“Get. Off. This. Ship.” She sniped, hand minutely trembling as she stared straight into his now unimpressed eyes.  

Outside the sounds of battle and the thumping of steps had dwindled to a steady few. His crew had overwhelmed the other and were taking what ever they could find back to the Kalliope. His time aboard was limited anyway... but still, it wouldn’t do to have this slip of a girl think she gained the upper hand. No longer was he willing to see her submit, but he would see her pride broken.  

It was time he acted like a pirate.  

“I intend to.” He murmured.  

It wasn’t what she had expected him to say, and her moment of bafflement worked to his advantage as he ducked down and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in much the same way she had in entering the room.  

He heard the soft click of his gun and grinned when she comprehended that there was no bullet to be shot. He had used his powder on boarding, his pistol now a pretty decoration for his ruthless image. Her screams became even more enraged.  

He chuckled and ignored her pounding fists to his back as he stepped out to the deck, “Brooks!”  

His steadfast first mate appeared with nary a word and a raised brow. Yet, Henry knew he wouldn’t ask the question dancing on his tongue, “Ms. O’Dara will be joining us. See to it that the rudder of this ship is disengaged and gather the men back aboard Kal. I want to be sailing with the wind within the hour.”  

“Aye, Captain.”  

No further words were spoken nor needed between the two though that hardly stopped the squalling of the harridan thrashing his back. Grunting in frustration, he crossed the boarding ramp in two steps as his palm placed a resound slap onto Elowyn’s wriggling rump. A silent warning to be still which she did not heed.

“Put me down!”  

It must have been the hundredth time she had shrieked this, but as Henry crossed the threshold of his cabin he decided to finally obey, “Very well.”  

Grim amusement touched his lips as he tossed her onto his bed, her skirts flew wild, and he caught a tempting glimpse of the thin cotton of her bloomers. Those would not last long, like the whores of Nassau she would learn to stay bare beneath those skirts.  

Ever defiant, Elowyn flew up from her supine position and slid from the bed before he could blink. Her speed was impressive, but she was not fast enough to beat the closing of the door as the lock clicked into place. Smirking, Henry seized the bottle of whiskey from the corner of his desk as he fell languidly into his chair to watch the despairing storm that descended upon his captive.  

Elowyn yanked heartily on the handle, a torrent of panic and anger spurning her heart. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she was furious to find a sob pulling at her throat as the sands counting down her freedom quickly dwindled. She could not be trapped here. It simply was not to be born.  

All the while, Elowyn could feel his gaze burn into her back. Not for the first time her stomach clenched under the weight of his attention. She detested the stirrings of lust his visage had enticed; his quiet perusal of her body had done much to set a simmering awareness along her skin that could only be calmed by the touch of another.  

She slammed her palm against the hardwood of the door as her head became bowed with defeat.  

“I am no one’s whore.” Her voice hoarse from her screams broke the expectant silence.  

For a moment, the captain wondered if she could read minds. However, the longer he was in her presence the more he thought she was an innocent maid... if only her protest had not been so despondent. Tired. Bitter. As if this was a situation not uncommon.

“Aren’t you?” The words were spoken with seemingly little thought as Henry took a light swig from his bottle. A pleasantly harsh warmth burned over his tongue and down his throat as the dark liquid sought out his blood.  

A low snarl emanated from her, and Henry watched curiously as she whirled to face him. His breath was stolen by the fury in her watery gaze. Her lips had curled back into a sneer, and she stood defiant. Wrathful, proud, and stunning. She was Circe reborn.  

The entertained glint that shined in the face of her rage, merely cemented her ire as she strode across the room with the full command of a Goddess. She let the dress fall from her shoulders to twist and drown around her torso before falling lost to the floor. She trod on it and over it with little care.  

Henry devoured the view of her corset and bloomers. Her curves were more pronounced with the clinging material of her undergarments and yet not enough. He’d rather see her bare.  

Elowyn pointedly ignored the hunger of his countenance and snatched the whiskey from his hand. Her throat bobbed deliciously as she downed one mouthful and then two before throwing the bottle at the very door she longed to escape through.  

A sharp thunk and the glittering clatter of shattered glass echoed through the cabin. Henry arched a brow in mild disappointment, “That was a very expensive bottle.”  

“That I’m sure you stole.” Elowyn countered as she moved to straddle his lap. Her gaze was taunting as her fingers laced into the collar of his shirt, “Is this what you wanted, Captain?  

He hummed, amused by her show of bravado, and respected her attempt at taking control, but he could see the quivering girl just below the surface. He delved his hands beneath the hem of her corset, gliding calloused fingers around the satin flesh of her waist. Goosebumps raised like waves in a storm at his touch.  

A sharp gasp left Elowyn’s throat as one hand slid down beneath her bloomers to grasp the firm muscle of her bottom and squeeze. It was like lightning had been released across her hide. Visceral mordant liquid pooled in her loins, and she tried not to squirm. She didn’t want him to see how affected she truly was, even as evidence blossomed across the flimsy material guarding her.  

Yet, as she held his dark stare, she swore that the staccato beating of her heart had given her away. A cool thrill shivered across her skin, only to be chased by a flaming warmth that she could not control. Beneath the rough cotton of her corset, her nipples puckered and pebbled, and she felt a shameful heat spread over her breasts to her collar and up her neck.  

He hadn’t even kissed her.  

He leant forward, teasingly drawing his lips along the shell of her ear. Henry grinned at the small shivering whimper that spilled from her lips at such an act. He had to wonder if she was worried that he would do to her what she had done to Thatch. Tauntingly, his tongue shot out and suckled her delicate lobe into his mouth as her knuckles whitened to match his collar.  

She mewled prettily and arched into his hold, unable to voice the word stop. He wouldn’t have, even if she begged.  

He lathed attention to her sensitive appendage for another few seconds before gently nipping the tender flesh, “I think this what you wanted, lass.”  

She swallowed tightly and tried to bring forth the dispassionate woman that had brought her to his lap, “No.”  

“No?” Henry almost sang, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He nuzzled the plush swell of her cheek, breathing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers made quick work of the laces of her corset. A faint copper taste dazzled his tongue – had she enjoyed the taste of Thatcher’s blood?  

Her breath hitched as she felt the boned fabric slide from her bosom. It took every ounce of strength not to fold her arms in and hide. She had tried to out bluff the monster but had goaded him into action instead. Brute violence would not remove her from this situation. She knew this instinctively, and as his bristled cheek chafed against the silk of her neck and chest, Elowyn became uncertain if she wanted to be removed.  

Gossamer licks of pleasure pulsated from his rough skimming, and his hot breath ignited a current of desire that made her stomach clench with need. She felt suddenly empty and as his supple lips latched onto her pointed teet, she keened. Unthinkingly, she rocked into his pelvis in a feeble attempt to fill the throbbing void between her legs. Her cunt dripped and twitched needily as he suckled.  

Elowyn sputtered and gasped at his forceful pulls, pressing down harder into his lap and ultimately onto his erection. She wasn’t sure when, but her fingers had delved around the bandanna holding back his wild mane as she tried not to fall into his ardent mouth, but she was helpless against his assault. He would devour her.  

“Please.” She breathed.  

Henry smiled and lightly bit down on her tortured tit, admiring the dark hue her sensitive flesh had garnered from his attentions, before moving his attention to her other breast, “Please, what?”  

She arched as he began his attack anew. Her hips coming alive as she undulated frenetically against him. A pressure had started to build, a delicious force stood just out of reach and she just... just needed.  

Henry’s strong hands dug into her hips stilling her movements. He knew that she was on the cusp of climax. He could smell the heady scent of her arousal, but such satisfaction would not be had until she took his cock.  

Elowyn wailed in frustration, “Please!!”  

“Please, what?” He iterated again. His fingers latched onto the seam of her bloomers. One fierce tug would be all he needed to tear her undergarment in two.  

Her pride screamed at her to remain silent, but the wanton in her demanded she cave. Elowyn bit her lip as she tried to stave off another plea. Instead, she sought out the lace of his breeches and swiftly freed him of his leather confines.

Henry allowed her this and watched with a jovial grimace as she took in his hidden pistol. Her eyes widen at his size, her thighs clenching over his at the thought of taking him. He would not fit, but he would certainly fill her. She dragged a curious nail over his weeping head, jolting as his manhood twitched and bobbed under her innocent exploration.  

He hissed, “Either suck me off, lass, or finish your request. If I must choose what comes next, you will find little pleasure in my actions.”  

Her gaze flew up to his, noting the seriousness she found staring back at her. She swallowed tightly, “T-take me.”  

A cruel grin twitched at his lips, “Take you where?”  

She bristled at his mocking, “Copulate with me, like the pig you are.”  

SMACK!  

She gasped at the pain that flared through her hind-side and barely refrained from moaning as the reverberation echoed with her desire.  

Henry tutted, “Name-calling when you’re begging? Not very gracious. Especially as you were the one to come to me, Luv.”  

“Bastard!” She spat and choked on another moan as he assaulted her rear once more.  

He grinned, “Enjoy that do you?”  

She cursed him again and he laughed, “Should I take the cat and nine tails to you? What a saucy minx you’re turning out to be.”  

“I loathe you.” Elowyn murmured through gritted teeth, “What do you want from me?”  

He smiled bitingly at her, “Ask nicely and remember my title.”  

She growled and tore from his hold as her pride won out for the moment. He watched her with the gaze of a predator as she discarded the last of her garments. She flung herself onto his bed and splayed her legs wide. She would not capitulate to him.  

At least not verbally.    

Henry’s mouth watered greedily as her nimble little fingers delved and played with her soaked mound. She was playing a very dangerous game. She stroked her sweet little nub with feverish intensity, allowing her moans to fill the cabin like a sonorous symphony. She put on a lovely lurid show and he couldn’t pull his gaze away as she ran a finger along the edge of her cunt, teasing him with a view of her seeping hole. It took little time for her to find that pleasure peak again and even less for him to lose his patience.

In less than three steps he was between her legs, knocking her hands away from her lush garden.  

In two breaths, he was poised at her entrance.  

In one kiss, he speared her with the intensity of a hunter claiming his prey.  

He swallowed her raucous cry and reveled in the silent tear the swam down her cheek as he brutal entrance. Unbridled heat scored up his manhood as her wet cavern suckled him reluctantly to her womb. He had warned her what would happen if he were to choose.  

Groaning, he could not still for long and raised his knee for leverage as he began a brutal pace toward release. Despite his harsh embrace, it was not long before her hips met his, seeking salvation from his unrelenting torrent.  

Her muscles strained from being split, but the sharp ache was diminished by the relief of being so completely stuffed. Her pride wailed in horror at being proven the whore, but Elowyn cared little. Pleasure scalded and overwhelmed her like a bubbling hot spring. 

Henry was everywhere.  

Grasping, biting, prodding, and shoving. 

He pulled sounds from her throat she had never heard before... but she was no better. Willing, she spread her thighs wider for him, welcoming his passionate tempest as he soundly cast her to the waves of ecstasy.  

She cried out fervently as she drowned, and her body clung to him as if it were a buoy. Her walls became a vice, now trapping him to her as she fell victim to her carnal desires, “Captain!”  

Henry watched her erupt through half-hooded eyes, captivated by the euphoria that descended upon her. He groaned as her walls clenched even tighter around him, demanding his seed.  

He thrust once.  

Twice.  

Thrice more before he gave in to her delicious demand and came with a roar, filling her to brim as he enjoyed the way his cock spasmed in time with her tremors. Lazily, he pressed a kiss to her temple as she quivered against him.  

Elowyn peered up at him with wide eyes, shame seeping into her mien as the weight of her actions crashed down onto her. She tried to cover herself, but Henry refused to let her move. He trapped her wrists above her head as he trapped her stare with his, “You have a choice now, lass. Be a good girl and warm this bed or walk out of this cabin and warm my crew’s. Either way, you’ll be a whore, but whose... well that remains up to you.”  

Tears welled as he pulled out of her with a wet plop. Only then could she see the image she painted. Ruined and laid bare before the man who had stolen her as he fixed his trousers and shirt. She hated how little she had resisted him, how much she still wanted him. She had no recourse. He had extracted his pound of flesh as she drowned in her desires. 

She would be his whore.  

It was then she knew that Captain Henry Cavill wasn’t merely a pirate, he was the devil too.

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, Chapter 5

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13. Family

“Yes, Maman, Adrien and I arrived safely. Now please go to bed.”

“I just wanted to check up on you,” her maman said from the other side of the phone. “It’s your first time out of the country, so you’ll have to excuse me if I worry about you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Marinette assured, glancing over at Adrien as he snatched one of their luggage bags off the carousel. “And tell that to Papa, too. I know he’s more worried than you are.”

“Why do you think I’m the one making the call and not him.”

Marinette laughed. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“All right. Thank you, sweetie. Enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you, Maman. Love you. Tell Papa I love him.”

“Will do. Love you, too.”

With that, Marinette ended the call.

“Got our bags,” Adrien said, pulling the two suitcases behind him. “How’d the call go?”

“Fine,” Marinette said, putting her phone in her purse. “My parents are just worried about me, so it was me doing what I could to settle them.”

“You have a close family, so I understand that.”

Marinette took her suitcase from him. “So where to, now?”

“Taxi to the hotel, drop of our suitcases, find a place for dinner, maybe walk around the city a bit if we’re up for it, and then crash out for the night.”

“Doesn’t sound like too bad a plan.”

“Then let’s go, milady.”

Once they’d secured a taxi, Marinette looked out the window to take in the sights.

“Have you been here before, Adrien?” she eventually asked.

“Couple times for modeling jobs and once for fashion week,” he confirmed.

“Do you like New York City?”

Adrien shrugged. “It’s novel. It’s kinda like Paris, being a bustling city, but it’s just so modern and feels like people just don’t appreciate the history behind their city, you know? And the natives here are like a whole different breed of human. But they feel the same about us, so feeling’s mutual.”

Marinette nodded, turning back to the window to marvel at the sights.

When they got to the hotel, Adrien checked them in. Marinette only knew basic, school-grade level English, but Adrien seemed comfortable with the language. He did promise to be her translator for everything.

“Here’s your room key,” he said, handing her a room key once he’d finished at the front desk. “I got two rooms right next to each other.”

“I still can’t believe you paid for all this,” she said, taking the keycard. “This is so much, Adrien.”

Adrien shrugged. “I wanted to,” he brushed off. “And it’s not like I’m going to go broke from this trip or anything. It’s fine.”

Marinette still wasn’t fully comfortable with all of it, and she still knew that one day, she’d have to pay him back somehow. But for now, she’d smile and thank him for the millionth time.

Once they dumped their suitcases, they started to wander around town until they happened across a food shop that smelled amazing. They wondered inside the bustling shop and found the line was conveniently long enough for Adrien to read off most of the menu for her. Once Marinette told him what she wanted, he was kind enough to order for her. But before Adrien could pay, Marinette quickly held out her own card.

“I can get it, really,” she said with a grin.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please,” she said with a pout.

The cashier laughed and made some comment about her that got Adrien to smile and put away his card.

“He said that you sure know how to guilt trip a guy,” Adrien translated as they walked back to their hotel, bag of take-out food in hand. “And I couldn’t help but agree.”

Marinette grinned at that. “I’ve had good practice manipulating you. It’s almost like you just let me do it at this point.”

Adrien snorted a laugh. “Yeah, you’d think I’d have learned by now that you’re a little minx.”

“But you love me,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

She meant it as an offhand comment. One that could easily be brushed off, but that wasn’t its intent. She was probing, like the ‘little minx’ she was.

And she liked the hesitant response she got, his pause followed by a soft smile and gentle shake of the head. “Yeah, I do.”

 14. New York

He forgot just how much he hated New York Fashion Week.

I’m doing this for Marinette.

That was what kept him going. That, and her smiles. She was happy and enjoying herself, which made this whole trip worthwhile.

The last thing that made this easier to bear was the fact he was strictly a spectator. While he’d debated using what contacts he had to see if they could have special access, he ultimately decided not to. When his father kicked him out, it wasn’t something that was just kept quiet. Back when he still was in contact with Chloe, she told him he was the buzz of the fashion world. Even recently back in Paris, he had been spotted by cameras and had come across an article written about him. Whatever contacts Adrien had would likely be unwilling to work with him, and he wasn’t willing to take those chances to find out for certain. Not even for Marinette. If she decided no after this, Adrien would still feel confident that he did everything her could to help her make her decision.

“You look tired. No, more like completely drained.”

Adrien looked down at the lovely lady standing beside him and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Marinette paused. “I am,” she answered.

“That’s all that matters, then.”

“Adrien?!”

Both he and Marinette turned their attention towards the voice.

And Adrien’s heart dropped. “Chloe.”

The woman rushed over to him, heels clacking on the pavement. The fiery look in her eye was one he was all too familiar with: she was on a mission. “Adrien, I have so many questions for you, but let’s start with what the hell you’re doing here with her.”

Adrien gave Chloe a flat look. “I thought I told you I no longer want to be in contact.”

“Yeah! What’s that about?” Chloe screeched. “You text me out of the blue and tell me we’re done?”

Adrien nodded. “Yup. Because if all our interactions after my dad kicked me out weren’t enough to convince me, Marinette here told me everything. I was already fed up with your lies and how cruelly you treated people, but telling people we slept together when we never did takes the cake.”

Chloe froze, her eyes wide with horror, and Adrien knew why. Was he being an ass on purpose? Absolutely. He knew full well what he was doing talking in his best English loudly enough for anyone and everyone around to hear.

In the blink of an eye, camera flashes started up, and Adrien knew that meant paparazzi were here, ready to cash in on this drama. He pulled Marinette close, knowing it was likely too late but still trying to hide her face against his shoulder.

“Adrien,” Chloe began, voice dripping with fake honey. “What are you talking about?”

“Our friendship is over, Chloe. Don’t try to lie your way out by saying I just used you for sexual favors, either. Because that never happened. We never happened. Just leave me alone, and don’t bother contacting me ever again.” He hoped he didn’t butcher the English in that, but even if he did, he didn’t particularly care. His point got across, Chloe was redder than a tomato, and security was doing their best to shoo the paparazzi away.

Now, it was time for him to leave, if for no other reason than getting Marinette out of here. “Head down, cover your face,” he whispered to her.

She already had her hand over her face, but she still nodded in understanding.

“You think this is over, Adrien? Just like that?” Chloe yelled in French.

“Completely,” Adrien asserted.

How Chloe’s face turned redder, he didn’t know, but it did. “And you never answered my question of what you were doing with her!”

Adrien was going to leave it, but Marinette turned around and snapped. “I’m treating him with more respect than you ever did, entitled bitch!”

His heart went thud in his chest, and he quickly slapped his hand over the grin that couldn’t be suppressed. As he ushered Marinette away as quickly as he could, he snuck a glance behind him at an absolutely enraged Chloe, her security coming to her aid and trying to get her in the car. He hated to say it, but served her right.

 15. Dreams

“I’m not doing this.”

“Hmm?”

Marinette looked over at Adrien. Currently, they were resting in Adrien’s room while eating pizza from a little place close to the hotel. “I’m not going into this industry. At least, not this section of it.”

Adrien’s expression fell. “Was it because of Chloe?”

Half of Marinette’s lips pulled up in a twisted, bitter way. “Yes and no,” she said. “Chloe wasn’t the only reason I came to this decision, but she’s a good reminder that people like that will always be a part of it. People who would gladly manipulate you to advance themselves exist here, and you will always have to be careful about who you can and can’t trust in this industry. Who can you trust to give your designs to, who do you have to hide from, when do you let go of your designs even though they won’t be under your name, and when do you cling to them in the hopes that one day you’ll be able to use it? I just…”

She shrugged, giving Adrien a pitiful smile. “I don’t have the energy to gamble on this trust game,” she finally managed. “And I don’t trust easily in the first place. Which, in a profession that requires you to be social and stretch yourself out into, that would take so much out of me. And in the end, I just don’t want to. Maybe things would have been different had I not been walked over by Chloe. Had things not gone in such a way where teachers and students automatically began to assume the worst out of me just because of my reputation that I didn’t even get to shape myself. I don’t want to go in an industry that demands those parts of me that I’ve learned not to give out. I can’t.”

The pain on Adrien’s face physically hurt her. He’d given so much to encourage her, and here she was, practically throwing it back in his face.

Yet, despite that, he smiled sympathetically. “If that’s your decision and your reason, I won’t challenge you on it anymore.”

At the sight of his forced smile, her heart hurt, and the guilt soon became so much to bear. She wouldn’t cry, though, not even as she felt the pinprick of tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed. “What for?”

“I feel bad for making this decision, because you brought me here to New York Fashion week. You spent time and money planning this trip just to encourage me, and here I am throwing it back in your face. I’m really appreciative of what you’ve done for me. Really, I mean it. So, I’m so sorry that I can’t… I can’t move forward and prove your efforts weren’t in vain.”

She hadn’t been expecting the shock on his face at her words, like they’d caught him off guard. But soon, that faded away into a soft, sympathetic smile. A real one that she liked so much, that could ease her worries and calm her down.

He stood from the bed and started walking over to her, his arms open. At this point, she gladly took the invitation, standing from the chair she’d been curled up in and meeting him half-way. When he wrapped her up tightly, she clung back, relishing in the warm comfort that being cocooned in his arms, protected from the world, provided.

“I’m not disappointed,” he spoke softly. “Not at all. It’s clear you thought long and hard about your decision, and so, if you decided you didn’t want to go into this field, then that’s perfectly fine. I just didn’t want you to give up on your dreams just because you saw only the negative. And I know I was part of that, telling you my own horror stories. That’s why we came, as one last encouragement to feed your dreams before you decided on your future.”

By now, Marinette could feel the tears well up in her eyes. She sniffed, hoping to bite them back.

At that sound, Adrien squeezed her tighter with one arm and rubbed her back with the other. “Oh, Marinette,” he whispered soothingly.

That was all it took to break her. The tears spilled over down her cheeks, and there was no stopping them. She buried her face against his chest, clenching his shirt tighter as she hiccupped out choked sobs. “Thank you,” she managed to squeak out in the midst of her tears. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome, Marinette,” he whispered.

Still, he never let go, continuing to hold her as he gently swayed back and forth. And Marinette gladly stayed in that warm embrace, unwilling to leave the comfort he so willingly provided, even after her tears had stopped falling.

[platypanthewriter]

Vines

Harringrove April day 19, Vines!  Maid Stephanie Harrington encounters the Outlaws of Sherwood Forest.  I wrote this all in one swell foop today, so it's unbeta'd, and I'm very sorry.  XD

The Fair Maid Stephanie Harrington, ward of the king, was riding.  She liked riding, in general, when the horse wasn’t too slow, except at some point the riding always stopped, and she arrived, and she had to give her regards to whoever her presence was supposed to convey the depth of the royal regard to.

It was like being a medal, she thought, sometimes—the prince gave a few weeks of her time to someone, as a prize, and they showed her around at feasts in her honor, and kept her locked up in a box.

Whoever pleased him enough, she’d marry, she was pretty sure, hoping it wasn’t Guy of Gisborne, the current recipient of the prince's favor.  He always smiled just a little when she was angry, and the thought of being near him forever was not to be borne.  She blew through her cheeks, trying to enjoy the ride through Sherwood Forest, and urging her horse just the tiniest bit faster.  

One of the sheriff’s guards grabbed her horse’s bridle, slowing it back to a walk.  “I can lead you, my lady,” he said, smirking.  “If you can’t control such a large animal.”

Stephie stared at him, biting her lips together before she called him every name she could think of.  “I am fine, sir,” she said, thinking, I hope the girth breaks on your saddle, and you slide right off.  

“There have been thefts in the area,” said the sheriff.  “A band of bandits.”

“I’ll protect you, Milady,” her guard told her, pulling her horse closer.

She was about to dig her heels into her horse’s sides—just run, jumping over the tree limps fallen in the path—when she remembered she had nowhere to go, and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d been born a man.  She could have gone with the king, were she a man.  Coul have fought bravely and well, and won honors—a castle of her own, perhaps.  A wife, she thought, feeling a twist in her stomach as her cheeks flushed.  She imagined taking her helmet off after winning a tournament, and accepting a victory kiss from someone with dark curls and a sweet smile.

Or, she thought bitterly, she could have died.  Chosen to leap in front of the king, saving his life at the cost of her own.

Chosen.

The guard refused to return her reins, smiling as though she was a petulant child, and she rode along gritting her teeth and imagining him snapped off his horse by a dragon, his spine gleaming in the sun.  The dragon would steal her away, she hoped, imagining flying, when an arrow shot by her face, and all around her.  The guards yelled, their horses stamping and rearing, and in the confusion, she snatched her reins back.

“Guests in our merry wood!” came a voice, and Stevie jerked aorund, staring at the massive oak above them to see two women, one laughing, one with an arrow drawn, smirking faintly.

Of course they’re in trousers, Stevie thought vaguely, staring.  They could hardly have scampered up a tree in gowns with long daggered sleeves.  They were in command of the whole clearing, Guy of Gisborne, the sheriff, and his guards all staring in shock, and that was probably why Stevie’s heart was pounding, she thought guiltily.

“Welcome all!” yelled the one standing, holding the vines, as the one with the bow narrowed her eyes at Guy of Gisborne, Stevie’s current host.  Everyone aorund was muttering “Outlaws!  It’s her, it’s Robin Hood!”

“You won’t take the king’s ward from us!” yelled Stevie’s idiot guard, trying to grab her reins again, and she groaned inwardly, along with the guards around her, who groaned aloud.  She nudged her horse into sidling out of his reach.

“The king’s very own ward?!” the loud one called down.  “Welcome, my lady!  What fine neighbors these, to bring us not only the taxes, but the loveliest guest in all of England!”

“You’ll have to kill us all first!” yelled the daft guard, yanking his sword out, swinging it as though he could reach the women in the tree, and nearly beheading Stevie.  He nicked her horse’s neck, and it reared, whinnying in righteous indignation as arrows started flying again at the guard’s arm.  The other guards rushed at the people in the trees, who started swinging in on vines, and it turned into a melee.

Stevie clung to her horse like a burr as it kicked and reared and the guard swung wildly at the arrows, and then she heard a yell, and saw a flash of green behind and beside her as the louder of the two women swung down on her vine and kicked him off his horse.  She started to fall under their hooves, struggling to sheath her sword in the mess of horses, and Stevie grabbed her, grappling her close.  

“Hang on to me,” she hissed, and her rescuer did, locking strong arms around Stevie’s waist and panting in her ear as Stevie directed her horse out of the mess with her thighs and heels, and charged up the path, her whole body buzzing with the energy of the air before a thunderstorm.  Her horse galloped, finally, leaping the fallen logs with ease, and Stevie whooped with excitement and relief, laughing.  They galloped until her horse slowed, blowing and prancing, and sidling around as she glared out at the forest.  

“Good girl,” Stevie told her, patting her neck and panting, as her passenger slid her arms from around Stevie’s waist.  

“They’ll call us kidnappers, now,” she breathed in Stevie’s ear, her hands patting at the saddle as she tried to find purchase not on Stevie.  

Stevie reached around behind and pulled her closer.  “I’ll tell them you rescued me,” she laughed, turning to grin over her shoulder.  “He’d have beheaded me, in a moment.”

Her kidnapper had wide, blue-grey eyes, long eyelashes, and flushed cheeks, from close up, and Stevie laughed again at the gold in her curls, remembering the curls she’d fantasized sinking her fingers into moments ago, as the winner of the tournament, getting a kiss.  She was giddy, she thought, unable to stop smiling.  

“...I’m Billie,” said Billie, licking her lips, and grinning back, a little.  She was warm and solid against Stevie’s back.  “My lady.”

“Stevie,” Stevie panted.  “I kidnapped you, I think, more than the other way around,” she told Billie, gripping her hand, and tugging it back around her waist.  Her horse jerked her head up at a stream, and trotted towards it.  When it stopped to drink, Billie swung down, then, as Stevie dismounted, caught her around the waist.  

“Hello, princess,” Billie said, smiling.

“I’m not actually a princess,” Stevie confessed, reaching up to see how the curls felt against her fingers.  “I’m sorry.”  Billie’s lips were soft, she thought, against her thumb.

“Everyone knows who you are,” Billie told her, smirking a little, and leaning into her hand.  “Stevie,” she whispered, tasting it.

Stevie couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she’d known, until today, she couldn’t do, and she watched Billie’s half-lidded eyes, and her smile that looked like she knew something Stevie didn’t, and then just...threw her arms around Billie’s neck and kissed her.  Billie made an undignified snorting noise, then kissed her back, warm and breathless, and Stevie started laughing again, when she pulled back enough to breathe.  

 Billie offered to walk home, but Stevie didn’t want to leave her, just yet, not when she told such entertaining stories, and the blush over her freckles was so warm.  When they got to the camp, everyone was feasting.  Guy of Gisborne tried to apologize to Stevie at least six times, gripping her arm hard, but she shook him off, and kept walking away, following Billie to see the little school in a tent, and the still, and the treehouses.  

A weight drew them up on another vine—creaking as it swung them up through the air—Stevie’s arms around Billie’s neck to hold the rope, Billie’s arm around her waist.  They stepped off onto a swaying bridge of woven rope, and Stevie staggered.  Billie grabbed her, bouncing on the ropes so it shuddered, and Stevie yelped, but Billie laughed, pulling her close, and kissed her again.  

“You think I’d let you fall, Princess?”

“I think you might,” Stevie panted, her stomach somewhere on the ground below, but she followed Billie across the bridge to a little house chipped right out of the living wood of the tree, with a walkway all around it, and a shingled roof.  There was a cot, and a lute, and Stevie leaned to look down over the camp, hanging on to a tree branch dizzily.  “...I would never come down,” she whispered, and Billie laughed, her eyes widening again.  

“You feel right at home in tall towers?” she asked, and Stevie elbowed her, sighing.  

“When I saw someone coming to take me somewhere,” Stevie said, softly, so Billie had to lean in, “—I could cut the rope.”

 When they left, Robin Hood herself saw them off—Stevie at the head of the party, allowed to keep her small knife, and everyone else’s arms and armor loaded into a wagon, while they rode out of the forest in their smallclothes, escorted by the merry souls of Nottingham forest.  Billie grinned up at her, walking alongside them, and Stevie beamed back, then jerked her head forward so Guy of Gisborne wouldn’t write to the prince that Maid Stephanie had come unhinged.

 Two nights later, Stevie heard her name by the window, and ran to see Billie clinging to the vines.  “I see you do live in a tower, princess,” she panted, once Stevie had hauled her inside.  

“Why are you here,” Stevie whispered, delighted, and Billie grinned back, her eyes flicking towards the door.  

“I thought this was how it was done,” Billie whispered back, leaning in for a laughing kiss.  Her curls swung down from her shoulder, and Stevie tucked them back up over Billie’s ear.  She’d kissed winners of tournaments, on the cheek—dodging their attempts to capture her lips—but kissing Billie was nothing like that, all soft lips and quick smiles.  “I brought my lute,” she said, swinging it down over her shoulder.  “I’m no dab hand at poetry—”

“Ssssh!” Stevie hissed, laughing, and then she ran and barred the door.  “No poetry.  No music, you’ll be caught—”

“I meant to sing under your window,” Billie said, frowning over her shoulder, “—but I would fall in the moat.”

“Do not fall in the moat,” Stevie told her, giggling again, because she couldn’t stop, the glee of kissing Billie hitting the wave of fear of Billie found, Billie slashed in half for climbing her tower.  She grabbed her outlaw and hugged her, squeezing her like they were swinging through the air again, and breathing the smell of the woods, and the river she must have washed in, and a little perfume that smelled expensive, that she’d definitely stolen.  Billie arms were muscular, and Stevie’s hands fit comfortably at her waist, and around her hips.  

Billie leaned in to kiss up her neck, soft and a little wet, and Stevie leaned her head away, her hands everywhere, feeling Billie’s strong shoulders from climbing, and—daringly—cupping the softness of her chest.  Billie felt no hesitance there, sliding a hand down inside Stevie’s kirtle, and finally Stevie set her jaw, pulled away, and yanked her whole kirtle and cote off until she stood there in her chemise, so thin she shivered.  Billie stared back, and then laughed, her whole face reddening as Stevie drew her over to the bed.  

 “...I meant to bring you a rose,” Billie whispered, as they both panted, after.  “It fell.”

“I am glad to see you,” Stevie laughed, watching Billie’s fingers on her hip, where her chemise was rucked up to her waist.  “Rose or no rose.  Bring me a weed next time, and I’ll be just as glad—but you mustn’t come here again.”

“Why not?” Billie asked, her freckles shining with sweat, and Stevie leaned close to taste her skin.  

“You will die,” she whispered against it.  “Someone will see you, and you’ll die, and if I never see you again, at least I’ll know you’re in the trees, safe and well.  Better than than full of arrows, and drowned in the moat.”

“No one will see me,” Billie whispered, and Stevie pinned her.  

“Promise me,” she hissed.  “Promise me you won’t come again.  Billie, please.”

“There are promises I can’t possibly make,” Billie whispered back, smiling unsteadily up, and Stevie groaned, and let herself fall on top of her, and kiss her until she laughed again.  

 Billie came many times more, and they fell into bed easily, Stevie daring to undo her trousers—and try them on, afterwards, turning the shiny brass of her dinner tray to see herself from all angles.  Billy lay naked, smiling, the candlelight making her skin glisten, but her eyes were red. 

“...when are you leaving,” she asked, softly, and Stevie stopped, and walked over to press kisses down Billie’s side, until she giggled and kicked, and pulled Stevie down on top of her.  Stevie leaned on one elbow to kiss the slight softness of Billie’s stomach, and the curve of her breasts, and sighed.

“I am not sure,” she said, watching the muscle flex in Billie’s jaw, and kissing it in apology.  “You know I would stay, for you.”

“Stay for what,” Billie whispered, curling away, and swallowing hard, and Stevie curled around her, pressing kisses to her freckled shoulders, and then her neck.  “A house in a tree,” Billie said hoarsely, and Stevie stopped, remembering the way they’d soared up in the air, on the vines.  

“I would stay,” she repeated.  “...and they’d burn the forest to find me.”

Billie cried harder, and Stevie’s eyes burned.

 The next time she went into town—restless without Billie in her bed, and furious at herself for the longing in her kisses goodbye—she heard Billie’s name in the mouth of the Sheriff, and rode over, her veins running stiff and cold.  The hammering on the gallows sounded louder, suddenly, echoing like a gong.

She’d been caught holding up a tax payment, and everyone in the crowd was very quiet, whiteknuckled as the Sheriff took down the posters of Billie’s face.  Stevie walked forward and snatched one, clutching it close as she stalked back to the castle, her attendants running behind her as she ran up five flights of stairs to her room, to the seal of the king, and wrote a pardon.  She signed it, and sealed it, and hid the seal again, running back downstairs to give it to the sheriff—but he told her to see Sir Guy of Gisborne, and he laughed in her face.

“I am ward of the king,” Stevie told him, trying not to yell, or shriek, to stay calm and lovely, to get a man to listen to her, but he shook his head, smiling, and tossed the letter on the fire.  

“I know you looked on these outlaws fondly,” he told her, knowing the tax rates, knowing the prince was months from a rebellion by every barony in England, “—but we are harsh on lawbreakers, as we must be.”  He patted her cheek.

Stevie walked out, ordered her horse saddled, and then yelled “YAH!”, and took off at a gallop, ignoring the shouts behind her.  

It wasn’t hard to find outlaws, in the wood.  

She’d ridden barely a mile in when a voice ordered her to halt, and she drew her horse to a stop, even as it huffed, stomping in a circle, catching her nerves.  “I’m here for Billie,” she said, as loud and clearly as she could.  “Billie Hargrove.”

“Haven’t you heard,” the someone said.  “She’s hangin’ tomorrow.”

“No, she’s not,” Stevie fired back, gripping her reins.

 Robin Hood herself recieved her, sharpening the heads of her arrows.  

“How can I help?” Stevie asked, crouching next to her, and watching the others fletch arrows in silence.

“Haven’t you helped enough already?” Robin scoffed.  “She’s nearly been caught a dozen times, climbing your tower.”

“I told her not to,” Stevie whispered, her throat closing.  “What—what is the plan, how can I…”

“There is no plan,” Robin said, snorting softly.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen in the light from the fire.  “Do you have a battering ram for us?  A trebuchet?  Thirty or so archers can hardly take the Keep.”

“You can’t give up,” Stevie shouted back, aghast.  “You have to—”

“I can not get inside,” Robin hissed, whipping around to lift Stevie’s chin with the arrow.  “I am known.  I can blend with the spectators, and what then?  Watch her drop?”

“Blend with the spectators, then,” Stevie told her, grabbing her sleeve.  “Fill the crowds with—”

“And do what?” Robin asked, her eyes shiny in the firelight.  “What then?  Should we throw dung, Milady?”

“Your bows and arrows,” Stevie breathed, realizing.  “You can’t bring them inside.”

“We will attend, and keep vigil for an old friend,” Robin said, flatly, as her eyes spilled over.

“I will bring the weapons in,” Stevie told her, shaking her arm.  “I can help, I can—I will bring them.  Get me a wagon.  Bring me the king’s deer.”

“...what?” Robin asked, glaring at her.  

“I am the ward of His Majesty King Richard,” Stevie breathed.  “I am allowed to hunt the deer.  There will be a feast, for the hanging of an outlaw of Sherwood.  Put your weapons in a wagon.  Cover them with the deer.  I will get your weapons to you, inside the Keep.”

Robin stared at her, and then grabbed her arm, bruisingly tight.  “Bring me a wagon!” she yelled, her voice raw.  

 The three outlaws that joined her blended in well—Alanna Dale, the minstrel, whose flip responses to the guards made them laugh, a friar who brought them ale, well dosed with liquor from his still, that made a grown man stagger after only a few sips, and Much, who introduced himself as “the miller’s son”.  Stevie busied herself calling orders to everyone that contradicted the last orders she’d given, until half the courtyard was bringing her a litter, half bringing the kitchen to her to view the deer, and Much, Alanna, and the friar made off with the well-wrapped weaponry in the confusion.  

Sir Guy came to see her on her return, and raised his eyebrows at the deer, and Stevie nearly lost her head, gripping her sleeves from inside as he laughed.  

“So quickly does the female mind turn,” he said.  “Just this morning you were eager to save this outlaw, and now you celebrate her demise?”

“I offer proof I am King Richard’s ward,” Stevie shot back.  “Will you remember, now, and grant my pardon?  We can as well celebrate her release.”

He smiled at her, and patted her horse, and Stevie had half a mind to order her horse to turn and kick, but she gritted her teeth instead.  Guy of Gisborne watched her face, and then beckoned to the guards.  “Escort my lady to her room,” he said, smiling, "—and see she does not leave.  Her emotions are running high.”

Stevie gasped with fury, finally screaming all the thoughts she’d had at him, that he was a coward, and he’d die on the rope himself when King Richard returned and she could tell him all about the taxation, until he stepped forward and covered her mouth so hard her head smacked back against the wall, and she saw colors behind her eyes.  They threw her in her room none too gently, and then, they searched for the royal seal.

They didn’t find it.

Once they were gone, Stevie reached out her window, and tested the vines.  She left her hair down in a braid, unadorned, and her gilt overdress behind, and tied only her knife, the royal seal, and some money to her belt before tucking her long skirt into her belt, and swinging a leg out the window.

The first foothold she found yanked loose from the wall, and she bit back a scream, clutching the vines to her as her heart pounded, but the ivy was old and thick as her arm, and it held.  She was shaking with exhaustion by the time she could step onto the wall, and fall the dozen or so feet into the Keep.

 She could hear the crowd around the gallows, some jeering, some screaming—it was hard to tell through the noise.  She saddled her horse quickly, charging into the courtyard to see Billie with the noose around her neck, her eyes wide as they took in Stevie on her horse.  She smiled as the executioner pulled the lever, tears spilling out of her eyes, just as Robin’s arrow whooshed through the air with many others, and cut the rope.  The executioner fell, and so did Billie, stumbling forward to where Stevie could shout her horse forward and grab her arm, dragging her up alongside.  

Billie’s arms were tied, so Stevie hauled her into her lap, slapping her horse’s reins against her neck and kicking her sides for a burst of speed, and no one expected King Richard’s ward to commit a jailbreak, so Stevie and her prize galloped by the dazed, drunken guards with little more than a startled “Oho!”

They ran until the Keep was far distant, slowing only to a canter, as Billie laughed and cried, shaking in Stevie’s arms.  “You came for me,” she kept whispering, and then laughing, as though it was hard to believe.

“I always will,” Stevie told her, wiping her own eyes, overflowing from sheer relief.  She squeezed Billie’s shoulders to her, kissing her hair, and her forehead, and occasionally bruising her mouth with Billy’s skull, because of the long strides of her horse.  “You came for me,” she pointed out, and Billie laughed, finally untied after much struggling, and slid her arms around Stevie’s waist and back.

Billie guided her to the camp—deserted, with the attack on the Keep, so they sat and talked nervously at the fire, exchanging kisses and wiping each other’s tears, until Robin strode back in.  “You have to leave,” she told Stevie, and Billie’s arms tightened.  “They’ll summon armies.  With you here, they’ll ride to war.”

Stevie pulled Billie to her for one last kiss, and it was salty.  Stevie cleared her throat,  cleared it again, and then gave up and nodded, biting her lips together, before taking one last look at the little house in the tree, and the vine that led there, and Billie’s furious, teary face.

The road back seemed long.  Guy of Gisborne locked her in again, and she sat at her table wishing she’d heard Billie play the lute, or sometimes she embroidered, wishing to set the world on fire.  

She wrote to Anne—Nancy, her friends called her—the girl she’d once fantasized about rescuing from monsters, but Guy was opening her letters, she knew, so she barely explained.  Still, when they finally rode on from Nottingham—finally, she thought, both longing to ride on forever, and never see it again, and longing to turn ‘round and never leave—Nancy was waiting for her in her quarters, and Nancy had a plan.

“You must disappear elsewhere,” she said, and Stevie clutched at her hands, her breath catching in her throat.  “You must disappear in a way they’ll never trace to your outlaw,” she said, and Stevie let her go, because Nancy sometimes needed to pace as she planned.  This was one of those times.  “What if you were thrown from your horse?” Nancy asked, turning to face her.  “Riding alone?  My wetnurse is nearly family, and close enough to a doctor.  If she told Guy of Gisborne you’d died…”

Stevie grimaced, a little, imagining the king returning to such news, but the problem was his absence, after all.  “Do you think it would work?” she whispered.

“Say you’ll ride a wilder horse,” Nancy suggested.  “Then when you fall, you can leave on your own.”

“They may kill the horse,” Stevie pointed out, with a pang of guilt.

“Leave that to me,” Nancy said, and Stevie did, striding into the stables the next morning to snatch the stallion from the wide-eyed stablehand, and riding out into the sunrise.  

 When she rode back into the forest, her fine clothes traded for trousers, her face hooded, the voices didn’t recognize her, but they hailed her horse.  “There’s Billie’s girl!” one called, and another, “No, didn’t you hear, she’s gone and died,” and a third, “Is the horse a gift, then?”

“Take me to her,” Stevie yelled, too tired for politeness, and they realized who it was.  

Billie was by the fire, her eyes red and swollen, and Stevie swung off her horse and knelt beside her, gathering an entire weeping outlaw into her arms.  “You came for me,” she sobbed, her arms so tight Stevie gasped.

“I always will,” she laughed, pulling Billie over to the vine that led up and away.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

[bisexualsforprompto]

Teen Titans AU Part 5

Thanks to @ozmav and @maribat-archive again!

Hiya! Me again. Here with the next update of the Teen Titans Miraculous AU. I just wanted to write a little disclaimer, there will be more sensitive and adult content here (no crazy sex scenes), but some suggestive content as well as the occasional F bomb. Also again this isn’t a super long chapter (like I explained last chapter), but a lot happens! A lot even if it doesn’t seem important is important to the plot. Read carefully my dear readers ;). Now that we’ve gotten the boring stuff out of the way, let’s read chapter 5!

V

Marinette Dupain-Cheng waited in the grocery store with her friends Damian and Jon. She was still a little shaken up after her last encounter with Lila but she coped by triple checking their shopping list. She felt a strong tap on her shoulder and she turned around as well as Jon who had his arm draped around one of her shoulders. She liked Jon, but she also liked Damian. Sometimes she felt that she didn’t have romantic love for Jon but only sibling love, like one would have for a younger brother. She wasn’t sure what attracted her to Damian, he was brash and rude most of the times, although he could also be sweet to her and his smile lit up her world. Marinette snapped out of her thoughts when she realized who was standing before her, Adrien Agreste. Adrien was her first crush but she got over it quickly when he was content to let Lila keep lying. She said a brief “hello” and he blabbed on to her and she tried to tune him out, shooting down his advances and his questions if she would leave with him, until he said it, the word the changes everything. She was shocked when he called her princess. She noticed all the signs at once and the world swirled around her until she was back at Master Fu’s. She told him sobbing about what Chat Noir, no- Adrien had almost done to her. She realized she was clinging to Damian for dear life and realized that she wasn’t at Master Fu’s and she had rambled about what Chat Noir did to some of the Titans team. She took in his scent as he asked her questions, she answered them all diligently still caught up in her new revelation and intoxicated by Damian’s warmth. She felt sad as Damian put her down and she found herself flashing back to Adrien, she turned to Damian but he stomped off. Jon picked her up and she nuzzled into his shoulder, pretending he was Damian. Jon took her to her room and lay her on her bed. As he was about to leave she started to panic, what if Adrien finds me here? “Will you stay please?” Marinette asked Jon. He nodded and sat on the chair near her bed. She felt safe and relaxed and drifted to sleep.

“CATACLYSM!” Marinette woke up with a start hoping that Chat Noir’s signature phrase was part of a dream she couldn’t remember, but she wasn’t that lucky. Chat Noir pried her off her bed and held her in his arms, they weren’t warm like Damian’s, or loving like Jon’s. Only possessive, Marinette thrashed in his arms but before she could scream Chat put a hand over her mouth and dug his claws into her arm. She felt the blood drip out. She let out a small whimper but Chat’s hand blocked the noise. He slid his baton out of the broken window and jumped out still clutching Marinette in his arms.

Marinette had passed out. She woke up in what looked like a warehouse, she had been tied up. She tried to scream but it was all muffled because of the duct tape Chat had placed on her mouth. Then the dreaded cat himself appeared. He crept to Marinette and pressed a kiss on her forehead, “Sorry purrincess, but I can’t have you screaming. Well not unless you’re screaming my name. Speaking of which, maybe we should finish our conversation from earlier.” He grabbed her hair and pulled himself to her lips, she pushed him off by head butting him before he could kiss her. He looked at her with annoyment, “is that anyway to treat me?! I’m your savior, I’m the savior of Paris! Without me you’d be dead!” Marinette shook her head “no”. Chat inched closer, “you know I’m starting to think you moved here to get away from me…” he said, clearly expecting her to nod “no” again and beg for him to kiss her. Marinette shook her head yes and Chat gripped her body, “excuse me?” He put a finger on her chin and ripped off the duct tape on her mouth. She began to scream as loud as she could but Chat silenced her by pulling her in for a kiss. Marinette tried to get him off her but it was hopeless, until she heard him, the boy she prayed would find her.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Spat Robin kicking Chat Noir’s head. Chat retaliated by throwing his baton at Robin’s head, however the boy wonder merely dodged it and went at Chat a second time. Marinette heard a loud boom and suddenly the rest of her team was there. Jon and Raven ran over to her and began undoing the rope that bound her. “Go run! Find a place to transform, I’m not sure we can handle Chat without Ladybug.” Jon whispered in her ear. Marinette ran as fast as she could to the nearest stack of materials that would shelter her while she transformed. Chat didn’t know her identity so he had left the clutch that she kept Tikki in on her shoulder. Marinette opened it to see a crying Tikki, “I wish I could’ve done something Marinette.” Marinette shook her head and sniffed, “you couldn’t put my identity in jeopardy, I know that Tikki. I know if you weren’t confident I would be saved you would’ve saved me,” Marinette gave her kwami a weak smile, “now Tikki spots on!”

Even though they were a team of superheroes against one brat with a ring, they found Chat dodging most of their attacks and his suit absorbing energy blasts. Terra tried to keep him at bay with large rocks but she couldn’t do much without bringing the building down. Superboy tried to attack him but he was off of his game because of his anger. Robin seemed to be doing the most damage, that is until Ladybug showed up. Ladybug pulled Chat with her yo-yo. “Milady?” Chat asked, “I thought your miraculous was retired after we defeated Hawkmoth.” Ladybug glared at him, “No! But yours should’ve been! How do you still have the cat miraculous Adrien?!” Chat’s eyes widened at the use of his real name but he regained his cocky composure. “Master Fu tried to take it from me,” he sneered, “Well let’s just say I finally found out what a cataclysm does to a person.” Ladybug stood in shock before punching him in the face, “What the hell?! You’re not worthy of the cat miraculous, give it back without a fight or I will not hesitate to take it from you by force!!” Chat chuckled at his lady, “No can do bugaboo.” He then saw the empty chair where Marinette had been sitting, he glared at Ladybug then at the rest of the Titans who were prepared to strike of Ladybug’s command, “Where is my Marinette?! What did you do to my girl?!” Robin lunged before Raven held him back, “she’s not yours!” Ladybug stared into Chat’s eyes, she saw Adrien’s eyes. The eyes of the man she once thought she loved, “She’s safe somewhere you’ll never find her.” Ladybug lunged for the cat miraculous while Adrien was distracted and shoved it off his finger. “NO!” Adrien screamed as he detransformed. He turned to attack Ladybug but when he realized he couldn’t, he turned to run, until he saw the Titans blocking him. Suddenly a man in black and orange dropped from the ceiling and picked up the blonde model, “Sorry Titans, but you’re not getting Goldilocks today.” Deathstroke said before seemingly disappearing. “How-What?! Deathstroke cant disappear!!!” Blue Beetle said puzzled. Beast Boy stood shocked. Ladybug cursed, the team was supposed to catch him! This was supposed to be it! Why wasn’t this done already?! “What happens now?” Raven asked.

Slade Wison walked arm in arm with the blonde model, “No need to thank me Boy.” He said to Adrien, “But I do have a deal for you. How would you like your miraculous and your little blue haired girl back?”

[yukiwrites]

Where Your Loyalty Lies [13/??]

Summary:  Kamui’s kidnapping didn’t go as planned – She managed to get away and ended up at Silas’ doorstep. They were raised as siblings, but she has always felt different; her fangs and red eyes and urges to run amok, what did they all mean? Would going to the castle as the Crown Prince’s retainer help her find more clues? Will the war between Nohr and Hoshido be the answer to everything?

Previous chapter <=> AO3 <=> Next chapter

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Chapter 13: Determination

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The beast growled at the back of Kamui’s head. She could almost feel it breathing down her neck while she wrapped herself with the thick bed sheets Eleonore had sent just a day previous. It was as though the bed -- not small but certainly not big either -- was cramped with both Kamui and her beast, as it gnawed its jaw and slithered its tongue over the young woman’s cheeks. It made her shiver within herself in a way she hadn’t done in more than a decade.

Had all of her training been for naught? Would the beast always grow just as strong as Kamui whenever the dame improved herself? 

She knew herself -- she was stronger now than in the past; she even managed to push back her itches to the point of controlling when they would happen! But all of that crumbled once they arrived together at Stockarres -- once Kamui willingly allowed the beast to take over her body to show off its prowess to all who would witness it.

It was as though the control Kamui had over her own consciousness could be snatched away from her as if they were reins of the carriage that was her life. The place she had always fought for within her; the spot whence she would be able to proudly call herself 'her own person' was in danger of being stolen from her.

Just a push was all it needed for Kamui to lose this battle.

And she didn't feel strong enough to fight back. Not after succumbing once.

Just once is all I need, it was as though the beast slithered to her ear, giggling with its forked tongue between its teeth. One more time and you're mine.

Huffing, Kamui dug her nails into her right arm, still wrapped with an old rag, though even that was being torn here and there. Part of her rationalized that if only she would go through this itch right there and then -- down there under the trees and the perpetual shadow of the forest -- it would all be okay come morning. She would be herself again.

Yet, there was no telling if she would be able to come back were she to run amok on her own -- would she return as herself, or as the beast whose ever-growing roar threatened to make her tear her own flesh apart? It will be okay, she kept telling herself. I'll be okay, I'll be okay, I'll be okay, she chanted inside her mind so as to drown the growls and roars.

Besides, she was going to meet King Garon the following afternoon -- what if she needed the power to escape? Perhaps conserving her strength-

"No!!" Kamui held her own head between her overgrown claws. "Don't tempt me into trusting you again!" She seethed under her teeth; her entire body trembling with a cold that came from within her terrified heart. "It's true that I usually feel more refreshed after- after exercising, but I can't- oh, I can't!" She sobbed into her own arm, her breath as shaky as her unfocused gaze. "I will-" she sniffled, overly conscious of the tears that streamed down unannounced from her eyes. "I'll overcome you! I’ll... I won't shy away from fear!"

Her voice echoed in the eerily empty room, the only noise of response coming from within her mind. In a desperate attempt to cling to some sort of hope, Kamui's memories fell upon her as though they were a waterfall.

The first time her Master saw her diphormism -- and told her to get strong enough to beat it to submission; the first time she agonized over her inner beast -- and the weeks of aching secrecy that followed, only to be found out by her Brother and accepted within his chest; the day she and her Lord danced, in which he accepted her for who she was regardless of her race -- as long as she did her duty, who or what she was did not matter.

Her duty; the people who accepted her. The warm and firm touch of the Crown Prince's hand on her back, making her strangely wanting to stay more within his arms than anywhere else before. The teasing smile he flashed her just on the previous night when he placed in her the trust inherent of her position. Her own past, shrouded in mystery -- the fog-like voices she oftentimes recalled from the depths of her memory; the origin of all of this grief, all of this despair.

It wasn’t simply for the way other people would accept her that she needed to overcome this daunting beast, no. It was also, and especially, for herself.

"I... I won't lose to you!" Kamui managed to roar with a conviction that was born from deep within herself -- deeper than where the beast could reach. She felt as though there was a light shining from her depths towards her voice, giving it power and strength. "THIS IS MY BODY, AND I’LL CONTROL IT AS I WILL," she huffed, sitting up on the bed as though she could look at the beast's eyes while she stared at an empty wall. "You won't terrorize me; you won't seize control of me... I WON'T LET YOU."

Then, there was silence.

The growling had grown quieter and quieter until it disappeared completely, though her right arm still itched somewhat.

Huffing, Kamui looked around as if she would be able to physically see the shadow that terrorized her life for so long, though she understandably saw nothing but the empty room all around her. She felt a smile itching at the corners of her lips while her heart thumped triumphantly. A win! She had managed to suppress the beast by sheer will!

Kamui wasn’t naïve enough to think that it would never come back -- or that she would be able to escape this immediate itch, in fact -- but being able to silence it so surely like just now was something she didn’t think she would be able to accomplish. Not after Stockarres.

Breathing deeply, the dame stretched herself before falling back on the mattress, keenly aware of the softness of the pillows and the blankets she had wrapped all around herself.

May sleep be kind to her tonight.

Dawn welcomed Kamui after the dame slept barely three hours, though she was much too anxious about her meeting with the King to truly feel the exhaustion that surely would seep into her energy later. Kamui allowed Jakob his entrance by the dresser, already wearing her uniform.

“Good morn-” Jakob opened his mouth to greet, but Kamui interrupted him without even taking her eyes away from the mirror.

“Do you know how to do a braid, Jakob?” She groaned, taking her hands away from her hair lest she cut it all up in frustration -- she had managed to make short work of the naturally wavy locks by twisting and turning them so much they barely resembled their usual look.

The dame had to find a way to replicate the hairdo Clara used to make for her -- the one in which part of her hair would be rolled into a braid around her head so as to hide her pointy ears from view. She wouldn’t be able to wear a coiffe to completely take any chances of someone figuring out that her hairdo was deliberately hiding her ears, but she didn’t feel safe enough to display them in King Garon’s presence.

Jakob smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as though tasting something foul, walking towards his lady with an impeccable poise. “My lady, if only you’d look at how I style my hair every day…” He positioned himself behind Kamui so she could see his reflection on her mirror -- once she did, she widened both her eyes and her smile.

“Wonderful! Oh, Jakob, could you please style my hair in a way that hides my ears with a braid? I never did anything more complicated than a ponytail by myself, so I didn’t know what I could do!” She clasped her hands excitedly, adjusting herself further into the chair so as to throw her hair in place for Jakob to work on it.

Sighing, the butler glanced at the hot pot of tea that would surely grow cold by the time he finished styling Kamui’s hair. “Perhaps after breakfast, yes? Your meal will run cold…”

“Please, Jakob! I’m so nervous about it, I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach anything unless I am absolutely sure the hairdo will be good enough. Probably not even after it, if I’m being honest…” She muttered the last part, fiddling with a random lock of hair that had survived the onslaught.

“Hahh, very well, milady. I shall do as you asked.” Jakob unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt, rolling his sleeves up right after. “How would you want it styled, apart from the braid? Entirely up, half-down…?”

“Honestly, as long as the braid covers the ears, I don’t care about the style; you’re free to do whatever you want with it.” She flashed an apologetic smile, scratching her cheek as though she hadn’t actually thought about anything past the braid. Which was true, of course, but she had been so focused on trying to hide her ears that there was hardly any room for other thoughts in her mind.

Once again the butler sighed, reaching for the hair brush and clips scattered all over the dresser -- which displayed Kamui’s dozens of attempts at trying to replicate the style -- before he grabbed Kamui’s head, making her look straight ahead. “Very well, milady. I shall exceed your expectations.”

Disentangling the mess Kamui had made on her own hair took longer than either of them expected. However, the butler managed to come up with an intricate yet quick to braid hairdo: starting from either side of her hair, he made two thick braids that would lay over the pointy bit of her ears, joining them together behind her head into a layered lattice look.

“Although milady is wearing your uniform to meet the King, at least your hair should be presentable.” Jakob said with a proud puff of his chest, though added in a small voice: “Especially after the mess you have made before…”

“Ahem,” Kamui cleared her throat as she enjoyed the now cold tea, unbothered by its temperature now that her hair was safely done. She would sometimes sneak glances at her reflection in the mirror -- Jakob had managed to make her look jovial and upbeat: and that was before she even put on any resemblant of make-up! Honestly, she looked so cute she even wanted to put on make-up to complete the entire set.

She would apply only a light color on her face, however. The dame wanted to look presentable before the King, yes, but she also didn’t want him to pay too much attention to her. She would be armed -- as all Knights were allowed to, though not if they were to be within a three meter radius from the King -- so that would be one less problem should things go south-

“No, no, no,” Kamui shook her head so as to shoo away the pessimistic thoughts, conscious of how her beautiful braids followed its movements. “It’ll be alright, it’ll be alright.” She muttered to herself, as if unaware that Jakob was standing in wait right in front of her. Taking a deep breath, the dame puffed her chest, psyching herself up for the upcoming challenge.

However, she would only meet the King at noon, so she would still report to her Lord as usual during the morning. Which was honestly her solace for the moment -- to dig into her duties so as to ground herself more into the impact of her choice and how much she had at stake to slip up when meeting the King who had ordered her hunt so many years ago.

Kamui would succeed.

Like when she trained herself to half-death, she would put all of what she was into following through her own goals.

It was just that, now, that goal gnawed at the pit of her stomach, urging her to get ready to put her own head inside a lion’s open jaws.

Although it took Jakob quite a while to finish her braids, since Kamui didn’t need any more preparation apart from a light make-up, she arrived at her Lord’s common meeting room at the usual time, greeting him with the same respect as she always did.

“Dame Kamui greets His Highness the Crown Prince,” she bowed gracefully after closing the door, somewhat already ingraining the noble curtsy into her from early morning instead of only turning it on during the meeting with King Garon. Her more elegant actions coupled with her girly hairstyle and features made both men take a second too long to reply to her greetings.

Richard switched the weight of his body to another leg, glancing at his Lord when Xander made a gesture for his older retainer to bring something out. Sighing inwardly, the tall man turned to the side to pick up a package -- there was something soft wrapped inside a high-quality, green brocade cloth -- which he promptly handed his Lord.

“You may rise, dame Kamui.” Xander allowed Kamui to straighten her back at the same time he got up from his desk, circling it with his characteristic elegant steps. With a glance at his new retainer, Xander could see how she had chosen her own way to dress herself to this, so to say, battle.

And it was a battle in and of itself, to meet the King under his summons -- of that Xander was painfully aware.

He could see how Kamui’s usually slit-like eyes were covered with round irises; how her noble poise slipped instead of a knightly reverence; how her back was more erect than usual -- and how her breathing was uneven even after such a short walk from her quarters to this common meeting room.

Xander spoke, “it is no simple task, the one you will be fulfilling this afternoon, Kamui.” He stopped in front of Richard, swiftly undoing the golden knot that held the ornate package, not paying any mind as the green cloth slipped open to reveal a deep violet cloak from within. “Yet it is a burden that you shall bear for as long as you are in my service,” the Crown prince stepped away from Richard, holding the cloak in his hands as he approached Kamui. “This simply holds a symbolic meaning, however it would please me greatly if you would wear this when it is time to meet my father, the King.”

Wide-eyed, Kamui watched as Xander flapped the cloak open, twirling it behind her back as he closed the well adorned clasp on her chest -- the weight of the fabric as it slowly fell over her body somehow made Kamui remember the dance they shared; it made her feel as though she were still within Prince Xander’s arms… and it made her feel safe. The golden straps which adorned her chest, right above her heart, conjoined into a brooch with the Crown Prince’s symbol: a shield in front of two crossed blades with the symbol of Nohr etched right into its middle. At the back, there was a larger one of such symbols beautifully embroidered in a way that would unmistakingly tell anyone who saw her from afar that Kamui was under the Crown Prince’s protection.

It was Xander’s way of telling Kamui that, although he wouldn’t be there with her physically, he would still be showing her his entire support through his symbol.

“My Father is a very intimidating man -- as is his duty as the King.” Xander exhaled softly as he patted Kamui’s shoulder after making sure he had properly clasped the cloak together. “This is a task you must complete on your own -- what I can do for you at this moment is to bestow my seal upon you so you can face him proudly, under my name.” He nodded, taking a step back to allow Kamui a look around herself.

Overwhelmed with the support, Kamui’s eyes burned with tears, though she managed to stop her trembling chin as she held the cloak with both hands, twirling around herself to take a look and sigh in wonder as the heavy fabric followed her movements and sprawled itself way farther than any dress she had ever worn.

Richard snorted, though it went unnoticed by the other two, wondering if his Lord had overestimated Kamui’s height. “It’s really eye-catching, so only wear it in official events from now on, yes? I avoid using mine as much as I can, so I don’t want to be seen with you while you wear this corny thing.”

“Corny?” Kamui repeated, not noticing how she smiled brightly, looking down on her shiny new cloak and twirling around herself once more as Xander turned to his older retainer to glare at him.

“I never kept this from you, my lord.” Richard raised his palms in self-defense, smirking as Xander sighed and leaned on the desk.

“It is filled with my sincere thoughts, Richard. It is not… ‘corny’.” He grumbled, crossing his arms as he directed his gaze to the glistering Kamui.

Before the black-haired man could reply, Kamui raised her shiny, round eyes to Xander. “I think so too, Lord Xander. It’s a wonderful gift! I’m humbled.” She bowed deeply without ever letting go of the cloak, making her look much smaller than she actually was. “I shall hold onto this with all the care it deserves.”

Xander’s frown lessened, making way to a soft smile as he nodded to Kamui’s statement, not even feeling like pointing to Richard and telling him to learn from his new partner. He simply watched the giggly Kamui pull the cloak this or that way while she walked around the room towards her usual seat, meeting her glistering gaze more than once during the way. Her smile brightened more each time their eyes met, the beams of warmth from her pure glee kept Xander  in place, as though he wanted to keep on being the recipient of her smiles.

Once Kamui sat down, coincidentally right beside where Richard was standing, the older retainer poked his partner. “You’re wearing it now? I’m sure my Lord simply put it on you as a formality. You should take it off and only put it back on when it’s time to go.”

The dame resolutely shook her head. “No, I want to keep wearing it. Its meaning wasn’t lost on me, unlike on some people.” She bonked her head on Richard’s arm, snorting as he sighed to leave her side. “It’ll give me the strength I need,” Kamui murmured to herself, though not realizing she was still under Xander’s gaze.

Unable to stop smiling, Xander closed his eyes as though to etch this image into his mind before moving away from his spot, circling back to behind his desk so they could start their usual work for the day.

Fortunately or not, the morning passed by faster than usual -- perhaps because Kamui had been so absorbed into her duties so as to forget the passing of time that she was stunned over how well that worked. Once she gave her Lord her final bow before leaving, she could barely make out the surroundings around her due to the dizziness she got from how loud her heart was thumping.

Her steps echoed in her own ears as though they belonged to someone else while her hands dug into the cloak that danced behind her fast pace. Kamui absent-mindedly tapped onto the brooch with Xander’s seal, feeling it with the tips of her fingers as though to keep herself grounded in reality -- that served to help her stop her mind to wander into the darkest corners of her being.

The dame could barely remember what she had rehearsed she would say to the King once she was before him, her mind taking all it had to simply keep her on her feet. Kamui would glance upon her reflection whenever she passed a silver decorative armor that adorned the corridors, making sure that her ears were properly hidden, or open her arms that held the cloak so as to allow the wind to make it flap behind her in a somewhat playful manner, surprising even herself whenever a giggle was born under such circumstances.

As she arrived at Krakenburg’s common area, the air itself felt heavier to breathe, as though there was a thick layer of pressure hanging on its inhabitants’ shoulders. It was in the corridor that led to the throne room that Kamui met her brother.

“Silas!” She called out with a squeaking voice, not wanting to raise it too loudly right outside the place into which the pressure seemed to spiral out of and converge into.

“Kamui!” Silas replied in an equally squeaky voice, running to meet his sister halfway, his steps as fidgety as hers. Huffing, the siblings wordlessly looked at one another, as though trying to check if their appearance was somewhat off to meet with the most powerful man in the kingdom. “That’s a new cloak, isn’t it?” He commented, looking over Kamui’s shoulder with a discerning eye.

Somewhat shy, Kamui spun around herself to show off her Lord’s present. “Lord Xander gave it to me, as his support.” She pressed her lips to hold back a smile, her cheeks lightly flushing with the memory of Xander putting the cloak on her. “I hope that His Majesty’s eyes will fall on it instead of, well…” The dame bobbed her heads to the side, afraid to even talk aloud about her physical appearance.

“Y-yes,” Silas nodded nervously, glancing from his sister to the massive door that led to the throne room. “I’ve just arrived, so I don’t know when someone will call for us or anything.”

There were two silent guards right in front of the doors, though Kamui didn’t dare to call out to them. The both of them would wait until they were summoned inside; there was no need to urge the King to meet them, nor to annoy him into thinking that they were impatient subjects who deserved punishment.

She would get in, present herself and get out. Simple.

Kamui took a deep breath, walking a few steps until she was completely in front of the door, being followed by her uneasy brother.

Simple.

Long moments turned into long minutes that, in turn, spiralled into a very stretched out hour. Yet, the siblings didn’t so much as glance the guards’ way, patiently waiting in front of the room with their eyes fixated on the door. Their insides were already overheating from how nervously they were digesting the situation that a simple cough from a passing maid was enough to startle them out of their skins.

Kamui felt like she had been holding her breath for one entire hour; so when the massive doors creaked open, she was surprised to notice that she could inhale even more air to keep in there, making her even dizzier. If Kamui had had any brainpower to spare to think about it, she would be surprised to think that the beast kept itself obediently quiet while they waited (since it usually disturbed her whenever she was anxious), but she was already having trouble on remembering how to breathe, let alone how to think.

In the wake of the eerie wind that blew once the doors were fully open, a familiar-looking man called after two burly guards had heaved the doors open.

“Lantanoir siblings. You may enter and place yourselves before His Majesty.” His face was blurry -- and Kamui couldn’t tell if it was from her dizziness or from the swirling atmosphere that got thicker and thicker the further she stepped into the room -- but the dame could somehow remember his voice. He was the Marshal of the Court, Lord Abbington.

The Marshal spoke to them in a low voice as they walked through the long hall towards the middle, circular point over which the staircase to the throne led. He explained the common etiquette that one should bear when greeting the King, though all of his advices were mostly common knowledge, especially to the two Royal Retainers who had had that sort of knowledge beaten into them during the first weeks of their service.

Once they got close enough to the place they should kneel at, Lord Abbington stepped to the side, scurrying closer to a column as he raised his voice. “Presenting the Lantanoir siblings, personal retainers chosen by Crown Prince Xander and Youngest Princess Elise.”

Kamui threw her cloak back so as to allow herself to kneel more comfortably, unfastening her sword out of her belt to place it on the right side of her body, as the etiquette called. Since she was right-handed, placing her weapon on the right side of her body would make it difficult for her to grasp it were a battle to break out -- it was a way of showing respect to the higher authority as well as to imply that her life was at his hands should anything happen. Silas did the same two steps away from her, giving them both proper space to place their weapons away from one another’s touch.

“Dame Lantanoir greets His Majesty, the Sword that defends our Kingdom.” She lowered her head, overly conscious of how her braids moved behind her back.

“Sir Lantanoir greets His Majesty, the Sword that defends our Kingdom.” Silas said at the same time as his sister, their voices in a somehow unison as their silvery locks shone under the eerie green glow of the magical fire lit across the walls.

King Garon inhaled as though to welcome them, but no words left his mouth -- instead, it felt like a pressure hit the both of them with the intensity of a powerful gravitational magic, stemming from right above them.

“...!” Both siblings swallowed a groan of pain as the weight pressed itself on their shoulders and back, making their knees and necks cry out in discomfort.

Yet, amidst the pressure, Kamui could almost… hear something. Two somethings, perhaps? There was a vague sound of running water and… whispers. They were so soft she couldn’t make out any word of it, but it was like someone was mumbling something right above her head, at the same time she felt a pair of eyes stare holes at the back of her neck. She wanted to steal a glance at the stare, but her body was frozen under the pressure.

Had they been hit by a powerful binding magic? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? They could barely glance at each other as they felt the thick energy lick at their faces, preventing them from properly breathing.

“It’s the first time we meet, Lantanoir siblings. Isn’t this such a wonderful family reunion?” A voice that could only be described by the sound that someone makes when they scratch a blackboard made the siblings’ hairs stand on end. “Raise your heads, both of you.”

As though compelled to, the two of them felt their heads snap up, followed by their neck complaining in pain. Their eyes met a black-haired man’s single one. He wore layers of robes adorned with golden trinkets, a black and white mask covering half of his face as he wriggled his fingers in a motion that could only be taken as witchcraft. He was chanting something under his breath while his fingers moved to apply the magic, which both Kamui and Silas imagined was the reason why their bodies were suddenly so heavy and somehow out of their control.

“I am Iago, Royal Adviser to His Majesty the King.” He opened both arms amidst a half-baked bow, a somewhat lizard-like smile growing inside his thin, dry lips. “I shall keep this brief since His Majesty does not enjoy long talks: We have heard much of the… ah, little lady’s service under our Crown Prince. Especially that you had a direct hand at saving the Eldest Princess, Lady Camilla.”

Kamui’s throat was clogged up. She couldn’t speak.

Seeing that, Iago moved his index slightly to the side, making the pressure gnawing at her neck lessen, which allowed her to properly breathe.

Wide-eyed and out of breath, Kamui glanced at her brother (who was still unable to look away from Iago) before turning back to the Royal Advisor. Now she understood why Richard was so disgusted by the simple mention of the man’s name. “I am merely the Crown Prince’s weapon.” She lowered her head once again, unable to even look upon the snake-like man. “I simply did my duty.”

Iago opened his mouth with a smirk, but was cut off by the explosive voice of the man that had been silent until now. A man that had been as tall as, if not taller than, Xander in his youth.

A man whose pitch-black armor somehow made it impossible for anyone who gazed at their own reflections in it to walk away the same. His black and white beard along with the wrinkled face tried to display the years that weighted down on him, yet the sound of his titaneous voice made all present shake within their very souls just the same as it had been in the past.

“It’s no small feat, little girl, to save the life of a royal.” Garon rested his head on one hand, not moving away from the throne despite the presence he exuded making Kamui think he had gotten up. His voice shook something inside Kamui’s very being -- it felt akin to when the beast would poke at her consciousness and bring forth all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. It was as though she was actually hearing the beast’s voice, which shook her tremendously.

Up until then, Kamui had only, well, imagined that the beast had a voice. She did hear roars and growls every now and then, but any articulate wording it might’ve had, they all came from Kamui’s own head. It was an unconscious way to make sense of the beast’s inarticulate noises so as to place herself somewhere that was removed from properly admitting that she had a... feral side deep within her. Something that wasn’t truly herself that shared her body and mind.

But when the King spoke, Kamui could feel her entire body shake with terror, as though she had been injected with freezing water that reached all the way into her very heart. Unbeknownst to her, Kamui raised her trembling gaze to him, somehow catching a glimpse of the bizarre, round statue that lay right above her head, on the ceiling.

Under the gaze of both statue and King, Kamui could only gulp in wait for his next words, gripping at her cloak to stop herself from shaking so terribly.

“Though, as you said before, it was your duty, so I shan’t concede you a reward.” Garon shrugged as though enjoying how Kamui looked like a frightened kitten drapped into his eldest son’s rags. “I will keep close watch on you from now on, Dame Lantanoir.” His voice slithered slowly, descending down the steps towards Kamui, wrapping itself around her neck and whispering into her ear: “I shall wait what other feats you will show us.”

US? Kamui couldn’t help but think amidst her despair, her body so cold it was a wonder she was still considered amongst the number of the living. Her lips trembling, it took the dame three moments too long to shakily lower her head. “I-it will be my utmost pleasure to serve, Your Majesty,” she managed to croak out in a barely audible voice.

It served to both Garon and Iago’s amusement, as both of them chuckled with the little rodent’s soft words.

“And you,” Garon turned to Silas, whose lower lip was almost bleeding from how fiercely he dug his teeth into it. Startled, the young knight felt King Garon’s voice grasp at his chin, forcing his face to turn to him as though he was using his own hand. “Try to make a better job at serving Elise than her previous retainer. Though it will be amusing to watch how long you’ll last.” He sneered as though finding the death of Princess Elise’s previous retainer a passing topic one discussed over tea.

With a simple gesture of his chin, Garon ended the meeting.

“You are dismissed.” Iago waved for the two of them to leave, the pressure above their shoulders suddenly lifting. “I shall see you around the halls,” he smiled wickedly, licking his dry lips as the two retainers gave their silent bows, collected their weapons and turned to leave.

Kamui’s legs were shaking so badly she almost tripped twice, ultimately falling on her knees the moment the large doors to the throne room closed behind them. Silas flopped on the floor beside his sister, their faces so pale they could’ve been mistaken by ghosts weren’t their breathing so aggravated.

The two guards in front of the throne room said nothing, well used to this kind of sight whenever someone new or old came out of there. Only Crown Prince Xander, First Princess Camilla and Iago, the Royal Adviser managed to leave that room with their heads held high, as though unbothered by the filthy atmosphere that surrounded it.

It took Kamui many minutes to stop her trembling, though when she thought she would have full control of her body, she started retching and was unable to stop the urge to throw up, staining the carpet right in front of her in a disgraceful manner. “G-gods, I-I’m so sorry, I, ughh…” she tried to look up to the guards behind her and properly apologize, but another wave was coming, making her throw up transparent liquid.

“K-Kamui-” It took everything Silas had not to follow suit, one of his hands dutifully stretched to pat his sister’s back as he covered his nose with the other one so as not to inhale the stench of the vomit, his own body curving into a retch as well.

“Agh, gods- hahh, hahh…” Kamui breathed heavily, throwing herself on her behind to pull her head back, squeezing her eyes so as not to look at the huge door she just vomited in front of. Conscious of her cloak, Kamui wrapped herself around it as she drew large breaths, not wanting it to touch the mess she had just made. “We need,” she huffed, feeling as though her senses started to return to her, “we need to get out of here! S-Silas-”

“Y-yes, yes, let’s go-” Silas nodded, though his legs were still limp on the floor. His body was turned to Kamui as he tried to support himself with his elbows to look up at her. “C’mon, hold my hand-” he tried to lift it for her to hold, but when she did, it collapsed on the floor with a soft thud.

“Let’s go, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Kamui muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes close and stretching them open, getting a proper view of the world after a few tries. She dared to get up, feeling more like a newborn fawn than a human being, though was still able to hold her own weight. “Silasss!” She pulled his hand with the most difficulty she had ever felt in her life -- it was as though all of her strength had been left inside the throne room, either forgotten or taken hostage until she had brought back her mental fortitude.

His body heavy, Silas leaned on Kamui’s shoulder as the two of them limped back to Strömborg without ever looking back. 

The cold air of the outside managed to wake them up in some manner until they could finally separate and walk on their own. They staggered once they reached the familiar walls, sitting on the dead grass between everywhere and nowhere, their heads still spinning.

Kamui felt terrible for throwing up on the carpet like that, feeling that she should come back there to warn someone or maybe ask for a broom or something so she could clean it herself, but her body… It didn’t listen to her as it trembled still. The afternoon air, although not as cold as when dusk fell, was still cold to their lungs and invigorating to their bodies.

The dame hadn’t needed to worry about the stains, honestly, since that was basically a daily occurrence at that part of the castle. Many weak-hearted people fainted or foamed at the mouth or even peed themselves; so vomiting was the least of it -- leastwise the most common.

Still, that shame would follow Kamui for the rest of her life -- she was so embarrassed she didn’t even have the face to go back to her Lord’s office to report that the mission had been a success. Had it, really? Probably? She barely remembered what had happened there, honestly.

The only thing that set all alarms inside her head were the eerie presence she felt staring down at her neck and the passing whispers that left as soon as she made out a word of understanding -- all of it surrounded her in place, as though wanting her to stay that way for the rest of her days.

Shivering, Kamui held herself under the cloak, trying to keep the vivid memories away lest she was sucked back in there. Her head was operating at its minimum capacity, somehow having fried itself to simply bring Kamui back to Strömborg; if she thought too hard about anything, she’d most certainly pass out.

Beside her, Silas was sitting on the grass while breathing heavily, the toll still greatly apparent on him. Taking in a shaky breath, Kamui managed to put herself on her feet once again, hugging the cloak for comfort more than anything, despite it weighing much more than she could bear at the moment.

“I’m going back to my room to put this away,” she declared in an unfirm voice, each step she took depleting her already low energy. “Then I’ll go back to Lord Xander.”

“K-Kamui, don’t force yourself, ugh…” Silas bent forward, breathing through his hands. “I’m sure the Crown Prince would understand-”

“He would. But-” she huffed, each breath refreshing her further, “but I won’t. I need to- to get used to this.”

Having said that, she left under heavy steps; leaving a panting Silas to bring himself back together.

Kamui miscalculated how much strength she would need to go up the apparently endless flight of stairs to her quarters, so when she arrived, she crumpled on the floor in exhaustion. Breathing heavily, the dame took off the cloak, using the most of her arm to throw it on the bed as she lay on the floor beside it.

She had stopped thinking at that point, so all she could do was simply follow through the motions of the actions she had imprinted on her mind before reaching her quarters: she washed her face and her mouth with the cold water always at the ready on the silver basin, then trudged to the bed to fold the cloak as neatly as she could at the moment. She then placed it atop her emergency bag, taking upon herself to bring the cloak with her whenever she went.

Surprisingly, the more she moved, the more strength returned to her, although bit by bit. Taking a quick breath, the dame braced herself to the trek down the stairs as well as the entire way toward her Lord’s common meeting room.

 Once she stood outside the door, Kamui’s head was much clearer. She could feel her whole body and, honestly, apart from the shame of the embarrassing act in front of the door, she felt mostly fine.

Kamui took yet another deep breath before using her personal set of knocks to let her Lord know it was her who requested entry.

Xander’s voice from inside sounded confused and alarmed. “Kamui?”

“Dame Kamui greets the Crown Prince,” she said in a steely tone after entering, bowing not as a noble but as a knight who had completed their duty.

“I am surprised to see you here, Dame Kamui. Approach.” Xander gestured for the dame to come closer, to which she obeyed. “Have you succeeded?”

“You’re pale. Were you not able to meet the King?” Richard asked before she could reply, though Kamui kept her head down.

“I-I was able to meet His Majesty, yes. Should I not have returned?” She fidgeted, glad that the pressure from the Crown Prince’s eyes wasn’t sickening as the one that came from his father.

“Most who meet my Father for the first time do not have the means to return so quickly.” Xander said simply, though Kamui could deeply understand the underlying meaning of his words. It was harsh, it was hard, it was daunting, to meet the King and be the same person right away. Kamui herself had wanted to curl up to a ball and never leave her room just a few minutes previous, but she managed to persevere. Looking at the worried glint in her eyes, Xander opened his mouth yet again. “Did something happen back there?”

Flinching, the dame lowered her head even more, a flush of color running through her face to display her shame. “I-I am ashamed.”

“Out with it, girl.” Richard urged, eager to know if he could use whatever she was going to say as teasing or blackmail material.

“I-” she squeezed her eyes as she fought with the lump in her throat. “Ithrewuponthecarpet!” She bowed deeply. “I’m really sorry, I feel so, so-”

“Before or after you entered?!” Richard slapped back immediately during the time it took for Xander to blink in surprise.

“A-after…” Kamui squeaked out in response, too embarrassed to lift her head to meet either her Lord’s or her partner’s gaze. Richard deliberately snorted loudly, though cleared his throat to show all present that he was controlling himself so as not to burst in laughter.

Honestly, Kamui would have smiled at his open distaste of her as usual, but since it was something that dug into her ego so deeply, she only squeezed her eyes in shame.

“Kamui, come here.” Xander’s voice snapped the dame out of her spiral of self-apprehension, making her immediately look up at him. He gestured for her to circle his desk and stand beside his chair. “Allow me to tell you a secret…”

“I can hear you.” Richard cleared his throat, somehow knowing what the so-called secret entailed.

Xander’s smirk simply grew as he whispered: “The first time Richard entered, he was unable to serve for two days.”

“I was a young boy, not a grown woman.” The Royal Retainer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. This was a sore subject to him too, it seemed.

“He was seventeen.” Xander said as he looked straight at Richard’s eyes before looking back to Kamui. “Do not worry about what happened. Just do not allow that to happen again. Strengthen yourself; train your mind just as you do your body.”

Daring to poke a smile at the corners of her lips, Kamui nodded under her Lord’s comforting words. It was also a relief to know that her apparently unshakable partner had an unsavory past he put behind him -- it gave her the means to pave her own path in his likeness so she, too, could serve Xander with the confidence befitting her station.

For now, however, she was still left with a bit of shame and the drive to better herself so as not to allow that to ever happen again. 

[genomynt]

A birthday fic for Cosette!! 😳👉🏻👈🏻

Reiju stretched from her soft fleece pink sheets and yawned. It was six in the morning and the following day on her calendar was marked red.

“Oh my,” she blinked. It is Cosette’s birthday.

She is known for being strict, yet a thoughtful Princess to her subordinates unlike her brothers. Reiju loves being casual when she’s alone with them and likes having a small talk when she would make rounds to the staff and chat with them. It seems everything is fine when Reiju is around; they could forgot for a moment how brute and abrasive the Vinsmoke family is when she is hiding her pretentious angelic behavior from them.

The morning starts the usual. Breakfast is served at seven and it was Cosette’s time to serve their meals on the tables. She meekly stood by the corner as she watches them enjoying her dishes that she worked her blood and sweat so early in the morning. Cosette could hear the Vinsmokes talking about their missions and their current agenda to work on with their mouths full or crumbs on her face; well, except for the first two children.

Cosette is one of the employees that Reiju has been observing since Niji’s abrupt and unacceptable behavior to her. Cosette is a fragile woman these days, and she is needs to be monitored often by their doctors. She had fractures from different parts of her body; including the most important part: Her hands. She is healing, but not as fast like them since she is indeed just a normal human being.

Cosette later heads to the kitchen with a tin cart of the used place in her hands for her convenience and opens the huge door. The heat from the steams of pots and cobblers blew on her face as the cling-clanging of the pans against the stove rang her ears. She heads to the sink to prepares washing the dishes when she noticed a small paper under Reiju’s teacup.

A few minutes later, she waited for them to finish as she collects their gold-engraved porcelain platters. She noticed that the princes’ plates did left some untouched food. She sighed from the looks of it; maybe she should start giving them with fewer servings? That would save a lot of money and food on their stocks. Among the plates she had gathered, Reiju had the cleanest one. She left her plates stocked and her teacup placed upside down and her utensils at the top on the plates. She really admires her sincerity.

She blinked at the note and kept on her pocket. What could miss Reiju want at this time of hour? She never remembered Reiju asking for a midnight snack. She is informed that her mistress always sleep at the right hours and follows a healthy sleeping routine.

Cosette was still in her uniform, but her hair was untied. She did not have the time to fix herself since she was a too sleepy to groom herself. She walks down the dark halls of the castle with a small lamp on her hand.

Kitchen. 1 AM. Don’t be late. –R

She made a few knocks before she enters the kitchen, “Your highness?” she narrowed her eyes at the faint light from the kitchen counter.

“Happy Birthday, Cosette!” Reiju smiled as the candles on the cake beamed her flawless face.

“M-Milady! I…” Cosette was out of words as she approaches the excited princess by the counter. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, this is nothing!” Reiju flips her hand, “I actually asked a favor from your sous-chef to let me borrow your kitchen for your birthday and made you these.” She proudly showed the soft sponge Red Velvet cake with gold candy drops for decoration on each swirl of icing. There was a bottle of red wine and two plates of Chicken Alfredo Pasta.

“I hope you’ll love them,” Reiju tried to avert her eyes from Cosette. “I actually read this recipe I borrowed from one of the chefs. It’s—it’s not presentable, I know.” She bit her lips and lowers her head. Cosette never saw the Princess being embarrassed like this before. She was surprised that she is still wearing a dirtied apron, and she could tell that she worked so hard for it.

“Ooh, I-I love it Miss Reiju!” she stammered. Her face flushed into a light shade of pink, “I’m so happy, your highness. You really made my day special.”

“No formalities for tonight, Cosette. You may call me Reiju,” she smiled at her. “Here, taste it,” she rolls a few pastas on the fork to feed the bewildered Cosette. She was hesitant to open her mouth for a moment, “Taste it!” she repeated as Cosette finally tucks her locks of hair before opening her mouth.

Reiju really put an effort on her dish; she chooses the right spices, the creaminess of the sauce is balanced with saltiness and sweetness. The texture of the chicken on her tongue is juicy and well cooked. The pasta was soft and were smooth in her mouth.

“Mmm,” Cosette wipes the sauce on her lips with her finger, “It’s really good milady—I mean, Re-Reiju,” she stammered at her new calling to the Princess.

Niji cannot end his day without tasting a glass of scotch.

It was 1:30 in the morning and the halls were emptied from the wandering employees; there were no guards since they have surveillance cameras on every corners of their castle.

His steps were approaching the kitchen, but he halted when he heard someone talking— more like giggling. The door was slightly agape and there was a faint light inside. He slowly paced to the kitchen door and prepares to emit electricity from his hand when he heard his name from the other side of the door.

“… to apologize for Niji’s unruly behavior from you. I promise it won’t happen again and, I also understand if you want to resign,” the voice sounded familiar.

“Oh, Reiju.”

So it was his sister.

“I- I can’t totally blame him from what happened. But I really do fear him as much as I pity him,” the voice changed into a soft, yet a slightly higher pitch. Niji knew he had heard this voice somewhere. It came from a pleading wench, but this time, it was calm and reassuring.

Who the hell would pity a Vinsmoke? Why should they be pitied for their advancements and their tremendous prowess in science and technology? His jaw clenched and fisted from the insult. He was ready to interrupt the conversation.

“What I know is that your brothers didn’t deserve to be monsters in the first place as to what they are now,” the voice added. “They were modified without your mother’s consent as what you have told me.”

Surprisingly, Niji was calmed from the statement. He chewed on his lips and leans on the cold walls of the hall and crossed her arms to listen at the rest of the story.

“Don’t worry Reiju, I won’t resign. I’d be putting myself on the line to serve you with the best of what I can.”

No formalities? The audacity. He glanced a peek to know who was talking.

“I’m so glad to have you here, Cosette.” Niji saw his sister hugging another woman. “Happy birthday, dear Cosette!”

“Ah,” Niji uncrossed his arms and sighed, “It’s the cooking wench’s birthday today.” He turned back and decided to skip a night without his scotch.

[dakotacrisis]

For Better or Worse (3)

Adrien.exe is applying updates. Do not ask hard to answer questions or flirt with the sunshine child at this time.

---

The rest of Adrien’s car ride home was spent with his face buried in the neck of his sweater blushing like a mad fool.

It was really starting to sink in. Adrien had just told Marinette he wanted to date her. He wants to be her boyfriend and have a real, romantic, relationship with her. He wanted her. Wanted to be with her in a way he had only ever thought he’d want with Ladybug.

Ladybug.

Ladybug didn’t love him the way he loved her. No matter how much he convinced himself that there had to be something there. Staring at the pictures of kisses he didn’t remember and telling himself that she had to feel just something. Maybe there was something there. Maybe she could return his love. Maybe things with Marinette aren’t meant to be forever and Adrien and Ladybug do get that fantasy life in his head.

But that wasn’t what was happening now. Ladybug was still a faraway dream and he’d always have a place in his heart for her no matter what. But Ladybug was no Marinette. She was a superhero and a good friend and the object of his affections for nearly a year. Marinette wasn’t a magical hero swinging around the city defeating evil but she was a heroine in her own right. To list all Marinette had done for others would take long hours of interviewing every citizen of Paris she had ever come in contact with.

Marinette was always helping others. Marinette was super passionate and a hard worker. Marinette was talented yet humble. Marinette was the kind of person that could rip her enemy to shreds in the sweetest and most graceful way possible. Marinette was scary clever. Marinette was lots of fun. Marinette was a dork. Marinette stumbled over telling jokes as well as her own two feet. Marinette was tardy to events. Marinette loses the ability to pronounce words correctly when she’s caught off guard. Marinette was hot-headed. Marinette jumped to conclusions.

Marinette

Marinette

Marinette

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was beautiful. From the ends of her pitch black hair to the tips of her toes. Whenever she was super focused her tongue stuck out. Her nose did a little scrunchie thing when she was trying not to laugh. Her hands were so soft and warm.

He recalled the hesitant goodbye kiss he had given her when he dropped her off at home. The smell of the bakery clinging to her even after their walk.

He’d have to tell Ladybug about this which he wasn’t looking forward to for a whole mess of reasons. He was excited about this new relationship and where it may go but it was also surreal to just let go of his long standing crush and efforts to woo Ladybug. It wasn’t exactly like she didn’t know about his feelings either. If he stopped altogether with no explanation she might get suspicious. Or not. He had no idea how she would react.

Why was he worrying so much about it in the first place? She’d probably be happy for him for taking this step and finding someone he wants to be with. She was great like that.

After getting into the house Adrien slumped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Marinette is his girlfriend. A week ago she had just been a cute friend in his class. Now they were dating.

“Gotta say, kid,” Plagg floated by his head, “I didn’t think you had it in you. Great work scoring the baker’s daughter though. Can you say all the free cheese pastries we could eat or what!”

Adrien laughed. “Is that all that excites you about me deciding to date Marinette?”

“Adrien, trust me, nothing could make me happier.” Plagg flew into his cheese cupboard, “Except maybe my delicious camembert.”

“Eat up now cause after I finish my homework we need to head out for patrol tonight.”

“You gonna tell Ladybug about your new girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I should say something but I also really don’t want to have that conversation tonight. It was already an emotional talk with Marinette and to have another heart to heart with Ladybug? I don’t think I could handle it.”

“No one’s asking you to wax poetic. Just tell Ladybug you have a girlfriend so you won’t be constantly trying to woo her anymore. Simple as that.”

“You are giving me the same advice you did before I went to talk to Marinette.”

“I’m just saying you could have killed a lot of time by being straight to the point.”

“I don’t think Marinette would want to date me if I told her that I only wanted to be with her so I could have free cookies.”

“And cakes and pies and eclairs and brownies--”

“Plagg, please stop before you make me hungry.”

“Also, I didn’t say to date her just because she’s a baker’s daughter. I told you to date her because you’re happier with her around and from what I gathered she’s happier when you’re around too.”

Adrien stared down at his math homework with uncomprehending eyes. His brain was so frazzled from the past couple of hours that it was impossible to focus.

“Plagg, transform me.” Adrien transformed into Chat Noir and leapt out of his window into the night. It was still early so he didn’t need to meet Ladybug for patrol yet.

Being Chat Noir had always been the ultimate escape for Adrien. It was a time to unwind and be impulsive. Running along the rooftops especially had done a lot for clearing his head. It was not a rare sight to see Chat Noir bounding across the Paris skyline at two in the morning because of it.

Maybe if he ran fast enough all these complicated feelings and worries would fall away behind him.

“Incoming!” The shout stopped Adrien dead in his tracks.

Ladybug was gracefully falling from the sky and landed perfectly not a foot in front of him. “Hey Chat. Ready for patrol?”

“Always.” he relaxed a bit. “Shall we get started?”

“Let’s go.” they leapt off into the night.

It started out as normal a patrol as you could get. Leaping across buildings, checking alleyways, waving to citizens, and escorting someone home who doesn’t feel safe walking by themselves at night. Through it all though Adrien kept stealing glances at Ladybug and trying to formulate a lead in to what he wanted to tell her.

Why was he being so weird about this? He needed to spit it out already! What is the worst that could happen?

“Chat Noir?” Ladybug interrupted his thoughts. She was watching him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Are you alright? You’ve barely said anything all patrol.”

“I’m fine. Good. Great even. If not a little mentally exhausted.” Adrien sighed, “I had an...interesting day.”

“Anything you need help with?” Ladybug asked, “I may not have any advice but talking about it could clear your head.”

“I uh...the things is...I was out with this person and…” All his words seemed to leave him. He didn’t want to do this tonight but the sooner he did it the sooner it would be over with.

“Geez,” Ladybug gave him a comforting smile, “You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof. What exactly did this person say to you?”

“She said she wanted to date me.” he mumbled. That familiar warmth spreading in his chest as he thought back to him and Marinette walking along the Seine.

“Oh…” Ladybug rocked back on her heels, “And how did this old tom cat respond to this confession?”

“No tom cat here, milady. I am a perfect gentleman at all times.” He slouched against the roof railing, “But I can say that it was a rather precarious conversation that ensued. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or give her false hope but I also wanted to think about what she said on my own. After that and another long talk with her I decided--we decided to, y’know, date.”

“Hmm,” Ladybug came to rest next to him. “Is it mean to say I never really saw you dating anyone?”

“Why?”

“Your constant flirting with me?”

“Ah, yes, that would do it.” Why did he have to have this conversation? “To be honest I had never thought of this girl in that way before but after she confessed I realized I sorta had a crush on her but was too enamoured with a certain lady to notice.”

“I see…”

“I’m not giving up on you or whatever but...how do I put this?” He ran his hands through his hair, “I feel like I’ve matured past my crush on you. It’s not to say that I don’t still care for you but I can see the line between us more clearly. And I know that I’ve had a problem of crossing that line in the past but not anymore. I value you too much to lose you.”

“Oh, chaton,” Ladybug flicked one of his cat ears, “I’m happy for you. If you found someone you like that much and who treats you well then I am proud of you. You have a big heart and deserve someone to share it with.”

Adrien breathed out in relief. “I knew you’d be happy for me but a part of me was almost kinda hoping that you’d drop into a dramatic act of declaring your love for me in a jealous stupor.”

“Oh yes, forgive me, just a moment,” she brought one of her hands up to her forehead in a dramatic pose, “Oh Chat Noir!” she spoke like a wounded soap opera star, “I can bear it no longer! My love for you is like a tsunami that cannot be contained a moment more.”

“My lady, how forward!” Adrien gasped in equal ridiculous fashion as Ladybug fainted into his waiting arms, “What can one say to such an unexpected confession?”

“Say that you’ll leave this unworthy maiden who has stolen your heart from me. For I am your one true lady!” she brought her other hand over her heart.

“Sorry Bugaboo, as tempting as running away with you may be, I really like this girl and I have no intention of screwing this chance up.”

She smiled softly at him. Ladybug righted herself so she was no longer draped in his arms. “You like her that much, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Then all I can say is that I hope things go well for you two. She’s a lucky girl.”

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one.” he thought back to Marinette and his heart warmed just thinking of her.

Ladybug gave him another warm look before wrapping him in her arms and squeezing him tightly. He hugged her back. Putting all the love for her into it as he could.

“Come on,” Adrien let go first, “let’s wrap up patrol so I can get home and maybe get some sleep tonight.”

“Unless Hawkmoth decides to send another late night akuma.” Ladybug groaned.

“Does that man ever sleep?” Adrien grumbled, “Probably some jerk that can work from home and take naps whenever he wants.”

Ladybug snorted, “Do you think he sleeps in a giant cocoon hanging from a tree?”

“The real reason we can’t ever find Hawkmoth is because he’s wrapped up in a giant cocoon in a tree somewhere between akuma villains.”

“That would be our luck wouldn’t it?” Ladybug laughed, “If that’s the case then we should go start shaking some trees and see if a purple butterfly man wrapped in a sleeping bag falls out of one.”

They took off back over the rooftops. He was glad that he said something to Ladybug. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now he could really move forward with this new relationship with Marinette. No more hesitations. Well, less hesitations.

“Nope.” Ladybug popped out of one of the park trees, leaves stuck in her hair, “No Hawkmoth in here.” Adrien laughed as he pretended to be trapped in a different tree.

And more importantly, Ladybug was still his friend.

---

(1) (2) (4)

---

(tagged)

@ladylb

[moeruhoshi]

Peter Pan-ish AU

There were nights when Lucy couldn’t sleep, nights when her father would yell in his drunken state, smashing bottles and flipping tables, maids running from his anger and knights guarding their maiden’s bedroom. And then there were the nights when he would burst into her room, no one around to save her lest they get reprimanded for speaking against the master of the house. Left bruised and beaten when he went, ladies in waiting would rush in with medical supplies and tear-stained cheeks, trying their best to soothe the girl who learned to block these moments out long ago. She’d cry for her mother under layered blankets, hold the little white stuffed dog she was last gifted, and beg for the return of her happy family and a kind father.

On the nights she was put to bed by her caring servants, a bandage on one cheek, gauze taped to a cut on her stomach, salve on her bruised arms, Lucy would have the most amazing dreams. Dreams that brought her to a new world showed her the escape she had been looking for. A hand attached to a body she could never see led her through the woods, showed her a secret home in a tree filled with boys and girls who begged to be read a bedtime story. It led her to a lagoon full of mermaids, naughty creatures who loved to play pranks; so she wasn’t allowed to get too close. They were eager to pull in whoever dared to dance against the edge of their waters.

A small and glittery fairy followed them and warned the two if trouble was ever nearby when they were high in the sky, cannonballs flying up and puncturing the clouds. There were pirates who she was told never to trust, to run as fast as she could if they ever found her. But it was always easy to escape, pirates couldn’t fly.

She was young and small in her dreams, little pudgy hands the light led her by, little legs tripping over one another as they ran and took off into the sky. It was strange, how as she continued to grow, she would still imagine this world, with herself as a child, but it sort of made sense. She was happiest when she was young, there was clearly some part of her clinging to her kind past.

She would wake up with a warm heart and the pain of the previous night seemed so distant after her adventures in the mythical land. There was the lingering voice of the light that buzzed in her mind, fading as her eyes blinked open and before she slipped and drifted away from the island.

“C’mon, Lucy! Everyone’s waiting!” A deep voice would ring, and the memory of a broad grin flashed, and a flush of warmth would pass through her until the image was gone. Back were her high ceilings and long bed posts, back were the maids helping her out of bed. Back were her endless lessons and tight dresses, back were the gruelingly quiet meals she ate a mile away from her father as they sat at such a vast and scarce table. He paid her no mind as he sat on the other end of the banquet hall, dining as his assistants made themselves useful and filled him in on the agenda to be conducted.

“Princess,” Several of the knights entered the library as she was reading one afternoon, Lucy shocked by the sudden mass of guards.

“W-What’s wrong? Is there an emergency?” Lucy shivered as she stood up quickly, relief sinking in as one stepped forward and shook his head.

“Your father has instructed us to escort you from the palace,” The knight's voice was uncomfortable as he continued. “There is a carriage waiting in the courtyard, milady. He would like you to stay in the country manor for a little while.”

“Is that so…” She feigned a smile as they nodded and motioned for her to follow them. “Will father be joining me?”

“His Highness has business to take care of in Acalypha and other nearby kingdoms, he’ll be too busy to visit the princess.” Lucy tried to hide the smile that dared to spread across her lips, the knights feeling the relief the princess immediately radiated.

Her ladies-in-waiting and the staff waived the princess as she left for the home away from home, their backs stiff and smiles tight as the king stood and watched as his daughter disappeared along the horizon.

“Lucy-sama…” Spetto sighed as she glanced to the rising moon with hands clasped in prayer. “Please be well,”

The staff of the country manor hadn’t seen Lucy since she was a child, as she had not visited the home since her mother was alive. It was a refreshing feeling, to be able to sleep without the worry of her father bursting in the middle of the night to harm her. Her old room held a comfortable warmth that seemed to thwart any nightmares that dared to try and creep their way into her mind.

Tutors hadn’t traveled with the princess either, leaving her time to enjoy herself in the library or the garden or wherever she pleased. It felt like a dream come true, to be able to breathe without the glare of her father waiting to strike from around the corner. Lucy began to regain simple happiness in her heart and hoped her time in the countryside would last more than the month she expected to be there.

Sitting in the library one night, Lucy sat next to a window slightly cracked open and read from one of her favorite books, minding the time by herself as she curled in the loveseat, her ears catching the chatter of the guards below.

“Who do you think the king will choose to wed the princess, hm? I heard from the gossipers in town that he was speaking to Bora of Prominence.”

“Eh? That kingdom isn’t the best...and he’s so old, I’d hope the king would choose a young ruler for her highness. I hear he met with Dan of Zentopia as well, but I don’t feel right letting just any ol’ loser betrothing our kind princess. I’m sure Lady Layla would have wanted Lucy to fall in love on her own. Arraigned marriages are quite sad,”

“I’ll do without dinner tonight,” Lucy sent away the fifth maid that tried to talk her into eating, the princess holed away in her room as she weakly dressed for bed, eyes tearing up as they crossed to her white dog plushie.

“Is this all I’ll ever be, Plue? Someone else’s woman?” She sniffled and crawled tiredly to his side, crying herself to sleep another night. She begged for another sweet dream in the faraway land with the sweet spirit that led her around and kept her safe wherever they went.

“Natsu! She came back! Lushii came back!” A sharp voice whispered in the air above the sleeping royal, stirring her slightly from her teary slumber.

“Are you sure? She’s almost as big as me now,” Another voice grumbled, a finger poking at her cheek and pulling at her hair.

“But now that she’s grown up, I bet she has more stories to tell us! Let’s bring her to Fairy Tail!” The squeaky voice spoke again, a familiar twinkle chiming in her ear.

“Oi, Luigi! Wake up!” The princess yelped as she was shaken roughly by a hand on her hip. She cautiously rose and turned to face her assailant, gasping as she laid eyes upon a boy levitating her carpet, a small glittery speck by his side.

“W-Who…” Her voice was stolen as his hands suddenly filled themselves with her cheeks, eyes glaring as they stared at her tear-stained tracks.

“You’ve been cryin’ again…” He frowned, his arms slowly wrapping around her waist and pulling her tightly against his chest. “It’s okay, Luce. I’m here now.”

“Yeah, Lushii! We’ll take you home with us! Everyone’s waiting!” The princess’ eyes widened as the little fairy flew into her field of vision, a tiny kitten showing himself through the curtain of sparkles, his words inciting a fond memory hidden deep in the tresses of her mind.

“You...Natsu…Happy...?” Lucy murmured as he released her from his hug, her tears streaming all over again as she absorbed the sight of his face-splitting grin.

“It’s been a while! We’ve been lookin’ all over for ya! Happy n’ I were worried we’d never get to hear your stories again,” He laughed as he rose into the air again, extending a hand for her to take. “You remember how to get there, yeah? Second star to the right, and straight on till morning!”

“You’ll...you’ll take me with you?” Lucy felt the warmth she craved fill her heart as Natsu nodded rapidly, Happy flying circles around her and letting his dust fall atop her head.

“Of course! But don’t worry, we’ll have you back by morning. Your mom will worry if you’re not, right?” Lucy felt herself lift off the bed, happy thoughts of her memories with this flying boy flowing through her mind as a mental dam was broken and reminded her of the pure happiness he flurried into her.

“It’s okay, I want to stay with you,” She smiled as he pulled her out onto the balcony, their take-off quick as to make sure no one would see them. There was no doubt in her mind to leave the manor or this world where no one could help her find the love and comfort she longed for. She was sure her maids and knights would find relief in her disappearance, at least she’d be out of her father’s grasp. “Forever.”

“You got it! We’ll always be together! I told you before, don’t you remember? Now, let's go! Everyone's been waiting for you to come home!”

[alteredphoenix]

Welcome to the Future(WIP)

A/N: I was always - and still am - confused when people say that Blizzard did Kael’thas dirty. Now that could be because I didn’t start playing WoW until Cataclysm (right around the time the Firelands raid came out), but it was just something I didn’t really see was a bad thing (as with most things the community seemingly sets in stone as gospel).

So when Legion occurred, I was hoping to see Kael’thas make a return, or at least a cameo, as a demon. I still ascribe to the idea that having a giant fel crystal shoved into your chest should change you the same way consuming a demon and the powers in an orc warlock’s skull do, so imagine my disappointment when there was no such sign of him to be found anywhere on Argus or in Antorus.

So here comes the idea: in which Kael’thas, whether it was his decision or against his will, regenerated in the Twisting Nether and landed oh so conveniently in the Telogrus Rift. Alleria and the ren’dorei find him and try to figure out where they should go from there. (This deviates from the original idea that would see Kael’thas recreated as a void ethereal and pledging himself to the ren’dorei, although that will be written as a separate one-shot in the future.)

-

There is a voice, calling in the darkness.

One would not blame Alleria – or anyone, for that matter – for thinking it was a whisper from the Void. Cold and slithering between the stars and pieces of broken landmass, enticing her and all her wayward progeny with promises of power and all the knowledge that wasn’t stained in pretty white lies and propaganda that were hidden from them if they would opened their minds and hearts just a little bit; after all, it never hurt to be curious, and if it did...well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, doesn’t it? What could possibly go wrong?

“Plenty wrong,” Locus-Walker stated, and Alleria was wont to agree. So they continued teaching the ren’dorei, as well the scholars and the wayfarers that quietly slipped out of Silvermoon (and, with a cocktail of surprise and a touch of pity that was quickly quashed with a brief surge of smug victory, out of the Horde altogether), the mechanisms of mindfulness meditation they should be applying in their daily regime, the free flow state of mushin passed down from the Tushui as they dipped in and out of combat, the constant diamond grip of the anchor they should have in their forethought as the urges ebbed and flowed around them.

Yet the reports kept coming in: sporadically at first, then intermittently, until finally, on a day when she could step away from Kul Tiras long enough to recuperate, Locus-Walker approached her and insisted, in that calm, dulcet tone that dared her to have a plan if she refused him, to come with her at once.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Just come.”

She follows him through the portal to Fathom’s Edge, and when they reemerge it’s to the sight of Duskwalker and his students corralled together in a tight little circle. The researchers are trying to inch their way past them, but the rift wardens and riftblades force them back; their blades are drawn, and the umbral rangers have all eight corners covered with their bows and voidstalkers. Her ears prick up. The guards are telling everyone to stay away, it’s not safe. Some are even attempting to pry Duskwalker and the others aside, trying not to use force.

Duskwalker won’t budge. “Do you realize who this is?” he says, raising his voice, and points the warden toward the space between two bodies. “You do, don’t you? Take a look!”

“Locus-Walker?” Alleria asks, looking at him curiously.

He gestures forward. “See for yourself.”

She frowns, but does so all the same. “Step aside, please! Excuse me! I must get through.” At the sound of her voice, the ren’dorei do as she says and give her space to move ahead. Others, however, don’t move. Whether by fascination of what they’re seeing or blatant ignorance is unknown to her, nor does she care. Alleria pushes past them. “Instructor Duskwalker! What’s going on?”

“Lady Alleria! Surely you have better eyes than I. Do me a favor and look at this man.” Duskwalker turns to the side for Alleria to see the person in question lying on the ground in front of them. An elf-man who is restrained from head to toe in thick, shadowy coils. “Tell me that isn’t--”

“It can’t be!” the rift warden next to him cries. “He’s six years buried!”

“If that’s the case then you haven’t been paying attention to the latest discoveries in demonology this whole time.”

“Gentlemen,” Alleria says coolly, and raises a hand, cutting off all argument. She walks by them for the few steps it takes her to stand right over the elf-man and gets down on her knees.

He’s abnormally pale, whiter than the whitest of the void elves but with the fel green tint of corruption in his pale blonde hair and the ashy texture of his chest that holds the shattered base of what appears to have been a spike driven in. His face set in high cheekbones and eyes glowing with the same energy that oozed out of Illidan as an aura even as the Light of the Vindicaar vainly tried to quash it and smother him in its warmth. His robes are of a Thalassian finery worn only by nobility, red and silver, but even its fibers aren’t safe from taint, and they cling to his slender frame as mere rags and broken crystal. His fingernails are long, crooked, black; there are furrows from where he dug for purchase, or struggled to rip free from his bonds.

“He was in hysterics when we found him,” the rift warden says behind her, “although we have reason to believe he’s not yet consumed by the Shadow’s madness.”

“He must have seen what was out there,” says Duskwalker. “Floating adrift in the Twisting Nether, reconstructing himself atom by atom. It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. For all we know he could be claiming to be--”

“But it is him. I was there when the Offensive broke the stalemate in Quel’Danas. He rarely came out of the Magisters’ Terrace; his hunger was too great to be ignored.” Footsteps, and Alleria catches a glimpse of Duskwalker’s boots in her periphery. “Well, Milady? What do you think? Do you recognize him?”

No, she wants to tell him. She does not recognize this man. He does not match the image of the prince in her mind: tall, young, full of color and elvish overconfidence that always set Sylvanas’s teeth on edge and rankled her nerves worse than a static shock. He does not fit the description of the madman that Vereesa gave her: of the man who threw in his lot with the Legion for a cure to the withdrawal all elves quel’dorei and sin’dorei suffered from and spiraled out of control until the demons forced him back to life and saw him returned as a withered husk fueled by dopamine and fanatical love for the Dark Titan. Until the Horde silenced him forever, cut off his head, and, at Rommath’s command, saw fit to bury him at the farthest point of Quel’Danas, where he would lay until the end of time.

The man on his back with the most vacant expression on his face could not possibly be him.

[bts-fantasy]

A Park Date

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Moodboard

Inspired by Promise by Jimin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

„...be ready at 6, I‘ll come pick you up.“ Jimin‘s sweet voice kept ringing through your head making you smile like an idiot for the whole day even though you had to work. When your shift ended you rushed home to get ready for your first date with Park Jimin. You guys met when you were roaming through a local book store looking for something readable. Bumping into him that day was something you would always be grateful for. What once started as small talk about your favorite books turned into a really deep conversation about life and its struggles. It was an amazing feeling to able to connect with a stranger so quickly, understanding almost all if his thoughts on different topics. His cute smile was another reason that left you breathless and you agreed to exchange your number. You talked for hours on end every day since then and you became close in such a short amount of time that you still couldn‘t believe it was all real sometimes.

It took you by surprise when Jimin asked you out the other day. You guys were phoning and you had told him one of your bad jokes that you picked up from your workplace. Jimin always laughed at your jokes and you had to admit that it had become your favorite sound by now. There was a bit of silence after that and you could feel that he wanted to say something. „So... Y/N. Will you go out with me this Friday?“ He just dropped the bomb and waited for your reaction but you were too surprised to answer. You stared at the wall in your apartment trying to understand what you just heard. „Y/N? Are you still there?“ „Yes. Jimin... yes of course. Ye-“. „Great“, he cut you off from babbling further. „Be ready at 6, I‘ll come pick you up.“ You were nodding excitedly even though he couldn‘t actually see you. „Okay“, you said trying to stay calm and collected when in reality you were internally screaming at the thought of going on a date with him. „Oh and wear something comfortable. I have already planned everything. Goodnight Y/N, sweet dreams.“ With that he hung up before you could even reply, leaving you flustered and with rosy cheeks.

When you arrived at your apartment you quickly took a shower and put on the clothes that you‘d carefully picked the day before. He had told you to wear comfortable clothes so you had picked black jeans with a simple white shirt and a denim jacket. You felt comfortable in it and it looked great on you. Jimin‘s timing was perfect, at 6 pm sharp the bell rang and you jumped up to answer the door. „Hey Y/N, this is for you... uhm... I hope you like it.“ He looked to the ground shyly and you reached out to take the bouquet of flowers he held in front of him. It smelled really nice and you quickly put it in a vase before locking your door behind you. „You ready, milady?“, he asked wiggling his eyebrows up and down and offering his arm for you to take it. You gladly accepted the invitation with a huge grin on your face.

It was one of the best dates you‘ve ever been on. He took you to an amusement park and you both had so much fun going on different rides and he even won a little plushie for you. And even though you both were terrified of roller coasters you still got on just so you could cling onto each other. You tried almost every snack stall in the park that you thought you might explode from all the food you‘ve eaten.

Everything felt so easy with Jimin, there were no awkward silences, no forced smiles or fake laughs. It felt so real and you were able to be yourself around him without feeling uncomfortable and you hoped he felt the same way. When he insisted on walking you home later that night you knew that he was someone you should keep close to yourself no matter what. You were quietly walking beside each other, and there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. You were so deep in thoughts that you didn‘t notice how Jimin has started singing quietly next to you.

„...I want you to be your light, baby

You should be your light...“

His voice was sweet like honey and your heart skipped a beat at the beautiful melody.

„...Deoneun apeuji anhge

Nega useul su issge...“

He looked up at the night sky and you followed his gaze, looking up at a cluster of stars. It made the whole experience even more magical, you thought.

„...I want you to be your night, baby

You could be your night

Ibami neoege soljighal su issge“

Suddenly he stopped walking to turn to face you. He looked straight into your eyes with a serious expression on his face that made you remain rooted on the spot. You didn‘t know for how long you both just stood there staring at each other until Jimin finally spoke up.

„Y/N...“ His honey-like voice had changed into a darker and deeper tone which made your heart jump up into your throat. His attention slowly moved from your eyes to your lips but he immediately shut his eyes before continuing. „I‘m really glad you bumped into me in that book store...“, he smirked opening his eyes again to look at you. „Me too, Jimin.“ You finally said after being tongue-tied for a moment. This time it was you who took a glance at his beautiful lips. He was smiling at your response and you realized at that moment that you have fallen for this man. Jimin was quietly observing you this whole time trying to memorize every tiny little detail of your face. When you caught his eyes he smirked slightly before leaning in to connect your lips. The kiss was exactly like you have imagined it when you were looking at his lips a few moments before. It was passionate, sweet and a little bit reserved because he was trying his best not to make any mistakes. So you looped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss to show him how much he meant to you. When you finally pulled away from each other you were out of breath and his lips were rosy. „Wow“, was all that he said. You were still trying to comprehend what exactly had just happened but Jimin had already taken your hand and started walking towards your apartment. The only thing you knew was that this was a night you would never ever forget in your life.

[devotedrigelianflower]

@yumispelled from here 

~*~

It had been lonely where she was. At first Rinea kept wondering around the area as a way to keep herself from missing her beloved. As she traveled this strange place, she did come across some spirits along and spoke with them for a bit. Some had just died and were just as lost as she was, but the ones that seemed to help her were the older spirits that chose to live in this place. An old female spirit told her that there was a chance that Rinea could be reborn once more, but it would take a while to do so and in most cases she would have no memory of her past. “Thank you for your help milady....but I...I don’t want to leave. At least not until Lord Berkut returns.” Rinea did not want to leave until she saw her beloved again. The old woman seemed to give a soft sigh, “Young love. Well you will be waiting for him for a long while. Come with me child. You remind me of one of my granddaughters so please call me Nana.” Nana told her and decided to lead her to a cottage for Rinea to stay at. Rinea was very grateful to Nana and was glad to have some company with her. 

It had been a couple of years before Nana told Rinea that it was her time to be reborn again. “I will miss this place but I’m sure I will be back here when this new life is over.” Nana seemed used to it at this point. “Take care dear child and remember what I told you when you are ready to be reborn alright? If you ever see that love of yours let him know too.” she gave a smile. “I will. Thank you for staying with me until now!” Rinea said as she watched as a similar light that took Berkut had now taken Nana. She was alone again but this time she felt a little better about it. 

Rinea now had a routine going as did not know how much time past as she lived in the cottage. She would feel a strange pull as if someone was asking her if she wanted to be reborn but she would say not until her beloved returned. She did thank the voice for telling her but she wanted to wait. So she went outside to do some tasks like she always had done. Sweeping the pathway, tending to the garden, it was all the same but she enjoyed it. That was until one faithful day she heard a voice. A very familiar voice. Could it be? “Lord Berkut?!” she rushed down the pathway that lead back to the meadow that she would go to whenever she missed her beloved. Was it really him? “Lord Berkut!” she called out but then realized something. Lord Berkut could have moved on and fell for someone else. If that was the case, then she would answer the voice’s request to be reborn. That’s what Nana said to do in that case after all. Still Rinea wanted to cling to that hope that he still loved her all this time as foolish as that was. 

And there...right before her very eyes, was the man she loved. 

“...Lord Berkut...you came back!” She knew she was in tears but she could not help it. “...how long has it been...?”

~*~

[all-the-cliches-lwa]

Passing On Ch. 4

Ah, finally winding down to the final chapters. I’m a tad unsure how I feel about my direction with this chapter, but after this one, there is, like, one or two short epilogue-ish, i guess, chapter(s) (depending how I decide to upload it), one silly one more serious, which will hopefully wrap up the story just right. Hopefully.

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews/comments/tags I’ve seen so far, they’ve all been very nice! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Bernadette Cavendish was a wonderful witch, a blessing to all who knew her. Unfortunately, she had passed on all too soon. Every year since then, the Cavendish family would visit her grave to keep her memory… and every year Diana couldn’t help but feel more and more alone. This year, however, Diana had someone she wished to have with her, in the hopes that, this time, things would be different.

First Chapter

Previous chapter

ffnet ao3 

Word Count: ~5299 words

No one said a word as the five trekked out of the burial grounds. Not even Maril, Merrill, or Daryl mentioned anything about what happened earlier. For what reason, Akko had no clue, but she didn’t mind. Anytime without any of those three talking down at her was completely welcome.

More than that though, Akko was happy that Diana could have some time without having to do anything.

Akko looked to her side, where Diana was still clinging onto her left arm. Diana’s cheeks were red and tear stained, and her usually perfect hair hung forward out of place, obscuring her eyes from view. Her nose was still running, and her breaths were still staggered.

Akko brought Diana closer, and Diana quickly rested her head against Akko’s shoulder.

When they were out of the burial grounds, Akko unslung the bag Diana had brought earlier from her right arm and took out Diana’s broom. With a wave of her wand, Akko uncast the spell Diana had cast prior, poofing the broom back to its original size. She mounted the broom, and Diana followed behind her. Diana’s arms wrapped around her waist, and Diana leaned against her back.

Akko tried her best to turn to look at Diana, who had hidden her face in her blonde hair. She could feel Diana still trembling against her, could still feel her robes dampen, and it was clear that Diana wasn’t ready to return home just yet.

Akko took a deep breath and turned forward.

“Daryl?” Akko called out, breaking the silence. When Daryl looked back at her, Akko continued, already bracing herself for some jerky backlash, “can you go on ahead? I think Diana and I need a little bit more time.”

Akko’s brow shot up when Daryl just nodded and looked ahead.

“Just don’t take too long,” was Daryl’s reply before flying away, her daughters following closely behind.

Akko stood dumbfounded until Daryl and her daughters were no longer in sight.  When they were gone, she focused all of her attention on Diana.

“Hey Diana, I’m going to fly us slowly alright?”

Diana nodded against her back and wrapped herself closer, her arms trembling slightly. Akko rested her hand atop Diana’s  before turning towards the estate.

“Tia Freyre!”

Just like Diana did on the way to the burial grounds, Akko took several detours on the way back to the Cavendish estate. However, Akko took much more obvious detours, taking up significantly more time to get back, thus giving Diana enough time to fall asleep.

When Akko heard the gentle, even, breaths she could recognize anywhere, she smiled. She could not even imagine how drained Diana must feel. She couldn’t wait to get back so that Diana could just relax in bed.

When Akko finally flew towards the mansion, it only took five minutes before the pier was in sight. Akko looked behind her and sighed. Diana’s cheek was pressed against her shoulder. Her cheek was still red… but less than before… and her face felt so peaceful. Not a bit of tension.

She really didn’t want to wake Diana up… but she’d have to. They’d definitely been gone for way too long.

“Psst, Dianaaaaa” Akko whispered. “Dianaaaaaaaa.” But Diana didn’t budge.

Akko grunted as she gently rolled her shoulders backwards to, hopefully, wake her girlfriend up. After a few moments, Diana shifted, and Akko could feel the light flittering of Diana’s eyelids.

“Ak, Akko?” Diana asked, her voice hoarse.

“Morning Diana” Akko greeted softly, “We’re almost back. Did you have a nice nap?”

Diana stiffened against her back, and Akko had to stifle a giggle, imagining her girlfriend’s face hued an adorable pink. Akko had to bite her lip to prevent it from escaping when she felt Diana hide her face against her back and nod slowly.

Akko then looked back to the pier, where Anna was already standing in wait.

“Hey Diana, you ready to be back yet?” Akko asked quietly. “We could always take another turn if you need a bit more time.”

Diana shook her head. “No, no I should be okay, I’m sure that I have kept them waiting long enough.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am very sure.” Diana said. The hold around Akko’s waist squeezed just a bit more, and Akko felt a smile against her back. “Thank you though. I truly appreciate it.”

Akko nodded and hummed before beginning their descent.

“Milady, Lady Kagari, welcome back,” Anna greeted with a bow.

“Hey Anna,” Akko returned as she stepped onto the pier, “Sorry we took so long. Did I make you wait?”

“Pay no mind. Lady Daryl already informed of me of what happened and that you two would likely arrive later than they would,” Anna dismissed before turning to Diana. “Milady, I understand you must be very tired, and I apologize, but we must head to the entrance hall.”

“Huh? What? There’s more?!” Akko blurted. “I thought that we could both just go back to our room!”

“My apologies, but the Young Lady still must greet the people who have travelled here waiting to see her,” Anna said.

“But!”

“Akko, I will be fine,” Diana interrupted with a tug of her arm.

Akko turned to Diana and frowned. Diana’s eyes still seemed sore, and her cheeks were still red.

“But Diana…”

Diana shook her head. Her eyes glanced towards Akko and her robes for a second before flashing back to Anna.

“Anna, could Akko and I have a moment to freshen up before heading there?”

“Of course milady,” Anna said.

“Very well,” Diana answered with a small smile before she turned back to Akko. “Everything will be fine, Akko. I’ll be okay.”

Akko pouted again, and she furrowed her brow. She squeezed Diana’s hand, silently begging her to just go rest. Akko really didn’t want Diana to have to see so many people while she was still so vulnerable.

But Diana just returned the squeeze and smiled.

“Trust me, I will be just fine.” Diana said. “After all, you’ll be with me right?”

Akko’s eyes widened, and her heart skipped as the realization sunk in. It was in the gentle smile on Diana’s face, the soft squeeze of her hand, and the belief in her eyes as she looked at Akko.

Diana really wanted her to be there. Truly trusted that she would be there.

Akko grinned back at Diana and nodded.

“Of course!”

When Anna said that they would be greeting people, Akko assumed, or really just hoped, it would only be a short thing. Maybe an hour at most.

She completely forgot about the crowd of people who had camped outside the Cavendish estate the night they arrived.

When Akko caught sight of the long line, extending out of the entrance hall, and likely past the gates as well, she nearly collapsed.

Diana would have to greet all of these people?! How could Diana possibly be okay with this?!

It seemed Diana was aware of Akko’s inner strife, seeing as she giggled softly before pulling the both of them to their spot, just beside Daryl and her daughters, who all strangely ignored how late the both of them probably were.

Diana bowed to the first guest. Judging by the dark blue blazer and fancy moustache, Akko assumed that he had to be some sort of noble.

“I apologize for the wait,” Diana said.

“It is of no concern, Diana,” the old man dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Please, raise your head. Today isn’t a day for such trivial formalities.”

“Yes, of course,” Diana answered.

“Yes, yes” the old man smiled before noticing Akko. “And who’s this young lady?”

Akko stared blankly at the old man, as if she had just been caught sneaking off from detention by Professor Finneran. She then turned to Diana, silently asking for permission to speak.

Diana simply rolled her eyes and smiled, sending a nod.

“Oh, uh hi!” Akko greeted immediately, given the okay. “My name is Kagari Atsuko, er well Atsuko Kagari! But you can just call me Akko.”

“Ah Akko, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said with a hearty chuckle and a twinkle in his green eyes. “My name is Albert Douglas. And how would you happen to know Diana?”

“She is my classmate at Luna Nova,” Diana answered back. Then she looked at Akko with a smile filled with so much affection, warmth rushed to fill Akko’s face. “More importantly, she happens to be my girlfriend.”

“Marvelous!” Albert exclaimed, before his expression darkened considerably. “It’s quite a shame she never had the chance to meet dear Bernadette.”

“Yes… it truly is,” Diana breathed out.

Akko gently rubbed her thumb over Diana’s knuckles and pulled her closer.

“Tell me Akko, do you happen to know much about Bernadette?”

Akko flinched, her thumb freezing in place. She gulped and she shook her head slowly.

“Is that so?” Albert pondered with a scratch of his chin. “Well let me tell you, she was truly a saint. She helped my wife you know?”

“She did?” Akko asked.

“Yes she did. Worked tirelessly too. She spared no efforts to find a cure for an illness my wife had. From what I was told, she worked day and night for over a week.”

“Woah.”

Albert chuckled gruffly. “Yes, woah indeed. Bernadette was truly a great woman, and she… she will truly be missed.” Albert then turned to Diana and nodded his head. “Diana, it was a pleasure. I still offer my sincerest condolences.”

“That is much appreciated Albert,” Diana answered back. “How is your wife, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Albert smiled. “Never better. She’s currently overseas for work, but she also sends her respects.” Then he turned to Daryl and sent her a nod as well. “Daryl, it’s been a pleasure.”

As soon as Albert left, the next person walked up to pay their respects. And when they left, the person after came up.

When she first saw the line, Akko was dreading the whole thing.

Of course she was going to stay with Diana, no matter what. Just, with the line, she kind of assumed it’d just be hours of standing around doing nothing while nobles just came in to pay short, shallow, respects before leaving.

Instead, she was met with people of all walks of life. From nobles to ordinary townsfolk. From the elderly to teenagers. There were even several families who brought along children who couldn’t be any older than seven years.

There were dozens of visiting groups. Many of them were like Albert, expressing curiosity for her presence, but were all ultimately very accepting. More importantly, however, each group arrived with a story to tell. A story of the different ways Bernadette had helped them in their lives.

From brewing cures for different obscure magical illnesses, similar to what she had to do back when she visited Lotte’s house, to creating a special cough medicine, to nursing an infant back to health, Akko was constantly amazed by just how much Bernadette gave to help others. There was just… so much to tell.

She had helped so many people in such a short amount of time… it was absolutely crazy.

Yet, the more Akko heard about Bernadette… strangely enough, the more she felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

It was weird. She was learning so much about Diana’s mom. She could begin picture exactly what kind of person she was, the kind of mark she had left on all of these people’s hearts.

She had already known Bernadette had to be an amazing person. After all, she raised Diana! She had to be amazing…

But this was so much more than she could have ever imagined.

When the final group nodded their goodbyes, Akko felt that knot tighten just a bit more.

She recalled the words Daryl had scolded her with this morning… about the fact that she hadn’t known Bernadette at all.

Well now she did know just how amazing Bernadette was. It really was no wonder even Daryl and her daughters teared up at her grave… Honestly, it almost made Akko feel small in comparison.

Even so, Akko really wished she could have learned even more about her... about, possibly, the largest influence in Diana’s life.

As soon as they were allowed, Akko and Diana retreated to their room. It was just past four, but they both immediately collapsed onto the bed. Akko fell first and opened her arms, letting herself be the perfect spot for Diana to nestle into.

Diana obliged, and Akko wrapped herself around, a now curled up, Diana. The both of them had been very silent since the guests left.

Akko was lost in thought, constantly thinking back to all of the things she’d just learned about Diana’s mom. Just… how crazy it was that she managed to cram that much life into a short few years.

Diana felt... absolutely exhausted.

It felt liberating to finally let go at the burial grounds. To just… allow herself to cry, to rely on someone for support, after years of fighting to keep it together alone… but it also left her drained of much of her energy.

Truthfully… the only reason she had made it through the day at all… was because of Akko.

Diana felt a pang in her chest as she thought of the day… all the things she must have put Akko through. From the constant surprises to the displeasure of having to deal with her relatives. It wasn’t fair to make her go through all of that… and, while the thought itself filled her with warmth, she couldn’t help but feel more guilty knowing Akko did it all for her.

“Akko?” Diana called out in a whisper, snapping Akko out of her thoughts.

“... Yes Diana?”  Akko slowly replied.

“Thank you… so, so much.” Diana said. “You have my sincerest gratitude for being here with me… and my sincerest apologies for any inconveniences I may have caused by having you here.”

“Bwe-eh?!” Akko sputtered. “Diana! You don’t have to be-”

“Akko, with all due respect… I truly do have to,” Diana interrupted. “I know I said this last night… but after today it needed to be said again. I apologize for everything Daryl and her daughters might have put you through today… and more importantly for all of the things I had neglected to inform you of before today.”

“Diana!” Akko protested, tightening her embrace ever more, “It’s fine! I know you didn’t mean to!”

“Even so,” Diana said in retort, “it was unfair of me to ask you to come without so much as an explanation as to what it was you would be doing.”

“That doesn’t matter though! I would have come, no matter what.”

Diana sighed, but smiled against Akko’s arm.

“I know, and that is truly why I must thank you. And why I still must apologize.”

Akko groaned, but Diana continued, undeterred.

“I can’t imagine what we have done today was anything like what you might have expected two nights ago.”

“... That’s true,” Akko admitted, though she still pouted in protest, not at all believing Diana needed to apologize for anything.

“Yes… well allow me to explain... what we did today… has sort of become a tradition, one I had neglected to tell you about, and again, I apologize. We’ve done it for several years now, actually.” Diana said with a breath. “Both greeting the guests… and casting that spell upon my mother’s grave.”

“A tradition?”

“Yes, a tradition,” Diana whispered, “It… started the year after my mother was buried. Before my mother passed, she’d told me the stories of the Cavendish burial grounds, stories of the great trees that have sprouted from the graves of each member of the Cavendish family, surrounding the estate. So… when I noticed no such thing happened to my mother’s… I’d assumed it was just simply lacking nutrition.”

“Diana…” Akko breathed out, slowly tightening her embrace around Diana.

“I think Aunt Daryl knew that wasn’t the case. Likely Maril and Merrill knew as well. Though, for whatever reason, perhaps as an excuse to visit mother again or just to allow a little girl to cope, they went along with me. At the very least, after several years, they had to have figured it out… but by then all of this had become such a natural thing to do. It was their way of keeping my mother’s memory alive,” Diana continued, nestling her head into Akko’s chest.

Diana took a heavy breath and sighed. She clenched her hands, gripping on the sides of Akko’s shirt.

“At some point, I realized it too… or perhaps I had always known. I just… refused to accept it, that someone like my mother, who, in all respects, perfectly epitomized the values of the Cavendish name, wouldn’t leave a tree, a mark, just like every member of the Cavendish family had, solely because she passed away too soon. It was as if… she’s truly gone, like there’s nothing left of hers on this Earth.”

Akko held Diana closer.

More than that, though, Akko thought about what Diana said, about Diana’s mom not having anything left on Earth, and the thought made her pout. She remembered the dozens of people lined up, each one with a story to tell. Each one with honest and very real memories of her.

Diana’s mom not having anything left on the Earth?

“That’s stupid,” Akko said suddenly.

Diana’s eyes widened, and she faced upwards.

“Wha-”

“Your mom doesn’t need some silly old tree!” Akko protested more firmly, looking down to meet Diana’s gaze. “She doesn’t need one because of all the people she’s helped! So many people remember your mom, remember her for all the things she did for them, and that’s so much better than some tree!”

Diana stared openly into Akko’s eyes until the intensity in those crimson irises was just too much, forcing her to turn away.

Still, the words Akko said echoed in her mind, pulling together all of the words and stories she’d heard from the guests. Stories she’d experienced firsthand as a child.

Stories that… have impacted all of those people’s lives, stories that have become memories for so many.

She could, once again, feel tears welling up… but these were different. Back at the burial grounds… her chest had felt empty, devoid of anything, at least until Akko came to fill it. Even after, she felt drained.

But now?

Now, her chest was filled with this... bubbly feeling, light and airy, begging to be released.

Akko, however, was oblivious to this.

When Akko felt a drip roll down her arm, felt Diana begin to shake, her heart instantly dropped.  The words she uttered played back in her mind, and while she really meant everything she said, she immediately fretted about how she chose to say it.

“E-eh?! Uhm! I didn’t uhm, it’s not like it’d be bad if your mom had a tree! I mean, if you want, we can plant one there tomorrow!” Akko babbled, immediately trying to salvage, what she thought, caused Diana to cry again, “Well, I guess not there there, but we could plant one around there. I think that’d look nice! Maybe-”

Akko’s blubbering only made Diana shake more, and Akko was starting to cry out in defeat... until she heard an unmistakable sound. A bright melody, a cheerful symphony.

Diana was laughing.

“I’m sorry Akko, you must forgive me,” Diana said between her giggles, “but I simply couldn’t resist.”

“W-what?” Akko spouted indignantly, though she did let out a sigh of relief.

Diana once again looked up, a tear rolling down her cheek but a wide, grateful, smile on her face. Only someone like Akko could have done this for her, could have made her laugh and drain her troubles away.

“Thank you for that, Akko. Truly. You are truly one of the most wonderful things that has ever happened to me,” Diana admitted. She took in a deep breath and rested her cheek on Akko’s chest. “I only wish that my mother could have had the chance to meet you.”

And, after everything she’d heard today, Akko couldn’t agree more. Being able to meet Diana’s mom, getting to know her... it would have been so cool!

But even so, there was a tiny, yet ominous, voice in the back of her head. A voice that muddied the light, clear oasis Diana’s laughter had brought.

Diana’s mom was so amazing. Even sick, even when she was weak, she was able to accomplish so much to help other people. Did so much, that people couldn’t help but look up to her.

And there was her.

The tiny voice brought up events from the past two days flashed through her mind.

Her messing up their surprise snack date.

Her doing... something embarrassing the night before.

Her not knowing… not taking the time to know about witches and their burials… or about Diana’s mom. Her lack of knowledge making Daryl and her daughters furious… and more importantly, and as a result, causing Diana more stress.

Would… Diana’s mom...

“... Ne, Dia-” Akko started but soon stopped, the tiny voice now making her question herself, making her ashamed for even having the thought.  

“Hm? What is it Akko?” Diana muttered.

Akko stiffened, her heart jumping into her throat. “It-It’s nothing! Nothing at all!” Akko laughed forcefully.

Diana narrowed her eyes and pressed her ear against Akko’s chest. She could feel Akko’s heart drumming heavily.

“Akko, what’s wrong?” Diana asked, with far more authority than earlier.

“I-It’s stupid…” Akko stammered, trying to quiet the incessantly loud voice now ringing in her head.

“Akko.” Diana said, now looking up into Akko’s eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please?”

Akko looked at Diana and tried to dismiss the question again… but Diana’s eyes were pleading, imploring her. And... try as she might, she couldn’t say no to those eyes.

Akko bit her lip and looked to the corner of her eyes. “Do… do you think your mom would have liked me?” Akko whispered.

“What?” Diana tilted her head, her brow wrinkling. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... like, do you think your mom would approve of us?”

Diana blinked, before letting out a chuckle. Would her mother have approved of the both of them?

Diana knew, there wasn’t any doubt.

“Of course she would,” Diana answered firmly, more sure of this answer than any she had ever given.

However, Akko’s face twisted, the voice in her head continuing to grow louder and louder.

“But how do you know? I mean your aunt still kind of hates me…”

“Exactly, and I happen to know my mother was almost nothing like Aunt Daryl” Diana joked.

“Mouu, Diana! I’m serious,” Akko pouted. “Besides, your aunt isn’t wrong when she says I’m really not all that talented as a witch… that I screw up a lot...”

Diana frowned  as she listened to Akko list off all of her insecurities. The speed at which she learned new spells. Her inability to keep out of trouble. The struggles she goes through just to pass a class.

With each passing word, Diana felt her heart ache. Her heart broke each time Akko's voice quivered.

Diana didn’t want to hear any of it, not when it was abundantly clear the purpose was to tear down the person she loved with all of her heart.

Diana knew all of this about Akko… knew that Akko worried about it from time to time… but there was so much more to Akko. So much to love, so much her mother would have loved.

She shifted around in Akko’s hold, which had loosened considerably, until she was facing Akko. She narrowed her eyes at her target and made her move, leaning forward.

“... and not to mention I still don’t know all that much about witch ru- mmph?!”

Diana pressed forward, capturing Akko’s lips with her own, effectively shutting her girlfriend up. It wasn’t long until Akko melted, sighing into the kiss.

Diana then pulled back, lifting herself above Akko, and stared right into her eyes.

“Akko, my mother would have adored you.” Diana answered firmly.

Akko shifted her eyes to the side, flattening her lips.

“H-how do you know?” Akko asked.

Diana sighed.

“I know my mother Akko, she would have loved you, faults and all.”

“But-”

Diana interrupted Akko with one kiss onto her left cheek.

“No buts,” Diana said as she pulled herself back up. “While, you do have your faults… you are aware of them and are working your hardest to make sure they don’t stand in the way of achieving your dreams… in helping others. My mother would have greatly admired that strength of character.”

“Diana, but I-”

Diana just rolled her eyes, this time moving to press a kiss atop Akko’s nose.

“What did I just say Akko? No buts,” Diana continued. When she saw that the expression on Akko’s face had yet to change, Diana sighed. Clearly she would need to try a more direct approach. “Akko, would you like to know how I truly know my mother would have loved you?”

Akko’s ears perked, but she still looked away, unable to meet Diana’s gaze. “H-how?”

Diana took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts, struggling to choose just one of an almost endless number of things to love about Akko to start with.

“Because… you truly embody all of the qualities my mother wished to see in herself and in others.” Diana finally answered.

Akko’s head whipped towards Diana’s and gaped at her, almost not even believing what she just heard. She embodied everything Diana’s mom looked for?

“Wh-what? H-how did, but I-”

Diana quickly pressed forward, this time pressing a kiss onto Akko’s right cheek.

“Shh, please let me finish,” Diana requested before beginning to speak once again. “First, and most importantly, you, Akko Kagari, are kind to a fault, able to show sympathy, if not empathy, with almost anyone in plight. You wish for the happiness of everyone around you, just as you did with the cursed spirit of Varajois the Wailing, with the faeries… and with me before we even became friends.”

Akko pouted, wanting to deny what Diana said. She wasn’t anything special or noble like that… but before she could say anything, Diana already placed another kiss, this time atop her forehead, causing her heart to flip and her thoughts to silence.

“Shhh,” Diana hushed, looking warmly down at her girlfriend, gently pushing aside a strand of Akko’s hair from her face. “Ah yes, and then there’s your willpower. Your determination,” Diana closed her eyes and smiled. “Sure, you find yourself knocked down… discouraged. But with just a little bit of support, you’re right back up again, ready to try once again.”

And once again, before Akko had any chance to protest, Diana pressed another kiss onto Akko’s face, this time by the corner of her lips, sending a jolt through each other’s nerves.

And thus the pattern continued.

Diana continuously sang her praises of Akko. Things she knew her mother would have definitely loved and admired.

She recounted the stories of their time at Luna Nova. Of all the things she managed to accomplish.

The way she managed to even change the minds and hearts of the most stubborn of teachers.

Diana spoke of the lengths Akko would go to help her friends… to help anyone.

She spoke of the trials Akko had faced, trials that would make any one witch quiver in fear, and how Akko faced them in her own way, in ways no one else would have even considered.

And of course, she lauded the qualities Akko had to embody to accomplish everything she has. Intense determination and drive. A strong passion. Depths of kindness and affection that knew no bounds. An openness to learn and an understanding to know when she needed help. And, of course, a true love of magic and a belief in all of its possibilities.

And just like before, Diana finished each thought with a kiss on a different spot on Akko’s face. She placed several on different spots of Akko’s cheek. She peppered Akko’s jaw with tiny pecks. She placed light, feathery kisses atop Akko’s head, and occasional slow, lingering kisses onto Akko’s lips.

Each kiss sent heat shooting up Akko’s face, made her heart race wildly, and filled her chest with fuzz and flutters.

By the time Diana was just about to finish, Akko was already a melted puddle beneath her.

“And… do you wish to know the reason that I can say, with absolutely no doubt, that my mother would have loved you Akko?”

Akko could only nod, finally completely lost in her girlfriend.

Diana smiled and pressed a short kiss onto Akko’s lips.

“Because… you would do absolutely anything for my sake. Because you encourage me to truly go after whatever it is I wish… and no matter what I say or do, you always find a way to be right by my side. Just as she would,” Diana took in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the lengths her mother had to go through to let her visit Japan that fateful night. The night that would link her and Akko together forever.  She then opened her eyes and smiled. “Because you love me, just as much as I love you.”

And that was it.

The fluttering in her gut. The overbearing heat in her face. The wild jumps and flips of her heart.  

It was all too much.

Akko’s eyes watered, and she reached up and pulled Diana closer to her, hiding her face in the crook of Diana’s neck.

Diana smiled and let herself be pulled in, and together, they laid in each other’s arms, not a word said until the sun had set.

When the moon shined through the translucent curtains, Akko whispered against Diana’s shoulder. A question whose answer was extremely obvious… but one she’s surprised she’d never asked before.

“Hey Diana, do you miss her?”

Diana held Akko closer and whispered back.

“Every day… but it’s certainly more bearable when I have people like you, our friends, and our teachers around.”

“She must have been amazing.”

“Yes… like you said. She was ‘just like some kind of hero’.”

“Do you… think you could tell me more about her? Like… I've heard a lot of stories… but I kinda wanna hear more about who she was from you.”

Diana pondered the question. It was something she would certainly be quite… open to, especially after everything they’d gone through during the day. But just how would she…

“Of course I could, Akko… I believe I still have some old family albums I haven’t looked at in years. Seeing as we still have another day here… perhaps I could show you some pictures of her as I share stories about her?”

“Y-Yeah! That’d be great!” Akko cheered, causing Diana to giggle.

“Very well, I will ask Anna if she could help us collect them tomorrow, and we can spend the rest of the day looking through each album.”

“Yay!” Akko cheered before letting out a loud yawn.

“Sounds like someone’s tired,” Diana joked, before letting out a loud yawn of her own, much to her own chagrin.

“Looks like I’m not the only one!” Akko giggled. “I’m rubbing off on you~”

“Y-yes well…” Diana muttered, her cheeks beginning to pinken, especially under the pale moonlight, “I suppose today has been extraordinarily trying. Shall we retire for the night?”

“Sure~” Akko sang before snuggling onto the bed and into Diana. “Night Diana! Love you.”

Diana smiled and nuzzled her head atop Akko’s.

“Good night Akko, I love you too.”

[pocket-anon]

The Long Way Home (8/10)

A thousand and one apologies again for being so late to post today. I know some of you may have been waiting up for this as you so kindly did for last week’s update, and I am incredibly sorry that I couldn’t get this out sooner. I’m working one of my 84-hour weeks right now, so real life has been busy, and I also decided to run through this chapter for the fiftieth time, which took forever because my brain is mush and apparently also very hard to satisfy today where words are concerned. But it’s very late now, and I’m finally sliding this out there and carting myself off to bed. I hope you lovely people enjoy. Thanks, as always, for your generous support.

ADDENDUM: Special thanks to @kmomof4 for inspiring a little extra humor that got thrown into this chapter after the original posting.  I’m terrible, guys - I tweak my chapters after they post all the time.  But trust me, IT’S BETTER NOW.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback.  Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic!  Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3.  Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut.  Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

Hook stares. “Wait.  What?”

“It was me,” she repeats.

“You cursed… yourself?”

“It’s a long story.” Emma scoots forward, and he moves off the bed to allow her to swing her legs over the side.  She winces, her bones and muscles creaking and with dissuse.  “It can wait a minute though.  I need to see Alec.”  

Hook tenses, a shadow of grief crossing over his face, and Emma picks up on his sudden shift in mood instantly.  Dread fills her wide eyes.  “What is it?”

“He’s taken a turn for the worse,” Hook says quietly.  “The wound looks terrible, and he’s been feverish for a day.  I told him yesterday that the leg is too far gone, but he begged to wait until we reach port to see what the surgeon thinks.”  He shakes his head, his features grim.  “Roberts says he started having difficulty breathing this afternoon.  I don’t know if he’ll last the night.”

Emma turns ashen before she swallows hard, her jaw set with determination.  “Then there’s no time.”  She grabs his hand, and white smoke engulfs them once more, this time transporting them to the crew quarters.  Her legs nearly give way as it clears, her feet landing on the floor for the first time in days.

“Whoa!”  Hook throws his arms around her before she can sink to the floor and guides her onto the bench next to Alec’s berth.  “Steady, love.”

She clings to him a moment and rewards him with a grateful smile before turning her attention to their dying friend.  

Alec looks much worse than he did when Hook last looked in on him earlier this morning – he’s pale and damp with sweat, his breathing is labored, and he appears a little delirious, his forehead wrinkling and his eyes slightly glazed over as he blinks up at them in confusion.  “Milady?” he wheezes.

Emma reaches forward and layers one of her hands over his.  “Yes, I’m here,” she answers with a strained smile.  “It’s going to be alright.  Do you trust me?”

The way the muscles in his neck tense with every breath makes it difficult to discern his nod, but he grunts.  “Y-yes.”

“Good.”   She positions her free hand a few inches over his heart, and the men watch her bow her head as though drawing on something from deep within.  Brilliant light suddenly bursts forth from the center of her palm.  Alec’s eyes grow huge, and he whimpers as the beam widens into concentric golden rings that shimmer and pulse and appear to absorb into his chest.  His whole body shudders, but despite a few initial gasps and gulps, his breathing slowly eases.  The muscles in Emma’s face twist tighter still, her hand now quaking with effort as she gradually pulls the light down his torso to give his leg the same treatment.  A few long moments later, the magic vanishes and she slumps forward, visibly spent.

Hook drops onto the seat next to her and bears her up, draping his arms around her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”  He cradles her to his chest and turns his head to watch, amazed, as Alec pushes himself up to a sitting position with clear eyes and a rosy undertone to his skin that hasn’t been there in weeks.  “Alright, mate?”

The young man rubs a hand across his breastbone in awe and leans forward to throw off his blanket and untie the bandage.  His jaw drops when the linen falls away to reveal his leg completely healed without so much as a scar to hint at the original injury.  “Bloody hell!”  He gapes at Emma.  “I didn’t know you could do that!”

Emma chuffs with a tired smile.  “Neither did I until a few minutes ago.”

Hook gives her shoulders a squeeze.  “Come, love. Perhaps some food and more rest are in order.”  He tries to help her to her feet, but her legs remain unsure, and at her first wobble, he patiently bends and hoists her into his arms.  

“Go tell Smee to change our heading. We resume course for Misthaven now,“ he informs Alec.  “Roberts can help you find a spare pair of trousers.  I expect you back on duty tomorrow.”

The young man nods eagerly. “Yessir.  And thank you, milady,” he tells Emma, his voice heavy with emotion. “This is a debt I can never repay.”

Emma’s tired eyes twinkle as she winds her arms around the Captain’s neck.  “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Hook gives his crewman a solemn smile and carries her out the door.

Though it’s a little awkward toting Emma down the narrow corridor, he savors the sensation of having her arms wrapped around his neck and the warmth of her body nestled against him. She’s a gift from the gods, this woman, and he simply can’t reconcile the inequity of the fact that she’s his.  Precious cargo.  That’s what he’d once called her.  Hook smiles wryly as he bears her back to his quarters.  If only he’d known the truth of it then.

Emma lets out a sigh when he deposits her back upon his berth, her fingertips grazing his neck as they pull away.  He shivers, sorely tempted for a moment to follow her into the bed and ravage her with kisses, but as much as he wants to realize the fantasies that have kept him company the last few weeks, one look at her weary expression reminds him that this is not an ideal time for either of them to address that aspect of their relationship. And there are more pressing matters.

He props her back up on the pillows and fetches her more wine and his dinner plate.  “Are you alright?”

She fixes him with another thankful smile and nods, raising the drink to her lips.  “I’m fine.  Healing just takes a lot out of me.”

“You’ve done it before?” He resumes his position on the edge of the bed.

Emma hums.  “Only a few times.  Not many people know I can, and we try to reserve it for times of urgent need.”  She sighs and reaches for a piece of hard tack.  “I’m just glad I remembered that I could do it before it was too late.”

Hook leans forward and kisses her forehead.  “As am I.” He grins, helping himself to some of the food as well.  “Now. If you feel up to it, tell me your story.”

Emma nibbles while she considers how to begin.  “I was kidnapped in January, a few weeks after the winter solstice,” she says finally. She hesitates and eyes him nervously. “By the Dark One.”

The Crocodile.  Bloody hell.  Anger darkens his face, and he nearly forgets to swallow the food in his mouth. “What?”

She cringes the tiniest bit at the hardness of his tone.  “There’s… there’s a dagger.  His power is tied to it.”

Hook nods gravely.  “Aye.  I’ve heard of it,” he replies.  “They say it’s the only thing that can kill him.”

Emma studies his face thoughtfully.  “Yes, well, what’s less well-known is that it was once part of a larger blade.”  She wets her lips.  “The sword, Excalibur.”

“The King’s Steel?” He frowns.

She bobs her head again, absently finishing the rest of her biscuit.  “Excalibur was forged to cut immortal ties.  Reuniting the dagger with the rest of the sword – making it whole again – restores its power to kill immortal beings.”

His eyes widen.  “Like the Dark One.”

“Y-yes,” she acquiesces slowly.  “But also the fairies.”  She sighs. “The Dark Ones have been at odds with the fairies for millennia.  This Dark One wants to use the sword to wipe them out.”

His eyes narrow in confusion.  “But what do you have to do with any of this?”

Emma snorts.  “He needed my help.”  She takes another sip and offers him what remains of the wine. “Only one of the rightful rulers of a kingdom can pull Excalibur from its stone,” she explains.  “And the only way to re-forge the blade is with a Promethean flame.”

“A what?”

“A fire lit from the last spark of the fire Prometheus stole from the gods.  The Dark One has the spark, but only someone with light magic can ignite the flame and use it.”

“So you suited his purposes perfectly.”  Hook scowls, draining the glass and setting it aside.

She hums the affirmative. “He ambushed me when I was out riding – took me right off my horse, I think.  I woke up a prisoner in his castle.  He treated me well enough.”  She arcs an eyebrow wryly.  “You know, except for the part where he threatened to hurt my parents if I didn’t help him.”  A glance at Hook causes her to slide her hand into his as though she can see the way his blood is threatening to boil, and she continues hastily.  “Anyway, getting Excalibur was quick work,” she says, clearing her throat, “and I needed more time to come up with a plan, so I pretended to have trouble lighting the flame.”  Hook smirks, slightly consoled, and she gives him a half-hearted grin.  “There wasn’t much to work with, but he did have a potion for a memory curse brewing at the time.  I waited until it was ready before I lit the flame, and when he forced me to reforge the sword, I magicked it somewhere he’d never find it and then took the potion to wipe my memory so I wouldn’t be able to tell him where it was.”  She smiles sadly.  "I didn’t want to have anything else he’d threaten my parents’ lives for.“

Pride surges through Hook’s chest at the thought of Emma outwitting the Demon, and he impulsively leans forward and gathers in her his arms. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan,” he says, planting a fierce kiss in her hair.  “Amazing.”

Emma chuffs and hugs him back with a little shake of her head.  “Yeah, well, let’s not oversell it.  I didn’t realize how powerful the memory curse was going to be,” she mumbles into his shoulder.  “I thought I’d lose a few days or weeks, and instead I lost everything.  I blacked out, and the next thing I remember is waking up in an alley in Vicarstown.  I assume he sent me there, but I have no idea why.”  She tenses suddenly and raises her head, her green eyes horrified.  “Gods, that was almost three months ago.  My parents must be worried sick.” She darts a look at the small mirror above his washstand, wiggling from his arms and moving to get out of bed yet again.  

He arches an eyebrow and stands.  “What are you doing now?”

“Mirror magic,” she answers simply, letting him help her up and over to the corner.  Her bare feet shuffle haphazardly across the floor.  “I want to see them.”

Hook’s brow furrows at the idea of her doing even more magic when she’s still so tired, but he holds his tongue and watches curiously, hand still in hers, as she focuses on the glass and sucks in a deep breath.  Her eyes fall closed, a wrinkle appearing between them, and suddenly the mirror begins to glow, spilling golden light across the dim cabin.  Their reflection disappears, replaced by the image of a woman standing on a castle balcony.  Her coifed dark hair is streaked with a touch of gray, and her classically beautiful features are despondent as she stares out over the forest below.

Emma looks up, her expression falling as she sees the familiar face.  “Mother…”  she murmurs sadly, reaching out to lay her fingertips on the glass.

They continue to watch as a handsome, middle-aged man with a fine tunic and a weary countenance suddenly appears at the woman’s side and wraps his arm around her shoulders.  She leans her head against him, and he presses a grieved kiss to her temple.

“Papa.”  The image of the King and Queen vanish from the mirror, and Emma bites her lip and whirls, looking distraught.  Her eyes lock on to the windows, and she peers out at the night sky with a distant gaze, her lips moving as though in silent prayer.  

“Emma?”

She blinks out of her reverie.  “When word gets out that I’ve returned home with my memories restored, my family and I will be in danger all over again,” she whispers.

He sighs and tugs on her hand, pulling her gently into his arms.  “Tell me what you need.”  

“You don’t have to come with me.”  She shakes her head, looking forlorn as her hands fiddle with the charms that hang around his neck.

He snorts.  “Like bloody hell I don’t.”  He tips her chin upward and stares into her eyes resolutely. “I love you, Swan, and you’ve got a head full of memories now to prove it.”  He smiles as her sad expression gives way to an awed flush.  “I go where you go, and this ship is at your disposal. As is the rest of the crew, I suspect,” he adds with a chuckle.

Emma gives a quiet laugh and tips her head coquettishly.  “I thought you were through serving a monarch.”

He rolls his eyes.  “I serve at the pleasure of the Lady Swan,” he says, grinning and touching his lips to her forehead.  “I won’t hold it against you that you turned out to be a stuffy royal.”

“Hmph.”  Her dimples flash despite the anxiety that remains in her smile, and she closes the distance between them to press a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.  “Thank you,” she whispers, lashes still lowered and fingers reaching up to stroke the side of his face.   She exhales and tips her head forward against his. “I think we need help.”

“From whom?”

Emma cranes her neck to look away. “From her.”

Killian follows her line of sight out the window, squinting for a moment until he spies the tiny pinpoint of sapphire-colored light speeding over the darkened waves toward them. His eyes widen as it sweeps in through the open window and swells into a giant glowing ball, the light then dissipating to leave a human-sized fairy in their midst.

Emma hobbles over to her eagerly.  “Blue!”

The fairy, a slight woman with big chocolate eyes, matching ringlets, iridescent wings, and a fancifully wide skirt that looks a bit like a jellyfish embraces her with a happy cry. “Emma!  At last!”  She hugs the Princess and then holds her out at arm’s length.  “I was so relieved to hear your call just now!  We’ve been worried!”

Emma nods regretfully. “I know.  I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Blue demands.  She raises a disapproving eyebrow at Hook.  “And in the company of pirates?”

Hook bristles.

Emma colors.  “Blue, this is Captain Killian Jones.”

“Captain Hook,” Blue supplies flatly.  “I know.”

At the fairy’s frown, Emma returns to Hook’s side and makes a show of taking his hand and clinging to his arm.

Astonishment transforms Blue’s pretty features, her mouth growing round.  “Oh.”  She cocks her head, as if reading the energy between the two of them, and blinks. “Really?  True Love?”  One eye pinches as she peers more closely at Hook, examining him up and down, and he does his best to remain stoic, his jaw clenched in defiance despite the unsettling sensation that she’s somehow weighing and measuring his very soul.  At last the delicate lines on her brow fade and she gives an appeased hum.  “That’s going to be an interesting conversation with your parents.”

Emma squeezes his hand. “Yeah, well, that’s the least of our problems,” she says dryly.  “Blue, I was taken by the Dark One.”

The fairy’s attention snaps back to her.  “What?” She watches Hook help Emma into a seat at the table.  “Tell me everything.”

Emma proceeds to relay her tale again, only pausing from time to time to answer pointed questions from her friend.  Blue’s lips disappear into a tight line at the first mention of Excalibur, and her eyes glimmer dangerously when she learns that she and her kind are the targets of the Dark One’s latest plot.  The only break in her quiet outrage is a small smile when Emma details how she spirited the sword away and sacrificed her memories.  “I’m proud of you, Emma,” she comments.  “You’ve done well.”

Emma grins weakly. “But what do I do now?  Can you remove the memory again?”

The fairy shakes her head apologetically.  “Unfortunately, no.  All memory curses stem from dark magic.  I cannot create one.”

“Then we need a new plan,” Emma insists.  “No one I love will be safe as long as I have what he wants.”  

Hook licks his lips. “Perhaps the best strategy is to attack first then.”  He leans forward on the table beside her.  “You have a weapon that can kill immortal beings, love.  Just end the bloody Crocodile once and for all.”

Emma’s face falls. “I… I know you’ve spent most of your life looking for a way to get your revenge against him,” she acknowledges quietly, shooting a nervous look at Blue before fixing him with a pained expression, “But I can’t do that.”

His brow crinkles with disbelief.  “Why not?”

“Because murder and revenge change you,” Blue answers firmly.  “They turn your heart dark.  If you love her, then don’t ask that of her.”

The thought of corrupting Emma causes Hook’s stomach to feel leaden, and guilt rears its head as he remembers how upset she’d been to kill the naval captain, even in his defense. He glances at her, chastised, and swallows, his eyes falling to the table.  “Then let me do it.”  He turns and offers the fairy a sad half-smile.  “I’m already a villain.  My heart’s as dark as they come.  Let me pay the price for killing the Dark One.  Then Emma and her family will be safe.”

“No!” Emma protests, panic creeping into her voice.

To his surprise, Blue eyes him thoughtfully.  “It’s true that your course has been far from straight, Captain,” she says at last, her features stern, “and there has been immense suffering in your wake.”  Her frown lessens.  “But there’s always hope for a person capable of True Love.  Your heart may not be as dark as you think, especially if you’re willing to let Emma’s light guide you now.”  She lifts an eyebrow in challenge.  “Will you do that?  Try to be the man she needs you to be?”

A lump rises in Hook’s throat, and there’s a great weight on his chest as he shares a look with Emma, her eyes emotional and slightly embarrassed.  He nods and reaches for her hand.

The fairy smiles.  “Good.”

Emma blinks the moisture out of her eyes and sniffles loudly, clearing her throat.  “Blue, can’t I just give the sword to you?”

Blue shakes her head again. “That won’t keep the Dark One from coming after you, Emma.  It’ll only leave you without the weapon you may need to defend yourself against him when he does.”  She lays a hand on her shoulder with a kind smile.  “Have hope.  You’ve already bested him once, and you have some of the strongest light magic I have seen in a long time.  Am I right in thinking you did something big several days ago?”

Emma exchanges a stunned glance with Hook.  “You know about that?”

Blue looks pleased to be correct.  “I felt it. All the fairies did.  What happened?”

“She transported the ship out of a hurricane,” Hook says, gazing at Emma with admiration.  “Saved us all by moving us bloody near 90 nautical miles and out of harm’s way.”

Blue’s eyes grow huge. “Truly?”  As Hook sounds the affirmative, she looks to Emma and beams. “You’ve always had a knack for teleporting, but I’m still impressed you were able to send anything that distance, much less a ship this size, Emma.  Little wonder we sensed it, even from so far away.  It gave me hope we’d find you.  We knew you’d gone across the sea.”

“How?” Hook asks.

Blue smiles patiently. “Her parents summoned me a few days after she’d gone missing.  I used a locator charm on one of her hair combs.  We tracked it for a day but lost it when it went into the ocean.  We had to assume she’d gone over the water.  Your parents refused to entertain any other possibilities.”

“That must be when they sent communiqués to their allies,” Hook tells Emma.  “Like the one I found on that ship from Glowerhaven.”

Emma traces his knuckle with her thumb, the corner of her mouth twitching before she sighs again. “Well, we have to think of something.”

The fairy nods with a bounce of her brunette curls.  “We will do everything we can,” she promises.  With a wave of her wand, she takes to the air and winks back down to her normal size.  “I’ll alert your parents, tell them what’s happened.”

Emma turns to Hook. “How long until we get there?” she asks him anxiously.

He inclines his head. “From here with strong winds? Perhaps a week.”

“Then we’ll see you then,” Blue says, swooping toward them in a graceful arc in order to float in front of Emma’s nose, her dragonfly-like wings flapping lazily back and forth.

“Tell my parents I love them,” Emma implores.

“I will.  Be safe, Princess.”  Blue darts over to give Hook one last tiny, but no-less penetrating stare. “Look after the one you love, Captain.”

Hook nods soberly, and they watch as the fairy loops out the window and off into the night.

*             *             *

Emma sighs with deep, penetrating weariness as Blue’s departure makes the cabin grow dimmer once more.

Still standing beside her chair, Hook hums and tugs on her hand.  “Come, love.  Back to bed. I daresay you’ve done enough for one evening.”

She has no words to contradict him as he helps her up and back over to the berth.  “And what about you?” she asks, settling back against the pillows with a little groan.  “You haven’t slept well in three days.”

He chuckles. “Aye.  Now that I know you’re alright, I think I could do with a night’s rest.”

The thought of him leaving her alone in his cabin in order to go sling up a hammock somewhere else makes her frown, and Emma bites her lip, trying to ignore the fact that her parents would most certainly not approve of what she wants to say.  “Would you…”  She swallows. “Would you stay here with me?  To sleep,” she adds, feeling the warmth creep into her face.

Hook ducks his head and scratches behind his ear, trying to wipe the foolish smile off his face.  “I suppose I could manage that,” he says, his tone causing her heart to skip a beat.  Despite the signs of fatigue around them, his blue eyes gleam with mischief when he glances back up.  “I serve at the pleasure of the Lady Swan.”

She blushes even harder and rolls her eyes, scooting over to turn down the lamp above the bed while he pads away to address the others.  The room slips into deeper darkness as the flames are extinguished one by one, leaving his figure outlined only in dim moonlight.  

Hook turns back toward the bed, and Emma watches, intrigued, as he absently reaches for his left arm, jerking the sleeve up to fully expose his brace and reaching for the straps that hold it in place.  He catches her looking, and his hand pauses, his step slowing.  Something flickers across his face, and Emma blinks as she realizes he actually looks self-conscious.

She offers him a gentle smile.  “Need some help?” she asks softly, moving to kneel on the edge of the berth and beckoning with her hand.  “I’m rather good with fastenings.”

Hook folds his lips together, and he hangs his head, hesitating a moment longer before coming toward her and gingerly offering her his left forearm.  “It’s…  It’s not the prettiest thing, love.”

Emma cradles the brace in one hand and follows his gestures to undo the two studded straps that secure it to his arm, holding her breath as she eases the leather shell off and sets it, hook and all, aside.  Her fingers tentatively survey the contours of his stump and the long, shiny scar that runs across the puckered flesh, and she feels him tremble.  “It’s part of you,” she murmurs.  “That’s all I care about.”  To make her point, she sets the arm on the curve of her hip and reaches for his neck to pull him in for a slow, quiet kiss, grinning at the sheen her gesture leaves in his eyes.  “Come on.”

He smiles shyly and takes a second to hang the hook and brace from a little loop of leather tacked up behind the elaborately carved support that overhangs the foot of the bed. Then he’s back in her arms, crawling up on to the berth and plying her mouth with more grateful kisses as they lay down together beneath his blanket.  His movements are quiet and unhurried – his hand gliding up her back, his lips pulling tenderly against hers – and while she sighs blissfully, it seems clear that his touch isn’t driven as much by a physical need for her right now as it is by an emotional one.  There’s something revealing and intimate about this moment – strangely more intimate than if they had simply fallen in bed together in a passionate frenzy, she imagines.  This is real. This is the man without the persona, without the bravado, without the preening, without all the leather and steel - without the Hook - that normally separates him from the rest of the world.  This is a bone-tired man with weaknesses and self-doubt – a man who wants to be with her not just for physical pleasure, but for the comfort of his soul.  

Momentarily sated, he pulls back and drops another pair of kisses on the tip of her nose and then her forehead, his beard tickling her skin while his arm encourages her to snuggle into his side.  Emma tucks her cheek into the hollow just below his shoulder and inhales deeply, savoring the smell and feel of being surrounded by him, and despite now being aware of the danger that awaits her at home, it occurs to her that, for the first time since before she was kidnapped, she feels really and truly safe.  She strokes the space over his heart and lets her hand drift over his left arm, running her palm down his bicep until her thumb rests in the crook of his elbow.  A smile finds her lips as he noses her hair and plants one last kiss on the top of her head.  “Good night, Killian Jones.”

He rumbles against her, his voice thick.  “Good night, my princess.”

In the warmth of his embrace, sleep claims her almost immediately, and the night passes in a dreamless blink of an eye.

Emma awakens the following morning to the indirect glow of the early sun filtering through the cabin and the crisp dawn air whistling through the still-open pane above their heads. The intense heat of the tropics is thankfully behind them, and the weather grows cooler as they sail further and further north.  A  particularly stiff breeze whooshes through, and even clothed and burrowed next to Hook – Killian – under the blanket, she can’t help the shiver that ripples across her skin.

He beneath her, shifting groggily and pulling her closer, and she smiles to herself at the notion of being cuddled by a pirate of his intimidating reputation.  Her eyes meander over his face to study his neutral features – the dark locks draped boyishly over his forehead, the normally expressive eyebrows, the thick lashes, the high cheekbones, the healing cut, and the soft lips framed by his beard.

Formidable and extremely complicated, to be sure, but he’s got himself an honorable streak that would surprise you.

She chuffs inwardly as Maggie’s words resurface in her mind.  The woman did have a talent for judging character.  Emma reaches upward to deftly brush the hair away from his face. She loves him.  She can’t deny it now.  She’s spent her whole life hearing about True Love and dreaming of the day she would find a man who loves her the way her father loves her mother, and now she’s found him.  But how is she going to explain him to her parents?  To the kingdom?  She doesn’t know whether to bless or curse the Fates for throwing her together with Killian Jones, she thinks, dragging her fingers softly from his hairline to his temple and down along his jaw.  Because, gods above, she doesn’t know how to keep him, but she has no intention of letting him go.

Another cold gust needles her, and she winces again, flicking a glare in the direction of the window and raising her arm for a moment to magic it shut with a little twist of her hand.  The vehemence of her command causes the window to close a little more forcefully than she intends, and the resulting thud jolts Killian awake, his arm reflexively tightening around her torso and his breath seizing in his chest while his sleepy eyes fly open.

“Wha—?”

“Sorry!  Sorry.”  Emma grimaces and lays her hand back on his chest soothingly.  “That was me.”  She watches with amusement as pleasant confusion settles over his features.  “I closed the window,” she explains apologetically.  “It was cold.”

He glances at the distance between her and the window and frowns.  “How did you…”  

She raises her hand a few inches off his chest and waves it in a half-hearted flourish.

The lines disappear from his brow as recognition lights his face.  “Ah.  A little early morning magic, I see.”

Emma nods. “Sorry.  It was lazy.  I didn’t feel like getting up.”

A shiver of an entirely different nature zips down her back when Killian hums happily against her and brushes his lips across her crown.  “I can sympathize,” he murmurs into her hair.  “Did you sleep well?”

She chuckles, suddenly feeling a little shy, her fingers wandering up to trace his partly-exposed collarbone.  “Mm-hmm. You?”

“Best night I’ve had in ages.”  He moves a little, and Emma shimmies upward in the bed at his silent bidding so he can drop a kiss first on her forehead and then on her mouth.

His sweet little gesture of affection quickly morphs into something entirely different when she parts her lips for him and invites him to explore.  Killian’s rumble of approval reverberates through his ribs, and he rolls up partway on his side and seals his mouth over hers hungrily, his tongue grazing her teeth and his breathing growing labored.  She moans and does her best to keep up, suckling at his lower lip and sighing with gratification when he changes his angle and comes deeper still. Heat begins to coil in her belly as he thoroughly plunders her mouth, and suddenly all she wants to do is touch and be touched, her hands flying upward to stroke his neck on one side and bury her fingers in his hair on the other.

In her life as a royal, she’s only been kissed – really kissed – by two men.  One was the scruffy stable boy she used to flirt with back when she was too young to know better, the boy who snuck kisses from her when no one else was looking and who broke her heart when he and one of the scullery maids stole some of the silver dinner service and ran away together a year later.  The other was a would-be suitor from the cadre that came seeking her hand last year – an arrogant prince who’d cornered her in the gardens and managed to plant a kiss on her before she returned the favor with a fist to his nose.  But none of those kisses prepared her for this – for this passionate, desperate dance of lips and tongues that Killian is leading her on now, for the rough drag of his beard over her skin, for the way her body seems to vibrate and move of its own accord in response to him, for the way she wants.  She feels on fire with this man, and all she wants to do is burn brighter.  

She tugs him down on top of her and swallows his low groan, feeling deliciously wanton as she enjoys being covered by the solid weight of him.   Propriety and consequences be damned. The future can wait.  This man is her True Love, and right now, she’s awash in the temptation to do exactly what she likes with him.

He kisses his way across her cheek and over to her ear.  “What would you have of me, Swan?” he whispers, nipping at her lobe and then ducking his head to sear kisses beneath her jaw.

She pants, thrashing restlessly beneath him while her hands navigate the planes of his back beneath his half-tucked shirt.  “Everything.”

He pulls back, eyebrows twitching upward, and looks down upon her with heartbreaking adoration, reaching up to thumb her chin.  “Are you sure?  Have you ever…?”

“No.”  She shakes her head and cups his face in her hands. “But I’m sure.  Do I have your heart?”

Killian nods solemnly.

“Then I want the rest, too. Please,” she breathes.  “I want you.”  

He lights with a brilliant smile and lunges forward again, drawing her lips into a slew of aggressive kisses that reduce her to the most primitive of thoughts. His nimble fingers make short work of the buttons on her shirt, the cotton falling open and the two of them wriggling to pull it free.  It flutters unceremoniously to the boards, and he lays his hand on the swath of skin just above her hip, letting it drift over her belly as though memorizing every square inch before moving upward toward her ribs.  

His fingers reach the wide strip of linen she’s been using to bind her breasts in lieu of her corset, and he pauses.  “May I?”

Any nervousness she feels at being revealed to a man for the first time is assuaged by the worshipful way he gazes at her, and she nods wordlessly, reaching for the flat knot at her side and tugging it loose.  Emma bites her lip as Killian pulls the loops of fabric away, her heart pounding when at last they hit the floor next to her shirt.  

He pauses to drink her in, lips parted in awe and eyes darkened as they rake down her bare skin. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, leaning forward to capture her lips again.  His hand finds her left breast, caressing and cupping the soft flesh reverently and tweaking her nipple to a rigid peak with his thumb.  

Emma whimpers softly into his mouth, gradually becoming aware of the hard outline of his arousal pressed between them, and when she arches in response to his continued ministrations, the momentary jolt of bliss she gets from grinding against him makes her gasp.  Oh.  She braces a foot on the mattress in order to lever her hips firmly into him again, and they groan in unison at the pressure.

“Swan,” he growls, “you’re not making it easy for a man to take his time.”

She rolls her hips upward again in reply and grins wickedly at the even more choked noise it pulls from him.  

“Minx.”  He grants her one more dizzying kiss before determinedly pulling away to refocus his attention on her breasts, exploring her curves with his mouth while sparks dance across her skin and the warmth between her legs grows more intense.  

Killian blindly looses the buttons on her trousers, and his hand slips delicately beneath the waistband, calluses brushing down over her mound in search of her most sensitive places. She gives a little gasp when his questing fingertips finally glide through her folds.  “Bloody hell.  You’re so wet,” he rasps appreciatively.  He grazes that spot that makes her see stars, and his parted lips smile against her when she keens, his tongue still swirling across her pebbled skin and his warm breath doing little to tame her shivers.  “Good?” he asks, amused.  His fingers find her nub again and begin a slow, steady rhythm that causes waves of pleasure to wash over her and her heart rate to accelerate exponentially.

Emma moans in reply, her lower lip between her teeth. She’s touched herself before, of course, but those curious, hesitant experiences late at night in the privacy of her bedchamber pale in comparison to the sensations coursing through her from the perfect combination of friction and pressure he’s somehow generating now in the slick between her legs.  

Killian strokes her a few exquisite moments longer, and her breath begins to stutter uncontrollably. Then his hand slows.  Emma whines with frustration.

“Steady, love,” he laughs quietly, the knowing smile more than obvious in his voice.  “All good things.”  He pushes off her a bit in order to slip further down her torso, the top of his dark head bobbing back and forth as he kisses a wandering line across her stomach, his mouth hot and his chains cold as they drag across her flesh.  His hand withdraws from her trousers, fingertips folding over the waistband in question.  Emma lifts her hips off the bed and helps him pull, the last of her clothing landing on the floor somewhere behind him with a muffled thump. A guttural moan escapes him as he appreciates her completely nude form, his hand wrapping around the flare of her hip bone and his neck craning downward to resume his path of kisses just below her navel.

Her fingers card anxiously through his hair as she watches him descend, scarcely able to believe he wants to do what he’s doing until his nose dips out of sight and he licks a gentle stripe along her opening.  A little cry rips from Emma’s throat, and he groans at the taste of her.     

“Bloody hell,” he breathes, pressing forward with his mouth again.

She writhes under his heavenly torment.  “Killian…” she pants. “Oh, gods…”  Her eyes clamp shut as he laps and suckles and pushes her back to the brink, every coherent thought gone from her mind except, More… more… more.

He closes his lips around her sex in the most intimate of kisses and hums, the vibration shooting straight to the base of her spine, and she gives a muffled shriek and clenches her fist in his hair to urge him on.  Her sudden roughness causes him to grunt enthusiastically, and he redoubles his efforts, picking up the pace and tonguing her harder and faster until she’s finally overcome by blinding euphoria.  

Emma bucks against him, riding her orgasm out long and hard with a weak, wrecked sob.  Never in her life has she ever even imagined anything close to this, this pure, unadulterated pleasure – warmth and love and hedonism all wrapped into one all-encompassing tidal wave that makes her happy to drown.  And when at last she begins to come down, she falls back against the pillows, her heart thundering like an unforgiving drum and every inch of her buzzing pleasantly. Her chest heaves, and her legs quiver on either side of his shoulders, and Killian chuckles and swipes the moisture from his beard on the inside of her thigh before crawling back up.  

He scatters a few more kisses across her skin as he goes, finally nipping playfully at the corner of her mouth, his eyes crinkled at the corners.  “I daresay you enjoyed that, love.”

Smug bastard.  She chuckles, her dimples appearing as she savors her tang on his lips and the molten sensation of her afterglow.  "Yes.  Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Killian laughs richly at her retort, eyes dancing.  He cups the side of her face and thumbs her cheek.  “Ready for more?”

“Mmm.”  She kisses him again.  “I think so.”  He pulls the chains from around his neck and deposits them on the shelf, and she helps him remove his shirt, thoroughly enamored with the sight of him stripped the waist even as she recalls what she’s heard about coupling from her handmaids.  Her brow wrinkles. “Will it hurt?”

He hesitates, his expression turning somber.  “It may at first,” he admits.  “We don’t have to–”

“No.”  She cradles his head in her hands.  “No, I want this.  I trust you.”

To her surprise, his eyes grow wet, the steel blue shimmering like the ocean.  “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, nosing her cheek and fusing his lips to hers with a sharp intake of air.  

They fall silent for a bit, the only sounds between them the whispers of skin on skin and the rustle of the sheets beneath them.  His hand moves back down between her legs and begins to pleasure her once more, the swollen flesh still slippery and sensitive to his touch.  Emma arches her back, wrapping her arms around his neck and smoothing her hands over the spot between his shoulder blades.  She gasps when he probes her opening, and he presses slowly inward until it his finger is seated up to the ring, gently working back and forth and curling it against her walls.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

She nods eagerly, relishing the strange feel of him inside her.  

She feels him introduce a second finger, his hand increasingly hesitant as he works to stretch her further and further, pausing at every hint of discomfort in order to let her adjust before proceeding again.    

At last he seems satisfied.   “Ready?”

“Please.”  Emma blinks up at him ardently.  

He flashes her a smile and pulls away to remove his pants, sighing with relief when his rigid length is finally released from the constraints of the heavy leather.  It bobs against her leg as he climbs back aboard, bracing himself on his forearms.  “Hold tight, love.”  

He guides himself to her entrance and pushes forward in increments, groaning as she envelops him bit by bit until he’s buried to the hilt.  “Oh, Swan…”  He brushes a lock of hair from her forehead and gazes down at her, panting rapturously. “Emma…”

“I’m okay,” she hisses, despite the mild discomfort.  He feels enormous, filling her and pressing against places she didn’t know she had, but the look on his face – helpless and wondering and so in love – makes her think she would do this a thousand times if it made him happy.

Killian snakes his hand back down between them and slips back to the apex of her thighs to rub her in firm circles, and she does her best focus on the work of his fingers, gradually relaxing as the pleasure seeps into her blood once more.  

He watches her expression intently, his face hopeful.  “Better?” When she nods, he grins and kisses her hot and sweet.  “I love you,” he murmurs, nuzzling her forehead.  “Stay with me.”

He begins to move, his face becoming a mask of concentration as he works his way from shallow movements to deeper and deeper thrusts.  He grunts and shifts above her to change his angle, and Emma shudders at the new pressure it creates low in her belly and the way he drags along her folds.

“There!” she tells him, her breath hitching in her throat.  “There…”  She tilts her hips up a bit, and Killian picks up speed, sweat glistening on his forehead and his eyes clenched shut as he begins to lose himself in her.

They chase their release together, her whines growing more and more strained, and when she finally falls again with a cry, he’s right behind her, stifling a roar in the side of her neck as he comes.  His hips slow, their movement becoming more erratic with fatigue, until at last he moans and slumps against her.

Emma clutches him to her as they catch their breath and gently cards her fingers through the hair on the back of his head.  “I love you,” she whispers.

Killian sighs, his arms tightening around her.  “Heaven knows why,” he mutters.

She turns her head to place a kiss in his hair.  “Because even after all these years, you’re still capable of good things.”  Her fingers dance across his back soothingly.

He hums.  “Good things,” he echoes soberly.

“You were a hero to all those slaves,” she offers.

Killian chuffs.  “I’m hardly a hero.”

Emma frowns into the side of his head before she turns her eyes upward to search the ceiling.  “Why did you do it?” she asks at last.  “Agree to go after the slavers, I mean.”

He pushes himself up a little to look at her, brow creased in thought, and rolls to settle beside her, his right arm encircling her when she wraps herself around his side.  “I wanted to be a better man for you, I suppose,” he answers, shifting them a bit atop the pillow before she lays her head on his chest.

She bites her lip at his confession, tipping her head forward and curling a hair closer.  

“And then…”

She looks up at him curiously.  “Then?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb stroking her shoulder restlessly.  “I told you that my father left me and my brother in the service of a ship’s captain,” he starts slowly.  “What I didn’t tell you is that he sold us to him and we spent the next six years as slaves.”

Emma’s breath catches, and she looks up at him wide-eyed.

Killian nods slowly. “We eventually escaped and were given positions in the navy, though the credit for that goes entirely to my brother, and I regret to say I was more burden than help to him back then.”  He swallows thickly.  “Anyway, being on that slave ship brought back memories I thought I’d purged a long time ago.”  He blinks. “There was a boy there who was about the same age we were, and when I saw him, I…”  He licks his lips and stares helplessly at beams above, eyes darting back and forth until at last his chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “Suffice it to say it felt good to free them. You were right, love – it was the right thing to do,” he says, his voice growing softer as he places a kiss on her temple.

Her hand slides up to lay over his heart.  “I don’t know.  Sounds to me like you earned a mark in the hero column,” she muses, enjoying the steady beat beneath her fingertips.

“I hope so.”  He sounds unconvinced.

Emma reaches for his face and rubs his jaw affectionately.  “Trust me.”

Killian’s strong arm contracts around her, pulling her up until they’re nose-to-nose.  His eyes shine with emotion, and his lashes flutter closed as he leans forward to capture her lips once more.  “With my life.” (*)

Thanks for reading!  Ready for the next chapter?  Click here!

[snowbellewells]

“Bless What is Given You” (a birthday fic for @searchingwardrobes)

I am getting this in just barely under the wire, and I am truly sorry you’ve had to wait so long for your birthday present, Melanie.  Also, I’m really hoping you will enjoy this, because it morphed and took various forms as I went.  I set out to give @searchingwardrobes​ some Captain Charming Hood friendship and shenanigans, as well as some 3b canon divergence - perhaps fighting flying monkeys - and there is some of that, but I’ve also discovered that when I let myself write Robin Hood he tends to take over.  I always liked him and wanted more of him, and apparently when I intentionally include him in the story, he really wants to take over.  Anyway, there’s possibly less Charming and Killian than you might have expected, but I do hope you’ll have some fun reading this all the same.

I will add that Emma’s younger brother is called Leo in this - I just can’t do the whole “Prince Neal” thing. Maybe pretend somewhere along the line Charming and Snow learned the full, true story and so changed their youngest’s name -- in my head, to Leo Graham.  This has some 3b missing moments/divergence, and then some future fluff as well.  No other pertinent warnings I don’t think, expect maybe for turkeys being hunted for the Thanksgiving table. But I really know very little about hunting, so it shouldn’t be too disturbing.

You deserve the most wonderful birthday and coming year.  You’ve done so much for some many shipmates in this fandom to brighten their birthdays, and I just wanted to give a little bit back to you.  Enjoy!!

“Bless What is Given You”

by: @snowbellewells​

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose me to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flounder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone to break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss him, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, axe-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~****

Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?), or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; that drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin had to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made a shiver of more than tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps.

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid “thunk” of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to touch that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She was shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group.

Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone, your Majesty…” He put precise emphasis on the title that she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before. She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer of her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.  

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace.

When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation - to this day the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today.

Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left.  His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is picking Hope from tripping over a jutting tree root and brushing off her dark leggings as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed.  

However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming.  Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading upstairs to wash for dinner.  

She looks at him as if trying to muster exasperation, but is unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, she nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.  If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to them.”

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped to deserve.

[somewhereapart]

This Soul with Sorrow Laden (OQ, Missing Year) for SpookyOQ prompt: Black Cat

Robin is used to All Hallows being observed, but never quite like this.

Usually, it's a time for masked banquets and offerings to those who've passed on, a time of reflection more than of celebration. But it seems things were different in the Other Land, because autumn arrives and with it the castle becomes festooned with cottony faux cobwebs, bats and spiders made from paper and leaves and paint, pumpkins all gutted and carved into beaming, toothy lanterns (Roland loves those in particular, had been blissful at the slimy, seedy mess of excavating stringy insides with the help of no less than Prince David himself), linens draped over gourds with ovals painted on for eyes and mouths. He's told they're to be ghosts, but they bear no resemblance to the real thing as far as he's concerned.

And ghosts are very real in the castle these days. Spectres haunting from the shadows, rising up in the quiet moments, unsuspected, and lashing out at those around them.

There have always been ghosts here for Regina, he knows – the parents long dead in the crypt, the untold scores of victims who fell to her wrath, the King whose sarcophagus lies empty (it's a secret he's kept for her – that empty tomb, the bones of her husband scattered to the mercy of animals decades past, picked over by dogs as he ought to have been; Snow White pays visit to nothing but air and nobody knows except Robin and the Queen). But there is something about this season, something about the festivities of Hallowe'en, that seems to haunt her doubly so. She is foul-tempered, and sharp-tongued, vicious in her words and scarce in her presence.

For weeks, she has grown darker and darker, a shadow-walker herself now, a ghostly remnant of the vibrant woman she'd become through the summer months (never happy, not that, but there'd been a liveliness to her, and a slow-growing kindness that surfaced now and again for a lucky few; time may not heal all wounds but it teaches us how to hide the bleeding).

He'd realized the reason for her darkening moods that day with the pumpkins. He'd been grinning at his son, the boy slick from fingertips to elbows with pumpkin guts and never happier, his grin stretching wider and wider as the Prince had told him about other Hallowe'en traditions – costumes and candies and tricks and treats.

It's a holiday for children.

No longer an observance of things lost, but a celebration of fantasy and sugar and mischief. A time for adults and children alike to frolic and stuff their gullets full of tasty treats.

But what of those who have no children?

Not all ghosts are dead, he thinks, and the most damning of Regina's lives on, across a veil seemingly even more impassable than the one between life and death. A boy who somewhere, sometime, is carving his own pumpkin, and choosing his own costume, and anticipating his own treats – without her.

Anticipation rises and rises in the castle halls, and Regina is dragged down and down with every passing day. He wonders if anyone else has noticed. He wonders, sometimes, if anyone else looks after her. Snow White, surely, but there's a masked banquet to be planned – a ball this year, a festival even, with games and dancing and much to be decided, much to be planned. The Princess's mind is in other places these days, lighter places, an almost manic drive toward revelry underscoring her daily agenda. (The Princess shines in pain while the Queen's light gutters out.)

He skips the party.

Roland attends, surely. Robin sees to his costume (a knight, he'd settle for nothing less), and delivers him to the grand hall, tucks him away with a knot of other children all taking turns at attempting to stick a cloth tail onto a pillow shaped like a donkey's rear end. But he leaves him there in Belle's capable hands, and goes off in search of ghosts that don't say BOO! or bear a striking resemblance to the table linens.

He checks all the obvious places: her chambers (unlikely, he knows – Snow had been adamant she attend the ball, Regina equally adamant she would do no such thing), the east library, her orchard, even dares creep his way into her crypt. There's a small shrine there, four squat candles burning, and the thick, smoky scent of incense still smoldering a hazy pillar that curls around the low ceiling. (Robin takes a moment to murmur a quiet blessing, a charm for souls departed; these returned travellers may no longer observe the Hallows but he still does and so, it seems, does the Queen.)

But there's no sign of Regina.

He checks dungeons, and untended gardens, and even that empty tomb, all to no success.

He finds her, finally, when he stops in search of a drink, his throat parched.

The stablemaster keeps a bottle of wine tucked away in the tack room, he knows, and won't miss a sip or two. And it's just there ahead, not twenty paces off his path.

He finds more than wine in the dim-lit shadows. A voice, soft and sad, murmuring quiet nonsense from an empty stall. He has the bottle still in hand as he goes to investigate, but he'd know that voice anywhere.

There she sits, Regina, leaning against a stack of hay bales, hands in her lap, head down. At first, he thinks she's speaking to nothing, to herself, to the ghost of a young boy not yet dead but never again to her keeping, but then he sees the movement. She's dressed all in black, but simply - her gown a solid swath of it, now flecked with clinging bits of hay and dusted with the dirt from the ground she sits on. But there, in the hollow of her crossed legs, there's a glint of light, a flash of amber; the Queen's slender finger wiggles, the painted tip disappearing into ebony fur.

A kitten.

He's happened across Regina, the former Evil Queen, playing with a kitten in the stable on All Hallows. It seems the night is full of surprises for them all.

She hasn't noticed him, or she's studiously avoiding – either a likely option – so he steps more fully into the doorway of the stall, shuffles his feet slightly to make his presence unmistakeable.

Her head snaps up; hadn't noticed him, then.

She is utterly unmasked, her face unpainted aside from the pink flush of emotion, the rosy tip of her nose, the bloodshot red of eyes only recently dried of tears. Her hair is down and untied, draped over one shoulder in loose waves. He hasn't seen her like this since the illness, hasn't seen her without her usual war paint – dark stain for her lips and smoky kohl around her eyes. Without the pallor of fever and desperation, he finds her naked beauty rather alluring. The monarch that broods over the council chambers and castle hallways smacks of intimidation and power, but this Regina is a bit more… human. And perhaps, he hopes, a bit more open to kindness.

He clears his throat and lifts the bottle in offering. "Care for a drink, milady?"

She "Oh"s, and then straightens her spine. She's about to tell him to head back the way he came, he thinks – but more inventively and with more threats involved.

But she doesn't, not this time. Doesn't even bother to correct the erroneous title he'd bestowed upon her; her usual It's Your Majesty stays trapped behind silent lips. Instead, she slips on a mask of her own making, a subtle shift into derision and boredom (it's ill-fitting, transparent), and mutters, "I think I'll need more than one."

Robin takes that as invitation enough and makes his way to her, settling beside her in the hay and leaning back with a sigh. He holds the bottle out to her in offering. Regina takes it one-handed, and drinks deep. The kitten in her lap gnaws at the thumb of her other hand, sharp teeth and sharp claws pricking against her skin, but she doesn't seem to notice.

He's drawn to the line of her throat as she gulps and gulps. Feels twin threads of sympathy and desire tug at his middle – she's downed almost a quarter of the bottle before she lets it fall with a gasp, no doubt trying to drown out whatever tortured feelings have urged her to seek solace with the animals. But even knowing her pain, he can't help but wonder what that graceful column of neck might taste like, how wine would taste from her lips.

But now isn't the time to discover such things, he thinks. Not on All Hallows. Not here in the dim lantern light of a stable.

"You're missing the party."

Her voice is brittle and flat, her dark eyes sullen as they meet his own. She hands the wine back his way and Robin takes a sip for himself before shrugging a shoulder and getting more comfortable against his pile of hay. A piece pokes sharply into his back, but he pays it no mind, just shifts until the discomfort abates.

"I may be old-fashioned," he tells her, "but I was raised to believe that All Hallows was a time for remembrance more than a time for half-drowning yourself in a barrel of water and pears."

She snorts indecorously, a gesture so unbefitting a queen that he can't help but grin. Is she drunk, he wonders, or just comfortable in his presence? After nearly a year together in the castle, and a dozen other nights just like this one (when solitude and melancholy find them, when the stars arrange themselves just right in the heavens, when they're drawn together in the late hours like tide to shore), he hopes it's the latter.

"They're supposed to be apples," she informs, and he tilts his head curiously. "The pears. They should be apples."

She draws her fingertip down a soft, furry belly, and Robin watches tiny claws stretch and hook and grasp again. Regina doesn't so much as flinch.

"But nobody trusts the apples here," she sighs, and then, "I suppose I can't blame them, considering most of the nearby tenants are Snow's people, and, well…"

She gives him a knowing look, one that says We all know what happened there.

Robin nods in response, unbothered by the reference to her past misdeeds. No use in being scandalized by that which the victim seems to have forgiven.

"It wasn't even my apple, you know," she murmurs, ducking her head down closer to the furry critter in her lap, her hair a dark curtain that throws her face into stark profile. Heaven above, she really is beautiful… "The cursed one."

The kitten has gone suddenly alert at the tantalizing fall of her hair, its tiny paws rising to bat at the dangling strands.

"I didn't know," he replies, almost absently, his attention focused on the slope of her nose, the softness of her bare lips. He ought not to dwell on her, he reminds himself. This is a night for indulging the dead, not the living. So he forces his attention back to her eyes (what he can see of them anyway) and inquires, "Whose was it, then?"

She spares him a glance, a look up and through her lashes that might seem coy from anyone else, but she accompanies it with a wicked flash of teeth, a grin of mischief as she tells him, "Maleficent. By way of a certain blind witch."

And then that gleeful malice fades, it, too, a mask she seems unable to fit properly to her countenance. The kitten draws her attention again, scrabbling at the ends of her locks and then wriggling, flipping over in her lap, the very picture of playful abandon.

Her voice is an absent murmur when she adds, "All my apples are safe. But then you'd know that."

Robin has the decency to duck his head in guilt. He and Roland have sampled apples in her orchard more than once, his boy drawn by the promise of sweetness just out of his reach, Robin by the allure of forbidden fruit waiting to be plucked. He'd never been one for following the rules, after all, nor keeping his hands off the property of others. And he's seen her munching on them time and again, her own willingness to consume such a weapon assuring him of their poison-free status.

"Roland has a fondness for apples," he excuses, knowing her soft spot for the boy will earn him pardon by proxy. Sure enough, Regina's lip curls in the shadow of a smirk, a quick thing, over and then done, leaving behind an air of melancholy, of longing.

"Henry loved them, too," she whispers, "when he was young. Before he learned the truth." Her head lifts slightly, or maybe only tilts, but it draws her hair out of the kitten's grasp, and he flops about for a moment before his eyes light on the ruffle of Robin's shirtcuff. The kitten goes still and intent, and Robin braces himself for the inevitable capture of his own hand to claw and fang. "After, he wouldn't touch them."

The wee thing's pounce is impressive, if a bit foolhardy, a clumsy leap that has the little devil plunking nearly head-first into the bottle propped against Robin's thigh instead of landing properly on his arm. But he's young, then, he's time to learn.

Robin scoops the tiny body up one-handed; Regina liberates the wine. A swapping of parcels, it seems – her livestock for his spirits.

She sips instead of gulps this time, and Robin leaves one hand resting surreptitiously nearby his more tender parts as needle-sharp teeth assault his fingers, the fleshy spot beneath his thumb, kitten claws tangling up in his cuffs, scraping his wrist (the idea of an errant claw to the bollocks is a sobering one, to say the least). He tamps down the urge to hiss, a sudden masculine need to not be bested by a sullen Queen keeping his discomfort quiet.

She picks at an invisible bit of dirt on the neck of the wine bottle, cradles it in her lap like a babe, and Robin suddenly feels bad for the kitten's migration. She's a mother without a child, and he wonders if the wee one's attentions had been a terribly poor stopgap to soothe the gaping hole in her heart.

"Do you want him back?" he asks her, grimacing at a slice of claw on the tender skin of his inner wrist. What happened to the docile little furball she'd been stroking when he'd arrived?

"No." Her smile barely reaches the corners of her own lips – much less her eyes – so weighted with sadness, and there's a distance to her gaze as she says thinly, "He's happier there."

"He's carving me for supper," Robin attempts to jest, anything to tease a true smile from her. It doesn't work, but he thinks there's a twinkle of something in her eye for half a moment.

"He knows you're easy pickings." He recognizes the haunt of ridicule in her voice and thanks the stars for it – he'll take her barbs tonight, if they'll serve as a distraction to her grief. "Too tender, easily chewed up."

"Ah, I see. And you were, what, then? Too tough for his milk teeth?"

She nods, shifting the bottle to lean against the hay between them and drawing her knees up, crossing her arms atop them. "All gristle and bone," she tells him with surety. "Not a bit of tenderness left to gnaw on."

"I think we both know that's not true," he tells her, and she looks to him, tightens the grip of her fingers over her elbows, then becomes studiously absorbed in something outside their little nest. Staring and staring past the stall's open door. He'd said too much, it seems. Broken the jest of pretense by acknowledging its underpinnings.

He lets her have her silence for a moment, shifting his attention instead to the beastie in his lap, taunting it with wiggling digits and drawing them away at the kitten's every renewed attempt to dine on his flesh.

"Does this little carnivore have a name, then?" he asks, before the quiet between them stretches too long.

"Binx."

"Binx, hmm?" It's less a question, more a curious declaration. "That's an odd name."

She smiles, or tries to; it comes out more like a grimace as her shoulders lift and fall with a labored breath.

"There's a movie. Henry loved it, it's… for Halloween. Hocus Pocus," she explains, squinting a little across the stall as she recalls, "It's about these teenagers who accidentally awaken three witches who've been kept dormant for centuries, and they wreak havoc in their modern town. And there's a talking cat, Binx."

"A talking cat?"

There's much from the Other Land that Robin would quite like to see, movies among them – he wonders what kind of magic must be required to make it seem as though a cat can speak.

"He was a boy, the witches cursed him to be a cat," Regina explains.

"I see," Robin says before hissing in pain. The little critter he'd not been paying nearly enough attention to has taken momentary advantage of his lack of focus, capturing Robin's hand in gripping claws and kicking feet, slicing gouges in it as his teeth sink into the fleshy place below Robin's thumb. "Little devil," he curses, trying to draw his hand away, but only succeeding in riling the little butcher up even further.

Regina chuckles, and he looks up in time to find her watching with genuine mirth in her eyes. It seems his inability to keep a handle on such a wee charge as a young kitten is quite amusing to Her Majesty.

Still, the pain in his hand doesn't seem a large price to pay for the way she bites at her lower lip and then reaches over, plucking away the devious beastie and plopping it onto her knees. It's back where it belongs, as far as Robin is concerned. Best he be returned before he shreds Robin's hand to ribbons.

The kitten wobbles a bit in an effort to find purchase and balance atop Regina's kneecaps, and is not successful in the slightest—it's but a moment before wee Binx is tumbling forward and down her shins.

Robin watches as the little thing scrabbles for purchase in the queen's dress, one of her hands shooting out to scoop it up under its rear before she lowers her knees, crosses her legs again, and deposits the flustered little fluffball in the hollow of her lap.

Binx seems quite pleased to be there, rolling over onto his back and busying himself once again with her teasing fingers. Robin can see thin red scratches, tiny raised welts along her smooth skin, but Regina doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the minor injuries her new charge has bestowed upon her.

He wonders if he's gone soft living inside these castle walls, or if she's grown too numb. She'd plucked her own heart once, he's heard, in an effort to dull her agony. Perhaps the nip and slice of minuscule claws pale in comparison to the ache within?

It's a terribly sad thought, one on which he doesn't particularly wish to dwell, so he tries to distract them both with a question: "Does he survive the movie, then? Binx, the cat."

"He does," she tells him with another of those sad smiles. "They vanquish the witches, and his soul is freed at last. He's reunited with the sister he was unable to save from her fate at the witches' hands so long ago."

Robin thinks of Marian, of his mother and young sister, and remarks, "That sounds a lovely fate, if you ask me. I like to think that it's so, that in the end we get to rise to the heavens and sit amongst the stars with those we've lost."

Regina's gaze drops to the kitten again, the little devil now making a meal of the knuckle on her third finger.

"That would be nice," she murmurs, in a hushed and rueful tone that speaks plainly of how unlikely she must deem such a fate for herself. That distance has returned to her features, that mask of unease, and Robin wishes he could turn back the clock a few moments and swallow his words down before they ever had a chance to slip from him.

The dead and lost are fresh in everyone's minds tonight – everyone not engaged in bobbing for apple substitutes and pinning tails on donkeys, that is. He should have known better than to bring up such a thing on a night such as this one. Not with the carefully lit candles burning away deep in the castle, or with the half bottle of wine poured down her gullet here beside him.

"I think you'll see them again," he tells her quietly.

It would be better said that he hopes she will, because they both know that her sins will weigh heavily on the scale of judgement. She may well descend to the depths rather than rise to the heavens, but he'd rather not think of that. He finds the idea of her in eternal torment or solitude far more distressing than he has any right to.

"Perhaps," is all she says. Quiet. Blank. Unconvinced.

Robin's heart aches and aches, his fingers itching to reach for her own, his mind searching for something he might say to ease her sorrow. Nothing comes, though.

Binx has managed to get himself quite tangled up in her skirts during the last few moments of frolicking and thrashing about; Robin watches the Queen come to his aid, dutifully shifting the fabric until his little head pops up again, wee paws dragging him up, up, out of her lap and intrepidly over her legs toward the straw-strewn stable floor.

Regina watches him venture away, a bit of straw his new target. He chases it, pounces upon it, flops about like a mad little thing, and all the while those deep brown eyes watch him, all the while Robin's eyes watch her.

She really is remarkably lovely, the Queen…

And kind tonight, it seems, for she's holding out an open palm (her attention still on the kitten) and urging, "Give me your hand; I'll heal the scratches."

They've beaded up with blood, throbbing warmly, but they're not serious as far as wounds go. They'll heal on their own just fine.

But Robin's not one to overlook such a gesture, leastways not from her, so he surrenders his palm into her care.

Regina looks away from the kitten, her soft fingers sliding gently along Robin's. (They're cold, her hands; it's a brisk night. For the first time it occurs to him that she might catch a chill in that simple dress of hers, and he can't help the little swell of worry beneath his breastbone.) A moment later, there's a sort of crackling tickle across his skin, warm and pulsing before it fades and takes all evidence of his humiliation at the hands of a kitten with it.

Robin curls his fingers around hers (a risk, for certain, but he's never been afraid of such), giving them a squeeze and a sincere offer of thanks.

Regina nods and—much to his pleasant surprise—does not remove her hand from his, so Robin lets their pressed palms come to rest against her knee.

"Why the stables?" he asks after another few moments spent in silence.

It costs him her hand.

She draws it back, crosses her arms over her middle tightly and stares hard at the kitten dancing wildly with his piece of straw in front of her.

When she answers, it's to tell him, "I knew Snow wouldn't come looking for me here – or if she did, she wouldn't try to talk me into leaving." She swallows heavily, her lips pinching, voice dropping to just above a whisper. "My true love died in a stable, and it's All Hallows. She may be all about the spooky wonder of Halloween, but she still has respect for the dead and grieving."

Her quiet confession has a lance of guilt spearing through him. She'd been here in observance of one lost, not simply avoidance of all the revelry, and here he'd come and barged in like a buffoon. He should have asked that question of her from the start, should have left her to her solitude.

Robin draws a breath to apologize, but never gets the chance – the Queen is already speaking again, jutting her chin toward the kitten, and telling Robin, "And his mother died today. Trampled by one of the horses, along with his brothers."

His jaw drops slack, stunned, his attention drawn to the kitten playing happily on in front of them.

"How awful," Robin murmurs. "And odd, for a barn cat. They're usually so good at keeping out from underfoot."

"Yes, well," she sniffs, her spine straightening in a way that's terribly regal. "One of those idiot tenants Snow insists we let live on the grounds, and dine in our hall, and have free fucking reign of the place—" she's angry about what happened, spitting fire as she speaks of it "—got it in his mind today that he should take Cyclone for a little ride around the pastures. He didn't even make it out of the stables; Cyclone despises everyone who's tried to ride him – he's simply not tame. He was wild too long; I don't care whose prized stallion he was before the curse."

Regina huffs a little, and pushes at her hair – she's been arguing for the release of the jet black stallion for months, he knows. Or at least, for him to be left to gallop about and graze as he pleases without anyone trying to saddle him up.

And with good reason, it seems.

"He didn't make it out of the stable, but he did manage to make it close enough to where Penelope's kittens were playing, and she's a mother, so of course she rushed to protect them." Her jaw clenches, shifts, tears welling in her eyes and then blinked immediately away; she hasn't stopped watching the kitten play in front of them. "They got caught underfoot and were trampled – along with the idiot on Cyclone's back. Nobody told me about the cats until after they'd found me and had me unbreak that fool's femur – and of course, I was in no hurry, because it was his own damn fault. By the time they told me, Penelope was just so miserable…" Her gaze shifts, empties, goes somehow bottomless and impenetrable all at once as she confesses in a whisper, "I took away his mother."

Gods above. No wonder she's been sitting here, her rear end surely having gone numb from this hard ground (his certainly has), the chill seeping through her dress, her hands slowly carved by kitten claws. She'd been summoned as executioner on the Hallows of all days.

He imagines now that she considers the bites and scratches due penance for her crime – she would, Regina, even though as far as he can see, there's been no crime committed. Not by her, anyway.

"You took away her pain," Robin tells her gently, reaching out in an attempt to grasp her hand again only after she lifts it to wipe away a traitorous tear from her cheek.

She lets him, but her fingers stay limp in his, her voice brittle and thin as she says, "He should know his mother. She should be there for him. He shouldn't forget her."

Robin's quite certain she's not speaking only of the cat.

His fingers squeeze around hers and hold, his heart quite at a loss for how to comfort her properly. He wants to assure her that the kitten seems none the worse off at the moment, but he doesn't want her to think the same of her boy – that he's just fine somewhere with a different mother, the woman who raised him now inconsequential. It would be both a comfort and a heavy pour of salt into already raw wounds, he's certain.

So Robin simply rubs her fingers, her palm, her wrist. They're icy; he tries to draw warmth into them with friction and sheer will.

"Binx is safe," Robin says, finally. "He doesn't appear… traumatized."

Regina lets out a single, wet chuckle and leans back further against the hay bales, reaching for the bottle of wine he'd all but forgotten was still wedged between them.

"The stablemaster says this little boy has a habit of sneaking off and causing mischief. He wasn't sure what had happened to him until he emerged from halfway up the wall of baled hay, yowling and hungry but none the wiser." She sips at her wine again and says, "They gave him a saucer of warm milk, and he trotted back off to his bales. But that was hours ago, and he needed supper; everyone else is up at the banquet."

"So you came," Robin realizes, looking around the stall again and noticing this time the tiny crystal bowl nestled in the hay nearby. She'd come to see that Binx didn't go hungry. "You brought him his supper."

"Yes, and…" she glances up, above them, and he wonders how he didn't see it before, the little signs of her true reason here tonight hidden all around. There above them floats three little lights, flickering blue flames in what looks to be soap bubbles. Magic. "I thought someone should remember them, too. Penelope, and the other two kittens. They shouldn't be forgotten."

She'd lit them each a candle, of sorts. A little light to guide them home. If he's not careful, Robin thinks he could fall terribly in love with the Queen's tender heart.

"I think that's lovely," he says to her, waiting until her attention slides back to him to add, "Truly. Not many would think to honor them."

She swallows thickly, casts her gaze down, away. A little clearing of her throat, and she tells him, "They'll burn out once they use up all the air. I didn't want to risk… anything else happening in the meantime."

Fire, he thinks. More death at her hands. She can leave candles to burn in the cold stone of her vault, but not here, not amongst all this hay and wood.

"And I thought… When they go out, it'll be dark," she murmurs. "It's already after nightfall, he has to miss her soon. She won't be there when he sleeps, he might get frightened, or cold. He'll certainly be lonely. He hasn't realized yet that she's gone."

Her eyes are damp again, that mother's heart rooted firmly in her chest crying out for the wee orphaned thing. Crying out for something to fill it, always.

He's a poor substitute for the child she'd lost, but this little fellow needs care and Regina needs something to nurture. She makes do with Roland as best she can, Robin knows, but it's not nearly the same, and the giddy childish energy of a young boy seems so often to wound her as much as restore her.

"He needs a mother," Robin says to her, and her brow knits. "He's too young still to be a mouser; the mice are nearly half the size of him. You should bring him up to the castle, let him practice on spiders in your chamber."

Let him curl up in front of the hearth and become a lap cat, but somehow he thinks she'll balk at that.

Sure enough, she's shaking her head, and saying, "He's a barn cat. He wouldn't like it there."

As if on cue, Binx abandons the bit of straw he'd been gnawing at and hops his way back over to Regina, offering a little squawking mew before she's scooped him up in her hand again and helped him over the hump of her crossed legs. He finds that well between them and curls up there, wiggling a bit and then beginning to knead at the inside of her thigh and purr softly. It seems he's spent from all his hunting and devouring.

"I think you may be mistaken, Your Majesty," Robin taunts in jest, "It looks as if the comfort of your keeping is exactly where wee Binx would like to be."

She smiles a little at that, another weak, melancholy thing, before she's letting free a little sigh, and conceding, "I suppose I could move him to the castle. For a little while, at least. While the weather is cold, and he's out of family to keep him warm."

"I'm sure someone can find him a warm quilt, or a cozy fur to curl up in."

She has both, he knows. Plus that warm hearth fire, and, he suspects, a welcoming divot alongside the heat of her own body should the kitten require it.

Robin leans over a bit, dares to reach out and scratch the beastie's furry belly (heavy amber eyes turn his way, but the claws and teeth stay safely put away for the time being).

"What do you think, little one?" he asks. "Would you like to leave this poor stable behind and enjoy a life of leisure alongside Her Majesty?"

Binx tucks his head down against his paws, sleepy eyes sinking shut, and so Robin looks up at the Queen with a grin.

"I think that's a yes," Robin declares.

Regina simply chuckles hollowly and shakes her head at him. But one hand has sunk itself into the kitten's soft fur, cupping his little body protectively. Robin thinks they'll do just fine together, the orphaned kitten and the lonely Queen.

Silence befalls them after that, words apparently spent and dried up as all those cottony cobwebs in the hall.

When she speaks again, it's to ask of him, "What brought you to the stables?"

"Oh," he answers with a little smile, nicking the wine from her and taking a quick sip, licking the taste of it from his lips before he shrugs and says, "I came looking for you."

Her face softens ever so at that, a quiet, "Oh," falling from her lips. "Why?"

"It seemed a shame for someone so obviously hurting to pass the Hallows alone," he says, adding, "I hope I didn't overstep my place," for good measure.

"You did," she tells him archly, but there's a tension in her lips that quickly slips into a smile for the briefest of seconds before flickering out. "But I don't mind, tonight. Just don't make a habit of it, thief."

He already has, and they both know it.

Still, Regina relaxes back into the hay, reaching for the wine with one hand as she drops her gaze to the kitten snoozing in her lap. She sips, and then offers Robin the bottle to do the same in turn.

And there they stay, side by side, passing the wine back and forth until it runs out. Keeping vigil over those slowly dying flames above them until those die out, too.

In her lap, Binx purrs and sleeps soundly.

It's a somber affair, but he'd not trade the company, nor would he prefer the revelry of the castle's masked banquet to the croak of frogs and rustle of horses around them. It feels right, this quiet observance of All Hallows, this sitting with ghosts, both fresh and far away.

Robin's not fool enough to think a bit of company and a new pet are enough to exorcise the haunting that's taken root down deep inside the Queen. But he hopes that for tonight, at least, they've managed to let in a bit of the light.

[fhaudhafhdugawainishot]

Creamed Tea

I was forced to do this and I was too embarrassed to post it on my personal blog.

I hope y’all are satisfied, you salty dildos. Btw nsfw

Dark clouds loomed over the Kingdom of Nohr as a small army marched towards the capital. The members chattered noisily among themselves; Elise clinging desperately onto her eldest sister’s arm who in return would deliver the young troubadour a delicate pat on the head, Selena sending a barrage of insults to Niles, who had made an offhand comment about her intense shopping habits, Keaton showing off his “treasure”–in reality a rotting bat wing he probably found at some swamp–to his disgusted peers…overall, there was seemingly a serene atmosphere that accompanied the army.

Except a certain flirtatious mercenary would disagree.

Lingering behind the group, Laslow kept his gaze downcast to the ground, struggling to keep his gait steady. Eyes puffy, he wiped his tear stained cheek with his gloved hand as the same thought echoed inside his mind; Lord Xander was in critical condition after an intense battle with a Hoshidan General.

He had failed his sole duty as a retainer, protecting his own lord. He clenched his fist, a shuddering sigh escaping his pale lips. If only he had paid attention to the battle and kept his overconfidence at bay, then the Nohrian Prince wouldn’t have shielded him from the deadly attack and the royal family and Peri wouldn’t be in despair…!

“Excuse me, Laslow?” A high-pitched voice asked, snapping the mercenary out of his daze. To his surprise, he found himself staring at the draconic princess, Corrin. Tucking a strand of her milky-white hair behind her pointy ear, she presented him with a gentle smile.

“Oh?” Forcing on an optimistic grin, he dramatically bowed to her with a flirtatious wink. “Why, hello there, Lady Corrin! Do you need something from me?”

“Listen, Laslow,” Her voice grew solemn as she spoke to his surprise, “I know you’re upset about my older brother’s condition…so, I was thinking that we could have a tea party at my place to lighten the mood! Just the two of us!”

He gaped for a moment, slowly blinking at her. The princess wanted to spend time with him of all people? Well, he couldn’t reject the princess’ invitation especially if it was a tea party. A wave of giddiness and nostalgia washed over him as he imagined the sweet taste of the drinks and the beautiful designs on the tea cups. There was no way he could miss out on the opportunity!

“Of course, milady! It would be a pleasure to spend time with you!” He announced, taking her hand and pressed his lips against it.

Laslow was beginning to regret his decision.

Seated at an elegant, circular table, the mercenary gazed at Corrin, who was sitting across from him, humming cheerfully as she held a small cup full of amber colored liquid. After pouring a dash of sugar into the drink, she picked up her silver spoon and began to stir. Laslow fidgeted, his face reddening as he watched the action with widened, curious eyes. Why did he suddenly feel so uncomfortable? Was it because of Lady Corrin? He stifled a bitter laugh; he had to admit she was a lovely woman, but she never managed to evoke any embarrassing feelings from him.

“Laslow, what’s wrong?” She questioned, her crimson eyes full of concern, “You haven’t even touched your tea yet!”

“O-oh, I’m just waiting for it to cool down!” He reassured her with a false, jovial laugh, resting his chin against the palm of his hand. “A-anyway, um, what flavor is it, milady?”

Her expression brightened, showing the tea cup to the mercenary.

“Earl Grey tea! Jakob brewed it, he’s quite skilled at it. It’s so warm and citrusy…it’s absolutely amazing!” She sighed cheerfully.

The intoxicating scent of the tea wafted toward the mercenary, who breathed it in, enjoying how pleasant it was. The thought of tasting it made him shiver delightfully until he felt an unbearable stiffening in his pants, a soft and lewd groan parting from his lips.

“L-Laslow, are you sure you’re alright?” She raised an eyebrow, rising up from her seat to check on him, baffled by his odd behavior.

“I-I-I’m fine! I-it’s nothing, I swear, there’s no need to fret over me, really!”

Before Corrin would question him any further, their attention was seized by a loud knock on the door. Swiftly, she opened it, her interest piqued when she found herself facing her silver haired butler, Jakob.

“Pardon me for intruding, Lady Corrin,” He apologized–briefly looking daggers at Laslow before returning to his carefree facade–and whispered something in the princess’ ear. Her serene expression warped, nodding in understanding.

“Ah, I’m sorry Laslow, I have urgent business to tend to. But, please make yourself comfortable in the meantime. I promise I’ll be back soon!”

Watching the butler leading her out of the room, Laslow stood in silence, unsure what to do. His gaze fell on the lone tea cup in front of him, instantly feeling his length harden more at the sight of it. Driven by lust and arousal, he snatched the teacup off the table with shaky hands as he approached Corrin’s bed. Placing the cup on the bed, he crawled on top of it, his cheeks growing red.

With desperate, deft fingers, he stripped himself out of his armor and clothes, carelessly tossing the articles off to the side. He grabbed the cup’s curved handle and tilted it forward, allowing the warm liquid to spill all over his naked body and the velvet sheets of the bed. Letting out a pleased groan, he observed a trail of tea trickle down from his torso to the base of his round balls. Why didn’t he think of this earlier? Instead of suffering heartbreaks and receiving slaps from numerous women, he could have just pleasured himself with a teacup!

His fingers glided over the trail to spread the warm drink over to his dark, hardened nipples in a circular motion. “A-ah…!” He gasped, descending more into erotic bliss, his fingers moving towards his balls. He shuddered, sensitive to his own hesitant touch. Gritting his teeth, he ceased to stop massaging the small, round objects, yet he couldn’t help but throw back his head with an erotic hiss. As pleasurable the sensation was, he had other matters to tend to. Breathing quietly, he aimed his excited gaze at the teacup, and for a brief moment, felt a twinge of guilt for neglecting his tiny and dainty lover.

Gravitating towards the cup, he brushed his thumb against it, whispering sweet nothings to the object:

“I love you, and only you…”

“I won’t be able to hold back now…”

“I want to make love to you everyday…”

Sighing deeply, he pressed an affectionate kiss on the cup. How strange, even though it felt so cold and lifeless…joy flared up in him that he was finally able to shower his deepest desires and passions to this lone cup.  He aimed his mighty cock at the entrance, unable to stop grinning giddily. White pre-cum dripping, it fell into the teacup like raindrops. A pang of nervousness slammed into him as the thought of Princess Corrin or Jakob walking in on him. But, he began to reason, it’s too late to turn back now. Determined, he mentally prepared himself before jamming his manhood into his lover.

Coldness and sweet tea greeted him and his unyielding cock when he began thrusting. Too occupied with his lovemaking session to wipe off the drool cascading from his lips, he listened to  his immodest moans echoing in the room, no longer caring if some soldier or even Selena and Odin could hear him from outside. His teacup–no, soulmate, wanted pleasure and he was planning on giving it no matter the cost.

His body became warmer and his desperate thrusts turned erratic. Breathing heavily, his right hand kept a taut grip his soulmate, his other hand clasped onto the bedsheets as if hoping the action would help him hold onto his small ounce of self control. That is, if it still existed.

Feeling a familiar stirring from within his thick and sultry cock, Laslow immediately knew that his climax was approaching at a swift pace. I don’t wanna stop, he thought when tears began forming in his eyes. He had finally found true love, the only person who never rejected or taunted him was his dear teacup. He sensed his blood run cold when he recalled that someday…he would have to return to Ylisse and leave his lover behind. A single tear ran down his cheek, yet he continued to aggressively grind his cock.

“No, I won’t leave you behind!” He vowed, smiling broadly at his significant other, “I’ll stay in Nohr. I swear, my love, I’ll–Ah, teacup!”

He shouted lovingly when he came, a thick, white strand of his delicious seed bursting into the teacup. Thrusting until he emptied every ounce of it, a pleasured groan escaped from him as he collapsed onto the bed, bringing the cup closer to his chest. While he recovered from his tryst, e enjoyed the quietness and serenity of Corrin’s room–

Wait a minute.

His face paled, and he checked the bedsheets. He whined softly, scooting away from the stained bed (both from him and the tea). Clumsily dressing himself, Laslow attempted to hide the evidence by folding the sheets until he heard the door open.

“Laslow, I’m back!” Corrin cheered, waltzing into the room, “Did you miss–oh! What’s that smell?” She crinkled her nose with disgust, unfamiliar with the strong scent of sex. Eyeing the blushing mercenary, who began fumbling for an explanation, she got closer until her eyes caught something odd.

Her sheets were stained with…some kind of liquids.

“Did you spill tea on my bed?” She asked skeptically, placing her hands on her hips.

“Erm…yes, milady?”

“Oh, silly Laslow! You should be more careful next time, geez!” She scolded, and with a sigh, reached over to gather the sheets.

“Hey Laslow?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“What’s this white stuff?”

He laughed boisterously, a smug smirk forming on his lips, “Oh, well…you see milady…I always enjoy my tea with cream.”